#i did have to be home alone though there was no way I could have gotten an hour to clean that cart uninterrupted

[harkharknessness]

lucid

summary: In which you keep a journal for writing down all kinds of dreams—including the dirty ones starring a particular blue-eyed professor. What happens when it goes missing?

relationship: Agatha/afab Reader

notes: mention of semi-public sex, smoking, mention of oral sex (R receiving), anxious spiral (R receiving lol), no pronouns used but afab Reader, there's a first-person journal entry but the action of the story is 2nd person POV

word count: 3.7k (ao3)

November 12 It started at a bar. 

The place was like a mix of The Hex and Señor S’s, but with the kind of finishing touches that made everything feel dreamy and just a little uncanny.

Wanda was there with me, for a while anyway. It didn’t seem like we’d been there very long before Viz turned up, and then they disappeared. Hardly anyone else was around, so I started walking home.

I had only walked a block away when she pulled up next to me and rolled the window down. “You look like you need a ride.”

I gave her a grin and a shrug. “I’m fine.”

She tilted her head, looked me up and down, and it was like I could feel her gaze on my skin. “You shouldn’t be out alone like this.”

“I’m not that drunk.” And I hadn’t felt like it. Not until that moment.

Her quick laugh told me she didn’t believe me. She reached over then to pop the passenger side door. “Get in.” 

So I did.

I barely heard anything she said during the drive. All I could see were her hands—the veins and the rings and the forearms that were exposed by the rolled-up sleeves of her blazer. And then there was her tongue pressing against her cheek. The smell of her perfume. Just her being there. Dizzying.

She somehow knew which building to go to, even though I hadn’t said a single intelligible sentence.

When she parked in the spot furthest from the door, I turned to her. “Well..." I wanted to stall, to find a way to stay, but wasn't sure how. “Thanks, I guess.” 

The corners of her mouth just barely curved upward, as if smiling were just another obligation. I got out of the car without another glance. I knew if I looked back—if I saw her start driving away—I’d have to follow.

I was a few steps from the car when I heard her door close behind me. I couldn’t help but turn back.

“Are you coming in?” 

She laughed again but said nothing, then lit a cigarette and leaned against the hood of the car.

I stood for a minute, half considering, half just stuck, before I walked back to lean beside her. 

It started small—arms brushing, fingers twitching toward each other. When I wrapped her hand in both of mine and kissed the back of her palm, then her knuckles, she barely moved, still staring off into the tree line. It was only when I swirled my tongue around the tip of her thumb that she turned her head, just enough to watch out of the corner of her eye. She still had the cigarette in her other hand, raising it up for a drag now and then, seemingly unfazed. 

It was hours (or maybe just a few seconds) later when she finished her cigarette. She stomped it into the asphalt with her loafer, and then—without warning—pinned me to the hood of the car.

I was suddenly, unmistakably, sober. 

She was so close, but she wasn’t moving closer; she was just standing there, lips fractions of an inch away, so I closed the rest of the distance myself. It felt like forever that we kissed, the lingering scent of tobacco coming back into focus every time we broke for air, tangled with the dark notes of her perfume.

She pulled away, fingers brushing my jaw, almost gentle, and that felt like the end. Like she was going to get back into her car and leave without another word. I needed to find something to keep her there, to keep her with me.

But then she locked eyes with me, asking a question that I somehow knew how to answer without words. I watched her sink down to her knees in front of me on the pavement, then felt her fingertips, warm against my stomach as she unbuttoned my jeans and tugged them down, then off. My legs started shaking, but it wasn't clear whether it was due to the cool air or anticipation or both.

She ran a hand along my calf, then up my thigh until she could surely feel the molten heat between them. She wore a smirk the whole time, knowing it was all for her. 

When she finally hitched my leg over her shoulder and started to dip her tongue inside… 

I woke up. Of course. And late, too.

So now I’m just sitting here in class, trying to act normal—like I didn’t just write about my professor getting me off in my dreams. 

If she looks at me today, I’ll probably combust.

———————————

You finished scribbling the last words of the entry and then closed your notebook. 

It was nothing special at first glance—just a spiral-bound book that you’d bought for a science lab a while back, which you’d ended up dropping. So it sat in your closet, holding just a few pages’ worth of lab notes, until the day you decided you were going to keep a dream journal. 

You thought it was clever, really. It just looked like a class notebook. Someone would have to get a few pages deep before they found anything even mildly interesting.

By now, it was nearly full, a couple semesters’ worth of your nighttime imaginings scrawled between college-ruled lines. You could tell which entries you’d written after waking up in the middle of the night—shorter, sloppier, ending abruptly when you couldn’t fight the pull of sleep any longer—and which ones you’d taken more time to flesh out in the early morning sunlight. 

It had started as a silly exercise inspired by one of your gen ed psych courses—what could you really learn about yourself from the imagery in your dreams? At this point, though, it was more of a habit than an exercise in personality analysis. 

Besides, you weren’t sure you really wanted to analyze the way the contents of your dreams had… shifted over time. 

You went from building fantasy lands to scenes that were much more explicit. Sometimes they felt real—real enough that you’d wake up sweaty and heaving and desperate for a touch you’d never felt. And sometimes, they felt real enough that you’d wake up reaching for someone who had never been there.

It wasn’t hard to pinpoint when it all started: at the beginning of the current semester, when you ended up in Dr. Agatha Harkness’s class. The same class you were sitting in at that very moment.

At the front of the room, Professor Harkness was going over the answers to the last quiz, a quiz that you’d aced (or as close to it as one could in a Harkness course). Other students were scratching notes into their own notebooks, except for the guy who was watching a soccer game on his laptop a few seats over and up from you, the sound just a little too loud and spilling from his earbuds. The heater hummed steadily overhead, bringing the room up to “uncomfortably warm” status, but it was better than the alternative.

In other words, there was just enough background activity and just little enough actual information flowing that you didn’t feel too guilty about how you’d spent the first few minutes of class. Since you had woken up late, you didn’t have time to write in your dorm, but if you waited until after class, you’d have forgotten most of what you’d dreamed. So you brought the journal with you, trying to forget how close she was as you recalled the events of the evening.

“All right, that’s enough of that. If you have any questions about your grade, see me after class,” Professor Harkness said, shuffling papers around on the podium without looking up. “As for today, we’re going to be talking about—”

You hurried to swap out your journal for your actual class notes, flipping to the first clean page and clicking your pen into position, ready for the first slide.

The discarded notebook lay half-in and half-out of your tote bag in the empty seat next to you. 

You didn’t notice as, over the next fifty minutes, it inched toward the edge of the half-folded seat until it finally slipped through the crack and landed silently on the floor below.

When class was dismissed, you slipped your things into your bag and stood from your chair, the seat grazing your legs as it sprang back into position. As you walked out of the lecture hall, you were careful to avoid Professor Harkness’s gaze. You may have sat through that whole lecture with perfect focus, but that didn’t mean you’d forgotten what you were writing about at the beginning of the hour.

You went about the rest of the day like any other—you attended your second class, grabbed lunch with Wanda and made plans for that night (Thursdays were basically Fridays thanks to some creative scheduling), and then went to the library to get a head start on next week’s readings. 

By the time 7:00 rolled around, you were back in your dorm getting ready to go out. Your outfit was strangely similar to what you’d worn in your latest dream… 

You shook off the thought, and left to go meet Wanda at the campus gates.

———————————

You barely remembered crashing into your bed several hours later when you woke up the next morning, brought back to consciousness by the bright light filtering in through the windows. 

That was the only nice thing about the morning—the sunlight—and even it wasn’t so great. Everything else felt awful: your head was pounding, your stomach was ready to rebel at the slightest wrong move, and your mouth was so dry that you were mildly convinced that you could swallow sandpaper and not even notice a difference.

Unsurprisingly, you only had the fuzziest recollection of whatever it was you dreamed about last night. You knew you’d had one, but it was hard to picture the specifics. 

After some negotiating with your protesting body, you decided to write about the dream anyway; maybe more details would come as you went. Or maybe they wouldn’t, and you’d just have some hungover ramblings to look back on someday. It wouldn’t be the first time.

You reached behind you to your desk, where you usually had your journal set for easy access, but your heart rate sped up a bit when your fingers brushed only against the wood of the desktop.

You checked in the space between the desk and the bed; you dumped out your tote bag; you searched through the contents of the bookshelf, your clothes hamper, your closet, hoping maybe, in your alcohol-induced haze, you’d put it somewhere unexpected. You looked everywhere. But it wasn’t there.

That’s when the panic truly settled in. If that journal wasn’t in your room, that meant it was out there somewhere, just waiting for someone to pick it up and read some of your filthiest thoughts.

You threw on the nearest clothes you could find—jeans and a sweatshirt—and left the dorm in a hurry, intent to trace your path all over campus yesterday, starting in the lecture hall.

A few hours later, you’d searched your classrooms, the dining hall, and your favorite floor of the library from top to bottom. You’d checked the lost and found in every building you entered yesterday, and in some that you didn’t. You’d even called Wanda to see if maybe she’d somehow picked up the notebook at lunch yesterday. She hadn’t.

You considered heading back over to the bar, the anxiety and paranoia holding strong, but you knew you hadn’t taken anything larger than your phone out last night. You’d be an even bigger fool than you already felt to have taken that notebook somewhere you intended to get drunk off your ass.

So instead, you went back to your room, fell backwards onto the bed, and stared blankly at the ceiling. 

The journal was gone. 

Best case scenario: a facilities worker had picked it up and just hadn’t taken it to the lost and found yet. 

Worst case scenario: someone you never even met was scanning the whole thing, ready to post it online and force you into your own version of the witness protection program.

And all you could do was wait to see if it would turn up, one way or another.

———————————

The weekend passed, and the notebook hadn’t turned up.

Despite your resignation to just wait and see if the journal would turn up after Friday’s search, you spent hours retracing your steps across campus on both Saturday and Sunday, searching classrooms and revisiting the lost and founds. Maybe you’d missed it, or maybe someone had turned it in since you last checked—but you’d never had that kind of luck.

You could at least console yourself with the fact that no one was using it for blackmail or public humiliation… at least, not yet.

By the time you settled into your senior seminar on Monday afternoon, you’d truly given up hope of finding it untouched, unread. Now it felt like the best you could hope for was that it just vanished and you’d never see or hear about it again. 

You couldn’t help but feel on edge, though, bracing for the worst. Paying attention to anything else felt impossible—not the lecture you’d sat through earlier that morning, not Wanda’s stories from her weekend escapades with Viz, and certainly not your classmates’ half-baked thesis ideas. 

Your mind was with that book, wherever it was.

You hadn’t started a new one yet. Not because you were expecting the other one back, and not because you were hesitant to put your dreams on paper again (though you were). 

You just hadn’t been dreaming. 

No vivid memories or even hazy fragments greeted you when you woke from tossing and turning all night long. There was just exhaustion and a fresh wave of anxiety.

On Tuesday morning, you were back in Professor Harkness’s class, sitting in your usual seat. 

Your notes were open, your pen was in hand, but you weren’t really taking anything in. You were only catching every other sentence, and, when you looked up at the screen, you’d make it to the end of each bulleted point only to realize you hadn’t understood any of what you’d read.

By the time Professor Harkness dismissed the class, you hadn’t even written out half a page, and that was going to hurt later. Maybe you could get someone to let you borrow their notes before the next exam.

You gathered your things, preparing to head off to your next class, when you heard Professor Harkness call out your name. 

Your stomach twisted.

“Yes?” you said, looking up at the podium, trying to look like you weren’t suddenly a little bit terrified.

Her icy blue eyes locked onto yours. “Stay after.”

You nodded but quickly looked away to shove the last of your things into your bag.

This had to be a coincidence. She probably just wanted to hand back the draft of the paper you’d dropped off at office hours last week or something. There was no reason for your throat to be so tight or for the cold sweat that had broken out on the back of your neck.

You stood and walked toward the front of the room, fidgeting absentmindedly with the straps of your tote bag all the way. 

Professor Harkness waited until the last student left the room before stepping toward you from her spot at the podium. She wasn’t so close that it was unprofessional, but close enough that you could still smell her perfume.

You cleared your throat, an attempt to distract yourself more than anything. “Is there something you needed, Professor?”

She gave you a quick, assessing look. “You seemed a little preoccupied today.” Her voice was even—not concerned, but not disinterested. “Everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” you replied quickly—too quickly—forcing on a shaky smile. “It’s just that time of the semester.”

“Of course,” she said. She didn’t sound convinced. 

For a moment she just looked at you, as if pretending to consider her next move. Then she pulled out the stack of papers that had been tucked under her arm. 

On top: an all-too-familiar navy blue notebook.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Shit.

She picked it up, turning it over once to look at the back cover, before holding it out in the space between you. “I believe this belongs to you.” 

You swallowed, but it did nothing to clear the lump in your throat. When you tried to speak a broken “Where—?” was all you could get out.

“I walk around the room after each class. Make sure no one left anything behind.” She shrugged, casual, unbothered. “Once in a while, I find something interesting.”

You blinked once. Twice.

