#so i was like ok what if he still exists here and he's wearing the magnus armor like in idw

[icallhimjoey]

I miss poppy and mark still and I miss that version of joe (and always bookstore joe) but that joe please he was such an idiot😭 I miss him and this is all your fault (said with so much love bye going to reread everything (again))

ok so it took me a good second, but, here you go bby <3 to the girls unfamiliar with poppy and mark: maybe have a look here Wordcount: 2.3K

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Won’t Say It Until You Will

Sometimes you still don’t quite understand how you’ve gone literal years thinking Joe couldn’t fucking stand you.

You’d gotten so used to his stand-offish demeanor. To the arrogant smirks you’d catch just before he’d bite them back, just in time for Poppy or Mark to notice. To his overall unapproachability, and the heavy judgment that would drip off of him.

For years you thought you didn’t like Joe, simply because you were convinced Joe didn’t like you.

Didn’t like you as a person.

As Mark’s friend.

As someone that, through Mark falling for Poppy, was going to be in his life now.

You think you’re still adjusting to the sudden change. And the change was definitely sudden. Learning that, actually, Joe was trying to keep as much distance as he possibly could for the exact opposite of what you thought had been quite the shock. You might be adjusting for a while longer, still.

Which makes sense.

It is all quite the adjustment.

Joe used to be so weird around you, and you were always left to figure out why all by yourself.

The big difference now, though, is that every time Joe sees that you doubt yourself in whatever interaction you have with him, he’s quick to set the record straight.

He’s not allowed to say I love you yet.

You have to say it first for it to feel normal. Granted, barely anything about how this started feels normal to begin with. But this is something you hold onto. You tell him to shut up all the time, because you have come to know this look Joe will throw you.

This soft, adoring sort of dreamy stare Joe has a hard time containing. It’s truly quite something to be looked at like you’re the single best thing in current existence to someone. Like you’ve got shimmery diamonds and liquid gold where your heart should be.

It’s a shame it makes you frown the way it does.

“Shut up.” You’ll warn before he’s even gotten the chance to say anything.

And Joe used to reply with, “I didn’t say anything.”

That has since changed to a very dopey, a very smiley, “Okay.” that makes your nose scrunch.

Joe knows the rule.

Won’t say it until you will, no matter how many times the words will pop into his head and will beg to be released into your ears via his mouth. It’s nothing short of agony, because there’s moments where you’ll look at him like you used to. Before. When he kept his distance and would say the wrong thing, crack an unfunny joke that accidentally hurt your feelings, and – God, if he could just say those words and put your mind at ease the way the so desperately wants to...

He’s found different ways.

Has had to find different ways.

If you can’t hear the words, that’s fine. He’ll make you feel them just the same.

When you get into bed, one night, over at Joe’s place, you suddenly pause, halfway in.

“What?” Joe asks, already sort of smiling at your expression as he slides his legs under the covers on his side of the bed.

“Remember when...” you start, and immediately Joe’s aware that this can go one of two ways. You could either end up a giggling heap underneath the covers, or he’s going to end up kissing you silly to reassure every doubt from your mind.

You glance at one of his wardrobe doors and squint your eyes a little.

Joe’s scared it’s going to be the latter of the two options.

“I’ve actually never seen you wear that shirt again– have you...” you don’t finish whatever you were about to ask, and instead walk around the bed to check something. To see for yourself.

“What shirt?” Joe asks, sat up in bed, both hands in his lap over the covers, tongue pushing into his cheek as he watches you open the wardrobe.

You’re met with a meticulously well-organised row of shirts, jackets– Joe’s even got all of his trousers and jeans folded over hangers. All pressed and ironed, ready to make Joe look far smarter than he’ll feel.

You used to fall for it all the time, but you’ve since learned to see through most of it.

“How often do you get rid of clothes?” you ask, hands filtering through.

“All the time,” Joe says a little sheepishly, and jokingly adds, “You know I really only like... three things.”

Joe watches you filter through hangers at lightning speed, metal wire gliding over the rod and clanging together in your search.

You’re looking for something specific. Unsure of what made the thought pop into your head, you’d just remembered a specific shirt Joe wore once and wanted to see if he still had it. If there was maybe a reason why you hadn’t seen him wear it ever since that one night.

And, morning.

“Hmm... it’s not here.”

“What shirt are you even talking about?”

 You throw Joe a look over your shoulder, eyes squinted, and for a moment you look like you’re contemplating something. Like you’re milling something over.

Then, suddenly, Joe gets it. He knows exactly what you’re looking for, and is immediately embarrassed.

“Oh. Yea, no. Do you mean the white– my white button down? I, um… that shirt, it’s… you’re right, it’s not– it’s not there.”

Joe stutters through a bad excuse, and for an actor, he’s a fucking terrible liar. You shove aside some of his jackets, and then…

“Come back to bed, please.”

There it is.

The white button down shirt you were looking for.

You grab the hanger and pull it out, ready to happily show Joe you found it, but as you move the fabric into the light, you notice it.

See it.

“Found i– oh, my God…”

This is the shirt Joe wore to Mark and Poppy’s wedding shower. The one he said he’d get dry cleaned after he wiped your face with the sleeve, after he dabbed both your make-up covered cheeks. The one of which he’d pulled the cuff into his palm to get the fabric real close under your eyes to get rid of the wet mascara that had traveled there through tears.

You’d shown him the brown and black marks right after he’d done it, and he’d said he was going to get it dry-cleaned.

“Joe, what the…”

You’re holding a dirty shirt.

Had this stains not come out?

Clearly not.

You’re both looking at a dirty shirt. At old make-up stains that… well, this shirt is ruined. Your eyes quickly glance at the tag in the collar, and you wince.

That is too expensive of a brand for a shirt to be ruined like this.

This is the reason why you hadn’t seen Joe wear it again.

You’d ruined his shirt.

God, and you had even told him that next day, that next morning, that a regular cycle in a machine wash was going to get the stains out fine.

Obviously, it hadn’t.

Because you’re staring at caked blotches of bronzer and dark streaks of mascara and– ... you can feel how you shrink in on yourself, stood there, in his bedroom, with a stupidly expensive badly stained shirt he’d been hiding from you because he hadn’t been able to get it clean and–

Upon the sight of your face dropping, Joe gets out of bed, careful not to make any sudden movements.

“Um.. I’ll have that.”

Two slow hands come into vision and carefully take the hanger from your grip.

“Thanks.”

The shirt, in all its dirty glory, gets gently put back in its place, hidden behind Joe’s jackets, before Joe closes the wardrobe doors entirely.

“Sorry,” is all you can think to say, voice small, a little wobbly. “I’m sorry, I thought… I ruined your shirt. That should’ve come out in the wash. Sorry. I will– I’ll replace it. I’ll–”

“No you won’t.”

You drop both your shoulders just as Joe grabs hold of both of them. His grip is strong enough to bring you into the room a bit more.

“And don’t look at me like that. I didn’t… that’s… I’ve never washed it.”

What?

“You didn’t ruin the shirt. It’s just unwashed.”

Joe softly chuckles at your face and you get lead back to bed as you try to puzzle together what you’ve just been told. What that even means.

There had been plenty of whispered conversations, late at night chats in the dark, where Joe would reassure you that he had never hated you. The outward dislike had always been an awful way to hide how he really felt, and Joe was going to be kicking himself until the end of time for how that had always make you feel.

Joe is never going to be able to make it right, he thinks.

But he can fucking try.

“That’s…”

“Disgusting? Yes. Absolutely.”

He’ll die trying.

“Why haven’t you…”

You’re scared to finish the question because you fear you already know the answer.

“Didn’t want to. So don’t worry about it.”

You get tucked in as your worries easily get dismissed, but it’s difficult to make your confused frown disappear.

Joe sighs when you keep looking at him like that, sits down on the edge of the bed next to you and goes, “You’ll make fun of me. But... that’s the… that’s what I wore when you slept in my bed for the first time. It’s not ruined. Washing it would ruin it, actually.”

Everything about that is confusing and will take a minute or two for you to process. Now, here, in the moment, it just makes you grimace with horror, and that in and of itself makes Joe laugh. Makes his eyes twinkle as he bites into his lip, head titled back and to the side a little.

He can’t really help it.

“To be fair... you were never meant to find that. Can you not tell Poppy?”

“Okay. I won’t tell Poppy.” You easily agree.

“But you’ll tell Mark?”

“But I’ll tell Mark.”

Joe drops his head forward in a silent laugh. Of course you will tell Mark.

And, that’s fine. Because it’s a memory he’ll cherish forever, even if you were violently drunk that night, and your hair still smelt of vomit even though Mark’s mum had really done her best to rinse most of it out. You had found Joe’s bed on your own, and had pulled him in to nap with you and– ...he doesn’t think that it was the exact moment where things changed a little, but it was a moment momentous enough to want to keep a souvenir.

It’s why he never washed the dirty button down shirt that proved to him he hadn’t dreamt it up.

He’ll never tell you how he also still has the empty yoghurt carton he had found in his kitchen after you’d left the next morning.

And he’ll also ignore the weird fall out you had after when he lied to Poppy about it. That’s not part of the memory.

Only the good stuff.

Like how he’d barely slept at all.

How he’d gotten to stare at you all night long.

How he’d finally, after hours of collecting courage, had softly let one of his fingertips stroke along the skin of your arm.

How that made you hum contently in your sleep.

If he thinks about it for too long, he could easily make himself cry. Looking at you now, all relaxed into the pillows of his bed, he could make himself cry.

When Joe looks at you a little too long without saying anything, dopey grin and all, your frown only deepens.

“Shut up.”

Joe knows it was bound to be said, but it still tickles him and he lets a throaty laugh escape him before he turns faux-serious.

“Ah. It’s made a return.” Joe scans your features and talks like he’s in a film, speaking to a villain. “That face. Are you even aware of how powerful it is? Makes me feel how much my soul wants to escape my body.”

That gets a little grin out of you, and it’s cute enough for Joe to want to tell the whole entire world how much he loves you. He wonders if you know how much it pains him. How often he can feel the scratch of the words in his throat, the violent urge to just let them free ever present.

But he won’t.

You’d just told him to shut up, so he will shut up, and instead will let those three words seep out in other ways. Through his hands that wander up to your neck. Through his fingers that swipe under your jaw, tipping your head back a little so he can easily kiss you.

You happily accept his kisses, because even though you’re still adjusting to all these little changes in your truth, it all ultimately means that Joe really, really likes you.

Really, really, really likes you.

And of course you know it’s more than that to Joe.

And that he really wants to tell you already.

But he’s not allowed.

Not yet.

Which is fine. He can just kiss you. And he will. Like he’s doing right now.

Joe still can’t quite believe he’s kissing you in his bed, and he can’t believe there was ever a time where he wasn’t.

When he pulls back, still sat on the side instead of under the covers with you, he hovers over you a little. Gives you a quiet moment, just in case you want to tell him.

And you will.

With time.

But not now.

“Shut up.” you repeat, giggling now at how lovesick he looks, and Joe can’t help grin in the way that he does.

He used to reply with, “I didn’t say anything.”

Instead he says, “Okay.” and goes for another kiss when he sees your nose scrunch.

Joe knows the rule.

Won’t say it until you will.

---

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[dezmolad]

Tiny Primes AU

So we know as a fact that in IDW comic late, pre-war primes were bearing a fake matrix. So it of course had no right to do any magical reformatting for them, one we know primes going through in TFOne for example. But what if a real matrix also wouldn't be able to do that? What if everyone believes it is, because primes are bigger then average cybertronian, and bigger than they were before getting the matrix, and becaouse of course the mystical power of the essence of Primus himself would do that for you? That's pretty much how I came up with tiny primes au. Imagine that all of primes, fake or not were just. given an armor not so different from the Magnus Armor. If we want to make it more accurate we can assume it's possible bc matrix strenghten your spark or whatever and makes you a loadbearer or we can just. Ignore the fact that you should be a loadbearer to wear such armor. All of the primes were just minibots in bigass armors imagine. Ofc Optimus in this AU is one also. As Orion Pax he was an archivist, looking probably a lot like Revind. And he still does. Underneath the Prime Armor, secretly. Idk I just thought it would be silly. Imagine there is still a Magnus Armor and so Minimus in this AU but Optimus doesn't know about it. And Optimus and Magnus sit next to each other both being like "HE DOESN'T KNOW IM A MINIBOT".

Ratchet would of course know this as medic of primes and also Optimus' close friend. And oh god I just imagine him arguing with Drift about some spiritual topic and he just has to hold himself so much to not spill the tea casually.

I thought it would be interesting for the matrix to have way less physical impact on its bearer, for it's power to be constructed in this aspect too. IDW makes you think about this specifically as the topic of sacricy of the primes is questioned a lot in Optimus Prime comics for example. So if this impact on the bearers that we know from different continuities was reproduced in this one, but always artificial, faked, I think it would be kinda fitting this vibe.

[power-handmaiden]

Chuck Tingle interview

OK, here is the FINAL 2024 Tingles My Butt post, which I've been pretty hyped for. I still kind of can't believe this. While I was figuring out how I'd move on from 2024, @drchucktingle generously offered to answer some questions of mine to commemorate the end of my tingler project! Here they are!

-Considering that your process for tinglers is just to write it out and not stress about proofreading and editing, was it weird for you to see someone decide to go back, examine, and contemplate every single tingler published in the past decade?

the whole dang project was really wonderful for me, for exactly the reason you have just said. tinglers are very STREAM OF CONSCIOUS and only edited with one quick pass so while i think this adds to their honesty and rawness it also means that my time with them is limited. really watching someone go back through them at this depth was like reading a diary that i have not opened for many years, and it jumps around through time in a very beautiful way. it was very moving

-I love tingler character names. I personally admire how many great ones you come up with. (I never know what to name my ttrpg characters.) You just come up with all these great names that seemingly spring from nowhere, how do you do it?

DANG great question cant believe i have not been asked this before but yes there is a type of name that shows up in the tingleverse that is unusual and has a certain feeling and cadence that is very specific. if i am trotting along with sweet barbara and there is a name of a product or a place or something that has this tone we will say ‘oh thats a tingleverse name.’ the reason i wanted to do this in the books was as a very subtle way of saying these stories exist on a timeline that is RIGHT next to ours, so in some ways it is exactly the same as our world but there are these little cultural differences with things like chocolate milk and spaghetti and then with the names. you will have buckaroos like justin and sarah trotting along next to buckaroos named corb torbins-quill or borto lart.

