#i think i like last picture show more than you but even if it's not on your wavelength paper moon might

[writella]

Here He Is, Finally

Synopsis: “When’s it gonna be my turn? Open me up, tell me you like it, fuck me to death, love me until I love myself—” This is a story about the inner struggles of a desiring Daryl who just wants to be free of the perceptions the town, and his own mind, have put on him, so he can love you and love himself, in the ways he’s always wanted to.

—or: As Daryl becomes the talk of the town, insecurity sets in that hinders him from having sex with you— the thing you most want to do.

Details: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader, ambiguous age gap, mixing early seasons’ + later seasons’ personality of Daryl, the town being mean but also thinking Daryl’s hot because he is, discussions of gossiping, insecurity, and poor self-image, Daryl fights someone :), and smut— unprotected + he’s nervous but then it gets good, and it’s their/Daryl’s/your first time in whatever way you want it to be.

A/N: He’s literally me (I’m a girl).

— With love from writella. ♡

There it was. You finally said it. You told Daryl that you were ready to have sex.

When you told him, the two of you were having a quiet morning and he was about to leave. Pulling yourself up to his height, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and he took you by the waist, one hand reached up to hold your head, rubbing his thumb there. Good, you had thought, he’s reciprocating. That let you know he was okay, but still, underneath, you knew he was embarrassed about last night. You weren’t going to bring it up though, not then. You wanted to move forward, to show him that you didn’t care. “Daryl,” you started, words slow, uneasy in voice but sure in intention, as you whispered to him from above his shoulder, “I just wanted to tell you– that– I feel like I’m ready.” You paused for a moment. “And whatever you feel, I’m okay with it. Just talk to me.” As silence ensued, you kissed him on the cheek, “I love you,” you said, and pulled back.

Daryl kept his hands in yours as he looked at you. His features were sad and soft as much as they were unreadable. He kissed you on the forehead. “I love you too,” he said– it wasn’t the first time you two had exchanged those words– and then he left. Just like that.

You had no expectation for how he would react. You only knew he wouldn’t give you a flat-out no, so this, was understandable. But still, there was something hollow about it, even if his kiss and words were tender. It was another relationship moment that reminded you that these things never happen as they do in fairytale romances.

You see, you had always pictured him or whoever you were with at the time, bringing you close, kissing you, their fingers trailing down and under the hem of your skirt or pants, asking you if you were ready, if you were sure, if you wanted them to go slow, slower, but Daryl— as it turns—was incredibly pure, or at least pretending to be. Either too nervous or sensitive about these things, possibly inexperienced, or much more innocent with his intentions than you ever expected. It’s like you knew Daryl like the back of your hand, but when it came to anything about you as a couple, his history, who he’s dated before– you were clueless. You didn’t know what it could be.

One thing you did suspect, although Daryl has never told you, is that he thought of you as precious, something to be delicate with, like a flower. Sometimes you’d tell him he didn’t have to be so slow or soft when you were kissing– he was always a little sloppy anyway– and whenever there was a task to get done you’d be the first to tell anyone you could do it yourself, he knew this about you. And it’s not like he babies you or anything, that was never his way. Like when you two were fighting walkers, or doing work around the communities, or when he’s teaching you how to do something. You’ve even told him that he could be a bit demanding sometimes, grouchy, rough, and he agreed– that was true. He didn’t do it on purpose, the whole being hard on you thing. But alone? When he was on top of you or you over him? Waking up to you? Feeling your hand reach for his own in the dark? Even just eating dinner with you? The guy was a mess! A little boy, even. Heart racing. Eyes averted at times.

Whenever he nipped you, on the lips, or the neck, maybe he pushed you on the bed too hard, grabbed your waist too tight that it squeezed the bone, there were always silent apologizes of gentle circles, sweet kisses, and tongue licks to soothe the pain or possible bruises he left on you. And sometimes, when you’re home alone or you shower together, and he starts to kiss you or pull you in by the waist, he almost always sets out with the intention that this time he’d finally do it— the sex thing— he always wanted to. Only if you knew! Honestly, he’d feel like such a pervert if he let you know how many times, both before and after you got together, that he’s thought of being inside you, or you on your knees for him, or him kissing up your thighs and tasting you– he genuinely thinks he’d really like it, all of it, but especially that. But every time you’ve kissed and kissed enough, he’d get too overwhelmed about how to proceed or too nervous to even try. He tells you that you two should shower or go to bed or that he has to go for whatever reason. So all you’ve done is grind on each other, a lot, but that’s about it. You know he’s gotten hard and you’ve gotten wet, but you’re not sure if he’s ever noticed. He wants to put his hands in your pants, he wants to rip your blouse, he wants to squeeze your tits and slap your ass, but every time he thinks about actually doing it, he feels it's too forward or raunchy, or maybe it's not actually like him in the way he’s pictured in his head, or maybe you’d hate it, and specifically the way he did it. And he has thought about doing it slowly, romantically, but every time he thinks about doing that, he feels stupid, thinking he’ll come off as clumsy and pathetic to you. He doesn’t exactly get the concept of slow and sexy yet— reaching up, breathing you in, letting his fingers linger, or hands caress and massage. It’s not that he couldn’t do it though, or so he thinks, if he really tries; it's that doesn’t even think he’s sexy to begin with.

The only thing Daryl knows for sure are the things people call him when they think he’s not listening.

“Deep and… grunty,” one much too young girl said to her equally young friend who giggled, indicating her agreement even if she was too afraid to verbalize it. “I just like his voice,” the first girl said, “it’s sexy.” Or, “Wild,” as one of Aaron’s friends whispered to him, “Like he could throw me around, do it in front of the whole town, and wouldn’t care who saw.” To which Aaron scoffed and replied, “That’s literally my fucking friend.” But in truth, it’s not like he hadn’t thought about it himself, how Daryl looked underneath his vest and button-downs– it was just once though!– he promises!– as if he needed to explain it to himself. He even told his husband about it; they had agreed on Daryl’s attractiveness. Eric called it “rugged,” and they laughed about it over dinner. Now, Aaron would repeat that word as he overheard another group of ladies discussing ways to describe or trademark some of the male leaders in town. As Aaron passed by, “rugged,” was his suggested alternative to the word “beast” when one older lady described Daryl, in a way that would make anyone not a part of the conversation cringe, “Beast, sexy armed beast.” But Aaron was only met with silence and weird hums until a girl replied that “sexy armed rugged,” doesn’t make any sense. To that, all the ladies agreed. As Aaron walked away, wanting nothing more with this kind of conversation about his friends, he caught the new suggestion: “Daddy,” a girl had said with the widest smile on her face— she wasn’t a teenager, but it was obviously her first time being vocal about these things. She must have felt she said something so salacious. And as much as Aaron wanted to gag, there was also a part of him that reluctantly stopped himself from laughing and blushing with the rest of the woman. One of them rolled her eyes saying, “They can’t all be daddy,” to which another girl said, “But they kind of are!” and then he was too far away to hear anymore.

Daryl didn’t get any of it.

The only ones that truly bothered him though were when they added, “I know he’s a little ugly but,” or “I know he’s not my type but,” or “I know he looks a little dirty but,” “And he never does his hair but,” “And he’s not like the smartest but,” but, but, but—

It all made him feel bad about himself; more confused.

Even when it was just generally flattering, he found it hard to take any of it as a compliment. Sometimes he would, maybe the whispers of him being “kinda hot,” on the days when he’d return to his cut-off sleeved shirts, or maybe those moments when a lady would be talking to her friend saying how he’s “handsome,” or how she just knows “he’s packing–big–” and what’s better than a big dick, right? At least that is what Daryl thought– it's the bit of Merle in him– and he bets Negan wished he had one— Daryl was pretty sure Negan’s is a tiny little bitch just like his personality. No one gets to kill one of his best friends and gets more than a three-incher. Right, J.C.? If you’re even up there? Not that Daryl would mind if you were or weren’t, or cares if you did, he wouldn’t mind– Daryl didn’t think about religion that much anymore. And on that note, he realizes that he doesn’t do a lot of the same things he used to anymore. Like the way he would walk around without a care, even confidently sometimes, not thinking about how much he swung his arms or the way he talked or the way his hair fell that day. There was this one time, as he was walking over to Rick in the garden, telling him he couldn’t find whatever particular tools Rick wanted, he yelled, “They ain’t there no more, Rick!” that he heard some older guy say to his friend that Daryl sounded like a “human gremlin,” to which the friend tried to one-up him by saying, “more like a garbage disposal.” Then another day, some girl said he looks like a “wet rat sometimes,” especially when his hair is flat or, as said in the phrase, wet; and he never forgot it, either of them or anything anyone has ever said about him. It’s always been like this. Even when he was a kid.

Daryl tries to remember that people have just gotten too comfortable now that Alexandria is back on track, at least that’s basically what you had said. One day, Daryl came into your room, huffing and throwing himself on your desk chair, saying, “Some people don’t know how to keep their mouths shut.” To which you had asked him what was wrong, but he shook his head.

“Well,” you begin, responding to his un-answer, “some gossip is misogynized. It used to be a way for women to spread information, but–” you avoid the lecture— “I get what you mean.” You look at him, seeing the way his eyes still drift. “I can’t tell you everything, but Rosita and I had heard some people speculate on the whole her and Saddiq and Gabriel thing.” You shook your head, your eyes rolling a little, “It made her upset. I could tell. But it took her a while to talk about it. I think some people forget they can talk behind closed doors now. Our porches aren’t as private as they used to be, and people have gotten mean.” To that, you both nodded in agreement and then you climbed toward the edge of your bed to hold his hand. Something was obviously wrong. “Has anyone said anything about you?”

Again, he shakes his head and you have to leave it at that— all he wanted to do was ask questions about you now, and he wouldn’t let you change the subject.

But at home, alone, he stares at the mirror, trying to see what other people see: handsome, rugged, possibly wild… but all he saw were things he didn’t l understand, things that made him feel he wasn’t good enough. Did they really think he was attractive? And if so, why did they always have to bring up that there was something completely unattractive about him before the compliment? And why were those remarks always easier to believe? Or was it all just some weird fantasy they felt dirty about having? And was being rude behind his back was some sort of justification for it? Was it all of them above? Most importantly, did you think any of this?

Next Saturday, a week after you told him you were ready, the town gathered in the church during the evening for the monthly communal meal. This was something that started during the rehabilitation of Alexandria, another thing that the population was getting too big to contain, but Rick and Judith liked it. So, Michonne agreed to keep it— for now— despite reasoning that “this is what holidays are for, Rick.”

It was about an hour in, 6pm and sunset now past. Some people who had been busy working were still filing in, little by little, but for the most part, a majority of citizens were seated, eating, and chatting. There was a steady rain outside that made everything smell fresh, and if it wasn’t for all the chatter, you could even possibly hear the light drumming on the church walls. Everyone was quite pleased about it, spring seemed to be coming early.

Daryl had not come to see you last night and left early this morning so you didn’t know where he went or what he did, but what you did know for certain is that he never carried an umbrella. Therefore, when he finally arrived, 30 minutes later, his hair was soaked, and since he didn’t even wear his jacket, the long sleeves of his shirt were drenched with water droplets sticking to his vest and shoes that sloshed and left wet footprints on the wooden floor.

Obvious to say, he was noticed by all.

There is a fine line with Daryl between not giving a fuck about how he was perceived, and caring far too much while not willing to do anything about it, and of course, with all that has happened in the past few weeks, it was the ladder. He hated being the center of attention, but it was hard for him to not be noticeable, it never was, especially now. He felt ridiculous.

As he walks onto the stage– where all the tables of food are placed– you follow him.

“Hi,” you say next to him.

“Hi,” he replies, calling you by your nickname kindly enough, but not ever looking at you.

“You know, I think Rick was hoping you were coming back on time. I don’t know why he put all that stuff on his chair if it wasn’t for you or Michonne and Michonne sat with me.”

He simply nods, humming as acknowledgment.

“Daryl,” you move to the other side of the table as he gathers his food so he can look at you. Quietly you say, “We don’t have to talk about it now, but– I hope I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable the other day. Or if it was about the night before, you just have to tell me.” You poke his shoulder, “You’re acting weird and you know it.”

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” is all he grumbles.

“But I still want to say I’m sorry if I did.”

Daryl quickly finds some napkins to dry his hands and wrists with and comes over to place them on the sides of your head to kiss you there. “You ain’t got anything to be sorry about. Alright? I’m fine.” His hands drop and holds you by the neck for a moment, the movement makes some water droplets bleed onto your clothes, you feel it but you say nothing. The only thing Daryl notices from you is that your eyes look almost identical to his despite the differing color– his mood is affecting yours, but he doesn’t know what to say right now to make you feel better so he opts for something he always know is true, “You’re perfect. You know that right?” And I’m just fuckin’ weirdo, he wants to add, but he doesn’t.

You were smiling at him. He doesn’t get it. He looked like an idiot all soaking wet and you were smiling at him. There couldn’t be a better reaction, but still, it’s moments like this where he can’t believe you’re real. All you say is “Okay,” never taking a compliment, just like him, instead of finding a way to break-up with him like he always nearly suspects. “Come to me when you finish, alright? We can leave if you want?”

“Alright,” he responds and you leave him be.

As Daryl goes down the rows of tables picking out what he wants, he heads to the last one. The way the event was set up was that everyone who came early had the opportunity to take a seat at one of the four tables that were placed along each corner of the stage and the rest sat in the pews, but despite the higher vantage point the stage gave, that did not mean Daryl couldn’t hear what those around the stage were saying around him— as always. It must be a hunter’s ear or something.

“Be careful,” a woman says smirking, her eyes gesturing to Daryl. “Let’s hope he doesn’t wet us.” The friend in front of her snickers, looking back to see that Daryl is now by the table just above theirs. Whispering, the first woman continues, shaking her head, “I don’t know how Rick or the girl put up with it. She just acted like nothing was wrong. He’s mudding up the whole damn church!”

Daryl keeps his back turned. This ends up being his last straw. “How about you shut the fuck up,” he mutters.

“Excuse me?”

Louder, facing no one in particular he yells, “Why does everyone act like I don’t got ears?”

You look up, synchronized with everyone in the church and get up with Rick who is already slowly approaching him, but Michonne yanks you down.

“What is your problem?”

To that, he turns back to the woman, “How ‘bout you say what you said again and stop talking shit under your breath.”

“What?”

“I said,” he starts yelling again, “if you got somethin’ to say about me lady, say it to ma’ face. That’s what I said.”

“Hey, what’s goin’ on?” Rick asks almost warningly, but not before someone yells, “Who the fuck are you talking to, man?” from one of the aisles in the back. It was her husband, now standing from his seat. He and his wife make eye contact, and instantly he’s moving closer.

Daryl walks to the edge of the front stage, barking a quick “move” without any pause and Eugene and Siddiq violently bob their heads and grab their plates as Daryl steps on the table and jumps to the floor.

Rick tries to push him back but it’s no use, Daryl pushes him in return and he and the husband are charging at each other, speaking over each other: “What did you say to my wife?” “Told her to shut the fuck up. Thought I said it loud enough–” “Nah, man you were mumblin’ like always–” “Or d’you need me to say it louder with ma garbage disposal mouth?” Daryl pushes him, “Huh?” “I’m not fighting you, man.” But Daryl persists, getting in the man’s face, their noses almost touching. He whispers, “You know, maybe your wife’s got everyone’s name in her mouth because she don’t fuckin’ like you.” The man keeps shaking his head, but Daryl surprises him, he isn’t the only one the town gossips about. “She’s fucking Mark,” he tells him. That was true, and people knew it. “He’s your friend, ain’t he? Maybe that’s why she’s always–” But no, not him, her husband did not know, so he punches, straight in the eye. Daryl almost smiles as he takes the next swing.

