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#a good old fashioned cowboy
doesnotloveyou · 3 months
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online articles these days are all pointlessly fluffed up click bait except the bait is things you actually need. you search "keurig not responding" and the first lines out of any top article are just,
If you love coffee, you may own a Keurig...
With 20 million sold...
Who doesn't love a good cup of coffee?...
Mmmm, I just LOVE my Keurig!
followed by four paragraphs of BS about Keurigs like this is a recipe on some mommy blog. you skip to the troubleshooting and it's,
If it's not turning on, have you tried plugging it in?
If it isn't brewing, have you tried cleaning it of the crap you've filled it with?
If the screen isn't working, you must have done something to make the computer unhappy!
If resetting it isn't working, that's probably because you're a moron for buying a computer to make coffee. Your ancestors are having a good laugh at your expense!
Go to the official support page and before you can read anything a popup fills the screen "Get 20% Off Your Next Purchase by Signing Up Now!" because of course the only way to fix a product is to just buy a whole new one
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starlene · 2 months
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Apparently, if the synopsis they have published online is to be trusted, there is no Quincey in Finnish National Ballet's upcoming Dracula ballet??
Who even cares about it in that case.
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shrimplicitly · 2 years
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do i excrete like fly sex hormones or something why is there always a pair of flies fucking and sucking sloppy style on me
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swiftispunk · 5 months
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creep it real! | joel miller x f!reader
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summary: a masked angel. a rugged cowboy. you're the answer to joel's prayers...until he realizes who you are.
pairing: dbf!joel miller x f!reader rating: 18+ minors dni word count: 9.8k warnings etc: [NO OUTBREAK] smut, age gap (20s/50s), dbf!joel comes with his own warning, a bad case of hidden identity leading to what one could maybe call dubcon*, semi-public sex, just a smidgen of degradation (joel calls reader a slut), hints of mean!joel, brief daddy kink, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (we're living in a make believe world in this one, folks), mirror sex, creampie, use of a gag, one (1) pussy slap, spit in places it doesn't need to be, reader has hair and wears make up, hair pulling, spanking, dirty talk, pet names, alcohol, reader's family celebrates halloween, allusions to past parental trauma. no use of y/n. *reader deceives joel by concealing her identity up to the point of kissing. consent is knowingly given for everything thereafter.
a/n: for mimi @mrsquill, who gave me this idea and for being the biggest dbf!joel whore i know. happy belated birthday, angel. also thank you to @joelscruff for accidentally beta'ing this.
my kofi | updates blog: @swiftispunkupdates
It's cooler than it should be.
The end of October has brought with it a chill you don't recall from your years growing up in Texas. Or maybe it's just been too long since you've been home.
You stare yourself down the mirror of your vanity. The light blue wood of it is faded with time, sticky drawers barren save for the remnants of memories from days gone by; letters from now-dead grandparents, Polaroids with now-lost friends, empty tubes of now-out-of-fashion lipstick shades.
Everything around your reflection is the same as it was when you'd left this place five years ago, a frame of youthful innocence. The person staring back at you, however, is anything but innocent, even if she is donning the wings of an angel.
No. Surrounded by the leftovers from your childhood, the angel in the mirror is all woman.
And she looks good.
A white, boned corset hugs the curves of your upper body, pushing your tits up high on your chest and accentuating the slopes of your waist. The strapless sweetheart neckline shows off your collarbones deliciously, the long line of your neck accented by a thin, white choker. A flowing satin skirt fans out over your hips, cutting off at the midpoint of your thigh, just a hint of skin showing between the hem and the lace edge of your white thigh-high stockings.
You adjust the ribbony straps that hold the feathered, white wings in place over your shoulders, fan your hair out and tousle it slightly, testing out your very best smile before letting it fall, satisfied.
You debate whether or not to even wear the stupid mask. Gaudy and ornate, you have to admit it matches the rest of your costume beautifully, with silver gems glued to one side and a sheer, white veil that you know will conceal most of your face. Perfect for the masquerade bar crawl your high school friends are dragging you to later this evening. A bit much for your father's annual Halloween Bash you feel obligated to attend first.
Resignedly, you slip it on - practice that smile again. It's the only part of your face still visible.
Just one piece remains, sitting on the vanity, white and dainty and looking up at you somewhat menacingly. You slip the garter over your leg and wedge it high up on your thigh, concealed under the flouncy fabric of your skirt like a secret.
You take one last look at the obnoxious cleavage spilling out over the edge of the corset and decide, at least for now, to opt for modesty. You carefully remove your wings and follow the scent of naphthalene to your closet, fish out an old cardigan and throw it over your exposed shoulders. A relic from another life, it's a few sizes too small, fuzzy and a shade of ivory that doesn't quite match the perfect white of the skirt. The sleeves hit just below your elbows and the fabric clings a little too tightly to your form but it's better than the alternative.
Pearlescent buttons line its front, and you seal them right to the top, so only a hairsbreadth of flesh is poking out below the silver cross at the centre of the choker.
Better.
You slip your wings back over your arms, smooth out the straps and finally leave the woman in the mirror behind.
-
Creep it real!
The words line the banner that hangs above your father's front door, just one of many cheesy puns and hokey decorations that litter the main floor of his home.
It's too fucking much. It's always too fucking much. Your dad's favourite holiday for as long as you can remember, Halloween is always a bit of a production.
You help string cotton cobwebs from the ceilings and stick cartoonish bats to the wood-panelled walls. Your mother, dressed as the perfect Bride of Frankenstein, makes punch and fills bowls with chips and candy while your father, dressed as her perfect monster, puts the finishing touches on the lawn display, all gravestones and skeletons and intricately carved jack-o-lanterns. You watch him through the front window with a dubious smile as he gets the smoke machine going. Easily his most prized possession, it had been a lucky find at a yard sale from a neighbour who'd once worked in set direction.
It's funny how, after all these years, your parents haven't changed a bit. It's also funny how seemingly easy it is for them to pretend you hadn't left on bad terms.
"Thanks for helping out, kiddo," your dad's saying as he makes his way back inside, snatching a black plastic spider from your hand and reaching up over your head to the corner of the window pane, lodging it into place in a tangle of cotton. "Nice to have you home."
You give him your best smile, that one you'd practiced so much it probably looks as phony as it feels.
"It's nice to be back," you tell him even though it's a lie. "Thanks for putting me up."
He frowns. "We're not putting you up; this is your home."
It's a nice sentiment but it's not really true. This hasn't been your home in years and you've been more than content to keep it that way. Even now, you've got no plans to stay beyond this weekend, already bored and tired of the life you'd left behind.
"I know it is, Dad, sorry," you amend for his benefit.
"You're a good sport stickin' around for the party, too," he adds.
"Sure," you shrug, although you're selfishly much more interested in getting to the bar and finding someone who will hopefully make it so you don't have to spend the night at your parent's house.
"I think some folks'll be surprised to see you," he goes on. "Dropped in so last minute, I didn't get the chance to tell anyone you'd be home."
Yeah - you know. It had been a somewhat intentional move on your part, knowing all too well how your parents would make a thing out of your return. Plus, you hadn't really planned to be here, either; the timing had just worked out as you'd happened to be passing through the Austin for work. It had felt almost wrong not to stop in for a few days. Try to put appearances and make nice.
"It's fine, I probably won't hang out too long anyway." Best not to get his hopes up.
He grins warmly, tells you to stay as long as you want, and then your conversation is abruptly cut off by your mother blasting 'Monster Mash' through the living room speakers.
-
Twilight fades into dusk fades into night and the party is in full swing.
The sound of music and a cacophony of voices fills the air, clinking beer bottles and thrumming bass echoing loudly in your ears where you stand against a wall, mostly keeping to yourself unless otherwise spoken to. The living room is dimly lit by a superfluous display of electronic tea lights, casting an orange glow over the crowd of faces that you assume would be familiar if they weren't obscured by smatterings of fake blood, glitter and silicone.
One figure stands out among the throng though, perhaps because he doesn't seem to have put much effort into his costume at all. The dark plaid that stretches across the expanse of his back unleashes a flood of memories (or more accurately, a distant collage of schoolgirl fantasies). You recognize him beyond a doubt, even before he turns to the side and reveals that unmistakable hooked nose and strong jaw, patchy facial hair that's a little greyer now than it was when you used to daydream about how it would feel brushing against your cheek.
Joel Miller.
Your father's oldest friend from down the road, he's broader than you remember him, thicker in the arms and midsection, the latter especially noticeable in the way his belly strains over the waistband of his jeans, confined by plaid tucked into well-worn denim, all accented by an ostentatious belt buckle. His face is partially cast in shadow by the off-white cowboy hat he's wearing, the ensemble capped off by a faded red bandana tied clumsily around his wide neck.
And fuck, if it doesn't suit him. There's something almost natural about the way he tips his hat at passing partygoers, the way he leans against the wall opposite you and hooks a thumb over the massive belt buckle, the engraved metal shining faintly in the low light. Gripping the neck of a beer bottle with his other hand, he's a man plucked straight from a Marlboro ad, even more beautiful now than the last time you saw him - years ago now.
Your heart nearly stops when his eyes suddenly flit upwards and catch yours across the room. He smirks, a lop-sided, curious thing and it's only then you realize you're fucking staring.
You avert your eyes, scan the crowd without seeing anything, only to land your gaze on him again. He hasn't looked away. You stiffen where you stand, hold his stare for a second too long. You swallow harshly and his smile widens.
Christ, you need a drink. Your heart's pounding as if there's anything more to that smile than an old family friend politely recognizing his best friend's daughter.
But then his eyes rake over your front, not-so-subtly fixating on the skin above your stockings. He tilts his head to the side, and if you didn't know any better, you'd think he were assessing you. Even from here, under the low glow of synthetic candlelight, you see a muscle in his jaw click, plush lips pursing as his dark eyes trail back up your chest, landing on your masked face before he brings his beer bottle back up to his mouth and takes a long pull. His eyes don't leave your face.
Okay, maybe you're not imagining it. Sweet, reserved, respectful Joel (a single dad if your memory serves) is definitely eye-fucking you from across the room right now. In your father's home. Like he doesn't care at all that he once knew you as a child.
You resist the urge to pinch yourself.
Instead, you decide to test the waters. Bite your lip and flit your gaze to his mouth, watch him as you turn towards the kitchen and catch the moment he decides to follow.
Not imagining it.
It's lighter in the kitchen, the sound of the party dulled but not entirely silenced beyond the wall. Safer, private.
You feign nonchalance, crouching to retrieve a beer from the fridge, blissfully aware that the boots you hear against the linoleum a moment later belong to Joel without needing to look up and see for yourself.
Sure enough -
"S'a nice costume," a gruff says from behind you. You jolt upright, beer in hand, to face the source of the sound. And there's the Marlboro man in all his glory, standing in the doorway of the kitchen with a playful glint in his eye and a devilish smile plastered to his face.
You grin, cheeks warming at the way he looks you over in the light of the kitchen, so much brighter here than in the living room, staring at your chest as though he could see right through the thin fabric of your cardigan.
You work to play it cool, even as your skin burns under the weight of his stare.
"You think?"
You twist to the side, giving him a better view of the entire ensemble, wings and all. You figure there's no need for subtly at this point; wrong or right, the way he's looking at you now tells you he hasn't just followed you into the kitchen for a quick hello.
"Yeah, I do," he says, inching further into the room. "Go on, let me see all of it."
Jesus. Joel's apparently given up on subtly too. You suppose it could be interpreted as harmless. But then you spin for him, all the way around so the soft fabric of your skirt flutters around your thighs. You come to a stop facing him, watch his smile fade to something darker when you daringly lift the hem of your skirt to reveal the garter with a smirk.
And if there was going to be a moment for him to decide that you'd taken things too far, that would be it. But he doesn't. Instead, he stalks even closer, eyes fixed on the edge of your skirt, almost entranced in the way he shakes his head.
"So fuckin' sexy," he marvels quietly.
"Oh my god."
The words escape you almost like a laugh because there's just no fucking way. Every fantasy you've ever had is being brought to life before your eyes. A moment imagined in a thousand different ways. Joel Miller finally seeing you as an object of desire. Joel Miller undeniably wanting you.
He instantly flushes at your reaction, setting his empty beer bottle down on the counter and removing his hat to run a nervous hand through his hair. And it's the first sign you see of the Joel you think you know - polite, charming. Disarmingly good-mannered.
"Sorry, comin' on a bit strong, I guess," he chuckles. He holds his hat to his chest and reaches his other hand between your bodies. You stare at it in confusion. "I'm Joel. What's your name, sweetheart?"
"Oh."
Another involuntary reaction, whispered and soft as realization smooths across your features.
No wonder he's being so callous with his advances; Joel doesn't know who you fucking are.
Faced with a dilemma, you very quickly work through your options. You know what you should do, what the morally right decision is. You should be honest, tell him your name, remove your mask. Watch him grapple with embarrassment and politely leave you to it. You can't imagine he'd carry on with you if he had any idea you were his friend's daughter.
But then again...he already wants you. Right? And you wholeheartedly want him. So what if he doesn't know who you are? Maybe part of you likes it that way. You're not the same person you were the last time he saw you anyway.
You will tell him the truth, you decide. Just...not yet.
You take his hand in yours and shake.
"Tonight, cowboy, you can just call me Angel."
Joel grins, cocks his eyebrows and chuckles. "Oh yeah?"
You don't get a chance to respond because then he's bringing your hand up to his lips to press a soft kiss against your knuckles and the words die on your tongue, your mind temporarily going blank at the feeling of his scruff scratching at the back of your hand and his dark gaze peering up at you from under his lashes.
"Alright, then Angel."
No. You're definitely not telling him the truth yet.
He lets your hand fall and puts his hat back on before leaning an elbow casually against the kitchen counter. The sleeves of his flannel are rolled up, revealing thick forearms and tan skin. Unconsciously, you gravitate closer.
"S'quite the party, huh?" he grins, cocking his chin in the direction of the music and orange light emanating from just around the corner.
You shrug. "It's fine. I'm not staying long. Going out to a club soon."
You don't miss the way his smiles falters just the slightest bit.
"You live in the neighbourhood?" he asks. "Don't think I've seen ya around before."
"Haven't you?"
"Woulda remembered, I reckon."
You have to bite back a laugh at that.
"Well, I used to live around here, but I moved away a few years back," you shrug. It's technically not a lie.