-So, as a reader, reading from 2014 to now, old tinglers and new tinglers feel different to me. I believe you when you say tinglers have always been sincere, but they feel MORE sincere than they used to be. Like, I feel like there was some self-consciousness and irony in some of the early tinglers that you've since let go of and embraced the Chuck Tingle voice more. I don't know, am I imagining this, or does this square with your tingler writing journey? If it does, what has that process been like for you?

i think you are absolutely correct. the intention with tinglers was always to be a place for me to express myself with complete sincerity, but the practical way of HOW to trot like this took a bit of an evolution to arrive at. in other words i knew the basics, but actually refining the best way to express yourself and perform your art takes time. maybe in the same way goin back and watching season one of a tv show can feel very different from season three, even though they are part of the same expression. 

similar thing happened with in my chuck PRESENTATION as well, where my main focus was to stay anonymous so the metaphors i used to talk about my life were still true but laid on much thicker. even my attire was a large gi so that you would not even be able to see my shape, which has obviously changed now because i wear suits these days. all of this was a process of starting in a place i knew was important to me and then peeling off the parts that were not helping the message or expression over time

-Is there anything you could tell us about the significance of Borson Reems? I feel like he's more than just another Buck Trungle/Chuck Tangle/etc but I'm not sure what exactly...

yes borson reems is god. not that i believe in GOD in the way that most buckaroos talk about god (i am agnostic) but within the tingleverse, borson reems is an avatar for the creator of that world. technically i am borson reems, because i am writing the books. the question is: are we all the gods of our own little worlds that we create? i do not know, but when i look around at my buds and the joy and love they bring to various timelines they sure seem like gods to me

-A lot of no-sex tinglers (especially ones that aren't romance-focused) vary in terms of plot and structure a lot more than erotic tinglers. Is your writing process for these stories any different?

same process actually, but the sex scenes in tinglers are about 1500 to 2000 words long, and total tingler length is 4000 words which means if you are not including that portion you are going to have to come up with some creative way to fill that space in the story and a new axis for story to turn on. so the variety comes from me getting creative and trying out different axis points

-In "Not Pounded By My Book "Pounded In The Butt By My Non-Fungible Tingler That Is Literally This NFT" Because Of The Current Catastrophic Environmental And Ethical Impact" there are references to an earlier draft of the story that was never released because you ended up disagreeing with the message. Are there any other tinglers that never got finished and/or published, if you'd be willing to talk about any of them?

oh this is a VERY good question. the story of the NFT tingler is that when buckaroos were first talkin on nfts online and nobody really knew what they were, my first thoughts were just ‘oh this is interesting what the heck is this?’ this is my way with most CURRENT EVENTS. and i thought ‘this would be an interesting tingler, i suppose maybe i should make the tingler an ACTUAL nft’. this was in VERY early days so i did not really even understand what an nft was (neither did 99 percent of buckaroos yet honestly). so i looked into it just enough to actually MAKE a nft tingler that was a real nft and put it out. lasted for about thirty seconds before buckaroos were messaging saying ‘oh this is bad chuck you should look into what this is’ and i DID look into it and thought’ oh yeah this is terrible nevermind’. i took down the original and thought ‘well THIS is what art is all about. this is where i thrive in a world of moving living art that is in communication with itself’. so i dove into the research and actually started to understand NFTS and then i repurposed the story into a strongly anti-nft tingler and put that on out instead.

as far as OTHER tinglers that kind of move and breathe and live like this, in communication with the audience, GAY T-REX LAW FIRM is another very good example. that one i wrote early on and i think it was kind of in the model of something like fifty shade of grey, where issues of kink and consent and communication are not really handled well. i think at the time it came out the story was okay, but as time went on it always kind of bothered me and finally i thought ‘i love art that exists in the REAL WORLD and changes and evolves, so lets rewrite that story and fix some of these mistakes.’ honestly it is something i wish more artists would be open to. its okay to let something hold strong against a changing timeline, but it is also okay to explore what its like to take the notes that time gives us

-This one is about Chuck Tingle that exists in deeper layers of the Tingleverse that operate on tingler logic: what does the location inside his/your butt look like?

probably a nice mid-century modern home up in laurel canyon neighborhood of los angeles. kind of quiet and small like a cabin but also very cozy, like the kind of place where you would put on a crosby stills nash and young record on vinyl and gaze out into the woods for a while then walk down the hill for dinner at a little cafe where you spot some actor from a 60s tv show also having dinner in the corner booth. this basically sounds like the start of a tingler and in that tingler i will say the actor would be a bigfoot.

-OK this one is very self-indulgent but if you could help settle this frequent point of discussion I have with my wife- where do the following fit in the Tingleverse bigfoot/dinosaur/unicorn/living object(/human/does not apply?) taxonomy?

-a ghost of a regular human

-a regular human vampire

-a human/fish mermaid

-a sentient winged horse

-a sentient centipede large enough to wrap around a mountain several times (she is handsome)

alright lets trot through these. a GHOST is not one of the four tingle types so you can have a ghost racecar or a ghost unicorn or a ghost bigfoot. ghosts are outside of the four types and do not have a classification

a VAMPIRE is also outside of the four types. so you can have a vampire bigfoot or, of course, a vampire night bus. does not strictly fall into any of the four main categories

MERMAIDS are technically a long lost species of unicorn I DONT MAKE THE RULES I JUST EXPLAIN THEM. this makes the MERMOPED tingler a little confusing but i had to pick a category and that one went into living object. now that i mention it possibly the only tingler that is technically a double category of unicorn/living object.

WINGED HORSE is easy, thats a pegasus which is a species of unicorn just like a mermaid

a SENTIENT CENTIPEDE LARGE ENOUGH TO WRAP AROUND A MOUNTAIN is an ancient creature, therefore dinosaur tingler

-My other self-indulgent question: do you have a favorite bug? (Or second-favorite if you count Mothman as a bug)

i love finding spiders in the house and giving them a pet because they are doing a good job livin their lives doin their thing. close second would be a pretty ladybug

-Any thoughts on what tinglers will be like in 2025? Do you expect to be writing a lot of political tinglers again, like post-2016?

honestly i really do not like writing specifically political tinglers anymore, and the amount that i write has gradually dropped over time (i think ALL tinglers are political but in a different way). so honestly i think i will write a few political tinglers but not many. my hypothesis on this is that my HORROR NOVELS are very very political and so maybe i get a lot of these ideas out of my system that way now. when it comes to tinglers i just wanna explore my OWN mind and heart and butt more

THANK YOU for these wonderful questions and thank you for your tingler-a-day project it was so moving and powerful. what a treat it was an honor to be a part of something so beautiful. THIS PROVES LOVE IS REAL

[toast-on-dandelioms]

What if m/c had been accepted for a scholarship abroad and just ended up stayinv there becoming the resident hero ? They did keep in regular contact with Alfred tho, seeing as he was the only family member who didnt ignore them.

Ok that is interesting and for this (which is not in the storyline in part 4) I will add another hero or two instead of Superman since he's not THAT special.

Small disclaimer: I am not sure if Green Arrow lives in Central City and where I searched told me he lives there so don't come at me that it's wrong please (I changed it to Star City so if you see it changed here is the answer)

This is based two years before you entered highschool so when you were 13 and already in Bruce's Manor.

You were there for a year and after suffering so much from Damian's tormenting you and everyone just ignoring you made you so tired and you wanted, no, needed to leave the manor and city.

You knew it was drastic but you couldn't do it anymore, you missed your mother and being sent to a home where people detest you just for existing made you feel so bad you couldn't even leave your room without a panic attack at the thought of being hurt by Damian's words or weapons or being ignored by everyone when you tried to say anything.

You applied to a few scholarship far away from Gotham to enter some prestigious schools in different cities so you could spread your choices if you got accepted.

You didn't say anything to Alfred until you received many scholarships and you chose the one in Star City, wanting to be as far away as possible from Gotham and the Waynes.

The only problem was getting Alfred to accept to send you there since he was the boss in the house, not Bruce.

You knew Bruce wouldn't care if he sent you somewhere else but you didn't want him to know where you would be going but still needed his money since you were a thirteen year old with no job or an allowance.

Thankfully Bruce just signed it without looking when Alfred showed him some random papers and off you went to your new life in Star City.

As years passed you became more social since you weren't held down by the neglect of the Waynes and you were around people who actually sought you out and didn't completely ignore you.

You kept dancing and sent all of yours training practices, plus all your small and big dance recitals to Alfred so he could see you dance since he couldn't come to every single one of them and you didn't blame him.

When you turned 15 you found a part-time job at a science company where they allowed you to work on your experiments with the supervision of an another scientist.

Unfortunately (or fortunately) you got bit by a radioactive spider that escaped from the same scientist who was supposed to supervise you and gave you the spider abilities.

Which did worry you but you learned to control your newfound superhuman strenght and also your weird sticking to surfaces and walking on walls.

Did it take a while? Yes, but it was worth it.

You also decided to become a vigilante because why not? Why not put your life in danger every night just to not receive any money compensation from it?

You're not as active as your alterego in Gotham since you actually have friends here and you're not held down by years of neglect which pushed you to help people.

You helped people whenever you could and one night, during a patrol you accidentally bumped into Green Arrow and fought with him for a while before both of you realised neither of you two were villains.

You did apologise and after a few more encounters and you pulling some pranks on Oliver because he was an easy target to prank, like come on. The man wears green and has an arrow. You can't not prank that man and call him Robin Hood.

You became his little helper, got his phone number and helped him with some villains whenever you could and especially if he let you.

You also trained your fighting with him, which got you beat up and with so many black eyes that you had to beg him to not hit your face since you couldn't keep worrying your friends and dance instructor since they were starting to ask questions and you couldn't fool them forever.

You also met Roy, aka Speedy, while on a mission with Oliver and also got along with him despite his hatred for Oliver and gained a new older brother.

After a year of helping Oliver around and training to fight decently and not only use your superhuman strenght, he finally let you come to a Justice League meeting.

You met Batman and Damian there, along with Superman and Jon to which you tried to get along with but the two of them were extremely clingy and knew a bit too much about you which creeped you out.

During the meeting you stayed very close to Oliver to avoid the two teens and also hide from Batman and Superman since they kept staring at you even while talking.

After the meeting Batman did try to approach you and you avoided him, but while walking away he just said "(Y/N)", which made you stop before walking off.

You immediately knew that he knew who you were under the mask but you didn't care that he knew.

You just ignored him and his calls, plus his sons calls. You refused to even give him a bit of attention, especially since he didn't bother you for years but now they wanted your attention?

God no, you still had dignity and self respect. Giving them attention would be like forgiving them for all those years of not even knowing you existed.

Finally the calls stopped but they started to appear everywhere you went in Central City.

You went to school? You were called in the principal office where Bruce was and scolded you lightly about putting your mother's last name when it should have been his.

Your hand started to bleed from how hard you were gripping it so you wouldn't yell at the man in front of the principal.

What you hated more was the look of love Bruce had when he scolded you, gently patting your head as he talked.

You showered at least three times before you finally felt clean after feeling Bruce touch you so lovingly.

Everywhere you went as you or as Spider, you would be met by either Bruce or one of his kids, which got even more frustrating when they would try to coax you to come back home to Gotham.

Dick would try to coax you, too into his delusional idea that you were being forced to stay here with Green Arrow even though you told him many times that it wasn't true.

He would also manipulate you by fake crying whenever you yelled at him or ignored him, making you even more frustrated because he kept on caring about himself and didn't see how you were happy in Star City.

Jason would just follow you and talk like you never left, complaining about Bruce or Damian and offered to go to a café or restaurant to catch up and see what you were up to.

Even yelling at him that he didn't care when you left didn't budge him and made him give up. No, it made him even more persistent on trying to act like you two were close and a happy family.

You also had to slam the door in Tim's face so many times whenever he would knock at the door of your apartment, you had to replace the doorknob and locks too many times to count from Tim picking the locks and you destroying the doorknob from your strenght.

Plus, arriving home to relax and seeing both Tim and Bruce in your apartment with dinner made you sick but you had to endure since you couldn't afford to change apartments since it was in the best position in the city.

Oh but Damian was the worst. He would act like he never hurt you sometimes or other times used his own past as a way to show that he had it worse than you.

Did you throw him off a building when he said that? Yes but unfortunately for you, Jon was there to catch him which made you even more frustrated.

Clark? He was decent sometimes, you met him before when he talked with Oliver and you were around but you always got a creepy vibe from him.

Especially when he kept on staring at you or gave you things like small trinkets you saw but never bought. It was so creepy that he knew what you liked, plus he kept on calling you nicknames like a father would do to his child.

Jon wasn't that bad. He did leave you alone when you asked but he also helped you. The only problem was that he acted like you were his older brother/sister and talked about times you two were together when you distinctly remember being alone when you did those things.

You did call Alfred once, he was the only one you told that you were Spider since he kept on asking why you were always full of bruises on your face and arms and you couldn't lie to him.

The call did not go well, with you yelling at Alfred that he ruined it since now Bruce knew who you were and he ruined your once happy life just because he wanted you back home.

After a while of seeing Bruce and his kids and them trying to manipulate you into going back home, plus Clark and Jon, you decided to go to the only person you trusted the most in Star City.

You went to Green Arrow and confessed to everything, you told him about your mother's death and how you were suddenly sent to a family who couldn't care less about you.

You didn't hide that you were Bruce's biological child and also showed him your scars that Damian made in the year he tormented you.

At the end of the confession you were crying, the memories of Damian hurting you with all the neglect and blatant hatred towards you made you breakdown in an ugly cry.

You kept crying even when Oliver hugged you, hugging him back with all your might as you didn't want him to leave you.

You did admit that you thought many times on going back since they kept on insisting and you weren't that strong, you couldn't resist forever with all that pressure.

By saying that, you felt Oliver freeze for a second before hugging you back and holding you close, like you hugging him with your super strength didn't faze him one bit.

What you didn't feel was the tiny prick of a needle being inserted in your neck, the only thing you last heard before collapsing in Oliver's arms were "sorry kid, can't let you leave me"

[amathslutsguidetofandom]

How Far Are You Willing To Go? - 1

PAIRINGS: Ex-husband!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

SUMMARY: Amid a quiet life post-divorce initiated by Ghost himself, his past resurfaces when his ex-wife and their young children are abducted. He's thrust into a desperate race against time to save them, facing his own demons and fighting to protect his family at any cost. Question is, how far is he willing to go?

WARNINGS: Angst, if you squint. Simon being a dummy for getting a divorce. Incorrect knowledge of allergies and asthma (please help a girlie out)

WORD COUNT: 1,096

*not proof-red*

ENJOY!

“Rylan needs to take his-,” you immediately get interrupted by his low and rough voice. “Meds, by seven in the evening after having his dinner. Yeah, I know,” you can’t help but feel that there is a trace of disdain in his voice.

Oh, how you’ve heard so many variations of that voice. From the usual rough and dark, to how soft and loving it could go. The latter was a rarity for people to hear, who meet him outside of your home’s doors. For you, however, it was common. Was being the key word. It may have not been the voice you heard 24/7, but it was a voice you heard daily.

You look at him and eye the black surgical mask he wears, “right,” you pause. “Just wanted to make sure,” you give him a purse smile, before bending down to be at eye level with your six-year-old.

“Kyla, be good and take care after your brother. Be kind in school and do your homework. Call me if you ever need some help with it, ok?” You try to wear out the imaginary creases on her little brown cardigan.

She nods her head like a mini determined soldier and says a very affirmative ‘yes Mama.” Then you move over to kneel in front of your youngest, Rylan. The four-year-old with the many existing allergies. He rubs his nose, and you tut at him, “use a tissue honey, here blow into this.” You hand him the handkerchief you always carry around for this exact reason. “Do you have your inhaler?” You ask your boy, and he nods proudly as he reaches into his pocket and shows you the small piece of plastic.

“Call me if you need Mama, ok Rylan?” You rest your hands on his shoulders, and pat down on the sweater, you look into the light brown eyes he inherited from his father and kiss his forehead. He nods at you one last time before turning around and running to your ex-husband’s family truck. Kyla kisses your cheek one last time before screaming a “buh-bye Mama” and running off to catch up with her little brother.

You stand back up and cross your arms, heart hurting a little knowing you’d be spending two weeks without your children. But what can you do? Not complain, of course.

It was part of the divorce agreement that Simon is allowed to have the children over at his place for three weeks maximum, whenever he returns from deployment. You reluctantly agreed, purely to the reason that you wouldn’t survive if you were in Simon’s place and couldn’t be able to see your kids.

You were kind in that way.

Simon loved you for it.

He loved everything about you.

He still does.

The ice around his heart thaws as he sees your eyes become bleary as you watch the kids climb into his backseat.

He hates seeing you sad.

He does everything in his power to mask the emotions he feels, and he does it well.

“Well,” you sniffle, “I-uh….I’ll leave you to it then.” You wipe your eyes nonchalantly before tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear as a sort of distraction to what you feel currently.

It was always hard for you whenever Simon comes to pick up the kids.

The mother hen in you does not want to send them with him. But you know, a 100 percent sure, that they’re safer with him than with you, considering Simon’s military experience.

One of the main reason’s Simon broke things off with you.

Simon nod’s, his hands remain in the pockets of his hoodie. You lift the little paw patrol and the little Bluey child suitcases and hand it to him. “There are three weeks’ worth of clothes in there, for each of them,” you stick your hands to the side immediately after he takes them into his rough and calloused ones.

“Please call me if-,” you start, but he interrupts you again. “Anything happens. Yeah, I know,” he says with a rough tone that says, “you seriously think they’ll get hurt with me?”.

“Right…...right,” you nod as you whisper, the words more of a reassurance to you.

You try to peak at his eyes under his hoodie, but to no avail, you couldn’t see them under his black tainted sports sunglasses.

His phone starts to ring, and he pulls out of his back pocket to see the caller ID revealing the caller “Price”.

