#he knows that the Good answers are what the people would like to hear

[stylesispunk]

Blind faith | part ix

Priest!Joel Miller x dancer!reader

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Summary: six months of distance doesn't count when everything else seems to fade away when your eyes are locked again across the room.

wc:8k.

warnings: age gap (joel is in his late 40s, reader in her last 20s) angst, forbidden love (perhaps not so so much now), mentions of politics, mentions of exile, mentions of an injury, fluff.

a/n: Don't hate me. I know it felt rushed. I literally rewrite the whole thing. Next chapter there will be more things to say. I hope you enhoy it AND please share your thoughts with me. Thank you babies.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

There was intimacy in never speaking again. A brain and a heart that held onto memories, silence and the reminiscence of the sidelines of a face that had imprinted in your soul.

Missing you was the point of all. That was an act of love. A pure one. That was the realest proof that he had to show to you, mostly to himself for now. That meant he had loved you. Past and present, at this very same moment. It meant there was room in his body for you. Still waiting and still holding all the love he couldn't wait to show you, to give you and to share with you.

After all he had found the sacred oasis in your lips.

You were the religion he was devoted to.

You were the one.

You would always be the one.

Coming back home sliced joel's heart in two.

It had taken an entire month to recover from that wound on his knee, to being discharged from the hospital. He was finally able to leave that place, a building that still got traces of you carved on the walls he was passing by while Carmen pushed the wheelchair with him on it, whose silence was sharp enough to bleed. He felt ridiculous, broken, but mostly broken because after getting used to you there wasn’t a coming back from it. You meant a before and after in a life, the kind of power that only some magical people hold. Of course, you were one of them, the one who had made him face his own fears and sins while making him aware of himself of a person deserving of magic.

Now that you were gone, the light that had returned back to his life after twenty years had blown off.

“Where did she leave to?” He asked, making Carmen stop the wheelchair just before the hospital’s front doors, her grip tightening on the handles. She didn’t speak at first. Just stood there, shoulders stiff, as if whatever she was about to say physically hurt to give voice to.

Then, quietly, “She left, father. That’s enough.”

He didn’t have to ask who. The word hit him square in the chest like a hammer.

“Where?” he rasped; his throat dry.

Carmen sighed and Joel’s heart stuttered, his stomach dropping out from under him.

“I don’t know.” Her voice cracked for the first time. “She didn’t say. Just… told Billy not to look for her. Said she needed space. Time. Said she needed to remember who she was before everything happened before him. And before you.”

Joel’s jaw clenched so tight it hurt. That last part gutted him more than he wanted to admit.

He should’ve known it would come to this. Should’ve known there was only so much a person could take before they started running.

Carmen crouched down beside him, her eyes sharp and wet. “I should hate you, Joel. Part of me does. But I know what she saw in you. And maybe one day you’ll pull your head out of your ass and be the man I know she still believe you are. God knows you owe her that much.”

Joel didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Because the truth was, the part of him you’d woken, the good, the hopeful, the goddamn human part, was still clawing its way out of the wreckage.

The sun was just starting to dip when they reached the square. The town had gathered like it was some goddamn festival — banners hung from balconies, old folks holding candles, kids waving tiny flags. Joel could hear music in the distance, a band he recognized from the church playing something somber, something meant to sound grateful and mournful at the same time.

Carmen stiffened behind him. Joel’s stomach turned.

He hadn’t asked for this.

The Cardinal was waiting near the fountain, in his pristine robes, a self-satisfied smile plastered on his face like this was his victory too. People from town clapped as Joel was wheeled into view, a slow, building applause that made his skin crawl. The same faces who used to cross the street to avoid you. The same ones who whispered behind their hands when you passed, who called you cursed, dangerous, a troublemaker for daring to breathe close to him.

And now here they were, raising candles to him.

To a man who hadn't saved a goddamn thing. To a man who had almost got you killed.

Joel’s hands curled into fists on the armrests of the chair, his throat burning.

The Cardinal stepped forward, making some sanctimonious speech about sacrifice, about bravery, about divine justice. Joel barely heard it over the rush of blood in his ears.

Until he said your name.

“—and we give thanks for the soul of that young woman who stood in defiance of wickedness, whose trials remind us of the righteous path—”

Joel’s temper snapped clean in two.

“Shut the fuck up!” he barked, the words tearing from him like a wound breaking open. The crowd recoiled as if struck.

Carmen’s hands grabbed at his shoulders, trying to steady him, but Joel pushed himself up on his good leg, pain lighting through him like fire. He didn’t care. He needed to stand.

“Don’t you dare speak her name,” Joel growled, glaring at them, at all of them. “You people don’t get to say good things. You don’t get to light your pretty candles and call her brave like you didn’t spit on her when she walked these streets.”

The silence was suffocating, thick and brittle. He knew you would be laughing at how ridiculous this show was.

Joel pointed a trembling, furious finger at the townspeople. “Where were you when she was being taking away by that man? Where were you when she was being hunted? When you all watched it let it happen ‘cause it was easier than standing up for her?”

Someone started to speak, some mealy-mouthed excuse, but Joel cut them down with a look sharp enough to kill.

“You treated her like she was a curse. Like she didn’t have the right to be here. And now you want to act like she was a saint? You don’t get to rewrite her story now because she had always been braver than all of you together.”

His voice broke on the last word, grief clawing up his throat.

Carmen watching silently behind him, how he was acting like this.

Joel looked at the Cardinal last. That smug, holy bastard in his spotless robes.

“And you,” Joel hissed. “I told you I didn’t want any of this. I want to lay in bed.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Couldn’t.

Joel turned, leaning heavy on the wheelchair, his leg screaming in protest.

The square stayed deathly quiet. People completed stunned at the priest outburst.

So, Carmen pushed the wheelchair in stunned silence for a few steps before she stopped up to him, one hand hovering near his neck like she wasn’t sure if he wanted her there. Joel didn’t say a word, his jaw clenched so tight it ached, eyes fixed ahead as he looked at the same streets that still smelled like you.

The same streets where you used to walk beside him, hands stuffed in your pockets, while the both of you were falling in love with each other without knowing. The cobblestones still remembered the echo of your laugh. He could swear it.

“I can’t—” he croaked, his voice hoarse.

Carmen reached for him then, careful, her face drawn and pale. “Father.”

“Stop calling me father” he blurted out, “I should’ve gotten to her,” he said, the words spilling out, raw and broken. “I should’ve…”

“Joel, she made her choice.” Carmen said softly, though her own throat bobbed with a swallowed sob. “And for now, she needs this time. This space. She lost her family and she needs to grieve them.”

He shook his head, tears stinging his eyes.  They stood there in the half-dark, the town’s false mourning echoing far behind them.

“Where is she now?” he asked quietly, not looking up as if Carmen previous answer at the hospital had changed.

Carmen took a breath. “I don’t know.”

It felt like the world tilted under his feet.

“Is she coming back?” Joel whispered.

Carmen nodded, her face crumpling. “Perhaps she will.”

Joel let out a shaky breath that sounded like a sob. Then another. The weight in his chest cracked open wide enough for a flicker of light.

He straightened up, his jaw set. “Okay.”

Six months passed by in a blurry.

Six goddamn months.

The smoke curled between your fingers, the cigarette half-burnt, staining the cold night air like a secret you didn’t want to carry anymore. London’s skyline stretched ahead of you, jagged and glittering, the sounds of late-night traffic humming somewhere below. You exhaled, slow and careful, like you could bleed the ache from your chest with the smoke. It didn’t work. It never did.

You hadn’t never smoked in your life. You never hadn’t had the need to. The smell made you want to vomit but now in these quiet hours when the world slipped into shadows and you were left alone with your thoughts, it felt like the only thing tethering you to your skin. The cigarette, the chipped mug of tea cradled in your other hand. both anchored back to something you hadn’t dared name.

You were teaching now. Little girls with crooked teeth and scraped knees who dreamed of being swans and princesses and stars. You taught them to move, to stretch their arms toward light, to find grace in the mess of themselves. It made you happy. It made you whole, sometimes. But the night came and you found yourself alone in the dark, dark became merciless.

Because no matter how far you ran, no matter how much ocean you put between you and that town, you couldn’t outrun yourself.

You couldn’t outrun Joel.

The worst part wasn’t even that you missed him. It was the way you missed him. On how your body remembered him without permission, the rough scrape of his beard when he laughed too hard, the solid weight of his palm between your shoulder blades, on your face, or the particular way his voice could drop low enough to make your bones ache.

And it was always the nights that did you in. When you left the light on, though you told yourself it was for no reason. When you made a cup of tea you barely drank, because some ridiculous, fragile part of you still associated that warmth with the safety of sitting on his couch, both of you too stubborn to acknowledge you loved each other back then.

The loneliness wasn’t the loud kind. It was soft, a persistent tug under your ribs, tightening your heart. A name in your throat you didn’t want to say out loud because it would make his absence real.

You tapped the ash from your cigarette, watching the ember spark against the wind. Somewhere behind you, your tiny flat remained cluttered with ballet shoes and notebooks filled with old poems. You hadn’t called Carmen. Hadn’t written. Part of you couldn’t stand the idea of being spoken to gently, of being told it was okay when it wasn’t.

In moments like these, reality hit you. The truth behind the pain and tears sliding down your heart. That no matter how many miles you put between yourself and that blood-soaked town, no matter how hard you tried to build a new version of yourself out of the broken pieces — there would never be a home to arrive to again. No more warm hugs from your mother, no more breakfast on Sunday mornings. You had even start to forget the sound of the voice of your brother and the smell of your father’s perfume lingering. 

Every time you woke up gasping from dreams where they were still alive, still waiting for you. Every time a memory snuck up uninvited. Every time you let yourself want things you weren’t allowed to have anymore.

That was the thing about surviving through the grief, it was quieter than anyone told you it would be. A long, thin ache that settled in your bones and never left. You could dance, you could teach, you could fill your lungs with thousands of cigarettes, and it would still be there. The missing. The longing. The what if.

And then there was Joel.

Another ache you carried differently. Because he wasn’t dead. He was somewhere out there, still breathing, still moving through a world you weren’t part of anymore. And you hated how you loved him. Hated how you left him. Hated how every damn cup of tea you made tasted like a memory you hadn’t asked for.

You looked down at the cigarette burning to the filter and cursed softly under your breath. You hadn’t meant to pick up the habit. But then, you hadn’t meant to fall in love with a man like Joel Miller either.

Some things just happened to you. Like grief. Like love.

Your fingers brushed the delicate chain around your neck, a tiny, tarnished silver cross, its edges worn down from years of wear. It was his. You’d stolen from him, when his voice in your ear was the only thing that kept you sane, when he forgot who he was supposed to be and let you be something else entirely. You hadn’t planned to take it. It had been lying on his nightstand, glinting in the low light, days after he’d broken his vows and made love to you like a man starved for something clean, something holy.

You’d slipped it into your pocket before he noticed and it had been in your belongings ever since, so it stayed with you, pressing cool and small against your skin like a wound that would never heal right.

You closed your hand around it now, feeling its shape against your palm, sharp and familiar. The kind of ache you knew how to carry. You tilted your head back toward the night sky.

“I miss you; you damn priest.” you whispered. Just for yourself. For the ghost of him that curled around your ribs and made it impossible to sleep without the lights on.

In two more days, you’d be on a flight back to California.

Back to the courtroom. Back to face Gabriel.

The arraignment would be held in four days and you’d have to stand there and look him in the eyes, the man who destroyed everything you loved, and you didn’t know if you had it in you.

You didn’t know if your voice would hold. If your knees wouldn’t buckle. If you wouldn’t scream.

But you had to do it. Because there was no one else left to. Because your brother’s blood was still fresh in your dreams. And you would have to walk into that courtroom with this cross around your neck, and your mother’s courage in your veins, and try to survive it one more time.

Maybe after that, you’d find a way to go home.

The months passing by weren’t less hurtful for Joel. During this time, he had lived like a man buried beneath the weight of his own skin. The wound in his leg had healed enough to let him walk without the crutch, though the ache was permanent now, a dull, throbbing reminder of what it cost to protect something precious.

You.

And for six months, he let himself pretend. Pretend the town mattered. Pretend the walls of the church were still sacred to him. Pretend he didn’t wake up in the middle of the night reaching for a ghost.

There was a woman, too. Single, mid-thirties, arrived with a tiny daughter no taller than Joel’s knee. Her name was Ana, soft-spoken and kind, with eyes too tired for someone her age. Life had gutted her the way it guttled so many here, and Joel, well, he didn’t feel attraction to her. Not even close. But her little daughter, Lucía, she was trouble.

She clung to his leg when he passed by in the market, her sticky fingers finding his calloused ones. She called him father and demanded he braid her hair. And it was stupid, ridiculous, because every time she smiled up at him with those wide brown eyes, he thought about Sarah, the daughter he never got to see growing, whose Joel Miller lived like a man buried beneath the weight of his own skin. The wound in his leg had healed enough to let him walk without the crutch, though the ache was permanent now, a dull, throbbing reminder of what it cost to protect something precious.

And for six months, he let himself pretend. Pretend the town mattered. Pretend the walls of the church were still sacred to him. Pretend he didn’t wake up in the middle of the night reaching for a ghost.

There was a woman, too. Single, mid-thirties, arrived with a tiny daughter no taller than Joel’s knee. Her name was Ana, soft-spoken and kind, with eyes too tired for someone her age. Life had gutted her the way it guttled so many here, and Joel didn’t feel attracted to her. Not even close. But her little girl, Lucía, she was trouble.

She clung to his leg when he passed by in the market, her sticky fingers finding his calloused ones. She called him “Father” and demanded he braid her hair. And it was stupid, ridiculous, because every time she smiled up at him with those wide brown eyes, he thought about Sarah, the daughter he never got to see growing, whose tiny laugh he only heard in dreams.

He let Lucía climb into his lap some afternoons, read her passages from children’s books left behind at the church. And for a little while, Joel told himself this was enough. This was penance. This was life. He could end his life doing this.

But you haunted him.

Every night.

In every dream.

In every flicker of candlelight against stained glass.

Your face, your voice, the weight of you in his arms. The scent of your hair on his pillow. The heat of your skin beneath his hands, the rasp of your voice in the dark and in the light.

Like sunshine and moonlight.

It was like your name was carved into the most wounded places of his already cracked heart. The pass of time hasn’t done its worked on healing the shred tapestry. He had picked up the pieces that once feel and he continued a life without even try to reconciliate with its past, with what had happened to him, with the loss.

He had found refuge into religion, he stepped inside of that world blinded by the things he hadn’t found the strength to face, not back then, not even now.

He has just spent life the pain hanging from his limbs while he had recited words to heal others while people believed in him, blindly.

And one night, after the dream came again, you standing in that field outside of town, barefoot, eyes shining in the moonlight as you said Joel, you can’t stay here, he woke up drenched in sweat, his chest tight like something was caving in. The cross you stole, the one he hadn't been able to find, felt like it was burning a hole in his heart.

At dawn, before anyone else had stirred, Joel made his way to the rectory. The Cardinal was already there, sipping his tea like the sanctimonious bastard he always was. The bastard who let people suffer. Who never lifted a goddamn finger.

Joel didn’t knock. Didn’t wait to be invited.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Joel said, his voice rough as gravel. “I’m quitting. The cloth. The church. All of it.”

The Cardinal barely looked up. “You’re angry, Joel. You’ve been grieving.”

“This ain’t grief,” Joel snapped. “This is clarity. I never belonged here. You knew it. I knew it. I stayed ‘cause I thought maybe… maybe God could still see me. But she—” Joel’s throat worked around the words. “She saw me when no one else did. And I failed her. I let you, and this town, and this place, tear her apart.”

The Cardinal sighed, setting his cup down with a clink. “She was dangerous, Joel. You know what she carried.”

“She carried more courage than any person in this town ever did,” Joel growled. “More than you, more than me.”

Silence settled like a blade between them. Joel’s hands trembled.

“I dream about her,” he whispered. “I dream about what I should’ve done. About how I should’ve left with her, should’ve burned this place down behind us. And I can’t… I can’t wear this collar another day knowing I let her walk out there alone.”

The Cardinal’s expression twisted with something Joel couldn’t name, pity? Disgust? Resignation?

“I spent days and weeks asking myself if the feelings I had for her were wrong. That this beating in my heart each time I saw her was a figment of terrible intentions but it felt right, why?”

“Because love is also religion, Joel.”

And with that, Joel turned, stepping out into the rising light of morning. The town was quiet, save for the soft cooing of doves and the distant, far-off clatter of a cart’s wheels. Joel breathed it in like a man tasting air for the first time.

The words hung in the air like incense smoke — heavy, sweet, and suffocating.

Joel’s shoulders stiffened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides as he turned halfway back toward the Cardinal. The old man’s face was worn, more lined than it used to be, the weight of his own sins settling into the folds of his skin.

“I spent days,” Joel rasped, his voice breaking around the edges, “weeks, asking myself if the feelings I had for her were wrong. If the beating in my chest every time she walked into a room was some kind of sickness, a figment of terrible intentions.”

