#i joke about the unforgiveable mistake

[aggravateddurian]

I've had an idea!

As we're aware, CDPR made an UNFORGIVEABLE MISTAKE when they made Phantom Liberty... they did not include an iconic variant of this most precious bean:

The Liberty. It's literally called LIBERTY, c'mon guys!

I've had ideas for two iconics. I'll be including them in my Phantom Liberty weapons pack of Dark Future Arsenal as exotic weapons.

As with the standard Liberty in Dark Future Arsenal, it is a Heavy Pistol (Handgun skill, 3d6 DMG, ROF 2, 1 Handed, but with the canon 14 rnd magazine).

Phantom

Phantom is an all-black Liberty, its paint is designed to be sensitive to local light levels, adapting to the darkness to make its form as obscure as possible. It will do 1.5x damage with a suppressor attached and 2.0x damage when fired from stealth. In Cyberpunk RED, this means that Phantom will improve stealth rolls by +1 when held in hand.

The Phantom's suppressor uses the same rules I've homebrewed for stealth attacks and suppressed weapons in my Cyberpunk RED campaigns.

It is suppressed, which means that provided that there are no eneemies with line of sight to the character within 25m/yds, the player will not cause a combat initiative roll if used on an enemy outside of combat. However, if there is an enemy within 25m/yds, the player will have to roll Stealth against the enemy's Perception, which, if fails, will trigger combat and force an initiative roll with the player at a -1 disadvantage.

It ignores armour if fired from Stealth (outside of combat), reflecting the video game's stealth headshot bonus whilst not being too over the top.

It has a unique scope, which will give it +1 to hit at ranges from 0-100m and will not incur the -8 aimed shot penalty (but only if aimed at the target's head). It, alongside Her Majesty, will be perfect companions for the FIA agent on the ground.

Phantom's colours and unique lore about having no serial numbers are meant to evoke the espionage theme of Phantom Liberty.

Redscreen

Redscreen is a unique Liberty with a bright red slide and black frame. It fires unique ammunition called 'Redscreen rounds' that will cause enemies to receive a -2 to all REF and DEX related checks for 1 minute. It is, otherwise, a Liberty.

The glitches that enemies see would be similar to the glitch effect V saw when Songbird uses V as a proxy to hack the Petrochem EBM Stadium in Phantom Liberty. The colours are inspired by the Phantom Liberty colours (red and black).

I'm thinking about a green and grey Barghest themed variant and maybe an all-white NUSA variant, the idea being that this was a weapon carried by Secret Service agents tasked with protecting President Myers.

These variants will not be available to the players of my current campaign, they'll be reserved for the 2077 campaign I've got cooking.

[gloomskulls]

LIMERENCE PT 2 [tasm!peter parker x reader]

pairings: tasm!peter parker x reader

part 1

warning(s): dub/non consensual (reader is drunk and drunk people cannot give consent), terribly written smut (i'm a virgin i'm sorry, I have no idea what goes on actually in the bed), oral (fem receiving), drinking, drunk reader, overstimulation, everyone is 18+ here lemme know if I missed any. MINORS DO NOT READ

If you don't want to see my dark stories in the future please block the tag #madi: dark content

A/n: I'm sorry this took a whole ass while, it's probs 90% story and 10% smut. Like it's probs shit, the smut's the reason why I couldn't finish this sooner because I had no idea where it was going. Also tried to write 2012 slang, idk if it even sounds right. don't steal any of the shit I've written or else I'm going to turn you into Victoria Heyes from terrifier ❤️🫶/srs

summary: For Peter Parker, the deepest secret is not being Spider-Man. It's that he likes you, no he loves you, wants you in any imaginable way possible. After years of quietly admiring you from a distance, everything changes after a biology project that partners you two together. Peter sees a glimpse of chance to get nearer to you, but the line of affection and obsession begins to blur

Peter shuffled in his sleep. Tossing and turning. Sleep never found him, how could it? He did something so unforgivable. Having an obsession with someone who barely acknowledges your existence is one thing, but sneaking into her house, completely crossing every single line, and then jerking off to the scent of your panties while imagining you on top of him, riding him as you creamed his cock with your cum.

The air felt heavy and there was an almost stifling silence in his small bedroom, while his mind worked in the manner of a broken machine, looping thoughts.

Every single thing about you — your laugh, the spark in your eyes when you spoke of something you loved, the way you uttered his name — his mind kept replaying like a broken record. Each one felt as fresh as if it had just taken place a moment ago, and each one pulled at something deep within his chest.

He had spent years arguing with himself about what he was doing. He told himself that viewing you from a distance was merely innocent fascination, a little crush. But that had been a lie. What he had done the night before, sneaking into your room was not a mistake; it was a deliberate decision.

Peter was filled with doubts, a regular person would call him lovesick, a creep even. Is she really worth it? Peter admits something he'd been avoiding for a while.

He wanted you.

Not as a classmate. Not as a partner for a stupid project. He wanted you in a way that was raw and desperate and consuming. Oh, he wanted you to look at him the way you look at the rest of the world with trust, with affection, with the same ease that made you laugh at his dumb jokes.

The realization hit him hard. The weight of it sank into his chest like a boulder, but there was a rush of something else too-something darker, more intoxicating.

Peter sat up abruptly, there's only one way or another, heart hammering as he snatched up his phone. Tapping out a quick message, he did so with trembling hands.

"Hey, u free 2nite? Was thinkin maybe we could finish the proj & grab dinner after. My treat. :)"

He stared at the screen, his thumb hovered over the send button. The fear crept back in, whispering in the back of his mind. What if she thought he was crazy? What if she rejected me outright? What if everything he'd built up in his head came crashing down?

Many thoughts crowded his mind, neither of them was good

As he stared at the text, his finger quivered. His stomach tightening in knots. The reply was already forming in his mind—would you say yes? Or perhaps he was weird for asking, for suggesting anything other than school?

But what if he didn't ask? What if he kept on pretending that this crush wasn't eating him up from the inside?

I've got to do this; he tried to steady his breath. This would never come again.

Deep breath and then Peter clicked "send."

Time seemed to stretch into eternity. His mind was racing, spinning out into the worst-case scenarios. You could just say no or even laugh it off and tell him it wasn't a good idea. It's a biology project, after all. That's what it was supposed to be—right?

That crumbled page of biology scraps lay on his desk as evidence of the project you both were working on. It was supposed to be a simple collaboration, probably will last for a few weeks if he was lucky, and then he'd just go back to being invisible to you.

But he didn't want to go back to being invisible.

He sat there at the edge of the bed, hunched over in an awkward position, his elbows rested on the stretched knees, and he stared his phone, convinced that at any moment it would leave his grip. He had typed the message, the own words glowing brighter as he waited.

He had redone it like at least a dozen times, but all versions felt way too casual to too formal. His current message was just right; friendly, innocent enough but still an invite.

What if you think it is strange? What if you don't even reply at all?

He shook his head to stabilize his breathing. It's alright, he told himself. His not asking for something crazy. It's only a dinner.

But it wasn't just a dinner. It was the convergence of years of quiet yearning, stolen glances, and missed opportunities. This was the first real step toward something more, if only he could find the courage to take it.

He shunned his phone flat on the bed thinking that might ease the tension in his chest, but it didn't. His heart raced as seconds ticked by on the clock, each second feeling like an eternally long wait.

What if you didn't reply?

What if you did?

His thoughts were interrupted abruptly as his phone buzzed.

He grabbed it with trembling hands.

"Sure! I'm totally in. Where r we meeting? 7?"

He read the message over and over again: You're saying yes. Relief was an actual weight that was just lifted as disbelief flooded him as he blinked at the screen, rereading the message to make sure it hadn't been imagined.

For a moment, he allowed himself to smile, but it quickly disappeared. Now that he got the answer, a different kind of panic struck.

What happens next?

"Yea 7’s cool, I’ll pick u up @ ur place"

He looked up at the clock-6:30. In thirty minutes, he needed to get ready. Thirty minutes within which he needed to figure out how not to screw this one up completely.

Peter fell out of his chair and quickly rifled through his closet for something fresh and unique that didn't look like it had just been thrown on five minutes ago. His room was strung out in a mess of hoodies and T-shirts that didn't do any good as he tried on piece after piece-each feeling wrong.

"Relax," he murmured at himself while gazing at his reflection in the mirror. Hi hair looked like he just crawled out from under the bed, his face was red, and no matter how many adjustments he attempted on the clothes, he still looked like the awkward kid he'd always been.

Peter raced around his pod-sized room in search of a shirt that didn't scream "high school loser." The bed was a battlefield littered with crumpled hoodies, a checkered flannel, even his Midtown Science Academy T-shirt.

"Peter?" Aunt May's curious sounding voice called out from the hallway.

"Yeah?" he shouted back while looking through his closet and listening.

"Why does it sound like a tornado hit your room? Are you okay in there?"

Peter groaned and threw another hoodie onto the pile he was amassing on the bed. "I'm fine!"

The creaky door slammed open a moment later, and Aunt May peeked her head in. Her sharp eyes traveled the disaster area that was his room, from the piles of clothes, and even down to the one sneaker he was wearing.

"Uh-huh. Fine." She crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. "What's all this about? A wardrobe crisis?"

He sighed at her and rubbed the back of his neck. "Nothing serious, okay? I just… I'm going out."

May raised an eyebrow as her lips twitched as if trying hard not to smile. "Going out? As in… on a date?"

"What? No!" Peter's voice shot up as he spun around, waving his hands. "It's not a date! It's just dinner. For a project. With a friend."

By now, she wasn't even trying to hide her grin. "A 'friend,' huh? Is this the same 'friend' you've been talking about nonstop since this biology project started?"

"I don't talk about her nonstop!" protested Peter, turning into a shade of tomato. "Oh, you definitely do," Uncle Ben countered from outside the hallway and into the room, sporting the knowing smirk of someone who has heard too much. "Half the time, it's, 'Oh, she's so smart,' and the other half is, 'She's so good at this lab thing.'" He said with a dreamy tone

"Okay, okay, so I get it!" he groaned while burying his face in his hands. "Can we not do this now?"

Ben laughed and slapped Peter on the shoulder. “Relax, kid. We are just teasing, and you've got this.”

May walked into the room and picked up one of the forgotten shirts from the bed. Holding it up, she said, "What is wrong with this? Nice but casual, not slobby."

Peter squinted at it. "It's too—I don't know; plain?"

"Plain is better than looking as if you are trying too hard," she said, tossing it to him.

Uncle Ben nodded sagely. "It's right." "You don't want to go full tuxedo on a first—uh, not a date," he added quickly, holding up his hands when Peter glared at him.

Peter huffed but pulled the shirt over his head anyway. "You two are the worst," he muttered, though his tone lacked any real bite.

May smiled and reached out, smoothing the collar of his shirt. "We are not the worst. We are just proud of you. It's good to see you putting yourself out there."

"I'm not—," Peter began, but Ben cut him off.

"You are," Ben said firmly. "That's a good thing. Just be yourself, Pete. If she's as great as you say she is, she'll see what we see, a smart, kind, slightly awkward but very lovable kid."

Peter's face burned. "Yea, you really know how to give a pep talk."

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?" Ben fired back with a grin.

May handed Peter his second sneaker. "Here. Don't forget this, unless you're planning to really impress her with your one-shoe look."

Peter rolled his eyes but could not quite hide the grin that crept onto his lips. "Thanks, Aunt May."

So Ben called after him as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. "And remember, kid—Italian places usually give you breadsticks first. Don't fill up before the main course!"

Peter groaned loudly. "I'm going now! Bye!"

He was there, at your door, heart pounding heavily, as if wanting to burst out from the body. He lingered for a while, staring at the doorbell.

What if this is a mistake?

But before you could think otherwise, the button pressed his finger.

And then echoed the sound of the bell from inside, and Peter felt that the earth would open up and swallow him whole in an instance. He heard footsteps, and then the door opened.

There you were.

"Hey, Peter!" you said, smiling that effortless way that made his breath catch in his throat, stepping aside and gesturing for him to come in. "You're right on time, I just need a minute to grab my bag."

Peter managed a small smile and stepped in, wiping his sweaty palms against his jeans. "Yeah, of course. Take all the time you need."

You disappeared into another room, leaving Peter hanging awkwardly at your door, his eyes darting about. It was a very warm and inviting house, in harmony with the kind of person you were. The faint hum of a television in another room was muffled, someone talking, and he could hear that easily.

Your presence returned with your bag slung around your shoulder and you ignited the nerves again in Peter.

“So,” you said, smiling at him, “where to?”

Peter hesitated just a beat too long, his mind scrambling to come up with an answer. "Uh, I was thinking Italian? That okay with you?"

"Italian sounds great," you said easily as your smile widened.

Peter's heart raced as you stepped out the door, walking beside him toward the small restaurant a few blocks away. The night air was crisp, and for the first few minutes, he was too caught up in his own head to say much. But then you started talking, asking him about his day, about the project, and the sound of your voice eased some of his tension.

You made him feel like he belonged, even without having a word to say.

When the restaurant came in sight, Peter turned to you. Nerves still there but mixed with something else: a quiet and hopeful excitement.

Maybe just maybe, tonight will be the beginning of something real.

The walk to the restaurant was such a nerve-racking experience. Each step Peter Parker took beside you felt like a step closer to something he wasn't ready (or was actually hoping for). His hands buried deep in his jacket pockets, fingers curling and uncurling, while trying to keep steady pacing alongside you.

But you appeared to be at full ease. You talked about the cool evening, how the trees' leaves were beginning to rustle with the cold wind blowing, and even the faint smell of roasting chestnuts from a street vendor a few blocks away. Peter heard everything, nodded, and punctuated things now and then with the occasional "Yeah" or "Totally," but as for his thoughts, they were running wild within him.

This is well. This is the standard. This is alright, He didn't over hypothesize for the hundredth time.

As much as there was relief in now having something solid to focus on, Peter was panicked that it all became real at that moment.

He opened the door for you, his hand trembling slightly as he held it.

"Thanks," you said, giving him a swift smile before stepping inside.

"Uh, yeah. Of course," Peter mumbled as he hung his head and followed you in.

The hostess took you to a corner besides the glass window, a cozy little spot with a flickering candle in the middle of the table. Peter's hands trembled as he took the chair and gestured you to sit on it.

The menu in front of him could be in another language as he stared dumbly at it, words bringing into a blur while the thoughts buzzing in his head were getting harder to put to rest.

Don't be weird. Just be normal. What does "normal" even mean? Stop overthinking! You've got this!

"This place is nice," you commented as you scanned the menu. "How did you discover it?"

"Oh, um, my aunt used to like it here," Peter said, grateful he could answer such a question. "She says the lasagna is the best."

You grinned. "Aunt May has good taste. I will try that."

He nodded, yes, but could not stop the rush of nervous thoughts flooding his mind. He glanced at the menu as if studying it although he already knew what he would order. But his mind was instead filled with every possible thing he could screw up tonight.

Don't talk too much; don't laugh strangely; don't look like an idiot.

Here came the waiter, and you ordered effortlessly, laced with a polite smile as you handed him the menu. Peter stammered out his order and felt his palms sweat as he gave it. When the waiter walked away, Peter could feel your eyes on him, and it took everything he had to meet your gaze.

"So," you said, leaning in with elbows planted on the table, chin cradled in palm, "what's your thing, Peter?"

"My thing?" he said, taken aback. "Like, my thing?"

"Yeah, like… what do you do for fun? What are you really into doing when absolutely no one else is watching and judging?"

