#maybe body horror too i dunno

[nokingsonlyfooles]

I Dunno What to Do

CW: I'm going to add a picture of a burn one of my healthcare providers gave me, just to express what's going on in general. I'll put everything under a cut.

Tonight, over a phone appointment (because she doesn't think I'm complicated enough to need an in-person appointment) the gynecologist flat out told me that thyroid and estrogen do not interact with each other (not true), that because I had a total hysterectomy I produce "no hormones" and when I sputtered and said I produce lots of hormones, she clarified that I produce no estrogen or progesterone (also not true), and she doesn't deal with anything other than "hot flashes, night sweats and vaginal dryness." That is not the nature of my symptoms - I am experiencing pain, and I told her that more than once, but I didn't get any traction until I started saying, "hot flashes, night sweats and vaginal dryness" like she wanted. The spouse thought I should make a point of reiterating that my symptoms are atypical, but she cut me off before I could even start.

It's really convenient that I have three doctors "working together" (ha-ha) on this, because nothing is ever any one doctor's responsibility. It's always someone else's problem. I said, "The progesterone helped my pain but increased my anxiety." She said, "Progesterone decreases anxiety." (Once again, not true. It can, but it can also make anxiety worse.) "That sounds like it could be something to do with your thyroid. Until you stabilize your thyroid, we won't know which symptoms are caused by what." I couldn't tell her that my thyroid meds have been stable since last September and the only thing that changed was the progesterone. I physically couldn't - if you cut me off enough times and keep saying things that don't make any sense, my words'll dry up like a wash in the desert - but I don't think it would've made any difference if I handed the phone to the spouse and let him explain. Not a good difference.

Then, in the end, she told me to stop increasing and decreasing my dosage trying to feel better, because it would mess with my thyroid and... I was the one who said that. I contradicted her when she said my thyroid had nothing to do with her. But when she wanted to control my behaviour, she threw it back in my face like she knew and I didn't.

I know my pain is increased and decreased by the hormones I'm taking, because I've been taking various combinations of hormones for years now. No estrogen or progesterone at all, which happened during the early days of the pandemic, caused the worst pain imaginable. I couldn't wear a shirt. I was taping my breasts and wearing sports bras two sizes too small just to keep them compressed and out of the way so nothing would touch them. I did that so much the tape cut my skin. Estrogen and progesterone lessen that pain, but I still have pain.

I've changed the way I carry my whole body and sleep because of this pain. I am always hunching to protect my stupid tits, and I don't reach across my upper body or hold things against my chest or let people hug me, even when I have a good day and they don't hurt so much. I'm that used to it. Because I'm not getting consistent care. And this tortured posture is contributing to my shoulder pain. Now that I've managed to wring estrogen AND progesterone out of this reluctant doctor ("You don't need progesterone unless you have a uterus. It'll make your breast pain worse. You might gain weight." *pointed look*) it hurts less, and I tripped over some exercises that are helping, but my shoulder has been hurting for years now too.

And that brings me back to my family doctor, who is supposed to take the lead and coordinate all these things, and who, in fact, gatekept me from a hormone specialist of any kind for over a year, and then referred me to these people who don't listen and don't seem to understand very basic things about hormones. At least, the gynecologist doesn't - or she's trying to dumb it down so much that she's not making any sense. I hold out some small hope the endocrinologist will see reason if I sit down and explain what's going on, but I won't see him again until March.

But, the very first referral I got from my family doctor was for the shoulder pain. He sent me to a chiropractor. She did multiple adjustments that made my shoulder numb, and burned my back with the TENS unit, probably by using dirty pads or failing to clean my skin before applying them.

Oh, and she didn't tell me. She sent me home, and I noticed the stabbing pain in my shoulder seemed a bit worse. When I looked in the bathroom mirror, I saw this:

I took a picture so I could show her, but I decided not to go back. I went to the family doctor and said, "That chiropractor you sent me to burned my back with the TENS unit" and the response was *crickets*. A blank look and it was back to "prescribing" me more herbs and supplements. He didn't even look at it.

I have scar tissue back there now, and nerve damage that's making it harder to address the original issue. I tried to get healthcare, I didn't ask the right questions or push back hard enough, and I got hurt even worse. Story of my life.

He's still pressuring me to take "sea kelp" because "it has trace minerals." It also has iodine. Lots of it. I told him I wasn't going to take any more iodine because the endocrinologist he sent me to told me it could shut down my thyroid. So now he's telling me to take sea kelp for trace minerals, like I couldn't possibly remember the iodine part. No, I'm not that stupid. I went along with the herbs for a while, too long, because that was the only thing he was offering me, and traditional medicine hadn't helped much at that point. No, turns out I didn't need unregulated OTC supplements, I needed to keep making a pest of myself until I got some real medicine. And I'm still doing that.

I just want to get better. It's hard enough putting in the effort to get better when I've gone through so much medical neglect and so many problems have piled up without being addressed. But I can't put all my energy into self care, or even most of it. I gotta fight my doctors, and do research, and piss them off by questioning their judgment again and again and again.

I suspect my family doctor is al the root of this. He doesn't care, and he refers me to other doctors who don't care. (Except the vision specialist, I found her myself. But the problem with her is, my eye thing is so uncommon most optometrists don't know about it. So I'm stuck with her too.) But I can't get rid of him unless I move to another city... or find another family doctor who's taking new patients, but there aren't any. And the clinics that fill prescriptions and do referrals won't treat me behind his back. I went to one. I tried. "You have a family doctor, he knows you better." No, he doesn't. And if he keeps treating me this way, he's gonna kill me. Or one of 'em is.

I've had doctors try to kill me before. One of 'em got me to take a dose of iron that would've put me in the hospital if a random pharmacist hadn't caught it and told me to stop. This here Canadian healthcare is the best I've ever gotten.

And, oh my god, that is terrifying.

I'm going to make an in-person appointment with the endocrinologist and lay it on the line for him: "This is what's happening. I'm getting contradictory treatment from three sources and my life is in danger. I don't have the authority to sort you out. If you can't take charge of this mess, no one else will." But if that doesn't work, or if he cuts me off before I even say it and goes, "I only treat thyroids" I don't know what I'm gonna do.

I don't like that so much of the fallout lands on my spouse. He lost someone due to this kinda neglect and I do not like hammering his trauma buttons. So I'm venting here, but I don't like doing that either. My problems are so persistent and so stupid that I sound like a scam artist or a nut. (Look, they dropped Agent Orange on my dad and didn't tell him until I was in my thirties. That's at least one big reason my body doesn't work right. I didn't even have a chance.) And he's gonna read this and get upset anyway.

But this is how I'm best able to say things, in text, and I need to say it. Maybe if I practice it here, I'll be able to explain it better to the endocrinologist. Or maybe someone'll see it and tell me some Canadian method of getting rid of an awful doctor that I'm unaware of. Other than waiting for him to get disbarred or die, ya know?

This is essentially the situation I grew up in: the people who are supposed to take care of me don't want to, but they're going to smile and say they are, and any problems I may be having are all my own fault. If I want care, I gotta steal it like Coyote grabbing fire off the gods. 'Cos I need that shit to live. But that takes so much social engineering and effort and I'm so damn tired. I'm not a Trickster or a Hero. I'm hurt. I've been hurt a long time. I ain't never gonna be "normal" but what I've managed to claw out of this broke-ass system proves that I can get better.

If they'd only let me.

[screwpinecaprice]

CW for itsy bit of blood.

Giving some semi-monster (tender) lovin', requested by Dragonuva!

I very much enjoyed drawing this! 🥰

[binders-and-beanies]

Doin bad again folx

[abyssalstardust]

Long time Dead Space fan and the remake is great etc etc but I can't put my finger on why a lot of the Necromorphs in the original DS just seem scarier

[quackurucho]

i promise you im only a LITTLE bit obsessed with the idea of quackcicle kid being this eldritch being whose body is a lanky tangle of flesh, goop and feathers, and wearing a 1900s doll-face mask that covers up their head which is just slime and has no actual facial features, and them having the same expressionless-type voice as ccharlie, and them knowing how to get what they want from other kids and doing so because they learnt manipulation from cquackity - not purposely but they’d overhear some things that’s for sure - , and their hair being brown with spots of black like a calico cats fur, and them walking on their tiptoes and turning their full body when they glance at something rather than just their head and having just overall unnerving movements that a human person wouldn’t have, and them being able to stretch their limbs but sometimes you can see the flesh come undone underneath the goop and they just rearrange bones and nerves and stuff meat back into wounds like it’s nothing. oh yeah also i like to think cquackity would call them duckling :o)

[freedomfireflies]

Show Me*

Summary: The second part to Teach Me*

Class is in session, and this time, Harry needs a little help exploring his favorite kinks. Like...how to get somebody off underneath a table.

And you're more than happy to lend a helping...hand.

Word Count: 6k

“So…how did she like it?”

Harry laughs as he slips out of his car. “Wow, I think that’s a new record. Waited a whole thirty seconds to ask me.”

“Bite me,” you retort as he makes his way toward where you’re waiting on the sidewalk. “Well?”

He shrugs, hands shoving into his pockets. “Dunno. We never got to it.”

“So, just straight to the fucking, then, huh?” you question. “No foreplay at all? I mean, hey…if that’s what she’s into…great. But, personally, I think the foreplay is the best—”

“All right,” he interjects with a wicked yet amused grin. “That’s not what I meant. She got called into work before we could.”

“Oh.” You offer him a pitiful frown. “Sorry, bud.”

“Bite me,” he mimics as he brushes past you. “S’fine. It’ll happen when it happens.”

“That’s the spirit,” you encourage as you fall in-line beside him. “Gives you more time to find your nerve.”

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly, glancing down at the concrete. “Or more time to practice…other things.”

“Other things?”

“Yeah,” he says again, one brow raising as he looks back over. “You know, like…how to eat ass.”

Finally catching onto his joke, you groan and reach out to shove him away from you, watching as he stumbles with a laugh. “Fucking hilarious.”

“Listen, I was actually looking forward to it,” he continues, hand over his heart as if disappointed. “I bet you really know how to eat some ass.”

“Ha…ha.”

“What? You do, don’t you? Cause of…Eric?”

The familiar but dreaded name sends a shiver down your spine as you recoil away and scrunch your nose in horror. “Ew.”

He looks proud. “Well? Am I wrong?”

“Yes,” you huff before sighing. “…no. But he wasn’t that great of a teacher, anyhow.”

“No fucking kidding,” Harry snorts with a smile. “You’re much better.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” he beams, reaching out for the door of the restaurant to swing it open. “After you.”

“As it should be,” you tease, winking to hint at the double entendre, and his eyes roll.

You find your large group of friends already gathered around a table near the back of the room, and quickly make your way over.

For the next few minutes, you all exchange pleasantries, catch-up, and tease Harry about his failed attempt at mating.

He’s a good sport about it, flipping everyone off with a smile before changing the subject. 

Because, despite the jokes, all of you know that Harry could have anybody he wanted. Maybe his experience in the bedroom is lacking but that’s only because it was a personal choice that he made. And everybody knows it. As far as charm and seduction go? Harry Styles is a king.

Perhaps even a God.

…no, that’s giving him too much credit.

You shake your head, clearing the thought away as you listen to your friends gossip about the newest celebrity drama and reality TV scandals.

And you try to care. Really, you do.

But your mind keeps…drifting.

To Eric.

God, you could just kill Harry for re-planting that seed in your subconscious and reminding you of the worst mistake you’ve ever made.

Because there was a time when Eric was everything to you. When you were closer to him than you were to Harry. When you trusted him—completely—with your mind, soul, and body.

And of course, he just had to shit all over the self-growth and progress you’d made.

You feel your phone vibrate from its place on your thigh, and you glance down to see Harry’s name flashing across the screen.

Sneaking a curious sideways peek his way, you swipe up to read his text. 

So…Pete Davidson is Kim Kardashian’s stepfather now? Am I hearing that right?

Confused, your brows pull together as you look over at him.

His explanation is to nod at your friends across the table with a smirk, and you laugh.

I don’t know, you type. I wasn’t listening.

Oh? Why not? This is fascinating stuff.

Idk. Just wasn’t.

Harry’s expression seems to fall as he studies you before his fingers are flying across the screen. You were thinking about Eric, weren’t you?

…nooooooo.

His eyes narrow.

So what if I was?

Bee…you can do better than that. Even in your head.

See, you say that, and yet…here I am.

Because you’re not doing better. You can…you just aren’t.

Yeah? And how exactly would I do better?

You catch the way his lips pull back into a Cheshire-like grin as he begins to type.

Well, you kind of already did do better. With me. The other day.

Swallowing a scoff, you type, That was only because I felt bad for you.

Think you felt a lot of things that day, Bee. But bad wasn’t one of them.

You toss him a playful glare. Are you ever gonna let that go?

Not likely. After all, you did promise me another lesson.

You don’t need another lesson, you just need to stop being so goddamn annoying.

Come on, you can’t deprive me now. Not when I know I have so much to learn.

Google it.

Ouch.

You’ll live.

It’s not living if it’s not with you.

This time, you do groan, and reach over to swat his arm. “Stop,” you hiss. “You really are fucking annoying.”

“Learned from the best,” he retorts, leaning closer to you in an attempt to conceal the conversation. “Learned a lot of things from you, actually.”

“Harry,” you huff again, but you’re smirking. “My god, you don’t really wanna learn how to eat ass do you?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess I don’t really know what I wanna learn. That’s why I need a teacher. To teach me what I want.”

You know he’s fucking with you. You can see it all over his face and yet, for some reason…your interest is piqued. “Thought that was a one-time deal.”

“It was,” he agrees. “But…the door to knowledge is never closed.”

He follows this up with a devious chuckle to let you know he’s teasing, and you nudge him again. “See? Annoying.”

For a moment, you both put the topic to bed and return to the conversation happening across the table.

But again, your mind wanders.

Wanders all the way back to your bedroom and the image of Harry’s curls wound around your knuckles.

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about that afternoon quite a few times since it happened. After all, you’re only human. And Harry had done a rather excellent job. Sure, you’ve had a tad better. But for his first time…it wasn’t half bad.

And you’d waited to feel weird about it after the fact…but you never did. Which was strange. The two of you returned to your normal routine as if it had never happened.

And you were certainly glad for that. So why is it that now, as the opportunity for a relapse is placed so obviously in your lap, are you not repulsed by it?

Why is it that you haven’t immediately shut the idea down? Laughed it off? Why is it that you’re…considering it?