His eyes burned, throat tight.“But it felt right,” he whispered. “Why?”

The Cardinal, for once, didn’t look smug. Didn’t look righteous. He just sighed, folding his hands on the table in front of him.

“Because love is also religion, Joel.”

Joel felt it, like a stone to the chest, knocking the breath out of him.

The Cardinal kept going, his voice low and steady. “It’s devotion. It’s sacrifice. It’s believing in something you can’t always see, can’t always explain. It asks for your faith. It demands you kneel to it. And it makes sinners of us all.”

Joel looked down at his hands, his battered, calloused hands that had held you like a prayer.

“I’m not a sinner for loving her” he stated.

“No, you aren’t.”

“You told me she was dangerous,” Joel murmured.

“She was,” the Cardinal admitted. “Dangerous in the way the first fire was dangerous to man. In the way storms are dangerous to ships. She was a force that didn’t belong in cages or chapels. She was meant to be loved fiercely or not at all.”

Joel closed his eyes, the ache blooming in his chest so sharp it nearly toppled him.

“I loved her,” he confessed, raw and bloodied. “And I let her leave.”

The Cardinal’s expression softened. “Then find her.”

Without another word, Joel turned, the weight of the collar around his neck unbearable now. His hands reached up, unclasping it, and he left it on the table like a final, silent offering.

Then he stepped out into the breaking dawn, his heart pounding like a war drum, and he started walking.

Weeks bled into months the way they always did, quiet, without asking permission.

Joel bought a small apartment just outside of town. Nothing fancy. A two-room place with creaky floors and old curtains that smelled like dust and old rain. The kind of place you’d probably roll your eyes at, saying it needed color, or flowers on the damn windowsill.

But it was his.

The first thing he had owned as a normal, ordinary man.

And if the day ever came, if by some twist of fate, you came back from wherever you’d gone. It would be enough. There’d be a light left on. A door that wouldn’t lock itself. A place for you to land.

He filled the place slowly. A record player he found at the flea market. A secondhand bookshelf with two shelves of battered paperbacks you would’ve picked apart for how predictable their plots were. A coffee cup with a chipped handle he couldn’t throw away. And one night, when the ache in his chest wouldn’t let him sleep, he found himself buying a set of tea cups too.

Just in case.

He’d wake up some mornings and swear he could hear your laugh in the kitchen. Could almost catch the ghost of your voice calling him an old fool. But the place would be empty, save for the old cat from next door who’d taken to visiting him in the evenings.

Joel kept working odd jobs. Carpentry. Fixing fences. Keeping to himself.

The town had changed, in small ways. People didn’t look at him like a holy man anymore. They looked at him like a man who’d chosen to bleed for someone they’d once spat at. And it suited him better. He didn’t want their prayers. He didn’t need their forgiveness. He just needed yours.

Some nights he’d sit on the terrace, watching the sky turn dark and wonder where you were. If you were looking the same moon at the same time, if you still took your tea with too much sugar. If you still hummed that same old song under your breath when you thought no one was listening.

If you missed him. If you’d come back.

And every night before turning in, Joel left the porch light on. Because some part of him still believed you’d find your way home. Because he had no god to pray to anymore.

Only you.

The courthouse smelled like old paper and stale air. Joel sat there, the collar of his shirt tight around his neck even without the old priest’s garb. He wasn’t a priest anymore. Hadn’t been for months. But the weight of that past life still clung to his bones like a phantom limb.

Carmen sat beside him, her hand occasionally brushing his in silent comfort, though neither of them said much. Billy was next to them back straight, jaw tight.

Gabriel sat across the room, in that cold, stiff chair reserved for the accused. His hands cuffed, his face pale but still wearing that same arrogant, hollow expression. He looked like a man already halfway to hell, and Joel, for all his rage and grief, didn’t even feel satisfaction at the sight. Only exhaustion.

The trial had been long. Testimonies. Evidence. And Joel had gotten up there, hands trembling but voice steady, and told them what needed telling. He spoke of the things he’d seen. The things he’d failed to stop. The night he’d seen Gabriel take you away, and how he’d waited too long to follow. How he would carry that until his bones turned to dust.

When he stepped down from the stand, he scanned the courtroom. Some small, stupid, stubborn part of him hoping you’d be there, in the back row or leaning against a wall like you used to, arms crossed, daring the world to challenge you.

But you weren’t.

And he felt it then. That flicker of light threatening to go out.

Carmen squeezed his shoulder, and he almost told her it was fine. That he was fine. That maybe it was better this way, you free, gone, breathing new air somewhere far from this cursed town and its rotting memories.

Then the door opened.

It was a small thing. A shift of air, the creak of old hinges.

But his heart stuttered.

And there you were.

Your hair a little shorter, pulled back with a careless tie. A soft coat wrapped around you, face thinner but eyes still sharp, carrying the kind of storm that made men tremble. A tiny silver cross on a chain around your neck, his cross. And for a moment, he forgot how to properly breathe.

You walked toward the stand; your steps steady even if the ghost of the past clung to you like a second skin. You didn’t look at anyone, not yet.

But Joel was already standing.

Carmen grabbed his wrist, whispering a “Joel,” under her breath, but he barely registered it. The world had narrowed down to you, to the line of your shoulders, the way you held yourself like a woman built of grief and defiance, the kind of person saints would have bowed to if they’d had any sense.

The judge’s voice cut through the thick, oppressive air like a blade.

“Miss… would you please state your name for the court?”

Your voice came, soft but steady, like the echo of a storm long passed but not forgotten.

You said your name, the name some people had tried to strip from you, the one they’d dragged through the dirt and the back alleys of town. But here it still was, on your tongue, yours.

The judge nodded, then leaned slightly forward, his expression carefully neutral, like a man who’d heard every horror the world could offer but still needed to pretend it surprised him.

“Can you tell this court about this man?”

The room seemed to tighten around you, the walls pressing in closer, the cheap wooden benches groaning under the weight of held breath.

You turned your head, slowly, to look at Gabriel.

And God, there was so much in that look. Mostly fury and hurt.

A raw, bone-deep ache for the girl you’d been before his shadow had ever darkened your doorstep. He sat there, his face pale and drawn but his eyes still void of anything human. As if he thought you wouldn’t speak. As if he thought after everything, he still had that power over you.

But you didn’t look away. Not until you were finished.

And then, like instinct, like the world shifting into place, your gaze flickered past the benches, to the figure standing halfway in the shadows, two rows behind Gabriel. Carmen and Billy, but then,

Joel.

And in the hurricane of rage and grief, your eyes softened. For a moment, the weight of the courtroom, the stares, the memories clawing at your skin — they fell away.

It was just him.

And the man who had once carried your body through those church doors like you weighed nothing. The man who’d fought God and his own sins for you.

The man who, despite everything, looked at you now like you were still the same light he'd lost and kept chasing.

Your lips parted, a breath hitching in your throat.

And Joel — his jaw clenched, his throat working around a swallowed word, a tear glinting in the corner of his eye he didn’t bother to hide this time.

The judge spoke again, but for a second neither of you moved. The room still existed, the trial still waited, but the world had shrunk to the space between your eyes and his.

And without meaning to, your fingers brushed the tiny silver cross at your neck, his cross.

Then you nodded.

And you spoke.  Not to Gabriel. Not for the townsfolk. But for the girl you used to be.

And for the man standing in the second row, who’d never stopped hoping you’d come back.

It was late. The kind of night where the streets held that strange, restless hush, not quite silence, but the quiet of a town too old to sleep easy.

Joel carried a paper bag against his chest, the sharp scent of oranges and a bottle of whiskey bleeding through the paper. Carmen had begged him to get some food in the house, something decent, but he knew he’d probably just let it go bad on the counter again.

He was cutting through the square when he saw you.

You were sitting on the old stone bench near the fountain, the same one you’d sat on as a girl, tossing coins into the water, wishing for things you wouldn’t name out loud. Your back was to him, head tipped toward the night sky, a cigarette burning between your fingers like a tiny, defiant star.

For a moment he thought it was another dream. God knew he’d had enough of those in the past six months. Versions of you in every form, laughing, bleeding, ghosting past him without a word.

But then you shifted, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Real. Solid. Breathing.

Joel felt the breath knock out of his lungs. Time didn’t slow; it collapsed entirely, folding in on itself. The ache in his chest, the wound he’d carried every single second of those six months, cracked wide open.

There was the woman of his heart.

The one be belonged to, in body and soul.

You.

"Hey"

“Hey,” you said, soft and almost shy, like it hadn’t been six long, brutal months, like you hadn’t crossed an ocean trying to outrun the ghost of him and the pieces of yourself you left behind.

Joel’s throat worked around a sound he couldn’t name. His hands trembled at his sides. You. Standing right there. That voice he’d heard in his sleep, in his worst nights, in the empty spaces between his ribs.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped, taking a step forward, then another, like if he stopped now, he might never get to see you again. “Is it… is it really you?”

You gave him a watery smile, your chin trembling. “Yeah,” you whispered.

And just like that, his world made sense again.

It was his whole goddamn world standing in front of him, across the street in the middle of the rain, hair shorter than he remembered, face thinner, a leather jacket slung over your shoulder but it was his.

And that smile.

That goddamn crooked, stubborn, radiant smile that had sent him to heaven a thousand times and dragged him through hell just the same.

You sat back down by the font; the evening air cool against your skin. The cigarette between your fingers was more for the ritual than the craving, a bad habit you’d picked up again these past months when the nights got too long and the memories too loud.

Joel just stood there for a second, staring at you like he wasn’t sure if you were real or some cruel trick of his mind. The same face. The same eyes. That half-smile you used to give him when you caught him staring.

And then, of all the goddamn things he could have told you, he shook his head a little, let out a breath, and said, “Smokin’s bad.”

You laughed. Actually laughed, the sound catching even you by surprise. It was small and rough around the edges but so real it made Joel’s eyes sting.

“Still giving me lectures?” you teased, glancing up at him.

He shrugged, a crooked, helpless grin tugging at his mouth. “Some things don’t change.”

Joel’s gaze dropped, and that’s when he noticed the worn canvas bag sitting by your feet. Faded patches sewn into the side,

"Where are you staying?" He asked.

"I don't know really. Carmen got a boyfriend and I really don't want to intrude at her house. Besides I don’t really don't trust strangers at all either."

"You can stay with me" he said

 "That's bold of you to say" you said.

Joel huffed a soft, almost shy laugh, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… guess six months apart didn’t fix my habit of wanting you near.”

You raised an eyebrow, that familiar little smirk ghosting your lips. “Still bold, father.”

“I mean it,” he said, quieter now, eyes steady on yours. “No pressure, no strings. Just… a place you know you’re safe. And it’s not a stranger’s place. It’s mine.”

For a moment, you didn’t say anything. The cigarette between your fingers burned down to the filter, and you flicked it away, your chest tight in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. The kind of tight that came from hearing the one person you swore you wouldn’t need again offering you a soft landing anyway.

“Okay,” you said softly. “But I get the couch.”

He smiled, crooked and boyish, like the years and the blood and the pain hadn’t touched him for a second. “We’ll argue about that later.”

It felt like the night he met you, sleeping on the bench inside the church. When he was still a priest, when he had no idea how much he would get to love you

Yeah, it felt just like that.

The way the world had gone quiet around them, the way time shrank to a moment that only the two of you existed inside. Joel felt it in his bones, in the marrow of every terrible, aching thing he'd carried since the night he first found you curled up on that cold church bench, eyes swollen from sleep.

Back then, he'd been a man of vows and quiet prayers, and you’d been a storm he hadn’t seen coming. Fragile in ways you hated to admit, strong in ways you didn’t even realize. And he’d fallen. God, how he fell.

Looking at you now, a bit more bruised by life, but still carrying that wild fire in your eyes, it felt like no time had passed at all. That same tether still pulled at him, snapping tight around his heart.

“Same look on your face,” you murmured, catching him staring. “Like you’re about to try and save me again.”

Joel’s throat worked as he tried to swallow the knot there. “Didn’t do too good a job last time.”

You sighed, leaning your head back against the bench. “You loved me. That was more than anybody else ever did.”

And it was the truth. As jagged and complicated and doomed as it had been, it was love. Raw, messy, aching love.

“And who said I don’t love you still?” Joel said quietly, not bothering to dress it up, not this time. The words sat between you like a fragile, half-healed scar.

You turned your head then, eyes meeting his, and it was all there, written plain across his face. That same broken, stubborn, endlessly loyal kind of love you used to drown in.

Your lips parted, a shaky breath leaving you, but before you could speak, Joel’s voice cut in, low and rough like gravel.

The world tilted, or maybe it was just your heart lurching in your chest. Six months of oceans, of silence, of trying to bury pieces of him deep enough that you could breathe again — and here he was, saying it like it hadn’t been a day.

Your throat tightened. “Joel…”

“I don’t care if it’s reckless,” he said, eyes never leaving yours. “I don’t care if you’re leaving tomorrow or if you still hate me for what happened. I’ve spent every damn night wishing it was different, wishing’ I could’ve gotten to you sooner, wishing I’d never let you walk away.”

You swallowed hard, your whole-body trembling under the weight of everything you’d buried.

And just like that, the years, the pain, the distance, none of it mattered. It was always going to be you and Joel.

You tore your gaze away, the weight of it too much, like staring straight into the sun after months of night.

Only him.

Only the ache of a heart you’d tried to cauterize and failed.

Your voice, when it came, was hoarse, frayed at the edges like old lace. You didn’t look at him. Couldn’t.

“Where’s your place then, Father?”

And the title hung in the air like a goddamn curse, bitter on your tongue.

You weren’t even sure if it was meant to wound him, or if it was just the only armor you had left.

Joel flinched like you’d struck him.

For a second, neither of you breathed.

Then, in a voice low enough that it was meant for you and no one else, Joel said,

“I haven’t been a father to anyone in a long time.”

And you finally lifted your gaze, because you had to.

What you found wasn’t a priest. Wasn’t the man in a collar who’d carried you out of that place.

Wasn’t even the broken man you’d left six months ago.

It was him.

“I bought a place,” he told you, as you grab your things following him.

You followed him as muscle memory, like you’d done it a thousand times before. The world outside was gray and swollen with clouds, the air thick with the kind of storm that felt personal. Neither of you spoke in the car, didn’t need to. It was the kind of silence where words would’ve only made the ache worse.

When he pushed open the door to the apartment, you stepped in behind him, and it felt like stepping into another life you might’ve lived.

It was small, yeah. Walls a soft, worn kind of white. A couch that had seen better days. A battered bookshelf half-full. A record player. No crosses. No saints. No confessions.

Just Joel.

You ran your hand along the edge of the table by the door, the tips of your fingers brushing over a cup of cold coffee, a photograph turned face down.

Your throat was too tight to speak, so you didn’t.

Joel shifted beside you, watching you like a man bracing for impact.

“You don’t like it?” he asked quietly.

Your lips parted, a soundless breath leaving you.

You let your gaze travel the room again, a small plant struggling for life on the windowsill.

And you shook your head, voice rough as gravel. “It looks very you, father.”

Joel’s jaw clenched, and for a second you saw it, that flicker of fear and hope warring in his chest.

You were both terrible at this.

Joel swallowed thickly, his gaze dropping for a moment, like the weight of you standing there, saying father in that voice was something sharp he was trying not to bleed over.

“I—uh…” he cleared his throat, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck like he always did when he didn’t know what to do with his hands. “You want a cup of tea?”

You gave a half-smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach your eyes but tried to, and nodded once. “Yeah… yeah, alright.”

And without waiting for him, your feet moved, like they already knew this place, even if you’d never been here before. The narrow hallway, the scuffed floorboards, the old records stacked by the table. You walked through the open glass door leading to the terrace, the cool air brushing against your skin, the city stretched out in bruised shades of blue and gray.

The world felt quieter out here.

You rested your hands on the rusting railing, the way the town lights blinked like distant, dying stars. It was so him, a place caught between wanting to be forgotten and quietly hoping someone would notice.

Joel watched you from the doorway for a beat before disappearing into the tiny kitchen, the sound of a kettle filling the silence. He didn’t ask what you were thinking. Didn’t need to.

And standing there, you hated how easily your heart mapped itself back to him.

How your bones still remembered the shape of his name.

He came back a few minutes later, two chipped mugs in hand. You took one, your fingers brushing his. It was ridiculous how something so small could still feel like a wound reopening.

“I didn’t think you’d come back to this town,” he said quietly.

You looked out at the city. “Neither did I.”

And you both drank to that.

The tea scalded your tongue, but you welcomed the sting. Better than the ache swelling in your chest, the one you hadn’t asked for, hadn’t invited back in. You stared out at the dark wash of the sky, the cold air biting at your skin, and you thought about how much you wanted him close.

How badly you wanted to reach for his hand, for his voice, for the steady ache of his presence against the chaos of your heart.

But you still remembered that night.

The sharp edge of his vows breaking between your fingers. The quiet desperation in your voice, pleading him to help you. And the way everything ended that night.

And it was a cruel thing, how love and pain made a home in the same place inside you.

