#but i think it takes away from it as a story

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

#but also it turned out#agatha and rio DID have a cottage together#something must have driven agatha from the cottage#to have her running#and not having a home with nicky#which could have helped his health more

yeah because i think because the tragedy is also that she loves death. nicky isnt doomed in some magical way, made of death so unable to live. or maybe also that, who knows, but i think nicky is doomed first and foremost bc agatha loves death.

i think she must have been on the run because she made it that way. bc she antagonised people into coming after her. bc she killed a coven or a dozen. bc she killed magically or mundanely. agatha isnt trying to build a healthy life, for her or him. agatha isnt trying to be Better in any way you want to define that. she wont let herself grow beyond the trauma that has defined her up to that point. and after nickys death she wont let herself grow beyond that trauma either. shes knowingly destructive and she isnt trying to change that.

if agatha is desolate and without community it's because she has made it that way. directly or indirectly, on purpose or bc she was forced, those things kinda blur together. at the end of the day she let it be that way. nicky lived and died because agatha loves death.

She is my scar.

[nezuscribe]

life as a hit man was dirty but simple, and gojo preferred keeping it that way. he didn’t know his clients names, they didn’t know his. he’d send over proof of his work, they’d wire in the money. dirty, yet simple.

so when he gets a message to kill the daughter of some oil tycoon, he doesn’t think much about it. sure he thinks it’s cheap to go for the kid, but what does he know. this is the most he’s ever been offered for a one shot job, so he’s not an idiot to turn this offer down.

and unfortunately, that meant his next confirmed target was you.

he gets your information, where you go to school, what apartment building you live in, where you like to eat. usually he prefers a straight shot to the head, but sometimes sneaking in something to your food lets him off easier.

gojo gets to know your routine. what you do at what time. what shows you watch, what your favorite sweater is. he watches from the high rises that faces yours, crouching down so none of your bodyguards could see the reflection of the magnifier of his rifle.

and gojo is used to taking out a wide range of people. men, women, grandpas, aunts. it’s just business to him. but there’s something about you that makes him hesitate to pull the trigger.

maybe it’s the fact that the weeks he’s spent trailing after you he’s noticed you’re pretty much a loner. you keep to yourself, never bothering anyone. you don’t seem to have my friends in your classes, or even out of them. gojo never questions to morals of his clients or who they ask him to kill, but judging you so far you seem to have done…nothing wrong.

you treat the old lady who works in the convenience story with such kindness that gojo wonders if you were born into this level of wealth, because most people of your status treat those beneath them like ants. you always hold the door open for your body guards despite them insisting they do it for you. you always buy some food for the stray cats in the alley you pass, and you never yell when you’re on the phone with your dad, even though gojo tracks those calls and feels the need to yell for you.

it all comes to a moment when you’re at your favorite coffee shop (he knows this because you come here so often), and you’ve managed to weasel away from your bodyguards. he knows they must be freaking out by now, but you just want some alone time.

he’s right there, right behind you, the little pouch of his condition of drugs that instantly kill in his pocket ready, and you turn around with your coffee cup and bump into him.

your eyes seen, letting out a shocked gasp as the iced drink stains his shirt and pants, the cup not empty on the floor.

“oh my god, oh my god,” you stutter out, scrambling to find some napkins, “i’m so so sorry! i didn’t even see you there - gosh,” you shove some napkins into his hands, trying to dapple the coffee away but it does nothing to help, “i can’t believe…!” you trail off, the two of you moving out of line so you don’t hold the others up and your shaking your head in dismay, mad at your clumsiness.

“it’s alright,” he assures you, waving it off as his eyes take in your appearance. “don’t even worry about it, accidents happen.” it’s the first time he’s seen you this close, and he feels that pouch growing heavier in his pocket.

because you’re pretty. really pretty. and he likes the plush of your cheeks, the scrunch of your brows, the way you’re nearly gnawing your lip raw. you seem even prettier in person, and there’s a lump forming in his chest, something he’s never felt before.

“no, no,” you murmur, trying to find the tide pen in your bag, only to realize you left it at home, “and it’s stained too, fuck. i am so sorry about this, you probably have somewhere to be and…” your words trail off as you scramble for your wallet, pulling out some cash as you push it into his hands.

it’s more than he needs to replace the shirt and pants, probably enough to buy him a couple pairs from ralph lauren, but you still seem to think it’s not enough as you look for more.

“it’s no worries at all, i keep an extra of shirts in my car for emergencies like this,” gojo lies smoothly and you look up from your purse, eyes wide in shame. fuck he really likes your eyes too.

“no, please take it, it’ll be on my mind all day if you don’t,” you insist, but he’s shaking his head defiantly, a reassuring smile on his face as he hands the money back to you.

“and it’ll be on my conscience all day if i take it,” he promises you, and after you realize he’s not going to retract his hands you take the cash, shoving it back into your wallet as heat settles all over your body.

of course with your luck you spill coffee all over the most attractive man you’ve ever met.

you still look worried, finding another napkin as you take out a pen from your purse, messily writing something down.

“this is my contact information if you ever need me to replace your clothes,” you hand it over to the man with an apologetic smile, “please don’t hesitate to call me, i know stains and that’s gonna be really hard to get out,” you go to say something else but your eyes dart to the large windows behaubd him, catching sight of your body guards who seem to have seen you, and your face falls.

“i’m really sorry, again, but i have to go,” you mutter as you speed off, waving goodbyes to the stranger as you duck your head down and leave the coffee shop, not wanting to cause another scene as three buff men race in to find you.

gojo stands there almost in a haze, looking at his stained white shirt to the napkin with your number and name on it.

almost as if he didn’t already know it, almost as if you weren’t the girl he’s supposed to kill.

and in that moment he realizes how screwed he is, because he’d rather down that packet right there than shoot you down, and he’s never felt this dread before.

[kitsuneisi]

it is taking all my strength to not summon martyn to your blog

>:)

Okey this is me being full serious, the reason I'm making this statement is because I really don't want content creators to see the comic, just because some of them are cool with shipping doesn't mean everyone is, and it will bring unwanted attention to the comic. The comic is really important to me, it's being a long project that i have put my soul and energy in it, so I want it to be perceived and consumed and respected for what it is, a story with struggles and depth and not just shipping content. But that doesn't take away it still contains shipping, so I think it's disrespectful to send it directly to the CCs or demand a reaction from them. So please, out of respect for their boundaries and mine, don't try to involve cc in the comic if it's just for the sake of "oh, it would be fun."

[cressidagrey]

It's a Love Story - Chapter 5

Summary:

Azriel's shadows find their master a wife.

Azriel would just really like his heart not to get broken again.

And Sky...well, she's just really surprised that that far too handsome male is interested in her at all.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), I classified this as Azriel x OC, even when it't technically Azriel x Sellyn Drake (but we kinda know nothing about Sellyn Drake other than that she writes books so Sky is kinda an OC), Cassian is kinda a good guy for once, Azriel has a horrible time, as usual... Stuttering, toxic families (For once I do not mean the IC), Self-Esteem Issues, Secret Identity, Body Image Issues, Fat Shaming, People being utterly horrible.

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

“Where’s Az?” Mor asked as Nesta and Cassian entered the dining room at the River House.

“Busy,” Cassian said with a shrug, as he pulled out the chair for his mate, greeting the rest of their family with a smile. 

Mor cocked her head, a small frown appearing on her face. "Busy?" she repeated, a note of curiosity in her voice. "What's he up to?"

Busy. That had been Azriel’s answer to nearly everything after Koshei. Busy.

Even quieter than usual. Keeping away from all of them…and Cassian still heard that one sentence echo in his head. Better me than you. Like somehow Cassians life was worth more than Azriel’s.

Azriel was just being noble and self-sacrificing as usual, right? Cassian knew that his brother didn't really think that way, didn't really believe that his life was worth less than anyone else's. But still, the words haunted him. He couldn't shake the feeling that somehow, somewhere, he had let Azriel down. That he hadn't been there when his brother had needed him the most.

Maybe he should have tried to talk to him...when it all went down… but then he hadn't realised what exactly was even going on, until Nesta had flatly laid it out for him one evening. Azriel had gotten over Mor only to fall in love with Elain...and that hadn't ended in his favour either.

Cassian grimaced just thinking about it. Azriel deserved to be happy. Azriel deserved a mate that loved him, a female that fucking adored him…and instead his brother had fallen not just for one, but two unavailable females. 

And Azriel hadn’t complained. Not once. He had never let it show.

He always kept his emotions hidden under that stoic mask of his, like he was afraid of letting anyone see how much he was hurting. Cassian knew that Azriel would never ask for help, that he would never admit that he needed someone to talk to. But that didn't mean that he didn't need it. 

Cassian just wished that he could find a way to get Azriel to open up, to let him in…that wouldn’t involve beating him to a bloody pulp. 

Azriel acted like everything was fine. Azriel acted like he didn't care. Cassian knew that it was a mask, knew that it wasn't the truth...but Azriel liked to pretend it was...and maybe it was better to let him pretend. 

It wasn't like he was hurting anybody with it, right? He was doing his work just as well as he always did...and if he wanted to spend his free time reading Sellyn Drake books, maybe they should just let him do that…maybe it made him feel better. 

"Maybe he's seeing his secret girlfriend," Cassian drawled.

Mor snorted at that suggestion. "Please," she said with a roll of her eyes. "As if Azriel would ever have time for a girlfriend, let alone a secret one."

"You would be surprised," Cassian muttered under his breath. Apparently Azriel had time for reading Sellyn Drake novels while locked into his room, after all. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mor wondered. "He has been...distant lately," she said with a pout.

Cassian could only stare at her. Mor couldn't be serious right now, could she?

Of course, Azriel was distant to her. Mor had fucking broken his heart and trampled on it to top it off. And Cassian had helped her with through the years. He probably owed Azriel an apology for that as well.

And still, Azriel hadn’t complained. Azriel hadn’t called them out. Azriel had taken it silently. Had even congratulated Mor when her Mating Bond with Emerie had snapped. Had been painfully polite, making painfully sure that he didn’t cross any lines, didn’t make Emerie uncomfortable in any way. 

"Just leave him be," Cassian said with a shrug. "He's reading Sellyn Drake novels, he'll be fine,” he waved her off. 

Rhys nearly spit his wine over the table and instead started coughing violently. "Azriel is reading Sellyn Drake novels?!" he asked Cassian with an incredious stare.

"Apparently he has trust in Nesta's taste of literature," Cassian answered easily.

Mor raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Sellyn Drake novels?" she repeated, eyeing Cassian like he had gone mad. "Since when does Azriel read those kinds of books? He's not exactly the...romantic type."

Or maybe there just never had been a single person that had appreciated that side of his brother. Who knew what Azriel actually was into. 

Elain and Mor weren’t similar in the slightest after all. 

Cassian shrugged. "Maybe he's expanding his horizons," he said with a grin. "Or maybe he just wants to see what the fuss is all about. After all, Sellyn Drake is...surprisingly good. Or so I've heard, anyway." He gave a sidelong glance to Nesta, who simply rolled her eyes at him.

Still, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rhys play absentmindedly with the stem of the wine glass. There was something there...between Rhys and Azriel that Cassian couldn't quite put his finger on. Some kind of tension...some kind of...something.

But lately, it had seemed like that tension had only been getting worse. Like they were both holding something back, like they were both waiting for the other shoe to drop. Cassian couldn't help wondering what would happen when that tension finally snapped.

***

"Winnowing or flying?" Azriel asked Sky as they stepped out into the icy early winter air.

"I...I can't...fly?" Sky answered haltingly, looking at him with these devastating blue eyes. They were beautiful. Not a light blue, not a teal, not bordering on violet…just beautiful near cobalt blue. She probably would match his siphons, he reflected weakly. 

"I'll fly, I'll carry you," he gave back with a chuckle. She stared at him like he was insane, her cheeks reddening.

"I...I...you...can...can't carry me. I am too...heavy," she mumbled. Now it was his turn to stare at her.

Azriel couldn't help but scoff at that. "Too heavy?" he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'm an Illyrian warrior,” he told her drily. “I could carry a full-grown male into battle if I had to,and I have dragged full-grown males off the battlefield…I can carry you.” 

Azriel couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. Was she...was she seriously trying to tell him that she was too heavy for him to carry? She just so reached the middle of his chest! She definitely wasn't thin...her body was covered with soft flesh and lush curves, every inch of it soft and inviting...but even if she weighed twice her weight, he would easily be able to carry her. She would probably weigh next to nothing to him.

And yet, he could sense the insecurity in her voice, the way she didn't quite believe that he could carry her.

He stepped closer to her, placing his hand gently under her chin and tilting her head up so that she was looking directly into his eyes. "You are beautiful," he said softly, his voice full of warmth and sincerity. "And I don't care how much you weigh, I can carry you. I want to carry you. Because you are mine and I will always protect you, no matter what."

Her breath hitched at that, and he could see the warmth spreading through her cheeks as her heart began to race. She looked up at him with those stunning blue eyes of hers, her lips parted slightly in surprise and wonder. "You...you really mean that?" she whispered, her voice soft and shaky. "You...you don't mind how big I am?"

Azriel chuckled softly, shaking his head. "No, sweetheart, I don't mind," he said gently. "I think you are absolutely perfect just the way you are. And if I have to carry you to prove it, then that is what I will do." And without another word, he scooped her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest as easily.

She squeaked as they shot up in the sky and then she laughed, the sound bright and beautiful

They soared through the sky together, the wind blowing through their hair and clothes as they flew. The City of Starlight sprawled out beneath them, a beautiful tapestry of color and light. Azriel held her close, feeling the warmth of her body against his, the sound of her heartbeat pulsing in rhythm with his own. He knew that he could never tire of this feeling, of having her in his arms like this.

Sky looked up at him with a smile, her eyes shining with happiness and excitement. "I love this," she breathed.

How very fitting it was for the female that called herself Sky to love flying.

"Good," Azriel said softly, his voice full of warmth. "Because we can do this anytime you want, sweetheart."

They soared higher and higher, until the city below them was nothing but a sparkling sea of lights. Azriel was in his element up here, his wings powerful and graceful as they sliced through the air. He could feel the wind whipping through his hair, the cold night air stinging his skin. But he didn't mind, not with her in his arms. In fact, he felt more alive than he had in months. Years, even.

He flew a loping circle over Velaris, towards the Lake House the shadows had purchased and he thanked them mentally for their foresight. He couldn't very well bring Sky home to the House of Wind...but here...he could take her. It was private and safe...and if the expression of her face was anything to go by, she loved it.

He angled his body towards the Lake House, gliding towards it with expert precision. As they approached, Azriel saw the soft glow of the lights in the windows, the gentle sway of the curtains in the breeze. The lake glittered in the moonlight, the surface of the water undisturbed and serene. It was the perfect place to bring her, a place that he felt she would love just as much as he did.

"You live here?" she wondered, wonder in her voice as she took in the sight.

Azriel felt a warm swell of pride in his chest as he landed smoothly on the deck of the house. "Yes," he said simply, his eyes fixed on her face, watching as she marveled at the house. "I wanted a private place," he admitted. "Somewhere quiet and peaceful, where I could escape from the chaos of my life for a little while.I haven't been there long though, it’s still a work in progress…" he warned her. More like 2 hours before he had met her. "But I love it."

He set her down gently, his hands lingering on her waist for a moment before he stepped back. "Come on," he said softly, holding out his hand to her. "Let me show you inside."

The shadows skittered inside as soon as he opened the door, like a bunch of little busybodies, rightening the curtains there, fluffing pillows on the couch...It seemed to amuse Sky though. "You must ne...never have to deal with a mes...messy kitchen," she teased him

Azriel chuckled at that. "No, the shadows don't like when things are out of place,”  he admitted.

It wasn't a lie. But then he didn't like it either. 

Like a moth pulled to the flame, Sky was pulled towards his bookcases, fingertips tripping over the spines as she hungrily read the titles.

Azriel suddenly hoped that the shadows had put something other than Sellyn Drake novels in the bookcase, because otherwise he was going to look like a fucking stalker.

He watched with a mix of amusement and apprehension as she examined the bookshelves, his heart pounding in his chest. *Please,* he silently pleaded to the shadows, *please tell me you didn't leave those Sellyn Drake novels on the shelf.* Because if she saw those, it would be disastrous.

The shadows seemed weirdly frozen in place.

"You read Sel...Sellyn Drake?" Sky asked him, sounding delighted and shocked at the same time.

