#The Devil Came Back to Georgia

[abuddyforeveryseason]

This is the Buddy for April 10th. Today's Buddy's brought to you by the sin of pride. That's like, the main sin, Lucifer's sin, like in: "The sin of pride," the devil cried "is what will do you in."

"I thought we had this settled. I'm the best there's ever been."

Buddy himself, like everyone from Argentina, has quite a big ego. But I wouldn't say his friends are far behind:

I know a lot of people who share that sentiment. I wouldn't say I'm above it, either. There's also:

Yeah, I mean, I've got a bit of impostor syndrome. Even though I'm better than God himself, when I see that drawing, it looks like something a child could've made in less than a minute. The world needs more humble geniuses such as myself. Then again:

That's a fact.

There are basically two ways people can end up swallowed by their own egos. First, there's the type of person who assumes they're better than everyone and they just need a chance to show it. Those are the fame-hungry people who end up on reality shows and crap like that, to show off their mediocre skills and end up trashed by the hosts. Or, you know, the self-published authors whose epic sci fi saga "Gary Stu Versus The Evil Aliens that Look Like my High School Teachers" is available online. Negative reviews were written by jealous shills. Paul T. Goldman, from the Peacock documentary of the same name, is one of those.

Then there's the second type, the type I belong to. That's the type of person who's very aware everyone else thinks they're terrible, but that's because everyone else is stupid. So of course they won't love me. You don't expect swine to love pearls, right? They don't get how amazing I am because they're all braindead. So I don't expect all those morons to realize I'm amazing. After all, they're the ones who made garbage like Power Rangers, Fifty Shades of Grey, Jersey Shore and Limp Bizkit into worldwide successes.

Luckily, that means I can't lose. Any criticism directed towards me is actually a compliment in disguise. After all, if an idiot (i.e., 99.99% of the world population) dislikes me, I must be doing something right.

[honeyedmiller]

The Hills | Joel Miller

pairing: actor!joel x f!reader

rating: 18+, minors do not interact.

warnings: no outbreak!joel, joel miller au, use of marijuana (reader gets high and joel takes a hit), alcohol consumption, enemies to not-so-much-enemies, joel is on his freak shit in this one, smut (fingering, ass play, cum eating, rimming, unprotected piv, spitting, m & f oral receiving, consensual choking and breath play), reader is lowkey a brat but joel is also an ass, joel’s twitchy palm™, two (2) ass slaps, reader is described to be wearing a dress and heels, mentions of usage of cocaine (non-descriptive and it’s neither reader or joel using—just had to add the warning), no use of y/n. if there’s anything that i missed, please lmk.

word count: 6.1k

synopsis: drugs. sex. fame. joel miller—the very man you despise. something about hollywood or other. it all seems to become a blurred line when you get invited to an oscars after party at a house in the hills.

a/n: shoutout to @joelsgreys for keeping eyes on this for me, for beta’ing, for letting me rant about this continuously in our texts, etc etc. ily

Hollywood: the definition of glitz and glamor, celebrities galore, and wild parties.

Right?

Sort of.

You’d been to these afterparties before—chaos, laughter, and drunk or high celebrities every which way. The afterparties that showed the real side of Hollywood’s favorite people. The afterparties where secretive sex ensues in a hidden room tucked in the back of the mansion. The afterparties where people let loose, had fun, and celebrated their wins, or the wins of their friends.

That’s exactly why you were here. This particular multi-million dollar home was chalk-full of familiar famous faces that would get absolutely trashed without the public knowing a single thing about their rendezvous, celebrating each other’s wins.

It was like an unspoken rule amongst all the attendees: what happens at the after party, stays at the after party.

Tess Servopoulos, a well-known actress, was your best friend. She always invited you to the award shows when she could, and made sure you were invited to the afterparties. In this case, it was the after party for The Oscars, where her other best friend was celebrating his wins tonight, taking home three Oscars just hours prior.

And it’s funny, because to you, the devil wasn’t down in Georgia. He was in fucking Los Angeles, California, and his name is Joel Miller.

Arrogant, conceited, and a complete asshole as far as you were concerned. You’d never had a good interaction with the man, always seeming to have targeted hatred toward you for no particular reason.

So you hated him right back.

Because, honestly, who the fuck did he think he was?

You didn’t give two shits if he was an A-lister. Good for him. His arrogance and asshole-ish nature was enough to make you roll your eyes at the mere sight of him. He was one of those people that everybody seemed to absolutely adore, thinking he was doing everyone a solid favor just by being in their presence.

And you think, the fuck does it matter anyway? Your opinion of one man in a room full of elites is about as relevant as a speck of fucking dirt on the bottom of some Louboutins.

You inwardly sighed and drank from the champagne flute that was placed in your hand once you maneuvered your way into the house. Tess dragged you along to say hello to people you’ve met before, and introduced you to those you hadn’t. Most of them were fairly nice, some remembering you from previous parties or recognizing you in god-awful candid shots that paparazzi took of you when you were with Tess.

Tabloids were always a funny thing. There were multiple times where you’d see a photo of yourself in public with Tess, plastered in some stupid celebrity magazine claiming you were her ‘mystery lover.’ Or, there were the times where they’d call you a gold digger; someone who wanted fifteen minutes of fame and all the “luxuries” that came with being acquainted with a celebrity.

You always had a good laugh with Tess about them, and she’d tell you that one day she’d share the story behind you: a college roommate who was her total opposite, but it worked. You were there from the beginning—she’d get casted in parts for commercials, then extras for TV shows, and then bigger roles like a supporting character, and eventually the lead character in many blockbuster hits.

You were her biggest supporter, there for her through her wins and losses. She was truly your platonic soulmate, and you, hers.

You always plastered a smile on your face when making your rounds at these things. Got a little star-struck here and there, but you kept your cool. Celebrities are human beings, after all.

The party was in full swing, people plastered and laughing loudly over the thumping music. Sometimes you thought these parties got a little ridiculous, but you knew this was a rare occasion where these people—faces of the public, under a watchful eye of millions of adoring fans and the scrutinizing media—got the chance to loosen up and be their real selves.

You swirled the champagne around your flute, babysitting the same glass from when you first walked into this party. You leaned against a crisp white wall adorned with what you were sure were very expensive paintings, observing the crowd before you.

The familiarity that drifted through the room was almost unsettling for you. Friends with arms slung over each other’s shoulders, casual and comfortable conversation—and then there was you, who didn’t really know anyone but Tess. She didn’t want to leave your side, but she’d gotten pulled every which way for a conversation and you didn’t want to ride her coattail all night, so you told her you’d get yourself another drink, maybe.

And you were going to, but then the room felt a little too warm. So, naturally, you ventured down another long hallway adorned with paintings and expensive side tables with vases that held fresh flowers that probably cost more than you’d ever see in your lifetime.

Your heels clicked rhythmically against the marble flooring as you made your way to two French double doors that led out to a balcony that was unoccupied.

Perfect.

You opened the doors and sucked in a huge breath of air, admiring the lights gleaming throughout the whole of Los Angeles as far as you could see.

And then you wondered, with every house and apartment and business that was illuminated with a soft yellow light, what each individual occupying these spaces stories were.

People that weren’t famous. People that had regular nine-to-five jobs. People who were desperately trying to make ends meet. People like you, you think.

You loved Tess to death. You’d do anything and everything for her, but Hollywood was secretly a massive headache.

You sighed as you tore your eyes away from the soft lights, opening your clutch to find the joint you brought. Just something to take the edge off and ease the fucking nerves that started coursing through you, unwanted and untimely.

You fished the pre-roll and lighter out of your bag, flicking the lighter on in multiple attempts, but no avail.

You groaned as you kept trying, but the realization that your lighter was done for had swept over you quickly.

“Son of a bitch.” You mutter with a heavy sigh.

“Need a light?” A deep voice asked from behind. A familiar voice. A voice with Southern twang that supposedly charmed every person that was blessed to hear it. A voice you couldn’t fucking stand.

You look over your shoulder to see Joel Miller in the flesh, clad in a crisp white button-down with the top two buttons unbuttoned, exposing his tan chest. The shirt was tucked into some black slacks, accompanied by shiny black shoes.

You hated to admit that he looked good. Real good. But you wouldn’t ever dare to admit that out loud, even with a gun to your head.

“No.” You said, turning back around. His footsteps become closer, and you roll your eyes before you have to restrain yourself from physically shuddering at the proximity between you two.

“Stop bein’ a brat and jus’ take the goddamn light.” Joel rolls his eyes, and you turn to face him. He’s next to you now, leaning against the balcony while holding up a lighter.

You eye him conspicuously, and he looks annoyed as he flicks the lighter on and off. You grit your teeth before slotting the joint between your fingers, bringing it up to your lips.

He easily flicks his lighter on once more, bringing the flame to the end of the joint. The small flame illuminates the space between your bodies, and he looks good with the soft orange glow against his tan skin, you think.

The end of the joint crackles and you inhale deeply, turning your body toward the lights of the city once more.

You blow out the smoke slowly, tilting your head to the side. “Thanks,” You mutter.

“Hm,” He hums, “Would ya look at that. Not that hard to use your manners now, ain’t it?”

“Shut up, Joel. Christ.” You rub your forehead with your thumb, eyebrows pinching together. You came out here for some peace, not to be annoyed and antagonized by the very man you couldn’t stand.

“Hey, I jus’ did ya a favor. No need for that fuckin’ attitude of yours.”

“Jesus fuck, Joel, do you not have anything better to do? Shouldn’t you be fucking one of your whores by now or snorting coke in the bathroom with another beloved A-lister?” You roll your eyes and take another hit.

Joel didn’t like that one bit. He took a step forward, broad body hard to ignore with the heat radiating off of him. Your eyes trail up his chest and to his face, which was contorted with pure anger.

“Who the fuck do you think you are talkin’ to me like that? You’re pissin’ off the wrong person, doll.” Joel’s voice is gruff, full of patience that was smaller than a piece of thread at this point.

“I don’t need to bow down to you just because you’re famous, asshole. You’re the one who’s had the problem with me from the beginning. I only reciprocate the energy I receive, so you can fuck all the way off with the superiority complex you think you have over me.”

“Why the fuck are you here anyway? Hollywood ain’t a place for naïve girls like you.” Joel quirks his harsh brow at you, like he’s challenging you.

Motherfucker.

“And who said I was naïve, cowboy? You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“I know that you’re annoyin’ and don’t fuckin’ belong here. God knows what Tess sees in you as a friend n’ why she keeps invitin’ you to these things.”

Your blood ran hot as you stared at the man in front of you. His jaw was set in a hard line, clenching his teeth every so often in pure annoyance as he looked at you with utter hatred and disgust.

“I may not belong in Hollywood, Miller, but at least my fucking morals are right and I don’t pull bitch moves like abandoning my friends when they need me the most.”

You were infuriated and quite frankly so fucking sick of this man berating you when he should be the last person on this green fucking Earth to talk. It was a low blow, your last comment to him, but what kind of a friend was he to choose a woman he was so pussywhipped over instead of being there for Tess when she was going through a rough time?

It broke your heart to see her so upset that Joel chose another woman he barely knew over her, icing her out when she’d been nothing but a good friend to him. She forgave him, of course, after he’d apologized to her months later.

She had a kinder heart than you would’ve at the situation. You don’t think you could ever forgive somebody for that.

You already thought Joel was an arrogant asshole before that even happened, but that situation was the last nail in the coffin to confirm that he’s exactly the person you thought he was.

“I apologized to her. We’re good now.” Joel’s harsh stare never wavered, but the annoyance in his tone did. He almost sounded…sad.

“Yeah. Whatever.” You roll your eyes, flicking the ash off of the end of the joint before taking another hit. Your mind was already starting to become hazy, and the proximity between you and Joel was starting to make your head spin.

Your gaze flickered up to his face once more, brown eyes still locked on you. You furrow your brows, but before you can speak, Joel plucks the joint from your fingers. He puts the filter up to his lips and deeply inhales, and you frown.

“Get your own recreational drugs, asshole.” You mutter, arms crossing over your chest. Joel’s eyes trail down to your chest before moving back up to yours. A small smirk evades his lips, and he blows the smoke into your face.

“You’re such a fuckin’ brat.”

“Fuck you gonna do? Spank me for not thinking you’re all high and mighty and shit?” The frown is permanent on your face as you assess him, not realizing the impact that your words had on him.

His cock stirred in his slacks at the thought of that.

He stubs out the half-finished joint before handing it back to you. You tuck it away in your purse before looking at him again, carefully studying him.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He’s got a knowing look on his face, and you have to force yourself to feign disgust.

Because, goddammit, you probably would. You’d probably be all over him if he wasn’t such a fucking asshole. The rage you’ve targeted toward him has made you see past his rugged looks and charm, the broadness of him and the veins that protrude from his hands to his forearms and—

You’ve wondered briefly what it’d be like to succumb to it. To be like every single other person who melts for him like lava seeping into the deepest cracks of the Earth. Untouchable. Destructive. And yet, a beautiful aftermath.

“Think I’ll take that as a yes.” His laugh rumbles from deep within his sturdy chest. For a moment he looks so carefree, so light and happy while he laughs. It might’ve been at your own expense, but for the slightest second, you saw through the harsh stares and the hateful demeanor.

“Fuck you, Miller.”

His mouth snapped shut and his harsh gaze settled on you again. His nostrils flared as he glared at you, a heat behind his eyes you’ve never seen before. His palm twitches at his side and he opens his mouth to say something argumentative, but closes it after a second.

Before you know it, he wraps his hand around your forearm, dragging you behind him.

You nearly trip over your heels as you try to keep up with him, wriggling in his strong grasp. He wouldn’t let up.

“Let go of me you asshole!” You seethe, but he pushes you into a room—tucked at the back of the mansion—secluded from everyone else. Oh.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

You quickly realized you were in for it when he shut the door and locked it. Nerves buzzed in your veins and you inhaled a shaky breath.

He looked like he was some sort of predator stalking its prey with the way his eyes scanned your body as he moved around to the other side of the room.

“Real fuckin’ sick of your attitude.” He starts. You scoff at him and throw your arms up.

“Wouldn’t have to deal with it if you just left me the fuck alone in the first place.” You cross your arms over your chest once more, and Joel takes two large strides toward you before he’s standing so close that you can smell the whiskey and weed on his breath.

“N’ that’s the problem, darlin’, I can’t leave you alone. Been wanting to fuck that attitude right outta you since the first day we met.”

You swear your heart drops into your ass. “Wh-what?” Your eyes are wide as he walks forward, forcing you to move backwards until the backs of your knees hit the king-sized bed.

You didn’t even notice there was a bed in the room because the very man before you was insanely distracting.

“You heard me. You’re a brat, baby, n’ brats deserve to be punished.”

You swallow hard as a fire burns behind his eyes, mischievous and daring.

“Joel—”

“Turn around.”

You don’t even think twice before listening to his demand, turning around so you face the bed.

“Can’t hate me that much if you’re an obedient little thing for me, hm?” The amusement was oozing from his Southern drawl.

Your first instinct was to argue with him, but deep down you knew he was right. Maybe all the hatred you had for him had a little bit of desire sprinkled deep down in the depths of your core, unexplored and completely disregarded.

The thought of his hands on you excited you. You saw the way he touched women in the movies he was in. Regardless if it was just acting or not, you always ended up aroused after Tess would force you to watch any movie of his—especially the ones with erotica. She would tease you about not liking him, unknowing of the true abhorrence that stirred in your body. He was her best friend too, so you had to be cordial to him around her for her sake.

You tried to ignore him altogether, but where it got you now—pressed up against the bed as his large hands landed onto your body to tightly grip your hips—didn’t seem to pan out so well.

“Will you let me touch you?” His voice has a rough edge to it, the teasing long gone as he stares at your figure from behind.

“Yes.” You whisper.

He doesn’t say another word as his calloused hands slide around your thighs and to the front of your body. He presses himself against you, and the warmth he radiates off of his body alone makes you sigh.

He’s so sturdy and strong, just as you imagined him to be. You could feel his cock hardening against the plump of your ass, and you wiggle in the slightest to tease him.

He inhales sharply, one hand sliding underneath the hem of your dress while the other hand splayed out onto your stomach.

The skimpy panties you had on did a terrible job at keeping your arousal strictly within the confines of the lace fabric. The apex of your thighs was smeared with the neediness you refused to address, now completely on display for the man it was all for.

Joel’s hand skimmed your inner thighs, chuckling darkly as he traced the outline of your pussy with his thumb through the fabric.

You tried your hardest to hold back a moan, really. You fucking tried. As soon as the sound bubbled in your throat and glided past your lips, you could feel Joel’s smile in victory. He was always playing chess while you were playing checkers.

Well, check fucking mate for him.

“Didn’t know I got ya this excited, baby.” He grips the hem of your panties, sliding them down your legs. You step out of them and he immediately pockets them.

“You wouldn’t be the first.” You mumble, not wanting to feed into his already huge ego.

“Oh I’m sure I’m not,” He starts, breath hot on your neck. “Doesn’t mean I won’t ruin every other fuckin’ man for you. Bend over.”

You clench around nothing at his words, deciding that staying silent is better than digging yourself deeper into your own fucking grave.

You do as he says and bend over the bed, cheek resting against the soft silk sheets.

“‘M gonna fuckin’ make sure I’m all you think about after this. Fuck yourself with your fingers to flashbacks of tonight. Moanin’ my fuckin’ name all alone in your house, wishing I was there to take care of you instead. Fuckin’ brat.”

His words sound like a simultaneous threat and promise, but you just had to say something. You couldn’t let him completely have this without giving him some kind of shit.

“Oh please, I bet I’ll forget as soon as we walk out of this room. You’ve probably got a small dick anyway.”

And you know that isn’t true. He’s huge, and you know he’ll never let you forget about tonight.

A sharp sting blooms onto one of your asscheeks, the sound of him smacking your flesh reverberating off of the walls of the bedroom. You moan at the delicious pain.

“You n’ I both know that ain’t true, doll. Enough with that fuckin’ mouth of yours. Could put it to better use than talkin’ all that shit.”

His hands knead the flesh of your ass, spreading your cheeks apart to get a good look at all of you. You almost feel embarrassed, but decide not to get into your head too much about it because all you want him to do is fucking touch you where you need him the most.