The two are tussling, but not for long as Rick takes the chance to get Daryl from behind, taking him away with Gabriel’s help. “You done?” Rick asks as Gabriel holds him on the other side, His grip honestly does nothing though and Daryl shrugs him off. Poor Gabe looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm to see the church– practically his church– in such disarray.

With that, and with Daryl raging too much to contain, he shrugs Rick off and stomps out.

Michonne finally takes her hand off of your wrist and you make you way to leave too. As you walk, you look back to Rick who is already trying to follow, and wordlessly tell him that it’s your turn now, then, turn to awkwardly dodge the people still standing in the aisle and collect your things to go.

Daryl was not hard to find. It almost made you think he wanted to be found or knew you’d go after him— he’s being such a child today. Despite the town lights, you hold out your flashlight to find him sits on a tree stump on the edge of town next to one of his favorite trees. The leaves did a terrible job of covering him from anything but you knew he didn’t care. It was almost laughable honestly. Still, you take pity, he was yours and you were concerned. “I know you don’t care about getting wet,” you say with no malice or disappointment in your voice, “but all that water in your shoes can cause blisters. You didn’t even wear the ones that don’t have holes.”

He just shakes his head, as always, and water droplets fall from the tips of his hair.

“Remember when that happened to me and you drained them with needles even though Saddiq told us not to?”

He stares at you, stone-faced for a moment. “You’re the one who told me to do it.”

“Because they hurt really bad!”

“You were being a baby.”

“Really?” You ask ironically. “So if I’m the baby why are you acting like one right now? It’s been raining since morning, Daryl! Not even a jacket? You’re obviously upset about something but I’m not going to continue this with you in the rain, looking like a sad, wet puppy.”

He sneered at the comment, wet.

“Let’s just go home, okay? Let me take you.”

“We don’t live together.”

You frown. “Don’t be mean, Daryl,” you gently warn. “You know what I mean.”

You hold your hand out for him, water collecting in your palm as you wait. It was more of a gesture than actual help as you two were still a few feet away from each other. “Please? You could have already ran away on your bike or gone home and locked your door but you didn’t. I don’t know what’s going on but don’t act like I don’t know you.”

Reluctantly, he gets up, walking to you in almost slow motion. You wish you could call him the drama queen he is right now, but it was time to get out of this rain– you would hold it in for the time being.

As you enter the small place, you make no conversation. You simply get to work and he doesn’t stop you. You take off your rain jacket and boots, then you take off his vest and boots. You drag him to his room and hang up your sweater and take off your jewelry, then you empty his pant pockets. Finally, you hold his hand as he trails behind you and into the bathroom. You unbutton his shirt and unzip his pants and place them all in the hamper. He takes off his underwear and helps you take off your clothes too. When you’re done, you turn on the water and go in, he follows. You bathe and wash his hair in silence. You are tender and gentle, and he knows it, he appreciates it, but his mind is loud, and angry, and he feels so pathetic as you wash him like he’s 5 years old. You turn around to start washing yourself as he takes care of cleaning his legs and lower area. After he’s done, all he can do is look at you, your body, the soft humming you can’t help but do when you shower. It’s exactly as he said, you’re perfect. He wants to bang his head against the wall because of it.

When you two finish, you sit on his bed, wearing one of his white shirts and a pair of boxers, he wears the same except his bottoms are sweatpants. He hates these kinds of casual clothes actually, he’s only okay with wearing it sometimes, but he has nothing else at the moment. All he had to do was give his clothes to Carol to wash, but he didn’t. He hasn’t really done anything this week.

“Ms. Ellen is a bitch.” You finally say, giving him an ice pack for his eye. “And so is Mr. Gary and they both have the whiteness names in the world. And they’re both lazy as fuck and reek of nepotism because they only had one of the biggest houses and biggest egos in Alexandria because they were friends with Deanna and they’re still bitter that their house being destroyed in the fire— which I get— but it’s not okay that she uses her bitterness to talk shit about everyone. And it’s also not okay that you used your anger to fight someone who didn’t deserve it. That wasn’t like you.”

“Maybe it is. You didn’t always know me.”

“Well, sure, can act like a tough—”

“I don’t act like anything—”

“Fine, I’ll change it: Can you be a tough guy? Yeah. But do you pick fights and make big scenes in front of the kids like that? No, you don’t.” You stare at him, tapping him on the knee and forcing him to look at you. “You not talking is obviously not working, Daryl. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

He takes a moment. “I just—”

“What?”

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” he finally says lowly.

“I don’t think you could,” you answer, “I’m not even now, I’m just frustrated. Or confused really. Why do you think you would?”

He lowers his ice pack, “Cause I’m not fuckin’ Rick.”

You laugh a little. “Well, I did have my suspicions, but great, that’s good to know. I’m glad you’re not fucking Rick.”

He sucks his teeth. “Be serious.”

“Have you not realized I’ve been trying to be? For weeks now? It obviously doesn’t work.” Both of you look down as you continue, “And I finally tell you how I feel and what I want and you just leave and barely talk to me for the rest of the week. And before you even mention coming into my bed at night or saying goodnight or good morning to me and telling me what you’ll do that day, that’s not talking, it's just saying stuff. At some point I can’t always chalk it up to Oh, that’s just Daryl; at some point, a person starts thinking that they're the problem. That I’m the problem! That I’m not good enough.”

A tear falls down your cheek involuntarily, then another; you were clenching your jaw after you finished speaking but it was no use. After everything, all the bullshit and the girls and the punch to his eye that really fucking hurt even though it was his fault he got it, this is actually the worst thing that has happened to Daryl in the past months– making you cry.

“You’re more than good enough,” he says in his mumble, still not looking at you. “I’m just stupid.”

“You’re not stupid!” You yell frustratingly as you wipe tears away. “Stop talking down about yourself!”

Daryl looks off into the window. He wants to speak, he does. The words are all on the tip of his tongue but they cannot come out, they never do. As he watches you wipe away your last tears, he thinks everyone is right, that that guy is right, he has a garbage mouth, his voice is poison. He never makes any sense and he always says the wrong thing. Why speak anyway?

“I can’t help you or at least try to understand if you don’t say anything. I know it's hard— I don’t like doing it either. I was scared to tell you what I did last week. But it just starts with one thing.”

“It's too hard to.”

“But I’ve never judged you, right? ”

He shakes his head. You haven’t.

“The first thing that comes to your mind when I say, ‘what’s wrong?’, what is it? Just say it. I don’t care what it is. I’m not going to judge you, I’m not going to say you’re wrong, anything—”

“People think I’m ugly,” he interrupts, “I’ve heard them say it.”

Your eyes widen, in shock for him and in shock that people could still care about such stupid things right now. “Who said that to you?”

He shakes his head. “That’s why I mentioned Rick. No one says stuff like that about Rick.”

“Well, I don’t want you to be like Rick and you don’t have to be.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

He gestures to himself, slapping his hands on his thighs, “Look at me.”

There’s something about the way his hand then reaches to cover his eyes in frustration, the way he slides it down to scratch his beard, accidentally magnifying to you the wisps of salt and pepper among the brown that gives you a clue to what he means. “I’m not some little girl, and I haven’t been for a long time.”

“I know, but you’re not my age either. And I don’t always think about you when it comes to it, it’s about me- I think about me.”

“So what about it? When it comes to the hair on your head and your eyes and the way you talk— that has nothing to do with how old you are, that’s just who you are. You didn’t choose to look as you do. And you and Rick have always looked the same age if I have to mention him, and his beard is whiter than yours at this point. Neither of you look old, or bad.” Your words do nothing so far. “You also have a better build than plenty of people in town. You’re stronger too.”

“But when they talk about Rick, all they say is that he talks too much and that he’s bossy and hardass and at least that’s true.”

You couldn’t help but smile, almost laughing a bit at that. It kind of was true.

“I’ve never heard anyone say things about him the way they say about me. Never anything about how he looks. But when they talk about me— they think I’m a fuckin’ animal.” There is silence after this. The word wild lingers in his mind and animal in yours. Again you want to ask, who could say that and have they not realized all Daryl has done for this place? Then, the more you listen, the more you realize that hidden beneath those with endless respect are some with hearts of cruelty and minds stuck in the regular old world ways that don’t exist anymore. “And sometimes, when I think about why you like me, I think that maybe it’s despite other things.”

“Despite?”

“Despite.” He practically spits.

“We all have bad qualities though. We’re not perfect.”

“I mean that I’m not some regular good looking guy.”

“Why would I want regular?” Your smile fades as his sad eyes persist. “Daryl, I can’t change your mind or make you feel the way I do about you, but why can’t you trust that I like you, and that I want to be around you? And that I’m,” you blush, “very attracted to you and I’ve felt like an embarrassing teenage girl the past few months waiting and trying to get you to have sex with me!” Quietly you say, “Have you not realized how much I really want you? How much I care? Everyday I feel lucky.”

He can’t take it. “Guess it’s like you said— can’t believe it if I don’t see it myself.”

His mouth is screwed shut, his throat tight, but just like you, it’s no use, a tear rolls down his cheek. Immediately you hug him. He holds you tightly in return and even though it makes your ribs hurt a little, you let him. All of this makes you see how much you two are alike than you’ve ever realized.

“You know,” you say into his hair, “there was this one time, I was up super early and couldn’t go back to sleep so I went out for a walk. I passed by Olivia’s house and she waved me over from her window and asked me if I could help her restock the pantry before Rick came later in the day to check it because she had this huge migraine. Well, that turned into me doing the whole thing for her. She said she was going inside for a break and some water and the next thing I know she’s asleep on her couch! And you know how her niece lives with her? I guess she runs in the morning and while I was finishing up, her and her friend lean up against one of the garage doors and I hear them talking. I was just about to open the door to leave but then she says, ‘She’s sweet but kind of a kiss-ass, right? Like a try-hard?’ And then her friend goes, ‘Yeah, she really wants to be one of them,’ ‘But all she is, is just Daryl’s little girlfriend.’” Daryl lets go to face you, his eyes incredulous just as yours were when he said someone called him ugly. “And then they started saying how I insert myself into places or something, so thought if I came out right then and they see me having done Olivia’s job for her… I didn't want them to get an up-close look of them being right. So I waited until they went in the house and then I left and for the whole rest of the week I was upset because I thought I was becoming friends with those girls but really I wasn’t, and I questioned if Rick and Michonne or Rosita or Glenn and Maggie even thought of me as a friend because they actually like me or if I’m even good enough to be one or if it’s only because I’m associated to you that they care to talk to me. I felt pathetic too.” You pause. “So, I’m really sorry, Daryl. You don’t deserve to feel like you’re being picked on in the town you live in— in the place you helped create.”

“It ain’t your fault.”

“That doesn’t make a difference. I should have said something.”

“You didn’t have to. I wanted that to happen.”

“But I wish I knew. Cause I would have if I knew. I feel like I let Michonne stop me because I didn’t understand. And all I’m saying is whether I've had it as bad as you or not, I do get it. And I’m angry for you. And you don’t have to be embarrassed to tell me things like this. It was dumb of me to keep my feelings in, just like you do with everything.”

Daryl swipes his hair to the side, parts of it are dry and waving while other areas are still wet, making him think about the rat joke. “No one likes you because of me,” he says. “You’re likable because you’re you and you care. And fuck those dumb-ass girls. They’re idiots for saying that.” He rubs your thigh. “I didn’t say anything the other day because when we were in the shower the night before I,” God, he feels stupid, “I got hard and you saw it and I realized it was the first time you saw it like that before and, I don’t know, I got scared.”

“Did you think that I’d think you’re ugly?”

“I don’t know.”

“Daryl,” you tisk, “after the amount of times we’ve showered together already?”

He gets defensive, “I don’t know! Felt different.”

“People usually get excited to know their partner is excited because of them.”

“I just feel like you’re gonna be disappointed.”

“Why do you always think that? I don’t have any expectations. I just want you to show me you love me.” You begin to look nervous, “I want to feel wanted too.”

“But I do… I do want you.”

“Then show me.”

“I don’t know how.”

You try to think, “Daryl— what is it that you picture when- when you want to do it?”

“I picture you,” he says simply.

“You do?” Your face is immediately warm.

He laughs, “Of course I do.”

“Well what do I do? Or what do you do to me?”

“Depends.”

“Pick one,” you say, almost desperately.

“Sometimes it just starts with what we always do. Kissin’. Maybe you’re on top of me.”

You waste no time; you get on top of him.

“And I press you down.” Daryl’s hands are now heavy on your hips, your hands are on his chest, you rock into him slowly.

“And sometimes I think about you bouncing on me or-” he pauses, the way you rock and the way he pushes up to you hitting a perfect spot of friction that makes the both of you gasp.

“Say it,” you tell him.

“I’m fucking you from behind. Or you're on the bottom and I’m going hard or being all gentle and shit like you but I don’t know how.”

“You know we can do all that, right?”

Daryl is red. Both you and him are surprised at yourself, but his bashfulness almost brings it out of you naturally. And honestly, your jacked and grumpy dilf boyfriend has left you repressed for far too long— you’re horny.

Suddenly, you move yourself onto one of his thighs and start palming his bulge as you rock. “Do I do this in your dreams?”

He almost groans, “Now you do.”

You move yourself from his thigh and lay down to start kissing him. He reciprocates, grabbing your face and pulling you close. Daryl starts nipping at your neck and you try your hardest not to yelp so he won’t stop. As you two continue, your slick starts to wet his boxers and you press your legs together as he gets harder under his sweatpants.

“Have you ever noticed how wet I get when we kiss?”

“Only at night,” it’s hard for his words to come out as you continue palming him, “when you don’t have clothes on.”

“And you never did anything about it?” You whine. “Do you know how bad I need you? How much I think about you?”

“I think about you more.”

“You do?

“Yes.” Daryl swallows, whimpering a little. You now stroke him, his dick riding up against his thigh, and it feels too good. “What- What do I do in your dreams?”

“You lay me on the bed and put your dick in me and fuck me and it feels amazing,” you say between hot breaths. “And you’re not scared to do it.”

“I wanna do it.”

“So, please, Daryl, do it. I want it so bad.”

Daryl uses your words as courage. He takes you off of him and goes over you.

You both take off your shirts and he strips you from his boxers and him from his sweatpants.

Finally, without regret or without him turning away you see his cock stand. It’s proud, meaty, and you can’t lie, a little scary, but you’ll never tell him, even if your widening eyes give you away. It’ll fit, you assure yourself. You won’t be afraid.

“You okay?” He asks, timidity setting in again.

But you nod assuredly. “Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

You pout, he’s stalling. “When you look at me, what do you see?”

“Beautiful.”

“And you're handsome. No pretenses. No exceptions.” You come up on your knees to face him, kissing his lips softly. “It’s like we said, we’ve dreamed about this.”

You lay down again, and Daryl places his hands on your inner thighs to spread them, making space for himself. You watch as takes hold of himself, mouth agape and pumping himself a few times as he stares at your body before slowly entering you. Your pussy is drooling at the sight.

