#(This bitch realized I can feature both in my fics)

[grayscale-sparks]

Arthur Lester playing Rhapsody in Blue by George Gershwin when

[cheolhub]

BABY FEVER — CHOI SEUNGCHEOL ࿐

summary. after a picnic date at the park goes horribly wrong, all choi seungcheol wants for his birthday is to fuck a baby into you.

wc. 3.4k+

warnings. established relationship, kinda ? dom!cheol, f. reader, pussy-drunk-bitch-in-heat cheol, breeding kink, literal baby making, marriage kink if you squint, reader referred to as mommy (x2), unprotected sex, oral (f. receiving), light body worship (f. receiving), vulgar language… heavy praise, pet names [baby, angel, princess] — MINORS DNI 18+

note. it’s an international holiday (aka cheol day) hehehe HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY LVRBOY <333 forgive me bc this is actually so rough… i forced myself to finish it in time for his bday 😍 please be gentle!! i promise ill make it up to all of u with a MUCH better cheol fic -3- happy coupsie day 2 u all x (thank yew @jeonghantis for reading this for me TWICE and always encouraging me <3)

you have to admit, this is not how you thought seungcheol’s birthday lunch would pan out. 

no, you definitely did not expect to end the day with your legs wrapped around your beloved boyfriend’s waist while he split you open on his cock, breathily promising that he’ll give you a baby. a ring. a life for the both of you.

because when you took said boyfriend out for a picnic in the park, you did expect a serene lunch date with him and his favorite food. you even wore the sundress he bought for your birthday. it was supposed to be the perfect gift. 

but you hadn’t realized how busy it’d be. how could you have known? it was just a random tuesday afternoon in the midst of august– arguably the hottest month of the year. who, besides the two of you, would want to be out on a day like this?

rowdy, unrestrained children. that’s who. 

it seems that children and parents have nothing better to do than crash birthdays and cause you massive headaches. 

when you looked over at seungcheol on the blanket halfway through your food, you discerned the faraway look in his eyes. he hasn’t said much. much less of how he feels about his “gift.” he wasn’t there– probably disassociated because of the noise. you realized then that you probably should’ve picked a different spot… or stuck to the homemade candlelit dinner you had initially planned. or done literally anything else. 

“cheollie… do you wanna leave?” you asked, concern laced in your voice. “we don’t have to stay, we can go home and do whatever you want.”

his jaw clenched and unclenched at the sound of your voice. he offered a shuddered breath and gave you a curt nod. “yeah, let’s go home.” 

and so you did. you felt defeated as seungcheol bruisingly gripped the steering wheel the entire ride home. you felt defeated as you sat in the passenger seat thinking of ways to fix his now-ruined birthday. you felt defeated as you two rode away in silence. complete silence. 

when you arrive back at your home, you dejectedly drop the basket off in the kitchen without bothering to unpack it. cheol stays on your tail the entire time, following you back to your room after throwing the keys on the island next to the picnic basket. 

and when you reach your destination, you let him in before closing the door behind you and then he pounces.  he has you pinned to said door in an instant. 

completely thrown off by his change in behavior, you splutter out, “ch-cheol, what the fuck?!”

“baby,” he mutters breathily, his eyes scanning your features. the faraway look in his eyes has been replaced, both of them filled with something completely different. lust. it’s like the last hour never even happened.

he has you caged in. one of hands pressed flat against the door and the other gripping your waist. there’s a mere inch of a gap separating the two of you and you can feel all the heat radiating off of his body. 

still wide-eyed, staring up at him, you softly– apprehensively– ask, “cheol? are you okay?” 

admittedly, seungcheol is not okay. not in the slightest. he doesn’t want to scare you, but watching kids run around– hearing how happy they were– had him thinking thoughts. thoughts of having a kid of his own. 

it had his heart fluttering at first, the idea of having a mini him running around the house. it filled him with the utmost joy.

then his thoughts escalated. thoughts of having a kid turned into thoughts of having a kid with you. thoughts of getting you round and pregnant with his child rotted large portions of his brain away.

and it progressively got worse and worse. with every passing minute, the images in his brain became more clear till the only thing on his mind was folding you in half and fucking a baby into you while you begged for it. 

he’s not sure how to relay said thoughts to you. the two of you have been dating for years and you’re in a really good place, both financially and emotionally.

but dropping the ‘i want a kid’ bomb? before he’s even proposed? it’s taboo…untraditional… it’s something you potentially don’t even want, so he should ease into the conversation of children and marriage.

but…choi seungcheol thinks he’s lost the ability to think and speak clearly. that’s why he blurts it out without logically thinking it over, lost in a haze of lust and need and burning hot desire. 

“wanna have a baby,” 

your stomach drops and the air in your lungs vanishes, leaving you breathless.

“w-what…cheol? a baby?” you ask slowly. “you… wanna have a baby?” 

a small growl bubbles in his chest when you repeat his words. “wanna give you a baby.” 

heat creeps up your neck and within seconds– when you realize the intent of his words– your entire body burns as arousal courses through your veins. seungcheol doesn’t just want to have a kid… he wants to fuck one into you. 

you can’t say you’ve never thought of having one before, but it was always farther down the line. after marriage and settling down.

even still, your stomach swirls in anticipation, imagining seungcheol as a father. as your husband. 

so you reply, “do… do you think we’re ready for that? we’re still pretty young and… we aren’t married…”

your words trail off and you look away, eyes trained on his chest instead. 

“i’m gonna marry you.” he says as a matter of factly. “look at me.” he demands, the hand next to your head moves to grip your chin, forcing you to look up at him. “there’s no doubt in my mind. i’m going to marry you, baby.”

hearing that is surreal. he’s said it twice and the words are still rattling around in your empty brain. he’s gonna marry you. there’s no doubt in his mind. 

you’d think your heart is about to lurch out of your chest the way it pounds against your ribcage. your palms are dripping with sweat, your knees are buckling about ready to give out on you, your stomach is in knots because, fuck yes, you want this. you want him. and– you guessed it– you want to bear his child. 

you don’t know how long you’ve been standing, blankly staring at him. before you can even speak up, seungcheol is dropping to his knees in front of you, both of his hands on your waist now.

you almost think he’s going to propose, leaving you even more speechless, but he leaves a soft kiss on your tummy. he’s gentle, kissing you through the fabric of your dress right above your navel. his lips venture down, though, and his pleading eyes look up at you waiting for your okay. 

you let out the breath you were holding, nodding your head.

and cheol swears he would lose it if he hadn’t already. 

he reaches for your panties under your dress, yanking them off your body and letting them pool at your feet. his hand moves to hold your dress up, wrinkling it in his grip. the other lifts one of your legs and drapes it over his shoulder before he finally dives into your cunt.

“cheol!” you gasp as you feel his tongue lay flat against your folds. your hands thread through his hair, gripping at his locks as he laps up your arousal. “sl-slow– fuck, baby– slow down,”

seungcheol is a giver, that’s always been common knowledge.

but you tend to forget that he is exceptionally greedy when it comes to eating you out. he can never get enough of you, slurping at your hole and sucking your clit till you’ve cum countless times on his face. a glutton for pussy, you could say.

it’s why he can’t slow down despite your request. his tongue digs into you while he noses at your clit, moaning against your cunt to bring you closer to the euphoric feeling you’ve been craving since he asked to fuck a baby into you. 

and it works. it always does. your moaning and whining and begging and it’s fucking music to his ears. 

“tastes so good, angel,” he moans against you, words coming out muffled. the vibrations shock your body and you can’t help but jolt, back arching off the door. your hands tighten their grip on his hair, pushing him further into your cunt. 

and that’s the thing about seungcheol being insatiable. you always end up greedier than him. it’s like an orchestrated plan. 

“more,” you beg through a whine, grinding your pussy into his face. “please more, feels s’good, cheollie,” 

he groans against you again, digging his nails into your thigh eliciting your pretty mewls. he tightly wraps his lips around your clit, flicking the swollen bud with his tongue. you throw your head back against the door, eyebrows knitting together as you’re overcome with pleasure. 

it hits you before you can even blink. you’re letting out a breathless mantra of seungcheol’s name, your stomach knots up, your breathing increases and you completely lose control as you let go all over his face. 

he keeps eating you out, whining while lapping up your release as if he’d been deprived of the taste of your cum for weeks. as if he hadn’t eaten you out just last night. and the morning before that. and three times in a row the day before.

when he’s finally done, he gently sets your leg back down. he observes the way you tremble, struggling to keep balance so his hands are back on your waist, releasing the wrinkled fabric and letting it fall back over your legs.

he stands to his feet, towering over you once again. his hard cock strains in his jeans and he gives you a look that screams ‘i need you’ to which you look up at him with hooded eyes. the sheen of your arousal on his skin, his disheveled hair is quite the sight.

“baby…” he pants, inching closer to you. 

“put one in me,” you whisper. you, too, have no doubt in your mind about this. about him. you want everything he’s offering to you. “fuck a baby into me, cheol, i want it. i want you.”

seungcheol thinks his life flashes before his eyes when he hears your words. he thinks, maybe, he mishears you for a second, but when you keep that expectant look on your face, he knows that this is very real. that he’s gonna fuck you full of cum and pray it takes. 

he closes the gap between you, pressing his lips against yours.

it’s not your average kiss. it’s hot and heavy and, fuck, you think he just might eat you alive. his body is flush against yours now and you feel his bulge digging into your tummy. 

feeling him like this has you craving the weight of his cock on your tongue, but you know cheol has no plan of relinquishing any type of control tonight. even if it does mean he’s missing out on the world’s best head.

you kick off your shoes and fumble with the button on his jeans while whining into his mouth. you eventually give up after the button doesn’t budge, wrapping your arms around his neck and grinding against his clothed bulge instead, basking in the way he groans back into your mouth.

he pulls back, swollen lips turning down in a cute pout, “baby, need to fuck you right now…”

you tug at his shirt, whispering, “then fuck me, cheol.” 

a guttural groan bubbles in the back of his throat. he pulls your dress up by the hem, growling a soft, “off.” 

“you first.” 

he raises an eyebrow at you but doesn’t say anything else, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it on to the ground. his hands are back on your dress, but you shake your head. 

“pants, too,” you whisper with a cheeky smile. 

“didn’t realize this was a strip tease,” he grumbles passively, stepping out of his shoes while his hands easily pop the button of his jeans and yanking them down his thick thighs. 

your eyes flit down to his boxers and your saliva pools in your mouth, threatening to spill past your lips at the mere sight of his clothed hard-on. 

he interrupts your gawking, gruff, stern voice filling your ears, “take your fucking dress off.”

you giggle, raising your arms. he’s not slow and he’s most certainly not gentle when he practically rips the dress up and off, discarding it into the pile of clothes that lay haphazardly on the floor.

he doesn’t even give you a second before grabbing– manhandling– you and guiding you to the bed. 

he lays you down and internally melts. “you’re so gorgeous, baby,” he mumbles, spreading your legs open and eyeing your pulsing cunt. “you’re perfect.”

you don’t know how it’s possible at this point, but you grow even hotter. feverish. you always love his praise and you know he’s well-aware of the fact because he smirks as you squirm and clench around nothing. 

“cheollie,” you whimper. 

his hands splay over your bare stomach and his cock throbs as an array of dirty thoughts re-enter his mind. 

“you’re gonna look so cute when i put a baby in you, isn’t that right?” he murmurs, hands ghosting over your skin before they land on your tits, fondling them through your bra without a care in the world. “gonna be such a pretty mommy…” he tells you, voice dropping an octave. 

you moan at the contact and his promiscuous words. arousal drools from your hole, surely soaking a puddle into the sheets under you. you’re not sure how much longer you can wait for him to impale you on his cock before you become a weeping mess. 

you whine, eyes threatening to close, “please make me a mommy, cheollie.”

seungcheol lets out a sharp breath, quickly removing his hands from your tits, opting on using them to push his boxers down. 

when his length slaps against his abdomen, he lets out a soft groan. he doesn’t wait for anything else, grabbing his cock, spitting on it, stroking it a few times and, finally, pushing his angry red tip against your hole. 

when the head of his cock gets trapped between the warm walls of your cunt, seungcheol curses. “tightest fuckin’ thing,” he mutters, shoving himself deeper and deeper, listening to your high-pitched whines and whimpers. 

and when he’s finally balls deep inside of you, his eyes flicker up from your pussy swallowing him whole to your contorted, fucked out face that he loves dearly. 

he’s breathless, asking, “you good, baby?”

you offer a broken nod and a weak, “s’good.”

it’s all he needs to hear before standing all the way up on his knees, grasping at your waist, and lifting your lower back off the bed. 

you squeal, “cheol! what are you–” 

you’re cut off by your own yelp when he pulls out and slams back into you without much of a warning. his cock reaches deeper than you think you’ve ever felt and it has your eyes rolling back and your hands pulling the sheets off the bed. 

his hips are relentless, continuously driving his cock in and out of you at an impressive speed while groaning out words of praise. you feel his tip bruisingly kiss your cervix and the pained pleasure brings tears to your eyes. 

“s-seungcheol–” you sob, arching further into the air. 

“i know, baby,” he moans in response. “but, fuck, you’re taking it so well. look so fucking pretty taking my cock like this.” he wants to throw his head back in pleasure, but he can’t bear to tear his eyes away from you. 

tears helplessly fall down the sides of your face and your mouth is cracked open, letting out the most gorgeous sounds. your tits spill from your bra, bouncing with every thrust and it’s too good. you look too fucking good. 

and you’re going to look even better with his cum leaking out of your cunt. 

you ache with the partial bridge seungcheol has you in. you’re not sure if you want to focus on the profound pain or intense pleasure, but when he drops your body back on the bed and his thumb catches your clit, you have no other choice. 

you gasp, crying out and clamping around him with an iron grip, “fuh-fuck! cheol– cheollie!”

he growls, rubbing the sensitive bud faster and faster. “you gonna cum for me?”

you pant, chest heaving as you nod your head vigorously. your eyes screw shut and your jaw drops further as you feel the familiar knotting in your tummy. your impending orgasm bubbles in the pit of your belly, a stream of whines and moans leaving your mouth. 

“cum f’me, angel.” he coaxes breathily, cock twitching and throbbing inside of you. “s’gonna feel so good, just cum for me.” he practically begs and you think it’s because he’s just as close. 

you can’t even find it in you to care because the onslaught of pleasure wracks your body. you clench around him once, twice, three times– and, before you know it, the knots in your tummy come completely undone and you’re left a shaking mess under him.

“that’s it, that’s my fucking girl.” he nearly whines, fucking you through your orgasm while you jerk and thrash on the bed. “god, i love this pussy, your body, everything, baby– i love you.”

you cry, silently praying he’ll press his lips against yours because, god, you love him, too. so much. but your voice is hoarse and you don’t think you can conjure up the words to give him. 

it’s like he reads your mind, slipping his hand in between your tits and pulling your body up by the material of your bra and wraps his arms around your body. his mouth presses against yours, swallowing all of your sounds as you swallow his. 

your arms wrap around his neck, sobbing in overstimulation as he kisses the life out of you.  when he pulls away, you wrap your legs around his waist, the heels of your feet digging into his lower back. you continue to whine, burying your face into his sweaty neck to muffle the noises. 

he holds you tighter, pounding into you without any regard to your sounds. “gonna fill you up, princess. gonna fuck you full of my cum, give you a baby, marry you,” he grunts loudly. “everything. gonna– fuck– gonna give you everything.”

you nod, sinking your teeth into his neck. 

and seungcheol can’t hold back, moaning your name before pressing his cock as far as he can go and stilling there. ribbons of his release coat your bruised walls and you feel the warmth radiate throughout your body. 

cheol’s pants slowly morph into breathy chuckles as he comes to terms with what he’s done. 

you shudder, feeling full in more ways than one. you pull your head from the crook of his neck, looking at his gummy grin and dazed eyes and you give him a lopsided grin. you look so content, even after he nearly fucked the life out of you. 

“was it too much?” he asks gently after a few minutes of silently staring at each other.

“a lil…” you whisper, weakly clamping around him. “you know i love it when you get like this, though.”

“i know.” he mumbles, unraveling himself from you to marvel at his work. he pulls out of you and watches the way his cum slowly dribbles out of your hole. he can’t help but groan at the sight. “you think this’ll be enough, angel?”

“a few more rounds probably wouldn’t hurt.” you giggle. 

“that can probably be arranged.” he hums cheekily. “but, seriously, baby. thank you… for today. you always know how to surprise me.”

“really? i kinda… thought you hated the whole picnic lunch date,” you murmur. “thought i ruined your day.”

“no, baby, i loved it.” he says through a smile, kissing the corner of your mouth. “it was great, i swear… i just thought about fucking a baby into you a little too hard.”

“i’m really glad.” you smile, “and, now that you hopefully did… how would you rate year 28?”

“10/10. truly the best birthday ever.” he says. “i got everything i ever wanted.”

© cheolhub — all rights reserved, please refrain from copying, reposting, modifying or translating my work on any platform.

[hazbinshusk]

blitzø x f!reader.

part two to this fic.

after inviting blitzø to stay the night in your bed, the two of you (and the rest of i.m.p.) deal with the sudden change in the dynamic between the two of you.

features blitzø typical language, pure fluff, and sexual innuendo. the man really has a thing for your boobs, okay? 1.4k

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

You wake up before your alarm, eyes opening reluctantly against the red light of a hellish morning. It takes you a moment to remember the events of the night before, but the shifting of the sheets over you as another body in the bed moves brings it all flooding back.

Both you and Blitzø had moved in the night and his hand is no longer wrapped around yours. You vaguely remember falling asleep after him, your hand still enclosed in his as his breathing had slowly evened out into a soothing, steady rhythm. His back is to you now, his body curled in on itself almost protectively. You take a moment to study him, the curve of his horns and the slim line of his back as it peeks out from under the blankets. Eventually you make a move to leave the bed, switching off your alarm and intent on a steaming shower.

You stop as something tightens reflexively around your leg as soon as you try to move, and you lift the sheets with a brow raised in curiosity. Blitzø’s tail is wrapped firmly around your calf, and as you watch, the spade of his tail twitches slowly back in forth against the underside of your knee. It’s oddly soothing, and you press your lips together against the smile that threatens to bloom on your lips. With a soft exhale you let yourself fall back against the mattress, turning your head to look at him again.

“Blitzø?” you say his name softly, almost unwilling to wake him up. You weren’t sure of the last time he’d seemed so… peaceful. You reach out to touch a gentle hand to his shoulder. “B? We’ve gotta go to work.”

The imp groans, rolling onto his back. He squints up at the unfamiliar ceiling, apparently confused. “The fuck…?”

His eyes snap fully open as the night before suddenly comes back to him, and he grimaces, slowly turning his head to meet your eye.

“Christ on a stick, I really spent the fuckin’ night here, didn’t I?”

You nod, amused by the almost bashful glint in his eyes. “You did.”

“Please tell me I at least got to bury my face in those sweet—”

“No, you didn’t.” you say bluntly, rolling your eyes before he can finish. Still, you feel a tingle of warmth through you at the suggestion. “How’d you sleep?”

He shrugs a shoulder, rubbing a hand over his face and groaning. “Fuck, my head hurts.”

“That’s what happens when you drink your weight in booze two nights in a row.”

“Bitch.”

You smirk at the lack of venom in his voice. “You wanna shower first? I don’t know if I’ve got anything you could wear, but I guess you could borrow a shirt or something if you need it…”

Blitzø groans again, more dramatically than before, rolling into your side and burying his face in your neck. You freeze as you feel the warmth of him press up against you, his face almost nuzzling into the curve of your collarbone. The sensation makes that warmth reappear inside you. The softest of cat-like purrs sounds from him for a moment before he stiffens, suddenly aware of the position he’s in.