Again?

You almost want to shudder at the very thought, but as you look over to the chair beside you and take in Harry’s relaxed smile as he listens to your friends talk…something seems to shift.

You will admit, since your little…experiment…you’ve begun to equate those kinds of memories and feelings with Harry instead of Eric.

And that’s another thing you wouldn’t dare complain about. You like the idea of being able to associate pleasure with someone that makes you feel safe. Secure instead of unhinged.

And perhaps this is a huge mistake…but suddenly, you can’t seem to see the harm?

He gets to learn how to make a woman feel good and you get to erase Eric from your past permanently.

What could possibly be so wrong with that?

Subtly, you clear your throat as you turn your head to him, calling his attention away as he raises a brow. 

“Okay, so…if I were to agree to another lesson…” you begin hesitantly as his eyes grow wide. “I’d need a little…information.”

He angles his body toward you as well, murmuring, “Yeah? Like what?”

You think for a moment. “I don’t know…what kinds of kinks do you have?”

“I don’t know,” he repeats smugly, nodding his chin at you. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to help me find out?”

You quickly glance across the table to make sure nobody is listening as you lean in and whisper, “Well…I don’t even know where to start with you. You’re a virgin, it’s hard.”

“I’m not a virgin,” he corrects with a scoff. “I just…haven’t done it a lot since the first time.”

“Mhm,” you snort. “Doesn’t change the fact that if you don’t know what you like, there’s no way I’ll know.”

He studies you for a second, seeming to think. “Well…why don’t you tell me what you like? Maybe I’ll get some ideas.”

You hesitate. What do you like? “Uh…okay. I mean, I like pretty much everything, I guess.”

“Yeah? Like what? Name something.”

Well…shit. “Um…I don’t know. Have you ever heard of…exhibitionism?”

He runs his tongue over his teeth in thought, brows lifting up with intrigue. “I’m 27, I’m not dead.”

“Hilarious.”

“Why? S’that something you’re into?”

You swallow but force a relaxed and nonchalant demeanor. “Kind of, yeah. Fun to play with what’s mine when anybody could see.”

He almost seems impressed, leaning back as he looks at you. Really looks at you. “You don’t fucking say.”

“Okay, don’t make it a whole thing,” you whisper urgently, already swatting at him in warning. “It was just an idea. We can always think of something—”

“Show me.”

You pause. “Show you…what?”

He nods his chin at you. “Show me how you’d play with what’s yours when anybody could see.”

Your expression falls. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” He nods. “I’m a vessel. Show me. Teach me.”

And maybe it’s the glass of wine offering you an extra ounce of courage, or maybe it’s the fact that you’ve already done this once before, or maybe it’s the fact that it’s Harry…

But whatever it is, you reach out, and smooth your palm along his upper thigh, just to watch his breath catch. “Are you sure?” you ask softly, careful to keep beneath the suspicion of the group across the table. “Because I need to know if you can…handle it.”

You feel him tense, his fingers flexing across the tablecloth as he regards you. “I’ll handle anything you want me to.”

Your hand drifts a little higher. “And you’ll sit here? And be a good student?”

He shoots you a coy smile. “The best.”

A little higher. “And you know your safe word?”

“‘Stop,’” he answers, teeth tugging on his bottom lip. “Don’t think I’ll need it, though.”

“You might.”

“Won’t.”

“Maybe.”

“No fucking way.”

You slow to a stop, centimeters away from the rather obvious dip in his pants. “Don’t say that. Just use it. If you need to.”

His expression softens. “I know, Bee. I will. Promise.”

“Good.” So, with that and a deep breath, you take the plunge, ghosting your touch over his covered cock. 

And it’s different this time because it’s you touching him. It’s his body in your hands and this far exceeds your usual high-five.

You aren’t sure what you expected. You kind of already know he’s big from the few times you guys have gone swimming together. And he’s accidently brushed up against you before when scooting past you and worn sweatpants that did absolutely nothing to help him hide an erection (another reason why you’re never watching a Margot Robbie movie with him again). 

But feeling it now…knowing exactly what this man is in possession of…feels forbidden.

You keep your expression stoic, refusing to give him the satisfaction of your awe as you watch the way his lashes flutter.

“Easy,” you warn in a delicate whisper. “Rule number one…make a sound and I stop.”

His teeth grit as he leans back against his seat. “Fine.”

“Good.” You bring your fingers together until you can cup your palm around him, adding just the slightest amount of pressure before glancing back at your friends.

They’re laughing about something, you don’t really know what, but you smile and nod along as if absolutely enthralled.

And as the seconds pass, you feel Harry grow harder in your hand. Needier. He shifts at least three times a minute, clearly struggling to keep from bucking up into your touch.

You’re being as easy on him as you can. A few squeezes, a bit of palming, and some light brushing just to tease him.

He’s gripping onto the edge of the table so tight, you’re surprised it’s not shaking. But he’s restraining himself, as best he can, and you feel oddly…proud.

You maneuver a little closer, head dipping until your lips are close to his ear. To anyone else, it might look like you're merely trying to be heard over the loud music.

But Harry knows better.

"This...is where the fun is," you tell him. "Knowing it would be so easy to have you coming in your pants. Right here, right now. In front of everybody."

You add a bit more pressure and watch the way the veins in his arms begin to strain against his skin. The way the muscles in his jaw constrict and the way his Adam's apple bobs when he swallows.

“You feel it, don’t you?” you murmur as his fingers begin to scratch down the table, desperate to grab onto something. “Feel what it does to you…to be played with. Just like this…exactly like you wanted.”

He sucks in a quiet gasp for air as his head threatens to drop back, little curls falling across his forehead.

He’s not stopping you. And you know he won’t. He’ll happily let himself go right into his trousers, in front of the whole goddamn resturant. Right here, right now.

But that wasn’t apart of the lesson.

So, just when you can feel his resolve begin to crumble…you stop.

He exhales a long, deep breath, slumping into the chair as if completely drained of all energy, and you almost want to laugh.

“So…what did you learn?” you ask softly as you lean back in.

“That Eric’s a fucking ass,” he replies instantly, shooting you a lazy grin. “And that we’re definitely not kids in a tree house anymore.”

“No kidding,” you agree. “Anything else?”

He mulls this over, eyeing you closely. “That I think I’m more of a…hands-on learner.”

Your brow raises. “What does that mean?”

His answer comes in the form of his touch, hand outstretching for your leg, long fingers brushing across the hem of your dress. “It means…I need to see for myself.”

He pauses down by your knee in order to allow you the time to understand and either accept him or reject him. 

But you simply blink, focus falling from his face down to your lap. “Ah…I suppose that makes sense.”

His lips roll into his mouth. “Mhm…what do you say, Teach?”

Your nose scrunches at the nickname but you smile. “I say practice makes perfect.”

And he wastes no more time in slipping beneath the fabric to travel up your thigh and toward your hips.

Now, you’re the one forced into restraint, a gasp immediately hitching in your throat as he brushes his thumb down the front of your underwear.

It instantly brings you back to the last time, and his touch, while familiar and oddly reassuring, makes your head spin.

You slowly look over at him, taking note of the way he’s so goddamn proud of your reaction, and the way he returns his attention to your friends.

Exactly like you had.

Because this is the lesson after all. The concept of teasing and torture and watching somebody come undone so easily.

The idea of getting caught. 

You could tell from the moment you reached for him that this was something he was into. But even when he was trying not to thrust up into your hand, it was obvious that his interest lied with you and your pleasure.

With the idea of putting you under this sort of duress.

He really is a sadist.

Good to know.

"How's this for practice?" you hear him murmur as you become vaguely aware of the way he's scooted his chair closer to you.

You open your mouth, lips parted and ready to respond, but you can feel the beginning of a whimper threatening its escape.

So you swallow—thickly—and nod your head once.

"Good, then?" he asks, and you have to fight the urge to cross your legs over his hand. "Bee...I need you to speak."

But you can't fucking speak. The pressure of his touch has increased, and it feels so...so fucking good. "It's....yeah. Fine. It's fi—"

Suddenly, you gasp, and thankfully, it's lost beneath the jazz music still loudly playing through the restaurant.

But it's not lost on Harry, and you watch his smug smile expand as his teasing begins to slow. "Uh-uh," he tuts softly. "You know the rules. Make a sound...and I stop."

You exhale the singular word, "Har," and he hums.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. What?"

You have to physically fight the urge to whimper with desperation. Truth be told, he’s hardly even doing anything, but his hands…

You’d fucked up by sneaking a glance down at the tattooed skin disappearing beneath your dress. Because it’s sinful to feel the cold, metal of his rings brush against your warm thighs. Sinful to know he’s pressing his thumb into you just to feel the way you’ve begun to soak the material he’s so effortlessly playing with. 

He…is sinful.

And then suddenly…his touch disappears. Retreats from between your legs as your mouth just about drops open.

And you could cry at the loss of contact because it felt so safe and so exciting. Teasing or not, it was so fucking good, and you hate him for making you go without.

But then…you learn why.

His fingers move to wrap around the edge of your seat, getting a good grip on it…before he yanks.

Your chair is forced closer to his, squeaking against the floor as he begins to smirk victoriously.

“There,” he declares quietly before his hand is returning to your lap. “Much better, don’t you think?”

And it is better because now he’s so much closer, and has so much more room, and you’re so fucking close to just throwing in the towel and hurling yourself at him. Friends be damned.

“Speak, Bee,” he repriminds after a minute of your silence, and instantly, you begin to squirm.

“Har,” you whisper, both begging him for his mercy and for his cruelty.

“What?” he replies evenly. “What do you need, hm?”

You, you think. “Can’t…s’just…”

“Come on,” he tsks. “Think you can do better than that, can’t you?”

But you can’t.

“Please,” you try again, a faint request. 

“Please…what?”

“Har…”

“Uh-uh. Tell me. What?”

Again, you swallow, willing yourself to stay silent. "Har—”

“No.”

“Harry—"

"...Harry?"

This time, it's Charlie calling his name, and immediately, you go deathly still as you turn back toward your friends.

However, Harry is calm as he raises a brow. "Yeah?"

For a moment, the three across from you simply stare, rather curiously before Charlie says, "Oh, I was just asking how Tina is?"

You could almost moan with relief.

“She’s good, yeah,” Harry answers cooly, pointer finger hooking around the edge of the material on your thighs to pull it aside. “Yeah, real good. Been working a lot, so I haven’t seen her much.”

“Aw, that’s too bad,” Jackie offers with a pout. “Is she nice? Will we like her?”

Harry laughs, head shaking with amusement as if he’s not dragging his thumb down your clit while you swallow a rather desperate whine. “She’s nice. I don’t know if we’ll ever make it that far, though.”

Caleb’s head tilts. “What do you mean?” 

He shrugs. “I don’t know. We’ve hung out, like…twice. S’not really that serious yet.”

And you almost snort, because to you…he seemed pretty serious about her.

But you suppose eating pussy doesn’t exactly require an engagement ring, and maybe he just wants a fuck buddy.

“Well…she still needs to pass the approval test,” Jackie argues with a wink. “And the fact that she strung you along for two months is not doing her any favors.”

“She was just making him work for it,” Charlie teases. “And he needs to be humbled, so I say good for her.”

“Please. Look at him,” she snorts. “He’s too pretty to be this dumb. Okay, he can do better than Tammy—”

“Tina,” Harry corrects before slowly easing the tip of his finger in, and your entire body goes rigid.

“—yeah, whatever. The point is…you can do better,” Jackie finishes proudly, shooting a pointed look toward Charlie.

Harry begins to smirk, slowly stealing a glance at you. “Yeah. Maybe we can all do better.”

Now curious, Caleb nods at you, and you do your best to control your reactions as he says, “Yeah, speaking of which…have you heard from…him?”

You shake your head quickly, mentally damning Harry to hell as he pushes in a bit further just to make it harder for you to reply. “Uh…no. Nope. Not since that night.”

“I’ll kill him,” Jackie tells you. “No, really. I will. I’ll hit him with my car and drag his dead body out to the woods, and watch the bears eat him.”

You breathe out a laugh, but it’s outrageously forced, and Harry can tell. “It’s…it’s fine. He’s…you know, we all move on. I’m fine.”

“Sure,” Harry says with a wicked gleam in his eye. “Yeah, you seem fine.”

“Oh, I am,” you murmur through a tight-lipped smile. “Fucking fantastic.”

“Good,” he hums before you can feel him curl upward. “Hope it stays that way.”

Your hands drop to the chair beneath you, and you grip onto the sides for dear life in an attempt to keep from reeling. “Thanks for your…concern.”

“Anytime,” he beams as you feel him slip out. “Just want you to…do and feel the best that you can.”

The wet pad of his finger then returns to your clit as he presses into it just to push it in a teasing circle.

Your eyes just about roll back as you quickly turn your face toward your shoulder and fake a cough. “Fuck…sorry,” you apologize hoarsely as your friends look on.

“Are you all right?” Jackie asks softly. “Sorry, we shouldn’t have brought him up. We can change the subject.”

“No, it’s…it’s fine,” you sigh, hoping to sound casual, despite the fact that you’re teetering on the edge of a wail. “Really, he’s just…a guy. Just some…stupid…sadistic…evil fucking…guy.”

And while the group across the table snorts their agreement, you see that Harry knows that jab was aimed directly at him.

He winks.

“I, uh…I need to go to the bathroom,” you suddenly declare, grabbing onto his wrist to forcefully shove it away before standing to your feet. “Be right back.”

“Feeling all right?” Harry asks innocently as he watches you push your chair in. 

“Just delightful,” you reply before brushing your hands down the front of your dress. “Seriously, keep eating. I won’t be long.”

You leave the table before Harry can make another quippy remark, quickly making your way for the extravagant restroom in the back of the restaurant.

Honestly, you thought you had a little more self-control. You thought it wouldn’t be so easy to get you so on edge, and yet here Harry is, making you clench so hard in your chair, you nearly burst a blood vessel.

You lock the door behind you and make a beeline for the sink. You flip on the cool water and gently trail it down your arms and chest to cool yourself down as you will the ache between your legs to subside.

It’ll be easy to take care of once you get home, but you’re rather impressed with Harry’s commitment to…education.

And something about looking your friends in the eye as he played with your cunt like a toy was oddly invigorating.

Far more invigorating than it ever had been with…Eric.

You’ve no sooner smirked at this thought when your phone begins to buzz from its place on the counter.