Your eyes instantly close and scrunch. Although it worries Daryl, he’s glad you’ve shut them so he can continue looking up and down— up at your face to see if you’re in pain and down as he watches his cock enter you for the first time. You were incredibly tight to him, tighter than he ever imagined, he wasn’t used to this feeling and he liked it, a lot. It made his stomach clench and all his muscles flex as his breathing gets heavier, trying to stop the possibility of him moaning at the sight of it all.

“Are you okay?”

It was big and there was something about it that felt good but it hurt, the stretch indescribable, but you nod and tell him, “I like it,” because that was true, and everything else felt like too much to explain right now, your thoughts almost dissipating.

“You sure?”

You just nod again, whining.

“Alright,” he says, putting his hands on the bed to start.

Once more your eyes screw shut. He almost takes himself out before he pushes back into you again. He doesn’t know if he went slow enough but he tried. Your eyes wrinkling because of how hard you closed them doesn’t help though. He wants to tell you to relax but he’s not even relaxed himself to even make it sound believable.

He tries again, not going so far out this time and slowly goes back in to the hilt again, so slowly in fact he thinks that must have been awkward for you. He stops, tries one more time, then stops again. Your sounds seem like you’re hurt. He knows you’ll say it’s just pain and adjustment to his size but he instantly perceives it as disgust. He knows it’s not, but he can’t help it, he can’t. He must be ‘too much’; ‘too big,’ that’s what it is. Those are things he has heard in porn tapes Merle used to give him or things he noticed in porno mags he maybe used to read that he had found in a store near Hershel’s farm all those years ago, and supposedly it was a good thing for it to be too much, but now, look at you: you were in pain. And it was taking everything in him not to ram into you. He felt pathetic, again. Stupid, again. Like he didn’t know what he was doing. Maybe he should just withdraw right now, clean you up, try to give you a sympathetic look through his hair that said he was sorry for defiling you and not even make you feel an ounce of pleasure in the process. Everyone was right, he is a joke.

“Daryl,” you say, looking up at him, “you don’t have to keep stopping for me. I just need to relax and you just need to be slow. I think I can take it.”

“I know,” he responds, kissing your forehead.

“Close your eyes,” you tell him. “Do what feels right to you. You have to trust me to tell you if it hurts or not.”

He almost laughs at that. You think he’s so strong; that he has all the power. It’s so strange to him.

Daryl puts his head in the crux of your neck, closes his eyes, and tries again. He holds your waist, thumb on your ribs and the other fingers on your back as he pushes his hips into you.

You hug his chest and feel all of it. “Make yourself feel good Daryl, it’s gonna feel so good to me if you do that, I promise.” After his 4th small pump you let out a whiny moan of relief. “Oh- okay- keep going.”

Daryl moves his elbows to the bed by your head and starts pushing his hips against you, finding a rough yet steady rhythm. He loves the slapping sound your bodies are making and can’t help but speed up. He goes deeper and you start moaning. He already feels he’s losing himself. He tries to kiss you to slow down, but realizes he can’t plow into you the same way he just found out he likes. He goes back to it and he starts grunting and groaning— there is a part of him that is embarrassed by it but it just feels so good. “Are you gonna come?” He asks between sharp thrusts.

“Don’t focus on that,” you tell him. “Stay like this. Please.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice, he really can’t think of anything anymore than continuing to pump himself in you so he does. You try your best to rock up into him, but he has full control, his hands on your hips still as tight as ever as he pushes into you, making you and the bed bounce at his mercy.

You’re more than fine with it all. Even better, you couldn’t believe this meant that Daryl was about to come inside you. Something in you knew it was about to happen. It was the way he placed his elbows by your head and started cursing and ramming into you harder and even whimpered in your ear and gave you these little puppy kisses there before getting back to it. You were surprised by how noisy he was but you didn’t dare say a word other than panting and whining back into him so he’d continue, even in moments when it felt too much and too hard. He was forgetting all his doubts and that was the goal right now. You lock your legs around his hips and tell him, “You feel amazing inside me. My handsome man,” and that does it, “Oh, fuck,” he says as he releases every last drop of himself inside you.

Now, as he slows down, he looks at you, thumb on your bottom lip and chin as he tries his best to keep rolling his hips on you as he comes down from his high, but you ask, “Will you kiss me down there, Daryl? I’ve always wanted that.”

“You don’t want me to make you come?”

“I think it’ll happen if you do it like that. I just want to know what it feels like.”

He stops for a moment deciding if this means he’s failed or not, but he simply says, “Okay,” all kindly and nodding like it was your idea even though it was because this means another one of his dreams were coming true.

Instantly, he’s licking you, feeling more assured of what he could do— this was one of his most vivid fantasies so even though he doesn’t know for sure, he thinks he’s got.

“Oh, oh my god,” his tongue is bringing up wetness to your clit and sucking on it, “that’s good.” He starts licking your clit, going fast, “Daryl, that’s so good.”

He looks up at you, dazed already, “Yeah?”

“Oh, yes.” You fix his hair and he loves the feeling. Truly, he was going a little too fast actually, going up and down and this way and that way too much, but the sounds his mouth and your pussy were making together were too glorious. You let him go, you let him be proud, and either way, you’re whining and moaning because of it. He’s perfectly imperfect and he doesn’t even know it. But you’re too in love with the feeling of him to explain what that means right now so all you say is what he told you about yourself in the church, “I think you’re just perfect.”

To that, he stops again and he looks up at you, smiling. It’s one of those rare ones he seldom does, teeth and all, and your slick coating his lips all the while. His eyes are shining, and he gives you the smallest, sweetest, most innocent kiss to the most obscene place on your body— your clit.

At this point all your sounds have been short, quiet, filled with whines but to this, you moan at the sight, full and loud. It’s involuntary. It’s pornographic. It’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard in his life. His cock stirs, springing up again as he goes back to giving you your first and forever the most slobberiest head of your life.

After a while he beckons you from below, “Hey, angel,” he calls.

“Mm,” you respond lightly. You’re nearly blissed out. He’s going to make you come.

“I think those girls were right.”

Your eyes become so cute yet so sad— you just want him on you again. “What do you mean?”

“You are sweet. Sweetest thing I’ve ever had in my life.”

“Oh,” you whisper, moaning again as he goes back to licking your clit. “Oh. Fuck.”

He starts licking and kissing your puffy lips, making wet sounds with his tongue, slurping little bits of you where he can. He loves how slick and noisy your pretty pussy is. Your clit throbs and he hums into it all dark and grumbled and husky going, “Mmmmmm.”

You tell him, “God, it’s so good, Daryl.” To which he responds, referring to a different it, “And it’s mine.”

Oh, so he’s cocky now? Well, that’s new for him. You lay back at the thought, at the feeling, reveling in delight.

Here he is, finally.

[euphoria-looney]

Thank you... for playing with me.

Pt.1

Bake No Hana (Nightcord at 25:00 ft. Kaito)

"It's finally come around, my punishment for having been born. In order to put an end to it, I stop breathing— Ah, I'm fed up with this."

I approached the girl who chose me last round, Penelope. I called her Penny though, and thought the name was cute.

It suits her.

Last round I wasn’t sure exactly what I was going to do, but she pulled me into her group, and even against the male group, we won!

It didn’t help that crunch that echoed across the room each time a team lost though, Astro has been colder than ever and the old guy got separated from me before I could follow him. I think it was fate that we all ended up on the same team.

I’m trying to sound positive because, at this moment in time, I have gone too far to give up now, whether that be hope or, the sick truth, for the money.

My mind is always racing and is looking for the truth that I’m hiding from myself. 

I’ve killed people intentionally or not, just to keep going for a cash prize that I’m not even sure I’ll win.

This isn’t the situation I wanted to be in.

I’ve said that line so many times.

When I was 5 and my mother ran away, that wasn’t the situation I wanted to be in.

When I kept getting neglected and abused in the manor, that wasn’t the situation I wanted to be in.

When I got kicked out at the mere age of 18, That wasn’t the situation I wanted to be in.

Getting into debt and sinking deeper into the amount needed to pay back, I bet you can think of the line I said next.

And now with all the corpses I’ve been near, the money dropping into the pig, the masked soldiers that looked upon you with their weapons, was this really how I was going to be free from debt? Was this the situation I wanted to be in?

“Hey!” Penny turned to look at me.

“Want to pair up?” I tilted my head at her.

“Why should I?”

“I don’t picture you going around here and begging these jerks.” I looked around at our options.

“Wouldn’t that bother you?” I raised an eyebrow to her.

“Bothering me or not isn’t the concern, winning or losing is.” Despite that, she didn’t make any plans to move away from me.

I cheered fondly at her.

“Then play with me, I’ll make sure you’ll win.”

“What will you do?”

“Whatever it takes.”

“... What do you see in me?” 

“Well, I wanted to ask you that.”

“You were someone who looked like they would come with me.”

“I feel the same way.” I raised my hand offering a handshake.

She took my hand, so warm compared to how she acted, and I tightened the grip before releasing her hand.

I’m glad we got the teams out of the way before the timer ended.

—

Third POV

“Alright, there's a five-minute break before the games start, my good sirs. Do whatever you’d like before coming back to meet up and enjoy the show, they’ll be playing marble games.” The frontman announced before everyone dispersed.

“What was that imbecile thinking, joining a game like this? She even had the option to leave and she chose to come back?!” Damian scoffed, rolling his eyes out of agitation.

“They did…” Duke murmured.

“No, they didn’t.” Damian looked at Duke as if he were mad.

“Yes, they did, a while back? You were there and berated them for acting like their mother…” Duke rebutted.

“That must’ve felt so humiliating…”

Dick rubbed his arm.

“... she was probably terrified to face you again, especially with how you treated her…”

Damian piped down after that.

“You’re not any better than us, Duke. You also shunned them away,” Tim said, defending himself and the others.

“I’m not saying I’m better than anyone and this doesn’t excuse what I did but all of you guys made it known through the whole manor that she was just like her mother, so greedy for money that even when she had too much she wanted more, is that what we’re seeing in front of us though?! A girl who's so loaded but still wants more?!” That left Tim speechless and guilty.

“I know what it’s like to be financially unstable, obviously after losing my parents and trying to find them it wasn’t easy, and it didn’t make it any easier with not even a penny in my pocket, so these people “killing themselves for a little money” even though it’s a life or death situation, that’s no different then being “free” out there, especially not in Gotham. So when Bruce rescued me and treated me with kindness and support, I thought that all his kids got this treatment, but now you guys want to berate her and call her an idiot but she was forced into this position…”

He turned to Bruce but was only met with the man looking away.

“Maybe when she left this game, she realized her life wasn’t meant enough and came back to this dehumanizing environment, she didn’t come for us to help her because of the memories of last time, she probably was so nervous always walking on eggshells around us that the moment we rejected her she knew that this was her only option.”

Jason knew it wasn’t targeted specifically at him, but at one point, he knew he had a bond with [name], that innocent kid with those cute bug eyes and that gummy smile. They had something special. Then he died and came back with the news. At that moment, he couldn’t help but feel betrayed by [name]’s mom. With everything that had happened to him,, he had changed his character, so with no one to blame…

Well, you are your mother’s daughter.

Doesn’t the saying go ‘like mother, like daughter?’

Also, the situation didn’t help with him constantly not talking to her, you’d have understood the feeling he got when she came to the manor after being kicked out just to beg for money?

He seriously could not blame the situation on you, did he, or did he forget that he contributed to it too?

The ignoring, the sneering, the insults, how one looks from the person she trusted the most could shatter her heart.

And of course that would be the first conversation she had with you... You didn’t talk to her.

“Well, did you guys hear what she said to that other girl, seems she has no plans-”

A knock interrupted the chat.

“I’m sorry sirs, but the games are starting. May I have your bets?”

“240”

“Wow, all of you, just in case she ever loses, would you guys like to buy her body? I assume you’re family and had an interest in that girl?”

“You!-” Damian was stopped by Bruce, who also had his hands clenched in anger.

“Thank you, that would be appreciated.” Smiled Bruce.

“Of course, and I didn’t mean you lose the bet, it’s just that the odds are against some players and good for others.” The Frontman nodded before heading off.

“Don’t worry, guys. Just hang on. I’m finding the location as fast as I can,” Oracle said through the earpiece before they left for the lounge.

Their nice, comfortable lounge.

—

If I am ready to die, why not know a little bit more about the person I’m spending my last moments with?

“You know~ since the last Joker attack nothing has been this tragic…”

“What game are we playing?” No small talk then… but that’s okay.

“Dang, you’re cold as ice.”

“What game are we playing, girl?”

“You tell me. These games are probably only known to these oldies, tell you what let’s make our own game, ten marbles we could do anything with that.

“So let’s… end this game in a single round.” I looked down at my lap.

“All or nothing. A simple bet.” I looked back at her again with my stupid smile that showed my gums and tilted my head.

It was something I was used to doing a lot as a kid.

I don’t know why I’m acting like this, maybe it’s because my misery will finally end.

That took a dark turn. Let’s get back on track.

“Don’t tell me you’d… rather do what they’re doing?” 

We looked at the old guys behind Penny, throwing their marbles that hit against each other. What was the purpose of the game?

Get the other players' marbles out before they do.

“Okay. Playing what then?” 

I huffed in amusement. 

“What’s with the hurry?” 

“You’re just dying to kill me, huh?” I teased

That was a rhetorical question, we both knew it…

At least I knew it was.

“We’ve got a lot of time on our hands, and we’re playing one round. What’s the rush?”

“What are we gonna do before then?”

“Talk” It had been a while since I’d done that with somebody in this hellhole.

“About what?” 

“Things we never told anybody about I guess.”

“One of us is gonna die, so… it doesn't matter what we tell each other. No one can really embarrass themselves anymore. Okay?”

—

“How long have you been in Gotham? It isn’t a place where one would particularly reside.” We were both sitting at the stairsteps at this point.

I started with a question.

“Just been here since I was born, my mom found the “love of her life” here. She said we’d enjoy it”

“Did you?”

“...” She didn’t reply but rather stayed silent.

“Your family, are they still here with you?”

“My brother.”

“Any parents?”

“My father died getting shot in some back alleyway, at the wrong place, at the wrong time.”

“And your mom?”

“She got high off of drugs when she lost my dad, she overdosed not too long ago and her family took her away from us blaming us for the reason she suffers. I don’t know if she’s still alive and recovering or dead.”

“Where’s your brother now then?”

“In a shelter,” she hesitated. I was asking more than giving, but she still replied, and that was enough for both of us.

“If you win this and get the money, what will you spend it on?”

“Buy a house for me and my brother, then take us somewhere else, Gotham is no place for us, even if the top schools are here, there’s a price to pay for everything.” She was right about that.

I scoffed a little bored of that answer.

“Hey~ with this amount of money you could buy that and so much more- is there anywhere you’d like to travel?”

“Houma.”

“Houma?”

She nodded her head.

“It looked peaceful and had lower crime rates than most places. It didn’t look like Gotham at all.”

I couldn’t help but huff at that.

“Hey. Don’t you think you should dream bigger, huh? Do Keystone City. Hold on– Go to Metropolis instead. They even have lower crime rates than most.

Penny finally turned her head around and looked at me for once out of this entire conversation.

“Metropolis?”

“Yeah, the Superfam lives there. You know the Kryptonite versions of the Batfam in Gotham?”

It seems she didn’t care much about superheroes which made me giggle.

“Really?”

She shook her head.