Azriel groaned inwardly, feeling his face flush with embarrassment. "I...yes, I do," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "I...There is...I...I need to tell you something."

"Te...Tell me som...something?" Sky asked, turning towards him, these big beautiful eyes staring at him.

"I...It wasn't a coincidence that I was in that bar tonight," he told her, watching as she stared at him. "The shadows told me to go."

"The...The shad...shadows?" she asked him, looking utterly shocked.

"I...I told them...a few weeks ago...to...find me somebody that....that I could love...somebody that I could make happy. A wife," Azriel admitted. "You were the one they picked."

She stared at him, her mouth falling open slightly. Azriel braced himself for her reaction, not sure what to expect. Would she be angry? Scandalized? Horrified that he had sent his shadows to find him a wife?

She stared at him wide-eyed. "You...You as…asked yo…your sha..shadows to fi…find you a wi…wife?!" she asked him, repeating his words back at him.

He could feel his cheeks reddening but nodded nonetheless. "...are you angry?" he asked her weakly.

Sky stared at him for a moment, but then she shook her head. "No, No...no, I'm not," she repeated again, her voice trembling slightly. "I'm...I'm flat…flattered, actually...Though...though I am cu..curious what it…what it was about me that...made…made them pick me," she admitted.

For the first time in his life, his shadows talked to somebody other than Azriel. *We thought you would treat Master like you treat your cat,* the shadows told her brightly.

She blinked at the bunch of shadows that had gathered in front of her.

"You...You...You want me to...treat Az..Azriel like...like a cat?" she asked them incrediously.

Azriel spluttered, his cheeks burning with mortification. He hadn't expected the shadows to be so blunt, and the idea of her treating him like a cat was...well, it was absurd, to say the least. He wanted her to be his mate, his equal, not to treat him as if he were some kind of pet.

"No, no," he quickly interjected, trying to salvage the situation. "They...they don't mean it like that, Sky. The shadows have their own...unique way of looking at things. Please just...just forget they ever said that."

Sky fixed him with a look. "What do you mean?" she asked the shadows.

*You love your cat,* the shadows said quickly. *You buy him ridiculous overpriced Tuna, and you let him sleep in your bed and you scratch him behind the ears. You even knitted him a sweater!*

Azriel winced, feeling his embarrassment and mortification rising even further. 

"That...thats not important," he mumbled, feeling like he was on the verge of spontaneously combusting from embarrassment. "The shadows...they have a habit of exaggerating things. Just...please, don't take them too seriously. I'm not expecting you to treat me like a cat, I swear."

Sky looked at him, then at the Shadows, then at Azriel again. She seemed to be lost in thought, clearly trying to decipher what the shadows meant.

"You..You want your mas…master to be tre…treated...well?" Sky finally asked the shadows, her tone of voice serious. "You pick…picked me because I...be..because I was nice to my cat?" she asked them curiously.

*You are so kind,* the shadows said softly. And so pretty. And we knew you would treat Master well and wouldn't judge him.*

Sky blushed at the compliment.

Azriel felt a sense of relief wash over him as the conversation shifted away from the whole "cat" thing. He had to admit, the shadows were right. Sky had been nothing but kind and considerate towards him since they met, and he was grateful for that. Still, he couldn't help but feel a bit embarrassed by the whole situation.

"Look...I apologize for the shadows' behavior," he said to Sky, his voice soft. "They can be a bit...blunt, sometimes."

"I…I un…understand where they are com…coming from," she said nearly thoughtfully. "They just...want to see you hap…happy?" she said carefully and he nodded.

"Yes."

"Though they…they don't seem to have much of a sense of boun…boundaries," Sky said with a laugh. "You hid in my apartment didn't you?" she asked the shadows.

Azriel cringed as the shadows seemed to twirl in agreement. He had hoped that particular detail would have gone unnoticed, but he should have known better. Sky was too observant for her own good.

"Yes, they did," he admitted reluctantly. "I'm sorry about that. They...they have a tendency to go where they please."

Sky still mustered the shadows that were twitching in front of her

"I…I prom…promise to t…treat your ma…master well." Sky said seriously. "He's my mate."

Azriel felt his heart skip a beat at her words. The sound of that word coming from her lips made his knees weak.

He stepped forward, closing the distance between them and taking her hands in his. "And I promise to treat you well too," he swore fervently. 

"And I'll…I’ll even knit him a swea…sweater," Sky continued, looking at the shadows.. "I…I don't know if he likes Tu…tuna, but I'll…buy him some… sweets."

He couldn’t help but laugh at her words, feeling a surge of affection for her that was almost overwhelming. "Sky," he said softly, looking into her eyes. "You don't have to do any of that for me. Just being with you is more than I could ever ask for.But...if you are willing to knit me a sweater, I surely won't say no to it," he added with a laugh. "And maybe you could try scratching me behind the ears too, just in case the shadows are right."

He meant it as a joke, but there was a part of him that was secretly delighted by the idea of her spoiling and doting on him. Maybe, just maybe, the shadows were onto something after all.

"And...who knows, maybe I'll develop a taste for Tuna," he added, grinning playfully. "As long as it's the fancy kind, that is."

He kissed her forehead gently, holding her close for a moment longer before finally pulling away. "But Sky…you don’t have to do all of that…Just being with you is enough."

She smiled up at him, beautiful and blinding and he couldn't help but kiss her.

As his lips met hers, Azriel felt a wave of warmth and tenderness wash over him. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close as he deepened the kiss. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the shadows, not the world outside, nothing but her.

He broke the kiss reluctantly, resting his forehead against hers as he caught his breath. 

"You…You can absolutely sleep in my bed with me," she whispered. "Or I'll sleep in yours," she offered, a grin on her face... and that was all he needed to hear, as he picked her up again.

[viennacherries]

okay hi sorry i need to talk about the lucanis romance for a moment and why i think it's absolutely perfect. spoilers below the cut ofc

so obviously there are a limited number of romance scenes. i really do believe in the case of lucanis' romance this lends itself to telling his story.

we learn through party banter with him and emmerich that his relationship with rook is his first. and that's not suprising really, he's an assassin. he faces death constantly and aside from the fact that he could die at any moment, being in a relationship gives his enemies a weak spot to exploit. love and the weakness required to accept and give it is a risk he cannot afford in his line of work.

then you add on the fact that he's been in the ossuary for a year. he was definitely sure he was never getting out of there. and then he does but he's possessed.

so here's rook. and they're flirting with him and being all enticing and he thinks they're great. but he doesn't deserve love and he certainly can't risk it. he's an abomination, he'll put them in danger. and what happens afterwards? when he goes back to taking contracts? it only takes pissing off the wrong person once for rook to be in danger. so he mostly just talks around it. tried not to think about it or aknowledge it.

and then spite breaks through for the second time. and there's rook. again. and they're soft and understanding and kind and they remind him that under everything else, all of the trauma and the fear, he's human. they make him feel so safe and he starts to let his walls down.

we can't know for sure why he pulls away in that moment, but i think it's because he reminds himself how dangerous it is for him and for rook. he wants them terribly but it's such an awful no good idea so he drags himself away.

but he still cares for them. he makes them dessert and he keeps them safe and eventually he has to admit to himself that they're not just friends anymore.

and then rook is taken into the fade by solas.

he never tells rook, you only find this out in a bellara romance, but rook is in the fade for weeks.

all that time, lucanis is there and he's just full of regret. because holy shit he's fallen in love with them and now they're gone and he should've just told them. he should've held them like he wanted. because now he can't and he never will again.

and then they're back.

and he comes into their room and his words are so simple.

"i never thought id see you again. i thought id lost you"

and obviously the rest of his dialogue can vary in this scene but all of it is SO weighted if you consider the fact that he really did think they were dead.

"i do. i know how to feel."

"it's one of the things i love about you"

"i'm not going anywhere."

he is in LOVE with them and he's tired of fighting it. he's tired of pretending he isn't. he's tired of denying himself of what he wants because he's scared. because ultimately he did lose them, despite how careful he'd been, and it hurt just the same.

"i know how to feel." because he DOES now.

so in the last battle, before you fight elgernan, he tells you again just how much he loves you. how he'll do anything he needs to to be back in your arms when it's over. because those weeks without you were torture and he never wants to do that again. he wasted all that time terrified to hurt you but you got hurt anyway. why keep pretending? why keep denying himself the person he wants more than anything in the world? he goes from 0-100 because this is so much more real now. there's so much to lose.

"i've assumed you knew my heart because it beats for you. it's been beating... when i wanted you. when i was afraid to want you... tell me this ends with me asleep in your arms and i will kill any god you ask."

this one sentence conveys EVERYTHING. all of his longing throughout the game. how long he has loved rook. he didn't say it because he was afraid. but he's not afraid anymore.

so much of lucanis' romance is about subtext. it's about the things he doesn't say rather than the things he does.

i think it's absolutely beautiful.

[gaytheropods]

[ID: a reply by @ blackplaaague. It reads, "I’ve blocked so many people over this. I don’t think the game where people are driven to commit suicide is a good game to infest with shipping brainrot and force into incorrect quotes templates. People don’t even take messages away from stories anymore, they just go “how can I make content that will get clicks on the internet” and I hate it. I’ve literally decided not to post my own horror because of this braindead fandom." End ID]

I genuinely think Mouthwashing fandom is a good example on how real life misogyny is very wired on people brains and influenced how they engage with fictional misogyny.

You have a story about a woman being assaulted and telling a man he trusted but being dismissed because he is friends with the attacker, and people fixate on shipping her with either of those me.

You have a story about how men that downplay their male friends violence, assume neutrality is the safer option, unintentionally help create an environment that's unsafe to vulnerable people, at a risk becoming a victim themselves. And people make it about toxic yaoi.

You have a character kill herself because she didn't want birth the child of her abuser. And people make AUs where she happily keep the baby.

Misogyny isn't just "I hate this women", it's also downplaying their trauma, defending those who caused it, and reducing them to mothers or wives against their wished under this idea of what womanhood is about.

I don't think we can separate fandom misogyny from it's real world influence, not yet.

[syluslnd]

hi!! i love your writing, i’ve never made a request before, but i was thinking about sylus (in the early stages of their relationship, the “rivalry”) finding MC at his door injured?? like a “i had nowhere else to go” kind of a situation

when you end up at your rivals doorstep

A chill filled the night air as you limped up to Sylus’s front door, each step sending a fresh wave of pain through your body. Blood stained your clothes and every inch of you ached but you had nowhere else to go. You and Sylus had always been two sides of the same coin—equal in skill, stubborn as hell, always toeing the line between animosity and something… else. But, in this moment, all you wanted was to see him.

With a trembling hand, you knocked weakly on his door before your vision blurred and your knees buckled. The world tilted and you sank to the cold ground, the last bit of strength leaving your body.

You weren’t sure how much time passed but the sudden flood of light hit your closed eyelids as the door opened. You forced your eyes open just enough to see him—Sylus, staring down at you, clearly about to make some sarcastic remark. But then his eyes widened and all traces of humor vanished.

“Sweetie” His tone was shocked, low with concern, as he dropped to his knees beside you, his hands hovering uncertainly over your bloody, bruised form. “What the hell happened to you?”

You managed a weak, half-smile. “Long story…” you muttered, your voice barely a whisper.

Without hesitation, Sylus scooped you up in his arms, his grip surprisingly gentle but unyielding. He carried you inside, the warmth of his chest against your cheek feeling like the only thing keeping you grounded. The smell of him—warm, familiar, infuriatingly comforting—filled your senses and despite the pain, you felt a sense of relief wash over you.

Sylus laid you down on his plush couch, his gaze sharp as he took in every injury, his jaw clenching tightly. “I hate seeing you like this” he muttered, more to himself than to you, his fingers brushing a blood-matted strand of hair from your face. “What were you thinking, coming here like this?”

You let out a faint chuckle, though it hurt to laugh. “You know I don’t run to you unless it’s… a last resort.” Your voice was faint but you tried to keep your usual sass, even through the haze of pain.

He scoffed but his eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them. “And here I thought you’d be too stubborn to admit you needed my help” he murmured, grabbing a clean cloth and carefully dabbing at the cut on your forehead. His touch was surprisingly tender and you closed your eyes, focusing on the warmth of his hands, the way he was taking care of you despite every argument you’d ever had.

“I… I didn’t know where else to go” you whispered, feeling yourself growing drowsy, exhaustion finally overtaking you.

He went silent, his gaze lingering on your face as he continued tending to your wounds. You weren’t sure if it was the pain or the proximity but you could feel your heartbeat quicken under his gentle touch. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you could hear your own voice whispering that this was dangerous—that you should pull away, keep up your walls, protect yourself. But here, lying battered and broken in Sylus’s living room, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

His hand stilled, hovering over your shoulder as his eyes met yours, a conflicted look crossing his face. “You know I can’t stand you, right?” he murmured, though there was no real malice in his voice. “But… seeing you like this…” His voice faltered, his usual cockiness gone. “I hate it even more.”

Something in you broke. Maybe it was the pain or the adrenaline—or maybe you were just too tired of pretending. “Yeah, well, I can’t stand you,too” you whispered, trying for sarcasm but sounding much more vulnerable than you intended. “But maybe that’s… not the whole truth.”

You barely processed your own words before his gaze softened, surprise flickering in his eyes. He studied you, his fingers stilling on your shoulder as his expression shifted, like he was searching for something in your face.

“Do you know what you’re saying,sweetie” he murmured, his voice soft, almost hesitant—a tone you’d never heard from him before.

You let out a shaky breath, feeling your pulse race. “I… I think so” you whispered, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I know it doesn’t make sense, but… I don’t hate you, Sylus. Not like that.”

For a moment, there was only silence and you braced yourself, half-expecting him to laugh it off, to throw some snarky remark back at you. But instead, his gaze softened, and he leaned in, his hand slipping to rest on your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin.

“I guess I don’t hate you either” he murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Infuriating as you are.”

You felt your face heat up but you couldn’t look away, your breaths shallow as his face hovered just inches from yours. The tension between you was palpable, a slow burn that had been building for far too long and in this moment, it felt like it was finally going to snap.

But he just gave you a teasing smirk, leaning back ever so slightly. “Just don’t expect me to go easy on you after this. You’ll owe me, big time.”

You rolled your eyes, a smile breaking through despite the pain. “Trust me, I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

And as Sylus settled down beside you, his hand resting protectively on your arm, you realized that maybe, just maybe, your rivalry wasn’t as simple as it had once seemed and as you drifted off, his warmth anchoring you, you felt something new stirring—a feeling you weren’t sure you wanted to fight anymore.

[averymcrgan]

Buck doesn't tell Maddie about the break-up until 2 days later. he's sat at her dining room table, clutching a cup of coffee between his hands while he tells her about what happened. he doesn't look at his sister the entire time he talks, doesn't want to see the pity on her face. he ignores the tears as they slide down his cheeks, dripping down off his chin onto the sleeves of the hoodie he'd thrown on before coming over. when his story has finally run its course, they both remain quiet for a moment and Buck's thankful Jee's playing in the living room because the sounds of her talking to her dolls drown out his quiet sob when Maddie removes the cup from the death grip he has on it. she grabs on tightly to both of his hands, and it's then that Buck realizes that he's shaking. he thinks he's been shaking since Tommy walked out of his life.

it's the next evening when someone knocks on his door. Buck's heart is in his throat as he walks over to answer it, feels his stomach swoop in both relief and disappointment when he sees it's his sister and niece. Jee pushes past him into the apartment like she owns the place, and Buck watches her go before turning back to see Maddie holding up a reusable bag. "After you left, she asked if you were okay. I told her you were sad because someone you cared about wasn't going to be around anymore. So she insisted we come over so she could make you cookies." Maddie's eyes sparkle as she smiles at him then over at her daughter. "Howie always makes sugar cookies when either of us is sad. So Jee said she had to do that for you, too." The lump that's taken residence in his throat makes it impossible to speak as he takes the bag from his sister, who squeezes his arm. "Have some fun with your niece tonight. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call. I'll pick her up in the morning."

and that's how Buck finds himself tossing his apron on before helping Jee-Yun into the kids' size one he keeps around just for her. they get the ingredients out of the bag, Buck pulls out his mixer, and they make a tupperware full of chocolate chip cookies and then one of sugar cookies. Jee laughs when he dabs some flour on her nose. Buck laughs when she smiles at him, face covered in melted chocolate. when everything's cleaned up and Jee's been tucked in upstairs in his bed for the night, Buck is standing in the kitchen putting the rest of the cookies away when realizes his hands are steady as he snaps the lid shut. his knees wobble, and he sits down hard on the last stool at the island, the same one Tommy sat in before he broke Buck's heart and cries the hardest he has in days.

