#i personally feel like it's somewhere in between

[bialbovi]

I know I don't need a label to live but god do I feel miserable sometimes (paradoxically from the label and the unknown)

I am genuinely happy for my friends and their love but it is such a maze for me and maybe that's how it's supposed to feel

I've confused a friendship with what my ex friend considered "romantic" and I regretted it when I agreed to date, all this was resolved later because I confessed our feelings vary a lot

Thing is I do not feel miserable because I do not have a partner right now, absolutely not, I feel so happy because I get free time for myself and for my friends and other stuff and hobbies

I don't even want to date right now or anytime soon. And I still hang out with my friends and I am satisfied. Socially, I mean. But in the future I would love for it to work out with a future friend

I feel miserable because I am afraid that this label is going to fit way too well and I wish I was wrong. I wish I'll discover that I'm an aromantic who can feel romantic attraction just a little. for just like one person. it's scary because I don't know how it's supposed to feel

maybe I'm just an aromantic asshole who has suuuuuper unrealistic expectations, that could be the case as well

but... when would it ever stop me? I am well aware that we are all imperfect works in progress and I really want to think people are comfortable with me, or well most of them. I try to approach most people I meet, because gods I love meeting people and getting to know them, and if we establish trust we can talk about more complicated stuff and I am like down to. Because I cannot handle smalltalk constantly, we need to throw in some deeper thoughts and- and

I don't know

It just feels funny because out of all people why am I, the one who is (100%, I am so fucking sensitive) very sensitive and emotional and overthinking and overanalyzing and you know. It's funny that I'm the one who just doesn't get romantic attraction and if it happened to me like right now I'd be scared shitless. Because I don't want the chemistry of my brain to decide what I feel randomly. Like I know love from the first sight is most likely an overblown thing but also people somehow get magnetized and they just stick to each other and then just something happens. Maybe I just love everyone??? Maybe my problem is I want to have a relationship somewhere in the future but this someone has to be a friend first, but that's like the bare minimum?? That's how normal people would build a relationship, would they not?? (I mean you can date even if you know each other for a week but hey. trust issues)

It's also funny because I actually love fandom shipping, oh I love pairings so much, I love putting my own characters into relationships and I love it when some pairing clicks with my preferences. but like hell I don't even know what they are feeling and I am probably dooming the romance a little too much but I like poetic shit. I just wish. I experienced a fraction of this. but not right now because I'd be uncomfortable. I want to dissect my brain. We could argue that "Hey Albo you probably write them through the lens of friends with benefits" DING DING DING WRONG. well not entirely because it feels like how I view relationships in general is friends. with benefits. but not entirely but like??? this shit is so complicated. none of my ocs are officially friends with benefits lmao they and my favourits characters have "proper" relationships. Maybe the reason why I like pairings is my creative attempt to tap into something I have not experienced. and ofc these relationships are not perfect but that's what I love about characters and people and------

Maybe that means I am not a lost cause entirely? But like... I understand the deeper connection between people but I have not felt it if it makes sense. I can't come up with a metaphor you get me

But I cannot see myself in a relationship. And I really want to.

And I am well aware that relationships do not have to fit a structure or be stereotypical, it can be anything

But also..thinking about relationships still makes me want to prioritize my autonomy and it feels like a relationship takes so much of your time, and some type of force keeps people together for decades, even living together. "duh Albo that's what you do in a relationship, usually". I know! And I still dedicate time to my friends but it feels like getting into a relationship would be very restricting.... or maybe I am hoping for the only ideal unrealistic option again..... sigh

Even though I could keep living as I do now, for some reason I am afraid my friends are going to eventually prioritize their significant others. we should not go there right now

I just don't want to stay alone forever.

I know there are demisexuals but that's not my case entirely

and yes even though I think I still have the label bisexual somewhere every single time pride month arrives I put the green stripes on my accounts because well it stays consistent for now

and I am in my early 20's oops

what is wrong with me (rhetorical)

Aromantics who want a relationship are Valid

Aromantics who DON'T want a relationship are a Valid

Aromantics who hope to feel romantic attraction are Valid

Aromantics who feel a LITTLE romantic attraction are Valid

Aromantics who are romance repulsed are Valid.

Aromantics that enjoy sex are Valid

Aromantics who "Sleep around" are Valid

Aromantics who want kids are Valid

Aroaces are Valid

Allosexual Aromantics are Valid

Queer Aromantics are Valid

Hetro Aromantics are Valid

AROMANTICS ARE FUCKING VALID

[adore-laur]

Omgg I would love to see different times dadrry gets protective !! Like I can so see him being one of those dads that set boundaries the first time the baby is being introduced to family. He’d be like “no kissing on the face, no taking her away from mom without asking her first and wash your hands before holding her” etc etc. Or him getting defensive when people start to pity him when they find out he’s having a third girl and he gets annoyed and defends his girls 😭😭

Also ofc need to say your dadrry series is the best thing ever I still have tumblr solely to read your writing ☺️☺️

PROTECTOR

——

Pacific loons wailed hauntingly near the shoreline as you sat in the patio's swing chair, listening to the sundry sounds of nature. The oceanic view was a calm presence, one that often lulled you into a hypnotic trance with the endless ebb of waves and the horizon's dying light. Above the railing, brass wind chimes produced a plinking melody in the wind. The atmosphere of home engulfed you like a warm hug.

It was a moment of serenity while Harry went on a grocery run with the girls. He had offered to take the after work, and it was sweet of him to give you time to decompress after parenting alone all day. Plus, it got them out of the house. You would usually be able to take them somewhere for fresh air and fun sights to see, but pregnancy fatigue prevented any hopes of traveling past the front door.

A month had elapsed since you surprised Harry with the news of a third baby. Two weeks since you both had found out it was a girl. In that time, life had coasted by blissfully between the routine of working part-time, daycare drop-off and pick-up, and bonding with your little family over the weekend.

As much as you cherished the hustle and bustle, it was necessary to prioritize personal time. Sometimes it came in the form of sinking into a hot bath, venturing to the beach with a novel, or catching up on much-needed sleep. Today, it consisted of feeling the breeze pass through your hair and appreciating the beauty of southern California.

It would be easy to fall asleep out here. The crashing waves, birdsong, and rustling trees were a lullaby. But you knew the moment you closed your eyes, you would miss the last streaks of the sunset, with its delicate wisps and golden clouds. So you shifted slightly to wake your limbs that were becoming jelly-like, and as you did, the blanket previously draped across your collarbones pooled into your lap. You stared down at it, smiling. The bedroom's storage ottoman held approximately a dozen different blankets, all with some sort of sentimental value attached to them. The crocheted quilt your first daughter had come home from the hospital with; the heated one with Mom embroidered on it; the oversized fleece one Harry liked to specifically use for cuddling either you or his girls.

The one you had chosen for your peaceful patio time was a ragged, faded patchwork quilt that Harry had kept (possibly stole) from the walk-up apartment you lived in together nearly eight years ago. It had watched your love for him grow beyond your wildest dreams. Had seen moments of rib-aching laughter, frustrated tears, pain and passion, and a commitment that would always withstand rough waters. Neither of you had wanted to part with that blanket, so now it stayed in a special place in the home that had once been a far-fetched fantasy.

As your fingers plucked loose threads from the fabric, you felt your phone vibrate with an incoming call. It was hidden somewhere under the thick blanket, and after a moment of searching, you picked it up and looked at the screen. It was Harry, made evident by his contact photo—a family picture on the Temescal Canyon Trail, your youngest strapped to your chest in a carrier and Harry carrying your oldest on his shoulders. A generous elderly couple had offered to take it, with the stunning backdrop of the expansive coastline. You especially loved the picture because it showed off Harry's legs in his athletic shorts, all long and tanned.

"Hey," you answered, assuming he was calling from the grocery store. He often did with ideas for meals or questions about kiddie snacks. Sometimes he'd ask what desserts you were craving, and then he'd spoil you by bringing home more than you could even fathom eating.

"Hi, baby," he said, sounding winded. "Can you unlock the door for me? Both girls are out like a light in my arms."

"Oh!" you said, not expecting him back so soon. Nature's hypnosis made you lose track of time. "Okay, I'll be right there."

"Thank you. I'd hang up, but my phone is balancing rather precariously on my shoulder."

You laughed and hung up for him, then untangled yourself from the cozy confines of the swing chair before heading inside. You were careful to hop over the dolls and picture books and blocks scattered across the living room carpet.

When you reached the front door and opened it slowly, your heart melted. Harry stood there holding one daughter on each hip, their little bodies slumped against him as they slept. You could tell your youngest was in a deep sleep. Your eldest, though, was definitely pretending so she could be carried inside like a princess. The sunset's pink light peeked into the garage and softened Harry's handsome features ethereally. Who else could look this good after grocery shopping?

"We're home," he whispered, and those two simple words filled your heart with an unspeakable amount of happiness.

"I'll help put stuff away," you replied quietly, taking his phone to relieve him from his uncomfortable position. "You go tuck the girls in." It was nearing their bedtime anyway, so better to take advantage of a smooth transition.

Harry smiled with that attentive look on his face, then bent to tenderly kiss the sweet spot on your neck. "You're glowing," he murmured in your ear, then walked past you, leaving your cheeks flushing like a besotted teenager.

Once the groceries were put away and the kids were down for the night, you and Harry went to relax in the bedroom. The sky was now devoid of color with stars twinkling faintly, and the full moon spilled its light through the bay window.

You were already in your pajamas, collapsing onto the comforter, when Harry asked, "How was your day?" He shut the closet light off, dressed in just a T-shirt and black boxers. There were those legs again, the lean muscles a feast for your eyes.

"Mellow," you said. "We stayed inside mostly. Morning sickness has been kicking my ass."

"Good thing you didn't have to work today."

You nodded. That was the nice part about working part-time and partially from home—it allowed for the freedom to be with the kids more often. You didn't mind taking them to daycare, especially since it was imperative for socialization, but it lessened your anxiety when you had them under your supervision. It was a suitable balance.

"Did everyone behave at the store?" you asked, sliding your socks off under the sheets.

"Yeah. No tantrums." Harry raised his eyebrows proudly, and you both shared an air-five. "They seemed knackered. Slept all the way home."

"I tried my best to tire them out."

"Well, you succeeded," he said appreciatively, then joined you in bed, stretching his limbs. You were so thankful for his diligence. To work ten hours and then parent to take some responsibility off your plate was admired more than you could ever put into words.

Harry reached his hand over to the nightstand to resume the book he'd been engrossed in recently but paused and turned to you instead. "Can I gossip with you?" he asked.

You quirked your brows. "What happened?"

He breathed deeply and stared into the distance. "So, I was in the cereal aisle, right?"

You laughed while cuddling up to him. "This is juicy so far."

"It's not even gossip, really," he said. "Just something that irked me."

"Please continue."

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and painted a picture of the scene. "I had the girls sitting in the shopping cart, and an old lady nearby started fawning over them. Which is fine, because they're adorable. Anyway, she started asking a bunch of questions. How old they are, what their personalities are like. Somehow I accidentally let it slip that we have a third one on the way, and I know we're telling our families next week, but I got caught up in the conversation and—"

"You're so bad at keeping secrets," you interrupted with a good-natured groan.

Harry kissed your forehead apologetically. "The worst. So, the lady had the audacity to act all surprised that I was going to be a father of three girls. Gave me a face like she pitied me. And then guess what she said..."

"I assume something mildly offensive," you replied.

"She goes, 'I bet you were hoping for a boy. To bring some balance to your home.'"

You scoffed and said, "More like chaos. What did she even mean by that?"

He shook his head, equally puzzled. "I don't know, but I just said, 'I'm very happy with my life,' then grabbed a box of Cocoa Puffs and went on with my day."

You frowned. "Why do some people think having daughters is such a burden?" It was mind-boggling. They had taught you so much and would continue to as they grew and spread their wings. It was your purpose to shape them into resilient, kind, and empathetic women. What a beautiful honor anyone would be lucky to experience.

"I'll never understand," Harry mused, locking eyes with you. "It's the most..." He trailed off with an emotional smile, and you stroked his cheek, letting him take his time. It wasn't often you or he could speak so rawly about the life you'd created together. "It's just the best feeling imaginable, you know? I can't describe it. All I know is that I wouldn't want it any other way."

You softly kissed him, feeling the sincerity of his words in the way he gracefully slipped his tongue past yours. With your palm still cradling his cheek, you halted his kisses using your thumb to say, "You're this family's heartbeat."

His lustful green eyes opened, his pupils dilating as if absorbing your admission. "If I'm the heartbeat, then you're the lungs."

"Sweet-talker," you teased.

"You started this love fest."

After a stretch of comfortable silence, Harry settled his hand on your small bump, a warm and knowing touch. "Please don't think I'm waiting on a son," he said.

You snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. I know more than anyone else how much you wanted daughters. You told me during our first date."

"I did?"

"We talked each other's ears off that night about our futures. The universe must have been listening." The conversation was burned into your brain. In that dim oceanside restaurant, you had known he was a keeper.

"Yeah," Harry whispered, kissing all over your stomach, leaving no skin unmarked by his gentle lips. He then rested his head in your lap. "I can't wait to meet her."

You hummed. "Have you ever thought about what she'll be like?"

"A combination of all four of us."

A ghost of a smile spread on your lips. "We're going to have our hands full then."

"I'm ready."

"I know you are," you said while playing with his hair. "That's why I chose you."

He was a protector, down to the fibers of his being. You didn't have to be in the room for him to remind the world of his devotion to being your husband. To being a father. He laid it all bare, and you could only hope that it would be passed down to your daughters like an heirloom blanket.

——

[girl-lostconnection]

Acceleration AU (part 1)

Part 2

Warnings: plus size!fem!Reader, hints of pressure therapy, insecurities, swearing, Reader has abusive mom, mentions of abuse, Reader and Simon won’t talk to save their lives, only mention of Soap in this chapter

It’s supposed to be just another Christmas when everything changes.

You are not the biggest fan of changes, they rarely bring you (or Simon for that matter) something to be really happy about.

Therapist tells you it’s a defence mechanism, your need to feel that everything is the same otherwise it’s unpredictable, it’s out of your control and you don’t know what’s going to happen.

You don’t like not knowing things.

Makes you antsy, makes anxiety coil in your belly like rose bush, just growing and growing until thorns have no other place to dig in but your insides.

