#i hope this is understandable and interesting

[beautifullilacsky]

"did you cry? What's wrong baby"

I have no clue how he could tell. My eyes weren't red or puffy, yet it was the first thing he asked. He tells me I am like an open book to him, he knows me for a bit.

There is a certain safety in his knowing arms. To be known so well that he can tell every single time something is up.. it's a deep level of safety, beloning, love,... the feeling of being known. For him to care about me enough to get to know me to that extend.

I have spend my life hiding my sadness, at times more than other instances. To now have someone who sees right through it all, and wants to understand and help me feel better.. I have people who care for me; sure. Though for my lover to hold me so dear, is deeper than just an "are you okay?" From anyone else.

I don't know how to explain it. It's like the words are locked somewhere inside of me. Maybe the feeling of being known is love. Maybe this is his way of loving me, and maybe I feel deeply loved just like this. Maybe that's the part that seems to be missing; the actual feelings of love that I am not truly allowing in. It's a topic I come back to again and again. Though, why do I need to hear it if I can see it in moments like these? I don't know why the moments alone never seem to feel perfectly enough in the end. Aren't moments and actions more important than the words? Imagine if he were to tell me that he loves me, but would never notice the different switches in my mood. Sure, he'd say the words, but I'd feel alone in my feelings, being able to hide them away from him. Imagine he told me that he loved me, but he did not buy me the specific shape and color of bananas he knows I prefer. What if he were to say that he loves me, but he didn't have any interest in my wellbeing.

Something in me is craving for the words so intensely, the bigger part of me forgets to check the unspoken words that show through his actions. The unsatisfied part inside of me starts screaming louder and louder, just hoping she can get both; actions AND words. Something in her has attached an immense amount of importance to it. As if, if they aren't there, the bigger picture shrinks. As if the base of the painting is words of affirmation, or words filled with love, and the paint of actions won't properly hold without the base. If only the base were to be there, she canvas would stay white. The actions are important to show that the words actually are true. Though, somehow, the actions seem empty without the words. They aren't as noticeable As they'd be with the base. Some actions are more vibrant, and are still able to stain the paper with it's bright, loving colors. Though, the tinier, more subtile colors don't seem to hold well. They are quickly fading, and the white of the base-less background sucks in and absorbs all the beautiful pastel colors that the actions left on the canvas. The white screams through it, pulling all the focus towards it. It isn't fair. How could that be fair? Though, the white has been patient, and eventually didn't have a choice but to become louder, more pronounced. I honestly wish the basecoat wasn't necessary. I wish I could thrive without it. It would be great if I could despise the words the way you do; that'd make it all so easy. Though, for you, those words make your canvas heavy, filling it up with black, deep stains. For you, the words present you with pressure, uncertainty, and unreasonable responsibility. For me, the absence of them fills me with... an empty spot which craves to be consumed by love.

Where lies our perfect compromise? Or do we both just wish to slowly move to our own preferences? I know that secretly, I would want you to tell me you love me, even without me saying it first. And if I could hope for more than that, I'd want to hear it at least once a day. Though, we already concluded that you don't want it to be a thing that's said multiple times a day. In what time and space are both of our wishes respected? Baby, I do want to understand and respect your vision. Though the white is screaming louder and louder. It's yelling me into a corner, making me feel like it's all-consuming. It makes my chest tighten and my eyes fill with tears, the emotions needing to find a way out. I want to be on your side. On ours, not just selfishly on mine.

the intimacy of "how do you know that?"

"because I know you."

[pantoneyoongi]

in love with love (with you) || slow dance

series ; in love with love (with you)  description ; you’re a romantic. jungkook? jungkook is not. 

title ; slow dance

word count ; 3.9k

notes ; 

a drabble for the in love with love (with you) series! in which jungkook did not (but also didn’t not) take you to prom. (or: among the first of many times jungkook makes excuses just to be good to you.) 

tags ; high school!au, fluff, sickening levels of fluff, my god i love them, the tiniest bit of angst if you squint, frenemies to lovers, this is like mostly unedited but oh well, no u don’t understand i really really love them so much, pls go to main masterlist for more / general tags 

you don’t go to prom with jungkook. 

actually, you don’t go to prom with anyone. you suppose you could’ve asked taehyung or jimin to come home - they would’ve - but you can’t bring yourself to ask them to pay for a flight right around their finals season at university, just to come and take you to a high school dance. you really can’t justify it. especially not when you do technically have someone to spend the night with, even if you didn’t, technically, go with him. 

see, you and jungkook are not friends. you’re also not not friends. your relationship with jungkook is a lot of nots, and not nots. like, his tie doesn’t match your dress. it also doesn’t not match your dress. the color is just one shade off. 

and he didn’t ask you to go with him, and you certainly didn’t ask him, but he still showed up with a corsage for you, claiming that he had to buy it as a set with his boutonniere, and then muttering some kind of excuse about his mom wanting to see him with the boutonniere, and it’s not like he has a date either, so he may as well give you the corsage, because who else would he give it to? 

which is funny, in retrospect, because it’s not like jungkook is incapable of getting a date. unlike you, jungkook is popular, well liked, and - while you would never be caught dead admitting this - terribly handsome. at least, according to your classmates he is. he has round eyes that shine when he gets excited and his two front teeth are just slightly more pronounced, so he always looks a bit like a bunny, and the hair that falls just so over his eyes is impossibly soft, something you know only because you yank on it every so often whenever he’s managed to irritate you more than usual (especially now that jisoo isn’t around to stop you from tearing his hair out). 

he’s handsome in all the ways a high school senior could be. he’s even got the charming personality to match, as long as he’s talking to anyone that isn’t you. there was probably a long line of people - across all year levels - just hoping he’d ask. but he didn’t. 

so, yeah. you don’t go to prom with jungkook. 

you also don’t not go to prom with jungkook. because he’s the one who drives you to the venue - “it’s easier to carpool, anyways, and i don’t trust your driving skills,” so the two of you show up together. your eyes go wide at the sight of the fancy hotel - glittering chandeliers, plush, carpeted floors, smooth, dark wood bordering the entrance. jungkook steps in beside you, looking unimpressed with the decor, but he doesn’t leave your side, either. lets you take it all in, lips parting with awe, a smile slowly forming on your face. he’s more interested in watching the emotions flit across your face than he is with the grandeur - all your excitement, the mesmerization, the giddiness. you don’t have a date, but anything can happen. the scene has already been set - so what the main lead opposite you has yet to be cast? 

you’ve always fantasized of a beautiful, perfect prom night. the same way you dreamed about a handsome senior whisking you off your feet when you were a freshman, or having a sophomore year classmate be the perfect gentleman for you and offering you his hoodie in that one class you had where the air conditioner was always on a little too high. even junior year, when you should have reasonably broken out of your childish daydreams, you wondered about a boyfriend who might study with you as you prepared for college entrance exams, someone to drape a blanket over your shoulders when you fell asleep on your textbooks. 

but prom - prom had a four year lead-up. prom had the gorgeous backdrop, and the glittering decorations, and the lavish dress. prom had the adorable promposals that you watched seniors give their dates every year until you became a senior waiting for one, too. even though you knew it would never come. 

still. maybe somebody will catch your eye from across the floor. slow dance with you, twirl you around, place a hand at your back, tip you low, maybe even kiss you at the end of the night. tuck that one, inevitable stray hair behind your ear. stare at you like you hung the moon and stars yourself. 

jungkook can’t say he understands, but he’ll let you have it, at least for tonight. the teasing can wait till morning. for some reason, he can’t muster his usual antics right now. something about your dress, the blush across your cheeks, the delicate necklace brushing your collarbones - any number of these things combined, even - makes the words die on his lips every time he tries. 

you look so beautiful, it makes him breathless, but he won’t admit that. 

finally, you continue in, following the signs to the ballroom for the dance. there’s already crowds of people there - your classmates spread across the dance floor, laughing and singing along and dancing wildly to the music that’s so loud jungkook can feel the bass reverberating in his entire body. you wince a little but it doesn’t stop the delight crossing your features even as you’re lifting your hands to cover your ears on reflex. you wander about the ballroom, jungkook following after you everywhere you go. 

“you can go hang out with your friends, you know,” you finally turn to him, though you’re basically shouting it over the music. jungkook considers pretending not to hear, but whether he likes it or not, hell, whether you like it or not, you know him better than that. 

“nice try,” he tilts his head, raising an eyebrow. “you think i don’t know you’re gonna tell jisoo i ditched you at this dance? i’m never gonna hear the end of it.” 

you scowl. he so good at fouling your mood. but he loves the way your brows draw in, how your jaw sets stubbornly, every time he gets on your nerves. it stokes a fire inside him that makes him smirk back at you. 

“i’m gonna tell her you didn’t ditch me at this dance, and instead spent the whole night annoying me,” you retort back. “then you really won’t hear the end of it. from me.” 

it’s supposed to be a threat, but jungkook feels sparks in his bloodstream instead, and he grins back. leans forward, matches your height. “is that a promise?” 

you let out an aggravated sound, one hand shoving his shoulder. he barely budges, but he does at least relent a little and straighten back up, hands sliding into his pockets. you’re glaring at him in a way that always makes his heart beat a little fast, something he largely attributes to a feeling of victory. he loves getting you to make that expression at him - nose wrinkled, lower lip jutting out in the smallest of pouts, shoulders raised like you want to hit him. 

it’s kind of adorable. in like, a small, angry creature kind of way. 

though if you heard him call you a creature, he’s pretty sure you’d start aiming for body parts he’d prefer remain intact. 

“come on,” he says instead. “it’s prom. i promised taehyung i’d make sure you’d have a good time.” 

“i don’t need your promises,” you mutter back, but jungkook hears it even above the music, mostly because you whip your face away from him to hide your expression, but he sees it anyway, and this one he doesn’t like. he’s all for the cute, annoyed huffing and puffing you do, but not the brief cut of hurt that crosses your features. he crossed the line somehow. he hates crossing the line - because he always does it without meaning to. 

“i didn’t - i didn’t mean it like that,” jungkook tries, but you’ve got too much pride to let jungkook apologize, instead lifting your chin high. 

“if you’re gonna stick to me, then you better dance, too.” 

jungkook swallows down what you don’t want to hear, even if he needs you to know it. maybe he can show you, instead. he’s not keeping you company just because of some silly promise he made taehyung, or because there’s no one else to stick by your side. he’s here because he wants to be. he wouldn’t have even come tonight if not for you. 

his eyes light like you’ve issued him a challenge - and jungkook has always been competitive. “better keep up, princess.” 

.

.

.

you collapse into a chair, kicking your heels off. jungkook settles into the seat beside you, albeit a little less out of breath. you loll your head towards him, tracing the outline of his neatly combed hair, his shoulders, the way his hands fumble a little with his tie, trying to loosen it. you’re both tired from jumping and dancing and screaming along to well-known songs remixed into one massive run-on song, but true to his word, jungkook did make sure you had a good time. you reach over, smacking his hands out of the way. “i can’t believe you still can’t figure out how to work a tie. shouldn’t it be easier to loosen than it is to put on?” 

“you’ve met my mother,” jungkook gripes back. “she ties things like she’s trying to make sure it can never be untied again. i think she might want me to live in this suit forever actually.” 

you roll your eyes, managing to hook a finger into the knot and wiggle it a little looser. jungkook inhales a deep breath, dramatic enough that you give into your giggles, and he has to hide his smile behind one hand. 

“what now?” he asks, after you’ve both sat in silence - or, as much silence as could be had in a room full of teenagers at a school dance. you hum, one foot nudging at the heel you discarded on the floor earlier. 

“well…” 

jungkook narrows his eyes. “of course you have something.” 

you shoot him a sly smile. “i did a little research before the dance.” 

jungkook eyes you warily. “who does research for prom? actually - i don’t think romcoms count as research, y/n.” 

you throw him a dirty look. “shut up. i meant about the hotel,” you make a vague gesture towards your surroundings. you bite your lip, and jungkook definitely doesn’t focus on the action. you glance back at him and he snaps his eyes back up to yours. 

“there’s supposedly a garden on the sixteenth floor,” you tell him. “it’s usually only for people who, y’know, rented a room or whatever, but it’s not like you need a key or anything to get in, so honestly, once you’re in the hotel, it’s pretty much fair game.” you shrug, but there’s a hopeful shine to your eyes. “the pictures looked really pretty.” 

jungkook tries not to sigh. of course. of course even at a school event, you found a perfect, romantic getaway to sneak off to. jungkook thinks you could probably find a romantic setting anywhere you go. or you’d just make one yourself. you could probably dress up a dumpster well enough to make it look like the start to a love story. 

jungkook waves a begrudging hand. “lead the way.” 

you jump up immediately. he heaves himself out of his chair to follow you, snagging the heels you’d decided to ditch from off the ground. he doesn’t know how you can bear to walk barefoot around the hotel, but he supposes all the carpet feels better than the three-inch heels you’d manages to dance in almost all night. you’ll probably want them later, once you reach the garden. 

the two of you sneak past other hotel-goers, and hotel staff, too, slipping into the elevator and thankfully making it up to the sixteenth floor without any stops. you wander down the halls until you spot the glass doors, glancing back at jungkook, giving him only a quick glimpse of the bright, unadulterated joy in your eyes before you’re pushing the doors open, wandering into the garden. 

your reaction at the hotel entrance is nothing compared to this. this, you’ve been waiting for since you stumbled upon it a couple days after the prom location was announced. you pause so abruptly that jungkook nearly bumps into you, stabilizing himself against one of the columns that border a walkway that aligns with the wall of the hotel. he’s about to nag you about it, but all that comes out is a quiet exhale, catching the wonder in your eyes as you survey what’s in front of you. 

he’ll admit, it is certainly pretty. it’s dark out, but there’s fairy lights strung about, illuminating the open space in a soft glow, just enough that you can see the pretty reds and purples and blues of the flowers, the deep greens of their leaves and the bushes surrounding them. there’s gravel, too, in shades of white and tan, bordering a pathway that cuts through the garden, to a small, white, octagonal pavilion. there’s nothing inside the pavilion but a bench that borders the entirety of it, but there’s vines that climb up the white beams, interspersed with flowers jungkook can’t even begin to name, but he’s sure you must know each and every one, and all the meanings that come attached to them, too. 