“I’ll see you in two weeks then,” you say, knowing he has to go. He nods in response before turning away and heading back to his truck, he places the suitcases in the passenger seat before double checking the buckles on the child-seat’s where Kyla and Rylan are sat in.

He does all the dad checkup’s before getting in the driver’s seat.

He see’s you through the tainted windows of his truck.

He rolls the back window down so the kids can say their final goodbye’s

“Bye Mama!” Both kids scream and the wave with smiles on their faces. You chuckle wetly as tears silently roll down your cheeks.

You know they’re safe with Simon, but you heart still hurts that they won’t be around for a while.

Simon sees the tears and his own heart breaks.

He pulls out of the driveway with a heavy heart, hating to see the love of his life in tears.

He sighs before pulling out his phone and clicking on Price’s caller ID.

The old Captain picks up after two rings.

“Ghost, we need you.”

🎀🎀🎀

TAGLIST <3: @cntloup @identity2212 @somnorvos @yyiikes @bobateasilverpearl @animarix @outoftheseine

Guess who's back? Back again?

Hey Lovelies!

I know it's been a while, but uni has started and I am trying to re-slay. Here is the much-awaited Simon series I have always wanted to start.

Lemme know if you wanna be tagged!

Also....

Lemme know what y'all think!

Stay Coquette-y,

Anya 🫶🏽🕊️🎀

[munsonsprincess11111]

She's proud.

Eddie munson x reader

Summary: short but sweet Wayne watching you and Eddie over the years. The upside down doesn't exist in this.

1983-

Eddie invited a girl he liked to his house to hang out. Wayne walked past his nephews room and peeked in checking nothing was going on. Wayne was met with his nephew and the girl who's name he didn't know sat awkwardly in the edge of Eddie's bed. He chuckled to himself and went to the bathroom.

1984-

Wayne was walking to the bathroom and saw Eddie's door open so he peeked in knowing you was over making sure you was both OK. You were Eddie's girlfriend and had been over a lot. Before he could speak he saw you laying on your side asleep and Eddie laying practically on top of you also asleep. He smiled and went to the bathroom.

1985-

Wayne heard a racket coming from Eddie's room, so he decided to go see what it was. You had graduated. Eddie had not. Yet you two were still together. When Wayne opened eddies door, he was met with you and Eddie Pillow fighting. You stood on his bed. Eddie stood next to the bed. Eddie dived taking you down to the bed, and he kissed you. Wayne closed the door and laughed, going back to the living room.

1986-

Wayne looked into his nephews room and saw the boxes piled as you both were taking them out to Eddie's van. You and Eddie found an apartment to rent off of a friend of Wayne's and took it immediately. Wayne smiled to himself looking to where Eddie's bed used to be to see you and Eddie stood your arms wrapped around one and other. Eddie looked at Wayne and smiled before you let eachother go and continued moving boxes.

1987-

Wayne was helping you, and Eddie at your apartment as you'd just got married and as there wasn't many people you had the after party there. He was helping throw trash away as you were just married. Eddie came walking out of the bathroom in his boxers and tee shirt before starting to help Wayne tidy.

Moments later you joined them on the cleaning mission. Not only were you wearing your matching wedding band with Eddie but also his tee shirt and his guitar pick necklace. Wayne glanced between the both of you as you looked at eachother with lovesick smiles as Eddie kisses you. You scrunch your face and mumble something to which Eddie pretends to be hurt by grabbing his chest.

You lean over and kiss him as he smiles finishing tidying up.

1988-

Wayne walks into your apartment seeing you stood in the kitchen and Eddie in the living room. He walks into the living room and sees Eddie standing bouncing his 5 day old daughter. "You did it." Wayne says, sitting on the couch. Eddie looks at his uncle, confused then to you as you enter the living room with a shrug.

You sit on the couch aswell also looking at Wayne confused. "When Eddie was around 11 he told me he never wanted a girlfriend let alone a wife and kids. When he met you he wanted that and more. Here he is stood bouncing you twos baby in your apartment married to you." Wayne says leaning back.

Eddie remembers the conversation between him and Wayne and smiles glancing down at his daughter. "And its like you said to me you say that now but you'll meet someone who will change that. Hate to say it but I suppose you was right." Eddie says eith an eye roll.

"You admitting to being wrong will always be funny to me you child." You say handing Wayne his coffee. Eddie passes you your daughter and sits next to you wrapping an arm around your shoulders. Wayne looks at the two of you and smiles again.

Both looking at your daughter. Both wearing wedding rings. Eddie glancing at you and smiling and occasionally kissing your head. Wayne thinks back to when you was both sat awkwardly on Eddie's bed.

"You know y/n when you left after the first time you came to the trailer Eddie wouldn't stop rambling about how embarrassed he was because held your hand and his hand was all sweaty and he thought he'd never see you again." Wayne says with a smirk looking Eddie dead in the eyes as his jaw goes slack.

"I hate you so much. I told you that in secret. Can't believe my own uncle would betray me like that." Eddie says mouth still agape starring at wayne.

"Your telling me out of everything I already know about you that embarrasses you. Eddie were married for fucks sake and that embarrasses you not that fact you decided it was a good time to take a dump while I was showering that." You say starring at your husband.

"Number one, we had just started talking n I had this big crush on you I thought I'd messed up so yes Mt teenager acts embarrass me. Number two why are you both spilling my secrets fuck me." HE says throwing his head back. You giggle and kiss his jaw.

Wayne smiles looking at the two of you seeing how Eddie's grown. How you've grown together. He's never been prouder.

Hours later you had gone to you and Eddie's bedroom to feed your daughter. Eddie seeing Wayne out. "By the way Ed?" Wayne says before he leaves ans Eddie glances up at him. "Your mother is so proud of you right now." HE says smiling at Eddie.

Eddie smiles at wayne and Nods. "You think?" He says raising his eyebrows.

"I know." Wayne says before leaving.

Eddie walks to your bedroom to see your daughter feeding of you and you glance at him. "He's right." You say. "HUH?" Eddie says confused.

"Your mom is so fucking proud of you." You says quietly. Eddie crawls next to you and kisses you. "I love you so fucking much." Eddie says putting his forehead on yours.

"I love you so fucking much too." You says kissing him again. Eddie looks at his daughter and rests his head on your shoulder.

This was all Eddie needed right here. His daughter and his wife. What he never thought could happen to him did. Nothing could ruin him. Not the bully's from Hawkins High, not his dad, not what people think of him. The only people who matter are sat on his bed with him. He kisses you again taking you by surprise this time and you smile at eachother.

You were Mr, Mrs and mini munson.

And Wayne ofcourse

<3.

[sashi-ya]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ エロチックトバー２０２４> MDNI / EXPLICIT CONTENT

ONLY MINE 💦 GRIMMJOW X F! READER ＫINKTOBER DAY 24: PUBLIC SEX

🐙 Requested by: Anonymous: Day 24 and Renji? Or Grimmjow? Afab reader. But just being so needy can't help himself 😩 ⚠️ tw: mdni. explicit content. grimmjow being a possessive kitty. public masturbation and vaginal, hard sex. 🐙 wc: 838 // kinktober 24 masterlist // join the taglist

“Grimmjow, honey… you seem a little uneasy… are you ok?” “Do you really think I could be ok with you wearing such a short skirt outside?” 

You giggle, still naïve about the consequences of your skirt’s lack of centimetres.

“Ah… come on, it isn’t even that short!” you joke, as prying eyes of random strangers on that club scan your legs up and down.

Grimmjow grunts at them, he is probably about to use his own hand to poke a hole in their chests. 

“Calm down, babe… they are just looking, you have m-“ you still playfully tease him, getting completely shut by a snatching claw that pinches your cheeks to look at him. You almost fell from your bar stool, as both were sitting at the counter. 

“Shut up…” he barks, as he slides his hand from your knee to under your skirt and up to your core. 

“Gri- Grimmjow… calm down… we are in public ~” you inform him, as if he didn’t know, and especially, cared. 

The blue haired man, well aware of your surroundings, realizes nobody is really watching at you, but only your body… cause that’s with some men, they don’t even care about the human attached to a pair of legs and breasts… 

“Didn’t you tell me you were mine? Let them look how mine you are” he whispers in your ear, smirking before even taking lips from there. 

Your toes curl; you were sure you were finishing this night with raw, hot sex… however, you must have miscalculated when and most importantly, where.

Fingers “discreetly” reach for your thong, moving it out of the way, finding nothing but pure wetness covering your folds. And how could you not, if the moment Grimmjow grunts you are his, your core is ready to agree with him. 

Under your skirt, and the counter, his hand plays with your sex. Touching your clit from time to time, sliding inside your cunt. Your inner thighs tremble, your hand squeezing your glass that’s been empty since a long time now. A little bit more and you are sure you might crush it with your own palm. 

“Gri- babe… s-stop… I can’t” you whisper, trying to make him stop as it has become very noticeable you are indeed being <touched>. 

“Why? Aren’t you mine?” he scoffs, using index and middle finger to slide it inside you in a violent ram. 

You moan, knowing probably nobody heard you over the loud music, but your cheeks turn to fire from the embarrassment -and also since you are very, very close to climax- 

“Why don’t I put my dick inside you, mh?” Grimmjow comes closer, again, murmuring into your ear. 

You gasp, looking at him from the corner of your eye. Where, exactly, he wants to do that? 

“WH-WHERE?” you ask, opening your eyes like two full moons. 

In a matter of seconds, you are dragged against a very close, dark corner next to the bathrooms. Is it the most romantic place? No. Is it risky? Of course it is, but probably you are not the first couple to ever use such “love nest”. 

“Here?”  “Here. I can’t wait no more, turn around” 

You are soon pinned against a wall covered in stickers and who knows what else. Yet, you have no time to care, as your feral lover has lowered your panties until they reach the floor, and his sex has been freed from his black jeans. 

A few pumps get him ready, his hardness has been painful the last half an hour, and he is indeed desperate to be buried deep inside you. 

Lifting your leg just a little from behind, and crunching enough to reach your core, Grimmjow guides his sex into your wet folds.

You whine, loudly. This time you forgot about the rest; every time your lynx lover fucks you everything around stops existing. 

Grimmjow grabs your face in between his fingers. Like claws they manipulate you to look to the side and receive his concupiscent kisses. Tongues in and out, so lewd, so lustful. A picturesque lustful show that probably belongs to a different type of bar. 

“Let them see you, come on… show them… I want them to see how much you love my dick” he grunts, biting your shoulder from behind. His body weight, and the violent trusts makes your body hit the wall nonstop. Breasts plastered against it, that will soon be trapped by his hands… to squeeze them, to pinch them, to enjoy them. 

The sound of loud music and the humid atmosphere reaches you, remind you of where exactly you are. And the thrill of people discovering you adds a special spice to the moment. You know there are probably some eyes on your lustful show. Grimmjow said it himself, and he is probably more interested into showing those exactly how well he fucks his own prey… but what can you do? You are his, and that short skirt was indeed, for him to enjoy… in private, and here too. 

Taglist of amazing babes: @awas-posts @missfuriosa @theneighbourhoodferret @cyberdazetragedy @ariesbbytings @animesnowstorm @lenablack9919

[photo1030]

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

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

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

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

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

DON’T MAKE A SCENE 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this a safe place to hide?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Arthur Morgan.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sadly, you shake your head, confirming his suspicions. 

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

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

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

Masterlist for more Arthur goodness

Taglist: @appalachiancowboy99 @rivetingrosie4

[sockiess]

hiii!!! if your up for it could you write something for johnny kavanagh like maybe something fulffy? it’s totally okay if you dont want to though!!!

Anon you have no idea how much I love and appreciate you🙏🙏 I have been waiting for a request on Johnny🙏 #numberonebookboyfriend

Shannon doesn’t exist in this fic and the reader basically takes place of her (I love my girl shannon though don’t worry!)

Sick Day

Warnings: none besides mentions of feeling sick!

I laid in bed covered by blankets and yet I was still shivering. I felt horrible and haven’t slept a wink all night. I knew that I had to leave for school soon but I just couldn’t find the strength to get up.

I was about to cry from my headache and exhaustion I heard a soft knock on my door. “Baby you awake?” I hear Johnny’s voice softly ask behind the door. I found comfort in his voice and all I wanted to do was curl up into him. I heard my door softly open and close before feeling the bed dip down beside me. Johnny’s hands softly rubbed at my scalp before he leaned down and kissed the side of my head. “It’s time to get up baby” He softly whispered into my ear as he started to rub soothing circles on my arm. All I could do was groan. My whole body hurt and the thought of getting up made me want to cry. “Come on baby” Johnny whispered as he softly sat me up. “There’s my sleepy girl” Johnny smiled as he brushed my sweaty hair away from my face. I let my head fall into his chest as I breathed his comforting scent in.

“What’s wrong baby?” Johnny softly asked as he rubbed my back. He gently moved me away from his chest before kissing my forehead. He immediately pulled back and frowned and then moved the back of his hand to my forehead. “Jesus you’re burning up” Johnny said. “Stay right here” He instructed me as he quickly left my room. I would have gone down and eavesdropped to what he was talking about to doing but I just didn’t have the strength to.

about 5 minutes later Johnny came back in with his mom Edel this time. “Oh pet you don’t look like you’re feeling well” Edel’s soft voice said. “I’m not” I confessed. Both Johnny and Edel gave me a sympathetic look. “Well you just stay home and rest today” Edel said. “I’ll let Johnny stay home as well to take care of you.” Edel said smiling. That brought a smile to my face. “Now I know the rules I have set but I have faith that my son won’t get any notions while you’re in the condition you’re in” Edel said smiling and sending Johnny a look. “Jesus ma!” Jonny said while looking horrified. “Can we not talk about sex while my girlfriend is on the brink of death” Johnny said, the pitch in his voice getting higher. “I was just saying that I trusted you” Edel said defensively. “Well thank you Ma” Johnny grumbled.

30 Minutes later I was in Johnny’s bed with a cold washcloth set on my forehead and a movie playing on his tv. “If you want to move somewhere else like the living room or back to room let me know” Johnny whispered as he kissed my forehead. I didn’t, I loved the comfort of his room and his bed that smelled like him.

“I’ll be right back” Johnny said before getting up. When he opened his door Sookie ran in and laid on the bed next to me. “Hi sookie” I smiled and petted her. “Keep her company Sookie” Johnny smiled down at the old sweet dog and give her a little pet before quickly kissing me on the forehead.

When Johnny came back he had some medicine in his hands and a bottle of water. “Here baby you have to take these” Johnny said. He handed me the water bottle and medicine and I took it, feeling grateful for the way the cool water soothed my sore throat. Sookie got up and went and laid down at the end of the bed so Johnny could sit down beside me. Before Johnny could sit down I softly grabbed his hand. He looked up at me “you ok?” He asked before moving hair away from my face. “Can I wear one of your t-shirts?” I asked softly. Johnny smiled before moving to his dresser and pulling out a T-shirt for me. “This one ok?” He asked me, holding up the shirt. I nodded softly. Johnny walked over and helped me out of the hoodie that I was wearing, and sweated through, before helping me put on his shirt.

Johnny sat back down beside me before he wrapped his arm around my shoulder and softly pulled me into his chest. “Johnny you’re going to get sick” I whispered. “Don’t care” he replied. As much as I didn’t want him to get sick I still nuzzled my face into his chest, I mean i’m sick so I should get a free pass on being a little selfish.

A wave of exhaustion hit me as I curled up into his warm chest some more. I felt Johnny dip his head down before placing a kiss at the top of my head and pulling the blanket up. Before I fully fell asleep I head Johnny’s voice whisper “goodnight my little darling sleep well” and pulled me closer into his chest. I finally let the sleep that i’ve been craving for so long finally take over.

I don’t know how long I was asleep for before I woke up but when I did Johnny wasn’t in bed with me. I frowned and searched his room for him. When I saw that the his bathroom door was open and he wasn’t in there I decided to get up and look for him. My whole body ached as I stepped out of his bed but I came to the realization that It didn’t ache as much as it did this morning and smiled at the thought that I was getting better. I softly went downstairs and headed towards the kitchen when I heard movement.