Peter blinked, trying to think of something that wouldn't sound lame. "Uh, well, I like photography," he said. "And science, I guess. Experiments, stuff like that."

You perked up. "Photography? That is cool. What kind of pictures do you take?"

"Mostly city stuff," he said, his voice gaining a bit of confidence. "You know, like weird angles, shadows, reflections. It's probably not that interesting to most people."

"I think it sounds interesting," you said. "I would love to see your pictures sometime."

Peter's heart was pounding so hard. "Really? Uh, yeah, sure. I mean, if you want."

That made the conversation flow more easily. You told him about your love-hate relationship with math, how sometimes you spent too long procrastinating by watching cooking shows instead of doing your homework, and how one time you tried to make crème brûlée and almost burned your stove.

“I had to open every window in the house,” you said, laughing. “My mom came home and thought I’d burned dinner. I didn’t tell her it was supposed to be dessert.”

Peter grinned, feeling just a little bit more at ease. “Maybe stick to cookies next time, huh?”

“Noted,” you said with a mock-serious nod.

Then it was time to eat. You both started digging into it while still keeping up your conversation. Peter quickly found himself becoming much more relaxed, finding it absolutely easy to talk to you when he didn't over-analyze every word. You burst into laughter each time his jokes finished, and whenever his eye fell into yours, everything around faded.

There was little doubt that he was doing this because he was desperate enough to strike a topic that wouldn't make him sound like an idiot; this was the reason why he asked, "You, uh, good with the whole project?"

You leaned back, fiddled with the napkin on the table, and said, "Yeah, it's actually been fun. Well, I mean, we work well together, and you're much smarter than I had thought."

Peter blinked. "Wait, you thought I wasn't smart?"

"No, I just-" You smirk, it's clear you're enjoying his reaction. "You always seem kinda… busy with stuff, you know? You're not exactly the loudest guy in the room."

"Well, I, uh…" Peter rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I'm, uh, more of a behind-the-scenes guy. You know, less talk, more… action?"

You laughed, the sound light and easy, and Peter felt himself get a little more relaxed. Maybe you weren't judging him.

'This place have wine?' you ask all of a sudden, not looking up from the menu.

Peter blinked. "Uh… I think so?"

You smirked and put your feet up on the table after throwing the menu on it. "Perfect. I could use a glass."

Peter was at a loss on how he should respond. It just didn't seem like the kind of person who would order wine to go with dinner-at least, not in his limited and admittedly romanticized view of you. But when the waiter came by, you ordered an entire bottle without hesitating, barely glancing at Peter for confirmation.

"Um, yeah, sounds good," Peter said weakly, even though the thought of drinking anything stronger than soda made him nervous.

The waiter nodded and disappeared, leaving the two of you alone in an awkward silence.

But the waiter was back again, this time with a bottle and two glasses, which he laid down with a polite smile. And before you knew it, the deep red liquid was already swirling around in your glass because you had poured it in haste from the bottle.

Want some? You asked, already halfway through your first sip.

“Uh, maybe later,” Peter said.

You shrugged and took another long drink before putting the glass down with a satisfied sigh. “Suit yourself.”

The most casual kind of conversation developed between you: you asked Peter about what he was interested in, and he managed to stumble along throwing together great lengthy descriptions about why he loved photography and science, and the words came out too fast for him to think them. It almost seemed like you were listening to him, however, because he went on to nod before even asking follow-up questions, which made him for the first time in a long time feel that he wasn't entirely invisible.

By that time, he was becoming aware, as the hours slipped away, that you were filling up your glass more and more often. The bottle was now half empty when the food came, and you were already sporting rosy cheeks when the alcohol was pouring into your system.

“This is good,” you said, hardly bothering with your plate in order to gesture with your fork at it. "I mean, really good. Good call, Parker.”

The smile that appeared on Peter's face was that of nervousness. "Thanks. I'm glad you like it."

Now you leaned back in your seat, holding your glass up to the light. "You know, I don't really do stuff like this. I've kind of never had dinner with classmates. It's just a little… weird, you know?"

Peter sank a little. "Weird, how?"

"Not bad weird," you said immediately by waving your hand. "Just… different. Like, generally, I would just be at home watching some lousy reality show and trying to forget how much homework I have to do."

Peter chuckled, even though he had no idea what to say next.

After a sip of wine, the boy looked up at Peter who immediately landed his gaze upon the bottle. You seem well into your first glass with a heightening sense of ease that you appeared to be at his home. Maybe it was because of the wine or perhaps how you were looking at him right now-not with judging spectatorship but with a strange kind of understanding that made him feel as if he were not really out of place.

It was only a count of seconds before the food arrived while you already had a second glass in hand. Peter's stomach flipped at that moment. This wasn't the way he was used to seeing you, all loosened up and speaking without that slight guard he usually saw when you were around. You appeared different tonight, and Peter couldn't quite figure it out if it was a good thing or not.

However, the conversation was still going on, only that as soon as you took a few more drinks, conversations shifted to more profound, much more personal things. Laughter spilled from your lips more freely, although Peter saw that smiles were now somewhat uncontrollable. Maybe it was the wine; maybe it was just the ambience. In any case, he could feel something shifting, like you were letting him see this version of yourself you weren't sure he was supposed to see.

"Peter", you said, looking at him with wide eyes after a long sip. "What's your big dream? Like 20 years from now, what do you see yourself doing?"

He shifted around uneasily on his chair. And that question was sudden, a little more intense than he would have reckoned it to be. He was not used to being asked about his future like this.

"Honestly?" said Peter, leaning back a little and looking down at the half-finished plate in front of him. "I don't really know. I think- I think I want to do something with science, or photography. Maybe combine. Don't know really. Just like, I want to fix things, you know? Help make the world a little less broken.''

You were quiet for a moment, and Peter wasn't sure whether it was because he'd said something wrong or whether you were just thinking. But when you finally spoke, your voice was softer, almost quieter than before.

"I think that's really admirable, Peter."

That was it. That one simple sentence hit him harder than he expected. He wasn't used to compliments like that- not from you, not from anyone. The words were a strange dream, and for a second he just looked dumbfoundedly at you trying to really understand what you mean.

Peter had never imagined the night to go this way. Not even in a million years. But here he was, walking alongside you, swaying slightly on the sidewalk with less steadiness in your step than before. Surprisingly, the wine had hit you faster than he figured, and he wasn't so sure if he should be concerned or just chalk it up to the kind of night it had turned into.

"Hey, I'm-" You hiccupped, laughing lightly at your own clumsiness. "I'm fine, Peter. Really."

But Peter wasn't so sure. His instincts were whipping him into overdrive-the same ones that always made him want to leap into action when something was amiss. "Yeah, I don't think you are," he said, trying to keep it light. "Let me just walk you home, okay? Just to make sure you're good."

But you rolled your eyes, with an almost sheepish smile you gave in, "Fine, fine. I get it. You're worried about me."

"Yeah, I am," Peter said, his voice a little quieter than he intended. "But you're my responsibility right now, okay?"

You exhale a small laugh, and Peter can't help but take note of how completely giddy it sounded, a little like you weren't quite sure where you were or what you were doing. You leaned against him, and then Peter was surprised at how easily you let him help you with that.

The way home was otherwise silent except for the occasional trip and the muttered apologies from you. But Peter didn't mind it, sensing closeness, although strange. Everything was just weird tonight. The brushing of your hand against his as you reached for your keys. That laugh of yours that wouldn't leave his ears. The vulnerability you seemed to wear in your eyes at that moment.

So, then you reached your door, and you suddenly stopped and stood there, fumbling with the keys in your hand. Peter moved closer but silently offered to help. You shook your head.

"I've got this," you said, though your words were slurring just enough for Peter to catch the uncertainty behind them.

After much effort on your part, the door finally opened. You leaned in again, and Peter nearly lost his heart as he had to rush forward to steady you.

"Whoa, take it easy," Peter said catching you as you stumbled. "Let me help you."

You smiled up at him, glassy and unfocused. "I'm fine, Peter," you slurred. "Just a little…tipsy."

Peter chuckled and guided you up the walkway to your front door. "Tipsy, huh? Well, let's get you inside and safe, then."

As you both reached the front door, you fumbled with your keys and Peter had to gently take them from your hand and unlock the door himself. You smiled up at him, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

After some time and a couple of tries, she got the door opened.

"Okay, inside," he said, his tone a little more powerful now. You did not resist him as he helped you through the door, but there was a strange sadness in your eyes that twisted Peter's stomach.

You moved slowly to the couch and finally sank down on it; the wine was exhausting. Peter stood near the door for a moment, wondering his next move. He wanted to shoot his shot, his thoughts wandered to somethings more inappropriate. Wasn't this all about getting you safe? Ensuring you did not end up passed out somewhere in a big, messy pile of sheets and regrets.

"Can you just… stay for a bit?" you asked quietly, with barely a whisper.

Peter hesitated. He didn't want to go too far, and he couldn't just leave you here, not looking so…fragile.

"Yes," he spoke softly, entering then into the living room. "I'll stay for a bit"

You nodded at him, gazing at him with tired eyes. "Thank you."

Peter perched on the edge of the couch; his hands awkwardly balanced on his knees. What a strange space there was between you two now, strange in that it was so very close, yet so far away. He wanted to be of some use and ensure you were okay, and yet the way the glance kept coming from you in that direction somehow felt… off. It was like walking on a fine line.

Peter looked at you longingly, you were so beautiful.

Too close and too perfect, he found himself sitting next to you, and Peter felt the pressure of so many things left uncommunicated fill his chest. He needed to do it. He needed to say it.

"Peter?" Your voice was a soft whisper, a little uncertain. Wine had aided this whole relaxing process, yet made almost everything feel slightly out of focus.

Peter swallowed, heart pounding in the chest. He wasn't entirely sure if it was the alcohol that has found narrate in your system, or if it was the raw honesty of the moment, but he knew very well it was now or never, the one chance to say all he had kept bottled up for months.

"Yeah?" he whispered, getting closer so that he was almost against you now.

"It's just that, I… I'm sorry if I've been too much tonight," you said, your words slightly slurring as you allowed your gaze to drift over his face. "I didn't mean to get that drunk."

Peter felt his breath hitch in his throat. "It's fine," he said, his voice softer now. He could feel his palms sweating, his heart racing faster than ever. "I just… I just want to make sure you're okay."

You smiled up at him, but it was a little foggy, and Peter could tell that the wine had dulled your clarity. Still, you were so beautiful, standing there, looking at him with those eyes—eyes that made him feel like he mattered.

Peter took a sharp breath and let a sudden breath of air come out. It was as if a magnet was pulling them together, and he was drawn to it. "So, uh– I was thinking…" He hesitated for a moment, then recovered his composure, trying to calm the trembling in his hands. "I've been thinking about you for a long time. Like, longer than I should have."

His brows knitted further in confusion as Peter quickly realized that the rest of the sentence was failing miserably in getting through your mind, as if the actual words were swimming around in it, suspended in fog. He stepped closer, unable to stop himself.

"If I—" He let out a shaky breath. "You know, I've been loving you for so long now. And tonight, I couldn't hold it anymore and just… broke the dam."

Your expression shifted slightly. Confusion clouded your gaze. You blinked, trying to piece together his words. "Wait, what?"

Peter took a step closer, completely incapable of holding himself back. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, and he felt the heat between you intensify. He reached out, his hand brushing gently against your arm. "I love you," he whispered again, barely able to breathe. "I love you so much, and I've been too scared to say it. I've watched you for so long, and I—" Peter stopped mid-sentence as he looked at you, eyes looking like a lost puppy.

"You're so beautiful, so so beautiful" He leaned in, your face was so close to him, his lips brushed against yours. He held your face as he licked your lips.

You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin with just the proximity of Peter's face to yours, and the goosebumps it sent down your spine. Those eyes were filled deeply with a longing expression and captured yours as if drowning you in its depths. There was air that quite vibrated between the two of you, and the heat that seemed to take form could even be felt emanating from his body.

"I wanted to do that for so long," Peter whispered. His voice shuddered with desire. Gentle words falling like a caress to send shivers through you: "Wanted to touch you, hold you, kiss."

His lips brushed against yours when he spoke, making your body spark with electricity. You were pretty much melting into him, as if his very desire were consuming your human body. His lips, soft and gentle, just as firm and insistent. You tasted like wine.

"You're so beautiful" he said as his hands went underneath your dress, his hands inching close to your under garments. He touched your clothed core; he used his index finger to rub your clothed cover clit

You squirmed in his touch, "P-peter" You mewled in his mouth

This just seemed to fuel Peter even more, as he set aside your panties as his smooth fingers rubbed your now exposed core. Peter looked at you, he slowly kneeled as he spread your legs.

He looked at your wet core, as if it was a painting that he couldn't understand. Without warning he then sucked your glistening pearl; his tongue probed the inside of your gummy walls as his fingers rubbed your pearl. You cried out, your body arching up to meet him, and Peter felt a surge of excitement. He was in control now, and you were at his mercy.

He knew it was wrong, you were drunk after all, but he couldn't help it, this was his only chance.

He licked and sucked at your clit, his fingers plunging in and out of your dripping wet pussy, you cried out in ecstasy, your hands tugging at Peter's hair. But he didn't care, all he cared about was your dripping we cunt.

Anticipation dwells in the coiling mouth against your body, sending shivers along your spine. Every inch of you is lulled into stimulation by his gentle probing, drawing near to a soon-to-be-hidden insistent demand. You can feel that hot air glazing across your skin, soft scraping with teeth, and relentless pressure from his lips, all of which accompanies his tongue.

Your hands are clenched while he works, fingers digging into the sheets or perhaps his hair, holding him there. Your hips jerk primitively, as though to push him deeper and encourage more pressure, while your breathing makes raspy sounds mixed with soft mewls of pleasure.

One hand is busy at your hips, molding you solidly into place, while the other slips only up over the curve of your waist before settling over your breast.

You feel yourself immersing in the sensation as your focus is honed into one. The only critical thing is the feeling of his mouth on you. The whole room begins to fade away, and you're left with only the slushing wet sounds he makes and your breathless gasps, groans, and cries.

Peter on the other hand felt like he was in cloud nine, his mouth was now fully covered in your arousal, but he didn't care. He continued lapping at your cunt, accompanied with his middle finger thrusting in and out of you.

As the intensity rises, so do your frantic movements: the hips jerk and thrust as though reaching toward some ill-defined height. His mouth is a scythe-like blur of tongue lashing and probing until the pressure builds and you're all quivering trembling muscles, precariously balanced on a knife edge of release.

Your mouth is wide open, frozen in a silent scream on your lips, and your entire body starts quivering at the moment of release.

Then silence engulfs the outside world; its only inhabitants are trapped in a silent world of raw lust. His mouth is a furnace, raging, and threatening to engulf you completely, but you lean into the flames, thirsty for the intense heat that only he can provide. Your skin is slick with sweat, your heart thundering like a runaway train as your body builds toward the inevitable climax.

Your cries intensify as tension rises, a mournful cry into this frantic air, a scream savage, echoing off the walls as your body strains towards that release. Your muscles quivering.

Before you knew it, it almost hit you like rough wave of pleasure.

His cock twitched, his balls tightening with anticipation, as he felt the warmth of her your release in his mouth. That alone could make him cum his pants. He had never been this close to a woman before, and the thought of exploring your body was almost too much to bear. And here he was doing exactly just that.

You were beautiful to Peter, but you looked ungodly when you were in a state of release. The way your chest would heave up and down, how your mascara was running down your eyes, and your lipstick smudged on the side of your face.

"You're so beautiful" he said, barely even above a whisper.

"P-peter— OH MY GOD!"

