#picture book parade

[qbdatabase]

October 20th was International Pronouns Day, so this Saturday we have a special Picture Book Parade that's all about pronouns! These colorful children's books talk about how to use pronouns, introduce kids to the many different pronouns they can use, and talk you through what to do if you don't know which ones are for you 🏷️✏️❓

[picturebookshelf]

Halloween Parade (2009)

Story: Abby Klein -- Art: John McKinley

[cerealboxlore]

I had written an entire essay and my app crashed. Took me 40 minutes to write that bitch and it’s gone. Very much sad time rn. Anyways. Sorry that this’ll be less elaborate than the post I wanted. But I made a super long ask detailing resources where you could learn more about Cap & Billy because I saw in one of your posts that you were new to DC & didn’t know much about Billy other than the Shazam! movie.

And since I’m a huge Captain Marvel nerd and I love sharing the character with others, I wanted to give you more resources to learn about him! I noticed that most of your knowledge comes from the post new-52 version of Billy and the Shazam! movie, so most of them are going to be pre-crisis resources.

But I only realized after it deleted that people wouldn’t be able to click the links so I’m making it it’s own post & I’ll make sure to tag ya bc it was initially intended to be for you.

I got links to scans of the original WHIZ comics, interviews with the creators, podcasts detailing the history of Cap, comic recs, fantastic tumblr blogs to follow, to an absolutely fantastic pre-crisis Cap analysis & essay blog that fundamentally changed my perception of the character!

So look forward to a big ol “good places to be introduced to cap’s character” post by yours truly once I get off of work.

Hope you’ll like it! :D

Hun I'm so sorry I took so long with this ask, and I'm so sorry your essay got deleted, I hate it whenever tumblr does that.

This ask filled me with so much glee the day I got it, I love Captain Marvel so much I just want to squeeze Billy Batson's cheeks and feed him a nutritionally balanced meal.

Most of my knowledge of Captain Marvel/Shazam/Billy Batson comes from, well, wherever I can find information, which is a wild adventure by itself! But at least with writing fanficion I can take things easier and even create my own things for the big red cheese.

Also, the biggest reason I never got to your ask was because I was looking for something to include in the reply and only found it recently! I had a comic of our favorite superhero lying around somewhere and I found it! And along the way I ended up buying some more, hahaha

Good lord, I even bought a Keychain doll. And I don't have a Keychain!

At least I have my own little Captain Marvel collection building up now, now including the comic I got from AMC theatres when I saw the movie on opening day!

I highly look forward to being tagged in your post! I know I'll love it!

[amourdedove]

saw someone talking about the thanksgiving Macy's parade and how serious americans take holiday and decorations and ik other countries have their version of this but..... brazilian carnaval??? americans can't even THINK to come close to it like?????

you can't even COMPARE, the level of work and preparation the samba schools take with this, and not to mention the street side of the commemorations!!!

[raybeanschildrenslit]

Tokyo Night Parade - Picture Book

Tokyo Night Parade by J.P. Takahashi, Minako Tomigahara (Illustrations) Published 2023 by Harper Collins

Written by J.P. Takahashi and Illustrated by Minako Tomigahara, 2023’s Tokyo Night Parade is about the “hyakkiyagyō, or the Night Parade of One Hundred Demons … said to walk the streets of Japan on evenings when the human world and the yōkai world overlap” (Takahashi, 2023). Eka is our main character- and a stand-in or representative of the author- and we follow her as she returns to Japan from New York for her favorite time of the year, the Night Parade. We watch as she wears her kitsune onesie and joins her friend Kappa as the festivities begin and she joins the demons for their parade. They chat about how life has changed for Eka and how she struggles to have people understand her, the demons relating. However, they also celebrate their togetherness and their parade with singing and dancing and with the hope of coming together again.

In Vardell’s 2019 text- Children’s Literature in Action: A Librarian’s Guide (3rd ed.)- we are given evaluation criteria regarding children’s picture books such as characters, plot, setting, theme, style, illustrations, and cultural markers- let’s take a look at a couple (2019). In this beautifully hued, illustrated, and written tale, we can evaluate the criteria of Cultural Markers. Takahashi and Tomigahara highlight the Japanese fables of yōkai through their joining in the Japanese tradition of the night parade- we highlight this culture through these elements written and illustrated. Speaking of Illustration, Illustrator Minako Tomigahara does a stunning job showing off her technical skill through design and hue, enveloping the reader in expressive colors and characters as the story progresses. Tomigahara also pays close mind and attention to the diversity of Japanese yōkai present between these pages, showing off their diversity in appearance and range of character- from sinister to playful.

In discussing its place in a library setting and the role it can play, this could be an excellent piece in discussing Japanese culture, tradition, and the fables of yōkai. I could see this picture book taking a great place in a display regarding Japanese culture and experience and a place in discussion regarding fables/ demons/ creatures of different cultures. In my mind, with the creative interest I have seen in children at my workplaces,  I can see children doing drawings and colorings of creatures like yōkai- from tradition or their own minds- and making a show of displaying them and discussing them- what they stand for or do.

-Ray  11/19/2024

Takahashi, J. P., & Tomigahara, M. (2023). Tokyo night parade. Katherine Tegen Books. 

Vardell, S.M. (2019). Children’s literature in action: A librarians’s guide (3rd ed.). Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-Clio.

[kitsuneheartreviews]

Queer picture book: "The Rainbow Parade" by Shane Jordan & Rick Hendrix

June brings with it a parade of books about...well, parades. Pride parades. And also, for me, a little procrastination, as this review is coming just a liiiiittle after Pride month. In my defense, the local Pride parade is in August, so it's almost like I'm early!

This book focuses on the joy of being yourself, within the community. How we all come together to make something varied and greater than ourselves.

The artwork also does a great job with representation. Skin tones, gender expressions, limb differences, and assistive devices all have good variety, given the somewhat small cast size. The book ends with two brief essays (a couple paragraphs each), including questions to ask your child, to encourage them to think on diversity and inclusion. There are also some definitions, including some addressing discrimination.

This book isn't so much "we're here, we're queer," it's "we're here, we're all different, and that's wonderful!" I'm glad to see how queer picture books have progressed, over the years, to reflect joy, community, and diversity, not just who we love romantically.

Advanced reader copy provided by the publisher.

[diagnosedaskiwi]

already planning for going to stockholm pride this year………. girl theres three months left……… calm down

[moongreenlight]

Headcanons for Captain John Price and his VERY young housewife.

Mdni. Nsfw below cut.

Like unsure if you’ve graduated university yet young. Like he’s gotta be 13 years your senior at minimum. And he eats that shit up. Loves the way people stare and whisper when he parades you around, massive hand planted just above your ass

He’s like Simon in that he prefers you stay at home where he can keep you safe. Hires maids and housekeepers and cooks so your only responsibility is lounge and look pretty. You’re his biggest trophy. Like a prize show cat. Keeping you groomed and pampered and happy. Purring into his hand the moment he comes home.