"But you're back in town," he says. States it. Not a question.
"For now."
Joel smirks, drags his eyes over you again, contemplative. Still, no sign of recognition passes over his features, only unbridled interest that makes your cheeks burn and your mouth water.
"What made you leave?" he wonders after a moment of charged silence, his wandering gaze finally landing on the one part of your face he can see.
Now there's a loaded question. Your eyebrows shoot up your forehead as you consider how best to answer him, attempting to bide yourself some time as you ease your body closer to his with a pointed sway of your hips.
"You know, I don't really like to think about the past," you land on and right now it couldn't be more true.
Joel chuckles, brows knitting together somewhat dubiously at the response. Thankfully, he doesn't push it.
"What are you drinkin', Angel?" he asks, his eyes darting down to the beer bottle in your hand.
"Oh - beer," you tell him. "You want one?"
"Won't say no to ya," he smiles.
You turn back to the fridge, bending at the hip rather than crouching this time, fully aware of the view you're offering him. If he reacts, you don't hear it, but when you face him again, beer in hand, his arms are crossed over his chest and his cheeks are painted a faint shade of pink.
Good.
You extend one of the bottles out to him, eyes fixed on the way his biceps strain against the fabric of his shirt. His fingers ghost against yours when he takes the bottle from your hand and it shoots an electric tingle down your spine.
"Bottle opener's in there," you tell him, nodding towards the drawer he's currently leaning against. He follows your gaze and seems to consider moving for a moment. Then he grins.
"I got it," he says, placing his own bottle on the counter. Your brows furrow and then your jaw drops as Joel then begins to fiddle with his belt buckle, undoing the notches so it hangs loose around his waist.
Your pulse quickens and you nervously look over your shoulder, suddenly terrified of someone walking in on you.
"S'alright," Joel assures you, redrawing your attention. When you turn back to him you he's holding a hand out to you. "Let me see."
He nods towards the bottle and you silently hand it to him, entranced. Then you watch as he deftly hooks the edge of the silver buckle under the lip of the bottle cap. He flicks his wrist upwards and with a sizzling pop, the cap goes flying, landing with a quiet clang onto the tiled floor.
"Wow," you murmur, genuinely impressed and suddenly unable to tear your eyes away from his fucking crotch.
Joel seems to notice the response, taking you by surprise as he places the bottle on the counter and wraps his fingers around your wrist, gently pulling you into him. Your bodies don't touch but you can feel the heat radiating off him from here, the static buzz that fills the remaining space between you.
"Old party trick," he jokes, voice low.
You find yourself peering towards the kitchen door again. Joel notices that too.
"Hey," he murmurs, catching a finger on your chin to turn your face back in his direction. You swallow against the nerves suddenly bubbling up in your throat.
"S'this alright?" he asks as he traces his fingers up your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You nod.
"Yeah," you decide, throwing caution to the wind and pressing your hips forward till you feel the hard metal of his loosened belt buckle jutting into your stomach.
He hums, a sound deep in his chest, and it's all you can do just to stand there as he curiously runs his fingers over your shoulder, smirking as he fiddles with the feathers of your wings and inspects the costume up close, dark brown eyes scaling hungrily up and down your body. His hand moves downward then, over the fabric of your cardigan, thinly veiling the bones of the corset beneath and you wonder if he can feel them, if he knows what you're hiding when he rests his palm against your waist and pulls you in just that little bit closer.
His gaze lands on your parted lips and there's a moment of heated anticipation where you're certain he's going to kiss you, the smell of him so close and inviting.
"No halo?" he whispers instead, cocking his eyebrows and lifting his gaze to the top of your head. "Shouldn't a good little angel have a halo?"
Oh, fuck.
"Well, maybe I'm not such a good little angel," you purr, only the hint of a shake in your voice as you widen your eyes and bat your lashes for good measure. You swear you hear his breath stutter before he's shaking his head in near-disbelief. You smirk; it's exactly the reaction you'd been hoping for.
"Anyway, the halo felt like overkill," you shrug.
Joel scoffs, glancing down to grab at the fabric of your skirt. Your brain short-circuits as he hikes it up your leg, revealing the white lace garter sat high on your thigh.
"And this?" he questions darkly. "You're tellin' me this ain't overkill?"
You laugh even though it's not funny, even though arousal is steadily pooling at your core and coursing through your burning veins.
"Well, at least I put some effort in," you attempt to tease him lightly, answering the unrelenting grip he has on your skirt with a tug at the fabric of his shirt, fisting the plaid at his sides and trying not to think too hard about the fact that it's first time you've ever touched Joel Miller like this. That you're only here because of a shameful lie. "Bet you just had all this lying around the house, right, cowboy?"
Joel's lips twitch and he watches in wonder as you reach up and grab the cowboy hat off his head, planting it atop yours with a wink. Joel snakes a hand behind you to tip the rim back, showing him more of your masked face as you stare up at him expectantly.
"Now that's pretty," he marvels softly and then he's entwining a hand around the back of your neck and leaning in closer and there's no mistaking it now; he's going to kiss you and you want so badly to kiss him back but -
"Not here," you stop him with a firm hand on his chest. You don't know what the fuck you're doing, but it can't happen in your parent's kitchen. You give him his hat back and he groans as he yanks you in closer when you try to pull back.
"What exactly are we doin', honey?"
"Just come with me?" you suggest breathlessly, untangling yourself from his grasp and grabbing him by the hand. He doesn't argue, just nods and lets you lead him out of the kitchen. You cautiously watch your back, make sure no one sees you dragging Joel Miller up the carpeted stairs and into the concealed darkness of a second-floor hallway.
There's a beat as you size each other up, eyes adjusting to the lack of light. Then Joel is crowding you against the wall, his gaze flitting over your masked face curiously.
You know in that moment the question he's asking. And you know in that moment what your answer should be. Take off the mask. Tell him the truth. Watch him walk away.
But instead, you hook your fingers into his belt loops and tug him into your body, crane your neck upwards and whisper, "Kiss me," praying to the heavens above you'll be forgiven for this.
You'll tell him. You'll tell him.
But right now you just want to kiss him.
Joel exhales sharply, hums a quiet assertion and then he's crashing his mouth into yours. Your head hits the glass of a framed photo behind you, a sting quickly remedied by the feel of his lips moving on yours, his hands cupping the sides of your face with a tenderness you wouldn't have expected.
His kiss is far from tender though, and for that, you're grateful. It's rushed and breathy, toothsome when his tongue invades the space between your lips. He tastes like beer and mint, and the masculine scent of his skin takes up the air around you as his broad frame encages you against the drywall. Your mind goes blank with the headiness of it, the coarse drag of his moustache along your skin soothed by the plush softness of his lips. Dreams of how that aquiline nose would feel bumping into yours, material at last.
His hands move lower then, traversing the line of your body, making you moan into his mouth while his touch ignites a fire inside you. You don't think, just impatiently begin to unbutton the pearly confines of your cardigan to reveal the corset beneath.
Joel breaks the kiss to glance down at your exposed chest and groan, his upper lip curling at the sight. His hands hover over the scratchy fabric, fingers twitching with another endearing flash of uncertainty. You stamp it out with an overly-confident graze of your palm over the bulge in his jeans, grinning when it makes his breath hitch, when you realize with a sick sense of triumph that Joel Miller is hard for you.
"Shit," he curses softly as he watches your hand work over him and you feel his cock come alive under your touch.
"Touch me, Joel," you quietly plead when his eyes finally find yours again.
He shakes his head.
"Wanna see you," he insists breathlessly, reaching up to toy with the edges of your mask.
You let your hand fall from his cock to swat his fingers away. Joel frowns.
"Where's the fun in that?" you ask innocently.
"Well," Joel hums, ducking forward to press his lips into the space below your ear. "I usually like knowin' who it is I'm about to ruin."
An involuntary shiver courses through you and when you speak, it's with a shake.
"You want to ruin me?"
His low chuckle echoes into the hollow of your ear while his teeth graze gently over the lobe. "Ain't that what you want, Angel?"
Oh, god. Fuck it then. It's now or never.
In a flash of movement, you tear the mask off your face and quickly clutch at Joel's curls, pulling him back into a bruising kiss before he can properly take you in. You take charge as best you can, languidly licking into his mouth and pressing your hips forward till they collide with his. Joel's response is swift, his arms wrapping around you and holding you prisoner against his body while his tongue begins to dance messily with yours.
And fuck, it's perfect. Your hips grinding against his is an almost unconscious thing, pure hunger taking over every other emotion until you feel it.
The way his body goes rigid and his lips still on yours.
Then the sudden, quiet grunt of protest against your mouth that has your eyes flashing open in response. It takes your brain a second to catch up, to notice that he's not looking at you but rather something right behind you.
Only then he does look at you and at last you see it click.
"Fuck - wait," Joel gasps, prying your mouths apart and pushing himself off you with two firm hands on your shoulders. Pathetically, your lips chase after his.
"Joel - " you whine, attempting to yank him back, clutching at the fabric of his shirt. But those firm hands encircle your wrists and tear you away, forcing space between your bodies.
"You..." Joel shakes his head, glancing between you and whatever he's seeing behind you, his expression some mixture of shock and outrage. You peer over your shoulder and finally understand; your high school graduation photo is tacked on the wall beside your head, the beatific smile of a younger, more-optimistic you staring you both down in the quiet darkness of the hallway.
You sigh exasperatedly. "Joel, it's okay. It's fine."
"It ain't - " Joel scoffs lightly and drops your wrists, steps back out of reach. A painful knot of rejection curls in your stomach, made worse by the burning heat of guilt over your stupid, stupid lie. "It ain't fine."
"Joel, please, you wanted me just a second ago," you whisper and you hate that it sounds so broken, so needy. Your words seem to affect him though, his features softening into something almost pained. "Please, I-I'm not some little girl anymore."
His jaw tightens, conflict etching the weathered lines of his face. "I don't think that's how your old man would see it."
"You think I give a fuck what he thinks?" you demand, stepping forward. He doesn't touch you, but he doesn't move either. You sigh.
"You asked why I left town."
Joel frowns. "Yeah?"
"It's because of him, Joel. Both of them," you nod in the general direction of the stairs, to the place where music is thrumming and your parents are obliviously mingling. "I mean, we - we hardly even speak. You have no idea what they put me through."
Joel's eyes stay fixed on the stairs, to the light of the party shining up from below. You see it clear as day - that part of him telling him to run as fast as he can from this. But he doesn't. So you go on.
"They don't know me, Joel," you insist, reaching out to wrap your fingers around his wrist. He turns back to face you and that pained look is back in his eyes. But he's drifting closer to you, hands stretching out in front of him like he wants so badly to touch you.
"You don't know me either," you breathe and at that, Joel scoffs. The pained look on his face gives way to something else and there's a shift behind his eyes as he frees his wrist from your grasp to press his hand into the wall beside your head.
"Actually, I think I do, little girl," he spits, leaning in close, the change in atmosphere taking you aback as your heart pounds violently in your ears. "You think I didn't hear it all from him? All your sneakin' around and actin' out? Runnin' away at eighteen? I know you."
"Who did you think I was running away from?" you bite back, petulant.
Joel shakes his head and chews on the inside of his lip, but you can see it, see the way his resolve is fading before your eyes.
"You're just - you're just a kid. He's my best friend."
You scoff.
"I hate him, Joel."
His eyes narrow and the sound of your pulse in your ears is almost deafening as Joel takes up all the space around you, something darker taking over his gaze, something menacing and delicious and promising.
"You know, that really ain't no way to talk about your daddy," he snarls.
You should flinch away from that tone, shrink and recoil from its threatening edge, its condescension. Instead, you gravitate towards it like a magnet, something warm and achy pulsing between your legs at his words.
"Maybe you need a little discipline," Joel grits out, grabbing roughly at your waistline, other hand still braced against the wall beside you.
And - oh. That really shouldn't turn you on as much as it does. Petulance quickly fades and you find yourself nodding frantically, overwhelmed as arousal swiftly burns through you, when you realize what you're on the precipice of.
"Maybe, I do," you breathe, crashing your pelvis forward into his and craning your neck up higher so your mouths are only an inch apart. Joel doesn't back away anymore. "Are you going to put me in my place, Joel?"
At that, his head falls forward and he's whispering, Goddamnit but it's too fucking late now.
Because his strong hands are clutching at your face as he presses his body weight into yours and he kisses you again, hungrier now and decidedly rougher. You whimper as his mouth moulds into yours, his hands moving to draw the silken fabric of your skirt up your thigh. His knee invades the space between your legs and forces them apart, while his lips greedily begin to trail below your jaw, sucking and nipping at the delicate skin of your neck. You curl your leg up over his waist and pull his body in closer, grind your clothed heat into the strong muscle of his thigh and hear him groan into your skin.
You claw at his back, clutching him to you as he plunges a hand between your thighs and cups your sex through your panties. The lacy fabric, wet with your arousal, scratches dizzyingly against your folds and your head falls back into the wall with a strangled sigh.
"This what you want?" he coaxes, strumming at your clit over your underwear.
"Yes - yes, Joel."
He bites down on your clavicle, pressing harder against your pussy, the tips of his thick fingers moving lower to brush your clothed entrance and cloud whatever is left of your judgment as you melt into his touch.
"Beg for it," he growls, taking you by surprise yet again. His free hand grabs you firmly by the jaw, and when his eyes find yours, there's a desperation burning in his blown-out browns, the lewdness of his request dulled by the impression you suddenly get that he needs to hear you tell him you want it. "Beg."
You don't deny him.
"Please, Joel," you plead pathetically, wriggling on his fingers and clutching desperately at fistfuls of plaid. "Please don't stop. I want this. I want you."
"Yeah?"
In lieu of an answer, you very quickly make a decision. Perhaps the stupidest of your life.
You bite your lip and unravel yourself from his embrace, tugging him hurriedly down the hall to your bedroom before you can think any better of it.
You pounce on him the second the door is locked behind you, throwing your arms around his wide neck and knocking his hat to the floor as you kiss him with newfound fervour.
"What're you doin'?" he demands but his hands are warm at the small of your back, holding you close.
"I said I want you," you repeat, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. Joel swats your hands away, tearing his mouth from yours abruptly.
"Here?"
He glances around the room, seemingly well aware you've led him directly into your childhood bedroom, eyes raking over the juvenile details that remain here; flouncy wallpaper and patterned bed sheets, *NSYNC posters and a corner full of discarded stuffed animals.
