#AND NO I AGREE ABOUT THE CHARLIE THING

[loosethreadsofyoursoul]

rip charlie bradbury, you would have loved chappell roan

[bloogers-boogers]

Well... @inubaki I did say Charlie resembled a lot her uncle Michael...

Charlie: so now what?

Adam: now what what?

Charlie: do I like- throw him in lava or something?

Adam: what

Lucifer: let's better leave that for when he turns 35

Adam: huh?

Charlie: okay but WHAT do I do with it now???

Vaggie: honey just rock him to sleep

Charlie: I don't think it's ethical to rock a baby but if that's what he needs...

Adam, Lucifer and Vaggie watches Charlie gently places the baby in his crib and walks out the door and right after returns with a big rock in hand

Adam: OHFUCKNOTHAT'SNOT WHAT SHE MEANT!!

[eyewyrm]

noel and identity loss...

trying to articulate why it feels wrong to call him charlie, because thats still him but at the same time not.

he's changed and things cant go back to the way they were, noel took up a new name one to remember but also to move on

i don't think noel is a fake name to him more so just a new identity he's taken up as an extension of himself. or at least someone he's rebuilt himself as after the dreamlands. i don't think he's discarded charlie as an identity but that he just has two names that are both very real to him, however just one of them is more in the forefront than the other so he'd be unused to his old name being used.

but i also think that he'd feel extremely disconnected to his old life and name that it would be uncomfortable and feel wrong for him, might feel that his past is catching up to him or maybe he'd be afraid that if he stops using noels name he'd be abandoning him in some way

or just using the name as an escape from the king in yellow who likely would've called him by his original name

i recognise this is like probably nothing at all but it is rotating in my brain and i need to get it out, i love saying shit and being completely incoherent

[jinxed-sinner]

I'm rewatching Hazbin Hotel and I feel like we don't discuss the fact that Charlie is absolute garbage at reading social cues. This is most obvious in Masquerade, not exactly because Angel has to intimidate her out of Val's studio, but because Val is so obviously a shitty person but she doesn't seem to recognize that, despite

Val not hiding the fact that he's a piece of shit, and even licking Charlie's fucking arm which she's obviously uncomfortable about

Angel panicking the second Charlie mentions she's going to talk to Val

This is also seen to a more obvious extent with Lucifer, but Charlie can not read the room. She doesn't seem to realize that Val's a piece of shit until she overhears(?) Val actively abusing Angel, and even after that she's unable to see both what her presence implies as a friend of Angel's and that Angel does not want her there.

I don't think this is because of anything like autism, I actually think this is because Charlie is overly positive to her own detriment. It's made clear from the beginning that she just wants to see the best in people, and it proves to be detrimental to her multiple times.

I think it'd actually be interesting to see how Charlie seeing the best of people interacts with Alastor clearly thinking there is no good in himself. There is good in Alastor, it's subtle but it's shown more than once. Alastor just refuses to acknowledge that he's not 100% a piece of shit. Alastor's Radio Demon persona hasn't just caused decades of fear in sinners; the Radio Demon persona has also allowed Alastor to delude himself into thinking there is no good in him. This clash of Charlie trying to see the best in people while Alastor doesn't believe there's good in him at all is going to be really interesting to see, assuming the show explores it (which it should and I think it will).

[dennisboobs]

I'll be honest the whole argument about it being imperative that the gang never "wins" is still so fucking stupid to me. did you watch 3x01 with your eyes closed. dennis has "won" before, and it ruled, actually. why do we need broad ass arguments like this trying to pin down sunny when there's like. countless examples to the contrary to show it's been like this the whole time.

[sobeksewerrat]

Me, seeing a take about the hellaverse I REALLY FUCKING HATE but is I herently harmless and isn't worth blocking OP for: I must remain calm..I must not let petty disagreements about a shitty show I am interested in turn me into a toxic fan...I must remain completely calm. I am fine. I am okay. I am definitely not about to rip my hair out

[navree]

didn't they also fridge Felicia's Day's character at like the peak of her (the actress') popularity? i remember there being some kind of commotion about it at one of the comic con panels, but i was and still am on the fringes of the fandom. so, i'm not entirely sure.

I don't know how popular Felicia Day was at the time, but yeah pretty much. They introduced some last minute villains to make Dean go crazy (for plot reasons and again, Dean is always at the scene of the crime), and one of them killed her offscreen, with Dean and Sam finding her dead and bloody in a bathtub, before the rest of the season is basically devoted to Dean's pain over the fact that she's dead and how Dean reacts to it and what that all means for Dean. She literally just died for no reason other than to advance a plot that didn't even need it because he had a supernatural (heh) reason to go crazy anyway; the only way it could have been more obviously fridging is if she'd literally been in a fridge instead of a bathtub. It did cause a lot of commotion from what I remember, given how classic a case of fridging it was and how there was still so much more to do with the character and how well-liked Charlie was, as well as the show's absolute dearth of female characters anyway (tho she was a canon lesbian so they couldn't ship her with either of the men, which I'm sure made it more easy to kill her off so they couldn't do PG-13 sex scene with Jared or Jensen and Felicia).

[charmac]

x

[spaghetticat3899]

Rest in peace, Smiling Scug rivulet campaign, for you were taken so soon.

Sleep well, sweet prince

[cepheusgalaxy]

ughhhhhhhhhhh why am i so prone to complaining

[carewyncromwell]

Percy 🤝 Carewyn

The summer of 1995 was a very busy time for Carewyn at the Ministry. Normally she would’ve been glad for the extra case work, as it would’ve allowed her to help more people, which had always been her dream and goal...but unfortunately, most of this “work” as of late had been to assist the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, in crafting some new legislation pointed directly at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Apparently Fudge was so fed up about Dumbledore having so much trouble finding suitable professors for Defense Against the Dark Arts -- in Fudge’s words, “one of the core subjects for a developing witch or wizard’s education” -- that he decided that if Dumbledore couldn’t nominate a suitable successor, the Minister (and therefore he) would just have to do it himself. Carewyn truly detested the idea -- but under the circumstances, she knew if she was both going to prevent Fudge from causing too much damage and keep the job she loved so she could continue helping people, then she’d have to be involved in putting that idea into action. So she’d accepted the role of legal counsel for Fudge while he developed this plan...even while simultaneously offering covert assistance to Dumbledore’s organization, the Order of the Phoenix, by leaving enough wiggle room to legally challenge the legislation. 

One silver lining about having to work with Fudge, though, was that it gave Carewyn the chance to make contact with Percy Weasley, who had been appointed Junior Assistant to the Minister of Magic earlier that summer. Carewyn had to break ties with the Weasley family, including her best friend, Bill, so as to stay at an advantageous position within the Ministry -- an act Carewyn was loathe to put on, given how much she adored all of them like her own family. But not long later, third-eldest son Percy was promoted to the role of Junior Assistant at only 19 years old -- an act Carewyn immediately pinpointed as Fudge trying to keep tabs on the Weasleys, who’d always been loyal and close friends to Dumbledore -- and right afterward, rumors started flitting around the Ministry that Percy had severed ties with his family, all because they supposedly believed the “Boy Who Lied’s” rubbish about You-Know-Who returning. 

Carewyn’s heart hurt, just hearing the rumors. She knew Arthur and Molly had to be devastated over Percy’s departure -- Bill and Charlie undoubtedly would be too, once they found out. Bill in particular had always been so protective of all of his siblings: his greatest fear, from the time he was young, was any of his family being hurt. And with Voldemort really having returned, it was truly dangerous for Percy to be shoving his head in the sand at this particular moment. 

Someone’s got to look after Percy and make sure he’s okay, Carewyn decided at once. If the Weasleys can’t, then I will.

So when Percy stopped by Carewyn’s tiny office the following morning to fetch the legislation draft and notes she’d written for Fudge, Carewyn couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him.

“Hi, Percy,” she greeted him. 

Percy was very stiff-shouldered as he gave her a slightly forced smile and nod. 

���Good morning, Carewyn,” he said, his slightly pompous voice coming out a bit brusquely despite himself. “I’m here for the notes the Minister requested...”

“I figured,” said Carewyn. She took out a file and placed it in front of her on the desk. “It’s all right here -- I enclosed a letter of recommendations at the top, for the Minister to read over -- ”

“Much obliged,” Percy cut her off as he reached out to take the file from her. 

He seemed oddly evasive. Carewyn could sense he was trying not to look into her eyes too long, but when he did, slips of memory emerged.

“ -- swear, it feels like she can look right through you, at times...”

“ -- it’s called Legilimency -- ”

The first voice in Percy’s mind she didn’t recognize, but the second she immediately knew was Bill’s. The thought of her best friend made Carewyn’s heart hurt. 

“You haven’t had breakfast, have you?” she said abruptly, as Percy turned to leave. “I’m brewing some coffee.”