[justmeinadaze]

November Rain (Boxer!Eddie X Plus Size Y/N)

A/N: I dreamed about this idea and my time of the month fueled it.

Please Enjoy <3

Warnings: Older (Early to Mid 30s) Dominate Boxer Eddie X Plus Size Fem younger (early to mid 20s) sub Y/N, SMUT, Daddy kink (because Im me), light spanking, big dick Eddie Munson :P, etc.

ANGST, reader meets the boxer while on a date with someone else, mentions of pain from the ring but nothing too dramatic, reader and Eddie mentions just getting out of relationships, nothing negative is mentioned about Y/N size <3. All positive and Eddie thinks she's perfect :). CLIFFHANGER ENDING 😈

Word Count: 4753

Other Eddie Stories here/ Donate to Me

"When I look into your eyes

I can see a love restrained

But darlin' when I hold you

Don't you know I feel the same?"

“Paige, I hate you. This guy is the worst.”

“Oh, he’s not that bad! Lol. Where did he take you?”

“A boxing match.”

“NO! Lol. Oh my god. I hate boxing and how the fuck are you supposed to talk there?”

“He’s taking me to a bar after.”

“Text me when you get home so I know you’re not dead :P.”

“Love you to, dork.”

“Who are you talking to?”, your blind date asks as he lightly nudges you with his shoulder. 

“Paige. I’m just telling her how nice you are and that you haven’t murdered me yet.”

“Ha! Well, the night’s still young.”, he laughed causing your eyebrows to furrow in confusion, not out of fear but annoyance that he thought that was the appropriate thing to say to someone he only met an hour ago.

When your friend and roommate suggested you go on this blind date you originally declined. You had just gotten out of a 2-year relationship and wasn’t in the mood to dive back in. After a couple of lonely (and needy) nights, you changed your tune. 

She insisted he was a nice guy she knew from work and he absolutely was but it didn’t overshadow his awkward personality. When he suggested coming to a boxing match, you were actually intrigued thinking it was an out of the box idea instead of going to the movies or dinner. As the small arena began to fill, you found yourself more fascinated by the people around you casually talking about one of the fighters. 

Eddie Munson was a “veteran” in the field, being a bit older than most boxers in the ring. He had won multiple matches but for whatever reason managers and venues didn’t take him seriously. The kid he was fighting had many accolades and higher stats but his wins matched his opponents from the pamphlet you skimmed through while you two waited. 

As the lights lowered and both men were introduced into the ring, you couldn’t help but focus on the older boxer. He was extremely handsome with his sharp jaw and intense, piercing eyes that commanded attention. His chest and muscular arms were littered with tattoos that accented his physique perfectly.  

With all the cheering and commotion around the ring, you were surprised when his eyes landed on you. He tried to look away but you noticed his gaze kept lingering back to where you were sitting. Trying not to appear intimidated, you smirked his way and leaned back in your seat where your date’s arm was strewn along the back. The boxer slowly took you in, scanning along the short sleeve black dress that clung tightly to your busty chest and large curves. Your high heeled shoe absently tapped the air as he glanced down your legs and back up to your face. 

Someone you assumed was his coach, tapped his shoulder and forced him to focus as he screamed instruction into his ear. Rising to his feet, the person took his robe before he headed for the middle of the ring. On his short stride, his gaze shifted towards you again making your smile grow as you silently mouth the words “Good Luck.”

Eddie jumps slightly as the announcer’s voice flows loudly near him startling him as you giggle and he shakes his head.

***

“Yeah so I do contracting at this firm and it’s so stupid but…”

You don’t know if your date notices but your eyes had begun to glaze over as he spoke. Your date seemed like a nice enough guy but was definitely not your cup of tea. The one thing you feared about dating again was mundane shit that came with casual conversation. You always wished you could skip over this part and get to the moment where you were comfortable again. 

“I feel like I’m droning on and on. Tell me about you.”

“Oh…um…there’s not much to tell really.”

“Of course there is. Tell me about your job, your family, everything!”, he chuckles a bit too enthusiastically as you try to hide your cringe behind your smile. 

“Excuse me, miss. Telephone for you.”, the bartender interrupts as he points at his phone near the end of the counter.

“Oh, thank you. Excuse me.”

After hopping down from your stool, you make your way to the telephone and put it to your ear.

“Hello?”

“I thought maybe I’d give you a minute of peace from chatty Cathy.”, the smooth voice on the other end laughs. 

“Hm. How do you know I wasn’t enjoying the chat?”, you ask as your eyes fleet around the bar.

“Well first off, you were way too eager to get away. I mean you didn’t even ask who was calling. Add in the fact that your face is worth a thousand words, sweetheart.”

It takes you another few seconds before you find your mystery caller leaning against the wall by the front door on his cell phone. The long-haired boxer’s grin grew when your eyes met his as his subtly waved his fingers in your direction. 

“Wanna get out of here?”

“I’m in the middle of date. I can’t just leave.”, you tease knowing full well you’d let him kidnap you if that meant leaving this date behind.

“There’s only so long you can keep up this rouse before he starts getting suspicious so I would make a decision quickly.”

“Pfft, his brain doesn’t move that fast.”

The man’s laugh echoed into your ear straight to your heart as you blushed, glad that you had the ability to make someone laugh like he just had. 

“Honey, a woman as beautiful as you in that sexy dress shouldn’t be bored out of her mind. She should be having her mind blown.”

“And you’re the man to do that?”

“I’d like to try if you give me the chance. I have a feeling you’re not easy to please like all these other giggly girls and I like a challenge.”

“Smooth, Mr. Munson.”, you giggle.

“Ah, so you were there to see me fight.”

“No, sir. It was just a happy accident.”

“Ooooo sir. I like that. You can just call me Eddie for right now though.”

“I prefer the term Daddy.”

It was no longer subtle that the two of you were staring at each other from across the bar. His breathing stutter slightly and you bit your bottom lip to force them to remain still even though you wanted to smirk his way. 

“Y/N? Everything alright?”, your date asked as he placed himself in the chair next to where you were standing. 

“Y/N.”, Eddie repeated as if he was trying to familiarize himself with your name. When you didn’t reply, your date’s palm reaches out to slide down your arm and take your hand in his. “I’m counting every second he touches you. That’s how many times I’m going spank you for allowing it.”

A tear runs down your cheek and you see regret flash through his eyes, worried he may have gone too far before he sees you hang up the phone and pull your hand from your date’s grasp. 

“I have to go. My brother was in-in an accident.”, you cry as you make a beeline to where the boxer was standing near the coat check desk. “Excuse me.”, you murmur as your arm brushes chest, the contact sending a little electricity through you both. 

“No problem.”, he mumbles as he turns to leave, making sure the back of his hand grazes yours as he does. 

“Do you want me to drive you—”

“No, no its ok. My sister lives close by so she’s going to pick me up. She’s the one that called.”

“Ok, well, let me at least wait with you.”

“Alright. You pay and I’ll wait outside.”

After he nods, you sprint outside to find Eddie sitting on a motorcycle offering you a helmet. 

“Really?”, you sass as you take it from his hand and slide it onto your head. 

“Psh like you don’t like it.”

Revving the engine, you cling to his waist as he drives off into the night.

***

Your eyebrow raises as pulls up to a gym and sifts through his pockets to search for his keys. 

“Yeah, um, welcome to my humble abode for the time being.”

“You live in a gym?”

“I live in the back of a gym. Big difference.”

“Oh absolutely.”, you jest as you allow him to lead you inside. “I would figure with how good of a fighter you are, you’d have Rocky 4 levels of riches.”

Again, he cackles as he throws his head back and in that moment, you started to realize you would do anything to continue hearing that sound. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone from your generation mention such an old movie.”

“It’s not that old and neither are you.”

“Well, aren’t you sweet.”, he smiles as he opens another door in the back and gestures you inside. “I kind of started boxing a bit late in the game compared to everyone else around me. Some of these kids have been doing it their whole lives and I only started training 10 years ago.”

As you take in his little room, Eddie heads to his mini fridge to grab a couple of beers. You could tell, he hadn’t been here long, living out of a suitcase for the time being. 

“How long are you stuck here?”

“I actually just got an apartment so I move in, in about a month.”

“What happened to your last place?”

Eddie smiles as he hands you one of the bottles in his hand. 

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“I’m inquisitive.”, you smirk back as tilt the beer to clink with his before taking a sip. “I need to know if this is where you take your hookups to hide from your wife.”

“What makes you think I’m married?”

“Huh.”, you muse as you take a seat on his couch/bed. “Most men would immediately deny. ‘Oh, no, baby! I’m not married. I swear.’”

The boxer rushes forward as you speak to hastily move his sheets and pillow on to another chair before taking a seat beside you. 

“I’m, um, no I’m not married.”, he chuckles nervously. “Full transparency, I actually just got out of relationship so if I seem…awkward…that’s why.”

“I think you’re doing alright.”, you smile as you turn to face him getting more comfortable and he does the same. “Better than chatty Cathy.”

Again, he laughs and again you swoon. 

“If it makes you feel better I just got out of a two-year relationship myself.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. How long has it been?”

“A few months.”

“Geez and you’re already dating?” When you don’t laugh like he does, Eddie panics as you sip your beverage. “No, that came out wrong. I just meant that you’re doing better than me. It’s been a year since I’ve even seen my ex and dating hadn’t even crossed my mind. Fuck, I sound like an idiot.”

Your giggle pierces his heart and he melts in relief. 

“No, you don’t. May I ask what made you find the confidence to ask me over?”

“I saw you from the ring and thought you were a fucking angel I’d never see again. When I walked into the bar and saw you, I knew I couldn’t let the opportunity slip away.”

“Wow. Smooth again, Mr. Munson.”

“I thought you preferred Daddy.” You blushed as your head dipped, trying to hide your eyes but his callused fingers quickly reached out to grab your chin forcing you to look at him again. “This…This goes without saying but you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. We can just talk or—”

Your lips on his interrupted his gentlemanly speech before tilting back slightly so your mouth wasn’t far but you could still see his face. 

“Do I make you nervous, Daddy?”

“Fuuuuuuuck.”, Eddie whispers as both palms cup your cheeks. “I don’t want t-to disappoint you.”

Slowly, you crawl over him till your straddling his lap and take hold of his hands to guide them to your wide hips.

“You won’t, baby, but if this isn’t something you’re into—”

“No, no, no. I’m into it.”, he rushes making you giggle as his face flushes with embarrassment at his earnestness. “My ex wasn’t… she tried for me a couple of times but...”

“You never really fully got to take control?”

“I told you it’s been a while since I’ve dated but it’s been even longer since I was able to be Daddy.”

“Sounds lonely.” His head tilts to the side at your statement as his brows furrow. “People don’t understand it but when I’m in my little girl headspace I feel safe when I’m with the right partner. It’s natural for me sometimes when I’m intimate to slip into that mode and if I was with someone who couldn’t satisfy that… I would feel lonely…like I did something wrong.”

When your eyes meet his again, Eddie’s smiling up at you with a softness you appreciate. 

“Thank you for coming to my TED talk.”

His body shakes as he laughs and you feel the energy in the room lighten. 

Comfortable.

Bringing your lips to his, he reciprocates with more confidence.

“Take your time and ease back into it.”, you whisper. 

You continue to grind against him as you murmur soft words in his ear and his hands roam your back. Gripping the bottom of your dress, he lifts it up your body and groans as his eyes hungrily take you in. 

“Fuck, you’re so fucking sexy.” Smirking, you slide off him, your eyes never leaving his as you remove your panties and toss them at his chest. “Leave your shoes on and crawl to Daddy, baby.”

Your pussy clenches at his words, his confidence in the title starting to return. Sinking to your knees, you do as he says making him groan as he unbuckles his belt and pushes his pants to his ankles allowing his cock to spring free. 

As he spits into his hand and strokes himself, you pause. 

“Jesus. You’re so fucking big.”

“Hey.”, Eddie growls causing your head to snap at attention. “Watch your mouth.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I’ve just…” You continue to crawl forward till your hands balance on his knees. “…never had a dick as big as yours inside me. I-I don’t know if it will fit.”

“Shit. It’ll fit, pretty girl. We’ll make it fit. You just have to get it nice and wet.”

After nodding in agreement, he hisses as your hand wraps around him and the tip of your tongue darts out to lick the little beads of precum that had begun to leak out.

“Goddamn it, Y/N.”

Opening your mouth wide, you test the waters and bob your head taking half of him as you allow your tongue to swirl around his head along his slit. 

“T-That’s it, baby.”, Eddie pants as he pulls your hair into a makeshift ponytail to get a better look at you’re doing. “Good girl. Your mouth feels so…so good. Try and take more, sweetheart.”

You do as he asks and promptly gag as your throat constricts around him. 

“Fuck! That’s it. Take it, baby. Choke on Daddy’s cock. Let m-me help.” Holding you tightly, you allow him to use you as he thrusts his hips and his dick hits the back of your throat. “There we go. Mouth open, flat tongue. So fucking beautiful taking my dick like this.”

Tears spill, smearing your make up as he lets you go and you take in big gulps of air. Grasping your cheeks, he kisses your lips as his thumbs wipe away the stains under your eyes. 

“Such a good girl… so good for me. I should have asked but do you have a safe word? Is Red still a good one?”

Eddie smiles as you breathily laugh and give him a peck before climbing up his lap to straddle him again. 

“Red is still good.”

“Turn around, sweetheart.”

After doing what he says, your whole body melts into his slightly sweaty chest as his arms wrap around you. Gripping the base of his shaft, you shutter as he slides his cock between your folds, teasing your clit with his tip. 

“You’re so wet, little girl, fuck. Are you ready for Daddy, baby?”

“Yes. Please.” Lifting your hips to help guide him, the boxer begins to gradually push himself inside of you. “Oh…f-fuck…”

“Are you ok?”, he whispers in your ear as you fully fall back against him. 

“Yeah, yeah. It…feels so good…so big. Mmnah!”, you whine as he slowly thrusts in another inch stretching you open. 

“You’re doing so good for me, Y/N. Take your time.  We have all night, honey.” 

Your half lidded eyes watch as he runs his tongue along his fingers before bringing them down to massage circles against your clit, feeling your pussy flutter and allowing him more leeway as you both groan feeling your lap finally connect with his. 

“You’re—mmph—so fucking tight.”

Experimentally, you roll your hips and the moan that leaves his lips has your eyes rolling as you do it again. You know his fingers gripping your love handles will leave bruises as he starts to guide you but you don’t care as you suck hickies into his neck, smiling at the vibration as he groans. 

“Bounce, pretty girl. Fuck me hard.”

Balancing your hands on his knees, your head lulls forward as you bounce on top of him, mewling repetitive ahs as he slams into that sensitive spot inside you. His palm comes down hard on your ass as he continues to knead his fingers into the plump flesh. 

“God, I can’t get over how fucking sexy you are. Cum for Daddy, sweetheart. Make—fuck—make yourself cum on my cock.”

Falling back against him, his wide lust filled eyes watch as one of your arms comes around to cling to the back of his neck as your other brings your hand to massage your breast. Eddie had never met a woman like you before and was pretty sure he would never meet again. 

Even with his ex, she used to be pretty open minded but never seemed to carry the kind of confidence you did. He knew when he saw you from the ring that you were different but he had promised himself he would focus on his career for the time being before jumping into anything new relationship wise. 

But how could he let you walk out that door tomorrow morning and let you go?

Your body trembled against him and he grunted as your cunt gripped his cock as you came. You rode out your high and the feeling made him almost feral as he picked you up to move you both the floor.

With his hand firmly holding the back of your neck smushing your cheek into the floor, Eddie thrust into you with rough abandon as you fell apart beneath him. 

“Oh my Goooooood. So fucking deep.”

Twisting his hand to curl his fingers in your hair, he yanked you closer to his chest and slowed his pace but not his intensity as his skin slapped obscenely into yours.

“Does my dick feel good, sweetheart?”

“Yeeeeesss—mmmah!”

“Tell me. Tell Daddy how much this tight little pussy loves my cock.”

“Y-Your cock feels so good, Daddy. My pussy was made for you.” As you spoke, his forehead rested against your cheek as his eyes shut and he found his rhythm again. “I want to feel you cum inside me, baby please.”

His eyes snapped open as he scanned your face realizing immediately you were telling the truth. 

“Don’t—Don’t say shit like that, little girl, unless you mean it.”

