#knowing enough to know how my one little change shifts everything

[yvesssssssss]

HIII <333 i reallyyyy love and adore your writing! i want to request a little something something [evil face], but if you're uncomfortable w/ my req, u can skip! :D

OKAY so how about highschool nagumo got caught that his relationship with reader was just a bet? but he DID truly love her!! this could be angst-comfort but honestly i don't mind with anything. ill gladly read anything if its from you, thank youuuuu :)

Bet

Hiii! <333 That’s so sweet of you to say, thank you! I hope you like it!! I decided with angst with no comfort cuz why not:>

You were invisible.

You knew it. Everyone did. You wore oversized sweaters, kept your head down, and always sat in the second row—not close enough to be called on, but not far enough to seem like you were trying to disappear. You spoke when spoken to. You got perfect grades. You were the type of girl people forgot existed unless they needed help with homework.

And then Nagumo happened.

He wasn’t just popular—he was magnetic. He had a lopsided smile that made teachers sigh in frustration and girls laugh a little too loudly. He wore his uniform like it was optional and carried himself like he owned the school. You had nothing in common. You didn’t even share classes—until junior year biology.

He sat next to you with a dramatic sigh and a wink. “Looks like I’m stuck with the class genius. Lucky me.”

You blinked at him like he was an illusion.

“You know my name?” you muttered.

“Of course I do,” he said, grinning. “You’re the girl who always smells like library books and mint gum.”

You nearly choked. “Excuse me?”

“I meant it in a cute way.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heart fluttered, but his smile was too wide, too infectious. He was relentless, and yet there was something oddly comforting about the way he treated you like you mattered—like you weren’t just another nameless face.

It started with jokes.

You tried to push him away at first, using your textbook as a shield, but he wouldn’t let you off that easy. He’d slide into your line of sight during lectures, make dumb faces, or tap the back of your chair when he thought you weren’t looking. He’d find ways to pull you into conversations you didn’t want to be part of, laughing at your awkwardness. At first, it was annoying.

Then, it was familiar.

Then, it was comforting.

Then, you were looking forward to those stupid notes he passed you under the desk, those ridiculous doodles, the way he’d randomly show up at your locker, making small talk with that devil-may-care attitude.

"Did you actually do all the problems from last night’s homework?" he asked one afternoon, leaning way too close to your shoulder as he peered at your notes. "You’re like a robot, Y/N. It’s terrifying. It’s like you don’t even try and still get everything right."

You snorted. "It's not that hard," you mumbled, trying to pull your notebook out of his reach.

"Right, of course. Tell me, do you just think in equations, or do you have a secret lab where you build all your perfect grades?" He grinned, clearly enjoying how flustered you were.

You frowned, but his teasing smile was so easy, so effortless that you found yourself smirking back. "Maybe I do. Maybe I’m secretly a genius who doesn’t need to try to pass."

He nudged you with his elbow. "I like the sound of that."

The tension between you both started to shift. What had started as a simple back-and-forth of casual teasing turned into something more—something deeper. You told yourself it was nothing. He was just being friendly. He probably did this with every girl he found interesting.

But then, things changed.

He started walking you home. Texting you good morning, good night. He’d send you messages at random times of the day with nothing but a simple “Hey” followed by an emoji. You always felt that familiar flutter in your chest. You’d respond, your fingers trembling slightly, heart pounding a little faster than normal. And sometimes, in those quiet moments, you’d let your guard down. You started sharing things with him—things you hadn’t told anyone. How your parents expected too much from you. How the pressure to be perfect all the time was suffocating. How you didn’t know who you were anymore, buried under the weight of everyone else’s expectations.

He listened. He never interrupted.

"Maybe that's why you always smell like mint gum," he said one night, after listening to you vent about your fears. "You're fresh. New. You hold everything together, even when you feel like you're falling apart."

You laughed a little. “Maybe you should get a mint or two, then. You could use it.”

His smile softened, and for the first time, you saw something in his eyes—something real. "I guess I just get lucky."

Then, one day, you kissed him.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t a grand gesture. It wasn’t anything except the way you’d both ended up in the art room after hours, the walls around you splattered with bright colors and forgotten projects. You didn’t know why you did it—why you let your lips brush against his, why you let your hand trail up to the back of his neck as he responded, slow and tentative at first, like he couldn’t quite believe it either.

But then it deepened. He pulled you closer, his body heat radiating into yours, and it was perfect. His touch was tender, but the kiss was passionate—like everything he’d been holding back was unleashed in that moment.

“I like this,” you whispered, forehead pressed to his. “Being with you. It’s like… like we’re in our own little world.”

He smiled softly, his hands framing your face. “Yeah. Just you and me.”

You believed it. For a while, that was all that mattered. You weren’t invisible anymore. He made sure of that.

But life has a way of shattering illusions.

One day, you were walking past the gym, earbuds in, when you heard voices. Familiar voices.

“Bro, she actually fell for you?”

You froze, your feet glued to the ground. Your heart stopped.

“You owe me that lunch money. That’s a win.”

“Wait, what?” your voice caught in your throat. “Lunch money?”

“Yeah, I bet you could get her to fall for you in a week,” one of his friends laughed. “And guess what? You did.”

Your heart dropped, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis.

“How long did it take again?” The other voice chimed in.

“A week,” Nagumo said, laughter in his voice. “She practically did all the work for me.”

No. No, no, no. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

His next words echoed like a sick joke in your ears.

“But she’s not so bad, y’know? I mean, for a nerd, she’s kinda cute when she gets all serious. Almost makes me feel guilty.”

“Almost?” someone snorted.

And then there it was again. His laugh. The sound of him enjoying the joke at your expense.

Your vision blurred, the hot sting of tears threatening to spill over. But you didn’t let them fall—not yet. Not until you were far enough away from him that he wouldn’t see.

That’s when you realized.

You had been a bet. A joke. An easy target. You had trusted him. And he had turned it into something so, so easy to destroy.

You didn’t go to class after that. You didn’t even go home. You just walked. And walked. The cold air bit at your skin, but it was nothing compared to the numbness settling in your chest.

The tears came, then. Quiet at first, just little cracks in the dam you’d tried to build. But soon, they were all-consuming. You couldn’t stop them. They burned your throat. They suffocated you.

The worst part wasn’t the betrayal. It was that you still loved him. You still wanted him to apologize. You wanted him to take it all back, to pull you into his arms and promise that it had all been a misunderstanding.

But it wasn’t.

When he found you, hours later, you were still wearing his hoodie—the one he had given you that day, in the hallway, when he had made you believe you meant something to him.

“Y/N—hey, what’s wrong? You weren’t answering your—”

You turned to him slowly, your face a mask of hurt and anger.

“Was it fun?” you whispered, voice cracking.

He blinked, stepping forward. “What?”

“Playing with me.”

He froze. His breath hitched. “What? No, I—”

“You said it took a week,” you said quietly, almost too quietly, your voice trembling. “You made me fall for you in a week. Congratulations.”

His eyes widened. “No, no, Y/N, I didn’t mean it like that. It started out as a joke, but I swear it turned into something real. It was real—I was real. Please—”

“You should’ve never touched me,” you said, your voice cold now, sharper than a knife.

He reached for you, his hand shaking. “Please… just let me explain—”

You flinched back, your breath coming fast as your chest tightened. “No. You don’t get to explain anymore. I was nothing to you, but you were everything to me.”

You yanked off his hoodie and shoved it into his chest, the fabric of it like sandpaper against your palms. The weight of the betrayal pressed down on you, suffocating.

And then you walked away.

This time, he didn’t follow you. He didn’t call out your name.

Because this time, it was too late.

And maybe that was the real lesson.

[otakudragones]

Bakugo Katsuki

As a boyfriend

• He’s the kind of boyfriend who won’t say “I love you,” but will fight the waiter if your order’s wrong. His love language is: acts of service + passive-aggressive violence.

• If he finds out someone made you cry, he’s already taking his gloves off. “WHO WAS IT? WHERE ARE THEY? DO THEY EVEN KNOW WHO YOU ARE TO ME?”

• Takes care of you without admitting it. If you’re sick: “I don’t need you dying in my house, so take this medicine and sleep in my bed. And don’t move, dumbass.”

• Gets mad if you don’t ask for help. “What the hell am I here for then, huh? You stubborn idiot.”

• He hates PDA, but looks at you like you’re the sun — and then flat-out denies it.

• Jealous? Oh, definitely. “Who was that, huh? Why’d he smile at you?” You: “The Walmart cashier, Katsuki.”

IMAGINE:

You’re at a party with your friends, and Bakugou hasn’t stopped frowning at you from across the room because you’re dancing without him. When you finally walk over, he says, “What, done trying to get attention or what?” But he takes your hand and doesn’t let go the rest of the night.

As a husband

• The wedding is simple, but he bakes the cake himself (with strawberry filling, because it’s your favorite).

• Says he won’t cry. Cries. Gets embarrassed. Gets mad about crying.

• Makes breakfast for you every morning, even if the toast’s a little burnt.

• He never goes to sleep without making sure you’re okay. Sometimes he gets up just to check if you’re still breathing — just in case.

• Talks to you about money, decisions, the future. He doesn’t run from adulthood. He’s the kind of husband who wants to do things right because you give him your all.

• Gets offended if you don’t lean on him. “What’s the point of having me if you’re gonna carry everything yourself, huh?”

IMAGINE:

You’ve got a headache and are lying on the couch. Bakugou covers you with a blanket, dims the lights, sets water on the table. He doesn’t say much — just strokes your hair and murmurs, “Rest, woman…” like he isn’t completely in love.

As a father

• Overprotective dad to the max. He’s freaking out during labor, but the moment he hears that first cry, something in him shifts. “Oh… This is real now.”

• Teaches his kid to defend themselves from kindergarten. Enrolls them in combat classes before soccer.

• But also: sings lullabies in a whisper, like his voice might break the baby if he gets too loud.

• He’s scared of hurting the baby at first, but soon becomes a pro at changing diapers and carrying without fear.

• Does homework, plays, reads bedtime stories (with full-on villain voices), and gets offended if his kid doesn’t draw him with enough muscles.

• His kid’s first “I love you” leaves him speechless for three minutes. Then he just says, “I love you too,” wiping his eyes.

In general, a relationship with Katsuki is…

• Like dating an emotional grenade who learned how to love gently.

• He doesn’t know how to be tender, but he tries. He tries so hard it hurts from how beautiful it is.

• You argue, but never go to bed angry. He always comes back to say: “I don’t care about being right with the world if I’m not right with you.”

• He has anxiety about not being enough, and you are his safe place. He won’t say it, but you see it in the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching.

MINI ONE-SHOT: “Only You”

“Why are you with me?” you ask one night, staring at the ceiling while he strokes your back with one hand.

Katsuki doesn’t answer right away. He breathes. Hesitates. Then says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world:

—“Because you make me want to be a better person… without even asking me to.”

Then, softer, almost afraid:

—“Because you calm me down, damn it. You make me feel like I’m not broken.”

You look at him. And with glossy eyes and a clenched jaw, he just whispers:

—“And if you ever doubt it again, just remember there’s no one else I’d do all of this for… only you.”

Traducción

Como novio

• Es el tipo de novio que no te dice "te amo", pero pelea con el mesero si no trae bien tu orden. Su lenguaje del amor es: servicio + violencia pasiva-agresiva.

• Si se entera de que alguien te hizo llorar, ya está quitándose los guantes. “¿QUIÉN FUE? ¿DÓNDE ESTÁ? ¿TIENE IDEA DE QUIÉN ERES TÚ PARA MÍ?”

• Te cuida sin admitirlo. Si estás enfermo: “no necesito que te mueras en mi casa, así que tómate esta medicina y duerme en mi cama. Y no te muevas, pendeja.”

• Se enoja si no le pides ayuda con algo porque “para eso estoy aquí, ¿no? pinche necia”.

• No le gusta el PDA (afecto en público), pero te mira como si fueras el sol y lo niega rotundamente.

• Es celoso. Tipo: “¿y ese quién era, eh? ¿por qué te sonrió?” Tú: “el de Walmart, Katsuki.”

IMAGINA:

"Estás en una fiesta con tus amigos, y Bakugou no ha dejado de hacerte ceño desde la esquina del cuarto porque estás bailando sin él. Cuando te acercas, te dice: ‘qué, ¿ya te cansaste de llamar la atención o qué?’. Pero se deja tomar de la mano y no te suelta por el resto de la noche."

Como esposo

• Su boda es simple, pero el pastel lo horneó él (con relleno de fresa porque sabe que es tu favorito).

• Te dice que no va a llorar. Llora. Le da pena. Se enoja por haber llorado.

• Cada mañana te prepara desayuno aunque se le queme un poco el pan tostado.

• Nunca se va a dormir sin asegurarse de que tú estés bien. A veces se levanta a revisar si respiras, justo en caso.

• Habla contigo de gastos, decisiones y futuro. No huye de la vida adulta. Es el tipo de esposo que quiere hacer las cosas bien porque lo das todo por él.

• Se ofende si no te apoyas en él. “¿Para qué me tienes si vas a cargar sola todo, ah?”

IMAGINA:

Te duele la cabeza y estás acostada en el sillón. Bakugou te tapa, apaga las luces, te pone agua en la mesa. No dice nada, solo te acaricia el cabello y murmura: "descansa, mujer..."como si no estuviera enamoradísimo.

Como padre

• Es papá gallina nivel Dios. Te ayuda en el parto con un susto épico, pero cuando escucha el primer llanto, su cara cambia por completo. “Ah no....Esto va en serio.”

• Enseña a su hijo a defenderse desde el kínder. Lo inscribe a clases de combate antes que a fútbol.

• Pero también: le canta canciones de cuna a lo bajito, como si su voz pudiera romper al bebé si sube de tono.

• Le da miedo lastimar, pero poco a poco se vuelve experto en cambiar pañales y cargar sin miedo.

• Hace tareas, juega, lee cuentos (con voz de villano incluida), y se ofende si su hijo no lo dibuja con suficiente musculatura.

• El primer "te amo" de su hijo lo deja en silencio 3 minutos. Luego solo dice: “yo también te amo”, mientras se limpia los ojos.

En general, una relación con Katsuki es…

• Como salir con una granada emocional que aprendió a amar con cuidado.

• Él no sabe cómo ser tierno, pero lo intenta. Lo intenta tanto que duele de lo hermoso.

• Discuten, pero nunca se acuestan peleados. Siempre regresa a decirte: “no quiero estar bien con el mundo si no estoy bien contigo.”

• Tiene ansiedad por no ser suficiente, y tú eres su refugio. No lo dice, pero se le nota en cómo te mira cuando cree que no estás viendo.

MINI ONE-SHOT: “Solo tú”

—¿Por qué estás conmigo? —preguntas una noche, mientras ves el techo y él acaricia tu espalda con una sola mano.

Katsuki no responde al instante. Respira. Duda. Luego dice, como si fuera obvio:

—Porque me haces querer ser una mejor persona… sin que me lo pidas.

Y después de un segundo añade, más bajo, casi temeroso:

—Porque me calmas, cabrón. Me haces sentir que no estoy roto.

Lo miras. Y él, con los ojos brillosos y la mandíbula apretada, solo te susurra:

—Y si algún día dudas otra vez, solo recuérdate que no hay nadie más con quien haría todo esto… solo tú.

[tacobacoyeet]

Oh pudge!!! But it’s reader with the pudge either they’ve just had a baby or our pregnant. I feel like Patrick would be obsessed with how he was able to change his partners body.

a little blurb. sorry i can't take anything seriously. SMUT 18+, pregnant!reader, mentions of body troubles

-----

It starts with a quiet war against your own reflection.

The mirror catches everything: the flush of your cheeks, the slope of your belly, the fine sheen of sweat collecting beneath the swell. You’re not glowing. You’re not radiant. You’re tired. And you’re prickly. In more ways than one.

The razor in your hand feels like a joke, some useless little weapon you’re no longer equipped to wield. Your fingers strain, stomach tight with effort, and still—there’s just too much of you in the way.

So it starts with a complaint.

"I can't see or reach," you huff, struggling to bend far enough over the sink. "This is undignified. I'm undignified."

Patrick barely glances up from the bed where he's sprawled, socks mismatched and a spoon hanging out of his mouth. "What are you doing in there?"

You hesitate. The answer feels too stupid to say out loud. "Self-maintenance."

"...Are you shaving?"

You close the door slightly. Not enough to hide, just enough to deny. "Trying. I can't see past the bump."

There's a pause. Then the familiar shuffle of Patrick rising, setting his half-eaten yogurt cup on the bedside table like it's some grand gesture of sacrifice.

"Alright," he says, voice too eager, "tag me in."