Joel cleared his throat behind you, and when he spoke, his voice was careful, like he wasn’t sure it would hold.

“I bought this place just outside town…” You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

“…because I kept hoping you’d come back,” he continued. “That one day you would wander your way here. Or maybe you’d need a place, and you wouldn’t know where else to go. And you’d find this. Find me.”

You closed your eyes, your grip tightening around the mug.

“I quit,” he said. “My faith. The collar. The lies I kept telling myself about what I could and couldn’t have.” His words cracked like splintered wood, rough and aching. “I couldn’t carry it anymore, darlin’. Not when my heart was somewhere else.”

Your breath hitched.

“Because I chose you. And I—I know I can’t fix what’s broke in you. Wouldn’t ask to. But if you let me… I’ll water the cracked places. I’ll wait for flowers to grow there, no matter how long it takes. I ain’t leavin’. Not this time.”

You turned to him then, and he looked like a man stripped bare.

“Aren’t you a priest anymore?” you asked.

He gave a rough, breathless laugh, one that sounded more like a sigh dragged over old wounds. Joel ran a hand through his hair, his eyes never leaving yours, and in them, you saw every sleepless night, every silent prayer that wasn’t meant for God.

“No,” he said, voice low, steady. “Ain’t been for a while now.”

The words hung between you like the last fragile thread of something you’d both tried to kill and couldn’t.

“I ain’t a priest, and I ain’t a saint,” he added, a crooked, pained half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m just a man who fell in love with you when he wasn’t supposed to. And I’ve been carryin’ that with me like a goddamn cross ever since.”

Your throat felt tight, and you swallowed against it. Some part of you had needed to hear it.

The same part that was terrified it would only hurt more.

“Do you still believe in God, Joel?” you asked, because you didn’t know what else to do with the ache between you.

His gaze softened then, something breaking loose in him, and he shook his head slowly. “I believe in you.”

You didn’t think. Didn’t weigh the years or the bruises left on your heart. Didn’t count the nights spent trying to forget the shape of his voice in your ear.

You set the cup of tea down on the little table by the terrace door, the steam curling up like a ghost between you. And you crossed the space.

Joel didn’t move, didn’t even blink, as if the air itself had turned thick, and he was too afraid to breathe it in.

Your hand came up, fingers brushing his jaw, rough stubble beneath your palm, and you swore you felt him shudder.

You didn’t wait for a sign, didn’t ask permission.

You just kissed him.

It wasn’t soft, wasn’t hesitant. It was every lonely night, every unsent letter, every goddamn “what if” you’d swallowed for months.

It was grief and longing and the unbearable sweetness of something you’d thought you’d never taste again.

And Joel made a sound, something between a sob and a sigh, and kissed you back like he was a drowning man, and you were air.

His hands found your waist, desperate and careful at the same time, like he didn’t know whether to pull you closer or fall to his knees.

Tags < 3 @jasminedragoon @mandaloriankait @jellybeanxc @spencercmlover @lilac-boo @disco-fairy75 @correapunk @existentialdreadofhumanity @secretcheesecakenacho @laliceee @exzidss @missladym1981

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[mintyys-blog]

hey bestie, would you mind do a fake dating trope fic with mark x reader? it could be for a mission, or mark trying to prove he's a good catch to eve or amber, or mark needing a prom date to stop being the weird nerd, or to mess with reader's ex who for some reason hates mark's guts.

RENT A BOYFRIEND | mark grayson x reader

invincible masterlist

content warnings ; fake dating, swearing

Mark Grayson showed up at your locker looking like he’d just survived a life-or-death battle. In reality, he’d just come from lunch with Eve.

So, you know. Same thing.

He leaned against the lockers, dramatic sigh loaded and ready.

You raised a brow. “Rough day?”

“She said I’m sweet,” he muttered.

“…And that’s bad?”

“She said I’m sweet like… a golden retriever. Loyal. Kind. Comfortable.”

You blinked. “That sounds… incredibly nice?”

Mark groaned. “She basically called me safe. Non-threatening. I might as well be a golden retriever in a human hoodie.”

You bit back a smile. “Mark. You’re not a dog.”

“I bark when I’m nervous.”

“That’s a you problem.”

He ran both hands through his hair. “Look. I need your help.”

That was always a great sentence to hear. You crossed your arms. “What kind of help?”

Mark hesitated. Then:

“I want you to pretend to be my girlfriend.”

You stared at him. He kept going like this was a normal thing to ask.

“Just for a bit. In public. Around Eve. I want to show her I’m not just ‘safe.’ I’m… desirable. Dateable. Someone worth a second look.”

You frowned. “And you think pretending to date someone else is the key to winning her over?”

He shrugged. “You’re hot. You’re funny. You scare people a little bit. You’re, like, the opposite of a golden retriever. If you’re into me? That says something.”

You narrowed your eyes. “That I have bad taste?”

“That I’m not just a nice guy! I’m someone a cool, smart, intimidating girl actually wants.”

“Your logic is flawless.” You gave him a long, slow once-over. “You know this plan is insane, right?”

“Yes,” he said, way too fast.

“And doomed to backfire.”

“Probably.”

“…When do we start?”

Mark’s head snapped up. “Wait—seriously?”

“Don’t make me change my mind,” you warned, already pulling out your phone. “We’re going Instagram official tonight.”

He blinked. “We are?”

“Don’t half-ass this, Grayson. I want full couple aesthetics. Matching hoodies. Dumb selfies. I want people to think you write me poetry at night and call me baby in seven languages.”

He looked dazed. “Wow. You’re scarily good at this.”

You smirked. “Fake-dating me means committing to the bit. You sure you’re ready for that?”

“I think I’m terrified.”

“Good. That’ll make it more convincing.”

It started with one picture. You, leaning on Mark’s shoulder, sipping from his milkshake with a caption that read: “mine ❤️”

Eve liked it within minutes. So did half the school.

People stared when you walked into class the next day holding Mark’s hand. And Mark? He grinned like he’d just won the lottery—but his thumb kept brushing over your knuckles like he was memorizing the feel of you.

You were supposed to be pretending.

You weren’t sure when it started to feel real. Maybe the moment he held open your car door. Or when he laughed at your terrible jokes like you were the funniest person alive. Or when you caught him staring—not at Eve, but at you—when he thought you weren’t looking.

He kissed your cheek once at a coffee shop and forgot to stop holding your waist.

One afternoon, Mark looked at you, all nervous energy and bitten-lip hesitation, and said, “So… you think we should tell Eve the truth soon?”

And your heart twisted. You gave him a careful look. “Do you want to?” He paused. Then smiled—slow and honest.

“Actually,” he said, “I kind of want to see what happens if we stop pretending.” You stared at him, heartbeat a little too loud in your ears. He wasn’t joking. Mark Grayson—dorky, heroic, painfully earnest—was looking at you like you were the answer to a question he didn’t know he’d been asking.

You should’ve said something smooth. Something cool. Something casual, like “well, it is fun playing your dangerously attractive fake girlfriend.” But your mouth was dry and your brain was suddenly short-circuiting.

So all you managed was, “Mark…” He tilted his head, smile soft. “Yeah?” You blinked. “You want to keep fake dating me?”

Mark scratched the back of his neck. “I mean… I thought I did. But then I realized I like holding your hand when we’re alone. I like when you laugh at my terrible puns. I like—God—how mad you get when I pretend to forget your coffee order just to hear you yell at me.”

“You like me yelling at you?”

“I think I might be into it, yeah.” You narrowed your eyes. “That’s worrying.”

“I’m a very complicated man.” You snorted. And for a second, the moment cracked—just enough to let you breathe. Just enough to move.

And before you could stop yourself, before you could overthink it or ruin it— You kissed him. No warning. No grand speech. Just the quiet shift of weight as you stepped closer, hooked a hand behind his neck, and leaned in.

Mark froze for half a second. Then he melted into it like you were gravity itself. His hands found your waist. His fingers curled in your jacket like he couldn’t quite believe this was happening. Like if he let go, the dream would end. When you pulled back, barely an inch between you, you murmured, “There. Not pretending.”

Mark looked dazed. “Okay. Yeah. Nope. Not breathing. That’s fine.” You laughed, forehead brushing his. “You good?”

“I think I need CPR.”

“From me?”

He grinned. “Obviously.” You pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth, softer this time. Sweeter. “What about Eve?”

Mark’s smile faded, but not in a sad way. Just… thoughtful. “I think I needed to prove something to her,” he said. “That I’m someone worth choosing.”

“And now?”

He looked at you like he’d already chosen. “I think I’d rather be your something.”

[peachhcs]

i saw this tiktok and it was like media girls asking players who there favourite female athlete was and maybe you could write something like that of guys mentioning samy hahahah just hyping her up

WAIT YESSSS i like that because they'd definitely say her just because of how much they adore her and you knoww will is saying her immediately

au masterlist

the boys had never been too into media, especially when it was just answering the same questions over and over. it got old fast and most of the time the social media interns were catching them at their worst moments like after a hard practice or after losing a game, but today seemed like a good day. vicky, the boston college media girl, stood at the entrance to the locker room as the boys came off the ice to grab some quick content for instagram.

"uh oh, vicky's here, you know what that means," drew teased when he saw the girl with her phone and microphone.

"hi, yeah more media. sorry boys," she giggled.

"don't apologize, i'm ready. hit me with whatever you got," drew encouraged as aram, fowler, and vote walked in behind him seconds later.

"you three can join in too, but i'm doing a little series of getting to know the players better, so today's question is who is your favorite female athlete?" she handed drew the mic as the boy pondered his answer.

"oh easy, samy hughes," aram quickly answered with a smile.

"oh agreed. she's a fucking beast," the others quickly agreed after hearing aram mention the michigan soccer player.

"if you haven't seen her play yet, you better go watch one of her games. she knows her shit out there. i've never seen someone so confident on the field before," aram stole the mic to continue his thought.

"i was gonna say her but i didn't know if it would be weird," drew laughed.

"dude why would it be weird? she's our friend," fowler laughed too.

"yeah there are people probably so jealous we can say that," aram commented. vicky grinned at their answers and let them go as more boys came back from practice.

some of the older boys mentioned people like livy dunne, caitlin clark, and paige buckers, but when ryan, gabe, and james came in they were also quick to bring up samy's name.

"favorite female athlete? definitely samy. have you seen her play?" ryan chuckled while the other two nodded in agreement.

"i would also say my own girlfriend, hannah duke," james cut in with a shy blush.

"ah, yes, yes. well you've got your own girl," gabe teased a bit.

"although, both are very good athletes, so i'd say both," the freshman smiled.

"she's scored how many career points? like 100? she had her 100th celebration senior year," ryan said.

"yeah, she's probably close to like 200 now," gabe added.

over in san jose, a similar video was being filmed with the sharks players after they finished practice. will and mack exchanged a glance when they saw the two interns grinning at them with a microphone in one of their hands.

"hi, you know what time it is," vanessa laughed.

"can't evade this time. what's the question today?" mack wondered as him and will stopped to entertain their video.

"who is your favorite female athlete?" vanessa asked and chloe held the mic out for them.

"easy answer, my girlfriend. samy hughes," will quickly grinned without hesitation.

"i'd have to agree and also say my girlfriend, blaire stevenson," mack added.

"can you tell us why?"

"uh, she has a lot of dedication and has put a lot of time into the women's soccer team. she has successfully led them to the ncaa finals since her freshman year and helped win them their first national title in years," will said.

"i echo everything he said about samy. i've never been too into american soccer, but watching samy play is actually like super incredible to watch. she has a lot of raw talent and it's really cool to see her use it. my girlfriend is also a very talented figure skater and i envy the grace she has on the ice. it blows me away every time i watch a meet," macklin grinned.

"awesome answers, thanks guys!" vanessa and chloe waved as the two boys continued to the locker room.

when the videos were posted everyone was gushing about how quick the boys brought up samy and how endearing it was to see how much they love her (platonically and romantically).

comments

user1 STOP this was so cute?? all of the dev boys said samy awww

user2 i actually love how close they all are with samy and it's so cutie to see

user3 wow i knew they loved her but i didn't know this much. i loved seeing them gush about her

user4 u knowww she's so loved by them

user5 oh i'd know they'd do anything for her if she asked

user6 stop will was so quick to say samy

user7 will's blush awwww

user8 i hope they're all friends forever they're so cute

user9 where do i find friends like this????

user10 wait babiesss aw

[tagedeszorns]

So who exactly is Erebus? I'm questioning as a newcomer cuz latecomers and seniors of the Fandom seem to hate him a lot?

Now I'm trying not to hate him cuz everyone is doing it, it's a bad thing really, everyone seems to hate Leandros too, though I've only known him for a bit from a cutscene movie of the Space Marine I, my impression on him is pretty neutrally mixed, I can get why people hate him while also not hating him too much, he has his flaws and I don't really hate him for it, I still don't know him completely to judge him and I'm still fed conflicting perspectives so I'll try not to diluted with that

I'm pretty sure Erebus might've done some very bad things but who didn't in Warhammer 40K? Imagine seeing everyone keep despising the man and not knowing exactly why and I'm a bit afraid to ask cuz the answers are a mumbo jumbo, like you can't tell if they speak as a real enjoyer or they're just being a hater of Erebus and were being emotional about it instead, the latter is very likely (no hate for that really everyone does that), but I trust you!

Also the whole "I hate this" and "I hate that" is a big issue and a hellhole for many fandoms, like there's this fandom of this famous comic that although I don't exactly join, I do know that comic very well, but recently I learned that they have to censor a name, A NAME of a character who's massively hated in the fandom so hellishly in a subreddit, they have to censor her name cuz mentioning her name causes major arguments and forest fire in the server, considering they censor her name now, only God can imagine how burning in hell the debates over her were like in the past, it's quite the issue when everyone jumps to hate instead of actual discussions not fueled by too much emotion cuz we all know how convoluted of a turmoil it is when you're not sure if they're speaking facts and not having a hate rant about it, sometimes these hate can spread to everyone in the fandom and it's never a good thing, guys we've done this dance for years by now and only NOW do they realize just how pathetic the entire hate phenomenon surrounding one character was in the past of the early days of the fandom, only NOW do they realize that every character in this comic is pretty much not a saint, no one is, so why the entire hate crusade for anyway? It produces nothing and it only causes mindless hatred that proves basically nothing at all, it all was driven by people who clearly just wanted to hate and never really want to discuss anything at all, that's why fandom group debates are usually unproductive by a mile in many ways cuz you are very likely to meet someone who doesn't listen until it's what they want to hear but it can happen to private debates too, at least that's how it is to me, at that point I would just stop arguing anyway

Even I was no victim of character hate in Fandom since it's very infectious even when you're steer clear of it and I hate being affected by it, it's very easy to fall into it when you don't know the correct sources and are too lazy to figure it all out so you take the big massively accepted opinions as true and then it broke into that even those big beliefs are ill founded

Erebus is Lorgar's First Chaplain. A rank somewhere between the political pull of a Lord Commander Primus with the Emperor's Children and the sheer power of a Son's of Horus First Captain.

He is the right hand of his Primarch, tied up in a constant power play with Kor Phaeron (Lorgar's stepdad) and chosen by the Chaos Gods since childhood to bring back the old beliefs.

He orchestrates most of the bigger supernatural campaigns during the Heresy (like Calth and the Ruinstorm for example) and works very independently towards Horus' fall (it was so easy) and the following events until Terra.

He is ruthless in the sense of "I want XY to happen, so I take the direct route to make it happen". He isn't taking anyone's feelings into consideration and is the most "doing my job here"-guy ever. He is as determined as John Wick after the dog dies.

Most of the haters really don't get what Warhammer is all about and that there are no clear cut lines between "good" and "evil", because, surprise, there are no such categories. Warhammer is a Galaxy full of shitty people doing shitty things for shitty reasons, ruled by shitty gods, trapped in the most fascist system imagineable (yes, even before the Heresy).

But Erebus-haters are for the most part very simple people (at least that's my impression so far) who can't stand greyscale with plot or protagonists and get squeamish when it comes to despair. They have no problem with blood and gore, but the very premise of Warhammer, a Galaxy without hope, is too much for them. So they are grasping for straws. Finding the one guy, who is to blame. Who they can push into the volcano to get back the gloryfied status quo ante. But said status quo ante, the Great Crusade, is humanity swarming like locusts, killing everything that doesn't fit their very rigid criteria of "untainted human" and forcing everybody under their cemented rule. It's really no fun for anybody, who isn't a pure, obediant human (sounds familiar?).

I have no idea, why that would appeal to anybody, but it's so much fun to read, how artfully the Black Library-authors do their best to show the gaping black chasm of a dystopian horror beneath the shiny surface. Unfortunately, a lot of fans don't get it. Like, at all.

I'm not saying the old belief is better! The Chaos Gods are dicks. That's it. The verdict is still out about Nurgle, but ... no. Nobody in their right mind wants to trade ultra-fascism (the Emperor) for other-flavour-of-servitude.

But that's the whole point! There is no winning here. It never was an option. This is Warhammer. And that's the fucking fun about it!