Lowkey gets so sour when you send the cook home for the day and make dinner yourself. Not that you aren’t a fantastic cook, he just doesn’t want you to lift a finger. Doesn’t like the idea of you accidentally cutting yourself with a kitchen knife or burning yourself on a hot stove. Wants you to just be a trophy on his shelf.

Doesn’t even like the idea of you showering by yourself. Gives you bubble baths so that he can be sure you’re perfectly preened because obviously he’s the only one that knows exactly how to take care of you.

LOOOOOVES that even though you’re so young you fit in perfectly with the other housewives in the neighborhood. Going to spin classes in the early morning, book club, brunch, shopping at the most expensive grocery stores.

Literally treats you like a pedigreed cat. Weekly manicures and pedicures that he’s put his card on file for. You just walk in and they know you’re Price’s wife and that your appointments are prepaid.

And pre-tipped obvi. GENEROUS with his money when it comes to you. And there’s probably a note under your profile that you’re to be paid careful attention. God forbid they accidentally graze your skin with the nail file and hurt his pretty kitty.

Facials and hair appointments biweekly that are the exact same way.

Your picture is posted at the gate of the base because all the guards are expected to know their chain of command and wave them in without question. He just loves that your status as his wife is enough to get you the VIP treatment you deserve.

His ultimate goal is to make you a young mom. Even though you’ve only been married for a year and you’re like 22 he’s actually so pissed that you’re not bouncing a baby on your hip.

Bet he loves the idea of his kids getting bullied because their mom is hot.

Brings you around base for the sole purpose of showing off. Purposely leaves his lunch at home just so you come see him.

The first time you ever met the task force boys he’d asked you to bring something DUMB up. Like a water bottle or something. Who cares. You end up accidentally interrupting the meeting they’re having and Price pulls you onto his lap before introducing you as his wife. Soap and Gaz are kicking each other under the table. Swear to god Gaz does that cartoon gulp. Soap looks like he’s about to explode.

Probably calls you his ‘old lady’ but with the most disgustingly smug smirk on his face.

Btw if you even care you’re such a trophy to him and he’s so invested in his team that he wants to share you with the guys. There’s no ‘I’ in team. So confident in knowing that he’s the only one that can truly pamper you properly that he doesn’t mind using you as leverage to get them to perform well.

Oh Soap did really well on the last mission? He can come to dinner with you guys. Price will dress you up nice and let Soap wrap his arm around your waist when you walk in. Then Price will invite him back for a nightcap and instruct you to drop down between his thighs. Coaching you through the process of palming him through his trousers, unzipping them, springing his cock free from his underwear, taking just the tip into your mouth. Being soooo nice about letting you take your time adjusting your throat. “It’s different, doll. I know. Being so good.” Until he finally snaps and fists the back of your hair, pushing you all the way down so that the room is echoing your lewd, wet gags and moans. He doesn’t let Soap come in your mouth, though. That’s a luxury only he can afford.

And you’re soooooooo happy to do whatever John asks. He treats you so well. The least you can do is oblige his requests every once in a while. He asks so little of you. Plus no other cock compares to his. Even after getting fucked dumb by Ghost, drooling down your chin, you find it in you to look for him. Pupils blown-out, whining softly up to him. Weak and slurring “Need you, daddy. Need you.”

That last part is only if you care tho. I’m normal about it. It’s fine.

[acertainmoshke]

I was a “grumpy” kid. It was a joke in my family. They (with all loving intention) teased me for being a grouch, poked me when I scowled, got me things like pencil cases with “smile and no one will know you’re mad”

They also lectured me when I withdrew from whatever activity half an hour in or pulled out my book, because I was meant to be participating. Any picture taken at the end instead of the beginning of volunteering/marching in a parade/whatever has me utterly stony faced

I realized today that I was constantly overstimulated. It’s a similar emotional reaction to low blood sugar but I could recognize that as a kid and knew I had to eat regularly or I got dizzy and mean. The other seemed to be random

But we’re trying out hearing aids for audio processing, right? And we went to archery practice which is in a field by a road. And I was in a good mood, chattering with my partner, and then as soon as we got there I got grumpy. Everything made me want to snap or yell or pull away (I only did the last one, because I’m an adult who can turtle in on myself instead of screaming)

And they were like, “Are you having a sensory moment? Do you want to turn your hearing aid down?”

And I did and the passing cars on the road got softer and suddenly I was fine

But I lived like this for years, with the assumption it was just part of my personality but that if I didn’t want to go to whatever class or meeting or event, or if I wanted to sit in a corner and read, or if I shut down half an hour in, I was just not being Good

[st-dionysus]

(The Poem is named) Emetophobia CW

It’s 2024 and I’m in a 20 year old drag bar, watching the very first trans-masculine performer to compete on their stage, he gets second place even though he deserved first.

I show up to the men’s bathhouse on trans night to get free entry and get turned away at the door, and told it’s for transgirls only, bitch you could have put it on the flyer that transmen need not apply.

I’m doing a line of ketamine off the table, calling it stealing transfem valor.

I get banned from the camsite for listing myself as transgender when I don’t have a dick, I complain online and get told that the trans-masculine body is to grotesque to be fetishized and I should be grateful.

I wear a packer and hitch up a skirt, walk the street, get $20, calling it stealing transfem valor.

Cissie puts a TW #body-mutilation tag under my thirst trap. Tranny puts a TW #dysphoria tag under my thirst trap.

T-girl with a callout post pedojackets me, Enby with TME in bio pedojackets me, T-boy with a self-deprecating joke about men in his bio pedojackets me.

I do another line of ketamine off the table, calling it stealing transfem valor.

I am at the woman’s clinic, I am at the woman’s clinic, I am at the woman’s clinic wearing a mask – not cause I’m compromised (I am), just to hide my beard – avoiding making everyone uncomfortable.

I am getting re-diagnosed with BPD, which just means I have bitch disorder and no one trusts me.

I take my pills and throw them up. I drink my liquor before the beer and throw them up.

I am just 14 when the picture and videos go up. Remind me that I have it easy, they were only pictures and videos.

I am just 17 when the recording of my proof stops before it happens, my phone memory is full, I’m called a liar and now I can’t see buttered crackers, thanksgiving, or sriracha sauce without wanting to kill myself.

No one gets me therapy, but they still want to convert me, she puts her hands down my pants, at least I’m 19, to remind me I’m a woman – tell me how they love trans men again.

I do a third line of ketamine off the table, realize it doesn’t effect me, calling it stealing transfem valor.

I call myself a dog, I start biting my lovers and I have to hold back from ripping out a chunk of flesh, I don’t think I’d throw it up.

I am reading the statistics, 40% of BPD patients try and kill themselves. 1 in 2 transgender men try and kill themselves. I’m one of them. I’m 12 and I swallowed all the pills. I’m 14 and the gun is empty. I’m 17 and I put the box-opener against my throat. Therapist calls me a liar, there is no scar, and my words don’t count for anything.

