premise: the relationship shared between you and bruce was anything but perfect. it was raw and caked with blood and pain, but it worked.
pairing: bruce wayne x (f)reader
word count: 5.4k
warnings: unprotected sex, pain kink (just a little taste, more or less emotions wise), toxic relationships, blood (wounds, cuts, and bruises mentioned), needles mentioned, tragic pasts (readers family life was crap and domestic violence is mentioned briefly), arguments, angst, scratching, probably slightly unrealistic when it comes to certain things lmao. 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI.
etc: i swear i’ll stop writing shitty angst after this lmao. obviously there’s no spoilers and this leans more towards au since we don’t know too much about the batman and his characterization just yet, i literally took what i’ve seen in trailers and ran with it. let’s hope this doesn’t flop and here’s to all of us becoming completely whipped by robert pattinson this month <3
i do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work, please be respectful — if you enjoyed please comment or reblog!
You’re not sure if it’s the low hiss that shakes through him as you pat the disinfecting cloth to one of the many open wounds littering his back, his body’s instinct to shake and move away from the sting—no matter if it’s helpful or not—clearly being fought off by its host. As if proving, to no one, that a little antiseptic was not a big deal. Especially with gashes as deep as these. His ability to hide any sort of pain he may, or may not, be going through being one of his least rewarding qualities. In your opinion.
I got pretty fed up with looking for words to replace said because they weren’t sorted in a way I could easily use/find them for the right time. So I did some myself.
I’M DRUNK OR JUST BEING WEIRDLY EXPRESSIVE FOR A POINT/SARCASM
Hooted
Howled
Yowled
I WONDER
Pondered
Voiced
Wondered
OH, YEAH, WHOOPS
Recalled
Recited
Remembered
SURPRISE BITCH
Revealed
IT SEEMS FAKE BUT OKAY/HA ACTUALLY FUNNY BUT I DON’T WANT TO LAUGH OUT LOUD
Scoffed
Snickered
Snorted
BITCHY
Tattled
Taunted
Teased
Edit: People, I’m an English and creative writing double major in college; I understand that there’s nothing wrong with simply using “said.” This was just for fun, and it comes in handy when I need to add pizzazz.
Author's note: If anyone has a degrading or mistress kink fic with Yennefer lmk it's for science 😁
Enjoy!
"Ugh, when will this end?" You groan and rub your temples as if it would ease the headache you got from the Brotherhood's meeting that had been going on for more than 2 hours now. When shouting had commenced, a break to calm the nerves was called in, and you found yourself alongside Triss Merigold, exiting the meeting room: "Always the same shit, we all know how it's going to end."
"I think this time is going to be different," Triss tries to reassure you optimistically, but you simply huff and roll your eyes in response (something you realised you had picked up from a certain raven haired sorceress coming your way): "Oh look, there's Yennefer."
Bold and unbothered as usual, you thought as she approaches the both of you with lively steps. Stunning, as usual.
"I'm afraid I'll have to steal her for a moment, Triss," She speaks a bit urgently, and you think something is wrong: "Walk with me, my darling."
Oh.
That kind of urgent.
You link arms with your violet eyed lover without giving away to the redheaded sorceress, who was now behind you, the true intentions of your 'walk'.
"You feel the meeting suffocating you too?" She asks quietly as you stray away from the crowd, into the more quite parts of the château.
"Oh, yes."
"They're a different breed of morons, the Chapter."
"Especially today." You agree as she leads you to a particularly quiet corner of the corridor you were walking around, then suddenly she pushes you against a wooden door hidden next to a statue. The door was already open, so when your shoulder lightly bumps into it, you're quick to stumble in and Yennefer follows suit: "Really? Here?"
"Obviously," She groans as she locks the door behind her and turns around in the mildly cramped space to face you. She wastes absolutely no time whatsoever in pulling your face against hers and claiming your lips in a hungry kiss.
You're perhaps too quick to whimper against her soft lips, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her flush against you; your back hitting something in the meantime, but you're too drunk on her to try and guess what it is.
She's hungry for you– absolutely ferocious with the way she kisses you and lets her hands grab your breasts possessively, which makes you sigh in a delighted manner. Her knee spreads your legs enough to fit her own between them. She then tugs your dress upwards and quickly grabs your thighs before the cloth can cover them again.
"Yen–" You practically gasp when you pull away for air, but she's relentless: she attacks your neck with rather harsh sucks and bites, while you unbutton her coat.
You want to tell her to stop and not leave marks, for your dress wasn't covering your neck and shoulders, but you don't have the heart to tell her to stop. Much as you loved her, and much as she made it up to you always, she was sometimes mean to you in ways she was mean to Geralt, which made you insecure in a way.
Today, it wasn't a case like that though. You didn't have the heart simply because you didn't want her to stop.
You feel your eyes roll close as she licks at the spots she bit and you almost miss the last button, before she shoves it off her shoulders herself and puts one hand on the side of your throat as she switches to the other side of your neck, slowly sneaking a hand inside your panties.
"Yenna," You let out a broken moan when you feel her fingertip pressing right on your clit, then grab her chin and lift her head up so you can kiss her lips. Your tongues are quick to clash as she teases your clit with her delicate fingers, scent of lilac and gooseberries invading your senses in the most pleasant way.
Her skin is soft under your palms when you practically shove your hands under her shirt and grab her breasts, which makes her sigh quietly. Violet eyes bore into your soul when she pulls back, lips now a darker shade of red and slightly puffy. She keeps the pair focused on you, staring right through you as her attention now completely switches to the motion of her fingers.
After a point, when you can clearly hear the wet noises coming from your pussy, you have to grab her arms to hold yourself up. Your moans become a bit louder each time she flicks and strokes. A jolt of electricity shoots down your legs when she inserts two fingers into your warmth: your limbs tremble and a gasp escapes you, and she takes this advantage to kiss you again.
"Does that feel good?" She asks as if she doesn't know– can't see the answer. You're a dripping, moaning, trembling mess above her hand; it's not long before she inserts a third finger and you partially collapse against her, putting your forehead against her shoulder as she fucks you with her fingers.
"Yen– Yenna–"
"Shh, keep it down–"
"Gonna cum–" You struggle to keep quiet. You don't know what it is about this time, but it certainly will be an orgasm you won't forget in a long–
"Who goes there?"
Everything is suddenly quiet– Yennefer stops her movements so quickly, it's almost like blowing out a candle. She has to press a hand against your mouth to keep you noiseless. Neither of you move as footsteps approach your location, but Yenna quietly removes her hand from under your dress and casts a spell to make her appear less... dishevelled.
"Show yourself!"
Yennefer groans and rolls here eyes, quietly tells you to wait inside and storms outside.
"Yennefer? What brings you to this part of the château?"
"Leave us be, Vilgefortz," She demands with that mean tone of hers, and gives up your name: "This rather heated meeting of the Chapter hasn't been kind on her poor nerves– I'd appreciate it if you kept quiet about it, these are lady problems. You wouldn't comprehend."
"Oh," Vilgefortz's smirk disappears. "Of course. Well, the meeting doesn't start until another half hour, she has all the time to collect herself."
And with that, he marches back the way he came.
Yen's steps aren't rushed as she returns to you, closing the door behind her gently: "You heard that?"
"Another half an hour?"
Her made-up coat dissolved, revealing her beautiful chest once more, everything going back to just as you had left it: "I don't remember being done with you."
"No," You pull her flush against your chest by her shirt, earning a hushed, excited gasp from her: "No you're not."
Author's note: I hope the anon who requested finds this fic 😭 I may or may not fit a few NSFW requests I got around christmas into Kinktober, so watch out if you requested something!
Enjoy!
"Well, it's quite surprising that they're letting us stay," You say as you walk into your chambers with Geralt: "We don't exactly have a charming reputation, you and me."
"Like husband, like wife," He nods in agreement as he closes the door behind him. You both set to shed the layers of clothing off of your shoulders while talking about the guests in the château you were invited to, since you were associated with Dandelion and he insisted that you both joined him (probably to scare off some people he pissed off).
The room you were occupying was on a floor which was well high off the ground and had a nice view from the balcony, which you adored the moment you set foot inside hours ago.
When you were finally down to your nightgown, you decided to take a look at the town square at night, the sky brightened by the luminescent stars sprinkled across it. You were feeling quite hot too, so the cool spring breeze did wonders on your warm body.
"I really like the view," came Geralt's voice after awhile from where he was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed with a handsome smirk on his face.
"Do you now?" You smirked back from over your shoulder, keeping your hands on the wide, stone railings.
"M-hm," He hummed and quietly pushed himself off the frame, making his way towards you slowly. He settled behind you, pressing his wide body against yours and sighing after breathing in your scent, wrapping his arms around you: "You smell so good."
"Do I?" You grinned when he started peppering kisses along the side of your face; he slowly swayed you and started rubbing his hands up and down along your hips and waist, moving his lips further down to your neck.
You hummed contentedly, his hands inching towards the knot on your back, untying it so your back was bare to him. His lips moved to the back of your neck, the sensation mixed with night air working wonders–
"Couldn't keep my eyes off of you when you danced..." He spoke quietly, his hands parting your gown and caressing the skin of your hips gently: "I'm glad word got out that we're married."
"Yeah?" Your eyes were closed by that point, letting him explore your body and take his time with it.
