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ladyfocalors · 3 months ago

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The Prefect's Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Rulebook

summary: After yet another rule violation by Grim, Riddle hands you a comprehensive guide to Heartslabyul’s regulations expecting you to finally learn and teach Grim. Instead, you retaliate by writing your own unofficial rulebook about Riddle himself, filled with exaggerated (but surprisingly accurate) observations. He inevitably gets his hands on the book. Riddle is left flustered and scandalized, especially with the last rule.

pairing: riddle rosehearts x gn!reader

warning: secondhand embarrassment experience.

word count: 2.4k

i had so much fun writing this. probably one of my favourite fics i have written. it's fun to write about my beloved riddle <3

It all started with a tart. Or rather, the lack of one.

You and Grim stood in the lounge, both of you equal parts guilty and unapologetic. Well, you were mostly guilty by association, considering it was Grim who had eaten one of Trey’s tarts without permission, but in Riddle’s eyes, you were both responsible.

"Grim," you sighed, standing before Riddle Rosehearts with his face red, arms crossed, eyes burning with irritation. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Grim, hiding behind you, peeked out from behind your legs, ears twitching. "I regret nothing," he declared. "That tart was mine!"

"It most certainly was not!" Riddle snapped, his voice sharp. "That was my tart, specifically prepared for me. And not only did you eat it, but you also violated Rule #89 ‘Never eat a tart without the Queen's permission’, and Rule #27 ‘Do not break into the dormitory kitchens after hours’ and Rule #53–"

Grim huffed. "Ya make it sound worse than it is."

"You ate the Housewarden’s tart in front of him and ran to me," you muttered, reminding him of his crime. You were surprised that Grim hadn't been collared yet.

"A mistake anyone could make," Grim said stubbornly.

"A mistake that you made," you deadpanned.

Riddle inhaled deeply, clearly exercising a lot of restraint to not collar Grim. Then, he presented you with a book, quite a massive book.

"This," he declared, "is the Heartslabyul Rulebook."

You took it, nearly dropping it due to its weight. No dorm rulebook should be this heavy, you thought. "This thing could kill a man."

Grim peeked at it over your shoulder and immediately recoiled. "Ugh! Words! Too many words!"

"That is exactly the issue," Riddle snapped at him. "You do not read the rules, and as a result, you break them." Riddle then turned to you, his face no longer red. "As the Ramshackle Prefect, I expect you to look after your dorm members. Therefore, I expect you to read this book in its entirety and teach Grim to behave himself in my dorm."

You blinked at him. This seemed hardly fair. Why did you have to be punished?

You opened the book to have a look.

Rule #1: Always respect the Queen’s Decrees.

You promptly closed it.

"Yeah, I’m not doing that," you said.

Riddle frowned.

At first, you did try to read the rulebook, but between all your other work, assignments, and the endless errands you had to run, it simply wasn’t feasible. Not to mention how utterly ridiculous some of the rules were.

So instead of reading his rulebook, you wrote your own. For fun.

Grim was pleased with the outcome.

It had started as a joke, something to vent your many grievances about the amount of rules in Heartslabyul, but you quickly realized something: your rulebook wasn’t about Heartslabyul.

It was about Riddle, which Grim had helpfully pointed out.

"Myahaha! Look at this one! ‘Rule #23 – Riddle can and will recite the rules you broke.’ That one's good! Let me add some too!"

And so, The Prefect’s Unofficial Guide to Riddle Rosehearts was born.

The Prefect’s Unofficial Guide to Riddle Rosehearts

(Compiled by the Ramshackle Prefect, with essential additions and doodles from Grim. Rules may be ignored at your own risk. Side effects include but are not limited to: exasperation, lectures, punishments, and possible collaring.)

Rule #1 – Anything is legal when Riddle has his back turned. (Grim wrote this.)

Rule #2 – Riddle will scold you for running in the halls, even if you are running to avoid being late for a meeting with him. (It was a no-win situation. You’d be scolded for being late or scolded for running. There was no escape.)

Rule #3 – Riddle has a ‘stern nod’ and a ‘very stern nod.’ Learn to tell the difference. (One means ‘I am disappointed in you.’ The other means ‘You will be collared in five seconds.’)

Rule #5 – If Riddle goes silent mid-sentence, he is either (a) so angry he can’t speak, or (b) realizing you have a point but refuses to admit it.

Rule #12 – If you see Trey baking tarts, congratulations! You are in the presence of Heartslabyul’s unofficial MVP. Do not let Riddle (or anyone) see you sneaking one.

Rule #18 – If you notice Riddle's face is turning red, you have exactly three seconds to mentally prepare for whatever comes next.

Rule #23 – Riddle can and will recite the rules you broke.

Rule #28 – If you compliment Riddle out of nowhere, he will malfunction like a broken automaton. (Highly effective distraction technique.)

Rule #31 – If Ace says, 'Housewarden Riddle will never know,' Housewarden Riddle will absolutely find out.

Bonus Section:

Rule #31.1 – If Ace says, 'I have a great idea,' walk away. It is neither 'great' nor 'an idea.'

Rule #31.2 – If you try to hide something from Ace, he will immediately become interested.

Rule #34 – Riddle pretends not to have a sense of humour, but he does. (It’s just deeply buried under layers of responsibility and rule enforcement.)

Rule #38 – Trey has a 70% success rate of calming Riddle down. (Cater has a 50% success rate. Ace and Deuce have a -500% success rate.)

Rule #41 – Riddle secretly likes animals, but will deny this if accused. (He takes good care of the hedgehogs and adores them.)

Rule #53 – If Riddle ever finds out I like him, I am done for.

You weren’t sure why you wrote that last one. It was a joke. Mostly. (It felt easier to admit on paper rather than to say it. It was most definitely not a joke.)

The rulebook remained a harmless source of entertainment between you and Grim. You had your fun, and Grim even doodled in a few pictures of angry Riddle before resorting to drawing himself.

It should have remained a private joke. It really should have. But, of course, nothing involving Grim remained a secret for long.

It was another ordinary evening in Heartslabyul, where you had reluctantly agreed to a study session with Ace and Deuce. The plan was simple: Ace and Deuce would attempt to get their grades up, you would try to prevent them from slacking while trying to study as well, and Grim would… probably not study.

Riddle had allowed you all to use one of the study rooms, though not without a warning about ‘proper conduct.’

You had meant to be careful, really. You had every intention of keeping your very unofficial, very embarrassing rulebook far away from prying eyes. You just hoped nobody looked through your stack of books, among which laid your rulebook you had accidentally brought. Unfortunately, for you, Grim had other plans.

Grim huffed, then pawed through the stack of books on the table. "There’s too many words in here! I wanna read something fun."

"You’ll think studying is fun when you see your test scores improve," Deuce said, diligently copying notes and actually putting in an effort.

"Nyah! Where’s our rulebook? I wanna add another one about Riddle’s scary angry face!"

You immediately froze and, like a shark smelling blood in water, Ace perked up.

"Rulebook?" he echoed. "Wait, wait, wait. Is it another one of Riddle’s? Man, you’re actually reading that thing?"

Deuce actually looked impressed. "That’s really responsible of you, Prefect."

"It’s not the Heartslabyul Rulebook," Grim piped up, completely missing the way you were silently willing him to stop talking. "It’s hench-human’s rulebook! The one ‘bout Riddle!"

A beat of silence.

Then, with alarming speed, Ace lunged for your stack of books before you could even stop him. (Rule #31.2 was being displayed right in front of you.)

"HEY–"

"Hold on, hold on," Ace said, flipping the thin book open. "This is– ooohhh. You wrote an entire guide to our Housewarden? With rules?" He barked out a laugh. "Rule #1: Anything is legal when Riddle has his back turned."

You snatched for the book, but Ace twisted out of reach.

"It was a joke! Give it back!"

Deuce, peeking over Ace’s shoulder, frowned. "I don’t know if this is a good idea–"

"‘Rule #31: If Ace says, Housewarden Riddle will never know, Housewarden Riddle will absolutely find out.’" Ace read. "Hey, what the hell! That’s slander!"

"It’s true!" you snapped.

Ace ignored you, flipping further. "‘Rule #38: Trey has a 70% success rate of calming Riddle down. Cater has a 50% success rate. Ace and Deuce have a -500% success rate.’"

Deuce looked offended. "Hey, why is mine also negative?"

Ace grinned. "Because you’re the one who keeps making it worse by apologizing wrong and getting us caught."

"I– wait. I do not!"

"Stop arguing and give it back–"

"Prefect, Ace, Deuce," came the voice of Riddle Rosehearts from the now open door.

A terrible, horrible, no good, very bad silence followed.

The three of you went completely still, and Grim decided he would hide behind you.

This was the worst possible outcome ever. In Ace's hand was your silly book, in plain sight, and there stood Riddle in the doorway with his brows furrowed. Riddle’s eyes flicked to the book in Ace’s hands. Ace immediately noticed and hid it behind his back, but it was far too late.

"Ace," Riddle said, stepping forward. "What are you hiding?"

"Uh… nothing?" Ace tried, clearly lying.

"Nothing," Riddle repeated flatly. His gaze sharpened. "Ace Trappola, hand it over. Now."

Ace, being Ace, grinned as if he could still salvage the situation. "C’mon, Housewarden. Maybe this is one of those things you're better off not seeing–"

"If you don't hand me the book, it's off with your head!"

Ace immediately caved, sighing. "Alright, alright. Here." He handed over the book, and you had never felt such levels of anxiety in your life. Not even facing overblots made you feel the level of panic you felt now (that was an exaggeration but, still).

Riddle took it, immediately glancing at the cover. Then he flipped open the first page. Then the second. Then the third.

You watched, frozen in place, as Riddle continued reading, his expression shifting between scandalized and exasperated.

Then he was at the last page. You could tell the exact moment he read the 53rd Rule. His face went from normal to red in an instant.

Oh no.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment and then opened to meet Riddle's blue-gray ones.

“I see,” Riddle said, his voice carefully even but his face red. "Is this true?"

You considered your options.

Lie. (Too late, he’s already read it.)

Run. (Where? He knows where you live.)

Pray. (The Great Seven can’t save you now.)

You picked option 4. Deflection.

"You were not supposed to read it," you said, your voice steadier than you felt.

"So I gathered," he muttered. He looked at you then glanced at the audience.

"Ace, Deuce and Grim," he said. "I expect a 2000 worded essay about the need of study ettiquette and rules."

Ace groaned. "Aw, c’mon, Housewarden–"

"2500 words," Riddle amended, not even hesitating.

Deuce sighed but nodded, already resigned to his fate. Grim, however, let out a dramatic wail. "But I didn't even do anything!"

"Then you may explain, in 2500 words, why you are a menace to the dorms."

Grim gasped. "Wha– ME?!"

"Now leave," Riddle said, and Ace wasted no time grabbing Grim and Deuce by the collars, dragging them toward the door.

"Good luck, Prefect," Ace called, grinning like a traitor before the door shut behind them.

And then, silence.

You were alone with Riddle. You could hear the pages of the rulebook crinkling slightly under his grip. He wasn’t saying anything. Oh no.

Riddle took a deep breath, and exhaled. His face was still tinged red, and you had no idea if that was a good sign or if you were about to be executed on the spot.

"Why," he finally said, "did you write this?"

You hesitated, rubbing the back of your neck. "It was just a joke. Grim and I wrote it for fun."

"Fun," Riddle echoed, a slight twitch in his brow. "So, you thought it would be fun to create an entire guide about me?"

"When you say it like that, it sounds weird."

"It is weird!"

You winced. Was it Rule #18 red or Rule #5 red? Either way, this was not looking good for you.

(Back in your world, you used to laugh when your friends talked about the embarrassing things they did and noticed about their crushes. You thought it was ridiculous. Now the tables have turned and you feel like you want to throw up.)

"Look," you said, shifting uncomfortably, "I didn’t mean for you to see it. I mean, it’s not like you don’t do all those things–"

Riddle inhaled sharply. "That’s not the point!"

There was another terrible pause. You could feel your soul slowly trying to escape your body.

Then, he huffed, closing the book with a thunk against his palm. "So," he said, eyes locking onto you, "Rule number 53."

Your stomach flipped in a very bad way.

"That one was a joke," you blurted out.

He raised an eyebrow. "Was it?"

You swallowed. "Mostly?"

His lips pressed into a thin line. "Mostly," he repeated. He tapped his fingers against the book, thoughtful. "I find it strange, Prefect. You wrote a rather detailed guide about me, yet you conveniently included that rule."

You remain silent.

"I am asking again. Is it true?"

You opened your mouth. Shut it. Opened it again.

"...Yes."

Riddle stared at the floor. His fingers curled slightly. You silently braced yourself for the rejection. All you had to do was not cry and act as level headed as you could.

Then, after a long pause, he muttered, "I think I should make my own rulebook."

You blinked. "Huh?"

He looked up, red-faced, but determined.

"Rule #1 : If the Prefect likes me, they are not done for."

You felt your face burn. Embarrassment rising up again.

"Rule #2," he continued, flustered, "If the Prefect insists on writing about me, they should expect me to read it and respond accordingly."

You could feel yourself sweat. "Riddle–"

"And Rule #3–"

He hesitated, then turned away, mumbling, "...They should expect me to like them back."

Your heart soared and you almost cried in relief.

Riddle sighed, covering his face. "This is the worst rulebook ever."

But there was a small, shy smile peeking through his embarrassment.

#[𓇼] The Steambird's latest #twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #riddle rosehearts #twst riddle #riddle rosehearts x reader

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dixonsdarkelf · 3 months ago

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You're An Amateur (but Baby, I'm a Pro): Daryl Dixon & Fem!Reader

Summary: During a run with Daryl, you find yourself a little sexy surprise and catch your new boyfriend with a look in his eye you’d never seen before. When leaving the department store, the last thing he said was you’d talk when you got home. Well now you were home, and it was time to have that talk…a talk that escalates into an experience you’d never forget.

Main masterlist Daryl x Reader Masterlist AO3 link

Genre: Fluff & smut, smut with feelings

Era: Alexandria, pre-Saviors

Word count: 7.1k

Part 1

Warnings: Smut, heavy on the MDNI, we got virgin!reader and a flustered Daryl in this one, Reader is in her late 20s/early 30s, virginity loss, oral (both f & m receiving), Daryl talks Reader through giving a blowjob, Reader has hair long enough to be held in a ponytail, next part will contain more smut, I'm incapable of writing smut without a lot of feelings, mentions of blood (in reference to blushing, i.e. blood rushing to your cheeks), pet names (angel mostly)

A/N: Hi so I’m super fucking anxious to post this. This is technically part two to this drabble I wrote back in December. Yes I know it was a Christmas drabble and it took me like almost three months to write part 2 but ssh we're not gonna talk about that. This is also @dixons-sunshine’s very belated Christmas gift, and thank you to her for being my second set of eyes on it and convincing me to post it 🖤 This is only my second attempt at smut and my first x Reader smut, so please be gentle because I’m a sensitive bean. The title is from the song "Amateur" by Scene Queen (headphone warning should you choose to listen to it, which I highly recommend because she's one of my favorite artists).

The familiar scent of your home greeted you, encapsulating you in its warmth as you stepped inside. After a successful department store run with your new boyfriend for winter clothes, you were grateful to be back in the warm & cozy comfort of your home. You loved going on runs with Daryl, but as the cold that had only lingered at first made itself permanent, you were a little more appreciative of the warmth within the walls as you returned home.

“We did good today,” you mused, setting the bags you’d been carrying on your arms at your feet, “got really lucky.” You pushed the bags along the wall next to the door to clear the walkway. Your eyes fell to your backpack, a smirk forming on your lips as you envisioned the Santa babydoll lingerie tucked away inside.

Yes, you’d certainly gotten lucky. In more ways than one.

“Mhm,” Daryl mumbled, following close behind and letting the heavy door swing shut behind him.

Taking your coat and placing it on the hook, you watched the archer stride into the kitchen, setting a couple more bags on the counter. You admired his form, watching him pull some articles of clothing from a bag and started sorting them into piles. Whether they were divided by types of clothing, men’s and women’s, or some other method, you couldn’t tell.

You took some time to observe him, trying to calm your mind as it wandered in all sorts of directions. The tension between you was thick, the unspoken words you knew were coming hanging heavy in the air. There were things to discuss, things Daryl had alluded to back at the department store. Really, one thing—and it was on both of your minds.

This was it. You were home, and it was time to have a chat.

“So…you wanted to talk?” Walking to the living room, you rested back against the couch. Casually throwing your bag at your feet, you bit you bottom lip, anxiously awaiting his response.

After a moment, he looked up from the shirt in his hands, setting it down haphazardly on top of one of the piles. “Hmm?”

“Back at the department store,” you reiterated, keeping your gaze on him as you leaned back further to get comfortable, “you said you wanted to talk.”

There were a few beats of silence, like he was thinking back to the encounter you were referencing, before he spoke again. “Right. Did say that, didn’t I?”

You answered with a nod, your hands interlaced in your lap, twirling your thumbs together to calm you ever-growing anxiety. A few beats of silence passed before he finally joined you in the living room. He sat at the opposite end of the couch, his leg almost immediately beginning to bounce. Like he was skittish. Like he was uncomfortable.

“So what did you want to talk about?” you inquired. You knew damn well what he wanted to talk about, but you left the floor open to him, hoping he’d steer the conversation in the direction you knew it was going.

Rather than responding with words, he nodded toward your backpack, clearly flustered. You nodded in understanding, wanting to approach the subject gently and not make him more uncomfortable than he already was. “You wanted to talk about the lingerie I found, right?” you inquired, tapping your bag with your foot.

“Mhm,” he mumbled, his eyes darting around the room, “more so the…other stuff ya mentioned.”

“About how I’ve been thinking about taking things further?” you teased, hoping maybe a little humor would lighten the mood. Despite the confidence in your flirtatious tone, your cheeks turned a baby pink. You trailed your fingers from his shoulder down his arm, your touch a whisper, barely there. “Having a little fun between the sheets with you?”

He didn’t say anything at first, just watched your hand travel down his arm. You felt goosebumps begin to form the lower you got, stopping at his forearm and drawing tiny circles on the inside above his wrist, all while keeping your touch light as a feather.

When he didn’t reply, you continued. “We’re adults, Daryl. Adults in a relationship, nonetheless.” You tilted your head to look at him, hoping it would encourage him to reciprocate the eye contact. “You can say the word ‘sex’. And we can talk about it.”

He responded with a flustered grumble, his gaze periodically switching between his feet and some random object in the kitchen. An exasperated sigh slipped from between your lips as you brushed fallen hair from your face.

“Daryl, I get that you’re nervous, but just talk to me. Please?” you asked. It came out more as a whine, like you were practically begging him to say something, anything. “Like I said before, I’ve been thinking about it. And I know you have to.”

“How d’ya know?” he wondered, finally ripping his gaze from whatever he’d been staring at to meet yours. His tone was curious, but something in it told you that he already knew the answer.

“Well for one, there was the way you were looking at me in the department store,” you recollected, your heart fluttering as you thought back to that moment. The way his eyes traveled over your body slowly, carefully, lingering over your curves a moment longer than the rest. The glint in his eye as he watched you fiddle with the soft fabric of the bodice…

You blinked rapidly a few times, shaking yourself from your daydream. “Second, I’ve noticed some…changes in you.”

He subtly bit his lip, his next question hesitant, like he was afraid of your answer. “What kinda changes?”

“I think you know what I mean,” you replied. Your fingers continued drawing those little patterns on the inside of his wrist, and you bit your tongue to keep yourself from giggling. “You’ve gotten much more confident with your hand placement…and I’ve been waking up with your morning wood pressed into my backside more and more in the last week.”

That sweet heat returned to his cheeks, pulling that sly giggle from you that you were fighting so desperately to push down. “There’s no need to be ashamed, Dar,” you assured, giving his wrist a tender squeeze, “it’s…hot.”

“Hot?” he asked, his tone indicating that he didn’t believe you.

“Yeah. You’re getting all worked up just by looking at me and letting your mind wander. That’s hot,” you repeated.

His cheeks flushed, the pinky-red shade steadily creeping down his neck. “Glad ya think so.”

“So….does that mean you’d like to…do something about it? The obvious tension, I mean,” you inquired.

He grumbled again, but less flustered this time, like he was starting to relax. “If you do…” he paused briefly, as if he was collecting his thoughts, “then yeah. Sure do.”

You were practically beaming, a warm feeling spreading through your chest at his admission. You tapped your foot, fighting to restrain the urge to giggle and kick your feet. But before anything was to happen, there was an important piece of information you needed to share.

“Daryl…there’s something you should know before we…” your voice trailed off, your words getting lost in the thick silence that hung in the air between you. You dropped your gaze to the floor, swallowing hard in some pathetic attempt to push your nerves down. “I…I haven’t…umm…”

Your words dwindled away, but that didn’t matter. He knew exactly what you were hinting at.He finished your sentence for you. “Ain’t done nothin’ like this ‘fore?”

All you could do was nod sheepishly. Hearing him say the words out loud somehow felt like a gut punch. Made it real, made it something you couldn’t hide from him anymore. Not that you intended to hide it from him, but if you said you weren’t worried about him finding out, you’d be lying, and you were no liar.

For what felt like hours, the two of you sat there, the only sounds being your breathing and the ticking of the clock on the wall. After a minute or so, he finally spoke up.

“No shame in that.” The statement was meant to be reassuring, but it did little to comfort you.

“Then why are you being so quiet?”

He shrugged, unconsciously drumming his fingers his leg. “‘M’surprised someone like yourself hasn’t experienced that.”

The butterflies in your stomach were working overtime, and your mind was heading full-speed in all the worst directions. “What do you mean?”

He turned his body toward you slightly as he spoke, resting an arm across the back of the couch, fingertips barely grazing your shoulder. “Someone so…beautiful, kind…someone people like so much.”

You didn’t fight back the grin this time, letting it stretch from ear-to-ear, internally laughing at yourself for worrying he was going to say something much worse. You should’ve known better. “Guess I just…never met someone I was interested in enough. That I was attracted to enough.”

“And now ya have…and you’re sayin’ that person’s me?” he asked, his words coated with a hefty layer of skepticism.

“Yeah.” You paused briefly, only long enough to lift your eyes to look at him. “I am.”

He stifled a chuckle, his smile widening, and he even looked a little proud. “Guess I’m honored.”

Your giggle permeated the awkward silence. “You should be.” Though his sentiment offered you some reassurance, there was still one question plaguing your mind. “It’s not like….off-putting?”

“Ain’t sure why it’d be off-puttin’.”

“I don’t know, just…it’s been off-putting to people before. Because I “wouldn’t know what I’m doing”,” you clarified, using air quotes at the end of your sentence.

“Like I said, no shame in that. First time for everythin, right?” His fingers that had been only previously grazing your shoulder traveled closer, lazily caressing the crook of your neck.

“I guess that’s true.” Adjusting your foot, you accidentally knocked your bag over. During the whole conversation, you’d forgotten it was there, but you never stopped thinking about what sexy little surprise was tucked away inside. “Should I go put it on?”

“Do you wanna go put it on?” he asked.

“Yes,” you affirmed, “do you want to see me in it?”

The half-mumbled “mhm” he responded with left you uncertain. You hadn’t been official with Daryl for more than a few weeks, but you’d know him for much longer, long enough to be able to tell when something was bothering him that he wouldn’t confess. “If you’re uncomfortable, I don’t have to.”

“S’not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“Just don’t want ya to feel like ya gotta.”

You sighed and shifted closer to him on the couch, fully closing the space between you and resting your hand on his leg. “Look, I may be nervous, but I want this, Dar. I want you.” You kissed his cheek, his tanned complexion growing hot under your touch. “I’ll be right back.”

You took your backpack and swung it over your shoulder, giving him a playful wink before making your way upstairs to your shared bedroom. Your heart was pounding in your chest, rattling your ribcage. The butterflies in your stomach were activated by both excitement and anxiety.

You laid the lingerie out on the bed, flattening it smooth and taking a moment to admire it. You couldn’t believe how lucky you’d gotten. You’d been itching to talk sex with Daryl, to take thing further with him physically, for some time now. But you needed that last little confidence boost to push you to do it, and it seems today, you’d gotten that push. It had to be a sign.

Your shirt came off first, followed by your bra. You slipped the babydoll over your chest, hooking the back and adjusting yourself in the cups. The flyaway bodice swayed around your hips before stilling, the fluffy trim at the bottom tickling your soft skin. Sliding off your jeans, you kicked them into the corner of the room near the beat-up plastic laundry basket, lastly removing your panties and tossing those in as well. You took the satin red thong and slipped it on, adjusting it to be more comfortable—as comfortable as a G-string could be, at least.

You admired yourself in the mirror, doing a few twirls, watching the satin catch the light. You had wanted this. God, you had wanted this for so long. Wanted him for so long. All that aside, you would’ve been lying to yourself if you had said you weren’t at least a little bit nervous.

“You can do this, Y/N,” you whispered, taking a deep breath and watching your chest rise and fall in your reflection, “it’s Daryl. You’re gonna be just fine.”

You stepped slowly out of the bedroom and down the hallway, the chilly wood quickly warming under your bare feet. The creaking of the floor boards caught his attention, turning to you as you approached the top of the stairs, his striking cerulean eyes scanning every inch of your form. Slowly, carefully, drinking you in like you were a fine wine he wanted to savor.

You were a blessing to every single one of his senses, and he hadn’t even laid a finger on you yet.

“What do you think?” you asked. Anxious energy aside, your award-winning smile broke through as you twirled before him, letting the mesh material swirl around you in a red haze. The way your hair cascaded around you, the twinkle in your eye so bright that he could see it from his place on the couch, your bare ass hidden only behind a thin layer of mesh…

He was enthralled.

Without so much as a word, he was on his feet, moving toward you at a speed that surprised even him. At the top of the steps, he took you in his arms, his hands quickly finding your waist and caressing your sides over your lingerie. You looked deep into his eyes, and beyond all the nerves, apprehensive words, and flustered grumbles, you saw something pure, unfiltered, and heavy—desire.

“Beautiful,” he whispered against your lips before capturing them in a searing yet tender kiss.

He lifted you by the waist, slowly walking you back until you were up against the wall. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers playing with the ends of his hair as he set you down. When his hands found your waist again, they slowly traveled north, his touch light as the kiss deepened for a brief moment before he broke away. You pouted, already aching to have his lips on yours again and his tongue in your mouth.

“Can I touch ya?” he asked, his forehead resting against yours. His hands came to a rest under your breasts, the fluffy trim a surprisingly erotic yet welcome sensation against his skin.

Taking a moment to look him over, your already lust-blown eyes darkened further, your chest heaving as you gasped for air. All of the pent-up energy you’d been storing for weeks—hell, months—was pouring out of you faster than you could gain control of it. A soft and mumbled “Christ, yes” spilled out before you pulled him in again, the tip of your tongue teasing his bottom lip, begging for entrance.

He seemed a little surprised at the gesture but obliged, parting his lips enough to allow you in. You chuckled softly into the kiss, tongue exploring his mouth and swallowing every sweet sound he made. Given how surprised he seemed, you figured he had assumed you weren’t well-versed in the world of making out either. But you’d had plenty of heated sessions and got up to some bumping-and-grinding back in the day

You were a virgin, not a saint.