Your core was aching. You were almost ready to put your pride aside and fucking beg him to touch you. Almost.

You were about to give in when you heard him shuffle behind you, and you craned your neck to see Joel drop onto his knees behind you.

His eyes locked with yours as he gave you a smirk before leaning forward to bite your ass. You let out a small yelp, and his hand was quick to soothe the pain.

“Gonna fuckin’ set you right once n’ for all.”

And he brings a hand up to your core, sliding his middle and ring finger through your dripping folds. You whimper softly at the sensation, a small flood of relief coursing through your veins. But it wasn’t enough. You needed more.

Your hips start to rock involuntarily, and Joel tsks at you.

“Greedy fuckin’ whore, aren’t ya? Patience is a virtue, baby.” He chides.

“Goddamnit Joel.” Your voice sounds breathy, even to your own surprise.

Suddenly, Joel slips his two fingers into you, and your hands fly out to grip the sheets beneath you. Your eyebrows furrow together and relish in the feeling of his thick fingers scissoring in and out of your aching cunt.

“So fuckin’ wet already. ‘F I woulda known I did this to ya…” He chuckles, working his fingers in and out of you expertly.

He leans forward and licks up your folds, swirling his tongue around your clit. You can’t help the strangled moan that leaves your mouth, and you can just feel Joel’s cocky ass smirk.

He continues lapping up your arousal, more dripping out around his fingers and down to his wrist. It'd been awhile since anyone touched you like this, so you presume you were extra turned on because of that reason.

You didn’t want to give all the credit to Joel.

His tongue slid up and he removed his fingers from you, replacing them with his tongue as he prodded it into your entrance and fucked you with it.

You were already a moaning mess, like you were on cloud nine with the way he was making you feel. He gripped both of your cheeks and spread them further for his own leisure, tongue dragging upward until it met your asshole.

“Holy fuck, Joel—” You choke out, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he swirls his tongue around the tight ring. Your heart is thrumming in your chest and your pussy clenches around nothing.

Joel lowly moaned around you, the vibrations shooting straight up your spine.

You don’t know how long he’s doing this for—your mind is still hazy from the high you’ve been riding, pleasure wrapped around every single inch of your body. You lose track of time and immerse yourself in how he’s making you feel.

Joel pulls himself away from you, sliding both of his fingers back into you. This time, though, he teases your other hole with the tip of his pinky.

“You ever let anyone fuck this pretty ass of yours with their fingers?”

“Please.” Was all you could squeak out, because while you didn’t want to admit you never have, you were willing to give it a go. It was obvious he knew what he was doing, and if you didn’t like the way something felt, you’d just tell him.

He spits onto your asshole before grunting, “Relax.”

And you do. He slides his pinky into your puckered hole, and fuck you feel so full with him like this. He works his three fingers in and out of you slowly at first, each move calculated and precise.

He may’ve been an asshole, but he at least wanted to make sure you were comfortable.

He picks up the pace of his fingers after he’s sure you can handle it, and the feeling of pleasure seizes your body as you shake underneath him.

It’s too much and not enough all at once. You can feel your orgasm rapidly building building building, the coil wound so tight that your stomach constricts in plea of release.

“Fuckfuckfuck, Joel I’m gonna—oh fuck!”

And you’re literally gushing around his fingers. He prolongs your orgasm as long as he can. You think he’s saying things like there you go, that’s it, but you can hardly pay attention over the loud ringing in your ears as you try and come down from your Earth-shattering orgasm.

He slips his fingers out of you slowly, watching your body convulse sporadically from the aftermath of it all.

He grabs your body and flips you around so you’re laying at the edge of the bed. The fluorescent lights are blinding as you try and look at his face. You blink rapidly, chest heaving up and down as you try your damndest to find your bearings once more.

He’s unfastening the button on his slacks, and all you can hear is the rustle of the fabric and the thumping music outside of the locked door.

You wondered briefly if anyone—Tess, specifically—was looking for the two of you. You’d be mortified if she found you like this, but Joel was smart enough to lock the doors.

You were so lost in thought that you hadn’t even noticed he was pulling down his underwear, so when you looked back at him you gasped when you saw his stiff, aching length. Your hunch was correct—he was huge. His tip was red, smeared with precome and just begging to be taken care of.

If there was any time in your life to impress Joel Miller, now was your chance. You sit up on your knees and lower your head, looking up at him through your lashes, your mouth inches away from his tip.

The muscle in his jaw ticked furiously, brown eyes watching you meticulously. You gave him a small, cocky smirk before you leaned forward and wrapped your lips around his tip, eyes fluttering shut at the salty taste. You use one hand to steady yourself onto the bed, and the other to wrap around his length as you start to pump him slowly.

He inhales sharply, holding back a groan as you undoubtedly start to please him.

You set a steady rhythm between your hand and mouth. The wet sounds are obscene and nearly pornographic. A part of you wishes this was being recorded so you’d have something to watch back when you needed to get yourself off.

Greed is a tragedy, and tragic you were in this moment.

Joel’s hand flies to the back of your head, cradling it as you remove your hand and slide your lips as far down his shaft as your mouth would allow. The head of his cock hit the back of your throat, and as much as you were salivating, you swallowed around him.

The tip of your nose barely made contact with the wiry hairs at the base of his cock, and Joel let out the most guttural groan you’d ever heard.

“Filthy fuckin’ mouth, baby. Goddamn. Knew it could be put to better use than you—ngh—spewin’ that fuckin’ attitude.”

You hum around him, bobbing your head up and down his length. His pants were getting more rapid and he was becoming more vocal, grunting fuck and filthy, filthy girl.

“Shit, yeah, just like that doll. Just. Like. That.” Joel’s voice is hoarse behind his clenched teeth. If you didn’t know any better, he’d probably shatter his teeth with how hard he was clenching them.

And you don’t let up. Not even after a string of curses spills past his lips, and definitely not after he groans so loudly that it vibrates through his whole body as ropes of his come spill down your throat.

You’re in overstimulation territory, and he’s falling apart at the seams.

He pulls your head off of his length as he tries to catch his breath, sweat beading at his temples.

“Fuckin’ christ.” He breathes, squeezing his eyes shut before looking at you again.

“Didn’t know I would be so good at that now, did you?” You tease, and the corner of his mouth twitches into a snarl.

“Shut the fuck up.” He says, and you laugh. He grabs your hips suddenly, flipping you around once more so you’re on all fours for him again.

“‘M’keepin’ my promise. Gonna fuck that attitude straight outta your goddamn brain.” His tone is serious, and you’re beginning to think he really isn’t fucking around.

You hear him pump himself a few times and you think about the dangerous threshold you’re about to cross with him. Would you regret it after? Would he?

It was like you were both taking a bite of forbidden fruit, specially picked from the Garden of Eden.

Fuck it. There’s worse things you can do.

“You on any birth control?” He asks, and you nod.

“IUD.”

“Good.” He says before sliding the head of his cock through your folds. Your body jerks when it catches your clit, still sensitive from your previous orgasm.

Without another word, Joel pushes into you and you stretch around him deliciously. It’s like your body was begging for him to be inside you at this point.

“Fuuuck.” Joel groans, gripping your hips so tightly they’d probably be bruised by tomorrow.

You bite your lip to keep from screaming, because he’s the biggest you’ve ever had and the sting won’t go away.

“Move, Joel.” You plead, and he smacks your ass once again, making you flutter around his cock.

“Fuck did I say about patience? Christ, woman.”

You shut your eyes as you feel him become fully erect inside you, and you’re seriously going to cry if he doesn’t move soon.

Almost as if he’d read your mind, he started to thrust his hips slowly. It didn’t take long for him to set a pace, though, and he was brutally pistoning in and out of you.

“Fucking…. hate… you.” You spit pathetically, holding onto the sheets for dear life. He laughs dryly behind you, mumbling a sure before going even harder.

Your moans were getting louder and louder, and you truthfully couldn’t give two fucks who heard you at this point.

Fucking let them hear.

“Better hush up now, whole house could probably hear you with how loud you’re bein’.” He scolded, and you rolled your eyes.

“Don’t give a fuck,” You squeaked out, “Let them.”

“Attagirl,” His laugh was mischievous, pounding into you even faster than before. “Little fuckin’ whore loves takin’ this cock, hm?”

One of his hands moved up your body, causing chills down your spine and goosebumps to raise onto your skin.

His hand wrapped around your throat, and you moaned at the idea of getting choked out while he fucked you from behind.

One of your hands flew up to his, and he was half expecting you to yank it away. He was pleasantly surprised when you clamped your fingers down around his, silently urging him to squeeze.

And he did. You felt like you were fucking floating.

Joel didn’t let up, even when you felt the burning hot coil wind up in your core once again.

“Feel so fucking good– s–o so fucking— fuck.” You’re a blubbering mess. He pulls your body up so your back is facing his front, never letting his pace waver.

“Fucking you dumb on my cock, aren’t I? Listen to you, baby. Pathetic.” He laughs at you once again, but you don’t have any willpower to fight back. You just let it happen, because each thrust of his cock into you has your body turning into complete fucking mush.

“Close.” Is what you whisper, and Joel can feel your walls tightening around him. He chokes on a moan at the sensation, fingers tightening around your throat even more.

You can barely breathe, but you fucking love it. You love seeing stars cloud your vision like this. The heightened sensation of your orgasm comes crashing down over you, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you silently scream out.

Your body convulses continuously as you try to ride out your orgasm, but Joel’s hand leaves your throat and moves down to your clit to rub at it furiously.

You cry out his name, your hands frantic to find purchase to anything as you try and brace yourself.

It’s no use, though. Your body is limp and your soul fucking escaped from you long ago.

“Where do you want me?” The urgency in his voice is evident, but you’re in such a daze that you barely clock it.

“Inside me.” You manage, and he groans loudly before he lets go, filling you up with everything he has. His body slumps over yours, both of you trying so hard to pull yourselves back to reality.

He slides out of you and you both groan at the loss of being one.

You turn over on your back, once again blinded by the lights. Your eyes flutter close as you assess everything that partook the last—thirty? fourty? you don’t fucking know—minutes of your life.

Your body slowly floats back down to reality, and you peel your eyes open when you hear shuffling. Joel is on his knees again, spreading your legs to look at his handiwork. He looks up at you with that same devilish smirk, licking up his spend from your cunt before hovering over you.

He uses his thumb to coax your jaw open, spitting his spend into your mouth.

“Swallow.” He demands, and you do as he says. You open your mouth to show him you did, and a satisfied look washes over his features.

“Hope you feel me leakin’ out of you all goddamn night, sweetheart.”

You look at him incredulously, reality crashing down with the unwavering truth: you and Joel really fucked.

He was inches away from your face, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered what it would be like if he kissed you. His lips looked so soft.

But that would make it too complicated. It would turn into a thing you didn’t need it to be, and you knew kissing him would make the probability of hating him into a fucking zero.

Get a grip.

But, you catch him. You catch his eyes flicker down to your lips, the same thing probably reeling in his mind, too.

Maybe one wouldn’t hurt.

No. You wouldn’t allow it for yourself. He can take his Southern charm and shove it up his ass.

You cleared your throat and moved to stand up. Your legs were shaky at first, but you found your grounding as you walked over to the mirror on the other side of the room.

You straightened out your appearance, making sure you didn’t have “I just got fucked” plastered across your forehead. Once you were satisfied, you turned around to see Joel sitting on the bed.

You nod at him once, “Joel,” and you’re unlocking the door to be rejoined by the thumping music and loud laughter, leaving him to stare at you as you walked away.

You made your way into the backyard, needing a breath of fresh air after everything that ensued.

“There you are! I was looking all over for you.” Tess pulls you into her side, giving your arm a playful squeeze as she holds you close.

“Yeah, I uh, went to smoke a J.” Which, yes, was of course partially true—but you’d probably never admit to her that you just got done getting your brains fucked out by Joel Miller.

She probably wouldn’t even believe you if you told her, anyway.

It didn’t need to become a thing, even if it was the best sex you’ve ever had in your life.

Sex you’d probably be having flashbacks about years down the line, just as Joel promised.

You groan inwardly, eyes drifting upward to casually scan the backyard. You caught a familiar pair already staring at you from across the way, and your whole body bloomed with aching heat once more.

Those brown eyes were accompanied with a sickening smirk, and two seconds later, a wink.

You knew no matter how hard you tried, and as much as you fucking despised him, it wouldn’t be easy to get him out of your head.

You were so fucked, you think.

The idea of admitting that you maybe didn’t hate him was unwarranted, but you knew deep down it was your reality. You really didn’t hate him.

And maybe, just maybe, these parties weren’t so bad after all.

tags: @ilovepedro @nostalxgic @punkshort @endlessthxxghts

-

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[mythrilthread]

The Devil Went Down to Georgia (And Then Went Down on Johnny) by @notbecauseofvictories

This is one of the stories that I enountered purely due to seeing absolutely outstanding bindings of it, and boy, am I grateful for that, because this one is SO GOOD.

🎻 I knew I wanted to do something that differed from previous takes on the story, so I had a pretty solid design idea, then had a lot of fun typesetting this series using musical notations (many thanks to @lootthecoyote, my resident music expert), sewn the textblock, and THEN had a brilliant idea that, as I'm using leather anyway, why not try a completely new binding type?

🎻 So off came the mule, I hammered my very much swell-less textblock into as much of an arc as I could, and began gleefully constructing the cover with its many fun cutouts and overlays (that I used to create the violin design under the leather).

🎻 I then went through hell and back trying to pare leather for the first time (I survived the ordeal, but barely. Me being afraid of sharp knives certainly didn't help!) I did mess up quite a lot of things, but I'm still very happy with the result. The A6 books have too light pages to do the tightback thing and drape really well, but it does the signature K118 party trick of opening ALL THE WAY, as you can see in the last photo.

🎻 Additional design notes: the endpapers are yellow paper with a lovely linoprint of a cornfield on it, with additional leaves of black paper, the body (AND the header) font is, of course, my beloved Georgia — not only dear to my heart, but also PLOT RELEVANT, there's a nice engraving of a fiddle on the title and half-title pages, and table of contents and individual story titles feature a frame that gave me ~bluegrassy vibes~.

[pixiesfz]

okay so this idea is a bit out there but you know that girl on tik tok who has the woso wall and talks about all the drama in woso.She also has a wall trying to figure out if Lucy and keira are dating or ona and Lucy so I think it could be cute if you made a fic about that girl making a wall about if reader and jessie are together or if they’re dating different players and then them finding out about it and stuff.Idk I just made that up in my head so you don’t have to do it it’s just an idea 😘

YES OMG WAIT THIS IS FUNNY

on the wall j.f

plot: your sister sends you a tik tok that has you and your secret girlfriend having a serious conversation

warning: that crazy tik tok lady

It was a Tuesday afternoon when your sister sent you a link, you had just returned from your trip to Canada where Jessie took you to meet her friends and family and you couldn’t have been happier.

devils spawn: little sis…

y/n: what is it Katie?

devils spawn: you’ve made it to the wall

y/n: huh?

devils spawn: *insert link*

You furrowed your eyebrows as the link took you into tik tok, a video that already had over 65,000 likes.

“Now Tom” a woman’s voice started as she pointed at a wall, your eyes shot up at the amount of pictures of your sister and her current girlfriend and also ex girlfriend as well as other soccer players such as Lucy and Keira.

Then you saw what she was pointing at a picture of you that was next to a picture of Jessie.

You I paused the video and watched along.

“Now the McCabe sisters did not go home for their Christmas holidays this year” she stated as you looked at recent pictures from your trips to Canada and Ireland.

“Now this is y/n Mccabe, Katie’s younger sister, we’ve mentioned her a couple of times when she posted pictures of her, Katie and Caitlin” and you thought back to that post that was a couple months ago.

How long has this been going on? You thought.

“Now I haven’t put it on the board yet because their wasn’t enough evidence but it is rumoured that y/n is dating a Canadian soccer player Jessie playing who plays for Chelsea, a rival of Arsenal.

“Why would she date the enemy” the guy asked and the woman looked at him “because that’s a cool love story Tom” she rebutted.

“Well anyways, it’s confirmed that y/n dated Georgia Stanway when she was on a loan at man city” she said and pointed to an old photo of you and Georgia when you played for the team “broke up when Georgia went to Germany, we don’t know if Jessie has dated anyone other than the fact that some Chelsea fans thinks that her and team mate Niamh Charles could be an item as they are very close” she pointed at photos of both Jessie and Niamh which you paused the video to laugh at the conspiracy of her girlfriend and her bestfriend.

“But y/n was seen spending Christmas at Canada which is where Jessie is from but this isn’t the only time they’ve been caught together, at the World Cup Jessie was seen watching the Ireland vs. Australia game with an Ireland top on, very similiar to Caitlin” she rambled on “I don’t have a good enough photo of that” she muttered “then there’s also a group of pictures online that looks like a double date between the two couples” she pointed at two photos that were stuck next to each other, one with Caitlin and Katie and one with you and Jessie, though you had posted the photo months apart it was clear it was the same place.

Your mouth kept on dropping as the girl talked about instances where it could’ve been possible that you and Jessie were a thing.

When Jessie came back from training you shoved the phone into her face “watch” you demanded and say her down.

You watched her reactions as she furrowed her brows “what the heck?” She asked as you nodded “how did they know about that?” She asked when the woman talked about Jessie at your game “apparently people are more observant then we think” you told her and she glued her eyes back onto the phone.

“Remember this Tom cause I don’t think this will be the last time we talk about this couple” the woman stated before the video ended.

Jessie turned to you.

“That was the second weirdest thing I’ve seen today” she said and you furrowed your brows “then what’s the first?” You asked “well Erin showed me a video-“ “I already don’t want to know” you shut her mouth and she laughed.

“How did you find that?” Jessie asked “Katie sent it to me. They’ve been doing videos on her and Caitlin and Ruesha for a while now” you said as you scrolled through the account.

“It’s a little bit weird but expected” Jessie said and you turned to her “how so expected?” You asked and she shrugged “I mean I don’t extremely like it but women’s football is now getting more hype and I guess more fans”

You nodded at your girlfriend “I don’t like how people are caring more about our love life’s then our talent, I bet this woman doesn’t even know what position we play” you said and Jessie took your phone out of your hand.