"Yeah, saved me the trouble of scaring men away," He pressed a particularly emphasising kiss on the base of your spine.
"Didn't stop them from looking."
"It's in the nature of men to be in awe of something they can't have," He kissed the back of your ear, his beard scratching the area pleasantly, making your knees wobbly for a moment: "Something so beautiful... Powerful..."
A soft hum erupted from the back of your throat as you sunk further into him, laying your head on his shoulder as he kissed and lightly sucked on your neck and shoulder: "You know just how to spoil me..."
"What can I say? You're too good for me," He chuckles lightly and lets you guide his hands grope your breasts. Your hiss is pleasant, and Geralt's length digging at your back is more apparent than a few second ago.
You finally turn around, look him in the eyes for a full second and pull his face, with both hands, in for a kiss. It's warm and passionate– almost electric, and it makes Geralt sigh into the kiss. He lifts you up by your thighs and sits you on the stone railings, kissing you fervently.
The wind moves with him: the more hurried his movements become as he takes off his shirt, the stronger the wind blew against your bare back and warm cheeks. You work on his pants as his shirt falls to the ground– he steps closer to you when he pulls his cock out of his underwear. One of your arms wrap around his neck and your legs part for him, also wrapping around him. Your unoccupied hand lifts your gown above your thighs and Geralt's breath hitches when he sees you're not wearing any underwear.
He dives in for another kiss and wraps his arms around your waist so you don't fall to your death. You whine into the kiss quietly as he leans forward and you back, your legs move up to his waist: "Geralt..."
He whispers your name as he kisses his way down to your breasts, plays with them for a while and you have to tap his chin to get his attention: "Geralt, come on..."
"What?" He looks up into your eyes quietly– golden eyes blown to the edges to adjust to the darkness of night time.
"Just fuck me," You plead, equally quiet. He quickly pulls you forward, making to carry you, but you stop him.
He looks up to find you with a beautiful, mischievous smirk spread across your face, which he returns: "Don't care that people may see us– Hear us?"
"I don't," You say as he lines himself up by your entrance. "I know you don't, why should I?"
Something about that makes him growl and push all the way in at one go, which makes you arch your back and yelp: "Fuck, Geralt–"
He doesn't waste time and starts thrusting, pulling you flush against him. You wrap all four of your limbs around his body and he does the same with his arms around your waist and shoulder.
He fucks you with an unnecessary urgency: as if, if he doesn't, he'll die on spot; but you like it– like it when he gets desperate like this.
You moan in his ear quietly and kiss his neck, and as a response he squeezes your thighs and smacks your ass.
"Oh, fuck," Your eyes roll closed as his skin slaps against yours, the possibility of people being able to see or hear making you dizzy in a good way.
After awhile, he pulls out and pulls you off the railings, quickly turns you around and bends you over, where you get a more clear of the street below: it's not too close to the ground, but simultaneously doesn't feel high enough.
Geralt leans forward and pushes in again, putting his arm just below your neck and starts ramming his hips against yours, the sounds loud and clear. He tugs your gown lower so your breasts hang right above the railing, palming them with his other hand.
"Fuck, Geralt– fuck!" You whine, mouth hanging open. All you can do is stand and let him take you like this.
"Yeah? Let them hear you, sweetheart," He growls into your ear: "Let them know who you belong to."
An involuntary, almost pornographic moan leaves you; his timing simply amazing as his cock starts poking at that spot, that's his. His name is echoed on repeat as he fucks you and pushes you over the edge, following you shortly after; he growls your name loudly and bites into your shoulder as his hips twitch.
"Fuck..." He groans after he pulls out, then helps you stand straight: "You okay?"
"Yeah," You smile lazily, gown collar hanging loosely around your neck. You stand there in silence for a moment, before you rub your eyes with a finger sleepily and ask: "Wanna go again?"
Geralt's smirk, suffice to say, answers in his stead: "Here or inside?"
Author's Note: I decided to take out the summary and warnings section for anything Kinktober as I don't plan on going outside of the given prompt, I hope that's okay! And I'll catch up with previous days, as well as LMR, I promise!
Enjoy!
Joel Miller isn't a man to masturbate often, because usually he doesn't have a reason to... but ever since you came into the picture, he can't seem to keep his hands off his zipper.
You're older than you look, which adds to your charm somehow, in his eyes. You're easy to speak with, warm and polite– all qualities that he adores.
But he also found you very attractive.
It all started one day, when he sees your body perhaps a little more naked than he should've been allowed to see. Not that he's complaining, of course, because it had taken him months to come to terms with his attraction to you, and since he's accepted it, he takes it back home with him. He practically sprints the way back because if he can't get himself out of his pants, he'll actually die of the agony.
He politely ignores a few people on the way when they want to ask him about something, closes the door behind him when he finally reaches his house and bolts upstairs as quick as he can, then throws himself into the bedroom.
He enters his bathroom and washes his face, suddenly feeling like his younger ages again, but the way you make him feel was simply too hard to ignore– like a church bell ringing right next to his ears.
He also feels a little ashamed, but all of that goes out of the window one by one when he takes a deep breath and focuses his attention to the bulge in his pants. It's becoming a little painful now, so he leans back against the first wall his hand touches and starts rubbing himself through his pants.
A delighted, silent moan escapes his lips at the sensation and he takes his time to undo his belt– he feels himself grow harder as he does and a strand of hair falls in front of his face but he doesn't care, naturally.
With a clink, the belt hits the floor and he unbuttons and unzips his pants, feels the pressure on his erection decrease a little and grabs himself through his briefs.
Fuck... he's not entirely sure if he's said it out loud or not, but it doesn't matter, because a second later he's finally holding the veiny, warm length in his hand, then his head falls back against the wall. The tip is leaking, his face is probably a little red because he could feel the heat on his cheeks– the same way he did on his cock.
He starts rubbing it slowly and god it feels fuckin' heavy. He hasn't felt this way in a long time– hasn't done it in a while, too. It feels slightly overwhelming, so a jolt of excitement shoots up and a shiver runs down his spine at the same time.
He sighs quietly and rubs his length up and down very slowly, gently. He likes building the tension and make it last as long as he could, and after rubbing himself for some time, he starts feeling desperate.
Desperate enough to suddenly shove himself off the wall and take quick steps towards his bed with one purpose in mind: He needs a different kind of friction, something more.
So he bunches his blanket in his hands, rolls it up and–
"Fuck–!" He gasps when he shoves his dick between the softness of the sheets. He imagines it's your waist, then presses it down and shoves his cock until the whole length disappears and groans.
What am I doing?
He can't really hear the end of the sentence in his mind, because he starts moving, and a frustrated grunt escapes him a bit louder than he expects. After thrusting a few times experimentally, the rest comes easily.
He sets a rhythmic pace, enjoys it more than he probably should and growls; he thinks of having you under him like this –on your back or stomach, doesn't matter– and thinks about how your moans would sound, how good he could and would make you feel.
If only you were his.
And his heartbeat becomes faster, his grip tightens, more salt and pepper locks move out from behing his ears to the front of his eyes– which he doesn't notice because his eyes are shut tight and brows are drawn together, jaw switching between being hung open and clenching the faster his pace gets.
"Oh– oh shit," He chokes on his words, realising how the wrong aspect of the whole situation was turning him on even more; which is around the time all shame and care goes out of the window completely.
He starts letting out curt, frequent, loud grunts; sort of animalistic, like a primal, caveman side to him emerges as he thrusts, and thrusts, and thrusts...
Until he moans your name and comes. His voice cracks and he doubles over– whatever control he had over his hips now completely gone as his jerking motion continues with oversensitivity while he collapses forward.
"Christ..." He groans and breathes heavily, his forehead against the bed, and his mood turns slightly sour when he feels the stickiness of his seed against the sheets: "Shit."
It takes him a moment to get back on his feet, he's a little bummed because he has to clean and change the sheets (possibly the blanket as well), but it was worth it.
Kinktober Day 8: Size Difference || Joel Miller x F!Reader
A/N: Yes, Yes I know I’m a day behind xD But I got it done! This one’s a little different than the other days so far as it’s a little bit on the softer side? I struggled a bit with this one, but I hope you all enjoy! Dedicating this one to @hdlynnslibrary because she loves Joel so much and was in need of some soft Joel!
Word Count: 790
Warnings: 18+ Only! PiV Sex, Afab!Reader, unprotected sex, size kink, mentions of Joel being bigger than reader, soft smut, Joel being soft.
It's a stormy Thursday afternoon when you have your first encounter with The Big Bad Wolf.
A downpour had caught you off guard when you got off work, and Holly had been kind enough to invite you into her bar and offer you a drink until the storm slowed. You had been there for a few hours, idly chatting with Holly and her two most loyal customers, the Woodsman and Gren, about Fabletown drama. You're usually not that interested in the drama that surrounds other fables. A majority of it isn't even worth hearing, but thankfully Holly only tells you the stuff that's worth retelling.
"...and just like that, Snow White got back together with Prince Charming," Holly leans against the side of her bar, judging your reaction.
Your eyes go wide. You were vaguely familiar with Snow White. Enough so that you knew very well that she was working really hard on being independent and not relying on a man for anything more than the muscle Bigby Wolf provided at the Business Office.