Erebus and Lorgar saw the truth behind it. That the Emperor has given humanity no choice. He starved the Chaos Gods by denying their existence. Humanity lived behind the great firewall, to create a quasi-religious (don't call it that or get killed) dictatorship under an uncaring non-god (fuck the human webway-project, that would have created more effective control mechanisms and more oppression).

And here's the thing - what is worse? Not having a choice or two bad choices? How you answer this question determines if you like Erebus or not. If you think living in denial in a cemented system that kills everything that doesn't fit is better than knowing all your horrible options.

At this point of the discussion the average Erebus-hater goes "but muh Argel-Tal!" and that's when I get really tired. Because, yeah, Erebus kills people. Stabs them to death. Like, with Athames. He nearly kills Horus. He has a ruthless agenda ....LIKE FUCKING MOST OF THE OTHER GUYS IN WARHAMMER, TOO! Let me give you a few examples people don't get nearly as panty-twisted about than about anything Erebus does. The Emperor killed off two of his sons and their Legions and even hid their memory from the other Primarchs. Ahriman kills about 50% of his friends (no, I'm not talking about the Rubrik, but his not-braindead-friends and allies), some in the most cruel way possible (RIP in peace, Sanakht). The Lion backhands Nemiel to death for speaking his mind. Same Lion roasts a whole province on Macragge and lying to his brother about it. Sevatar explodes most of the Kyroptera for ... wait for it ... political reasons. Whatever Curze does on any given day. Perturabo maims his sons into Dreadnoughts on a semi-regular basis. Fulgrim beheads Eidolon for having an opinion. Talos lets a whole populace get tortured to death (yes, they are skinning your grandpa, your doggo and your baby sister alive here, you like the screams?). Guilliman, Sanguinius and the Lion let refugees die on a devastated planet, because "gotta go!".

There are tons of other occurances of the same quality, but fandom has decided to bitch and moan exclusively about Erebus.

I'm not saying that's not funny. I am not saying I'm not enjoying rustling a lot of jimmies with pointing all that stuff out on a semi-regular basis.

But I have to face the fact. Analysis of texts is not the strong suit of a lot of Warhammer fans. They are here for the game and for fun. And you get more clicks with memes and easy content.

So I am over here in my little corner, fighting windmills and enjoying the worst/best bastard guys GW has gifted us with.

Thank you for reading this wall of text. If you enjoy my analysis of the more unpopular parts of Warhammer, let me know, then I will do more of it.

[zoro-sremedy]

In the fine print. Three. After hours

Brief summary:

A merger puts them on opposite sides of the table… and then all over each other. Sex, secrets, and sabotage—falling wasn’t part of the plan, but some deals are made in whispers and signed between the sheets.

Word Count: 7.3k

Risk assessment 18+ mdni, smut and crack, stablished relationship, reader is unprotected, spanking, backshots, soft dom/dom vibes.

a/n: i know it's long, but it'll be worth it, trust me. or maybe i'm putting myself up on a pedestal? who knows, i really enjoyed writing this for purely selfish reasons and i share it just for that too! hehe

If there was a chirp in your step or a shine in your aura, nobody commented. But you could fucking feel it and wanted to make it stop. But how could you? Zoro's morning text just made your day and the thought of finally having him all to yourself had you all giddy.

After a quick update to Izo who wanted to know if you hooked up, then the Ace situation—he promised he would skin Ace alive himself. Which you hope he does. Then the day happened by you fast between documents and sorting things out to start the process of the upscale of the eastern docks.

By the time lunch came around, you and your secretary were having lunch when you heard the ping of your phone take you out of your gossipy moment with her. Seeing Zoro's name bright on your screen had your full attention now, but not in good news.

Zoro:

Hope you're having a nice lunch, unlike me trapped in a boring ass meeting. Have some… bad news.

You:

I am, not a prisoner of work at the moment, sorry to hear that. What happened?

Zoro replied instantly:

We're going to have to cancel our meet up. Someone fucked something up in America and I'll be leaving after this meeting for a few days to see what's going on.

You deflated completely, your perky demeanor so gone that even your secretary asked if there was anything wrong.

You:

Oh, shit. It's okay, I understand. Trust me, have a safe trip to the States 😘

You assured your secretary everything was okay and thought he wouldn't probably text back. Instead, he decided to give you a call. You were very surprised by this, excusing yourself a moment to go far away from the people. "Hello?" You answered a little dubious, perhaps he butt dialed?

But his deep voice came out just as clear, "Love." You couldn't deny the way the new nickname settled on you made your knees weak a little. But you wouldn't let it show, not right now.

You could hear the exasperated sigh that left his body, "you sound upset," you quipped back playfully. He chuckled a little, "I am upset. Was looking forward to dessert tonight."

You could feel the heat rise to your ears, the reminder of the promise lingering with an air of desire. "Me too. But you know, work is work," you answered like a kid not getting their promised candy. He was not any better, listening to your voice on the phone made him just want to drop everything, but if he was anything but disciplined. "Fuck work, I'm so firing someone today."

This made an honest laugh leave your body that made him relax in his chair, "I really wanted to see you." He added, this time softer, warmer and it made you happy, to see he was not the only one feeling this.

"Me too, kinda' miss those lips on me." He groaned in return as you laughed softly once again. "Please, don't do this to me now. I might not even make it to the airport."

He's so cute like this. "And we wouldn't want that, of course." You answered back teasingly. "I don't want it, it's such bad timing." He complained, almost child-like.

It was all really cute, honestly. "Go, Zoro. I'll be right here when you come back," you promised him, "I'll take care of you once you're back."

You could hear him take a breath in, "Promise?"

"Pinky swear, love"

He chuckled, satisfied with the answer, "I'll make it as quick as possible." You looked at the flower on the bushes, wondering if they always looked this cute. "Please do."

The call ended on a light note and some promises that had to be kept or you'd combust.

Later that night, after having to bring some documents home and a wine bottle. Zoro's name lights up on your phone.

Zoro:

Landed. Missing you already. Promise me you’re behaving.

You:

Depends on your definition of behaving 😇

Zoro:

Don’t make me get on the next flight back. I will.

Next day, during work:

You:

You alive or did corporate America eat you?

Zoro:

Barely alive. Missed lunch because these suits can’t get their shit together. Thinking about you is the only thing keeping me sane. How's work over there?

You:

You’re so dramatic. 😭 But also you’re cute. I'm swamped, like pulling nights kind of swamp.

Zoro:

Take good care of yourself. Don't wanna see you all burnt out, love.

That evening:

Zoro:

Can’t sleep. Jetlag. Wanna hear your voice.

You:

If I call you right now I’ll end up saying things I shouldn’t. 😳

Zoro:

That’s exactly why you should.

Day before his return:

You:

Are you back tomorrow?

Zoro:

Yeah. You’re the first person I wanna see.

You:

Come visit me for lunch then, Mr. Businessman. 🍱

Zoro:

Careful. Might not let you leave the elevator after.

You don't know how he managed to fix it in just 2 days, but you were not going to complain. You updated Izo on the recent and very frequent texting, which was delighted, already talking about you and Zoro as a power couple on social media because you both looked insanely good together.

Next day rolled fast under piles of work, you were honestly wondering where all this work was coming from because it had you really stressed, and it showed. And honestly? The only person helping you pull through was Zoro, the idea of seeing him today made you pull through the morning rush of paperwork while still looking half decent.

You were waiting by the lobby of the building where the restaurant was, scrolling through your phone when you caught sight of him—Zoro, in a crisp dark suit, no tie, a few buttons undone like he couldn't be bothered, walking toward you with that lazy, confident stride that made your chest tighten.

His hair was messy, probably from rushing through home to change after arriving. His eyes locked on you like he could eat you alive.

"Hey, love," he said, voice low enough to feel like a secret.

You barely had time to respond before he leaned down, pressed a quick kiss to your temple—innocent enough for the public, but the way his hand brushed the small of your back made heat bloom under your skin.

"You look great," he muttered under his breath, just for you.

You guided him toward the elevator, pretending you weren't wildly aware of how good he looked, or how many people were definitely stealing glances.

The elevator dinged open. Empty.

You both stepped inside.

The moment the doors slid shut, he was on you—backing you into the mirrored wall, mouth claiming yours in a kiss so fierce and starved it knocked the breath from your lungs.

You gasped against his mouth, fingers tangling in his shirt. His hands framed your face, tilting it up so he could kiss you deeper, slower, like he needed to make it count.

"Fuck," he muttered, forehead pressing against yours when he finally pulled back. His breathing was rough, like he'd just fought a damn battle. "Been thinking about this for days," he confessed.

You grinned, breathless. Lip gloss smeared between each other. "Guess I was worth surviving corporate America for." He laughed—low and sinful—then kissed you again, softer this time, slower, like he was memorizing the taste of you.

The elevator chimed.

You barely had time to fix your hair before the doors opened to your floor, and a group of people nearly walked into you both.

Zoro just smirked, tugged you protectively into his side, and whispered against your ear:

"Next time, I'm not letting you get away that easily."

You finally made it to a sky-high restaurant with an amazing view. “I promised I’ll take care of you once you’re back, so this is on me.” Zoro just gave you a long stare and flicked on your forehead softly. “Over my dead body, you yourself are enough, silly.”

You found a corner booth, and Zoro slid beside you, not across from you. You raised an eyebrow at that, but he said nothing, heart stupidly happy at how natural it felt. He just sat back, one arm thrown lazily over the backrest behind you, like he couldn't help but keep you close.

"So," you said, grinning over your menu. "Survived America?"

Zoro gave a grunt, rolling his eyes. "Barely. Bunch of idiots. Took everything not to walk out halfway through the meetings." He looked over at you, smirking a little softer now. "Only stayed because of the promise you made."

You felt your cheeks warm, hiding behind your menu. "Oh, come on," you teased.

"What?", he quipped, smirking at your flustering.

You kicked him lightly under the table to hide how flustered you were to no avail. He just chuckled, grabbing a fry from the little basket the waiter dropped off.

The conversation flowed so easily after that—

Between bites of food, you caught up: work chaos, stupid office gossip, your secretary's latest crush, Ace still being Ace (Zoro muttered something about "wringing his neck" that made you snort into your drink).

Zoro listened like it was the most important story he'd ever heard. Leaning in, nodding, sometimes reaching out to tuck a strand behind your ear without thinking.

But God, he made it hard.

"And you?" you asked finally, poking a fry at him. "Other than almost murdering your team?" Zoro shrugged, catching the fry from your hand and eating it— smirking when your mouth dropped open a little at his boldness.

"Nothing interesting. Meetings, flights, missing you."

He said it like he was telling you what the weather was—casual, simple—but his eyes pinned you to your seat.

You opened your mouth to answer but the heat rising up your neck gave you away first. Zoro just grinned like he knew exactly what he was doing.

"You look tired, though," he said, brushing his thumb lightly against the corner of your mouth to catch a crumb. His voice dropped lower. "Working too hard, huh?"

You swallowed thickly, nodding.

"I don't like it," he said simply. "You need to rest too. Not just work yourself into the ground."

The way he said it—not bossy, not teasing, just worried—it wrapped around you like a hug you didn’t know you needed.

"I'll rest soon," you promised, voice quieter. "I know," he muttered, like he was already planning to make sure of it himself.

You finished your food between more soft teasing and warm glances that spoke louder than words. By the time lunch ended, you didn't realize you hadn't stopped smiling once.

At the door, he caught your hand for a moment—not pulling you closer, just lacing your fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He squeezed your hand once, then let go, walking you back to your building. The connection between you thrummed—strong, steady, impossible to ignore.

And you knew, deep in your chest:

This wasn't just flirting anymore.

This was becoming something real.

The next few days blurred into each other.

Work picked up like it had a personal vendetta against you, and overtime became your new normal. You barely had time to breathe, much less flirt—but Zoro never let you drift too far.

Texts here and there. Short calls on your late drives home. Little pictures he sent you—sometimes of his food with captions like "missing my lunch date," sometimes of sunsets with no caption at all, just because he thought you'd like them after you told him you loved them.

It was easy. Comfortable in a way that almost scared you. You didn't have to play games or play hard to get. He just… chose you. Quietly, consistently, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

And fuck, you wanted to see him again. You needed to see him.

You were working late again when you heard the buzz of your office intercom. You blinked at it, frowning. You hadn't ordered anything, had you?

"Miss, uh," the receptionist's voice crackled through, sounding a little flustered. "There's a, uh… a very large man here. Says he's here for you?"

You stifled a laugh.

Only one man fit that description.

"Send him up," you said, already smiling.

A few minutes later, Zoro walked in—a casual black t-shirt clinging to him obscenely well and gray sweatpants, a paper bag in one hand, and that lazy, confident smirk aimed right at you.

"You're gonna work yourself into an early grave," he said by way of greeting, setting the bag on your desk.

You dropped your pen and leaned back in your chair, smiling up at him. "Maybe," you teased. "But at least I'll die sexy." He snorted, reaching out to flick your forehead gently. "Idiot."

Your heart squeezed at how easy it was to fall back into this—how he made the whole world feel lighter just by standing in the room. "You brought me dinner?" you asked, pretending to bat your lashes at him.

"Yeah," he said, pulling containers. "Because you suck at taking care of yourself. And because," he added, tone softening, "I missed you." You didn't even bother hiding the way your face lit up. You just stood, walked around the desk, and hugged him.

He stiffened for half a second—like he wasn't expecting it— but then melted, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you tight against him. You stayed like that longer than you probably should have. No talking. Just breathing in each other.

When you finally pulled back, he caught your chin between his fingers. The look in his eyes made your stomach flip—hot and full so many things he hadn't said out loud yet.

"Eat first," he murmured. "Then I'm not letting you out of my hands again."

Zoro nudged you toward the couch, his hand heavy and warm against the lower back. "Sit," he said, voice leaving no room for argument. His other hand was already unpacking the food he brought, laying it out neatly on your coffee table.

You sank down onto the plush couch, your muscles grateful even if your brain was still in work mode. "You know," you teased lightly, "you're bossier than my real boss."

Zoro smirked, crouching down in front of you to unpack the last container. He was so close you could see every little scar on his arms, the vein running along his hand flexing as he moved. "Yeah? Guess you like it though," he muttered, glancing up through his lashes. The look made your stomach flutter violently.

He pressed a pair of chopsticks into your hand, then plopped beside you, his thigh pressing against yours like he couldn't stand even a few inches of distance. "Eat," he leaned closer, voice dipping lower. "You promised me you'd take care of yourself. Don't make me put you over my knee."

You almost choked on air at that, shooting him a glare that only made him chuckle low and dark. He didn't even move away—just stretched his arm across the back of the couch, thumb lightly stroking your shoulder as you ate.

It should've been distracting—hell, it was distracting—but also comforting. Like he was telling your overworked brain, I'm here. You're not alone.

Between mouthfuls, you bickered playfully. He lectured you for working too late. You snapped back that he was being dramatic. He muttered something about kidnapping you for a "mandatory vacation" and you just laughed until your chest hurt.

And when you finally put the container down, patting your stomach, Zoro's expression changed.

He stood. Slow. Purposeful.

Your breath caught as he walked toward the door. Without a word, he reached out and locked it with a soft click, turning the bold in place.

Then he turned back to you, his eyes dark and hungry in the dim light of your office.

"You ate," he said simply, voice like velvet and steel. "Good girl."

Your pulse roared in your ears.

He crossed the room in three long strides, grabbed you by the wrist—gently but firmly—and pulled you up into him. You barely had a second to gasp before his mouth was on yours.

Hot. Demanding.

His hands cradled your face, tilting it just the way he wanted, like he couldn't get enough of you. The kiss deepened fast—his tongue sliding against yours, tasting you, owning you, taking his time like he had all night to ruin you.

You moaned into his mouth, fingers fisting in the front of his t-shirt, desperate for more contact. Zoro chuckled low, the sound rumbling against your chest.

"Missed this," he breathed against your lips. "Missed you."

One of his hands slid down your body, gripping your ass with a low groan, pulling you flush against the hard line of him. You whimpered at the friction, your body reacting instinctively—grinding against him, needing more.

He pulled back just enough to look down on you, eyes heavy-lidded and burning.

"You've been working so hard, love," he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth, your jaw, down to your throat where he nipped lightly—just enough to make you gasp. "You deserve to be taken care of."

You shivered, hands clawing at his t-shirt, needing more, needing him. "Please," you whispered, voice cracking with how much you needed him.

It was all he needed to hear.

Zoro slid his hands down, gripping your hips, lifting you easily until you were straddling him as he sank down onto the couch. Your skirt rode up high around your waist, leaving you wide open for him.

He leaned back just enough to take you in, his hands smoothing down your thighs, slow and reverent.

"Look at you," he murmured, voice rough. His thumb brushed the thin strap of your thong peeking from beneath your shirt. "God, look at you." His hands roamed up your sides, finding the first button of your blouse. Slowly, teasingly, he undid it. Then the next. And the next. Kissing the newly exposed skin with every reveal.

