#they really like that photo from Live from Philadelphia | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lovejosephquinn · 11 months

Note

i dare you to write all the smut yes please thank you

Summary: What would happen if meeting Joe turned out to be not just your average experience? What if you caught his eye in more ways than one?

This is completely delusional but we can dream right?

Taglist: @eddiemunson-mylove @choke-me-eddie @josephfakingquinn @ali-r3n @chrissymjstan @strangerthingssimps-blog @tlclick73 @whoscamila @figmentofquinn @musicoverall @geekyfifi @emilyslutface @live-love-be-unique @shizlac @andrearose89 @flipflisssobsessions @sadbitchfangirl @aol19 @punchdrunkpeach @eddies-puppet @tlclick73

Under 18's DNI. Word Count: 7.2k

In a normal world, what really happens after meeting a celebrity or just plainly someone you've been longing to meet at a comic con event? usually nothing. You will go about your life again with the memory of an amazing day; but what happens when that nothing becomes something? Surely not you, it's never you.

You were sure meeting Joseph Quinn was to be the best day of your life, it had been a long time coming since you'd booked the tickets around 4 months back, planning your trip and making your way to Philadelphia for the weekend to finally make your wish come true. It was better than you had ever expected it to be, busy? Extremely. It was even a wonder at all that this weekend had happened since with what happened with Joe almost not being able to get over to the states but low and behold, everything went ahead as planned, even if it was just the one day.

Upon glancing over whilst queuing for your photo op, the whole experience was something beyond what you had ever imagined, the nerves were irresistibly nauseating, your stomach containing mad butterflies that flipped in different directions making sure the anxiety and excitement remained. You were at least third in front of the line when you hit the corner of the curtain where Joe's part was secured off from anyone else able to take images of their own. You peeped over the person in front of you to get a better look in; and there he was.

Dressed all in black, a leather jacket slung over his shoulder where he was clearly getting to warm to keep it on, a plain black t-shirt tucked into some straight black jeans, a belt to match and the cute little black boot which smartened up his outfit. It was one of the first time's you had witnessed his hair in such a style, clearly growing it out for his next role, it almost didn't look like Joe at all since you were used to the way he styled it back normally. It looked undeniably adorable, the way the curls were tamed around the front of his forehead yet wild and fluffy at the back. Hat hair. That was the only option as to why it wasn't at it's full fuzzy capacity. It was a rare sight to see him dressed so laid back, almost casual, but you were eating it up and so was every other person stood in line with the same view in tow. If it weren't for you being stood on your tip toes, you wouldn't have noticed the way he glanced twice, double taking the image of you he could just about see. You were so lost in thought, your feet took you forward but your brain was trained on the man you were about to see, scared to death but more exhilarated than anything.

Your eyes had averted to the floor when you felt a tap on your shoulder. You looked around to the person almost startled like a rabbit in headlights when they ushered you out of your thoughts to the sight of nobody in front of you. Joe sticking his arm out toward you, smiling like you had always seen on pictures previously. You took a deep breath and wandered over, your eyes locked on one another, the big doe eyes you had been dreaming about were real, burning through your eyes and into your soul.

"Hi there beautiful." You heard it as a whisper, but your pretty sure that every fibre in your being was concentrating on not making an utter tit of yourself. Had you heard those three words? Absolutely. Were you speechless? Indefinitely.

"Hi there handsome." No. No. No. Joe took a hold of your hand, placing it around his stomach as he gripped his over the course of your forearm, his thumb stroking over you slightly, making your breath hitch as he held you quite tightly toward him. Smiling the least awkward you felt you could manage, the camera flashed and you were let go. You moved back, losing your step and almost falling like someone would be behind you to catch you, just as you could regain your balance, Joe's hands came to hold you up once more, saving you from the embarrassment of what could have been you on the floor paralysed with nerves.

"You okay?" He poked his tongue out to the side of his upper lip, glancing at you and giving you the once over, you swore you watched him double take you once more as if he were planting a mental image of you in his brain for later.

"I'm good, thank you Joseph." You muttered, a small nod and a reassuring smile back sent Joe to pull you in for one last hug. You melted into a puddle, your body was there but everything inside of you had turned to mush. You giggled hideously in his arms. Not like you.

"Please. Call me Joe." He winked at you. "See you later yeah?" You made no attempt to speak in case you made an even bigger fool of yourself walking away, turning back to find his eyes still staring over at you whilst he put his arm out to the next person, you made a subtle wave as you watched Joe take a massive sigh of what was either relief that you didn't make yourself look the con's idiot or to see you leave. Either way, your meet was over and it would be a long wait to meet him again in the next few hours for your autograph. You headed over to grab your picture from the collection point, thanking the staff member who handed it to you.

You moved yourself over to a corner where you didn't dare look at it until you were at least close to a wall where you felt safer, your brain imagining in the worst case scenario that after this encounter, you might pass out. It beat being stood in the middle of everyone and everything where you could draw attention to yourself. As you looked down, the photo was absolutely perfect, Joe looked incredible. You were mediocre of course, not looking bad but the angle was obviously right and a professional camera and lighting helped your case. If you weren't mistaken, you looked quite good together, the fact that you were deranged for even having that thought cross your mind was beyond you, maybe you'd keep that thought to yourself.

Needless to say, not just from the picture you couldn't stop looking at, you couldn't quite deter the image of him away from your brain, the way he'd looked at you in clear daylight so differently to what you had seen before. Was it just your mind playing tricks on you? You know what you saw and to you and everyone else around you if they had noticed, it was not a normal look. How many other girls had he called beautiful? How many other's had he pulled in to a hug when the photo op is meant to only last milliseconds, yours felt like forever; you certainly wished it could have continued but you would have to wait and see if you were delusional enough to see if he was to remember you.

They say time flies when you're having fun but at this point in time you have switched the butterflies in your stomach for pure vomit like symptoms, the anxiety of seeing him again is heart wrenching, not to the point where people are just excited, you just needed to know if what you witnessed back at the photo op was correct.

After a toilet break, a silent pep talk in the mirror, touching up your hair and make up to what you thought was a nice, natural level, you headed out towards the part of the building where the autographs were being held. The announcement came over the speakers letting people know that were in the selected category where to begin queuing. You twiddled your thumbs, trying to stare down at your phone whilst you waited, the anxiety filling your guts with dread. After at least a half an hour wait, you were almost to the front and you could just about make out Joe's voice which was just around the corner. The sounds of laughing, borderline awkward conversation's coming from the other fans and Joe reassuring people it's okay to be nervous and that he's just as nervous as they are. You wondered if he'd looked at them the same way he had previously glanced at you before. Probably. You were the last to join the queue so you wondered if you would get a moment longer than what other's had with him.

You selected your picture to be signed, stating your name to his team working relentlessly to make sure everything was going smoothly. Just as Joe's conversation was being put to a close with the girl in front of you, his eyes shot straight to yours, the eye contact back, the descriptive reference of burning through your soul apparent. There were now inches between you as your picture was passed to Joe along with your name.

"Hello again." Joe smiled in such a confident way that threw you straight off guard. You smiled back trying to mask every ounce of apprehension you were feeling at this moment in time.

"Hi Joe."

"Y/N, the beautiful girl has a name." His teeth were on show this time, his tongue poking out as he looked down to sign your picture, taking it upon himself to fold a part of the corner and covering it like a school child not wanting anyone to see their work in fright of it being copied. You thanked him when he handed it over to you.

"This is for you, don't be a stranger." He winked at you again. This had gone completely different to what you thought, the mysterious note was something you were sure you had never seen him do before when you had watched previous fan encounters. Sure, you'd not made an effort to make much conversation, purely because the people around him were eyeing you up more than likely because they were ready for their breaks.

His hand came to rest on yours that was leaning against the table and as you were about to turn away, he cleared his throat. "I mean it." Another wink. Shit. Maybe all you were imagining was turning out to be real. Removing yourself from the clear tension between the two of you, you didn't look back to see if he was still watching you, it was obvious he was because you could feel those bush baby eyes digging into the back of your head, possibly even all the way down your back.

Finding your corner again, you pushed yourself against the wall, slowly slipping down it to plant yourself firmly on your bum, knees almost up to your chest, you were ready to find out what he had written on the back of your autographed photo. To anyone else, the front just looked like anybody else's regular experience as you turned the creased corner over where he had made sure it sat straight back up when he handed it to you, eleven digits stood proud in the gold sharpie ink. Surely. Fucking. Not. Joseph Quinn. THE Joseph Quinn had given you his number, without a care in the world. Was this real or was it a stupid joke just to play around with you. Why would he even do such a thing? Pick you out of the several hundreds of people he's met today and give such a personal thing out to someone he doesn't even know. It explained a lot though, his voice replayed over and over in your head.

"Don't be a stranger." You gasped. He did say that. "I mean it." It was fully intentional and you were fully motivated to find out if this was actually real, you pinched yourself a couple of times to make sure you wouldn't wake up, to give yourself the up most reassurance that this wasn't a dream and it had actually happened. It didn't even matter anymore that you had just met your celebrity crush, or the guy who's CV you know like the back of your hand. It was about a really attractive human being had quite obviously took a liking to you and made the choice to take a chance in hearing from you again; after all this isn't something that happens every day, if at all.

You set your things down next to you and pulled out your phone, were you being too eager to text the number straight away? Yes. A phone number is there to be texted though, that is the whole point of them is it not? You folded the crease over again and eyed the number, typing it slowly into your add contact option, saving it immediately so that your anxiety of a random number wouldn't startle you if he had replied and you had completely forgotten. Who were you kidding, you would never forget this.

You: 'Hi it's Y/N. I didn't expect your note to be this...'

Well done you. Clear straight to the point and less embarrassing if it had turned out that he had given you a false number. You looked away as your thumb tapped against the send button, you heard the little swipe which meant it had sent and then a few seconds later, delivered. Glancing back down, the read sign almost made you throw up over your phone. The little bubble in the left hand corner appeared. Double fucking fuck.

Joe: 'I'm glad you didn't think I was weird for doing it. There's just something about you, figured I'd take my chances and if you were a psycho it's easy to get blocked nowadays ;)'

You bit down on your lip. It's him. It's actually Joe. Your fingers started tapping furiously to reply.

You: 'Well I assure you I'm not and there's nothing that special about me I promise. Maybe you're the crazy one Joe :)'

Joe: 'I guess I am crazy for giving a fan (if that's what you are) my number, but make sure I don't regret it. In short, what are you doing later?'

THIS IS NOT REAL LIFE. How are you even messaging Joe like you've known him years or met him like he's just a regular person walking about the street. He's fucking famous and it's a dangerous game for you to play, something you will have to keep to yourself for a long time.

