#johnnie's tavern

[alleyesandears]

Behind Johnnie's Tavern

... No idea. But apparently, they've got the best burgers in town, so if I stop by for one, I will ask.

Columbus, Ohio

Photo by Dania Hurley

[ratatatastic]

you know i didnt think i needed stolie benny and matthew with their arms all over each other singing and swaying along to music as they sip on beers but shame on me i shouldve known i needed it

WPLG Local 10 | 6.25.24 (x)

[johnnylandslide]

"We died HOW many times??"

[citizenhullabaloo]

April 10th 2024 – Shillelagh Tavern (Open Mic hosted by Astoria Music Collective)

Twas a dude’s night as everyone on the bill was a guy, as mentioned by Johnny who played as well. A great time of covers and originals, thanks to E.W. for hosting! Shoutout to Liam who played after my set, but my camcorder died 😦

[thepradaenchilada]

Rainbow connections

Tonight I’ll be slinging jokes and chasing rainbows at Rocky’s Tavern. Happy Pride, San Antonio!

[jadeestebanestrada]

Rainbow connections

Tonight I’ll be slinging jokes and chasing rainbows at Rocky’s Tavern. Happy Pride, San Antonio!

[lunamoonbby]

I want to read a cult!141 were they're the leaders of a small hidden village and somehow reader stumbles upon this village. Reader just need help getting back on her feet so Price who's the village priest, Simon who's the hunter and butcher, Johnny and Kyle who owns a tavern and restaurant who gets his meat from Simon. but all 4 of them runs the finances of the village. So Price, Simon, Johnny, and Kyle help out reader buy giving her a place to stay, free meals, and safety from whatever she was trying to get away from. During her say all 4 of them are separately charming her so she can fall in love with them cause Simon, Kyle, Johnny, and Price deemed her worthy of carrying their offsprings, and reader goes to the church to speak with father Price about her dilemma on how she fell in love with 4 people and when price asked who she's in love says The Butcher, the 2 tavern Owners, and quietly she says you father price and Price asks her to speak up and she repeats You father price. Price makes up some bullshit prophecy on the spot on how the lord chose her to be wed to the 4 leaders of this village and to give them as many heirs and they desire and reader believes him and tells him thank you and reader leaves the church and Price calls up Simon, Johnny, and Kyle to tell them about the good news and how reader was foolish enough to believe price and his bull shit prophecy. The next day Price holds a mandatory congregation and he tells the villagers about the prophecy and how reader is the chosen one to wed the 4 leaders of the town and to carry their heirs and that the wedding ceremony is to take place in 3 days and he assigns the women of the village to help reader prepare for this wedding. The time comes reader is married to the 4 leaders and they all consumate the wedding with reader except simon, kyle, and johnny pull out so that the first child is prices and, then Simon would be next, and then Kyle, and then johnny, but surprise surprise every single pregnancy reader has is twins so price has twins, simon has twins, Kyle has twins and johnny has twins and this spurs the villagers into really believing that she is the chosen one.

[ceilidho]

im completely obsessed with take me home country roads. price is obviously to die for but your cowboy simon has unearthed something in me, oh my god. i’m also so so taken by your idea for johnny/reluctant outlaw reader, that’s so perfect for him!

thank you so much!!!!!

ok this is a bit dark but imo, Simon's family growing up was like the Bloody Benders, but rather than taking him with them when they fled town after being discovered, Simon was left behind, so he grew up with the stigma of being the child of a family of serial killers. he had a really rough childhood overall, exposed to violence at a very young age and then ostracized by the community because of the fear at the back of everyone's mind was that he would grow up with that same violence inside him.

naturally, he became an outlaw known as the Ghost at one point during his adolescence and lived that life for many, many years before Price scooped him up. i haven't figured out the lore behind what Price did, but whatever it was shifted Simon's loyalty entirely to him. he would lay down his life for Price, no questions asked.

i think this Simon has a latent protective streak in him because of what happened to him in his childhood. it goes unacknowledged for most of his life, but there's a deep need in him to save something innocent. so he imprints almost instantly when he comes across the local barmaid being accosted in the alley behind the tavern, his vision going red at the sight of her screaming behind the man's hand while he forces her skirt up. only for Simon to rip him off her and bash his skull in with the mug of ale in his hand, not even blinking at the blood splashing across his face and chest. and he doesn't stop until the man slumps over, his face an unrecognizable mess.

and then he drops the mug and turns towards the barmaid cowering against the wall, staring at him in horror.

[lanawrx]

Johnny Joestar crushing on Reader at first sight

a/n: Johnny is so sos o sos o soso soooo cuuuteeee <33 my cutiepatootie my lil gumdrop, my lil sad blue Kentuckian 🥺

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Johnny had been staring at you from a distance, like a moth drawn to a flame, since the very moment he laid eyes on you before the Steel Ball Run began. He couldn't quite explain it, but there was something about you that stirred something deep inside him, like the first taste of sweet tea on a hot summer's day.

The Steel Ball Run was about to kick off, and while Johnny's focus was on the race, he couldn't help but keep an eye on you. Your presence seemed to shine brighter than the desert sun. He saw you laughing with friends, your smile as warm as a southern sunrise. It was a sight he couldn’t shake from his mind.

As the race progressed, Johnny’s heart skipped a beat every time he spotted you by chance. He had a rough exterior and nerves of steel when it came to the competition, but when it came to you, he felt like a schoolboy with a crush, unsteady and unsure.

Despite the numerous women he had bedded in his prime, the feelings he had for you were new, pure, and most of all, terrifying.

You were beautiful, and even with your dusty riding gear and dirt-smudged face, he couldn't help but freeze at the thought of going up to you.

He didn't deserve you. He was so sure of that.

But he wanted to, though. So badly.

The day of the next stage, he found himself at a dusty tavern, nursing a drink and trying to calm the jitters that had taken up residence in his chest. Gyro, the charismatic person that he is, was chatting animatedly with some locals. Johnny, however, was distracted, his gaze frequently darting toward the door.

And then, as if the universe had heard his silent wish, you walked into the tavern. Johnny’s heart leapt. He watched you with wide eyes, his mouth slightly agape. Gyro noticed and nudged him with a knowing grin.

“Nyoho! Looks like you got yourself a little something on your mind, Johnny,” Gyro teased.

Johnny flushed and shoved Gyro, praying the bastard wouldn't do something to make him look a fool.

"Shut it, Gyro. And don't you dare do somethin' stupid!" Johnny hissed, balling up his fist and trying to look small in his wheelchair to avoid your potential gaze, no matter how much his heart was begging for your eyes to land on his own baby blues.

"Johnny-boy, you wound me! I'd never do such a thing." Gyro snickered, slumping in his chair to show that he was harmless.

The blue-eyed blonde rolled his eyes, feeling wary of Gyro's habit to cause trouble. But the Italian had a point, his mind had been stuck on you ever since he saw you. That bright smile of yours lifted his mood like no other whenever he thought about it, and the small glimpses he caught of you whenever you crossed paths on the trek of the past stage made his body tingle and his face warm.

If his legs still worked, he was sure he'd still end up in a wheelchair with the way you made him feel weak.

Johnny suddenly felt the weight of his insecurities. His legs—lame and useless—seemed heavier than ever. He was convinced that someone like you could never be interested in him. But he couldn’t deny the pull he felt.

He glanced over to you, spotting you just a few feet away waiting on some refreshments you ordered at the bar. The bar wasn't too tall, either. You were at the perfect height to talk face-to-face if he was sitting next to you.

Next to you...

Johnny entertained the thought, imagining the two of you laughing together, talking about how you both got halfway across the country for the chance to win a grand prize of $50 million dollars.

He'd gaze at your lips, wondering how even in the western heat can they look so glossy and kissable.

"Guh!" Johnny covered his face with one hand, feeling his cheeks burn.

He hated feeling like this, like some inexperienced teenage boy at the thought of just staring at your lips.

And with the impulse of a teenage boy, he figured that to remedy these pesky feelings, he should just get it over with.

Gathering his courage, Johnny puffed up his chest and approached you. He suddenly felt a little awkward, his hands trembling slightly as he wheeled himself over to you.

“Uh, hey there. I, uh, noticed you around and thought you might like a drink. It’s on me,” he said softer than he had intended, his voice carrying the faintest hint of a Kentucky drawl.

You looked up at him with a curious smile, your eyes sparkling like stars in the night sky. Johnny felt like he might faint right then and there. His mind raced with self-doubt. Why would you want to talk to him? He felt so small and unworthy.

"How kind of you. Joestar, right?" You smiled.

And he melted.

"I- uh, yes! Joestar, my last name. You- you've kept an eye on me, or somethin'?" He fumbled, face warming at his bumbling demeanor.

This was not going the way he had planned.

"Mm, somethin' of the sorts," you mumbled with a shy look in your eyes.