He jerks away from you, falling off the side of the bed with a loud thump and a string of curses. The move tugs your leg across the bed, and his swearing continues as he realizes he’s effectively tied himself to you in his sleep. “Fuckin’ – ASS!”

His tail detangles itself from your leg as you sit up, and you swear you can see a pinkish hue to the scarred side of his face.

“…You good?”

“Shut up.”

“Nope,” you reply childishly, smirking when he flips you off. “Now, did you want to shower?”

Blitzø tries for seductive, raising an eyebrow at you from where he still sits on the floor. “You joining me? ‘Cause I gotta say the idea of you all soaped up and gag—”

“Blitzø.” you deadpan, climbing out of bed. His eyes drop over your figure as he realizes what you had been wearing in bed with him – just an oversized tee shirt and your underwear – and you swear his pupils dilate. “Are you sober yet?”

He blinks up at you, swallowing heavily before clearing his throat. “Judgin’ by the titty-fuckin’ brass band shovin’ its collective dick up my brain’s unlubed ass right now, I’d say yeah.”

You wrinkle your nose at the metaphor but squat down in front of him, studying his face for a moment. You nod as you make a decision, reaching out to wipe a spot of dried drool away from the corner of his mouth with your thumb. “Okay.”

Ignoring the part of you that reminded you that this was a bad idea, you leaned forward and pressed your lips against his in a chaste kiss, his cheek still cupped in your hand. Blitzø freezes for a moment before kissing you back, his hand finding your knee and sliding up to curl around the bare flesh of your thigh as he leans up into it. You feel his breath catch against your mouth, his tongue touching your bottom lip for a second. The kiss is soft and it’s brief and when you pull away Blitzø still looks surprised.

Giving him a small smile you stand, fingers curling in the hem of your shirt. “I’ve gotta shower. The coffee machine should start brewing in a few minutes if you want some.”

“I… what?!”

***

Loona doesn’t say anything when she climbs up into the van beside you, trapping you between the hellhound and the imp driving, but her raised eyebrow speaks volumes.

“Nothing happened.” you tell her defensively.

“Uh-huh.” Loona replies dryly, already focused on her phone, and you can basically feel Blitzø’s smirk on the other side of you. By the time you were showered and dressed he’d managed to summon up much of his usual bravado, and the fact that he was currently wearing your favorite 666 Wrath Radio tee shirt was serving as basically a spotlight broadcasting the idea that the two of you had fucked.

You suspect that that was the whole reason he picked it.

You jump as you feel Blitzø’s hand slide over your thigh as he reaches between your knees to shift gears. He touches you again as he withdraws, claws grazing along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. Goosebumps follow after them. You shiver and he snickers, and suddenly you’re regretting the fact that you’d chosen to wear shorts.

Loona eyes you as she notices the touch, and you roll your eyes. “Nothing happened.”

“Sure.”

***

“Is Blitzø wearing your shirt?” Moxxie asked as you entered the I.M.P. office, drawing Millie’s attention too. “Why is he wearing your shirt?”

A smile forms on Millie’s lips, her eyes shining with possibility. “Did you two…?”

“No!” you reply, dropping onto the couch with a sigh. “For Satan’s sake, no!”

Moxxie seems to be still stuck on the obvious. “But he’s wearing your shirt.”

“Aw, come on, Moxx.” Blitzø says, wrapping an arm obnoxiously around the other imp and pulling him unwillingly into his side. He ruffles Moxxie’s hair with his fist, grinning as he tries to shove him away. “You know if we’d fucked Y/N here would need the day off just to get those sexy little legs of hers workin’ again after all the shakin’ they’d been doin’!”

“Shut the fuck up, B,” you tell him as Moxxie finally manages to wrest himself Blitzø’s grasp, and the taller imp grins at you. “Or I’ll tell ‘em what actually happened last night. Okay, boss?”

“Ooh, ‘boss’? Tits, you’re gonna go and make me all tingly.”

You roll your eyes, but his smile widens from teasing to more pleased as he notices you trying not to smile yourself. “Can we just… go kill someone? Please?”

Blitzø claps his hand together, turning on his heel to face Loona. “Now you’re talking! Looney, what have we got on the books for today?”

Millie takes a seat beside you, leaning into your side to speak quietly enough that only you would hear. “What did happen last night?”

You shake your head, avoiding her eye. Blitzø catches your eye again as Loona goes through the day’s agenda in a detached tone of voice. He winks and you feel yourself flush. Millie’s eyebrows shoot up as she notices.

You clear your throat. “I… honestly, I've got no fucking idea.”

[msbigredmachine]

Voyeur (Jimmy Uso/OC) *Seven Paragraph Challenge*

A/N: Thanks to my girl @harmshake for another challenge! I know I'm supposed to be prepping for interviews but I needed a stress reliever.

By the way, it's my first Jimmy fic! 😁 He's a bit different to write and I'm a little nervous. I hope I did him justice.

Click here if you want to be on my tag list. If I’ve forgotten anyone please let me know so I can add you.

Word Count: 725

Warning: Smut

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

One wrong turn led you here. Dragged you down the unfamiliar, winding maze of the massive arena and unearthed a sight you should never have seen. But here you stood in the empty hallway, the sole witness to the sleazy tableau mere feet away. Only one month into your new job, you were convinced you had seen all of the wild antics of the wrestlers you were in charge of. But this…definitely took the cake.

Slumped against an equipment crate with an unknown woman kneeling between his spread legs, Jimmy Uso groaned. You stood frozen as you watched him watch her, his big paw cupping the back of her head as it bobbed back and forth, his grunts of pleasure mingling with the slobbers of her mouth around his cock. A voice in your head screamed at you to get out of there, that you shouldn't be watching this, but you just couldn't move. It was like you were mesmerized, unable to turn away from the erotic show. More interestingly, a powerful wave of jealousy washed over you, seeing the object of your affection being pleasured by someone else. You watched his mouth fall open and marveled at the beauty of his features; his full, parted lips, the thick healthy beard, the sheen of sweat lining the edges of his neat braids. As his head tipped backwards and his big body shivered in a telltale sign of an orgasm, you longed to be the one to do that to him, to bring him to that state of blood-pumping, soul-shaking euphoria. He let out a deep, satisfied exhale afterwards, gathering the woman’s hair in his fist and pulling her off him abruptly. Zeroing in on his exposed dick, your mouth watered. Fuck, it looked so good...

It was then that both parties finally sensed the intruding presence in the air. Looking up, Jimmy locked eyes with you before you even realized that you'd been caught. He grinned unashamedly, like the cat that got the canary, making your stomach lurch from a mix of horror and lust. The woman jumped to her feet, her expression emblazoned with embarrassment as she hurriedly wiped her mouth with her sleeve. You didn’t recognise her, but your hands itched to throttle her for even touching him. She yelped as Jimmy slapped her ass right before scurrying past you with no eye contact whatsoever. Jimmy zipped his pants back up and approached you, a smirk lining his gorgeous features as he eyed you up and down. 

"Ay, new girl…didn’t your mama teach you not to stare?" His dark gaze was penetrating and seemed to strip you down to your bare bones. Feeling naked, you instinctively crossed your arms over your chest, your face warming as he licked his lips and loomed over you, like a predator closing in on its prey. He looked so good in that red jacket; his cologne was sweet and wafted through your nostrils, causing your heart to pound and your pussy to flutter with desire.

"You liked that, didn’t you? Watchin’ her suck me off, huh?” he purred, cupping your chin with his fingers, smiling as the answer twinkled in your eyes. "I seen the way your fine ass been lookin’ at me since your first day here.” His thumb brushed over your mouth, teasing the seam that parted your lips. “You want me, baby? It's just us now, you can tell me. Don’t be shy.”

You couldn’t help yourself. His words were hypnotizing, seductive and laden with carnal promise that you ached for. Your response was to scoop his thumb into your mouth, staring into his dark, beautiful irises as you sucked it with intent, showing him that you were far more talented than that bitch could ever be. The soft groan that sounded from his throat stroked your ego, and you sucked it for a little longer, licking at the thick digit one last time before slipping it out of your mouth. The air between you crackled, hot and tense and fierce. Without taking his eyes off you, Jimmy dipped his hand into your pocket and took out your phone. He tapped in his phone number, sent a quick text message, and grinned as his own device beeped seconds later, confirming he now had your number too. 

“I just sent you my hotel info. Come over after the show. And bring your things. You stayin’ with me tonight,” he instructed, handing you your phone back. You regarded each other one final time, for now, both your bodies blazing with hunger and anticipation as he turned and walked away without another word.

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

A/N: Ok I'm going back to studying. I'll be back in full tumblr action next week!

Please leave comments! I love comments!

Credit to the owners of the gif and pic.

Tagging everyone else:  @jxtina-86 @wrestlingprincess80 @fame-ass-ers @southerngirl41 @alyyaanna @squishyguishy @jstarr86 @murrylove @thewarlordsworld @mzv11 @cozyaliensuperstar7 @nayys-world @hunnidmilly @cyberdejos2 @papireigns-05 @niknakbucks92 @captainwithoutmakingitlove @sovereigngoth @aisharmi @kennedi0818 @alichesmi @thesamoanqueen @herwickedlittlesins @harmshake @questionable-behaviour @tribalchiefreigns @2-muchsauce @thatbxtchsblog @raya-hunter01 @marchi36753 @lovelysuccess @christinabae @wooahmiri @thatonecarebear @tabletheofhead @rheaanddamianfan @vebner37 @hanley1577 @princessesareforsuckers @-naturally @joannasteez @bbygirlky18 @lilucey @theninthwonder @melaninsugababy @chocovibesonly @msbluehaz3 @scarlettnoir01 @heerah34 @empressdede @tbmotw @darkangelchronicles @visionarymode @marasdeathnote @aintnorainbows @meggylynnloves @shantinextdoor @harlemblipster @trc-punzel @afterdarkprincess @nbanenefrmdao @sassginaswanmills @purplehairgawdess @holisticcoach @girlwhogaf @royalkay23 @heyitsnajabrinee @stoner2k @reci1996 @catxo @iamimanim @lookmais @ts1mp0ne @shonny09 @lizzyd1ish @gomussy @m3llowww @skyesthebomb @final1miya

[absolutelybifurious]

Rules: you will be given a word. then you share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that starts with each letter of your word!

tagged by @pikapitou and @clytemnestraaa who gave me PLAY and DREAM so i guess i'll do both bc i'm a greedy bitch (from stripper and magic fic in no particular order)

P - “Please, Buck,” Eddie says, and he’s still got his eyes shut. He’s got his hands on the back of his couch, like he’s trying to pull himself up from a ledge.

L - “Like you need a job,” Albert huffs.

Buck drops his head back into the booth as the waiter drops the tequila off at the table. “I do need a job. I need consistency. I need something other than my parent’s shut-up-and-leave-us-alone money. Just because I’ve got that doesn’t mean I don’t wanna do something.”

A - And it’s like a plea, it’s like standing at the gates of Heaven and watching them creak and swing open. It’s everything Buck’s ever needed. He takes a couple more steps, and he stares the brown of Eddie’s eyes, and knows – knows how bad Eddie needs him. Knows, despite everything, despite every mistake, this is exactly where he’s supposed to be.

Y - “You’re scared?” Buck asks.

Eddie’s eyes rush up to his, wide again. “Yeah, I am, because…” He swats at one of the bugs that lands on his shoulder. “I get you think this is some storybook wonder or whatever, but it’s dangerous. Before you showed up tonight, I almost…”

D - “Don’t do that!” Buck lets out a breath, then starts the car. “Don’t say things like that. Don’t look at me like—I promised myself I wasn’t going to fuck you until you were well-rested. I am demonstrating Sisyphean levels of restraint, so you cannot look at me like that.”

R - Ravi is a flirt. It’s normal, but Eddie can’t help the feature length film that blares through him, of Buck and Ravi talking, flirting, of Buck realizing how much easier Ravi is, how nice Ravi’s eyes are, how funny and comfortable Ravi is to be around. He pictures Buck grabbing his shoulder, explaining that it’s been fun, that he does care about him, but there’s something easy and uncomplicated about Ravi. The thing with Eddie just wasn’t sustainable. It was never going to work.

E - Eddie’s eyes dip to Buck’s mouth, then up to his eyes. “Or what?”

“Or I’ll make you,” Buck says simply, and he’s nearly got his mouth on Eddie’s – does, in fact, have the first, technicolor burst of it, when a blur of motion catches in the corner of his eye.

A - skipping because there's already an A.

M - “Move,” Buck says. “I’m not listening to anything while you’re bleeding out in front of me.”

“Oh, shut up.” Buck’s so tempted to pick him up and toss him over his shoulder, just to shut him up. “It’s not, Buc—” Buck tries to push him out of the way, but Eddie plants his feet. “Can you—can you relax? It’s not that deep. I’ll treat it in a sec—”

that was so fun but also stressful bc my god i should use more words anyways, tagging @inell @tidesreach @eddiebabygirldiaz @playinginthunderstorms and @coldbam, your word is WAIT.

[veryace-ficrecs]

Wolverine Hurt/Comfort Fic Recs

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

tommorow's jokes have yet to be laughed at (or said) by ArchaicVampire - Rated T

“Logan? What are you doing up, mein freund?” Logan thinks up a million things he could say, like I’ll sleep when I’m dead or I was doing my usual midnight pushups, but he doesn’t say any of that. There’s no use bothering him with bullshit excuses. “You’re the only one who understands.” The skeletons in Logan's closet are haunting him again. There's only one man in the mansion that truly knows how he feels.

O Memory, where is now my faith. by justbefeathersandthequietofthefall - Rated T

Logan vs Pain. i.e. Dealing with the fact that superhuman healing doesn't stop getting injured hurting like a bitch.

Call Me by My Name by CNWrites - Rated G

They were misfits on a team of misfits. Logan was used to that kind of crap. If he had put down bets, he would have said that Nightcrawler was the kind of guy who couldn’t take it. Apparently, they were both sticking around. ____________________________ In which we see five times Logan used something other than Kurt's name, and one time he actually used it.

There's a room where the light won't find you by Notsogoodwithnames - Rated T

Logan knows he was made for nothing but war. He never went to school. He never even took care of many children. Not even your own children. He certainly isn't qualified to teach anything that didn't involve the shedding of blood. Xavier saved him. The X-men saved him. Not only from himself but in so many ways than he can explain. Taking care of these kids is not going to fix anything. Or clean his hands, not even a bit, he's aware of that. But if there's a chance that he can do something right, better than anything he ever did, to help these kids have a better chance than he did. Then he's going for it.

So this is what it feels like. by OwBoy - Not Rated

“Sir?” the woman said as she came more into the light. Her shoes made a dull clopping noise with each step she took towards Logan. “Wha…?” Logan asked, his voice slurred. “The girl,” the woman said, nodding toward Laura, “Is she your daughter?” Logan's gaze once again fell on Laura and he nodded. “I thought so,” a slight smile crossed the woman's features as she spoke. “She looks just like you.” “Where…” Logan’s words drifted off as he took in the rest of the room. “Where am I?” he asked. “You’re in Canada,” she answered. “In a refugee town given to mutants by the Canadian government. It’s called Eden.” “Eden.” Logan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The place he said didn’t exist, the place Laura and the other believed they’d find and make their new home, the place from that stupid comic book, it actually existed. AKA: What if Charles, Logan, and Laura had all made it to Eden alive and started a new life together? Fluff, angst, domestic life, and brewing romance.

The same bell chiming the hour on the clock, and everything changed. by justbefeathersandthequietofthefall - Rated T

He drifted through the hallways, with every recognisable face sending him reeling. A few awkward conversations later, and he was in the Professor’s office having years of history dropped on him. Despite the importance of this, he was barely present in the conversation – a fact which Charles didn’t miss, who told him to go let it all sink in and that they’d continue later. ‘Let it all sink in’?

Fucking hell.

Exploring Logan's mental state after the events of Days of Future Past

Never Take for Granted by CNWrites - Rated G

Kurt Wagner would consider himself a fairly appreciative person. Perhaps that instinctual value of appreciation was the reason he felt giddy, warm, so overcome with love for his friend that he could practically feel it bursting out of his chest. “Don’t move ‘round, elf.” A heavy hand rested on an arm that Kurt hadn’t even realized he was trying to move. “Yer hopped up on morphine, you idiot. Yer gonna break your stitches if ya can’t cool it.” Oh. Or maybe that was why. _______________________ In which Kurt spends some time in the med bay after taking a hit for Wolverine. Luckily, his friend isn't the kind of person to leave his side.

[melodious-madrigals]

for the title game (you can pick one or all):

fooled around (and fell in love) leave a light on i can do it (with a broken heart)

Yay! Since the only fandom I'm actively working on fics for right now is 9-1-1/Buddie, these will all be answered with ideas for buddie fics (that I absolutely cannot start wips for 😬)

**

fooled around (and fell in love)

—> Buck reads an article about that "36 Questions To Fall In Love" thing that was popular a few years ago, but doesn't believe a couple questions can make you fall in love that quickly (otherwise damn, what has he been doing so wrong?). Hen and Chim smell blood (and an opportunity) and dare him to try it with Eddie since Buck has sworn to Maddie that they are Totally Platonic Bros. Eddie thinks they probably already know most of this stuff about each other, so it's pointless, but agrees because free dinner is free dinner (and he'd do pretty much anything Buck asked, even if Hen & Chim are meddling). The questions don't *make* them fall in love with each other, but they might reveal that they're already there...

**

leave a light on

—> A sweet, introspective fic about the counter light in the S Bedford St kitchen, and the soft midnight moments it illuminates. Featuring first kisses, forehead touching, and slow dancing, because I'm nothing if not predicable. 

**

i can do it (with a broken heart)

—> Buck and Eddie have an oblique conversation that leaves Buck thinking his romantic feelings have been rejected and Eddie...not realizing that they talked, Romantic Stylez. Lights, camera, (bitch) smile!: Shenanigans ensue, because oh yeah, this is Roommates Era 2.0 and they're still sharing a space, a life, and a bed. With one half heartbroken, one half confused, and both determined to Not Lose the other, the only thing left to do is fake it 'til they make it (and they will).

Ft. Buck as: "I'm so depressed, I act like it's my birthday every day" 

And Eddie as: "I'm so obsessed with him but he avoids me like the plague"

**

Thank you! This was fun :D

[cyberrat]

73rd Batch Of Fics: 2nd Fill

Hanzo/Cole – Pokemon AU side story – Part 2/?(4-ish) – dream logic; soft; comfort – They're both living their best lifes.

---

It doesn’t feel weird to be sitting at a kitchen table one moment and standing outside on the dusty road in the next. It makes sense in that dream logic kind of way.

Hanzo is just standing there and watching as Cole works away. There are wooden logs and tools strewn about. Somewhere in-between is his shirt because it’s nice and warm, though Hanzo can’t see the sun. Not that he’s looking up when he has such a perfect view right in front of him.

Cole is glistening with sweat, his muscles jiggling gently with every movement as he saws a log in half. His belly is, too. Hanzo’s mouth waters as he bites at his tongue. It’s that or biting into Cole’s hairy stomach until he leaves marks in it.

Rockruff are bouncing around them but they don’t have any real features. Hanzo just stares at Cole.

“I wonder… is this my dream? You became friends with Munna and Musharna…”

Cole pauses briefly while putting the new wood pieces to the side, then throws them the rest of the way and stands up straight, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“Why do you think that?” he asks.

Hanzo is left just staring at him; at that sturdy, big body that he wants to eat as much as that stew that he can still taste on his tongue. Cole is a sweaty bastard – but he’s also so damn gorgeous. Hanzo can’t get enough of staring at him. Admiring him. Thinking about how all that power is right at his fingertips because Cole for some reason chose to just obey his every whim.

Hanzo shrugs slowly. He doesn’t know how to say that all without losing face.

Cole has started grinning. Not that crooked little thing he usually does; a big, goofy grin that makes him look different somehow.