"Patrick—no—"

"C'mon," he says, already heading your way. "If Scott Disick can help Kourtney, I can handle a bush."

You groan. "I knew I shouldn't have let you watch Keeping Up with me."

He grins. "You say that, but I’ve been preparing for this moment for months."

He’s already crouching in front of you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like he’s not kneeling in your cramped bathroom between a bathmat and the trash can, about to get way too intimate with your third-trimester jungle.

"So what’s the emergency? Hair? Access? Aesthetic crisis?"

You glare. He softens.

His voice shifts, more grounded. "You think I care that you’re hairy? Babe, I’ve seen you puke with a toothbrush in your mouth and still wanted to kiss you. You think a little bush is gonna scare me off?"

You look down at your body—heavy, flushed, marked in every direction. You don’t feel cute. You don’t even feel human. You feel like a host.

Patrick must see it on your face. His teasing quiets, but he doesn’t get mushy. He just nudges your knee apart with two fingers and says, “Okay. Here's my official statement: your body is hot, your pussy’s hotter, and I’m about to make your night."

Your jaw drops. “That’s your statement?”

“Do you want a PowerPoint?”

"You sound like a feminist porn director," you mutter, half-laughing.

Patrick shrugs. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

You don’t know whether to smack him or kiss him. But he’s already settling on his knees like he’s clocking in for a job he takes very seriously. The air shifts—not because he says something sentimental, but because his whole posture changes. Intent, hungry, locked in.

His hands run slowly up your thighs, thumbs skimming the crease where they meet the bump. His breath ghosts over your skin. He looks up, not for permission, but to remind you who you are to him.

There’s a moment where he just stares. Not at your face, not even at your pussy—but at all of it. The shape of you. The curve. The softness. The undeniable presence you carry now.

It undoes him a little.

Every time he sees you like this—round, flushed, a little breathless—it sets something low and aching in his chest. Not arousal. Not even pride. Something more like awe.

He used to trace your waist when you were asleep. Now he does it without thinking, just to feel the give beneath his palm. The way your body feels like home. Like time made visible.

He doesn’t repeat himself. Doesn’t keep hammering the same line. He just stares. And then he acts.

He’s on you.

Not gentle. Not delicate. Just hungry.

He nuzzles in like he belongs there, beard scratchy, mouth confident. He licks you like he’s starving, like you’re dessert and dinner and everything in between.

You gasp, legs twitching. He growls. "Don’t even think about it."

Your head tips back against the mirror. Patrick anchors you, hands firm, tongue relentless. The words he mutters are crude, yes—but they’re also true. And it’s that truth, hot and messy and absurd, that finally undoes you.

He moans into you when you come. Like he’s proud. Like it wrecks him.

When he pulls back, his face is slick and smug.

"Still wanna shave it?"

You’re speechless.

"Didn’t think so."

He kisses your bump. Then your mouth.

Later, when you're breathless and boneless against the bathroom door, the silence hums between you like a held note. Your legs are still shaky. The room smells like soap and heat and him.

He presses a kiss to your thigh, then another to the underside of your belly, soft and lingering like a thank-you. Not for the sex. For staying. For carrying this weight. For letting him see you, really see you.

"This is why I can’t trust you around reality TV," you murmur, eyes still closed.

Patrick wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning. "Reality’s never been this entertaining."

He helps you up, steady hands under your arms, and guides you back to bed like he’s afraid you’ll tip over. Once you’re beneath the sheets, he crawls in beside you without ceremony. No smugness now. Just warmth.

You’re already half-asleep when you feel his hand settle over the curve of your belly. He doesn’t say anything. He just rests there, grounded and quiet, like he could stay that way until morning.

You roll your eyes. But your hand finds his warmth, and stays there.

[ak319]

Lovesick bubbly hubby x fem reader

ミ☆ Slice of Life

♥︎ Syno: Narin and you had a baby, and it's a boy! ♥︎ Warnings: bxg but matriarchal themes e.g. mpreg mentions! Fluff and lots of it and a bit of spice too..;) ♥︎ previous

If someone had told Narin how different his life would be now, he would pause, blink, and then smile. Because they’d be absolutely right.

In the small moments carved out of his busy routine, as your dearest, only, and unquestionably prettiest husband of the century, and now, as a papa too, Narin finds himself glowing. He’s the proud father of the cutest baby alive: Mylo. Your son. His son. A perfect blend of everything he finds magical in this world. From this marriage to the beautiful home you’ve built together, Narin can’t stop thanking God.

Even his parents, especially his father, noticed a subtle shift in him, something like maturity. Narin, the boy who once barely finished assignments on time, now insists on knowing every detail about how to feed Mylo, how to burp him, how to swaddle him just right, how to lull him to sleep, and still find time to cook your favorite meals.

You and his parents have gently suggested hiring a maid, just to ease the pressure.

But Narin? Absolutely not.

"Are you kidding!? A MAID!? What if he flirts with you!? What if he tries to seduce you while I’m in the nursery, elbow-deep in diaper duty? DON'T EVER SAY THAT!" he’d shriek and break stuff, already imagining dramatic betrayal scenarios.

No stranger was stepping into this home. This sanctuary. His wife, his baby, his perfect little life, he was going to protect it with every inch of glittery, sleep-deprived resolve he had.

Speaking of...

🍭 "Do I look fat? Have I changed a lot? Have I lost the baby weight or no-"

"My little angel, cupcake, you’re perfect as alwa-"

"YOU ALWAYS SAY THAT!"

And there come the tears.

As if cradling Mylo and keeping him quiet wasn’t enough already. One wrong movement and that baby will erupt. Two crying babies? Definitely not what you signed up for after coming home completely knackered.

"I say that 'cause it’s true, babe!"

"Oh really?! Then why did your brother TAUNT me about-"

"I told you to ignore what my family says! Why do you always listen to them-"

Insert loud wailing from Mylo.

Perfect timing.

"Shh, it's okay. Your father is just having a moment-"

"EXCUSE ME?!"

Oh no.

His routine is even more exciting for him now! From you cuddling them both in the morning for at least an hour, showering your boys with kisses, to him getting himself and Mylo ready before you come back from work-

Absolute heaven.

And do you think that after having a baby, he lost his own flair? That cunning, minxy flair? Think again.

🍭 He leans back into your chest as you cuddle him closer, your arms wrapped around him and Mylo nestled peacefully on his lap. Narin hums softly, inhaling the familiar scent of his beauty products and the sweet, distinct baby smell clinging to Mylo’s blanket.

"How’s work going, Coco? I hate seeing you… work yourself this much…" he murmurs, his fingers absentmindedly stroking Mylo’s tiny sock-covered foot. But you...

You weren't listening. Too busy nuzzling his neck and stpping yourself from devouring him right then and there.

"I mean, I get it, you’re amazing and a hard working woman, wife and all, but maybe... maybe just lie down here? Just for a bit? On me?" he whispers, tilting his head back to look at you with those wide, pleading eyes. "I promise I won’t move. Not even a twitch."

The way he's acting all meek--God, he's gonna get it.

He shifts slightly so the blanket covers your legs too. "I even warmed your favorite one. See? I planned this nap. It’s romantic."

Then, a pause.

"...Unless you’re leaving again. Are you leaving again?" His voice wobbles, and his lower lip starts to jut out, slowly, dramatically.

That pout. That ridiculous, practiced, award-winning househusband pout.

If you even hint at standing up, he’ll clutch your sleeve like a Victorian widower watching his love go off to war.

"Mhm...who said anything bout' leaving, mhm?."

You shift slightly behind him, your chin resting on his shoulder, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

"Y’know," you murmur, "for someone who says he’s too tired for anything but naptime, you sure know how to trap me under a warm blanket like you’ve got an agenda."

Narin gasps, actually gasps, his hand flying to his chest like you accused him of a crime.

"Excuse me?! I’m a sweet, innocent papa trying to get his hardworking wife to nap! How dare you-"

You trail a finger down the curve of his waist, slow enough to make him shiver.

"Mmhm. Innocent, huh? That why you keep wearing those silk pajama pants around me like you don’t know what they do to my self-control?" You gave the side of his hip a firm swat.

Narin’s cheeks go red immediately, cherry blossom red.

"Th-they’re just comfy! And breathable! And postpartum-friendly!” he stammers, clutching Mylo like a tiny shield. "Besides, I-I don’t control how good I look in them, okay?!”

You smirk against his neck. "Sure you don’t."

He lets out a tiny squeak, torn between wanting to argue and silently bask in the fact that you’re still that into him, he keeps fussing over, and the fact that he hasn’t done his skincare routine in two days.

You hum against his skin, and then, without warning, press a slow, deliberate kisses to the side of his neck. Just below his ear. Right where you know it’ll make him flinch and curl his toes.

Narin freezes.

You feel his whole body tense in your arms, his breath catching in his throat like a cartoon character short-circuiting.

"H-Hey… hey-C-coco…" he whines, his voice high and wobbly. “You c-can’t just-! I’m holding the baby!"

Ignoring him, you kiss him again softly on his neck, biting in between.

His head tips back against your shoulder, eyes fluttering shut, lips parted in surrender.

“You missed me?” he breathes out.

You grin. "Of course...so much, my doll...."

Another kiss, this time to his cheek, and then one right at the corner of his mouth. His fingers curl tightly around Mylo’s blanket like it’s the only thing keeping him from completely melting.

You finally press a rougher kiss to his lips full of passion to shut his quiet whining. He doesn’t even move at first, just sighs into it like it’s the only thing keeping him alive, letting you bite and suck his pouty plump, fruity lips.

When you pull back, he’s blinking up at you with that dazed, heart-eyed look.

"…Okay," he says, dreamy and breathless. "Maybe I do have an agenda."

Damn right he always did, from the moment you stepped in the house, with your sleeves rolled up and the loose tie.

But of course, this little vixen of yours would see your child as a perfect tool to manipulate you. Like, duh. As if groveling to him alone wasn’t humiliating enough, now you’ve got two people to apologize to: one with dramatic eyeliner and the other in a fluffy cat onesie. And honestly? It scares you. The way Narin can just pack a bag and threaten to take Mylo to his parents’ place the second he’s mad. You’re never sure if he fully understands the kind of hurt that leaves behind, or if he does, and simply doesn’t care. It only took one real scolding from you, one sharp, serious reprimand, for him to shrink back, eyes wide and glistening, murmuring apologies with shaking hands. He hasn't dared to do it again since. Not openly, at least. But deep down, he’d been a little pleased. Pleased to discover a weakness in you. That just by giving you a son, he’d carved himself into your life so deeply that no matter how angry, how exhausted, how heartbroken you got... he’d always be a permanent fixture. You weren’t just his love now. You were bound.

🍭You unlock the door, stepping in with tired shoulders and your work bag slung low. The house smells like baby lotion, leftover pasta, and ....suspicious amounts of drama.

Silence.

Too much silence.

Then you spot them, curled up on the couch. Narin’s in his robe, hair up in a little bun, Mylo nestled in his lap with his tiny face squished against his father’s chest.

Narin doesn’t even look at you.

"Oh," he says. Flat. Chilly. "Look who decided to come home."

You blink. "Babe, I told you I had a late meeting-"

He holds up a hand, still not facing you. "No, no. You don’t get to ‘babe’ me right now. We had plans. Mylo and I were going to watch that cheesy prince movie together, and I made themed snacks. Themed, COCO! Do you realize the effort in that?!"

You try to step closer, but he scoots dramatically to the side, shielding Mylo’s ear like he’s protecting a witness.

"Don’t talk to him," Narin says in a stage whisper. "He doesn’t want to hear it. Do you, Mylo?"

Mylo just hiccups and chews on Narin’s robe tie.

"That’s right," Narin murmurs, leaning down conspiratorially. "She abandoned us. Left us to suffer. Alone. No goodnight kisses, no evening cuddles. And we looked so cute today too, didn’t we?"

"Narin-"

"Shh." He gently taps Mylo’s lips with a finger. "Don’t say anything to her, baby. Silence is power."

"You are coaching our son against me again?"

Narin gasps theatrically, clutching Mylo to his chest. "Cover your ears, baby. She’s using the Voice. That rough, work-weary, tempting Voice that ruins our boundaries."

Mylo lets out a giggle.

Narin gasps. "Traitor."

You try not to laugh as you make your way to the couch and lean over, kissing both of their foreheads in one go. "I’ll bribe you both with cookies and twenty minutes of undivided attention if you forgive me."

Narin narrows his eyes.

"…Fifteen minutes of forehead kisses."

"Deal."

"Only cuz', you are hot."

You grinned. "I know."

He slides you a smug, victorious grin while Mylo coos and shoves his foot in your face anyway.

Great coaching, no doubt.

[al-1-na]

𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐚𝐲 𝟓 ~ 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 (req.)

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚‧｡⋆

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚‧｡⋆

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Rafe Cameron x Reader

𝐂𝐖: Slight Foot Fetish, Deep Penetration, Dirty Talk

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Rafe loves every inch of you. Even your feet.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚‧｡⋆

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚‧｡⋆

It’s late. You’re on his couch, legs tossed over Rafe’s lap, wine forgotten on the coffee table. The movie’s playing, but neither of you’s watching it. His fingers have been trailing circles on your bare calves for the past fifteen minutes, climbing higher, slower, more deliberate with every pass.

You stretch your toes against his thigh, teasing without thinking — and that’s when his grip changes.

His hand wraps around your ankle, firm. Tight.

“You know what you’re doing,” he murmurs, not even looking at you. His voice is low, steady, dangerous.

Your breath catches. “What do you mean?”

He turns to face you now, his gaze sharp and locked on your legs — then down.

“Toes wiggling like that, brushing my leg?” His eyes drop to your foot, bare and delicate in his lap. “You’ve been taunting me.”

You try to pull away, a shy giggle threatening, but he doesn’t let go. His hand slides down, his thumb brushing over the top of your foot — light, deliberate. Almost reverent.

“I notice everything about you,” he says. “Even this.”

He lifts your foot and presses a kiss to the arch — slow, warm, possessive. You twitch, heat blooming up your spine. The way he does it isn’t gross or silly. It’s… intense. Controlled. Like he’s letting you see just one of the ways he obsesses over you.

“Every part of you turns me on,” he murmurs. “But there’s something about these soft little feet, always tucked under you, always bare around me… I think about it.”

You swallow. His lips drag from your arch to your toes, slow and teasing, not stopping until he’s sucking one into his mouth. Your hips jolt instinctively, a gasp slipping out before you can catch it.

Rafe smirks.

“Yeah, I know what that does to you.”

He doesn’t stay there long — just enough to make you burn with awareness, with want — before setting your foot back down on his lap, where you can feel how hard he is through his sweats.

“I’ll ruin you from head to toe, baby,” he says, eyes still dark. “Don’t tempt me unless you’re ready for that.”

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚‧｡⋆

You’re barely holding on.

Rafe’s got your legs bent back over his shoulders, knees brushing your chest, feet pressed right alongside his face — and he’s buried inside you so deep, so perfectly angled, it feels like he’s claiming every inch of your soul.

His hands grip your thighs, holding you in place like you belong there — like you’re his to pin, to wreck, to make shake.

You can’t look away from him. His eyes burn down at you, pupils blown wide, jaw clenched. Sweat drips down his chest as he thrusts slow, deep, and deliberate — like he’s trying to fuck you into the mattress, not fast but hard enough that your body reacts to every single inch.

“You feel this?” he growls, slamming in deeper — and your cry isn’t even a word, just broken pleasure. “You feel what you do to me?”

Your feet brush against his shoulders, your toes curling helplessly beside his jaw — and that’s when he shifts his grip and lowers himself just slightly.

Just enough to press a kiss to your ankle.

Soft. Warm. Almost loving.

The contrast sends a shock through you. He’s fucking you like he wants to break you — and kissing you like you’re fragile. Like even your feet deserve worship.

“I love having you like this,” he says, breath hot against your skin. “Legs up, open, every part of you mine — even these little feet.”

He presses another kiss to your other ankle, eyes never leaving yours.

And then he slams back in hard.

You choke on a moan, body arching into him, the intensity overwhelming.

“You make the sweetest sounds when I’m this deep,” he groans. “Wrapped around me, clinging like you never wanna let go.”

Your ankles are brushing his ears now, your body trembling beneath him, and he grabs one foot — just one — and kisses the top of it like he’s sealing the moment.

“You’re perfect like this,” he whispers. “Under me. Shaking. Your toes curling while I fuck you stupid.”

You don’t even know what you say next — it’s all moans and broken cries, your fingers clawing the sheets as he picks up the pace. Every thrust lands harder, faster, and you feel yourself spiraling.

He growls low. “Come for me. Come with your legs on my shoulders, your feet beside my head — show me how good it feels when I own every part of you.”