You: 'Of course I'm a fan, but you're also a human being so it's not weird I guess. Nothing much, got a couple more days here so I'll be sitting in my hotel tonight and having a drink.'

Joe: 'Want some company?'

YES. YES. YES. YES. YES. The devil on your shoulder was practically slapping you across the face, screaming at you to not decline this offer.

You: 'Sure. I'll send you my location later.'

You were left on read after the last reply, you were guessing he had gotten busy for the best part. Staring at your phone for the next fifteen minutes or so with no reply was slightly disheartening but you had to remember outside all of this, the man was still at work. Outside all of that, this was becoming personal.

You'd left through the nearest exit you could find, hoping to get back to the hotel and get changed into something a little more flattering than your smart casual comfortable outfit that you had chose to adorn to meet Joe today. Was this considered a date? You were in way over your head, it was just two strangers meeting for a drink and getting to know one another. As Joe had said, maybe he was the weird one for insinuating that you would even want to see him again, be it that way or seeing him through a comic con. You were trying to convince yourself that this was going to be nothing, just a friendly, casual and laid back interaction between two people over a drink or two.

You sent Joe your location and he had let you know he'll be by the hotel around 8pm and to meet wherever the bar is. You threw everything out of your neatly packed suitcase onto the bed, only having took the bare minimum out of what you had decided to wear to bed the night before and today. Scratching your way through the pile of outfit options you had packed, you unearthed your old faithful chest revealing, black lace trimmed dress, you know; just in case. Not just in case you were to be spending the evening with Joe, but just in case you were to go anywhere nice in Philadelphia and you needed a more expensive looking option.

You started your look again, wiping off all of your make up and taking a shower, counting down the next couple of hours which would drag until you saw his face again. You blasted music from your phone to put you in a less uneasy mood, to you it was always the answer to play a genre that would make you feel at ease and fully relaxed. Your mind was constantly on him yet it didn't matter because you were too focussed on making yourself look the best you ever had. You thought you'd done that today in meeting him a the Fan Expo, yet this situation was more exclusive and particular, which gave you more ammunition than you needed to go all the way in your look. Slipping the dress in a way to not ruin your hair was a task, but you did it, adding your own little touch and putting on your boots to feel more comfortable really finished off your outfit for you, you glanced at yourself in the mirror as your phone flashed behind you on the bed. You darted over to it faster than you ever thought you could, heart pounding, palms sweating.

Joe: 'I'm almost here love. I hope I've got the right place.'

You: 'There's a thing called google maps Joe ;)'

Joe: 'Well aren't you a smart little egg?'

Oh the banter, the purity, the cheek, the innocence. The Flirting?

You made your way down to the ground floor of the hotel after one final check of yourself, having to mentally slap yourself at biting the skin at the corner of your thumb which was helping you calm your nerves but at the same time making you want to wet yourself in anticipation. Finding your way into the bar which was pretty empty considering how many guests were staying, you were stopped by a security guard who looked at you with sudden intent.

"Bars closed tonight-" He was interrupted by the sound of a chair dragging it's feet against the floor.

"She's with me." Joe.

Well this made complete sense. The man let you through and closed the make shift curtain behind him, leaving you two alone.

"There she is." Joe smiled, offering his hand to give you an admittedly awkward one armed hug.

"Hey. Well this is-"

"Weird? I told you, maybe I am the weird one." You both laughed in unison, he'd already made you feel somewhat at ease and you'd only been stood in his presence for 30 seconds.

"I called the hotel as soon as you let me know where you were and reserved the bar for just the two of us, just so there's no-"

"Interruptions?" You finished his sentence for him which made him smile, a little nod came your way. "Exactly." He finished.

Joe was still wearing the same outfit from today, his hair looked a little more messy than before, he'd clearly freshened himself up before coming to meet you too, an extremely telling first impression to you that he cares about his appearance, though you already knew that.

"What do you want to drink?" Joe said.

"Whatever you're having."

"Double vodka martini's it is then."

"Perfect!" You sat down in the quietest part of the room, away from the eye of the bar and prying stuff wanting to hear and know what was going on between you two.

"A girl after my own heart." He chuckled, a lowish tone which brought the butterflies straight back flipping around your stomach at the very same pace they were doing this very morning.

Joe came back shortly with the drinks, you clinked them together in a cheers and sipped in unison, putting them down onto the table as you turned to each other. There was the burning look again. His eyes were mesmerising, a deep pool of chocolatey brown that you could get lost in for days. He ushered his leather jacket off of his shoulders, putting it the other side of him, his skin now clear as day and only centimetres away from you.

"So did you have fun today?" Joe asked politely, you guessed it was only right he got the awkward questions out of the way first.

"Yeah was amazing. You have a lot of time and patience for what you do, it's incredible to see." You replied.

"It's part of my job, it's fucking exhausting don't get me wrong, but it's great to meet people. Wouldn't of met this pretty girl otherwise would I?" Joe nudged his arm to yours, giving you a side smirk as he took another drink, clearly regretting his cringeworthy reply.

"Oh yeah, what's her name?"

Joe quickly caught onto your sarcasm, nudging you harder this time so your body flung itself sideways.

"Oh. Me?"

"Obviously." Joe rolled his eyes, turning his head to face the room but keeping his peripheral vision attached to you always so he could still read your reaction.

"Do you do this often?"

"What the events?" Joe shot a look back at you, furrowing his brow, your eyes faltering to his lips as his tongue poked out to wet them, you quickly had to regain your composure so that he didn't notice.

"Duh." You shook your head. "Give random girls your number in this way?"

"You're the first." Joe shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm honoured."

"It is I who should be honoured darling."

You got along like a house on fire. Joe didn't share much about his personal life, but the things you did come to learn just proved how much of a normal guy he still was at heart. You had slowly forgotten outside of this natural setting who he was, that he was just a guy you were meeting for a drink on a random Sunday evening. You talked each others ears off, the more you had to drink, the more you would eventually get out of him, something inside of him still remained reserved and you didn't entirely mind that, but he was just as intrigued to find out about you, who you were and what your deal was.

A few drinks was never the term, it turned into a table full of empty glasses, you were swaying by this point, your head full of Martini and shots of tequila, it had turned into a two man party more than anything and it certainly gave you the confidence if not Joe also to get a little bit more comfortable with one another. You had complained you were cold, digging the old chestnut out to see if he was going to be gentleman about it, you didn't even have to say anything before he noticed and offered you ahis jacket, you were now sporting the whole attire, leather and lace. The term was meaningful of the two together, a generous and intimacy of give and take. It was over sized, perfect to fit over your shoulders and the best of all? It smelt of Joe, something extremely distinctive of him which you would make sure your nostrils engulphed enough of so you could remember it forever.

"It's getting late." You muttered.

"How old are you?" Joe laughed, downing the last of his drink.

"Shut up, I mean, for you."

"Trying to get rid of me darling?" Joe leant closer into you, putting his arm around you trying to be as distinct about it as possible.

"Never."

"That's what I thought."

"The bars closing though, it's almost midnight."

"We can go talk in your room for a while if you like then I can sober up a little so my walk back to my hotel isn't so traitorous." Joe offered, the puppy dog eyes back in full force as if he was the one that didn't want to go, it was obvious that he was having as great of a time as you were, a glorious win for you indeed.

"Remember what I said about google-"

"Maps? I'll still get lost." You rolled your eyes then returned them straight to Joe, fluttering your eyelashes as best as you could.

"Come on then." You slipped out of the chair as Joe followed behind you through the curtain, bowing down in an attempt not to be seen, yet there was nobody around.

"What are we playing detectives now?" You laughed.

Joe caught up almost catching his feet on your heals as you fell forward, his arms wrapping themselves around your waist as he pulled you up into him, lifting you off the ground slightly making you squeal out loud.

"Yes I've got her, I've got the criminal."

The grip he had on you was strong but you felt unusually safe. To say it was in the arms of a stranger who wasn't really a stranger because you had known of him for over a year.

"Joe! Put me down!" You giggled.

"Never." Joe put your feet to the ground, you didn't touch gravity long enough before he swivelled you around like a rag doll, hoisting you back up into the air, your legs automatically wrapping around Joe's hips to cling to him. Your faces were but mere inches away from one another as you stopped in your tracks, staring at one another intimately, not wanting to be the first to look away. Joe leant forward to push the button for the elevator to open, taking you both in and leaning again, looking to you for guidance. "Third floor please sir." You gave the same look he had been ushering towards you all day and all of a sudden Joe looked like he was the one who was about to melt.

"Yes ma'am." He pushed the button and the doors closed. A few seconds later, the noise announced you were at your room's floor, and out he took you through the corridor.

"Are you sober enough to find the number twelve?" Joe squeezed your body against him a little more in an effort to make you squeal again, but you held your breath and only a little whimper came out.

"What was that little noise?" He gasped.

"The sound of you squeezing the life out of a poor helpless woman." You tilted your head to the side, raising an eyebrow and making him laugh at his poor effort to flirt with you.

You got to your door, Joe still had you in his arms forgetting quickly that you needed to get your key card out of your bag to get you inside.

"Can you put me down now?" You smirked and he looked extremely forlorn for a moment to not be able to touch you. "I need to get my key."

"Oh shit, yeah." He chuckled, settling you down and steadying you so that your legs didn't turn into jelly too quickly before being left alone. You proceeded to pull out your key card, scan it and open the door.

"Age before beauty." You pushed the door even further ajar and gestured for Joe to go through, it was plain to see that Joe loved the way you gave back the banter that he dished out to you, he'd told you after the first few drinks that it was one of his favourite traits in a woman's personality which gave you further fuel to continue what he seemed to adore.

You took off your shoes as soon as you closed the door behind you, Joe mirrored your move doing the same in respect for not getting your sheets dirty when he eventually got onto the bed. You kept his jacket on, hugging it to your chest as you moved to the left side propping yourself up against the pillow and patting onto the right side of the mattress.

"You joining me?" You asked.

"Thought I'd wait for your permission. Not everyday a beautiful girl such as yourselves asks me to lay with her."

"Forgot we were in the 18th century Joe." He did a run, hop, skip and a jump, leaping onto the bed making himself and you bounce upward, laying to the side and propping himself up on his elbow, he pursed his lips together in a silly little smile.

"You're such a weirdo." You scrunched your face together in a false look of anguish.

"I guess that makes two of us." Joe etched closer to you and in turn it made you move further down, so your faces were just about parallel. Instead, you faced up toward the ceiling so it didn't seem like a desperate attempt of you making a move.

"Am I-" Joe paused.

"Are you?" You tried to make him continue as you looked over to him deeply sighing and looking down to focus on the sheets.