He suddenly took a long slow stripe of your pussy, as if savoring everything, but then stopped when his tongue reached your clit. He sucked on your little pearl as if it was lollipop.

You moaned loudly as your back arched and your toes curled, "P-peter" You whimpered

The way he was sucking on your clit, along with his fingers that was thrusting deep inside you. It made it nearly unbearable. The last few moments or so almost sent you spiraling into one of those severe orgasms that made you see stars on your ceiling.

Loud moans slipped from your mouth, you wondered if your parents were at home, what if they see their sweet girl falling apart underneath the so-called weird kid of your school.

Your hips bucked against his mouth, trying to ease the bittersweet pleasure he was giving you. "P-peter, oh god, stop, I c-can't take it anymore" you begged in a voice very nearly a whisper. Body trembling, your hands reached instinctively for his hair, holding him.

He continued his performance on your clit. A familiar knot kept building inside you. Suddenly, the moans turned into loud gasps, and your body began to shake uncontrollably. P-peter, I…I think I'm going to come again" you finally whisper. To that, he only sucked harder, licked harder, his fingers falling on a rhythm with his tongue swirling relentlessly on your sensitive spot, bringing you to sweet agony. Your back arched up, you gasp while screaming, "P-PETER!"

Heaving and shaking with each pulsing moan, you lay there with your body's hypersensitivity after such intense pleasure receding. Finally, Peter raised his head. That satisfied smile on his face was testimony to your ability to elicit such feelings from him. And with his eyes, he stared at you, every flicker of lust speaking volumes about what was crossing his mind. Then he kissed near the center of time in your inner thigh, his lips dragging softly, and then moving to lie with you at the side of the couch

Peter's smile slowly faded as he noticed your catch of breath, replaced with a show of real concern. He stroked your hair as he gazed into your eyes. "That was intense," Peter said. "You're shaking." His voice was tender, wrapping around you like a soft blanket. "Time to get you to bed, all right?"

He managed a slowly rise from the couch while extending his hand forward towards you. You grasped onto it and found your balance shaky; nonetheless, Peter assisted you toward leaving the living room, down the hallway, and into your bedroom.

Peter opened your door slowly, revealing the bedroom from that night. Snap out of your thoughts Parker!

The bedside lamp cast a warm glow over the room. Peter placed you carefully at the edge of the bed. He knelt down to remove your shoes and started undressing you slowly and carefully. He threw the covers over you as you laid back in bed, tucking you in like a young child.

"Rest," he whispered as he brushed his lips against your forehead. "Sleep, I'll be here when you wake." He sat beside you, stroking your hair with his hand. Your eyelids began to feel heavier, and weariness, along with all the forms of pleasure, finally overtook you. Peter was the last person you remember as you slipped into slumber, where upon you felt the warmth beside you that offered the source of a much-needed sense of safety.

@gloomskulls 2024, DON'T COPY, TRANSLATE OR USE OF MY WORKS IN ANY OTHER WEBSITE. Photos don't belong to me

[abusivelittlebunny]

wonder if u’ve seen this…would love to hear ur thoughts 😇

Explicit fic below (warning for dubcon & bdsm & daddy kink)

"Get in the car, now." Carlos' harsh whisper against his neck punched all the sanity out of Charles' mind in an instant. The command left no room for argument, nor did the grip on his hair at the base of his skull, already guiding Charles manually towards the exit. Charles would've stumbled to the ground multiple times if not for Carlos' hands, firm and steady and unforgiving to any mistakes now.

It always made him go boneless how easy it was for Carlos to manhandle him around, how he used his superior strength to show just who was really in charge between them.

"I let him go first like I'm holding the door open for a lady," Carlos once joked to an interviewer who asked him how come he's such a supportive second driver when he has proven he drives just as good if not better than Charles. "I'm a gentleman."

But there was nothing gentlemanly about how Carlos ripped the car door open and tossed Charles into the passenger seat, with a force that almost made Charles hit the window on the opposite side. Carlos didn't take any pity on Charles' pained yelp, just slammed the door behind him with much more strength than needed, the entire frame of the car shaking with it.

Charles was in big trouble now, he knew. Usually Carlos plays it sweet and harmless when there were paparazzi around them, but after tonight he can't keep the gentleman's facade any longer, to hell with the cameras.

What excuse would he take into consideration now? Was there anything Charles could say that would keep Carlos at bay? No simple "I'm sorry" will solve this, he knew much better than that. He was absolutely furious.

Charles didn't realize he was shaking until the door on the driver's side was torn open, and his entire body froze. He didn't see Carlos take his belt off and out of the loops of his neatly pressed trousers, so seeing it gripped firmly in his hand as he got in the car made Charles' stomach drop.

His heart was pounding in his ears as Carlos started the car without a word, driving through the gate of the villa much faster than necessary, but he didn't seem to care, all too focused on getting Charles and himself alone.

Charles was feeling dizzy, not just from the toss, but also just from the raw emotional rollercoaster he went through, and with no doubt the punishment looming in the air, ready to drop at any minute. He stared at the belt; folded, gripped together with the steering wheel by Carlos' big hairy hand. The veins on the back of his hand seemed more prominent now.

"It wasn't-, Carlos, please, it wasn't what it looked like, I swear-," Charles stammered, wincing at the squeaky quality of his own voice, betraying how he felt like a mouse caught in a merciless trap. "I didn't even know the man,-"

"Clearly you don't need to." Carlos snorted coldly as he took a sharp turn, avoiding the main road, no patience for traffic right now. "You'd take any dick that poked at you without even a second thought. Anything to prove what a good boy you are, right?"

That hurt too much for Charles not to speak up. "You know I'm not like that. You know,- you know better than anybody."

"Do I?" Carlos' amused tilt to his voice mocked him to his very core. "I remember you being a touch too eager every time you got to hop on another dick. Particularly when it comes to the celebratory gangbangs, you just become a brainless little cumdump."

"Because you asked those of me!" Charles knew he shouldn't be raising his voice right now but Carlos was just plain unfair now. "I only did that because you told me to, and would have never let anybody fuck me if it wasn't for your amusement! I-, you know I gave you everything. My virginity, my future,-" Charles held tightly onto the engagement ring on his finger, always quick to put it back on after a race, wanting to feel Carlos close at all times.

"Are you complaining about it?" Carlos' grip audibly tightened on the belt and wheel.

"What? No, no, of course not. I love you, mon amour. You and only you. You own me entirely, no one else can have me except for you." Tears have been welling in Charles' eyes since he first felt Carlos' threatening grip on him, - yanking him out of the study he found Charles in, - but they now finally spilled over as he shakily asked. "But you can't say the same thing, can you?"

Carlos grinded his teeth together, sighing loudly. Denying it would be futile, they both knew.

"I know about Lando. How you still-, you still fuck him when I'm not around. And not just him. He told me what a joke I am; "the devoted little lovesick wannabe-wife to a man who can't keep his dick out of half the grid," that's what he said."

"He's just saying that to rile you up, you can't take that puta seriously-," Carlos started, even though from his quick dismissal it was obvious Lando was far from lying.

"What about Franco?" Charles actually snarled as he said his name; he had nothing but venom for that homewrecking tart. "He told me how Williams won you over with him. How you got to... take him on a test ride to make sure you got a good deal. The car might be shit but the boy that came with it was worth it, huh? He said you found him better than me. Younger, prettier, tighter, and fully in your service."

"And you believe him?" Carlos scoffed, eyes were fixed on the road since the beginning, not sparing a single glance to Charles since he dragged him away from the gala. Meanwhile Charles could only look at him, entire body turned in his seat so he could stare up at Carlos like a pitiful puppy.

"I didn't at first but then he-, he started sending me things. Pictures and videos of you with him. Some when you're asleep, with your hands around that- that boy. Both of you naked if he's not in your shirt." Charles bit his lip, watching Carlos' eyes darken further and his Adam's apple bob in rage. "And even some where you're fucking him. Heard you like it when he calls you Papi."

"That's not-, that fucking-" Carlos almost barked, absolutely livid as he got into a traffic jam despite his best efforts to cruise through the city at a breakneck pace. He hit the steering wheel and cursed a bountiful bouquet in Spanish, half of which Charles understood, thanks to how much he tried to adapt to his husband. He was cursing Franco, saying something about wringing that stupid little slut's neck.

"It's over, Carlos." Charles shook his head solemnly, finally turning to face the road ahead, red lights criss-crossing in his vision, blurred by the tears.

Funny how Carlos could only look at him now, once Charles was faced away, unable to meet his eyes.

Charles gave a chuckle that was more of a sob than anything. "I tried to tolerate it, turn a blind eye to how you treated me, treated us, our relationship, thinking if I keep being nice, do as you say, be a good boy, maybe you'll finally choose me." Charles wiped at his eyes, sniffling. Turning the ring on his finger over and over again.

Carlos proposed shortly after Lewis announced he was coming to Ferrari. It terrified them both, knowing what it meant. They could keep their secret romance as steady as they wanted but not sharing a team, not sharing a garage, put them in a difficult position. They wouldn't be able to see each other as easily in private as before once the new season starts. They'll officially have to be rivals unlike ever before.

There was no room for a Romeo and Juliette romance when it came to the grid.

But Carlos said fuck them, he doesn't want to end it, no matter what anyone says; he loved Charles as Charles loved him, or so he said when he got down on one knee and presented him with the ring. Pure gold with a gorgeous red ruby sitting in a bed of crystal clear diamonds.

They were to marry in December. End of the year. But start of a new chapter. A confirmation that Charles meant more to Carlos than all the boys he had before. That he saw their future together.

He was meant to end his little fooling around with those other boys on and off the grid long ago; he said he would be all his once the wedding is done. They'd become official.

"But if you wanted to choose me, you would have by now. I'm not going to waste any more of either of our time. I'm tired of being nice, letting you have whatever you want at any time. It keeps biting me in the ass. "

"Charles, don't start now. Listen to me-," Carlos dropped the belt in his lap and tried to touch Charles' face only for it to be slapped away. Carlos froze, caught off guard by the retaliation.

"I think we should break up."

The silence that followed echoed within the car and it felt like time stood still like a moment before a life changing tragedy struck. The deafening void of a horrid crash if their worlds. Worse than any accident either of them got into on the grid. Charles could only hear his own blood pumping in his veins, his thick swallow; not a single sound coming out of Carlos. It took all his power to turn around and meet his gaze.

People often joked about how when Carlos is hyper focused his big beautiful brown eyes get a sort of manic, madman quality to them, the facade peeling back a bit. If before that gaze seemed intimidating, now it was downright terrifying. Carlos looked insane, like he could rip Charles' heart out with his teeth within a second. Bathed in the red lights, his face chilled Charles to the bone.

And he knew.

That was the match that lit the dynamite.

Charles whipped around to reach for the car door but his yanking proved futile, Carlos pressing the lock the moment he made a move. Before he could even think about turning around, the belt was thrown over his neck, and Carlos pulled.

Carlos has choked him before, quite a few times actually, but never this hard, and Charles clawed at the leather strip around his throat, head thrown back to Carlos' shoulder and kept there by his other hand gripping his jaw.

"Cah-, Carlo-, Ch-," Charles coughed and whined and scratched and kicked, body trashing weakly as he struggled for breath. He scratched at his own throat and at Carlos' hands, choking on a sob when Carlos snarled against his temple.

"Easy there, easy, calm down Charles, calm down." As if he was trying to soothe a jittery horse, not choking his fiance to near blacking out; he only eased on the belt's tightness when Charles' movements started to subside, his vision plagued with black spots.

The minute his throat got the space needed to fill his lungs again, Charles violently started coughing, tears, sweat, and saliva freely flowing down his red hot face. He was a right fucking mess, croaking and whining, trying to rub at his sore neck as he collapsed against Carlos' solid frame.

That will definitely be leaving a mark he won't be able to hide, too above the line of his collar.

"That's it, good boy, good boy, easy there, I got you, I got you." Carlos breathed roughly into his hair, more of a threat than a comfort, while kissing the side of his face, wherever he could. He did not mind the wet mess, tilting Charles' head by the jaw to press their lips together even as Charles was still fighting for breath, panting into his mouth. "You didn't mean that, no, no you didn't. You're my good boy, and you will be my good little wife, mine, mine, all mine. I got you."

"Cah-,Carlo-," Charles was dizzy still, eyes unable to focus on his fiance's face or actions, only vaguely registering his kisses before he collapsed fully into Carlos' lap. His head would've hit the strong thighs beneath him hard if not for the belt tightening on his throat instantly, softening the impact but at the same time taking Charles' breath once more.

"I know you didn't mean what you said, cariño, but still, you have to watch your pretty mouth more or you'll make daddy angry." Carlos tutted at his open mouth gaping and his fingers weakly trying to pry some space between his neck and makeshift collar. "You need to learn some discipline, cariño. Always so bratty, you keep getting into trouble for it. You won't say something so silly again, will you? No, you're going to be my good little wife aren't you? You'd never leave me, right?"

Charles' feet kicked at the passenger window, and he could barely make out the older man's words over his own choking noises but he managed to nod weakly, eyes rolled back into his skull and completely blurred from tears. Carlos took a torturous second to ease up on the strangulation once more when he deemed his answer satisfactory.

Charles turned his face to the side to suck in some air and not choke even more on his own saliva as he coughed. He whimpered like a kicked puppy, felt like one too, not even noticing how he buried his face into Carlos' tummy to muffle his pitiful sobs until he felt a gentle hand pet through his hair, Carlos cooing above him adoringly.

"There we go, there, that's my good little wife, so good for me." Carlos smoothed the messy brown curls out of Charles' eyes, humming at the puddle of drool and tears Charles was making on his lap. He unbuttoned his trousers and pulled the zipper down like a threat. "Let's put that unruly mouth of yours to better use, baby."

"Carlo-," Charles started to whine but got caught off by the belt again. It never left his neck and Carlos made sure Charles remembered that.

"Show me you're my good boy, cariño. Or daddy will have to give you a tighter leash." As if to confirm, the light illuminating Carlos' face turned blue-green from the traffic light. Carlos loosened the belt around his throat again, but didn't let go of it; Charles was able to feel it move together with his steering as he began to drive.

Charles reached for his zipper with a trembling hand and pulled it aside to press apologetic wet kisses to the bulge lying beneath the dark cotton underwear. He was already half hard; seeing Charles in pain always turned him on but the aspect of a breakup probably kept him from fully enjoying the situation.

Charles sniffled as he pulled the gorgeous thick cock out of his confines and kissed along the length. His hot breath and gentle, worshipping touches had Carlos' member stiffen to its full size fast enough.

He remembered how much practice it took as a virgin to learn how to properly serve Carlos; he had his work cut out for him, Carlos was very polite at first about his clumsy, sloppy efforts, but he was used to Max's incredible deepthroating technique and Lando's eager efforts and wouldn't come as easily as Charles would have hoped for. And he had no chance of tapping out either, no matter how much his jaw would ache for the week that followed, Carlos wasn't the type to let him leave the job half finished.

But once he got the hang of it he kept on practicing, fueled by the urge to beat Max in this area at least; he wanted to be the best Carlos has ever had. Max might have had his gag reflex annihilated at an early age, but Charles was far more passionate when it came to blowjobs and knew worshipping a dick was far hotter than just getting it off as efficiently as possible; or at least that's what Carlos reassured him about.

Charles now breathed out a shaky moan as he took Carlos down deeper and deeper at every drag, slurping on it as he came up, not letting a single drop of precum go to waste and dove right down when he felt a hand on the back of his neck.