You seemed so docile now that he was talking to you. But he could appreciate that. Made it easier to talk when he knew you were feeling just as nervous. Or at least, you seemed that way.

"Well, go ahead then. Whatever you want, it's on me," he gently urged, taking your responses as an invitation to sit next to you as he wheeled in closer to the bar.

"I'll let you know; real sweet, that's how I like my drinks." You ordered the sweetest damn thing on the menu, and he wasn't surprised. Your tastes matched your looks.

The two of you chatted in the bustling atmosphere of the tavern. Getting to know each other, hearing about how the last stage went for each of you. And he liked it, talking to you. It was easy, and it was as refreshing as the drink you were sipping on.

Johnny glanced over at Gyro, who was still engrossed in conversation with the locals, but occasionally shot Johnny a glance and a thumbs-up, clearly pleased with how things were going. Johnny shook his head slightly, amused by the gesture.

“So,” you said, your voice softening, “you’re really set on winning this race, huh?”

Johnny nodded, his expression growing a bit more serious. “Yeah. It’s not just about the money, though that sure would be nice. It’s... it’s about proving something. To myself, more than anything.”

You tilted your head slightly, your gaze searching his. “Proving what?”

He hesitated, then sighed. “That I’m still worth something. That even with everything that’s happened, I can still... I don’t know. Make something of myself.”

Your expression softened, and Johnny felt a pang of vulnerability as he looked into your eyes. He was afraid that you’d pity him, that you’d see him as just another broken man trying to piece together the remnants of a shattered life. But there was no pity in your gaze, only understanding.

“You’re worth more than you think, Johnny,” you said quietly, reaching out to place a gentle hand on his arm. “You’re out here, giving it everything you’ve got. That’s more than a lot of people can say.”

Johnny swallowed, his throat tight. He wanted to believe you, wanted to hold on to those words and let them seep into the cracks of his self-doubt. But it was hard. He’d spent so long feeling like a shadow of his former self, like he was less than what he used to be. But here you were, seeing something in him that he couldn’t quite see in himself.

Before he could respond, you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “And for the record, I think you’re cute. I’d love to see you again in the next stage.”

Johnny’s breath hitched, and his heart felt like it might burst out of his chest. He was stunned, his mind scrambling to process what you had just said. Cute. You thought he was cute. The words played over and over in his mind, each repetition making his heart swell a little more.

He turned to face you, his blue eyes wide with a mix of surprise and something that felt dangerously close to hope. “You... you really mean that?”

You pulled back slightly, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I do. So, what do you say? Think we can catch up again after the next stage?”

Johnny nodded, a slow, genuine smile spreading across his face. “Yeah, I’d like that. A lot.”

As the two of you continued talking, the rest of the world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in that little corner of the tavern.

And when the time came to part ways, Johnny felt a warmth in his chest that hadn’t been there before. He watched you leave, his heart lighter than it had been in years. As he wheeled back over to Gyro, the older man gave him a knowing grin.

“Well, Johnny-boy, looks like you’ve got yourself a date for the next stage.”

Johnny couldn’t help but chuckle, his eyes still lingering on the door where you’d just exited. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

For once, the race didn’t seem so daunting. The road ahead might be long and grueling, but now, Johnny had something more to look forward to.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡ Thanks for Reading! ˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆

[kitkathatesu]

𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐮𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Johnny Sawyer x Fem!reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: ❗️SMUT❗️dub/non-con, (DO NOT READ THIS IF THAT IS A TRIGGER FOR YOU) ❕MDNI❕Use of degradation & praise, (mostly degradation) mentions of violence, alcohol use, kidnapping, canon!Johnny, implied cannibalism, biting, blood & knife play, forced thigh riding + oral (m receiving)

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Stopping at a bar in a rural part of Texas proves to be more than a couple shots with a stranger when you find yourself fighting for your life in the front seat of a worn out pickup truck. But fortunately for you, he’s got a knack for the ones who fight back. And fortunately for him, he knows how to wine ‘em and dine ‘em. In more ways than one.

☽✞☾

The Texas air is humid and dry in your nose as it whips through the driver side and passenger window rustling your hair. It’s about 6:00 PM and the sun is starting to set in the distance, the sky painted with orange and yellow hues. You breathe in deeply and sigh, it feels like you’ve been driving for hours and truthfully you have. Your ass is numb, throat is dry, and your eyes are watering from the restless night you’d had right before tearing out of bed and onto the road. Tired is an understatement but you catch an old wooden sign on the side of the road a couple feet in front of you at the corner of your eye, “Newt, population 3,000.”

“Fuck yeah.” You perk up and tap your fingers against the steering wheel happily as you drive down a narrow blacktop road. A gas station to your left, grocery store to your right, and a couple houses in between. It’s pretty rundown. Everywhere you look there seems to be something withering away. And just as you ponder that that’s all there was to this archaic town you come upon this decent sized, surprisingly sturdy looking building with the words Drayton’s Texan Tavern printed above it.

“A bar?” You chew the skin on the inside of your cheek and sit idly. It’s a bit oddly placed, off putting, maybe even a little uncanny from the outside but nonetheless a spot to rest. A spot to let loose and relax like most. So you pull in, park, and hop out of the driver seat onto the pavement. The ache in your lower back starting to fade as you strut your way past different vehicles that are scattered about the parking lot. Many of them rusted and chipping away.

The familiar chime of a bell rings above your head as you push the door open. You’re met with smoke sitting stagnant and smoldering in the dim lighting. The smell of whiskey and cigarettes mixing with the musk of the multiple men and women standing around with drinks in hand chatting amongst themselves. You walk hastily up towards the bar, taking a stool beside a woman that’s obviously drunk slurring to someone stood beside her. You chuckle to yourself, glancing at the menu that’s now slapped down in front of you. Small and black with white lettering.

“What can I do ye for?” A voice echoes over the chatter booming around you. You’re greeted by an old man with a greasy black comb over who stands with a hand on his hip. Sweat glistening on his brow and a discolored handkerchief sluggishly patting it away.

“Ah, I’ll just have two shots of whiskey please.” He looks unamused as you offer him a soft smile. Grabbing the whiskey off of the shelf and pouring you two separate shots. Scoffing to himself as you take them straight to the head.

You see him nod to someone to his left and then walk from behind the bar towards a booth where three rowdy men are yelling at each other. “Hey! There’ll be none of that here boys. Either take it down a notch or take it outside.” He spat. You can’t make out much. But this isn’t anything new considering you’ve had your fair share of bar hopping, so you tune it out.

A black haired girl replaces the older man and you order two more shots. By the time the first two kick in your head is already fuzzy, body is warm and your thighs are sticking to the stool under you. You can’t help but notice a man in your peripherals, he’s not moving but his hands are in his pockets and he has a boot pressed against the wall behind him. A cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, the cherry burning bright reflecting his dark features.

“Would’ya like anything else ma’am?” The bartender asked flatly, leaning in close enough for you to hear her. You sit up straight and swallow before responding. “Yeah actually, I would like-“ What the fuck?

“She’ll have two more shots a’ rye. Make that four if ya would. Thanks doll.” Your breath hitches when you’re cut off, eyes darting over to meet the man who you’d noticed earlier now sitting next to you. “Names Johnny”, he drawled. “Ya got one?” He leered at you. Eyes half lidded and a sly smile pricking at the corner of his lips. Your cheeks heat up when you realize you’d been staring the entire time. Fuck.

“Oh, m’sorry my names Y/N.” You shift in your seat. Embarrassment bubbling up and spilling over through the dark blush that’s crept onto your face. Johnny sucks on his teeth and runs a hand through his hair impatiently. A low sigh falling from his chest when the bartender places the shots down in front of him.

“Here ya go. Enjoy.” She huffed as she turned to tend to the other people around you. Johnny chuckled to himself and slid two of the glasses over to you with the back of his forearm. Your jaw tightened when you turned to face him again, he’s very handsome. Dark hair, freckled skin, even darker eyes. A jagged scar on his cheek, arms toned and exposed, covered in more cuts and scrapes that time has healed over, some look fresher than others. Farm work maybe? Mechanic? Who knows. Who cares.

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip. Your vision hazy in your peripherals as your only focus is on him. His jawline is sharp and his lips are pursed as he throws back a shot, butterflies flailing in your stomach when a drop of whiskey slips from his mouth and he wipes it away with a hiss. “C’mon, I can’t be the only one drinkin’. Didn’t get those for nothin’.” Shit. Not again.

“Yeah, sorry about that”, You mumble. Picking up the tiny glass and tilting it against your lips. A lump forming tight in your esophagus when you try to speak again. “M’just a little drunk already, my tolerance is sorta low if I’m being honest.” Your movements feel delayed when you move your head too fast to glance at him.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with gettin’ a lil tipsy now and then.” Johnny replied. “Though ya don’t really look the type.” He grinned, his eyes subtly draping over your figure. Ugh. Those butterflies from earlier feel like they could snap through your rib cage any minute.

