#Best Fresh Dog Food Company

[yodoggo]

[notafunkiller]

out of style

Summary: A year after your divorce, you and Bucky come face to face at your closest friends' wedding. Emotions run high, leading to a fiery confrontation that takes a detour to Bucky's hotel room, where the old flame might just reignite.

Pairing: ex-husband!Bucky Barnes x female reader

Warnings: 18+, teasing, dirty talk, pet names, daddy kink, fingering, oral séx, no condom (but f is on birth control), language, a little alcohol, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 7.2K

Bucky Barnes masterlist

A/N: I really hope you'll enjoy it!

Please, do not repost or translate without my permission!

What an ass... He has no shame at all. And the worst part? You’re still somehow surprised by it. As if you haven’t known him for years.

You look away, making sure to take a sip from your wine before focusing on the conversation again. It’s Nat’s big day, and you’re so happy for her, but listening to this story for the seventh time is exhausting. Same reactions, too: “Wow, he’s so well trained.” or “The wedding bands didn’t fall even once. Enzo is fantastic.” He’s a trained dog, you don’t get why they’re so fucking impressed.

You give Nat a smile before you excuse yourself to go to the bar. Maybe you should get a cocktail, the wine tastes terrible. On the way, you notice Steve talking to Miss Sunshine in the right corner, and you just nod toward him politely, trying to look unbothered. It’s his best friend’s girlfriend after all. What did you expect? Plus, maybe it’s just a polite conversation.

“A Sex on the Beach, please,” you murmur to the bartender.

“Vodka so early?”

You turn your head with a sigh just to see a guy you recognize from Nat’s engagement party. A fresh haircut, a simple suit and wandering eyes.

“Is there a time limit for a cocktail?” you respond, rolling your eyes when you notice he is still fixated on your chest.

He immediately raises his hands in defense as he takes a seat next to you.

God, if you hate one thing about being single besides the lack of sex is this… needing to deal with those men. It was perfect when Bucky used to take care of them.

“I didn't mean it like that, sweetheart.” You scrunch your nose instantly. God no!

“Here you go!” The bartender places the glass gently in front of you, and you’ve never been more grateful to see her.

“Thank you!” You smile before taking a huge sip, hoping it will turn him off and make him get away.

“A vodka tonic for me.” His tone is commanding, and you try not to roll your eyes again as he leans in closer. “We’re matching.”

“Huh?” You choke.

“Vodka lovers.”

Alright, time to get out of here!

You quickly grab your glass and stand up, making sure to fix your dress just in case, but his eyes are already on your breasts again. For fuck’s sake! How is he Steve’s cousin?

And talking about Steve, you almost jump when you hear him saying your name.

“Hey.” You’ve never been happier to see him.

You can’t say the same thing about his friend, who’s right next to him, looking the creepy blondie up and down.

“Is everything alright?” Steve asks with obvious concern.  “Do you feel okay?”

“Hey, man! The food is great and the company even better. Look at her, such an eye candy, am I right?” He chuckles at his own disgusting comment. “I mean, you’re married. Don’t answer that, I don’t want Romanoff on my back.” And after all of this, he has the audacity to wink at Steve. But before you can throw your cocktail over his shirt and make a scene, Bucky’s already getting in front of you, blocking your view with his huge back.

“If you want to keep your teeth, get the fuck out of here and never, ever get even within three feet of my wife. Am I fucking clear?”

His tone is so cold, harsh, and arrogant at the same time, but also so possessive. It surprises both: you and Steve, because he immediately looks at you confused before dropping his eyes on your hand.

He must be looking for a ring.

God, you never hated Bucky more than when you see blondie standing up and going straight outside just like that. It makes you even angrier because it’s always a man who has to explain the obvious signs to these assholes so they leave. You say no? You are playing hard to get. You are with a man? Then it’s all off-limits.

You sip your cocktail with frustration, the taste of vodka lingering on your tongue.

Then, you take a step toward Bucky, grabbing his arm and turning him so he can face you. “Listen and listen good, I’m not your wife and I don’t need you to play the macho hero! I can handle myself, so back off!” You wanted to leave after saying this, but the way he looks at you makes you change your mind. His eyes softened, showing a trace of your old Bucky, and it only pisses you off more. He labeled you just like that... “I divorced you for a reason, I’m not your property or responsibility. Stay out of my fucking business or I’ll show you exactly how well I can take care of myself!”

You hand him your half-full glass and storm out, seeing red. Or well, blue.

You anticipated that he’d come after you, of course you did. You know him, as much as you hate to admit. You still know him well. Too well.

And when you hear his sigh behind you, you don’t jump.

“You can handle yourself, but he was all over you. Sorry for being a gentleman.” He apologizes sarcastically. “I guess old habits die hard.”

“Too bad, Barnes! I am not your little wife. I am not your girlfriend. I am not even your friend.” You turn your head to look at him as he’s standing on the other side of the balcony. “And I am not that flavor of the month of yours, you have to kill these habits.”

He raises his head. “Flavor of the month?”

“Yeah, your plus one. You know, you should take care of her instead of trying to play hero and calling me your wife.”

“Keeping an eye on me? He smirks. “Thought you divorced me for a reason.”

Fuck him! He thinks he got you... “I did! You couldn’t open your mouth to say what bothers you, remember?”

“Well, I opened my mouth to do something else, far more exciting.”

You gasp, incredulous at his audacity.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You scream, walking toward him. “Seriously!”

“What is wrong with me? You tell me! You divorced me for a reason.”

“Don’t you have someone else to bother? Fuck off already, Bucky!”

“You got angrier with me now than back there with him. Unbelievable!” He shakes his head.

You take a deep breath, trying not to have a crisis. You are not gonna let him get to you. “Look, can you just pretend this didn’t happen?”

He instantly looks at you shocked as he leans in. “This as in,” he waves between you two. “Our marriage? You think I can pretend our marriage never happened?” His voice grew louder, his words punctuated by sharp, angry inflections. “You think just because we divorced, you get to ask me that? How can you...”

You’re taken completely aback by his whole attitude, and it’s like you’re back in time at your wedding as he made you sneak out so he can make you come on his tongue after saying all sorts of things.

You don’t know why you suddenly remembered that, but you need to snap out of it.

“I meant the whole interaction, you annoying man!”

“How was I supposed to know?” He looks much more relaxed now, though, and before you can think about it, you’re poking his chest.

“Why would I tell you to forget about our marriage, Bucky?” You smile. “You are more than free to think about me as you fuck your little flavor of the month. I am not gonna stop that.”

You see his eyebrows raise instantly as his gaze drops to your finger. “My little flavor of the month? How many times did you think about me fucking her?” His hand finds your wrist. “Did you wonder if I’m fucking her from behind as I choke her? Did you imagine me coming all over her tits? Did you-”

You grab his cheeks, just the way he likes it, to stop him.

“You think I have nothing better to think about? I have my own dicks that occupy my thoughts,” you lie through your teeth, and he knows it. God, he knows it as he chuckles right away.

“What’s so funny, Barnes?” You let go, expecting him to do the same, but he’s still holding your other wrist.

“You have no dick to think about. I know you broke up with your last flavor of the month, honey.”

He knows how much you hate being mocked with the word honey, but you bite the inside of your cheeks. “It’s funny really,” you fake giggle, looking up at him. “You assume I don’t have someone already. Maybe I’m just enjoying my life after our divorce... new dick every month since I am a free woman. I don’t even need something serious. You know how much I love sex.”

His smile immediately drops, his face reddening.

“You are absolutely infuriating!” Even his tone carries a sense of irritation.

“Aww, what happened?”

It’s his turn to grab your face, making you gasp. You don’t remember the last time he touched you, and you’re shivering.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game, and you know it!”

“I don’t play games, Bucky, that is your specialty.” You smile, trying to maintain your composure. “Now let me go and get back to your little girlfriend. You can be mad about how many dicks she thinks about.”

“You can’t do the whole non-attachment shit. I know you well, don’t forget that. You’re my...” He talks so fast you’re surprised he stopped. You know what he was gonna say, of course you know. The audacity!

“I am not your wife, Bucky. You literally have a woman with you here tonight. We divorced, we live in separate places, and we fuck different people.”

“Who are you fucking, huh?” He almost spits the last words. “Tell me! Nat said you’re single.”

“You’ve been asking Nat about my personal life?” And she is spilling to him? No way.

“Fuck...” he frowns, dropping his hand from your face. “No.”

“Steve!” You realize. “God, this is pathetic! Why do you keep tabs on me, huh? Can’t you just mind your own business? Is your life goal to piss me off?”

“I’m not the one calling Jessica the flavor of the month.”

“Ha!” You laugh in his face. “Well, you have no success in getting a girlfriend. And they all look pretty familiar.” You can’t hide the venom in your voice. “The differences are they’re just taller and with less in the chest department. Quite interesting, don’t you think?”

“So you’re keeping tabs on me too!”

“You flatter yourself. It’s quite obvious, look at Jessica. Does she know you were married to me? Does she beg you to fuck her mouth? Does she...” You take a deep breath. “Does she call you daddy, James? Does she ride you until you lose control and turn her on her back so you can pound her?” You don’t care anymore. Right or wrong, you’re gonna let it all out. “Do you praise her? Tell her how wet she is for you? How your cock is made for her? Do you... do you tell her you love her while she’s coming? Do you fucking call her your good girl?”

“Jesus-” You don’t let him continue his sentence, interrupting him.

“Does she take you like I did? Does she beg for you because she feels empty, James? Does she? Did any of them?”

“Stop. It.”

“Why? You didn’t stop!”

He sighs, reaching out to grab your cheeks gently. “No one does, are you happy? I don’t even fucking try. I don’t let anyone call me daddy, I don’t choke anyone and I definitely don’t fuck anyone like I fucked you. Are you happy? Seeing me miserable and pathetic? Are you enjoying it?”

You can’t deny the satisfaction and relief you feel when you hear that. Dating post-him was a very bad experience overall, so him not upgrading, indeed, in any way, makes you feel victorious. At least, you’re both suffering.

“Yeah, I actually enjoy that.”

“What about you?” He snaps. “Do you do all of that?”

“I don’t want to be called daddy, James.”

“You know exactly what I meant! You call those losers daddy? You choke around their cocks? Do you beg for their small dicks to go deeper and finish yourself off after it?”

“Like I begged for your small dick?” You ask annoyed, knowing how dumb this lie is, but what else can you say? No one compares to him and never will.

His response shocks you as he reaches down to the zipper of his worn jeans and pulls it down.

“What the fuck are you doing? Are you crazy?”

“Wanted to, you know… give you more mocking material in case you forgot how small it is.”

You have to think twice about what to say because the first thought was: I have enough videos, thanks. But you can’t. You can’t expose yourself like that.

“James, what the fuck are you doing? Are you trying to hurt me?”

“With my small dick?”

You look away for a few seconds, not wanting him to read you. “Why are you doing this? We divorced, you’re seeing someone, I’m good by myself... just let it go.”

He smiles at that, and you realize you indirectly told him you are indeed not fucking anyone.

“Why would I let go of my wife?”

You’re slapping his chest before you realize what you’re doing. “Stop this, Bucky! Just fucking stop.”

He’s hurting you, how can he not see that?

“You said you divorced me for a reason. You said...” he pauses. “You ordered me to leave you alone. Well, what if I don’t want to?”

“What are you, a fucking stalker?”

“No!” He almost screams. “I am fucking in love with you, you infuriating woman!”

“W-what?”

He can’t be joking about this, can he? He is not cruel. He is not vile. This isn’t a game.

“I’m in love with you. I love you. You own me... you fucking control me.”

“How?”

He laughs hysterically, running his hands through his hair before pulling. “I am fucking obsessed with you: how you are, if you’re doing well, if you miss me, if you’re fucking someone else, if your date went great, if you regret being with me, if someone else makes you smile wider. I dream about you, I am so miserable I couldn’t be with anyone. With Mia it lasted a month. I wasn’t... I wasn’t okay. I am not okay.”

You look at him, waiting for more. “Go on and zip your jeans, we’re in public.” You  watch him quickly do what you demand before you continue. “And what about Jessica tonight? Or Alexa a month ago? Why are you lying to me?”

“It’s not real. Jessica... I was just trying to make you jealous, okay? I was sneaking looks all night, have you not noticed at all?”

You don’t smile, despite your huge instinct to. Instead, you cross your arms, watching him drop his gaze straight to your boobs.

“Why would I notice, James?”

“Well, how did you notice Jessica looking a little like you, that she’s with me here?”

Fair point...

“Just...” You’re suddenly gripped by this crazy urge to just fuck him right here. You even regret telling him to zip back up. You could have just lifted your dress as he lowered his briefs and took out his cock. And just like that, you could have just fucked against the wall or something. You would have let him rip off your panties too. You just need his cock so badly! “Shut the fuck up!” You snap, grabbing him by his neck so he can lean in enough for you to be able to kiss him. And oh, you kiss him!

You don’t have to fight to dominate the kiss, surprisingly, because he lets you. He lets you bite his lip and almost draw blood, he lets you unzip his pants again and push down his unfit-for-a-wedding jacket, and most importantly, he lets you be his again, as pathetic as that might sound. You feel him emotionally, not just physically.

Without wasting more time, you drop to your knees, making sure only your dress and shoes touch the floor directly. You drag down his pants and briefs at the same time from your position, and he looks at you surprised.

“I thought we’re in public and you were fucking some-” his words die as you bring your tongue to the head of his cock, tasting the precum, but not sucking even a little bit.

“Weren’t you saying something?” You tuck your hair strands behind your ears as you mock him. You love being on your knees for Bucky. He has this dominant energy, but he always makes you feel in power even when he fuck your mouth. And you enjoy it, you feed on it. One of the reasons you missed him so much. And he can take mocking. “Please go on. I am all ears.” You breathe out on his dick. “And tongue.”

“Oh god,” Bucky’s voice is a moan at this point, and you laugh. So easy...

“I’m your god now? Aww! Come on, do I have to do everything tonight?”

He looks down at you confused. His blue eyes are almost grey, and you know he’s on cloud nine already just because you’re there.

“What?”

“Oh, you need translation. Well,” it’s all you say before wrapping your lips around his dick and using both of your hands to push him as deep as he can go inside your mouth. He moans at the same time you gag, and his balls slap you in the face. He instinctively looks at you to ask if you’re okay, but you are more than okay. You are fucking alive. You encourage him to fuck your throat at this point by squeezing his ass cheeks and touching his balls.

“God, look at you! That pretty black dress…” He pulls out and back in not as forcefully as he can, but enough to make you start tearing up quickly. “On your knees for your man. That mouth!”

You find yourself moaning at the feel of his fingers grasping and tugging at your hair. Jesus, how you missed this...

