#(with or without knifes attached)

[bidokja]

i have thoughts and theories about how all this is gonna end and im gonna explode if its nothing like im imagining

[gingerhastoomanyobsessions]

Things that actually happen in hunchback of notre dame, in no particular order

The book mostly is told from the POV of Pierre, a self-insert who is failed author and, I cannot stress this enough, utterly pathetic 

Quasimodo damaged his hearing as a teenager from years of bell ringing and now uses sign language whenever he can

There is a scene where Quasimodo and a fellow deaf guy have to have a conversation without using sign language because they’re in a courtroom and the jury doesn’t know sign. It goes about as well as you’d expect 

Frollo has a little brother, Jehan, who he raised after their parents died. Jehan is now a frat bro in college whose hobbies consist of getting drunk and being mean to Quasimodo. In his first scene Jehan complains about college DEI because an Italian guy got a scholarship he wanted. 

Esmeralda is accused of witchcraft because she taught her pet goat Djali how to do math

Djali may or may not be sapient. He can and does imitate human mannerisms to make fun of people on purpose. He does this while on trial. 

Yes. They tried the goat for witchcraft, too. 

Pierre writes a whole play riding on the pun of dolphin/Dauphin. Nobody likes it. 

Frollo is an alchemist and has a secret mad science lab where he writes on the walls

Jehan literally pulls a “buy my silence” and frollo gives him money to make him shut up

There’s a trio of catty girls who bully Esmeralda like it’s Mean Girls

Quasimodo and Frollo literally have Cryptid Status— Parisians circulate rumors that Quasimodo is either a familiar, a homunculus, or the result of demonic mpreg, and that Frollo is a wizard with wizard powers and/or a ghost

There is a little old woman who lives in a hole and shouts slurs at people. She has a tragic backstory. 

There is a homicidal con man/king of thieves named Clopin Troillefou (surname translation: The Fool of Fear) who deserves tumblr sexymanhood.

Pierre learns how to carry chairs with his teeth 

There’s an entire chapter dedicated to the layout of the streets of Paris in painstaking detail

There’s another chapter that is a rant about interior design 

Esmeralda and Pierre get platonically married due to Clopin’s murderous shenanigans. Pierre tries to make a move in her but ends up being more emotionally attached to Djali the goat than to her. I think that should be grounds for divorce

There is a scene where Pierre has to choose between helping Esmeralda escape or helping Djali. He picks Djali. 

Frollo hides from his own brother by laying face down in mud and playing dead. Somehow this works 

There is a Plot Significant Tiny Shoe. A Tiny Shoe Chekhov’s Gun. And Victor Hugo will not stop telling you just how Tiny this shoe is. 

There’s a soap opera style plot twist that involves a false accusation of cannibalism and the woman in the hole who shouts slurs

Quasimodo makes up a stupid little song that doesn’t even rhyme to confess his love to Esmeralda, who remains oblivious

He then attempts to demonstrate his affection via convoluted metaphors that involve props. She doesn’t get it. Boy please say what you mean

Frollo pulls the classic discord groomer tactic of threatening self-harm if Esmeralda doesn’t give in. 

Jehan rolls up to a party/rescue mission scheming session in Clopin’s secret hideout in full plate armor (how did he get that???), drunk off his ass, and acts like he owns the place. Everyone finds this so ridiculous that they just let him

Hugo goes on and on about how innocent and naive Esmeralda is but then casually reveals that Esmeralda carries a dagger on her person at all times to fend off assault. When Frollo attacks her and Quasi intervenes, she takes Quasi’s knife and almost kills Frollo (fair!) but he flees. She contains multitudes?

Frollo has a psychotic breakdown in the middle of a field surrounded by chickens and hallucinates skeletons everywhere 

For the first half of the book Esmeralda is like 70% sure Frollo is a ghost, not helped by his aforementioned Cryptid Status

Jehan eats a moldy piece of cheese off the ground 

Frollo tries to send Pierre on a suicide mission in drag. Pierre objects to the suicide part but not the drag part  

Clopin’s preferred weapon is a scythe, he’s very good at using it, and he sings when he fights. Again: sexyman potential. 

Victor Hugo has a foot fetish. I initially dismissed it as Frollo having a foot fetish until Victor Hugo included a foot fetish torture scene without any Frollo in it. So I can only conclude that the foot fetish is authorial in nature. Unfortunately the foot scenes are important to the plot. 

Frollo is canonically 36, he just aged like shit and is bald. The narrator will not stop telling you just how bald he is.

Despite being in full plate armor, Jehan gets splatted like a bug

Almost every named character dies. Djali the goat lives. 

[caffeinatedvigilantewriter]

Ok so Amity gets lots of its funding by hosting a summer camp every year. They host it by the lake in the woods and the local high schools are counselors and head of cabins.

The camp is like a 150 year tradition and it got very popular especially among the rich from around the country.

They kept it going, closing down for 3 summers because of the ghost attacks (the town could have the attacks and the camp running. It would be too dangerous)

They opened it the next year, but with a lot more liability paperwork and that stuff.

This is also the year where Damian Wayne gets sent to the camp.

Bruce went, Dick went, Jason went, Tim went and even Cass went for a year and now it was his turn.

Damian did not want to go. There are no phones allowed, so he won’t be able to communicate with his family. He went anyway. Danny is his head of cabin.

All the senior class members are liminal. With the weird traits and all that shit. They know Danny is phantom but they don’t really talk about it

Shenanigans:

- Danny noticing the faint liminal scent on Damian and kind takes him under his wing to hopefully have Damian feed off of his ecto and get healthier. Damian thinks his head of cabin just gets really attached really easily.

- Sam running the gardens and using her undergrowth powers. Damian think she’s related to Posion Ivy, but evidently does not care when he find out she a vegan and just as passionate about the environment and animals as he is

- Tucker teaches the campers a coding class. 30 fourteen year olds hacking into places they should not hack into. Surprisingly, under Tuckers guidance, they all manage to successfully hack into the Pentagon without detection. Damian glanced at Tucker’s screen and saw that he was not hacking along with them but hacking an organization called the GIW

-Val and Danny teach hand to hand combat and weapons. After the camper learn to use all the weapons, Val and Danny assign one o them (crossbow, knife, bow and arrow, laser gun). Damian is great at all of them, and they let him pick whichever weapon he wants.

- Damian offhandedly mentions that a katana is his preferably weapon. The next week, Danny’s younger sister comes back from her travels with a katana for him.

- dash and kwan run the camp wide games. They have capture the flag and dodgeball (but they changed it to bow and arrow dodgeball to secretly help with the kids aim), but now they added a little tournament.

- each camper uses their weapon and are pitted against each other until there is one winner. Unsurprisingly, it’s Damian.

- the GIW crashes the camp in the middle of the night after getting a really strong ecto signal (Damian, plus Danny, plus the other liminal counselors). The counselors were at a separate location having a meeting or some other shit that doesn’t involve the campers.

-with Damian leading, the campers manage to fend them off. He and the other campers notice that they seemed to be targeting Damian.

-the counselors get back in time to help them.

-Damian doesn’t mention any of this to his family, and neither do the other campers. They all want to come back next year.

BONUS

Damian send weekly letters about what he’s doing at camp but in simple terms so that the Wayne’s think that camp just expanded their activities and Damian’s having fun

BONUS BONUS

Damian, after feeding off of Danny’s ecto for 2 months becomes visibly liminal. He grows a foot and a half taller, gets fangs, can hold his breath for longer, is quieter, eyes start glowing.

The Waynes are slightly suspicious, but they’ve all went to the camp and came back fine, so maybe he just had a growth spurt.

Maybe months later Constantine comes to the Watchtower and ask Damian how long he’s been dead. Damian answers.

“4 months, magician.”

The Waynes are now freaking out because they had no idea Damian died during summer camp.

Cue the rabbit hole into Amity Park, Phantom, Danny, and the GIW

[vroomvroomcircuit]

Plushie Kidnapping

(A/N): This one just ran away from me.

Summary: Max accidentally packed his girlfriends favorite plush toy. Now it's his chance to show her how good he can care for her loyalst compagnon.

Pairing: Max Verstappen x reader, Max interacting with other drivers

Wordcount: 2.2k

🏎Masterlist🏎 ___________________________

(Y/N) is on her way home from work when her boyfriend called her. She accepts the call through the car’s entertainment program, excited to hear Max’s voice after a grueling day.

“Hey Baby,” She greets him while steering the car along the streets. A smile takes place on her face, always giddy to talk to her love. “Schatje,” Max breathes into his phone, “how was your day?”

After some small talk and light banter, (Y/N) taxis her car into the parking space of her apartment building. “Are you home?” Max asks, hesitation in his voice. The young woman frowns upon hearing that. “Yeah, but we don’t need to end the call.” She assures him.

The driver hesitates again. “I made a… let's call it a moderately bad mistake.” He confesses, his voice quiet. (Y/N) stops in her tracks as she previously rummaged in her purse for her key. She looks up at the car’s display, as if it’s Max itself standing in front of her, wringing his hands with a nervous smile.

But he is not, instead he stands in a hotel room thousand of kilometers away from his girlfriend, staring at an object on his bed. She clears her throat, her little bubble of giddy having burst. “What?”

Her sharp tone makes Max wince. “This morning I did some last minute packing and - please don’t be mad at me - I may have accidentally, unwanted, really, by mistake… packed your little lion plushie.” Said toy stares back at Max accusatory. The Dutchman swears he is getting judged by it.

(Y/N) is silent for several moments. Max feels the weight though the line. He wishes for nothing more than to be able to turn back time to put the soft lion back onto her bed. Finally, (Y/N) sighs. “It’s” She starts and stops again, taking a deep breath. “You are on a triple header, right?”

That was more of a theoretical question. Of course she knows the answer. The date of his return, nearly four weeks away, is circled red in her calendar. Max doesn’t see the point in answering, instead choosing to keep quiet.

(Y/N) nods. “I- okay. You are sure you got Leon? The Leon who has been with me for most of my life? Who has been here before you?” She is waving her hands around as she is talking, still sitting in the car.

Max sits, pacing around in his hotel room. “I am so so sorry, Schatje. I- sending a package would be way too risky. We can’t have him getting lost somewhere. Or even risk it.” He paces a little more, knowing how much that lion means to his girlfriend. “I will have someone take my jet and fly Leon back to you.” At that (Y/N) lets out a humorless laugh. “Max, that’s too extreme. It’s okay. I will manage without Leon. Just… gosh this sounds pathetic. But please. Make sure he is safe. He means so much to me, even though he is just a plush animal.” (Y/N)’s voice gets quieter and quieter.

He stops in his tracks. “I promise you, Schatje. He is in the second best hands possible. No one can top yours, of course.” (Y/N) smiles to herself, albeit a bit warily. Okay. I trust you.”

Soon after, they end the call and the young woman finally leaves her car to enter her apartment.

For the remainder of the day her mind circles back to her plush animal. It was gifted to her some time during her early childhood days. (Y/N) doesn’t have a single memory or picture without that little yellow plush lion.

When she is making dinner, her phone pings. Max’s contact name with an attached photo lights the screen up. Curiously, (Y/N) puts the knife she used for chopping vegetables down and opens the messenger app.

The first thing she sees is Leon, sitting in front of an empty plate. Then the young woman spots her boyfriend, having taken a selfie of himself and her plushie during dinner, his own plate being filled. Leon is taking your spot during our dinner dates, I hope you don’t mind! Max texted her with the picture.

(Y/N) giggles to herself, her worries being eased for now. I hope you insist on paying like you do with me! Don’t let my best friend starve though. Love you two! After that, he sends her a picture of Leon sitting in front of a plate filled with a few peas. Not letting the little man starve, trust me.

And this is a common recurrence during the following weeks. Every day Max sends his girlfriend several pictures of him and Leon in different situations.

During the first weekend, Max brought Leon with him into the paddock, his little head looking out of his backpack. With a red bull can in hand and a smile on his face, he enters the paddock and is immediately greeted by different media personnel.

One of the red bull social media girls catch him on his hot girl paddock walk. “Hey Max. What’s up with the lion? Is this another opportunity to sell?” She asks, keeping up with his step and holding up the phone to film him for their instagram and tiktok channels.

He laughs a bit, tucking some hair behind his ear. “Oh no, he's my girlfriend’s most loyal companion in life and I accidentally packed him up. I promised her to take care of Leon during the triple header, and I felt like he would have been too lonely in my hotel room. So I’m showing him the paddock.” He explains, waving his arm around and pointing towards the plushie in his backpack.

That clip goes viral quicker than any video that had the word “inchident” uttered.

Soon enough, (Y/N) gets another photo of them, Leon being placed on a treadmill next to Max’s, “training” at the gym together. The picture has been taken by Rupert.

A few minutes later, the young woman receives a video of Leon bench pressing some very small weights, with Max spotting him. “He is very strong, I can see now why he is your actual protector instead of me”, he winks into the camera before the recording ends.

By the end of the first race of the triple header, the whole team has already been roped into the spiel of showing (Y/N) how good the Dutchman takes care of her stuffed companion.

Especially the red bull social media team jumped onto that wagon. They make clips of Leon getting a spa treatment at a place specialized on stuffed animals. They take Max and Leon to a zoo, showing him some actual lions. The team also ropes Leon into challenge videos with Yuki, who loses to the stuffed toy every time. (Y/N) gets the first view of course before the video hits all social media channels.

Every single video goes viral. Even other sports try to hop onto that train. But a person in a fursuit for a football team can never step up to be as iconic as a small plush lion.

Soon enough, Leon becomes some kind of mascot for the team, especially for Max.

“Schatje”, he mutters into the phone after turning another pole into a race win, still wet and sticky from champagne combined with red bull, “I think I need to bring Leon to all my races from now on.”

(Y/N) just gasps. “So it was deliberate of you! You packed him on purpose!” Ever since Max has told her that he took the stuffed lion with him, the couple has been bickering whether or not the Dutchman did it intentionally or not. The opinions on both sides are steadfast.

“Lies! Slander! I wouldn’t do such things. Maybe you just need to quit your day job and accompany Leon and me for the rest of the season. I have a championship to win and Leon has a championship winning driver to support!” (Y/N) groans at that. “Come home with my guy first and then we can do some talking. From what I saw, there were attempts to kidnap Leon. Your chances of being able to even have a conversation about my future as part of the workforce will be non-existent if something happens.”

This is true. After other drivers have witnessed the magic of the little lion, plans were made to claim that energy for themselves.

First and foremost the rookies under the lead of Kimi and Ollie tried to make some elaborate plan. In the end they didn’t go through with it, because between them all, they couldn’t agree who is allowed to keep Leon if their plan was to be successful.

Charles actually got close to getting his hands on the trophy in the form of a plush lion as he walked into the paddock with Max during the sunny afternoon for another day of media day. Staying in step with him, the Monegasque put his arm around his shoulder, acting friendly while his hand crawled towards Leon hanging out the backpack. “What is your opinion on the new soft tyre Pirelli introduced yesterday?” He tries to divert his attention.

But there is one thing he hasn’t accounted for, dealing with Max. His lightning fast reflexes. Quickly, Charles’ arm is pinned off Max. “Just touch Leon without my blessing and it’s not only my wrath you’ll get to witness, but (Y/N)’s anger too. And you don’t want to try her.” He warns the Ferrari driver. Charles backs off, a bit scared if he is being honest.

Even through all the evil attempts of commiting crimes, Leon also experiences the full mischief and chaos that comes with the other drivers and daily life in the paddock.

“Has Leon ever tried it?” Yuki asks during a fanzone appearance, gesturing towards said lion that is sat on the table on stage where they held some kind of building blocks challenge against the mclaren boys. The soft toy leans against a can of red bull.

Max is shaking his head laughing while Lando dashes to the front, his excitement barely contained as he puts his own can of Monster next to the red bull. “If he has to try something, it has to be the best energy drink in the world”, he speaks into the microphone. Their sponsors love him.

The Dutchman is quick to set the record straight. “Leon will not try any caffeinated drinks. He is like (Y/N), it would only upset his stomach and make him anxious.” Then he turns towards the crowd. “Especially some sugar water like that neon green piss.” Other sponsors hate him.

The interviewer has some work to do to calm the fans back down.

But also during drivers parades, the stuffed animal has become an icon quickly. It’s the only time where Max lets another driver hold him, since so many eyes and cameras are on them at that moment no one would dare to do something to or with Leon.

To everyone’s surprise, Oscar is weirdly possessive when he gets his fingers on him.

“I feel like it’s my turn to hold him now”, Alex whines as he makes grabby hands towards Oscar, who cradles the stuffy in his arms. He fixates the Thai with a dry look. “Too bad, I have him now.” The Australian successfully fends off everyone's advances of taking Leon from him with his witty remarks and mean glances. Up until the truck is back in the pits, where he gets approached by Max. With a sigh, he hands Leon over. “Ask your girlfriend if she also has a koala. This is weirdly soothing.”

Luckily, eventually all triple headers come to an end. The press later argues that Max’s drive to the airport after the race was faster than his actual fastest lap on track.

Finally, after three poles to wins, Max flies back to his shared apartment with (Y/N) in Monaco. He arrives in the middle of the night, rolling in his suitcase, his backpack slung over his shoulders and gripping Leon tightly in his free hand.

He dumps his luggage at the door quietly to tiptoe into the master bedroom. Max halts in the doorway, his eyes softening as he sees his love cuddled up in tshirt, clutching also one of his hoodies.

While trying to be as silent as possible, he changes out his plane clothes into some pjs before slipping under the blanket on his side of the bed. (Y/N) stirs slightly. Then turns around towards him.

“Did you-” Max already puts the small plush lion into her arms. “I did”, he reassures her with a gentle smile. He pulls her into his arms, before sighting satisfied. This is his home.

“He smells like you.” “Me?” (Y/N) hums, close to falling asleep again. “Like burnt rubber and victory.”

Max chuckles and presses a kiss to her forehead. “And you smell like home.” He whispers, knowing she has fallen asleep already. While he looks at her, wishing he can take (Y/N) with him like he did with Leon. Carrying his love in his pocket at all times.

[happy74827]

Joyride

[Wade Wilson x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Remember kids, always look at the road when driving. It can help you avoid certain blabber mouths 🫶

WC: 2556

Category: Fluff, Annoying!Deadpool, 4th Wall Breaks, Insane Amounts of Profanity {TW: Deadpool (for obvious reasons)}

In honor of watching Deadpool 3 (super good btw), enjoy this random chaotic fic I created with the help of @yoursacredqueenmother. This is super chaotic lmfao

『••✎••』

Shit. Shit. Shit. SHIT.

A millisecond ago, you were driving down a street. In the middle of traffic. At a red light. Now, you were panicking, looking over the front of your car for the flash of red you had just seen. It took a couple of seconds for you to realize that there was blood on your car and on the ground—a lot of blood.

"Oh, shit. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!"

You quickly hopped out of the car, rushing to the spot you thought the person… or thing would be, but… there was nobody. There was blood on the ground but nobody.

Did you hit a deer, and it just… ran off? No, that can't be right. You definitely saw something red, and it most certainly was not a deer.

You looked around, confused. How the hell does something bleed all over the ground and then disappear without a trace?!

You got back in your car, deciding to drive to the closest police station. Maybe they knew something about this.

So, you decided to abandon the shortcut home and drive to the nearest police station, which happened to be just down the road. But as you were minutes into the drive, you felt the sudden urge to look in your rearview mirror.

And there you found your mysterious red-suited victim in the backseat, holding the biggest knife you have ever seen as his white-covered eyes stared at you from behind the mask.

You never hit the brakes faster in your life. The car made an ugly screeching sound, and the sudden force slammed the red-clad man into the back of your seat, making him let out a surprised yelp.

The car finally came to a stop, and the masked man recovered quickly, pushing himself off of your seat and glaring at you.

"Well, aren’t you just a heart break—"

He didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence.

You grabbed your keys from the ignition and popped off the attached pepper spray, turning around and squirting him in the face. He let out a scream, and you quickly got out of the car, shutting the door and running as fast as you could.

Unfortunately, you didn’t get very far. Despite being hit by a car, and subsequently getting pepper sprayed, the man (or what you assume to be) caught up with you and blocked your path, his hands on his hips, his head cocked to the side.

"Alright, lady, what the fuck?" He asked, his voice sounding nasally, most likely because of the spray.

You stared at him, confused. He looked like he was waiting for an explanation.

"W-What the fuck?! What the fuck me? What the fuck you!" You exclaimed, your voice cracking a little. "What the fuck are you doing in my car?!"

"Well, I was trying to hitch a ride! But clearly, that didn't work out. Thanks a lot, by the way, for the pain and suffering. You’ve really opened up my horizons here."

It almost sounded like he was pouting.

"What the—! A ride?! Why in the hell would you just hop into someone's car?!"

"Uhh, because you ran me over, genius! I mean, come on, the least you could do is offer a guy a ride home after that. And then, the cherry on top of the fucking sundae: pepper spray!"

The masked man, so to speak, threw his arms up in the air, and you could almost see him rolling his eyes underneath the mask. Of course, that’s when you noticed the obvious broken bones in his hands. And the blood. There was a lot of blood.