"Am I weird for wanting to-"

"To what?" You laughed. "Spit it out."

"To kiss you." You felt your lungs give way in hearing those three words come out of Joe's mouth. You turned onto your side, bringing yourself even closer to let him know that you were absolutely into it. Your faces fell into a slow motion blur, hearts pounding together, skin touching skin as your hand came to settle on his side and his came up to cup your cheek.

"Extremely." Joe closed the gap, your lips magnetically forced together as one, that was until he moved back slightly to see if you were okay. "Weird." You whispered, a smile appearing on both of your faces as he brought himself back to kiss you once more. It was like nothing you had ever experienced, a kiss meaning so much to someone you knew so little. It deepened quickly, Joe pushing you back slowly so you laid onto your back so he could hover over you to engage a deeper, more forceful kiss. It became more open mouthed as the sound of crashing lips smacking together became more prominent, his hand staying put against your jawline, fingers stroking themselves slightly through your hair. Your arms were now wrapped around his neck, in a strong enough attempt to not let him go anywhere other than where he was right now. His tongue pressed against your bottom lip and you tilted your head to the side, pushing your own muscle against his, they danced together perfectly as your mouths moved, the room temperature was soaring from the feeling of eroticism and how turned on you were becoming from the way Joe kissed you.

The same whimper erupted from your vocal chords and down Joe's throat making him shiver a little, opening your eyes at practically the same moment in realisation that this was getting hot and heavy fast. Joe pulled back, looking down at you, eyes darkening with intent and a thousand words that were left unsaid.

"You're so beautiful." Joe moved his hand to run his fingers fully through your hair, making their way down your body, his eyes following right up to your stomach where he stopped in his tracks.

"Please. Carry on." You bit down on your lip, you were watching exactly where he had stopped himself.

"You don't have to ask me twice love." Joe uttered, his hand slipping under your dress which had hitched it's way up your waist a little too much revealing your underwear right in his bee line. His fingers reached and successfully traced the outline of the cotton, lips now pressed against your neck in an obvious attempt to get the noises he's longing to hear out of you. With a soft press directly between his finger tips, the material and your clit, you feel a slight force as he puts pressure to rub over it at an agonising pace.

"Oh god." You moan. You fully moan. Joe's instant reaction was to let out his own little version of one, making you whimper more, pushing your hips up as a silent beg for him to carry on; to create more tension.

"Your moans are so sexy, fuck." You hear him mumble against your neck, his tongue slowly massaging down a soft spot at the side of your neck, his teeth gripping to your skin ever so slightly, nibbling harder the more noise you create.

"I need- I need-"

Joe pricked his eyes upward to watch you begin to fall apart under such minimal contact. "You need?" He was clearly saying it in a reflection of your cheek earlier on.

"Rub my clit."

"A little louder, I didn't hear you say please?"

"Please Joe, Please!" You cry out. His fingers immediately push themselves under the side and close the space letting him feel the wetness you're already creating rather quickly.

"Shit you're so wet." His fingers make a hard effort to begin rubbing vigorously at you, your legs making every attempt to close tightly from the sensitivity of lack of physical touch.

"What do you think you're doing?" Joe sat up in quick time, bringing himself between your thighs, keeping you prised apart so that you couldn't interrupt what he'd began. "Maybe they could be a little wetter." Joe hummed, holding his index and middle finger in the air. Your eyes gazed upon the thickness of his digits, making your cunt pulsate at the very thought of them doing these naughty things to you. "Huh?" You were so wet a moment ago, what does he possibly mean by that?

Before you knew it, Joe was towered over you, pushing said fingers to your lips. "Care to help me?" You opened your mouth and you tasted yourself on the tips of his fingers almost instantly, you wrapped your lips around them as he pushed them in further, letting you suck away. Pulling them out and past your lips with a pop, Joe wasted no time in opening your legs further and then immediately teasing your hole, rubbing around the outside of it slowly.

"You want these?" He wiggled them against you, making you squirm.

"I need them." You sounded desperate and you couldn't care less.

He answered your prayers not long after, inserting his nicely lubricated fingers inside of you, not giving you any room to adjust, making sure he fucked you good with them, they almost tapped at your cervix with how deep he pushed forward, his fist bashing against your slit. He curled them upward, hitting spots you didn't know existed inside of you, making the entirety of your body shake. "God, if I make you feel this good with my fingers, imagine how good you would feel with my cock inside of you." Your eyes rolled into the back of your head at the thought, a loud bellow of a moan escaping you from the fantasy of being fucked by this gorgeous being. You brought yourself down to earth, your brain being over taken with feral thoughts, trying in a huge attempt to barter an innocent threat his way. "You think you're up for the challenge?" You snarled.

"I don't need challenging, I know you'll fucking love it darling." Oh so he was confident, that made you feel even more turned on. The knot in your stomach tightened ever so slightly more when you felt a third finger fill you, he twisted his wrist around so he could fasten the pace, taking his spare hand to rub aggressively. You chanted his name several times, arching your back when your orgasm washed over you in the blink of an eye. "Yes, yes, yes!" Joe moaned out, feeling your pussy clench around his fingers as you released hard, your whole body going from stiff to jelly in a second. Joe was such a different person in the bedroom, he was out for serving a purpose and it was so clear he loved to satisfy. He knew exactly how to satisfy.

Joe was already undoing his belt and struggling out of his jeans and boxers before you could even say a word, your breathing coming back to a steady flow made you lose all ability to speak when you witnessed what he was packing. Not too big, just above average, thick and uncut, his tip shining with pre-cum from the excitement of pleasing you.

"About this challenge."

"I-I thought you didn't need c-challenging." Your body was still spasming from the orgasm, you could barely talk but you managed to snap back at this silly remark.

"I don't."

"Fuck me then."

Joe sat up on his knees stroking his fist over his cock, pumping it a couple of times watching you with wide eyes, the brown in them replaced with purely dilated pupils. "Please?"

"Fuck me." Joe hoisted your legs over his shoulders, hovering his cock at your entrance with a wicked smirk, clearing his breath to help you use your manners. "Please." You rolled your eyes.

"I'll roll them back for you if you carry on doing that." Joe slammed himself inside of you, stretching your tight hole and making you inhale a sharp breath. The smirk remained on his face as he adjusted himself, inch by inch being thrusted slowly out and then back in again.

"Your pussy feels so good, I might not last long. Fuck."

He couldn't help but begin to go hard straight away, feeling every part of the inside of you contracting around him, making moans fly out everywhere, bouncing off every wall of the hotel room. He clutched his hands to your thighs, keeping you at an angle which got the most noise out of you, rutting his hips back and fourth, balls slapping against your ass. His cock fucked into you so well that you felt another orgasm creeping up on you in record time, the power he had over you was second to none and he knew it. "Stop tensing or I'll cum." Joe growled. It gave fuelled the fire in you to keep clenching around him more and more. "You're such a naughty girl." He slammed into you hard, forcing a squeal right from the depths of your lungs. "Yes Y/N. Yes baby. That's it." You came all over his cock, tears seeping from the corner of your eyes from the over stimulation.

Joe pulled out at last minute, fisting his cock ferociously as his seed propelled out of him fast, his head fell back, lips parted as his own release flushed over him. You could see his chest rising and falling through his black t-shirt, his hand covered and your stomach and part of your dress now concealed in cum. Joe hopped off the bed and jogged into the bathroom to fetch something to clean you up, rushing out and throwing you a towel over to get off what you could.

"Challenge complete." Joe winked at you and you rolled your eyes again. "I told you to pack that in."

You stuck your tongue out at him childishly making him laugh. Joe fell to the side of you, still slightly out of breath from the antics that occurred just a moment ago. You threw the towel to the floor, disappearing into the bathroom for a moment to gloat to yourself. What the fuck, how the fuck and why the fuck? You were gleaming at yourself in the mirror, every nerve completely rid of now you were at this point. Today had undoubtedly been the greatest day of your life, but what was next? Would this just be a one night stand?

Slipping out of your messed up dress, you came back out of the bathroom and witnessed an obviously exhausted Joe's eyes struggling to stay open. "You staying here?" You tilted your head to the side as you watched a startled Joe look over at you, his brown eyes wide in a bizarre panic and back to their normal stature of beauty from the darkness that had previously took over them.

"If that's okay with you?" You both shared a sweet smile. "Of course."

You climbed into bed, Joe kicked his legs so that the sheets went downward so he could make a half arsed effort to take his t-shirt off and grab a hold of the sheets to pull over him. You turned onto your side facing away from him. "Goodnight then." You reached up to the switch beside the bed, turning out the light and then getting yourself into a comfortable enough position to get to sleep. You felt the shuffling of Joe coming closer, putting his arm over you as he adopted the part of big spoon, bringing you closer to his body. "Goodnight beautiful."

As the morning light seeped through the tiny gap in the curtains where you hadn't closed them properly, you woke slowly, your eyes peaking open as you turned over to face the other side of the bed, you were alone. Joe was gone. You called out his name to see if he was in the bathroom, to no avail, his clothes were gone from the side of the bed. You got out quickly, collecting your phone from your bag. It was past 9am and a little further down was a message from him; at least he hadn't completely ghosted you.

Joe: 'I didn't want to wake you beautiful, but I had to go to get to a meeting with my agent. I don't want this to be a one time thing. I want to see you again. I clearly made the right decision yesterday. Sorry, hope you understand.'

Your heart went from aching to melting in a millisecond.

'I clearly made the right decision'

You read it over and over again, smiling from ear to ear. Joe wasn't just some famous guy you crushed over now, he was plainly just a person you really wanted to know, you didn't care about his status, his fame or anything else but the real him and you were adamant that you would make it happen, even if you just remained friends. Who were you kidding, that's not an option.

You: 'That's okay. I thought you'd ran away. Have a great day. I'm leaving in two days so we haven't got long.'

Joe: 'I'll be back in a few hours. Get ready and we'll go get some food together. Let's make the most of the time we have.'

It's such a shame that it could end so quickly, with Joe's travelling and your normal life probably able to get in the way. But as he said, making the most of the time you do have together is the perfect answer, you were obviously on the same page and it felt so good to mutually agree that you were evidently into one another, you'd slept together for goodness sake. Focussing on the present was your main priority, who knows what the future may hold.

#joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn fluff #joseph quinn angst #joseph quinn x reader

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sbrown82 · 1 year

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THE FULL HISTORY OF THE MICK JAGGER & MARSHA HUNT (A.K.A.”BROWN SUGAR”) RELATIONSHIP!!!