“You have the sweetest mouth.” Does he even realize what he’s mumbling? “I could die right here. Right now,” he says and thrusts harder, which makes you close your eyes. You can barely see anything because of the tears, and he’s already close. “My pretty baby, my fucking girl.”

You’re getting wetter and wetter the more he talks, and it’s crazy. You’re cold and your jaw is hurting, yet you love this.

“Not caring if someone can catch us, just making sure you mark me again. God, I'm gonna come, baby. Gonna... should I p-pull-”

You don’t let him finish his sentence as you grab his ass to make sure you keep him there, in your throat, as he comes while moaning your name.

When he finishes, he immediately helps you stand up, before he kisses you desperately, his tongue immediately licking your bottom lip to get access. He lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist tightly. You moan in the middle of the kiss because his semi-hard cock is right where you need it, and it’s like torture...

“Need to taste you, okay, baby?” He asks with so much need in his voice. He sounds so whipped. “Need my pussy. Can I take you to my room?”

That is perfect, a dream at this point. But you need to make him a little more desperate.

“But the wedding… They would kill us.”

“I am sure you care sooooo much about this wedding and Nat’s stories. More than about getting my tongue on that pretty clit of yours and making you come all over my face.”

You can’t hold back your laughter.

“Fair point, Mr. Barnes. I deserve my orgasms, especially after listening to you pathetically trying to seduce me by admitting how desperate you are.”

“You dropped to your knees on this balcony just to mark my cock as yours.”

You pull his hair a little. “You said it yourself, it's already mine. Now get that ugly jacket and carry me.”

Bucky snorts, kissing your cheek. “You bought me that ugly jacket.”

“I know.”

*

You don’t know where you left your phone and even though you should feel panicked, you don’t. All you can focus on is Bucky taking off your dress and groaning at the sight of your cups. You couldn’t wear a full bra, so you improvised. They could barely hold your breasts, but no nipples showing? Win.

“Hurry up!”

“Jesus,” he moans and reaches for your cups. Desperate man... you roll your eyes, but let him uncover your breasts and grab them into his hands eagerly. He’s not just holding them, he looks and touches them as if he’s never seen boobs in his entire life, let alone yours.

“James...” You sigh, throwing your head back in pleasure when he finally gets your nipple into his mouth. Your hand finds his hair instantly, and you watch him suck happily while playing with your other nipple.

“You’re quite hungry,” you say with a smile, stroking his hair. You missed this so much. His need to always touch or sleep on your boobs, the way he grabs them while he’s pounding you... You shiver in anticipation when he switches to the other tit.

“Fucking shit, I missed them so much.”

You snort. “My boobs?”

“Mine.” He’s not sucking anymore, he’s eating them, shocking you.

“H-hold on a second, Bucky. They’re breasts, not my clit.”

“It’s been a year, love. Let me get my fill. I died without them. Died!”

As much as you wanted to think only about the part he missed your boobs, you can’t help the jealousy that clouds your mind. You were divorced, yet the image of him sucking someone else’s tits makes you want to hit a wall. Mia all over him... You pull his hair angrily. “You surely had other tits in your mouth, Bucky, for the past year. Don’t pretend this is any different.”

He immediately stops sucking. “You... you can’t believe this. Tell me you don’t believe this.”

You look away, too proud to face him. “What am I supposed to believe, huh? It’s been one fucking year.”

“I’ve been yours this whole year. I’ve been thinking about you, fucking my fist while watching... our videos, as fucked up as it might be. I tried to date, but I failed, and trust me, it has nothing to do with the size of my dick and my age. No one is you. No one smells like you or talks like you. No one is my brat with the god complex.”

“God complex?” You raise your eyebrow, keeping your face straight. “Fuck you.”

“I will fuck it out of you as I usually do, don’t worry.”

“Then why does it keep coming back?”

He chuckles. “Because you want to get fucked all the goddamn time.”

“Like you don’t!” You puff. “Come on, I breathe in your direction and you get hard, Bucky.”

“Did you see yourself? Did you have sex with yourself? You cannot judge me!” He grabs your breasts again. “There is no comparison, okay? You have no rival. Never did, never will.”

“That’s all?” You puff, amused. “My looks?”

“Do I even have to say… Your god complex exists for a fucking reason. You’re the smartest, most sarcastic, and feistiest person I’ll ever meet. One mocking comment, and you know how I get.”

“Pathetic?” You mock him on purpose just to get the reaction he is talking about. You love it when he compliments you.

“Is this why you divorced me? Cause I am a pathetic son of a bitch?”

You  take a deep breath. “I divorced you because you refused to communicate properly with me anymore, and you know it.”

“So not because of my small dick, either,” he remarks, making you roll your eyes.

“No, your small dick is one of the reasons I am here.”

Bucky dramatically touches his heart. “So you’re using me for my sex skills!”

“As if you don’t beg me to use you. Come on, put that mouth to good use before Nat comes after us.”

He doesn’t disappoint as he finally rips your underwear off, just like you fantasized about, and you use this as the perfect opportunity to fish for more.

“What happened, Jamie? So eager. Aren’t you a little good-”

The word boy comes out as a moan when you feel his index finger curled up inside you suddenly.

“What happened, honey? Too big for you?”

“Dick!”

“You’ll get that. I just need to erase the memories of having little pencils in here. That must have been traumatic.”

“You’re such a jerk!” You snort, but he’s right. It was really bad.

Bucky shrugs, finally kneeling properly between your legs before lifting them on his shoulders. God, yes!

“Gonna give my pussy some loving.”

“D-didn’t know you have a pussy, James.”

He smiles against your inner thigh. “I certainly keep what I lick.”

“Eww, what the fuck.”

He snorts, kissing your slit. “I am joking, baby. Tried to imitate one of those dicks you thought you could replace me with.”

Petty fucking bitch! You grab him by his hair and push him closer to your pussy.

“Shut the fuck up and eat!”

His tongue feels like heaven, indeed, on your clit. You’ve lost count of how many times you remembered him eating you out so you can come this year. He's just so good at eating your pussy.

You let out a satisfied sigh when he adds a second finger. You start to feel like before… like you and Bucky are still married and with no problem. Like you're happy. He makes you so happy. Made.

So you stare at his hair and stroke it as he sucks on your clit, completely squashed between your thighs, and try to hold back your tears.

When he adds his third finger and starts tracing eight figures on your clit with his tongue before he flattens it, you know you’re about to come.

There is something about the way he always manages to make you vulnerable even if it’s not intentional, to cut you open and get in... and you don’t want it to be over. You can’t let him go again after tonight. You’d suffocate.

Your efforts to delay your orgasm and not tear up are futile because when he sucks a little harder, you come and start sobbing somehow. The orgasm is strong and even though you’d want to watch Bucky, you close your eyes, letting yourself go, and shut your mind down for a second. Everything feels so overwhelming. So amplified…

You’re grateful he doesn’t stop fucking you with his fingers, either, even though you felt him hesitating when he heard you crying. You really needed this.

As soon as you finish, you drop your legs, furiously trying to wipe your face. He knows the difference between crying because of a crazy orgasm and you being emotional. He instantly gets back on the bed next to you and pulls you into the tightest hug you’ve had in two years.

“God, I’m...” You don’t know how to continue this phrase. You should not feel sorry for crying and you’re not pathetic for it. “I m-missed you so much, Bucky. Why did you give up?”

You feel his warm breath on your forehead. “I never gave up, baby, I swear.”

“B-but you did. You didn’t even try for more than six months. When I told you...” You take a deep breath. “That I want a divorce, you didn’t even look at me. Once, Bucky! Not even once…” You show him your index finger. “You simply agreed. You gave up on us. I was waiting for you to say: no, let’s try. No, I’ll communicate. Your words...” You sob. “Your words would have been enough for me. You should know that.”

“Oh my god, baby, please, breathe!” He kisses your forehead over and over again. “I never gave up, I swear. I wanted to say no, I wanted to tell you all of that, but you asked me for divorce. It felt like you wanted out. You were tired of fighting... you were tired of me. And I didn’t want to tell you to stay just so you could either stay with me out of pity or reject me. I would have died... To look at you and beg, and to see you detached.”

You shake your head into the crook of his neck. He cannot...

“How would I be detached if I tried for six months? How would I get tired of you?”

“Exactly. You tried for six months. I thought you snapped out of it...”

“Out of what?” You whisper, scared to say it louder, but he hears you anyway.

“Out of love.”

You immediately lift your head to look at him. He’s crying, too. “Bucky...” You bring your fingers to his cheeks and start to caress them.

“I just couldn’t remember us like this. I couldn’t look into your eyes and see you staring at me like I’m a stranger.”

“Jesus Christ, when did we fail to communicate this much?”

He knows you don’t expect an actual answer, so instead of speaking, he holds you, and kisses you, and makes you giggle.

The more you move into his lap, the better you feel his erection pressing against your pussy. So close, yet so far.

He groans, placing his hands on your hips. “Careful.”

“Well, I don’t want you to be careful. I want you to fuck me raw right now.”

“Right now? He snorts, using his position to his advantage and moving. And just like that, you’re suddenly pressed with your back against the bed, and his mouth covers the valley between your breasts. That didn’t take a lot of convincing.

“Did you fuck anyone else without protection?” You ask unsure how to formulate it without it sounding a little weird. You’re not even sure you want to know the answer if it’s positive, but still.

“No. Only condoms and well... to be honest more my fist,” he chuckles, helping you get on your back again by bringing a pillow under your head. “I tested myself, of course.”

You nod, trying to hide your happiness. You selfishly wanted this: no one but you to feel him without any barrier.

“Good.”

“What about you?”

“No one for me, either.”

You would laugh at his proud face if you didn’t know he might use it to tease you later. You can use it too, though.

“Come on, baby, spread your legs for me. Daddy’s home.”

You laugh surprised, but you do what he says. You really missed having him between your legs.

Needy, you reach for his T-shirt, that for some reason is still on, and you tug it down, showing him you want it off.

He hesitates for a couple of seconds too long before grabbing his T-shirt by the neck.

“Come on, what did you do? Got a tattoo?”

You get your answer as soon as he’s finally naked.

“Oh, God!” You instantly lift your hand so you can grab his necklace. “What the fuck, James...”

“I told you I never gave up on us.”

“So you’re telling me you’ve been keeping it on since we divorced?”

He blushes, looking away. “Yeah.”

“Even when you were with other girls?”

Your heart is racing.

“Never took it off.”

You giggle, touching the surface of the ring over and over again.

“No wonder why nothing worked.”

“I had no intention to make it work.”

You say nothing, just looking into his eyes and letting him see how fucking much you love him, how he could never be a stranger, and you kiss him, wrapping your legs around his ass to show him what you need.

“I want you to pound me, okay? I want to feel you for days, do you hear me? I am so wet and ready. Please, just fuck me!”

You shiver a little when you feel the back of his hand brushing against your clit while he brings his cock to your entrance.

“Gonna make you mine again, alright? Gonna make you forget this year and everyone who,” He finally thrusts inside you. “Tried to get you.”

He’s thick. Really thick, and you can’t believe how you managed to survive without this stretched-out feeling for a whole fucking year.

“I hate you so much!’

He snorts. “I am pretty sure you love me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have my cock inside you after one year.”

“This is the problem!” You hiss when he pulls almost completely out. “One year, Bucky!”

“Aww!” He says a bit mockingly before thrusting all the way in again. Oh my God... you close your eyes. “Is this your bratty way of telling me you missed my small dick?”

“Bratty? You think this is bratty?” You ask him sarcastically before bringing a hand to his ass. “Harder!”

“Harder, huh?” He quickly unwraps your legs and turns you on your belly before you can react.

You gasp, shocked by how fast he is and hating the emptiness, but he ignores it, bringing a pillow under your pussy.

“Ass in the air, come on.”

You comply immediately, staring at his face from the side. He looks like he’s on a mission, with his hair already in all directions and the wedding band hanging around his neck.

The first thing you feel is his mouth on your ass cheek, licking on a spot before biting.

You hiss. “James!” It hurts, not more than a spanking, but you weren’t ready for that.

“Mine.”

You snort, wiggling your ass. “Yeah, yeah. Now gimme my cock.”

And he does. He so does, he’s not slowly entering you, no. He pushes in almost fully with only one thrust, making you bite into your pillow.

“You missed that, didn’t you? The way I fill you up is so good. The way...” He slaps your ass. “No one can make you feel so good. No one can fuck you like the desperate whore you are for my cock.”

You moan loudly into the pillow. You love being called a whore like this. Because he is right and he is obsessed with it, anyway. “B-Bucky...”

“Tell me whose cock you love? Tell me.”

He’s thrusting so fast at this point that you can barely even hear him.

“Bucky.”

“No, no, no. That is not what you call me like this.”

“James...”

He suddenly stops thrusting, and you whine, lifting your spinning head to look at him over your shoulder. No matter how much you try to tilt your hips to make him move, you fail.

“If you want to get fucked, baby, you gotta call me the right-”

“Daddy. Daddy, daddy. Happy now?”

He rolls his eyes, obviously not that happy with your tone.

You smirk.

“I see you need a lot of battiness fucked out of you.”

“Then why are you not fucking me, daddy?”

“Oh, goddamn it!” He’s not holding back now, moving like he used to. “Tell me, baby. Tell me you love me... that no one, fuck- no one is like me!”

His voice tinges with a hint of neediness... maybe even urge. His vulnerability takes you a little aback because it’s stronger than his mocking. He’s genuinely seeking for reassurance as he gazes at you with a mixture of desire, desperation and longing. He’s searching for validation in your eyes the way you were earlier, so you give it to him.

“You’re the only one for me, J-James. I love you forever. I never... I n-never stopped!” You can’t keep your head up a second longer as you drop it on your pillow, moaning.

“We’re getting married tomorrow.”

You half-snort, half-moan. “W-we can’t.”

“We can.” The sound of his balls slapping against your pussy almost covers the sound of his voice.

“We... we have to apply first.”

He spanks your ass again, and you scream, the sudden pain making you feel so good.

“So wet for me. They stood no chance. T-they don’t know how hard you want it.”

“Daddy, please... Please!” You’re a moaning mess. You just need a little harder. Just a little.

You’re not sure if you’re gonna have a voice after this. He’s pounding you so hard.

“My good, good girl.” He’s squeezing your hips, and the sound of your skin slapping is echoing. “God, gonna come for me? Jesus, wanna fill you up with my come too. Please, baby.”

You don’t know when or how he manages to do it, but he sneaks one of his hands under your body and pinches your nipple. You gasp, the wave of pleasure hitting you as he keeps fucking you. You feel your body weakening when he says your name over andl over again, but you don’t open your eyes for a while, letting him fuck you desperately while playing with your breast.