Glancing down, you aren’t surprised to see a text from Harry, but it does make you laugh.

How’s it going?

Good. Just getting myself off before I come back, you answer.

Yeah? Texting me while you touch yourself? Hot.

Well, it’s not the first time.

A good minute passes before he responds, and you can easily imagine the way his eyes went wide. 

Seriously?

Seriously. Why, is that weird?

Are you fucking kidding? No, it’s…I mean, it’s hot. Very, very hot.

Your brow raises. Yeah?

Kind of rude you never told me, though. Clearly I would have been of great help.

In my defense, I was a little…busy. It’s already hard enough to type with one hand.

And even if you aren’t exactly touching yourself right now…you aren’t lying about having done it before. Not on purpose, of course. He just happened to text you right in the middle of your alone time and needed an answer ASAP.

So…you’d answered.

Yeah? Do you need an extra hand? he replies next, and you chuckle under your breath as you lean against the sink.

Why, do you know someone?

Funny.

Thank you, I thought so.

Is that a yes, then?

I think I’m managing just fine.

Yeah? So you’re pinching your clit nice and tight for me? 

You feel your breath hitch. This certainly isn’t helping. Obviously.

And you’re clenching around your fingers for me? How many you using? One? Two? Maybe three? Know you like to feel stretched.

“Fucking hell,” you whisper to yourself as you glance off into the bathroom. He’s trying to kill you. 

Can’t really clench around anything when I have to keep answering these texts. Go eat your food and leave me to it.

And what kind of student would I be if I did that?

An obedient one.

And does that sound like me?

“Nope,” you respond aloud, but type, You have been so far.

Think I’d be more obedient if I finished what I started.

I mean…maybe if you knew how.

You wait to watch the bubbles roll across your screen, but when they don’t come, your heart sinks.

And then…there’s a knock.

A rather fervent and determined knock that makes you jump as you look toward the door.

“Bee…let me in.” 

Shit. “I…uh, I’m a little busy.”

“I know,” comes the deep, sultry reply. “So, let me in.”

“Har—”

“Open the goddamn door, Bee, before I break it down.”

Clearing your throat, you put your phone aside and cautiously tiptoe toward the door.

After sliding the lock over, you pull it back just a hair, and peek through the crack. “Uh, hi. Sorry, this bathroom is a little occupied at the moment—”

His large hand comes out to press against the wood as he forces it open and steps inside. “Are you okay?”

You blink at him before scrambling to push it closed and relock it. “Uh…yeah? Why?”

He strides a bit further into the bathroom before turning around to look at you, almost as if suspicious. “Honestly? I kind of thought you came in here to hide from me.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know.” His arms cross over his chest. “I know you didn’t actually come in here to fuck yourself, so I thought…maybe you just felt uncomfortable.”

“Oh, yeah? And how do you know I didn’t come in here to do that?” you retort.

He smirks. “’Cause you always use both hands. And if you were texting me…you weren’t fucking yourself.”

“And how do you know I use both hands?”

He shrugs. “You told me once.”

Oh…right. “Well…maybe I was multi-tasking.”

“You weren’t,” he rejects immediately. “No, I think you either came in here to hide from me…or because you were upset about what they said. You know, about…him.”

An invisible fist snaps closed around your heart as you stare at the man across from you. The devious intentions and teasing from before are long gone as the man you’ve known for years, your best friend…stands before you.

The concern is evident on his face as you take a step closer. “Har…honestly, I’m fine. I wasn’t hiding from you, and I really don’t care about Eric. I came in here to keep myself from coming all over your fucking hand.”

The corner of his mouth twitches with the temptation to smile, but his gaze remains skeptical. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” You nod, taking another step. “Come on, I think it’s a little late to start questioning me now, don’t you?”

He sucks on his teeth. “Well…I can never tell with you.”

“I feel like I made my enjoyment quite clear.”

“I thought so, too. Until you made me stop.”

Now, only inches away from him, you come to a halt. “Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly feel like explaining why I moaned to our friends, you know?”

His thumb rubs across the skin of his arm as he peers down at you. “Thought that was the whole point of exhibitionism.”

You shrug, eyes falling across his features. “Yeah…or maybe I just wanted to keep you to myself.”

His brow cocks up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You know…like a secret.”

Instantly, he grins, exhaling a laugh at the reminder of the pact you two made when you were younger. “We are good at secrets.”

“The best,” you agree giddily before the laughter dies out, and something seems to shift within his expression.

“Then I think it’s only fair we finish the lesson,” he says quietly, leaning a bit closer as you begin to still. “After all…I still need to show my work.”

Your lashes flutter, the smell of his cologne beginning to overwhelm you. God, why does he always smell so good? “Guess…guess that’s only fair,” you agree faintly, and he seems pleased.

His head dips, nose brushing yours as he works to catch you off guard. “Then tell me what to do, Bee. And I’ll do it.”

It comes out before you can stop it. “Kiss me.”

He’s surprised by this request, going momentarily quiet but you don’t miss the way his focus falls to your lips, as if pondering.

“Kiss me,” you repeat, fingers itching to latch onto the back of his neck. “And this time…do it right.”

He seems impressed as he fights an arrogant smirk. “Right, huh?”

“Yeah.” You straighten up, bringing your mouths a tad closer, but still without contact. “Know you can. Know you know how to be gentle, don’t you?”

And almost as if in retaliation, his hands find your hips, squeezing rather harshly as he begins to back you up toward the wall.

When you collide with it, he grins. “Dunno about that.”

“Try,” you whisper, hands dancing up his chest. “Trust me, you’ll get a lot more points that way. The right kiss can do everything, and I promise…she’ll love it.”

He considers this for a moment, studying you closely before you feel his palm delicately cup your cheek. 

He tilts your head back as he moves in, deliberately slow. “Everything, huh?”

You smile, nodding once. “Yeah,” you breathe. “Everything.”

He kisses you.

Soft, and careful, and sadistically tame. He kisses around your mouth, peppers kisses to your bottom lip, to your cheek, to the line of your jaw. 

He keeps his tongue from you, and you almost huff because after everything, you think you at least deserve a taste.

And finally, once you’re moments away from wilting in his hands, he takes that taste for himself.

Your head spins and your mind goes blank and everything makes sense.

Because kissing him is fun, and it makes you want to laugh, and kiss him forever, and never leave this one spot.

And you’re so enchanted by this revelation that you don’t notice his hand traveling between your bodies to return to its home between your thighs.

But he slips underneath your dress without a moment's delay, fingers returning to their work of pulling your panties aside to finish what he started. And when you gasp into the kiss…he swallows the sound with ease.

“Is that right, hm?” he teases as he slides in. “That good?”

Your lashes flutter closed as he presses his forehead to yours, and you don’t offer a response because he already knows.

His precision just about kills you. In, out, in, curl, twist, pinch, pull. You can feel the drip down your thighs, can hear the sounds he’s making, can taste his desperation in each kiss he gives you.

And when you suddenly whine and squirm in his hold, he smiles. “There it is, yeah? Right there…s’what you needed, isn’t it?”

It is. It’s exactly what you’d needed, and he strokes the spot with fervor and just a touch of wonder.

It’s cruel and it’s wonderful and it feels so fucking good, and nothing else makes sense to you except him.

Just him and the way you’re about to come undone by his hand for a second time.

You nuzzle your face into his neck, lazily kissing under his ear, and he seems to sigh with contentment as he braces you both against the wall to continue. 

“Come on, Bee…know it’s gotta hurt, doesn’t it?” he coos, but his voice is thick. “Know it hurts, so give it to me, yeah? Just give it to me. Let me make it better.”

And it overwhelms you, consumes you, controls you. His smell, his touch, his words. The past, the present, him. Just him. Only him. Right now. Everything.

The sound that rips from your throat feels foreign to you. It’s loud and desperate and eager, and he presses his lips to yours to be a part of it.

It goes for what feels like hours, but time doesn’t have a place here. It could have been ten seconds; it could have been ten minutes. You don’t know, you don’t care.

You just…let it.

And you don’t realize the way you’ve slumped into his embrace as he holds you up, keeps you steady.

You don’t realize he’s speaking to you, murmuring words of encouragement with just a hint of teasing. 

You don’t realize he’s refusing to let go.

But once you do, you realize something else, too:

You don’t want him to let go.

"Think we might have a problem," he whispers after a moment, lips following the curve of your shoulder as he offers a few parting kisses.

Your head falls back against the wall and you take a few deep breaths. "Yeah? And what's that?"

"Well...you kind of fucked up," he begins as he moves to the other side of your neck, sucking on the vein just below your ear. "You gave me a taste, showed me what I've been missing."

You can feel yourself smile through the haze as his hands continue to grope at your waist.

"I mean, just knowing..." he continues, nosing under your jaw, "...you've been keeping so much knowledge from me...this whole time."

Your laugh is airy as you reach up to comb through his curls. "Is that right?"

He hums as he nods, the palm of his hand slowly smoothing up your stomach, pushing the hem of your dress along with it. "And now I don't know if I can go without. Feel so fucking insatiable...just thinking about what else you might be hiding from me."

With this, his fingers delicately ghost under the curve of your tit, forcing you to arch into his touch as he smirks.

"And what is it...you want to know?" you manage to reply, voice soft and nearly inaudible.

He pulls back and meets your eye.

"Everything."

Shit.

"Everything?" you murmur, subtly tugging him closer.

"Everything," he repeats. "Anything. All of it. You. Me. Us. Every fucking second, every fucking way."

You know what he's proposing. Know exactly what this means, but you don't know if a friendship would survive.

And you don't know which is more important.

"So...what do you expect me to do?" you ask breathlessly, still squirming beneath his hold.

He smiles. "I expect you...to show me."

"Show you," you repeat, as if in a trance.

"Show me," he whispers, moving back in to lick at your bottom lip. "Teach me. How to be better. How to be right. How take care of you. Wanna give you everything you need."

"Everything," you breathe.

"Everything." His other hand gently comes up to cradle the back of your neck. "Whatever you want, whatever you need. Tell me and I'll give it to you. Promise."

But what do you need?

"Are you sure?" you ask, softly pushing on his chest to garner his attention. "It's not like teaching you to play pool, Har. Exploring kinks is...delicate. Sacred. It's not a game."

"I know," he replies, sobering ever-so-slightly. "That's why it can't be anybody else. It has to be you."

It has to be you.

"Why?" you challenge.

He simply offers you a knowing look. "Why wouldn't it be?"

You chew on the inside of your cheek, looking for a reason to say no. Looking for the strength to know better.

But maybe you don't know better.

Maybe you just know him.

"Teach me," he says again, thumb stroking your jaw as those familiar eyes bleed right through to your heart. "Make me better."

Better.

Everything.

Nothing else makes sense. Nothing else feels right.

Just him.

"Okay," you agree quietly, and his entire face lights up. "For science."

"For science," he repeats, dipping down to press his lips to your cheek in thanks. "But only if you're sure. I'd never want you to agree just because of me. You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know."

He leans back. Frowns. He's unconvinced. "I mean it, Bee. I'm not asking just because I can. I’m asking because…it feels like something we both want. But if it's not—"

You kiss him again, stealing the rest of his argument. "I know how to say no to you, Harry. Think you should know that by now."

He smiles against your mouth. "Guess so."

For the next minute or so, you don't speak. He simply takes hold of your face with both hands and paints his gratitude across your tongue.

"So...where do you wanna start?" you ask when he finally allows you a second of reprieve.

"You tell me," he reminds you, and you feel yourself smirk.

"All right," you agree before slipping your fingers through the loops on his pants.

His eyes go wide.

Then, you tug.

"Let's start...with everything."

You bet your ass there’s gonna be a part 3, because now that they’ve opened the door…there’s no closing it 😗 and Harry’s got a long list of new kinks to discover! And I’m strangely excited about it?? This is concerning?? Pray for me???

Next Part:

~ Hurt Me* (Pt. 3)

Previous Part:

~ Teach Me* (Pt. 1)

~ Full Teach Me Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Tags:

@tiaamberxx @harrystylesfan2686

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 4,692 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: War with the Saviors, specifically TWD S8 E13 after the battle at Hilltop Warnings: fear and anxiety, language, angst alert! Summary: You took an arrow to the shoulder during the battle at Hilltop and when the injured are sickened and turn, Daryl realizes his worst fear is going to come to pass.

“What the hell happened!?” Daryl spat, looking around at the now still corpses in the main entryway.

“I dunno,” Rick growled, spinning. “Maybe walkers got in?”

“Maybe during the fight,” Morgan echoed.

Daryl scrutinized the bodies. “These—these are all our own people though…”

Suddenly, there was a scream from upstairs and they raced up to find Carol standing over Tobin’s now silent body, blood dripping from the end of her knife.

“Are ya alrigh’?” Daryl asked, surveying the scene. Rick and Maggie stepped in beside him.

“Yeah,” gasped Carol. Her eyes were fixed on Tobin’s body. “He—he wasn’t bit. But he turned.”

They all exchanged tense and confused glances until Rick spoke. “Negan’s bat… when I was out there with him, it was covered in walker blood. I just thought he’d crossed some but… maybe…”

“They have us workin’ for them again,” Maggie said. “Killin’ our own.”

“Poisoned weapons with walker blood?” Carol said. “It’s some sick biological warfare.” Her eyes drifted back down to Tobin’s pale body on the floor and her heart ached.

Daryl didn’t say another word and abruptly left the room, his boot steps receding rapidly down the hall.

“Daryl?” Carol called after him, moving to the doorway.

Rick hung his head and passed a hand over his eyes. Maggie put a hand on Carol’s shoulder. “It’s—” Her throat was tight and she had to clear it before she could get more out. “It’s Y/N,” she said quietly. “She took an arrow in the back of her shoulder.”

Carol’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, God…” Her wide eyes met Maggie’s and stung with tears.

Rick rubbed a hand over his face and paced a tight circle. “And Tara too. And who knows,” he kicked out at the nearby dresser, “how many others.” He fell to cursing Negan, though he knew it wouldn’t help.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl lingered at the closed door for a long moment, staring at the wood, his hand moving to grip the door knob a couple times before falling down to his side. Finally, he grasped it and turned, pushing into the room.

You were asleep in the bed and Enid was sitting beside you. At the expression on her face, his stomach dropped through the floor. She looked worried, and had apparently been studying you. She shot up to her feet as Daryl softly closed the door behind him and stood there looking grim.

“What was all that shouting?” Enid asked.