“That so?” You giggle. Taking that last shot straight back before turning to face him. Confidence slowly creeping up your throat which you’re sure is just the whiskey making its rounds as it rushes through your bloodstream.

“I may not look the type, but that’s cause I know how to hide it. I’m real good at it too.” Johnny cocks an eyebrow and sneers, his face bouncing back and forth between confusion and curiosity. “So yer one of them good girls gone bad.” He teased. “And here I was thinkin’ ya were a sweet, innocent thing.”

“And that’s where you were mistaken sir.” You slur, leaning over the bar slightly. Your back arched and your head now laid across your arms, looking at Johnny through heavy lashes. The alcohol has you feeling like you could fuck this man in the back of your car. It also has you feeling like you could be making a big mistake doing so, but what’s life without one or two and you can't exactly tell the difference right now.

Johnny clears his throat as his eyes instinctively carve out the dip in your back. His jaw tightening and his teeth grinding together. You’re a feisty one. He likes that, he likes that a lot. But what he likes even more is that he can almost taste you with the way you look at him.

Your plump lips curved into a drunken smile and your eyes practically begging him to indulge. He swears he can hear your heart pounding, your blood pumping through your veins and it makes his cock strain against his zipper. But what makes it so enticing is that you have no idea what he really wants, what he needs from you.

“So”, Johnny leans in close. Close enough for you to smell his cologne and the cigarettes that stain his breath. “Ya wanna get outta here?” He whispered. His voice honeyed and hoarse, sending shivers down your spine. You don’t know him, you’ve only been here a day and this isn’t even where you’re going to be staying.

“I- uh”, You stutter, picking your head up eyes flicking around at your surroundings anxiously. What do you do? You’ve already flirted. He seems to have a good head on his shoulders, but you’re both drunk. “I actually need to get going soon, I’m supposed to be on my way to a relatives.” Johnny chuckled in response.

“No need ta be shy now honey. I’ll take good care o’ ya.” Johnny licked his lips and breathed heavily, hot breath fanning over the side of your face. “What happened ta that fire in ya darlin’? Did I snuff it out or are ya scared that I’ll prove ya right.” You swallow harshly. Panic starting to settle in where those butterflies were.

“No- I just need to go”, You stammer. Sucking in a sharp breath to steady yourself as you stand up from your seat, the once warm look on Johnny’s face turning stern and cold. The air around you now suffocating, starving your lungs of oxygen as you study the way his entire demeanor had changed in an instant.

“It was nice to meet you truly. Thank you for the drinks. You’re more than welcome to walk me out if you’d like.” You added with a nervous smile. Johnny sat there unmoving. Eerily still like he was stuck in place, you grimace at the sick feeling that churns in your stomach when you offer him an uneasy hand. His eyes could burn holes into yours, staring blankly back at you. Had your words fell upon deaf ears?

“Of course. Would be rude o’ me not to walk ya out after gettin’ ya all flustered. My apologies.” You stumble slightly when he abruptly shoots upwards, his gloved hand held out to you. You take it with a nod of your head and he smiles. His hand holding yours ever so gently you almost feel bad as you walk hesitantly towards the door. Maybe the alcohol is clouding your judgement. But better safe than sorry.

The bell chimes above you and you’re sucked into the dark that’s swallowed daylight whole. The parking lot is emptier than what it was when you got here, when you look farther out there’s nothing for miles other than this broken little town. It feels lonely, like the ground itself craves liveliness and it's hanging on by a thread. Or a noose, whichever one is wearing thin.

You breathe in the crisp night air and let out an exasperated sigh at how good it smells but how heavy your body feels on top of your sore feet. You'll be glad to get some rest at the nearest Hotel you can find. Johnny drops your hand as you stagger up to your vehicle, letting his back slump against the passenger side door as you stand idly beside him. Admiring him once more.

“Well“, You said softly. “Thank you. I had a good time.” Johnny flashes a smirk, his lips alone giving you butterflies all over again. But something strange seems to lurk behind his charming alliciency. Something watching, waiting for the right moment to reveal itself. “No problem doll. Ya shoulda took me up on that offer, woulda had plenty more fun.” He teased. Winking at you like some High Schooler.

You giggle, arms crossing over your stomach. "Maybe we could do this again sometime if I'm ever back up this way." You added assuringly. Johnny's shoulders dropped with a huff as he pushed himself off of your car. Pausing for a moment as if waiting for you to react to such a bitchy cue that he's disappointed. Oh well.

You tuck your hair behind your ear. Looking up at the stars then back to him. “I better get going. It’s already late and I’ve got a long drive ahead of me.” Johnny rolled his eyes, earning a scowl from you that you tried to mask but failed miserably. “Nice meeting you.” You scoffed.

Walking to the opposite side of the car you open the door and hop in. Reaching to turn the key over but it doesn’t start. The engine rattles to life then sputters out completely. That’s when you realize something is wrong. AGAIN. Good, great. Love that.

“Somethin’ a matter?” Johnny mocked, a shit eating grin spread across his face. You groan, can’t have a moments peace even after drinking to ease the stress of it all. “Goddamn it, why me.” You grumble. Hands smacking the steering wheel, frustration evident as Johnny sauntered over tapping on your hood.

“Pop it. Let me take a look.” He offered and you don’t hesitate. Maybe he’ll be able to figure out what’s causing the old shit box to fuck up now. He hollers from under the hood and you lean your head against the wheel praying to whomever may be listening that it’s nothing more than a dead battery or a loose wire.

“So I’ve got bad news. Looks like ya won’t be goin’ nowhere soon, ‘specially not tomorrow unless ya wanna blow up on the way there.” You chuckle loudly, sarcasm lacing your words together as Johnny closes your hood and pats some grease off of his gloves and onto his jeans. “Could take my chances and see how long it takes for it to catch fire.”

Johnny glanced behind him and his jaw tightens when he faces you again like he was being watched. “Or ye could wait it out and I could have my old man fix it for ya sometime in the afternoon. Get ya back on the road in no time.” That’s the last thing you wanted, last thing you needed to do. Your family will be pissed if you don’t make it before sunrise. You can hear them now.

“Any chance you know what you’re doing and could temporarily fix it? Good enough to get me out of Texas?” Johnny groaned loudly, his Onyx eyes meet yours and chills climb up your spine. He tsks as he stalks over. Now towering above your body with his arm stretched over the length of the car door, staring down at you without a word. It’s silent between you other than the crickets and frogs chirping away in the distance. Something feels off. “..Johnny?”

“Was hopin' you'da changed yer mind by now. But I shoulda' known ya wouldn’t put out that easy.” You sit frozen as he inched closer, not grasping what he’d just said. But the fog in your brain clears when he lunges at you like a rabid dog. “Yer Mama ever tell ya not to talk too strangers!?” He hissed through gritted teeth. His voice now raucous and ringing in your ears when you're met with his hands wrapped around your throat. You gnash your teeth.

“I- Please, fuc-“ Spit sputters out of your mouth and your eyes pop open wide, your fingers instinctively clawing at his wrists. He’s going to kill you right here is what you tell yourself over and over, but you know better than that. And with what you suspects to come you wish he would but you know that’ll never happen.

“Yer gonna be real pretty to look at. ‘Specially when I’ve got ya strung up cracked open and bloody.” Johnny's pupils blow wide at the doe like look in your eyes, the fear and the realization that pings through you as his hand closes tighter around your windpipe.

Goddamn you look good like that. Johnny yearns to see just how far you can go. How long you can last when his knife is plunged deep and your blood spills. How could he resist when that image burns bright in the back of his mind? You fell right for him just like he knew you would. Like they all do. That’s okay. He likes ‘em stupid. But there’s something about the way you continue to fight him when you know it’s no use that ignites that disgusting fire within him.

A wicked grin stretches his lips thin and a groan rumbles in the back of his throat when your fists pound helplessly at his chest. “Fuckin’ stupid bitch, what’dya think this was?” You try and breathe between broken sobs, digging your nails into his skin as hard as you can. Punching, scratching, kicking. He doesn’t budge.

“Seems I oughta teach ya a lesson or two ‘bout what it means to be a woman ‘round these parts darlin'." He snarled. Teeth bared, nostrils flaring as one of his hands tears at your scalp. You yelp like a kicked puppy, your hair tucked tightly between his nimble fingers, the force stinging like a 1,000 tiny bees. You can feel every strand beneath his grasp breaking and pulling away at the follicle.

Your eyes well with tears when you’re violently yanked from the front seat and thrown to the cold ground. It swipes the air right out of your lungs when your back pummels the dirt. Your face twisting along with your limbs. Pain radiating from the fresh scrapes and scratches that scatter along your spine. “Shut up!”

His other hand quickly clasps your mouth shut denying you of the breath you so desperately need to take. Shirt riding all the way up and the back of your thighs continuing to scrape along the asphalt as he jerks and drags you by your hair to what you assume is his vehicle.