She indicated the modified Muggle coffee maker next to her desk. 

Percy’s eyes flitted over to it. For a split second, Carewyn could see his father’s face in Percy’s gaze. 

“Thank you,” the bespectacled young man said uncomfortably, “but I should really get this back to the Minister -- ”

“I’ll send it on ahead for you,” said Carewyn crisply. 

She raised her wand. In an instant, she’d transfigured the file in Percy’s hand into a Ministry-of-Magic-approved paper airplane, which she then Charmed to soar out of the room, out toward the Minister’s office. She then indicated the empty chair across the desk from her with a gentler expression.

“You should eat something,” she murmured. 

Percy looked up at her, startled. Carewyn could see Molly in his eyes, this time -- Bill too. 

The third eldest Weasley flushed darkly as he averted his eyes again, his gaze falling over to the coffeemaker and Belgian waffle iron on the side. 

“...I suppose,” he said stiffly. “But I can’t stay long -- there’s a great load of work to do...”

Carewyn nodded respectfully as Percy sat down. If there was one thing she and Percy had in common, it was their workaholic tendencies. 

Once Percy had sat down, Carewyn set about fetching some mugs from inside the cabinet hosting the coffee maker, as well as loading some stored batter into the modified waffle iron so it could cook. She could feel Percy’s eyes on her, but when she looked up, he quickly looked away again.

“ -- Muggles use these things to cook different kinds of food! Don’t entirely get why they choose to iron it, but Muggles are truly fascinating things, aren’t they?”

Carewyn’s eyes softened a bit, hearing Arthur’s voice in Percy’s thoughts.

“Jacob made these for me,” she attempted conversation.

Percy looked up, startled. “...Oh, ah...your brother?”

Carewyn could hear Charlie in Percy’s thoughts.

“ -- kind of a mad genius, really -- ”

“Her brother disappeared because of those Vaults, Perce -- Carey’s not going to just give up on them -- ”

“Yes. I’d mentioned how irritated I was that the cafe’s line’s always so long and that I didn’t have any electricity so I could plug in my own appliances...so Jacob ended up enchanting these so he could gift them to me for Christmas. He even made a stop at a Muggle shop out in San Francisco to pick me up the waffle iron...” 

Carewyn couldn’t keep the fond smile off her face. 

“...It’s been helpful, in keeping everyone fed,” she said amusedly. “Ben especially -- he’s always skipping meals. And Talbott, Tonks and I work such late nights, it’s nice to be able to brew a pick-me-up or two, to get through it all...”

Once the coffee was finished brewing, she poured out two mugs, one for Percy and one for herself.

“Would you like milk?” she asked. “Sugar?”

“Sugar, please,” said Percy. “Two lumps will do.”

Once Carewyn had fixed his cup properly, she offered it to Percy, who quietly thanked her as he brought the mug into his hands and took a sip. As he did so, he kept his eyes locked on the coffee as much as he could -- even so, Carewyn could just barely sense the clipped memories in his head: Bill standing over Carewyn’s shoulder, Charlie wrapping an arm around Carewyn and calling her his “twin”...even the twins laughing.

“She’s like Mum!”

“Only cooler!”

That’s what it is, then, Carewyn thought. He’s afraid his family’s told me about his departure.

Her red lips came together grimly as she looked down at and took a sip from her own cup, contemplating how best to approach the issue. Then, taking a deep breath, she decided to say very softly,

“...I heard about what happened.”

Percy avoided her gaze all the more even after raising his head. 

“...From Bill, I presume?” he muttered.

The thought of her best friend made Carewyn give the slightest, longing wince.

“...No,” she said softly. “We...aren’t speaking, right now.”

Carewyn felt Percy’s wide eyes on her without looking up. There was a long silence, before Percy finally spoke again.

“...I see.”

His voice was very solemn and yet also oddly soft: almost empathetic. 

Carewyn swallowed. She could surmise what Percy was probably thinking -- that they’d had a similar falling out -- and as much as she wanted to correct the record, she knew it would be counterproductive. She knew Percy was in denial about Voldemort being back just as much as Fudge was, and he was just as deathly loyal to the Ministry as the rest of his family was to Voldemort. If she told Percy the truth about her helping the Order or the true reason why she wasn’t in contact with Bill or the others, then he would undoubtedly tell Fudge, and everyone else would only be in more danger. And so, reluctantly, she let it lie. 

When she looked up, Percy was looking her in the face again -- it made it so that his emotions were suddenly much better for her to read, through his eyes. 

“He’s using you, Perce, can’t you see that?”

“ -- wants at Harry -- ”

“ -- know you don’t want to believe it -- none of us do...but You-Know-Who is back, Percy!”

“ -- only believes what he wants to see -- ”

“And what about you? Blindly marching lockstep with Dumbledore, all this time -- even after he let Bill go running off after the Cursed Vaults with Carewyn -- after he left him and Charlie around the likes of Patricia Rakepick -- !”

“Don’t you see, you’re nothing but a pawn Fudge is using to -- !”

“Nothing?! Nothing?! And what have you done with all your time at the Ministry, Dad?! Besides....besides chasing after airplanes and collecting rubbish Muggles chuck away!?”

“At least I’m trying to do something with my life! At least I’m trying to provide for everyone -- to be someone my family can actually be proud of!”

“Ah yes -- proud of. A Ministry brown-noser that bows and scrapes before the likes of weak men like Cornelius Fudge, just to advance himself -- ”

“You’ve NEVER understood me! None of you ever have!”

Arthur’s and Percy’s voices yelling at each other was a strange feeling, for Carewyn. Both of them were destructive like out-of-control, reckless flames, and yet it was oddly vulnerable: like a wounded lion lashing out when deeply hurt.

Carewyn’s eyes flooded with compassion, feeling Percy’s anger second-hand. Percy seemed to sense how much Carewyn was seeing -- before he looked down at his mug again, Carewyn once again could hear Bill.

“ -- it’s called Legilimency -- ”

“Suppose you read my mind, just now?” Percy asked with a dark smile. 

Carewyn shook her head.

“Thoughts aren’t something that can be read -- they’re not sentences in a book. I can only sense and feel someone’s emotions and memories.”

She paused. Then she reached out and took Percy’s hand. 

“...Percy...I’m sorry your father said that to you,” she murmured.

However right he was about You-Know-Who...and however much it is true that Fudge’s promotion of you was more selfishly motivated than you think...you’ve always worked so hard, to try to do well at the Ministry. Mr. Weasley must’ve known how much all of this means to you...

Percy’s eyes darkened. 

“He thinks I’m just thinking of myself,” he said lowly. “That I’m just running after glory for myself, and nothing else. But...”

His hand started to shake as he clenched his teeth, bowing his head.

“...But...but he’s always been the selfish one!” he burst out angrily. “Always running around, dawdling after Muggles...like his job’s nothing but a game! His was the only salary we’ve got to live on, since Mum’s always been at home -- sure, we want him to be happy, and yes, we’ve been able to manage...but we shouldn’t have HAD to just ‘manage!’ He should’ve been providing for us -- he should’ve been trying to climb the ladder, should’ve been looking for a job that could actually pay the bills, rather than make us constantly live on the edge...constantly have to buy things second-hand, constantly have to decline opportunities or make do with rubbish, just because we couldn’t afford better...constantly have to live with the stigma of being one of Arthur Weasley’s boys...”

Percy’s hand inside of Carewyn’s clenched into a fist. Carewyn gave Percy’s fist a gentle squeeze, but she didn’t speak: this was a time to listen, not to talk.

Exhaling heavily, Percy put down his mug of coffee down on the table, so as to protect it from his own temper.

“I wanted to attend the Slug Club party with you,” he mumbled self-consciously. “The one your brother was invited to, before you graduated.”

Carewyn blinked in surprise. 

“I’d heard all about the Slug Club from other students,” Percy explained earnestly. “About how Horace Slughorn’s only ever invited those he saw as the most up-and-coming witches and wizards to his events. I thought it’d be exciting to meet so many new, well-regarded people -- maybe talk to Barnabas Cuffe about what it’s like to work as a journalist for the Daily Prophet -- chat with some fascinating up-and-coming authors, before I read their work -- maybe even meet the Gwenog Jones -- tell her how much my little sister idolizes her...”

Carewyn’s eyes welled up with compassion.

“Percy, why didn’t you say anything?” she asked sadly. “Jacob and I would’ve loved to have you join us.”

Percy shook his head. "I was only fourteen. Slughorn would’ve had no reason to talk to me -- I hadn’t done anything that would set me apart as anything other than ‘one of Arthur Weasley’s boys.’ And I already knew I had nothing to wear that would be suitable.”

“Andre would’ve made you something to wear,” said Carewyn, but Percy shook his head again.