I’m using he/him pronouns for Stormé DeLarverie, like the stonewall veteran association said to, and telling you he started the riot, calling it stealing transfem valor from a woman who told you she didn’t fucking do it.

I’m shoving my fingers down my throat in a fit of mania, convinced I can vomit up my uterus. She tells me I should be grateful, she’d do anything to be able to get pregnant.

My brother in the struggle gets bottom surgery without top, calling it stealing transfem valor to feel comfortable in his body.

It’s 2024 and I’m at trans pride, the announcers tells everyone to give a round of applause for trans woman, a round of applause for gender-queers, a round of applause for transfems, a round of applause for the enbies, a round of applause for trans-masculine people. You forgot someone. Did you know a trans man started the first ever transgender pride parade?

A book on queer history talks about gay men and lesbians and trans women and the women who dressed as men for better job opportunities. I’m reminded that my invisibility is a privilege, if you aren’t seen you don’t get bashed.

I’m 13 and they throw me in the girls bathroom, pin me down, beat me, and in black sharpie write “dyke”, write “tranny”, write “lesbo”, and pull my hair out the cap I shoved it in.

I’m 19 with D cups that a binder can’t hide and a beard I refuse to shave less I break the mirror and kill myself with the shards of glass I would swallow.

Man at the bus stop calls me tranny and tells me I’ll never be a woman. I’d laugh if he didn’t have his hand on my throat. Calling it stealing transfem valor.

I’m 21 and have to pull a taser on him, cause from the back, even with short hair and top surgery, I look rape-able.

I’m 23 and in the gay district when they chase me down the street, calling me faggot.

Make another forcemasc post, calling it stealing transfem valor.

Read an article about a trans man prostitute that kills himself and ends up another female statistic.

Read an article about a trans man shooter, they blame the HRT he didn’t have access too.

Going to read a callout about me, five pages on Google Docs, does this post make it on the list?

Do a final line of ketamine, write the final line of a poem that makes me want to die, calling it stealing transfem valor.

I puke and miss the toilet.

[qbdatabase]

Picture Book Parade - Many Adventures New year, new adventures! From riding lions under the stars to fighting off monsters to bubblegum falling from the sky, we're breaking in the new year with some wacky hijinks 🦁⚔️🌪️

[mollywog]

I forgot to mention: In this universe Finnick Odair is the local weatherman

All my modern AUs now begin with - Johanna and Peeta as business partners running a bakery/coffee shop (Jo’s Joe) Feel free to set your coffee shop AUs at:

Mellark and Masons’ Cafe and Bakery

[picturebookshelf]

A Surprise For Araminta (1942)

Story: Eva Knox Evans -- Art: Ann Eshner

[sprawberry]

𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 : 3.6k ‹𝟹

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 : Arthur Morgan x F!reader. You were a very young bride falling in love with a man who was nothing but a farce, enduring years trapped in a horrible and abusive marriage. You meet Arthur, with the promise of a better future. ‹𝟹

𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳'𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦 : Hello! So...I was in a very strange mood and I decided to write this one, I had this idea for actually a good few months but this time I finally put it down instead of using it as a recurrent scenario in my mind.

This is the first time I'm posting something like this here so...enjoy! Sorry if it gets boring or something, I'm a disgrace with dialogue and this was a very wild shot lol. Feedback is appreciated always.. ‹𝟹

🧸 & 🧸 ‹𝟹

You should have listened to your parents when they whispered warnings about him, their voices laced with worry as they tried to tell you the truth hidden behind his charming smile. But you, blinded by the intoxicating idea of love, thought they were just trying to stand between you and your perfect future. You were so young, so naïve, and he was almost ten years older, wiser, with promises of the world at your fingertips.

He swept you off your feet with grand gestures: the dream house, children, fancy clothes, and dinners at tables you’d never seen before. He spoke of a life you never had, feeding you sweet words as though he could erase the struggles of your youth with luxury. But you didn’t realize, not until it was too late, that he didn’t love you, he loved the idea of owning something beautiful, something fragile. You were never more than a pretty thing to him, a prize for display, and by the time you saw the truth, it was already too late.

Once the honeymoon was over, that picture-perfect dream crumbled, leaving you trapped in a gilded cage. Instead of being happy and loved, you became a prisoner in your own home.

Years passed, and the mansion, once a dream, became your prison. You wandered its vast, cold hallways like a ghost, barely existing, never free. You weren’t allowed outside, not allowed to live. He controlled everything, your life, your children, even your thoughts. You lived for the moments when you were alone with your books, imagining a world where you could be free. But freedom felt impossible, a distant dream too far out of reach.

Even your children, the only light left in your life, were kept from you, locked away by his paranoia. He was convinced you’d ruin them, that your only contribution to their lives was the beauty you gave them. He told you so, over and over until the words sank in like poison. After all those years, it broke your heart that you believed him.

His wealth was built on secrets, the kind of shady dealings you were never allowed to question. Late-night meetings with town politicians and criminals weren’t unusual in your home, the smell of expensive cigars and hushed conversations lingering long after the guests had left. You were always present but never really there, a decoration, something for him to parade in front of his associates like a prized possession.

He would place a hand on your back, guiding you into the room, his eyes gleaming with pride as he introduced you. "My beautiful wife, yet her body is more useful than her brain," he'd say with a chuckle, and they would laugh with him, nodding in approval. You were supposed to laugh, too, forced to flash a smile that never reached your eyes.

In those moments, you felt more like an ornament than a person, a living, breathing doll meant to be admired, but never truly valued. His grip on you was suffocating, tightening with each public display, as if his words kept binding you deeper into a life you could never escape. The weight of their laughter echoed in your ears long after they left, and every time he kissed your cheek in front of them, you felt yourself disappear just a little more.

You found solace in the smallest of things, the tasks you could perform around the house without drawing his disapproving gaze. The delicate act of watering the plants or dusting the bookshelves became a quiet rebellion, a way to keep your mind occupied while the rest of your life felt out of your control. But it was the garden, those carefully tended beds of flowers, that brought you the most peace. Every spring, as the roses bloomed and the trees filled with new life, you felt a fleeting sense of freedom, even if only for a moment.

That day was no different. You were given a brand new dress, elegant but understated, signaling that guests would soon arrive. The familiar routine played out like clockwork, he made sure you looked the part, beautiful but not so dazzling as to outshine him. The fabric swished as you moved, and though the dress was lovely, it felt like another cage.

You stole glances out the window, watching the garden sway gently in the breeze, its beauty untamed compared to the rigid, controlled world inside. You knew the house would soon be filled with laughter, cigars, and the empty praise of those who admired you as a trophy. But for now, you had the flowers. And in their quiet blooming, you saw the reflection of what your life could be if only you were free enough to reach for it.

The footsteps of your husband approaching echoed down the hall, pulling you from the window. You sighed, smoothing the fabric of your dress, and prepared to step into the role he’d crafted for you once again.