You flail your legs in a hopes to throw him off balance, but all you do is fuck up your knee in the process when he rips you upwards and hip tosses you into the backseat of a pickup truck.

“Johnny please- Please don’t do this!” You squeal. Digging your elbows into the old tattered seat, trying to pull yourself away from him when he starts to crawl over you. 𝙉𝙤, 𝙣𝙤 𝙣𝙤 𝙣𝙤. You panic, what do you do?! Where do you go? No one will hear you, no one can.

You struggle to gather yourself mentally, your internal conscience screaming for you to do something, anything. And that’s when fight or flight rips what remaining nerves you have left to shreds and your whole body begins to tremble. That adrenaline that'd been lying dormant sending your hurt knee straight to his groin when his legs threaten to lock yours in place. “Fuck you, you sick fuck!”

“Yeah! Augh that’s it-“ He winced and you paused, watching his brows knit together and his head drop down with a grunt, picking it up slowly, jaw cocked open as he breathed in deep through his nose. “Hit me.” He rasped. Wearing a smile so vile it makes you want to vomit.

Acid burns the back of your throat when your head slumps against the inside of the door. That adrenaline you had flickering in and out as you ponder on what your family will think when you don’t show up. When you never give them a call. You wish you would’ve spoken to them sooner, or talked to them a little longer when you had the chance. Tears fall down your cheeks and your heart breaks as you stare back at what you deem the Devil himself.

You suck in a deep breath, shoulders rising as you prepare to scream with all your lungs can muster, but your mouth is quickly met with four gloved fingers pushing deep into the back of your throat. Eliciting a loud gag from you. The taste of old leather and grime sitting sour on your tongue, you shake your head and bite down hard against his knuckles. He snorts and his tongue darts out like a serpent snaking across his bottom lip. “Get the fuck off of me!”

“You were right about one thing, ain’t nothin’ innocent ‘bout this mouth o’ yours.” He jested, pulling his saliva coated digits out of your mouth, smearing them down your face with a smirk. You cough in response, the slight tickle in the back of your throat and his weight now baring down on top of you leaving you breathless. Brainless, almost incoherent.

“Fuck you.” You utter, moving your hand to smack that smug look right off his face but it’s stilled. You groan in protest when you notice he’s got your wrists pinned above your head with one hand. The other one God knows where and you glance around for anything you could possibly use to subdue him. Even a little.

Johnny leans down, his face just inches above yours. “And here I was thinkin’ you’d be just like all the others”, he whispered musing himself as he watched your facial expressions crinkle up and change ever so often. “Cryin’, beggin’ for yer life but no.” You swallow hard. Anger and fear fusing together in the pit of your stomach as he slowly starts to pick you apart, poking and prodding at your psyche.

His words squeeze their way into your frontal lobe and wedge themselves between your legs as his other hand traces along your abdomen, his fingers curling into the thin flesh between your ribs making you hiss and squirm beneath him. “Here ya are.. Barely makin’ a fuckin’ peep waitin’ to see what I’ll do next. It’s almost like ya wanna see, and I gotta hand it to ya sweetheart. You’ve done a lot more than pique my interest.” He paused, brushing stray hair out of your face, tilting his head to the side as if to admire you. And briefly he was, but his focus was on the way you smelled. The way he can imagine a sea of cherry flavored waves crashing through your body and how sweet it’ll be when it spills and splashes onto his tongue.

You blink away tears, lower lip quivering as he nudges your jawline with his nose. Sending chills down your spine when he nuzzles into your pulse point. “Goddamn, you smell s’good. Bet you’ll taste even better on the inside.” He muttered and a surge of adrenaline ripped through you once more. He’s not going to kill you, he’s going to eat you. He’s the widow, you’re the fly. He’ll suck you dry from the inside till you’re nothing more than a hollowed out shell of who you once were. Empty.

“What- What do you- FUUCKKK?! Oh my GOD!” You cry out in agony, white hot lightning searing through your skin just above your hipbone. Your teeth bare down so hard they could break. “That’s it, lemme hear ya scream for me.” Johnny growled, that gnawing need to use you growing stronger with each thrash of your hips under him. You were fucked.

And that’s when you realize you’d been cut. You never seen the blade but you knew nothing else would slice that quick and clean. Blood trickles down the dip in your waist. Wet and warm soaking into the seat as your head swims and your body writhes in pain. Johnny’s hand releases the hold on your wrists and grabs your jaw, pushing your lips into a pout as he moves your face side to side. His fingers digging into the fat of your cheeks roughly.

“What’sa matter huh?” He asked knowing the answer, its never changed. You stare at him blankly. “Cat got yer tongue?” No response. Okay. We’ll see ‘bout that.

Johnny brings his hunting knife into view. The glint of the blade now evident as the streetlight reflects off of the cold, bloodied, steel. You silently seethe with rage and he raises his eyebrows, pulling your face closer to his by the pinch of your cheeks. “Mmmm, there ya are. I knew ya were still in there somewhere.”

Your eyes burn and your heart pounds so hard you feel it in your temples. Pulsing along to the beat. Thump, thump, thump. The air around you both thick like cement and the fire that’s flickering alive between your legs has you reeling with shame. Looking up at him with pleading eyes, unable to understand what you truly want when it doesn’t even matter.

“Yer lookin’ at me like ya want a kiss baby doll”, Johnny husked. Low and rumbly, purring like a Tom cat but you knew his claws were bound to dig in deep and never let go. Your jaw coils up tight and you raise your head just slightly, nose to nose with him. “Fuck you.” You hiss between gritted teeth. Pathetic.

“You poor, sweet, thing.” He said with mock astonishment, bringing the tip of his blade to your bottom lip burying it against the plumpness of it with a chuckle. “Yer gonna break like fuckin’ glass when I’m done with ya.”

Didn’t take much for the sharpness of it to break skin and your body jolts at the temporary sting, blood slowly trickling down your chin. Johnny groaned at the sight, his mouth opening temporarily as his smooth tongue laps up the crimson stream sickly. Not wasting anytime attacking your lips in a hungry kiss you did not reciprocate. You grimaced and pressed your lips into a harsh line but he nipped at the already broken skin and your mouth opened up with a whine. His tongue lathing yours with the taste of copper and tobacco.

Something within you gives and he takes. Your hand snakes into his hair, gliding through the greasiness of it. Meeting the starving pace of his lips against yours, surprise etching his features when he pulls away to laugh at you. “Oh honey, yer achin’ for it. I knew ya would.”

Johnny yanks you up by the collar of your shirt and swiftly switches his position pulling you onto his lap. Your thighs straddle him and his lips crash to yours once more, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, letting them lay atop his shoulders. Rough hands grab at your hips, and you moan into his mouth. His cock hard underneath you. The friction of it burning hot against your core you can’t help but roll your hips, chasing that little bit of pleasure that’s so close your head spins.

“Don’t even think about it.” He growled, stilling your desperate movements, the pads of his thumbs digging deep into your soft skin. You shudder when you feel the blunt end of his blade now pressed to your sternum. “I’ll bleed ya fuckin’ dry ya try that again, understand?”

You nod your head and Johnny’s cock twitches at the submission. “Good girl.” He spoke like velvet lined his vocal cords and you mewl when his lips attach to your throat with teeth and tongue. He knows he’s got you right where he wants you. The warmth, the salty sweet taste of you, and the carnal need to plunge the thick steel of his hunting knife into your abdomen makes him pant like a dog.

One of his hands wanders farther down, kneading and grabbing the fat of your ass by the handfuls as the other moves you slightly, your slick core pressing against the top of his thigh now. You’re sure the wetness that’s pooled out of you is soaking through. “Ya wanna feel good?” He droned, looking at you with a predatory gaze that could rip you apart without a single touch to your skin.

“Yes, yeah I do.” You mumble, the tone in your voice half hearted and shaky. You’re just as deranged as he is. “Please make me feel good.”

“Look at that. Leakin’ through yer panties like a little slut. Gettin’ off at the thought of what I’ma do to ya, knowin’ it won’t end in your favor.” Johnny sighed. His breath hot and heavy.

“I’ma bad man Y/N, a real bad man. But you don’t care, ye hardly mind as long as that greedy cunt between yer legs is satisfied.” His eyes were like obsidian, black and blood thirsty. Yours were glassy from the tears that hadn’t failed to stream mercilessly down your face, stained black as your mascara smears. Looking down at him with your brows knitted together, mind battered and breaking at how much you sadly ache for him. “Johnny, please?” Please.

“Go on then”, he spoke softly. “Ride my thigh.” Your mouth twitches and your thoughts haze, disassociation settling in briefly. “I said”, Johnny huffed, growing more impatient by the second as you sat there. His hand met your cheek with a loud slap, the skin there turning bright red, making your voice break out into a sob. “Rub yer fuckin’ cunt on my thigh, or I’ll leave yer pretty lil body layin’ on the side of the road like a slab of rancid meat.”