He cupped you over the satin, the swell of your breasts pressing against his fingertips as you inhaled deeply, your chest heaving. You swallowed his groans as he explored you, first just holding, then squeezing, and finally slowly beginning to tease you through the silky fabric. Your nipples hardened, creating small peaks that showed under the cups, and a moan slipped past your tongue as you arched into him further. That moan alone could’ve sent Daryl toppling over the edge.

Fuck, that sound was delicious.

Daryl moved closer, trapping you between him and the wall. You felt something press against the softness of your thigh, and it certainly wasn’t his leg. You giggled softly, amused by just how quickly the illustrious archer got aroused. Like it wasn’t exactly the same for you.

“Do you want some help with that?” you teased, grinding once on his hardness and feeling it twitch against you. You suppressed your own sounds of pleasure, already aching to feel him again.

He hissed though gritted teeth, fighting the growing urge to grind back. “Dun’ want ya to feel pressured into it.”

“I know there’s no pressure here, babe. I want to.” Whatever blood in your body that wasn’t circulating its way down to your core was collecting in your cheeks, the light pink quickly changing to a fire-engine red as your gaze fell to his feet. “Wanted to for a long time.”

He smirked, your reassurance seeming to further break through what remained of his flustered state as he questioned you with a teasing tone. “How long?”

“Long before we got together,” you confessed. Your body relaxed against him, the admission of your sinful thoughts feeling like a weight off your shoulders. And fuck, did it feel good. “Do you want it?”

You looked back up at him, eyes darker and pupils blown out with desire. He bit his lip, trying to subdue the remaining nerves creeping their way into his chest. “Yeah...yeah, I do.”

As your lips warped into something between a smile and a smirk, you took his hand in yours, interlocking your fingers before slipping out from between him and the wall. Pulling him gently behind you, you walked into your bedroom, trailing him over to the bed until he was backed up against it.

Your next sentence came out somewhere between an order and a tease. “Then sit down & let me take care of you.”

It was a promise you were sure to keep. And he knew that too.

Capturing him in another kiss, your hands found his chest, slowly gliding lower to where he needed your touch most. He groaned into the kiss as your fingers found his belt buckle, fiddling with the cool brass and hearing the metallic ‘clink’ as it came undone. You tugged slightly, pulling it free from the restraints of the his belt loops and blindly tossing it somewhere on the floor behind you.

“Can I take these off?” you whispered against his lips as you broke the kiss, panting like you’d been holding your breath for hours. Your thumbs hooked into his loops, and he shuddered in pleasure at the thought of what was coming next.

“Gonna be hard for ya to do anythin’ with ‘em on,” he teased. Daryl didn’t often use humor to cope with nerves, but whenever he did, it never ceased to make you laugh. The gruffness in his voice was thicker, and you could tell—and feel—that his need was growing, both physically and metaphorically.

Finding the button on his jeans, you popped it open swiftly, quickly making work of the zipper. He twitched against your hand, and you chuckled in amusement at just how badly he wanted you. Tugging on his jeans, they fell to his ankles, leaving his erection hidden behind nothing but the sheer fabric of his raggedy old boxers.

“These too?” You played with the elastic waistband, one hand remaining on his hip while the other traced patterns down his thigh, his muscles tightening under your delicate touch. You knew they had to come off for him to get what he wanted, but you wanted that consent every step of the way.

“Mhm,” he assured, that subtle pink returning to his cheeks again.

With a playful grin, your fingers danced over the elastic band, dipping under slowly and dragging them down. You pulled them around his erection, slowly releasing them and trailing your touch up his thighs again.

He swallowed hard as they hit the floor, looking like he wished said floor would swallow him whole. Your eyes immediately fell to it, watching it bounce slightly in the aftermath of being sprung free. You knew Daryl was insecure about his body for a variety of reasons, though in your mind, there was nothing for him to be insecure about. He was attractive, scars and all…and his shaft was no exception.

“You look beautiful, Dar,” you complimented, batting your lashes as you locked eyes with him, “you don’t have to be shy.”

The pink in his cheeks spread to his ears at your words of affirmation, his signature half-smile pulling at his lips, threatening to break free. Daryl never took compliments well, you’d always known that, but he’s gotten better over time. At least with compliments that came from you.

You pressed firmly on his chest, encouraging him to sit at the edge of the bed. As he sat, you drank in the sight of him for the first time. He was slightly bigger than average, veins bulging out on all sides, the tip already beginning to leak pre-cum. You swallowed hard, both to calm your nerves and to keep yourself from drooling at the appetizing human before you.

Lowering to the floor, you settled between his legs, propping yourself up on your knees and sitting back. You steadied yourself with your hands on his thighs, pressing on his knees to encourage him to spread them further. Your touch was electric, and he tensed under you, like if he was too relaxed, his pleasure would overtake him & it would be over before it even started.

His breath hitched at the sight of you—eyes sparkling, hair framing your face, flushed cheeks, and those lips…god, those beautiful lips. You were everything he wanted—needed—and more. Fuck, he had prayed for you, and he hadn’t even realized it.

“Could you talk me through it? Tell me what I should be doing?” You weren’t naive, you knew how blowjobs worked. Hell, you’d even practiced on a dildo a few times before the outbreak. But you wanted to hear what he liked, wanted to hear his voice as it continued to thicken with desire. Wanted to hear him struggle to speak the closer he got to release. The thought alone was creating a small pool of arousal in your panties.

“That what ya want?” he wondered.

You shrugged, your blush deepening from embarrassment. “Well, yeah. I don’t want to make a complete fool of myself.” You looked down briefly between his legs before locking eyes again. “You know I’m not gonna be able to take the whole thing, right?”

“’S’more than okay.” He brought his hand up to cup your face, his thumb softly caressing your cheek. “We’ll take it slow. Ya get overwhelmed, even a little, jus’ tap my thigh. Promise you’ll do that?”

“I promise,” you confirmed.

“And ya ain’t gon’ make a fool of yourself.” A breathy laugh escaped him as your skin grew hot under his hand. “Can assure ya m’gonna enjoy every second of it.”

You swallowed softly and nodded, his words of reassurance providing some comfort. “Can you hold my hair?”

He didn’t respond at first, rather just gathered your hair in his hand, forming a makeshift ponytail with his fist as the hair tie. He gently guided you forward until you were almost full aligned with his throbbing length before speaking again. “Ya good?”

You nodded and gave him a soft smile. “I’m great.”

He smiled down at you, happy to know you were comfortable. “Jus’ start with your tongue first,” he encouraged, “take it easy. No pushin’ yourself. Dun’ gotta do that for me.”

When your tongue met his sensitive flesh, he gasped, his head falling back as a deep groan followed. You moved onto him slow, swirling around and lapping up the drops of pre-cum that had collected at the tip. You took your time exploring him, feeling him, moving your tongue carefully like you wanted to memorize every vein, every ridge, every single detail of him.

You looked up to gauge his reaction, watching as his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth fell open. The sounds dripping off his lips were unbridled, sinful, and damn near pornographic. Every sound he made went straight to your core, your own arousal becoming difficult to contain with the simple G-string you wore.

If he wasn’t using every fiber of his being to hold back, the sight of you alone would’ve made him come undone on the spot.

“Good,” he praised, his grip on your hair tightening every so slightly, “keep goin’, angel.”

After a few more passes of your tongue, your lips enveloped around him, sucking the tip before slowly moving down and taking more of him in. He fought to keep himself still, the desire to thrust, even just a little, building in his chest with every passing second. But this was your first time, and he wanted it to be special for you.

“Open your mouth more,” he groaned through gritted teeth, and you quickly obliged, opening your jaw further as you took more of him in. You got about halfway before your body threatened to gag, so you stopped there, trying not to push yourself like Daryl had said.

He opened his eyes to take in the view of you, and there weren’t words for what the sight between his legs was doing to him. You, eyes glistening with his cock in your mouth, drool bubbling around the edge of your lips, looking up at him, eager to listen to his every direction, brought up feelings in him he’d never experienced before. “There ya go, Y/N…jus’ like that…”

Your blush intensified at his praises, the dark shade akin to the satin cups of your lingerie. You slowly, carefully bobbed your head up and down, swirling your tongue around him as you moved, sucking the tip as you pulled almost all the way off.

“Harder.” He didn’t intend for it to slip out like a demand, but it had, and it was a demand you were happy to comply with. You followed his order as you continued to move, making sure to swirl your tongue and keep your jaw wide.

He said no pushing yourself, but you wanted to try. When you slid back down onto him, you went further, taking just a little more of him in and causing you to almost gag. But you fought it back, catching yourself before the gag slipped out. His grip on your hair tightened again, eliciting a pleasured groan from you, every sound wave vibrating against him. His moans grew higher in pitch and more rapid, his chest rising and falling faster, his resolve to not thrust into you beginning to dwindle.

He was right on the edge, seconds from toppling over.

A stifled “tongue, baby,” was all he managed to choke out before his release hit him like a tidal wave. Hot, sticky ropes shot to the back of your throat, causing you to gasp and cough softly as he pulled out.

His body writhed as he came, white-knuckling the sheets as he spilled onto you. You continued to cough softly as you watched him, his head falling back and the vein in his neck bulging as he clenched his jaw, moans and groans slipping between his teeth. Watching him squirm like that because of pleasure you delivered sent a tingly sensation straight to your center.

He stared down at you through half-lidded eyes, watching as you coughed and cleared your throat after swallowing nearly every drop of him—every drop that landed in your mouth, at least. The sight of you before had been ethereal, but that combined with having his cum on you? Downright appetizing.

“How was that?” you wondered, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and licking it clean.

He tasted good.

Oh wow, he tasted good.

“Ya sure ya ain’t never done this ‘fore?” He had his hands placed on either side of him to steady himself, his words coming out between frantic pants as he tried to catch his breath.

You chuckled softly, flattered that your amateur skills pleased him so much. “I’m sure.”

“Then you’re a pro at followin’ directions,” he smirked, his breathing still rapid as he rode out the aftershocks of his high.

“Well, there’s plenty more where that came from,” you laughed.

You stayed like that for a minute, caressing his legs as he came down from the peak of pleasure and leaving small kisses on his upper thigh. His grip on your hair slowly loosened, locks falling between his fingers. You rested your head on his knee, staring up at him and tracing delicate patterns on the opposite one. After he fully relaxed, he eyes met yours again, smiling softly as he watched you.

“‘S’your turn,” he offered, extending a hand out to help pull you up, “if ya want it, I mean.”

You grinned at the gentlemanly gesture and took his hand. “Mhm,” you agreed, slowly rising to your feet, “just a little nervous is all.” Your gaze fell to the floor, your voice softening, words coated with vulnerability. “Worried you might not like what you see.”

The last sentence broke his heart. He hated to see you—someone so stunning, so confident, so absolutely perfect in every way—think so low of your body. “Can ya look at me?” he asked, putting an index finger under your chin and slowly lifting your head to meet his gaze again. You did so hesitantly, but when you locked eyes with him, a feeling of ease washed over you. His tone was calming, and the honesty in those stunning baby blues, and his words, soothed you. “M’gonna love what I see. Because it’s you.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks again, and despite the urge to look away, you maintain eye contact. Rather than going the self-deprecating route, you chose to believe him, hoping that if anything was truly a problem or a bother, he’d let you know.

“We’ll start slow, yeah?” He sat on the bed again, moving back and patting his leg, encouraging you to sit on his lap. “C’mere.”

Your small grin quickly widened, stretching from ear-to-ear as you stepped over You climbed on and straddled his legs, wrapping your arms around his neck. “This good?”

“’S’great,” Daryl confirmed, His hands found your hips, moving under the flowing bodice, fingers splaying out and barely touching your ass.

He initiated the kiss this time, his tongue quickly pleading for entrance. Subconsciously, you began to move, first rotating your hips in small circles. As you progressed, you began to grind on him, desperate to feel his touch, his friction, his heat where you needed it most. As the kiss deepened, you grew more frantic in your movements, grinding faster and gasping each time the satin came in contact with your clit. Sensing your desperation, Daryl kept you in place with one hand on your hip, the other slowly traveling to your thigh, creeping inward.

He didn’t even need to ask before the words came pouring out your mouth.

“Touch me, Dar,” you begged, tone breathy and your words barely a whisper.

“Ya s—“

You cut off his question with a single word, pleading with him to give you what you were craving. What your body and every single one of your senses was craving.

“Please.”

Pulling your panties to the side, he dragged his index finger through your sensitive folds, causing you to shudder and shake against him before he’d even grazed your most sensitive spot. Had you not been in the writhes of pleasure, you’d almost be embarrassed at how wet you already were.

“Feelin’ good?” he asked, more so a tease than a question.

You nodded, a soft whimper slipping from between your lips as you pulled him back in for a kiss. He swallowed that whimper and each one that followed, two fingers now hooking under your panties and finding your clit, working with expert precision.

A sharp gasp flew from your throat, the pleasure almost overwhelming as he circled you slowly, drawing it out to tease you, to make you feel good for as long as possible. The callousness of his skin against your swollen bud was intoxicating.

As the proverbial knot in your stomach tightened, you struggled to maintain the kiss. It was all becoming too much, every one of your senses overwhelmed and starting to blend together. Your head fell to the crook of his neck, your hips moving in circles as you ached to feel more.

“Need your tongue,” you moaned against him, fingers digging into his shoulder blades, like you thought you would lose your balance and fall over if you didn’t cling to him.

He tapped on your hip, fingers slowing on your clit as you picked your head up to look at him. He searched your eyes for doubt, and when he didn’t see any, he continued. “Ya sure? Dun’ want ya to feel like we’re rushing’ anythin’.”

You nodded emphatically, like you couldn’t answer fast enough. “I want it. Please. I need it,” you practically begged. You brought your arms around, hands cupping his face as your thumbs brushed his high cheekbones. “I need you.”

And that’s exactly what it was. It wasn’t just the pleasure you were searching for—it was experiencing it with him.

He smiled and peeled one of your hands from his face, kissing your palm softly before trailing one down to your wrist. He gently lifted you off, helping you sit next to him.

You moved on the bed, the soft plush of the blanket on your skin a soothing comfort to the nervous energy quickly building within you. Adjusting your position, you laid back, inhaling deeply as you played with the trim of your bodice. Your mind wandered to all sorts of unpleasant outcomes, and although you had craved this moment, dreamt of it, for months, your nerves were starting to get the best of you.

“Ya good?”

His voice cut through your worry like a hot knife through butter, and you met his gaze again, swallowing to suppress the butterflies trying to creep up your throat. “Yeah. I’m great.”

“Ya sure, angel? Lookin’ a lil’ more than jus’ ‘nervous.’”

You nodded, but the look in your eyes indicated something more. “It’s nothing I haven’t already shared. Like you said, there’s a first time for everything, right? And nerves and such, they come with that.”

“Jus’ no pushin’ yourself, remember?” he insisted. He brought a hand up to hold your cheek, pulling you in slightly and kissing your forehead. It was a tender gesture compared to what you had just been begging him for.

“I remember, Dar,” you affirmed, giving him a two-finger salute and eliciting a laugh from him, “no pushing myself, I promise.”

Thumbs hooking into the sides of your G-string, you lifted your hips. He slowly pulled them off, sliding the now sopping material over your knees and ankles, letting them fall to the floor at the foot of the bed. You parted your legs, laying your head back on the pillows and taking a deep, shaky breath. You could feel his eyes on your center, drinking you in, and you bit your bottom lip.

Sure, he’d just been touching you, but now he was seeing you, and those were two very, very different things.

He climbed back up to you, kissing your forehead once more when he saw the blush that started in your cheeks creep down your neck. “Don’t got nothin’ to be shy ‘bout,” he reassured, “you’re gorgeous.”

You blinked your eyes open, meeting his, and the look in them was soft, promising. It pulled a grin from you, albeit a small one. “Told ya we’d take it easy,” he reminded, echoing his earlier words, “ya wanna stop, jus’ tap my head.”

“I can do that,” you replied.

You had zero intentions of stopping, though.

As he walked to the end of the bed and settled down. “Now just lay there ’n look pretty.”

He hooked his arms under your legs, pulling you closer to him and eliciting a giggly gasp from you. His hot breath ghosted your aching flesh, spiking your arousal. He started slow, placing feather-light kisses up your inner thigh until he was just shy of your core, repeating the same on the other thigh. Each one sent little sparks through your entire body, and you fought to keep from squirming. Those kisses trailed to your heat, still feather-light, like he was afraid you would fall apart if he pressed just a bit too hard.

Well, you would fall apart, but not in the sense of you being fragile.

And as his tongue made contact with your slit, dragging through your wetness slowly, a sultry moan rose from the depths of your chest, slipping out before you could do anything to stop it.

He flattened his tongue, repeating the same gliding motion from bottom to top, drawing the motion out over your clit. Your eyes began to roll back, and you squirmed against him, forcing him to tighten his arms around your thighs to keep you in place.

His fingers felt amazing, but his tongue was euphoric.

You arch your back, pressing into him, wanting—no, needing—every bit of pressure possible against your swollen bud. Even a split second without his touch felt like hell, and you began to grind against his face, desperate for more.

“Fuck, baby,” you moaned, words spilling out like a filthy prayer.

Threading your fingers into his hair, you tugged softly, hips bucking instinctively. He chuckled against you, the vibrations channeling straight to your clit. Your mind was clouded, tunnel vision focusing on your pleasure as every other thought blurred together and faded into the background.

For a brief moment, you pried your eyes open and looked down at Daryl, nestled between your legs and going to town on you like you were his last meal. He worked with a precision and voracity you’d never seen before. He was determined to make you come, to be the first to give you that taste of ecstasy you’d only given yourself. He wanted to taste you. He wanted to consume you.

He wanted to devour you like a starved man.

As your head falls back again, his tongue penetrates you for a brief moment, dipping in and out of your entrance before making quick work of your clit again, flicking and lapping the sensitive bundle of nerves. Somehow, no matter how much pressure he applied, it was never enough—you needed more, more, more.

“C-c-close,” you choke out. tears welling in the corners of your eyes. The pleasure was almost too intense, too overstimulating, too much.

With that, he dips his tongue in again, deeper this time, wriggling it inside you. Your walls flutter around him, squeezing him. He thrusts his tongue a few times, looking up briefly to watch your squirm, your mouth fallen open and face contorted in pure ecstasy. Abruptly, he pulls out and presses his lips to your clit, sucking hard.

And it pushes you right over the edge.

The knot in your stomach snaps, and your release crashes over you, your back arching sharply as you spasmed against his face, coating him with your release. Every cell in your body was singing, vibrating in ways you’d never experienced before. You continued to grind on him, your hips bucking against your will as your body sought to prolong your pleasure. Your grip on his hair tightened, pulling him into you further.

That was far better than any orgasm you’d ever given yourself.

He continues to taste you through your high, his tongue slowing as you came down from the peak of pleasure. His licks turned into small flicks, which turned into kisses. After a minute, he stood up, crawling into bed next to your relaxed form. You looked beautiful laying there—chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath, your body still twitching as the aftershocks rolled in, completely spent with a dazed look in your sparkling eyes.

You didn’t look at him at first, just continued to stare at the ceiling, blinking occasionally and waiting for your breathing to return to normal. You could see him in your peripheral, rolling over onto his side to face you and propping himself up on one elbow, his fingers finding a chunk of your hair and twirling it absentmindedly. The flush that started as a glowing red faded to a dull pink, and you swallowed, the fog beginning to lift from your mind.

“That good?” he asked, reaching out to tuck a lock of stray hair behind your ear. Though his tone indicated teasing, he was being genuine. Of course he wanted to know how your first experience was. He wanted to make sure you felt good & you were happy. And he certainly checked both of those boxes.

His finger in your hair broke you from your stupor, and you turned your head to him, meeting his gaze. You smiled softly, and his signature half-smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he observed you in your blissed-out state.

“Good? Holy shit,” you sighed, giggling faintly. You pulled him down by the collar of his shirt and kissed the tip of his cute little button-nose, “best head I’ve ever gotten.”

He chuckled softly, almost in protest. “Ya dun’ got nothin’ to compare it to.” He threaded an arm under you, pulling you against him and wrapping his other arm around you to hold you in place, creating a little nest of sorts. A nest of comfort.

“I don’t need to to know it was the best. Because it was you,” you assured, locking eyes again as you relaxed further into him, a content sigh slipping through your lips, “we continue later?”

“Only if ya wanna,” he replied, reaching up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, taking his sweet time doing so. Just like he always did.

You nodded, the motion barely noticeable as you yawned against him, burying your face in his chest. “Right now, I just want to snuggle with you.”

And as you lay there, bundled up in his nearly-suffocating warmth, your eyes fluttered closed, another yawn escaping you. The cozy atmosphere and post-orgasm relaxation lulled you into a peaceful slumber, Daryl holding you the entire time.

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milatiny-xx · 8 days ago

Text

moonshine | j.wy

⊹₊⟡⋆ Westeez Series | Part 1 of 8 ⊹₊⟡⋆

pairing: ranch hand!wooyoung x fem!reader summary: He's good with words and even better with his hands. tags: cowboy/wild west AU, widow!reader, alcohol, NSFW/18+/MDNI (oral—f receiving, fingering, dirty talk, oral fixation, P in V unprotected sex—WRAP IT FRIENDS!!!) wc: 9.1k a/n: it's heeere!! this took me AGES and turned out wayyy longer than i expected lol but i'm so excited to finally be posting this!!! jung wooyoung the things YOU DOOOO

⊹₊⟡⋆ masterlist | taglist ⊹₊⟡⋆

PROLOGUE

“I don’t know how I’m gonna get it all done,” you sigh, your finger anxiously tracing the rim of your glass. “There ain’t enough hours in the day to do everything I need to keep the ranch going and look after the house and take care of all the finances and…”

You groan, running your hand over your face.

“It’s still only been ten months since he passed, darlin',” Ed’s smooth, low voice is a comfort. He rests his calloused hand on top of yours. “Give yourself a little grace. I’m sure Billy wouldn’t wantcha runnin' yourself ragged like this.”

A pang shocks through your chest at the mention of your late husband’s name. Ten months…you can’t believe it’s been that long. It feels like an eternity and the blink of an eye at the same time. You should have prepared more. You had plenty of time. Billy fought tuberculosis for four years before he succumbed to the disease.

But the truth is that you weren’t ready for him to go. You certainly weren’t ready to handle all of the work he left behind.

“I know, Ed,” you reply. “I just don’t know what to do.”

Ed Milton, one of the kindest and warmest men you’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, is a friend of Billy’s father. He was close with your husband. He looked after the both of you like you were his own children. His wife, Lily, has brought you stew and cornbread more times than you can count since Billy’s death.

“You thought about hirin' some help?” Ed asks.

You perk up a tad, a faint glimmer of hope glinting in the distance.

“Well…no, actually. I guess I been too busy sortin' out all the paperwork. I hadn’t even thought about it.”

“I think you should hire a ranch hand. Somebody who can look after all the farm work so you have more time to deal with the business side of things.”

You nod, considering his suggestion. Although the idea has you practically salivating at the thought of a full night’s rest, your mind is quickly clouded with questions and worries.

“It sounds wonderful, but I wouldn’t know where to start with all that. I mean, where do you get one? How much do you pay ‘em? How do I know I can trust him if I do hire him?”

“Alright, okay,” Ed holds up a hand, telling you to rein yourself in. “I know the ranch is everything you have, and you don’t wanna rush into anything. Since you’re spread too thin as it is, why don’t I ask around and see if I can’t find a suitable one.”

“Ed, I couldn’t ask you to do that for me.”

“Nonsense. You’re like a daughter to me, Y/N. This is the least I can do. Please, let me help.”

You hesitate, guilt swimming through your blood like a snake in water. Ed’s eyes are glassy, eyebrows furrowed, deep wrinkles spreading across his forehead. With a heavy sigh, you nod.

“Alright.”

PART ONE

You’re sitting at the writing desk in the parlor, working and reworking math equations to balance the books for the ranch. A sharp knock on the front door startles you. You glance up at the grandfather clock in the corner. Nine o’clock. Right on time.

You stand, flattening the pleats of your skirt and tucking a strand of stray hair behind your ear, before making your way to the door. You swing it open, and your breath is knocked from your chest.

The man who stands on the other side is not at all what you had been expecting. Ed wrote you last week to tell you that he’d found a ranch hand who came highly recommended. He sorted the details out on your behalf and set today’s date as the ranch hand’s first day of employment. You expected to see an older, grizzly, possibly greying man with a God-awful handlebar mustache or mutton chops or something.

But who you’re looking at is nothing of the sort.

This man is medium-height with a solid build, his broad shoulders clearly visible even underneath his button-down shirt. His face is young and smooth, no sign of a handlebar mustache to be seen. His plump lips are turned up into a polite smile. Your gaze traces up his nose, a straight, slender bridge with a gentle curve at the tip. His eyes are dark but soft, trained on you and set underneath a mop of raven black hair.

He’s young, fit, and very handsome.

“Good morning, Mrs. Reynolds,” he says, tipping his hat respectfully.

“H-hello,” you stutter.

He stares at you, dark eyes friendly and focused. You know you should speak—welcome him to the house, thank him for taking the offer, anything—but you can’t move your mouth. He clears his throat and shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

“I’m Jung Wooyoung,” he continues. In response to your continued stunned silence, he adds, “Your ranch hand.”

“Oh!” you reply, finally managing to snap yourself back to reality. “Y-yes, of course! I’m sorry. Too much on my brain, I guess.”

You laugh nervously, brushing your hand across your hairline. He smiles politely, dimples forming on either side of his mouth. “That’s quite alright, ma’am.”

“Oh, please, call me Y/N. I-if you’d like. I…” you laugh nervously again. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’ve never done this before. It’s always just been me and my husb—well it was me and Billy…uh before he—er, d-died. Anyway, this is brand new to me, and I’m not really sure how it all works just yet.”

He chuckles, the sound deep and breathy. His head dips so that he’s glancing up at you from beneath the brim of his beige cowboy hat. His lips are curved in a crooked smile, dimples still showing.

While you try to control your breathing, your eyes drop down to the small suitcase propped against his leg. You gasp.

“Oh! I’m sorry. Again. Let me show you to the bunkhouse, where you’ll be stayin'.”

You cringe and curse at yourself as you step onto the porch. You scold yourself sternly inside your head as you lead him across the dirt path from the main house to the bunkhouse. Opening the door, he steps inside. His head swivels as he takes in the small space. The wooden floor and walls creak and groan under your weight and the small window is crooked on one side. The only items inside the house are a metal-framed bed with a quilt, a small table with a pitcher and a basin for water, an old rocking chair, and a wooden stove for a fire.

“It ain't much,” you say, “but if there’s anything I can get you to make it more comfortable, please let me know. The outhouse is just out that back door there.”

He gently puts his case down beside the table and sits on the bed. He offers another tight-lipped smile.

“It’s great. Thank you, ma’am.”

You nod, returning his grin.

“I-I can leave you for a little while to unpack your things, if you’d like.”

“No, that’s alright. I can unpack later tonight. If you wouldn’t mind just showing me to the barn and letting me know what you’d like me to get started on, I can go ahead and get to work.”