When I stepped into the kitchen Johnny was there making me soup. I softly smiled at the sight of him stirring the soup in the pot. I walked over and wrapped my arms around him. “You’re supposed to be in bed” Johnny said, though I could hear the smile in his voice. “You weren’t in bed with me when I woke up, wanted to see where you were” I whispered into his back. “I’m making you soup” he said with a big boyish smile on his face.

After a few hours and 3 bowls of soup later we all heard the chaos of my little brothers coming home from school. I smiled as you could hear Tadgh and Ollie arguing. After a few minutes there was a soft knock on the door and Edel came in, “How are you feeling pet?” She asked me, giving me a sympathetic look. “I’m feeling a lot better thanks to Johnny” I replied, smiling at the boy whose chest I was currently resting my head on. “Oh good!” Edel said smiling before leaving the room and closing the door.

“I love you” I told Johnny as I looked up at him and smiled. “I love you too” Johnny said before kissing the top of my head for the thousandth time today. “Thank you for taking care of me” I said. “I’ll always take care of you my little darling” Johnny said smiling. I nuzzled my face into his chest feeling tired once again and as i let sleep take over me I felt a feeling that I could never get sick of.

I felt safe.

i did not mean to make it this long but i’ve been wanting to write for Johnny since like August so I got a little carried away, oops😁

I didn’t know if you wanted Fem reader, gn reader, or Male reader so if you want me to change the pronouns or anything please let me know!!

as always thank you so much for your request 🙏 sorry it took a couple days I’ve actually been sick LMAO which is what inspired this story in the first place 😁 If you want me to add or change anything please let me know!! I appreciate you anon!!

[holdinbacksecrets]

svt finds out you were married before you met them

anon… this request is golden. thank you so much for sending it! i had the best time writing these 🤍

seventeen find out you were married before being with them

seungcheol: he’s at the bodega around the corner because you’re out of… he forgot the excuse. luckily, it was mumbled and difficult to make out, so he’ll bring back coffee. his palms are sweating and he looks up at the ceiling as if the answer’s in between the popcorn. now, you’re his. he’s yours. you’re one. but you were someone else’s, and that idea isn’t new to him, but knowing that someone was your husband makes it feel different. he looks up again. “please give me something here.” a light flickers. he leaves without the coffee

jeonghan: he stops to watch you spoon strawberry jam onto slices of toast. they’re golden brown triangles beside scrambled eggs, and you’re making sure the bright red covers the golden brown surface perfectly, just like you always do. the only red he can think about is the blood his heart is pumping, and the fact that his heart stopped pumping for a moment or two

joshua: “now everything makes sense.” “what do you mean?” “sometimes you’re just too good at being my partner.” “that has nothing to do with being married before. i’m literally just in love and obsessed with you. actually, being married did make me strict about the dishes. i’ll never go to bed with a pile in the sink.” “baby, you won’t go to bed if there’s a spoon in the sink or a crumb on the countertop.” “and how good does it feel to wake up and see a clean kitchen, hmm?”

jun: he’s confused. he’s wearing it, swallowing it, holding it in his gaze, and suddenly wondering how well he knows you— why it took you so long to tell him

soonyoung: “i knew it was a mistake by the next morning. i woke up craving my mom’s pancakes.” “have her send us the recipe.” you squeeze his hand and bow your head so your lips can brush its palm. “don’t worry, history won’t repeat itself.”

wonwoo: the photo album’s on his lap. it feels like a fever dream to look at you. you watch the sky through the window, craving color after too much black and white. “i’m mad at myself.” “why?” “i should’ve waited for you.”

jihoon: the ring came rolling out of its hiding spot and stopped in the middle of your bedroom floor. the sunlight caught it. he blinked a million times, felt his lips part too. you let it be. you exhaled, feeling relieved to part with the secret. finally

seokmin: “look at me. do i look upset?” “no… you eyes are all shiny” like he might cry. “it means a lot that you told me.” “i shouldn’t have waited so long.” “you really didn’t wait that long.” “are you sure you’re ok? do you… am i…” “yes.”

mingyu: the words come out on a sunday morning in the park near your place. your head’s on his shoulder. his hand’s on your thigh; it’s warm and the slightest bit rough—different from the cool, soft breeze on your cheek, on the back of your neck. he asks about your happiness and when it left the space you created with your ex. he wants to know what he can do to make sure that never happens again. he wants to make sure he’s not missing anything

minghao: he’s watching you. there’s gentle love in his eyes. he’s hoping you’ll look up and away from the sudsy dishes for just a moment long enough to realize he’s not mad. to realize it doesn’t change anything

seungkwan: he wonders about your wedding dress and if you still have it. he wonders about pictures and videos and the expression on your face at the altar. moments he’s dreamed about are already existing in memories, have already been seen by your loved ones, might be sour in your head. would you do it all again? do you even want to?

vernon: “i can’t help but wonder how many people make the same mistake as me… think something’s love when it’s not.” “do you really think of it as a mistake?” “pretty sure that’s just a fact.” “i’m not so sure… aren’t you the same person who’s told me for years that everything happens for a reason?” “maybe i just tell myself that to lessen the blow.” “possibly, but maybe it’s true. maybe that step that you think was in the wrong direction was crucial. i wouldn’t have found you any other way.”

chan: “i feel like i shouldn’t be looking at this… it’s like i’m seeing your dress before i’m supposed to. i shouldn’t know what you’ll look like walking down the aisle.” “this isn’t who i am anymore. think of how much time has passed. i have brand new skin now.” “…i thought you were going to say something romantic.”

[heresthestorymorningglory]

Would've Could've Should've

A/N: Hi Babes! :D So uhh….me again with the never say never....this one's a love I've had for...20 odd years and comes clad in yellow spandex....

Another one that was meant to live in the WIP and has taken on a life of its own...

I didn't tell @ken-dom this one was being shared, so she's probably gonna lose it....Sorry xD love you big much.

She’s still been mad encouraging and I love her dearly for it. Without her none of these would exist much like everything I've written over the last year and a half.

As always, this NSFW 18+ (Not yet but like...it's getting there ok?)

I wasn't gonna share it today, but with the digital DP&W release I felt I should and @coggedcorset aggressively encouraged as they do <3

Y'all should know by now I rarely post one shots…..so yeah, this will be multiple parts….I’m just not sure on the final tally yet.

Enjoy my loves! <3 

You sighed glancing down the length of the bar; Logan sat there, like he did every other night of the week. Silent and unmoving, save for occasionally reaching for the half empty bottle sat on the bar top. 

Usually he minded his own business, and no one else paid him any mind…usually…the bar wasn’t particularly busy tonight, and you were bored. 

You made your way down the bar on the opposite side, stopping where he sat. He glanced up, his brown eyes meeting yours for a brief second before they dropped again to examine a particularly interesting knick in the polished wood of the bar. 

“You should eat something” 

“No” he spoke into the bartop and you rolled your eyes

“Mmm good, just going to destroy your liver twice as fast tonight, got it” 

You reached for the near empty bottle and his hand snapped out with lightning speed, the hint of his metal claws poking out between his knuckles; his fingers warm against the back of your hand…too warm thanks to the copious amounts of alcohol running through his system. 

“Leave it” he nearly growled. 

“What are you going to do, cut off my fingers?” you rolled your eyes pulling the bottle out of his reach. “You’re done” 

He snorted with a laugh “Am I?” claws retracting back under his skin 

You ignored him, dropping the bottle back in the well “The spare bed is still made up upstairs if you’re interested” 

“Are you giving me an option?” he quipped as you walked around the other end of the bar, going to lock the door and flip the sign to ‘CLOSED’ 

“Sure,” you smiled sweetly and he cocked an eyebrow “The couch is a little small, but I guess curled up on the floor is an option too” 

He barked a laugh, louder than necessary, but given how much he had had to drink you were shocked he was coherent at all. 

You flipped off the lights and the bar was cloaked in darkness, moonlight streaming in through the door and windows, giving you enough light to navigate back to where Logan still sat. 

He sat up straighter as you came to stand over his shoulder, but made no move to stand. You wrapped an arm around his torso, draping a muscled arm around your shoulders as you heaved him to his feet; this hadn’t been the first time and sadly you didn’t think it would be the last either. The two of you had gotten into a bit of a routine since you had started working here regularly. He leaned heavily against your comparatively tiny frame as you grabbed his worn brown leather jacket with your free hand, draping it over your arm as you lead him to the narrow staircase, minding his feet, knowing full well that one stumble in his clunky work boots would send you both crashing to the bar floor and he was significantly harder to pick up from there. 

“I swear you only make me do this on night’s I wear heels” you muttered, using the wall to support yourself in the almost too narrow stairwell as you pulled him up with you.

“I can walk” he slurred 

Despite his declaration, his weight leaned heavier against you and as if to prove your point, he misjudged the next step, toe catching on the lip of the step, sending him careening forward, forcing you to catch yourself against the wall, fingernails digging into the flesh of his hip to keep him from smashing his perfectly straight teeth on the stairs. 

He grunted, catching himself on the wall on the other side without much success and you sighed as he righted himself. 

“You were saying?” 

“Shut up” he muttered as you reached the landing, wrenching the heavy wood door open that led to your tiny apartment. 

“You should really fix that” he mumbled as you dragged him into the dark room before flipping on the light and kicking the door closed with your foot

“I’ll get right on it” you sighed, finally letting go of the grip you’d had around his waist, causing him to stumble slightly as you reached to pull your heels off. “You know where your bed is” you yawned, draping his jacket over the nearest chair.

“My bed?” he repeated to the back of your head as you made your way to the bathroom. 

You turned only enough to look over your shoulder at him standing on surprisingly steady feet, the first three or four buttons of his plaid shirt undone and you had to force yourself to meet his eye. 

He’s drunk the little voice in the back of your mind whispered It would be unethical 

You snorted at your own inner monologue before answering him “Well, no one else spends as many nights here” 

This seemed to be answer enough for him as he sat with a heavy thump on the couch, bending to untie his boots before kicking them off, leaving them haphazardly strewn on the living room floor. 

You made your way down to the bathroom, closing the door most of the way behind you as you ran the hot water to wash your face and change. 

When you reemerged, you  found Logan sitting on the edge of the spare bed, leaned against the headboard, snoring softly. 

You giggled softly and seriously considered leaving him there, but thought better of it. 

“Logan,” you whispered, touching his arm gently, careful to keep clear of his hands. Nearly being impaled once when you startled him awake the first time he had spent the night was enough.

He hadn’t even stirred at your touch. 

You sighed “Any other night and you’d almost take my head off” you muttered

You grunted bending to lift his legs up on the bed and he mumbled something in his sleep as he shifted to make himself more comfortable. Pulling the comforter up around his shoulders you turned off the small lamp next to the bed, nearly jumping out of your skin hearing a slurred “Thanks” from where he laid.

“Just don’t puke on my bed” 

You heard him scoff with a laugh as you made your way to your own bed, drifting off to sleep almost as quickly as he had. 

***

You turned over in your sleep with a heavy sigh through your nose; a heaviness pressing on your mid-section. You blinked sleep from your eyes as you took a deep breath as you turned over, you jumped slightly when your nose nearly brushed against Logan’s as he slept. 

Your shoulders sagged as you sighed a second time, his arm still heavy across your middle as you studied his face in the dark. His face was weathered…not that you blamed him, you knew he’d been through the ringer before he ever graced a stool at the bar. Some he talked about, most he didn’t…you assumed. He was handsome still though, ruggedly so. You watched as his forehead creased with worry; he was dreaming. 

He dreamt a lot, or more accurately had nightmares a lot. You wondered if he thought the drinking helped; they seemed to be worse on the night’s he drank heavier…you had tried pointing that out once and nearly lost a limb because of it. Logan wasn’t the most…level headed man; although you could say with absolute certainty that he wouldn’t ever hurt you…anymore.

You turned over to the best of your ability, still trapped under the dead weight of his arm. He hadn’t even noticed, just carried on mumbling incoherently in his sleep, jerking slightly. You reached with a hand to brush your thumb gently across his cheek and his features softened instantly as he relaxed under your touch. 

“Shhh” you cooed, feeling his fingers twitch slightly against the small of your back “It’s okay, you’re safe” you whispered, his arm instinctively squeezing tighter, pulling you closer. 

It was that exact moment that it occurred to you  that Logan was no longer wearing a shirt….or pants…

You pressed your lips together in a hard line, wanting nothing more than to shake him awake and immediately demand an explanation, but you didn’t. This hadn't been the first time you had woken up with Logan next to you…. although it was a first for him to be sparsely clothed. 

Instead, and in spite of yourself, you settled more comfortably against him, tucking your head under his chin and closed your eyes, letting the heat radiating from him lull you back to sleep.

***

The sun streamed in through the window far too early, and you cursed yourself for not remembering to close the curtains the night before. 

You tried to roll over on your back and were met with a wall of resistance. Very warm resistance. 

You shifted with a scoff, reaching to shove him. 

“God, get off me, you're so hot” you whined, trying in vain to move away. 

A grunt of response over your shoulder as Logan stirred awake. “Fuck” he growled, shielding his eyes from the light against your shoulder. 

“That's what you get for drinking half the bar” you quipped, immediately gasping with surprise as his teeth found purchase in that same shoulder and you twisted away, turning to face him. 

“Don’t bite me you weirdo” 

He smirked sleepily with a shrug “Didn't seem to mind it much last time”

“Last time doesn't count” you muttered and he snorted with a laugh

“Just because you say it doesn't count doesn't mean it didn't happen”

“Shut up” you snapped, attempting to pull yourself up out of bed, and failing; Logan's strong arm keeping you pinned against his chest. “You were drunk” 

“If memory serves, so were you” he whispered 

“Yeah well,” you shrugged against him “That’s the thing about memories isn’t it?” 

He sighed against your neck, his warm breath causing your skin to ripple with goosebumps

You closed your eyes and sighed as his fingertips toyed lazily with the fabric of your t-shirt “Logan” you breathed and he hummed questioningly against the hollow behind your ear

“Don’t,” you sighed heavily “W-we can’t” 

Another hum as you turned your head and the tip of his nose dragged along the line of your jaw.

“Logan…” you repeated; noses nearly touching at this point 

“Why not?” he whispered, lips brushing against yours as he spoke 

You could feel your whole body flush with heat as you swallowed hard; mustering up enough willpower to push him back gently by the shoulders; his brown eyes searching your face. 

“Because we said we wouldn’t, remember?” your voice was soft, but the words were shaky, you were on the verge of cracking and you had no doubt he knew it. You needed to move, needed to get out from under the delicious weight of his torso, needed to put space between you….

You cleared your throat and wriggled out from under his arm, throwing the blanket back as you clumsily got to your feet. 

“C’mon,” he coaxed, propped on an arm “We’re both adults” 

“Yes, exactly” you nodded in agreement as you turned away, pushing your hair back off your face “Adults who make informed sober decisions” 

“I prefer your drunken decisions” 

“You would” you scoffed “Get out of my bed”

“That’s not what you said last-”

“Will you shut up about last time?!”  You snapped

“You’re bitchy in the morning” he mumbled climbing out of the bed on the other side. 

“That’s rich coming from you” you rolled your eyes in spite of facing away from him as you pulled on a pair of jeans from the night before.

You came around the end of the bed, pushing around him as you pulled open the drawer to your dresser, digging for a clean shirt before looking up at him “Turn around” 

He scrunched his nose slightly “Why?”

“What do you think this is, a peep show?” 

“Nothing I haven’t seen before” 

“Oh my god” you rolled your eyes again and Logan just shrugged

“Well it isn’t” 

You sighed, not really having time to argue, you pulled your t-shirt over your head, dropping it on the floor at your feet. You looked up at Logan and he wasn’t looking back, you had been ready to give him shit until you noticed his eyes were fixed on your collarbone, and the ugly scar that disappeared under your bra strap. You pulled the clean shirt on, the scar covered underneath…at least most of the way; half an inch or so still poked out from under the deep v of your shirt. Logan’s eyes hadn’t moved. 

“It’s fine” you spoke softly, snapping him from his thoughts and he met your eye. His usual grumpy scowl was more of a pout. “It’s fine” you repeated 

He just grunted in response and you made to move around him to finish getting ready. “Everyone knows I shouldn’t be allowed around sharp objects” you joked with a gasp as he grabbed your wrist as you walked by, stopping you from going any further and turning you to face him. He towered over you, the man was unnaturally large…you often wondered how you managed to haul him up here multiple nights a week by yourself. 