“Oh no, then we have you fix that, we’ll have a girl’s night out every week in Metropolis and get to meet the Superfam in the flesh, okay?” 

She looked away at that.

“Oh, guess we can’t both leave here?”

…

“Back when my father was alive he was the perfect guy, he was too generous for his good, I was too naive as a kid rushed into the room where he laid to rest before he was covered and saw his gorey body,” Penny told me.

“The first body I saw was this poor kid on the side of the street abandoned just like me, he died inhaling too much of Scarecrow’s gas.”

“Abandoned?”

“Oh! I haven’t told you my backstory, it’s not as tragic as yours, no. My mother married a billionaire and took cash before running away without me when I was five. Everybody blamed her actions on me, making me feel too shameless to ever ask for cash, then I got kicked out at eighteen and took too much debt for regular supplies and school debt then landed here.”

“I wonder if I had money, what would I do… Go to Houma with you?”

A silence ensued between us making me look away.

“Sorry, I forgot again.”

As the timer started running out the sun kept going down even lower. Penny stood up.

“Let’s do this.” I smiled at that.

—

Third POV

By now, some VIPs were disappointed not because they had lost money but because they had lost the guessing game of lives.

Others were happy with the result.

But for our main characters well, can you guess how they’re feeling?

Unnerved, whatever [name] was planning. Are they going to win this game, or will they lose? Would the Wayne family see their dear family die with a bullet to the head?

Bruce never meant to treat you like that, but you’d have to understand your mother betrayed him, and you were there… and you didn’t do anything.

Oh, what could you have done? 

Alert the whole house of her leaving? Then what?

It was never your fault, you did everything you could to appease them, they just never forgive your mother.

—

We stood up passing a dead body and went to an “empty” land.

“Whoever can roll it farther than the other person wins, okay?”

I let Penny get the head start.

I held my marble in my hand.

Pondering.

I didn’t have much to live for, did I?

I had no friends, no family, and nothing to my name other than the daughter of a gold digger or the bastard child.

What’s the point?

I I guess this game was pointless after all.

I let the marble slide off my hands landing a few inches from my foot.

Straightening my posture I feel Penelope approach me.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” She grabbed me by the collar of the tracksuit.

“You win, I lose.”

“Stop. Why the hell would you try to do that?” She still kept a firm hold on me.

“Butter fingers, what can I say?” I chuckled, scrunching my eyebrows at her.

“Making sure I won. Is that what this is?”

She slammed me into the wall again.

“Did you think I would be grateful? Throw it again.” She demanded.

“And I still wouldn’t be able to win.” I kept my smile on.

“Ugh, don’t be dramatic and let me die in style, hm?” 

This was the reality, and if one of us had something memorable to do once we had gotten out of there, it would be her. Wouldn’t it?

“[name], that’s bullshit! Stop acting cool and just do a real throw!”

I sighed no longer keeping my damn smile on my face.

“I have nothing.”

“What?” Penelope didn’t let go, though. It seemed like she would allow me to talk a bit more.

“You have a reason to get out of this place… I don’t.”

Penelope kept breathing shakily. 

“I thought hard about what I would do, over and over, nothing. It’s like a dead end.” I felt myself tearing up.

I didn’t want to burst out in tears, I hadn’t done that in a while. 

I’ve always hated getting emotional, but it feels like a relief to get it off my chest.

“If anybody has a reason to go back out still there, it’d be you.” I laughed despite tasting the salty tears that leaked from my eyes.

Penelope didn’t seem the type to get emotional either, though that didn’t stop her from letting a couple of tears flow.

“Don’t die here, go out there… and find a place where you and your brother can reside. Far from any crime preferably to Houma.” I chuckled.

…

As Penelope walked away, I didn’t want that to be how our interaction ended, no, not like this pathetic goodbye.

“Penny!” I wasn’t sure she’d respond to that nickname but to my surprise, she stopped.

It made me widen my eyes briefly before going into a somber expression.

I held in my tears at that moment, stabilizing my voice.

“Thank you… for playing with me.” I was glad the guard let me have my closure, you don’t think they’d have the heart with their roles.

BANG

Player 240, eliminated.

—

The blood sprayed out before her body collapsed onto the ground with a sickening thud.

This wasn’t the situation anybody wanted to be in.

— 

That’s it for now. In the next part of this option, the Batfamily will suffer and have flashbacks, as one does. If anyone has any advice on how to write some scenes, that would be spectacular.

I’ll be working on a request and then my So Much More series before getting to Astro! And then maybe the next part of this, so don’t expect it anytime soon. That’s all from me!

Taglist time! ❤

Also, I love the idea and from fic from both @jellyfishmoon97 and @not-weirdoshrek and a new addition that I'm super happy I bumped into @alilobsessive.

@holysoulsweets @sh4rk-k1d @sillysealsies @loomspuddle @cantfindmelol @alwaysholymilkshake @leitor-sonolento @randomlyappearingartist @beyondblissxoxo @sirairi @yhin-gg @frankie-moon3 @welpthisisboring @yokesmam @bat1212 @enchantingarcadecreation @twismare @delias-stuff @ladylupuscrow @ferchu0406 @c4xcocoa @cruzerforce4256 @anonymoushehehehe @godoreo22 @blerp-22 @facelessisnthere @sirenetheblogger @themightybee4067 @boredselkie @tiffyisme3760 @random4137 @midnightgrimoire @mybones537 @chaoticmoontimetravel @jsprien213

I think that's everyone who wanted to be tagged, I hope I didn't spell any wrong and tag the wrong person.

[pinkkkkat]

Hi!! Hope ur having a good day! Could I ask u to write something abt caitvi x fem!reader who forgets to take care of herself (bonus points if she's a workaholic)

hi i’m SO late i’m so sorry baby

(reader is a student because i’m an overworked student and this is self-indulgent like everything else i write also this is nsfw sorry if that’s not what you wanted anon! no use of y/n)

it’s not new for you to work yourself to the bone. whether it’s pulling more than one consecutive all nighter to get papers finished on time, or spending full twelve hour shifts in the library pouring over your books and notes, you slip easily into an all-work and absolutely no play mindset (not that showering or hey, eating, counts as ‘play,’ but anyways)

usually, nobody notices. so what, you disappear sometimes (for weeks), but you always pop back up looking normal, so it doesn’t draw attention. everyone knew that you were a dedicated student. the only reason caitlyn notices you’ve stopped caring for yourself is because she sees the trait of obsessively working until you drop reflected in herself

you started dating caitlyn and vi in the early summer, so they had ever seen you in your element. when the academy starts back up in the fall, your girlfriends are excited to see the sparkle in your eyes when you tell them about your passion, hands moving animatedly as you talk at a rapid pace. vi often teases you for being a nerd, but cait is much the same, so it’s two against one there

anyways

i think cait would bring it up to vi first, asking if she’s noticed how you’re starting to pull away a little, and when they do get to see you, you’re not yourself. usually, you keep your appearance well put together, hair down and outfit chosen to bolster your look-good feel-good attitude. lately though, the bags under your eyes have become prominent, and some nights you don’t come home, saying you’re gonna work late at the academy, but then not going home at all

at first, vi is just super proud of you, for working hard at what you love. she understands what it’s like to want something so bad that you can’t help but “stay in the grind.” she sends you texts in the group chat often throughout your busy days, pictures of her at the gym or a gif of little cat, always with a message saying she’s so proud of her girl, that she loves you

after cait mentions how worried she is, vi starts to notice that you’re not as cheery as before, on top of the eye bags an disheveled appearance that is starting to become your staple look. she’s frustrated with herself for not noticing and taking care of you, and with you a little for not taking care of yourself. cait convinces her to let her try and help first, as someone with a more similar academic experience

caitlyn starts showing up at the academy, at least once every day. she brings food, and coffee, and sometimes she gets jayce, but more often viktor, out of the lab to accompany you. she always takes your hand, dragging you from what you’re doing to sit with her and just talk. she’s subtle about her worry, not wanting you to feel guilty, but wanting to change your habits slowly without you noticing (cait is so conniving i love her)

as the semester continues, you only seem to get worse, despite cait’s best efforts. cait is consistently holding vi back from saying something blunt, because she doesn’t want to upset you, or to cause you to give up on what you love all together out of guilt. in the end, you end up coming to them, having completely exhausted yourself and tilting your last straw

it’s late when you get to the kirraman household, knowing you girlfriends are there. you don’t know what time it is, the sun having set some uncounted number of hours earlier. you knock on the door (even though you know you can just walk in), embarrassed about how bad you’ve let yourself get. cait opens the door and envelops you in a long hug after taking one look at you, standing on her porch in a big sweatshirt, sniffling a bit, unwashed hair piled onto the top of your head

“oh my darling, come inside”

she’s warm and so soft with you, and you’re already feeling better. cait shushes every attempt you make to apologize, for showing up out of nowhere after not really showing up at all for a little while. she brings you up into her room, where vi sits on the end of the bed

vi nearly knocks you to the floor with the force of her hug. she’s strong, and she’s whispering to you about how much she loves you, and how proud she is of you for coming to them for help when you need it, for recognizing that in yourself. her words bring you to tears, and her arms wrap tighter around your torso. you feel cait join in on the hug, tucking you and vi under her chin and squeezing her arms around you both

they bring you to take a bath, and vi gets in first, hissing at the hot temperature of the water. you sit between her thighs, and she wraps her arms around your torso, calloused hands covering your entire stomach. cait sits on the edge of the tub, asking you about your work, and sternly but lovingly detailing how much time you’re allowed to spend at the academy from now on, until you find an appropriate balance between your work and your life. vi hums in agreement with everything cait says, punctuating every particularly harsh sentence with a soft kiss to the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder

they leave you in the bathroom to wash your hair in he shower, and when you come out of the bathroom, you’re wearing one of vi’s hoodies from her gym, and cait’s too long pyjama pants, and you look more refreshed than you have since the summer. you look so cuddly and cute that cait starts cooing at you, and you giggle, batting her hands away when she squishes your face

vi is sitting on the bed, manspreading in that way that she does, and she’s smiling softly at her two girls

(NSFW NOW BTW)

“c’mere baby”

and you do, standing between vi’s legs as she wraps her hands around your waist. you lean down to kiss her, and soon enough her tongue is licking at our b otto’s lip, and you’re opening your mouth to let her in, your hands draped loosely around her neck. you sigh into the kiss when vi’s hands starting palming at your hips, your waist

vi pulls you into her, lifting you effortlessly into her lap so you’re straddling her. the kiss gets deeper, and you whine when vi pulls back. she smiles at you, and tilts her head towards the top of the bed

“how pretty is our girlfriend, huh baby?”

you turn to look, and there’s cait, wearing your favourite set of pink lingerie and sitting up against the headboard, hair down and legs spread open only slightly. you flush a bright red when you see her, mouthing parting slightly when you lick your lips. vi bounces you on her lap for a moment when you don’t say anything

“tell her baby”

“cait, you’re gorgeous”

vi leans into mouth at your neck, murmuring to you about keeping your eyes on caitlyn, and you do. you’re still blushing, silly in your position, but you can’t help it, with how caitlyn is staring at you while vi sucks marks into our soft skin. vi shimmies further onto the bed with you, and hooks her hands under your thigh to lay your down softly on the bed, your back pressed to cait’s chest

cait is immediately sweeping your hair to the side and digging her teeth into the side of your neck, causing a sweet little noise to slip out of your mouth. vi groans at the sound, pressing a strong thigh up against you as your hands make purchase on her biceps. cait’s mouth on your neck is teasing, a nip followed by soothing kitten lick, and vi is holding herself up above you, her free hand hooking under your knee to bring your leg up over her hip as she pushes her leg against you more firmly

eventually, you’re getting desperate and whiny, and vi gives in as soon as she hears the first “vi, please,” slip from your beautiful mouth. she pulls your (cait’s) pyjama pants down, panties too, and your immediately rucking your hips into nothing, searching for some friction to help you out. normally, vi is a lot more teasing, but not today

“vi is gonna take care of you, okay sweet girl?”

and vi does. she presses her hands onto the backs of your thighs, pushing them open and up. without any prelude, she gets to it, licking through your wetness and groaning at the taste. you’re arching away from cait, whose one hand has taken to holding your hips in place to help vi, the other tucking itself underneath your (vi’s) hoodie to pluck at your nipples

it takes no time at all for your girlfriends to have you a whimpering, squirming mess, begging to cum. cait is whispering softly to you, hot breath slipping over the shell of your ear, shushing you and telling you how good you’re being for them, how much you deserve to feel good, and could you cum for them, please?

you do, of course. it cracks through you, hips stuttering on vi’s mouth, legs trying to clamp shut but stopped by vi’s strong hands. vi works you through it until you’re whining and pushing at her head, overstimulated. you collapse in heavy breaths, thoroughly sated and exhausted

caitlyn is instantly tugging at you to turn around, head resting on her chest. she pulls you tight to her with a hand on your waist after readjusting your sweatshirt to be comfy. her spare hand comes up to run through your still-damp hair. vi slides your panties back on but abandons the pj pants, kissing her way up your bare legs and rewinding you of how well you’ve done, and again how proud she is

vi tucks herself up behind you, spooning you, arm thrown over both you and cait. that’s how you fall asleep, pressed tightly between the two of them. you drift off instantly, and over your head, vi and caitlyn smile at each other

you don’t overwork yourself again

[nickfowlerrr]

once more with feeling

pairing: professor!bucky barnes x curvy!actress!reader (reader is not a student)

warnings: mdni. no smut. flirting. i’d label this as soft horny if that were a thing lol. edward/guy moratz makes a short appearance. not much else really but self-indulgence at its finest. reader is probably minimum twenty five but you can imagine whatever age 21 and up you'd like and it should read alright.

words: 5185

notes: this was originally going to be a professor bucky x reader fic but then i got the idea for auditioning reader and then i thought oh! what if i wrote for my latest obsession - edward/guy! so then it was gonna be guy x actress reader but then i realized i kept picturing bucky and i’ve missed writing for him so then it changed again into professor bucky but now with actress reader and that’s where i landed with it even though i think this would work so well with guy as our guy and truth be told upon rereading myself i did start to picture him instead of bucky ha but ANYWAY this is buckys fic but if you wanna picture guy that works pretty well too 🤭 writing this was a nice distraction from the craziness of life lately and i hope you enjoy it. also just to say it - if you haven’t had the chance to watch a different man yet, you absolutely should. it’s great.

pls lmk your thoughts! i’d love to hear what you think. thank you in advance for reading! as always, comments and reblogs are so appreciated and more than welcome. 🩵

Goosebumps have risen all over your skin as you sit in the uncomfortable auditorium seat. Your legs are freezing thanks to the dress you don; despite its length, the fabric doesn’t provide much warmth and you can’t help but shake just a touch as another chill comes over you. You wrap your arms as tightly as you can around yourself but it too does little to help. The shrug cropped cardigan keeps your arms covered but the cold still chills - even inside the walls of this classroom auditorium.

This was a stupid idea, you accept far too late.

Granted, your planned outfit originally saw you in lined leggings to help fight the cold of the season, but after your little trip down the stairs on your way here - despite having held the skirt of the dress up to avoid such a fall to begin with! - you decided to toss the ripped and coffee soaked leggings and keep on instead of doing what the universe clearly was screaming at you to do: Go back to your apartment, take those god forsaken heeled shoes off, and put on something simpler. You were trying too hard.