When he spread the blouse open, his breath hitched slightly—a rare, genuine moment where you could see how hard he was trying to hold himself back. "So fucking beautiful," he rasped, voice low and awed.

You tried to tease him, make some smartass comment, but it died on your tongue when his hands cupped your bare waist, sliding under your bra, thumbs stroking the soft curve of you.

"You work so hard," Zoro murmured, leaning up to kiss your collarbone, the swell of your chest, soft and worshipful. "Always pushing yourself. Always taking care of everyone else." He kissed the hollow of your throat, making you shiver. "Let me take care of you tonight, love."

You shivered under his touch, the heat between you both practically humming now. Zoro tugged you even closer, grinding you down against the hard length straining beneath his sweatpants.

The friction made you gasp—your hands clutching at his shoulders for balance. "Sensitive, huh?" he teased against your throat, nipping the skin there. "Been working too much. Neglecting yourself."

You opened to snap back, but all that came out was a whimper when he rocked up against you again, slow and devastating. "Bet you're already dripping for me," he murmured, voice smug and low. "Can feel it through your panties, love."

You flushed hard, trying to hide your face in his neck—but Zoro caught your chin and made you look at him.

"Nah. Don't hide from me," he said, voice a rough whisper. "Wanna see everything." His fingers slid under your skirt, tracing the edge of your soaked thong, teasing, barely touching where you needed him the most. You jerked your hips, desperate for friction—but he pulled back just enough to make you whine.

"You know…" he said lazily, pretending to think as his fingers ghosted your pussy softly through the soaked fabric of your underwear, "we could get caught."

You blinked, half-dazed from the teasing. "W-what?"

Zoro smirked, sinful and knowing. "Someone could come up. Hear you whimpering like this," he said, slipping one finger under the thin fabric and dragging it slowly against your folds, making you shudder. "See you grinding on me like a needy little thing."

You tried to hold a moan, coming out as a whispered curse instead, hips bucking against his teasing fingers. "But…" he leaned in, biting your earlobe lightly, "I checked the floor before I came up." His voice dropped, molten with amusement. "Not a soul but you and me here, sweetheart."

You let out a shaky breath, half-relieved, half-crazed with want. "You're evil," you muttered against his mouth, and he chuckled, kissing you hard enough to steal the words right out of your brain.

"Yeah?" he rumbled. "Still gonna let me take care of you?"

You nodded, unable to speak.

Zoro kissed you again—slow this time, almost tender— and then he shifted, lifting you like you weighed nothing. He laid you back on the couch, stepping back just enough to peel your blouse open the rest of the way, letting it fall off your shoulders.

His hands ran reverently down your bare skin, eyes drinking you in like he was starving. Then, with deliberate slowness, he reached down, undid your belt, and slid your skirt down your hips, tossing it aside without looking away from you once.

You lay there, flushed and panting in just your bra and thong, blinking up at him. "Look at you," he whispered again, almost like he couldn't believe it. "Fuck, you're a vision." You reached for him, needing his touch—but he grabbed your wrists and pinned them lightly against the cushions, grinning wickedly down at you.

"Not yet," he said. "Gotta reward you properly first."

And then he dropped to his knees in front of the couch, tugging your hips toward the edge with a sure, rough touch. You gasped as he pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another, working his way higher, the stubble on his jaw scratching deliciously against your sensitive skin.

"Been thinking about this for weeks," he muttered against you, voice so dark it made your toes curl. When he finally hooked his fingers under your thong and pulled it down slowly, you thought you might lose your mind entirely.

He looked up at you once—eyes blown wide, pupils dark and greedy— and then he buried his face between your thighs like a man starved, growling low in his throat as he finally, finally tasted you.   

You cried out—sharp and broken—your back arching off the couch as Zoro's mouth finally closed over you. He groaned like you were the one feeding him, like he'd been starving for the taste of you.

His tongue licked a slow, devastating stripe up your center before latching onto your clit with a pleasure that made your legs tremble. "Zoro—!" you gasped, hands flying to his hair without thinking, fisting in the messy green strands.

He didn't slow down. If anything, your desperate noises only spurred him on. He wrapped his arms around your thighs, anchoring you to him, grinding his mouth into you like he could pull every moan, every shiver straight from your soul.

"Fuck you taste so good," he growled against you, voice vibrating right through your core. "Could stay down here all goddamn night." You sobbed a sound that might've been his name, grinding helplessly against his face. Zoro just chuckled, deep and wrecked, slipping two thick fingers inside you with maddening ease.

You clenched around them instantly, the stretch making your vision white out for a second. "That's it, love," he muttered, thrusting them slowly, careful drags as his tongue circled your clit mercilessly. "So tight. So good for me."

You couldn't stop the sounds tearing out from your throat—the office walls catching your whimpers and bouncing them back at you, making it feel even filthier, even more forbidden.

Zoro pulled back just enough to pant against your soaked skin, his breath hot and shaky. "God, look at you," he rasped, two fingers still working deep inside you. "You look so delicious, so wrecked for me."

You babbled something that wasn't even English anymore, hips bucking up, chasing his mouth. He gave you what you needed—dipping back down, flattening his tongue against your clit and sucking with just the right amount of pressure.

It was too much and not enough.

You peaked with a cry, your orgasm slamming into you like a freight train. Zoro growled in satisfaction, fucking you through it with slow, lazy strokes of his fingers, letting you ride his face shamelessly until you finally sagged against the couch, boneless and gasping.

He pulled back slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking up at you like you were something divine.

"Fucking gorgeous," he muttered, voice raw.

You were still panting, your skin buzzing, when Zoro stood up, towering over you. When you managed to look up at him—barely aware after that mind blowing orgasm— he was pulling his t-shirt over his head, tossing it aside—every muscle in his chest and arms flexing under the low office lights.

He was giving you that look again—hungry, possessive, yours.

"Not done with you yet," he said, voice dark and steady. "Turn around, pretty girl. Face down, ass up."

Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up.

You stumbled off the couch, hands bracing against the cool surface of your desk as you heard Zoro stepping behind you.

You felt his hand glide up the back of your thigh, kneading the soft flesh of your ass appreciatively. He thought briefly of just stopping now, but your ass perched on that desk just made you irresistible, and he was but a man, a very whipped man right now.

He leaned in close—his chest warm against your back, his breath hot against your ear. "We could stop now, you know? But God, you look so…", he gave your ass a hard squeeze, letting his intrusive thoughts win for a moment. "Delicious. Just wanna' eat you up whole, love."

You whimpered when his fingers slid up your inner thighs again, teasing the sensitive skin, barely brushing your center. You tried to push back against him, desperate for friction, but he tutted softly. "Patience, love," Zoro murmured, pressing a slow, wet kiss to your lower back. "Wanna savor you a little longer."

You shuddered, biting your lip to keep from begging. He spread you open with a firm grip, thumbs digging into the soft curve of your ass as he admired the view. "Fucking perfect," he muttered under his breath, almost to himself.

You heard the faint rustle of fabric—looked back just in time to see him pushing his sweatpants and boxers down with one hand, fist already wrapped around his thick hard cock. Your mouth went dry at the sight of him, flushed and leaking at the tip, thick enough to make your thighs together instinctively.

Zoro caught the movement and chuckled, low and dirty. "Don't get shy on me now," he teased, stepping closer, running the blunt head of his cock teasingly along your soaked folds. "You can take it, sweetheart. Yeah?" The slow, deliberate drag of him over your dripping entrance made you moan, a broken, desperate sound that seemed to snap the last of his restraint.

You barely registered the sound of him rustling in his pocket—then the soft crinkle of the foil. Your heart flipped, something warm curling in your chest even through the haze of need.

He pressed a kiss to your lower back while he rolled the condom on, careful and quick, hands steady even as his breath grew heavier. "Good girl," Zoro murmured, soothing a hand over your spine once he'd sheathed himself. "You're gonna take me so good, sweetheart."

And then he was nudging at your entrance again—this time no teasing, no hesitation. He slid into you slow, deliberate, thick and stretching you open until you gasped, clutching the edge of the desk.

The stretch was deep, almost overwhelming, but he soothed you with low praise, kisses pressed along your shoulder blades.

"That's it," he groaned. "So tight, fuck… like you were made for me." He braced one hand beside yours on the desk and started to move—shallow thrusts at first, slow and grinding, making you feel every glorious inch.

The desk creaked under you with every deep drag of his hips, and your breath came in sharp little gasps, your body adjusting to the thick intrusion. "Look so fucking pretty like this," Zoro panted, thrusting harder, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room. "Bent over your desk, takin' me so good."

You whimpered—helpless, desperate—and Zoro's hand slid up your side, cupping your breast through your bra, kneading gently. After a few minutes, though, he slowed—still buried deep inside you—and pressed a kiss between your shoulders.

"Wanna see you," he rasped, voice rough and strained. "Wanna see your face when I wreck you."

You barely had time to react before he pulled out carefully, lifting you off the desk and into his arms like you were paper weight. He carried you the short distance to the couch and laid you down on your back, spreading you open for him like a gift.

He hooked your legs over his broad shoulders, shifting forward until the tip of his cock pressed against your entrance again.

The angle—God—it was deeper, you could tell even before he started moving.

He grinned, wicked and adoring all at once when he saw your eyes go wide.

"Yeah?" he teased breathlessly, lining himself up. "Gonna ruin you for anyone else, sweetheart." And then he thrust back inside in one deep, devastating stroke—pushing so deep you swore you could see start. You cried out, nails digging into the couch cushions, your whole-body trembling under him.

Zoro groaned, a sound so low and wrecked it made your toes curl. "Fuck—so deep like this. So good." He set a relentless pace—grinding deep, hitting a spot inside you that made your vision white out.

The position left you completely open to him, helpless under the weight of his body, the raw force of every thrust. "You feel that, love?" he rasped, punctuating his words with a brutal snap of his hips that had you keening. "Feel me up right…" he pressed on your pelvis softly, right against your womb, "here?"

You couldn't even answer—just a wrecked, babbling mess, your mind lost in the pleasure. Zoro smirked darkly, his thumb reaching down to circle your clit at the same brutal pace of his thrusts.

"Come for me," he moaned, voice rough and ragged. "Wanna feel you milk my cock, sweetheart." It didn't take long—your body was already strung and tight from earlier—and when your orgasm hit this time, it shattered you completely.

You screamed his name, your walls clenching so hard around him that Zoro shouted, losing the last thread of his control. He thrusts deep, once, twice—and then spilled into the condom with a long, wrecked groan, burying himself to the hilt and grinding against you as he rode out the aftershocks.

For a long moment, neither of you moved—just panting, trembling, clinging to each other.

Finally, Zoro exhaled, voice rough against your forehead. "Fuck, love…"

He pulled out carefully, discarding the condom and wiping you down gently with tissues from your desk—taking care of you with those same rough, calloused hands, now unbearably tender.

He helped you sit up slowly, picking up your discarded clothes, brushing kisses over your shoulders and forehead between fixing your clothes as best as he could then dressed himself.

"You okay?" he murmured, smoothing your hair back.

You nodded, still breathless. "Better than okay."

He chuckled, low and fond, tucking your skirt into your hands. "C'mon. Let's get you home."

Outside the building, Zoro guided you carefully to his SUV, one arm steady around your waist, holding you close like you might blow away. You barely registered your surroundings, too blissed out and floaty to care.

But from across the street—Ace watched.

He leaned against his car, arms folded, a knowing, shit-eating grin spreading across his face the second he clocked the two of you.

Zoro caught his gaze—and smirked.

So smug, so utterly, unapologetically proud.

He didn't say a word—just lifted his chin in a cocky little nod as he helped you into the passenger seat, running his hand down your thigh with an intimacy that was loud enough for Ace to catch.

He just watched as Zoro rounded the car and slid into the driver's seat, stealing one last look at your blissed-out state, utterly fucked out face before pulling away.

You barely made it through the door before you turned to him, eyes shining.

"You look dead on your feet," Zoro said gruffly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I should—I should probably just go. Didn't mean for it to get outta hand like that, y'know?"

You shook your head, grabbing his wrist gently. "At least shower first. You're sweaty and gross." You grinned, teasing but sweet. "Just stay, Zo'."

Zoro hesitated—then nodded once, heart thundering weirdly in his chest.

He stayed.

Without thinking too hard about it.

And it felt… right.

He showered quick while you wiped down, then you crawled into bed together, limbs tangling easily, like it wasn't the first time.

For a few heartbeats, he just held you.

Then—quietly, voice rumbling against your hair—he spoke.

"I'm sorry."

You blinked up at him, confused.

Zoro's fingers tightened briefly at your hip, and he dropped his gaze to your shoulder like he couldn’t quite meet your eyes. "I just—I wanted it to be… different. Thought I'd take you out somewhere nice first. Make it special. You deserved better than me losing my goddamn mind at the office."

You cupped his cheek, making him look at you, heart squeezing painfully.

"You did make it special," you whispered. "I wouldn't change a thing."

He leaned into your touch, still looking a little wrecked inside.

"I'll make it up to you," he said, voice low and sure. "Promise."

And you believed him.

Next morning rolled in soft, warm and with a huge man surrounding you. You woke up slowly, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. Warmth pressed against your back—a heavy, solid weight—and the slow, even rhythm of someone breathing beside you.

For a moment, you thought you were dreaming. Then you shifted slightly—and an arm tightened instinctively around your waist, pulling you closer.

You froze.

Zoro.

Your heart gave a slow, stupid thud in your chest.

He was still here.

His body curled around yours protectively, his face buried in your hair, one big hand splayed over your stomach like he was afraid you'd slip away if he let go.

You smiled on the pillow, cheeks burning, a giddy kind of warmth blooming in your chest.

You shifted carefully, rolling onto your back to look at him.

Zoro stirred at the movement, a low, sleepy noise rumbling from his chest. His lashes fluttered—but he didn't wake up fully. His face was soft in his sleep, younger somehow, the usual furrow of his brow smoothed away.

You reached up without thinking, brushing a strand of green hair away from his forehead. Maybe it was the lingering haze of last night. Maybe it was the way he was holding you like you were something precious.

Whatever it was—you felt like your heart could burst.

Zoro cracked one eye open, bleary and confused for half a second. Then he focused on you—and smiled, slow and lazy and so beautiful it made your breath catch.

"Hey," he rasped, voice low and rough with sleep.

"Hey," you whispered back, cheeks heating.

For a moment, you just stared at each other, the silence thick and sweet between you. Then Zoro shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. His hand brushed your cheek, calloused thumb stroking lazily along your jawline.

You leaned into the touch without thinking.

"Sorry again," he murmured, voice unusually soft. "Wanted our first time to be… I dunno. Better. You deserve flowers or some shit, not me railing you over your damn desk.”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head. "Zoro, stop. I told you—I wouldn't change a thing." He didn't look convinced. His gaze dropped to the sheets between you, jaw tight. "I'll make it up to you, " he said again, low and certain. "Promise."

You reached for him, threading your fingers through his.

"You already did," you said simply.

Zoro looked up at you then—and something in his eyes softened, like a knot inside him finally loosening. He bent down, brushing his lips over your forehead, lingering there for a long moment.

The kiss was slow, reverent—nothing like the frantic heat of last night.

It felt like a promise.

You curled into his side, and Zoro tucked you against him easily, his hand rubbing slow, lazy circles into your back.

Neither of you said anything for a while. Letting sleep overcome you once again.

The next time you woke, it was to the smell of coffee.

You blinked blearily, stretching out across your bed—only to find the other side empty but still warm.

You sat up, the soft rustle of sheets around you, and rubbed your eyes, feeling deliciously sore in the best way. A smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it.

The faint sounds of someone moving around your kitchen reached your ears—muffled curses, a cabinet slamming a little too hard, the hiss of the coffee machine sputtering to life.

You slipped out of bed, grabbing a t-shirt—probably his, judging by how ridiculously oversized it was—and padded barefoot down the hall.

You found him standing at your counter, shirtless, hair messy from sleep, frowning down at two mismatched mugs like they were an enemy he needed to conquer.

He looked… domestic. And absurdly handsome.

He sensed you before you even spoke, glancing up with a little smirk that made your knees a little weak. "Hey, sleepyhead," he rumbled, voice still rough with sleep.

You crossed the room and bumped your hip against his. "You made coffee?"

He grunted. "Tried. Think I fucked it up."

You laughed softly, reaching around him to grab one of the mugs. It was strong—almost offensively so—but drinkable. You took a grateful sip anyway.

Zoro watched you carefully over the rim of his own mug, as if trying to gauge whether you were still okay with… everything.

The night before.

Him staying.

Waking up like this.

You leaned against him, resting your head briefly against his bare shoulder. His hand came up automatically to settle on your waist, grounding and sure. It felt easy. It felt right. And from the way Zoro exhaled slowly, you had the feeling he thought so too.

Still, eventually reality started to creep back in—the heavy warmth of the morning giving way to the knowledge that the clock was ticking.

Work waited for both of you.

Zoro set his mug down first, sighing quietly as he ran a hand through his messy hair. "Guess we should get moving," he muttered, voice low but not exactly eager. He glanced at you, a little reluctant. "Need a ride?"