'All of that fuss about being independent, and she just goes right back to him? ' Your hand is scribbling across the notepad in front of you before you know it.
Holly chuckles at your hurried writing. "Can you expect anything more out of a Princess?"
'I thought she had a thing for the Sherrif?'
"No, I think she had a thing for leading the Sherrif on," Holly leans over the counter to refill your drink. "She was shutting him down at every turn, but according to Nerissa, Snow was pretty damn pissed off when she saw them together in his office."
"Still think it should have been her dead instead of Lily," Gren slurs. He's past drunk, bordering somewhere between blacking out and alcohol poisoning. Lily cut him off nearly an hour ago, but it hasn't done him much good.
The new door chime jingles, its delicate tune carrying through the small bar, alerting the presence of a new customer.
"Well, speak of the devil," Holly reaches under the bar to find another glass, but her hands return empty. "Dammit, I need more glasses."
Wordless, you tip your glass back, the lemonade flavored vodka burning its way down your throat. If you could access your voice, you probably would have gagged, but this is one of the few times being cursed has worked out for you.
"Thanks, kid," Holly plucks the now empty glass from your hand. "What're you doing here, Sherrif?"
"I need to know the last time you saw Jersey," you recognize the voice, but you have to turn around just to make sure.
There he is, Bigby Wolf, in the flesh. It's clear based on his clothing that the rain hasn't slowed in the slightest. The thin material of his white shirt is positively soaked, clinging to the rippling muscles that lie hidden under the clothing. You can see almost every muscle move as he walks toward the bar, taking a seat on the stool right next to you.
"Last I saw of him, he was closing the pawnshop," Holly places the now clean glass in front of the wolf, filling it to the brim with bourbon.
Just the mere mention of Jersey has you wishing you'd ordered a round of shots.
"You work for him, right?" It takes you a moment to realize that Bigby's talking to you now.
The alcohol settling warmly into your system makes it a little hard to meet his eye. How are you supposed to, when he's got a massive bicep propped up next to you?
You nod your head in the affirmative, fingers itching to flag Holly down for a shot of something. Anything.
"Any idea where I can find him?" Bigby gives you a long look, his head tilting to the side like a curious puppy. But, God, you've just met the guy, and you already think he's cute.
'I need a shot of the strongest thing you've got,' you begin to write, 'and then I need you to cut me off.' You place your credit card on top to pay for the drinks you've already had and then slide it to Holly.
"Will you answer my question?" Bigby asks, a little harsher than he sounded earlier.
"Hold your horses, Sherrif; the kid can't talk," Holly thankfully pulls a shot glass out from under the bar, fills it with a brand of rum you've never seen before. "I'm sure they'll answer you as soon as this shot knocks the fear out of them."
Now Bigby's intrigued, turning his body to face you a little better. He doesn't speak, thankfully, but you feel him watching intently as Holly hands you the shot. The drink is strong, burning much more harshly than the lemonade vodka you were just having. Your jaw clenches as it goes down, but you manage not to cough or make a fool of yourself in front of the Sherrif.
Your throat is still burning as you reach for your notepad again. 'If you can guarantee that this won't come back to bite me in the ass, I'll tell you anything you need to know.'
Bigby stares hard at the notepad when you slide it towards him. For a moment, you're almost concerned that the wolf cant read.
"Y/N snitched on Jersey once before," Holly offers, solemn. "When he found out, he sent a witch to curse them into silence."
"Well, in that case," he sounds a tad frustrated, but at least he isn't angry with you, "would you rather talk in private?"
You're not quite sure if there's even an option to decline, but the alcohol is kicking in, and all you can really care about is hearing more of his rough voice. Pocketing your things, you hop off the barstool. You don't exactly wait for Bigby, though. Out of habit, your legs begin to carry you out of the bar. You're too awkward to stop and wait in the middle of the room, so you continue out the door.
The rain has slowed considerably, at least. It's still sprinkling, but it doesn't make much of a difference considering your clothing is still a bit damp. The Lucky Pawn is quite literally next door to the Trip Trap, and you find yourself leaning against a street lamp, staring through the window.
"You forgot this."
You jump at the sudden voice, spinning to face its owner. Your shoulders relax when your eyes land on Bigby. He's holding out your tattered notepad, the pages almost looking tiny in comparison to his massive hand.
Mouthing thanks, you reach out to take the notebook from him. His fingers brush against yours; the skin there is warm, hot, even. You almost dare not to pull your hand away at all.
He starts walking, and you're not quite sure where you're going, but you follow anyway. "So he silenced you, huh?"
You reach into your pocket, withdrawing a wooden, star-shaped trinket. There are many tiny carvings on it, including some sort of text from what you assume is an old fable language. There's no use in carrying it. The curse is already there.
Bigby opens his palm, and you place the trinket in his hand. You're again struck by how tiny it looks in his grasp.
"This certainly isn't something from the 13th floor," he observes, flipping the trinket back and forth. "Do you know who made this?"
Aunt Greenleaf, of course. You just don't know how to tell him that without stopping and finding a place to write on your notepad properly. Up ahead, though, is one of the new saplings that have been planted around Fabletown. On it are green leaves.
You pick up your pace, almost power-walking towards the tree.
"You're not trying to run away from me, are you?" Bigby almost sounds amused by your little speed-walk. You can't help but notice that he hasn't really changed pace, but he's still right next to you.
The first attempt you make at communication is pointing at the tree. Then, when Bigby doesn't understand, you pluck a leaf from the tree and hold it out to him.
"Why a leaf?" He flips the leaf around, much like he did the trinket that he's still holding. A heavy sigh escapes you, one of the few noises you're still capable of making. His eyebrows furrow with thought, almost knitting together with how hard he seems to be thinking.
"Oh."
It's hard for you to keep looking annoyed, and soon a grin is inching its way across your face as you watch the realization hit him. There's a clever remark sitting on the tip of your tongue, dying to be used.
Taking out your pen, you place your notepad against the stone wall that stands right next to you. It's harder to write, now that the alcohol has fully begun to work, but you manage.
'You suck at charades, Sherrif.'
---
Bigby takes you to the Business Office before asking any more questions. If he had been in a rush, he would have just questioned you outside the bar and been done with it. However, this is the only case he has right now, and he isn't as concerned with solving it as he is curious about you.
It's been a minute since he's last encountered someone with a curse like yours. The last one that he remembers dealing with is the ribbon that silenced the Puddin and Pie girls. Yours is so much different, though. You cannot make a peep, but you are free to write whatever you want, without consequence.
"Did you see anything strange in the display cases? Maybe a trinket that belongs to one of the old Princesses or a spellbook that shouldn't have ever left its owner." It's cute, the way you sleepily shake your head and rub at your eyes. But, unfortunately, the alcohol has drained you of any energy you may have had left, leaving you barely awake as you answer his questions.
"If you're too tired to keep going, there's a couch in the corner if you'd like to take a nap," he offers. This investigation isn't so dire that he needs to keep you at the office, but he doesn't feel comfortable sending you home this late either. "We don't have to do this all at once."
The pen in your hand starts to scribble again, slower this time, barely moving at all. 'How many more questions do you have?'
"Not too many," his hand finds its way up to the back of his neck, "Bufkin is still translating the branding on your trinket, though."
The tiniest of yawns escapes you, your sleepy eyes scrunching shut with it. Then, finally, the pen falls from your hand, rolling towards the edge of Bigby's wooden desk. He catches it first, but by the time you seem to realize that he has, your hand is on top of his.
God, your hand is so small on top of his.
Bigby expects you to jump away the moment you realize that you've touched him. It's a very normal reaction, actually. Every time he finds himself reaching out, hoping to comfort someone, they recoil, and it makes it all worse. You don't, though, and Bigby finds himself intrigued by that.
Your index finger runs across the top of his hand, tracing an old scar that lies there. He lets you take hold of his hand, turning it and sleepily examining every wrinkle, bruise, cut, and scar that it has to offer. It's foreign to be touched like this, with such care and gentleness. Bigby doesn't remember the last time someone was so genuinely caring. The only person he even recalls doing so is his mother.
As quickly as your hands appeared, they retreat into your lap. He wouldn't quite classify you as frightened, though. No, your ears are tinted red.
"I got this one from my last fight with The Woodsman," He croaks, pointing to a long, thin white scar that runs along his forearm. He's trying his best not to come off as harsh. It's nice having someone that doesn't treat him like a ticking time bomb.
He extends his arm, encouraging you to reach out once more. Your fingers are soft, just barely tickling over the length of the scar. Bigby's caught off guard when you suddenly flip your own arm over, revealing a similar scar of your own.
'Fell out of a tree when I was a teenager.'
Bigby finds himself chuckling at that. "Why were you in a tree?"
There's a sleepy smile that worms its way across your tired face as you write your response. 'The Big Bad Wolf was walking by.'
"Well," he touches your scar, the pads of his fingers not as gentle as yours were as they attempt to memorize the slightly raised scar, "I'm sorry I scared you into a tree and wasn't there to catch you when you fell."
Your eyes roll, and he doesn't need to see you writing down a response to know there are no hard feelings. The both of you laugh after a moment, unable to maintain much seriousness. He's so wrapped up in wondering what your laugh must sound like that he doesn't notice his office door opening until its hinges squeak.
"Care to knock?" His smile is gone in the blink of an eye, replaced with his trademark scowl.
