#i wish every day that the fuckin fandom had not made it necessary for me to mention the fucking holocaust in the context of scoo/by doo

[angorwhosebabyisthis]

i've been trying to work on getting more specific about criteria i set my boundaries around and adjacent--namely around actionable behaviors as opposed to just things that tend to be accompanied by them, like 'if you engage with me to argue whether a dynamic i consider to be abusive is actually abuse i will block you' instead of just 'if you don't think [X specific dynamic] is abuse DNI.' but man sometimes there are things that are context-specific enough that if you don't specify that particular instance people are unlikely to know what you're talking about.

('if you call pericles a nazi i will block you for holocaust denial, [short summary or link to explanation]' is a personal example that comes to mind. i can name the specific shitty trope--'The Nazis Were Gay is a homophobic myth and it is holocaust denial, cut it out'--but if someone hasn't already made that connection with pericles, they are..... probably not going to unless you lay it out yourself. and it will probably involve a Lot of Context when your DNI is really just not the place to stop for a thousand-word essay about the tropes and framing and character dynamics in a piece of media, even if it's something you're happy to infodump about elsewhere.)

('if [criteria relating to the All Germans are Nazis trope or nazis otherwise getting thrown in for bad guy shock value] i will block you' i think gets closer to the broader issue--because hoooly shit there is so much nastiness that inevitably comes with, once again usually holocaust denial--but i don't even know where i'd start with framing that. 'if you do/don't engage critically with [X]' is a nothingburger and it's worse than useless. but like, chances are VERY good that if your policy is not 'look real fucking hard at the presence of nazis in a piece of media, what it means relative to the other elements of the story, whether invoking them is appropriate or even relevant, and the author's intent in doing so' you are going to have takes i do not want to engage with and think are really shitty to spread.)

and there's also not much nuanced shorthand language around for things like 'if you have [opinion] and didn't realize why it might be shitty before seeing it pointed out, i'll be understanding of that, but if you're going to double down when it's laid out in front of you i will block you.' or, for that matter, 'if you make unsolicited comments about my abuse history while discussing fiction i will bite your fucking head off and post about it publicly on my blog, with url attached. if you don't want that then stay off my goddamn posts and mind your business.'

there's also a really important distinction, i think, between the contexts in which you're laying these boundaries. you can't expect every rando who reblogs a post of yours that got big to click through and read through every single boundary you have to make sure you won't block them, but if they're going to follow you it is much more relevant to them to know if they'll just get blocked (or decide they want to block you). and some person following you to occasionally reblog aesthetics or fanart from a distance is a different level of engagement than someone who might take part in meta discussions on your posts, or draw fanart of your AU, or get in contact with you outside of the platform where you met to make friends. it's reasonable to have different expectations for strangers on the street, people you run into at the coffee shop now and then, and people you invite over to your house.

like.... in general i feel like DNI is just not the right name for it, because that presents a binary that might not always fit. if someone has an opinion i'm bothered by and don't want to engage with directly, but will go 'oh, huh i didn't think of it like that' when seeing an explanation from the outside, that's not a 'never breathe in my direction again' offense to me. if anything i think most people are basically decent and would like to be decent, and it makes me happy to be able to provide someone with the perspective to make an informed choice for how to do that.

as it is you're just kind of boxed into the corner of FUCK OFF GTFO GO AWAY, which is even more unhelpful when it comes to communicating criteria where you Really Fucking Mean It, like 'if you think it's acceptable to tell someone to kill themself then fuck off, fuck all the way off, stay the hell away from me.' that 'gtfo or don't' binary takes away the capacity for that emphasis, and honestly also contributes to the extreme black-and-white toxicity of fandom and internet spaces in general this past decade or so. if 'didn't pick up on a subtle depiction of abuse at first and was kind of insensitive about it' and 'literal suicide baiting' are exactly the same degree of Bad, then either the suicide baiting seems trivial, or people are going to feel Attacked and like they must be a terrible person for any slightly imperfect good-faith thought or opinion they might have, or have just not thought through.

in the latter case, even if they end up going with the Other Opinion(tm) because feeling attacked put them off, fandom these days is a nightmare of systemic abuse which weaponizes that binary. seeing it replicated even from people who are trying to push back against it--even if it's because those people have been pushed into a corner and aggressive Get the Fuck Away from Me is, understandably, all they have left--just reinforces that there is no other model for this, that the abusive framework for how to navigate the world is all there is. i hate the idea of contributing to that, and i wish i weren't having to feel out the alternative by myself while already being so goddamn burned out on the whole thing.

and like.... i think 'boundaries' as a term is definitely getting warmer, but by itself doesn't quite communicate its nature as a Thing for the specific purposes of navigating socmed spaces. just. hm.

#whosebaby talks #i have a lot of thoughts about DNIs and i feel people on both sides of 'should they be a thing' discourse flatten out critical nuance here #don't get me started on 'lololol the [people you want to stay away from you] aren't gonna care about your DNI' #like yeah there are plenty of assholes out there who are shitheads about basic etiquette when you can't physically enforce boundaries #if you have a shitty roommate who tries to talk to you through the door while there's a sock on the doorknob #or constantly steals your food out of the fridge #it's not stupid or pointless to say 'don't knock on my door while i'm having sex' or 'don't eat all my food'; and expect that basic decency #because you can't literally padlock half the fucking fridge shut? or set up electric wire in a 5ft radius around your door when you fuck? #mayhaps we should not set the bar for basic interpersonal interaction and participation in society #at the level of what determined bad actors can logistically get away with? #just a thought! just a thought. anyway #the salt files #antis cw #abuse cw #suicide baiting cw #nazi mention cw #holocaust mention cw #i wish every day that the fuckin fandom had not made it necessary for me to mention the fucking holocaust in the context of scoo/by doo #but that's where we are i guess! #anyway #blog policy #long post #is there a name for that tag

[millennialzadr]

WHY I LOVE ZADR!!!

HEY GUYS WHASSUP? LMAO

So this is a whole ass giant long post of me absolutely spewing my feelings of love for ZADR, it was the very first thing I wrote when I made this blog and I think it’s a nice, positive thing for my fellow shippers to inhale and enjoy 👌👌

it was originally a reply to mitarashiart’s post about why HE loves ZADR (link in replies) but I decided to delete that and make my own post since MY WHOLE ENTIRE TEXT WALL WAS SHOWN IN THE REPLIES and drowned out anyone else who was trying to talk (thanks tumblr mobile u fuckin idiot)

I had also posted a summary of an AU that I’m working on in the original post, but decided to remove it since it just about doubled the length (I’m thinking about posting it separately along with the wips I’ve been putting together, we’ll see 👀)

But ANYWAY, here is about a million reasons why I think ZADR is the fucking best, so if you like reading gushy gay ship feelings, please enjoy ❤️❤️❤️

[Posted June 2019][WARNING, LONG ASS THOUGHT BARF]

SOOO, holy hell y’all my journey back into this fandom has been a wild and unique experience for me, i went from adding invader zim to my bookmarks on kisscartoon, rewatching the series, finding out theres a movie coming out, finding out there was a shitload of content i’d never seen before (commentaries, lost episode scripts and audios, panels, the COMIC, episodes i’d never seen because the dvd i used to watch was scratched!! and a FUCKLOAD of quality modern fan art like oh my GOD) and finally curiously googling ‘zadr’ (which i was way into when i was maybeee 13/14) to see if there was any interesting new art, and holy hell, mita (the artist above) singlehandedly THREW me down the hole into modern zadr hell, first with his absolutely stunning IZ art (all his art is dope tho check him out yo), then reading the above explanation put the final nail in the coffin like, 100%

so i wanted to add onto his post here on why this ship got me so fucked up, both for anyone who might be wondering why on earth i’m shipping two characters from a kid’s show (i’m very aware how weird that is at first glance trust me) and also so i can get some ideas down for possible future reference (will i ever draw them? maybe)

(first of all, a disclaimer, and this is not pleasant to write but it’s important to address for clarity’s sake: I have no interest in romantic or sexual relationships between minors, and do not ship zim and dib as they are presented canonically in the show (as children). what i’m interested in is the conceptualized relationship they may have as modern adults, and i view zadr more as taking the concepts of existing characters and experimenting with them with different interpretations, which i personally think is a constructive and fun creative outlet, especially if these characters hold personal significance for you (childhood faves of course). growing up together is an important facet of their relationship, and certainly they were important to each other even as children (see: mopiness of doom) but as an adult i’m personally curious about what kind of adults they might’ve become, and that’s the focus of my interest. i’ll still be reblogging regular IZ art because it’s dope but if you see shippy looking art of them as tiny lil beans its either friendship or chibis (and i personally headcanon zim as getting taller with dib but some people stick with his canonical height when drawing them as adults, which is super short. it still doesn’t mean he’s a kid). aaand i wish i didnt have to write this and it would just be obvious but we live in a sick sad world and it is sourced from a children’s cartoon so i feel its necessary. end of disclaimer)

NOW THAT THAT’S OUT OF THE WAY

- ok, first reason’s a bit obvious - the nostalgia. holy hell, the feeling of rediscovering a ship that was popular when i was a preteen during the mid 2000s and discovering a totally new perspective on it as an adult comes with an almost totally overwhelming sense of nostalgia and comfort, as well as inspiration!! the kind of art that seems so common for zadr, these sketch pages of scenes and expressions and visual gags where artists would just scribble every idea they had and LOVE doing it, this was exactly the kind of art that made me so passionate about drawing as a kid, and it still sparks such a powerful feeling of love and admiration for me to this day. fan content of iz and zadr is simultaneously achingly familiar and totally new and fascinating, and it just makes me SO damn happy to consume, it is most definitely my new comfort content. and just, GOD. THE ART!! SO GOOD. FUCK

- now for the characters themselves: for some reason i just really love the thought of a mid twenties, modern Dib?? lanky goth dork, disaster bi, depressed as shit, uses bad sweaters and memes to cope?? when i was a kid i didn’t even LIKE Dib, but now i totally sympathize with him! he’s just a hyper obsessive nerd wishing there was more to life than the situation he got stuck with, how wildly relatable. he was a pretty big asshole as a kid (even to people besides zim) but he was also totally isolated and constantly bullied, so there’s a lot of room for growth. i feel there’s a lot of juicy character development potential for that boy, and there’s always been a special place in my heart for characters who are totally sad and screwed and hopeless, but there’s one thing, or person, that means the world to them and could possibly save them…

- aliens. Zim. i love nonhuman characters, i love monsters, i love aliens, i love characters that don’t understand human shit (and thus have much less room for shame or fear bc theyre just totally oblivious the negatives of modern society) and need guidance (bonding!!) from their human. i also love morally grey characters and characters with skewed logic, they’re always really interesting, and Zim himself just has such a unique personality and set of mannerisms, he contradicts himself a lot and you can never quite expect how he’ll behave, and i love that in a character, it makes them super versatile and fun, especially since there’s so many different possibilities for their development. Also, Zim is a gremlin, a little shit, and a disaster. I also love those traits in a character. And don’t even get me started on his character design?? big sparkly eyes? expressive antennae? monster teeth? complimenting colors? he’s adorable.

- mutual obsession. for someone like Dib, who seems almost repulsed by how boring and slow the people around him are, Zim quite literally personifies Dib’s  escapist fantasies, both as an inhuman entity from beyond the stars, and as a person who’s knowledge, charisma and mystery far exceeds that of anyone Dib has met in his entire life. (so basically what i’m saying is that for a shunned, jaded misanthropist, an actual alien is terribly alluring, even if said alien is dangerous, stupid, and possibly insane). not to mention Zim vindicates Dib’s entire life passion, the supernatural! Even when their relationship is totally negative, there is not a single inch of room for Dib to get tired of Zim. as mita explained, they validate each other. for Zim, WHO AGAIN, IS TOTALLY SHUNNED, ISOLATED, AND HATED BY EVERYONE HE KNOWS, Dib is the only person in the universe who gives a single shit about him!! he gives Zim credit as a threat, a capable invader, which if you ask me is the sole thing Zim is after (he’s hellbent on his mission because it would win him the approval of the tallest, all he’s ever wanted is recognition from the people he thinks so highly of). He literally gets depressed when Dib isn’t around to pay attention to him, not even the tallest were enough to motivate him before Dib came back. these two have no one and nothing without each other, and while lifelong nemeses is fine and dandy, i personally prefer friendship, affection and love, cause i’m a softie like that. how could they possibly get there after years of actively trying to kill each other?? well, i think under just the right circumstances it could become a possibility after a long, long time.