Simon doesn’t judge you for that, not when he has a slight (though how much is slight in terms of mental health) paranoia, possessive streak and need to oversee every bloody process or he starts vibrating with tension.

Simon grows up to be a bloody behemoth of a man — huge, broad and heavy. Bicep the size of your head. Midriff too thick to wrap both hands around it.

You shoot up in couple sizes as well, still broad shouldered, hips wider, thighs thicker, palms smaller than Simon’s but pack the same heavy smack he has.

Comes with the territory, in a way.

Can’t be defenceless in a city like Manchester when nightlife is never kind to a girl and strangers are all too eager to take advantage of a lonely bird on her way home.

Simon rumbles that you are “bloody perfect”, dropping his blond head in your lap on a usual movie night or laying on top of you without the fear of crushing under his weight.

Your hands around him comforting presence — softer underside of biceps cushioning against his shoulder blades.

“Bloody bliss. ‘m snug like a bug in a rug”, he mumbles, eyes closed and whole body limp — melting into yours, soaking up all the warmth and affection you so freely give.

“Am I a rug?”, you chuckle, eyes half lidded and soft, knuckles rubbing the tender point between his shoulder blades. Scratching him like he’s a big dog.

Simon reminds you of classical breeds of guard dogs people in rural areas use to protect their livestock and homes. Great Pyrenees, you think they are called.

Big, heavy, entirely unbothered by anything but the task at hand and very much blond — hair curling from moisture in the air and hot mist of the shower.

“You’r a blessing, luv”, Simon finally hums out, half way asleep, nose nudging your jaw up so he can properly nuzzle in your neck, your scent comforting him in a way he’s not sure he can explain. “ ‘m gonna sleep. Too tired. You’r okay?”

You hum, palm splaying over his back, just pressing it there so he can feel it, warm presence of it tearing out a satisfied “mm” from Simon.

It’s a routine at this point, something something regulation for him and you. You swap on regular basis, because sometimes you just need to be close to him and he needs someone’s weight to press him in the couch, enveloping him.

Not easy to be Simon’s personal blanket or a big spoon but you proud yourself on doing a pretty good job. The best one if you are to believe Simon himself.

You hum in return to his sound, your own hum soothing a scratching beast inside of Ghost’s head, mutt finally laying it’s big head on front paws and closing it’s eyes. Sometimes Simon wonders how’s so you are able to do just that.

When he can’t.

Maybe that’s what changed somewhere along the way. Maybe he just doesn’t need you as much anymore.

A traitorous childish part of you sometimes thinks that a lot of things were easier when you two were kids.

Both you and Simon — wide-eyed and yet unscarred, biggest scrapes on your bodies from face planting on the pavement after wearing sandals on the wrong legs.

It’s part you never share with Simon because it isn’t fair. Because the older you became the worse things at home were. The screaming, the pain, the bruises and tears. It was bad.

For Simon at times much worse than for you.

At least your mom was careful enough not to leave scars

You can’t miss something that signified hurt and helplessness for him, just because it was easier back then.

You can’t but part of you does.

You were inseparable once, teachers always knew that wherever one of you is they’d find another one.

Joined at the hip, glued to each other’s side, sharing silences and lunches and books and first kisses and secrets.

Time that now feels like honeyed berry of a memory — sugary sweet and popping with colour under your eyelids.

When did it change?

You know that it’s natural for people to grow up and part ways but you and Simon were always together. At home, at school, on weekends and holidays.

You left together after graduation, working odd jobs to pay for a tiny apartment with only one bed but really nice bathroom.

Simon shrugs and plops himself on the mattress saying that it’s not gonna be the first time you’ll be sleeping together. Why waste money you don’t have on a thing you don’t really need?

Simon says that if it gets too uncomfortable you’ll save up and by a second one, though it is very unclear where would you even put it. But it’s not uncomfortable and it becomes a new norm for you.

You were always together, intertwined tighter than any friends, closer than family, more long lasting than any relationships.

At times it felt like you two outgrew categories, but then you’d meet people and whilst introducing each other would need to choke out “my friend”.

How do you even tell people that this man is more than friend and more than boyfriend ever been for you?

How do you convey that Simon is family in the same way life long partners are?

How do you explain that Simon is the moon of your skies, that his presence and dark eyes and soft blond lashes and wild crooked grins have effect on you that no one else really has?

You never discussed your relationship, perhaps there simply was no need at the time. Both of you content to be the only permanent people in each other’s lives — the strongest connection. Each other’s priority.

Up until this Christmas.

Up until you get the cryptic “do you wanna celebrate not at home this year?” that makes your brows furrow.

It’s 2 weeks before holidays are going to start, you are wearing Simon’s black sweater and jeans, puff jacket hooked on the crook of your elbow, pressed to your side.

Which now feels like it wasn’t the idea because it’s too hot, the mall is crowded and it’s warm in a way December in Manchester never is supposed to be.

You blame it on people and global warming, while manoeuvring your way to the food court, buying yourself whatever cold soda they have because fucking hell, why is it so hot in here.

Your bags are getting plopped on the seat right next to yours when you stretch out your legs, thick winter boots feeling heavier than usually.

What can he mean by that? You two always celebrated Christmases and a birthdays at home. Together.

This way it was less people, less potential triggers and grounds for overstimulation for both of you.

God knows you can’t handle screaming, crowds making you nervous and too hot and Simon coils into tight wound spring when he hears balloons pop or feels people graze against him.

A quick noncommittal “why” is all Simon gets in return.

Just so you receive back “been invited to Glasgow to celebrate. Think you can make it?” and oh wow, someone’s making friends out there.

Simon doesn’t give you any additional information and doesn’t provide any further context probably deciding that there’s nothing more you need to know.

You take a deep breath, staring down the message, fingers drumming against tabletop — sharp tap-tap-tap doing nothing to soothe your climbing agitation.

Why all of a sudden he wants to celebrate it someplace else when you two already have perfectly decorated apartment?

Jesus Christ, you are out here gift shopping!

It takes you entirely three long minutes of typing and deleting the message before you finally send “don’t think I can. But u have fun”.

Your phone pings with a new incoming message so quickly it almost feels like Simon is sitting on the other end, staring down your chat with him, waiting for a response.

“Are u sure, luv? Soap says it will be fun. His family will be there. They are nice”

Fuck no. You don’t do family gatherings. Especially not with strangers and from what you thought you knew — neither does Simon. Too many people that try to touch you, too many sounds, just too warm.

But your eyes zero on the “Soap” and you feel something ugly inside of you raising its head, crack of its vertebras feeling like uncoiling blizzard inside of you.

Who is “Soap” and why is he standing between your usual Christmas plans with Simon?

You force your anger down so hard it almost makes you wince, molars aching from how tight your jaws are.

It’s fine. It’s nothing. Simon doesn’t owe you anything, you aren’t a couple after all. Not like you spent the last shit ton of Christmases together.

Not like it was important for you to have it done with him of all people.

So you type out short “absolutely. Yk I don’t like crowds. Have fun out there and pass Soap “merry Christmas” from me” which is much longer and much more cordial than you expected from yourself in the heat of a moment.

Especially when the most prominent thought was “tell Soap to go fuck himself and come home, you big bastard, I spent three hours in the bloody mall”.

Good job, now you can get going. After all, there is shopping to be done and Christmas menu to be redone.

If Simon is not coming you are gonna gorge yourself on ginger cookies and have fun.

You are a big girl, you don’t need Simon Riley and his stupid blond lashes.

You don’t need anyone.

[pelova4president]

My treat I

sugarmommies!Ingrid x Frido x sugarbaby!Reader

summary~ you get caught staring for the second time and two of the most beautiful women take an interest in you. this is just the beginning, so there’s not much tension yet. not proof read.

As an intern you were supposed to feel a bit out of place, like you aren’t really supposed to be there. Like you’re invincible.

Invincible, it’s the perfect word to describe how you felt. You found yourself in a room full of journalists and professional athletes. You weren’t a professional athlete nor a real journalist, at least not yet.

The room was bright. The lights were fixated on the footballers walking through the door. There were voices coming from all directions of the room. Question were asked and answered. Player after player came walking through that door until the last one arrived.

Engen, that’s what the interviewer from DAZN called her. She caught your eye. Her long black hair was pulled back into a ponytail. The effort she had put into the game was seen in little droplets of sweat across her face.

The woman answered the question quick and confident. She answered the questions in almost fluent Spanish, it made you wonder where she learned the language. The interviewer thanked her and Engen gave her a nod before she looked over the interviewer’s shoulder, at you.

She had caught you staring. Well, it was kind of your job to do that but for some reason you really did felt caught by her. Engen didn’t give you much of a reaction, only a tiny smirk appeared.

Weeks later, back in Manchester you she caught you staring again.

Done for the day you let your friends convince you to go out to a bar. It had been a long day, writing whatever came to mind in the hopes it was good enough for your assignment. You really needed to get drunk and forget about whatever you had to do the next day.

The bar was dimly lit, something you would’ve found unsettling if you weren’t already four shots down. There was a soft jazz playlist on in the background as your heels hit the wooden floor. Your friend walked you to the bar where you ordered a porn star martini.

As you sat on one of the creaking barstools you looked around. In the booth left to you sat a couple that was clearly in the honeymoon phase. Next to them sat group of men, laughing at some sexist joke.

The bartender placed your martini down when she caught your eye again. But Engen wasn’t alone. There was a blonde next to her and even with the horrible lighting you could see her eyes sparkle.

The dark haired woman had a black dress on and the blonde a dark grey suit. They were gorgeous.

You looked away as quickly as you could but the damage was already done. You sipped nervously on your drink in the hopes she wouldn’t recognise you.

But your prayers weren’t heard. You felt someone tap you on your shoulder. You closed your eyes and when you didn’t turn the person spoke. “I know you saw us, Ingrid recognised you.”

You turned your head slowly, showing a shy smile. “You’re pretty cute, come sit with us.” the blonde ordered more than offered you.

You got up from your seat and followed the woman to her booth. She let you get seated first, next to Ingrid, in the middle. You felt like you were trapped between the two women.

“I knew i recognised you from somewhere. You are the staring girl from that DAZN interview right?” Ingrid asked you. You looked down at your drink and nodded.

Frido and Ingrid looked at eachother and Ingrid spoke up again. “Frido here thinks you’re very pretty.”

The blonde scoffed at that. “Like you weren’t talking about her for the last few weeks. I was just interested to see her in the flesh. And yeah, i’ll have to agree with you, she really is as beautiful as you said.”

You looked at Frido and she gave you a warm smile. “Thanks” you told her.

“So tell us about yourself, your work, your boyfriend maybe?” Ingrid asked you.

“No boyfriend, or girlfriend and uhm i’m an intern at the moment.” you told them. They seemed to exchange a smile at that.

You asked them about their interest and lives. You got to know they both play for Barcelona and were born in Norway and Sweden. Frido placed her arm around your shoulders as you took the last sip of your drink.

The footballers wanted to know more about you, so you told them more. They were practically strangers, but hot strangers that showed interest so that doesn’t count anyway.

It was 1:30 am when you told them you should probably start to get home. Frido hummed at that. “Yeah, we should too.”

Ingrid walked to the front with you as Frido paid for the drinks. “I really enjoyed tonight, maybe we could do it again some other time?” she asked you.

Ingrid’s eyes looked into yours as she stood infront of you “I really enjoyed tonight too. Maybe we could yeah.” you told her.

“You’re really pretty, even with that shitty lightning i could see how beautiful you are.” she told you.

You couldn’t help but smile as the leaned in. The kiss was soft and genuine, just like her words.

It wasn’t until you heard the door shut that you broke the kiss off. “So you gave Engen the first kiss?” Frido spoke.

You really didn’t know what they had, if they did have anything going on at all. This dynamic was beyond confusing for you.

“Oh come on, if you had the chance you wouldn’t wait either.” the Norwegian defended herself.

“Hmm, it would only be fair if i would get one too huh?” she smirked at you. The blonde placed her hand under your chin and kissed you just as genuine. Frido was passionate and controlling the kiss.

When your uber arrived they gave you their phone numbers and told you to text them when you got home. You placed a kiss to both of their cheeks as you thanked them for the night.

You opened the door to your shared apartment, it was dark inside. Your roommates were most likely asleep or staying at their partners place.

Everybody knows that living as a intern is hard. You put all your effort into your work and don’t even get a moment of appreciation. Your salary was low but you already knew that when you signed the contract. But even though it was hard, you really enjoyed the work you did and the people you worked with.

As you got into bed you typed something to the two women. ‘hi, this is the staring girl-‘ no that’s cringe. ‘hey, this is me from tonight-‘ no too weird. ‘hi, i’m home. I really enjoyed tonight :)’ that’ll do.

‘thank you for texting, we loved it too. especially the end ;)’ -frido

‘we only have a few days left in manchester, so maybe we can cook you something on tuesday?’ -ingrid

‘yeah, that sounds really nice. I’d like that.’

A.N. i’ll need some ideas/prompts/hc’s for the next chapter so send them in because i need motivation

[holdmytesseract]

One Night or Forever?

Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Summary: When one thing leads to another, you and Daryl spend a passionate night together at the CDC. Unfortunately, neither of you is interpreting the signals right afterwards...

Warnings: 18+! MDNI! smut (not entirely graphic, but it's definitely there - like, you know exactly what's going on), uhhh sub and dom Daryl? unprotected rough-ish sex? Daryl gets a bj (yes, you read that right), he's a bit mean, too - but also a cutie patootie, uhh slight angst? bit of drama, alcohol - drunk-ish Daryl and tipsy reader, fluff, swear words, bickering

Set in Season 1!

Word Count: 4,5k

a/n: You want it, you got it, friends. I don't know what this is, though - or which demons possessed me as I wrote it. I really don't. I also don't know how I should feel about it. Embarrassed? Proud? Send help, lol.

Anyways, I hope you like this! Please go easy on me. Smut isn't really my forte...

EoH Masterlist °☆• LITRM Masterlist °☆• Daryl Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

"Booyah!"

Daryl's toast had been the starting shot for an evening full of conversation, fun, laughter - and alcohol. Some would say reams of alcohol. Wine, booze, beer - you and the group stopped at nothing. That was probably the reason why everyone staggered somewhere on a scale between tipsy and shit faced drunk at the end of the evening.