"Bigby,...." It's Snow. She hasn't been in that great of a mood lately, and quite frankly, Bigby's almost tired of it himself. "I asked you to go and find Jersey so that we can interrogate him about his recent acquisition of some stolen heirlooms. Not to laugh with your new best friend in your office while Bufkin goes through old books."
Bigby's hand is still wrapped around your arm; he doesn't make any move to let go, either. "That's what I'm doing," he doesn't like how your head immediately begins to hang low, "this is Y/N; they work down at the Lucky Pawn."
Snow crosses her arms in front of herself. "And you couldn't question them at the pawnshop?"
"I brought y/n here because Jersey paid Aunty Greenleaf to curse them," he says, locking eyes with her as she lingers in the walkway, "and Bufkin is trying to translate what's written on the trinket box."
You're already scribbling away on a new sheet of paper when Snow asks her next question.
"Cursed?"
You rip the page from your notepad, turning in your chair to properly hand it to her. 'I can't fucking talk.'
Maybe, Bigby thinks, just maybe, he can talk Snow into keeping you around the Business Office.
—-
Not much comes out of your interrogation with Bigby. He walks you home in the morning, thanking you for putting up with his endless questioning, before disappearing into Fabletown before you register just what's happened. Your slight hangover prevents you from doing anything more than going right back to sleep the moment you enter your apartment. In fact, it almost takes you three days to realize that you left the little curse trinket at the Business Office.
You don't see or hear from Bigby for almost two weeks, but you find yourself wanting to. For a man so well known, you would expect to see more of him. Even though you don't even remember a ton of your first interaction, you cling to every memory you do have. Slow hours at the Lucky Pawn are spent daydreaming about hypotheticals and what if's. He could show up and destroy the entire pawn, put you clean out of a job, and you wouldn't be able to be mad.
It's a Friday, this time when you run into him again.
You've just left the pawnshop after Jack showed up early to relieve you of your shift, and you're dying to go home, cuddle up on the couch and watch a movie or twelve. Instead, you'd just gotten chewed out by another customer who was irked by your silence. All that money Jersey put into having you silenced hasn't been his best business move.
"Y/N?"
You know that voice.
"Bigby," you mouth, turning on your heels.
There he is. Sheriff Bigby Wolf. His thumbs are tucked into his pockets, and he's wearing a worn leather jacket on top of his usual white shirt. Cheeks heating up, you approach him, eyes trained on the ground.
"I forgot to give this back to you." He produces something from his pocket—your trinket.
You take it a little too quickly, happily looking down at your newly returned possession. You like to run your fingers along the grooves when you're nervous. It's been a long few weeks without it.
"I got permission from the Business Office to help you find a way out of this curse," he tells you, "Jersey paying Greenleaf to curse you is now considered a part of this investigation."
Your fingers are plucking your favorite pen from your hair before you're aware that you're doing it. 'Are you serious?'
And that's how you find yourself on the other side of town, in a questionably safe apartment building. Bigby's leading the way, allowing you to fall into step just behind him. You're not so much scared as you are just a little unnerved. It feels safer to remain behind him than anything else.
Aunty Greenleaf doesn't look all that thrilled to see either of you at her front door, but she sees you in any way.
"Snow White send you to burn my tree finally?" She quips, shutting the door behind the two of you.
"Do you recognize this?" Bigby cuts straight to the chase, and you present the little wooden trinket that once belonged to her.
Aunty Greenleaf studies the carving, bringing out a magnifying glass to examine it further. "This looks like my work."
"A while back, the Jersey Devil paid you to cast a silencing spell on Y/N," Bigby continues, "we're trying to find a way to break it."
Aunty Greenleaf nods her head, muttering something in a language you don't understand. "All of my curses have a way to be broken," she answers, "but this particular one is a bit unique."
She taps your throat, her wrinkled fingers applying pressure on your esophagus for a brief moment. She looks at the trinket again, then inspects your hands and eyes.
"The trinket is missing some of its identifiers," Greenleaf concludes after a minute. "I've narrowed it down to one of three spells."
She places the trinket back in your hands. "All of these spells can be broken the same way."
"And that is?"
"True loves kiss," Aunt Greenleaf chuckles, "these specific spells are a variant of the ones used on princesses like Sleeping Beauty."
Of course. Your head finds its way into your palm. How the hell are you supposed to find and court someone when your only methods of communication are charades and writing on a notepad?
"Just because we left the Homelands doesn't mean our stories quit being written," says the witch, gently, "when the time is right, your voice will return to you."
She sells you an enchanted pen at a considerable discount, one that doesn't require paper for words to be written. Simply scribbling in front of yourself will produce words, like subtitles to a movie.
Genuinely, you expect this to be the last interaction you have with Bigby Wolf. Yet the next day, you run into him in the same spot.
'I'm starting to believe that you're running into me on purpose, Sherrif.' You write, smug as can be.
"And so what if I am?"
He takes you back to the Business Office to ask a few more questions, but it isn't hard for you to figure out that he really didn't have any questions, to begin with. Within an hour, you find yourself sitting on a spare desk as Bufkin flutters about the main office. He brings you all sorts of books about fables whose curse could not be broken until they were kissed, showering you with so much information that you almost mistake yourself for a cursed royal too.
'Consider me The Silent Prince(ss), or something else equally dramatic.' You can't seem to get enough of the sparkling lettering that leaves the pen. The words remain in front of you until you fan it away like dust.
"Do I cameo as a cute lap dog or the evil wolf in this story?" Bigby's standing next to you, nose deep in the most recent book Bufkin has brought along.
With a silent giggle, you reach over to pat his head with your free hand. 'Good puppy.' You pause for a moment and then add, 'You're such a good puppy for killing all of my guests. Yes, you are.'
Bigby's eyes roll into the back of his head with a heavy sigh, "I should have seen that one coming."
You run into him at the store on a Saturday, but this time, it's because you were actively looking for him whilst you were out. You'd rented a few mundy movies, and when he's interested in one of the covers, you offer for him to visit you. He shows up an hour later, two bottles of liquor in tow.
By the time you two make it into the second movie, you're both tipsy. The horror movie you picked is enough to have you jumping at first, but all of that changes the moment Bigby's arm slides around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest.
"Scared of a mundy movie but not the Big Bad Wolf, eh?" He teases, taking another sip of his drink.
You stick your tongue out at him, too comfortable to fumble around and take your pen off the coffee table. He's impossibly warm, his embrace comparable to hugging a furnace.
By the third movie, you're out cold, and Bigby is left dealing with you, lying sleepily snuggled into his chest. He's not so drunk that he can't control himself, but it's enough to let his thoughts run rampant.
You look so small curled up against him, like a pup who's snuggled up to its mother. His heart swells as you reposition yourself, fully resting your head against his chest now. You're so delicate, so...not him. He almost chooses not to sleep, wanting to savor every moment of such a rare moment.
He doesn't intend to. It's like blinking; one minute he's got you all wrapped up in his arms, the next, you're nudging him awake, and there's a small plate of breakfast on the table. Bacon, eggs, sausage. All things he's had before, but somehow, it tastes better knowing that you made it.
It becomes a routine. Him meeting you every Saturday evening, sometimes food, sometimes alcohol in tow. Most nights, he stays with you because in the mornings. You love to make a game out of who can cook breakfast first. Somehow, he isn't that shabby of a cook.
Though it requires the burning of several dozen eggs for him to get to that point.
Sometimes you show up to his work with food because lord knows how he manages to go without eating for so long. Snow doesn't appreciate your presence at first, but she does eventually warm up to you. Sometimes, you bring extra and drop it off outside her office. A peace offering, if you will.
It's June when Bigby realizes that he's absolutely head over heels for you.
He's sitting on a rickety barstool at the Trip Trap, bruised knuckles clenching a Midas Gold as he listens to Gren and the Woodsman make bets on who can win at a game of darts. He's not even interested in the game; he just needs a drink and some sort of distraction that isn't Colin.
Snow had sent him to respond to an emergency call earlier, and it had gone terribly wrong. Had he known guns were involved in this fight, he may have acted differently when he showed up. Hindsight is 20/20, though, and no amount of pondering about how he should have done things differently will make the bullet wounds in his aching chest disappear.
He isn't sure how long he sits there, staring into the golden liquid without a single thought appearing in his mind, isn't sure how you even manage to find him.
"How the hell did you know I was here?" He doesn't even recognize that it's him that's speaking until the words have already left his mouth.
You make no move to pluck your enchanted pen out from behind your ear. It's as if you already know exactly what he needs because you're picking up one of his massive hands, holding with both hands, and you're gently leading him out of the bar.
Vaguely, he registers Holly remarking him being smitten.
Huh.
You bandage him up at your apartment. It's pointless, really, considering that he will be completely healed within a day or so. Bigby makes no effort to stop you as you apply ointments to his open wounds, too deep into his thoughts to be concerned with stopping you.
'I wish you'd take better care of yourself.' You eventually scribble when you're focusing on the deep laceration on his bicep.
Bigby thinks that his favorite look on you is when you're focused, especially when you're focused on him. You're always so attentive, so thorough with everything you do; he bets that if you did his job for a day, Snow would fire him and keep you instead.
"Still got those movies?" He's barely awake by the time you're satisfied with your work, but he would feel like an ass if he were to go to sleep on your couch immediately.