- growth. i. love. me. some. good. character growth. especially for characters with trauma/mental illness, bc again, relatable. these boys have issues, and as mita mentioned, their canon stories are actually INCREDIBLY sad! but the happy thought is, they could recover! they could help each other recover, for little reason other than the two are the only source of happiness for each other. now of course this also opens the gate for angst lovers, but at the same time offers potential for comforting, uplifting content of the boys supporting and inspiring each other, maybe even to the point of becoming happy and healthy enough to create the lives they want for themselves (as in appreciating life and doing things that make them actually happy instead of the delusions of grandeur they both sought when they were younger). gimme that positive shit and let the poor beans be happy  щ(ಠ益ಠщ)

- LITTLE THINGS. LITTLE THINGS THAT ONLY COME WITH CHILDHOOD FRIENDS. WITH HUMAN/NONHUMAN. WITH THE SHOW’S WEIRD LOGIC. Zim being the person Dib knows best and vice versa. Zim having an involuntary respect/admiration for Dib because he’s tall. Learning each other’s needs, limits, and communication methods, both emotionally and biologically. Sensitive antennae. Affectionate bickering. Being less insecure bc your partner literally has no idea why you see your flaws as flaws. Laughing at the flaws they do notice because they make no sense. Zim only wanting to eat waffles and chow mein. Dib being forced to overcome his depression lethargy and stay hygienic/keep the apartment clean because Zim has a sharper sense of smell and is afraid of germs. Endless conversation about anything and everything because they’re from literally different worlds, and endless intrigue. TOUCHING. TALKING. DOING EVERYTHING LIKE ITS THE VERY FIRST TIME AND ALWAYS NEEDING THE OTHER TO GUIDE THEM. HOLY HELL THERE IS SO MUCH POSSIBILITY FOR TINY LITTLE MOMENTS THAT MEAN THE WORLD. FUCK. GOT ME FUCKED UP.

so that wraps up the why. fuck man. its just such a good ship. if you read this big ass text post, thank you for indulging me, i hope you enjoyed it! because i enjoy it very much 👀 so stick around if you’d like to for a shit load of IZ and zadr content on this blog, possibly (MAYBE) even from me!! come roll around in alien hell with me why dontcha ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ its a fun time! thanks for reading!!!

-

SO THAT’S MY MANIFESTO Y’ALL, FEEL FREE TO REPLY WITH YOUR OWN REASONS!! I WOULD LOVE FOR THIS POST TO JUST BECOME A BIG GIANT PILE OF LOVE AND YELLING!! GO NUTS! SCREAM ABOUT IT! INFODUMP! DO WHATEVER YOU WANT! I’LL READ EVERY LAST REPLY! Y’ALL DESERVE TO ENJOY YOUR SHIP BC IT’S LITERALLY THE FUCKING BEST!!! LOVE Y’ALL!!!!!!

#in this trying time of shippers being stressed over discourse #i offer a gift<3 because i love you guys #and we should spread the love #i want yall to go OFF #tell me every little fuckin thing about zadr that makes ur heart doki OK #LETS GO 👏👏👏 #invader zim #zadr #text post #my post #long post

[duskowithapen]

Day Five: Soulmates

Fandom: Sherlock

Pairing: John Watson/Sherlock Holmes (Kinda ambiguous)

You’ll Be With Me (Like a Handprint on my Heart)

Sherlock never quite believed in soul mates – in feeling that elusive tug in his soul mark and finding his ‘other half’ – but if he had to chose someone to be bound with, John Watson would be his first and only choice. If only life was that easy. Writer’s Month 202 Day Five: Soulmates

Sherlock never truly believed in soulmates.

That isn’t to say that he doesn’t believe in their existence – a metaphysical bond between two individuals, manifesting as a colourful handprint placed somewhere of significance to their relationship – as it had been well documented and the subject of thousands of research projects and papers over the centuries.

Unfortunately, it had also been the main plot point of various novels, movies and television shows. A soul mark became a marketable product, promoting true love and happily ever after and second halves. Sherlock’s first exposure to this was within the fairy tale of Cinderella – where her glass slippers revealed the handprint around her heel, and how the prince went made searching for the girl who made his heart beat again. Such things were hogwash.

Approximately 42% of marriages end in divorce. Over half of these are between soulmates. Of the other half, almost a third of them are caused by on person in the relationship finding their soulmate. Almost 60% of men cheat on their wife, and an undocumented amount of them involved soulmates on one side of the equation or the other.

Not exactly the perfect love story.

Soulmates, as Sherlock explained to his mother at the tender age of nine, are a waste of time. This proclamation came after his brother left – after Redbeard died – after he learned that sentiment is weakness.

And what bigger sentiment than soulmates?

You’ll change your mind when you meet your soulmate, his mother explained with an expression of long-suffering (one she often wore around him). She had one hand around his leg, just above the bright red handprint that ringed his ankle. They’re going to be a passionate one, she gushed. They’re going to have to bet if they want to keep up with you!

Her own soul mark was a deep blue, cupping the left side of her face. His father liked to cover it with his own hand at any opportunity. Mother would then wrap an arm around his waist, where a deep gold soul mark rested just above Father’s hip. Sherlock had never seen it, but Mother had described it so often that it resided in his mind palace, pride of place in his father’s room.

(Sherlock had never seen Mycroft’s soul mark. He had asked about it once, when he was five. He’d never asked again.)

His soul mark didn’t become an issue till he went to university. There, everyone wanted to know where his soul mark was – what colour was it – had he met his soul mate yet? After giving scathing and painfully true deductions about their sexual preferences, habits and feelings about their soul mate (whether they’d found them or not), the question’s stopped. After all…

Who would want Sherlock Holmes as a soulmate?

Well it seems, Sherlock thought slowly, John Watson might.

They were laughing at a crime scene – something John was swatting at him for, telling him off, no giggling near dead bodies Sherlock – when one of Scotland Yard’s ‘finest’ walked past with a sneer.

“Wish Lestrade would keep Holmes and his soulmate away from our fuckin’ cases.”

Sherlock immediately sobered. John, always attentive to his mood, met his eyes before turning away.

“Oi!”

The hapless uniform turned around and immediately regretted it.

“I don’t give two shits about what you think of me but leave Sherlock alone. If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t have found this body, let alone had the chance to catch the bloody bastard who did it. If keeping your mouth closed is too difficult, try to not aim it at us.” John was standing with both feet planted, arms crossed and angled slightly towards Sherlock, like he was ready to jump in and physically protect him.

When he didn’t get a response soon enough, John barked, “Understand?”

The officer nodded, saluted, and scrambled.

John huffed. “Hate bastards like that. Don’t know how you put up with it Sherlock.”

Sherlock opened his mouth – to thank John, ask him if it was true, if John was his soul mate, he wasn’t sure yet – but Sally got in first.

“So you are his soulmate? The whole precinct’s been wondering.”

“That’s none of your business Sergeant Donovan,” John said in his ‘Captain’ voice. “You have about as much right to details of my relationship with Sherlock as I do to your relationship with Anderson.” As Sally began to squawk, John turned to him. “Are you ready to leave?”

Sherlock nodded wordlessly and went to hail a cab.

Was John his soul mate?

Later on, after the end of a successful case, Sherlock sat in his chair while John dozed across from him. In his mind palace, he reviewed every piece of information he had on soul mates.

No guarantee that soul mates will meet… Soul marks colour and placement are of significance to the relationship shared… Once meeting one’s soul mate, a person can have a variety of reactions… A soul bond will be created upon meeting, although the intensity and depth of development can vary… some people have reported suddenly feeling their soul mates’ emotions… others reported a tingling in their mark… a pulling sensation within their soul mark has been described by some, often in fantastical terms such as ‘it was like our marks were magnets, trying to pull us together’, ‘a red strong of fate kind of think’, and ‘I can always find my soul mate now, I just need to follow that pull’…

Sherlock moved to John’s section of his mind palace to review their first meeting. There had been interest, curiosity about this person who so clearly was suffering from a psychosomatic limp, the cautious hope of something to help abate the boredom… but none of those correlated with evidence of a soul bond.

Yet why else would John stay?

Now that the prospect had been drawn to his attention, it would not leave. Sherlock would watch as John seemed to anticipate his needs, accurately judge his temper to determine whether to divert Anderson away from the scene or not, and most telling of all – no matter how many times Sherlock played the violin at 2 am, no matter how many body parts were left in the fridge, no matter how many times he’d interrupted dates for Johns’ (not completely necessary) assistance with a case, John didn’t leave.

And yet, Sherlock felt nothing.

No tingling.

No emotions outside his own.

No pull.

Could it be that John was his soulmate, but Sherlock wasn’t his? Or was he just too freakish, too damaged to register a soul bond. Maybe he was incapable of making one at all.

At least, that’s what he thought till he met Jim from IT. When Jim crossed behind him and bumped the dish, Sherlock felt a strong tug, like someone had grabbed his ankle and pulled. For a moment, he thought that Jim had ‘accidently’ twisted his feet to hit Sherlocks’, but he wasn’t close enough. Not to mention, after further examination, the sensation was less of a tug and more of a draw, like his ankle was a metal filling being drawn to a magnet.

The feeling didn’t leave until Jim did.

Sherlock was very careful to hide his revelation from John, and he put it in the back of his mind palace to be examined later. The likelihood of him meeting Jim from IT again was minimal – especially if Molly ended their relationship.

And then there was that tugging sensation again. At the pool. As John stood with ten pounds of Semtex strapped to his chest.

“Did I make such a fleeting impression Sherlock dear?” Moriarty said gleefully. “I thought you felt that tug too – pulling us together. But I suppose you did the smart thing and ignored it.” As Sherlock lifted the gun, a cluster of red dots appeared over John’s heart. “Don’t be silly Sherlock, someone else is holding the rifle. I’m not a fan of getting my hands dirty.

“I’ve given you a glimpse,” Moriarty said dramatically, pacing back and forth. “Just a teensy glimpse of what I’ve got going on out there in the big, bad world. You see, I’m a specialist… just. Like. You.” A grin spread across his face. “Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me, to get rid of my lover’s nasty sister? Dear Jim, please will you fix it for me to disappear into South America? I’m just like you Sherlock – the opposite side of your coin.”

“A consulting criminal.” Sherlock said flatly. “Brilliant.” He wished that it wasn’t. He wished in a way he hadn’t wished since he was a child, to stop feeling that damning tug against his ankle.

“Isn’t it? No one ever gets to me, and no one ever will.” Moriarty looked unbearably smug.

“I did.”

Something dangerous flashed in Moriarty’s face – the closest thing to a true emotion he’d seen on the other man’s face. “You’ve come the closest… But now you’re in my way. And being my soul mate isn’t going to change that.” He held up his hand, the one that had stayed in his pocket the entire time. Flashing back to ‘Jim from IT’, he noticed that his hand had very much stayed out of sight then too.

And for good reason.

A mottled grey and black handprint sat along the grooves and lines of Moriarty’s own fingers. They wiggled. “Like it, Sherlock? I tell everyone that it’s because my soul mate died – pretty sure Johnny boy here can tell you how that feels.”

And indeed, John’s face fell, and his hands twitched. One shoulder ducked for a moment, as if to protect it.

“But no, I was just saving it for you. Know what black and grey means Sherlock? Death and decay. That’s what our relationship is. I am willing to kill anyone and everyone in my way – I cut loose all those people, threw in thirty million quid, just to get you to play with me. So here’s a friendly warning, darling… Back off. Although I’ve adored this little game of ours, playing the friendly IT guy for the lovely Molly, I’ve got bigger and better things to do.”

“People have died for your game!” The words slipped out of Sherlock’s mouth. He was off balance – he needed to calm himself. Otherwise John might not be getting out of this alive.

“That’s what people do!” There was something derivative in Moriarty’s face, in the crinkle of his nose and curl of his lips. “They live and they die and they never amount to anything but momentary distractions.”

“I will stop you.”

Moriarty almost looked surprised. “No you won’t. Two sides of a coin remember – we’re destined to challenge each other forever. You should be excited! I can make sure you’re never bored again Sherlock.” He stepped closer and leaned over John’s shoulder. Sherlock stiffened at the proximity. “You’re awfully quiet Johnny boy. Go on, speak!”

Sherlock spared John a glance. “You alright?” His response was a nod. Sherlock flicked the flash drive in Moriarty’s direction. “Take it.”

He caught it with frustrating ease. “Oh, those! The missile plans!” He pressed the drive to his lips – possibly in an attempt to look coy, but it just turned Sherlock’s stomach – and flicked it back. “I could have gotten them from anywhere.”

It was only chance that had Sherlock locking eyes with John. That’s the only reason he wasn’t surprised by him catching Moriarty in a reverse bear hug the man looked all too prepared for.