"Look," the guy started, walking closer to you. "I know, I'm a big scary guy with a big scary knife and a bad temper and all, and you’re just… well, I’m sure you have an amazing personality, but how about we put all that aside, and you give me a ride, alright? Just drop me off at the corner of 10th and 55th, and you can forget this ever happened."

"Your arm… your wrist. It's broken," you told him.

"Yeah, no shit," the man scoffed. "Got any Taylor Swift CDs in that car?"

"Uh… no, not really. Why?"

"Cause, baby, I’m Shaking It Off!"

There was a pregnant pause, and you weren't quite sure if he was being serious or not. I mean, surely he wasn’t about to just ignore the fact that his arm was the complete opposite of norm—

But when he shook his arm in a violent manner, and a loud crack followed suit, you realized, with a heavy heart, that yes, this guy was serious.

What you didn’t know until a few seconds later, however, was that he snapped his bones back into place like it was nothing. It took the flexing in his fingers to realize it, too.

"Holy shit." You truly were in awe.

He seemed to find amusement in your expression, tilting his head slightly and giving you a once-over. And, yes, you could feel his eyes on you, and for some reason, it sent a shiver down your spine.

"So… Wendy Torrance, about that ride? Can you give me a lift, or are we gonna start that chick flick moment where your mental breakdown leads to slow-motion running to a Sia song?"

You could only stare.

"Alright, well, if you're going through with the latter, then at least play something that doesn’t involve that little dancing girl who likes to wear potato sacks as clothes."

You couldn’t believe this was happening.

"You are literally insane." You breathed out, shaking your head.

Even if you couldn’t see it, something told you that he made the biggest grin underneath his mask.

"Why, thank you, darling."

Fast forward a couple of minutes, and you found yourself driving towards the address the red-suited stranger had given you. You couldn’t really make conversation. He had his hands in his lap, playing with a knife, and was staring at you, his head tilted.

"You can blink, you know. I'm not a zombie," he informed you, making a gesture to his mask and eyes, which you assumed he was blinking underneath.

"Right," you nodded.

“Well, mostly, at least. I mean, I still have a pulse, but it's kind of irregular, and I think it's because I keep getting shot and stabbed in the heart. Oh, and I guess I'm also pretty much immortal, so that's probably the reason. But I think the whole not-dying thing cancels out the heartbeat thing, right? Like, the more times you get impaled or decapitated or set on fire, the more it doesn’t matter because it doesn’t affect you anymore, am I right?"

You glanced at him. He was staring at you, his hands still and his knife resting on his leg.

"…Do you ever shut up?"

"Woah-hoho, feisty. And here I thought I was going to break the ice with a good ol' fashioned knock knock joke."

"I don’t think that would've been funny."

"That's what the last girl said."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mhm. Except she wasn’t talking about the joke. I made her laugh in a different way."

You glanced at him again, and he was giving you a knowing look.

"I can't decide if you're disgusting or not."

He hummed, shrugging his shoulders. That made him shut his mouth just long enough for you to turn on the radio but not long enough to avoid the inevitable.

"Hey, hey, I got a good one: Knock knock."

You let out a long sigh, closing your eyes. "Who's there?"

"Orange."

"Orange, who?"

"Orange you glad I'm not a serial killer?"

"That wasn’t even good."

"I know. It would've been better if I could've pulled the knife out of my belt. You know, just for show." He twiddled his fingers at you.

"That wouldn’t have helped," you said.

"Nope," he agreed. "But it would've made a great story."

"I suppose."

"Yeah. Hey, hey, I got another one: Knock knock."

"You just—"

"Knock knock."

You let out a huff. This man was the most childish, annoying, idiotic, strange, weird—

"Knock knock."

"Oh, just fucking tell me the joke!"

"No! It doesn't work that way!"

You rolled your eyes, but before you could answer, he beat you to it.

"Okay, okay, how about this: Knock knock."

You didn't say anything.

"Knock knock."

Your eyes flickered over to him for a second.

"Knock knock."

"For fucks sake!" You exclaimed. "Who's there?"

He leaned forward, closer to you, and you could see his mouth moving.

"Deadpool."

You were confused.

"D-Deadpool? Is this a reference to that shitty horror movie? If so, that wasn't even good, and I'm not laughing, and I don't get the joke."

He just gave you a blank look, or at least you thought he did.

"No. My name's Deadpool."

"That’s…" you trailed off. "A pretty dumb name. Like that outfit you're wearing."

"Hey! Diss the name all you want, but don’t you dare diss the suit. It's my trademark. Not everyone can pull off this type of look; it’s a very rare art."

"Whatever. You still haven't told me the punch line to your dumb joke."

"Punch line? I never said there was a punch line. It was a knock knock joke."

"So then… What was the point? To annoy the driver into wanting to run you over again?"

He chuckled, a low, deep sound that vibrated in his throat. That… That was… oh.

He was still close, and now, with the new angle, you could see the small, yet very visible, curve of his lips, and that made you wonder who was actually hiding behind the mask.

"You are seriously the strangest person I've ever met."

"Oh, babe, you don't even know the half of it."

"Please, enlighten me," you replied sarcastically, glancing over at him.

His masked eyes looked into yours, and you knew he was grinning; you could practically feel it.

"What do you wanna know?" He asked.

"Uh, I don't know. Something other than the fact that you're a nutcase. How about your real name? It's obviously not 'Deadpool,' and I doubt anyone actually calls you that. So, what's your actual name?"

"Oh, wow. Right off the bat, huh? You know, the last girl I was with wasn’t nearly as direct. Then again, she never sprayed me like I was a roach in her kitchen."

You didn’t respond. You kept your eyes on the road.

"Fine," he relented. "But don’t expect a happy ending. This isn’t Kanas anymore, Toto."

He leaned back in his seat, his arm hanging off the open window, the wind blowing through his red suit.

"Names Wade, like the boxers, but without the fancy pants."

You raised an eyebrow.

"Wade Winston Wilson, I love long walks on the beach, and a good movie, and tacos, and chimichangas, and guns. Especially guns. Kinky, but not too kinky… and did I mention the tacos? Cause I love fucking love tacos."

Maybe you should start carrying tape around.

"What about you, sugar lips?" He asked, gesturing to you with the hand he wasn’t leaning against. "Got a name, or can I call you mine? Ooh, I should’ve used that before the pepper spray. 'What's your name, or can I call you mine?' Classic, Wade. Well, except for the fact that I forgot the 'I'd like to hit it from the back' part. Damn, should have used that, too. It's a good thing they gave you the lead. Otherwise, the audience would've been confused. They would've been wondering, 'Why did the writer suddenly change the dialogue to be about sex? Wasn’t this supposed to be that pure Notebook love story we all wanted?'"

He paused for a moment.

"Wait a minute. Are we still doing the monologue thing, or is the writer done? Cause, no offense, but that was a shitty transition. And, come on, no one wants a Notebook love story anymore. Who writes those? What we need is a little romance and a whole lotta smut."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Me? Nothing, just giving some feedback. I've always had an open relationship with writers. Some might even call me the next J.K Rowling. Except, instead of a lighting scar and magic, I have an ass load of weapons with an insatiable lust for violence and blood. And tacos."

You decided to ignore him.

"Anyway, back to you. You never answered my question. Do you have a name or not?"

"I can’t believe I actually agreed to give you a ride home."

"Yeah," he said, sounding bored. "Why did you do that?"

"I don’t know. Because I hit you with my car and felt bad? You had a broken arm and were bleeding out all over the ground."

"First sign of insanity."

"What?"

"Nothing," his mask wiggled around the area of his eyebrows. "So, your name? Don’t tell me you’re gonna pull out the classic yes and no abbreviations. You know what? I’m just gonna call you Spidey. It's easier, and it’ll sound sexier when you're screaming it later."

You rolled your eyes, deciding just to ignore his comments for the rest of the drive. You were wishing that you didn't live in a city full of traffic cause, damn, this was taking a while.

"Alright, turn here."

You followed the directions and pulled up in front of an abandoned-looking building. You didn't say anything, but you did raise an eyebrow in question.

"What? A guy like me has to keep his place secret, especially when the fangirls are after him."

"I didn’t ask."

"Yeah, but I saw you wondering."

"Right."

"Hey, Spidey," he said, unbuckling his seat belt. "Thanks for the ride."

"No problem. Just make sure to keep your ass away from car bumpers. And out of my car."

"Awe, come on, baby cakes, don't be like that. You're really missing out. My ass is the finest in the business. Not to mention my package. You should see the reviews I get online."

You snorted. "I'll take your word for it."

"Yeah, you will," he said, leaning over and patting your cheek. "Hey, if you ever get lonely, or bored, or horny, or whatever, just give me a call. Here," he handed you a crumpled piece of paper. "Don't lose it, that's my number. We should totally bang, like, tomorrow, or tonight, or right now."

"Goodbye, Wade," you said, and he took it as his cue to leave. He gave a silly salute and exited the car, but not without giving you a wink first.

"See you soon, Spidey!"

With that, he walked up to the building and disappeared inside. With a sigh, you collapsed into the seat, not even bothering to watch him. You were exhausted, and all you wanted was to go home and sleep.

After a couple of minutes of relishing the nice breeze that came through the open windows, you sat up and un-crinkled the paper.

The only thing written on it was a phone number, with a small, messy, red heart and a few words that honestly had you questioning the sanity of the world:

'If you're lucky, maybe I'll even let you top. ;)'

——

Spoiler alert: it took about a month for the two of you to hook up.

And no, you did not have Domino’s luck.

[callmecoke]

Thinking of the first time the 141 discover you on a website for Sugar Babies (P3)

cw: sexual content, reader sending nudes, mention of sex work (Sugar babies), NSFW Gender neutral reader

Thinking about the first time you sent more…risky photos to your mystery account of four men. For the first few months it was going really well for you. You were financially stable enough to

pay your tuition fees and your bills on time. You could finally treat yourself to things you couldn’t previously afford, and the boys love receiving little pictures of the things you buy yourself. Honestly, you were stable enough to quit this and apply for a “proper' Job, but there was a big part of you that didn’t want to leave this all behind. In a weird way, you grew very attached to these strangers on the other side of the world who paid you just to talk to them. They helped you during your toughest moments, even when they didn’t have to do anything. In a way, you were grateful for opening this account on a whim and meeting these little strangers.

And so, you considered maybe it was time to give them a little gift for all they've done for you.

You knew that a big part of this website was exchanging nudes and dirty pictures for money, but you had never really taken advantage of that specific service before. Infact, the men didn’t even seem to initiate anything sexual with you at all, and were perfectly happy just chatting with you and every now and then getting a cute selfie to tell you how gorgeous you looked. 

But because they weren’t going to ask for more, you decided you had to make that plunge yourself. You weren’t sure if you knew what you were doing. You didn’t go out to buy any expensive costume or underwear for the photo, just stripped down to your cheap everyday undergarments and…posed. Or at least tried to. There was an awkward phase of switching to random positions to try and find one that didn’t look too forced. You weren’t too sure if the photos you took were any good. In fact, your critical mind was telling you that they were horrific. You had picked the one photo that you considered to be ‘less bad’ than the rest and your finger was hovering over the send button as you considered giving in to embarrassment and turning around now. But, you swallowed the lump in your throat and clicked. All that was left for you to do is wait.

Switching to the 141s pov, There was some downtime after completing a rather difficult mission. John was sending a report to lasswell about the details of what went down, reporting back on the intel and the status of their target. Simon was in his corner, per usual, dulling his knife on a block of wood to carve it into shape. Kyle had found a spot on the floor he could lie down in without being disturbed, absolutely buggered after the whole ordeal. And then there was Soap…

The boys decided to rotate shifts on who gets the laptop per day. As of right now, Johnny had it open beside him while he patted dust and sand out of his shoes, not focusing on the screen until a little ‘Ding!’ noise signified you had sent something. He finally looked over and scrolled to your new message, his eyelids shooting open and his mouth hanging open as he releases a very audible “Jesus fuckin’ Christ…” Suddenly he had the attention of all three other men in that room, heads turning in his direction as if a gunshot went off. Johnny rushed to close the laptop in a desperate, possessive attempt to keep his comrades leering eyes of your body. Simon tried to wrestle the laptop from Johnnys, as the latter told him in many colourful words to “fuck off and mind your own business.” 

Between the two tusling each other, Kyle getting up and manoeuvring to see what the fuss was about, and John attempting to break up the fight, the laptop slipped from Soaps hands and on to the floor in front of them, screen open and revealing the entire image to all four of them.

Any “Flaw” You had perceived in the photo was entirely nonexistent when it met their eyes. They stood and stared at the picture for what felt like hours, just admiring the form they had only seen in their imaginations. The soft curves of your uncovered chest, outlined by the stray light of the window making you look like an angel from heaven. Their eyes traced down your chest to your abdomen, down to your clothed core that you displayed with shyly spread legs to them. They didn’t even notice, nor care about the cheap piece of cotton; too enamoured by the outlined imprint of your sex against the fabric that they swore was calling their name.

On your side of the world, you were thinking yourself into a stupor as the little “seen” status appeared on screen but no one was saying anything. So much anxiety coursed through your veins that you had bitten your nails until there wasn’t much left of them. You wondered if maybe you made a mistake. Was it too far? Did you potentially ruin the few people who cared about your day and your only source of income? 

Just as the thought of deleting your account and getting a one-way ticket to another country out of embarrassment started to play at your mind, the laptop pinged. Messages popped up on your screen. Four, exactly.

“Jesus christ you are a proper sight to behold.” (Gaz)

“The things I’d do to those pretty fuckin’ thighs of yours if I got the chance…” (Soap)

“Fuckin’ Gorgoeus.” (ghost)

“You’ve caused quite a stir here, love. Never seen the boys this pent up before. Can’t say I blame them. You’ve got me a little stiff here as well.” (Price)

[storiesoflilies]

warnings: descriptions of smoking, injuries, and war. sfw.

when you first saw soldier!toji he looked far too out of place.

he’d come in with the other wounded that had been dragged in from the front lines. tall and broad, a god made of dark smoke that filled the washed out grey of the hospital tent. he was deathly quiet as he sat at the edge of a cot, stained shirt clinging to the expanse of his chest, his boots caked in mud and blood. you’d heard him refuse to lie down, seen him wave his hand for the fussing medic to just leave him alone.

you were confused why someone like him was in here.

he looked invincible.

“i don’t need all this,” you heard him snap again, his green eyes flashing as he stood up. “just quickly fix me so i can go.”

toji plonked himself down in front of you, heavy and crass, a dark brow quirked at you expectedly. his eyes swept over your nurse in training uniform, at your fraying sleeves that used to be a crisp white. he met your gaze without blinking, and you tried hard not to stare at the dried blood embedded into the scar on his lip.

“can you stitch me up?” he grunted.

you swallowed thickly and nodded, biting the inside of your cheek, already reaching for a needle.

“good,” he said, and he was already pulling off his shirt before you could ask him to.

your eyes widened at the gash running all the way up his side, and you instinctively reached over for the morphine.

a large, impossibly warm hand enveloped your wrist firmly.

“no,” was all toji murmured. “i don’t need it.”

and just like that, you found yourself patching up a god sitting in your cot. he never flinched once, not even a hiss of pain. only an all consuming silence. like his nerves had long since stopped bothering him at all.

-•-

you weren’t supposed to let him in.

there was a golden rule you were often warned to never break. never get attached to anybody, least of all the soldiers you treated. never get drawn into their eyes or their pain, never let them charm you, and never be stupid enough to go and fall in love with them.

but toji, he had a certain gravity to him.

you couldn’t stop yourself.

at first, he never bothered to learn your name. it was if he had that same golden rule to never get attached to anybody. he just called you doc, and you weren’t sure if he was mocking you or not, especially after you’d told him that you were still a nurse in training and to stop calling you that.

you also don’t know why he kept showing up to your cot.

he’d breeze through the infirmary, skipping past the other more senior nurses and medics to come straight to you. his fingers would pull away at his bandages, a sort of formality, his way of saying hello to you, maybe. a way to let you know that he needed help and that you were the only person he wanted touching him.

you had to stop yourself from smiling at that.

“you really shouldn’t be here,” toji said one night, his eyes fixed on the floor as you cleaned out a shallow wound on his arm. “you should be somewhere safer than here.”

you furrowed your brows. “what?”

“this isn’t the kind of place for someone who jumps every time they hear a gun go off.”

you didn’t think you still did, you’ve been here for months.

you didn’t think anybody had noticed.

“doesn’t matter,” you shrugged your shoulders. “the silence is worse, sometimes.”

he looked up at you. “oh?”

you met his gaze, fresh gauze in your hand, fingers grazing his bicep. “because every time it gets quiet, it means whatever has happened out there is over, and anything left is mine to fix.”

that made him pause.

he watched you for a beat longer than was necessary.

“fair enough,” he muttered.

-•-

you started to notice things about toji too.

the way he never sat with the rest of his unit, a shadow in the corner as he ate his rations. the way he cleaned his pocket knife with the heel of his left boot. the way he always kept his gun pristine. the way he walked out of the infirmary with a new scar and not a word of complaint, seemingly ignoring every time you told him to be more careful.

he never thanked you for helping him.

not out loud, anyway.

but one day, you found a tin of dried peaches in your pack. it was a rare ration, not one you were privy to often. a day later, a crumbling chocolate bar was tucked away neatly underneath your pillow.

you knew it was toji.

and you definitely knew not to say a word about it.

another night, he was standing outside the infirmary. you were one of the last to leave, your shift having ended quite a few hours ago, but you just couldn’t go. your mind was racing, back aching from being hunched over one too many bodies, fingers stained with the scent of iodine.

it had been… a rough day, to say the least.

you’d spent a few hours just restocking shelves, checking over all the soldiers in their cots. you changed dressings and cleaned things that you knew would only be dirty again in a few hours.

you didn’t care.

going to sleep didn’t feel right.

but there was toji just outside, waiting for you.

at least, you thought he was. he was leaning against the side of a supply truck, one foot braced against the wheel, his sleeves tucked up to his elbows. a cigarette dangled between his lips, his skin honeyed with the glow of his lit match. he didn’t look up at you, not right away, just took a slow drag of his cigarette and watched the smoke that he was made of drift away from him.

“you always finish up this late?” he asked, voice gravely.

his voice sounded familiar to you, you thought. it was the sound of someone who’d seen too much and didn’t sleep enough. you knew it because it was like yours too.

you crossed your arms tightly together, breath fogging in the cold night air. “the others need the rest.”

he turned to look at you, his face half shrouded in pale moonlight.

your breath hitched.

“you don’t sleep much, do you?”

you hesitated. “not really.”

toji exhaled, pursing his lips. he reached into his back pocket, pulled something out, and held it towards you.

a cigarette, half-crushed, but still dry.

“i don’t smoke,” you mumbled quickly.

toji shrugged nonchalantly, but the small smile playing on his face told you he didn’t mind. “didn’t ask you to.”

you smiled, and took it anyway.

-•-

the worst came at dusk.

when the sky split open like a skull and the ground shuddered beneath your feet as the shells came screaming down around you. the alarms were blaring, people scrambling around for shelter, ducking behind crates, clutching helmets with their hands.

a roar of noise, a rush of air whistled in your ears.

and then, black.

you woke to dust coating your throat, settling into your lungs like an old friend. there was blood filling your mouth too, warm and bitter. there was someone screaming, you think, maybe they next to you. you couldn’t tell. everything was muffled, and god, why was there this crushing weight on your chest?

“hey!” a voice shouted through the ringing in your ears. rough, familiar. “you with me?”

your eyes adjusted, and you blinked twice, three times.

toji.

he was on his knees beside you, uniform riddled with burn holes, a rivulet of blood trickling down his temple.

“stay awake,” he ordered sharply. “you hear me?”

you couldn’t answer. you just watched him as he curled his hands around the beam that was squeezing the life out of you, his muscles straining as he lifted it off you and threw it far away like it was poison.

“i had to come back,” he hissed, a strange tightness in his voice that you’d never heard before. “you’re so stubborn, i told you to get outta he–”

you were far too dazed to listen to him chastise you.

you couldn’t even move.

but when toji just hoisted you up and into his arms, you felt like you’d finally found your way home again.

-•-

when you came to again, it was probably around midnight.

the tent you were in was barely holding up. the canvas was torn, corners sagging under the weight of the rain and ash. a single oil lamp burned in the corner, a golden glow filling the space, but it didn’t make you feel warm.

and at your side was toji.

he was seated on an overturned crate, bloodied and impossibly still. cigarette ash dusted the ground beneath him in little pile.

“you’re awake.”

you tried to speak, but nothing came out properly.

“you got lucky,” toji added, smoke curling from his nose. “you could’ve been crushed.”

your hand moved before you could stop it, reaching for him.

he froze.

just for a moment.

and then he was pressing something cold and hard into your palm.

his dog tags.

you looked up at him in alarm.

“i have to go,” he said, not quite meeting your eyes, his hands still wrapped around yours. “i just...”

he didn’t finish, he didn’t have to. it was an unspoken thing in the air, but it was as real as the warmth in his hands.

if toji fushiguro wasn’t going to come back, he didn’t want you to know about it.

“i know,” was all you could manage.

toji held your gaze for a moment longer, then he stood.

and just like that, he turned and left without another word.