you begin to take a step out, but jungkook catches you by the arm. the immediate frown you give him makes him snicker, but he sets your heels down at the ground before you. “it’s pretty,” he allows. “but with flowers comes bugs. pretty sure you’re not gonna wanna step on one.” 

you make a face, but slip your heels back on, using jungkook to balance yourself. you figure he’s in a good enough mood, loose from the mocktails and the dancing, that he doesn’t say anything about the way your fingers grip onto his elbow. 

as soon as the shoes are on, though, you’re off. your fingers brush the petals, touch feather light, and you breathe in the sweet smell, closing your eyes briefly. jungkook trails after you, following you around the garden, walking the tiny pathways. you have a small smile on your face the whole time, like you’re falling a little in love with the flowers. you would, jungkook muses. he’s pretty sure you could fall in love with almost anything. 

when you’ve had your fill of the garden itself, you move towards the pavilion. you take a seat on the bench, resting an arm on the ledge as you peer out at all the flowers and greenery and little lights. jungkook joins you, but he doesn’t sit, just observes with you. it’s so quiet up here, a deep contrast to the dance happening sixteen floors down. 

his gaze falls to you. you look at peace here, a little sleepy, even, but happy. but for jungkook, that’s not enough. it’s prom night. you’re here, in a dress that sways with your every movement, with your makeup and hair done up nice, and jungkook has no idea what compels him to do it, but he reaches a hand out to you. 

you blink at his palm. stare blankly for a half-minute. “yes?” 

jungkook clicks his tongue against his teeth, grabbing your hand. “didn’t you want a slow dance?” 

he pulls you to your feet. you don’t have to know that his roughness has nothing to do with him pretending to begrudgingly grant you your wishes for prom. that maybe he just wants to hold your hand and feel you stumble into his chest. maybe he thinks you look beautiful in your dress, maybe he adores the way your cheeks turn a little pink with surprise. maybe he wants to feel your palm in his and know that he’s making you happy, because you always wanted to slow dance with someone. 

there’s no music here - there’s no one up here at all but the two of you - and that makes it all the more romantic. and he knows it. knows it because he knows you, knows you love this kind of thing, so maybe that’s why he does it. because jimin isn’t here, and taehyung isn’t here, and even yoongi isn’t here, but jungkook is. 

jungkook would rather die than say it out loud, but he loves this look on your face too. loves being the one - for once - to put it on you. not your angry, sullen pout, but the stars in your eyes, and how he can practically feel the way your heart races, even if he’s sure he’s not the reason - just the situation, the circumstance. after all, you love romance. you love the twinkling lights, the cool night air, even the clumsy steps the two of you take as you move in circles around the pavilion. 

this was what you wanted tonight, even if jungkook isn’t the person you pictured doing it with. 

he makes prom magical for you, in this moment. what you don’t know is that you make prom magical for him, too. 

breathless. 

his heart skips a beat in his chest, as he gazes down at you. you’re not looking at him - still too in love with the setting, the lattice on one side of the pavillion, the short post lanterns, the view over his shoulder from being sixteen floors up. but that’s okay. if you’re not looking at him, that means he can look at you. 

it’s circumstance, jungkook thinks. you’re as close to a date as he’s got, and he’s slow dancing with the prettiest girl in school, alone in a garden straight out of a fairy book. if his heart is doing double time, it has nothing to do with you. the same way you’re probably not even thinking about him. only that you’re dancing in a pavilion that could’ve come straight out of a pride and prejudice movie, and when jungkook spins you out and then back to him - that uninhibited, radiant smile isn’t for him. can’t possibly. it’s for that bucket list you keep, of all the things you want to do, of all the ways you want to love and be loved. just like this. 

.

.

.

jungkook doesn’t think about that night for years to follow. 

except, well, there’s a photo saved on his phone. a couple of them, actually. he never deleted them, and they’re from so far back that no one ever really scrolls that far in his camera roll, so it’s practically hidden. 

a little under seven years after the fact, you have your legs thrown over his lap. jungkook is letting you play with his phone, doesn’t really care what you do with it - and you frown. “jungkook.” 

he hums. he’s half asleep on the couch, sinking deep into the cushions. he’s pretty comfortable with you here, one hand on your calf, kind of unbelievably pleased with himself that the two of you have moved into a stage where you’re cuddled into his side, head on his shoulder, doing whatever it is you like to do with his phone (usually play mobile animal crossing on his account), while he falls asleep. but you nudge him again. “jungkook,” you insist. 

“hmm,” he blinks his eyes open. “what?” 

“is this me?” 

well, probably. jungkook doesn’t have a lot of photos of people on his phone who aren’t you, or your mutual friends. he doesn’t think twice about it when he peers at his phone, but when he sees the picture, he snatches his phone away from you on pure instinct, so fast that you startle, jerking back a little. “kook?” 

it’s not a secret. obviously not, considering he’s never purposefully hidden it on his phone. but he’s kept the pictures for years, refused to delete them, because, okay, yeah, maybe sometimes he likes to scroll back and see them. see you. see that photo of you wandering the gardens, where you’re not even paying the slightest attention to jungkook, but he can spot that lit up smile of yours even in the dim light. or the selfie that he took of the two of you, one that he sends to the group chat later as proof that he stuck by your side all night. jisoo gave him shit on the side for being obsessed with you - at the time, he denied it with fervor. “i’m not,” he’d insisted, but jisoo had clocked him before jungkook had even remotely come close to realizing that hoarding pictures of your prom night in secret meant she was definitively, without a doubt, right. 

you’re still staring at him, looking more confused than concerned. he relaxes his shoulders. he has to remember that you like him now. you’ll give him shit for a lot of things but, when it comes to him liking you back, you always get a little shy. like you can’t believe it, either. 

he lowers his phone so the two of you can see the screen again. there’s one more photo he kept. the two of you, side by side, with your dress not matching his tie, and not not matching his tie, and you looking breathlessly happy. for once, if not because of, then at least with, jungkook. 

he loves this photo. there’s very few photos of just the two of you back when you were teenagers, and even fewer still of you looking so unabashedly happy next to him. you stare, then you stare a little longer, then jungkook watches the flush creep up your neck, to the tips of your ears. just like that, his embarrassment disappears, and he grins, dropping his phone to turn your face towards him. 

“i had the best prom date,” he shrugs, relishing in the way you glower back at him. 

“you didn’t even ask me to go with you!” 

he’s grinning wider as he says, “you wouldn’t have agreed.” 

he loves the way this somehow agitates you more. “you don’t know that! maybe, if you promposed well enough, i might’ve considered it.” 

he snorts. “there is no promposal i could’ve possibly come up with that could outweigh how much you detested me in high school. please.” 

you cross your arms. there’s a glint in your eye that doesn’t match the frown on your face. “skill issue.” 

he gapes at you, then tosses his phone to the side altogether, letting it land somewhere on the floor as he flips the two of you until you’re squirming under him on the couch, laughing loudly as he pins you down so you can’t escape. “skill issue? i had half the student population wrapped around my finger-” 

“skill issue,” you retort. “i wasn’t one of them.” 

“you are now,” he asserts, and you waver, because he’s leaning closer, and you’re suddenly acutely aware of the way he cages you in. 

“am not,” you respond, but there’s no weight to your words, and jungkook can’t be bothered to care anymore, because you’re staring at his lips, and he can’t not give you what you want. 

you don’t say you want him to kiss you. 

you don’t not say it either, and you don’t need to. 

jungkook will always love you the way you want to be loved. 

the way you deserve to be. 

series masterlist ; in love with love (with you)

taglist ; @ahundredtimesover @nadzzzblog @apollukee @codeinebelle @yoongimentita7 @libra04 @welconme-notreally @yeow6n @babyboo22

[sunflowerdigs]

Buddie roommates is such a missed opportunity, not even because of romantic potential but because Eddie, unlike Buck, has never really lived with someone before. He and Shannon technically co-habitated but Eddie was gone most of the time. And since she left, it's just been him and Chris. And so living with Buck would have been a whole new experience for him and it would have been cool to see how he reacted to it. Eddie is used to having the whole world on his shoulders, so what happens when he suddenly has someone in his life paying half the water and electricity? When he can consider adding that cable sports package and some of Chris's favorite channels back because Buck will go halfsies on it? When he doesn't have to worry about the nutritional content of all of Christopher's meals all the time because there's someone at his house who knows what kohlrabi and jicama are and can get Chris to eat them (though calling jicama "nature's candy" is a little silly)? When his coffee is always ready when he wakes up, not just in the pot, but in a cup, prepared the way he likes it (black and strong...but still, it's in the cup)? What does Eddie do when he wakes up on a Saturday and realizes he has the whole day to relax because he and Buck have tackled all of the renovation items that have been on his list since he got back? When he comes back from a run and sees Buck teaching Chris how to make some of Chris' favorite foods with the adaptive cookware Buck had so delightedly discovered and ordered (or built, lbr) a week ago, and a worry that Eddie didn't even know that he had falls from the back of his mind?

What happens when Eddie drives by a house for sale in a nicer neighborhood with a big yard for the dog Chris wants and a beautiful kitchen and two whole bathrooms and he catches himself thinking "I bet Buck and I could afford this"?

What happens when Eddie casts his mind back to his life with Shannon with a new sadness and regret because he's slowly understanding exactly what it must have felt like to dream about a true partnership? Where no one isolated themselves by sticking to the rigid roles their parents subscribed to, and no one assumed more responsibility than they could cope with because there was communication, shared discovery, and the ever-present feeling of building a life together?

That would have been so interesting. The benefit would have been mostly on Eddie's side (though given that Buck lived the longest with a girl he was hoping to one day be able to tolerate, I think there could have been some discovery on his end, too), which is probably why Tim didn't consider it. But still. I'm bummed we missed out.

[chock-and-bates]

I wonder if you had any interest in writing a fic about the soul exchange of Charles after the 2019 Austrian GP and Charles after the 2025 Spanish GP as he is about to see the stewards？Just imagine that Max in 2025（hoping to accept a soft understanding）must face an angry little Charles，meanwhile the Max in 2019（excited to have a fight with Charles）is so confused to hear Charles saying things just like“oh it's nothing special.I can understand Max.”

English is not my native language, I hope I express myself clearly.

i am obsessed with this idea and have, yet again, been baited into writing a rambling 1k word response, a borderline ficlet 🫠 (and your English is great!)

it’s such a fun idea. i took what you said and thought it would be extra hilarious if max and charles were in a relationship by 2025 and then suddenly dealing with the younger, volatile, secretly pining version of their partners 😂

if i was to write a fic, it would go like this-

After the meetings with the stewards, it didn't take either pair very long to understand something was wrong.

2025!Max would be so upset and frustrated, because he was stuck with the prickly, angry demon he had to spend ages convincing to give him a chance, and he is desperate to get his Charles back. Especially when he’s trying to comfort him and 2019!Charles keeps shrieking at him to “stop telling me to calm down, and stop calling me baby.”

But, of course, 2019!Charles is not-so-secretly freaking out because he's always had a lot of confusing feelings for Max but now this older version of him is so soft with him despite being obviously annoyed, and he’s being so comforting but most urgently, he's so hot Charles doesn't know what to do with himself 🥵

On the other hand, 2019!Max is having the time of his life because 2025!Charles doesn't hate him, in fact he’is being so sweet as he explains the situation and asks if Max can help, which he immediately agrees to. Then, he absolutely blows Max’s poor mind when he admits that they’re together in the future, and Max suddenly feels like he could die from happiness.

And, to be honest, 2025!Charles is also having the time of his life as he lets this bizarre situation bring out his inner menace. He decides if he's in this situation he's going to have some fun, because obviously he knows that Max liked him back in 2019, so he decides to reward the younger version of his boyfriend for being so helpful by giving him a taste of the future- by flirting with him, cuddling with him ("Please, Maxy, i miss my Max so much, can you just hold me until i feel better?"), running his hands through his hair, maybe even giving him a few kisses on the cheek because this younger Max is so cute when he blushes and stammers, oh my god.

Only then, when they find out what they need to do to swap them back, 2025 Max and Charles are surprised when 2019 Max and Charles do not want the swap to happen.

2019!Charles would be crying these angry tears as he begrudgingly confessed to 2025!Max that he makes him feel safe and secure, and he doesn't want to go back to a time when he feels so alone, when it's like the pressure of his first season at Ferrari is going to suffocate him and all his Max cares about is beating him and probably isn't even interested in him romantically yet, because why would he, when he's already so impressive and Charles feels like he’s nothing-

2025!Max is flabbergasted that this little demon actually likes him in the first place (he decides to forgive his past self for not noticing, because what the fuck?), but then he gently explains that 2019!Max was absolutely interested in him like that, he just needed time to figure out how to show him in an appropriate way.

And then, of course, 2025!Charles realizes he probably fucked up with all the flirting, because 2019!Max is absolutely despondent. Like 2019!Charles, he's also crying, but his tears are more heartbroken instead of angry, because how is he supposed to give up Charles when he finally had the chance to have him, when he got to feel how sweet he could be and how good it felt to hold him? It feels unthinkably cruel to have this amazing thing ripped away from him, especially when his Charles absolutely despises him.

So 2025!Charles also has to do his own consolation. He promises 2019!Max that 2019!Charles doesn't really despise him, he's just jealous and confused about his feelings. He tells him that they both just need to grow up a bit, but they'll find each other. And he tells him that he’s so grateful he got to spend this time with Max because he really is so amazing and lovely, and he wishes he had seen that sooner.

After the pep talks, the 2019 versions both beg for a kiss goodbye and both are turned down by the 2025 versions, because they know it wouldn't be right.

The swap back happens and 2025 Max and Charles are immediately tangled together and kissing frantically and babbling to each other-

"Don't you ever do that to me again."

"It wasn't my fault, mon cœur! As if I would ever leave you on purpose."

Once they calm down a little bit, they talk about their younger selves-

"You were a fucking menace to deal with, baby."

"You were so sweet! And so cute too!"

And they both agree that they hope they'll be all right and figure things out sooner than their present selves did.

Meanwhile, back in 2019, both Max and Charles are miserable for the first hour after the swap. They immediately separated once it was done, unable to look each other in the eyes, and headed back to their apartments to sulk quietly.

But then Max hears a knock on his door, even though he didn't allow anyone up, and when he cautiously looks through the peephole to see who it is he's shocked to see Charles, so he rips open the door without another thought to see his rival staring back at him, wide-eyed and frantic.