“If your sniper pulls the trigger Jim, then we both go up.” John snarled. In that moment, Sherlock could see what war had made him.

“Awww, isn’t that sweet! I see why you keep him around darling. No wonder people think such a boorish person is your soulmate! Such loyalty can be touching, but… you’ve shown your hand Johnny boy.”

From the way John’s face grew tight with concern and anger, Sherlock could deduce that a sniper beam was aimed at him too. John let go and stepped back. There was a glint in his eye. This wasn’t surrender, but a tactical retreat.

Moriarty dusted himself off fastidiously. “Do you know what’s going to happen to you if you don’t leave me alone Sherlock?”

He rolled his eyes. “Let me guess, you’ll kill me?”

“Kill you? Don’t be so predictable. I mean, it’s a given that one day, I’ll be responsible for your demise, but that will be a special occasion. Not something to be rushed. No, if you don’t stop prying into my business… I’ll burn you.” Moriarty’s face went dark as he snarled, “I will burn the heart out of you.”

“I have been reliably informed,” Sherlock said with pseudo-calmness, “That I don’t have one.”

Moriarty huffed and looked deliberately at John. “We both know that’s not quite true. How much did it hurt, Sherlock, to find out that you’re not John Watson’s soulmate?” He didn’t give Sherlock a chance to answer before waving a hand. “I’d better be off. It was so nice to have a proper chat with my soulmate.”

Sherlock’s finger twitched on the trigger. “What if I was to shoot you, right now.”

“Hmmm… you could cherish the look of surprise on my face,” Moriarty said with an overly dramatic face – all raised eyebrows and rounded mouth. “Because it would be a surprise Sherlock, and perhaps a disappointment. Not to mention that fact that you wouldn’t be cherishing it for very long. Do you really think you can kill your soul mate? Kill your other half. I’ve heard that it can cause excruciating pain – huh Johnny boy?” With a finger on his chin, he thought for a moment. “It would be interesting to experience I suppose, but that’s a thought for another time.”

Moriarty flicked two fingers in a salute. “Ciao, Sherlock Holmes!” He disappeared around a corner.

As soon as he was out of sight, Sherlock scrambled to pull the coat and explosives off John. “Are you okay? Alright?” As he tugged at the sleeves, he couldn’t help but glance John over. No obvious wounds…

“I’m okay Sherlock, I’m fine!” At a particularly harsh tugged, John yelled over his shoulder, “Sherlock!”

He flung the now loose coat away, catching John’s collapse in the corner of his eye. He was panting. “Are you,” He huffed between breaths, “… okay?”

“Me? I’m fine.” Sherlock took a few steps closer. “That – that thing – that you did…” Words didn’t seem to want to come out of his mouth, “That thing you did – offered to do – that was good.”

“I’m glad no one saw that.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the non sequitur.

John huffed out a breath of laughter. “You ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk.”

Something lightened in his chest at the smile John sent him. He got the message – we’re okay. “They do little else,” He said, for lack of a better response.

Then the lights returned to John’s chest, and that damnable tug at Sherlock’s ankle nearly pulled him off balance.

Moriarty!

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

After they dug themselves out of the wreckage, after the paramedics gave them a relatively clean bill of health, after Lestrade confirmed his presence for the next day regarding Moriarty, John and Sherlock returned to Baker Street.

Flopping into his armchair, Sherlock watched as John made up two cups of tea. His hands were steady as he handed one over, his movements measured as he sat down and took a sip.

“So,” He began slowly. “I take it you weren’t aware of having a psychopathic soul mate?”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at John’s uncharacteristic bluntness regarding the situation before responding in kind. “Aside from a tug at my soul mark when we met in the hospital, I was under the impression that I didn’t have a soul mate.”

“And… that thing about you not being my soul mate…?”

He stiffened. “Moriarty was trying to get a rise out of me.” He was loath to confess that it worked.

There was silence for a moment. Sherlock itched to get out his violin, create the most chaotic melodies, the harshest tunes to try and release the turmoil in his chest.

“I never bought into the whole soul mate thing,” John said as he looked up. “My parents were soul mates, but that didn’t stop them from getting into rows loud enough to shake the house. Harry found her soul mate in Clara, but her drinking problem stopped them from creating a deeper bond.” He took a deep breath. “In the army, you try not to think of your soul mates. Some guys I knew deliberately avoided anyone who they thought might be their soul mate – anyone who made their mark tingle even slightly, anyone with a similar coloured mark – because they knew what would happen if they died in combat.

“I was one of the lucky ones – or unlucky ones, depending on who you asked. I met my soul mate on my first tour in Afghanistan, and we managed to serve together for years. We weren’t lovers,” He said in response to Sherlock’s unanswered question. “That’s something else I’ve always hated about the soul mate thing – everyone assumes that once you meet, you immediately shag. Arthur and I weren’t ever like that. We were close – closer than anyone else – we could just about read each other’s minds and saved each other’s arse a dozen times over.”

John slowly began to unbutton his shirt. “I know you’ve been curious about my bullet wound.” Sherlock almost didn’t want to look. John spread the fabric out, pulling the sleeve of his under shirt down and away. The entry wound was at the front – something that surprised him, given that John wasn’t one to run away – and something must have shown on his face, because John smiled ruefully.

“Arthur had gone down. Damn insurgents got in a lucky shot to his leg. I was stabilising him when I was sniped. If it wasn’t for Arthur pulling my sideways, I wouldn’t be here today.” He paused for a moment and breathed deep. “It was a through and through shot – and when Arthur pulled, he – it –”

Sherlock closed his eyes briefly. He could imagine the bullet exiting John’s body and hitting the person beneath.

“If you look closely – actually, come here for a second…” John grabbed Sherlock’s hand and pulled him off the chair. His vision whited out for a moment – that warmth against his skin, so hot compared to his own cooler temperature, shocked him. He came back to the feeling of a strong beat under his fingers. He spread them unconsciously and felt the pitted skin. John moved his hand a little, waited, and shifted it another way. “Can you feel it?”

He could. Underneath the exit wound was another wound. It was irregularly shaped, four streaks coming from a larger area that covered the ball of John’s shoulder, before another streak went towards his shoulder blade… his hand stilled. “Is this….?”

John nodded. “Yeah. When your soulmate dies, all the colour leaves your mark like it’s been burned away. It causes a lot of pain, which is why older soul mate couples tend to pass on at the same time – the strain is too much for their hearts to handle.”

I’ll burn the heart out of you!

Sherlock’s hand gripped tighter. “John…”

A hand covered his. Another slipped under his arm and around his shoulders. He was tugged forward to collapse against John’s chest. His heartbeat was so loud.

“I never denied being your soul mate Sherlock,” John whispered, “Because I don’t believe that a person has one soul mate in their life. I don’t believe that you need a mark to tell you how important you are to a person – you don’t need a mark to love them.” When Sherlock shuddered, John held on tighter. “Just because your mark pulls you to Moriarty, doesn’t mean that you’re anything like him. He is a deranged psychopath, and you are going to catch him. You’re going to beat him. And I’m going to be right there with you.”

“Why?” Sherlock breathed. “You’ve already been hurt because of me – you were kidnapped –”

“Because you’re Sherlock. You’re this beautiful, impossible man who saw a broken soldier and showed him that there was more to life than dingy bedsits and flu season. You saw me Sherlock, and I’d like to think that I see you.”

Sherlock squeezed his eyes closed. Slowly, his arm wrapped around John’s waist, and he shifted to sit more comfortably in the other man’s lap. His head lifted enough to sit on John’s shoulder, and John tilted his head to press his lips into dirty curls.

“Just rest Sherlock. We can deal with everything else in the morning.”

“Thank you… John…”

Sherlock Holmes didn’t believe in soulmates. But he believed in John Watson. And that was kinda the same thing

#WritersMonth2020 #day five soulmates #sherlock #sherlock holmes #john watson #james moriarty #sorry not sorry #title from wicked the musical #all credit to the creators for the pool scene #kinda asexual sherlock #i may be projecting

[whiskynottea]

A Fairy in a Bookstore.

I now it sounds impossible, but this song-fic story is back!! Thank you for sticking with me all this time!

Chapter 1, “I want you - Elvis Costello”.

Chapter 2, “Comfortably Numb - Pink Floyd”

3. Creep - Radiohead

Listen to the song here

“When you were here before, couldn't look you in the eye

You're just like an angel, your skin makes me cry

You float like a feather, in a beautiful world

And I wish I was special, you're so fuckin' special”

Jamie knew she was special.

It wasn’t magic that had happened, it was just her.

The way she smiled, the spark in the whisky eyes framed by her black glasses, the way she moved around, like a fairy in his bookstore.

He’d known she was the one from that second time she walked in, the little bell above the door chiming as if it was waiting for her. He knew it, when his heart skipped a few beats and then went on twice as fast, as if it was calling for hers. It seemed so stupid when his da told him that he’d know the one for him when he’d meet her. But this wasn’t stupid. It felt natural.

He was in love. 

And love made Jamie forget some very important things about fairies. He forgot that J.M. Barrie had very well informed him that he wasn’t supposed to see a fairy. Fairies live away from humans. They’re hiding from them. 

And yet, he had seen one. But his fairy - true in her nature - disappeared.

No one can go back to his previous life when he’s seen a fairy. Even less when he’s kissed her.

The steps that took him to the hospital that first time were hurried, impatient ones. The ones after seeing her, seeing them, were nothing but a labored process, a strain of muscles carrying an impossible weight that crashed heavy against the sidewalk. Broken bones. A broken heart.

His resolution to meet her and talk to her faded away with every step. As the hospital disappeared from view, he started doubting himself.

What if.

What if he had imagined it all. What if he kept misinterpreting her interest in him, thinking they had something more than a friendship when in fact they didn’t.

But she did kiss him back. She kissed him back.

His doubt mingled with that kiss creating a shadow that hovered over him, eating him alive. 

He couldn’t think, he couldn’t read, he could hardly make the necessary orders for the bookstore. Claire’s laugh haunted his days. Her touch haunted his nights. Every single thought that flew in his head had the scent of her ivory skin. Pear and almond. She was there. Τhe bouncy curls, untamed like her spirit. The elektron eyes beaming light into his soul, the tears spent for the death of Helios’ son, now his to drink. The red lips that he begged to feel against his own again, full of life and longing.

Lips that he saw kissing the other man. But that was a soulless, disembodied kiss. Shared emptiness. Nothing like the way she’d kissed him.

He could still feel her teeth on his bottom lip. It was the fandom of a sensation now, so many weeks later, but her hunger and lust were still suspended over him, making his whole body seek to find her.

He tried to fight it, not to go back, not to fulfill the promise he made to himself that day. Not to tell her his heart.

His bleeding, aching heart.

He didn’t go back the first week after seeing her, but a moth had taken residence inside him, walking on his soul while searching for her light.

He blamed the moth when he started going to the hospital again. He needed to do something. He needed to talk to her and free that desperate feeling, free the emotions that were taking his breath away.

It wasn’t a choice. It was survival. It was his only way not to suffocate.

With a black coffee in hand, he was sitting at a remote bench every morning before opening the bookstore. Waiting for a flash of brown curls, for her green scrubs hiding the long legs, for that big tote bag that could fit a small person inside. He left only for the hours he had to be at the bookstore, and went back at the evening, staying until his eyelids fell heavy, his muscles and bones complaining of misuse.  

He was exhausted and he could hardly function, making Murtagh mad at least ten times per day. Wrong orders. Bad customer service. Empty stares fixed on the door.

He couldn’t explain to the grump man that nothing else mattered, apart from finding Claire again. How it became the most important thing in the world to let her know, to make her see.

He was obsessed.

It took him four days to finally see her walking on the path that led to the A&E. His heart stopped and he froze in place, panicking.

What was he supposed to say?

Hello Claire, I like hanging out at hospitals and what a nice surprise to see you here?

Or… Ηi, thank God I finally found you, I’m stalking you for days?

“But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo.

What the hell am I doing here?

I don't belong here.”

He was thinking everything and nothing, all at once. His breath became labored, his feet ready to take him to her and yet rooted in the soil. He kept watching her from afar, her gaze lost on her phone’s screen and all he could feel was despair, a single question expanding in his brain, threatening to leave his lips in a desperate cry.

Who is he to you?

He couldn’t let her see him in such distress. She would think he was insane - not that he wasn’t. This behavior was absolutely neurotic and he very well knew it.

And yet, he didn’t stop.

She was everything he’d ever wanted. She was more than he could wish for. He couldn’t lose her over saying something stupid, now that he saw her again. He had to think rationally.