“Oh…of course. Follow me.”

You scold yourself again, feeling like the world’s biggest idiot. He must think you’re the dumbest woman alive.

You fidget with a loose thread on your bodice as you lead him out of the bunkhouse and to the small barn across the way. You reach for the latch to the door, yanking it to the side. It sticks for a moment, like it always does, but with one additional tug it slides free. You stumble slightly, slamming your hand ungracefully onto the wooden wall to stabilize yourself. You feel heat spreading across your cheeks and ears as you sheepishly look up at him.

“Bolt's a little rusted out,” you try to explain. “It sticks a little. You gotta yank it pretty good. Uh...this is the barn. It’s small and…well, it’s a mess, but this is it.”

You glance around, placing your hands on your hips. He steps inside, taking inventory of everything there. Half-picked over hay bales lay haphazardly around, various tools are strewn all over, feed is scattered across the dirt floor. You’re suddenly extremely embarrassed. You should have found time to tidy up.

“Mr. Milton said you needed help looking after the animals. What can I do?”

“Chicken coop’s out back,” you gesture to the other side of the barn. “Pigs are out there, too. Horses and cattle are normally out in the field in front of the main house. We only move ‘em in here if bad weather rolls through. Most of the animals take care of themselves. Just make sure they’re fed once or twice a day and that water troughs are full. Horses are groomed, stalls are mucked. Don’t worry about the eggs, I can take care of those myself.”

“What about repairs? Anything broken that needs fixing?”

“Oh, um, nothin' major. A few of our fences could maybe use some work, but you really don’t need to feel obligated if you don’t want to. I mostly just need help with the animals.”

He nods.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll get on taking care of the animals and then, if it’s alright, I’d love to have a look around the whole property to see if anything else needs some attention. Starting with this…”

He brushes past you. Angling his head to peer underneath the bolt to the barn door, he taps it with his fingertip.

“Yeah…” he mutters. “I’ll get this fixed up today.”

“Oh…that would be wonderful. We have tools…around.”

You chuckle awkwardly. He nods, shooting you that dashingly handsome crooked smile again.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Alright, well...I’ll be in the main house. If you have any questions or need anything, just let me know.” You turn to leave, biting a way a girlish smile when something occurs to you. You glance over your shoulder, “Oh, supper will be served around six. You like beef stew?”

“Yes, ma’am. Six o’clock.”

You nod to confirm before turning away. As you walk back to the house, you feel a faint tingling sensation in your chest. You try to ignore it while you settle in to finish your work, but it nags at you like a fly all day long.

Supper is awkward, almost unbearably so.

Exhausted and distracted by today’s unexpected turn of events, you slightly burn the potatoes in the stew. Ears fire red from the combination of the oven’s heat and embarrassment, you slide the overcooked meal in front of Wooyoung at 6:30 instead of six.

You apologize profusely, but, to his credit, he genuinely doesn’t seem to mind. He eats up every last drop of the stew, compliments your cooking, and then excuses himself to get back to work. You eat in relative silence, aside from whatever polite small talk you could muster.

As you scrub the dishes clean, you glance up at the framed photograph of Billy that you keep in the kitchen. Sadness ricochets through your body. You smile weakly.

“I’m a mess, huh?” you mumble to the photo.

That night, you toss and turn in bed. You finally will yourself to sleep, vowing to be more composed in front of your new employee tomorrow.

PART TWO

Within a month’s time, you’ve settled into a rhythm. Each morning, you wake at six a.m., two hours later than you used to. You stoke the fireplace and heat water for coffee. After dressing, you head out to the coop to gather the eggs and milk the cow. Then, you make breakfast.

Wooyoung comes to the house around seven to eat with you. Your morning meals together are usually quiet, but you’ve grown rather comfortable in the silence. He eats quickly and then heads out to work.

Then begins the fun: chores. With Wooyoung taking care of the animals, you have much more time to upkeep the inside of the house. You wash dishes, do laundry, dust and sweep, mend clothes, tend to the garden, and any other household chores. Wooyoung usually skips lunch, just taking some dried jerky and a biscuit along with him to the field. Normally, you eat a small meal alone.

You spend the afternoon hours working on business matters—tracking expenses and earnings, writing letters to cattle salesmen, preparing orders for supplies. The work itself is mind-numbingly boring. But it’s your favorite time of the day. Because you can see him.

You sit by the window in the parlor, having discovered that it’s the perfect seat from which to watch your handsome ranch hand work.

At first, you just found it interesting to observe him. You felt like you were learning while you watched him mend broken fences and chop firewood. You admired the softness of his hands while he inspected the cattle and horses. His expertise was inspiring.

Each evening, Wooyoung comes to the house for supper. Each and every day, no matter how badly you may have butchered the meal, he devours it like it’s his first time tasting food. Like a true gentleman, he always washes his hands and face and removes his hat and dirty boots before coming inside for supper.

After supper, he usually goes back to work. But, sometimes, if he has things to tend to inside the house, he sits with you for a while as you sew. He complimented your needlepoint once.

You were so flattered that you’d started working on a gift for him. A few weeks ago, you’d been hard at work planting bluebells in front of the main house. When Wooyoung came in for dinner, he said how much he liked them, talked about how beautiful they were. You’d decided to make him something special as a thank you.

He’s settled in nicely, clearly comfortable here at your ranch. The first couple of weeks, he’s quiet and polite. He always calls you ma’am and tips his hat and does his work without complaint. It’s easy—to talk to him, to joke with him, to be with him. He has been nothing but professional.

So, when you absentmindedly glance out the window one day to see him working in the field, completely bare from the waist up, your heart jumps into your throat. You do a double take. Your fingers instinctively crumple into the piece of paper under your hand.

The hot July sun beats down on him, the golden afternoon rays illuminating the streaks of sweat across his back. You gulp as your eyes rake over him. His muscles shift and tense as he hammers a nail into the fence. One small jagged scar cuts across his otherwise smooth skin, making you wince as you imagine what could have caused it. Two black lines adorn the middle of his back, just under his neck. Tattooed words, too far for you to read.

He turns, lifting an arm to wipe the sweat from his brow. Your eyes widen as they trail down his torso. His stomach is ribbed in muscle all the way down to where his trousers hang low on his hips. You force your gaze back up before it can dip any lower.

But looking at his face might be even worse. Strands of his long raven hair are stuck to his sweaty forehead. Beads of sweat drip down his jaw. His plump lips are parted, chin angled upward as he heaves deep breaths.

You raise a hand, placing it on the side of your head to block your peripheral vision. Your heart is thudding in your chest. Your stomach is churning uncomfortably. You haven’t felt this way in years. Squeezing your eyes closed, you try to calm yourself down. Instead, you’re assaulted by the image of Wooyoung burned into your memory.

You can’t focus. You can’t work.

You take your materials and move to a different room—one with no windows and no view of the field or the shirtless man toiling away in it. It doesn’t work. You grab a cup of coffee and drain it for energy. Doesn’t work. You set up a pocket watch to make yourself work for ten minutes straight. Doesn’t work.

Desperate and involuntarily horny, you resort to the only thing you can think of to relax yourself: hard liquor.

You glance up bashfully at the photo of Bill as you rummage through his old liquor cabinet and reach for the bottle of prized apple moonshine.

“Don’t judge me, Bill,” you mumble toward the photo and pour yourself a shot.

As the liquid burns down your throat, you breathe deeply. You can’t believe he’s having this effect on you. Apparently, you’ve been more touch-starved than you realized. Because of his illness, you and Billy hadn’t been able to do much. Not to mention that the TB had weakened him significantly; he was pale and almost skeletal with very little muscle mass. By the end, his back was scarred over from bed sores.

It’s been years since you’ve seen a healthy young man. An attractive, well-built young man. Cringing at yourself, you take another shot. It seems like a betrayal to Bill to feel this way. It wasn’t his fault he got sick. But seeing Wooyoung like that…raw and muscular and sexy…you need the touch of a man. And you need it now.

You down another shot. Ridiculous. You’re a grown woman and his employer. Feeling this way is wildly inappropriate. On multiple levels.

You need to get a hold of yourself.

You take another shot.

And before you know it, your head is buzzing. You haven’t had a drink since before Bill got sick. And never in your life have you ever had four shots…or five? You’ve lost track. The fact that you’re able to finish cooking dinner on time is a miracle.

As you slide the bowl in front of Wooyoung, now fully clothed, you brace yourself on the table to keep from stumbling as you sit down across from him. You handle yourself as well as you can manage and shove down food to soak up all the alcohol you impulsively drank.

Conversation flows freely between you. He teases, you giggle, he compliments your cooking, you flush. As he inhales his last bite, you study him. His hair is brushed back, resting handsomely against his cheeks. He looks calm, peaceful, and happy. He looks up, his eyes locking with yours.

“Ma’am?”

“Hmmm?” you hum, distracted.

“I got something on my face?”

“No.”

“You’re staring at me, Mrs. Reynolds. And smiling.”

You’re suddenly aware of the stupid grin on your face—you hadn’t even realized you were doing it. You drop your gaze.

“Just…glad to have someone enjoy my cookin'. Bill never seemed to like it very much.”

“Everybody’s got different taste. Maybe he didn’t like his potatoes charred.”

You giggle, shooting him a playful glare. He smiles, those damn dimples pulling at your heartstrings again.

“Ah! That reminds me," you say. "I made something for you”

His eyebrows raise, curiosity piqued. You fish through a drawer in the parlor, pulling out a pair of leather gloves. You press them to your chest, excited to hand them over after all these weeks.

“I noticed that your gloves were gettin' a little worn, so I bought these at the store a while back,” you explain, laying the gloves on the table in front of him. “I remember you sayin' how much you liked the bluebells in front of the house, so I embroidered them onto the side.”

His smile drops for a moment, eyebrows furrowed while he studies the gloves. He picks them up reverently, almost as if he’s afraid to break them. When he meets your gaze, his eyes are glassy. You would almost swear you notice his eyes drop down to your lips, but chalk it up to the remnants of your earlier buzz messing with your head. Wooyoung clears his throat and stands.

“I can’t accept these,” he says, holding out the gloves for you to take.

“What? Why not?”

“I appreciate the gesture, ma’am. But these…these are much too fine for me. I couldn’t possibly take them.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. My embroidery ain't that good,” you tease, offering a smile. He chuckles, but his eyes are still tinged with concern. “I made 'em for you. Take 'em. They won’t fit me, anyway.”

He hesitates for a moment before breathing deeply and nodding. He matches your gaze.

“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll take good care of them.”

He bows his head and turns toward the door. Your heart sinks as you watch him slip out. Emboldened by your desperation, you bolt from your chair and call out to him.

“Wooyoung?”

He freezes, glancing over his shoulder at you nestled in the doorway. His hat is nestled in his palm, propped against his chest. The orange glow from the setting sun casts shadows across his face and halo around his body. He looks ethereal, more handsome than anything you’ve ever seen.

“Would you like to stay for a while? Have a drink and maybe some cake?”

His eyes widen. One of his eyebrows quirks up in disbelief. He opens his mouth to respond but then closes it. Your heart pounds in your chest, and your fingernails dig into the wooden frame around the door. He hardens his jaw, bowing his head respectfully.

“Thank you, ma’am. But I…still have a little bit of work to do tonight,” he replies. “The fence needs a couple more boards put up, and I-”

“Leave it,” you blurt. “Don’t…don’t worry about it tonight. It ain’t going nowhere.”

He hesitates again, dropping his gaze to his hat.

“You’ve been workin' real hard,” you say. “Harder than I expected you to. Why don’t you take tonight off. You’ve earned it.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up in a smile. He nods.

Half an hour later, Wooyoung licks his fork clean, shaking his head.

“I'm not just being nice, Mrs. Reynolds, this cake is delicious,” he says.

You chuckle, waving a hand dismissively.

“It’s Bill’s mother’s recipe. I ain’t got nothin' to do with it.”

“Well, cheers,” he says, lifting the fork up to the photo of Bill.

You burst into giggles, tossing your head back. Wooyoung laughs, too. Somehow you’ve ended up on the floor in the parlor, shoes off and furniture ignored. His cheeks are flushed from the alcohol. You’ve drained the rest of the moonshine along with most of a strawberry pound cake. He seems impressed by your ability to handle the liquor, jokingly saying he was going to start calling you moonshine.

You grieve for the headache you know you’ll have tomorrow. But, right now, all you can think about is him.

“Tell me, Moonshine,” he says.

You lie down on your side on the floor and prop your head up with your hand.

“Tell you what?” you ask.

“About you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mrs. Y/N Reynolds,” he leans forward, elbows propped on his knees, “Who are you? Really?"

“Well, I was born and raised here in Texas. My daddy was a farmer, and I was raised on a small farm. I loved it. I always loved bein' outside. I didn’t mind the dirty work. Shortly after I turned twenty, I met Billy. Liked him enough to settle down and get married.”

“Liked?” His eyebrows raise. “Didn’t you love him?”

You hesitate, glancing over at the photo of Bill. When you look back at Wooyoung, your face is grim.

“I don’t know. He proposed so soon, and I…suppose a part of me just wanted so badly to be married already. I was tired of playin' the game. I hardly got the chance to really know Bill. We only had two good years together. Then, he got sick. Couldn’t get better. Then, he died.”

His gaze softens as he looks at you. That pang of betrayal slams into your chest. Why aren’t you crying? Shouldn’t you feel sad? You should be thinking about Bill, but all you can focus on is the gentle way Wooyoung is looking at you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers quietly.

You shrug.

“That’s life, right.”

You clear your throat and shift, positioning yourself next to him, your backs propped up against the sofa and socked feet extended toward the roaring fireplace.

“Alright, your turn,” you say. “Tell me about you.”

“What do you wanna know?”

“Hmmm…everything. Where were you born? What were your parents like? Did you have any sisters or brothers? How’d you get here? How’d you learn how to do all this?”

His signature crooked smile and dimples return.

“I don’t know where I was born. My mother and father died when I was two, and we were raised by the man who found us, Eli Jenkins. I have two brothers, one older and one younger. They both live in Montana. They work at ranches up there. Eli had a ranch, and the three of us learned everything we know from his ranch hands. When we were old enough, we started going out on cattle drives. We’ve been all over the west. We broke our backs during the day and then slept under the stars. Dongyoung and Kyungmi, my brothers, always wanted to go up to Montana where it snows, with the mountains and all that.”

“You didn’t?”

“Nah. I don’t like the cold,” he jokes, turning his head to shoot you a smirk.

You giggle.

“Anyway, I’ve…” his smile falls, replaced by a tight line. You straighten, sitting up. “I’ve never had a real home. Never had a woman like you in my life…until now.”

Your heart flutters. A muscle feathers in his jaw. This time, despite the alcohol and everything else, you’re certain you see his eyes drop to your lips. You allow your gaze to dip, too, tracing the fluid curve of his mouth. Your eyes flutter, threatening to close. You feel the heat of his body as he leans forward. You breathe shakily, lips parting in anticipation. His nose brushes against yours, the gentle touch small but welcome. You hear him exhale sharply, and your gut pulses. You tilt your head up with every intention of pressing your lips to his, but the second your eyes close, you see Bill’s face in your mind.

Gasping, you jerk away. You place your hand on his chest to push him back. His eyes open, brows furrowing. You shake your head, avoiding his gaze.

“I-I can’t,” you mumble. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

He pulls away, setting his jaw. He avoids your eyes.

“No,” he says quietly, seriously. “I shouldn’t have done that. It was inappropriate. I’m sorry, ma’am. It won’t happen again.”

Your mouth opens, and you almost beg him to stay, but your propriety gets the best of you and nothing comes out. You watch in silence, helpless and ashamed, as he disappears out the front door and into the night.

Your heart drops. As your mouth starts to quiver, you angrily glare at the photo of Bill, visible even from where you sit in the parlor.

“Why did you do this to me?” you whisper.

You curl your knees into your chest, letting the hot stream of tears paint your cheeks.

PART THREE

He stops coming to the house. He doesn’t come for breakfast. Or lunch. He takes his dinner back to the bunkhouse with him and eats it there. The fleeting moments where you do run into each other are painfully awkward and stiff. He refuses to meet your gaze, he doesn’t smile, he doesn’t joke. He’s professional to the point of being cold. You don’t even see him work out in the field anymore. He must have rearranged his schedule so that he handles the cattle and horses in the morning. It makes you wonder if he somehow knew how much you enjoyed watching him all those afternoons.

You feel miserable. The empty bottle of moonshine still sits in the kitchen underneath the photo of Billy, a haunting reminder of that night. You should have let him kiss you. You wanted him to kiss you, alcohol or not.

Despite you ruining everything, your body doesn’t seem to know the difference. You dream of him at night—sometimes it’s the memory of his glistening muscles in the sun, sometimes it’s his smile. Sometimes you wake up in a cold sweat. Others, you wake up burning hot, slick dripping down the inside of your thighs. You wipe it away. If someone’s going to finish you, you want it to be him and not your right hand.

You’re going on two weeks of this.

He’s done such an amazing job. He’s practically turned the ranch around. The animals are in the best shape of their lives, healthy and fed and strong. The barn is cleaner than you’ve ever seen it. The troughs are always full, stalls always mucked clean. He’s fixed the rusty bolt on the barn door, straightened framed photos inside the house that you’re too short to reach, repaired equipment, painted walls. He’s done everything you could have asked for and more. You can’t fire him.

But how much longer can you stand living like this? The agony of having him so close without being able to have him in the way you want, the way you crave?

The weather mirrors your mood today. Thick, dark clouds hover overhead. Rain drizzles onto the dirt and grass. A cold chill is in the air. You’re inside, sitting by the window in the parlor as usual. Thunder cracks in the distance as the rain begins to pick up.

You sigh heavily, gazing through the window just as you’ve done a thousand times. No Wooyoung. He’d gone into town this morning on a supply run, mentioning something about needing more nails to patch up the last bit of the broken fence.

You stare blankly across the sheets of pouring rain. Just as you’re about to look away, something catches your attention in the distance. You narrow your eyes to focus on it.

You gasp as you realize what you’re looking at. Your instincts kick in before you think twice. You shove your feet into the pair of rain boots you keep next to the door and dash outside. The dirt turns to mud under your feet as you rush to fling open the gate to the cow pen.

Somehow, one of the milk cows has escaped through the far side of the fence, right past the weak section that Wooyoung is in the middle of repairing. She’s wandering away from the house, her frantic moos almost drowned out by the downpour and the thunder.

“Bessie!” you shout.

You carefully step over the cracked pieces of wood and circle around to Bessie’s front. You curse as you realize that, in your haste to get to the cow, you forgot to bring rope. Lightning cracks, hitting a tree not too far away. Your heart jumps, panic striking through you. You nestle your shoulder against hers, pushing with all your weight. Bessie moos but begins to stumble in the direction you’re shoving her.

You pant as you throw your weight into each push, your boots slipping on the mud. Thunder cracks again, the lightning illuminating the darkened sky. You squeeze your eyes shut, fully concentrated on pushing Bessie toward the barn.

“Y/N!!” Your eyes flash open at the familiar voice. Wooyoung is sprinting toward you, unhitching the rope from his belt. “How the fuck did she get out here?!”

“I don’t know!” you yell back. “I looked out the window, and there she was!”

He moves to wrap the rope around Bessie’s neck, but you shove her away at the last second. You’re filled with sudden and inexplicable anger.

“I don’t need your help!” you shout.

“I’m not helping you!” he yells back. “I’m doing my job!”

You have no comeback for that.

He steps closer, leaning over you to secure the rope around Bessie’s neck. Your breath catches. Raindrops drip off the brim of his hat, landing on your nose. He clicks his tongue as he takes Bessie, tugging her back over the broken wooden shards, carefully watching her hooves. You watch in awe as he pulls her with ease. He tugs her across the pasture, you following at their heels like a helpless child. Wooyoung ushers Bessie into the barn like it's nothing.

He slams and locks the door behind him. You’re standing outside the barn, shoulders turned in as the rain drenches through your clothes. He grabs your arm, pulling you toward the bunkhouse. You stumble along, unsure why you’re letting him take you there when the main house is equally far away. But you let him. You snap out of your daze as soon as you’re safely inside. You whirl on him, but he initiates first.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he shouts.

“What?!”

“Why the hell would you run out into this weather like that?”

“You weren’t here! Bessie was in trouble! I had to do something!”

“No, you didn’t. You should have waited for me to get back. I would’ve handled it like I just did.”

“It’s my cow! My ranch! My problem!” you hiss through gritted teeth.

He matches your energy, clenching his jaw and glaring down at you. He reaches for the laces to your bodice, and you swat his hand away.

“How dare you!” you gasp.

“We have to get these clothes off you, or you’re gonna get sick! Your life is not worth one fucking cow!”

You open your mouth, about to yell back when you suddenly notice the state of the bunkhouse. Your anger melts. The walls have been painted, a soft eggshell white. The floor is swept cleanly, the bed pushed against the wall, the broken table leg fixed. A small red cotton pillow is perched on the rocking chair. The bed is made neatly, the quilt folded at the end. His clothes and shoes are also stacked neatly in the corner. A small lamp glows faintly on the nightstand, next to a blue ribbon and the gloves you’d gifted him.

“Oh…you…you fixed it up so nice,” you mumble. “How did you do all this?”

“I…er…this is how I spend my days off. I hope…is this okay?”

You look over at him, nodding profusely.

“Of course. It’s…wonderful. You’re wonderful,” you whisper the last part to yourself, hoping he can’t hear you.

You walk toward the nightstand, touching the gloves gently. You smile.

“You kept 'em.”

“Of course I did,” he says, like it’s obvious.

“I never saw you wear them. I...didn’t think you liked 'em.”

“Of course I like them. That’s why I don’t wear them. They’ll be destroyed. I-I want them to stay...pretty like that.”

Your gaze shifts to the ribbon and you pick it up. You raise an eyebrow as you show it to him. He stutters, cheeks flushing red.

“It must have fallen out of your hair. I found it on the floor in the kitchen. I was…I meant to give it back to you, I just…”

Your heart beats remarkably steadily considering the heat you feel. You let the ribbon slip from your fingers, crossing the small room in two steps. Your eyes never leave his, glued to his gaze like there’s a string between you. Pain is written all over his face, downturned mouth, flaring nostrils, knitted brows. You don’t hesitate, reaching up to cup his cheek. He inhales sharply.

And you pull him down to you, pressing your mouth firmly against his. He stalls for a second but then his arms wrap around you. You kiss him again. He angles his face to the side to reach you deeper. His nose presses up against yours, locking your faces together. One of his palms flattens on your lower back. The other one slides up your spine. You shudder at the sensation. His fingers snake up your neck and tangle into your dripping hair.

Your free hand reaches up to take the hat from his head, dropping it on the floor next to you. His tongue swipes along your bottom lip, and you open for him. Your fingertips thread between his hair to press him closer. Your tongues slip and slide against each other, saliva mixing deliciously.

His hands slide onto your stomach, and his fingers begin to unbutton your shirt. While he works, his lips slip from yours, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your jaw and onto your neck. Your head lolls back, mouth open. Pants fly from your mouth each time his tongue drags up your skin. As he eases your unbuttoned shirt over your shoulders, he peppers your bare skin with soft kisses. Your stomach coils as a familiar ache builds below your hips.

He straightens, leaning his forehead against yours. Your eyes close instinctually. Your head bobs forward, breathless. But he doesn’t kiss you. Instead, he anchors his knuckle under your chin and slides his thumb across your jaw.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles.

Your heart flutters. He moves to unbutton your skirt and bloomers. They pool at your feet. Before you can react, his arms wrap tightly around your waist. He picks you up and steps back once, pulling you out from your shed clothes.

Your hands slide down his chest, fingers fumbling with the buttons frantically. The image of him sweaty and bare in the field flashes through your mind. You want to see him. Now.

He pulls back, eyes black with hunger as he watches the way you rip his shirt from his chest. A gasp escapes your chest when it comes off. You greedily run your palms across his smooth chest, catching your lip in your teeth at the feeling of his muscles pulled taut. You can’t drag your eyes away from him. He smirks, a breathless chuckle spilling out.

“Like what you see, ma’am?” he says.

You open your mouth to speak but find yourself silenced. So, you just nod your head dazedly. Before you can collect yourself, his hand wraps around your wrist. He guides your touch down his abdomen. You whimper as you watch his abs contract under your fingertips. Your fingers brush over the cold metal of his belt buckle.

Your eyes flick up to meet his gaze, as if asking for permission. In response, his lips capture yours again. This time, he kisses you deep and slow. You unlatch his belt and the buttons of his pants. As you work, your core begins to throb just as fast as your pounding heart.

Distracted by his mouth, you barely even notice that he’s moving you until you’re falling back gently onto the mattress. You unlace and drop your boots as he sheds his jeans and boots. You watch, enraptured as he plants himself securely between your legs on the bed. His eyes drag slowly down your form.

“This is insanely inappropriate…” he says quietly.

A flicker of concern flashes across his face. Your breath shutters. Impatiently, you grasp at his wrist. Then you pull his hand up toward your chest. He spreads his fingers in anticipation when you place his fingers at the hollow of your neck.

“I don’t give a shit,” you reply.

“But you’re my employer. What if-”

“Yes, exactly. I’m payin' you to do a job—whatever I need. And, right now, I need you. So, if I tell you to touch me, then you do it. Or I’ll fire your ass right now.”

His eyes sparkle mischievously as his touch moves shamelessly down your chest, palm ghosting over the curve of your breasts. Your chest heaves under his gaze, as if rising to meet his touch. He nods, grinning.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He leans down and presses heated kisses to your throat as his fingers work to unlatch the hooks on the front of your corset. Your back arches into him. He sucks on your skin, his spit spreading across your chest. You lean up to slide your arms out of the corset, and he takes the opportunity to sink his teeth into your shoulder. Something in between a moan and gasp slips from your mouth. You feel his breath hot against you as he chuckles.

“You like that?” he mutters against your neck. “When I bite you there?”

You just catch your lip in your teeth. He does it again. You moan quietly, throwing your head back at the sore sensation spreading through your muscles. He removes the straps of your chemise and pulls the thin fabric down to reveal your breasts. He releases a shaky breath, both palms sliding onto the sensitive nubs. He massages your sore breasts, thumb brushing over your nipples.

He leans down to take one in his mouth, nipping at it and then swiping his tongue over the hurt. Your fingers grasp at his back and neck, fingertips digging into his skin. One of his hands wraps around the outside of your thigh. It snakes upward, pushing your chemise aside as he goes. You wriggle in his grasp, pressing your thighs against his sides.

You don’t even know what your body is doing. It’s been so long since you had this, you almost can’t remember what it felt like. Then again, it never felt quite like this will Bill.

Your hips buck up toward him, your body begging him for friction against that desperate ache between your legs. He laughs breathily against your neck but pulls back to sit up on his knees. You gasp, fingers slipping from his skin. He smirks down at you, hair tangled and wet. His eyes drop down your figure once and then he’s moving again.

You watch, frozen, as his fingertips trail back down your thigh and hook into the hem of your stockings. He pushes your leg up toward him and slides your stocking down. Then, he takes his time, pressing teasingly chaste kisses to your shin, your knee, the top of your thigh. He repeats the process on the other side.