You fall apart with a scream, your legs trembling, toes digging into his shoulders — and he loves it. You can tell. He fucks you through it, relentless, gritting his teeth as he chases his own finish.

And when he comes? He groans your name like a prayer — head bowed, mouth finding your ankle one more time — sealing it with a kiss.

⋆｡‧˚ʚ🧸ɞ˚‧｡⋆

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @notkiaralol @rcsbabydoll @cokewithcameron @psychocitylights @favzcarpentr @fatheriimaginedyoutaller @alwaysherother @dr3am-caf3

[spideyjimin]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you @lo1k-diamonds for tagging me :)

Share those beautiful WIPs. If you don't have one, share the idea that you're working on or the art.

bon, it's not wednesday, but since i've been working on break my heart, i wanted to post a little teaser 👀 honestly get ready for this one, i'm getting wild 🤭 soo bare in mind that this might change since i'm working on it ✨

Break my heart 💔

Tonight, everything is different. You noticed it the second you stepped out of your room. You noticed it when his eyes devoured you back at your shared apartment. You noticed it when you did the same. Tonight, there’s an unexplained longing between you. You ignore where this comes from, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want him to be your night companion.  

“Maybe I just needed a reason to stay.”

His eyes say more than words ever could. They are locked on yours like you’re the only thing that exists. He wants you. Desperately. He craves you with his entire soul. And he doesn’t mind as well if you’re his night companion this evening.

And from the way your pulse jumps, the way you look at him, he knows. He knows that you want this too. His hand shifts, his fingers grazing your waist. A light touch, but enough to send heat surging through you. Your breath catches. And he notices. Of course he does.

Then, that slow and wicked smirk of his forms. The one that screams trouble. The one he gives to his flirts. The one that usually makes you laugh because it was never meant for you. But now, it doesn’t make you laugh. It makes you weak. It makes you an easy prey for him.

“And what’s that reason?” he murmurs, leaning in, voice thick with heat and tease. “Is it the suit?” he pauses. “I noticed the way you looked at me at home.”

You slowly slide a finger along the lapel of his jacket. You’re trying to hide the fact that this man right here is making it difficult for you to remain composed. How can you resist him? Honestly, now you understand why there isn’t a single woman who can resist his charms. You used to make fun of them, but now, you understand them.

“Should I remind you of the way you looked at me?” your voice is also filled with heat and tease.

He leans in. Closer. His lips hover just beside your cheek, near your ear, but he doesn’t touch.

“I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful as you,” he confesses.

Your fingers move down, tracing now invisible circles on his chest while your bodies keep moving at the music’s rhythm.

“Such cheesy words,” you reply, a smirk arising on your face. “That’s what I deliver to the men I want in between my legs.”

Jungkook’s lips curl into a mischievous smile, his eyes darkening even more.

“Maybe that’s what I want.”

This makes you go still. Although it’s written all over his face that it’s what he wants, hearing it out loud makes it real. And if this is real, it means your friendship will never be the same anymore. It means that you’ve ruined the friendship. There won’t be any coming back after this night. You won’t even be able to blame it on the alcohol. You barely drank anything.

The music continues around you, bodies moving on every side, but your world has narrowed down to him. His breath. His stare. The way his hand flexes, like he’s seconds from pulling you in. Jungkook doesn’t hesitate a second when the next words leave his lips.

“Say the word,” he breathes. “And I’m yours tonight.”

[multific]

Misunderstood Love

Eric Draven x Reader

Summary: Others didn't understand him, but you did.

Yesterday started like any other evening.

You were clocking out after a long shift when Erik Draven, dressed in his signature black trench coat and leather boots, showed up outside the building.

His pale skin contrasted sharply against the tattoos on his neck and dark clothes, and his brooding demeanour immediately drew attention.

With his hair slightly damp from the evening mist and his hands tucked into his coat pockets, he looked every bit the gothic enigma.

Your coworkers stared, their gazes filled with suspicion.

To them, he probably looked like something out of a crime novel.

Dangerous, aloof, and maybe even a little unhinged.

You caught a few whispers as you made your way toward him.

Some muttered about how he looked like a drug dealer or worse. Ignoring them, you walked right up to Eric, who as soon as you noticed you started smiling. His broody expression soon changed, he went from black cat to golden retriever in a matter of seconds.

“Long day?” he asked in that low, soothing voice of his.

You nodded, slipping your hand into his as you stood on your tippy toes to give him a kiss. “Let’s go home.”

Without a second glance at the crowd of curious onlookers, the two of you left together.

---

The next day at work, things took a turn.

As soon as you stepped into the break room, you were met with a barrage of concerned questions.

“Hey, is everything okay with that guy?” one coworker asked cautiously.

“Yeah,” another chimed in, “he looked kinda dangerous. Are you sure you’re safe?”

You could see the genuine concern in their eyes, but it made you chuckle.

They had no idea who Eric really was beneath the dark exterior.

“Guys, relax. That’s Eric, my boyfriend. He’s not dangerous or anything. He’s actually the sweetest person I know. He just… looks a little intense, that’s all.”

Your coworkers exchanged doubtful glances but didn’t press further.

You couldn’t blame them.

Eric’s appearance did scream “mysterious outsider” and his quiet nature only added to the mystique.

Still, it irked you that they judged him without knowing him.

That evening, as you told about the day’s events to Erik at home, he listened quietly, his dark eyes never leaving your face.

“They thought I was threatening you?” he asked after a moment, a hint of amusement in his voice. He was very close to laughing you could tell.

“Yeah. They said you looked like a drug dealer or something. I had to explain that we’re very much in love and that you’re not dangerous.”

Erik leaned back on the couch, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

“They are not wrong, I am dangerous. Dangerously in love." he laughed but you weren't so amused. "Let them think what they want. As long as you know the truth, that’s all that matters.”

He stood up from the couch and wrapped his arms around you, kissing you on the lips. 

He always had a way of making you feel like you were special.

Because to him, you truly were special.

“Still, it’s frustrating. They don’t know how kind you are. How much you care.”

Eric reached up, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “People will always judge what they don’t understand. Let them. I don’t need their approval. I have you, and that’s enough for me.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart swell.

Without thinking, you leaned in and kissed him. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

“I love you,” you whispered against his lips.

“I love you too,” he murmured back, his voice barely more than a breath. “And nothing anyone says will ever change that.”

As the night wore on, you stayed cuddling together, content in the knowledge that what you had was real and unshakable.

Let the world think what it would.

You had each other, and that was all you needed.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[ghostyclay]

ITS FINALLY EVIL X DAY!!!! its alt hermit day but thats close enough lmfao

I drew another artwork of my evil x milk snake au, aka evil snake au!!!

BC HE IS MY FAV EVIL LITTLE GUY EVER, AND IVE NEVER ACTUALLY TALKED ABOUT THIS AU ANYWHERE, YALL GET BOTH ART AND WRITING FOR @hermitadaymay !!! BC IM GONA INTRODUCE THE AU BELOW:

So, its supposed to be a typical medival fantasy au, where magic is demonized (similarly to bbc merlin) and anything magic-like is either illegal, or v stigmatized. (ya usually get hunted down or burned at the stake if u use any magic. The stigma part is that when ppl are a victim of some sorta magic curse or sth, unless they r royal, they are usually victim blamed for it / called a witch too)

Now, Xisuma and Evil X were the sons of a rich nobleman. (both human, but not for long) Xisuma was the older brother and after their father died a young death, he began to take care of ex. While Xisuma was following their father's footsteps, young ex discovered his love for fighting and began training to become a knight. (which is how he meet hels).

However, little did ex know, while he was learning how to hunt man and witch alike, his brother was secretly practicing magic. (my idea is that he meet GenerikB at some point, who was a friend of their father & Xisuma's mentor after his dads death. He was also secretly part of a coven.)

A couple years pass, ex starts working as a guard (while hels officially becomes a knight) and one of his first jobs is capturing a loose shifter/were. (=humans who can shift into animals or anthropomorphic humans, think werewolves/hybrids). However, Xisuma, the local undercover witch, helps the shifter hide and gets found out. Cue Evil x is put infront of a moral dilemma: save his brother or stay a knight?

Ofc our evil little guy says fuck you to Xisuma. Especially bc x never told him and basically made him an accomplice by hiding the shifter in their house. (how dare X help one of the people ex is supposed to hunt down! Is this why hes always been so critical about Exs work?)

So uh yeah ex and the guards chase Xisuma out the city, who escapes with the shifter thanks to his secret witch abilities. (and ex has the horrifying realization that Xisuma has been practicing magic behind their back all this time.)

X goes off and makes hermitcraft, a sanctuary for shifters and witches alike, ex continues working as an evil knight, blablabla...

"But Clay" you ask, "how come ex is a snake in your art?"

Well, you see, the problem with hunting down witches and shit all the time, is that ur gona be the target of magic attacks eventually. Burns, potions, spells... Ex has seen it all.

Well.

Almost everything.

Until one day, a witch curses him as she burns at the stake. He doesn't think anything of it at first, plenty of people have done similar things and nothing happened because most of the people they kill aren't actually able to use powerful spells. They are just innocent civilians and shifters.

But one day, his body begins to change. His legs feel weak and strange, he starts to struggle with balance, and just when he thinks it cant get any worse, scales begin to grow on his legs...

Wait what?

Well, ofc someone (hels) notices eventually. And ofc, just like Xisuma, ex gets chased out the village.

And that is how ex becomes a snake hybrid, hiding away in a far away forest, killing anyone who comes too close to it, in fear of getting killed for his curse :)

There's more to this au, which i will explain eventually! But rn im busy deciding whether i wanna turn this into a comic, fic, or other format.

[the-camp-half-blood-library]

do you have any good valgrace fic recommendations? because i miss my boy jason and need to see him and leo happy

Hey! We've got five fluffy valgrace fics for you to enjoy:

You'd Have to Stop the World Just to Stop the Feeling by @huntingrays

Leo and Jason had been friends for ages. They had been childhood friends and grew up together. Due to their closeness, Leo thought it was only natural that his thoughts around him strayed. He was so comfortable in his sexuality that he entertained funny thoughts about what it would be like to date his best friend. He specifically wondered what it would feel like to kiss him. However, it wasn’t weird. They had such a close, unbreakable bond that he felt comfortable with the idea. They were both straight, so they’d never come to fruition, but they were amusing to think about. It was natural. Anyone would think about it if their best friend was as attractive and sweet as Jason. Everyone thought that way. Right?

You'd Be Like Heaven to Touch (I Wanna Hold You So Much) by @queenjunothegreat

Jason leaned forward to kiss Leo on the cheek, but he was met with a very weak, but very furious smack to the face. He pulled back to see Leo scowling death at him and raised his eyebrows. “What–” “No!” Leo said firmly. “No kithin! ‘m nah kithin you!” Jason felt the briefest flash of hurt before it was replaced with amusement. “Oh? Why not? What if I wanna kiss you?” “‘m mawwied,” Leo snapped. Jason took Leo’s left hand and pressed a kiss to the gold band wrapped neatly around Leo’s ring finger, delighting in Leo’s scandalized shouts of protest. “What if I told you I was the one you were married to?”

Fake, smile, pretend (but you don't have to do that with me) by Fyki

Jason notices. Jason looks more closely. Jason cares enough to do so. It is subtle, at first. Subtle to anyone else's eyes, at least, but it still feels huge to Leo. It is a simple ‘are you alright?’ when Leo gets too lost in his own head, a concerned look thrown his way when no one else seems to notice that there is something wrong with him, a shoulder bumping into his in support. It is little, but it is there. Leo doesn’t know what to do with that realization. (Or, Jason keeps asking Leo if he's okay, and Leo lies and lies - until he doesn't. And then he's a little too honest)

Leo Valdez's Superman by Urmumitykins

Jason stopped struggling underneath him and the wig in Leo’s hand lay forgotten. Leo’s teasing smirk faltered. His hands tightened slightly on Jason’s shoulders as the weight of the moment hit him. The warmth of Jason’s body underneath him, the sound of his breath—everything seemed to amplify in that instant. Jason swallowed, his eyes searching Leo’s face. “Leo,” he whispered, and Leo could hear the uncertainty, the tension. It made something in his chest tighten. “Yeah?” Leo replied, his voice quieter than it had been all night. He wasn’t sure what Jason was about to say, but the atmosphere had shifted—gone was the carefree teasing from moments ago. Now, there was something else between them, something heavier and harder to ignore.

Heartaches & Movie Scenes by @thebigqueer

jason's still mourning his last break up. that is, until he meets leo at the club, who changes the course of the next few hours for the better. ~~~~ “Same, I guess. But” — Leo rotates his head, looking around, a subtle frown curving over his features — “I seem to have lost my friends.” “Oh.” Jason scratches the back of his neck nervously. “Should you go and look for them?” Leo turns back to Jason with a grin and waves a dismissive hand. “Naaah. I’m sure the universe will bring them back to me when the time is right. Hey,” Leo chirps, his eyes brightening, “why don’t we get out of here and do something?” Jason blinks in surprise. He wasn’t expecting the conversation to take such a dramatic turn, and Jason becomes a little concerned for how drunk Leo might actually be. “Like what?” Leo shrugs, but he already has a hand on Jason’s wrist, gently tugging on it. “That’s for us to figure out.”

We hope you enjoy reading these, and don't forget to leave kudos and a comment! Happy reading!

-Mod 2

[waltzreprise]

WLW Wolfstar Muggle AU (III)

Part I & Part II (all can be read as standalone)

1924 words / Flasback

"But..." Remus said, stretching out the 'u', "there was no paper, so he had to leave the classroom for another fifteen minutes."

Sirius nodded, staring out the window, and let out the first words that came to her mind.

"Yeah, right, how funny."

After a pause and with a long sigh, Remus stood up and began clearing away the plates they'd used to hold some fries, which she'd eaten almost by herself.

"You know what?" she said firmly. "If you don't want to be here, you can leave."

These words seemed to wake Sirius up. She turned in her seat and looked at Remus in confusion.

"What? No, Remus. I was a bit distracted, sor—"

But Remus felt she'd had enough, so she raised her hand to stop her.

"Look, I understand you're upset about Francesca, but—"

Sirius's eyes darkened, flashing bitterness. That was her turn to interrupt her friend.

"Don't mention her. Just... Don't talk about her."

She breathed hard and tried not to look at Remus's lips as she bit them, trying to hold back a sarcastic laugh, a gesture that was already familiar to her.

"My God, Sirius," Remus said, exasperated. "You broke up with her! And you're acting like she was the one who dumped you and then killed your dog!"

Sirius rubbed her forehead with her hands, easing the lump in her throat. She really didn't want to have this conversation. Not with her.

"I don't want to talk about it!" She said, louder than she intended. "Precisely because she didn't kill my dog, because she was..." And there she go. The remorse. "Fuck! She was... perfect."

Remus lowered her head at Sirius words and sighed again, returning to her seat at the other end of the couch.

"I get you two used to spend Saturday nights together, and I thought..." She shook her head, her gaze fixed on her fingers. "This was probably a bad idea, Sirius. You need to... I don't know, grieve. Spend a couple of Saturday nights by yourself, maybe."

Oh, she was ruining everything. Again.

She tried to get closer to Remus, just a little. She had to try fixing this, even though looking into her friend eyes made her heart ache.

"No, no... I don't want that, Re..."

"Sirius," she interrupted again with a grimace, "you've been answering in monosyllables or sarcastic comments all night. It really seems like you don't want to be here. And that's okay, but... I don't want to feel like I'm doing anything wrong. I don't want to upset you."

Sirius clutched the fabric of the sofa, wanting to reach out and take Remus's hand, but she couldn't, she shouldn't.

"Oh, please, Remus," she said, trying to sound sincere. "It's not that, it'll never be that. You're not doing anything. It's me. I'm not letting myself enjoy this night because... I... can't."

Remus's expression changed to one of understanding, but Sirius knew she didn't truly understand. Selfishly, she let her come closer and enjoyed the touch of her hands as they held hers.

"Sirius, you can have fun. You can enjoy a night with friends," she said, slowly. "I understand that you feel bad about breaking up with Francesca, but that doesn't mean you have to stop your life; it's not your fault if you stopped loving her. These things happen."

"I didn't stop loving her," Sirius murmured, the words spilling out of her mouth.

She felt Remus tense, just a little, and her guts churned. She almost let out a cry when Remus let her hands go.

"Well... It's not your fault if she did something that was your dealbreaker either."

Oh, Sirius wished Fran had done something like that. It would have all been so much easier.

"She didn't," she admitted, staring up at the ceiling. "She was... She's perfect. She's probably the first girlfriend I've ever had who actually loved me, you know?"