First, some background on the model, singer, actress, novelist, playwright, activist, icon, 60s goddess, and the woman who inspired one of the Rolling Stones’ greatest hits, “Brown Sugar”, Marsha Hunt. She is often described as London’s own Josephine Baker and is celebrating her 77th birthday today!:

Marsha Hunt was born on April 15, 1946 in Philadelphia, PA and is the youngest of 3 siblings. Her mother, Inez “Ikey” Hunt, worked in an airplane factory during World War II, and her father Blair Hunt Jr. graduated from Harvard and was one of America's first Black psychiatrists.

She was raised mostly by her mother, aunt and grandmother who had roots in the deep south (Mississippi delta) and who she’s described as an “extremely aggressive and ass-kicking independent woman.” Her father later committed suicide when she was 9 years old (but she never found out how or why).

After moving out west to California with her family, she graduated high school at the top of her class and later attended UC, Berkeley in the mid-60s where she wanted to study psychological anthropology.

While at Berkeley, she became friends with a slew of interesting people like activist Mario Savio and Huey P. Newton, who later became one of the founders of the Black Panther Party.

[TOP LEFT: Marsha’s mother Inez Hunt; TOP RIGHT: Marsha’s father, Blair Hunt Jr.; BOTTOM LEFT: Marsha at her home in Philly with her father & siblings, Pamala & Dennis; BOTTOM RIGHT: Marsha’s high school graduation photo in 1964.]

Even though she thrived academically and was very involved in student activities, she became bored with college life and wanted to experience life outside of the country and pursue her real passion – music. In early 1966, she sold her car and some books, and trailed off to London with only $1.83 in her pocket.

Around that time, London was THE city to be in, and was even dubbed “Swinging London” for being the epicenter of art, culture, fashion and of course music, especially due to the popularity of famous acts like the Beatles and the Rolling Stones.

When Marsha first arrived, she slept on the floors of mutual friends, took odd jobs (including one as an au pair), and even appeared as an extra in Michelangelo Antonioni's box office hit film, “Blow-Up,” which also featured the British rock band, the Yardbirds.

SHOCKINGLY, in that same year she actually saw the Rolling Stones for the first time during their UK tour at the Royal Albert Hall in London because she wanted to see Ike & Tina who were the supporting act on the bill. Girls were going crazy over the Stones, but of course, she was more impressed by Tina’s show-stopping performance! (Purrrrr 💅🏿)

[LEFT: Marsha in 1966; RIGHT: The Rolling Stones performing at the Royal Albert Hall in London with Marsha in attendance.]

After roaming the city, making new friends and trying to find steady work, Marsha ended up auditioning for a blues band fronted by British blues musician, Alexis Korner, who was looking for backup singers. Coincidentally, he was the exact same guy who gave the Rolling Stones their start back in 1962. Later on, she was offered another backing gig for Long John Baldry’s band, Bluesology. John is also a longtime friend of the Beatles and the Rolling Stones.

Though she loved music and worked really hard at it, Marsha always claimed that she was never a good singer. People in England just assumed she was because they thought all Black Americans had talent.

She then lived with English blues singer, John Mayall, who actually wrote a few songs about her including, “Marsha’s Mood” and another song coincidentally called “Brown Sugar”. Around this time, she also became good friends with the founding members of Fleetwood Mac, famed British artist Kaffe Fassett, and keyboard player for Bluesology, Reg Dwight (a.k.a Elton John).

[LEFT: 19 year old Marsha sporting a wig in London; RIGHT: Marsha with a young Elton John].

Around the time Marsha broke things off with John, he was also putting a new band together, which included a young guitarist named Mick Taylor, who showed up at the audition without a guitar. He later became another good friend of Marsha’s.

In late 1966, Marsha met musician Mike Ratledge from the British rock band, Soft Machine. She was having trouble getting a visa extension to stay in England, so they got married on her 21st birthday. She later claimed it was a marriage in name only as they “never held hands and never kissed".

[LEFT: Guitarist Mick Taylor & John Mayall in the mid-60s; RIGHT: Marsha’s “husband” Mike Ratledge of Soft Machine.]

That same year, Marsha’s hair started to fall out from using chemical relaxers, and after wearing wigs for a while, she finally cut it all off and vowed to never straighten it again. Hence, she started sporting her iconic afro hairstyle making her quite a showstopper in London.

In 1968, she found luck when she was cast in a buzzy new rock musical with an ensemble cast called “Hair.” The musical became an instant hit in London’s famed West End. And even though her character “Dionne” only had two lines, she became the face (or the hair) of “Hair”. The show was a huge success, and also became quite a sensation and social landmark because it highlighted controversial subjects like drugs, casual sex, cursing, nudity, and anti-war rhetoric. While there, she met another close friend, actor Tim Curry.

[BOTTOM: A poster of the hit musical “Hair” that debuted in the Shaftesbury Theatre in the West End, 1968.]

Her life completely changed overnight and she instantly became a PHENOMENON, attracting wide media attention. In fact, after the musical’s opening night, the editor of British Vogue sent her a huge bouquet of flowers and wanted her to pose for a photo session, which ended up being a 4-page spread with a written profile. Marsha was also the first Black woman to appear on the cover of Queen magazine as well.

[LEFT: Marsha pictured as the first Black woman on the cover of Queen magazine; RIGHT: Marsha photographed for British Vogue in 1969.]

She immediately became a sex symbol, celebrity, and the face of the “Black is Beautiful'' movement, which was already taking over America in the mid-60s. This helped her snag lots of modeling gigs and everyone wanted to photograph her. (I mean, sis was booked & busy!!!)

[BOTTOM: More of Marsha’s most iconic shots. *The melanin was melanating, 4C afro was on deck, eyelashes poppin’, lips bussin’...she was a *bad bitch*!!!]

In March 1969, she signed a contract with Track Records, the same independent label that also repped the British rock band, The Who and Jimi Hendrix, and later said, “There was one luxury that London celebrity afforded me: the freedom to be myself without a single apology for my gap, my freaked-out hair, my brown skin, my slave-class ancestors or my radical views.” Around this time, she also had a short love affair with Marc Bolan, the singer and founder of the English rock band, T-Rex (even though he was much shorter than her 😂.)

She scored a few minor hits during her underrated music career with singles like a cover of T-Rex’s “Desdemona” and her debut single, a cover of “Walk on Gilded Splinters”.

[BOTTOM: Marsha performing the T-Rex cover “Desdemona” live in 1970.]

The record soon went to the charts and that spring, she was asked to perform on various shows, including a popular British TV program called, “Top of the Pops” where during her live performance the tight bolero suede top she wore nearly came undone and partially exposed her breasts, giving her the reputation as a “bad girl.”

NOW…Here’s the part y’all have been waiting for. Get your popcorn. Y’all got it? Ready? Good!!! 🍿

After her performance aired, Marsha received a phone call out of the blue from Jo Bergman, the then secretary for the Rolling Stones on behalf of Mick Jagger who was actually watching live, asking her to pose semi–nude for a publicity photo to promote the band’s new single, “Honky Tonk Women”. She said, “The picture was going to be of a girl dressed like a sleaze bag standing in a bar with the Stones and they wanted me to be the girl.”

[BOTTOM: Marsha performing "Walk on Gilded Splinters” on ‘Top of the Pops’ in May 1969. This was also the exact moment Mick Jagger first laid eyes on her!]

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Marsha, who was not a Stones fan, was already established and didn’t really need the extra exposure. She declined because she had her reputation to think about and said she "didn't want to look like [she'd] just been had by all the Rolling Stones." She also claimed, “The last thing [Black women] needed was for me to denigrate us by dressing up like a whore” among a band of white men.

ENTER MICK JAGGER:

When she tried to get in touch with Mick to say, "thank you, but no thank you”, he later returned her call in an attempt to change her mind and suggested he come over as he was very intrigued that a girl would turn him down.

Mick then showed up at her apartment around midnight as she claims, “He was framed by the doorway as he stood grinning with a dark coat ... He drew one hand out of his pocket and pointed it at me like a pistol. His silly 'Bang' was precisely the icebreaker we needed to get over my ungracious hesitation before I invited him in, not sure how to salute a notorious rogue who rings me just before midnight and suggests he pop round on a pretext of loneliness.”

They talked for HOURS, well until the sun came up about any and everything from music to social issues and politics, and according to her, Mick “made me squeal whenever he used Melanigian slang (aka Black vernacular/AAVE)”. 🙄🤦🏾‍♀️

Marsha didn’t really find Mick physically attractive at first: “He wasn't beautiful or even striking” however, he was boyish, open, direct, yet seemed quite awkward and shy. She found it a relief that he was nothing like other musicians she’d known or the image the media had of him. He was charming, intelligent, funny, radical and straddled the racial line, much like she did. She also noticed that he had a penchant for Black women, as he claimed “they [Black women] just do something to me”.

The two of them just clicked right off the bat. And things eventually turned hot as they ended up having sex. From there, they embarked on a passionate, but very private, deep romance and year-long affair, at a time when interracial relationships weren’t widely accepted yet.

She didn’t expect to hear from him again, as he had a wide selection of women to choose from, but he wanted to see her and talk all the time because he could count on her. Marsha said, “He knew that I adored him and that he could depend on me…he realized I respected him as I respected myself.”

Mick’s friend and interior designer Christopher Gibbs once said often when he dined with Mick, women who had slept with him would come up to the table and “he’d have absolutely no idea who they were.”

[LEFT: Mick photographed at the Shaftesbury Theatre in London to see the new musical ‘Hair’ for the first time; RIGHT: Marsha performing in the show.]

1969 was a very rough year for Mick. He was having trouble with his band (which he was practically running by himself) because the founder and guitarist of the Rolling Stones, Brian Jones, was becoming increasingly unreliable and spiraling out of control due to his deep drug addiction and legal troubles which led to him having problems getting a US work visa to go on an upcoming tour. His personal life was also a mess because his long-term girlfriend at the time, pop singer Marianne Faithfull, was also a very serious (and sloppy) drug addict, who often embarrassed Mick and became more difficult to be around. Things had gotten so bad between them, their relationship grew strictly platonic by this time.

Mick and Marianne were quite destructive together and often found themselves in legal troubles due to drugs. Marianne was also quite messy as she previously slept with Mick’s bandmates Brian Jones, Keith Richards and even left her husband, John Dunbar, for Mick who was dating Black soul singer & former Ikette, P.P. Arnold, when they met. P.P. later became pregnant with Mick’s baby in 1967, but had an abortion due to his growing relationship with Marianne.

[BELOW: Mick arriving at a courthouse with his then girlfriend, singer Marianne Faithfull in 1969.]

Marsha on the other hand, was stone-cold sober and didn’t do any drugs (NOT ONE), which was like a breath of fresh air for Mick, though he dabbled himself. But unlike those around him, he was able to control his habit.