You were currently on your way to your personal room - something you'd describe as a luxury. Sure, back at the quarry you had your own tent, but there was a huge difference between that and a whole goddamn room. With a own freaking shower! It was crazy. Who would've thought that something so plain and simple would become such a valued, precious thing? Most likely nobody, because it was something taken for granted.

Well... Not anymore. Not since the world went to shit.

After passing a very drunk Glenn on the way, you more or less stumbled into your room. Tipsy... You were definitely tipsy. Without a single care in the world, you started to shed your clothes the moment the door shut close behind you. All you wanted to do was sleep. You had too much alcohol coursing through your veins to search for something you could use as a pyjama. You hadn't a problem with sleeping naked. Not tonight.

Unfortunately had your plan a catch... One that you weren't aware of yet.

This wasn't your room.

You were just about to free your body of the last piece of fabric you were wearing - a pair of admittedly beautiful dark blue lace panties, when a sudden voice managed to almost send you into cardiac arrest.

"Wha' the fuck 'r ya doin' in my room?!"

You startled so bad, that you almost lost balance and fell flat on your ass. Your balance was a bit off-track anyways, due to the wine...

With wide eyes you turned around to face the intruder.

"Daryl?"

You blinked. "What are you doing here?" He scoffed; his cheeks puffed out and reddened. He had been drinking way more than you did, and it showed. The archer's hands were fumbling clumsily with the fly of his jeans. "Jus' been taken a damn piss, 'n 'm comin' back to find ya standin' in my room." You crossed your arms over your bare - an information which hadn't reached Daryl's brain yet - chest. "This is clearly my room, Dixon." He scoffed again. "'S not!" "Yes, it is!" "'S not!" The man took a few wobbly steps closer. "Go bullshit someone else, I-" He stopped abruptly in the middle of his sentence; eyes widening to the size of plates. Now the information had been received and processed.

"Yer almost naked," he stated; bluntly staring.

Oh, you suddenly realised and remembered as well. He was right.

In any other situation, you'd have frantically tried to cover yourself up and perhaps even threw an insult at the man standing across from you, but the alcohol lowered your boundary of shame and loosened you up; making you see things more relaxed.

You huffed out a breath. "Yeah, no shit, Sherlock." Daryl still blinked and tried very hard to not let his eyes drop, but that was an almost impossible task for the alcoholized man. "Why?" You shrugged your shoulders. "'Cause I wanted to go to sleep." The archer swallowed hard. "In my room? Naked? Ya lost yer damn mind, woman?" "It's my room," your tipsy self was still profoundly convinced, while you made your way over to the bed on slightly wobbly legs. Daryl just watched you; flabbergasted, speechless, shocked - and incredibly turned on. After all, he had a damn pretty woman in his room - no, bed. Half naked!

"You could join me, Dixon." He scoffed again and tried to walk in a straight line over to the armchair; accepting his fate. "In yer damn dreams. 'S ain't gonna help me - or my hard-on." You giggled at his words like a schoolgirl and rolled around in the sheets. "That the reason why you can't get that zipper up? You like me, Daryl? Like what you see?" You pestered him with questions; smirking, and watched his cheeks redden even more - if that was physically possible and your eyes didn't betray you. "Shuddup," Daryl just growled in response. You giggled again, before a long beat of silence passed between the both of you.

The alcohol didn't just lower your boundary of shame... It also caused you to become bolder. "I could help you with that, you know..." You tried to sound as flirty and seductive as possible and turned in the sheets once more, but now to face the man sitting across from the bed. You perched yourself onto your stomach and crossed your ankles in the air; swaying your legs.

Gods, you felt like a teenager again. Damn the alcohol and your crush on the archer. It was a dangerous combination, since you hadn't planned to actually act on said crush. Well, and here you were now in his - nu.uh, your - bed, almost naked and trying to seduce him.

Some might say this escalated quickly...

"Help me with wha'?" The archer finally responded after a long moment; dumbfounded. His usually very smart and witty brain slowed down by the alcohol. You thought for a hot minute that he had already fallen asleep on you. You rolled your eyes and groaned - acting like Daryl just said the stupidest thing in the world. "Your boner," you deadpanned - as if it was the most normal thing to say.

The archer swallowed hard; feeling his chest (and pants) tightening.

"Wha'?" He crooked out. The normally so talkative, glibly redneck seemingly rendered speechless by your boldness.

Once again, you rolled your eyes. "Do you reaaaaally want me to spell it out for you, D?" Daryl clearly needed a moment to recover, but once he did, he scoffed.

"Pf, yer bluffin'."

"I'm not."

"Yeah, ya 'r."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, ya 'r. Can tell. Yer way to innocent fer shit like tha', sunshine."

"Are you challenging me, Dixon?"

"Nah, jus' statin' facts."

Now you were the one who scoffed. He really asked for it, didn't he? You smirked and hid your face in the blanket beneath you. Oh, you were so going to prove him wrong.

You rolled your barely covered body around a third time, but this time to get up from the bed - which was a much more difficult task than expected, but you made it in the end - even though not gracefully and certainly not seductively. "Facts, huh?" You asked the crossbow-wielding archer then with a raised eyebrow and your hands on your hips. He crossed his arms over his plaid beige-brown shirt clad chest; bare forearms and biceps bulging with the movement. "Yes, facts." Although he stared into your eyes with his blue coloured irises, he still had a hard time for them to actually stay on your face.

"Well, you can go screw your opinions - or me. Your choice, pretty boy," you stated and shrugged your shoulders as you bridged the short distance between the bed and the armchair. Before the younger Dixon could even do as much as open his mouth for a snarky respond, you had dropped to your knees in front of him - between his manspread legs.

Daryl's eyes widened and his jaw slacked. "Wha' 'r ya doin'?!" He literally screeched and gripped the armrests of the armchair. "Proofing you wrong, pretty boy." You smiled up at him like a Cheshire cat; hands and fingers clumsily trying to open his jeans. "F-Fuckin' hell, wha'?! Yer insane, woman!" The archer cursed above you, but also didn't make any moves to stop you. So, you took that as a sign to continue. And continuing you did...

It took you a hot minute to get your eye-hand coordination straight and overcome the obstacles which were his jeans and boxers, but once you did, there was no holding back. "Ya really gonna do th- F-Fuck..."

You did.

"Told you, Dixon," you stated with a mischievous glimmer in your eyes; hands firmly cupping him. Daryl answered nothing. The archer had a hard time to control his breathing and rapidly beating heart. He was still gripping the armrests like a vice - his knuckles already turning white. He really couldn't believe this was happening right now. Was he asleep and dreaming? Was he hallucinating? Did the wine manage to fog up his brain so much that his eyes were deceiving him? But when he felt your lips wrap around him, he instantly threw all those thoughts overboard again. This was real. It had to be real. After all, he was feeling it, right?

"F-Fuckin' hell," he cursed again; feeling waves of pleasure crash over him. One of his hands loosened its grip on the armrest and went in your hair instead - tying your loose hair into a makeshift ponytail. You were already too far gone to care; the taste of him addictive.

Working your magic, you tried to grant the man above you as much pleasure as possible - and it seemed to work. Within a few minutes, Daryl was a whimpering mess - a side you'd never thought you were ever going to see of him. Not in your wildest dreams.

"Ain't... Ain't g-gonna last," the archer panted breathlessly; the hand in your hair twitching. You didn't want him to. You wanted him to fall apart. A gentle squeeze of your hand was all it took. "Y-Y/N, damnit, 'm gon'- Gonna cu-" His sentence got interrupted by a low moan that paved its way to the forefront of his lips. The hand in your hair twitched again as he attempted to pull you off him. You didn't let him, though, and easily dodged his lousy attempt. Instead, you helped him ride the wave. His thighs twitched; muscles tensing as his high crashed into him. Daryl felt like he had been hit by an eighteen-wheeler - but in the best way possible. It had been so long...

The gentle grip he had of your hair slackened; hand falling limply to his side. You lifted your head to look at him to witness his blissed-out state. Daryl's eyes were closed, and his breathing laboured. You smiled; hands gently caressing his clothed thighs. "You believe me now, D?" He gave you a mere nod. Clearly he needed another few moments to get his head straight again. Your smile never ceased as you kept up your fingers movements. Your knees protested by now, but you didn't care.

Another few moments passed, before the archer peeled his eyes open again. Seeing you still on your knees for him managed to send another shockwave of arousal throughout his entire body.

Wide-blown eyes stared at you intensely; the gears turning in his fogged up head.

"T-Thanks, I guess," he whispered then. His voice was still hoarse. You smiled up at him. "You're welcome, pretty boy. Said I'm gonna help you." Daryl nodded almost shyly and clumsily stuffed himself back inside his boxers. You eyed him thoroughly and started to giggle. "Didn't think you'd loose it so fast. Wouldn't have pecked you to be a... premature guy." Not that it mattered to you, but you couldn't help yourself but to tease him a bit. It was meant to be a playful comment, but you seemed to hit a sore spot...

You could practically see how his eyes darkened, before he narrowed them. "Whatcha say, huh?" He asked in a gruff voice and stood up; towering over you. You blinked - were a bit taken aback by the sudden shift in his demeanour. "I-I, uh... Said I didn't think you'd be one t-to, uh, come too early..." The archer growled under his breath. "Ya better watch yer mouth, sunshine," he said in a threatening tone and grabbed your arms to pull you up on your feet. Daryl quickly noticed, though, that his legs were even more wobbly now that they've already been before; forcing him to take cautious steps. "What are we doing, pretty boy? You gonna make me pay for saying that?" You gave another sassy remark; provoking him and tickling his nerve ends even further. A grunt passed his chapped lips as he dragged you with him. Once close to the bed, he wrapped his arms firmly around your bare midsection and literally threw you onto the bed - wobbly legs be damned. You giggled at his eagerness and slid upwards to rest your head on one of the pillows; giving the man a confident look. "C'mon then, pretty boy, show me what you got. I know you want to." He scoffed and crawled on the bed. "Pretty boy my ass." You just giggled again. You felt intoxicated by the wine you had consumed and definitely aroused - which got only worse when you felt calloused, deft hands gripping your delicate skin. Daryl parted your legs and settled on his knees between them. His eyes were directed on your face. He looked like a predator - ready to attack his prey. It was incredibly hot.

"'M gonna shut tha' sassy mouth 'a yers, just ya wait," he growled in a deep voice, and wrapped his arms and hands around your thighs like a snake - holding them firmly and simultaneously keeping you splayed open for him, before he literally yanked you down; bringing your hips closer to his.

Your breath hitched in your throat at his sudden movement and the upcoming anticipation.

His fingertips danced over the skin on your hips then - and suddenly got your dark blue lace panties ripped into shreds.

"Daryl!" You shrieked, then gasped. "Those were my favourites, I-" "'S jus' a damn piece 'a fabric. Dun be such a crybaby," he interrupted you; instantly putting you in your place. Your mouth clapped shut. This was yet another new side of him. Sure, you knew he was hotheaded, but he literally just went from kinda submissive to dominant within the blink of an eye. Was it the alcohol? Or truly his temper?

The clinking of his belt ripped you out of your thoughts. Some shuffling and the rustling of fabric was the only premonition you got, before you felt him against your hot and pulsating center. Your hips instantly bucked; trying to get closer.

More friction.

More pleasure.

More of Daryl.

The archer hovering above you scoffed. "Look how needy ya are. Dun even hafta prepare ya." You could see the corners of his mouth twitching into a small smirk. "Tis all jus' from gettin' me off, huh?" You nodded and bit your lip. Daryl on the contrary shook his head, "Yer tha' desperate? Pf... Pathetic." and lined himself up, before hitting home.

Stars exploded in front of your eyes as his hips met yours. The most sinful moan the archer had ever heard in his life slipped past your lips; only spurring him on more. He picked up a firm, steady pace - leaving you a mess beneath him barely within a few minutes. Just what you did to him.

Revenge was sweet, wasn't it?

His precise, powerful thrusts carried you from one high to the next - and Daryl enjoyed it. He loved to see you fall apart beneath him. And this time, he was the one lasting longer. "Who's commin' too soon now, huh? 'S not me, sunshine. Told ya I'd shut tha' sassy mouth 'a yers," he growled lowly; slowing his pace to just give you a few moments of recovery. You moaned at the sheer endless pleasure he granted you. Your hands gripped his thick arms like a vice after he had planted both palms firmly in the mattress beside your head to gain more leverage. "F-Fuck, Daryl," you whimpered; fingernails digging into his sweaty biceps. "I know. Jus' one more, 'kay? Can ya give me one more?" You nodded wordlessly. "Good girl," the archer praised and picked up his speed once again; pulling another sweet moan alongside some incoherent noises from you.

Your hands travelled. They left his arms to rest on his chest, where they fisted the fabric of his plaid shirt with the ripped off sleeves. The fabric held a darkened stain - a puddle of sweat formed on his chest.

Your hands continued to fist his shirt, as you pulled - an attempt to undo a few buttons. But once the archer noticed what your mission was, he stopped dead in his movements. "Nah, dun do tha'," he scolded you instantly and peeled your hands away from the fabric covering his upper body. "W-Why?" You asked breathlessly; not understanding his sudden mood shift. "'"Cause I told ya to!" He snapped.

Just in that moment, you realised that you must've hit another sore spot... But this time one that actually seemed to get to him. Not one that managed to turn him on.

"S-Sorry, D-Daryl, I-" You immediately apologised, but got interrupted once more. "Keep holdin' on ta my arms, if yer need sum'thin' to hold on to." His voice was gruff, but way more soft than a few moments ago. The archer redirected your hands and placed them once more around his sweaty biceps. Without another word, he continued where he left off, causing your grip to instantly tighten. "There ya go," he praised you again and readjusted your legs with his thighs. Just the slight change of angle was enough to send you a third time over the edge. This time, though, you dragged him right with you.

A broken sound - close to a cry, left the man's lips as he pulled out and coated the supple skin of your stomach with his release. A single droplet of sweat rolled down his neck as he threw his head back in ecstasy. It was a sight to behold. A sight you might never forget for the rest of your life - no matter how long your life was going to be.

A few moments later collapsed Daryl on the mattress beside you. He was clearly spent. Perhaps this had been something you both needed. Who knew?