"Good job, so good for me, cariño, fuck-," Carlos let out a satisfied sigh, his short nails scratching Charles' scalp appreciatively. "Daddy loves your clever little mouth so much, sweetie."

Charles preened from the praise, doubling his efforts even with tears still dropping from his lashes at every bump the car drove over. His throat hurt with every move of his tongue, every swallow, but that didn't stop him from going down until it slipped past the gag reflex point and his lips kissed the base. Charles sighed out a trembling breath through his nose, face buried in the musky pubic hair. It felt so good down there. Carlos knew he liked it deep too, like the thick familiar length was hitting a hidden sweet spot in the back of his throat.

"You love it so much, don't you?" Carlos slapped his cheek softly, leather wrapped around his palm still. "Charlie baby, the golden-mouthed prince of Monaco. Fucking fantastic, sweetheart. How could I want anyone but you, honey?"

Charles whined, fingers curled around Carlos' suit and thigh in ecstasy and he gulped around his cock, saliva overflowing in his wanton mouth.

Whether it was intentional or not, Charles had to refrain from basking in victory shortly after as Carlos hit the brakes a bit too hard.

Usually he'd pride himself in being trained better, but because of the ache from the choking, the pain made him instinctively gag and he was pulled off by his makeshift collar before he could choke too hard or give more than a hint of teeth.

"Messy puppy." Carlos hissed as he watched Charles cough, and try to catch his breath. "And here you were doing such a masterclass in cock-sucking. Don't you want to show them how good you are for me?"

Charles could only whimper out a dumb sound in answer inbetween coughs, his fucked plump lips unable to form a coherent word, letting drool flow past them uselessly. He didn't understand exactly what Carlos meant until he tugged a bit on the belt around his throat again, making him look up and out the window on the driver's side.

They were being watched by a few men in the car standing still in line right next to them. Carlos had a very big cock, they must have seen his mop of brown curls go up and down in Carlos' lap as he took him down his throat and came back up to suck on the tip.

They were hooting and hollering in amusement, the guy on the passenger side had his phone out to take pictures or a video even, the ones at the back scrambling to do the same.

This was going to be all over social media in a matter of minutes. Charles Leclerc, with his fucked-flushed face drooling helplessly on full display, a belt around his throat giving roadhead to his soon to be ex-teammate like a two penny whore.

"C'mon, cariño, you don't want to disappoint your fans, do you?" Carlos chuckled into his ear and tugged lightly on the belt, making tears well in Charles' eyes again from the humiliation. Carlos kissed at his temple and pet his hair in a condescending manner. "Show them who's my little champion, hm?"

Charles was frozen for a second, all thoughts completely evaporating from his head before he turned to Carlos.

Was this revenge? Ruining his reputation for finding him with another man in a peculiar position? After all that Charles has swallowed for him over and over again?

Not today.

Charles swallowed thickly against his makeshift collar and made his move. He turned to kiss Carlos in a chaste manner, hand cupping his strong jaw tenderly so he couldn't pull away. He could see the camera flash even with his eyes closed, and he knew it bounced back on the engagement ring like the sun.

Carlos was first caught off guard but kissed back with more passion out of reflex, fingers tightening in Charles' hair, the simple golden ring Charles has put on him after the proposal as a promise on display for all to see.

"I am your little champion." Charles breathed with a weak voice but a triumphant smile as he pulled back, lashes fluttering in delight as he saw the realization dawn on Carlos' face.

Charles very quickly changed the headlines from deranged slut Leclerc blowing ex-teammate Sainz in his car to try to keep him loyal to secretly engaged and hopelessly in love Leclerc and Sainz seen sharing a tender moment in car after gala. Charles even made a show of holding his hand up with a big smile for the camera as if the engagement just happened.

Carlos couldn't have stepped on the gas pedal harder as the traffic light turned green and Charles giggled as they sped past the neighboring cars.

"Honey, you're going to get us pulled over-," Charles drawled before he got his face shoved back down into Carlos' lap by a merciless grip in his hair.

"You only worry your pretty head about making me come in your sweet little mouth, baby." Carlos snorted spitefully. "Maybe I'll go easier on you then once we're back home."

"Didn't I do as you asked me to, daddy?" Charles licked playfully at Carlos' erection and got choked again for it. But by now the burn of the belt diminished next to the satisfaction in the forefront of his mind.

"Oh, that you did, darling. That you fucking did."

Carlos did not go easier on Charles even when he made him come down his choked-tight throat three minutes before they arrived back to their home. He made sure to decorate not only Charles's throat but his back, his ass, and his thighs as well in quickly purpling bruises from the belt all through the night and into the morning.

Charles woke in the afternoon sorer than he has been in a very long time, pained winces leaving his chapped lips as he tried to heave himself up in a somewhat propped-up position to gulp down the still-warm cappuccino on the bedside table.

A plentiful bowl of creamy peanut butter porridge topped with uniformly cut bananas and a dusting of roasted nuts sat beside his mug, right next to a jar of honey and a jug of water. On the other side of the bed the healing balm, the Vaseline, the sore-throat drops already prepared.

One could call Carlos a particularly vicious dom, but he never skimmed out on the aftercare; he knew what his boy needed after what he put him through.

Charles smiled to himself and kissed his engagement ring.

He was doubtful about this plan at the start but reading the headlines of the news on his phone while he munched away on his oatmeal put his mind to ease.

CARLOS SAINZ PROPOSED TO CHARLES LECLERC AFTER POST-CHAMPIONSHIP CELEBRATIONS AT MONACO ROYAL ESTATE

WILL THE LOVELY COUPLE BE SPARED BY THEIR TEAMS DECISIONS? DID SAINZ GET BOOTED FOR HAVING SECRET RELATIONSHIP WITH LECLERC? FERRARI UNDER INVESTIGATION

DID LEWIS HAMILTON TRY TO BREAK UP THE COUPLE? WILL HE BE FORCED BACK TO MERCEDES?

SAINZ SEEN TRYING TO BE SEDUCED BY WILLIAMS' ROOKIE FRANCO COLAPINTO! WANNABE HOMEWRECKER ALERT!

"We couldn't be happier, honestly," SAINZ REPORTEDLY ANSWERED QUESTIONS THIS MORNING WHILE OUT ON ERRANDS. IS HE HURRYING TO WILLIAMS HEADQUARTERS OR TRYING TO FIND WEDDING VENUES?

SAINZ DENIES ALLEGATIONS OF AFFAIR WITH LANDO NORRIS, FRANCO COLAPINTO, OSCAR PIASTRI, AMONGST MANY OTHERS.

"I have loved Charles since the moment I met him, I just wasn't allowed to come clean about it in public because of our management. Now we're hoping this will change and give us the opportunity for a future we both hoped for." Carlos chuckled in a video taken only two hours before Charles woke up. He was surrounded by paparazzi like a bleeding man in a pool of sharks.

"Fans are incredibly supportive of your relationship, but will it last the test of time now that you're in separate teams? Or will you be breaking the heart of Ferrari's favorite prince?"

Carlos smiled nervously and nodded to himself before making the crowd around him shake with laughter by declaring: "Absolutely not. I know I wouldn't survive if I ever dared to. I will be a good husband for him regardless of our contracts, you will see."

"What about allegations that you were choking him with your belt?" Another reporter piped up. "Is it true Charles has suffered domestic abuse from you in the past?"

"Those are all made up, I can assure you, I'd never lay a finger on Charles," Carlos winked cheekily at the camera, "not in a way he didn't like, that's for sure."

Charles rolled his eyes with a snort as he kept on reading the news regarding their engagement. No one gave a fuck about who won the championship at that point, all eyes in motorsports and out of it turned towards the ring on Charles' finger.

He owed Max now for giving him this brilliant idea and snatching the limelight from him.

"What if he calls off the engagement?" Charles sobbed on Max's couch a couple weeks ago, hugging a pillow tight to his chest that Max eyed like he wanted to burn as soon as Charles let go of it. He probably wanted to burn the whole couch the way Charles littered it with dirty tissues since he began his dramatic breakdown that evening.

"Then you're better off, honestly." Max rolled his eyes and scooped another spoonful of ice cream in his mouth; the price Charles bribed him with to hear him out on his latest Carlos issue.

"No, he'll be better off with that stupid fucking whore!" Charles wiped at his eyes and threw his phone across the room onto the bed. He was in full tantrum mode at that point. "That fucking slut couldn't wait to get his hands on my Carlos, if he had his ring too I'd tear his fucking face off-"

"You can't even breathe an impolite word to that child, let alone do that. Besides, don't think a pretty pair of green eyes is all it takes for Carlos to pop the question." Max really was the best friend to have around in these dire times for Charles. He has always been a no-nonsense type of advice giver and now as he was heavily pregnant he cared even less for pointless melodrama.

Besides, he knew Carlos better than anyone, even better than Charles. Their history ran bone-deep. That's why he wasn't out to snatch Carlos away probably.

"I can't let him choose that bitch. I can't-, I-," Charles gasped for words, too far in crying to make a coherent sentence so Max waved his spoon like a conductor as if he tried to put a spell on Charles to make him calm down.

"Charles, we talked about this before, first with me, then Lando, then Piastri, then Liam, and so on it goes; you know this won't end by itself. It's not a question about who he will choose. He can't choose, that's his issue. He will keep sticking his dick wherever the wind blows." Max grimaced as he thought about something for a second before burying it in another caramel-fudge spoonful. "I even heard he took George to bed but I'm sincerely hoping his taste didn't stoop so low."

"Are you trying to make me feel better with this?" Charles glared above his tissue.

"I'm trying to make you realize that you gotta rethink your strategy here, because for a lack of better word, it's very Ferrari." Max raised his brows comically and shrugged. "Doesn't really work, does it?"

Charles wanted to object but Max was right; Charles has been bending over backwards to try to please Carlos for a while now, did everything the way he told him and Carlos still slipped out on occasion to "let out his pent up frustrations" on some other boy.

Most of them were more discreet about it, like Piastri, desperate to stay on Charles' good side even with his man's come not yet dry at the corner of his mouth. Or there was Liam, outright avoiding him with a flushed red face after stumbling out on unsteady feet after Carlos pulled him into the closest lockable room. Or there was Lando, taunting Charles with threats of Carlos seeing reason and coming back to him to resume the fairytale relationship he believed they had.

And there was fucking Franco sending him a picture of Carlos sleeping on his chest, arms wrapped around his scandalously tiny waist. The caption, placed right below where Franco had his cheek resting against Carlos' messed up hair read:

"Papi got a bit too excited for my blue panties tonight. He must be a bull that prefers blue over red. Don't wait up for him tonight."

Just the fucking cheek of it all made the hair on the back of Charles' neck stick up.

"He has done enough to drive you mad with jealousy, now it's your turn." Max pointed at him wisely with his spoon. "You just get him to catch you with some other guy and boom. His focus will be very much back on you."

"But what if that just makes him discard me completely?" Charles huffed. "Being one of his... his boys I can deal with, but him dropping me for cheating I could never-,"

"Oh, that is the polar opposite of what will happen, trust me." Max chuckled knowingly. "When he first caught me with another man I couldn't scrape him off of me for months. And that was after I already told him I couldn't do anything serious because my father wouldn't let me. He said he was cool with it, he had plenty of options lined up. But those options seemed far less exciting when something he thought belonged to him was getting fucked by another man."

"You... think that would work with me too?" Charles mumbled after a minute, seriously thinking it through.

Max shrugged, not keen on taking responsibility over Charles' fate and risking another hysteric yap session. "I think he's far more into you than anyone I've ever seen him with, truly. I was tempting to him for being Redbull's miraclebaby but you're different. You're Ferrari's golden boy, Charles, you're special or whatever. You're a gem any man would die to have as his crown jewel. You should live with that privilege. Remind him you are the hottest commodity out there."

So Charles did; finding a sponsor who was eager to try to get him alone in a study at the villa was easy enough, playing coy until he had the man grinding against his ass and hurrying to take his clothes off was simple.

He was thinking stretching it out perfectly so Carlos found him while the man was still hard inside of him would be the challenge because he seemed like a two minute wonder but he misjudged Carlos' attention on him. Charles could barely breathe the first moan as the man pulled his shirt open and kissed at his neck and Carlos was busting down the door, not waiting a second more to drag him out like an unruly puppy.

Max warned him of the painful consequences, but they would all be worth it in the end. Carlos couldn't possibly break up their engagement now, not with the media pressure, and this little stunt had Charles back in his sole focus for good. He couldn't visit his boys under such scrutiny or hurt him too much, or his reputation would go down the gutter.

Charles caressed at the painful bruise on his throat and giggled to himself.

Who had the leash on who now?

[citrus-writing]

I'd love to see more Illumi x reader from you <3

Thank you so much for reqesting! I wrote some misc yandere illumi headcanons and drabbles, mostly pre-kidnapping. Feel free to request more!

Illumi is patient, especially in the beginning. He's content to follow behind you, unseen and unheard, watching you go about your normal day to day. He watches you go about shopping for groceries and despite how mundane and boring it is, he watches you pick out your desired meals with rapt attention. He watches you when you go out with your friends, watches the way they behave around you, the way they laugh and joke- when you laugh, he tries to comprehend what about them is so endearing to you. But when they make a joke at your expense, and yours smile doesn't quite meet your eyes, he decides that they done something unforgivable, and that they won't get the chance to do it again.

No matter how you met him, whether it was friendly or casual or even hostile, once he's laid eyes on you there's no way to get away from him. From the moment he saw you- you, who's looks and voice and smile have insnared him so entirely- he knew he had to have you. It's only fair for him to be on your mind since you're always on his. Even he cant place what about you is so interesting to him; just that you are, and that everything you do is worth taking note of and everything you say echoes in his head. It's strange; how obsessive and yet detached he is. How everything you do is so important to him, yet he takes so long to even consider trying to get closer to you.

When he does decide to try to engage with you, there's that same patience, that same cold detachment that both helps and hinders his attempts. On the one hand, he never comes on too strong, he nevergives off the vibes of a creepy pervert, he never seems too close for comfort. It's easy for you to overlook him the first few times he comes around. Little do you know how often he's actually around, wearing other faces, constantly trailing you. He's everywhere, but you don't know that. On the other hand, he's so cold towards you that you wonder who he is, why he seems so untouchable, why you've never seen him before but now you see him several times a week. The reasonable part of your mind tells you that you just didn't notice him before. But his eyes send a terror through you, and you find yourself hoping not to see him again.

But it's not enough to just interact with you is passing- it's not enough to stand behind you on public transit, it's not enough to bump into your shoulder, it's not enough to ask casually if you know directions to somewhere nearby. Pretending to be a stranger can only get him so far. He takes note of your friends and family, ofthe way you interact with them, who you know better than you know yourself and who you seem to like being around best. Trailing them isn't nearly the same satisfaction, but he knows the reward will be well worth it. Taking their place in your life is easy compared to other things he's done, you're so willing to write off any mistakes, so willing to forgive when you mention a memory together and they don't remember. Illumi is partly endeared and partly disgusted by how forgiving you can be.

But eventually you start to catch on, start to pull away from them- from him.

That's when you wake up in a room unfamiliar to you- nice, almost lavish, but the unfamiliar surroundings send a panic through you. Before you can even scream, there's a hand over your mouth, hard enough to muffle the sound but gentle in a way that makes you feel sick. Even in the dimly lit room, you recognize him from the times you've run into him while going about your day. You'd recognize those eyes anywhere- you'd always been uncomfortable under his gaze; but for the first time you're terrified.