You palm at his cheek to redraw his attention, marvelling at the feel of his scruff beneath your fingers.
"Here," you assert.
Joel sighs, long and ragged, almost tortured as he quietly curses under his breath. You stare back at him dolefully, daringly ducking forward to kiss the corner of his mouth and run your fingers through his greying curls.
"Fuckin' Christ," he snarls.
All hesitance fades as his fingers coil firmly around your wrists, pinning them to your sides and guiding you into the room till your lower back hits the edge of your vanity.
"Angel, my ass," he grits, big hands meandering below the hem of your skirt, stealing your breath as he hooks his fingers under the lace edge of your panties. "You're a bad fuckin' girl, aren't you?"
You barely manage a soft, "Mhmm," before he's shimmying your underwear down your legs, taking care not to disrupt the garter around your thigh. He encourages you up onto the vanity, trinkets and make-up and perfume bottles clattering underneath you as you spread your legs for him and wrap them around his waist.
"Wanna taste you," he whispers urgently, like he's afraid he'll change his mind. You shudder as he ghosts his lips down your chest, laying open-mouthed kisses over the exposed skin above your breasts.
"Oh fuck," you whine as Joel falls to his knees between your legs and pushes your thighs further apart, making space for those broad shoulders. He positions your left leg over his shoulder and hooks his arms beneath your knees, dull fingernails digging into tender flesh. "Please."
"Shut up," he growls as his teeth come down on the skin of your inner thigh, chastising. And you know he's right, know you have to find the will to stay quiet. You curl your bottom lip between your teeth and let your head fall into the mirror behind you while Joel hungrily kisses his way closer to the apex of your thighs, groaning when he tastes the sticky slick that's already begun to coat the skin there.
You're throbbing - aching - for him to touch where you need it most and Joel doesn't tease you for long.
"Pretty fuckin' cunt," you hear him say and then his tongue is swiftly licking through the seam of your folds, sending an electric shock through every nerve in your body. Your mouth falls open in a gasp but Joel doesn't give you a chance to catch your breath, closing his lips around your clit and sucking harshly before pulling back with a lewd smack.
Your fingers are in his hair then, desperate to force him back onto you. Joel chuckles, glancing up at you with pink cheeks and wet lips.
"When's the last time someone ate your pussy, sweetheart?"
Too fucking long, you want to say but your brain can't form the words so instead you just whine and furiously shake your head from side to side.
"Oh, she's a needy thing, ain't she?" Joel murmurs darkly, eyes glinting with lust. "Been that long, huh?"
Now you nod, biting down harder on your lip to stop yourself from begging. Though Joel seems determined to make you.
"Poor little pussy," Joel says, making you shudder as he frees one of your legs from his grasp to press two fingers against your folds. He caresses you, languid swipes over your aching hole and your puffy clit, spreading your arousal tortuously till you meet his gaze, pleading.
"Please," you finally break, voice cracked. Joel smirks, triumphant.
"There she is," Joel smirks. Then you watch as he parts your lips with two fingers, exposing you fully to him before spitting onto your clit. Your eyes widen and you squeal at the sensation, watch him marvel at the sight of his own saliva mixing with your arousal as it drips down to your cunt before he catches it on his tongue and begins to devour you.
And fuck - the urge pinch yourself returns full force. Joel Miller, a man you've known most of your life, consumes your pussy like it's his last meal on Earth.
His mouth is hot and wet, eager with his efforts as he sucks and puckers over your folds. He teases you with his tongue, fucking it into your tight hole and making you writhe beneath him. Joel hums approvingly at the response, sending a fresh wave of sensation searing through you as you curl your leg around his shoulder and pull him in closer. His nose bumps against your clit and it's so good but it's not enough; you can't help it. You whine, high-pitched and broken as you wriggle your hips in search of more.
"Quiet now," Joel chides you, using the hand he'd been using to part your folds to lay a swift slap against your pussy. A wet smack fills the room and you arch your spine at the sudden, harsh contact on your sensitive cunt. Your knees instinctively come together but Joel holds them firmly apart, already diving forward to lap at your core once again.
You hiss through clenched teeth, nearly falling apart completely when he at last begins to carefully circle your clit with the tip of his tongue. Tight, practiced, impatient swirls that make your vision blurry and your toes curl. Your fingers slacken in his curls as you give in to him, let the sweet ministrations of his tongue bring you closer and closer to the edge.
Wetness gathers at your core when he flattens his tongue and lets you grind lazily against it, another quiet hum of approval encouraging you as a knot of pleasure begins to pull taut at your insides.
"More," you find yourself moaning softly.
You can feel his smile against you. "Yeah?"
"Please," you keen, rutting up into his mouth, not even entirely sure what it is you're asking for. It's so hot in here you can hardly think straight; your skin burns in the confines of your bedroom, under the heat of his mouth, layers of fabric and feathers clinging sticky to every part of you.
Joel cocks an eyebrow at you. "You gonna keep that pretty mouth shut?"
"Yeah - yes, I will, I promise," you ramble, grabbing wildly for his wrist, guiding it towards your centre.
"You want my fingers?" he asks like he doesn't already know.
"Please."
He shoos your hand before you can even get the word out, pinning it on the vanity beside you before sinking a thick finger into your heat, grunting as the warm, wet of you engulfs his digit. The back of your head collides with the glass behind you as Joel begins to fuck his finger in and out of you, quickly adding a second. You keen at the stretch, some strangled noise getting stuck in your throat as Joel chuckles lowly.
"You like that," he comments matter-of-factly as he hooks his fingers inside you and nudges at a spot seldom found by boys your age.
"Joel!" you gasp, too loud, and the fingers he has curled around your wrist tighten, a warning. You curse yourself, covering your mouth with your free hand in an attempt to contain the noises threatening to claw their way out of way.
Joel doesn't seem to be paying much attention anyway, enraptured as his mouth finds your clit again, fingers still working you open in shallow thrusts and beckoning little motions. His tongue flicks and sucks at the bundle of nerves and you don't know when or how but the hand that conceals your lips falls to clutch as his curls again, your hips grinding into his hot mouth and pushing his fingers deeper. You're so close now, can feel release ready to snap inside you.
"M'gonna stop f'you don't shut up," Joel murmurs against you, muffled wetly into your heat.
You hadn't even realized you'd been making any sound.
You think you whisper, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry but you don't know for sure because then Joel is pulling his fingers from you and gripping your ass under your skirt to hold you flush against his face, softly moaning around your clit as he laves at you, his tongue and mouth insistent, greedy.
"Oh god, oh god, oh god," you're chanting and Joel hums a noise that sounds like a question as his eyes flash up to meet yours. You can only moan and nod, telling him without words, don't stop, don't stop, don't stop before your muscles tense and you're coming with such force your entire body preens with it, spine arching and slick pooling where his chins meets your pulsing core.
Joel eats you through it, offering no reprieve even when you begin to squirm and flinch with the come down, stars still bursting behind your eyes.
"Joel, fuck," you whine when it begins to feel too much. "Can't - "
He grunts, finally detaching his mouth from you. You shiver at the loss of his warmth, cry out without meaning to when he licks a parting stripe through your sensitive folds.
When your vision refocuses, you find he's staring up at you wrecked, pink lips swollen and slick staining his cheeks and chin. There's something else there too - that stupid, pained look, that unmistakable conflict.
"Goddamn," Joel groans softly, turning his face to bite at the garter around your inner thigh.
"Joel, it's okay," you find yourself saying. You grab at the bandana around his neck, try to force him to look at you again. "Fuck me. Please. I want you to fuck me."
Joel sighs, shallow and tight, shakes his head against your leg. "You're bad fuckin' news, kid."
You can't contain the smile that spreads across your face at that. "But you want me, too? Right?"
You pet his scruff till he finally meets your gaze. There's a resignation there, in that tortured stare he gives you. But there's also lust. Wanting. He wants you.
He nods.
"Then take me," you tell him.
There's a final moment of pause, of hesitance, as Joel looks over his shoulder towards your bedroom door. You follow his gaze, pussy aching with emptiness. Joel considers the door for a moment, then looks back at you, staring at him beseechingly.
Please don't leave now, you plead with your eyes.
Joel sighs and shakes his head. You watch with curious fascination as he then begins to tug at the bandana around his neck, loosening it enough to lift it over his head.
"Sit up," he orders you, and you do, Joel moving to stand over you. You can see how hard he is now, cock straining against the zipper of his jeans. He doesn't let you ogle for long though, tilting your chin up with a strong hand under your jaw and smushing your face under his calloused fingers as he hinges down to kiss you. You taste yourself on his tongue when he forces it into your mouth, his kiss all spit and slick and commanding dominance before he pries you off him.
"You're gonna behave," he tells you simply. Not a request, but an order as he drops his hand from your face.
"Yes, daddy," you say coyly with a big, toothy smile and Joel groans, exasperated. It makes you giggle.
"Christ," he growls with a shake of his head. "'Course you're one of those. Turn around."
He doesn't wait for you to obey, rather, he manhandles you down off the vanity and spins you away from him, bringing you face to face with your own reflection before a firm hand between your shoulders is pushing you down into the faded blue wood.
You go perfectly still, waiting, feeling the rough drag of denim against the back of your thighs and the hard metal of his belt buckle digging into your flesh. But Joel's not done.
He tugs at the straps of your wings, wriggling you loose from them along with your cardigan and leaving them discarded on the floor, all traces of innocence abandoned.
"Fuck," Joel breathes, eyes flitting wildly between the you before him and the you in the mirror, running a hand roughly down your spine, grabbing at every ridge and curve before landing on your hip and pulling you into him.
"Joel..." you whine and then you jolt, gasping when the tender hand on your hip makes harsh contact with your ass.
"What'd I say?" he chides you.
Before you have time to react, he's moving over you, leaning in close so his lips are right at your ear.
"You're gonna behave," he repeats. You nod but it makes no difference because then there's a flurry of red in the mirror, as Joel slips his bandana over your head. With rough but certain fingers, he tilts your chin upwards and hooks his fingers under the fabric.
"Open," he tells you and your lips part without argument.
You watch him in the mirror as he then pulls the makeshift gag up over your chin and forces it into your waiting mouth, soft, washed cotton pressing down on your tongue and scratching at your molars with how far he pushes it in.
"Bite down," he says and you do, lips straining around red, compelling you to breathe through your nose so all you can smell is the masculine scent of him embedded into the bandana's fibres, woodsy and salty and all-encompassing.
"Good girl," Joel offers and your eyes flutter at the praise. "God, look at you. Look."
His hand in your hair tugs your neck up, giving you no choice but to appraise your reflection as he hikes your skirt up to your waist and begins to unzip his jeans behind you.
You have to admit you look a mess, hair tousled and mascara smudged around your eyes, your mouth stretched obscenely around the bandana, involuntary drool already turning red to dark brown. If you'd thought the person staring back at you in this very same mirror was all woman before, now she is all girl, all mouldable and pliant and dutiful. All Joel's.
Your pussy clenches around nothing and you moan at that thought, impatiently pushing back into him when you hear the metallic clang of his belt hitting the floor.
"Yeah - gonna fuck you now," Joel vows, pressing down between your shoulder blades so your chest is flush with the vanity. Again, he yanks at your hair to keep your eyes up, keep you focused on your reflection when the hard line of cock notches at your entrance. "Watch."
You do watch, watch him as his brows furrow and his nose scrunches in concentration, staring at the place where your bodies are nearly connected before spitting a slow stream of saliva down on to your already drenched hole. He runs the tip of his cock up and down through your folds and you feel like you might go insane with want until finally, finally, he begins to sink inside with a hushed groan.
Your hands brace against the edge of the vanity as you writhe at the stretch, the burn of him filling you. It would almost be too much, you think, if the twinge of pain you feel at the intrusion wasn't one you found so delicious, wasn't a reminder that you don't think you've ever had something this big inside you before.
"Tight little pussy," Joel mutters through gritted teeth, voice strained. "Fuck me."
You whine, wish you could repeat his words right back to him. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.
"What?" Joel goads, bottoming out inside you, stilling with two firm hands on your waist. "What do you want?"
You can only wiggle your hips and moan softly, a silent plea. Joel chuckles once.
"Yeah, I know," he purrs and then at last, Joel Miller is fucking you.
He wastes no time, starting a hurried pace, accented by the dull smack of skin on skin and laboured grunts passing through Joel's teeth. The vanity shakes beneath you, and you wish the rush of panic you feel at someone downstairs possibly hearing its incessant scraping against the hardwood didn't make your head spin with arousal, but it does. Or maybe it's just Joel's thick cock pounding into you, nudging at your cervix with each unforgiving stroke.
"This is what you needed, huh?" he's murmuring, voice low and dark. "A big, fat cock fillin' you up?"
Oh, god. You nod, whine around the gag, find his eyes in the mirror again and your knees go weak at the sight of his form looming over yours, the collar of his shirt askew, sweat dampening his forehead.
"Yeah? Dirty - fuckin' - slut."
You keen at that, push back into the place his hips meet yours and moan. Slick dribbles between your thighs and your pussy flutters around his length and of course, of course Joel notices the response.
"Oh - you like that, don't you?" he grunts, tugging at your hair once again and making your spine arch for him.
"Look," he repeats, coaxing you to lock eyes with your own depraved reflection, a fallen angel spilling out of a corset, willingly split open by her dad's best friend. "Look what a bad girl you grew up to be."
Another muffled moan is swallowed by his bandana, his words sending a lick of heat down your spine as something wild and heady begins to scratch at your nerves. His frame engulfs yours again, lips back at your ear as he whispers,
"Daddy's cock'll fix you."
Oh fuck. Your eyes roll back into your skull and you think you hear him laugh, a mocking sound that only drives you crazier, only makes your brain go foggier when he pulls back and clutches at your hips, fucking you so hard you feel tears prick at your eyes and a tightness start to build in your core all over again.
"Yeah, that's right," Joel rasps softly, breathless. "You wanna be good, don't you? Wanna be a good girl and come again for daddy? Go on, baby - come on daddy's cock."
You want to - fuck, you want to come again. You want to be so, so good for him. To show him you always could be. Your eyes begin to flutter closed as you crane onto your tippy toes to take him deeper, feel the drag of him against the sweetest part of you, hurtling towards release with each thrust of his hips against yours.
"Don't," Joel orders you, tapping your cheek with gentle intent till you open your eyes. "Want you to look at yourself when you come on my cock."