Hanzo flushes when he realizes that, just like before, Cole has somehow heard his thoughts. He watches as Cole carefully steps over the half-constructed dog house to get to Hanzo, his big hands curling around Hanzo’s elbows to keep him from pulling away.

“Well ain’t that just the cutest damn thing,” he drawls softly. He is hot like a furnace. Hanzo can feel the warmth pulsating off of him as if it was something living. There’s sweat pooled in his clavicle. Hanzo can’t stop staring at that; or the bob of his Adam’s Apple… or the crooked teeth in his crooked smile as Cole keeps grinning down at him.

“Think this might be my dream after all,” he tells him with that deep, silky voice. He pulls Hanzo flush against his front and then curls his arms around him in a hug.

“You’re the meanest bitch I know,” Cole croons and somehow makes it sound like the sweetest pet name Hanzo has ever heard. “It’s so damn hard to get a read on you. You always look like fuckin’ murder an’ I wonder what the Hell might be goin’ on in that pretty li’l head o’ yours. And you were just horny all along, huh?”

Hanzo groans like it physically hurts to hear Cole say that. In a way it does. In a good way.

“Shut your mouth,” he mutters but it sounds more like a plea.

Cole is laughing at him again. He pets a hand over Hanzo’s head, then pulls back and grasps his chin, tipping his head back for a slow, warm kiss that Hanzo can feel throughout his body like a hot drink sliding down his throat.

When he pulls away after an eternity, Cole mutters: “Such a mean little bitch…” His hands are now framing Hanzo’s face, thumbs brushing over his cheek bones. He leans in for another kiss. When he pulls away again he whispers: “How about I finish up this here dog house… and then we have a nice cool dip? You can wash my back if you like…”

“You’re just lazy,” Hanzo mutters back without any real heat. In actuality he would very much like to get his hands on Cole’s… everything at this point.

Cole’s grin widens. He steps back and Hanzo blinks slowly.

When he opens his eyes again, they’re at a little lake.

He vaguely thinks it might be the one from Viridian Forest where he met Cole that very first time. The one he let his Mudsdale drink from while King and Hanzo had stood there, staring with their mouths open at the sheer size of the thing…

A little sound from behind has Hanzo turn around. There they are: Cole’s Mudsdale, absolutely ginormous – even more so next to King who has become a Ponyta once more.

Unlike the Rockruff, the both have their faces but they do not pay attention to Hanzo. Their heads are down and they peacefully eat grass despite the great splashing coming from the lake.

Hanzo turns around again. Cole is in there, making a great big ruckus as he splashes water onto his body to cool off.

Hanzo looks around. The forest is tinged the same purple that Coles kitchen was. There are no real sounds coming out from the trees; not like he remembers them from that time. A constant buzzing and chirping from various bird and insect Pokémon. It is quiet… other than the sound of the grass being ripped behind him and the splashing of Cole in front.

He moves a bit closer, eying how Cole cools himself off in the lake after a long day of work.

A small part tries to remind him that it hasn’t been a long day of work; that they’re just hopping through time and space as they please – but he ignores that. It’s not important. What is important is how Cole’s chest hair looks when it is flattened to his skin with wetness or how delicious his brown nipples look when they’re hard and sensitive from the cold…

Cole looks up and directly at Hanzo. He’s never seen him grin so much before. It seems to be just a constant on his face and it hurts to see. In a good way. Hanzo rubs at his aching chest, willing his heart to stop thumping so fast.

“Well don’t just stand there and come in. Though honestly… I kinda like that view.”

Cole’s gaze wanders down Hanzo’s body. Hanzo looks down and notices that he’s naked. When had that happen? He just stares at himself, then slowly moves closer to the edge of the lake, his toes sinking into the cool, silky mud that Cole had produced with his insane splashing.

Cole moves closer as well. He curls his arms around Hanzo’s legs and puts his cheek against his shins.

“Come in… I wanna play with ya, princess.”

Hanzo mutters something vaguely insulting. It’s probably something along the lines of Cole not calling him things like that, but he’s not paying attention to his own words. He slowly squats down, not dislodging the other, and curls his own arms around Cole’s head.

He presses a kiss on top of his head.

Yes… he’d come play with him.

[youarestellarverse]

Happy WIP Wednesday Tuesday!

Today, we have a special treat: a whole fic. Because I need the dopamine boost of having finished a thing. This might not make sense if you haven't read appendicitis fic, and you can't atm unless you downloaded it (that's why that feature exists, by the way! Always feel free to download my fics for your personal enjoyment! Just don't upload them somewhere else without asking).

But if you have read it and you want to read about Jason's stepmom freaking out in the aftermath, here it is!

Content warnings/dead dove tags: alcoholism, family enmeshment, parentification of the surrogate spousal variety, latent trauma from conservative Roman Catholicism (get it get it), past miscarriage, past stillbirth, medical neglect, domestic violence, emotional abuse

November 14th, 1:47 PM (Sweeney Todd, intermission) >Hey, Mom >I'm sorry to ask but I just threw up in a trash can for the 3rd time :(  >can you talk to dad for me?  >I feel worse than I did last night >I don't think I can play like this and if I talk to him myself he'll just get mad  >you know how he is >Annabeth can tell, she's been finding excuses to put her arm around me when we're onstage  >I already got dizzy once and she was the only reason my knees didn't give out >I just feel really awful. something's wrong. 

I can't sleep.

-

November 15, 2 AM

This is all my fault. I want to throttle my useless husband. I can't look at myself in the mirror. Thalia's voice is still ringing in my head.

The problem is, she's completely correct. This happened because I failed him. I wasn't there when he needed me. I was weak, and because of my weakness my baby almost died.

It would be the fourth time I'd killed a child I claimed as mine. Maybe it really is me. Maybe that bitch carrying him kept him from being poisoned by the nuclear waste inside me.

He's alive. I'm sure he is. T, as angry as she was when I left, has kept her promise and sent me a picture every 3 hours on the dot. The most recent one was 2 hours ago, and Jason was fast asleep with his stuffed wolf toy in his arms. He looked about twelve years old. I cried until I had a blinding headache. 5 glasses of cab so far. Headache gone, will come back worse, don't care.

The house is silent in a way I haven't heard in years.

Jason is so quiet, but he's never silent. He's always here, even if he's in the periphery. I never realized how much I rely on his presence, how sharply it would wound to know he's gone.

He looked like death. He had no color in his face at all, no warmth to his cheeks, no spark in his eyes. I almost didn't realize what was happening at first, because I'm so used to looking for a towheaded player among the sea of purple.

He got up. Number twelve. He took a step, stumbled, and collapsed, coughing on vomit as Percy Jackson screamed for the medic and doused him in ice water.

No one has ever glared at me like P did when they were loading into the ambulance. I felt like I was moving in slow motion as I ran down the bleachers to his side, but P looked at me like a lion protecting his cub. I had absolutely no doubt in that moment that if I touched Jason, Percy would have torn my hand clean off. That's how enraged he was.

I deserved it. I deserve every bit of shame I'm feeling now. I should have put my foot down the minute I got Jason's text and I CERTAINLY shouldn't have let R see it. Part of me wants to leave, to grab Jason from his sister's apartment and take him with me to Milan, but I know I have no claim over him. I should have fought harder when his father talked me out of adopting him.

I keep staring at the pictures T sent me. Jason looks so small and frail in that bed, with tubes in both arms and huge circles under his eyes and that horrible dye job his sister did.

I want nothing more than to hold him and soothe his pain. I poison everything I touch. If I don't stand between him and his father, his sister will eventually break or lose in a show of force. He needs me, I know he needs me, but every mark I leave on him bleeds.

I'm no Mary. I'm no Merrhoe. I'm Jezebel, just like my father said. The whore of Babylon. Wicked. Beyond salvation. I don't know why I ever thought I could stroke his beautiful angel wings without soiling his feathers like petroleum drowning a seabird.

-

November 15th, 9 AM >Just checking in >Thalia's finally asleep, she's been awake since yesterday :( >anyway I'm doing ok, they said I can go home today or tomorrow >I'll be at T's for about 6 weeks. You should come by for breakfast sometime. >(I'll talk to her first. I know she's mad, but I think she'll understand if I explain. You're both just trying to protect me, and I think she knows that.) >Anyway. Thanks for trying. I hope Dad didn't blow up at you because of me. >There's sugar-free gatorade in the garage, the waffles I made from sourdough starter in the freezer and naproxen in my med cabinet. Stay hydrated and away from tylenol today, ok? >And try a plain waffle right out of the freezer if your stomach feels funky. >Always works for me when it's not, y'know, sepsis. ^_^; [a photo of Jason in his hospital bed, still looking pale but slightly less pallid. There's a whisper of color returning to his face and he has enough energy to smile, albeit tiredly. He is using one hand to lift Lupa the Second's paw in a wave.]

-

November 15th, 11 AM

I have many regrets.

I barely remember what happened. There are three empty bottles of wine in the sink and an open one on the counter. I think I threw a glass at my husband. I think I called him a murderer. I'm pretty sure he slapped me, but I think I deserved it, and I must have hit back since he has a bruised cheek and won't speak to me. (I think he deserved it too. My husband and I deserve each other, really.)

My poor little Moses knew somehow that I got lost in vino last night. When we lived in California and his father was still screwing his PA, I used to bring Jason with me on tastings. He would charm the staff by talking about the different cheeses, and I would skip the bucket while he had their attention.

He'd call a car and hold my arm and let me lean on him as we went inside. He'd make me a cool cloth and some rice, like M. taught him, and keep me hydrated and medicated until I slept it off.

It's been years since I embarrassed myself like that. Still, he knew. Like always, he didn't judge me or insult me or call me names or accuse me of humiliating him; he just made sure I was okay as best as he was able.

I was in my car with my keys in my hand before I remembered Thalia threatening me with a custody battle to keep me from going anywhere near him until she gives the okay.

I hate her. If it got that far, she'd win no matter how good Julie is in court. Thalia is the Mary to Jason's Christlike goodness— the frightened young woman who sheltered that sweet little boy as he grew into a glowing, golden hero. All she'd have to do is look at the judge the way she looked at me: shaking with fury, but teary-eyed from the kind of fear that can only be born out of agape. The purest, highest form of love.

She'd win the case before I even walked through the door, and I would have nothing left to buoy me through the waters of my own shame.

~fin

DAMMIT AO3 I WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF POSTING A FIC

[stealingyourbones]

…. Y’all know that being a twin shouldn’t be an entire personality trait in Twin!AU’s right?

Ok sure I enjoy the identity shenanigans that can occur when one twin is mistaken for another or the “oh fuck you too look exactly alike” realizations but that’s like the only thing y’all do. There’s so much more shit you can tap into with a duo being identical twins and most writers I see simply don’t play into the more subtle options at all.

I am an identical twin. If you want proof just ask @bonebrokebuddy. We even have the same pseudonym and everything. I’ve lived with this lil shit for all of my life. This comes from actual experience as someone who’s an identical twin and I need to nitpick this stuff because it irks me so much.

This is a light critique on people who write twin AUs to give them some pointers on some common issues I see in these fics.

1.) Being a twin isn’t a personality trait

Being a twin is the exact same thing as having another sibling in close age range as you. You share and talk about similar hobbies, clothes (by that I mean they steal them from you), communal items (although for twins over half of the gifts you get are for you to ‘share’)

You still have your own personality, your own hobbies, your own outfit preferences, your own self. The entirety of the character shouldn’t revolve around “oh I have a twin”. That form of writing makes your character more shallow and less 3D. It’s like having a sibling. Sure you share stuff but that doesn’t mean you ARE them.

People centre fics solely around the fact that a certain character has a long lost twin. Sure I get it, it’s sad and you can tug on some heartstrings in your writing, but being a twin you only really have a slightly better connection with that twin than a brother or sister of similar age. Sure some people have a much stronger connection with their twin but in my experience, it’s just the same deal with a sibling but you have to share more things with each other. Make it a sibling connection. You don’t have to say “twin” every time you refer to them. You can simply say “sibling”, “brother/sister”, or “that fucker that steals all my sweatshirts” 

2.) surprisingly enough, identical twins aren’t actually identical.

Sure, they share almost the exact same DNA as someone else, but there will be slight differences that people who have known the two for a long time can use to differentiate them from eachother.

I could go on an on about epigenetic and nature vs nurture but long story short: if you’re a long lost twin, they’re not gonna look exactly the same as you. If a relative or long time friend sees the other twin, they will notice that something is off. This fact alone should be utilized in fics more often. I don’t see it at all in writing and you can use it to spice up the narrative super easily.

Slightly different eye color.

Different freckles/moles/Scars/blemishes

A different smile since their teeth didn’t grow in the exact same way.

Slightly different facial features (ie. Eye shape, nose shape, lip shape, etc)

Different gate/way they walk and how they carry themselves.

Different personality. Again Nature vs Nurture. They won’t act the same if they’ve been separate for dozens of years. Their personalities will vary greatly.

Different sounding voice. Different cadence/speech pattern, sound slightly higher pitched or deeper, different mannerisms and quirks in their speech.

These type of things will distinguish twins from each other and for some reason I rarely see it mentioned.

Because epigenetics is a bitch you can also play around with the wild shit that cells reading genes differently can do.

Have one twin have a deadly disease while the other is completely fine

Twins can have different mental disorders from eachother. One twin can have ADHD and Autism while the other just has ADHD.

One twin can be completely straight while the other is in the LGBTQIA+ spectrum. They could both be on the spectrum but they each could different flavors of fruity.

That’s all I can think of at the moment but I think you get the gist.

3.) the wild shit twins get asked and are used to

Most common question you get as a twin is simply: Are you guys twins?

Other ones that are more wild but less common:

Can you feel each other’s pain? (Obvious response is to say ‘let’s find out’, gently puch the twin in the arm, and look at the person who asked and deadpan say “I felt nothing”)

Can you read each other’s minds/are you psychic? (Yeah the answer is a no but we memorized a series of numbers to convince people otherwise)

Who’s the oldest?

Sure they’re mundane and won’t come up in most fics you write but I want it to be said that these questions exist and are semi frequently.

We get mistaken for each other so much we will respond to each others name. Wether your twin is actively in the room with you or not, you respond to their name as well. I don’t see people mistaking twins in fics nearly enough. There are people I have known for years and they can still mix us up. It’s very common to get mistaken for each other over 5 times in one day.

4.) People don’t expect you to be identical.

When you haven’t told people you are a twin and they see the same person pass them but wearing wildly different outfits, their first thought isn’t “wow they must have a twin.” It’s actually “guess they changed their clothes in the middle of the day.”

I knew someone who, for three entire months, simply assumed that I changed my outfit a lot for absolutely no reason. They thought my twin and I were the same person and we didn’t bother on correcting them because we thought they already knew.

It is almost only when you’re in the same room together people piece together that there is actually two of you. This can easily lead to a bunch of shenanigans. People don’t instantly assume that you are a twin and they’re talking to the wrong person, they just think you ARE that person. If a long lost twin is in a place completely out of the way for that other twin to be, they may get a “has anyone ever told you that you look like [other twin]?” Or “oh hey [other twin]!” Their instant thought isn’t to assume that who they’re meeting is a twin, just them or someone who looks super similar.

Feel free to add on more cause that’s all the immediate stuff I can think of. I genuinely hopes this helps writers because it’s not really easy to find POV of twin experiences for writers out there and I thought I might try to help.

[heavyhitterheaux]

She Gets the Last Word Part 3

First Lady of Private Garden Fic

AN: You're going to learn one way or another not to mess with the First Lady

Synopsis: An Instagram live featuring Anitta was the absolute last straw when she mentioned the First Lady. She catches wind of it and realizes that there is truly only one way to settle this

Pairing: Husband!Jack Harlow x Wife!Reader

Slight NSFW 18+

Requested by my baby @hoodharlow​ 😘🥰

Read part 1 and part 2 first

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

“Baby?” You said to Jack in order to get his attention. The both of you were laying down with Jack lying on top of your chest.

“Yes mamas?”

“I’m thirsty so I’m going downstairs. Do you want anything?”

“You.”

“Jackman! I meant to eat or drink!”

“Uh yeah, my wife.”

“I can’t with you. Baby, move over so I can get up.”

“No.”

“I’ll be right back!”

“You have thirty seconds starting now.”

“Jack, it’s going to take at least thirty seconds to get your ass off of me.”

“Not you fat shaming me.” Jack said while looking down at you from his rightful spot on top of your boobs. 

“No one even said that so stop being dramatic. I’ll be right back.”

“Give me a kiss and I’ll let you go.”

“Fine.” You leaned down to plant multiple kisses on your husband and when he was satisfied, he finally rolled off of you so you could get up.

“I’m already missing you! Don’t take too long!”

“I promise I won’t, it’ll be less than five minutes..”

While you were downstairs, Jack suddenly got a notification on his instagram saying that Anitta went live and he had been mentioned. He immediately rolled his eyes and wasn’t going to bother clicking on it since he knew that this was dangerous territory from previous experiences. You had almost fought her at least two times before and he was trying for there not to be a third time. 

And once he did, he immediately regretted it.

“Shoutout to Donatella Versace for custom-making this outfit, and shoutout to Jack Harlow 'cause he's gonna be taking it off of me tonight, I need everyone to make sure that his bitch of a wife is occupied while he does.”

Oh, fuck. 

Not wanting for you to find out, Jack quickly left the live, and simply threw his phone to the side and waited for you to come back.

He was trying to do something to occupy himself and keep his composure before you came back so that you wouldn’t notice that anything was wrong.

Two minutes later you came back and noticed that Jack was looking a little nervous which left you confused.

“Smush? You okay?” You asked concerned and brushed one of your hands through his curls as you settled back down beside him.

“I’m fine, baby girl.”

“Then why do you look so nervous? Did something happen in the two minutes I was gone?” You asked while laughing wondering what possibly could have occurred. 

“Nope.”

“I’ll get it out of you sooner or later. I always do.”

“It’s nothing mamas.”

“Don’t you think I know when you aren’t telling me the truth by now? We’ve been together for almost ten years.”

“I just… I don’t want you to worry about it. Let’s just finish watching the movie.”

“Jack, you don’t want me to worry about what exactly?”

“Baby girl, it’s nothing. I promise.”

“If it wasn’t nothing, you wouldn’t be this nervous to tell me. Baby, come on. Whatever it is, we’ll get through it and deal with it like we always do.” You said while leaning over to kiss his cheek. 

Just then your phone went off signaling an incoming facetime call from your best friend Saweetie and you immediately answered.

Now Jack knew he was in for it because he had a good feeling as to why she was calling you.

“Hey! What’s going on?” You answered with a smile. It had been about two days since the last time you two had a facetime call. But, being best friends you made sure to text each other every day.

“BITCHHHHHHHHHHH!!! DID YOU FUCKING SEE ANITTA’S LIVE?!”

“What? Girl, why would I watch that? I could care less about her.”

“Baby, you about to care about this. She said and I quote “Shoutout to Donatella Versace for custom-making this outfit, and shoutout to Jack Harlow 'cause he's gonna be taking it off of me tonight, I need everyone to make sure that his bitch of a wife is occupied while he does.”

You were quiet for a few minutes trying to take in what Saweetie had just told you.

Oh, so she was really asking for it now

“I’m sorry, what? Come again?”

Jack knew he was done for. 

“And she and her fans were tagging Jack during the entire thing! He didn’t say anything to you?! I think they were saying he logged on at one point but didn’t say anything.She was eating that shit right up when her fans started bashing you.”

Jack was now trying to make an escape out of the bedroom, but you quickly caught him out of the corner of your eye. 

“Jackman Thomas stop right there and get your ass back here. Di, let me call you back.”

“Oh shit, don’t kill your husband.”

“No promises.”

Once you hung up, you threw your phone to the side and crossed your arms while looking up at your husband.

“Pookie?”