Even though their relationship quickly turned sexual, they were really, really close friends. Mick often retreated to her home to relax, he told her all his secrets, his troubles – he just trusted her. He was completely enamored of Marsha, who many describe as warm, intelligent, sensitive, funny and very easy to talk to. He liked that she didn’t go gooey-eyed and weak-kneed in his presence like most (white) women/female fans did. Instead she had a crisply forthright manner and was almost quite “butch”. The Rolling Stones then manager was even quoted as saying that Mick was “obsessed” with her as she was very exotic and even gave her the nickname “Miss Fuzzy” due to her afro hairstyle.

Ironically, Marsha enjoyed their well-kept relationship and is one of the only people who often calls him Michael instead of Mick, to distinguish him from his Rolling Stones persona.

Since Marsha was a fellow recording artist, they could also be seen together in public without any arousing suspicion—in any case, London still had almost no paparazzi. They would often go to the same parties or events, even with Mick’s girlfriend there, and no one questioned it.

Mick would often pop into some of Marsha’s studio sessions with her band White Trash, and everyone around would be in awe of him.

After officially firing Brian Jones from the band, Mick and the rest of the Stones needed a new guitarist. Marsha promptly suggested her good friend, Mick Taylor (Yes, Stones fans – thank Marsha Hunt for that one!), as a replacement for Brian just days before his mysterious death (he sadly drowned in a swimming pool at his home) on July 3, 1969.

Additionally, when Mick sought a replacement for Jo Bergman, the secretary who handled all the Rolling Stones affairs, Marsha also suggested her friend and tour manager, Peter Rudge - (The same guy responsible for getting the Stones all those huge tours in massive stadiums. Again, thank Marsha!)

Two days after Brian’s death, the Stones played a free concert before a crowd of over 250,000 people in Hyde Park, London, which was previously planned to debut their new guitarist, but turned into a memorial/funeral for Brian. Mick invited both Marianne (who looked to’ up and was in withdrawal from heroin at the time), and Marsha (who showed up looking sexy af with titties bustin’ out of her buckskin suit) to the concert, and rudely and distastefully opened the show with a song called, “I’m Yours and I’m Hers.”

[BELOW: Mick & Marsha at the Rolling Stones tribute concert to Brian Jones in Hyde Park, London on July 5, 1969.]

Marianne who sat on the other end of the stage with her 4-year old son Nicholas and the other Stones wives/girlfriends, actually saw Marsha that day as she was placed right above the stage in the scaffold VIP section so Mick could look at her while he performed. She later said, “I saw her [Marsha] you know. And she was stunning…If I’d been Mick in that situation, I might have done exactly the same thing.”

Mick arrived at the concert with Marianne, but left with Marsha and spent the night at her place.

A day after the concert, Mick kissed Marsha goodbye, and flew with Marianne to Australia to shoot a biographical film they were both cast in called “Ned Kelly,” based on the infamous bushranger. However, Marianne who was reeling from the recent death of Brian Jones and a horrible miscarriage just a few months earlier, overdosed on 150 Tuinal barbiturates while traveling with Mick and fell into a coma in their hotel room.

[LEFT & RIGHT: Mick & Marianne arriving in Australia to film “Ned Kelly.” Marianne slipped into a coma just hours later from an attempted suicide.]

At the last minute, Mick was forced to film the movie without her, but phoned and wrote to Marsha, who was extremely frantic and worried about his mental health and emotional well-being, almost everyday. She was scared that he didn’t have the stamina to deal with yet another crisis. He sent Marsha over 10 handwritten letters (some even written on the same headed stationery paper of Chevron Hotel where his girlfriend just tried to kill herself) about his deep feelings for her, his experience filming, being in the Australian outback, his interests, the historic day of the moon landing of 1969, future career plans, his regret at missing her performance at the famous Isle of Wight Festival and other aspects of pop culture (including “…John & Yoko boring everybody…”). The letters also reference the recent death of Brian Jones, Mick’s increasingly difficult relationship with Marianne, and another letter even had the full original lyrics for the Rolling Stones song “Monkey Man”, which was later rewritten.

Mick’s letters also went on to mention the foul Australian winter weather and an unpleasant virus that swept through the unit, a fire that destroyed most of the film’s costumes, along with various accidents – including a prop gun that backfired in his right hand. He was just having a real shitty time. So, he found solace writing to Marsha.

His letters to Marsha showed how pensive and romantic he was. He said things like,“... I feel with you something so unsung there is no need to sing it...” and “If I sailed with you around the world, all my sails would be unfurled”. He also thanked her for being “so nice to an evil old man like me”. And in another steamy note, Mick promises Marsha: "I will kiss you softly. And bite your mouth too."

[RIGHT & LEFT: Photos of Mick’s private letters sent to Marsha while filming in Australia in the late summer of 1969.]

Mick also celebrated his 26th birthday while filming in Australia and Marsha sent him a huge package of books (which he loves) and albums, including her friend John Mayall’s record “Brown Sugar.” Along with it was a note stating how she missed him desperately.

While still trying to rehabilitate his hand from the prop accident, Mick toyed with a new guitar and started work on a song, which was partly inspired by Marsha, that he initially titled “Black Pussy.” He decided that was a little too direct and changed it to “Brown Sugar” with the lyrics:

[Verse 1]

Gold coast slave ship bound for cotton fields Sold in the market down in New Orleans Scarred old slaver knows he's doing alright Hear him whip the women just around midnight

[Chorus]

Brown sugar, how come you taste so good? Uh huh Brown sugar, just like a young girl should

[BOTTOM: Recording of “Brown Sugar” by The Rolling Stones later released on their Sticky Fingers album in 1971.]

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Mick later confirmed in a 1995 Rolling Stone magazine interview that the song is a double-entendre: “brown sugar” being the street name for unrefined heroin and of course – sex with a Black woman. The song was a huge commercial success and ended up becoming a #1 hit around the world, making it one of the Rolling Stones’ best-selling records.

[TOP: A movie poster of “Ned Kelly” which was released in June 1970; BOTTOM: Mick with his guitar composing “Brown Sugar” during filming.]

While Mick was still filming overseas, Marsha was booked to perform at the iconic 3-day outdoor concert, the Isle of Wight Festival on August 30th, 1969. It was the biggest open-air concert in music history and she was the only female singer billed to perform. She was there alongside acts like The Who, Joe Cocker and even Bob Dylan who hadn’t been onstage in 3 years.

Mick told her in a letter that he was so proud of her and promised her that he was “there in my head and in my heart.” Charlie Watts and his wife Shirley, Keith Richards and Jo Bergman were also in the audience watching Marsha perform.

Marsha also wore custom-made leather shorts to which the press ran with it and by the next fashion season, short shorts were featured. She was the first person to popularize “hot pants”.

[BELOW: Marsha performing with her band White Trash at the Isle of Wight Festival on August 30th, 1969 with members of the Rolling Stones looking on in the audience.]

After Mick came back from Australia, Marsha was offered a part in a film called “Welcome to the Club” which is a comedy about three Black USO performers sent to Hiroshima in the 1940s to entertain the troops on an all-white base. The film was being directed by Walter Shenson, who had produced the Beatles' films “A Hard Day's Night” and “Help” and shot it entirely in Copenhagen.

She was also asked to fly back to London to shoot another cover for American Vogue which was shot by photographer Patrick Litchfield. (They‘d never had a Black woman on the cover before.)

Mick began touring in America again, his first since 1966, and with the number of girls he had access to, she knew he was keeping himself busy on and off stage.

[LEFT: Mick on stage at Madison Square Garden during the Stones’ 1969 tour; RIGHT: Marsha filming “Welcome to the Club” in Copenhagen.]

He even started a short-lived relationship with singer and Ikette Claudia Lennear, as well sparking up a short fling with Devon Wilson, a notorious rock & roll groupie and the girlfriend of Jimi Hendrix who famously wrote the song “Dolly Dagger” about their affair.

[LEFT: Mick arriving at Madison Square Garden in November 1969 with Devon Wilson; RIGHT: Mick backstage at the same event with singer Claudia Lennear.]

But on December 6, 1969 - everything changed dramatically when an 18-year old concertgoer was stabbed and killed during the Stones’ free performance at the Altamont Speedway in California by the Hell’s Angels Motorcycle Club, who was the band’s security. Members of the Hell’s Angels blamed Mick for the incident and subsequent to the concert, put a hit out on him and threatened to murder him. This marked the third major tragedy to happen since they’d known each other.

[BELOW: A scared Mick looks on as 18-year old Meredith Hunter is stabbed to death by the Hell’s Angels in front of the stage while the Stones performed at Altamont Speedway.]

Marsha stayed with Mick after the chaos at Altamont, which the media dubbed “The Death of the 60s”. By this time, he had officially split up with Marianne and moved Marsha into his house on Cheyne Walk where she helped him to transition and readjust his life. It was then their relationship intensified!

This is around the time she got a chance to really know Mick’s friends who lived on the same road, Keith Richards and his girlfriend, actress Anita Pallenberg, who just had a son, but was hooked on heroin. She thought they were nice, but they’d visit or show up unannounced all the time. Their hard drug-taking also scared Marsha, so she kept her distance and didn’t voice her opinion.

She also met Mick’s parents, Eva and Joe Jagger, along with his little brother Chris who was a bit of a hippie and had just returned from India with his American girlfriend. They had no work, no money and nowhere to stay, so Marsha kindly gave them a job painting her new apartment.

That Christmas, Marsha got Mick a puppy and Mick, for the first time, told her that he loved her.

Marsha was in a good place. Opportunities were coming to her fast, she had a new apartment, and she was in love with Mick. She had newfound stability and independence.

In January 1970, they were having dinner at the celebrity hotspot restaurant Mr. Chow’s when Mick said that she’d be a good mother and that they should have a baby together. Prior to this Marsha thought she was just another girl he fancied, as he was a notorious womanizer. But the talk of having a baby made her feel special to him. Her feelings for him were so deep that she also claimed, “I would have died for him.”

She knew Marianne miscarried around the same time Keith Richards’ son Marlon was born. Mick also missed family life with Marianne’s son Nicholas, so wanted to give having a baby a second try.

This fool literally made her take out her IUD coil, they had sex like rabbits, and when she found out she was 3 weeks pregnant, she told Mick who was ecstatic.

Marsha literally said to him, “listen, if you’re not ready and you changed your mind about this, it’s okay.” She was totally ready to get an abortion. But he assured her that’s what he wanted and he was happy.

They had their first argument when it came to naming the baby. Mick wanted a boy who he could send to the prestigious Eton School (the all-boys school where Prince William & Prince Prince Harry went), and he proposed that they call the baby ‘Midnight Dream’. Marsha wasn’t having it and even said, “Imagine sticking your head out of a window to call your child home and yelling, 'Midnight. Midnight! Time for tea.’”