"Did he tell you...," Charles asks, trailing off with a choked noise.

"That we are... that they are together," Max asks, hoping his voice masks how terrified he's suddenly feeling.

Charles makes a small, hurt sound at that, before blurting out "He wouldn't kiss me goodbye."

"He didn't kiss me either," Max responds just as quickly.

They stare at each other for a long, breathless moment-

They'll argue forever about who moved first, but in the blink of an eye they're all over each other, kissing desperately, so sloppy and eager as their hands frantically latching on to one another to hold tight.

This is what they really wanted all along.

And then Max is pulling Charles into the apartment, kicking the door shut behind them as he moans at how amazing it feels to have Charles' sucking on his tongue and he's blindly leading them to the bedroom, so fucking excited to finally have his Charles in his arms.

They don't leave Max's apartment until it's time to travel to the next race- they spend the time bickering and fucking and laughing and talking and realizing how right this already feels.

In only the course of a few days, it is suddenly so obvious to them why their 2025 selves were so desperate to reunited- because there is no giving up someone that can make you feel like this.

—------

This was so fun, thank you for the little prompt! ❤️

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

New Atheism was a political movement in the aughts and tens. It formed in response to the religious (mostly evangelical Christian) backlash against a handful of scientists and activists who were prominent figures in the Skeptic movement (a whole other thing, if you want to get into that I hope you like reading about magicians) and their fans, who were, like most skeptics, either atheists or at the very least strong proponents of keeping religion out of government. Many people in the movement were oppressed or at least regularly ridiculed and bullied for their lack of religion and they found a common goal in a) supporting people trying to endure or escape from religious environments, b) fighting to keep religion out of government policy decisions and to ensure freedoms that the evangelicals were trying to keep from people, such as same sex marriage and access to abortion, and c) fighting to keep science in schools. (The evangelicals, particularly in the USA but in many countries in general, were trying to ban teaching evolution or paleontology or anything that said the Earth was more than 6,000 years old. You know all the anti-trans stuff they're trying to push through now, all the silly laws about not using childrens' nicknames and not letting trans kids play on their sporting teams and not teaching kids that gender is a thing in health class? They were doing that with evolution.)

It fell apart in a very predictable way after a decade or two. Well, 'fell apart' is the wrong term; it more evolved into or merged with other forms of activism as the threats changed. There were New Atheists from everywhere and from every demographic, but the largest demographic (at least of the ones hanging out and talking with each other) were young men who lived in the US bible belt. The second largest was probably scientists facing discrimination or pressure from religious groups. And when hanging out online, we'd constantly get bombarded by creationists showing up to tell us that "the eye couldn't have evolved!" and "evolution is fake because Darwin married his cousin! Do you want to follow a gross person who committed incest?"

For those who haven't seen these arguments before, this is the level of "the earth is flat because if it wasn't, people would fall off the bottom!" Eight year olds can, and regularly do, debunk these "arguments".

Do you know what happens to groups of angry young men who are forced into religious rites of another religion at home to avoid getting thrown out onto the street, who spend a lot of time hanging out online with professional scientists so they naturally start to talk in big words and get seen as smarter than all their meatspace friends, when fed a steady diet of religious bigots with arguments so easy to destroy that literal random children could do it?

The vast majority of the New Atheists are still fighting the same fight in different groups. A lot of the same political goals transfer to feminist groups or communist groups or international aid groups. But a small handful of them fell into that old trap of assuming that they were smarter than everyone else, and that if something they saw seemed stupid and vapid to them at first glance then it clearly was stupid and vapid and that their duty was to disprove it and mock the perpetrator of this nonsense off the forum. After your fourth or fifth "the eye couldn't have evolved!" yelled at you by somebody who doesn't know evolution, doesn't care, and isn't going to listen to you no matter what you say, you quickly learn that taking them seriously is a waste of time. A small handful of these boys had youtube channels, and they were used to feeling smart by dunking on these arguments and explaining to their audience why evolution does indeed work. And then they found other groups, like feminists -- specifically, they found them through anti-feminists, who made their arguments seem stupid and vapid and like they didn't understand anything and wouldn't be interested in a real logical discussion.

And that's why a handful of ex-New Atheists got involved in Gamergate.

There's similar stories for the ones who became transphobes and islamophobes and soforth (often the same dudes). Islamophobia was pretty prominent even during the days of the movement because of the Iraq War and soforth and the prevailing idea that Islam is evil because Islamic theocracies oppress women (theocracies in general tend to be very oppressive), so it slotted nicely in with the fight for women's rights that was always at the front of New Atheist politics. ("Now you don't have to feel bad that you were nervous when sitting next to a brown guy on the bus, because that just means you're a good person who supports women!") And I'm sure I don't have to explain how somebody conditioned to prove their own intelligence (and worth) by dunking on things they think are silly and fake can be pulled into transphobia. But most people just moved their New Atheist activism into their other activist circles, as feminists or queer rights activists or education proponents or whatever political points that the movement fought for were most important to them. or simply folded back into the Skeptic movement. If there are any New Atheist groups out there who still call themselves that (there might be), I don't know anything about them or what they're doing now.

There's something about atheism that I've repeatedly tried and failed to put into words on several posts on this blog but I think I finally got it.

Atheists are the only religious minority who, even (or sometimes even *especially*) in ostensibly progressive spaces are not allowed to ever act like they're sure of their beliefs.

[allllium]

Omg your vampire Jason is amazing!!! Can we please get more???

Vampire Jason is one of my favsss 😋

Unbelievable

Vampire Jason x Reader

- This took so long bc I couldn't decide on a direction to go but here we are.

- Angsty, WC: 2466, Mentions of sickness and eating issues

- You find out your boyfriend is a vampire

There's something weird about your boyfriend.

Obviously you'd expect that from someone who has as much trauma as he does.

He's never told you exactly how he died and came back, but you know it happened.

Whatever happened seems to have changed him in a way you haven't quite put your finger on.

It's not like he's done anything wrong.

He's just off.

You've noticed the way he doesn't eat what you cook. Always having some excuse of already eating or finding a way to hide it in a napkin.

He's not as subtle as he thinks.

And it's not just the food. He often avoids sunlight and is paler than he should be. He doesn't sleep as much as he should for someone out all night.

You swear his teeth are sharper than normal.

So far in your relationship, he hasn't explained anything and you haven't gotten up the nerve to ask.

The few questions you have asked hasn't gone over well. You didn't realize in the moment how he might not respond well to you asking questions about his scars, as simple as they were.

Not only did you not get a real answer, but now there's even more tension than before on asking any questions. Even ones that have the chance to make or break your entire relationship.

It's hard knowing something is different about your boyfriend and it's even harder knowing he doesn't trust you enough to tell you about it.

"Hey Jay?" You whisper as you sit next to him on the couch. He's sitting with a book and you have your legs over his lap while you watch TV.

"Yes angel?" He responds immediately, looking away from his book to pay full attention to you.

"What's your favorite food?" You want to try and understand him better without asking his straight up and causing issues. You don't want it to seem like you're trying to trick him or going behind his back but the amount of questions you have are starting to drive you insane.

You figure since he never eats food, this is a good question to lean into it. You can see him considering his answer. "I don't know, maybe pizza. Simple but good." He explains with no problem.

"Interesting.." You murmur almost silently. He shuts his book fully and sets in aside. You've captured his attention with just one word. Of course you set your eyes back on the TV so he doesn't sense you're up to something.

"What's interesting about it?" He has one eyebrow slightly raised and looks a little concerned about where this topic is heading.

You bite your lip, faking innocence, and hesitant slightly before answering to really play it off. "Well," you sigh audibly and see him lean closer out of the corner of your eye. "I'm just a little worried, y'know I've never really seen you eat anything and eating issues are a big problem."

It takes a lot of effort to not blow your cover and smile like a clown. "What? No honey I don't any eating issues." He puts his hand on your leg in reassurance and looks distraught at your words. You can almost hear the panic in his voice.

"I've been trying to understand for a while but I finally figured it out." Once you started in this lie, it just keeps going. You hope it's enough for him to admit at least a little bit of the truth. Whatever that might be. "I honestly feel bad I didn't start trying to help sooner."

Is it still manipulating if it's for a good cause?

"What? No I swear I'm okay?" He moves closer in his attempt to calm you down. It's sweet how much he cares.

"But I can't think of any other explanation for why you never eat. It's not normal. You can tell me y'know? I only want what's best for you." Yes you're laying it on a little thick but if that's what it takes, oh well.

"And it's not just that!" You continue before he can get any words out, closing his mouth in surprise. "I mean you're so pale and you don't sleep enough and you avoid sun so much there has to be something wrong. I don't understand why you didn't tell me."

"Baby, I promise I'm not sick."

"Yes you are."

"No I'm not."

"Yes you are!"

"No. I am not!"

"Yes. You. Are."

"Okay that's enough. I'm not sick."

"It's the only explanation." He gets off the couch and walks back and forth behind it.

"No it's not." He turns and says, making sure you're looking at him as he says it.

"Then what is it? From where I'm standing there's nothing normal happening." The more you say, the closer you get to reaching the answer on your own.

He rolls his eyes and starts to leave the living room, "I'm going to the bathroom."

"Liar. I've never seen you pee." You say it as a half murmer, not caring whether he hears you or not.

"Yeah that's cause I do it with the door closed." He yanks open the door of the bathroom showing how annoyed he is. You don't exactly care if he's annoyed or not. Fucking liar.

"You know what I mean!" You shout, standing from the couch. And when he slams the door closed with him behind it, you make what could be considered a very toxic decision.

Unfortunately for Jason he left his phone on the kitchen counter. While you'd never want to invade his privacy like this normally, these aren't normal circumstances.

You highly doubt you're going to find anything but the anxiety of the situation has you reaching for his phone and entering his password before you can lecture yourself into stopping.

Taking a deep breath and peaking around the corner to make sure he hasn't slipped out without you noticing. Most of his phone is full of normal guy things, at least you think, and there's nothing popping out at you.

You feel a wave of intense relief flood over you. You don't know what you thought you'd find but your extremely glad it was nothing.

Except it's not.

The moment you put his phone back in the same spot you found it, it dings. Once again, against your better instincts you pick it back up and see a text from Dick.

This is the point you really need to stop yourself.

Obviously you don't do that. The text itself is a weird ass meme but it only takes a few scrolls up before your world crashes down on you.

A heavy weight takes its well known place on your chest. Suddenly so many things click together you don't even know how to react.

- Dickhead

: So did you talk about it yet?

: You're not being a pussy about it are you

: You just gotta sit down and say Babycakes

I'm a vampire

: Maybe do a little growl while you're at it

: really sell it

- Jason's phone

: first of all I will never say the words babycakes

: you're disgusting

: second I can't just blurt it out I have to ease into it

: this is a sensitive topic

- Dickhead

: wrong

: in my experience it's best to go all in as fast as you can

- Jason's phone

: that's terrible

: this is why no one likes you

- Dickhead

: I don't take advice from cowardly vampires thank you very much

Wow you're really hoping they were joking around but the way everything clicks in place has no other explanation.

It explains all of his weird behaviors and looks. You just really really don't want it to be true. You try to focus on your breathing and calming yourself down while you out his phone back on the counter.

The only experience you have with vampires is in the form of Twilight and The Vampire Diaries. So you're not exactly sure what this entails.

He seemed really concerned to bring it up. Maybe he didn't tell you because he thought you'd leave or be scared. Damn. You can't tell if you're scared or not.

You don't think you are but it's also hard to wrap your head around your boyfriend being a vampire that literally drinks people's blood.

"Fuck." You whisper almost silently. And in doing so it makes you wonder how good his hearing really is. Whether or not he can hear you whisper to yourself in the next room is anyones guess at this point.

You're not sure what you're supposed to be feeling about this news. Most people would probably leave without a second thought but you can't even bring yourself to leave the kitchen. Jason means a lot to you and the last thing you want to do is leave him over anything like this.

However, if he lies to you about it one more time you can't guarantee it will end well.

"Stop hiding in the bathroom!" You shout, still standing at the counter with your hand on his phone protectively. You know this man well. If he has access to his phone he'll pretend he got an important message and run out the door before you have time to call it out.

He comes out sheepishly. Like he wasn't expecting you to pull him out of hiding so soon. He almost looks like a scorned child, like he knows you'll continue to tug on his lies.

He looks down at the phone under your hand and back up at you. He looks up and down, and up and down while you slowly feel your patience wearing thin.

You take a deep audible breath and he brings his eyes back to you. You don't know what to say first and the look of uncertainty in his eyes makes you want to blurt all of it out at the same time.

He either knows exactly what this conversation is about to be or has absolutely no clue.

"I can't believe you're comfortable lying with me for so long and about something so big."

His eyes widen with panic. He opens his mouth to say something but slams it shut immediately. You can see his eyes wonder everywhere but your own and he bites the inside of his cheek multiple times.

"Do you know what I'm talking about or do you have multiple secrets that could fit this situation?" You're proud of how stern you sound. Not talking any shit for an answer.

"I know what you're talking about. It's the only thing I've kept from you." He takes a few steps around the counter, slowly making his way towards you.

"Yeah it's only the biggest thing about you why bother disclosing that in a relationship." It makes you chuckle in not only frustration but disbelief in the situation.

"I didn't want to scare you. No one hears the words I'm a vampire and doesn't freak out." A few steps closer. He sounds a lot more calm than he looks.

"So what? You figured you'd tell me after our one year anniversary? Maybe the day of our wedding so I can leave after my freak out? Or possibly you'd wait until Grayson did it himself." You roll your eyes as you say your last sentence. The more you talk, the more pissed off you feel yourself getting.

You're definitely not scared, you realize. But there is no world in which you forgive him easily for this.

"Did you go through my phone?"

"Is that what you want to focus on?"

"I don't know. I don't know what I'm supposed to say to make you feel better about this."

"I'm not scared because you're a vampire, I'm not mad that you're a vampire. I am unbelievably pissed that we are eleven months into this relationship and you have lied to me every single day of it!" Tears slowly well up in your eyes. Your words get more pronounced as they continue.

"I didn't want you to leave." He's only a couple steps away from you but instead of closing the distance, he reaches his hands out towards you. You don't step away.

