#so liberal its painful

[irlgorlockwetnasty]

===WELCOME TO THE SPLASH ZONE==

Hey im Gorlock Wetnasty. Resident bisexual lizard & pround wetnasty. Im 34, i love webkins, and you best believe my brisket is undefeatable.

DO NOT INTERACT (Will permafreeze your energy for this)

o Lesbian gorlock truthers. girl what?

0

o defenders of gorlock x jeffery

o people who think the dragon episode was real.

i keep my crystals charged bitches. dont raise your defense chakras and reach nirvana with me, ugly. ill eat you.

[restricted-on-13th]

You know what's so funny about finding an old anime you watched in childhood

Then learning the main character you stan back then died in season 2?

Pain, pain fuck this gosh, fuckkkk

Then going to fanworks to heal your broken heart and finding out there's a ship with the main character's male friend and that guy is basically the 2nd mc (and apparently there's a kid in the future scenes that looks like the two of them mixed together and im just ????? Wait what the hell, if thats not a sign that its a viable ship then I dont know what is) instantly shipping them then going to read the most highest rating fic of them in ao3

Only to later sob over a Tokyo Ghoul au fic on the ship and the main character dies while his lover walks around in the aftermath of their war, wielding a weapon made from the corspe the mc while holding it like a lover and anyone who sees the guy just gets sad cause they know the implications of what went down between the couple.

Soooooooobbsss

[microwave-core]

I wish that music players on blogs still worked. If they did, I would put this on loop.

[lunar-fey]

they accepted me into the work rehab program! im significantly disabled!!! awesome!!! /genuine

[mellohd]

how it feels finally enjoying making art again after years of hating everything ive created

[steampunkedparm]

we'll never have sex always gets me at the very last line i cant express to you how much this song means to me.

[pretty-little-martyr]

transphobia is so wild man the people at my pharmacy insist on missma'am-ing me when i pick up my testosterone despite having an entire moustache and im just like .diversity win! women can have mustaches and still be women. except i fucking Know if a trans woman was picking up her E and had facial hair theyd he/him her so badly so it sucks. it always reminds me of that "i have D cups, grandpa, the waitress thinks you have dementia" post though. i have a moustache, pharmacy tech, everyone in line behind me thinks you're deranged.

[loveireandblog]

When I'm tired + when I'm sick + when I'm drunk , every feeling that I am in some way disfigured melts away cos the other stresses get strong PLUS right this has been a thing , therapy realm fr but I'll keep it concise, since I was a kid before it got insane like from "wow if I get a cut...it bleeds. And heals. Like others?" (Throw in self harm )And now oh my god the delight in seeing myself get old I'm like woahhh me toooo???? Its SO weird lol. Disassociation but also just . Fracture

[tiramissyoucake]

when do you think that viltrumite mark realized he was in love and how did he first process that??

FUCK YEAH i got carried away here im sorry, dkskfke I had some trouble thinking of this, how would he know reader? Why would he want them? Then this post came to mind.

Something tells me Mark would believe that earth is beautiful, yes. But there's too many evils persisting and leeching off it that it's dying a slow and painful death, he believes he's your liberator.

"So, where IS Viltrum?"

Mark looked up from the telescope you provided, blinking twice. "... it's... very far from here." He didn't elaborate as he leaned down to fit his eye into the glass of the telescope. "You should visit sometime, I hear humans landed on Mars?"

You shrugged as you approached him with an open bag of chips. "I think so, but if its light years away, who's to say how long till we get there?"

He hummed in response, chewing a handful of chips as he offered you the telescope. "Okay, don't move it. But this is what I wanted to show you, that twinkling above one of your constellations is a planet filled with rabid creatures resembling your blobfishes."

You restrained a laugh as you looked in, your smile warmed his heart. "Seriously? Do they like... crawl on land or something?"

"They cling to your skin and bite through flesh, hurts like hell." Mark smiled as you gave a grossed out look. "Like oversized pink leeches."

He barked out a laugh at your description, colorful. "Close enough! Sure!"

"I wonder if there's a space equivalent of sea bunnies..." You murmured, removing yourself from the telescope to glance up at him, he had a wistful expression on his face.

"... I meant what I said before."

"About earth being insignificant?" You recalled as he nodded. "All this technology, this... resilience to power through dark times, yet you haven't discovered a fraction of the vastness that I saw in these galaxies."

The way he looked up at the stars was new, usually he didn't care about them, but now? After spending time with you? It was special. "Yeah, you have to look past that, for all our arrogance, humans aren't that bad."

"Yeah, you're definitely not." You didn't notice when he glanced away from the night sky to smile in your direction.

. . .

The screaming, crying, people panicking as they scrambled to find some sort of safety penetrated the walls and shot into your eardrums no matter how much you cowered in a corner of your house, no matter how hard your palms pressed against the sides of your head. No one expected this— where were you supposed to go? One of those bunkers that have been infiltrated? Your family's home so you could die with them under one roof? Find your friends and escape to some corner of the earth? It's over. This was it.

A creaking noise, gentle but ominous, made itself known. It stood out among the muffled booming and dying screaming. Someone was here.

You covered your mouth and held back your tears, it was one of them, those things, you knew it was aliens, but from where? You had no clue, maybe it was those Flaxans Mark told you about.

"(Name)?" Mark called out, his voice soft as he glanced around. "Come out, it's safe."

Relief flooded your chest as you got up from beneath one of the furniture, hurriedly approaching him and hugging him. "Mark! You're okay— thank God you're okay!" You heaved, his arms circling you and his palm rubbing your back.

"Of course I'm okay," he smiled, taking a comforting whiff of your hair. "We can cuddle later, you have to come with me."

You blinked, confused. "What? Where? Mark—" you grew quiet as you heard a squelching noise when you separated from him, a scent quickly flooding your nose. You looked down at his clothes that were usually a pure and glossy white, a classic Viltrumite uniform, it was now stained with a disgusting red of various shades, old blood, fresh blood, mixing with soot and ash. You glanced down at your own clothes and hands, the blood staining you like a vile infection from the hug you gave him seconds ago.

"You don't have to worry." You looked up, eyes wide and lips trembling. "It's not mine."

"Wh.. What did you do..?" His expression was indescribable, lips pressed to a thin line as he stood his ground. "What I had to, what a Viltrumite has to."

Your home was already dark, the red lights seeping in from the chaos outside made him look otherwordly; some kind of demon, horseman of the apocalypse.

You took a few steps back, your body repulsed by who you assumed was a friend. "Don't look at me like that," he gritted out, approaching you. "Don't look at me like this hasn't been a long time coming, your planet was dying anyway."

"Are you insane?! This isn't your world to declare when it dies or lives!" You found your voice as the fear was replaced with betrayal and rage, disappointment infused among them.

"This is how your world was built, the rich and powerful survive while the lesser fortunate people are forced to die, everything is catered to the strongest." He lifted a bloody hand. "Right now, I'm the strongest thing on this planet-" he gestured to the outside. "-so what I say, goes."

You didn't know what to say, had you taught him that? Was that all he learned from his time on earth? In your house, among your friends, in your favorite places?

"You're killing people," you strained. "Innocent people, it's not fair— the powerful few shouldn't decide for innocent millions!"

"No, I'm liberating your world, but don't worry." He moved too quickly for you to see, using his superpowers on you always left a bad taste in his mouth, but he had to for now, restraining you like some cornered rabbit "You won't miss this planet, Viltrum will suit you better."

That was your last day on earth, cold, scared, covered in blood, and cradled by a murderer.

[queer-scots-geordie-dyke]

Today, January 27, 2025, marks the 80th anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz-Birkenau, the largest Nazi death camp, where over 1 million people were murdered in this one facility alone. The almost total annihilation of Jews in Europe during the Shoah means there are now less than 16 million left in the world, a vanishingly tiny 0.2% of the planet's population, almost half of which live in Israel.

Every passing year sees more denial, inversion, and equivocation of the heinous evils of the Holocaust, and the last year and a half has seen a truly horrific rise in antisemitism at its most cruel and vicious, and the gleeful celebration of the worst massacre of Jews since the end of the Holocaust, couched in terms of "resistance" and "freedom fighting" to deny the cold reality that the people celebrating the atrocity of October 7, 2023 are celebrating genocidal antisemites slaughtering and defiling Jewish bodies, just like the Nazis did with relish and abandon.

So, if you've ever, throughout the last year, justified, denied, or equivocated the appalling abuse and crimes against Jews around the world, joined in on wishing for the destruction of a state that houses half of the planet's Jewish population, on their own indigenous land, no less, or dehumanised and laughed at the suffering of the hostages, don't have the bare faced audacity to pretend today that you care about antisemitism or that you hate Nazis - you would have happily stood at their side and swallowed their propaganda whole, just as you've been doing for 15 months. If you’ve done nothing to show your love and support for Jews who have faced an incredibly traumatising, frightening and painful year, perhaps today is the day to commit to doing better, to being better.

Today, and every day, I stand in friendship and solidarity with the Jewish people, both in Israel and in diaspora. Never Forget ✡️💙🎗

[urstruly-ghst]

she - malleus draconia

authors note: nothing, just malleus being so soft for fem!reader

content: fem! reader

malleus draconia who can't believe you're his wife. the way you bring sunshine and joy within him, your shared love makes even the spring bloom blush.

when you both share a life after the chaos of night raven college, malleus couldn't comprehend that life could grow happier with reality. dreams, the one he weaved in his own hands, couldn't compare to the sweet reality of you.

you'd think that with him being prince, he'd be so happy to be willing to spoil you in grandeur, but malleus adores you and the mundane. when you wear your lovely dress and dance around the room, taking the time to check books in the library or when you would gift people random trinkets. its something about the way you'd tie the bow in presents, or when you're cooking the small meals he enjoys.

it was almost as if you made everything fun and full of joy. malleus would always say: "she made the mundane exciting."

proposing to you was just second nature, and so when you became his wife, it felt liberating to be allowed the notion of being your personal worshipper.

oh, how malleus adores his wife. the joys and pain of knowing such fragile human life. malleus takes in everything you offer as if its sacred. he'll take your laughter, your tears, and make them the highlight of his long life.

"my darling wife, the queen of my kingdom and heart, the reality we conquer is sweeter than anything" he'd mutter as you both stare into the stars. you smile and shake your head, unknowing that the day just turned even more heavenly for your malleus draconia.