She'd known that he and the band were leaving England for tax reasons and moving to France in the coming year. The Stones were also gearing up for their upcoming European tour.

Even though she loved Mick, he was young and she claimed she was “all for Mick doing his own thing”. They were supposed to be the sophisticated embodiment of an alternative social ideal — parent-hood shared between loving friends living separate lives.

This was around the time of the sexual revolution and people were exploring different types of relationships. Marsha didn’t find gratification in being ‘Mr. So and So’s’ wife, plus Mick was the type of guy to get up at 2pm to start his day - so marriage was sort of off the table. She claimed their relationship “thrived off her being supportive” and she loved to see him “run free”. And since she grew up in a matriarchy, the ideal of a man and woman living together seemed nice but unnecessary. They agreed that Mick would be a good absent father while he toured with the Rolling Stones and Marsha could still have her own career. It was all very modern!

Marsha also feared that her association with Mick would crowd out her own identity. She didn’t like the limelight because it was a discomfort. She also never wanted to be known as Mick Jagger's girlfriend (can you blame her? Like two of his girlfriends tried to commit suicide). Like him, she wanted her own independence.

By June 1969, Marsha told her band and the press that she was pregnant, but did not give up the name of the father. Though one little clever reporter found out it was Mick and threatened to print it. She thought of suing but asked the Stones PR team to link him to another girl. She managed to get through her pregnancy without a media frenzy or being linked to Mick even though they had stepped out together many times and he was ready to have it reported.

While Mick was away touring in Europe, his phone calls got less frequent. The tour was a bit crazy, and although Mick invited her to go to Paris, he knew she'd refuse – she didn’t want to get caught up. But he told her he was lonely and had met someone in Paris that he was taking to Italy. Her name was Bianca. She was Nicaraguan and spoke little English. Mick didn't mention her again, but after the tour, Marsha knew that she moved to his house in England.

His publicist sent her an invite to the premiere of his corny movie, “Ned Kelly,” but he didn’t show up. He also invited his parents to the event and it was there she realized that he didn’t tell them that he had a baby on the way. Mick hardly lavished praise on his parents and even once told the press, “I owe them nothing. They are my parents, that is that…but there are no dues to be made by me to them!”

By her third trimester, having a baby became her whole reality and his passing fancy. He started to forget that the baby was HIS idea.

Despite Marsha carrying his child, practically all references to her and the baby were quickly airbrushed out of his life. Chris O'Dell, Mick’s PA in the early-70s was even quoted as saying, “I never remember him talking about their child. In fact, I wasn’t aware of a baby being around at all. It was almost like [his first child] didn’t exist.”

Marsha was put in a difficult position because it was too late to go back and sometimes he’d phone like nothing ever happened. She claimed his mood would change so quickly, he was like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. She also said, “I've discovered that he can burn hot and suddenly cool to below zero.“

She started to worry that he didn’t care anymore, so she tried to squeeze in any and every piece of work she possibly could to hold her up during and past her pregnancy (tv shows, photoshoots, etc.). She also volunteered at a local mental-care center in the autistic unit caring for a 12 year old boy to keep from feeling useless.

[BELOW: A heavily pregnant Marsha performing in late 1970.]

At the same time, Mick also did a lot of peculiar interviews, either stating he wasn’t interested in having children or flat out dissing Marsha. During a 1970 interview with London’s Daily Mail newspaper he even said, “For me, life has always got to be on the move and exciting. I love kids, I really do…but it’s not something I’m thinking about.” He of course failed to mention that Marsha was expecting their first child.

[BELOW: Mick during an interview referencing Marsha & his unborn child in 1970.]

Once it was time for her to give birth, a hard-up Marsha was ashamed and reluctant to ask him for any contribution because he never once offered. Mick ultimately gave her a measly £200 to get by, which came with a note saying “I know I haven’t done right by you” and he “loaned” her a ring he always wore.

She had initially planned a natural home delivery to keep the press at bay and because it was the “it” thing to do at the time, but was told by her OB-GYN that her baby was in danger and she had to go to the hospital the next day.

On November 3rd, she dragged her own luggage, and hailed a taxi to the hospital only to be told there weren’t enough beds. Panicked and scared, she went back home quite sure she was going to die from an unassisted childbirth.

When she went back to the hospital the next day for an induced labor, she checked in with her married name “Ratledge” to protect herself (and Mick). On November 4, 1970 after hours of labor, she gave birth to a girl she named Karis Hunt and phoned Mick first and then her mother. That day was the first time Mick actually told his now girlfriend Bianca that Marsha and a baby existed.

While waiting in the maternity ward, the nurses also forgot to feed her and she was so hungry. But being on The National Health, she didn’t complain.

When she checked out of the hospital, Mick sent a bouquet of red roses, a miniature muse figurine for the baby, a silver spoon, and some cheap Indian earrings for Marsha. He “dropped by” two days later to see his baby but was in a hurry to be somewhere else.

10 days later, he paid another rushed visit, but she took him to the side and was kinda like, “What’s up with you? Why don’t you call or come around more often for the baby” in which he snapped and yelled at her, “I never loved you” and that she was “mad to think that he had”. Of course Marsha, stitches still in, burning and all, started to cry which only made him more mad and he threatened to take Karis away from her if he chose. She stopped and said, “Try it! I’d blow your brains out!!”

In that moment, the loyalty she had for him was gone and she pushed forward and tried to find as much work as she could to support herself and her baby.

[BELOW: Marsha & Mick after the birth of their first child Karis Hunt in late 1970.]

READ ‘PART 2’ HERE!!! ☕️☕️☕️

#marsha hunt #mick jagger #the rolling stones #brown sugar #rolling stones #interracial couple #black women #karis jagger #music #history #rock history #rock & roll #musicians #thread #gossip #old school tea #1960s #1970s #sbrown82

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cookinguptales · 7 days

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From the soft asks:

23) What's your favorite piece of clothing?

26) What movie would you want to live in?

I'm gonna give you my top three articles of clothing!!! Because all three fulfill different needs!

The one I probably wear the most is an oversized sweatshirt that I got from Torrid years ago. I don't think I have any photos of myself wearing it, so here's one from their website.

I loved it so much that when they put it on extreme clearance at the end of the Halloween season, I bought two more. I think the design is super fun and cute (why yes, I do love both spooky shit and drinking cocktails) and it's also one of the most comfortable things I've ever worn. Soft and cozy but not too warm. I have to be very careful about overheating, so it's kind of a go-to in the fall through spring.

The one I wear occasionally, when I want to wear a dress, is my dinosaur dress! I got it from... I want to say modcloth?

It's such a fun and cute print!! It always makes me feel like Ms. Frizzle when I wear it. And I think I look nice in it. I don't always want to wear a dress, but when I do... this one is a go-to. It's definitely my favorite dress that I own, lmao.

Finally, an article of clothing that I almost never wear because it's fragile, but I love it. ;; My dad got me a jacket as a Christmas present when we were in Kyoto a few years ago. I wear it in early spring, typically. I get overheated easily so I can't wear it once it gets too warm, but it's so nice to wear out and about when the cherry blossoms are just starting to bloom in Philadelphia.

It's embroidered and really lovely. The design is a fox spirit wedding in the spring, which is why I tend to get it out seasonally! Also I'm just afraid of damaging it lmao.

That was long, but oh well. lmao

As for your second question... I guess there are probably a lot of movies that I'd enjoy living in, but I think the first that comes to mind is Kiki's Delivery Service. It's not a perfect world, but it's one full of kind people and just a touch of magic. A lot of Miyazaki's worlds look achingly appealing, and that one's right up there. I've struggled with depression for a lot of my life, so seeing her get through her struggles with the help of people who love her in a warm bakery full of delicious bread in a town by the sea... It fills me with a kind of wistfulness. ;;

#replies #ask games

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codystonguepiercing · 6 months

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watching saw (2004) for the first time bc the bestie @codyrhodesofficial has been posting about it and i got sucked in

putting my thoughts under a cut. if u wanna talk about saw my inbox and dm's are always open. to summarise - i get it and will be shipping chainshipping from now on.

right off the bat, the fact that glee did a jigsaw bit is all anyone needs to know how gay this is

the dynamic between adam and lawrence - we have lawrence who is super put together, suit, hair done, speaks nicely and confidently, and adam; jeans and a t-shirt and a flannel and sneakers.

you can tell adam would get off on teasing lawrence and being a brat until lawrence just snapped

lawrence was giving me caitlyn stark vibes, you know in game of thrones when she's like "all because i couldn't love a motherless child". very that but like in a repressed way like "if only i could come out of the closet and confess to my wife i want to fuck twinks none of this would have happened"

if they got together it would be like sugar baby/daddy vibes but i think it would be good for adam bc i feel like he needs guidance and lawrence could be that for him

love that amanda was like, no hesitation this dude is dying so i can live.

the ending - so cunty. love when a horror/thriller ends on a hopeless note, especially after they build up that everything might be okay after all. but that being said i am actively chosing to believe lawrence came back for adam and will not be watching any further.

other parts i liked/thought were fruity:

lawrence asking adam if he's hurt

THE HEART SHAPE IN BLOOD ON THE TOILET

adam asking can you see any scars and lifting his shirt up (okay but like doctor/patient role play where adam does this and the reveal is he's wearing panties/no underwear or something would go off)

lawrence encouraging adam when he's trying to get the cassette player and then looking super proud when he does

"most fun i've had without lubricant"

the way adam looked when he was being electrocuted

the way adam calls out "lawrence!" when lawrence was being electrocuted and then saying "i need you!" when he was not responding

when adam was in his place taking those photos in the dark, really liked that scene

the way lawrence was crying into the phone - just thought that was funny

obvi the way they clung to each other and adam was basically clawing at him to stay with him and not leave him

this shot is giving me 'creation of adam' vibes - hang it in the lourve!!

anyway a note to leave on - couldn't help but compare lawrence's face when it's all pale from bloodloss to dennis' in it's always sunny in philadelphia, when they're going through alcohol withdrawl

#saw (2004)#chainshipping

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music · 1 year

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Music Spotlight: Karly Hartzman of Wednesday

Wednesday is a band from Asheville, North Carolina. Their new album Rat Saw God is out now alongside a video for single “Quarry." Get to know vocalist Karly Hartzman below.

How did you get started in music?

I started singing in front of people for the first times at my synagogue and in a community theater production of Wizard of Oz. Then I was in a pop punk band for a little while but I had a really hard time getting into that music. When I started writing my own songs under the Wednesday moniker was when I finally felt like I had the relationship with performing music I always wanted.

What is the story behind your band name?