-•-

for three weeks there was nothing.

no letters.

no news.

no body.

you didn’t ask around. it was easier not to know. every day bled slowly into the next. as you fiddled with the dog tags around your neck. you cleaned his tags all the time to take your mind off everything when it was quiet.

and when nobody was looking, you pressed them to your lips.

you realized toji had been sparing you. you don’t know what you’d do if you heard his name called and knew that he was really gone. it was better to pretend he was still alive out there somewhere, smoking in the dark. every day you watched the trucks roll in. every day you checked the faces of the soldiers in those trucks, silently hoping that toji was in one of them, alive. you didn’t realize how hard your hands were shaking, didn’t realize how hollow your chest felt each time a canvas sheet was pulled back from another face.

not until your senior held them in hers and told you to sit there and just breath.

it was another grey day, bitter and cold, when you heard the familiar rumble of more supply trucks pulling into the camp. a convoy of men were slumped over in the back of the truck, uniforms dusty and torn, their faces blank and eyes sunken. there was a heavy fog hanging low like smoke, and the ground was still soft from the rain the night before. you were wrapping up a soldier’s wrist when the last truck pulled in. there was a loud call for stretchers and hands, and a flurry of motion erupted around you.

you looked up, and there he was.

toji.

alive.

you stared, hard. there was a choking sound clawing its way up from behind your throat and out of your mouth. the clean roll of bandage slipped from your fingers and into the mud.

his eyes lifted and found yours amidst the chaos.

toji didn’t wave at you. he stood there like he was a ghost. like he couldn’t quite believe he was here and that this was all real and you were real. you were running before you could think straight. your boots splashed through puddles as you shoved past medics and the throng of soldiers unloading the truck, the cold wind biting at your cheeks.

he didn’t move until you were right in front of him.

and then, slowly, carefully, he reached up with a bandaged hand to touch your face.

your voice cracked, your heart in your throat. “what took you so long?”

toji huffed something that you thought might be a laugh, weak and raw, as he pulled you into him.

he didn’t kiss you right away. he just held you close for a while. one of his arms was in a sling, pressed gently between the two of you, and the other rested on the small of your back. his lips were on your neck as he buried his face into you, breathing deeply. you held onto him tight, feeling the way his ribs moved beneath your fingers with every shaky breath he took.

then his lips were on yours.

it wasn’t hungry or urgent. it was deliberate, patient. toji fushiguro was a god, and yet, he kissed you like a man who wanted to savor you slowly. to learn the way your lips moved against his. to feel the way you melted into him, soft and yielding, molding yourself around him like a warm blanket against the cold.

toji fushiguro kissed you like it was the only thing he knew anymore.

in a way, it was the same you.

-•-

he couldn’t stay for long, you knew that.

three days later, toji’s unit was deployed again. the sky was still pale with the light of the dawn, and the air smelt like wet earth and gunpowder. you tried to give him back his dog tags, but he only shook his head.

“hold onto them for me,” he murmured with a small smile. “that way i have to come back to you.”

you smiled back, but it was tight, thin around the edges. you never liked to see him go.

“come back anyway.”

and he did.

again and again.

each time more bruised. more battered and aching. but he always found you. like his soul knew where yours was. you never asked what he’d seen, or what he’d done out there. you wondered how much longer the war would drag on. how many more times you had to watch toji come and go like a god of war, called to a battle nobody else could fight except for him. how many more nights you’d sleep with your hands pressed your ears to drown out the noise.

then, the war finally ended.

and still, toji found you.

you were waiting for him at the train station, because you already knew toji fushiguro would be the last one to come home. there he was, uniform all cleaned up and boots shining in the morning sun, a duffle bag strung over his shoulder. and you were there in your nurse’s uniform, fingers still smelling faintly of iodine.

toji walked straight to you, no hesitation, no time wasted.

“well, doll,” he started, taking your hand in his and lacing your fingers together. “guess i owe you a drink.”

you only laughed, standing on your toes and throwing your arms around his neck.

“you owe me your life, fushiguro,” you smiled, your lips brushing his.

toji kissed you then, slow and grounding, a god tasting real peace for the first time.

it made you feel full.

of promise, of peace.

of home.

“take it,” he murmured against your mouth. “it’s always been yours.”

-•-

©storiesoflilies 2025, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarise, translate, or repost any of my work on other sites! i only post on ao3 and tumblr.

[ahsxual]

What Are They Like In Bed?

Pairing: Matthew Lillard Characters x Reader

Characters: William Afton, Stu Macher, Stevo Levy, Tim Laflour & Doug Van Housen

Warnings: +18 content, minors DNI, rough sex, mentions of torture and unhealthy relationships

William Afton

William is a very rough and possessive lover in bed. His main goal is to make you cum by overstimulating and edging you over and over again. He would love to "torture" you just to hear you beg for mercy for him to stop, only to laugh at your face afterwards. He will degrade you and make you feel like a personal sex doll for his own pleasure

He isn't loud in bed, apart from a few low grunts when he's cumming, especially when it's inside you (his favorite place to cum)

His favorite position is missionary, so he can watch your face while he fucks you, and doggy style, where he can watch your pretty ass bounce with every thrust and have full control of your body as he presses your head down

He will be sweet and nice to you in public so that you feel attached to him, just to act cold between four walls. You never know which side of him you'll get, so it's always a new experience and a rush of adrenaline whenever the two of you are about to fuck

He won't mind hurting you by talking to other women his age. In fact, he will feel great that you're jealous because of him and because he can "control" your feelings. But do not, and I repeat, DO NOT do the same to him. He'll make you regret it and you'll be covered in bruises the next day if not worse lol

That being said, William is extremely possessive of you, even if he doesn't admit it because you must know that you're only his

If you're in an official relationship with him, he'll take more care of you and be more attentive to your needs, so he'll be able to make love to you if you ask beg him to. But don't forget his "true persona" and his evil nature, so his "sweet version" won't last forever

Stu Macher

Stu is a sweeter lover in bed, if you're his girlfriend. If you're not, he'll be the horniest guy you've ever met and will fuck you just to get off, so he'll be pretty annoying just to get in your pants.

He's always in the mood for it, so you better be prepared to deal with a super clingy and touchy Stu all day. He won't even mind where you guys are, he just wants to kiss and be inside you.

His favorite position is the one where he can put your legs around his shoulders to fuck you deeper while looking into your eyes, since he knows his dick is huge and it can reach places you never knew about yourself it'll hurt a bit, just so you know

His pace is pretty fast, but he isn't too rough, unless you ask for it. If you guys are dating or having a deep level of intimacy, he'll tell you about his darkest kinks in hope you'll accept them and want to experiment them as well.

Such as knife kink, chasing kink, pain kink (both sides), dacryphilia, predator/prey dynamic kink, and much more.

He'll want you to have sex with Billy too eventually, with Stu still present obviously, just to prove to Billy what a good girl you are and how lucky he is to have you for himself also to have an excuse to be more intimate with Billy lmao

BUT, if you ever find out about his double life and even then you stayed loyal and accepted him, or even want to join them, Stu will kill and die for you without blinking an eye, if necessary. He'll do anything for you and your sex will be even more... thrilling

Stevo Levy

We all know that Stevo is all about rebellion, drugs and sex. Those are the three things he needs in his life to feel alive and give life some meaning.

Stevo is actually a great lover as long as you guys keep your relationship unofficial and stay faithful to each other!! From his countless experiences, he's great in bed, always making you feel sexy and valued by kissing and worshipping every part of your body.

He'll fuck you anywhere, whether it's at parties, at a friend's house, in a hidden spot in the middle of the street that he's found, literally anywhere. And he won't give two fucks if you guys get caught, and will fight whoever makes you feel uncomfortable or makes nasty comments about you.

His kisses are sloppy and wet, especially when he's high or drunk, so by the end of the night you'll be covered in his spit. In the beginning, his sex is primal and he will fuck you like he needs it to stay alive, which means there'll be sweat, hickeys and your sore pussy in the next morning.

You'll also notice a change in your sexual encounters the moment he falls in love with you: he'll be more sweet, his pace will be more slow and sensual, and your pleasure will always come first rather than his, even if it means he doesn't get to come. He wouldn't tell you that he's falling for you, but you would find out when Bob and Mike told you he had been acting weird lately and by the fact that he had beaten the shit out of a guy who was flirting with you at a party.

Also, he's a switch in bed, if you tease him enough ;)

Tim Laflour

Sex with Tim is a very polemical topic, as we all know. Ever since he began to commit to his pledge, it was a bit challenging to convince him to make sex with you... but only at the beginning.

You're too irresistible for him to reject his sexual needs, so after one month of dating, he begged you on his knees to just taste and eat you out he literally cried. There's no penetration , so it doesn't count as actual sex, right?

After that "incident", you began to tease him more to get what you wanted. To be intimate with your boyfriend, there's nothing wrong with that. And believe me when I tell you it worked perfectly.

Tim is probably the most attentive, caring and loving partner you'll ever have in bed and in general. He can't be extremely rough or mean with you, it's all just pure love and tenderness with him. He would probably die from sadness and regret if he ever hurt you.

Before you started dating him, he was more dominant and wanted to prove to you that he was good in bed. Now that you've been dating for months, he's mostly a sub in the bedroom, loving the way you dominate him and make him beg for release.

But don't get me wrong, because in moments when he's feeling desperate, he won't let you have your way and will actually fuck you instead of making sweet, sensual love. He will apologize afterwards if he was too rough and the aftercare will be perfect.

This big boy loves quickies, especially if you're both stoned or drunk at your closest friend's house. On those occasions, his pace is very fast, as if he was losing his virginity to a goddess and couldn't control his sexual desires, and he grabs you as if you might run away from him. In the end, you always laugh at how cute, desperate, and clingy he was with you.

LISTEN, this boy right here has a hockey player/cheerleader role-play kink. He goes crazy when you dress up as a semi-naked cheerleader and ride him, telling him how such a good boy he was and that he deserved a reward for winning the game. BUT, if his team loses, you've discovered one thing that turns his sadness into excitement... and that being said, Tim never leaves a game upset anymore, regardless of the result, because he knows that has soon as you get home, you're going to peg him until he begs you to let him come. YES, he's definitely into pegging.

The fact that he has a piercing on his penis and probably on his nipples too, it can add extra fun in sex, since he is very sensitive on those specific spots. Whenever you play with his piercings, expect him to cum within a few minutes. He's also the loudest in the bedroom ;))

Doug Van Housen

Lord have mercy on you if you want to have sex with Doug Van Housen. He's the definition of destruction in sex, and if you're into pain and hard BDSM, then he's the right lover for you.

If you're not officially dating and it's just sex between you two, prepare to be constantly bruised and sore. He will use you as his sex doll, only for his pleasure and won't care much if he hurts you.

He gets turned on by your cries, your pain, your vulnerability, devotion and loyalty towards him, the way you give him the power to control and abuse you. But even then, you won't be able to see his softer side ever if he doesn't have real feelings for you.

If he does have feelings for you somehow, things will be a bit... different. He will be a bit more affectionate (not too much, just kisses and possessive side hugs) and focus more on your pleasure.

He won't stop fucking you until he made you cum several times and you don't have energy to simply get up. He enjoys the exhaustion he causes you, edging you first countless times, which means he did a great job in pleasuring you.

He'll want to mark and carve his initials on your soft skin, just so you know who you belong to and never forget it... as if you would ever forget, but "just in case your silly pussy decides to misbehave its master", he would say.

He's probably the kinkiest and most perverse of them all, and the one with the darkest fantasies too. He sees you only as his property, and won't hesitate to torture anyone who tries to take you away from him. But no one smart enough will challenge him if they have the will to live.

[organic-bloodbath]

Hide & Seek

Dae-ho x Reader

Summary: You and Dae-ho have become friends during the games and now are on the same team in the hide and seek game.

SPOILERS TO S3 EP2

Warnings: Angst. 💔

A/N: Yes i'm here instantly back at writing fics when the season came out. I wrote this super quickly.

(Please don't ask me about my unfinished fic series.)

☆☆☆

Dae-ho had protected you during each of the games. In some way at least, been there for you by your side.

Red light green light – he stood in front of you when you accidentally moved, preventing the doll from detecting you.

"Are you alright?" the man in front of you whispered over his shoulder, having noticed you almost twist your ankle. You just gave him a nod, appreaciating his help.

"I'm Dae-ho," he introduced himself after you had crossed the finish line.

"Nice to meet you, Dae-ho," you said. "Y/N."

Mini games – his leg was attached to yours, he was whispering comforting words to you when it was your turn to play and your hands were shaking like crazy, giving a soft comforting squeeze on your shoulder.

"You got this, take your time. We're in no hurry yet. Concentrate," Dae-ho whispered into your ear, quiet enough for nobody else to hear.

When the game was finished and you had passed your second game, it was the first time you hugged him, like it was just natural to do so. It startled him at first, but your arms around him, body pressed against his, made his heart flutter and insides feel all warm.

Mingle – he pulled you into a room with him after your former teammates abandoned you, resulting you to end up on your own.

"Thank you," you said after the door was closed and locked behind you, leaving you alone in the room with Dae-ho. "I wish this was the last round. Had to be."

You leaned against the wall, falling down to sit on the floor. Dae-ho sat down next to you.

"You doing alright?" he asked.

You turned your head towards him and smiled. "Always."

Now, it was time for hide and seek, and the players were divided in two groups: blue to hide and red to kill. Both you and Dae-ho were on the blue team. At least you didn't have to kill someone. Forced to end someone's life just to expand yours.

"Come on, let's stay together and search for the exit," Dae-ho whispered to you, taking your hand in his. You trusted him with your life and let him lead you forward before the red team would arrive to hunt you down.

Even though he had lied to all of you about who he was, you knew you would be safe with him. He wasn't a Marine and only lied to get into the group with Gi-hun and the others. Dae-ho had revealed this to you one time when you were eating dinner together, just the two of us. He felt comfortable around you and could tell you everything without the feeling of you judging him.

"I... i'm sorry i lied, pretended to be someone else," Dae-ho said quietly, avoiding eye contact with you. "I'm such a loser, a coward, a –"

"Dae-ho," you interrupted and put your finger under his chin, turning his head to look at you. "You're not a loser to me. You are not a coward, you hear me?"

At one point during the hide and seek, you were separated from Dae-ho when two players from the red team were about to attack you: Myung-gi and Nam-gyu – apparently they had teamed up to kill as a pair. It was rather strange to see Nam-gyu with someone else than Thanos.

"Now look at this," Nam-gyu chuckled, looking between you and Dae-ho, standing side by side. "How convenient, two targets right in front of us. This is almost too easy, isn't it right Myung-gi?"

However, another member from the blue team managed to surprise them from behind, allowing you and Dae-ho to escape. Now, you were on your own.

"E-excuse me," a voice said behind you when you had entered another room (sadly another dead end), stuttering. You quickly turned around, just to see Min-su in his red vest and a knife in his hand, the tip pointing up. "Have you... have you seen Se-mi? I need to find her."

Your heart ached for his words, not daring to tell him that his friend was already dead. Didn't he know? How could he not know at this point? Wait... was he on drugs?

However, he was the one to hold a knife and you had to play along, even though you didn't believe for a second that this boy would be able to kill.

"I think... i think i saw her just a moment ago, turning to the left from there," you explained, not entirely sure how convincing you managed to make yourself to sound.

You didn't find Dae-ho anywhere, and every second away from him made you more and more anxious for his safety. He could take care of himself, right? He was alright, you were both going to make it. He couldn't be far away. He was fine.

He had to be fine.

You used your triangle key to open as many doors as you could, searching for the exit but with no result.

Then, another announcement was called.

"Player 388, eliminated."

That was the moment your heart stopped for a second and your entire body froze on the spot.

"No," you whispered, the word leaving your mouth on its own. "No no no no no."

You started frantically to run in the corridors, your throat and feet burning up but you had to find him. Your heart was beating so fast and the air to breathe was running out – you felt like you were going to pass out any moment.

Gi-hun was walking towards you slowly and looking like a total zombie. You were about to back off, even though you didn't think he'd actually kill you (or would he?), but then saw the blade of his knife covered in blood.

He didn't share even a short glance at your way, as if you were completely invisible to him.

Eventually you turned around another corner, seeing a body laying on the ground, blood smeared on the floor and dyed the green pants red. You took a few careful steps closer.

388.

You kneeled down next to the body. His body. Eyes staring up at the ceiling, all life drained out of them.

You cupped his cheek with your hand. Your lip was trembling and tears were rising in your eyes as you brushed his cheekbone, skin starting to turn cold.

"When we get out, i'd like to see you again," Dae-ho said, a little shyly.

"Yeah?" you smiled. "I'd like that too."

"For real?" Dae-ho asked, a relieved smile spreading on his lips. A part of him was afraid you'd say no and would just laugh at him, but you didn't. "I'll take you somewhere nice. What do you like to eat?"

A part of you knew that it wasn't going to happen. Both of you weren't going to get out of here alive. So many people had died, and now Dae-ho was one of them.

There was only 2 minutes left of the game. Your ankle was injured so you wouldn't be able to run, and you had no clue which way the exit would be.

You took the knife in your hand you had found near one of the dead bodies earlier and held it now close against your chest. You laid down on the floor, right by Dae-ho's side, resting your head on his chest which didn't move and didn't have a beating heart underneath. A tear fell down your cheek on his shirt.

Everything was still and silent.

"Could i... could i sleep with you tonight?" you asked, afraid of someone from the 'O' team attacking you in your sleep.

Dae-ho looked to be at loss for words for a moment but then nodded and made space for you on the bed. "Oh, um yeah that's alright. Come on."

You laid down next to him just as the lights went out, resting your head on his chest, a heart beating against your ear.

"Goodnight, Dae-ho," you whispered.

"Good night, Y/N," he replied, brushing his fingers softly through your hair.

When the game was over and the guards arrived to make you leave, you sat up again. You took one last look at Dae-ho and closed his eyes with your fingers.

"I won't forget you," you whispered and leaned down to press a kiss on his forehead.

☆☆☆

A/N: I am NOT okay. Anyways send me requests for season 3 ~

[whumping-in-the-dark]

List of Ways to (FICTIONALLY) Torture Someone

I genuinely have no idea how to make a content warning for this- just don't do this stuff irl ig

Click here to look for part 2

Caning

Electrocution

Stress Positions

Sensory Deprivation

Degradation

Water boarding

Strangling

Choking

Flaying

Skinning

Nailing

Drugging

Sleep Deprivation

Nudity

Shaving away the hair off their head

Plain ol' beating/manhandling

Public humiliation

Keeping them in a cage

Keeping them in a small dark place

Cutting off a body part

Carving them out with a knife

Whipping

Breaking their bones

Burning them with cigarettes

Poking holes into them with needles

Burning them in general

Forcing them to drink alcohol

Burning off their soles and forcing them to walk

Starvation

Dehydration

Sensory Overstimulation

Forcing them to scream their throat raw

Gagging them

Muzzling them

Crushing them w/ a hammer/mallet

Killing off their loved ones in front of them

Torturing their loved ones in front of them

Burying them alive

Hypothermia

Hyperthermia

Forcing them to hurt a stranger

Forcing them to hurt their loved ones

Forcing them to stay completely silent

Chemical burns

Chinese water torture

Forcing them into dangerous addictions

Forcing them to quit said dangerous addictions with zero support

Overfeeding them

Only feeding them food they are allergic to

Forcing them to vomit

And then punishing them for it

Forcing them to hang from the ceiling by their wrists while

Forcing them to walk on and on on the treadmill (and if they slip, they fall into the-)

Meat grinder. Enough said.

Carve degrading names into their skin

Pierce their body without their consent

Tattoo their body without their consent

Force them to wear humiliating clothes

Dislocate their joints

Dowse them in hot water and force them into a cold environment

Forcing them to get/remain sick so that they can only rely on YOU

Sewing their mouth shut

Only feeding them through tubes

Sewing degrading words into their skin

Branding them with a sign of your ownership

Branding them with degrading words

Forcing them to wear a collar with bells

Forcing them to wear a shock collar

Crucification

Keelhauling

Drag them behind the fast moving transportation of your choice <3

Stabbing them

Vivisection

Cannibalism

Almooost drowning them

Poking holes into their eyeballs with a needle

Ripping out their eyeballs

Ripping out their teeth with a pair of pliers... one by one

Attaching a strong cord to their teeth and ripping them all off at once

Pouring melted glass down their throat

Replacing their organs

Removing their organs

Slowlyyy pulling their limbs apart

Putting heavy objects on them over time

Force feeding

Forcing them to betray a loved one

Denying them medicine

Rubbing salt/other irritant into their wounds

Pouring alcohol/other irritant over their wounds

Rubbing their skin off with sandpaper

Forcing them to clean themself up when they're sick/injured

Denying them medicine

Forcing them to earn their 'privileges'

Denailing (slowly peeling off their nails)

Apply leeches onto their body

Force them into a tub of disgusting bugs (bonus points if they're naked)

Paralyzing them

Trapping rats on top of them and then forcing the rats to escape through their body

Dehumanization

Forcing them to shoot someone, except the barrel turns out to be empty

Feel free to suggest additions! I will try to update it whenever I find/think up of something new

Tysm @electrons2006 and @lettherebepain and @aliencatwafers for your ideas :)

[lilliankoo]

play you like a game, boy • jeon jungkook.

chapter 4/8

genre: antagonist tribe leader jk x princess reader

word count: 4.9k

previous chapter 3 link

synopsis: the blessed leader of forest tribe "lav" jeon jungkook wants you and will do anything and everything to make you his wife. he’s blessed by the goddess, even a leaf cannot move without his permission but he worships the ground you walk on. now, there are two paths presented to you; marry him & return his love or refuse and watch him conquer your father's kingdom. power is like an evil yet a tempting apple and now its in your hands. are you going to take a bite; taste the sweet poison or will you use it to tempt him? its an evil world with evil options.. do you think you can handle him?

warnings: smut !!!! obsessive behaviour, power imbalance, emotional manipulation, yn visits a harem, slight objectification, jealousy, emotional distress, forced marriage, mention of a knife, possessiveness, manipulation, lowkey toxic, emotional vulnerability.. pheww let me know if i missed anything !