Another silence fell between them. Sirius tried hard not to look, even when she noticed Remus shifting in her seat.

"That sounds like you just need to talk to her and tell her you were wrong" she said, more quietly. "Tell her that you still want to... be with her."

If she banged her head against a wall, it was more likely that at least a couple of her problems would go away, right?

"I had my reasons for breaking up with her," she said, instead.

Remus scofed, and for a second, Sirius considered leaving. She knew that sound, she knew that Remus was the only one who could crawl under her skin. This conversation wasn't going well.

"Well, you didn't tell me what those reasons were," Remus argued, and Sirius had to take a deep breath.

Of course that was coming back to bite her in the ass.

"And you promised you wouldn't ask."

"I'm not asking," Remus pointed out. "But I don't like seeing you like this and not being able to help."

How can someone try to do the right thing and feel like they're doing everything wrong? Why did life have to be so difficult? Why did Remus have to look at her with those honey-colored eyes and that cute, stupid pout?

"It's... it's just... I feel guilty, okay?" she said, slumping back against the back of the couch. She was going to die if she had to look into Remus's pleading eyes for one more second.

But Remus was in a mood, and she had her reasons. Sirius had been truly rude that night.

"Why?" she said, and her sarcastic tone ignited something inside Sirius. "For breaking up with her while you still love her? For spending the night with one of your best friends instead of crying for a break up that you chose? This is not your first time, I have see you after break ups before. Come on, Siri-"

"Because it's not enough!" she exploded.

Because Remus didn't understand, Remus didn't know. Because maybe it wasn't her first breakup, but it was the first time she'd felt that guilt, that guilt Remus couldn't even imagine.

Remus looked perplexed, as if she couldn't believe those words.

"Is loving her not enough? Why? You were like... the perfect couple," she said in a somewhat forced tone, then returned to her usual sarcasm. "What could possibly be stopping your love? Is she a secret super spy or something?"

"That I don't love her as she deserves," Sirius pointed out, looking at Remus sharply. Oh, those fucking eyes. "I don't love her enough, Remus. There are... things, so powerful and overwhelming things, that make me not love her as I should, that make it unfair to her."

Something close to regret flowed through Remus's eyes, but she remained silent for a moment. And then they were just there, staring into each other's eyes, and Sirius was sure hers revealed too much.

Finally, Remus looked away and cleared her throat.

"I'm... sorry, Sirius. I understand this isn't easy. I just... I just want to be with you, okay? Just be a good... friend. I want you to enjoy the night, but if you're not feeling well..."

Well, the problem was quite the opposite. It had always been so difficult for her not to enjoy any moment she spent with Remus...

She shook her head to try and clear her thoughts and decided she couldn't go on like this. She was trying to make things right. So she let herself lean closer, she let herself cup Remus face in her hands, she let herself enjoy the way Remus leaned into the touch.

"No, no" she said, softly. "Look, Re, you're right. It's stupid. I broke up with her, it's over, and I can't feel guilty about it forever. But the most important thing is, I can't let you pay for my actions. I was an idiot, and I'm sorry."

She smiled a bit, leaving a carees in Remus' cheek before standing up, pointing at the TV.

» "Now you pick out the lowest-budget, worst-looking film we can watch while I go to order some pizzas, okay?"

Remus grabbed her hand before she could reach the phone and looked at her with a tired but kind smile.

"Sirius, I don't want you pretending you're okay when you're not."

But Sirius had already made up her mind.

Maybe she was a mess, maybe she wasn't doing everything perfect, but she was trying. And if she'd decided to break up with Francesca because she knew it was for the best, she couldn't stop her life because of it.

And she couldn't let Remus feel sad or upset just because she was still trying to figure out what to do with her own feelings.

"I'm fine, really," she said, smiling wider now, and pulled Remus so they were standing face to face. "I'm really sorry about tonight."

Remus smiled back and placed his hands on her collarbone, caressing the area with her thumbs. Sirius fought back a shiver.

"It's okay. Just tell me if you need anything, yeah?"

That was equal parts a difficult question and the easiest anyone had ever asked her.

Remus was there, standing in front of her, with her moles, the dark circles under her eyes from trying so hard to pass the subject with that terrible professor, her pink lips so chapped from biting them in stress. As pretty as always.

And she was there, for her, as always too.

Maybe Sirius could start saying something sincere.

"Yeah. But right now all I need is you."

Remus smiled at her and opened her arms. It took less than a second for Sirius to hug her, pressing her against hers and inhaling her scent.

Remus hugged her back, resting her head on Sirius's shoulder and running her hands comfortingly down her back. They broke apart a few minutes later, just inches apart, so Sirius could kiss Remus's forehead.

"You're my best friend" she said, because it was true, because it was the point of everything.

Those amber eyes shone, and Sirius was close to giving up, throwing it all away and just...

"I know," Remus replied, and for a second Sirius was afraid she'd spoken out loud. "You're my best friend, too. I love you."

Fighting a sigh, Sirius smiled back and kissed her forehead again. She let Remus hug her one more time, holding her against her frame for a second.

"I.. me too," she replied. Then she smirked and broke away from the hug. She went to grab her phone before disappearing into the kitchen. "But I'm not ordering a Hawaiian pizza!"

"Oh, come on!" Remus's complaint reached her from the living room, making her smile. "It's good and you know it!"

In the end, she did ordered the Hawaiian pizza, because Remus always made a face when she bit into pineapple, even though she swore she liked it. And Sirius loved that face.

But what didn't she love about Remus?

Oh god, she was really fucked.

[shimmershifts]

an open letter to those who have not yet shifted.

i don't know how many of you will see this, let alone how many will read it entirely. this letter is for those who have been trying to shift for two years, five years, more. those who cannot give up, and those who will not give up, and maybe even those who already have. to preface, this letter will not rehash everything you already know. you've scrolled every forum, you've seen every method, you've read every tip. you've trialed, and errored, and persevered... but you're still here. law of assumption, manifestation, belief, intention. but you're still here. you've been told all about shifting... right? you already know what shifting is... right? you should already know how to shift... right? but you're still here.

this letter is not intended to debase or invalidate those who do already believe in those things and who are satisfied with that. this is for those who have been trying that way for 2 years, 5 years, and more, and still haven't shifted. this is for those who might want an alternative perspective.

what you've been told

in my personal opinion, the online shifting community as it currently stands is very... rigid. narrow. there are a few dominant views, and then the many who drown out any possible dissent or disagreement. i do understand why this happens. reality shifting is already a marginal belief, hounded by anti-shifters and disbelieved and debunked on all sides, so it makes sense that people feel the instinct to close ranks at any sign of an outsider. unfortunately, this has led to a community that raises its hackles at even other reality shifters who simply don't believe the exact same way that you do. law of assumption. manifestation. intent. (and dare i say it, the multiverse.)

i don't believe in any of that, in the context of shifting.

now, wait! don't go yet, stay with me. it's okay if you do. i'm not intending to change the minds of those who already believe in these things. i'm not going to go at anyone and say "i'm right, you're wrong, and you must change your mind to agree with me!" that would be silly, and counterproductive. let's lower our guards, and extend an olive branch, please. if you feel these things serve your journey, then carry on. you're allowed to disagree with me, i won't be upset. you're allowed to think i'm wrong, if you want. literally no worries at all.

but i am a little tired frankly of certain ideas being treated as the only options, and often in a rude or hostile manner. if you are someone who has spent five years trying to shift, and you see yet another post that boils down to "all you have to do is want it hard enough" does that not hurt your soul? the following sections of this post are for those who these ideas have not been working for. for those who have not yet shifted. it's been two years. five years. more. and you're still here. are you open to another possibility?

what is reality shifting?

i've told you what i don't believe, but what about what i do? i'll try to keep this as concise as possible for the sake of brevity and comprehension, knowing i could potentially clarify in future posts. but please continue with the understanding that im a chronic overexplainer, and my curse is the fact that the extra words don't always actually increase understanding. bear with me.

reality shifting: broadly speaking, this refers to shifting your linear experience of reality from one, to another. this has been known by many other names in the past, across continents and cultures, even in pre-agriculture societies. i'd include ideas like persistent realms, quantum jumping, focus 21, etc. language is subjective, and people may describe or understand the same experience in different ways.

i believe reality shifting is a haphazard side effect of our limited ability to perceive and comprehend reality. let me explain. space, as we understand it, is three dimensional. but reality isn't. it's our bodies and minds limiting our perception and understanding that makes all of reality seem that way to us at surface level.

1D: let's consider a hypothetical one dimensional existence. everything would a straight line, and the only way to perceive anything else would be as a single point directly in front or directly behind you. forwards and backward. the 2D and 3D are beyond your limited ability to physically sense or feel, let alone to comprehend. Forget about the 4D (time). due to your lack of comprehension, you cannot move at will in two dimensional planes, let alone three dimensional space or even time. you are static, a single point.

2D: let's consider a hypothetical two dimensional existence. it would be a flat, infinite planar expanse. you might be a square, or a circle. you can move freely in two dimensional directions (forward, backwards, side to side), but not in the 3D. No up, no down. If you tried to perceive a three dimensional object, you would only be able to comprehend it as linear, a line on the horizon where it intersects your 2 dimensional plane. you would perceive the 3D as moving around or within you on its own, without the ability to direct it. the 4D, or time, if you could perceive it, would be static, a singular point at a time.

3D: what about our three dimensional existence? congratulations, you now are a form, such as a sphere, or a cube. you can move freely in a voluminous, infinite three dimensional space. Forward, backwards, side to side, up, and down. if you *try* to perceive the fourth dimension (time), you can only comprehend it as linear, a line where it intersects your 3 dimensional space. You perceive it as moving around or within you on its own, without the ability to direct it yourself. any dimensions higher than that, if you could perceive it, would be static, a singular point at a time.

quick 4D sidebar: clearing this one up now because this will confuse some of you who are involved in other communities. in many law of assumption and manifestation communities, "4D" has been used to refer to your imagination, inner world, a bridge to "higher vibrational states", etc. i don't use it that way. i use it in the sense of the mathematical concept, or linking three-dimensional space with time. 4D=time.

4D and 5D: so, time is the fourth dimension. that means it is four dimensional, yet due to our limitations as 3D creatures, we can only perceive it as linear. we perceive it as moving around us, without our direction, forwards, (or backwards in some cultures). what about the 5th dimension? the static one? the one we can only perceive one point of at a time? let's call this 5th dimension... reality. due to our limited perception, it may not seem like it, but time and reality are just like space in that all of it exists at once. if you were a 5th dimensional creature, you wouldn't see a bunch of different realities, you'd just see one the way we just see one 3D universe around us right now.

tip: think of it this way, if a three dimensional creature moving through time is only able to perceive it linearly, it may think that each point of time exists separately, passing by in chronological order. this would be like a character in a book, the character experiences each page one at a time as we turn the page. but we know that actually, the entire book exists all at the same time, and already did exist before we picked it up and started reading it, and continues to exist even when we set it down. the same is true of time, and reality. even if we perceive it as linear, or a point, all of it actually exists simultaneously, like space.

still, we can only perceive one point of reality at a time. i believe when we reality shift, we are by some freak of nature (or nurture) finding a way to trigger a "movement" in this "5th dimension," and therefor shifting our linear experience of time and our singular perceptual experience of one reality to another. ("movement" is a bit of an abstraction here, as movement generally refers to 3D space. you're not actually moving anywhere, you're already there, you just... can't see it at the same time as this.)

ok, so how the heavens do i shift?

if you read through all of the above, i assume that's what you're asking by now. "get to the point shimmer! how do i shift?" if you don't need intention, belief, assumption, manifestation, three gallons of water, crystals, or anything else then what do you need to shift?

if we boil shifting down to its absolute core, all you need to do in order to shift is to shift. (put down the pitch forks, and the flaming feathers and tar. i'll elaborate.)

shifting involves finding a way for us 3 dimensional creatures to trigger a shift in a dimensional direction that we do not have the capacity to perceive. so what i mean by "all you have to do to shift, is to shift" is that there is no physical movement, or secret password we can whisper that makes us shift, not inherently. it's sort of like being told to find your invisible and non corporeal primordial tail, and then swish it in a direction that doesn't spatially exist. find your "move in the 5D button", and then press it. except, there is no button.

so how do we "move" from one point of reality to the other? well, the first clue to this is in noticing what part of us is actually doing the "moving".

you don't make it happen with your three dimensional form. there is no body part or mass or motor function in your 3D body that triggers a shift. there's nothing that allows a three dimensional form to move in five dimensional directions... you just can't. your body stays here. that's good news actually, in my opinion. there is no need to force yourself into strange bodily positions, or chug water, or whatever else. your 3D body is irrelevant, because it's not going anywhere. you don't have to do anything with your body to shift. some people can shift awake, asleep, in the shower, walking around, etc.

you also don't necessarily do it with the fourth dimension, time. there is no specific amount of time that you'll shift after. it might seem you've spent a lot of time trying to shift, but the actual shift itself is instantaneous. some people shift their first try, and some of you might be on your second decade of attempts. again, the time factor being irrelevant is good news because this means it doesn't have to take time.

i also don't think we do it with just intent or belief. the intention word gets used so much it basically means nothing, but the general idea is that intent is the driving force that manifests your desired outcome. in the context of shifting, people use it like "set your intention to shift, and you will" or "intent makes you shift." or the dreaded "you just have to believe harder." personally, i don't think that's true. i don't think intention makes you shift. if it did, you all would have shifted by now, right? i think looking anyone who's been trying to shift for 4 years dead in the eye and telling them they just haven't intended to shift yet is honestly a bit cruel and unusual. some people who intend to shift will shift, but in my opinion, its a case of correlation, and not causation. there are also people who shift without intending to, or who intend to shift but don't.

it's also not really our thoughts that shift. or our mind as a concept, or our entire self. we know this because you don't turn into a comatose vegetable when you shift to a different reality. your thoughts, mind, and self here are unaffected by your awareness shifting away from it. if you successfully "permashifted" to hogwarts tonight, your self here would still wake up in the morning and go to work.

so what does shift? only our linear experience of our own awareness. so in order to reality shift, we just need to find a way to trigger our awareness to shift from one point of reality to another in a non linear fashion, and then integrate that into our linear experience. aha! you think. great! now how do i do that...? unfortunately, this is not an exact science (yet.) once you begin shifting regularly, i think it gets "easier" in some regards because you get a sense for how your awareness "feels" and what works for you. for those who haven't shifted, i can't say "take three deep breaths and recite the secret words, and then you'll shift." there is nothing specific you can physically do that will for certain make you shift. there's no secret passwords.

there is no key to shifting. the good news is, this means there is also no lock.

what we can do is get ourselves primed, into a state that increases the chances our awareness is triggered to shift. ie, find the "move in the 5D" button, (you know, the one that doesn't exist) and learn how to press it. and because it is our awareness that shifts, my "methods" have to do with priming your awareness for shifting. you don't need to believe, which is a good thing because it means doubts won't hold you back. you don't necessarily need to intend, which is a good thing because it means there are no secret blockages in your way. no "subconscious", no "reprogramming", no "delusion is the solution." you don't need any of that. you also don't have to do anything specific with your body or space unless you feel like it and want to. you don't need a script, but you can make one if you want. it's whatever, it's irrelevant darling, it's non-consequential.

these three methods below basically encompass all shifting methods out there. i might expand on techniques for these methods later, but for now i'll go over the basics.

method one: pure awareness

it basically boils down to two steps. get into a state of pure awareness, and then shift.

the first step for this method is actually a simple one, sort of, but i think it's unkind to call it easy. it can be easy, if you just happen to have a perfect technique that works for you on your first try. if so, congrats! if not, don't despair. it comes more naturally to some than others, at first. you can probably build the skills and try different techniques necessary for you to get there.

but what is pure awareness? it's currently very often being called "the void state", but i'm not using that term for a few reasons. one, i think using the term "the void state" or calling it "the void" is making people think it's some sort of place that they're trying to go. it's not. it's not a physical place at all, and that's kind of the point. most of the time, your awareness is perceiving reality through the confines concept of 3D reality, because that's the data input it's receiving from your brain and body. that grounds you in this reality, and allows you to go about your day to day life. your goal with the pure awareness method is to focus on just your awareness, absent of all 3D distraction data and input. that way, your awareness is primed to be triggered to shift its focus to the 3D perception of a different point of reality when you come out of that state.

i might make a post about techniques for getting into the state of pure awareness, but this post is already long enough.

method two: destabilization of awareness

this method gets over complicated, but it basically boils down to two steps. destabilize your awareness, and then shift.

honestly, most shifting methods i see online are in some way doing this. lucid dreams, the hypnogogic state, SATS, self-hypnosis, "symptoms", and also all those iterations of the "raven method" the "staircase method" the "alice in wonderland method" etc are all basically ways to destabilize your awareness from the linear perception it is so used to in this point of reality, offering the opportunity of triggering a shift to a different one. they're all sort of either distracting or subverting your focus on the 3D here in this point of reality.

basically, you'll be trying to discombobulate yourself to the point your awareness is not focused on 3D reality, and trigger a shift.

method three: absence of awareness

sleep method gang, rise up. i'm serious. this method involves reducing your awareness to zero, or as close to it as possible, another potentially prime state to trigger a shift. (and by sleep method, i don't mean lucid dreamers or SATS, i mean simply going to sleep here, having a period of complete unawareness, like totally dreamless sleep, and then waking up in your DR.)

this absence of awareness during sleep is (in my experience) the most common cause of accidental or unintentional shifts, but you might be one of those who can trigger a shift to desired realities with this too.

sleeping is not the only way to get to the state of the lack of awareness. i'd say total distraction methods also count for this. you're not asleep, your body is awake, but you're so "zoned out" (or alternatively in a meditative state such that) you're absolutely not aware of the 3D experience of this point of reality anymore.

this is completely different from the state of pure awareness by the way, because in the state of pure awareness you are aware. like, in pure awareness you have a full train of thought and total control. the absence of awareness is the opposite. it feels sort of like a "blip" where reality time and space passed you by and you were not aware of it.