That's how you end up curled up on the couch together, Bigby laying on top of you, for a change. The gentle pitter-patter of your heartbeat lulling him to sleep like he's a needy pup. He dreads the thought of one of you having to get up and break the comfortable atmosphere that's surrounded the two of you.
God, maybe he really is a little bit smitten.
It's July when the fireworks kick up.
Bigby isn't too big on the idea of going out just to watch fireworks, but when you bat those pretty eyes of yours and write an extra swirly, 'Please?', he doesn't have it in him to keep telling you no.
"Forgive me if I get a little jumpy," he tells you, as you walk to the park that the fireworks are being launched from, "the ears aren't too fond of loud noises."
'I'll protect you.' You write, earning what has now become his trademark eye-roll.
The park is absolutely riddled with mundies and fables alike. There are so many sights and smells that he has to light up a Huff & Puff to dull his senses. Massive crowds like these are overwhelming, but he puts up with it if it means that he gets to do something with you.
He's come to terms with it by now, that he's absolutely head over heels for you, like in those cheesy romances you sometimes rent. He likes to think that you look at him a little more fondly than other men, that your heart is reserved just for him. Of course, it's wishful thinking, and he can't fault you for not feeling something for you in return.
The two of you settle towards the back of the crowd, where the fireworks aren't so loud, and the tree line is right behind you. Bigby finds a small inchworm to play with while you take everything in, watching intently as the tiny bug inches across his hand.
Crack_
You jolt as the first firework goes off, catching the both of you off guard. They're slow at first, shooting off one by one and giving Bigby enough time to prepare for the ear-splitting noise that comes with the pretty explosion.
But then they get louder. Faster. One after another, back-to-back explosions. Bigby grunts, clenching his jaw as tightly as he can manage. One moment, he's watching fireworks, and the next, he's back in that alleyway with Tweedle Dee and Dum firing round after round of bullets into his flesh. Bloody Mary is behind him before he even realizes, a silver bullet ripping right through his muscle and lodging in his stomach.
Beside him, you've already begun to notice the sudden change in his attitude. He's staring blankly at the fireworks, jaw wrung tight and fists clenching. He's panting through his nose like a rabid dog. God, this was a bad idea.
Even if you could speak, you're not sure that he would be able to hear you over the heavy sound of fireworks.
"Bigby," you mouth, still. Scrambling to your feet, you grab him by the forearms, using your entire body to yank him up from the ground.
It's enough to snap him from it, but you don't stop there. Moving quickly, you tug him away from the fireworks, wrapping your hand around his as not to lose him. You don't stop until you're certain that the fireworks aren't going to trigger anything else—Bigby's silent the entire walk.
"I'm sorry," he mutters, rubbing his hand across his face. He looks like he's in another world. Like he's just come back from war. But then, a lone firework goes off in the distance, grasping his attention.
You squeeze the hand that you're still holding, offering him a forced smile. "It's okay," you mouth, reaching up to cup his cheek. He leans into it.
Those pretty brown eyes of his meet yours, searching, gentle. Finally, he leans down to connect your foreheads, smiling weakly. "I'm sorry," he says again, weaker.
You shake your head, releasing his hand to cradle his face with both hands properly. Your thumbs brush over the thin skin under his eyes, rubbing gently. His eyes become downcast again, arms wrapping around you to reel you in as he buries his face in your shoulder. All you can do is hold him, raking your nails up and down his back.
Eventually, though, you're the one to pull back, hands finding their way back to his face again. His eyes are a little red, but you can tell he's about one straw away from breaking into tears.
Pushing your noses together, you close your eyes, sigh. He chuckles at that, rubbing your noses together in a small Eskimo kiss. And then you can't take it anymore.
You lean up and properly slot your lips together. Bigby grunts, but he makes no move to push you away. Instead, one hand finds its way into your hair, the other resting around your waist. He kisses you with a gentleness you didn't know he had in him, humming as you pull away for air.
"Wow." Is all he can say.
And then you laugh. A gentle, melodic giggle that dissolves into full-blown laughter.
"Holy shit." You nearly miss Bigby's whispered swear.
"Oh my god," your hands cover your mouth as the words dance off your tongue. You just made a noise. "Bigby!"
Bigby's hands draw you back in by your waist, leaning down to kiss you again, and again, and again. Short, sweet little kisses broken by smiles and giggles.
"You mean to tell me that this was all it took?" He chuckles against your lips.
"I guess so," your voice feels foreign to your own ears. You'd almost forgotten what it sounded like. "You do know what that means, don't you?"
It means a lot of things. First, it means Aunty Greenleaf was right when she said that your stories hadn't quit being written. Second, it means that you and Bigby Wolf have something special, something that other fables might target. Everything just changed, for better or for worse.
"Is that a bad thing?" He teases, pushing your hair out of your face.
Image: Words to Describe Hair: Afro | Curly | Straight | Look | Texture | Style | Color
Photo credits: Alex Nemo Hanse
This began as a guide to describing Afro / curly hair but of course, I got carried away. From look and texture of hair, colors and various styles, this guide serves as a thesaurus of sorts for hair, as well as pointers for use in your writing.
Please check under the read more for an accessible version of these lists
Culturally Significant Hair Coverings:
Know the meaning behind head wear and why it’s worn, when and by whom, such as a Native Nation’s headdress, before bestowing a character with it.
Head Coverings Resources:
More on various head coverings.
See here for more Islamic Veils.
See here for more on the Nigerian gele.
See here on African American Headwraps.
View our hijab and headscarves tags for discussion on these topics.
Afro - Curly - Straightened
There are many varieties of braids, twists & Afro hair styles; have some more!
African/Black Hair: Natural, Braids and Locks
African Hair: Braiding Styles 10 African Types
Describing Black (Afro) hair:
Appropriative Hairstyles: Keep in mind that Afro styles should be kept to those in the African Diaspora, such as dreadlocks, cornrows + certain and many braided styles.
Also, “locs” is a more favored term over “dreadlocks” for many people.
Tread carefully describing Afro hair as “wild” “unkempt” “untamed” or any words implying it’s unclean or requires controlling.
“Nappy” and “wooly” are generally words to stay away from, the first having heavy negative connotations for many and the latter, though used in the Holy Bible, is generally not acceptable anymore and comes off as dehumanizing due to Animal connotations.
There are mixed feelings on calling Black hair “kinky.” I’m personally not opposed to the word in itself and usage depends on the person’s race (I’m more comfortable with a Black person using it vs. a Non-Black person) as well as their tone and context (if it’s used in a neutral or positive tone vs. negatively/with disdain). Get feedback on your usage, or simply forgo it.
See our tags “Black Hair” and “Natural Hair” for more discussion on describing Black hair.
Texture - Look - Styles
Hair Colors and Style
Writing Tips & Things to Keep in Mind:
Combination Words: Try combining words to illustrate look of hair. A character with springy coils that dance across her shoulders with every movement, the man with thick silvery hair slicked back into a ponytail…
Mind Perspective: Depending on POV, a character might not know exactly what cornrows or a coiffure style is, at least in name, and it might make more sense if they described the hairdo instead. More defining terms might come from a more knowing source or the wearer themselves. One book I read described a girl’s afro puff as “thick hair pulled up into a cute, curly, poufy thing on top of her head and tied with a yellow ribbon.”
POC & Hair Colors: People of Color’s hair comes in all shades and textures. There are Black people with naturally blond and loosely-textured to straight hair, East Asian people with red hair, and so on. Keep that in mind when coding characters if you tend to rely on hair color alone to denote a character is white vs. a Person of Color.
Related Tropes: There are tropes and discussion related to People of Color, colored hair, and light-colored hair and features.
Check out these posts on the topic: The East Asian Women + Colored Hair Trope - Black Characters & “Wild” Hair Colors - POC w/ Supernatural Colorful Features. - ‘Uncommon’ Features & POC Characters
Warnings: smut: oral sex (m! receiving), unprotected sex, joel breeding kink go brrr; talks of depression, anxiety and PTSD, detailed descriptions of bloodshed/death.
Summary: The confrontation the reader had been waiting for finally happens.
Word Count: 5.771
Author's Note: I apologise for the repost y'all!! The chapter didn't appear on the tags and I didn't notice it soon enough!! If this doesn't appear as well...
Enjoy!
The last heatwaves of summer started coming in with full force as September approached– a final storm before the calm. It wasn't completely intolerable, but it still messed with a lot of people: even you and Joel had to stay away from one another during the nights due to the heat making everything more sticky and irritable. It was annoying as hell, given that you had Joel all to yourself for a whole week now.
That certainly didn't stop you two from having sex before his departure, of course.
It took you some time to anchor yourself back to reality after what happened with Ward – the first three days were the worst with the episodes and attacks, but you don't think you could've made it this far in such a short time without Ellie and Joel. This was practically nothing compared to when you had first arrived in Jackson... if you had them both with you when–
Doesn't matter now. It took you months and it wouldn't have mattered if it had taken more– you made it. At the end, you got through it.
You and Joel talked about things, too. A lot of it mostly surrounding Kiki and Ward, of course. Things were cleared out, feelings were gotten off of chests and apologies were made: One day, after going out to get groceries while you chopped some vegetables for dinner, he put the sacks on the counter island and approached you, wrapping his hands around your waist.