[getitoutofmymindwrites]

The falling | joel miller x f!reader, 5k

Summary: It’s a weird feeling, the moment you realize you’ve lost everything. You're falling. It is never ending, the falling, even after the moment, that exact moment, is long gone. Or you catch Joel cheating on you. The world comes crushing down.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, ANGST. That's it. Ok, bye. But seriously, angst, a whole lot of angst, alternated POVs, husband!joel, wife!reader, cheater!joel, married couple, Joel fucks another f!person, reference to sexual activity but nothing too detailed, as I said before-ANGST, excessive use of the word fuck, Joel is kind of a dick on this one, as always let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Let me know how you feel about this lost little puppy, I know he sounds arrogant and awful, maybe I can rectify that, on a second part. If you're interested in a closure for these two, hit me in the comments! Thank you for taking the time to read anything I write! Love you all! 🥰😘

Dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

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It’s a weird feeling, the moment you realize you’ve lost everything.

Everything dear and loved and cherished and so close to your heart. Your heart itself.

You still can’t decide if it’s liberating or torturing, to have that exact moment burned in your thoughts like a Polaroid.

But the pain is real. The pain is excruciating. It spreads like vines through your whole body, starting from the pit of your stomach in the form of a bile you try to hold back, moving to your heart’s agonizing clench, licking to the ends of your numb limbs which remain obstinately immobile. It feels almost like floating, but not exactly.

You’re falling; you’re still falling as if there’s no luxurious, expensive floor underneath your feet, holding you surprisingly still up. You wait for the landing, the crush, unmoving, unblinking, not quite breathing. It is never ending, the falling, even after the moment, that exact moment, is long gone.

Your designer’s tote bag, another unnecessarily extravagant gift from your husband, drops from your hands to the floor with a loud thud.

Joel’s thrusts stop immediately and he turns his head to look behind him, while he’s on his knees, balls deep in a female body on all fours. His eyes shut tightly in something you’re not sure how to interpret, dropping his head between his shoulder blades and his palms squeeze the hips of the female body he's holding, until his fingertips go white.

And you’re just standing there, on the threshold of your bedroom, taking in the scene. It’s weird how the mind works under stressful situations. Is the absurdity of the reality that keeps you calm? Is it your brain’s reaction to protect you from collapsing? Are you shutting down right now?

You feel your eyes unable to move around and at the same time you see clearer than ever, as if you’re looking through a wide-angle lens.

You notice all of the stripped clothes, which they don’t seem hastily taken off, the way they pool on various surfaces of the room; they took their time undressing each other.

You notice the crystal tumbler of a half finished liquid, Joel’s whiskey, on his side of the nightstand; they took their time having fun.

You notice the absence of a condom on Joel’s cock as he removes himself from the female hole he was buried deep, all splayed out for him and now you; they took their time before, it seems, there is an intimacy there. This is not a stranger, this is not a first time.

Joel is calm, collected even, as he stands to his full height, grabbing his pants from the floor next to the king sized bed and putting them on. Calculated, steady movements, he looks like he’s trying to stay in control of the situation, diminish it to something else. You pray he doesn’t go down that path.

You look behind him, the female body’s gathering itself into a ball, sitting on your bed now, hands hugging it’s knees, trying to protect its nudity. Your eyes roam her form until they settle on her face. Oh, you know her. She looks -hm, there’s a mosaic of emotions behind her eyes, which are surprisingly bold to look back at you. You see shock, you see fear, you see.. satisfaction?

“Darlin’” Joel’s approaching you, crossing the ridiculously big room, with a steady pace.

His chest is heaving from the effort to regulate his breathing, he’s sweaty, his muscles all bulged from the interrupted fucking, his curls -your curls, fuck, that hurts- damp. He’s so handsome in all his disheveled form. He looks like your Joel.

Imaginary flashes of her fingertips combing through his hair are passing through your mind and you feel your esophagus contracting, a sense of a burning hot liquid moving up to your mouth. You swallow it down.

He reaches to touch your arm, don’t you dare, is all you mutter lowly, still without moving a muscle as if you do, the world will come crushing down. It already did, didn’t you get the memo? Your voice feels foreign to your ears, your tongue feels rough like sandpaper. He obeys.

When does this falling end?

“Baby-”, he tries again, while he steps forward, a condescending tone to his voice, like he’s addressing a toddler.

“Don’t-”, you roll your eyes in your head, god, he smells so good, even with the sweat someone else poured out of his skin, he smells so fucking good. He smells like your Joel. “Don’t come any closer.”

“This-” he exhales heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, as if it’s an unnecessary effort to explain, as if you should understand; of all people, you should know, “this doesn’t mean anything-” his hand gesturing between him and the female body, “she doesn’t mean anything.” You should understand, baby, you should know.

And for the first time her eyes leave yours and land on the face of the deceiver. If this wasn’t happening to you right now, you would take pity on her pained expression. You almost feel sorry for her. Almost.

“Does she know that?” you ask him, your eyes never leaving her tangled form on your bed.

Joel snaps his head to her direction, narrowing his eyes in warning, “Yes, she does.”, his voice comes out strict and final, signaling there’s no room for doubt. He doesn’t sound like your Joel.

“I need you to leave.”, you breathe barely audible, your eyes still on her face; now she doesn’t know where to look, the rug pulled out from under her feet from the man she had inside her minutes ago.

His gaze is cold and indifferent, as if everything is her fault, looking still in her direction. She looks like a deer caught in the headlights, the empathetic part of your brain feels for her.

“Get your shit and get the fuck out, what are you waiting for?” he snaps at her.

“Not her, you.” you whisper, it’s impossible to speak louder, all of your energy powers your two standing feet.

He turns to look at you, shocked, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape.

“Wh- what are you talking about, sweetheart?” he tries to reason with you, “We need to talk, to-”

“Joel-”, you try again and thank god he’s interrupting you, you don’t have the strength to negotiate right now. Let the dice roll. It’s all fucked, anyway.

“This is my home; I’m not leaving.” he simply states, shaking his head from side to side, staring at you expectantly.

“You’re right. This is your house.” you acknowledge, coming to a painful realization. “Everything is yours; you own everything, don’t you?”, you smile sadly, crouching down to collect you bag.

You turn on your heels and leave the residence formerly known and felt as home, behind you.

Alarm system disabled.

Joe’s hairs are rising on the nape of his neck, when he checks the alarm app notification on his phone, thinking you came back home.

It’s been an awful month without you, without being able to contact you. He knew where you were of course, he could not for the life of him leave that information escape him, but he didn’t pressure you with an unexpected visit, he knew better.

It’s been a month. That’s plenty of time. You took your time and now you’re ready to talk. You have to be, this can’t be the end of this relationship, this marriage.

He presses your number and hits call. Fuck, he’s still blocked. Maybe you forgot to unblock him, it’s ok, it doesn’t mean anything.

He checks the house’s cameras. Shit. That’s not you. What is she doing there? What the fuck is going on? Alright, he’s going back to the house.

He stands on his feet, right in the middle of a meeting with the board and just leaves them. There’s a distant muttering of where does he think he goes, what happened, what’s gotten into him, this is important for the upcoming deal, but he pays no mind to them.

He needs to talk to you.

“Yeah, I think I’ve got everything you need,” Maria facetimes you, showing around your closet via her camera. “I’m loading the suitcase to the car and I’m out of here.”

“Thank you Mar-”

“MARIA?” Joel’s voice travels through the space from the ground floor, up.

“Shit, shit, shit, what am I gonna do?” Maria whispers to you turning the call to voice only.

“Just take the suitcase and leave, it’s ok, I only got personal stuff if that’s what he’s worried about. Let him check if it comes to that.”, you try to calm her down.

“Ok, ok-” Maria grabs the handle of the suitcase and moves to leave the walk-in closet.

“Hey.” Joel comes through the door to the bedroom taking in the scene. He hasn’t set foot in this room for nearly a month now.

“Hey.” Maria sounds pissed on the line.

“What are you doing here? Where's Tommy?”, Joel’s face frowns in question. “Tommy's not my keeper, his my partner. My husband, not that you would know what that means, apparently.” Maria just shrugs and moves to pass him by.

“What are you doing, what’s going on here?” he insists, blocking her way.

“I’m just collecting som-”

“How is she? Is she ok?” his voice softening when he asks about you.

“Oh, please, Joel, how is she? Really?” Maria scoffs at him. “She doesn’t want to see you, Joel or hear from you, that’s how she is.”

“Yeah, I gathered that much, thank you.” he mocks back. “Is she on the phone, can I just talk to her?” he extends his arm to reach for the phone. “Over my dead and cold body.” Maria says, pressing the phone on her chest.

His eyes are raging storms, his nostrils flaring with quiet rage. He takes a deep breath “Can you please ask her if I can talk to her, just for five minutes?”

“Why don’t you call her, Joel?” Maria taunts him, emphasizing the pronunciation of his name.

Joel just stares back at her, unfazed. Maria doesn’t move a muscle, lifting an eyebrow quizzically. Well, she did move one muscle.

Joel sighs exasperatedly “She blocked my number.”

“I wonder why that is.” Maria twists the knife, “I guess you have your answer, then.”

“Christ-” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “just- just ask her, please.”

Maria lifts the phone to her ear, rolling her eyes in frustration in the process. “Hey, Joel’s here, he’s ask-”

“Yeah, I heard everything.” you interrupt her, “No, I don’t want to talk to him.” Maria is shaking her head negatively at him as you talk, to pass the message.

Joel’s face goes cold and emotionless. “Well, tell her if she wants her belongings, she needs to come and get them herself.”

It’s been five weeks now and you can’t keep living in your best friend’s and sister in law's clothes. You’re gonna have to go and grab your stuff yourself.

Because it wasn’t enough what you’ve been through, what you’ve heard until you reached that goddamned bedroom door, what you’ve witnessed when you’ve entered, now he’s making you go back there to humiliate you. As you’re checking your calendar for your work schedule to decide on a suitable day, it hits you. You have Joel’s calendar on your phone, too. You always do, it was the only way to have some time together between his visits to work sites and board meetings and bussiness trips and fucking-behind-your-back, apparently.

And then you remember that day where you both stole some time off and decided to spend it cuddling with each other on the couch, talking nonsense and laughing at silly things and hugging and kissing and fucking all night long.

A brainstorm of thoughts run through your head instantly. How could he do that to you? He looked so happy in your arms. Maybe he was right, maybe it was nothing, maybe you should understand, you of all people, you should know. Do you need to do an STD test? How careless could he be? Where there others? Did he ever love you? Do you want to know?

Does it really matter?

You focus again on that day. He’d told you about a big deal coming up, one of the biggest in his career, if not the biggest so far and how important it was to the future of the company.

You searched frantically through his calendar until you found the date of the final meeting, the date where they’d seal the deal. Because there is no way they weren’t. If Joel wanted it so badly, he’d find a way to make it happen.