You immediately flit your gaze up to meet your reflection, see your cheek pressed into wood, eyes wet and mouth full of fabric. You barely register Joel reaching around you to toy sloppily with your clit before you're falling apart, coming with a silent scream and clenching down around his length.
"Good girl," Joel grants you raggedly as your body quivers under his and then goes limp, waves of your come gathering around his girth and dripping down his balls. "Fuck - that's so good, baby."
Joel fucks you relentlessly as your second orgasm crashes over you, chasing his own high as he begins to ramble wildly under his breath, his voice echoing hollowly in your pleasure-drunk mind as though he were speaking from very far away.
"Gonna fuckin' ruin you, baby girl. Gonna use this little pussy up. You're not gonna wanna take another cock for weeks."
You whimper tiredly, nod obediently. You're not sure you want to take another cock besides his ever again.
"Maybe I'll send ya out to that club with my come drippin' outta ya."
And you know it's stupid and careless and wrong to want that but you make a noise that sounds like yes please all the same. Joel groans.
"Say that again?" he presses you, the rock of his hips coming faster, more erratic.
Yes please, you try again, words turning into mumbled nothings against the gag.
"Shit," Joel curses lowly, and you're jolted back to almost-reality when he forcefully tugs the bandana from your mouth and air fills your lungs in a cool rush. "One more time."
"Please," you say, voice broken and hoarse. "Yes, please. Come inside me."
You think you catch him smirk in the mirror but it's quickly replaced by something else entirely, his jaw slackening as his breath begins to stutter and his chest begins to heave, a whispered chant of, oh shit oh shit oh shit your final warning before he's spilling deep inside you.
He hardly makes a sound as his big hands come down on the vanity beside your head, thick arms all around you as he pumps his load into you. He's biting down hard on his lower lip, doing a far better job of staying quiet than you are, tired little whimpers pouring from between your lips until he's folding over your back and covering your mouth with his palm again.
You stay like that, your breath hot against his hand and his lips in your hair, until he's emptied himself completely. He frees your mouth once it's over but stays glued to your back, a heavy weight above you as both your breathing levels out.
You both shiver when he pulls out, and there's a softness in the way he tilts your face towards his now, in the way he lazily licks into your mouth at the same time that his fingers reach between your bodies to catch the come dripping out of you and push it back inside.
Eons seem to pass before he's sighing and hoisting himself off you with a gentle, "C'mon, baby." He taps your sides as he steps away but you stay where you are. You're not sure you have it in you to move just yet.
You hear the buzz of his zipper and the clang of his belt buckle and then his hands are on you again, tentative as he pulls your skirt down over your ass and smooths out the fabric.
"Hey," he murmurs, and you're pleasantly surprised at the feel of his lips pressing sweetly into your upper back. "Come on."
He tugs at your arms, gently helping pull you upright and sighing again as he takes in the sight of you. You smile, almost bashful about it, Joel carefully lifting the bandana up over your head and adjusting your hair for you with a sigh. He crouches to retrieve your cardigan and fits it back over your shoulders before slipping you back into your angel wings.
"Look up," he says, and you do, holding perfectly still as he rubs his thumbs under your eyes, caressing away drying tears and smears of black make-up.
He tuts.
"You might wanna..." He makes an errant gesture with his hand at your tarnished visage, and you understand.
The ridiculousness of it all seems to catch up with you then and you giggle breathily, shaking your head as if to wake from some perfect, lucid dream.
"Thanks," you tell him. "Joel, I'm - I'm sorry for lying to you."
Joel licks his lips and you think for a moment he's going to tell you off, scold you like you probably deserve. But then he grins and there he is again - the Joel you remember from before.
"Guess I can't really complain," he concedes, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. "You're, uh - you're somethin' else, sweetheart."
You smile and Joel sighs, finally letting his hand fall. You watch him as he finds his hat, warming when he stops to kiss your cheek before making his way towards the door.
"Wait," you call quietly after him. "So would you...do you wanna do this again? While I'm in town?"
There's a lengthy beat of nervous uncertainty and then Joel laughs. He shakes his head and stares at the floor as he readorns his hat, finally turning to face you with one hand on your doorknob.
"You're gonna be trouble, aren't you, Angel?"
You smirk devilishly back at him. "You're damn right, cowboy."
You offer him a parting wink that has him shaking his head for the millionth time as he slinks discreetly out the door, closing it behind him and leaving you alone with the woman in the mirror.
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gin-juice-tonic · 3 days
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my mother forbade me to cut my hair short ‘cause i’m supposed to look feminine😀 i hate it when she puts it like that. anyway, do you have any hairstyle recommendations to make my long hair more bearable? OR hairstyle recommendations in general, in case i can't stand it and go get a haircut in secret, lol
There's lots of ways to have masc long hair. I don't know a lot of names of things, so I just picked pictures. And I don't know what your hair type is, so I just kind of tried to pick a Lot of pictures. How your hair will be read will depend on other factors too, like the things you're wearing, so keep that in mind also.
The first thing you could do is just grow it and grow it and grow it. It might be the last thing you feel like doing, which is fair. Though I did this in high school when I was forbidden from cutting my hair short with the attitude of "you want it long? FINE. I WILL GIVE YOU LONG." So I could at least smirk at my act of rebellion. This hair is reminiscent of metal bands, skaters and surfers, and 90s grunge.
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If you want to add to it, I think wearing a hat or other accessory can up the masc factor. In school or work you may not be able to get away with this though.
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I could not find any cowboy hat pictures, but that's also a pretty good look if you've never tried it.
The next thing I thought of was the longer hair of the 60s and 70s. Skip this section if you don't have straight-ish hair or don't want to straighten it. Tended to be more styled than the longer hair above. It might feel reminiscent of "feminine" styles, I suppose. But fashion is weird like that. It might help if you re-frame your thought from "feminine" to "old school"
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You may notice some of these guys have mustaches. Which is cheating. but it's the thought that counts.
For hair types that may lay a bit flatter than the above. This haircut is one of those cuts that has about a million names. You're better off just finding a picture of it.
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Keanu Reeves has also had quite a few flat-ish hairstyles as well
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This next one I don't see very often, but I think the low-ponytail is also a good masc look without having to cut your hair. And it's easy to combine with other hairstyles. May be worth testing out even if you get a different haircut.
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Last one, my favorite one, the one I'm sure was expected of me. The perfect combination of long and short hair. Everybody hop aboard the mullet train.
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Now you might be wondering. Why I have included a picture of Lisa Lisa. Well that is because I think her hair is extremely cool regardless of how feminine she wears it.
But also I am going to include some pictures of famous short haired women if you want to show your mom
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And I also want to include the butches from this tumblr post
Because theyre a good example of mullets, low ponytails, and wearing hats.
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Anyway I hope that helps
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onmyyan · 1 year
Text
Save a horse, ride a cowboy.
A/N: here comes the boy NOT EDITED
TW'S: FEM READER, YANDERE, STALKING, MANIPULATION, MURDER, MENTION OF PIGS EATING CORPSES NOT GRAPHIC 👁️👄👁️, READER GETS CALLED PRETTY GIRL
Ashley Hunt HC's
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The idealized western cowboy in a modern man's body.
6'6 and wide as a barn, Ashley is an old-fashioned type of beautiful, looks like someone straight out of an Old Western.
His sandy hair has a habit of falling in his eyes when he's working so he often wears a brown leather hat he'd gotten from his Father to prevent this.
He has this habit when he's thinking where he plays with his lips, it's very distracting.
Smells and looks like he's just come running from somewhere- never unpleasant though, it's a mix of sweat and the country air.
Always has that saccharine smile on his handsome face.
Has a loud, goofy laugh, his eyes light up when he does it and his nose scrunches in the cutest way.
He's polite to everyone he meets but he is far from a pushover.
Hates bullies of any kind. Takes on the hero role whenever he's confronted with injustice.
If he sees something wrong he can't just sit by and not do something.
Which isn't hard considering this big mf hauls farm equipment around for a living, he's had to wrestle rowdy bulls into their pens before, he can take another person down easily.
Holds the door open for you every time. Don't even think about touching that handle.
His go-to look is a pair of denim Levi jeans (man's got serious cake when he's working all the strong muscles in his thighs bulge), a white tank that sits on his flesh like a second skin, if it isn't too hot he'll throw on a flannel.
Got a BAMF belt buckle as a gag gift one year but he unironically loves it.
Does this thing where he stands at his full height, stares down at you, his hat casting a dark shadow over his heated stare, both of his big, strong hands rested comfortably on the buckle, it made your knees weak every time.
Knows you have a thing for his voice so he likes to come up from behind and gently kiss just below your ear,
"Hey there Sugar Bear."
All his clothes look well-loved and worn, he don't care much for how he looks, which is ironic since the whole town calls him a pretty boy.
Looks like someone pulled him straight out of one of those sexy country man calendars.
He's a pretty confident guy, except when it comes to you, of course, then he turns into a bumbling teenager trying to talk to his crush without fumbling over his words.
Gets all red and blushy when you call him pretty. Literally has to fan himself with his hat.
You like to randomly shower him with compliments and he gets so flustered he has to stop what he's doing to kiss you.
"Good lord woman yer gonna' put me in an early grave."
For a while, you had to avoid the friendly farmer because the mere sight of him hauling hundred-pound stacks of hay like they weighed nothing had you feeling some not-so-platonic things.
Has you sweating like a sinner in church just from one well-timed boyish smile.
His wavy locks are a few different shades of dirty blonde, he's almost always wearing his hat in an effort to keep his bangs outta his eyes,
The times he took the damn thing off were your favorite cuz the way his hair fell around his face, framing it beautifully, you could really see all of his marble-carved features.
Takes his hat off inside, of course, his mama raised him right.
Works on his family's farm, he grew up working the fields with his Pa so hard work is in his blood.
When he starts something he finishes it. No matter what.
That includes pursuing you as his one and only.
Sun-kissed skin from being outside all day.
He can play the acoustic guitar and loves to sing to himself during his free time.
Voice is deep and warm.
Really good at puzzles.
Loves the idea of a big family but at the same time is so possessive of you and your attention that he battles with the idea.
Likes to draw for fun, mostly sketches and stuff is really good at it.
He likes to sketch you most of all.
Has dozens upon dozens of journals filled with your visage, he doesn't think he can ever truly capture your beauty.
Really self-sufficient if something breaks down in your house and you don't wanna spend a fortune calling some company, you called Ashley Hunt, and he never asked for anything in return either.
Whenever he goes to town people always stop him for something, be it for his help or to give him some goods as thanks, he never leaves empty-handed.
The whole town just adores him, so much so that if you ever tried to run from him, try to use the townsfolk to hide, they'd lure you into a false sense of security, convincing you they'd drive you outta town, only to hand deliver you back to Ash.
He's a protective/possessive/worshiper kinda Yandere.
The first time you meet you're just moving into your Gran's old farmhouse, he knows your Grandma well as she's the closest neighbor to his Farm, he'd been regularly helping her out with household chores or busy work whenever she asked.
The day he sees you hop out of her pick-up, he swore his heart skipped seven different beats.
Your delicious-looking form was clad in these little shorts, no doubt trying to combat that county heat. The black t-shirt you had on was rolled up at the sleeves showing off your arms, he watched them flex as you hauled a box over your shoulder like it was nothing.
His throat goes dry, sweat begins beading at his temple, and it's not the 90-degree weather, you helped your grandmother out of the car with a graceful smile and a certain kind of sweetness, the sight had a swarm of butterflies going wild in his belly.
He saw the remaining boxes stacked in the back of the truck and knew he'd found his ticket in.
You'd come back outside to the towering man at the edge of the yard, hat in hand, he'd shoot you that star-studded smile, voice sounding like melted butter.
"Hello there Miss, my name's Ashley Hunt, I'm your next-door neighbor, I just came on by to check if y'all needed a hand." He gestured towards the truck with his hat.
Then you had the nerve to shoot him that damned smile, so bright and full of life it nearly knocked him out of his socks.
He spends the rest of the day helping you move in, the conversation flowing so easily by the time you two stopped talking it was well past midnight.
He learned so much about you, just from this one convo he knows everything he needs to about you.
And you're perfect.
"I sure am sorry for keeping you up so late sweetheart." Running his hands through his hair he couldn't keep his eyes off you.
He watched you visibly light up at the pet name and couldn't fight the smirk pulling at his lips.
"Don't worry about it! I was having so much fun- again thank you so much for all your help today." You looked so sweet standing there next to him, he was a good head or so taller than you, you looked up at him with those beautiful (e/c) eyes and he had to fight the strong urge to hold you against his chest.
Knows from that night alone you're his Darling.
It's inevitable you spend time with him, as he was your closest neighbor.
He finds any and all excuses to come over in the beginning.
"This floorboard feels a little loose, I'll come by later n' fix her up."
"That window feels a bit drafty hun, why don't I get a handle on that."
Eventually, he runs out of stuff to repair and builds the courage to just ask you out for a romantic dinner at his place. He doesn't cook anything fancy, but it does taste good a real homemade meal.
He thinks long and hard about how to show you he's the one and comes up with a teeth-rottingly cute idea.
Leads you by a gentle hand out to his field where he'd prepared a soft blanket and several throw pillows, fairy lights were strung up on the fence nearest, casting a warm glow on the scene.
After you spend hours talking and giggling, you lay back against the soft blanket and stare up at the clear sky.
Well, you were busy with the stars, he was busy staring at you.
"Ain't you a pretty picture."
That night after he walks you home, just before you turn to say goodnight, cups your face in one hand, "Can I kiss you pretty girl?" And when you breathlessly nod yes, he brings his other hand to the back of your neck and softly pulls you the rest of the way in.
He kisses you the same way soldiers kiss their wives before war, takes the breath outta you both.
Loves when you do anything domestic if you cook at his place or oh my god for him? He's whipping out the ring before the plates are clear.
Or when you stay the night for the first time, he's immediately addicted to the way you feel in his arms, and literally cannot sleep without you by his side look what you've done.
His morning voice is to die for.
"G'mornin' pumpkin." He has the biggest grin on his face when he wakes up, likes to trace his fingers on your bare skin.
You put his hat on once as a goof but he freezes in place, his face is beet red and his breath gets all heavy.
"Don't move a muscle Darlin'- lemme get a good look at ya'."
"Mm mm mm- now that's a sight a man could get used to."