"Imma take a shower," the archer announced after a while and left the bed - but not before gentleman-like wiping the mess he made on your stomach away with his hand. Without another word, he left, while you just laid there - still naked and staring at the ceiling; recalling in your mind what just happened. The sex managed to sober you up a bit. Did that really just happen? Had you been dreaming this?

You heard the water run, but not how Daryl returned to the room and settled down for the night in the armchair. You had ventured off to dreamland at some point.

To say the next morning was awkward was an absolute understatement. Awkward was not even remotely enough to describe the vibe between the both of you.

When you woke up again, the archer was nowhere to be seen. Now sober, you left the bed, picked up your clothes, noticed that you truly were - in fact in his room, and tiptoed butt naked down the hallway into your room. Luckily nobody had seen you. That would've been scandalous, right?

Your luck was also that everybody was quite hungover from last night. Some more, some less. Therefore noticed nobody the way you and Daryl acted around each other.

You could barely manage to look into his eyes.

You felt ashamed; thinking that you pushed him too far yesterday night. Thinking, that you were too bold and unable to control your damn feelings. Thinking that you pushed him away, instead of drawing him in. You anticipated that the archer must hate you now - and you couldn't even blame him...

Nevertheless seemed a conversation inevitable. You didn't want to destroy the friendship - if you could even call it that - the both of you had before last night.

It took you days to bite the bullet and ask him to talk, though. Sure, you had been on the road again since the CDC was a dead end, but that wasn't an excuse in your eyes.

"D-Daryl?" You approached him cautiously as you found him alone in the stables of the Greene farm; saddling a horse to go looking for Sophia. "Whatcha want?" He asked you and gave you a short look. You swallowed nervously. "Can we, uh, can we talk?" "'Bout wha'?" You watched him work for a moment, while your fingers fumbled with the hem of your t-shirt; trying to gather all the courage you could find. "That, uh, night at the CDC..." Your words came out as a whisper, but Daryl heard them nonetheless - and froze in all his tracks.

"Why'd ya wanna talk 'bout tha'?" He asked nonchalantly after a beat of silence and continued his work; had seemingly shaken off the small 'shock' quite quick. "I-I..." You started and sighed. "Things f-feel so weird between us since that n-night, and... I don't want that. I-I'm sorry for what I did. I'm s-sorry for making you sleep with me." Your eyes were stuck on him. You watched him and tried to gauge his reaction - afraid of what was going to happen.

"Yer sorry 'bout it?" Daryl asked then - almost in disbelief. Then he scoffed. "Do ya regret it?"

That was a question you didn't see coming. A question you haven't thought about yet. Did you regret it? Your memories took you back in time; letting you relive that night you shared with him. The answer was clear - as you quickly discovered.

"No, I don't, but... It was wrong. I shouldn't have-" "Wrong?" He interrupted you. His voice appalled. "Tha's what ya think 'bout this? 'Bout... us?" Daryl accused you with a grimace on his face. Was that... sadness you could detect in his blue orbs? Hurt?

You blinked; "U-Us?" were definitely confused by his words. "W-What do you mean 'us'?" "Ya know wha' I mean, Y/N." You shook your head. "No, Daryl. No, I don't. We've been practically ignoring each other since the CDC. We can't even talk properly! Neither of us can look into the other's eyes! Everything is just... weird, and you talk about an 'us'? No, I don't get it. Tell me. Explain it."

A frustrated huff left the archer's lips, before he started to gnaw at the pad of his thumb; averting your eyes. All of a sudden, the usually so confident redneck became all shy and insecure. "Dunno how," he started; merely shrugging his shoulders. "'S difficult, 'n I ain't good with words." "Try it, D," you encouraged him and gave him a soft smile. "Please. I want to make things right between us again." The archer nodded and took another moment - most likely to gather his thoughts. "'S tha' feeling, ya know? Can't pin it down. Always feelin' so strange whenever yer close to me."

Your heart skipped more than just one beat as his words urged to your ears. Could it be...? No...

"W-What do you feel? Can you... describe it?" Daryl lowered his gaze to the ground. The little stone laying beside his left foot suddenly became really interesting. "Jus' strange. Gets harder to breathe, 'n... My stomach's all messed up. Feels like an itch I can't scratch." You couldn't believe this was happening. Did that night cause Daryl to fall in love with you? "You're doing good, D. Keep going. What else?" You had to know.

He grunted; his foot playing with that little stone, before kicking it aimlessly over the concrete ground. "I... always go back to tha' night in my head. Can't forget it. Yer look. Yer touch. The way ya felt, I-" He stopped himself to take a deep breath. And you smiled. Perhaps having slept with him hadn't been a mistake. Perhaps you interpreted his behaviour wrong. Perhaps you just misread the signs...

"I jus' dunno how to act 'round ya. I dunno wha's happening to me. Tha's why I ain't talkin' to ya. Didn't mean to ignore ya..." Daryl apologised with his head still lowered.

You stepped closer to him and cautiously reached for his hand. He flinched, but didn't pull away. "Daryl, I... I think I know what happened to you," you whispered. "'N wha's tha'?" He asked; finally brave enough to lift his head to look into your eyes. You smiled and squeezed his hand. "I think you... are in love."

As quick as the man had lowered his guard, as quick was it up again.

He pulled his hand out of your grasp and scoffed, before he took a few steps back. "Pf. Love? Me? Tha's ridiculous, woman - 'n we both know it!" "Is it, yeah? You really think so?" "Yes!" He yelled, and wanted to rush past you - but you stopped him with your palm splayed on his chest. You didn't know if what your heart made you do was a wise decision, but it acted on its own will. Your head was powerless anyway.

Daryl's eyes travelled from yours to the hand on his chest and back. "Whatcha doin', woman?! Leave me the hell alo-" You had heard enough. You had held yourself back long enough. This was the only option you had left. It was do or die.

You cut the man off with standing on your tiptoes and connecting your lips to his. It was a chaste, gentle kiss - but nonetheless meaningful. It felt so right. So good. His lips so soft and warm - compared to his seemingly rough exterior. His blond-brown goatee tickled your skin in the best way possible.

Once more, Daryl froze to the ground; not moving a muscle.

When your lips left his again with a soft pop and you reopened your eyes, you could see how his eyelids fluttered slowly open as well. You could feel his heart galloping underneath your palm. "What do you feel now, Daryl?" You asked in a hushed tone. Your eyes never left his. The archer swallowed hard. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. "I-I-I..." He stammered out; his cheeks heating up. "G-Good," he croaked out. "R-Real good." You smiled - happy that your heart had made the right decision. "Wanna do it again?" He blinked. The tips of his ears got red as well. "I-If yer willin' t-to k-kiss me again?" Your smile even widened, before you reached up to cup his beardy, red cheeks in your palms to pull him into another kiss. Daryl gasped against your lips; eyes falling shut and lips following your lead. It caused the kiss to get more intimate. More demanding. More passionate.

His hands acted on their own will, as they settled on your waist and pulled you closer. Your body crashed against his. You could tell that he hadn't kissed a lot in his life; his movements clumsy and messy - but perfectly Daryl. And you loved it. You didn't care how experienced or skilled he was. All you cared about was him - and all the love he deserved you wanted to give him.

He was far from perfect; had his flaws - but so were you.

"What do you say now about love, pretty boy?" You asked in a playful, yet loving manner; your hands crossed behind his neck. Daryl's hands gently squeezed your sides, "Shuddup." before he dipped his head to indulge you into yet another kiss.

Yeah... He was definitely whipped.

Tags: @angelwings-crossbowstrings @belitoxx @fictive-sl0th @marvelcasey05 @loz-3 @whore4romance @stitchintimefan @bigbaldheadname @making-the-most-0f-it @erebus-et-eigengrau @km-ffluv @0-aubrie0 @sweetz1919 @mikaela-granger @secretsicanthideanymore @dilfdixon @txtttttttttttttt @dixons-sunshine @cakesandtom @mayday2007 @dixonsdarkelf @huntedmusicgardenn @ffsjustletmesleep

[plussizeappreciationfics]

Do you still write for Bucky Barnes? I was thinking: they both like each other but they just haven't said anything yet. They always flirt with each other but Sam's tired of Bucky constantly looking like he's about to rip her clothes off so he's just like "Can y'all just make out already, but not near me." And they do. You can decide how it ends after that.

Of course I still write about Bucky/Marvel! Enjoy!

"Oh stop it!" you laughed while shaking your head at Bucky´s theatrics, you had joined him and Sam in the kitchen of the Avenger´s compound, excited that it was the weekend. Sam had greeted you with a tight hug before it was Bucky´s turn. When the winter soldier had opened his arms wide, making the butterflies in your stomach flutter like crazy, you had pretended to not want to hug him.

"So you hate me, huh?" he asked dramatically, pretending to wipe away some non-existent tears before moving his head to the side and leaning against the kitchen counter, making the veins in his arms pop out deliciously. "Mhm, suit yourself. I was just joking" you voiced with another chuckle before getting yourself a bottle of soda and plopping down onto the kitchen table next to Sam.

He grumbled and rolled his eyes when Bucky let out another sigh and joined you at the table, staring at your face and silently admiring your beautiful features.

"What? Do I have something on my face?" you asked in panic, looking over at Sam who even looked more done with you and Bucky. Sam shook his head and locked his phone before letting out a frustrated sigh. His actions confusion you.

"Can the two of you make out already and get together? I am sick and tired of this" he waved his hand between you and the super soldier, "Like just confess your feelings and leave me out of this".

His words made your heart skip a beat as you now stared at Bucky, his blushing cheeks already telling you that he had been just as much exposed as you. Sam stood up and left the kitchen, but not before mumbling "Don`t have sex in the kitchen, please. We make our meals here". Once he was gone, Bucky walked over to you and sat next to you, his eyes desperately searching for yours.

"We feel the same way about each other, huh?" he whispered gently and took your hand his, making your heart swell in your chest. Your whole body was telling you that everything felt right in the moment. "Yes, I am in love with you" you confessed with a shy smile.

"I know that you´ve gone through more than enough stuff and I just want to be your person. If you want me, I am yours James", finally being able to voice those words felt liberating. Bucky fought back tears as he knew that his heart had led to the right person.

"I´m so in love with you, you´re all I can think about. I want to be the person you can love and receive all the support from".

The two of you let out a deep breath, relieved that your dreams had come true. Without another word. you leaned in at the same time and let your lips meet in a gentle kiss. Words couldn`t describe how at peace and happy you felt in that moment. One kiss quickly turned into multiple, Bucky´s arms now wrapped tightly around your thick waist and pulling you closer, making your body yearn for his.

"Let´s go somewhere private" you whispered in between the kisses while gently moaning when your now lover kissed his way up and down your body. In a span of a few seconds, Bucky had you in his arms, carrying you bridal-style into his room.

[kingofthecotas]

paperweight pt. 1 | ao3

luca & marc teammate fic. set mostly in 2027 | ~1.5k

——

Luca finishes the 2026 season with a plate in his collarbone and a handful of third-place trophies, which is enough for now. 

He has next year, but he doesn’t really want to think about that. Not yet. 

For now, he’ll let Bez drag them all to a bar in Valencia—the same bar Ducati are celebrating in—and praise everything he believes in that the test starts on Tuesday rather than tomorrow. 

It’s thronged with red when they get inside; good, they can collect Pecco, and let go a little more knowing they’re only surrounded by the paddock rather than the general public. The centre of the scarlet storm, of course, is Marc, bright and happy, arm slung around one of his mechanic’s shoulders as they laugh through the song they’re trying to sing. 

It should be bittersweet, and maybe they’ll all feel it tomorrow, but for now, Marc Márquez is going out on a high. Nine times a champion.

They’ve lost Franky somewhere, and when they find a booth—when Bez politely asks some Ducati engineers for their booth—Cele instantly disappears in the direction of the bar.

Rude. Whatever. 

Luca accepts a beer as recompense for being abandoned, and waves Migno over when he spots him through the crowd.

“Crazy!” Mig yells. “Stay here! Getting a drink.”

When Bez reappears from—somewhere, he has four beers clutched in his hands. Luca doesn’t know how he managed to weave through the crowd without the glass bottles, condensation-slick, slipping through his fingers. “Can’t find Pecco.”

Laughter cuts through the chatter, through the bass-heavy music; Marc has found Álex, both of them jumping up and down, drinks in hand. 

“Is Vale coming?” Cele asks, half-way to drunk already. He’d had some drinks in the garage, of course, with the SpeedUp team, a farewell, a congratulations, a good luck, and Bez seems to have the same head start. 

“No.” Luca shakes his head. “He says he’s too old for this shit.” 

Bez laughs, beer already gone, eyes already wide. “Let’s—let’s look for Pecco. And more drinks! Cele, let’s go.”

And Luca’s alone again. Assholes. He finishes one beer and goes for another bottle. Really, it’s good to have a quiet moment, a breath to collect himself—

Someone slides a tray in front of him, glasses clinking. He looks up, meets Pecco’s gaze.

“What’s this?”

“I am saying good luck.” Pecco plucks a shot glass from the tray. “And also celebrating the end of the worst two years of my life.”

Luca frowns through the alcohol. “You like Marc.” Because Marc is the worst person in the world to have as a teammate. He’s annoying and difficult. He races hard, sometimes too hard, and he apologises for it. Because when Marc had crashed them both out in Austria, he’d apologised. When Pecco had crashed them both out in Silverstone, Marc had forgiven him. When Pecco had won the championship in 2025, Marc had been the first one there to pull him into an embrace before handing him over to Valentino (not a glance shared between them). When Marc won the championship two rounds ago, crossing the line in second, it was Pecco who wrapped an arm around his shoulders on the podium and pulled him up to the top step. 

(And Portimão, they can never forget Portimão, and Franky.) 

“I like Marc,” Pecco agrees. “But get ready for Vale to make excuses to be in your box, and for Marc to ignore him, and for both of them to stare when the other isn’t looking. Marc will crash, and Vale will pretend he isn’t worried. Marc will look for him when he is not there. And they will never talk except to say hello.” He tips his head and gulps the shot, lips curling. “Disgusting.”

“They spoke in the paddock today,” Luca argues, but he reaches for a glass himself. 

“Could you imagine if he didn’t?” Pecco laughs sharply. “Nine championships, and not a word?” 