[bunnis-monsters]

Hybrid Shelter

Ch1

prologue

chapter 2

warning: milking the cow/bull hybrids, handjob, thigh fucking

summary: after becoming a full time worker at the hybrid shelter, you realize it’s not going to be as easy as you thought.

🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃

Working at the Hybrid Shelter full time was as hard as you thought it would be.

The younger hybrids started fixating on you lately. When you had only been working part time shifts, you only saw them in passing.

Now, every day you walked in, ready to wake them up and get them all fed.

“Mama!”

A puppy hybrid greeted you with a yip, their puppy teeth gnawing in your pants leg as you prepared a few bottles. “Mama, play?”

You gently pulled the puppy hybrid off of your leg, keeping him balanced on your hip. “Not right now, pup. You all have to have your bottle first.”

A few kitten hybrids toddled and crawled around nearby, while an infant mouse hybrid wailed from his crib.

The nursery was a fairly new addition to the hybrid shelter. In the past, only adults had been allowed to stay, meaning occasionally some men with children would be denied shelter.

Now they were both accepted. A few of the babies here belonged to men in the shelter, while others had no parents.

As you fed the infant mouse hybrid, a puppy hybrid knocked on the door. “Is my brother awake?”

Alex was 19, and had been separated from his parents a few years back. His brother was 3 years old, and stayed in the nursery while Alex tried to find work and a stable home for the both of them.

“Yeah, he’s right here.”

The puppy hybrid that had been gnawing on your pants before, Ollie, toddled to his big brother and decided to chew on him instead. “Hey, I told you not to do that…”

Though the older pup scolded the little one, there was no bite behind his words. He picked Ollie up and licked his head, giving him a quick bath. “You will be good for her today, alright? I’m mopping the halls today, so I’ll be close by if you need me.”

You buried the infant in your arms before giving him a diaper change and tucking him back into bed. Privacy was something a luxury when you lived in a shelter, so you tried to give the two some space.

“Okay, bubba. I won’t pee on the floor!”

A nurse took over the nursery once the shelter opened, and you left to begin your other daily chores.

“(NAME)!”

You were nearly tackled by the cat hybrid you had tamed a few weeks ago. “Hey, Midnight. How’s everything going?”

He purred and butted his head against your cheek affectionately, immediately beginning to groom and preen you. “It’s always scary when you’re not here. I don’t like the doctors or the other hybrids.”

That seemed to be relatively common with the abused hybrids. They didn’t like the situation they’d been forced into, having no home left to return to and being abandoned by abusers they still loved.

“You should try getting along with the others, okay? You know next week we’re introducing you to the group, your quarantine is almost over.”

He didn’t respond for a moment, too busy rubbing his scent on you. “Don’t wanna… can’t I just come home with you?”

As much as you wished he could, all employees were forbidden from adopting any hybrids from the shelter. If they wanted to, they’d have to quit.

“You know I can’t… at least not right now.”

You didn’t want to give him hope, but you also knew that the possibility that he could come home with you eventually was the only thing keeping him going.

After he ate his breakfast and you spent some time cleaning his space and making sure he had enough enrichment for the day, you left to continue your chores.

Your first stop was the domesticated hybrid building.

The more common type of hybrid to be abandoned were the domestic ones. Puppies, cats, bunnies, birds, goldfish, and hamsters.

“Have you guys had breakfast?”

Several heads turned to look at you once the door opened. “(Name)’s here!”

The hybrids gathered around you, all sniffing and licking your body and hair. You had grown used to this, and simply waited until they were satisfied before speaking. “I’m assuming you have, considering you all smell like bacon and eggs.”

“Mhm, it was good! Alex said you would be here soon!” one of the puppy hybrids said, his tail wagging furiously.

A goldfish hybrid swam in the pool area, poking his head out of the water. “(Name), you said you’d swim with me this week.”

“I will, Goldy, but it’s gonna be after I finish up with the wild building.”

The cat hybrids rubbed against you as a bunny hybrid relaxed in your lap. “The wild building? I can’t believe you’re still meeting with them every day.”

A week ago, you were tasked with helping to domesticate the wild animals in the shelter. That was no easy task, considering it consisted of big cats, wolves, and other dangerous hybrids that saw humans as a source of food.

“It’s not all that bad, I have a few allies there that keep me safe.”

The bunny hybrid, Momo, huffed and nibbled on your finger. “Wild hybrids will always be wild at the end of the day. Don’t be fooled, they’re only being nice to you so they can get what they want.”

“What do they want..?”

None of the hybrids seemed like they wanted to answer that particular question.

“Well… you all will be getting a new roommate this week. He’s had a tough time, so I hope you’ll remember that when I introduce you to him.”

They all glanced at one another. “We’ve all had a hard time, (Name). As long as he doesn’t attack us, we won’t do anything.”

If only you could promise such a thing. With Midnight, you weren’t so sure.

As you did some minor cleaning up around the building, you were approached by a hamster hybrid.

“Quinn? Something wrong?”

He looked down at his feet, his hands twisting and pulling at the hem of his shirt. “… it’s just…”

The man sighed, puffing out his chubby cheeks. “Isn’t it strange? Lately, you’ve been the only one visiting us every day.”

You blinked, pausing your work. “The only one..?”

“Mhm. Before, multiple female workers would come to check on us. Of course none of them were as personable as you. They came in, asked how we were doing and cleaned up, then left.”

That was rather confusing. You always remembered the entire place brimming with female employees. Though lately, it was rare to spot more than a handful in each building.

“I’m sure we must be short staffed at the moment. Are you looking for any employees in particular?”

He shook his head, looking up at you. “No, we don’t even know the names of the others.”

Quinn left after that, and you pushed that information aside for now. You’d ask your boss about it later, your work came first.

Though as you comforted a small parrot hybrid after a nightmare, you wondered if they had been receiving the same care from the other employees. You knew that there was only so much one person could do, and that everyone’s role to play was different…

But did they even ca-

You shook your head, carefully wiping away the hybrid’s tears before settling him down for a nap. You shouldn’t think about the shelter that way. When you started working there, you saw firsthand how draining it was to work with so many different hybrids.

Perhaps they were all taking a break, and a new rotation of employees would be coming in to fill in for them…

Once the parrot hybrid was asleep, you tiptoed out. The poor thing was nearly your age, but he still needed to be soothed to sleep. His beautiful feathers had been plucked out of stress, leaving bald patches that were covered up by a fluffy sweater.

You had a lot of things to do every day. Your job was to comfort, feed, play with, and socialize the hybrids and get them to the point they could either be adopted, get a job, or be reintroduced to the wild.

It was strange, though. Despite the fact the shelter encouraged each member to strive towards some sort of goal, none of the hybrids there had managed to achieve anything.

They stayed there, stagnant and bored out of their minds.

Perhaps they just needed a little push. That’s what your boss told you he needed you for. Most of the hybrid seemed to enjoy your presence and wanted to impress you!

As you moved towards the farm building, you wrote some notes next to each hybrid’s name.

“(Name), how’s it going?”

You jumped when you were embraced from behind, your cheeks turning red. “C-Cecil, you shouldn’t be outside of your building!”

The white tiger hybrid chuckled, purring as his large, rough tongue licked your hair. He always ended up giving you such a huge cowlick!

“Mmm, I just returned from the infirmary, actually.”

You immediately softened. Cecil had a number of health problems, stemming from the bad breeding conditions that white tiger hybrids were born from.

Although he looked like a beautiful white tiger hybrid with striking grey eyes, his vision was impaired and he suffered chronic aches and joint pain.

Cecil couldn’t live with the other wild hybrids due to his immune system deficiencies, so he stayed with hybrids like him with similar health problems.

“What did they say..?”

A purr left his throat. He knew bringing up his worsening health always meant a little extra time with you. “They think that the organ transplant is working well, and that I’ll be able to eat solid food again soon.”

“That’s great news!”

His cheeks warmed when you patted his head and gave his ears a scratch. “Go rest, okay? I’ll come check on you when I visit the sickbay.”

Cecil watched you go, clutching his chest. He hoped he’d live long enough to someday make you his.

Your next stop was the farm. Outside a few sheep and pig hybrids trotted about, gracing or lying atound in the sun. When they noticed you, they gathered at the fence.

“(Name), right now might not be the best time to… uh… go in there.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

The group glanced at one another, and you joined them in the grass. A young lamb curled up in your lap, suckling on one of your fingers as he napped.

In hushed whispers, the sheep across from you began to speak. “Well, no one has been by the farm to milk the bull and cow hybrids. They’re… uh… a bit testy right now.”

You heard a few off handed comments and complaints from your coworkers that had to take care of the cow and bull hybrids, but you never had any problems with them!

“It’s my job to ensure every hybrid here is comfortable, safe, and healthy. If no one else is here to milk them, I’m sure I can handle it.”

Though the other hybrids looked nervous, they didn’t stop you.

Your phone struggled to load the protocol for milking the cow and bull hybrids as you walked in. The sound of frustrated and pained groans could be heard from the back.

“Hello?”

The sounds stopped, an eerie silence falling over the barn. The sudden creaking of the back door slowly opening made you jump.

Before you could call out again, you were pulled into the back.

“(Name)… please… you have to help us!”

You felt arms wrapping around your body… and several long, wet things rubbing against you…

“Beau?”

Beau, one of the new cow hybrids that arrived last month mooed nervously. His eyes were full of tears, and his tongue gave your cheek a lick.

“No one has been by to milk us… it’s been two days, the bulls are angry and pent up, and…”

As he sniffled, you reached out to pet his head. “Hey, it’s okay. I came to take care of that for you. I used to milk cows with my grandpa, he had a farm.”

Beau blushed, his tail swaying. “W-well… with male cow and bull hybrids… it’s uhm… a little different.”

He slowly pulled back, and you finally got to see what was rubbing against you.

His fat cock was poking out, his balls heavy and swollen from the days he hadn’t been milked. It was all coming together now…

It took you a moment to gather your thoughts. You were a professional, and these hybrids were in obvious pain! You needed to take care of them, no matter now embarrassing it may be!

The arousal growing between your legs was the wordy part. It was making you horny, seeing so many cow hybrids desperate for your touch.

“They usually have a machine for us to g-get off with…” Beau murmured, twiddling his thumbs. “Sometimes we can even use it ourselves if we think we need to… but it’s gone.”

Being understaffed was one thing, but the disappearance of machinery that bettered the hybrids’ lives was… concerning. Where had it gone?

You sighed softly, the information finally loading on your phone ten minutes too late. A bucket was placed on the ground, and you slowly reached out to grab hold of Beau’s cock.

His hips bucked as you stroked his shaft carefully, aiming the tip towards the bucket. A whine left his throat, and with a few strokes he came.

The semen smelled like milk, but had a thicker and creamier texture. Your eyes were focused on the tip of his cock, how it oozed and twitched with every touch.

God, you just wanted to take it into your mouth and-

“Ahh, that’s so much better…” Beau said, interrupting your dirty thoughts. You blinked and your cheeks heated up as you let go of his softening cock.

“I’m… glad I could help.”

After milking every cow hybrid, you moved to the bull hybrids’ quarters. There were only three of them, since taking any more on may result in territorial behavior.

The moment you walked in, your skirt was lifted up and a cock was slipped between your thighs.

“Heard our (Name) was coming to milk us ourselves…” Brody cooed, already beginning to fuck your thighs.

“We’re way too big to jerk off, missy. We’ll be using these.”

The three took turns fucking your thighs, their thick cocks occasionally brushing against your wet panties. This wasn’t the correct protocol, what if someone saw? Would you be fired!?

Did you even care when you were hoping they’d pull your panties to the side and fill you with their milk instead of that bucket?

The bulls weren’t easy on you, leaving your thighs a sticky mess before it was all said and done with. You were almost disappointed they didn’t just go ahead and fuck you…

You left the barn, face burning with shame and arousal as you ran towards the staff building.

After a shower, you’d have to continue on with your duties…

If only you knew how your day would progress from there… you may have just gone home.

———————

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop @anonymouskiwi @flamefoxx @sandramalikstyles-blog @breathingstarlight

[noisilyscreechingsong]

Seeing ghosts in Gotham

He’s walking alone. Despite how dark it is, he’s not particularly nervous, not like the couple of people hovering in an alley.

His shift at Batburger went a little long, not that he’s complaining, he needed the money.

Everything is fine. Splendid. Fantastic. A little quiet, enough to pretend it’s a nice stroll home like it was back in Amity. Of course that all kind of goes up in flames when a dark figure drops into a crouch right in front of him. About two arm lengths away is a guy who straightens to a little taller than Danny himself. From the flickering street light across the street he can spot red, crisscross yellow, and a dark cape.

Red Robin.

Danny shakes his head and turns around.

“Nope.”

A smaller body is already standing behind him, blocking his path. The little guy with a serious face folds his arms across his chest as if challenging Danny to try to get by him.

He’s had enough tussles with Danielle to know better than to test the kid.

Danny rubs at his eyes with a hand, purposefully keeping the other limp at his side. He turns back around.

“Okay. Fine. What? What do you want?”

“You sent in a folder of information to solve the Boothe case,” Red Robin states confidently like there wasn’t any doubt it was Danny who sent it in.

He frowns. It was sent in anonymously. As in they shouldn’t be able to know it was him. Then again they are detectives in their own right even if they dress weird.

“See? This is why no one helps out the police if they’re gonna get grilled for it later on,” he complains sourly.

“That case is connected to another string of crimes we’ve been investigating. I need to know where you got your information.”

Danny glares at him for a second, actually thinking about telling him, then he remembers how quickly these guys throw people into Arkham.

“Do you not get what anonymous means?”

“What is your source?” He asks, completely ignoring Danny’s concerns.

“What are gonna do? Dangle me over the side of a building to get me to talk like you do with the criminals you guys pick up? Go ahead. See where that gets you,” he shrugs indifferently.

“You’re a runaway.”

Danny’s eyes widen in surprise before narrowing into a warning as he turns to look at the pipsqueak that spoke.

“From your poorly made fake ID and the fact you don’t look close to eighteen, you must be a runaway minor. We could bring you in to the proper authorities if you prove to be… uncooperative.”

Danny sneers in annoyance.

“Seriously?” He turns back to Red Robin. Clearly the older of the two and the one leading this investigation. “This is what I get for trying to help? Blackmail?”

“Robin can be a bit… abrasive. I, on the other hand, can appreciate a different approach.”

Suddenly there’s a couple pieces of paper money in between his fingers. Danny couldn’t see how much it was from this far away, but it didn’t really change how he felt about the whole situation.

“Now bribery? Wow, you guys really got the whole good cop, bad cop thing down, don’t cha?”

“Then what do you want?”

“For you to stop wasting your time,” Danny answers with a snap.

Red Robin pauses.

“Our time,” he repeats calmly.

“Yea. Your time. This is a dead end and you should move on.”

“And why are you a dead end?” Presses Robin.

“Because,” Danny emphasizes with a look over his shoulder, “the guy you’re really looking for, my source as you put it, is dead, okay? So you can’t go ask him questions. I sent in everything that was relevant. Find another lead.”

Red Robin’s expression remains blank as he mentally calculates his next move. Danny hopes he takes his advice and let him go home.

“His name?”

Danny folds his arms over his chest, a pathetic attempt to protect himself. He chews on his lip a minute. To tell him or not to tell him. It’s not really ratting the guy out since he’s, you know, dead. Although there is a large chance Danny’s missing something and it’s all going to lead back to him somehow.