You smiled into your coffee, heart skipping. "You offering?"

"Always," he said simply, like it wasn't even a question.

You didn't bother hiding the way your cheeks warmed.

It felt stupid, being giddy over something as small as him driving you to work.

But it felt good. It felt right.

You moved lazily after that, bumping into each other as you dressed, stealing kisses in between pulling on clothes—his kisses slow and unhurried, like he was trying to memorize the feeling of you against him.

By the time you made it to your building's lobby, you were laughing softly under your breath, your hair still a little mussed from Zoro's wandering hands on the drive over.

He crowded you up against the entryway wall for one last kiss before you had to go—hands framing your face, mouth warm and slow on yours. Like he wasn't ready to let you go yet.

Neither were you.

You were so wrapped up in him that you didn't notice Izo until Zoro, finally, reluctantly, pulled away.

"Well, well, well," a familiar voice drawled.

You blinked, dazed, just in time to see Izo striding across the lobby—impeccably dressed, one brow arched, smirking like he had caught you red-handed.

Zoro smirked too, entirely unbothered. He pressed one last kiss to your forehead before stepping back, like he was making a point. "See you later, sweetheart," he said, voice low and warm.

And with that, he turned and walked out—still smug, leaving you alone with your scandalized, very curious best friend.

Izo linked his arms through yours before you could even think of escaping. "Come along, darling," he said sweetly, already steering you toward the elevators. "We are absolutely having a little chat in your office."

You just groaned, hiding your face in his shoulder as he laughed.

You barely had time to set your bag down before Izo closed the office door behind you with a dramatic click.

"Spill."

You turned around slowly, eyes wide with faux innocence. "Spill what?"

"Oh, don't you dare play coy with me." He crossed the room in two elegant strides and flopped onto your couch like he owned it, legs crossed, arms spread across the back. "You—showed up to work glowing like a freshly polished pearl. And he—dropped you off in the most ‘I just rearranged her organs’ way imaginable."

You groaned, half mortified, half still dazed from it all. “Do you have to be so graphic?”

“You’re deflecting.” Izo pointed at you like he was conducting an interrogation. “Which means it was very good.”

You made a strangled sound and buried your face in your hands. “Why are you like this?”

“Because I care,” he said sweetly. “And because you’ve been high-strung for weeks, and now you’re practically levitating. So—details. Did it happen last night? This morning? Both?”

You peeked through your fingers, cheeks burning. “…Last night. Here.”

Izo squealed. Squealed.

“I knew it! I told Marco something was brewing after that dinner party. You were all ‘he’s just intense’ and ‘we work together’ and meanwhile he was eye-fucking you across the sashimi platter.”

You laughed helplessly, trying not to let your smile get too dreamy. “It wasn’t planned. It just… happened. Kind of fast. But it didn’t feel like a hookup, Izo. It was different.”

His face softened instantly, the teasing melting away. “You like him.”

“I think I might,” you admitted quietly. “I mean—he stayed the night. Stayed, Izo. No excuses, no bullshit. And this morning, he apologized.”

“Apologized?” He sat forward, suddenly serious. “For what?”

“For the office thing. Said he wanted our first time to be more romantic. That I deserved better.”

Izo's gaze softened even more. “Wow.” You nodded slowly, heart still fluttering from the memory of Zoro’s voice against your hair.

“And then?” Izo pressed gently. “What now?”

You shrugged, but you were smiling. “He said he’d make it up to me. I think he meant it.”

Izo let out a content sigh, standing up and walking over to kiss your cheek. “Well. Color me cautiously obsessed with this development.”

You laughed again as he straightened your blouse for you like a doting mother hen. “So what now?”

“Now,” he said, turning toward the door like a general about to face the troops, “you go to work and pretend you didn’t just get your soul stolen. And I? I go brag to Marco that I was right again.”

“Izo!”

But he was already halfway out the door, waving you off with a wink and a grin.

one two three

[angvlicsoulll]

In another life

Warning : A lot of angst, mention of past relationship, mention of miscarriage, and I think that’s all, tell me if I forgot anything!

A/N : English is not my first language, please send requests <3

Hope you enjoy it :)

Masterlist

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The music pounded in my ears like a drum. The dim lights, the guest’s voices, all this noise was overwhelming. People danced, laughed, and seemed to be having a really good time. But I felt disconnected, like a stranger in a place that should have been familiar.

I look around. Sara, my best friend is talking to me but it seems like I can’t hear anything, too focused to find what is bothering me.

"Are you okay ?" Sara asked me a little bit worried. I nodded my head yes, a forced smile on my face. "Yeah, there’s just…too much people" I answer, hoping that she doesn’t notice my discomfort. But I know that she saw it, she know me too well.

I look around me for the hundredth time and I spot him.

He was there, talking and laughing with his friends, you recognize Dustin, and Robin. His gaze instinctively turned to me, I’m captivated by his eyes. Steve. My heart jump on my chest, he looked different of course, more mature, a little more tired maybe, his hair look a little bit shorter, but his eyes were the same. We keep looking into each other’s eyes.

I look away. ‘Why does it have to happen right now ?’ , ‘why is he here ?’ , ‘why this party ? A place where I thought I would forget’.

I feel a hand on my shoulder. "Do you want to go out a little bit ? For some fresh air ?" My best friend Sara ask me, noticing my embarrassment. I didn’t even need to answer, she drags me outside.

We go outside together. I could feel his intense gaze, heavy with everything we have lived. If only things have turned differently…

Once outside, I took a deep breath, the fresh air slightly relaxing me. I knew I was going to see him again, I just needed to prepare for that. I keep taking deep breaths, Sara’s next to me.

Then, he appeared, alone. Sara saw him too, she told me that she’s going to give us privacy to talk, she give me a little hug then turn around to go back inside, where the party was.

He walk towards me, his step hesitant, like he needed to take time before facing me. Steve stop in front of me, a few feet away.

"I didn’t expect to see you here…" he started, his voice low, a little hoarse. His tone was calm but I could hear him clearly. "It’s been a long time" he look down for a second then look up at me again.

I took a breath, looking for my words. "Me neither, but I knew we would see each other again one day you know…" I look down at my feet, playing with my fingers nervously.

"How have you been ?" He asked, I’ve heard this question thousands of times since the past 3 years, since that happened. I look up at him again, feeling my heart beating harder. "It’s complicated…" I look into his beautiful brown eyes, trying to guess what he’s feeling at the moment.

He nod then look into my eyes. "What about you, Steve ?" he looks sad, his lips are slightly downturned, his brows in a frown, his eyes empty. "I wish things were different…" he put his hands in his pocket.

There's a heavy silence between us. There was nothing more to say. We had separated too soon, and the past that we once shared together is coming back to haunt us, in this ordinary party.

"I never wanted all this to happen" he whispered, it was like a confess, we look at each other in silence, I try to hold back my tears that threatened to spill.

Then in the silence, Steve did something that I didn't except he would do. He extended his arms for me to hug him. I looked at him confused. "Can we ?..." he asked hesitantly. I looked at him nervously then nod. He walk closer to me and wrap his arms around my shoulders. I hug him back and wrap my arms around his waist and put my head on his chest.

I closed my eyes for an instant, feeling his hand rubbing my back, trying not to think about the past, about what happened. The hug feels right, like we needed this. I can't hold back my tears anymore, I let them flow, staining Steve's shirt. It's like the hug that we needed in a long time. If only we hadn't lost our baby...If only.

[writingdevil]

hello!!! i LOVEE your writing, i was wondering if you could perchance do something about contrarian ? no pressure ofc ^_^

(Hello ask that disappeared from me and made me question my sanity/j. Anyway, I love Contrarian, but I always feel like I have trouble writing him, so I hope this one is good. I put Cheated here as well because I've seen really cute dynamic ideas with them-enjoy!)

Cheated groaned and shoved his face into a pillow, trying and failing to go to sleep for the last three hours.

His body was just aching too much for him to be able to drift off, and it pissed him off so much, because he knew that he would just be irritable and cranky in the morning, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Some nights the pain was more bearable and Cheated could get some sleep, but tonight was not one of those nights, evidently.

He sighed, pushing himself up and out of the bed. There was no point sitting there and watching the hours pass until the sun rose in the sky again.

He grumbled to himself as he made his way down the hallway and past all the other bedroom full of people that had no problem with falling sleeping, while Cheated was left to suffer with his stupid body and its stupid chronic pain.

He decided that a walk might do him some good. Maybe he'll just overpower the pain with simple physical exhaustion until his body had to sleep. It was worth a shot.

Cheated walked out into the living room drenched in shadows, making his way for the front door, when he suddenly froze at the sound of-sniffling?

He stopped, and turned around, squinting in the darkness, and he heard the sniffling again, this time followed by a whimper as well.

Cheated didn't take his eyes away from the room as he reached over and grabbed the front of a curtain, then yanked it back, allowing moonlight to shine in through the window.

There, sitting curled up on the couch, very clearly crying, was Contrarian.

Contrarian yelped in surprise as the curtains were pulled back, having seemingly been too in his own head to hear Cheated enter in the first place.

Contrarian wrapped his arms and wings around him, head twisting around wildly until they landed on Cheated, and Cheated hated how he immediately forced a smile onto his face.

"Cheated! Almost gave me a heart attack there!" Contrarian whispered with a nervous chuckle, using one hand to desperately comb down his ruffled feathers.

"What are you doing up?" Contrarian asked, still keeping that playful smile on his face, as if everything about this situation was completely normal.

"I couldn't sleep," Cheated quietly replied, much more focused on Contrarian's expressions, and how deflated the other looked, despite the way Contrarian tried to perk himself up.

"Same," Contrarian said with a casual shrug. "Just got too much energy, you know what I mean?" Cheated narrowed his eyes at him, taking a step forward, and didn't miss the nervous glint in the other's eyes as he asked, "Are you sure that's the reason?"

Contrarian tensed up, but just chuckled at the question, even as Cheated began to make his way beside him on the couch.

"I thought you'd be doing something stupid to pass the time," Cheated said, sitting down next to Contrarian, "not just sitting on the couch."

Contrarian kept his gaze forward, only giving Cheated the briefest of side glances as he said, "Yeah, I would, but being given out to by Hero once for waking the house up, is enough for even me to tone it down."

Cheated remembers that night. It sounded like an explosion had gone off inside their home. To this day, Cheated still has no idea what happened.

"So you're just sitting here in the dark? Why not go for a walk?" Contrarian lowered his head, his smile getting smaller and more weak by the minute.

"Just- uh- didn't want to," was Contrarian's answer, and Cheated sighed, leaning back as he took in Contrarian's whole form.

The red-rimmed eyes. The tremble in his body. The heaviness in his voice.

"Connie," Cheated whispered softly, making Contrarian flinch and turn his head the other way. "It's okay to be upset."

"I'm not upset! I'm just tired!" Contrarian argued in a low voice, twisting to glare at him for a second, before realising what he'd done and quickly turning away again.

Cheated wasn't so sure how to go about this, so he just moved a little closer to the other, making sure not to scare him away just yet.

"Connie, I heard you crying when I walked in."

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did."

"No, you didn't!"

Cheated sighed, reaching a hand out to rub Contrarian's back, who flinched at first, but ultimately relaxed against the touch. Cheated kept his movements soft and slow as he said, "You don't have to be embarrassed about being sad. We all have bad days. Shit, I've probably had more bad days than anyone, so if anyone will understand, it's me."

Contrarian was silent for awhile then, shoving his face back into his arms, and Cheated was content to just rub his back, and he could feel the way the other bird's body shook beneath his palm.

After what felt like forever, he heard Contrarian sniffle again.

"It's just-" he started, before sighed and lifting his head, and now Cheated could see the tears rolling down his cheeks more clearly. Cheated didn't like seeing Contrarian cry, he decided.

"It's just that my day had actually been pretty good," Contrarian confessed, resting his chin on his knees. "I hung out with Hero, had a flying match with Stubborn, I even made Cold chuckle." Contrarian smiled fondly at the memories, before it quickly fell into a frown that didn't suit his face.

"But then I fell asleep and- and-" Contrarian suddenly let a shaky breath out, letting a whimper out as he squeezed his eyes shut, as if trying to block out memories.

"-and then I was back in-in-"

In the cabin.

Cheated sighed, knowing exactly what had rattled Contrarian so much.

He didn't say anything or urge Contrarian to continue. He just silently wrapped an arm and a wing around him, and Cheated felt the way Contrarian tensed at the movement, before slumping against Cheated's side.

Cheated hugged Contrarian tight, hoping that he was able to provide some comfort to the other. Cheated has never seen Contrarian upset before, so he's not exactly sure how to make him feel better.

But he's pretty sure not leaving him alone at a time like this was a good start.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," Cheated whispered, and he heard another sniffle, but didn't comment on it. "It always sucks to get a nightmare like that."

"But you know," Cheated muttered quietly, as if afraid of someone overhearing their conversation, "you don't have to be all happy and smiley all the time. It's okay to not be a jester every once in a while."

Contrarian leaned further into his side, and then nervously asked, "But what if the others don't know how to handle a different side of me?"

"I can handle you. All of you."

He heard Contrarian gasp-and Cheated suddenly feared that he had said the wrong thing-but then Contrarian's breath hitched, before he burst into quiet sobbing, twisting to hug Cheated tight, and Cheated's arms were already bringing Contrarian into a secure hug.

Cheated held Contrarian close as he cried, and he only hoped that he was strong enough to make all of Contrarian's dark thoughts go away for good.

[dokkamj]

HEAR ME OUT!

⚠️ Note: Due to some misunderstandings and assumptions that may have come off as disrespectful, I want to clarify that this story is set during the second year of college — meaning all characters depicted are 19–20 years old. Please keep in mind the post is tagged 18+, and the context should reflect that clearly.

saw this on my TikTok today and i do really can’t help myself but write a fiction about it, i know my topics are usually and only COD, but if you won’t mind sometimes me switching on something else lmk.

i think that armin and nerdarmin are two completely diff people, like the alterego or sum shi and man this is how i see nerdarmin👌🏻

this might can be a bit out of character 🥀

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE sorry for eventual grammars mistakes.

MDNI! this is a 18+ story, so as my whole profile this content contains: strong explicit language, sexual content explicit, if this makes you uncomfortable please scroll.

I FREAKING LOVE THIS.

art credit on TikTok: musapylsa

“nahh are u serious him??” your friend asked with a giggle, even if the whole school saw you as a heartless bitch, a popular one, your best friend sat just in front of you knows that you are sweet as chocolate.

“why that long face?” you ask back, rolling your eyes, the topic was, ,cute boys i would sleep with’

“because you are gorgeous and he is just—“ she turns around to look at Armin, baggy jeans t-shirt those glasses... “so nerdy…” she sighed, your speciality was to fell for losers literally.

“he is so pathetic i love it” you giggled, its been weeks you tried to catch his attention but it was like, he wasn’t even aware that you were teasing him all around.

when both of your gazes meet you just bit down you bottom lip nervously. “i wanna talk to him” you announced.

“gosh no do not—“ you can hear your friend calling out your name but too late, your heeled boots where already tapping on the ground.

flare jeans, rolling stone t-shirt, that witch aura of yours and your hips swinging where already in front of Armin.

“Hello” you smirked, you were short too that’s why the heels, you reached his height and maybe a bit more.

“i— uh” he looks at his feet muttering your name, he was full aware of who you are and how many stupid ass guys follows you around like pets trying to have their sweet threat, at least one thing that he admires about you is the fact that instead of being like the others girls that sleep around here and there, you never.

at least… he never heard anything about you. “sorry if i disturb you” you said shoving your hands in your back jeans pocket “i just wanted to ask if maybe you could help me with math you know” you said trying to act as innocent as possible.

oh the only desire was to eat him alive.

“can’t Mikasa do it like she usually—“ you stopped him “i— actually asking you because i want someone that have a softer approach to me, that i struggle a lot.” you nodded, you where hella good in math but you really don’t know what excuses invent anymore.

he sighed, looking in to you completely, wow you where such a fucking pretty woman that everyone would show off like a trophy.

“i guess i can of course” he gulps down that strange feeling, no one beside his small group of friends talks to him in school so it was unexpected.

“uhm do you prefer idk, your house or mine?” you asked, looking at him for an answer “i uh my place sounds good,” he nods.

you hand him your phone “give me your number so we can accord when” you nodded and he shyly type in his phone number.

later after some classes you texted him ,hey i’m y/n so this weekend??’ the response came up fast, you wasn’t surprised he was always on his damn phone. ‘your place is good, i mean if this is okay,

you bit your bottom lip ,ok Friday evening? i live alone so no worries’ you texted back and forth nothing special, but you liked him, and it made you laugh how he was trying to approach you with respect and sweetness.

Friday came up really quickly and no one was aware of your evil plan, or at least no one knew you really liked that boy. Opening the door he was there, his hair tied in a little low messy bun, glasses loose on his nose, hoodie and jeans with converse.