When his eyes flick up to meet yours again, you lose your breath at the intensity of his gaze. He maintains your stare while he moves your thigh back to his mouth, only breaking eye contact when he plants an open-mouthed kiss on the inside of your thigh.

You can feel how swollen you are. You feel full, like you need to be emptied, and he’s the only person alive who could do it the way you need it.

He kisses you again on the other side. And then again, and again, all the while lowering himself down to be on eye-level with your aching core. He glances up at you again as he gently pushes your chemise onto your stomach, leaving your legs parted and open for him. A smirk tugs at his lips as he studies your pussy. He hums approvingly.

“There she is…” he says quietly. “All red and swollen. Perfect just like that.”

You squeeze your eyes closed, biting back a moan. Bill never talked to you like that.

Wooyoung kisses your thigh once more before sliding one fingertip down your dripping folds. A relieved groan escapes your lips. You wriggle as he strokes you again. His thumb finds your clit, and you buck toward him. You can’t see him with your eyes shut, but you can envision his satisfied smirk at having you so helpless under his touch. He drags his finger along your folds a few more times before he plunges one inside. You moan, your hands fisting the sheets.

“Damn, Moonshine,” he whines. “You’re soaked. All this for me?” You can’t respond because he inserts another finger, curving them up inside you. “You like my fingers, don’t you? When I do that? Yeah, baby, I know you do.”

He curves them again—you moan. He moves slowly, pulling them out and pushing back in rhythmically. Just as you’re about to beg for more, you feel a new sensation.

Your eyes flash open, and you look down to see his face buried between your legs. His breath is hot against your folds, but his tongue is the star of the show. He drags it along your wetness, flat and hungry, as if you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted. When he slides it into you, your eyes roll back into your head. Your hands move to his hair, gripping hard. Your hips jerk with every swipe of his tongue. Increasing the stimulation, his beautiful straight nose rubs against your clit with every thrust of his tongue.

You moan between pants, muttering “right there” quietly, over and over, to tell him when he’s hitting you just right. He hums into you, the vibration making you lightheaded. You can feel yourself start to crest. Your groans fade into quiet panting, your hips lift, and your eyes squeeze shut tightly.

But he lifts his head, and you deflate. You look down and whine at the sight of him—hair mussed, lips swollen, nose all the way down to chin shiny and covered in you. He smirks for a quick moment before his hands are curving around your thighs. He pulls you down on the bed and then slides an arm behind your back, shifting you up onto his lap. Your hands snap onto his shoulders to brace yourself. You gasp as you sit on him, feeling every inch of how badly he needs you, too. At some point he had managed to slip out of his own underwear, leaving him swollen and bare underneath your thighs.

“Hi, Moonshine,” he says, as innocently as he can considering your current situation.

He reaches up, tugging your bottom lip down with his thumb. You have no idea what comes over you when you dip your head, taking it into your mouth instead. You swipe his fingertip with the pad of your tongue. His eyes widen for a moment, and he just watches. Then, he tilts his head and shifts his hand to shove his first and middle fingers into your mouth. You moan onto them, tongue tasting yourself.

“Yeah? You taste good, don’t you baby? I never tasted anything so sweet. You got me hard as a rock. You can feel it can’t you? How bad I need that sweet, sweet pussy?”

You whine when he slips his fingers out of your mouth. He guides your hips up, just far enough so that he can line himself up with your entrance. You grip his shoulders hard, hissing as he slowly helps you sink onto his cock. He groans, leaning his forehead against your chest.

“Shit, Moonshine…you’re so loose,” he whispers, voice low and rasped. He chuckles. “And so, so fucking wet. You been dreaming about this, haven’t you? Dreaming about me deep inside you like this? I bet you’ve imagined all sorts of dirty things, huh, baby?”

“Yeah,” you admit breathily, fingers tugging at his hair.

“How long? How long have you wanted me like this and not said anything? Was it that night at the main house?”

“Before…” you whisper, hips twitching on him. “Long before. That day in May when you were workin' out in the field. I watched you from the window. You were bare from the waist up, sweaty and muscled—just like this. I thought I was having a heart attack, my heart was beatin' so damn fast.”

He laughs, pressing his forehead against yours.

“I wanted you from day one,” he says. “The first day I came to your door, the first second I laid eyes on you. I wanted you. Just like this, bare and sat on my lap, my cock buried deep inside, my name spilling from your lips.”

You nudge your nose against his, his words making your stomach churn. You shift on him again, begging him to move.

“Please…” you whine, pressing into him. “Please move.”

“Say it.”

“What? Say what?”

“My name. I wanna hear it. Tell me, baby. Whose tongue fucked you so good? Whose cock is gonna make you scream?”

You bite your lip, nudging your nose against his again.

“Wooyoung,” you whisper against his mouth. “Please, Woo.”

He finally obliges, guiding your hips as he shows you what to do, how he wants you to move on him. You settle into a slow circular rhythm—sitting down and then flicking your hips back just barely as you move up. One of his arms snakes around your waist, pressing your chest onto his. His other hand cradles the back of your head, pulling your lips down as he kisses you deeply.

Your hands interlock behind his neck to keep your body steady as he drills up into you. You whisper his name against his lips, over and over and over as he fucks up into you.

He dips his fingertips into your mouth, telling you, “Spit, Moonshine.” And then he moves his touch back to your clit, rubbing circles while you move on him. The coil in your stomach grows tighter and tighter. Each stroke of his fingers threatens to send you over the edge.

His thrusts grow sloppier, his breathing ragged. Your thighs are beginning to shake and burn, and you can feel yourself starting to clench.

“Woo…I can’t,” you whine against his lips.

“Then let go,” he responds, equally as breathless. “You can. Let go all over my cock, Moonshine. Coat me in you.”

Your arms tighten around his neck, pulling his face against your shoulder. He sinks his teeth into the skin as you clench around him. He holds you tightly, rocking you through each wave of your orgasm. Your brain fogs with the pleasure, taking you away from time and place. You can’t remember exactly how or when, but Woo's warmth floods into you, too. His arms warp tightly around your waist and his face nuzzles against your neck.

As you start to come back down, your legs turn into noodles. Wooyoung gently lays you back onto the mattress. He slides out and pulls up the quilt before collapsing beside you.

Neither of you speaks or moves for a few moments—you just lie together in silence. Soon, his hand finds yours underneath the quilt, fingers threading between yours.

“You did so good, baby,” he mumbles. “You took me so good.”

You roll over, resting your chin against his chest. He adjusts his head and smiles down at you.

“I’s thinkin',” you say quietly, “you did such a nice job out in the pasture and with the barn and with this place. Maybe you could work a little more on the main house, too.”

His eyebrows raise as he considers your suggestion, and then he nods.

“I suppose I could do that. It might take a while seeing as the main house is pretty big, but I could work on it here and there.”

“I’s…also thinkin' that, if you’re gonna be workin' on the main house so much, you’ll probably be spendin' a lot more time up there.” His eyebrow quirks upward, clearly unsure as to where you’re going with this. “It doesn’t seem to make much sense to have you walk back and forth every single day from this little shack to the house.”

“What are you getting at, Moonshine?”

The ghost of a smile is tugging at his lips, letting you know that he’s starting to see what you’re suggesting.

“Just seems easier if you go on ahead and move into the main house with me. Now, there is a second bedroom but it’s full of Billy’s old things. We might be able to get it cleaned up, but I suppose in the meantime we’ll just have to share my bed.”

The corner of his mouth curves up in a deep smirk.

“I suppose that sounds real nice, ma’am.”

You push yourself up, eyes studying his lips for a moment before you kiss him deeply. He holds your mouth close for a long time before releasing you. You nestle into the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of leather and fresh rain that lingers on his skin. With his arm wrapped around you, he gently strokes your hair. You trace patterns on his smooth, warm chest.

“Wooyoung?”

“Mhm?”

“This can be real,” you whisper. “This place. It can be your real home.”

“It already is, Moonshine. My home is wherever you are.”

EPILOGUE

His laughter sounds from the pasture in front of the house. That sound. You love that sound. It feels like a warm burst of sunlight cutting through a long winter. Mischievous, boyish, melodic. Unmistakably his.

You can’t help but smile as you watch from the doorway. He dashes in circles as your newest foal stumbles after him. For a few moments, you don’t say anything. You just watch and try to memorize every single detail of this perfect moment.

“Wooyo!” you shout. “Come inside for supper!”

His head snaps toward you, a beautiful smile pasted across his handsome features. Still, after seven years, he manages to take your breath away. His long black hair lays in waves over his forehead. His button down is only half-buttoned with the sleeves rolled up—just the way you like it.

He saunters over, grin softening. Under the light of the setting sun, his eyes sparkle. Affection. You recognize it immediately.

“Mmm, smells good, Moonshine,” he says huskily.

You giggle when he lowers his lips down to yours. His hand is perched above your head to brace himself on the doorframe. He leans against you, pushing his body weight on top of your figure. You sigh contentedly as your mouths move together. When he pulls back, he looks at you for a moment. His fingers brush a strand of hair behind your ear.

And then, his head tilts suddenly, and he raises his eyebrows. You shake your head. That’s his “I’m about to do something naughty” face.

“What're yo-?”

But your question is interrupted by Wooyoung’s strong arms encircling your waist and lifting you up. You yelp as he tosses you over his shoulder with ease. He starts walking inside the house. Your stomach aches as you laugh, playfully smacking his back.

“What are you doing, you idiot!” you shout, breathlessly in between giggles.

“Taking you to our bedroom.”

“But I just made dinner!”

“It ain’t going nowhere. I’m having dessert first tonight.”

He lays you down on the bed. You wrap your arms around him as he crawls on top of you. Your laughs fade to love-drunk whispers as the sun dips below the horizon on your perfect little life.

taglist: @rileylovescats @wooyoungsbrat @estrnrea

#wooyoung #jung wooyong #ateez #wooyoung x reader #ateez x reader #wooyoung fic #ateez fic #westeez series #fic #milatiny-xx #🌶️

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perrywrites · 2 years ago

Note

Aaaaahhhhhh!!!! Your writings are so good! Can I ask for Ness, Kunigami, and Nagi to fill out the roster for the “mumbling ‘i want you inside me’” blurbs you got going on? If you’re not too busy of course! Idk which characters exactly you write for tho so it’s cool if you forego Ness or smth

YES, I was already writing Shidou, so I wrote Nagi and Kunigami with him as well. The cutie Ness will have to wait his turn (if there is one, I'll see if I'm inspired) 😞😞😞 BUT ALSO, having Kunigami and Shidou on one list feels illegal and wrong ngl LOLOL, thank you so much for liking my writing 🥺🥺🥺

Absentmindedly murmuring that you want him inside of you during practice part 4;

NSFW

Includes; Nagi, Kunigami, Shidou

Part 1 (Isagi, Hiori, Bachira) and part 2 (Chigiri, Reo) and part 3 (Barou, Kaiser) and part 5 (Sae, Rin, Karasu, Otoya, Yukimiya)

Nagi: he only knows you’re here when Reo elbows him, telling him that you’re here, except this time Reo is snickering in a way that confuses him. Why is he laughing? What’s so funny about you being here? Nevertheless, unanswered questions fading away in his head, he turns to see you across the field, and he waves at you - but there’s something weird about you. Although you wave back, like you would usually do, it’s not an energetic kind of wave. It’s more lethargic, hand barely raised, and something about you seems like you’re not really there. Right now you kind of seem like the zombies he shoots in his games. Concerned and confused, he blinks at your weird behaviour, but he saves it until his break. The moment he gets his chance, he’s making his way over to you, but the closer he gets to you, the more… confused he starts to feel; your state doesn’t seem as similar to a zombie’s as he initially thought. You’re certainly seeing him, that’s for sure, but your eyes are weird. They’re all opaque and dazed, as if you’re delirious from a fever of sorts. He doesn’t know why, but something about your glassy eyes makes him antsy. “... You there?” And it’s when your dreamy smile widens, your head tilting, that he realizes even before the words leave your mouth exactly what is up with you. Ah, so that’s it. You need him right now. That’s what those eyes are for, yes, he remembers. That’s how you look up at him sometimes when he’s trying to get you into bed. Except, you’ve never said the kind of thing you just said, and those sultry words send heat straight down to his cock. Something in that breathy tone of yours tugs at his heart and he becomes restless. What are you doing to him? He shifts on his feet slightly. You can’t do this to him right now. Not right now. Don’t look at him like that right now, it’s making him think of you in a way that’s going to make going back to practice really hard - pun intended. The only kind of thoughts that are sitting in his head now are all images of him making you cry on his cock, using that pussy of yours until you pass out, pounding away until your voice is ruined. And, ah, shit, well. He can no longer deny himself, it’s too hard to resist this urge and go back to practice. So when Reo comes to tell him that practice is about to start, all he mutters is a quiet “sorry Reo” before he grabs you by the arm and drags you off somewhere. You’re the one that started this, you can take responsibility by letting him go as many times as he wants, right?

Shidou: the moment he catches that hazy gaze of yours, he’s busting his ass laughing right on the field, yelling to his teammates something about how he’s eager to score even harder with his girl looking all cute for him. Rin is the one that tells him to shut up - both of them somehow seem destined to stick together, joining the same exact league, both bemoaning their misfortune. All Shidou does is almost start a fight, taunting Rin back in response, telling him that if he’s so jealous he should stop being loveless and go get with someone already so he can hop off of Shidou’s dick already. Of course, the rest of their teammates and coach have to get involved to calm both of their asses down, and so there’s an unplanned break. Immediately, first things first, he heads over to you, all amused, noting how you’re still looking at him like that, all lovesick and yearning. Shit, damn, you’re gonna make him catch a public indecency case. “Shit sweetheart, you’re looking like you want to milk my cock, huh? Want me to bust my load inside of you or something?” Turns out, that’s exactly what you wanted, because you say that - say that you want him inside of you. Well then, he didn’t expect that - usually in the face of his desire (for you, you, only you), you had a tendency to be a bit more shy. That was nice, getting to tease you and watch you get flustered, then have you make all of those lewd sounds and faces for him - but… There was something about you being all bold and blunt like this about wanting him to fuck you that got his blood pumping. It made him want to go the extra mile in fucking you - even though he already always goes full out when fucking you - try out new positions and breed you in each and every single one, shoot his burning hot cum right into your womb as he holds you down and your perfect pussy flutters around his cock again and again. He won’t even take his cock out this time, leave it in until he gets hard enough to fuck you again and again and again - he’ll give it all to you, he’ll get you fucking pregnant, fuck his cum into you until he’s sure of conception, shit. You want that, don’t you? Just the same as him, yeah? Of course you do, you’re just as much of a fucking pervert as him. So within a moment of you saying something that hot, he has already made the decision of pumping his seed into you right then and there. That’s why he immediately picks you up, throwing you onto his shoulder and you yelp - confused and disoriented as he starts carrying you off, warning everyone to not enter the showers for the next hour or so unless they want to hear him giving it to you good. Rin scoffs from the side, glaring, saying something about practice, but Shidou laughs, having none of it. “Fuck off virgin eyelashes, impregnating my girl takes priority~” You hear Rin muttering something about him not being a virgin beneath his breath, but that’s no longer your concern. You’ve lent fuel to a forest fire and now it’s going to burn through the whole country, don’t think you can walk after how hard he fucks you. After all, Shidou Ryusei loves invitations, especially if it’s the kind you give. Although, your biggest concern soon will definitely be how you’re going to face the rest of his teammates after they inevitably hear all those raunchy sounds you’re 100% sure Shidou will make sure you’re unable to suppress...

Kunigami: although he’s not exactly an oblivious guy, he’s not exactly the most conscious guy either when it comes to this kind of stuff. He never really knew when a girl crushed on him or swooned over his gentlemanly behaviour up until he got a confession. That still holds true even now, but you’re not exactly ever ‘subtle’ - case in point, those very obvious bedroom eyes you’re giving him at the moment. He feels his ears burn, face warm - not because of physical exertion - as he tries to ignore your eyes absolutely burning through his back. Why are you looking at him like that right now? Are you even aware of the kind of dreamy expression you’re making? You don’t seem like it. God, you’re distracting him, completely. The things he’d do to be alone with you right now - goddammit, he feels like a pervert now. When his break arrives and he goes over to you, the fervent blush only deepens - you’re still looking at him like you want him to claim you, eyes all hooded and dazed, pouty lips parted open. “Hey…” He curses himself for his awkwardness even with his own girlfriend, keeping his eyes averted from you as he rubs the back of his neck. “… You good?” Is that all he can say? Really? Wow, great going Kunigami, what a great job. But before he can berate himself any further for his awkwardness - he’s always a little shy when it comes to the more intimate side of your relationship - you say something that has him sputtering, eyes wide as he looks at you. Did you - did you really just say that? The way your lips twitch up into a small smile is enough of a confirmation, and he feels his heart beat intensely beneath his broad ribcage. How do you - how do you just… say things like that. “You… You sure do love to tease me, huh…?” And then he falls silent, shifting on his leg as you giggle lightly at his words, the sound of your voice making him shiver slightly now. Do you even know what you do to him? How you make him want to push your legs up right into your chest and just pound away? Fuck you into the bed as you cry out his name? Claim you, over and over again, make you sore and exhausted as he uses your body until you’re full of his cum. Fuck, god. He should be thinking of kicking balls right now, scoring goals, but instead his head grows empty and blood rushes down to the wrong head. Why are you like this? Why do you do this to him? He curses beneath his breath, willing the wrong head to go back to sleep, and he catches you staring at the bulge all yearningly and - ah fuck, he can’t play like this. He grabs your hand and pulls you up. You’re coming with him and helping him deal with the ‘problem’ you caused, okay? Hopefully he can get a quick round in before the break finishes, or well, if he can’t… He might as well fuck you for as long as he pleases.

Also I finally realized there's a character limit per block thingy LMFAO, I couldn't figure out what was the problem the last two times and just did 2 characters I'm such an idiot 😭😭😭

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fuckyeahgoodomens · 1 year ago

Text

David and Michael in the interview with Ali Plumb for BBC Radio 1, 10th July 2023

I compared it with it's podcast version and there are some bits that are cut out in the video 👀 but I added them into the transcript ❤ 🐍😊 .

AP: If you're thinking I'm the kind of guy that rocks up to a Good Omens interview with...

Michael: With the book.

David: Oh, well done.

Michael: We'd be correct.

AP: Yeah.

[GOS2 Promo]

AP: So after such a successful and well received first series, what gives you guys?

David: Why risk it?

AP: Why risk it.

Michael: What gives you the right?!

AP: What gives you the cojones to do another one?

Michael: I know.

AP: How dare you?

Michael: It's terrible. When I wrote it.... Well, no, I mean, that's the thing, really, I mean, it's Neil and Terry's baby. And we'd always known that they'd gone beyond the world of the first book. In fact, there's stuff that's not in the first book, in the first series. So Gabriel is a character, you know, who's not there. So we'd always known that there was a lot more.

David: The ideas, the threads.

Michael: Exactly. And they even had a name for a sequel. 668: The Neighbour of the Beast. Which is hilarious.

[A cut out part that is not in the video, but you can listen to in the podcast version of it:

AP: Just take, write the joke and then work it out later.

Michael: The best Good Omens joke isn't even in the Good Omens book.

David: Yeah.

Michael: And so we knew there was all that. So I think given that, that gave certainly us the confidence to know that we were in, you know, safe hands.

David: Yeah.

Michael: And I think gave Neil the sense that it was worth exploring, going further, because I think without that, he would never have done it. If he didn't feel that Terry was part of that ride as well, then I don't think he would have gone on it.

]

AP: At the risk of reading from the scripture, this is what's in the hardback copy of Good Omens: 'Why isn't there a sequel? Neil: Well, we know how the sequel goes. We played around with the idea whilst we were on tour. We even discussed a few scenes, but we could never quite work up the enthusiasm. It'd have been fun. We'd split the cash. But we both had other things to do'.

Michael: Yes. It's very much how we felt, isn't it? We'll split the cash.

David: Yeah.

AP: And run.

Michael: You know, and if we got nothing else on.

David: Well, yeah.

Ap: And you kind of enjoy each other's company?

Michael: I mean, enjoy is a strong word.

David: We're very good at faking it.

AP: Actors. I love it.

David: Yeah, exactly, exactly.

Michael: Yeah, exactly.

AP: When, outside of a show's context or the film's context, have you felt physically, visually the silliest? Because I think in this show there have to be moments. Green screen, full orange wig hair, that you go, no one take a photo of me right now.

David: The opening scene of Season Two is set in space and we're dressed as sort of old fashioned-

Michael: That makes it sound like sort of an episode of Blakes 7 or something, it's not Sci-Fi space, is it?

David: There's nothing wrong with that.

Michael: No, there's nothing... I mean I love it.

David: Jesus,

AP: Are you stepping up saying Sci-Fi's rubbish at this-

Michael: No, no, no! Of course not! No. But what I'm saying is-

David: I don't know who this is

Michael: David is making it sound like it's like Aziraphale and Crowley are in a rocket ship.

David: It is set in space!

Michael: Well, yeah.

David: First series set in space! You can't... it's just factual.

Michael: But not like space 1999.

David: Just space.

AP: It's pure, undiluted space.

David: It's set in space. In fact, it is undiluted space. And for that, we were dressed as a traditional angel in a sort of nighties...

Michael: Yes, we weren't in silver spandex.

David: We were in nighties.

Michael: We were.

David: And we were strapped to make this floating in space - and they didn't have this on Blakes 7 - we were strapped onto these gurneys and moved up and down.

[hehe bonus pic :)]

Michael: I had a jetpack.

[again, cut out in the video but present in the podcast version

David: I mean, it looks beautiful. The finished, the finished piece.

Michael: It was very odd, wasn't it? Yes. We were both sort of just like.

David: Yes.

Michael: Hovering around each other.

David: And it was, it was ignoble. Some of the being strapped in and out.

Michael: It was. Yeah.

]

AP: At least it's not Jon Hamming into a room... full Hamm.

[GOS2 Promo]

[again, cut out in the video but present in the podcast version

David: The naked Hamm? The naked Hamm was... yeah. He seemed pretty...

Michael: He seemed very relaxed.

AP: He insisted on spending more scenes in that costume.

]

Michael: That was never in the script.

David: No, he just turned up on set.

Michael: That's how he showed up.

David: I had an idea, guys!

Michael: Yes. No, there's lots to look forward to.

AP bursts out laughing: Sorry.

Michael: And lots to look back on.

AP: This second series, having a little bit more wiggle room in terms of where you might be able to take the characters, I think it's fair enough to say. Do you feel more active input.

[again, cut out in the video but present in the podcast version

AP: Into where they might go? Because to me, they strike as having a very strong Woody and Buzz factor of...

David: Right.

AP: Bear with me here. You're both not very good at your jobs.

David: How dare you?

AP: It's true. One's no angel. One's far from evil.

David: That's true.

AP: And you kind of are fudging it constantly.

]

AP: Do you feel you have more room to kind of fudge here and fudge there and really muck about with the characters now?

Michael: I mean, I every day when we start, I like to first of all say, Neil, I've got no interest in hearing what you're going to say. This is what I think should happen.

David: Yeah.

Michael: I mean, the thing is, when you've got Neil Gaiman writing it-

David: Yeah.

Michael: -you should have just go, off you go, mate.

David: The last thing you want to do is start putting in your ideas. You don't want to limit anything that's going to come out.

Michael: It's like brain. It's like when Ringo says, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

AP: Yesterday, I have notes.

Michael: Listen, listen to what I've come up with.

AP: There's too much guitar in this.

David: Yeah.

AP: More drums.

David: Yeah.

Michael: Yeah. I think one of the things about Neil that is so wonderful is that he is so open and generous with ideas,

David: Yes.

Michael: and he's so not precious about what he's written. He is very respectful of what he and Terry created and is probably a bigger fan than any other fan, but he's not precious about it and he's very open to collaboration. In fact, he's probably the most collaborative

David: Yes.

Michael: I'd ever come across in my life.

David: Yes, absolutely.

Michael: So he loves watching what other people bring to the table, not just actors, but, you know, designers, everyone. And then I think he takes from that and is influenced by that. So it's very collaborative in that sense.

David: Yes. But if we influenced where the characters went in season two, it was sort of circumstantially.

AP: Right.

Michael: Yeah.

David: It was sort of by the act of what happened during season one and getting to know Neil and getting to know each other. But the great joy for us is turning up to these wonderful scripts and going, oh, I get to take this character here now. What a lark.

[again, cut out in the video but present in the podcast version

Michael: I mean, I wrote some very stern emails to him.

David: Yeah.

Michael: Which I was glad to see that he totally ignored.

AP: Screen time for me.

Michael: Yes, exactly.

AP: I like to think the 'I was right, or rather, you were right and I was wrong' dance was organic in the moment, not in the script. And could you give us a quick how might I recreate that beautiful...

David: Absolutely not. No. I worked with the choreographer for some days.

Michael: It's true.

David: Yeah.

Michael: It's true. And am I right in saying that... I wonder if this exists? But when we were filming it, didn't I, on the last take, I made you do it once with you thinking that you were doing it for real, but actually it wasn't for real. It was just so I could do.

David: It was so you could have-

Michael: So I could Strictly Come Dancing [british dance contest]-

David: Exactly that. Does it exist? I think it does exist.

Michael: It must have actually built... I had cards made with scores on them and David, God bless him, came in and did the whole thing again, thinking that he was doing it for the filming. And in fact, it was literally just so at the end I could go, 'SEVEEEEEEN'! [It was filmed, hehe, see here :)]

David: Yeah. But I don't want Amazon to think we're wasting your production...

AP: Money and time. No.

David: And it will show up on a blooper reel somewhere.

Michael: There was no film. There was no film.

AP: It was definitely not a waste of time. No, absolutely not.

]

AP: What would you say the fans have responded most to from the first series when you meet them at comic cons or on social media or what have you? Are there moments from the first series where they love talking about that scene?

Michael: Well, I think people really enjoy the going through history stuff, don't they? I mean, we thoroughly.

David: We certainly do. There's just something about the characters and their relationship, though, that seems to have just caught fire. I mean the amount of...

AP :I won’t read some ot the stories I’ve glanced upon.

David: Right.

AP: Yes. Fanfiction is quite….

David: Oh, I see. Oh that is not for us to read.

Michael: Oh I read it all.

AP: Oh you should. You write most of it, right?

Michael: I write most of it.

David: But it's lovely to see. And I have seen more than I can count. Aziraphale and Crowleys showing up. People dressed and always in twos, always in pairs.

Michael: Yes.

David: You know, and that's lovely. And that seems to absolutely encapsulate what the whole show is about, I think.

AP: Tattoos, fan art.

David: Definitely, yes. Seen a couple of tattoos.

Michael: Yeah.

AP: Yeah. Do you get fans in the street quoting lines or just pointing and staring? Because you two together can't really walk down the street.

David: Michael doesn't walk anywhere.

Michael: Those days are long gone.

AP: Jackpack.

David: Yeah.

Micheal: Yeah.

AP: Yeah, that's fair.

Michael: Well, I get a lot of ‘To the world’.