"And you decided to take that choice away from me completely. I can't believe I have to say this but if you are a supernatural being it is not something you hide as long as possible."

One of his hands lands on your shoulder, the other coming to rest on your waist.

"I didn't know how to bring it up. The last thing I wanted was to lie-"

"You had so many options! Am I seriously supposed to believe you chose the hardest one for you? To me it seems like you chose the easiest one to deal with." You pull away from his touch and turn the other way, preparing to leave the kitchen all together.

"Do you seriously believe I like lying to you?" He finally raises his voice to match yours. Soft enough the neighbors won't complain but enough to clearly notice."This wasn't easy for me! I love you. Do you know how hard it is to face the reality you might leave because of something I can't control! Something I never thought would be my reality!"

"Do you know how terrifying it is to have a boyfriend that never eats anything, never sleeps at night, never does anything that a normal person does. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to be in a relationship like that?"

"I don't know what to say to fix this."

"I don't know either! I don't know if you can." He looks utterly defeated as he hears you say that.

"So I was right." He mutters, like it was the hardest thing he's ever said.

"No. I don't care what you are. I care that I've been worried sick this entire time that something was wrong and I might lose you. Only to find out the truth from your brother and knowing you had no plan to tell me. Seriously, Jason, when were you planning on telling me this?"

"I really don't know. Nothing felt right." You can see how upset he is. His reasons make sense and you know it. But you simply can't get over this right now.

"Okay." You whisper and leave the kitchen. He doesn't follow you or attempt to say anything else.

You try to take calming breaths as you get further away from him.

You hope you'll wake in the morning less angry. Maybe in a much better mood to hear him out.

As of right now, you know you can't sleep in the same place as him.

[strangererotica]

BABYLON’S ⛧⃝ WHORE

Papa II x Plus Size!Reader

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Reader is a Sister of Sin at the Ministry who struggles with low self esteem related to her appearance. Her lust for Papa Secondo grows more intense by the day. Unbeknownst to Reader, the physical attributes she despises having are precisely the features her superior lusts for…

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧

You’ve never felt secure in your appearance, always finding fault in your size and shape. When Papa Secondo takes special interest in you among the Sisters, it excites and confuses you. The extra attention Papa shows you is both flattering and intimidating; but mostly, it’s unexpected. You tell yourself not to get your hopes up by believing he may be interested in you sexually. Better to spare your heart, you decide, and assume the reason behind Papa’s attention has nothing to do with desiring you at all…

…How wrong you were. Pinned against one of the walls in Secondo’s office, your doubts about his lust for you evaporate. Enshrouded by the black and green fabric of his robes, you tremble like cornered prey. Pressure builds between your thighs, thrumming in time with your heartbeat. Through doe eyes you look up at him, lips parted and quivering. Your thoughts are swimming but your body remains still, frozen in the cage of his piercing glare.

“I’ve seen the way you hide yourself, sorella,” Secondo murmurs against your ear. “You’ve always thought your body to be a sin. But sin is pleasure, sorellla, not shame.” He drags a finger down your cheek, pausing beside your lips. “The only shame,” Secondo continues. “Would be to deny a sin as beautiful as your body from me…” You gasp in surprise as he presses a finger inside your mouth, sighing against your hair. Your clit pulses as Papa slowly strokes his fingers back and forth against the pad of your tongue. Wetness leaks into your panties as the mental image of his cock replaces his fingers.

“You won’t deny me, will you, sorella?” Secondo purrs against your throat. The deep tone of his voice vibrates your skin, making you shiver. He hooks his finger inside your cheek when you don’t immediately answer. “Will you, sorella?” he demands, shoving a second finger inside your mouth. You shake your head NO, eyes wide and fearful. Papa seems satisfied with your reaction, releasing your cheek. “That’s a good girl,” he says in a low, comforting voice. He returns to gently stroking your tongue, which you extend to invite him deeper. You feel the pressure of his erection swelling against your lower belly.

“Te volo, sorella,” Secondo murmurs. “I want you, sister.” His other hand slides between your thighs, cupping your swollen cunt through sopping panties. Papa’s cock pulses against your belly as he feels how wet you are. You tense as his other hand roams your stomach. “Don’t be afraid, little one,” Secondo softly scolds you. “The parts of yourself you judge imperfect, are perfect to me.” Papa clutches your stomach in his hand, squeezing the fat nestled above your hip. “Your body is a temple, sorella,” he tells you, massaging your cunt. “A sacred space begging me to violate it…” The sound of your juices squelch inside Papa’s hand. “Will you indulge me the pleasure of fucking you, sorella?”

Your immediate nod is all the consent the dark pope needs. He yanks aside the crotch of your panties, snapping the elastic. “Fucking useless rag,” Secondo growls frustratedly. “From now on, you are ordered not to wear any clothing beneath your habit, do you understand me?” He doesn’t give you time to respond, knowing an answer isn’t necessary. Two of his fingers penetrate you, prodding a raw grunt from your throat. “Ave Satana,” Papa marvels in a low, reverent tone. “Your cunt is swallowing my fingers whole, sorella.” You whimper against Papa’s chest, inhaling the scent of his robes as he works his fingers inside you. Loud, wet sounds issue from the space Secondo’s hand is buried. He curves his fingers around the squishy mound inside you, stroking in a back and forth motion. You twitch and buck on Papa’s wrist as if trying to escape. His other hand pins your shoulder to the wall, ensuring you can’t.

“Come for me, sorella,” Papa urges, massaging your cunt rhythmically, beckoning you. “I want to feel this little cunt tremble while I prepare it for my cock…” The thought of taking Papa’s cock sends your body tumbling over into release. You crumble and shudder against Secondo, thighs crushing his wrist as you bear down on him. A chorus of high-pitched whimpers builds and builds along with your body till you erupt in climax. Papa lodges his thumb against your clit, rubbing circles into the already-sensitive bundle of nerves. The power of your fading orgasm multiplies by a thousand, lurching you into a second orgasm built off the end of the first.

When you finally stop coming, your body feels like jelly, electrified and depleted. Papa gathers you in his arms and lifts your chin to face him. “So good for me, sorella,” he praises, a grin tugging his painted lips. “Now you must continue to be good, and do as I say.” He lays your pliant body over a marble desk draped in a crimson velvet cloth. Candles flicker in your peripheral vision, lining the windows in gold candelabras. “Let me worship you, sorella,” Papa says, going to his knees. “Lift your skirts. Hold them up around your hips, while I lick you.” Your hands quickly find the edges of your habit and you pull the fabric around your hips as Papa requested.

He takes a moment to observe your pussy and explore it with his fingers, folding back your lips and exposing your engorged clit. Secondo licks his lips at the delicious morsel before him, before spitting directly onto your clit. You convulse, your fists tightening around your skirts. Papa seals his lips over the bundle of nerves, sucking your clit in a pulsing rhythm. Your head is thrown back and you groan, so loudly that anyone in the hallway surely can hear. Your stomach curls inward over Papa’s head as he ruts between your thighs, lapping up and down your slit. He swirls his tongue beneath the hood of your clit and circles it again and again, pulling even louder cries from inside you. It feels like the ground beneath your feet is disappearing as your pleasure climbs, till you’re sure you’re floating. The muscles in your core tense and peak, releasing a waterfall of energy throughout your body.

Secondo’s hands dig bruises into your hips as he locks you in place, preventing you from bucking away from him while you convulse. Your fingernails pierce through the fabric of your habit, clenched into fists at your sides. Darkness flutters in and out of your vision as you briefly lose consciousness, pulled back to the reality of Papa’s mouth working your cunt. He lets you finish on his tongue and then lifts to stand once more before you. The paint on Secondo’s lips and cheeks has smeared, replaced with the slippery sheen of your cum. “I’ve held her, and I’ve eaten her,” Papa says of your cunt. “Now, I’m going to come inside of her.” He grips your shoulders and spins you around, bending you forward over the desk. His palm spanks against your exposed ass with a loud crack, making you grunt at the impact. Papa’s hands travel the curve of your shoulders and back as he adjusts his hips behind you.

The outline of his cock against your ass feels thick and heavy. Papa grinds against you a moment as he strokes your back, drawing his hands over your curves and the swell of your ass. He shifts so his erection is lodged between your thighs and humps you slowly, coating his dick in your slick. With his hands clutching your sides, Secondo eases his hips forward and enters you. It feels like being filled up to your soul as his thick girth stretches you open. Papa growls over your back, curses and praises in Latin you don’t understand. His fingertips dig crescents into the fat of your hips, branding you on the outside while his cock brands your insides. “She was made for me, sorella,” Secondo praises your pussy. “Fit for her master, like a glove…” His words and their seductive tone have you weak. You feel yourself fluttering around Papa’s girth as he sinks deeper inside you, almost filling you whole. “Do you think she can take all of me, sorella?” Papa asks, a grin in his voice. “Or will I have to teach her?”

He thrusts forward suddenly, stuffing you whole. You grip the edges of the desk as Secondo’s tip punches your cervix, and he chuckles behind you. “Don’t worry,” Papa assures you, his voice consoling. “I know what’s best for her.” He draws back his hips till he’s nearly at your entrance, then slams forward again, mindful not to go as deep. You release the death grip you had on the edges of the desk, knowing Papa will be gentle as he takes you. He wraps his hands around your waist, clutching the pudge of your stomach. You instinctively flinch at being touched in that space, then immediately relax as Papa gropes the space tenderly, almost reverently. “Beautiful, amica mea,” he speaks over your back in a voice strained with exertion. “Every part, beautiful.”

Papa ruts into you at a relentless pace, still taking care not to hurt you. The wet slap of his skin punching yours reverberates inside the office walls with every thrust. Balls heavy with cum smack against your ass as Papa plunges into you, splitting you open on his cock. Your eyes squeeze shut and you brace yourself as the floating feeling returns, your thighs clenched together in preparation for another powerful climax. One of Papa’s hands leaves your hip and he takes your hair in his hand, wrapping it around his wrist like a horse’s rein. He grunts into every thrust as he feels your cunt begin to spasm around him. The thick veins lining Secondo’s cock nudge your g-spot again and again as he pumps you, pulling you over the edge. “Oh my god!” you scream. “Oh my god-oh my god-!.” Papa yanks your hair, tugging your head back to face him. His eyes are narrow and wild with intensity, his makeup ruined in streaks of sweat. “That’s right, sorella,” Papa growls as you climax around him. “I am your god.”

The tense knot in your core unravels, sending you spiraling. Wave upon wave of relief churns your belly as Secondo pumps his seed deep inside you. The muscles at your core clench and suck Papa’s cock, milking every drop he has to give. You collapse against the marble desk, panting Papa’s name in between grateful sobs. He grips your ass in his hands and gently holds you open so he can watch his cum drip out of you as he exits your cunt. Drawing back his hips slowly, careful not to hurt you, Papa watches his stiff cock leave your pussy inch by inch. A creamy glob of semen gushes out of your puckering hole. “Bellissimo,” he murmurs, watching his release drip down your thighs. Using his index finger, Papa smears his cum between your puffy lips, gently stuffing it back inside you.

“Will you bear me a child, sorella?” Papa asks. He towers over you, his body curved around yours. The answer is obvious, but you affirm it anyway. He collects you into his arms and holds you against the desk, kissing you tenderly. “I’ll do anything for you, Papa,” you pant as his lips and tongue travel down your neck. “Anything?” he asks, a mischievous curve in his tone. “Anything is everything, sorella. Will you offer up your ass to me next? Will you let me take it in front of your other sisters, to show them Papa owns you?” You gasp as his teeth settle just slightly into your neck, not enough to cut you but enough to make your clit swell with arousal. “Yes Papa,” you tell him while his cock begins to harden against you. “Anything for you.”

“That word again,” he hums. “It dangerous to offer anything to a man like me, sorella. Once I start taking, I may not know when to stop.” Papa’s lips seal over the small bite he made, sucking away the pain. “Perhaps I’ll choose to share you with my brothers, sorella. Would you enjoy being our whore?” Papa grinds his hips forward, the outline of his erection catching your sensitive clit. “Yes Papa,” you reply in a breath, lightly humping his bulge between your legs. Secondo’s tongue finds yours as he lays you back against the desk, your skirts pushed once again around your waist. You tilt your head and watch the candlelight flickering beside you as Papa mounts you again.

Your position at the Ministry just became very different, very special. To have Papa alone would be enough, but being shared amongst the Emeritus brothers? It’s an honor you won’t take for granted. Secondo pumps another load inside your cunt and then calls two of your fellow sisters in to clean you up. They draw you a warm bath and wash your hair as you soak inside the bubbles. You’re dressed in a beautiful red dress, the color of initiation. It’s nothing like the boring habit you’re accustomed to wearing at the Ministry. Secondo watches the sisters dress you and style your hair, red roses woven throughout your strands. “Red is his favorite color,” Secondo explains. He sees the question written in your eyes and replies, “I’m giving you to my younger brother tonight, sorella.” You feel your heart race as the reality of getting fucked by Terzo settles over you. Secondo shakes his head in awe as he watches you, marveling at the beautiful, confident woman in front of him. “What a vision you are in red, sorella,” he says, a proud smile on his face. “Like a robin who has found her wings.” In spite of everything that happened earlier, you feel yourself blushing. “And what a beautiful thing it is,” Secondo says. “To watch my little bird soar…”

𐕣

[gothgoblinbabe]

I Wanna Be Yours (D.D)

Daryl Dixon x fem reader

A/N: heeyyy…how yall doin….long time no seeee

Big apologies for such a long writing hiatus, I literally have been writing since the last story I posted in OCTOBER OF LAST YEAR, just uh I’m American and the election happened and my life fell apart ngl! It’s coming back together and I’m sober enough to want to write more often instead of smoke and drink so I hope I’ll see you again soon with another story. If you followed me for Logan Howlett content, it’s not like I’ll never write for him again - I just went through a hyper fixation that has ended, BUT I still think he’s sexy and I still have 3-5 unfinished works about Logan in the docs so those will eventually see the light of day. For now I’m closing requests as well just because it’s overwhelming <3 hope yall understand but I will be back on that eventually. If you read all this thank you sm for finding this or still following me after so long, it’s the reason I have motivation to finish!

Summary: Being outside the walls leads to an interesting discovery that then leads to you being stoned on your front porch with Daryl Dixon, and to something else entirely…

Warnings: recreational drug use (marijuana) , fem reader, nothing else I can really think of, maybe swearing? Mild intimacy, this one’s a pretty clean one

Word count: 3-4K ish I believe?