Maybe you were. But you couldn’t care. You needed this. And when do you get to wear a dress like this on the daily? It fits the mood and works for the role without being a costume. You may feel a little uncomfortable, you don’t wear dresses out often, but you don’t think you’ve really made the wrong choice.

You were last on the audition sign in sheet so thankfully no one would be left to watch you the way you’d just studied the twelve other girls reading for this role.

They all dressed casually, had book bags with them, it was obvious they all attended this school. And here you were! A college dropout, overdressed in comparison, and clearly out of place.

Ah, you’re getting too in your head again. Always looking for a reason why something won’t go your way. But you’ve been working on that, and calling yourself out seems to help.

You take a deep breath as the last girl clears the stage and the casting table speaks amongst themselves.

You haven’t been able to see any of their faces, only the backs of their heads. You aren’t sure if there are students or faculty at the table with them but you figure it doesn’t really matter.

The casting call said all were welcome to audition - student or not. The location was only at the college because of renovations on the theatre in the city.

…It did say that, right? You’re not auditioning for a college show, right?

Your heart begins to pick up speed as you worry. Did you read it wrong? Were you making things up? You scramble for your phone and as you pull up the email the city theatre sent out last week, your name is called.

You don’t have the chance to reread it before you shut your phone off and tuck it away in your bag, placing it on your seat as you stand. You take a breath as you smile as confidently and friendly as you can and make your way down to the stage.

“That’s me,” you say as they watch you.

Finally you’re able to see their faces and as you make eye contact with each of them you can feel them sizing you up. Three people sit at the folding table before the stage and one man sits a bit further back in the second row of auditorium seats. He has yet to look up from his book and you realize you hadn’t noticed him at all earlier.

A younger man at the casting table, no more than 30 if you’d had to guess, tilts his head as he watches you ascend the few steps to the stage.

“So,” he states your name again, “do you attend classes here?”

“No,” you answer with a small shake of your head, “no I’m not a student.” You work to maintain your easy smile as you feel all eyes on you.

The man nods and turns to speak to the man still sitting and reading behind him. “Well, Mr. Barnes,” he gets his attention finally, “no pressure to stay. All the students have been seen, you’re free to go. This is the last audition for the day then we’ll be out of your hair.”

“Until tomorrow when you’ll take over my auditorium again,” he rumbles lowly as he stares at the man who is still looking at him.

You swallow hard as you do the same. His eyes are bright despite his obvious annoyance, his dark hair pushed back as he tries to keep it out of his face, only a couple silver strands shining through the dark chestnut brown; the stubble that covers his jaw adds to his air of gruffness - the spot of gray near his chin adding to his appeal. He’s tall, you gather as your eyes move down his body, his long legs. He wears dark slacks and a baby blue button up dress shirt tucked into his pants. The sleeves are rolled up his forearms and the top couple buttons of his shirt are undone, giving just a hint at his chest hair and the chain that hangs around his neck.

You realize you’re staring as you hear the voice of the younger man responding to Mr. Barnes, but you don’t hear what he’s saying as you force yourself to look away. Your eyes blink up and you’re caught. His blue eyes are on you, brows furrowed and his expression unreadable. You quickly look away and pretend you weren’t doing a thing as you wait for them to give you the go ahead.

Some more words are exchanged as they seem to try and appease the man whose classroom they are in. You’re not entirely paying attention to the conversation as you run your lines in your head for the millionth time.

You know the words. You know the part. You’re not worried, necessarily. But you haven’t booked a single thing in the past eight months and to say that hasn’t shaken your confidence in yourself even just a little bit would be a lie. But you’re getting back to your roots. You’ve missed the theatre. It was and will forever be your first love. This is your first stage audition in a while though, and your first experience with this theatre. Since moving to the city, you swore you’d audition for one of their shows but just never got around to it as your focus shifted to film. This is your time now. Is it going exactly how you’d envisioned it’d go? Well, you’re standing in a university campus auditorium instead of the stage at the Fervent Fires Theatre to audition, so, no. But that’s okay! You have a good feeling about this. And as you stand here, you feel more and more relaxed. It’s kind of bringing you back to your high school days - the annoyed teacher having to share the auditorium with the annoying theatre people. It’s funny.

And after seeing the other girls audition you really don’t feel too stressed. Most of them were late teens auditioning for Elmire. Despite the fact you played her in your late teens, too, that was simply because the production was full of other teens and young adults. You’re definitely more of the right fit even now. You’ve seen some of the theatre's productions before and who and how they tend to cast. Granted this is second day auditions and everyone else who has been seen might be in your league, but you won’t dwell on who you may be compared to - and you kind of needed the confidence boost today.

You take a breath and remind yourself you know what you’re doing. Whether you get a callback or not, just being on a stage again, acting in front of people again, you’ve needed this. It’s good.

You come back to yourself, out of your head and more at ease and hear Mr. Barnes as he speaks.

“And I appreciate being ‘free to go’ but I’m fine right where I am. Seeing as how this is my classroom, I’m sure that won’t be a problem.”

“Oh, no, of course not. I just meant that if you wanted to go, you were free to, are free to, do, ya know, whatever you want. We were under the impression you were required to be here as a faculty member during student’s auditions, but, uhm, yes, of course. We aren’t trying to push you out or anything,” he smiles before nervously clearing his throat and turning back to face the table. He shuffles around the papers before him and you see him pull your headshot and resume to the front of his stack, grabbing his notes and pen before turning his gaze to you.

“Alright, sorry about that. You can start whenever you’re ready.”

Their eyes are all on you. The casting table, and the man behind them. He’s set his book down next to him, has his hands folded in his lap as he sits back in his seat, casual and intent all at once, while his brilliant blue gaze is set right on you.

-

The audition is a blur, it goes by so fast. As you thank them for their time, you’re surprised when they offer you more information they hadn’t given out before.

“Callbacks will be next Tuesday and they’ll be at the actual theatre. We’ve been under construction all month but should be good to go next week. We appreciate you taking the time to come audition here, we know it’s a little out of the way in comparison.”

“Not a problem at all, it actually isn’t too far from me,” you smile.

“Good, well, keep a look out for an email with more details and…” the director on the end of the table looks up to you as if she’s catching herself from revealing a secret, then sighs, “ah, screw it, you’re definitely on the callback list,” she smiles, “we’ll see you there.”

“Amazing,” you breathe, “I’m looking forward to it. Thank you again, so much,” you can’t help your grin as you walk closer to the steps of the stage.

The casting table packs their things as you walk past them back to where you were sitting before. You’d left your bag and half drinken coffee so you make to go get it. As you pass the first few rows, you feel Barnes’ stare again, this time only fleeting as his name is called from the young man who spoke to him before.

“This table?”

“You can leave it,” he states, sounding bored.

“Okay. Thank you again for letting us use the stage, we really do appreciate it.”

You don’t hear him reply as you hear the casting team leave out the door.

The realization you’re the last one left intruding on this man has you hurrying up.

Until you hear his voice again.

“You were good.”

You turn at the compliment, wide eyed as you see him coming closer up the steps. Your heart seems to skip a beat and you wonder what he’s doing until he bends down a few rows before you and picks up an empty coffee cup someone must have left earlier.

You’re caught a bit off guard but force your mouth to work after a second, “Thank you.”

“Yeah,” he nods as he stands back up straight. You watch as he tosses it easily into the trash can at the bottom of the stairs before he turns back to look at you again.

You were right. He’s tall, and somehow even more attractive than you’d originally thought now that you’re seeing him even closer.

“I’m no director, but from what I’ve seen yesterday and today, if I was casting, you’d be it.”

“Oh,” you feel your face warm despite how cold the auditorium still is, “that’s,” you laugh a little under your breath, “that’s really nice to hear, thank you.” You have to look down as his gaze is just a little too much for you right now. You don’t need to fall down another set of stairs today and if you let yourself get lost in those ocean blue eyes of his, you’re almost certain you will.

“You seem more shy off stage than you do on,” he comments, taking another step up the stairs, another step closer to you.

“Yeah,” you titter nervously, “um, I’m an actor, ‘m pretty good at faking it when I have to.”

He raises his brow at your unintentional innuendo and immediately you catch yourself. You feel like you’re on fire and you see something in his eyes, almost like he’s working himself up to reply as he takes the last step he needs to be on the same level as you.

“You fake it a lot?”

Your lips move as if you have words to speak but nothing comes out as he stares at you and you stare back.

God, he smells good. And he’s so tall. And muscular. And pretty.

You blink as you try to break yourself free from this trance.

Is he hitting on you? You don’t even know this man’s name and yet there’s a fluttering in your tummy at the way he’s eyeing you. His gaze roves down your body, over your soft curves that are accentuated by the corset dress hugging you. His tongue darts out as he wets his lips seemingly without thought and that familiar desire that’s been plaguing you the last six months since your breakup has you fidgeting where you stand. He’s so effortlessly hot and the thought of getting on your knees right here and now for him hits you out of nowhere and only burns you further. Wow, where did that come from?

You haven’t been with anyone since you ended things with Nick, and you may be horny, but you’re not desperate… Are you?

You swallow hard and extend your hand to him, offering him your name as you do. He smiles with a deft chuckle, looking from your hand back up to your eyes before he takes your hand in his, seeming to ease some tension in him you hadn’t noticed before. Maybe not tension, maybe anxiousness? But no, that couldn’t be it. His smile is so easy there’s no way the word confident wouldn’t be in your top choices to describe him.

“James,” he supplies as you shake his hand. His big, warm hand that you can’t help but imagine the weight of if he were to place it on your waist. He squeezes you just a bit and another wave of your sudden desire rolls through you.

“Nice to meet you,” you say, sounding a lot more sultry than you ever intended. His lips quirk and he takes a second before he responds, again, you get the funny feeling he’s working himself up to say what he does.

“Can I be honest with you?” he asks bluntly, waiting for your nod before he continues. “I saw you staring at me when you were on stage.”

Okay. Ha. Wow. You’re so hot you wouldn’t be surprised if steam was coming off your cheeks. God, you could just explode from your mortification at his words. Is he really calling you out like this, right to your face? Your cheeks are burning and you don’t know what to say. You suck your lips in your nervousness as you inhale a breath through your nose, letting your lips go as you suck your teeth when you release them. You look down as your tongue runs along the edges of your teeth. A nervous habit when you’re at a loss for words as you let out a breathy titter at being caught and having it brought up.

You hear a light laugh from him before your breath is stilled when he gently touches your chin, his touch warm as he tilts your face up so you’re looking at him once again.

You’re stalled in a sort of awe as his eyes seem to twinkle at you.

“You don’t need to be embarrassed,” he assures you, his voice smooth as silk, “I was staring back.”

The soft smirk on his lips lights you up as you unthinkingly wet your own. In any imagined scenario you would never have thought you’d be so receptive to a stranger coming on this strongly - so boldly and up front. But here you are. Receptive as hell. There’s something about him, about his approach, that has you even more attracted to him than you were at first glance…er, stare. His voice, his attitude, the way he’s looking at you. As if he knows exactly what he wants, and he’s going for it. As if the very thing he wants right now, is you.

“Your eyes alone are captivating, but there’s something else about you,” he muses, “you got on stage and it was like I couldn’t look away.”

You almost have to force yourself to take a breath before you can talk. “The dress,” you quip with a small shrug.

“The dress,” he looks down at your body once more, a funny fluttering setting your core alight under his gaze, “well it definitely helped. It’s nice,” he compliments, his hand reaching to touch the fabric and grazing your hip. At his touch his eyes flick up to gauge your reaction and, seeing what you’re sure is a dreamy like haze, he goes on. “Look, I have to teach a class here in half an hour so I’m just gonna cut to the chase,” he says, a hint of an east coast accent slipping in and becoming clearer in his voice as he speaks, “I think you’re gorgeous. And I think you might think I’m not so bad myself,” he half smiles as his lips twitch. “I know this is forward,” his eyes meet yours once more, “and there’s no expectation here.”

Your brows raise despite yourself as you wait for him to go on. He licks his lips again and takes a step closer to you.

“Do you wanna have sex with me?”

You inhale sharply as you pause, your lips parting with the breath.

Weirdly some far off part of you was kind of expecting that was where this was leading, but in the very same breath, you really were not expecting him to say that. Your mouth goes dry and your mind goes blank as you try and process his words. You know your immediate, no thought involved answer. But surely, this calls for some thought, doesn’t it?... It’s not like anonymous sex isn’t a thing, it’s just never been your thing. But you do have the rest of the day free and you’re riding on a kind of confidence high at the moment, and god is this man tempting.

A small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he stares at you, studying you and waiting for your yes or no.

“You do this a lot?” you ask instead.

He breathes a soft chuckle, “Never, actually,” he shakes his head, “but I’ve been out of the game for a while, recently been told I need to put myself out there, and I guess I don’t really know how to be anything other than direct these days.”

“Hm,” you look into his bright eyes, a sincerity there you don’t find in people often these days, “I guess I can appreciate that.”

“Is that a yes?”

Fuck it, you think. You’ve been pushing past your normal comfort zones all day. What’s a little sex with a hot stranger? …Right? You’re seconds away from saying yes, how could you not, you egg yourself on, but you figure you should make this as clear as you can. Not that his answer has much chance of changing yours.

“Is this just sex? Or…” you trail off.

“At the very present moment,” he specifies, “just sex.”

You nod in easy understanding, readily taking it for what it is, but he continues on.

“And if you wanna leave it at that, we’ll leave it at that, but if you’re interested in dinner later tonight, too, I’d be glad to buy. Pick you up and everything.”

“Oh, what a gentleman,” you simper with a titter you can’t suppress. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Mhm,”

“Sex?”

You nod with a smirk as he closes the gap between your bodies.

“Right now?” he adds again, getting the same response as you smile against his lips when he leans in closer.

He kisses you. You’re immediately lost to him as his lips touch yours, his stubble tickling your soft skin. It’s surprisingly tentative, slow and soft at first, like he’s testing the waters between you. After a long moment, he decides to pull away, not too far, only parting for a split second. You're struck by the fleeting feeling of his lips being on yours, it steals your breath as you mindlessly lean into him immediately looking for more. Your eyes meet again, there’s a glimmer of shared recognition and you know he feels the same, and then his lips are on yours even more hotly. You’ve always thought people were dramatic when they spoke about having sparks with someone, that it wasn’t a real experience, just hyperbole… exaggeration, but you’re realizing now you just hadn’t ever experienced it before. That spark, that zing, it is real. It must be, because as crazy and sudden as it is, you think you have it here.

His hand comes to hold your head, keeping you close as he leads you. You might be embarrassed by the way you melt into him if you were thinking of anything other than how good his touch is and how perfect his lips seem to meld with yours.

You’re filled with a thrilling excitement you don’t know you can compare to anything you’ve felt before. This is new and nice and as the kiss deepens, your nerves turn from jittery butterflies in your belly to a smoldering desire that burns lower and lower. His firm body is pressed to your soft one and his free hand falls to the tail of your back, holding you closer and keeping you there against him before his hand snakes to your hip, wandering up your curves as he feels as much of you as he can. Your own hands are against his stomach as you chase his kiss, fingers fisting the fabric of his button down shirt.

James nips at your bottom lip and you give him entry without a pause, his tongue slipping in your mouth as he kisses you fervently, like something out of a movie. You’ve never been in a situation like this, and you can say with certainty you’ve never been kissed like this either.

You let your hands slide up his torso until you find the first button. As if you’ve done it a million times, you easily begin the tedious task of unbuttoning each one - though you take your time, not wanting to break any as you’re still caught in his hold, still lost in his kiss.