And you knew your husband, ironic as is sounds now. He was focused to a fault. He wouldn’t even check his phone that day. He’d done it every time since you were together. History indicated that he probably had other reasons, too, for not checking his phone in a timely manner, but you wouldn’t dwell on that. Not right now. Because now you had your chance.

That date was your chance.

Alarm disabled.

Joel’s phone is vibrating momentarily, not that he noticed, it was silent and tacked away in his jacket pocket, the jacket itself hanging on the back of his chair.

Don’t fuck it up, don’t fuck it up, don’t fuck it up, he’s chanting in his mind, under all this calm and confident demeanor, he’s sweating inside.

This is it, this is it, this is it, he repeats like a mantra, watching his opposite CEO, Leo Marks, playing with the pen between his fingers. He’s inspecting the contract again and he’s so close, so close to what he wanted. The room is silent, the long table full of seated lawyers and consultants from both sides, holding their breaths in charged expectation.

Joel knows that Marks is going to sign. He knows it. He worked for it. He convinced him, he made his vision clear as day and he lured him in. This is it. He got this.

Then your face appears in his mind. No, not today, he can’t do this today. You will have to wait. Like you always have. Joel shakes his head slightly, as if to remove you from his thoughts. His fingers get itchy, he wishes he could just check on you. Yes, he just want to check on you.

Are you alright? Are you thinking about him? Do you miss him like he does? Do you stay wide awake at night replaying the same scene over and over until you feel physically ill? Do you know that he thinks about you? Did he show you at all that night? Maybe he should have appeared at your friend’s door out of the blue. Maybe you think he doesn’t care. All he was trying to do was give you space. Respect your boundaries. Let you work everything out.

Fuck.

He reaches for his phone. He doesn’t know why. He knows his number is still blocked. He checks every night, when he's too exhausted from the lack of sleep and prays he could listen to your voice, or the soft sound of your breath when you slept next to him. But he fishes it out of his jacket pocket, anyway and then he sees it.

38 minutes ago.

Alarm disabled.

Alarm disabled. Alarm disabled. Alarm disabled, the only thought repeated in his head. He immediately searches the cameras for you but no movement is recorded right now. Maybe you already left. His heart rate spikes, his temples feel the pressure of his blood pumping violently in his veins. Cold sweat pours out of his body.

He’s squeezing his eyes shut, mentally counting all the places without cameras inside the house. What if you are still in there and he just can’t see you?

Fuck.

Mark’s voice extract him from his thoughts, “Mr. Miller, everything looks in order as we agreed.”

Joel snaps his eyes back to him, slightly irritated, “Of course it does, your legal team already did a thorough check all these months to get us here today.”

“Yes, yes,” Marks laughs entertained, “I just wanted to look it over one more time, I mean, we really are going to…”

What if you’re still there? What if this is his chance? He could always try to reach you after the deal, convince you to hear him out. Yeah, he can do that. He doesn’t need to chase you down. He can wait a little bit longer, can’t he? He can have it all, right? He was the man that had it all.

A mail pops up on his phone, a compliment note from the management of one of both your favorite hotels in Europe, thanking you for choosing their establishments for your stay, once again. Shit. You’re fleeing the fucking country? Are you fucking serious?

“..Mr. Miller?” Marks insists.

“Hm?” his eyes are glued to the screen of his phone.

“I said, before we sign, I need you to walk me through it one more time.” he demands like a little child asking for its favorite bedtime story. “I mean, this is the project of my dreams. I need your reassurance that this is as important for you as it is for us, that it’ll be your only focus for the foreseeable future.” he looks at Joel expectantly.

His only focus.

For the foreseeable future.

Fuck.

“HONEY!”. Your blood runs cold in your veins to the sound of his baritone voice. Your hand freezes over the shelf with the t-shirts, not making a sound. You didn’t take that long, why is he here? Why isn’t he in his meeting?

Joel enters the bedroom but you’re not there. Fuck, you hear the curse running softly from his lips. You don’t move, you don’t blink, you don’t breathe.

He moves to leave and check elsewhere but then he stops. You hear soft steps and you see the door of the walk-in closet opening. His wide form blocks the light from the outside, his broad shoulders almost taking up all the space of the frame.

He looks disheveled, his baby blue shirt wrinkled and unbuttoned at the top, his hair a mess, like he kept combing his fingers through them. You don’t dare meet his eyes though. You keep your gaze as far as his chin goes, concentrating on the bare patch there. His sole presence electrifies you like he’s already touched you. Your whole body feels on fire and frozen simultaneously. God, you missed him.

“I was calling for you.”, he breathes out and you can feel his fear pulsing through his body. He’s scared you’re gonna run. That’s why he doesn’t leave his spot, blocking the door.

“I know.”

“Were you hiding from me?” his brows are furrowed in a seemingly pained expression from what your peripheral vision could help you understand.

“No, I just chose not to answer you.”, you lower your head, looking at your feet.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” you say hastily, but he’s waiting for a real answer. You breathe deeply, “It- it felt too domestic, you calling for me, me answering back, like how we were before.” He nods, biting his bottom lip. “What are you doing here, Joel?”

“In our house?” the edges of his lips are slightly turned up, his head tilting to one side.

“No, this is your house as you said yourself.”

“Darlin’, you know I didn’t mean it like that..” he sighs in regret, his head deepening in his shoulder blades in an effort to attract your gaze upwards.

“But you’re right.”

“I built it for you.” his voice soft, like it’s a secret meant to stay that way.

“Hm.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” his brows raise in genuine surprise.

“Nothing, forget it.”

“No, tell me.”

“You first.”

He looks perplexed, he forgot your question.

“What are you doing here, right now, Joel?”

“I got the alarm notification and.. it was the only way I could talk to you, honey..”

“But- your meeting-”

He searches your eyes, although you refuse to look at him, analysing your confused expression and it hits him. He smiles in understanding, nodding his head. “So, you chose today on purpose..”

You don’t respond, you keep looking everywhere but his eyes.

He laughs through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face. “Did you really think that I wouldn’t drop everything to come and see you?”

“I really did.”

He gasps in disbelief, almost offended.

“Baby, look at me, please; look at me..” he pleads with you softly. You close your eyes as if in fear you would obey, your chin trembling from the effort to remain calm.

“Baby, look at me. I want you to look at me, now.” he presses in a more authoritative way. He thought he could order you around? Break you?

“No.” you shake your head.

Joel calls you by your name but before he has a chance to spit another soft command-

“I SAID NO!” you open your eyes, targeting them to his chest, tears spilling uncontrollably now. You can see from your periphery the look of shock on his face, because you’ve never yelled before. Ever.

“Why, sweetheart?”, he retreats back to his soft side.

“Because that’s exactly what you want. And you can’t always get what you want, Joel, not anymore.” You can’t hold back your tongue now.

“Jesus Christ,” you grit through your teeth, “what do you want from me, hm?” your eyes keep dancing around his face but never on his eyes. He looks dumbfounded, his lips part slightly but you don’t wait for an answer. “What else do you want? Is this some kind of ego thing? You expected me to shout and break things and hit you and tell you to leave her and come back to me? Because your ego is safe, Joel, if that’s what you worry about. I didn’t leave you, you did that first when you went behind my back. So, you walked out on me and not the other way around. Happy? Ready to go on with your life?” You’re grabbing the shelf where your hand previously rested so hard, trying to steady yourself.

For the first time Joel is speechless. He doesn’t know what to say. He can’t find the words to defend himself, to convince you about his feelings, to soothe you at the very least. He begins to have a glimpse of how he appears in your eyes right now. How much damage he’s done, even before that night. How much ground he’s lost over time.

“Darlin', I just wa-” he begins softly, almost like walking on eggshells, but your body visibly tenses, you jaw shuts tight, your eyes rolling back in your head.

“Stop, just stop! Stop saying what you want! Stop making this about you! Don’t you see? You keep asking me for what you want! Have you stopped for a second, just a second, to think what I want? What I need? I don’t- I don’t recognize you anymore.”

“I-” he closes his eyes in distress, “I love you.” His last retreat. He’s trying anything that could help him. He doesn’t get it. He can’t. He’s not capable. But he used to be. He was the most empathetic person you knew. What the fuck happened?

Your eyes snap though the open closet door at his admision and on to the perfectly made bed.

His gaze follows yours behind his back and shakes his head once more in regret.

“It really didn’t mean-”

“Joel-” you warn him, “have some self respect and don’t say what I think you’re about to say. At least have the guts to admit exactly what you did, I’d appreciate it more.”

He exhales heavily, you’re not giving him an opening to fix this. You’re hanging onto every word he mutters. Not a single one of them is left unparsed and he's not used to that. He knows that if he does not control his anger right now, it's game over.

Heavy silence is hanging between you, each one lost on their thoughts.

“Do you know when you really lost me, Joel?”, you ask him eventually.

Half an hour ago he would swear he had all the answers, but now? Now he sees he’s in the deep, so he stays quiet, searching your eyes that still won't reach his, for answers.

“You lost me when you humiliated her in front of me.”

His face goes white, shocked, he can’t believe his ears. His mouth opens and closes but he makes no sound, how on earth does he respond to that?

“You still don’t get it, do you?”, you pinch the bridge of your nose exasperatedly. “You valued her enough to endanger our wedding, you valued her enough to bring her to our own house, to our bed, Joel; you valued her enough to fuck her raw, to let her know that you were unhappy with me, before I had a chance to realize it myself-”, Joel interrupts you almost panicked “I’m not un-” and for the first time your eyes pierce his in such an anguish that the words die in his throat. “-and then you just diminished her like she was nothing, just to prove a point to me. While she was naked, vulnerable on our bed. And trust me, this is not me defending her, she is as responsible for this as you, but you’re the one I married, not her. I expected better from you, Joel, not her.”

Now he’s the one averting his eyes from you, looking down on his overpriced shoes, his demeanor defeated, this is not the Joel you know anymore.

“And what was the point, Joel? Hm? What? That she means nothing? Then why were you with her? Why did you choose her? Why did you spend your precious time on nothing, while I had to make an appointment to see you? That’s what you did with me, too? I mean nothing, too? Just a warm hole to fuck when convenient?” he snaps his head back to you, shaking it in denial frantically, his eyes blown wide and red from all the emotional stress you push onto him.

“But I guess I got my answer about a month ago, hm?” It’s one of those moments that epiphanies hit you as you speak uncontrollably, you just can’t stop your mind from running wild, your mouth from spilling bile, your heart from pounding so hard in your chest, your ears start to ring, your grasp on the shelf tightening even more for balance.