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Supplies running low always meant the same thing - you had to go outside the walls.

It was almost always you and Daryl - Rick was too busy now keeping things straight in Alexandria, especially with Carl and Judith, and that left the two of you to do the dirty work.

That led you to where you were, begrudgingly following behind Daryl as you scavenged another place.

The house smelled of rot and death - same as most of them did these days. Peeling wallpaper, molded ceilings and eerie silence was all you were met with when entering every abandoned home.

“Clear,” Daryl muttered in front of you, stepping over a broken coffee table. The smashed glass crunched under the weight of his worn boots.

You nodded, entering the last room of the house - a mostly trashed bedroom. The mattress was stripped bare and the contents of most of the drawers were strewn about, except for a closed one in the dresser. You both briefly sorted through some of the clutter until you opened that particular drawer.

“No way..”

Daryl turned at the sound of your voice, watching you pull something out of the dresser drawer.

It was a small jar with a sealed lid, about big enough to clutch in your palm. You shook the glass jar slightly and he watched the dried plant inside tap the glass.

“Is that what I think it is?” he asked, stepping closer and inspecting the container from afar.

You unscrewed the air-tight lid and brought the jar up to your nose.

“Sure as shit smells like what I think it is,” you replied with a chuckle, holding it out for him to take a whiff.

“Damn straight,” Daryl nodded after smelling the substance, “that's definitely bud. I’d be surprised if it was any good after bein’ in there for long.”

“Well, we’ll find out,” you smiled widely, shoving the marujuana into a pocket in your backpack, “you in for smokin’ later?”

Daryl couldn’t remember the last time he smoked, though it was probably with Merle. What he did remember was being hungry and horny, the latter of which he already had a hard time avoiding when he was with you.

“Nah, I’m alright,” he finally replied, watching your shoulders rise and fall in a ‘suit yourself’ kind of shrug.

“Well, come find me tonight if you change your mind,” you told him.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Daryl didn’t know what possessed him that night - maybe his childish crush, his need to relax, the stupid itch he had to be around you all the time - whatever it was, it moved him out of his house and onto the road of Alexandria, watching his worn boots shuffle across the pavement under the dim moonlight.

He was walking to the fourth house down from his, on the left - your house. A nice place painted a beautiful sage green, fitting perfectly between the other well kept houses. Before he passed the second house, he could see your form in the dark, sitting curled up in a chair on your porch. When he squinted, he could see a small, warm glow between your fingers.

“Hey, you change your mind?” you spoke when he approached your front porch, raising your eyebrows and flashing him a smile.

Even in the light of the moon, he could still make out your expression. Your grin made his heart feel heavy.

“Maybe, unless ya’ already smoked it all,” Daryl joked, stepping up the porch and leaning against a pillar that held up the roof above you. The potent scent of the burning plant filled his senses.

You held up the joint between your fingers, letting out a small giggle.

“Nope, plenty left.”

You held it up to him, the smoke swirling and spiraling into the night sky. He took it, squinting at the small words printed onto the paper used to roll the joint.

“What’d ya’ roll this with, anyway?” He asked, feeling the texture between his fingers. He was too afraid to inhale before you answered and your hesitation to do so made him even more alarmed.

“It might- uh, it may be paper from a bible.”

He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Gabriel ain’t gonna be too happy about that,” he said before finally lifting the joint to his lips, inhaling slightly. The last thing he wanted to do was cough his lungs out and embarrass himself.

He let the smoke enter and exit his lungs, watching it disappear under the background of the stars. It burned, just like he remembered. He took another hit and passed it back to you, holding in a cough when his second hit was too ambitious.

“Don’t green out on me,” you joked, taking it from between his fingers and putting it back between your lips. You tried not to think about his damp saliva wetting the filter of the joint, indirectly passing it to your lips. It may have been the closest you’d ever get to a real kiss and you’d take it. You’d take any bread crumb Darly would give you, whether or not he realized he was even leaving them.

“Off two hits? You think I ain’t ever smoked before? Hell, if we’d met years before, back when I was with merle - I’d smoke you out.”

You stifled a laugh and shook your head, passing the joint again. He told you many stories about his older brother.

“Yeah, right. You never met twenty year old me - I smoked like Bob fucking Marley.”

That made both of you chuckle, Daryl stifling the noise from his throat with a hand over his mouth. It made you smile even wider - hearing his laugh, even if it was muffled, and seeing the wrinkles next to his eyes when he smiled so wide. It was rare, but you were one of the very few people who could pull that out of him.

After a few more passes back and forth, the joint was nothing but a paper filter topped with ash, forgotten on the sidewalk in front of your porch. You moved from your seat onto the top step, feeling the wood underneath your bare feet.

“Feels nice,” you explained with a small giggle, wiggling your feet atop the finished wood.

Darly only shook his head, joining you on the step. He felt like tv static - whatever that meant. It was the only word he could think to describe the feeling. It really had been a long time since he smoked, so long that he’d forgotten what it felt like. His eyelids felt heavy and he was almost positive you were genuinely glowing under the light of the moon. He wanted to feel like this more often, truthfully. He wasn’t worried he was staring, too engrossed in his view of you beside him to realize he hadn’t taken his eyes off your face in a solid thirty seconds.

“You okay?” You asked with a slight chuckle,raising your eyebrows at him.

He nodded, blinking the dryness from his eyes and turning his gaze away from you and onto the front steps below him.

“Feel fucked up.”

That pulled another giggle fit from the both of you, one in which you thoughtlessly grabbed Daryl’s arm and buried your smiling face in his shoulder. His skin burned where you touched him and he was smiling for an entirely different reason now, wishing you’d stay this close to him.

To his absolute pleasure, you remained with your knees pressing into the side of his legs and your arms wrapped around his bicep, like he’d run if you let him go.

Without knowing how to describe it, Daryl didn’t quite realize what he felt in that moment was absolute adoration for you. Carol would always insist it was love, to which he constantly told her she was ‘off her damn rocker’.

You didn’t even realize you were so close until you finally pulled your face from the leather of his vest and your nose brushed up against the scruff on his cheek.

“Oh, sorry- I’m sorry,” you apologized, letting go and attempting to scoot yourself away before you realized you couldn’t.

Daryl acted without thinking and wrapped an arm around your waist the second you began to pull away. He couldn’t help himself.

“Nah, I don’t mind- ‘s chilly anyway.”

You swallowed, hyper aware of the sensation of his large arm around you. You felt nervous being so close to him, but it ignited a warm buzz within your stomach, something that crept up your spine and chest.

“Bet you can see all my gross pores, bein’ this close,” you joked, only to be met with a slight smile in response.

“Nah,” he shook his head, “ya’ look pretty.”

Was that his voice? Did Daryl say that? He wasn’t quite sure.

“Th- uh, thanks,” you stuttered. You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face even if you tried. You tried to think of another, smoother reply but nearly bit your tongue when your ill thought out response left your mouth.

“You’re- you look handsome.”

The words came out nervously in quick succession, sincere nonetheless.

“You’re goin’ blind, then,” he joked.

You furrowed your eyebrows, genuinely confused, but kept your sweet smile.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means I’ve got an ugly mug.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“Definitely not.”

Definitely. Daryl wondered why that made his stomach turn. Not in the way it would when something went wrong - in a way that was unfamiliar to him. Something only you did to him.

“What, ya got some kinda crush or somethin’?” he teased with a wide grin, dipping his head down.

You could feel his hot breath fan your face and you swallowed hard. You tried to crack a nervous smile but became too overwhelmed by just how close Daryl was. Your faces were inches apart. He leaned in further and you felt yourself drawn to him like a magnet, doing the same until your noses were just brushing up against each other. Your breath was heavy, mirroring his, and your heart was racing out of your chest. His smile had long fallen, shaky breaths coming and going between his lips. One nudge from either of you would be all it took to finally share a moment you’d been dreaming about for months.

“Daryl…” your soft lips barely grazed his, fanning your breath over his lips.

“I-I should go home. Gotta be up early.”

Daryl was off you in the blink of an eye, detaching himself and jumping up from the wood like you’d burned him. You inhaled sharply and wrapped your arms around your chest, suddenly aware of just how cold you felt.

“Uh, sure,” you muttered, shaking your head at your own foolish disappointment. What did you think was going to happen - that he’d kiss you? How stupid must you have been to think that?

You said your goodbyes and watched him disappear into the night, his figure fading further and further into the darkness.

“Way to make things fucking weird,” you chastised yourself, groaning in frustration and turning around to head inside for the night.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Daryl barely slept that night. He kept replaying that moment in his mind over and over, where he was centimeters from kissing you, and kicking himself for pussying out at the last minute. He didn’t want your first kiss to be that way, though - stoned on your front porch. He had always told himself he’d confess to you some way - find you flowers or some trinket when out scavenging that he thought was fitting for you and give it to you as a token of his affection or some cheesy shit like that. However he did it, he just knew it couldn’t have happened last night.

The next morning, he felt his punishment for lack of sleep. He’d never been more off his game. He missed every other shot when he went hunting and came back with about half of what he’d usually bring, visibly agitated. What was he going to say when he saw you next?

‘Sorry i didnt kiss ya’? ‘Sorry i ran off ‘cause I was too scared to’?

What if you hadn’t even wanted to kiss him? And why did you say his name - what were you going to say?

He racked his brain for answers, habitually chewing on the inside of his cheek and lower lip. It was around noon when he got back from hunting, the sun shining hot overhead, and he knew you’d be on infirmary duty around now. He could picture you, hunched over a textbook with those old, cracked readers sliding down your nose.

His imagination was right, though you weren’t any better off than him. You hadn’t seen Daryl all day and the worry settling in the pit of your stomach was almost unbearable. You weren’t sure what to even expect from him - certainly not some grand confession of hidden feelings. Maybe he wouldn’t bring it up at all the next time you saw him; maybe he’d sweep it under the rug, like he did most things.

Still, you hoped he’d say something, anything. After what must have been months at that point, the back and forth of wondering whether or not something was there felt like it was carving away at you from the inside out. Even passing onto the front steps the next morning made your stomach twist into a knot of barbed wire.

You closed the medical textbook on the desk in front of you with a loud sigh, stretching your arms over your head. Just as you were about to stand, Denise appeared in the doorway of the office, a wide and mischievous smile on her face. She spoke your name and held up the sweatshirt she had in her hand - your sweatshirt.

“Can I ask you something?”

You gave her a confused expression but nodded anyway.

Denise took a deep inhale of the fabric, chuckling a bit before she spoke.

“Where’d you find pot?”

You caught the article of clothing as she threw it to you, balling it up in your fists and inhaling as she did. Sure enough, the sweater you wore to smoke definitely stank.

“Out scavenging, some stoner’s room,’’ you answered honestly.

Denise sat down across from you and before you knew it, you told her everything - the discovery, the rolling of the joint, the sharing of the joint, and eventually - of the almost-maybe kiss.

“You talked to him about it, right?” she asked finally, arms crossed with her feet up on your desk, “because you need to talk to him about it.”

“I haven't seen him all day.”

The sound of your own voice drowned out the small squeak of the front door opening and closing.

“I don’t even know what i’d tell him.”

Daryl stopped in his tracks at the echo of your words through the empty infirmary.

“That you wanted it?” Denise suggested, “that he should have just done it?”

He stood still, frozen, terrified that even a shift of his weight from one foot to the other would alert you of his presence. You weren’t talking about last night, surely.

“He almost kissed me, Denise.”

Nevermind.

“And you almost kissed him! I don’t see the problem!” she let out a short laugh to cover her frustrated tone.

“It’s- I don’t know, because what if that wasn’t what he wanted? And I- I almost…” you trailed off, covering your face with your hands in embarrassment.

She stared expectantly until you finally spoke, muffled through your fingers.

“I almost told him I did want him to kiss me, but he ran off before I could even start.”

Daryl’s mouth felt dry and his hands felt like pins and needles, all somehow more intensely than he felt when he’d actually been high. That’s what you were going to say - that you wanted him too. He was sure he had to be hearing you wrong until you kept babbling on, spilling the truth like sticky sweet syrup into the quiet room.

“I was gonna tell him how I felt, how I’ve been feeling, but- but, I don’t know. Maybe it’s a bad idea. He’s just so…he’s wonderful, Denise, he’s-he’s…my best friend. He’s just everything I want, and I want to be more than friends-”

He was lightheaded, looking around for something soft enough to fall into incase his knees gave out from underneath him. He had to get the hell out of there. As much as he wanted to listen to you gush about him, if he heard any more, he feared he may really faint. He had to do something now - no more hesitating, no more waiting to see if you felt the same - he just had to act.

Your conversation with Denise was cut off by the click of the front door closing and you both stood to look down the hall, being met with empty silence and a desolate room.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It wasn’t until later that evening that you finally saw Daryl, not for your lack of searching. When you got off your shift, you asked around for him, only to be told that he’d went outside the walls again. As always, that worried you. He could handle himself, but every step outside the walls was riskier than the last.

You were still thinking of him when you heard a knock on your door at sunset. You hurried down your stairs in your loose pajama pants and tank top, heart racing. It had to be Daryl.

Sure enough, you swung open the door to be met with his familiar face, one that always erupted your stomach into butterflies. Your eyes fell from his face to his hands in front of him. A small, tin box decorated in complementing colors fit perfectly in his palms, twine tied neatly around it.

“Had this for awhile,” he said gruffly, voice lower than usual, “figured it was stuff ya’ might like.”

He held it out for you to take and you obliged, fingers brushing his when you took the cool, metal box from him.

You unwrapped it right there, untwisting the twine. Inside, wrapped in an old bit of cloth, were a few pretty things he’d collected for you.

Dried, pressed wildflowers laid atop the contents, still fragrant. Underneath was a beautiful piece of green sea glass and a rusted silver Zippo lighter with your initial scratched into the front.

You blinked, speechless from the sweet, thoughtful gesture.

“I was gonna wait, give it to ya’ another time,” he continued, eyes never leaving the porch floor, “but I don’t want ya thinkin I ran off ‘cause I didn’t wanna kiss ya’. ‘Cause I did.”

Your eyes locked with his when he looked up at you finally. You were frozen, heart pounding in your ears.

“You did?” You asked, almost in a whisper.