Just liked the word! I kind of don’t like to think of titles for too long since I think so intensely about lyrics. Did a similar thing with the album title, just went with something that felt right and didn’t think on it more than a split second pretty much.

Can you tell us about your new album Rat Saw God and what you hope people take away from it?

It is an album for rats by rats. I hope people hear this album and see that stories of the people who live in the American South have beautiful and complicated lives that are worth sharing and remembering.

Dream collaboration(s)?

Oh lord… I’m kinda nervous to meet most of my heroes. I have a tendency to clam up and really make a fool of myself. Lucinda Williams would be incredible. PJ Harvey obvi but I would shit my pants on sight.

One thing you can't go on the road without?

Anxiety medication

What’s the funniest photo that you have on your phone (either share or describe it)?

I’m really obsessed with this photo of my band mates piss drunk at a bar after our show in LA. My phone did this weird background erasing thing when I tried to put it on here?? Kinda goofy!

Lightning round! Describe each of the following in one word: Who you are, what you value the most, and what you’d be if you were a food item.

Who you are: Dummyhead

What you value the most: Homeostasis

What you'd be if you were a food item: Artichoke

Come join the band at TV Eye in Ridgewood, Queens this Saturday, April 8th, for Mr. Rat’s Flea Market featuring 11 vendors from New York, Asheville, Philadelphia, Baltimore, New Jersey, and LA.

#Music Spotlight #Wednesday #Karly Hartzman #Wednesday Gurl

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acemapleeh · 1 year

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Alfred Home Headcanons

We see Alfred with quite a few houses throughout the series so I think it’s fair to say the man gets around and lives all across the country. It was difficult pinning down just a few for this post and even more so for the photos to go alongside it.

I’m going to be narrowing things down to regions of the United States but I think this man has at least one home in every state. We’ll be here a lifetime if I had to describe his home in Ohio vs Indiana.

We’ll start with New England.

His oldest homes are located here, the most noteworthy is his white colonial home in Massachusetts just outside of Boston overlooking the bay. This is the one he was raised in for a large part of his youth under Arthur’s care and tutorage. Think of the house that we see in the episode of America’s Storage Room Cleaning with the wrap-around porch and expansive garden. It’s an honestly massive home for just one person to be living in. During the mid to late 1800′s when people like Lovino, Tolys, and Morgan came to work in the United States, this was the main residence that Alfred lived with them in. Finally felt a little less lonely.

I think Cape Cod or Georgian is the best fit for the style of house in this region, like, to be more specific.

Traditional accents rather than it being the main focus.

Similarly to Arthur's dust-covered archive of an estate, this is where Alfred stores a lot of his things from the days of old. Unlike his father, he doesn't put much out on display. A couple pieces of memorabilia here and there but for the most part, he's got it in a box shoved in a corner of a room he hasn't opened in half a century.

What once was Sir Lord Kirkland's bedroom when staying in the colonies, has the largest upstairs balcony that looks over the garden and on clear days, out to the harbor. A telescope perched on the railing always on the lookout for father's return home.

I think something of old he does have out on display is a massive quilt he has up and framed in the living room. It's something that took him ages to finish back in the 19th century and the fabric is far too fragile for him to use it practically anymore.

For New York, he lives in a high-rise apartment in Manhattan. Big, open floor plan, and lots of large windows, and it's perfect for entertaining guests. This is his most modern and luxurious residence. Beautiful view of the city and Central Park. Think of the apartment that we see in Hetalia of the Living Dead.

Back in the 20s he 100% had one of those big Gatsby mansions out in the Hamptons and threw parties all of the time but got rid of it all towards the latter half of the decade. Think of the ridiculousness of Mansion Party by Ninja Sex Party

The last one for this area will be the brick row house in West Philadelphia. This is likely his second oldest home and where he spent a lot of his time during the Revolution. This is where he feels like where he was really born as a nation so he has a lot of deep ties here.

I want to give him an attic bedroom with a desk by the window that can see the steeple of Christ Church near the Delaware River. The same desk he's written pamphlets for the Revolution, letters to his brother, and for even a time, a typewriter when he was feeling a resurgence of literature and poetry in the early 20th century is still there.

I don't which state exactly has that beautiful blue suburban with the big pool. Somewhere there's not a lot of snow year-round and gets those hot summers where all you want to do is submerge yourself in water. Somewhere in the South, I'm thinking either one of the Carolinas or Georgia.

He feels like the type of person to have ranches all across the central US. Most of the year he has other people working on them to take care of the animals.

The one he frequents the most is the working cattle ranch in Arizona.

Time capsule midcentury house out in the Midwest. I want to say somewhere in the Chicago area. I want to put it in Southern California where this style of house first started to get popular but going to give some love to other parts of the country.

Floor-to-ceiling windows, a sunk-in living room pit, short staircases connecting rooms throughout the house, partial brick walls, fireplaces centered in rooms, and several doors and windows to access the outdoor living space.

If you've been on my blog for a while then you might have noticed I love making Alfred a California Beach Boy. I can give him so many houses in just this state alone but I'll keep it short and sweet.

His bum-out beach cottage is located in Santa Monica and he's been located there since the 1890s. The house itself has been remodeled and updated several times over the past century. The materials he uses for the house as well as the layout stay fairly consistent, with lots of natural, light wood and open space to allow in lots of sunlight and central airflow. It's also a small space; you open that front door and right away you can already see the living room, kitchen, dining room, and out to the ocean out back. The entryway is the house.

It's almost purposely made so you can see the wear on the floors and furniture. If he drops a surfboard on the floor and there's some damage left behind, he'll leave it there. You can see the wood frames have been handmade and have some flaws and mistakes if you run a hand over them.

It's also very analog with most of the tech in the house dating to maybe the mid-90s at the latest: VHS and record player, rotary phone, etc. No AC either but he does have a great internet connection.

If I cannot fulfill my lifelong dream of having a colorfully painted Victorian house in San Francisco then Alfred can have one. I think he spent a lot of time in the 80s in the Bay Area and this old house was just a constant project of fixing up and refurbishing.

Okay, the last one I'll talk about for the time being will be his house up in Washington State.

I just really love Contemporary houses and Alfred had one built for him when they first started gaining popularity in the Pacific Northwest in 1935. Large windows invite the beauty of the region into the house while complementing the natural landscape. The Pacific Northwest features steep, rugged terrain that encourages post and beam architecture.

Tucked away in cozy woods and nestled along a majestic river.

Decor often brings nature indoors using live-edge wooden furniture, stone and wooden accents, and other cozy touches.

I don't see Alfred as being a big log cabin person but incorporate the coziness of one into this house. Place that Twilight filter on and it's his most aesthetic getaway.

#hws america #alfred f jones #aesthetic #headcanons #hetalia #ace creates #dumb little headcanons #alfred jones is the biggest pain in my ass #i loved and hated compiling all these images #i have so many more that weren't used y'all #i was annoyed with arthur's big stupid estate #this fucker has his own stupid expensive homes #long post #i feel like i'm going to have to make a part 2 #and not talk extensively about california

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bratano · 2 years

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Mercy Mercy Me - Eli Sunday x GN!Reader

A/N: back at it again with the eli sunday writings. this one was a really awesome request from one of you and it was a TON of fun writing. alsooo wicked game part 2 out sunday. YAS. enjoy my pets

Summary: Reader moved to Little Boston hoping for some guidance from Prophet Eli. But things take a turn when he learns of their past.

Word Count: 3147

Warning: Religion, sexual tension, punishment, choking, manipulation, marriage

Moving to Little Boston was a rash decision, you knew that, but it was the only opportunity you would ever have to get away. You had lived in Philadelphia your whole life, never even leaving the city. The man you married was a boy who lived up the street growing up, your house was only a 10 minute walk to your parents house, and it was safe. Safe. You never thought a word could bring such disdain.

After a particularly nasty fight with your husband, you went out for a walk. There on the sidewalk you saw a newspaper that you swore was a mirage. A beacon of false hope. But as you picked it up, you realized it was all too real. In big bold letters, ‘LITTLE BOSTON PROPHET PERFORMS MIRACLES’. There on the front sat a scrawny man wearing a cross, shaking hands with an old woman in front of a dusty looking wooden building.

You had always romanticized a life with God. The only truly holy union in your mind, marriage was bullshit. It was all based on money, or looks, or just wanting somebody to do all the things you don’t want to do. But God wasn’t like that. At least, you hoped so.

You decided right then that you would leave. Philadelphia was a tomb to you, and you had to leave to pursue a real life for yourself. Not one that was just what everyone told you to do. You waited till the next day, packing your things while your husband was at work, and heading to the train station with not even so much as a note left for people to try and find you. The trip was long, but it felt even longer knowing you were about to get a life for the very first time.

When you showed up you realized how difficult it would be to really be on your own entirely. You showed up with just a suitcase and enough cash to get a room somewhere for about a week, but that’s it. The first night was a Saturday, and when you woke up on Sunday morning, you felt a shiver of glee run through your body. The Prophet.

You joined the crowd of townspeople walking to the church, catching a small glimpse of the floppy haired man from the photo. He had his arms open, greeting all the people flocking to the doors. As you walked past him, you made eye contact. You both smiled, as if making a deal. Yes, I’ll talk to you after the service.

You weren’t sure what to expect from his sermons, but it was so much more impressive than you expected. You watched in awe as he theatrically recounted Biblical stories, thrashing around the empty portion of the church with such intensity that you would have been sweating even without the desert heat. At one point he turns his attention to a man in the front pews, who had been sobbing since he sat down. Eli, at least you thought that was his name, grabbed the man’s head in his hands, gently shushing him and cooing at the man as if he were a baby. Suddenly his demeanor changed. Still clutching the man’s head, he began chanting a rhythmic ‘get out’. The crowd began joining in with him, saying to remove the ghost. The demon. The spirit. He grabbed the man by the scruff of the neck and dragged him to the front of the church, grabbing a bucket of water he had stored against the wall. At first he dumped a small amount of water, returning to a whisper before screaming to get out, his face turning red, and the entire bucket getting emptied onto the man’s head. He collapsed to the ground, curled up, sobbing. It was cathartic. It was electric. It was a miracle.

After the sermon was over, you waited around for people to leave before approaching Eli to commit to your unspoken agreement. He pretended not to notice you approaching until you got close enough that he could get a nice look at you. An angelic face, on an angelic person. He had no idea of your past life or anything you had done before you showed up to Little Boston, you were innocent. A lamb. And by the grace of his light, you needed herding.

“Hello, Prophet Eli. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” You extended your hand, of which he took into his grasp and shook gently.

“No, we have not. You know my name, might I know yours?”

His eyes glittered from the bit of sunlight peering through the open door you stood by, his shadow giving him a gentle halo.