“Should we just tell people we’re dating to make them stop making assumptions then?” Jessie asked and you looked to the wall “I don’t know” you said “I guess I’m just trying to get used to it all” you shrugged.

Jessie reached her arms around you and pulled you into a hug which you accepted “well you have me and I’ll help you get used to it all” she said and kissed you on the forehead, you smiled before pushing bf her off “have a shower you smell” you told her and she laughed.

“Well you just hugged me so I guess we both need a shower”.

You ended up getting used to the videos people made about you and Jessie, finding some of them funny and even entertaining some of it.

You commented on the wall girls tik tok once asking Tom to blink twice if he needed help and the media went crazy for it.

You and Jessie did eventually open up to the public about your relationship, posting a photo of you at a Chelsea dinner with Jessie’s hand on your thigh as you kissed her cheek.

‘she may look happy here but we made a bet that she would wear my Arsenal kit if we won the derby so @_jessflem you ready?’ Was your caption.

You were so overwhelmed by the amount of love and craziness that happened under the post you left your phone for the day whilst Jessie read out the comments begging for the photos of Jessie in the kit.

Jessie reposted the post adding a message saying that nobody would ever see the photos of her in your kit.

“That wasn’t as hard as we thought” Jessie said as she pulled you into her chest that night and kissed you goodnight

[xhollandlilsx]

Handmade - Leah Williamson x Reader

Warnings: N/A

“You can’t just throw glitter on it”

Lucy argued as we were making posters for each other, for the game against America, they wanted posters of us up around the stadium.

Handmade ones.

“Well Luce, it’s not exactly winning any awards is it!” I half shouted playfully, as I slapped some glue on there and just dumped a handful of glitter on it. I’d tried to make her look a little less intimidating, but it started to go downhill so glitter was my saviour as much as I hated the stuff, “Not my fault your photo looks like you’ve taken Liam Neeson’s daughter”

A few of the girls burst out laughing, as I fanned myself with my hands as all the arts and crafts business was making me sweat. I only had a zip up thermal jumper on and my Nike sports bra underneath, so when I ditched my jumper, and returned to the table I saw a few almost shocked faces.

“Damn Y/L/N, since when do you have abs?!” Kiera heckled with raised eyebrows. In the corner of my eye I saw Leah’s head shoot up, as I shot a wink to Kiera and laughed. Nobody knew except Georgia and Lucy that Leah and I were together, we hid it the best we could, not wanting all the interrogation, and wanted to keep it private in the first few months.

“No seriously I can count them, drop the workout routine” Lauren laughed astounded. I shook my head looking down with a slight laugh. I never knew how to take compliments so I usually just laughed them off or replied with my usual cocky comments. There were a few more comments thrown around about my figure and a few flirtatious comments that were purely a joke. Things like:

‘Wouldn’t kick you out of bed’ and ‘Damn It’s a good day to like women’.

I carried on trying to save the poster of Lucy, to no avail as it looked like a mess but I loved it either way.

“Tah-Dah” I held it up to the camera with a big toothy smile, “So for my artwork I did the amazing Lucy Bronze, I added some of these, and those, whatever they are. And yeah. I’m proud of it. She now looks a little less crime documentary-ie”

I laughed as I walked passed Georgia who was complaining about Leah’s poster of her.

“Y/N look at this. So this is my picture, I went with, everything you can see, that’s really nice and quite truthful about Leah” Before she then reached over to grab hers that was on the table as Leah was cutting something out.

“No no I’m not done!” Leah protested making me laugh slightly, “I’ve got to rearrange things”

“Leah’s altering it because I wasn’t very satisfied. I got devil horns” She moaned looking between the camera and myself, I let out a laugh and nodded crossing my arms.

“I think that’s quite cool” Leah argued, nobody else would be able to but just from the way she avoided eye contact with me I could tell something was up.

“Yeah it’s cool but… I give her, a tiara.” She told me expecting me to tell my girlfriend off, to which I just shook my head patting Georgia on the back twice.

“I mean you’re not exactly an angel on the pitch Stanners” I laughed as I walked back to my work bench, where Ellie had leaned against it and started talking to me, we were just talking about going for food tomorrow but with the hushed tone and the closeness I could see where Leah came from when she stood up, dusting her hands off and walking out of the room.

I looked at Georgia with a frown asking her what’s up, to which she shook her head and nodded toward the door where the blonde had just left.

After dusting my own hands off and grabbing my shirt again, I excused myself and followed after her, I searched the first corridor not seeing any sign of her, as I pulled my shirt over my head.

But spotted her when I turned the next, she was leaning against the wall in a sort of squat position with her hands on her knees looking down.

“What’s up?” I asked walking over to which she looked up and me before standing up straight, I tried to make out the look on her face but I couldn’t.

“Nothing, Y/N” She shook her head going to walk past me when I stopped her placing a hand on her chest.

“Leah.”

“I’m sick of this.” She blurted out, to which I looked at her as she motioned between the two of us, my heart sinking.

“What?” I asked trying to keep my voice steady, as I now crossed my arms, swallowing hard.

“This, the sneaking around, the secrecy” She sighed, looking down.

“Leah…” I whispered before taking a deep breath and looking up at her again trying to be strong, “Do you wanna break up?”

“No! No god no.” She looked at me with wide eyes, to which I let out an audible breath I didn’t realise I was holding, “I just. I don’t wanna hide this anymore. I can’t sit there and be quiet when people are saying things like that about you”

“They were only joking Leah” I smirked at her jealousy, trying to hide the grin on my face.

“I didn’t find it funny.” She argued, “I wanna tell them.”

“Are you sure?” I asked with an almost wince, as I looked into her bright blue eyes.

“I’ve been sure since the game against Japan, I wanted to run over and kiss you when you scored with that bicycle kick.” She smirked, a goal I’d never live down, and never be able to recreate. I smiled slightly at her proud face.

Letting out a small sigh smoothing out my ponytail, and swallowing hard, “Yeah… yeah okay”

With that she finally let a small smile wash over her features as she pulled me into a kiss, her lips soft against mine as I felt her hands go under my shirt and against my abdomen, trailing down. One of my hands was on her cheek as the other placed itself on the small of her back.

“Don’t be shy” I rolled my eyes sarcastically, making her take her hands from my stomach. With a smile I placed a kiss on her forehead.

“Now come on before Georgia decides to do her own poster” I laughed taking her hand in mine and kissing the back of it as we walked.

A/N:

Only a short one but here you go 🤗

[tyrantisterror]

My Personal History with My Good Friend, Satan

My first encounter with The Devil - that I can remember, at least - came when I was about three or so. My mom liked to borrow VHS tapes from libraries to show me and my siblings a lot, and one of the libraries she used was the one at our church. It was a small and obviously very religion-centric collection, but it left a notable mark on me - like, that's where I saw this weird, kinda shitty cartoon version of The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe which might be responsible for irreconcilably fucking up my taste in women? I just have this distinct memory of watching the scene where Edmund is tempted by the White Witch and thinking, "Yeah, he's making the right call." If anything I was frustrated that he hesitated - three year old me was already simping for this woman. Just imagine a child channeling Ernie Hudson in Ghostbusters and growling, "When a terrifying and beautiful woman offers you candy and a private sleigh ride, you say YES!" and that's basically me as a kid.

Where was I? Right, Satan. So, the other video from that library I remember was this cartoon retelling of Bible stories, and really I just remember the Adam and Eve part. The temptation scene had this huge, super gnarly-looking demonic red snake in it, and he was so cool and badass and I was already predisposed to like snakes anyway, so of course he was my instant favorite. But, like almost all media featuring reptiles that captured my little child heart, he turned out to be the bad guy - literally The Devil, in this case - and was punished at the end of the story. And that pissed me off.

Sometime shortly thereafter - or at least that's how I remember it, this was over thirty years ago so things might be smushed closer together than they really were by the fog of ages - some of the kids in my preschool chastised me for liking snakes. "Don't you know the devil is a snake? Snakes are evil!" I remembered the movie, and it made me angry.

Because snakes aren't evil, and as a kid I knew that because my parents taught me it. Snakes were just animals, they don't know right from wrong, and to call them evil it to judge them for what they are, not what they do. That experience taught me a very important lesson: The Devil is a tool to make people hate the innocent. And as I'd later learn, snakes were far from the only innocents people would vilify because of a demonic association.

The second time I met the devil came a few years later, when I was six or seven or so. My Grampa and Grams liked to take us up North to Mackinac City and the Upper Peninsula each summer, and I have a lot of fond memories of those trips, but there was one in particular that's relevant to this discussion. We saw a sign for a "laser light show" in the shopping district, and I got to stay up late to see it with my family. The show in question was basically a cartoon projected into the night sky adapting the song The Devil Went Down to Georgia. It was super primitive and hokey and cornball and terrible and I loved every second of it. I was enchanted, absolutely delighted with the spectacle and the silly song where the devil was less a force of evil and more a comically bumbling inept supervillain - one of my favorite archetypes, even back then. So that's the second lesson about the devil I learned: The Devil can be fun sometimes.

Now, Godzilla, one of the few reptile characters I encountered as a kid who didn't end up a villain (at least not in the first movie of his I saw, Godzilla vs. Megalon), had already set me on the path to loving monsters of all stripes and, by extension, horror fiction in general, so as I grew up I had many more encounters with the devil. But while I warmed up quickly to most monster archetypes, like vampires, zombies, werewolves, etc., I always felt dismissive of demons. It kind of coincided with me becoming disillusioned with Christianity as a whole, in fact. A story about fighting evil, Christian-style demons is ultimately an allegory for fighting evil as defined by Christianity, and Christianity's definition of what evil is, well, sucks. It's bad! They got some things right, but some things horribly wrong. The devil is the tool Christianity uses to make you hate the innocent, and I struggled to enjoy a lot of demon stories because of that. Still do with some, in fact.

There were exceptions, of course - I loved The Evil Dead series as soon as I saw it at too-early-of-an-age, but then, the demons in it aren't super Christian. They aren't repelled by holy water or crucifixes or prayer, and in fact God and Jesus barely get mentioned in the series and never come up as a potential solution. They're kind of secular as demons go, and maybe that made them easier to stomach. But overall, demons ranked pretty low in the hierarchy of monsters to me - they were too tainted by the religion that spawned them for me to enjoy.

Until college, anyway. I quietly renounced my faith during my Freshmen year, and then, as if seeking one last chance at redemption in my eyes, the devil came to me again the following year. That's when I had a class on Medieval literature, and was exposed to far older devil stories than I had ever seen before. And Medieval devils kick ass. They have so much more personality and variety than I had come to expect, and some are downright affable, even sympathetic to a degree. It was one of many moments in college when I realized there was much more to a topic I'd previously written off as boring and trite.

This is when I read Dante's The Divine Comedy and Milton's Paradise Lost and Marlowe's Faust and Ben Johnson's The Devil Is An Ass. It's when I read early Gothic Horror novels like Matthew Gregory Lewis's The Monk, and dived into The Twilight Zone, which has more than a few episodes that are updates of medieval-style devil folktales in a more modern (i.e. 1960's) setting. And so many of these works presented the Devil not as a stand-in for everything Christianity hates, but as a person - a deeply flawed person, yes, but a person with actual wants and feelings and thoughts of his own, a person who was interesting and compelling - and sometimes funny, and sometimes charming, and sometimes really sad. There was, dare I say... sympathy for the devil growing in my heart.

In the last year of my undergraduate studies, I attended my college's yearly Medieval Studies Congress, where people from all over the world came to Kalamazoo just to share their research papers on medieval history and literature. One girl's thesis paper was on the subject of "rueful devils," i.e. depictions of demons in literature where they wanted to repent their sins and redeem themselves, which uniformly ended with the devils' hopes being dashed as they could not fully repent. This idea... possessed me. The idea that the devil could repent, or at least try to - that there could be hope even in the most debauched sinner. It was such a good narrative trope in my eyes - why did it die out centuries ago?

Well, because the church didn't like it, you see. If the devil can repent - if the Absolute King of Evil can choose to become a good person - then he's not very useful as a tool to make people hate the innocent anymore. The devil MUST be "pure evil" to work as intended. A rueful devil, a repentant devil, a devil that can be redeemed, forces us to be more forgiving and kind. It forces us to be better. It prevents us from hating people because an old book says so. And some people just couldn't have that, and so the trope died.

...

After I got my bachelor's degree, I entered the job market and, after applying to fifty different places or so, was finally hired as a high school english teacher about two weeks before the school year started. Said school year was the worst year of my life. Like, I've had extreme self loathing issues and suicidal ideation since, like, sixth grade, but holy shit it was NEVER as bad as it was in that nine month stretch between 2012 and 2013. There was this bridge I had to cross on the way to work each morning, and about two months in the job was so stressful that part of my morning routine was thinking, "You know, if I just swerve to the right, this can all be over and I'll never have to worry again." About halfway in I began drastically losing weight despite not changing my diet or getting more exercise and it was so traumatic that to this day whenever my weight starts to drop my initial reaction is dread rather than excitement. I impulse bought the first two Kung-Fu Panda movies and, after watching each for the first time and crying hideously, proceeded to watch them on repeat for an entire weekend while sobbing myself hoarse for reasons I couldn't comprehend at the time.

I was in Hell. And the devil met me there.

I started writing a story during that year. I didn't get very far, just a couple chapters, but it was one of the few things that gave me a sense of accomplishment. Despite all the stress and sadness and misery, I made something. It was a story about demons, and Hell, and trying to make your life better even when the world around you seems deadset on making you suffer as much as possible.

When my bosses called me into their office at the end of that year and told me that I had to quit my job so the assistant principal could take my teaching position and survive the downsizing they'd get next year, and that if I didn't quit they'd give me the lowest teacher evaluation they could and make it supremely difficult for me to get hired elsewhere... I was relieved. I'd been let out of Hell. After a handful of months left to finish out the year, I was free.

And then I went home, with nothing. No job, no desire to pursue the career for which I'd spent five years and an ungodly amount of money getting a degree to pursue, no nest egg, nothing. Nothing except a few chapters of a book.

The years that followed were hard. I did a lot of temp work, it took me a very long time to find something that worked for me. I may have left the worst year of my life, but there was still a lot of misery waiting for me. And through it all, I felt the need to accomplish... something, ANYTHING. I had to make something to prove I had a reason to exist, even if it was something that only had value to me.

With three years of work, those chapters became my first novel, No Sympathies: A Tale of Those Who Trespass Against Us. It was about the devil, and Hell, and finding salvation even when things seem inescapably bleak. It was my first novel, and now, eight years later, it's the first of five.

The devil saved my life. He saw me at my lowest, lifted me up, whispered, "It'll be ok. You have to keep going. I'll be with you, but you have to keep going," and goddammit, he kept me from swerving right.

That's when I learned the greatest truth about the devil, at least to me. The devil is a tool to make people hate the innocent, yes, this is true, but because of that, the devil can be a savior for the broken, the beaten, and the damned. You can feel like you're worthless, wretched, and doomed. But if the devil can rise from Hell, if the devil can choose to change, if people are willing to pray for the one sinner who needs it most - then there's hope for you too, isn't there?

Demons are creatures of rebellion - against God, against nature, against the powers that be, against doom and damnation itself. They were made to be a tool to hurt the innocent, but that's not what they have to be. Devils can lift us up, because no matter how far you fall, no one can say whether it's the end for you except you.

...I would like to point out that I am being figurative here. The devil does not literally exist, at least not in my view of things. He's a fictional character, nothing more. But he's a prolific fictional character, and how we portray him can say so much about us. And, to me, he is a dear friend, despite being imaginary, because the devil was there for me when I was low, and it was on his wings that I rose from doom.

...again, figuratively, not literally.

[rite4fun]

devils’ ride

based loosely on this song,, realistically i only had a small idea of what i wanted to write but then it came out to this, it’s been sitting in my notes for weeks and i only like some of it but now i don’t know if i want to delete it all or just post it for funsies so.. here ya go (if there are errors, don’t look)

18+ content

••

blue ridge, georgia. 1998.

“here you go baby” you hear your mother softly coo as you enter the kitchen. you watch her slide pieces of bacon from a pan onto a plate that lies in front of your father who just grunts in return as he continues to read the newspaper in his hands, “morning my other baby” she sends you sweet smile that you return as she steps around the table to set a kiss on your cheek.

“morning ma” you return her kiss before making your way to your father, “morning daddy” you set a swift kiss on his cheek before settling into a chair at the table. your mother is quick to set a plate of eggs, bacon and toast infront of you.

“morning darlin’, sleep well?” your father sets the newspaper down before using his other hand to pick up his coffee, you hold his gaze as he takes a sip and sets it back on the table.

“mhm..” you nod with a hum as you shovel food quickly into your mouth. your fathers gaze returns to the newspaper in his hand.

for a few minutes, the room is filled with the sound of sizzling bacon on a pan, silverware scraping against glass plates, and the occasional rustle of paper when your father finishes reading a page.

until your mother gasps quietly, “oh! honey you will never know what i heard from janet at the grocery store” she turns around, her own plate in her hands and sits in a chair close to your father, “she was telling me she saw will’s son.. you remember will?” your father hums in acknowledgment, “well she said she saw will’s eldest down around them shady bars in the city.. said he was hanging with some gang, looked like he was on a bender”

“what in the hell is janet herself doing over there?” your father questions, finally setting the newspaper down and giving your mother his full attention.

“she wasn’t.. just drove by and he was just there, standing on the side of the building with some real silmey looking guys”

your father shakes his head in disgust, “will’s youngest? where is he nowadays since his ol’ man been locked up again?”

your mother shrugs in response before turning to you, “you ever see him ‘round school?”

you set your fork down on your plate, lifting the napkin from your lap to wipe the corners of your mouth, swallowing the food you had just shoveled into your mouth. you shake your head before opening your mouth to let one word slip through, “nah”

your father quirks an eyebrow, eyes narrowed and head tilted. you’re quick to straighten your back and correct the improper grammar that fell easily from your lips, “no.. no i have not seen him, ma.”

your mother hums and shrugs before returning to her own plate, continuing to eat but your appetite is gone as you feel your fathers gaze still on you. you meet his eyes as he shifts in his chair, straightening his back and leaning his forearms on the table, an unmannered trait that he would yell at you for. he points a finger in your direction, “you stay away from them dixons, good for nothing but trouble, the lot of them”

“oh john, that boy is nothing but a kid” your mother defends the dixons youngest.