In all of your worst-case scenarios, you’d never once considered that she might be the one to find it.

In another universe, you could maybe have played this cool. Shrugged it off, collected the journal and went on your way, assuming she’d just glanced inside for a name.

But in this universe, your face was hot, and the tips of your ears were burning under the heat of her gaze. You may as well have had GUILTY written across your forehead. If she hadn’t read it, you were revealing something just by standing there looking the way you did. And if she had read it? If she knew exactly what you’d written in those pages?

Her expression was perfectly neutral; you couldn’t tell what she’d seen, if anything at all, and that was almost worse than knowing. Knowing would mean resolution. Knowing would mean knowing what you needed to do next.

Not knowing, though, meant you were still scrambling for solutions to every possible scenario. Including the very worst.

Oh, God. 

You were going to have to rip that book to shreds. Burn it. Bury the ashes. And after that, you were going to have to drop her class. You were going to take your first “W” on your transcript because you couldn’t keep your wet dreams to yourself. And… could she report you for this? Could you be expelled?

You’d been silent for at least a full minute, maybe longer, and you’d made no move to actually take the journal from her outstretched hand. She waved it a bit, trying to catch your attention, a barely-there smirk and an expectantly raised eyebrow on her face.

“Sorry,” you muttered, hardly loud enough for yourself to hear. You took the notebook and blindly stuffed it into your bag, like if you didn't look at it, it would just disappear (and with any luck, take you with it).

“You should be more careful,” she said, nodding toward your bag. "Anyone could have found that.”

You couldn’t trust yourself to form actual words, so you answered with what might generously be called a hum of agreement. But it was really just a whimper.

“Well,” she said with a soft chuckle when it became painfully obvious that you weren’t going to say anything more. “I’ll see you on Thursday, then.”

Your eyes snapped up, meeting hers for the first time since before she confirmed your worst nightmare had come to life. “For what?”

She raised both of her eyebrows, like it was obvious. “My class.”

“Oh,” you said, but the words did nothing to slow your racing pulse. “Right.”

She looked at you for one last, long moment, eyes alight with something—amusement maybe—before speaking again. “Now if you’ll excuse me,” she said as she stepped around you. 

You turned to look over your shoulder as she began walking up and down the rows of seats, as if proving a point. 

“If I find anything else of yours,” she was walking away from you as she said it, but her voice was still clear as could be. “I’ll be sure to let you know.”

Heat climbed back up and settled in your cheeks. You had to get out of there.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, almost positive she didn’t hear it, before making a beeline for the exit. Once you were safely in the hallway, the door swung shut behind you, sealing away the sound of heels clicking against the hardwood floor.

You had another class starting in ten minutes, but you weren’t even thinking about going anymore. Your feet were already steering you back to the dorm as your thoughts raced.

Maybe it wasn’t as bad as you thought. Had you actually used her name anywhere? Certainly not in anything recent. These days, “she” could only mean one person. And besides, maybe your descriptions were generic enough that it could’ve been another professor. There had to be at least a dozen other middle-aged female professors with dark hair and blue eyes on campus. But you hadn’t been in any of those other professors’ classes last Thursday, the day you had explicitly written that you were in class while making the entry.

You had been in hers.

When you got back to your room, you reached into your bag and pulled out the notebook before letting the tote and the rest of its contents fall to the tile with a thud.

You just stared at the thing for a moment. Did you really want to know if you’d written anything inside that would’ve given you away? Or maybe it was better to leave it unopened—at least you had it back, and there was no more damage it could do. What did it matter what was inside?

No. You had to know. If you were ever going to be able to look Agatha Harkness in the eye again… you had to.

Bracing yourself, you opened the spiral-bound notebook to a random page.

The first thing you saw wasn’t your own writing. 

It wasn’t even the doodles you sometimes made at the tops of the pages. 

It was the red ink that was filling the margins, underlining phrases, and bracketing off whole paragraphs of text.

Your stomach flipped.

She graded your dreams?

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

ANGST!!! pogue gf probably has family issues too, so this is HER chance to give her baby the life she wished she had, but in some ways she’s very wary of rafe actually loving her and thinks that he’s only with her for the baby

trust issues - rafe cameron x pregnant!pogue!reader

series masterlist

⊹ ‧₊˚ ౨ৎ content: angst with a fluff ending, reader has trust issues, kook vs pogue drama, absentee parents

⊹ ‧₊˚ ౨ৎ yap: thank you lovie for this request xx 😚 also im posting all my drafts that i have currently so its gonna be a lot

⊹ ‧₊˚ ౨ৎ word count: 1.06k

You’d grown up with nothing but hand-me-downs and hollow promises—parents who fought more than they loved, a mom who left when you were twelve, and a dad who drowned his guilt in cheap beer. The trailer you called home was a rusted cage, walls thin enough to hear every slur and crash of glass from the next room over. You swore you’d never let your kid feel that—never let them know the ache of being unwanted, the sting of a slammed door. Being pregnant with Rafe Cameron’s baby was your shot, your one-way ticket to build something better, something stable. But it came with a catch: Rafe. A Kook prince with a temper and a reputation, who looked at you with those piercing blue eyes and said all the right things. You wanted to believe him—God, you did—but every fiber of you screamed he was only here for the baby, not you. How could he love a Pogue like you, scraped raw from a life he’d never understand?

You sat on the edge of your lumpy mattress, staring at the cracked ceiling of your bedroom, one hand resting on your swollen belly—eight months now, the kicks a constant reminder of what was at stake. The trailer was quiet for once, your dad passed out on the couch with a bottle still clutched in his hand. You’d just gotten off a shift at the Wreck, feet throbbing, back screaming, but you’d tucked another $15 into that mason jar under your bed. “For baby,” you whispered to yourself, like a prayer. It was all for them—the crib you’d seen at the thrift store, the soft blankets you couldn’t afford yet. You’d give this kid everything you never had: a home that didn’t reek of regret, a parent who stayed.

The screen door squeaked, and you tensed. Rafe stepped in, his boots heavy on the warped floorboards, a plastic bag of takeout dangling from his hand. He’d been doing this lately—showing up unannounced, bringing food or random baby stuff like pacifiers you hadn’t asked for. “Hey,” he said, voice low as he glanced at your dad’s snoring form. “You eat yet?”

You shook your head, avoiding his eyes as you stood, wincing at the ache in your hips. “Wasn’t hungry.” A lie. You hadn’t eaten since breakfast—half a granola bar you’d found in your bag—but you hated how he noticed, how he kept trying to take care of you. It felt like a trap, like he was building a case to prove you needed him.

He set the bag on the rickety kitchen table, pulling out a burger and fries, the smell making your stomach growl despite yourself. “Bullshit,” he muttered, pushing it toward you. “You’re eating. You’re carrying my kid, and you look like you’re about to collapse.”

Your jaw tightened, pride flaring. “I’m fine, Rafe. I’ve been handling myself a long time before you showed up.” You didn’t move for the food, even though you wanted to. It was the principle—every bite felt like admitting you couldn’t do this alone, like letting him in deeper than you could afford.

He dragged a hand through his hair, frustration etching his face. “Why do you keep doing this? Acting like I’m the enemy? I’m here, alright? I’m trying to—” He cut himself off, exhaling hard. “I see you killing yourself for that jar under your bed, and it pisses me off. You don’t have to.”

You flinched, heat rising in your chest. He’d seen it—course he had, he noticed everything. “That’s for my baby,” you snapped, voice shaking. “Not yours to fix. I’m not some project, Rafe. I’m not gonna let you play house with me just ‘cause I got pregnant.”

His eyes darkened, and he stepped closer, voice dropping low and firm. “You think that’s what this is? Me playing house? That’s my kid too, and you’re—” He stopped, jaw clenching as he looked at you, really looked. “You’re falling apart, and you won’t let me near you. Why?”

“Because I don’t trust you” The words ripped out of you, raw and jagged, tears burning your eyes. “You’re a Cameron. You’ve got money, a big house, a whole life I don’t fit into. I’m just the Pogue chick who got knocked up—why the hell would you want me? You’re here for the baby, and that’s fine, but don’t pretend it’s more than that. I can’t—” Your voice cracked, and you turned away, wiping at your face. “I can’t let myself think you love me. Not when I know how this ends.”

The room went silent, thick with the weight of it. You heard him breathe, slow and heavy, before his hand caught your arm, turning you back to face him. His grip was firm but not rough, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your chest ache. “You’re wrong,” he said, voice low, almost broken. “I’m not here just for the kid. I’m here for you—have been since that first night we hooked up and you looked at me like I was more than some Kook asshole. You think I don’t love you? I’m a mess over you, and you won’t even see it.”

You shook your head, tears spilling now. “You don’t get it, Rafe. I’ve never had anyone stay. My mom left, my dad’s a ghost even when he’s here. I’m giving this baby everything I didn’t have, and I can’t—I can’t let myself need you, because when you go, it’ll break me.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, pulling you closer, his hands framing your face. “You hear me? I’m not your mom, not your dad. I’m not leaving you or that kid. Yeah, I want our baby to have a good life—better than this shit—” he gestured at the trailer “—but I want you too. I’m pissed because you’re carrying my world in you, and you’re treating yourself like you don’t matter.”

You sobbed, the dam breaking, and he pulled you into his chest, arms tight around you as you shook. “I’m scared,” you whispered against him, the truth spilling out. “I’m so fucking scared.”

“I know,” he murmured, lips pressing into your hair. “But you’re not alone in this. I swear you’re not.” He held you there, the takeout forgotten, your dad’s snores fading into the background, until your breathing slowed and the fear loosened its grip—just a little.

taglist: @littlelamy @drewstarkeyswife0 @icaqttt

[kirain]

Bellara: Neve! What are you doing here?

Neve: What? You now I show up for you, Bel. They'd only let one of us come, though. The rest send their regards. Especially Emmrich.

I can only imagine that conversation went something like this:

Neve found Emmrich standing by the window, gazing out at the grey sky, his expression distant—contemplative. The sun had long set, but the moon shined bright, making the night seem less tragic.

"Cyrian's funeral is soon," Neve said gently, drawing his attention.

"What a sombre occasion..." Emmrich sighed. "I hate that Bellara has to go through this." His brows furrowed. "They were so close."

"They were..."

He exhaled, slow and heavy. "Are you going?"

"Yes. Veil Jumper customs only allow one other guest, though. I'm sorry, Emmrich."

He didn't look disappointed, only relieved. "Good. I'm glad she won't be alone." He met Neve's gaze in earnest. "Will you give her my condolences?"

"Of course. See you when we get back."

Neve started to turn, but before she could take a step, Emmrich stumbled forward, his face tightening with thought.

"And—ah—please ask her to wear a sweater on her way home. It wouldn't do at all for her to catch ill."

Neve arched a brow, but he wasn't finished.

"And remind her to keep up with the breathing exercises we practiced. Grief takes a toll on the body, and rest is important."

Neve smirked. "Noted."

"Also, she should eat regularly, even if she doesn't feel like it. Maybe something hot, like soup. Or perhaps tea. Shall I pack some up for you before you go?"

"I don't think that's necessary, Emm. I'm sure they have all that and more at the camp."

"Ah—yes. Quite. Of course they do."

Neve turned again.

"Oh, and if she needs a distraction, she should write things down in her journal. That can be surprisingly soothing for some."

Neve, amused, let him go on a while longer, listening to every little way he wished he could ease Bellara's pain.

But eventually, she lifted a hand.

"Emmrich... I'll just tell Bellara you're thinking of her."

He paused, lips parting as if to say more, but then he cleared his throat, collecting himself. "Yes, well... perhaps that's enough."

Neve chuckled, patting his shoulder. "You're a good friend, Emmrich."

He smiled, weary but warm. "As are you."

She nodded, then took her leave, stepping outside into the cool night air. The moment she did, however, she heard a sharp gasp, followed by hurried footsteps behind her.

"Oh—just one more thing!"

[mullermilkshake]

The apartment.

Part 1 <- Part two -> Part 3

Kento manages to get you back to his, not without a fight. But you’re still back there.

Kento Nanami x Fem! Reader Tags -DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT,Possessive,Kidnapping,Physical abuse,Psychological abuse,Planning/ fantasying over murdering someone,Held underwater/drowning,Implied pregnancy,Oral sex / blowjob,Bodily harm,Face fucking,Dry humping,Grinding

You weren’t really sure how he actually got you back to his place, but he did. 

It was a blur, one big nightmare. You almost crashed the car, one smack with an almighty pop it almost knocked his glasses from his face. 

But it wasn’t enough and in hindsight only made him more angry, more silent in your presence. Now that made your stomach flutter in anticipation for what he had planned. 

He didn’t say a word when the car reached his home, an apartment in the middle of the city. It was stupid to think no one could hear you in that place considering how many people lived there. But they couldn’t. 

He must have soundproofed the place. 

”Now, I expect you to behave on the way up.” The elevator to his apartment door. “Don’t get any funny ideas, I won’t hesitate to be like those other men, you don’t want that, do you?”

“No, I don’t.” You responded a little too eagerly, you hoped he hadn’t noticed. 