You hate having to break away but you need a breath and despite the loss of contact with your lips, James’ continues to travel along your skin. From your cheek to your jaw and down your neck as you angle yourself to allow him more access, all the while your fingers do their work and your breathing turns heavier. Once the buttons are undone you pull the tails of his shirt from his pants. His hands are still on you, feeling you as he kisses your delicate skin.

Your hands stabilize yourself by holding his sides as he yanks you closer to him still. He’s much thicker than he looked, you realize as you touch him. Your hands wander up his back, wanting to get his undertank off as soon as humanly possible so you can really feel the muscles there.

He brings an arm around your waist and his other hand glides down your back until he gets to your bottom, groaning in your neck as he squeezes you there.

“Buck?”

A loud voice breaks the trance the two of you have been under and causes you to jump as you hear the doors closing and footsteps coming around the side staircase, bringing a different man into view.

You’re startled, and James gallantly moves you just behind him despite your still fully clothed state. You’re still grateful though, you know you must look a little mussed, your cardigan falling down your arms and James’ undone shirt hardly producing any air of innocence about what was unfolding just moments ago.

“Oh, sorry,” the man starts with inquiring eyes, looking between the both of you. He’s just as tall as James and has eyes just as blue. He’s clean shaven, though and not as bulky. Still, they look like they could be brothers. “Professor?” he asks, “Am I interrupting something?”

“She’s not a student, Guy,” James responds, annoyance clear as day in his voice. “I’m not Drysdale.”

“Right,” Guy says on a light, breathy laugh, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He seems uncomfortable at the mention. You see him as he eyes James’ still undone shirt.

“What do you need, Guy?” James asks firmly, getting his eyes back on him.

“It can wait,” he brushes off, “just wanted to say thanks for letting the theatre use the stage again, we appreciate it.” His eyes flick to you and he seems to make a connection. “Elmire?”

Your eyes meet his in surprise, “Um, yeah,” you nod with a small smile, shifting your weight from one leg to the other, arms crossed over your chest.

“Tartuffe,” he gestures to himself with a smile of his own. You suddenly recognize him and take a step forward.

“Wait, did I see you in Death of a Salesman the other month?”

“Yes,” he smiles even more sincerely now, “yes, it’s the year of the classics at the theatre,” he chuckles.

“Right, yeah, you were incredible. Really great performance,” you compliment him.

“Thank you very much. I heard good things just now about your audition, I’m assuming you’re -,”

James interrupts Guy by supplying your name himself, causing you both to look at him. You fight a smile at the sound of it on his lips.

“Well then,” Guy looks back toward you, clearing his throat a bit, “I will be seeing you at your callback,” he turns to James, “and I will be seeing you in the office later.”

He takes a step back, “It was nice to meet you, and thank you again, Bucky.”

The name catches your attention as Guy walks off and James turns back to face you.

He sighs as he looks at you, reaching for your hand which you allow him to take.

His touch is deceptively delicate and you can’t pretend you don’t like it.

“Bucky?” you question. He meets your gaze and gives a sheepish half smile.

“Nickname.”

You nod, “Ah. Makes sense,” you lilt, holding his eye. “Suits you.”

“You can call me Bucky if you’d like. Like the way it sounds when you say it.”

You huff a laugh, looking away. He continues on, “I’m sorry for that interruption, I uhm,” he let’s go of your hand and moves to start buttoning his shirt back up, “I think we’re gonna have to try this again later,” he pauses, glancing back to you, “if you’re still-,”

“I am,” you smile, cutting him off.

He finishes tucking in his shirt and then immediately takes another step closer to you.

His eyes are scrutinizing in the best way as he takes your face gently in his hands, your own coming to hold his wrists; his bright gaze shining into your own. It feels intimate but strangely…right.

“I guess I should be thanking Guy,” he muses. Your brows furrow in unvoiced questioning. His lips quirk at the face you make. “I was taking the advice of someone I’d never normally take advice from being so forward with you. Honestly, it’s not really me,” he admits, admiring the soft smile of your own gracing your lips at his words. “I’m more of the courting type.” You laugh brightly at his choice of words as he smirks. “Old fashioned, I know.”

“No, that’s..That’s good. More my speed. I was uh, stepping a little ways out of my comfort zone with this myself.”

The want that had been burning between you two wasn’t exactly boiling over at the moment, but despite the space between you now, it was still there... Call it a low simmer.

He pulls you closer as you wet your lips and his nose brushes yours. You’re certain he’s about to kiss you and your eyes flutter shut but instead, Bucky pulls away. He lets you go as he bites his own lip and you both hear the opening of the door again before you hear multiple footsteps follow in.

“My class is starting soon. But,” he gets his phone from his back pocket and hands it to you, “we’re still on for dinner?”

You take his phone with a demure smile, feeling somewhat grateful for the shift in direction, and send yourself a text message, saving your contact in his phone before handing it back, his fingers grazing your own. “I’d really like that.”

Students begin to file in and get seated around the auditorium as you stand with Bucky.

You turn to grab your bag and your coffee cup, then face him again. You glance around and notice you’re still relatively alone, most of the students have sat toward the middle of the auditorium, and no eyes seem to be on you, but you keep your voice low anyway.

“And I do get it if you really want to go slow here, but, if you want to…ya know, try this,” you raise your brows, hoping to communicate your meaning, “again, tonight, I’d be up for that, too.”

He nods, a schoolboy smile on his lips as he admires you.

Your lips twitch with a smile of their own, “I’ll see you later.”

You feel a renewed giddiness as you turn from him and he returns your ‘bye’. His eyes are on you as you make your way down the steps and follow you until he can’t any further. You liked the feeling.

Call you crazy, but you think you just might be developing feelings for Bucky already as it is, despite not knowing much more than he seems to be a kind man, gentle, confident, insanely attractive…. You wouldn’t be surprised if this dinner solidified those feelings and more, even further. You’re looking forward to talking with him, really getting to know him.

You may not be one for sex with a stranger, but sex after the first date doesn’t sound too out there for you... Especially not when that date is with Bucky.

[e-m-ma-lmfao]

Hii! I love your Thanos x reader x namgyu stories!! They’re so good and I love your writing! I was wondering if I could request more of that? Maybe a little smut if you’re comfortable writing it!

(Sorry if that doesn’t make sense, English isn’t my first language ❤️)

thanos ! x reader x namgyu !

pairing : thanos! x reader x namgyu!

cw : drug use and sexual activities!

a/n : erm i am NOT a good smut writer but i hope the small amount is enough. i love these two. also i don’t know if anyone has noticed but i cannot make them mean for the life of me. like i love a soft man. oops

you’d all live in a single apartment because it’s cheaper. you were practically all living together anyways (they crashed in your living room more than their own places) so you would decide making one rent payment split three ways made more sense than three separate payments.

the chores would probably fall on you. cooking, cleaning, laundry. it’s easier if they’re out of your way anyways.

i think namgyu would help out by buying groceries or taking over the laundry every couple of weeks.

i like to picture him with glasses, and leaving them everywhere but his face. like he’s constantly misplacing them. and he swears you must be psychic or something because anytime he starts squinting to see, you pull his glasses out of thin air.

he also definitely is incapable of admitting he needs them. and will actively refuse to find them because he “looks stupid with them on”.

thanos is the type of guy that wouldn’t do anything around the house except leave his cigarettes ashes on the living room table.

or throw his shoes on top of the already large pile of sneakers by the door instead of tidying them up.

or add his dirty dishes into an already full sink.

and then he’d say he contributes to house work because he bought take out once last week or because he brought home shit for you guys to smoke.

but he’s also the type that can clean the whole house in a couple of hours, under the condition that’s he’s high. like i imagine him popping one of those pills from his cross and getting the energy to do everything you’d plan to do when you get home.

and if you said anything about it he’d just shrug. like it’s not the most impressive thing he’s done since he moved in.

secretly he’d be on top of the world because of your praise and gratitude. and he can’t help but smile at the satisfied smile that appears on your tired face when you sit beside him on the couch with no responsibility for the night.

they both are the type to conspire around the thermostat. and they’ve somehow convinced you that you don’t know how to use it so you trust them when say it’s a normal temperature.

like in the winter time, they’ll turn it down so far that they have to bundle up under multiple blankets on the couch.

picture this, you’ve gone to bed and they turn it down at least half an hour after. and you return to the living room, half dressed cause “that’s the only way you sleep”, and you beg them to come sit in your bed to keep you warm.

and thanos would be the type of guy to get you there and claim that they have a faster way than just ‘sitting in bed’ to keep you warm.

that’s how you’d end up with thanos chest pressed to your back and his cold hands up your shirt, cupping your breast as he nips and kisses at your neck leaving purple marks in his path that are sure to show the next day.

meanwhile namgyu has your legs perched up on his shoulders, fingers pressing into the flesh of your thigh, as he head gets busy between your legs.

and you better believe your inner thighs are covered in bruises. his incapable of holding back his bites and kisses with your legs spread wide in front of him.

i cannot see namgyu being anything BUT handsy. like even if you guys were just cuddling this guys hands are on you, in you, all over you it’s crazy.

and you’d say it’s counterintuitive when thanos throws your shirt across the room, and namgyu has pocketed the underwear you were wearing, because how is removing your clothes keeping you warm.

but after at least of an hour of being trapped between them, all three of your are sweating and the room seems way hotter than before.

maybe the fact that they turned the thermostat back to normal before joining you in your bedroom had something to do with it. who knows?

the type of guys to talk to eachother about you like your not there but also the type to say it’s gay to make eye contact with eachother when they get you off.

they’re also jealous creatures. they can’t help it.

if the three of you are having sex and you leave a mark on one of them, like a hickey or god forbid you leave lines from your nails, the other is suddenly whining for you attention. silently begging for you to mark them up in the same way.

and they won’t leave your bed after. they stay put, hands wrapping around you from either side of the bed. namgyu’s fingers are intertwined with yours as his face presses against your neck. and thanos is sprawled out on his stomach, one arm draped over your middle as he faces you, dead asleep.

[femmenature]

nobody gets me, you do

Pairing: Ellie Williams x f! reader (ofc)

Summary: where your ex Ellie can't spend another day pretending she doesn't still love you.

Warnings: Inappropriate language.

-

you usually appreciated this kind of nights. Where you don't have to work and you can watch a series or put more effort into the food, and not just make a simple white rice. You used to appreciate it in Ellie's company. Now you prefer to keep your head busy, work, study, do some gardening even though you know perfectly well how horrible you are at it. And that your head will probably play tricks on you and remind you of how Els laughed for a week because a damn cactus dried up on you. A sigh escapes your thoughts. “See, this is what happens when you're distracted,” you say to yourself, leaning against the kitchen counter. But your relaxed posture didn't last long, as someone knocked on your door. Strange, knowing that you didn't order anything to eat and didn't invite your friends. You walked to the door and opened it with your eyebrows furrowed, you were going to open your mouth but it was her, and you just stood with your hand on the door frame and your heart in your mouth.

Ellie looked at me and blinked rapidly, as if checking that this was not a dream. Her heel rested on the floor, leaving the toe of her slipper raised nervously. “hey” she let out in a sigh, which she seemed to have been holding back for quite some time.

“hey…” my voice betrayed me and trembled as I said something as small as a greeting. Though I guess it only matters who you're saying it to, and having her in front of you isn't easy, more so when you've had no contact for the past five months.

“I know it's weird, knocking on your door knowing we're not together” she spoke fast on the last words, wanting to cover up the fact that you guys are apart, because it hurts her more than anything else in this world ”but I'd rather you see me as a freaking weirdo than keep this to myself any longer. Altough you know I'm weird, I mean, you know me better than anyone else and-” she stopped talking, knowing she was getting distracted.

“do you want to come in and we can talk inside?” even though you're scared to death and more uneasy than ever, you acted calm so she would be too. She nodded and you invited her in, closing the door behind her. “so…why are you here?” you don't act disinterested, not excited either, Even if you are. You disguise the fireworks in your stomach as you smell her perfume when she walked inside. As if your house is complete again.

“uhm, these five months” she licked her lips nervously as she looks away remembering the days she spent without you ”were the worst months in the world. And it's just pathetic to tell you knowing that you're the reason I had such a hard time. Or the absence of you. I was with a part of you, with your ghost that haunted me everywhere I went reminding me that it wasn't going to be the same without you, and the worst part is that even though it wasn't really you it was all I had left to not feel completely alone in the world. So somehow I didn't want it to go away” her eyes finally met mine, softening ”our pictures are still in my room, even our saved game from the last time we played Life is Strange together. I didn't touch it waiting for you to come back, in that stupid hope that you'd show up and we'd forget our stupid fight. But I guess our pride won us over once again.” she moves a little closer, slowly, as if she's afraid the floor beneath her will crumble ”and for the first time in my life I couldn't care less about my pride because I know you're on the other side of the scale. And the love I have for you compares to absolutely nothing I have or will ever be able to have.”

your eyes become crystal clear, you think this is not real, you imagined so much that this moment would come, you made so many scenarios with Ellie and that she will come back into your life, but not like this. She is practically showing you her heart like never before, in a desperate attempt to get back to being everything she loves and still loves. You were going to say something, but she cut you off, she had more to tell you, more to show you how much she misses you.

“So I'm here. I'm not going to lie to you and pretend that I don't expect you to answer me, that I'll be able to wait for you to think and answer me without falling apart from the anticipation of not being able to hold you in my arms again. I don't even know how I could endure these months without you” finally closes the immense distance and gently caresses your hand tenderly ”do you know how desperate it is that no one understands you, that the only one who knew how to calm you down was miles away from me in body and soul?”

her eyes are desperately searching for yours and her voice is begging you “the only person who could do that was you and it killed me to know that you didn't want to see me when all I wanted to do was kiss you as if the world would end after that. Nobody gets me, you do. Nobody can beat your eyes, your touch, your voice, your jokes, your love. I couldn't even look at another woman because I knew no one was worth it, no one is worth it. No one can look at me and know when I'm anxious, or how much I love space. They would see the stuffed dinosaur I have in my room as a simple stuffed animal, when you took the time to know which one is my favorite and buy it for my birthday and when I would give an explanation of that dinosaur and why I have that damn stuffed animal the only thing I will think about is that I lost you forever and and-"

you approached her and gave her a sudden kiss, knowing that if you let her talk anymore, anxiety would eat her up. The kiss is tender, desperate for time apart, but at the same time soft and romantic. Her hands brought your hips closer to hers while you caressed the back of her neck. After a few seconds you separated and rested your foreheads without taking your hands off where you had them

"I hope you never have to explain to anyone why you have a dinosaur in your room because I'm not going to lose you again" Ellie smiled and hugged you, hiding her face in your neck "I wasn't planning on doing it anyway. I was going to die without you then I wouldn't give myself the chance to have another girlfriend" you laughed caressing her hair "I missed you, Els" she kissed your neck tenderly without letting go "I missed you too baby"

-

I'M SORRY if it's not well written, I don't speak English and it's hard for me not to get lost!!! Enjoy <333

[syoddeye]

oh ho ho! so simon calls and asks the bartender out...what are we thinking? does he go all out trying to prove he actually isn't a loser and can pull off a suave date? or does he purposefully plan the most off-putting date possible to get back at her for being a pain in the ass?

prev.

i love that you think he's going to call right away. nope.

simon sends some version of you up? after close, then stews for hours when you don't reply. he sits in the dark, phone in hand, grumbling to himself. the cigarette between his fingers burns low, barely making it to the ashtray before he lights another.

he lasts three days. three nights of drinking alone at home, refusing to go to the pub and show his face. the thought crosses his mind to go elsewhere, where it'd take him all of fifteen minutes to find a bit of skirt, but somehow, you've gone and sucked the thrill out of that.

his pride keeps him tethered in place, stubborn to a fault, but even that has its limits. on the third night, the ashtray beside him overflowing, he finally caves. he calls.