Your eyes well with tears once more, trying to find the words to say, barely grasping a thought in your head and the opportunity is ripped from you with another hard slap to your face. “Please I’m sorry!” You whine, saliva tinged red sitting metallic on your tongue. He scoffs and before you have time to process your pussy is now flush against his jean clad thigh, grinding your hips back and forth the length of it.

“Gotta do everythin’ my fuckin’ self huh?” He sneered, canines bared with a cocky smirk. His thumbs digging into your hips, earning a soft moan from your swollen lips as he slightly bounces his knee underneath you. “What was that darlin’? Can’t quite hear ya.” Johnny cooed. His nose tracing your jawline, a pleased hum rumbling in his chest when you buck your hips.

“Feels good.” You sigh breathlessly, eyes rolling back as you start to work with the push and pull of his strong hands. Rocking yourself at a steady pace, fingernails leaving indents into his scarred skin. Memories he won’t forget. Memories you won’t forget.

“That’s right baby. I can really feel ya soakin’ through now, dirty fuckin’ girl. Nasty.” His voice is like an old Country song playing on the radio, begging you to sing along. Southern twang making your heart flutter and cheeks flush.

Mama always said Christian girls should only listen to the word of our God. But the only thing you can hear right now is the ringing in your ears as you feel yourself roaring towards your first orgasm. Preach to me, Oh Lord.

“Oh fuck- Fuck!” You mewl, Johnny’s hands resting on top of your thighs now but you don’t notice. Your hips moving on their own accord. His eyes glued to your face as your jaw falls slack and your lungs give with such a pretty, pathetic, noise that he almost feels sorry for you. Like a bunny caught by the tail.

“Oh sweet girl, look at ya.” He rasped, cocking his head up, licking a Hell kissed stripe up your chin to your sensitive lips. Making you whine in protest when he pushes you off of his lap, his arms now draping over the back of the seat. Lazily opening his legs, clicking his tongue with a chuckle. “Yer turn.” He gestured with his hand, pointing to his rock hard length painfully restricted to his leg in the confines of his jeans.

The silence is mind numbing. Your body swarms with guilt and utter disgust blooms deep in your guts. How could you let such a depraved man use you like this? You’re going to die, your family will never see you again. Yet your gaze still shifts from him to his zipper, swallowing harshly as you close your eyes and move to your knees. They dig uncomfortably into the old itchy fabric of the seat.

“Get ta work doll. Ain’t got all night.” You wince at the reality of what happens next, an immobilizing weight hanging around your neck. You’d rather eat shit than get this man off.

But to your surprise he gently pushes his gloved hand through your hair, massaging part of your scalp as he got to work on his zipper with the other. His cock springing free, smacking against his abdomen and you marvel at the sight. Thick, about 7 inches. Slightly curved. You squirm anxiously, inching towards him with your back arched. Face down ass up.

“I said- Ah, fuuuckkk.” Johnny groaned pornographically, head tipping back eyes fluttering shut when your small hand wrapped around the base. Carefully angling your lips right above his aching cock, letting a wad of saliva pool out of your mouth and onto his slit. Watching as it slowly drips down the fat of it, glistening in the street light shining through the windshield. You’re too far gone to stop now.

“That’s it, put it in yer mouth- Fuck yeah, just like that.” His bottom lip curls under his teeth when your hand glides down and twists back up just beneath the tip, using your thumb to rub at the underside of it as your plump lips wrap around what’s left to fit in your mouth. His hips buck and his grip tightens in your hair. A guttural growl rumbling in his chest when you take him deeper in without warning. Bobbing your head up and down aggravatingly slow.

“Gotta do better than that sweetheart.” You whine around him and gag simultaneously. His fist pounds against the back of his hand that’s clamped into your hair like a vice. Forcing the last inch of him to stab into the back of your throat. Your lips now sitting sloppy against his balls, nose pressed into the thick thatch of hair at the base of his cock. The smell of musk and spit heavy in your nostrils.

Johnny scrapes his fingers through your tangled locks, breath rugged and chest heaving. He smirks to himself when your nails dig into the fabric of his jeans, your throat tightening around him with gag after gag. Tears stream down your face, vision blurry and hazing at the lack of oxygen. “Whores don’t need ta’ breathe, do they Y/N?”

Your eyes roll and your cunt squeezes around nothing. Drooling uncontrollably with the tip of his cock shoved harshly against the back of your throat, his pre cum leaking sickeningly sweet at the back of your tongue. He isn’t going to last much longer and though part of your mind is waiting for it to be over, the other part is yearning for more. For a release you’ll never get.

“Fuck”, he hissed. Your lungs threatening to give out till his hips buck and you’re granted one short breath, but it’s not long till he’s fucking your throat so hard that it hurts.

“That’s right bitch- Take it. M’gonna fuckin’ cum.” Johnny had to bite back a whine when you broke out into a sob, a slobbering mess all for him and he reveled in the way you struggled to swallow his length. Struggled to keep yourself together.

His balls tense and he gives a couple stuttering thrusts and that’s it. He slams your head down once more with a loud groan and hot, thick, spurts of cum shoot down your throat. Rope after rope, making you choke and sputter. Spit and snot mingling as your nose runs and he pulls you off his cock with a wet pop. Tucking himself back into his jeans without another word. You wipe your face and sniffle, body trembling from the fear and arousal that’s clung to your nerves and between your thighs.

“Knew you’d be a good fuck.” He chuckled, a cynical expression on his face. “Could tell by the way those lips curved. S’shame I didn’t get to play with that pussy, though there’ll be plenty of time for that later.” What? No.. There wouldn’t be, not in a million fucking years.

“Go to Hell!” You took your last chance and shot up bolting to grab at the door handle, hand still slick with spit and surprisingly it pops open and you almost fall out. But there was no escaping this man, he knew what he wanted and what he wanted was you. If he had to track you down to the ends of the Earth he would and he’d succeed. “Not quite yet sugar.”

Johnny yanked you back by your hair and you screamed to no avail. It was muffled by a rag, his big hand holding it tightly over your mouth and nose. With each breath your eyes grew heavier and heavier, a sweet smell lingering deep in your sinuses when you finally fall victim to sleep. Johnny let your head slump back into his chest before laying you down in the seat beside him, giving your ass a hard pat.

“Time ta go home, get ya settled in with the rest of the muts rottin’ down in the basement.” He tsked, hurriedly pulling away from the bar. Tires screeching down the road, white smoke billowing behind while you lay there in your drug induced slumber. Though you could faintly hear the rumble of his voice you couldn’t make out what he was saying. “I’ll make a pretty lil pup outta you darlin’. You’ll see.”

[hottpinkpenguin]

Letting Someone Go - Part 3

Benny Cross X Female Reader A/n: part 1 is here! part 2 is here! Word Count: 2392 Warnings: alcohol use, cursing, angsty angstiness

Johnny, Cal, and Zipco were at Junker’s Tavern when you pulled up six days later. You’d found every excuse in the book to turn what should have been a 5-hour straight shot east into a six day, meandering countryside tour. After much deliberation, you’d phoned the bar the night before from yet another shitty hotel room outside Chicago and had stammered out a request to Johnny that Benny not be there when you pull in. He hadn’t said much, just sorta grunted on the other end and fed you some bullshit about how I ain’t Benny’s goddamn keeper. But after you’d cussed him out some and asked him again, he begrudgingly agreed. You were glad, but not surprised, that he’d kept his word. Your welcome party was small, and with the noticeable exception of Brucie and Gail, those three guys were your closest pals in the Vandals. In spite of yourself, you found you were glad to see them. 

Zipco was as gruff as ever, didn’t crack a smile as he strode over to your bike with his long legs. He’d wrapped you up in a rib-cracking hug, mumbled something in your hair about how it was good to see you, and had disappeared back into the dark interior of the pub. Johnny had nodded at you stoically from the doorway. He looked about ten years older, with worry lines etched into his face and an emptiness in his eyes. Cal shot you a shy smile and an awkward wave as he came over to take your helmet. You shook out your hair from its braid, relishing the feel of your hair loosening at the roots and groaning appreciatively. You didn’t miss the way the sound made Cal squirm like a schoolboy, and it made you chuckle. 

“How you been, Cal?” you asked him with a little more flirt than you meant. It had been a long time since you’d talked to a man without trying to get him to buy you a drink or take your mind off yourself for an evening. 

He shrugged casually. “Can’t complain.”

“Mmm,” you replied in agreement. “Nobody would wanna listen anyways.” 

He scoffed as he followed you inside Junker’s. The tavern was exactly how you remembered it, down to the broken lightbulb in the back corner, the aging jukebox, the scuffed up pool table, and the neon Budweiser sign blinking erratically behind the permanently sticky bartop. 