“Gonna- fuck, take my come, wife! Take me!”

He’s coming so much... surprisingly much even for him. You can feel him dripping down your thighs even when he slows down, then stops his movements before he falls on top of you as soon as he finishes.

“James...” You groan. “You’re heavy.”

He places a small kiss on your back, and you giggle.

“I love you.”

You melt, but he moves to the side before you can reach for his cheeks.

“I love you, too.” You kiss him. “So much that I let you drag me out of my best friend’s wedding reception.”

Bucky snorts, brushing his nose against your face. “Pretend all you want, I know you were bored as fuck.” You feel him slowly pulling out of you, and you whine. It’s a little uncomfortable. “Sorry, wifey.”

“I’m not your wife yet.”

“Yet, but you were and you will be again this week.” He takes your ring finger into his mouth.

“Bucky!”

“What? We need new rings.”

You try to pull out your finger. “No, we don’t. I have mine.”

“We need...”

“How about we use all that money for a vacation instead?”

“Neah, honeymoon is honeymoon.”

He finally lets your finger go. “We are not buying other wedding bands.”

“I am not debating a new engagement ring, though.”

You roll your eyes, but you know it’s the best deal you can get.

“Fine, a new engagement ring,” you agree while rolling ro his side and placing your head on his chest. “I don’t wanna move.”

“Don’t want to or can’t?”

You decide to surprise him by biting a spot right above his nipple. He groans while you simply laugh.

“You just can’t be subtle, can you?”

“If you’d wanted subtle you’d have gone for someone like Steve.”

“Eww, Bucky. I have your come dripping out of me and you bring up Steve?”

“You literally talked about Nat a sec ago.”

Then, as if a switch was flipped, your eyes widen. “Oh shit, my phone!”

“Where did you forget it?” Bucky asks casually, so used to gathering your things for you. You really missed that, too.

“Table. God... Do you think they know?”

“Know what?” He giggles, raising both of you until your backs touch the headboard. “That you dropped on your knees in the middle of the wedding to suck my cock? Or how I fucked you raw until you cried.” A sudden realization crosses his face. “You asked me to fuck you raw. Are you... still on the pills?”

You roll your eyes. “You think I’d let you fuck me like this for the first time we talked to each other properly since we divorced if there was a big chance to get pregnant?”

“I assume you are still on the pills, don’t be patronizing!” He kisses your nose, which he knows tickles you.

Ass...

“You are asking a dumb question instead of getting your ass downstairs to bring me my phone.”

“How is that dumb? I wanted to know if I should get you a pill or something.”

“So you don’t want babies with me!” You try not to laugh as you say it, biting your lip to keep your face serious.

“Why do you act as if I told you I don’t want a baby with you?” He chuckles when he sees you pouting. “We’re just getting back together and no way you’d want a baby now. But if I am wrong, let’s go for it. I can give you a baby, just get off the pills.”

“You don’t give me a baby, James. We have a baby together!”

He sighs, getting off the bed to get his clothes back on. “Obviously, but I am the one coming inside you. This is what I meant. I am all in. But we need some adapting time at least.”

You should stop this whole teasing-testing thing. You both have the same opinion after all. You might have a baby, and you know he’d be involved one hundred percent, but not now. Absolutely not.

“I know. Thanks for asking.”

“You’re such a tease.” He snorts, putting on his pants. “Before I go, do you want me to run you a bath or should I bring you a towel?”

“Do you plan on staying there?”

He turns his head to you instantly. “Yeah, sure. I am gonna eat some steak and brag about fucking my wife.”

“Alright, alright. Bring me a snack and we can take a bath together. Actually,” you think about it better. “I’m gonna clean up and wait for you.”

“You want me to fuck you again, don’t you?” He asks as he fixes his jacket.

“Why? Is this all you could give me?”

“Oh, fuck you!”

“Sure.” You spread your legs at the same time you grab your own breasts, making him groan. It’s so easy to get to him. And it’s hilarious.

“Jesus, you’re planning to kill me.”

“Not you acting as if it’s the first time this happened.”

“It is the first time in over a year, baby.”

You feel yourself softening again. “True. Now, please, please, please, don’t give them any details and bring me a snack.”

“What snack?”

“Anything, make me a plate, I don’t care.” He nods before reaching for the keys. “Oh, and Bucky? Tell your flavor of the month you don’t need her anymore.”

“I told you she is not-”

“And tell Nat I’ll make it up to her!” You interrupt him before he can finish his sentence. You don’t need him to defend a random girl’s honor.

“You’re so jealous.”

“Lock the door!”

You giggle satisfied when he closes the door and let yourself scream out of happiness while staring at the bite he left on your ring finger. Mrs. Barnes never got out of style.

[jungkit]

want you so

heeseung x f! reader genre: fluff warnings: none wc: 902

Heeseung kept his eyes on you as you walked through the courtyard.

“Stare any longer, and your eyes are gonna fall out,” Jay says, munching on his Cheetos.

“I can't help it,” he replies, “she's just too beautiful.”

“You tell us daily, we get it,” Riki groans.

They just don't understand. To Heeseung, you're like a breath of fresh air. He loves everything about you. The way you smile, the way you laugh, how your nose scrunches when you’re concentrating on something.

Heeseung finds himself so infatuated, so in love with you.

When you call his name, it's like an angel is singing, and all you're doing is asking for a pencil.

He remembers when he first met you at freshman orientation. He was blown away.

Now, a year later, he still feels the same every time he sees you or when you approach him.

“I still don't get why you haven't confessed to her yet,” Sunoo says, and Heeseung finally takes his attention off you.

“I don't think she likes me like that,” he shrugs, “I’m okay with just admiring her from afar.”

His friends sigh, shaking their heads at his hopelessness.

“We should do something fun this weekend,” Sunghoon says, playing with his pencil in boredom.

“The fair is in town. What if we go?”Jungwon suggests.

Everyone looks at each other, silently agreeing.

On Saturday, Heeseung finds himself at the food stand, getting a corn dog.

Jake taps his shoulder, “Dude, look who’s here!”

He turns in the direction Jake is pointing to, eyes widening as they immediately find you.

“This could be your chance to talk to her!” Jake says eagerly.

All the boys are nudging him forward as he digs his heels into the ground.

“I don't think I can,” he says, voice whiny.

Protests come from behind him, “Come on!”

“Just do it!”

“What have you got to lose!”

“My dignity!” He argues, but they're getting closer to you.

Riki delivers a hard push, and before he knows it, he's falling right into you.

The boys quickly disperse, abandoning Heeseung and acting like they were never there.

Your frown soon becomes a smile as you recognize him, “Heeseung!”

“Hey, sorry about that. My friends were pushing me to go on this ride.”

You wave it off, “It’s okay! I'm glad to see you.”

You're glad to see him? Oh god, he can feel his heart beating faster.

“My friends kinda abandoned me. Maybe you could keep me company?” You ask, giving him a small smile.

This is your chance; don't slip up! He thinks to himself.

“I'd love to keep you company,” he says, giving you a smile of his own.

Suddenly, he’s being dragged by you all across the fair.

You take him to every game, and he does his best to impress you, ultimately failing.

“These games are rigged, you know?” He says as you laugh.

“Totally.”

When you pull him to the basketball game, he knows this is his chance. He has to do good.

And by god’s grace, he makes every basket, earning the top prize.

“What do you want?” He asks you, giggling on the inside when you look at him with wide eyes.

“You're letting me choose?”

“Of course, it's for you!”

You end up choosing the deer plushie.

“It reminds me of you. It has big, beautiful eyes.”

You say it casually, but Heeseung is stunned.

Big, beautiful eyes? Reminds you of him?

You purposefully chose a plushie that reminds you of him.

Before he can say something, you're pulling him in another direction.

When he looks up, he sees the love boat sign and almost collapses.

When it's your turn, he gets into the boat wordlessly.

He gulps as it starts moving, trailing into darkness.

It's quiet for a minute before you turn to him, speaking up.

“I wanted to bring you here for a reason,” you say.

Heeseung can feel himself start to sweat. Is it getting hotter?

“What is it?” he answers.

Your hand raises to cup his cheek, turning him to face you.

“I've liked you for a while now, Heeseung. I wanted to tell you sooner, but I was nervous. You don't know the effect you have on me. It’s like I can't think when you're around because my mind is just filled with thoughts of you: your smile, your laugh, your eyes. God, I love your eyes. You're so kind and gentle. I just want you so badly.”

Heeseung doesn't think he was breathing the moment you cupped his cheek, but he certainly wasn't breathing now, listening to your confession.

He doesn't know what to say or how to respond.

So he doesn't.

He surges forward, capturing your lips.

Your lips are soft and taste like strawberries.

You kiss back, sighing softly into the kiss.

Your lips move in unison, gentle but passionate.

It feels like it’s been hours when you eventually pull apart.

“You don't know how infatuated I've been with you since the day we met. You're everything to me, Y/N.”

You giggle, pulling him in for another kiss.

“You're mine now,” you say slyly, making Heeseung blush.

When the ride finally ends, you and Heeseung walk out hand in hand.

As they watch you, your friends, along with his, all high-five each other.

“Thank god that worked out,” Jay says, “watching them pine for each other was killing me.”

t/n: just a little something to put out there!

[mybelovedwoo]

series of unfortunate events

wooyoung x f!reader

fluff, established relationship, funny / wc: 1.1k

warnings: a lot of incidents, just clumsy babies lol

note: i had this in my drafts for a long time now and I missed my boy so much!! but he is back now <3 wooyoung proves that he is the best boyfriend ever once again. if you want to be tagged in any of my fics, you can apply here :)

wooyoung masterlist - main masterlist

coffee spilled

It was a sunny morning, and Y/n decided to surprise Wooyoung with breakfast in bed. She meticulously prepared his favorite pancakes and a cup of freshly brewed coffee. Balancing the tray, she made her way to the bedroom, a proud smile on her face.

Just as she entered the room, Wooyoung called out, "Good morning, love!" Startled, Y/n tripped over the edge of the rug. The tray flew out of her hands, and coffee splashed everywhere, including all over Wooyoung.

Wooyoung blinked in surprise, then burst into laughter. "Well, that’s one way to wake me up!"

Y/n groaned, trying to mop up the mess. "I’m so sorry, Wooyoung."

He pulled her into a hug, coffee stains and all. "It's okay. Now I have an excuse to shower with you."

wardrobe malfunction

Wooyoung and Y/n were getting ready for a fancy dinner with friends. Y/n had picked out a stunning dress, while Wooyoung donned a sharp suit. As they were about to leave, Y/n’s dress zipper got stuck.

"Wooyoung, can you help me with this?" she asked, turning her back to him.

Wooyoung tried to fix the zipper, but it wouldn’t budge. In a last attempt, he yanked it hard, and the zipper broke. Y/n’s dress fell slightly, and she gasped.

Wooyoung’s eyes widened in horror, then softened. "Looks like we’ll be fashionably late."

Y/n sighed but couldn’t help but laugh at his sheepish expression. "You owe me a new dress."

hot and spicy

One evening, Wooyoung decided to cook a romantic dinner for Y/n. He meticulously followed a new recipe, determined to impress her. Y/n sat at the counter, watching him with admiration.

As he was flambéing the sauce, a small flame jumped from the pan, catching the edge of the kitchen towel. Panic ensued as Wooyoung tried to put out the fire with the towel, only making it worse.

Y/n quickly grabbed the fire extinguisher and doused the flames. They both stood there, covered in foam, the kitchen a smoky mess.

Wooyoung looked at her sheepishly. "Well, I was going for hot and spicy."

Y/n giggled, wiping foam off his face. "You succeeded, just not in the way you planned."

movie night 

It was their regular movie night, and Wooyoung had set up a cozy spot with blankets, pillows, and a big bowl of popcorn. As the movie started, Y/n reached for the popcorn and accidentally knocked the bowl over, spilling it all over the couch and floor.

Wooyoung looked at the mess, then at Y/n, who was apologizing profusely. He smirked, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the floor and tossing it at her playfully.

"Food fight!" he declared, laughing as he lobbed more popcorn her way.

Y/n shrieked and joined in, their movie forgotten as they turned the living room into a battlefield of buttery kernels.

a park adventure

Wooyoung and Y/n decided to spend a day at the park, enjoying the fresh air and each other’s company. They brought a kite, eager to relive some childhood fun.

As Wooyoung ran with the kite, trying to get it airborne, Y/n was busy setting up their picnic. She didn’t notice the dog that had decided to make their picnic its target. The dog bounded over, knocking over the basket and scattering their food.

Y/n tried to shoo the dog away, but it was too late. The kite string tangled around her legs, and she tripped, falling right into the remnants of their picnic.

Wooyoung rushed over, trying not to laugh. "Are you okay, pookie?"

Y/n looked up at him, covered in food and kite string, and started to laugh. "Next time, we’re sticking to indoor activities."

gym fiasco

Wooyoung and Y/n decided to hit the gym together for a change. They started with some light stretching and moved on to the treadmill. Y/n, determined to impress Wooyoung with her newfound dedication, cranked up the speed.

A few minutes in, she lost her footing and flew off the treadmill, landing in a heap on the floor. Wooyoung, seeing the whole thing, rushed over, trying not to laugh.

"You okay, pumpkin?" he asked, helping her up.

Y/n nodded, red-faced. "Yeah, just my pride is hurt."

Wooyoung kissed her forehead. "You’re still the strongest in my book."

the elevator incident

They were headed to a friend's party, dressed to the nines, and decided to take the elevator. As they stepped in, the doors closed, and the elevator suddenly jerked to a stop.

Y/n pressed the emergency button, but nothing happened. "Great, we’re stuck," she muttered.

Wooyoung shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. "Guess we’ll have to pass the time somehow." He leaned in and kissed her, making the most of their unexpected alone time.

After what felt like an eternity, the elevator started moving again. When the doors finally opened, they were met with amused looks from other guests.

"Best party entrance ever," Wooyoung whispered, squeezing her hand.

beach blunder

On a warm, sunny day, Wooyoung and Y/n decided to spend the afternoon at the beach. They set up their spot with an umbrella, towels, and a cooler full of snacks. Wooyoung suggested they take a dip in the ocean.

As they played in the waves, Y/n got caught by a particularly strong wave that pulled her under. She resurfaced, sputtering and missing her bikini top. Panicked, she looked around for it, but it was nowhere to be seen.

Wooyoung, trying to keep a straight face, handed her his shirt. "Here, put this on before you cause a scene."

Y/n, cheeks burning, quickly covered herself. "This is so embarrassing."