“And that tells me a lot about who you really are. It’s not just about the fucking, Joel, Jesus-, -for the brilliant man I know you to be, you’re stumbling through your blindest moment.”, you shake your head in disappointment, tears still running freely down your face, licking your jawline and falling like a waterfall to the carpeted floor. You feel so done, you find it pointless to explain any further.

“I- I don’t know you, Joel, I don’t know who you are anymore. Maybe I never did,” you conclude, “maybe you’re right,” you slowly nod to yourself, “and everything is my fault after all.” you whisper, not sure if you want him to hear that part.

He did. “I never said that it was your fault, baby. When did I ever say that?” his face is contorted in pain, “None of this is your fault, none of it, you hear me?” he wants so desperately to cross the fucking room and hold you tight, crush all your pain and insecurities and self hatred under an asphyxiating hug. He also knows that he won't make even two steps before you flee, or step back from him and he can’t for the life of him witness that. Because that’s how much he needs you. He prefers you standing there, where he can see you, where he can have you, even if you wither and die under the enormous trauma he’s putting you through.

“So stupid.. I was- I am so stupid..” you’re repeating to yourself almost deliriously, rubbing your fingers on your forehead.

“This isn’t you, sweetheart, you don’t talk like that, don’t- don’t do that to yourself.” Joel tries to bring you back.

“But this is you, isn’t it, Joel? The real you?” you bite back. “This isn’t me, really? How do you like the new me, Joel? Do you take pride on your creation?” you laugh bitterly at him. “Yeah, how you’d always call me? Polite little thing? Sweetheart?” you’re infuriated now, a rise fighting to explode through you. “How does it feel, Joel? To know you’re responsible for changing someone to their core? To know you had that much power over them?”

Joel’s shaking his head once again in desperation, hot tears spilling from his eyes, god, had he ever cried before? this is not a battle he can win, he sees that now. The damage is too great. What on earth was he thinking?

“Please, please honey, can we just take a breather, sit down and talk about everything?” he pleads with you, a last thread of hope shinning in his red rimmed eyes.

“Take a breather..” you mutter through your teeth, “you mean the breather you took while you were fucking someone else instead of talking to me?”, Joel shuts his eyes in defeat, there’s nothing he can say anymore. “I think you got it backwards, Joel.”

You take a steadying breath and command your legs internally to hold on a little while longer and move forward; clothes, suitcase, life left behind.

“Don’t contact me again, unless is via your legal team.” is the last bullet that hits Joel’s chest, right through his broken heart.

| next

[norristrii]

FAULT LINE.

“So stay for the night, it’ll bury the crime.” — Your relationship ended, but neither of you seem to let go. It took you multiple nights to realize what’s it all about.

pairing. Lando Norris x fem! reader

warnings. angst, hurt/no comfort, mention of sexual activities, unhealthy ex relationship, Lando being dickhead and fuckboy, mention of cheating.

music. Siren Sounds by Tate Mcrae.

FROM THE START, you knew deep down that your relationship with Lando Norris was something of a modern tragedy, destined to unravel in chaos. There was an inevitability to it—a feeling you couldn't shake, no matter how many times you convinced yourself otherwise. Something about the two of you felt doomed, as if the universe itself had conspired to keep you apart.

How could he date someone like you? That question lingered in your mind more than you cared to admit, sowing tiny seeds of doubt that threatened to grow.

Everyone told you he was wrong for you. His party demeanor, his carefree lifestyle—none of it aligned with yours. You heard the whispers, the warnings, the concerned looks that came with every mention of his name. He wasn’t the type to settle down, they said. He wasn’t the type to treat you the way you deserved. But you didn’t want to believe them. You couldn’t, because to believe them would mean letting go of the image you had built of him in your mind.

For a while, you held onto hope, believing that perhaps your connection was different, special. You thought you saw sides of him that others didn’t, glimpses of vulnerability that he only showed to you. Maybe, just maybe, you could be the one to change him.

But hope has its limits, and reality eventually makes its way through even the most determined denial. At least you found out the truth—he cheated. The realization hit like a blow to the chest, knocking the wind out of you. You had seen the signs, of course. The late-night texts, the moments when he seemed distant, distracted. But you ignored them, telling yourself it was nothing, that he cared for you more than he let on.

When the truth came out, it shattered the fragile illusion you had been holding onto. You didn’t scream or cry, at least not in front of him. Instead, you stood there, numb, as he fumbled for excuses that you didn’t want to hear. The betrayal burned, the realization that you had ignored the warnings, pushed aside the doubts, only to end up here, heartbroken and questioning everything.

You knew from the beginning that it was destined to be a disaster. But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

For the first time in your life, you had done something purely for yourself. You had walked away from the chaos, from the heartbreak, from Lando Norris. It was liberating, empowering even. You told yourself you were done, that you were moving on, that you deserved better. But then, as if he could sense your newfound strength, Lando started to pull you back in.

It began with the texts—short, simple messages that carried far more weight than they should have. “I miss you,” he’d write, and you’d stare at the screen, torn between deleting the message and replying. Then came the calls, his voice on the other end of the line, soft and familiar, stirring emotions you thought you had buried. Sometimes, those calls ended with him at your doorstep, his presence filling the space you had tried so hard to make your own.

Even though you told yourself you were far from over him, the truth was undeniable. You loved him. Part of you hated him, too, for the pain he had caused, for the betrayal that had shattered your trust. But you couldn’t let him go. No matter how much you tried, no matter how many times you told yourself it was over, he had a hold on you that you couldn’t break.

If he wanted to be a casual fling, a “fuckbuddy,” as you bitterly called it in your mind, you’d let him. Because the thought of losing him again was unbearable. You’d rather have him in fragments than not at all. It was a tragic compromise, one that left you feeling hollow and conflicted, but it was the only way you knew how to keep him in your life.

Every time he came over, you told yourself it would be the last. You’d let him in, share a moment of intimacy, and then promise yourself you’d end it. But when he looked at you with those unforgettable eyes, when he smiled that devastating smile, all your resolve crumbled. He was your weakness, your addiction, and no matter how much you hated yourself for it, you couldn’t walk away.

“I have to go,” Lando said abruptly, his voice cutting through the stillness of the room. He was already moving, quickly getting up from the bed and gathering his clothes from the floor in a hurried, almost frantic manner. You lay there, still trying to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling as you watched him. The sight was all too familiar—him leaving, always leaving.

“Like always,” you muttered under your breath, rolling your eyes as you sat up and began to pull on your clothes. The words were laced with bitterness, but you didn’t bother to hide it. Why should you? This wasn’t the first time, and you knew it wouldn’t be the last. He was always in a rush, always somewhere else to be, someone else to see.

There was no aftercare, no lingering moments of tenderness, no asking how you were doing. Nothing. It was as if the sex you just had evaporated the moment he decided it was time to leave. The bed still carried the warmth of his presence, but the room already felt colder, emptier.

You glanced at him as he pulled his shirt over his head, his movements quick and efficient, like he was checking off a task on a to-do list. He didn’t even look at you, didn’t notice the way your expression hardened, the way your hands trembled slightly as you buttoned your shirt.

This was the pattern, the routine you had come to expect. And yet, every time it happened, it stung just as much as the first. You told yourself you were fine with it, that you didn’t need more from him, but deep down, you knew that wasn’t true. You wanted more—more than hurried goodbyes and empty promises, more than being just another pitstop on his endless journey.

You followed him to the kitchen, your feet moving before your mind could decide why. There he was, standing by the counter, tossing his keys in his hand as if he couldn’t wait to leave. “See you later. I love you,” he said casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Every word of that sentence landed like a question in your head. See you later? Absolutely not. And I love you? Did he even mean it, or was it just something he said out of habit? It made your stomach twist in a way you couldn’t quite put into words.

“Yeah, of course,” you snapped, cutting him off mid-departure. The edge in your voice was unmistakable, sharp enough to make him stop in his tracks. His hand froze on the doorknob, and he turned to face you, his brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?” he asked, stepping closer, his voice softer now.

You crossed your arms, the tension in your body rising with every step he took toward you. Oh, so now he cares? you thought bitterly. It was ironic, really. When he was cold, distant, disappearing without a second thought, it was fine. He didn’t ask how you felt, didn’t stay long enough to notice. But now, when you mirrored that same detachment, it wasn’t okay. Now, he wanted answers.

“Nothing,” you shrugged casually, your tone as indifferent as you could muster. Right, nothing was wrong. Why was he even asking that? The question felt hollow, almost laughable, given the circumstances. You turned away slightly, avoiding his gaze, as if the act of looking at him might unravel the fragile composure you were clinging to.

“You know I love you,” he said, his voice soft but insistent, as though repeating the words would make them true. But for you, they were far from the truth. You didn’t know it. How could you? Love wasn’t supposed to feel like this—like a constant tug-of-war between hope and heartbreak, between wanting more and settling for less.

“You say that only because we fuck,” you reminded him, your voice sharp and cutting. The words hung heavy in the air, a brutal truth you couldn’t hold back any longer. You knew why he said those words, why he threw them out so casually. They weren’t rooted in love; they were a reflex, a way to keep you tethered to him. And you hated that you let them work.

He looked confused, his brows furrowing as he tried to process your accusation. “That’s not true,” he started, but his voice faltered, lacking conviction. You could see the cracks in his confidence, the way your words had shaken him. For once, he didn’t have a quick comeback, didn’t know how to charm his way out of the situation.

“That is true, Lando,” you said, your laugh tinged with sarcasm, the bitterness slipping through despite your best efforts to mask it. You wished—no, you longed—for his visits to be driven by love, by something deeper, something real. But you knew better. You knew why he was here, and it wasn’t for the reasons you wanted.

“You’re here only because you’re horny,” you sighed, the words heavy with resignation. You crossed your arms, trying to steady yourself, to stand your ground even as your heart wavered. The truth was out now, hanging in the air between you like a storm cloud. You watched his expression shift, the faint flicker of confusion crossing his face.

“And if you don’t remember,” you added, your voice firmer now, “we are broken up.” The words felt like a shield, a reminder to yourself as much as to him. You weren’t supposed to be doing this, letting him back into your life, into your bed, into your heart. But here you were, caught in the same cycle, trying desperately to break free.

Lando paused, his hand still resting on the edge of the counter. His brows furrowed slightly, as if he were trying to process what you had just said. “What are you talking about?” he asked, his tone defensive, almost incredulous. It was as though the idea of his intentions being questioned had never even crossed his mind.

You shook your head, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Don’t act like you don’t know,” you said, your voice quieter now but no less resolute. “You come here, you say the things you think I want to hear, and then you leave. It’s always the same.”