Daryl gulped, his eyes fixed on you in the bed. “How is she?”

Enid hesitated and then returned to your side. She shook her head. “Her wound wasn’t life-threatening. But—”

“But what?” Daryl urged her to go on.

Enid looked down at your face again. “She looks pale and—I don’t know. Her breathing changed.” She glanced back up at Daryl, her brow furrowed. “What’s going on?”

Daryl hesitated for one moment and then walked over to your bedside and scrutinized your face. You indeed looked ashen, and there were small beads of sweat starting to form near your hairline. His stomach churned. He met Enid’s questioning gaze and chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, trying to gain control of the wild emotions threatening to crush him at that moment. “We think The Saviors did somethin’ to their weapons. Ev’rybody that got wounded last night turned.”

Enid’s eyes went back to you asleep in the bed. “No,” she breathed with horror. “Oh my God.”

Daryl nodded, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough that the tang of copper filled his mouth. “Yeah…” He cleared his throat and did his best to appear steadfast. “Ya should go check on Tara.” His eyes strayed back to you again. “I’ve got this…”

Enid nodded, and with one final look at you and one anxious glance at Daryl, she quietly left the room.

Daryl stood at the end of the bed for a moment, watching the subtle rising and falling of the blanket over your chest. He thought it did seem a bit shallow. He slowly wandered over to the bedside and drew the chair closer, sinking down on it heavily and leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped in front of his face. His brow tensed. The rising panic was returning. Your hand was lying on top of the quilt and his eyes traced the graceful curve of your fingers.

Part of him wanted to wake you, to see your eyes open and hopefully, clear. But another part of him knew he should let you sleep while you could.

It was short-lived.

Your breathing became shallower and more rapid and the clamminess of your skin increased. You stirred beneath the blanket and pushed it off, your eyes opening and a grimace passing over your face as you stared up at the ceiling.

Daryl leaned forward and you turned when you noticed him beside you, managing a tired smile. “Daryl,” you said softly, looking up at him. The corners of your eyes still crinkled even though the smile was a bit weak.

He chewed on his bottom lip. His anxiety was plain. Deep furrows were evident between his brows.

It didn’t take you long to remark on your condition on your own. You lifted a hand to wipe at the sweat on your forehead and then a shiver ran through you. He saw it clearly and tugged the blanket back up over you. “I’m sick,” you said. It was almost a question and then your eyes found his again. He saw mild confusion in them. “Daryl,” you said again. He looked so grim standing beside you. He held your eyes for only a brief moment before he felt the bubble of emotion rising up his throat and threatening to burst and he had to squeeze them shut. “What’s happened?” you asked. You reached for his hand, which was dangling at his side, and his eyes shot open again and looked at your fingertips touching his softly. He took your hand in his gently and warmed your fingers. Then his blue eyes found your ashen face again.

He felt like someone had rammed an icy blade up between his lungs and into his heart. He fought with emotion again and struggled to clear his throat enough to speak. Your eyes flickered between his, worried and puzzled. He opened his mouth to speak but then ducked his head one more time, passing his free hand over his eyes and drawing in a shaky breath. “They—the Saviors,” he started, his voice a mere whisper, “they did somethin’ to their weapons.” He swallowed down the tightness in his chest with great effort. “Ev’rybody who got hurt in the fight is either sick or—or already turned.” He waited for your reaction and forgot to breathe.

Understanding washed over your face and your expression fell, but you simply nodded. You seemed to shrink away into some depths within your eyes and Daryl was afraid he wouldn’t be able to reach you again. He fell into the seat at your bedside again and squeezed your hand. What could he say? There was nothing to say. No words would help at a time like this. You were going to die. It was that simple. And nothing he could say would fix it or make it any better. Your name caught in his throat and you looked over at him again. “I—‘m so sorry,” he said. His voice broke and the sound of it cut both of you like a scalpel. You were both wounded from this happening, and you would die, but Daryl would be left carrying that wound for the rest of his life. Why did you have to be the one to… Why couldn’t it have been him who was hurt? You of all people—it was too hard to bear. He should have been there. He should have protected you. He should have stopped it!

Your eyes grew glassy and a few tears escaped. You laced your fingers with his and gave him a sad smile, guessing his whirling thoughts. “It’s not your fault,” you told him. “They did this. It’s not your fault.”

He felt himself crumbling. “‘M so sorry,” he breathed again. He clasped your hand firmly between his and lifted it towards his mouth, but he didn’t press it to his lips, though he wanted to. His head dropped and you could tell he was struggling not to go to pieces. He was always trying to be strong, even when he didn’t need to.

“It’s okay,” you breathed. “It’s okay…”

“No, it ain’t,” he whispered back. His voice was shaky. “Nothin’ ‘bout this is okay. That bastard’s gonna pay for—”

A grimace tightened your features and your breath hitched. The sound stopped Daryl mid-sentence. He rested your hand back down on the blanket and a panicked look crossed his face. “What? What is it?”

Your eyes closed for a moment. “Nothing,” you said, shaking your head against the pillow. “It’s nothing. Just—hurts a little. Aches is all. It’s okay. I’m okay…”

Daryl gulped down his emotion and regained himself. “‘M gonna be righ’ here. Ya ain’t gonna be alone. Okay?” His thumb moved against the silky skin on the back of your hand and you nodded.

“I know,” you said, managing another weak smile.

Suddenly, the door opened quietly and Enid came back in with Maggie trailing behind her. Both of you looked up.

Enid’s face fell as she readily saw your worsened condition. Maggie’s eyes filled with a glassy light as she came to stand beside Daryl.

“How’s Tara?” Daryl asked.

“She’s not sick,” Enid replied. “No sign of the fever yet.”

“Good,” Daryl said, staring back at the paleness of your hand in his.

“But we’ve got six more so far in here, and likely more outside. I sent Carol and Jesus to check on everyone, including the prisoners,” Maggie said. She bent down and stroked your hair. Her eyes filled with tears again. “‘M so sorry,” she whispered to you. “Do ya need anythin’? Anything we can do to make you more comfortable, just ask and we’ll do everything we can.”

Daryl’s head dropped and his eyes squeezed shut. “I’ll—‘m gonna be righ’ back,” he murmured. He met your eyes again. Your brow was furrowed and you were watching him carefully. “‘M gonna be back in just a minute. I promise,” he said softly.

The chair made a harsh noise as he stood up and your eyes tracked him all the way out the door.

Out in the hall, Daryl put some distance between himself and your room, striding down to the end of the hall and standing at the window, staring out at the beginnings of dawn just starting to tickle the deep blue sky with shots of pink and yellow. His fists clenched and his nails cut in little red crescent moon marks on his palms. How the fuck was the sun still coming up when you were laying in a bed dying? It felt like nothing should go on as normal ever again. He suddenly kicked out at the tall wooden cabinet beside him and it rocked and wobbled. And then he broke down. His head dropped and it was all he could do not to scream in agony at the painful chasm in his chest, sticking between his lungs and growing larger and larger as you paled and ached in that bed. Tears poured down his face and he pressed his forehead to the coolness of the glass in front of him.

He startled as a hand landed lightly on his shoulder and he hurriedly mopped his face, but when he turned he knew Maggie had already seen his overwhelming distress and grief. His shoulders shuddered as he gasped in a ragged breath and he shook his head. He saw his own pain, or some version of it, reflected on her face, and he thought of Glenn.

She only nodded and pulled him into a hug briefly. He sniffled and managed to get his breaking under control again. “Go on and be with her again. Enid and I will look after the others. Listen—when it’s time to say goodbye—”

He nodded. “I’ll send somebody to get ya’ll,” he croaked out. He mopped at his damp face again and pulled in a breath.

“Daryl, if you haven’t already, you need to tell her,” Maggie said. And with that, she headed downstairs.

Daryl took a few more deep breaths, steeled himself, and rushed back to your room. Enid gave you a kind smile and released her hold on your hand and quietly took her leave. Daryl swallowed hard and came to sit beside you again. Your eyes followed him across the room.

Your skin was feverish and he could see it making your hair and clothes damp. Had those dark circles been beneath your eyes when he’d stepped out? How long was he gone? How many minutes? It couldn’t have been more than a few, and yet you looked far worse… He got up and went to a pitcher and basin on the chest of drawers and poured in some water. Pulling out the bandana he always carried, he dunked it into the bowl and carried the whole thing over to the nightstand.

You watched him swirl the cloth in the water and wring it out. He pressed it to your forehead and it was cool. Your eyes were still trained on him. He knew you’d likely be able to tell why he’d stepped out of the room. “Here. Drink a little water if ya can,” he said, helping you with a glass Enid had brought.

You swallowed thickly and he set it aside again. “Are you alright?” you asked him. Your voice sounded thin.

He let out a dry laugh as he refreshed his bandana in the water again and dabbed at your neck. “Yer askin’ me that?” he drawled.

“Daryl,” you said softly, and your hand came up to grip his wrist, surprisingly strong. He met your eyes again and yours flickered between his.

He bit down on his bottom lip hard, trying to fight back the tidal wave and scream in his chest. Tears stung his eyes as he looked at you. Your hand floated back to the bed and the place your fingers had been felt hot. He shook his head almost imperceptibly. “No,” he said. “I ain’t alrigh’. And I dunno if I’ll—if I will be.”

A shiver ran through you and Daryl tossed his bandana back down in the bowl and helped you pull the blankets up to your chin. You sighed and your eyes shut for a long moment. Daryl was afraid they wouldn’t open again, but they did. And when you looked straight at him, they seemed clearer somehow, and you smiled at him again despite the devastation written all over his face.

“What’re you smilin’ ‘bout?” he asked. There was a rasp to his voice.

“You,” you breathed. “Just you.”

He ducked his head, listening to each of your breaths, analyzing them for any change. He was far too aware of his knife on his hip.

“I need you to promise me something,” you said.

“Anythin’,” he nodded, leaning in.

“Don’t let this consume you. Please. Negan’s taken enough. Don’t end up one of the casualties too. You have so much good in you. Don’t let him take that away.”

He stared at you for a long moment and then suddenly stood up and leaned over you. His rough fingers brushed gently at your hair and then clasped your face. In that moment, maybe some trick of the changing light, but he thought you looked less ashen. He saw more color in your lips and in your cheeks. Your eyes were bright.

He kissed you then. His lips landed flush against the soft pillow of yours, and it was tender and wanting and desperate and soft all at the same time. He tried to put everything he wanted to say into that kiss. It lasted only a few seconds, but both of you mourned the separation, felt the profoundness of that connection as it had shifted your whole world. He sank back down at your bedside and grabbed your hand in his again, chewing on his bottom lip nervously. He refused to take his eyes off you now.

A smile grew slowly on your face and though your eyelids were heavy, the outer corners of your eyes smiled too, like they always did. “How’d you know that was on my bucket list? ‘Kiss Daryl Dixon.’”

He brushed your cheek with the back of his fingers and shook his head at you.

“I can die happy now,” you said.

“I shoulda told ya every damn day… I thought—I thought we had more time.” His voice broke on the last word.

“So did I,” you agreed. “Life’s a motherfucker like that,” you said dryly.

He almost laughed. “What ‘m tryin’ to say is I—ya know, I—” The words stuck in his chest. He couldn’t seem to get them out no matter how much he wanted to. I’ve been in love with you almost since I met ya.

“I know,” you breathed. “You didn’t have to say it, Daryl. I felt it too.” Your eyes closed again and you sighed, another grimace passed your face as your joints and muscles throbbed. “I’m not sure I can stay awake much longer,” you murmured. “I’m so tired.” You forced your eyes open again. “Would you lay with me? Please?”

Daryl’s chest ached so intensely he thought he would die of it. “Course I will.”

He came around to the other side of the bed and climbed on, scooting over toward your side until your body was almost against his. “C’mere,” he drawled, and he gently looped his arm underneath you and pulled you toward him. You felt featherlight in his arms. You laid tucked in against his body and closed your eyes. This close to you, he could easily hear your every breath, feel every shudder of your body, feel the fever and the chills—but he could also feel the shape of you, your weight, breathe your smell. Your head rested against his shoulder and nuzzled toward the crook of his neck.

“I’m so tired,” you said again, sighing. He could feel your breath on his skin. The silence stretched and his rough fingers drew absent shapes on the bare skin of your arm. Your weight grew heavier against him. “I want you to know… it’s alright if you can’t do it. At the end… It doesn’t have to be you. I need you to know that it’s okay if you can’t. Someone else can…” you trailed off.

He gulped and nodded. “I’mma be righ’ here.”

“I know,” you whispered. Your eyes were closed. “I love you…”

He pressed a kiss to your hair. “I love ya too...” His voice broke, but you didn’t hear it. You were already asleep.

He didn’t know how long he had laid there with you. He was still scrutinizing your every breath and every moment, waiting for the horrific change to take place, or waiting for you to awake in agony as the sickness progressed. But so far, you just slept on. He didn’t dare move. He didn’t want to, anyway.

Eventually, the door creaked open and Rick stepped in barely over the threshold before he froze, seeing Daryl there with you on the bed. They locked eyes for a moment, Rick’s eyes grew glassy and he gave a nod, but then he immediately retreated. No one should intrude on that scene. And he made sure no one would, unless they were called for.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl was staring at the bright sunlight streaming in through the sheer curtains. He had no concept of time as he lay there with you asleep against him. Every moment felt agonizingly long and cruelly short at the same time. He was watching the dust particles floating in the currents of air when you stirred. Your hand landed flush to the center of his chest and you turned on your side almost curling into him. He gently took your hand in his and ran his thumb over your soft skin.

Your stirred again and let out a sigh, stretching beside him. Your eyes blinked open. “Daryl…” you said suddenly.

He squeezed your hand gently. “Yeah. ‘M righ’ here.”

“I—I know.” You pushed yourself up on the palm of your hand, still angled in toward him. “Daryl, look at me.”

He did. Your eyes were wide and surprised, but beyond that you looked… like yourself. The color was back in your face, in your lips. Your eyes were bright and clear. You looked well. Your name slipped past his lips.

“I’m not sick,” you said with disbelief. “I don’t feel—I mean, my bones felt like glass before. And—I’m not hot or cold. I—”

Daryl was sitting up now too, staring at you bewildered. He clasped your face and pressed his hand to your forehead. You didn’t feel feverish. Your skin wasn’t clammy. “Ya ain’t sick…” he drawled, the same disbelief dripping from every word. “Ya ain’t—” A laugh bubbled out of you as he popped up onto his knees, kneeling in front of you on the bed, staring with bafflement. “How—how?”