Fair. Vale is nothing if not fully aware of how to operate in front of the media, in front of the world watching through camera lenses. Luca sighs, raises the glass, tips it back. “Fuck, Pecco, vodka?”

“Celebrating.”

“Really that bad?” Luca goes back to his beer, trying to wash away the taste. Fuck this; he can’t drink like he used to. 

“It’s—it was—” Pecco shakes his head. “It was weird, Maro. Like—like they could get better, if they tried, but neither of them do.”

“Marc would.”

“He would. In a second.”

“So why doesn’t he?”

Pecco laughs again, then reaches for his second shot. “Because he thinks Valentino will not—you know. Marc has been ready for years.”

It’s always been Marc, a relentless wave crashing against the cliff face of Valentino’s disdain: Marc outside the box as Uccio shouted him down; Marc holding out a hand; Marc, willing to be something like a good teammate for Pecco despite it all.

“I know.” Luca wraps his fingers around the final glass. 

“Shots?” Bez’s voice cries, before he’s winding himself around Pecco, all clumsy limbs and curly hair. 

“Why don’t you have it, Bez?” Luca says, and Bez, trusting Bez, takes the shot and downs it, already bouncing off to hug someone else—Cele, probably.

“I’m not dealing with him later,” Pecco warns.

“Of course not. Celin will.” 

That’s enough to draw a laugh out of Pecco, which Luca can only count as a success. “Ah, I will miss Marc, you know? Do not tell Vale I said this, but he made me better.”

“I know,” Luca says again, grinning this time, because who could forget Pecco skating on his knee around the final corner in Aragón? Marc had crossed the box when it replayed on his screen, had slapped Pecco’s leg with a bright laugh. Social media lapped it all up.

“You’ll be fine.”

Maybe it’s the beer, the shot, maybe it’s the sense of an ending and a frightening new beginning, but something makes Luca say what he never would on any other day. “I was thinking it was going to be fine, until you told me that he’s still in love with my brother.”

Pecco chokes on his drink. 

——

Luca can compartmentalise. He’ll be fine. He can separate things.

That mantra lasts until the Tuesday morning, when Vale wanders into the Honda box like he has every reason to be there and slides into the chair beside Luca with an easy smile. 

Luca raises his eyebrows. “Should you be in here?”

“Who’s going to stop me?” Not an answer, but somehow an answer in itself. “I came to wish you luck.”

Wish him luck, like Vale hasn’t angled himself so he can see the back of the garage, can see everyone who might walk in or out. 

Pecco isn’t often wrong, but he could have been this time for the sake of Luca’s sanity. Because this is not Marc extending a hopeful hand; this is Valentino, waltzing through enemy lines—fuck’s sake, at least he had a legitimate reason to be in the Ducati box—and turning Luca’s quiet assumptions on their head.

“Thanks.” Luca debates putting a proverbial foot up his backside, but no—Valentino is skittish when he wants to be, and proud. If this—his half-formed skeleton of a plan—is going to work, it needs to be done gently. So he doesn’t say you could just talk to him. 

“Next year will be good, I think.”

“It’s only testing, Vale. We’re not even on the bikes yet.“

“Still. I know how hard you’ve worked. It will pay off.” Valentino fixes him with a firm look. “I’m proud of you. It would have been easy to stay with the team—you did the brave thing.”

And Luca might be twenty-nine, but his brother is still Valentino Rossi and Valentino Rossi is still his brother, so he leans into the praise with a smile. “I’m VR46 for life. You know this.”

“I know.” Vale smiles back. “And now it will pay off for you, doing the difficult thing. It will be a good year.”

Footsteps, words in quick Spanish—Vale’s eyes snap to the back of the garage. Santi and Marc file in, talking, laughing.

“Ah, we thought we were early!” Marc says with a smile. “Good morning, Luca. Ciao, Valentino.”

“Ciao,” Valentino replies, like it’s normal. Like it’s nothing. 

And then nothing else. Marc turns back to Santi. Valentino unlocks his phone. Luca stares.

They don’t speak except to say hello. 

He pulls out his own phone, opening his chat with Pecco, and sends a quick SOS.

Me

help

Pecco

I told you

Welcome to the next two years 

Me

fuck

Luca’s own team start to filter in, buzzing with quiet anticipation, and Vale jolts back to life, sliding his phone into his pocket and getting to his feet. 

“Should probably make sure Uccio doesn’t need help.” A glance towards Marc’s side of the box; Marc isn’t looking. 

“So you are not supposed to be in here,” Luca says, pointed. 

“But no one stopped me.” Valentino smirks back. “Good luck today.”

“Yeah.”

When Vale has already left, already out of the garage—only then does Marc look, gaze lingering after him.

Jesus. Jesus fucking Christ.

[redocity]

Hii can I request that the reader and buck want to hook up but at the time Albert is still living with him so they have to be quiet so they won’t be caught

OPERATION: GET IT ON — E.BUCKLEY

poor albert has an uncanny talent for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

evan buckley x gn!reader | 1.2k | 16+ | masterlist.

this fic is rated 16+ for suggestiveness.

You’re practically a fixture at Buck’s place these days. It started as casual visits—pizza, beers, and the occasional game night that turned into long nights spent tangled in his sheets. No strings, no labels.

You both agreed to keep it simple: friends with benefits. Though, lately, it’s felt less like "friends" and more like "a couple trying not to call it that."

It’s perfect. Well, it was perfect. Then Albert moved in.

Albert, Buck’s charmingly oblivious roommate, who seems to have an uncanny knack for being everywhere at once. If you’d known Buck had offered his couch to Albert after he’d hit a rough patch, maybe you would’ve suggested finding a different arrangement. But you didn’t. And now Albert is inescapable.

You’re not proud of it, but you’ve started to dread the sight of Albert’s car in the driveway when you pull up to Buck’s place. Because where Albert is, privacy isn’t.

The first week isn’t too bad. You still manage to find your moments—brief, stolen ones that usually end with you shoving a hand over Buck’s mouth to muffle his laughter. He thinks it’s hilarious, sneaking around his own house like you’re in some kind of spy movie.

“Albert’s not your parole officer,” he whispers once, trailing kisses down your neck. You’re both pressed against the door of his laundry room, listening intently for any sign of movement outside.

“Tell that to him,” you hiss back. “I swear, the guy’s got a sixth sense. He always shows up at the worst possible time,”

As if on cue, you hear Albert’s voice from somewhere down the hall. “Hey, Buck! You seen my phone charger?”

You barely have time to scramble apart before the door creaks open. Albert’s head pokes through, his eyes narrowing in confusion at the sight of you both standing there like guilty teenagers.

“What are you guys doing?” he asks, his gaze bouncing between you and Buck.

“Laundry,” you blurt out.

Buck nods vigorously. “Yup. Laundry,”

Albert frowns, but thankfully doesn’t ask any follow-up questions. Buck points him in the direction of his charger and Albert leaves, muttering something under his breath about “weird energy.”

You let out a sigh of relief the second he’s gone. Buck, of course, just laughs.

—

By week two, you’re starting to feel the strain. Albert, for all his good intentions, doesn’t seem to understand the concept of personal space.

He’s always around—plopping onto the couch during movie nights, barging into Buck’s room without knocking, or “accidentally” eating the snacks you brought over.

“Does he ever leave?” you whisper one night as you and Buck huddle in the tiny bathroom, desperate for some alone time.

“He works,” Buck says defensively, though even he doesn’t sound convinced.

“Does he, though?” You gesture vaguely. “Because I’m starting to think he’s just here to ruin my sex life,”

Buck snorts, pulling you closer. “C’mon. He’s not that bad,”

You raise an eyebrow. “This from the guy who almost got caught making out with me in the kitchen last night?”

He grins, unrepentant. “What can I say? The thrill keeps it interesting,”

—

The next evening, you found yourself back at Buck’s apartment. Albert had miraculously not been home when you arrived, and it seemed like this time, you’d finally have the place to yourselves. You and Buck had been scheming all week about tonight—how you could finally get some uninterrupted time together.

Buck had just opened a bottle of wine, pouring it into glasses, when you heard the telltale sound of Albert’s bike coming up the street. You both froze. You glanced at the door, then at Buck. His face was a mixture of dread and exasperation.

“Are you kidding me?” you whispered, dropping your shoulders in defeat.

Buck held up his hands in an exaggerated gesture. “I don’t know, man! I really don’t know!”

The door swung open, and Albert entered, this time carrying a strange plant that you had never seen before.

“Hey, I bought this,” Albert said, grinning from ear to ear. “You guys like plants, right?”

You stared at him, slack-jawed for a second, before replying, “Uh, sure, Albert. Looks… interesting?”

“I think it’s called a ‘cat’s whisker’ or something,” Albert said, holding it up for your inspection. “Do you think it needs direct sunlight?”

Buck, looking completely defeated, gestured to the couch. “Just put it on the coffee table or something, Albert,”

Albert set the plant down and then promptly flopped onto the couch. “You guys gonna watch something? I’m kinda in the mood for a movie night,”

You and Buck exchanged an alarmed glance. This was not how you had envisioned the evening. You tried to subtly steer the conversation in a direction that would get Albert to leave, but he was relentless.

“I was thinking of watching something weird,” Albert continued, oblivious to the awkwardness in the room. “I have this documentary about deep-sea fish. You guys into that?”

You and Buck both stiffened. You could feel the heat between you two, the unspoken desire still lingering, but Albert was firmly planted between you and any chance of satisfaction.

Buck cleared his throat, attempting to put an end to the conversation. “Yeah, Albert, that sounds great, but we kinda—uh—have plans?”

Albert’s face dropped. “Oh… okay. Well, I guess I’ll just go back to my room then,”

As Albert shuffled off, you turned to Buck, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “How do you put up with this?”

Buck groaned. “I have no idea, but it’s like trying to have a date night with a permanent third wheel,”

—

Next time, you think you’re in the clear. It’s late, and Albert is supposedly working an overnight shift. Buck has you pressed against the kitchen counter, his lips trailing along your neck.

“This is better,” you whisper, your fingers hooking into the waistband of his jeans.

He grins against your skin. “Told you we’d get our alone time,”

It’s perfect—until the kitchen light flicks on.

“Forgot my keys!”

You both freeze, like two teenagers caught sneaking out after curfew. Albert stands in the doorway, blinking at you, his face rapidly shifting from confusion to dawning realization.

“Oh,” he says. “Ohhh.”

Nobody moves.

“Don’t mind me,” Albert says, grabbing his keys off the counter and backing out of the room. “Carry on!”

The door slams shut behind him, and you groan, burying your face in your hands, moment officially ruined.

“I’m starting to think he’s cursed,” Buck says, half-laughing.

You tug at his wrist, pulling him towards the front door. “Come on,”

“Where are we going?”

“Your car,” You stop only to pull on your shoes before pulling the door open.

“My car?” Buck laughs. “Why?”

“He can’t interrupt us there,”

[yandereunsolved]

𐚁 Yandere High Honor Arthur Morgan (RDR2) 𐚁

One misstep in a mission led him into what could only be described as a more torturous cycle of love and abuse than he has ever felt before. Real smart of him to fall head over heels, quite literally, with someone hell-bent on locking him up. And maybe he'd be okay with that if you were the sheriff and he'd get to tease you before making some grandiose escape. But you had to be a bounty hunter—and an annoyingly good one at that.

You just don't give up. But neither does he.

He always manages to slip through your fingers, as your heart has evaded his. You'll get him this time or die trying.

He really could leave you in the dust with his trusty steed if he wanted, but it's cute how hard you try.

He pulls on the reins as he narrowly avoids another tree. Damn forests. Always growing those things.

He sneaks a look back at you so eagerly chasing after him, a deer after another one of its kind. How fortuitous.

He shouts at you, hoping to provoke your wrath, "Aye. What's the phrase? Seventh times the charm?"

He chuckles near lightheartedly, but you only hear a vicious cackle. With a single bullet from one of his twin Schofield revolvers, you feel your horse's legs buckle under you before you get a chance to respond. You swear this man can be in two places at once. By the time you have rolled off, not being able to spare a second to look for injuries, and stood up, Arthur is sitting on his high horse, quite literally, holding the revolver a couple feet from your head.

"Sorry, partner. Seems like you winnin' jus' wasn't in the cards."

You raise your hands from your sides, keeping your fists closed, your small backup slip joint knife in one.

"Seems like you're hiding somethin', darlin', or is this just another one of your tricks?"

You realize you haven't responded to him at all, almost frozen. Damn it. Fuck it all. It's not time for your 'instincts' to kick in. You become disturbingly aware of the metallic copper taste overwhelming your taste buds.

"Come on now!" He gets off his horse, yours having limped off, not rideable in its condition anyhow.

"The big bad bounty hunter who has taken in some of Colm's men gets all shy when in my presence." He gets closer. He seemingly walks with ease, but you can see the tenseness of his muscles, a strange mix of conflicting emotions in his weary eyes.

"Seems you're easier than I thought," his chapped lips murmur into your ear, innuendo woven throughout his tone—unashamed, almost.

Your body goes into the motions before your mind has time to make a calculated decision. You open your slipjoint knife to slit his jugular. A dead bounty is better than a dead bounty hunter. His hand wraps around your wrist, twisting it, causing you to drop the knife. You fall to your knees in pain as his grip tightens, no joy in his eyes from harming you.

"A-Ah, hah... fuck me," you breathily moan out, the adrenaline that's pumping into your veins becoming feckless.

You don't know how willing I am to take you up on that offer.

Arthur shoves you onto the dewy ground. Your knees buckle beneath you as your chest makes itself well acquainted with the dirt. He straddles your hips, the familiar sound of rope moving in his… his rugged hands.

The world threatens to turn black on you, but you stay conscious out of spite.

"You'll rot in hell, Arthur Morgan. Arrested or not," you spit out through gritted teeth, your blood seeping into the earth and the collar of your clothes.

Your body sits somewhere between alert and comatose, trying to find a split moment to make your escape before hogtied.

He chuckles.

"You ain't the first person to tell me that. You are the most attractive," he gruffly huffs out.

His thighs squeeze your sides tighter as he roughly ties your wrists and knots them together. He lingers for a moment, admiring you in this position. But he is a respectable man, well, somewhat respectable. So he keeps an 'appropriate,' appropriate for an outlaw grip, on you as he binds your ankles.