“don’t give two shits how old that little twat is, his fathers’ a drunken asshole and his brother runs the streets for a little cooze, can’t imagine the state of tha’ boy.. destined for nothing stable, i’ll tell ya tha’”

you stand up quick, grabbing your half finished plate, “going to head out”

“you’ve still got an hour and a half until school starts honey” your mother protests as she looks up at your figure that moves around the sink, rinsing your dish and setting it in the dishwasher.

“i’m meeting mandy and kate at the library to study for the bio quiz today” you step back to your mother, pressing a goodbye kiss to her cheek. you step towards your father to do the same, it’s as swift as the first one you gave him. your body turns to leave the room but your fathers hand grips your bicep tightly, forcing your attention back on him.

“you see tha’ boy anywhere and you turn the other way, you understand?” his voice is stern, a hint of distaste in his tone as he spits the word boy out.

there’s something on the tip of your tongue, something sharp.. but you swallow it, nodding your head softly with a smile, “yes daddy”

he grunts as he lets go of your arm and you take your exit quickly before either one of them can utter another word. swiping your backpack from the doorway and stepping out the door, you take a shuddering breath of fresh air before walking down the steps of your porch and into the sun.

••

click

you lightly shade in the outline of a dress that you drew on a sheet of paper, you slip the end of the pencil in between your teeth as your finger smudges the ink.

click

your body shifts, adjusting the pressure on your shoulders as you lay on your stomach, upper body perched up by your elbows, knees bent as your feet sway in the air behind you.

click

you grab the pencil once more to shade the piece darker, smudging it again after. once satisfied, you move to another area on the sheet of paper to repeat the process. the shifting of the bed you lay upon disturbs your handy work and your eyes are quick to gaze upon the intruder.

the boy across from you leans back against the pillows of the bed, you watch as he shakes the box of cigarettes against his palm before taking one out, tossing the box on the nightstand next to him. shaggy brown bangs fall into his face when he settles back into the pillows but he makes no move to sweep them out the way, instead flicking open his lighter with a soft click and lighting the dart that lies between his lips delicately.

your attention no longer lingers on the work infront of you so you close the notebook and set it to the side before leaning your chin onto your palm, “my father spoke about you this morning”

blue eyes meet yours as the boys pink lips purse around the end of the cigarette, inhaling the smoke then releasing it into the open air, “yeah? wha’ sweet words did daddy dearest utter on my behalf?”

you shrug, “same old stuff..” you lift your body up and crawl closer to the boys body. his gaze watching every move as you throw a leg over his lap, “said if i ever saw you.. to turn the other way” you smirk playfully at him as you settle more heavily upon him, his free hand finding it’s rightful place on your hip, fingertips slipping under the tank top you wear and brushing over the soft skin underneath.

the boy lets out a grunt as your hips shift above his, “should listen to ‘im..”

you roll your eyes, “daryl… the day i listen to every word my father says, i’ll be a nun and wearing a shirt up to my chin”

daryls’ eyes wander to your chest revealed by your tank that has fallen enough to reveal some cleavage to his eager gaze before shooting back up to your face, “yer hot ‘nough to pull it off”

you scoff, slapping at his chest as he laughs. a smile creeping upon your lips as his body shakes with the action, in turn moving yours as you rest on his lap. he lifts the cigarette back to his lips, inhaling then exhaling shortly after. your gaze follows every movement but linger on his lips, his tongue swiping quickly over them, making them shine against the light. he reaches his arm out to stub the dart into an ashtray on the nightstand before his attention falls back on you. the hand not resting upon your hip, grips the one you lay upon his chest. he brings it up to his face and remains eye contact with you as he presses a soft kiss to the palm of your hand.

your breath hitches, hips shifting above his at the light feather feeling but he doesn’t stop there.. his mouth opens wider, pink slick tongue darting out to graze the skin of your palm before his lips close again in a gentle kiss.

in no time, you sweep the upper half of your body down to press against his chest and crash your lips upon his. you feel him smirk into the kiss, his hands moving to slip down your body, fingertips grazing the dip of your waist to caressing your ass and sliding back down your thighs with a tight grip.

a gasp escapes your mouth at the sensation, allowing him to swipe his tongue against yours, deepening the kiss. the ever familar lingering taste of nicotine in his mouth is enough to have your legs squeezing his body between them. you tilt your head to the side more and slip a hand into his soft hair, pulling softly but enough for him to release a throaty moan at the feeling.

you’ve just began to roll your hips against his when the sudden sound of an alarm goes off, forcing your lips to separate with a slick sound, your own stomach clenching and his hips twitching in reaction to such noise.

you refuse to remove yourself from the warmth of his lap, instead reaching your upper body for your phone further down the bed and turning off the alarm. you drop the phone and return your attention to the boy below you, his eyes are half lidded, lips spit slick and swollen, cheeks a rosy red, he is a sight to behold and you imagine you aren’t much better by the way his hands clench where they lay against your thighs once he gets a good glance at your state.

you let out a disappointed sigh, “time for school..”

daryl releases a grunt as you lift yourself out from his hold and off the bed completely. grabbing the sweatshirt you laid on the desk chair in the room, you pull it over yourself. a small cracked mirror sits above the messy desk where you are able to catch a glimpse of your appearance. you were right… you weren’t much better yourself, lips swollen and eyes glazed over just from a little bit of kissing. you straighten up your hair, adjusting your clothes before turning back to the bed and gathering your belongings back into your backpack.

all the while, daryl remains still in the silence save for your shuffling. he’s got one arm now bent, hand resting behind his head, the other splaying across his stomach. his blue eyes narrowing, captivated by every movement you make.

you can’t help but smile at him, knowing just what effect you had on him, similar to the one he too, had on you. you watch the corner of his mouth, twitching as it threatens to release a smile but instead he bites his lip to prevent it from actually slipping.

“come on. we leave now, we’ll make it just in time for the first late bell” you lean a hand against the bed as you glance down to slide your boots on. standing upright again, you throw your backpack over one shoulder, finally looking to where daryl still lays, his gaze now lowered, “you can’t skip again, daryl… that’s three days in a row. we even have that bio quiz third period today! we studied together all week, you’ll ace it!”

the encouragement does nothing to make him move and your shoulders drop slightly. you know he can do it.. you spent hours together going over your own notes. you even sat in his lap quzzing him on the subject as he claimed he could focus better if you were closer. kissing him after every answer he got right which was all of them. his eyes would light up at your praise, stealing extra kisses when he could, just to hear that sweet giggle of yours when you’d playfully push him away, claiming “you know the rules dixon, you only get one for each question” but you’d lean down anyway to slot your lips together because denying him- meant denying yourself.

you glance at the time, biting your lip as you realize if you don’t leave soon, you’ll be late again and your father will surely follow through with the threat to take your phone away.

“fine” you round the bed to the side daryl lays on, leaning down and pressing a quick but bruising kiss to his lips, “i’ll let miss o’donnell know you are still sick but i swear on everything if you miss the retake day of this quiz, i’ll beat your fucking ass daryl”

you turn away, his voice raspy as he finally opens his mouth, “such filthy words comin’ from daddy’s sweet southern belle, must be rubbing off on ya’ a bit too much”

you can practically see the smirk on his face from just the tone of his voice even with your back to him as you continue to walk towards his bedroom door, so you throw him a middle finger over your shoulder and you know he sees it when you hear his sweet laugh, smile spreading helplessly across your own lips at the sound.

“won’t be much rubbing off on me anymore if you don’t get your ass to school sometime this week” you threaten, it’s an empty threat but you throw it out there anyway.

you reach the door of his room, pulling it open but before your body can push through the doorway, he calls out to you. his tone gone soft and you turn to give him your full attention, leaning your body against the frame. he has sat himself up more, back leaning against the wall behind his bed, eyes casted down at his lighter that his fingers fiddle with, a nervous habit of his that you find endearing.

“we still on for tonight?” it’s a simple question but his tone is soft, vulnerable even as if you’ll reply with anything but a yes.

you wait for him to look you in the eyes, before sharing a smile, one full of reassurance that there isn’t anywhere you’d rather be than being with him, “nine o’clock on the dot dixon and not a minute late”

“yes ma’am”

••

you lay as still as possible in your bed, listening to your mothers footsteps as she begins turning the lights in the house off.

there is some quiet mumbling as she says a quick goodnight to your father who has passed out in his infamous arm chair infront of the tv. a few bottles of beer after dinner always left him in a deep slumber, you and your mother have learned it’s best to just leave him be then attempt to lift his deadweight all the way upstairs to your parents room.

there is more shuffling before you can hear her steps on the stairs, she passes the door of your room, then finally the click of your parents door shutting. you take a quick glance on your phone, checking the time 8:50, it reads. perfect timing.

you wait the extra five minutes for your mother to settle into her own bed, tv playing some soap opera she only indulges in when your father spends the night downstairs.

8:55. you carefully climb out of bed with practised ease, your following steps coming just as quietly when you gather your bag and step out onto the landing of your stairs. you chance one more look at your parents bedroom door, the obvious voices of your mothers favorite show loud enough to drown any small noise the old house may make.

years of living in this house has left you knowing every inch- stepping more to the left on the eighth step and skipping the fourth step completely. you release a soft but quiet breath when your feet finally hit the bottom floor.

you peek into the living room, a soft glow of light from the tv illumating the sleeping face of your father. his snores bounce off the walls on account of the many beers he had and the deep sleep he is encountering.

lingering no further, you step into the kitchen and taking a pit stop at the fridge to pull out the container you secretly packed. you had sent your mother and father to the living room after dinner, offering to do clean up. you’d pack the tubberware with leftovers before shoving it in the back of the fridge, hidden by the many bottles of beer and random condiments.

you reach your arm in to pull it out, the edge of the container skimming a beer bottle that teeters the edge of the shelf, your other hand is quick to grab it before it falls but not without jostling the other bottles beside it. you freeze with a pounding heart at the tinkering of the glass bouncing off one another.

you curse quietly under your breath because of course, the one night you decide to do something out of the ordinary, it goes wrong. you hear nothing else but your fathers snores and quickly decide that now, is probably not the right time to be second guessing decisions. you quietly shut the fridge before heading to the back door, opening it and slipping through.

you rush through your backyard, slipping into the dark with measured steps before you see the familiar old black cadalliac pulled up on the side of the street, door already open for you to slip in.

“yer late” 9:01, the clock reads.

you pull the car door shut as the car shifts to drive, “‘caused a big ruckus getting this” you lifted the container of food in question, “had to make sure there was no witnesses”

“wha’ is it?”

“dinner..” you look over at the boy next to you, the street lights casting a soft glow on his face, “janet saw merle in the city a few days ago and he wasn’t at the house this morning. assumed he has been m.i.a for a bit and figured it’s been even longer since you have had a home cooked meal.”

you watch daryl fight a smile, the car slows to a stop at a red light before he is turning towards you. his hand reaches out to grip your chin, pulling you to meet him halfway and crashing his lips to yours, mumbling a small “yer too damn sweet, belle”

you smile and hum against his lips, “it’s nothing…” your cheeks flare at the sentiment anyway before your pulling away and daryl is facing forward again just as the light changes to green.

the roads remain empty as the car navigates through the back roads of your small town. you share the gossip of the day at school to keep him in the loop, he really doesn’t give a shit about anyone that isn’t you but he listens anyway because he loves hearing you talk. finally, you hit the highway and you can feel your body beginning to tingle as daryls foot presses harder on the gas to match the high speeds of the road. he rolls the windows down and turns the music up.

it’s not his first rodeo, he knows you love this. the wind whipping through your hair and the music flooding your ears at a deafening height. you explained to him once that this..

just you, him, the open highway and the dirty lyrics of a rock song blaring from the radio..

this is where you belong. this is where you feel most you. free.

daryl wishes he could just stare at you as he drives but he takes the little glimpses he can get when he chances a small glance in the direction at where you sit next to him. a ghost of a smile rests on your face as you sing along to the music. your hair tangling from the wind, small pieces occasionally sticking to your lips but you pay them no mind. you hold an arm out the window, the cool air nipping at it.

you catch one of his glimpses and he is quick to face back towards the road, allowing you to take your turn in drinking him in under the moonlight.

his side profile is picture perfect. from his wind blown bangs that sweep across his forehead down to the sharp slope of his nose and his red bitten lips (thanks to his anxious lip biting habit), all the way to his even sharper jawline. god, you just want to fucking ruin him for sitting there so effortlessly, unaware that his presence alone makes you crazy.

he can feel you staring, how could he not? the lighting is dark enough to hide the color he is sure paints his cheeks but he still feels the heat of them. he tilts his head further towards the window, allowing the cold air to cool them down.

you watch his body shift, continuing to trail your eyes down. he wears a dark grey tee, the short sleeves leaving his arms naked, goosebumps spread as the night breeze flows in. his muscles flexing as he re-adjusts his hand on the steering wheel. your eyes narrow as they fall to the light wash jeans that cover his bottom half and it is then, you realize that staring is no longer enough but rather you need to feel him.

you’d endured a day in hell beginning with mandy and kate grilling you on your whereabouts this morning when you missed the study group, then miss o’donnell chose today of all days to be in a pissy mood, to finally going home, your father having a shitty day at work and taking it out on anyone who dare cross his path. the only thing that would have soothed the ever building stress under your skin was the occasional glimpses of daryl you’d catch throughout the day. the simple twitch of his lips when he catches your eyes lingering too long on him or the bravery to meet your eyes and sending you a sly wink when you pass in the halls. alas, he wasn’t there today. the beginning of the shitty day really began then.

you scoot your body to the middle seat, daryls’ eyes glancing at you in question but he says nothing as he refocuses back on the road ahead when you do nothing but stare ahead with a hidden smile.

you wait long enough that daryl no longer suspects anything, twisting half your body towards him, placing a hand on his stomach and pressing a kiss to the bicep of his outstretched arm that holds the steering wheel. your eyelashes flutter before your gazing up at him through them while your hand travels further south, settling on the zipper of his jeans.

the music still plays at the level you had originally turned it up too, talking was out of the question but you guys never needed words to communicate.

he presses his back further into the seat, hips lifting against your hand and sharing a quick glance with you before his attention is back on the road. it’s more than enough of an answer for you so you waste no time in unbuttoning his pants and pulling the zipper down. your hand grips him through his briefs, his cock already hard and throbbing against your palm. you press your thighs together and you can’t help but bite softly at his bicep to contain a moan at the feeling of him twitching in your hand.

daryl can’t seem to keep his body still at your touch so he shifts again, both hands reaching out to grip the steering wheel now.

you press closer to his body as you pull him out of his briefs finally. his mouth drops as your thumb swipes the precum that spills from his tip before dragging it down the side. god, you wish you could hear him.

you lift your face from the side of his arm before latching onto his neck, trailing sloppy kisses anywhere you could reach. every twitch of his cock receives a squeeze as your hand drags up and down, thumbing his tip for more precum to spread to make the glide easier. the slight roughness of it all only turns daryl on more.

your kisses reach his ear and you take full advantage of his lack of control in this situation, “god, you feel so good in my hand” following your words with a quiet gasp before your back to trailing kisses down his neck.

his response is a slight jerk of the car as his foot falls heavy on the pedal along with a rough twitch of his cock in your hand that releases a larger amount of precum. you smirk against his neck, pressing one final kiss to the soft skin before leaning back.

your hand is able to move faster along his cock now, twisting your wrist everytime you your hand glides up towards his sensitive tip, something you know daryl enjoys. you glance at his face as you do the motion again, his head presses into the seat, eyelashes fluttering, threatening to shut but they stay half lidded to keep an eye on the road ahead as he chews on his bottom lip roughly.

you lean towards his ear again, “i want you in my mouth..” the car revvs as his foot drops again, “need you to focus real hard, yeah? can you do that for me?”

you lean back with a smile as he nods vigorously in response. you twist your wrist once more, a reward for being so gracious and allowing you do whatever you want to him. your next moves are quick, slipping under his arms and guiding him to your mouth. the second he feels your lips press against his tip, his foot drops again.

daryl takes a deep breath, trying to focus even more on not driving the car into a fucking ditch but it’s tough as your sweet, warm mouth envelopes his cock, sliding slowly down his shaft, your tongue flicking over a sensitive vein.

daryls releasing one hand from the steering wheel to turn the music down and you try to protest with him still in your mouth, the vibrations making his head spin, “fuck.. yer so good”

his chest heaves heavily, his free hand going to rest on the back of your head, fist only curling into your hair but not pressing. you’re so fucking perfect to him. from the kindness of your heart to even think of bringing him dinner to the sweet warmth of your mouth moving up and down his cock. he might just fucking love you. it should be a terrifying thought but it’s not the first time it came across his mind, maybe because he has always cared for you since you bounded into his life. you’re on his mind the minute he becomes conscious to the world to being his last thought as he lays in bed at night.

you are his. despite not a single soul on earth knowing what goes on between you two behind closed doors, you are it for him and he can’t imagine a life where you aren’t here with him.

“baby..” he growls the endearing term as he grips your hair tighter, “’m gonna cum… fuck” his train of thoughts are everywhere between keeping the car steady, his overwhelming desire to confess his love for you, and the need to finally cum.

now doesn’t seem like the right time to confess something that he feels so deeply as you give him head in his dads cadalliac. nevermind the fact that he actually wants to spend the rest of his life with you and he can’t do that if he crashes the fucking car, whether he dies from the accident or his father finds out and sends out a hit man for ruining his precious car. with a quick decision in mind, he slides the vehicle to the side of the road and shoves the gear stick into park.

you hum in confusion and stop the bopping of your head on his cock, lifting until just the tip lies in your mouth. you expect his hand to release your hair so you can sit up but instead, he presses you further down his cock slowly, testing the waters.. “‘s okay, just don’ want to crash the car all because yer pretty mouth wanted to suck m’ cock” he grunts as you’re quick to open your mouth wider, suctioning and swiping your tongue in agreement as he guides you with the hand on the back of your head.