David: Oh, yes. Nice.

Michael: People like to… yeah.

David: Yeah.

Michael: And 'You go too fast, Crowley.’

David: Ooh.

Michael: There’s a lot of that. That gets jumped around.

AP: What about... and this is a kind of BAFTA winning question, so just send it my way.

David: Wow.

AP: Would you say these characters are in your top three most fun characters you've ever played? Because they strike me as being... I'd probably play these characters forever if I could.

Michael and David: Yeah.

Michael: This is like on what's that show when people have to say whether they want to date each other again? You go first. Top three?

David: I mean...

AP: Number two...one?

David: It'd be a weird scenario to say it wasn't.

AP: Yeah, I agree.

David: In this situation.

AP: Yeah.

David: To start something: well, I mean, it's sort in the little twenties. But... No, we did have an irresponsible amount of fun.

Michael: Yes. Not really like working.

AP: No.

Michael: I mean, I very much hope that we eventually get to, in one way or another, in one form or another,

David: Yeah.

Michael: get to play them just very, very old. And it may well be... I mean, we joke about doing a theatrical tour.

AP: And swapping.

David: I'm not joking. I'm not joking about that.

Michael: No.

David: It's a lovely little retirement plan.

Michael: I know.

AP: I'm dead keen on Good Omens 666. I think...

Michael: Oh!

AP: It's just there.

Michael: Yes.

David: Yeah, yeah, yeah.

AP: Think about it. Post apocalyptic...

Michael: Part, like Good Omens 1, 2, 3, all the way up to 666. I mean, that's a long running series. That's longer than Frasier.

AP: Big words. If a bad joke's worth telling. 666.

Michael: Telling over and over again.

AP: Over and over and over.

David: Yeah.

AP: Guys, I'm going to ask you one last favour as I wrap things up, which is I have at the front of this book, one Mr. Neil Gaiman.

[shows a copy of Good Omens signed by Neil Gaiman].

AP: He signed it and he said as he often does: Ali, have a good doomsday. Would you care to deface?

Michael: I heard the other day that someone went to interview George Harrison and the person who interviewed him said, would you mind signing this record? Whatever it know, the white album, whatever. And he went, do you want them all? And they used to all write each other's name, all sign each other's names.

David: Wow.

Michael: Because they had to do it so much.

David: Do you want to do mine?

Michael: Just get Neil to do that.

AP: Could you please sign as your man? I'll be very lucky.

Michael: On a different page.

AP: You pick your own page, deface as you will.

Michael: Yeah. Look at that. I do a little halo.

David: Oh, that's given me an idea.

Michael: Oh look at that, yeah.

AP: And then while I'm here, I'm going to do the super unprofessional thing of asking for a photograph, if that's allowed.

David: Yeah.

Michael: Oh, look at that.

David: That's perfect.

Michael: That's nice, isn't it?

AP: Beautiful. Would you mind helping me out?

David: Do you see what we've done there, Ali?

AP: Oh, thank you!

Michael: And yours is D for...

AP: I'm going to kneel behind you.

David: Sure.

Michael: I thought I should turn my M into wings.

David: Oooh.

Michael: This is, this is...

AP: Guys, as you may have worked out, big fan.

David: Cheers, Ali.

628 notes · View notes

tomriddlehyperfixataion · 9 months ago

Text

The Diary of Tom Riddle- Diary! Tom Riddle x Reader - P3

pairing: Tom riddle x Fem reader

warnings: Horcruxes, Manipulation, Tom being Tom, side effects of being possessed.

summary: 16-year-old (y/n) finds a mysterious black book on the floor of after it slips out of Ginny Weasleys caldron, curious, she picks it up and keeps it-which leads to one thing after another and discovers the book is far more than it seems.

-Part 1- -Part 2- -Part 4-

Thankfully, as she woke up, (y/n) hadn't moved from her bed throughout the night. She sighed and slowly sat up, rubbing her face, drawing back the curtains of her bed, seeing her roommates all up and getting dressed for the day. It was a Sunday, so it was Hogsmeade day for years 3 and up.

Hogsmeade sounded fun.

(y/n) looked at the diary and grabbed it, popping open her ink well and grabbing her quill, flipping open a book to the now blank page she’d been writing in the night before.

“Morning Tom.”

Tom took a moment to respond, her ink disappearing into the page as his elegant scrawl appeared in its place.

‘Good morning (y/n), did you sleep well?’

“yes I did, thankfully. Woke up where I should be too, in my bed.”

‘Very good. Are you feeling better?’

“yeah, much better, thank you. Im going to go to Hogsmeade today, would you like to come with?”

‘Well, I wouldn’t be able to do much, would I?’

(y/n) hummed in thought, Tom had a point, as he could only see what she wrote/illustrated in the book.

“good point, but I could maybe bring you to the bookstore there and get some ink you’d like?”

‘I don’t eat the ink (y/n)’

“not what I meant but that’s a very funny visual thank you.”

(y/n) giggled to herself, imagining the book eating the ink instead of just absorbing it to write back to her.

“I meant like, would you like some fancy ink? I saved up some money from my allowance and can get some good ink from the store if you would prefer it?”

‘How…generous of you, (y/n)’

“thank you :)”

Tom took a very long moment to respond, as if he was thinking long and hard about her offer. Finally, after a few minutes, he wrote back-though he did so while (y/n) was getting dressed for her outing to Hogsmeade, putting on an oversized sweater for maximum comfort.

‘I suppose it couldn’t hurt if you brought the diary along, I certainly don’t mind good inks to write with, I myself was never able to afford more than the most basic brands.’

(y/n) tilted her head a bit, a smile growing on her face. Tom was opening up to her a bit! Okay-play it cool-don’t overreact.

“aww really?”

‘I don’t need your pity (y/n)’

Oops.

“not pity! Im sorry! Just…idk”

‘What in the merlin does ‘idk’ mean?’

“Oh-I don’t know-its an abbreviation.”

‘Why don’t you just write ‘I don’t know’, it’s not hard?’

“idk, just easier.”

She felt like she could hear him sigh, which made her giggle and she finished getting dressed before writing to him again.

“okay okay, im going to go eat, ill be back to grab you before everyone heads out to Hogsmeade.”

Tom didn’t respond so (y/n) closed the diary and put it back on her bedside table, capping her ink well and cleaning her quill before leaving her room, heading out to the great hall for breakfast.

Hogsmeade, thankfully, took the rest of the events from the night before off (y/n)’s mind as she went from store to store, starting at the book store and writing down ink brands and types to Tom, who eventually picked out a non-expensive India ink, but it was definitely more costly than the usual ink she got.

She closed the diary and put it back in her bag, taking the new ink to the front and buying it, the shopkeep wrapping it in paper and then giving it to her in a paper bag.

She counted how much money she had left as she walked down the main path of the village, nodding to herself as she pocketed the coins. She had enough to do someday after Halloween candy shopping.

She hopped straight into Honeydukes, where loads of other students were buying their own discounted candy, and quickly got some candies that were under the discount.

Including a bag of candy corn, and it was the type made in shop-which was even better.

“What is it with you and candy corn (n/n)?” one of her friends that had accompanied her to Hogsmeade asked teasingly, attempting to steal one of the candies (y/n) had bought.

“It’s good!” (y/n) defended the candy, holding the box to her chest. She knew candy corn wasn’t a worldly liked candy-but it was hers and her dad's favorite, so it not only tasted good to her, but it also was nostalgic.

(y/n)’s friend snickered, taking a caramel apple lollipop from (y/n)’s bag full of discounted Halloween candy. (y/n) rolled her eyes, the two catching up with the rest of their friends, hanging out at the three broomsticks for a while before heading back to the castle.

Upon getting back to her dorm room, (y/n) poured out the candy onto her bed and spread it out, sorting it and eating a few pieces here and there as she separated the chocolates from the hard candies, and the lollipops from the taffy.

She took out the diary and the new well of ink, opening the wax around it and setting it aside, testing the ink on her actual notebook before writing to Tom.

“back from Hogsmeade! Using the new ink as well :)”

‘I can tell, it’s far smoother than the ink you were using before.’

“I’m glad you like it! I also got a lot of candy from honeydukes, they were having a day after Halloween sale, I got nearly 5 pounds of candy for one galleon.”

‘Sweet tooth?’

“big one.”

(y/n) smiled brightly as she continued her conversation with Tom, which turned to her asking Tom what his favorite candy was…is.

‘I haven't tried much candy if I must be honest, though I do like treacle tarts.’

“yum, those are pretty good”

“great now Im craving treacle tart thanks Tom.”

‘You’re welcome, (y/n)’

(y/n) happily painted on some Slytherin green and silver face paint onto her cheeks, today was the first quidditch game of the year, and the Slytherin team had gotten a new seeker-the spoiled as fuck Draco Malfoy, who everyone knew bribed his way in but he still wasn’t a terrible flyer-and brand new brooms.

The whole Slytherin house was excited, ready to win the first match of the season against Gryffindor, since they hadn’t won a game against Gryffindor since Harry Potter joined the team the year before.

“You almost ready (y/n)?!” her friend called from the bathroom as she herself finished her makeup.

“Yeah!” (y/n) said, hopping to her feet after pulling away from her desk mirror. “I’m all done!” she wrapped a scarf around her neck and hooked her arm with her friends and they all went down to the quidditch pitch together, the roar of excitement already humming through the stands.

The game started quickly after that and it was exciting! The Slytherins were walloping the Gryffindors easily-quickly overtaking them 90-30. (y/n) whistled and cheered for her team, throwing her fists into the air with each score. “Woah what the fuck?!” she heard her friend suddenly exclaim and (y/n) turned to see where she was looking, her brows furrowing as a bludger began to deliberately chase Harry Potter.

“Is that a rouge bludger??” (y/n) said, her lip curling in confusion. “What the hell they’re like-impossible to tamper??” (y/n) and her friend stopped paying attention to the game as a whole, watching in near horror as Harry was chased around by a bludger.

The Weasley twins tried to bat it away from him but it kept coming back.

“that’s not good-we should tell a teacher-“ (y/n) stuttered, turning to head off the stands, maybe catch Madam Hooch’s attention and stop the game before someone got hurt. (y/n)’s friend nodded and followed her through the crowd of Slytherins and down the stands.

Just as they reached Madam Hooch, the bludger had slammed into Harry’s arm as he reached for the snitch and he hit the dirt soon after; though he had the snitch in hand, Gryffindor had won the game. “Oh shit,” (y/n) muttered under her breath, looking at Harrys very broken arm, as Madam Hooch blew the whistle, ending the game.

The Weasley twins somehow caught the tampered bludger, getting it back into the box and locking it down. Madam Hooch instantly saw to it, and while that all happened-the idiot Lockhart…erm…mended Harry’s arm.

“Ew,” (y/n) muttered as her friend gagged at the rubber look Harry’s arm had taken. Lockhart hadn’t mended shit; he’d removed Harry’s bones!

“That is so nasty,” (y/n)’s friend muttered, and (y/n) nodded in agreement, heading back to the castle after Headmaster Dumbledore told everyone the match was over and to head back to the castle while Harry, and any other injured players, went to Madam Pomfrey.

“Gotta be honest, Gryffindor deserved that win, I mean-odds stacked against them, with those new brooms and that bloody bludger, they won. Shame Potter’s arm got broken for it though.” (y/n)’s friend ranted as they walked back to the common room, (y/n) nodding in agreement. “I have to wonder who tampered the bludger? I mean Madam Hooch checks them right before the game, and if it wasn’t tampered then, how could’ve someone hexed it within the minutes before the game began?”

(y/n) shrugged as her friend continued to rant. “Maybe someone tampered with it mid-game? Because it wasn’t doing it at first, if it was tampered with before the game-it would’ve gone after Harry straight away? Wouldn’t it?” (y/n) suggested, walking into the common room after several other students and her friend nodded, tapping her chin.

“That does sound logical, though I’m not sure how or why anyone would do that, I mean-he’s just a 12-year-old kid? Who’d want to charm a bloody iron magic ball to hurt him?” (y/n) shrugged in response to her friend's rhetorical question.

“Someone fucked up,” (y/n) answered anyway and her friend sighed, the two entering their dorm room. Her friend went to wipe the Slytherin-themed makeup off her face while (y/n) went to her bed and grabbed the diary.

“Potter almost got killed by a bludger at the quidditch match today.”

(y/n) could almost feel the sense of ‘!!?!?!’ from Tom as he hurriedly wrote back to her.

‘Who starts a conversation like that? also what? how? I never liked Quidditch but I’m sure those Quidditch gear chests are impossible to get into?’

“that’s what I said, I think someone jinxed it mid game because it wasn’t going after him at first.”

‘How odd. And it was going after Potter specifically?’

“yeah! Only him, the Weasley twins kept batting it away from him but it would go right back after Potter. Its really weird.”

‘I cannot tell you it isn’t, because it is very odd.’

“yeah”

(y/n) perked up as her friend came back out of the bathroom. “I’m going to go get lunch, you coming?” her friend asked and (y/n) nodded.

“Yeah, lemme just wash my face,” (y/n) said, looking back down at the diary and telling Tom she had to go, setting the book down on the bedside table and going into the bathroom to wash her face.

(y/n) woke up very late that night, a ringing in her ears as she opened her eyes, feeling kinda nauseous. She groaned lightly, realizing she’d fallen off her bed, her head pounding as she attempted to get up, pressing her palms to her eyes as they ached.

“What the fuck,” she muttered, rubbing her face. She’d never fallen off her bed before, but considering the odd dream she had-she wasn’t surprised. She eventually got to her feet after the nausea had passed and climbed back into bed, yawning.

She laid back down, but couldn’t get back to sleep. Her mind kept going back to that odd dream. She had been walking through the halls of Hogwarts, at what seemed to be a late hour, and went into one of the bathrooms and…spoke a strange language-a hissing language, and the…sink had come apart??? After that she woke up, having fallen off her bed mid weird dream.

She huffed and drew the curtains around her bed, grabbing her wand, the diary, and her quill. “Lumos,” (y/n) murmured and the tip of her wand began to glow and she opened the diary, flipping through pages and pages of notes, and doodles.

She dipped her quill and began to write to Tom.

“I fell out of my bed,”

‘And why is that so important to tell me? It’s late I’m sure, you should be asleep.’

“you’re right but I cant get back to sleep, I had a weird dream and woke up after falling out of my bed, which ive never done”

“or at least I havent done since I was a kid?”

‘Interesting. What was your dream about if I may ask?’

(y/n) wrote down what she remembered from the dream, and then added a small detail she hadn’t realized till now.

“it felt like I was having an out of body experience, or like I was watching through someone elses eyes? You get what I mean?”

‘I suppose I do, though im sure there’s nothing to worry about, everyone has odd dreams sometimes.’

“have you ever had an odd dream?”

‘Yes, I’m not divulging that information though, you’ll tease me relentlessly about it.’

“no I wont!”

(y/n) huffed as Tom didn’t respond, and she could imagine the expression of ‘sure you wont’ on his face. She wished she knew wha the looked like…wait maybe she could find him in the gallery! He did say he was a prefect in his time, maybe there was a picture somewhere of the 1942-1943 prefects.

“you’re no fun.”

‘Go to sleep (y/n),’

“fiiiine, goodnight Tom.”

‘Goodnight, (y/n)’

“A first year got petrified?!” (y/n) asked in a hushed tone, her eyes wide as she gripped her friend's hand tightly as they walked to breakfast Monday morning.

“Yeah, apparently it happened Saturday night, or well, early Sunday morning if you think about it that way-but Professor Dumbledore found him in the middle of the night-just-stone still, petrified.” (y/n)’s friend rambled and (y/n) frowned, squeezing her friend’s hand tighter.

Early Sunday morning…she’d had that weird dream and fell out of her bed Sunday morning.

“What time did the first year get petrified?” (y/n) asked and her friend shrugged.

“Dunno, I’m only telling you what I heard from the grapevine, all I know is Sunday morning, a first year got petrified.” (y/n) huffed nervously in response, swallowing harshly, that weird feeling of paranoia returning to her gut.

Just a coincidence, just a coincidence. It had to be; besides, she’d just fallen out of her bed this time, she hadn’t sleepwalked, she hadn’t even left her dorm room.

…right?

“I’m leaving.” (y/n) huffed as dumbass Lockhart came onto the long dueling stage that was set up lengthwise in the great hall, replacing the house tables. Her friend grabbed her arm as she attempted to escape, tugging her towards the edge of the stage-making them be front and center.

“Oh, come on (y/n)~ it’ll be fun!” her friend said cheerfully, she’d didn’t understand why (y/n)…disliked ‘Professor’ Lockhart, even thinking he was hot.

It was one of the few things (y/n) vehemently disagreed with her on.

“it’ll be cringe as fuck that’s what it’ll be.” (y/n) grumbled, crossing her arms as she pouted. She expected maybe Professor Flitwick to be the head of the dueling club, but noooo it had to be the obvious fake Lockhart.

Though-Professor Snape had agreed to…help Lockhart in a demonstration, and that, was going to be fun.

(y/n) couldn’t help the peal of laughter that came from her as Snape sent Lockhart across the dueling stage, her friend gasping as Lockhart landed with a thump. “Is he okay?” her friend asked and (y/n) just snickered with the rest of the Slytherin members of the club.

“Who cares? That was funny.” (y/n) chuckled, smirking as her friend gave her a glare. After that everyone got paired into groups, Lockhart nearly putting the little 1st and 2nd years with the 5th and 6th years attending, Snape correcting that mistake and putting (y/n) against a fellow 6th-year Slytherin, though (y/n) hardly knew his name.

“Remember, disarm only!” Lockhart said and (y/n) rolled her eyes, bowing her to dueling partner with her wand at her side and then holding it out in front of her, her other arm over her head for balance.

The dueling began moments later, and spells shot out of their wands every other moment. (y/n) began with the disarming charm, expelliarmus, but her opponent blocked it and returned with a Stupefy. (y/n) went to block but it felt like she wasn’t in control of herself anymore, she stepped to the side-avoiding the spell-and held out her wand in a grip that wasn’t her own.

“Relashio!” With a wave of her wand her dueling opponent was forced to drop their wand and then (y/n) twirled her wand again. “Depulso!” A blast of white magic flew towards her dueling opponent and they flew back, hitting the ground with a loud thud.

There was an intense satisfaction that ran deep in her bones for a split moment, and an odd feeling to finish her opponent off-but that quickly went away and (y/n) pocketed her wand, rushing over to her dueling partner. “Are you okay?” (y/n) asked, offering her hand and her dueling partner chuckled painfully, rubbing their lower back as she helped them stand.

“I’m okay-that was wicked casting though,” (y/n) only nodded in response, licking her teeth as the dueling groups were stopped, a green haze in the air from the dueling 2nd years. She began to leave the great hall as Potter and Malfoy began to duel, only stopping when she heard a strange hissing coming from the stage.

She turned, the hissing sounding too familiar, coming from Potter as he…hissed at a black snake? Her ears began to ring, her vision going a bit blurry as she stared at Potter, the boy hissing at the snake before Snape destroyed it.

What the fuck?

That was the same hissing she’d heard in her dream on Sunday.

-end of p3-

im very happy with this part and i hope you guys are too-taglist!!!

@dracosslxt4eva @dream-your-own-way @slaggylemon

@slytherinbackintomyroom @starryhiraeth @larallott

#tom riddle x reader #tom riddle #tom riddle imagine #harry potter fanfiction #diary Tom Riddle #horcrux Tom

138 notes · View notes

ssweeterthanfiction · 4 months ago

Text

Wait for your love.

content warnings (for the whole series): mentions of drugs and alcohol, age gap, gaslighting, billy being TOXICCCCC, mentions of suicide/suicidal thoughts, mental health issues

↳ currently playing ;

Midnight's Regrets - 1978

1:56 ——————•———— 3:24

↺ << ll >> ⋮≡

In July of 1978 Y/N made her reappearance.

Y/N: "I was gone for about a year." "And for the first 6 months, I was focusing on getting myself together. I got clean and started writing again." "I was slowly putting together a small album. I had told myself that if I wrote about change and forgiveness, I could heal." "I had heard...rumblings that the band was preparing to release a new album, but I had tried to stay away from the media." "That was until this...one interview came out." "I forgot...who was interviewing the band, I just- I remember being on the phone with one of my friends and I had the radio on. It was just playing in the background, but then I heard a familiar voice." "I told my friend that I would give her a call back. So I hung up the phone and turned up the volume on the radio." "It was Billy. He sounded...drunk. Really drunk. And- I wanted to stop listening, but the minute he brought up my name, I couldn't." "He called me selfish. Said I used him. That I didn’t care about the band, that I just wanted to be bigger than all of them." "He said it- he said it so cruelly. And the worst part was that some of the fans believed it." "I- I didn't know how to react. I was just- angry." "Here he was calling me selfish and say that I used him, while in reality, he put me through so much."

Her voice shakes, and she takes a deep breath before continuing.

"And then, as if that wasn’t enough, a month later, I see pictures of him in a magazine with some girl who looked like me. Like, exactly like me." "It hurt. It really hurt. All those times that he told me I was replaceable, that he told me that I was just another pretty face and that he could have any girl he wants, it all felt- it all felt real when I saw those pictures."

Karen: "Oh, the lookalike? Yeah, we all noticed it. It was... unsettling, to say the least."

Graham: "We told him it was weird, but Billy being Billy, he brushed us off. Said we were imagining things."

Warren: "Nah. That wasn’t imagination. That was some next-level shit."

Y/N: "At that point, the album I was working on? It wasn’t about forgiveness anymore. It wasn’t about love or hope. It was about him. About the anger, the betrayal, the heartbreak. About every time he let me down and every time I let myself believe he wouldn’t." "I didn’t want to make an album that just said, ‘This is what you did to me.’ I wanted to make one that screamed, ‘This is what you’ll never do to me again.’" "The funny thing is, I didn’t write it for him. I wrote it for me. But I knew he’d hear it. I knew he’d know. And I wanted him to feel every single word."

🎶 .·:*¨🎶💋🎶¨*:·. 🎶

You were at a radio station to make your first step back into the spotlight, everything was ready to go. You just hoped that he would be listening.

You watched the show host stop the music to speak into the mic, "And now, ladies and gentlemen, we have a very special guest with us tonight. This guest has been out of the spotlight for about a year, and now she's back to tell us what's been going on in her life" "Please, give it up for Y/N L/N!"

The sound of applause fills the studio as you slide into the chair across from the host, offering a small, nervous smile

"Y/N, welcome back! I have to say, a lot of people have been wondering where you’ve been and what you’ve been up to. So, let’s start there. How are you feeling?"

"I feel..good. I’ve been focusing on myself, my health, and really just trying to find myself again."

"Well, you’ve certainly been missed. Your fans have been waiting for this moment for a while now. What made you decide to step back into the spotlight?"

"Honestly, I think it was time. I needed to disappear for a bit to figure out who I was outside of everything else. But I missed making music, missed connecting with people. It’s why I started in the first place. So, here I am."

"So...I hear that you have a special announcement for us, something you've been working on while you were gone."

You laugh, "Ah yes! Um...this is something very special to me. And I'm so excited to everyone to listen to it. So my brand new album, Midnight's Regrets will be in stores...tomorrow at midnight."

"An album? Wow you must've been busy while you were gone! Is there anything you can tell us about it?"

"Midnight’s Regrets is…probably the most honest thing I’ve ever written. It wasn’t the album I originally set out to make....but sometimes life takes you in a different direction. It’s raw, it’s vulnerable, and it’s everything I needed to say."

"Now is there....anything or anyone that inspired this album?"

"It's...really just about the past few years."

"Well, I can’t wait to hear it, and I’m sure your fans feel the same. Y/N, thank you for joining us tonight. It’s so good to have you back!"

"Thank you! It feels good to be back."

🎶 .·:*¨🎶💋🎶¨*:·. 🎶

Karen: "We were in the studio just hanging out and we heard her voice. Billy told Graham to turn up the volume and everything just went quiet."

Graham: "Billy tensed up when she said she was releasing a new album. Like visibly tensed up."

Warren: "Nobody said anything for a while. It wasn't until the lookalike came in...."

Eddie: "No one liked the lookalike. She was rude, entitled, and just nothing like Y/N. Honestly I don't even think Billy liked her. He was just using her to fill Y/N's spot. Which was still fucked up."

Daisy: "Billy left with the lookalike for a while. This was normal he'd leave with her, they go and probably hook up and then she'd come back attached to him. Warren bet Eddie 20 bucks that he was gonna break up with her. Eddie bet 40 against it." "When he came back this time...the lookalike was nowhere to be seen."

Warren: "I asked him where she was...And then he mumbled something like 'she's gone'." "Eddie slipped me my 40 a little while after."

Y/N: "I walked out the the interview with my stomach in knots. I was so nervous for the release, I really was. I was nervous about how people you react to it, I was nervous about what the press would say..." "And I was nervous about what Billy would think of it." "I remembered how I felt listening to Aurora. I was just...in shock and in awe because it was the best album that the band created." "I was just hoping Billy would have a similar reaction to my album."

Eddie: "We all stayed late at the studio that night. We ordered pizza, Warren ran out to get beers and soda, and then at exactly midnight on the dot, Teddy came in with two vinyls." "He placed them both on the table and said 'Listen to the one on the right first' and then he left."

Karen: "Billy was just, staring at them, he didn't move. So I grabbed the first one and opened it."

Y/N: "I wrote a sort of prologue to be put on the inside." "Midnight is the hour where everything feels raw. The highs, the lows, the moments you wish you could forget but never do—they all come alive under the quiet of the moon. This album wasn’t supposed to exist the way it does now. It was going to be a story of forgiveness, love, and second chances. But life has a way of rewriting your narrative for you." "These songs are a reflection of everything I’ve carried: the heartbreak, the betrayal, the anger, and, most importantly, the resilience. They’re not just about what happened to me—they’re about what I refused to let define me." "I wrote this for anyone who’s ever felt shattered and wondered if they could ever put themselves back together. I promise, you can. I promise, you will." "And to the one who broke me: I hope you’re listening. Because I always have."

🎶 .·:*¨🎶💋🎶¨*:·. 🎶

As Karen finished reading the prologue, a haunting silence took over the room. She carefully placed the record on the player, the soft hum of the start up began to play. Taking the tracklist in her hand, Karen read from it, "First one is...How to disappear."

The soft beat of the song filled the room, then her vocals came in.

"It sounds like her older stuff" Graham says.

A hum of agreement went through the room.

Then the next track began to play.

"Happier Than Ever," Karen says.

The soft strumming of guitar filled the room, it was angelic sounding. Billy didn't say anything, your voice sounded gentle, almost a whisper, as sing about being happy alone, about finally finding yourself. But then the shift happens.

"You call me again, drunk in your Benz. Driving home under the influence. You scared me to death, but I'm wasting my breath. 'Cause you only listen to your fucking friends."

Everyone went quiet.

"She fucking went there" Warren whispers to Eddie.

They all looked over to Billy who was looking down, his hands balled into fists.

"'Cause I'd never treat me this shitty. You made me hate this city. And I don't talk shit about you. Never told anyone anything bad. 'Cause that shit's embarrassing, you were my everything. And all that you did was make me fucking sad."