He hadn’t pulled you against him, but he stood close…too close. 

The hand not holding your wrist slowly reached to push back the collar of your shirt, exposing more of your scar. Your free hand reached to close over his, keeping it in place. 

The room was quiet for a beat before you spoke again, neither of you moved. 

“That’s not why” you whispered; you were looking at him, but he was looking at the jagged raised skin across your collarbone. 

You curled your fingers around his hand still resting against your chest. “I figured you would have forgotten” your voice still soft��

His eyes met yours then, no hint of humor in his features. 

“It’s fine,” you smiled gently “I lived” 

“Barely” he finally spoke 

“Well that’s what I get for trying to wake Edward Scissorhands from a nightmare” 

He just glared 

“Come on grump,” you changed the subject turning toward the door “Put some clothes on, you owe me breakfast” 

“Owe you?” he repeated, letting you walk away 

“Yeah,” you nodded, turning to look over your shoulder as you stood in the doorway “And I know most places have a pretty lax dress code, but I don’t think yellow boxer briefs are gonna cut it” 

***

Despite having gone your separate ways after breakfast, Logan found his way back to his favourite bar stool by nine thirty. You watched him reach over the bar top and grab the bowl of peanuts you kept tucked underneath for when he inevitably showed his face. He had changed, you noticed, swapping the red flannel he’d had on this morning for a blue one. 

You handed the guy across from you his change as he blatantly looked down the front of your top and you fought the urge to deck him as he dropped a twenty on the bartop. 

“So..uh,” he started and you would bet it took every ounce of strength he had in him to meet your gaze “What time do you get off?” 

You laughed lightly taking the money off the bar and shook your head “No thanks” 

“What?” he pressed, “You got like a boyfriend or something?” 

“Or something” you smiled politely 

“Well he’s not here is he?” the guy tried again 

“Well,” you shrugged, scrunching your nose and glanced down the bar before looking back to him. 

“That guy?” his face twisting in disapproval as he looked down the bar at Logan who was finishing off his first round of peanuts. “You know who that is don’t you?” 

You raised your eyebrows, straightening your stance 

“He-”

“You can leave now” you cut him off “Thank you” 

“But-” he looked from you down to Logan and back at you 

“What can I say,” you smiled “I like ‘em sloppy” 

The guy opened his mouth to say something more and thought better of it, closing it again. 

“Wise choice” you rolled your eyes before turning on your heel and making your way down to the end of the bar where Logan sat. 

“Fancy meeting you here” you smiled setting his usual glass in front of him and refilling the empty bowl 

He took the glass, nearly draining it before putting it back down “You changed” 

You laughed lightly with a shrug, handing him the whiskey bottle. “This outfit gets me better tips” 

He looked up with a raised eyebrow as you gently tossed the twenty you’d just been given on the bar in front of him. “Doesn’t have pockets though, hold on to that for me, would you?” 

“What do I look like, a bank?” he grumbled 

“No,” you smirked “But I owe you” 

His eyes narrowed again as he studied your face “You’re giving me your tip money?” 

“No,” you said again 

“But you owe me?” he asked, lines in his forehead deepening 

You giggled, walking around the bar, intentionally walking too close to where he sat, brushing against his broad shoulder. You knew you were flirting with disaster, but you had started to regret not taking him up on his offer this morning….against your better judgment…and getting under Logan’s skin was so easy, sober or not. 

“Stop it” he warned 

You stopped mid stride, chest purposefully pressed against his shoulder. “What?” 

He glared and you smirked “You're so easy to rile” you teased, messing up his hair  “I thought it was nothing you haven't seen before”

“You wanna play this game?” He narrowed his eyes 

“Who's playing?” You leaned to whisper next to his ear. 

He growled and you giggled before walking away to make your rounds.

[togenabi]

all my ghosts

megumi fushiguro x reader

♡—haunted by ghosts all your life, you find peace and quiet in megumi’s arms

word count♡— 1.5k

genre♡— fluff

content notes♡— reader sees ghosts, meet-cute, first date, ghosts are nosy and annoying, but megumi makes it ok, inspired by 'all my ghosts' by lizzy mcalpine

also on♡— ao3

author's note♡— this has been in my drafts for a while, and I decided to polish it up in time for halloween! not that this is anything spoopy, just standard fluff brought to you by yours truly. please enjoy!

‘That kid's looking at you!’

‘No he isn’t!’

‘Yes he is! Look, look!’

Closing your eyes in frustration, you exhale through your nose. Could these damn ghosts ever give you a break?

All you wanted was a midnight snack. That's what brought you to this convenience store (at this ungodly hour) in the first place.

You ignore the wispy forms of the ghosts that follow you around everywhere, picking up your favorite snacks and sweets. One in particular was blocking your way, so you swat at the air where they hovered.

‘Oh!’ The ghost exclaims in offense. ‘Why, I'd never!’

Now you've done it. All the spirits floating around suddenly get unbearably loud, complaining about how rude you are. Apparently, you're dreadful company. But that's hardly fair when you never asked for them to hang around.

You've always been able to see ghosts. It's been something you could do for as long as you could remember.

Your mother, having had the same ability, taught you how to ignore them and act like you can't notice them at all. It usually works, but everyone has their limits. Yours was when some ghosts insisted on changing the show on your TV every time they didn't like what you were watching.

You had burst out, yelling and complaining and making the fatal mistake of letting them know you were aware of their existence. How much you regret that day cannot be put to words.

Ever since then, you've always had two or three ghosts hovering around. Asking you to play a song they miss. Or google something. Or call their grandkids for them.

They eventually leave once they realize they won't be able to get anything out of you, but a ghost who left will let others know about a girl who can see them, and the cycle just keeps on repeating itself.

‘Look! It's true, that boy is looking at you!’ A persistent ghost blocks your view of the beverage shelves, wildly pointing and gesturing to your left. You tsk, but turn to look anyway.

He has dark hair and dark eyes, wearing a hoodie that looks incredibly comfortable. He's quite handsome, and the ghosts were right. He's looking at you.

When he realizes you're looking back at him, he averts his gaze. He covers his mouth with one hand and turns away, but you see the tips of his ears burn red.

Your heart feels like it skipped a beat. Flustered, you pretend to be curious about the drinks on display.

But it's too late. You can't focus.

The ghosts around you are eating it up, cheering and encouraging you to talk to him. Some even hover over to the boy to persuade him to approach you. This could not get any more embarrassing.

You risk another look at him. He's not looking at you anymore, but his expression surprises you yet again.

He's looking at where a ghost is floating beside him. Your heart stutters again when he squints at what should be nothing for him.

But it's not nothing. Can he see them too?

You've never met anyone else who could. Not outside your family, anyway. Maybe you should talk to him.

You take a step closer, and the ghosts disappear.

Alarmed, you turn this way and that, trying to make sense if they're pulling some orchestrated prank on you.

But they're all gone. Or at least, you can't hear them anymore. Especially not when the cute stranger is looking at you again.

“...Hi.” You greet him, still at a loss for words.

The boy nods, clearing his throat before he speaks, “Hey.”

You notice that the ghost he was staring at is gone too. Just what is going on here? 

“Sorry if that was weird of me.” You try to laugh off your nerves. “I thought I heard something.”

He blinks. “Yeah, I think I know what you mean. Must've been the wind.”

Ah, maybe he didn't see your ghosts after all. You're not sure if you're relieved or disappointed. “Yeah. Wind.”

With a hand rubbing the back of his neck, he introduces himself, “I’m Megumi.”

He repeats your name softly after you give it, and you hope he can't see how flustered you got. As you look down at your basket full of snacks, Megumi holds out a hand and offers to carry it for you.

Shyly, you walk together to the cashier. You let yourself smile and take in the peaceful silence, now that the ghosts aren't around. Something sweet is in the air, something sweeter than the smell of candy and soda.

You linger by the entrance once you've both paid. Megumi opens his mouth to speak, but stops when someone suddenly barges in.

The pink-haired boy urges him to hurry up. “Hey! Let's go! Everyone’s already there for movie night.”

Megumi is pulled along, though he stutters as he looks back at you. “W-Well...” He gives a small wave. “I hope I'll see you around.”

And the moment he steps out of the store, it's chaos again.

The ghosts reappear once more, chatting your ear off about how you didn't get his number. And for once in your life, you agree with them.

It should be impossible, but Megumi somehow cancels out your ability. You think you’re falling. You could kiss him. Maybe you should have gotten on one knee and proposed right there and then.

Before you can properly think about it, you’re running after them and pulling at Megumi’s sleeve. The spirits fade once you’re close to him again.

The last thing you heard from the ghosts was them cheering you on. It makes you smile as you ask, “Could I have your number?”

“For the last time,” You warn the wispy figures floating about your bedroom, “If you spied on Megumi prior to our date, I do not want to hear about it.”

‘But sweetheart,’ An elderly lady ghost pats your shoulder, unfazed that her fingers only pass through you. ‘You should have seen him, he was so nervous! He—’

“No, nope!” One hand holding your outfit, you use the other to point at the door. It’s more of a symbolic gesture, since they don't really need to use it to get out. “Please let me change alone. Thank you.”

The ghost of a young man hovers around you, scrutinizing your outfit choice. ‘If you really want to leave an impression, you should w—’

Thankfully, you're not the only one who finds him insufferable. The other spirits groan and drag him outside—sending you heart signs and thumbs ups as they leave.

Unfortunately, the restaurant Megumi wanted to take you to was closed. He was crestfallen, but you assured him that you were fine anywhere, as long as you were with him. You only realized how cheesy that sounded when he blushed and turned away.

You ended up buying food at the convenience store where you met, and walking a short distance to the park for an impromptu picnic.

Sprawled on the grass together, you take turns asking each other questions. You learn that his birthday is in December. He asks about your taste in music.

You could get used to this. To not hearing a dozen ghosts at your ear. Indeed, the sounds of the trees rustling, birds chirping, and Megumi laughing are a lot more preferable.

“My first impression of you?” Megumi hums, pouting in thought. “I don't know... It's a little embarrassing.”

“I won't judge you for it, I promise!” You insist, “Besides, I told you that I thought you were cute.”

He takes a deep breath, not meeting your eyes as he answers cautiously, “You know that broken light in the convenience store?”

You make a confused face and tilt your head. “...Yes?” Where is he going with this?

“I’ve always hated it. The uneven lighting makes my head hurt...” Megumi leans close to brush your hair away from your eyes. “But I swear, those poorly maintained fluorescent lights weren’t that awful when I first saw you… Because you were glowing, and you were so beautiful.”

Not expecting that kind of answer, you hide your face by leaning into his shoulder. Megumi lets out a breathy laugh, and you think you might hear his heartbeat. You immediately add it to the list of your favorite sounds. The trees. The birds. His laugh. His heartbeat.

When you get home later that evening, your ghosts rush to you, excited and giddy to hear about your date.

‘Did he not give you flowers?’ One ghost asks.

‘No one gives flowers on dates anymore.’

An older spirit gasps, ‘Oh dear. Back in my day—’

‘We don't want to hear about how your dates went a century ago.’ 

‘Yeah! We want to hear about our dearie and Megumi!’

‘How was it?! How was it?!’

Taking a deep breath, you practically melt into the couch.

“It was perfect.” You smile, and the ghosts swoon with you.

Funny how Megumi said the lights didn't seem so bad when you were there. You feel the same about all your ghosts; he makes it all so much better.

© togenabi 2023 | see here to be added to my taglist ♡

tags: @songsofadelaide @flowerjun @sweetexistentialism @mellozhi @ihaveanexistentialcrisis @msmisasoup @appalost @starszns @onebatch--twobatch @luccaaedd @hellyyy06 @isentsworld @justsomerandomwe31rdo @gunslxtz @lownna @akakaze

[tomomiisasleep]

notes on Harryanthe which I am crazy about, in HtN

this dumb little interaction just stuck with me. I mean they're almost always high-strung in the detailed plot, like in almost every one of the Ianthe-centered scenes one of them is in some kind of pain

but I know they have chill moments. mundane moments. petty arguments, like the one in the post scrips of the letter. And I so badly want to read those!!

anyways. I'm gonna start collecting scraps here.

you might have given Ianthe Tridentarius the pleasure of opening the note labelled Upon the death of Harrowhark Nonagesimus. Your only hope for that note was that it contained a single sentence along the lines of, Get what joy you can from my corpse, you devious bitch, but it was written by a previous self and you could not risk a guess.

Harrow: what if I didnt hate her and that makes me wanna have a lobotomy yeah that makes sense

Once, vilely, from Ianthe; she had ensconced you in fat and rolled you down the hallway out of danger, and still laughed whenever she thought about it.

ok this is just Ianthe being a little pest, but it also means that she talks about this and laughs in Harrow's face, which makes her a little bitch, but also like it means they often chat and Ianthe would be like: Yeah today I tried the theorem on apples again, but I tweaked it by directing the flow of thalergy from- hey Harry do u remember the time I saved your life hahahahahaha

The mockery you endured for needing her proximity was exquisitely painful, but humiliation was steadily becoming your existence whole and entire.

I want to know what exactly this mockery entails

It had been very nicely matched to the original until she had ceased using it altogether, and the difference was more pronounced each day. Unconscious of your critical eye, she scratched fretfully at the line until red hives appeared.

Ianthe squirming under Harrow's gaze for once

She was in a filthy mood, if she was wearing that thing, with her arm exposed.

Harrow has been keeping tabs on the state of her arm problem ever since she first woke up on the Erobos. Same as how Ianthe has been keeping tabs on the results of her lobotomy.

she said, blue eyed, those oily little freckles glittering almost pinkly above the dress. They reflected the red rims of her eyelids. You thought that she had been crying.

yeah stare at her eyelids Harrow, and sniff her discreetly all the time, sweat musk vetiver am I right (also have I expressed how crazy it drives me that she wears masculine perfume??????????? no well IT'S SO *faints*

You got better autopsies of her encounters with Beasts than you did from your own, as Augustine was wont to explain significantly more to her than either he or Mercy did to you.

Ugh why why why in this whole book I have not seen them talk shop with each other even once??? Except Harrow showing off after making the arm. Harrow has discussions with Pal all the time in GtN. clearly she trades notes on necromancy with Ianthe frequently. but no, gloss over Ianthe's intellect and just write her freak(fond) moments

You had once been fool enough to recommend that Ianthe take them down, at which point she had rustled up another from the bathroom and hung it in pride of place above an overpainted dresser.

love her

“Oh, heaps,” said Ianthe, who appeared not to have taken offence at your rejection. It was so impossible to tell, with Ianthe. “I made it. It’s vile.”

Maybe she really doesn't care about the rejection or even likes it, but "so impossible to tell" kinda hints that, well she might be hurt,maybe, there just isn't any proof

It was not a connection formed of any mutual admiration; if anything, the more you saw of Ianthe the less likely you were to mistake her for likeable. She made herself like an overdecorated cake: covered so thickly in icing and fondants and gums that it would take serious excavation to find any bread. As a necromancer she was a genius, though you thought she relied too much on shortcuts and circumventions. She had an exceptionally fine mind. She was not afraid of rigour.

If Harrow doesn't have the hots for her at least I do.

Honestly on my first read I took stuff like "not likeable" and "“Tell me to stop breathing,” she said. (“I have, on multiple occasions,” you said.)" at face value and actually thought Harrow genuinely hates her and is forced to interact with her because there's no one else. Which is true. But she's also very attracted to her and I kinda overlooked it at because I thought those feelings were mutually exclusive. And they're not. which I'm obsessed with.

Or she won't think Ianthe's beautiful and note details about how she dresses all the time.

Seriously Harrow's special fixation on "how Ianthe's clothes make her look" is hard to ignore.

for example:

The mother-of-pearl made Ianthe’s hair a lurid yellow and threw up all the mustard tints of her skin; her face was blotchy, and her eyes were sleepless pits. She looked like shit.

The skirts and waists were all beautifully cut for someone of a different height and body type than Ianthe possessed. They were tight where they should have been loose and loose where they should have been tight. They looked like her burial clothes, and she looked as though she had emerged fifty years after that burial.

she answered after a long, scuffling minute, with sleep in her eyes and her hair in dilute whey tangles over her neck and shoulders, wearing a bewildering short garment of violet chiffon.