—————————

You’re back in your chambers, still reeling from the events that just unfolded. Jungkook left immediately after, citing tasks that needed his attention. Now, sitting on the edge of your bed, you’re lost in thought, your mind fixated on the woman by the lake. The image of her lingers, but you force yourself to shake it off, to focus on something else.

Rising from the bed, you decide to take a bath, Afterward, you reach for a dress. It's simple, nothing like the elaborate corseted gowns and heavy silks you’re used to. The fabric is soft, unadorned, and unpretentious. It’s the kind of dress you’d never dare to wear at home, but you’re not home anymore, are you? With your hair still damp, you slip into the dress and step out of the room. The weight of the palace seems to press down on you once again.

As you walk, the moon is already visible, casting its silvery glow over the path. It’s not yet night, but the sky is deepening with the approaching dusk. The long hallway is dimly lit by hanging lamps, their soft light flickering like stars caught in the grandness of the palace. You pause for a moment, glancing out over the garden. The fountains shimmer, water cascading in soft, rhythmic patterns, the only sound in the stillness. It’s eerily quiet; too quiet. You don’t hear footsteps, voices, or the usual hum of activity. As you walk, you come to a stop, your eyes catching sight of a gathering ahead. A group of people sit around a fire, speaking softly, perhaps eating. On the opposite side, you spot a building that isn’t attached to the main palace. It’s unlike any other structure in the palace complex, and a sense of curiosity tugs at you.

Your feet move before you can stop them, leading you toward the building. As you cross the threshold, you immediately feel the change in the atmosphere. The air is different here- heavy with a quiet sort of tension. The space is adorned with dim lamps, their glow casting long shadows along the walls. Roses, jasmine, and countless other flowers fill the air with a sweet, intoxicating fragrance.

In the center of the courtyard, a large fountain splashes gently, the sound soothing, like a heartbeat. Some women sit along the edge, their gazes distant as they relax in the soft glow of the lamps. Some linger by the doorways, leaning against the frames with an air of nonchalance, their expressions unreadable.

As you look around, your attention is drawn to them. They are striking and exotic; dressed in sultry clothing that clings to their forms, sparkling with jewelry, and veiled in a way that only accentuates their beauty. Most of them have long, dark hair, cascading like silk over their shoulders, their faces glowing with a quiet allure. They don’t seem to acknowledge you at first, but you can feel their eyes on you. Some look you up and down, their gazes lingering with an intensity that’s hard to ignore. Whispers stir in the air, soft murmurs that you can’t quite catch.

One of the women finally stands and walks toward you. Her movements are fluid, graceful, and she bows when she reaches you. “Princess, how can I help you?” she asks, her voice soft, almost melodic.

You raise an eyebrow. It’s the first time anyone has addressed you as "Princess" instead of the usual “Mother.” The title feels strange to your ears, but not unwelcome.

You study her as she stands. Her dark hair falls in waves around her face, her doe-like eyes framed by sharp, striking features.

“What is this place?” you ask, your voice steady, betraying none of the unease that stirs in your chest.

“It is a harem,” she replies, offering a warm smile.

Your eyebrows raise automatically at the word. The harem. The term is not unfamiliar, but seeing it with your own eyes... it’s different. You scan the place again, taking in the women, the soft lamplight, the scent of flowers. You suddenly feel the weight of the world on your shoulders, as if you’ve walked into a space that’s both beautiful and dangerous. Your gaze shifts between the women, their eyes fleetingly meeting yours before they turn away. It’s clear they know who you are- the princess, the mother, the wife to the most powerful man—but it doesn’t stop the intrigue in their eyes.

The woman who addressed you stands still, waiting for your next words, a subtle smile playing at the corners of her lips. You notice how her posture is perfect, poised in a way that almost feels practiced, as if the very art of being watched is second nature to her.

"A harem," you repeat, more to yourself than to her.

"Are you happy here?" you ask, surprising yourself with the question. It’s not something you had intended to ask, but it slips out nonetheless.

The woman before you—her name still a mystery—seems to consider it for a moment. Her eyes soften, and she gives you a gentle nod. "It is not a life for all, but for some, it is paradise." You raise an eyebrow at her choice of words. Paradise? You try to picture it—the luxury, the beauty, the gifts and wonder if it truly could feel like paradise. But something in the back of your mind whispers that this is not a place of freedom, not a place of love, but something else entirely.

You open your mouth to speak, but just then, a slight movement catches your attention from the corner of the room; a woman walking toward you, her body language confident, but with a subtle sense of purpose. She moves gracefully, like she’s accustomed to the quiet reverence she commands. As she approaches, you take a step back instinctively, your posture shifting into something more guarded. She stops before you, her gaze unwavering. There is something cold and calculating in the way she observes you, but it is quickly replaced by a tight smile.

"Ah, the new bride of the leader," she says, her voice smooth, almost too smooth. "How fortunate you are to have captured his heart. Not all of us are so lucky."

Her words sting more than they should. The woman’s smile widens as she watches your reaction, like she’s testing you, waiting for a crack in your composure. The silence between you thickens.

You decide to head back to your chambers, As you turn to walk back toward the entrance, the woman who had first greeted you watches you with a mixture of curiosity and something you can’t quite place. You don’t bother turning back to her, though; you feel the eyes of every woman in the place following you as you leave.

As you turn to leave, something suddenly clicks in your mind. "Not all of us are lucky?" The phrase echoes in your head, and a surge of suspicion floods you. Could Jungkook have been here? The realization sinks in with a cold, sharp edge. The idea of him, your husband, being with other women, sleeping with them after he’s made all those declarations of love to you—it makes your blood boil.

You can feel the pulse in your temples as you quickly turn around to face the woman who greeted you earlier. She's still standing there, watching you with her calm, knowing eyes.

"What’s your name?" you ask, your voice steady but laced with an underlying edge of coldness.

"May," she replies softly, her voice almost a whisper in the heavy silence.

The name lingers in the air, but it’s not enough. “Has Jungkook been here?” You ask, your tone sharper this time. “Has he spent time in this place?” The question hangs between you, charged with emotion.

May gulps, clearly uncomfortable with the question. You can see the hesitation in her posture, her eyes flickering downward before she slowly looks back up at you.

"Why don’t you come inside and we can talk?" she suggests.

You need answers, and you won't leave without them. Without another word, she turns and leads you further into the building.

—-------------------------------------------------

The space is lavishly decorated, far more extravagant than you could have imagined—a large, open room adorned with rich tapestries, turkish carpets, gold accents, and plush cushions. Incense burns in the corners, the scent mingling with the delicate perfume of flowers that seem to fill every corner. Soft, dim lamps illuminate the space, casting long shadows along the walls. A large bed sits in the center of the room, draped in rich, embroidered fabrics.

You see them—the women. Seven in total, including May. They are seated around the room, some reclining, others standing idly by the walls. Each of them is stunningly beautiful, their clothing revealing much, yet leaving something to the imagination. Their skin is soft and radiant under the flickering lights, and their long black hair cascades in smooth waves over their shoulders. They all seem so confident, almost serene in their beauty.

One of the women steps forward, her voice smooth as she speaks with practiced grace. "We are concubines for Jungkook, my name is Juliette," she says simply, the words out in the open, like a confession.

The revelation feels like a punch to your chest. Concubines. Your mind struggles to reconcile the man you married with the reality unfolding in front of you. Your pulse quickens, and a familiar heat rises to your cheeks- anger, jealousy, betrayal. It boils beneath your skin, but you bite your tongue, trying to keep control.

Before you can react, Juliette speaks quickly, almost as if she’s afraid of your reaction. "But Jungkook has never stepped foot in this place," she adds, her voice tinged with a sense of urgency. "He’s never slept with any of us."

You blink in disbelief, the anger still seething inside you but now mixed with confusion. Now, May speaks up, her voice softer, almost apologetic. "It’s a tradition of the tribe. The leader and his officials take concubines to relieve their frustrations. When Jungkook became the leader, it was simply... expected." She hesitates, clearly uncomfortable with her words. "He was assigned to us, as part of his role."

Before you can respond, the other women begin to introduce themselves, one by one. Each of them gives you a name, a polite smile, but there’s something empty in their eyes. "We’re from the desert," one of them says when you ask where they are from. "From a distant tribe, far from here." The admission stuns you. You’ve heard of tribes from the desert—wild, isolated communities that follow their own rules, their own traditions—but never thought it would have anything to do with Jungkook’s tribe.

One of the women- sofiya- leans forward and holds your hand, "We all knew about you. We knew Jungkook was going to marry you." She smiles faintly, but there’s a sadness to it. "He fell in love with you the moment he saw you."

Another woman steps in, her tone calm and measured, almost sympathetic. "Jungkook asked your father for your hand in marriage many times." She pauses, letting the words settle in the space between you. "Every time, your father refused him. He called him a barbarian, said that he would never marry his daughter—an educated beautiful woman—to a tribe leader. Your father made it clear that Jungkook would never be worthy of you."

May speaks up, her voice tinged with respect. "Jungkook was determined to prove himself to you. He studied, learned multiple languages, trained himself in the ways of your kingdom. He even gave up the traditional leather clothing of his tribe and started wearing finer silks and furs, all to blend in with your world. He did everything he could to prove that he was worthy of you."

You want to speak, to challenge these words, but your throat feels tight, as though you can’t find the right words.

"He tried again, Jungkook went to your father once more. He asked for your hand, but your father refused again. So Jungkook chose another way to marry you."

The silence that follows is heavy, filled with the weight of those words. You’re too stunned to respond.

Then another woman’s voice- maya- cuts through the quiet. "Jungkook knew about the many kings and princes who sought you. He had connections in far-off places, and whenever a king sent a proposal, Jungkook would visit their kingdom. Sometimes he paid them off, other times he used his influence to threaten them, ensuring they wouldn’t marry you. He couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else having you."

The final pieces of the puzzle fall into place. Jungkook, for all his charm and charisma, was driven by a relentless, obsessive love for you. He sacrificed so much to win your father’s approval, to be worthy of you. And all the while, he fought to protect you from suitors, from the world, from the politics that surrounded you.

The weight of the information is too much to bear. It’s like an avalanche, each word stacking on top of the other, burying you under the overwhelming truth. The air feels thick with everything you’ve learned, and your chest tightens with a mix of confusion, betrayal, and hurt. You can barely process it all.

Without thinking, your feet move on their own, guiding you toward the door. You don’t want to stay here any longer. The silence that follows the women’s revelations is suffocating, heavy with too many unspoken things. As if the room itself is pressing down on you, suffocating you in its opulence and secrets.

—--------------------------------

You finally reach your door, your hand shaking as you push it open. The familiar sight of your chamber greets you, but something—someone—immediately catches your attention. Jungkook is sitting on the edge of the bed. The sight of him is jarring, his usual attire replaced by a simple cotton tunic and pants. He immediately sets aside the parchment he had been writing on, his hands shaking slightly as he stands. His expression softens, his eyes wide with something unreadable, but as soon as you make eye contact, his lips part, and he asks in a voice thick with something deeper than just concern.

"Where were you, my love?" The words are whispered as if they hold more weight than the world itself, and his gaze locks onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

You feel your heart beat faster in your chest, as if it’s trying to escape. You swallow, trying to steady yourself. The words come out before you can stop them, filled with a frustration you’ve been holding in for far too long.

"I went to the harem. I spoke to the concubines." The words taste bitter as they leave your lips, and you can't stop them. "They told me everything. About you. How long have you known about me? Tell me everything, and I want the truth, Jungkook”.

the look on Jungkook's face shifts. He doesn’t look angry or defensive. He looks... hurt. "I didn’t want you to find out like this," he says, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with regret. But then he takes a deep breath, his eyes searching yours as if he’s trying to find a way to make it right.

"I was there," Jungkook says, his voice cracking ever so slightly. "I was in disguise the first time I saw you. It was at a spring festival in your kingdom. I saw you from afar... standing on the balcony, waving at the crowd. You were like a vision, like something from a dream. You were so radiant. So beautiful. I couldn’t take my eyes off you." He takes a step closer, and this time, you don’t pull away. His eyes are filled with something indescribable; longing, tenderness, and something so raw it’s almost painful to witness.

"You were unlike anyone I had ever seen. I knew right then I knew I had to have you. But not just as my wife. No. I needed you as my everything, you were something I could never dream of being worthy of." His voice is trembling now, the words spilling from him as if he can no longer keep them inside. "I would have given up anything to have you in my life. To have you beside me." He reaches for your hand, his fingers trembling as they clasp around yours, pulling you closer.

He steps closer still, his chest brushing against yours, and you can feel the weight of his emotions surrounding you, enveloping you in a warmth that is both comforting and overwhelming.

"I fell in love with you at that moment," he whispers, his voice barely audible, as if confessing a secret he’s kept hidden for years. "And I spent years trying to be someone worthy of you." His breath hitches, and you see something shimmering in his eyes—a tear. It catches in the light, and for a moment, you’re unsure if it’s a reflection of your own emotions or his.

His eyes flutter closed for a moment, and when they open again, there is a rawness to them—an openness that takes you by surprise. His voice cracks as he continues, each word carrying the weight of years of longing. "I gave up my old ways, I shed everything I was just to stand in front of you. Just to be worthy of even a glance from you, You are my world. I would tear apart empires, break mountains, and drown in oceans just to be close to you. No other woman- no other woman could ever compare to you”.

You feel your own breath catch as his hands gently caress your face, as if afraid to break the fragile connection between you. His eyes never leave yours, as if he’s memorizing every detail of your face. He leans in slightly, his lips brushing yours with a tender passionate kiss that feels like a promise.

"And even now," he murmurs, his voice breaking, "I would give up everything for you." The tears in his eyes are no longer a subtle shimmer—they’re there, clear as day, rolling down his cheeks, betraying the depth of his feelings. He wipes them away quickly, but it’s no use. They keep falling, like a dam that’s been broken.

"I worship you," he says, his voice desperate, almost a plea. "I love you more than I can say. You are everything to me. I would burn kingdoms to the ground just to see you smile, you are everything to me. My heart, my soul, my love.”

His voice shakes now, and the vulnerability in it breaks your heart. "I see you, and I see perfection. I see my heart. And I will never, ever stop loving you." The way he says it makes you believe it, makes you feel the depth of his devotion.

"I’ve loved you for so long, and I will continue to love you until my last breath."

At his last sentence, your body involuntarily shudders. It's all too much. He forcibly married you yet here he was standing in front of you and saying all these things. you think about your life so fair, always taken for granted, always having to live in your mother’s shadow, no one listening to what you have to say and now having someone who loves you this much does confuse you a bit.

You stand there, frozen for a moment, the weight of his confessions settling over you like a blanket. Tears burn in your eyes, but you don’t wipe them away. Instead, you step toward him, your hands reaching for him and without a word you reach to kiss him, he leans down, his gaze never leaving yours. your hand moved to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, his arms wrapping around as he breathed into the kiss. His hold tightens onto you to ensure that all of this happening is real and not just a dream.

Jungkook responded in desperation, his tongue brushing against yours, moaning into the kiss, tasting you, claiming you. your hands roamed his chest, fingers tracing the contours of his muscles, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms. Jungkook groaned softly, his hands moving to grip your hips, pulling even closer. He could feel the warmth of your body against his, the softness of your curves molding perfectly into his hardness. It was a sensation that both soothed and ignited him, a paradox he couldn’t—and didn’t want to—resolve.

“Yn,” he murmured against your lips, your name a plea and a promise all at once.

you smiled against his mouth, teeth grazing his lower lip before you pulled back slightly, your eyes searching his. “Make me yours” you confessed, voice barely above a whisper. Jungkook gulps and his thumb brushes your cheek, his gaze intense. “are you sure you want this? I don't want you to feel pressured” he asked, his voice rough with emotion.

your eyes flickered, a storm of emotions swirling within them. “Yes” you whispered, your voice steady despite the tremor in your hands. “Make me yours so I know this is real”. your words were like a spark to kindle, setting his blood on fire. Jungkook’s lips crashed back down on yours, his kiss hungry and possessive. He backed you against the nearest wall, his body pressing against yours, leaving no doubt about his desire. you moaned softly, hands tangling in his hair, holding him close as if you feared he might disappear. His hands moved down your body, tracing the curves of your waist, the swell of your hips. He cupped your ass, lifting you slightly so that you was flush against him, and you gasped into his mouth, nails digging into his scalp. Jungkook chuckled against your lips, the sound vibrating through you, sending shivers down your spine.

in your mind all you can think about is how this is unfolding. You know what you are doing is wrong- you know he is vulnerable and letting him claim you like this will only make this difficult. But, you also need to take control over him, gain his trust, break him and eventually leave this place. and It is not like you dont want this- him to fuck you like his life depends on it- you also need to make sure he stays whipped, so you get back to work.

Jungkook,” you panted, voice desperate. “Please, baby”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with desire. “Tell me what you want, anything i will give it to you” he demanded, his voice low and commanding.

“I want you,” you said, voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. “All of you. Now.”

Jungkook’s lips curved into a predatory smile. “Then take me baby, i'm yours to use” said, his voice a challenge. you didn’t hesitate. you pushed him back towards the bed, hands moving to the ties of his tunic, undoing them with ease. The fabric fell away, revealing his chiseled chest and the ridges of his abs. You ran your tongue over his neck, sucking and leaving marks, Jungkook hissed at the sensation, his head falling back as he exposed his neck to you.

“Your turn,” he said, his voice thick with desire.

Your fingers trembled as you reached for the laces of your dress, movements slow and deliberate. The fabric slid off your shoulders, pooling at your feet, leaving you standing before him in nothing. Jungkook’s gaze devoured you, his eyes tracing every curve, every inch of exposed skin. “So so pretty, how did I get so lucky,” he breathed, his hands reaching out to cup your breasts. you arched into his touch, head falling back as a soft moan escaped your lips. His thumbs brushed your nipples, already tight and aching, you gasped,your hands gripping his wrists. His mouth latched onto your tits as he sucked them one by one. he looks up at you whilst sucking on your left breasts like his life depends on it, you have to admit he looks incredibly handsome with his disheveled hair and the desperate expression, suddenly something comes to your mind and you push at his shoulders making him fall onto the bed, making him release your tit with a pop sound.

You flash him a cryptic smile as you get up from the bed and head towards your dresser, jungkook looks at you in confusion but it is soon replaced with surprise when you emerge with a silver knife in your hand. It is a beautiful engraved knife with an embroidered handle and a white satin ribbon tied on its base. It is one of your favourite knives. Jungkook looks at you with a serious expression on his face, he is not scared but you know he is waiting for your next move. you get on the bed and straddle his waist as you sit in his lap with the knife still in your hand. his hands reach for your waist as he looks at you lovingly- unfazed by the knife in your hand. You lift the knife to his throat, tracing his neck and then his jawline. You expect jungkook to resist or even snatch the knife from your hand but he lets you do whatever you want. You place it on his neck and look him right into his eyes; jungkook does nothing but leans into the knife and maintains eye contact.

“Do whatever you want to me” Jungkook says, his voice filled with passion and love.

your hands are shaking as you look at him, he has been nothing but nice to you. For a moment you think about it doing then and there but you control yourself. Instead, you drop the knife on the bed and kiss him, the kiss is quick as you have other plans in your head. you reach for the waistband of his pants. Jungkook hurriedly helps you remove them and helps you put his cock in your throbbing cunt. your mouth is left agape as you take him all in, you blink as you try to adjust hands automatically holding jungkook’s shoulders. Jungkook's hands rub your waist as he says soothing words in his language. you bounce a few times but you are too tired to carry on. Jungkook chuckles at you as he lifts you up to lay you on your back on the bed.

“You really are a princess, just want to be taken care of, yeah?” Jungkook says, chuckling while sitting up between your legs and scooting his hips closer to yours.

You roll your eyes at his words and mask your smile.

“And here I thought you would take care of me and do everything I say” you say while sitting up on your forearms.

“I would do anything for you and you know that” jungkook says while rubbing your legs.

just as jungkook is about to put the tip in, he changes his mind and sits back on his feet.