You were going to wait for someone in the lobby and scream as loud as you could. But that time never came, not because there wasn’t anyone there, but because before you stepped in the front door, Kento took your arm and delivered a quick swing to your gut, completely winding you and turning you over hunched in agony. 

“Fuck.” That was all you got out as he walked you to the elevators. 

Someone did manage to notice though. “Are you alright dear?”

Yes. Finally someone who had fucking eyes in their skull. You breathed, laboured and prepared to speak, but Kento spoke first. 

“My wife is tired, pregnancy is already taking its toll, I’ll be taking her up to bed for rest. Thank you for the concern, but she is in good hands.” 

“N-no, I…”

“Come on, Darling. The doctor said the longer you’re up, the more the chance of hurting the baby.” He started to walk off wrapping his arm around and you didn't have the strength to pull away, like your stomach had moved and organs shifted. 

Nausea set in, delayed by the assault to your stomach, nothing came except retching, you hadn’t eaten the whole day or you were sure you would have thrown up on that poor lady as you walked past her. 

“Okay then dear, I’m on the sixth floor, six-o-two if you need some chicken soup or advice, pregnancy can be so tough on a new mother.”

The doors to the elevator opened and he ushered you inside, keeping you clung to him like that affection was real. You cursed so loud in your head, you had no fucking shoes on, filthy dirty socks like you’d gone for a bear foot jog, how did she miss that? 

“Thank you for your concern.” The doors closed and you were both alone. 

You coughed, spluttering away to no one, none that cared for the brutality of the man next to you. 

“It’s quite clear you aren’t going to behave. I’m disappointed. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy and take everything I provided for you. But it’s never enough is it? You’re way too demanding.” 

“Maybe if you listened to me and let me go, I wouldn’t fight you on it.” You gasped as the pain intensified. “I hate you.”

“You were always so dramatic.” 

“You were always such an asshole.” 

Your mouth ran that cheque and there was no way your ass could cash it, Kento rammed you up against the wall of the elevator by your throat, his hand squeezing. 

“Mind your manners. If you want this to go smoothly, I suggest you start being a little nicer to me.” 

It was only really setting in now the gravity of the situation you were in. There was no way you were getting away from him again without some sort of dumb luck. 

Kento Nanami was not dumb. 

His intelligence far surpassed yours, no matter how much you thought you were clever enough. It was always luck, and even that was running out. 

He dropped you and you slumped to the floor, his figure looming over you with all the malice across his face. 

Yeah, your luck was running out. 

“We’re going to make this work, regardless of how long it takes to train this response out of you. This is how it is despite how much you fight it.”

You didn’t respond, not that there was much to say. You just sat in the corner contemplating. You couldn’t overpower him, but you could kill him. Everyone was capable of it, including him, it made you hesitate. 

Careful planning was paramount. 

Maybe a knife to the throat when he slept. He wouldn’t fall for the drugged drink again, but he was still human so he had to sleep eventually. 

If he restrained you, you’d have no access to anything and that was more likely. So the other way to get out of that was to gain his trust again and that could take months maybe even longer. 

You despised the thought. 

You hoped a car hit him, or he’d fall down the stairs and break his neck so he couldn’t come after you again. You prayed for a giant dragon to fly down and rip his head off and you’d play in his blood and laugh at his corpse. 

Woah. That was dark even for you at a time like this. 

You were nothing like him. You judged everything he did, how he dragged you from the elevator with his fingers dug into your arm to keep you compliant. How he pulled you into the apartment and held you there whilst he closed the door like you were an inanimate object. 

Whoever these ‘ other’ men were, Kento Nanami was the biggest one of all and you’d make him regret this even if it killed you, because when the lock turned, it hit home that you were never going to be rid of him, not until he was dead. 

“Bathroom. Now.”

You didn't appreciate his tone but you did as you were told, rubbing your arm that had lost circulation, definitely ready to bruise by morning. 

Maybe ignoring him would do something, just not talking? Surely he would get bored of you then?

You waited, he turned the faucets on, letting the water flow, rolled sleeves showed just how much muscle he had behind him. He could break you if he wanted. He was holding back. 

His tone softened, though it wasn’t to be mistaken for a caring nature. “Get undressed.” He stepped outside for a moment. 

Like hell you were getting undressed. Stepping to the door, you peaked out of the crack, he had gone to the open plan kitchen, his back was to you. 

It took a moment to psych yourself up and you went to go for it, when you opened the door slowly, peeking back through, he was waiting there still in the kitchen but his eyes were on you. 

“Do you need anything? Why aren't you undressed yet?” 

You closed the door in a jump and started slipping your clothes off before he came back over. The blood flow thumped in your ears, beating away like a little rabbit evading a hunting dog. You were more vulnerable now than ever.

The door opened and he just walked past you, testing the water out, running his knuckles under the flow leaving dotted splashes on the ceramic. Your arms clamped around you, keeping your unclothed parts covered, he didn’t look back. 

“You can get in now.” 

You climbed in, never blinking in an attempt to catch whatever move he would pull not that you were in a small body of water. You couldn’t deny that the water was perfect, a small burn of red across your skin that would make you look like a lobster eventually.

“You’re so beautiful.” The water ran down your back, making you freeze. 

Was he really going to bath you like a child, someone who couldn’t look after themselves? 

You squeaked, pulling the pooled water from your palm to you arm. “I can do it myself.”

He stopped you, taking your hand in his. “I’ll do it.” 

Exposed and vulnerable, that’s what you were with his prying eyes so he could play the loving husband. 

“I said, I can do it myself.” Through gritted teeth you leant forward to soak your arms. 

Kento growled, switched to someone you didn’t want to see again. He took a fist full of your hair and pushed you backwards down in the tub, holding you there. The muffled deafening water gushed over your ears and filled them with the static heat of the water. 

You scrambled, the water far too intense for your face to deal with, you found his arm amidst your panic and pulled at it, scratching, scraping in hopes your hurt him enough to let go. 

He did, but it wasn’t because you hurt him, it’s because you gave up and stopped thrashing. He yanked you up, spluttering in the water, blinded by wet hair stuck across your eyes, water from your nose. Gasping for breath, you screamed, you didn’t mean to, it just came out. 

Kento covered your mouth, “If you don't love me at my best, then you’ll learn to love me at my worst and maybe you’ll appreciate my good side.” 

Your fate was sealed now. 

After your bath, things didn’t improve, they only ramped up, he dried you, dressed you, even plaited your hair. 

He left you there by the side of the bed, standing like every virgin in those stupid rom- cons you loved watching so much. At least most of the time, their relationships weren’t toxic. 

Then he laid down and was silent for what felt like hours. “Come.” 

Hesitantly, you climbed, not getting close just barely on the corner of the bed, you’d fall if he got off and the weight displaced. He glared at you and you couldn’t tell whether he was angry or thinking because his expression never changed. He grabbed your wrist, your fiddling fingers close to him and you went with them, tumbling into his chest and he didn’t let go. 

“Kento please.”

You wanted so bad for there to be good in him, or even for you to have love for him to make it all easy, but there wasn’t a universe where you could accept this. 

The man was delusional, no matter how rational he seemed on the outside. 

“I love you. I’ll do everything in my power to prove that to you. Anything and I’ll do it, even if that means keeping you here and fucking you until you can’t think… But you won’t leave me again. Ever.”

You blinked your tears away, nibbling away at your bottom lip to try and suppress the helplessness that washed over you. He loved his fingers in yours and it took anything you had not to pull away, punch him in the face and bolt it. 

It had to happen this way. You’d make him regret it. 

Cleaning your throat, you focused on a spot on the ceiling. “How will you show me?” 

You didn’t need to see him to notice the lump in this throat of shock he had. “That depends on you.” 

Not what you thought would escape him, that meant he was highly suspicious of your three point turn to accepting this. 

“I can make you feel good.” You were sick to your stomach. “Will you let me?” Innocently enough. 

Sliding your hand down hesitantly, you fiddled with his belt, he didn’t move and you took it as a sign to carry on. 

You pulled the zip down and exposed his boxers. He wasn’t hard, no erection so you palmed him, hoping to get him hard enough to suck. You looked up at him for the first time and moved closer, putting a small, sweet kiss on his open lips. 

He kissed back like a husband of ten years, tender with a firmness of celebrating an anniversary. He took your hair in his fingers with his other hand over your neck. 

That hand could kill you. 

You thought about it too. Maybe you could bite him once his cock was in your mouth until your teeth met, one swift bite and chomp down until he bled to death. 

Would he even let it get that far?

He got firmer, an erection growing just by your touch, he kissed more feverishly, hungry for your ultimate cooperation. 

Maybe you could bash him over the head with the lamp on the table, would the cable reach that far to get a good hit in? 

He’d use that cable to strangle you in an instant. 

He was fully hard now, the outline of himself visible and ready. Sitting up, you pulled his boxers away and pulled his cock out, but he took your wrist and squeezed. 

“No teeth. Don’t even think about it.”

He was testing your resolve. 

You weren’t sure if he would enjoy it, his expression didn’t change and he didn’t take his eyes off of you. The tip of his cock pressed against your tongue and ran it down around your lips and sucked him in. 

The woman in the lobby. Maybe you could run down to the sixth floor at least, get a solid door between the two of you until the cops arrived. 

Swirling your tongue around him made his throat seize, he tried hard to stifle a moan but you noticed it quickly. Tongue swirls were his thing, that was good to know, you sucked and the sounds of wetness in your mouth was deafening in the quiet room. 

You went deeper, his hand moved to the back of your neck as you sucked, moving your head up and down too deep than you could take, making your gag a little. It was slow, controlled, but you couldn’t help but panic when Kento’s hand pressed your head down until your nose almost touched. 

And he held you there, no air or control. 

You hoped that it was all he wanted and would let go, but he moved his hips instead, bucking them against you as he fucked your mouth. 

“Who knew you would give in so quickly, Darling. Is this what you enjoy, or were you just playing hard to get?” 

Neither. You struggled for breath but you concentrated. You didn’t give up and you weren't playing bullshit games, you only wanted him to believe it. 

He let go of you. Air filled your lungs and it burned, your mouth sticky with in need of moisture. You sat for a minute, but it felt like hours, wiping the drool from your mouth. 

He would have an ounce of trust in you now that you sucked him with no issue. The lamp was looking more and more interesting, you were sure it would smash on his face, maybe break his glasses. Hell, you wished it would just electrocute him. 

You didn’t say anything, just climbed on him, straddled thighs in each side, your sat directly on top of his wet cock. 

“No.” He held your wrists again, making them ache. “Not like this, I want to do this properly.” 

“So I could just…” Moving your hips slowly, you ground on him, his erection twitching against your private area. “Like this for now?”

He didn’t fight it, or object. Threw his head back in the pillow and watched you rub your pussy over him in a way that you could come from had you met him in a different time. 

He was a beautiful person, but his soul was ugly. Even if he didn’t know it himself, hidden, disguised by love was the biggest curse. 

You moved your hips, it felt good, had it have been someone else, you wouldn’t have done what you were about to do. 

“Do you like that?” 

His eyes closed. 

You leant forward, close to his ear. “I like it.” 

Picking up the lamp slowly in your hand, adrenaline pumped its way through your body screaming at you to stop, he’d catch you and it would end with someone dead. Namely you. 

His eyes didn’t open, and wether or not it was the control over the situation getting you off, you weren't sure. But his cock brushed against you in the right way, so you carried on. 

It was an orgasm you’d never want to chase. 

“Keep going.” He said, voice tight, placing his hands on your hips to pull you in over him with more pace. 

You dropped the lamp on his head, one more time for good measure. “Go to hell asshole!”

His hands dropped and you stumbled off the bed, throwing yourself away from him and made a break for the front door. You fiddled with the locks, cursing at the top fiddly one, you hadn’t heard him make a noise but you didn’t dare look back. 

Come on, fucking stupid door!

It opened, barely, creaking away with echoes in the long hallway. It slammed and should have alerted anyone to your situation, but no one emerged from their apartments. 

You ran, half naked and wet to the elevator, ramming your thumb at the button. “Come on you piece of shit.” 

Your trembled, voice following suit. 

It took too long, not moving from previous floors. “Fuck this!” 

The stairs down would be quicker, but you ran the risk of being spotted if he wasn’t knocked out. But at least you could see him coming.

Four floors. 

Bare feet slapped and stomped down the first flight, you still hadn’t looked back this entire time. 

Three floors. 

The top door of the level ripped open and you were sure the hinges splintered. 

“That’s it!” Kento’s footsteps stormed down the first set of steps like a shark to blood.

Two floors. 

You fled down those stairs to like they were going out of fashion, knees buckling to keep up with the rest of your body. 

“Come back, Darling. We have much to go over.” Malice and hurt dripped from his words, you knew it was through gritted teeth. 

One floor. 

You almost tumbled and rammed your shoulder into the door to get past it. 

Six- what was it? Three? Two? Fuck!

You couldn't remember, running around to nowhere. “Help! Help, he's trying to kill me!” 

No one emerged, so you banged and shouted all sorts of obscenities, and finally getting to six-o-two, you weee sure it was the woman’s place. 