“I see you boys been busy makin’ improvements in here,” you commented sarcastically as you joined Johnny and Zipco at their usual table. The bar was technically closed, but Johnny knew the owner, so it was yours for the afternoon. You spun your chair around so you could dangle your arms over the backrest. Zipco offered you a beer, which you accepted gratefully. Once Cal slid into a chair across from you, Johnny raised his bottle towards the center of the table.

“To Brucie,” he said softly and sadly. “The best of us.” The rest of you clinked your beers to Johnny’s, murmuring an echo of his toast. Suddenly the air in the bar felt heavy and thick around you. You couldn’t meet the eyes of the other three, and you were fairly certain their gazes were glued to the tabletop just like yours, fighting back the wave of emotions that had just swamped the room. 

Johnny cleared his throat after a few moments, breaking the tension. He turned to you, a serious look in his eyes.

“Funeral’s tomorrow,” he informed you, as if you didn’t know. You nodded, taking another generous swig of beer. 

“Whole club’s gonna be there.” It was Zipco’s turn to chime in now. You narrowed your eyes at the three men, sensing a trap. Cal was watching you gently, and something in his gaze made you want to smack him. You didn’t like the softness he seemed to be extending to you with his eyes.

“Yea, I figured as much,” you replied testily, setting your beer down a little harsher than necessary. Zipco and Johnny exchanged a glance that you didn’t miss, and it set your teeth on edge. Definitely a trap.

“Benny included.” Johnny didn’t look up at you, instead he set to picking off the label on his Pabst. You chewed on your tongue for a moment, trying to remind yourself that these three were as close to friends as you had in this world and deserved more than your anger. 

“Yea.” Unable to say more, you sat and waited. For the second time in as many minutes, the bar felt too small for the four of you. Or maybe it was too big, the size of the room and the memories of this place drowning you out and suffocating you.

“We don’t want no problems.” It was Johnny who finally spoke. His voice was even and smooth. He was nervous, you realized. Nervous about how you’d react. You exhaled slowly through your nose as you bit down on the mean things you thought about saying. Why the fuck did you invite me then, if you’re so worried about me being a problem. 

Cal’s leg was bouncing, and the keys he had hanging from his belt loop jingled softly in the late afternoon light that streamed through the lone window of the bar. You could see dust motes dancing in the sunlight, oblivious to the fact that you felt ready to split apart at the seams. The prospect of seeing Benny so soon hit you like a freight train. Were you really ready? Was Johnny right to worry about there being ‘a problem’? How were you going to react? Was she going to be there?

It was Zipco who broke the moment. He reached across the table and found your hand. You startled at the movement but didn’t pull back. He squeezed your hand reassuringly and gave you a small, conciliatory smile. 

“Our girl’s gonna be fine, Johnny,” he said with much more confidence than you felt. “She’s rock steady.” 

Suddenly there were tears welling in your eyes and you were overwhelmed with gratitude. Four years almost since you’d seen these guys. You hadn’t called once, hadn’t thought to drop a postcard in the mail just to let them know you were alive. You’d just up and left. Sure, you’d been leaving Benny. But in the process, you’d lost sight of who else you were leaving. And instead of holding it against you - or worse, forgetting about you - they’d held a place for you here. For the first time in a long time, you were surrounded by people who actually knew you, actually cared. 

You bit the inside of your lip to keep it from trembling and managed to nod in response to Zipco’s vote of confidence. He squeezed your hand again before withdrawing his. Johnny and Cal smiled at you, sensing that something had shifted inside you. You were changed, no doubt, but not totally lost. And it felt good to realize that, to remember who you were. You spent the rest of the afternoon in the quiet bar, drinking and talking stories with Zipco, Cal, and Johnny until the clock read 1:43am and you’d drunk up all the Pabst and Four Roses you could get your hands on. You crashed on Zipco’s couch that night, and as you lay there, looking up at the ceiling and waiting for the spins to stop so you could get some sleep, you came to terms with what you always knew would happen if you ever came back to Chicago:

You were home, and you weren’t leaving again. 

***********************

You woke up the morning of Brucie’s funeral with a stiff back, a throbbing headache, and a tightness in your chest. The first two you treated with four ibuprofen and a strong cup of strong, black coffee. The third one wasn’t treatable. No medicine you could take to help with a nervous broken heart. 

The entire club rode over to the funeral home where Brucie’s viewing was. Brucie’s parents had made it clear that Vandals weren’t welcome inside. 

“They don’t own the fuckin’ sidewalk, do they?” Johnny had asked with thunder in his voice as he cut the engine on his Harley in the funeral home parking lot. The new guy who’d brought the news of the Vandals specific dis-invitation to the viewing stammered out a terrified apology and retreated into the assembling MC crowd. You were trailing along beside Zipco, trying your best to stop fidgeting with the ill-fitting black dress you’d managed to scrounge out of a Goodwill bin back in Davenport. Your head was buzzing, courtesy of your hangover, the espresso-strength coffee that Zipco had made you, and a low grade terror at what you knew was only moments away. Sensing your nerves, Zipco reached back for your hand. You accepted it gratefully, feeling reassured by your old friend’s steadiness. He gently led you closer to where the Vandals, all in black, were starting to form lines flanking the entrance to the funeral home. 

“Y/n? Jesus Christ, is that you?!”

Sheila, never one for subtlety or propriety, shattered the somber mood of the crowd with a shriek of disbelief. You winced a bit, wanting nothing more than to dissolve into dust and get blown away on the next breeze. The last thing you wanted today of all days was to be the center of attention. 

Unable to ignore her, you turned towards the sound of your friend’s greeting. She slammed into you running a million miles an hour, her arms wrapping around you in a tight embrace.

“Christ almighty, I can’t believe you’re here! When did you get back?” 

“Sheila, ssh, just keep it down-”

“I know, I know, I just can’t believe it! I haven’t seen you in, well- jeeze, how long’s it been?”

“Four years,” you mumbled, feeling small. It felt real shitty to tell someone you were supposed to have been close with that it had been years - literal years - since you’d last seen them. 

“Four years, Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, you’re right!” Sheila’s voice was getting louder as her excitement was bubbling up again. 

Eager to distract her, you reached for the first inane question you could think of. “So, anyways, how you been doin’, you still hangin’ with the club then?”

“Oh yeah, well, I guess you wouldn’t know, but yea, Wahoo and I got married!” She flashed a ring in your face with a giddy grin. “Yea, it took a while, y’know how men are, but after about two years of datin’ I says to him ‘listen, Beau, you’re either in or you’re out, stop draggin’ your feet already’. And yea, maybe like a week later I had this little beaut on my finger and-”

Halfway through Sheila’s rambling story, the ground opened up and swallowed you whole. You were nervously glancing around the crowd, trying to stay as close to Zipco as you could physically manage and trying desperately to keep Sheila from causing too much of a ruckus, when you locked eyes with him. After all these years, Benny was still as devastating as ever, with his hair a little longer and his smile a little softer than the last time you’d seen him. You’d know him anywhere. Hell, you’d know Benny Cross in the dark.

For a split second, you saw him before he saw you. In the next instant, those blue eyes locked with yours. Your grip tightened like a vice on Zipco’s hand. Sheila was still yammering at you, but your ears felt stuffed with cotton and your head a million miles away. All you could do was look at him, your eyes greedily roaming over his face, desperately memorizing everything about him as if you’d never get another chance again. 

Benny’s expression was unreadable. He held your gaze calmly. You knew you shouldn’t, but you tried to swim into his eyes to see if there was anything like guilt in those two blue oceans. Didn’t he feel the least bit bad for what he’d done? Didn’t he know that you’d barely survived these last four years? Didn’t he care?

You weren’t sure how long you looked at Benny. It could have been seconds or eons. However long it was, it wasn’t nearly enough. There was a bottomless, demanding hunger for more of him deep in your gut. You felt like you could literally crawl into his skin alongside him and it wouldn’t be enough. It was maddening, desperate and overwhelming. And to add salt to the wound, Benny gave you nothing. A barely-there smile that could have said anything: amusement, pity, discomfort, adoration, apathy. Eyes that slid past you, through you, and over you easily as he made idle conversation with the other Vandals and watched Brucie’s casket pass by. You couldn’t read anything in him, and it threatened to crush what few pieces of yourself you had left.

You tried your best to turn your head towards Brucie, but it was no good. Brucie deserved better from you, you knew it, and there was no help for it. You were lost in Benny again. It had taken you fifteen months to meet him, love him, and lose him. Four years to race against the crushing heartbreak that threatened to swamp you. And less than a heartbeat to fall back in love with him. 

It wasn’t until Zipco literally dragged you away from the funeral home that your head came plunging out of the clouds. You were sure you looked half-crazed, craning your neck to catch one more glimpse of Benny before the crowd swallowed him up amidst the roar of a dozen or so motorcycles coming to life. He didn’t bat an eye at your absence. It made you wish you could burst into flames, just to see if he’d react, burns and agony be damned. 