“I thought of that, but...at the time, I didn’t want to be treated like a charity case,” he said gloomily. “I was already so much younger than you, and...well, you’ve always been much closer with Bill and Charlie than me. Even Fred and George...”

“That doesn’t mean you wouldn’t have been welcome,” Carewyn said very firmly, giving Percy’s hand a squeeze. “I only went to that party because of Jacob, and Jacob only went out of a sense of feeling like he had to, after how worried Slughorn was about him all those years. I know Slughorn would’ve loved having another person there who was just as thrilled to be there as he was.”

Percy gave Carewyn a weak smile. Through his eyes, Carewyn could feel just how warm and comforting her sentiment was.

“...Thank you, Carewyn.”

He paused. Then, taking a breath, he took the plunge.

“It’s...it’s lovely that you went to a party you weren’t even interested in, just to support your brother,” he said quietly. “I don’t think any of my siblings would go with me, if I got invited to a Slug Club party...they’ve never been interested in such things...”

Carewyn frowned. “You don’t think Bill or Charlie would’ve supported you?”

Percy looked uncomfortable. “In sentiment, maybe, but...well, Bill and Charlie always spent the most time together, at home. They were always each other’s best friend, before they got to school and met you. And Fred and George of course always had each other...even Ron and Ginny ended up together most often, just because they were the smallest and always needed the most attention...”

“...Leaving you all by yourself,” Carewyn finished grimly.

Percy’s eyes darkened again. Carewyn could sense the remnants of a very lonely bespectacled boy hiding in a hollowed-out tree outside the Burrow, reading a book, coming off of him.

Carewyn’s eyes softened and she gave Percy’s hand another affectionate squeeze.

“I’m sorry, Percy,” she murmured. “It must’ve been really lonely for you sometimes...even with how close your family’s always been...”

Her eyes landed on their hands rather than Percy’s face as she tried to shut out the isolating memories rippling off of Percy.

“...My mum’s family was a lot worse than yours...but she was the black sheep there too...and she’s always said that you should never be lonely, when you’re in a family. Even when you’re physically alone...you should never have to feel alone.”

Percy looked up at Carewyn, his lips twitching into a weak, humorless smile.

“Your mother sounds like a very kind woman.”

He paused. Then, after a moment, he spoke a bit more bitterly.

“...I...don’t suppose Fred’s followed up with you about taking over my old room at the Burrow, now that I’ve left for good?”

Carewyn’s blue eyes welled up with pain.

“...Percy...”

She got up from her chair, extended both of her arms, and encircled him in a big hug. The taller ginger-haired man flinched ever-so-slightly, but almost immediately grabbed onto her in return, burying his face into her shoulder without ever getting up from his seat.

“He didn’t mean it like that,” Carewyn whispered in Percy’s ear. She found herself maternally stroking the younger boy’s hair like she sometimes would Charlie’s, when he was sad.

“I know,” Percy’s voice came out slightly muffled beside her shoulder. “...I know...”

Even so, Carewyn could tell how much that barbed joke had really hurt.

Percy’s arms adjusted a bit around Carewyn, giving her a slightly tighter squeeze before he finally released her. He brought a hand up under his glasses to covertly wipe at the tear that had formed in the corner of his right eye, clearing his throat loudly.

“Excuse me, I...lost my composure. Silly thing...”

“It’s not silly,” Carewyn shut him down sharply.

Softening at once again, she walked over to the waffle iron, which had started to beep. She opened it, levitating out the newly cooked waffle inside with her wand onto a plate before summoning some butter and strawberry compote out of a drawer.

“I realize this makes for a rather sweet breakfast,” said Carewyn as she set about buttering and then drizzling the compote over the waffle. “But...well, Mum used to say that sometimes something sweet in the morning can take off the edge of a bitter night’s sleep.”

Percy eyed the full plate of food and then the clock.

“It looks lovely, but...” he said uneasily, “...I really should be getting back to work...”

“Then take it with you,” said Carewyn. “You can always bring the plate and mug back to me, when you’re done with them.”

Percy’s eyes softened a bit behind his glasses as he picked up his half-full mug and got to his feet. “...All right.”

He accepted the plate from her in his other hand as he headed for the door. He paused in the door frame, looking back over his shoulder at her with a slightly warmer expression.

“...Carewyn...thank you for listening. I mean, you clearly have a full day of work yourself to contend with, and -- ”

“My work might be very important to me,” Carewyn said firmly, “but the only reason it is so important is because it lets me help people. And the people I care about I will always help first.”

Carewyn could imagine Bill standing over Percy’s left shoulder, smiling fully and handsomely as ever. It made her smile that bit more warmly at Percy.

“...My office door is always open, if you need anything,” she said gently.

Percy smiled and nodded, before turning on his heel and heading out of Carewyn’s office, taking another sip of coffee as he went.

Friendship Drabble Prompt!

[ace-and-ranty]

That Rolling Stone article about Chappell Roan... the bits about the shit she went through are already wild, but what really gets me is when the article starts listing. every. single. singer. who reached out to her, worried, to commiserate, to give tips, to agree that the harassment of fame is indeed hell. I'm like. "So y'all agree?? All of y'all agree being famous is horrible???" Good LORD.

Fellow stars have reached out to see if she’s OK. Charli XCX was one of the first to do so (..). Eilish has been keeping tabs on Roan (...). Hayley Williams DM’d her, offering to chat with Roan anytime. Katy Perry told her to never read the comments. Lorde gave her a helpful list of things to do at an airport to fly under the radar. The band Muna hosted her for dinner. Miley Cyrus invited her to a party. Lady Gaga has passed along her phone number (...). Roan went on walks and grabbed coffees with Lucy Dacus and Julien Baker. Their boygenius bandmate Phoebe Bridgers came over to Roan’s just to hang, commiserating on how fandom behavior has become increasingly “abusive and violent.” Sabrina Carpenter, who’s also had a shockingly massive year, suggested they meet up and unpack their summers. “We’re both going through something so fucking hard … she just feels like everything is flying, and she’s just barely hanging on,” Roan says. “It was just good to know someone else feels that way.” Backstage at the Vic Theatre in Chicago, Roan flashes her phone to show a lengthy email from Mitski she received that morning. “I just wanted to humbly welcome you to the shittiest exclusive club in the world, the club where strangers think you belong to them and they find and harass your family members,” it reads.

I?? MEAN???

[foldingfittedsheets]

Truly, one of the greatest love language is someone agreeing to eat something atrocious for your benefit.

My first experience with this was in college. My friend Charlie invited me to a jazz club. One would think he’d learned his lesson. I thought nothing of this and agreed to a fun night with a guy friend. We arrived and I saw nothing romantic in the outing.

The menu at the club was very traditional date food- steak, oysters, romancey food. But still, I didn’t catch on. This food didn’t sound like what I wanted. In fact, what I wanted was a hummus plate. Charlie took this turn of events with a slight wince but ordered one for us.

The hummus plate arrived. Sitting politely on the corner of the garlic bomb was a spicy pepper. Laughing, I teasingly dared Charlie to eat it. You see, this kind of rough humor was common among buddies. I thought we were in Buddy Rules. But Charlie was operating under Date Rules; eating the pepper would be a romantic test of his bravery.

He bit the pepper.

His skin was almost as pale as mine and he went bright red instantly, tears stood in his eyes as sweat broke out across his whole body in protest. He barely managed to swallow as he began coughing, his body reflexively trying to spew forth the poison in his mouth.

I was doubled over with laughter and didn’t feel bad until a few days later when Brendan informed me it had been a date. I scoffed initially and only slowly realized Charlie had been intending it as a date. I repented the pepper and promptly dated Brendan in self defense.

Charlies act of romantic heroism went unappreciated but the spirit was there.

Many years later when I’d given up on boys I was dating my beloved wife. Together we took a trip to Taiwan. One of the wonderful things about new places is the food. I still dream about the food in Taiwan. Even the humblest train station cream puff was several orders of magnitude better than any I’ve ever had in the states.

But one place we went was like. Italian food as interpreted by Taiwanese cooks. Some of the combos were as bizarre to me as many Italians probably feel American Italian food is. Specifics escape me, but it felt like I was dreaming some of the menu at the time. At the end we decided to get a chocolate fondue, because why not. We were on vacation.

The liquid chocolate was served with all the things one would normally expect, strawberries, sweets, the usual chocolate accompaniments. And then we saw the tomatoes. Tomatoes and chocolate. We all stared at the tomatoes in horrified fascination.

Now, I hate tomatoes. I can stand a tomato sauce but raw tomatoes and I have nothing to talk about. So I knew that if I tried it I’d find it as repugnant as I’ve always found tomatoes. But I was haunted by the idea that someone who actually liked tomatoes would like tomatoes in chocolate.

My beloved loves tomatoes. And chocolate. I turned the biggest puppy dog eyes on them and begged to know if the combination was actually somehow delicious. My wife insisted that it would be heinous. Still, they speared a tomato sacrifice and coated it in chocolate, for me. For me, they ate it.