Jamie turned around and placed a hand on the blank, white wall to steady himself. When he was sure she’d entered the building, he moved towards the subway, cursing himself.

He had stood there for four days waiting to see her, all the while failing to think what he’d tell her, as if just by looking at him she would magically run to his arms.

With his whole body aching from sleep deprivation, the vessels in his eyes pointing red roads for the tears to travel, Jamie went to the bookstore, deflated and disappointed in himself.

With the second cup of coffee in hand, Jamie stood in front of her favorite section. The Classics. He touched the books lightly, timidly, his fingers traveling along the spines as if it was her spine he was touching, his eyes lingering on the titles she worshiped.

He should find an excuse, something good enough, to see her again. Anything that wouldn’t scare her away.  

The hours passed quickly but all he could think of were irrational, absurd scenarios. 

How difficult it would be to break a leg?

She would come to him, her strides fast and steady through the sterile corridors, her eye eerie under the cool white fluorescent light. She would touch him again, and he would shudder under the long fingers, craving for more.

It would be the same fingers that had ran through his hair when he closed his eyes to feel her lips. They were bringing him closer to her, asking for more.

And he would finally tell her that he wanted to give her more. That he wanted to give her everything.

It was nine o’clock when Jamie locked the bookstore, still in perfect health. There would be no excuse, no rational reason behind his visit.

Jamie sat on the bench waiting for hours. His determination started shaking under the night’s darkness, the light from the lamp posts insufficient to make him find his boldness again. He shouldn't be there. This wasn’t normal. Nothing was normal, since the day he heard her laugh.

But Jamie was never ‘normal’. His sister used to call him her weirdo while they were at school, and most of his classmates called him a geek even though his muscles made it hard to see him as one. Most girls found his glasses sophisticated, thought his love for literature romantic. But he was neither sophisticated, nor romantic. He was just different. And that little gap between him and the others kept growing, isolating him, until he finally accepted that he would never fit in.

And then, he met Claire. He couldn’t believe how easy their conversation was, how effortlessly she understood him. He wasn’t the weirdo who stood out anymore, he was just himself. 

And now that he’d finally found where he belonged, she was taking that away.  

“I don't care if it hurts, I want to have control

I want a perfect body, I want a perfect soul

I want you to notice, When I'm not around

You're so fuckin' special, I wish I was special”

It was two o’clock at night when the automatic doors opened, revealing Claire. Tiredness had circled her eyes with as bold black highlighter, a few curls flying around her face, carried by the wind. She moved slowly, dragging her feet and stretching her neck, and he could almost hear the little cracks, releasing the tension.

With deliberate steps he moved towards her, each stride bringing him closer and making his heart want to leap out of his chest.

“Claire,” he breathed, coming to a stop in front of her and feeling her soft weight bumping on his chest. He hadn't noticed that her eyes were closed, her feet knowing the path all too well to need visual support.

“Jamie?” She asked with a frown. The sound of his name leaving her lips made him shiver. “What… What are you doing here?”

He wanted to swallow each question, each ‘whot’ that hanged between them in that British accent. He gulped in the air that filled the space between them, decreasing the available oxygen, making her as breathless as he was. With effort, he kept his hands kept in tight fists not to touch her, not to bring her to him.

“For you,” he said and realized that he made no sense. “I came for you.”

Claire shook her head, her amber eyes fixed on the grass. “No,” she uttered, “You shouldn't be here. I -”

“I know. Ye’re wi’ him.” All air left his chest and he felt that he would die there and then, in the open. He hadn’t dared to speak the words out loud before and now that he did, he knew that the only thing keeping him alive was Claire, standing in front of him.

“How? How would you know?” She asked, her eyes wide, terrified.

“I saw ye. The other day.”

“But how…” She trailed off and shook her head as if the details weren’t important. It was a long pause before she spoke again. “It doesn’t matter.” Another pause. “I should have never kissed you.” A whisper, her eyes miles away. “I’m sorry, Jamie.”

“Are ye?” He asked, and gently brought her eyes back on him with his index finger on her stubborn chin. “Truly?”

Her chin trembled under his touch and she took a deep breath before talking again. “I have to leave.” She announced with her jaw set, her heart retreating in the farthest side of her chest.

Away from him.

“Do you love him?” Jamie asked, gripping her hand, keeping her close.

“We’ll get married in a few months.” She said matter-of-factly, with a fake smile plastered on her face.

“Claire,” Jamie took a tentative step towards her, his voice calm. “This doesna answer my question.”

“We’re together for eight years. This is how things are supposed to be.”

She had build a wall around her, to be protected, to be alone.

He smiled bitterly when he looked at her again. “It didna mean a thing for ye then. All the nights we spent together were nothing for ye.”

He didn’t know why he was saying that. To make her feel guilt, to hurt her. To make her see they where more than nothing.

“They were…” She ran her hands on her face like a child trying to find a good excuse to justify the missing chocolate bar.  “Wrong,” she breathed, as if she was afraid to say it aloud.

“Nay, Claire. They weren’t wrong. Twas how things are supposed to be.”

“Jamie, I -”

But she wouldn’t stop him now. Not now, that he’d seen how she looked at him, how each of her inhales came after an exhale of his own in a desperate attempt to breathe in the same air. “I’ve never felt that way before. Ye changed my life, Claire. For a whole month, I was waking up every day wishing it was Friday. Wishing that a day would come that I wouldn’t have to wait for Friday to see ye, because I’d wake up next to ye.”

Claire gasped. He cursed himself.

Had he gone too far?

Before taking time to consider the damage, he asked her again. “D’ye love him?”

Her lips were pressed into a thin line, denying the release of the single word that would change everything.

Please, say no.

She shook her head, fidgeting with a button on her jacket for a few moments before her eyes found his again. “It’s too late. I can’t do that.” It was a sigh, a hopeless release. “It’s too late.” She repeated, and bounced on the balls of her feet, preparing herself to leave. “Goodbye, Jamie.”

“She's running out again,

She's running out

She run run run run”

Jamie watched her leaving, as if she was in a parallel dimension and he couldn’t stop her. Her harsh words had batted his knees until the bones cracked, keeping him in place.

An urgent, sly breeze brought her scent to him, and he closed his eyes for a moment, taking her in. Taking her with him.

She was close to the gates when he opened his eyes again, and he noticed how slow her steps were, as if it took a tremendous amount of strength to move away from him.

“Claire!” He shouted and his lungs hurt from the strain. “Tis never too late.” She stopped in her tracks but she didn’t turn to see him. He waited, his gaze fixed on her, calling her to him, but she didn’t turn around. “Ye know where to find me!” Jamie added, running his hands in his hair, praying for strength not to run to her.

“Whatever makes you happy

Whatever you want”

He’d trusted his heart to her, wishing she’d keep it close to hers to beat together. And now, he had to let her go, to be the person she wanted to be.

“You're so fuckin' special

I wish I was special.”

Chapter 4, My Backwards Walk - Frightened Rabbit

#A fairy in a bookshop #creep #the songs of our life #jamie x claire #radiohead #modern AU #outlander fanfiction #outlander fanfic

[write-havoc]

This Is How I Disappear Ch. 11

Summary: A girl named Chuck finds herself in the exact place she doesn't want to be, living with violent men in a desolate nursing home. After her former gym teacher finds her, will he be the savior she was looking for?

Fandom: The Walking Dead AU

Pairing: Negan/Original Female Character

Status: Completed (story continues in The Flame Is Gone, The Fire Remains)

Contains: swearing, violence, sexual assault, blood, smut

Readers 18+ of age only

Masterlists in my bio

——— Negan’s POV ———

I wake up a little later than I usually fuckin’ do. Probably because it was late as fuck when I went to bed with Chuck last night. After we made up from our fuckin’ fight the day before. I would’ve liked to have made up fuckin’ properly, by fucking, but Chuck didn’t want to.

I quietly get out of bed to get dressed, trying not to fuckin’ wake her up. I trim my fuckin’ long ass beard, take a shower, brush my teeth, and come back out to my room to put my clothes on. Chuck is just starting to wake up as I finish, so I kiss her forehead and tell her I’d see her fuckin’ later. She gives me a sleepy smile and I leave.

I walk down the hall and pause to think about which wife I want to fuck. Since Chuck has been spending the nights with me, I started to utilize the wives in the mornings. Except, of course, when Chuck got hurt. My dick was fucking uncooperative as shit for a while until she got better.

Now, hopefully -if she lets me- I can fuck Chuck at night and one of the wives in the morning. And I’m fucking excited at the prospect. I’m in the mood to get my dick sucked, so I go to Amber’s door and knock my familiar knock, but she tells me to fuck off. Not in those words, obviously, but I get the hint. Tonya is my next fucking choice and she obliges.

I clean myself up afterward and go to the kitchen pantry to go over the fuckin’ inventory sheets. See if we’re running low on anything fuckin’ necessary. My next stop is the garage. I talk to my men there and they say all the trucks are in good fucking order so I leave to bum around The Sanctuary for a while, making appearances. I walk past the infirmary and see Chuck reading a book and making notes in a notepad. Instantly, I think of the diary Simon had found in Chuck’s room a few weeks ago. I fuckin’ forgot about it until right now. I know she won’t go back to her room for several more hours and the temptation to get a glimpse into that mind of hers is definitely too good to pass up.

I go into her room and straight to her fucking dresser. I dig around in her underwear drawer, pausing as I feel something smooth. I pull it out and it’s a fucking iPhone. Why the fuck is Chuck keeping this shit? It’s not gonna fuckin’ work with no cell service or internet. I try to turn it on but the fucking thing is locked, so I put it back and rummage around some more until I find what I’m looking for. Sitting on her bed, I pull on my glasses from my jacket’s inner pocket and open the journal to the latest entry. Yesterday. I read her words, expecting her to profess her undying fucking love for yours truly because of our little fuck session, but she didn’t. Not that I thought she would fuckin’ lie to me, but I assume she exaggerated just how casual she wants our relationship to be. But what she wrote is pretty much what she fuckin’ told me. She just wants to be fuckin’ friends. Friends that fuck, as it were.

“Huh,” I say out loud. I’m actually a little fucking surprised. My good girl is a little more progressive than I fuckin’ thought.

She starts to write about our fuck session. She writes that she trusts me completely and that’s why she let me fuck her. She knows I would be good to her. I read on and discover that I gave her her first ever orgasm. Fuck, yeah. The way she describes the whole thing, I must’ve fucked her real good.

Shit, I’m getting a fuckin’ chubby reading this.

Further on down the page, she writes about our fight. She talks about being fucking confused about what I was thinking. Goddamnit. She’s just so fucking... I don’t know. She doesn’t know how the world works now. And she doesn’t get how I need to protect her. I guess I haven’t fucking explained it to her. I can’t even really explain it to my fuckin’ self, though. I just have this fuckin’ soft spot for her...

She doesn’t keep a damn thing from me. Everything she writes in here is what she fucking told me that night. I flip through to older entries and start to read through them. I discover that she really hasn’t kept any secrets from me since I told her not to after I brought her back from the fucking cell.

She’s such a fucking good girl obeying my words.

I read on paying fucking close attention to what she writes about Simon and Carson, and any other asshole she fuckin’ interacts with, making sure that she doesn’t write about them doing anything fuckin’ weird to her. I know she might fuckin’ misinterpret their intentions as being innocent when they might not fuckin’ be. But I don’t see anything to be concerned about which is a good fuckin’ thing. I don’t particularly feel like fuckin’ bashing in heads right now.

I go all the way back to the very first entry in the diary. It’s from several months ago, before Chuck got here. I start to read it, but I really wish I fuckin’ hadn’t. She must’ve started this diary right after those fucks at that nursing home laid their hands on her for the first time.

Fuck. Goddamnit.

She doesn’t go into detail, but I can tell from her words just how fucking wrecked she was. How scared she was. No wonder she was such a fucking mess when she got here.

Shit. I’m proud as fuck with her that she turned shit around. Maybe I’ll give her a little fucking reward tonight.

———   ———

 All Chuck wants to do to unwind from her tedious day at the infirmary is listen to Negan’s record collection. She hurries to her floor to take a shower, then heads to Negan’s room, hoping he’s not there. As luck would have it, the apartment is completely empty. She shuffles through the records on the shelf until she finds the one she wants. After setting the needle on the right song, she bobs cheerily to the beat and begins to sing.

 “I had jade colored eyes

That shimmered in the sun

If you stared at them too long

You'd catch a glimpse of what I've done

The faces of the damned

And all the butchered lambs

If I had to do it over

I just would have done it slower

When we meet, you will see

I will destroy everything of beauty

When we meet then you'll know

I'll be the axe that clears the forest”

 She hears Negan enter the apartment but doesn’t stop singing and dancing around. She’s having too much fun to be embarrassed by his presence, or by her own horrible dance moves. Negan walks through the bedroom door and leans against the frame, watching her with crossed arms and a smirk.