"Dutch Van der Linde, I'm glad you came", your husband said, extending his hand with that calculated charm he was so known for. His fingers rested on the small of your back, a possessive gesture masked as affection. "And your associates, of course," he added, his voice smooth as ever.

You were barely paying attention to the formalities, the cordial exchanges that had become a monotonous part of your life. The room felt distant like you were standing there but floating somewhere else entirely. Your gaze softened, unfocused until a small shift in the air brought you back. You blinked slowly, forcing yourself to return to the present as your husband and his associates retreated into his office.

But one of them lingered in your mind.

You hadn't noticed him at first, he was just another face in a crowd of men your husband normally entertained, and to be honest, you never paid much attention to those who came and went.

But there was something in the way he looked at you, something unspoken in the warmth of his small smile. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it struck you deeply. The kindness in his expression, the quiet acknowledgment in his eyes, it was so different from the cold, calculated glances you were used to.

For a brief moment, you nearly smiled back. It felt strange, like an old reflex you hadn’t used in years. The simple exchange, so casual yet delicate, left an unexpected warmth in your chest. And as your husband’s voice trailed off into the distance, you couldn’t help but wonder, what was it about him that made you feel seen, if only for a fleeting second?

With that thought burning in your mind, you did something reckless, something you knew deep down you probably shouldn’t have. As the evening unfolded and the guests began to depart, instead of retreating to your bedroom as usual, you lingered in the hallway, heart pounding. You waited. You wanted to see him one last time.

Oh, Arthur. That was his name. You’d heard the Dutch guy mention it in passing as they discussed some murky business you had no interest in. You didn’t care about the details. All you cared about was catching another glimpse of him, those blue eyes that had met yours with something you hadn’t felt in years.

You stood quietly by the grand staircase, hidden enough to remain unnoticed but close enough to see. As the men filtered out, you scanned the room until your eyes found him. Arthur. He was different from the rest of them, or so you thought, rough around the edges but with a presence that seemed grounded, real. And when he glanced your way, just for a second, his eyes softened again. It was that small look, that brief acknowledgement, that felt like a lifeline in the endless sea. Your breath caught in your throat. His smile, faint yet kind, was enough to make your heart ache in a way you hadn’t felt in so long.

And though he was leaving, though you knew you might never see him again, you couldn’t help but wish, desperately, that those warm blue eyes would find you just once more before he disappeared from your world forever.

One particular night, under a silver-washed sky, you drifted through the quiet shadows of the garden, where the moon hung high, illuminating every petal and leaf. Inside, laughter spilt over like cheap champagne, glasses clinking and voices rising in an annoying clashing harmony, one you had no part in.

It was your home, they all said. But within those walls, your presence was a ghostly afterthought, a figure to be ignored or displayed as it suited him. So you slipped out, slipping into the garden's quiet embrace—a place where you could finally breathe.

The night air was cool, and you felt a weight lift from your chest with each step into the hushed stillness.

You leaned against the old stone wall, letting your mind wander with the breeze that stirred the hedges, feeling, just for a moment, that you belonged to something beyond those oppressive walls. In the moonlit quiet, surrounded by the scent of blooms and damp soil, you almost forgot the life you left behind indoors, that gilded cage.

“Miss, ain’t it a bit cold to be out here all alone?” The voice came soft and low, like the distant rumble of thunder before a storm, and it pulled you sharply from your quiet reverie. The faint scent of cigarettes filled the air as you turned, caught off guard, and there he was, Arthur, framed in shadow and starlight, looking even more striking than your memory had dared to capture. His eyes catching the silver moonlight, tracing over you with a subtle warmth.

A month had passed since that fleeting moment in the were your eyes met, yet here he was as if pulled by the same invisible thread that had tugged at your heart all those long nights. His gaze lingered, and a soft smile touched his lips, a smile that felt like it could chase the chill from the air.

And the first time in so long, words caught in your throat. You could only look at him, feeling the world fall away, leaving just the two of you under that deep, star-filled sky.

The chill of the evening wrapped around you, yet his nearness was a quiet warmth you couldn’t ignore. “It's alright, I'm not cold.” You whispered, the words slipping out steady even though your heart betrayed you, hammering as if it sensed the weight of this moment.

Arthur’s gaze held yours, deep and steady, as if he were looking straight into you. He didn’t need to say anything; the look in his eyes was a silent promise, an unspoken invitation that pulled you in. A gentle breeze brushed past, lifting a few strands of your hair, and he reached out, fingertips just grazing your cheek as he tucked them back.

His touch lingered, a fleeting warmth that made the coldness around you dissolve. “Figured you might need some company.” He murmured, voice so low it barely broke the night air. His hand dropped, hovering close, waiting. And in that small space between you, there was a sense of home you’d been missing, a kind of peace you hadn’t felt in years.

A soft smile curved on your lips. “What a gentleman." You murmured back, amusement sparking in your eyes. “Offering company to a stranger.”

Arthur’s brow lifted slightly, a glint of knowing in his gaze as he replied, “You ain’t no stranger.” He leaned in just a little, his voice dipping to something almost conspiratorial. “You’re the lady of the house, ain’t ya?”

The title felt foreign, heavy even. Lady of the house, how odd it sounded coming from him, as though he were trying to fit you into a shape someone else had carved. You didn’t answer right away, letting the weight of it settle. Finally, you nodded, just a breath of agreement. Even if you both already knew who the other was.

“But I reckon you don’t feel much like one, do ya?” he asked, studying you with a kind of quiet understanding that threatened to undo you right there.

"How could you even know that?" The words slipped out before you could stop them, raw and honest, and for a moment, you wanted to kick yourself for laying so bare before this near stranger.

Arthur didn’t flinch. He only held your gaze, his eyes softened by something deeper than pity, an understanding that felt like a balm and a wound all at once. He shrugged, almost casual, as if he hadn’t just seen right through you.

It was strange, really. A part of you knew you should bristle at his casual insight, that you ought to defend your position, to guard the fragile narrative of your life. Yet, standing there beneath the moon's watchful gaze, a magnetic pull urged her to lean into the honesty of the moment.

"Just a feeling," he murmured, his voice low, steady. "Seen that look before, y’know? Same as the ones trapped and miserable, thinkin’ the walls don’t show."

His presence felt like an open door, an invitation to unburden her heart, to spill her secrets onto the floor between them. You felt the weight of your words pressing against her throat, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you wanted to share every scar and shadow.

"It's not what it seems." You found herself saying, your voice barely above a whisper, each word a fragile thread that could unravel at any moment. "I’m more of a prisoner than a lady."

The night wrapped around them like a silken veil, soft and tender, and for a fleeting moment, she almost forgot where you were. Her gaze met his, and the warmth in his eyes melted away her walls. He didn’t look at you the way others did, there was no judgment, no pity.

“Tell me." He said, voice barely above a whisper, the gentle gravel in it like music. “If you could be anywhere right now, where would you be?”

Your breath caught, and you tried to laugh, but it came out as a shaky sigh. “Somewhere far from here." You replied, looking away, though the longing in your heart felt almost too fragile to share. “Somewhere I could just… breathe.”