“Y/N. I just moved here a few days ago, actually.”

“Ah. Are you working with that Plainview man by chance?”

His body visually tensed. You weren’t sure who he was referring to, but you were sure glad it didn’t involve you.

“No, no. I came here after seeing your picture in the paper, actually. I’ve always been interested in getting closer to God, you see.”

He felt his face fall a little. You were just another greedy sop looking for a miracle. He was always giving, giving, giving, but no one ever gave to him. Was he ever going to reap the rewards of his sacrifices?

“Well, I’m flattered you seek my miracle services. All these other preachers are deceivers of his faith, but you know this.” He waved his hand in a dismissive way. “What do you need help with?”

You laughed gently. “I’m in no need for a miracle, Eli. You’ve already given me a miracle by guiding me here through that news article. I wish to learn from you, I want to follow the path of God.”

He nodded, trying to ignore the feeling of electricity shooting across his skin. The little lamb had come to him for herding, not the other way around. You were seeking salvation, and it gave him a feeling he had never really experienced before. He couldn’t quite place it, a feeling of bliss and pleasure with a tinge of passionate heat behind it. He bit back a devilish smirk.

“You wish to be a follower of God, my child? Well, you must earn his favor as I did. Are you sure this is what you want?”

You thought about the journey it took to get there. The reaction on the people’s faces you were sworn to love as they realized you were gone. You tried not to grimace at the thought. But you had your reasons, right? This is what God wanted, right?

You slowly nodded and he smiled. “You will start as I did then. Although tedious work, it teaches us the importance of His mercy. You will keep this church clean and tidy, starting with that puddle.” He pointed over to where he had cleansed that man (literally) with the bucket of water and tried not to frown. This wasn’t exactly what you had in mind, but by his graces you would do it. Whatever it takes.

“Yes, Prophet. Anything for our Father.”

Over the next few months you had done more cleaning than you had ever done when you lived with your husband. The church had to be spotless every single day- the Bibles mended, the pews shined, the walls scrubbed- everything. And every Sunday, you and Eli would have your own private sermons after his public ones to teach you more about devoting your life to Him. You had lived in the gritty hotel in town for a while until Eli found out and promptly moved you into his family’s ranch. They had a spare bedroom due to the absence of Eli’s twin Paul, and his father liked having you around since you didn’t mind cooking or cleaning. You had gotten quite comfortable in Little Boston. That is, until Eli heard through some gossip outside the church about your past life. Surely his little lamb wouldn’t hide this from him. Surely.

After hearing the whispering tabloids, he immediately walked back to the ranch where you were working on making that night’s dinner. Mr. Sunday was outside tending to some of the animals, so you were alone in the house. Eli had quietly opened the door and was just standing there, watching you as you worked. He wasn’t typically very interested in dating- not because he didn’t want it, he was just so busy. His religious empire was growing and he knew a partner would just slow him down. But you wouldn’t. Would you?

You turned around and saw him, jumping a little and clutching your chest.

“My goodness, you startled me. What brings you back home so soon? Dinner won’t be done for another hour or so.” You cocked your head to the side, his eyes gliding down your now exposed neck. His little lamb looked so pretty doing as they were told.

“I needed to speak with you.” He walked closer, leaning up against the cabinets of the kitchen as you stirred the pot on the stove. His voice was practically a whisper- something was wrong.

“What about?”

He paused. “I’ve been hearing some things about you from some of the townsfolk. Something about a husband?”

You dropped the spoon you were holding with a loud clatter, gasping at the mention. Who knew? Who told him? You felt his righteous gaze burning the side of your face, a beam of God’s fury scathing your cheek. He walked over to you, grabbing your arm to force you to look at him.

He suddenly understood the betrayal of Judas. You, his lovely lamb, stabbing him in the back like this. In the eyes of God, bought and sold to a man who you had left. Would you leave him too? What other pain were you capable of? He felt like Christ, his mercy being the death of him.

“My child, have you been hiding from His judgment? Why wouldn’t you tell us about this past? You liar,” he spit, his words burning your skin.

“I didn’t lie, I-”

He covered your mouth with his hand. “The Abandoner has no right to speak. You shall listen to me, Y/N.”

You fought his grip hard, slapping him and trying to push him away, but he just shoved you in between him and the counter. He moved his hand from your mouth to your throat, squeezing as you tried to wriggle away from him.

“You were the snake in the Garden of Eden. You devil, you temptress, you… You…”

Tears welled up in your eyes and you started seeing stars. A voice in the back of your mind told you you deserved this. You abandoned all of those you loved for a dream, something you wished you had known you had much longer ago. But you had made your decision. You were a sinner, and you had to accept it instead of trying to run from it and hide under the skirt of servitude to Him. He let go of your throat, making you gasp for air and gripped the counter for support as your vision returned to normal.

He turned around, not wanting to even face you. He was embarrassed- no, mortified- of the fact that he believed anyone was as innocent as you. As perfect as you. Perfection. That’s all he wanted. With your impurity now left him nothing. He felt a darkness creep into him he had never felt before. Suddenly he was turned back around, slamming you down onto the top of the counter with his face now dangerously close to yours.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Eli…” You sobbed, trying to find that same sense of mercy he always carried with him. His natural air of caring was now replaced with a hollowness, a lack of fullness. Had God abandoned him? No, worse than that- he was disappointed.

“Did he even know what to do with a little thing like you? He soiled you with his bastard, unclean hands… How will we ever cleanse you, Y/N? Huh?” He breathed into your face, his scent intoxicating you.

“I- I don’t know Eli…”

“Keep my name out of your mouth, Abandoner. I am your Prophet, and you are my lamb, understand?” He tilted your chin up to look in your eyes. You nodded earnestly, doing anything to make him release this feeling of betrayal you could see in him.

You watched as he grabbed a handful of grain from the container behind you, throwing it on the floor. Instinctually you started to get up to clean it, but he kept you firmly seated.

“Now you will listen to me, little lamb. Get on your knees,” he whispered, stepping back to give you the space to follow his wishes.

You gulped and hopped off the counter, the grain crunching under your feet. You slowly kneeled, hissing in pain as the pieces dug into your knees. You looked up at him to see him enjoying his view. You were a poor, salvation seeking dinner and you would do anything he said to get back into his good graces. He felt the power he had over you surge through his body in a wave, his anger with you being replaced by a sickening satisfaction.

He grabbed a Bible off of a shelf in the living room, his footsteps vibrating the floor as he walked back over to you, flicking through the pages. He stopped on a passage from Luke, handing you the holy book.

“Read this. Outloud. And then we will pray for your soul, Abandoner.”

You shuddered at the new nickname he had given you and began reading.

“Then Satan entered Judas… the one called Iscariot, who was one of the t- twelve… Eli my knees really hurt…” You whined. You couldn’t believe how pathetic you sounded, begging Eli like a child. But your knees were getting imprinted with the tiny grains, and were going to be raw the way you kept shuffling trying to get them out from under you to no avail. He looked down at you, his face blank of any expression.

“Read, my sweet Judas. Read, or else.”

You gulped at the thought of what he would do if you refused. You weren’t sure you wanted to find out what kind of person Eli really was behind his kindness, just this glimpse was frightening enough.

You took a deep breath, closing your eyes for a moment to collect yourself, and began with a sigh. “He went away and discussed with the chief priests and officers of the temple guard… how he might betray Jesus, handing him over to them…”

Eli couldn’t contain himself with the scene in front of him. You looked like his own personal Mary, on your knees with gentle tears streaming down your cheeks. But you were no virgin. You were Lilith. Sleeping with the devil. The fucked up thing was he didn’t really want you for himself, either. He wanted you preserved. Untouched. Even though you wanted each other carnally. He saw the way you looked at him, he knew that look from anywhere because he saw it in the mirror. A touch-starved mess, who would let their frustrations out one way or another.

“They were delighted and arranged to give him money... So Judas agreed and began looking for an opportunity to betray Jesus when no crowd was present,” you finally finished, holding the book up at him. You were shaking, nonverbally begging him to take it out of your hands. He gave you a pleased smile as he took it gently from you, putting it on the counter.

“Do you see what happens to those who lie and betray people, Y/N? Especially those who have given so much for you?” His voice was quiet. The hint of mocking he held was still there, but behind it a shadow of sincerity.

“Yes Prophet. I’m so sorry Father,” you cried to him.

He bent down, grabbing your hands and forcing you to clasp them together.

“Let us pray for his forgiveness. For him to allow me to give you mercy.” He clasped his hands together, sitting up and looking down with his eyes half closed. He wanted to watch as you begged his all-mighty Father for something you didn’t deserve.

“God, my heavenly Father… Please have mercy upon me… I have lied, and I have sinned.”

“Tell him you are the Abandoner.”

You grimaced, watching the lights dancing behind your eyelids as you tried to focus on the words.

“I… I am the Abandoner. I have abandoned my husband. I only wished to serve you, my Lord. But I see my mistakes now.”

“They were brought to light by me, your Prophet.”

“Y- yes, the Prophet has shown me. Your gift to us sinners, Lord. He has shown me the errors of my ways… May he show me his mercy.”

“It is not the Prophet’s job for mercy. That can only be granted by him.”

Your heart sank in your chest. Eli was never going to forgive you. How could he? You kept your past from him, you can’t expect him to forgive you. But you wanted him to. So badly. You wanted his approval, his praise. And you were going to be lucky if you ever got it again.

Tears still trickled down your face, the Prophet watching as they created streams down your cheeks. He had never felt so close to God.

“P- please find it within your faith to get the Prophet to forgive me, Lord… It’s all I want… Forgiveness… Amen.”

Eli let go of your hands and you opened your eyes to see a slight frown on his face while he shook his head.

“You poor, poor sinner. Your guilt will punish you until your damnation.” He stood up, turning his back to you. “Do you think the entire town should hear about your unsightly escapades in Philadelphia? Hmm?”

You shook your head though he could not see you. “Please no, Prophet Eli… Their words… The gossip…”

He chuckled. “Perhaps we will brand you the Abandoner at my next sermon?”

“Please no! I’ll do anything!”

He turned around to face you, the light from the window creating an aura of gold around him.

“Then you will be my lamb. God’s perfection on this Earth. And we will truly cleanse you of these sins that scar you. No more mistakes.”

You began to shake, sobs ringing out of you like church bells. “Thank you, Eli. Thank you.”

He leaned down, gently pressing a kiss onto the top of your forehead. “Now get up. And clean up this mess.” With that he left you in his house, going back to his church prepared to write his next sermon.

This one was going to be about forgiveness.

#eli sunday x reader #eli sunday #paul dano #paul dano x reader #there will be blood #twbb

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