The back was open, and you could see the fine dents of her spine—her bleached skin bluer and sweeter against the pallid gossamer—and the twin blades of her shoulder blades looked strangely nude and vulnerable to you.

Ianthe was training in her nightgown—a grisly floor-length concoction of pale golden lace that made her long, limber body look like a green-veined mummy

a lone wax figure in pale purple chiffon, tall and colourless—except in the greasy metal of her bone arm, which the lights rendered all the colours of the rainbow.

Ianthe rose soundlessly to her feet, and the long skirts of her nightgown—a brilliant ruffled canary-yellow silk that made her look like a formal lemon—rustled restively around her calves.

Note that Harrow focuses on Ianthe's clothes for how they shape Ianthe's appearance. in contrast:

she ignored your sister, whose pallid eyebrows had shot up so fast and so far that they were in danger of breaking the atmosphere. Mercymorn wore a long slip of peach-coloured silk, and her white Canaanite robe was tucked over her forearms and had slipped entirely off her slender, aggrieved shoulders. She had scraped her hair into a merciless and shining coil at the back of her head, and she had no eyes for either of you.

Obviously Mercy is SUPER HOT here, if Ianthe's reaction means anything. But Harrow only describes her clothing and not how she looks. Same with Augustine's party outfit.

With Ianthe, it's always: she's wearing ..., which makes her look gross. And I did not understand at first but now I know and feel stongly that Harrow is totally into her gross-hotness. well at least I am. the grosser she's described the hotter she is.

[zoropookie]

HOW HATERS ARE BORN (HHAB)

♡ chapter twenty-six — br(ok)en (💋)

You stared at your phone light up for the twelfth time within five minutes with a dull expression.

Admittedly, you felt angrier knowing that Scaramouche still had the audacity to even text you after everything. After tormenting you for years and years, what kind of shame should someone feel after that, you wonder. The relentless pursuit of making your life miserable—to which he failed at, but it did make you wonder.

Did you do something to deserve it? Each notification felt like another jab that he took to the heart, reopening your wounds from each time he said something messed up to you. As you laid there motionless, with no light ruminating in the room except your phone, you began to feel tears well up in your eyes for the thirteenth time today.

Pursing your lips, you swiped up to read the messages and only felt reminded even further of every harsh word he said. Every cruel taunt, every moment of humiliation...and yet...

He was still right, despite being the biggest hypocrite known to man. And it pissed you off.

Why were you even laying here? Ignoring the world, rotting here like you're a vegetable. You knew that you were something to people, you knew that you were valued.

There wasn’t anything that was particularly motivating for you to get up, however. You ignored every need that you could have possibly wanted, subjecting yourself to sparseness. No matter how much you wanted to, the thoughts always came back and you didn’t know how to deal with them.

A small knock echoed from the front door. It was loud enough to hear, and you still shoved your head in the pillow and hoped it went away.

The longer time you went without answering it, the knocks became more frequent. It wasn’t Thoma, that’s who you could observe without getting up.

You finally managed to drag yourself out of bed, lazing about sounded so much nicer now that you were dreading who’s at the door. With a frustrated sigh, and irritation already to its peak of your heart, you opened the door to a familiar-ish face.

Little girl?

“Did you forget that you exist?” She said with a smile. “Welcome back to Earth! I didn’t know how long you’d be cooped up in here so I brought treats.”

You stared a bit longer than you meant to at the Tupperware of Asafiri in her hands, momentarily taken aback. “Heh?”

“Yanfei sent me here. Looks like you’re having a little bit of trouble getting back on your feet. I take it you know her?” She inquired.

“Yeah.” You blinked slowly, before holding the door a little wider. “Uh…come in, I guess. Thanks for the…treats.” You cringed. “Wow, I get why Heizou keeps being called a creep now, this can look so wrong.”

“The difference is that he does it to himself.”

The warm water on your body was oddly refreshing.

Getting out of the shower was harder knowing that you'd come back to the gust of wind in your living room, but knowing you had fresher pajamas on was also a plus. Things didn't look too great on your mental, especially since you were accustomed to showering a lot in your fresher mind.

You put on the Lightning McQueen slippers you quite often wear, and moved to the kitchen after hearing soft chops of a knife. You wondered what Nahida was up to, staring at her cut apples and bananas before putting them into a huge bowl she found in your cupboard.

"This is a very odd fruit salad you're making." You drew attention to yourself before her eyebrows furrowed. "I don't know whether or not to tell you to be careful with knives."

"I'm smarter than you think I am." Nahida cooed. "I'm used to people being condescending."

"Oh...I'm sorry— You're killing me here, kid. Lady? Are you a child or not?" You asked desperately.

Nahida turned to you, her saturated green eyes stared at you with obviously deliberate thoughts roaming her head before she took a sharp breath. She pointed the knife at you. "Do you feel better?"

"Not...really? I mean, it happened. All of this at once." You tried to process it quicker, but your head failed you. It's like how you actually felt in the moment was blocked. "I feel like I'm in limbo, I don't want to see the sun these days."

"Your thoughts are your biggest enemy right now. Easy to overthink. It's a lot to deal with on your own, good thing you aren't, right?" Nahida lowered the knife, her expression softening. "I cut you up some fresh fruit. It's better than the Asafiri for now, you don't need that much sugar after not eating for a while, or you'll crash hard. And get a headache."

Looking at the bowl loaded with bananas and slices of apples, you couldn't help but wonder why you were even granted this much care anyway. You were in mild disbelief, sitting down at the island counter in front of Nahida. "Why are you actually here?" You said in defeat.

Nahida stopped cutting the fruit, gaze shifting from it to you. She couldn't find what she could say to answer you, but she did press her lips together. "Do you want me to be honest?"

"A little." Your voice lowered.

"Yanfei and Heizou," Nahida paused, trying to find her words, "They wanted to see if I could convince you to start streaming again."

You frowned immediately. "Oh. Thanks for being honest."

"You made progress today, but I don't expect you to be up to it. It's a really big step." She asked you, but you couldn't even decipher the intentions behind her eyes. It was impossible to detect what anybody was thinking nowadays. "They just told me to come over so they can hope their investigation moves."

You sighed, leaning back in your chair once you felt the bitterness course your body again. Hearing that made your mood possibly worse than what it would've been if you were in bed. "Not happening. Thanks for checking on me though, you can leave if you want."

"I knew you'd say that. I guess it's fair, people are...going crazy right now figuring out whether you're okay or not." Nahida smiled once you looked back up at her. "Both Scaramouche and your fans are trying to get anything they can on your wellbeing. It's better to wait it out."

Your hopeful face turned into a sullen one, shoulders slumped at the mention of his name. "I don't know if I can even go back at all."

"I'm not sure how hard this is for you, but with what happened, you've obviously been through enough. While it's your choice to go back, Yanfei is under the impression that you can get revenge." The shorter girl explained. "In my eyes, though...I think you're able to decide that for yourself."

You felt the weight of the memories heavily, your head daunting enough for you to let out a shaky breath. "You think so?"

Nahida nodded, humming, "You don't have to stream, but don't give him the satisfaction if you're upset. You shouldn't let him know that you're suffering because of what he did. The worst thing that you can do is prove him right."

Funnily enough, as soon as she said that, you felt tears well up in your eyes again. It struck a cord, and you knew she was right. It was just knowing that anybody would say it verbatim. "That's the same thing he told me too." You blinked back your tears, more resilient than you were a few minutes ago, but also to the brim of misery.

"He?"

You shook your head, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. "Thanks," You muttered, choking on your words. You couldn't manage to say anything else, otherwise you'd betray your steely posture. "I'll think about it. Just...stay here a little more with me, please. Maybe I'll...find the resolve or something."

previous ♡ masterlist ♡ next

YOU ARE on your way to being one of the hottest streamer in your nation at the moment, racking a monthly average of 10 million viewers, but something specific bothers you about it. you know that a lot of people hate you, but there's this one account. one account that's been following you since the early days of your career. they leave a flood of rude comments in your stream, your moderators banned each account they made, but they keep making more. you are at the end of your tether. but you are yet to find out that this persistent cockroach is none other than your friend's friend (and the only other streamer that's bigger than you), scaramouche.

taglist ♡ @thystarsshine @veekoko @gumickajolli @simonisferal @kamiboo

@justpeachyteastea @feiherp @pinkismyfavcolor @aether-darling @kunisnaomi

@keiiqq @mine-lu @featuredtofu @danhenglovebot @k4zushi

@kyon-cherri @b4tm4nn @iiinaurate @quacking-simp @auroratumbles

@kookiibun @ulquiorraswife @amvpk01 @simplysm1le @h3xi2g0n3

@alatusorrow @scaranthropy @mellowberrie @magica-ren @vernith

@kabukipookie @bananasquash @suqarlaced @dellalyra @lightyagamifan

@yourfavoritefreakyhan @heartsforseo @yomishen @pwushizz @swivy123

@strxwberryfetish @ibyobi @ashfrommars4 @chemiru @ainnofinway

@agaygothicmushroom @levianamor @dragontammerz @wth121 @lylovw

@morgyyyyyyy @lovemari @suniika @melpomenelurks @yumejo89 @liuaneee

@franaby @tiddieshakeshownu (bold users means i'm having trouble tagging you)

[sexy-monster-fucker]

Ok but remote control vibrators for public humiliation is like a top tier thing. Secret relationship Baby Billy and parishioner while he's on stage and reader is in the audience and he's just edging the reader through the whole service...

I hope I did this ask thing right. I'm never sure what the rules/expectations are.

YES~~

Baby Billy Freeman x Reader

CW: toy use, public humiliation, things happening in a church that should not be, kinda corruption kink??, edging, use of Bible quotes and religious imagery,