For some reason, he was quiet now. Maybe because, for once, you were telling the truth he couldn’t deny. The silence stretched, thick and oppressive, and it only fueled your frustration. “Oh my god, Lando!” you shouted, your voice breaking the stillness as you threw your hands in the air. “Why don’t you even try to defend yourself a bit?” Your words came out sharp and raw, laced with the bitterness of all the times he had made you feel small, unseen.

He flinched at your outburst, his gaze dropping to the floor, but his lips remained sealed for a long moment. Then, finally, he spoke. “I love you, Y/n, but it’s just not that simple.” His voice was low, almost pleading, as though he expected those words to be enough to fix the shattered pieces between you.

But they weren’t. Not anymore. You were done being nice, done bending over backward in desperation to keep something alive that was slowly killing you inside. You were done clinging to empty words and hollow promises. “Can you stop lying, Lando?” you shot back, your tone venomous, toxic in its delivery. “Can you stop lying for at least a second in your damn life?”

His head snapped up, his expression shifting between confusion and hurt. “I’m not lying,” he said quietly, but you didn’t believe him. Not a single word. His declarations of love felt cheap, as fleeting as the visits where he left you feeling more broken than before.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself for what you were about to say. The words came unfiltered, raw, and unrestrained. “I’m done,” you said, your voice firm and unwavering. “I’m done with this shit. I’m done with you.” The weight of your declaration hung heavy in the air, and for the first time, you felt a sense of clarity, as though the fog of confusion and heartbreak had finally lifted.

“What do you mean?” Lando asked, his expression shifting to one of disbelief. It was almost comical, the way he looked at you now, as if he didn’t understand English anymore. His confusion only fueled your anger, the fire burning hotter with every second he stood there, pretending not to know.

“Get off of my fucking eyes, that’s what I mean,” you snapped, your voice sharp and cutting. You wouldn’t beg again, wouldn’t plead for him to stay or try to fix what was already broken beyond repair. You were done being the one who cared more, who tried harder, who sacrificed everything for someone who gave so little in return. “You ruined everything,” you added, the words spilling out like a final blow.

“But I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said, his tone soft, almost pleading. No way. Was he joking now? The audacity of his words made your blood boil. How could he stand there, after everything he had done, and say something so utterly meaningless?

“You should have thought of that before you cheated, asshole,” you shot back, your voice dripping with venom. The truth was out now, and there was no taking it back. You weren’t holding anything in anymore, weren’t sugarcoating your pain to make him feel better. He deserved to hear it, every word, every ounce of anger and betrayal you had bottled up for far too long.

“Get out,” you said, your voice firm and steady as you pointed at the door. The finality in your tone echoed in the room, leaving no space for negotiation. Lando froze, his hand still resting by his side, as his eyes locked onto yours one last time. Those green eyes—piercing, unforgettable, the ones that had once undone you every time—met your gaze, pleading silently for a chance. But this time, you felt none of the pull that had always kept you tethered to him. This time, you resisted.

“No, just let me explain—” he began, his voice desperate, his words rushed as if he could fix everything if he only spoke fast enough. But you wouldn’t let him. You wouldn’t let him use his excuses or empty promises to worm his way back into your life.

“Get out before I call the police,” you interrupted, your voice cutting through his plea like a knife. Your words carried an unmistakable edge, final and unyielding, daring him to challenge you. You stood your ground, your hand still pointing toward the door, your expression resolute. You weren’t going to beg anymore, nor would you let yourself fall for his attempts to salvage what was already irreparably broken.

Lando hesitated, his expression shifting from desperation to something unreadable. For a moment, it seemed as though he might protest, try one more time to explain, to reason with you. But the weight of your command—the realization that you wouldn’t bend this time—settled over him, and he finally relented. Without another word, he turned away, his movements stiff and mechanical, like he was forcing himself to leave.

The sound of the door opening and closing echoed through the room, marking his departure with a harsh finality. You stood still for a moment, staring at the empty space where he had been, your chest tight with a mixture of relief and lingering pain. You had done it—made him leave, chosen yourself for once. But the victory felt bittersweet, as if closing this chapter had come at a cost you weren’t yet ready to fully comprehend.

The room was quiet now, but the silence felt different. It wasn’t suffocating, wasn’t filled with the tension of unspoken words. It was lighter, freer, and for the first time, you felt like you could breathe. You exhaled slowly, letting the weight of him, of everything he had put you through, begin to slip away.

You were alone now, but it didn’t feel like a loss. It felt like the start of something new—something that was yours, something that didn’t revolve around him anymore.

[nanamiskentos]

touch me there! gojo satoru. minors dni.

prologue. who knew that the strongest man to walk the earth, the closest thing humanity had to a god, was this weak just from your touch?

warnings. handjób, óverstimulation (m. receiving) and gojo being a slút for you

mp3. touch, touch, touch. thought about you way too much! — touch, katseye (2024)

a/n. made my own gifs for this one! i actually really enjoyed that 😭 today i learnt the difference between a web-dl file and a remux file. gifmakers are so strong...

you know that gojo's power is an indomitable force, and with a snap of his fingers, mountains would crumble, the seas could part, and the skies themselves would darken in his wake. no mortal, no force of the heavens above, no...nothing can touch him or shake his resolve. or at least that's what people say when they whisper about him. when other sorcerers point and wonder what it must be like to be the most unshakeable man on the planet.

well you've had your hand around his pale berry-pink cock for an hour, and you can say with full clarity of mind that there is one thing that can undo the divine power that is satoru gojo.

his thick shaft is slick with pre-cum, and the skin is smooth yet taut, supple and throbbing. his head has fallen back in exhaustion, frustrated from your teasing just as he gets so close to his release. hates how you draw your hand back suddenly leaving him high and dry, and aching furiously

but its just not enough for you yet, and he sees something soo godly within you right now. how is it that you've just undone him so easily, had him squirming and shaking like a whore?

he thinks its your nails that have him so delirious, for they reach for the underside of his cock and gently grasp his heavy balls, so painful that they ache, running the light tips of your fingers over the folded skin

"baby - please, no more. i don't think i can - can," and he's twitching under your touch. and yet despite his words you see the flush of amusement still dancing on his face, red brushing over his cheeks and leaving a rosy dawn behind on his gorgeous face

"ohh, satoru, so messy today aren'tcha?" and he bucks his hips up at the way you just purr out his name, a staccato tempo of him fucking himself up into your clenched fist, absolutely leaking a thin, milky fluid that leaves the both of you dizzy

its intoxicating for you too, starting at the base of his cock right where light curls of pale hair tickle at your knuckles. then you slowly drag your hand up, until your thumb comes to rest on the fat mushroom tip, a glowy-red as you lovingly run the digit back and forth, drinking in at how gojo is practically whining, chest heaving and littered with the marks and bruises left from your adoring teeth

but the killing blow, the one that leaves him feeling like he's been cleaved in half (too soon?) is when you dip your hands to the moist sheen between your legs, the slick gloss that has gathered from you, coating your fingers liberally. and how you use that same hand, still covered in your arousal to pump him more furiously

in the end, he's got tears pricking his eyes when he reaches his climax, beading in the corners of his brilliant blue gaze, weepy and leaking. and you're left to marvel at how thick, white seed shoots out and plasters all over your hand, over your torso as you had been leaning over him and before you can blink, he's beaming up at you, muttering about sensitivity but still positioning your hips right above his freshly milked cock for round two, no, three? four?

[mistyorchid]

Unrequited

Logan Howlett x mutant fem!reader

summary: Your deep-seated fear of rejection is the only barrier preventing you from kissing the smug grin off of Logan's face. Thankfully, Logan can smell how much you want him. *reader's power is optimism, which Logan loves distrusts. warnings: MDNI, no use of y/n, smut, age gap, reader is 21+, masturbation (fem!), scent kink, oral (fem!receiving), voyeurism, size difference, pussy worship, praise kink, pet names (sunshine, bub, doll, good girl), mention of unprotected p in v, using Logan's hair as handlebars. wc: 3.2k

Your world used to revolve around men. Now, your life revolves around the duty of saving it. If yearning for boys who never liked you back was an Olympic sport, you'd definitely win gold.

Everyone was in a good mood, having just returned from a government-sanctioned mission. The world needs the X-Men. You belonged to a community that respected your unique abilities. Powers aside, you were still a young woman yearning for romance. You forgot how it felt to be embarrassingly invested in a one-sided crush until you met Logan.

Your first mission seemed simple enough: act like Logan's arm candy for the night to investigate New York's elusive anti-mutant club. Memorize the names of club members, hide a mic in the manager's coat. In and out.

Unfortunately, Logan was more focused on how high the cut of your dress was. The unforgiving pink latex material suffocated your soft body and exaggerated the protruding curves of your breasts. As Charles described it, you needed to look like a liberated woman. The manager had a soft spot for confidence, and Charles explained that power attracts power.

Logan wished his hard cock was liberated from the uncomfortable friction caused by his slacks. That night, he learned that beauty truly is pain.

He watched as you glided around the room, earning lustful stares from the human members. Logan was ordered to blend into the crowd and allow you to complete the mission. His usual stoic demeanor was replaced with a charged, jealous glare.

"You're compromising the mission, Logan. I thought I taught you better," Charles tutted. His bald mentor checked in on their progress using cerebro's telepathic power.

Logan swatted his forehead, momentarily disoriented at the intrusion of Charles.

"Not my fault you put miss goody two-shoes in that god-awful dress," he snarled. "She's out of her element, and you know it."

"Her powers are extremely useful in this situation," Charles sighed. "You may not trust her, but her bubbly personality is the key to securing the club's trust. Just let her work . . . alone."

When the pressure in his head subsided, Logan knew that Charles no longer supervised the unholy thoughts bouncing against the adamantium confines of his brain.

He drifted to the bar and sat down, positioning the stool so he could maintain visual of your progress. Your kind eyes crinkled as you laughed and playfully swatted the manager's bicep. He painfully recalled the moment you revealed your powers to the group.

A month earlier, the X-Men gathered in the danger room to discuss how to approach the mission.

"The manager is emotionally vulnerable at this time. Surrounded by humans whose lives revolve around hate and mutant discrimination." Charles rubbed his temple to alleviate his anger.

"What is the opposite of hate?" Charles asked, turning his colleagues into students once again.

Logan rolled his eyes. "Please tell me it's not love, for Christ sakes."

"Optimism. The enemy of hate is hopefulness. Now, everyone, please give a warm welcome to our newest recruit." Charles gestured to a woman who was the physical embodiment of those girly 90s rom-coms Logan secretly enjoyed.