“can ya’ swallow fo’ me, pretty girl?” his voice is rough, that raspy tone that lets you know just how gone he is. as if you didn’t know from the tensing of his thighs below your hands and the constant twitching of his cock in your mouth.

you reach a hand to grip the base of his cock as your mouth focuses on the tip. the swirling and flicking of your tongue matching the twists and squeezes of your hand. every sensation is different, it’s almost too much yet not enough.

daryl doesn’t even have time to question which feels better before the grip in your hair tightens and his body tenses. his head falling forward as he whines out quiet curses, “fuck, fuck, fuck”

the first bout of cum are violent spurts that make you jerk your head back a bit in shock but you’re prepared for the next, squeezing the base of his cock to milk him of every last drop and more.

his grip on your hair releases, softening instead to massage your scalp incase he pulled too hard as he was lost in bliss. you plan to clean up every last drop on his cock but the sensitivity gives way quickly as you suckle at his head, flicking your tongue over his slit and daryl releases a grunt, “tha’s enough”

you allow him to slip from your mouth but not before you can press a final kiss to his tip before fully leaning your body back and aren’t you a sight to see with your glossy eyes, swollen and slick lips, even your cheeks are flushed. you look utterly wrecked and daryl can feel himself twitch weakly when your lips stretch into a satisfied smile.

“yer fuckin’ insane, belle” he shakes his head as he carefully puts himself back into his briefs and doing his pants up again.

and just when he thinks your smile can’t get any brighter, it somehow does and you beam with that familar glint in your eye, the knowledge of what it could mean warming his heart. he can’t help reaching out to grip the side of your neck, pulling you to him and crashing his lips against yours.

your taste is mix of something you guys created together and daryl can see himself becoming addicted to it, if he isn’t already as he already regrets pulling away from your sweet mouth, “come on, buckle up. we’re almost there” he nudges his head towards the empty road and you nod before sticking close to him, laying your head against his body as he puts the car in drive again and takes off.

••

“he wants to send me to a stupid all girls boarding school, said i’ll be able to focus more on my studies there but i know he just wants to lock me away and not have to worry that i’m off somewhere doing something i shouldn’t” daryl sends a look from his seat across from you, “don’t say anything” you warn as your foot nudges his legs as you catch the meaning behind the sly look.

smoke releases from your mouth when you pull the cigarette away, tapping it against the built in ashtray of the car. normally you’d never pick up the small dart that lays between your fingers but sometimes a shitty day warrants for the burn of one.

the car sits stationed behind the familiar abandoned train station that’s roughly thirty minutes out from your house. you sit sideways in the backseat of the black cadalliac with your legs thrown over daryls own. the windows are cracked, letting the cool breeze in as music plays softly from the radio.

“wasn’t gonn’, belle” daryl replies, his feet kicks the empty container you brought him. the delicious spaghetti and meatballs your mother made was filling, sometimes he likes to visualize himself thanking her personally but then he remembers who he is and the vision dissipates into dust, leaving an ugly hollow feeling in his chest.

“saw it on your face” you huff, leaning forward slightly to hand him the cigarette and releasing the smoke you’ve just inhaled.

when you first met, he was never a big fan of words so over the years, you had gotten better at reading every look, touch, movement.. anything that he does to determine what they all mean.. he’d argued he is just as good at reading you.

daryl places the dart between his lips, taking a few hits before stubbing it out completely. he can tell you have more to say, your day seemed to irritate you more than usual and he can’t help but think that he should have just sucked it up this morning and gone to the shitty highschool.. even if he would have been miserable, he’d be able to keep an eye out for you.

admittedly all he’d do is cover up your attempts to look or brush against him in the halls. you were never particularly good at being sly but whatever you did was enough that nobody suspected anything. plus it amused him more than anything.

“what did you end up doing on your off day?”

daryl shrugs, “went into the city”

“to see merle?” he nods in response, “he coming home?”

“nah, said he had a couple more things to do out there” his voice is indifferent but your saddened at the thought of him being home alone all the time.

“maybe..” you shift your position and daryl grips one of your legs as you settle back again, “maybe i can come over this weekend.. and stay?” your voice ends softer than it began, a hint of fear at the possibility of rejection.

daryl is taken back at the tone, when has he ever denied you for you to feel scared to ask him anything, let alone offering to keep him company?

he’s moving before he responds, pulling his body over yours as he settles between your legs. one hand rests on your hip and pulls you further down the seat until he is face to face with you, “yeah?”

one of your hands reach up to brush a strand of hair behind his ear, your eyes meet his as you shrug, “if you’ll have me..”

you are unbelievable, daryl thinks. he mumbles mockingly your words as an arm wraps around your lower back to pull you closer to his own body. a small grin spreading on his face as you let out a giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck, your noses bumping together.

‘course he’d have you. today. tonight. tomorrow. forever, if you’ll have him.

“what will ya tell yer dad?” his eyes flick from your eyes, to your lips and back.

you hum, licking your lips before responding, “i’ll figure it out”

daryl knows you will, you always do.

your faces are close, his swaying down to close the gap even more causing your lips to brush. when you lift your head up, his is pulling back; teasing you. you make for the motion again and your lips just barely press together before he is pulling back again and this time, you can’t help but whine and settle your head back against the seat.

you look at him underneath your eyelashes, your bottom lip jutted just a tiny bit more than the top one, not yet a pout but just as sweet looking.

“so pretty when yer desperate” his praise sends shivers down your spine and your eyes are fluttering shut, chest arching to brush against his.

“please..” you whisper when your eyes open, head tilted just a bit as you look up at him.

daryl is only so strong against you, he likes to tease but to ever fully deny you? he could never, especially when you beg and look at him like that, so sweet and ready for the taking.

his lips slot with yours as the kiss begins tender and slow but hot. so so hot. the heat of it making you let out a soft moan and daryl takes full advantage when your mouth drops open. swiping his tongue along yours, the tender moment gone as the kiss becomes sloppier.

he releases his hold around your back and allows his hands to roam your body as his lips stay attached to yours. they slip under the tshirt you wear, fingertips dancing over your sides making you squirm at the ticklish feeling. as his hands slip further up, your shirt does too until you lift up enough for him to slide it completely off, leaving it to fall on the floor of the car.

as you settle back, he admires the lacy white bralette that barely conceals the flesh underneath but it’s pretty, like you, he thinks.

he returns his lips to yours, a hand grazing over the thin fabric, thumb brushing over your nipple that’s already hardened underneath the lace. you push your chest further into his hand, a soft whimper releasing from your throat.

“’ve got ya’” daryls lips brush yours as he reassures you. you took care of him earlier and now, it’s his turn and he fully intends on following through with extra care as always. he trails his lips down your jaw, to your neck and finally your chest.

his teeth graze your collarbones before latching onto your skin, sucking and licking all across the expanse of your chest. some sure to bruise but you don’t care as your hands find purchase in his hair, pressing him into you more.

once satisfied, he trails kisses to the valley of your breasts, sucking another bruise to the area as his hands thumb at your nipples.

“ah..” you thrown your head back with a gasp when he finally places his mouth over your nipple through the fabric of your bralette, his tongue flicking over it, saliva soaking the lace which has you moaning out softly at the sensation.

“hmm.. tha’ feel good?” daryl mumbles around your nipple as he looks up at you from beneath his hair, always a sensitive little thing, he thinks. you bite your bottom lip from crying out more, opting to just nodding your head in response. he hums happily, “jus’ wanna make m’ girl feel good”

“you always d-do.. ah” a moan falls from your mouth as you look down to watch him and his smooth pink lips, he switches to your other breast, giving it the same treatment. your hands grip his hair tighter as his tongue swirls around your taut nipple, the sight making your hips buck against his, desperate for something to ease the throbbing between your legs.

you want to succumb to the pleasure, allow yourself to just let go and feel everything but there’s a thud that sounds like it came from outside the car. your chest pushes against daryls mouth and you fight hard to get your next words out, “w-what was tha’?”

daryl refuses to part from your breast but he does slow his movements, continuing to flick his tongue around your nipple through the spit soaked lace.

“prolly’ jus’ the wind” he finally concludes when he hears nothing but the whistle of the cool air flowing through the crack of the windows. he’s back to skimming his teeth over your sensitive breast, not wanting you to forget any pleasure that was building up from his ministrations. he shifts his body so his thigh presses to your core, allowing you to grind against it to ease the pressure that’s become so overwhelming you felt tears in your eyes at the slightest friction you gain even if there still lies so much fabric between your bodies. you can work with it until he gives you more.

as your hips ground down, daryl pushes his thigh against you and in no time, you’re both finding a rhythm that could finally release the ever building pleasure you’ve had since you gave him head earlier. your mouth opens to let out another moan, head rolling to the side and eyes falling to the back of your head at a particularly hard thrust of his thigh at the same time your own hips bare down. when your eyes flutter open, they’re half lidded in bliss and just as you feel them roll shut again, you swear you’d seen a shadow out the window over daryls shoulder.

you open your mouth to say something but all that comes out is a gasp of daryls name, your mind so utterly blank and helpless to the one person giving you so many good sensations. at the sound of your voice whimpering his name, he doubles down on his actions, wanting to see you succumb to the pleasure.

your eyes can’t help but glance to the window again expecting to see nothing but the night sky- instead you see a face. though the moonlight gives little shine to the surrounding forest of the abandoned train station, it’s enough for you to recognize the features glaring through the window and your heart stops before pounding so hard, you feel like blood might just leak from your ears to relieve the pressure.

daryl leans back when he feels your body tense and still, quick to detect the uneasiness and for a moment he thinks he has done something wrong but when he sees your face, your eyes aren’t on him but behind him, “wha’s wrong?”

you can’t reply though, well you can- could, but you don’t get the chance too before the door of the car is thrown open and daryls body is pulled roughly from yours and out the car.

“daddy!” you scramble for your top, slipping through the door as you pull it down to cover yourself. the moonlight illuminates daryls body that your father has thrown to the dirt road. “daddy, stop!” your father kneels on one knee, one hand gripping the boys tee to lift him to his face, the other pulled back in a fist.

“the hell you think your doin’ with your dirty hands on my little girl, huh?!” your father shakes him, growling the words with utter digust.

you feel a bit helpless to the scene, your eyes glancing to where your mother stands by the yellow volkswagen you nor daryl heard pull up behind you guys. she holds a hand over her heart, her wide eyes shining with tears and you want to say something to her. apologize even, not for being here with daryl, you’d never apologize for that but for making her worry. for having her out here, witnessing this.

“ya’ gonna answer me you prick or am i gon’ have to beat it out of ya?”

“just leave him alone daddy, he didn’t do anything!” you and daryl make eye contact, your eyes beginning to shine with your own tears while his remain clear and relaxed, an attempt to assure you he is okay. it does nothing to ease the pounding of your heart, reaching the point that you genuinely believe you might have a heart attack.

“you shut your month, i’ll deal with you later” your father doesn’t turn around, refusing to look at you.

“don’ talk to her like that” daryls eyes narrow at the man infront of him. your father stares him down expecting him to crumble in defeat to his heated glare but he doesn’t budge, leaving your father to laugh in faux disbelief.

“got some balls on ya’ kid” he pulls daryls face closer, voice low and reeking of alcohol, “you’d watch that mouth of yours.. don’t tell me how to handle what’s mine”

“yeah? gon’ lay your hands on ‘er like ya do her mother?”

and that’s it.. the final straw that has your father growling and pulling his fist back before colliding with daryls face.

“daryl! no!” you gasp and move to grab your fathers arm, attempting to pull him away but he shakes you off roughly, enough to have you stumbling back and falling to the dirt road.

your mother is quick to come to your aid but you brush her off as you get up, heading for the two bodies infront of you again. daryl holds a hand over his cheek as he looks up at your face which crumbles at the sight of blood that drips down from the split wound. you stumble closer wanting to help him but he holds his hand up to stop you before his attention falls back to the man infront of him.

“is that what she’s telling everyone?” your father mocks as he continues to lean over the boys body.

“’s what i know” daryl can sniff out a prick of a dad when he sees one, curtesy to having one himself. you rarely talked about your home life but bits and pieces would slip during your late night conversations. it wasn’t exactly rocket science to put together.

your father lets out another menacing laugh, “it’s what you know..” he drops his head, shoulders shaking with even more quiet mocking laughter before lifting to face daryl again, “if you know anything like she’s knows, it’d seem you both must be dumb as shit. while that fact can be hurtful, there could have been hope to fix it but her being out with you? dumb and slutty? tha’ just about makes her a downright disappointment”

you and your mother release matching gasps. you shake the initial shock off, it should bother you more to hear your father call you such shitty, degrading names but you can’t find yourself to care too much when all you want to do is diffuse the situation. in this moment, all you wanted was to get daryl as far away from your father as you possibly could.

shifting your eyes back to daryl, his chest heaves and for a second, it looks like steam may just be coming from his ears as his eyes stay locked on the older man’s figure.

call him all the names in the world, he could give two shits but calling you anything than what you are-

daryl is pulling himself from your fathers grasp, putting a good distance between them as he steadies on his feet. you watch him take a deep breath, his eyebrows drawing over his eyes as he narrows them.

you know he is gearing up for a fight, you’ve seen it plenty before at school whenever someone pushed his buttons or mouthed off some shitty comment about his family to him.

he stands there, glowering at the other person, still as ever except for the slow rise and fall of his chest. something about it left the other person bothered enough to swing first, allowing for him to finish it without strict punishment as he uses self defense as his reasoning.

“daryl.. don’t” he doesn’t even glance your way, eyes focused on the poor excuse of a man infront of him, mind filled with all the ways he’d put him down.

“now now,” your father pushes himself up, standing to full height, towering over daryls lean teenage figure, “let’s see what he’s got”

“so what? you’re just going to rough him up a bit?” your tone exasperated, “this has nothing to do with him and everything to do with me and you!” your fathers anger is misdirected. the false narrative he came up with vanished the second he saw you and daryl in that black cadalliac but the reality of the situation had him creating new ones instead of facing the facts.

you chose to be here with daryl and his mind couldn’t wrap around that.

the gravel of the dirt road crunches beneath your feet as you take slow steps towards your father. still refusing to look at you, you watch his back tense. shoulders rolling back in an attempt to make himself seem bigger although he has no need too as he continues to tower over the boy infront of him.

“has everything to do with this twat, can’t keep his hands to himself”

“he didn’t do anything i didn’t want him to do” it’s not the right words to say right now but you didn’t even know what you could to stop this.

your fathers’ head drops, a hand coming up to pinch the skin between his nose before shaking his head in disbelief? disgust? “don’t say that shit”

you’re close enough behind him that you can hear him mumbling but it’s hard to keep up with everything that tumbles out except for one thing you don’t even know what you want.

you shake your head at his words although he can’t see you, let alone know if you actually heard. he’s wrong though, you do know what you want. the minute you met daryl, you wanted him to stay but he never did. running off any chance he could to prevent you from getting too close but you waited. patient and sweet as always until one day he did stay, since then he refused to leave your side unless you’d ask him too - which is something you’d never do - and although it’d hurt his heart, he would because he just wants you happy.

more often than not these late night drives were filled with deep conversations, if the urge to feel one another didn’t overtake your mind first. you were teenagers with raging hormones, what did anyone else expect?

you remember one night that daryl actually let his feelings slip; the topic of the future was in the air, you spoke of what you wanted to see yourself doing, a smile on your face. he’s confessed before that he didn’t think about it much, truth be told he’d probably say either dead or in prison but since you came bounding into his life, that reality become less true.

“where do you think you’ll be?” he looks down at his lap where you lay your head across it, you eye him expectantly, always so eager to hear him speak as he did it so rarely.

he faces forward again before shrugging, “i don’ know.. prolly jus’ go wherever you are” he thinks nothing of it as he says it, the truth slipping through his lips easily. he doesn’t know what he plans to do or where but if he had a choice, it’d be with you.

you lift from his lap so suddenly that he is taken back as you turn to face him. his poker face has always been spot on but a lingering of worry reflects in his eyes, thinking just maybe he said the wrong thing. maybe you didn’t see him in your future the way he couldn’t see you without.

you see the moment regret flushes through him as he begins to pull away but you don’t let him get far, grabbing his face with your hands and forcing him to look you in the eyes, “…yeah?”

your gaze is overwhelming so all he can do is press his forehead to yours and nod. never to push or pull when he shows you such vulnerability, you smile and smash your lips to his before leaning back, “‘mkay.. don’t care where we end up, so long as i’m with you too”

it’s the closest thing to a love confession as daryl could give at that time and although it was said in so little context, you understood what he meant, what he felt, what he feels because you felt the same way and still do.

you’re close enough to reach out for your fathers elbow, “daddy.. i love him” your fingers just barely graze his arm before it’s swinging back aggressively, creating contact with your face whipping it to the side. the resounding smack of impact fills the empty train station.

dead silence settles into the air as you reach a hand up to cup the cheek that now throbs in pain and face your father who looks back in shock. your mother is silently crying as she stands powerless to the scene before her. and daryl…

daryl sees red.

your father reaches out to you but the contact is never made when a smaller body is pushing his away. as he staggers, daryl takes full advantage and swings a fist to his face, “ya best keep yer fucking hands off ‘er!”

your father gains his balance back quickly before he’s fighting back, throwing a punch aimed at daryls jaw then another at his eye. he leaves no room for the boy to gain any sense of control, plummeting him into the dirt road all over again.

daryls body falls to the side and you’re screaming for your father to stop, even your mother is crying out his name but both of your pleas fall on deaf ears.

“you think this little twat gives a fuck about you?!” your father asks, kicking his foot into daryls stomach making him release a grunt, “boys like him are only after one thing with girls like you, unfortunately you were dumb enough to fall for his tricks!”

you shake your head, “just stop it! you’re gonna kill him!” tears stream down your face as your father continues to kick and stomp anywhere he sees fit. daryls’ grunts and groans echo throughout the open air along with the nasty muttered words your father continues to spit at him and you.

you and your mother work together to tug at any part of your fathers body your hands can grip. grasping him tightly and pulling him roughly back, his body comes easily before he’s pushing forward again to stomp one last kick to daryls body, just to show you that he’s still in control, allowing you to move him away. he’d keep going if he could but he can’t go to prison and keep you away from that boy at the same time.

your mother continues to pull him away before she’s stumbling back, hands shaking in fear and covering her face in disbelief of everything that’s just happened.

you’ve dropped to your knees, rocks digging into them as you shuffle the short distance to daryls body. your hands hover shakingly, trying to find an exact spot you could hold that might ease the pain.