It was so wretched that their face collapsed into instant regret. But they didn’t spit it out. They knew I got sick if people spit out half chewed food. So they soldiered on and swallowed the cursed chocolate fruit.

Their devotion utterly delighted me, and even years later I adore that they suffered that tomato to reassure me that indeed, it was bad.

[alltheirdamn]

Rotten | cowboy!joel x f!reader

Summary: Sharing land with Joel Miller has always been infuriating, but when your bad attitude finally gets his attention...things get messy. Rating: 18+ Explicit MDNI Word Count: 5.2k Warnings: No-Outbreak AU, banter and arguing, explicit language, brat taming, semi dark!joel, dubcon elements, degrading, choking, rough spanking, hair pulling, face slapping, throat fucking, touch of dacryphilia, rope/bondage, rough unprotected piv sex, hint of a subspace moment, orgasm denial, squirting, creampie, no aftercare because joel is an old, grumpy asshole A/N: Y'all probably wouldn't believe me if I told you Apple by Charlie XCX inspired this random fic...but anyway, this one goes out to my sweet bb angel @lotusbxtch <3 thank you for always being my partner in crime in the late hours of the evening ilysm

Part II

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

The Texas sun beat down on your skin as you rode through the acres of land—your land— stretching out before you. Passed down from generation to generation, this entire pasture of fields and wild barley was yours. After both of your parents died during a freak accident, you inherited the land and dealt with upkeep and farm animals as if it were your life. And it was your life. Every inch of this farmland was yours, no matter what anyone said. 

You pressed your heels into the side of your horse, Mac, and urged him further down through the tall grass. The summer hadn’t been kind to the fields, the grass yellowing in most places, but what would you do about it? Tell the sun to stop shining? All you could do was take care of the land and ensure nothing went wrong. The animals were taken care of, the wild wheat still grew strong in the outskirts past your tiny farm home, and you had enough money to put dinner on the table for yourself at the end of your night. 

No trouble at all. 

What was trouble, though, was Joel Miller riding his ass right down the edge of your land. The sun cast him in a dark silhouette as he rode closer, his broad body sitting tall on the back of his horse. You held back the reigns, shushing Mac gently as you slowed him to a trot, keeping a healthy distance from the insufferable man trespassing onto your fields. 

“Think y’got yourself a bit lost out here, Miller,” you hollered. 

Joel removed the black cowboy hat from his head; the grey hairs streaking through his curls shimmered in the sunlight as he swiped an arm over his sweaty forehead. Every inch of his skin was sunkissed and tan from hours under the sun, his greying beard patchy and well-kept despite his rugged exterior. If he weren’t such an asshole, maybe you’d even consider him attractive, but your irritation with him ran deeper than any other emotion. 

Staring up at you under thick brows, Joel quirked an amused grin and shrugged. 

“Ain’t lost at all, darlin’. S’my land out here.”

You steered Mac forward, keeping yourself parallel with Joel’s body. You weren’t intimidated by any man, let alone Joel Miller. He may have a few decades on you, but that didn’t matter. The Miller family had always been a problem. For generations, they feuded with your family over acres of land that stretched across the horizon, never agreeing on who owned what. Before Joel, his father had caused an uproar in your family, and now he just had to continue causing problems. Would you ever rid yourself of this man and his family?

“I suggest y’take your ass home ‘fore I make you leave,” you warned. 

The wind kicked around you, fanning your hair down around your shoulders. Joel caught how your hair flared under your cowboy hat, and a hint of mischief sparkled inside his dark brown eyes. He was a fucking nuisance and still on your fucking land. 

“Careful now, darlin’. Those are some mighty big fightin’ words.”

You straightened your spine, holding firm on the reigns to keep yourself anchored. Mac huffed impatiently as if he knew how sour your mood was turning. The longer you kept yourself around Joel, the quicker your anger grew. The sun would set soon, and you still had miles to cover before you made it home; you wouldn’t entertain an old cowboy all night, even if he were staring at you like you were a wild horse to be tamed. 

“This is the last time I’m tellin’ you to stay off my land, Joel. I mean it.”

Joel chuckled lightly as if your words meant nothing. He placed his hat back over the matted curls on his head and began riding past you. You glared over your shoulder, watching his body travel further into the horizon and away from the rolling fields of your land. 

**

The summer wasn’t getting any easier. The sun grew brighter each day, and the air thickened with humidity, making it nearly impossible to continue wearing anything restrictive. With no one else around to pester you, you paraded around the stables in a tight top, a pair of daisy dukes, and your usual worn leather boots. The fewer clothes, the better—even if that meant getting bit up by a few mosquitoes here and there. 

You were deep into cleaning Mac’s stall when you heard the sound of hoofs pounding against the dirt ground outside the stables. Your body went rigid; you knew who it was without looking. Who else would it be out here? The horse in the distance bristled as its rider dropped to the ground, his heavy footfall nearing you as you exited the stall with a towel slung over your shoulder. 

Joel stood tall in the entrance, his broad frame sucking in all of the light as he walked closer. He wore an old denim button-up, and the sleeves pushed up his tan forearms, exposing the thickly corded muscles that ran down to his hands. Without a cowboy hat resting over his eyes, you could see how rich and dark they were as they stared you down. Despite hating him, your body reacted on its own accord. You clenched your thighs, trying to quell the ache growing inside your core. Leaning against the stall, you narrowed your eyes, watching Joel stalking closer. His steps were confident—casually, even—as if he owned the damn place. 

“Not sure why y’think it’s okay to come waltzin’ in here,” you scowled, folding your arms over your chest. 

“Ain’t you just a ray of sunshine,” Joel smirked. 

“Fuck off, old man,” you snapped, rolling your eyes. 

“What was that, darlin?” 

Joel stepped forward, and you mimicked his movements, drawing yourself closer to him. Even with his height towering over you, you were unphased. This man wouldn’t get the best of you. 

“Oh, sorry. Should I be speakin’ louder? Ain’t sure if y’got your hearing aids in.”

“No, I heard y’just fine. Just wanna hear you say it again.”

The toe of your boot tapped against his as you glared up at him. With a smug grin stretching across your face, you repeated your retort. 

“Fuck off. Old man.”

Joel’s body tensed, his eyes narrowed as he considered your words. You weren’t backing down; he was on your property and, quite frankly, pissing you off. He could bitch and moan all he wanted about how this land was his birthright, but he was wrong. Your parents settled the matter generations ago and never once faltered against the Millers. That wouldn’t change now. You’d uphold their wishes and continue fighting for what was yours. 

“Y’gotta damn nasty mouth on such a tiny body. Ain’t your parents teach you some manners?” Joel questioned. 

“They taught me enough, but it ain’t gonna stop me from tellin’ you off. So, get the hell off my property,” you demanded. 

You glanced down, noticing Joel’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. It was amusing seeing him all riled up. Who knew he had that kind of spark in him? You wondered just how far you could push him until he snapped. 

“Ain’t you just spoiled rotten. Is that what it is? Y’think everythin’ is yours ‘cause your mommy and daddy said so?”

His voice was taunting, a litany of rhetorical questions to which he didn’t care to know the answer. Whatever you said, it wouldn’t matter because his mind was made up. Stubborn old man.

“I don’t think everythin’ is mine. I know it is,” you objected. “So, move your old ass back to your side of the pasture and get out of my face.”

Joel crowded your body, walking you back towards the stall door until your body pressed into the wood. You lifted your chin defiantly, watching his eyes clouded with rage. 

“Spoiled lil’ brat. Should teach you a lesson for the way you’re speakin’ to me,” Joel growled. 

Let’s see how far we can take this, you thought. 

“Whatcha gonna do? Spank me?” You laughed, gracing him with a rueful smile. 

Placing his hands above you on the door, Joel caged you between his body. You had nowhere to run; truthfully, you didn’t want to run. The incessant ache between your legs was swelling, your underwear practically soaked with the burning anticipation coursing through your veins. 

“Keep runnin’ your mouth, darlin’. S’only gonna make things worse for you.”

“I ain’t scared of you, Joel.”

“You damn well should be,” he warned. 

Joel’s hand shot out to grab the base of your neck, yanking you a breath away from his lips. The rich scent of whiskey wafted off his lips as he held you close, his fingers tightening around your throat. You rolled your tongue across your bottom lip, an invitation for whatever threat he had. You could take it. 

“Y’think it’s cute actin’ this way? Think you’re just tough shit, and no one will put you in your place, hmm?” Joel whispered. 

“You gonna be the one to do it, Joel?” You challenged. 

Joel used his grip on your throat to spin you toward the door, your cheek smashing into the wood as he pinned you against it. The instant sting of his palm radiated through the denim of your shorts, the heat of his hand melting into your skin. You yelped in pain, dragging your nails over the wood that strained against the press of your body. His hand smoothed over the curve of your ass before delivering another jarring smack. 