Billy's thoughts were swirling, he felt a mess of regret and anger, not towards you, but towards himself. He treated you like shit, and now he was hearing how you truly felt.

The track ended with the sound of crashing drums and a wailing guitar, leaving the room in a tense, suffocating silence. Before anyone could speak, the next track started, immediately shifting the mood.

The upbeat melody of 'love is embarrassing' filled the room.

"Loser who's not worth mentioning. My God, love's embarrassing as hell"

"It's catchy" Warren says, smirking drumming his fingers to the beat.

Before the group could fully process the last track, the next one began. The smooth, upbeat sound of 'Read your Mind' filled the room. 'Feather' had the same effect.

Karen tilted her head, listening closely. "She’s experimenting. This is different from anything she’s done before."

"I bet you those two will be the ones that the radios pick up." Eddie says.

Graham looks over at Billy, "Billy, you good?"

He doesn't say anything, he just grunts and nods.

As the next track begins to play, everyone had expected it to be another pop song, but nothing would prepare them for the whiplash of what was about to play.

The track opened with a slow, deliberate rhythm, a distant, echoing sound that seems to pull everyone’s attention into the quiet before your voice cut through the tension. It’s raw, soft, yet layered with emotion.

Karen’s face tightens as she listens, and she glances around at the rest of the group. Eddie's usual smirk is gone, replaced with a furrowed brow.

"Fell in love for the first time. With a friend, it's a good sign. Feelin' off when I feel fine. 21 took a lifetime. People say I look happy. Just because I got skinny. But the old me is still me and maybe the real me. And I think she's pretty."

Warren, who had been tapping his foot along to the previous tracks, suddenly stops and sits up straighter, the weight of the song sinking in. "Shit…" he mutters, his voice barely audible. "This one’s…heavy."

The song continues, and the production swirls around your voice, adding layers of echoing distortion, mirroring the chaos and confusion in the lyrics.

"I never did you wrong. And my, my patience is gone. And I, I never did you wrong. I loved you for so long"

The song begins to fade out, leaving an unsettling quiet in its wake. No one speaks immediately. Everyone is still processing the shift, the unexpected vulnerability.

The next 5 tracks, vampire, pretty isn't pretty, making the bed, the grudge, and logical, are like a punch to the gut for Billy.

"You can't love anyone, 'cause that would mean you had a heart"

"I could change up my body and change up my face. I could try every lipstick in every shade. But I'd always feel the same. 'Cause pretty isn't pretty enough"

"Another day pretendin' I'm older than I am. Another perfect moment that doesn't feel like mine. Another thing I forced to be a sign."

"And I doubt you ever think about the damage that you did. But I hold onto every detail like my life depends on it. My undying love, now I hold it like a grudge. And I hear your voice every time that I think I'm not enough"

"'Cause loving you is loving every, Argument you held over my head. Brought up the girls you could have instead. Said I was too young, I was too soft. Can't take a joke, can't get you off"

Every word, every line, every lyric, it hit Billy. He hurt you, badly. And now everyone would know how badly he did.

The room was silent.

Graham moved to the record player and stopped it. "Maybe we should take a break." he murmurs.

Billy shakes his head, "No- no let it keep playing," he says as his voice cracks.

The opening notes of 'Clean' began to play. It was vulnerable like the last few tracks, but it felt more hopeful.

"It sounds clean...does that make sense?" Warren says, hoping to lighten the mood.

"Ten months sober, I must admit. Just because you're clean, don't mean you don't miss it. Ten months older, I won't give in. Now that I'm clean, I'm never gonna risk it."

The words strike a chord in Billy. He knows there's a double meaning. You're sober, you're clean of drugs, but you're also clean of him.

The sparkling beat of 'Bejeweled' then filled the room, everyone’s heads snaped up, and for the first time in a while, there’s a slight tension breaking in the air.

🎶 .·:*¨🎶💋🎶¨*:·. 🎶

Karen: "While we were listening to the album...I think we were all just a bit worried with how Billy would react to Better Than Revenge."

Warren: Laughing "Yeah, I mean, I knew it was coming. You can't hide something like that forever."

Daisy: "Y/N asked for our help. She needed something that felt raw, something real. We couldn't say no to her."

Eddie: "I think we would've gotten away with it if Billy didn't have such a good ear."

Graham: "The minute it started playing, I knew he knew. I mean open a song with Warren playing drums? That's a giveaway automatically."

Warren: "What can I say? I didn’t hold back." he grins "If she needed something to match the fire, we gave it to her."

🎶 .·:*¨🎶💋🎶¨*:·. 🎶

As the song blasts through the speakers, the energy in the room shifts. The aggressive drums hit, then the guitar riff, and Billy’s jaw clenches as he hears your voice.

"He’s not a saint and he’s not what you think. He’s an actress, He’s better known for the things that he does, On the mattress."

Billy’s eyes narrow, his fists tightening at his sides. The words feel like daggers. But it’s not just the lyrics. The way the song sounds, the drums, the guitar, the bass, everything. He knows that sound.

He grabs the lyric book and flips it open.

Track 14- Better Than Revenge.

His eyes scan the page, and there on the bottom of the page Graham, Warren, Eddie, Karen and Daisy are credited as part of the production of the song.

"What the hell is this?" he says, throwing the booklet onto the table. "You guys helped her with this?"

The room goes quiet, the song continuing to play in the background.

"She came to us Billy. She asked for our help." Karen says.

Billy's voice rises, sharp, accusatory and a little hurt. "And none of you thought to tell me?"

Eddie steps forward, arms crossed defensively. "We promised not to."

Billy scoffs, "You all took her side. You didn’t even think about how this would make me look."

"This wasn’t about sides, Billy. It was about making sure she didn’t feel alone in this. You had your chance to make things right, and you didn’t." Karen says, glaring at him.

"I didn’t-" Billy starts, but Warren cuts him off.

"You didn’t do anything, man. That’s the problem. You're getting mad over what? The fact that she come to you?" Warren says, "You hurt her, you can't expect her to come to you for help."

The song fades out, leaving a tense silence in its place. Billy was fuming. But he couldn't find it in himself to leave.

The final song on the first vinyl began to play.

Billy sat back down and took the lyric booklet back into his hands, track 15- Out Of The Woods.

The sound was different, everything about this whole album was different.

"The rest of the world was black and white. But we were in screaming color."

Billy began to really listen to the lyrics, the way you described everything was so...perfect. Like he could really picture everything.

Graham speaks up. "She’s not pulling punches Billy, she’s not out to destroy you. She’s trying to make sense of it all. Of you. Of herself."

"To move the furniture so we could dance. Baby, like we stood a chance. Two paper airplanes flying, flying, flying. And I remember thinking."

"It’s not just about the bad, is it?" Billy murmurs, his words just loud enough so they could hear him.

Daisy shakes her head, "No, it’s not. It's about the good, the bad, the messy in-between. She's just telling what you guys had."

The final chorus plays, "Are we out of the woods yet? Are we in the clear yet?" echoing over and over again, sounding haunting and hopeful all at once.

🎶 .·:*¨🎶💋🎶¨*:·. 🎶

Daisy: "When we finished the first record...it was just quiet." "We were all feeling different emotions." "But I have to say, I was fucking proud of her. She- she took something so horrible and turned it into a masterpiece."

Karen: "We were confused why there were two different vinyls, but after Graham took a closer look at the jacket of it, we realized the second one was the deluxe version of it."

Graham: "On the inside of it, it said there were 4 additional tracks. So I took the first one off and then put the second one on." "I sat back down and read the song titles...and I knew we were in for another ride."

🎶 .·:*¨🎶💋🎶¨*:·. 🎶

Nobody speaks, they only listen. And the lyrics, once again, hit Billy like a fucking bus.

"Cause you kiss me and it stops time. And I'm yours, but you're not mine…"

Billy rubs his face with both hands, his fingers tugging at his hair. Everything rushes back, the whispered promises, the unspoken words, and all the ways he let her down. He slams his hand against the armrest of the chair, his frustration barely contained. "Jesus Christ."

"Why'd you have to make me love you? I said, 'I love you.' You say nothin' back."

This hits Billy like a freight train.

"She's- She's making me seem like the bad guy!" he scoffs, "After I wrote Aurora for her- after I poured out my entire heart on a fucking album for her!"

"Billy, shut up and listen to the lyrics!" Daisy shouts, "You fucking hurt her! You only wrote Aurora because of the fact you hurt her! She's allowed to feel how she wants to! She's allowed to feel angry! She's allowed to feel sad! So just- listen to her lyrics!"

Billy finally shuts up. He leans back in his chair and the next song starts up.

The echoes of 'Is It Over Now?' fill the room. And then...

"You dream of my mouth before it called you a lying traitor. You search in every maiden's bed for something greater"

"When you lost control. Red blood, white snow. Blue dress on a boat. Your new girl is my clone"

"If she's got (y/c) eyes, I will surmise that you'll probably date her. You dream of my mouth before it called you a lying traitor. You search in every model's bed for something greater"

"I was hoping you'd be there. And say the one thing. I've been wanting. But no."

Billy's head was now in his hands again. His heart feels like it's sinking to the bottom of his chest, his mind spiraling with thoughts of all the mistakes he made. And then before he could fully collect his thoughts, the next song starts playing.

While the opening notes of 'I Wish You Would' started to play, Billy's heart skipped a beat.

"I wish you would come back. Wish I'd never hung up the phone like I did. I wish you knew that. I'd never forget you as long as I'd live. And I wish you were right here, right now. It's all good. I wish you would"

"I wish we could go back. And remember what we were fighting for. Wish you knew that. I miss you too much to be mad anymore. And I wish you were right here, right now. It's all good. I wish you would"

"We're a crooked love. In a straight line down. Makes you wanna run and hide. Then it makes you turn right back around"

"You always knew how to push my buttons. You gave me everything and nothing. This mad, mad love makes you come rushing. Stand back where you stood. I wish you would, I wish you would"

Billy’s chest tightens as the final line rings in his ears. He wishes, too. He wishes he could take it all back, wishes he could undo the damage he caused. But hearing the lyrics, hearing your regret, he knows it’s too late for that. You're not coming back, not in the way he wants. The realization washes over him, leaving him feeling hollow inside.

But then the sparkly distorted intro of 'Karma' starts playing.

"This is the last one" Graham says as he reads off the vinyl jacket.

It was a catchy song, similar to 'Bejeweled', it had that glittery sound.

Billy knew it was another song directed towards him, but when he heard "Cause karma is my boyfriend" his heart sunk.

Boyfriend.

Boyfriend?

A wave of jealousy, mixed with deep regret, crashes over him, had you moved on?

The song keeps going, and with every line, Billy’s heart breaks a little more.

“Karma is the guy on the screen. Coming straight home to me.”

He could hear the smile in your voice, he could hear how happy you were. He was happy you were happy, but he wanted you to be happy with him.

The song ends, and Billy looks at everyone.

"So...guess she's moved on." he says.

"We don't know that Billy" Graham says, "She could've just- written it because it rhymed or something..."

Billy shakes his head, "No...that's not like her. She doesn't just write out lyrics for nothing."

Graham looks over at Billy, his expression filled with a mixture of concern and frustration. "I’m just saying, man, we don’t know for sure. We don’t know what’s going on in her head. She could be trying to move on, or she could just be putting her feelings into music. You can’t take everything in her songs at face value."

Billy scoffs, rubbing his hands over his face, trying to scrub away the frustration that’s been building up for hours. "No, Graham. I’ve been around long enough to know when she’s really saying something. And she’s saying something. She’s telling me, loud and clear, that she’s moved on."

"She’s telling you that she’s moved forward, not necessarily on. There's a difference." Daisy says in a defensive tone.

"Moved on- moved forward- same shit. What difference does it make?" Billy says, getting up and pacing the room. "I wrote Aurora for her. It was for her. All of it. I thought- I thought it was going to be enough."

"You can't just expect one album to fix everything Billy" Karen says, "You hurt her, badly. An album won't fix that."

Billy remains silent for a moment, processing everything they’re saying.

But then his attention went back to the record player as it started to play this awful sounding static.

🎶 .·:*¨🎶💋🎶¨*:·. 🎶

Y/N: "On the jacket of the vinyl for the deluxe version of Midnight's Regrets there were only four new tracks listed."

"There was really five."

🎶 .·:*¨🎶💋🎶¨*:·. 🎶

"Graham, why didn't you turn the player off?"

Graham walks over to the player, "There's still grooves, there's another song."

Not even a second later, the room is filled with the haunting opening notes of a new song.

Everyone stands in silence and confusion as the song plays.

"You were born bluer than a butterfly. Beautiful and so deprived of oxygen. Colder than your father's eyes. He never learned to sympathize with anyone."

"I don't blame you. But I can't change you. Don't hate you. But we can't save you."

"You were born reaching for your mother's hands. Victim of your father's plans to rule the world. Too afraid to step outside. Paranoid and petrified of what you've heard"

The words pierce Billy's already broken heart, he can't hold it in anymore. He feels the tears trickling down his face, and when he looks around, everyone else has tears too.

Your voice is so hauntingly beautiful, they've never heard you like this.

As the song fades out, they can hear what sounds like crying under all the instrumentals.

The silence afterward is deafening.

"Billy…" Graham says, his voice breaking the stillness.

"I fucked up," Billy whispers, the words barely audible. "I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know if I even can anymore."

A/N: HOLY FUCK THIS WAS A LONG CHAPTER 😭 anyways I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED!!!! this was honestly so like stressful to work on cause of the lyrics BUT I PULLED IT OFF I THINK! anyways next chapter will probably be out sometime next week and hopefully the next chapter of GOU will be out by sunday night or monday night!!

heres all the songs from readers album (IN ORDER) -> 1978 album

#isa’s thoughts #billy dunne x reader #billy dunne #billy dunne fic #djats x reader #djats fic #djats #billy dunne imagine #billy dunne angst #daisy jones and the six #daisy jones #sam claflin x reader #sam claflin

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tswhiisftteedr · 1 year ago

Note

Not to be rude but you accidentally put val's story in vox's masterlist instead. Srry I didn't feel comfy dming you. Nothing against you at all I'm just a coward wanting to hide in anon haha. Ig while I'm here could I get vox general hcs pls?

What the Tv do? ☆ Vox General Headcanon + Drabbles (SFW & NSFW)

☆ Vox General headcanon + Vox x Gn!Reader(Employee!Reader??):

Some general thoughts about the tv man and also his relationship with the ‘reader’. This is silly, this is fun, fluffy and smutty.

Warnings: Mature Content, Not Proofread, Drinking, Death(literally overdose on coffe nothing gruesome), Drug use(c0caine and others substances), Sadistic Tendencies, Dub-Con, Power Imbalance/Power Play, Obsessive and Possessive Tendencies and Acts, Stalking, Voyeurism & Exhibitionism, Boss x Employee, Pet Play?(Just collaring and slight animal based pet names), Valentino.

Words: Total: 5496 = Sfw - 2609 + Nsfw - 2887

Note: I only wrote 1 drabble, i might add more if people request it about the specific headcanon they want more on. so I’m not good with request like these, I like when they are more specific so I have sort of something to base my writing on, so sorry if you anon or people don’t like what I’ve wrote, r.i.p. >:/ Though tell me if you want more!!

☆ more under the cut. ☆

SFW:

☕︎ Coffee addict and 𓏊 Alcoholic

Vox is the figurative and quite literally incarnation of the ‘don’t talk to me until I’ve had my coffee’ phrase.

But we’re talking coffees instead of coffee with him — two cups straight out of bed to be precise. When totalling the day’s consumption, Vox indulges on average, 6-7 cups of 10 oz coffee; in addition to his morning coffees, he likes to have a mid-morning cup, then two during lunch and finally 1-2 cups during the afternoon depending how late he is working.

Is this per say, ‘healthy’? No, not at all, Vox couldn't care less — worst ‘worst’ case scenario, he quote on quote dies, the coffee he had intake ends up intoxicating him due to the splurging amount of it, turning this mondaine drink into a lethal liquid for the overlord’s body. His heart would stop, sub-consequently, him and his body would be out.

Though the good thing — or bad, it all depends on your angle — about hell is that in about the span of 10 minutes his body will have fully regenerate and be back open for business. Some sinners call it it a curse, he calls it a blessing, as this part of the ‘eternal punishment’ practically makes him immortal.

So is he going to work on regulating his caffeine intake? Obviously not!

Worst thing he gets from his ‘little problem’ is a heart attack, and they don’t permanently keep him down. — Sure, they hurt like a bitch, and he would rather not be having them at all to be truthful.

But he honestly he doesn’t see his bimonthly cardiac arrests as that steep of a price to pay. (Honestly how can such a smart businessman be so dumb about his health. * face palming and baffled at the idiocy of it all *)

Now when alcohol is the subject of conversation, Vox takes a slightly different approach, albeit one still characterized by overindulgence.

You see, he prides himself on being the epitome of a charming, classy, and self-controlled casual drinker, compared to his drunkard of a pattern —Valentino— our lovely show host with anger issues and both inferiority and superiority complex is a sophisticated and savvy man.

However, beneath this facade of self-control, which he upholds quite well to the public eye, hides his obvious alcoholism issues.

While he may not be stumbling and blubbering around, picking fights,— in most instances at least— Vox is certainly what you might call a “day drinker."

In fact, this is actually a canonical trait, which was displayed in episode two of the show; Him discussing with others Vees on how to deal with the radio demon’s comeback, a drink in hand.

I presume thatit was a scotch on the rocks due to it’s colour but also it’s historical relevance in relation to Vox’s person— Scotch whisky poured over ice, gained popularity in the 1950s primarily in Western countries such as the United States, the United Kingdom, and Canada.

It became a symbol of sophistication and leisure, often enjoyed in upscale bars, clubs, and lounges frequented by the affluent and fashionable crowd of the era.

Additionally, its popularity was bolstered by the rise of cocktail culture during the mid-20th century, as well as the increasing availability of Scotch whisky in international markets. — this fits quite nicely Vox’s character as it is both a drink of his time on earth but also one that remains relevant in the contemporary era.

It easily mirrors Vox's overarching desire to maintain relevance and significance, both in the present and in the ever-evolving future.

The overlord definitely adhere to ‘it’s five o’clock somewhere’ religiously. Though he does prefer to enjoy his daily drink around 5 p.m. PRT (Pride Ring Time).

He will occasionally enjoys a drink with his lunch, often opting for wine, although this isn't a regular occurrence for the man.

As someone constantly under stress, with his mind racing to keep up with the ever-changing trends and opinions in hell, Vox is a type to indulge in a nightcap or two before bed.

It helps him unwind and achieve the relaxed state of mind necessary for a restful night's sleep.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 Sleep

While the notion of ‘Vox's dreams playing on his screen while he's asleep’ is an amusing concept for fanfiction or artwork, I personally find the idea of ‘the VoxTek logo bouncing around like the DVD logo’ to be more fitting for Vox.

Before delving further, it's important to note that initially, it wasn't necessarily the VoxTek logo projected on his screen; however, I'll address this shortly.

The reason I lean towards the DVD logo concept is because I find it unlikely that Vox's screen would be completely black during sleep. A completely dark screen would imply the device is completely off, no energy is being received or given by it, which would suggest that it is no longer alive. Having some activity on Vox’s screen while asleep would signify that his program is still active, indicating he's still functioning, essentially alive.

Now regarding the widely shared headcanon, I have my own personal take on it.

When Vox first manifested in hell, his 'real name' appeared on screen. By 'real name,' I mean the one he had on Earth, which I believe wasn't Vox —That name seems too futuristic for a person born in the early 1900s or the kind of name you'd associate with a 1950s businessman— Vox is a name he chose for himself after death, symbolizing a fresh start, though I do think that his real name might also have started with a V.

(This perspective extends to other 'Vees' as well, although Velvette seems more plausible as a given name, I suspect it might not be her original one. Valentino, on the other hand, feels like a name assigned to him, but he too might have adopted a new one after death.)

Initially, Vox was unaware of his old name appearing on his screen while he slept since he wasn't conscious during that time. It wasn't until about half a year into his time in hell, during which he introduced himself as Vox to everyone, that one of his acquaintances pointed out this aspect of his physiology. Something along the lines of "Who's V———?" or "Why does V——— show on your screen while you sleep?" triggered a cascade of reactions in him.

Firstly, he panicked, realizing that people had access to his old identity. Secondly, he was puzzled by this phenomenon since no TV he had encountered displayed such behavior, which was normal considering DVDs weren't invented before 1996. — Hell sure was weird, he possessed technological features as part of his physiology before they were even invented— Lastly, this revelation instilled in him a new fear of sleeping.

This behavior stemmed from Vox's desire to construct a fresh existence in hell, complete with a new identity, image, empire, etc. The thought of others accessing his old name and exploiting it to uncover details about his past, including his behaviors, weaknesses, and tactics, filled him with dread.

As a result, he became hyper-vigilant, refusing to sleep unless he was certain of his solitude, fearing the potential repercussions of his former identity being known.

It wasn't until the mid 1960s that Vox had finally managed to upgrade his system, replacing ‘V———‘ with 'Vox'. However, even after this upgrade, he still harboured reservations about sleeping around others for about a year or two. He feared a potential glitch that could revert his screen to displaying his previous name.

Around the late 1970s he had made an adjustment to this aspect of his body once more, replacing 'Vox' with the VoxTek logo after a certain moth had suggested it.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Sexuality

Our beloved Tv Demon a canonical bisexual man, but I personally believe that while he may have bisexuality as his sexual orientation, — his attraction to men was something he only came to realize after death. Although there were subtle hints of his attraction to the same gender based on how he felt about them, he unfortunately didn't grasp them while still alive;

It would have been the late 1950s, and Vox had been in hell for about a year or two. In his earthly life, he had been with his fair share of women, and even in the "surprisingly not so fiery pits of the underworld," his ability to attract partners hadn't diminished much once got over his TV head appearance and let place for his charming and savvy persona to take over.

His love life seemed unchanged, perhaps with occasional exploration of new kinks, until that fateful night of October 11, 195X...

Vox had gone out for a drink after a grueling day at work, back when he was still toiling away at a low-paying job in an electronics factory, toasters, vacuum, etc. Despite the shitty work he had to go through, he had the perk of taking home broken scraps, which eventually played a role in his rise to success. But let's refocus on his night out, shall we?

He walked into his newfound favorite spot, a comedy bar where he sought solace in laughter and libations after a hard day. Arriving just as the performer began their set, he headed straight to the bar for his usual whiskey on the rocks, with nothing else on his mind. It wasn't until the comedian delivered a particularly hilarious joke that Vox turned to look at them and found his attraction piqued.

It was evident that they were a man with the specific style flashy outfit and makeup they wore. The voice was also a dead giveaway. The person now standing on stage, delivering one funny punchline after another, was a drag queen – a stunning one in Vox's eyes.

He couldn't tear his gaze away; there was something irresistibly captivating about the humorous individual on stage.

After the performance, as they made their way to the bar, Vox seized the opportunity. He introduced himself, and they exchanged pleasantries. They shared drinks and engaged in lively conversation, making for a truly enjoyable night that ended with a bang, quite literally.

In the morning, as clarity returned, Vox couldn't help but feel confused. He had never been attracted to men before, so he initially chalked it up to the alcohol or the fact that his night companion appeared so feminine that he mistook them for a woman.

However, as memories of the night flooded back, he couldn't deny his genuine attraction to every aspect of his partner, even the unmistakably male parts.

Initially, it felt strange to Vox as he reflected on the experience. However, after hours of deep contemplation, everything started to fall into place.

Vox realized he had always felt an affinity towards men, though expressing it as "liking men" might have appeared odd to outsiders. When he used that phrase, it wasn't in the context of sexual or romantic attraction but more of an admiration.

Yet, upon further reflection, he acknowledged that his feelings surpassed mere admiration.

He had never entertained the idea of it being anything akin to sexual or romantic attraction, but his recent encounter forced him to reconsider as he contemplated his life and the events of the previous night.

Vox liked men;

— Vox had always been drawn to the men of his time who exuded masculine confidence and assertiveness, finding their presence alluring and desiring to be in their company constantly.

He liked when they wore classic masculine fashion, such as tailored suits with narrow lapels, fitted jackets, and straight-leg trousers. These outfits oozed sophistication and professionalism, and Vox admired the attention to detail displayed.

Additionally, he liked when men would add classic accessories like fedora hats, skinny ties, cufflinks, and pocket squares to their outfit, they added to the polished and stylish appearance.

The preppy style also appealed to Vox, as he admired men who wore V-neck sweaters, button-down shirts, khaki trousers, and loafers. This style exuded a sense of casual elegance and refinement that he found attractive.

He also had a penchant for rebellious men who embraced a non-conformist aesthetic, often seen in leather jackets, denim jeans, white T-shirts, and motorcycle boots.

Vox liked when men were smart and witty, could keep up with the conversation and also teach something along the way.

Vox liked men who exuded strength and athleticism, finding their ability to handle themselves physically appealing. For instance, witnessing a fistfight between coworkers would stir his emotions, initially attributing his excitement to the violence of the altercation.

However, he would inevitably find himself gravitating towards the winner, intrigued by their display of strength and skill, and feeling drawn to them in some inexplicable way. There was something about winners that captivated him and sparked his desire to get closer to them.

He like men who were daring, adventurous, and unafraid to push boundaries, they appealed to his sense of excitement and thrill-seeking.

He liked men who were ambitious, goal-oriented, and willing to pursue their dreams with determination might have resonated with Vox on a subconscious level.—

After his one-night stand, Vox was determined to clarify things once and for all. Following another grueling day of work, he ventured out again, this time to a gay bar, seeking the company of someone who embodied the traits he found most appealing in men, wanting to ensure it wasn't just the alcohol or the femininity of his previous partner. Without delving into detail, let's just say he had quite the night and afterward, there was no doubt in his mind: ‘he liked women, and he definitely also liked men.’

Following that experience, Vox began seeing more individuals of the same gender. However, he still held onto the notion that while he might be attracted to men, he didn't believe he would be interested in them as anything more than sexual partners. That was until he met Alastor...

Initially, Vox approached the radio demon seeking friendship or perhaps a partnership, given Vox's burgeoning company and rising status as an overlord. However, he soon found himself enamored with Alastor. Unfortunately for Vox, his feelings were not reciprocated. After that, Alastor distanced himself from Vox, leading our TV host to regard his old love as an enemy.

In response to the rejection, Vox decided to cease seeing men altogether, engaging in a series of short-term relationships with women. However, he soon realized he was simply idealizing Alastor and shifted his focus from woman to men for meaningless relationships, attempting to prove to himself that any other man was better than "that Bambi bitch."

But this approach only intensified the emptiness he felt. Recognizing the detrimental effects of his frantic behavior on himself and his company, Vox resolved to regulate and get back on a more business focused path.

The fact that rumours began circulating about his supposed "homoerotic relationships," was also a big push into getting back on track, as a word like that getting out was detrimental to business, since being gay was still stigmatized even in hell, during this time period.

It was around the late 1970s, with the rise of gay rights activism, that Vox began publicly dating men. Coincidentally, this was also when he met and began his business partnership (and more) with Valentino.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ Names

Vox has a penchant for using endearing or patronizing nicknames, regardless of the gender of his employees. He will refer to them as "sweetheart," "doll face," or simply "doll."