“Yes?” Jack answered while rubbing the back of his neck indicating his nervousness.

“Did you log onto her live and not tell me?”

“Umm?”

“Did you hear her say that?”

“Kinda sorta.”

“JACKMAN EITHER YOU DID OR YOU DIDN’T. SO WHICH ONE IS IT?”

“I heard it, but baby I didn’t mention it because she’s not important!”

“Oh, so this is why you were acting all nervous and shit when I came back, huh?”

“Y/N, let it go, please. You know that she is nothing compared to you. I love you and that’s it. That’s all. End of story.”

“Nuh uh. I told that bitch that she had one more time and this is strike three. Imma kick her ass now.”

“BABY!”

“No! She’s asking for it and she doesn’t know when to quit.”

“This is exactly what she wants! She wants to get a reaction out of you.”

“Well she fucking got it. I can’t believe you weren’t even going to say anything to me.”

“Babe….”

“Admit it. You weren’t. Saweetie had to be the one to tell me and not the person that I’m married to. Do you not see anything wrong with that picture?”

“I thought because she’s not important that it wouldn’t matter.”

“Well you thought wrong.”

“Come here, stink.” Jack sat down on the bed and pulled you onto his lap and kissed your forehead.

“What?” You asked while crossing your arms.

“First of all, lose the attitude before I fuck it out of you. Second, I love you. You know that right?”

“I know, I love you too." You muttered back while trying to look anywhere and everywhere except your husband's eyes.

“You know you’re the only one for me, right?”

“Yes, but you’re mine and I can’t understand why people want to be so disrespectful of that.”

“I agree baby. But you are literally the only person to ever make my heart skip a beat and have butterflies and shit. No one else will ever come close.”

“Stop smush!” You exclaimed while hiding in the crook of his neck.

“I’m serious!” Jack moved you to the side so that he could lift your chin in order to be able to face him. 

“I know you are. I just…. It’s hard to see people talk about your husband and be disrespectful. It’s like we’re married so she needs to back off. If she doesn’t want to be single so bad, she needs to get a boyfriend.”

“I know and the best thing we can do is to ignore it.”

“But!” Jack immediately cut you off with a kiss. 

“Baby, promise me.”

"I'm from the southside of Atlanta and you know good and damn well that I don't play that shit. Someone needs to put that bitch down."

"Y/N, I'm serious."

"I know shit is serious when you're calling me by my first name."

"I'm going to need for you to do better. All of this fighting shit needs to stop. We're trying to build our future and we need to focus on that and not you kicking someone's ass on a weekly basis."

"But…"

"I don't care if they deserve it either. I need you to promise me and once again lose the damn attitude."

“I promise.” you replied and Jack leaned down to kiss you once more. 

Not being satisfied with your tone of voice, Jack then eyed you and made a face.

"Lay down. Now.”

"Or what?"

"One of these days Mrs. Harlow is going to learn to stop testing me and getting an attitude." Jack replied while reaching under your shirt and massaging your left breast which resulted in a soft moan erupting from you.

"I.. don't have..  an attitude." You replied between breaths as Jack began to place soft kisses on the side of your neck that was facing him before replacing his mouth with his hand slightly choking you making you whimper.

"You sure about that?" Jack asked while slipping your shirt over your head and making the motion to slide you off of his lap and lay you down.

You stayed quiet as Jack then removed your shorts leaving you completely bare in front of him.

"I asked you a question, baby." You heard him say as he reached down to massage small circles on your clit making you whimper.

"I'm sure." 

"Well I beg to differ. Keep them legs spread."

You, Danielle, Saweetie, and Nicole decided to do a small get together and the four of you decided to go to dinner and go bowling afterwards since Jack was currently in New York and you could use the company and the distraction from the instagram live that had taken place.

All of you were in Atlanta, and Nicole wasn't taking any summer classes so you invited her to come along.

You admit that you weren't very good at bowling. None of you were, however, it was still fun nonetheless.

It was your turn when you heard the familiar voice of the one person who you couldn't stand.

"Well, well, well, look who it is. You actually let your husband go somewhere by himself?"

Anitta.

You were doing your best to ignore her and focused on the pins that were staring back at you at the end of the lane to knock as many down as possible.

"No this bitch didn't." You heard Saweetie say from behind you.

"She needs to take her ass on somewhere."

"I know you heard me, little girl."

You tossed the ball down the lane before turning to the left to look at her. 

"I'm going to need for you to stay over there and mind your own business."

"Or what? Is Mrs. Harlow going to beat my ass? I'd like to see you try. Don't like being called little girl huh?"

"Oh shit, her hoe ass is asking for it now." Danielle added while looking over at her.

"Keep in mind, my husband isn't here to hold me back so watch your mouth."

"You would've thought that she learned from the last two times." Nicole muttered while rolling her eyes.

Danielle then stepped in front of you to peer up at Anitta since she was shorter than her as well.

"Walk away. You don't want to go there with her."

"Aw! How cute! Big sister has to step in and fight your battles for you."

"Not at all. She can defend herself just fine. However, if you step towards my little sister, you're going to have to deal with me too."

"I'm not scared of you or her little self for that matter."

"Famous last words." Nicole said while shaking her head. 

"Anitta, I have given you multiple opportunities to walk away and yet you're still over here in my face."

"Hmm oh how did you like my Instagram live? Can't wait until Jack can take a dress off me."

All you saw was red.

You reached past Danielle and lunged at her making her fall backwards and slide under one of the many chairs that was set up near the lane she was bowling in.

"Get off of me you crazy bitch!"

"Oh! I got your crazy bitch alright!" You said while landing another punch as she was trying her best to push you off of her.

Just then Nicole noticed one of Anitta's friends trying to come up behind you to attempt to throw a punch at you and she immediately stepped in.

"Don't you fucking touch my cousin, bitch!"

Two more of Anitta's friends came over to attempt to defend her and that was when Danielle as well as Saweetie stepped in.

“Bitch if you make me break a nail I swear!”

“See, yall talked all that shit and can’t even fight!”

“We from the southside of Atlanta and we don’t play that shit.”

At one point, you were now standing and grabbed Anitta by her hair as she was kicking and screaming and threw her down one of the bowling alley lanes actually knocking down the pins.

"Now that's what I call a strike." You said aloud and could hear Danielle, Saweetie, and Nicole laughing.

You looked down at your right hand to see that one of your nails had broken and you rolled your eyes.

"Your dumbass made me break a nail."

All you could hear was Anitta moaning as you squatted down to face her.

She was bleeding from only God knew where and you didn't feel bad for her one bit.

She got what was coming to her and she was asking for it for almost eight months.

"I warned your bitch ass to stay away from me and my man. Now look what happened. I don’t know why your ass is up here crying. Maybe next time you'll actually listen to directions and stay the fuck away. And hire a new hairdresser. Those tracks came out a little too easily. I always get the last word." You state while tossing the loose track in her face. 

Just then you heard sirens outside and looked at your older sister with wide eyes.

"Go out the back go go! I'll get our purses." You heard Saweetie say as you slipped off your heels in an attempt to be able to get your car faster. 

Once the four of you were safely in your car, the realization of what had just happened was finally starting to set in.

"Finally! That bitch deserved it!" Nicole exclaimed while checking to make sure that she didn't break any nails.

"She did but…"

"But what, Y/N?"

"Jack is going to be so mad at me."

---

Meanwhile Jack was in New York currently looking at a necklace that he got for you. It had his initial J on it and it was in rose gold. He couldn’t wait to be able to give it to you when he flew back to Atlanta in the next three days.

Just then Urban shoved his phone into Jack’s face to show him something on his timeline on instagram. 

“Watch this! Watch how this girl literally threw the other one down the lane in the bowling alley!”

Jack took Urban’s phone and was watching the fight unfold from the beginning. 

“Got damn, did she tear her tracks out?!”

“And she’s so much smaller in comparison to the other girl, but she kicked her ass. I wonder what started the whole thing.”

“Who knows?”

“How much do you wanna bet it was probably over a guy?” 

“Probably was. Do you think Y/N will like this?” Jack asked, showing Urban the necklace.

“If it has anything to do with you, you know that she’ll love it.”

Just then Jack had an incoming facetime call from you.

“And look at that, you talked her up.” Urban said while walking out of the room.

“Hey my baby!”

“Hey babe! How are you?”

“I’m good, you surviving without me?” Jack asked and you simply shrugged.

“I’m doing the best that I can, but I mean the girls can only keep me entertained for so long.”

“EW! SPARE US THE DETAILS!” Jack heard Nicole yell and all he did was laugh.

“Well it won’t be too much longer and I’ll be back. And what are you still doing up?”

“You already know that I can’t go to sleep unless I talk to you first.”

“I know.”

Just then you moved your hand in front of the camera and Jack caught sight of your broken nail.

“Baby!”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I just got your nails done before I left and you broke one already?”

“Oh, you know me. Just a little clumsy at times. I’ll call her to get it fixed tomorrow.”

“You okay, mamas?” Jack asked while eyeing you. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something wasn’t right.

“Yes, why do you ask?”

“I don’t know…. You just seem a little off. I just want to make sure my baby is good.”

“I promise I am. I’m about to go to sleep so I love you and can’t wait to see you on Friday.”

“Love you too, baby girl.”

Liked by jackharlowsource, laflare1017, champagnepapi, druski2funny, normani, theestallion, and 3,293,861 others

theshaderoom: yall remember that video we posted the other day with two girls fighting in the bowling alley in Atlanta? we have officially gotten word that it was none other than Y/N the First Lady of Private Garden and Anitta!! Eye witness accounts state that Anitta went up to Y/N first, however it is believed that the First Lady threw the first punch! We’ll be sharing details as we learn more!

jackharlowsource: oh shit does jackharlow know his wife is still out in these streets fighting? 

normani: YESS MY BABY BEAT HER ASS! SHE DESERVED IT!

druski2funny: y/ninsta THREW HER DOWN THE DAMN LANE!!!! jackharlow GET YOUR WIFE LMAOOOO

lilnasx: all I saw were tracks flying lmaoooo wheww anitta you should have known better girl! y/n don’t play about her man! strike three!

sza: I AM SCREAMINGGGGGGGG

jackandy/naremyparents: come on y/ninsta we love you, but how much longer are you going to keep fighting people for?

thestallion: wait one damn minute, I spy saweetie, mortirolo, and danivalentine 😭😭😭

urbanjack24: did yall notice how all of them are staying quiet as hell? lmaooo but anitta deserved it. y/ninsta kept warning her

druski2funny: anitta how them floorboards taste? you shoulda known better than to play with my girl!

lilnasx: WAIT A MINUTE! I AIN’T KNOW mortirolo HAD HANDS LIKE THAT!

softtcurse: so sad I missed this in person. y/ninsta I am so proud of you for standing up for yourself and kicking that bitch’s ass

urbanwyatt: YASMIN!

softtcurse: urbanwyatt what? what I say?

jackharlowsource: DJ drama is going to end up dropping her ass if she keeps this up. Jack has the patience of a saint but he deserves better from his wife. this makes all of privategarden look bad

Jack was in disbelief as he scrolled through the multiple comments and the tags of the most recent post on the shade room.

All of PG was with him and no one was uttering a word, not knowing if it was safe to do so or not. Jack’s jaw was clenched and the famous neck vein was sticking out.

“Umm, Jack?”

He didn’t even bother responding. 

“Look I know you didn’t want her fighting but the girl deserved it.” Shloob said while passing his blunt to Urban who had a look of disbelief on his face.

“And she didn’t say anything to you?”

“Nope, and she had called me that night and acted as if nothing was wrong.”

Jack was then trying to call you, but it would go to voicemail every single time.

“She has to know that you know. I have never seen a time when she didn’t answer a call or a text from you.”

Jack then sent a text to Neelam who he knew already was aware of what you had done.

Jack- I need to get on a flight to Atlanta in the next hour

Neelam- You still have some things to do first

Jack- It can wait. I need to go and talk to my wife

Neelam- Just call her

Jack- Nah, this needs to be said in person

Jack had then landed in enough time in order to get to your show and was going to confront you before you went on stage. He couldn’t wait until after.

All he could see was red and couldn’t believe that you would keep something like this from him.

Once he got to the arena, Brandi was the first one to spot him and was trying her best to calm him down before he went to see you.

“Jack, I know you’re mad...”

“With all due respect Brandi, you don’t know a got damn thing right now. Where is my wife?”

Brandi simply pointed in the direction of your dressing room and Jack was soon in the doorway. He peeked in to see you, Julissa, Danielle, Saweetie, and Nicole and made a note to get on them later for letting you fight and not pulling you away.

Nicole was the first to spot him. 

“Oh, shit.” You heard her mutter and turned to see that you were now face to face with a pissed off husband.  

“Everybody, out now. I need to talk to my wife.”

Everyone filed out of the room and you were actually legit scared of what was about to happen.

“Y/N….”

“Yeah, pookie?”

“Cut the fucking shit right now. So you decide to fight her even though I told you to let it go? And end up on TMZ and The Shade Room? Oh, and not answering your phone when I called you? You knew what the hell you did and you weren’t even about to tell me?”

“Babe…”

“Don’t fucking interrupt me because I’m not done. Do you… do you not realize how that makes you look? How it makes all of PG look? You’re better than that, at least I thought you were. You get mad when I keep shit from you but you turn around and do the exact same thing.”

“Wait…”

“I’m not waiting for a got damn thing. You promised me that you would stop doing this shit and I turn around and here we are again? Why are you even crying? Your tears really aren’t doing anything for you right now so stop. I am so disappointed in you, I can’t even begin to explain how much. So, this is the type of example you want to set for our kids? Because you know they’re going to see this one day, right?”

“That is not fair and you know it! I was defending myself because she legit started it. I was going to ignore her, but she kept going!”

“And I’m about to get on Saweetie, Danielle, and Nicole for just letting it happen.”

“Don’t blame them.”

“How can I not? They were with you weren’t they?”

“Baby, I’m sorry, okay?”

“Nah, sorry is not cutting it. I am so tired of you pulling this shit.”

“I…”

“You cannot always fight your battles with your actual fists all the damn time, you’re an adult so you need to act like one. We aren’t in high school anymore.”

You were sitting there quiet because for once you were at a loss for words.

“Like Y/N, you promised me and what? You forgot and that shit went out the window?”

You remained quiet and didn’t offer a response.

“So, you don’t have anything to say now?”

“I said I was sorry, smush.” You tried to come closer to Jack to embrace him, but he immediately backed up.

That definitely stung.

“You can be sorry all you want, but it won’t mean anything if you don’t do better.”

Without another word, Jack left out of your dressing room and you were left to sit there and reflect on everything that had happened in the past week. The tears wouldn’t be stopping anytime soon. 

He then cornered Saweetie, Danielle, and Nicole in the hallway and they knew that they were about to be in for it.

“So, yall just let her fight her huh?”

“Jack…”

“No, I told yall to keep an eye on her and keep her company, not have her fight and the three of you jump in too! You didn’t even try to stop her!”

“In our defense, Anitta did start talking shit first.”

“Okay? Ignore that shit. All three of you are too old to be acting like that and that is the exact same thing that I told her.”

“We had to defend her!”

“Yall trying to justify what you need is not going to fly with me. And Danielle you’re the oldest so I kind of expected more from you. That’s your little sister yes but come on.”

“Jack if you would have heard how she was talking to Y/N...” Danielle started to say but was immediately cut off. 

“I’m done talking about this, I just…. The four of yall are dead wrong.”

“Wait, Jack where are you going?”

“Tell her I’ll see her at home, I’m too pissed off right now.”

It had been two weeks since everything went down and it was safe to say that Jack was barely speaking to you.

You couldn’t blame him, however, one thing that you’re always going to do is defend yourself.

There was so much tension in the house and Urban was doing his best to keep the peace, but it didn’t seem like anything was working.

You had made one of Jack’s favorite desserts as a peace offering and he didn’t even touch it.

2fo ended up eating it. 

Wanting for this to be over with, you went upstairs to your shared bedroom to confront him.

Jack was scrolling on his phone and didn’t even make a point to look at you when you walked into the room which has never been the case. 

“Baby?”

“What?” Jack answered you but still didn’t take his eyes off of his phone. 

“Are you still mad?”

“Not as much as I was before but yes.. Did you need something?”

“I… I really am sorry.”

“You know how you can prove to me that you are?”

“What’s that?”

“You seriously need to go to therapy and anger management.”

“Oh…”

“Were you expecting me to say something else?”

“I really didn’t know what to expect.” You replied being completely honest. 

“Seriously, you need to do it because I don’t feel comfortable bringing a child into this situation.”

“Jack…”

“No, I'm not budging on this. I’m not having you walk around here mad and angry at the world because someone decided to say something about one of us with you carrying our child. They can sense that shit. And you aren’t about to put yourself or our child at risk. You know how your anger is.”

You sighed before replying to him knowing that he was right. 

“I guess that makes sense. I promise I’ll go.”

“Don’t promise me anything, show me. You promised me that you wouldn’t fight her and look how that turned out.”

“I’ll try my best to do better.”

Just then you got a text on your phone from Brandi.

Brandi- Y/N, I don’t want you to panic but....

You- Out with it Brandi

Brandi- I’m pretty sure that Anitta is going to press charges

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@miniaturehideoutmentality

@hoya122

@nattinatalia

@jackslover12

@skyesthebomb

@jackharlows-world

@louisianalady

@fdl305

@automaticpeachsong

@harlowcomehome

@gassyandsassy1

@babygirlwilly

@amethyst09

@harrycanyonmoonn

[togrowoldinv]

Happy Birthday, Florence!

Florence Pugh x Reader

You celebrate your friend’s birthday, but by the end of the night feelings will be confessed

Note: Happy birthday to Florence Pugh, the coolest girl ever! One of my first fics was a Flo bday fic so I must carry on the tradition. Enjoy this one!

Florence Pugh Masterlist, Main Masterlist

“Happy birthday dear Florence! Happy birthday to you!” Everyone sings to the blonde girl as the blows out her birthday candles.

“Thank you everyone!” Florence says. Her mom takes the cake off to the kitchen to cut up.

Florence moves around the room and thanks everyone individually. You watch on from the corner, silently waiting impatiently for her to get to you.

“Hi darling!” She says as she finally approaches you. She hugs you tightly and kisses your cheek.

“Happy birthday, Flossie,” you tell her.

Your pace quickens as she keeps her hands on your arms as she shifts from the hug. There’s always been a part of you that wants to be with Florence, but the timing just never seems right.

So, you’re friends.

Florence talks to you for a few minutes before she gets pulled away by another one of her friends.

You spend the next hour or so mingling with other guests and wishing that you could just tell Florence how you feel. You realize you must be showing your disappointment on your face when Florence’s sister sits next to you on the couch.

“You know you could just tell her how you feel,” she says, a sly smile on her face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you try and play dumb. “Okay fine I do. But she’ll never like me like that.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, y/n,” Raffie says. She leaves you with that as Florence approaches you again.

“Hey, can I talk to you?” She asks you.

“Sure.”

You follow her down the hallway and to her old bedroom. She looks concerned and somewhat nervous as she gestures for you to sit next to her on the bed.

“Are you okay?” You ask her.

Florence takes a deep breath. She doesn’t have that easy smile she so often does.

“Can I tell you what I really want for my birthday?” Flo asks.

“You can tell me anything.”

“I want you to-“ Florence tries to find the words. “Will you kiss me?”

The shocked look on your face makes Florence smile shyly before she takes your face in her hands.

“You’re so beautiful,” Florence practically whispers as she examines your features.

Your response is to lean forward and press your lips against hers. She gasps, but quickly returns the kiss. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that it feels like the weight of the world is gone as Florence’s lips are on yours.

“Florence-“

“Y/n-“

You both speak at the same time as you break the kiss. She rests her forehead against yours and smiles.

“I’ve loved you for a really long time,” you boldly admit. Your voice is shaky, but your meaning is clear.