Slowly, his hand came to rest on your cheek, grounding you, his touch gentle yet electrifying. You looked back up at him, surprise mingling with the quiet thrill that rippled through you. “I could take you.” He said softly, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, but there was something else, too—a promise wrapped in his words, as if he truly meant it with all his heart. “Just say the word, and I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

For a moment, you allowed herself to imagine it, just the two of you, leaving the mansion’s heavy walls behind, escaping the life that held her captive. You let the dream fill your mind, painting a picture of freedom in his arms, of waking to gentle mornings where laughter replaced fear.

“Arthur.” You whispered, his name slipping from your lips like a secret, one you hadn’t known you'd been keeping. Your pulse raced, your heart pounding in your chest, and you found yourself leaning closer, drawn in by the warmth radiating from him.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” You murmured, your voice barely steady, though you couldn’t hide the yearning that laced your words.

“Maybe not.” He replied, his eyes tracing the lines of her face, drinking in every detail as though you were a rare and beautiful thing he wanted to memorize. “But I know I’ve never met anyone like you, and I know I’d do just about anything to see ya safe.”

The words hung between them, charged with the weight of possibility, and you felt something shift within you, a stirring of hope that tasted bittersweet. “I don’t even know who I am outside of this place." You confessed, barely able to hold his gaze, afraid he’d see the depth of your vulnerability.

“You’re more than this.” He said, voice as steady and sure as the earth beneath their feet. His fingers brushing her cheek, lingering just a heartbeat longer than necessary, his calloused thumb tracing your lower lip. “You’re strong, more than you know. And if you ever want to find out who that person is, I’ll be right here.”

A shiver ran through you, though it wasn’t from the cold. Your heart felt full and fragile all at once, and you found herself leaning into his touch, just the faintest tilt of her head, but enough to feel his warmth seep into your skin.

“And...what if I wanted to be with you?” You whispered, the words leaving you before you could second-guess them.

In the soft, quiet night, with only the stars bearing witness, you closed your eyes and leaned into him, the weight of the world slipping away, if only for a heartbeat. And in that embrace, you found a glimmer of herself, mirrored back in the warmth of his arms, a fragile piece of happiness cradled between them, ready to grow.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, gentle yet filled with something deep and unspoken. He cupped your cheek, his thumb tracing small, comforting circles. “Then we’d find a way." He murmured, his voice a promise, rich and soothing, as though he could already see their escape in some distant dawn. “Ain't never let you face it alone.”

As days slipped by, that promise he made wrapped itself around your heart, tugging softly with each stolen glance and whispered word. Those midnight clandestine encounters in the hidden corners of the garden, were yours alone.

In those moments, the mansion and all its trappings faded away, leaving only the two of you, a world built from whispered secrets and lingering touches.

At first, it was all so gentle. His hand would brush against yours, fingers lingering for a heartbeat too long, an unspoken language only you both understood. His gaze held a softness you had never seen before, something that softened the edges of your bruised heart, making it flutter with a sweetness you hadn’t known you could feel again. Or at all to be honest.

But it grew, like a spark catching in dry tinder, his touch became something fierce, driven by longing that simmered just beneath the surface. Those touches turned electric, his hands finding your face, your shoulders, his fingers tracing the curve of your spine as if memorizing every inch, every hollow, and line of you. In the quiet dark, he became bolder, lips brushing over your cheek, the corner of your mouth, as if testing the waters of a dream he was afraid to shatter.

And then, one night, all pretense faded. Under the stars, he pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you as if he could hold the weight of your sorrows and make them vanish. His lips found yours, soft yet sure, a kiss that spoke of all the promises he couldn’t yet give voice to. It was fierce and tender, full of longing that had been held back for too long, and you melted into him, feeling the strength of his arms, the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms.

Each touch both hesitant and urgent, as though he was savoring and devouring all at once. His hands were steady on you, protective, as though you were something precious and precarious, yet there was a fierce devotion in his hold, a hint of need that spoke volumes of all he kept contained.

He drew you in, closing every inch until nothing separated you, his lips melding with yours, each press and taste a promise, a claim. His hands moved along your back with a firm reverence, grounding you, until the world faded and all that remained was the shared warmth, the silent understanding woven in the spaces between breaths.

In that instant, the world seemed to dissolve, slipping away as you became tethered only to him and the fierce, unyielding pull between you. Your fingers tightened in his shirt, clutching as though you could anchor yourself within him, merge with him, dissolve the space that still somehow lingered. Each breath, each shiver became shared, the air thick with an almost reverent desperation.

His lips left yours, and the absence was agonizing, only to be replaced by the feverish touch as he traced his way along the curve of your neck, each kiss a spark that ignited something deeper within. When he whispered your name, it was low, raw, a sound that clung to your skin like an invocation, his breath warm against you.

Together, you lost track of time, wrapped in the heat of each other, a silent vow exchanged in every shared breath, every racing heartbeat. There, in the secret dark, you were free, free to feel, to want, to imagine a life where the nights stretched on like this forever. And as you clung to each other, you realized that he had given you something your husband never could: love.

And with that resolve warming your heart, the decision became clear. You deserved happiness, a life spent with someone who looked at you with the unwavering affection that Arthur did, who saw you for everything you were, flaws and all. The promise he’d made, that quiet vow on the night of your first meeting, lingered like a light guiding your way.

In Arthur’s gaze, you found the reflection of a life you’d thought impossible, a life where love was more than a duty, where devotion was tender and free. So you held onto that promise, your heart certain at last.

[therealcocoshady]

RED CARPET APPEARANCE 🎥

Eminem x Young Actress Reader

This is Part 2 of Daddy's Spaghetti 🥰

Synopsis : You argue with Em about a red carpet appearance at the Oscars.

The last thing you wanted was to argue with your boyfriend right before going to the Oscars, but there you were. Lately, the two of you had been arguing quite a bit. To be fair, both of you were working a lot and being in a long distance relationship didn’t help. Not only did you have to manage hectic schedules, you also had to deal with time difference and last minute changes in plans. You had been dating Marshall for a few months now and you weren’t too sure how long things would last. Sure, when you were together, things were great, but actually getting together seemed impossible, these days. Right when you thought you could both make time, there was always something coming up, like an unplanned studio session, a meeting, or God knows what else. It didn’t help either that Marshall was paranoid about the two of you being seen together. 