 “When I had my fill

And tasted every kill”

 She turns around and starts to sing directly to him.

 “There was nothing left to do

But bow out of this old world

I heard tell of a place

Where the dead walk tall and proud

Where men like me were needed

To thin the growing crowd”

 She grabs his hand and pulls him further into the room. She bobs around him in her version of dancing, which isn’t very graceful, but she’s having too much fun to care.

“Shit, what is this? I like this song,” he offers with a smirk and gently runs his hand over her hip as she turns away from him, continuing to dance.

 “Deep below the dunes I roved

Past the rows, past the rows

Beside the acacias freshly in bloom

I sent men to their doom”

 She throws her hands up and moves her hips around, not caring if her motions are a bit uncoordinated. “Come on Negan. Have some fun. Don’t just stand there. Dance a little!” She grabs his hips, trying to wiggle them to the beat playfully.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart. The only fuckin’ dancing I do is of the horizontal variety.”

She huffs and turns away to enjoy the music by herself.

 “When we meet you will see

I will destroy everything of beauty

When we meet, then you'll know

I'll be the axe that clears the forest

I spent those days running hard and fast

With no place to lay my head

The sound of the rain against the roof

Was loud enough to wake the dead

And my legs were tired, and my feet were cold

All I could do was get back on the rooooooooad”

 She belts out the lyric just like the singer in the song does, trying to stifle a giggle when she sees Negan begin to chuckle at her. She moves back to stand in front of Negan and bobs to the beat, bringing her shoulders up and down and bouncing on her feet.

 “We were left alone

Left alone

Every king on his lonely throne

We were left alone

Left alone

Every king on his lonely throne”

 She finishes the song with a laugh, but it’s cut short by Negan pulling her into him.

“You know, you are cute as fuck,” he drawls as he sweeps the hair off of her face and tucks it behind her ear.

A blush creeps up her cheeks as she giggles at his words. And his close proximity.

He pushes forward so that his lips lightly brush hers with a smile. “So fucking cute.” He brings his lips to hers in a light kiss which turns passionate quickly. She gladly returns the kiss as she brings her hands around his neck.

  I didn’t realize that the “benefits” in this whole “friends with benefits” arrangement would kick in so soon. We only just discussed it last night.

God, he knows just what to do to feel amazing. Must be all the practice, I suppose. Heh. I wonder if I feel clumsy to him. I don’t really know what I’m doing.

 Negan grasps her thighs and she takes the hint, bringing her legs around his waist as he lifts her with ease. He takes her over to the bed and lays her down, settling in on top of her. His hands pull her shirt up and off of her body, his lips finding hers again immediately after.

“Negan.” She giggles and turns her head slightly away from him as he continues to kiss her jaw, his hands roving her torso. “What about dinner?”

His chest rumbles in a low laugh as he pulls his lips away from her skin. “I think I want to eat my fucking dessert first.”

“What dessert?” she asks genuinely.

He laughs at her question and begins to take off her pants along with her underwear. “You’re dessert. I bet you taste sweet like a fuckin’ peach.”

Chuck blushes and laughs. “Is that so?” She may be sexually inexperienced, but she can piece together what Negan has planned. She’s a little nervous at the thought, mostly self conscious about whether or not Negan will enjoy her. Nevertheless, she pushes those thoughts aside and helps him finish taking her bottoms off, sitting up afterward to take Negan’s jacket and shirt off. When she moves in to unbuckle his belt, he stopped her.

“Nope,” he laughs at the confused look she gives him. “This is all about you right now. Just fuckin’ sit back and let me take care of you.” He runs his hands up her smooth back and unlatches her bra to remove it, leaving her completely naked.

“What about you? Don’t you want to... You know... afterward.”

“What did I just say? I’m taking care of you right now.” He brings his hands to her shoulders and gently presses back, getting her to lay down for him. “There’s my good girl,” he groans lasciviously as he drags his hands down her torso and licks his lips.

He presses his mouth on her chest to swirl his tongue over her pert nipple. A gasp leaves her lips as she arches her back into the sensation. He continues leaving sloppy kisses down her torso until he reaches her mound. His hands dance across her skin from her waist down to her thighs and gently pries them open further.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, his warm breath dancing over her sex. “That is such a fucking gorgeous sight.” He stares down at her as he slides his hands up her thighs to her waist and back down, through her red curls to tease over her rapidly drenching flesh. He bends down and suddenly devours her, running his lips and tongue through her folds, causing her to let out a sharp gasp. The sensation is definitely something that Chuck has never felt before.

“Negan,” Chuck whispers breathlessly as she brings her hands to his hair and runs her fingers through it tentatively, unsure of her own movements.

Negan’s tongue flutters over her sensitive bud causing her to moan and tighten her grasp on his hair harshly. His chest rumbles with a low laugh at her reaction and he doubles his efforts, inserting his fingers into her to massage her walls. She begins to pant as he brings his lips around her clit and sucks as he pumps his fingers in and out. Cries of ecstasy escape her lips as he wraps his free arm around her thigh to hold her in place tightly to his mouth. Negan works on her pearl, swirling his tongue over it in the perfect pattern making Chuck’s orgasm build quickly. She looks at Negan to see that he’s staring at her chest which is rising and falling quickly under her deep breaths causing her breasts to bounce slightly with the movement.

She’s not going to last much longer. “Negan... oh, god!”

He flicks his eyes further up to her face just moments before she throws her head back in pleasure as she feels the tickle of her impending orgasm. Time seems to stop, her focus solely on the feeling of Negan’s mouth on her. Her body moves on its own, her back arching and her hips bucking as much as Negan would allow them to in his grasp. A low groan from him causes a vibration that goes straight to her core, adding a layer to the pleasurable sensations still coming from his tongue. Her breathing becomes sharp and shallow as he takes her higher and higher. When she finally tips over the edge, she lets out a long, soft moan and pushes his head into her heat unintentionally. He works her through her orgasm making sure to pull every ounce of pleasure that is possible out of her.

After several moments, he pulls back from her as she lays in front of him out of breath, eyes closed, still twitching slightly.

“Fuck, you taste so fuckin’ good. You okay, baby?” he asks after he wiped his face and crawled on top of her, putting his face in front of hers.

She nods in response with her lips still parted slightly.

He bends down and kisses her mouth sweetly. “Say something, sweetheart.”

It takes her a moment, but she steadies herself. It feels like her entire body is buzzing. “That was intense... but amazing.” She lets out a breathy laugh. “I feel all wobbly.”

“That just means that I did my fuckin’ job.” He chuckles and gives her another sweet kiss. “Stay here and rest up. I’ll start fucking dinner.” He hops off the bed and goes to the kitchen.

Chuck stays sprawled out on the bed for several minutes coming down from her high before she goes to the bathroom and cleans up. She comes back out, puts her clothes on, and enters the kitchen.

“Oooh. That smells good. I’m starving,” Chuck says as she takes a seat at the counter.

“I was thinking about taking you to the fuckin’ range tomorrow. Get you familiar with some fuckin’ weapons,” Negan throws back from the stove, finishing up dinner.

“Oh god, really?” she says nervously. “I, uh, I’ve never really held a gun before.”

“Shit. Not even once?” He turns the stove off and brings the food, which is grilled chicken and veggies, to the table and plates it up. Both Negan and Chuck take their seats and begin to eat.

“Guns have always made me nervous, I guess.”

“Well, knowing how to use one now can be the difference between life and fuckin’ death. And with the way you are with the self defense shit I’ve been trying to teach you, you’re definitely gonna need a leg up in a fuckin’ fight.” He grins at her.

“I thought you said I was doing well!” Chuck exclaims.

“No. I said you were doing fucking better. And you’re definitely better than you were when we started this shit. You’re still not that fuckin’ good, though.”

“Aw,” she whines and looks down a bit embarrassed.

“Look, sweetheart. You’re just not very physically... proficient. Not everyone is. Trust me, I know better than any-fuckin’-one. If you remember correctly, I used to have to teach dumbass teenagers how to swing a fuckin’ bat and shit.” He jokes.

“But you always gave me ‘A’s...”

“That was more of an ‘A for effort’ kinda deal. You always tried your hardest and I fuckin’ appreciated that.”

“Then why even waste your time teaching me if I’m so horrible?” she spits out. She never took criticism well, always taking it as a sign that she wasn’t good enough. Her self esteem always took a hit when someone pointed out her mistakes.

“Come on, baby girl. Don’t be like that.” He pauses to take a bite. “It might take a while, but I’m not gonna fuckin’ give up on you. I want you to be able to fuckin’ kill a man with your bare hands.” He pantomimes the action for her.

She laughs at him, setting aside her embarrassment. “It’s gonna take a real long while for that to happen. Unless you have a stockpile of steroids you can give me, or something.” She shrugs. “Or take me to a lab and expose me to gamma rays so I can turn into The Hulk.” She chortles. “Chuck smash!” She pretends to flip the table and punches at the air until she can’t hold her laughs anymore.

“You’re such a fuckin’ nerd.” Negan tries his hardest not to look amused, but he’s failing. He lets out a laugh and shakes his head at her.

 The next morning, Negan, Simon, and Chuck pile into a pickup truck to head to the range. Chuck is a little nervous to be traveling outside the gates, but she knows she’s in good hands with Negan and Simon.

“How long will it take to get there?” Chuck asks as the gate opens up and Simon drives through.

“About an hour,” Negan answers.

“Okay.” Chuck shifts uncomfortably on the bench seat, keeping her legs and arms tucked in as much as she can. Both Negan and Simon are commanding the small space in the cab of the truck, Negan with his knees spread wide, his hands resting on Lucille in between them, and Simon with his arm resting on the gearshift directly in front of Chuck. She has both of her legs on Negan’s side, but tries to keep them out of his way.

“You uncomfortable, sweetheart?” Negan asks as he brings his left arm up to rest on the back of the seat behind her head, spreading himself out even further.

“Well. It’s kinda cramped in here,” she answers with her gaze facing forward.

“You could always sit on my lap if you fuckin’ wanted to.” Negan raises his eyebrows at Chuck and lifts Lucille a little. “I don’t think she’ll mind.”

She sees out of the corner of her eye that Simon swings his head around to look at her and Negan.

“Yeah, I think I’ll pass on that, Negan.” She looks down so the men won’t see her cheeks blush. She doesn’t know why, but the thought of Negan flirting with her in front of Simon embarrasses her tremendously. Especially now that she and Negan have slept together. And are planning to keep sleeping together. She hopes that Simon just took it as Negan being Negan as usual.

Negan lets out a low laugh and mutters, “Your loss.”

Simon clears his throat after a few minutes of silence. “So, you ready to shoot some guns today, kiddo?” His tone is just as chipper as it always is with her.

“I’m nervous, but, yeah, I guess I’m ready,” she admits. “Is this range outside or...?”

“It’s an indoor range just outside of the fuckin’ suburbs. We keep a few guys stationed there at all fucking times to make sure the place is clear for us to come in and out. We train most of the fuckin’ saviors there,” Negan answers. “It’s all soundproofed and shit so we don’t have to worry about the dead fuckers getting attracted.”

Several more minutes pass until the trio turns off the main road and pulls up to a large building. There are a few men standing outside, seemingly guarding the area. Simon parks the car in front and everyone gets out.

“Report,” Negan demands as he approaches the guards.

“A couple of biters came through about an hour ago. We killed them and hauled them off. That’s about it,” one of them responds.

“Caleb here?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“While we’re down there, I want you to radio me if you see any-fuckin’-thing. I’m serious. If a fuckin’ stern lookin’ cat wanders around out here, call it in.”

“You got it, sir.”

Chuck stifles a giggle at the thought of grumpy cats as the trio goes inside. This building had obviously been a gun store and showroom at one time, but is currently empty of weapons. Now, the area has been made into a makeshift living space for the saviors on guard duty. Negan leads them through to the shooting range, which is in the basement.

“Wow. I’ve never actually seen a place like this before in person. It looks pretty much like they do in tv shows. You know, when cops go to the range to,” she uses her best “tough cop” voice, “blow off steam or talk about the big case.”

Simon laughs and says, “Yeah. I guess it does!”

Chuck giggles as Negan leads her to the place where she’s supposed to stand.

“Simon?” Negan holds his hand out to the man. Simon pulls a gun out of his holster and trades it with Negan for Lucille. “This is a 9mm.” He pulls the clip out and pulls the slide back, showing her that the gun is now unloaded. “Here. Get a feel for it.” He holds it out to her and she hesitantly takes it.