“P-P-Please, Daddy. I promise I’m safe. I need you to fill me up. I need to feel how good my pussy made you feel.”

“Goddamn it.”, Eddie grunted, pulling out and aggressively flipping you over onto your back before guiding himself back inside you. 

Your legs promptly wrapped around his waist and he pounded into you knowing he wasn’t going to last much longer. 

“Just like that, Daddy. I’m—fuck—M’gonna cum again. Cum with me.”

Balancing on his palms, his chocolate irises took in all of your beautiful features as they contorted in pleasure. It had been so long since he made a woman feel this good and he desperately wanted to please you. Your palms massaged along his slightly sore arms and his chest, gliding effortlessly over his bruises that were beginning to form from his fight earlier that night. 

None of that mattered. 

Every ache and pain he carried from the ring, disappeared as soon as you touched him and all he could focus on was the warmth that was you. 

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart. I’ll give you what you want.”

Circling your arms around him, you pulled him against your body, needing to absorb him as he rolled his hips, grunting in your ear till you felt his release warm you deeper than any man you had before. The whine Eddie made as his fingers clung to your hair was enough to have the coil snap for the final time that night as your pussy tried to milk everything he had to give. 

You both laid there together silently intertwined for a good long while as you tried to catch your breaths. 

“Are you ok?”, you whisper.

Pushing up onto his elbows, his hand moves some stray hairs away from your sweaty face as he softly smiles down at you. 

“Yeah, baby, I’m good. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, a little sore.”, you answer as your eyes gesture between your bodies. 

“Shit, ok, um, I’ll go slow. Ready?” When you nodded, as gently as he could, he pulled out of your aching cunt, cooing praise at you as you winced. “Good. Good girl. We, um, I don’t have a shower in here but there are locker rooms with showers if you want or we can stay here of course.”

“I’d like to shower, please.”

The way you said please told him you were still coming down from that headspace causing your words to echo in his brain about how lonely it can be being stuck there and not being taken care of properly. 

Rising to his feet, he hastily helped you to yours before taking you in his arms and caring you to the locker room. 

“Thank you. I’m not too heavy?”

“Not at all, princess.”

You watch his face as he turns on the water and makes cute little faces as the cold water hits his hand first before steaming up the area. As he cleaned your skin, his tongue poked out the side of his mouth making a little giggle fall from yours. 

“What are you laughing at?”

“You.”, you smile. “You’re just really adorable.”

“Thank you? I think.”, he grins as he comes up to kiss your forehead.

After you’re both clean and back in his room, he pulls out the couch to turn it into a bed and places you on it before you notice him pause. 

“I, um, I just assumed you’d be falling asleep here. I’m sorry. Did…did you need to get home?”

“Um…” You meant what you said when it came to relationships. You weren’t ready to jump into a new one and when you let him bring you home you told yourself this was just going to be a onetime thing but you couldn’t deny there was something about this man that made you feel safe. Maybe you could just take things slow and see where it led. “No, I can stay.”

Eddie breathed a sigh of relief as he leaned down to kiss your lips. Throwing one his shirts over your frame, you laughed as he pulled on his boxers and obnoxiously jumped into bed.

With your head on his chest and his arm wrapped around you, the two of you talked till the sun slowly began to rise outside his window. 

##################

“I thought you were dead!”, Paige shouted as she lightly pushed your arm before getting up to hug you when she saw you walk into the restaurant you two were supposed to be meeting at. “You didn’t text me or anything and when I woke up you weren’t home.”

“I know! I’m so sorry. I got caught up with someone…”, you grin as your eyes bashfully meet hers.

“Oh, tell me everything.”

The two of you giggle as you regale her with the story of the previous night’s events as you swoon over the older boxer you met. 

“Ugh, well I’m glad something good came from boxing.”, she sassed, sticking out her tongue for emphasis. 

“Good lord, what is it with you and boxing? Were you once a fighter who lost her dream when another fighter broke your neck?”

“No, you movie nerd.”, she laughs. “My dad’s a boxer. I mean I guess you can call him that. He’s a mechanic but decided randomly to start training to fight.”

“Your dad the deadbeat?”

“Yeah. He went training 24/7 and it killed my mother. They stopped spending time together and when they were together they fought constantly. One day a few months ago, he was just gone and next thing I know they are getting a divorce.”

“I’m so sorry, Paige. I know how hard divorce is on a family.”

“He’s supposed to meet me today to get some more of his things. He doesn’t have a place right now and begged my mom to hold his stuff till he found something. I guess he’s won a good amount of matches because he told her the other day he’d saved enough money to finally move. My mom refuses to see him so I’m the messenger I guess.”

“Do you want me to lag behind so I can be your reason to leave? ‘Oh here’s my roommate. We have to go.’”, you joke.

“My saint. Would you please? Op, speak of the goddamn devil.”, she sighs as she flashes you her phone screen. “I’ll meet you outside.”

As she walks outside, you hurry to pay so she’s not alone for too long. Paige was a wonderful roommate and an even better friend. When you met her, you had just had your breakup and nowhere to go. She was sympathetic to your plight and helped you at your absolutely lowest. She got you get back on your feet and now after meeting Eddie, maybe things were finally on the right track again. 

“You don’t have to do this, sweetheart. I can drive down there and get my things myself. She shouldn’t be asking you to be the ‘middleman’. This is between me and your mother.”

“I don’t mind doing it after what you did to her. Imagine how she’d feel if you showed up covered in hickeys. Hide that shit better.”, Paige shouted as she slammed her trunk closed and her father lifted the collar of his jacket. “Whatever doesn’t fucking matter. All that matters to you now is yourself and your dreams, you fucking asshole.”

“Paige, please. Can we just talk so I can explain some things—”

“No, we can’t. My roommates here and we need to go home. Right, Y/N?”, she growls as she turns to face you. 

Your eyes widen as you come face to face with Paige’s “deadbeat” father. Eddie seems equally as surprised as his jaw falls open. 

“Th-This is the girl you moved in with?”, he whispered.

“What do you care? She’s my friend and mom loves her. Come on, Y/N.”

As your roommate, grips your arm and pulls you to her car, you struggle to take your eyes off the older man as his own irises sullenly follow.

Of course. How could I be so stupid to think things would get better? I should have refused the blind like I wanted to. If I had this would never have happened. I’m a fucking idiot. 

As Eddie watches his daughter speed away with the angel he met last night, he pulled the piece of paper you left by his nightstand with your phone number and a note saying you needed to meet your roommate for lunch but you would talk to him later. 

His heart fell into his stomach as the notion ran through his head that you may never want to speak with him again. 

################

@dashingdeb16 @myherometalhead @micheledawn1975 @hardladyheart @chelebelletx @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @paleidiot

[purgaytorysupremacy]

there's a lot of places #ownvoices went wrong (and right, ftr!!) but one of them is treating writing outside your experience in "identities" (aka the socially constructed ones like gender, sexuality, race, etc.) as this hugely fundamentally Different Thing™️ than writing outside your experience in like every day life. and turning having sensitivity readers as a different and More Moral thing than having beta readers and input from people who know what it's like to be, like. a pilot. (like I beta read for someone who had Battle Griffins bc I knew how the aerodynamics would work in airborne fight/action scenes. i also consulted on what it's like to have cptsd from childhood trauma. they were basically exactly the same from a craft pov for me!)

literally just Do The Work. you can write anything if you Do The Work. the backlash was that (a) people were "hoping on the diversity train" and taking space away from marginalized communities writing marginalized stories but did it Badly, and (b) demanding the emotional/epistemic labour from marginalized communities to have to "teach" white dudes why writing a romance between an enslaved woman and her "owner" is fucked up.

I think one of the most important things to realize that if you're worried about getting it Right, this extreme backlash advice isn't for you. you're already on board with why it's important. you're already planning on Doing the Work. it's like how a psychopath never wonders if they're a psychopath lol

I WILL SAY. I still think there's an important difference between including an identity in a story (in a non-token way, pls make your world diverse!!) and writing from the perspective of that identity. (i.e., writing a story with a Black character vs writing a story about a Black character) and this isn't because you can't but because you shouldn't. (in my opinion) and I'm focused on traditional publishing here, bc they will buy a story about the Black Experience™️ from a white person every day of the week and twice on Sundays before they'd buy one from a Black person, especially a debut. so, IMHO, being an ally means leaving those seats at the table open for the people you ostensibly care enough about to write about. not because you can't, but because you're using your privilege in a way that helps them tell their own stories. your privilege means you have lots of stories to tell. if we ever become a society where discrimination doesn't exist (lol a girl can dream) i will rescind this disclaimer 🤗

if you’re white and wanna write a poc character and feel awkward about it i implore you to ignore any twitblr stuff treating it as a massive ethical burden and instead come in more with the same mindset you’d have if you wanted to write about idk firefighters but didn’t know anything about firefighters so you do... research. Like fuck off with the weird kinda creepy calls for spiritual introspection you’re not writing about god damn space aliens you’re writing about humans and if you think you need more perspective of different life experiences just read?

[savanir]

A sister's love

The justice league hurriedly responds to a call for backup at a little in the middle of nowhere place by the name of Amity Park. 

The situation had seemed so simple. 

A Star Sapphire had suddenly shown up on Earth which isn’t immediately cause for concern but she was unidentified, so a lantern was definitely going to have to look into it if only just to make sure that nothing bad was going on. There are two planet side green lanterns, Simon and Jessica. So they responded to handle the potential situation. 

Things rapidly spun out of control when they realized it wasn't just a Star Sapphire. 

"I hate to say this but we're gonna need backup" Simon tells Cyborg, "the Star Sapphire has brought something with her. My first guess was a white martian but..." The other one can do some manner of density shifting, and he can go invisible, but they know ways around that. Whatever this one is doing isn’t that though.

"Why isn't this working!?!" Comes Jessica's slightly panicked voice in the distance, "he keeps just going through my creations! dammit, think think Jess" She tried to contain him with a flamethrower construct but he just ignored it, like he’s seemingly ignoring everything else she’s throwing at him.

"Our constructs have zero effect on the other one, the alien, meta? man I don’t know he’s human shaped" 

"What is the situation other than the two hostiles?"

"Uh we got some government agents who are retreating because of the Star Sapphire wrecking their stuff. And the civilian people here seem to be falling under her influence, so she must be human. She's from here, she needs emotional connection to pull that stuff off."

The people are furious, the violet glow around them clearly indicates that the girl is using her ring to amp them up but if Simon didn’t know any better he’d say this was red lantern stuff.

Well there are more ways to whip people up into a frenzy, by hurting their loved ones for example.

There is a brief moment where it can be heard that Simon and Jessica try to get into a more advantageous position. 

Simon grunts, "dammit, those agents seemed to have weapons that actually worked on the other guy but the Star Sapphire used her violet constructs to shield him and destroy their guns and we've been struggling since" this whole situation stinks, he has a weird feeling about all of it.

"Simon this is really really bad, i can't keep restraining all these civilians, we're running out of energy fast!"

Cyborg tries to get a visual on the situation from his position in the Watchtower while he’s notifying any league affiliated heroes who are nearby and available. 

But all of a sudden he realizes there is just nothing, just a big lap of void where the two lanterns are supposed to be, there is no cctv footage, no cell towers, no internet connection. Just what the hell is going on here.

Then the audio transmission starts to violently crackle.

A new voice laced with static can suddenly be heard, "There you two are"

"Shit"

"Is the justice league coming yet? Are they finally going to do something?" the staticy voice continues.

"Stay back you-"

"Or maybe they still need more of a reason to act" 

The audio cuts out. 

"Jessica! Simon! Come in!" ... "Shit!" 

Cyborg finally gets a clear picture with the satellite cameras and now sees the entirety of Amity Park has been covered with a crystalized violet dome. It’s then that he remembers the story Hal told quite some time ago now about a Star Sapphire who managed to put a whole planet into love stasis.

They are gonna need more help with this one he thinks.

Meanwhile Jazz is still shakily trying to figure out how her new pink powers work, now that all the fighting is over (for now), the GIW forcefully expelled from Amity, and the two Justice league people captured and restrained.

Everything happened so fast, one moment the GIW had knocked out her brother and were forcefully taking him away and while she saw them drive off (she was pretty sure she was screaming) a pink thing just froze her in place, She was pretty sure someone said something about “great love in her heart” and then she was… well she was flying and- and there wasn’t really any time to question things then so she may have kinda gone and ripped into the van that had Danny.

She’s pretty sure she healed him, and then things just completely spiraled out of control from that point on. and now she’s here.

She’s pretty sure this is crazy villain behavior, she’s going to get put on some sort of watchlist and then she’ll never get to be a psychologist but it’s fine.

Her little brother is safe, that’s all that matters. And she will keep it that way.

[beardedjoel]

indebted

dark!joel x f!reader. one shot.

summary: you're having a bad day. one you think is getting better once a rough around the edges man comes to your rescue. you didn't expect it would takes such a sharp turn for the worse. first person pov reader. 9.2k words.

warnings: 18+ MDNI! DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT! NON CONSENUAL SEXUAL ACTS, READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION, pervy, sleazy, and foul mouthed joel. degradation, sexual favors, forced oral and piv, virgin reader, corruption, innocence, and daddy kinks featured. biiig ol' age gap (reader's age not mentioned other than "young" but i imagine her as 18-20 as she has a relatively immature attitude, imagining joel 50-55), this is not for everyone and that's okay. i'm not responsible for the content you consume.

a/n: i had some hormonal induced insanity and came up with this. i had a great time trying out a new pov for writing fic! enjoy him as much as i did, friends 🖤 and thanks @joelstummy for the amazing freaky beta work!

I’ll be the first person to admit now that what I’ve been doing is stupid. Dangerous. Idiotic. The list goes on. I can hear my father’s stern, militant voice in the back of my head, telling me as much. Except now he likely won’t get the chance to relish in it because I’m going to die here. Way out here where nobody will find my body, and I’ll be just another person that went missing in the QZ, never to be seen again. But this time, it’s not some sleazy FEDRA scheme and coverup or a smuggling deal gone wrong.

It’s utterly and completely my fault.

Sneaking out wasn’t meant to become a habit, but after the first few times, I lost the fear and adrenaline that had burned hot through my veins at those first steps of freedom. I craved it again, so I kept going further. And further. Away from civilization as I knew it, until the cluster of buildings known as the Quarantine Zone became a tiny speck in the distance. Out here was desolation, nothingness, only abandoned buildings to explore. The infected were another story, but I started to learn routes that helped me avoid encounters with them.

It helped clear my mind after a while, this newly found sense of adventure. All I’d ever known was a cage, a walled city that had become so mundane I felt my insides starting to rot from the listlessness of it all. My father was important - top in the rankings - I knew that, and it was all the more reason to keep me safely locked away while the city stirred with chatter of an uprising against FEDRA. 

He never bothered to check on me much, anyways, making my little forays quite easy. Once I’d persuaded enough people with ration cards, they’d shown me the tunnel leading to freedom. Well, that tunnel, then another, a ladder to climb back up to the surface, and only then could I go through a precarious hole in a chain link fence. That was the smuggler’s route, they said, an easy ticket to getting in and out without being noticed. 

I’d been abusing it, staying out for days at a time, never able to drink in enough of this quiet solitude that was of my own choosing, not my father’s. I couldn’t quite figure out what hole inside of me I was trying to fill, but I’d be damned if I stopped trying.

However, today seemed to be my last chance to try at all. His footsteps had been quiet - so quiet - approaching behind me. An old store, full of half decayed plushies, molded candies, and other adorable things from lives long put in the past, had called to me, distracted me. The arm around my throat, constricting, the other coming up to put a hand over my mouth. A dirty, putrid smell encompassing everything as I sputtered against him. This is it, I’d thought. What a waste.

I scream and fight against the strong hold he has on me, a nasty sneer right against my skin. “What’s some fresh meat like you doing waaaay out here, huh?” a dark voice rattles into my ear.

I scream behind his dirty palm in response, kicking my legs back at him. I should have learned more self defense, but who needs it when you’ve spent most of your life safely tucked away with your family name as your biggest protector?

“You smell good… real good…” The creep’s voice buzzes by me as he takes a deep breath in, making me shudder. One swift kick and I’m sure this is it, the one to knock him senseless and let me escape. He’s smart for how distracted he seems to be by my scent, and he’s one step ahead of me. My legs are kicked out from underneath me as I rear one back, and I fall to the ground, the man coming down with me to sit on my back, straddling my body in a fluid motion. He grips my hands behind my back, leaving me helpless in my fight, kicking and screaming. I’m ice and heat all at once, my body burning in a frozen blaze, my fight or flight quickly turning to fawn as his weight presses down on me.