After more than a decade in the spotlight and living in Los Angeles, you were used to paparazzi and having your picture taken whenever you were running errands. Of course, sometimes, it was annoying, but you had learned to live with it. Marshall, on the other hand, in spite of having a career lasting over twenty-five years was as paranoid as one could get. It was one of the many reasons why he hated being in Los Angeles and always tried to get you to come to Detroit instead, along with the weather being too hot. In truth, you didn’t mind going to Michigan or spending a lot of time inside, just the two of you. This time, however, you wished he would be the one making an effort. You were nominated for an Oscar for the first time and it was a big night for you. You knew he wasn’t a big fan of public appearances but you wished he would agree to coming with you. After all, he was a nominee himself - for the same movie as you, mind you - and everyone pretty much knew about your relationship, even though none of you had officially confirmed it. To you, there was no reason not to walk the red carpet together. However, when you asked him if he would be your date to the Academy Awards, he wasn’t too enthusiast. In fact, all you got from him was a «��erm, I don’t know. We’ll see. Let me think about it. ». And after giving it some thought, he decided not to go with you, breaking it to you over FaceTime, three days before the event. He brought up a bunch of reasons, like having a studio session with Dre that might run late and prevent him from making it in time, hating the red carpet anyway and not wanting to be paraded in a suit that made him look like a penguin. He did not seem to care that you having to take someone else as your date would mean you wouldn’t be sitting next to each other or that you would have wanted him to be by your side. You were mad. You had always known he didn’t really care about awards and public appearances, but you wished he would make an effort for you. Him being set in his ways made you feel like he wouldn’t put you first, just for once. 

Do you even want to be with me ? You blurted out after he told you to find another date. 

What the fuck ? He asked with disbelief all over his face. What does that have to do with that damn red carpet, Y/N ? 

You cancelled the last time you were supposed to come to LA, you’re never available and now you won’t even make an effort for me, you explained. If you don’t want to be with me anymore, just say so… 

You’re so dramatic, they better give you that Oscar, he groaned. Not everything is about you, you know ? I’m working my ass off to get the album done in time, I don’t need you complaining over a stupid red carpet appearance. 

Oh I’m being dramatic ? You asked as you stared at his face on the screen. I’ll give you drama : you can book a hotel room and forget about all the nasty things you were planning on doing to me in bed for next time we were supposed to see each other. 

Whatever, he said as he rolled his eyes. Just go and rehearse your acceptance speech. I have to go anyway. I have Dre calling on the other line. I’ll call you later. 

He did try to call you a couple of hours later, but you didn’t feel like picking up. You were still pissed off and, frankly, a little stressed out too. After all, he hadn’t answered your question about wanting to be with you. You knew you’d have to talk to him at some point - and get to the bottom of the situation, but you also didn’t want to break up over the phone merely three days before one of the most important events of your life. Whatever it was, it could wait until after the Oscars. 

You ended up walking the red carpet with your older brother as your date. The two of you were extremely close and he had always been your plus one to events. It sort of made sense to go to the Oscars with him, even though you would have loved to have Marshall by your side. Your big brother was all smiles as he watched you pose for the photographers in a stunning custom Alaïa dress. However, your attire or possible Best Actress win wasn’t exactly the main focus of the journalists, who were yelling questions about your boyfriend who was nowhere to be found. 

Where is Eminem, Y/N ? One asked. Is he coming tonight ? 

Are the two of you together ? Another yelled. 

You didn’t answer the questions about him, only the ones about your nomination, how you’d feel about winning, the movie and your outfit. You tried to focus on the positives and everything this night meant for your career, but you had a hard time focusing. All you wanted was Marshall’s hand in yours and him to be by your side. Hell, you had even picked the dress color because you thought he would like it. You knew that blue was his favorite color and had figured that, if the two of you were to walk the red carpet together, it would make his eyes pop. 

Breathe, your brother said. You look tense. Is this about Em ? 

Just call him by his name, you said as you rolled his eyes. You’ve met him. 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to be your date and enjoy the open bar, he continued, but you look… upset ? 

I think he wants to break up with me, you said nervously. 

No he doesn’t, your brother scoffed. Where did you get that from ? 

Well, he’s never available, he didn’t want to be here with me tonight, and he called me dramatic, and… 

First of all, you are dramatic, your brother chuckled. Also, you know he’s working a lot… 

I should have known better than to ask his biggest fan for support, you said as you rolled your eyes. 

Just shut up and focus on your big night, sis, he said with a smile. My baby sister might be getting the biggest award there is for being dramatic, tonight. Now, I think we should focus on that, as well as the fact that stylists managed to make you look presentable. 

Your brother’s weird encouragement was a good way to make you smile, and the glasses of champagne waiters kept on handing you did a great job when it came to taking the edge off. You were taken to your seats and the ceremony began. You kept nervously searching for Marshall in the crowd but you didn’t manage to spot him. Was he skipping the whole thing ? Your mind wandered as the ceremony unfolded and you were soon on autopilot. It was your first time attending the Academy Awards and this had to be the longest ceremony ever. The only entertaining things were the various performances. Your heart skipped a beat when you heard the music of Marshall’s song - the one he had written for the movie. He was not supposed to perform tonight - this had not been announced - but he was on stage, rapping the song that got him his second Oscars nomination exactly twenty years after winning Best Original Song for Lose Yourself. The crowd was wild and you were excited as well. Seeing him on stage made you forget how mad at him you were and you were back to being his number one fan, gushing over how good he looked and rapping the lyrics at the same time, like the groupie you very much were. His performance got him a standing ovation and, twenty minutes and a commercial break later, he was back on stage, accepting the award for Best Original Song. Only this time, he was conforming to the Academy’s dress code, looking dapper in a tux. He might hate this type of outfit, but no one could deny he looked absolutely incredible. One detail did catch your eye : the bow tie he was wearing was made of the same fabric as your dress. He was matching with you ! 

When you wouldn’t return his calls, he called me to ask who you were going to wear, your brother told you. 

He did ? You squeed. 

Yep. Not the kind of thing anyone who wants to break up with you would do, I think. I’m not supposed to tell you, but he’s got another one to match your second dress, too… 

You couldn’t help but smile. The fact that he would go out of his way to call your brother, as well as the dressmakers to have a bowtie matching your dress was absolutely adorable. You couldn’t keep your eyes off Marshall, who was giving a heartfelt speech about how great it felt to have the Academy acknowledge hip-hop and how grateful he was to have the opportunity to be on this stage, two decades after Lose Yourself won. His speech was just like him : elegant and understated. When he went back to his seat, you could see him search for you in the crowd and you waved quietly, sending him a kiss. You couldn’t wait to go and hug him. 

Can’t you behave ? Your brother chuckled. There’s cameras, Y/N. And try not to eye fuck him or drool, this time, will you ? 

I’ll try, you giggled. 

You were almost in agony the rest of the night and the two of you kept looking  and smiling at each other. As always when the two of you were in the same room, you were unable to take your eyes off him for a single second. You didn’t pay much attention to anything else that was going on, so much so that you almost missed your name being called for Best Actress. Everyone around you got up and cheered for you and you were lost. You had actually won an Oscar ?! You ? It didn’t feel right. Bit it was indeed, your name on the screen, and people kept on looking at you. Your brother had to help you get up as you came to your senses and realized that your childhood dream had come true. You made your way to the stage as tears of joy were welling in your eyes. You were almost shaking with nerves as you started your acceptance speech. You had one written and memorized but you couldn’t remember it for the life of you. You spotted Marshall in the crowd, who was smiling and looking at you with pride in his eyes, mouthing a silent « I love you ». 