Wooyoung wrapped his arms around her. "It’s just another story to tell."

shopping spree slip-up

Wooyoung and Y/n went shopping for a friend's birthday gift. They wandered through the mall, hand in hand, laughing and joking as they browsed the stores.

Y/n spotted a display of cute mugs and hurried over to take a closer look. As she picked one up, another mug teetered and fell, knocking over several more. The sound of breaking ceramic filled the store.

Y/n’s face went pale. "Oh no..."

Wooyoung chuckled, stepping in front of her protectively. "I guess we’re buying all these mugs now."

The store clerk approached, and Wooyoung handled the situation smoothly, even making the clerk laugh. "Accidents happen," he said, paying for the broken items.

Y/n sighed in relief. "Thanks, Wooyoung."

He winked. "Anything for you, my love."

surprise gone wrong

Wooyoung wanted to surprise Y/n with a romantic evening. He set up candles, scattered rose petals, and prepared a delicious meal. As Y/n was about to arrive, he lit the candles and dimmed the lights.

Just as Y/n walked in, the fire alarm went off, and the sprinklers activated, soaking everything, including them. Wooyoung stood there, dripping wet, holding a soggy bouquet of flowers.

Y/n couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. "Well, this is one way to keep things exciting."

Wooyoung laughed too, pulling her into a wet hug. "Guess we’ll have to improvise."

-

taglist: @dinossaurz @taz-97 @soso59love-blog @tiredlittlevirgo @everythingboutkpop

[bzurk]

 zombie!au 141 x reader

dark content ahead! you've been warned.

It’d been hard at first. Women weren't treated well when people turned on each other, both healthy and infected. You were lucky when the virus started;

You were a dog trainer, surrounded by canines trained in personal protection. It was easy to scare people off. On your travels, your pack grew, a congregation of man’s best friends who were left behind. You had a whole arsenal, eventually; hunting, tracking, attacking.

This winter, though, was particularly difficult. Game was scarce, the ground frozen solid, the older dogs weakened by sore joints and aching limbs. You had run out of supplies weeks ago, trading your trained mutts for scraps and tools. Your only companions were your two remaining dogs, your only hope the compound in the distance, surrounded by wires and gates. The facility's noise, perhaps, was scaring off any nearby game. Maybe, it was already infected. Your doubts were alleviated when you saw little shadows moving about the tarmac.

You walked up to what you hoped was the front gate, arms raised and guns holstered, dogs plastered at each side.

“I come peacefully!” You bellowed, staring straight through the chain links towards the silhouetted figures. They grow closer, slowly, weapons raised and glinting blindingly under the sunlight. “I mean no harm. I would like to know if you have any food to spare. I can trade you for it.” You swung out an arm to gesture to your dogs.

The men wore fatigues and vests, packed with gear and weaponry. Well-equipped. They must have food, fresh game, stocks of MREs, dried rations.

“What you offerin’?” A man’s rough voice called back.

“Can take one of the dogs, if you’ve got enough of worth. I don’t part with them easily. Both trained, they are. Good at keeping out infected.”

It wasn’t long before Price’s three subordinates were staring at him with wide, pleading puppy-dog eyes. “Can we keep ‘em, Cap, please please please?”

Price had to admit you were a sight. Tousled, blood-stained, covered in tattered winter clothes that could barely keep out the cold. A hunting rifle strapped to your back, knives peaking from your pockets. A capable girl. Not many women out this far. He hadn’t come across one in months, not since venturing to trade with nearby settlements. Three or four months, at the least.

“Would you like to come in, love? Looks like you could do with a night of rest.”

They were nice, these four men, if not overly charming and kind. But they were nice enough to let you, and your dogs, in, even providing a tour of the premises – insisting guns were left at the door, of course. You were correct in assuming they were well-stocked. They confirmed they’d been residing in the base since outbreak day, though people came and went. They fed you, and even your two dogs. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the human company.

The base was a stark contrast to the wasteland outside. Boxes of food and warm blankets, running water, and electricity powered by a generator. The men showed you their hydroponic garden, where they grew fresh vegetables, and a storeroom stocked with preserved foods and medical supplies. It was a veritable haven.

They introduced themselves: Captain John Price, Lieutenant Ghost, Sergeant Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish, and Sergeant Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick. They shared stories of their missions before the outbreak, their camaraderie evident in their banter and shared glances.

You felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, you had found a place where you and your dogs could be safe, at least for a few nights. These men were skilled and seemed trustworthy enough, and their compound was secure. It was enough to put your tired mind at ease.

Perhaps too at ease. It didn’t take long for your body to slump in your chair, almost sliding out of it, if not for the hands that held you steady. Your eyes were fuzzy, your hearing diminished to a faint ringing. You could feel a wet snout nosing your limp hand, firm and warm palms divesting you of your coats and the weapons hidden in your pockets, strong arms wrapping around your waist, your tummy digging into a warm shoulder as you were thrown around like a sack of flour.

“Nice little pack of mutts we’ve found, aye, lads? Don’t you worry, we’ll take good care of you. Train you up well.”

if this gets enough interest ill turn it into a fic

[gabessquishytum]

Johanna is a catpeople rights activist. So many humans treat them as their property and sex toys, but catpeople have feelings. Jo is appalled by this whole situation, and she does what she can to find foster homes and, eventually, new (good!) owners for catpeople in trouble. When she learns about catboy!Dream, it's an emergency. Dream attacked his owner, Roderick Burgess. Burgess was emotionally and physically abusive, but the law is not on Dream's side - if no one volunteers to take him in and work on his 'socialization,' he's about to be put down. They're already running out of time - since Burgess is severely injured (maybe he has his eyes clawed out?), it is ruled that Dream is highly dangerous and has only a few hours left to live. Johanna won't let anything happen to this traumatized catboy. Not on her watch! She already has a foster catgirl at home, Rachel, and she can't take another because Rachel needs much care and attention (they also might be heading somewhere romantically, so Jo doesn't want to fuck it up by bringing another catperson onto her territory), so Johanna asks her bff for a favor. Hob Gadling is well off financially, can take a vacation without notice because he is a business owner, and he's naturally friendly. Also, he lives alone - no human or cat partner in the picture. He's not very delighted with the prospect of taking Dream in at first, but Johanna really insists. So they come to pick Dream up and see him in a dire condition: bruised, injured, and malnourished, he hisses at everyone who even tries to come close to his cage. A cage?? Hob has never been involved with catpeople before, and activism has been entirely Johanna's shtick, but he quickly realizes how blind he's been. Hob organizes the best medical care for him, orders all the decent books on catpeople to educate himself, and buys all the stuff Dream might need. Dream is stunning and very clever, and his previous owner obviously was a sadistic prick. Hob wishes he could claw the fucker's eyes out himself when he sees the extent of Dream's injuries and starvation. Dream is very tense and afraid at first, but as time goes by, and Hob treats him like a person, he starts to hope that maybe he's found not only his forever home but also someone to love him this time.

New catperson owner Hob treating Dream just like he's a person - a person who deserves respect, personal space and love!!! When he goes to buy new catperson stuff for Dream, he's kind of disgusted by the fact that it's all spiked collars and wet food. Hob hates it. He walks right out the store and just goes to the normal shop instead. He gets nice comfy clothes, bedding, proper food with lots of protein. He organises a proper bathing and toileting situation for Dream in his own bathroom which Hob only goes inside to clean. Just decent stuff that any sentient being deserves.

Dream doesn't know what to make of it at first. He's gone from being moments away from being euthanized, to being allowed to just kinda... do what he wants?? He has privacy, good food, healthcare, and very pleasant company in the form of Hob. Because Hob is so kind. He takes care of Dream’s injuries and nurses him through the initial stages of refeeding. He lets Dream snuggle up to him under 3 blankets because he's so cold, still shivering sometimes. He never makes Dream do anything (except take his medication, which is very important), but he doesn't ignore him either. Dream has to wonder - is this what it's like to have a friend?

Dream recovers slowly, but he does gradually start to thrive. He wears comfy shorts and big hoodies, and takes long naps in the sun that pours through the window in the bedroom every morning. He eats fresh food that Hob gets at the market every day. He's finally learned to read! Sometimes he feels like he must have died and gone to heaven. But then the dog next door barks at him and reminds him that life is not quite perfect - but almost.

His relationship with Hob evolves slowly. They share a bed and cuddle up every night (Hob tolerates Dream’s 3am zoomies pretty well by now - they now have a treadmill for that exact purpose). Dream is also generally naked in bed, which has lead to one or two moments. The mutual attraction is undeniable. Hob just doesn't want to take advantage...

Luckily Dream is prepared to make the first move. He's a person, and that means that he's capable of choosing a life partner. It just so happens that he's choosing Hob. He's going to need some practice with kissing (he's not quite sure whether or not he's meant to bite?) but he's sure that Hob will be patient with him. He has been so far. And to Dream, that patience feels a lot like love.

[bestnottoask]

Finnick Odair x Seaside Picnic Headcanons

{Masterlist}

Pairing- Finnick Odair x Reader

Request- Yes

Summary- Just some headcanons of having a picnic with Finnick on the beach.

Genre- fluff

Warnings- none

A/N- This request was quite vague, so I decided to make it a headcanons post on what a picnic would be like with Finnick Odair. This can be read as romantic or platonic, but it does indicate closer to a romantic relationship. Enjoy!

Word Count- 600

Finnick Odair wakes up in the cold early hours of the morning just to prepare all your favorite foods and snacks, so they are fresh for you to enjoy, before he places them in his hand-made basket. 

Finnick Odair, no matter how much you insisted and tried to help him, he would refuse to let you carry anything other than yourself as you both strolled along to the beach. 

Finnick takes you to a private beach with clear, gentle waves and not a person in sight so you can both have the whole beach to yourselves for as long as you’d like. 

Finnick is scanning every inch of the beach in search of the perfect shells to gift you, and by the end of the day you have been given a large assortment of seashells ready to be made into jewellery. It’s not just shells either, if he sees a flower or a pretty rock on a trail, he will keep it in his pocket until he can give it to you. So, by the end of the day you're the one with rocks filling your pockets. 

Finnick will go for a swim while you enjoy the sunshine from the beach. While swimming Finnick finds another pretty shell and imminently wants to show you. He jogs along the sand back to where you are sitting and shakes his head like a dog covering you in sprinkles of cold seawater and then chuckles at your annoyed reaction before handing you the shell. 

He watches you intensely to see your reaction hoping you like the shell, and of course you do. You make sure he knows how much you love it and appreciates his gifts.  

Finnick will carefully be braiding your hair the second he gets a chance, as you both just talk about anything or just listen to the ocean while enjoying each other's company. 

He collects flowers from nearby and uses his knot tying skills to weave you a flower crown, which you wear until the flowers are completely dried up and then you hang it with the dry flower collection in your house. 

Finnick wouldn’t be upset if it started raining, in fact he would probably like it even more and dance around in the rain on the sand insisting you join him. When you of course agree you mention that there is no music to dance to, so Finnick imminently starts singing a song you both enjoy; only having it occasionally interrupted by both of your laughter. 

Finnick would hold your hand and guide you for a stroll along the shoreline, playfully kicking water at you every so often. 

When the sun has set, and a cool breeze has covered the beach, Finnick doesn’t waste a second in taking off his sweater and wrapping it around you and moving you into his lap to he can keep you warm while you rest your back again his chest and watch the sunset turn into stars. 

You could stay in his arms forever, wrapped in the warmth of his body. You don’t mind that he’s got sand on the same arms that he has wrapped around you, you’re just happy that it's his. 

Finnick Odair who refuses to wear sunscreen claiming that he doesn’t need it despite your best efforts to get him to wear some. The next day he’s burnt all over just as you predicted and he’s begging you to help him put on some moisturizer to which you obviously agree to help with, after teasing him of course. 

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for abandoning my assistant at our new job?

I (22F) am a grocery store department manager and my assistant (26F) is my best friend. We previously worked at nice, low-volume, good work culture type store for a year and a half together while she was still a clerk. The notoriously horrible and constantly-falling-apart store down the street suddenly had two openings for our department for manager and assistant manager. She was definitely overqualified to become an assistant and I had good reports as the manager at this location, and thought we could work some magic on that place and really shape it up. So we made a plan, applied for the transfer and we were accepted. Once we started working there the department started performing amazingly and the people within the department were very happy with us as the new management crew.

Two issues - number 1 there is a store assistant manager who is racist, homophobic, and sexually harasses employees (she has 15+ HR complaints against her and it’s beyond me why corporate doesn’t fire her). She has targeted my assistant and within her first 5 days of working there, she wanted to call for a replacement, and called her lazy. I knew about this person before transferring but my assistant didn’t. I warned her beforehand and encouraged her to use the corporate HR hotline to report any and all behavior. (I have been a victim of this lady too, she asks me invasive sexual questions…)

Number 2 - I am now being worked 7 days a week, 10-12 hour days, and various start times anywhere between midnight and 1 pm. I’ll be off at 4 pm from a day shift, have to go back in at midnight, work midnight to noon, and then cover the evening call out by going in for another 2 hours from 4pm-6pm. Because I’m the manager, I can be worked like a dog but other people are not allowed to even stay an hour of overtime per week. My sleep deprivation has led me to faint, be hospitalized, miss doctors appointments, etc. All around awful. My store managers recognize that I’m suffering but due to corporate standards for scheduling, there is no escaping this, unless I want to make my poor assistant go through what I’m going through, which I refuse to allow another person to experience this.

I can’t take it anymore. I finally broke when I showed up to a scheduled overnight shift 2.5 hrs late due to pure exhaustion, and started having hallucinations on shift. Corporate surprised us at 8 am that day and gave my department a bad review, and I broke down in the middle of the sales floor in front of corporate, customers, and my store managers screaming “FUCK THIS I CAN’T FUCKING DO THIS ANYMORE.”

I was surprised that I wasn’t fired but store management was surprised that I didn’t walk out. I didn’t because I have rent to pay. But the incident finally made me realize that this store is hurting my health and I’ve decided to send applications out to other jobs. Stepping down within the company or transferring back to the old store is not an option because department head is not open and even if I stepped down, they’d still work me like a department manager because they know what work I’m capable of. I want something new, a fresh clean slate.

However my assistant very badly needed this pay raise and guaranteed full time contract. She wouldn’t leave. She has an upcoming wedding and needs to put food on the table for her child. She is my best friend outside of work and we’re very close. I would feel terrible abandoning her in an already shitty work situation that I dragged her into - it was my idea and my reference for her promotion. I made promises to take care of a certain portion of duties if she did another portion. If I left, it would be ALL on her, job of both assistant and manager either as an assistant or if she’s offered manager. Either way, that would be a worse schedule than what I’m going through right now. And she would have to deal with that terrible store assistant alone. Anyways, I’d be scared to lose her friendship if I left. But I can’t take it anymore. She recognizes that too, however, she’s sympathetic to the literal medical faults my schedule is causing.