“You can have anything in my backpack, anything! Please, let me go! I - I don’t want any trouble,” I choke out pathetically, hating how my voice comes out in shaky waves. This isn’t how to appeal to people like this, people who have lost their sense of humanity, evident by the way he’s now grinding himself down onto my jean clad asscheeks. 

A laugh comes out of him that would haunt me as evil incarnate for the rest of my days if I wasn’t so sure that I was going to die at the hands of this man after he was done with me. “We both know I don’t give a fuck about any damn backpack of yours. I don’t want any trouble either, sweet cheeks, I just think you’d have a lot of fun with me and my friends. But mostly me,” he replies with the hint of a wink in his voice. 

My stomach clenches, sickness rolling in that is only furthered as the man leans down, cloaking me with his large form. I can’t turn enough to see him, to even know what this violation of a man looks like, but his energy is beyond hideous as I catch a glimpse of his yellowing teeth in a grin before he pushes my head down to the cracked linoleum tiles. My hair tangled in his fingers, he holds me down hard, and I struggle to breathe as he crushes me beneath him.

“Now, are you gonna come easily, or do I need to do things the hard way? Either way is fine with me, for a fine piece of ass like this. In fact, I might prefer it the hard way, but we’d hate to ruin this pretty skin of yours, wouldn’t we?” He says slowly, pressing the cold blade of a knife to my throat.

“O-okay, okay,” I acquiesce, stopping my squirming, just needing a bit of room to breathe, my lungs heavy inside my chest. My panic only makes my chest tighter, even when the man leans back the tiniest bit. I had hoped that my sudden compliance would get that knife off my throat, but it hasn’t. “Just don’t hurt me… please…” I whimper.

He lets out a long, ragged sigh. “Afraid I can’t promise that.” 

I’ve never felt fear like this, such certainty that I was about to be ruined, my life as I know it changing without a chance to even look back. I squeeze my eyes shut and brace for it, for anything he’s about to do next, finally accepting that there isn’t any appealing to scummy men in a scummy world. But nothing comes except for a muffled crack ringing through the air, and then a thud as the entire weight of my adversary falls on top of me, crushing. Something warm has splattered on my skin, my face, then starts to coat my jacket, seeping through. I shake violently, begging my body to catch a full breath under the weight of him. 

Then as suddenly as it happened, it stops, the body yanked off of me and tossed to the side with ease. The deafening thud of his entire weight onto the ground is stark. I flip over and scramble backwards, grabbing the knife that had fallen from the man’s hand in his swift, final moment. Holding up a shaky hand, I grip the knife tightly, looking up to face a brutish, tall man with overgrown hair of chestnut and gray. A trim beard with the same coloring wraps around his tightly set jaw. He’s all wide shoulders, thick arms, broad chest, and my senses go on high alert again. His gun is practically still smoking as it hangs at his side, an active threat.

“Y’alright?” he drawls, thick and deep, echoing through the abandoned shop. One step closer to me has the knife practically flailing as I struggle to calm my hands, a strained hum alongside my shaky breathing the only sound I seem capable of making.

“Put that thing down,” he says calmly, almost exasperated. His stance slackens, one knee pushed out as he sizes me up. I’m likely the most miserable looking thing he’s seen in a while, I’m sure. “You’re harmless.”

“H-how do I know you’re not with him?” I blurt out.

My gruff savior lifts his brows incredulously. “That guy?” he asks, motioning impatiently to the dead body only a foot away. “Think I’d be puttin’ a bullet right in his skull if he was my best buddy?”

My eyes dance over him as I think. He has a point, and he did just save me from whatever debauched things that stranger’s mind had been conjuring up.

“Y-yeah, you have a point,” I finally say. He steps closer, and this time, I let him, putting the knife down. He motions with an authoritarian air for me to push it away, and I obey immediately, flinging it across the room. 

“Poor fucker died with a hard on, didn’t he?” The man muses as his boots thud on the way over to the body, kicking it slightly as if to check, letting it roll back before turning his attention on me. “Now, are you usually this stupid, comin’ into hunter territory, or what?” he asks, reaching a hand down to me, presumably to help me up.

“I didn’t know…” I mumble, letting his hand hang there. He doesn’t snatch it back right away, although I can tell he wants to, that he’s already beyond exasperated by his day and the last thing he’d wanted was a damsel in distress like me. I hate that he’s proving all the things I’d been trying to disprove about myself by coming out on these solo trips into the great, big outside. I’m weak. Dependent. Needy. It makes my skin crawl with self loathing and frustration.

“Didn’t know, huh? So just clueless, then?” the man spits out, staring down at me with darkened eyes that make me turn my head away in shame. At my sullen silence, he seems to soften a little. “I’m Joel,” he says, an offering to go along with his outstretched hand.

I sigh, taking it and telling him my own name. I’m up on my feet, dusting myself off and looking at him shyly now. I don’t know what people are supposed to say when someone saves their life, so I just mumble, “Thank you.”

Joel snorts, nodding in acknowledgment as he crouches to pat down the body, seeming to come up short of anything interesting. “Don’t thank me yet,” he says, standing back to his full, towering height, glancing around with sharp eyes. “We should move.”

I might be as stupid as he says, because I wordlessly start to follow him towards the door. His hand stretches out behind him, open and inviting me in as he checks outside the door with a careful peek, his gun held tightly in the other. I stare down at it in disbelief. “C’mon, I don’t bite,” he sighs, that perpetual vexation in his tone again as he twitches his brows at me. “Need you close by. An’ it seems you have a tendency to go where you shouldn’t.”

My cheeks grow hot at the harsh truth of it, and I grasp his hand without any further objections, marveling for a moment at the way it envelops mine. All calloused and hard, mine soft and unused for labor of any kind. 

“I’ve got a safehouse not too far from here.”

“A safehouse?”

“It’s already gettin’ dark. There ain’t no way we’re making it back to the QZ today, princess,” he retorts quickly, the pet name mocking on his tongue.

“How’d you know?” I ask softly, disappointment pressing in on my shoulders.

He chuckles out more of a snort, pulling me around a bend, slowly leaving behind the dangerous territory that I’d unknowingly encroached on. “You’re a FEDRA princess if I’ve ever seen one,” he tells me, and my heart sinks that I was so easy to read. I’d seen how capable this man Joel was, but damn was he was astute, more than I’d given him credit for. 

I chew at my lip. “Fair enough,” I mumble under my breath, letting him take his well earned win. The longer I hang onto Joel’s hand, letting him expertly weave me through the barren streets, the safer I start to feel. He knows where he’s going, a practiced route he’s taken countless times, and it hits me then that this man is a smuggler. He has to be.

“Are you a smuggler?” I ask pointedly. “I’ve heard that people like that come in and out of the QZ.”

Joel falters for just a brief second, giving me a wily grin. “Look who’s readin’ who now,” he says with a dry chuckle. “Ain’t gonna run and tell your daddy, are you?”

I shake my head, pressing my lips together in a smile. “I can keep a secret.” In fact, I like keeping secrets from my father, hence the sneaking out, so Joel can count on me to never rat him out.

His amused grin in response lights a little flame akin to friendship inside of me. This grumpy old bastard could smile after all. “Just through here,” he says, letting the smile drop, taking a sharp left down a street just as a sprinkle of rain starts to fall on us. It’s a less urban area - more like a neighborhood - sprouted with apartment buildings and abandoned, vine covered cars. It’s my favorite thing about all the exploration I’ve been doing, seeing the way nature can reclaim anything and make it her own. 

The cracked street below us makes me tread carefully, lagging behind as Joel’s hand tugs me along urgently. We turn down an alley, Joel whipping his head left to right before dragging me behind him, finally dropping my hand to open a door that leads right into a tiny lobby and a stairwell. He runs a hand through his damp hair, slicking it back some - a rather handsome look for him, now that I’m thinking about it. I try to ignore that thought as his voice booms through the empty room.

“Up,” he commands, gripping my hand again and leading us up the stairs. 

My stomach sinks a little when he takes out a key, unlocking a padlock on one of the apartments numbered 405 and pushing the old, chipped door inwards. I have no reason not to trust Joel, he saved my life afterall, but I can’t shake the nerves I feel from being in an unfamiliar place with an unfamiliar man. It’s quiet here, likely nobody in the vicinity but the two of us.

“Home sweet home,” he grunts out, dropping his backpack and gun holster near the door and shrugging off his damp jacket, leaving him in a plain tee shirt that hugs his muscular frame. It’s a small, cramped apartment with a living room and kitchen directly next to it, a little window cut into the wall, peering in on the living room from above the stove. It looks as if it’s left exactly as it was years ago, full of furniture and clutter, only a vessel for Joel to use without making it his own at all. I peer past to see a small hallway I can only assume leads to a bedroom and bathroom.

“Know it ain’t the palace you’re probably used to, but we’ll be safe an’ dry here,” he say, and I roll my eyes behind his back. If Joel thinks that I live in a palace, he’s clearly misunderstood the state that the QZ is in. My father’s house is spacious, sure, but it’s just as dilapidated as the rest of the city. The only difference is the level of protection afforded to our homes.

He ambles into the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets with a clatter, then comes back moments later with an open can of beans and two forks. I’m still standing in the entryway, unsure of what to do with myself.

“Hungry?” he asks gruffly, and I shake my head, wide eyed. I’d lost my appetite the minute that man had grabbed me earlier, and I couldn’t seem to get it back. Joel shrugs, digging in with a messy forkful of from the can. “Your funeral,” he says, chewing.

Joel sinks down onto the couch with a tiny groan, setting down the can on the side table next to his armrest, giving the other cushion an expectant look. “Well, you gonna sit your ass on down an’ tell me why the hell I had to save it today, or what? Why the hell you’re wanderin’ around like it’s a free for all out there?”

I flinch slightly at his harsh tone, but gingerly step my way into the room, unzipping my jacket and shedding it. For the chill outside, the temperature inside the apartment is more comfortable than I’d expect, my skin welcoming the change. Joel eyes my thin tee shirt, and I feel a flash of heat sweep my skin before I feel the prickle of goosebumps, knowing my nipples are poking through the fabric. His eyes catch there before he promptly averts them.

I sit precariously next to Joel on the loveseat, pressed as far away as I can from him, not wanting to cramp his personal space. But he seems to have no problem with that anyways, his legs spread wide open in a comfortable stance, leaned back against the cushions. He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes shut for a moment as he awaits my answer. 

“I was… exploring,” I say simply, cringing at how ridiculous it sounds coming out of my mouth. Who leaves perfect safety to wander around in a dangerous world on purpose? For no other reason than curiosity and a sudden, rebellious sense of defiance?

His eyes snap open, head pulling up from the couch, turning my way. “Explorin’…” He mulls on the word, slowly licking his lips before pursing them. “You’re tellin’ me I had to save a FEDRA brat today ‘cause she was explorin’? You really are stupid. ‘Course you are, look how young y’are. Look how fuckin’... sheltered.” Joel throws his hands up, landing them on his thighs with a soft thud, sighing. “Can’t even blame ya.”

I pluck up every bit of courage I have, glaring at him with narrowed eyes. “Look, it was really nice of you to save me and everything, and I do thank you for it. I’m sorry if I messed up whatever… smuggling stuff you had going on today, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me… stupid.” The last word is quiet, mousy, and I turn my head down, eyes shining with unshed tears that I silently curse myself for. My father’s voice rings through my head - you stupid girl! - making me shudder.

Joel sucks at his teeth. “Hit a nerve, I see,” he says passively. “Alright, I’m sorry kiddo. I just mean, you’re puttin’ yourself at risk doin’ what you’re doin’, and it ain’t a smart idea. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I sigh out, relaxing a little. “I just needed to get away.”

“From your dear old daddy?” he teases, picking up the can, shoveling several more bites into his mouth. I go silent, picking at a thread on the couch rather than answer him. “Ah, another nerve, I see. Daddy issues. Could’ve guessed that one.”

“I don’t have -”

“Sweetheart…” Joel interrupts, looking at me from under his brows, pulling his lip between his teeth, seeming to look at me in a fresh light. It sends my skin tingling, the way he eyes me, a glint in his stare. It seems to prove his point, the way a pet name from a middle aged man seems to immobilize me against my will. I want to slap the smug look off his face, but I have no grounds to do so, only grumbling quietly with my cheeks blazing in embarrassment. A prickle of something else works its way deep into my belly, something warm at how his scrutinizing eyes flick over my body, the lines in his face set, showing his age, his experience. 

“Take a piece of advice from a man probably as old as your daddy, then. Trust me when I say that outside those walls ain’t the place to find what you’re lookin’ for. The sooner you let go of that notion, the better off you’ll be.” 

Frustration blooms hot in my chest, overpowering whatever the hell that sudden, unwanted feeling was. I’m tired of people dictating what I can and can’t do, what I’m capable of. “People do it all the time - smugglers - you would know,” I retort. “I’ve been doing it for months. Never had a problem until today. It was just some bad luck.”

“Bad luck? Really? You’d be that man’s newest little cock sleeve if it weren’t for me savin’ your ass,” Joel growls, standing up off the couch. I wince at his vulgar language, the picture it paints in my mind of what life might have been like if Joel hadn’t happened to be in the right place at the right time.

“I - I know - I’m sorry,” I blurt out, feeling my hands start to go shaky. “Thank you, Joel, I really - I really do owe you. Everything.”

“Like I said, don’t thank me yet.” He steps over so that he’s in front of me, using his boot to part my legs, scooting them apart and standing between them. “Think I did all this out of the kindness of my heart, did you? Didn’t think that maybe I was after the same damn thing as buddy boy earlier?”

I’m like a fish out of water, the way my lips move with no sound coming out. “Joel…” I breathe out in warning, in questioning. I see his arms strain in his t-shirt, hands flexing open and closed.

“I can’t say the thought ain’t crossin’ my mind now. You are mighty pretty. And you do owe me a favor. One big ol’ gigantic favor, for savin’ your backside.” He brushes his fingers along his jeans, palming his crotch for a brief second before leaning forward, caging me in on the couch with hands on either side of me, pressing into the cushions. My heart hammers in my chest so loud I expect Joel can hear it, can feel the fear taking hold of me. He bares his teeth above me like a wild animal, and now I’m certain he can smell my fear too, that he thrives on it. 

“You know what? Maybe you were bound to find what you were lookin’ for outside those walls. Maybe that’s what you needed, is it? Couldn’t find any love from daddy back home, so you wanted to find someone to turn you into their own personal little play thing. Poor baby just needed some attention, did she? Sad, really.”

My hands tremble, my words lost as I can only breathe in shaky little breaths, shaking my head violently. How can this god forsaken day keep getting worse? 

“Please -” I mumble out, bringing a jittery hand up to my mouth. Joel slaps it away, gripping my chin harshly at first, inspecting me before his thumb brushes over my bottom lip. I’d think it was gentle, caring, even, if not for the nasty look spreading across his face, the grin that darkens it along with his eyes.

“Time to put this pretty thing to better use and show how grateful you are to ol’ daddy Joel,” he says, using his free hand to deftly unbuckle his belt, the jangling sound like a death knell, making my throat go dry. “Promise I’ll be much better than he would’ve been earlier. People say I’m… a generous lover.” His drawl is slow and calculated, voice deep with lust, the sly smirk turning to a triumphant grin as he chuckles, amusing himself.

He grips the top of my head, pushing me to slide down the couch cushions into a slump as I struggle, powerless against a man of his strength. He positions himself higher up to bring the giant denim bulge right in my view. I wince, trying to turn my head away as his zipper comes undone, his hand grasping deep into the fly of his jeans, yanking his cock out. When it springs free, I gasp as he lets it slap me in the face. Hot, throbbing, and massive, leaking a shiny bead of precum that had ended up somewhere on my cheek. I sit stunned and held in place by his rough hand. 

The cold hard fact hits me that this is the first time I’m ever going to experience intimacy of any kind. Hell, I’ve only had one kiss before, and it was when I was ten years old, with a boy belonging to one of my father’s friends, a name I can’t even remember now. The first penis I’m ever seeing is right here, right now, in a context I have had zero control over. It’s thicker than I’d imagined one could be, softer too as I look at the skin of it. Veins run along the sides and bottom, all leading up to an imposing, angry pink head at the tip, practically bursting as it awaits me. It’s magnificent and terrifying at the same time, nothing like what I’d expected based on the half-assed health classes provided by schooling in the QZ. Sex has always had a shroud of mystery for me, and I never imagined that all those secrets, long awaited, would be uncovered like this. A dingy bedroom, a man likely almost three times my age, and me as an unwilling participant. Desperation swiftly grips my chest as I realize I actually have no clue what goes on behind closed doors between two people, and I have a feeling I’m about to find out in the crudest of ways.