In moments of frustration or when faced with resistance, he's not shy about using terms like "little girl" or "little boy," or even "kid," to belittle those who question him.

Additionally, he might employ terms like "Princess" or "your highness" as forms of condescension, no matter the gender of the person he is addressing.

NSFW

𓊔 Party

Despite Vox's obsession with his and the Vees' image, when it comes to partying, he becomes a total animal — I’m talking ‘The Wolf of Wall Street’ type of wild.

Lavish gatherings marked by obscene spending and excessive drug intake, especially cocaine.

Vox typically indulged in doing lines off his desk or the luxurious crystal table in the lounge. However, what truly exited him was snorting lines off someone, getting his rocks off at their inability to refuse his advances and delighting in the control he exerted as he pinned them down to prevent any squirming.

The slight anxious tears and nervous mewls from whoever served as his snorting surface always stirred something within Vox. While he would grow irritated if they moved too much, the subtle signs of fear, such as the wetting of their eyes and trembling breath, would quickly reignite his unstable emotions. He found himself intensely aroused by their scared state, and more than once, he acted on these desires…

Drabble:

You were a VoxTek employee, more specifically; Vox’s secretary.

As Vox's secretary, navigating Alastor-related tantrums and enduring the grueling hours could be incredibly taxing, but the job itself had its perks.

Thanks to your position in the company, you enjoyed luxurious accommodations in the finest suites the V Tower had to offer.

Despite the challenges, Vox could be surprisingly pleasant, his charismatic charm reminiscent of his earlier days when his hypnosis wasn't as potent. And beneath the unconventional exterior of his TV head, there was no denying the appeal of his well-built physique.

Given the close proximity and constant interaction with Vox, it was inevitable to develop a small crush on your boss. His magnetic presence and the fact he was practically the only person you interacted with regularly since he requested you to work closer to him about three months ago only fueled this infatuation.

You liked your boss, but at this moment, you couldn't stand him;

It was 3 a.m. on a Sunday, the one day of the week you were supposed to have some semblance of off-time, with the luxury of sleeping in until noon.

But instead of enjoying your well-deserved rest in bed, you found yourself reluctantly entering the elevator, begrudgingly making your way to the usually closed-off top floor of the building.

Why? Because you had received a threatening and slightly slurry phone call from your boss, demanding your immediate presence or else face termination.

With your livelihood seemingly hanging in the balance, you complied without questioning, even though you loathed every second of it.

After punching in the code provided, you entered the lounge area of the top floor to find all three Vees lounging about. Valentino was enveloped in smoke, while music filled the air.

"Y/N! So glad you made it! Come 'ere," Vox exclaimed, his gestures frantic, urging you to approach quickly. He appeared laid-back, friendly, and strangely excited, a stark contrast to his usual demeanor of coldness and condescension.

Confusion clouded your expression as you approached the couch, unsure of what to make of Vox's sudden change in behavior. Velvette, noticing your bewilderment, chimed in with an explanation. "He took some MDMA before he called you — actually, he couldn't stop blabbing about your ass once that stuff kicked in," she divulged matter-of-factly, adding another layer of peculiarity to the already bizarre situation.

‘Ah, he’s high — that explains the weird friendliness.’ You thought to yourself.

But before you could dwell on it too long, Valentino's words snapped you out of your thoughts, "Yes, little Voxxy over there couldn't stop talking about how much he wanted his little secretary with him right here. He just had to call you, despite it being the middle of the night. I'm sorry you're losing your beauty sleep right now, cariño," he said, his tone tinged with insincerity from false remorse. A small chuckle escaped his lips as he finished speaking, adding to the surreal atmosphere of the moment.

“Val, Vel! You can’t tell them that! Or they’ll, they’ll… fuck!” Vox began to say, but something mid-sentence seemed to frustrate him.

Before you could question it for too long, Valentino answered that question for you. “They’ll figure out you have a little crush on them. Aww, don’t worry papi, it’s not like they can say no to you either way,” the moth darkly announced, frightening you, as it was technically true that you had to obey whatever order your boss gave you; it was in your contract after all.

To your somewhat relief, Vox scoffed at his part-time boyfriend's comment, as if to convey that he wouldn't behave in such a manner.

"Shut the fuck, Val!" Vox began, his frustration evident, before redirecting his attention back to you. "And you, lay down on the table." Confused by the request, you briefly wondered if he was joking, but the seriousness etched on his face made it clear that he wasn't. Resigned, you followed his instruction and laid down on the table as he commanded.

As soon as you complied, a smile spread across Vox's face. "Good, good. Now be a good little secretary and stay still as I do some lines off you, m'kay?" he instructed.

Before you could process anything or say something, he pushed your shirt all the way up, ending just under your chest, and tugged your bottoms down slightly — exposing your whole stomach.

Attempting to voice your discomfort, you were promptly shushed by Vox. "Shhh, you're being a table for me right now, and last time I checked, tables don't talk, now do they, sweetheart? So be a doll and shut up," he said, eliciting laughter from the two other Vees.

You complied with his instructions and remained silent as you felt him pour some powder onto your abdomen. Knowing the drugs he usually made you order on his behalf, it was probably coke.

With that, he quickly formed about three lines and began snorting them. The sensation felt odd and somewhat ticklish to you, but what you didn't expect was for him to lick the parts of your belly where the powder had just sat — long lines that started from top to bottom, causing you to squirm involuntarily.

Vox didn't appreciate your movement, because ‘how dare his table move?’. In response, he firmly gripped your waist on both sides and forcefully slammed your hips against the table as a warning to ‘stop moving’.

However, his claws dug into your skin, causing you to cry out slightly. Upon seeing the small tears in your eyes, his mood shifted once more, from aggravation to something more lustful.

He relished the sight of you with tears in your eyes, so he decided to inflict a bit more pain. With a predatory glint in his eyes, he bit at your sides, knowing that you couldn't retaliate due to the hierarchical difference between you.

His bites started from the top, gradually getting lower until they ended up just above your crotch. With a slight, heavy breathing, he remarked, "Now what do we have here? A snack for me? You shouldn't have." As he removed your bottoms, leaving you in your underwear, a slight moist patch formed due to the position you were in.

Sure, Vox was an entitled asshole, but god, did he look and sound incredible when he was being mean and bossy. How could you not get aroused, especially when his face and long tongue ass were so close to your intimate parts.

"You want me to play with you, darling?" Vox asked in a manner that almost made it feel like you had a choice. There was something about it that suggested he might respect your decision if you said no—sure, he wouldn't like it, but he definitely had this thing where he wanted you to want him, to beg for him, to need him. Forcing himself on you wouldn't align with that desire.

You nodded, but he tutted at you, wanting a verbal answer. "No, no, no, it's 'Could you please, sir?' or 'Would love to, Mr. Vox,' or 'Please, I need you, Vox.' You've got to speak up if you want me to do anything to you, got it, dollface?" he clarified, emphasizing the importance of explicit consent, whether it was due to genuine respect for your boundaries or just his enjoyment of your yearning for him, it was a bit unclear. However, knowing Vox, he probably just got off on your embarrassment.

"Yes, sir," you said, feeling embarrassed. "So? Do you want me to give some love to these," he asked, tracing the outline of your underwear, "lovely parts?" He perked up.

"I would love for you to, sir," you managed to speak out. With a 'perfect' from your boss, he was now eagerly devouring you with his tongue, sending small pleasurable shocks through you as he did. No part of you down there was left un-licked.

Just as you were about to reach that sweet, sweet release — Vox removed himself from you, causing you to whine at the loss of pleasure.

"Don't worry," he said, but before you could complain too much, Vox lifted you up and threw you onto the couch, your face soon hitting the satin pillows. As you heard the sound of his belt unbuckling, you felt your hips being repositioned, leaving you face down and ass up.

Vox quickly pumped his cock a few times, not needing much as it was already hard from the sight of you writhing due to his tongue. Getting close to your ear, he whispered, "Cuz I'm not done with you, dollface."

Then he promptly shoved himself inside of you. Thankfully, whatever he was doing with his tongue a couple of instances ago had prepped you, because, woof, did the stretch sting.

After giving you a few moments to adjust, he began pounding you into tomorrow, playing with your front and sending small shocks here and there. With no regard for his colleagues sitting right beside him —or should I say colleague, as in singular—Velvette had left as soon as he began working you with his tongue. However, Valentino remained, watching the scene unfold with keen interest.

Your soon came undone due to his rough ministrations, but he was far from done with you...

⫘⫘⫘ Ownership, ⛌⛌⛌ Humiliation & Collar

If you haven't already figured it out yet, Vox is a sadist. He thoroughly enjoys power dynamics and the act of humiliating others.

Continuing from the previous headcanon, picture yourself as either hired as his secretary or as a low-ranking demon in his company who catches his eye. If you're the latter, he'll undoubtedly arrange for you to be transferred to work closer to him.

But anyway, my point is, as soon as you're in his close proximity, he'll literally makes you his bitch on call in the blink of an eye. And obviously, you can't refuse because, one, he's your boss; two, he's an overlord; and three, he's Vox.

Who would refuse that hunk? Even if you weren't initially attracted to him, you'd find yourself becoming so after a couple of weeks, even if it's just some weird mild attraction—you're still into him.

Once he's got you in his grasp and has fucked you at least once, this is when he begins to play with you. He'll make you start wearing a vibrator under your clothes at work, ordering you to remove your clothing every morning and show him, to ensure you did it. Then he'd send you on your merry way.

If he wasn't physically with you, he'd be watching you through his cameras.

And every time you would be talking to someone and he deemed it too long, you weren't paying attention to him, or you were zoning out/getting distracted, he would turn the vibrator on to 'get you back on track'.

Though he did like to sometimes turn the vibrator on just to tease you. For example, you're in the middle of telling him about a shift in his appointment in a room full of people, and he would suddenly turn it on to fuck with you.

He also has a huge thing for pulling you by your soul chain. He just loves, loves, loves summoning it out of nowhere and just tugging you along with it.

For instance, you could be telling him about some issue concerning a recent project, and he would tell you to come closer so he could hear better.

As you walk closer towards his desk, he deems your pace too slow. Without warning, he summons and tugs at the chain around your neck, causing you to fall to the ground.

In an attempt to brace the fall, you put your arms out, catching yourself and ending up on all fours.

But as you try to get up, he would tut at you, ordering you to “Crawl to me.” You’re humiliated, but you still do it as he watches you like a hawk, a satisfied grin on his face.

If you also happen to scrape or bruise yourself when you fell and some small tears form in your eyes, let me tell you, he would get so bricked up as soon as he noticed them.

And of course, he would make you blow him, though it would end up with him face-fucking you, as it usually did.

He would also hold your head down as he dumped his cum down your throat, then he would pull your nose with his free hand, saying that “you don’t get to breathe until you’ve swallowed it all.” And of course, you would do it because you don’t want to literally choke to death on your boss’s dick.

Once he was sure you had swallowed it all, he would finally release you, allowing you to take some air in. Then he would make you stick out your tongue, and he would spit in your mouth, making you swallow that too.

𐂯 Training

He liked using small electrical charges as a ‘training method’, and this method has two stages. This would happen after he already had you as his personal toy— I mean, ‘secretary’.

At first, he uses electricity to reprimand you whenever you weren’t paying attention to him, questioned him, said no to things, or did anything that he considered as bad behaviour.

He would shock you, making you associate ‘bad behavior’ with pain, so you would end up automatically correct yourself before you even do or say something.

If you take a bit too long to ‘adjust’ to this new way of acting, he might resort to a little bit of hypnosis, but he would prefer not to.

He gets off on the fact that he can train you to behave just with his words and actions, without the help of any special ability.

Anyways, when he is sure that he has drilled into you what proper behavior is, he’ll employ phase two. He’ll start training you to enjoy the sting of his electricity.

So, whether he's fucking you, giving you head, touching you, or basically providing any sort of pleasure, every time you would be close to reaching your peak, he would send jolts of electricity through you, gradually increasing the dosage over time.

Things would get to the point that a small shock from him would be enough to get you turned on, and bigger shocks would be able to literally make you cum.

ฅ Pet

For the most part, he wouldn’t see secretary!reader as a partner. It’s only after a while, like a year or more, that he would start considering it.

He views them as his romantic interests, but not on his level. To keep face with the other Vees, even though they both knew about his crush from the beginning because he was so obvious with it, he would call you his pet.

Sometimes literal ‘pet names’ like puppy, kitty, bunny, etc. (Personally, I would love for him to call him his bunny <3.)

What he calls you all depends on your appearance and behaviors. For example, if you manifested with a more feline appearance, he would call you his kitten or kitty. If you didn’t have animal-like features but for example, were very needy, had a tendency to follow around, and were a sucker for praise, he would likely call you his puppy.

𓌏 Punishments

Besides using electric shocks, he is definitely into spanking as a form of punishment—whether it involves pulling down your pants or lifting your skirt, spanking you for every ‘transgression’ you’ve committed is something he’s totally down for.

It can be a really strange experience if you weren't a masochist to begin with because he'll end up having you conditioned to enjoy physical punishments;

For example, he would be spanking you, and you find yourself getting turned on, arousal literally leaking due to his rough treatment of your behind.

Edging and overstimulation are also big in his book, though each has its own set of circumstances where they would be implemented.

For instance, if you weren't paying attention to him because of someone else, he would overstimulate you to the point where you couldn't think about anyone but him, asserting his superiority over whoever had your attention.

If you weren't paying attention for any other reason, he would edge you, because ‘how dare you ignore him when he should be the most important to you!’.

Thanks anons for requesting!

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toxicanonymity · 2 years ago

Text

Jailbird.

1.5k / Cellmate’s nephew!Joel x inmate f!reader

thank you @iamasaddie for the mood board!!!

PART 2 HERE: Collect calls

Summary: Your cellmate introduces you to her hot nephew and he comes to visitation hours. A/N: Part 1 of 3. This one is due to @beskarandblasters and @wannab-urs and their hilarious list of new joel tropes and @raccoonhandedhottie's nerve to put the idea of doing one in my head. My masterlist WARNINGS: References to sex work, ACAB. Horny phone/visitation talk, mild/non-explicit over-pants masturbation. Mickey Avalon Easter egg.

Without Mabel, you're not sure how you would've survived your first six months in lock-up. You were cuffed for solicitation when a dirty cop wouldn't pay what he owed. He says he took it easy on you -- you also clawed him and spit in his face. As soon as you told your new cellmate what really happened, she took a liking to you. She said you should've bitten him in the pecker. Mabel had been there, done that. She even knew of the cop who put you away. It wasn't Mabel's first time behind bars. She had the ink and reputation to prove it. Her knuckles said "TAKE NONE" and that was accurate. By now, nobody gave her any shit. Soon enough, no one gave you any either.

Mabel had a few photographs on her wall, mostly of her and a younger man. Not a particularly young man, but certainly younger than Mabel. He was probably in his early forties in the pictures, which were five years prior, before she violated her parole. She was giving you a poke and stick tat of a four leaf clover on your hand one day when you asked about the pictures.

"I was wonderin' when ya were gonna ask about my lil Jojo. I've seen ya lookin' at him, ya little horndog..."

She let you stammer around in response. "No, I, I'm just, making conversation, wanna get to know you better."

"It's okay, baby. He's my nephew. All I got left. He's a neat kid."

"He looks happy to be with you–ouch!"

"Don't be a pussy. Oh, he's a real sweet boy. Bet he'd like you, too."

"What makes you say that?"

She looked up from your hand "cause ya got a cunt and you're not bad lookin'," she laughed. "Hey,” she raised her eyebrows. “You ever wanna borrow one of those pics, you let me know, I'll give ya some privacy."

"No thanks."

"Oh, come on. You can fold it so ya don't have to see my pretty face."

You laughed.

"Bet he'd dick ya down real good, too."

"What?" You asked, quietly disturbed.

"He lives with me. Walls are thin."

"Ah. That must be awkward."

"Not really! We're all human. I could even tell ya the kinda shit he says if ya want. He can get real filthy. Or shit, I could just give ya his number."

"That's ok."

"Baby, he'd love to hear from ya. Trust me. I've told him all about ya." She put down the needle and picked up a tissue to dab your skin.

"You have??"

"Oh yeah. Here, I'm gonna write it down."

She took one of the photos off the wall and wrote his number on the back. Then she folded it in half and winked at you as she handed it to you.

—----------------

It only took a week of her nagging for you to call “Jojo.”

Your breath hitched when you heard his smooth, deep voice. The first thing he said was, “Ah, call me Joel,” and you could hear the smile on his face.

“Oh god, I’m sorry,” you laughed. “Well your aunt’s told me a lot about you, Joel.”

“Yeah, I can only imagine what,” he faux grumbled. “Real character, ain’t she?”

“I love Mabel,” you blurted out.

You found yourself opening up about how in some ways, she was more of a mother figure than you ever had. Joel was easy to talk to. It just came pouring out. You told him about Mabel’s antics and the mischief the two of you got up to. Things you’d steal from the cafeteria. The way Mabel kept the ladies in line who tried to dom you. Next thing you knew, your time was up. You apologized profusely for talking Joel’s ear off about yourself.

“Nahhhh, it was nice,” Joel said. “Hell of a lot more interesting than my life.”

“Well it was good talking to you,” you told him.

He said, “Hey, call me back any time.”

There was nothing sexy at all about that first conversation, but his voice did something to you. You squeezed your thighs together when you got back to your cell and looked at the photo. Mabel kept giving you a knowing look.

—------

You started calling Joel regularly. Mabel told you he liked you a lot, but you weren’t sure if you should believe her. She seemed overly eager to set him up. The conversations were brief and casual. When you didn’t call him one week, the next time you spoke, he told you he missed the sound of your voice.

Something came over you and you broke the tension. “My voice?” you asked. “Joel, your voice. . . you dunno what it does to me,” you blurted out. Zero to sixty, just like that.

“Well damn,” Joel said. “Shoulda said somethin’. Coulda given ya better than stories about Mabel.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Like whatever ya want, jailbird.” Your heart fluttered “Whatever gets ya hot and bothered.”

“Honey, you could read me the phone book,” you told him.

He chuckled. “Haven’t seen one of those in a few years.” His voice was sexy to begin with but the sharp edge of the phone connection made it even hotter.

After a moment of tense silence, he said, “Hey, uh, you notice any of your pictures missin’?”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, Mabel mailed me one. Didn’t tell me you were a fuckin’ smokeshow.”

You laughed bashfully.

“Well she did. But I had to see it for myself, and shit”

“Well, thanks. You’re not bad looking yourself.”

Your time was almost up.

“Hey I’m comin’ to see Mabel later this week. Y’all got the same visitor’s night or what? Cause I’d love to see you, too, if it’s allowed.”

“Nah, mine’s the next night.”

“S’alright, i’ll come back for ya, sugar.” Your heart skipped a beat.

“I’ve gotta go.”

“I know. Be good, jailbird.”

—--------

It was visitation day and you were getting nervous. Mabel thought it was adorable. She helped you get ready. Did your hair nice. “He’s already smitten with ya, baby,” she said.

You were escorted into the visitation room and sat at one of the booths, separated by glass, with a phone on each side.

When Joel came in, you didn’t recognize him at first. In just those five years, his beard had turned half-silver. He was striking in person. He was wearing a tight t-shirt and jeans. Tight jeans. You couldn’t help but size up the bulge in them.

When you looked up at his face, he was raising his eyebrows at you like he caught you looking. He sat down and put his elbows on the table. You picked up the phone, a little nervous, but more excited than anything. He checked you out and smiled at you coyly before picking up the phone.

“Like what ya see?” he said softly into the phone.

You replied with a low whistle, then asked, “You always dress like a piece of meat?” He had a few hand tattoos of his own. Faded, blurred together. A spade between his thumb and forefinger. A spiderweb curving around one of his biceps. He’d probably done his own time.

“When the hell are ya gettin’ outta here?”

“Up for parole next month,” you said.

“No shit!” He looked genuinely excited.

“Mabel didn’t tell you?”

“Thought she was yankin’ my chain.” He stretched his free hand behind his head and you watched his bicep. “You been good? Think you’ll get out?”

“Haven’t been bad.”

“Good.” He lowered his voice. “‘Cause sugar, I’m gonna need to see what’s under that garb.”

You smiled with faux shyness, and he continued, “God damn,” looking at you like a juicy leg of lamb.

You stared at each other, checking each other out for a moment. You watched his pupils dilate as your chest rose and fell with desire.

You made small talk for a minute or two, all the while fucking each other with your eyes. But, things took a turn again.

“What do you miss the most?” he asked in a low, sultry voice. “Bet ya don’t miss the clients.”

You shook your head.

He lowered his voice further. “When’s the last time ya had a nice hard cock ya really wanted?”

Your eyes widened. “Shit, I dunno.”

“Ohhh you’re in for it.” You looked around, paranoid, in disbelief that you could get away with a conversation like this. “Ain’t nothin’ harder than mine, baby.” He reached his hand into his lap. “Fuck. ‘specially for you.” You could see his arm moving very slowly but there was no mistaking what he was doing. His eyes devoured you.

“Joel,” you sighed. “Fuck, I believe it.”

And just like that, a guard approached him from behind. “Time’s up,” the guard said and glared at you. You rolled your eyes as a guard approached you, too.

Joel said “Later, jailbird” and hung up the phone. When he stood up, his massive erection was visible and made your heart skip a beat. You glanced up to his face and he was wetting his lips. He winked at you with pink cheeks and your eyes immediately fell back to his crotch as he adjusted himself and the guard hurried him away.

FUCK. You were gushing. Mabel’s Jojo. Joel. What a man.

---------

Part 2

Ty for reading. strip club manager!Joel will be an alternate timeline of this Joel set in the past while Mabel was on parole. DIFFERENT READER. preview

this trope actually gave me so many more elaborate ideas lmao.

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All Joel:@ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @gracieispunk @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @milla-frenchy @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths @am-3-thyst @may-machin @pedromania91 @sloanexx @paleidiot @yourmistysecret

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #toxicanonymity ☠️#cellmate's nephew!joel #CN!Joel Miller #CN!Joel #cellmate's nephew!joel miller #jojo ☠️

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nightangle9 · 2 years ago

Note

hii! I just found out about your blog, and you do write about Johan (monster), so could you do a smut fic about him and f!reader

thank you!!

~Foreordain~ (Part-1)

Johan Liebert x Inexperienced! fem reader

Genre: Oneshot Series & Smut

Warning: manipulation, very toxic behaviour, sexual content, dirty talk, fingering

Word Count: 2.3k

Writer's Note: Sorry this took so long ᴖ̈

Wisterias burn around you as you look at the man in front of you. What… could have let for this to happen. Hearts connected to stow are now shattered with just one go. Mind hypnotized by the monster, the demon, the ferocity. You still longed for him, after all that...you still did. You loved him, you really did. But this was meant to happen from the moment you saw him, your fate was decided. It was Foreordain.

~10 MONTHS BEFORE~

You despised monsoons. Insects, dirt, mud, everything. Other than one thing. The smell. The smell of monsoon was like a drug to you. Every time it filled your nostrils, it gave you a feeling of Euphoria. Nothing could’ve matched that smell until you walked past him.

Light blonde hair, pale skin, and handsome features glistened with the dawn of the day. He simply looked so…angelic. So, you stopped, stopped in your tracks, and just looked at him. How seraphic, you thought. Then he turned and looked at you. Just when you thought that he couldn’t get even more beautiful. You saw his blue eyes. Those ethereal and divine blue eyes. And they looked at you. But…something about those eyes scared you just as much as they attracted you. They just looked so…lifeless.

“Is there something wrong, miss?” he spoke, his voice so soft and gentle. And you blushed, of course you did. “N-no, I-it’s nothing!” You spoke in a flustered tone, still lost for words. He came closer to you, only a few inches between. His smell. Oh, he smelt so good…so damn intoxicating.

“Then why is that, you’re so flustered, miss?” he spoke in that soft voice of his, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Blue eyes scrutinizing your face. Looking for something…anything. And just for a mere second, you swear your life. He smirked. It was slight, only appearing for a second. But it made your heart stop beating for a moment.

He pulled out a pen from the breast pocket of his coat and then gently took hold of your hand. “May I?” he whispered. The question was so simple but you were too hypnotized by his charm to reply, so you just nodded.

He wrote his number on the palm of your hand, his movements smooth. There was no hesitation or awkwardness. He was just so effortless even with these simple gestures, that it was alluring to just observe and look at him.

“What is your name, miss?” he whispered in your ear, leaning closer. Blushing profusely, you could only answer him in a breathy voice, saying your name. “W-what about you, what is it…w-what is your name?” you spoke quietly. And you notice, how his eyes darkened at your simple question. But it quickly vanished, and he smiled at you, so soft and gentle. “Liebert…Johan Liebert.” How tempting.

~AT NIGHT~

Later that night, you called him. “H-hello?” you spoke in a questioning manner, even though you knew who was on the other end. “Good evening, Miss Y/N. Missing me already now, are you?” He spoke from the other side of the call. His voice like always, so soft and sweet. Your breath hitched at the question, gulping, you spoke. “I guess so. S-so what about tomorrow…are you free tomorrow evening?” you asked biting your lip slightly in nervousness. You heard Johan chuckle through the phone. Then he spoke, his voice was normal but still…you felt it. That slight seductiveness. “Why...you want to ask me out on a date?” you felt your cheeks blush at his tone and question, but you quickly replied. Trying to maintain your composure. “M-maybe, I do.” Then he spoke again, his voice even more seductive and tempting. “Oh, is that so? Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind going on a date with a lady as beautiful as you. So how about you be the boss, and decide the time and I’ll take the honor of assisting and taking you to a nice place.” Goodness, this guy knew exactly how to raise your heartbeat. “Y-yeah, sure…sure. How about tomorrow evening at 7 pm?” you asked, crossing your fingers in hope. “Sounds good to me…You can send me your address. So, I’ll be able to pick you up from your house.” He said sweetly. “P-pick?! I can come by myself.” You spoke, surprised at his request. Nobody has ever picked you from your house, its not exactly safe to tell people your address. It seemed almost…suspicious.

“I don’t think so…a woman like you deserves nothing below the utmost treatment. It would be an insult to you if I don’t give you best” he spoke gently…his gentle voice suddenly becoming slightly deeper and smoother. “Or perhaps you haven’t experienced being treated that way? Do you want others to find out the kind of treatment you’ve received from men till now? I’m sure you’d be embarrassed if that happens…Your friends would start treating you like an inferior person. Or maybe they already have. Well, all I'm doing is suggesting an idea.” You felt him smile through the phone, his tone shifting slightly. You were left speechless, every word of his cut you deep inside. Almost as if he knew everything about you. You always had bad experience with men, you never were the type of person to had a lot of relationships and experience. This made you insecure around your friends, who were either in a long-term relationship or at least had some experience. Whereas you were shy and nervous making you never really approach people from front especially for a relationship. You let out a deep breath as you realized his care and kindness towards you. He was so perfect…such a gentleman. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll send you my house address.” You said with a smile. “Thank you, Y/N, you truly are the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met…Goodbye then. We’ll meet tomorrow.” He spoke sweetly, as you felt him smile through the phone. “Goodbye.” You whispered as you ended the call. Tomorrow was going to be a great day.