Her smile reached her eyes, symbolizing genuine happiness. She sported a vintage Talking Heads tee with an image of a lopsided smiley face. Logan's eyes drifted to the tiniest shorts he's ever seen, stopping just under the swell of your ass. Its whimsical star pattern complimented your sparkling teeth.

"Hey, guys. I'm so grateful to be here!" You cheered. Logan could tell you caught him staring by the sudden change in your demeanor.

Rubbing the back of your neck, you timidly explained, "Sorry about the get-up. My uniform's not ready yet."

Logan watched as you surveyed the room, eyes silently acknowledging Jean, Ororo, Scott, and Beast.

You confidently returned Logan's gaze with a dismissive scoff.

Logan found himself inexplicably drawn to your cheeriness. Usually, he distrusted kindness. It was a quality that was manipulated to deceive him countless times throughout the arduous decades of life he had unwillingly lived through.

Your benevolence seemed organic, almost innate.

You continued, "My power is optimism. In addition to what Charles explained, I can extract positive values from anyone and replace their malicious thoughts and intentions. Basically, I'll help the manager override his hatred of mutants. Hate is taught . . . I'll teach him a different lesson. One of hope, equality, and human-mutant coexistence."

Logan felt a blush brewing behind his rugged cheeks. Your eloquent explanation exuded more wisdom than he expected from a "sunshine and rainbows" type of girl. You matched his trademark cynicism with a grounded perspective of reality, but still saw the good in others.

Before Logan chose to introduce himself, Scott raised an eyebrow, silently teasing him for blushing at your words. Logan wouldn't give him the satisfaction of being right about his budding interest in the new recruit.

He mockingly countered, "That's great, a 'glass half-full' mutant has never gotten us killed before. What's your code name, Cheshire Cat? Twinkle Toes?"

Scott caught Logan's eyes and mouthed, "Nice," with a sly smirk.

You wouldn't let him bask in the reflection of tears falling down your cheeks.

Logan cursed himself as you turned to face everyone but him. "I don't have a code name. I've got nothing to hide," you coolly responded.

Your face contorted with pain as you recalled your first interaction with Logan. After you'd successfully earned the trust of the anti-mutant club manager, however, he followed you around like a lost puppy.

Everyone was confused. This behavior was extremely irregular for a man who struggled with trusting long-term friends, let alone a woman he'd only known for a month.

He was addicted to the sweet aura of unbridled positivity that radiated from you. A tale old as time, darkness intertwining with light.

The jealousy he felt during your first mission played a significant factor in his romantic interest. It took all of his restraint (and Charles' disapproving words) not to slash the throats of every man who lusted over your latex-clad form.

You remembered Logan sitting at the bar, clearly uninterested in the mission at hand. Uninterested in you.

Clearly, communication was a skill you both needed to hone.

"Nice work, sunshine." Logan clapped a hand against your shoulder, congratulating you on another successful mission.

He was genuinely proud of you. You were awarded a medal of honor by the president for using positive forces to bridge the gap between mutants and humans.

Picking up your pace, you whipped your head around to acknowledge Logan. "Thanks. You know how much I hate that nickname, right?"

As the rest of the crew filed inside the mansion, excitedly discussing how to wind down after a job well done, Logan used his leverage on your shoulder to spin you around.

"I'm sorry, bub. Love to see how red your face gets." A smug grin was plastered over his stupid, annoying, handsome face.

You paused at the mansion's entrance. "Whatever, Logan. I'm not in the mood for your belittlement."

Slipping past the kinetic hallways of mutant students, you swung open the door to your room and started to undress, hoping to destress after a long day. You shrugged off your new uniform and slipped on your favorite Talking Heads tee, not bothering to wear shorts.

"God, so annoying." You sighed, crashing face-down into the bed. You replayed the interaction with Logan, hurt etching its way into your heart.

I won't let him get to me. He makes me feel like a fuckin' teenager!

"Nice work, sunshine," you mocked in a gruff voice.

Logan doubted your abilities, ignored you on your first mission, and patronized you with nicknames. It wasn't fun being the butt of a joke at the hands of someone you secretly admired. You wondered if his recent interest in you was malicious or sincere.

Despite the telltale signs, you seriously doubted that Logan was romantically interested in you.

Never chosen, always on the prowl for scraps of affection. Never again. Your kindness had been taken advantage of before. You quickly learned that the only person who truly loved you was yourself.

Sunshine. The crinkle of his eyes, those stupid tufts of hair that make him look like a cat.

Your hands slowly slipped under the hem of your shirt, inching towards your breasts.

He was staring at my ass when I met him. Wasn't he?

Your right hand softly tweaked your sensitive nipples. Sighing, you allowed yourself to toy with the thin band of your underwear before circling your clit.

Soft moans quickly grew into labored huffs of desperation. Lost in the gratifying haze of your pleasure, you forgot an important detail about your new living arrangement.

Logan couldn't believe the sounds he was hearing.

It's as if God himself probed his mind and decided to fulfill his deepest desires.

A beautiful arrangement of moans and sighs traveled through the hollow wood wall that separated your rooms. To confirm that he wasn't hallucinating, Logan tentatively pressed his ear against the wall.

"Oh, fuck," he heard you whine in a hushed voice.

He could hear the spontaneous hitch of your breath. "Ah! Logan . . . fuuuuck."

His body reacted to the utterance of his name, unconsciously unsheathing his claws.

It took him five seconds to bridge the distance between his front door and yours.

An abrupt knock on your door forced you to pause the act of self-love you were so invested in.

"Hello? Who is it?"

Logan smirked before answering, "It's me. You okay in there? Sounds like you're having a hard time breathin, bub."

That cocky motherfucker. You slapped a hand against your mouth to muffle your surprise. He probably heard everything, you thought, moving to open the door.

"Logan! I- I'm so sorry." You started playing with the loose strands of hair framing your face. He was leaning on the door frame, his large body teasingly blocking the entrance.

His eyes flitted to your hand, noting the nervous tick. As the scent of your hair wafted into his perceptive nostrils, his pupils dilated. He noticed the unmistakable smell of your arousal.

"No need to apologize, sunshine. Just wanted to make sure you were okay." Logan tried to ignore the enticing scent emanating from your body. His eyes searched the room for a point to fixate on. Anything but your pouty lips.

He registered bare legs. The adorable way you were standing, your right leg shifted over the left to distribute your weight. Any decorum he had vanished when his eyes landed on the girly panties you were wearing.

You inched closer to his broad frame, looking up into his downcast eyes. They were still trained on your lower half.

Sunshine. The heavy weight of his gaze. Familiar hallmarks of past interactions. Except this time, he was gawking at your panties instead of those cosmic booty shorts.

"I can smell you. Can't be that unbearable to be around, hm?" Logan teased, finally making eye contact.

"No, you're still an asshole. I'm done playing hot and cold with you." Your clothed tits grazed his taut stomach.

"You want this? Because if not, I'll take it like a man and leave." Logan asked, searching your face for any signs of hesitation.

You averted your eyes. "Do you want me?"

He understood why your response was laced with insecurity. His previous actions had placed a seed of doubt in your mind. Logan gently raised your chin, tilting your eyes into his. "Of course I do, doll. I might be a stubborn asshole, but I'm not too stubborn to admit that I want you. Always have, since I first met ya."

Shock flooded your features. A charged silence lingered in the air.

You caught Logan staring at your lips.

"Just kiss me, you big oaf." You brazenly commanded.

The arm that leaned against the door frame descended to the small of your back, pulling you close to his chest.

Logan closed the gap, not wanting to give you any reason to doubt his feelings for you.

It started sweet and timid, an innocent collage of bumping noses and delicate gasps. When you pulled apart for air, a thin string of spit connected your bottom lips.

You decided you needed his lips on yours in a drastically different way.

"Since you're here, think you can help a girl out?" You pushed yourself away from Logan, palms extended to his chest. You sat on the edge of your bed, slowly spreading your legs.

Logan choked on his words. "I, uh . . . I'd love to." Once in front of you, he kneeled down on his knees.

The playful contrast between your vintage Talking Heads tee and the lacey pink panties that covered your most intimate area made him dizzy.

The frilly nature of it was enough to make him crazy, but they just had to have a cute little bow at the top.

Logan ground himself into his jeans, its denim fabric the only layer separating his cock from the air.

"You sure about this, doll?" he asked, reluctantly drawing his eyes away from your cunt to analyze yours.

You tentatively weaved your fingers through his hair, paying special attention to the tufts. When he leaned into your touch, you knew that the admission of his affection was genuine.

Your hands ghosted over his, pulling them to land on the wide expanse of your thighs.

"I need you, Logan. I want this. Want you."

That was all Logan needed to hear before he hooked four fingers around the elastic of your panties, slowly moving them off of your legs.

You shivered when the room's cool air met your bare cunt.

Logan hooked his strong arms under your knees, pulling you to the edge of the bed with ease. "Much better, doll. Wanna be close to her," he drawled, resting your legs over his shoulders.

His mouth hovered over you, fanning warm breaths that made you throb with anticipation.

Logan's lips ghosted over where the bow on your panties was and descended where you needed him most.

He gently kissed your clit, earning a soft gasp.

"Yeah, you like that, baby?" You whined a high-pitched "Mhm . . ."

Logan suddenly licked a broad stripe from your hole to your clit, collecting your wetness on the tip of his tongue.

"Need your words, bub. Wanna hear you."

He pulled away momentarily, massaging the sensitive flesh of your thighs. "Oh my god. Yes, I love it . . . please don't stop," you whined.

"That's a good-" Logan paused to pool the release still on his tongue and let gravity drip it onto your folds. "-girl. Fuck."

You sucked in a harsh breath through gritted teeth. He stared at your cunt fluttering open and closed in response to the contact, aching to be filled.

He would tend to that later. Right now, he wanted to make you feel loved, cared for.

"You taste so fuckin' sweet, doll." Logan cooed, tracing the sensitive outline of your hole before sinking two of his thick fingers into your warmth.

Your hands found purchase in his hair, gasping at the sight of him stretching your walls. He slowly thrust his fingers in and out, steadily building the tension in your body.

"Yeah, hold onto me . . . guide me where you need me." The soft squelch of your wetness made him groan into your pussy.

"Fuck . . . you sound so beautiful, baby." Logan praised, his lips pressing a tender kiss to your clit once again.

He alternated between languidly enveloping your folds with his mouth and licking urgently at your sensitive bud.

"Ah! I- I'm close, Logan." You mewled, hips suddenly rising off the bed. The spontaneous action made your clit catch on the ridge of his strong nose.