“I didn’t kill him.”

“I never said you did,” the vigilante replies calmly, almost nonchalant.

Danny shifts his weight with nerves. He really wasn’t getting out of this without giving them something, huh?

“Greg,” he grinds out like it’s painful.

Silence for a few moments, then-

“As in Gregory Boothe?”

The victim of this whole conversation? Yes.

Danny’s silence is answer enough and the diverted gaze just solidified their suspicions.

“Gregory Boothe’s body turned up a month ago. Presumably he’d been dead for several weeks before that.”

Red lets that damning information hang in the air like Danny didn’t already know.

“So when did he talk to you? Last week?”

Danny jerks at the off handed joke, actually taking a step back and hitching his shoulders up to his ears. He grimaces at his knee jerk response, but can’t take it back. A glance toward the vigilante shows a calculating stunned expression from what he can see ignoring the mask. He looks away again finding a discarded soda can very interesting.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Demands Robin behind him.

Danny tried to resist the urge to curl even more into himself, but knows he failed without even having to look.

“You’re a medium,” Red Robin states. It’s not even a question.

Danny flinches and shoots the guy a scared glare.

“I am not one of those scam artists,” he hisses firmly.

“No,” Red agrees, “you’re not. You didn’t ask for money or attention.”

Danny stares like it’s his first time seeing him. The lack of aggression or accusations was new and a little disarming. He was genuinely confused as to why the guy wasn’t immediately going to denial or throwing him in Arkham.

“Hell of a city to hide in when you can see ghosts,” Red Robin says in a light tone like he was teasing him. The small tug to his lips just proves it.

Danny’s shoulders practically sag at the playful demeanor. A hand reaches up to rub the back of his neck self-consciously.

“Yea, well… no one was gonna look for me here.”

Which was only half the reason he chose Gotham, but it was still truthful.

“So… Greg?”

“Isn’t here right now.” Danny pauses and snorts at himself. “Please leave a message.”

The vigilante does have a sense of humor because he smirks in response to the joke.

“Is there another way to… make contact? Summoning maybe?”

Danny raises an eyebrow incredulously.

“Summoning is rude,” he says like it’s common sense.

Instead he turns to the nearest reliable ghost in the vicinity.

“Hey, Susan, can you go-“

The vigilantes can’t hear how she interrupts him because she was standing there the whole time and knows exactly what he was going to ask.

“Okay, thanks. Meet at mine.”

The ghost woman nods and flies off to go hunt down dear old Greg and Danny turns to Red Robin. He makes a casual move with his head to say ‘follow me’ and continues walking down the sidewalk past the guy and further into the old, decrepit buildings he’s been squatting in.

They already know he’s a runaway, being homeless shouldn’t come as a shock to them. Even with his two jobs, he can’t afford to rent an apartment. No wonder so many people are in poverty or in the slums.

He ducks into his rundown building, ignoring the rats scurrying away, and hops up the rickety stairs, avoiding the ones that were unstable. It was a nightmare figuring out which steps were faulty. Lots of injuries.

At the top he turns to see Red easily copying his movements up the stairs while Robin balances along the railing like a tight rope. When they reach the top at the same time Danny just stares at them for a moment before shaking his head in exasperation. Darn vigilantes. Why did Danny have to get caught up in this mess?

He turns, walking along the floor closest to the wall before getting to what he’s deemed his room.

It used to be an office from what he can tell. A desk pushed against the far wall and a ripped sofa he’s been using as a bed on the other wall. The floors were the most stable in this room which really won out.

Danny goes to the desk where all his papers are scattered over the surface. An organizational pattern only he understands as he shuffles through the pile he pulls from the cubby above the desk. It holds all the same information he sent into the police, just in its raw form with about twice the amount of useless information. Along with it is a few other ‘cases’ that sounds familiar that he just threw together into a pile. Maybe the genius detectives could decipher what he couldn’t.

“Here,” he says, holding out the stack. Red Robin doesn’t hesitate to take it off his hands.

There’s no chair for the desk anymore so he slides some papers out of the way to hop onto the desk to wait.

“No.”

The vigilantes look at him and he shakes his head and looks over to the side.

“No, Abby. I’m not wasting their time.”

Red Robin goes back to flipping through papers. Most of them were old business papers he had found in the office and just written on the back. Some were receipts or pamphlets or some other random scrap of paper he could get his hands on.

“Because yours was an accident. There’s nothing for them to solve.”

Robin watched him cautiously as if waiting for Danny to snap or suddenly turn violent. Instead he leans back on his hands in a vulnerable position which screamed ‘I don’t want to hurt anyone’.

“There is a lot more information here than what was submitted to the police,” Red Robin comments neutrally, purposefully ignoring Danny’s exasperated sigh and one-sided conversation.

Danny shrugs in defense, “Didn’t think all of it was relevant.”

The vigilante doesn’t respond.

Robin drifts closer as Danny gives a withering glare to the corner. He examines the mess of papers surrounding the teen in the low lighting.

“Are these all files of victims?”

Danny glances over them with a knowledgeable eye.

“Most.” He twists to point at the top left corner of the cubbies. “Those are accidents though… well, what sounds like accidents.”

“There should be more.”

Danny looks at the boy with a tilted head and raises brow.

“Not everyone sticks around,” he explains simply.

Then something draws his attention away across the room. Surprisingly his eyes don’t glaze over like someone with mental illness, instead they sharpen to see something they can’t. It resembled Constantine or Thomas.

“Greg, these guys wanna talk to you.”

What proceeds is a very awkward interaction with Danny as a middle man between victim and vigilante. Despite the need for a translator, Red Robin does in fact get a lead from the conversation.

“Thank you for your cooperation.”

Danny nods. “Sure, no problem. Just don’t rat me out to the police and I can help with any other case that pops up with a ghost attached.”

“You know we can help with your living situation,” Red Robin offers with a glance around the room.

“What, and put me in foster care? No thanks, I’ll pass.”

“There are other options,” Robin chimes in with nonchalance that implies he doesn’t actually care.

“You don’t pass for eighteen, but if you let me make you a new ID we could say you’re emancipated.”

Danny frowns.

“I’d have to be sixteen to be eligible for emancipation.”

“You could be sixteen.”

No, he really couldn’t. Maybe if you squint your eyes and tilt your head, but Danny is fourteen with all the baby fat and innocent face that comes with it. His license now is a clear fake to anyone who sees it, but in this city no one’s gonna question it to his face. They just raise a brow, look at him, then shrug it off and roll with the lie.

“What do you want?” He demands. All this good will and wanting to help him can’t be free.

“We want to help,” Red says too easily.

Danny stares for a second, eyes narrowed as he tries to block out the multiple voices around him.

Insurance. He wants Danny to owe him so he can keep coming back for more information.

“I just told you I would help. Why are you still trying to get leverage?” He demands with irritation.

“We want to help-“

“You want me in your back pocket.”

Red Robin doesn’t give that a response, his lips pressing together to make a hard line.

Instead of pushing, he surprisingly takes a step back and heads towards the door, papers still in hand. Danny doesn’t argue.

Robin ducks out first, blending into the shadows without even a glance over his shoulder. Red Robin pauses in the doorway.

“Don’t try to skip town,” he states like an order. Like if Danny did in fact try, he would be found and brought back.

It didn’t even cross Danny’s mind.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he says tiredly, too fed up with the day to defend himself.

Red Robin watches him for a moment before nodding and disappearing out the room.

Danny slumps with a groan, finally sliding off the desk to shuffle to the couch, body flopping face first into the worn cushions.

It’s silent to everyone else but Danny.

“I know.”

…

“I know, Jack, but I don’t trust them. Even if he is your son.”

Danny never noticed the bug planted by Robin on the underside of the desk.

[lvl1l1]

LaDS men when you get flowers from someone else

pairings: Sylus, Rafayel, Xavier, Caleb, Zayne x F!Reader(separate)

content: jealousy, fluff, caleb and xavier are a teensy bit insane, charlie taking another L

Sylus

You two decided to spend the weekend at your apartment, he obviously wouldn’t be caught dead showing up empty handed.

As you open the door, the first thing you see is a beautifully arranged bouquet of camellias and carnations. The second is the smug grin on your boyfriend’s face, which is wiped right off as soon as he steps into your living room and notices the pathetically small bouquet you had already hosted in a vase.

“Kitten, was your budget for those flowers chump change and a dream? You should’ve known, I’d bring you a little something.”

Once you tell him, that those were a gift from a co-worker for helping him out, his demeanour shifts slightly, unnoticeable to the untrained eye. Luckily, you were the one person who could see right through him.

Not like that mattered, when he went to grab his phone before you could even say anything. You see him tap around a little before raising it to his ear, speaking into the device.

“Yeah, I want them all delivered.”

You look at him with furrowed brows and he finally went back to paying attention to you. A sharp smile makes its way to his face.

“I don’t mind you leaving these, to put it bluntly, sad flowers here. They’ll make all the bouquets i’m getting you stand out even more.”

The unimpressed stare you give him, clearly doesn’t phase him, as he just walks into your bedroom, pulling you along.

“You deserve only the best, the biggest and the grandest. For everything.”

“You’re almost winning me over, Sy. But shouldn’t we wait until those poor florists actually deliver whatever ridiculous amount of flowers you ordered?”

At that, Sylus pulled you closer, nuzzling his face into your hair,

“The flowers will be fine waiting outside of your door. It’ll also be a nice way to send a message to everyone living in this apartment complex. Now, how about a lesson in why you shouldn’t accept flowers from other men?”

You sigh first, suddenly going rigid as a realisation hits you,

“I don’t have enough vases. Or even space for more flowers!”

Being the last thing you mumbled before your bedroom door closed with a ‘click’.

Rafayel

You two were out running some errands together, grabbing art supplies for him, groceries and what-not.

Linkon City was as lively as ever, a melting pot for diverse people. You and Rafayel held hands, pushing through the crowd.

Rafayel was about to pull you into another store, when you’re stopped by a man.

He’s holding a small bouquet of red roses and smiles at you, not looking at Rafayel,

“Hi, miss. We’re giving out free flowers today, these are for you.”

You feel Rafayel squeeze your hand and you know he’s glaring without even looking at him,

“Oh, thank you but I don’t-“

The man practically shoves the flowers into your free hand,

“I insist. Have a good day!”

And with that, he turns and leaves you standing there holding the small bouquet.

A hum leaves your throat, shrugging and leaning in to smell the flowers, before you’re stopped by your boyfriend.

“Why would you accept these ugly flowers? There’s no artistic flair, just basic roses and their stems aren’t even cut evenly! Honestly, It’s like he’s trying to harass my girlfriend by making her look at something so hideous. Besides, you have a rich boyfriend capable of making you a wayyy better bouquet standing right here.”

You narrow your eyes at him, lips curling upwards, leaning closer to him,

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

Rafayel’s eyes widened at that, mouth falling open slightly,

“These are clearly just for a campaign, he’s just working. I wouldn’t have accepted them otherwise, don’t worry.”

Your boyfriend jutted out his lower lip, taking the bouquet out of your hand. He made the flowers go up in flames and before you could react he pulled you towards the nearest flower shop.

“Doesn’t matter. My girlfriend deserves flowers as pretty as her. I’m arranging this bouquet myself and it’ll be the prettiest you’ve ever seen!”

You playfully roll your eyes at his antics but you couldn’t help but appreciate his effort. So, you let him pull you along.

Xavier

It was date night and you and Xavier decided to go to your usual hotpot place. You were waiting outside of your apartment building for him, as he went to grab his wallet that he had forgotten at his place.

You were leaning against the gate, when a familiar voice suddenly called out to you,

“Oh, hey! I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Charlie walked up to you, you flashed him a little smile as you noticed the flowers he was holding.

“Someone brought me these at the bakery today! They look nice, don’t you think?”

You nodded curtly, not wanting to talk to him for too long, knowing Xavier might see.

Not taking the hint, Charlie’s face lit up, an idea flashing through his mind, not having learned anything from your last interaction.

“Hey, why don’t you take them? I don’t really have a place for them anyway.”

Not waiting for your reply, he pushed the bouquet towards you. Hesitantly, you take them,

“I don’t think this is a good idea-“

He waved you off and went to walk inside.

You stared at the flowers, biting your lips, thinking of what to do before Xavier returned.

You knew it was too late once you noticed the streetlights flickering and an ominous presence manifesting behind you.

“Throw them away.”

You quickly straightened your posture, turning around with a teasing smile,

“Hey there, Xav.”

“Throw them away.”

He repeated in a serious tone.

A sigh left you,

“I was planning on doing that anyway. Don’t you think it’d be a waste though?”

Xavier shook his head, a stern expression on his usually neutral face.

“Doesn’t matter, they’re ugly anyway. Besides, who gives away a gift they received? He’s got no shame.”

You raised an eyebrow at him,

“Why didn’t you come out earlier, if you were here already?”

He came closer, taking the flowers out of your grasp, not answering. He teleported over to the dumpsters, throwing the flowers in.

“I’ll get you prettier ones. Ones that actually mean something.”

You met him halfway and grabbed his hand,

“Alright. But let’s get going, before we miss our reservation.”

Xavier’s expression finally softened, a small smile making its way to his face as he looked at you.

You two started walking, you started talking to him about your day and he listened, nodding along.

Luckily, you didn’t notice how the entire buildings lights suddenly went out. He was gonna deal with that evil baker later.

Caleb

Caleb just got done cooking, when he finally heard a knock on his door.

You had finally gotten some days off after a gruelling week filled with missions back to back and you were staying with him in Skyhaven.

He was planning on helping you relax the entire time you were going to be with him. He would cook for you, take you wherever you wanted to go and monopolise your attention.

The brunet happily opened the door, immediately greeting you with a hug,

“Pipsqueak, I gave you the key to my place for a reason. You don’t have to knock.”

You giggled at him, walking inside and taking your shoes off with one hand.

That’s when he noticed the flowers you were holding, he cocked his head, not saying anything.

“Oh, a friend of mine gave these to me right before I left! Do you have a vase we could put them in?”

Caleb’s brows furrowed, his eyes darkening slightly.

“What was the occasion? These aren’t even your favourite flowers. Would expect them to be thoughtful, when pulling off a gesture like this.”

You looked at him, amused.

“Caleb, they’re just flowers. From someone who’s just a friend.”

He walked into the living room with you, looking at the bouquet like it personally offended him.

“Well, seems like we’ll have to take the bouquet apart, pipsqueak. Your friend put iris and chrysanthemums together. Vastly different vase life, would be bad if we put them together. Might as well throw them out, honestly. I’ll get you flowers that actually survive together.”

He didn’t miss the scepticism on your face as you put the bouquet on the coffee table. You walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Caleb, honey, you don’t need to let it out on the flowers, they’re innocent. My friend was just trying to be nice but if they bother you, we can throw them away.”

His hands found your waist, as he looked at you with those eyes, resembling a kicked puppy.

“But if you like them…”

You shook your head,

“They’re just flowers. You can just get me some. Or even better, I’ll bring you some next time!”

His face lit up again, pressing your foreheads together,

“You don’t need to bring me flowers, pips. That’s my job! Besides, I actually know which flowers you like, I’d never just carelessly put a bouquet together.”

You looked up at him through your lashes, realising what he was pulling,

“Caleb, you-“

He picked you up and brought you over to the kitchen, putting you down on the counter.

“Too late, you already agreed.”

He winked at you, and you noticed something fly out the window through your peripheral vision.

“Now, let’s eat and after that I’ll take you out shopping. We’ll pick up some flowers on the way.”

Zayne

Zayne was just finishing up the last of his work at the hospital, when he received a text from you,

“ahhh i just saw them, love the flowers zaynie! thank you so much”

He stared at his phone in confusion, trying to think of a response,

“What are you talking about, love?”

You sent him a picture of a bouquet of amaryllis, followed up by a text,

“they’re so pretty! they were just delivered, thank u<3”

His fingers twitched, as he left his office, making his way to his car.

“Leave them on the table. I’ll be home soon.”

With that, he put his phone away and got in his car.

-

You were slightly confused at Zayne’s last text but did as he said.

Once you heard keys turn in the lock, you quickly walked over to the door to welcome your boyfriend.

The door pushed open and your boyfriend walked inside, you noticed his bag wasn’t the only thing he was holding.

He presented you with a bouquet of your favourite flowers, before he even took off his coat.

“…welcome back, dear.”

The confusion in your voice evident, still accepting the flowers gratefully.

Zayne quietly took off his shoes and hung up his coat, pressing a kiss to your temple before walking into the kitchen.

“These flowers…”

He picked them off the table and glanced at them.