“Can you sit on my face” jungkook says with a serious expression.

and thats how you find yourself sitting on jungkook’s face with his mouth deep in your pussy. Jungkook latched his mouth onto your clit, which made you moan loudly, he gently sucked it into his mouth again. Jungkook sucked on your clit like a hungry man and it's all too much for you. Jungkook has his hands wrapped around your waist, eyes trained on your face and he moans every time he hears your whimpers. Jungkook started to move the tip of his tongue up and down your clit, Jungkook smiled, his tongue still latched onto your clit, his tongue took turns licking and teasing your clit and labia “oh lord” you moan, your mouth left agape- you are already sensitive and jungkook has not even started yet, you arch your back and moan his name, eyes closing. Jungkook continues his abuse on your pussy; nibbling and sucking your clit and in no time you cum all over his face. you are embarrassed and try to get off but jungkook makes a disapproving sound, tightening his hold around you as he laps on your now soaked cunt. You were already sensitive and now with Jungkook's actions you were on the verge of tears and gasping for air. Jungkook stops and you take the cue to get off. right away your head falls on the pillow and you softly moan at the sensation. Jungkook chuckles, his face glistening with your cum.

“Are you alright, my love” Jungkook asks you while planting kisses all over your face. He gives you a long smooch on your lips and trials his lips down your neck. “Jungkook, go wash your face” you say softly and he obeys. He comes back with a cloth, cleans you up and helps you dress. you turn on your side and see jungkook putting logs of wood into the fireplace to keep the fire going. You and Jungkook don't sleep in the same chambers; you never asked why but you know it is Jungkook's way of respecting you. “Come lay with me” you mumble as you are on the brink of sleeping. Jungkook shifts on his feet and makes way towards your bed. Jungkook gets under the blanket and hugs you from behind, his head resting near your neck. He kisses your cheek and mumbles a good night.

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Next chapter: acceptance

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author’s note: haiii im back :D sorry for the delay truuustt chapter 5 will be posted early (probably next week-ish) in the upcoming chapters, we will see a different side of jungkook aka his tribe leader side! anddd i tried my best to write smut please i hope da freaks like it anddddddd dw they will get even more 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 in upcoming chapters. Im also thinking about making a playlist and a moodboard post for this fic!!

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Taglist 💌: @jincapableoflove @voitier @koocreampie @kookxin @mysticprincessstrawberry @imwutim @synamon @withmuchluv-tannie @taekritimin123 @somehowukook @jungshaking @junecat18 @ilyjhseok @darklove2020 @lilyalone @yikes-ukiyo @icandoitwithabrokenhearttt @lilalouti @mar-lo-pap @onlyoursol-ace @margaretro23 @whatsupandy @thegreedyhibiscus @hoelychildofgod @bgfdcvbnjk @investedreader @geniejunn @somehowukook @jungshaking @recklesselfless @jksmilkshake @seagulljk @ttanniett

let me know if you would like to be tagged!

[pigeonstab]

Tail prosthetic time!!

I have this headcanon that Killer had his tail chopped off. He can live fine without it but it's a nasty reminder and makes it harder to balance without concentrating. Eventually he could get a prosthetic to help with that, also as a cosmetic thing, I think he likes to switch out his prosthetics for different colors and stuff. This is his knife attachement lol

^^^ his basic one

[thoughtfulfiction]

Operation: Cover Me in Sonshine

Author’s Note: Making the Operations fics into a series!

Content warning: Pregnancy and natural delivery.

It’s still early. The quiet of the house feels almost surreal as you wake up. The air feels heavier somehow, like the morning itself is holding its breath. Sunlight creeps through the blinds in soft slants, barely brushing the edges of your room. You shift slightly, wincing as the weight of your belly tugs against your body. Your hand instinctively finds the curve of it, still firm, round, and impossibly stretched. You sigh softly, not really wanting to be awake because you can already feel how early in the day it still must be. The clock on your nightstand blinks, 5:55 AM.

Another morning.

You’ll be lucky if you ever sleep in past seven for the next few years. Right now, though, sleep seems like a distant luxury, one you haven’t had much of lately. Between the ache in your hips and the dull throb in your lower back, rest comes in fits and starts. Despite how exhausted you are, your mind refuses to quiet.

All you can think about—all anyone can think about, is that you’re still waiting. Three days have passed since your due date and yet, no contractions, no signs, no…nothing. Just this endless limbo, your body stuck in a frustrating stalled state that makes you feel like you’re teetering on the edge of something big, yet unable to tip over.

You grab at the nightstand for your phone, squinting as the bright screen flares to life. A message from Joe waits at the top.

Hey babe, just headed out for a quick workout. I’ll be back by 10:30. If you need anything or feel like today’s the day, just let me know and I’ll come home sooner. Love you.

Your lips curve slightly, warmth blooming in your chest, but there’s something else there too, something closer to frustration. Not at him, but at…all of it. This waiting game. The feeling of being stuck while everyone around you carries on.

You knew he’d get up early. Even in the offseason, Joe clings to a routine, his quiet hours in the morning when the world feels calm and focused. And he’s earned that space. He’s been incredible these past few weeks, doting without hovering, most of the time. He’s always steady and patient no matter how restless you’ve been. Every evening, he asks if you’re okay, if you need anything, sometimes twice, oftentimes more. His time off has revolved around you, learning everything there is to know about newborns: the most effective swaddle methods, how long to keep him awake so he learns the difference between night and day as well as an effective nighttime feeding schedule.

He can take a few hours to himself, you think. He deserves that.

Your fingers hover over the screen before you type out a reply.

Thanks, babe. I’ll be fine. Just make sure you don’t overdo it.

You can practically hear him chuckling through the phone, that quiet, knowing laugh, because he never seems to believe he’s overdoing anything. His stubborn confidence is part of what makes him Joe, part of why you love him.

You exhale and try to shift again, but a deep ache flares in your back, deeper this time, like a dull knife twisting low in your spine, pulling things apart that are definitely meant to stay firmly attached. You groan softly and press your fingers into the sore spot, massaging circles to ease the tension. It’s not new at all. This ache has been creeping in more and more lately, but each time it sparks, a tiny flicker of hope stirs in your chest.

Maybe this is it…

But no. The pain fades, leaving you frustrated and no closer to labor than you were yesterday, or the day before that.

The clock now reads 6:37 AM.

You close your eyes, but the knot of restlessness remains. There’s a quiet pressure building, not painful exactly, but heavy and constant, like your body is gathering itself for something important. You know it’s coming, but when?

You shift again, one hand on your belly, feeling the faintest flutter of movement beneath your skin. The tiny human you've spent all this time carefully creating is still tucked inside, still waiting.

“Take your time,” you murmur softly, your voice barely a whisper in the quiet room. “Just, maybe not too much longer? Please?”

You set the phone down and settle back into the blankets, trying to relax your shoulders. It’s been hard, lately. Waiting. It’s been a whole year of preparation, appointments, baby names, and finally, the moment feels so close, but not quite here yet.

The minutes tick by, slow and steady, but for now, you’re here, in this quiet space, waiting for the little one to arrive. Just a little longer.

You put the phone down, letting Joe’s text sink in as you try to shake off the dull ache in your bones. The unfortunate familiar pangs of discomfort from indigestion and constipation seem to be intensifying. Lately, it feels like the world’s most inconvenient ailment has decided to settle in just as you’re waiting for the baby to make its grand entrance. Of course, it’s also the one thing you didn’t expect to be this uncomfortable—being overdue should’ve been enough of a challenge without the constant bloating and awkward, painful pressure in your stomach.

You inhale deeply, trying to remind yourself it’s just the digestive struggles. The weight of the baby pressing against your insides, your body’s final stretch before it does its job. It’s annoying. Embarrassing, even.

It feels like every part of your body is letting you down. Your stomach bloats up at the smallest meal, your back aches with every step, and now, it’s like your own body is holding the baby hostage in there. And let’s not even get started on the hormone-driven emotional rollercoaster.

But, you have to admit, some of it feels comical, even in its discomfort. You’ve read enough pregnancy blogs to know that half the battle is dealing with things no one tells you about—like the indignity of trying to figure out which position on the couch will ease your gas without making you explode in a fit of awkwardness.

With a sigh, you slowly swing your legs off the bed, careful not to rush the movement. The pressure in your midsection seems to ease up slightly as you stand, though it’s still there, a little tight and definitely at max capacity. You gingerly make your way downstairs, holding onto the railing for balance, feeling the full weight of your baby drastically shifting your equilibrium. As you move, the cramping feels more like an intense knot in your gut, and you know it’s time to make your way to the exercise ball.

You head straight for the water bottle, taking a long sip, feeling the cool liquid trickle down your throat and easing the dryness that’s taken over. You don’t think it’ll help regulate whatever is going on, but hydration seems like a decent place to start.

After a few seconds, you make your way over to the corner of the living room where the exercise ball sits, your faithful companion during these last few weeks. You lower yourself slowly onto it, wincing a little as the baby shifts, and take a deep breath as you roll your hips in slow circles. The gentle movement is supposed to relieve the pressure, and although you’re skeptical, you focus on the slight relief it brings.

It’s just one of those things, isn’t it? One of the million little things people never tell you about pregnancy. How one day you’ll have to tell your husband you haven’t gone to the bathroom in days and you’re on the verge of praying about it. You can’t help but chuckle softly to yourself, even if the situation is mildly uncomfortable. But that’s pregnancy—endlessly humbling, unpredictable, and sometimes…a little bit ridiculous.

You rest your hands on your belly, feeling the baby moving around, and for a moment, the cramping fades into something more tolerable. Maybe this won’t last much longer. Maybe the baby’s just waiting for you to stop worrying about the pain, stop stressing, before finally making his move.

Until then, you’ll continue rolling on this exercise ball, a little horrified at what your body is or isn’t doing, a little tired, but still hopeful that you’ll stop having to ask for help tying your shoes and getting off the couch soon and very soon.

By the time Morgan shows up at 8 AM, you’re curled up on the couch, tucked into a corner with a throw blanket draped over your legs. The dull ache in your lower belly hasn’t really let up, and the pressure feels like someone’s wedged a brick just above your hips. You’re trying to focus on Abbott Elementary, but even your favorite sitcom isn’t helping much. The laughter from the TV feels distant, like background noise to the uncomfortable churning inside you.

Morgan’s familiar voice calls from the kitchen.

“Morning! How’re you feeling?”

You force a smile and crane your neck toward him. He’s already setting his bags on the counter, moving with the kind of ease that comes from routine. He’s been Joe’s private chef long enough to know exactly where everything is—knives, spices, meal prep containers, all without a second thought.

“I’m good,” you answer, even though you’re very much not.

He pauses, wiping his hands on a towel. “You want me to whip something up for you? Eggs? Oatmeal?” He gestures toward the fridge. “I can make that quinoa bowl you liked last week?”

You grimace at the thought. The idea of food, anything warm, rich, or even remotely flavorful, almost make you gag. You press a hand to your belly, your palm tracing flat circles to the front tryin to sooth that backed up sensation, still feeling painfully full despite barely eating since last night.

“No thanks,” you mutter. “I feel like if I eat anything, I’ll actually combust.”

Morgan raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t push. He’s seen you in various stages of pregnancy discomfort, the bloody noses, random crying fits over commercials, even that one time you cursed Joe’s sneakers for “squeaking too loud.” He knows better than to argue with you, especially this late in the game.

“Alright,” he says easily. “But if you change your mind, let me know and I can you something small and easy on the stomach.”

You mumble your thanks and sink deeper into the couch, moving around more easily now that the back pain has dissipated just enough to focus on what's really causing issues. Another cramp bubbles low in your belly, a little dull and you instinctively close your eyes, breathing through it. It’s really nothing. Just more of this stubborn indigestion that won’t quit.

Morgan, meanwhile, quietly moves around the kitchen, chopping vegetables and portioning out Joe’s post-workout meals. Every so often, you catch him glancing your way. He’s trying to be subtle but it’s very noticeable. He can tell you’re uncomfortable and even though you said you were good, he still feels like he should do something to help.

There's something about your silence, the way you’ve barely talked or how you keep pressing your hand to your stomach just nags at him.

He steps away from the counter and pulls out his phone. After a moment of hesitation, he types out a text to Joe:

Hey man, just FYI, Y/N isn’t feeling great. Says it’s indigestion, but she looks a little off. Doesn’t want to eat. Not trying to overstep, but figured you’d want to know.

He stares at the message for a second longer before hitting send. Then he goes back to his chopping, keeping one ear tuned toward the living room…just in case.

Joe’s phone buzzes on the bench beside him just as he’s about to start his next set. He’s been pushing himself this morning, faster reps, heavier weight, trying to clear his mind. And maybe to get a few intense sessions going before the baby comes and he's too sleep deprived to put 300lbs on the bar for leg day. The further away they get to the due date, the harder it’s been for him to focus. Every morning feels like a guessing game. Will today be the day? And it’s been weighing on him more than he'd ever care to admit.

He grabs his phone, swiping away a layer of sweat on his forehead with his other hand. Seeing Morgan’s name on the screen makes his stomach tighten.

Joe doesn’t even think twice after reading the text, he’s already tapping the call button.

You pick up on the second ring, sounding tired but still calm.

“Hey,” you greet softly.

“Hey,” Joe says, his voice low with concern. “Morgan said you’re not feeling too hot?”

You let out a small sigh. “Yeah…just uncomfortable. Same stuff I’ve been dealing with, stomach feels a little dodgy, like I’m too full even though I barely ate. It’s nothing worse than what I’ve felt the last few weeks, though. I promise.”

Joe leans forward on the bench, still breathing a little hard from his workout. “You sure? I can be home in fifteen. Maybe even less than that if you need me.”

“No, no,” you insist. “Seriously, I’m fine. Take your time.”

But then you hesitate and Joe hears it.

“…Actually,” you add awkwardly, “Can you um…can you ask your assistant to grab me some prune juice? And those Olly constipation gummies?”

There’s a brief silence.

“Prune juice?” Joe echoes, biting back a grin.

“Don’t,” you warn immediately, your voice sharp with embarrassment. “Don’t you dare laugh.”

Joe can’t help himself, a quiet chuckle slips out, and you groan.

“I hate this,” you mutter. “I’m literally begging you to send someone to buy me prune juice. I might die of humiliation before this baby even comes out.”

“Hey,” Joe soothes, his voice warm now, teasing forgotten. “Don’t even worry about it. You’re carrying our baby. If you need prune juice, gummies, or whatever else, I’ll make it happen.”

“You better,” you grumble, but there’s a small smile in your voice. “You did this to me.”

“I know and I’m sorry. I’ll text her now,” Joe promises. “And I’ll finish up fast, just in case.”

“Thanks, babe.”

“Love you.”

You sigh, wanting to actually be swallowed by the couch, “love you too.”

As Joe hangs up, he’s already pulling up his assistant’s number, typing out the most ridiculous grocery request he’s ever had to send.

Hey, can you grab some prune juice and Olly constipation gummies and drop them off at the house? Don’t ask. Just trust me.

He pauses, smirks, and adds:

Maybe get some peonies too. The biggest bouquet they have. Just in case.

He sends the message, then grabs his towel and heads for the his last few sets. He’s not taking his time after all.

Joe steps through the front door less than 30 minutes after his call, tossing his keys onto the counter. The first thing he sees is the half-empty cup of prune juice and the opened bottle of laxative gummies sitting beside it. He frowns, setting his gym bag down.

“Where is she?” he asks Morgan, who’s finishing up in the kitchen.

Morgan just jerks his thumb toward the stairs. “Up there. Been a while.”

Joe mutters a quick thanks and heads for the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. His heart’s racing, not from panic, exactly, but from that anxious feeling that’s been simmering under his skin all morning. He stops at the bathroom door and knocks gently.

“Babe?” His voice is soft but concerned.

“I need a minute,” you groan from the other side of the door.

Joe’s hand rests flat against the wood. “You okay?”

“No,” you huff miserably. “This is the worst day of my life.”

Joe’s chest tightens. “Aw, c’mon,” he says gently, trying to keep things light. “You’re being a little dramatic.”

“I’m not,” you snap. “I am trapped in here, sweating like I just ran a marathon, and I’m pretty sure if I push any harder I’m gonna launch this baby straight into the toilet.”

Joe winces. “That doesn’t sound great.”

“Yeah.”

He pauses, unsure how to fix this. “Do you want me to call the doctor?” he asks carefully.

“No! God no.” you say quickly. “This is already horrible enough. I don’t need the entire city knowing my body is massively betraying me right now.”

Joe stifles a laugh but instantly regrets it. This isn’t funny, you’re uncomfortable, exhausted, and miserable, and here he is, helpless on the other side of the door.

“I’m sorry,” he says sincerely. “I just…I hate that you’re feeling like this.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Then you sigh, voice softer now.

“I really need this baby out of my body,” you murmur, frustration and exhaustion bleeding through your words.

Joe leans his head against the door. “I know, babe.” His voice is low and steady now. “But you’re doing amazing, okay? Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says firmly. “Look, you’ve made it this far. You’re tough as hell. This whole prune juice situation? Just a bump in the road.”

You let out a weak laugh. “Doesn't exactly feel like it. I cannot believe this is my life right now.”

“Well…” Joe grins. “Look on the bright side, if this baby does show up today, we’ll have one heck of a story to tell at their wedding.”

Your groan echoes through the door, but this time there’s a hint of a smile behind it.

“I’m serious!” Joe teases. “We’ll be like, ‘Oh yeah, your mom went into labor right after she chugged prune juice and I gave her a pep talk while she sat in the bathroom for 45 minutes.’”

“You’re the worst,” you mutter, but you’re laughing now, really laughing, and Joe feels like that’s a win.

“And yet you chose me,” he says softly.

“And I've been contemplating all of my life decisions ever since,” you answer, still stuck in the bathroom, still uncomfortable, but maybe feeling just a little bit better.

The bathroom door creaks open, and you step out looking thoroughly defeated. Your face a little damp from sweating, and your features riddled with exhaustion.

“What’s the verdict?” he asks carefully.

You shake your head with a tired sigh. “Nothing.”

Joe frowns. “Nothing?”

“Not a thing.” You throw your hands up in frustration. “I drank prune juice, ate those stupid gummies, and sat in there forever just hoping something would happen. Now I'm just worn out.”

His lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile, but he knows better than to push his luck.

“I’m sorry, babe,” he says gently. “Come on, let’s get you in bed.”

You don’t argue. Your body feels heavy, your stomach taut, not from cramps, just…pressure. Like your baby’s taking up every possible inch inside you and still isn’t satisfied. You crawl into bed with a quiet groan, tugging the blankets up over you.

Joe leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before grabbing a fresh shirt and some shorts.

“I’m gonna shower,” he says softly. “I’ll be right back.”

You mumble something in response, something sleepy and unintelligible. Your eyes are already closing as he heads to the bathroom.

When he comes back a few minutes later, his hair still damp, Joe’s wearing one of his old workout shirts and a pair of loose shorts. He tosses his towel in the laundry basket and moves quietly to your side of the bed.

You’re half-asleep, curled on your side, breathing slow and steady. He sits beside you, shifting carefully so the mattress barely dips. His hand finds your back, fingers pressing into the curve of your spine, tracing soft circles in the exact spots he knows help you relax.

After a moment, his hand drifts lower, resting on the hard, round curve of your belly. His palm molds to it, and his brow furrows slightly.

“Hey,” he whispers. “Does this hurt?”

Your eyes barely crack open. “Not really,” you murmur. “Just feels…overstuffed. Like he’s running out of room.”

Joe hums thoughtfully, his thumb absently stroking over the stretched fabric of your shirt. He can feel the tension beneath his hand. Your stomach’s so compact, like a drum. His fingers press a little firmer, not enough to hurt, just enough to feel for movement.

And then, right beneath his palm, the baby moves, slow and heavy, like he’s just as uncomfortable as you are.

“Wow,” Joe breathes with a soft chuckle. “Yeah, he’s definitely running out of space.”

You smile sleepily, your hand sliding over his, locking your fingers together on your belly. “Feels like he’s trying to punch his way out at this point.”

“Well,” Joe grins, “I’d prefer that over prune juice doing the job.”

You snort, barely opening one eye to shoot him a look. “Don’t make me laugh. I’m too tired.”

“Alright, alright,” he whispers, pressing one more kiss to your cheek. “Get some rest.”

You’re out cold in minutes, your breathing soft and even. Joe shifts carefully, reaching for his iPad on the nightstand. He pulls up a documentary, something about space exploration. It’s the kind of background noise that won’t steal too much of his attention and settles in beside you.

He doesn’t feel comfortable leaving you alone right now. Something about the way you’ve been moving, tired, off and just not quite yourself keeps him rooted to the spot. So he stays, one arm still resting protectively across your belly, just in case.

Just in case today’s the day.

Joe barely stirs when you shift out of bed a little over an hour later. He feels the dip in the mattress, hears the quiet shuffle of your feet as you head to the bathroom, but he doesn’t think much of it. Finally, he figures, letting his eyes drift back to his iPad. The prune juice and gummies must’ve kicked in.

But then he hears it, the familiar, awful sound of you gagging, followed by the unmistakable heave of you being sick.

He’s out of bed in an instant, the iPad forgotten on the sheets.

“Hey, hey,” Joe calls as he reaches the bathroom, his voice rising with concern. The door’s cracked open, and he pushes it the rest of the way.

You’re kneeling in front of the toilet, one hand gripping the side of it for balance. Your whole body shudders as another wave hits, and Joe feels his stomach twist.