"Smells delicious," He murmured into your ear and placed a kiss on your cheek, then put his chin on your shoulder, ever so slowly –with minimal movement– swaying you to the smooth jazz playing in the living room.
"I didn't cook anything yet?" You raised a brow and smiled at the way his beard scratched at the side of your face.
"Didn't mean the food," He whispered and kissed the back of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine as you chuckled. He then moved down the line behind your artery, peppering kisses there, each and every single touch of his lips sending a rather pleasant feeling between your legs.
You slowly leaned your head back against his shoulder as he took your hands in his, making you put the knife down and let him sway you to the wordless tune playing in the background.
He eventually stopped when he reached your collarbones and turned you around to face him: "Mrs. Miller..." Your smile grew at the name: "How're you on this fine evenin'?"
"Just fine, Mr. Miller." You grinned and mimicked his accent. He placed one hand on your waist while the other grabbed your hand. He smelled so wonderful and looked so good–
"Would ya fancy a dance, m'lady?" His teeth showed when his smirk grew wider, your faces were almost touching.
"Ain't you a dandy and a charmer?" You chuckled, your lips brushing against his and chests pressed against each other.
This? This was everything. All of your problems and worries gone even just for a moment or two– you'd do anything for him.
The small dance you two had going on lasted another minute before the track ended softly. Joel finally stopped teasing your lips and pressed a gentle kiss against them, which you returned with more hunger and passion.
"A little dance got you all excited?" Joel chuckled when he pulled back for air, noticing your hands had already unbuttonned his shirt halfway.
"You got me all excited," You beamed at him and dipped your hands under his shirt before reaching the last two buttons, feeling his warm skin under your fingertips and sighing into his chest. "We haven't done it in awhile..."
"Tsk," Joel shook his head with a soft grin, licking his lips as his pupils dilated the longer he thought of the last time you had sex, which was when he came in you for the first time. It had him weak in the knees, and would definitely do it again if you let him. He then softly leaned in and placed a wet kiss on your neck, making you sigh and close your eyes.
His hands placed themselves on your waist as he pushed you against the counter island, lightly marking your neck as he went: "Should'a done this a few days back, would'a marked you red and blue since y'ain't goin' out..."
You quietly moaned as he trapped you in place, lightly pushing your shirt up and massaging your sides as he did. You took the opportunity to place a kiss on his neck in return, hearing him growl softly, so you did it again, and again, and again...
Sex with Joel never ceased to satisfy you: He always managed to get you all giddy and excited like a child given a reward. His movements gained some speed as soon as his hands cupped your breasts, immediately taking your shirt off and kissing your lips hungrily. His arms closed around your waist and back as he moved down to your jaw and neck, biting and licking his way to your shoulders.
"Joel... the food..." Your chuckles mixed with moans the more his beard and lips caressed your skin. At your words, he picked you up and placed you on the counter, hooking his fingers through the waistbands of your shorts.
"I'll be full in a few," He smirked and started kissing down your breasts as he slowly dragged your shorts down your legs. His tongue worked wonders on your nipples while your fingers made their way through his hair, giving him soft hisses and quiet moans whenever he lightly bit on the skin.
Moments later, he was on his knees, caressing and kissing your inner thighs, not pulling back on leaving hickeys where he knew your shorts would cover to spare you the embarrassment; although that didn't keep him from lightly biting on the skin that showed too.
He then spread your legs and started giving tiny licks along your slit, making you slowly lean back onto your elbows, only to suddenly land on your back when he pulled you forwards by your thighs. You gave a brief chuckle as he feasted on your juices like a man who hadn't eaten in weeks.
As soon as you threw your head back, you opened your eyes to an intensifying sizzling sound, gasping when you saw the pan on the stove: "Joel! The food!"
"Oh shit–" He quickly left your wetness and practically threw himself over to the stove. After that was out of the way, you both stood still and giggled briefly. "Why'd you cook this much food?"
"Ellie asked if she could eat with us," You spoke as you got off the counter. "Said she didn't have time to cook for herself, I said sure. She then asked if Jesse could come too– Wait, what time is it?"
"Five twenty."
"Oh, good."
"Why?"
"Because," You gave him a mischievous smirk as you walked over to him and hooked your fingers behind his belt without breaking eye contact, pulling him back to the counter island. "That means we have at least another half hour before they arrive, but we still gotta be qui– Hmph!"
His lips were instantly on yours as he quickly pressed your back against the counter, but you stopped him before he could go down on you: "Nu-uh. I may be the cook–" You grabbed him through his trousers, making his hips jerk forward: "But I gotta eat too."
He made to protest –he's been going on about how you should take it easy and how your pleasure was more important than his (it was funny how he thought his pleasure didn't add to yours)– but you were already sinking to your knees, trapping yourself between his legs and the counter.
"There we go," You cooed as you got rid of his belt. Joel sighed deeply and closed his eyes, putting his hands on the surface above your head and leaning into your touch instinctively.
You were quick to pull him out of his underwear, pumping his cock a few times before giving it a few licks around the tip, to which he hissed quietly.
It was when you decided to take all his length to the back of your throat at one go that his hands shot to your hair: "Jesus– christ, doll!"
You offered a quiet giggle while you played with him in your hand, then slowly and rhythmically you took him in your mouth, but not even a few minutes later, Joel pulled your hair into a ponytail with both hands: "Can't believe I'm sayin' this but, food can wait."
You gave him a surprised look before he gently grabbed your jaw and lightly pressed your cheeks to make you open your mouth wider, then pushed his cock down your throat. Gagging and moaning you grabbed his hips, to which he responded: "A-ah, no hands Dolly."
You were perhaps too quick to drop your hands to your sides, then lace your fingers behind your back to keep yourself from grabbing him. You let him use your mouth for a few minutes: the sounds of wetness and gagging, plus occasional grunts and moans from him was heavenly for the both of you.
"Fuck– Dolly, up," He suddenly pulled out and leaned down to pull you up. He turned you around and gently, but with rushed movements, bent you over the counter a little. He entered you with one precise thrust, making you bend even more. You moaned simultaneously when he did, staying still a little for you to adjust.
He then leaned down over you, framing your body with his. Your bare back pressed against his naked chest, his hands wrapping themselves around your arms –then wrists– as his chin found its place like a puzzle piece in the crook of your neck. You loved it when he covered you like this, loved when he was so desperate, loved when he couldn't help himself and couldn't get enough of your–
"You get me so– shit," He growled as he pulled back and thrusted in again. He began with a steady rhythm, making you moan softly. You felt your eyes roll back when he nibbled at your ear and kissed your neck.
"Fuck– Joel, fuck–" You moaned, the pitch of your voice rising like it did when you began closing in on your orgasm. You both were aware how you were short on time and had to make this into a quickie, a promise of something more when night time fell and you both were alone in your room, hungry for one another like you were now.
"Want me to– to come in you again? Y'think I put a baby in you the last time?" He moaned at the way you squeezed around him, wriggled under his body and cried out at his words. "Don't matter, we can do it again to make sure– just say the words."
"Joel– ah, ah," You gasped when one of his hands left your wrist to draw circles around your clit, making you thrust back to his rhythm. "Fuck, come inside me, please."
"Shit, (Y/N)," He growled low, almost animalistically, into your ear. He placed kisses over your neck, then went up to your jaw and cheek, finally meeting your lips halfway. "Come on, babydoll, put one leg up for me?"
His other hand left your wrist as well when you nodded, helping one leg up to the counter. He proceeded to lean back and up, grab your hips and slam into you as fast and hard as he could, knocking the breath out of you.
"Oh my god!" You cried out, failing to keep up. The skin slapping against skin had long drowned out most of the surrounding sounds, minus your moaning and Joel's growling. "So– so close–"
"This ain't gonna work," He suddenly stopped, murmuring to himself. He put your leg back down, pulled out of you and turned you to face him. The sight of his cock –erect completely, thick and swollen– made you moan quietly. He lifted you up and sat you on the counter once more, spreading your legs. He grabbed your ass and pulled you forward, to the edge, where he thrusted back in.
You grabbed his face and kissed him hungrily, biting on his lower lip, then shoved your tongue into his mouth, moaning all the while.
"Ah," He broke off suddenly and put his forehead on your shoulder as he slammed, and slammed, and slammed...
Until he grabbed you by your thighs, his voice cracking slightly, and finally emptied his seed inside you, biting on your shoulder quite aggressively; you didn't mind, however, as it was the final stroke that threw you off the edge. You held onto his shoulders as you both trembled in the other's arms, panting as if you'd run all the way from the western gate to home.
His hips involuntary jerked forwards, his cock twitching inside you. He held you tightly in his arms as you came down your high, becoming sleepy all of a sudden. Him coming inside you had a wonderful effect on the both of you last time, it was no different this time.
"Shit," You hissed. "That was– that was–"
"Mind blowing?" He chuckled, reminding you of one of your quickies during patrol before you got married.
"That's one way to put it," You grinned back and claimed his lips in a sweet kiss. "You should come inside me more often."
You felt him tense a little: "Yeah, about that, are you su–"
Knock knock: "(Y/N)?" Ellie.
"Shit!" You jumped where you sat. Joel immediately pulled himself out of you and tucked his softening cock back in his jeans as you collected your clothing and ran to the bathroom.