You shook your head. “I—I don’t know…” you stammered, your heart racing. “I felt—I was dying. I felt it. And now—I still feel like I got hit by a truck, and my shoulder hurts like a bitch but—I’m not sick.”

Daryl took your face in both of his hands and his lips crashed down onto yours. You arched into him and kissed him back, relishing the feeling of his hands drifting down to your waist and gently pressing on your lower back to pull you in against him. He still looked dumbfounded when the two of you broke apart, but you couldn’t stop smiling.

“I gotta—we gotta—” Daryl vaulted himself off the bed, leaving you kneeling in the middle of it, surrounded by the rumpled blankets. He ripped the door open and shouted out into the hallway. “Maggie! Enid!” He turned back to stare at you, his chest heaving as he seemed to have lost his breath. A stampede of footsteps answered and soon Enid, Maggie, Rosita, Rick, Michonne, Carol—even Tara—were bursting in looking grim and worried. Seeing their expressions, Daryl realized they all thought it was time to say goodbye to you. He hurried to correct their assumption. “She—she ain’t sick. Look! Her fever’s gone and she—she ain’t sick anymore.”

All eyes drifted to you sitting upright on the bed, almost looking as if nothing had happened to you at all.

Enid stepped forward, shock written on her face, and you could only smile as she reached a hand out and pressed the back of it to your forehead. She snapped around to look at everyone else again, a teary smile on her face. “She doesn’t have a fever,” she said, shaking her head.

A whoop went up through the room and soon nearly everyone was hugging you and kissing your cheek, patting you on the back as if you’d done anything at all consciously. But Daryl simply stood by the door, leaned up against the wall watching the scene with a teary smile on his face that wasn’t budging. As the last of your family hugged you, your eyes connected with his again and you felt a shock of electricity run up your back and butterflies erupted in your chest.

“I—I don’t understand how this is possible!” Carol laughed happily.

Rick was shaking his head, smiling.

“Has anyone ever heard of this happening before?” Rosita asked. “I mean, should we still be worried?”

Enid shrugged and shook her head, looking at a loss. “Well, it’s not the same as a bite. It seems like maybe her body was able to fight off the infection.”

Rick rubbed a thoughtful hand over his face. “Maybe it’s like how some people get sick from gutting up the first time, some people the twentieth, and some people never do.”

“Some combination of immune system and dosage maybe,” Maggie said thoughtfully, her eyes still glassy with happy tears.

“Well, whatever it is, thank God. We needed another win,” Michonne said.

Enid nodded and looked back at you on the bed. Daryl was still leaned up against the wall by the door. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. “She may not have a fever anymore but I don’t want to push it. Back in bed,” she said, grabbing hold of the blankets again. “I want you to rest. Your body has been through a lot.”

You moved a little gingerly laying down again, realizing now that your shoulder that had taken the poisoned arrow did still hurt a lot. “I’ll rest… feels like I’m still trying to shake the worse flu of my life.” Exhaustion was settling back over you again. The adrenaline had waned. But your cheeks and lips still had a healthy, rosy glow.

Enid filled the glass on the nightstand with fresh water again for you and instructed everyone to leave so you could sleep. Everyone listened, except Daryl. And somehow, everyone knew he was the exception.

He shut the door softly behind Tara as she went out and the two of you were alone again. He wandered back over to the bedside and you looked up at him through your lashes, your eyes growing tired again.

“Are you still going to keep watch over me?” you asked him.

He nodded. “Mhm… now and every damn day of yer life. If you’ll have me that is…” he said a little abashedly, ducking his head. “Actually, ‘m gonna do that whether ya want me to or not.”

You smiled. “Can you do that from in this bed again? Please?”

“Are ya kiddin’?” He climbed in beside you again and you rolled toward him, tucking yourself into his body. Your breathing was strong and steady; no sign of the ragged, shallow respiration that had plagued you overnight.

“You want to know what I think saved me?” you asked, resting your head on his chest, your arm draped over him.

“Hmm?” he hummed, now feeling his own exhaustion settle over him like a heavy blanket. Now that the terror and devastation and fear and grief had receded, he was drained.

“I think you cured me. With that kiss,” you said, and he could hear a smile in your voice. “Love saved us. The universe decided it couldn’t separate us.”

Daryl let out an amused exhale. “I ain’t magic. Pretty sure this ain’t a fairy tale.”

You sighed and nuzzled against the crook of his neck. “I’m starting to think it might be,” you whispered sleepily.

Daryl’s cheek pressed against the top of your head. He tugged you in more snugly and paused thoughtfully. “Well… I do kinda gotta agree with ya there. Now, sleep,” he hushed you. “I dun wanna risk anythin’. Ya need rest.”

“You too,” you said with a yawn. “And now we’ve got time.”

[toxicanonymity]

🔥 tinder

3.5k / stepdad!joel x f!reader / stepdad master

A/N: Picks up after Fandango. Nothing has happened with the Mom before this, so ignore that hypothetical drabble.

Warnings: I8+ smut, mdni. stepcest, big girthy age gap, angst. jacking off, groping, oral F receiving. P in V but not with each other. cheating on each other, kind of. graphically overhearing your mom and him have sex :(. Joel's state of mind when he did it.

"Firm handshake," Joel says, then takes a seat on the other side of you.  Joel’s extra aftershave wafts into your nostrils and makes you tingle.  He asks about your date.  Jacques leans forward with his elbows on his knees to tell Joel about where you went for dinner and what you guys had. You glance over at Joel and a subtle snarl is forming. 

Joel is weird after his introspective drive home from your apartment. When you get back to their house, he silently brings the TV in for you, biceps bulging through his thin undershirt.  He sets it up in your room and won’t make eye contact the whole time he’s in your room.  Seems like everything went to hell as soon as you asked about their marriage.  

“Joel.”  He doesn't look. He bends over and his shirt rides up as he plugs the last thing into the TV.  

“Joel, what the hell” 

“What?” he snaps,  “What do you want?”  

You’re not sure what to say, so your default sarcasm spills out.  “What, you can’t tell?”

He rolls his eyes.  “Somethin’ you need right now, or am I done here?” He tosses the remote control onto your bed. He won’t even get within three feet of you. 

“You don’t want me to answer that,” you say. 

He scoffs and leaves, closing the door behind him.  

-

Thanksgiving night, your mom gets home and the three of you eat dinner together.  She asks how the movie was.  Joel blushes and plays with his food, but you smoothly start telling her all about the Exorcist until she changes the subject since she doesn’t like horror.    

“I was thinking, honey, why don’t you come with us to Mexico?”

“I thought you were going for a conference,” you say.

“Yeah, well.  You know how that is.  They wouldn’t have it at the beach if they didn’t expect us to have a little fun.”  She looks at Joel.  Joel is staring at his plate.  She continues, “We were gonna add a couple of days, make a vacation of it.  You could bring a friend if you want.” 

You nod.  “Or just the three of us?”

“Sure,” she says.  Joel puts his fork down and sits back in his chair.  “Ate too much earlier,” he says and excuses himself from the table.  You don’t see him again that night. 

-

The next morning, you go black Friday shopping with both of them.  At most stores, Joel waits in the car sulking, pondering his life.  You buy a new TV for your apartment, a few new bikinis for the trip, and your Mom buys Joel a bunch of new clothes.  You’re going to miss the shrunken ones.   After you get home, your Mom leaves to do more shopping and Joel watches football in the ] living room. You put on a new bikini and go downstairs to model it for him. 

“Well what do you think?” you ask. 

He quickly scans your body, his eyes not lingering anywhere.  “Looks great,” he says flatly, then looks back at the TV.   

You sit down next to him, elbow on the back of the sofa with your head propped up in your hand.  He tries not to look. 

“Give me a break,” he says. 

“I just wanna know if you like it,” you say.  

“Said it looks great.” 

You adjust the cups of the top. “It’s not too much?” 

“Come on, sweetheart.” He refuses to look.   “Just get outta here, okay?”

“Okay, I have three more to try on.” 

“Please don’t,” he says and adjusts the crotch of his sweatpants.

“I dunno why you’re punishing me for your own feelings,” you retort. 

He sighs as though too tired to even try.  

“Maybe I’ll go on that tinder date after all.”  You’re still not planning on it at this point, you just want Joel to loosen up again and hope the threat might help. 

Joel scowls at you.  He knows he can’t tell you not to.  He knows it’s not fair.  “Would you grow up,” he says. 

Your laugh is short and silent.  “I’ll send the other suits on snapchat.” 

You go back to your room and try them on, taking videos and pictures and sending them to Joel. “I dunno if the ass is too small on this one,” you say in a low, sultry voice, then turn the camera to the mirror to show  your ass hanging out of a cheeky pair of boy shorts.  You take some even hotter footage and send it all in real time. 

Joel doesn’t open the snapchats right away.  But soon, you hear the TV turn off downstairs, then he goes up to the master bedroom and closes the door. 

-

You smile to yourself and put on a robe.  He’s totally about to jack off.  Sure enough, a minute or two later, Snapchat tells you when he starts watching your snaps.  You tiptoe into the hall to listen. You sneak as close to his door as you can get without giving yourself away.  You want to hear him do it unrestrained by your presence. 

“God damn,” he sighs and your nipples harden at the sound.  

“I dunno if the ass is too small on this one,” you say through his phone, and he replays it.  “I dunno if the ass is too small on this one.”  And again.  “I dunno if the ass is too small on this one.” 

He breathes loudly and you hear the wet squish of his fist around his cock.  

“Uggghh,” he groans and you know he must be watching the one where you untie the top entirely and let it hang between your breasts.  Outside his door, you slip your hand into your swimsuit and touch yourself as you listen to him breathe heavily.  He audibly pleasures himself  while you put on a show and strip for him on his phone.  He’s so fucking hot.  

“Jesus,” he says to himself.  In snapchat, you must be pulling the swimsuit aside to show him your juicy cunt and how wet you are.  You brought your phone with you in your robe so you can see how many snaps he has left to watch. That’s one of the last. 

“It’s yours, Joel,” you say from his phone.  “Come and get it.” 

“Fuck me,” he sighs and the sound of his voice makes you lose control of your hand.  You put your hand on the door knob and open it. 

His phone repeats, “It’s yours, Joel.  Come and get it. . . It’s yours, Joel.  Come and get it.”  You see the reflection of the explicit video in his glasses.  He fumbles with his phone to stop it from playing again. 

“What the hell are you doin’ here,” he whispers gruffly with his cheeks pink. 

“If you’re not gonna come get it. . .” you say, putting your hands in the pockets of your robe and splaying them out to show your whole body. 

“Your mom’s on her way home right now.” 

“That’s what you wanna talk about?”  You take a hand out of your robe pocket and slip it into your swimsuit, dipping a finger into your pussy, letting your head fall back, exposing your neck as you bite your lip and touch yourself.  Then you snake your hand up your torso, between your breasts, to your neck.  You walk all the way up to him, stepping over a trail of shopping bags from the walk-in closet to the bed.  When you get to Joel, you put your fingers in his mouth and he licks them clean with his eyes closed.  Then you take his free hand and put it on your breast, slipping it under the swimsuit.  He does nothing to stop you. You start touching yourself again. 

He strokes his cock faster.  He wets his lips and breathes deeply as he palms your breast and watches you touch yourself.  

Then you hear footsteps on the stairs, and your Mom’s voice.  “Honey?” She must have left the garage door open while she was out.  No warning. 

“Shit,” he whispers, yanking his hand away from you.  He looks around.  You close your robe.  “Closet,” he says, pulling his pants up over his wet, hard cock.  

“No!” you whisper.  But when you see your Mom’s shadow arriving at the top of the stairs and Joel all disheveled with his lube right on the nightstand, you don’t see another option.  You’d have to cross the bedroom door to get to the bathroom.  

-

Just as you hide in the closet, your Mom enters the bedroom, and her paper shopping bags clatter against the door on the way in.  “It’s just you? Thought I heard someone.”  She’s headed your way with the bags.  This was so stupid.  So, so stupid.  You could have just tied up your robe and acted like you were getting something from their bathroom.  

Joel intercepts her.  “C’mere,” he says.  “Why don’t ya let me put those up later?” His voice has a seductive air about it and a pit opens in your stomach.  

“Joel,” she says accusatorily and laughs. “Were you watching porn?”

“What if I was,” he says.  Of course he’s still hard and pink in the face.  Terrible at hiding his humiliation.

“Hope you saved some for me,” she says saucily and your heart drops. She closes the bedroom door.  

This is a worst case scenario.  

You hear kissing.  So fucked up.  You plug your ears and dissociate.  What follows is a torturous symphony of breathing and moaning from both of them for the longest five minutes of your life.  You seethe, then you cry as silently as possible.  Of course he’s thinking about you - of course.  You gave him that hard-on. Is he doing it out of spite? Out of panic? Surely he could manage not to moan if he was only doing it because he felt like he had to.  He knows you’re RIGHT THERE.  Can he really  not control himself? 

While you’re still in the closet, you post one of your sexiest swimsuit photos on instagram.  Then you text Joel, “This is so fucked up. I don’t want to ever hear a word from you about my dates or instagram or anything else.”  You send him a screencap from Tinder where you’re confirming your availability for a date with Jacques.  “Hope you’re happy,” you add. “Fuck you.” 

When it’s over, your mom goes to the bathroom and you make your escape, wiping your eyes with one hand, holding your robe closed tight with another,  not even looking in Joel’s direction. You can feel him looking at you, though.  

-

You slam the door to your bedroom.  

Joel responds to your text, “You’re right, it’s none of my business. I’m sorry.”

That makes you even more upset.  You want it to be his business.  You get in your bed and sob.  

“I dunno what to say,” he adds. “I didn’t know what to do.  If you can’t forgive, me I understand.” 

You respond, “You didn’t have to act so into it.”

He says, “I was trying to make it quick. I’m really sorry.” 

You don’t reply. 

“I wish I could undo it. I’m sorry.” 

You don’t respond. 

He asks, “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Fuck no, you don’t want to talk about it. Why would you want to talk about it?  You stay in your room for a long time but eventually go to the kitchen to get something to drink.  He must hear you going downstairs because it’s only a minute before he comes down, too.  

“Hey,” he says.  “You okay?” 

How would you be okay? You don’t have anything to say to him.

He says, “I was gonna, uh, go to the gas station.  You want a drink or somethin’?” You don’t answer.  