You locked his head in between your legs, thighs abruptly closing due to the contact.

"You like that, hm?" he teased. You nodded rapidly, capturing your bottom lip in an attempt to subdue the embarrassing whines Logan was drawing out from you.

Once your thighs rested back on the bed, Logan pulled your legs even closer. You couldn't believe your eyes.

He started making out with your pussy.

Logan's mouth opened and closed again and again, latching onto your swollen lips. His pursed lips glistened with your release.

He actually sighed into your body when a particularly noisy kiss made you clench around his fingers.

"That's my good girl. So responsive . . . can you come for me, baby? Wanna taste you."

He curled his fingers, coaxing the spongy pad of your cervix on every thrust. His palm met your pussy with a steady plap, burying his fingers into your crying cunt.

Your legs started shaking. Unable to stave off your release, your thighs fluttered around Logan's head.

"Oh, fuck, Logan . . ." you moaned, sharply tugging his hair while falling backward onto the bed. You couldn't bring yourself to watch his sly grin as you came undone around him.

"Yes . . . ohmygodohmygod, ah!" You incoherently babbled.

Logan playfully slapped your puffy folds, stimulating you through your orgasm.

"Aw, would 'ya look at that . . . your pussy's blushing just for me, doll." He pressed another kiss to your pulsing clit, smirking into your skin.

He slowly removed your legs from his shoulders and caged your body under his, arms outstretched so as not to crush you.

Logan traced the plush outline of your bottom lip, teasing, "Speechless, huh? Guess I'm not that big of an asshole."

Your pupils dilated as you caressed the rugged expanse of his cheek. You hummed a soft, "Mhm . . ." in response, too fucked out to mumble something more comprehensible.

"Figured you deserved to feel good after what I put you through." Logan averted his eyes. He felt guilty, opening his mouth to apologize, but you silenced him with a sloppy kiss.

You tapped his right arm, silently asking him to lay down on the bed next to you. He moved to cuddle you, but you turned around and straddled his pelvis.

Grinding over his clothed bulge, you teased, "No need to apologize, Logan." Your release was creating a noticeable wet spot on the faded denim.

His hips bucked up to meet your tantalizing movements. His back arched at the thought of his bare cock finally feeling the plush embrace of your cunt.

"Let me make it up to you . . . you deserve to feel good, too."

Logan's hands rested on your torso, stilling your hips.

"If you keep moving like that, I won't get to come inside of you. You want me to fill you up? Hm?"

You mischievously dragged your cunt over the fly of his jeans, clit catching on the button.

"Who said you couldn't come in me more than once?"

Logan wrapped his arms behind the small of your back, pulling you to crash against his broad chest. His lips found your ear.

He whispered, "You fuckin' tease. Be careful what you wish for, bub. I have regenerative powers, remember? Could fuck you for hours, if you let me."

You suddenly nipped at his earlobe. "Oh, yeah? prove it. I'm not so sure, old man."

Logan propped up your chin, caressing the supple skin of your cheeks. Eyes darting between your doe eyes and pouty lips, he responded, "If I didn't heal so fast, you'd be the death of me."

You sealed his promise with a sweet kiss. The only lack of communication in your blossoming relationship would occur during intimate moments like these, lips slotted into the other's, ethereal sighs mingling with his intoxicating groans.

an: Whew! I spent a lot of time refining this one. I'm slowly working on improving the pacing and atmosphere of my work.

[formylovetodaryldixon]

“What it means to me.” Daryl Dixon Imagine.

After Daryl separates from you, Sasha and Abraham, he tries to find his way back to the person he considers his home. And in the midst of his fight to survive, the ring he’s been hiding for a while is taken away, but that ring is more than just a ring: It's the only promise he can make to you, that he will love only you.

A/N: I love doing these cheesy imagines, thinking that Daryl is the person who would hold on to just one person for the rest of his life (To you, me, and the rest of this beautiful community hehe). I wrote this years ago when I had my old page, which I deleted, so sorry if this isn't exactly the same as the episode. Hope you like it! And THANK U SO MUCH FOR THE LOVE MY LAST IMAGINE RECEIVED, it's crazy to think people like what I write. (Sorry if there are mistakes, it's 4:30am so I'll correct them in the morning hehe)

Daryl keeps pushing his motorcycle through the burned forest where everything in sight is black, between the charred bodies of the walkers, with some of them still growling, a low sound the wind takes away. His leather jacket is torn and the blood from his wounds gushes through them, his body hurting and aching, his energy draining out as he breathes deeply through his mouth, but when he can no longer push, giving in to the pain in his cramped muscles, Daryl drops the motorcycle to a side.

Everything happened in a blink.

Minutes earlier Abraham drove the RV with you and Sasha as he made a joke about how amazing it was to see a parade of walkers behind you all. The path had nothing but trees on both sides and a big horde coming down the hill, following the roar of the engine. Still riding his motorcycle, Daryl had turned in the turnoff to his right toward a street of abandoned houses, but the silence broke when bullets whistled in the air: it was there that he separated from you and your friends.

“(Y/N)?” He says through the walkie–talkie. “Sasha? Abraham? Ya there?”

But only the static returns the greeting from the other side, so he turns it off. Daryl removes the leather glove from his bloody left hand, his leather jacket next to wipe his own wounds. But it’s you what fills his mind, his heart beating frantically with the thought of you been away from him, but Daryl knows he has to trust you are going to be fine on your own, you, who had always been so feisty. However, now, his only purpose in that unpredictable life is to find a way back to you.

Daryl Dixon never thought much about the future, always living one day at a time in that uncertain world, but the ring he's been hiding in his shirt pocket weighs now with the regret of living a life half–heartedly, always cautious, never brave when it comes to love. Because, yeah, Daryl had never been lucky when it came to love someone, always kept away from that suffocating feeling when it was never reciprocated by his parents. But with you it had been different, liberating, like a reminder that that feeling makes you feel lighter than a feather, and not as if you were weighing lead while drowning deep into the sea.

And although it’s scary to lose you, terrifying, it’s worse for him not to live by your side, a full life this time, like never before. Daryl never thought about being someone’s something, but now, he just wants to be able to ask you if he can be your husband.

But when a branch breaks near him, bringing him back to the present, Daryl watches the place and its surroundings before hiding his motorcycle under some bushes; he then picks up his crossbow and walks toward that noise, with the light steps of a hunter. However, before being ambushed, Daryl circles a tree and points at two women who turn around, raising their hands in the air to show they are harmless.

“Hey. You found us. Okay?” The woman with the long hair says, moving slowly in front of the other, her body blocking any possible attack. “Here we are. We owned what we took.”

Almost imperceptibly, her gaze moves to a side, but when Daryl follows it, a man knocks him down.

It takes Daryl a few hours to emerge from that thick fog of confusion, a blurry vision from the pain that blends with the blackness all around. Now, Dwight, who points at Daryl from behind with his gun, pushes him out of the last bushes of the forest, but the sight in front of them is not what his captors are hoping to see, so they walk past him, looking in frustration towards the other side of the fence that holds up the walkers that haunts the place, with endless grunts, hands and mouths always open.

They talk about following the plan they already had, but in the middle of the exchange of ideas, Tina, the short–haired blonde girl faints over her sister, exhausted after a long walk. The sudden commotion appears as an opportunity in front of Daryl’s eyes, and he takes their duffel bag from the ground with his tied hands before running between the tall and black trees, successfully evading the man’s shots whistling in the air.

“We need that, please!”

Daryl hears the woman’s screams and the plea in her voice, but he keeps going until he is at an appropriate distance to stop. Breathing through parted lips, he jumps over a fallen log and hides behind it, biting the rope that holds his hands prisoners, while the air doesn’t seem to be enough at that moment.

Daryl gasps, exhausted, but he takes the walkie–talkie from the bag with his now free hands.

“(Y/N)? Hey… ya there, peach?”

Nothing welcomes him, not your voice, not even a sound. But then, a walker growls in Daryl’s direction, stumbling through the unstable path. It has no skin, pure bones with leaves and branches around its ribs like a cruel and sick joke. Daryl kneels in front of the duffel bag and tries to pull his crossbow out, but it doesn’t work on the first try. It is stuck between the straps, shortening Daryl’s breath as the walker keeps getting closer and closer until finally, Daryl pulls it out and falls on his back, but the arrow flies directly into the walker’s head, knocking it down forever this time.

Under the momentary relief, the air around him seems to be running low, and Daryl stands up, tired and irritated.

He thinks life doesn’t give him a fucking break, but when he looks down to the cooler inside the bag, Daryl can read the word insulin. He exhales, cursing under his breath while trying to silence his selfless mind that screams at him to go back, but the object those people lost pushes another thought to the front of his head, cold and distant as his hand feels the pocket of his shirt.

The ring is gone.

With you sitting in that uncomfortable chair behind the desk in that forgotten office, Sasha and you stay quiet and still for a moment, in silence and waiting for something: a divine intervention, a smoke signal, something to mitigate that cruel thought that Daryl is lost. After a while, Abraham walks down the hallway with his gaze lost too, until his large body shakes with surprise as the walker behind the glass, trapped in the conference room adjacent, slams itself against the crystal, grunting savagely.

“How is this gallant still standing?” He asks.

“He can’t get out.” Sasha answers with a tired voice, sitting in front of that crystal, watching how Abraham tries to open the door. “It’s locked. We’re fine. Stand watch or sleep? Your choice.”

Abraham looks at the walker, and then at Sasha.

“I take the former. Do a little shopping maybe?”

He moves close to the desk you are sitting, takes the paper bin and pulls out the black plastic bag before pacing around the place. Sasha watches you resting your elbows on the wood, rubbing your face to try to erase your worried expression.

“Daryl will be fine, (Y/N). We just have to wait, okay?” She smiles softly at you to give you confident, and you believe that because he is probably the strongest person in that world, but you can’t help but worry about him.

You nod, knowing that the fear of losing someone is part of the repercussions of daring to love.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Drop the gun.” Daryl aims at them with his crossbow, forcing the small group to stand up from that fallen log where they are sitting. “Drop it!” The man tries to raise his own gun, but the tension disappears when he finally lowers it. “Give it to me.” Daryl takes the gun to put it in his jeans’ pocket. “I want ma ring back. Now.”

Dwight reaches into his jean’s back pocket and hands it to him. This time, angry, Daryl snatches the ring from his hand.

“I should shoot ya for takin’ it.” Daryl holds his crossbow, meaning every word. “Came all this way. What ya got for the duffel? Ya put me through too much shit jus’ to give it back. What ya got besides that gun?”