“Fuck!” You cried, biting back tears. 

“Spoiled.” Smack. “Fuckin’.” Smack. “Brat.” Smack. Smack. 

“Joel, please!” You begged. 

You weren’t sure if you were begging for more or begging for him to stop. Either way, he was unrelenting, his handprint leaving welts on your skin. Joel’s grip on your throat tightened, restricting your breathing as he dug his fingers into the supple skin of your ass. Prodding…smoothing…spanking. A continuous, viscous cycle you were weak against. Every bite of his hand on your body intensified the throbbing between your legs, your clit swelling with need. Repeating slaps against your other cheek forced tears down your face, their path leading down your neck and onto Joel’s warm hand. 

“You cryin’, darlin’?” Joel taunted. “Gonna beg me to stop?”

“Please—” You choked out, your words garbled and strained. 

Joel’s lips touched your ear, his breath fanning over your skin in waves. 

“M’fraid I can’t. Not til’ y’learn your lesson.”

You twisted your head around, your tired eyes connecting with his. There wasn’t a hint of brown in his irises as his pupils swallowed them whole, an unsatisfied look washing over his features. He wasn’t done, and neither were you. 

“Fuck you,” you snarled. 

Joel tilted his head, his graying mustache twitching as his lips curved into a smile. An unmistakable hint of desire masked his expression, keeping you reeled in and wanting more. If he could keep going, then so could you. 

“You just ain’t backin’ down, huh?” Joel questioned. 

You wagged your head back and forth, his fingers squeezing against your windpipes. Joel’s hand coasted up your waist, tugging at the belt loop on your shorts until your body spun to face his. Even with tears streaming down your cheeks, you grinned at him, clearly unbothered by the onslaught of pain he had inflicted. 

“That all y’got, old man?” You lipped off. 

“Call me old man one more time, darlin’,” Joel warned his face inches from yours. 

“Old. Man.” You punctuated each word through gritted teeth.

Joel cupped your sex through your jeans, no doubt feeling the arousal seeping through the denim fabric. A rouge whimper fell off your lips, and you bit back any more sounds to give away the desperation rolling through your veins.

“Fuckin’ brat,” he exhaled, but there was a lightness in his voice.

You were both giving into some carnal need, electrifying the humid air around you. You chased his mouth, wanting to lap up every threat on his whiskey-drenched tongue. Joel pulled back, your lips connecting with nothing as you arched forward. With a slight pout, you huffed in annoyance. 

“Look who’s actin’ all desperate now. Just beggin’ for this old man to fuck you.”

“Betcha can’t even get it up in the first place,” you grumbled. 

Joel’s hand connected with your cheek, a rough slap sending your face to the side. Dammit, if that wasn’t the hottest thing he’d done. The sting of his palm sent a wave of pleasure rolling through your stomach, a burning need just aching to come undone. Thick fingers gripped your jaw, wagging your face side to side. 

“I’ve heard enough of that bratty mouth,” Joel said decisively. 

His hands brushed over your collarbone, grasping your shoulders and shoving you to your knees. Your legs hit the straw-covered ground with a soft thud, your skin scraping against the dry hay. He wasted no time undoing his large belt buckle, working his cock out of the confines of his jeans, and your mouth went dry at the sight of him. Joel was hung like a fucking horse, his length thick and no short of any girth. Precum dribbled down off the tip, the sticky mess enticing you to move closer. Staring up at him through your lashes, you waited for his next move. He might have you on your knees, but you’d have his cock, and that was power in itself. 

“Make use of that mouth and suck,” he commanded. 

You lapped at the precum, his cock twitching against every flick of your tongue. You explored his length, dragging your tongue along the veins running down the underside of his cock. Joel gripped the hair at the crown of your head, guiding your mouth over the tip and down his length. Your nose brushed against the bushy hair at the base, his musky scent flooding your senses—it was intoxicating. 

“There we go,” Joel hummed, his voice gravely and strained. “So fuckin’ full of me y’can’t talk back.”

His name came out muffled as you tried to speak, your tongue flatted against the base of his cock. He pushed his cock a centimeter further, the tip knocking against the back of your throat. You gagged around him, your hands slapping against his thick thighs. 

“I don’t wanna hear y’say a damn word,” Joel growled. “You’re gonna take my fuckin’ cock down your throat and choke on it.”

You clawed at his thighs as tears sprung along your waterline, threatening to spill over the longer he kept himself inside your mouth. His fingers tightened around tiny strands of your hair, anchoring you to his cock as he thrusted himself deeper. You tried to protest and pull away, but his grip on you was unforgiving. 

“Please,” you garbled, spit rolling down your chin. 

“Still actin’ like a spoiled fuckin’ brat, ain’t you? Think y’can get whatever you want?”

He granted you an inch to breathe, pulling you halfway off his cock. You inhaled sharply through your nose, trying to latch onto any control. Joel used his grip on your hair to slide your mouth up and down his length, the sound of your lips around his the only noise aside from his labored breathing. You tapped on his thigh twice, hoping he’d relent and give you a reprieve. 

“Real fuckin’ cute,” he laughed. “Struggle all y’want, darlin’. I ain’t stoppin’.”

The tears flowed freely now, mixing with the saliva pooling down your jaw as you worked him deeper down your throat. Every strained attempt to beg him to stop fell on deaf ears; his cock only pushed further down until you had no choice but to sit there completely disarmed and helpless. The scratches left on his thighs didn’t phase him at all, nor did your whimpers as you tried to swallow a breath around him. 

“Keep cryin’, darlin’. Just makes you look prettier when I’m ruinin’ you,” Joel muttered. 

As your nose pressed against the hair at his navel, Joel’s hand brushed over your cheek, collecting a rogue tear on his thumb. Through blurred eyes and running mascara, you blinked up at him right as he tasted the tear pooling on the pad of his fingertip. 

“Delicious,” he hummed.

A dangerous grin split across his face, his hips jerking forward one last time before he wrenched you free from his cock. You coughed violently, the air wooshing back into your lungs with each heaving breath. You swiped the back of your hand across your mouth, wiping off the saliva coating your chin and jaw. 

“You fuckin’ asshole,” you choked out. 

Crouching down, Joel met you at eye level, his eyes soulless and dark. You shivered under his heavy gaze and flinched away from his face as he crowded you. 

“How’s that attitude of yours now?” He questioned. 

You reeled back, sending a glob of spit across the bridge of his nose. Joel scrunched his eyes together, jaw clenched as he wiped away your spit. You bared your teeth at him, still refusing to back down. Joel straightened to his full height, working at shoving his cock back in his jeans. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a bit disappointed; you hated him but wanted more. 

“Guess I ain’t been rough enough,” Joel grumbled, walking down the stable. 

You watched as he picked a bundle of lead rope off the hook near Mac’s stall, weighing it between his hands. A jolt of panic ran through your veins as you saw his eyes light up in mischief. You were so fucked. You half-considered running, but where was the fun in that? Joel would only chase you down, and even that sounded delicious. There was no use in fighting it now; you were in it for the long haul. 

“Now,” he started, his steps slow as he walked back toward your kneeling body. “I’m gonna give you two options. Y’either walk your ass outside like a good girl, or I drag you out by your hair. What’s it gonna be, darlin’?”

“I’ll walk,” you snapped, rising to your feet. 

Your knees ached with each step as you walked into the blinding daylight outside the stables. Gnats swarmed around your face as you stood idle by the entrance, glancing over your shoulder at Joel stalking behind you. The rope swung beside his body as he carried it in his hand, the lingering threat lying within the coarse fibers that wound together. His head jerked over to the tie rack beside the barn, his eyes trained on the vacant stall before the expanse of your land. 

“C’mon, brat.”

He waltzed in front of you, guiding you to the empty platform with a stern look gracing his features. Without a single word, Joel yanked your wrists together, his deft fingers working at knotting the rope around your skin. The fraying pieces bit into your skin, rubbing and burning the longer he twisted it in loops around your hands. He gave the rope a good tug, humming in satisfaction once the binding was tight enough. Guiding your arms upwards, he clipped the lead to the metal loop on one side of the tie rack, keeping your body suspended awkwardly as your wrists ached from the restraint. You refused to say a word, too frustrated even to protest his actions. If you thought you were helpless before, you were utterly powerless now. It was just you, Joel, and the empty stretch of land that went on for miles. 

Joel pressed his body against your back, the warmth of his touch ignited heat within your core all over again. You squirmed as his hands roamed over your curves, his fingers tracing the outline of your breasts under your sweat-covered shirt. He pinched at your nipples, finding their pebbled indentation hidden within your bra. A desperate whine left your lips as you swayed against the pull of the rope, your feet slipping against the ground. 