“Help! Help me!” Nothing. 

“Open up please!” You glanced down the hallway finally getting the courage and he wasn’t there. 

“Open up! I need help!” Still no answer. 

You were stuck on this floor, unsure of where Kento was. You’d fucked up monumentally with nowhere to go. 

You took a step back to assess what options you had and something stopped you, it wasn’t the wall. 

“What did I say about leaving, Darling?”

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"Daryl Dixon SFW alphabet."

Summary: Daryl Dixon's version of the SFW alphabet with you as a couple.

@artsynana: hii dear, i was thinking, have you ever though about writing some sfw headcanons with daryl? i would love to see something like that written by you🥰🥰

Hey love. Sorry it took me a while to do this, my brain has been out of ideas :( This isn't the best, but I hope you like it! Thanks.

A/N: I sometimes include some excerpts from my stories to give you an idea (don't hate me, I have to promote them haha)

A = Affection (How affectionate is he? How does he show affection?)

In public, Daryl is painfully uncomfortable with displays of affection considering he never knew what it’s like, so he’d just stand by your side, always close, always making sure you’re in his line of sight if he can’t get close. He just… has to know where you are (not possessively, but the idea of ​​losing you is inconceivable). Daryl is a protector, now imagine him with the person he’d want to spend his life with. Maybe cupping your cheek as a quick caress or a kiss on your forehead before either of you has to go on a search for supplements.

Privately Daryl became more accustomed to them until he needed to do it himself.

B = Best friend (What would he be like as a best friend?)

Whether you're the talkative one or the quiet one, or both, the beginning of a friendship would be confusing for Daryl. Having someone Daryl could confide in, someone he could open up to, considering that his whole life he's had to keep quiet or bottle up his own feelings, both good and bad, would be a huge step for him. But like I said, Daryl is a protector, to the point where he'd beat the shit out of anyone who dared to disrespect you (a warning first, of course. His temper is short, sorry, but he's learned to handle it), but disrespecting you in the sense that he feels you're being insulted, threatened, or way before he feels you're in danger.

C = Cuddles (Does he like to cuddle?) (The little spoon)

Glenn helps Carol as Daryl places his arms under your legs and shoulders, to lift you up so he can carry you into the bedroom, but then, a silly thought shines your mind and pushes out of your lips before you can stop it.

“Did you know Daryl likes being the little spoon?”

Daryl feels the heat rise to his cheeks as everyone stops to stare at him.

“I like it, so what?” He says embarrassed, but trying to keep a straight face so no one would laugh at him.

Daryl would come to love the idea of ​​cuddling too, because for him, feeling HIS person against him, protected even in dreams is comforting because it's the only place he can protect you 100 percent, (I mean, with those strong arms, hehe) I don't know why, but I imagine Rick or Carol because they are the only ones who can tease him like this, sensing Daryl somewhat grumpy for not being with you at night due to some runs, telling him not to even think about trying to cuddle up against them.

Also because I feel like Daryl wasn't a deep sleeper or even didn't sleep at all, maybe that's why feeling the body of the person he loves helps him fall asleep, to feel like he's not alone anymore.

D = Domestic (Does he want to settle down? Like, make him and you a real family)

Daryl would hint (shy and awkward hehe) that it would be nice to have a house of your own, maybe in Alexandria. He did live in a house, yes, but with you, it would be his first home. It would be like giving the child living in him a chance at being loved correctly, too.

E = Ending (If he has to break up with his partner)

It's so hard for someone like Daryl to trust another person, to love another person, that when he is in a relationship, it would be for a long, long time. His whole life, he lived without thinking about the future or having expectations for anything, so if Daryl dared to love you even though he thought you deserved better, or that you could be loved better, he wouldn't break up with you on purpose.

F = Fiancé (How does he feel about commitment?) (What it means to me)

“Why did you come back for the ring?”

As the men keep digging a grave for Tina and the other bodies, Daryl stops to look at Sherry, who’s looking at an empty spot beyond all that pain. She doesn’t look back at him, and just wait for an answer.

"S’ jus’ a ring for ya but it means somethin’ important to me.”

A second later, Sherry finally looks at him.

“What is that?”

Daryl knows a promise can be broken, not by him, but by that dangerous world and how a life can end in a second, so the ring is, or will be a symbol of a truth, if he gets the opportunity to give it to you.

“It means I’ll love ma wife for the rest of ma life. S’ the only promise I can make to her.”

Daryl never thought about being anyone's something, not wanting to settle down and much less commit, it would be something he dislikes (it terrifies him actually) but with you, who showed him only the good and the beautiful that life has to offer, he would unwittingly start having those thoughts about what it would be like to do all of that only with you. The idea of ​​getting a ring for you, of having something visual that makes you his (not in a possessive way) that after having nothing, having you bearing his last name would be everything.

G = Gentle (How gentle is he?)

Daryl is tough and imposing with his physique and the menacing way his gaze alone can convey, but he quickly learned to be less rude with you and the people he loves and considers family.

H = Hugs (Does he likes hugs?)

It's not that he doesn't like it, it's just that Daryl doesn't know how to be physically loving. My poor baby is awkward as hell, so maybe at first, just to annoy him and even make him uncomfortable, you'd give him hugs even for breathing because even you can tell he's never received one. But the idea of ​​you expressing your love like that is fascinating to Daryl until he understands that it's a normal part of life, and that he doesn't have to work hard to deserve one.

If you haven't seen each other in a while, Daryl would need to keep you pressed against his body for a while, so that he physically understands that you're really there, close again.

I = I love you (Like Gravity)

“God dammit, woman, if I didn't love ya so much they'd be cookin' in a stew.” He freezes for a second, listening clearly to his heartbeat as he walks away, but Daryl has to clear his throat so his voice wouldn’t break off mid–sentence. “Let's go over there and see if we can get some squirrels instead.”

The L word. Daryl knows well that you love him and that he loves you, but saying it out loud, it would be the thing that would forever define your relationship at the beginning, perhaps when he still fears that the foundations of your love aren't fully built, when he still senses that someone better will come along. But the moment Daryl understands that, despite his imperfections, you won't walk away by your own choice, he'll feel safe saying it because he knows well you'll say it back. For him, love is in the small things, but every once in a while, he says it.

J = Jealousy (How jealous can he get? (You are)  

Your skin feels cold again when Daryl's hand leaves your body, even if your skin feels boiling hot when the attention falls on you like the midday sun in that stifling season. As if someone had put their hand on your throat until it was blocked from air, your uncomfortable laughter comes out muffled, but you don’t answer before changing topics. But it's sad that after a short while, Daryl stands up to go to his own cell, his thoughts running wild with the jealousy he feels about that guy, thinking that there was someone who made you feel something when, for him, you were his first everything.

Insecure more than jealous, but jealous too (?). At the beginning of the relationship, Daryl is jealous of everyone because he’s convinced that everyone is better for you than him, that anyone could offer you more and something better, that at any moment he's going to ruin what he has with you, to the point of indirectly sabotaging the relationship without realizing it. Daryl needs time to understand that what you feel for him isn't temporary and isn't in danger of disappearing, until he no longer feels threatened by anyone.

But if you two are together and someone is trying to flirt by making you uncomfortable and even trying to cross the line of your security, it's like letting the lion out of its cage. Daryl would literally eat the poor bastard alive. (In fiction, I love those men hahaha)

K = Kisses (What are his kisses like?)

It depends, if they're those in the middle of the game, they'd be pretty deep. The idea is consuming in his mind, the idea of ​​knowing that after those comes the best *wink* Daryl loves the idea of ​​feeling his person's lips on his, because the nerves they still produce in him are exciting, how something as simple as greeting each other like that at any time of the day is simple but powerful for him. It's not something he takes for granted, especially at the moment when someone has to go to a run if you both can't go together.

L = Little ones (Babies?) (Make you happy)

“It means positive.” You answered softly, your heart beating faster.

Daryl’s mind ran as fast as possible, registering your words, processing who he was and who he will be: a future father?

“Are we…” Daryl finally said, but he had to clear his throat first. “Happy ‘bout it?”

He looked confused, not angry.

“I don’t know. Are we?”

Then, he did the last thing you thought he would do: Daryl started smiling, just a little bit.

“Yeah, I mean, I'm fuckin’ scared, but…” He paused, looking at you with a worried expression, and his voice became even lower. “But if ya don’ want to have her I would get that, ‘cause for yer face ya ain’t lookin’ so sure ‘bout it.”

Daryl was always terrified of the idea of ​​becoming his father, or even just a shadow of that man and harming a baby, which is why he never wanted children. He knew his temper was short and explosive to the point of losing control, and that was a big NO. But Daryl, without realizing it, cared for Judith since she was a baby until a thought settled in his mind: the idea that he couldn't be that bad, not when he would give his life for someone who wasn't his blood daughter. And if Daryl would do it for her, what wouldn't he do for someone who was?

Whether it was an accident or something you two were looking for, Daryl would be an amazing dad, showing his baby nothing but love and happiness.

M = Mornings (How are the mornings with him?)

Daryl sleeps more soundly since you've been with him, but he's not someone who wants to spend all day in bed every day. The day starts early for him, although the idea of ​​waking up next to someone after sleeping alone his whole life does make him want to stay there a little longer.

N = Nights (How are nights with him?) (The way to heal a heart)

From his side, Daryl sleeps with his back to you. However, lying on your left side and as you drift off into a light sleep, you feel Daryl rolling over in bed, blindly searching for the warmth of your body, pressing himself against you, because that reminded him that he is still alive.

With nightmares or insomnia after a lifetime of abuse, Daryl didn't relish the idea of ​​going to sleep, but sleeping together solved the problem. Even unconsciously at first, his body blindly sought yours when you first started sleeping together, until it became a necessity for Daryl to physically feel you, perhaps a hand on your waist or your stomach or your back, or until his body was pressed against yours.

O = Open (When would he start revealing things about himself?

Little by little, because the traumatic memories felt like reliving them once Daryl said them out loud. The idea that saying them and look weak and vulnerable was inconceivable to him, but there was something about your tone of voice, without a hint of pity for him and only understanding when he crossed his own line and told you the first story one night.

P = Patience (How easily angered he gets?) (A little hope)

But too terrified to feel too much when Daryl was used to feeling little, or nothing at all, he turned away from you for a very long time, always taking the opposite path, coming when you were leaving, never coinciding, confusing when his feelings awaken and made a mess of his life.

But being shot by Andrea was like his breaking point, leading him to isolate himself in the room until he was better, walking outside only during the nights so as not to suffocate within the four walls all day. A random night as you walk back late, you see him standing against the back wall, and fighting against the current, you try to get closer, just one more time before deciding to walk away from him forever, but Daryl was the reflection of a battered animal, always on the verge of attacking before being attacked.

And he gives you the WHOLE speech.

“…battin’ yer eyelashes at me n’ always hopin’ for the best, givin’ me hope for somethin’ I know ain’t gonna happen. M’ fuckin’ sick of seein’ ya.”

Again, a really short patience, or sometimes Daryl doesn't have any of that, but he learned to calm his temper, not to get carried away by his own frustration, and not to yell or want to escape quickly from situations that made him uncomfortable. The idea of ​​attacking so as not to be attacked again was burned into his mind, always feeling that he was not wanted anywhere, but the time and the family Daryl made taught him that he was loved and that he was an essential part of others' lives.

Q = Quizzes (How much would he remember about you?)

He remembers absolutely everything. Daryl has a practically perfect memory, recalling even things you considered unimportant. Like a good hunter, Daryl is able to notice even the smallest pieces, tiny things that go unnoticed by others, but not by him, and this ability is even more surprising because he started paying attention to you even before you were a thing: storing in his mind even those tiny behaviors of yours that no one else noticed. Now imagine when he and you became something.

R = Remember (What is his favorite moment in your relationship?)

Daryl doesn't take being with you for granted, so he believes every moment means something special.

S = Security (How protective is he?) (Karma Butterfly)

“A fuss?” Daryl grunts under his breath, those words souring his mouth. “A moron threatened ma wife and ya don’ want me to make a damn fuss?”

But as the sweet karma that is about to punch Spencer right in the face just as Daryl’s fist would do, Spencer walks down the street toward the car, smiling at Rick like the good boy he pretended to be. However, Daryl’s anger covers his eyes and paints the world red as he walks towards him just to punch Spencer before Glenn or Rick can try to stop him, hitting him so hard that Daryl makes him fall. Daryl falls on him too, with all the weight of his body, punching the thick skin of the wolf. His strong arms push away who tries to pull him back, his ears covering with the word threat, his fists turning red as blood leaves Spencer’s face.

“Daryl, stop!” Finally, Rick pulls him hardly, giving Spencer some time to breathe again. “You’re gonna kill him!”

“That’s the fuckin’ plan!” Daryl shouts back, trying to avoid Rick’s body as he looks straight at Spencer. “M’ gonna kill ya, coward! Nobody messes with ma wife!”  