"If I was a worse man, I'd kill you." If I was a better man, I'd let you go.

He makes it a point to show the difference in strength as he connects the bindings of your hands and ankles together. His hands wander to various limbs, holding them down as you begin to struggle, frustrated by how long he's taking. How embarrassing this is.

"Kill me or let me go! You won't do it, though, will you? Inside of that twisted, fucked-up mind of yours, you like me. Maybe I remind you of the innocent souls you've tortured, you sick—"

Your voice is dampened by the sweaty bandana he stuffs in your mouth and ties around the back of your head. You still try to shout, albeit quite muffled, and you're getting light-headed again.

Arthur wants to say, 'God, you look good this way. The things you do to a poor man like me.' But refrains. 'I really am too much of a sick, ugly fuck to expect love from you.'

"You talk too much, dear. This ole' trick should shut you up for a while."

He hoists you up onto his horse, securing you to it. In a last-ditch effort, you try to use the leverage of the horse to nudge the cloth out of your mouth. You get it a little ways out and cause one more uproarious ruckus with your mouth.

"Or I could take your tongue, but I suspect you like it."

You can tell by his tone that he isn't joking. You stop and quiet yourself. You almost want to curl up into yourself, but don't.

"Good job, darling. Seems you're finally leaning how to listen."

He talks to you sweeter than his horse. A shiver runs down your spine as your cheeks heat up, all involuntary, of course. As if it couldn't get any worse, he pats the top of your head, rubbing it as if you needed to be soothed like an animal in distress.

"We'll work on it. Together."

He mounts his filly, instructing her to start galloping. You don't know how long this ride will be or if you'll survive, although you suspect you will—and you'll have to play house or give in to whatever fucked-up fantasies are going on in that mind of his. You're too much of everything at this point. So you lie defeated, hogtied like some common criminal, on the back of the horse that belongs to one of the West's most notorious outlaws.

"I’m a poor, lonesome, cowboy." "Poor, lonesome, cowboy." "Poor, lonesome, cowboy." "Taking my darling back to camp."

[themeaningthemeaningthe]

can’t sleep for other reasons and my brain can’t stop thinking about a post i saw and initially ignored but keep having thoughts about. i didn’t comment on it or anything and now it’s lost to the ether and i don’t wanna go looking for it but these thoughts gotta go somewhere.

this will be long and rambling and probably a little incoherent cuz it’s 3am.

the post was someone saying that they finally picked up gideon the ninth after years of seeing locked tomb posts and griddlehark, then dropped it after like 2 chapters bcuz they think the dynamic between gideon and harrow is abusive (which is fair when u first start it) and they can’t believe people are into it as enemies to lovers. on the one hand, people are totally cool to just not like something for whatever reason, i myself just have thoughts about the Nuance that i didn’t express on the post that i now must here.

lots of important spoilers for GtN!! (and maybe accidentally ones to HtN)

ok here’s the rant.

that’s the point!!!!! that’s the point.

they are terrible to each other and they have always been. the growth and the development of their character dynamics together explores how this thing between them that has always been sharp and seething and spiky must buckle under the weight of outside pressure beyond anything they could have imagined.

in a very important pool scene (one that is ubiquitous in fanart and i have to believe this poster saw at least a few times) we get an explanation from harrow! and not only does this give us a more full look into the context of drearbruh outside of gideons narrow point of view, but it also makes more clear why they were like That.

i’m sorry but literally harrow is 200 dead kids that her parents killed to make her, and gideon is the one kid they couldn’t kill. and gideon realizes once told this, she is the living reminder of the war crime committed to save the house, and no one who knows can forget it.

and harrow has known the truth of her origin since she was old enough to comprehend anything!! so yeah, a traumatized child who knows she’s the entirety of a generation of her house is gonna lash out at literally the only other child on the planet who she happens to also have power over.

and i feel like the book makes this pretty clear!! this was bad!! but also, these are two traumatized kids growing up in a dying, creepy, planet that is lowkey hell.

the other key thing about the pool scene, is that it is a Confession. these books are sooo steeped in catholicism. harrow isn’t just explaining the true history of her life, she is Confessing all of the sins that make her up and all of the sins she has committed. bearing the entirety of the wretchedness of her soul for gideon judge. expecting her only friend whom she has made miserable for years to kill her.

and i know we joke about gideon being lesbian jesus, but there’s a reason for that (besides the obvious). bcuz after hearing her Confession, gideon baptized harrow in that pool.

one flesh one end, bitch.

and also like yeah griddlehark is an enemies to lovers in some ways, but i feel like also not in the typical way you would think about that trope?? bcuz correct me if im wrong but they never really become lovers (and i personally am not sure they ever will). yes they love each other and make the grandest gestures of love imaginable. but that love is inevitably fucked up in some ways and it’s impossible for it to not be.

god that was way too long. anyway. some Nuance is necessary.

[megwritesriddles]

a draco malfoy short story or headcanon please!!

Imagine a magic sex toy that lets the person it's based on feel everything-like they're actually having the most intense, sweet experience. Picture a draco using a fleshlight, and somewhere, the girl it's linked to is losing her mind in her dorm, desperate to get it back before anyone else gets their hands on it... or on her. 😭

MDNI 18+

hi, thank u sm for this request!!! you were actually the first person to put one in when i opened my recs <3!!

I find this idea super interesting and I would have got to this request first ofc except I'm a little stuck for the storyline. I know roughly how I would write the smut, however, as a backstory lover, I need to work a few things out before I can write it. I can't quite figure out:

1. why the enchanted sex toy was made in the first place. Did Draco make it? Did reader? As a gift? Was it for an ex and Draco unknowingly got his hands on it? Does reader know what it does? Does Draco when he's using it?

2. What the relationship is between reader and Draco. For some reason when I read your request it seems like she doesn't want/expect Draco to have it (she wants to get it back), so what's the relationship? and once again if it's not a relationship roleplay thing, then why does it exist and why does Draco have it?

Sorry that I am taking this way too seriously haha (,,>﹏<,,) I just can't settle on a scenario and want to make sure it's something you like!

Please drop a comment or another ask letting me know your thoughts!! You can totally let me know if I'm taking this too serious and you just want the smut without the backstory, I won't be offended!

If anyone else has any ideas feel free to submit them but let me know that you're not op so I don't use your ideas over theirs if they have a specific vision!!

Let me know!! <3

Lots of love,

Meg (´ ω `♡)

[losers-clvb]

i love you, i'm sorry // sam winchester

pairing: sam winchester x bobby's daughter!reader

summary: a teenaged sam left you broken. now he's back and you're not sure what to do.

content: angst, some swearing but it's not overdone, heartache, both reader and sam are in the wrong in a way (but mostly sam), reader is bobby's daughter, big brother figure dean winchester, reader has confusion over her feelings

word count: 4k

note: this was going to be one long fic, but i felt it would be better as two parts seeing how the total word count is nearing 11k. the second part will be out this week and will have smut. the title is from "i love you, i'm sorry" by gracie abrams, but no direct inspiration was taken from the song. i interchange the use of "your father" and "bobby" but keep in mind they are intended to be the same person. enjoy!

masterlist part two

----

It had been years since the Winchester boys had come to stay with the Singers. Life, or hunting more like, had gotten in the way. They knew they had somewhere to come home to, or at least that was what you and Bobby had hoped. Bobby was your father, and you his little girl, no matter how old you got. He hadn’t wanted to be a father growing up, but once he held you in his arms, he knew you had him wrapped around your finger. It had been only months after you were born that your mother died, killed by your father in a desperate attempt to keep you safe. He had begun a life of hunting after that. He knew he needed to find some way for all of this pain to make sense. Somewhere along the way, he had met John and, in turn, Sam and Dean.

You had been sandwiched in between the boys for what seemed like all your life. They were your honorary family, though your relationship with Sam had blossomed into something more. It had been your sixteenth birthday - Sam was 17 - when he had gotten you alone to give you your gift. It was small, just a necklace that he had found at a convenience store on the way to Bobby’s, but you still wore it everyday. Your response to this gift was, naturally, to kiss him. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t thought of doing it before, you just never had the chance to. His response was, naturally, to kiss you back like you were his lifeline.

A whirlwind romance, hidden from your father and Dean, ensued until he had run away to college. Somehow him leaving had meant leaving everything, even you, behind.  You had cared, of course, but you couldn’t tell anyone. You cried every night for days. Bobby had noticed something was off. He always noticed when his girl wasn’t herself. He tried to cheer you up with those dad jokes he had been using on you since you were born. He tried chocolates and flowers and every little trinket he saw that reminded him of you. Nothing worked. You had pulled yourself out of the spell of heartbreak at some point. You knew it was silly to cry over a boy. Even if that boy was the love of your life.

Life had been normal for a while. John and Dean would visit once in a while for dinner or lunch. Your heart leaped every time the door opened, hoping Sam would come through it. He never did. You helped Bobby research and sorted papers. You cooked meals and baked desserts, humming while you did so, which pulled at Bobby’s heartstrings in a bittersweet kind of way. You were starting to consider looking for someone else to spend the rest of your life with, someone who could make you feel even half of what you felt for Sam.

Then he appeared in your life again. There he was, standing in the entryway of your house with a shaggy haircut and those puppy dog eyes that hadn’t changed in the five years since you had last seen him.

You knew he had begun hunting again. How could you not? Dean called what seemed like every day to ask for help with a case. You had been happy to help like always until you caught the low sound of a second male voice in the background. You promptly hung the phone up. From that day forward, you waited until your dad confirmed that it was anyone but the Winchester boys calling. Both Bobby and Dean had questioned you, but you knew better than to tell them the true reason for it. You just hoped you would never have to face Sam again.

But here he was. Your hands, holding a stack of books you were returning to their correct home, trembled when he said your name. You could feel tingling in your fingertips, a sure sign you were about to cry. Neither of you moved, as if your feet were cemented to the floor. You both stared at each other, eyes locked and waiting for the other to make the first move.

“Sam, get in here.” The sound of your dad’s voice from his study cured you of your paralysis. Before Sam could get another word in, you dashed to your room. The slam of the door was heard through the house, startling Dean and Bobby.

“What the hell was that?” Dean barked out. When Sam had responded with your name, the looks of confusion on the two men in front of him deepened.

“Why?” Bobby asked, eyeing Sam like he had done something to you. And he had. It just wasn’t something that he had done recently.

“I don’t know.” Sam breathed out. He knew. Of course he knew. How could he not, when for the first two years of college he had spent every night wanting to call you and apologize. He knew he hurt you. He knew he was still in love with you, just as he had been many years before. He also knew that some part of you still loved him. The necklace. The glinting metal was the first thing his eyes caught when he had entered the house. You still wore the necklace he had given you. The sight of it made his heart reach for you.

----

You hadn’t made an appearance for lunch or dinner. You had locked yourself up in your room, only letting your dad inside when he had knocked softly. You made up something about feeling sick. He hadn’t believed you, but knew if you needed something you would go to him. He left your room after giving you a kiss on the forehead.

That had been hours ago. The moonlight shone through your window while you listened with attentive ears to try to decide if it was safe to venture downstairs for some food. The three men had called it a night around 45 minutes ago, and you hoped they were fast sleepers.

Five minutes of pure silence passed before you dared to try to leave. You had changed into your pajamas, a light purple tank top and matching shorts, and your socked feet were quiet on the hardwood flooring. You tiptoed down the stairs, gripping onto the railing.

Once making a sandwich, you took the food to the table to eat. You were quiet with your chewing, stopping occasionally when you heard the noises of the house settling. You were alone, yes, but you needed the time. Your eyes drooped low as you ate, fighting the sleep your brain needed after the emotional day. You had finished eating when you told yourself you could just close your eyes for a few seconds before getting up.

----

Sam had decided, after hours of tossing and turning in an attempt to sleep, that he had to see you. He had to apologize, had to make things right. He had crept up to your door, knocking in the chance that you were awake at that time of night. When you hadn’t answered, he had poked his head inside. He just needed to know you were there, but your empty bed made him stop. You were gone. Not in your room, which meant either you had fallen asleep elsewhere or something had taken you. He hoped for the former, though there was a small chance of the latter. A quick search had led him to the kitchen where you were slumped on the table, eyes closed and breath steady. There you were. The sight pulled a somber sigh from Sam. An image of you from earlier flashed across his mind. Your panicked expression, trembling hands, and wide eyes. You had obviously not been expecting to see him, though he had thought that Bobby would have told you before his arrival.

Sam walked to you, careful to make sure his footsteps were as quiet as possible. He didn’t want to leave you sleeping on the table. It wasn’t right and he knew that you would have regretted it in the morning. So, he scooped you up in his arms and carried you to your room. You seemed to curl into him in your sleep, much like you had all those years ago when he would sneak to your room at night.

The weightlessness of being carried woke you. At first, you believed you were dreaming. Then, the scent of coffee and cedar brought your eyes open. Sam. Sam Winchester was carrying you up the stairs and into your room. Your heartbeat quickened, panicking. What would you say to him? Thank you? Go away? What would he say to you? It was when Sam readjusted his hold on you that you had decided to just pretend you were still sleeping. He was the same as you remembered. The smell, the warmth, the careful but secure hold. All of it was the same.

You felt yourself being lowered onto what you presumed to be your bed. It was the same full sized bed you had since you were a kid. You knew your bed. The chill of night air was swept away by the weight of your blankets. Sam was tucking you in. He was taking the time and effort to tuck you into your bed. You felt a calloused hand brushed hair away from your forehead.

“I’m sorry.”

The words made your heart ache. You felt the honesty in them. It didn’t make what he did any less painful, but it made you remember why you had decided to internally forgive him only a year after he had left. His hand lingered on the side of your head for a few moments before he left you to sleep.

----

The morning came and you woke to the sound of birds chirping. Though you couldn't have gotten more than a few hours of sleep all together, you pulled yourself out of bed to make breakfast for the house. If you didn't do it, Bobby would and it would end up being overcooked scrambled eggs with slightly burnt toast. As you went about getting yourself ready for the day, you couldn't help but think of the last night. Sam, he smelled the same, held the same warmth. Even the way he handled you, like you were his everything, was the same.