“Aw, babe…” He kneels beside you immediately, one hand steadying your back. His other hand reaches for a hair tie from the counter, carefully pulling your hair away from your face.

You’re gasping for air, eyes watery and face pale. “I’m…I’m fine,” you choke out between breaths, but Joe’s not convinced.

“Yeah, no offense, but you don’t look fine,” he says softly, his hand still rubbing soothing circles on your back.

You rest your forehead against your arm on the toilet seat, completely drained. “I think I just overdid it with the prune juice.”

“Or the gummies,” Joe adds with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood.

“Or both,” you mutter. “God, this is so embarrassing.”

“Hey,” Joe says firmly, squeezing your shoulder. “None of that. You’re growing a whole human. If anyone’s allowed to have a rough day, it’s you.”

You let out a weak, breathy laugh. “Yeah, well… my ‘rough day’ feels like a disaster movie at this point.”

Joe reaches over, grabbing a washcloth and running it under cool water. He kneels again, gently pressing it to the back of your neck.

“Better?” he asks.

“Mmhmm.” You sigh, closing your eyes as the cool cloth eases some of the heat in your face.

Joe’s quiet for a moment, but his hand never stops moving slow circles on your back, steady and calming. Then, carefully, he asks, “You sure this is just the prune juice?”

You hesitate. “I think so?” you say, but there’s doubt in your voice now. “I mean…I’ve felt weird all day. Maybe this is just my body trying to reset or something. I actually feel a little better.”

Joe’s eyes narrow slightly, but he doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he leans down and kisses your temple, his hand still resting warm and steady against your back.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “Let’s get you back to bed. But if this gets worse…I’m calling the doctor and it's not really up for discussion after that.”

For once, you don’t fight him.

“Deal,” you mumble, too tired to argue.

Joe keeps a steady arm wrapped around you as he helps you back to bed, moving slow and careful like you might break. You’re shaky and exhausted, and each step feels heavier than the last.

“Almost there,” he murmurs as you reach the edge of the mattress.

But just as you’re about to sit down, that sick, awful feeling rolls through you again and twisting your stomach into knots.

“Wait,” you choke out, one hand flying to your mouth. “I’m gonna—”

You barely make it back to the bathroom before you’re on your knees again, heaving into the toilet. Joe’s right behind you, one hand supporting your waist, the other protecting your hair.

“It’s okay,” he soothes, his voice calm even though his heart’s racing. “I’ve got you.”

But then just as you’re catching your breath, something shifts inside you. A low, unsettling pressure that feels nothing like the cramping and indigestion you’ve battled all day. For a split second, you think you’ve just lost control of your bladder—but then warmth rushes down your legs, soaking your pajama pants and pooling rapidly on the tile floor beneath you.

Your heart skips a beat, and your breath catches.

“Oh my God,” you whisper. “Joe…”

He’s already looking down, eyes wide as they flick from your stunned face to the growing puddle on the floor.

“Is that…?” he starts, but you nod before he can finish.

“My water just broke.” Your voice is a shaky mix of shock, disbelief, and maybe even a little relief.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then Joe exhales a stunned breath and lets out a soft laugh. The kind that sounds part amazed, part terrified.

“Well…that explains a lot.”

You laugh too, breathless, disbelieving and suddenly the day’s chaos makes sense. The weird pressure, the nausea, the miserable discomfort…your body wasn’t betraying you. It was getting ready.

“Okay,” Joe says, snapping back into focus. “I’m gonna grab your hospital bag, and call Dr. Chen.” He presses a quick kiss to your damp forehead. “We’re having a baby today.”

“Today,” you echo, still trying to wrap your head around it.

The worst day of your life? Maybe not. Maybe it’s just the start of the best one yet.

“Babe, I really think you should just wait until we get there,” Joe says, his voice tight with worry as you pull a towel from the rack.

“Joe,” you groan, stepping carefully out of your soaked pajama pants. “I just threw up, my water broke, and I’m—I don’t even know what else is happening down there. But it’s gross. And I need a shower. Desperately, I'm literally not going anywhere like this.”

He exhales through his nose, clearly fighting the urge to argue. “I get that, but the hospital’s—”

“I just need twenty minutes,” you interrupt, your voice softer now. You press a hand to your belly, feeling a lot lighter now, mentally trying to wrap your mind around the fact that this will only get worse from here. And then you'll be a parent for the rest of your life, there's no going back now. “The next time I walk into this bathroom, there’s gonna be a baby in my arms. That’s…that’s insane. I just need a minute to...breathe.”

Joe’s face softens instantly. His shoulders relax, and he steps forward, cupping your face in his hands.

“Alright,” he says quietly. “I guess you can take a few.”

You nod, suddenly feeling a lump rise in your throat. This is happening. It’s really happening.

Joe presses a kiss to your forehead and steps back. “I'm gonna grab you some clothes but I’ll be right out here if you need anything,” he promises.

You step into the shower, letting the warm water wash over you. For the first time all day, your muscles seem to unclench. The spray rinses away the sweat, the nausea, and thankfully, the sticky amniotic fluid that had left you feeling miserable.

Your mind drifts as you stand beneath the stream, one hand resting protectively on your stomach. The idea that this is the last time you’ll shower before becoming a mom is overwhelming. Exciting, terrifying, surreal. All of it is swirling together until you can’t tell where one feeling ends and the next begins.

You take a deep breath, letting the steam calm you.

“We’re gonna be okay,” you whisper, your fingers tracing slow circles over your belly. “We’re doing this.”

When you finally turn off the water and step out, Joe’s still waiting. Your hospital bag is by the door, a fresh pair of clothes is folded neatly on the bed. He looks up, smiling softly when he sees you.

“Feel better?” he asks.

You nod, drying your face with the towel. “Yeah…a lot better.”

You step out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, steam curling behind you as Joe looks up from his spot by the bed.

“Perfect timing,” he says, standing and grabbing the clothes he set out. “I brought your comfy leggings and that big sweatshirt you like.”

“You’re the best,” you murmur, taking the pile of clothes from him.

You get dressed slowly, feeling calmer now that you’re clean and in fresh clothes. Joe’s already crouched down by the door, untying your sneakers so they’re easy to slip on.

“Alright,” he says, patting one of them. “Let’s get these on and—”

Suddenly, a deep, pulling feeling grabs at your abdomen like someone’s cinching a belt around your waist.

You freeze, one hand flying to your belly as your breath hitches.

“Whoa—hey,” Joe says, instantly alert. “You okay?”

You press your eyes shut, breathing through the wave that comes and goes thankfully much faster than you thought it would. “I think…I think that was a contraction.”

Joe’s eyes go wide. “Do you? Alright, like you're good now? 1-10?”

“I think so. That was like a four. Wasn't bad,” you mumble out, slowly moving to sit.

Joe’s already moving, one hand on your arm to steady you as you lower yourself carefully onto the edge of the bed.

“Alright, just breathe,” he says, his voice calm but focused. “You’re good. We’re good.”

He grabs one of your sneakers and kneels in front of you.

“Okay,” he mutters, sliding the shoe onto your foot and tying it quickly. “Nice and easy.”

You’re still catching your breath when he grabs the second shoe, his fingers working fast but gentle.

“You good?” he asks again, glancing up.

You nod, still feeling shaky but relieved the pain has passed. “Yeah…this is just. Crazy.”

Joe gives your knee a reassuring squeeze. “Hey,” he says, grinning as he grabs the hospital bag. “I know you’re feeling a lot right now…but this is kind of exciting, right?”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Terrifying, but yeah…exciting.”

“We’ve got this,” Joe promises, his hand sliding into yours.

And somehow, as you walk together toward the stairs your body still aching, your nerves buzzing, you can't help but smile at the fact that you get to do this with your best friend.

Joe steps closer, his hand sliding to your waist. “Good,” he murmurs, kissing the side of your head. “Because I’m pretty sure our kid’s on a mission to meet us ASAP.”

You smile, a genuine one that takes over your entire being and for the first time all day, you feel ready.

You and Joe make your way downstairs, his arm still firmly around your waist as he helps you down each step. Your heart’s racing now, the nerves mixing with a strange kind of excitement. The contraction has passed, but the tension in your body still lingers, reminding you that things are really happening.

As you reach the bottom, you’re greeted by the smell of something delicious—a mix of fresh herbs and sizzling veggies. Morgan’s in the kitchen, expertly preparing lunch as always, his back to you both.

He turns when he hears you walking down the final step, his eyes landing on your focused face and Joe’s tense, wide-eyed expression. His brow furrows instantly, and without missing a beat, he sets down the knife he’s holding.

“You guys heading to the hospital?” Morgan asks, his voice even but his gaze quickly scanning you for any signs of distress.

Joe doesn’t even try to hide the mix of anxiety and excitement in his voice. “Yeah…we’re on our way. Her water broke.”

Morgan doesn’t flinch, but his lips press into a thin line, his eyes flicking between you and Joe. “Alright,” he says, nodding. “Do you need me to do anything, or are you guys good?”

You shake your head. “We’ve got it. Just, uh, just wanted to let you know.”

Joe’s still holding your hand, but now his grip tightens just slightly as if grounding you both in the chaos of the moment. “You know, Morgan, I really wish you could come with us for moral support,” Joe says with a tired grin.

Morgan gives a wry smile, though there’s no humor in his eyes. “I think you guys have that covered. I’ll hold down the fort here.”

You let out a breathy laugh, but it catches in your throat. “Thanks, Morgan…you really don’t know how much we appreciate everything.”

Morgan smiles, giving you a quick, understanding nod. “Don’t mention it. Just get to that hospital and have that baby, alright? And hurry up and bring home so I can finally know his name.”

Joe gives him a thumbs up as he helps you toward the door, your heart pounding as you walk toward the car. But the truth is, it’s finally happening. The baby’s on the way, and it's full speed ahead.

Joe’s hands are steady as he helps you into the passenger seat of the car, making sure you’re comfortable despite the cramping pressure is increasing in intensity by the minute, it seems. He leans in one last time to check the car seat, his fingers lightly brushing over the straps as he double-checks everything. His heart races, it’s almost too much to wrap his mind around.

The next time he sits in this car, his son will be in that seat.

“You ready?” he asks, his voice low and calm as he looks over at you, already buckling himself into the driver’s seat.

You nod, still trying to catch your breath but feeling a little more grounded now. “Yeah, let's do this.”

Joe gives you a small, reassuring smile before pulling out his phone. He presses a few buttons, his thumb hovering over the call button as he looks over at you.

“You texted your mom earlier, right?" You nod. "I’m gonna call my parents,” he says softly, his eyes focused on the screen but his attention still split between you and the road. "I know my mom probably already has a bag packed to stay with us for a few days."

You give him a small nod, squeezing his hand once before he presses the call button.

It rings twice before his mom picks up.

“Joe? Is everything okay?” her voice is full of excitement and anticipation like she already knows what he’s about to say.

“Hey, Mom,” he says quickly, trying to keep his voice light but failing to hide the excitement underneath. “Yeah, everything’s good. Just wanted to let you know, we’re on our way to the hospital. Y/N’s water broke.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end before she responds, her voice almost breathless. “Oh my God! Oh, Joe, that’s amazing! You’re going to be a dad! A real dad!”

Joe laughs, his nerves finally starting to settle at the sound of her voice. “I know, Mom. It’s happening, right now.”

“Okay, okay, we’re on our way. We’ll be there as soon as we can.” She’s clearly already getting ready to leave, but she pauses. “Tell that sweet girl we love her and we’re so excited.”

“I will, Mom. Love you.”

As he hangs up, he slips the phone into the cupholder and lets out a slow breath.

“Everyone should now be on their way,” Joe says, his hand gently squeezing yours. “It’s happening, babe. Our little guy is on the move.”

You smile softly, your fingers curling around his as you look out the window, knowing that the next chapter of your lives is about to begin and you’re ready.

You rest your head back against the seat, feeling the dull ache in your lower belly starting to build again. With one hand on your stomach, you fumble for your phone with the other.

“Who are you calling?” Joe asks, his eyes flicking between you and the road.

“Nikki,” you mutter, already scrolling for her name. “She’ll kill me if I don’t tell her.”

The phone rings twice before she picks up.

“Hey! What’s up?” Nikki’s voice is bright and casual, like she’s got no idea you’re in the middle of the most intense moment of your life.

“Hi,” you breathe, wincing as the ache sharpens. “Sooo…we’re heading to the hospital. Baby time.”

“OH MY GOD!” Nikki practically shrieks. “I’m grabbing my stuff right now. What do you need? Snacks? Chargers? Comfort items? A playlist? Should I bring my—”

Your hand clenches tightly around the phone as the contraction surges, fiery and all-consuming. Without thinking, your other hand shoots out and grips Joe’s thigh. Hard.

“Ahhh—oh, hang on, hang on—” you groan into the phone, squeezing Joe’s leg your own personal stress ball.

Joe’s eyes widen for a second before his hand finds yours. He presses his palm over your knuckles, grounding you as he speaks softly.

“Breathe, baby. Just breathe…I’ve got you. We’re almost there. About ten minutes out.”

The pain peaks, sharp and relentless, before finally fading enough for you to catch your breath.

“Sorry,” you gasp into the phone, blinking back tears as you rub his thigh, apologizing again. “That was a bad one.”

“Don’t apologize!” Nikki cries. “I’m on my way. I’ll meet you there, I swear.”

“Okay…just hurry,” you say weakly before hanging up.

But before you can even set the phone down, another contraction slams into you. This one much stronger and faster.

“Oh no, no, no, no—” you gasp, both hands now cupping your belly.

“Babe?” Joe’s voice sharpens, one hand gripping the steering wheel and the other reaching for you again.

“Joe, just—” you gasp, your voice thin and desperate. “Just run the light.”

He doesn’t even hesitate. His foot taps the gas, and the car surges forward through the red light. Horns blare from both directions, but Joe doesn’t care. His knuckles are white on the wheel, his gaze laser-focused on the road ahead.

Joe’s arm is weighed down by the hospital bag, your overnight duffel, and a smaller tote crammed with last-minute items but still, he keeps his left hand free, reaching out for you as the elevator doors slide closed.

“Here,” he says softly, offering his hand.

You shake your head quickly, barely able to speak as another contraction tears through you. Instead, you grip the elevator railing with both hands, your fingers curling tightly around the cold metal like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

“Wow,” you grit out, your forehead dropping forward to rest against your arm. Your breathing stutters, short and sharp as you try to focus on anything but the pressure building inside you. Now that you were out of the car you could feel the shift, he was making his way down and you felt like you had could close your legs even if you wanted to.

Joe’s face tightens with concern, but he doesn’t force anything. He steps closer instead, hovering beside you, helplessly watching you fight through it.

“It’s happening so fast,” you choke out, your voice strained and shaky. “I didn’t think it would…feel like this yet.”

Joe shifts the bags higher on his shoulder and presses his palm against the small of your back, rubbing slow, firm circles.

“I know,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady. “But you’re doing so good. Just keep breathing. I’m right here.”

Another contraction swells, more forceful than the last, and your breath falters. You grip the railing even harder, your knuckles turning white as a sharp, stretching pressure radiates low in your belly and deep into your back.

“Oh my God,” you gasp, your knees threatening to buckle as you circled your hips. "I feel like I need to squat or something."

Joe’s hand freezes for a second before he quickly presses a kiss to your shoulder. “Okay, okay…we’re almost there,” he reassures you, glancing anxiously at the glowing floor numbers above the door. “Just hang on a little longer.”

The elevator feels like it’s crawling. Each second drags, and by the time the doors finally slide open, you’re trembling, overwhelmed, breathless, and bracing for whatever’s coming next.

Joe doesn’t hesitate. He grabs the bags, then steps right back to your side, curling his arm around you as you take one shaky step forward.

“You’re almost there,” he says again, his voice softer now. “We’re so close, babe…you’re almost there.”

“I’ve got you,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “Just hang on, baby.”

You clench your teeth, breathing through the pain as best you can, your fingers still locked tightly with his.

“We’re almost there,” Joe repeats, glancing at you again. “I swear we’re almost there.”

The moment you step into the hospital room, you barely register Nikki and your mom standing by the bed. They’re both mid-laugh, probably swapping nervous jokes to ease the tension. But their smiles vanish when they see you.

“Oh honey,” your mom gasps, stepping forward.

“You okay?” Nikki chimes in, wide-eyed.

You barely manage a quick, shaky hug with each of them before muttering, “I need to pee. And I need my pants off right now.”

Without waiting for a response, you shuffle straight to the bathroom, tugging your leggings down as you go. The pressure is unbearable, like your body is trying to turn itself inside out.

Joe follows you to the door but stops just outside, lingering anxiously.

“You got it?” he calls softly.

“Yeah just give me a second,” you manage through gritted teeth, gripping the bathroom counter as another contraction swells.

A knock at the main door draws Joe’s attention. The midwife steps inside—calm and confident, like she’s seen this a thousand times before.

“I hear we’ve got a baby in a hurry,” she says with a warm smile.

Joe steps aside as she sets her bag down. “She’s in the bathroom,” he says, running a hand down his face. “Contractions went from nothing to…everything in no time.”

The midwife grabs a pair of gloves. “I’ll check her as soon as she’s ready,” she says, her tone soothing yet no-nonsense.

The next contraction slams into you right there in the bathroom, stealing your breath. You brace both hands on the counter, bowing your head as you ride it out.

“Fuck me, oh my God—” you whimper, feeling the pressure deepen.

Joe’s voice comes from just outside the door. “Babe? Want me to come in?”

“N-no,” you stammer. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

The moment the contraction eases, you stumble out of the bathroom, your shirt a little damp with sweat. Your mom and Nikki both look startled, but the midwife steps in like she’s been waiting for this exact moment.

“Let’s get you on the bed,” she says gently. “I’d like to check you. Sounds like things are moving fast.”

You don’t argue. You’re too exhausted, too overwhelmed to care about modesty anymore. Joe helps you to the bed, his strong hands guiding you as you climb up and awkwardly lie back.

The midwife works quickly, gloved fingers checking your progress. You barely notice her calm smile until she looks up at you.

“Well,” she says brightly, “you’re at about eight centimeters. So you're either already in transition or it's coming soon.”

Joe’s eyes widen. “Eight? Already?”

“Oh my God,” Nikki whispers, grabbing your mom’s arm.

“That’s amazing,” your mom says, her voice shaky with emotion.

You don’t feel amazing. You feel like your body’s on fire, like you’re splitting in two or you’re going to explode.

“I don't think I can do this,” you murmur, your voice thin and ragged.

Joe steps closer, pressing his forehead to yours. “Yes, you can,” he says firmly, his hand curling around yours. “You’re doing it right now.”

“And you’re so close,” the nurse adds, her voice warm and steady. “Your body’s doing exactly what it’s supposed to.”

The room feels like organized chaos. Voices murmuring, hands adjusting, your body shifting from one position to the next as you desperately try to find some relief.

Your mom is behind you now, her legs stretched out as you lean back against her, the cool fabric of her shirt pressed against your sweaty back. The exercise ball in your lap is your only comfort, something to cling to as you rock back and forth, focusing on the rhythm instead of the relentless waves of pressure.

Nikki kneels at your side, her fingers digging into your hips, deep, firm pressure that somehow cuts through the worst of the pain.

“Right there,” you gasp between breaths. “Don’t stop. Stay right there.”

“I got you,” Nikki promises, her fingers tightening like a vise.

Joe hovers nearby, pacing like a caged animal. His eyes flick anxiously between you, your mom, and Nikki, like he’s looking for some way to help, some role to play that doesn’t involve just watching you hurt.

Finally, you glance up at him, chest heaving.

“Go grab some food,” you rasp.

Joe’s brow furrows. “What? No. I’m not leaving you.”

“Babe, seriously,” you plead. “You haven’t eaten all day, and you’re about to be up all night. Just go. I promise I’ll be okay for 20 minutes.”

Joe opens his mouth to argue when the door swings open and his mom, Robin, steps inside with a bag of food in her hands

“Perfect timing,” you breathe. You hadn’t bothered to check your phone since asking her to grab whatever Morgan was cooking for Joe to have with him.

Robin gives you a soft smile and crosses the room to her son.

“I stopped by the house,” she says, handing Joe the bag. “Morgan had it all packed up, ready to go.”

Joe stares down at the food, still hesitant. “I don’t know…”

You shift uncomfortably against the ball, another contraction creeping up your spine. “Joe… please,” you whisper, voice tight. “Just eat. I need you at 100%.”

His eyes soften, and finally, he steps back toward the chair in the corner, setting the bag down and opening the container.

“Thank you,” you say softly, reaching for his hand before he sits down. Your fingers squeeze his, a silent reminder that, even in the middle of all this, you’re still thinking about him.

He leans down, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I love you so much,” he murmurs.

“Love you too,” you whisper back, just as another contraction swells, strong enough to steal your breath.

Nikki’s hands tighten on your hips again, grounding you.

“Deep breaths,” your mom murmurs, her arms wrapping around your shoulders, holding you close as you ride it out.

And across the room, Joe watches you, fork frozen halfway to his mouth, amazed at how he had no idea when he woke up this morning that this would be how the day would go.

You squeeze Nikki’s hand hard as another contraction hits, letting the exercise ball go, "I need to move, this isn't working."