Sleeps naked, if you're uncomfortable with it he'd throw on some boxers but that's it.
Runs too hot for much else.
Sleeps on his stomach and likes to stare at you when he does it.
Hold his hand and he will giggle like a little kid.
He's a lot smarter than he looks so his Yandere tendencies are easy to hide.
"C'mere sweetheart, don't think we're leaving the bed yet."
He's slowly getting you used to the idea of being his housewife, just wants to take care of you.
Like I said before he's beloved by the entire town so if anyone ever tried something with you he didn't approve of (smile at you a little too hard, make you laugh, get too close for his liking) all he's gotta do is give em' that look and if they're smart enough they back right on off.
However if their self-preservation doesn't kick in at that murderous glare, he gives em' one and only one warning to stay away from what was his. It's only polite.
If they did, Ashley would be all smiles and buddy-buddy. You'd never even know something was wrong.
If they don't back down though, well that's what he keeps pigs for.
Did you know pigs can eat a whole body in like three hours? Cuz Ashley knows.
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avastrasposts · 2 months
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A Baker's Dozen - Eight
Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stand alone short stories, all set in the same bakery.
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Hello!
Pedro boy number eight is ready to swagger into the bakery and I've only got four more weeks of this! I realised the very final chapter would be posted on February 12th so lets delay it by two days and end this on Valentine's Day, seeing as this is the fluffiest, most romantic thing I've ever written. Feels very appropriate to end it with my favourite Pedro boy on Valentine's Day. 🥰
This chapter is dedicated to my lovely, sweet friend @ladybess-a03 who, in my world, is this Pedro boy's beautiful wife.
Series Master List
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“Is the rodeo in town?” the kid who works extra over the weekends in the bakery asks, raising their eyebrows and nodding towards the window. You look over and catch a glimpse of the man striding across the street. The comment is pretty accurate, he certainly looks like a cowboy; a slick cowboy dressed up for the city in a well tailored suit that hugs his narrow hips and wide shoulders, topped off with a black Stetson and suede shoulder patches. 
“Pretty good looking cowboy,” you say and the kid snorts, hanging their apron on the hook and giving you a quick wave goodbye. The cowboy reaches the bakery door and holds open the door for them before he steps inside.
“Afternoon, miss,” he says, greeting you with a polite tip of his Stetson, two fingers on the brim, as he saunters up to the counter, his lips quirking up in a smile. 
“Afternoon, sir,” you reply, returning his polite greeting with a smile of your own. Internally you’re swooning and giggling, there’s a smoothness to the man that makes you want to twirl your imaginary braid and kick your heels. 
“Sir,” he says, chuckling as he puts one hand on the counter, the other on his hip, pushing back his jacket and revealing a large belt buckle in the shape of a hip flask, “makes me feel about a hundred, darlin’. Call me Jack.” He offers you his hand, dwarfing your own as you shake it. 
“Alright, how can I help you, Jack?” you ask as the warmth of his hand lingers on yours. 
“Pie, sugar, I’m in a real mood for some pie,” he says, patting his belly with a grin, “And I heard you might be the best baker in town so I had to see for myself,” he winks, “if the rumors are true.” 
“I don’t know about best baker in town,” you smile back, “but thanks for the vote of confidence. What kind of pie are you in the mood for?” 
“Well, I’m an old fashioned cowboy, southern born and bred, so I doubt you’ll be surprised when you hear that I’d love some pecan pie, sugar,” he says, pointing to the one pecan pie you have in your display. 
“Not old fashioned,” you say, crouching down to slide the pie out, “but maybe traditional. And it’s a great pie,” you put it on the counter and Jack chuckles. 
“Honey, I’m anything but traditional, but I have a soft spot for pecan pie,” he says, putting an arm up on the display case and leaning in, his mouth pulling up in a crooked grin, “Sweet pecan pie, and sweet bakers,” he winks at you again and you feel your cheeks heat up and busy yourself adjusting the pie on the counter, trying to bite back the grin that’s threatening to split your face in half before you look up at the smiling cowboy again, his dark eyes twinkling under the brim of his Stetson. 
“Would you like the whole thing, or just a slice?” you ask and Jack grins. 
“Oh, sugar, I want the whole damn thing,” he replies and you swallow loudly. He keeps his eyes on you as you squirm under his gaze, your cheeks burning up as you quickly duck under the counter and grab one of the take away boxes. You’ve never met a man who so shamelessly flirts with anyone and you hear him chuckle as you look for the right sized box.
Jack is still smiling as you pop back up and start folding the flat cardboard, butterflies fluttering in your stomach under his gaze. 
“This pie sure smells wonderful, darlin’,” he says, leaning in closer and drawing a deep breath, his arm still on the display case as he puts a hand on his waist, but he’s got his eyes on you, the corner of his mouth pulled up in a smile under his neat mustache. 
“I hope it’ll taste as good as it smells then,” you reply, just to reply something. His over the top charm shouldn’t be getting to you so easily, but you’re practically a puddle at this point, any coherent sentence from you is a win and Jack seems to notice your reaction to his flirting and clearly loves how he’s getting to you, judging by the size of his grin. 
“I’m absolutely certain it will be every bit as sweet as you, sugar,” he purrs, his hand coming up to rub over his smooth jaw. 
You manage to slide the pie into the box and close the lid, pushing it over the counter to Jack, giving him a flustered smile. 
“Here you go then, enjoy,” you say, “Please let me know what you think, if you’re passing by again.”
“And what do I owe you, honey?” he asks, reaching back and pulling out a slim black wallet from his pocket. 
“Uh…umm…” you stutter, the prices, that are usually seared into your brain, have wandered off under the onslaught of Jack’s charm and you fumble for the price list next to the till, “Twenty-four, ninety-nine,” you finally get out and Jack pulls out two twenties and hands them over. 
“Keep the change, sugar, you’re undercharging for both the pie and the company,” he says, grinning as he winks at you again. 
“Oh thank you, sir-Jack,” you reply, “but that’s really not necessary.”  
“I know, but I want to,” he smiles, softer this time, “And I’ll be sure to let you know how much I like it,” He slides a hand under the box, carefully lifting it up as he tips his hat at you, two fingers on the brim again. 
“Have a good evening, darlin’,” 
“Same to you Jack, enjoy the pie.” 
“Oh, I will, I’m sure,” Jack grins, pushing the door open, letting a new customer in. 
“Ma’am,” he says, giving her a tip of his hat before he disappears with a final smile at you. 
“What a handsome man,” Mrs Morales says as she comes up to the counter, “and such good manners.” 
“He was very well mannered,” you smile at her as she comes up to the counter, “What can I get for you today, Mrs Morales?” 
When the doorbell jingles in the middle of the morning a few days later, you’re pleasantly surprised to see Jack’s smiling face above the small crowd of customers. He gives you a two fingered salute, tipping his hat, before he sits down at one of the café tables to wait. The crowd slowly thins out and eventually it’s Jack’s turn, and you notice that he’s choosing to wait until he can be served by you and not your shop assistant. 
“Hi Jack,” you smile at him as he comes over. He’s opted for a more casual look today you notice, a black leather jacket and white t-shirt instead of his slick suit, but the Stetson is still on his head as he gives you a crooked grin. 
“Hi there, sugar,” he drawls, his southern twang even more pronounced, “you’re looking real gorgeous today, if you don’t mind me saying so.” He winks as he leans on the counter, giving you his most winning smile and you can practically hear the eye roll from your assistant down by the till. 
“Thanks, you’re not looking to shabby yourself,” you smile back at him and he puffs his chest, brushing an imaginary speck of dust off his shoulder. 
“Thanks, sweetheart.” 
“How was the pecan pie?” you ask and Jack grins widely. 
“Just as sweet as the gorgeous baker girl who made it,” he croons, “I may have eaten the whole thing already.” 
“I’m happy to hear it,” you smile, your cheeks heating up at his praise and Jack chuckles, taking off his Stetson and fanning you with it. 
“Is it hot in here, darlin’, or is my praise heating you up there?” 
“Oh shut up,” you reply, trying to give him a scowl but failing as he runs his free hand through his dark hair, smoothing out the unruly locks that have been hidden under his hat, before he puts it back on. The simple action shouldn’t make a shiver run down your spine but you feel your mind go temporarily blank as he adjusts the brim to his liking. As he cocks his head and gives you a playful smirk, the corner of his lip curling up, you try to snap out of it. 
“So what can I do for you today, Jack?” 
“How about another pecan pie, darlin’?” he asks, glancing over the display cases and spotting the one you made this morning. 
“Another one?”
“What can I say, your pie is calling my name, sugar,” he grins and winks at you, hooking his thumb into the pocket of his tight jeans. 
“I’ll make sure to keep making it for you then, Jack,” you giggle and slide the fresh pecan pie from the shelf and into a carton. 
“I’ll be a steady customer for sure,” he says and reaches back for his wallet, handing you his card with a smile, “no other bakery has better pecan pie.” You fight the grin on your face as you charge his card and go to hand it back to him, but he gently takes your hand instead, pulling you closer to him over the counter, “And the most gorgeous baker to make them,” he whispers, his low voice rich and warm as you feel his warm breath slip over your cheek.
He gives you a wink and lets go of your hand, stepping back from the counter and letting the next customer step forward as he tips his hat to you. 
“What a charmer,” Mrs Levinson says, pulling your attention away from Jack as she puts her handbag on the counter. “But I always preferred a man in a suit, and a bit less forward if I may say so.” She wrinkles her nose at you, dismissing Jack as you try to stifle a giggle. 
“I think he was just the right amount of forward, Mrs Levinson,” you reply with a smile, “Would you like your usual order today?” 
“Yes please, dear. But add one of those Lemon Meringue Pies please. I’m going over to Mrs York’s place later,” she adds the last part with a sigh. “So sad, her son and his wife have just split up, they have two such beautiful daughters.” 
“Didn’t they divorce last spring, Mrs Levinson?” 
“Yes, at Easter, but he’s still single and she’s found some new man,” Mrs Levinson shakes her head as you place the pie next to her usual bread order, “he’s such a handsome boy, always wears a suit too, he’d be a real catch for you, my dear.” 
“I’ve got plenty on my plate already, Mrs Levinson,” you smile, thinking of Jack’s flirting and tight jeans, “I just don’t have time for any more right now.” 
“You have to let yourself have some fun too, can’t be all work,” the old lady scolds you mildly as you hand her the change and she puts everything away. “I’ll tell Mrs York to send him here for some time soon, I’m sure you’d like him.” She gives you a cheeky wink and waves goodbye, letting the next customer in line step up. 
The next time Jack comes by the bakery, he’s back in his sharp suit, and tips his Stetson at you with a wink as he comes up to the counter. 
“Seeing as I was found lacking last time, I thought it best to suit up,” he chuckles and you can’t help but roll your eyes as you laugh. 
“Mrs Levinson has a sharp eye for handsome men, but might be a little bit old fashioned,” you reply, “But I do like your suit, it’s very ‘you’, Jack.” 
“Thank you, sugar, I do like to dress the part for work,” he straightens his impeccable hat again. 
“So what brings you back here, Jack? You can’t possibly have eaten two whole pecan pies in just a few days?”
“I certainly could’ve,” he chuckles, patting down the front of his suit jacket, “but I was kind enough to share it with my colleagues and told them you have the best pie in town, and I think you might be getting more customers soon.” 
“That’s very nice of you, and thanks for the recommendation”, you smile, but Jack shakes his head. 
“Only telling the truth, sugar,” he winks, “and I’ve promised them to bring another pie tomorrow so could I trouble you?” 
“Of course, I’ve been making extra just for you, Jack” you smile and Jack’s face lights up, a wide grin making a dimple appear in his cheek as he rubs a hand over his neat mustache. 
“Honey, you’re spoiling me rotten, how can I ever repay you?” 
“Well, I’d say twenty-four, ninety-nine, but this one’s on the house,” you scoot the box with the pie over the counter towards Jack who’s furiously shaking his head. 
“You know I can’t accept that, sugar. You’re already undercharging as it is,” he says, pulling out his wallet from inside his suit jacket as you raise your hand to stop him. 
“Jack, if you pull out that wallet any further I’ll have to ban you from the bakery, it’s on the house.” 
Jack’s eyes go wide, “You wouldn’t?” he exclaims with mock horror as you nod emphatically. 
“Oh I would, Jack,” you grin, pointing to the door, “Now take your pie and leave that wallet in your pocket.” 
Jack shakes his head as he picks up the pie box, “I’ll pay you somehow, sugar, but thank you very much for the pie.” 
“You’re very welcome, Jack,” you smile at him as he carefully brings two fingers to the brim of his Stetson and gives you a nod. 
“‘Till next time, darlin’.” 
You do sell a couple of more pecan pies over the next few days and you wonder if your new customers are Jack’s colleagues as you add extra pecans to your online grocery order. Thanks to Jack you’ve gone through your stores of pecans in record time, and as you tap your pen on your notebook you toy with the idea of making variations of it for Jack to try. The jingle of the bell above the bakery door pulls you out of your thoughts and you look up. Your heart skips a little beat when you recognise the black Stetson. 
“Hey there, gorgeous,” Jack calls to you as he spots you in the kitchen, “I’m not too late am I?”
“Not at all, I’m closing in about five minutes, I’m just ordering next week’s groceries,” you wave him in behind the counter and he comes to the door into your kitchen, putting an arm up over his head as he leans on the frame. 
“More pecans?” he winks and you laugh. 
“How did you know? I’m running low on them, someone keeps buying all my pies.” 
“A few of my colleagues said they’ve stopped by and bought a couple of pies,” he says as you try to discreetly glance at his tall frame as he leans against the door post. He’s back in his white t-shirt and black leather jacket this evening, and the way the shirt rides up over the edge of his tight jeans as he stretches his arm, a sliver of tanned skin peeking out, has your mind going blank. 
“Oh, y-yeah,” you stutter as your brain slowly comes back online, “A very nice woman with short black hair and glasses came in and bought one, but it was busy and I didn’t get a chance to ask if she worked with you.” 
“Ginger,” Jack smiles, “she’s the one who asked me where I got it. Tried telling her I made it myself but, funnily, she didn’t buy it,” he chuckles and comes into the kitchen, leaning over your shoulder to look down at your notes, “What are you working on there, sugar?” 
“I was thinking of making some variations of the pie,” you say, “maybe one with a hint of lemon, or a bourbon chocolate one?” 