“I have loved you and longed for you just as long, my darling,” Florence says.

You two share a few more kisses before going back to the party. This time you’re hand in hand. No one seems to notice and it’s as if they thought you were together this entire time.

“Thank you for making this my best birthday ever,” Florence says as she squeezes your hand.

“Thank you for being my favorite person ever,” you reply.

Florence kisses your cheek and you grin at her. Everything feels just right.

Tag List: @gracebutnotgraceful @i-wished-for-you-too @be-missed @mythosphere-x @likefirenrain @hehehehannahthings @laaurrel @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @flosbelova @ggrangerdanger @mrswidowjohansson @alotofpockets @maia-lightwoood @xxromanoffxx @whitemanshoe19 @peanutbutterprincess @picnicmic @wandaslittlewhore @marie45019 @kacka84 @sammi1642 @jujuu23 @hb8301 @the-night-owl-blr @avatarsnips @romanoffswoman @natashasilverfox @red1culous @rach2602 @lovelyy-moonlight @idkjustliving2 @youralphawolf72 @btay3115 @wandasbb @itbeila @shin-conan-kun @notbornbutforged @makegoodchoices @theprinceofmarvel @blue-serendipityy @bookfrog242 @wizardofstories @karsonromanoff @natismywife @dumb-fawkin-bitch @wandamaximoff-simp

[psychedelic-ink]

𝑬𝑿𝑰𝑳𝑬 || 𝑭𝑼𝑳𝑳 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝒀

pairing: joel miller x ofc!june | written in reader format, no body descriptions but does have a personality

genre: dark cottagecore, horror, angst, explicit smut, hybrid au, minors dni

word count: 13.8k

summary: Runners. Stalkers. Clickers. Shamblers. Bloaters.

Domestics.

All infected. One unlike the other.

You expect the infection to eat you from the inside out, turning you into something horrid. But instead, you find yourself with leaf-shaped ears and antlers that belong to a deer. While you live out the rest of your days trying to adjust to your new features and survive, you meet Joel, a survivor just like you but with a more grim approach to life.

Both of you adopt the forest as your home. One wants the other gone, meanwhile the other will do anything to not be left alone.

warnings: canon typical violence, horror elements, horror imagery, a non-descripted attempt at suicide, blood, intense feelings of grief (joel), joel having anger issues, joel threatening to shoot you, intense feelings/descriptions of loneliness (reader), female masturbation, you get shot, mentions of reader having body hair, piv, oral (receiving and giving), emotional sex, possessive kink, praise kink, mild dirty talking, soft!joel, vaginal fingering, kitchen sex, mild choking, rough sex

a/n: Hello everyone! this is the whole story of Exile, if you want to read this chapter by chapter you can by clicking on the masterlist below. Enjoy!

I would like to thank @pedrorascal for reading this over and giving me insight about the story. And also thank you to @honestly-shite for answering my camera-related questions 💜💜💜

And lastly, once again thank you to @pedrito-friskito who listened to me bitch and moan about this fic for months and edited this entire thing. I love you so much brainwave twin ❤️

SERIES MLIST

PROLOGUE 

(SEPTEMBER, 2013)

Runners. Stalkers. Clickers. Shamblers. Bloaters. 

Domestics. 

All infected. One unlike the other. 

After getting infected, what happened to one’s body could be described as no less than horrid. The change could happen to anyone; your neighbors, your friends, your family. After the virus seeped into your skin and flooded your veins, your body morphed into something inhuman. The stench would be unbearable— Acidic and rotten. Regular faces now looked as if they’d been through a meat grinder, or exploded from the inside out. 

And those were your exact thoughts as fear crept up your spine. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps as the feeling took hold of your spine, a cold hand clutched at your heart. The taste of bile was thick on your tongue, your nostrils filled with the cloying odor of decay. You could hear the clicking sound of the Infected drawing closer, a relentless, maddening sound that seemed to echo within your skull.

Click Click Click

The Clicker moved closer, its grotesque form illuminated by the flickering light of a nearby fire. Its eyes were blank, soulless orbs that seemed to stare into your very soul. Its twisted, mangled body was covered in pus and blood, the stench overpowering.

You managed to make your escape with an empty gun in your hand and your black boots caked with mud. The rain fell heavily from the sky, as if it were determined to wash away all traces of your existence. Despite the downpour, you had managed to evade the Infected and make it deep into the woods.

You collapsed under a tree with thick, leafy branches and you cried— Warm, salty tears mixed with cold, sweet rain. You felt your stomach, soft, warm, and incredibly wet. 

Blood, you realized.

With shaky hands, you peeled the wet fabric off of your skin and mused to yourself that it actually did feel just like that—warm. Your tears dried out when you saw the violently red bite mark. It was deep. A chunk of your flesh gone. 

You checked yourself for ammo, your hands trembling. You didn’t want to turn. You didn’t want to become a mindless creature hunting for untainted flesh. 

You let your head slump against the trunk, the weight of your circumstances pressing down on you as you grasped the finality of your empty ammunition. Your body trembled. Blood continued to pour heavy and thick over your skin. 

Life was so cruel that it didn’t even allow you to die. You would live the rest of your days as a mindless shell of what you once were—a disfigured monster— until someone shot you. And that was only if you were lucky. 

The thought of living long enough to morph into a Bloater struck you to your core. You closed your eyes. 

While raindrops slid down the leaves and dropped onto your shivering body, you were blessed with unplanned sleep. You hoped that you wouldn’t wake in the morning. If you were lucky, a hunter would come by and shoot you before you had the chance to turn, robbing you of all your belongings.

A new type of Infected was born that day— Domestics, they would be called. A type of infected that didn’t behave like the rest. Domestics could continue their lives as regular people (whatever regular meant in this bitter world) however, they still carried the signs of nature’s rebuttal across their bodies. 

Some Domestics had claws, some had fur, some had eyes that could see through the pitch-black night. 

Some could breathe underwater, some had scaly skin. 

In your case, you had antlers and soft, leaf-shaped ears allowing you to detect even the faintest of sounds from miles away. But with these gifts also came the curse of being forever marked as one of the Infected, an outcast from an already broken society.

This infection was different. Some called it adaptation. 

But to most, it was still the Infected, there was no difference.

EIGHT MONTHS LATER 

(MAY, 2014)

The wet soil sinks as you bend on one knee. The squelch of earth prompts you to wrinkle your nose. Your ears fall flat over your head, and you point the lens of the polaroid camera to a fallen tree trunk. It’s covered in rich green moss, with a handful of small mushrooms grown within it. You press your eyes against the viewfinder. The rest of the forest is blurred, the mushroom being the focus of the shot. You click the shutter release, the sound of it louder than you expect. A picture soon follows.

You flinch at the sound of wings fluttering. You press your chin against your chest, only moving your eyes as you look up. Your ears are raised with alert, your muscles tense, and your body unbelievably still. You see a flock of white doves swarming in the air. 

You slowly get up with an exhale of a breath. You feel more and more on edge every day. You know for a fact that the forest is empty except for the animals that already inhabited it and well…you. 

After you were infected and before you decided to make the green your eternal home, you had scoured the area endlessly. There wasn’t much; a couple of abandoned cabins, and safehouses made from stone and metal. As far as you could tell, there weren’t many Infected living here. However, that didn’t mean there were none. 

Getting used to your new body hadn’t been easy. At first glance, not much didn’t appear to be different. Your ears were now one of a deer, your antlers small and not really good for anything. 

The latter surprised you because from what you’ve known, does did not have antlers. 

Funnily enough, getting used to your new physical appearance had been easy. The hard part was the newly developed senses; you could hear better, see better, could pick up scents miles away from where you stood. The first day after being turned you were frozen with fear, hearing and smelling too much all at the same time. It paralyzed you, making you think that the threats loomed much closer than they actually were. 

But days passed and the pack of wolves you heard days before never came. The hunters seeking out tourists never found you. Then you realized that no one had been after you this entire time. You got up, ready to find a home. 

In one of the abandoned cabins, you found a dusty old polaroid camera. You fixed it, cleaned it, and now it was your only tool to remind yourself of what life used to be. 

The camera loosely hangs from your neck, swaying from side to side as you walk back home. You tend to limit your time in the forest, not wanting to attract attention from anything—be it humans, infected or regular animals. 

A gust of wind blows and you notice a tree stump. Without a second thought, you gather a couple of the rocks that lay idly nearby. Four, you count, and stack them on top of the stump. This had become a habit after the first week. You enjoy seeing them months later, still laying on top of one another, untouched. The ones that are knocked by the wind or something else, you don’t pick up again. 

Joel doesn’t think much of the scenery. There’s no one to bother him, no one to look out for, and that’s enough for him. His rifle hangs warm on his back, a newly shot buck limp and thrown over his shoulder. A good hunt, is all he can think. 

His pain is still fresh. The hole in his heart still pouring crimson blood— it causes his skin to itch constantly, and he does so hard enough to leave red marks dragged across his skin. 

Joel doesn't think anymore, his mind consumed by the need to survive. It’s out of habit. He shoots first and never asks questions. But even as he fights for his own survival, it feels meaningless, a hollow victory in the face of the horror that surrounds him. He moves through the world like a ghost, haunted by the memories of those he has lost and the darkness that seems to follow him. The constant fear and desperation have turned him into a shell of his former self, a shadow of the man he once was.

The part of him that used to feel is long gone, the watch on his wrist telling him the exact time of death every single day. 

His chest heaves and his knees buckle under the added weight of the animal. With a grunt, Joel catches himself before falling and looks ahead. He’s close, a break seemingly not needed. 

Then he sees a soft shimmer of light, his eyes following it like a moth to a flame. Rocks, he sees, four of them stacked on top of a tree stump, shining under the afternoon sun. His mind draws blank as he thinks who might’ve stacked them. At first, he worries that it might be hunters, but then he realizes that nobody would come out this far without a good reason. 

As the realization sinks in, his heart slows down, his breathing evening out. The tension eases out of his body.

Joel rolls his shoulders and pushes the dead animal further up. 

He only stops when he sees another set of rocks stacked on another stump. 

TWO MONTHS LATER

(JULY, 2014)

It happens when you’re trying to take a picture of dew on a big leaf. 

You hear the click of a gun, silent steps, and an agitated grunt. A man, you guess, a man much stronger than you. The feeling of him lurking behind you makes a shudder trail up from your tailbone to your nape, a needle-like sensation that induces the need to run. He’s closer now, his breathing heavy. You know it’s too late to run when you hear the loud crunch of leaves. 

“Hands in the air,” he says, voice gruff. “I swear, you make a sudden move and I’ll shoot.” 

You tremble. Your hands slowly raise, the camera falls and the strap stings your neck when it does. 

“Don’t shoot.” 

You sound meek and afraid. A million thoughts swirl in your mind, the most prominent one being that you didn’t want to die. An irony considering how you felt when you first breached the border of the forest. When he speaks again he doesn’t address your plea for your life, which scares you more.

“Turn around then, let’s see what you are.” 

You turn and his eyebrows rise with shock, mouth parting. His hands falter lightly, the barrel of the gun dropping to your neck. When he swallows, his tongue darts out to wet his lips. 

“Well, I’ll be… a Domestic.” 

His shock gives you a brief moment to observe him as well. His hair sticks out from all directions, messy and unkempt. His patchy beard is peppered with a healthy amount of grays; so is his hair, you realize. You’re impressed by the broad width of his shoulders and strong jaw. He’s wearing a tattered brown jacket and a gray button-up underneath. His finger still rests on the trigger, the crease between his brows deep. 

The watch on his wrist reflects the light into your eyes. 

“I didn’t think your kind actually existed. A fairy tale, I always thought.” he huffs. “An Infected that can speak, think, and eat like one of us,” 

“I am one of you,” you answer defensively. 

“You have antlers growing out of your head, girl.” 

“That doesn’t mean I’m any less of a human,” 

“Maybe, but it sure does mean you ain't all human now, does it?"

The drawl of his words strikes a nerve. Blood pools underneath your fingernails and you think about the many others that think like him. 

Rarely do you leave the protective bubble of the forest, but those scarce moments when you do have shown you what the masses thought of this new type of “Infected”. Most treated Domestics the same: shooting on sight. Some believed they could be the source of a cure—Whichever one they believed, it always ended in violence. 

You have no reason to believe this man is any different from the rest. Hell, you can’t even rule out the possibility that he might be a hunter. 

He takes a step closer. You inhale sharply, lips only slightly parted. The man doesn’t stop until you’re staring directly into the barrel of the gun, he cocks the weapon, his eyes glued to your ears and antlers. Saliva gathers in your mouth and you swallow thickly. 

“What makes you different from the rest of’em— The rest of the Infected,” his voice drops, his tone threatening. “Give me a good reason not to blow your brains out right this second,” 

Your ears straighten when he pushes the cool metal against your forehead. It’s cold yet it also burns. You’re hesitant to say anything, let alone convince him to let you live. Your lips are numb like a corpse, your throat seizes, the air caught in your throat. 

Your gaze falls to his throat, and with a subtle snarl, he notches the gun under your chin, lifting your gaze back up. 

“Speak,” he commands. 

“I—I don’t crave to attack the uninfected,” you blurt out. He raises one eyebrow and looks you over, clearly not convinced. “I’m also scared of them. They attack me like they would any other survivor,” 

“Is that so? Maybe we should try that theory out.” 

You must’ve given him a look of utter horror— or one of a kicked puppy— because his eyes soften, brows relaxing along with the rest of his muscles. He finally lowers the gun and shakes his head. 

“I won’t, don’t worry,” he holds the rifle with one hand and reaches out to touch your ear. It flinches at his touch. You take a tentative step back. 

“Don’t do that,” you say with a frown. You feel incredibly warm and your ear continues to twitch. A sense of both comfort and fear rolls in your stomach. “I’m not a dog you know,” 

“I guess not.” he also takes a step back and waves his hand. “Go along then—Scram,” 

You scoff at his words, half smiling half surprised. “Scram?” 

“I don’t want any sort of infected around me,” he answers, you notice his fingers curling tighter around the handle of the rifle. “I don’t care whether you can talk or shit gold, I want none of it.” 

“I live here too, you know. You don’t own the forest—” 

Suddenly, you find yourself staring into the muzzle again, you jump and goosebumps trace your skin. His hardened expression is back, he looks angry—furious almost, which surprises you. You didn’t expect him to offer you tea but you surely didn’t expect him to threaten you once more. 

“We managed not to come across each other this far. Which tells me you must’ve been snooping outside of your regular path, am I right? Don’t come near here again.” 

You’re wrong, is what you want to say since this actually was your regular path but seeing that he has no intention of backing down you decide to keep your thoughts to yourself. 

“If I do find you snooping around again, I won’t be as kind. Now, go.” 

Joel watches as the Domestic runs away, jumping above the branches and fallen trees. She didn’t say a word. She merely stared at his rifle one last time before fleeing. 

Rightfully so, he would’ve shot her if she hadn’t. 

For the longest time, he thought of the Domestics to be nothing more than a lie. He assumed it to be a weak attempt to spark hope within the people. A new type of Infected that didn’t behave like infected regularly did. 

He remembers Tommy speaking of them, once, before Joel shut him down.

Supposedly they came in different forms, all of them having animal-like features. Joel never thought this of being the next step of human evolution —or an adaptation as many had told him— there was no use in having tiny antlers or other minuscule differences. They still would die just as easily as regular folk, so what was the point? 

He turns and leaves. Joel would’ve shot her— hell, he probably should have. He doesn’t know nothing about this new type of infected, who was to say that the next day she wouldn’t come crawling back as a damn Clicker? 

But, he still had some fraction of a conscience, and when she looked up at him, so afraid—the mere thought of him offering her up to the Infected making her tremble— he just couldn’t. 

Joel is positive that this decision of his will cause him trouble. Hopefully, she’ll actually listen and never come near him again. But in this day and age, people rarely heed the warnings. 

A fly lands on his shoulder and he swats it away. The thing you were doing had piqued his curiosity; you were taking pictures. He doesn’t remember the last time he’d taken a picture—

No. That’s a lie. He does. 

It was when Sarah had won an award for playing on her youth soccer team. He remembers the picture well; Sarah holding her trophy with one hand and making a peace sign with the other with his arm thrown over her shoulder. 

Joel stops, looks at the ground, and lets out a shaky breath. His eyes are wet, and his throat is so tight that it hurts. 

Back when it all happened, he couldn’t even manage to go back to their home and bring a single picture with him. All he remembers of Sarah is from his memory—Not that he could ever forget what she looked like. 

His chest stutters, anger boiling in the pits of his stomach. It’s unfair that he is still breathing and walking, it should’ve been him— Or he should’ve at least died along with her. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, his voice loud within the silence of nature. 

His anger festers in him like a disease. It never leaves. Whenever he thinks about his last moments with Sarah, his arms coiling around her as she stopped breathing, her blood warm against his skin. He feels a sharp pain in his chest and collapses. Most days, he wished that the pain would stop his heart, clog his veins, and leave him dead under the trees.

He jolts at the familiar pain growing in his chest. The sounds he makes come from his throat, an unattractive gurgling sound that reminds him of Runners. Joel stumbles forward and trips. Looking down he sees thick roots making their way out of the soil, his gaze follows the rotting limb, he sees a tree stump. 

Again, he sees rocks. 

The tightening of his chest subsides for a brief moment, his shock numbing the rest of his nerves. Joel looks back to where he came from. He observes the path the Domestic had escaped to, then he turns back to the rocks. 

Joel isn’t sure what prompts him to do it— He’s angry, bitter, and the peaceful image of the Domestic happily taking pictures doesn’t leave his mind. Raising his foot from the ground, he kicks the stack violently with the sole of his boot. 

He doesn’t care to look in which direction the rocks flew to. He walks away. 

ONE WEEK LATER

(JULY, 2014)

Summer rain isn’t common, but very much appreciated. 

You hear the soft pitter-patters of rain first. The light that filters through the clouds casts the room in a hazy, dreamlike quality. You slowly open your eyes. There it is again, that feeling of restlessness, accompanied by an itch that you just can’t scratch. You stretch your arms first, then your legs and your back—twisting and turning until you hear a satisfying crack. 

Staring at the ceiling, you think of what to do. You’re low on supplies. Especially food. You have a handful of dried berries in the cupboard and freshly gathered rosemary to make tea. Not the most nutritious breakfast. Soon you will either have to travel to the city (which is never fun) or you will need to scavenge the woods, in hopes that maybe there is an empty cabin you haven’t sacked yet. 

Thunder bellows and you close your eyes, your ears flat. Your heart races not only at the sound, but the memory of a rifle being pointed at you and the man who held the trigger. You remember the smell of gunpowder and fear, the taste of terror and sorrow. You think back to the man and the moment when it all could have gone wrong. But the thunder falls silent, and you’re still here. You’re still alive. 

You’ve seen him once more since that encounter. For obvious reasons, you hadn’t come out to say hi. He seemed to be wearing a perpetual scowl on his face, which makes you uneasy near him. 

The rain speeds up, the cold crawling through the gaps. Yet, you feel incredibly warm. 

Human contact is something hard to come by and for some reason, the man behind the trigger awakened something inside you. Despite the imminent threat of death at the time, you realized he had a handsome face, a strong body. He’s clearly competent if he managed to survive this long. 

You remember his hands, how large they had looked holding the grip of the rifle. 

With a stuttering exhale, your hands move across your body, squeezing and touching parts of yourself you found that still enjoyed being squeezed and touched. Your breasts feel heavy and warm beneath your palms. One hand slides up as the other slides underneath your loose shirt; slowly you curl your own fingers around your throat, with the other you draw slow circles around your nipple. 

The sensations are enough to make your eyes flutter closed as your mind drifts back to the man who had held you at gunpoint. His strong frame, his deep voice, and his intense gaze. You let out a soft sigh as you imagine what it would be like to feel his hands on your body. To feel his breath on your neck, the warmth of his body pressed against yours. It's a wonderful fantasy, but one you know will remain just that.