You didn’t notice anything on the ride home. The wind tore at your face and ripped out tears. After a few agonizing moments, you lay your head against Zipco’s back with an exhausted sigh and willed the world to drown itself out. Another realization buried itself deep in your bones as you let the bike and the asphalt and the wind and Zipco lull you to sleep:

You were home, you weren’t leaving, and it was probably going to be the death of you.

**read part 4 here

Taglist: @real-lana-del-rey @putherup @dontcrydaddy @gilli-vanilli @faephoria @summer56 @seresinhangmanjake @patrycqv @rose-deathman

[alleyesandears]

Johnnie's Tavern

3503 Trabue Rd Columbus, Ohio

Photo by Dania Hurley

[quarterlifekitty]

i am still ruminating on fantasy aus and i'm SICK thinking of potioner soap and his little woods witch???? also soap is an orc and i will not be taking questions at this time.

he's lived away from his clan for a long time because, although his immediate family were always fine, most of the orc community is more than a bit weird about a warrior who chooses to painstakingly brew up a weapon instead of using his club. they never seemed to here that there was no instead of-- soap like boom, whether that's from a nice piece of hornbeam connecting with skull or the flare of an incendiary potion. regardless, he'd struck out on his own about as soon as he could. he fell into the king's contracted mercenaries after meeting the rest of the 141 in a tavern fight. weirdly, your average human or elf wasn't MORE tolerant than any of the orcs who'd picked on him back home, and so he'd often found himself in scraps to defend the meager but hard-earned respect he had won. price was impressed with his work, even more by the feral grin that showed off his tusks as blood dripped from the wound above his brow. it was the first time since he'd left his ma's hearth that he'd had kinship, and a home base. in between quests, he'd found a comfortable (if not permanent) lodging in a decently sized town on the outer edge of the central regions of the kingdom, next to a forest known as the pleasant wilds.

one thing soap had always longed for in his time as a nomad was a consistent source for ingredients. potions are testy things, even more so when they're meant to eventually explode, and soap had lost many a fine eyebrow to herbs harvested from poor soil or fur clipped from a beast who was too angry (or, conversely, not angry enough). so imagine his delight when he comes across a stall in the weekly market stocked with waxy, plump rosemary, bee venom still buzzing with the force of its progenitor, even a small sign advertising moon-gathered ingredients with evening delivery so that they wouldn't lost their potency. it was as he was eyeing a few sprigs of dried valerian that the second thing he'd always longed for had popped up behind the counter.

his first impression of the witch of the woods was that she was far too fragile of a little human to be running her stall alone. her kind, bright eyes and curious smile were far too gentle to protect against the thieves and ruffians common to a large market like this one. and so he'd made his purchase and lingered, as unobtrusive as one could be at his size as he perused the other stalls. the dull thunk of a knife connecting with wood had him turning back towards her booth, just in time to watch blood pour from the now tacked-down hand of a pickpocket trying to steal some of the more high value goods on display. she'd tsked, ignoring the shrieking, writhing thief as she tutted over her ruined stock. it was as the town guards had carried the wounded criminal away, though, that johnny had fallen in love. the little witch had offered him some blood soaked stock for free, wondering aloud what the herbs might do with the addition of a little vital fluid.

johnny had quickly come to trust her above any other supplier-- she only sold ingredients in season, freshly harvested under ideal conditions. it had taken two months worth of shopping to work his way into something he'd consider friendship (best believe he counted), another two to work his way up to being "johnny" instead of 'tav to her. after his third quest since knowing her, she'd leapt from behind her counter to throw her arms around his neck. he'd been shocked (and horny!) about the strength of her grip. it wasn't until he'd helped carry her wares back to her cottage in the wilds that he saw why-- five beehives, brimming, as she told him, with soon to be harvested honey; plot after plot of lovingly tended herbs, and flowers besides ("just because i think they're nice" she'd told him, affectionately stroking the petals of a marigold by the door); a pile of firewood halfway up the wall of the house-- and only her to do all of it! he was simultaneously proud and sick, the thought of his little witch out here on her own, breaking her back when he'd be perfectly happy to do all of this work on her behalf (and make sure her back hurt if it was really necessary!).

i could write a million more words of rambling about this but yeah. orc johnny and his self sufficient witch. how long does it take her to get him on a leash following her around like the good boy he is?

Bro idk even what to say. Co-signed.

First of all please check out this hentai manga abt a troll guy and his rogue party mate. I know you said orc, but I can totally imagine Soap as a troll like this.

Second: if you’re into this sort of fantasy setting, mercenaries, and being a potion maker, AND old men, please check out the bell chimes for gold. It’s an erotic otome, the best I’ve played. Please note that while it is on steam, that’s the censored version! If you want old man hentai then use denpasoft to get it!

Anyways regarding your man. Dude is already leashed, harnessed, muzzled, and whipped. And he hasn’t even gotten any pussy yet!

I imagine when he’s not busy with the 141 they go on supply runs together— she knows the locales and veins of ingredients better. But his stamina and size keep monsters out of the way. Some materials have to be cracked out of stone with his strength, others have to be dug out from crevices with her smaller fingers.

And then after these supply runs get later and later, he keeps staying at her place— the barracks are far, and she needs to process some of the ingredients before he can take his share to be used, anyways.

And y’know. Things happen. In the form of morning wood the size of her forearm, maybe.

[johnnylandslide]

Heavensward

Their time in Ishgard is what led them to grow so close to each other, but not all of it was pleasant. Johnny is a person who works best when following a plan, so when Alphinaud, the usual plans guy, didn't know what to do, neither did Johnny.

Tataru was his rock through it all. Since they couldn't return to the Rising Stones, she did her best to turn the Forgotten Knight into a home away from home. If Johnny had a home to come back to, he could make it through anything.

[undiscovered-horizon]

(tw for mentions of nudity)

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[After days of travelling, fighting and sleeping on rocks, a rest at a tavern is well-earned. Not feeling up to taste the nightlife with your friends, Gale and you retire early. The evening turns into something heartfelt and domestic as you wash his hair and hum a song he's grown all too familiar with.]

As much as Gale loves to be in the centre of your attention, it flusters him. He's grown so used to being the one doting and worshipping that he's quite unsure what to do once the roles are reversed. Is he supposed to gratefully acknowledge your efforts? Or sit twiddling his thumbs, taking whatever you give him?

How does one take affection?, he wonders in the back of his head.

The party downstairs is virtually inaudible to Gale as his mind is focused solely on the tender caress of your hands. The soap suds feel as though they transcend his skin and wash his very spirit clean. Or perhaps that's just what being loved feels like. His back is leisurely leaning against your chest. In some distant fantasy of his, you are reborn as his guardian angel.

I sowed rue in four little gardens In the fifth, I sowed periwinkle for you, Johnny

Your low singing is ringing in his ears the same way the church bell's toll is ringing in the ears of a saint - calling towards home. Gale shivers as your breath, like a ghost of love once cherished, brushes against his hot skin. The soothing sound of your voice is all too fleeting to him. If he could only grab it and bask in it any time he wishes to. Perhaps, if your place was among the stars in the night sky...?

Rue, my rue, I sowed you in the early morning I sowed you happily; grow tall, rue

He sighs, feeling your fingers tug gently at his hair. Whether you're washing it or rinsing, he's not entirely sure. The moment your fingers dragged against his skin, your nails scratched at his scalp, Gale allowed himself to drift into a comfortable limbo - somewhere between sleep and wake, between dream and reality. It is only by the melody of this song you so often sing to yourself that he can be sure he is alive and well. Otherwise, given the inexplicable lightness of his spirit, Gale might have thought he'd died and gone to wherever he deserved to spend his afterlife.

I sowed you, rue, in a wide bed I thought to myself that Johnny might come

Speaking of death: as the saying goes, 'curiosity killed the cat' and Gale, by his nature, can not help himself but die again and again.

"Not that I don't enjoy your little habit," he breaks the silence in a groggy, sleepy voice, "it's quite adorable if I may say so, but do indulge me: what is this song you're singing? I've never heard it before."

"It's a wedding song," you murmur your answer. Gale's breath hitches as he feels your lips stroke the conch of his ear. "In my hometown, there's this tradition of making newlyweds wade through the dancing guests to reach each other. If they manage to hold hands before the song ends, the Gods bless them and they shall be inseparable from that day on. It's weird how..." you hang your voice and sigh heavily, "no matter."

But Gale is quick to dismiss your silly belief that there is something uninteresting about your thoughts. "Whatever is on your mind, I long to hear it." The pleasing tone of his voice is more meaningful than the wizard's actual words.

For a moment, your careful movements come to a halt. He could, of course, protest the sudden lack of soft tugging at his hair or the pleasant scratching of his scalp but all complaints dissipate as Gale feels you resting your chin on top of his shoulder. "When I was younger, just a filly, I thought about the day I would get to nudge my way through the guests," you recall with both sadness and fondness in your voice, "but now I worry whether I will get to see the break of dawn. Odd how life can get."