a/n: this was such a challenging piece to write in a good way, having to understand my limitations of using too specific of Bible verses and things. Thank you anon for such a new and challenging prompt for me!!

~~~

You couldn’t believe you were doing this.

Couldn’t believe he was doing this to you.

You nestled into the front row just like he had instructed. Making sure you were visible to him from any point on the stage. Cold wooden pew pressing against your thighs, faint cushion practically non-existent from years of use. Your ‘gift’ from Baby cautiously stowed away.

… Arms draped around your waist, nose tucked into your neck. Deep hazel eyes stared at you in the mirror before you. White hair and tinted glasses peaked over your shoulder. One of your hands rested on his against your lower half, other coming up to caress his face. Locked away in his dressing room in the basement of the church.

“I saw you with that boy,” Baby Billy’s deep tone vibrated against your skin.

Your throat tightened. Starting to question, but being interrupted by him.

“Giggling and shit. Saw the way your hand touched his arm. Thought you were my girl, now. Maybe I need to remind you of that,” his lips rested against your cheek with a kiss.

You furrowed your brows, mouth forming a question that could not escape. Firm hand held you against him, the other opening one of the drawers in front of you. Pulling out a little black box, white teeth forming a devious grin. Lips kissed along your face and neck as he sat the box on the counter in front of you.

“Go on,” Baby Billy encouraged.

Perplexed, you opened it. Your face immediately heated like someone had turned up the temperature. A hot pink vibrator. One of those ones you inserted and it rubbed against your clit. Still confused, you looked up at him in the reflection. He had a small remote in his hand. So tiny that you could hide it against your palm and no one would see it. Discretely black so it could be hidden. Clicking it and showing you exactly what it did. The box vibrated in front of you.

Your mind put the pieces together immediately. Cheeks flooding with a mixture of arousal and embarrassment. Locking eyes with him once again.

“My pretty girl. Sometimes you just gotta be reminded, dontcha?” Baby’s lips pressed against your ear, “Now, tomorrow before you get all dolled up for church, you’re gonna put that little thing in that perfect pussy of yours. Baby’s gonna get the Holy Spirit flowing through you tomorrow. You understand?”

You coyly nodded at him. Body vibrating at the idea. Mouth running dry.

“If you play nice, I’ll make sure I fuck you real good afterward. Oh, and wear that dress I like,” Baby smiled at you…

And now here you were. Front pew of his sanctuary. Knees pressed together and hands folded in your lap. Hum of people filled the room. Smiling and waving. Greeting the usual crowd. Men tuning their instruments on the stage, casual conversation of the weekend and what they had cooked for Sunday dinner filled your ears.

Was it hotter in here than normal?

Someone must have turned on the heat for the first time. It was Winter. Your palms were shaky as you stared at the dampness that lathered them. Feeling your thighs shift smoothly with the perspiration. Hairs on the back of your neck stood up when one of your fellow congregation members sat down beside you.

“Hi, Y/N,” it was the same boy that Baby Billy had grown jealous of. The one who got you into this mess. Great. Like this would help. Baby was for sure not going easy on you now.

“Hi,” you shortly mumbled. Lifting your hand in a semi-wave. Lips pierced together in a smile. Attention going back to the front. The boy rambled on about the game the day before. Going on about how his fantasy league was performing worse than it ever had before. Ears ringing as you zoned out all the sound around you.

The room shifted.

Something in the air changed. You knew he was here. And his loud southern twang confirmed it. You looked over your shoulder. Watching as his bright white smile greeted each person as he shook their hand. Soft ‘mornin’s and ‘how’reya’s echoing. Then he walked up to where you sat. Your heart could have jumped out of your chest. Licking your lips as you attempted to speak to him.

“Mornin’ young man,” Baby completely ignored you. Extending his hand out to your unwanted guest. Lip twitching when his eyes darted over to you for a moment. Hazel eyes drowned out by the black hole of his pupils. Expanding as soon as your eyes met. A look that told you everything you needed to know.

You were in for it.

Church bells clanged. Signaling the band to begin their usual rhythm. The lights dimmed around the room, bright stage lights illuminating his face. People clapped along as Baby Billy stood silently at the pulpit. Smiling and tapping his hands against the podium. Eyes darting to you constantly, trying to hide how badly he wanted you. Deciding it was time.

His hand slid under the top of the lectern, discreetly clicking the button on the remote. Pulling out his Bible from the den underneath so no one was suspicious of what he was doing. There was a flutter in his chest. Denying himself the pleasure of being excited. Fighting the way his cock jumped when he clicked the first button. Trying to keep his stern exterior so you would view this as a punishment. A reminder of who you belonged to, even if it was in secret.

Your eyes sprung open. The soft and slow vibrations startled you. Hunching forward slightly in your surprise. The feeling of your clit being stimulated had your mouth running dry and hands gripping at your dress. Swallowing heavily as you attempting to pat your lap along to the rhythm. You could not let anyone know what was happening.

The music mellowed out. A hush falling over the room as Baby Billy adjusted the long, thin microphone. Smiling his famous pearly whites across the crowd, “Good mornin’, y’all.”

The crowd returned with a hushed “mornin’” before falling back into silence. Yours coming out unintentionally shaky. Pulling a small look from the boy beside you. Awkwardly smiling at him.

That was a mistake.

Baby Billy clicked the remote again. Having to keep his cool after seeing you smile at the boy. Obviously, his slow attempt at a reminder was not working. Lip twitching as he watched how the boy’s eyes scanned your body.

Your gaze shot back up to Baby Billy. Feeling the new setting vibrating inside you. Pushing your legs together in an attempt to relieve yourself. Face heating up silently.

“It’s so nice to see all your beautiful smiling faces today, church. Happy to have so many of ya here today. Now, everybody stand so we can fellowship. Share in that wonderful, warm love for Christ. It’s cold out there, but in here we are warm!” Baby Billy slapped the wood with his words. Sound of shifting seats in unison filling the room as the band strummed to a Hymn.

Baby Billy walked off the stage, completely ignoring your front row and going along to a different section. Shaking hands with his congregation. You softly smiled as you shook hands with all those around you. Palms sweaty and shaky. Silent, unable to return the casualties being shared with you.

Watching as Baby Billy finally looped back around to you. Shaking hands with the boy beside you first. Finally acknowledging your existence. Reaching his thick hand out to you, eyes locked in on yours. You held your anxious hand out to him, allowing him to scoop it into his. Hooded eyes scanned your face. Watching how you twitched trying to hide the pleasure you were feeling. “Hi, Baby,” you sighed out with a broken voice.

His member jumped at your tone. Hearing how disheveled he had gotten you already. Longing to hear you chant his name over and over again as he sheathed deep inside you. “Hi, doll,” Baby Billy whispered as he lingered on your handshake. You exchanged smiles. Secret only known between you.

Blinking himself out of the trance, he took his place back at the pulpit. Deciding you could handle another level up.

The toy vibrated quickly against your throbbing clit. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears as you began to sweat all over. Overwhelmed with pleasure, yet no finish. Having to keep wobbling legs steady as you all stood for the reading of the scripture. Some verse from 1st Corinthians 10, too lost in your own feelings to pay close enough attention. For sure that it had something to do with temptation and being faithful. To everyone else he was just spreading what God had put onto his heart, but you knew better. It was for you.

This was so wrong.

But you could not deny how much you enjoyed it. Knowing Baby Billy felt so much possession over you that even you casually talking to another man got him like this. Forcing you to partake in sinful activities during his own sermon.

Congregation finally instructed to take a seat. Biggest relief you had felt yet. Unable to complete your prayers as everyone else around you bowed their heads. Muttering their prayers in the House of the Lord. The only prayer you could think of was one for strength. The capability to make it through the Sunday service. Leaning forward causing your nub to press against the toy firmer, causing you to bite your lip in response.

Baby Billy peaked through his prayer at you. Watching how you squirmed for him, knowing he was consuming you. Taking any other thoughts out of your mind, but him. Having to heavily focus to remember what he had prepared for his preaching this morning. Not really caring what anyone else had to say. Only wanting you to a point of begging and clinging to him after all was said and done.

Everyone straightened back up with a wave of “Amen”s washing through the church. Sighing loudly as you directed yourself forward. Stomach tightening as the toy continued to push you towards your end. Fixating on Baby Billy’s slim build as he took his place back at the head. Longing to feel his thick fingers roam your body as cold rings pressed into your overheated skin. Smell of expensive cologne and cigarettes a strong memory in your memory.

You could feel your release reaching out to you, begging for you to give in. Until it all suddenly stopped, your lungs tightened in your chest.

He had turned the damned thing off.

Sudden loss of stimulation was infuriating. You pressed your thighs together searching for your release that was ripped from you. Feeling your heartbeat heaving in your chest. Shooting a look up at Baby Billy, seeing him smirking.

This was your real punishment.

The embarrassment and humiliation was one thing, but not allowing you to finish was another. You realized he was not going to force you into a quivering mess overstimulated by too many orgasms. Instead, he was going to have you teary eyed begging to finish. Having to rely on him to give it to you.

You choked awkwardly. Flattening your hands against your lap as you caught your breath. Unaware that you had been holding it. Sweat trickled down your back. Hooded eyes watching Baby Billy invite people up to sing their Sunday Morning songs. Staring at his waist, knowing he was fighting his own pleasure too. Not noticeable to anyone else, but you could see his cock. Knowing what was under those layers of clothes. Biting your lip at the idea of him fucking you.

Baby Billy caught your eyes in his view. Meeting your wanting gaze with soft expressions telling you he was thinking too. Cheeks burning with your arousal. His encouragement made this feel less like a punishment and more like a game. Both of you forcing your attention to the front when the music finally stopped.

His tall, thin figure rose and strutted back to his podium, Bible gripped tightly in his hand. Veins and bones popping out of his matured hands. Oh, how you adored those fingers. His hands knew your body just as well as they knew the Bible. Able to perfectly pleasure you and still have you wanting more by the end.

Softly, the leather bound book laid on the wood. Directly above where Baby Billy had his special remote hidden. Hand journeying into a dark hole to bring you back to life. Pressing it to the softest setting, really wanting you to ride along with it. Bright white smile greeting everyone once again. Instructing everyone to turn to a specific book and chapter. Too distracted by the return of pleasure.

Clumsy fingers turned to what you thought was the correct chapter. Refusing to look at the boy sitting beside you. Lost in how your heart raced against your ribs. Mouth running completely dry. Solely focusing on the sound of Baby Billy. His beautiful twang better than any singing you had heard.

Glossy orbs honed in on him. Locking in on any small motion that deviated from the norm. Noticing his arm slip away once more as the vibrations increased heavily. Sucking your lip between your teeth as your brow furrowed. Shoulders heaving in your state as sweat rolled down your entire body.

Baby Billy droned on about devotion to Christ. And how if you would allow it, God would take care of you forever. And how sometimes the Lord tests us. But all you had to do was show him your dedication and devotion was pure and only his. And that was God's way of showing us His love.

He thinks he's being slick.

His forehead was growing shiny as the stage lights beamed onto his skin. Fighting the feeling rising between his legs when he would see you hunch forward when the toy would hit a certain spot. This was becoming more of a punishment for him than you. Desire to take you away from everyone else filling his veins. Continuing the confess himself to you through the words of the Bible and his sermon. Knowing that you knew what he was meaning with the chosen words he used.

Familiarity dug its fingers into your insides. Constricting walls begging for an ending worth all this you were feeling. Your eyes fell shut for a moment as you took a deep breath. As badly as you wanted to give in, you could not disappoint Baby Billy. No matter the shame and embarrassment that sat so heavy on your shoulders. This was all for him. You would always give yourself to him.

Your lip softly quivered as shaky air fell from you. Hands laced together in your lap as knees bumped and prodded at each other. Everyone else in the room had disappeared as your vision blurred when tears begged to fall from your eyes. An overstimulation of arousal you had no idea you would ever experience.

Baby Billy instructed everyone to bow their heads. Turning off the machine as the room fell silent. Causing your sigh of frustration and relief to reverberate off the walls of the chapel. Heating up your face with embarrassment. Your panties were completely soaked, causing your thighs to stick together slightly. Infatuation for him apparent in your blown pupils and need to peak up and see him. Being greeted with his finger pressed to his lips as he silently mocked the loud puff that had escaped you. Unable to stop yourself from smiling at him.

He was such an ass.

Your fingertips pulsed as you finally relaxed your muscles. Nerves still on end. Raising your head to watch as Baby Billy dismissed everyone. That same hum inside you returning suddenly. Turned up to what you imagined was the highest setting. Causing you to cough as it took your breath away. Pulling a question from your pew-mate that you ignored. Done with any pleasantries you were willing to give. Having to focus every single inch of yourself into not finishing. Overwhelmed with how good it felt.

Baby Billy smiled as he watched people around you stand and share casual conversations. Refusing to leave at the rate the two of you begged. Your legs were shaking. Sweat drenched every single inch of you now. Unable to stop your eyes from forcing themselves shut and your face contorting in your pleasure.

You felt a sudden hand on your thigh. Fingertips edging up your dress.

"Sweetheart," his preacher voice urging you to look at him, almost like a question. Hooded eyes pried open. Meeting his black pupils as he smiled at you. Sweat decorated his face as he breathed heavy. Looking down to see a clear outline of his hard cock through his dress pants. Unknown to you, the room had cleared. Not even noticing that the boy sitting beside you had up and left.

"Ready for our meeting?" Baby Billy's voice was not above a whisper. You nodded vigorously. Knowing if you had to endure another moment of this you were going to be a shouting, squirming mess.

"Please."

~~~

[END//Part 1]

// Thank you so much for reading! I definitely plan on doing a follow up story for this one, if you are interested in being tagged please let me know!! I love writing Baby Billy, the new season of Righteous Gemstones cannot get here fast enough! //

{tags}

@boydcrowderapologist ~ @toogaytofunctiondangit ~ @megangovier ~ @iwmflbb ~ @its-in-the-woods ~ @dichromaniac ~ @manamania ~ @rose-blisse-blog ~ @b0bai ~ @dannymcbridelover ~ @ghoul-rider ~ @trashdoggy ~ @babbling-idiot ~ @beastofburdenxo ~

[userpedros]

wash your hands || joel miller

joel miller x female reader

summary: you run into dads best friend joel when he comes to pick something up from your fathers. (the shrooms never existed in this and they ate the birthday pancakes and all was good ok)

warnings: 18+ this is smut. age gap (reader is in her late twenties and joel in his mid forties), p in v, creampie, oral seggs, hair pulling, fingering, praise kink, slight cum eating (not really but also yes)

authors note: this has not been beta read or proof read. i haven't written in a long time. this came to mind and it completely spilled out of my head

word count: 5.7k - it's long because i never shut up

Suddenly, there he was. She knew what he was thinking, he knew what she was thinking. It was fair to say they were definitely on the same page. They certainly had been for a while. It was unspoken and only noticeable through small touches here and there, small glances, winks and shifted jeans.

You’d had it bad for you dads’ good friend, Joel for a while now and he had it bad for you. You’d never acted on it and he never did either. But there was a shift in the air that told you things were about to change. The rock that settled in the pit of your stomach and the glance he gave you just now when you walked through the front door was only future indicative of what was to come. 

It’d been a few years since you last saw him. You’d been home from college on a break then. You were in your early twenties, and things had changed significantly since you’d last seen him at 19. You’d grown. You weren’t the same girl Joel had watched go off to college when he met your father. Your body shape had changed, your attitude was different; mature but still held an essence of the sunshine you’d had before. Now you were the same girl that came home from that college break back then, but you were even better. Joel didn’t know that it was possible, for someone to age this well within a few years. You were young, but you’d aged so gracefully in the few years since he’d seen you.

Everything was as it had always been for you, but there was something else there. You felt it when you walked through the door. Joel had aged too. You were in your early twenties then the last time you’d seen him, now you were in your mid to late twenties; he was now in his mid-forties, but you had to admit he had aged like fine wine.

The sight of his salt and peppered dark brown hair almost had you drooling. His dark brown eyes had always captured you in a trance. Today was no different.

“Long time no see, Joel.” You smirked as you passed him in the kitchen. Your father and Joel were standing in the kitchen, talking over the island about some job they had just taken. Joel was leaning against the edge of the island, cigarette dangling from his long, calloused fingers. He took a look up at you, angling his head up slightly as he leaned down to ash his cigarette in the tray. Your father stood across the island from him, arms crossed, as one hand pinched the bridge of his nose, while a cigarette dangled in his other hand.

Smoke filled the air, sun light streamed through the window, illuminating the tendrils of smoke that swirled through the air as your eyes connected.

The air immediately felt thick and heavy as you stared back at him, His back straightened slightly as he took in your form.

You were wearing a light blue sundress that tied in the front, showing off a tiny amount of under boob, the tie leaving a little gap underneath it. He looked you up and down, his eyes instantly shifting moods as he removed his cigarette and coughed into his hand, looking away. As usual, Joel was wearing a plaid and pants that were a little too tight on his thick thighs. Simple but the image did the job for you.

He looked down at the floor while you and your father conversed for a moment, talking about your days and making slight small talk about the weather. Joel stood quietly, keeping his gaze trained on the tile as he took in the spots definitely needed to be re-grouted.

You kissed your father on the cheek as you reached onto the counter top, grabbing some mail that had been incorrectly sent to his house.

 “Do you boys have any exciting plans for tonight?” You looked over to your father and then to Joel and wiggled your eyebrows playfully.

Your father chuckled a laugh as he straightened a little, putting his cigarette out.

“No big plans tonight doll, was just tryin’ to convince Joel here to stay and hangout out with a couple of buddies. Maybe play some poker and drink a little bit.” He shook his head, lowering it as he continued to chuckle to himself.

Joel took the opportunity to look into your eyes before quickly looking away again. “Doesn’t sound like the old mans got it in ‘em.”

You laughed a little as you stepped back taking a look at your dad, giving him a big smile. “Pot callin’ the kettle black huh, old man.”

You stepped around your father as you headed towards the stairs. Your father laughed at your response as you reached the first step. “And what do you have planned for tonight, sweetheart?” He called out.

“’M not too sure, probably just going to hang out around the house, might go out. Depends on if you boys get too rowdy.” You shrugged and laughed as you locked eyes with Joel once more. The look he gave you sent shivers that raked down your body. You winked as you caught his gaze. For once, he winked back before turning away faster than you could register.

“I’ll catch you old men later!” You laughed as you bounced up the stairs. You reached your old room, smiling to yourself before shutting the door with a blush staining your cheeks.

You were practically running down the stairs. It was 11:49 and you were running dramatically late to a lunch with some of your friends, one that had been planned for months for when you came back into town. You’d been out earlier looking at apartments and houses for rent in the area, causing you to be a bit behind on time.

As you reached the bottom of the steps, you heard the familiar boom of laughter that sent your heart straight to the pit of your stomach. You could see his face already, before it even came into view. It was the one that stayed etched in the back of your mind. The face you saw at night when the door was closed and your hand was under the covers. The face that consumed your every thought lately, ever since you came back into town.

Joel’s smiling face came into view as you reached the bottom step. He turned to look at you, his smile dropping and his eyes becoming a bit more serious. He looked down again and shifted his stance before bringing his eyes back to yours. You tried not to notice how intense his gaze was as you reached the front door.

“I’ll see you later dad! I’m heading out to lunch with some friends!” Your hand reached the door knob as your dad called out for you to stop for a moment. You turned to face him as your hand released the knob.

“Quick question honey. Not actually a question from me but Joel has something he needs to ask you.” He nodded over to Joel as he took a sip from his drink.

As soon as Joel’s name dropped from his mouth, you straightened your back and decided that right then and there you could care less if you were late. You quickly took your phone out and texted your friends letting them know you’d be an extra five minutes late.

As you walked over to your father and Joel, you took notice in the way he was leaning against the counter tops. His arms were straining against the short-sleeved tee he had on, his jeans were hugging his thighs as always. He looked damn good today, the sweat dripping from his grey dusted brown locks made you wish you had a pillow to scream into.

You looked over at your father as he began to dive into something you were only half listening too. Your ears only really began to work as soon as the words, “Joel” and “daughter needs a tutor…” were out of his mouth.

You turned and looked back to Joel as soon as your father finished.

“It’s true, Sarah does need a tutor. You think you’d be available in a day or two?” Joel stood up straight, hope looming in his eyes. He’d never admit that Sarah was doing well enough in class to not need a tutor, he just wanted to get you closer to him in whatever way he could.

“Of course, I’d be happy to help Sarah.” You beamed toward Joel. “Here, let’s exchange numbers so you can text me what class she needs help in, that way I know what to grab. I think I still have my old high school things here somewhere.” You looked up to the ceiling as you tried to think of where you’d stuffed your papers as he took your phone from your hand. He was careful not to actually touch you but as he got closer to you, the air started to electrify.

As soon as he put his number in your phone, you texted him so he’d have your number. You both looked back up at each other in the same second, the air getting heavier. You quickly looked back to your dad as you slid your phone into your purse.

“Alright old folks, I really have to get going. I’m already going to be twenty minutes late.”

 Your dad reached over and placed a kiss on your cheek as you waved goodbye to Joel.

“I’ll shoot ya a text tomorrow, Joel!” You called over your shoulder as you headed out the door.

Joel would never admit it but he waited all night for a text. Every time his phone illuminated; he was grabbing it. It was crazy to him to think that one of his best friend’s daughter had him like this, 20 years younger than him no less. It was pretty clear to Joel that you were going to be the death of him, regardless of what the future held.

It was a beautiful afternoon. The sun shone down on your legs causing your body to become incredibly warm as you held a novel close to your face. Your sunglasses had become more of a statement piece then actually protecting your eyes from the sun. The birds were chirping and it was getting to an incredibly intense part in your book.

You were so entranced in the novel that you didn’t hear the loud truck pull up on the curb down the street. You didn’t even notice the slight breeze as your dress lifted slightly on your thigh, showing a little more skin. The one thing that you definitely didn’t hear was Joel walking up the porch steps, because if you had noticed you wouldn’t be talking to the characters in your book, out loud.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” You sighed out as you dramatically dropped your book on the porch floor next to the swing. The dramatic ending of the book caught you completely off guard, but what was standing in front of you was equally just as off putting, if not more. Your breath caught in your throat as you looked up at him.

“Joel. Hi.” You barely got the two words out as you took him in.

 He was wearing another tight t-shirt and signature thigh hugging jeans. It was nothing out of the ordinary for him but his shirt was covered in dirt. His jeans were also speckled with dirt spots. Your mouth dried up as you looked up at him. You sat up immediately and smoothed your dress down.