Once again, Daryl is a protector, to the point of giving his life for the person he loves. Keeping you safe from any kind of threat is a duty to him. Feeling like you're in any kind of danger is devastating to him, which is why Daryl would dedicate his life to keeping yours safe, from anything living or not. Losing you is what terrifies him more than the thought of something happening to him.

T = Try (How much effort would he put into different things)

Love for Daryl is in the little things: like bringing something for you during a run, for example, a book, a cassette, something simple but a meaningful reminder that life in that new world is still life just because he has you.

U = Ugly (Some bad habits of his?)

That he's not bothered at all by the grease of his motorcycle when Daryl's fixing it or the blood on his clothes, that he doesn't notice it until you point it out. He'd respond that it's not that bad and that you're just being picky until you threatened to make him sleep in the yard if he didn't fix it.

(I'm not saying smoke because I do it too, sorry)

V = Vanity (How concerned is he with his looks?)

Not worried at all. Even though Daryl's physical appearance has attracted the attention of the local women in Alexandria, he's oblivious to his appearance, becoming even shy when you tease him about his long hair, which makes him look like a rock star, or the muscles in his arms exposed in his sleeveless shirt.

 W = Whole (How would he feel without you?)

After living alone his entire life, finding you gave Daryl the desire to never be without you again. The idea of ​​falling in love was almost like a bad joke to him, although in reality he was also terrified of loving too much and losing (among other things). But feeling loved by you made him feel complete, so yeah, he doesn't want to live without you anymore.

X = Xtra (A random thing about him?)

Maybe how quickly he becomes shy when you tease him? but he tries to hide it with a snort.

Y = Yuck (What are some things he doesn’t like about you?)

Nothing. Just your own tendency to do things alone, which sometimes got on his nerves because of his fear of you getting hurt. Daryl knows you're independent and can take care of yourself, but since life taught you that you could handle everything on your own, you sometimes forget that it's okay to have someone else help you.

Z = Zzz (What are some sleep habits of his?) (My everything)

“15 minutes to make the milk? I was starting to get worried actually." You raise an eyebrow, speaking softly. "Why did you take so long? The milk is in the kitchen, not in another country."

"Sorry, sweetheart." Daryl apologizes as he hands you the bottle, sitting on the edge of the bed to watch his daughter stop crying the moment she feels the bottle against her pretty pink lips. "I closed ma eyes and jus' fell asleep for a minute."

You frown, continuing to stroke Marley's back.

"In a chair? On the counter?"

At the sound of your voice, Daryl's head falls until he almost hits his chest with his own chin, waking up from his light sleep before looking back at you. It's still funny to you how easy it was for him to go without sleep all those years, but after a month with Marley, Daryl considered killing walkers an easier task.

"What? No. Standin’. Didn't know that was even possible."

Being a light sleeper, or not sleeping at all sometimes because of nightmares was Daryl's weakness, but sleeping with you developed a good sleep habit on him. He still wakes up early, but sleeps soundly since you two lived within the safety of Alexandria's walls, although since his daughter was born, Daryl truly understood what it was like to go without sleep.

[xdanisgfx]

ʚɞ IRL — 25 all good again !

daniela doesn't know why she froze.

it's not like you were a threat or anything — in fact, daniela is probably more of a threat than you could ever be. she was fierce, she was determined, she was stubborn-

so then, why is she standing outside a mcdonald's window, staring like some creepy stalker as lara runs into the restaurant and throws her arms around you? why won't she move, to either get inside or run away, when even megan comes in and introduces herself?

how embarrassing.

but maybe it's the fact that she's been ignoring your texts, every sentence punctuated by periods, turning off notifications for your tweets.

and the thing is, daniela doesn't even know why.

it's obvious that you and lara are just friends, and even if you two did get together, why should it bother daniela? it's better that way — friends are meeting friends and the circle only gets bigger.

megan has already found a seat next to you, spilling anything and everything as they and your friend laugh together. lara points, straight through the glass window, at the blonde waiting outside, and daniela's illusion shatters and she's exposed.

your eyebrows raise, but it's not as if you're surprised. you'd locked eyes already. daniela has no choice but to go inside, uncomfortably stiff, and stops, standing, a little away from the newly formed group. "i didn't know you'd be here," she mumbles, and it's completely true.

"me neither," you reply, equally as quiet. "this, um, is yunjin." you gesture to the other.. redhead? ginger? brunette? who waves back, grinning, though it looks a little crooked.

unbeknownst to the two of you, lara's eyes have been flitting between you both, one side of her lip slightly twitched up. the tension is obvious — though it could just be from the absolute awkwardness that followed — but she doesn't let it stay. she pulls up a chair for herself, leaving daniela the only one standing. "sit down girl, you look dumb."

so the blonde does, moving as discreetly as she could away from the dark-haired girl she's been avoiding. conversation resumes, mostly between lara, yunjin and megan: an exchange of greetings and questions and jokes that you and the girl are not partaking in.

daniela sneaks a glance back at you. your face seems unbothered, completely relaxed, mouth upturned in a smile, but your eyes are darker than they were before she'd arrived.

next step: escape the situation and go home immediately.

she failed. it was the opposite, actually, of what daniela had hoped. yunjin had excused herself to go to the bathroom, and both lara and megan had gone to put the shopping bags in the car. they had insisted that daniela stay, even resulting to forcefully pinning her down on her chair. so now she's stuck. with you. alone. while kids screamed about their kiddie meals in the background.

finally you murmur again. "i thought you'd be gone for a week, not... less then twenty-four hours."

"yeah, guess i didn't clear that up."

more silence.

"i thought something bad happened when you said 'personal reasons'."

daniela's lips press into a thin line. "i just didn't know how to phrase it."

you turn to her, now. sitting sideways on your chair and leaning forward to lean your elbows on your knees, the sharp point denting your jeans and creasing the fabric. "are you mad that i went on a date with lara? i don't know if you've noticed but we're just friends, really, and she is cute but i wouldn't date her, i know she feels the same way with me. i'm sorry for trying to get with your friend, i guess, if that's the reason why you're not talking to me because it feels like we're back to square one and that sucks because i spent like a year to get you to warm up to me and-"

"you talk too much," the latina cuts you off, wrinkling her nose and crossing her arms. you deflate, shoulders drooping in defeat, thinking that you were, once again, rejected. as a friend, of course.

daniela tries to salvage her words. "not in a bad way! of course i'm not mad, i don't have a right to be. i'm happy you're friends with lara - and megan too now, i guess. sorry for acting that way, i was just tired.."

your eyes light up again. the atmosphere filled with tension clears up, and then you and daniela are inching closer together, with her patting your shoulder every so often as you complain about your adventure with the overly-flirty cassidy the day before.

daniela feels lighter, somehow. it feels like a dream, now, that dark heavy sensation draped over her back before today. lara and megan come back before yunjin does, and you all wonder where she is before smoothly flowing back together into a discussion on the best kind of donut. (it's totally bavarian)

a fifth pair of eyes join the conversation, trained on one person specifically. but that person doesn't know it. she can't.

previous ʚɞ masterlist ʚɞ next

taglist! — @meganskiendielsbtc @sunshinez4 @fruityg0rl @wtfisthisnoclueman @winnmin @1luvkarina @peanutbutterlover05 @hiraizyo @kristalag @haerinkisser @zindoriyo @bandaidss320 @xochitlisbest @leotapes @yeetaberry127 @urmom2314 @7purinzer @mei2yok

author's note! — ts is 840 words long. oops. i'm so sorry if the pov is confusing 💔

[kissthesunandmoon]

To win her hand-part 2~

SMUT! MDNI

(Part one has only been up for about half a day but so far quite a few people seem to like it so I thought I’d hop straight on with a part 2, hope you enjoy. I am so sorry that it is quite long but I felt some build up was necessary, hopefully it’s worth it!)

Making your way up the stairs, your ears finally felt relief from all the obnoxious drunken chatter and cheering, with one final glance back you see your father drinking with the Yautja leader, apparently the two were really bonding over your new union. Truthfully you had genuinely asked Ka’Toah to head back to your room to get to know each other better, away from curious ears and prying eyes, but of course you couldn’t ignore that it was your wedding night. You knew that your culture and his were vastly different, but you could only assume that their traditions of newly weds were the same, what you couldn’t assume was, well…how they were in that department. Through the night of celebrations you had many of your people congratulating you, and most likely due to the drink, you had been let in on the fact that not only did many of your own kind desire the Yautja, but there were a number (higher than you had imagined) of those who had actually pursued them. Both women and men came to you to you telling you stories of their conquests with the god like beings, though you had never asked. Of course these were one nights stands driven by lust and pleasure so you couldn’t fully make your predictions from that alone, but there was one word that you had heard more than a few times. Rough. They were rough, and big. I mean it didn’t take a genius to figure the latter out, your new husband towered over you, he was tall and very muscular. With this in mind it made sense that they would be well endowed to put it politely, and the fact that they obviously weren’t human would account for their apparent roughness. The thoughts consumed you and you found yourself growing nervous, of course you felt comfortable and safe with your new husband, more than you had expected. But the thought loomed over you that you didn’t know him, or why he had even wanted to win your hand in the first place, you had no idea of his intentions and you had never thought to ask. Perhaps he would be rough with you, rougher than you could handle, you were sure he wouldn’t do it intentionally but he could very well end up hurting you. You felt the anxiety building like a knot in your stomach and a cloud in your mind.

The two of you soon came to the door of your room, and once entering you watched as his eyes wandered, curiosity and awe behind them. To call it a bedroom was an understatement with its impressive size, on one side was a large round bed, adorned with silk sheets perfect for the hot climate of your home. There were a few other typical bedroom items, a type of vanity, a seat, but it was none of these items that caught his eye. On the other side however, was something that only a princess could have in her chambers, it looked like either a very large floor level bath, or a small pool. He analysed the slight steam coming from it and he let out another, slightly proud purr when he recognised the heating technology was that of his own. Another generous gift brought to your people by his, a flawless underfloor heating system far more advanced than any created around the world. And of course, straight ahead was an arch that lead to a substantial balcony which like the rest of your room was made from a beautiful, slightly tan marbled stone.

Without even discussing it the two of you instinctively made your way to your balcony looking over your home, the night air was still warm, the sky danced with the lights of the stars and moon, and the sound of vibrant chatter and festivities still hung in the air. You stood quietly for a moment, before he spoke in your own native tongue catching you a little off guard, “You are uneasy of something, Princess” you couldn’t help your smile at both the effort he was clearly putting in to speaking your language which must have been difficult for him, and of course the nickname. Although it was your formal title of course, it sounded sweeter coming from him. But of your smile faded slightly as you processed his words, it wasn’t a question, he wasn’t asking. He knew something was bothering you. You inhaled a breath trying to formulate a sentence in your head, you didn’t want any poor wording offending him. Before you could speak he turned to you, gazing down with gentle eyes, “Are you…having reservations of our union?” You didn’t even hesitate before you replied a loud “No!”, maybe a little louder than you anticipated. “Sorry…I mean no, that isn’t it” you said softer this time, before letting out a small sigh and averting your gaze to the ground. It didn’t take long before you felt a gentle finger under your chin, tilting your head back up to look at him, and you almost melted when you did. His eyebrows were knitted into a look of concern, but his eyes were probably the softest you had seen them, he didn’t push you but gave you a small nod prompting you to explain when you were ready. Taking another shaky breath you knew you owed him an explanation, you hated the idea of him thinking you were having regrets. “It’s just…how do I even say this?” You swallowed hard before continuing, your mouth suddenly dry. “I know now that intimate relationships between our kind are not as uncommon as I had thought, and I know that you would never hurt me…but Im much smaller than you and- I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nervous, I’m sorry”. You felt the sting of heat in your cheeks, unlike when you had locked eyes however, this was a blush born from embarrassment. You heard that familiar purr you were growing to love as his fingers moved from under your chin, to cup your cheek affectionately, his fingers grazing your hair and you looked up at him again. Once again he spoke in your language with great effort, the moment feeling too important to be communicated through a robotic voice, he needed you to hear him, even if it was slightly broken and his pronunciation flawed. “Do not apologise, I understand I am much larger than you, you fear it will hurt?”. You just nodded shyly at his question and he continued again, the back of his palm caressing your cheek as he did. “I will never do anything to hurt you, but I do not want you to be frightened, we do not need to cross that line if you do not wish to”. You put your hand on his, leaning into his touch, your heart feeling eased by his words, the fact that he was willing to remain without your touch for your own comfort was more than most of the men within your own kind would have offered. “It’s not that I don’t want to…I do, I just-“ you didn’t even know how to finish the sentence, and you didn’t have to. Ka’Toah watched you for a moment, before bending down and scooping you up bridal style and carrying you back into your room, he placed you gently on the floor near your pool. Before you could even process it, he began to rid himself of his armour, you debated averting your eyes but found yourself unable to, staring shamelessly at his now naked body. He then turned stepping into the heated water, then he held a hand out to you. Realising what he was insinuation your breath hitched for a moment, eyes never leaving his and slowly you mimicked him, slowly undressing yourself until you were completely naked as well.