“See all that land out there,” Joel whispered, his teeth nipping at your earlobe. “That’s all mine, darlin’, and I’m gonna make sure you remember that by the time I’m through with you.”

“Tyin’ me up and fuckin’ me ain’t gonna change my mind,” you scoffed. 

“Guess I’m just gonna have to fuck some sense into you.”

Joel’s hands worked down your body, making quick work of undoing your shorts and shoving them down to your boots. The hot, sticky summer air breezed over your bare skin, hardly helping to soothe the painful ache between your thighs. Thick, calloused fingers massaged the skin of your hips, kneading your supple curves as you writhed against his touch. You could beg him for more, and oh god, did you want to. You wanted to cave and relinquish everything just to quell the burning pleasure inside your body, but you wouldn’t beg. Not for Joel Miller or any other man. 

Joel swiped a finger through your drenched folds, tutting at your pliancy. The brief touch alone was enough to spark stars behind your eyes, your breath growing shallow.

“Well, would ya’ look at that,” Joel tutted. “You’re soakin’ my fingers, darlin’.”

You refused to say a word, too afraid you’d succumb to your own devices. You wouldn’t ask him to fuck you, but Jesus Christ, you fucking needed it. Every fiber of your being cried for release, and if it meant you had to be tied up and fucked in front of the yellow fields in front of you, then that’s what you’d do. 

“I’ll give you one last chance,” Joel offered. “Say this land is mine and I’ll let you go.”

You glanced over your shoulder at him, no doubt a mess after being on your knees before him. There was a cruelty in his eyes that alarmed you, but you were too focused on what you needed, even to feel afraid. 

“This is my land,” you stated, your chin held high. “S’my family’s land and it’s gonna stay that way ‘til I’m in my grave.”

“Wrong fuckin’ answer.”

Joel knocked your legs apart, the denim of his jeans dragging against your slick arousal. There was a moment where there was absolutely nothing, a vacancy of sound or touch that deprived your senses. Maybe you were teetering on the edge of delirium, too far gone to know what he was doing behind you, but then you felt everything. The thick head of his cock brushed against your entrance, rubbing between your silken folds in tantalizing strokes. That was the only warning he gave before pushing himself deeper, splitting you open inch by inch. You cried out as your body worked to stretch around his length, and your vision blackened as the sharp pain of the sensation jolted through your veins. 

“Fuck!” You screamed. 

The adjustment to his size was agonizing despite how wet you were. Nothing could have prepared you for the way Joel broke you open, nor was there anything that could have prepared you for how brutal he would become. Thrust after thrust, he assaulted you, completely breaking you and molding you to his cock. The pull of the rope burnt the skin of your wrists as he took you harder, your body lurching against the restraints with each snap of his hips. Joel tugged your body backward, shifting your legs until you were forced to bend at the waist. Words wouldn’t form on your lips, and you dissolved into a heap of wailing cries as he plunged deeper into you. 

“Where’s all that loudmouthin’ now?” Joel grunted, his fingers bruising your hips. “So fuckin’ cock drunk y’can’t even speak?”

Your silence only drove him crazier, his speed quickening mercilessly. The ache inside your core was all-consuming, a burning wildfire inside your stomach. You dropped your head between your shoulders and dug your nails into your palms, keeping yourself grounded. 

“Joel,” you gasped. “Please.”

You failed in your attempts not to beg this man, throwing everything to the wayside as you succumbed to the pulsing ache between your legs. 

“Shut up, brat,” he snapped. 

“Joel!” You sobbed. “I’m gonna—fuck—please. I need to—to…”

The words turned to ash on your tongue as he snaked a hand around your body, his fingers drawing circles over your swollen clit. You yelped at the roughness of his fingers, the sensation alone nearly causing your legs to buckle beneath you. If it weren’t for the ropes holding you firmly in place, you would have fallen to the ground. 

“Poor thing,” he crooned in your ear. “Y’wanna cum? Is that what you want?”

Another drive of his hips. Another draw of his fingers. Tormenting movements that kept you on the edge of ecstasy and suffering. Your arousal pooled down your inner thighs, mixing with the sticky sweat that clung to every inch of your skin. 

“I need it, Joel,” you gasped. “Christ, please!”

“Y’gonna change your mind?”

“N��.”

Joel pinched your clit between his fingers, and your words drowned out under a helpless wail falling from your lips. He pulled you back by your hair, winding it around his fist as he drew his lips down your neck. The sweltering touch of his mouth on your skin and his rough fingers on your sensitive bud were enough to topple you closer to the edge. The furnace igniting inside your stomach wouldn’t stop any time soon, but you still wouldn’t give up. He was always going to be wrong, and you’d rather die than give him the satisfaction. 

“Say it, darlin’. Say the words, and y’can cum all over my cock.”

“Never,” you panted. “Never gonna—.”

He pistoned into you, his cock spearing deeper and deeper, completely paralyzing you. Sobs wracked through your body as you took every thrust, and your mind began to float off into a blissed-out haze that drowned out the noise behind you. 

“Gonna own all this fuckin’ land,” Joel gritted out. “Own it just like I own this fuckin’ pussy.”

Please. Please. You weren’t sure if you repeated the words inside your mind or aloud; either way, Joel only huffed a laugh and continued with his repetitive assaults on your body. Your orgasm began barreling toward you, your core fluttering around him as it sparked beneath your skin. Everything inside you tensed up, and your jaw went slack with an outward cry as you slipped under the rapid release coursing inside your body. 

“Oh fuck!” You sobbed. “Fuck… fuck… fuck!”

Your sex clenched around Joel so hard he choked on a breath, his body rigid against yours as you spasmed beneath his hold. Hot, wet streams of your orgasm drenched his cock as he tore through your orgasm with shallow thrusts. Jole rammed into you over and over again until another wave of pleasure slammed into your body. 

“Fuckin’ brat,” he hissed. “Never said y’could cum, did I?”

His hand vanished from your waist and returned to the welted skin of your ass with a resounding smack. There wasn’t enough air in your lungs to cry out, nor any more tears to shed. You hung against the ropes, limp and pliant, as he took you with abandon. 

With another snap of his hips against yours, Joel spilled into you, his release filling you to the brim as he released a carnal groan. You could barely lift your head to look back at him as he untangled his fingers from your hair and pulled away. 

Every atom inside your body was pulsing with overstimulation, your ass welted and bruised, and your throat raw from screaming. The constant thrum of your heartbeat in your ears smothered the sound of Joel’s belt buckle clanging together, the warmth of his body far removed from yours as you stood on tired legs. Moments passed without a single touch, and you wondered if Joel would leave you there tied to the rack and dripping with cum. 

“Think y’learned your lesson now?” He asked, his voice sounding far away. 

All you could do was wag your head in protest, your eyes pinned down to the floor, fixated on the pool of saliva that had fallen from your lips. Joel appeared beside you, his grey hair dissolved and face red from exertion. He worked at unclasping the rope from the hook, unbinding your wrists until your arms fell limp to your sides. Your body was weightless without the stability of the rope, and you fell forward, anticipating the impact against the cement. Joel was quicker, though, winding a strong arm around your front and holding you up. 

“Easy now, darlin’,” he whispered softly. “Easy.”

Your fingers wrapped around his arm, clinging to anything to escape the impending collapse of your entire body. Your boots scruffed against the cement of the stall, kicking dust into the air around you. With his arm still braced around your chest, he used the other to guide your shorts back up your legs and onto your hips. You hissed as the denim rubbed against your ass, the swell of your skin still prickling with pain no matter how brief the touch was. 

“Can y’stand on your own?” He asked. 

“Mhmm,” you mumbled.

“Attagirl.”

Yet as he released your body, you staggered forward, grasping onto the tie rack for support. Joel waited until you found your balance and offered a hand. You were hesitant but relented silently. He took your wrists in one large hand and began massaging at the reddened skin, working out any tension left from the rope. You stared blankly at him, watching a crease burrow between his eyebrows. You still hated him, right? Right? Something so minimal shouldn’t make your heart pound against your chest, but there you were, speechless as you watched this rough man touch your skin with a tenderness he had yet shown. 

“Suns goin’ down soon,” he muttered, nodding to the sky. 

You peered over your shoulder, surprised to see the sun dipping over the horizon. You hadn’t noticed the pinky hue of the sunset while he fucked you, but now you stared at it in wonderment. 

“Guess it is,” you sighed. “Y’should get your ass off my property ‘fore it gets too late.”

Joel snorted, glancing up at you through thick lashes. In the dwindling sunlight, his eyes had dissolved from onyx back into a glistening amber color, the flecks of rich brown dancing as he looked at you. 

“Stubborn lil’ thing,” he huffed. 

He dropped your hands and straightened to his full height. Perspiration coated his button-up, staining it in dark spots as excess beats of sweat still rolled down his muscular neck. You tamed the flyaways of your hair, trying to minimize the obscenity of your look the longer he stood before you. It was no use after what he had done. 