[daisymbin]

angst prompt #21. "you don’t get to walk back into my life like this." with female reader and mingyu

of course! 🫶

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // gyu's m.list

angst prompt #21: "you don't get to walk back into my life like this."

mingyu hadn’t expected to feel this much.

he’d thought he could handle it—seeing you again after all this time, just a chance encounter. but the moment he saw you, his heart had dropped, and all the walls he’d built around himself crumbled.

he hadn’t realized how much he missed you until now.

it had been months since he walked away from you, and the emptiness he tried so hard to fill never truly went away. he had convinced himself that leaving was the right thing to do, that you’d be better off without him, that you deserved someone who could give you more. but the truth was, he had been too scared to face his own feelings, and in the end, he left you behind.

but now, standing in front of your door, mingyu felt the weight of everything he had done.

he had to see you.

“hey,” mingyu said softly when you opened the door. your eyes went wide in recognition, and he felt a pang of guilt at the guarded look in them.

“mingyu?” you asked, the surprise quickly shifting into something harder, colder. “what are you doing here?”

he swallowed, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, feeling small under your gaze. “i just... i saw you earlier, and i couldn’t stop thinking about everything. about us.”

you raised an eyebrow, stepping back slightly, but not enough to invite him in. “us? you’ve got a funny way of showing it. you didn’t seem to care about ‘us’ when you walked out without a word. remember that?”

the words hit him like a punch to the gut.

“i know,” he whispered, his voice breaking as the weight of his regret crushed him. “i know i messed up. i didn’t mean to hurt you, but... i didn’t know how to fix it. i thought i was doing what was best for both of us, but i was wrong. i should’ve never left.”

you let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and almost mocking. “you think you can just come back and undo everything? you can’t just walk back into my life and act like nothing happened. you hurt me, mingyu. you hurt me more than you’ll ever understand.”

mingyu’s chest tightened as he watched the anger and pain in your eyes. the person standing before him wasn’t the one he remembered—the one he used to joke with, the one who smiled when he walked into the room. no, this was someone who had healed, someone who had moved on without him.

and it hurt.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, shaking his head. “i can’t take back what i did, but i want you to know how sorry i am. i wasn’t ready before, but i am now. i want to make things right between us.”

you shook your head, a sad smile curling on your lips. “you don’t get it, do you? i moved on, mingyu. i had to. i can’t just forget everything, and i can’t just let you back in because you finally decided you made a mistake. it’s too late for that.”

the words hit him harder than anything. too late.

“please,” he said, stepping forward, but you took a step back, closing the distance between you with an air of finality.

“no,” you said firmly, voice trembling but steady. “i can’t keep doing this. i can’t keep hoping for something that’s never going to happen. i’ve moved on. i’ve let go.”

mingyu felt like the ground had been ripped out from beneath him. he opened his mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. what could he say? how could he fix this when everything he had done was unforgivable?

he couldn’t.

“you don’t get to just walk back into my life, mingyu,” you repeated, this time quieter, but no less painful. “i can’t keep waiting for someone who’s never coming back.”

mingyu’s throat tightened as he stood there, watching you—the person he once thought he’d spend forever with—walk away from him, slipping behind the door with a final click.

he stood there for what felt like forever, frozen in place.

he thought he could change. he thought he could fix what he had broken. but some things couldn’t be fixed. some mistakes were too big to come back from.

and as he stood outside your door, the reality settled in.

it was too late.

[solspina]

how good are you at angst vesp…

can i get angst scenarios for guilliman, horus, sanguinius, konrad, and my beloved leman russ :3 plot is entirely yours!

i’m horrible with angst but my inbox is open for a reason, ask and you shall receive. also, this isn’t edited or revised so i’m sorry for mistakes :(

tw: the usual, blood probably, spoilers, horus and sanguinius’ stories are tied together

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

Roboute Guilliman had known you since childhood. A great friend of his family, beloved by both his mother and father, both whom shared lighthearted jokes about the primarch being united with you in marriage someday. They were never jokes to him. A life with you was what he wanted, a dream of his.

And yet a sword pierced his father’s heart and your hand was on the blade. You may as well have placed a second blade into Guilliman’s chest just as deeply as you had the first, the way that your face held no remorse and your body trembled from exhaustion. His father had tried to fight you, the story told from the several bleeding cuts littered your body, as did blood that came from no cuts at all. Your hands were soaked in red.

And just as the stories told his father would be avenged by the hand of Guilliman. He went down a hero, and you unknowingly went down a traitor of the imperium, your name in no history books.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

Horus Lupercal had been there when his brother had rejected your incredibly obvious advances at him, too caught up in his self-centered idea of godhood to understand what your words truly meant, that there was meaning behind them. He had been there, he had comforted you, hung his arm around you once his brother had left the scene, and yet you rejected his own offer when he had asked you to join the Sons of Horus and leave your old life behind, just as you had told Sanguinius you wanted to.

And what a loyal little thing you were. Your arms outstretched over his brother’s body, begging him not to deal the final blow. Sanguinius was in the midst of taking his final breaths, and you wouldn’t let Horus have the glory of ending his “perfect” brother’s life. You were small, you were not enough. He made sure he left you alive and unharmed to watch the angel be thrown to the other side of the room before he struck him one last time. You still ran after him as if playing fetch and part of him wished you were, so that maybe you would tear the angels wings from his back and hold them like they were your trophy.

Horus took the moment you had your back turned to stab you in it, making sure you would never reach the angel. Perhaps he would grant you both one final mercy. As the shadows crawled from the depths to pin Sanguinius against the wall like a crucified sinner, he made sure you were pinned just the same next to him. If you were going to be loyal, fine by him. You would be loyal in life and in death.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

Sanguinius knew he was beloved by all, it was part of his daily life if he were being honest. When you approached him, small and trembling, to tell him you loved him, he laughed. To love a being you viewed as your god was standard, was it not?

No. you loved him. He’d seen the way humans had behaved around each other when they felt love. They held each other close in their arms. Caressed parts of each other tenderly, hands, arms, faces, gentle touches he’d long accepted he could never have. The humans who surrounded him idolized him far too much to lay their hands on any part of him, for he was far too pure. He’d accepted that this love from godhood was the only love he would ever obtain. Humans may be capable of loving primarchs, but not mutants, not him.

And yet you were the last thing he saw before his vision faded to nothing, the last thing he felt before his heart ceased to beat. You kneeled over him, a feeble and weak human attempt to protect him from the unforgiving strikes of Horus. You could not protect him. He lay with his back against the wall, bleeding, weakened, your primarch robbed of his glory. You grabbed his hand, holding it as gently as you possibly could. Horus seemed to hesitate, allowing his brother a moment of peace as you held his hand. You had been stabbed by Horus too, a fatal wound for a human, yet you remained strong for your primarch, your hands running delicately through the feathers of his broken wing.

Sanguinius took his final breaths, and yet he smiled ever so slightly. He was loved. The final blow had ended both of your lives, the shadows that approached to hang the angel on the wall like a trophy grabbed your body alongside his, hanging him up as if he had been crucified, and you in the crease of his wing. In life and in death, he realized far too late that he was loved.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

Had you rejected Konrad Curze, he would’ve felt no different than his usual daily attitude. By some miracle, though, you hadn’t rejected him. You hadn’t turned away, you never would turn away and that you promised him. A promise you would break, inevitably.

It was incredibly tough to help him recover his mental health following his difficult childhood, incredibly draining, at that. So when his health started to decline during the heresy, you could no longer take it, and your promise was nothing but severed twine scattered across the floor. He’d try to track you down, to make things right, to make things better.

You were gone when he finally reached you. Physically there, but your heart no longer beat in your chest. He had become a primarch, stronger than he was on his home world, and even at his strongest he had failed you.

Execution seemed too merciful of a fate for him, but he’d take that mercy with open arms.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

Leman Russ, the emperor’s most loyal (self proclaimed) son knew nothing but loyalty after being raised by wolves. Your loyalty back to him was an easy pledge, and he loved you dearly, no more than he loved the emperor and his cause.

When you fell to sickness upon his cold planet, your immune system had obviously and inevitably weakened to a near impossible point of return, and it was during a clash with a squadron of plague marines. Leman kept you as far away from the front lines as he could. He would be unable to forgive himself if you died, or worse, fell into the clutches of Nurgle.

But by Nurgle’s grace, you were granted freedom from your sickness. You hadn’t died, no, that would be too simple a fate for you. The unforgiving clutches of chaos would make sure you never felt this ill again. You’d never turn your back on the chaos god, lest your beautifully gruesome gifts become gifts no longer.

Leman spared you one final sorrowful gaze as you retreated with your newfound army, your skin already discord and your eyes looking like they could fall from your once gorgeous face at any second. For a moment, he swore he saw the same expression in your chaos filled eyes. Sorrow, fear, heartbreak.

[localcryptic]

if i think too hard about marshal steel i'm gonna end up on the news. he is making me actually insane. dog dad of the year. hated your guts when he met you. a kind and gentle lover. has made unforgivable mistakes. has also made charming stupid jokes. i can't tell if i want him to have a good calm life or if i want his guilt to devour him from the inside out. and on top of it all hes gay. happy pride month 🏳️‍🌈

[str8rat]

ISAT / FEAR AND HUNGER AU

WARNING BLOOD/GORE (BLURRED)

WARNING!! This post contains topics such as really bad relations with food, gore, eating disroders, cannibalism, death by stomach rupturing due to eating too much after starving oneself, extreme (deadly) allergic reactions leading to death, etc

This post is mainly dedicated to explaining Siffrin's eating habits during the loops, below you may find three unrelated situations

~ ~ ~

SIFFRIN'S COMPLICATED RELATIONSHIP WITH FOOD I;

The party finds themselves running out of food during their journey across the country. Days away from the nearest town, and with no animals or plants to forage due to the harsh winter, tensions rise. Odile, with her usual dry humor, smugly suggests that one of them could sacrifice a limb to keep the rest alive. The joke falls flat, given Isabeau’s already missing arm, causing her to quickly backtrack and apologize. However, the grim reality remains—such desperate measures aren't beyond the realm of possibility if their situation worsens.

Fortunately, they manage to reach the next town, exhausted and starving, but intact—no limbs lost to cannibalism! Food scarcity becomes even more pressing once they reach Dormont and enter the House, with Siffrin beginning his time loop journey.

At some point, Siffrin quietly stops eating altogether, insisting his portion go to his companions to prevent them from making desperate choices. Especially since his body seems to reset each loop, aside from the scars from each death. But his hunger, paired with his deteriorating mental state, begins to wear on him.

Dark, cannibalistic urges begin to gnaw at his mind, warping his thoughts, with intrusive thoughts haunting him every time he thinks about his own hunger. Due to him burning more calories than the rest of the party, the Wish Craft eating off on him, he also gets hungry much more quickly, and yet still tries to refrain from eating and "wasting resources."

During one of the loops, those thoughts overcome him. He tackles a party member to the ground, sinking his teeth into their arm in a horrific frenzy. But before the reality of what he’s done fully sinks in, time bends—resetting to just before the incident. It leaves Siffrin shaken, aware of how low he's fallen, how disgusting he is, borderline unforgivable, unable to meet any of his party member's eyes, haunted by the thoughts that still linger.

SIFFRIN'S COMPLICATED RELATIONSHIP WITH FOOD II;

Yet, not everything resets perfectly. Over time, Siffrin’s body begins to show signs of lasting damage from the loops, even aside from the obvious scars he recieves from each of his deaths. His stomach, weakened and shrunken from eating little to nothing, can no longer handle the amount of food his worried sick companions insist he eats during one loop.

His stomach, unable to bear the strain, ruptures, leading to a slow, agonizing death right in the middle of what was supposed to be their safe Snack Break Room.

After the loop resets again, Siffrin refuses to eat more than the bare minimum, terrified of re-living the same, agonizing experience again.

SIFFRIN'S COMPLICATED RELATIONSHIP WITH FOOD III;

Siffrin's discovery of his allergy to pineapple happens in the worst possible way—through a deadly, firsthand experience. Despite Loop's warning, he either forgets or dismisses it in a moment of carelessness, a mistake that comes with a devastating price.

The moment the acidic sweetness of the pineapple touches his tongue, an invisible force seems to clamp down on his throat. He feels the sudden constriction, his body instinctively trying to expel the fruit, but it’s too late. Siffrin’s throat begins to close rapidly. Panic takes hold as he gags, desperately attempting to spit out the fruit.

His body jerks, muscles tense, but nothing happens. He can’t breathe. His chest heaves in a futile effort to pull in air, but all that follows is a hollow, suffocating silence. His vision blurs as he just barely makes out his party trying to somehow help him, but it's hopeless.

While Bonnie is frozen in horror, eyes wide and glassy with unshed tears, as they watch their friend slowly suffocate because of the pineapple THEY gave him, Isabeau tries to hold Siffrin up the best he can, Mirabelle pushing Healing Craft after Healing Craft into his body in desperate hopes of it working. It does not. Odile, always the snarky and knowledgable, is frozen now, shaky hands hovering over the younger's body, her mind racing as she tries to recall any spell, any remedy, but all she can do is watch as Siffrin’s face turns a sickly shade of blue.

But then, as if in some cruel twist of fate, the loop resets. Siffrin is alive again, gasping for breath as he finds himself back in time—just moments before he made the fatal mistake. His hand hovers shakily over the plate of pineapple, the memory of suffocating fresh and vivid in his mind.

As his party questions if he's okay, if something happens, he is quick to put on a dismissing smile, face pale as he brushes it off. He reaches for the madeleines this time, trying to ignore his stomach churning in protest, as he forces himself to swallow the pastry.

mmmm yummy yummy yummy

[lionlena]

Unforgivable mistake (JoelMillerxreader) Part 12

Summary: Reader is much younger than Joel and is in love with  him. One night, after arguing with Tess and getting drunk, Joel spends  the night with a reader, but in the morning he breaks her heart…  She  runs away from Boston hoping that she will never meet this cold bastard  again in her life. But almost six years later, she unexpectedly sees  Joel in Jackson. She decides to hide herself and her little secret from  this asshole.

Warnings: age gap (reader is about 28 years, Joel 58),  strong language, swearing, past trauma, bullying, attempted rape, memories of sexual abuse, unprotect p in v,  dom!Joel, Joel is asshole, ANGST, hurt, sadness and heartbreaking, sexual harassment, women abuse, violence, injury, sickness, misunderstanding, breakdown

A/N: So, these were your decisions:

However, for people who still do not want to read the sex scene, the text will be marked in red.

Part 12

You always liked Christmas. You liked the Christmas atmosphere and searching and making gifts. Your heart always swelled with joy as you decorated the Christmas tree with your little boy. You were happy when you visited Anna and Toby just before or a few days after Christmas and they greeted you with sweet treats. And now it seemed like the holidays were going to be even better after Joel and Ellie joined your family. Not to mention that the Christmas holidays also took on new colors for Teddy. You saw him whispering with Ellie and Joel and you suspected it was about a gift for you. It was so sweet.

You had also started exchanging other things for gifts a few weeks earlier because that's how it worked in Jackson. People traded things for other items or small services.

You managed to get new colorful books for Teddy, one of them presented different breeds of horses in a humorous way. You found a hunting knife for Ellie. You knew Joel wouldn't be happy about this, but in the end, what mattered was her happiness. You made a warm scarf for Claudia in her favorite color. And you found new leather gloves for Joel. You knew it was something he would definitely come in handy on patrols.

But before Christmas, you realized that maybe you would be able to give him one more gift… Something more intimate.

It was like an epiphany. The kids decorated the Christmas tree with Joel. Teddy was in a mischievous mood and started wrapping his dad in Christmas chains. Joel laughed and started joking about being immobilized. And you just stood in the doorway with your eyes wide open. It was a missing piece that suddenly fell into place.