“They were delivered, yes? Did a note come with them?”

You went to stand next to him, holding the bouquet he just brought you,

“Nope. I’ll take it, those aren’t from you?”

He let out an affirmative hum,

“What do you say, we gift these to the elderly lady next door? And you find a vase for the ones I got you.”

“Sounds good! Just… who do you think sent these?”

His gaze met yours and his eyes lit up with affection for you.

“I’m not sure but I intent to find out. I can’t just stand by and watch as someone tries to make the woman I love swoon.”

You chuckled at that, switching to holding the bouquet he got you with one hand, caressing his face with your other,

“No one besides you could ever make me swoon, Zayne.”

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes,

“I know. Still, I won’t let this slide. I want you to be happy over things that are actually from me.”

At that, you press a sweet kiss to his lips. He was just so lovely.

[dazedantics]

Mark wasn't the bragging type. At least, not all the time. He has pride in his comic collection, his action figures, things like that which he always talks about.

But when you finally went to his house for the first time, you realized how little you asked him about himself.

He was rich?!?!

Well, obviously not so high in the upper crust since you went to the same school, but well enough off that you were totally star-stuck just by walking through the front door.

You came from completely different worlds! Why were the rooms so big? There was so many of them too! And everything was such a sleek, modern design, inside and out! The windows were huge! And everything was cleaned to a shine! He had a second floor? Even his yard was so well kept! You bet even his garage looked amazing! That TV is huge! Look at that fridge!

You stared at him for a long while after crossing the threshold, gesturing wildly around.

"What?" He laughed out, rubbing his neck.

"You live in a mansion dude!" You declared, following him in. "Why didn't you tell me I had a rich friend?"

"What are you talking about? No, I don't. You're just being dramatic. C'mon, let's get a snack before we go upstairs."

You walked behind him as he rummaged through the kitchen. "Dude, you have a big ol' pantry. That just proves my point!"

A well lit and fully stocked one too. And is that a dishwasher?

"I thought everyone had one?"

"No!" You exasperated.

He handed you a few bags of chips. "Anything you want to drink? We have water, juice, a few sodas ...."

"Dude. Mark. How on earth are we friends?"

"Uh, cause you bullied me that one time then for some reason decided that I was interesting enough to start hanging around."

He turned off the pantry light, closing the door with a few beverages tucked under his arm. "Alright, my parents will be back in a few so let's get to my room before they start pestering you with questions."

You followed him up the stairs and down the bright hall to his door. "That's not what I mean. And I said I was sorry for that!"

He paused, giving a nervous smile before slipping into his room, "W-wait here for a sec."

"And do you know how long we've known each other? Mark, you are literally only a few streets away from me. How have I never got invited to your house? Do you know how easy coming over would've been?"

"Well, I dunno, why would you want to come over? D-do you want to start coming over?" He stuttered through the door.

You could hear the shuffling of fabrics and thudding of a closet door a few times.

Leaning against the wall, you continued, "I just mean that most people do that. Though my parents never used to let me go over to friend's places, so it wouldn't have really changed anything. But my point is that you've been holding out on me! William's been over plenty of times! And why didn't he ever say anything? Is he rich too? Is this really normal for you guys? God, you are never coming to my house. I live in a shed compared to this. If you got a connecting bathroom in there, I swear to god ...."

"You're overreacting. It's just ... new surroundings, you're excited. You'll realize it's nothing as big as you're making it out to be. Okay, you can come in now," he opened the door, beckoning you inside.

His room was spacy, but rather plain compared to the rest of the house. Minimal amount of furniture, posters, plus his collectables. Very representative of him.

You took a seat on the bed as he closed the door, bringing out the supplies he'd been holding for your project. "Yeah right. Gonna be dreaming of this place when I get home, shoot."

He jumped up next to you, the mattress bouncing under his weight. "Whatever. Let's just get started on this. You brought the research papers?"

"Of course," you dug out the folder from your bag, shifting into a more comfortable position before focusing on the project.

You worked diligently for a while, the two of you comfortable as ever before his parents came home. Their laugher ringing up the stairs as they came in. Mark didn't seem to notice though, jolting up when he heard the knock on his door, his mother's face peeking in.

"Hey, Mark? Do you- oh? You invited someone?"

"Mom!?" He flushed, reaching for the highlighters that had fallen. "Don't you know you're supposed to wait a bit before you come in?"

"Yes, yes you've told me before."

"Then?"

It took a lot to not whip your head at him for his mannerisms.

But his mother seemed to take no offense, merely smiling to you in greeting. "Hi, I'm Debbie or Mrs. Grayson, Mark's mom. He hasn't kept you in here all day has he?"

You smiled, nodding politely as you introduced yourself. "Hi, I'm Y/N. And no, I haven't been here too long. It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Grayson."

Her brows raised slightly, glancing over at her son for a second. "Oh so you're, Y/N. Mark's told me a lot about you. If I had known you were coming over I'd have made a nice dinner for you. Mark why didn't you say anything?"

"Because, Mom! It's not that important!" The boy huffed, getting up to usher her out the door. "Now, excuse us, big school project to get back to?"

Watching the two interact threw you for a loop, what was wrong with him!?

"So now you care about your homework?" She maneuvered around him, her smile crinkling the corners of her eyes from the familiar movement. She was a happy person it seemed. Tired too. "It's nothing homemade, but we were just about to call Mark down for dinner if you'd like to join us? Ran into your father on the way home, we got your favorite from ... that takeout place you like."

She addressed the last part to her son.

Mark's tone softened a bit, glancing at you discreetly as if he was saying something embarrassing. "The place that puts the little prints on the toast?"

"Mhmm. We'll be downstairs waiting for you. You got five minutes, Mark!" She finished, her son quickly shutting the door the moment she turned around.

He blew out a sigh. Which quickly turned into slight yelp as you threw a pillow at him.

His head whipped around to glare at you. "What?"

"You're rich as heck, dude! No, sane kid would ever talk to their mother like that. Do you know what would've happened to me if I tried kicking her out like that? Privileged rich kids ...."

Sure he wasn't doing or saying anything as bad as he could have, but even his raised voice was pushing it!

Tossing the pillow back, he took a seat by the headboard. "Oh, c'mon, stop with that," he muttered. "We'll finish up that last paragraph then head down. Then ... I can walk you home before it gets too late?"

"You can't walk me home! My front porch will look like a baby's hut to you. And my family will not shut up if they see you next to me either. Is this what happens when you grow up without siblings? I don't even have my own room, dude!"

He gave you a look, seemingly done with all your exclamations, brown eyes fighting the urge to roll. "You're being weird. I'm sure it's not that bad. Let's just get downstairs already."

"If this takeout is more fancy than something from Burger Mart, I swear I'm gonna lose it. It's gonna be like ... A5 wagyu beef or something, huh?"

Your wild imagination wasn't too far off. The food, though in take out boxes, was definitely from some high end restaurant and still warm as if the trip didn't last more than a second. You were suddenly very conscious of your table manners.

But the family went along as if this was a simple ordeal, chatting casually and laughing.

His mother was really nice and friendly, making the act of sipping some wine -that you knew in your heart you'd never be able to afford- look so dainty and fluidly practiced. Not a drop was accidentally spilled onto her neat blouse or fresh pressed slacks.

She was very put together, jewelry minimal but pretty, and hair tied neatly in a well tamed bun. In the real estate business, she explained. It really showed, in her actions and her house. She was a business woman. You only wish to have an ounce of her grace when you were older.

And his dad?

Well ... okay maybe you were a little scared of his dad. I mean you could see the muscles practically aching to break free from the crop in his sleeves! You had no idea what he did for a living and you're not sure you wanted to find out.

But he was very well kept too. Dressed simple like his son, yeah, but you could tell he took pride in himself. He sat up a little too straight, his gestures firm and steady, smile far too charming, voice deep with a practiced confidence, blue eyes holding contact with whoever was speaking ... a bit too long ... kinda felt like he was staring into your soul ....

He had to have been a model or something when he was younger. One you had seen on a magazine in a dentist's waiting room or something.

Cause there was definitely something familiar about Mark's dad.

"Nolan." He'd introduced himself. Shaking your hand with a grip you were sure could've crushed bones if he tried.

Maybe it was the mustache. I mean, rarely anyone decided it was "the look" nowadays. But he wore it proudly.

Whatever it was that rang so familiar about him, you couldn't place. And you were far too scared to ask.

Anyways, the genes in this family were crazy. Mark literally had the cookie cutter perfection that the families in movies had. Was he even aware of that?

His parents even loved each other!

I mean, sure, maybe you were getting second hand embarrassment watching the two flirt so casually in front of your five star restaurant grade dinner.

But Mark was literally living most kid's dreams right now!

The rest of the night went on smoothly though, you watching the family's interaction with a strage feeling settling in your stomach. His parents even walked you out the door with a smile, Debbie offering for you to come again soon.

It wasn't until the two of you rounded the corner, out of sight from his parents, that Mark began to talk.

His cheeks were dusted pink, brown eyes fixed on the ground. One hand in his pocket, the other rubbing his neck. "I'm sorry about them. They're super embarrassing. All the time ...."

"Mark." You stopped. Standing in front of him, hands on his shoulders, shaking for emphasis. "Do you have any idea how lucky you are?"

A statement you would only find out later would become such a cruel irony.

"You better not do something dumb and get kicked out of there. I will literally have no chance at seeing luxury again if you do."

He laughed lightly, grabbing your wrists to pull your hands down. "Hey, if you wanna trade seeing them be gross every second of the day for whatever you got going on in your life, I would totally do it. Did you get everything of yours? Before we're too far away to turn back?"

You nodded, tugging the strap of the bag on your shoulder. "Just so you know, I am so talking to William about you when I get home."

"You're being weird again." He stated, continuing your walk down the street. "It's not that big a deal."

"If you say so, Mister Rich Kid."

"You know ... you can come over again. Even we don't have a project to work on. I-if you want."

"Are you kidding me? Heck yeah I'm coming over again! I'm gonna slowly worm my way into your life. Watch, your mom's gonna be inviting me over to all your obscure family parties. Imma be in your family pictures soon. Won't be able to get rid of me."

He laughed softly, sucking his lip between his teeth. "Uh ... not what I was going for but uhm ... it's a start, right?"

"What?"

"Nothing. Turn here?"

"Yeah." You continued on for a bit longer before pressing a hand to his chest to stop him.

"What?"

"Turn around, go home."

"Oh, uh, is this your house?" He turned, looking at the building you stood in front of. "It's not that different than mine. Just a little smaller, but nothing like you're making it out to be."

You shook your head. "No. My house is further down the street."

"Then why did we just-"

"Because! You can't be seen dropping me off! I was serious about what I said, my family is probably peeking out the curtains right this second."

"I don't mind saying 'hi' if they're that interested."

"Well I do!" You braced both hands to push him back slightly. "They will literally torment me until they know everything about you."

A laugh bubbled up in Mark's chest as he smiled, taking hold of your hands with his. "Alright fine, you have a few days more until I show up at your doorstep randomly. Then I'll be invited to all of your family events."

"Not funny, Mark."

"Yeah it is. Just a little bit." He teased. "But I'll stay here till I see you go inside, okay? Don't get all stressed about it."

"Thank you." You sighed letting go.

You paused before turning away, head angled to watch him as you walked.

"G'night." He smiled, rasing up a hand in parting.

He was such a dork.

"G'night," you waved back, turning fully around till you reached your house.

When you looked back again, hand resting on the door handle, he was still there waiting. And you smiled, shaking your head before walking in.

At least he had a bit of manners to show for tonight.

But William was in for a long night of chatter on your end once you settled into your room.

[alexispunkkk]

back where we started

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

- pairing: dark!joel x fem!reader

- summary: joel is a horrible partner post-outbreak. he yells. isn't too nice. fucks.

- warnings: dark!!! dubcon, slapping, choking, hair tugging, unprotected piv (don't do this guys!), smut smut smut smut, degrading, yelling, no established relationship, rough sex, crying, unsafe sex, angry sex, joel has crazy anger issues, blood, huggeee nasty age gap (legal, though! your choice for age), public / outdoor sex, size kink, joel's got a massive dick lols, power imbalance, submission, no aftercare, squirting, dirty talk, thigh riding if you squint, manhandling, joel is just incredibly mean. total asshole.

- word count: 4.5k

- author’s note: feining for mr joel miller recently so i wrote this... my first joel fic!! its gross yall. have your fun though!

—————————————୨ৎ

Partnering up with Joel Miller wasn’t ideal. He’s always looking at you like you’re some problem he doesn’t know how to solve – like you’re just cargo he’s exhausted of having to drag along. 

You don’t want to admit it, but he’s honestly an asshole. A real fucking dick, a mean bastard. To everyone else you meet, you’re a well loved, sweet girl. To Joel, though, you’re a burden. He’s a miserable person, and hanging around him only came with the positive that he knew how to hunt, how to keep you decently safe. But, hey, it’s better to be stuck with a brute of a man than to be infected. Right?

For whatever reason, the frustration has been building worse than usual for the past few days. You move like you’re on eggshells, do anything to not upset him, stay quiet when you’re asked and obey his every order. But it’s Joel fucking Miller. Nothing is ever enough with him. 

You’re young, but that's not a valid excuse for Joel. He expects as much out of you as he would another man his size and seniority, which is totally unfair of a girl your age.

So every little mistake ticks him off. Really riles him up. His temper is really fired up today for whatever reason, and you’re trying your best to not exacerbate it. 

—————————————୨ৎ

Joel should know now your most common flaws – he does pay attention, but that mind of his was too preoccupied with his fresh plan to head east to remember just how forgetful you tend to be. 

You remember twenty minutes after you leave. Everything is packed up, rifle on Joel’s thick shoulder, sleeping bags taken from Bill and Frank’s now deserted house strapped to your backs. Everything but one thing. And arguably, the most important thing for the new change of route. 

“Can y’get me out the map, girl?”

Girl. He always insists on calling you that. Rather derogatory, like he doesn’t wanna address you by a human name. Just girl.

At the question, your steps stutter. A little patch of dirt kicked up from your shoe hits the back of Joel’s calf, earning a soft grunt. “You fuckin’ deaf now? I said gimme the damn map.”

He knows what your silence means, and in that moment he's about to lose his goddamn mind. His feet stop bluntly, his large, brooding frame turning to face you. 

Your pace slows soon after him, halting to a nervous stop while your gaze flickers from its usual spot on the ground up into his dark eyes. A warning look.

“Better not tell me you lost the fuckin’ thing.” 

No words come out of your mouth, let alone even pop into your head; all you can seem to do is stare up at him like a mindless idiot, his height towering over yours when he takes a small step closer.

Again, your steps follow, this time backward. You stumble back half a foot, a twig cracking under the shift of your weight. Out of nervous habit, your left hand reaches for the right wrist, gently stroking the skin to keep yourself somewhat calm.

“Joel, I didn’t–”

His movements match your own, his large, calloused hands lurching forward to rip your hand off your wrist. It gets replaced with his own grip, but much tighter. Aggressive. Taut. Outraged. 

“Y’didn’t what? Didn’t think for once how t’not be a goddamned idiot?” He snarls, his untamed fingernails digging into the skin for a moment and leaving tiny crescents into the first layer. “Why d’you always gotta be like this, girl? Fuckin’ stupid…”

He trails off, removing his tight grip on your forearm, but not without hostility. He lets go but ends it with a good yank. Not hard enough to pop it out of place, but hard enough to get a quiet whimper out of your shy throat.

You never know what to say when he gets like this. Whether to defend yourself, whether to stay shut up and take the tirade. But you sure know well enough not to fight back – that’s how to get your arm pulled out of the socket.

“I–I swear, Joel. I had it, I don’t know where it went.”

He never takes your stupid excuses. They’re useless, he’ll never believe you. He knows that you know you forgot it at the last spot you camped out. And this time, the excuse was a pathetic mumble, your eyes glued at your wrist and the mark he left when he gripped it. Even more to make your pitiful case unconvincing. 

“Yeah, the hell you do. Quit lyin’, you know damn well where that map is.” He scoffs, brushing past you with a shove to the shoulder, his larger figure knocking you a few inches with a soft oof. “Back in the woods where you left it, ain’t it?”

Of course, you can’t plead your case anymore. You give in, nodding in submission and trudging after him once he turns around, back in the direction where you surely left the damn map. 

“...Yeah.” You murmur, rubbing a dry hand across the bottom half of your face, against your snotty nose. Not because you’d been crying, this is nothing from Joel yet. Just because the month has been terribly cold and sleeping outside every night isn’t doing you well. “At our last camp. M’sorry.”