The house was quiet. Too quiet. Usually, your dad would be awake and brewing a pot of coffee by this time. Though, he also put himself to bed earlier than he had the night before, so that could account for his absence. You figured someone would have been up by now. Preferably Dean to make your new found mission of ignoring Sam’s presence easier. You had decided this while brushing your teeth. You couldn’t hide away forever. You also couldn’t talk to him without choking on your own words. This was the better option.

While you began the simple breakfast of pancakes and bacon, you hummed to yourself. It was a habit you seemed to have picked up sometime in your teen years. The first few times you had caught your dad watching you with sad eyes, he had refused to tell you why he was so affected by the sound. You pestered him for months, yet the truth only came to light when a long time friend of his had come to visit. He had been sitting at the table while reading a newspaper when the words slipped out.

“You sound just like your mama.” The sentence made you stop in your tracks. The topic of your mother rarely came up between you and Bobby. You knew only the few stories he had let slip through on special occasions and the scraps of memories you could pull from his old friends. You had never told your father about the new information. Instead, you opted to continue on, knowing that the grief he felt initially was outweighed by the love for you having something in common with the mother you had never known.

The sound of footsteps pushed you back into reality. You kept your attention on the food you were making, assuming it would be Bobby finally making an appearance. That was until a figure in a worn down long sleeve and jeans slid into your line of sight. Sam. You tensed up yet continued your cooking. You could feel his eyes on you, flickering between your hands and your face. You both stayed like that for what felt like forever. No words, just Sam watching as you tried not to look at him.

That was until he said your name. He was trying to get you to look at him, to acknowledge he was there. You refused to give in. He didn't deserve your time. You hated him. Well, you didn't actually hate him, though you were sure you should. If you told yourself that you hated him enough times, maybe it would make that love for him go away. He said your name again, this time a bit louder with more effort.

“Please. Just look at me.” Sam was practically begging now. You flexed your jaw as you piled the last pancakes onto the large stack. You scooped up the plates of pancakes and bacon, delivering them to the middle of the dining table. Sam followed you around like a lost puppy, huffing out an irritated breath when you continued to ignore him. He just wanted you to turn your attention to him. He needed to say that he was sorry, needed to explain everything, and he needed to do it while he could get you alone. You just wouldn’t listen. He knew it was you trying to keep your pride, but it didn’t stop the instant frustration from bubbling up.

“I need to explain why I,” he breathed out, “why I did what I did.” Sam’s words were met with a scoff from you. You had moved past sad long ago and the panic you felt last night was simply because you felt like you were being cornered. Now you were angry. You pushed past Sam and grabbed a stack of plates and forks. The coffee you had started in the middle of your cooking had finally finished. You grabbed a mug and moved towards the pot, but Sam beat you to it. He made up a cup of coffee, two sugars and a splash of milk, before offering it to you. Of course he would remember how you liked your coffee. You stared at the cup for a moment before declining the peace offering by pouring coffee in the mug you held. You made it the same, but hoped the message got through to him: you were not interested in being friends.

“Seriously?” Sam asked incredulously. He was about to continue ranting when he heard a whistling growing closer. Bobby entered the kitchen with a smile, oblivious to what he had walked into.

“Morning.” Bobby greeted the two of you. He sat himself at the table, his usual spot that was worn down from years of occupancy. You followed his lead and sat in the chair next to him with a warm smile. Sam, obviously still upset from his failed attempt to speak to you, hadn’t moved from his spot at the counter. Dean, who had been like a bloodhound when he caught a scent of the food, entered the room cheerily. He poured his own coffee before sitting in the chair on your other side.

“Sammy, stop pouting and sit.” Dean ordered while piling pancakes and bacon onto his plate.

“Bring that pot over with ya.” Bobby added. Sam sighed as he did as he was told, grabbing a mug for Bobby on the way over. He took the last chair available. Unfortunately for you it was the one opposite from you. This meant a meal of avoiding catching his eyes with yours while Bobby and Dean spoke of their plans for the day.

----

You should probably apologize to the officer on the other end of the phone. She had called, courtesy of some hunter who needed the assistance, to verify that the FBI had actually been sent to investigate a crime. They hadn’t, of course, but the fact that it was a possible werewolf had led to a hunter being sent. When she questioned your authority, which you had none of but that wasn’t for her to know, you took out your pent up aggravation from Sam on her.

After the line clicked, signaling the end of the call, you swallowed harshly. It wasn’t fair. Why was Sam allowed to waltz back into your life right when you were beginning to move on? Why was he allowed to come and go as he pleased, yet you couldn’t stand to look him in the eyes? You let yourself sink into the office chair that was near the phones.

“What was all that about, sweetheart?” Dean. Of course he would come sniffing around for something to talk about. Your father and Sam had gone into town for something you failed to remember now. You looked up at him and narrowed your eyes at him.

“It was nothing.” You replied, not wanting to get into it all with him. Like your father, he didn’t know about you and Sam’s love affair. Or maybe he did. You couldn’t keep track of what Sam may or may not have said to him, but you knew that you had been silent about the whole thing. It was easier that way, not having to explain exactly what you were feeling.

“Is this about Sam?” Dean continued to push you. The words threw you off. You furrowed your eyebrows.

“What? He told you?” You weren’t angry about it. Well, maybe a little, but that had more to do with the fact that the relationship had been important enough to tell his brother about yet not important enough to keep alive. The spark in Dean’s eyes when you spoke told you that Sam had, in fact, not told him, but you just did. You looked away with burning cheeks.

“What’d he do? Try to get in your pants? Beat up your boyfriend?” Dean was teasing you now. He wanted the details. Despite what he may argue if ever asked, Dean Winchester was one of the biggest gossips you knew.

“No.” Your voice told Dean that you were angry about whatever it was, and you were on the verge of ranting about it.

“C’mon, sweetie, just tell big brother.” The words made you shoot him an annoyed but playful glare. There were many times growing up when Dean had played the big brother you never had. Somehow, you had never picked up on the bond with Sam. Now you kind of wished you had. It would have been much easier than this mess. You took in a breath before speaking.

“He left me.” You told the green eyed man. It was Dean’s turn to scrunch his eyebrows together in question.

“Yeah, join the club. What about it?”

“He kissed me. He called me every night when he wasn’t here. He made me laugh and blush and talked about a future. He told me he loved me. Then he left and I hadn’t heard his voice since.” Your words fell out of your mouth before you could stop them. You watched as Dean’s expression softened.

“Oh.” It was rare for Dean to be speechless but he didn’t know what else to say. He had picked up on something between the two of you when you were teens, but he figured it was just some good old fashioned mutual pining. He couldn’t have imagined Sam would be able to keep something like this from him.

You stood from the chair, certain that you could take a break from watching the phones that rarely rang. Dean stepped into the doorway to stop you from completely leaving the room.

“Listen, you can’t cry over him anymore. He’s not worth it.” Dean spoke, trying his best to console you. You were past that. You didn’t need comfort, you needed anger management.

“I hate him.” You looked into Dean’s eyes and he could see the defiant fire burning in them. He sighed and nodded.

“That works too, I guess.”

----

It was getting harder to ignore Sam. Not because you were tempted to have a conversation with him. You wanted to scream at him if anything. No, it was because your dad was too oblivious to the obvious discomfort between you two and kept assigning tasks for you and Sam to complete. Dean tried his best to replace you when this happened, but eventually Bobby gave him his own chores to complete.

You bounded out the door to your car. Sam followed you, grumbling to himself when you threw the door back into him. You waited for him to climb into the car with a blank expression on your face. The run to the store would hopefully be a quick one with no conversation. The silent drive lasted all of three minutes.

“Are you going to ignore me forever?” Sam asked, a mix of desperation and frustration in his voice. You kept your eyes on the road. The store was coming up soon. You just had to hold out until then.

“It’s my fault. Everything. All of it. Please… just… hear me out.” Apparently Sam no longer needed your direct attention to begin his apologizing. Your grip on the steering wheel tightened, but you still didn’t speak.

“It’s not an excuse, but,” Sam breathed in as if he was weighing the next words in his mind.

“I was going through a lot.” You were parking when you heard him. Thank God you were, because your immediate reaction was to turn your whole body to him. His eyes widened at the fury in your eyes.

“What about me? I was seventeen, dealing with stupid high schoolers and cranky hunters. All I looked forward to was you! I loved you and you decided I wasn’t even worth a call? Bullshit. All of it.” Maybe you were being mean. You knew what John Winchester was like. You had overheard enough phone calls between him and Bobby, had heard some stories from Sam and Dean. You understood his running from his father, but Sam could have at least called once. Or wrote a letter. Or sent a postcard. Anything but leave you in the dark.

Your words made his heart ache. He hated himself for never calling you. Hated himself for hurting you. For anything he had ever done to make you think he felt anything less than love towards you. He had no excuse for why he had done what he had done. His only line of defense against your anger was to respond to it with his own.

“And I was eighteen and running from a life of killing! I hated hunting. I hated my father. You know that! I never called because I needed to completely cut myself off from this world. I needed a normal life.” Sam wasn’t being completely fair. He knew that. His response was a weak attempt at trying to diminish the guilt he felt. Yes, he wanted a normal life. But look how that worked out. All that pain he had caused just to come back to what he was running from. You shook your head and opened your door.

“Fuck you Sam.” The anger seethed through you as you climbed out and made for the entrance of the grocery store. You had missed the way Sam’s own anger had broken with your final words. You had missed the way he physically shrank down. You had missed the way he followed you as he had earlier, but this time with less motivation. He wanted you to come back to him. He had never seen you so angry before. He missed the girl who would place light kisses on the tip of his nose, the one who would let him hold her all night long.

[staylovesmiley]

Sometimes I hate the way my mind works. Makes it so hard to go through with my day like a normal person!

So, you are in a poly relationship with Skz. Tonight you are spending with Seungmin. And you feel somewhat bold! You ask him to try anal for the first time. You were toying with the idea in your mind for weeks so you had already bought various sizes and designs of butt plus. You bring them to him and ask him to prep you. You lay across his thighs, your black laced panties already soaked. He takes some time to spank your plump flesh when suddenly he rips the material (leaving the pieces on you because ain't no one have time to throw them away), he spits on his fingers and smears it to your pretty little hole. He uses his tongue occasionally to prep you better. A couple of minutes later he slowly inserts a finger, your weak voice moaning his name. After he is satisfied he tries another finger and there is when your fist tightens around his pants. Feeling you relaxing further, he opens the box of goodies you brought him earlier. Firstly he grabs the lube, pouring a good amount to your tight hole. His hand finds a diamond plug and gently lodges it in you. You whine, a noise between pleasure and pain. With the diamond in you he goes on to spank you again. When you are once again red and flustered, he pulls the little plug out, grabbing a slightly bigger one. Spiting on it he sinks it slowly to the perfect gap he already created. But, turns out this one is a vibrating one. After it's all the way in, he snatches the controller and starts to gently teasing you going from the lower mode to the hardest. You moan and try to stop yourself by biting down to the sheets. Somewhere down the line you feel him pulling it out and getting up. He places you to the bed, ass up and cheek in your pillow. You can hear him unclasp his belt and there is where the tip of his leaky dick is in you. Steady and while talking you sweetly through it, he starts pushing further and further in. Your pussy wet like you never felt before. With hazy eyes and sweat all over you, you see someone slowly walking to where you were layed almost unconscious. A familiar voice hits your ears and you feel a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"Lix.....?"

You just mumble

"I am here princess" He gets a hold of one of your hands "You look so pretty, baby. You can do it! Just breath and relax. And maybe tomorrow in our own night we could try this pretty tail you've bought too"

With Felix holding you and whispering sweet nothings in your ear, with your hair stuck around your face in various forms and your temperature almost feverish, with the pain driving you crazy transforming to pleasure like you've never experienced before, Seungmin now starts to fully thrust in and out your abused ass. The Aussie's hand now between your thighs drawing circles around your clothes up to the point you come undone with a loud scream and squirt, for what it feels, gallons.

"There you go, angel" The younger man whispers leaving a kiss upon your ass

Let me tell you this is the first thing I saw when I woke up and I literally had to do a double take- ngl anal isn’t exactly my thing to be on the receiving end of but I gotta commend your dedication for writing out a whole fic in my asks like seriously (also couldn’t help but think of the collision universe while reading thing since Star lives with Minnie and Lix- just food for thought to those who read the series lol)

[8thhousemercury]

Apatheia 8273 / Asteroid through the Houses 🫤

Its name basically says it all. This is an asteroid that will bring apathy to the area of life corresponding with the house it is placed in. Generally negative, it tends to add difficulty to finding drive and reasoning to engage in certain areas of life. Its presence can somewhat detach value from whatever it touches. Conjunction to personal planets can create distance between the native and the themes of this planet.

Apatheia 8273 in Aries/1st house/1º, 13º, 25º: Apathy towards their appearance. The native may not care much about their personal style or appearance in general. May dress or appear plainly. They can also wear dull colors. / Apathy towards independence. Not feeling like its a requirement. May be neutral about relationships. Seeing independence as something they don't necessarily benefit from. May have identity issues as a result, can have a hard time valuing this independence. / Apathy towards identity. Not feeling too strongly about being unique or 'making their mark'. Once again, they may come off apathetic to most people, and they usually don't care.

Apatheia 8273 in Taurus/2nd house/2º, 14º, 26º: Apathy towards material possesions. Likely not too concerned about the worth of the things they own. They definitely don't care much about having luxury brands. / Apathy towards luxury. May not feel like they need to emphasize it in their life, and when they do engage in it, they aren't too particular. / Apathy towards money. Similar to as I said before. These people may not have a strong need to be incredibly rich. May not have many material desires, and are likely okay with having a livable wage and nothing higher.

Apatheia 8273 in Gemini/3rd house/3º, 15º, 27º: Apathy towards school and learning. May not have a specific favorite subject. May have not cared much for grades, and therefore may have slacked off in school. May lack academic drive in general. / Apathy towards communication and curiosity. These people may not be the most curious, and therefore can come off quite literally as apathetic during conversations. They just don't care. / Apathy towards their neighborhood. May not care to bond much with their neighbors. May not find a lot of value in where they live... These people can be antisocial

Apatheia 8273 in Cancer/4th house/4º, 16º, 28º: Apathy towards family. May not care much for family gatherings. May have a hard time expressing familial love. / Apathy towards their house. May not feel a strong need to feel 'at home'. May have a house that isn't too decorated. Likely to view houses as simply somewhere to live. / Apathy towards their emotions. Can be a very apathetic person. Though, they can also feel their emotions deeply but just not really care. Can come off as unaffected and even aloof as a result of this.