He wishes to say something suave, to weave sultry words with skill comparable to Astarion's. Alas, he's too overly aware of your naked form glued to his back and your arms casually wrapped around his stomach. Yet again, Gale is flustered. "Oh, I'm no stranger to twisted and, frankly unfathomable, paths of life," he says, feigning glibness. "Having said that, you've managed to survive things most can't even dream of. If I were you, I wouldn't cross a wedding game off the list just yet."

No answer comes from you - at least not a vocal answer. You place a soft peck on top of his shoulder before going back to washing his hair and relishing in the song that reminds you of home.

The rue is withered but Johnny's not here When Sunday comes, I will be dressing up

Considering he has enough explosive energy inside him to level a city, wading through the mob of wedding guests shouldn't be a challenge. Although, if Karlach and Lae'zel are also invited...

But the doubt in Gale's mind doesn't let such fantasies go too far. First of all, would you even want to? Would you actually stand before him and proclaim to the entire world that you will love him for better or worse? As much as he believes you every time you profess your love to him, the longer he wonders about the proverbial 'until death do us part', the more he grows unsure. Because, honestly, out of all the people you've met on your travels, why would it be him? The man who famously makes bad decisions in the name of love?

Rue, my rue, grow green, rue I will cut you on an early Sunday morning

The thing that happens then leaves Gale even more confused about his own feelings and the matter of accepting affection:

You've finished washing his hair, taking your sweet time admiring the streaks of grey. Leaning back, you gently pull him along. His head falls back into the crook of your neck. If Gale had just slightly less self-control, he would have squealed when you kissed his neck and tightened your embrace around his midsection. You're holding him like a toddler holds their favourite stuffed toy and it's... nice.

Thinking about your trapping hug, Gale suddenly remembers something he wanted to share. "Did you know that a periwinkle is also called a Vinca, which means 'to bind'?"

A light-hearted chuckle rumbles in your chest. "Then I better sow a garden full of them for you."

_____

Halsin's version right here!!

(tagging those who shouted, y'all are the pillars of society: @cakenpiewhyohmy @hairlessgoblin @lillithhearts @day-dreaming-goddess @nico-ith @cakeboxie )

Your prayers have been heard!!!! (As though I didn't start writing this immediately after posting Halsin's version)

Changed the song at the last second because my former choice was a little too upbeat for the setting ("Jeleń" by Sutari, if y'all are curious)

[newfoundstateof]

but she fell in love with an english man | b.b. x reader

summary: Academy friends drag Benedict to a tavern to watch Irish fiddle player!reader perform. He buys her a drink. But who can play a fiddle and drink a pint at the same time?

word count: 1.2k

warnings: suggestive but none

a/n: definitely not inspired by those tiktoks of dirty talk bar maids at ren faires, who said that???

“They are spectacular,” Rupert Norton declared with an arm slung over Benedict’s shoulder.

The rest of the Royal Academy students hummed in agreement. Already drunk from the party they left minutes ago, a small group of them stumbled down the cobbled streets of Soho. Earlier that night, news broke that a band that visited a few weeks before Benedict enrolled at the Academy had returned to much anticipation. In an instant, pipes were dropped, coats were gathered, and boots were marching to The Intrepid Fox tavern.

“They’re from Ireland,” someone said.

“I’ve never danced so much in my life,” another added.

“And the fiddle player is quite easy on the eyes,” Rupert slurred into Benedict’s ear. “Try and buy her a drink if you can. That usually gets her attention.”

Benedict laughed. “I’m just here to enjoy the music. As should all of you scoundrels.”

Once inside the tavern, a few of the men beelined to the bar to order whiskey shots for the fiddle player despite the empty stage in the corner. Benedict simply took a seat at the bar, observing the growing crowd. The band’s reputation must have preceded them, as he was soon shoulder to shoulder with the eager fans. But for the next twenty minutes, only chatter filled the room.

“They always like to keep you waiting,” Rupert grumbled into his ale. “But it’s worth it, I promise.”

“I don’t mind,” Benedict smiled. “It’s good people watch-”

The room erupted into cheering, and he turned toward the stage. Sure enough, two men climbed the small wooden platform. One carried a fiddle, the other a flute. The room roared even louder when you emerged with your fiddle, waving a good-natured hand to the audience. Your smile was wide and disarming. Your gaze was equally piercing. Looking at the gleam in your eyes, Benedict knew just how aware you were of your control over the room. Soon the clapping died down, and every soul waited with bated breath to what you would say.

A scrawny kitchen hand hurried up to you and set a tray of shots down on a small barrel.

“Wow,” you breathed. “All this for little old me?”

Benedict found himself chuckling with everyone. As you threw a shot back, his stomach dropped. You were certainly not like the young ladies of the ton. 

“This crowd is mighty impressive, isn’t it, boys?” you asked your bandmates as you all started tuning your instruments. “We appreciate you for coming out. If you don’t know us already, the lad on the flute is Johnny. My fellow friend on the fiddle is Patrick. And I’m Y/N. I have a favor to ask of you all… From now until the last of you sorry lot leave this building, I hereby decree this an Irish pub! That means we will be clapping along to the songs, singing if you know the words, and if you are so inclined, I would love to see some dancing tonight.”

Someone in the audience whistled, evoking more cheers.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” you grinned.

The trio launched into Seven Drunken Nights, a popular jig even Benedict knew. Though his classmates were rowdily singing along, he could only stare at you. Johnny and Patrick generally kept to their places on stage, but you swayed across, drawing your bow theatrically compared to Patrick’s controlled movements. He was the main vocalist, but during the wife’s lines in the song, you sang with the crowd. 

“Ah, you’re drunk, you’re drunk, you silly ol’ fool. Still, you cannot see, that’s a lovely tin whistle that me mother sent to me!”

Benedict couldn’t decide if you were a better fiddle player or singer, you were impeccable at both. But without a doubt, you were the best at simply putting on a show. You encouraged people to dance along as you skipped across the stage. Benedict could only imagine how taxing it was for you. Dancing, singing, and playing an instrument all while not breaking a sweat. He eyed the tray of shots, turned to the nearest bartender, and ordered something more refreshing for you.

As you strung out the last note of Seven Drunken Nights, the same kitchen hand ran the mug of beer up to your tray. You sighed to yourself.

“Which one of you did this?” you cried out, lifting the mug high.

Heads spun every which way. Benedict froze. Was liquor the only appropriate drink to tip a musician? He wasn’t sure, he’d never been to something like this. Awkwardly, he coughed and raised his hand.

Your eyes found him in the sea of faces, and you smirked. “Don’t be shy, come here!”

 Rupert clapped Benedict on the back. “Don’t screw this up, Bridgerton. She might go home with you tonight.”

Though he had been with many women and dangerously close with a few men, you still intimidated him somehow. Nothing intimate had been on his mind before Rupert’s comment, but now his heart skipped a few beats at just the thought of it. Benedict snaked through the crowd, trying to read the expression on your face. But all you looked was smug, and he wouldn’t be surprised if you poured the ale on his head. 

“Finally,” you breathed as he stood before you. “One of you buys a lady a real drink!”

He exhaled in relief.

“I’m afraid I’m quite thirsty though,” you pout, getting down on one knee. The stage was barely a foot off the ground, putting your face directly in front of Benedict’s wide shoulders. “And we need to get on with the next song, but I don’t have enough hands. Would you help me, good sir?”

Without waiting for his response, you shoved the drink in his hands and looked up to the ceiling. Before Benedict could blink, you were poising your instrument and drawing out a note with your bandmates following suit.

“We’re lucky I don’t sing in this one,” you smile, giving him a pointed look. “Get on with it, now. I’m parched.”

Never one to argue with a lady, Benedict slowly tilted the rim of the glass to your lips and poured the liquid steadily down your throat. You looked up through your lashes at him, daring him to look away. But he didn’t. Only when some of the ale dripped down your chin and onto your bodice did his gaze break yours.

“Should I stop?” he asked.

You shook your head, “No,” as much as you could with your lips around the glass.

As you neared the last dregs, your head tilted back more and more to get it all. The eroticism of it all was not lost on Benedict, especially as you swallowed the last gulp and moaned audibly. The growing friction in the front of his pants was no help. But once the glass was finished, you rose to your feet and sent him off with a wink. As you spun to the other side of the stage, the hem of your skirt brushed his groin and he mindlessly reached for the fabric. But you were gone. In a trance, Benedict walked backward to his friends at the bar, adjusting himself. 

“Has she done that before,” he coughed.

“I’ve never seen that before,” Rupert crowed. “And I’ve seen them perform at least five times since I started at the Academy.”

“You’ve got to talk to her after, Bridgerton,” someone urged.

“Can I come along?” a voice teased.

“You’re the luckiest bastard on earth right now,” another sighed.

Across the room, you caught him starring and blew him a quick kiss.

“Yes,” he murmured. “Luckiest bastard on earth.”