“oh hey” you smiled, hugging him even if he didn’t hug you back but that was ok? you guess. You two started with math problems and he didn’t know how but you ended up teaching him.

he let his glasses rest on top of his head “sorry i mean you are even more better than me why did you asked me for teaching?” he rise up a eyebrow and you gulped.

“it was just that— you seem cute and i was just thinking what if i get to know you better??” you explained quickly “ah really?” he giggles, then smirked.

“poor y/n, you didn’t have enough attention?? you don’t like pretty boys that salivate at the sight of your ass?? why do you want me? so cruel to yourself to end up with a fucking looser like me?” he asks and your eyes widened you clearly didn’t see that coming.

“cat got your tongue? huh?” he stood up as you remain frozen on your chair in the living room. He stepped in front of you, his hand come up to grab your chin “what? did you want this?” he bend down and the second later his lips where against yours.

He took off his glasses and let them slide on the wooden table, you couldn’t help but kiss him back, with that passion and fire that you usually hold back. “who is the pathetic one, tell me” he bit your bottom lip “answer me y/n what the fuck.” he ansimate against you.

“me, fuck i’m sorry i needed to be more clear with my intentions.” you mumble, his hand on your bare tights, your pajama was doing such a bad job keeping you hidden.

“good pretty girl.” he murmurs, in all of this you kept kissing him back, and your hands slides down his hoodie, touching his bare stomach, you could tell he actually workout, not a lot but still.

and in a bunch of minutes he was on top of you on your bed, legs spread, shorts on the floor and panties tucked to the side as his slim fingers slides into your folds “already sucking me in so deeply?” he teased licking the outline of your lips and you moaned.

“pathetic.” he said almost proudly, this was a joke, the nerd with no friends and no social life was fucking you like a greek god? this was a damn dream. Mornings ago you were the one calling him pathetic and now? He got you creaming his fingers.

your legs tremble “yes this is how you like it mh?” he muttered, fingers deep and curling up inside of you as his thumb was playing with your clit he spits down just to lube that pretty bean of nerves to get you spasm against him before coming heavily. Hips jerking back and your gasps became screams.

“ah so this is your weak spot.” he tortures your clit mixing to the fact that you just came everything seems more sensible, overstimulating. “please— need you” you mutter shamelessly.

“no pretty girl, i decide here” his lips against your neck sucking heavily to leave hickeys to mark her, his cock was painful in his jeans but he wasn’t ready to let himself go yet, he wants you painfully undone.

he goes down on you, making you position your legs on his shoulders before he starts to slurp on your wet cunt, making you spasm and tremble following by his hand pressing on your lower belly to keep you down as the other was playing with your clit and his tongue slapping against your folds.

you taste fucking heavenly. That acid but sweet and your own perfume made him roll his eyes back into his skull, goddamn. And you cried as you came another time screaming his name like a slut that you where, at least at the moment.

He stayed there for a minute observing his masterpiece, your cunt dripping juices on the bed sheets your clit puffy and overstimulated and your legs still spasm from the orgasm.

“i think you are ready here.” he smirked his hair messy his body clean and neat almost like he did knew what he was about to do tonight, “bastard” you muttered to yourself.

when he take off his jeans and boxer, you gulped down, it was long thick enough to get that sweet spot scratched by him. “what you staring at? wanna a taste mh? say A” he smirked again, bringing you onto your knees on the floor as he stood before you.

“com’on be gentle mh? and suck on this dick” before grip on your hair to bring your mouth on his tip, you obey because hell this guy could make your cunt happy and you wasn’t going to say no.

you open up like a whore and swallowed him whole, making him gasp and rest his arms on the bed as he start to move his hips against your mouth “fuck” he mutters almost pathetically.

you could see how his moods shifts, sweet and rough, rude, then kinda fucking pathetic, and why does this turns you even more on?

“enough, com’here” he demand, helping you to go back to lay on the bed, your legs open wide for him as he was settle in the middle “so..” he begun “condom?” his tip slides sweetly on your clit “or no condom?” his tip now on your folds slapping it making your cunt doing those wet shame sounds.

you wined gasping for air, it was a torture but a goddamn sweet one. You swing your hips to get more friction even tried to lowers yourself on him to suck that cock with your cunt.

“i don’t fucking care Armin, fuck me and shut that nerdy mouth.” you came up with a little comeback too frustrated as you clench around nothing.

he smirked and exposed your chest before go all the way in, with only a trust making you curl up your toes and gasp and he moaned because he didn’t expect you to be this wet and this fucking tight.

“oh gods” he rolls his hips back and forth and his pathetic personality was coming back you could see it as he whines against your neck slapping his hips against yours as you moaned loudly.

“oh— fuck yes” you moaned encouraging him to go even rougher, your hands in his hair as he bites your breast angrily, the slaps sounds grew louder and more irregular. Your legs shook and Armin grabbed the occasion to overstimulates you by bringing his fingers to his mouth to lube them and torture your clit.

“com’on, i know you can do that…” he suggested but you clearly was too much wrapped up in your own feelings that you didn’t really heard him. And before you can knew it the orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks making your eyes roll back your legs spasms and your cunt squirting as he kept pumping into you before pulling out and stroking himself to release on your folds.

and that shit? made you even more turned on and you didn’t even knew how that was possible.

“what the fuck.” you gasped looking at him “what? never done that before? or— you didn’t know you could do it?” he asks with a smirk.

okay who is this guy? because the Armin you knew?! completely disappeared! completely wrong!

“how did you—“ you mumble “you know being a nerd and reading a lot, if you put that together with some sexual education books and, well that’s the result” he points at the mess making your face redden more than it already was.

“you done this before?” you asked breathing heavily, “i mean yes but you are my best masterpiece.” he smirked slapping on your ass playfully.

You spent the night together, and he was the sweetest soul you ever meet, the dom Armin? gone. It was like he had problems with personalities, well for what you just experienced with him.

the morning after he was there, handing you a mug of coffee “show together? i can massage your back.” he said with a shrug and you just pinch yourself because you still think this wasn’t true.

“how did you even know how to make coffee with my machine…” you said sleepy “tsk i just search the brand and scroll in their site find your machine—“ he cut himself off “just nerd things.” he said.

you smiled “you keep surprising me” your giggles filled the room suddenly, and if for you was like winning the lottery, for him it was like he just found heaven on earth, and it was a woman named y/n.

this is how you two ended up being a real couple, a damn weird one, but things worked because yourself too have so many interests like the videogames. Still today you try to understand how much he is just strange… a moment it’s the cute nerdy Armin and the second layer puff he is all horny and all over you.

[6starsart]

Here’s Bubba and Allister Gator! Efficiency vs Inefficiency or something like that

Allister is currently my favorite design and Bubba stands as one of my favorite characters… I really just cant stand drawing these bald headed freaks (stares at icky, maggie, and picky)

Character summaries for Critterra AU under the cut!

Bubba Bubbaphant is the brain of the Smiling Critters. He’s analytical, bookish, awkward in that endearing way. He’s got a big heart, and helpful hand, despite his serious demeanor.

Bubba has a genuine desire in learning and understanding the world around him, and then sharing it with his friends. He’s practically got a book on just about everything, and tends to use a lot of big words the other Critters don’t really understand. Sometimes, he doesn’t fully understand them either.

Bubba’s pendant manifested from his Intelligence! His brain is always working towards the correct solutions, always trying to find that missing puzzle piece. Bubba doesn’t like unknown, and when an answer isn’t clear, he’ll stall and overthink about all the little “what ifs”.

Allister Gator is slow in every way. Slow to move, slow to speak, slow to care. He find no purpose in wasting the energy to do anything, and thats just how he likes it. Doing anything he can to do nothing at all.

Although, there is one thing Allister’s real good at, and it’s watching. Waiting, listening to people. You’d be impressed by all the things he hears, and more by what he remembers. Even Rabie Baby is jealous of his natural ability to just be in the know.

Allister could care less what his Pendant means, and believes when others tell him its from his Laziness. However that would be further from the truth, as his Pendant is a manifestation of his Determination. Maybe Allister was so determined to be so lazy that he gained a pendant? Or maybe that underlying feeling to keep pushing for something, despite all the odds against you?

[swiftiedaisies]

my thunderbolts headcanons!!

yelena:

• has a very varied music and film taste. when she was free from the red room, she wanted to experience everything and find out what she liked and didn’t like. she loved being able to explore her interests

• brings random animals into the tower. she knows she can’t keep them so she takes them home to clean and feed them. she then either takes them to a shelter (that treats animals well and doesn’t kill them) or she tries to find a home for them

• talks about people in russian with bucky and alexei. normally it’s just basic things like food and the weather but she thinks it’s funny bc it stresses john and ava out

• had very mixed feelings about the publicity she gets now. she loves being a hero but she doesn’t like the tabloid gossip that she gets. ESPECIALLY the stuff that brings up nat. every night she questions whether nat would be happy with her being a new avenger

bucky:

• even thought he’s still not totally comfortable living in the tower, he adores all the expensive things in there. fancy coffee machine? he’s using it every day. high tech gym equipment? loves it

• ended up keeping one of the cats that yelena brought home one day. he treats that cat like it’s his child (marvel pls introduce alpine)

• can cook but lies that he can’t so he doesn’t have to share kitchen duty with john. he’s very proud of the fact that no one has caught him out in this lie yet

• he tries to have one on one check in conversations with each member. he does it very subtly so they don’t realise what he’s doing. he knows what it’s like to be struggling with guilt and how keeping it all in hurts. he doesn’t want anyone to go through what he did

bob:

• as he gets more comfortable with the team, his confidence grows…and so does his attitude (we see it a bit in the movie when he calls walker an asshole). he can shut someone up with one comment

• absolutely despises being babied by people. sometimes the team unintentionally do it, he knows they mean well but them walking on eggshells around him just makes him feel 10x worse. he just wants to be treated like a normal person. he talked to yelena about it and the team made a conscious effort to stop

• he starts dropping random info that ranges from a funny story to the most devastating thing you’ll ever hear. his funny stories are really entertaining tho and everyone likes hearing them

• adores animal crossing. it’s a good way for him to de-stress after a hard day. him and ava visit each others islands

ava:

• loves video games. she got animal crossing bc bob suggested it and she actually loved it

• a pr nightmare. if she gets asked a question in a press conference, she’ll give the most deadpan slightly threatening answer. journalists are scared of her

• phases through walls instead of using the door. she finds it funny to scare people

• she grew up with no friends (bc of shield) and missed out on a lot of experiences bc of this. she likes to do normal girl things with yelena to help her experience these things she missed out on. it also helps her with her social skills

john:

• literally the only team member that can cook a decent meal (other than bucky who pretends he can’t)

• really into football and ice hockey. he literally screams at the tv when a game is on

• the youngest of three brothers. he was compared to them throughout his whole childhood and it messed him up mentally. it’s why he feels the need to be the best at everything

• can play guitar. would rather die than tell anyone. ava found out and is blackmailing him

alexei:

• can’t cook for shit. the best he can do is plain pasta

• actually very good at getting brand deals for the team. he was the driving force behind the wheaties partnership

• tries to take yelena out for ice cream at least once a fortnight. she isn’t totally onboard with it at first but it becomes a way for them to work through the issues they have. their relationship gets better the more they talk

• loves fortnite. he once unknowingly played with thor for hours.

[butlervibesonly]

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐝 | PART ONE | Hank Thompson | Austin Butler

Summary: You found yourself in absolutely shitty position. Dumped, broke and... homeless? You decide to waste that last cents on wine to maybe drown in it. Until Hank notices you. And he doesn't hesitate but help you.

Pairing: Hank Thompson x female reader

Warnings: cursing, alcohol, toxic ex relationship, mentions of ex boyfriend

Proofreader: my darling @eternal-love 💗💗

Note: HEY GUYS! First, I am incredibly sorry for being so inactive, I had to get offline for some personal reasons. Okay and now - let's say I know that the movie didn't come out yet and we don't know how Hank might be like, and this story is totally out for the canon! I just wanted to write this so badly after getting the idea, so it's bit made up! Enjoy!

How in the world could you end up like this? In the bar, sipping the wine, big bag full of your clothes beside you while thinking about everything that happened. You just got dumped today. Kicked out of the apartment you lived in with your, now, ex boyfriend Mark.

When you first met Mark, he was… different. Or at least you thought he was. He had that easy smile, always knew the right thing to say, made you feel like you were the only girl in the world. That’s probably what makes it hurt more — he knew how to be good. He just chose not to be.

The first few months were great, not going to lie. He’d bring you coffee without asking, remember the tiniest details about your day, hold your hand like he meant it. But then, somewhere along the way, everything changed. Or maybe he just stopped pretending.

You two started fighting. A lot. Over stupid things, big things, everything. He’d snap at you, talk down to you, twist your words until you couldn’t even remember what you were arguing about in the first place. You always felt like you were walking on eggshells — trying to keep the peace, trying not to set him off. He made you feel small. Like you were always the problem.

And still, you stayed. For a year. You kept hoping the version of him you fell for would come back. Spoiler: he didn’t. He got colder, meaner, and you got tired. And then you found out he was cheating. With Sandra. Of course. She was his assistant in his office.

So yeah, Mark wasn’t the guy you thought he was. He was the storm you kept hoping would clear, but all he ever did was leave you soaking and broken.

You sit there, swirling the last half-glass of wine like it holds the answers to your life. Of course the fuck it doesn’t. It just tastes like regret and too many nights wasted on someone who didn’t deserve you. The bar’s mostly empty, low lights humming softly, a few regulars hunched over their drinks like they’re trying to disappear.

You’re sort of trying to disappear too. Or at least not think about the fact that you’ve got nowhere to go tonight. No plan. No backup. Just a phone full of ignored texts from people you don’t want to explain things to and a heart that feels like it’s been wrung out and left to dry.

That’s when you feel someone watching you — not in a creepy way, but like they see something you’re not even sure you’re showing. You glance up and meet eyes with the bartender. Big guy, with shoulders that say he used to be someone important and eyes that say he’s seen more than he wants to. Hank, as you hear his colleague calling out his name. You’ve heard other people say it, too, something about him used to be on TV, maybe baseball or something?

Before Hank can even answer his colleagues question, he walks from behind the bar, approaching you. “You good?” he asks, voice rough like gravel but not unkind. You open your mouth to lie, but it gets stuck in your throat. So you just shrug.

“You look like you’ve been through some shit. You hungry?”

“I didn’t order food.”

“I didn’t say it’d cost you.”

You stare at him a second. Something about his voice, the no-bullshit tone, makes you soften just a little. You nod. “Yeah. I guess I could eat.” He gives a half-smile, more with his eyes than his mouth, and disappears into the back. You exhale, like maybe just for a second, the world isn't closing in on you.

He comes back ten minutes later with a plate that smells like real food, grilled cheese, thick fries, the kind of thing that feels like a hug when you haven’t had one in a while. He sets it down in front of you without a word and sits beside you.

You stare at the plate for a second before picking up a fry. It’s hot. Salty. Perfect. You didn’t realize how hungry you were until now. “Looks like you haven’t eaten all day,” Hank says, looking at you while taking a sip from his Corona bottle. His tone’s easy, like he’s not pushing.

You swallow and nod, unsure if you’re supposed to say more. You don't owe this man your life story. But something about the way he’s sitting there makes it feel like maybe it’s okay if you say just a little. Especially after he noticed that you’re definitely not okay.

“Got dumped,” you mutter. “Well… cheated on. Then dumped.” Hank nods slowly. Doesn’t flinch. “That’ll do it.” You sigh, nodding, knowing how naive it sounds. “Yeah, and now I’ve got nowhere to sleep. So… that’s fun.”

He looks at you. Really looks. His eyes aren’t pitying, just steady. “That guy throw you out?”

“Basically, yes.” you confirm. “We got into a fight and then he couldn’t stand me. Neither could I.” Hank leans against the seat, crossing his arms. “You got any friends you can call? Family?” You shake your head, taking another fry. “Not tonight. Not like this.”

Hank doesn’t answer right away. Just lets the silence settle between you like dust. Then, quietly, he says, “Look, it’s getting late. The bar is closing soon. My apartment’s just down the street. You can crash on the couch tonight, then we can figure everything else out in the morning, okay?”

Your eyes widen by the fact that gut you just met offers you this. “Oh, that’s really nice, but I don’t want to bother or anything.” you sigh, feeling guilt spreading in your mind. He’s a bit surprised by your reaction. Most people he knows would jump at the opportunity to save money.

“Not a bother. It beats some crappy hotel room — I’d be doing you a favor, believe me.” His eyes meet yours, trying to gauge what you’re thinking. He’s not typically the charitable type, but there’s something about your situation that’s sparked something in him.

You think about it… He seems to be nice and kind. But you barely know him, tho. But thinking about crappy hotel room and loss of money… “You would do that for me…?”

“No strings,” he adds. “Just don’t like the idea of you sleeping outside when I’ve got an empty couch and leftover blankets.” Your throat tightens a little, and for a second you forget how to breathe. You nod, barely. “Thanks,” you say.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Hank mutters, turning back to the register. He smiles, glad that you accepted his offer. He pays for you, for the food and for the wine you had. “Thank you,” you said again. “No problem. But consider it an IOU. You owe me lunch tomorrow.”