Apatheia 8273 in Leo/5th house/5º, 17º, 29º: Apathy towards the arts. May not feel a strong pull towards any expression of them. May not feel very emotionally affected by it, either. / Apathy towards children. May not desire being a parent or dealing with children at all. May not see any reasons to parent, and even view children as a challenge in general. / Apathy towards fun. These people definitely have fun, they just don't place a huge emphasis on it. They can also seem to lack hobbies, or they may have ones and not feel emotionally attached to them at all.

Apatheia 8273 in Virgo/6th house/6°, 18°: Apathy towards work. May not care for the job they’re working and therefore aren’t too picky with what jobs they pick up. / Apathy towards health. May not care too much about how to manage their health, may not take steps to go above and beyond to be extremely healthy. May do the bare minimum in keeping themselves alive lol. / Apathy towards serving others. May not feel called to volunteering. They may have a hard time understanding the value in it. The benefits are unclear. They can come off as selfish for this reason..

Apatheia 8273 in Libra/7th house/7° or 19°: Apathy towards marriage. May not desire marriage at all. If they do get married, they may not care much for a huge wedding. / Apathy towards long term commitments in general. May not see any value in longevity. They may have a tendency to be noncommittal simply because they don’t see why that could be a problem. / Apathy towards justice. They may not care at all to see both sides of an argument. May not care much for making sure everyone is heard. They tend to stick to hearing one viewpoint, simply because they don’t see any value in seeing both. Apatheia 8273 in Scorpio/8th house/8°, 20°: Apathy towards marriage as well, but more so in terms of marrying wealthy. These natives may not care for a wealthy spouse. They may not even like the idea of managing their finances with their spouse, either. / Apathy towards the darker parts of life. These natives may avoid topics like death or the Occult, or they may not really care about what learning about them. / Apathy towards mystery and digging deep. Similar to what I just wrote, but they tend to not care much about deeper motives of others. They don’t care much about solving things, about having an understanding about how other people act.

Apatheia 8273 in Sagittarius/9th house/9°, 21°: Apathy towards expanding their horizons. These natives may never leave their hometown/state/country, and they are totally fine with that. They don’t see any reason or benefit to moving away. / Apathy towards religion. These people aren’t necessarily nonreligious, they just don’t care much for religion at all. They may have beliefs but leave it at that. They tend to not see any benefit in going too deep into religious beliefs. / Apathy towards higher education. They may not see any reason to go to college. They may not go at all. If they do, they don’t really see any benefit to their decision. They may just go to get it over with.

Apatheia 8273 in Capricorn/10th house/10°, 22°: Apathy towards building a career. They likely work, but they don’t care to be a big name in their respective field. They don’t see any benefit in that, and may even be annoyed. / Apathy towards their reputation. These people tend to not care how they come off. Obviously they come off as apathetic. They don’t care to build any specific reputation and tend to go with the flow. / Apathy towards achievements and recognition. These people may not like being recognized for anything. They may find no satisfaction in achieving big things. They may also not see any benefit in being seen as ambitious or successful in their career.

Apatheia 8273 in Aquarius/11th house/11°, 23°: Apathy towards activism and humanitarian causes. They may not feel too strongly about them, and may not engage in a lot of protests. They may not choose sides. / Apathy towards long term friendships. Similar to Libra or 7th house in a way, these natives may not see the value in long term friendships. They may jump friendships frequently, or not care much to reconnect with old friends. / Apathy towards goals. These natives may not have many aspirations, and may not care much for achievements. They tend to lack hopes and dreams. If they do have them, they don’t feel too strongly about them. They put little emotional stock in success.

Apatheia 8273 in Pisces/12th house/12°, 24°: Apathy towards introspection. May not feel a strong need to do a lot of it. May not see any enjoyment in self-reflection, and find it burdensome. This can be obvious to other people (no offense) / Apathy towards escapism. This can manifest in (usually) one of two ways: Not feeling any need to engage in escapism and finding it harmful OR engaging in escapism but not caring about it. That leads me to my next point: / Apathy towards self-sabotage. May quite literally watch their life burn in flames right in front of them and not care to do much about it. May self-sabotage without realizing it, or not care. This can be a very dark placement for this reason.

Thank you for reading this post!

This is my first post! I am obviously a beginner so I apologize if anything is off :)

My asks are open for requests. READ MY PINNED for rules

[orangetintedglasses]

Ah...! O-okay, he really should've seen that coming...!

The sudden intrusion pulled a sound from the blond that was somewhere between a yelp and a moan-- or maybe it just trailed off into one at the end as Wolfwood slipped his fingers in with ease. The outlaw was, indeed, still horny; enough so that that simple motion allowed a drip of nectar to roll over the undertaker's knuckles and all the way down to his wrist before slowing down. It was genuinely embarrassing...!

"M-- mnh...!" he tried, only to fail rather spectacularly right out the gate thanks to the shudder that licked up his spine. Vash let his head bob forward and hang there a moment, shutting his eyes-- it was quite the effort to keep up the dominant, composed persona up when his partner was so good at playing his body like a damn instrument...

It really is his own fault, though. He isn't that upset about it.

"M-maybe I would... or maybe, I could p-put on a show for you... let you see just how much of an effect you've had on me~..."

Tempting as Wolfwood's fingers were, he had seen the fatigue in the other's eyes just before he'd crawled over him. Both options were available, and he'd follow through with whatever the undertaker preferred to do, but regardless of what they ended up getting up to, the man was not going to escape aftercare--!! So without much ceremony, the Plant moved and pulled himself off of his companion's fingers with a slick sound-- much to the chagrin of his body, when it very much was starting to feel empty --but he refused to leave Wolfwood as a messy pile of a person while he selfishly took more--

Sans vines, this time. It's your choice, but you're drinking water and letting me clean you up first...!

Wolfwood shivers as Vash removes himself, suppressing an intense moan with a wide-eyed, open-mouthed gasp. When he comes to, he realizes there's a heat behind his partner's eyes and in his mind—is he seriously still...?

"You're still horny, aren't you—ghhk?!"

His abdomen tenses and he instinctively arches towards Vash's mouth. The wide, hungry licks send his heart into overdrive; the muscular organ pounds with the intensity of a thoma stampede in his chest as his pupils, once again, blow out with full interest. His eyes are little more than two thin, silver limbal rings while he watches the blond lap up his cum like it's the near-empty plate of a delicious meal. While Vash licks, Wolfwood can't control the way his belly keeps twitching due to sensitivity.

Well... fine, Vash made the mistake of crawling over him to lick in the first place, so...

As his boyfriend is distracted, Wolfwood shifts his arm downwards until he reaches the sweet heat between his pale thighs.

Feelin' empty, sweetheart?

Wearing a downright devious grin, his index and ring fingers swipe through Vash's drenched folds until they press against his clit. Without needing much in the way of preparation, he's able to slide both fingers into the Plant's core and spread them, rubbing the slick, velvet walls surrounding them.

Want some help?

[priceoftheduchess]

oh, father! where art thou?

part four.

highschool au, long lost lovers, enemies to lovers if you squint, grumpy and sunshine-esque dynamics (eventually), simon riley & fem!reader.

cw) angst, use of 2nd person, allusions/vague depictions to intimacy eventually, drinking eventually, breakdowns, motherhood, simon riley is father, un-canon lore! all of it eventually, MILITARY INACCURACIES SORRY SUE ME also not proofread!!! :U

a/n: guys!!! i have 100 likes on this account already 🥹 i want to kiss you all! also peep the hamilton reference ;P (sorry listening to “the world was wide enough” rn LOLL)

a/n 2: THIS IS SO FECKIN SHORT IM SORRY luvvies i try my best omggg !! also i might try to start writing some more intimate scenes ! if that’s something you’d all want! i’ve never written anything super explicit so ! tips are appreciated (no pun intended)

to my favourites! @girl-lostconnection @alkalineapparition and everyone else!

a/n 3: (i can’t shut the fuck up) if you want to be on my tag list comment on this post / my masterlist / send me a message! okay sorry bye enjoy

previous part

— dianna

It has been nearly three months since you’ve seen Simon. Boot camp has been nothing short of Hell, he’s told you in his letters. But he also tells you he’s happy. That the busyness makes him forget about his family. Or the lack thereof. That the working out makes him feel human again, and he loves the physical labor. Loves feeling needed.

And you write back that you love him. And that you can’t wait to see him again.

But the tap out is today. You’re bouncing on your feet getting ready, dressed in the sweetest sundress you own, taming your waves and beating your face. You’re a vision by the time you’re done and you nearly fall down the stairs from excitement. Imagine that.

“Sorry babe! Can’t come get you! In the hospital! Catch a ride! :,)” Ludicrous.

You make it to your car by some miracle and you’re at awe at the English scenery, and how it swishes by in an instant. Old buildings lining the busy streets, and historical landmarks on each corner. Such a vibrant city, Manchester. You can’t wait for Simon to be reminded of all of it.

You drive an hour or so out of the city, to a base secluded in on open field. You’ve never been to this part of England, despite living your life here. You park your car among others. Among mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents. You realize now, that even if Simon makes this a permanent thing, you will not be an island unto yourself.

This thought comforts you as you walk, guided by signs and fancy military higher-ups. You see a field of men, dressed nearly the same despite some missing hats and some donning a jacket. A man finishes making a speech that has no significance to you, and you search the sea of men for Simon.

Searching excitedly for him, you bump into a man who dwarfs you. He is considerably large, his shirt fighting for its life. You scramble to apologize, looking up at him to realize he’s wearing. . . a plain black balaclava? The bridge of his nose is visible between his eyes, but everything else is simply a shadow.

But you’ve seen these eyes before. These eyes have undressed you, and these eyes have watched you walk from your final lesson to the parking lot. These eyes watched you graduate secondary school.

Is this Simon?

Who is this? It can’t be him.

The man takes off the balaclava before your mental battle is over and shoves it into his back pocket, wrapping a strong arm around your shoulders before kissing you sloppily — not giving you a moment to register the face under the fabric.

You pull away, your hand flying to pull your neckline above your cleavage again and you apologize.

“You have got the wrong girl, I can assure you! My boyfriend is around here somewhere. Maybe you know him? Simon?” And the man chuckles gruffly, forcing you to look at him.

“I know him well, dove,” he whispers softly, kissing your forehead. Millions of questions rush through your mind.

When did Simon get so strong?

What’s with the balaclava?

There is no time for you to ask for any answers before a man walks over, an ignorant saunter in his hips and a grin larger than life itself plastered on his face.

“This your bird, Ghost?” The man chuckles softly, patting your boyfriend’s back. He is so chipper and Scottish enough to almost make his words incoherent.

Ghost? What the hell happened while he was away from you?

“She’s my girlfriend, Johnny. Not just a bird,”

“Aye, my fault. Nice to meet you.” The man — Johnny — winks at you and shows himself off somewhere else.

“I’ll explain everythin’ later,” Simon says, as if he can read your thoughts. He follows you to the car, and the ride is silent.

So is dinner.

So is aftercare.

There are never answers. The balaclava sits on his desk, teasing you. Daring you to press the issue. But you never can. You wake up next to Simon for the duration of him being home, but you’re unsure who it is you’re truly waking up besides. Who has killed Simon and left this man in his space? In your bed? In your shower? Who has killed Simon and left this man to fuck you?

You feel horrible, you do. But, it’s. . . he’s quieter. Curter with you. This is when you decide to press the issue.

You decide while he’s nose-deep in your tits is best. Licking and biting like a man starved, getting his friction from the sheet.

“What’s with the mask?”

He audibly groans, negatively, and sits up. “Good timin’,” he snarks and goes to change into some new sweatpants. “Nothin’ ‘bout it, luv. Just don’t want all those people seein’ my face. I ‘on’t know. Didn’t figure it’d be an issue.” He explains, almost bored. “Don’t know these people. Don’t tell ‘em my name.”

“An’ you never thought to mention this’a me?” You’re not sure why you’re so irritated about this. Maybe because Simon has changed so much, so quickly. The muscle you don’t mind. But it’s everything else. The anonymity. The curtness. You know what happens from here, and it causes your eyes to sting. You know that one day, Simon will go from curt to silent. He will lose everything that brought you to him, and he will be a shell of himself. War is not kind. It is not gentle. It tears and destroys all in its path. War is not about what is right, it is who is left when all is said and done. And you’ve started crying.

“You’re different, Simon. You are short with me now. These is a different air about you. You don’t even wear the same cologne! You haven’t even unpacked your duffel, ‘ike you’re ready’a go back already! You’re still hiding things from me! Why are ya doin’ that?!” You’re ready to keep screaming but he cuts you off by shoving your face in his pecs. It’s not so bad here.

“Stop.” He orders. Already barking like orders like he’s some kind of Lieutenant. Oh, God, Lieutenant Riley? Could you imagine? You hope he lives to make it that far. “I understand why y’re upset, luv. Y’re scared of change, and of my change, but we weren’t goin’a be those same, timid fuckin’ secondary kids forev’a, yeah? Hell, y’ve changed ‘fore I did. Y’re gorgeous, and y’re a spitfire, luv. Got a sharp tongue now. I’m sorry if’ya think I’ve been short wit’ ya. And I’m not hidin’ nothin’ from you. I jus’ like my privacy, yeah? Don’t know those men, yeah? N’ I’m sorry that me losin’ the cologne is botherin’ ya, but it was from my Dad, luvvie. Couldn’t keep holdin’ on’na it.” He explains, and you feel a bit silly now. “We were bound’a change, luv.” He shrugs, kissing your head. “How can I make it easier for ya?” He asks, and your heart melts. You know now that you only have one condition.

“If you can just stay alive, that would be enough.” You plead, big ol’ doe eyes and batting eyelashes helping your case tenfold.

“I’ll fight for you, my luv. No one else can protect you like I can,” he says and you snort. So cocky, so quickly. You give him that luxury.

“Any other conditions, luv?” He asks, chuckling gruffly at your snort.

“I bought some new rubbers in preparation for today. Yes, there are many’a ways you can make this easier,” you wink. You’re stumbling into bed so quickly that you forget the rubber that started this to begin with.

Oh, what’s one round without it?