The fearful innocence I know is about to be stolen from me causes tears to sting at my eyes, fat little droplets that instantly start to roll down my cheeks, leaking onto Joel’s large fingers still gripped around my chin. I start to struggle, my body seeming to catch up with my mind, loud warning sirens of DANGER! DANGER! finally blaring out in a panic. When I squirm, Joel plants one of his knees into my body, keeping himself balanced while still being able to hold me down. 

“Don’t cry now, honey, it’ll only make him harder.” He sneers as he strokes his cock, slapping the head against my closed lips a few times. He wrenches my jaw down, forcing it open. “Nice ‘n wide for this big boy, there we go,” he says, not waiting a moment longer to barge his cock past the opening while he has it. 

He groans loudly as he shoves several inches in right from the get go, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head. The hand that had been holding my jaw presses in on my shoulder, holding me in place. I’d have nowhere to go, anyways, with his knee on my thighs, his entire body caging me in, the cushions giving me no leeway to the way his cock is forcefully intruding, inch by inch down my throat. The taste is all consuming - a little salty, a little ripe, tasting like days of Joel’s old sweat, but it’s not completely bad, not what I’d have expected. It’s heady in a strange way, clouding my mind as I try to cope with the fullness in my mouth. 

The next moment I sputter, my eyes popping open wide, flooded with tears as he hits the back of my throat. I try to gasp for air and I find that I can’t. This is torture of some form, it must be. Full panic follows, where I try to move, but every avenue is pinned down in some way by Joel’s massive body. I weakly flap at him with my hands but it barely even deters him from rocking his hips in and out, choking me again on the thrust inwards as the back of my throat tightens, gagging around his thick girth. 

“Open up, relax your goddamn throat,” Joel hisses at me, keeping his cock pressed fully to the back of my throat, constricting any airflow I was hoping to have. I finally breathe shakily out of my nose when he pulls back just enough, only to slide it in slowly, his eyes carefully watching me. I glance up for the first time at him from below, hoping to find any shred of humanity he might have for me, but I’m met with an icy, dark gaze clouded with lust, power. 

“Gonna fuck your face now, like the dumb little slut you are. This is what stupid girls get for wanderin’ around by themselves. This is what they ask for.” He punctuates the last words with a sharp thrust inwards, my entire body convulsing with the gag I sputter out around him, drool pooling around my stretched lips. I would whimper if I could, if I even had the air to do so. 

Joel is relentless for the next few moments, rapid thrusts in and out of my mouth, my head held conveniently in place against the couch cushions for him. He groans deeply, his pleasure evident while I’m just trying to get my next breath in. I time them expertly, learning as I go, letting him continue to take from me to gain his own pleasure. 

“That’s it, that’s right, you’re turnin’ into quite the good girl,” Joel mutters above me, rolling his hips with vigor and making me gag again. I can feel drool dribbling down my chin, my neck, landing on my chest, and it makes me feel ashamed, embarrassed, and a twinge of something else. I can’t tell as Joel grunts, pumping himself in and out of my gruesomely contorted jaw, if the fact that it’s something even remotely sexual has me feeling things I shouldn’t. My cheeks burn hot as my eyes continue to water - how much of it is crying and how much of it is just my body’s response to him hitting the back of my throat, I don’t know.

Then he surprises me by slowing down, languid strokes of his cock in and out with sloppy sounds, a soft hand landing on my head, stroking before bundling my hair in his fist tightly. “Knew you’d have such a filthy little mouth for daddy,” he coos, rolling his hips forward a little further, touching the back of my throat with his cock. 

My body spasms a little when he keeps pushing, grumbling quiet groans of approval. My eyes squeeze shut, leaking out an onslaught of tears. I don’t want to see the aftermath if it ends up that it’s one gag too many and the inevitable happens. But to my surprise, he keeps slipping down, intruding on my throat. I try to keep my trembling body still, wanting to keep my throat relaxed, terrified of what might happen if I fight this. Can a person die this way? Could I really choke to death on this man’s dick? 

“Jesus fuck. Lord have fuckin’ mercy…” Joel breathes out as he pushes even further. “Swallowin’ him down, aren’t ya? Feel me right in here, I bet.” I flinch when he touches his hand to the column of my throat, wrapping his fingers softly around the flesh. When he starts to retreat, the choking is back in a second, but Joel holds me by the throat, keeping my neck craned back, returning to the brutal way he’d been abusing my mouth. I groan and sputter and try to cough through all of it, my mouth stuffed full over and over again before I can get a breath in. 

He’s relentless, and then it stops all at once, his cock popping out from between my lips with a wet, lewd sound. A stream of drool follows, a gush that dribbles down onto my already soaked shirt, and I cough violently, my hands flailing to clutch at my chest. 

As soon as the pressure of Joel’s body lifts off of me, I’m scrambling to somewhere, anywhere else, my limbs stiff and achy, my jaw panging with a soreness I’ve never felt before. He stands in front of me, one hand shooting out to grab the collar of my shirt before I can even get fully off the couch, pulling me close.

“Does it look like you’re done showin’ your gratitude yet?” he growls out, gripping the back of my head and forcing me to look down at his cock, still standing at full attention, shiny and dripping with saliva. I swallow hard, the lump painful on the way down. Joel shakes my head for me, the burn at my scalp making me wince. He presses his hips flush with mine, forcing his erection against my thigh before slipping it between them. He leans in close, hot breath ghosting over my face before his lips brush mine.

“You do make a pretty cocksleeve, y’know. Suckin’ cock like a cheap whore, wonder if you take it the same way in your cunt.”

I whimper, shaking my head, the tears non-stop as they roll down my cheeks. “Please… don’t. You don’t have to do this…”

Joel scoffs. “If I put my hand down your pants to that pretty little snatch, tell me I wouldn’t find you wet right now.” He punctuates the words with a sharp pull on my scalp. I cry out, lip quivering, trying to shake my head. “Don’t lie t’me after I’ve been so, so generous t’you today.”

I’m spinning around, a dizzying sensation, Joel’s strong bicep brought across my chest as his other hand delves below my waistline, plunging deep, right to my cotton panties, bypassing the waistband of those, too. Without care, without any sense of boundaries, his fingers explore, slipping through my sensitive slit with ease. I yelp, squirming at the intrusion, and Joel’s deep chuckle behind me confirms what I already knew, what I was beyond confused by.

“Thought so,” he says gruffly, then he cups my entire mound, giving an almost comforting sensation, holding his hand tightly pressed to it. “Nothin’ to be upset about, we’re just havin’ a little fun, payin’ off your debt to dear ol’ Joel, okay?”

I shake my head. “I - I shouldn't be here… it shouldn’t be like this,” I whisper in a cracking voice, hanging my head low as the tears just keep coming, damn them. 

Joel’s fingers start to move slowly, just starting with one, stroking gently up my lips, spreading my slickness around. I’m surprised that it feels good, a pleasant little tingle zipping right to my core that I quickly lament, hating myself for it. “What shouldn’t be like this, hm? That you shouldn’t like my cock down your throat? It’s perfectly natural, doll,” he says, somehow soft and condescending in the same breath.

“A-all of this,” I whimper, “Please, j-just let me go. I w-won’t say anything, I won’t do anything. I just…”

Joel quietly shushes me, letting his finger do the talking for a moment. It drags up to my clit, rubbing tiny, enticing little circles. I bite my lip hard, enough to taste copper, trying to suppress the moan climbing its way up from my chest. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay that it feels good. It’s ‘sposed to. Good little sluts like you don’t know any better, don’t care what it is that’s gettin’ their panties wet. Desperate,” he growls, fingers sliding through the slick mess that’s now drooling onto the cotton. “Just relax, let it happen…” I feel his breath, hot on my ear, before he nibbles, biting down hard on the earlobe, tugging it with his teeth. It bursts out, the whimpering moan I’d been holding back, just as he pinches my clit at the same time as the bite.

He laughs. He has the nerve to laugh and it sends a shiver down my spine, my brain muddled and confused and turned on by the eroticism at play here. He soothes me by nuzzling my neck, taking a long, deep breath in. I squirm as Joel’s hand retreats, and I wonder for just a moment, a brief, all consuming moment, if maybe he’s seen reason. When his fingers find the buttons of my jeans, my heart plummets to depths previously unknown as he unbuttons them, pulling the zipper down slowly, the only sound in the room his harsh breathing right on my neck.

“Please, I gave you what you want already,” I beg once more, feeling it fall on deaf ears as Joel tugs my jeans down, revealing my pink cotton panties. They’re my favorite pair - were my favorite pair - a rare find in a world like this. Pretty pale pink with a nice lacy trim and a little bow at the front. Only now, they’d belong to Joel.

Joel clicks his tongue in approval of the sight, pulling his head back to peer at my underwear from the back before his hand grips my ass, jiggling it roughly. “Oh, you’re jus’not getting it, are you? You feel this?” he asks angrily, letting me feel the hard length of his cock pressed to my ass cheeks, threatening to slip between my thighs. “This means you didn’t give me nearly half of what I want yet. He’s still achin’ for ya, princess.” 

I grit my teeth, hating the pet name, the way he’s using who I am to mock me. It’s a low blow. I hated everything to do with being associated with my father - I knew he wasn’t a good man - and I hated most that it was so obvious to a stranger which echelon of society I belonged to. If I was so important, where were they now, huh? I want to scream those words at him, but instead I just feel my legs tremble underneath me, my knees feeling like jelly as they almost give out on me.

“Please!” I struggle against his hold, but it only makes him grip my ass tighter, hard enough to bruise. “I-I’m a virgin,” I suddenly squeak out, unsure of why I say it other than some last ditch effort to deter him. My heart pounds as he stills, dead silent with his hand grasping my ass like it’s his next meal, like he owns it. 

“Well ain’t it my lucky day. Shit, that’s why you were sputterin’ all over my damn cock, ain’t it?” he says as the epiphany dawns on him, laughing. My cheeks blaze hotter and hotter, hating that I’m even embarrassed at my lack of experience and skills, like I have some sick need to impress him. He notices my tension, my head hanging low as I cry new tears, and says, “Hey, hey, nothin’ to be ashamed for. In fact…” His hand fists in my underwear, tight and unrelenting. I feel his cock press against my ass again, harder than ever before it slips between my thighs. “Makes me awful excited,” he purrs, bringing his mouth to my ear again.

I only give him a timid whimper in reply, squeezing my eyes shut as I realize there is nothing I can do to stop this man. He thinks I’m a cheap whore, and he loves it. I’m a pure virgin, and he loves it even more.

He squeezes me tighter to his chest, my back starting to sweat through my thin tee shirt. “The hell were you savin’ yourself for anyways? Marriage? A sweet pussy like this?” At my silence, he cups my pussy hard, letting the dampness of my underwear soak into his palm. “Answer me!” he barks out.

“I - I wasn’t! I don’t know!” I cry out, trembling.

“Well,” he says, fisting my panties again, starting to pull them down. “M’honored you’d let me be your first, sweetheart,” he drawls, and I nearly scream at the insinuation. I’m not letting him do anything. 

I start to put up more of a fight, useless against his thick arms holding me so tightly. Cool air touches my ass and the space between my thighs as he manages to shimmy my panties further down even in my struggle. I clamp my legs shut in defiance, roaring out a strained grunt as I keep trying to squirm out of his grasp. He huffs in anger, trying to subdue my writhing body before he pushes it towards the couch. I land hard, banging my knee on the hard edge that supports the cushion, wincing and trying to catch my breath. I’m practically in position for him already, ass pressed out towards him, on my hands and knees.

“Gonna make me do things the hard way, are you?” He scowls, his free hand fisting in my hair again, pulling me close.  His breath is hot over my shoulder, the sensation vile against the skin of my cheek, stained with tears. “Been too long since I found a pretty virgin like you. An’ ruinin’ this perfect, pure little cunt is jus’ the cherry on top of a perfect day f’me.” 

I feel his hard cock twitch against me, a reminder of what’s to come. The movements are quick for how bulky Joel’s body is, let alone his age, as he exchanges the hold across my chest for my wrists, bundling them behind my back. I cry out at the strain, the awkward angle he’d twisted them to, fighting him again until a hard smack lands on my ass. I scream through gritted teeth, not giving up the fight, but another thwap! rings out through the apartment, making me falter. My tender flesh screams at me in agony when he lands another spank, even harder this time, then another, until I’m crying unrelenting, fat tears.

With me rendered motionless, Joel presses down, bending me over, my balance tricky with my hands behind my back. My face nearly touches the couch, but I’m precariously held up by the wrists, the strain already making them ache. The warmth dripping between my thighs betrays me as my ass stings in residual little pulses, so raw and sore but spreading a pleasure through me that I’ve never known before. 

I don’t have time to dwell on it before Joel is grasping one hand on my hip, notching himself at my entrance. “Promise you’re gonna like this, that you’ll never be able to think of anyone else’s cock but daddy Joel’s,” he spews gruffly in my ear before he thrusts hard, one swift motion to bury himself inside of me. I scream out, the searing pain between my thighs making me wonder if I’m being split open for good, if it’s possible that some things are just too big to fit in certain places of the body. 

“Fuuuuuuck,” Joel hisses through his teeth, making the tiniest thrusting motions to ensure he’s buried deep. Every movement pierces me with a new sting as my body desperately tries to adjust, to accommodate the horrible, overwhelming intrusion. “You were not kiddin’, sweetheart. Tightest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever been in.”

I sob, unable to speak, unable to move as Joel thrusts brutally from the get go, his hips snapping with force, crashing into mine hard enough to bruise. The lewd sounds we make disgust me, because I know I’m part of those sounds, my body enjoying the filthy things he’s saying, the way he’s taking me without remorse. He pulls himself out, clicking his tongue as he peers down between our bodies. “Christ, you are one sexy little bird. Poor little virgin bleedin’ on daddy’s cock.”

The thought horrifies me, making my stomach turn. “Please,” I cry out, my body rocking with the motions as he starts to fuck me again, the strain on my wrists as Joel uses them to help thrust himself inside of me starting to gnaw deeper into them. I’m like a ragdoll with the way he’s jerking me by my wrists, my body having no choice but to flail in time with the movements so that he can press himself deep on each cruel thrust inwards.

“You want more? You beggin’ already?” Joel grunts between his heavy breaths, sounding so cocky it makes me want to spin around and punch him. I settle for gritting my teeth instead, feeling my body slowly but surely melding into his. When Joel presses me down further, forcing an arch in my back, I whimper when his cock hits something sensitive, deep, primal. Fuck, is it something. 

“Oh, that’s it. We got her now, don’t we?” he says from above, continuing to stroke his cock along that spot repeatedly. I feel myself losing my will to fight, hating the pleasure but feeling myself lean into it slightly, my hips pressing back to meet his nearly against my will. “You ever come before, sweetheart?” He leans in a little closer to ask the question, the pistoning of his hips slowing the slightest bit.

I refuse to answer, tears pooling in my eyes. I don’t want him to take this from me, I don’t want him to know anything about me. He jerks my wrists at the same time he slams his hips into me, and I whimper loudly, feeling the way he’s surely bruising my insides. 

“If you ain’t figured it out yet, the rules are that you answer me when I’m askin’ you a question if you know what’s good for ya,” he spits out, and I shake my head, letting it hang limply.

“Use your words. Say ‘no, daddy’,”  he says with sinister condescension, stroking his own ego.

“N-no… daddy…” I say, my tongue revolting against the words, bile climbing up my throat.

He moves his hand to my head, stroking carefully and softly. “Oh, that’s a shame. That’s a daaaamn shame. All pent up, y’are. But daddy will make it all better.” He sounds deranged, sick, like he truly believes that I’m thankful to him for what he’s doing to me. I can’t answer, my mouth gaping open just as he releases my wrists, letting me fall to the couch with a thud. My open mouth gets a mouthful of the cushions, making me sick over the fact that it’s probably full of god knows what due to its age and whatever things Joel seems to get up to in this apartment of his.

I blink as Joel grips tightly at my hips, wondering why he suddenly trusts my hands to be free, when it happens. He thrusts into that spot again, harsh and unforgiving, and I nearly see stars behind my eyes as the head of his cock punches against things I didn’t even know were there. That’s why. I’m incapacitated at this angle, brutally forced to enjoy the pleasure washing over my body as Joel takes from me, actually giving in return this time.