But then again, there is no harm in fantasizing. Especially in a world so bleak.

You imagine that it’s him. His thick fingers roughly squeezing your tit as he chokes you. Your breathing hitches. You spread your legs at the ghost of his cock. You can almost feel his breath on your skin—his growl deep and low in your ear. You imagine the stranger fucking you out of spite, bending you over until your body gives in, he’ll make your muscles twitch and ache, your name falling from his lips again and again as he fucks you senseless. 

Another gasp drops from your lips, your jaw slack and eyes half-lidded, the hand that plays with your tit cheats under your shorts. You’re so wet. You shudder when you touch yourself, slow and sensual. You imagine that it’s his tongue, you imagine him praising you on how wet you are for him, and you keen at the whisper of his words. Your back arches off the bed, two of your fingers moving in unison as you draw quick, short circles around your clit. 

Your moans fall freely from your lips. His mouth presses against that tender spot right below your jawline that you tend to touch when you want to feel good—the spot tingles at the thought and you hum with delight, your pussy fluttering and dripping around your fingers. 

He'll bring you to the brink of pleasure, but won’t let you reach it—not until you surrender to him. You imagine his voice commanding you, his hands punishing you. 

You feel yourself grow wetter and wetter, desperate for his touch. You imagine yourself screaming his name as he finally pushes you over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you as he slams into you with one last thrust. You’re left trembling and exhausted, your body aching and your mind reeling from the intensity of you imagination. 

You come violently, shaking and trembling. You breathe heavily through your nose and your chin drops forward, slack with the need to say his name. Deep down, you wish you had asked when you met. He would’ve probably shot you if you did. You want to cry when you push your fingers inside of you, the feeling is pleasant and warm but not at all fulfilling. You thrust them a couple of times, warmth blossoms within your stomach, tears flow and your second orgasm shatters through you 

Still crying, you wipe your fingers and rub your eyes. You do it in a childish way, the back of your hands going up and down your eyes again and again. You think of how he would console you.

You’re doing so well for me.

So beautiful.

Just you and me, nothing else matters.

You’re not alone.

You hug yourself when the last phrase passes through your mind. Within yourself, you accuse him of lying, you say that he’s far away and doesn’t even know who you are. The ghost of him shushes you and strokes your hair. You cry harder then. 

A man that threatened you with your life becomes a source of comfort. It makes you sick, deep down, but you carry on by imagining him whispering sweet sayings into your ear, his hands stroking your body, his cock deep inside. You shudder at the thought. You know that you’re lonely but you never had quite known how lonely you truly were. 

The rain sounds louder now, the thunder more menacing. 

Your room now seems darker. 

The rain lasts all day. You pour some hot water into a cracked mug with a bundle of rosemary inside. Steam flows out of the mug like a waterfall. You take a small bite out of one of the berries you dried yourself and chew it slowly. Your movements feel mechanic. You swallow and raise the mug to your lips, it’s hot, and a bit of tea slips through the cracks and burns your knuckles. You only wince a little bit, not really taking any immediate action to subside the pain. 

Drops slide down the window. The inside is warm thanks to the old wood-burning stove you managed to salvage, most of the parts not matching one another. Soft crackles of fire accompany the sound of rain. 

You take another sip of your tea. You don’t dare to think about the man that is probably staring at the same rain as you. You feel close to him, yet miles and miles apart. 

The salty and earthy taste of rosemary mixes with the warm and comforting smell of the fire, providing a bit of solace in the midst of the storm.

It’s probably better not to think at all. 

THREE MONTHS LATER 

(OCTOBER, 2014)

Joel makes his way through the abandoned cabin, his eyes scanning the cluttered room for any supplies that might still be of use. The air is heavy and still, the only sound being the soft dripping of water from the leaky roof. The shadows seem to dance and shift around him, and he can't shake the sensation of being observed. 

He still has food, luckily, but there was no harm in searching for more. Once a week, he scanned the forest from dawn to dusk, looking over every inch of the crowded forest. Most often than not, he came back empty-handed. 

Joel ventures further into the cabin, his heart racing as he searches through the abandoned rooms. In the bedroom, he finds a torn and moldy mattress that he can use as a makeshift bed. In the bathroom, he discovers a sink and bathtub that are caked with grime and rust, but still functional.

As he gathers the supplies he needs from the kitchen, Joel thinks about the Domestic he’d met months ago. He saw her once more after that, camera dangling from her neck, a gun strapped to her back. He has an inkling that maybe it was her clearing out the abandoned cabins before he could. 

Just as he’s emptying the cupboards, his blood freezes. He hears the creaking of the old steps and the familiar sound of staccato clicks. Beads of sweat flare across his dusty forehead and his lips tighten into a grim line. He slowly unwraps his fingers from around the can, crouching down slowly. His hand moves to his gun, which he pulls up to his chest.

He takes a deep breath and edges backward. He tries to stay hidden as he figures out the exact location the noise is coming from. Joel watches as the twisted, fungal body stalks down the stairs; it trips but is unbothered by it. 

It moves around with a silent, deadly grace.

Its face is completely engulfed in the thick, black fungus that covered its entire being, its eyes long since rotted away. Swallowing, Joel crawls forward, wanting to reach the door before the Clicker finds him lurking about in the kitchen. He breathes out from his nose, as silently as he can. The Clicker turns to the living room, leaving the exit wide open. Joel’s skin tingles when he moves, like little needles poking into his skin. 

Joel’s eyes frantically dart around, taking in every tiny detail just in case something goes wrong. He spots the wide windows, the coat rack, the couch— 

His body shuts down entirely when he sees it. He stops breathing, moving, even the twitching of his right eye subsides within the minute. 

Joel sees her. Antlers and all, crouched behind the couch, teeth deep into her bottom lip while breathing heavily from her nose. 

And in that brief moment, their gazes meet. 

Joel’s mouth is dry as sandpaper. He holds his gaze, eyebrows raise with shock, her confusion is quickly replaced with hope— A look he despises, yet can’t help but be drawn to. 

The Clicker moves around the sofa, its head tilting from side to side as the horrid clicking sounds spurt from its open mouth. Without even thinking Joel motions with his head for her to sprint forward. He sees the still in her steps, strained and fearful but despite it all, she manages to reach him. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, her gaze glued to the floor. 

“It’s too early to give me thanks. We’ll talk when we’re out.” 

He feels the way she breathes, hears the way her heart hammers in her chest. It reminds him of a caged baby bird. She inches closer to him. A movement driven by pure instinct. Joel thinks she trusts too quickly. 

The Clicker stands by the door, head turned in their direction, taunting them. 

It must have heard the two of them whispering. Joel feels his entire body tensing, his breathing nonexistent—

Without thought, Joel senses her nearly jumping with fear and his hand reaches for her. His fingers curl tightly around her neck, pushing her head down without his eyes ever leaving the creatures’ gruesome silhouette. It doesn't have eyes, but it sure looks like it's staring them down, its head tilting to the side as it listens for any sign of movement. 

The Clicker turns its head, cracking its neck before heading deeper into the house.

He grinds his molars together and feels the sting of it in his gums. She lets out a breath of relief, it feels loud— Too loud. He squeezes her nape once more before letting go, and without a word, he heads for the door, not bothering to close it as he finally leaves the cursed cabin.

Her footsteps follow. 

FIVE MINUTES LATER 

(OCTOBER, 2014)

You follow the man deeper in to the woods as the two of you rush to put a reasonable distance between you and the cabin. He keeps looking over his shoulder. Every time he does, he looks more and more rageful. You’re sure that he wants you to leave. 

Honestly, that is probably the more sensible thing to do. 

But the skin of the back of your neck still stings from his grip and you can’t bring yourself to leave without at least learning his name. This forest is your home, and it’s his home as well. In a twisted way, you two are neighbors. 

You hadn’t expected to come across an Infected when you went inside. The heavy rain made you walk inside with little care. It was terrifying, waiting for the threat to pass by yourself. But then there he was, a rugged angel, offering a way to salvation, and bringing you to safety. 

You’ve seen him around; you even took a picture of him. To you, he was a perfect specimen to document someone who was both free and trapped. It was also nice to actually photograph a living, moving thing. 

“When are you gonna quit chasing me around?” he suddenly snarls, turning on his heel with force. “How many times do I have to tell you— Scram.” 

“You’re really rude,” you answer, crossing your arms in defiance. “And you said we would talk after we got out. Well…we got out, now it’s time to talk,” 

“Fine. Thank me and leave,” 

The wind blows warm. The sound of leaves rustling scratches your ears. You try to make yourself seem bigger by straightening your back. It’s been so long since you wanted to talk to him—To get to know the other person who was in the same situation as you. Afraid, confused, hurt, lonely. 

You just want to know his name. That’s all. 

“My name is June,” you say with the exhale of your breath. “And thank you.” 

He considers your not-so-subtle peace offering. His eyes are narrowed, lips tight. Briefly you fear he’s just going to turn and leave. But the fire crackling in his eyes dies down, his shoulders drop and the wind ruffles his hair. 

“Joel.” he answers, “and you’re welcome.” 

TWO WEEKS LATER

(OCTOBER,2014)

You never thought you would have another person in your house. Ever, really. 

But here Joel is, walking up the steps of your humble cabin, taking in the details, assessing what he could take just in case. At the time, inviting him over seemed like a good idea. You wanted him to know where you lived, if something were to happen to where he lived, you wanted him to know where to come. 

However, your good intentions were not reciprocated. 

“I’m not telling an Infected where I live,” he had said. “Feel free to show me if you feel that’s the right thing to do, but don’t expect me to do the same. We are not the same.” 

The words still echo in your head as you finally reach the top of the stairs. You don’t think it was wrong of him to think like that. Technically, you two aren’t the same, not even the same species. But it frustrates you a little bit to see that he’s still so reluctant about your intentions. All you want to do is make your life less miserable. 

“This is the bathroom,” you point out. “However, there’s no real plumbing. I pull in water from the nearby river and wash directly there.” 

He hums, eyes uncaringly looking inside. “What else?” he grunts, walking ahead. 

You dart ahead, grinning as you make an effort of bowing and opening the door. It’s stupid maybe, being so excited about wanting to show him the photos you had taken—But you couldn’t help it. It feels like having a friend over after years, it’s…it’s nice. 

“And here’s my bedroom slash office,” 

“Office?” he scoffs. “What work are you doing?” 

“I like taking pictures,” 

You don’t miss the way his face falls, hands tightening into fists and loosening up again. Confusion crosses your face but you manage to erase it by shaking your head. 

“Uh…anyway, do you want to see?” 

“Do I have a choice?” 

His voice is emotionless, so you have no way of telling if he’s annoyed or not. You only understand his intentions when you turn and see him smiling, the expression sprinkling relief over your heart. It’s a very small smile, something that wouldn’t be considered smiling before 2013, but now it’s the broadest smile in the world. 

It’s odd, feeling this light when doing something. You feel your fingertips tingling as you pick up a medium sized box from your desk and place it on the bed. Before he moves closer, you snatch Joel’s picture from on top of the pile and place it facing down on the sheets. 

“You really have been busy,” he remarks, picking up one of the photographs. It’s one of dandelions. “Not bad,” 

“Thanks. It is hard to find polaroid films and the one’s I find are quite old, or expired, hence the reason why all the pictures look faint or discolored. But it’s better than doing nothing,” 

Joel gives you a faint smile that makes your heart flutter, his eyes grow soft. “Guess so.” 

You show him your favorite photographs, one by one, with insightful commentary on each. He nods, a man of few words, but you appreciate having someone to talk to, other than your own echoing voice.

As the sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting a golden light through the windows, warming your skin, you realize with a startle that hours have passed. You find yourself sitting on the bed, shoulder to shoulder with Joel, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. The light dances on your skin, and the colors come alive, and for a moment, all is right in the world. No virus, no loss, no grief. Just the two of you, smiling and talking. 

It feels like a glimpse of another life, an alternate universe. The sudden urge to cry overwhelmes you. It’s so strong that you press your nails into your palm, the sting of pain forcing a hiss to stumble from your lips. 

“You alright?” 

The deep baritone of his voice makes you jump. Joel doesn't seem to notice, as he carefully places the photographs back into their box and slowly stands up. While you nod and open your mouth to say that you are, his eyes lingers on the backwards photograph sitting on the bed. 

He reaches out before you can stop him, “It seems like we missed one,” he says, picking it up. Your fingertips touch the photograph as he pulls it away, slipping from your grasp before you can prevent what’s about to happen. 

“Joel, wait—” 

You watch him, transfixed as he studies the photograph, his eyes scanning every inch, his mind working furiously. First, his eyes go wide, then they narrow, brows scrunched angrily. His eyes snap up, his gaze hardened like the first time you met him. 

“What the fuck is this?” 

“I can explain.” 

Joel doesn't pay attention to her explanations, his gaze glued on the photograph. It's like looking into one of those distorted mirrors at a theme park. In the picture, he's standing, gun strapped to his back, fingers curled around the straps of his backpack. He doesn't remember this moment, every day blending into one. It's hard to tell which day it is just from a single photograph.

He looks tired, cheeks hallowed and eyes sunken. His hair and beard has more grays than he remembers, and there's a scar above his right eyebrow that he hadn't noticed before. How could he? He doesn’t like to look at himself. 

But what really sets him on edge is the sight of his own gaze. In retrospect, it's a beautiful picture, the setting sun casting a golden glow on his skin and eyes alight. But he knows what he used to look like, how he used to be tired but happy, content with the life he had built for Sarah and him. Now, he looks tortured, eyes lacking life and love.

This physical copy of his grief and pain is a stark reminder of all that he has lost. He turns the photograph over in his hands, tracing the edges with his fingers as the weight of his past presses down on him. He can't bring himself to look at it any longer and feels a heavy ache in his chest.

He rips the photograph into two pieces, then four—He tears it until the pieces slip from his fingers, fluttering to the wooden floors. 

When he looks back at her, he feels anger. Nothing more nothing less. He never should have came here. 

Her lips are pressed tight, eyes glimmering with unshed tears. She looks so small right now, ears pointed down, and her body curling in a way that makes him think she wants to disappear. 

Maybe she should. 

Or better yet, he should. Only if he wasn’t a damned coward.

“Why the fuck would you take my picture without asking?” he spits, venom behind ever word. 

“We weren’t really on speaking terms at the time…” 

He senses her need to lighten the mood, but it’s too late. The lid is popped wide open, and he’s not strong enough to close it back. The sickening part is that he doesn’t want to close it. Joel wants to lash out, he wants to scream and throw a glass at the wall, watch it shatter into a billion pieces. He wants it so bad in fact, it feels if he doesn’t his chest might explode, his breathing hitches, eyes darting around. 

Joel spots the box of pictures, for a brief moment he imagines himself ripping it all to shreds. Pouring gasoline over them, watching it burn. 

“You shouldn’t have taken it anyway,” 

His gaze then falls upon the camera, sitting idly on the desk. She follows his gaze, noticing the way the air around him becomes tense when he picks it up. It’s hard to breathe. She starts begging him, her voice trembling, as his fingers tighten around the device.

"Look, calm down, please. I'm...I'm sorry, okay?" she says quickly adding. "I understand how you feel—"

"No, you don't," he snaps, the weight of his grief and pain pressing down on him. "You know nothing of my pain. You don't know what loss is."

With a snarl of anger and frustration, Joel throws the camera to the ground. It crashes with a loud sound of shattering glass and plastic. He watches as the pieces of the camera litter the floor, its once precious film now spilled out like entrails. His chest heaving with each breath, his anger slowly dissipating, leaving only the bitter aftertaste of regret. He stares at the broken camera, with a feeling of emptiness and a heavy weight on his chest, the feeling hadn’t gone away. 

As a response, her anger starts to rise as well, competing with his own. Her gaze traces along the broken camera pieces, her hands balling into fists. 

“You’re not the only one who lost people, Joel.” you say, eerily calm. He doesn’t like the way a chill has settled over the bottom of his spine. “I’ve lost people too. You don’t get to say who’s pain is bigger.” 

Joel steps forward, then another, crowding her space. He expects her to cower in fear, but instead she glares at him, staring at him with an unwavering gaze he’s never seen before. 

He’s so close that he can see the small flecks in her eyes. 

“Yes, I do.” his voice drops. “You talk mighty big for someone who prances around and takes pictures all day. You can fool yourself and think that you’re in pain but you ain’t fooling me. You’re happy.” 

She blinks away her tears quickly, her lips parting with shock. It’s too late for him to feel guilty now; he’s sure he’s run out of guilt. 

Anger briefly flares in her eyes, and much to his surprise she attempts to push him away. Joel grabs her wrist, holding them tight as she thrashes around. She refuses to look at him, his words cutting too deep and into something that she fears might be true.

“That’s not fair,” she cries out managing to pull one hand away and slam the side of her fist into his chest. “Fuck you Joel. Fuck. You.” 

“Good,” he replies cruelly. “That’s how you should be feeling.” 

TWO MONTHS LATER 

(DECEMBER, 2014)

Snow crunches under your boots and the wind chills your skin. Except for the pines, most trees are left bare, thick snow covering their branches. Ever since the infection you don’t feel that cold anymore. A simple jacket is all you need, unlike Joel, who seems as if he’s wearing a dozen sweaters underneath his coat. 

He walks ahead, rifle hanging on his back. 

After knowing one another, it was hard to truly part ways. The first week after he shattered the only joy you had left in your life, you two steered away from each other; both of you angry, both of you bitter. 

But you two danced around each other like butterflies. One day, you met his gaze and he nodded. The next day you told him about the extra fish you managed to catch, and that you wouldn’t mind sharing. He seemed hesitant at first, but accepted your offer when his stomach ratted him out with a loud growl. 

Neither of you talked about the incident. You swept the camera away, tucked the box of photographs under your bed. You didn’t enjoy looking at them anymore.

You watch his back, the way his coat seems tight around his shoulders, the dip from the rifle pronouncing his shoulder blades. He always walks in front. No matter what the situation might be, you find yourself staring at his broad back and beautiful neck. He doesn’t talk much anymore, and when he does, it’s in the form of short sentences. 

You on the other hand, do whatever you can to fill the silence. 

You don’t dive much into your past, but you tell him about your hobbies, what it’s been like being alone, and how you adapted to your new antlers and ears. 

Then one day, as you were telling him the things you were afraid of most, he turned to you slowly, his one eyebrow raised and slack-jawed. 

“Don’t you think you tell me too much about yourself?” he had asked and you were caught by surprise. 

“Uh… no? Am I annoying you?” 

“Not annoying—Well, maybe a bit, but I can live with that— you’re too… trusting. Aren’t you afraid?” 

You shrugged, “I feel like if you wanted to kill me, I’d be dead already. No use in dwelling on something I can never be sure of.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

“Fine then, what do you mean? Do you want me to be afraid of you?” 

He didn’t answer and you were grateful for it. The thought of reopening the wounds he caused you wasn’t something you particularly wanted to do. 

You’re abruptly drawn away from the whispers of the past with a sting spreading from your nose to your forehead, you groan and stumble back, your hand immediately going up to touch your nose. 

Your vision is blurry, but you see Joel standing as still as a tree in front of you. His one hand is raised to his side, fingers forming a fist. The command is silent but it reaches you loud and clear. You pull out your pistol, finger nestled against the trigger as your ears raise. You hear steps that you missed before, too entranced by your thoughts to hear them. A faint murmuring reaches your ears. 

You take a slow breath to steady yourself and take a step closer to Joel. 

“Three people,” you whisper. “They sound obnoxious and dangerous,” 

He scoffs, “How can you tell they’re obnoxious all the way from here?” 

“I just can. We should go,” 

“No,” he says, fingers curling around your wrist just as you attempt to turn. “We should check who— or what— they are,” 

“And after that?” 