“Okay. Uh. Jeez.” Guns have always made her nervous. Not that she had ever really been around them before. Not even after the end. She never came across any when she was on her own and they had only had a few rifles and handguns at Rolling Acres. And they were always in the guys’ possession.

“Don’t be so fuckin’ nervous, sweetheart.”

“Yeah. I mean it’s not like I have an actual death machine in my hands, or anything,” she says sarcastically.

“Well, it’s not dealing any death being fuckin’ unloaded. It’s perfectly safe.” He takes the gun from her hands and starts to point out the various features and describes what they are. “Keep the fuckin’ safety on until you think you’ll need to shoot something. And never put your finger on the fuckin’ trigger unless you’re ready to pull it. Now face the target.”

“Sir, Caleb’s on his way down, ” the voice comes out from Negan’s radio.

“Good,” Negan replies to the man then puts his radio back on his belt. “Caleb trained soldiers in the army before this shit. Now, he trains my fuckin’ saviors. And you,” he says to Chuck.

“Oh god. Why didn’t you tell me you were bringing in someone else? He’s gonna hate me because I don’t know what I’m doing. Can’t you and Simon just-“ She is interrupted by a large man in his forties entering the room.

“You’re fuckin’ late. I had to start without you.” Negan calls out, but doesn’t seem genuinely angry with the man.

“Sorry, sir. I was coming from the north outpost and had to wait out a herd.”

“Did you call it in?” Simon asks.

“Yeah. They’re already tracking it. It’s headed away from The Sanctuary and should miss all the outposts. No need to divert them.” He pauses and turns to Chuck. “So this is the recruit? I have to say, you are not what I expected when Negan told me I was going to be training someone named Chuck. I thought you’d be an overweight middle aged truck driver.”

She giggles in nervousness. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“No, no. It’s definitely a pleasant surprise.”

“Alright,” Negan booms. “I went over the fuckin’ basics of the gun with her. So do your thing.” Negan says to Caleb and steps back to join Simon, who is leaning on the wall behind Chuck and Caleb.

“How much do you know about firearms?” Caleb asks Chuck.

“Just what Negan told me a minute ago. And what I learned from video games.” She shrugs with an embarrassed smile on her face.

“Alright. Face the target.” She does. “Bring the gun up.” She does. He moves her hands to the right position and stands back. “Put your feet shoulder length apart. Don’t lock your knees.” She does her best to follow through on his instructions. He continues to adjust her stance and grip and explains why it is important that she stands that way. “Not bad. I’m going to load the gun now.”

“Oh, jeez. Okay.”

Caleb smiles at her reassuringly. “Don’t be nervous, honey.”

Chuck’s expression drops momentarily at the word, but she brushes it off. She really had made great strides in her recovery, with Negan’s help.

“Don’t fuckin’ call her that!” Negan yells from behind them causing everyone to look in his direction. Negan grabs Lucille and starts to come forward towards the pair.

“No. It’s okay,” Chuck assures Negan and he halts his motion. “It’s fine. I just want to get back to learning how to shoot now.” There is an awkward silence for several seconds, no one knowing quite what to do.

“Sorry, sir,” Caleb said to Negan. He seems unsure about what had just happened.

Negan looks back to Chuck as she gives him a reassuring smile. “Just fuckin’ get on with it.” Negan doesn’t move back to the wall but stays relatively close to Chuck and Caleb.

Caleb shows Chuck how to put the clip in the gun and takes it back out again. He puts one bullet in the clip and allows Chuck to load it.

“Okay. Face the target. Remember the stance.”

Chuck takes her position. “Is this good?”

“Yeah. Good. There’s going to be some recoil, so be prepared for it. Remember the grip I showed you. Now, whenever you’re ready, put your finger on the trigger and squeeze. Aim for that bullseye down there. And don’t hold your breath. You got this.”

Chuck breathes in and out, trying to steady herself. After several moments, she pulls the trigger, sending the bullet down the range and into the back wall.

“Oh my god! That was really loud!” Chuck exclaims and sets the gun down. She rubs her ears, causing the men to laugh in amusement. “Did I hit the target?”

“You weren’t even fuckin’ close, sweetheart,” Negan teases.

“Aw. Really?” Chuck says with a pout.

“We’ll get there,” Caleb reassures.

Chuck spends the next couple of hours at the range, following the instructions of the three men in her company. At the end of her session, she is a tiny bit more comfortable with a gun in her hands and she had even managed to hit the target a few times. Nowhere near the bullseye, but she got on the paper.

The trio pile back into the pickup and head back home. There is an uncomfortable silence in the truck that Chuck is not enjoying, so she looks around the cab and notices the CD player in the console.

“Are there any cds in here?” she asks.

“There’s only one in the glove compartment. I tried listening to it but it’s weird as shit,” Simon answers.

Chuck opens the glove compartment and takes the cd out.

“No way! Die Antwoord! I like them!” Chuck exclaims.

“You seriously like that shit?” Simon asks.

“What is it?” Negan enters the conversation.

“You just have to listen to it.” Chuck puts the cd in the player and sets it to her favorite song. She starts to bob around to the beat as the song starts up.

“What the fuck, Chuck? I thought you had good taste in music. This is weird as fuck!” Negan says with a laugh.

“You should’ve watched their music videos,” she counters. She continues to dance around, spitting out the random lyrics she knows, causing the men beside her to laugh to themselves. Suddenly, Simon turns the music off and stops the car, killing the ignition.

“What-“ Chuck stops talking once she looks forward out of the windshield. Several hundred yards ahead of them, a herd of walkers is crossing the road.

“That must be what Caleb saw,” Simon says casually.

“They’re on the same fuckin’ heading as Caleb said. We’ll just wait them out like we usually fuckin’ do.” Negan slouches down in his seat getting more comfortable.

“This is a regular occurrence?” Chuck asks in a tone of disbelief.

“You’ve never seen a herd before?” Simon asks.

“No. I haven’t really been out in all this that much, I guess. Not since the very beginning, really.” She starts to wring her hands and bite her lip. She has never seen so many of the dead at one time and it’s making her anxious.

“It’ll be fine, sweetheart. Don’t worry.” Negan pats her leg in a reassuring manner. “As long as we don’t attract them, they’ll continue on their merry fuckin’ way.”

“What would happen if they headed to The Sanctuary?” Chuck asks, trying to hide just how freaked out she is.

“We’d divert them,” Simon answers. “We track them and if they get close, we lead them away. We have a bunch of shit blocked off around the factory, too. Herds can’t really get that close. There’s really nothing to worry about, kiddo.” Simon squeezes her shoulder and smiles.

It takes about half an hour for the herd to pass through and another half hour before Simon is confident to start driving again.

The trio arrive at The Sanctuary and Negan and Chuck exit the pickup. Simon drives the truck back into the garage as Negan and Chuck go through the main doors.

“Come up to my room,” Negan says to Chuck, even though he doesn’t look at her.

“I kinda want to get a shower before dinner.”

“Take a shower in my fuckin’ room. I think I still have some of your girly soap and shit up there.”

“Okay,” she enthuses.

  I’m not going to turn down an offer to use Negan’s shower. The water pressure there actually gets my hair clean and I don’t have to worry about the water going from lukewarm, to scalding hot, to ice cold three different times during my shower.

 Negan and Chuck continue up to Negan’s room. Chuck starts to walk toward Negan’s bathroom, but is called back by his voice.

“You’re not gonna fuck anyone else,” he says flatly.

“What?” Chuck turns to face him.

“You’re fucking me and no one else will fucking touch you. Understand?” His tone is stern.

“Uh... Okay...? I wasn’t really planning on being with anyone else.” Chuck furrows her brows in confusion.

“You’re mine. And I don’t fuckin’ share-“

“Oh my god, Negan. Really?” she fumes. His words rub her the wrong way instantly. It’s as if she were a new Christmas toy that Negan doesn’t want to pass around the playground.

“Yes, really.” Negan begins to sound angry.

“Don’t get angry with me,” she bites back. “What is this all about?”

“What the fuck do you think? That man was all over you.”

She lets out an angry breath. “Okay. Well, considering I’ve only interacted with three men today, one of them being you, another one being Simon, I’m gonna assume you’re talking about the man that you forced to teach me how to use a gun. The one that I barely even talked to. And, by the way, the man that I never would have even met if you hadn’t put him in front of me.”

“It doesn’t fuckin’ matter why you met him. That’s not the fuckin’ point.”

“No. The point is that you, for some reason, think I’ll sleep with anyone that so much as comes in contact with me.” She glares at him.

“That’s not what I fuckin’... Shit.” He lets out a huff as he scratches his beard. “I don’t think you would do that.”

“Then why bring it up? Why tell me I can’t sleep with anyone else unless you think I will?” She pauses to calm herself. “Caleb wasn’t all over me, anyway. He was just instructing me. You’re blowing things out of proportion. Again. Do we have to keep having the same fight over and over again?” She’s beginning to get frustrated.

“Fine. I get it. I’ll keep my mouth fuckin’ shut, okay?” He throws his hands up in defeat. “But I’m not gonna stop fuckin’ looking out for you. Even if you don’t want me to.”

“It’s not that I don’t want you to look out for me, Negan. That would be stupid.” She walks over to him. “You just overreact so easily. Just don’t freak out about trivial stuff. That’s all I want.” They stare at each other for a few moments. “I’m not as helpless as you think I am. I am capable. A little bit, at least. I’m still alive, aren’t I.” She trails off at the end, fixing her gaze to her feet.

“I don’t think you’re fucking helpless. It’s just that I fuckin’ need to protect you.”

She looks at him confused. “You need to? Why?”

Negan breathes in a deep breath and then lets it out. “I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Maybe... Because I knew you before, I guess. I don’t fuckin’ know. I can’t explain it.” He turns away from her, seemingly unsure of what he’s saying.

She lets his words sink in for a moment. “It’s okay. I get it,” she says genuinely.

“You do?” Negan questions and turns to face her.

“Yeah. I get that you want to hold on to something from your past life. I kinda feel that way, too. I want you to be safe, as well. I just trust that you can handle yourself.” She gives him a shy smile. “I’ll try not to get upset about you being overprotective if you just control your emotions about it.”

“I’ll fuckin’ see what I can do.” He chuckles.

“Now. I’m going to go take a shower. My clothes smell like gunpowder and man-smell,” she says, changing the subject.

“Man-smell?” he questions with a laugh.

“You know. Men have a smell.” She shrugs and laughs herself.

“I guess.” Negan chuckles and moves to sit down on his couch.

Chuck goes over to her drawer in Negan’s dresser to get clean clothes. After she had moved out of his room after her injury, she asked Negan if she could keep some clothes in his dresser, since she still spent her nights there. He said he didn’t care, so she keeps a few outfits and sleep clothes in there. She grabs a tank top and sleep shorts and heads for the bathroom.

Chuck takes her time in Negan’s bathroom, relishing the feeling of water that’s actually the perfect temperature for the entire duration of the shower. Eventually, she decides that she needs to get out. Hogging all the water isn’t exactly fair to everyone else. She wraps herself in a towel and dries off a little bit as she walks over to her clothes on the counter. When she lifts her shirt off of the pile, a small black lump falls to the floor. Chuck bends forward to get a closer look at it, but instantly jumps back when she notices eight wiggling little legs.

“Ah!” she lets out a bloodcurdling scream. “Negan!”

Negan bursts into the room and looks around frantically. “What’s wrong?!”

“Kill it kill it kill it kill it!” Chuck yells as she points frantically at the spider scurrying across the floor. Negan follows her finger with his eyes and hurries to stomp on the creature, crushing it underneath his boot.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Chuck?! You gave me a goddamn heart attack! I thought something was seriously fuckin’ wrong.”

“Sorry,” she starts, embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just really hate spiders.” She looks up at him and sees that he looks like the cat that ate the canary. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he drawls as he saunters towards her. “Could it be that you just told me,” he runs his hands up her bare arms, across her shoulders, and to the top of the towel bunched at her chest, skimming his fingers across her collarbones, “like just told me not to be overprotective and freak the fuck out about trivial things? And then you freak the fuck out about a trivial fuckin’ thing and scream for me to come in and protect you.”

“Fear of spiders isn’t trivial!” she blurts out. “Millions of people are afraid of spiders. Or at least they were when there were still millions of people alive.” She pauses trying to think of a good point to counter Negan. She knows she’s floundering. “Spiders can be dangerous, you know. Venomous.” She looks down to where the squished spider remains. “That one could’ve been deadly.”