You took his hand and stepped into the water, your size different apparent as the water which reached the middle of your chest, sat just above his hips. He slowly walked backwards with your hand in his until he reached the wall of the pool where there was a ridge to be used as a seat, he sat down and stood you between his legs facing him. You looked at him curiously tilting your head slightly, “We can get to know each others bodies without going all the way, how about we simply get comfortable with each others touch” he explained without you even having to explicitly ask. “Okay” you practically whispered, you stood and watched as his hand found your cheek once again caressing it gently, before it slowly ran down to your jaw and then your neck. You focused on steadying your breathing, enjoying the feeling of his skin. It was so different to your own, but the contrast was absolutely divine. His hands continued, running down your collarbones to your chest, he looked up at you for a moment before touching you there. He was asking for permission, you nodded and he didn’t wait another second before his hands found your breasts, circling your nippled with his thumbs and letting out a deeper purr than you had heard previously. You let out a small gasp, his rough fingers adding just the right amount of friction as he circled, you found your mind wandering, fantasising about how that gentle pressure would feel elsewhere.

Although his intentions were genuinely not to coax you into sex, you found yourself pressing your thighs together to ease the heat building there. His hands moved from your chest, gliding down your waist almost engulfing you with the size difference, those mischievous thumbs once again running down your stomach tracing light patterns. His eyes were focused on your body, memorising every curve, indulging in the softness of your skin. Soon his hands moved down to your hips, running over your outer thighs, you could hear him muttering in his language, you didn’t know what he was saying but from his tone, you could tell they were compliments. No limits to his curiosity he used his hand to gently part your legs, wanting to feel the soft skin of your inner thighs. First he dragged his fingers along the outsides once again with your heart already pounding, before finally they trailed to the insides once again trailing up and down. You figured he mustn’t have known that the inside of the thigh was an extremely sensitive part of a human woman, because his fingers took one particular high drag. And you couldn’t hold it in anymore, your body trembled and you let out a loud gasp, stumbling forward slightly having to steady yourself with firm hands on his shoulders. His hands had gripped you to steady you, and for the first time in a while his eyes met your own, looking slightly alarmed. It didn’t take long apparently though before he recognised the look in your own, finally less distracted by the feel of your body he took a moment to analyse your body, and he realised. Your heart was beating faster, but not like before, not from nerves. Your cheeks slightly flushed, breathing shaky, he could tell without a doubt. You were on fire from his touch, the look in his eyes shifted slightly to one a mix of curiosity and desire. Bringing his hands around the backs of your thighs he gave you a gentle tug closer to him, so close that your front was almost pressed against his own, after all with the height difference he was practically eye level with you despite sitting down. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t need words, neither did you. He moved his hands back to the insides of your thighs, trailing up and down once again, but each time he would go higher, and higher. Your breathing became heavy, your hands still gripping his shoulders as you looked down at him. He was teasing you. Just as it almost became unbearable, his hand trailed up and instead of dipping back down, he went higher. Finally pressing his fingers against you, you whimpered slightly eyes still locked in his. He waiting for a moment, as if trying to give you time to back down if you wanted to. But instead your body spoke on your behalf, as completely on their own accord, your hips rocked forward slightly. That was enough for him, his other hand came to wrap around your waist steadying you, and then he began moving his hand. His middle finger began to circle your clit, your body trembled again, the feeling was overwhelming in the best way. One of your hands left his shoulders to cover your own mouth, stifling yourself, but before you could get comfortable his hand at your waist flew up to grab your wrist. Pulling it away he shook his head, tutting at you leaning forward to put his face beside your ear “Now how will I know how good you feel if I can’t hear you?” He cood softly, he let go of your wrist and you wrapped both of your arms around his neck holding him close, keeping his head next to your own discovering you enjoyed his lustful words against your ear. His hand traveled back down, this time resting on your hip.

He continued circling his fingers a little faster now, your hips continued rocking and you didn’t hide your moans this time, he continued to growl and mumble in your ear. Various words of praise guided you through your pleasure, sometimes a little teasing, but you liked it “right there hmm?” “Does that feel good?” “You like that princess?” All of his words bringing you closer and closer, you grabbed at his arm between your legs, panting and gasping. He knew you were close, and he didn’t stop, his fingers worked tirelessly and finally without warning, the band snapped and you let out a strangled moan as you came, his fingers worked you through your orgasm as your moans turned to whimpers, and finally whines of overstimulation. You pulled back looking at him trying to catch your breath. But before you could even wrap your head around what happened, once again he scooped you up causing you to yelp slightly, climbing out of your pool with you in his arms, apparently not caring about the fact the two of you were soaked as he lay made his way to your bed, laying you on your back. He hovered above you slightly as you gazed up at him through your now slightly hooded eyes, he used his hand to brush some of your hair out of your face staring into your eyes. “Beautiful…” he whispered softly to you “We don’t have to do anything else, your pleasure is more than enough-“ he began, but before he could even finish you wrapped your legs around his hips, the fear of pain seemingly long gone from your mind.

He looked at you for a moment his hand gripping one of your thighs at his waist, he needed verbal confirmation from you. “Please” you breathed, your voice slightly weak from your high, and that was all he needed. He began slowly pushing in, you winced from the stretch, your eyes squeezing shut as you subconsciously held your breath. The arm he was supporting himself with next to your head moved to stroke a finger along your cheek, as his the thumb from his other hand make delicate circles on your thigh. “Breathe for me”. You let out a shaky exhale as he pushed in further and further until you were full, and then he stopped waiting for you to adjust to his size. Your hands wandered, gripping his shoulders, biceps, neck, chest-whatever you could find. He lowered himself so that he was almost flush against you, still running his hands along your cheek, your hair, your lips trying to soothe you. If he was honest, he was almost debating pulling out and scooping you up to cuddle you instead, he hated seeing your face scrunch up with pain, your slight whines of discomfort. But then just as he almost did, your face and body relaxed, your breathing steadied and your hands came to rest on his back. Testing the waters slightly, he rolled his hips, not too much but just enough to gauge your comfort. And he found much more, you let out a soft moan as he did so, your legs tightening and your nails digging into his back. And so he did it again, and again, each time pulling slightly further back, rocking his hips just a little harder. And soon, you were a moaning writhing mess beneath him. Your hips moved with him, desperate to feel him, and suddenly the talk of the “roughness” didn’t seem to scare you. “More, please” you managed between your moans, and finally he felt that you were truly comfortable enough for him to let himself go. Two of you losing yourselves in the pleasure together, you didn’t try to be quiet and neither did he. Just as you thought it couldn’t feel any better, he angled his hips differently, so that he went deeper and his pelvis rubbed against your clit. Your moans grew louder as you practically clawed at his back as you felt that familiar build low in your stomach, the new angle along with your nails also edged him towards his own orgasm. Lifting himself slightly he rested his forehead against your own, once again muttering sweet nothings as he felt you tighten around you. “There you go princess, that’s it, right there” and the sweetness of his intimacy collided with the rocking of his hips, and you came undone again. Harder this time, your back arched as your legs shook around him, moaning, panting and gasping. The sight and sound of you pushed him over the edge, as his hand reached under your back, pressing you into him. He let out a deep primal growl, not pulling out as he filled you. You weren’t sure if he could get you pregnant, and you didn’t care. You needed to feel him. Finally the two of you slowed your hips, you stayed there a moment before he finally pulled out. And quickly he sat up against your pillows, pulling you into his lap and against his chest, rubbing your back and running his fingers through your hair. He must have asked you a million times if you were okay, and each time you reassured him. You were more than okay, in fact as you relaxed into him coming down from your second high of the night you only had one thing on your mind. One more couldn’t hurt, right?

(OKAY so I am so sorry that this is so long, but I really hope it was worth it! Once again this is my first time with fanfic so I hope the smut was okay. Let me know if you enjoyed it, and if you want a part three or have any one shot requests!)

[h50europe]

BUCK/TOMMY putting myself into Tommy's headspace:

Buck frequently mentions Eddie when talking to Ravi, leaving us to wonder how often Eddie’s name came up with Tommy during their relationship. Picture yourself in a partnership where your spouse constantly brings up their best friend.

Tommy might have initially hung out with Eddie to get a better read on Buck, not because he was interested in a hookup. It’s a subtle move, but Tommy strikes me as someone observant enough to pick up on the vibes without needing a neon sign, and that is when he concludes Eddie isn't into guys.

However, Eddie stayed tight-lipped until the basketball court incident. That’s when he and Tommy finally talked about Buck. We never saw that conversation, which could have been a pivotal moment for Eddie to realize deeper feelings for Buck, if there had ever been any...

During this talk, Eddie must have mentioned something about Buck that rattled Tommy's cage because he was surprised that Buck was looking for his attention. He only kissed Buck after that confession, as if he needed confirmation from Buck himself.

So, Eddie was single throughout Tommy and Buck's relationship and not in a great headspace. There was Kim, the fallout with Chris, and who did Eddie call? Buck. And who was dropping everything and rushing to their aid—though in vain—Buck? After Chris left, it looked like Eddie became a constant in Buck and Tommy's relationship. I think we got a taste of it in the Halloween episode.

The 1. breakup in retrospect (with what Tommy said in 8.11): Aside from the cringe-worthy plot with Abby, Buck asked Tommy to move in with him, and Tommy denied it and reasoned it by saying he would be his first but not his last. But he actually meant that he did not want to sign up for a package deal with Eddie because he feared it could only get worse now with Chris out of the picture.

I know there is a lot of speculation as we - unfortunately - have never seen Buck and Tommy in any domestic scenes.

The competition issue: It’s less about jealousy in a traditional sense and more about wanting a relationship that doesn’t feel like a crowded room. Tommy’s not wrong to want that, but Buck’s so wrapped up in his bond with Eddie that he might not even see how it looks from the outside.

I can see Buck telling Tommy to invite Eddie or include him in going out because Buck didn't like the idea of Eddie alone at home brooding.

Tommy's "Okay" remark: Oliver said it was Lou's decision to play it that way, and I get it. This was not an "if you say so" acknowledgment. For me, it was an "I know that the guy is straight as an arrow, but do you?" Tommy knows about Buck and Abby; he could have done some research or heard something about Buck moving into Abby's place after she left, waiting for her to return. And now Buck moved into Eddie's place.

Given their awful lack of conversation, Tommy misinterpreted Buck's actions. Maybe Buck should talk to Tommy like he talked to Maddie: "As much as everyone seems to want me hopelessly pining for my straight best friend, it just isn't like that." And not, as he knew he did, "in the meanest way possible." Buck’s not great at self-reflection, is he? He’s all heart, no filter, and that’s what keeps this mess spinning.

From my POV, Tommy sees Buck having a hard crush on Eddie. Even if Tommy knows Eddie is not reciprocating these feelings, Tommy fears Buck will never love him (Tommy) wholeheartedly. That is the big pink elephant in the room. This is not about having more than one friend; it runs way deeper.

I don't even blame Buck for his behavior because he doesn't do it on purpose. That's why he takes it personally when Eddie is "leaving him behind." IMO, their friendship is a bit one-sided. While Buck pours his heart and soul into this friendship, Eddie does not. He sees it pragmatically because he has a free babysitter for Chris, and he has someone for the lonelier days in his life (meanly spoken, LOL).

Buck has a soft spot for Eddie. And Tommy sees that. We don't know much about Tommy's past, but he might have been in a similar situation once. Some past LI could have put their best friend above him for whatever reason, which was why the relationship fell apart. Even Maddie suspects her brother having a crush on his best friend.

All of this has a common denominator: Eddie is not gay or interested in Buck. Tommy knows that. But Buck's behavior doesn't prove that to Tommy, especially not after what Buck threw into Tommy's face after their night together. Tommy has a fine antennae. He didn't take it as a compliment when Buck told him he slept in the house for the first night with Tommy by his side because suddenly, Tommy felt reduced to a stand-in.

No wonder his demeanor changed. It’s like he realized he’s competing with a ghost that won’t leave, even with Eddie physically out of the picture.

Maybe they should have sex in Tommy's house next time. And maybe Buck should use Eddie's name a little less in conversations. It's not helping by making new friends. Poor Ravi.

Conclusion: Tommy’s caught between knowing Eddie’s straight and not being sure where Buck’s head (or heart) is at. Buck’s oblivious enthusiasm for Eddie muddies the waters, and Eddie’s just coasting along, not quite matching Buck’s intensity. It’s a tangled, messy triangle that’s not even a triangle—just a lot of crossed wires and unspoken truths.

Thank you for coming to my pep talk.