“Now you’re talking my kind of language, sugar,” Jack grins, tapping the ridiculously large belt buckle in the shape of a hip flask that sits on his belt. 
“Don’t tell me you actually have bourbon in that?” you ask, your eyebrows shooting up and Jack nods and grins. 
“Of course, sugar! Never know when I might need a shot,” he laughs, unclipping the hip flask from his belt and flipping open the top, holding out for you to smell. The rich, warm aroma of the bourbon wafts up and you inhale deeply.  “That smells so good, Jack, it’s giving me ideas!”
“What kinds of ideas, sugar?” Jack drawls, winking at you as he leans on your workbench, his eyes suddenly level with yours, all chocolate brown and warm. Your cheeks heat up as he takes a swig from the hip flask, his eyes never leaving yours, and then offers it to you. 
“Baking ideas,” you force out, almost jumping out of your skin as his fingers slip over your hand when you take the flask from him. The warm whiskey goes down smooth and warm, heating you up from the inside as it lands in your belly, and your eyes come back to Jack’s. He’s looking at you with a smile, one corner of his mouth pulled up as he takes the flask back from you. 
“Are you making me a new pecan pie straight away, honey? Because I absolutely have room for dessert…” he trails off with a quirk of his eye brows. You bite down on your lip to stop yourself from grinning like an idiot, little hot sparks are erupting in your stomach and they have nothing to do with the bourbon. Jack runs the tip of his tongue over the edge of his lip, catching an errant drop of whiskey and you follow the movement with your eyes, his plush bottom lip disappearing for a moment as he sucks it in, wetting it. 
“Cream!” you blurt out. 
Jack raises his eyebrows questioningly, “Cream?” The tone of his voice has dropped about an octave and there’s no mistaking the suggestion in his voice. 
“No! Yes! I-I mean, whipped cream, with bourbon, for the pie,” you flounder, pointing to Jack’s hip flask as his smile widens. 
“That sounds like the most perfect addition to your pie, sugar. Right now?” 
“Yeah, if I can use a few tablespoons of your whiskey?” 
“You can have whatever you want, darlin’,” Jack replies, unclipping the bottle again and handing it to you. 
“Grab the pie from the display case,” you tell him as you open the fridge to pull out the whipping cream. You hear Jack go back to the front and bring the pie back to the workbench, as you pull out a hand mixer and a bowl, he shrugs out of his leather jacket and hangs it on the back of your chair before he comes back to the table. The white t-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders as he leans on the workbench next to you.
“So I finally get to see you in action,” he says as you measure out two tablespoons of whiskey from his flask before handing it back to him. 
“For about the two minutes it’s going to take to make this,” you smile and start the hand mixer. Jack grabs the bowl and holds it steady while you slowly start whipping the cream, adding powdered sugar as you go along with the whiskey. Soon the cream has transformed to pillowy clouds and you stop the mixer. You can smell the bourbon and so can Jack, he leans forward and inhales deeply. 
“This smells gorgeous, sugar, just the thing for the pie I think.” 
You giggle as he stands up again, a small dollop of cream clinging to the tip of his nose. 
“You’ve got some cream on your nose there, Jack,” you smile and Jack laughs, going cross eyed as he tries to spot it. With a swipe of his finger he catches the dollop and puts his finger in his mouth. 
“Mmm…delicious,” he says, grinning around his finger as you smile back at him, grabbing a couple of plates and a knife for cutting. 
“Should be even better with the pie,” you say, giving Jack a generous slice and then cutting another one for yourself before spooning the bourbon infused cream next to both slices. 
Jumping up on the workbench, you grab your plate as Jack takes a step closer, picking up his own piece. You swipe your finger through the cream on your plate, wanting to taste it without the pie first. But Jack beats you to it, his hand comes out and grabs your wrist, his calloused fingers closing gently around your soft skin as he pulls your hand to his lips. The wet heat of his mouth envelops your finger as he sucks it in, his tongue brushing over your digit, and you gasp. 
The sensation of his tongue running along your finger shoots electricity through your body and you exhale sharply, your eyes locked on Jack’s mouth as he studies your reaction. As your eyes come back up to his he lets your finger slip from between his lips, leaning forward and capturing your chin with his hand. He pauses for a second, waiting for your permission, and as you lean into him, he presses a soft kiss to your mouth. A low groan slips from him and the taste of bourbon and cream fills your mouth as he tenderly dips his tongue in between your lips. Your hand comes up to his shoulder to brace yourself, his hot mouth on yours making your pulse rase. You lean into him, needing to taste more of his mouth and his arm comes around your waist, pulling you close. 
“You taste even better than the pie, sugar,” Jack mumbles against your mouth, cupping your cheek with his large hand as you chase his lips. 
“You too, Jack,” you moan, letting him angle your face so that he can deepen the kiss, fervently licking into your mouth as he pulls you closer to his chest, your legs wrapped around his waist where he stands between them. His body is warm through the cotton of his t-shirt, his muscles moving under your palms as you explore the planes of his back. Jack lets his mustache tickle across your cheek, your jawline, as he slowly moves his lips with small, wet kisses, along your sensitive skin, trailing a path down your neck. His dark hair is thick and soft when you curl your fingers into the back of it, Jack tilting your head back as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his nose buried in your hair. 
“So sweet, darlin’,” he mutters, his voice muffled, “smells like butter and sugar.” 
“Come up here and kiss my lips again, Jack,” you protest, tugging light at his hair and he chuckles, inhaling deeply. 
“Anything for you, honey,” he replies, his big hand cupping the back of your head as he drags the cool tip of his nose up your neck and jaw, bumping against yours. When you lock eyes again he’s smiling softly, all the confident cockyness gone, replaced by warmth and affection. His lips part slowly as you pull him closer, his tongue teasing yours, making you lick into his mouth. 
He hums softly, his hand caressing your back, finding the divot of your spin and trailing his fingers up and down. In the quiet kitchen all you can hear are his low groans and your own gasps as each kiss traces sparks along your nerves. Jack’s fingers press into your back as heat builds between you, his hips slowly grinding in a movement so unhurried it’s as if he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. When his warm palms find their way up under your shirt, rough calluses stroking gently over your curves, you lean back, pulling him with you until you're flat on your back, Jack leaning down over you. 
“Gorgeous…” he mumbles, burying his face in the crook of your neck again, his hands pushing further up your shirt. 
“Oh no!” he suddenly exclaims, lifting his head up from your throat and holding up his hand, covered in mushed up pecan pie. 
“You’re on top of it, honey,” he laughs, helping you sit up, and you hear the plate clatter to the bench behind you. Now that you’re up, you can feel the stickiness against your back, and you twist, trying to see how much of a mess you’ve made. 
“Is it all over my back?” you ask and Jack looks over your shoulder and nods. 
“I’m afraid so, sugar, your shirts covered in it. Do you have something to change into?”
“No, I took everything home to wash yesterday,” you grumble, twisting your arm up behind your back and feeling the remains of the pie. 
“Here,” Jack says, standing up straight and swiftly pulling his own t-shirt off, “I’ll wear just the jacket, you take my shirt.” He holds it out to you and you hesitate, temporarily mesmerized by the sudden sight of Jack’s bare chest, tan and smooth with a trail of dark hair disappearing into his jeans.  
You swallow and pull your eyes up to his face again, “I can’t take your t-shirt, Jack.” 
“Why not? Take it, I’ve got plenty more, and I kinda like the idea of you in my shirt,” he winks and takes a step closer again, making you grab his shirt as he bends and places a wet kiss on your lips, “And this way, I can come by your place and pick it up. Or leave another one.” 
He grins as stands up again, “C’mon, sugar, take that one off and let me see you in mine.” He helps you by putting his hands back on your waist and pushing up under your ruined shirt. You peel it off gingerly, trying to avoid getting pie in your hair, and Jack’s eyes darken as you sit in front of him in just your bra. 
“Want me to put it on straight away, Jack?” you tease him as you watch him take in your shape. 
“No..but yeah, or we’re not leaving this bakery anytime soon, darlin’,” he chuckles, and you pull his t-shirt over your head as Jack sighs in mock disappointment. The soft cotton is still warm from his body and smells just like Jack, you have to inhale as it slips over your head. When you pop out from underneath it Jack is watching you with a small smile. 
“Beautiful,” he says softly, his hand coming up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you feel your cheeks heat up. 
“Do you want more pie, Jack?” you ask, pointing to the remaining pie and Jack’s eyebrows quirk up. 
“What do you think, sugar?” he smirks and you laugh. 
“I think you’ve got three empty pie forms at home and an extra hole in your belt.” 
“Not yet, but soon,” he grins, patting his small belly, “C’mon, sugar, let me drive you, make sure my shirt gets to its new home safely.” 
“I’ve got my own car, but thanks for the offer, Jack,” you smile at him and slip your arms around his neck again. “Come by soon, I’ll have more pie for you.” 
“Oh, I’m counting on it, sugar.”  
Part Nine
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This week's recipe comes courtesy of @goodwithcheese who shared her own Pecan Pie recipe with me! Thank you Megan!
Megan’s Pecan Pie 3 eggs ½ cup/100g sugar 1 cup/250 ml dark corn syrup 3 tablespoons melted butter 1 teaspoon vanilla  ¼ teaspoon salt  2 cups/approx 250g chopped pecans Whisk together all ingredients except the pecans. Stir in the pecans and pour the mixture into an unbaked pie crust and bake for 40 minutes at 350F/175C.
 @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers 
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yassmines · 5 months
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none of the young fashion girls in ny dress good lol u kno who dresses good? little old ladies that’s running their errands.
u will Never. get to that level. the style the silhouette the colors. ur neutral color outfit cowboy boots pig tail braids combo is for the pinterest boards but u r not iconic. just young and skinny
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fantillisdaylight · 2 months
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where did all the cowboys go (nh13)
nico hischier x reader
based off “where did all the cowboys go” by Abby Anderson
word count:1,080 words
warnings:mentions of past emotional abuse in relationships. fluff.
summary: all those shitty relationships lead to you finding the cowboy of your dreams who just happened to be the swiss captain of an NHL team.
years of shitty guys lead me to this moment.
the moment of meeting the person who i would have forever.
the cowboy of my dreams except he was more like the swiss king of my dreams.
a coworker had invited me out for drinks at her favorite bar in Jersey. it had been a long day of contracts and negotiations and all i wanted was an amazingly made old fashioned.
i had been sitting at the bar while she talked to some guy who had been hitting on her. sometimes i wish i had that ability.
i was tired of being fucked with emotionally with guys i dated.
men no longer had that chivalry about them that i craved. they no longer loved like the cowboys my mom used to tell me about.
the kind of man that walked you home, used manners with your parents, never let you touch a door and always opened it for you, the kind of man who never let you feel unwanted and made sure you knew he wanted you, and the kind that would pull you onto the dance floor and dance with you no matter what.
that was the love i wanted and i never expected to find it in this bar.
"hey man. can i get a beer and an old fashioned?" the man next to me asked the bartender and the bartender nodded his head and got to work on his drink.
the bartender handed him his drinks and said "are you still hiding from her?" the man next to me laughed and said yeah.
everyone used to say "curiosity killed the Y/N" and in this moment it stood true.
"i am kind of intrigued. the bartender said you were hiding from someone. may i ask what that is about?" i ask the man next to me and he just lets out a little laugh.
"a cute girl asking me about this is kind of funny but sure i will tell you if you let me buy you a drink." he says to me and i nod
he tells the bartender to add whatever i want to his and i order another old fashioned and he says "a girl after my own heart." and that makes me laugh.
"my ex girlfriend is who i am hiding from. she comes here too and i try to avoid her. the relationship didn't uh end very well. she cheated with at least three different guys." he says to me.
i sip my drink and listen to him as he continues.
once he finally finishes talking all i can say to him is that i am sorry and i know that sucks.
"okay pretty girl. what is your story? i told you mine and it seems only fair." he says to me.
"only if you tell me your name." i say in return.
"Nico." he says and i tell him mine.
"i am here with my coworker. she wanted to go out for drinks after work because of the long day we had. we work as paralegals and it was not a fun day helping with contracts." i say to him.
"mhm a cute and smart girl. i like that. now, what about relationships?" he asks me.
"uh i don't really do relationships anymore or i would if the right guy gained my trust. my last boyfriend he um wasn't the best. he didn't abuse me physically but he did emotionally. i was manipulated and lied to and i finally had enough and left. i have been with guys since, i just haven't really dated or trusted any." i say to him and his nods his head in understanding.
we stay there and talk for a little while longer and he tells me about who he is and his hockey life and i tell him more about my job.
after a while my coworker comes up to me and says she is going home with the guy she had been with and wants to make sure i can get home good. i live like a 5 minute walk from the bar so i tell her yes i would be good to walk home.
Nico and i stay a little longer talking before i end the night and tell him i need to get home.
he holds the door open for me as we leave the bar and he asks if he can walk me home. i hesitated for a minute but then i say yes because i was enjoying talking to him and kind of didn't want it to end.
i lead him into the direction of my apartment and he steps to the side of me so that he is on the edge of the sidewalk where the cars are. i look at him odd and he says "a woman should never walk on the car side of the sidewalk." and i nod and try to hide my little smile.
we continue to talk on the walk to my place and he starts to tell me about Switzerland and it sounds like such a beautiful place.
after a few minutes we finally reach my apartment and he walks me up to my door.
he leans over and kisses my cheek. "good night Y/N. thank you for indulging me tonight."
i look at him and say "thank you for letting me."
i bid him goodbye and go inside. i am barely in there for five seconds before i open the door again to catch Nico before he leaves the hall.
"hey Nico. uh i don't want to be too forward but could i get your number? i just had a really nice time and it has been a long time since i have felt like that while with a guy." i stutter out to him.
he just laughs and turns back to walk to me.
"anything you want pretty girl. i will give you my number but i want you to go one a date with me. i'd like to be someone you trust." he says to me and i nod.
once we exchange numbers, he gives me another kiss on the check and he heads back down the hall.
the next day i was telling my mom about my night at brunch.
all she said to me was "the other day you asked me where all the cowboys went. well baby i think you found one."
yeah i think i did.
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d444zed · 2 months
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Teasing and play fighting with schlatt. The idea of playground insults are fun to me! - how far will the bit go? Who would be the one to break first? Find out next time on "d444zed."