Negan runs his hands up her neck to cradle her jaws. He brings his face close to hers as a low laugh rumbles in his chest. “You are just so goddamn adorable,” he coos and places a sweet kiss on her lips.

“Don’t belittle me.” She tries to stop herself from smiling, but fails.

Negan places his mouth to her ear and begins to whisper. “Take that fucking towel off. Now.” His tone is so dominant and filled with lust that Chuck doesn’t know how to react.

She laughs nervously and takes a step back. “Jeez, Negan.”

He comes forward and kisses her again.

“How about after dinner?” Chuck offers as she runs her hands down his leather jacket. She can admit to herself that she’s a little tuned on, but she’s also a little intimidated by his intense sexuality in this moment.

“But I’m fucking hard now, ” he growls as he grabs her hand and leads her into the bedroom.

“Oh, now I see,” Chuck calls out with a smirk on her face.

“See what?” Negan turns to face her.

“You like being the protector,” she teases. “The defender of fair maidens,” she changes her voice to sound more heroic.

“What the fuck are you getting at?” His tone is more amused than angry.

She points to the bulge in his pants and raises an eyebrow at him. “Everything makes so much more sense now! The overprotectiveness. Why you call yourselves ‘saviors’! You love being the knight in shining armor! Like really love it, considering your current... situation,” she jokes as she gestures to the front of his pants again.

Negan comes forward and grasps Chuck’s hips, pulling them into his own, and causing a shrieking giggle to come from her. She can feel his hard cock pressed against her through his pants. “I’m no white knight, sweetheart. Did it cross your mind that the sight of you almost fuckin’ naked made my dick rise to the occasion?”

She giggles. “Nope. I think my explanation was right.”

Negan crashes his lips onto hers and kisses her passionately. “Why don’t we work up a fuckin’ appetite before dinner.”

“Oh my god,” she laughs. “That was corny.” She drops her towel to the ground and moves to the bed.

He gave her a light smack on her bare bottom as she got on the bed. “It did the fuckin’ trick, though. Didn’t it?” Negan quickly gets undressed and crawls on top of her. “Because we’re gonna fuck now.”

She chuckles. “I just feel bad that you have no game. I thought I’d throw you a bone.”

“I’m gonna throw you my bone here in a minute.” He wiggles his eyebrows at her.

“Oh my god!” Chuck can’t hold back her laughter. “That was just horrible.”

He kisses her smiling lips. “Oh, I don’t know. I didn’t think it was that fuckin’ bad,” he murmurs into her mouth then kisses her again.

Chuck loosely wraps her legs around Negan’s hips as she scratches her fingers through his beard.

“Shit, sweetheart. Easy on the moneymaker.” He gestures to his face, eliciting a laugh from Chuck.

“Sorry. I didn’t think you were so delicate,” she giggles.

“Oh, I’m anything but fuckin’ delicate. As a matter of fact, I’m very hard, in general.” He pushes his hard cock into her wet heat slowly, causing her giggles to turn into a soft moan. “Not like someone I know.” He pecks her cheek. “You’re so fucking soft.” He smirks at her as he rolls his hips, thrusting into her.

Her laughs are breathy as her chest begins to rise and fall deeply. “Is that so?” She brings her arms around his head and gently pulls his face closer to hers.

“Mmhmm.” His breath puffs softly on her face as his thrusts get quicker and deeper. “Fuck. Do you have any fuckin’ idea how good you feel?”

Chuck laughs and blushes furiously, both from the compliment and from her arousal. Her hips begin to move in time with Negan’s, creating the perfect rhythm for the both of them. Negan brings his mouth down to hers, capturing her lips in a fervent kiss while he grasps her breast, kneading the soft flesh. His hand leaves her chest and travels to her face, his thumb caressing the lips that had just left his own.

“Negan... I’m-“ Her words are swallowed by a moan coming from deep within her chest.

“I know, baby. I can feel it.”

She begins to tighten around him, and she knows she won’t last much longer. Her moans coincide with his grunts creating a lewd symphony in the room as he continues to thrust inside her.

“Don’t cum inside,” she says as her breathing gets sharper.

“Fuck.” He breathes in and out deeply a few times and pauses his movement. “I won’t.” He sits himself back on his knees and grips her hips, thrusting into her without abandon as he stares down at her bouncing breasts.

“Oh god. Negan!” Her hips buck uncontrollably as the coil in her belly winds impossibly tighter.

He brings one hand up to her throat, gripping it possessively. “Fuck! You need to cum now.”

“Ah! Negan, I’m- I’m..” She feels the rush of her orgasm travel through her body, sending tingles through her extremities as her walls squeeze his hard flesh tightly. He stills momentarily, allowing her to finish, before pulling out and stroking himself over her, painting his release on her stomach and chest.

“Fucking fuck!” He collapses beside her, lying on his back as the both of them catch their breath. After a few minutes, Negan picks up the towel off of the floor and wipes Chuck’s abdomen off, discarding it afterwards.

“Goddamn, that was amazing,” Negan growls out as he crawls in beside Chuck.

She props herself on her side to face him. “Can I ask you something?” Her voice is soft, but hesitant.

“Sure, sweetheart.” He mirrors her pose and pushes a lock of her strawberry blonde hair away from her face, twirling the soft curl in his fingers.

“Do you have... uh... When do you... have sex with the wives?” She gets the words out quickly so she won’t lose the nerve halfway through saying them.

“You want to fuckin’ join in or some shit?”

“No!” She looks at his face and sees that he’s joking around. “Come on, Negan. Be serious.”

He lets out a sigh before answering. “Usually in the morning. After I fuckin’ get dressed. You know, since I spend my nights with you. You’re usually still asleep when I leave.”

“Okay.” She’s relieved to hear that.

“Why are you fuckin’ asking?”

“It’s just... I don’t care that you do it, obviously. I mean, I know you do... do it... with them. They’re your wives. But... It just makes me feel weird to think that you would sleep with one of them and then sleep with me immediately afterwards. If we’re going to do this,” she gestures between them, “you know, regularly , I want you to, uh, take some time between them and me.” She shrugs her shoulders. “If that makes sense. And also take a shower before you get with me.”

“That’s pretty fuckin’ reasonable. I’ll work out a fuckin’ spread sheet of dates and times and shit,” he jokes.

“Haha. Very funny,” she says sarcastically.

Negan rolls on top of her and gives her a sweet kiss. “Calm down,” he whispers and places another soft kiss on her lips as he runs his hand over her hair. “I’m really glad you think that my old ass is ready to fuck again in no time flat. Which is really fuckin’ true, by the way. You’re absolutely fuckin’ right about that.” He lets out a low laugh and she joins in. “But I’ll give myself a few hours after wife-fucking-time before I engage in Chuck-fucking-time.”

She giggles at him as she tries to fix some of his hair that had come out of place. “That’s all I ask.” She laughs again. “I never in my wildest dreams ever thought that this would be a conversation I’d ever have. With my high school gym teacher, no less.”

He laughs back at her. “It’s a crazy fuckin’ time to be alive.” He kisses her again. “How about I call down to the kitchen and get us some fuckin’ dinner?”

“That sounds amazing.” She pauses, then a huge smile spreads across her face. “I think I worked up an appetite.”

#negan #negan fanfiction #negans thirst squad #negan x oc #negan / oc #negan x ofc #negan / ofc #negan x original female character #negan / original female character #jdm #jeffrey dean morgan #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead au #this is how i disappear #tihid #writehavoc writes #writehavoc this is how i disappear

[concussed-to-pieces]

Kitten; Epilogue

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Jon Moxley[Dean Ambrose]/Unnamed OFC

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Thirst Party Crew, welcome to our epilogue! Tagging the amazing @tox-moxley, the awe-inspiring @oraclegazes, and our brave captain on this voyage, @hardcorewwetrash. Enjoy!

It wasn’t as if he had forgotten. More like that time was over. He was a free man, freer than he’d ever been in his life. And as he headed to the gorilla position backstage, body jittering with nerves and excitement, he knew that she was waiting for him at ringside. Like she always had. Like she would continue to do, hopefully for the rest of their lives.

A wave of emotion seared Mox’s throat and he quickly rubbed at his eyes. A large fist tapped the back of his shoulder gently. “How you doing, Uce?” Roman asked, his smile tight with his own nerves. “You’ve got this man. It’s all you.”

“It’s kinda’ gotta’ be, man. Ya’ ain’t exactly gonna’ fit under the ring in all your fuckin’ gear.” Jon grinned. “Hell of a secret fuckin’ weapon you’d make though.”

Roman laughed, pulling him in for a headbutt and squeezing his forearm comfortingly. “You’ll do just fine.”

“I wish…shit, I wish Callihan coulda’ made it.” Jon admitted quietly. “He always dreamed of headin’ to somethin’ like this, the two of us whippin’ ass in a legitimate fuckin' promotion.”

“There’s always next year, Uce.”

Jon was startled by the conviction in Roman’s voice. “Y’ really think I’m gonna’ be around? Damn, you’ll make me fuckin’ cry Reigns.”

“I know you’ll be around, man. Bet you’ll even have a belt. Nice shiny one for your waist. I’ve dealt with Lesnar before, though. Be careful and you’ll come out on top. Barring any unforeseen sneaky bastards cashing in on you, of course.” Roman said ruefully.

“'Careful’ ain’t really in my vocabulary, Reigns.” Jon knew that the ‘tough guy’ act wasn’t necessary around Roman, but it was a difficult habit to break.

Reigns rolled his eyes at him. “It is now, Uce. Just think about all the progress you lose if you’re out injured. Remember that and it’ll help.” Roman’s smile was knowing. “Think about her.”

“Every second I ain’t with her, Reigns.”

Roman squeezed his arm again, bringing him in for another headbutt. “Stay safe out there. We’re rooting for you.”

…

The crowd roared deafeningly loud when his music hit.

Jon found himself awestruck, just turning in place on the entrance ramp for a minute to take it all in. Hundreds, thousands of people. Screaming for him. Losing their fucking minds, absolutely going ballistic. For him! Street dog, lunatic, underfed, scrappy, mean-spirited and never-say-fucking-die Jon goddamn Moxley.

Wrestlemania.

This was a once in a lifetime moment and he wished with all his goddamn heart that Callihan could be here to witness it in person, be part of it, instead of watching from home.

“You go the fuck on, Mox. Get ya’ shit together, get in there an’ beat some fuckin’ ass.” Sami had encouraged him before he left the CZ warehouse for the final time, giving him a hard wallop on the back. “Don’t forget us little people when ya’ up there at the top with some fancy fuckin’ belt, got it? I’ll be cheerin’ for ya’. Fucker.”

Moxley knew why they had chosen him to play with Brock. He could take a beating, could land on his neck and roll through it to stand again and again. Lesnar wasn’t known for being careful or even remotely respectful, a fact that Jon was made painfully aware of once Brock and Paul Heyman made their way to the ring.

Lesnar leaned over the barricade, practically nose to nose with Kitten while Jon stood in the ring, his fists clenched. Mox just had to hope Kitten didn't panic.

“I’ll kill him.” The large man sneered, gesturing up at the ring.

To her credit, she smiled back at him and coolly replied, “You can try.”

Jon had worked with a lot of the men in the locker room, earned respect through discipline. He’d done time all over the world with all kinds of promotions, fought his way up through FCW, NXT into the big roster, and here he was on the grandest stage of them all against the one guy who would do everything in his power to fuck him up. Life sure was strange. Really, the only thing he could count on Brock doing was botching a perfectly good Shooting Star Press. Other than that all bets were off.  

Brock didn’t want a good match, he wanted an easy match. A squash. Knowing that they had this fight, Jon had thrown idea after idea at Heyman for great spots (some more ludicrous than others, granted), but Lesnar had no interest in any of them. Anything that involved him not giving Mox as many suplexes as he could wasn't a big seller. And so Jon went into the fight, took two good ones and sandbagged the third. When Lesnar refused to let him go he went limp, forcing Brock to heft his full weight unassisted.

“What the fuck are you doing, asshole?” Brock snarled in his ear.

“Givin’ these people what they fuckin’ came here for.” Jon snapped, digging his elbow back into Brock’s stomach. “You ain’t gonna’ sell anythin’ I hit ya’ with, so now my gloves are fuckin’ off. Ya’ fake ass-” Brock’s large, gloved hand all but covered his face and Mox bit down on the padding over his knuckles. Lesnar grunted, releasing Jon as he tried to pull free.