“Y’ain’t changin’ your mind, huh?”

“Nope,” you shook your head. 

Joel rolled his eyes and shoved a hand into his front pocket. Leaning close, he brought his other hand to your face, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, letting his fingers brush over your cheek before pulling away. 

“Guess I’ll just come back tomorrow and try again.”

“Y’come back here tomorrow, and I’ll shoot you dead, Miller.”

He cracked a grin and began to retreat toward his horse beside the stable. You stood motionless as he mounted the brown mare, slipping the reigns between his hands. Joel gave you a farewell wave before taking off across the flowing fields, his broad figure dissolving into the sunset. You slumped against the wall of the stables, letting your body fall to the ground. A smile slid across your face, taking in the open land before you. 

You didn’t give up. It was all still yours.

[nightmare-niko]

Pretty When You Cry [Father Charlie Mayhew x reader]

pt. 2

Word Count: 1916

Warnings: manhandling, kinda munch! Charlie, one slap, mean! Dom Charlie, blasphemy (they fuck in the church😬)

A/N: not my gifs! I have the originals reblogged on my page😘 this was actually already being written and then I got an anon request for basically exactly what I was already writing!! Hope ya like it hehe 🙃 i also dont really ever write like this kind of smut so i hope i did good!!

Copying or translating my writing is not allowed. If you see my work on another site it is stolen. Reblogs are appreciated and encouraged.

You weren't a religious person by any means. But staying the night at your parents had you up early, trying to find the most church-appropriate outfit. of course, your parents failed to tell you that they were planning on bringing you along to church. Your skirt was a bit too short. But it is not like you had room to complain with such short notice!

You remember going to high school with Father Charlie— or as you knew him Charlie. The two of you didn't run with the same crowds-- but you knew each other.

Now, here you were. Paying no attention to the words coming from his mouth and all attention to how good he looked. Damn-- maybe you should have shot your shot years ago when he was a personal trainer.

As you watched him at the head of the room, you allowed your mind to wander.

One extremely long and boring sermon later, you stand awkwardly behind your parents as they talk to what Seems like every member of the church. God how you regret agreeing to come-- It's not like you knew anyone here- none of your friends went to church. But here you were, being judged by middle-aged churchgoers. How fun.

The sound of your name being called catches your attention.

You whip your head around to the noise, "Father Charlie!" The name is unnatural as it falls from your lips. You quickly look at your parents- too engrossed in a conversation. “It's been a while!" You awkwardly step closer to the man.

He hums, "It has been, hasn't it? The first time in the church as well.”

“Well, you know...” You gesture back to your parents.

"I'm assuming this wasn't on your schedule.” He looks you up and down, “Given your attire.”

You gasp sharply, heat rising to your face as you pathetically try to pull your skirt down. "I-uh,” you try to think of an excuse, "I didn't pack any pants..." You lie-- lying in a church is one thing but to the priest?

If Charlie sensed your lie he didn't comment on it. "Well, I hope you enjoyed today's sermon.”

"I did!" You lie again, a little too enthusiastically.

Charlie narrows his eyes at you, "You weren't paying attention, were you?" His voice is playful.

"No, I was not," You quickly confess.

He laughs, you have to fight to not stare shamefully at his beautiful face for too long. "That's odd— because when I looked at you, you looked very focused," He teases.

“I wasn't paying attention to your voice. Just your fa-" you stop in your tracks. Utterly petrified at the situation you have just found yourself in. His eyebrows raise in surprise at your slip-up. “I mean I didn't even know that you could see me in that crowd-- I-I- just figured that-”

“That every time we locked eyes it wasn't on purpose?” he finishes your thought.

You nod pathetically, your shoes suddenly extremely interesting.

Charlie takes a step towards you, the proximity making you look up at the man. Has he always been that tall? "I want you to go into my office and wait for me.” His voice is a seductive tone you have never heard him use before. It sends a shiver down your spine.

“But what about my parents?” you ask, voice just above a whisper.

“Dont worry about them,” he assures before walking away. Leaving you standing alone— stunned.

To say you were terrified was an understatement. Sure, you weren't in any danger-- at least you didn't think so. What exactly had you gotten yourself into? Here you sat, in a priest's office. Surrounded by biblical Imagery. And you were 99% Sure you were soaked through your cotton panties, you didn't care. No one but you was going to know... right?

Five minutes turned to ten. You sat anxiously in the chair across from Charlie's desk. A clock on the wall ticked away obnoxiously. You had figured when you walked in it would take him a while for him to return. how long should you wait? Has he forgotten that you were sitting in his office, impatiently waiting? You didn't dare to snoop, or even scroll on your phone. Charlie said to wait for him, and that's what you would do.

For thirty minutes you're alone in that office. you straighten your posture when you hear the clicks of Charlie’s boots nearing. The sound of the door opening makes you flinch pathetically. You don't dare turn around. Eyes glued on the desk in front of you.

Charlie is silent as he moves around behind you. Your pulse pounds in your throat at the anticipation.

“You seem nervous.” You tense at his voice, still refusing to turn around and face the man.

You try to swallow the lump in your throat, “I am nervous, Father.” You press your thighs together in an atempt to find some sort of relief to your throbbing center.

He groans quietly from behind you, “look at me.”

Like a magnet your head whips around to look at the man. His sharp gaze made your breath hitch. You felt hazy as he stepped towards you. Your eyes locked on his as he comes to stand right in front of you. Your breath quickens when he captures your chin in between his thumb and pointer finger.

Charlies predatory gaze on you deepens, his lips curling into a smirk, "you--" he rubs the lipstick on your mouth, smudging it. "Are such a pretty mess for me, darling.”

You bat your eyelashes up at him, “I don't know what you mean, Father.”

He grips the sides of your face harshly, cheeks smushing together into a pout. “Showing up to my church dressed like a slut—” he spits, “shamlessly eyefucking me the whole time like you were the only one in the room.”

You whimper at his words— he was right of course. But that didn't stop your face from flushing in embarrassment.

“Now look at you. Slut. Sitting before me like a doe as if you didn’t wait in my office hoping I would come in here and fuck you like the whore that you are.”

You moan shamelessly when he lets go of your face, while your whole body was screaming at you to submit to the man before you. You could help but push his buttons just a little bit further.

“You know for a priest you sure do have a filthy mouth—” His eyes narrow on you as you speak. “im such a slut but here you are hard in your pants over a damn mini skirt.” If looks could kill, you’d surely be dead. You needed more.

You open your mouth to speak again. But before you could even get a sound out, Charlie strikes his large hand across your cheek. You moan again, “fuck!”

Wordlessly, he turns to the desk before you. You watch curiously as he haphazardly pushes the clutter on his desk onto the floor. Your hands tremble in anticipation as you watch him bound towards you. He effortlessly picks you up from the chair you sat on, as if a reflex you cross you’d ankles behind his back as his hands greedily grip your thighs and ass.

He gently places you on the recently cleared off desk. A stark contrast to the way he effortlessly hoisted you from your seat. You attempt to grind down in the wooden desk under you for some kind of stimulation, but Charlie’s grip stops you.

“So impatient,” he purrs. He captures your lips in a quick, gentle kiss. You whine at the loss of him, but you don’t have to worry for long as his hands greedily grasps at your skirt, tearing at your legs. He leaves you with one last opened mouth kiss as he begins to trail wet kisses down your neck.

He mumbles something you can’t quite hear. But you don’t really care when he sinks to his knees, his strong hands prying your legs open. He trails more kisses to your inner thigh all the way up to your core. He licks a stripe over your soaked through panties, your legs try to close but his hands are holding your thighs open. His eyes lock on yours as he pulls them down your legs, the speed agonizing as you whimper. In a second his lips are back on you, his wet kisses up your thighs driving you mad.

“Charlie,” You thread your hand through his hair as he bites and licks at your heat like a starved man.

He mumbles a quick “no,” as he pulls away from you. His chin slicked and shiny from you. The scene is pornographic, if you had a camera you’d take a picture. He fumbles with his belt buckle and throws it to the side, the metal clanking to the floor loudly. You shamelessly stare as he stands back up, towering over you again he gets close enough that you feel his breath on your face.

“Look at you,” he tuts. You lurch forward— pulling him into a greedy, filthy kiss. When he moans into your mouth it’s the most heavenly sound you’ve ever heard. Pushing you back into the desk, once again he’s muttering something, a prayer. You paw at his zipper and he lazily watches you has you pull out his angry cock.

“Please?” You beg, tears welling up in your eyes from sheer sexual frustration.

“Since you asked so nicely~” he steals a quick kiss before dragging his leaking tip through your folds.

He pushes into you fully in one smooth motion. Your back arches up off of the desk, wood painfully digging into your spine. You didn’t care— all you cared about was him.