I bite my tongue hard, not wanting to give him any satisfaction for the tiny moans that are growing louder in my throat, desperate to be let out.

“Let me hear you, princess. Daddy doesn’t do with quiet girls. I can feel you clampin’ down on my cock, know you’re lovin’ how I use you up like you were meant for it.”

I shake my head in protest, but a strangled sound escapes past my tight lips when Joel slams into me harder than he has yet, puffing hard as he fucks me like a greedy animal. He chuckles through heavy breaths, little whispers of that’s it, come on, take it, flow freely from his nasty mouth. 

I feel myself slip away, further gone from reality as the warmth spreads from my pelvis into my belly, coiling tight. Everything tingles, set on fire, the spot where Joel handles my hips with his fat fingers practically burning with a constant mix of pleasure and pain. I cry out when Joel’s cock pulls that feeling out from deep inside of me again, half a sob and half a moan as it crescendos, waves of pleasure crashing over me.

Joel’s grunts of approval, so brutish and debauched, sends a new wave of arousal through me. I tremble, eyes squeezed shut with my body completely out of my control, taken over by this boundless bliss. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before: heavenly warmth worlds above any of the pleasures I’ve known. This had to be what Joel was referring to, urging me towards, telling me he wanted to make me come. This had to be what I was missing out on all these years, hiding myself away. Was this the reason sex was so coveted, so sought after? Was this feeling… the reason he’s doing what he is to me right now?  

It feels like it’s never ending, my body so rigid as it spasms yet pliant as he fucks into me harder and harder. I loathe the noises I’m making that intermingle with his as I squeeze my eyes shut, enjoying it.

“Fuck, fuck - that’s it - f-fuck knew you’d love it. Come on my cock, baby, that’s right.” Joel’s string of praises reach my ears as I come down from my high, limp and yielding to whatever it is he wants to do to me now. I have no fight - my bones turned to jelly, my body sore all over, my throat scratchy from the way he’d assaulted it earlier. I only have it in me to give the rest of myself over, whether I like it or not. 

“S-so fuckin’ tight, lettin’ me take your virginity like a good little whore,” he punches out, pounding into my sensitive cunt like it’s saving his soul, like it’s the only thing he could ever care about. I’m on the precipice of coming again, my nerves still frayed and on edge from the last one. A smaller but still powerful climax takes over, my body shuddering and tight, milking every last second of the pleasure. 

“Gonna blow my load into this pure little pussy, make it mine - fuck - gonna fill you up like the cocksleeve you are. P-probably never want to be without my fuckin’ load drippin’ out of you again. I-I’m close, fuck -” Joel rambles as he ruts his hips deep, one final thrust and a grunt, and I feel him stall, pulsing into me. 

It’s all suddenly very still, an eerie quiet settling over the room. My entire body burns hot, the only thing keeping me from collapsing is Joel’s hands still anchored on my hips as he leaves his cock inside of me, plugging me up. I want to cry again at the sudden, overwhelming shame I feel, but I can’t give him the satisfaction. I can’t.

Joel pats my ass a few times, pulling out. I tremble hard, falling forward onto the couch without his hold, instantly curling in on myself. I resent the way I’d noticed how empty I felt the second he was gone, how cold my body was without his warmth pressed into it. I dare to peer up at the sick man who stands above me, catching his breath, watching just as the last bit of his softening cock gets tucked back into his jeans. He swipes a hand across his forehead, gathering sweat, staring down at me with a darkened expression, grinning cockily.

When he plops down on the couch next to me, picking up the can of beans he’d been eating before, my mouth hangs open in surprise at how casual he’s acting. I watch his face shine with sweat, his breathing still labored, but everything else about his attitude would indicate he didn’t just force himself on me. 

I try to keep my expression neutral for my own safety as I feel something leak out of me, not even wanting to give him the smug satisfaction of having to confirm my suspicions about what it is. I do my best to position my body so he can’t see between my legs as I try to pull my underwear up from where they sit near my knees, my jeans following. Joel only gives me a knowing glance as he takes a bite, conscious of the fact that a part of him sits inside my now soiled underwear, and a part of me now sits inside of his soul. 

He shoves the can my way and I shrink back at his sudden motion, not taking it from him. “Eat. I ain’t havin’ you all weak and despondent for the next time.”

I feel my heart sink down past my ass, my stomach plummeting along with it as nausea overtakes me, a dizzying sensation clouding my vision. He couldn’t have said what I think he did. I - I’d paid my debt, whatever it was he thought I owed him for saving me when I didn’t even ask him to. For saving me and then doing exactly what that man had planned to do anyways under the guise of a caring, noble rescuer.

“N-next time…?” I manage to make my mouth move, my throat to produce a sound, pushing the question out in a voice that doesn’t sound like my own.

“Know you said not to call you stupid but my house, my rules, an’ sweetheart…” He looks at me under his raised, expectant brows. “My stupid, stupid girl. Did you really think that would be enough? That I��d get an opportunity every man dreams of - an untouched, perfect pussy like yours, to keep all for m’self, and throw it all away?” He’s creeping closer as he speaks, shrouding me on the couch with his huge frame, caging in where I lay, my body wound as tightly as it can to itself to block whatever he’s thinking of doing next. “Now you don’t think daddy is that dumb to let you go knowin’ all that, do you?”

I sit stunned silent underneath him, wide eyes fixed in a tortured gaze on his rugged face, but his hand squeezing my thigh is warning enough for me to shake my head, stuttering out an answer. “N-no. No…” I whisper. 

Two approving pats on my cheek send Joel slinking back slightly, his dark, unhinged eyes staring holes into me as they roam over my body. Despite nothing even visible - my chest hidden underneath my arms and legs clamped tightly - I feel violated, objectified. 

Terror rips through my chest as reality settles in slowly but surely. I look at the man I’d trusted once, who’d shown himself to be a friend, or at the least an ally, currently feasting his eyes on me like I’m a product. Which now, I suppose I am. A whore. His whore.

“Now,” he says, licking his lips, that hungry gaze already returning, a bulge appearing in his jeans and stretching the fabric. “All I’ve got to do is decide just how long I’ll keep ya for.”

dividers by @/saradika-graphics!

[nemo-writes]

⋆˚࿔ ⋆˚࿔ 𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐞 ; 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝜗𝜚˚⋆𝜗𝜚˚⋆

↣ pack!tf141 x witch!reader

↣ chapter summary; finally awake, the pack must face the consequences of their unraveling—and the distance growing between them and the one they love the most.

★ warnings; memory loss, slight non-con elements, violence

☆ story masterlist

Ghost jolted awake, his heart pounding and skin damp with sweat, his whole body aching with the telltale pain of staying too long in his wraith form. His mask is gone and he’s drenched in sweat, the sheets tangled around him, as if he’d been thrashing in his sleep. As he blinked away the haze, he recognized the dim, familiar space of his own room—the one he reserved for moments when he needed to be alone, away from the pack.

“Easy there.” Gaz’s voice cuts through the silence, weary but grounded. He’s sitting in a chair by his side, leaning forward with a flask in hand, his face lined with exhaustion. He looks a mess, his usual spark dampened by something deeper, something heavy.

"Drink this," he murmurs, pressing the flask toward him. The bitter, herbal scent fills Ghost's nose, and he recoils. It’s not your tonic—the one you tailored just for him—but something improvised. The smell is close enough, familiar in a way that unsettles him further. Still he takes the flask, grimacing as he gulps down the harsh liquid in one go. It burns down his throat, sending a faint warmth through his limbs, dulling the ache, but only slightly.

“This isn’t the real thing,” he mutters, passing the flask back.

“It’s what we’ve got,” Gaz replies, a hint of dry bitterness in his voice. “Better than nothing.”

For a moment, silence fills the room, thick and stagnant. Frustration claws at Ghost, his mind churning with broken memories, fragments of something he can’t fully grasp. He clenches his fists, the memories slipping through his mind like sand.

“Talk to me,” he finally says, voice low and tight. “What’s been happening? Everything’s blurred, like I’ve been… trapped in a dream.” His eyes flash with frustration, sharp and intense.

Gaz looks away, rubbing the back of his neck as he struggles to find the words. He inhales deeply, the silence stretching before he finally speaks, his voice low and tired. “You… we’ve been off, mate. The whole pack has. Lost, distracted, like we’ve been… obsessed.” He laughs bitterly, as if the word doesn’t quite cover it. “You especially.”

“Leah,” Ghost breathes out, the name slipping past his lips as his hands clenched into fists, his mind swimming with half-formed images of her—her face, her touch, her scent. But it’s all fractured and wrong, impossible to hold onto.

“How long?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper. “How long have we been… like this?”

Gaz shifts uncomfortably in his seat, not meeting his gaze. “Weeks,” he admits. “Weeks of us barely recognizing ourselves. We neglected the house, each other, our own bloody lives.”

Ghost tries to stand, only for his body to betray him, a sharp pain shooting up his legs. “And you’re only telling me now?” he snaps, anger flaring up. “We’ve been falling apart, and you didn’t think to snap me out of it sooner?”

Gaz flinches but holds his ground, meeting his pack-mates' gaze with determination. “You weren’t exactly listening, Simon. None of us were. Tried everything I could—potions, wards, even talking sense into you, but you wouldn’t hear a word against her. And then, it got to me too....”

Ghost lets out a frustrated growl. And then, as if reganing some of his long-forgotten sense, he thinks of you.

“We need to see her. Talk to her. Find out what’s happening.”

Gaz knows exactly who he’s talking about, his heart and mind in sync with his.

“We haven’t seen her in days.” Gaz laments, hand rubbing his face in desperation. “Her phone’s disconnected, and I’ve been taking care of you while Price went to look for Johnny.”

“Are they okay?” Ghost cuts him off again, but Gaz, despite looking so tired and haggard, doesn’t mind.

“Johnny went feral, stayed in his werewolf form for too long. But he’s alright now; he’s resting in his room. We stacked it up with a few of our clothes and food, or whatever we had remaining. We just haven't been able to leave the house, Price and I. Especially not with Leah still around.”

His last words come out strained, verging on bitter. Ghost can feel the weight of Gaz’s frustration; they’re all trapped in this swirling chaos, and every moment feels like they’re slipping further and further away from you.

Gaz reached into a bag beside him and pulled out a neatly folded set of clothes. They were plain, but clean—washed, pressed, and smelling faintly of lavender, a welcome break from the stale scent that seemed to hang over everything else. A fresh black facemask was also neatly folded into the pile.

“Go and get cleaned up,” Gaz said, holding them out to Ghost.

“Didn’t think anyone would’ve had the mind to do some laundry around here,” he muttered, a hint of dry humour cutting through the weariness as he accepted the clothes.

Gaz watched Ghost with a steady gaze, studying the exhaustion etched into every line of his face. After a pause, he pulled out his phone, typing a quick message to the others.

"I’ll let the boys know you’re up,” he murmured, looking back at Ghost. “But before we reach out for any answers, we need to be together. Properly. You, me, Price, and Johnny. The whole pack.”

There was something grounding about that idea—that, whatever had happened, whatever answers lay ahead, they’d face it unified. The pack had always been his constant, and in the haze of recent weeks, he’d almost forgotten how much that meant.

Gaz finished typing and slipped his phone back into his pocket, his expression shifting to something softer. “Take your time, Simon. Get a shower, clear your head. I’ll wait right here.”

Without another word, Ghost headed into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. The hot water beat down on him, easing the aches in his muscles and slowly peeling away the residue of exhaustion. He scrubbed his face, shaved, and let the water run over him, each drop lifting a little more of the fog that had settled over his mind.

When he finally emerged, clean and dressed, he felt steadier, like he was slipping back into himself. Gaz stood in the room, hands casually in his pockets, watching him with a faint but genuine smile. As Ghost approached, Gaz stepped forward, leaning up to place a soft, lingering kiss on his cheek. Then, he took his larger hand in his, squeezing it firmly. Simon hesitated just a moment before squeezing back, a silent gesture of thanks passing between them. The steady weight of Gaz’s hand in his felt grounding, a reminder that he wasn’t facing this alone.

Ghost nodded, the last of his hesitation falling away. “Let’s go.”

. . .

The silence in the room was heavy, like a smothering blanket that none of them could cast off. The air held an edge of tension, cut only by the occasional creak of the old house settling. The room itself mirrored their state—scattered, untidy, and dimly lit by the fading glow of the late afternoon sun filtering through the grime-streaked windows.

Johnny slumped deeper into the couch, the fabric of Ghost’s hoodie swallowing his frame. The scent of his packmate clung to it, earthy and metallic, a faint reminder of stability in a world that felt increasingly foreign. He tugged the hoodie closer around his shoulders, his hands hidden in the oversized sleeves. His overgrown hair and scruff shadowed his face, but his furrowed brows betrayed his unease.

Gaz sat at the table, his leg bouncing in a steady, erratic rhythm. The untouched tea in front of him had gone cold, a thin film forming on its surface. He stared at it like it might hold the answers they couldn’t seem to find. His jaw clenched as he tapped the table with a finger, the sound barely audible over the tick of the wall clock.

Ghost sat beside him, the chair groaning under his weight. The tension in his shoulders was visible even under his heavy sweater, his face-mask firmly in place. He hadn’t said a word since they sat down, but the intensity in his stillness spoke volumes.

John stood by the window, his back to them, puffing on his cigar with short, agitated breaths. Smoke curled around him, dissipating into the stale air of the room. His reflection in the glass was fractured and ghostly, distorted by the grime. He had always been their anchor, their steadying force, but now he seemed just as lost as the rest of them.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Gaz finally said, breaking the silence. His voice was hoarse, as if it had been days since he’d used it. “We all felt it. That… pull. It wasn’t normal. But now? Now it’s like—” He paused, searching for the words. “Like my skin crawls just thinking about her.”

Johnny let out a sharp exhale, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. “Aye. Same. I can’t even picture her face properly. Feels like I’ve got glass under my skin whenever I try.” He glanced at Ghost, who remained still, his eyes fixed on the table. “Mate, you’re the one who’s best at keeping your head. You’ve got nothin’?”

Ghost’s fingers stopped drumming. He leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking under the shift. “It’s not about keeping my head, Johnny,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “It’s about the fact that I should remember. We all should. But there’s… nothing. Just a hole where the memories should be.”

Gaz slammed his palm against the table, making Johnny flinch. “And that’s the other thing, isn’t it? Her. And you.” His sharp gaze cut to Ghost, your name rolling off his lips. “We were ready to ask her to be part of the pack. It was all we thought about for weeks. Then—” He gestured vaguely, frustration radiating off him. “Now she’s gone, and it feels like—like someone yanked a piece out of us and then stitched us back up wrong.”

“Enough!” John barked, his voice rough from too many cigars. He turned from the window, his expression dark and weary. “We can’t sit here blaming each other or wallowing in what we don’t know. The fact is, something happened. Something we can’t explain. And until we figure out what it was, none of this”—he gestured at the room, at them—“is going to make sense.”

Ghost leaned forward, his hands clasped tightly on the table, tension etched into every line of his frame. His voice was low but firm as he rasped out your name, “What about her?”

“She’s alive,” Johnny muttered. His voice was uncertain, his fingers trembling. “I can feel it. Somewhere out there. But she’s… out of reach. Like something’s keeping us from her.”

John’s gaze darkened as he looked at each of them in turn, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “We can’t do anything for her—not yet. First, we need to pull ourselves together. Look at this place.” He swept his arm, indicating the wrecked furniture, the dust and chaos surrounding them. “We’re a mess, and that mess isn’t just around us—it’s in our heads.”

He paced to the trash bin, tying off the bag with sharp, precise movements. “We’re no good to her like this. We clear this house. We clear our minds. Only then can we figure out what’s happened, where she is, and why we’re being kept from her.”

Gaz frowned, the sting of John’s words cutting through his frustration. “And Leah?” he asked bitterly. “What do we do about her?”

John’s jaw tightened, the embers of his cigar flaring briefly as he took a long draw. He let the silence stretch, considering his response. “We leave her alone,” he said finally, his voice low and steady. “She’s dangerous, whatever she is. And right now, so are we. Until we understand what’s happened to us, we keep our distance.”

The room fell into an uneasy quiet, the weight of his words hanging heavy over them. Slowly, Ghost nodded, his knuckles white against the edge of the table. Johnny exhaled shakily, his shoulders slumping as the fight drained out of him. Gaz rubbed a hand over his face, exhaustion and frustration etched into his features.