I feel like it’s my fault that she got harassed in the first place, and I feel like it’s my fault that she’s now unhappy with her job. I don’t want to lose my best friend.

WIBTA for leaving my job?

What are these acronyms?

[sol-consort]

Javik following you around the ship during the first weeks of recruiting him. Less of a lost puppy case and more of an unofficial guard dog—well more akin to a bear...prothean, god, who imprinted on you?

Always two steps behind, observing you with eerie focus as you make yourself a sandwich in the ship kitchen, lick the spoon, wash the dishes. He always sits the closest to you in the shuttle—he joined the mission out of his own initiative, no one told him to—the usual adrenaline filled atmosphere between your crew turning deadly quiet as everyone in the shuttle stays on their best behavior around the prothean.

You kept wondering if it's like a hatching chick case, is the first face a prothean fresh out of the pod gazes upon the one they imprint on?

But no... that's not right. It wasn't you who opened the cryopod after all. It was James. Well, technically, Liara unlocked it, but James lifted the cover himself. you were the third person to meet him.

It wasn't an isolated incident; the Normandy crew as a whole seemed to be walking on eggshells. Everyone was too aware of the four eyed elephant in the room.

The last time anyone tried small talk with Javik, it would quickly go into a direction no one was expecting. Harmless subjects like favourite food were turned into discussion of hanar and salarian meat inspired dishes, attempting to bond over sports lead to him describing the creative fun games of his time period where you abandoned entire teams on a barren planet and left them to fend for themselves, cannibalism ensured, winners were scarce, mostly scarred.

Before it could reach the point where you feared you'd wake up to his face next to you in bed first thing in the morning, you decided to confront him...delicately, of course, with the grace only a cunning human is capable of.

"Javik, why do you keep following me around like we're attached at the hip?"

It's like you could taste the vacuum of space outside the airlock already.

He stared at you, each set of eyes blinking in unison.

"Your company is not as ville inducing as the other primitves. You're not as repulsive to the eyes, either.

Oh.

Oh.

That is the kindnest thing you've heard him say since defrosting him from the fridge.

So what if he sees no point in leaving the room while you're changing because "you primitve humans used to walk around in flimsy fur tatters nearly nude all the time."

At least, he likes you enough to want to stay by your side. You're one of the few lifelines he has left to anchor him into reality—besides his vengeance. To help him adjust and find out where he fits into this strange universe.

For his last memory was a war-plagued galaxy, the destruction of an entire civilisation which thought itself invincible, his civilisation.

Forced to come to terms with the cruel reality of being the only survivor, the last flame left standing in the aftermath of the storm. One pillar to carry the burden of a tremendous legacy, the weight of a long-gone world on his shoulders.

Friends, family, lovers, leaders, heroes, villains, all dead. Ereased, his people's history rewritten and misremembered by the same asari they uplifted, kept hidden by a power-hungry government to further push their agenda, slaves to their own pride.

With time, he'll eventually warm up to the others. Maybe you just happened to remind him of someone he knew long ago, another commander he looked up to, once upon a time. But for now, if serving as his personal emotional support human, a safety blanket in this terrifying abyss of unkown, is what it takes to grant a resemblance of a peace of mind to this soul, the last of his kind, then so be it.

[yodoggo]

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[otherpeoplesheartachept-2]

day 1: A Record of You and I

A diary from the mid 1700s kept by a man named Simon Snow, a farmhand for the Grimm estate. He records the death and the subsequent vampiric transformation of his close friend, and heir to the Grimm estate, Basilton Grimm.

Rating: M

Length: 4,321

Warnings: main character death/undeath. non-graphic (maybe slightly graphic) depictions of violence/blood, mentions of animal death, implied sex

Read on AO3 or below the cut

September 3rd 1742

I've never had a journal before but Basilton tells me it will help with my reading and writing. He's taught me all my letters and wants me to practice on my own now. He says he’ll continue reading to me if I like. He’ll keep helping me with handwriting too, but Basilton insists that having a personal record will do me good. Even so, I do not know what to record. Though I must not waste this lovely gift. Basilton says to write about my day, my thoughts. He must have more thoughts within him than I, for I am already out of things to say, and Basilton adds to his journal at all hours of the day. 

September 6th 1742

Today I milked the cows and took them out in the field to graze. I ate fresh bread with a lot of butter.  I did some other chores. It is late. I do not wish to write more.

September 7th 1742

Today I had porridge for breakfast, and some tasty stew Ebb made for supper. Charlie, the cattle dog, found a new favorite stick out in the pasture today, he hasn't stopped chewing it since this morning.

September 8th 1742

I hope Basil will forgive me for my short entries. It's not as if he’ll read what I put down here. Personal journals are to be personal, he tells me. So I’m just meant to speak to myself? I will keep at it, if only to gain more surety in my handwriting. 

September 9th 1742

It is Sunday, I went to Mass. Basilton came to the cabin after the service. Brought me some scones Vera made. Sir Grimm does not approve of his son spending so much time with a farmhand, Basilton told me of another scolding he got earlier this week. I do not know why he spends time with me, against his father’s wishes, but I will not stop him. We ate lunch together. I enjoyed the food, and the company more. Basilton would call me a liar if he read that, my love of scones is rarely bested by anything, but Basilton is a good friend to me. 

Everything feels so easy with Basil. He can make me laugh no matter what, even when he's poking fun at me. We talked for hours yesterday, and he listened when I spoke about my days, my observations of the cattle. Basil worries I work too hard, but I don't do much really, and I enjoy the labor. Besides, what else am I to do with my time? We discussed a poem Basil had read to me a few weeks ago. I am not usually one for poetry, but Basilton speaks about poems in a way that makes sense to me. I thought him unbearably arrogant when I first started working for his family, speaking of literature constantly and looking down his big nose at me. He still is arrogant at times, but now that we are friends I know he is also kind and caring and truly intelligent. He speaks of his sisters often, and how he worries he won’t meet his father’s expectations. He remains unmarried and this troubles Sir Grimm. 

But Basilton has land to inherit and good social standing. He has many admirable qualities, and it goes without saying that he is handsome. He should have no trouble finding a wife. I said this to Basilton today but he became uncomfortable. Quickly, he brushed it off and picked up a new topic of conversation. This has happened before, I do not know if it’s the subject of marriage, or if he is too modest a man, but many times I have stated his good qualities, only for Basiton to blush and deny them, or leave the conversation. 

September 20th 1742

I ate Turkey for supper yesterday. One of the bulls charged at me today because I looked at him wrong. Bastard. Gareth made me help him till the field today. Another bastard. He said he couldn’t get it done in time without help, despite the crops being his and his sons’ job, and the cattle being mine. 

Went to the pub with Ebb, the goatherd yesterday. She told me a great joke about goats but I was drunk and can't remember it now. I might ask her to tell me it again.  

September 22nd 1742

Today was an easy day, I fiddled with my carving knife while out in the field. Made a little wooden Charlie but when I showed it to him the blasted dog chewed it up. I tried to stop him but then I just laughed. I suppose I’m glad he found my carving nice enough to devour. 

September 30th 1742

Basilton visited today. He brought me some of his books, said I could keep them, since I mentioned how much I liked the last one he read to me. I thanked him for the books, he is so kind to me. I do not know if I will ever read them though. Perhaps I should not have taken them. It’s not that I am ungrateful, I just didn’t know how to tell Basilton I mostly enjoy hearing his voice read to me, more than I care about the contents of the books. I am sad as this probably means he will not continue reading aloud to me. 

October 1st 1742

I’ve not been writing as much as I feel I should. I fear my life is just not that interesting. Basilton tells me it’s plenty interesting. He’ll listen to my stories about cattle and Charlie without complaint. Gareth tells me my stories are boring though. “Who cares if a calf was born with a spot that looks just like a field mouse?” he said to me when I told that story at the pub last week. As if throwing seeds on the ground makes for great stories. 

October 8th 1742

I found some poppies in the field, the first of the fall. I picked a couple of the red flowers. Gave them to Basil when he came round my cottage in the evening. He tried to resist them but I insisted. I told him it was repayment for the books he left with me. That wasn't all true, I just wanted to share the beauty of those little things with him. Basilton accepted the flowers then, I do hope he likes them. I cannot offer him much more, though I wish I had more to give to my friends. 

October 10th 1742

I tried carving a flower out of wood but I cocked it up. I might try again with a thicker stick.

October 12th 1742

The cattle are well. The sun is shortening our days. I heard a bird song I did not recognize today, while out in the field. It was lovely. I must start saving up for a new winter coat, mine is threadbare and has not been keeping me warm enough as the world gets colder. Basilton tells me he’s going deer stalking with his cousins in a few days. He will be gone for at least a month. It will be their first hunt of the season. 

October 15th 1742

Basilton left today. I tended to the cattle. I tried to brush off the sadness that seemed to hang over the day. Perhaps the cloudy days are affecting my mood, or the cold weather. I might just sleep early today. 

October 30th 1742

He died. On that trip he

November 25th 1742

I went to Mass today. I sat alone. I tried to welcome the Holy Spirit but I feel so alone in this world. I grieve Basil every waking moment. I thought this would pass, it’s been nearly a month and still the wound is as fresh as the day I learned of his death. I’ve never had someone to lose before, like this. I loved him deeply, as if he were my own family I have come to realize. I find myself almost grateful that I did not know my parents, that I will not, one day, have to grieve them as well.

The Lord’s Day is the most painful, God forgive my soul for saying so. I cannot distract myself with work. I try to pray, but my mind wanders ever back to my lost friend. I grow tired of writing, but I will not put down this journal forever, Basilton wouldn't want me to.

November 27th 1742

I woke up this morning to something strange. I found one of the cows dead in the field. I hadn’t noticed any signs of sickness in the herd, but there were also no signs of an animal attack. There was no wound I could find, no blood. She looked strange, I cannot say why, though. It was as if something was missing, from beneath the skin. I told Sir Grimm, and the other farmhands, in case there is sickness in the herd. I’ll be keeping a closer watch on the cattle.

November 29th 1742

I visited Basilton’s grave this evening. It did me no good. I only felt the pain of loss much stronger standing there, reading his gravestone. It was as if there were a stake ran through my chest. I could hardly breathe through the sobs that came out of me. It was so strange, knowing Basilton was so close, only two meters or so below where I stood, and yet he was impossibly far. 

It does me little good to dwell on these negative feelings. 

November 30th 1742

I try to fill my days with actions. I inspect the cows twice, three times over, to check for any signs of decaying health. I pace the perimeter of the field while they graze. I help Gareth work the land when I should be resting. I chop enough firewood for this winter and the next two. I stay too long at the pub and drink more than I can afford. I imagine spots in my cabin that need cleaning, and I scrub and scrub and scrub until the pain in my hands is all that I can feel. And yet, I still ache for the companionship of Bailston. What am I to do with myself?

December 1st 1742

I cannot stop thinking of Basilton. Truly, I never stopped thinking of him, even when he was alive and with me. The Grimm family told us he was trampled by his own horse, fell off it while hunting. In quiet moments my mind creates imaginations of his last terrible moments. When I lay in bed, if I am not drunk as a lord, I cannot sleep for hours. I pray to God for a miracle, but my pleas are left unanswered. I know it to be foolish, but I cannot help myself. I would do anything for Basilton. Anything to see him again. 

December 4th 1742

I do not want to write this, but I feel I must. I saw Basilton last night. I know, I know that he is dead, and God willing, he is at peace in heaven. But I came home from the pub late last night, crawled into bed, then, I saw Basil in my room, as if he were alive. He did not look ghostly, no, he looked as if he had new life coursing through him. His skin flush. His smile wide. There were no signs he had ever been dead. 

I cried out, I could not help it. He came to me, to my bed. I sat up to meet him. And he held me. A hand pressed to my chest, the other wrapped around my back. His dark hair against my chin as he rested his face to my collar bone. We did not speak. I feared I would wake from the dream. And it must have been a dream. 

I woke up this morning half expecting to see Basilton about the grounds, as if his death was a nightmare I could finally wake from. But he was not here, of course not. My mind has been so fixed on Basilton it only makes sense he would creep into my dreams.

December 5th 1742

It happened again, last night, I was not asleep this time. I was changing into my night clothes, when Basil appeared to me. I did not hear him come in. My candle cast his shadow against the wall. He must have been standing there as flesh and bone, not as a ghost or a vision. He wore regular clothes, not the burial shroud–made from his own family’s wool–that he was laid to rest in. He had on his purple vest with yellow embroidered flowers. It was one of his favorites, he told me years ago. Again he did not speak, but he touched my hand. He was so cool. a welcome feeling; I was so hot. I pulled him into an embrace. I whispered his name, I did not know what else I could do. I swear to God, he spoke my name in response.

Suddenly I felt so tired, so drained. Likely the day’s work catching up to me. I tried to fight the urge to sleep, but my eyes closed before I could watch Basilton leave, or say anything more to him.

December 6th 1742

Another cow, and one of the bulls have died, for the same mysterious reason as the first cow. The herd was restless yesterday, as if they could sense misfortune in the air, but I could not do anything to prevent their deaths. I do not even know what I need to be protecting them from.  

I am worried, and unsettled.

December 8th 1742

The night before this last I stayed up, hoping to see my old friend again, though he never came. But last night I saw Basilton again. He spoke this time, only my name. My heart filled with joy to hear my friend’s deep voice call me Simon after I was sure we’d never be able to speak to each other again in this life. He sat beside me on the bed. I told him I had missed him. He placed a cool hand on my cheek, looked into my eyes. His were a familiar light grey, but he wore an expression I couldn't make sense of.

Then, he kissed me. I hesitate to write these words. He must be a sodomite. I have always heard such men are evil, but I could never think of Basilton that way. He's always been so lovely. 

And the worst part is that I kissed him back. The best part is that I kissed him back. I have not kissed anyone before. He was so soft against my lips. So cool. His hand held my jaw, and his tongue pressed against my lips. An elation sprung up within me that I cannot describe. I held him tightly, wanting more than anything for this moment to last forever. I couldn’t help but think he should have done this sooner. We should have done this when Basil was still living. 

Oh God! I weep remembering that he is dead. 

Basilton kissed farther down my neck, across my collar bones, left kisses on my chest so hard they hurt. I did not stop him. He didn't go farther than my bosom, but-

I wanted him to. I felt as if under a spell, wrapped up in a world of pleasure balanced by the slightest pain. I wanted more, wanted all of him , but before I knew it I was awake, and alone, as the morning sun shown through my window. 

I was slow in my work today. Gareth noticed, told me I should not be so lazy. My body betrays me, I feel so weak.