After dinner, your love-making continued in your chambers. The pace slowed, the air became somewhat more sentimental, and tears were shed– both of you trembled in the other's arms, kissing and wiping away at the other's wet cheeks. You laid together: entwined, side by side, eventually parting because of the heat...
Now, you laid alone.
Alone in the house after that too-good-to-be-true week, you felt trapped and not as up to date as you liked to be about the town, so you asked Maria to sign you up for supply runs, extra shifts– whatever you were kept from.
People were more happy to see you than you thought they'd be– and more worried about you than Kiki. "You underestimate the place you hold in the community, (Y/N)." Eugene had told you with a pat to the back when you showed up to your first patrol in near two weeks. Before setting off for your assigned route however, Maria called you over with a half worried, half grave expression.
"Gonna tell you something you're not gonna like, so try to keep calm okay?" She stared right through you, making you gulp and nod: "Kiki wants to–" She sighed halfway when you scoffed quietly. "She said she wanted to talk to you, sort things out. She seemed pretty calm, maybe she made her peace with it."
"Nah," You shook your head. "She's got some folks riled up against me, they're giving me weird looks. Won't believe she's made her peace 'til that stops."
"All the more reason for you to talk. Her group's gonna wait for yours to arrive at the checkpoint. It's a good opportunity."
"... Alright." You exhaled heavily as she gave you an encouraging pat on the shoulder.
Your group was made of just you and Eugene, but Ellie and Jesse asked if they could join. Jesse was already allowed on paired patrols, but Ellie was a matter of debate as Joel still deemed her young– definitely not because he was worried sick over her.
"Ellie..." You made to protest, but your gut told you to let her tag along.
"(Y/N) c'mon, Joel ain't even here," Eugene.
"No, yeah," You blinked, snapping out of your deep thoughts. "I was gonna say yes, sorry. Come on, hurry then."
Once you reached the checkpoint, you asked Eugene to stay back: "What's up, Dolly?"
"Kiki's in there, she says she wants to talk to me," You explained, hands on your hips. "To sort things out– I don't buy it."
"Woah, hold on. She said that to you?"
"To Maria. She says she's made her peace with what I did, but I say otherwise."
"Like hell she did," Eugene agreed. "I heard she's been calling you a–"
"I–" You put your hand up: "–don't wanna hear what that idiot has to say. I see a few people staring at me whenever I go out, some straight out avoid me."
"You want me to–?"
"No– no I'll talk to her, no biggie. This has to end one way or another, but I don't trust her. Be my eyes?"
"Always, (Y/N)," He started walking towards the doors of the checkpoint, but you stopped him.
"Actually, you watch out for Ellie and Jesse. I'll handle this alone."
"(Y/N)–"
"It's okay, she's weak. Squealed to the softest touch when she first came here, remember? She wouldn't try anything."
"But that was when she first came here. Don't underestimate her."
A warning that had fallen on your deaf ears.
As you reached the doors, you saw Ellie and Jesse standing a feet or two from the entrance awkwardly. You took a deep breath and walked through the door with heavy steps and, as soon as you saw her sitting on the couch, you stood across her: "Let's talk," You looked around the room to find it quite small for you to have privacy: "Leave us. Let's finish this."
"Wh–?"
"It's okay, Ellie– Just step outside for a moment, all of you."
Kiki's group, three other people, left the room with your company while giving you dirty looks. You locked eyes with Eugene, seeing him signal you watch, then as he turned around he also signaled you with hand signals. You really were grateful for him.
"Alright," You straightened up: "Let's get to it. I'm done holding back on you, so don't you dare play coy with me and say what you wanna say and get this over with."
"Very well then." She got up and started walking towards you, but you stopped her.
"I can hear you just fine from where you are." You told her not to approach, eyes instinctively scanning your surroundings. She was around 20 feet away from you, the path between you and her were clear of any obstacles –furniture etc– minus the small set of stairs that led up to where you were standing. There was a table behind you that you spied when you first entered the room, otherwise there was nothing near the neither of you.
"Fine. I was here to talk about Ward."
"I guessed that much."
"You do realise what you've done to me, right? You've ruined my life." Her face didn't reflect the words she spoke, not one bit.
"Oh for god's– I know damn well what I did."
"Did you regret it?"
You clenched, then unclenched your jaw: "Why do you wanna know?"
"I wanted to know if I'm talking to a normal person, or a cold blooded murderer."
Your hands were quick to ball up into fists, but you had to keep your cool. Her face and her stance made your shoulders tense even more– despite how she had behaved when you shot Ward, she was quite calm. Let's not jump to conclusions, you told yourself.
You remained quiet and huffed after a moment: "Let me ask you something."
"Ask away." She was ever so slowly inching closer, but you let her.
"Do you regret it? Me, shooting a man who beats you to a pulp, a man who won't–"
"I loved him, of course I do," She scoffed, but there was no love in her voice, just irritation.
"Or was this your plan all along?" You smirked sardonically, trying to keep your anger away from her prying eyes– allowing her to slip up: "You hated him so much, then you saw Joel and me, wanted my place; that it?"
"Clever, very clever," She nodded. "And what better person to kill Ward than you? How is it going between you and Joel, anyway?" She was suddenly too close: "Does he look at you with disgust every time you go to bed, wishing that it was me instead, the poor woman made into a widow by his own wife?"
Your face scrunched up with disgust and fury: "You fucking–"
"I'm right, aren't I?" Her head was tilted forward, giving you one of the most chilling, emotionless smiles you had ever seen.
"No... you're a fucking psychopath, that's what you are," You frowned.
"Ah, you sounded like Ward. Have you also read those psychology books Doctor Katherine had given him?"
Your mind blanked for a moment, but you quickly replied to cover it up: "I was trained to deal with the likes of you."
It was partly true, especially after everything went to shit with the apocalypse and whatnot. You were trained, yes, but you had educated yourself about certain disorders which could help you train and read body language better– you were no expert of course, and you weren't police, or a detective; you didn't deal with people like her up close.
"Likes of me?" She rolled her eyes: "Ugh, you and your husband... In any case, I feel like I can be honest with you now, you're smarter than I imagined."
Eugene was right, you thought: "Decided to be honest, finally? When no one else is around? How brave of you."
"The point wasn't bravery," She looked angrier, but her voice was still quiet. "The point was exactly that– No one will hear this confession but you."
You stared into her eyes, confusion and stress taking over a bit more quicker than you liked, you didn't even realise she was inching closer towards you: "I hated Ward. I didn't love him. He was my means of escape and protection for all those years out there, but I was weak– he was abusive, yes. I was smaller than him in physique and had no training to defend myself, so naturally I was inferior. His love, I assume, was true at one point. Mine never was. And yes, I was aware of how we were the black sheep of the community once we had arrived. I figured, if Tommy, Maria– people who were looked up to, like you, liked us, we'd fit in. I did, more than Ward anyway. And yes, I did want Joel for myself, but I knew it wasn't going to be easy. You– you never really liked me, you had to move out of the picture."
Your stance became defensive as you listened: "Move out of the picture?"
"Joel will move on, eventually, and I'll walk him through his grief. For all of this to work out, you had to die. That's why I am being honest, because I am going to kill you."
You thought you were ready to evade her attack, but not mentally. Her words had made your mind go blank: despite being smaller than you in figure, she threw herself at you, grabbed your hair and slammed your head onto the table behind you. Twice.
"Ah!" You growled and grabbed her wrist in a death grip, however she didn't let out as much as a groan (unlike the first time you had tried something like this with her), even though you felt like her bones were going to crush under your palm. You cursed at yourself for letting her get as close to you as she did, giving her an advantage; your vision was getting blurry from the strikes you suffered.
You growled angrily as you turned your body towards hers again, her hands not letting go of your hair. She had gotten stronger over the time she's been trained in Jackson, but you could still have the upper hand. You landed the hardest kick you could on her stomach. Twice.
"You're not even pregnant, are you?!" You spat when you managed to push her off, but as soon as she backed off, she pulled out a knife and lunged at you again. Before the tip of the knife could pierce your throat, you crossed your arms and blocked her attack, the force bending you backwards across the table.
"I never was, yes," She struggled, voice still stable. "Though telling everyone I miscarried because of your little doing didn't really hurt nobo–"
————
"Eugene, what the hell?" Mike, someone in Kiki's group asked as soon as they stepped outside.
The older man didn't reply, sparing an angry look in the younger man's way as he began looking for a window, an opening, anywhere he could keep an eye on you from.
"Whatever, let's hope (Y/N) doesn't kill her too in there," Jennifer, Kiki's neighbour across the street, grumbled.
"What's wrong with you?" Ellie snapped and turned to her. "(Y/N) protected her!"
"I don't think cold blooded murder doesn't really count as protection," She sneered.
"The fuck did you just–" Ellie started walking towards her, but Jesse held her back.
"Ellie calm down," He spoke quietly, then turned to Jessica. "If it weren't for (Y/N), both Kiki and Paul would've died, don't you understand? Ward beat Kiki to her death, then actually tried to—"
"What do you know? You weren't there!" Jessica hissed at him.
"Neither were you," Jesse replied calmly. "(Y/N) isn't a murderer, she's a protector of this town."
"Her history with FEDRA says otherwise," Mike joined in.