"Honey, help, please!" Joel's voice broke you out of your trance and you joined in their fun with a smile, but the sight of Joel tied up did not disappear from your mind.

A few days later, on Christmas morning, everyone got their presents. You were happy to see the joy on the faces of your loved ones. You haven't been forgotten either. The kids gave you horse-shaped cookies and a colorful bracelet, and Joel gave you a necklace with a horseshoe pendant. You were touched by their efforts.

The whole day passed in a joyful atmosphere. You went for a walk with the kids and took part in a big snowball fight in the middle of the city. To your surprise, even Joel joined. And of course, he was targeting Tommy and Ellie. It was adorable because he suddenly looked 20 years younger and you knew you would remember this sight forever.

In the evening you ate a delicious dinner, and when Teddy went to bed and Ellie was busy reading a book in her room, you finally decided to give a special gift to Joel.

He was sitting on the couch with a steaming mug of tea with honey and bourbon. You sat down next to him, holding your mug and the rectangular box in your hand. Joel raised his eyebrows.

"What's that?"

You set your mug on the coffee table and placed the box on his lap.

"Gift."

Joel followed you and set his cup down as well.

"I already got a gift from you and I am very pleased with it."

"I know but… it's something different… something special and I don't know if you'll agree to it."

You waked his curiosity and he couldn't help himself anymore and he opened the box. The contents of the box surprised him. Inside was a rope, a wide dark ribbon, and a key. Joel looked at you with a surprised puppy face.

"Sorry, baby, but I don't really know what to do with this. It's… really… interesting but…"

His attempts not to offend you were amusing. You couldn't help but peck him on the cheek.

"I'm already explaining everything to you. I accidentally realized what could help me break through my trauma and make love with you."

Joel gasped and sat up straight. You had his full attention.

"Oh…"

"You know, I'm most afraid of losing control… being vulnerable again… I know you've changed and I believe you won't take advantage of it, but it's stronger than me."

Joel grabbed your hand and brought it to his lips, kissing your fingers.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me. I know I deserved this lack of trust… And I'm grateful to you for giving me a second chance."

He looked at the contents of the box again and slowly began to guess what you wanted to do.

"So, do you want to tie me up?"

When he said this, you couldn't help but blush.

"Only hands…"

"Okay. And this." He ran his fingers along the navy blue ribbon.

"To cover your eyes."

A smirk appeared on his face.

"This is getting interesting. And the key?"

"To an old house on the outskirts of town. I was borrowing it from Tommy. I told him we wanted to see the house because it was bigger and see if you could renovate it… But what I really wanted was for us to have a quiet place where we could hide out during the day "

Joel smiled widely and pulled you into his lap. You squealed in surprise but didn't mind. You sat up facing him and placed your hands on his strong shoulders.

"You have thought of everything, my Angel."

You smiled and felt his strong hands caress your hips.

"So you agree to this?" you asked shyly.

You weren't really sure if Joel would agree to give up his dominance. But looking at his satisfied face, you slowly gained hope.

"Of course, I agree. If it's something that will help you get over trauma, I agree with everything. It's something new for me but… I'm 100% for it."

You sighed in relief and leaned against his body. Joel kissed your temple and whispered:

"But remember, I don't want you to put pressure on yourself. I still stand by what I said. I love you whether we have sex or not."

His words filled you with peace. You leaned down and pressed your nose into his neck, inhaling his scent.

"I love you," you whispered and felt Joel hug you tighter.

Two days later, you and Joel agreed to meet at the old house at noon. Teddy was supposed to be with Claudia, Emily, and Rose until the evening, and Ellie would go about her business.

Joel had gone to the old house earlier, lit a fire in the living room, and spread blankets on the floor. He didn't want to tell you this so as not to upset you, but he felt as anxious as a teenager.

You were nervous too. Your heart was beating like crazy as you crossed the threshold and locked the door. You knew no one would disturb you there, but you wanted to be sure.

Joel immediately greeted you with a smile and walked over to you. He kissed your lips and helped you take off your jacket. He grabbed your hand and led you toward the fireplace.

You sat down on the blanket and took a deep breath.

"So, how do we start?"

Joel placed his large hand on your cheek.

"Slow down, Sweetheart. We have a few hours. Let's take our time."

Joel squeezed your hand comfortingly and murmured,

"I got the wine."

You smiled and nodded. You were glad that Joel was being responsible this time and he wasn't rushing to anything.

You sat next to each other on the floor, leaning on the couch. Joel handed you a glass of wine and kissed your temple.

"Is it warm enough?"

"Yes," you replied and took a sip of wine. The alcohol warmed you up even more.

The whole house was cold, but you were warm enough when you were this close to the fireplace.

After some time, you felt Joel's hand caressing your thigh. He did it gently and slowly and focused his full attention on your reaction.

Despite your initial tension, you slowly started to relax. Joel leaned down and started nibbling on your neck, and a soft sigh escaped your lips. Joel smiled and tightened his grip on your thigh.

"Is everything okay, Honey?"

You nodded even though you felt a little anxious and took a shaky breath. Joel sensed it immediately and moved his hand away.

"Do you want to tie my hands now?"

You were surprised by how willing he was to give you the power. You smiled and stroked his hair. You set your wine glasses aside.

"Can you lie on your back?"

Joel immediately obeyed your command as if you had some magical power over him.

You reached for the box that was still lying on the couch. Joel prepared everything. You pulled out the rope and Joel folded his hands over his chest.

He looked at you with excitement. He really liked your idea and that gave you confidence. You moved closer to him and tied his wrists together.

"Not too tight?" you asked with concern.

You didn't want your comfort to be discomfort for him. You believed that wasn't what love was about. You also didn't want to take revenge on him for what happened in Boston. This wasn't what your relationship was supposed to be built on.

"It's perfect, Darling," Joel replied with a smile to encourage you. "Continue…"

You smiled and started unbuttoning his shirt. You pulled the fabric up and kissed his belly. Joel growled quietly.

"God…"

You giggled quietly and did it again, deciding that it wouldn't hurt to tease him a little. Joel tensed his abdominal muscles and looked at you in awe.

His eyes were shining and for a moment you even regretted that you were going to cover them. You reached for a blindfold and wrapped it around his head.

You kissed his forehead and then whispered:

"Do you see anything?"

A shiver ran through his body as he felt your breath on his ear.

"Nothing…" He managed to croak out.

You smiled and looked at his pants, which already showed a bulge. Apparently, you've discovered some forgotten Joel’s fetish.

"All right." you purred and sat on his legs, then unzipped his fly and looked at his face. You grabbed his pants and the waistband of his boxers.

"Can I?"

Joel lifted his hips, giving you a clear signal to pull the fabric down.

"I beg you."

You giggled and with his help, you pulled down his pants and boxers.

Your eyes locked on his semi-hard cock. You swallowed and touched him, causing him to hiss softly.

You couldn't help yourself. You didn't really get a chance to look at him the first time.

Now you had plenty of time and full power, and that excited you. You felt yourself getting wet and you were filled with joy. Your plan worked. You felt no fear. You didn't panic. Joel was at your mercy and he liked it.

You supposed he could have freed his hands if he wanted to, but that was the point. Joel wanted your needs to be important, not his.

Before you could start touching him, you got up from his legs and took off your pants and panties.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"What do you think?"

"You're undressing… I heard the belt buckle… you know you have beautiful thighs…"

You rolled your eyes and you knelt by his hips. You grabbed his cock but he suddenly jumped.

"Wait!"

You looked at him in surprise and your heart skipped a beat. Has he changed his mind? He didn't want to give you control?

"You don't want to do this without preparation…"

You breathed a sigh of relief and your heart warmed with his concern.

"Don't worry… I'll get ready."

Joel groaned like a disgruntled puppy.

"Why should you do it alone when you have me…"

You frowned. Was Joel trying to change the rules of the game?

"Your hands are tied."

A deep chuckle escaped from his chest.

"But you didn't gag my mouth."

"What?"

If Joel wasn't wearing the blindfold, you'd see him looking at you with a look: Really?

"You don't mean to tell me that Steve has never eaten you."

At that moment, you were glad that Joel couldn't see your red face.

"He did, but never… in a position like this."

A sly smile appeared on his face.

"Then I'll do it even more willingly… come on, sweetie… don't be shy and sit on my face. You won't regret it."

His voice was dripping with lust and your breathing quickened. You felt that this way you would completely dominate him. It was too tempting not to take advantage of it.

Finally, you slowly knelt over his face with your knees on either side of his head. He placed his tied hands on your lower back and pushed you closer to him. You gasped at the moment his lips touched your slippery lips. His mouth immediately covered your pussy. His tongue began to circle your clit. You moaned softly and grabbed his hair. His stubble caused this burning, pleasant feeling on the inside of your thighs. Joel purred until you felt a vibration against your cunt. As his thick tongue pushed into you, you couldn't help but moan loudly. You began to move your hips, your clit rubbing against his curved nose that you had never been more grateful for. Joel devoured you like a hungry dog. Slurping sounds filled your ears.

"Ah… Joel… Joel!"

You arched your back, your thighs trembling, and your orgasm hit you with such force that you were afraid you were going to collapse all your weight on his face.

Joel smiled and slowly pulled his tongue out of you. He licked up your juices and kissed your thighs before helping you move aside.

You were so delighted that you leaned in and kissed him on the lips, tasting yourself. His hands tangled in your hair.

"Now… Now you're ready." he purred, not hiding the satisfaction in his voice.

It took you a moment to catch your breath, but you finally sat on his legs and wrapped your hand around his semi-hard, thick cock, and started stroking it, exploring every vein with your fingertips.

He squirmed and moaned. His cock was now standing proud and Joel hissed.

"Baby…" his voice was hoarse. "I don't want to spoil your fun, but if you don't stop… In a moment I won't be at your disposal anymore."

You giggled and hovered over him.

"I see. You've been waiting for this for a long time."

You slowly sat on his cock. You hissed, feeling that familiar burning sensation as he stretched you. You never forgot it… Although that memory was obviously negative. It was different now. Then in Boston, he was drunk and didn't care about your feelings or comfort. Now you were partners, two people with a strong bond.

Joel gasped and brushed his hands against your thighs.

"Ahhh… Baby… You're wonderful. You're the most wonderful woman in the whole damn world."

You smiled and placed your hands on his chest. Your hips moved up and down. You weren't in a hurry, you didn't have to. You were in complete control of everything and Joel didn't complain. You heard his deep growls and saw his breathing quicken. At that moment you felt something new… A new chapter in your relationship has opened. You trusted him.

When you felt yourself getting closer to your second orgasm, you moaned loudly and quickened your pace even more. Joel grabbed your thigh with his tied hands as much as he could. His grunts became even deeper. But at some point, he bit his lip, he was getting closer to coming, but he didn't want to do it before you… He couldn't.

But you didn't hold back. You reached between your legs with one hand and started rubbing your clit. Your moans became even louder.

"Ahhh! Ahhh… Honey!"

And so you reached your second climax. You collapsed onto his chest and Joel groaned softly.

"Y/n… Baby… I'm too close…"

Joel started moving his hips and you heeded his warning. The lack of condoms in the post-pandemic world sucked. You hadn't talked about this part of your relationship, but you both seemed to realize that it was too early to think about having a second child.

You slowly pulled out of him and laid down next to him. You decided to help him and grabbed his swollen, throbbing cock with your hand. Joel made an almost animalistic, primal sound. After fasting for so long, he didn't need much. Just a few movements of your hand was enough and he came, and gushing sperm covered his belly and reached his shirt.

While Joel was still breathing heavily, you couldn't help but start licking his skin.

"Jesus!"

His flaccid cock twitched even though there was no chance of it getting hard again.

You giggled and pulled away, once you had licked most of the semen off you looked at him with affection and started to untie his hands.

When his hands were finally free, Joel immediately removed the blindfold. His eyes had to get used to the light again, but he still looked at you with admiration and devotion.

"Hi…" he croaked and brushed his hand against your cheek. "I missed your beautiful face."

You smiled and placed your head on his chest. His hand started stroking your back.

"Did you like it?" you asked and looked into his eyes.

You didn't need a verbal response. It was enough for his lips to curve into a wide smile and his eyes to sparkle.

"That was amazing…" His hand started caressing your hip. "But the more important question is, did you like it? Was everything okay?"

You snuggled closer to his body. His concern only proved to you how much he had changed since Boston.

"Yes. I'm fine. I feel very good… Do you think we can do it this way for now?"

You felt a little uneasy asking about it again. You didn't know if Joel would consider tying his hands a one-time thing.

Joel nodded and kissed your head.

"Of course, Sweetheart. I'm proud of you for fighting your trauma… We will do everything slowly. At your pace and on your terms."

His words were like a soothing balm for your soul.

You closed your eyes, listening to his heartbeat.

"Maybe next time we'll try without the blindfold?"

Joel also closed his eyes and smiled. He pulled you closer to him.

"Whatever you want. With or without a blindfold. It doesn't matter to me as long as you feel safe and comfortable with me."

You took a deep breath and felt sleepy. The fire was still burning in the fireplace, Joel's body was warm, and his voice sounded like a lullaby. You yawned and murmured sleepily:

"Can we take a nap?"

Joel chuckled quietly. He found you so cute when you were sleepy.

"I'd love to take advantage of this opportunity. We still have a few hours."

Joel covered you both with a blanket and buried his face in your hair. It wasn't long before you were both dozing off. *

The next day, when you were driving together to Anna and Toby, you had a blissful smile on your faces. You kept glancing at each other. Whenever your horse rode next to Joel's horse, he immediately placed his hand on your thigh.

You two heard a long groan behind you.

"There are children here."

Joel laughed and rolled his eyes. He looked at Ellie, who was riding with Teddy.

"You keep saying you're an adult. So just one kid and…" Joel smirked and placed his hand on your hip. "We're just showing affection. It's nothing bad."

Ellie snorted.

"Yeah, right… That's why you've been so happy since yesterday. Find a room."

Teddy started laughing happily.

"Ellie, Daddy, and Mommy have their own room at Grandpa's."

Ellie patted his head.

"You'll understand when you get older."

You looked at them and smiled. You loved the little fights between the teenage girl and Joel and the way Ellie took care of Teddy.

Suddenly Joel stopped your horses and you looked at him in surprise. You were practically at Anna and Toby's house. But when you realized what it was about, your heart trembled. From a distance, it was obvious that something was wrong. There was a trail of blood in the snow leading to an open door. The front windows were broken.

You didn't think much, your instincts just kicked in. You jumped off your horse and shouted:

"Anna, Tob…"

Joel was equally fast. He grabbed you from behind and pressed his hand to your mouth.

"Shhh…" he growled. "We don't know who is there."

You looked at him with tears in your eyes. You realized he was right. Your behavior was irrational. You nodded and he released you.

Meanwhile, Ellie was hugging the worried little boy. Joel walked up to her and gave her the reins of his horse.

"Hide among the trees."

Teddy looked at him and whimpered.

"Where are the grandparents?"

Joel wanted to hug him, but instead, he rubbed his shoulder soothingly and said sympathetically,

"Don't worry, 'bear cub'. Me and mom will check everything."

Joel tried to stay calm even though he suspected the worst.

He walked up to you and handed you his handgun while he took the shotgun.

"You're following me. If something goes wrong, you jump on your horse and you all run back to Jackson. Without turning back. You understand!"

His voice was so stern and commanding that all you could do was nod and hold back the tears that wanted to escape from your eyes.