Fast sharp deep thrusts have you screaming as the sounds of skin ring throughout the office. You curse- throwing your arms over your head. Charlie’s mouth gaping while he groans, pressing and thrusting himself into you.

"Just, like that, oh.. god." You wail as he slams himself into your g spot repeatedly.

Charlie greedily paws at your clothed breasts as his hips slap into yours. You clench around him— you can already feel your orgasm building from the rough pace set. Charlie’s hips stutter from your action and you clench again. A low groan leaves his beautifully shaped lips as he digs his fingers into your hips.

You moan— you try to form words but Charlie feels so good inside of you that your brain feels like mush. He seems to be able to tell your close however by the way his thumb reaches down to rub sloppy circles onto your clit.

Your vision turns white as you come undone. Your nails dig into the desk below you as Charlie chases his own release. He leans down, pressing kisses into your cheeks and necks, unlike the kisses before; these are gentle and caring. You hiss when he pulls out of you, missing the feeling of him inside you immediately.

“How much convincing will it take for you to come to next weeks service?” He breathily laughs against the side of your face.

“If it’s gonna end like this again— none at all.”

♡︎༻🌸༺♡︎

Tag list (If you want to be added just comment!)

@Nallasstuff @chmpgneprblem @qoopeeya @lilybellalana @sleepysongbirdsings

[writing-fanics]

more than anything

Lucifer Morningstar x F!Reader

chapter i > chapter ii > chapter iii

[summary: Charlie Morningstar arrives in hell and meets someone from her dad's past when he was an angel.]

warning: mentions of depression: angst: seemingly unrequited love: loneliness: charlie might be ooc:

Charlie gasped her eyes widened with joy, clasping her hands together jumping up and down excitedly. "Are you Y/n?!" She asked, and the angel looked at her shocked, "You already know about me?" the angel looked at the princess of hell, in disbelief.

"Of course, I do!" She exclaimed, remembering the stories her father used to tell her about, [Y/n].

"My dad would tell me stories about you when I was little!" She said smiling, at [Y/n] who's body tensed up for a moment and her cheeks darkened a little. "Really?" She mumbled, under her breath looking away from the princess for a moment. "I thought he'd forgotten about me." She mumbled, her smile faltering for a moment. Before shaking her head. Forcing a smile on her face.

Charlie looked around the angel's office curiously, "So, your father?" said [Y/n], looking over at Charlie, smiling as she continued to look around the room. "So what did your father tell you about me?" She asked, and the princess of hell nodded.

"Good things I hope?" She said, and the princess of hell looked at the angel. "Of course, he said you were the only angel that believed in him." said Charlie, and the angel smiled reminiscing on times that have long since passed.

"We shared the same dream even adding some ideas onto each others, expanding on them. " said [Y/n], looking down her angelic wings seemed to go limp at her side as she frowned, "That was eons ago," She said, looking down.

Their conversation went on for what seemed like hours, the angel saw so much of the one she loved in his daughter. [Y/n] talked about Lucifer, and stories that he never told Charlie. Charlie watched as the angel's eyes sparkled as she talked about memories. [Y/n]'s heart seemed to swell, and then to suddenly falter back to sadness as she remembered, that she was to shy too scared to confess her feelings for the man she loved.

“You loved him didn’t you?” asked Charlie, and the angel looked over at her in shock and smiled softly, and chuckled softly. “Loved?” said [Y/n], and she smiled her eyes closed as she turned towards Charlie. “I still love him?” She said, her smile forced.

She said, “I couldn't bring myself to tell him,” She wrapped her arms around herself, taking a deep breath and letting out a sigh. “I was afraid of ruining the friendship we already had.” She said, placing her hand on her head her thumb resting on her cheek, as she turned away from Charlie. Letting out a sigh, “I-If he didn’t accept my feelings, I didn't wanna lose what we already had." She bit her lip nervously, and turned back towards Charlie.

“S-So I didn’t." She said, looking at Charlie. The Princess of Hell, could see the sadness and loneliness in her eyes. Eyes that were filled with so much regret, "So, I watched as he fell in love with another." Her voice cracking slightly, clearing her throat she continued.

She pursed her lips inward, "Did and said nothing as he was banished to Hell," She looked down, "But, I can't take back what happened eons ago." She said, forcing a smile on her face as she looked at Charlie.

"So tell me about this Hazbin Hotel, I've been hearing so much about?" She asked, curiously and Charlie's eyes lit up. "Your father, wouldn't of set up a meeting with Heaven, without a reason." She said, and Charlie nodded.

[Y/n] listened intently about Charlie's plan, even though she was going to hear it again in court. She nodded in response smiling, "Sounds intriguing." the angel said, looking at the girl. "I do agree that everyone deserves a second chance." She said, a smile growing across Charlie's face.

"If those sinners that come to the hotel are willing." She added, placing her hands on her desk and sighed. "But, it isn't me who you are going to have too convince." She added, and Charlie looked at her, "But, I believe in the cause." She said, smiling looking at the princess of hell.

[Y/n] looked at Charlie and saw so much of her father in her, her heart couldn't help but ache. "You remind me of your father." Charlie looked at her and smiled, "Thank you, if it wasn't for him I wouldn't be here right now." said Charlie, “The apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree.” said [Y/n] a hint of sadness in her voice.

Charlie smiled softly, "You really do love my dad don't you?" asked Charlie, and the angel looked away closing her eyes for a moment. Taking a deep breath and with a solemn look on her face, she turned back towards Charlie. "More than anything." said [Y/n] sadly, the room filled with silence. She still loves him even after eons have since passed they've last seen each other, "Sorry, I shouldn't even be saying this to you." She said shaking her head.

She scoffed at herself, "Telling you his daughter that I've got some silly crush on him," She shook her head and placed her head on her desk, "Ugh, I'm so pathetic!" She groaned, into her desk. For eons, after Lucifer was banished to Hell. [Y/n] hasn't been the same since forcing a fake smile on her face, while doing her daily angelic duties. With a fake smile plastered on her face.

One the inside she was hurting. She was lonely. She was depressed. Filled with so much regret being the cause of her own lonely existence. If she wasn't such a coward maybe things would've ended up differently maybe they wouldn't?

Charlie placed a hand on shoulder causing [Y/n], to lift her head and look up at her. "I'm sure he misses you just as you miss him." said Charlie smiling, trying to comfort the angel as much as she could.

"He used to tell me so many amazing and wonderful things about you," She said. [Y/n]'s lower lip started to quiver as tears welled up in her eyes, hiding her head into desk. She glanced over at the clock on the wall; lifting her head up from the desk. She wiped away her tears, "I-It's almost time for the court meeting. You should probably get ready." said [Y/n], as she stood up from her chair.

"Maybe, you can visit once this is all over?" Charlie said, and the angel looked at her and smiled, "I'm sure that would make both his and yours day." The angel really could see so much of the man she loved in his daughter, "That sounds like a dream to me." said [Y/n], as she walked towards the door and placing her hand on the door knob.

She missed him dearly and for many years she stayed in heaven, wallowing in self-pity and regret. Loneliness and heartbreak. Grieving over the lover she was to cowards to confess her feelings towards.

"But, I don't know. Right now you should focus on convincing the angels." She said looking at the young demon, as her gaze drifted towards the ground. "I-I shouldn't of even mentioned what I said today." She said a solemn look on her face.

"You have nothing to apologize for." She said, looking at Charlie and smiling, "I have only myself to blame." She smiled sadly, and Charlie and the princess of hell a gave her a sympathetic smile. As Charlie left the room, "Charlie?" The Princess stopped and turned around, "When you see him again." She said, "L-Let him know." She stammered, nervously biting her lip her wings limp at her side.

"L-Let him know that I miss him more than anything," She said sadly, and Charlie smiled and nodded. [Y/n] watched as she walked away, and closed the door behind her and turned away. Leaning her back against the door, she sank to the ground and brought her knees to her chest and cried. "I really am pathetic," She sniffled, once again wallowing in self-pity.

"E-Even, if I were to go and visit would he even wanna see me?" She mumbled, maybe she should. She didn't expect anything from it but, maybe it would fill the hole in her immortal heart. The thought of seeing him again brought a smile to her face, she really did love him with every fiber of her being. She envied Lilith and was jealous of her not in a hateful or spiteful way.

She just..[Y/n] sighed, wiping away her tears. Standing to her feet and dusting herself off, taking a deep breath in and exhaling. As she placed her hand on the doorknob, sighed, leaving her office and making her way towards the courthouse.

If only she knew how much he truly did miss her, as on his desk. Sat a rubber duck that shared the same angelic features as her, wings and all. If only she knew how is heart would ache, as he would glance at it.

if only she knew

how much she truly means to him

a/n: ngl..i kinda wanna maybe make her charlie's stepmom.. i mean she still loves lilth of course but.. i mean.. like.. come on.. i should..