There was palpable tension between the two of you - a spark lit by the confession.

Daryl nodded, slow and sure, his fingers picking at the skin around his nails nervously.

“I wanted to kiss you so bad that it scared the hell outta me,” he swallowed hard, “not ‘cause i wouldn’t mean it - cause I would - I just didn’t want the first time I kissed ya’ to be all sloppy and stoned on your porch.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. All you could do was look at him. The light from the setting sun highlighted the tension in his jaw and the vulnerability in his eyes. All of it was so raw, so real, that you could barely believe it. He wasn't a man who opened up easily, yet he was laying himself bare for you.

“I thought maybe I messed up,” you spoke finally, voice trembling, “I never thought you’d feel the same.”

“I do,” he answered with no hesitation, “I feel it. I think ‘bout you all the time - drives me crazy. When i’m out there, i think of gettin’ back to you. When i’m here, Im wonderin’ what you're doin, if you're okay. I wanna be near ya’ all the time - wanna be yours.”

Before you could speak again, Daryl let his confession unravel further.

“I heard ya’ earlier today, y’know, with Denise?’’

Your face fell.

“You heard-”

“I heard, an’ I’m glad I did. I don't know if I woulda’ ever had the guts to tell ya’ anything if I hadn't heard you say somethin’ first.”

Your ringers traced the edges of the tin box in your hand while your heart pounded against your rib cage like it was trying to get out. You wanted to crawl into the floorboards and disappear but instead, you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding.

“Guess I don't have to figure out how to say it now."

He shifted on his boots, awkward like a teenager.

"Still wanna hear it, if you wanna say it."

You stared at him for a moment. You knew you wanted to be honest, finally feeling free to do so. You stepped closer, so close that your toes touched his boots.

“I want to be yours too,” you said slowly, almost in a whisper.

Daryl’s eyes searched your face, as if he wasn’t sure whether or not to believe you at first.

“You do?”

“I do,” you smiled softly, nodding.

He took a deep breath, something unreadable across his face - like a combination of relief and disbelief. Hesitantly, he reached up to touch your face. His calloused fingers grazed your soft, warm cheek.

“Ya’ still think I’m so wonderful? After runnin’ off?” Daryl teased a bit, recalling your earlier words he’d heard.

“Absolutely,” you answered honestly, “plus, you didn’t technically run off - you’re here now, aren’t you?”

“I’ll always come back to you,” he told you truthfully.

You couldn’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. Those words would ring through your ears for a while after.

“And I’ll always be here for you to come back to.”

Daryl’s smile lit his entire face in a way you rarely saw - as if all the weight he carried had been lifted, even if it was just for a moment.

Finally, after all the second guessing, the misunderstandings and feelings suppressed, he leaned in. His nose brushed yours and his warm breath fanned your face just like it had the night before. His lips met yours, soft and hesitant, like you might burn him.

You didn’t.

You kissed him back, slow and gentle, careful not to scare him off. Your hands snaked around his neck and your fingers tangled in the back of his hair. His kiss tasted like cigarettes, a habit you’d always got on his ass about. His arms wrapped around you in silent desperation, pulling you against him after wanting to do so for so long.

When the kiss broke, he rested his forehead against yours, a satisfied grin plastered onto his face.

“It wasn’t sloppy,” you told him quietly, shooting him a smile.

“No?”

“Uh-uh,” you shook your head very slightly, your hair brushing against Daryl’s face, “it was perfect.”

You stood in the golden glow of the sunset for a while, wrapped in each others arms on your front porch as if anyone walking by couldn’t see you. It didn’t really matter - you felt like your world was only the two of you in that moment.

And for the first time in a long time, Daryl didn’t feel like running.

[livelaughloveluffy]

love languages - charlotte katakuri

a/m: wrote this as a warm-up for a bigger project i am working on, but i am happy to introduce yet another character to my repertoire, and a sleeper favorite of mine. just give me an hour alone with him, pleaseeeeeeeee

a/n: hoping to post more frequently these next couple months!! as there is lots in the works, and may ideas i have yet to put into the vault...

nothing but fluff here 💗

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how he shows love:

acts of service - the sweet commander of the big mom pirates will stop at nothing to cater to your every need, wish, want, and desire. most of these are things he does silently, not calling attention to the practices he has implemented to improve your day-to-day, but he also loves spoiling you. running you a bath, cooking you meals, giving you a massage, are all things that have integrated their way into your schedule somehow, as katakuri cannot fathom the idea of treating you as anything other than a princess.

words of affirmation - despite his rough and intimidating exterior, charlotte katakuri always takes time and thought towards his words before he speaks them. he takes a moment to understand who he is talking to and how to phrase himself in the most receivable way. which makes his gentle whispers of praise and affection that much more sweet. katakuri's thick husky voice combined with the syrupy sweetness of his words is a heavenly mixture that you can always discern from all other noises. the sound of his laurels and admiration is just as melodic as the sound of rain hitting against your window.

how he feels loved:

physical touch - to lay down his weaknesses and strongly constructed defenses around you enough to allow physical touch is more than enough of a statement for the affection katakuri holds for you. it takes some time for him to warm up to your closeness, the warmth of your skin pressed against his bare chest, the delicate touch of your fingers as they graze his sculpted arms. but when he finally eases into your affection, he simply cannot get enough. the feeling of your touch alone causes his muscles to immediately release their tension. having your arms wrapped around him is a treasure he only dares to indulge in the privacy of his own room.

gift giving - while the second son of big mom is in no way a materialistic man, he has often been misunderstood throughout his life. even small disappointments such as gifts that clearly show a lack of understanding in his character built into a world of hurt for katakuri. the first birthday you ever celebrated with him filled a hole in his boyish heart. as he opened your gift, finding a handsewn mask, his eyes welled with tears, embroidered hearts and big mom's jolly roger covering the fabric. as you begin to explain "when its too hot for the scarf-" your words are cut short by the large tower of a man that crashes into your arms, gripping onto you with all the desire he has ever held. his gruff voice murmurs out a soft "i love it... it's perfect."

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tags ♡: @chibinasuu @irethepotato @gracefulcargo51 @sparkyvibes

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[bewitched-hours]

Okay, zo hello!! Could you maybe make a fic about [READER] being 1x1x1x1s zibling? Kinda like how he'z made out of hate, maybe they could be made out of pure love?

Zhedletsky iz like [READER]z father, and they like have a good (PLATONIC) relationzhip, teaching them how to ztun the killer, etc. But they can make things out of love (?), like maybe a sword or something, being a zurvivor n ztuff

Maybe 1x4 can meet them in the round az they ztun him, and might be confuzed on who they are

And when they're zad/having a intenze emotion maybe they can act out of line, kinda like pure love turning into pozzezzive or unhealthy love! :3

I'm not good at asking for a requezt, zo tell me if itz good or zomething, idk :D

(I've had thiz ztupid thought in my head, rotating around like a pizza in a microwave..)

This is an interesting request! I gotta admit I had a little trouble understanding at times but that's just my stupid brain taking things at face value the first time I read things /ᐠ｡‸｡ᐟ\ The z's in places of s' are kinda cute tho ngl-

The reader's pronouns shall be they/them!

You've never even thought about the possibility of having a sibling, much less your father having ever been able to hate.

You were a manifestation of Shedletsky's love, just like 1x was a manifestation of his hatred. But instead of a black and green body, yours was a mix of red and white.

He taught you to be a survivor, to not become like your unknown sibling.

You could even use your love to make a sword, wanting to make your father proud when you stunned killers. It was bliss in this nightmare of a realm and even the other survivors appreciated your help.

You even developed wings after a short time, much to everyone's surprise. Even Shedletsky hadn't seen that coming but he was proud nonetheless, even helping you figure out how to fly and float.

But since then you occasionally get the nickname 'Cupid' for your silly little wings.

But then the dreaded round came. The round that Shedletsky feared for your sake.

A round with both you and 1x1... Siblings meeting for the first time without realizing it.

Shed had hoped the round could go over quickly, that he wouldn't be confronted by the manifestation of his hatred and the manifestation of his love at the same time.

But he clearly underestimated your loyalty.

As 1x1 was about to strike him, you dropped from above and stunned her using your sword, barely touching the ground before hurrying to accompany your father towards safety.

The killer was severely confused on your existence but just as much as he was mad over being stopped.

And if you were honest, something about her felt familiar... You just decided to shrug it off for now and leave the questions for later.

But then you and Shedletsky ended up as the last two alive, leading to you acting maybe a little out of line as you began muttering to yourself.

"No one touches my papa..." You muttered under your breath as you kept an eye out while guarding Shed. He luckily didn't hear a word because you were clearly not acting like usual.

Why were you suddenly having the urge to take Shed somewhere where no one would find him? That wasn't what you'd want for your father... Right..?

You only got more aggressive when you saw your green and black counterpart approaching. You were practically already hissing as she stared you down, approaching eerily slow and not showing any sign of hostility in contrast to your own. It looked more like tolerance than indifference though.

Shedletsky tried to tell you to run but you wouldn't budge no matter how much he'd plead. Eventually, 1x1 was towering slightly over you and you found yourself unable to move aside from continuing to stare her down.

He was clearly curious and although Shed wanted to just make a run for it, he couldn't just leave you here and knew you would deserve answers.

"I see you've made another..." His voice was directed at your father, causing you to halt your stance entirely to give her a questioning look.

This only annoyed 1x1 further. "Let me guess, they were never made aware of my existence, were they?" He almost sounded like he was scoffing but you couldn't even look at Shed. You didn't want to see the possibility of him confirming that this was what you feared.

She eventually picked you up by your wings, causing you to flail around but accidentally dropping your sword.

"I suppose their size fits. Either they were made recently or you truly had nothing much to feed a being that is the opposite of hatred, right?"

"No one speaks about papa that way!" You finally spoke up, enraged over how 1x1 could talk about Shedletsky.

1x1 seemed a little unsettled by that. "I'm not even surprised it's so possessive of you... Probably self-love." She muttered, promptly killing you to have a private chat with your creator.

The other survivors were honestly a little startled to see your current state. You've never been seen with so much rage in your eyes and it felt a little intimidating even to them...

Let's hope Shed can come back soon and straighten things out...

I'm getting so many asks lately but I don't mind it at all, it just makes things better with me being able to write more! (And all at once too kek-)

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hey sex witch!

I feel pathetic asking you this and I understand it’s not really your field but I genuinely don’t have someone I trust to answer me honestly. A few months ago I had a brief relationship with a guy slightly older than me (I was seventeen at the time, he was a couple weeks off twenty) and he treated me weirdly and I don’t know what to do. He strangled me without consent to the point where my vision started going and left hand shaped bruises on me and I didn’t like it but I was lonely and wanted sex at the time so put up with it. He also made a reference to how it would be hot for him to kill me and I really should have seen that as a red flag at the time. I just don’t know what to do. I don’t even know if he really took advantage of me but I feel icky about the way he treated me (he started off as just hooking up and then had a relationship that lasted less than two weeks before he cheated on me with a sixteen year old). Is this something I should report to someone? Am I being dramatic? I’m getting super mixed answers from google and my friends so just looking for a bit of guidance I think.

hi anon,

there's nothing pathetic about any of this. you had a relationship that sounds like it got pretty fucking scary and whether or not you think you were taken advantage of, it definitely sounds like this guy didn't care very much about your safety or comfort. that would be scary for anyone, and it's not dramatic to be upset about any of this.

it's up to you to decide if this something you want to report and pursue through legal channels. depending on where you live you could make a case for statutory rape, since you were under the age of consent and he was legally an adult, but that's something that I'd advise putting a lot of thought into. the so-called criminal justice system is ill-equipped to prioritize the best interests of victims and survivors of violence, with few options other than seeking jailtime or financial compensation from those who have wronged them. many who have experienced sexual assault or violence find that the process of pursuing legal punishment is just as or even more traumatizing than the initial violence, if they're believed in the first place. and many find that there's nothing about seeing the person who hurt them having to pay a fine or do time in prison that actually makes them feel any better about what they've experienced.

it's okay to feel the way you do, and I'm very sorry for the carlessness with which you were treated. I hope you find the support and healing you need on your own terms.

[jessmalia]

(Originally wrote all this in the tags but I ran out so I'm writing it in the reblog, I hope I'm not being imposing)

Yeah, I mean, Walker was a really good and interesting secondary antagonist, but what the Thunderbolts* writers failed to realize, is that you can't make him into a sympathetic protagonist (I specify sympathetic because writing him in an actual anti-hero role would work) without doing some serious redemptive work first. That shot of him standing with the bloody Captain America shield is by many fucking miles the single best shot in the entire MCU — it is such a powerful image rich with symbolism that I was thinking about it for weeks after I first saw it — but it is totally undermined by what Thunderbolts* did with him. In TFATWS, Walker was clearly supposed to be a case study in what would happen if a "perfect soldier" was picked to be Captain America instead of a "good man", like Steve. And the conclusion to that case study was that it could only end badly. All that talk Zemo did about how the desire to take the super serum is inherently tied to supremacist ideals and that whoever takes it will inevitably be going down the road of radicalisation (with a clear few exceptions) and then showing Walker doing just that, only for him to become an official Avenger before Sam in Thunderbolts*, is not only insulting and racist, but just bad storytelling. It shows a terrible understanding of what role the character has played previously and what role the character is suited to play in the future. I mean, are we forgetting about his dismissal of of Karli's cause? His perpetuating of the military's propaganda? His micro-aggressions against the Dora Milaje?

I mean, just in comparing him to the other Thunderbolts, he stands out like a sore fucking thumb! Bucky, Yelena and Ava are all victims of human experimentation and were used as weapons against their will. Bucky and Yelena were both mind-controlled and Ava is a disabled woman of color who was neglected by her country. Bob is a depressed addict who grew up with abusive alcoholic parents. Alexei is the only other one who wasn't an exploited victim, but he had his redemption in Black Widow when he helped take down the Red Room (and no, Walker giving up on his revenge to help Sam and Bucky in the final episode of TFATWS does not work as redemption in the same way, both cause it's a way smaller act, and cause it does not address any of his key underlying flaws, like the ones listed at the end of the previous paragraph). And in Thunderbolts*, Alexei is actively taking a father role in Yelena's life while Walker lost his son because he neglected him.