Joel sighed, he didn't want to be so hard on you. He cupped your head in one hand and kissed your forehead.

"Okay. Let's go."

Slowly, tense, and focused, you approached the house. The surroundings seemed deserted. You felt your heart in your throat. You glanced at the open door and the trail of blood leading into the house. You heard Joel's voice:

"I'll check the house…"

When he disappeared into the house, you had the impression that time stopped. You felt fear and despair wash over you. Anna and Toby were like parents to you. You couldn't lose them like this. Tears began to flow down your cheeks.

Finally, Joel left. He still looked focused and ready to fight.

"Nothing," he muttered.

"What?" you croaked.

Joel stepped closer and wiped away your tears with his thumb.

"No one is there. There are no bodies… Someone must have been there… The house looks ransacked, but… Anna and Toby may still be alive."

You felt the world spinning around you. You didn't know if it was all real or if you were stuck in some nightmare.

"What happened here?"

Your question hung unanswered in the frosty air.

Taglist: @casa-boiardi @noisynightmarepoetry @ihavetwoholesforareason @sloanexx @creedslove @orcasoul @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @i-workwithpens @milla-frenchy @liatome @jojo-munson @pascalislove @goldenhxurs @elliaze @aestheticangel612 @cheyxfu @prestinalove @stevengmybeloved @faith-alons26 @harriedandharassed @this--is--music @joeldjarin @elliaze @ajeff855 @anislabonis-love @quality-lust @sarahhxx03 @sofiparallel @misshoneypaper @simplyreading96 @ilovetaquitosmmmm @softstarlite @missladym1981 @heartpascalispunk @brujademente @littleshadow17 @emmathetrash

Pernament tag list: @harriedandharassed

Yes, I know, this cliffhanger is… Ugh… But I promise that this time the next chapter will appear much faster so I won't leave you in suspense for a long time.

Part 11

Part 13

[bonsai-babies]

Proving how easy it is to write BASIC compelling arcs for Sam LaRusso (2/2)

This last season's (and others) treatment of Samantha is unforgivable, I did this out of spite whenever I had the time to write, so here goes. (part 1)

main conflicts for season 6 especifically .

TORY TRAUMA — Tory is finally on Miyagi Do, she and Sam can slowly rebuild from the mess of those two last years. Yet, the mess is just too great for a simple talk and cordial looks to fix. Sam is relieved and happy that Tory escaped Cobra Kai's toxicity and is giving Miyagi Do a chance. This however creates two big anxieties: The perfect friend. Sam knows how tough it was to get on Tory's good side, she knows how important it is to keep her as a friend, so she overworks herself trying to make this work. She's overly nice, overly attentive, overly self-sacrificing. She lets Tory win when they sparr, she laughs at her jokes even when she doesn't get it, she smiles and plays the gentlewoman all the time, she opens doors, helps to carry things, keeps checking on her to make sure she's alright, and all of this is made out of extreme anxiety. The other side is her fear. Sam knows what Tory is capable of, she's felt it for too long. Doesn't matter how much psychological development she gets, the trauma is still fresh, still burns on her skin, is still felt on her scalp. Tory is just a lot of scars that are forever marked on her skin, and this she can't change with smiles and a good talk. So, despite her optimism and relief, she still fears, she still watches carefully. She puts herself close to Tory to try to make her happy all the while being unconsciously terrified that the blonde might simply turn around and attack again. Still, no matter how much it triggers her, she will work hard and quietly to make this new thing work.

SEKAI TAIKAI — I believe it isn't a stretch to suggest that Sam might've competed in Karate Championships as a child when she still trained with Daniel and Mr. Miyagi. We know Mr Miyagi doesn't like competition, but Daniel wouldn't let that chance pass. So Sam might've collected a few trophies and medals as a kid when competing only meant a big Karate game and she got to fight different new kids. Nothing psychologically damaging or heavy. That is until the AVT. Then there's Robby's injury, Miguel's change of character, and competition becomes something serious and unjustified. Sure, her first AVT was to save her dojo, but she was probably already uncomfortable with the kind of stakes those championships were holding. It wasn't fair and it wasn't right. Her defeat on the AVT shattered her confidence and likely set her off into a spiral of insecurities, self-hatred, and deep shame. She failed her dad, she failed Robby, she failed her friends, and in a way, she feels she failed My. Miyagi. Now, they're in for a world championship, despite having very little competition experience in general. Among all the teens, she's likely the only one who went through championships the most, but even that wasn't relevant because she was too young and never competed internationally. Sam isn't stupid, she knows they're about to bite something much greater than they can chew, yet, it's her chance to fix every mistake she made on the AVT and attempt to restore the pride of her dad and her team.

development .

TORY TRAUMA — Tory is also putting on work to try and convince Sam she's not a threat anymore. Maybe Tory notices how hard Samantha is trying, and even pities her for it. She wants to make this peace last too, she's ready to overcome her unfair distaste for the girl and start some proper healing. Her small actions help to diminish Sam's fears, they do create a new collection of supportive moments that should slowly help both to experience a much better new chapter. If we keep the death of Tory's Mother, it would definitely be the hiccup in their development. The moment Sam learns of it and how senselessly Tory was fighting in the Captaincy duel, she's both heartbroken for the girl, but also hyper-aware that her skills have to be sharp, Tory is showing every sign she's about to get back on her bad habits and Sam would suffer for it. Suddenly Sam isn't just going to the Sekai Taikai thinking only of redeeming herself for her dad and her team, she has an unresolved journey with Tory.

SEKAI TAIKAI — With the addition of Tory back in Cobra Kai two of her biggest conflicts pile up again. It's a new rendition of the AVT, the very thing she wanted to escape. Her anxiety does get the best of her a couple of times, but Robby is there, her friends are there, her dad is there. She begins to notice their support did not depend only on her wins or her success, they loved her anyhow, now she's more than ready to give a win to them, out of gratitude and just have a good time doing the thing she learned to love again. Hopefully Tory is back on their team by this point and Sam can make a new identity for herself beyond her mistakes from High School.

[to-be-a-dreamer]

you sound like a right winger. cancel culture?

This is legitimately the funniest insult I’ve ever received thank you Anon. Like, you can’t think of any better way to discredit my post about how I wish people would just let a character be Not Racist and acknowledge that sometimes people can learn they were wrong and become better people so you call me (a queer woman of color who is college-educated and an immigrant, btw, just so we’re all on the same page) a “right winger” for using easily-recognizable terminology to ensure everyone reading understands what I think is the core issue. Incredible, insane, I wish you weren’t a coward who posted anonymously so I could scroll through your blog because I’m sure you’ve got jokes.

But anyways, since we’re all here I’ll take the opportunity to explain what I mean and my thoughts on cancel culture.

Original post that Anon is talking about for reference

People on the internet are obsessed with this idea of perfection. They think that a person has to do the right thing, always, every time. They think that a person who does or has ever done something shitty is just a shitty person who doesn’t deserve a platform. And they think that a person who was a shitty person in the past should always be viewed in that way. They can never accept that someone could have toxic or harmful views, realize they were wrong, and then become a better person, especially if they went through that journey offline or a long time ago. They don’t care if the person they see before them is clearly an open-minded, good person who doesn’t possess those views anymore. In their eyes, that person is still that same bigoted asshole from three, five, ten, twenty years ago and they have to acknowledge that past and be publicly shamed for it every single day in order to be “forgiven”. (They will never truly forgive)

And it’s just. I don’t understand it because what is the point of activism and education if we’re not going to allow people to learn what we’re trying to teach? How is our movement supposed to grow if we don’t accept the people who have been touched and reformed by it? How does any of this get better if we don’t allow people to be better?

Here’s my biggest problem with “cancel culture” (the mass ostracism and shaming of someone who has behaved or spoken in a socially unacceptable way). I think that this kind of mindset has led to an entire generation of internet users who are terrified of ever doing “the wrong thing” on the internet. We’re so afraid of making mistakes because we know how hard it is to come back from that and how unforgivable the rest of the internet is. And it’s turned us into overly defensive people who struggle to admit when we’ve done something wrong. We’re terrified to consider the possibility that we’re the "bad guy" in any situation because we've convinced ourselves that doing something shitty makes you a shitty person. We think our individual actions are lifetime sentences. I've seen so many people on the internet make small mistakes but double down and take things way too far when they're called out for it because they don't want to see themselves as a person who does problematic things. Because we've convinced ourselves that making a mistake makes you a bad person on a fundamental level. We've tied the amount of criticism we receive to our self-worth.

I also notice that it prevents people who actually need to learn and be better from realizing that. Because the amount of hate someone receives is so disproportionate to any mistake they actually made, it's so easy for a person to think "okay there's no way I deserve to be harassed this much, this is probably just the internet overreacting again, I haven't done anything wrong" and instead of learning the small lesson they needed to learn they just brush off the hate and dismiss it as cancel culture.

And so to bring this back to 9-1-1, I do think that some of the hate towards Tommy is due to shipping wars, but on a deeper level I think people just can't handle the truth that Tommy is actually a good person now. Maybe it stems from people hating the idea that someone who made their own lives miserable could learn and grow and become a better person later in life like Tommy did. Maybe people have some unresolved trauma about bigots that they're projecting onto these characters. Maybe they want to feel morally superior and just don't like the idea that someone who was shitty in the past could go on to have the same views and ideals as them. It's hard to tell for sure and it probably varies from person to person but I think the idea that a person has to be defined by their past is a big part of it on all levels.

Anyways, those are my thoughts on cancel culture as a whole and why I think the current generation of internet users has a really tough time taking accountability and why we all have rejection sensitivity (not RSD, the actual real medical condition, just a general sensitivity to being told you're in the wrong). We don't like to confront our own flaws because, according to the internet, those flaws make you a terrible person always and forever and you will never be able to overcome them or move past them. I hope this all makes sense I've been thinking about this a lot since 2020 but I've never tried to explain it in words. I don't think there's anything wrong with holding people accountable for past actions, I think there's something wrong with the disproportionate hate those people receive and the amount of shaming and shunning they have to go through before they're allowed to move on with their lives.

[azarisage]

So here’s a snippet of a fic I’m working on! It’s a teen wolf fic that’s kinda a fix it? It’s definitely set after the whole Kanima thing, but Erica and Boyd are alive, Peter’s back from the dead, and Derek’s still Alpha. I’ve been drooling over the idea of What if EVERYONES PARENTS FOUND OUT?????

Like, only the Sheriff and Melissa knew??? Come on! It would be sO much fun to watch them all flip out while Stiles tries to coral a bunch of adults and two Hales into playing nice long enough to solve there freaking problems!!!! Through Chris in the mix? Glorious!

Anyway, I’m calling it Not so False Alarm, and it’s currently a wip on AO3, so we’ll see how this goes🫠

“No!,” Stiles shouted. A growl much like the wolves he spent so vary much of his time around rumbling out of his throat. “None of you are going after anything,” He stated firmly

”I don’t think you quite get it, you are mine. The Pack, is Mine. And no one touch’s what’s Mine without at least losing a hand in return.”

His tone was hard and his gaze was cold and angry, and it was almost frightening to see Stiles, laughing, joking, goofy, always smiling Stiles, with his ice cold murderous gaze turned towards them. Even though they knew he’d never hurt them.

But that was just the thing.

Stiles had called them his. And he would never hurt his people.

But someone, or something, had taken and hurt a rather large amount of his people.

And they were only now beginning to realize that to Stiles?

This kind of offense was absolutely unforgivable.

And the whiskey eyed boy was out for blood.

“Stiles, you just spent the last few hours ranting about how Scott and the other kids could be in immense danger, and you think we, their parents, are just going to sit back and watch you and your Werewolf buddies charge off into the night to go play hero? News flash son, we are the parents, and We will protect our children.” Noah cut in.

The other parents nodded in agreement, adding their own little tid-bits on how they were the adults, they should be the ones to rescue their kids.

But Wendy Martin made the unfortunate mistake of adding in her own comment of, " We, as the adults in this situation, will be able to handle it better."

The two ‘wolves, who stood only just behind Stiles, frowned deeply at this comment.

They themselves were adults, they were Werewolves for goodness sake, and they both could list quite a few times in which Stiles had been able to handle the supernatural far better than themselves. Countless times where, had it not been for Stiles, they would’ve been dead, Werewolf healing or not.

And to hear Stiles’ own father talk with such little faith about their human Pack member? About Stiles? Well that just didn’t sit right with them at all.

“I’m sorry, are you all suddenly forgetting that Stiles is far more familiar with this type of situation than all of you?” Peter huffed.

“He has been dealing with your idiotic children for years now, saving their asses, finding out everything we’ve ever needed to know through Google more often than not, and Lord knows how he manages that! So before you all go assuming things about this situation, how about we ask the guy who’s saved our lives almost a dozen times, half the time on his own.”

Stiles was slightly surprised at Peters animosity on his behalf, but the more he thinks about it, the more he thinks it makes sense. Peter had always hated how the puppies would dismiss his ideas or plans, but he never really got the chance to go off on them because Stiles had always brushed it off, they were a group of teenagers, they were doing their best, but surrounded by human adults? That was another story.

They should at least be listening to the person who had the most information on how to safely go about the situation.

But still….

“I killed you.” He stated coolly, his questioning gaze turned toward the older Hale.

“Yes, by lighting me on fire if I’m remembering correctly, which I am.” He said, giving the younger a sly smile, completely ignoring the startled sounds coming from the adults around the room.

“But don’t worry, you’ve been forgiven, water under the bridge and all that.” He said, giving a dismissive shrug that was far too amused for the situation.

“Oh good, ‘cause I wasn’t gonna apologize anyway.”

“I never expected you to. To be honest I probably would’ve done the same.” He returned with a surprisingly genuine smile despite the topic of conversation.

“Alright, have we finally decided to not do anything stupid?” Stiles asked hopefully.

“Hold on, my son what?” Noah sputtered.

Some of the others began protesting the attempted topic change along with the Sheriff, and Derek sighed.

“Did you really have to bring that up Stiles?”

He was giving the teen his usual Disappointed eyebrows look, and Stiles just groaned.

“What? It’s not like he stayed dead anyway! And besides, that was years ago, we get along much better nowadays, so the chances of it happening again are really vary slim, right Peter!”He turned to give the older Hale his most innocent look, which both had learned long ago was the absolute biggest lie. Stiles could talk circles around most people, and had learned surprisingly quickly how to affectively lie to Werewolves, Stiles was a silver tonged snake when he wanted or needed to be.

“Stiles is right nephew, we’re far less prone to tearing each other apart, we’ve even been known to hold a conversation or two when the mood strikes us. I believe just the other day we had coffee at that one café Stiles likes while we went over that old book of elementals.”

Derek just rolled his eyes at the two of them, while the others were just frozen in shock.

But before anyone else could add even more questions to the pile, Stiles just had to go and make things worse.

“I will say though, getting rid of that bitch was one hell of a final act.”

Before he disappeared up the stares to grab his hidden bag of supernatural supplies, leaving the parents heads spinning, and Derek just shaking his head at the whole situation, Peter laughing madly at his favorite humans ability to cause chaos.

[okameeznuts]

Vent:

So, there's some user I like, because of their art and their personality, I turn myself into anon, asking them about their favourite things and compliment them, seeing them happy makes me happy too, but they're friends with the person that I hurt, so I keep being anon to them, being hidden; I just don't want to let them know about that, about me harmed their friend in text before.

Somehow, I noticed that my anon is very nice and positive, keeping them happy, while the real user, me... I keep seeing myself as the bad person, drowning in guilt, I keep remembering the memories of me hurting people.