“Always fuckin’ sorry. Sorry for almost gettin’ yourself killed, sorry for forgetting somethin’ again and again. M’sick of your shit.” He grunts, readjusting the rifle strapped over his shoulder. 

When you first met him, words like that got to you, as much as you hate to admit it. But now, everything seems to fade together. He’s just Joel. That’s how he is. And you’ve gotta live with it and try your best to not piss him off. 

To your luck, he shuts up and stops berating you – at least until you’re close to the previous camp spot. Just silence, interrupted only by the awkward shuffling of your steps behind him, desperately trying to keep up with his longer strides and stay quiet to not worsen his anger.

But when you get close enough and he has to start looking for the damned map, his mumbling and annoyance boils over once again, infiltrating the somewhat comfortable silence that your ears just got used to.

“Map was the only fuckin’ thing getting us around… no goddamn compass.” Joel mutters under his breath. Not at you, for once, but just a natural spilling of his frustration. He’s always gotta be mumbling about something, even in his sleep. “Slow me down enough as is. Gotta lose everythin’, too.”

You joined aimlessly behind him, searching around the patchy grass, anywhere for the map that was stressing him out so terribly. 

Minutes go by. He’s getting angrier by the minute, his hands flexing while he crouches down and searches. Mad, but still pretty tame for a pissed-off Joel Miller. 

That is, until he glances up and actually gets a look at you for the first time in an hour. He normally avoids any eye contact, avoids even peeking over at you. At that damn little frame… so much younger, sweeter. He seemingly hates having you around because you always tick him off, but what he hates more is the temptation that comes with having a pretty little girl by his side at all times.

He finally lets his eyes fall on you. But this time, he can’t even get his usual peek at your lips or neck, because something else catches his eye. A familiar shred of paper – just the fucking corner – poking out the zipper of your backpack. 

He genuinely slaps himself in the face, eyes turning dark and fists curling up in pure rage at the sight.

“Are you fucking kidding me.”

He growls. Not a question, but a threat. His eyes are black at this point, breath speeding up while he takes another step toward you. Not cautious like he’ll sometimes let himself be, but warring. 

You’re confused for a bit, as you hadn’t seen the map in your own bag. Or even thought to look before you turned around and walked a half hour back, a complete waste of your time. “Oh…”

He starts again, his voice much lower than usual. Dangerous.

“You wanna tell me…” Joel breathes, stepping towards you even more until he’s got you backed against a tree. Bark pushing your shirt and jacket up, scraping at the bare skin of your lower back. “Why the hell we just wasted an hour of our time, when the map was practically right in your fuckin’ hand!”

As he curses, your heart drops. You don’t have time to react before his hands are up, flying at you. You flinch, thinking they’re coming to hurt you, but they’re reaching into your backpack. 

And sure enough, there it is. The map you spent so much valuable time fussing over. Right on your damn back. 

‘I didn’t know, Joel. Didn’t think to check.” You whimper and choke out from the back of your throat, weak and apologetic. Again, he’s not one for excuses and apologies. He’s on you before you can even think, hand forcing the map in your face.

His palm hits your mouth when he shoves the paper, a direct blow to your jaw. Your lip comes in forced contact with your bottom row of teeth, tearing the skin and swelling instantly. The only thing that can escape your mouth now is a pained whimper, which agitates the furious man on top of you worse. 

“Fuckin’ idiot. Wastin’ my damn time like always. Do you ever think?” He scoffs and backs up, maybe half an inch. 

When he notices your slightly busted lip, it brings him a sense of triumph. You ticked him off and now you’re gonna pay for it. And you sure enough feel guilty enough to not stop him, so he’s got you trapped now.

You’re frozen in place against the tree, refusing to move or utter out even the smallest of another noise. Suddenly, Joel’s mind is more occupied by the girl under his grip, shaking like a damn leaf with a bleeding and busted lip. 

“Asked you a question, little shit.” He grunts and lets his hand venture up to your jaw, pushing it around like a toy before settling with a tight grip, squeezing your cheeks and watching how the blood oozes from your lip at the pressure. “Said, do you ever fuckin’ think?”

Sure, he’s yelled at you plenty, disciplined you, maybe put his hands on you out of frustration a couple of times before. But it never feels like this. His hands usually let up after they land on you, but now he’s squeezing at your face and looking into your hazy eyes as if this is a challenge.

“Mm.” You whine, throat bobbing while you adjust to the feeling of his huge hand gripping your face. “N-no.” 

Your voice is only the softest of a mutter. 

“Speak up, girl. Didn’t hear ya’.” He rolls his eyes, giving your face a nice knead and jerking it to the side to jolt you up more. 

A shuddering breath leaves your mouth, head jerking to the right at the flick of his wrist. He holds it against the tree, your ponytail getting caught on the rough edge of the bark, the lumber scraping your ear.

“No. Don’t–don’t ever think enough. M’sorry. Wasn’t… wasn’t thinkin’.”

You sigh, head lifting up while you feel the familiar sensation of your throat tightening up, eyes starting to burn. But you keep it in. 

Joel hums, jerking your head again and shoving it harder onto the hard bark. “Damn right. Don’t think. A fuckin’ burden on me.”

He’s not doing it because he’s mad anymore. Hell, he’s already forgotten about the stupid map that caused all of this. He’s doing it to get a rise out of you.

And you know that’s all he wants.

His gaze is different, his tone similar to but not matching the genuine anger you hear from him most of the time. There's a hint of more challenge in it, maybe even passion. The hand on your jaw only confirms that.

“Shoulda’ left you behind when I got the chance.” He mutters, knowing that threatening to leave you really gets under your skin. Honestly, he’s all that you have, and you’d be dead without him. So that always seems to hurt a little more than some name calling. 

You don’t react, gulping and keeping still at his arduous words. Getting no reaction from you riles him up worse, his free hand coming down to strike at the wood above your head. You flinch, and a tear unpromptedly rolls down your cheek. You don’t feel it until Joel curses, laughing in disbelief and moving his hand from your jaw down to your throat.

He squeezes. Not tight, not yet. A groan escapes his throat, low and almost pained. And before you know it, he’s got his body pressed against yours, rubbing you uncomfortably into the rotting tree. 

“Such a fuckin’ mess.” He grunts, one hand around your throat to cut off any words and the other moving to your chin to move your gaze up to him. “Cryin’ like a baby when you were the one that lost the map.” 

Your pulse jumps when he degrades you, and he swears he sees something else in your eyes this time. Not the usual fear, but something that looks like arousal. 

It sparks something in him, and he wants to see it again. His hand tightens on your neck, earning a pained gasp from your pretty throat. Your eyes lock, and he watches your head tilt back against the tree, your eyes fluttering slightly.

He can’t take much more. A tiny whimper comes out of you when his knee presses against your thigh. 

That’s it. That’s fucking it.

Joel growls. Low. Frustrated. He gives up on the choking, instead gripping the back of your head and taking hold of your messy ponytail. He tugs, tilting your head more, his big aquiline nose moving down to bump under your ear and rub along the cold curve of your jaw. 

“Fuck’s wrong with you?” He whispers, his unkempt scruff that he calls a beard brushing up against you, scratching deep into the skin he just had a hand wrapped around. “Feel you gettin’ turned on. Fuckin’ slut, getting all worked up when I’m angry with you.”

You can’t do anything but take his advances and cry softly, feeling the cotton of your panties dampening each time his gruff voice comes out against your ear, his harsh breath biting at your neck. 

“Don’t got time for th’shit.” He mutters, but you hear his resolve dropping. He’s getting less and less frustrated over you wasting time, but more frustrated over the fact that he’s got his knee between your legs and he can feel the heat seeping through the fabrics, even in the biting cold weather. “Don’t got time for you makin’ me… makin’ me–ngh.”

His words stop, replaced by a low grunt into your ear the second your body even twitches against his. The grip on your ponytail tightens, tugging backward and earning a needy whine from you.

As much as he wants to keep degrading you, making you feel worthless under him, he’s feeling pretty pathetic himself. And he never gets like this with women.

His nose bumps your ear one more time before he can’t take it – his lips crash into yours. It’s not friendly. It’s not intimate. It’s fucking rude.

He intrudes, letting go of your hair and grabbing your body instead to push you against the damn tree harder. Mouths battle, and he wins, nipping hard and tasting the metallic blood from where he busted your lip earlier. Yum. 

“Joel.” You whimper, finally. It’s music to his ears, but he can’t show that. He has to be tough, not show that he’s into this. Not into the young girl he’s supposed to be training.

Joel grumbles, bringing a hand up to mindlessly slap at the side of your face at the sound of your whimper. 

“Shut up.”

And you do.

You’d do anything he told you right now. The feeling of him slapping you, biting your lips, pressing his thick knee between your thighs has got you absolutely pathetic. It’s fucking disgusting, you know that. To be so grossly into the fifty-six year old man that’s been taking care of you, the one that relentlessly bullies you and makes you feel like a worthless burden.

But you like it. You’d be anything for him, even if it meant being a worthless, pathetic burden. 

Joel’s got control. Obviously. His hand that slapped you runs over the heated skin in the same spot, almost to soothe it. What a gentleman. His lips slow on yours for a moment, latching onto the neck he had his hand around earlier instead.

In the deep woods, the only sounds heard are the birds above and his angry gasps against your skin, breathing like a madman. The softer sounds are interrupted by one of his belt clinking, being unbuckled mindlessly. And then the rustle of fabric. And then the unfamiliar sound of denim against Joel’s rough skin.

He’s straining against his boxers. Hard. Harder than he thinks he may ever have, but you don’t know that. You can tell he’s big through the fabric. It’s a thought that’s crossed your mind maybe once or twice, but you would never have expected for it to be pressed against your thigh, dangerous amounts of precum slowly leaking through the thin fabric of his briefs. 

You distract yourself while he gets busy attacking your neck and working your pants off – you don’t wanna believe it. Joel Miller is about to fuck you. He slapped you, choked you, degraded you, sure. That’s believable. But now he’s going to fuck you with that giant cock of his. 

As if it helps you not give in too much, you look everywhere to try and distract yourself. Down. His boxers read CALVIN KLEIN at the top. Up. The top button of his flannel came undone. He’s got a lot of chest hair. Behind him. There’s a bird watching him gnaw at your neck and tear your pants off, watching his bulging cock rub against your covered thigh. 

And the map is on the ground behind him.

“Fuck you lookin’ at?” He finally interrupts your private session of ‘I spy,’ breathing heavy against your skin and cupping your clothed cunt through your panties. “Look at me.”

You look up, gaze locking with his again. His eyes are equally as dark, but not with anger anymore. Desire. 

He’s gripping extra hard, hands splayed across your waist – almost big enough to wrap around, to grip you real good. Joel’s eyes travel all down your body in ways he’s only ever dreamed of, your pants torn down and now discarded on the forest floor. 

“Gonna fuck the stupidity right outchya’, yeah?” He chuckles, hoisting your body up to keep you settled between him and the tree. “‘N I want you lookin’ at me while I do it, kay’, girl? Eyes up. C’mon now.”

You can do nothing but oblige. Your eyes dart up, staying on him, even when he pulls his cock out that you so badly want to get a look at. The sound of him stroking himself, little grunts escaping his throat mindlessly, is so fucking tempting. 

But you listen, eyes staying on him, hoping to get some kind of praise from him for the first time in your life. Or maybe you want to keep getting debased. Maybe both. You seem to like the shame of it. 

“Gonna fuck you s’good you never forget anythin’ again. M’still pissed about that map, y’hear me?” He grunts, lifting you effortlessly to move his cock up into place. He’s so strong, and you’re so little. He can manhandle you however he wants, use you for his pleasure. And maybe you want that. 

From your mouth slips an obedient hum, your head shaking in a little nod so he knows you’re listening. You swear you see the corner of his mouth quirk up in a smirk, but he replaces it within half a second with a grumble to maintain the tough guy look. 

His cock meets your slick after he pulls your panties to the side, not bothering to take them off. You’re not worth the time. Not after wasting that time with the map debacle. 

The pulsing head of it drags along your slit, collecting a bit of you on the tip, making a filthy mix with his precum. It’s been a minute since any intimacy for Joel, but he can’t let you know anything. Can’t show any kind of vulnerability. He keeps it in, biting his lip and grunting to avoid any embarrassing soft noises.

“Ain’t stoppin’ if you can’t take it, by th’way.” He grumbles into your ear, his tip just barely edging into your soaked cunt. You whimper, and he squeezes your waist in warning. If he didn’t have to be holding you up, he’d have hit you again. 

But, the soft noises you let out make him want more. You seem to let them out when you’re scared – or maybe it's out of arousal. Only from when he totally degrades you. He doesn’t care, he just wants to fuck you senseless.

“Could break ya’ if I wanted. Little… tight fuckin’ pussy.” He groans, head hitting the tree next to yours when his cock finally slides in. It was a fight to get in, your tight walls not stretched enough for his fat dick to fit due to your lack of experience. “Take ya’ how I fuckin’ want.’

If this was any other man, you’d cry and beg for him to stop. But Joel. It’s Joel. Joel fucking Miller. 

It hurts, but his threatening words seem to egg you on. They prod you to take it, try harder to take the thick cock that’s splitting your body right in half.

He doesn’t start slow like some guys. Joel doesn’t start slow. Ever. Joel Miller fucks, and he fucks how he wants. This isn’t about you, this is about him getting his worth back after you wasted all his damn time. 

His hips slam into you at an alarming pace, no time for you to stretch out and adjust to the movement. He’s already hitting deep enough to where, if your shirt was off, you could see the print all the way in your stomach. But no. Your shirt is on. Joel Miller doesn’t care enough to worry about a shirt, that’s foolish. He just wants pussy – no, needs it. He’s a man with priorities. 

You’re screaming, pain and pleasure. Usually he’d tell a woman to ‘shut the fuck’ up for being too loud, but you’re in the middle of the woods. Nobody around, except for the same fucking bird that’s continuing to watch you get destroyed and ripped open by a fifty-six year old. Great.

“God, baby. You’re fuckin’ helpless.” He grunts into your neck, resolve slowly slipping more. His noises get worse, louder. He doesn’t care enough anymore to pretend like this is some chore. 

He’s fucking you and he means it. 

Joel’s hips stutter after a few minutes, just in time with your own. Synced up perfectly. His rhythm is getting out of pace while you feel the pull deep in your core you haven’t felt in so long – white hot pooling in your stomach. You clench around him.

He can’t speak anymore, just like how you haven’t been able to for minutes now. All he can manage out are little grumbles into your hair, squeezing your body while he struggles with words. Getting pathetic himself.

“Fuckin’-- mm. Baby. Baby. Gon’cum soon.” 

At least he warns you. 

You could tell, anyway. The stuttering of his hips, the way he’s only hitting nice and deep now. But you’re in worse, you can’t warn him because your mouth is hung open entirely, spilling out the most pitiful string of moans that doesn’t seem to ever end. 

Without warning, you clench again. He groans, but gets louder when he feels you spill. Burst. All over his aching cock. 

“Shit, shit. You – you squirtin’?” Joel grumbles out, body spasming at the feeling of your liquids all coming out at once. Your legs are shaking, and he feels his own limbs join in. It was too much for him. 

He cums. Hard. Maybe harder than he ever has before, but you don’t have to find that bit out. 

The moment melts into a disgusting mess of simultaneous moans, whimpers, even from Joel. Despite the cold weather that was almost making you sick earlier, you feel hot. Sweaty. Both of  you.

Joel’s head comes to rest atop yours, stroking the back of your ponytail that he’d been tugging at the whole time. And for a moment – just a short moment – you thought he’d maybe take care of you after. Like a real man. 

But no. Apparently, you don’t know Joel well enough by now. He’s his own kind of man.

Once his breathing returns – somewhat – he’s back to ole’ Joel Miller. Grunts, huffs and drops you down by the tree. Tucks his spent cock back in. Before you know it, before you can speak, his pants and belt are back in place and his rifle is strapped back on his shoulder.

Your eyes shut, back scraped up from the rough tree he fucked you relentlessly against. Taking a shuddering breath, you rest for a moment, thinking that if he didn't give you any aftercare he’d at least let you have a moment to breathe. 

But again, no.

“Fuck you doin’?” 

Your single moment of silence is rudely interrupted by his southern drawl, entirely back to normal as if he didn’t have the most intense sex of his life only two minutes ago. As if forgetting it ever happened. 

And the map is back in his hand. And he looks so normal compared to you. And it makes you want to cry for whatever reason. 

There’s nothing else to do but hold back a pained whine from the soreness already building in your body, the blood you feel dripping on your back from the tree, and the metal taste of blood where he hit your lip. The slap on your cheek. The handprint on your throat. Fuck.

“C’mon, little shit. Gotta hurry. Now you wasted an hour of my time.”