You go back to your room.  When he gets back, he knocks on your door. You don’t answer.  He goes back downstairs and texts you that he got you a drink and put it in the fridge.  

The next morning, you come down for breakfast and he’s there.  

“How’d you sleep?” he asks.  You don’t answer.  He watches you pour a glass of orange juice in silence.  You drink it and put it in the sink.  He leans against the doorframe from the kitchen to the hall, blocking your way.  As you go by, he gently puts his hand on your chest and whispers, “Hey.”  You look down at his big, veiny hand.  How dare he platonically put it on your chest? You take a deep breath, your breast swelling into the heel of his palm. 

“What?” you ask. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.  “Please forgive me.” 

You laugh condescendingly. 

“Or at least talk to me,” he begs with puppy dog eyes. 

You return to your room without another word. 

Over the next few days, you go back to your apartment and Joel tries texting you casually.  He snapchats you too, but you don’t answer it.  

-

A few days later, you go out with Jacques to get your mind off Joel.  Joel remembers your plans.  He’s still thinking about it. 

“Have fun on your date,” Joel texts you.  The nerve.  If Jacques is hot enough in person, you might give Joel a taste of his own medicine in terms of what Joel has to overhear.  You’re glad you hadn’t decided the location when you sent Joel the screencap, lest he show up.  

Jacques is hot.  You go out to dinner, then bring him home to your mom and Joel's house instead of your apartment. The two of you sit in the kitchen first and you make him a drink.  You continue your conversation from the date.  His voice is deep and smooth, but not as sexy as Joel's. You can’t help but compare everything about them.  You and Jacques take your drinks to the living room to watch a movie.  You sit in the middle of the sofa and Jacques sits by your side. 

-

Before you've even picked a movie, Joel walks in. He spreads his feet and crosses his arms, pushing out his biceps with his hands underneath them. Then he just stares at you.  He looks like he’s trying to restrain himself.  

"Joel," you light up insincerely. "This is Jacques." 

Jacques gets up and shakes Joel's hand.

"Firm handshake," Joel says flatly, then takes a seat on the other side of you.  Joel’s extra aftershave wafts into your nostrils and makes you tingle.  He asks about your date.  Jacques leans forward with his elbows on his knees to tell Joel about where you went for dinner and what you guys had. You glance over at Joel and a subtle snarl is forming at the edge of his nose.  You lean back against the couch since they’re trying to talk to each other. 

Joel asks, "So what'd ya talk about? Any common interests?" 

"Oh yeah, we both love horror movies," Jacques says. 

"Nice," Joel nods. "She tell ya we went to see the new Exorcist?" 

"Um, yeah. She mentioned it was good." 

Joel chuckles, then looks at you. "It was good, huh? You'll have to catch me up before the next one, sweetheart." He gives your thigh a squeeze and winks at Jacques. Then he leans forward with his elbows on his knees. "Where ya from, Jacques?"

"El Paso," he says.  Joel doesn't hide his surprise. Then Jacques adds, "My parents are French." 

Joel nods thoughtfully. "Am I sayin' it right? Jock? Or is it Jack?"

"Jack is fine."

"Nice." 

-

You interrupt them. "I don't think Hulu's working in here. C'mon Jacques, we can watch in my room."

"Now hold on, I'll fix it for ya," Joel offers and puts his hand on yours, reaching for the remote control. 

"Nah," you say. "Wanna try out my TV in there anyway."

“Alright,” Joel mumbles.  He runs a hand over his beard.  If he didn’t feel so guilty, he’d be losing his shit right now.  You’re sure of it.  He’s trying really hard to be fair.  You and Jacques get up off the sofa, then Joel stands up. 

"It was nice to meet you," Jacques says and shakes Joel's hand again. 

"You're the stepdad right?" Jacques removes his hand from Joel's death grip. 

"Guess I am tonight," Joel mutters.  

“Sorry, what?” Jacques asks. 

"Yeah, he is," you say, then look at Joel. "Where's Mom?" You ask. "Figured y'all were going to have some quality time."

"Your guess is as good as mine, sweetheart," Joel says, then briefly massages your shoulder before walking away to the fridge.  

-

You and Jacques watch Equalizer 2.  

Joel texts you, “Don’t do this.” 

After about fifteen minutes you respond, “?” 

“Please,” Joel texts.  “You’ve made your point.” 

You don’t reply. 

“I know I deserve it, but I wish you wouldn’t.” 

In another twenty minutes, you see the shadow of feet under your door.  A few seconds later, there’s a soft knock. “Gonna make some popcorn, y’all want some?” Joel asks.  You tell him no thanks. 

Toward the end of Equalizer 2, Jacques gets handsy with you and you welcome the advance. He’s not bad with his hands, but you also don’t hesitate to exaggerate your sounds of pleasure.  But that exaggeration turns into real enjoyment.  You relish the opportunity to release all your tension into someone else’s body.  Someone who wants you unapologetically and would hopefully never make you hide in a closet.  

Jacques has a big one, too.  You close your eyes and pretend he’s Joel as you’re making out and his hard cock is grinding into your crotch.  You moan into his mouth, desperately wanting to feel Joel's beard against your cheek.  Jacques whispers your name and says, “I want you.”  He takes his cock out and wraps your hand around it.  You grab it hungrily without opening your eyes.  You hear the tear of a condom wrapper and your breath hitches.  Your body wants it.  

-

Then the fire alarm goes off.  You cover your ears and Jack puts his dick away. You don’t bother fixing your hair or skirt. 

“Sorry!” Joel yells from downstairs.  The smell of burned popcorn fills the hall.  It takes him a minute to turn off the alarm, of course.  Jacques opens the bedroom door to see what’s going on.  Then Joel comes upstairs out of breath and apologizes for the commotion.  

“Sorry ‘bout that, guys.” Joel hovers there in the door with one of his hands on the frame.  

You cross your arms on your bed, and Joel’s eyes fall to where the bedding is messed up.   

“Well, It was nice to meet ya, Jacques,” he says.  “Lemme walk ya out.” 

Jacques is confused.  “I, uh.” 

“Um, I guess I’ll call you,” you tell Jacques.  

Relief washes over Joel’s face and he asks you, “Your Mom, uh, needs a ride, you wanna come with me in a minute?” 

Jacques looks back and forth between the two of you.  “Yeah, guess I better go,” he says to himself.  

Joel walks him out.  

-

When Joel comes back from walking Jacques out, he tries to be casual, but his body is clearly tense.  

"Really think he bought that performance?" Joel asks as he pushes into your room. He closes the door behind him and leans against it with his butt.  He looks at Find my Friends on his iphone.  “She’s ten minutes away,” he says and pushes off your door to approach your bed.  

"What performance?” you ask. 

"C'mon, sweetheart.  You were fakin' it."  He lifts the comforter and sheets and inspects them. "Dry." 

Your cheeks burn. 

He sits down on the bed and picks up the unused condom still in its wrapper.  "Least you woulda been smart." 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you ask.  “Leave me alone.” 

“Can’t, sweetheart,” he murmurs and puts his hand on your thigh. “I can’t.” 

“Then do something about it or get the fuck out,” you whisper.  

He slides his hand up your skirt and slips his fingers right into your panties.  “That for me or him?” 

You roll your eyes.  “Shut up.” 

You lean back on your pillows and he gets between your legs.  He hikes your skirt up and pulls your panties down, then plants his face between your thighs, lightly caressing them from the outside with his big, masculine hands.  “Gotta be quick,” he murmurs into your pussy, then digs in.  He sucks and laps at you and inhales deeply through his nose.  Your hips lift into his mouth.  You whine his name. He pauses and looks up but doesn’t reprimand you.  He penetrates you with his tongue and moans into your cunt. 

“Fuck, Joel,” you breathe.  He devours you ravenously, moaning and sighing, until your thighs tense and your hips lift and you moan his name as you come in his mouth and he laps up every drop.  

He tears his head away and looks at you affectionately.  He’s panting and his face is dripping wet from the nose down.  He kisses your inner thigh, then gives you a hickey there on each side.  

The garage door opens downstairs.  Joel stands up and adjusts his joggers to accommodate his massive erection.  He’s still breathing heavily.  He wipes off his face.  He walks to your door and opens it without a word.  He turns around and looks at you, then closes the door behind him.  

-

THANK YOU for reading and thank you so much for your reblogs and comments! Now more than ever. PSA: definitely follow if you're into this, because i'm shadowbanned and not showing up in tags. this also means i can't make comments or send or receive DMs. follow @toxicfics for notifications and @toxicrecs for reblogs.

-

[skywalkerslvt]

your the best sub ani writer i cant stop

ani discovering his mommy kink like i dunno letting it out in the heat over the moment and being so embarrassed GOD IM EATING MY WALL

a/n: i had way too much fun writing this. here's a mini fic abt ani discovering his mommy kink hope u like it 🤭

CW: 18+ smut, mommy kink, sub ani, a tiny bit of orgasm delay/denial, 545 words

Anakin was a mess beneath you, his hands gripping your hips as you moved against him. His eyes were closed, his face flushed with pleasure. Every thrust, every moan, pushed him closer to the edge, and he felt like he was going to lose control any second.

"Please," he gasped, his voice breaking with desperation. "Please, I need to cum."

You smirked, leaning down to whisper in his ear, "Not yet, Anakin. Be a good boy for me."

His eyes fluttered open, meeting yours with a look of pure need. "Mommy, please," he blurted out, the word slipping past his lips before he could stop it. His eyes widened in horror as he realized what he had just said, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.

You froze for a moment, surprised by the slip. Then a mischievous smile spread across your face as you looked down at him. "Did you just call me mommy?" you teased, your voice laced with amusement.

Anakin's face turned an even deeper shade of red, and he quickly looked away, unable to meet your gaze. "I-I didn't mean to," he stammered, his grip on your hips loosening as he tried to hide his embarrassment.

You chuckled darkly, tightening your hold on his face. "Oh, but you did," you purred. "What a naughty boy you are, Anakin. Does calling me mommy make your cock even harder?"

His breathing hitched, and he bit his lip, nodding slightly. "Yes, mommy," he whispered, his voice trembling.

"Look at you, all pathetic and desperate," you continued, a wicked glint in your eye. "Begging me to make you cum like the needy little slut you are."

A shiver ran through his body at your words, his hips bucking involuntarily.

"Please, mommy," he whimpered, his voice thick with arousal. "I need to cum. Let me cum, please."

You smirked, leaning down to brush your lips against his ear. "You think you deserve it, huh?" you taunted, your tone dripping with mockery. "Such a pathetic little boy, getting off on calling me mommy. How desperate can you be?"

Tears of frustration welled up in Anakin's eyes, his body trembling beneath you. "Please, mommy," he choked out, his voice cracking. "I'll do anything. Just let me cum."

You pulled back slightly, studying his flushed, desperate face. "Alright then," you said, your voice taking on a mocking sweetness. "Cum for mommy, you pathetic little slut."

With a strangled cry, Anakin obeyed, his body convulsing as he finally reached his release. You held him close, continuing to move against him as he rode out his orgasm, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

When it was over, he lay beneath you, completely spent but with a look of pure bliss on his face. "Thank you, mommy," he murmured, his voice filled with gratitude and humiliation.

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. "You're welcome, Anakin," you said softly, though your tone still held a teasing edge. "Anytime you want to be a good boy for mommy."

The red tint on Anakin's face deepened at your additional teasing, but he laughed nonetheless. And as he felt your gentle touch and heard your mocking words, he realized that maybe, just maybe, he had found something he didn't even know he needed.

[lunar-wandering]

names

i had a silly hc and had to write a 700 word drabble about it

“Yo, Mac!”

MK froze mid-step, expression dropping in horror.

Macaque tilted his head in confusion, and turned around just in time to see someone around MK’s age throw an arm over MK’s shoulders.

“Hey Mackenzie, how ya doing?”

“Uh, doing… great! Just fine, as always!” MK sneaked a glance at Macaque out of the corner of his eye, seeing the shadow monkey silently mouthing ‘Mackenzie???’ to himself.

Oh. He was so screwed.

“Good, good!” The person patted MK on the shoulder, before removing their arm, waving at him while they started to walk away. “Well, I’m kinda in a rush right now, but we should totally hang out sometime? Gravity arcade maybe? Eh, whatever, I’ll see you around!”

“See ya!” MK held his false cheery expression until the other was out of sight, then let it drop as he turned back to Macaque. “Please don’t tell Monkey King about this.”

“…Uh-huh. Sure. Uh. Who was that?” Macaque’s expression of confusion was slowly starting to turn into an amused smirk.

“Just an old classmate from, like, high-school I think, not sure, I really only hung out with Mei-”

“And why did he call you-”

“Listen.” MK clapped his hands together, held them in front of his face, and took a deep breath in, preparing himself. “Okay. So. Kids are mean, yeah? And my name is pretty long. Um. So when I was asked, y’know, what ‘MK’ stands for. I… kindasortaliedtothem-”

“You what-”

“And people believed it! I thought it’d get found out really quick, but like, even the teachers thought the system had just glitched out and written the wrong name on the attendance sheet! Man, I had people calling me Mackenzie for years-”

“Really fooled me too.” Mei chimed in, fiddling with her phone with a seemingly bored expression on her face.

“Yeah, Mei didn’t know- wait.” MK paused, turning to face her, “When did you get here?”

“About the same time Macaque collapsed to the ground.”

“About the same time Maca- what?” MK quickly turned his head back to stare at Macaque and- sure enough, he was down on the ground, arms wrapped around his chest, shaking with silent laughter. “What- when did he do that?”

“Dunno, he was like that when I got here.” Mei said, putting her phone in her pocket. “Anyways. I still cannot believe you didn’t tell me the truth until my 18th birthday-”

“Hey, I thought that if I treated it like some kind of grand important thing, you wouldn’t be angry at me!”

“Not that it worked. I still pranked the shit out of you once I stopped laughing.”

“I think I’m still finding glitter in my clothes- okay, I can’t stop thinking about it, do you think he’s okay?” MK said, pointing down at Macaque, “Like, is this normal?”

“Oh, yeah-” Wukong said, “He used to do this all the time, his body just kinda gives up on him when he really finds something funny.”

“Okay, so long as it’s- wait.” MK whirled around to point at Wukong, “When did you get here?!”

“Dragon Kid over here texted me that something was going on so I decided to come check it out.” Wukong said, “Soooo. What’s so funny that it’s got Maccie down on the ground anyways?”