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movie night
masterlist
2:22 pm
You: Made it home! Lmk when you get here!
jay: Otw :)
Movie night was a weekly tradition that you shared with your good friend, Schlatt. Neither of you were movie buffs, but had always had a list of movies that you said you wanted to see "someday." Friday nights were set aside for movie night and the two of you would knock out two or three movies every Friday - you'd already cleared out half your list. It was a great system.
2:47 pm
jay: Here, I'm letting myself in
You: Liked a message: "Here, I'm letting myself in"
Schlatt had a key to your place and vice versa. He'd asked you to take care of his cats while he went to California for work a few months back, and he told you to keep the key. In exchange, he would come in and water your plants when you went out of town to visit family.
The only thing the two of you never agreed on was the tv settings while you watched movies. Schlatt hated closed captions - "I want to watch the movie, not read it," but you enjoyed the closed captions, it made it easier to understand the plot.
Schlatt sauntered into your living room while you finished setting out snacks on your coffee table.
"So what are we starting with?" Schlatt asked, enveloping you in a quick hug before setting the drinks he brought on the table. You provided snacks, he provided drinks, and you switched off every week.
"I was thinking we finish the Kill Bill trilogy first, then start a new trilogy after?" You gave him a throw blanket and he nodded, sitting on the couch next to you.
"If you turn on the captions, I'm taking my drinks and leaving," he warns.
"Jay, I need them! Don't be like that," you whined, dramatically "hiding" the remote from him between the couch cushions.
You turned back to him and saw him right next to you, reaching over you for the remote.
"No, Jay!" You laughed and sat on the remote, deciding that the "human shield" method of protecting the remote would be the most effective at getting your way.
"No chance, short stack. Give me the remote before I toss you across the room."
"Short stack? That's how you want to play?" You glanced at his green Wilson hoodie and retorted with "Okay, Jolly Green Giant. Try me!"
Schlatt shrugged and wrapped an arm around your waist, easily moving you to the side and grabbing the remote. This was a common occurrence between you two, and as annoying as the two of you claimed it was, it got your energy out and made you two more comfortable with each other.
"No fair! You're basically Andre the Giant," you teased and you reached for the remote.
Schlatt stood up and moved in front of you, using his non-remote-holding hand to gently hold you down on the couch. You fought against his strength and eventually stood up, jumping for the remote as Schlatt raised it above his head.
"Sorry, pipsqueak. I'm taller than you, so I win," Schlatt gloated with a smug grin.
"Okay, Mount Everest, don't think I won't climb up there," you challenged.
"Ankle-biter."
"Bigfoot."
"Armrest."
"Gandalf."
"Hey, my facial hair is way better than Gandalf's!" Schlatt shouted dramatically. He reached for your ribs are started poking you, which tickled.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't think calling you Galdalf would hit a nerve like that!" You surrendered in between fits of laughter.
You two were in an old-fashioned cowboy standoff, tv remote being held high above Schlatt's head.
"Butthead," you stated confidently, your arms crossing against your chest.
"Butthead? Really? How cute. What's next, you're gonna call me a meanie?" Schlatt held the tv remote high over his head, smirking down at you.
"Maybe I will. Meanie!" You stood your ground defiantly, jerking your upper body toward him in a motion that was supposed to be intimidating, but it didn't have that effect on Schlatt. He knew you well enough that you woudn't genuinly hurt him, this play-fighting was normal for you.
You stepped back, and Schlatt finally got a good look at you. You were lightly glistening with sweat, making your shirt stick to your frame along with your hair sticking to your face. Schlatt reached out with his free hand and brushed a stray hair off your forehead, tucking it behind your ear.
"I'm not that mean, am I?" Schlatt stepped closer to you, his voice softer than before, but it intimidated you even more when you realized how close he was.
You swallowed, refusing to break eye contact. Your breathing shallowed, and you could smell an intoxicating mixture of Schlatt's cologne and deodorant, which had faded by this late in the afternoon, so you could also get the scent of his natural musk. It took everything in you to not succumb to your desires and bury your face in his chest. You shakily stood your ground, thinking this was just an accidental closeness, until the hand that Schlatt used to brush your hair back mere moments ago began to trace your jawline until it gingerly grasped your chin and lightly pulled your face closer to his.
"What's wrong, pretty girl? Cat got your tongue?" You could feel your face flush at the nickname as you finally diverted your eyes, convincing yourself that the floor was much more interesting to look at.
"No, I just-... can I just have the remote back?" You outstretched your hand toward his chest, eyes still fixed on the floor.
"Yeah, uh... sorry. Here you go." Schlatt gently placed the remote in your hand, and you felt the heat of his fingers on yours, lingering there. You finally had the courage to look back into his eyes, hands still touching.
You swallowed again, your throat suddenly very dry. "Um, thank you, Jay..." your voice trailed off, watching his pupils grow and sweat beading on his forehead.
"Yeah, sure. Let's uh, let's sit back down."
The two of you awkwardly make the short trip back to the couch and sat on opposite ends of the loveseat, and you restarted Kill Bill: Volume 3 in silence.
Fifteen minutes of silence went by, slowly and agonizingly, and you couldn't take it anymore.
"You think I'm pretty?" You asked nonchalantly, seemingly out into the open air. You kept your eyes on the television, but you could see Schlatt look over to you out of the corner of your eye. You couldn't see him very well, which was intentional, but he almost seemed... nervous?
"Well, yeah, I, uh... of course I do," Schlatt stumbled over his words, his eyes falling to his lap.
You turned toward him, finally allowing yourself to look at him. He was slightly hunched over, seemingly trying to make himself smaller. His eyes were fixated on his hands, which were fidgeting in his lap.
You scooted closer to him on the couch as an attempt to bridge the gap of awkwardness. "Thank you," you softly replied. Your eyes darted toward your own lap.
"Why do we do this as a species? Just look at each other," you thought to yourself. When you did look back up, you saw Schlatt's outstretched arm coming toward you. He had scooted closer to you when you weren't looking, apparently. Your lips parted, as if to say something, but no words came out. Schlatt's delicate fingers brushed another strand of hair back behind your ear. Schlatt's eyes searched your face for any kind of emotion - love, rejection, anger, lust, happiness, ANYTHING. His hand traced your jawline again, this time trailing toward the nape of your neck.
"Can I kiss you?"
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fluoresensitive · 2 months
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FLUORESENSITIVE TAGS' LIST, JANUARY 2024
sound and color: afro/slash hood futurism; missy elliot and sun-ra, janelle monae's archandroid and alice coltrane
i saw things i imagined: surrealism, color and texture, fantasy worlds
i am king: knights and quests, arthurian legends, joan of arc and brienne of tarth
the turning wheel: images n quotes that remind me of an ursula k le guin novel, images and quotes that remind me of spellling
dark and hungry roots: fae + goblins + creatures, they're in the woods and they want your name
she screams!: catch all horror tag, blood and guts and slashers
laughing before god does: a more specific gore and fleshy gross horror tag, inspired by cao hui
kate bush's wuthering heights: love so intense and passionate it extends beyond the grave; i hated him, i never loved him more; you want them dead, you want them beside you, you know,
one of those crazy girls: mad and bad women, women with murderous intent, final girls, whatever didn't kill her had better start running
ain't no grave: ghosts + hauntings + the absence of something is still a sort of presence
desperado: the yeehaw agenda, cowboys
age of pleasure: sensuality + black joy and pleasure
les fleurs: black girl cottagecore, flowers and frilly dresses, sunshine on brown skin
does the poison drip through?: family dynamics, siblings + parents + ancestral rot, you need a shovel to bury your brother, does your mother love you all the time
i who bend the tall grasses: angels and demons, religious ecstasy, a god who devours
fear not!: angels and saints, gabriel comes to you with a thousand eyes and a message
my skin my logo: black skin, brown skin, brown leather, black braids, black days! these are black owned things! black faith (can't be washed away, not even in that florida water!)
the black gothic: the hood, the church, and the holy grandmother's house. daughters of the dust and eve's bayou and the work of toni morrison, deana lawson and gordon parks
pure/honey: it's giving cunt, it's giving sex, it's giving ballroom and pearls, sequins and rhinestones, eleganza!
oh bondage up yours!: black punk + leather and studs
i been on: (tell me who gon take me off!) ostentatious displays of wealth, logomania + dapper dan, gold ass watch, gold ass rangs
not yet lost all our graces: succesion-core, old money, lace-edged socks and penny loafers, your daddy's rich and your ma's good-looking
this house is empty now: haunted houses + haunted places + empty houses
what the water gave me: mermaids, sirens, and things under the sea
put me back in it: tender, love and passion + sensuality + you're in love and you're gonna shout it from the roofs
geyser by mitski: longing, needing, yearning so hard it hurts your stomach and makes you ill
secret life of plants: nature tag!
commes de garcons: fashion tag, looks, i know that's not the french way to spell it.
the more general tags like 'on writing' and 'on horror' are pretty intuitive, but just in case.
on horror / on writing / on literature / on womanism / on blackness on sundays, she picked flowers / my writing /my mewdboards / my mixtapes / my collages / recs
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determunition · 7 months
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sometimes you just have to put old people in the most bonkers fashion you can find on pinterest
p03's of course got a combination of corny tech aesthetics and cowboy vibes (as soon as i saw those CD pants i knew i had to put him in them); mag's got an eye-searing cosmic 80's-core thing going on, as he should; grimora's rife with goth/punk statement pieces that were equal parts fun and annoying to draw; and leshy is a goblincore nightmare
i hope you all enjoy gazing upon these fashion crimes as much as i enjoyed throwing them together lmao
(pinterest boards for poe, mag, grimora, and leshy are linked here if you'd like to see my references, pieces that didn't make the cut, and also a handful of cursed vibe pics thrown in for good measure)
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dear-ao3 · 4 months
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who are the 20 f1 meow meows?
max verstappen (fast but an asshole on the track. lives in fear of his cats. winning everything.)
checo perez (might lose his spot. had two separate did not finishes in the same race. kissed another car at the hairpin)
sir lewis hamilton (fashion icon, classiest mother fucker you’ll ever see, knighted, just wants a comeback and to win his 8th world championship)
george russell (walking meme, looks like he belongs in the window of a tommy bahama, says crikey and blimey unironically, the most british person ever)
charles leclerc (the poorest little meow meow, is a millionaire but has a cracked back of his phone, either is fighting for the podium or crashes on the first lap, please dear god let this man win something he has the worst luck i’ve ever seen)
carlos sainz (smooth operator, dunks on everyone’s golf game especially landos, aparently doesn’t eat his pancakes with toppings, drives a volkswagen golf at least sometimes)
lando norris (usually getting told by carlos he sucks at golf, chronically online, has a blanket with george russell’s face on it, gets in trouble for being too sarcastic, please give him a win it’s been 5 years)
oscar piastri (has never once looked like he’s having a good time but almost did once while building a house of cards, hates horoscopes, almost got sued by alpine when he said he wasn’t signing with them after alpine announced he was signing with them, has an iconic mom)
fernando alonso (old man, retired and then came back for some reason, tad villain and he knows it, don’t mention taylor swift around him)
lance stroll (still waiting for his tennis career tbh, his dad bought aston martin to guarantee him a seat, rage monster)
esteban ocon (french, monster of a teammate aparently, once got beat up in the garage by max verstappen, besties with stroll and mick schumacher)
pierre gasley (also french, terrible awful haircut, did i mention he’s french, had his brain chemistry permanently altered by being teammates with yuki, photo dump king)
nico hulkenberg (looks like that one penguin with the weird hair from penguins of madagascar, dad, has raced in over 200 races and never been on the podium)
kevin magnussen (was kicked off haas because they wanted younger drivers only to reappear the next year after they fired one of the drivers for probably funding the russian ukrainian war, once fok smashed a door, has the cutest child)
valtteri bottas (unproblematic king, cyclist, makes his own alcohol, is ass out on netflix and has his own naked calendar called bott ass, mullet mustache man)
zhou guanyu (baby fashion icon, trying his best in a medium shit car, first chinese driver ever in f1)
daniel ricciardo (class clown, made the worst career mistake of leaving red bull and is now trying to get back in, from australia but is a texas cowboy, usually fucking shit up, just wants to tickle his scrotum and touch his nutsack)
yuki tsunoda (wants to chef, was forcibly moved to italy by his team cause he didn’t want to work out with his trainer, short king, usually gets sacrificed to the luck gods, cursed radios)
alex albon (so insanely barbie coded, filmed a cereve commercial in his hotel room with his girlfriend, definitely dyes his own hair with box dye, incredible oldest sibling energy, single-handedly carrying williams)
logan sargeant (what the fuck is a kilometer!!!! only american in f1, usually found in dead last or kissing walls, one of his essential items is heinz burger sauce, says mate with an american accent)
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*These weren’t necessarily written and/or posted in June, but that’s when I read them 😊
(thanks for your patience with this y'all, i'm so sorry it took so long to post. working on getting july and august recs out as well ❤️)
🔥 - explicit/mature content
Star Wars
🔥For Your Entertainment (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor
Gardens of Babylon (Cowboy!Din Djarin x Cowgirl!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch (yes i'm rec-ing this again)
You Are in Love (Modern!Poe Dameron x Reader) - @alwritey-aphrodite (i will rec this every time i read a new chapter, try and stop meeee)
🔥Clandestine (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @the-little-ewok
🔥Good Morning (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @whirlybirbs
🔥favor (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @eyelessfaces
Rookie Mistake (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @groguspicklejar
🔥Never Before (Poe Dameron x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor
Moon Knight
🔥Prized Possession (Marc Spector x Steven Grant x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor
🔥The Best Kept Secrets - Marc's Story (dbf!Marc Spector x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor
🔥Kisses on your lovers lap (Marc Spector x F!Reader) - @sweetly-yours-and-mine
🔥Let Your Fingers to the Talking (Jake Lockley x F!Villain!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor
Spoiled Rotten (Marc Spector x Reader) - @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction
Sprite: Savior (Marc Spector x forest nymph oc Nikini) - @spacecowboyhotch
Bubble Bath (Marc Spector x Reader) - @shewhohangsoutincemeteries
Domestic Fluff (Steven Grant x Housewife!Reader) - @xbellaxcarolinax
Fluff and Kisses with Marc (Marc Spector x Reader) - @sweetly-yours-and-mine
Her Hair Reminds Me of a Warm, Safe Place (Marc Spector x Layla El-Faouly) - @romanarose
🔥Forever Bittersweet (Marc Spector x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor
🔥Please (Marc Spector x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor
Spiderman: Across the Spiderverse
🔥take it (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @eyelessfaces
🔥apology (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @eyelessfaces
🔥willing to give (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @graysonshaven
🔥take my breath (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @whatthefishh
🔥burrowed under my skin (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @dameronscopilot
🔥Cállate (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @xbellaxcarolinax
🔥Impatient (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction
🔥Little Bug (Yandere!Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor
Every You, Every Me (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @astroboots (i haven't finished this yet but i cannot recommend this fic enough)
🔥Soothe & Sleep (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch
🔥Wandering Hands (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @loganlermanstanaccount
tousled, stubbled, tired (Miguel O'Hara x Reader) - @eyelessfaces
🔥Virgin!Miguel w/a huge cock and fucks both of u dumb (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @xbellaxcarolinax
🔥Take It All (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @romanarose
🔥Make Me A Liar (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @groguspicklejar
🔥coming home (Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader) - @eyelessfaces
Triple Frontier
Blurring Out (Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @spacecowboyhotch
Being Will's Girl Would Include (Will Miller x F!Reader) - @missdictatorme
🔥Look What the Cat Dragged In (Santiago Garcia x F!Thief!Reader) - @missdictatorme
For Better, For Worse (Santiago Garcia x F!Reader) - @bullet-prooflove
The Last of Us
To the Rescue (Pre-Outbreak!Joel x F!Reader) - @romanarose
Waffle House penance (Joel Miller x F!Reader) - @softlyspector
Sucker Punch
🔥Needy Little Thing (Blue Jones x F!Reader) - @melodygatesauthor
The Two Faces of January
🔥The Oxford Comma Series (Rydal Keener x F!Reader) - @whatthefishh (will never stop rec-ing this fic ❤️)
Ex Machina
🔥heavenly praises (Nathan Bateman x F!Reader) - @leoluved
🔥old fashioned (Nathan Bateman x F!Reader) - @leoluved
🔥chase and pull (Nathan Bateman x F!Reader) - @leoluved
🔥indulge me (Nathan Bateman x F!Reader) - @leoluved
Thank you to all the wonderful writers for sharing their stories with us 🥰❤️
*For more recs, please feel free to check out my fic rec tag.