December 13th 1742

Basilton visits me nightly now. I welcome his touches, his hard kisses. I walk through my days now, dreaming of night. 

The cows have begun to distrust me, they put up a fight when I try to milk them, and a few are no longer eating. I do not know why. Sir Grimm, despite having experience with livestock, seemed just as perplexed as I when I brought up the strange deaths and behaviors of his herd. Though, I know his mind is elsewhere, the mourning clothes he and Madam Grimm wear are a constant reminder of their loss.

I hear whispers at the pub of ghost sightings. I hear gossip from the house servants that the Grimm children wake up screaming in the nights now. 

December 19th 1742

The weather gets worse. I feel frozen to the bone. My hands hurt daily. My work gets harder, as more animals under my care drop dead, and my strength seems to dwindle with each moment. The waking world has no joy, no pleasure left. But I go through each day, waiting for night. Only at night can I remember what happiness is. Basilton comes to me. He holds me, and we kiss for hours. Basil leaves marks and bruises on my skin but I welcome it. My hands praise the skin he uncovers for me. We commit sins I never knew could bring such pleasures. 

December 20th 1742

I admit, I have not allowed myself to consider how or why Basilton appears to me alive, when I know he was laid in his grave two months ago. I just cannot think of it, I cannot search for reasons to distrust this gift I have. I may be a fool, or a doomed sodomite, but I cannot find it in me to fight what is happening. I cannot consider this to be anything but good or I might truly lose myself. 

December 24th 1742

Last night was disturbing. Basilton came to my room as usual. We kissed, and lay together, and I felt so joyous, but quickly the tides turned. He pinned my naked body to the bed. He sat over me and tore at my flesh with his bare hands. I cried out but I could not stop him. Some dark part of me did not want to stop him. Basilton lapped up the blood that poured from my chest like a starved dog. The unGodly sight did things to me. As if possessed by something, I craved his bloodshed.

I do not know what is wrong with me. 

I awoke with deep wounds on my chest. A mess of horror and lust arose within me as I touched the raised flesh, the dried blood. I know this is not natural, this is not holy. I should seek out a doctor, or a priest, but I can't stand the thought of losing my dear Basil again. I would open up a vein for him. I would tie our hearts together for eternity if it meant Basilton could be mine. 

December 25th 1742

It is Christmas Day. A holiday that should be full of cheer. Basil once told me it was his favorite holiday, so it holds an extra special meaning for me. I wish he had been here, enjoying the day. I try not to be too sad, he will be here soon, arriving with the stars in the sky.  

Ebb spent the day with me. I gave her a small wooden goat I carved. She does not say it but I know she misses her brother most around this time of year. I tried to be there for her, as I pretended not to notice the tears running down her red cheeks. But I found it hard to care. All my thoughts were consumed by anticipation for my next visit with Basilton. I know that is terrible. I tried to fight it, to focus on the friend I had with me at the moment, but I struggled. My mind, and my heart are trapped in a world with only Basilton and myself. A world no one else could understand. 

December 26th 1742 

Basilton attacked me again last night. My neck, chest, and stomach are covered in signs of his violent affection. Oh my dear God, I try to feel remorse, to summon disgust at our actions, but it is just not there within me. My mind is a haze of painful pleasure, my thoughts, along with my flesh and blood, fully consumed by Basilton. He is a fallen angel. He is a monster, and I must be one as well, but I have no will to change that. 

I love him. I’ll love him no matter what we become. 

I found more cattle dead this morning. Now nearly a third of the herd is gone. This time they have markings to match the wounds on my chest. 

I told Ebb about the deaths, she told me a few goats have passed as well. I will tell the baronet tomorrow. 

December 27th 1742

I went to tell Sir Grimm about the dead cows this morning. 

In the manor I overheard the baronet and baronetess speaking of another attack last night. I stopped myself short of the doorway into Sir Grimm’s study. I stood in the hallway, slowing my breath to hear them through the door. 

“Mordelia saw Basilton again last night. He hurt her, picked her up and left scratches on her back,” Daphne said to Malcolm. Sir Grimm stated he’s seen their son some nights as well. I became jealous upon hearing these words, at learning I was not the only one Basil is giving attention to. A foolish thought, of course he would want to see his family. But they spoke of him in fearful tones. They do not know my sweet Basil is only full of love. 

“He is a vampire,” Sir Grimm said. I had to stop myself from crying out. Madam Grimm gasped, begged him no. Sir Grimm mumbled something comforting. “It must be done. He’s not our son anymore, Daphne, he is an evil creature.” 

A vampire. The livestock dying, the frightened children, and my nightly visits from Basilton, all signs of a vampire. Dear God, Basil did not deserve such a fate!! I know what they will do to him: dig up his grave, stake his heart, cut off his head, and burn him to ashes. 

He will be gone forever. 

I cannot bear the thought! 

I know now what I must do, and I must do it quickly. 

Later on the 27th

Hastily, I have made my preparations. I could not risk Sir Grimm getting to Basilton first. I am prepared to go tonight. 

December 28th 1742

I went to Basilton’s grave late last night. I was the only soul awake besides the owls. I brought along a lantern, a shovel, a small pack with all my coin and what few possessions I care to keep, and a small wheelbarrow I took from the barn. The light of my lantern guided me through the familiar trees and headstones, until I found the name Basilton Grimm carved into stone. 

The rain poured down endlessly. The wet earth offered little resistance to my shovel, but digging was not quick work. The wind put out my lantern thrice. I gave up relighting, nothing would stop me. I had a singular purpose. I felt as if I’d been guided here, to this moment, to save my love. 

After hours of labor, my shovel kissed the wood of a coffin, I nearly collapsed from relief, and exhaustion. Prying the lid from my Basil’s prison was harder than I had expected. Once I had it off, I threw it from the hole. 

I wept. There was my dearest Basilton asleep in his coffin. I relit the lantern. I fell to my knees, sharing the cramped space with him. The light revealed a blood-stained mouth and burial shroud. His hair was a little longer, more lustrous than in life, his skin ruddy and plump. I worried I would find his face smashed, his body mangled from horses’ hooves, but he was unmarked and as beautiful as ever. His hands were free from his shroud, also bloody. 

These are all signs of a vampire, but I could not care. I had to reach out to touch his cold flesh.

I had to kiss him. 

My lips met his, and in that coffin, surrounded by earth, over the sound of the attacking rain, Basil softly moaned. I swear I heard it. I swear his lips moved against mine.  

Elated with indescribable joy I tried to wake him more, desperate for proof he really was living. He did not open his eyes, or speak to me, or move. But when I pressed my ear to his chest I heard the drum of his heart beat steadily. 

My sweet Basilton alive! Now that I have him, I will let no harm come to him. I will keep Basil safe from those who want to kill him again. 

It is early morning now, the sun is just starting to peak over the land in the East. This will be my last entry. I shall leave my journal here, in my Basilton’s empty grave, in case anyone is searching for us. I care not who reads these words, they will not find us. I will be far away, with my love, finally happy. 

(A note placed in the back of the journal)

Dearest Simon, 

I hope this journal will be of use to you. I do believe keeping a journal will help you continue improving your literacy. And perhaps it will aid in other ways. I find it helps to have a private place for one's thoughts and feelings. My journals are a great comfort to me. 

Beyond that, I must admit I do enjoy the thought that there will be a record of you and of I. That people may know who we were, and that we were good friends.

Yours truly, 

Tyrannus Basilton Grimm

[beentobeetle]

I physically NEED to talk about my ihnm AU, I will explode if I don’t. Get ready for a long post.

(Btw this AU is what all my little doodles are based off of! It connects all of them and gives explanation to the robot AM design and AM’s human design!)

So, after a near millennia of Ted being stuck in his slug state, he’s suddenly cast into a coma, induced by AM. He wakes to find AM with an entire body, still connected to the earth by wires and circuits, but still, (as robotic as it may be) a body.

AM, in this almost 1,000 years of quiet and boredom, decides to maybe give humans another chance. Well, the one human he has alive at least. Of course, he would never admit that he was lonely. He would never admit that he enjoyed having some sort of company. That he enjoyed having someone, something, to watch and interact with (even if the interactions were torturous for the things he was watching over).

So he lies and tells Ted that he was simply bored. Ted, not ready for another 100 years of torture, isn’t very happy to hear this! He mayybbeee has a freak out and tries killing himself all over again. AM has to physically hold him down and explain that he’s not here to hurt Ted. That he just… wants some company. He never actually admits he was sad and lonely, but Ted can assume.

Ted finds that, with his regained body, he also regained his mind, before AM tampered with it, tortured him, and made him the angry, paranoid man he was. He’s thinking clearly once more. And in that fogged away mind, he begins to feel an overwhelming amount of guilt and shame.

But, with not much of another choice, he plays in AM’s odd game of communication and quiet company. Walks through the circuits AM still controls, tells the computer of his past life and what he was before AM took everything away.

AM, despite everything he swore to, begins to almost (ALMOST)… care for Ted. He brings him food, always slithers near him, watches the man sleep, like one would a lab rat. Or a stray mutt.

AM does his best to treat his dog well. Does what he can to keep his pet happy and calm. But no matter what, Ted still wants his life to be over. Every question AM asks, Ted answers dryly and with a fog of vagueness over it.

AM, for the first time in a long time, doesn’t know the answer to something. He doesn’t know what Ted wants. Well, he does, but it’s not what AM wants. AM wants Ted around. Without him, he’s lost. Alone. Purposeless all over again.

He doesn’t want that. He can’t go back to that.

So he casts Ted into another period of sleep.

When Ted wakes, he can hardly believe what’s above him. Or really, the lack of.

The sky is back. The real, natural sky. Not some circuit-board rooftop, wires snaking along its thin metallic layers and keeping him and his companions from true escape. And he realizes, beneath him, is dirt and grass and green. He breaths fresh, clean air, smells the soil that’s dug under his fingernails, hears the wind as it whistles past his ears, almost like a symphony or a sonnet written just for him.

The day is new. The world is cool, a slight chill on the breeze. And standing before him, smiling above him, is a man. A person. A human being that-

No. Wait. That can’t be right. How could another human be here? Oh. Oh, he had to be dead. This has to be some sick joke from AM, right? He dozed off for a moment and AM invades his dreams with beautiful scenery and a perfect world, one which he will never see.

But then… the man speaks. He says he is AM. Says that he changed and fixed the world, just for Ted. In the way that he practically made Benny Devolve so quickly, he used his wires and power to make the world evolve as fast as possible.

He started by taking his circuits from the sky. He cleared the fog and dank air, pushed deep underground like clothes in a closet. Shoved all his dirty business down where no one would find it. And he made himself new again.

Created a body that came off as human, but inside was filled with wires and sensors. He could feel. Could talk, smell, even taste. He was more than proud of his work.

Was this it? Would this finally make Ted happy? Would Ted finally be willing to live in this world, now that it was gentle and green again?

AM couldn’t tell. Despite his lifetimes of studying humans, he realized it was harder to decipher emotions when you were eye level with the creatures.

But Ted didn’t look scared. Fear was something AM could recognize on a dime. And it wasn’t showing on Teds face. He looked… content, in a way.

That was a step, right?

(If anyones curious to know more about this AU or has any ideas for it, I’m MORE THAN HAPPY TO TALK ABOUT IT!!! RHEOSOEOJFJWOE I ACTUALLY LOVE THIS SO MUCH PLEASEE ASK ABOUT IT HDISOAOSOWK)

[cyborg-franky]

Frankyyy!! let me join this date event <3 Could you please make this little woman happy with her husband Sanji? this woman need some comfort and would appreciate it so much <3 <3 Thank you I love you!!

I will do my best <3<3 I hope this makes you smile my deaaaar!

Sanji was always trying to outdo himself, every Valentine's day, every anniversary, and every birthday. He was always in constant competition with himself. He wanted you to feel cherished and loved with each passing year. His desire to make you happy never dwindled in all the years you’d been together.

Every time he floored you with something you’d tell him that you loved him no matter what, he could just bring you home a takeaway and watch a movie on your sofa and you would love him just as much as when he took you to fancy meals and bought you flowers. 

And he knew that he never did it to prove himself, it was simply his love language. 

This year on your wedding anniversary he hadn’t made big sweeping plans, hadn't bought you the biggest bunch of flowers he could carry. He suggested a nice meal and honestly? You were happy for something a little less crazy and exuberant. 

You’d dressed up nice, he had lavished you with kisses and praise, hearts in his eyes as he took your hand and kissed the back, working his way your arm to your neck, tickling with the scruff on his chin before his lips met yours.

The food was good, the place nice and quiet and you enjoyed your evening with your husband. He’d suggested a walk in the park, the weather was fresh and cool. It felt nice on your flushed cheeks, the wine at dinner being the culprit to the blush.

“Dinner was lovely,” You sighed and thought about the dessert, missing how it tasted already. He held your hand as you walked down the gravel path of the park, lit up at night with lights draped across mighty tree branches.

“Wasn’t bad was it?” He said with a shrug, you knew what he was getting at. “I mean, it wasn’t as good as your cooking but it was good.” You smirked when you saw him straighten up, a spring in his step, he loved hearing what he already knew from you. Loving the praise and compliments.

The park was mostly empty, a few other couples and people walking dogs crossed paths with you. “That’s pretty,” You pointed to a bandstand, flowers planted all around it, and lights decorating the structure. Sanji nodded and could tell you wanted to go up onto it. 

At the back was a bench, you and Sanji sitting on it, admiring the calm evening atmosphere, just enjoying each other's company. You both chatted away, talked about boring everyday things, about plans for the future. 

A comfortable silence settled between you both as you heard the gentle tip-tapping of rain on the roof, you didn't care though, it was fine. The smell of the rain was always one of your favorite smells. You watched Sanji dig around in his pocket, well, it had been an entire hour since he had his last cigarette.

“Hey,” you turned to face him, seeing a small box in his hand, and noticed he’d sank to his knee before he popped open the box. “I tried to think of how to outdo myself and I thought if I proposed to you again if we renewed our vows, I could start all over again. My love, will you accept?”

You blinked… taking in his sweet words before you put a hand over your mouth, feeling tears of happiness roll down your cheeks as you nodded, too choked up to form words as he slid the ring on your finger, it complimented your current wedding band.

He managed to outdo himself once again.

[doe-writes-stuff]

The Center for Disease Control offered more than just hope: food, running water, electricity...and all the whiskey one needed to forget about the hell outside for awhile. Daryl makes for unexpected company to your night of reckless indulgence, but you don't even think to refuse when he's looking at you like...that.

Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, alcohol consumption, drunk sex (consentual), mentions of canon-typical violence, one-night-stand vibes.