It's exemplified in the scene where Walker brags about his high school football days and Yelena brings up her own failed football team (I'm European so don't tell me I'm calling the sport by the wrong name) and calls his story pointless. John Walker is a white and athletic American man who grew up with a perfect life as the popular star football player of his "back-to-back-to-back champions" high school football team. A stark contrast to Steve Rogers, who was a short and skinny son of Irish immigrants in 1940s Brooklyn who no girl ever gave the time of day. The boy who had asthma and a million other health problems, but still never backed down from a fight even though he lost every single one of them, simply because he didn't like bullies. The perfect moment to compare the difference between these two men is, in my opinion, this one:

Bucky: Just cause you carry that shield, it doesn't mean you're Captain America. Walker: Look, I've done the work, okay? Bucky: You ever jump on top of a grenade? Walker: Yeah. Actually, I have. Four times. It's a thing I do with a helmet. It's a reinforced helmet. It's a long story, but any–

John Walker jumped on top of a grenade because he knew how to stop it without getting hurt, shielding it with a reinforced helmet. Steve Rogers jumped on top of a grenade despite fully believing he would get hurt, shielding it with his own body. John Walker exercised military training and Steve Rogers didn't hesitate to sacrifice his own life so that others wouldn't be hurt. That is what makes Walker the perfect soldier and Steve a good man.

In Thunderbolts*, Walker is in the same situation as Ava and Yelena, but he did not get there in the same way as Ava and Yelena. As perviously stated, they are both victims, outsiders their whole lives because of who they are. John Walker is the epitome of privilege who lost his status because of his own actions, because of a murder that, let's be honest, would've 100% been covered up by the US government had it happened while stationed out in war, not out on the street where dozens of civilians recorded it. This is his worst action that, unlike the rest of the Thunderbolts, he was 100% responsible for. It was then his own ego and inability to let go of the past that lost him his wife and son. Bucky even said something along the lines of "You made your choices" when it's brought up. So you simply cannot put him in the same story and give him the same treatment as all these other characters whose circumstances are so incredibly different from his.

All this said, it's not like I think Walker is evil. There's a reason I called him an antagonist and not a villain earlier. I think it's important to read his sentiment in the first gif as genuine. There was definitely a way to incorporate his character into further instalments and even redeem him if they wanted to. But I also believe that the MCU isn't capable of or allowed the kind of nuanced writing that would require.

THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER 1.02 - The Star Spangled Man, 1.04 - The Whole World is Watching, 1.05 - Truth

[linda-with-an-i]

Important things that RTD set up in his second run of DW and somehow failed to explain:

Why is Ruby magically able to cause snowfalls and why does she have 'a song in her heart' (or something along those lines)?

Why is Mrs Flood able to break the 4th wall?

Why is the Doctor able to hear non-diegetic music and what's going on with all the references with DW actually being a TV show?

Why was it important to mention that Belinda had a descendant, who the doctor met in 'Boom', that looked exactly like her if we're never going to explore the meaning of it again?

How is it possible that during Jodie Whittaker's era UNIT was gone, and just in a couple of years the organization is back with virtually unlimited funds and a whole avengers-tower right in the middle of London?

What happened with Rogue and how was he able to communicate with the doctor whilst still being trapped in superhell? (I reiterate that I don't like him as a character but I feel that this particular plot should have been resolved with Ncuti as the doctor as it would have been coherent with their story arcs)

Now that the doctor changed reality to bring back Poppy, what happened to the original Captain Poppy and the other space babies? Who were Poppy's original parents? And what happened to Bel's original life, wasn't it important as well? What about his housemates? How do we know that they weren't by accident erased from existence because the Doctor altered reality?

How tf is it possible that Timelords can't have children? The 10th doctor (who is written by RTD as well ffs) specifically mentioned a couple of times having children?!?! Make it make sense. 

The whole bigeneration concept. I understand the idea, but I feel a more in-depth explanation would have been nice.

I'm sure there are more plot-points I'm forgetting, so feel free to add more, but the point I'm trying to make is: why would you set up so much stuff, if all Disney+ is giving you are 8 episodes per series?

It's frustrating, because the premise of those ideas are very interesting but they would require more time and more episodes to explore those concepts with a satisfying conclusion. Not to mention that RTD2 has been filled with fan-service galore, way too many characters (old and new) and publicity stunts, especially in the finale.

And of course the main victims of what happened in the end are Ncuti and Varada, because they were brilliant in their roles, and they deserved better and they deserved more. I just hope that they're getting lots of love and compliments from the fans, at least as consolation.

I'm not saying it's 100% RTD's fault, but I think some decisions led to some lazy writing and the result is... not the best to say the least.

[astrologicalsstuff]

Out of pocket astrology opinions

These are my opinions they are right😈

Mdni: 18+

Venus and Lilith in the 7th house you guys are definitely the pick me girls of the zodiac

With these placements I’d just say watch your partners Venus loves someone other people love it’s so annoying

I’d also say just libra placements

Gemini are the most narcissistic signs of the zodiac

Leo’s are full of themselves because they are that girl

People who slander Leo’s give loser mentality hate on them cause they are better than you

Lilith in the 5th house are freaks

Lilith in the 5th is obsessed with sexual artwork (making)

Neptune placements can be so insecure until they stop caring how people view them

Chiron in the first is so competitive

Pluto and Chiron in the first is someone who is obsessed with curating this image about themselves, the closer you get the more you find that the control they project is the control they feel.

I know this artists who makes artwork about being sexual and open, and yet she sl*t shamed people.

8th house synastry is jealousy when it’s not in romantic relationships

Mars conjunct Chiron in the 10th has DADDY ISSUES and the most intense ab*se stories (people do not like you) I’m sorry but your also a power house

10th house ruler in the 8th make money through probably taboo even illegal ways. I think it’s a pretty wealthy indicator but their money is someone else’s

Venus conjunct mars in synastry either way is too powerful make you so connected to someone especially after intimacy even if there isn’t a lot more

Stellium in both 8th and 12th synastry is crazy to watch. My ex had this with his gbf and I don’t think they were into eachother or at least I hope but she had him on a string and it was embarrassing to watch. And then she was like sizing me up, and that wan was not worthnit idk why she wanted power over him sm (she’s 8th house)

I have my planets in an 8th house stellium with this chic and everyone always compares us idk about her side but people will always say “your artwork is better than hers” and nobody asked -like her besties

Mercury in the 8th house always says the wrong thing. They are so intense and always talk about the taboo,

I have a friend with mars in the 10th, Saturn in the 4th and Pluto on the ascendant and oh boy has she hasd it

Lilith aspects in a natal chart are interesting because they are so unaware, on the one hand they have all this attention on them, on the other hand they struggle to find commitment, they have bad relationships with women and men

Leo cancer placements know exactly how to make you feel better about yourself.

Synastry isn’t so linear we think it’s a trine, but I have my Venus in Virginian the gusty and I understand my friend Aries Venus in the 6th because the elements are similar

A man with cancer mars conjunct Jupiter may struggle with …keeping it up but is still very big

Vesta conjunct mars lives to serve… idk I think they like that

[punkssavior]

in the interest of time.

| cm punk x fem!reader

a oneshot request for my babygirl, @h0ney-fiction. she’s short, sweet, n’ dirty ;)

this is barely proofread whoops. but i hope this makes up for my inactivity on here! i miss yall bad!!!!

content warnings: smut. duh. unprotected sex. semi-exhibitionism. pet names. dirty talk. just filthy shit, babe!

wordcount: ~4.1k

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

“Huh?”

Hanging out backstage before a wrestling show never failed to be the most slow moving, agonizing passage of time on the planet.

You were back here in this clammy backstage area with your boyfriend, Punk.

The two of you had started dating fairly recently, though you were roped in and incorporated into his world of pro-wrestling before he even officially asked you to be his girlfriend.

Of course, you ended up right where it all began. On a Saturday night. At the venue that was home to his wrestling promotion.

Punk was laying down flat on a workout bench, tossing a tennis ball up into the air while mindlessly staring at the ceiling. You were sitting cross legged on the floor beside him, twirling around your shoelaces as you asked him to repeat his question.

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done? Like, ever.”

“I don’t think I understand what you’re asking,” you say, glancing up at the blond whose hair was fanned out and hanging above the floor.

“Have you ever like, stolen something? Or beaten someone up? Or cursed out your mom or whatever?”

You chuckle at your boyfriend’s meandering, “Why are you asking me this exactly?”

“I dunno— I’m curious. I wanna see if there’s a bad side to you.”

You roll your eyes, Punk glances at you with a smirk.

“A bad side? Really?”

“C’mon, there’s gotta be something. I know you’re not the perfect little angel that you claim to be.”

Punk sits up straight, catching the tennis ball out of the air one final time before he spins to face your seat on the floor. He rests his elbows onto his knees, cradling his chin in his hand with a pouty lip.

“Hm. Or how about this— what’s something you’ve always wanted to do, but never found anyone crazy enough to do it with you?”

“Punk, you have a match in like what, an hour? I don’t think going out and crossing shit off my bucket list is the best idea in the interest of time.”

“Damn, you’re no fun. What are you, my manager?” He sneers.

“Kind of, yeah.”

With a huff and a groan, Punk is up on his feet. He extends his hand to you, inviting you to stand up with him.

“I’m sorry this shit’s so boring when I’m not out there,” he says, pushing his lips to the side while helping you stand up, “Feels like I owe you one for putting you through this type of torture.”

“Eh, not really. I’d probably be at home on the couch watching Real Housewives if it weren’t for this. Saturday nights were never eventful until I met you”

You glanced up at Punk’s face; his eyes were slightly hazy, possibly due to the overall lack of sleep he’s been getting since he started getting booked for more matches. Through the darkness of his under eye bags, you could still see those pretty green irises, sparkling when they met yours. His pupils were blown, his face was slick with a light coating of sweat, his hair was somehow already soaked and pushed out of his face.

“God, what I wouldn’t do to be laid up on your couch watching Real Housewives with you right now.”

He takes that hand of yours and pulls you into his chest, planting a soft kiss on your cheek.

“Maybe that’s something to look forward to when you’re out there. Y’know, a bit of motivation.”

Your hand makes its way to his chest, barren of tattoos, but begging to be beneath a needle.

“Keep touching me like that and we’ll see if we even make it to your couch.”

Your eyebrow quirks up in intrigue, Punk’s moody face was a tell all. He was already dressed in his wrestling gear: shorts, boots, knee-pads and all. But there was nothing stopping you from being a bit of a tease, especially since you knew you’d be thoroughly satisfied by the time you stepped over the threshold of your front door later.

“Is that a threat?” you ask, egging him on to see if he’s really in the same headspace as you.

“Maybe. Could be a promise, if you’d like.”

“Hm.”

You continue on with the little game you were playing, running the hand that laid flat upon his chest towards the nape of his neck and up behind his ear. You held your hand there, keeping his face locked into yours as his eyes bounced in a triangle. Eyes, then lips.

“We’ve got a bit of time to kill,” Punk purrs as you let your nails gently drag against his scalp; similar to that of a loving cat.

“An hour and fifteen minutes.”

Your voice was smooth, dripping off your lips like honey. Naturally, Punk was there to catch those sweet nothings and collect you into a kiss. You gasp at the roughness of his actions, suddenly completely engulfed in his arms as his tongue begins to tangle with yours.

“Baby,” you chuckle into his lips, your teeth knocking into one another, “I’d rather not do this back here.”

He pulls away from you, keeping a steady hand at the small of your back, “Why not? Nobody’s gonna come looking for me for at least another hour.”

“Okay, but what if somebody does,” you roll your eyes, pushing back on his insisting; something that you rarely ever do, “What if someone busts the door down? Sees us fucking around. Gets extremely offended over it. One thing leads to another and then boom, you’re fired.”

“You may be overthinkin’ it now, sweet pea. But we could make the location change if it’s gonna bother you.”

Still tangled up in Punk’s arms, an idea blinks in your mind. Punk’s question from earlier enters the forefront of all of your logic.

Something you’ve always wanted to do, but never met anyone crazy enough to do it with you.

Your face lights up at your own internal monologue, but Punk looks at you with an eyebrow pinned to his forehead.

“You alright?” he asks, but you had already pulled away from him and grabbed him by his forearm. He jumps at the feeling of your nails digging into his skin, face twisted in confusion.

“Remember what you asked me earlier?”

“Yup.”

“Were you implying that you’re the one who's crazy enough?”

“I’m sorry—?”

You keep firing questions at him, your eyes narrowing with the challenge, “Are there still buses out back?”

“I— I think so?—”

“Are those buses hard to break into?”

“Uh, I doubt it.”

“Perfect.”

Without giving Punk a moment to process anything that had just occurred, you were off and running, leaving him trailing behind you as you bolted down the hall.

“You’re insane,” Punk huffs, catching up to your speed as you finally slid to a stop next to the door.

“Not insane. Just bored— and horny.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Thanks a lot for that last bit, by the way.”

You giggle innocently as you pull open the door, allowing Punk to catch it from behind you and hold it open for you to run out into the parking lot.

It was a race of thudding feet along the blacktop; you’d set your sights on one of the crew buses that was parked in the very back of the lot, only lit up by a single streetlamp from above.

“Hurry up, slowpoke!” You tease, already having made it to the three little steps that lead up to the bus door.

“Jesus Christ,” he huffs, finally making it beside you, “where’d you learn to run so fast?”

“I watch a lot of Animal Planet. Those gazelles are the shit.”

Punk rolls his eyes at your comment. The both of you collect your breath, and stand at the foot of the little steel steps.

“So, did you have a plan? Or was this just a test to see if I’ve been paying attention to you?”

“I was actually hoping you’d take it from here.”

“You want me to break into this fucking bus? Are you out of your mind?”

You shrug, tugging at the hem of your shirt, “Maybe a little.”

With another loud huff, Punk steps up to the door of the bus. It was clearly unoccupied, most likely one of the buses used to transport crew members and equipment whenever Punk’s promotion had a show that was far away.

Despite not being a wrestler yourself, you’d already known this place, and how it operates, like the back of your hand. So when Punk accidentally leaned on the door and it slid open without any actual force, you passed him a wicked smile.

“See?” he brushes off his shoulder, leaning onto the doorway with a cool and collected elbow, “Told you it’d be easy.”