**If you’d like to have your fic removed from the list, I completely understand, just let me know
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asphalt-cocktail · 25 days
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Lead Us to Temptation- Masterlist
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Summary: In the small town of Eden Ridge, you knew several things to be true: church happened every Sunday, the saloon served free lunch with the purchase of a drink on Thursdays, coal miners left work at 7PM sharp, and Bucky Barnes was a man sent from the depths of hell dangling the threat of temptation and sin right in front of your face. All you need to do is reach out and grab it.
Pairing: Outlaw!Bucky Barnes X Reader
Warnings: Cowboy/western/outlaw AU, religious themes, Midwestern Gothic, dark themes, guns, violence, misogyny, crass language, alcohol, smoking, explicit content, mature content, overall mature themes. The story takes place a little further north than the typical wild west setting because I am a Midwestern girl at heart. Bucky is going to be 10 years older than reader (i am trying not to use Y/N). The time line is the late 1880s/1890s. As always my reader is most likely plus sized/curvy. If you see any Red Dead Redemption references no you didn't
DNI if you are under 18 or if these themes upset you.
Read me on AO3
A/N: Well howdy there folks! Isn't it crazy when you say you're going to retire from writing fanfictions and then are possessed to write one? Anyways I'm back and better than ever and I hope you all enjoy the ramblings of someone who is terminally H word if you know what I mean. As always, likes and reblogs are immensely appreciated. There will be no tag list because i am far too lazy to do that, but feel free to turn on notifications for me or bookmark it on AO3 where it will also be posted per usual. Also I'm sorry if its not 100% historically accurate, I'm doing a lot of research in fashion and what not but at the end of the day I'm just a girl. The tag to find this in my blog will be #LUT
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🔥- Smut
Chapter 1- Precious Lord Take my Hand
Chapter 2- Good Old Fashioned Catholic Guilt 🔥
Chapter 3- Hell Hath No Fury
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absurdthirst · 8 months
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Birthday Wishes {Agent Whiskey x F!Reader}
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 2.1k
Warnings: Jack being absolutely besotted, public sexual activities, vaginal fingering, slight exhibitionism, oral sex (female receiving), multiple orgasms
Comments: Jack promises to make your birthday a night to remember.
💝🎉🎊🎁Happy Birthday @wardenparker!!!!! You are an amazing friend and co-writer, I am lucky that you want to spend time with a nut like me! I hope you have an amazing birthday today. 💝🎉🎊🎁
**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.
|| MasterList || Agent Whiskey MasterList ||
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Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.
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“Sugar, you are as pretty as a picture and twice as sweet.” Your eyes shift from the mirror where you had been carefully touching up your makeup under the bright bulbs of your vanity to where Jack’s warm brown eyes are watching you. They darken slightly and on edge of that cock mouth curls up and lifts his neatly trimmed mustache. You know what is about to come out of his mouth. “We can always stay home and have our own celebration right here, sans clothes.” 
It shouldn’t be tempting, but when Jack Daniels is your lover, your partner, it’s always on the table. The man could talk you out of plans and out of your clothes so fast, your head would be spinning. And not just from that talented mouth eating your pussy like it was nectar of the Gods. 
“You always say that, Jack.” “‘Cause you always tempt me to keep you for myself, sugar.” Strong, warm arms slide around your soft stomach and he squeezes you tight as his nose and mouth burrow in at your shoulder. Giving you a view of his artfully combed hair. The cowboy hat hadn't gone on his head, just yet. “Fuck, you always smell so good.” 
It was the perfume he had bought you. One of the first gifts he had brought from a mission when he had decided to ‘court’ you. His words, although you find the old fashioned vernacular charming and very fitting. Jack might be crass at times, but at others he is the height of a southern gentleman. 
His mustache tickles and makes you shiver, followed by his hot mouth ghosting over your pulse and pressing petal soft kisses to your skin. Making gooseflesh pebble your skin and your eyes slip closed as you sigh out his name. 
He’s good at distracting you. Those large hands sliding over your stomach and traveling up to cup your breasts. His groan against your skin is low, already husky rumble even raspier as he slowly massages the flesh in his hands through your bra. You hadn’t dressed yet, waiting until  your hair and makeup is done before you slide your dress on. 
“Jack.” You whine, eyes half closed and your lips poised in a pout as you instinctively lean to the side to give him more room to do whatever he wants with your body. “You planned tonight.” You remind him. 
“Next time, smack me upside the head.” He huffs, reluctantly pulling away from where he was nibbling on your shoulder to send you an playfully unhappy look in the mirror. “For being such a fool to think I wouldn’t want to keep you home and to myself.” 
Rolling your eyes at him, you smirk and lift a brow. “Finish getting ready, Mr. Daniels.” You chide. “You promised me a night out for my birthday and that is exactly what I am getting.” 
Letting go of your tits, Jack winks at you and grins. “Of course you are, sugar.” He promises with a smirk. “Tonight is going to be a night you never forget.” 
****
“Jack!” Your surprised squeal is muffled against his jacket, although you shouldn’t be surprised. Jack’s fingers, push aside the material of your panties and those thick, nimble fingers quickly find your sex slick with desire. “We are in public!” 
“So?” His chuckle fans out warmly over your skin and he rubs your bundle of nerves before his thumb presses against it and two fingers push slowly inside you. “No one is paying attention and I can’t help myself.” He defends. “You are too appealing, sugar. Sittin’ here lookin’ like an angel wrapped in sin.” 
The pressing curl of his fingers steals your ability to answer. Mouth dropped open in a soundless moan, only the tiniest squeak manages to sound, barely even reaching his ear except he’s listening for it. 
“Hmmmm.” He rumbles, making sure that he curls his body around you in the booth in the most intimate corner of the restaurant. While he loves pushing the boundaries of propriety, he doesn’t want anyone to actually see you. Your pleasure is his alone. “What’s that, sugar?” He coos softly. “I didn’t hear you.” 
Turning your head, you feel the way that he is absolutely playing your pussy like it’s a stringed instrument. Moaning softly into his ear, your body pulls taunt and starts to roll with the plunge of his fingers. It’s wicked and filthy, letting him finger you right here in the middle of the trendiest restaurant around, the possibility of anyone catching you running high as waiters and guests run around. Still, your fingers grip the fabric of his suit coat and you let him do whatever he wishes to your body as you respond to him. 
The drag of his fingers in and out of your velvet walls makes you hiss in pleasure, the way they pulse around his thick digits similar to how he feels when he is working his cock inside you. Nerve endings firing in pleasure and making the knot in your belly grow every time he pushes them deep. 
“Jack.” You pant softly, trying to keep your voice down as your eyes dart around the room. It makes him chuckle, but the pressure against your clit and the movement of his fingers never pauses. 
“You’re gonna cum for me, sugar.” He promises. “Your pretty little pussy is gonna weep around my fingers and give me a little treat to suck on that will be more delicious than the best dessert in this place.” His chuckle is low and raspy. “Hell, I’d rather set you up on the table and feast on you.” 
He would probably do it, if you were at home. Your table has often been the scene of countless couplings. Now he just intends to make you whine and whimper, shaking with pleasure in public. 
Your finger nails dig into the fabric of his suit, clutching for purchase, to ground you so you don’t go floating away on a cloud of ecstasy while the entire restaurant watches. The wine on the table is barely touched and yet you feel like your head is swimming, thoughts fuzzy to everything but the press of his fingers. 
Jack’s dark eyes watch you, sparkling encouragement from their dark depths. His lips pulled into a smirk as every pass of his fingers rockets you closer to having to muffle a cry. He’s enjoying your pleasure. If you were to reach down and take a squeeze of his cock, you would find him hard as a rock. 
“Just a little more, sugar.” He coos, leaning in and kissing your jaw. “Just a little more and your sweet pussy will be singin’ for me. Can you do that? Can you cum in my fingers and let me have a little taste of you?” 
The raw, rough pitch of his voice and the next swipe of his finger pushes you over the edge. Turning and burying your face against his neck, your muffled moan is barely heard outside your little booth, breathed into the fabric of his suit. “Jack, oh God, Jack.” You whimper, the quiver of your cunt following the molten slick that coats his fingers and makes him hum in satisfaction. 
“That’s it, sugar, cream on ole Jack’s fingers for me.” He whispers in praise, working you through it and humming as your flutter walls start to slow. “Good girl,” He likes the way you pant against his collar, looking just for the world like a woman who is snuggled against her man. “Ride it out.”
Jack’s fingers work you until he can sense that you want him to stop and slowly pull out of your wet heat. The sticky sounds make him grin and his napkin comes up with his hand to cover him discreetly licking his finger clean with a small groan of pleasure. 
Your face flames hot when the server glides back over to the table, either unaware of what had just happened or the soul of discretion to not mention that you are still slightly panting from the way he had just turned your world upside down. Clearing your plates and assuring you that dessert was already on the way. 
Turning towards Jack with a surprised look, you can tell that he had pre-planned this by the very pleased look on his face as he nods and picks up his champagne glass. “To another year that we - and I mean all of us - have been graced with your presence and blessed by your existence.” He taps his glass to yours. “Happy Birthday, sugar.” 
You take a sip of your frothy, bubbly champagne and he winks at you. “This is only the beginning.” He promises, having planned out the entire night out to make sure you know how special you are to him and how much he loves you. 
“Jack.” You huff, almost embarrassed having his attention centered on you like you always are. When Jack is focused, that is the only thing that matters in the world and right now, that focus is on you.  
“Baby girl, you deserve a night that is all your own.” He insists, lips pushed into a pout and winks at you. “I’m going to make sure of it.” A promise that you know that he will not be satisfied until he makes good on.
****
“Jaaaaaaaack.” Your hips jerk and lift under his firm grip, not going anywhere but where he wishes for you to. Completely in control and taking you apart lick by lick as his tongue curls and flicks over your swollen clit. Wrenching moan after unhinged moan out of you as he builds you up for yet another peak. 
You don’t know how long it has been since you last shuddered apart under the coaxing of his tongue, it might have been thirty seconds ago or an hour. Time is suspended when you look down to see his mustache pressed against your mound and his sharply curved nose breathing in the heady scent of your pleasure. 
Jack is meticulous. Bringing you into the house and starting to strip you down. His lips covering every inch of your body and making sure that he whispers praises into your skin as he scatters them artistically on your skin. Fingers trailing as he slowly drags your dress down to let it pool at your feet before sliding under the straps of your bra to pull them down your arms. Stripping much more than your clothes as he undresses you, he’s stripping away the layers of protection and armor until there is nothing left but you and him. 
That is when Jack’s true talent comes out. That mouth. It can be used for quick witted banter or issuing threats that he has the training to back up, sarcastic quips or for smooth reassurances. The best use for it though is when he puts his mouth on you. 
Jack Daniels is a cocky son of a bitch, but he knows what he is doing. He spends the time making sure that he knows every spot on your body that would make you sing his name. Carefully and meticulously mapping your pleasure points to use against you.
Smirking against your cunt, Jack chuckles and flicks his tongue against your clit once more. Pushing you over the edge and you come with a wail of his name. Watching as your entire world explodes and your eyes flutter while you gasp out. Working you through it with a slow suckle on your sex that keeps extending the pleasure and twisting it higher inside you. 
Your fingers tangle into the sheets, the only thing keeping you from floating away as your body shakes and heat floods your system. His name is the only thing that you can manage to say over and over again. Falling off your tongue in gasping praise while your thighs press around his ears and squeeze them tight. 
By the time that he is kissing up your body and settling between your thighs, you are finally floating back down to earth. Cognizant of the smug smirk that rides on his face as he slides up to kiss your lips and nudges his nose against yours. “I love you, sugar.” 
The sentiment is perfect for the moment that he slides inside you. Filling and stretching you out the way that only he can. Your head tilts back and your moan is soft, your legs starting to wrap around his waist. Enjoying the weight of him on top of you and surrounding you. Consuming you. 
Every thrust is slow and measured, letting you feel him. Experience the slow pulses inside you and the sharp twitches as he rocks you both higher. Words of love and praise passing between you with languid kisses. 
“I love you sugar.” Jack groans, wrapping his arms around you tighter. “Happy birthday, gorgeous.” 
Nothing on earth could ever beat birthday wishes from Jack. Nothing. 
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