“Right then,” Price said, breaking the silence as he picked up the trash bag. “Let’s get to it. House isn’t going to clean itself.”

One by one, they rose to their feet, their steps slow and hesitant, but they moved. The weight of what lay ahead loomed, but for now, they focused on the first step—clearing the wreckage, both inside and out.

. . .

The clatter of dishes in the kitchen and the dull scrape of furniture being moved did little to mask the oppressive tension hanging over the house. Price stood by the sink, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, methodically scrubbing a stubborn plate with the kind of focus reserved for anything but the situation at hand. The faint slosh of water and the rhythmic clink of ceramic broke the silence, but not the heaviness in the air.

Nearby, a trash bag sat tied and waiting. Price gave the plate a final rinse, then stacked it neatly with the others before drying his hands on a worn kitchen towel. He grabbed the trash bag on his way out the back door, letting the screen creak open and slam shut behind him.

Meanwhile, Johnny tied his overgrown hair into a small, haphazard ponytail, the uneven strands barely staying put. His freshly shaved jaw—courtesy of Price earlier that morning—stood out starkly against his otherwise dishevelled appearance, making the lingering exhaustion in his eyes even more pronounced. He heaved another broken chair onto the growing pile near the back door, his movements sluggish but determined.

Ghost, nearby, silently swept debris from the floor, the steady rhythm of the broom punctuating the tense quiet. His broad frame was taut, shoulders coiled as though bracing for a blow that never came. Neither man spoke, their shared silence a testament to the strain hanging heavy in the air.

Upstairs, Gaz moved with a quiet purpose through his small workshop, tucked away in a corner of the house. The room smelled faintly of burnt herbs and candle wax, the aftermath of his earlier work lingering in the air. A faint golden glow pulsed from the fresh wards he had just set in front of Leah's door down the hall, the intricate pattern etched with precision into the wood.

He wiped his hands on a rag, the faint shimmer of magical residue clinging to his fingertips. The wards he had placed were strong, layered to shield her room from any unwelcome interference, but also to keep her presence confined. It wasn’t a solution, just a precaution—one that weighed heavily on him.

Suddenly, the sharp trill of the phone cut through the quiet, making Johnny start and Ghost stop. Price turned his head slightly, before nodding curtly, “I’ll get it.”  

He stalked over to the phone mounted on the hallway wall, snatching the receiver up with a practised brusqueness. “Price.”  

“John,” came Laswell’s voice, rough and harried.  

He frowned, his grip on the receiver tightening. “Kate?”  

“I need to see you,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “All of you.”  

Price’s frown deepened. “This isn’t a good time, Laswell.”  

“No, now’s exactly the time,” she snapped, frustration bleeding through the line. “This isn’t something we can handle over the phone. I’m coming up. Be ready.”  

His jaw clenched. “An explanation would be nice.”  

“You’ll get one when I’m there,” she bit out. Then, after a beat, her voice softened, weariness creeping in. “I’ve got answers, John. But not all of them. Just... be ready. I’ll be there in an hour.”  

The line clicked dead before he could press her further.  

Price lowered the receiver slowly, his eyes narrowing as he replaced it on the cradle with a deliberate motion. He turned back to the others, his expression grim.

Gaz descended the stairs, wiping his hands on his jeans as he stepped into the room. His brows knit together at the tension rolling off Price in palpable waves. “What’s going on?” he asked, his tone cautious, catching the shift in the atmosphere like a physical blow.

“That was Laswell,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of his stress.

“What did she want?” Gaz asked, his tone cautious.

“Says she’s on her way here,” Price replied, his voice clipped. “She’s got something to tell us. Something about what’s been happening.”

Johnny tilted his head, suspicion flickering in his tired eyes. “She knows what’s wrong with us?”

“Didn’t say.” Price reached for the cigar resting in the ashtray and took a long drag, exhaling sharply. “Only that it’s too much for the bloody phone.”

Gaz frowned, his brow furrowed. “Think it’s about Leah? Or... us?”

“Could be both,” Price said curtly. He cast a glance toward the stairs, his lips thinning. “Either way, we’ll find out soon enough.”

Ghost’s grip tightened on the broom handle, his voice low. “An hour isn’t much time.”

“No, it’s not,” Price muttered. He turned toward the windows again, his profile cast in sharp focus by the dim light filtering through. “So get your heads on straight. Whatever she’s bringing, it’s not gonna be good.”

Johnny let out a humourless laugh as he tossed the piece of wood onto the pile. 

Gaz muttered something under his breath before returning to his workshop. Ghost, ever silent, resumed sweeping, his movements just as sharp and tense as before.

They had an hour to prepare—for Laswell’s arrival, for her answers, and for the storm they all knew was coming.

. . .

The moment Laswell’s car pulled up the gravel driveway, the tension in the house thickened. Price watched from the window, his third cigar of that morning, forgotten in the ashtray as he studied the vehicle. Two figures stepped out behind her, their familiar silhouettes making his jaw tighten. Alejandro and Rudy.  

“Well, this just got worse,” he muttered under his breath, turning to glance at the others. Gaz frowned, Ghost took a long sip from his tea, and Johnny stiffened, his eyes narrowing.  

The trio approached the house with purpose. Laswell led the way, her usual sharp demeanour dulled by weariness, while Alejandro and Rudy followed, their expressions unreadable but far from happy.  

Price opened the door before they could knock, his broad frame blocking the entrance. “Laswell. Alejandro. Rudy.”  

Alejandro gave him a curt nod. “Price.”  

John stepped aside without a word, letting them file into the house. The pack stood scattered in the living room, their postures defensive.  

“Stinks in here,” Alejandro muttered as he took in the room, nose scrunched up. His sharp eyes swept over the remaining clutter and the signs of disrepair before landing on Ghost. His gaze darkened.  

Ghost stiffened under the scrutiny but didn’t flinch. His jaw tightened as he rose up to meet Alejandro.

“You look better,” Alejandro said coolly, stopping just in front of him.  

Ghost grunted, a curt acknowledgment that sounded more like a growl.  

“Good,” Alejandro said, his voice like steel. “Now grit your teeth.”  

The punch came so fast no one had time to react. Alejandro’s fist connected with Ghost’s jaw with a sickening crack, the force sending him staggering backward. He hit the floor on one knee, his hand clutching his face.  

Gaz moved to help, but Alejandro snapped, “Stay out of it cabrón (bastard)!”  

Johnny let out a furious snarl, his body coiled to lunge, but Price’s bark stopped him cold. “Stand down, Johnny!”  

Johnny stopped, his eyes darting between Price and Ghost, his hands trembling with restrained fury.  

Ghost slowly pushed himself up, his expression stoic despite the bruise blooming on his jaw. His eyes met Alejandro’s, something resigned yet determined in his gaze. “I probably deserved that,” he muttered hoarsely.  

“You’re damn right you did,” Alejandro growled, shaking out his fist.  

“Now,” Ghost rasped, leaning back onto his haunches, “tell us everything. Absolutely everything.”  

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[corvidae-quills]

yeah that's not true even if they don't touch it in religion class (unlikely but not impossible so maybe that did happen with your mom) Catholic schools are usually connected to a parish and the school takes the kids to mass on holy days (and sometimes more frequently, at mine it was once a month on first fridays) where they will hear one Old Testament reading, one psalm, and two New Testament readings (epistle and gospels), if they are paying attention (not something the school can control). They should also be going every Sunday but that's not something the school can control either, that's on the parents.

Anyway a lot of this is the same thing that fuels those "we didn't learn about this in history class/they hid this from you in school!" posts (we did and they didn't you just weren't paying attention) and the fact that like other schools, all the other classes in Catholic schools are tailored to prepare you for standardized testing rather than actual understanding of the material. There's no standardized testing for religion class, obviously, but the teachers who teach it are trained to teach for standardized testing so I think they get kind of lost without that goal. Also a lot of the parents who send their kids to Catholic schools do really care about the standardized testing/their kids being prepared for a good high school/college, so religion class, which has no affect on that, falls by the wayside.

I went to Catholic school for 9 1/2 years and the actual reason I walked away knowing next to nothing was because religion class was basically just "Bible story hour" (with a liiiiiight smattering of Church history/a tiny bit of stuff from the Catechism) that plateaued in complexity at around fifth grade. We didn't actually learn any theology or even that there are logical arguments for the existence of God.

So yeah there are problems with Catholic schools but that ain't it. And I've seen enough of those "I went to Catholic school and-" statements to know that 99% of the time those are bc people didn't pay attention.

"well i went to Catholic school and -" means you are about to hear the worst take on Christianity of your life

[n0vazsq]

Way of the heart | OP81 x Reader

pairing . . . oscar piastri x racing!engineer!reader

summary . . . After a tough race, Oscar has nothing to look forward to more than spending time with (Y/n)

request . . . kind of?

word count . . . 1.1k

warnings . . . none!

alexavia yaps . . . i really hate this one for some reason like its not the best i could do but i wanted to write something so yeah!! the person who wanted this (im sorry i forgot your user), if you want another story i will totally write it!! tysm for asking <3

Oscar slumped into the chair in the back of the team garage, still in his racing suit, the helmet beside him on the floor. Today’s race had been brutal, everything going wrong until he finally crossed the finish line in a place he didn’t even want to remember. No matter how much he tried to forget it, the disappointment still clung to him.

As the crew packed up around him, you walked over, carrying a bottle of water and a quiet look of understanding. You’d worked with Oscar long enough to know when he needed a moment to think and when he needed someone to remind him he wasn’t alone. Today, he needed the latter.

“Rough day,” you said softly, offering him the bottle. He accepted it with a quick nod, cracking it open but not taking a sip.

“Understatement of the year,” he muttered, letting out a short, frustrated sigh. “Everything went wrong, didn’t it? Every call, every turn… feels like I let everyone down out there.”

You didn’t rush to disagree or to tell him it was all fine because you knew Oscar didn't want you to. Instead, you waited a bit, giving him the space to breathe.

“You know, racing’s a lot like life. Sometimes it’s out of our control, even when we do everything right. We all saw you fight today,” you said gently. “One tough race doesn’t define who you are as a driver.”

He glanced up, the frustration in his eyes softening as he met your steady gaze. “Thanks,” he said, managing a faint smile. “Not sure what I’d do without you, honestly.”

You laughed lightly, leaning against the wall beside him. “Lucky for you, I’m sticking around, win or lose.”

His smile widened a little, and after a few moments of quiet, he stood up, finally letting go of some of the weight he’d carried off the track. “Hey,” he said, glancing at his watch, “I know it’s late, but do you want to grab some food? Just… need to be somewhere that’s not here.”

The restaurant he picked was cozy, tucked away from the noise and chaos that followed you on racing weekends. He knew you’d love it, remembering how you mentioned your love for Italian food

When you walked in, his heart skipped a beat. You wore a smile that was both warm and teasing, the one that always seemed to make everything feel a little less overwhelming.

He stood, smiling sheepishly. “Hey, you look… great,” he said, his voice a little unsteady. The nerves of the race had melted away, replaced by a different kind of nervousness that he couldn’t ignore.

You grinned, taking a seat across from him. “Thanks, Piastri. It’s nice to see you in a non-race setting for once. And I have to say, you look pretty good.”

He laughed, glancing down at his simple outfit. “I tried, y’know, for you.”

The waiter took your orders, and as the evening went on, you two spoke about anything and everything but racing. The conversation drifted easily from favorite movies to random childhood memories. You two talked about wild stories and embarassing moments, laughing at every single thing.

But Oscar’s mind kept wandering back to you. How you’d been there every step of his career, how you’d seen him at his worst and still chose to believe in him. At one point, as you were laughing at a joke he’d told, he couldn’t help but stare a little, his heart pounding in a way that felt completely different from the adrenaline of racing.

The laughter quietened down, and a comfortable silence fell between you both. Oscar looked down at his hands, trying to think of what he wanted to say. “You know,” he began, a little quieter now, “you mean a lot to me. More than just… my engineer or friend.”

You looked up, your expression softening, and he felt his courage swell just a bit. “I think I realized that today, after everything went bad on the track. Just seeing you there, not judging me, not telling me what I should’ve done differently, just… being there. It made all the difference.”

You reached across the table, placing your hand over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’d be there no matter what, Oscar. You’re a brilliant driver and a good person. Bad race or not, that doesn’t change.”

His cheeks flushed, a warmth spreading through him. He turned his hand to hold yours, letting the silence speak for itself. And for a moment, all the disappointment and frustration faded, replaced by a quiet joy that he hadn’t expected to feel tonight.

Later, you walked together under the night sky, the cool breeze a welcome contrast to the warm evening inside. He found himself wishing the walk could last forever, just the two of you, away from the chaos of everything.

Eventually, you both settled on a bench with a view of a beautiful fountain. The sound of the water filled the quiet spaces between you, and he reached over, slipping his hand into yours again, holding it with a confidence he hadn’t felt earlier.

“This feels perfect,” you murmured, leaning against his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “I wish every night could be like this.”

You let out a soft laugh, resting against him. “It’d be easier if we weren’t always at a race or in different cities every other week.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, looking out at the fountain. “But I think… I think it’s worth it.”

You turned to him, your gaze meeting his with a warmth that made his heart race. He took a deep breath, the words he’d been holding back finally finding their way out.

“Do you… maybe want to meet my family? Make it official?” he asked, his voice a little uncertain but hopeful.

You raised your eyebrows, a smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Oscar, I think we’re already there. You didn’t have to ask. And of course, I'd love to meet your family.”

He chuckled, feeling a weight lift as his heart swelled with happiness. “Then consider this official.” He leaned in, taking your lips in a kiss.

The kiss made butterflies fill your stomach, it was soft, but also made you crave more. It was something magical, like straight out of a movie. Oscar had his hands on your waist, and yours tangled in his hair. It somehow made it more intimate, more personal. You didn't want it to end.

When you finally pulled back, the smile on your face was everything Oscar ever wanted to see.

Hand in hand, you walked back to the car, and for the first time that night, Oscar felt a sense of peace, knowing that no matter what happened on the track, he’d always have you there, his biggest supporter, his steady presence.

And with you by his side, he knew he could face anything that came his way.

[nezuscribe]

an idea I have in mind because I think too much about arranged Gojo.

at some point, when they're already happy and in love, they meet her sisters again. Maybe they are hosting some party or his mother invited them to the seaside house like in the past. Reader is in much a better place now personally. What’s more, she’s in a better position in the hierarchy than she was before. She's a sweetheart and a kind person. So she doesn’t care about any of that, she just wants to live her quiet, happy life with Gojo. Gojo, however, is a different story... he's heard and saw enough of how her sisters treated her and he's a petty man. A very petty man. For the duration of the visit, Gojo makes it his sole mission to flaunt their happiness. He insists on buying her the finest dresses and jewelry, making sure she’s never seen wearing the same outfit twice. Every day, he presents her with another gift, just to remind everyone of how she's adorned now. He sticks to her side at all times, while the other women are left alone when their boring husbands goes hunting or something like that. And he doesn't stop to show, verbally and physically, how he loves and admires her. Maybe, just to make his point even clearer, he asks for their rooms to be on the same floor. So they'll get a 24/7 show of the great treatment she gets.

so when i was writting the arrangment i wanted to add some scenes with readers family but it didn't work out so i think this is a great opportunity to expand on that

and totally. the thing abt reader that i hope people take away is that she's had to be stronghearted to survive in the conditions she's been brought up in, but because of that she just wants to live peacefully and quietly. she's elated that she gets a caring husband on top of it, but she just goes to the beat of her own drum and if people can't then she doesn't really care

but when this little get-together is planned at the gojo summer home, something customary and necessary, both reader and gojo dread it. reader because she doesn't like her sisters and father's wife and gojo because he hates your sisters and your father's wife

so gojo shows you off whenever he can. the two of you haven't had sex yet and he's fine with that, he's trying to find the best moment anyway, but he's so touchy it's insane. his arm is either around your waist, in yours, or sometimes around your neck if he wants to show you something from where he's standing

you're wearing the highest fashion, the best jewelry, and expensive oils. your sisters gawk and groan, but what else can they do? their husbands are old and ugly and don't give a rats ass about them, and you couldn't be more content

and this one time when all the younger people are around the lake gojo brings you onto his lap to open up the seat for one of your other friends, letting you curl up into his strong chest as he wraps a blanket over you. and your sisters watch in pure jealousy as you giggle at some of the things he tells you, watch as he blushes unabashedly when you kiss his forehead

arranged!gojo just loves you too much and there's nothing wrong with that