“Nothing! I, uh-”

“MK was just telling him about he used to lie to people and tell them his nickname stood for ‘Mackenzie’.” Mei explained before MK could even get the chance to come up with an excuse.

Wukong let out some sort of amused sputter.

“M-Mackenzie? You- you know, you do kinda seem like, like an Mackenzie-” Wukong snorted, and then he was doubling over, slowly collapsing to the ground.

“Ah, both monkeys have fallen.” Mei said solemnly, pulling out her phone and snapping a picture of them as MK sighed.

“Welp, it’s official.” He said, “I’m never living this one down. Why does everyone always find it so funny anyways?”

Mei shrugged, not knowing the answer herself as she started sending the picture of the two monkeys on the ground to Red Son. Movement in the corner of his eye caught MK’s attention, and he turned to see Macaque seemingly forcing himself up again.

“Hey- hey, Kid.” He wheezed, “Just, just out of, y’know, curiosity and for like, comparison. What is?? Your actual name??”

“Oh, uh, it’s-”

[shakespearean-dream]

TW!!! — blood, scarring and mild body horror ahead 🥲

benny’s turn!

before i start i wanna clarify i hesitated a bit on posting this because lovely mutual @vor-leser just posted his benny interpretation (go look at it and follow him btw), and idk if we like mind melded or smth but our human benny’s are super similar LOL. i damn near scrapped the whole thing out of fear someone would get mad at me but i Would Not be able to start over and get this done ever so this is as good as we’re gonna get. 😭 my apologies niko love u /p

this has been like a full 7 days in the making 😭😭 the art block that i felt coming on while doing ellen and ted hit me like an optimus prime sized semi truck this week along with a depressive episode so i definitely appreciate that happening and i am not upset about it at all! /s i’m totally good so don’t worry or anything /gen, mental health is just weird and i also wanted to explain the gap in my posts 😔

i do not know how to feel about this drawing if i’m so fr with you; i’m proud of myself for AM-ified benny cause i think i got the slowly rotting from the inside out primal freak energy down pretty good, but on the other hand this feels kinda empty?? i usually have a lot more commentary squished in here but i think my brain’s a little fried 🤦‍♂️ i love drawing me some beautiful buff men though so drawing normal ben was familiar territory. however his wack ass haircut i gave him is his punishment for being a PRICK!!! go sit in the corner and think about ur actions benjamin.

like ted n the rest of the sillies i’m not straying too far from canon with his personality, he’s an ass and a murderer and a hella smart dickhead who desperately needs to be punished by the universe (thank you for that one AM). hot take i did not like his “redemption arc” in his game scenario and i don’t think with how he was throughout the entirety of his life (and also throughout the game, main example his inner dialogue) he would actually go out of his way to help the kid because he means it??? n prove he changed to the guys he killed cause he means it??? i dunno maybe AM torturing him made him have a main character “omg i’ve been in the wrong this whole time!!1” moment like the game suggests i’m just not buying it 💀 i’m sure it’s just cause bennys scenario couldn’t be too long and they couldn’t fully flesh him out which i won’t fault the game makers for. i’m a steven universe fan, i know what time constrictions can do to a plot and redemption arc 😭 looking at you white diamond…

his wife n kids are up top and they’re kinda neat to me— i was considering the hc that part of the reason manya (his canon wife) left him is because she realized she was a lesbian which would be funny as fuck considering benny’s also One Of Them Queers 😭. i think during the brief times he was home and able to parent his daughters they got really scared and tired of him, one because he’s just a very threatening powerful and overbearing man, but also because i feel like he would’ve been on their ASS about everything. grades, extracurriculars, friends, wardrobe, this guy was micromanaging his family to an annoying extreme (ofc because of his perfectionist complex). he probably loved manya and the kids in his own weird way, but it was more contractual to him than any real personal relationship. maybe he inherited that from his own parents?? i doubt he ever talked to them after he moved out.

that’s about the end of my thoughts on this fucker. 🥲 funny storyyyy i just remembered i have laundry to finish so im gonna go do that, lord help me. thank you for reading all this if you did!!!!! we’re over halfway through so who do yall want next? wanna save AM or nimdok for last? i’ll see u guys later :]]]

[jesterwriting]

(for that timeloop post,, uhm this relates to the whole body horror thing ((not too much just a brief mention)) so if rn u don't wanna see that SCROLL AWAY!!! OR DELETE ME!! OK disclaimer ends here)

oh man but what if Law did say room anyway and there were impossible scars on your insides... like littered everywhere, they're not fresh but old, almost phantoms that make no sense, because if they were real you would've died. how would he react to that? maybe not when he noticed them crying but after weeks or months, dunno, where they keep skipping his more thorough check-ups (where he uses his devil fruit) since they're anxious about the pains? and think that somehow there are signs of their previous deaths and the mention of them makes it hurt more and more and they just can't do it. but they can't bring themselves to say it because who could possibly believe them? if Law doesn't, it would just feel even worse, won't it? even if they understand his point of view. maybe they even die in front of him and it gets harder to just hold all of that in,,, oh boy. if you think about continuing your oneshot i'll eat it like a starving animal!

pairing: law x gn!reader

contents: slight body horror, slight gore, timeloops, suicide done to restart the loop, hurt/comfort, happy ending,

word count: 1.6k words

note: OHHHHH I LOVED THIS IDEA OH MY GOD. absolutely so smart. anon your mind is huge and i had so much fun doing this request. <33 i really hope you enjoy :33

playlist: caribou - tanya tagaq

a sister fic to this

This had never happened before. You had experienced hundreds of loops, maybe even thousands, and this was the first time Law saw fit to scan you with his Devil Fruit.

Maybe you were getting sloppy. You had a strong immune system so you never got sick, and the first time Law scanned you for your general checkup upon joining the crew, there was nothing of note. You wondered what changed, as if you hadn’t died more times since you joined his crew than you had in your entire life. Maybe it was because the more you suffered, the more reckless you became, throwing yourself into the fray with little regard for yourself. You could take a bullet for your crewmates, so you would. It was as simple as that.

There was a first time for everything, you supposed. A first death, a first breath, a first kill; there were uncountable firsts that one could experience, and you had experienced most of them.

Not this one, though.

You had tried to avoid it for as long as possible. Your captain was a man who carried burdens, ones almost as heavy as the ones on your shoulders. If he knew how many times he failed you — or how many times you failed him — you knew he would take all the blame for himself. As if you hadn’t been the one lying, and fighting, and dying over the course of countless lifetimes.

Law blinked a few times before his brows furrowed and his eyes narrowed. You fidgeted under his stare. If his reaction was anything to go by, he found something horribly wrong with you. While you had experienced slow deaths before, you had never experienced what it felt like to waste away from disease. Maybe you’d find out this loop, you thought, trying to feel nonchalant about the idea and not like you were about to throw up.

“Um. What’s wrong,” You tried.

Law shushed you, the blue glow from his room still surrounding you. You bit your tongue, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt to try and take your mind off of whatever he could have found.

“This can’t be right,” He muttered, one hand cradling his chin. He pointed to your chest. “There’s a scar inside of you, it looks like a puncture wound through your lungs. When did that happen?”

Three loops ago when you fell off a building and onto some rebar. That was a particularly awful death. The last thing you remembered before everything went black was Law’s panicked expression as he tried to put you back together again. There was terror in his eyes. You tried not to think about that part.

“And here,” Law continued, pointing to your abdomen. “There’s a scar running across the length of your stomach. It almost looks as if you were previously disemboweled.”

You had been. Multiple times. It was a common and very disturbing loop ender that you tried to avoid if you could. Watching your organs fall out of you in a steaming heap was never something you liked to experience, but for some reason, your opponents kept aiming for the gut. You wished they’d aim for the heart or the head more often. At least then it’d be quick.

He didn’t stop there, jaw falling open when he stared directly where your heart was. “When were you stabbed, Y/N-ya, this looks recent.” Law blinked a few times before realization dawned on his features. His eyes shot to your face, expression going from open to unreadable in seconds. “How did you survive without my intervention?”

Your mouth was dry. How were you supposed to respond? There was no way you could tell him that you had died on his watch more times than you could count. Law didn’t deserve that. Your captain was a good man, one you loved admired far too much to allow this to weigh him down. He would take your failures to heart, completely discounting the amount of times that he had saved you from having to start anew.

You must have been quiet for too long because Law was speaking again. “Answer me.”

“It’s from a long time ago,” You said.

That was a lie. It was from the previous loop. A quick death by your own hand over the cold corpse of your captain. If Law didn’t survive, there was no point in continuing, and if there was one thing you had grown accustomed to, it was taking your own life after one loss too many. You knew how to make it quick, no suffering. So with a precise hand, you drove your knife into your chest and let the timeline begin anew.

When you saw Law again, whole and alive, you vomited. You were under the impression that he believed that you simply ate some bad seafood, but from the concern that was slowly etching its way onto his features, you weren’t so sure of that now.

“Don’t lie to me.” Law’s eyes flashed, barely contained frustration needling at the corners of him. “None of this makes any sense, half of these injuries should have killed you. The other half would have needed to be treated.”

The truth sat on the tip of your tongue. You felt selfish and needlessly cruel for your desire to tell Law what was really happening. Your eyes burned, and their glassy sheen didn’t go unnoticed. Law handed you a tissue, expression softening.

“I- um.” You hated how your voice cracked. It had been a long time since you told someone about your Devil Fruit. You always died, and they always forgot. For a long time, you thought it was better that way, carrying this weight on your own. The way Law looked at you, though, it made you want to pour your soul out to him. Every pain, every loss, every death lain at his feet, and for once, you could stand unburdened. “It’d be wrong of me to tell you.”

Law’s eyebrows knit together. “Now you’re being stupid.”

“No, I’m not. You’ll regret asking once you know. Don’t pretend like you don’t carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, you don’t deserve my troubles on top of that. It’s better for both of us if you just forget what you saw.”

With that, you stood and made to brush past Law and out of the room. He grabbed you by the shoulder, not allowing you to go any farther. Though his grip was firm, it didn’t hurt. If you really wanted to, you could wrench yourself away from him.

“You’re trembling.”

Your lower lip wobbled, your resolve ebbing away by the second. “It’s complicated.”

“So tell me.” Law’s lips twitched upwards ever so slightly. “Doctor’s orders.”

You let out a small huff. He didn’t deserve this, but there would always be another loop. This current one hadn’t been going so well, and by your estimation, it would take at least three more before you managed to reach your next checkpoint. It wouldn’t hurt to tell Law what he inevitably wouldn’t remember. You steadied yourself with a deep breath and turned to face him, his eyes met yours with a mix of concern and exasperation.

“It’s my Devil Fruit,” You started. Law leaned back on his heels and crossed his arms, attention solely on you. Your heart thundered in your chest. “I’ve died so many times.” Without your permission, your breath hitched. Law’s hand encircled your own with a small squeeze, encouraging you to continue. “It, um, brings me back, I guess. I’ll die, and then wake up in the bunkhouse days earlier, and I’ll be the only one who remembers what happened. All those scars you saw were what killed me in a previous loop.”

He was silent while he chewed on his words.

“How many times have you died since you joined my crew,” Law finally asked.

Your hand was still in his and you gave it a squeeze. “That’s not fair. I know what you’re doing and I won’t let you do it.”

Law’s shoulders slumped as he brought his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I believe you. It explains a lot. I noticed you cry in your sleep sometimes.”

“You watch me sleep?” The tips of Law’s ears were tinged pink while you laughed.

“I was worried so I checked on you.” With a sigh, he began to lead you out of the clinic to his office. “Come on, you’re telling me everything you can remember. We’re going to come up with a plan.”

Humoring him, you followed close on his heels. It didn’t matter how long or how hard you planned, there was no accounting for the unpredictability of the universe. This comfort wouldn’t last long. Soon, you would be dead again and the cycle would start anew. That didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy sharing a space with your captain, listening to him meticulously craft tactics to keep you, and everyone else, alive.

It wasn’t until four days later you found yourself breathing, though covered head to toe in blood, with the rest of the crew. Everyone was safe and sound, and Law wouldn’t stop looking at you with a smirk on his face. When you found yourself next to him, he bumped his shoulder against yours.

“I told you my plan would work.”

Just like that, for the first time in your life, you were no longer alone.

[r0semultiverse]

Was Celia drunk as fuck or is this something supernatural?? 👀

Who the fuck is Jack?? 👀

Alice is such a delight, I love her!

Oof so one or both of them have trauma involving grandparents then.

I love Samama & Alice so much. 💜 They have a great dynamic!

Oh shit, right, Gwen is probably still getting over Mr. Bonzo too. 👀

"I just… I dunno. When I left the coffee shop, it felt like someone was following me."

Please don't take away Alice, she's one of my faves! I hope this post doesn't age poorly. Watch me have to quote this post very soon.

OH NO, is it that [ERROR] following her??? 😰

"Don’t joke about that, mate. I was dreaming about it all day." Okay, yeah, that's a creature.

Sam & Alice are both about to run into a creature... 👀

"Classifying unspeakable horrors all night for no discernible reason?" @/entities-of-posts & @/which-entity-this-post-serves is that you? :]

Hmm, now why is this episode called "marked?" I assumed Mr. Bonzo was gonna find his mark, but maybe Alice is marked by an entity/creature that was locked in the Magnus Institute?

"giving up the ghost" okay so someone saw an apparition? Honestly not sure what entity this episode is about so far.

It's giving The Corruption ✨🧟‍♀️⚰️ (maybe The Buried)

"It’s just that one of the graves had a body in that was too well-preserved for the age it should have been." 👀👀👀

This thing is about to jump out of the grave & run off, isn't it? 🏃‍♂️

"The back was completely covered in this complicated tattoo of a ship sailing across an open sea towards an open horizon." Peter Lukas?!?!?

Oh 100% The Buried, without a shadow of a doubt.

Lots of tattoo & carvings in walls imagery in this sequel prequel sidequel, isn't there? 👀

Hey wait, that's Ink5oul from episode 2, isn't it? 👀 Ink5oul definitely feels like a conduit or vessel for The Flesh or some other kind of entity.

Okay, there's something weird going on with this place, the salt water & waves near this cemetery are kind of seemingly enticing them to come drown in it's waters. In the very least it's messing with these guys' mental states! Pretty freakkyyyy! 👀🌊

Also the repeated emphasis on dreams is interesting this episode, wonder if that'll play a part in something later on. 👀👀

"If it’s any consolation, he’s with the sea now. The deep will care for his bones." I literally called it!!