“o-oh my god daryl.. i’m sorry.. i’m so sorry..” your voice nothing but a whisper as sobs overtake your already trembling body. tears blur your vision but you make no move to wipe them, choosing instead to blink rapidly so you are able to keep an eye on the boy infront of you.

“not yer fault…” he barely gets out as he clutches his stomach, body curling in pain as he takes a shuddering deep breath. you shake your head in response, denying the sentiment before looking down at your lap as you cry because it is. his hand shakingly enters your vision as he reaches out to you, your own immediately latching onto it. he squeezes your fingers to gain your attention and when you finally meet his eyes, he gives you a stern look, “‘s not.”

you lean down to kiss the hand that lays in your grip, mumbling apologies into his skin.

“don’t you touch tha’ boy!”

“can’t you just shut up!” you whip your head around to your father who leans against the volkswagen, “please..” your voice softer as you turn back to daryl. the hand not gripped into his, goes to brush hair out of his face, revealing the damage your fathers fist had done. you feel sick to your stomach.

“it’s time to go, leave him” you shake your head at your fathers voice, “if you don’t get your ass into this car right now, i swear on everything i’ll send you to that boarding school an’ make sure they lock the keys up so you’ll never even get the chance to think about making this dumb mistake again!”

“i’m not leaving him!” you can hear your mother encouraging your father to just get in the car but he shuts her down with a sharp lip.

“you stay here with him, you better stay because if i see you enter a foot into my house..” the threat is left in the air. you make no motion to move as you cling to daryls hand, eyes closing as you release a shuddering breath.

it’s only a few moments later that you hear your father mutter a few curse words before the car door slams shut. the engine rumbling to life, shortly followed by the sound of gravel crunching under the tires as they sped away, leaving natures nightlife to fill the empty space.

daryls hand squeezes yours and your eyes open to meet his, the moon light illuminating the blue of them. you study the many spots of his face that are beginning to bloom a dark color, a small cut goes through his brow, another across his cheekbone and bottom lip. your stomach turns at the sight.

he attempts to sit up, even letting go of your hand to clutch his stomach as he uses the other to lean up on.

“careful..” still having no idea where to lay your hands, you hover them about as he unsteadily sits up. when successful, his gaze falls on you again, truly taking in your state.

he wonders if you even notice how bad your body shakes as the never ending tears slip down your face.

he lifts a hand to cup your wet cheek, thumbing gently over the cut that lies across the top of your cheekbone. his eyes flick to yours in question and you nearly shake your head in disbelief because of course he’d worry more about you even after your father just beat him into the ground.

he grips your chin firmly, forcing you to look him in the eyes. the question still reflecting in them, your hand comes up to lay over his, “‘m okay..”

you are, physically. the cut stings and your cheek throbs but nothing can compare to the stabbing ache in your chest.

he doesn’t seem satisfied with the answer but doesn’t bother pushing, he can tell you have no energy to fight him on it. instead he leans his forehead heavily against your own.

both of you sit there, basking in the sounds of nature around you and the empty railroad. your occasional sniffles and daryls soft hushes accompany the worlds natural sounds. you imagine you guys look pretty ridiculous but you can’t find it in you to care.

••

“ow!”

“stop it” you roll your eyes, the cotton ball you hold between your fingers hadn’t even touched his eyebrow yet when he jerks his head away playfully.

he sits on the closed toilet seat as you stand between his legs. his hands gently rest on the back of your thighs as you tend to his physical wounds the best you could after you made sure he popped a couple painkillers for his aching body.

“if ya keep frowning like tha’, yer pretty face is gonn’ get stuck” daryls been trying to make you laugh since you’ve left the abandoned train station and drove to his home. you barely spoke in the car, mind constantly wandering elsewhere and eventually he gave up trying to keep any conversation going.

you focus on cleaning up what areas of damage you could on his skin as you mentally feared what lay underneath his tshirt, it looked like your father did not hold back when he laid those kicks against him. you shiver as you remember the scene again, daryls grunts of pains still echoing in your ears.

his hands rise to hold your hips instead, shaking your figure lightly until he gains your attention, “hey… we’re okay”

“why do you do that?” you sigh in frustration, hands dropping to your sides.

“do what?”

“disregard your pain like that.. daryl, we should go to the hospital to get you checked out” he shakes his head, it’s not the first time you suggested to go. it was actually the first place you thought of when you got behind the wheel of the black cadalliac but he talked you out of it. you’re regretting it now, he could have serious internal injuries.

“‘m okay” you’re not convinced, “promise belle.”

you wanna press more, somehow convince him to go but instead you go back to wiping his face and disinfecting his open cuts. with the dirt cleaned up and better lighting, you’re able to see his injuries more clearly. the cuts aren’t deep, rather it seems that the bruising will get the better of his handsome face but nothing as threatening as what he keeps hidden, you imagine.

sighing again, you throw the cotton ball into the trash, “can i check on your stomach now?”

daryl shakes his head, “‘m good, told ya’.. have had worse, let me check on ya” he stands up, hands still holding your hips as he switches positions. his face screws up in a slight wince as he does but drops it once you have settled onto the closed toilet lid.

the cut on your cheek is small, similar to the one he has. in different circumstances, you’d probably make a joke about the matching wounds but your mind is struggling to keep up with anything solid so it passes as every other thought you have. silence fills the air between you two, you lost in your own thoughts and daryl wondering where your mind is.

“he’s never hit me before..” your voice is a soft but the emotion it holds is enough to have daryls hand stilling before he goes back to dabbing an alcohol soaked cotton ball at your injury. it’s really nothing.. something small that will be swollen for a couple days then be gone, leaving a faded scar behind but that too will disappear with time. “maybe.. i-i don’t think he meant too..”

you’re a bit stunned still. the first time you saw him raise his hands at your mother, you were five. you remember trying to push him away, squirming in his hands as they gripped your small arms tightly against the sides of your body, holding you in front of him as he spoke, sometimes women need to be put back into their place. it made sense to your five year old self back then when you had no idea what being in love was like. as you got older, the reality of it became more apparent. he never did it infront of you again after you caught him slapping her when your mother accidentally broke a dish.

at the age of thirteen, you had rushed at him. pushing him away as you once did when you were smaller. fear covered your body but you stood strong infront of your father. maybe he knew he couldn’t manipulate your mind anymore, instead choosing to walk away and never speak on the subject again. since then, you’d never seen it happen but the evidence was there. the random new bruises or scratches that would appear on your mother became more obvious than ever.

confronting her was impossible. she chose to lie, claiming she bumped into something, oh you know me, clumsy as can be. it was bullshit and when you told her so, she sent you to your room with your so called foul mouth.

so you lived with it. you had too. where else would you go? you never saw or heard it so maybe that was the price to be paid for your innocence?

“prick shouldn’t hav’ to put his hands on anyone for anythin’.. meant to or not, he still hurt you” daryls voice is rough, a ring of anger still lingering in his words.

humming in acknowledgment, you close your eyes as your head tilts up in daryls hands, allowing him to care for you in the only way he does. always so soft and gentle.. just how you should always been handled, he thinks.

your eyes stay closed even as he releases you and shuffles about. his hands cup your face, thumb tracing around the wound tenderly before he leans down and presses a kiss near it.

the corner of your mouth quirks up at the small gesture, not yet a smile but something. you hum again before opening your eyes, blinking to adjust to the light again. daryls eyes linger over your face, leaving not an inch uncovered from his gaze, sometimes he thinks you aren’t real. some perfect figment of his imagination he conjured up to keep him company when he got lonely.

“c’mon” daryl holds a hand out, yours falling easily into his as he leads you to his bedroom. the warmth emitting from your body behind him is enough for him to believe you are infact real and willingly choosing be here with him.. it’s something he will never be able to wrap his head around.

he maneuvers around his room as you sit on the edge of the bed. he lays a shirt next to you but you make no move to put it on. your head hangs down so he can’t see the pitiful face you make, “hey.. hey, wha’s wrong?” he sits next to you, his arms reaching out to pull your body close but you push him away.

“will you stop that?” your voice is watery, “how.. how could you sit here with me after what just happened?”

daryls really fucking confused. he fish mouths for a bit, trying to find the words to say to calm your sudden emotional outburst.

“my father could have killed you..” you shake your head, “i stood there and did nothing..” a sob escapes your mouth, “after everything.. we’re here and you’re trying to take care of me when you can barely walk..” you heave deeply, “it never should have happened.. it’s my fault, daryl.. i’m so sorry”

daryl feels a bit tossed around at how you got here but there is one thing he knows for sure, “this ain’t yer fault” his tone is stern, “what yer father did.. tha’s on him, not you, got it?”

your shoulders shake as tears fall from your eyes, your head turning into your shoulder as you refuse to look at daryl. the act is childish but you can’t help it as you feel so small, so upset, so…. dumb for thinking that you could keep this hidden. that one day you would just up and leave with daryl without a trace. a stupid pipe dream, that’s all you had for your future.

“ya’ not getting it. listen to me.” daryl huffs, chewing on his lips roughly as he considers his next words before gripping your chin to face him, “… i love you” you let out a soft gasp but he continues, “i’d take as many beatings as it took to keep doing so”

“i wouldn’t ask of that from you” you lean your forehead against his, aching heart warm at his words. ones you never thought you’d hear before.

“don’ matter.. would do it all over again if it meant saving you from being hurt” his thumb brushes over the wound you suffer, his own stomach clenching at not being able to stop your father before letting it happen.

you notice the slight grimace on his face, the hurt he holds at the smallest fact that you were hurting. he is unreal, you think.

“i love you too, ya know that?” that familar glint is back in your eyes as you gaze into his. daryl is transfixed at the confirmation and all he can do is nod numbly, because.. he knows. maybe he has always known but his use of denial was always stronger. in this moment though, it’s powerless to the way you look at him and not a single doubt that you feel the same way towards him- fill him.

you chose to stay with him after your fathers threat, you cleaned him up, you worried about him.. how could he think any different when you have showed him in every way you could tonight and every other moment you had together? deserving of your love? that’s a different story but right now, daryl would rather bask in the love you have for one another than worry about such things.

you press a kiss to his lips, one full of your emotions towards him but it doesn’t go further than that, both of you exhausted and still hurting. your bodies separate to change as you grab the shirt daryl laid out for you, stripping down and slipping into it. it’s soft, hangs just below your butt and smells so much like him- earthly with a hint of nicotine.

you’re quicker at changing compared to daryl who stands a few feet away, wincing as he bends over to remove his jeans. he jumps when he feels your hands graze his, he didn’t even hear you sneak up on him. when your eyes meet, a quick shared conversation between them, he lets his hands go and allows yours to take their place. you help slide his jeans down and he kicks the rest off as you rise back up.

your fingers fiddle with the end of his shirt before you begin lifting it. when it’s fully off, you hold his gaze, afraid to look down but soon your eyes betray you as they fall to his midsection. massive red and purple bruises scatter across his stomach, going as high as his ribs and trailing as low as his hips.

“god… daryl” your fingers barely graze the bruises, in fear of hurting him more as they look so painful.

“told ya ’m fine..”

“it doesn’t look fine, you’re clearly in pain”

“i’ve had worse.. can we jus’ rest? jus’ wanna lay down with ya.. please” his voice is tired but soft and when he asks like that, how could you refuse?

he slips into bed first with the help of you before he scoots back and holds an arm out. you shuffle to turn the lights off before crawling in, facing him as you lie down. it’s silent as you study each others faces with the only light coming from the moon through the open window.

“so pretty..” the glow of the moonlight is just enough for you catch the pink that spreads on daryls cheeks after he lets his inner thoughts slip. you shake your head, a smile finally slipping onto your lips.

“you’re ridiculous” daryl just hums, the corner of his mouth quirking up. his hand cups your jaw, thumb tracing the grin upon your lips and you can’t help but let out a small giggle at the ticklish feeling. a certain playfulness in his touch that has you quirking an eyebrow in question, “thought you wanted to rest..”

daryl lets out a soft scoffed laugh, his fingers playfully pinching your nose, “alrigh’ smart ass”

you turn your head to the hand on your face, kissing his palm, “i love you..”

daryl hums, leaning in so he can kiss your forehead, then your nose, and then a bruising one full of love onto your lips. i love you too. your bodies shuffle about the bed until your back is pressed to daryls naked chest, him closing the distance you had originally set in fear of hurting him but he simply wrapped an arm around you and pulled you back until your bodies laid flushed together. a breath of relief released from you at the contact.

“ya gonn’ go home?” daryl questions quietly.

you shrug, “maybe.. eventually i’ll have to, right?”

it’s silent for a bit, “could jus’ shack it up in ‘ere with me”

you let out a small laugh, daryl hiding his own amusement into your neck.

“we’ll figure it out, yeah? me and you?” your voice is unsure, something you have never been about when it came to you and him but the unknown of what’s next terrifies you as you lay there in the silence.

daryl squeezes your body, pressing a reassuring kiss to the back of your shoulder, “we’ll figure ‘t out.. now go to sleep.”

the reality is you’ll have to go back, you know that. daryl too. you both were only in highschool, graduation just a couple months out.. you weren’t sure what the plan was after but as you lay wrapped in daryls arms, it didn’t matter so long as you had him by your side.

[kittenfangirl20]

*Charlie and Cain sneak to the human world in human disguises*

Charlie: You think this plan will work.

Cain: Yes, we just have to find where they keep that thing.

Charlie: I heard that after Johnny died, it was put in a museum.

Cain: Well this mission got a lot more interesting.

*the pair arrived at the museum after asking residents of the state of Georgia, inside a display case was a beautiful shiny fiddle made of pure gold, the one Lucifer used was just painted gold, but it wasn’t the same, there was even a painting of the famous fiddle duel between Lucifer and Johnny, but the artist who wasn’t there made Lucifer look more like Satan than what he really looked like*

Charlie: Dad never liked that so many people got him and Satan confused. So how are we going to get it back?

Cain: I need a distraction.

Charlie: Ok.

*Charlie gathers the museum guests and workers together while singing The Devil Went Down to Georgia while Cain used his lock pick to open the case and get the gold fiddle out and replace it with the painted one that Lucifer had been using and he shoved it in the bag, Charlie ran over after singing*

Charlie: So?

Cain: Mission accomplished, your dad will have his beloved fiddle back for Father’s Day.

*Charlie got excited as she made a portal back to Hell and the pair jumped in, the museum found out that the famous golden fiddle of the devil was gone and everyone started freaking out saying that demons came to reclaim the gold fiddle for their boss*

[dick-meister]

“You’re telling me the Devil went down to Georgia and came back alive??”

[lucygxybaird]

billy the kid on shuffle

carry on, you will always remember. carry on, none can equal the splendor. now your life's no longer empty, surely heaven waits for you. carry on, my wayward son, there'll be peace when you are done. lay your weary head to rest, don't you cry no more. - carry on wayward son; kansas

oh, north country winters keep a-gettin' me down, lost my money playin' poker, so i had to leave town. but i ain't turnin' back to living' that old life no more. so, rock me, mama, like a wagon wheel, rock me, mama, any way you feel. hey, mama, rock me. - wagon wheel; darius rucker

and they say there's a heaven for those who will wait, and some say it's better, but i say it ain't. i'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints, the sinners are much more fun. you know that only the good die young. - only the good die young; billy joel

oh, i hear a voice, it says i'm running behind. i better pick up my pace, it's a race and there ain't no room for someone in second place. i'm in a hurry to get things done, I rush and rush until life's no fun. all i really gotta do is live and die, but i'm in a hurry and don't know why. - i'm in a hurry (and i don't know why); florida georgia line

death doesn't discriminate between the sinners and the saints, it takes and it takes and it takes. and we keep living anyway. we rise and we fall and we break, and we make our mistakes. and if there's a reason i'm still alive when everyone who loves me has died, i'm willing to wait for it, i'm willing to wait for it. i am the one thing in life i can control, i am inimitable, i am an original. i'm not falling behind or running late. i'm not standing still, i am lying in wait. - wait for it; 'hamilton'

when i close my eyes, i see you, no matter where i am. i can smell your perfume through these whisperin' pines. i'm with your ghost again, it's a shame about the weather. but i know soon we'll be together, and i can't wait til then. - colder weather; zac brown band

and then they all fell to their knees, and begged that drifter, begged him please as he raised his fist before he spoke. "i am the righteous hand of god, and i am the devil that you forgot. and i told you one day you will see, that I'll be back, I guarantee, and that hell's coming, hell's coming, hell, hell's coming with me." - hell's comin' with me; poor man's poison

here they talked of revolution, here it was, they lit the flame. here they sang about tomorrow, and tomorrow never came. from the table in the corner, they could see a world reborn. and they rose with voices ringing, and i can hear them now! the very words that they had sung became their last communion, on the lonely barricade at dawn. oh, my friends, my friends, forgive me, that i live and you are gone. - empty chairs at empty tables; ramin karimloo

check out my btk playlist here

[fighting-these-demons]

Silly self indulgent mind wanderin thing - The Devil Went Down to Georgia

It's cool if this one gets no notes I get it isn't to most people's tastes. ✌ No worries on it.

I'm just writing it down in case I want to look back at it and to share a couple songs. -Songs are in the readmore with the Blorbo Brainrot.

Theres a better longer post going over it a bit more but basically the Devil plays a lot of perfect and complicated strings but it all sounds like garbage/wracket, whereas Johnny plays technically perfect/beautifully and with flair some established songs.

Charlie Daniels also said there was an intent of Johnny putting the light of God into his playing that he wished later he'd actually incorporated into the lyrics. Ymmv on that bit.

Song for reference w/lyrics below - I get most of my followers have heard it before, but in case anyone else was curious that hasn't. I couldn't find any versions with subtitles so I figured I'd put them in the post.

The Devil went down to Georgia. He was lookin' for a soul to steal. He was in a bind 'cause he was way behind and he was willing to make a deal When he came across this young man sawin' on a fiddle and playin' it hot. The Devil jumped upon a hickory stump and said, "Boy, let me tell you what."