He says it almost playfully, but there’s an underlying seriousness. He’s not the kind of guy who normally offers up his couch to a total stranger, but there’s something about you that has him feeling chivalrous.

The bar smells like old beer and lemon cleaner when the lights finally go out. You help him stack a couple chairs, more out of instinct than energy, your body already aching from everything it’s carried today. He tosses you a jacket, his, probably, too big, but warm, and gestures toward the back exit.

“I live just up the block,” he says. “We’ll cut through the alley.” You nod, your breath puffing little clouds in the cold night air. The streets are quiet. Just the hum of a vending machine, a flickering streetlamp, the distant sound of some guy yelling at a cab that’s already gone. The world is still moving, somehow, even when yours has slowed to a crawl.

His apartment is up two flights of creaky stairs over a convenience store. The hallway smells like old wood and old halls, the walls scraped and half broken. He unlocks the door and steps aside, like he’s afraid his apartment will spook you.

“Definitely not like Plaza, but it’s clean. Better than some crappy motel.” he says, flipping on a light. He’s right. It’s small. Lived-in. A couch with one too many pillows, a bookshelf crammed with old paperbacks and dusty baseball trophies. A plant near the window that’s somehow still alive.

The furniture doesn’t match, definitely evidence of being thrifted. You don’t know what you expected. Something messier, maybe. Something sadder. But this feels… fine enough.

He points to the couch. “You can crash there. Bathroom’s down the hall. If you’re hungry later, there’s stuff in the fridge. Beer, leftover lasagna, possibly a yogurt, but I don’t promise it’s not expired or something.” You chuckle and then smile — really smile — for the first time in days. “Thanks, Hank.” He just shrugs, walks toward the kitchen. “You want tea? Or whiskey? Or both?”

“Whiskey,” you say, without missing a beat. He chuckles, pulls two glasses off the shelf, and hands you one. You sip. It burns, but in the right way. For a while, you both stay in a quiet that feels like permission. No pressure to talk. Just two people, tired in different ways, sharing a small space in the middle of the mess.

You lean back on the couch, let your eyes close for a second. “So you don’t have family or friends around?” Opening your eyes again, you look at him. You shake your head. “No… My family is from Massachusetts, Boston specifically. I came here to New York to chase my dreams but… damn I got into this situation.”

Hank leans forward, sitting in armchair by the couch. He looks interested and gives you free speech. “I got together with Mark, my ex boyfriend, the one who dumped me today. He was everything I ever wanted, what I needed. My big dream was and is to open a flower shop, and I worked so hard to earn money for buying a building where I could make this all happen… And now? He took my money and kicked me out. Just because he got mad at me that I found out he was cheating on me.”

Hank’s eyes widen. You stare straight ahead, at some fixed point on the wall. You don’t want to see Hank’s face right now. You’re scared of what might be there, judgment, pity, or worse, disbelief. But all you hear is the soft thunk of his glass landing on the coffee table.

“Jesus,” he mutters. Not loud. Not shocked. Just tired, like someone who’s seen this kind of cruelty before and never got used to it. “He stole from you?” You nod. “Every cent I’d saved. Said it was ‘ours,’ and that I was crazy for wanting it back. Then he said if I pushed it, he’d make sure I never saw a dollar of it again.”

You wait for him to react. You expect questions, anger, maybe some righteous indignation on your behalf. But what you get is something quieter.“People like that don’t build anything,” Hank says. “They just take. And take. Until there’s nothing left.”

You finally look at him. His face is calm, but there's a steel edge in his voice now. “You worked for that dream,” he adds. “That money, that shop? That wasn’t him. That was you. Don’t let his theft make you forget that.”

You exhale, shakier than you mean to. “I don’t know how to start over, Hank. I feel like I’m back at zero.” He leans back, studies you. “Then zero’s where we start.” You blink. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” he begins slowly, “if you still want that flower shop, we’ll figure it out. I’ll help you. Loan, investment, whatever you want to call it.”

You shake your head immediately. He is a stranger who you just met and started to trust him with letting you sleep in his apartment. “Hank, no, I can’t let you—”

“Sure you can. You’re just scared. Doesn’t mean you’re not allowed.”

You go quiet. The idea feels too big, too unreal. But somehow, sitting on this worn-out couch in a stranger’s apartment with whiskey in your hand and last night’s mascara under your eyes… it feels so… odd.

“Hank, no. You can’t just throw money at me. I’m not some charity case. I didn’t tell you that story so you’d feel bad. I just needed to say it out loud.” you reply, feeling guilt in your heart. Hanks shakes his head, setting the whiskey glass in the table again. “I know you’re not charity case. I’m not telling ya you are. But you have dream. And you worked for it and are left with nothing to make it happen.”

You feel blood boiling in your cheeks and you know he’s right. “What if I take it and fail? Then what? I’ll owe you and have nothing to show for it.” you say, voice shaky. You can’t take his money. You can’t just borrow money from someone you met just tonight. “Why are you even doing this? You barely know me.”

“You’re right—I don’t know you. But I know what it’s like to lose everything you worked for. And I know what it’s like when no one helps.” Hanks says and makes you feel… soft all of sudden. He really looks like he wants to help you. To make your dream happen… Should you take it? Should you just trust some man who decided to take you to his apartment just to survive a night?

You take a deep breath, thinking about his words all over again and again. Then you straighten your position. “Okay. But if I say yes, you have to let me pay you back. Every cent.” Hank’s face lightens up in the way you haven’t seen yet. He looks almost happy that you agreed.

“Then it’s a deal.” he smiles, leaning back in the armchair. You look at him for a while, seeing the seriousness in his gaze. Then, you look back at the glass of whiskey, only last drops left. You lean your head back, the burning liquid falling down tour throat. Maybe things aren’t that bad as you thought.

“Mind if I take a shower here?” you ask, feeling like the grossest person on earth. Hank nods and go somewhere before coming back. The moment, Hank points down the hall and says, “Bathroom’s on the right,” you nod and make your way there. You’re already halfway there, clutching a borrowed towel and a baggy old t-shirt he handed you without a word.

You don’t look back, because your throat feels tight again, over something as simple as clean clothes and hot water. Something you shouldn’t have had to earn with pain. The shower creaks when you turn the knob, and it takes a second for the water to warm. But when it does, it’s heaven. For the first time today, the tension in your shoulders loosens. You lean into the tile wall, eyes closed, letting the water run over you like it’s washing the day off. Like it might erase Mark’s voice, his lies, his hands. Like maybe it can soak into your bones and remind you that you're still yours. You stay under longer than you mean to.

Out in the living room, Hank’s still on the couch, staring at the TV without really watching. Some old baseball game plays on mute, one of the ones from his heyday, maybe, though he doesn’t tell anyone which years were his. Not anymore. He hears the water shut off and glances toward the hallway.

He barely knows you. And yet, something about you pulls at him in a way he can’t name. Maybe it’s the passion in your voice when you talk about that flower shop. Maybe it’s the way he found you sitting in the bar, looking like you didn’t want to be seen needing help, but you still accepted it. That kind of vulnerability doesn’t come easy.

Hank’s been around people long enough to know the difference between a mess and a survivor. You’re not some wounded thing waiting to be rescued. You’re fire under ashes. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, offering you help, space, money. It’s not like him. But it doesn’t feel like a mistake either.

The bathroom door opens, steam curling into the hallway, and you step out, hair wet in messy bun, face clean, dressed in the oversized shirt that falls nearly to your knees. Hank stares at you, watching the way your hips swing under the baggy t-shirt as you walk. You catch him watching and pause.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. He shrugs and looks away, smirking a little. “Just making sure you didn’t drown.” You laugh quietly, but it’s a real laugh that surprises both of you. You approach the couch, looking at him. “Thanks again,” you say, sitting carefully on the edge of the couch. “For the shower. The couch. All of it.”

He gives a small nod. “Don’t mention it.” You glance around the room. It’s late, and you’re still in a stranger’s home, technically. But weirdly, for the first time in days, maybe weeks… you feel safe. “You ever think about what your life would’ve looked like if one thing had gone different?” you ask quietly.

Hank doesn’t answer right away. He watches the screen a moment longer before saying, “Yeah. Every fucking day.” And the silence that follows isn’t heavy — it’s shared. You sigh deeply, sinking into the couch. Maybe this isn’t the end. Maybe, just maybe, this might be something… new. New beginning.

[clone-anon]

hello💙 I hope you are having a wonderful day! I’ve been struggling lately and your blog is such a big comfort for me 🫂 May I make a request please? I am autistic but high masking lower support needs but lately I’ve been feeling so lonely and broken inside. If you have time would you mind doing something about a similar female bonding with Tech romantically or the batch as a whole platonically, or even both smooshed together? I can’t thank you enough for helping me get through the tough days!🫂

Of course! I relate to this too, so hopefully this helps.

Tech x Reader with some brotherly batch love too

You worked as quickly as you could while Tech flew. Of course something had to break during an incredibly boring supply run. Hunter watched you and sighed. He wasn't sure how to help and just gave Wrecker a look. All Wrecker and Crosshair could really do was watch over you since they weren't sure how to make the task go any faster and it seemed to be upsetting you.

Your mind flew with everything that needed to be accomplished to get the data pad in working order. Each little piece had a job and you and Tech were the only ones who had spent any time really examining everything. You were both dependable when it came to these kind of things. You put up a good face, but it was starting to break. It was as if by working faster you could get the job sooner before the inevitable collapse of your spirit.

You closed up the back of the data pad and pushed the buttons. It worked now and Crosshair quickly took it from your hands. He wasn't harsh, but a nod of thanks and a silent acknowledgement that he knew you needed a break. Wrecker scooted over so you could sit next to him as Tech and Echo flew the ship. You were too zoned out to hear Hunter's worried comment about you. Echo was worried too. He could see the burnout coming, something not wholly unfamiliar to him, but he didn't know what to do. You seemed too stubborn to actually rest as if not taking care of things meant you were somehow lost.

"She needs to rest," Tech said. "I confess I don't know how to help."

"We make you sleep," Echo replied flatly.

"Yes, but I am comfortable with all of you. She does not know us as well."

Hunter calmly answered, "I know that, but I think you're the best one to connect with her. Besides, she likes you. We can all see that."

"Very well," Tech said. "I will do my best."

Once the ship landed, everyone hopped onto the safety of Pabu once again. Wrecker, Crosshair, and Hunter worked to unload the supplies while Echo comm'd Rex with some intel. You wandered over to join the boys, but Tech approached you and cleared his throat.

"Do you mind joining me?" he asked.

You followed him down the path to a quiet spot. Two birds chirped and flew off toward another tree. Tech shifted where he sat.

"You are struggling," was all he could say.

"Is it that obvious?" you asked with a sinking heart.

"Not to most people, I imagine."

You sat silently for a moment before he reached out his hand, palm up. An offering. You placed your hand in his and felt a gentle squeeze and with that a wave of emotion crested throughout you. He put his other hand on your back.

"I feel so disconnected," you let out. "What is wrong with me?"

"Absolutely nothing," he assured.

You both noticed you were still out in the open. Tech tried to shield you from the walking path nearby, but you shook your head.

"Can we go back to mine?" you asked.

He nodded and you led the way, still holding his hand. It was a short walk you both knew well and you breathed a sigh of relief once the door was closed behind you.

"I am not sure what to do in this situation," Tech admitted. "What would help?"

You knew but felt a little scared to say. You were used to taking care of yourself and being as little a burden as possible. Your insides rattled with need while your mind tried to calm you in the familiar way you'd tamed it to. Tech just looked at you, waiting. Before you could stop yourself you started walking to the bedroom, took your boots off, and sat on the bed.

"I am unsure what you-"

"Hold me," you interjected. "Nothing more. I need to be close to someone."

"Ah." Tech took his own boots off and laid down on the bed and opened his arms to welcome you in.

He added, "When we were cadets and I was overwhelmed, Wrecker would hold me. It helped. This is different, of course."

"Yeah?" you softly inquired.

"Yes," he said with a soft honesty. "I care for you deeply and in a different way."

You pressed yourself closer to him and could hear his heart beat. The rhythm was soothing.

Tech thought for a moment and asked, "Do you often feel alone?"

"Yeah," you admitted.

"I have always had my brothers, but I understand the loneliness of not being understood."

You looked up at him with sad, but hopeful eyes and nodded.

"Maybe we can have each other," you suggested.

"We do have each other," Tech said. He instinctively rested his cheek on the top of your head.

A shiver went down both your spines as the sky darkened through the window and it started to rain. You reluctantly grabbed an extra blanket and tossed it over him before he opened up his arms to what now felt like a safe cocoon.

"Is this alright?" he asked as you tried to get comfortable again.

You nodded and asked if he was okay. He nodded back at you and held you close. The contact was as soothing as feeling understood. You both knew what it was like to hold many thoughts and feelings and while there was much left unsaid, this was the beginning of a deep love.

[highprincessofthenightcourt]

What are your headcanons for Elain’s book

Hello, anon 🫶🏼

First, I’d like to thank you for this question because my inbox has been a bit negative lately and I love having the opportunity to answer fun things like this

Getting to the point, now.

I would like for this book to make me understand Elain more. I want to know what the poverty period was like for her. I do think that it was a very dissociative time for her and it’s why Feyre describes her as not knowing how bad things were. I would like to hear how she dealt with her trauma, her hardships, her struggles.

I want to get a clear description of her powers. SJM has been guilty of lacking in world building at times imo and I really hope Elain’s case is different. I want to know exactly what being a seer entails and see it be used firsthand. Also, I’d like to find out if she truly has been honing her spy skills behind the scenes and what she has seen or heard.

I want Elain to have some moments where she lets go of the calm disposition she always carries and truly expresses how she feels. Perhaps not in an out of character way, but in a reasonable outburst that has been overdue. I loved seeing her talk back against people who were being nasty to her in the last book. I hope to see more of that.

I want to see her have a good relationship with Rhysand. I think he genuinely likes her, he has been very compassionate towards her, he has taken the time to try and understand her personality which we see as he and Feyre discuss about her, he’s mentioned he views her as kind. I think it’s the perfect opportunity for Rhys to bond with a member of Feyre’s family in a meaningful way and it would be lovely to see.

I absolutely need Feyre and Elain moments. I think that seeing their sisterly bond develop more and more will heal me and it will truly make me so happy. They’re both special people with good hearts, who despite it all, have remained kind. Considering how much family means to Feyre and how she never got to experience it until the IC, I really need her and Elain to become close. Especially seeing as they were both victims of abuse in their home, it would be beautiful to see them heal.

I want to see Elain’s own perspective on the whole mate ordeal. I believe that there is a lot we don’t know and her book has the opportunity to show us. I think there is a big possibility that Elain doesn’t know much about the bond and how it is supposed to be rejected. I think that with everything going on, it’s likely that nobody has had the chance to fully explain it to her. I want to find out how she has felt about all this and why she has behaved exactly as she has.

This last one is needless to say, I think. I want Elriel! I want to see it unfold and I want to see everything that leads up to it. I really am curious about the moments we have not been privy to—how Elain felt the first time she saw Azriel, how she knows that he is jealous and it’s why he doesn’t come around when her mate is there, does she know more than we do and has had visions or dreams about their future together, does Elain know the extent of Azriel’s feelings for her, how does she feel towards him because from his eyes it seemed as though he felt a true mating bond with her and it makes me wonder about her side, what conversations have been had in their garden away from the ears of the others, is she hurt or angry that he has pulled back, will she confront him, will she initiate their physical contact, will she tell us more about how she finds his hands beautiful, and on and onnnn.

Anyway, these are just some of them, but they’re my most prominent headcanons for Elain’s book. 💕💕

[teddybeartoji]

HE ONLY SLEEPS FOUR HOURS A DAYYYY

[lunar-wandering]

do y'all think Macaque is falling back into the role that Azure and the others put on him by remaining on the outskirts of the group because he thinks his input/presence is unwanted (and yeah his presence isn't really wanted by MK and the others BUT. something about the fact Macaque is placing himself at the edge of the group, the edge that Azure and the others pushed him to, doesn't really sit well)

[hauntingblue]

Skypiea time part 2

She is a woman..... this is sanji's influence... in whiskey peak his slashes were non gendered

Ace just letting himself get pushed into the river like aight my bad I will take my punishment.... he really is so well mannered (it sounds like I'm talking about a dog)

Conis showing that nami influence.... gfs....

Nami and luffy twins moment look how relieved she is... this whole fight is so theirs...

Also how funny it is that the milk girl gave ace a shirt.... also new pants??? She must think he lost the shirt in the river.... no girl he is just a slut...

Nami: okay ❤️ yay ❤️

Noland just thinking about where karugara is and if he is alright in his EXECUTION!! SICK AND TWISTED

OMG BOUNDMAN INSPO????

NO ACEEE NOOOOOOOO

THE END OF ACES STORY IS THAT THE COFFE IS NO LONGER BITTER BC THEY SERVE IT WITH MILK AND WHY AM I EMOTIONAL ABOUT IT