I envy my anon side, I'm very jealous of other self, thinking that the anon me is so different, like they're an other person in my view, I don't view myself to that anon me.

Also on the other hand, I base some of my OCs to me, but my OCs gets happy endings while I'm still suffering in my current state.

Like, my minds are separated, or that angel and devil on shoulders.

Also, my mind is confused if I'm the abuser or victim, bad memories, mistakes are keep repeating in my mind. But my friend say that I'm the victim? Is that true? I've been called my joke "bestality" before, like they view me as a cold hearted beast.

I went from rarely talk to new people to only talk in anon or rarely talk to other mutuals, I'm afraid if I accidentally hurt them because I'm blunt, offensive, and "insensitive".

Like, my bluntness hurt my mutual @hyperfixatingonfoolishthings, but they seem to apologize to me, but my intuitive thoughts keep saying that I'm unforgivable. And my other mutual, I said "sorry" and they didn't answer, that part always keeps repeating on my brain, am I that unforgivable? But my other mutuals seems to forgive me.

Those memories, making people hurt, I can't believe I hurt myself for them, thinking that they see me miserable is entertainment for them, but somehow they always went silent. I go like: "I've harmed myself! Isn't that really nice to see? Does that make you entertained and proud!?"

In real life, when my classmates try to talk or touch me, I usually don't answer and get my arms away from theirs, I don't like being touched.

I feel like that I'm untouchable, I'm like a poisonous plant, if someone touches me, they'll get hurt. @kingdomofsolaria can relate to this part.

I'm starting to avoid people... And I feel like I don't belong in society, I feel like an outsider, I feel that I'm too different compared to norms.

I hate being "abnormal", I keep trying to fit in the norms...

Just like Sisyphus, he tries to get to the top, but the boulder keeps falling again and again for eternity. And I keep trying to correct my mistakes but it's somehow repetitive.

I feel like I'm a sinner who gets tortured for eternity in hell, because I've commited a lot of sins, feeling that I'll never get to heaven.

Feelings that I deserved to be punished and tortured by life...

I get angry, irritated, and violent if someone keeps misunderstood me, that makes those mistakes worsen me.

I always say this to @ionlypostmymeemocs, they say that I'm not a bad person, they really mean to me a lot, I love them platonically, they also relate to my struggles.

Also, shoutout to other mutuals who helped me besides the other mentions on the paragraph? Yeah:

@icannotfindmycharger and @sniperry034, I love them too!

Also a deactivated mutual... @foxwithatank helped me too.

Idk about the other mutuals, they don't express emotionally much, which makes me confused.

I posted this vent because some people does that too, I just want to tell everyone that I'm hurt, broken... So the others that I hurt are too.

Well, if some others doesn't care, I won't force them, but it also breaks my heart.

I both think that I want isolation and appreciation, which confuses me.

Do I deserve punishment? Or do I deserve love?

And yep, I mentioned that I'm a crybaby to my intro post, I always cry.

[cheeekycharchar]

Crowley aka Archangel Jeremiel??

For years we've seen the amazing theories of Crowley's true name, his original angel form as possibly being Raphael and the most recent theory as possibly Lucifer. Both very believable imho.

But to throw my hat in the ring… my theory.. my new headcanon is that..

Anthony J. Crowley was.. Jeremiel!Crowley.

"What's the 'J' stand for?"

"It's just a 'J' really.."

Crowley is definitely insinuated to be one of the Archangels or higher- a theory I think we can all agree on.

But for me.. I believe he is.. Jeremiel and I have the receipts to prove it below! ;)

• Archangel Jeremiel (Jerahmeel) is the Hebrew name for "Mercy of God/God's Mercy", "He will obtain mercy of God", "God pities" or "May God have Compassion".

• Is also known as the "Archangel of Prophetic Visions and Dreams."

• He communicates hopeful messages from God to people who are discouraged or troubled.

• He helps us to become aware of our thoughts and emotions and how these may be out of alignment with what we really desire.

• They also say he helps newly crossed-over souls and the still-living review their lives so they can take inventory of their past and learn from prior experiences so that they're even stronger and more centered in love in the future.

• Furthermore, New Age believers say that Jeremiel is the angel of joy for girls and women, and he appears in female form when he delivers blessings of joy to them.

SO.

What does this all have to do with Crowley?

• An Archangel who's name is synonymous with the word Mercy. What is Mercy? Compassion that leads to FORGIVENESS.

"Unforgiveable.. that's what I am."

"I forgive you." T^T

• An Archangel that has prophetic visions and dreams.

Crowley's vision is his biggest physical change from Angel to Demon. His cursed snake eyes.

But he is also a Demon that loves to sleep for long periods of time- probably dreaming of the stars (or a certain cocoa lovin' Angel, hehe).

• An Archangel that brings hopeful messages to those that are discouraged or troubled.

"I hope I didn't do the wrong thing.."

"Oh, you're an angel. I don't think you can do the wrong thing."

"Oh, oh, thank you-- it's been bothering me."

• An Archangel that helps those, living and dead, learn from their mistakes and problem solve.

Such as Crowley always questioning God's "bad ideas" and making suggestions to improve on them.

• And lastly, an Archangel that is referred to as a "him" but can, at times, appear as a female to bring joy to girls and women.

Take that as you will, LOL.

PS. No joke. This is a depiction of the Archangel Jeremiel as an Eastern Orthodox Saint (lol Aziraphale is the Guardian of the Eastern Gates. no relation, I'm sure) where he is shown to have fiery red hair.

..In the end, I love to theorize while I wait for S3.

I love the research behind it all and thinking too deeply on benign fandom things.

And I could honestly go on and on about more lil details on this theory but... who would read all that lol

So take this all as just another fun idea to play with during our current hell that is between seasons limbo.

But for me… I'm far too deep into believing my own theory of Jeremiel!Crowley for my own good now, lol.

What do ya'll think? Possibility or am I crazy? XD

[minnielvrr]

Stamina

Lee: Seungmin Lers: Minho, Han, Chan, Jeongin Word count: 1.2k

Seungmin, ever the perfectionist, wanted to improve the stability of his voice and his stamina during the long hours of their concerts and back-to-back arrangement of their world tours. He talked to Chan and Jeongin about it after one of their recording sessions, complaining about not wanting to go to the gym and trying to brainstorm alternate ideas, when Han piped up from the couch, “Well this is technically not cardio but maybe tickling might help?” “Please don’t joke about this Han-ssi, I’m being serious!”

Seungmin’s frustration leaks into his voice, the stress from their unforgiving work hours having finally gotten to him. Realizing his mistake quickly, though, he apologizes, “I’m- I’m sorry hyung, I know you were trying to help. I’m really stressed out right now and we’re gonna go on a world tour soon and I just- I don’t wanna disappoint STAYs or let you guys down. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way.”

The boy bowed his head in shame. “Hey pup, it’s okay and I’m being serious too, Minho hyung, he uh- he helped me improve my stamina that way when we debuted.” Seungmin stared wide-eyed at the blushing ace. Chan, delighted at the idea of tickling the worries out of their main vocalist, clapped his hands, ”It’s decided then! Seungminnie, why don’t you sit here and let us help you?”

He offered the comfy chair he was sitting on, Seungmin nervously taking a step back before turning on his heel and fleeing the room when Han and Jeongin approached him, fingers wiggling. His face was on fire as he threw open the door and ran straight into Minho’s arms, knocking the cap off the older’s head. The younger boy slipped out of his arms, making a dash down the corridor and instinctually, Minho ran after the flustered boy, easily catching up to him, picking him up and throwing him over his shoulder.

“Where are you going in such a hurry, pup?” Lino held him tight as the puppy struggled in his hold and wrestled him back into the recording room. “No! Let me gohoho, hyung!” “What’s going on?” Minho asked the others in the room. Seungmin’s efforts to free himself doubling when Hannie recapped the scene.

“Aww is our little Minnie too sensitive? Can't even handle a few tickles, hmm?” Seungmin buried his face in his hands, dying from embarrassment. A firm hand massaging the back of his thighs had him kicking out, pounding his fists on Minho's back as the dancer giggled and set him down on Chan's chair.

Seungmin protested as his hands were yanked up and tied to the headrest of the chair with the long sleeves of Jeongin's hoodie. He struggled against the restraints, face burning and heart racing at the vulnerable position. “Hyung, hyungs please no, Jeonginnie plehease stop them,” he begged, squirming around and tugging at his arms in vain.

“Let me go you jerks.” He yelled out in fear when the four kids surrounded him, Seungmin feeling small and exposed as they smiled smugly at him. He regretted his choice of clothing when Hannie sat on his lap and massaged his sides through his thin t-shirt, “Do you really want us to stop, Minnie? C’mon just tell us what song you wanna practice already so we can get started.” The boy huffed, mumbling ‘God’s Menu’ as he closed his eyes in preparation. This was gonna be a long evening.

As expected, they didn’t go easy on him. Channie started playing the instrumental of God’s Menu, the four kids allowing Seungmin to hesitantly start singing, his beautiful voice distracting them for a moment. Then Jeongin ghosted his fingers over Minnie’s neck and the boy flinched but continued singing, his voice getting shaky for only an instant before he reigned in his giggles, trying hard to tune out the itchy sensation that was becoming increasingly unbearable.

The veins of Seungmin’s neck popped in his effort to keep his voice steady. It sounded so shaky, even to himself, high pitched giggles mixing with his words as he struggled to finish each sentence without bursting out laughing. The others, true to their words, weren’t making that easy, Chan clawing at his exposed stomach, Minho digging into his ribs and armpits while Jeongin and Han kneaded the spot right above his knees with fervor. He only made it to the chorus before his words dissolved into helpless laughter.

As much as he tried to squirm away, the persistent fingers followed, tickling him until there were tears streaming down his cheeks and he was laughing harder than he’d ever done before. Chan signaled for them to pause and Seungmin slumped back into the chair, breathing heavily. “You did so well, pup,” Minho’s praise made him smile tiredly. “Yeah, next let’s aim to finish the whole song before stopping. Seungmin’s eyes widened comically at that, “nohoho, I cahan’t take that much hyung,” his voice bubbled with anticipatory giggles.

“You can do it hyung,” Jeongin encouraged with a smirk, jabbing the trapped boy’s sides meanly just to watch as Seungmin jerked away with a squeal. “I’m so gonna get you back for that Innie, watch your back.” Jeongin tsked cockily at that, “You’re not exactly in the position to threaten me now, are you hyungie?” He mocked the shy pup, scratching lazily at Seungmin’s exposed armpits and loving how the older scrambled to apologize and beg for mercy in between helpless cackles. “Sorry, I’m sohohorry, Innie pleahehehehease.” The maknae let up, satisfied.

Everyone had to admit that having their little menace all powerless and giggly for once felt nice. After Han fed him some water, Chan restarted the song and they were back at it. Seungmin was pretty determined to last till the end of the song, even if he wasn’t able to sing every word of it. His determination crumbled when Chan prodded the boy’s belly button and Jeongin tasered his sides. It was becoming increasingly difficult to focus on the lyrics and ignore the torturous feeling of fingers wiggling on his hypersensitive skin.

This time he was able to sing until the bridge part, his voice high and strained as he screamed out the last few lines of the pre-chorus before he surrendered. “Ah fuhuhuhahack Channie hyung! NOT THEHEHEHERE,” Minnie gasped when the leader started knuckling his hip bone. “No? Not here? Ooooh, you shouldn’t have said that baby~!” Chan laughed gleefully as he went crazy on the spot, leaving Seungmin twisting and jolting wildly as he tried to escape the torture.

The poor boy could only laugh, his brain so fried from the tickling that he could no longer form words, left mouthing pleas in the hopes that they would have mercy. “Oh wow, you’re super ticklish there!” Minho exclaimed in delight, adoring how much of a mess their puppy was from just a little tickling. “It’s been forever since I’ve heard that laugh!” Hannie joined in happily, everyone letting up one by one, Innie freeing his hyung’s arms.

Seungmin was still crying, residual giggles shaking his lean frame as he panted. The four kids gave him some more water. Hands moved all over once more, wiping the puppy’s face and combing through his tangled hair and finally everyone cuddled together on the couch. Seungmin snuggled into Chan’s warm body, quickly falling asleep. Minho snapped a quick picture then carried the sleeping boy to the car, and everyone went back after a rather productive day.

[bethanydelleman]

Online Discourse, Redemption Arcs, and Jane Austen

There is a story in the Bible where Jesus is brought a woman who has cheated on her spouse. The officials ask Jesus what to do, he knows they are trying to trick him into breaking the law with mercy, so he says, "Go ahead, throw rocks at her until she dies, that's the law, BUT whoever has never done anything wrong throws the first stone." Eventually everyone leaves and Jesus forgives the woman.

This post I shared a while ago really makes me think of that story, because online commentary of characters seems to so often break into two groups:

People so unforgiving, so unwilling to allow a single misstep in a character that they would start throwing stones immediately

People who will twist themselves into knots to prove that everything the character did was justified (and since we have zero backstory for the unnamed woman in this story, it would be easy to give her a sympathetic one. She did it because of trauma!)

Let's apply this to Emma Woodhouse. At Box Hill, she mildly insults an older woman, it is a poorly timed and placed joke:

“Oh! very well,” exclaimed Miss Bates, “then I need not be uneasy. ‘Three things very dull indeed.’ That will just do for me, you know. I shall be sure to say three dull things as soon as ever I open my mouth, shan’t I? (looking round with the most good-humoured dependence on every body’s assent)—Do not you all think I shall?” Emma could not resist. “Ah! ma’am, but there may be a difficulty. Pardon me—but you will be limited as to number—only three at once.”

There are basically two reactions to this insult: BURN EMMA AT THE STAKE and Eh, not that bad. Now I think with this particular insult, it really wasn't that bad and we are told about the surrounding extenuating circumstances that caused Emma to slip up. However, I'm probably wrong because Emma does feel guilty and she does make amends. While she does not directly apologize, it's clear in the novel that what she did was a relationship repair.

What makes me feel like a crazy person is how many people throw first stones! How many people are SHOCKED by what Emma said and they could NEVER imagine insulting Miss Bates in such a cruel way! Get over yourself! I feel fairly certain that every human being on earth over 25 had insulted someone to the same level as Emma has insulted Miss Bates. That doesn't mean it is excusable, Emma should apologize and so should we, but I'm left amazed by how many people feel blameless in the face of this extremely human and relatable error.

And yes, it makes me wonder about forgiveness in their real lives. There are some things that I believe could be hard and fast "never forgive" rules, like your SO should never hit you, but people make mistakes. We should have room for forgiveness, we should understand circumstances. People get tired and sick and angry and overwhelmed and sometimes they screw up. It makes me wonder if this is an online persona effect, where we never show our negative sides, or is this a true opinion. Do people forget their own mistakes?

There also seems to be this idea that once someone has done something once, it's already a pattern even if the novel is full of counter-evidence. Emma is very polite throughout the novel, she endures people that annoy her a lot, she is endlessly accommodating with her father, but a single insult to Miss Bates and people start retroactively making her worse. When she visited that poor family she must have been insulting them! (Nope) Suddenly she becomes a villain through and through, instead of a normal girl who made a few mistakes.

That's not even getting into the real "villains" of Austen's works. The amount of people who tell me that Lydia (16), Henry Crawford (probably 24), Mary Crawford (22-24), Willoughby (25), and so on and so fourth ARE INCAPABLE OF CHANGE and will never improve. Like excuse me? Have you not changed and improved since you were 16-25? How early do you give up on people? Do you really think a young adult is fully formed?

Is this how you think of people in the real world too?