“You’ve got this,” she whispers, helping you lay on your side in the bed.

The room is quieter now, the energy calmer. After hours of constant movement, noise, and coaching, it’s just you and Joe. The dim lighting makes everything feel softer, less overwhelming, but the pressure inside you is still unrelenting.

You’re perched on a birth stool, legs spread wide, elbows resting on your knees, letting out soft sounds of pain. It’s not glamorous, but it’s oddly the most comfortable you’ve felt in hours, something about the position giving your body a break from gravity’s pull.

Dignity is beyond out the window. Your sports bra is damp with sweat. The waistband of your shorts is folded low beneath your belly, your body radiating heat like a furnace.

Joe’s crouched in front of you, arms resting on his knees, watching you closely.

“You okay?” he asks softly, like he’s afraid to break the calm.

You nod, rolling your shoulders back as you take a deep breath. “Weirdly…yeah. This is…kind of nice.”

His lips twitch, like he’s fighting a smile. “Can’t say I pictured it going like this, but hey, whatever works.”

You huff a weak laugh, but it quickly turns into a low groan as another contraction tightens across your belly. You shift your hips instinctively, while closing your eyes, trying to ease the pressure. Joe reaches out, rubbing slow circles on your thigh.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice steady. “Do you wanna try the shower? Might help you cool off a little.”

You drag a hand over your face, skin warm and sticky. The thought of cool water washing over you sounds like heaven.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “That actually sounds really good.”

“Okay,” Joe says immediately, standing walking over to turn the shower on, adjusting the temperature just the way you like it.

By the time he turns back, you’re already trying to peel off your shorts with shaky hands. Joe steps in to help, easing them down your legs, his touch gentle and patient.

“Couple more steps,” he murmurs softly, holding onto to you like his life depends on it. Right now, it definitely does. He has to get you through this. And he’s going to, no matter what.

When the shower’s ready, he guides you inside, one arm curled protectively around your waist. The warm spray hits your skin, and you exhale a long, shaky breath, the first moment of relief you’ve felt in what feels like hours.

Joe steps just inside the shower, still in his t-shirt and shorts, bracing one hand against the wall to keep steady as he rubs slow circles across your back.

“That better?” he asks quietly.

You nod, your forehead pressing into his chest.

“So much better,” you murmur, feeling his heartbeat steady and strong beneath your skin.

For a few precious moments, it’s just you, Joe, and the sound of the water. Everything is quiet, calm, and still.

Joe grabs the showerhead with his left hand, adjusting the spray to a steady stream. With his right hand, he reaches out for you.

“Here,” he says gently. “Squeeze if you need to.”

You eye his hand warily, knowing full well what your grip’s capable of right now.

“I’m not crushing your throwing hand,” you say through a shaky breath. “I’m not about to have Bengals fans making wanted posters of me.”

Joe huffs a quiet laugh, then switches the showerhead to his right hand and holds out his left instead.

“Alright, fine,” he says with a small laugh. “This one’s expendable.”

You let out a breathy chuckle, gripping his left hand as the next contraction rolls in. You groan low in your throat, bending forward slightly as the pressure tightens across your belly and back.

“Okaaay, okay…breathe,” Joe soothes, running the cool stream of water down your spine. The relief isn’t perfect, but it’s enough to keep you from feeling like you’re drowning in the pain.

The next sound that leaves your mouth is somewhere between a moan and a wail, guttural, raw, and absolutely unflattering.

“Oh my God,” you pant afterward. “I sound like a dying cow.”

Joe leans in, pressing a kiss to the damp side of your head. “That’s great,” he murmurs, “I love cows.”

You let out a breathless laugh, too exhausted to manage anything more.

“I’m serious,” he continues, his thumb tracing slow circles across the back of your hand. “Strong, beautiful…and a little stubborn when they’re in a mood.”

“I hate you,” you mutter, even though you’re smiling.

“No, you don’t,” Joe says softly, running the cool water down your back again. “You’re doing amazing…and I’m so proud of you.”

Your fingers squeeze his hand, hard, as another contraction tears through you. Joe doesn’t flinch. He just holds on tighter, staying steady and solid beside you.

“You’ve got this,” he whispers. “I’m right here.”

The pressure in your lower back and pelvis suddenly shifts—deeper, sharper —and a new kind of discomfort blooms, making it impossible to stay seated.

“I can’t sit anymore,” you gasp, wincing as you shift your weight. “It’s too much. My butt hurts.”

Joe’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t hesitate. He slides an arm around your waist, steadying you as you rise shakily to your feet.

The second you’re upright, it’s like gravity grabs hold. A powerful downward pressure that takes your breath away. Before you can even think to stop it, your body bears down on its own, your muscles clenching and pushing without permission.

“Hahh! Okay…okay. Oh my god.” you cry, one hand shooting between your legs on instinct.

“What? What is it?” Joe’s voice is sharp now, his eyes scanning you in panic.

You wanted to answer but you couldn't talk. You couldn't do anything but focus inward and do exactly what your body was demanding, curling in on yourself, bending your knees slightly. The sounds you were making were different, less breathing and more deep sounds, guttural...primal. Joe freezes for half a second before snapping into action.

“Babe? Oh you’re…you’re pushing." He notes, like saying it out loud would make it less daunting. "Alright, okay just…hang on.” He carefully turns off the shower, wrapping one arm securely around you. “We need to make sure you’re at 10, babe. Can you try to hold on for a second? It's hard, I know, we just gotta make sure you're ready so you don't hurt yourself."

“I can’t stop,” you pant, rocking your hips desperately, trying to breathe through the overwhelming urge to bear down. One hand grips your stomach, the other braced between your legs like you can physically hold your son inside.

Joe’s grip tightens. “I know—I know,” he says, trying to keep his voice calm. “Just…just try. I’m gonna get your mom or Nikki.”

You barely register him yelling as he helps you stagger out of the bathroom.

“Hey, I need someone to hit the call button. Right now.”

Your mom bursts into the bathroom just as you half-squat in the shower, your body pushing again with a force that steals your breath.

“I'm either shitting myself or he’s coming,” you choke out, tears springing to your eyes.

Your mom runs back to the bed and slams her hand on the call button, calling for immediate medical assistance. Joe is only focused on you, one hand bracing your back, the other gripping your hand as your fingers dig into his palm.

The reality of what’s happening hits Joe like a freight train, Kai isn’t just coming, he’s right there. His breathing stutters, but he forces himself to focus. You’re leaning heavily against him, your face twisted in pain, but you’re still fighting, still pushing.

“Just breathe,” he says, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “You’re okay. You’re good. I’m right here.”

“I need…I need to move,” you gasp, your body desperate for a new position.

“Whenever you’re ready, we’ll take it slow,” he says, helping you shift onto your hands and knees. His arm stays braced beneath you, holding you steady as you adjust.

The moment your weight settles into place, another powerful contraction grips you, and you bear down hard, arching your back as you push. Your whole body shakes with the effort.

The nurse rushes in then with a few people trailing behind, her voice is calm but urgent. “Joe?” she says firmly, locking eyes with him as she kneels beside you. “I need you to stay right where you are, you’re doing great.”

Joe swallows hard and nods, his grip tightening on you as the she guides him.

“Okay, his head’s almost out,” the nurse says, motioning to one of the medical aids. She presses a cold compress into Joe’s hand. “Hold this here, help her stretch.”

Joe places the cool cloth against your skin, and you let out a shuddering sigh at the relief it brings.

“When she pushes again, I want you to support him. Don’t pull, just let him come.”

Joe’s fingers tremble slightly, but he nods again. “I’ve got him,” he says, more certain this time.

Another contraction rips through you, and you cry out, pressing your forehead into Joe’s shoulder as your body bears down.

“There you go, baby,” Joe whispers, his voice breaking. “You’re doing so good…so good.”

Suddenly, the baby’s head slips free into Joe’s waiting hands—warm, damp, and shockingly real.

“Holy shit,” Joe gasps, his voice barely a whisper. “…his head’s out.”

“Check for a cord.” The nurse cuts in.

Joe swallows hard and gently runs his fingers around the baby’s head, careful and precise. “No cord,” he says, relief flooding his voice.

You’re shaking, exhausted and overwhelmed, but Joe’s voice cuts through the noise.

“You can do this,” he whispers against your temple, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You’ve got this. I know you do.”

With the next contraction, you push hard, crying out as Kai’s shoulders slip free, followed by the rest of his tiny body. The midwife hands him a clean towel just in time to catch the warm, slippery weight of his baby boy, who enters the world with a rush of fluid and an angry, piercing cry.

“Oh my God,” Joe breathes, his voice breaking as he carefully lifts his son onto his back, cradling him in the fresh towel.

“He’s here,” Joe chokes out, pressing a kiss to your damp shoulder. “He’s here…and he’s so—oh my god. He’s actually here.”

Tears spill down your face as you reach back weakly, your fingertips brushing your son’s tiny hand.

“You did it,” Joe whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re incredible.”

And as their son’s cries echo through the room, Joe can’t stop staring. His heart full, hand still steady on your back unbelievably overwhelmed by the sight of the strongest two people he’s ever known.

The sound of your baby’s first cry fills the room —loud, raw, and impossibly perfect. You let out a shaky breath, your body sagging with exhaustion and overwhelming relief.

“He’s here,” Joe whispers again, his voice breaking as he cradles your son’s tiny body in the towel. “Little man’s got some lungs on him.”

You chuckle softly, your fingertips brushing Kai’s damp hair. He’s warm and wriggling beneath Joe’s steady hands, his cries fierce and strong.

“Kai,” you rasp, barely able to get the word out through your tears. “Took you long enough sweet boy.”

Joe’s face crumples as he leans in closer, pressing his forehead to your shoulder. His free hand finds yours, fingers lacing together tightly. “I love you,” he murmurs, his voice thick. “Both of you. So much.

Outside the bathroom door, Nikki and your mom, who had been frozen in terrified silence through those final moments, each let out a shaky sigh of relief.

“Thank God,” Nikki whispers, pressing a hand to her heart.

Your mom wipes her eyes, her breath catching. “He’s here,” she says softly, her voice full of awe.

Neither of you can believe there’s a baby in your arms. His cries soften the moment your skin meets his, his tiny fingers curling against you.

Joe leans in, his arm around both of you, his lips brushing your temple. “He’s perfect,” he whispers.

The nurses gently lift Kai from your chest, cradling him in a soft towel as they prepare to take him to be cleaned up. The rest of her team surrounds you immediately after, checking you over.

Joe’s eyes flicker between you and Kai, a mix of joy and worry crossing his face. “Do you need me here?” he asks, his voice full of concern. “I don’t want to leave you alone…”

You reach out, your hand still shaky from the delivery, but you manage to catch his. You smile softly, trying to ease his mind.

“I’m okay, Joe,” you whisper, your voice quiet but steady. “Go with him. He needs you, too.”

Joe’s eyes soften, his thumb brushing the back of your hand. He looks at Kai one last time before meeting your gaze, his heart torn. “But—”

“Joe,” you interrupt gently, “I’ll be fine. You go with him. He’s our son. You don’t want to miss a minute of that.”

A soft smile tugs at his lips, but there’s still hesitation in his eyes. Finally, with a reluctant nod, he turns to the nurses, his eyes a little glossy.

“I’ll be right over there with my adult diaper on.”

One of the nurses smiles and nods in reassurance, carefully carrying Kai toward the warmer. Joe hesitates for a moment longer, then leans down to kiss your forehead.

“I love you,” he says, his voice full of emotion.

“I love you too,” you reply, your eyes locking with his. “Now go.”

Joe gives you one last lingering look before following the nurses toward the table, his steps slow as he watches his son being gently cleaned. His heart, still racing, finds some calm in the knowledge that his family is safe and sound.

Back by your side, the midwife helps you settle into bed, cleaning you up gently but efficiently. You take a deep breath, your body aching but content, watching as Joe gazes down at Kai from the other side of the room, his hands trembling with a kind of wonder as he meets their son for the first time.

And you know, no matter what, your world has just changed forever.

Kai is carefully swaddled in a soft, baby blue blanket, his tiny body snug and warm. The nurses hand him off to Joe, and the second he holds his son in his arms, Joe’s breath catches. His gaze softens, and a smile spreads across his face as he looks down at the tiny face peeking out from the blanket.

He takes a long, stunned moment, unable to tear his eyes away from Kai. The baby’s icy blue eyes are still a little puffy, his features soft and delicate, but the resemblance is undeniable.

“Damn,” Joe breathes, his voice a mix of awe and disbelief. “He looks like me. He looks exactly like me.”

He turns toward you, still holding Kai carefully in his arms, and you can’t help but laugh softly at the sight.

“Well,” you tease, your voice still a little raspy from the delivery, “I guess my genes didn’t even try, huh?”

Joe chuckles, his eyes still glued to his son, as he gently walks over to you. “At least the hair is all yours,” he says with a smile, his tone full of pure love. “He’s perfect.”

He settles beside you on the bed, carefully placing Kai in your arms. As soon as you cradle him, Kai’s tiny hand instinctively grabs onto your finger, and your heart melts all over again.

Joe leans in, his lips brushing your temple as he whispers, “He’s ours.”

And in that moment, you know with every fiber of your being, everything you’ve ever dreamed of has just come true.

Nikki and your mom both take turns holding Kai, their faces glowing with pure joy as they marvel at him. Nikki, teary-eyed, gently rocks him in her arms, whispering softly to him as if already promising a lifetime of friendship and love. Your mom smiles warmly, brushing a finger along his cheek as she coos, “He’s perfect. Just like his parents.”

Joe watches them with a soft smile on his face, still in awe of how everything has fallen into place. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out, glancing at the screen. It’s his mom.

He steps into the corner of the room, his voice already trembling with emotion as he answers.

“Hey, Mom,” Joe says, a grin spreading across his face. “Kai’s here.”

Robin’s voice comes through loud and clear, excited and full of joy. “Oh my god, Joe! He’s here!”

“Yeah,” Joe laughs, his heart soaring. “He’s perfect, Mom. He looks just like me.”

Robin lets out a soft chuckle, clearly overjoyed. “I can’t wait to meet him! We’re on our way. We’ll be there in about 10 minutes.”

Joe looks over at you, his heart full, and you give him a small nod, a smile lighting up your face despite the exhaustion still lingering in your body. You reach out for Kai again, holding him close as you breathe in the scent of his soft skin, overwhelmed by the love that fills the room.

“We’ll be waiting,” Joe says into the phone, his voice thick with emotion. “Can’t wait for you to meet him.”

He hangs up and turns back to the room, his eyes softening as he takes in the sight of his son being held by your mom and Nikki.

“They’ll be here soon,” Joe says quietly, walking back to your side. “But for now, it’s just us.”

You smile, your eyes locking with his. “Just us.”

And as you both sit there, wrapped in the warmth of your new family, you can’t help but feel that, no matter how much time passes, you’ll never forget this moment, when everything finally felt complete.

A few minutes later, the door to the room opens and Robin and Jimmy walk in, their eyes immediately locking on Kai, still peacefully nestled in your arms.

Joe’s parents stop in their tracks, both of them overcome with emotion. Robin’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes filling with tears as she takes a step closer, her voice trembling.

“Oh my God honey…he’s beautiful,” Robin whispers, her voice full of awe.

Jimmy, usually reserved, can’t help but smile widely as he steps forward, his eyes twinkling with pride. “Look at him,” he murmurs, his voice thick. “He’s got your eyes, Joe.”

Joe, standing next to you, watches as his parents approach. His heart swells seeing the look on their faces, pure, unfiltered love. He gently takes Kai from your arms and cradles him against his chest, carefully walking over to his parents.

Robin reaches out first, her hands trembling as she gently holds Kai for the first time. She gazes down at him, tears spilling over as she whispers, “My baby boy now has his own baby boy.”

Joe watches, his own emotions thick in his throat as he stands beside his mom, who can barely hold herself together. Robin leans in, kissing Kai’s tiny forehead, her voice breaking as she says, “I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole life.”

She looks up at Joe, her eyes full of love. “You’ve made me the happiest mom in the world.”

Joe smiles, his throat tight with emotion, but he manages to speak. “I just can’t believe he’s here. And he’s real.”

Jimmy, his voice soft, adds, “You’re a dad now, kid. It’s…it’s something else.”

Robin holds Kai a little longer, her tears falling freely now as she cradles him gently, overwhelmed by the fact that her son—her only child—has started a family of his own.

Joe watches, his hand resting gently on her shoulder, his heart swelling at the sight. “We’ve got a family now,” he says quietly, looking at you. “A real one.”

On a bright sunny day in May, Kai Joseph Burrow entered the world, all 10lbs 3oz of him.

And as the room fills with quiet, overwhelming emotion, you realize just how much love surrounds you, how deeply your family has grown, and how everything, no matter how difficult or challenging it’s been? It’s all led to this perfect moment.

Life would never be the same. And after today? You can’t wait to get this next chapter started.

[neowonderland]

Problem || l.jn, n.jm

Summary: Jaemin has a bit of a problem: he's obsessed with seeing helpless bunny hybrids be fucked by larger wolf hybrids Pairings: Nomin x bunny hybrid reader (mainly wolf hybird Jeno x reader) Warnings: 18+, smut, noncon, choking, rough sex, knotting, creampies, wolf hybrid Jeno, hybrid owner Jaemin, bunny hybrid reader Wc: 1.9k

Dark Content, Minors please DNI

Disclaimer: this is a work of pure fiction. I do not condone the actions of any characters in this story and the actions do not reflect the idols in any way.

Jaemin has a bit of a problem.

It’s apparent as Jaemin sits staring, illuminated by the blue hues of his computer screen night after night. All his sleepless nights spent watching videos of cute bunny hybrid being fucked by bigger, much stronger wolf hybrids. The sound of skin slapping, squelching, screams, and moans tearing through the silent room and echoing throughout Jeno and Jaemin's shared room. 

Jaemin has a favorite type. He loves it when the larger wolf hybrids are especially rough, when they pin the small bunny down and fuck them. He loves it when the wolf pounds into them without a care for the bunny’s pleasure, the wolf only focused on chasing their release. He loves it when the bunny’s cry, their voices becoming shaky, their eyes becoming red as they drip tears. Oh, but his absolute favorite is when the wolf shoves their knot into the bunny hybrid, while the bunny pleads for them not to. He loves seeing the bunny squirm as they feel the wolf’s cum fill them up, locked on the knot and bred forcefully. 

Jeno knows about his owner’s problem, sleepless nights spent listening to the moans from Jaemin’s computer. But Jeno’s such a good boy, loyal, affectionate, sweet, and obedient to Jaemin. So, he never questions his owner or lets anything slip when Jaemin arrives back home one day, a leash in his hand attached to you, Jaemin’s very own bunny hybrid. 

Jeno’s sweet, accommodating towards you. He’s very understanding, giving you the space you need. For the first couple months, he even sleeps outside on the couch while you and Jaemin sleep on the bed. Jeno even tries to strike up conversations when Jaemin’s away, always making sure you have everything you need. 

And when Jaemin’s home, he spoils you rotten. He dresses you in the prettiest clothes, all pastel colors and full of frills and lace. He’s even gotten you a pink custom engraved collar, one declaring you as his property with his contact information on it in case you had ever gotten lost. Jaemin cooks for you, Jeno cleans for you. You don’t have to lift a finger to do anything and Jaemin doesn’t want you to, always becoming worried when you try to help them with anything. You vaguely remember Jaemin's reaction to you trying to cook, eyebrows furrowed, quickly snatching away your knife, and scolding you for even having the thought of cooking.

You’re content in your new home, preferring this environment to your previous one. You have everything you need: 3 meals a day, a comfortable bed, a loving owner and accommodating roommate. Sure, you can’t leave the home like how Jeno can, can’t dress yourself like how Jeno can, can’t even shower by yourself like how Jeno can, but it’s a small price to pay for a cushy life. 

And Jaemin has always been an affectionate person, peppering your face with kisses, pinching your cheeks, kneading your flesh with his hands and cooing about how adorable you are into your ears, but lately his hands have begun to wander. 

It makes your skin crawl at night when Jaemin worms his hands underneath your clothing and starts kneading at the flesh of your thighs, making his way up and rubbing your sensitive bits. Jaemin always keeps a tight hold on your body, his back flush against yours and his hands digging into your skin as he gropes at you. 

At first, you squirm, not used to the way Jaemin touches you. You tell him that you don’t like it, that it feels weird and that you want him to stop. Jaemin just ends up shushing you, telling you it'll feel good soon. 

But it never does. 

Especially when Jaemin progresses to touching you in front of Jeno. 

You three are watching a movie on Jaemin’s bed while Jaemin keeps you in his lap, playing with your cute floppy bunny ears. It’s a slasher movie, with the final girl being the only one left. You and Jeno stare at the glowing screen, leaning in, transfixed by the slasher slowly approaching the final girl in the dark. 

That’s when Jaemin starts, hands slipping under your frilly white skirt and cute pink blouse, one rubbing your sensitive bits and the other tweaking your nipples, while his mouth peppers kisses on your neck. You jolt in his hold, not expecting him to start now, especially not in front of Jeno. You sink your teeth into your lip, trying to ground yourself and hold still, hoping Jaemin will stop. Jaemin doesn’t stop, instead doubling down, putting his fingers into his mouth before slipping them into your hole. 