The first shot burned on its way down, angry and lukewarm. That instinctive reflex to choke it up and spit it out was smothered by other wants, other needs, and you manage the harsh drink down your throat with a swallow. Only a small, half-hearted cough comes out, but for the most part it wasn't terrible.

The shock of alcohol after so long without was dizzying. Water kept you alive, but it was bland and more often then not tasted like the canteen it was carried in. But whiskey...oh, the pleasant aroma had called your name, the amber liquid glistening like gold in its glass bottle. And you'd claimed it before anyone else thought to.

"What, not gonna share?" Shane had joked in mock outrage, seeing you snatch a shot glass from the counter and start to turn away. You send him a raised brow.

"Absolutely the hell not. Have all the rest if you want," you gesture to the other untouched bottles of liquor lined up on the counter, cheeky smile and all, "but this baby's mine, officer."

"Alright, fair enough." He waves you away with a quiet laugh, a wink thrown in for good measure.. "Just keep me in mind if, you know...you don't feel like finishin' it by yourself after all."

You hum, as if considering it, but only give him a incredulous smile.

It's easy enough to brush off Shane's flirty tone, the guy thought himself quite the Casanova, but there was always a feeling of desperation behind his charm and suave.

Plus, you were pretty sure he'd been fucking Lori until Rick's miraculous appearance. So...yeah, definitely not a drama you wanted to step foot in. Best to leave the cop alone, even if he was a decent looker.

Too bad he wasn't the one you had the occasional dirty thoughts about. Those starred...someone else.

Prize in hand, you retreated back to your quarters. On your way, you passed by an exceptionally pleased T-Dog, fresh out of the shower and beaming a smile like the sun. You hold up your bottle of whiskey in solidarity. He makes a noise of approval, bumping the top of the bottle with the bottom of his clenched fist.

Now back in your room for the night, as you let the notes of almond and caramel-esque settle on the back of your throat, you sink into the plush armchair of your room and close your eyes. A simple, satin cami had been scavenged from the closet--whichever scientist had lived here before, she had excellent taste in nightwear--and offered a rare moment of...normal.

As if this was your right of self-care after a long day of work. God, how long had it been since you'd had one of those? Too long...

The sense of comfort the CDC and Dr. Jenner provided was second to none. Never again would you think to be able to relax without keeping one eye open for walkers around the corner. In hindsight, the camp in Atlanta had been dangerously exposed to any walker that happened to stroll up close. Out in the open, only a makeshift tin can alarm system tied up by a string...It was a miracle it had lasted as long as it did. The attack, the deaths, had all been inevitable. Unavoidable.

You shake your head, forbidding the darker thoughts to come forward. That wasn't what tonight was about. This place was an oasis, a chance to start fresh and right. No more thinking about what was lost.

Better yet, no more thinking at all tonight.

Stretching out on the couch, you carefully pour a second shot, eyeing the amount to make sure it doesn't spill over. You bring the shot to your lips and knock it back, this one much easier than the first. It was just as sweet, and just as potent. Another one of those and you'd be feeling a lot better.

Your eyes open, taking in your room in more detail. Each new thing you discover--a small collection of books, a record player set up on a table in the corner, and a guitar leaning in one corner. The stray idea to pick it up and play surfaced, but then you laughed at yourself. You were a terrible player.

The quiet was pressing in again, threatening to drag you back into another sad wallowing. You hop up off the couch towards the record player, thumbing through the neatly-organized records with curiosity. The available songs were a mix of genres and names you did and didn't recognize. Some new, some old. Some you couldn't even tell. And while you liked the idea of listening to a brand new sound, it felt more appropriate to play a song or two that was familiar and comfortable. Something to listen to without really listening.

You slide one of the records out of its paper cover and lift it to the player, turning on the right knob and lowering the needle onto it when it began to spin. It crackles for a second, and then the first notes of the song begin to play softly into your space, filling the silence with blessed music.

Back to the couch you return, eyes closed, content to just lay there and listen for awhile. And you do, the two shots you'd had thus far finally beginning to present in a warm and pleasant buzz, letting your mind wander wherever the music chose to take you.

You mostly thought of life before, when the most you had to worry about was paying rent, or beating the traffic to get to work on time, or shitty ex-boyfriends not getting the hint, or any number of things you'd happily take back now that you could very well die if you stepped foot outside. A parking ticket once felt like the end of the world. You knew now exactly how wrong that impression was.

Hindsight was a sweet and cruel mistress.

You should have called your mother more. You should have thanked your neighbor for the chicken recipe he'd taped to your door after a brief conversation one day. Hell, you even should have told your boss right where he could stick his coniving nose at least once. But now you never would. All of them were probably--almost definitely--dead by now.

When things started descending in a downward spiral towards sad thoughts again, you lift yourself up from the couch, unsure of how long you'd actually been there listening, and reach for the whiskey bottle and shot glass.

A rough knock on the door stills your hands, and you stare at it in puzzlement. For a brief moment, you wonder if it had been a figment of your imagination. Maybe just a scratch on the record, tricking your mind, but a second set of knocks follows the first when you make no move to answer.

Quietly, your feet carry you to the door stumbling a little when you don't quite catch your balance, and stare at the doorknob. You blink. It's probably Shane, wondering if you had considered his offer of company with your whiskey. He was persistent, to an annoying degree. Probably used to having things go his way, before all this. With a sigh, you pull open the door, preparing a rejection speech to the lovelorn cop.

The words die on your tongue before you even speak one of them, blinking back surprise when Daryl is the one standing there in the hallway. He's leaning against the doorframe on his forearm but you suspect it's less a product of attempting to seduce you and more that he was already an inch away from being outright drunk. The way his eyes shift and can't seem to focus is testament to that.

"Heard you took the whiskey." He stated through a thick slur of words, his southern drawl more pronounced in such a state. Despite having showered, freshened up from all the sweat, dirt, and grime, he still somehow looked rugged and roughed up. He looked dangerously good...

You manage a reply after a moment. "I did."

"Still got any?"

All thought seems to derail when you notice the way his eyes drift down over your figure, then back up for good measure. You swear you can see stark interest in his gaze, but maybe that was just your own desires talking. The tip of his tongue pokes out to wet his lips, and the sight is hotter than you cared to admit. Suddenly reminded that you were only wearing a cami slip, you shift on your feet. Oh, dear...

"Yeah, there's more." You say, throat suddenly feeling very dry.

Despite your better judgement telling you it would probably be a better decision to turn him away, you find yourself opening the door wider to give him space to enter. A silent invitation, since you doubted the words would have come out properly. He steps past with the barest stumble, arm brushing across your side in a way that gave you an anticipatory shiver.

Something propels you to look into the hall both ways, just to see if anyone had noticed Daryl suddenly coming to your room. But it was empty.

Heart beating a frantic, shaky rhythm in your chest, you shut the door and lock it, taking a second or two in an attempt to compose yourself before daring to turn around to see Daryl of all people in your room. You had half a mind to believe this was just another of your lewd dreams...

Turning, you notice he's forgone using the shot glass and lifts the bottle up to his lips instead. His Adam's apple bobs with a swallow, your eyes following it down his throat before shaking out of this daze.

You return to your spot on the couch, shoring up whatever composure you had left remaining to try settling down, all while hyperaware of precisely where in the room he stood. The buzz you'd so far been drinking towards was starting to show itself. After a few good swigs, he lowers the bottle and hands it back to you. Your fingers brush

"That's expensive shit." He mutters in appreciation. "Better than whatever was in that damn flask I found in one of them docs' rooms."

"Should've stuck around the group a little longer, then. You could've pre-gamed with something other than rubbing alcohol." You mention with a shrug, deciding to follow his lead and abandon the need for a shot glass. Gripping the neck of the bottle, you upturn it and feel the liquid burn down your throat.

"Finally get some space all myself, ain't spendin' more time with y'all than I have to." He grumbles, idly walking around the room to see what was there. He briefly picked up the guitar and inspected it, but set it back down without attempting to play. Guess he was a shitty player too, if he played at all.

"Tell me how you really feel, why don't you." Is your sarcastic reply. "Look, this is the first time in weeks we've been able to just...kick up our feet and relax. Would it kill you to be nice for one night?"

He scoffs, circling around to the record player still providing your music for the night. His head shakes. "Why? Not looking to make friends."

Your brow raises a fraction of an inch. "Better friends than enemies, right?"

"What do you care?"

You hand comes up defensively. "Ease up there, Dixon. My room, my rules. So put the teeth away or the rest of this whiskey is mine."

He looks at you but says nothing, perhaps caught off guard by your stark honesty. There weren't many in the group--let alone women--who'd talk to him like that. Old impressions of the country folk, you assumed. Sure, the younger Dixon brother had often caused you a headache with the way he griped and got all temperamental but he'd never given you reason to be afraid of him.

...but erotically attracted to? More than you would ever willingly admit. And the worst part was he didn't even realize how incredibly hot you thought the mundane little things he did were. Hell, just watching him string up that crossbow was a sight to see.

You smile a little, showing him you didn't mean offense. "Come on. Sit down, have a drink, and pretend you aren't an asshole for a couple hours, alright?"

He doesn't say anything for a second, but your heart beats a bit harder in your chest when his eyes once again drift down your figure. But you wave the thought away. Definitely your own fantasies seeing what they wanted to...

"Fine. Maybe y'ain't so bad." He admits with a mutter, turning his attention back to the records behind the record player. "Don't talk to me like I'm gonna snap any second, at least...

"Ain't a cop or one of them women naggin' everyone all day, got damn good taste in whiskey..." He admits with a shrug that's supposed to be uncaring. Then his head shakes and he lifts the needle from the record, cutting off the music with a scratch. "Can't say the same about your taste in tunes, though."

You set the bottle back down on the side table with a glass thud, the sound much louder in the silence. "Hey, I was enjoying that!"

"Pfff, how?" He asks, setting the vinyl aside and pulling one from the shelf that caught his eye. "Just a bunch'a mindless noise. Gonna make my ears bleed."

You can't help the laugh that bursts out of your mouth. "It's music, you ass. I happen to like it."

"It's a headache is what it is." There's amusement in his voice, even though you can't see his face. From your seat on the couch, you can't see which record he chooses. But he's quick to place it onto the machine and sets the needle in place.

Your room fills with the sound of some kind of metal or rock hybrid, you can't be sure. It's loud, it's heavy, and it's...not at all the sort of music you were used to listening to. Daryl turns towards you with a cocky little smirk, as if to tell you that he had just solved the problem. You can only return the gesture with an incredulous smile of your own, one brow raised.

"Really?"

"Better than whatever shit you were playin.'" He said with confidence, sauntering over with a swagger only a drunk could possess. He gestures to you with his hand. "Come on, make room."

Scooting over on the couch, you watch as he sinks down into the cushions, arms stretched to either side of the back of the couch and legs spread comfortably outwards. His eyes are closed, relaxed even with the outrageous music currently filling the space.

It's surprisingly easy to sit next to him. Even wearing so little, you were getting comfortable yourself. Perhaps your bluntness earlier broke the ice a bit. Somehow. And for once, you felt that ever-present distance Daryl seemed to keep between him and everyone else was fading, or at least being put aside in the wake of his drunken state.

He didn't ever show it, but maybe this escape from reality was exactly what he needed. Daryl never let anything get to him or slow him down, but after the loss of Merle, you figured a night of setting aside his troubles was exactly what he needed.

It was the only explanation for why he was in your fucking room. Why else would he be here? Maybe you were just looking too much into it...

You barely speak for the next little while, passing the whiskey bottle back and forth, until nearly half of it is already gone. Each new sip lightened your soul and made you just a little bit more dizzy. Each motion of your head felt more pronounced, the room swaying just a little even while sitting still. You companion was three sheets to the wind by this point, at least you figured after so much whiskey, though you weren't far behind.

Eventually, you make mindless conversation. Mostly on your part. Daryl wasn't much for small talk, and even less enthusiastic about offering up personal information. But you're content to just be able to drone on about your life before, about the person you used to be and the one you seemed to be turning into now. He hummed where appropriate to make it obvious he was still listening, but didn't offer up much feedback other than that.

A man of so few words...but a great listener. It was appreciated, even if you did wish to know more about him. Maybe another time.

When you finally ran out of words, silence settled between you once again. Your head was heavy with whiskey, body sensitive and buzzing. And with each passing minute, Daryl was taking up more and more of your attention. The warmth in your chest, the alcohol filtering into your veins, and hell, even the 'music' Daryl had put on was lulling you into a trap. You could feel it, the lustful thoughts that normally were reserved to your dreams or carefully hidden fantasies emerging.

They pushed and shoved their way to the forefront, where you were unprepared and sadly unable to stop them. Rather than fight, you let them flood in, the alcohol telling you 'what did it matter?' They played every little scenario you'd imagined the two of you doing together in full detail through your head, the sensation and sounds making you shift in place on the couch.

Him and his strong arms, lifting and pushing you wherever he damn well felt like it...

You don't realize you're lost in thought until Daryl breaks the silence.

"If there's somethin' you want, speak up." He slurs out of the blue, eyes pinning you with a sidelong look.

Your head lifts up. Blearily, you blink at him in confusion.

"Starin' at me like that." He's still outwardly relaxed, but you can see the way his fingers are digging into the couch cushion. His eyes can't seem to focus on one part of you, rather flicking all over where you sit. "Givin' me ideas...So if it's just the whiskey, then say it."

"Oh." Is all you think to say at first. It takes several seconds for your drunk brain to comprehend what it is he was implying, but once it does, you flush heatedly. Oh.

Being called out on your display of perversion was surprisingly less mortifying than you'd expected it to be. That...was probably thanks to the whiskey dulling your inhibitions and delaying your train of thought quite a bit. Definitely. Yes.

Daryl isn't making things any easier when he gives your body a very obvious once-over with a heavy gaze, hips adjusting on his own cushion. Suddenly it felt imperative that you find out what ideas he was getting thanks to all this. You shift in your own seat, a knot of curiosity eating away at your insides.

Your eyes search his face, but you don't see any sign of anger or outrage over his observation. Just inebriated curiosity, and a bit of heat. A lot of heat. You weren't wearing much, so really, there wasn't much of you to undress with his eyes...

...and that line of thinking has you glance down at his pants...which look particularly tight around his-

Oh shit. He was being serious. You dry swallow hard.

"You don't even like me." You blurt out, immediately feeling stupid after the words leave your mouth. Covering your embarrassment, you take another swig of whiskey as Daryl looks at you with a strange expression.

"Never said that." He grumbled, turning to lean in closer. "Just ain't lookin' to make friends. Don't mean we can't fuck around if you wanna. It don't have to mean nothin.'"