I think Gordon Alan Johnson also wants to be with David. 👀🌊🌊

I think Gordon Alan Johnson also wants to be with David. 👀🌊🌊

I don't know, Gordie, I think you did it! Unless Ink5oul is collecting tattoos like an alternate universe version of the Leitner books. Wait yeah, what if the tattoos are like conduits for the entities of this world or even the original one? 🖌

Another way to look at this is asking... Is The Deep a new entity/fear or is it a servant of a fear like The Vast? I stg there was a colossal water monster at some point in The Magnus Archives!

Okay so yeah, there's already a precedent for this. Also feels like The Lonely, The Buried, The Corruption, The Vast, & maybe even The Flesh are all involved in this one though I don't know if Flesh (Ink5oul) is working with or against the other fears at this time.

Gwen, you can tell your coworkers what's wrong, oh my fucking god. Please. Celia, you have me so invested in whatever is going on with you.

Weird unexplained noise at 17:44 too as Celia enters the office. Wonder what that's all about, maybe it'll come up later on.

"He is one of our Externals." Okay; so, there's more of them & they have their own secret hitman title too!

Mr. Bonzo when he was on TV

"And they usually like it." I bet fear creatures do like it when you scream. That makes a lot of sense actually.

Also what's that weird "boowomp" noise as they're talking or is it just the OST? 👀

Is Gwen going to be turned into something not quite human at some point? Just throwing darts at a board with that speculation, but wouldn't that be wild?

Okay; so, these little digitized noises are absolutely important!

I wonder how many times & when people have lied so far throughout this season. 👁️👁️

[itzsana-kiddingmenow]

hii sana i was wondering if you can do a lee! skz ler! skz

so like a tickle fight

hope you have a wonderful day!

Movie Night:

𝒍𝒆𝒆: SKZ 

𝒍𝒆𝒓: SKZ 

𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘶𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘦𝘢 𝘪 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨! 💗🧋

𝕥𝕨: tickle fight, pretty intense

𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥: @someone-who-loves-kpop-saranghae @jeonginsdiary @leeknowstan33 @v--143 @wereallgonnadieonedaybutnottoday @inkytornpages

“Ugh…but that one’s so boring!” Jeongin complained as Chan put on a movie. 

“Ooh ooh! Put on Disney!” Changbin and Felix both squealed at the same time. 

“Yeah. Maybe when we were…i dunno…eight. Put on a horror movie or something.” Seungmin rolled his eyes. 

“Good choice. Those are always interesting.” Minho replied, laughing at the downcast faces of Changbin and Felix. 

“What if you’re scared, though…” Jisung whispered, lacing and unlacing his fingers. 

“Put on a good romance or something!” Hyunjin exclaimed, digging his arms into his pockets. 

“Something you’ll never get-” Jeongin replied sassily, snickering in the middle of his sentence. 

“Yah!” Hyunjin lept onto the maknae, digging into his sides vigorously. 

Poor Innie let out a loud scream before descending into cackly laughter, squealing loudly when Changbin pulled his arms above his head, allowing Minho to help by scribbling over his underarms. 

“CHAHAHANNIE HYUHUHUNG HAHAHALP!” The maknae begged for mercy.

“We don’t torture the maknae!” Chan yanked Minho off of the youngest, digging into the boy’s ribs quickly. 

Jisung, Felix, and Seungmin helped Chan as well, reducing the cat dad [mom] to an incoherent mess of laughter. 

“nOOO THIHIHIS IHIS SOHOHO UHUHUNFAHAHAHIR! STAHAHAHAHAHAP!” Lee Know kicked out as he tried to pry the four pairs of hands off of him. 

Hyunjin and Changbin let up on Jeongin, leaving the maknae vengeful. 

Jeongin immediately started on Hyunjin, squeezing at his stomach and making the older scream uncontrollably. 

“NOOOHOHOHO! IHIHINNIE STOHOHOP!”

Changbin giggled and helped the maknae, yanking Hyune’s arms up too. 

Soon enough, Hyunjin’s limbs thrashed enough to cause blunt force trauma, forcing the lers to let up. 

Changbin felt bad for poor Minho, who was going ballistic with his laughter at the moment, so he pulled Chan off and began tickling him like crazy, leaving the oldest choking on his laughter. 

“NAHAAHAHA CHAHAHANGBIN!” Chan squealed as Binnie squeezed at his thighs, driving the older insane. 

“HEHEHEHEY!” Jisung screeched when Minho broke free, starting on his favorite lee first. 

“What is it, Hannie?~” Minho cooed over Chan’s hysterical laughter; Seungmin had decided to help out Changbin, Jeongin tagging along. 

“IHIHIHIT TIHIHICKLES!” Jisung cried out in ticklish agony as Hyunjin pulled his arms above his head. 

Minho followed by digging into the quokka’s outstretched underarms, leaving him screaming underneath him. 

Felix tried to escape the room, knowing he was next, just to get caught by the maknae, who yanked down the older and head locked his feet. 

He went at it, leaving Felix screaming so loudly that it overpowered everyone else’s voice in the room, leaving the entire group laughing. 

“I’ll help you!” Jisung ran over to his other sunshine twin, digging into his hips, driving Felix absolutely ballistic as his whole lower body was abused by his ticklers. 

Changbin let up on Chan, who slumped underneath him, absolutely spent. 

Minho immediately tackled Seungmin down with the help of Hyunjin and Changbin. 

“No! NO HYUHUHUHUNGS! AGH THAHAHAT TIHIHICKLES!” Seungmin bucked up as much as he could while being pinned down, squirming weakly under the two pairs of hands tickling him silly. 

Finally, Jisung and Jeongin let up on the brownie boy, who joined Chan on the couch as he panted with exhaustion. 

Together, they managed to grab and pull Binnie off of the vocalist, allowing Seungmin to overpower Minho and Hyune.

Hyunjin, afraid, immediately ran to help the others with Binnie, who was struggling to overpower them with a grunt. 

It took Seungmin, Jeongin, and Hyunjin to pin down the begging rapper. 

Minho whipped out his trusty tickle brush, setting it to a high speed in an agonizingly slow manner. 

“No! Hyung please, not the brush! Oh my goood i’m gonna die please please please!” Binnie babbled as Minho moved closer and closer to his stomach with the brush, his words summing up to a squeaking noise as he whimpered in anticipation. 

Let’s say Jisung got bored at his upper body. He dug harshly into Changbin’s armpits, relishing in the ticklish squeal the older let out. 

Minho threw the younger’s shirt up, pressing his tool to the rapper’s belly button. 

“AHHHHHHAHAHAHA! HYUHUHUNG IIHEHEHAHA” Binnie screamed incoherently as Lee Know and Hannie tickled him to pieces. 

Poor Changbin dissolved into silence the second Minho attacked the spot between his armpits and ribs with the dreaded brush, leaving the rest of the group cooing at the exhausted boy. 

He looked like he would faint any second, his laughter making no sound at all, and his back arched, cute smile stretched out on his face. 

He shook his head and squirmed weakly, which was a cue for Lee Know to stop. 

Minho finally let up, turning off the brush. 

The group burst into laughter yet again from the wrecked looks of all the boys. 

“This was way more entertaining than movie night.”

i hope you enjoyed! please check my intro post before interacting! love ya! 💕💗💖

[starryredpandawrites]

What if. . . Wilson succeeded and made Audrey into his "perfect creation"? He takes Audrey by surprise instead of outright telling her his plan before getting a Gent pipe to the face, and Gent has their tool.

The one person who cared about and was kind to Bendy, taken from him and used like some puppet for their own twisted uses. The world truly hates him. . .

Me, thinking furiously: I can fix this, I can fix this, I can fix this, HOW CAN FIX THIS?!

This might be a little too much angst for me but I'll give it a shot.

TW body horror under the cut

Shipahoy Dudley and Wilson didn't mix very well, right? Maybe it's because he has a fully human soul and Audrey's soul isn't but I also can't imagine Shipahoy Audrey turning out much better since her soul is strong/intact enough to form her own person, so we'd probably end up with an Audrey sticking out of a Shipahoy monster like what happened to Wilson. Horrific but hopefully fixable. You'll see what I mean.

Bendy and Audrey's minds are probably still linked but I doubt Audrey's thoughts and senses would be very coherent. All the Ink Demon would know is something is very, very, very wrong.

Eventually, Wilson would sicc Shipahoy Audrey at Bendy (that's the whole reason he wanted her, to make something to take down the Ink Demon permanently) which means she would have to track him down. I dunno if she would have the mind for it, but once she crosses out of signal dampener territory, Bendy would find her.

Now, I don't think Audrey would attack Bendy, but the Shipahoy side of her might. If they fight Bendy will win, but it will be awful and traumatizing. If she doesn't fight back, it will still be awful but maybe a little less traumatizing or just traumatizing in a different way.

Either way, Bendy would see Audrey's upper half sticking out of Shipahoy and get the idea that, maybe if he separates her from the whole, he can save her.

So, that's what he does. She would not survive the process BUT in this world, you only truly die if you are consumed. Cue dramatic heartbreaking scene of her melting away in his arms while he begs her to return to him.

There's a chance that while she's melting he will panic and consume her rather than risk letting her reform on her own. While this would still count as a "bad ending" in my book, I do think Audrey would have a very different attitude towards becoming a Big Monster this time. She would much prefer being stuck with Bendy than being stuck with Wilson's monstrosity. She might even thank him for it.

If he doesn't consume her, she'll melt away and he'll go do whatever he did in the first game to the Shipahoy carcass or consume it just to be sure Audrey has the best chance at coming back as herself.

Since I'm writing this, she will come back and they have their happy reunion, but they'll both be horribly, horribly scarred by this. Audrey would understand and even be grateful that the Ink Demon freed her, but she would likely develop PTSD and/or at the very least suffer nightmares about the Ink Demon killing her, which would suck for both of them. The Ink Demon would feel awful for being responsible for one of her deaths. In his mind, he broke his promise not to harm her, and even though it was for a good cause he'll hate himself for that. He hates liars and now he's become one.

Luckily, time heals (or at the very least, softens) all wounds and they live happily ever after, the End 🎉

I know you mentioned the Gent corporation using Audrey against Bendy but my brain cannot handle the angst so have this happy ending copout instead

I'm gonna go write some fluff now 🥺

[prismaticpichu]

Zack and Sephiroth watch Kung Fu Panda 2 (Zack completely forgot about that one scene with Po’s mom). Sephiroth just assumes it’s going to be a silly kids movie. What’s the reaction

Sephiroth, sitting stagnant on the couch, has a hollow, almost ghostly look consuming his once steely eyes. It feels as if something has been gouged out of him—catching him off-guard, striking him where he’s weak. Like an all too raw piece of his soul has been ruthlessly pried from its fragile structure. The movie has been paused for several seconds now, Zack having noticed the way his friend has seemingly left his body. He sets the remote down and glances worriedly at his friend.

“Seph…? You okay, bud?”

Sephiroth doesn’t respond for several beats. He can only stare at the paused screen, silent, unable to tear his gaze away from the frozen frame before him. Unable to look away from the snapshot of roaring flames, of a village trapped in the famished talons of fire and smoke and burning wood.

Of a mother panda, running away, about to be mercilessly slaughtered by the command of a madman.

“How could… anyone… do this?”

Zack pauses for a moment, saddened by his friend’s saddened voice, and taken aback by how genuinely struck Seph was by Shen’s attack on the panda village. He considers joking, chuckling—perhaps saying something about the history of evil peacocks. But he doesn’t. It doesn’t feel right. Instead, he just scoots closer to his friend.

“I dunno, bud. When bad people, y’know, when they want something… they do bad things.”

There’s another beat, another reign of silence. And the next set of words slash Sephiroth’s throat as they leave it.

“He… the bird…” The syllables are jagged, taut. “He killed his…”

Sephiroth doesn’t need to finish the sentence for Zack to understand it. To understand everything. And like a tidal wave of acid, the realization of what he has inadvertently subjected his friend to comes toxically crashing down on him.

Zack’s gaze darts between the screen and Seph. “Oh my god… buddy… what is wrong with—Gaia, I’m so sorry….!”

He wraps his arm around his wounded friend, kicking himself a thousand times for his insensitivity and blindness. Out of all the movies they could have chosen….

Sephiroth dips his chin, resting it on Zack’s hair, a momentary relief from the horror portrayed on his screen. Never did he expect to be struck so viscerally by one of his friend’s favorite films. Never did he expect to be at a loss for words amid their playful banter and commentary. Never did he expect an innocuous, colorful, loving movie to be a mere veneer for something much darker.

“ I know…. I know this prolly hurts real bad…” Zack solaces, continuing to hug his pal. “I promised to never…. I’m sorry, Seph…. Gaia I’m sorry… We can stop now, if you want, maybe play a game inste—“

“….Wutai.”

Zack blinks, confused by the sudden shift.

“….Wutai?” he echoes puzzledly.

Sephiroth’s eyes strain, his muscles stiffening. “I… I’ve done this…” he admits bitterly, painfully, like the words scraped against his tongue in serrated, poisonous blades. “In Wutai… I’ve razed villages. Killed countless. I… I probably have slaughtered a child’s…” He struggles to finish that sentence, the brutal scene from the movie still raw in his mind.

“I… I am like Shen.”

Zack’s heart twists, a full jagged knot tethering in his chest as he digests Seph’s words—the pain, the guilt, the self-loathing… He shakes his head, pulling back slightly from the embrace.

“That’s not true,” he says firmly, kindly. “That’s not true, bud.”

Sephiroth opens his eyes, ready to protest. “I… I’ve razed…”

“it was a war, Seph… you know that. I know you do. ShinRa ordered for those villages to be burned. From what I can tell—and learned… you didn’t have a choice.”

Sephiroth closes his eyes again, riding too many turbulent memories and emotions to think of a proper response. Zack returns his head to Seph’s shoulder.

“You would never do what Shen did, bud…” Zack says quietly. “You would never kill out of hate. I know you wouldn’t.”

For a long swath of time, Sephiroth remains locked in the other’s arms, silent, listening to the unwavering sincerity of his best friend’s words. Letting them sink into him, letting them assuage him. Gauze him. Heal him. He sinks deeper into the embrace, clinging to Zack’s heartfelt hope in him. To his trust. To his beliefs.

And there he makes a vow to never prove Zack wrong.

KUNG FU PANDA 2 SAVES NIBELHEIM, Y’ALL!!!!