[iamthatonefangirl]

miss possessive pt. 2 - congressman bucky barnes

thank you all so much for the love on part 1 of this. i love you all so much you are literally my motivation to keep writing. i hope part 2 does you all justice!

part 1

~~~

after the crash, Bucky was pissed off, to say the least. entirely at himself. 

Bucky should have sat on the passenger side, not you. he would have been completely unharmed. maybe if he’d reacted quicker, used his enhancements to pay more attention to his surroundings, then maybe you wouldn’t be in this position. 

he felt his heart drop to his stomach when he saw the blood dripping down your face after the crash. you were right next to him, within his reach all night, but he had to remind himself this wasn’t something he could have protected you from. it almost broke him. 

you were in an ambulance pretty soon after. your head hurt like a bitch; you were a little too focused on the searing pain to make out the words Bucky was saying to the first responders, telling them they had to let him ride with you in the ambulance. he was your husband, after all. 

wait, what? 

did you hear that correctly?

through the burning pain, you tried to keep a level head. it made sense that Bucky lied; it was the only way for him to come with you. but hell if it wasn’t embarrassing riding in this ambulance with him just staring at you the whole time. 

the paramedic was asking him a million questions that he didn't know the answers to. of course he didn't, he wasn't actually your husband.

you answer them.

yes, you had alcohol in your system. you’d just come from an event. how much? uncertain. 

yes, you were on medications. which ones? great, now Bucky gets to hear. 

no, no chance you’re pregnant. you’re sure. yes, you’re sure. 

“Bucky…” you mumble. 

“yes? what’s wrong?” 

“Bucky?” you repeat. okay, wow, suddenly you feel a lot worse.

the world goes dark.

~~~

to put it bluntly, this was insanely embarrassing.

the hospital staff think he's your husband, so he's allowed to stay. when you ask him to leave, he refuses to go anywhere.

hours later, after some stitches and a million scans of your head, you're left alone in the hospital bed. with Bucky still staring at you.

"you can go, you know," you tell him. "it's been a long fucking night. no reason to stay."

he grumbles under his breath, "not goin' anywhere."

you wish he would. watching him, sitting here with you in such a vulnerable state hurts your soul. he's here out of obligation. of course he cares. he would be heartless not to, and Bucky Barnes is anything but heartless.

but he doesn't care in the way you wish he would.

you wish he'd be the guy that looks for you, only you, all night at the gala. you wish he'd refuse to leave your side, never letting you out of his sight. you wish he would look at you all the time, not just when another man is taking you upstairs, not just when you've had your skull cracked.

you wish he'd be the one to whisk you away at the end of the night. you wish he had told you how pretty you looked tonight, because he's the only man you'd gotten all dolled up for.

tears spring to your eyes at the thought, so you turn back to face the ceiling and shut them before they can fall.

but he's still staring at you. he sees the change in your demeanor.

"what is it? what's wrong?" he asks, jumping to his feet to stand next to your bed.

you shake your head and lie through your teeth. "head hurts."

it's not a lie entirely, but. mostly.

you open your eyes to look at him, and he actually looks pained, as though he's the one in the hospital bed, not you. you backtrack, reassuring him that you're completely fine, it's fine, you're used to it. you're used to the pain.

suddenly, he looks confused. fuck, why are you the one complaining about your own issues? don't you remember the shit he's been through?

he's been through worse than you could ever imagine. stop fucking complaining.

"I'm fine, Mr. Barnes. go home."

he shakes his head in exasperation. you're so fucking stubborn, you know that? why won't you just let him do this for you?

he wonders a million different things. you got hurt while working for him, and he knows this isn't your ideal job, that it's only temporary. when he gets elected, he'll get a new assistant, and if he doesn't, then he won't need one anymore. he won’t need you anymore. 

of course he’ll always need you.

that was the deal that was agreed upon, but he can't fathom never seeing you again. especially not after he let you get hurt on his watch.

he wonders if you blame him for not doing enough, for not being enough to protect you from what happened. 

he knows you don't. doesn't help ease the feeling.

"stop calling me that," he says. he says it with a faint smile on his face, trying to maintain his composure. trying to bring a smile to your face.

he sees you roll your eyes at him, and how the action clearly disturbs the headache you have as you recoil from it.

he has to press. he has to do something, anything–

"I know you know my name. you said it in the ambulance," he begins to tease, smirking. 

it doesn't have the intended effect. he wanted to see you smile, see you laugh, but instead? instead, he's made you cry. 

you bring your hands to your face as you wipe the tears away. why can't he see how difficult this is for you? he has to know that you're stupidly in love with him, it's not that hard to recognize the longing in your eyes.

so no, you won't call him Bucky, because that makes it too real. it's way too close to home and you have to remind yourself that this is not and never will be anything more than a working relationship.

"please don't cry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," he says, taking your hand in both of his. you look down to where he's touching you.

you're done for. your mind short circuits. you don't know if you should pull your hand away, or if you're going to cry, or what. your mouth speaks before you consciously make a decision.

"can you do me a favor?" you ask him, wiping your face with your free hand. "can you bring me my stuff?" you request, indicating to the large plastic bag in the corner of the room.

he releases your hand and steps away to grab it. you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. 

you pull your dress out of the bag and begin to inspect it.

a black, velvet, off-the-shoulder dress. sleek and classy for a professional event, but it still made you feel confident and desirable. you bought it specifically for tonight.

you bought it specifically with Bucky in mind.

god, you really are fucking pathetic, aren't you? you just wanted him to look at you and think you looked stunning. but that's stupid, and childish, and impossible.

you inspect the neckline of the dress where your blood spilled onto it. you try to rub out the spots covered in dust from the crash, and almost cry again at seeing all the snags in the fabric.

oh my god. somehow, the thought completely slipped your mind.

you look back up to Bucky and see your blood staining the crisp white fabric of his shirt. you recall now how he pulled you in after the initial crash that caused your injury. you ruined his shirt. 

"fuck, your suit, I'm so fucking sorry," you tell him, looking up to meet his gaze.

when you do, you see the same look in his eyes that you had seen before the crash. that look. why can't you place it?

you can't tear your eyes away from him. not now. no car crash can make you. because you feel like he can actually see you, like he doesn't see you as the mess of broken pieces that you are. like he genuinely sees you.

you're shocked when he looks away and sits on the side of the bed, facing you.

you're even more shocked when he reaches for the fabric of your dress and runs his fingers over it. you watch his lips part, as though to speak, before biting his tongue. it confuses you.

he tries again,

"I don't think I told you this, but you looked beautiful tonight."

no.

no, no, no. it's too much. what is he saying? is he trying to make you feel better after everything that's happened? or–

it's the elevator all over again, the limo all over again. is he seriously still on this? you'd completely forgotten about what that dipshit said about you, when suddenly he brings it up again, reigniting the pain and shame that came with Bucky having witnessed it.

"I don't care about what that man said in the elevator, okay? I thought I asked you to drop it," you bite. 

at first, he looks confused and almost hurt by your words, but pretty quickly he understands.

"no, that's not– I'm serious."

you shake your head at him, aggravating your headache all the same, but you don't care anymore. you can't deal with this anymore.

"stop-" you begin, but he cuts you off, standing from the bed and raising his voice.

"no! you stop. stop brushing me off. yes, I meant what I said, that you shouldn't listen to that asshole or any other idiot who can't see how perfect you are. but forget about that. right now, I'm trying to tell you something, and you're not listening."

that shuts you up for once.

with a much calmer tone and quieter voice, he continues, "I'm just trying to tell you that you looked beautiful tonight."

"yeah, and it doesn't fucking matter because–"

you pause, remembering you can't say it doesn't matter because he doesn't love you.

"–because I'm sitting in a hospital bed now, and I'm going to have a fucking scar on my forehead for the rest of my life, and no man in their right mind will think I'm beautiful then!"

"then maybe I'm not in my right mind," he says quietly. "because I will still think you're beautiful then."

the impact of his words are worse than the car crash. you're truly at a loss. he can't do this to you, he can't hurt you like this.

is it a game? is he messing with your emotions because he knows you're in love with him?

you want to believe it's not.

"even now, in this hospital bed, you're beautiful."

you can't help but let yourself believe him, because it's all you wanted to hear from him all night. so you do something rash. 

you reach for the collar of his shirt, pull him in close, and kiss him.

~~~

he was not expecting that. 

he wants to hold onto you with all his might, hold you to his chest for the rest of both of your lives. he wants to kiss you until you both forget where you're at, until you forget anyone else exists.

when he pulls back from you, you're prepared to get reprimanded and fired. you're ready for whatever it is that he's about to tell you. you force yourself to watch the look on his face, expecting the impending horror that's going to appear in his expression.

he looks between your eyes, scanning for any sense of pain or hesitation you may be feeling.

he kisses you again, and you let yourself melt into him. without breaking away, he moves onto the bed, laying next to you.

it's like a fever dream. you feel like you're on cloud nine, the happiest you've ever been in your entire life. this is all you've ever wanted.

you eventually have to pull back. this whole time, you've been letting your emotions run rampant, and you've conveniently forgotten about how shitty you feel, how tired you are.

you run your mouth before he can say anything.

"fuck, Bucky, I don't want to stop, but my head fucking hurts. I'm so tired," you say, shutting your eyes and letting your head relax into the pillow.

he runs his hand through your hair, careful not to disturb the bandaged cut on your hairline.

"want me to go?" he whispers.

you mutter out a 'no' and lean into his arm that wraps around you as your weariness takes over.

~~~

he holds you gently as you sleep. he may not be able to protect you from everything, but right here, right now? he can be here for you as you rest.

a nurse eventually comes in the room, and he begins to remove himself from your bed.

"don't worry about it, sir. just adding notes to her chart."

he sighs in relief.

"you're a good husband. a lot of the husbands I see around here... not so much."

husband. sure, it was a lie he told them so he could stay with you, to make sure he knew what was going on. that you were going to be okay. 

after everything, he never thought such a life would be in the cards for him. all those dreams and hopes were left in the century before. could he be a good husband? would you even have him, if he asked?

woah, okay, too early to be proposing, he reminds himself.

~~~

eventually, you come to, and the first thing you sense is the weight in the bed with you.

holy shit, you weren't dreaming? this wasn't just a concussion-induced hallucination?

you blink your eyes open, and there he is, staring at you like always.

"hi," you whisper.

"hi." he whispers back.

and then the searing pain shoots through your head, causing you to cry out in pain, clutching your face in your hands.

he almost freaks. seeing you in this kind of pain? you didn't deserve this. it should've been him, he's experienced it, dealt with it before. why couldn't it be him and not you?

he runs for a nurse.

thirty minutes later, the opioids kick in, and you feel light as a feather.

"Bucky?" you begin. he's seated in a chair immediately next to your bed.

"yes, sweetheart?"

your heart pounds in your chest. you're high on the drugs you've been given, and you can't help it when you smile and giggle at the pet name.

"call me that again," you whine, to which he chuckles.

"sweetheart? you like that?" he asks.

"like anything you do," you whisper. "so perfect."

the drugs put you back to sleep real quick.

~~~

it's been another day, and you're being discharged. Bucky still hasn't left your side once, and yet you haven't talked. you can’t let yourself talk about it, because you know that none of it was real. how could it be real? you were hurt, and he was trying to be there for you. 

you crossed the line by kissing him, and it was time for you to let go of your desperation. you had to let it go, and move on. move on from the job and him entirely. 

you anticipate his overbearingness in terms of ensuring you get in the door safely when you arrive home. you don't anticipate him telling you that he intends to stay.

"Mr. Barnes, it's okay, I can take care of myself," you assure him.

you see the annoyance on his face.

"aren't we past this by now?" he asks you.

he sits down on the couch next to you, very closely, right up against you. he brings a hand to your face to turn you to look at him.

you lick your lips. "Bucky."

you watch him for a second, and you wish the look in his eyes was real. 

“Bucky, I quit,” you whisper. he clearly was not expecting you to say that, because he pulls away from you. you mourn the loss of his touch on your skin, the heat of his body near yours. but you're doing what needs to be done. 

“you can’t quit. I’m not– it’s not–”

“I have to quit, Bucky,” you explain to him. “I can’t do this. not anymore, it’s too much.” 

he begins to plead with you, “what? what is too much?”

“you,” you admit to him.

he doesn't understand.

"fuck, I just can't do this. because I love you, and I just can't..."

"I love you."

you're stunned into silence. no, of course he doesn’t…

he moves closer to you. 

“don’t quit because you think this was a fluke, or because you think I was just trying to make you feel better while you were in the hospital. I meant all of it. you are perfect, and beautiful.”

he puts his hands back on your face, gently, rubbing a thumb over the carefully stitched cut near your hairline. 

“please,” he whispers, and you can’t believe that he’s sitting with you, in your apartment, telling you all the words you’ve ever wanted him to say. “I love you. please.”  

you nod, and all the pain goes away as he pulls you in close and kisses you. 

~~~

“didn’t like seeing that idiot putting his hands on you in the elevator,” he whispers into your ear later that night. 

you lean back into his arms wrapped around your waist as you lay in bed.

“oh, please. you had that woman all over you, just begging you to fuck her,” you retort. 

“jealous, sweetheart?” he teases. 

“oh, please, you started it,” you laugh. 

“don’t worry about her. could only ever want my girl.” 