I… Wow, you said nervously into the microphone. I can’t believe this is happening. I had something really heartfelt, clever and funny written but I can’t remember a single word so please bear with me. Hum… Standing here, on this stage, holding this award is a childhood dream come true. First, I want to thank my family who has always supported my passion, and I’d like to thank everyone in Hollywood that gave me a chance to act. And everyone who didn’t. In fact, I want to acknowledge every person who doubted me. And every boyfriend of mine who called me dramatic. There have been a few, and you best believe I’m creating a group chat tonight and telling them that I actually got an award for being dramatic and made it my full-time job. Um… What else ? Oh, uh, thank you to my manager, assistant, glam squad… Shout out to Alaïa for getting me into this dress tonight, and shout out to Marshall Mathers who will be taking it off me tonight. Dreams do come true, guys ! 

The crowd erupted in cheers and laughter and you could see Marshall laughing before you exited the stage. When you made it backstage, you took a moment to sit and realize what just happened. You had won an Oscar. Oh, and you had accidentally mentioned Marshall taking off your clothes. On stage. While million of people probably watched the ceremony on TV… Oops. A few people came to congratulate you, though you were quickly ushered back to your seat for the remainder of the ceremony. The movie you were in did not end up winning Best Picture, but you easily got over your disappointment. When the ceremony ended, you were swarmed by an army of people who came to congratulate you. You even got to hug Meryl Streep and tell her how she was the one who made you want to act in the first place, and this was definitely the highlight of your night. Your brother had gotten out of your sight and was enjoying the open bar, as he always did whenever he came with you to an event. When the crowd began to vacate, you had a moment to yourself. That’s when you spotted your boyfriend. 

Congratulations, he said as he pulled you into his arms. 

Congratulations to you too, you said giddily. You were amazing on stage ! 

As were you, he replied with a smile. Great speech, by the way… 

Oh my God, I am so sorry, you said. I forgot my speech, and I-I… Are you mad ? 

It’s fine, he chuckled. You’re way too adorable for me to be mad. 

Really ? You asked nervously. I know how you are about privacy… 

Really, he said reassuringly. And with you looking like this… ? I am glad everyone knows you’re spoken for. 

I think they got the idea when they saw you matching with me, you said with excitement. 

You like it ? He asked with a smile. I had to ask your brother and harass the dressmakers. They hate me. 

He told me, you said giddily. And I know you have another one to match my dress for the afterparty, too… 

If you still want me as your date, that is, he pointed out. 

I do, you giggled. But I’m going to need your help to get out of this dress and into the other… 

Let’s go, then. 

He grabbed your hand and you walked out of the theater, holding your awards, while an army of journalists were screaming to get your attention. You half-expected Marshall to let go of your hand, knowing how guarded he was when it came to the press, but he only squeezed it tighter before grabbing you by the waist as you made your way to a car. 

Em, how are you feeling tonight ? A journalist asked. 

Have you seen my date ? I’m great, man, he grinned as he looked at you lovingly. 

VIDEO : WATCH AS EMINEM GUSHES OVER Y/N AFTER THE OSCARS

Eminem & Y/N have officially confirmed their relationship ! The couple did not walk the red carpet together but they certainly made a memorable exit, as Eminem gushed over his date to journalists while not letting go of her. This happened after Y/N hinted at Em taking her Alaïa dress off her in her acceptance speech. While the Rap God did not mention his girlfriend in his own speech, he certainly appeared in love. While known for his stoic face, he was seen smiling all evening, especially when they made their way to the Vanity Fair afterparty (almost an hour late, mind you…)  in matching outfits. And if he does not seem like one to kiss and tell, no one missed Y/N’s lipstick all over his mouth, nor the hickies in his neck. 

That night was a big one for the rapper and the movie star, as they both took home statues, respectively for Best Original Song and Best Actress. And from the looks of it, they certainly celebrated. 

[angelicblondie]

this is a diff anon, but i would loveee a step-cest luke fic. luke spoiling his new pretty little step sister jus to watch her parade around her little pink outfits when they come back from the mall. starting off innocently w just buying her relatively modest clothing, books, or makeup/skincare until she uses him to buy other things like micro miniskirts n victoria’s secret panties n shit. and obvs luke needs a reward for buying all her shit n carrying her bags and half-sipped drink for five hours at the mall, and what better way than a little fashion show until luke gets handsy ? (love ur luke characterization girl, plus im so obsessed w ur tumblr theme oml)

aww tysm angel 🤍🥹 that means sooo much <333 i love this idea so so much oml.

warnings ~ stepcest, manhandling/groping (MDNI)

ೀ⋆⑅˚🎀⋆˚₊ .·:*¨🦢༺

luke liked to think of himself as a good guy. he helped his elder neighbors with their groceries, he helped his mom cook dinner all the time, he even volunteered at homeless shelters every now and then. he had constantly been praised for being a stand up man.

but there was nothing good about how he acted when it came to you.

initially he wasn't fond of the idea of his moms new boyfriend coming into their life, especially with his daughter who was a few years his junior - he quite like it just being his mom and him, he liked being the man of the house. so when you and your dad came in to the picture, it took a bit of warming up.

of course he was ever the gentleman, helping the two of you move in when things got serious between your folks, and conversing politely when your dad. luke admittedly wanted to stay away from you at first - he was worried your parents would want the two of you to act like siblings, and he wasn't looking for a little sister. luckily though, that problem was rectified the first night you moved into his and his mom house.

it was late at night, and luke had gotten up to go to the bathroom. he tugged on the door in the hallway and frowned when it wouldn't open. he huffed in annoyance. great. he couldn't even use the bathroom in his own house now. he heard the sound of running water before the door eventually opened, and he had to look down slightly to take in your appearance.

there was a slight blush on your cheeks, and you were wearing the tiniest pajamas luke had seen. "sorry," you rush out. "i just had to brush my teeth, its yours now." you felt quite flustered by lukes appearance, given he was only wearing basketball shorts and his torso was bare - you had never really been exposed to anyone like that.

luke remembered chuckling. "its fine, kid, g'night."

you mumbled back the words with a sweet smile, and turned around to go back to your room. luke eyes followed your retreating figure, his eyes dropping down to the fullness of your perky ass as you walked away. he swallowed, looking down at his pants. he had a boner - shocker.

from then on he had developed what could only be described as a crush - he was always watching you, always wanting to please and spoil you, always wanting to look good for you - he was obsessed. of course your parents were thrilled, simply writing it off as the two of you bonding and strengthening your new family. luke let them believe this, whilst in his heart, he knew the truth.

luke wanted to win you over, so he did the one thing he thought of - spoiling you rotten. it started off with him buying you a new book you had been blabbering about at dinner one night, and when you had asked the reason for the supposedly impromptu gift, he has causally resounded that he wanted you to feel welcome in his home. you had been beyond grateful, pushing up on your toes to wrap you arms around his neck, body flush against his. he winced, knowing his cock was hardening by the second.