“We take care of it.” 

There’s a stillness in the air and for the first time, you feel the sting of cold. You don’t share Joel’s coldness towards killing. Even killing the Infected is hard for you ever since you also became one by extension. You much rather let the threat simmer until it boiled and threatened to burn you. 

Joel ignores your hesitation and releases his hold. “They’re close aren’t they? If I was able to hear them even a little they must be. Lead the way,” 

“Joel…” 

“Waiting around will get you killed,” he answers, his tone calm and collected. “You’re either with me or with them,” 

“That’s cruel.” 

“Is that your answer?” 

Leaning slightly forward, he forcefully meets your gaze. He doesn’t blink and it feels as if he’s staring into your soul, which is ironic considering Joel probably doesn’t believe in such things. Closing your eyes you face the sky, the tips of your ears burn and your heart skips a beat. You already know what your answer is, and he knows it too. 

“I’m with you.” 

“Then lead the way, Bambi.” 

It’s not a long walk. You’re surprised that they’re so close, so surprised in fact you shudder with each step. You’re not a fan of confrontation. Every nerve in your body screams at you to run. But you feel Joel’s presence near you, his ghost chokes out the screams, only litter whimpers left that are easier to ignore. 

You and Joel take cover behind the thick trunk of a pine tree. Your guess is that the small group are hunters. They carry guns and they look the part. Your eyes move to Joel, his own gaze slowly turning to you. He pushes a finger to his lips, signaling you to be quiet. The three men talk about the tourists and the Domestics they managed to get a hold of, you bite back a whimper. 

Joel leans in, the curve of his lips barely touching your ear. He doesn’t have to do that, you could’ve heard him just fine, but some habits are hard to break. 

“I’ll take them out,” he whispers, the warmth of his breath prompting you to close your eyes. “You stay on lookout, shoot the ones that try to kill me.” 

You nod. There isn’t much you can add to his plan anyway. 

Joel moves out. As he slowly approaches the first one, you move, your steps feather-light. You find the best position to spot all three of them and crouch down, the snow melts under your knee and wets the fabric. 

With one eye closed and finger on the trigger, you realize you’ve never actually seen Joel attacking another. You’ve seen him hunt, but that was as far as the violence went. Briefly, you admire his contrast to the white snow. His coat a dark green, stained, and his hair mussed. 

His every move is calculated. He walks around the first target, wraps his arm around the man’s neck and pulls him away from the others until he faints. You expect him to fixate his gaze on the others, but instead, he raises his foot and slams it down with no shred of hesitation. Blood sprays against the snow, melting and hissing at the warmth of blood. A drop of red lands on Joel’s cuffs. 

You let out a scream, clapping both hands over your mouth before you can stop yourself.

But it’s too late, the other two are already running toward Joel.

“Shit,” Joel hisses, eyes finding yours amidst the chaos. “Get out!” 

You’re a deer in headlights, both literally and figuratively. The two men crowd Joel, one pressing a knife to the neck you admired many times while the other sets his gaze on you. 

You hear the bullet first, and your body moves before you can process it. Joel manages to kick the man heading towards you in the back of the knee. He falls face first with a grunt. You hear the knife against Joel’s neck cutting skin. 

You don’t blink when you raise the pistol and shoot your shot, the bullet sinks right between his eyebrows. He falls promptly. The other one still groans on top of the snow. Joel takes the knife that was still stained with his own blood and stabs the last of them in the heart. You collapse to the ground, pistol falling to the side as you cover your mouth. 

Warm tears roll down your cheeks, eyes squeezing shut as your fingers tremble. You see black dots hovering across your vision. You feel incredibly sick. Your mind replays the scene over and over again until you feel his touch on your cheek. 

You were aware of the violence growing in the world. Seen bits of it whenever you left the comfort of the forest. But you haven’t been aware of how bad it had gotten. How desperate everyone became to hurt others for the means of survival. 

Bile rises up your throat and burns your tongue.

“Calm down— Calm down,” Joel cradles your face, thumbs moving over your cheekbones. “You’re good. We’re safe. You did it,” 

“Did what exactly?” you snap, pushing him away and falling back. “Joel you—you kicked in his skull! You—You—” your voice breaks and you finally open your eyes accompanied by a deep breath. He looks broken and for the first time you truly understand what that means. “What the fuck, Joel?” 

His eyes flit around your face. He slowly takes in every detail —the way you shudder, the way your ears are flat against your head, the way your breathing is uneven— but he doesn’t know what to make of it. Your words have underlined fear, uncertainty. You look at him as if it’s the first time you’re seeing him. 

Joel’s gaze moves from your face to your shoulder, he reaches his hand out.

You jerk away without meaning to, his look softens, the tips of his fingers only an inch away from your shoulder. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he drawls, voice dropping, barely a whisper. “You’re bleeding.” 

You look to the side, too tired to actually panic about it. Now that you were seeing the blood, you start to feel the sting of the bullet still being inside. You wince and Joel catches it. 

“Your cabin is close by right? Let me patch you up.” 

You’re strikingly aware that you won’t be saying no to him, not now and probably not ever, “Sure.” 

Joel is surprisingly gentle. 

He helps you out of your blood-soaked shirt, leaving you only in your bra. The chair creaks under your weight. You ignore the vulnerability of the situation. It’s been months since another person saw you bare, you didn’t have the means to groom yourself properly. The hairs on your arms and legs growing with time— Even though you’re blatantly aware of how stupid it is, you still wonder if he notices, or what he might think. 

Joel returns with the first-aid kit and you refuse to look at him, turning your cheek when he kneels to your side. He dabs the cotton in alcohol, cleaning it first before taking the tweezers out of the box. You hear him sigh. 

“I know you want nothin’ to do with me right now but you might want to bite down on something. It’s gonna hurt, Bambi.” 

Hearing the nickname makes you feel lightheaded. Turning around, your gaze drops to Joel but he’s not looking up at you, instead, he’s staring at the wound caked with blood. 

“Give me my shirt, I’ll bite into that.” 

Joel nods and hands you your shirt. You take it begrudgingly, balling it up in your hands and biting down on the fabric. The pain is excruciating, sweat beads on your forehead. You close your eyes, trying to focus on anything but the searing agony in your shoulder.

Joel's gaze is fixed on you as he works, pulling out the bullet with steady hands. You try to focus on anything but the pain, your gaze drifting to the window. You see that it's started to snow, the flakes swirling in the air. You wince, the pain making it hard to think.

Joel's gentle touch brings you back to the present. His fingers are light and careful as he works, pulling out the bullet and cleaning the wound. You can hear the soft sound of his breathing, the occasional sigh or murmur as he focuses on the task at hand.

“You’re bleeding too,” you state, pointing to his neck. “We should get it cleaned,” 

His fingers brush above the shallow wound, not even a small wince crossing his face. 

“I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.” 

“I’m assuming you won’t tell me about those memories even if I asked,” you whisper, and his hands go still, fingertips feeling like hot iron against your skin. “I’m not even sure I want to know.” 

“Believe me, you don’t.” 

And that’s the most you get out of him. A tiny crumb of his past. His one hand slides down to your upper arm, fingers pressing into the muscle as if you’re a ghost that has just materialized in front of him. Briefly, you see scenes much more violent compared to the one you witnessed flashing before your eyes; a desperate Joel trying to survive, losing himself to the darkened world. His grief still consumes him, you can see it clearly now. 

With a soft sigh, you cover his hand with your own. The moment is still, neither of you knowing what to say. He seems surprised by the fact you’re touching him, his eyes slowly lifting and meeting yours. You swallow, the sound of blood loud in your ears. 

When you look into his eyes, his soft gaze is briefly replaced by the memory of rage-filled ones you saw outside. You don’t think you will ever be able to forget that look. You won’t be able to forget the way violence clutches at his heart. His need to protect himself and those around him clouds his better judgment— Or rather, he doesn’t care about what happens to others for the sake of his own people. 

You know that this should most likely scare you, or that you should perceive him as something ugly and tainted. 

But it doesn’t. In fact, you think it does the opposite. It’s like a moth to a flame. You’re drawn to him and his tainted light. You see him as nothing short of beautiful. 

His breath hitches while yours stops completely. It warms the fresh wound, then you feel his lips, scarred yet soft, a soft kiss as an answer to your pain. The touch of his tongue forces a shiver up your spine, a soft sting blossoming across your shoulder. 

Joel continues, mouth moving over the slope of your shoulder and to your neck. His patchy beard is a harsh contrast against your skin but you enjoy it all the same. He closes his mouth and presses his lips into the column of your neck. Your lips part with a soft moan. He kisses your neck again and again as if it’s a means to survive. With every press of his mouth, he becomes more sure of himself, the softness is accompanied with the sharpness of his teeth, goosebumps coat your skin. 

Your hand hovers an inch away from his head, too afraid to dive your fingers in just in case he’ll turn into another ghost that your cruel imagination often creates. 

Joel moves back, only an inch between your faces. There’s a new emotion you see that crosses his face but you can’t place what it is. He feels your hand at the back of his head, his eyes flutter closed and he lets out a deep, long breath. Joel’s fingers gingerly curl around your wrist, pushing your hand flush against his head. 

“Touch me,” he says, his southern drawl deep. “I want to feel you.” 

It’s like an experiment almost. Your fingers are touching new soil, getting used to the feeling of soft locks and the bumps of his scalp. You allow your fingers to explore, nails raking his skin. A soft hum rattles his throat and you look back down. You spot the vein meandering down his neck and with wide eyes your hand moves down his head, feels the warmth of his neck, and traces the thick vein. His jaw is locked tight, nostrils flaring with every touch. 

“Joel, I—” 

“Don’t.” his voice breaks, eyes falling away from your own. “Don’t. I don’t wanna hear anything of the sort, not now, not ever.” 

“Tell me what you want to hear then,” 

“The sound of your breathing is enough.” 

Your body reacts before you do, forcing out the breath that was caught in your throat. An eternity later his lips move against yours. His tongue brushes the seam of your lips, your heart flares, your lips parting with the silent command. 

How many times have you thought of Joel touching you like this? Kissing you like this? 

He’ll never know what his mere presence means to you. How the sole image of him brought you back from the brink of not wanting to wake to such a daunting world again and again. Even before he knew what your name was, before you knew his, he was the only one keeping you company—Accompanying you during your every move. A phantom man, following you around and wrapping its arms around you whenever you needed. 

Your body reawakens, his lips and tongue pulling you from somewhere dark. His large hands cup your cheeks, tilting your head as he slips his tongue into your mouth. You moan openly, your hands coming up to hold his wrists. 

Words you want to whisper burn the tip of your tongue. His words echoing loud in your mind whenever they bubble to the surface. 

The sound of your breathing is enough. 

You have trouble swallowing them down, tears gathering in your lashlines, but Joel makes quick work of them, licking into your mouth forcefully as if he’s trying to erase the entire English vocabulary from your mind. 

Your hands drop down from his wrist and awkwardly try to reach his belt. Joel smiles into your lips, calloused fingertips stilling your hands. 

“Easy there, sweetheart. Show me to your bedroom,” 

You give him a confused look, “You already know where my bedroom is,” 

“I prefer this being the first time you lead me to your room.” 

It’s been long since you moved the box of photographs and cleaned the broken pieces of your camera. The ache of your heart is hard to ignore but you do. You nod, also preferring for this to be the first time he’s seeing your room. 

Neither of you touch the other until you’re confined into the smaller area. It’s much colder compared to the kitchen. Joel shivers, a puff of steam dancing from his lips. 

Not wanting this moment to end, you close the distance. Your fingers find their way into his hair, tugging as his hands find your waist. He squeezes and pulls your hips close, forcing a grinding motion. The pleasure you feel is real. It’s overwhelming. Your whines are needy, made with short breaths and the sudden lack of air. 

Joel swallows them all, he sucks your tongue, unbuttons your pants. Arousal pools between your legs, heat licks the bottom of your spine. Your entire world starts spinning when he gets on his knees, pulling down your pants along with him. Your eyes follow, another shudder overtaking you as his fingers move between your legs. 

“J-Joel…” 

“So wet already. Pretty thing,” your heart leaps at the way his eyes move up from your sex to your face. “I haven’t tasted a woman for so long.” 

“Then go ahead,” you mutter, burying your anxiety deep into your heart. 

Everything moves as if it’s in slow motion. The snow outside, the fading light, the way Joel tugs down your underwear. Pupils dilated, he licks his lips at the sight of your slick sticking to the net of your underwear. His thumb moves over your mound, nestling between the soft curls that reside. You suck in a sharp breath. 

The sound is loud enough to prompt him to look up. “Most beautiful cunt I’ve ever seen.” Cupping himself over his dark jeans, a groan slips from his mouth. 

Joel's tongue glides over your skin, you let out a soft moan. His lips velvet against your sensitive flesh. You grip his hair tighter as he expertly works his way over your aching clit. The fading light filters through the dusty window, casting a warm glow over your skin and creating shadows on Joel's face as he buries himself between your legs. His palms skim the back of your thighs, sending shivers up your spine. You let out a breathy moan as Joel's tongue delves deeper. He takes his time, the sharp edges of his face soften, the perpetual crease between his brows fading.  

He must’ve looked beautiful before all was taken away from him. Joel never speaks about it, but you know. You have seen the same expression of grief in your eyes many times. You wonder if you two could’ve met if none of this had happened; the infection, the violence, the change. Another wave of pleasure washes over you with the swipe of Joel’s tongue. You moan and he mimics the sound, the reverberations making you curl over him, your arms wrapped around his head. 

Every cloud has a silver lining, you don’t know who came up with the phrase but you find it cruel, haunting—yet also to be true. 

Haunting is a perfect way to describe the moment. Hauntingly beautiful. A soft hue of light lingering in the darkness dances over your skin. 

Any second can be your last, that’s what makes this moment truly memorable. It can be your last, and you choose to spend it together. 

His gaze finds yours amidst the darkness, lips moving and tongue swirling around your clit. He sucks on it, watching you with a heavy gaze as your whine joins the sounds his tortuous tongue. Joel pulls away and your first instinct is to pull him back, chase the feeling of his skin against yours. His fingers squeezes the back of your thighs, soothing you like a scared animal. You feel his lips moving slowly over your mound, kissing the sensitive skin. 

“I want you on the bed,” he says voice honeyed in a long drawl. “I’m gonna eat this pretty pussy out until you’re drunk on me. Then I’m going to feel the way you squeeze my cock—But I need you to get all nice and wet for me first,” 

Your thighs clench together and he lays another kiss, hands roaming over your ass one more time before pulling you to the bed. He falls on top of you, his heavy presence proving not to be a figment of your imagination. Your entire body rings for him. You feel his breath fanning your face, he stares at you, you see the traces of regret and your stomach sinks. 

“I’m sorry I frightened you,” 

The apology takes you by surprise, you stare, unblinking, and swallow. His hand moves between your leg, two fingers slipping inside you with ease as his palm cups your sex. 

“You still do,” you gasp before you can think. “But I would rather have you broken and bruised than be alone. Something inside me—A heart, a soul…it’s been seeking you out, Joel.” his fingers deftly move with a sharp thrust. Your back archs, body pressing into his touch. You close your eyes but you still feel his eyes boring into you. “You terrify me Joel. But not only because of the reasons you might be thinking.” 

“What other reason is there?” he asks, curling his fingers and grinding the heel of his palm against your clit. You clench your teeth, swallowing down your moans. 

You’re a whirlwind of emotions. His sadness, his grief…all of it resonates deep inside you, it joining the pleasure that builds up, your arousal thick around his fingers. 

You feel the brush of his hand on your ear, your eyes open with surprise, remembering the first time he had attempted to touch you—The Infected part of you. He had ignored it ever since he learned your name. 

Joel leans in and presses his lips, the fur soft against his mouth. Your heart leaps as you flinch, your ear twitching uncontrollably. 

“Tell me,” he says as you moan. “Tell me the other ways I frighten you.” 

“I fear the way you make me feel alive.” 

He curls his fingers, a shout rips from your throat. “Go on,” he prompts you. 

“I’m scared that you’ll leave. That you’ll leave, and that you’ll become a ghost again.” 

“Again?” 

“Forget I said that,” 

He hums, “I can’t promise you that I won’t ever leave. But right now, I'm here. You feel me, don’t you? I ain’t no ghost,” 

To emphasize what he said, he circles your clit with his wet fingers, tongue moving down your neck. He draws your stiff nipple into his mouth, teeth sharp and pleasurable. You feel the wet streaks across your skin when he slides his other hand up your waist, he pries your mouth open by pressing his fingers into the hallows of your cheeks. He sneaks in two fingers, forcing you to taste yourself. 

“I think I need to fuck you now, think you can take me, my little doe?” 

You’re highly aware that the words are spoken without much thought. However, the endearment crackles across your skin, lighting a fire in your stomach, your body jerks, slick wetting your thighs and sheets. He holds your tongue with his fingers, feeling the way it moves with the muffled sounds you make. His mouth moves up the swell of your breast. 

“You like it when I call you mine?” he groans out, breath wet and warm. 

Joel pulls out his fingers so you can speak, his cock lays heavy between your legs. 

Your chest heaves, “Yes.” you gasp, the pressure building starting to become overwhelming. “Say it again, please,” 

“You’re mine,” he replies, sounding as if he’s just stating a fact. “Nothing will hurt you. No one will touch you…” the words sink into your skin, your hips stutter forward, searching for the stretch of his cock. Your breathing becomes heavy, shallow. “And since you’re mine, you’ll take whatever I have to give…won’t you?” 

You hear the uncertainty that follows his hardened tone. Nodding, you catch yourself murmuring back, "I'm yours, and only yours."

Joel doesn’t give you any indication that he hears you, he presses forward, notching the head of his cock against your entrance. Your cunt flutters around him, begging him to move. He’s nothing like your vivid dreams; he takes his time, making you feel every inch. Your breath is caught in your throat, your lungs convulsing. The sudden regret of not touching him beforehand resonates inside, you wanted to feel how heavy and warm he was under your palm, wanted to hear his whimpers—if he makes any, that is. 

“So damn tight,” he grunts. “So wet—fuck,” 

He moves his hips forward then back, thrusting against the dampness that coats your entrance. A moan escapes your lips as he moves faster, each thrust pushing deeper than the last. Your hands grip the sheets as your body trembles. You gasp and bite your lip, the heavy drag of his cock sending waves of pleasure through your body. You can feel him, hard and thick, and it feels incredible. 

Tears gather in your eyes when his lips find yours in the fog of pleasure. Sweat and sex clings to your skin, body on fire, he shoves his tongue into your mouth. The muffled sounds you both make seeps into the other’s lips. You’re both hungry to devour one another, both touch-starved. He parts away with a string of saliva following, he kisses the tear streaks, kisses your eyes. 

You're left chanting his name like a prayer, his hands slide down, cup your ass and lift you from the bed. 

His thrusts quicken, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You cling to him, your hands gripping his back, your nails digging into his skin. His warm breath tickles your neck, and your head spins. Every movement sounds wetter than the last, he splits you in half, cock moving all the way out before he slams into you again and again and again—

Your body shatters around him, pleasure bursting across your very being. The feeling pours into your veins, leaving a simmer and buzz in the pits of your stomach. Joel fucks himself deeper into you until you’re begging him to stop, your body overwhelmed both physically and emotionally. 

“Where do you want me?” he asks, pulling out and fisting himself with little care. 

The fog clouding your mind briefly lifts and you manage to push yourself up the bed. You push his hand away and wrap your numb fingers around his length. He’s so wet, glistening with your slick. Joel watches you as you lean down, wrapping your lips around his cock. His hand touches the back of your head, pushing you further. 