Jon ground his teeth together, momentarily biting hard enough to make his jaw ache before letting go and rolling out of reach. “Nice try, ya’ fuckin’ gorilla.” He rasped, wagging his finger at Brock, who at this point was obviously incensed. “You want an easy fuckin’ match, go get fuckin’ Cena or some shit. Right now though, big man, it’s you an’ me. Ya’ ain’t exactly been receptive t’ my fuckin’ ideas. Know what that means?” Moxley murmured, tapping the side of his head. “Means I gotta’ get fuckin’ creative. I beat guys with fluorescent light bulb tubes. I’ve played in enough concertina wire t’ keep a maximum security prison cozy. I’m hard an’ bitter an’ built of fuckin’ hate, Lesnar. Ain’t some motherfucker who wanted to play with the fuckin’ MMA big kids.” He stood to his full height, glaring at the larger man.

“You really want to do this now?” Brock asked incredulously, gesturing at the arena around them.

“Oh sweetheart, I will do this all day an' fuckin' night if it gets a better match out of ya' fuckin' lazy ass.” Jon growled. He slid out of the ring, flipped the apron banner up out of the way and started rummaging. Mick Foley and Terry Funk (Mick fucking Foley and Terry goddamn Funk, Jesus Christ) had given him some presents and he aimed to use that shit. When he looked back up, Brock had yanked his left glove off and was working on his right, a savage grin firmly in place on his face. Moxley knew he should be scared. Should be intimidated. But he couldn't help the thrill that raced through his body.

This is what he wanted, this was why he'd agreed to this match. The arena lit the fuck up when he hoisted Mick's bat high over his head and then mouthed over the side of it like some kind of nutcase, like he used to do to the girls they sent in to him. He swore he could hear Kitten screaming along with the crowd, 'get him Mox!' With Barbie in his hands he rolled back under the ropes.

And stopped dead as a chainsaw revved to life.

The crowd lost their fucking minds all over again.

Sami! The mad bastard had scrambled out from beneath the ring on the opposite side and was currently standing tall on the announce table, Terry Funk's thankfully-chainless gift rumbling in his black-taped hands. He slashed wildly at the air, the grin on his face unable to be described as anything but shit-eating. He’d gotten a new black coat somewhere along the way, purple studs and accents matching Mox’s florid entrance vest.

The Switchblade Conspiracy rides again.

Jon thought his face was going to crack from how hard he was smiling. “Call'han!” He hollered, pointing with Barbie. “Getcha' ass in here, we got a Beast t' kill!”

…

Kitten hugged Callihan tightly when they returned up the ramp, wiping her eyes. “You did great! Did you hear them cheering for you guys?” She was practically bouncing in place, looking absolutely thrilled. Jon couldn't handle it when she looked like that and proceeded to kiss the breath out of her lungs.

It had blown his mind when he had paused for a second and realized the crowd was chanting Switchblade Conspiracy, not Suplex City, and Moxley had almost lost his shit. Almost.

Sami's laugh was shaky and he patted Mox on the shoulder, seeming suspiciously close to tears. “Shit yeah I did. S' fuckin' mindblowin'.”

Jon didn't let go of Kitten, just caught Callihan with his other arm and dragged him in to butt heads. “Y' little shit, had that crap all planned out an' fuckin' everythin'.” He rasped. “I kept thinkin' all fuckin' week, damn Callihan woulda' liked that or shit I wish Sami was here t' see an' then ya' just showed up, goddamn neat as y' fuckin' please. Fucker.”

“I couldn't fuckin' believe it m'self when I had Triple fuckin' H callin' me on my fuckin' cellphone, Mox.” Sami admitted, grinning again. “I only jus' signed t' NXT, figured I'd keep it a s'prise f' ya' ass. Instead, Wrestle-fuckin'-mania.”

“Hell of a surprise.” Jon said quietly as Brock and Heyman stormed through the curtain.

“Moxley! You've got some nerve, you little punk!” Paul raged, his face crimson. “My client-”

“Ya' client knows better now.” Mox interrupted, a nasty smile twisting his mouth. He bared his teeth. “Jus' be thankful I didn't take a fuckin' chunk wi' me, Heyman.”

Brock's huge hand landed on the top of Jon's head and the former MMA fighter proceeded to give him the world's most brutal noogie. “Don't try it again, shithead.” He grunted, words a little hard to get out due to how swollen his face was. Jon and Barbie had paid him back in spades for the suplexes he had pulled off. “Got lucky today, I'll give you that. Scrappy fuck. We'll be in touch.”

Jon's tongue poked out from between his teeth as he smirked up at Lesnar. Kitten all but plastered herself to his side, fingers digging into his ribs as he and Callihan stared Lesnar down. “Lookin' forward t' it, Magilla.” Jon said finally. Brock released him, giving him a smirk of his own before turning and limping away.

“Whoo, I dunno' how y' fuckin' do that shit.” Sami exhaled loudly once Lesnar and Heyman had turned the corner. “I feel like I need t' piss m'self every time th' guy looks at me.” He slapped his forehead suddenly. “Shit! I almos' f'got. Drake...y' 'member Drake Younger? He's one of our fuckin' referees now. In NXT. It's so fuckin' funny, man, he said t' say h--”

Jon grabbed Sami around the waist and hoisted him up in the air, ignoring the shake of his overused muscles as Callihan squawked indignantly. “Callihan y' little shit, don't change th' fuckin' subject! We jus' beat Brock fuckin' Lesnar, at fuckin' Wrestlemania!” Mox yelled, shaking his partner. “Holy fuckin’ shit!”

Callihan laughed harder than Jon remembered him laughing in years, wrapping his arms around Mox’s head and crushing his face into his chest. “Shit yeah!” He crowed.

Kitten’s hands settled on Jon’s hips from behind, gentle kisses landing on his shoulder blades.

Not a bad first try, for Wrestle-fucking-mania.

…

She was voracious that night, her normal worry about his bruises apparently pushed aside as she pounced on him. She tore at his tank top, the little noises in the back of her throat driving Mox crazy enough to flip her over and pin her to the hotel bed. She had dressed in Wrestlemania finest, a slinky purple number (she had informed him it was actually lilac) that matched his entrance vest and collar. Explicit MOX Violence, spelled out across his back in an obnoxiously bright shade of purple. As much as he loved the dress on her, he loved sliding it off of her a thousand times more so he could spread her thighs and eat her out until she screamed.

Kitten was soaked, grinding against his face and chanting his name under her breath already. It hit Jon hard that he was so completely, inescapably, hopelessly in love and he had to fight the urge to pull back. The match had been hours ago and he was still pinging with adrenaline, emotions running hot and close to the surface. “Love you.” He finally said quietly, kissing her thigh. “Love you so fuckin’ much.”

“Jon…” She was fucking quaking under his mouth, legs draped over his shoulders. He could feel her thighs shuddering in time with his motions, see the way her belly heaved as she panted for breath, whimpering and writhing and coming undone for him, for him.

“Kitten, Kitten.” Jon felt fucking reverent, like this was a moment that he should savor. So he did. He did again, and again, and fucking again, until his jaw was sore, until she was pulling at his collar and sobbing for him because it was too much, too much, need you. She refused to let him go, her hand clenched around his collar and hips rocking against his own as she dragged him up to her mouth for a hungry kiss.

Mox went willingly. Who was he to deny her a taste of herself?

“Fuck me please, please, please.” It wasn't a question this time, it was a demand. She was still the only one he'd ever been with that had asked so damn nice, though.

“Anythin' for you, Kitten.”

Deja vu washed over Jon and it was as if everything faded away, like they were back in the CZ warehouse with her spread out beneath him for the first time. The first slow stroke of his cock burying itself in her was enough to make them both moan, Mox pressing their foreheads together and kissing her fiercely. “'Unno if y' remember.” He began hesitantly, biting his lip and then rolling his hips to set the pace for her. “I was waitin' f' them t' send the girls in, an' instead it was you that came into the ring. All fuckin' shaky, flinchin' every damn time I moved.”

“You were crouched in the corner with that old collar around your neck. Ch-chained up.” Of course she remembered. She had to pause then, filling the gap with a breathy groan when Jon bottomed out in her. “I was just so tired of getting hit all the time.” She continued, barely a whisper.

“M' gonna' be grateful f' the rest of my fuckin' life that you decided t' step closer.” Jon admitted, smoothing the hair away from her forehead. “Grateful that I'm the one wakin' up next t' you, I'm the one who gets t' touch ya' like this.” His voice threatened to die right there, but he soldiered on. “I jus' love y' so fuckin' much, Kitten.”

“I love you too, Jon. You did so good.” She praised, her fingers running through his unruly hair. “I'm so proud of you.”

Jon didn't duck away, didn't brush her off. He pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist and fucked her harder, his pelvis crushing warmly into the apex of her thighs. Words failed him and all he could do was bury his face in her neck, quietly growling as her grip on his collar tightened and her legs rose to wrap around his hips. He mouthed over her shoulder, over her collarbone, his hand sliding between their bodies to stroke her clit.

“Kitten m' gonna' come, gonna' come, come f' me please, please please-” He begged, doing everything that he could to keep from tumbling over the edge before she did. Kitten's teeth dug into his shoulder and Mox shivered when she cried out as she came, her noise muffled by his skin. She bit down harder and that was it for Jon, his forehead dropping to the junction of her neck and shoulder while he spilled into her with a satisfied snarl.

Her fingers were in his hair, her breath sighing out with his face buried in her neck. He had done it. They had done it. Who knew what the future held from this moment on? Maybe a title run, maybe Sami would get shot up to the main roster. One thing he was fairly certain of was that the long, hungry nights were far behind.

The future was terrifyingly bright for someone like him.

He’d honestly expected to die pretty young, but he kind of just...kept going. Every birthday that passed was a semi-pleasant surprise, every time he woke up in a puddle of his own blood with Callihan pulling him back to his feet a tally-mark on the list of 'Not Fucking Yet'. He hadn't known what he was continuing for, really. Food, a place to stay. Surviving at its finest.

He hadn’t expected to fall in love. Hadn’t expected her to make everything better just by offering her love in return for whatever pitiful affection he could muster up. His life without her would be an absolute shit show and he knew that with a bone-deep conviction.

Jon had never gotten over just how fucking lucky he was. How incredibly fucking easy it might have been for her to never come back, or for him to forget about her entirely after that first night of taking her apart with his mouth.

“Promise, no bitin’. Good Behavior.”

“Can I stay here tonight? Please?”

“Jon?” She asked softly, sounding a little worried. Her fingers fidgeted with his collar. “Are you alright? God, I should have made sure you were okay before getting all greedy, I'm so sor--”

Moxley tried to reassure her by kissing her hard, but he ruined it because he was still panting for breath. She started to laugh, peppering his face all over with kisses while he grunted in annoyance. “Fuck’s sake Kitten, m’ fine. Probably won’t feel any of th’ bumps til’ t’morrow anyhow.” He mumbled, shoving a hand beneath the small of her back and arching her up into him again. “Mm, fuck. Kitten, love y’ so damn fuckin’ much.”

“I love you too, Jon.” She replied, cupping his jaw. “More than anything in the world.” She squirmed a little underneath him, getting comfortable and draping her arms over his shoulders. “Where to from here, oh Slayer Of Beasts?” She asked teasingly, hips shifting against his own.

“I dunno’, really. Never thought I’d get this far.” Jon admitted. “Kinda’ excitin’, huh?”

“Maybe a little too exciting.” She said, her tone dry.

Ever his beautiful, practical Kitten. Jon snorted. “I’ll talk t’ the boss. See where I’m goin’, whether this was a one-off or what. I feel like they wouldn’t have brought in Call’han if they weren’t plannin’ on keepin’ my ass in the picture.” She nodded in agreement, stifling a yawn. Jon’s eyes softened and he kissed her gently. “Sleep, Kitten. Y’ had a busy fuckin’ day.” He smoothed the hair back from her face, off her forehead. “Only good shit from here on.”

“Promise?” She murmured, seeming already half-asleep.

“Promise.” Moxley said softly.

Good Kitten.

Post-script AN: I would like to thank you all for joining me on this endeavor. However much or little you liked this story, I'm so glad I got to share it with you. I'd like to thank the Thirst Party crew and Mox Hoe Club, every one of you (especially you Tox!), because you motivated me to write every week as far as Thirst Party Saturday goes, and continue this story in general as far as the MHC goes. An extra special thanks goes out to hardcorewwetrash, naturally, forebear of the Thirst Party!

Thank you all for your time. Thank you all for your consideration of my tale. Most importantly, thank you all for enjoying. I'll see you real soon.

#jon moxley smut #jon moxley #Jon Moxley/OFC #thirst party saturday #Wrestling #enjoy! #i got so weepy writing this #god I'm a sap #because wrestlemania should have been better #because you deserve it