"so you can follow instructions. i was worried i'd have to draw you a picture."

he doesn't waste time. "sent ya an address. i can be there in ten." 

"yeah, i looked it up. looks like a classy joint. free wifi." 

"…you comin' or not?" 

"mm, got a policy. can't sleep anywhere lower than three stars." 

"s'not for sleepin'." 

"then let's do yours. got a bed frame?"

simon straightens, caught off guard. that's unexpected—that you're game. he expected more of a fuss, but if you're just in it for dick, things are back on track.

he glances at his bed. the rumpled dark blue sheets are half-pulled off the mattress, still on the floor where he's always kept it. it's never mattered before, but no one's ever been here, either. hotels keep it impersonal. neutral ground. they reinforce the rules. they do the cleaning.

"can't. i'll come over." 

"oof, i've got another policy." you chuckle. "can't have someone over until we've gone on an actual date. you know, to make sure they're normal. or close to it." 

you have no idea.

he imagines sitting across a table in some overpriced restaurant, squeezed into a tiny chair, with loud music pounding in his ears. wasting money on drinks and food. all that just to stare at the tits he knows you're going to hide underneath some layers while you make small talk. it makes his skin itch.

but. if your stupid little 'policies' don't exist solely to jerk him around, he'll earn passage into your world. your place. unknown territory, somewhere to plant a flag and humble you all at once.

forget his lack of a bed frame, he hasn't had a bird in her own bed in ages.

"fine. tomorrow."

"sunday," you counter, and he hears the grin in your voice. "i'm off monday. send me a better address, and i'll meet you there. no french food."

he scoffs. "that, we can agree on."

you laugh, teasing. "bring that with you—the sense of humor. you're gonna need it."

[quarterlifekitty]

To add to my earlier ask about how I have more step-dad Nik, your add on was so good because absolutely. Yes. Sweet girl is too fucked out to ask about protection or to think of anything other than Nik fucking load after load into her. She also doesn't think to ask for protection the next day in the shower since Nik gets her so worked up with his mouth first. Makes her cum on his tongue at least twice before fucking a few more out of her and filling her again. Cleans her up too, happy to hold his sweet girl and bathe her. Now I don't know how but she manages to get Nik to let her leave a second time (Nik is getting a new house ready closer to her college so she can attend online schooling, he doesn't want her feeling stir crazy when she's further along after all) and about a month after getting back she finds out she's pregnant. And despite being absolutely terrified of the situation she doesn't want to get rid of it, or at least keeps putting it off out of nerves. She eventually asks Nik if she can come visit and he's like 'oh, I sold that house, too many memories with the ex, new house is much closer to you though, do not worry' and he picks her up. Hand on her thigh the whole way to his (their) new home. She tries to act normal and everything but Nikolai can tell his sweet girl is distressed and presses her for the reason. Eventually she caves and tearfully confesses she's pregnant and she's 'so sorry' that she was so reckless and that she swears she won't bother him with anything and she'll go and he doesn't have to worry about her. And Nik only smiles 'Ah, what makes you think I'm mad? Hmm? And on that note, what makes you think that I'm not going to keep my pretty girl right here where I can take care of her?' and while SD should definitely be nervous and the red flags should be waving she never had a great basis for healthy relationships and she is falling for Nik as ashamed as she was of it at first. She keeps asking him if he's sure and it gets to a point where he just picks her up and takes her to their bed to show her just how sure he is. Funny side note Nik fully shoots her mom a text with something like 'thanks for introducing me to my soon to be wife, you should expect grandchildren within a year. Don't expect to see them though.' (take any dialog I type as an idea of what someone says cause I'm ass at typing in character) Once again thank you for listening to my rambling

Bro please ramble here all the time forever. I love this and I owe you my life.

Nik sending his ex a picture— doesn’t have your face in it, but you’re wearing like the one piece of family jewelry you ever got from her side of the family. It’s got your baby bump, and his hand holding yours— got a pretty ring on it now, too. And then he blocks her <3

Also reader like 100% has daddy issues in this one. Like her mom is piece of work and her dad is completely absent for whatever reason— when was the last time someone took care of her? Probably back when she was physically incapable of caring for herself. From the moment she could dress and feed herself she was on her own. It’s why it’s so painfully easy for her to fall into things with Nik. After a life that kind of treatment, Nik’s brand of doting is like crack.

And I like to imagine, while she might not know this in a full conscious way, she wanted to keep the baby because she fully expected Nikolai to leave her. It’s what she’s used to— and it’s strange for her to depend on him so much when he’s just her former stepfather, no? She’s constantly second guessing herself about leaning on him even a little— that she’s probably bothering him, and he’s just too kind to tell her off. But she does love him. So things would be hard, to raise the baby on her own, but at least she’d have a piece of him with her. She could remember the moments they shared that way, even when he left her.

She’s in for the fucking, no, the lovemaking of a lifetime when she confesses that little tidbit to him.

(This is all just my humble onion as this story is yours lol but this is what goes on in my imagination realm)

[ruewritesoccasionally]

The Reunion Pt.2 | Aaron Pierre

Pairing: Aaron Pierre x Black Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1.4K

Chapter summary: Moving like the soulmates they are, Aaron's conversation with Marcus mirrors YNs with some thoughts of his own but will he act on them?

a/n: this is more of a filler chapter - i'm still thinking about the direction i wanna take things in but let me know how you think things are shaping up so far

Aaron woke up to the grey light of morning peeking through his curtains, the dull ache of sleep deprivation settling behind his eyes. Last night’s reunion lingered in his mind like a persistent hum, replaying moments he hadn’t asked to remember. He threw an arm over his eyes and sighed deeply, as if he could exhale the weight pressing against his chest.

He had managed to keep his composure the entire evening, but it was moments like these, alone in his flat with nothing but his thoughts for company, that the cracks began to show. He’d watched YN all night—not in an obvious way, but enough to catch the moments that mattered. The way she threw her head back when she laughed. The way her fingers lightly brushed her date’s arm as she introduced him. Trey. Of course, his name had to be Trey. Aaron had greeted the man with a handshake and a polite smile, but every fibre of his being had tensed as he’d watched YN’s hand rest comfortably in his.

It wasn’t jealousy—at least, not in the traditional sense. Aaron wasn’t the type to covet what didn’t belong to him. It was something deeper. A quiet frustration. A longing he couldn’t quite articulate. He’d seen YN with other men before, celebrated her happiness even when it wasn’t with him. But no matter who she dated, no matter how happy she looked, there was always this quiet, nagging thought in the back of his mind: It should’ve been me. Not because he thought he deserved her more than anyone else, but because he knew her. Knew her better than they ever could.

Aaron sat up in bed, rubbing a hand over his face before reaching for his phone. He hesitated for a moment, his thumb hovering over YN’s contact. He tapped it, not to call, but to look at the photo he’d saved. It was from a trip their friend group had taken to the coast a few years back. She was laughing, the sunlight catching her face just right. It was his favourite picture of her, one she’d never know he held onto so tightly.

A notification popped up on his screen, breaking him out of his reverie. It was a message from Marcus.

Marcus: “Coffee? You look like you’ll need it.”

Aaron smirked, shaking his head before typing out a quick reply.

Aaron: “On my way.”

At the café, Marcus was already seated at their usual table, a cup of black coffee in front of him. Aaron slid into the seat across from him, ordering his own drink with a nod to the server.

“You look rough,” Marcus said, leaning back in his chair with a knowing smirk.

Aaron chuckled dryly. “Good to see you too, bro.”

Marcus waited until Aaron had taken a sip of his coffee before speaking again. “So, how long are you going to keep this up?”

Aaron frowned. “Keep what up?”

Marcus raised an eyebrow. “You know what I’m talking about. YN.”

Aaron leaned back, letting out a long breath. “There’s nothing to keep up, Marcus. She’s with Trey now.”

“Oh, come on,” Marcus said, rolling his eyes. “You’ve been circling her for years. Don’t act like you don’t feel something.”

Aaron stared into his coffee, his jaw tightening. “It’s not that simple.”

“It never is, but you’re making it harder than it needs to be.” Marcus leaned forward, his tone softening. “Bro, we’ve all seen it. The way you look at her. The way she looks at you. Everyone’s rooting for you two, even if we stopped saying it out loud. But if you don’t make a move soon, you’re going to watch her settle with someone else. And you’ll only have yourself to blame.”

Aaron’s chest tightened at the thought. The idea of YN with someone else, not just dating but settling, was a punch to the gut. But it wasn’t just fear holding him back. It was the weight of their history. They’d seen each other through everything—the highs, the lows, the in-betweens. They’d celebrated each other’s wins, mourned each other’s losses, and shared countless memories. How do you risk all of that for the chance at something more?

“What if it goes wrong?” Aaron finally said, his voice quieter now. “What if I ruin everything?”

“What if it goes right?” Marcus countered. “What if she’s waiting for you to make the first move? You’re a smart guy, Aaron, but you’re overthinking this. Just talk to her.”

Aaron sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not just about me. She’s with Trey now. I can’t just step in and—”

“And what? Tell her how you feel? Bro, she deserves to know the truth, doesn’t she?”

Aaron didn’t respond right away. He stared out the window, watching the people passing by. He wanted to believe Marcus was right. That there was still a chance. But the fear of losing her, of losing everything they’d built, was a heavy weight to bear.

“I’ll think about it,” Aaron finally said.

Marcus shook his head with a small laugh. “You’ve been thinking about it for years. Maybe it’s time to do something.”

Later that night, Aaron sat in his living room, the silence almost deafening. He leaned back in his chair, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips as memories flickered through his mind. He’d been there when she’d landed her first job straight out of university, the way she’d screamed and danced around the room when the offer came through. He remembered the late nights helping her prepare for interviews, quizzing her with mock questions, and watching her confidence bloom. He’d celebrated her wins like they were his own, the pride swelling in his chest as if her success was a reflection of his own. He even remembered the celebratory dinner he’d taken her out for when she got her first raise—how the dim lighting and easy conversation made it feel more like a date than a platonic outing. He’d laughed off the waiter’s assumption that they were a couple, but the warmth in her cheeks and the way she avoided his eyes for the rest of the night stayed with him longer than he cared to admit.

But she’d been there for him too. She was there when his grandmother passed, holding him through the quiet devastation that followed. She never pushed him to talk, never forced him to share more than he could handle—she was just there, her presence steady, like an anchor when he felt adrift. It was always the little things she did, the subtle acts of care that left an impression—showing up with food when he couldn’t bring himself to eat, sending texts just to check in, or simply sitting beside him in silence until he was ready to speak.

He swallowed hard, the weight of those memories pressing against his chest. How many times had he wished she was more than his best friend? How many nights had he lain awake, replaying moments when he could have said something, done something—anything—to shift the trajectory of what they were? But every time, the fear of losing her, of tarnishing the purity of what they had, kept him silent. He knew her inside out, her quirks and dreams, the way her brow furrowed when she was deep in thought, the laugh she reserved for things that truly delighted her. And yet, knowing her so well only made it harder. How could he risk ruining something so irreplaceable?

And then there was the nagging thought he could never quite shake: if they were so perfect on paper, why hadn’t they collided in real life? Maybe it was fate, or maybe they were cowards. Either way, it left him aching with the question that lingered every time he saw her: “What if?”

He picked up his phone, scrolling through his messages until he found YN’s name. His thumb hovered over the keyboard, words forming and dissolving in his mind. He wanted to say something, anything, but the courage wouldn’t come.

Instead, he opened their chat history, scrolling through old messages. Some were funny, others mundane, but all of them carried the weight of their bond. He stopped at a message she’d sent a few months ago: “Thanks for always being there, Aaron. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He closed his eyes, the ache in his chest growing heavier. He didn’t know what he’d do without her either. But for now, all he could do was wait—and hope that one day, the timing would finally be right.

taglist: @writingsbytee @venusincleo @nickidub718

comments and reblogs are appreciated as well as feedback, i hope you liked it 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

[lucysarah-c]

Realistically speaking, how do you think Levi is in bed? Is he a little rough? Is he romantic? Is he soft? Is he one and done?

Hi, sweetie! How are you? Haha, replying to this one between sets at the gym. This is love for my work, lmao.

In my humble opinion, Levi is definitely more on the rough side. It’s not that he can’t try to be romantic, but it’s not his strength. I personally think Levi finds romantic moments more meaningful in quiet solitude with his partner rather than in bed. He’s way more romantic before anything happens, during those moments leading up to it, than he is during the act itself.

I imagine it like this: she’s in the kitchen doing something, and Levi comes up behind her, taking advantage of the fact that she can’t see how tired he is. He buries his head in her neck, gives her a couple of kisses there, maybe even tickles her sides to get a laugh out of her.

Levi could easily stay there for an hour, just talking with her about their day or how things are going. Maybe he’d give her a quick massage. If this is after dinner, I can totally see him taking over the dishes while they chat. Levi strikes me as the type who’d slow-dance with you a little from behind when no one’s watching. Maybe they’d whisper a few sweet nothings, and if she’s in the mood, that’s when he might lift her onto the counter—and that’s when the action begins.

But during the act? It’s more aggressive and rough than tender. Like I said, I feel Levi’s more naturally romantic in moments that don’t involve sex. He can get soft and romantic if the situation calls for it, and he’s making an effort, but it doesn’t come naturally to him.

As for rounds and stamina... that’s when those Ackerman powers come in handy. This man can last and could pull off a couple of rounds, no problem. But here’s where I might disagree with the fandom: I don’t see Levi as someone who’s super sex-driven. Of course, he enjoys it—he loves it with you—but he’s pretty chill about it. I don’t picture Levi being "sex-hungry," especially in his mid-to-late 30s.

If she’s in the mood and wants more than one round, or if she’s really into it and wants to make it last, he’s absolutely game. Your wish is his command. But for the most part, I see him being content with one good session and maybe a quickie the next morning. Of course, on a special occasion, he might go the extra mile to show you just how good he really is. 👀

Hope this was what you were looking for! Have a nice day!

[violasghost]

At the risk of sounding like a Pollyanna, Rachel coming into the picture at this point in time is likely a good thing for Chenford. Discussion of the Rookie S7, Episode 3

Confession, Not going to get into real-world stuff or politics here, but just wanted to say how thankful I am for The Rookie to have as a much needed distraction on Tuesday nights and also glad to know the actors and everyone involved in the show is safe and will hopefully continue to remain safe from the LA wildfires. #SendinglovetoCalifornia

So despite it being a few seasons since we have seen or heard from Rachel, lets face it Lucy Chen has gone through some serious hardships in the last season and a half and with very little support. After she lost Jackson, she pretty much lost her one and only close platonic friend. When Tim broke up with her, the first reaction we got after seeing raw and emotionally hurt Lucy was Smitty joking about other cops betting on the reason for their breakup. (Pretty insensitive, especially to Chenford nation who was mostly in shock at that point.) Then you get Nolan and Celena pretending to care but not really, Celena mostly concerned that Lucy wouldn’t be too much of an emotional basket-case because she wanted to move out of her place and into Lucy’s apartment. And when Nolan asked Lucy about how she was doing when helping Celena to move in at a later date, he clearly regretted asking her such a loaded question. Not to mention the person Lucy thought of as a little sister, Tamara moves out. So no Tamara, no Detective, no Tim, and no explanation for the breakup. So yeah Rachel couldn’t have come at a better time. Lucy needs a real true grown up friend, someone who isn't a colleague or a subordinate. And its great that they have a history and Rachel has known Lucy for longer than anyone else has known her.