Arousal pools between your legs once more, your tongue warm and wet as you eagerly lick down his shaft, feeling the soft curls tickling your nose, you swallow. Joel’s head falls back, exposing his tanned neck and small scars littered like a starry sky. A loud groan emits from the depths of his lungs, choked out and raspy. Your eyes roll back when he thrusts his hips, the head of his cock touching the back of your throat. 

Your insides clench painfully, begging for more. 

Your lips pop off, tender skin left wet and swollen. “Come down my throat,” you say, before swallowing him down again. Your tongue slides underneath his shaft, tracing the thick veins as you move up. 

Joel’s nails bite into your skin, a string of curse words falling from his lips. Heat flares under your skin. He pushes and pulls, guiding you as you swallow around him again and again. 

There’s something about the way his nails softly bite into your skin that makes your toes curl. It’s been a while since you sucked cock, and he’s showing you how to do it— 

“Doing so good, little doe— Can you take me deeper?” 

You moan your approval, your hand moving between your legs. Your fingers trace around your puffy clit, still sensitive, yet aching to be touched. He doesn’t seem to notice that you start to touch yourself, he holds your head between his palms, fucking your mouth until he feels his shaft begin to pulse before spilling into the warmth of your mouth. 

You swallow every drop. He tastes bitter and you reel at the way the taste of him burns your throat. He keeps his cock buried in your throat as he rides out his orgasm. You run your fingers up the span of his stomach, feeling the dents and marks painted over his skin. 

Joel is left breathless, his chest heaving and cock now soft. You tenderly pepper his skin with kisses, moving all the way up until you press one hurriedly onto his lips. Your fingers rub over the sweat-slick skin of his forehead. And as you move away he grips you by the shoulders and pulls you back, tasting himself on your tongue. 

He licks the inside of your mouth and teases your bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Why do you want me around?” he cups your jaw and rubs two thumbs down your cheeks. “I’m such a fucking mess. I’m not going to trick you into thinking that I’m something that I ain’t. I’m not a good man, June.” 

“I said it earlier,” you say with a soft smile. “I would rather have you broken and bruised than be alone.”

NEXT MORNING 

(DECEMBER, 2014)

The teapot whistles in the background, warm steam filling the kitchen. It’s still early, you’ve come downstairs to prepare a little breakfast where you would use your best supplies after a night spent in such delight. Joel was still there when you woke up, snoring with his arms wrapped around your waist. The warmth made you want to stay there forever.

Little did you know, Joel is a light sleeper. 

Joel's hand covers your mouth and his weight presses you against the table. His hot breath fans over your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His hands grip your hips, pulling you closer to him with every deep thrust. Your body runs hot when you think of how needy you must look spread open for him, so willing to take and give.

“Best thing to wake up to,” he groans, his teeth clenched.

You hiss at the way the wooden surface of the table rakes your skin, he must’ve heard your discomfort because he pulls you up, fingers that were on your mouth drop to your neck, holding you, feeling your erratic pulse. 

“Is this alright?” he grinds his hips against yours. You gasp, keening at how deep he can reach.

“Yes,” you breathe out. “More, Joel, please.” 

Every time his hips slap against your ass, you choke out a sound, and your walls spasm around him. His hand on your throat keeps you from moving far. Joel’s forehead drops between your shoulder blades, he licks a thick stripe up the middle to your nape.

You shudder, clenching around him tighter. He looks down to witness how wet you are, a slick ring coating the base of his cock. A groan that can only be described as animalistic rattles his throat, he nuzzles the mustache above his lips into the crook of your neck his teeth nipping at your skin.

His other hand moves between your legs, fingers drawing fast circles around your aching clit. You cry out as you rock your hips to meet the roll of his hips. There’s a live wire runs right under your skin, electrifying you from the inside out. Your legs clench together, your body quivering, breathing uneven as he furiously swipes two fingers over your clit again and again. Your eyes roll back, hands moving up to grab his forearm. 

“Harder.” 

You feel the mood swiftly changing, his calculated pace faltering and shifting into something more wild. His fingers around your throat tighten, his teeth sink into your skin deeper, the pain makes you smile, the pain makes you feel good. His hand cups your breast, pinching a puckered nipple between his fingers. 

You gasp, eyes falling shut as he repeats the sharp movement.

Before you come, much to your disappointment, Joel pulls out. His shaft pressed against the curve of your ass, his breathing heavy, you feel him spilling over your skin, nose buried in the back of your neck, inhaling your scent like a wolf.

“Sorry,” he grunts. “Thought I would last longer,” 

“It’s okay,” you say, albeit still unsatisfied. 

The promise of your orgasm tickles your skin, sweat chilling your skin. You’re about to straighten up and clean yourself but he stops you, hands kneading your ass. 

“Get on the table,” he orders. “Let me taste you.” 

Joel helps you flip over to your back and you find comfort in the way his hands tilt you up your hips. The table isn’t the most sturdy, but you trust him. He kisses a trail down your stomach, opening his mouth wide when he reaches your sex. Catching the backs of both knees, he pushes your legs apart and licks into you. Joel’s tongue swirls around the bundle of nerves, he closes his lips over your clit and sucks—hard. 

Pulling away, he spits, your back arches when he does. 

And he dives back in, tasting you over and over. Tongue twisting itself deep inside, moving up and down languidly, rolling around your clit as his fingers make dents in your skin. 

It doesn’t take you long. 

Your entire body convulses, both legs pressing down against the frame of his face. You’re scared the table isn’t going to hold but Joel keeps you still—for the most part. He drags his mouth slowly, tasting you, swallowing you. His movements soon grow slower, the heat of your orgasm subsiding. 

When you let out a bubble of laughter, you think that this is going to last forever. You and him against the world, living your days drowning in pleasure and each other—lifting two middle fingers at the crumbling world around them.  

The next day he’s gone. You don’t see him until three months later. 

EPILOGUE

(MARCH, 2015)

It’s excruciatingly warm. Your tank top sticks to you like second skin, it’s uncomfortable and all you want to do is go home, grab a spare pair of clothes and take a dip in the river. 

You haven’t seen Joel for a while. But to be fair, you’ve been avoiding him. You know well that if you truly wanted to see him you could, you just didn’t. 

He abandoned you without a word. Your heart threatens to shatter again when you remember the thing you admitted to him; your fear of loneliness, your fear of him leaving you to rot in your self-pity once again. 

And that’s exactly what he did. 

It was painful, too painful. You returned to entertaining yourself with ghosts, despite your best efforts, all of them looked like him. Three months had passed but you still feel his lips burning your skin, his cock dragging orgasm out of orgasm out of you. 

Joel said he wasn't a ghost at the time; he never promised you that he wouldn’t be one in the future.

Life is cruel. You know this better than most. It was stupid of you to think anything could change. But the thing you had forgotten was that life thoroughly enjoyed making a mockery of your life. 

You nearly drop to your knees when you see the state of the cabin you once called home. Infected, a multitude of them, moving around your house, a couple of them inside, lurking about. 

You almost break down. Almost. 

Joel never told you where he lived, but you know. And you have no choice. You need to go. You need a place to say. You need to survive despite the pain, the heartbreak, the loss. 

The reasoning as to why still escapes you, maybe it’s just instinct. 

You also need to warn him. 

When you knock on the door you expect him not to open it. Much to your shock, he does at the first knock. Almost as he was waiting for you—You keep your gaze locked to his face, trying very hard to ignore the fact that he’s shirtless.

“June?” 

“Joel,” you answer, your eyes fixated on his face. “I need a place to stay.” 

[hadesfucks]

do you have wenclair fanfiction recommendations to share pls?

Omg omg finally *shuffles notes* yes!

All fics are completed and linked! Let me know if one isn’t working!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wenclair :: Catch me, if you can by @bitusgardn

The Wenclair Detective Au everyone knows and loves, brought to us by bitusgardn. Featuring my new favorite tag “Enid is a homicidal killer”

To Love So Deeply, To Not Fear Death by AnimeWolf38

In which the Addams Family is immortal! Cute little oneshot to give anyone a little pick-me-up

Welcome to the Internet by Bee-nut

Enid has Wednesday create a Twitter account, and much like all of us, the internet population thirsts over Wednesday Addams. Enid gets jealous, hilarity ensues.

The Taste Of Yellow (It’s My Least Favorite Color) by SaltyKombucha

Wednesday “what did you just say to my girl” Addams. Protective bitches. Gonna be honest I can barely remember it but I remember it was dope as hell!

Practice Makes Perfect, After All. By Aliakim

The age old “practice kissing” trope, and it’s glorious. Featuring Wednesday “totally not projecting onto the main character in my book” Addams.

Unpacking by Incomplete_pegasus

The babes have separation anxiety. Softness ensues.

Reset by Eggplant_Crusader

Wednesday Addams is oblivious as hell. Please check out eggplants other works they’re so great omg

Hall of Fame

Dances With Wolves by wolfwars

The Wenclair Fake Dating AU except it’s with Enids family! Mild spice warning I guess? They make out and Wednesdays a masochist but we knew that already. Justice for Mr. Jellybean

If we make it through December by overnights

Fake dating AU but with the Addams Family! Very in character of both of them. Eventually no one can find the line between real and fake. Bianca is mentioned once (1) and is still a whole mood.

(unless you’re dying to) cry your heart out by exalteddm

THE BEST FIC OMG (I finished it when I got this ask). FEATURING: AroAce Wednesday Addams, Hanahaki Disease, and exploration of a potential QPR. This fic truly has it all!

if you smell something burning, it’s my heart by Rennajade

Flirting through music! Feelings realization and denial! All in one! One of the best concluding chapters I’ve seen yet. Thing is a little shit. Wednesday Addams is Autistic.

Happy Reading Anon!

[deliciouskeys]

I did that one old OTP meme for Butchlander. Opinions entirely my own lol.

Source template.

1. Who is the most affectionate?

I think HL would be the king of PDA in this pairing. However, I think Billy showers him with more physical affection behind closed doors.

2. Big spoon/Little spoon?

Billy’s taller and HL has much higher need to be enveloped so this is not even a question.

3. Most common argument?

Whether Billy should take Compound V, and as a related topic, whether being a supe makes you intrinsically suck as a person.

4. Favorite non-sexual activity?

I’d like to think they’d both enjoy the outdoors, albeit perhaps in different styles. I would love to read the fic where they go on a roadtrip to camp in some national park out west, and Billy’s all into roughing it in a tiny cold tent, meanwhile HL is having none of that, this is going to be a glamping trip if he can help it. Billy’s annoyed HL decides not to change out of his suit even in the woods, and complains that using heat vision to start a campfire is cheating. HL’s annoyed that Billy thinks swimming in a lake counts as taking a shower, and turns up his nose at drinking beer— it’s illegal to bring alcohol into a national park anyway!

5. Who is most likely to carry the other?

While it’s easier for HL, I can’t see Billy being into it. If HL wants to bring Billy into the air, he’s going to have to do it with an arm around the waist. I think HL wouldn’t mind being princesscarried to bed, otoh.

6. What is their favorite feature of their partner’s?

HL loves Billy’s personality, specifically his honesty, even if it comes with blunt rudeness, and his weird lack of fear, even if it’s due to some malfunction of his self-preservation instinct. Billy will admit to loving how HL feels and sounds when they’re fucking. He won’t admit that he actually loves the emotional neediness.

7. What’s the first thing that changes when they realize they have feelings for the other?

Billy has an existential crisis for a week or two. HL is unruffled, he’s been kind of taken with Billy since they met at Madelyn’s house, and doesn’t really have a problem admitting it.

8. Nicknames? & if so, how did they originate?

HL still likes to say ‘William’ for the mouthfeel and because it sounds sarcastic. ‘Billy’ most of the time. He’ll try ‘babe’ and even ‘honey’ once in a while, usually to vehement objection. As for Billy, I’m sure in bed it’s a lot of ‘cunt’ and ‘little bitch’, interspersed with occasional ‘my good boy’, but outside the bedroom, I think he keeps on calling him Homelander. Sorry, rest of fandom, I can’t get behind Billy calling him John, it makes me deeply uncomfortable for some reason.

9. Who worries the most?

HL! He worries over himself, over Ryan, over Billy, over public opinion. And being around HL, Billy worries even less, because he’s a contrarian.

10. Who remembers what the other one always orders at a restaurant?

Billy because he’s used to integrating all sorts of random details about HL into his memory repository over the years. Also, it’s always a glass of milk, even at Asian places that don’t fucking have it, so it’s memorably annoying.

11. Who tops?

I think they might switch off occasionally, but ultimately HL likes feeling wanted and occasionally just wants to be a pillow princess, and Butcher likes feeling in control of a situation, so Butcher topping is their preference.

12. Who initiates kisses?

I think Butcher might feel bolder that way.

13. Who reaches for the other’s hand first?

I think HL would be all about that. He might even take off his gloves for it occasionally (!)

14. Who kisses the hardest?

I think they are both into rough sex. But if Butcher is Compound V-less, it has to be Butcher. HL’s not going to risk being aggressive with someone who might break.

15. Who wakes up first?

HL, because, does he even sleep, he is a wholesome, hardworking, all-American morning person. Billy does not strike me as a morning person.

16. Who wants to stay in bed just a little longer?

Billy probably. If they’re coparenting Ryan, HL is definitely the parent who has to figure out breakfast.

17. Who says I love you first?

I think HL is oddly more in touch with his feelings than Billy, so him.

18. Who leaves little notes in the other’s one lunch? (Bonus: what does it usually say?)

HL with his florid little penmanship lol! It says absolutely mundane shit because HL wants to be in a NORMAL loving relationship above all else. So plenty of “Hope you have a great day! XOXO”, “Can’t wait to see you! XOXO”, “Long distance kisses from your favorite! XOXO”. Billy tries to not let anyone see these, because how fucking embarrassing, but he loves that at least one of them can be this unabashedly romantic.

19. Who tells their family/friends about their relationship first?

HL literally tells Ashley to put “dinner date with Billy Butcher” on his agenda when they just start out. But he waits to tell Ryan in case it doesn’t work out. Billy never tells The Boys and they find out from the news cycle. When they start bombarding him with questions he shuts down and brushes it all off with “what about it”.

20. What do their family/friends think of their relationship?

Vought’s less than thrilled with their apex supe being gay, and specifically dating Billy, who’s screwed them over before, and probably will again. But they’re not going to interfere. The Seven are relieved that HL is too busy and too satisfied with his personal life to go out of his way to torment them. The Boys are mostly distraught, nothing makes sense anymore, what the fuck is this world, but they eventually just accept it. Ryan is really happy he doesn’t have to be in the middle of an ongoing feud.

21. Who is more likely to start dancing with the other?

Ha! Thanks to fanon, I keep thinking HL being into ballroom dancing is canon 😂. I still think HL is more likely to be into dancing, and less likely to be complaining about his ears bleeding from the Spice Girls.

22. Who cooks more/who is better at cooking?

I hope Billy is better, but that eating a Hot Pocket with fork and knife scene is worrying. I just assume HL has never had to spend any time in a kitchen unless he’s pilfering milk from a fridge. I assume Billy has survival level cooking skills at least. They probably get a lot of takeout though :/

23. Who comes up with cheesy pick up lines?

Billy, because he’d do it sarcastically, and HL would get annoyed and offended at how bad they are sometimes, but ultimately it’s still a show of affection, so he takes what he can get.

24. Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear during inappropriate times?

Billy. I think he kind of thrives on making people uncomfortable. I don’t think HL can say anything that would faze Billy that much.

25. Who needs more assurance?

The one who needs public adoration and gets upset about memes.

26. What would be their theme song?

American Woman by The Guess Who. Spoiler, American Woman does not stay away.

27. Who would sing to their child back to sleep?

Uhhhhhhhhhhhh… lol. Is there footage of either of these actors singing? I have trouble picturing it. I could see Billy being fine with singing some pop song offkey, although Ryan is going to be laughing instead of sleeping. HL’s not going to do something unless he has mastery of it. [Edit: the verdict is in, and yes it’s Billy, and yes his singing is pretty godawful]

28. What do they do when they’re away from each other?

Billy continues fighting the good fight against corrupt supes and Vought. HL continues to work for Vought and mostly do their bidding unless Billy makes fun of him for it. Hopefully he’s doing fewer evil sidegigs as a concession to Billy, but who knows.

(Art is something I commissioned from the talented @maxkennedy24 )

[haikyuu-sins]

Then for my request, can you write a oneshot featuring Sanji and a male reader practicing gags and orgasms please? The fic would involve the reader using a multi-layered cloth gag on Sanji while making him edge. What do you think?

Characters: Vinsmoke Sanji (One Piece)

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Dom!Reader, use of gags, deepthroating, edging, restraints, little bit of cum play, use of the work victim (in a dom sense) not proof read, Sanji is called a bitch

Genre: Smut. Minors DNI.

You smirk down at Sanji who looks like he’s about to lose his mind. His big grey eyes are looking up at you while you know he’s begging and pleading, but with the cloth that you’ve wrapped around his mouth, you can’t understand a word he’s saying. You revel in it.

He’s about to say something to you but you walk around the man that you’ve tied to the chair and slip the cloth gag in his mouth and now his muffled words don’t reach you. “What was that~?” you tease him, looking down at his hardened cock. Precum leaked from the now red tip. “Do you want to cum? Is that what you’re asking me?” You weren’t sure how long he had been waiting to, but you weren’t done having your fun with him. 

“Mhm!” Sanji frantically nodded his head as he oh-so desperately at the restraints. Both of you knew he could get out of these thin ropes, but where would the fun be in that? 

“I’m sure you do~” you grab his chin and smile sweetly. “But I haven’t said you’re allowed to yet.” You drop down to your knees and look up at your handsome victim. “Do you understand?” 

You could hear him swallow as he watched you take your tongue and drag it painfully slowly up from his balls, to the twitching tip. He clenched his hands tightly, wishing he was clenching a fistful of your hair instead of nothingness. Sanji’s breath was erratic as you began to take him into your mouth but not all the way. You’d stop around halfway down his cock, circling your tongue around the tip before coming back up and doing the same thing. The taste of precum was heavy on your tongue. But you craved more. 

Sanji bit down on the cloth gag, letting out what sounded almost like a pained moan. He was getting impatient and you could tell he was starting to get close again by the way he twitched when you went down further. His cock hit the back of your throat again and again. the sounds you were making as you gagged nearly sent him over the edge. 

You came up with a pop and caught your breath. “Where should I let you cum? Down my throat? Or all over my face?” 

His words were stifled but you could understand his begging as “Face! Face! Please your face!”  

He loved seeing his seed strung out along your face and watching it drip off of your chin. 

You smiled up at him and continued with your work, taking him back into your mouth until you knew he was about to burst. He pushed his hips up into you like the needy bitch he was acting like right now. His whimpers and moans were getting louder and louder, until finally you took him out of your mouth and began to jerk him off. One hand played with his balls while the other slid up and down his shaft that was slick with your saliva.  

You opened your mouth and hoped that you’d be able to taste some of it. He was out just in time for him to spurt his thick cum spurted all over your face in ropes. You flinched slightly, not knowing the exact moment he would let it out. You continued to slowly move your hand, milking his cock for all the cum he had to offer.

He fell back into the chair, panting as he tilted his head back. His eyes were closed for a split second before he realized he didn’t want to miss this beautiful sight beneath him. His grey eyes scanned your features and he took it all in. Your tongue was slightly coated with his seed and he watched as you put it back in your mouth, swallowing it with a grin. 

Your fingers glided across your face, taking as much of it off as possible. You dangled them above your mouth and he could swear his cock twitched one more time as his cum dripped down onto your awaiting tongue. 

It went down your throat with ease and you stood up to take the gag out of his mouth and rope off his wrists. He was grateful when he was finally released from those confines. 

Sanji quickly brought you down to his level and pressed his lips to yours, not caring about the taste of himself that was now on his own lips. “Holy shit.. You have no idea how sexy you look right now~” he panted as he pulled away.

You smile at him and run your fingers through his hair. “You’re such a good boy, Sanji~”