“Nothing.” Sherry says, looking at him with a tired expression: not fear, just tiredness, as if she can sense that Daryl won't hurt them.

Daryl stares at Dwight, remembering part of their conversation through the blurred memories, after that blow and the pain that still throbs against his head.

“What’s that thing ya were carvin’?”

The man looks in his front pocket and pulls out a nice figure carved in wood.

“My grandfather taught me—”

“Don’ care.” Daryl cuts him off and takes the figure, dropping their bag to the ground close to them. “Take it. S’ all there. Good luck. Y'all gotta need it.”

But as he starts walking away, a noise not so far away makes Daryl hide behind a tree, counting the seconds until he watches the arrival of a truck that knocks down the branches in its path. Three men get out of the vehicle, talking to Dwight and his people that they should end it. Daryl listens carefully, realizing that his past captors don’t want to leave with that new group, and notice the distinctive sound of more cars approaching, more people coming. Those new men walk away for a moment, but Daryl sees that Dwight and the girls are about to leave in the wrong direction in their own attempt to escape.

“No. That way.” He says getting close again, pointing in a different one. “Go. Go.”

Daryl holds the girl with short hair, helping her walk through the forest, with the constant sound of burning branches and leaves cracking under their boots, until they find a safe place to hide. They duck behind the bushes, but Daryl knows he can’t handle those people alone if they attacked, so he pulls the gun out of his pocket.

“Hey. Take it.” He says, and Dwight does it with a confused look.

A few steps away, there is a walker trapped against a rock and the tree, and Daryl shakes the bush that covers it to attract one of the men’s attention, who oblivious, walks towards it, dangerously close until the death reaches him, biting off his arm. He screams calling for help and another man approaches running, finding his friend on the ground, holding the empty space where part of his flesh used to be. The last man makes a tourniquet around the other one’s elbow, joking that he should cut off his friend’s arm with a machete before walking away.

“We thought you were with them.” Dwight says from the ground, looking at Daryl. “We knocked you over the head. We tied you up. We threatened to kill you. Why the hell did you come back?”

Daryl looks at them on the floor, vulnerable and weak, listening the women speak to each other, affectionately, saying everything is going to be okay.

“Maybe m’ stupid too.” Daryl says after a while, his voice low and hoarse, referring to what Dwight said earlier, about how stupid they were to trust a community, thinking that they fought together for the same cause: to survive.

Sasha continues to stare through the window, present but absent at the same time, with nothing but an empty street and a pair of walkers grunting in the air. On the other side of the place, your heart keeps beating fast, without giving you a break as the hours pass and pass. The tingle in your stomach is the worst companion in that long wait, and it feels like it’s playing with you, making you believe you are going to puke from the nerves.

Sasha watches you, noticing you are losing color.

“Are you okay, (Y/N)?”

You look back at her, your body falling on the back of the chair.

“Yes, thanks. It’s just that my stomach is tight from the nerves.”

She can see the worry in your face, which got deeper as the hours passed.

“Maybe you’re pregnant.”

You blink at her, almost innocently, until your hand flies into the air to ward off that thought.

“Of course not!” Your voice comes out sharply, making her chuckle.

“I’m just kidding with you.”

Your surprise disappears fast and it becomes a soft laugh, something thoughtful as you look at her.

“You really scared me.”

Sasha smiles, and she walks to the desk to sit on the chair on the other side.

"But let me ask you something: did the topic ever come up between you and Daryl… about having a kid?" She leans back, a little bit tired of that life. "I mean, I don't know if it would be selfish to bring a baby into this world, but at the same time, I want to believe that a new life would bring a little hope and color, too."

You weigh her words, analyzing your entire life in just a few seconds of silence.

“Well… I dated twice in the old world but believe me, that idea never came up with those people after I knew who they really were.”

Her eyebrows furrow in sadness, hating that you had to suffer like that.

“They were assholes, uh?”

"To say the least..." You chuckle, humorless. "Daryl and I… we never talked about it actually, and I know he’s completely different but, it scares me to death not being able to protect my kid if she or he ever happens, you know? Daryl is a protector, that’s in his nature, but sometimes things just... slip out of our hands."

Sasha nods.

“Maybe Daryl is waiting to marry you first.”

You chuckle, shyly.

“That idea never came up with those people either.”

“But if he proposed, would you say yes?" Your friend smiles softly, feeling tenderness for you at how alienated you are from something that everyone in the family is aware of, but she loves the sweet way you shyly nod. “Daryl is fine, (Y/N). I’m sure he is. That man is just so stubborn, and not even the whole world will stop him from coming back to you. Okay?”

Her kind words make you feel calm, and you nod again, trying to swallow the lump in your throat that prevents you from speaking at that moment. Trusting that he’s strong and stubborn is the only thing that makes that situation less worrying, just a little less.

Daryl and the group keep walking through the forest, talking about the safety that people are looking for desperately in that world, that they would give it all for believing they are safe, and Dwight keep saying that those people would give everything until they had nothing, until they would only exist.

“Nobody’s safe anymore.” Daryl shakes his head. “Can’t promise people that.”

“You can promise it to those people who want to hear it.” Dwight says back, confident in his own words.

They talk, debating about the remote possibility of finding balance in a quiet life, far from the danger of other humans when they are still the most harmful. A little bit behind them, Tina walks to a burnt and melted greenhouse close, in the middle of nowhere. She stops, recognizing the two dead people encased in melted glass inside. Dwight and Sherry blame themselves because they burned the entire forest without knowing that those girls were there, while, between nothing but rubble, Tina gets close again, kneeling to leave some flowers for them, lamenting the loss of two innocent lives.

But then, the corpses wake up to the sound of her crying and attack her, breaking through the glass. Their arms hold her and she falls between them, screaming in pain as they bite her soft skin. Daryl runs to her and kills the walkers, while Sherry pulls Tina towards her, crying.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” She says between tears, because she knows there is nothing else do now.

“Why did you come back for the ring?”

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

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

A second later, Sherry finally looks at him.

“What is that?”

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

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

The feeling she sees in Daryl’s eyes is too deep, as transparent as crystal, a bond with you, just as important as the one she had with her sister.

"But you haven't proposed to her yet."

Daryl shakes his head.

"Not yet."

"And what are you waiting for?" She keeps asking, but the way Daryl looks at the ground for a second is her own answer. I'm waiting to stop being so scared, he thinks. “Why do you want to marry her?”

Sharing his deepest thoughts had always been a weak point for Daryl, but at this moment, he shrugs it off as he goes back to digging, the words passing through his lips, because talking about you was always something easy.

“She always felt like home, like, if home is a person and not a place, and since I met her I realized I didn't wanna get away from that feeling. (Y/N) always speaks with a soft voice, but at the same time she can be firm with the things she believes in, she jus’… knows who she is and what she wants, and she showed me that this world ain’t a bad place to live in despite the pain.”

The moment he looks at her, she nods, smiling while looking away, ending that conversation.

“How many walkers have ya killed?” Daryl asks, turning his attention to Dwight.

“A lot. A couple of dozen at least.”

“How many people have ya killed?”

“None.” He says, still throwing the dirt from his shovel.

“Why?”

Dwight doesn’t stop digging.

“Why haven’t I killed anybody?” He doesn’t answer immediately, thinking about how his life was before all that. “Because if I did, there would be no going back, no going back to how things were.”

Daryl looks back at him, with a little of hope in his blue eyes.

“M’ from a place where people are still what they were.”

Dwight stops and breathes through his parted lips, tired, weak, and vulnerable, but for a second, life seems less dark.

As Daryl uncovers his motorcycle, he really thought he could take those two people back to Alexandria, for them to have a new opportunity, a new beginning. However, they, after sharing a look, decide in silence that they would find their own way, and behind him, Daryl hears Dwight clicking off the safety of the gun.

“Damn it.” He grunts and tries to take his crossbow out of his body, but as he turns around, Daryl knows it is too late.

“Give her the crossbow.” Dwight say, holding the gun.

“Yer gonna go back? Will ya be safe?”

“Shut up!” Dwight's hand shakes with the weight of the question if he is making a mistake, but Daryl doesn’t look away, still breathing heavily.

“It ain’t no safe place no more.”

“Give her the crossbow.”

“Ya’ll kneel?”

Dwight doesn’t lose his composure, but he shoots close to Daryl’s head just to prove he won’t hesitate to kill him, so Daryl takes the crossbow out of his body and gives it to Sherry. They get on the motorcycle, with her holding the gun now, while keeping an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry.” She says after throwing some medical packs on the ground.

“Yer gonna be.” Daryl answers back, holding a menacing look.

Sherry's gaze falters with the severity with which she is looked at, but her next words hold not a trace of fear.

“Give your beloved the ring, make her your wife and live a full life. Don't waste another day.”

After that, they leave.

But as the sound of the engine is drowned out by the relentless wind, Daryl lets out a small laugh while he pulls out the ring, coming to a revelation. The idea that you can find someone better (even in that world) and start something with someone else is just devastating for him, a wrong but perennial thought in his mind, but now Daryl knows that he would do everything in his power to become that better someone (even when in your eyes, and in everyone else's, he is probably the best human being possible)

Maybe, just maybe, that time apart hadn't been that bad after all.

And after a long and almost endless trip, the sound of an engine attracts everyone’s attention, and Sasha, Abraham and you walk to the window to see the truck that stops in front of that building. The air returns to your body when you see Daryl getting off the vehicle, finding his last name written on the door of the place where you all hid. Sasha and Abraham smile among them, relieved as you walk out of there, your legs trembling slightly all the way down the stairs, but you make it.

The sunlight shine on your face as you push open the door, as a sign that the cycle always repeats itself, but breaking the night with a new bright day as patience is rewarded. You feel weak and strong at the same time, as if you can breathe again. Daryl walks over to you, meeting you halfway, and finally, in what seems like a life apart, he wraps his arms around your waist to pull you even closer, but that doesn’t seem to be close enough.

Your arms around his shoulders hold him against you, while he breathes deeply against your neck.

“I knew you’d come back.”

He exhales, at peace now that he had found his way back home.

“Nothin’ or no one could have stopped me from doin’ it, peach.” Daryl pulls away just to take your face in his hands, his fingers caressing your skin and part of your hair, his gaze softening with the view of you, because he now knows for sure and without fear that love doesn't bring you down, not when it feels so good to be by your side again. “But I missed ya so fuckin’ much, woman.”

And then, Daryl presses his lips against you, still holding your face, without caring for anything else in the world. At that moment, it is just you and him again, while, at the entrance of the building, Abraham chuckles next to Sasha.

“This is way better than a parade of walkers.”

@fluffy-dixon