You let out a gasp as you feel Jaemin’s fingers slip into you. Frantically breaking yourself from his grasp and turning to face him, gesturing at Jeno and whispering to him to please stop. Jaemin just smiles before crawling forward and pushing you down onto the bed, taking your wrists into his hand and sitting close to your head. You crane your head to try to look at Jeno, checking for any reaction. But Jeno sits on the bed, staring at the now dark screen. 

“Jeno, come here!” Jaemin says, beckoning Jeno with the curl of his finger. 

Jeno lets out a sigh before moving towards the two of you, his collar jingling. He settles close to your legs, staring at Jaemin, waiting for another order. 

“Don’t be shy Jen, open our bunny’s legs. Don’t you want a taste of our sweet bunny?” Jaemin coos, tightening his grip on your wrists. 

Jeno hooks your underwear and drags it down, and pushes up your skirt. He forcibly folds you in half, seemingly uncaring at the burn in your legs, your knees bent and touching your shoulders, presenting your hole to him. You can feel the rough drag of his hands against your legs as his hands move underneath your ass, propping you up before his mouth descends on your hole.

The way Jeno eats you out is sloppy and almost hesitant. He teases around your hole first, poking and prodding at the sensitive area, seemingly stalling until he dives in. His tongue stretches you out and it feels so strange, a new foreign sensation different from the fingers Jaemin has stuffed in your before. Jenos is so sloppy, drool pooling down and onto the bed sheets as your squirm. 

You’re in shock right now, brain in shambles as you try to process what’s happening. Between Jaemin holding your wrists, cooing as the foreign sensation turns into sweet pleasure and seemingly hesitant Jeno pleasuring you with his tongue. And it doesn’t help when the dam breaks and you finally cum from Jeno’s mouth, desperately trying to pull away Jaemin and Jeno’s hold as your body shakes from the orgasm until you finally slump in their hold. 

“Our bunny made such a mess and only from your tongue, Jeno! Do you think they can even take your knot?” Jaemin asks, releasing your limp wrists from his grasp and instead running his fingers through your hair in an attempt to soothe and ground you. 

Oh right. Jeno was a wolf hybrid, of course he has a knot. But Jaemin expects you to take it?

You let out a whimper and try to shake your head, despite your lightheadedness. “It’s okay bunny, you’ll enjoy it. You don’t really have a choice,” Jaemin says in response. 

Jaemin glances at Jeno and Jeno nods his head. You look away as Jeno undresses, trying to ignore the man violating you.

“Are you sure they can take it, Jaem?” Jeno asks, looking unsure as his hands sink into the back of thighs, folding you in half once again. 

“It doesn’t matter, you’ll make them take it. Eyes on Jeno now.” Jaemin responds, patting your cheek. 

You force your eyes on Jeno. Jeno resembles a greek sculpture, body toned with inches of hard muscle, his biceps rippling, all sculpted from his days spent at the gym– a place Jaemin forbade you from going to. But what’s scariest is his length, long and so thick, with angry veins running along the shaft, packed together with a huge knot, which was almost the size of a grapefruit. 

Jeno makes a show of putting his flushed, drooling length on your belly. His length lands past your belly button, and he lets out a groan at the sight. Jeno presses down on the area, almost as if he was marking just how far he would go before pulling back and aligning himself with your entrance. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight…” Jeno groans, pushing into your unwilling, twitching hole. You can feel Jeno’s eyes locked onto the place where you two connect at, your hole stretched around his length, offering resistance as he tries to shove in another inch you weren’t created to take. You feel unprepared for the intrusion, only having been prepped with Jeno tongue this time. And God it hurts, the burn of being stretched out from Jeno’s massive length, with Jeno being both long and thick. 

Jeno’s strong, forcing you to take wolf cock that you weren’t built to take, and your poor hole feels stretched and sore by the time the beginnings of Jeno’s knot sits flush against your skin. 

“Come on, Jeno. You’re being too gentle, you should know how I like it,” Jaemin chimes in. 

Tears spill from your eyes and you scream as Jeno shifts his body weight on you, crushing you under him as he pounds in and out of you. It’s too much and you hadn’t even adjusted to the intrusion, his thrusts only serving to intensify the pain from the initial stretch. You can feel him pounding away at your inside, drooling length beginning to paint your insides white. 

You can feel Jaemin’s hands on the sides of your head, tilting your head and forcing you to look at him with your teary eyes as Jeno destroys you. 

“God you’re so pretty, bunny. Ever since I saw you, I knew I had to have you like this,” Jaemin murmurs, breathlessly. “Turn them over, I want to see you choke them.” 

Jeno grunts and flips you over, pinning you down once again with his body weight. His right arm snaking around your neck, wrapping your neck between his forearm and bicep, and flexing, squeezing your neck and cutting off your air in the process. Jeno’s thrusts seem to become more calculated, still hard and fast, but more deeper. You realize he’s going to try to knot you soon. 

You try to bury your head into Jeno’s forearm in defiance, your tears and snot flowing onto Jeno’s arm and bite down on Jeno’s forearm. 

“Fucking bitch!” Jeno says, applying more pressure on your throat. You feel yourself become more lightheaded, the corners of your vision beginning to go black, before black splotches start darkening your central vision, overtaking the areas where you can see. The sound of skin against skin from Jeno fucking you and the wet squelches from your hole begin to sound distant. 

The last thing you feel is Jeno’s knot popping into your hole fully, and Jeno’s hot, creamy cum filling you up to the brim, before everything goes black.

[professorcloak]

Beneath the Bloodstains

warnings: gore, injuries, fluff, weapons

The first time you meet Daryl Dixon, he barely spares you a glance.

You don’t take it personally. He’s like that with everyone—gruff, distant, always half a step away from disappearing into the trees. It’s been that way since you joined the group a couple of weeks ago, scavenging supplies and keeping your head down. You weren’t looking for friends, and neither was he.

But then you save his life.

It happens fast—too fast to think. One second, he’s tracking a deer in the underbrush, the next, a walker barrels out of nowhere, snarling and snapping, its decomposed flesh sloughing off in thick, putrid chunks. The stench is overwhelming—rot and bile mixed with the sickly-sweet scent of decay. Its yellowed, broken teeth gnash inches from Daryl’s throat, gnarled fingers clawing at his jacket as it forces him to the ground.

Before he can reach for his knife, you’re already there. Your machete arcs through the air, sinking deep into the walker’s skull with a sickening crack. The blade splits bone and brain matter, a spray of dark, coagulated blood splattering across your hands and face. The creature twitches violently, its fingers convulsing before going limp. A thick glob of rancid gore dribbles from the caved-in skull, pooling on the dirt.

When you turn back, breathing hard, Daryl’s staring at you. Really staring. There’s a flicker of something in his blue eyes—surprise, maybe. Or something deeper. Then, just as quick, it’s gone. He shoves the corpse off with a grunt, wiping gore from his face with the back of his hand before nodding once, a gruff sort of thanks, and retrieving his weapon without another word.

After that, something shifts. It’s small at first. A nod when you pass each other in camp. A second portion of whatever stew is cooking over the fire, left near where you sit. An extra knife, slipped into your gear without a word. Daryl doesn’t say much, but he’s always watching, always nearby.

You don’t push. He doesn’t like questions, doesn’t like people getting too close. That’s fine—you’re not looking for anything, not really. In a world where survival is everything, attachments can be dangerous.

But some nights, when the firelight flickers and the world feels a little less doomed, you catch him watching you again, something unreadable in his expression. Like he’s figuring you out. Like maybe, just maybe, he’s starting to let you in.

Then the next attack comes.

It’s a routine supply run gone bad—too many walkers, too fast. The group is scattered, forced to fight in pairs or alone. You and Daryl are back to back in an abandoned store, the air thick with the rancid stench of the undead. The walls are splattered with dried blood, shelves overturned, their contents long since raided. Rotting bodies are slumped in the corners, their eyeless sockets staring into nothing. The faint buzzing of flies hums through the stale air.

Your blade is slick with gore, your breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps. The floor is a slick mess of crushed skulls and decomposing viscera. The moans of the dead echo off the ruined aisles, growing louder, closer.

Daryl’s crossbow fires with deadly precision, each bolt punching through rotting flesh and bursting out the other side, leaving gaping holes dripping with congealed black blood. But there are too many, and when one lunges from behind a toppled shelf, you barely have time to react. Its clawed hands rip into your shoulder, jagged nails peeling away fabric and flesh, the pain instant and white-hot.

The walker’s breath is a rancid, wheezing rasp against your ear, its teeth snapping inches from your neck. The coppery scent of your own blood floods your senses, mingling with the putrid stench of rotting flesh.

Before you can scream, Daryl is there, his knife flashing in the dim light. He drives it into the walker’s temple, the blade sinking in with a sickening squelch. The thing spasms violently before collapsing, its ruined face twisted in a permanent grimace.

Daryl grips your arms, steadying you, his hands warm and firm despite the blood smearing between you. His eyes dart to the wound, his jaw tightening.

"Ain’t deep," he mutters, but there’s an edge to his voice, something almost frantic beneath the gruffness. His grip lingers, fingers pressing just a little too long against your skin before he pulls away. "C’mon. We gotta move."

He doesn’t let go of you until you’re safe again.

The moment you’re back at camp, he pulls you toward the fire, his grip rough but careful. He pushes you down onto an overturned crate, then crouches in front of you, fishing a bottle of alcohol from his pack. He doesn’t say a word as he douses a rag with the harsh liquid, pressing it against the torn flesh of your shoulder. The pain sears through you, sharp and blinding, but you grit your teeth and bear it.

Daryl doesn’t meet your eyes, but you can feel the tension rolling off him. His hands are steady, but his jaw is locked tight, his breath coming in slow, measured exhales. The firelight flickers, throwing shadows across his face, making the lines of worry stand out sharper than usual.

"You should’ve been more careful," he grumbles finally, voice low, almost accusing.

You huff out a tired laugh. "You’re one to talk."

His gaze snaps up to yours, a flash of something dangerous in his eyes—frustration, maybe, or something deeper. He doesn’t answer, just presses the rag harder against your wound, making you hiss through your teeth.

"Daryl—" you start, but he shakes his head.

"Don’t," he mutters. "Just—" He exhales sharply, looking away. "You scared me, alright?"

The words are barely above a whisper, but they hit you harder than any walker ever could. You stare at him, heart pounding, the pain in your shoulder momentarily forgotten.

He doesn’t wait for you to respond. Just finishes wrapping your wound, then stands abruptly, muttering something about needing to check the perimeter before stalking off into the darkness.

You watch him go, fingers curling over the fresh bandage on your shoulder, and for the first time in a long while, you feel something other than just survival. --

just a short lil fluff story :)

[zombiigrll]

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IMMUNE? ⋆｡°✩ carl grimes x immune!reader .ᐟ WORD COUNT .ᐟ ⭑ 2.1K ꩜ .ᐟ WARNINGS ⭑ hurt to comfort?, use of y/n, blood, zombie apocalypse stuff ofc, post-terminus era, references/slight spoilers to twd 5x2 ?? petname (angel - which also did we all collectively agree that carl would call his s/o angel? i see everyone use it i have before too its so cute .ᐟ SUMMARY .ᐟ ⭑ you get bit, but nothing happens. ꩜ .ᐟ A/N .ᐟ ⭑ hey guys... its been a minute... (45 days COUGH COUGH) i am so sorry i have been SO BUSY and i didnt even realize i had this fic almost completely finished in my drafts so i decided why not finally finish it!! (which is also why the ending might be a bit weak because i also have no written anything for 45 days LMAO) my favorite thing about the whole science behind zombisim is all the theories of if you could or couldn't become immune so i wanted to write a little fic because i love... zombie science.. nerd alert!!! ☝️🤓 <- me but also whats a carl grimes/zombie fanfic writer without writing at least one immunity fic!! hope u guys enjoy!!

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everyone knew you were clumsy. you'd always have to be with someone, no matter what. that's how much people worried about you.

there had been plenty of times where you had been close to getting bit, and if you were alone, you would've been bit.

but now, you and your group were back on the road after the prison had fell. you all met up at a terrible place called terminus, and almost died if carol wouldn't have shown up. it was dangerous, and terrifying. but you had carl on your side, as always. he was the person who had saved you so many times. he was like your personal bodyguard.

you guys had eventually ended up at a church with a priest named gabriel. you felt uneasy being there. gabriel seemed, well, unstable. rick saw it too, telling carl to keep his guard up.

but after a while, everyone was inside the church, laughing and having fun.

you spot bob walking outside, which catches your attention instantly. no one else really seemed to notice, so you turned over to carl.

"i'm gonna go outside."

"do you want me to go with?" he asks, immediately sitting up.

"no, it's fine. i think i saw bob go out there. i wanna go check on him." you smile at him, standing up and walking over to where you saw bob go.

but when you stepped out, he was nowhere to be found.

"bob?" you called out, walking forward a bit more as you looked around for him. "where'd you go?"

you walked a bit further, leaning your arm on a tree as you looked past further into the distance, searching for any sight of bob.

but, to your luck, you were snuck up on. you heard a growl to your side, where your arm was leaning, and then a pain shot through your forearm.

you let out a loud shriek as you fumbled for your knife, stabbing the walker who was still attached to your arm in the head. you kicked him off, breathing heavily.

you could feel your heart pounding out of your chest.

you glanced down at the walker who was now laying dead on the ground, gripping tightly on your knife as you processed what had just happened. you lifted up your pained, bleeding arm.

"no... no, oh, my god." you dropped your knife and began wiping away the blood that was profusely leaking out of your fresh bite wound. "shit..."

you stared at your arm for a moment, attempting to catch your breath while watching your own blood drip onto the floor beneath you.

the doors to the church busted open, snapping you out of your daze. carl, rick, and michonne stood at the door, staring at you.

carl stepped a bit closer. "what happened? are you okay-" he stopped as he spotted your arm. his face fell flat and his eyes widened.

"it snuck up on me.." you quietly and breathlessly responded, tears falling from your agonized face. "i was looking for bob."

rick runs up to you as he realizes you had been bit. he grabs your arm, his face a bit panicked as he starts speaking. "we have to cut it off."

"no!" you tugged your arm away from his grip, holding your arm from him. "we don't have the stuff for that!"

"stop yelling." rick sternly ordered, putting a comforting hand on your shoulder. "let's go inside. i'm sure gabriel has the stuff for it."

you anxiously nodded, stepping toward the church with carl by your side.

"i'll get gabriel." michonne said, walking towards his office. "find somewhere for her to sit."

you take a seat in one of the rows, still holding your arm tightly.

"what the hell happened?" glenn asks, quickly walking over to the three of you with maggie by his side.

"she got bit." rick runs a hand through his hair. you look to your side and spot carl, just staring blankly, his expression the same as when he first saw your bite just moments before. he was speechless, and afraid.

you held your arm tighter as the pain increased, blood seeping through in between your fingers as you clenched your jaw. your breathing was progressively getting more and more ragged and uneven the more you panicked.

"i don't want you to cut my arm off.." you protested, your voice high pitched and wobbly. you closed your eyes tightly, a few tears falling from your eyes.

"we have to." rick shook his head. "otherwise you'll become one of them."

"i don't care." you sobbed, gripping tighter and tighter onto your arm. "i can't do it. i probably wouldn't survive either way, we don't have proper stuff for it." you could tell it was difficult for them to understand what you were saying through your sobs. "i just want to wait it out."

rick eyes widen, along with everyone else who were crowded around you.

carl finally steps closer, grabbing your other hand tightly. you could spot tears falling from his eyes. "please, y/n. i'll be with you, it'll be okay. please i.. i can't lose you."

you looked up at him through your lashes, pressing your lips together. "i can't, carl. i can't."

...

they had moved you to one of the rooms in the church that had something you could lay on. they tied your wrist to a pole and stood in the room with you.

you could barely keep track of what was happening. you genuinely felt fine, besides the side effects from losing blood.

"can you wrap my arm up..?" you requested. the tickling feeling of your blood dripping down your arm becoming too much, and you also wanted to test if that was what was making you feel sick.

being immune wasn't even a thought in your head yet. but you were just creeped out about not having any of the same side effects that anybody else had when they'd gotten bit. you were sweating, but you weren't feverish, that's just how the weather always was.

"yes, of course." glenn grabbed a thing of gauze out of his bag, going up to you and carefully but tightly wrapping it around the bite. he also grabbed a nearby rag to wipe the access blood that had been dripping off of your arm.

"...thanks." you sighed, looking away from everyone.

they were all just staring, waiting for something to happen. but nothing was. the awkward silence and suspense was killing you. you saw the sun starting to come up through the window, which means it had been quite a few hours since you had gotten bit.

you've seen people last a day, maybe the tiniest bit over a day, but you noticed that they always had obvious symptoms by now. and you still didn't.

you blew a raspberry, looking around the room. ".. i don't feel anything."

"what?" carl squinted in confusion, his voice still a bit brittle from crying. "like, you're numb?"

"no, like.. i don't feel any symptoms of turning." you laughed at how idiotic your sentence probably sounded to everyone.

"so, you're saying you're immune?" carls voice changed from being upset to just pure confusion.

"i don't know." you shrugged, tapping your foot on the hardwood floors. "i seriously don't know what's going on. the only time i felt sick was when it first happened and i saw my blood dripping. i feel fine right now, a little lightheaded, but i think thats from the bloodloss."

"look, theres no such thing as being 'immune.'" rick shook his head at your statement. "it might just be.. taking a while to settle in."

"dad, can you have a little faith?" carl turned to rick, glaring slightly at him before turning back at you. "i believe you."

everyone else seemed really skeptical about what was happening, exchanging confused looks with one another.

"we'll keep her in here for a little while, alright? if she still doesn't feel anything by tonight, then we'll untie her." rick sighed, looking down at you. you had been with everyone since the start, being there when carl reunited with rick and everything, so you could sense everyones panic when they first saw you get bit. and now, you could sense their pure confusion. people in our group have gotten bit before, but they'd show signs almost immediately.

"i can stay with her if you guys want to leave." carl said, sitting down right next to you. "i'll let you know if anything happens."

everyone agreed and left the room.

you laughed to yourself, looking over at the door.

"are you okay?" carl asks, looking at you anxiously.

"i'm fine." you turned your head over to look at him. "this is just so fucking weird. and we don't even know where bob went. i'm so confused right now. nothing is making sense." you let out another light laugh, shaking your head in honestly disbelief.

"maybe you're the chosen one." carl laughs, smiling at you. "i really hope you're being honest. i.. i don't think i can handle losing you."

you look at him with a lopsided smile, happy to hear how much he cared. "i wouldn't lie to you about this. i genuinely don't feel sick at all. i mean, i feel gross, but not in a 'i'm dying' way. more in a 'i just got my arm bitten into' way." you tried to make light of the situation, despite being terrified. carls expression stayed a bit worried. "..sorry, not funny. i don't want to lose you either carl. you're the best thing to ever happen to me, you know?"

his concern turned into a smile at your words. he leaned forward and hugged you tightly. all you could do was put your hand on his back, due to your other hand being tied up still.

"i love you." he mumbles into your shoulder.

you laugh, leaning your head on top of his. "i love you too."

...

a while passed, yet you still felt perfectly fine. your arm felt odd though, of course. you had been bitten into after all.

carl stayed by your side, telling you stories and just conversing with you to keep your mind and his off of the whole situation while everyone was out searching for bob.

you moved your arm up to your tied up one, itching at your tight bandages. “i want these off…” you dramatically complained.

“we should probably check on your arm anyways. even if you feel fine, there could still be something messed up with your arm.” carl says as he rotates his body towards your arm, carefully untying your arm looking at you for permission.

you nod, and he proceeds to take the bandage off. the teeth marks had dark bruises and dried blood around them, and your veins were darker and more apparent around the bite. it looked unreal.

you quickly looked away from the wound, shuddering. “holy shit.” you closed your eyes tightly.

you could hear carl stumble over his words as he tried to figure out what to say. “i… it… is it supposed to- um.. look like that?” he let out a nervous laugh, moving his hand to comfort yours.

you returned the nervous laugh, looking back at the bite momentarily. "i don't- i don't think so?"

your body was violently shaking, unsure what to do or what was going on. would you still need to cut your arm off? or would it still be fine, despite looking like that? you knew that you'd have to hide your arm for.. well, ever, if you decided not to cut your arm off. it could cause so many different issues if people outside of your group found out.

carl proceeded to grab anything he could find to clean your wound, as well as new bandages. you two sat in silence as he carefully cleaned your arm, the only sound being your light winces of pain as he applied the antibacterial ointment he luckily found.

he wrapped your arm back up and planted a quick, soft kiss onto your bandaged wound, looking back up at your flustered face with a smile afterward.

your face was hot, and you quickly averted your eyes away from his out of embarrassment.

he put his hand on your cheek and kissed your forehead, then pulled you into a hug right after. "i'm so glad you're okay."

you were shocked, but let out a flustered giggle before returning the hug. "thank you.." your smile kept growing and growing. then, the words "i love you." finally left your mouth.

he broke the hug and looked at you shocked, but then his big smile came back. "i love you, too, angel."

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