"I guess you didn't know it, but I'm a fiddle player, too. And if you'd care to take a dare, well I'll make a bet with you. Now you play a pretty good fiddle, boy, but give the Devil his due. I'll bet a fiddle of gold against your soul 'cause I think I'm better than you."

The boy said, "My name's Johnny, and it might be a sin, But I'll take your bet; you're gonna regret 'cause I'm the best there's ever been."

Johnny, rosin up your bow and play your fiddle hard. 'Cause Hell's broke loose in Georgia and the Devil deals the cards. And if you win you get this shiny fiddle made of gold, But if you lose the Devil gets your soul.

The Devil opened up his case and he said, "I'll start this show." And fire flew from his fingertips as he rosined up his bow. And he pulled the bow across the strings and it made an evil hiss. And a band of demons joined in and it sounded something like this.

When the Devil finished, Johnny said, "Well, you're pretty good, old son, But sit down in that chair right there, let me show you how it's done."

"Fire on the Mountain". Run, boys, run! The Devil's in the house of the rising sun; Chicken in the bread pan picking out dough. Granny, does your dog bite? No, child, no.

The Devil bowed his head because he knew that he'd been beat. And he laid that golden fiddle on the ground at Johnny's feet. Johnny said, "Devil, just come on back, if you ever wanna try again, I done told you once, you son of a bitch, I'm the best that's ever been." And he played:

"Fire on the Mountain". Run, boys, run! Devil's in the house of the rising sun; The chicken in the bread pan picking out dough. Granny, will your dog bite? No, child, no.

(Words in italics / slanted are the names of old fiddle tunes)

--------------------------------------------------------

First and most obviously it would be a funny bit as like a one-shot or something to have the Devil G*nd*m Itself achieve consciousness or something and challenge Dom*n. What if W*ng and Ul*be and Mik*mura and M*ster and Mich*lo are the band? Lol. Anyway.

Alteenatively:

What if Chib*dee decided to play some American Classics for Dom*n while rocketing through dangerous roads at Top Speed? This would be a good one for the playlist.

I've been listening to some songs by Appal*chian An*rchy for fun while driving fast (not illegal fast but probably not prudent fast) out here and they have a vibe that goes well with that too.

Now would Chib*dee actually like Bluegrass? Or Bluegrass/Metal Hybrid songs? Probably not. But he might be showing some music to Dom*n or something idk.

Half of this was an excuse to share the songs so. 🎉

Also the devil went down to georgia is so Yus*ke coded. I know he doesn't win right off the bat but he's really the best there's ever been and the attitude fits him when he's cocky.

[prying-pandora666]

So I suddenly had this idea about Azula in the Spirit Temple…

This is only a first pass, but if it works out, maybe I’ll record it as Azula.

Azula’s “The Spirit Came to the Temple”

Based on “The Devil Went Down to Georgia”

Well, a Spirit conjured a Temple, it was looking for a soul to eat It was in a bind, 'cause it was time to dine, and Dragons were its favorite treat When it came across this princess soaking wet but her flames blue-hot So the Spirit jumped up, disguised as a monk, said, "Girl, let me tell you what

You probably didn't even know it, but I rescue lost souls too And if you care to take a dare, I'll make a deal with you Now you’ve got impressive willpower, but give the Spirit World its due I'll bet a night outta the cold against your soul, redemption’s too good for you" The girl said, "My name's Azula and it might be a sin But I'll take your bet, you're gonna regret, ‘Cause I'm the best there's ever been!”

Princess don’t let your will waver, if you’re to beat this trial 'Cause hell's challenged you to Pai Sho and the Spirit deals the tiles And if you win and last the night, your legend will be told But if you lose the Spirit eats your soul!

The Spirit conjured up its spell, “I’ll start” it smugly said Sent visions from its finger tips as it got into her head And it pulled harshly on her heartstrings, and it made an evil hiss Then Azula’s inner demons joined in, and it sounded something like this

But when the Spirit finished, Azula said, "You know, you're pretty good old monk, But you best get in your life raft there, cuz I’m so sharp your ship is sunk!"

Fire on the mountain, run, boys, run The Spirit’s in the house of the rising sun Brother’s by the duck pond, feeding them dough Mother, do you fear me? No, child, no

Well, that old Spirit bowed its head because it knew that it’d been beat And it vanished with the temple, left only ground at Azula’s feet Azula said, "Spirit, come on back if you ever want to try again I’ve told you once, you son of a nun, I'm the best there's ever been!"

She spat fire on that mountain, run, boys, run Azula from the house of the rising sun Brother’s in the throne room, calling for you Mother, do you love me? Yes, I do!

[yearnstarved]

─── ⋆ HALLOWEEN/SPOOKY SEASON PLOT WISHLIST?

(open to mutuals)

GENERAL PLOTS: we can rework these in anyway, create AUs/crossovers as needed

CABIN IN THE WOODS/UNTIL DAWN: nix the wendigo thing but give me a plot/thread of homies hanging out for the weekend and things going HORRIBLY wrong. possession. slasher on their tails. revenge plan.

SURVIVING SUMMER CAMP: possibilities: our muses survived a terrifying serial killing at camp as teens and now as adults we've returned to pay our respects for the nth anniversary. only for us to find that there's a copy cat killer.

or maybe one of our muses is a journalist and the other a survivor.

MURDER HOUSE: we just moved into a new home and foolishly staked all of our savings into it. surprise! it's haunted beyond belief. how are we going to turn this house into a home?

alternatively one of our muses inherited the house from some distant relative. they just didn't know they'd inherit the ghost living within it too.

GHOSTS: anything ghost related i beg. haunt MY narrative.

PLAYTHINGS FOR THE RICH: you know those movies where rich people gather people for a dinner and then they're like "surprise, we're hunting you!" or it's like Ready or Not where the family tries to hunt their new bride in a hide and seek game. yeah that.

CLUE: just a murder mystery party!!

STRANDED IN SPACE: think sunshine (2007), wild blue yonder (doctor who), aliens. the ship momentarily stops functioning. there's something creepy onboard lurking in the shadows

HUNTER VS. THE HUNTED: a supernatural creatures plot! enemies to lovers is the vibe, i fear dsjdkssd

GENERAL VIBES:

taken from this post.

if it’s dark, don’t shine your flashlight into the trees.

if a child approaches and asks you a question, don’t tell the truth.\

if you wish to communicate with the spirits, do not do it alone. cast a protection circle. only ask polite questions.

some beings may not want you to leave. should you come into contact with one of these beings, leave immediately.

MUSE-SPECIFIC AU IDEAS: these are more tied to my muses available

Clara: CAME BACK WRONG. my favorite trope. the doctor pulled her out of her timeline and she cheated death, except... something isn't right about her. her body and mind were pulled out of time but there's a hollowness in her chest. she fears that she's lost her soul in the process.

Clara: NEVERMORE. she wasn't able to stop the doctor in time. he made good on his threats and called in every force of terror onto the hidden street that ashildr had been guarding. she's still living with the chronolock perpetually frozen and with the quantum shade following her—a raven constantly reminding her of the lives lost and how that guilt will transform her into someone... something she can't recognize.

Iris: THE SIGHT. a 1990s AU where she survived a near death event and is now able to see through the veil between life and death. she also works as a journalist with a penchant to investigate cold cases.

Josie: DEMON PORTRAITS. josie is a grandaughter of a powerful shaman. she's gifted with the ability to imprison ghosts and more malicious entities into paintings.

Orpheus: MY LIFE FOR HERS. (supernatural TM verse) eurydice made a deal with a demon but orpheus offered his life and skills to the demon instead. very southern gothic and devil went down to georgia inspired.

[theroseandthebeast]

Yuletide 2023 Recs, Batch Two

17 recs for Castlevania: Nocturne, The Chronicles of Riddick, Crimson Peak, Critical Role / EXU Calamity, Daisy Jones & The Six, The Devil Went Down To Georgia, Dracula, Dungeons and Dragons: Honor Among Thieves

The Safety of Abstaining, Courteously, Olrox/Original Male Character + Mizrak/Olrox

Love is a dangerous thing for all vampires. It makes them vulnerable. Olrox has had the misfortune of experiencing this first hand. He is not doing that again.

Strange Allies, Olrox/Mizrak + Mizrak/Richter Belmont

Mizrak can’t figure out why Richter Belmont is still alive.

Three Principles, Dame Vaako/Vaako

Society among the Necromongers is cruel and ruthless. Death is the natural order of things, and life is to be endured. This is the story of the man and woman who would become Lord and Dame Vaako. Don't forget: you keep what you kill.

Blood in the Snow, Lucille Sharpe/Thomas Sharpe

Before the house, there was the earth, and the blood.

tempter or the tempted, Asmodeus the Lord of the Nine Hells/Zerxus Ilerez

“The tempter or the tempted, who sins most?” - William Shakespeare Zerxus won't give up trying to save Asmodeus. Asmodeus won't stop trying to damn Zerxus.

You Wanna Try That Again?, Billy Dunne/Daisy Jones

There are so many lines in the sand between Daisy and Billy - boundaries they won't cross, words they won't say, urges they won't give into. Right up until they do.

The Devil Went Down to Georgia Station, Gen, The Devil & Johnny

Me, I was just about ready to play the fool myself when the Devil arrived. You see, the sector sheriff had died a little while back, and the spaceways were so infested with bandits that no law-abiding ship dared to fly. The bandits didn't come stop at Georgia Station for a drink and a fiddler either—nobody comes down here unless they've got a resupply contract, for there's only one safe route in. I was feeling my old wanderlust, what with being cooped up in one place for so long, and besides my free meals were getting smaller by the day. That's why, when the Devil came sauntering into the station's only saloon and slid into the booth across from me, bringing out her fiddle from Devil-knows-where, I listened when she made me a deal.

The Calm before the Storm, Gen, The Captain of the Demeter

The Demeter's log was not the only tale of note to be found upon the ship.

Sanguine, Gen, John Seward

John is having bad dreams. Most of all, he dreams that Quincey might not be as dead as everyone thinks he is.

Into That, Edgin Darvis/Xenk Yendar

Edgin returns the Helmet of Disjunction. Xenk rewards him.

Not Certainty, But Hope, Edgin Darvis/Xenk Yendar

In which Xenk proposes. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to need you to repeat that," Edgin said. "I have come here to ask your hand in marriage," Xenk said in that annoyingly calm voice, like dropping in on someone at their local pub and asking them to marry you was just like popping next door and asking for a cup of sugar from the neighbor, "that we might infiltrate a temple of Ilmater and discover the means by which so many happy couples have disappeared."

Deception Check, Edgin Darvis/Xenk Yendar

Ed had lied a lot. Did lie a lot. There was a lot of lying, was his point. But the trouble and the lying did not typically involve Xenk Yendar, and this was proving to be the problem. (or, Edgin Darvis attempts to lie and rolls a one.)

Legends & Lore, Edgin Darvis/Xenk Yendar

Xenk gets truth potioned and doesn't say anything interesting at all.

Ink of the Covenant, Gen, Edgin Darvis & Holga Kilgore

Holga and Edgin get drunk. Edgin gets a tattoo. Standard 8th day in Targos, really.

it's a (fake) love story, baby (just say yes), Edgin Darvis/Xenk Yendar

“Back up,” Edgin said. “Explain how that’s connected to me going with you to a wedding.”

Perception Check (Roll for Romance), Edgin Darvis/Xenk Yendar

"I bet Xenk fucks like a metronome, too. You know." Holga makes a highly suggestive, repetitive gesture. "In, out. In, out. No variation. Same exact rhythm every time. Boring." Edgin stares at her, torn between horror and fascination. "You've really thought about this, huh?" (So has he. Unfortunately.)

you'll find us in the meadowland, Edgin Darvis/Xenk Yendar

Xenk let himself in with a slow turn of his key in the lock. The obedient door let out not a solitary creak or groan. It had better not; he plied the thing with oil as often as he cleaned any of his gear. There was a little moonlight seeping in through the window - enough to see the shape of the man rifling through his things. He was standing at Xenk’s desk, tucked into the corner and lined by shelves stacked with holy texts. Not his most valuable, of course - he wouldn’t be so careless as to keep the most precious of his collection here - but any one of them would feed a hungry man for a few days, at least. And yet this man wasn’t hungry, and he was no ordinary thief. Xenk judged this not only by the strong slope of his shoulders and broad back and the fine weave of his coat but also by the fact that he had recently been awarded the highest honours the Lord of Neverwinter could bestow. No, Edgin could want for nothing; even he could not have spent his rewards so quickly. There was only one explanation. This was an affliction of the soul.

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Hey do you still do request? if you do can i request a vaas x hurt fem reader?

where reader and vaas were old friends, they ended their friendship couple years before jason his friends came to the island,Reader made herself a group of people who hated citra and vaas, jason find a group with girl leader, citra warded jason about, but reader was very welcoming towards jason, when jason went after vaas citra told jason that vaas and reader were old friends and she told him if he wanted to hurt vaas he had to kill reader, jason walked into readers house she was about to tell he something but she stopped when she saw the gun in his hand, vaas heard gunshots not to far away fro where he was, him and his group when went to look what the gunfire was, when he find readers group all died he knew jason and citra did it, he went into readers house and saw her blooding out on the floor with a gun in her hand, vaas thought she wouldnt make it back to his camp. i love your work so much!!

Crimson Allure || Vaas Montenegro x Female Reader

A/n: I love this idea, hun. And I apologize it took so long to do. We added so much more to this plot, and it morphed into one hell of an idea, so I hope I got everything right. Please enjoy. Also, I will admit that I had on repeat Backlight by Ado the entire time I was writing this, so I apologize if certain aspects of the song found its way into the story.

Warning(s): Vaas being Vaas, blood and injury, minor character death, Female (Seed) Reader, gun violence, and vaginal sex.

No Minors Allowed!!

The rich earthy scent of mud permeates the air as you saunter from the main hut upon hearing your name. Your boots sink into the damp soil as you approach an unnamed man with various tattoos on his upper arms, leaning down in front of him. You aren't bothered by the dirt on your knees as your pants absorb the moisture from the earth; you were born in a poor neighborhood in Rome, Georgia where mud on your pants was not as concerning as the abuse you had suffered from your old man – a story for another time. So, when the native spits at you, almost hitting you in the face, you easily ignore it.

"Citra sent you here, did she not?" You ask.

Lifting your arm, you point toward a wooden crate sitting nearby.

"For those? Whatever is inside must be important to her; enough so that she sent four of her warriors here to steal it from us."

The man grins in response.

"You and the fake islanders are no better, stealing from the pirates; from that bastard Vaas."

You turn up your eyes. Unlike Citra, you are not scared to confront Vaas. You had made the call to swarm one of his outposts and retrieve the crate. If he came knocking, you'd be more than happy to welcome him with a gun to the head.

Gesturing toward the crate, you watch in anticipation as one of your men breaks into it with a crowbar. He reaches inside and yanks out an assault rifle; the kind of firepower you were hoping to gain. You turn your eyes back to the Rakyat (people) warrior, grinning.

"So, she's making a move on Vaas. But one crate won't do her any better than it does us."

"Our pemimpin (leader) has more than enough; she has a serdadu (warrior); one befitting of the Tatau," the man explains.

You've heard these words before. It's troublesome, but there is nothing you can do but confront the warrior when they start a war with you, and they will; you know Citra made damn sure to give them your name.

Standing with a sigh, you turn your back to the man, content with this information.

"The serdadu (warrior) is coming from your head next!" The man shouts.

You snort and peer over your shoulder at him.

"I hope so. The sooner this business is over with them; the sooner the Tinju (fist) of the island can drive away the devils plaguing it."

Leaving your warriors to deal with the man, you walk back into the hut, hearing your walkie go off. You recognize the impatient voice on the other end and quickly answer it, ignoring the gunshot that pierces the air.

"I'm here. Forgive me."

"Where the fuck are you?" Asks the voice.

You sit down at your desk overlooking the postcards and hidden letters that you had been fondly looking through before your name had been called, picking a postcard up. The image on the front was of a beautiful mountain range with the words: 'Greetings from the Whitetail Region, Hope County' below it.

"Answer me, girl," the voice of Hoyt Volker orders.

You frown, pressing down on the call button.

"I'm on the North Island. The walkies barely pick up here."

"The fuck are you doing over there?" Hoyt asks. He knows the answer; he's just testing you.

Unbeknownst to him, you are planning a revolution. The Tinju (fist) are natives of the Rook Islands who are fed up with Vaas and Citra murdering and puppeteering them for their gain. They are not as bloodthirsty or organized as the Pirates or the Rakyat (people), but their determination to see the islands returned to them is strong; so strong that they are willing to stare death in the face to get it.

"I came here to check on the island as you asked. Vaas is running around pissing off the natives and in protest, they are stealing guns and burning down marijuana fields," you explain.

It isn't a complete lie. Hoyt did ask you to see what was going on, only you've been the one orchestrating the entire thing; at least the two you had mentioned.

"I only want to make you happy, father."

It stings to address him as such, but you have no other option. He did adopt you after all; train you into the monster that you are now. Tears sting your eyes as you stare at the words on the back of the postcard; loving words from your older brother Joseph who welcomes you into his flock, telling you that Eden's Gate – his church – will always be home to you. Home is all you have ever wanted, especially since you lost yours when you were 13; the day you were kidnapped from your foster family and sold.

Hoyt had been the one pulling the strings, a human trafficker who seemed to take a liking to you. He had kept you by his side ever since, adopting you as his own and molding you however he wanted. You were already a broken thing; years of abuse from Old Man Seed and the separation from your brothers had made you colder, but once you got in contact with John, your twin, after seeing him on the TV, he promised that Joseph could save your soul.

You just had to finish your business on the island and then return to your brothers. Two years ago, it had not been your intention to become the leader of the Tinju (fist), but after seeing the remaining natives; the ones not bound to Citra's will or Vaas' insanity, you had gathered them together and given them hope. Perhaps you are more like Joseph than you had thought.

"That's a good girl. Get your ass back here when you can," Hoyt demanded.

"I will," you state.

And when you do, you plan to bring an army with you.

You set the walkie down on the desk, and then gather the letters and postcards from your brothers; one in particular from John had explained the symbolism of carving sins into your flesh as a way to atone through pain, so like him, you had etched 'sloth' onto your chest, crossing it out as a way to show that the sin didn't control you; not anymore; not when you were doing everything in your power to liberate the Rook Islands.