Does the fact that Rachel dated Tim bother me? Not really. Mostly because both of them said everything they needed to say to one another (plus it was Lucy who originally fixed them up) and it looks like Rachel was pretty much rooting for Tim and Lucy before she blew into town, so yeah don’t think she will be competition for Chenford.

Another angle that hasn’t been explored and I’m curious if ‘The Rookie’ showrunners will go there is the fact that Rachel in essence is a counselor/social services. Remember, she worked with abused kids? Even if they don’t decide to use Rachel’s professional expertise, she’s staying on Lucy’s couch. She’s not just passing through for one episode. They have already hedged at this with the brief discussion about Lucy and Tim's relationship by the couch, and you know there will be more. Maybe just maybe, Rachel will be able to get Lucy to open up a little bit about her feelings and what happened with Tim. Which would be really good for Lucy.

And it would be really good for Chenford because in order for both Lucy and Tim to be able to move past the 'lets just be friends' cover, they have to get under the surface and dig deep and figure out what it is they both really want, and then work up the courage to go for it. Kinda like when they both decided to start dating in S5. Lots of parallels here since they really did a re-set with their relationship, but they have to work up to that point of realization first, that 1. the feelings are still there (which they are), and 2. its worth the risk (which it is).

Side note, I thought it was really cute when Lucy prepped Seth with all the Tim test answers and Tim cracking Nolan’s fancy safe house lock system, haha.

I also thought it was funny when Bailey returned and the locks were not working. Although still could care less about Jason. The guy who got out of the handcuffs seemed more interesting.

What did you think?

[cookierunoutofideas]

The Bride (Pure Vanilla Cookie x fem!Reader) [Part 2]

And we're back! Still no beta. Also, I started writing this before I caught up to Beast Yeast Chapter 7, so if there's anything inaccurate with the current state of canon, that's why

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Opening his eyes is a daunting task, but he tackles it as he always did ever since his childhood. The farm needed tending before the sun even presented to make sure everything would run smoothly and his parents needed his help to complete those tasks, after all, so Pure Vanilla Cookie had long cultivated the habit of not taking too long to shake off sleep and start his day.

Still, he struggles to open his eyes and he isn’t sure why.

“I think you killed him.”

“Don’t be silly! My handsome husband wouldn’t die from so little!”

Whispered words reach his ears, finally giving him the push to open his eyes and blink them owlishly a few times as his mind processes what—or who stands in front of him. It is a cookie he has never seen before, one oddly beautiful, like the statues of pure white sugar one can find in old chapels and cathedrals. Beautiful, yes, yet morbid.

“Oh, you’re awake!” The beautiful cookie smiles at him, stepping closer. The light of the candle on the bedside table—whose bed and whose room is he in? Did she carry him here? Has he been kidnapped?—allowing him to take a better look at her.

She seems to be a bit taller than the average cookie and her dough has an odd quality to it. It looks not quite fresh and not quite stale, like it stopped in the middle of the process of losing vitality. Her eyes are void of all light, cold and unseeing in appearance. Her gown is a beautiful and elaborated piece, from the bodice encrusted with jewelry—delicate jewelry that imitate little flowers and stars so well he has a hard time believing they’re stones and metals—to the long layered skirt that hides her legs and feet, as if she is part cloud—more jewels and flowers that shine beautifully—and the puffy sleeves that protect her arms from the slight breeze entering from the windows. A long veil dangles from the elegant up-do of her hair, falling like a curtain of the silkiest cotton candy.

The picture perfect image of a breathtaking bride ready to walk down the aisle.

“I think you hit his head against too many roots,” he can’t see who speaks, however the voice strangely seems to come from the cookie.

“Shh, quiet you!” she hisses, knocking on her own head before returning to her smiling expression. “I’m glad you’re awake, husband. I was afraid for a second.”

Wait.

“Husband?” his voice comes a bit raspy. Sitting up, he finally looks at the room he currently finds himself in.

It is a big room, much bigger than one cookie needed, decorated richly with plants and vases and statuettes. The bed he rests on is big, big enough for three of him, the bedding, of a pastel yellow with blue and white flowers, soft and comfortable, of a quality one would only see in Golden Cheese Cookie’s castle. The furniture was definitely crafted lovingly by a talented hand, each star and flower carved to perfection. The mirror shows Pure Vanilla Cookie his own confused face and slight crooked bow tie-

Bow tie?!

“What?!”

Throwing the covers aside, he takes a good look at his garments. Long gone are his usual flowing tunic and cape, instead a perfectly fitted white tuxedo with gold lapels and accents greets him. A hand to his head confirms that his hat is nowhere to see. He also cannot find his trusty staff anywhere.

“Don’t worry, dear, I didn’t change you... That should be saved for our honeymoon, right?”

Looking back at the only other cookie in the room, Pure Vanilla finally notices how similar the hands cupping her cheeks are to the one that grabbed his wrist and pulled him. Dry and hardened, like a branch.

“H... honeymoon?” he stutters, looking around one last time in hopes of finding at least his staff. “I’m sorry, there must be a mistake...”

“There is no mistake, husband. The vows were said and the rings were exchanged, we’re now wife and husband!”

She giggles, showing off her left hand.

The promise ring he prepared for White Lily Cookie glints from her ring finger.

______________

Someone asked to be tagged, so here we go: @simpdevil66

[vidavalor]

Look at all these lovely details to ponder! 😍

re: the wedding ring--

I mean, I know you'll be as surprised as I am to find that there's not much info on how pregnancy works in fictional supernatural bird angel humans 😂 but, given the effort in the story to show how human the supernatural characters are, I'm assuming that it's probably not much different from human pregnancy. Conceivably, this could mean that Aziraphale would have been pregnant for months and, while he probably kept a low profile during that time, he'd likely have to leave the bookshop at some point.

To be an unmarried and pregnant in the 1920s was the height of scandal. To avoid issues in the human world, he'd have had to wear a wedding ring. The height of irony, right, since neither the supernatural world nor the human world he was living in would recognize him and Crowley as married. (We're possibly circling towards the same rationale behind "Mr. Fell" here where taking a version of The Fallen as his last name was the closest Aziraphale thought they'd ever get to being married.) But Maggie's great-grandmother's ring had to come from somewhere and can't you just see Crowley showing up at the bookshop with that ring? Not exactly a proposal because they can't so it's just for practicality, just when he goes out while he's pregnant, just for safety, etc..

How long did Aziraphale keep it before he passed it down to their family? Did Maggie get it from one of her relatives or did Aziraphale maybe pretend he found some of her great-grandmother's things when cleaning out some old papers of his relatives in the bookshop one day?

There's also Maggie wearing two chains around her neck all the time and one of them being a wedding ring at the same time as there's also her paralleling great-everything, Crowley, who has been wearing the same tied knot necklace everyday since sometime after same-sex civil partnerships became legal in England.

Loved the things you brought in about the stuff on the necklaces! Lots to ponder there. Toucans, for whatever reason, also have had a demonic association in history. People were kind of afraid of them at times and said they contained the spirits of demons, as people often say about things they don't understand. There's also some etymology tied to one of their alternate names that translates as "beak of the fish", which is pretty Crowley & Aziraphale.

The "all-seeing eye" in a heart is a good luck and protection charm said to ward off evil and it's also an image that sometimes is part of a fuller picture where the all-seeing eye in heart is in a fruit tree. Very Crowley & Aziraphale again.

I still think the freemasonry is more of a wordplay thing because of how it's used in the Gabriel scene in The Resurrectionist. A mason is a builder, one who works to make things out of stone, but you can build both your own trap just as much as you build your own life. A free mason is one who is designing their own path and Gabriel was doing that in that scene. He is a free mason, even if he's not a Freemason. Eden & Aziraphale & the stone wall, the brick through the bookshop; burning down the M-25; recognizing that Gabriel is more than the stone statue of himself. Something about recognizing freedom through recognizing one another-- the all-seeing eye as part of the theme of recognition more than a conspiratorial thing.

I loved the plants you brought up with heart-shaped leaves. Silphium mention! Lotus plants have them, too. There is also an etymology connection there, too. The words leaf, leave, lief, belief, believe, etc. all share a root and have overlapping history with the word love. We're sitting on edge of a scene in which Crowley and Aziraphale first kissed under the leaves of a tree canopy that etymologically are interwoven with love because of course we are. 😊

I'm curious, What do you think Aziraphale and Crowley were doing during The Great Depression??

Wading their way through great depressions of a more personal nature, brought on by giving away their infant child-- Maggie's eventual grandmother-- to be adopted and raised by a human couple.

I mean, you want me to believe that Aziraphale let a random human woman start a record shop in his bookshop in the heyday of records when shops like that were crazy busy? The same Aziraphale who opens the bookshop for fifteen minutes every other Wednesday? 😂 The one whose bookshop is really a cover for his house and is also an angelic embassy... he can't have some human woman running another shop in there! And why ever would he when he owns the land for most of the street? Wouldn't he just get this woman her own retail space on the street, like he has been helping people do for centuries?

Then, there's that Aziraphale thinks it possible that Maggie should be able to sense the arrival of the angels the same way that he does. This can't just be because Maggie is musically-inclined. I mean... he thinks she might be able to hear or feel the angels arriving...

Presumably, that'd only be possible if Maggie's lineage involved angels... which is then when it might become notable that our lovely Maggie looks like if you gave Aziraphale Crowley's nose and mouth.

The record shop got started in the bookshop in the 1920s, alright... probably on some rainy night when a pair of old lovers who also happened to be supernatural human entities felt in the mood for the kind of love that could, technically, begin a whole other shop. They got a bit of a surprise when, a few weeks later, Aziraphale started being even more nauseous at daybreak than he usually is.

Aziraphale having Crowley's child in the late 1920s might also help to explain why he canonically developed a side hustle at some point where he was a music tutor. Yes, we know he loves music, but what better way to have an excuse to see their child without them ever knowing who he was than to be their music teacher? What better way to then happen to be in their world to eventually suggest when they became an adult that they might like to open a record shop in the spot next to the bookshop? You know that Crowley would pretend he wouldn't want to get too attached but would be subtly watching over their family just as much as Aziraphale.

There's also that Maggie already knows Crowley in S2. We never see a scene of them being introduced but, when Crowley is sent to fetch her for The Meeting Ball, it's established that she knows him and also established that her context for knowing him is that she sees him as Aziraphale's person, which he's aware of, as it's his dialogue ("he says to tell you...") that illustrates this. Crowley's already met Maggie before and there's this whole short scene where one of the main purposes of its existence seems to be just to show us that:

We think that no one on Whickber Street but for Mrs. Sandwich really knows about Crowley and Aziraphale but that's not quite true-- it seems like Maggie also does. Presumably, Maggie knowing that Mr. Fell is seeing The Ginger Goth (in addition to entertaining naked Don Draper stripadeliveragrams before he's even finished his morning coffee lol) is one of the reasons why she asked him for advice after feeling like she'd failed to connect with Nina.

Based on how Maggie later seems to think that Nina could be correct in her assessment of Crowley and Aziraphale's relationship, Maggie likely doesn't know the extent of it. She adores Aziraphale and knows that he's seeing Crowley but she also thinks they're human and clearly has no idea about their real history, let alone how she fits into it.

Maggie and Nina seem to see Crowley and Aziraphale as queer humans in their 50s who grew up in more closeted times, are commitment-phobic, and are secretly in love with each other but don't know how to get beyond being casual lovers. They're like maybe if we give them a push, they'll confess that they're in love!

Like this would be new information to Crowley and Aziraphale...

It went really well. Didn't give Bildad a migraine or anything. 😂

That fond, loving way that Aziraphale looks at Maggie... I mean... she's not just his favorite of the local shopkeepers. That's affection for Maggie in her own right, yes, but it's also such an oh, just look at the lovely person my love and I made look. It's the happiest Aziraphale looks all season.

[medicinemane]

I don't know... horrible things happen all around the world and it's not a competition

Atrocities are committed against multiple groups in multiple parts of the world at the exact same moment, and none of them erase each other. They all matter, all the people in this world who are being brutalized matter. There shouldn't be any line you draw where one group doesn't actually matter as much as another

You're welcome to prioritize your energy towards helping one group or another, but what's not ok is invalidating or dismissing people who are actively being harmed

Same goes for trying to figure out which social group has things worst (and lets be honest, always using a US lens)

Like... maybe the important thing is to prop each other up and help everyone get on their own feet rather than trying to... pick fights about if physical disabilities or mental illness are less respected (I'm trying to pick a more absurd example but sadly I've seen exactly that argument happen before). Maybe it doesn't really matter and what matters is helping who we can when we can

I'm tired of it, I'm just fucking tired of it. Support people, champion them when the world is just brutalizing them, but you don't need to throw a single other person under the bus to do that

Which seems to be an absolutely impossible lesson for people to learn

[lesbiancolumbo]

What's your take on Peter Bogdanovich's work overall? I've only seen Last Picture Show, which I enjoyed but wasn't exactly blown away. I want to see his collabs with Ben Gazzara, but wasn't sure if it's worth going through the rest of his CV.

his collaborations with the true genius in his first marriage, polly platt, are fantastic. these are the first four films of his career, which she worked on as production designer and in the case of targets, helped write AND effectively produced the entire damn thing uncredited. polly made peter a better filmmaker and no one likes to admit that, least of all peter, but i don't care. i like these films a lot.

i don't care for his first film with ben, saint jack, if we're being fully honest, but his second collaboration with ben, they all laughed, is probably the non-polly collab of peter's that i like the most. it's a beautiful film and the beginning and sad end of dorothy stratten's career. even if it's just to see her budding talents as a comedienne, you should watch they all laughed.

i have a lot of thoughts about peter as a person that is divorced from his work, and i won't get into That here (it's mostly very negative - i fucking hate that guy) but his early period is honestly the best he ever was (he knew it too, i think) and then he went through a lot of ups and downs, career-wise. a lot of people love to give his more maligned works credit in retrospect, and i respect that for them but i'm really just not interested in watching anything that isn't they all laughed or paper moon or last picture show.

[seventh-district]

sometimes it’s late at night and you’re cleaning your room and you come across a few old black and white photos of a young girl and you stare at them for a long minute wondering how on earth they got lost in an old Kroger shopping bag with an unopened pack of cigarettes and a receipt dated 2017.

and you look at the girl in the pictures sat on the floor of someone’s home you don’t recognize, smiling and playing with a set of keys and a tiny part of you feels like it recognizes her but you aren’t sure.

and you flip the pictures over hoping to find some sort of annotation that would give you context and all you find is the year 1964 stamped in tiny font along the edge.

and you flip them back over and time stands still as you realize that the recognition you feel is because she looks so much like you once did and next thing you know your hands are sweating and shaking and you have to sit on the floor because you’re crying so hard because it hits you all at once that you’re looking at your mother.