~NEXT DAY~

The anticipation of meeting him had a chokehold on you for the whole day. You wanted to look your best, dress your best, smell your best, talk your best, just be your best for him. Or you could say his…approval. You didn’t know how, but you felt the need to prove yourself in front of him. Show him that calling you the most wonderful woman he had ever encountered was not a mistake. So, you did…well you tried more so.

Starting the day by going to a spa, a salon, a manicure & pedicure center. You did it all. Going as far as to buy new clothes. A pleated black skirt and a silk red top with matching black Louis Vuitton heels. God, you were excited. Wondering how he may look? Well, it didn’t matter anyway. Even if he showed up wearing a potato sack, he would still look good anyways.

The time came, sitting on your couch. All readied up for him. Staring at the wall, zoned out. The sound of your doorbell ringing suddenly reached your ears. Instinctively standing up, you panicked. Thoughts swarming in your head like goldfish in a pond. Then, it rang again. Taking a deep breath, you adjusted your dress and looked at yourself in the mirror for the last time. All perfect.

“Good evening.” He greeted you in that oh-so-soft voice of his after you opened your front door. “G-good evening.” You stuttered after you saw him. Dressed in an all-black suit. He just looked so elegant and gorgeous. You checked him out in secret. Damn, how can someone be so beautiful? He felt more like an angel than a human. Taking your hand in his, he kissed it softly. A faint blush appeared on your cheeks as he did so. “Shall we go?” he whispered, softly. Speechless, all you could do was nod.

The date was the best one you ever had. Every word he spoke, every touch he implanted, every look he gave made you put in a spell. A spell you cannot resist, becoming automatically submissive to his voice. And the way he touched you in an almost teasing manner. Leaving you hanging between threads longing for more, in a wonder of what he can offer. And the way he looked at you, seductive yet with a softness to his sapphire eyes. You didn’t even know when it happened, at what time it happened, but now you were left aroused. Wetness smirching your red panties. Something that Johan was seemingly unaware of.

“Shall we head somewhere else?” He asked smiling softly, holding your hand as you walk along a bridge. “Sure!” you said with a sweet smile on your face.

The moonlight glistened in the dark sky suffused with stars as you stepped inside the medieval-themed hotel. You looked around the hotel’s lobby as Johan booked a room for both of you. “Let’s go.” He smiled, putting his arm over your shoulder and pulling you closer. You looked down, blushing as you, both walked inside the elevator. “So have you ever been to a hotel with a man before?” he asked. “I-I haven’t” you muttered, embarrassed of yourself. “Then, may I have the honor of accompanying such a beautiful lady?” he whispered, voice almost seductive as he inched his face closer to yours. “Please.” You whispered back, licking your lower lip slightly. Hands that were earlier pulling you closer now caressed your neck, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. He pulled in for a kiss. Starting slow now turned passionate. Desperate. Hungry. Desirous. He kissed you with every being of him. A man has now finally found the thing to cease his thirst. Breaking the kiss first, you were left longing for air. As you met his eyes, you felt that lust and greed oozing from the almost perfect man in your presence.

A small ‘ting’ sound awoke you from your lost state. You arrived on the 17th floor of the hotel, where your room was stationed. As you got out of the elevator and started looking around the floor, suddenly you felt Johan hug you from behind. His pale arms wrapped around your torso, as he whispered so seductively, so quietly in your ear. “Why don’t we continue this somewhere private, love?” …. Love?! You genuinely thought at that moment you would’ve melted in his arms. Face flushed profusely at his ‘innocent’ request, you nodded.

Getting inside the room, the first thing he did was lock the door while you sat on the edge of the bed, oh-so-flustered by the situation. Your breathing got slightly heavy as he started walking towards you slowly, his eyes almost having a predatory look in them. Crouching on the floor in front of you, he started to take off your heels. “W-what are you doing?” you asked softly, almost breathless from the anticipation. “Taking care of you sweetheart.” He replied as he stood up in Infront of you, his hand coming to hold your chin in a gentle but firm manner as he inched closer to your face and whispered in a subtle voice. “That’s what I’m doing.” Oh….

Holding your face in the gentleness of his palms, he inched his face closer to yours. Finally letting go of the boundaries between you two, his lips crashed into the softness of yours as his hand caressed the back of your neck. An intimate movement lasting for eternity to your heart and soul. The softness, the wetness, the desperation, and the anticipation all crashed down to land onto one prominence of time. Opening your eyes slowly almost in an allured state you looked through them as he kissed you. His hand coming down to unzip your top. His touch, was like that of a feather, light but leaving goosebumps all over your skin.

After taking off the scrapes of clothing from your body, he laid you down on the soft mattress of the bed. “Are you nervous?” he whispered seductively in your ear, placing delicate kisses all over your neck and collarbone. Your heavy breath hitched as you avoided eye contact with him, cheeks flushed from embarrassment mixed with arousal. “N-no..” you whispered, flustered. “Yes, you are. You shouldn’t lie. It’s not a good habit.” He spoke in a smooth tone, all while looking deeply into your eyes. His other hand came to grope your breast, making you whimper in his embrace. “Good girls don’t lie.” His long fingers traced patterns on the skin of your inner thigh, and slowly but surely those long fingers sunk into the very place they had the purpose for. He slowly started by rubbing gentle circles on top of your puffy clit, and when he felt the wetness trail down your thighs that he approved of, he sinks his fingers deep inside you. All while his mouth abused the sensitive bud of your breast. Biting, licking, sucking. “Understood?” he said in an almost demanding voice, to which all you could do was whimper a nod. Overwhelmed by the pleasure caused by him on your delicate body.

He increased the pace of his hand, as his long fingers inside you constantly brushed against your g-spot, making you cry in pleasure. Moans and whimpers escaped from your pretty mouth like a chant. One hand gripped the soft mattress beneath you while the other gripped the soft blonde hair of his.

“J-Johan~” you moaned in a high-pitched voice, lip quivering from crying as your orgasm finally hit you. The tight knot in your stomach now clutching open. He took his wet fingers out of you, looking at you with a slight smirk. “Woah, aren’t you sensitive…”

“You did well.” he said, smiling softly as he cuddled you up in his arms for the night.

Waking up with a slight pain in your lower stomach, you grumpily got up, stretching yourself. You felt something missing.

“Johan?”

#johan liebert #monster #monster smut #johan liebert x reader #smut #manga and stuff #monster manga #anime smut #johan liebert x reader smut #johan liebert smut #kenzo tenma #anna liebert #wolfgang grimmer #nina

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crowleysgirl56 · 8 months ago

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Ok, so here are some of my rather long rambling thoughts. I’ll start off with some pros and cons and then provide some speculation:

My initial negative reaction:

- Compressing 5 hours worth of content into 90 minutes feels like things will be rushed and we won’t get a good story.

- HOW do you take a month to rewrite six 45 minute long scripts into a movie length feature and have it still be good?!

- the compression of the story means we will likely not get any more flashback sequences. Admittedly I actually thought we probably wouldn’t get more flashback scenes in season 3 anyway, but this definitely proves the case that we won’t. There won’t be time for it.

- who has re-written the script? Because here’s the thing about Pratchett adaptations. They’re fucking shit. No one (in my opinion) has been able to successfully transfer that man’s unique sense of humour and writing style onto screen. Every single Discworld adaptation has been on a scale of awful to kind of meh. EXCEPT for season 1 of Good Omens. As much as we hate him now. As vile as he has become in our hearts, the thing about NG is that he understood Terry’s unique style. He understood what worked and how to transfer that to the screen. And that breaks my heart on so many levels. Because he was all we had. And we certainly didn’t want him any more. But still, who THE FUCK has written the finale script now?

Now here are my positive thoughts on the situation:

- NEIL GAIMAN GOT HIS SORRY ASS FIRED! GOOD!

- Consequences. The industry has signalled consequences. Finally!

- We are getting a conclusion! It could very well have been cancelled and we would have been left with the final 15 forever. We get to see them again. That deserves a Wahoo!

- thinking back over season 2, which I enjoyed, I actually do have to say a lot of it was kind of unnecessary filler. The flashback sequences were great. But the actual core of the season’s arc involving Gabriel was just a bit boring. I’m forever grateful for it because we got to spend almost 6 hours watching Aziraphale give Crowley heart eyes and Crowley do beautiful acts of service proving his love back. But the meandering stuff with Nina and Maggie and trying to work out why Gabriel lost his memory wasn’t all that interesting. I was here for A&C.

- so I think MAYBE that means the compression of what had already been written for season 3 means it’ll cut out the plot bits that drag. Hopefully this means it’s faster paced and tighter and more focused on A&C.

Speculations:

Thinking back to the last time NG interacted with the fandom, he had confirmed the first three episodes were written and were with Amazon for approval, episode 4 was almost done, the last part of episode 6 had been written, and he had started plotting episode 5. We never got a confirmation if he ever finished them. So this maybe indicates that the finale is lifted exactly out of these scripts. My assumption is they’ve brought in a script doctor to edit what they’ve already got and wrap up plot points. In which case, on the one hand it gives us close to the story and idea of what Terry imagined. On the other, the far more negative connotation, it’s still NG’s work. The articles that have all come out so far merely states “Gaiman is not involved with the production and the finale is based on his work”. This could be Prime distancing themselves without actually confirming how he’s contributed. Which is still largely disappointing.

So, once again I feel very conflicted. A lot of the fandom have been very adamant about not wanting to support the show if Gaiman was involved, and in the end he wrote the show. Even if he had been removed as producer and showrunner and wasn’t allowed on set (thankfully it seems all three of things have happened), I know that wouldn’t have been enough for some fans because he would still have ultimately been responsible for the product that we eventually see. And I don’t know how to feel about that.

I’m happy he’s gone, I’m disappointed the show has been gutted, I’m glad we get a conclusion, I’m sad it won’t be exactly what we wanted.

I’m SO THANKFUL that the women get some semblance of justice, that there is a consequence for a perpetrator, that a big ass company is finally listening to fans and moving with the times and signally this kind of behaviour isn’t appropriate and that repercussions can and will be felt.

Finally, I’ll remind everyone that there are going to be a lot of different and conflicting feelings from the fandom. I would ask that everyone try to be nice to one another. If you have a differing opinion, maybe rather than debating it you just allow that person their feelings and move on. Do not go after someone if you feel like they’re not reacting the “right way” to the situation. Just be kind please. It’s what Terry would have wanted.

#good omens #good omens rambling thoughts #good omens finale #cw: Neil Gaiman #fuck you gaiman #Terry Pratchett #gnu terry pratchett #good omens fandom #good omens season 3 #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #crowley x arizaphale #David Tennant #Michael Sheen

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canmom · 5 months ago

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assorted TTRPG things

nugget from the tab bonfire: at some point I was reading about RPGs. some things that are old, some are new(ish). here are some links, since I think they are interesting, and some additional comments.

first-up: my own RPG posts are now archived here. that section of my site is looking a whole lot more fleshed out now.

1. ritual

in 2021, Meguey Baker wrote this one about 'ritual in game design', fitting TTRPGs into her frame of faciliating rituals for essentially therapeutic purposes, aimed at parents. since I like talking in a vaguely (vaguely) anthropological way about the analogies between TTRPGs and other activities (improv comedy, kink, wrestling), this is very relevant.

by Meguey's definition, a ritual is defined through this series of words: intentional contained conscious creative action. of course, she gives these words fairly specialised definitions. she's mostly interested in addressing TTRPGs that go into tough, bleedy places, described in books like Alice Is Missing, BFF, and Bluebeard’s Bride - of these I'm only familiar with the third but I'm kind of aware of the genre of game she's talking about. she suggests that these principles don't really apply if you're just playing to hang out and have a good time, but to my mind, just because you're less formal about it doesn't mean that's not an aspect of ritual, and the analysis is similarly applicable there, just lower-stakes.

in fact I think a whole lot of human activities are rituals (classic bryn move to grab a conceptual hammer and start seeing nails everywhere). the analogy goes the other way too, rituals are kind of like games.

I'm not entirely convinced the breakdown into jargon words really does a lot for me, but the crucial thing here is the sort of entering and exiting into a constrained social space which has its special set of rules. meguey writes these cool little coloured lists which depict the various stages of getting you into a game/ritual headspace and exiting it afterwards...

...and specialises it to the case of roleplaying games as you see. it's pretty BDSM-like isn't it? sure, that's something I'm currently interested in, I recently read The New [Topping/Bottoming] Books, but it certainly does suggest that analogy strongly for me; I think a general recognition that RPGs should have aftercare would do a lot more for the scene than a lot of the other 'safety tools' like X-cards and so on. (a weaker analogy is the principles of animation: anticipation, action, follow-through.)

this idea of ritual also strongly parallels the definition of 'play' of roger callilois:

1. it is free, or not obligatory 2. it is separate from the routine of life, occupying its own time and space 3. it is uncertain, so that the results of play cannot be pre-determined and the player's initiative is involved 4. it is unproductive in that it creates no wealth, and ends as it begins economically speaking 5. it is governed by rules that suspend ordinary laws and behaviours and that must be followed by players 6. it involves make-believe that may be set against 'real life'.[6]: 100–101

as a set of traits which describe a somewhat fuzzy sphere of activity. meguey's account of 'ritual' focuses more on the set of steps you follow to enter and leave the ritual space, but it is describing, I think, a heavily overlapping 'thing'.

why so explicitly break down a process that most people seem to come by naturally? well, probably for the same reason that kink people do it: the more you play with [emotional] fire, the more care you must exercise to keep it contained. but it is also pretty important, I think, to pursue some degree of ritual for the middle part to actually work. you need to switch mental gears first to get yourself operating in 'game space'. same goes for a number of other 'spaces' for that matter. in RPGs we already have plenty of rituals: getting set up around the table (for offline games), general chitchat beforehand to get us feeling social with the other players, the brief summary of the previous session to mark the transition into RPG mode...

one non-obvious extension that Meguey makes, in the third excerpt above is to the actual text of RPG books, in terms of how they are presented to the reader. I think this is genuinely quite an insight - when you read a book you get into RPG space a bit and imagine playing the game, building up the fantasy of what playing it will entail (c.f. what's the book for, part 3).

though, that said - it is tricky to pursue a strict ritual structure in presentation, I think, because I think RPG books tend to be read very non-linearly. only quite short games tend to get read cover-to-cover in one sitting. otherwise you tend to skip to the part that you need. still: the manner of presentation is very important to an RPG book serving its purposes. and this is a fascinating frame for it.

I'm not sure this essay necessarily gives a new direction (as a designer or a player), but it does give an interesting angle to understand things I was already doing previously, and do them a little more deliberately.

for example, when I make a point of mentioning moments that I enjoyed in the time after an RPG session before we all part ways, that is the 'return/celebration' part of the ritual, and crucially it reassures everyone that even if they were playing an unpleasant character or there was inter-character conflict in the session, it was something I was looking for and appreciated. I do this because there have been times when I've felt a bad kind of bleed, fearing that my character was 'too much' and was detracting from the session, or that a conflict in-character reflected an OOC conflict. having an explicit affirmation helps drive away those fears.

2. rule zero in D&D

this history of 'rule zero' in D&D editions dates all the way back to 2012 (although it seems to have been updated since), but it's still very relevant to my current efforts to understand RPGs, books, and all the weird practices around them, the role of 'rulings' in OSR, etc etc.

right off the bat, I appreciate the nuances that this early paragraph expresses:

The attitude towards rulings vs. rules in the game shows up - directly and explicitly in the rules text - implicitly in the text and detectable via textual analysis - in the surrounding publications considered semi-canonical (Dragon magazine, nowadays forums and designer blogs), and - the culture of gamers surrounding it.

while the rest of the post is still focused on what books say rather than what people did with those books, it's a relief when people note that there is a difference.

so, the essay traces a general evolution of ideas about what role the rules in the book are supposed to follow as D&D moved away from wargaming and passed through the hands of different publishers. how much interpolation and discretion the DM is supposed to apply to the text, how authoritative they're supposed to be at their own table compared to the non-DM players...

it's fascinating to observe how the culture of the game evolved. it's also tricky to distil the different currents down into a brief summary - I tried and realised I was just recapping the article in less detail. luckily the author wrote a summary so I can just quote that:

0e – the referee is an aribiter and fills in the gaps 1e – the DM is large and in charge, the rules are pretty good, your players are at both’s behest B/X and 2e – the DM and players are both important, the rules are super mutable 3e/early 3.5e – the rules and players and DM are leveled out in importance, meaning rulings are minimized and a negotiation with players BECMI/late 3.5e/4e – the rules are pretty fixed and players and DM are equal and subject to the rules as law; RAW is an option OSR and Pathfinder – splitting off in their own directions in reaction to 4e, OSR back to a mix of 0e and B/X flavored attitudes and Pathfinder to a hybrid of 1e/2e/3e attitudes 5e – The DM is clearly in charge and can ignore/change rules and rolls as they deem wise, with the goal of everyone having fun (as opposed to the sometimes-stated 1e goal of “keeping the players in their place”.) It reincorporated a lot of the 1e and 2e thinking into the game to an even greater degree than Pathfinder. PF2e – Effectively back to 3e positioning fairly exactly. It stepped back away from where PF1e and 5e were going and got a little less enthusiastic about GM authority, carefully scoping it to interpretation and, sometimes, changes to make things fun. Maybe a *little* more towards 5e than 3e was, but only by a hair.

anyway, there are a couple of interesting points I want to pull out of the discussion. first is this insightful comment on the broader implications of rules that grant abilities - something to discuss further in a later post...

The problem with [D&D 3.5e's claim that you can try anything and the rules only govern chances of success] from a textual interpretation standpoint is that it’s hard to not interpret the raft of “possibility” options in the 3e branch of D&D as being restriction of options. I can try to throw my opponent in a grapple – until a feat comes out that says “In a grapple, you can now throw your opponent.” Thus despite mitigating statements by the designers, their design itself passively promulgates an approach to the rules as written.

there's also an interesting line about how 'old school' the OSR actually is, answer being that it's complicated.

Some, however, consider this to be a bit of a retcon of how old school gaming actually worked. As you can see from this research, it is and it isn’t – the “rulings vs. rules” concept was very strong especially in B/X and 2e, somewhat less so in 0e/1e, and actively militated against in BECMI. Hackmaster and the Knights of the Dinner Table comic prominently parody the not uncommon rules-adherence mode of play in AD&D. As all nostalgia does, the Quick Primer picks certain elements out of the past to bring back and leaves aside some other elements.

finally, we have this comment about the (then very new) 5th edition approach to framing its rules:

It also appears to take a hint from the OSR’s formulation of “rulings, not rules” as well as the prominent fiction-first modern indie games like Apocalypse World when it describes the basic pattern of play – 1. The DM describes the environment 2. The players describe what they want to do (and the DM decides how to resolve those actions – importantly, the PCs don’t decide what rules they use) 3. The DM narrates the results

...which is somewhat true to my experience of 5e, although I think there is still a fairly significant component of 'I use this ability on my character sheet' in the game (I use this weapon, I cast this spell, I use this special ability). So the players do often decide what rules they want to invoke. Although, that is also true of Apocalypse World - something to go into another day.

mostly I think it's really helpful to have a proper sense of the space of practices represented by D&D, since popular discourse (including the game's rulebooks) way too often seems to assume there is only one way that D&D is played. this is a good stab at exploring some of the dimensions, and will definitely inform whatever is the next investigation I make into the structure of RPGs.

for another angle on D&D history, I came across this old (2016) ENWorld post tracing how Gygax got increasingly proprietary and litigious with D&D, and hostile to people putting their own spins on it.

it seems like for more on this topic of early RPG history I should be taking a look at The Elusive Shift by John Peterson, so posssibly more to come on this subject when I get round to reading that one.

3. blorb

I came across Sandra Snan's website, idiomdrottning.org, which is another one of those classic static-site treasure troves of someone's thoughts on everything for like the last decade.

like me, she came back to playing trad games like D&D after spending a while exploring the storygames milieu. She landed on a set of practices relating to the concreteness of the setting, in explicit opposition to 'no myth'-style games where anything not stated out loud is fair game to be modified for the sake of narrative.

she calls this 'blorb', and as these things tend to, it gets something like a manifesto. many other articles on this site talk about various facets of roleplaying games are written about on the site in relation to this.

'blorb' focuses on the relationship between preparation and improvisation: making a big show of referring to things on paper, and making decisions in the open, to reinforce the sort of metanarrative that there is an underlying reality even if it hasn't fully been discovered yet. it emphasises more granular simulation over abstraction.

since it's a little hard to navigate Sandra's archives, I've gathered the posts that are relevant to the subject here:

the chasm width problem (motivating, raising the issue that few games explicitly address the how of DMing)

blorb principles

realism and blorb (which discusses the other name 'klokkverk' used elsewhere in the milieu, and compares it to 'no myth') + the fictioneers talk about blorb again

radically transparent DM-ing

say the DC

antiblorb

GM-less roleplaying games

a blorb thought

the quest queue

there's probably others but these are the main ones I read

for contrast, no myth, a somewhat overlapping and somewhat very different paradigm of games that broadly sums up the norms of the Forge/'story games' tradition.

to sandra, 'blorb' is a statement of the type of roleplaying she finds vastly more satisfying to operate, and the crucial elements to make that happen.

what I find interesting about blorb is that, since its main interlocutor is the Forge/story-games tradition, it puts a fair bit of discussion into how this affects the fiction in practice. e.g. what you should prepare and what you can still improvise, and how the existence of the 'gloracle' (the combination of prepped materials and dice/rules, and rigour in consulting them) shapes our notion of 'the fiction'.

via this post, vincent baker back in 2012 defined RPGs thus:

To me, the crucial feature that makes a game an RPG is that it works by the (so-called) lumpley primple: in order to play, we have to create fictional stuff and agree that, for gameplay purposes, it's true. This is a pretty technical and inclusive definition. It includes Once Upon a Time and that game where you sit in a circle and pretend that some of you are werewolves, for instance.

something I find very interesting RPGs is the process of 'synchronisation' of the shared fiction. the idea of 'shared fiction' is something of an elaborate illusion. every player has a different version of it, with different emphases, different things that are fresh in memory, different interpretations of the images...

consider verbal descriptions of locations. my sense of what is in a scene will constantly be adjusted based on the stream of description I'm receiving from other players - the 'shared fiction' is at best something we approach asymptotically.

in an extreme example, a DM could lead with an elaborate description of the architecture, decorations, and layout of the room, before wrapping up with 'and curled around the central pillar is a mighty red dragon'. dun dun dun! suddenly, I have to recontextualise everything in the scene I was building in my head to accomodate the presence of the dragon.

the unreliability of this communications channel was a source for a vein of classic D&D humour, such as the Dread Gazebo of yore, where the communication channel breaks down leading to an inconsistency in the 'shared' fiction.

'no myth' and similar ideas come from the recognition that, until something is said out loud and enters part of the shared fiction, it can be changed freely between any possibility consistent with the 'established' facts. sort of like the wave function collapse algorithm. they take the attitude that you should do this deliberately to maximise drama and add complications, taking on more of a writer/director role. this character enters a bar, what should they encounter there? it would be fucked up if they encountered their ex, right? ergo their ex is there.

there is a degree of this in every RPG, not just your high-improv post-Forge story games. in order for some sort of consensus to be reached, parts of it must be black-boxed and unpredictable. for example, if I am inhabiting a character, I have my idea of how they will act and what they're feeling and thinking about, and that's authoritative. but that means for everyone else's characters, I have my impressions and predictions, but they're subject to being updated as soon as that player speaks.

for Sandra, this recognition that everything is getting moved around for drama undermines the substance of the world - an inescapable awareness even if the players take pains to make the established, spoken-out-loud fiction consistent.

so, additional 'authority' is central to the 'blorb' playstyle. that is, in addition to each player's authority to make up stuff within their domain (e.g. what their character does), you make a big point of deferring to some additional authorities such as pre-prepped material and dice (which Sandra calls the 'gloracle'), and making it explicit to the players that you're doing so. for example, you might talk about the random encounter tables you're using and what would change their contents, or declare the DC before every roll.

it's kind of a defensive style of DMing, in that it's entirely designed to forestall any suspicion of 'fudging' behind the scenes. the tradeoff is: more explicit discussion of game mechanics which might detract from the sort of 'atmosphere', but equally a stronger sense of inhabiting an external world where things are 'really' happening 'offscreen'.

to me, the idea of 'fudging' doesn't bother me nearly as much as it seems to bother Sandra, but I think there is some truth to the thought that if everything is subject to random tables or pure off-the-dome improv, the game can start to feel a very homogeneous. as Sandra puts it in one of her articles:

I don’t want to expand randomly as we go either, because if everything is randomly rolled as you go along, where’s the agency? South becomes the same as north becomes the same as west because wherever you go, the dice are furnishing for you, so the choice about where to go matters less.

it's probably got something to do with information theory, right? once you become familiar with the table, and you know when the table will be invoked, you've broadly found out what there is to know about that thing. there are only so many bits of information.

I was saying the other day, games are interesting because they are something to explore through interacting with them to discover all their weird nuances. players are pretty good at sniffing out how complex and varied the underlying system is. a wide set of interesting, spicy locations - and logical relations between them - has more nuances to discover than a random table with, say, 10 entries.

the problem is of course that such a prep-focused playstyle can lead to huge amounts of 'wasted' effort fleshing out elements of the gloracle which may never be activated, especially if players don't spend their time rubbing against your creation in various ways to discover its nuances. Sandra's approach is to work out what's easy to improvise on the fly (the 'wallpaper') and what is crucial to pin down in advance, and largely prepare the latter - the difference, I guess, coming down to experience. we can think of it in programming terms: a small authoritative state and things that can be derived from that.

in my experience, at least some players have become a lot more considerate of the workload of GMing. far from trying to resist 'railroading', they will often generally deliberately try to steer themselves towards whatever location a DM has prepared as a courtesy; meanwhile the GM will be able to get a sense of where the players are planning to go so they can prep between sessions. however, that is contrary to the more 'sandboxy' approach where the core appeal is 'you can do pretty much anything', which is what Sandra is trying to generate I think.

I'm too much of an improv-focused GM to really become a partisan of 'blorb' - for me, discovering improv-oriented story games after D&D was as revelatory as discovering D&D after storygames was for Sandra lol. I trust somewhat in my ability to come up with weird interesting stuff on the fly and flesh it out later, and I tend to find the moment of being in the hotseat of an RPG gets the creative juices flowing like nothing else, so it's actually quite difficult to come up with anything good during prep.

however, I think there is a lot to be said for the value of making at least certain things concrete, and communicating that to the players, and Sandra makes a good case for showing your hand. it's a way to make the shared fantasy take on certain qualities it won't have if it remains purely arbitrary improv, even if the only real functional difference is when you make something up. both because it's hard to keep track of everything in your head without some kind of aid, and because the first idea you come up with will rarely be the richest, most interesting.

so next time i run a game, I'm not going to take such a zero-prep, all-improv approach, but try and work a bit harder on 'overall consistency'.

definitely a provocative blog to encounter...

#roleplaying games #tabletop roleplaying

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