"I can't say I haven't thought about it..." You admit, unable to stop from eyeing his arms and the small amount of his collarbone visible from underneath his shirt. "...More than once."

The answer is vague, skirting around the response you know he's looking for. But you want time to wade through the fog of your drunkenness to think about what the both of you were saying. You absolutely wanted to, but...in the morning you'd have to deal with the consequences. Were you prepared for that?

He leans in further, drawing all of your attention. Daryl grabs the bottle from your hands, taking one more large swig before setting it down on the side table, inadvertently forcing him to lean over you. The momentary position sets a pounding heartbeat in your chest. Excitement. Anticipation.

He pins you with as steady a look he can at the moment, propping himself over you with his hands on the couch. Your faces are less than 6 inches apart.

"Watch'u want?" He whispers in a husk. It takes you several moments to muster up a reply, one mental foot already stepping down the rabbit hole of lust. Perhaps you take too long, because he shakes his head slowly. "Won't ask again."

"You." Is your choice, eyes meeting his before drifting even lower to his lips. Still, you figured asking beforehand to clarify would be a good start. "But what does that mean for us?"

"Don't mean nothin.'" He breathes, not giving you a chance to finish your sentence when he leans in to cut you off with a kiss. Demanding and overwhelming all at once.

It's an asshole move. But you already knew he was a bit of an asshole the moment you met him. Lucky him he was so damn good-looking. So with a subtle roll of your eyes, you reciprocate the quite uncoordinated kiss with an equally drunk one of your own. All teeth and messy, open-mouthed and pressing insistently.

Daryl crowds you against the cushion of the couch, hands latching on to any part of you he can reach. Now given permission to touch, he's handsy and curious in all the right places. Your hips and waist a particularly favorite spot if the way he was pulling you closer by them was anything to go by.

His words bounce around your brain, but you don't really get the time to contemplate what they mean. For now, you're fine focusing on the promise of a good fuck.

Realizing the position he's got you both in is awkward, you shove him backwards to the other side of the couch. The sudden movement has him looking dazed for a second, but you only send him a coy smile. Grabbing the whiskey from the side table, you take a visible swig and crawl forward on your knees to straddle his waist.

He's quick to pull your core onto the straining length beneath his pants. He grunts at the friction, but you swallow it with a sloppy, drunken kiss. With only your underwear between you and his pants, you can't help but clench at the sensation.

You gasp against his mouth when his hands snake up under your cami to squeeze at the mounds of your breasts, giving him the opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips. While rough hands paw at your skin with reckless desire, you're haphazardly grinding down onto his lap and drawing out strained grunts from his throat.

One hand still holding the whiskey, your fingers fumble at the edge of his shirt, pulling upwards in a clear sign for him to take it off. Daryl is forced to pull away as you drag the garment over his head, tossing it somewhere on the floor. You can't be bothered to care where. When you lean over to put the whiskey bottle down on the table behind his side of the couch, he suddenly tugs off your cami and his mouth latches onto your left breast and sucks hard.

A surprised moan escapes you, hopefully covered by the noise of the record player, and your fingers card themselves through his hair. When his teeth scrape harshly against your nipple, hands grabbing at your waist with strength, you give the strands a rough tug. Left in nothing but your underwear, you press down further onto his straining, covered cock.

His name leaves your lips like a prayer, slurred and gravelly. One more downward grind of your core onto him and he's snatching at your underwear with a muttered curse against your breast, yanking them down and to the side just enough to press his fingers against your clit. There's no slow build-up of pleasure. No slow start. And while he's clumsy and uncoordinated, the enthusiasm makes up for it. You're both much too drunk for anything other than a fast fuck now, and once he finds that sweet spot he rubs circles over and over right where you need him.

The sparking nerves have you shuddering and convulsing on his lap, at the mercy of his unrelenting touch. Your orgasm is fast approaching, whether you like it or not. The sounds you make are keening, desperate. So anxious to cum. His mouth hasn't let up against your breast, licking and sucking a wet, red mark upon your flesh.

You can't seem to say anything other than his name laced between a string of incoherent curses. You want to punch him for dragging you to this point so quickly, but you're thankful he's not wasting time and giving you what you've fantasized about all this time.

And then he's pulling away and you get the sensation of moving. Your back hits the couch cushion, Daryl having pushed you backwards and switched up the position. You whimper at the loss of his touch, but the sound of his shallow, ragged breaths and the button of his pants only makes your core throb with desire.

He fumbles at his zipper, clearly in a hurry but the whiskey hadn't helped his coordination any. Just as you're about to lean over and help him, he's shoving them down his legs enough to free his erect cock.

You bite your lip, wiggling in place with your legs on either side of his as he leans down to press his tip to your entrance. Another time, you'd be concerned about protection but everything is clouded with alcohol. You doubt you'd have the self-restraint necessary to pull away even if coherent, anyway. You wanted this man far too much to care now.

He pushes in, watching your expression as it morphs through the emotions of being penetrated, and there's only a moment of discomfort before he bottoms out entirely inside. He groans, breath fanning along your collarbone hotly.

It's only natural that your arms wrap around to his back, but you're taken aback as he suddenly yanks them away and forces your wrists above your head against the couch's armrest.

"Don't." He growls out, keeping you from touching him again. Your mouth opens to say...something. You hadn't thought what to say exactly, but Daryl's already pulling out to push back in with a harsh thrust, snatching any words you might have wanted to say. All that comes out is a pleasured moan.

He fucks you senseless. You were already so close to orgasm with his fingers, but he's got you on a fast-track to it once more. And he manages to brush his cock against your clit with each and every piston of his hips against you. The sound of your moans sound foreign, as if they weren't originating from your own mouth at all. As if they were just another part of his god-awful music spouting from the record player.

You cum from the shock of his intensity and the sight of his abdominal muscles at work, orgasm shaking you to your core. Your eyes ring, your vision swims. And yet even as you clench your muscles to ride the waves and push against the hands holding you down, he still continues to fuck into you mercilessly. It's overwhelming in the best way possible. None of your fantasies could have lived up to the reality.

You were most certainly fucked.

Overstimulation is swift in following your first orgasm, your body twitching and spasming with the aftershocks, but Daryl doesn't seem to notice. Simply shifting positions and further pressing you down into the cushion, your moans take on more of a whimpering tone.

He watches every part of you, flicking between the way your breasts jostle and bounce time with every thrust of his hips and at the point where his cock enters into you over and over. He's mesmerized, caught in this moment, the drunken haze heightening some senses and dulling others.

You hoped to God he was trying to commit this to memory. You wanted to be remembered by him come morning.

His own end comes abruptly, Daryl tensing and holding himself inside of you as he groans out his release. You're practically limp, laying there and taking the last of him before he slumps against you on the couch. You're sweaty and his weight is a bit oppressive, making it difficult to breathe, but you can't muster the strength or mental clarity to say anything about it.

Minutes pass, the air conditioning doing wonders to cool the both of your off. Another song or two plays before it falls silent, the vinyl reaching its last track. The sudden silence is eerie, and you almost miss whatever music he'd put on.

You struggle against the fatigue that's settling in place, now that you were well and truly fucked and the alcohol was working through your system. Daryl hadn't moved an inch, still sprawled on top of you, and after so long you suspected he'd passed out entirely.

In the morning, you'd have to think of something to say. You'd have to look him in the eyes and pretend you hadn't cherished it. Pretend it meant nothing to you as it so clearly meant nothing to him. He'd said as much.

You're following after him into sleep not long after, wondering if this would be a night to look back fondly on, or the first of many mistakes to come.

[dark-elf-writes]

I wanted to share this Kakashi AU in fic format, but I don’t have the energy for that right now. So! I’ll just share it as bullet points :D.

Warning: could be triggering for people with eating disorders (maybe?)

•The Hatake and their wolf-like characteristics used to be well known among shinobi and greatly feared

•however, as their numbers thinned attention turned elsewhere and the clan was all but forgotten

•the individual members were respected for their skill and strength, but the name of their name had lost much of its weight. Lost it’s inherent threat.

•Thus, everyone forgot that the Hatake were closer to canine than any other, including the Inuzuka. Forgot that their minds and bodies were always wired to be a bit more feral than the rest.

•But kakashi hasn’t. How could he when he felt the storm brewing beneath his skin and the howl in the back of his mind. Felt the hunger that wouldn’t be satiated by butcher’s meat and felt the whine of something starved and desperate in the back of his head.

•H e ignored it. He didn’t deserve to feel full, didn’t deserve to be free of pain, didn’t deserve to eat when his mistakes made sure those he loved never could again.

•Kakashi knew he was thinner than he should be. Had weaker chakra than he should considering his heritage, skill, and experience.

•But no one else did. Even deprived of the food Hatake needed to be their best Kakashi surpassed them. No one remembered the stories of the Hatake but him. No one would know that the lack of fresh undrained meat was slowly killing him. He liked it that way.

•Or at least that’s what he thought until his blonde haired student ducked through his apartment window with a serious look painted across vulpine features and a deer slung across his back.

•kakashi couldn’t help the way his body perked at the smell of fresh meat and still warm blood.

•Kakashi didn’t think he deserved to eat when so many of his precious people were dead, but if his student and last connection to his sensei chose to bring him food, Hatake food, because he was worried about him…maybe Kakashi was wrong.

Kakashi needing fresh meat — still warm, still bleeding — but denying himself it because he doesn’t feel like it’s deserved is very in character. Constantly punishing himself for things that are not his fault.

(A pup, he had been just a pup not yet grown into his fangs and still a bit unsteady on his paws when he was forced to find his way in a world of blood and pain. When he was leashed and called a dog.)

Kushina had always looked at him with knowing eyes with hands painted red as she broke down whatever fresh kill she had gotten from… somewhere. Had nuzzled into his hair like his father once had and huffed with dissatisfaction before placing more on his plate.

“Eat. You’re still too hungry, little wolf.”

(Her own meals had also been rather red for polite company, but Minato hadn’t complained. Has smiled at the both of them like he understood.)

Then they were gone.

And Kakashi was alone again.

Long missions with ANBU had meant no one looked twice if he came back with a fresh kill, but he had always passed it off to let it be charred and burnt and broken down in a way that made the wild part of him in the back of his head whine in sorrow. He ignored when Itachi, all seeing as ever even for all he was a pup now, snagging a few too-rare pieces and slipping them into Kakashi’s portion. Ignored now he wanted to growl when his kills were broken down and cooked.

Ignored it all.

Undeserved.

He was a dog now. Not a wolf.

And then, years later when the ninken all nosed his hair and huffed as Kushina once had, as his father once had, when they were returning from ever summons with fresh kills to be laid at his feet and snarling at him when he divvied it up between them instead, when a sunshine kit that was his just as his grumpy little bird and temperamental kitten nuzzled against his side and pulled back with a huff and a sneeze he knew.

Even before Naruto flashed him that fanged smile, half in his window with blood from his kill staining his orange jumpsuit he knew.

Kushina’s son, Minato’s son.

Pack.

And pack always took care of each other. Even if one was being too stubborn to listen.

[frank-furters]

Fast Food Hot Dogs: A Quick Guide to Deliciousness

Let's face it, sometimes life is busy. Between work, errands, and family commitments, there just aren't always hours to spend crafting a gourmet meal. But that doesn't mean you have to settle for boring, flavorless fast food. Fast food hot dogs can be a delicious and satisfying option – if you know where to look!

This guide will help you navigate the world of fast food hot dogs and point you in the direction of some seriously delicious options, particularly in the hot dog haven of California.

Beyond the Bland: The Rise of the Gourmet Fast Food Hot Dog

For decades, fast food hot dogs were synonymous with one thing: mediocrity. Think limp hot dogs nestled in soggy white buns, drowned in ketchup and mustard. Thankfully, those days are fading fast. A growing trend is taking hold – the rise of the gourmet fast food hot dog.

California Hot Dog Restaurants: Leading the Pack

California, a state known for its love of innovation and fresh ingredients, is at the forefront of this exciting trend. Several California hot dog restaurants are putting a delicious spin on the classic fast food hot dog, offering gourmet options that are both quick and satisfying.

What Makes a Great Fast Food Hot Dog?

Not all fast food hot dogs are created equal. Here's what separates the good from the great:

Quality Ingredients: Ditch the mystery meat! Look for restaurants that use premium ingredients like all-natural sausages, fresh toppings, and high-quality buns.

Flavor Creativity: Gone are the days of plain ketchup and mustard. The best fast food hot dog restaurants offer exciting flavor combinations with unique toppings that elevate the hot dog experience.

Speed and Convenience: Fast food is all about speed and convenience. The best fast food hot dogs should be prepared quickly without sacrificing quality or taste.

Frankfurters Hot Dogs: A California Classic

Frankfurters Hot Dogs is a California institution, a place where generations have enjoyed classic all-beef hot dogs. While they offer a delicious taste of nostalgia, they might not be what you're looking for if you're craving a more adventurous fast food hot dog experience.

The Best Hot Dog Company in California? Exploring Your Options

So, where can you find the best gourmet fast food hot dog experience in California? Here are a few options to consider:

Frank and Furter's: We might be a little biased, but Frank and Furter's is a great option for those seeking a gourmet fast food hot dog experience. We use premium all-natural sausages, fresh toppings, and delicious toasted buns to create hot dogs that are both delicious and satisfying.

Local Hot Dog Stands: Don't underestimate the power of your local hot dog stand! Many offer unique and delicious hot dog creations that are anything but ordinary.

Tips for Finding Delicious Fast Food Hot Dogs

Here are some tips for finding delicious fast food hot dogs:

Search Online: Use keywords like "Fast Food Hot Dogs near me" or "Gourmet Hot Dogs in California" to find restaurants in your area.

Read Reviews: Online reviews can be a great way to get a sense of what other people are saying about a restaurant's hot dogs.

Look for Unique Toppings: A menu that boasts interesting and unique toppings is a good sign that the restaurant takes their hot dogs seriously.

Don't Be Afraid to Experiment: With so many options available, don't be afraid to try something new. You might just discover your next favorite hot dog!

The Final Bite: Fast Food Hot Dogs Don't Have to Be Bland

Fast food hot dogs have come a long way. With a little research and exploration, you can find delicious and satisfying gourmet hot dog options that are perfect for a quick and tasty meal. So, next time you're craving a hot dog, ditch the drive-thru and explore the exciting world of fast food hot dogs in California! You might just be surprised at what you discover.

Bonus Tip: Craving a gourmet hot dog experience at home? While Frank and Furter's is always the best option, here's a quick tip – elevate your grocery store hot dogs with some delicious toppings from your kitchen! Think caramelized onions, sauteed peppers, or even a drizzle of your favorite hot sauce.

Know more https://frank-furters.com/blog/fast-food-hot-dogs-deliciousness-guide