Taking the letters, you stash them away in your bag and then saunter over to the wall where a map of the island is pinned up with tacks. Several pirate outposts are circled in red and green; the Tinju (fist) and whoever Citra's warrior is liberated many of them. Your outpost is a small one located northwest of Amanaki Village, but you easily notice the recent pattern of red leading to your doorstep.

That's fine; let them come.

Perhaps there is a way to align both of your interests.

The sound of gunshots wakes you from a restless sleep. You sit up on your cot and glance around the darkness of the main hut as something terrible transpires around you. The scent of smoke seizes your lungs, making you cough. What is going on out there? Hearing a noise outside your hut, one of your men runs in with a recently stolen assault rifle and claims in a panic that the hut is on fire; the warrior that Citra had made is here.

"We need to take you away from here, majikan (boss)," he mentions.

You are reluctant to do as he suggests, however. You can't leave them to protect the outpost alone.

"We are nothing without you. Let us protect you," he insists.

"That isn't true," you argue with a cough.

Your warrior seems reluctant to argue with you, but he rushes over and yanks you onto your feet and leads you outside. The cold mud squishes between your toes and in your haste, you forget to grab the walkie and your bag. The damage nearly makes you cry. Several of your people are dead and the outpost is in ruins; red and orange fire spreads quickly from one building to the next devouring everything from the armory to the hut that you frequently inhabit.

My letters.

All this violence without reason just to take your life. Fuck Citra! A rage burns in you as you stand there backlit by the flames. How dare she.

"I need a gun," you declare.

The man holding your arm stares at you for a moment in uncertainty and then hands you his secondary weapon. You pull away from him, yanking the hammer back on the handgun, and then you walk toward the sound of gunfire as your people attempt to protect the base from the intruder. You are incredibly scared but your anger forces you to act.

"Are you scared?" Hoyt had once asked you, as he forced a gun into your hand – the first time he made you shoot a person who crossed him. "Don't get scared. You make mistakes when you are scared."

You take a deep breath, remembering his cruel but practical words. He's right. You are acting out in anger and fear, and not thinking reasonably. Your brothers would urge you to try a more peaceful approach and speak with the warrior. You aren't Citra and you sure as hell aren't Vaas. But how to get their attention?

You spot a man you have never seen before; a foreigner with brown hair peeking out from behind a crate of weapons. Motioning for your people to cease fire, you approach him recklessly, keeping enough distance between you both in case he decides you aren't worth the breath you are about to take. His attention falls on you, staring you down, then he ducks behind the crates.

"Do I have your attention? I want to speak to you," you ask.

"My name is Jason," he replies. "Are you the leader here?"

At least you know his name now.

"I am, so shut the fuck up and listen for a moment!" You shout. Yes, you are still pissed about losing your letters. "We're not your enemy! I'm not sure what Citra promised you, but you're killing the wrong fucking people!"

Silence permeates the air, and you wonder if Jason had considered your words.

"Do you know Vaas?!" He asks with a shout.

What sort of question is that? You raise a curious brow.

"Yes. He's the only other asshole besides Citra and Hoyt on this island that I have to deal with day in and day out."

"He took my friends! I'm gonna kill that motherfucker! And if what Citra said is right, you are the only way to hurt him," Jason explains.

What sort of lie did Citra tell him? You and Vaas may have seen eye to eye before; four years ago, when Hoyt had introduced him to you, but things were much different now.

"Vaas and I--"

The said man suddenly interrupts you, standing up and firing his gun. You feel a sharp pain bite at your side and as you look down, you notice red blooming across your shirt.

He shot me... The fuck.

A wave of cold dizziness washes over you and you fall to your knees in the mud, gripping the wound. You aren't sure who starts it, but gunfire echoes around the camp. A pair of warm hands grab your arms, yanking you onto your feet and leading you toward a Scavenger parked near the gate. Two of your people enter the vehicle, ushering you into the back. You lean your head against the headrest as the driver steers from the outpost and tears down the dirt road, heading to where you hope is the Doctor's house.

You can't believe Jason didn't listen to you. Yes, you understand the reason, but he should have at least heard you out. So much for taking the high road. You shut your eyes in annoyance listening to the two argue in the front. The sound of the tires tearing down the road permeates your ears, then all at once you hear the sound of gunshots.

Is he following––

The Scavenger comes to a sudden stop, almost tossing you from the seat. You open your eyes and to your horror, you notice a vehicle parked on the road. A man in red – a pirate – stands behind the turret attached to the vehicle he's in, aiming it in your direction.

"Get down!" You shout.

A rain of bullets pelts the hood of the vehicle. You dunk into the floor behind the seat, groaning as your side erupts in burning pain. As the gunfire ceases and the air clears, you dare a glance into the front and passenger seat to see that your people are thankfully alive. The vehicle is not as fortunate. Smoke rises from the holes in the hood and vanishes in the gunpowder-scented air. Who would––

"Are you alive, cocksuckers?!" A familiar voice asks loudly.

Your eyes widen. What is Vaas doing here?

This is bad.

What are you to do? You need medical attention, but you know that Vaas will not be kind to either you or your people. Groaning, you ease into the backseat, remaining down in case he urges the pirates to continue shooting.

"Lie down your guns and do your best not to annoy him," you order the two in the front.

You have no idea if Vaas will spare them but perhaps you can keep him from immediately killing them. He may do the same to you; it's hard to say. Your people toss their guns into the floorboards, waiting for your next move as you slowly pop open the back door.

"We're unarmed!" You shout.

"¡Mierda (shit)! Is that you, Volker?!" Vaas asks, sounding more humored than concerned.

You hate when he calls you this. Without it, however, his pirates would not fear you; Vaas certainly doesn't, but at least he won't put a bullet between your eyes.

"It is!" You answer with a shout. It hurts to do so, and you are extremely tired, but you have no other choice. Honestly, it would be easier to talk to him face-to-face. "We're coming out!"

Easing open the back door a bit more, you step out first.

"Don't make eye contact with him and if he speaks to you, don't raise your voice," you order your people in a whisper.

Clutching your side, you stumble toward the Scavenger sitting in the road where Vaas is standing with three others whose names you don't know. Like it or not, you are his enemy and so resting on your knees in front of him is the only choice you have; your people follow suit.

"You look like shit, amiga (friend)," the pirate states with a snort. He saunters over and crouches in front of you, reaching down to force your hand away from the wound earning a groan of pain from you.

"I need a doctor. I'm bleeding out," you mention. A wave of dizziness crashes over you and for a moment and you have to slam your eyes closed to keep from falling onto your side.

Vaas presses his finger against the hole, bringing you to with a sob as pain surges through your side. You want to cuss him; to tell him to fuck off, but you know better.

"Who put a bullet in you?"

"That w-wannabe Citra has running around the island for her. He has a bone to pick with you for taking his friends," you answer.

Vaas raises a brow.

"Snow fucking White went after you? That pequeña perra (little bitch) has some big cojones (testicles)."

"Well, he got me," you utter. "And if I don't get to a doctor, I'm as good as dead."

There is no way in hell you are going to beg him to save you, but things are looking grim for you. It feels like any second you may pass out.

"I don't feel good," you utter with a weak laugh.

Standing up, Vaas motions for a pirate – a wall of a man with an assault rifle – to come closer, whispering something to him. The man looks down at you, then walks over and pulls you onto your feet. The sudden movement causes your head to spin, but you shake it off, turning to glance over your shoulder as Vaas takes out his gun.

"Vaas?"

You know exactly what he is planning.

"Let them go. Vaas please," you beg.

Struggling against the pirate, he opens the back door and pushes you inside. To your horror, your people are gunned down. Angry tears burn your eyes as you turn them to the floor, not wanting to see their bodies. You knew he'd never let them go; it was ignorant on your part to ask them to tuck their tails and accept death. Resting your back against the seat, you wait for Vaas to return, sitting beside you – a pirate in a red bandana sits on the other side. Glaring at him, he ignores you and orders the wall of a man – who he refers to as Carlos – to drive.

The dizziness sets in, and you whimper, leaning your head against his arm. Despite the heat, you're freezing. It's too much just to keep your eyes open, so you close them, fading out of consciousness.

Familiar voices reach your ears, pulling you into consciousness; your body fights back, begging you to go back to sleep but you manage to open your eyes and look around. A man in a dirty white coat catches your attention first and you immediately recognize him, Dr. Earnhardt. The other voice belongs to Vaas, who stands in front of the bed that you are lying on. His attention turns to you as you try to sit up.

"Rest, my dear," the doctor orders, walking to your side. "You suffered a nasty shot to the side, but luckily for you, I found someone who could give you a few liters of blood."

"I feel like shit," you utter weakly, resting on the mattress. "It's good to see you, Dr. E."

"Likewise," the said man mentioned with a smile.

You aren't sure which comment he is agreeing with, but you ignore it.

"How am I doing?"

"You're going to live, my dear. The bullet came out the other side, so there was no need to go fishing around in there for it. And as far as I can tell, your bowl was not perforated; you should be fine. I'm not a real doctor, however, so you should try not to exert yourself," Dr. E answers. He leans closer and grins. "I can however offer you something to take away the pain if you like."

You aren't sure you will fare well on whatever drugs he has to offer. His shit is strong, you hear.

"I'm fine. Thank you for patching me up though."

"No problem, dear. You know where to find me if you need me," the doctor states.

With a concerned look, he turns and walks out of the room, leaving you with Vaas. The pirate is quiet; you find this weird. You don't want to speak to him, not after he shot your people, but you do owe him a kind word for saving your life.

"Thank you, Vaas."

He glances at you and hums.

"The fuck was Citra thinking?"

"I don't know. All Jason said was that she told him to kill me because it would hurt you somehow," you answer.

Vaas snorts.

"Puta (bitch)! Thinks she knows how to get into my fucking head."

And now you are as good as dead. Vaas knows your plans; he can easily take you to Hoyt for betraying him. You rest your arm over your face, holding back a sob. It sucks to have come this far, just to be caught by the enemy. You would have loved to have seen your brothers; met your new sister, Faith.

"Can you do something for me Vaas?" You ask, removing your arm to look at him. "I don't want to be taken back to Hoyt after what my people and I did. He won't ever let me go; the sick fuck will probably respect the fact I tried to overthrow him. I'd rather die and I'd rather it be you who kills me."

Vaas grins.

"Is that what you want, Volker? To give papi (daddy) the finger. You are fucking loca (crazy)... but I respect that." He scratches at the scar above his eyes, then pulls his gun and tosses it onto the table nearby. Crawling onto the bed, he slides open your legs and rests between them.

You raise a brow in curiosity. What is he doing?

"If you are giving me your life, I'm gonna take my time with it. A bullet is too easy," Vaas explains.

Perhaps this is a mistake.

He leans down and presses his mouth against yours, causing your eyes to widen. He can't be serious. Pushing against his chest, you part from him.

"What are you doing?"

Vaas grins and presses his fingers against your bandaged side; you groan in protest.

"I'm fucking Hoyt's daughter."

You are speechless. Staring into his wild green eyes, you think back to the first time you had met him. He was a former Rakyat (people) whose eyes held a burning hatred in them. Hoyt seemed to like his passion, but you feared the damage he could do if left to his own devices. Two years later, he became a leader and his rage seemed to grow, powered by drugs and whatever anger he felt for Citra, who you later learned was his sister. There had been a certain allure to his madness that held you captive.

And hearing him admit to wanting to fuck you drives you insane with need. You lean up on your elbows despite the pain in your side, kissing him. Fingers slide into your hair, angling your head

You sink your hand down to his cock, rubbing it through his pants. Vaas groans against your mouth and then pushes you back down onto the bed. You watch him stand, undoing his pants and removing them. His hard cock makes your mouth water as you wait eagerly for him to get back on the bed. Once he does, he reaches for the button on your pants and helps you remove them, taking your panties as well.

"My hero," you tease.

Vaas snorts and spreads your legs, resting between your thighs.

"You're funny, no? Save your praises."

He lines his cock up at your entrance and turns his eyes to you. Vaas has to know you want him; you shouldn't have to beg, but you know it's what he wants to hear.

"Please. I want this... I want you."

With an uncontrolled thrust, he enters you, earning a moan in response. Your walls tighten around him as he begins to wreck your pussy, bouncing you. Vaas brings one hand up and rests it on the bed next to your head to support his weight; the other slides beneath your shirt and to your chest, reaching beneath your bra to caress your breasts one at a time. His warm hand makes your nipples harden.

"You know, I never knew you were into self-mutilation, Volker," Vaas mentions as his fingers cross over the word on your chest.

"It's a way for me t-to atone," you claim as you wrap your legs around his waist. He wouldn't understand even if you explained it to him. "And furthermore, if you want this pussy to stay wet, then you'd best not call me Volker."

Vaas snorts and pinches your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Your pussy tightens in response. Releasing you, he traces your side and presses against the bandage. A terrible pain shoots through you as he does so.

"Easy," you groan.

Vaas lets up and though it hurts a bit his thrusts hit your cervix in a way that brings you pain and pleasure. It's almost too much, enough so that this won't last much longer. Tightening your legs around his waist, the sensation in your lower body continues to grow until you can no longer contain it. A surge of pleasure tears through you, causing your worn-out body to tense up beneath the pirate. With one hand he grips your hip; the other continues to rest beside your head as he pounds into you, grinning as your soft moans permeate the air. As you slowly come down from your high, Vaas pulls from you, covering your thighs in cum.

This almost seems unreal. You unwind your legs from the pirate's waist, allowing him to stand up beside the bed. Your throat is dry and sore as you attempt to clear your throat, pointing to the mess on your thighs. He doesn't expect you to let it dry, does he?

Tossing you his shirt to clean up with, he rests on the bed beside you. Once you are done, you resume your spot, groaning as pain shoots through your side. This isn't going to be easy to deal with, but at least you can maintain your cover by stating one of Hoyt's enemies had shot you. Vaas is a loose end, however. He can turn you in if he wants; an action you are curious as to whether or not he will do.

"Are you going to tell Hoyt about this? About the Tinju (fist)?" You ask.

"That fucker is gonna love this," Vaas teases, sticking out his tongue.

You turn up your eyes.

"He's going to shoot us if he finds out, Vaas – especially me."

"I'd do the same," the pirate admits. "And maybe I'll tell him before I put a bullet between his eyes. I fucked your daughter cocksucker; think of that on your way to hell."

You widen your eyes, not because of the taunt but because of what he had said before.

"You plan to kill Hoyt?"

"Who the fuck doesn't," Vaas retorts with a snort.

He has a point.

"But why?" You ask.

Vaas turns onto his side and puts a finger to your lips, hushing you.

"Doesn't fucking matter, Volker. Because you and I are gonna send him to hell... and then we're gonna finish this little game we're playing; the king of the fucking island."

You don't want to rule the island; you never did. Once Hoyt is dead, you plan to go home to the states if this war doesn't kill you first. But this is a story for another time. Vaas is giving you a chance to see at least one of your dreams come true. It's best not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

At least someone shares your rage; even adores you for it. Joseph wouldn't agree with your way of thinking, but this is something that needs to be done.

Whatever comes next is for fate to decide.

Perhaps it should be 'wrath' carved into your skin.

[skeletalsepulchre]

Where did the names for them came from and why those?

NOTE: i was going to answer this quickly but then fell down a rabbit hole of reading about medieval moldavian naming conventions for an entirely tangential reason to this ask and opened so many pdfs my computer crashed. :) enjoy

Lăcrămioara Strigoi and Leopold Lupei are both Romanian!

Lăcrămioara means "little teardrop"/is a diminutive of lacrima (related to lachrymose, ie; tears/crying/etc). Furthermore, it's the Romanian name for the plant Lily of the Valley, which is heavily associated with the tears of both The Virgin Mary as well as Eve.

You may also see me call him just "Mioara"-- which is pulled from her name, but also can be a diminutive of the Romanian form of "Mary", and also means "little lamb".

Given Lacramioara has tear-based corpse paint, and marian/plant/sheep themes, it's more than fitting!

As for Strigoi-- it's not an actual surname. It'd be kind of insane if it was. Strigoi are a Romanian folkloric creature generally agreed to be the origin of vampire myths (although in many they take on a description more akin to witches or warlocks). Admittedly, I didn't base a lot of her stuff on actual strigoi myth, but he's not actually a vampire-- just an angel that resembles vampires so as to better hunt them and other creatures of the night. so it's fine lol

Strigoi wasn't Lacramioara's original surname; from what I can glean, it's likely his name was "Lăcrămioara, of [Father's name]" or "of [village-- place pending, moldavian]", but I'm still tinkering with that, since sources are hard to find. I saw somewhere that most names up until the name reform were "given name, fathers name, grandfathers name," but im having trouble finding places where this is backed up. But for now, just consider the "strigoi" surname a title of sorts from Michael <3

as for Leopold, it actually means "Brave People"-- unrelated to the latin "leo". But of course, it can be shortened to that and resembles it, because I did still want to draw the leonine association. Lupei is, as a matter of fact, a real surname, meaning "wolf"-- but it also wasn't his original surname either. I wanted his name to sound important, and also I've just been DYING to use the name Leopold in something since I was a child for reasons related to Looney Tunes

If it matters, Leopold is originally from Wallachia. Fun fact.

Johnny Strings and Cross DeVille are both based on The Devil Went Down to Georgia, a song by the Charlie Daniels band. It tells the story of the devil, down on his luck and short on souls, who challenges a boy to a fiddling contest with the bet being that if the boy wins, he gets a fiddle of gold, and if he loses, the devil gets his soul. It goes without saying that this song is essentially theological canon to me.

Johnny Strings, however, in this incarnation, is a butch bisexual woman and the fiddle is now a golden guitar, since I wanted to take on a more rock-leaning inclination with it.

Cross DeVille is both a cross fox in his design-- but his name alludes to Crossroad Demons, which he is. I also used the DeVille just because I wanted him to give the impression of a fancy city boy

(as is Mephistopheles, who is the archetypal crossroads demon)

You may have guessed, but Godhead Death Sentence in general is meant to have a very campy tone to the world, so a lot of the names will be obvious allusions or puns, when I can do it.