~~~

i really want to write smut for them or like another part so lmk if i should

part 1

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[entities-of-posts]

I was never the type of girl to HATE spiders. they’re quite small little fellows, and i hate to disturb them, more than anything. but i swear they managed to lock me in my home for over two entire weeks.

the… the infestation started about 3 months ago, and i was going to my medicine cabinet for some ibuprofen. more fittingly my parents’s medicine cabinet, i suppose. i was alone in their home, and my head hurt like hell, okay? anyway, the cabinet was absolutely coated in a layer of what i can only hope to be web; only one spider sat in the cabinet, though, and it certainly wasn’t a large one. it was hard to know for sure, but it looked to be about a half a centimetre thick. i thought maybe my headache was making me see things, so i… closed the cabinet. and tried to endure my headache.

every time someone else opened that cupboard, though, they acted like the growing blanket of cobwebs didn’t exist, even though i could SEE IT. i could see the webs coating their medicine, and coating their hands. more and more spiders seemed to inhabit the cupboard, as well. during the weeks leading up to my trapping, spiders poured out of the cabinet and fell off my parents’s hands.

it didnt stop at the cabinet, unfortunately. over the next few weeks after i discovered the cabinet, the webs began to cover other places i happened to frequent. my favorite chair was rendered unrecognizable (at least, to me) die to the growing layer of cobwebs growing on it almost like a kind of stringy, white mold. the book i was reading at the time, something by a fellow who must’ve been scandinavian or something, regarding spiders. rather grimly fittingly. it was stuck shut with cobwebs, until it even seemed to merge with my nightstand from all the sticky threads engulfing it.

at the time, i was between jobs, so thankfully i didnt have to call my boss or anything. probably wouldve lost my job anyway, if i even had one. one morning, maybe january 14th or so, i dared to leave the house for an interview. at this time, my parents were again both out of the house. i fiddled and fiddled with the handle for maybe five minutes until i had to throw almost my entire weight into the door. it barely nudged. it took me thirty more minutes of the cycle of shaking the doorknob, throwing my entire body into the door, and fiddling with it more to crack open the door wide enough to see the hundreds of spiders working diligently to shut my door to the frame. I did not make it to that interview.

I do think i was trapped for maybe 15 days. my father is one of the doomsday-prepper types, so fortunately i didnt go hungry, but i’ll never look at canned vegetables the same way ever again. honestly, i didnt see much of the spiders during my… imprisonment. putting it to paper, those two weeks weren’t much to write home about. probably wouldve been less time-consuming if i managed to call an exterminator earlier. weirdly enough, though, he only found maybe 20 spiders in the whole place.

eventually, i got a job and was able to move out. i rented a (thankfully spider-free) uhaul and packed up my belongings. I swear that those webs never left my parents’s place, though, and as i was saying my goodbyes to my parents, i swear their mouths were full of cobweb.

Some parents really don’t want their children to spread their wings. It’s hard to give up such power over someone, after all. Such desires might open the door for something else to move in…

[captaincreative]

Something I thought of just now, lol.

Pairing: Wild/Reader

Frantically tries to write a gender neutral reader in a way that makes sense 😭

When you had found him, he had just left the Great Plateau. He looked tired, the clothes he wore looked ratty, and honestly, you just wanted to help him. It took a bit of convincing that you meant well, but he eventually decided it was okay to let you lead him to your home. Which, funny enough, was a little south of the Great Plateau. You gave him an outfit that actually fit, food to eat, and a bed for the night. You did convince him to sleep on your bed as you slept on the floor not too far away.

After that night, you stayed with him. Learned more about him. Link, the hero who had almost died saving Hyrule. Link, the man you were helping save it again. Link, the one to wield a sword that burned you to touch. And you both were close, now. Comfortable.

He made you stay away when he fought Calamity Ganon. He wouldn't let you help when he fought Dark Beast Ganon. He made sure you were safe. Because he cared about you.

And throughout your journey together, you thought you loved him. You thought he loved you, too. But seeing him hug Zelda, seeing him look at her in a way he never looked at you, it hurt. But you left it be.

He seemed happier anyway. And when he disappeared, you tried not to look for him. Really, you did. But it nagged at you for some long that you just couldn't not look for him. So off you went, north, to see if the Great Deku Tree knew anything at all about his whereabouts.

----

The group was tired. But the shadow persisted, and so they had to as well. And despite how dark it was, despite the distance they traveled, Wild had one place in mind. The Old Man had wanted to speak with the Great Deku Tree, and Wild knew exactly how to get them there. Traveling between shrines only allowed him to do so, so walking through the fog was the only way through. Torch in hand, he led the others as he himself followed where the wind blew.

Wind, curious, continued to glance around at the surroundings he could see. The trees within the darkness were spooky, and he loved it. Loved how any normal person on their own would be scared, but he didn't have to be because he wasn't alone.

And he wasn't normal, but that's besides the point.

He wasn't near the front, but he did stay by the Old Man. Time just had an air to him, made the sailor feel even more safe (he would never admit that he was a little scared, he didn't want any of the others to give him crap about it).

When he glanced up, though, he stopped. There, sitting on a sturdy branch, was.... someone. They had a korok mask on. But they weren't a korok, so he was a little confused about it. The person tilted their head when he did, which he thought was a little funny. He rose a hand and waved, and they did the same.

Time backtracked to find the sailor, and followed his gaze to the person in the tree. He was much more wary, but so far this person has yet to do anything. At least, from what he knew of. Though, his mistrust didn't stop him from also waving. And the person did the same for him, as well.

Now, Time wasn't worried about being left behind. He could navigate through the fog much more easily, growing up around forest children who did the same. He could easily pick up Wind and go back to the group. But he didn't. A small part of him was also curious about this person.

They grab something off their person, but it's hard to see because of the fog. Then, it drops to the ground. The sailor is quick to pick it up.

A korok seed.

Why would a person have a korok seed?? No, why were they even here??

Footsteps, loud and fast, approach. Then, the vet appears. He looks worried, which is a little off for him. He usually isn't as expressive of anything but annoyance.

"Drop that, sailor," he pants. Did he run through the fog?? He could have gotten lost. Just as Time opens his mouth to tell Legend off, he snatches the korok seed from Wind and tosses it further into the fog. "Don't go after it. There was magic on it, and—" "Korok seeds are magical vet," Wind reasons. "Of course it would have magic, the koroks do."

"But do they??" Legend points to the person in the tree. "Are they supposed to have magic?? Are they even supposed to be here??"

"That's enough, Link." The vet's nonsense is going a little leftward, this time. In fact, the Link in question looks directly at the older interation, not angry but worried. And scared.

Before anyone else can speak, the person drops to the ground, another korok seed in hand. They crouch down, making themself smaller, and hold it out to Wind.

"Stop it, don't take that," but before Legend can do anything else, the person is tackled to the ground by the Champion. All three boys stare at the scene in front of them, Wild curled around the person from the tree while said person has gone rigid. Then, slowly, they move to hug him back.

"....stop running through the woods," the person's hoarse voice sounds from beneath their mask. And Wild would know that voice, even if it is a little more raspy than he remembers. He knows it's yours. After all, the Great Deku Tree told him you were in the woods after he got the others to him.

"....missed you too much," the champion whispers into your hair.

Legend clears his throat. Wild stays put. He isn't moving. He doesn't want to. He missed you far too much to. After saving Zelda (and Hyrule), you pulled away from him. And then he left, and it'd been so long since he'd seen you. And try as he might, he couldn't move his hands to move the korok mask from your face. He didn't care. He knew it was you, anyway.

-----

Alright, that's it. Potato throwing permitted, I guess. 😔😔

[sturniowhore]

Love For Free

Warnings: Angst with no happy ending, Unrequited Love, Matt x Reader, Toxic!Matt, Barely proof read

A/n: This is for Rose's writing challenge!! the ending might be a little rushed I'm sorry 😭

Dividers by: @bernardsbendystraws

In which.. Y/n senses that her relationship is crumbling. What happens when she fails to fix things?

4am. It was 4 o’clock in the morning, Matt still wasn’t home. He left the house almost 7 hours ago. You haven’t received a text, call, nothing. Your home alone, the room was silent. The only thing that could be heard was your cries that were quietly echoing through the walls. You gave him everything, and what did he give you in return? Nothing. 

Everything was great the first few months of your relationship, but everything changed. He doesn’t get excited when he sees you, He no longer texts first; instead, silence fills the void where excitement once blossomed. He doesn't plan dates, He doesn’t get you flowers, He doesn’t randomly tell you about his day, He doesn’t show any effort. It's like he was bored of you. 

You keep checking your phone, hoping for something anything from Matt. Nothing. Radio silence. 

A few minutes later you hear the rustling of keys at the front door. You rush to get up, practically running to the door. Just as you were about to twist the door knob, he opened it. 

His face drops when he sees you, you notice but don’t say anything. 

“Oh.. you're still here?” He says as he's shutting the door behind him, swerving around you to get to his room. “Of course i’m still here, it’s fucking 4am and you haven’t texted me. You were gone for hours, I was worried about you” Your voice quivers, You stand up straight trying not to break down. 

“You don’t have to worry about me, you should’ve called an uber and gone home” He spoke as if all the care that he had left his body. You weren’t having it, This was the last straw. “Where were you? I asked Chris and Nick and they said they didn’t know, you haven’t been answering my calls, and–” You were cut off by Matt’s harsh voice. “It doesn’t matter where I was, it honestly doesn’t concern you.” That sets you off.

“Doesn’t concern me? The fuck you mean it doesn’t concern me? Matt it's 4am. And I'm your girlfriend. I think I have the right to know where you were in the middle of the night.” 

Matt waves you off like you were an annoying fly buzzing around him. “You going home or not cause–” He tries to change the subject. “No. Do not move this conversation around. Matt, I'm tired. It’s like you don’t want me around anymore, It's like I don't matter to you. I just want to know why. Did I do something wrong?” 

A long sigh left his lips, You felt as though you were bothering him, You were a nuisance in his eyes.

After what felt like forever Matt finally spoke “It’s not you, it's just.. I don't know how to explain it and i'm tired can we have this conversation another time i just wanna sleep”

“No. I want an answer now. You don't understand how bad this is hurting me. This isn't fair Matt. I've given you everything. I've been trying so hard and you? You barely even talk to me anymore. This isn’t fair to me.” You can hear him groan at your words. “Fine. You really wanna know?” 

“Please enlighten me.” you spat back.

“I don’t care Y/n. I literally couldn’t give two fucks. You think you’re tired? I'm tired too. Everyday is just another day of you nagging in my ear ‘Matt this, Matt that, Matt Matt Matt’ I’m sick of it. I just want one day of peace without your constant whining and bitching. You piss me off.”

You were dumbfounded. All this time you thought you were being a loving and attentive girlfriend. But in his eyes, you were annoying. You didn’t know what to say to him.

“I’m sorry.. You should’ve told me that you were feeling that way. I would have backed off” You look down at the floor, you're humiliated. 

You can feel him roll his eyes “There you go again. Always fucking guiltripping me.” 

“I'm not–” 

“Whatever it doesn’t matter now, I'm tired of this conversation” You hear him mutter something about going to shower under his breath as he moves around his room to get his pajamas out. You were still at the same spot, eyes still glued to the floor “If you want i can leave if i'm annoying you.” 

“I don’t care, do whatever you want.” without another word Matt left his room and went into his bathroom.

You started packing your stuff, you weren’t gonna stay after that. Even if no one else heard it, you were still embarrassed.

Your Uber came a little while after, You watched as Matt’s house went farther and farther away from you. An unfamiliar feeling rushed through your body. You wanted to claw your skin off, your stomach felt as though it was on fire. You shut your eyes trying to make this feeling go away, but it was no use. 

Your eyes started stinging as tears streamed down your face. You couldn’t help but replay that conversation you had with Matt over and over again in your head. 

All you wanted was him to Love you for free, and you couldn’t even have that.

[simplyghosting]

Well it only took my whole family leaving me home alone for 9hrs for me to get some of my own projects worked on 👍

[hellaverse-critical-confessions]

(from this video)

[orcelito]

It's getting more and more certain that I'm gonna get straight As this semester. For the very first time in my college career. My persuasion class is entirely graded, & I got a 95.88% in it. My data governance class still has the final paper to grade, but we got a 97.33% on the presentation, so the paper probably won't be much lower than that, & my current running grade in that class is a 96.53%, so. We'd have to do Pretty Badly to get that below a 90%, so it's almost a guaranteed A. Then there's my gender communication class, which doesn't have a listing on the homework website (bc my professor in that class is real old-school) BUT I got full points on my final essay exam too, which means the Only thing in that class I got points taken off for was my presentation, which Even Then I still got a pretty good grade. So that one's almost certain to be an A as well.

Which leaves UX design class, which is still missing a grade for the project we turned in back at the start of November 😭😭😭😭😭 but they say they're grading them this week so. Sure, I guess. (Still don't know why they graded the more recent project before that one but Oh Well). Anyways, we've been getting really good grades on all our projects, bc it's a level 100 course and their grading criteria is really easy 😂😂😂. So really good grades on all the projects. Not as good grades on the class participation stuff bc I kept forgetting to do my reflections and the readings, but that's not very many points overall. So unless we do badly on the project that has yet to be graded (unlikely), I'm Proooobably going to get an A in this class too. At worst, a B. But I'm hoping for an A.

It'd just be really cool to have straight As for the first time in college. And then maybe, just maybe, I'll do it all over again next semester too >:]

[neverendingford]

.