god, he was pathetic.

he then began to give you just about anything she wanted - it was hard to say no to you, not when your eyes got all wide and excited, smile so hopeful - he would have to be a monster to reject that.

you had begged luke to take you to the mall all morning, and whilst luke led you to believe he didn't want to go, of course he did. he could never pass up on any extra time with you, especially alone. by the time you had explored the mall, luke had multiple of your shopping bags hanging off his arms and your cold wet iced coffee in his hand as you walked free of the burden. he didn't mind it though, enjoying the view of your prancing around giddily to buy more and more things.

you had acted bashful when you saw something you like, pretending like you didn't long for it out of fear of wasting lukes money. like when walked by the isabel marant, you had spotted a pair of boots in the window that were divine, your eyes widened in awe, but you looked away after a moment, knowing the shoes must've been very expensive.

luke had noticed your gaze and nudged you, slowing down. "wanna go in?" he asked.

you bite your lip in contemplation but shake your head. "no, no, its ok, i was just looking."

he scoffs a bit, amusment dancing in his eyes, coming to a full stop. "none of that, kid. if you want something from in there just tell me, y'know i'll get it."

you insisted that it was fine, but luke wasn't having it. he dragged you in the store, forcing you to show him what you were looking at. he didnt even look at the price tag, immediately grabbing them and bringing them to the register.

and it was worth every dime spent to see how excited you got, pracially jumping on him once you got out of the store. he himself felt like he got something each time he had the satisfaction of swiping his card.

he usually was so well behaved, really. he only really touched you when you touched him first, he had gone out of his way to not make any overtly sexual comments. but today, he couldn't hold back his flirty comments or his wandering hands, because he had you all to himself.

"your ass would look great in those jeans."

"shit, if i was at a party and saw you in that-"

"that skirts short, so maybe just for home, kid."

it felt natural, and it wasn't like you didn't like it - no, you love it! you blushed bashfully each time, either thanking him sweetly, or hitting his lightly, fauxly scolding him for his raunchiness.

he couldn't help himself, he was nearing his last straw by the time you were at your second to last store. he was in the waiting room, scrolling through his phone when you shoved your curtain to the side, walking past him to stand in front of the mirror. he looked up at you and blinked, taking in your appearance.

immediate boner. like, immediate.

you had on a micro mini skirt, seriously, he wasn't sure you could even consider it a skirt, thats how tiny it was. it just barely covered the fat of your ass, and he was sure if you bent over even slightly you would be completely revealed.

"shit, you sure that isnt a headband or something?" he chuckled, his wors coming out nonchalnt but trust me, he was very chalant.

you rolled your eyes turning around to face him. "isn't it cute?" you had asked, swaying your hips jokingly.

he laughed, and thanked god for the pillows on the couch he was sitting on that was currently placed on his lap. "its adorable, lemme see up close."

he beckconed you closer, pretending to ciritcally look at the fabric. he hands were placed on your love handles, taking advanted of the oppurtunity to touch you. "very cute, kid. you gonna let me buy this for you?"

of course you said yes, and you walked out of the store along with different variations of the skirt, and luke couldn't have been happier.

by the time the two of you got home, lukes excitement had gone through the roof. he knew you would propose to do what you always do after a day of shopping - a little fashion show. so the two of you went upstairs to your room, and you closed the door of the closet, bringing all your bags in with you.

luke waited patiently for you to dress each time, and it was worth it when you came out, a big smile on your lips as you show off each new article of clothing, coming over to press big kisses on his cheek. he would place his hands right under you ass as you gave him a hug, holding firmly on the skin. it was impossible not to touch you, not when you looked like that.

so for the sake of the fashion show, lukes hands roamed your body in the name of "feeling the fabric" and "making sure everything fit right", which was of course was perfect excuse to feel up the curves and contours of you body.

once it reached the end, you came out of the closset in what luke could only describe as something from his dreams, and what could only be from the victorias secret store.

he thought it was wrong that something as sweet and innocent as you was in something so sexy, but boy did it get him going. you were wearing a read lacy matching set, and it complemented your body perfectly. it pushed up your tits ever so slightly, causing them to jiggle anytime you moved. the thong of the panties showed off your plump ass, and you turned around in the mirror, keeping your eyes on your body as you decide.

"what do you think? it feels a bit much, no?"

luke breathes out a laugh. "wow, kid, y'look great." he compliments, and you blush. "really? i feel silly," you admit, looking at yourself again in the mirror.

luke shakes his head, standing up and slowly walking up behind you. "nuh-uh. y'look really hot. like, really hot."

you blush harder, hiding you face in your hands. "luuuke," you whine shyly, and he just chuckled, grabbing your wrists. "what, shy all the sudden? after dragging me around all day and makin me pay for your shit?"

you pout a bit. "but you insisted!"

"i know, but still, i think i deserve some compensation, no?" he taunts a bit, as his hands come up to your waist.

his hands on your body made you feel hot. "what kind of compensation?" you ask, your voice growing quiet.

he sighs. "y'see kid, you got me a little worked up," he says, montioning down to his hard-on. your eyes widen as you follow his movement, lips parting in shock. "and really, it isnt my fault - i cant control it. if anything, its you fault. you've been showing off all day and i cant help it. but, if you really want to make it up to me, you'll help me relieve some of the pressure. how does that sound?"

of course you agree, wanting to do anything to please luke, so not long after your bent over, yours hands on the bed as luke stands behind you, his palms engulfing the globes on your backside, squeezing delicately yet firmly. "shiiiiiit. no idea how long i've been thinkin' bout this," he whispers against your ear, hands sliding to your waist. your breaths are shaky, and you feel the wettness pull in your brand new panties. "luke..." you whisper, hands wrapping around his wrists. "isn't this bad?"

luke pauses, and formulates his answer. sure, it wasnt morally good, or ethical, but it wasnt that bad. "no, its not. m'not your actual brother, and we're both adults. promise your not being bad," he whispers his response, his hands sliding up to lewdly fondle your tits.

your back is now against his chest as he continues to feel you up, and your head is laid back on his shoulder. he places the most delicate kisses on your exposed neck, never sucking (though all he wanted to do was mark up and bruise your perfect skin). you let out the quietest of whimpers, but too bad for you that your lips were right up against lukes ear.

luke tilts his head, hands travelling down your torso as his lips meet your ear. "feels good?" he asks, voice quiet and teasing.

you nod, hiding your face in his neck, hands deathgripping his wrists wherever he went.

he knew you had never been touched like this, it was obvious the way you seemed aflame by his simple touches and gropes. he knew that he couldnt just stick his dick in you, oh no, he had to play the long game.

he had to warm you up to the idea. you still seemed hesitant, worried about doing the wrong thing, worried about your parents finding out - becasuse you were a good girl. he knew it would take more than a little groping session to make you his, so he slowly pulled away, leaving you wanting more.

luke was playing the long game, and it wouldn't take long before he had you right where he wanted you.