 “My dad isn’t here, he just left to meet someone about a job site.” You nervously stepped a bit closer to him, wondering why he was here. Maybe your delusional thoughts about him weren’t as crazy as you’d thought. Maybe he had been flirting with you all those times. Maybe those glances were a little too long, and maybe, just maybe, your revealing dresses did have the effect on him you’d thought they did. But then Joel spoke, sparking disappointment.

“’M aware. He sent me here to grab some tools from your basement. Would you mind lettin’ me in, sweetheart?”

Your cheeks stained a bright red as you nodded, brushing past him to open the front door. You stepped into the foyer and stepped aside as he walked past you. His arm brushed yours as he turned to shut the front door. The electric wave that the brush sent through your skin was intoxicating, and it was over as soon as it started. You were really starting to think you needed to get a grip. You shook it off and turned around, calling over your shoulder to Joel.

“Grab whatever you need, I’m just going to grab a glass of water.”

 You heard footsteps reach the basement door and the door close behind you.  

It was about 15 minutes later as the basement door shut behind him causing you to jump a little as he headed towards the kitchen.

You’d spent the last 15 minutes waiting for him and trying to cool down with a glass of water and redirect your thoughts to anywhere but Joel. You were trying to think of anything but how incredibly delusional it seemed you had been. You still couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe you weren’t crazy and it wasn’t just you with all of these feelings.

Joel walked into the kitchen, setting the box of tools down on the counter as he walked over to the cabinet with the cups.

“Do ya mind, darlin’? His eyebrows rose as he looked down at you. You nodded and reached to grab the glass for him when you both reached the knob at the same time. The glance you both shared just then was enough to get your blood boiling.

“Here, let me get it.” You said, blushing once more as you filled the cup with ice and water.

The room was silent and still as you turned around to set the glass on the counter near him.

He took a drink, his eyes never leaving yours. Suddenly you were hot again and shifting in your stance and clenching your thighs.

“Hows the apartment search comin’ along? Your dad said you think you found, ‘the one’?” He spoke as he set the glass down, never taking his eyes off yours.

You nodded as you decided to be bold and took a step closer to him. “Yeah, it’s actually really close to you and Sarah. It’s just a small little house but it’s perfect for me.” You smiled up at him as you struggled to breath.

“Glad you found somethin’ good. Seems like a good decision movin’ back here. Your pops really missed you.” He takes another sip as he continues to stare you down. “I mean we all did, weird without you here sunshine.”

You gulp as he starts to speak again, this time the tone shifted and the air changed. You knew that you weren’t making anything up, for once you weren’t delusional. Everything began to make sense.

“Does that mean I won’t get to see you as often?” He stepped closer to you, and you stepped closer to him. “Have to be honest here, I really enjoy seein’ you in those dresses. Your dad isn’t the only reason I continue to stick around.” He smirked as he stepped even closer.

You knew it was time to act and thank fucking god you’d been right this whole time. Age gaps be damned, the heart wants what it wants and all that bullshit right? Age is but a number? Whatever people say. You speak up, setting the tone and praying he’d keep going along with it.

“If I have my address right, I think I might actually be your neighbor.” You took another step closer, the air thick with desire. You stood on your toes so you could whisper the next words out of your mouth into his ear. “Don’t worry Joel. I’ll leave my windows open so you can see me in those dresses whenever your heart desires.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, you leaned back a little to see his expression.

“You teasin me, darlin’?” His parted lips were on yours as he spoke his next sentence, his breathing hitting yours. He looked down to where your mouths touched. “’S a dangerous thing to do. I’m not like all the boys your age. I take what I want.”

“Then take it.” You said into his mouth as you looked into his eyes.

When your eyes met, he leaned down and crashed his lips to yours. You kissed him back with full force, tangling your hands in his hair. Pulling slightly as you angle your body into his.

Your mind was reeling as your mouths stayed connected. Joel tapped on your thighs, singling for you to jump. As you jumped into his arms, he spun you around and set you on the counter. As soon as your ass hit the cool counter, you moaned into Joel’s mouth. That only caused him to grip your hips harder.

“Been thinkin’ about this sweet little mouth for a while now.” He said into your mouth before crashing his lips back to yours.

You pulled away to look up at him, your breathing incredibly labored. “I could say the same, Miller.”

The lustful look in his eyes grew as you nodded towards the stairs. “Upstairs. Now.” You managed to say breathlessly.

He didn’t bother to wait to see if you had anything else to say as he grabbed your thighs and lifted you up, attaching his lips to yours once more. As you two made your way to the stairs, you thought you heard someone coming in through the back door. Your mouths detached as you mouthed for him to go into the bathroom directly from the top of the stairs. You clutch onto Joel as he reaches the top stair, taking two long steps before you two enter the bathroom and he is drops you onto the counter.

He quietly shuts the door as he clamps his other hand over your mouth. You both wait to hear who came through the back door, and sure enough it was your father. Joel turns and locks the bathroom door. He turns back to you, leans down and whispers in your ear.

“How quiet can you be, sweetheart?” His Texan accent thick, it was music to your ears.

“’s quiet, Joel.” You mumble against his hand. Just as he goes to remove his hand, the device in his pocket makes a loud vibrating sound. He keeps his hand around your mouth as he uses his other to fish it out of his pocket and pull it out in front of you. You both look down at the text that appears on the screen of the illuminated device.

Did you forget about the tools man?

It was a text from your dad. Joel curses silently as he sends a text back to him, the lie rolling right off his fingertips.

Sorry –forgot to grab ‘em off the counter. Got a call and headed out without thinkin’.

You hear your dad gruff in the kitchen as you both look back up to each other. Just then another text brightens the screen again.

Sure thing – just hope whoever she is, is worth the longer lunch break

You both snapped down to read the text. Your eyes looking back to his as you finish.

“Oh she’s definitely worth it.” He says quietly, looking directly at you. A blush creeps across your face as you two continue to hold eye contact.

As the seconds pass by, his eyes drop back to your mouth.

“You gonna kiss me or what, Miller? You’re growin ol-“ He cuts you off by placing his mouth on yours, the kiss heating up by the second. His fingers grip onto your hip as his phone falls onto the counter behind you. His other hand comes up to rest on your cheek, pulling you even closer. You didn’t think it was possible to this close to someone. If you two were in public kissing like this, it would definitely warrant a call to the police for public indecency. It was down right animalistic. Both of your feelings completely on display. There would be no denying after this that you had it bad for Joel Miller.

“Say old one more time, sweetheart.” He rasped as he pulled back from your mouth. “You sure don’t seem to mind how old I am with my tongue down your throat. Naughty girl. I’m sure your daddy would love to know what I’m about to do to you in his house.”

“And what exactly are you going to do, Joel?” You wink as your head is being tilted back by his hand in your hair. He angles it back further as he goes in to attach his lips to your throat.

“I’m gonna bend you over this counter top, and make you watch as I show ya what you’ve been missin'.’” His lips ghost over your neck as his southern accent thickens, the drawl really coming out. “I don’t think the word ‘old’ will ever come out of your mouth when you talk about me after I’m done with you.”

You moaned quietly as he began to pepper kisses down your throat. His hand moved from your hip to the other side of your face, the other hand falling to your neck. He continued his assault of kisses, moving lower and lower with each peck. He softly moved each of your straps of your dress down off your shoulders as he started to kiss his way back up to your throat. He stopped once more, his landing right in of your ear.

“You think you can handle that, sweet girl? Can you keep up?” His voice was barely above a whisper, his breath lingering on your ear.

You pulled him forward a bit as you whispered into his ear, “I think we should stop talking and get to it, Miller.”

The second the words left your mouth; his mouth was on yours again. You slid your hands down his t-shirt clad chest and stopped as soon as your fingers reached his belt. As you two continued your assault on each other’s mouths, you managed to work his belt through the loop, yanking it away from the button on his jeans.

You heard the door slam below you downstairs, singling your father was still home. You chose to ignore that thought and started to pull at Joels pants.

“Woah there sweetheart,” He said into your mouth as he removed his hands from your face to take your palms into his. “You’re insane if you think I’m not going to have a taste of that sweet little cunt first.”

You made eye contact as he winked and went back to kissing down your throat, stopping just above your breasts before pulling one out of the top of your sundress, slightly moving it to the side.

“Been teasin’ me with these for a while now.” He looked down at your rounded peak before placing his mouth directly onto it.

He licked and sucked, twirling his tongue around the peak. He removed his other hand from yours, placing it onto your hip, grabbing it tightly. He slammed it back into the cabinet, pushing himself completely onto you. There was no room between the two of you now. Joel’s mouth was on your breast, the other gripping your hip. One of your hands was tangled in his hair and the other on the back of his neck, trying to push him further into you. Even if that was even possible. 

Without warning he removed his mouth from your chest, a small popping sound filling the air, the cold air of the bathroom hitting your wet breast.

He moved his hand from the counter top and ran it up your now exposed slit, stopping to rub circles onto your clit.  You gasped as his calloused thumb rubbed over your most sensitive spot, tugging on his hair even more.

“Such a dirty girl, completely bare underneath that little sundress of yours.” Without warning, he pushed his middle finger into your heat, completely sheathing it inside of you. “Does this mean every time I’ve seen you in those little dresses, you’ve been like this? You’ve just been waiting for me, an old man to just lift up your skirt and fuck you silly, haven’t you sweetheart?”

“Always. Been thinkin’ about this for a while, Joel. Feels right.” You whispered as he shut his eyes and moaned before he pushed a second finger into you. He angled them, hitting just the right spot as he began to lower himself down onto his knees.

Suddenly, without warning he pulled his fingers from you and attached his mouth directly to your pussy. You stifled a groan as you brought your fist that was gripping the counter top to your mouth. You bit down on your flesh as you struggled to keep quiet as Joel licked up and down your slit, stopping at your clit to suck on it lightly before placing his fingers back inside of you, one at a time.

He sucked your sensitive bud while positioning his fingers in and out of you. The wetness that coated his fingers began to drip down his hands slightly, brushing up against your thighs.

His attack on your pussy lasted for several more minutes before he began to moan into you. “Such a sweet, needy little cunt.”

“Joel please –“ You moaned out as his hand moved from your hip to your mouth. It clamped over it, earning a groan from Joel.

“Gotta be quiet, pretty girl. Can’t let your daddy know I’m in his bathroom completely ruining his daughter, can we? What would he say? If he knew that I was tongue deep in his sweet girl’s pussy?”

With the whisper of those words, he was back to his mouth on your slit and his thumb on your clit. As his tongue dove in and out of you, it became impossible to hold back what you knew what was coming. You shut your eyes, looking away from the sweet sight of Joel in between your thighs and groaned as you begun to see stars. The buildup coming was coming fast and just as fast as it was built up, it was torn down as Joel removed himself from where he had been positioned, and stood up. He made eye contact with you as he shoved those fingers that had been inside you, into your mouth. The taste of his saliva and you exploded on your tongue. You groaned onto his fingers as he watched.

His eyebrows furrowed together and he let out a quiet, “fuck,” as he took in your whole form. Your sundress was bunched up around your hips while your hair dangled behind you, completely tangled from having it wrapped around his fist. He grabbed your hair again, and tilted your head back to look you in the eyes.

His words seemed to catch in his throat as he closed his mouth and flipped you over with one fluid motion, your hair still wrapped around his hand. He leaned you back, placing your back to his front. You looked up in the mirror to meet his gaze, the bite of the counter top glazing your skin. The contrast of the cool stone against your hot skin added another element to everything your body was feeling.

Joel hiked your dress up with his free hand as he kept his gaze trained on you in the mirror. He pulled his jeans down, bunching your dress up in his fist.

You watched as he maneuvered his jeans, then his boxers down, pulling out his incredibly thick length. You two continued to have a stare down in the mirror as he reached around putting his hand in front of your mouth.

“Spit.” You spat into his hand as your eyes burned into his. “Good girl.”

That was all Joel said before placing his now slick hand on his length. You watched as he pumped himself a few times before positioning himself at your entrance. He swiped his length up and down your slit, bumping your clit each time. It made your grip on the counter top intensify, Your knuckles were beyond white, your hands were going numb.

“Ready for me to completely ruin you, doll? And all with your daddy downstairs?” He leaned forward, barely whispering. His southern accent incredibly thick, which only added to the slick between your thighs.

You couldn’t even speak let alone form a coherent sentence right now, so you settled for a nod.

With that, Joel pushed inside of you, letting out a low groan as he sank himself deep inside. You had never been with someone this thick before and it was a slight adjustment. He didn’t leave too much time for you to get used to it as he began to slip in and out of you, picking up the pace.

Joel grabbed one of your legs and held it in his hand, moving it off to the side so he could slide even deeper into you. With one of his hands in your hair, the other holding your leg up, you couldn’t keep the moans from falling from your lips.

Joel tilted your head back and leaned forward placing his lips on the base of your neck, leaving light kisses. He never took his eyes off of yours, as you two stared at each other in the mirror. He continued to fuck you into the counter. He moved a hand to your hips and laid his head on your shoulder as he continued to pump in and out of you.

Your breasts were threating to jump out of your dress so you moved a hand, releasing your grip on the stone counter top and pulled the top of your dress down. Joel moaned when he looked up, catching the sight of your breasts bouncing up and down, meeting the timing of his thrusts.

You knew he wasn’t going to be able to last much longer by the way his pace had begun to get sloppy. You weren’t either. He was hitting all the right spots, angling himself deep inside of you. He released his grip on your hip and placed his thumb over your clit once more, attending to the sensitive flesh.

That’s when everything seemed to go dark for you, you began to pant and tried to stifle your moans as you felt your release building.

Then it hit you all at once, Joel released his hand from your hair, bringing it up to your mouth to keep it shut as he began to fuck you harder and faster.

“Gotta fill you up sweet thing. Want to have you drippin’ with me so when you walk downstairs you’re reminded of what a filthy little slut you are for daddy’s best friend.” You groaned into his hand as you came, seeing stars.

You rode out your high as Joel hit his, the feeling of you clenching on him sending him over the edge. Thick ropes of his cum painted your insides. He stayed inside of you for a moment as you both collapsed onto the counter top, taking a second to catch your breaths.

“Holy shit.” Was all you could manage to say as Joel pulled away, resituating himself. He pulled up his jeans and boxers while you watched the entire time.

He leaned forward and used his index finger to push what was leaking of him back inside of you, his eyebrows furrowing the whole time.

“Can’t believe I waited so long for this. Would’ve had this sweet cunt for every meal if I knew how good she’d be.” He whistled as he stuck his dirtied finger into your mouth. You sucked the remnants of you and him off the digit. Your eyes never leave his through the mirror the whole time.

“Better wash your hands now Joel, I think you got a little dirty.” You winked up at him as he helped you stand up and situate yourself. He rolled his eyes as your words sunk in, and he gave you a smack on the ass.

“If I’m the dirty one after that doll, you’re down right filthy.” He whistled as you moved over so he could slide past you.

You both took turns scrubbing your hands, removing the cum and slick from both of your fingertips. After he shut the water off, and dried his hands, he turned to face you.

“Think we might have to do that again sometime, Miller.” You winked and turned around to leave, grabbing the handle first. That’s when you both heard the back door shut below you, indicating that your dad had just left. You both took that as your cue to leave and you both spilled out into the hallway above the steps. The stench of sex leaking from the bathroom.

You both walked down the steps, and reaching the front door at the same time. As you went to open it for Joel, he shut it.

“I’ll see you tonight, right?” He lifted your chin so you could meet his gaze.

You had totally forgot about going to his place to help tutor his daughter, Sarah. You both knew now that once you’d gotten a taste of each other it wasn’t going to be enough. You weren’t sure if it ever would. You were certain you weren’t going to miss that tutoring session for the world.

“Of course, I will be there tonight. I, personally, can’t wait.” You smiled up at him. He seemed to like your answer as he began to open the door, stepping outside slightly. He nodded as he pulled you into his side and kissed your forehead. As you leaned away, he pulled you into him and whispered in your ear before the door shut.

“Can’t wait, sweet girl. Maybe we can have a study session of our own once you two are done.”

And with that, he was out the door and gone. You were left to wonder what the fuck just happened.