"So you're telling me you haven't killed anyone in the past 20 years?" Eugene suddenly walked over to them. "You think you're so innocent in all this, huh? You're as innocent as the rest of us, Mike. We've all done– forced to do some fucked up shit before Jackson, but this what this place's all about; a second chance." He took a few silent deep breaths, before adding: "You don't know what anyone here has gone through before here, so shut your goddamn mouth."
Both Mike and Jennifer fell silent, as well as Jesse and Ellie as the older man death stared Kiki's group. He started walking back to continue looking for an opening too late however– he suddenly heard two loud thuds, followed by a shout, your shout.
"God dammit!" He ran to the door with everyone else behind him and almost kicked down the door when he reached it.
————
"Kiki, what the hell?!" Eugene came in shouting, the door suddenly opening with a loud crash.
"What's the matter, can't handle me on your own?" She hissed at you, but her grip failed at Eugene's entrance. She had failed, and she knew this too, for her face morphed from ambition and triumph to anger and fear. That was your moment.
You directed her hands to your left with your forearms, the knife suddenly giving in and stabbing into the wooden table: "Oh I can handle you just fine!"
You twisted your arms around hers, grabbed her and push kicked her with all your might, sending her flying down the small set of stairs back near the couch she was sitting on previously. Driven by rage, you pulled the knife out of the table and jumped on her with scary speed. Before she could get up, you reached her and straddled her hips, ready to drive the knife through her throat like she had tried to do to you.
"(Y/N) stop!" Eugene yelled before you could, knife holding hand raised high, the other around her lower neck.
"Tell them, go on!" You suddenly yelled, moving your hand onto her throat. "Confess to them like you did to me."
"Get off me." She spoke calmly.
"Speak!" You yelled and shook her where you had grabbed her by the throat.
"(Y/N)..." Eugene, you realised when he entered your line of sight, was pointing a gun at Kiki's head. He kept his distance, his stance almost professional.
"Get off me," She spoke after awhile of silence. "And I'll tell them what I told you."
For whatever stupid reason, you believed her.
You believed, for a second, that she was actually going to make her confession and try to survive this, somehow. Jackson never took to execution as a form of punishment, so she had higher chances of staying alive that way.
Instead, as soon as you lowered your arm and simultaneously pulled your hand away from her throat, she grabbed you by your shirt's collar.
Everything happened so fast.
You gasped and shouted when you felt her teeth sink into the left side of your throat, dangerously close to the artery. Before she could completely bite off your skin, you embedded the knife in your hand to the side of her neck. Twice.
The tension in your body, the fear and anger you felt– everything came out on her neck. You stabbed her neck reflexively and as soon as she let your neck and shoulders go, you stopped, threw her back on the ground and fell on your back.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" You grimaced, panting and holding your neck as you backed away from Kiki where you sat. You stopped crawling back when your back hit one of the armchair across the sofa.
The outside voices started to drown out as you pulled your hand away from your neck to see a mix of blood smeared across your hand. Your head hurt so much; the beating of your own heart, the voice ringing in your ear– too much blood–
"(Y/N), christ!" Eugene knelt beside you immediately, followed by Ellie and Jesse. Mike, Jessica and the other person stood, dumbfounded and shocked, as Kiki gave her last breath.
"No, oh god, what did I do?" Tears finally started rolling down your cheeks as you panted, visions of old memories covered in blood flashing under your eyelids making you hyperventilate.
Joel... Where is Joel...
"You protected yourself, (Y/N), it's okay! Breathe!" Eugene ran a hand through his hair, then held you by the shoulders hesitantly.
You put your hands on your ears in an attempt to drown out the noises, tried opening your eyes but the images weren't going away: "I can't– can't breathe," You held onto Eugene's arms. "You're– Is she–?"
Your question died on your tongue when he pulled you into a hug, putting your chin on his shoulder, then turned to the side so you didn't see Kiki's now lifeless body: "(Y/N), we need to get you to Katherine, you're bleeding."
"She was trying to stab her?" Katherine.
"Yeah, then she said she was gonna confess something she had confessed to (Y/N), but bit her nearly in the damn artery instead." Eugene.
"And whose bright idea was it to let 'em talk alone?" Tommy.
"Mine," You weakly replied as you slowly opened your eyes.
"Jesus christ, (Y/N)," Tommy sighed, relieved, and sat to your right. You were back in the hospital, where Doctor Katherine, Eugene and Tommy had been waiting for you to wake up.
"We should put my name up outside," You said stiffly, in an attempt to make a joke. "Seems like I won't stop waking up in this room."
Katherine was sat to your left– she put a hand against your forehead, then the back of it: "I got a fever?"
"You had a mild fever while I was operating–"
"Woah, hold on– operating?" You sat up, holding your neck to find it patched up. "Was it that bad?"
"She almost tore out the meat, that crazy–" Eugene spoke, but huffed with frustration halfway.
"I don't wanna rush you," Tommy put a hand on your shoulder and gave you a worried look. "But I need you to tell me what happened."
You and Eugene exchanged a worrisome look: "Just back there, or right from the beginning?"
"Everything," Tommy said after awhile. You gave Katherine a hesitating look, which she didn't notice, but sighed and began telling everything: from the dirty looks you got, to the symbolism of flowers and the night before Ward's death; then how some townspeople were riled up against you, and finally how she confessed to everything and attacked you, ultimately resulting in her death. Tommy went a little pale throughout, especially when you told him of her confession– Same with Eugene. Katherine looked devastated.
"Some folk ain't gonna believe this," Tommy said with an apologetic look on his face.
"Well, fuck 'em– I believe her." Eugene shook his head from where he was leaning against the windowsill. You offered a brief smile.
"I believe you too, but it just sounds too absurd, no offence," Tommy said, scratching his beard. "A damn maniac and his psycho wife... Then this whole– confession?"
You just sighed and looked down, where you had been playing with your fingernails and tips nervously: "To be frank, I don't owe anyone in this town a goddamn thing, except for maybe Katherine here. I'm not gonna try and convince a bunch of people, who have no place in my business, that I'm right or whatever. I did what I had to– and I have you all, so..."
Katherine took your hand in hers, giving it a soft squeeze: "That you do. We got you (Y/N), you're safe."
You gave them all half a smile, struggling not to cry but you managed to keep your tears to yourself. Tommy smiled, tsked and put his hands on his hips: "Well, now I'm worried about how Joel's goin' to react."
"React to what?" Came a tired voice from the door, the voice of your husband who was supposed to be away at a run.
"Joel?" Tommy's shocked tone mixed with yours, which was laced with both relief and disbelief.
"Tony got injured before we could make it out the county, Earl and I had to bring him back," He said from the door, slowly walking in and taking Katherine's place by your side: "Ran into Daisy, said my lovely wife managed to land herself here again."
He put his hand through your hair and combed it back, giving you a solemn yet soft look, then kissed your forehead and kept his lips pressed there for a few seconds. He then pulled back and gently looked at your neck: "What happened?"
Hey! I'm just here to remind you how wonderful you are. I don't know much about you but then again I don't necessarily need to - its not hard to see how beautiful of a person you are. <3
Please be nice to yourself. Give your body food and plenty of rest, drinks lots of water too!!
Thank you for sharing your fics with us. We are truly blessed to have your talent of writing available to read. You're amazing! <3
OH MY GOD??!?!!?
you're absolutely the sweetest person ever, you're so kind and thoughtful and caring– literally i am returning everything you've said to me you wonderful human, take care of yourself and keep the fics coming (but don't push yourself of course)!!! you deserve nothing but the best 💗💗
PLEASE take the time to learn about what is happening in Turkey at the moment
this is not a joke.
TURKEY IS BEING BURNT DOWN! and It’s not a natural disaster, it’s arson. literal terror. a crime. there are 81 fires going on in 23 different cities. this has been going on for 2 days. people are dying, losing their homes.
helicopters, drones, planes and thousands of firemen are currently trying to control fires in 10 different locations in southern Turkey. so far, three people have died, hundreds of animals have perished and several settlements are being evacuated.
A WHOLE country is on fire please that is not something you can underestimate.
please use your voice for us.
please dont stay in silence.
YOU CAN READ THIS THREAD FOR MORE INFORMATION
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#TürkiyeYanıyor
#PrayforTurkey
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HOW TO HELP
You can deposit your cash donations by typing "MANAVGAT YARDIM" in the explanation section, to the account numbered Adalya Health Education and Culture Foundation, Vakıf Bank Lara Branch (TL) IBAN: TR22 0001 5001 5800 7273 6305 85.
oh my god, i'm turkish and seeing foreigners reblogging this honestly brought me to tears.
since the post above, three more people have died and thousands of more homes have burned down, but thankfully some of the fires have been extinguished. but this doesn't mean the fight is over.
these photos were taken in the province of Antalya, one of our biggest tourism centers. for decades, people have been setting entire forests on fire in touristic places to make room for their huge, 5-star hotels and resorts. everyone knows this. the government knows this.
for anyone that doesn't know, our government is as corrupt as it gets (i'm not gonna go into details, or we'd be here all day and i'd probably get arrested). they're trying to cover up these news with the resignation of the minister of education. what's more, so far, the only fire-extinguishing planes we have were sent to us by Russia. not our own government.
they don't care for us.
our only hope is you. even a single Euro/Dollar you donate would make a difference.
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