You and Punk quickly scurry inside of the bus, feeling out its spacious interior and being led only by the light of that street lamp outside. There were couches, a table accompanied by a large circular booth, even a chest of drawers for storage.

Whoever’s bus this was had to have broken the bank.

“There’s gotta be a light switch in here,” Punk mumbles. You had already found a comfortable spot on one of the couches, perched on your knees.

“I’m sure there is. But I’d imagine a light switch would be more useful to us if the bus was actually running.”

You glance over at your beau, who was scratching his head in confusion. His toned body somehow glistened even more in the moonlight, making you chew on the inside of your cheek.

“It’s dark in here,” he grumbles, his arms crossed.

“Stop whining.”

He whips his head to face you, his hand cradling his cheek, “Excuse me?”

“I said, stop whining. We’re alone now, aren’t we? We’ve got about an hour to do whatever the hell we want and here you are, complaining about the lack of ambient lighting like a crabby old man.”

Punk’s confused, blasé face quirked up into a smile. He was now watching you like a predator stalking its prey, his eyes bouncing down to the frayed hem of your denim shorts.

“You’ve got a big fuckin’ mouth, honey,” he chuckles dryly, taking a large step towards you, “I oughta’ shut you up.”

“Shut me up?” you scoff, blush pink flooding your cheeks as you shift down to sit on your ass, “I’d like to see you try.”

A deep set laugh leaves Punk’s chest, shaking his head in dismay as he’s finally inches away from you. He towers over your sitting body, his hands on his hips in condescension.

He doesn’t say a word. He just glares down at you.

“What? What’s that face? Want me to admit that I’ve been a bad girl?”

“Watch that mouth,” he warns.

You giggle at his stern warning tone.

Punk was never hard to read; his eyes gave away everything you needed to know about what he was thinking at any given moment. He crouches down to be level with you, taking your chin in a fistful and swiping at your bottom lip with his thumb. The action alone makes your stomach turn.

“You’ve got a lot of balls for a girl who’s never done anything wrong in her life.”

“Well, I was hoping to change that tonight,” you swallow, your gaze drifting down to his pierced lip.

“Mmmh. You sneaky little thing. Maybe I am the one who’s crazy enough to help you cross this off your bucket list.”

Without warning, Punk is enveloping your lips into a rough and rigid kiss. The force of his body pushes you backwards, as he slides smoothly on top of you.

You hum into his mouth, letting your hands wander across his bare back and scratch faint lines across it with your manicured nails.

It was all happening so fast. His knee wedged between your legs while his hands caressed your torso and roamed to the hem of your cropped baby tee. You knew that the two of you had to be quick— there’s always a first time for everything.

“Do me a favor,” he murmurs, his words crashing into your lips, “Get this shirt off, would you?”

The two of you work in tandem in undressing yourselves. Though Punk hadn’t many articles of clothing to shed, you admired how he took just enough time to match your pace. His wrestling shorts were now pooled to his ankles and kicked to the floor, while your baby tee and denim shorts sat in a haphazard little pile beside you.

Your lover takes a moment to fully drink you in, eyeing your sternum where a dainty bow was sewn onto the center of your bra. He licks his lips, you laugh in turn.

“Want this off too?” You purr, suddenly forced to crane your neck as he dives in to attack it with open mouthed kisses.

“No. Keep it on. It’s pretty. You look damn good in pink.”

His clipped words make you smile, trying your hardest to choke back expletives when he starts to swirl his tongue around the tender love bites he was leaving.

“Punk,” you eventually choke out, “We’ve gotta be quick.”

He groans at your observation. Punk didn’t want this moment to fly by. He lived to worship you. He pleasured you like it was the air that kept him alive.

But Punk had yet to see the side of you that a tour bus rendezvous had you tapping into.

You could already feel the arousal that pooled in your panties; something about such a high stakes situation had you bothered enough to feel ready for him. To prove your dedication, you snatch up his wrist, shoving his hand down into your underwear and gasping innocently, like you weren’t expecting a thing.

Your jaw hangs open, Punk’s face mirrors yours.

“Jesus Christ, you’re this wet already?”

The only semblance of a thought you could muster was a wimpy moan. Especially since Punk had taken the liberty of rubbing slow circles around your clit.

“What am I to do with you, sweet pea? You’re already such a fuckin’ mess. I’ve barely even touched you.”

You bite your lip, stifling your moans as your fingertips claw at his back. Punk ducks down as if he’d read your mind, angling his ear close to your sputtering lips.

“Take care of me. Please?”

A wicked smile graces Punk’s cheeks. The desperation of your words set off a lightbulb in his mind. His attention is caught by the mirror that just so happened to be installed on the wall above the couch.

“Sit up. And turn around.”

You follow his command like an obedient dog, sliding out from under him and posing yourself on the couch. Your back was arched, your wrists were slightly trembling. It took you a moment longer to notice the mirror after he did— but the second you locked eyes with your own reflection, your dazed head popped back into place.

Punk stands behind your willing position, his silhouette backlit by moon beams. He runs his hands down his abdomen, taking a bit of a breather to size you up.

“Didn’t know it was a dream of yours to get fucked in a tour bus,” he comments, running a hand along your bare ass and gracing it with a smack. You jolt forward at the impact, your face melting in pure bliss as he rubs his hand along where he’d just bruised.

“It’s not. But you made me feel like a chump for not starting fights with my mom and stealing shit from the mall when I was a kid.”

You spoke, but Punk’s mind was far elsewhere. His body was almost perfectly aligned with yours, his hips jutting forward to graze his dick against your backside.

“Hey, if this is your idea of crazy shit, I think we should sit down and write ourselves another damn’ bucket list. No complaints here, sweet pea.”

He moves his hands down your back again, stopping at the dip in your spine. You were already gazing at him through the mirror like a lovesick puppy, just waiting on his next move.

“Got a condom?” You ask quietly, hating to sound like you were rushing things despite the obvious time crunch.

“Eh, I know what to do.”

It didn’t take long for Punk to give you what you were silently pleading for, as he pushed your lacy underwear to the side and ran two fingers up your dripping slit. He hisses at the semblance of you, his dick already imprinted against his briefs.

“God, baby. You’re picture fuckin’ perfect,” he compliments you through the mirror, his eyes bouncing down to your teeth that were sunken into your bottom lip.

“Save the compliments, Punk. Please. We don’t have time.”

“What?” he hums, “I can’t take a sec’ to stop and sniff the flowers?”

His hand was now on his own erection, stroking it above his underwear and taunting you with the slow snaps of his wrist.

“No, you can’t.”

Punk’s eyebrows shoot up, “Say that again?”

You shake your head in impatience, “No, you—”

Punk clips your words short by reaching out to cup your chin. He pulls your head back roughly, leaning down into your ear. Your jaw clenches at the feeling of his blistered palm, unable to control the desperate whimper that slipped out of you when his cock pressed against your heat once more.

“Don’t be smart,” he grumbles lowly, taking back the power that was, somehow, once yours, “I know you like it rough.”

A part of you couldn’t help but smile at his words, his condescending tone sparking immediate fireworks in your core. The two of you found your unspoken rhythm early on into your relationship, and right now was no exception. Your soft little whimpers and pleas muffled by the back of your wrist told Punk everything he needed to know.

He immediately dives into action, freeing his cock from his briefs and lending it a few warm up strokes. His eyebrows were knit into a steady, concentrated line. One that just proved he was scanning each and every single one of your features to remember exactly how you looked whilst bent over at his disposal.

‘Ready for me, baby?” he asks quietly, now examining the sight of your exposed pussy and hissing at the mere thought of you wrapped around him.

“Mhm.”

Punk plunges into you without much of a warning. A loud, collective sigh fills the walls of the bus and suddenly, you’re seeing stars after less than a minute. His thrusts start slow, taking his time to grab at your hips and leave bruises just above the bone. You were so caught up in the thrill of it all. The threat of anybody at all walking in here and seeing you completely engulfed in the rocking of your boyfriend’s hips. But just as you begin to drift away, your walls instinctively tighten when his speed begins to pick up.

“Holy fuck,” Punk stutters, “God, you’re fuckin’ tight. Could fuck you all night.”

Your moans were broken up like that of a worn down engine, the sounds you were attempting to make caught behind your throat and funnelling out in sad little puffs. Punk could tell from your unresponsiveness that you wanted more— for your big, slightly teary eyes in the mirror said it all.

“Wanna go faster baby?”

You spared him a pathetic nod, your fingernails now gripping onto the couch as he started to slam into you; over and over again.

The sounds of arousal and echoing skin replaced the expletives that tumbled from your lips, bouncing off the walls of the bus and sounding like pure music to Punk’s ears.

“Look at me,” he barks, his eyes steady set in the mirror.

His wish was your command, popping your eyes up through newly formed tears.

“Atta’ girl, look at that sweet face. Sweet like fuckin’ candy, baby.”

His cock continued to stretch your walls to the point where your back was starting to ache, your wrists were growing tired from the sheer force of holding up your own body weight. But Punk knew what to do with your quickly dwindling strength; he held you tightly, thumbs pressing into the small of your back as he continued to mumble and groan sweet nothings into your ear.

“Punk—” your hushed groans quickly turned into a cadence of whines, “Oh my God, please, I’m so fuckin’ close.”

“Yeah? You like that? You like gettin’ fucked in the mirror, slut?”

The rigid nickname only further ignited the fire burning in your abdomen. You were tempted to fall limp under his spell, but kept your neck craned just enough to see the sweat that rolled down his forehead as he looked at you like he was ready to eat you alive.

“Yes, yes. Fuck— yes!”

Punk’s hands moved across your back sharply and roughly, keeping you grounded as his cock continued to stretch you full and hit that spot with each and every thrust. The adrenaline had your heart racing, Punk was almost spent— you could tell by the way his dirty words came to a slowdown as he lost himself within you.

“Gonna’ cum baby, fuck me you’re perfect. Naughty fuckin’ girl—”

That wave of pleasure that once sat idly in your abdomen had become too much to bear, as your orgasm abruptly crashed over you and momentarily paralyzed your senses. A haze fogged your vision when he suddenly pulled out of you, leaving you catching your breath and trembling.

“Baby—” Punk murmurs, “Where do you want me?”

It was hard enough to gather the air back into your lungs, let alone a thought, but in your daze, you acted fast, and twisted around to lay your back onto the couch.

You reached out and pulled Punk’s hips towards you, gracing him with a sloppy kiss just above his belly button as he grunted in pleasure. His orgasm was imminent, with one hand wrapped around his throbbing cock and the other now laced in your hair.

“Mmmh—” you say, wordlessly, before sticking out your tongue.

Punk chuckles, shaking his head in condescending dismay, “You’re too fuckin’ good to me— y’know that?”

A few more strokes and Punk was finally fully spent, releasing himself all over your tongue and lips. Hot liquid spilled out of him and dripped onto your chin, leaving you painted in a mess that either of you would be more than willing to clean up.

“Fuck.”

One final groan had Punk dropping to his knees, finally level with your face. In your daze and flushed cheeks, he takes your face in his hand, scooping up your lips in his with a big, sloppy kiss.

“Mmh, made a mess,” you meander, your eyes still fluttering from being whipped through space and time.

“It’s alright, sweet pea. Y’took it like a champ.”

You couldn’t help but pull him back in for another kiss— one that was sweeter, and more tender. The sight of Punk on his knees made your stomach lurch, but that seemed to be an entirely different bridge that you were not yet willing to cross.

After a few more pecks to each other’s lips and plenty of giggles, the two of you sat beside one another, basking in the aftermath in a tour bus that belonged to neither of you. Punk’s hands mindlessly traced circles across your restless thighs, his face much more relaxed than it was in the locker room.

“You think anyone else has christened this bus?” He jokes.

“Not like we did,” you reply, turning your head to gaze into his tired, viridian eyes.

“Hm. Good to know. Makes me wonder what else— or, I guess, where else— is on that bucket list of yours.”

“You’ll find out eventually,” you smile, chest rattling with laughter, “Maybe the bucket list was the friends we made along the way.”

“Don’t gimme that bullshit,” Punk sits up, pulling you with him, his eyebrows knitting, “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of plans. And now, I’m determined to get them outta’ you.”

“Whatever floats your boat,” you shrug nonchalantly, before standing up and brushing yourself off, “Now hurry up and get dressed.”

Punk’s forehead raises, “What for?”

A small smile spreads across your face; little did Punk know, despite your desire to savor the moment, you’ve been keeping an eye on the clock this entire time.

“Oh Punk, you’re the cutest,” you hum, slipping back into your baby tee, “but cute will only get you so far. You’ve got a match in ten minutes.”

[mayora97]

I'm usually with the Lily critical posts, but I don't think this level of blame is warranted. Just because I do believe she thought she was helping.

She told Severus he was wrong for hanging around aspiring deatheaters and going as far as breaking curfew to stalk the marauders around in order to catch them doing something wrong.

Is this bad advice? No. It's actually excellent advice.

Is it fair to shift all the blame and responsibility on to Snape to have 'better' friends and deal perfectly with the constant stream of harassment and bullying from the marauders?

Is it helpful to ignore all context and go straight to looking at Snape's faults and shortcomings?

Is it mindful to take the time to nag at James WHILE Severus is suspended in the air, upside down, blood rushing to his head for like a solid 10 minutes, after being quite viciously and randomly attacked, when a simple hex to the back of Potters head would've at least afforded Severus some dignity, stability and time to recover.

... I'd say no. And man do the interactions between Severus and Lily stress me out.

Lily is trying to be helpful by giving unsolicited advice, holding people accountable, and telling them how they should handle themselves. I don't think she's being manipulative or self-righteous. I think she's incapable of understanding why someone like Snape would struggle to 'act right' because she's comparing it to how she would handle it. How she handles Petunia's bullying, the glaring racism from the purebloods, and James's... err.. attention.

Not taking into account that, unlike her, Snape:

1. Snape was born into poverty and raised in a chaotic and unsafe household

2. Was clearly neglected and overly self-reliant (dressing himself in mismatched, oversized, clothes and taking it upon himself to teach Lily about magic) meaning this kid has had no guidance, has had to 'wing it' with limited recources all his life, and is grasping for any sense of belonging or self-worth

3. Likely enstranged from everyone in their muggle neighborhood besides Lily, so little to no practice with social interactions outside of their little friendship that he has had to 'earn' by teaching her things she might find interesting

4. I'm not saying he's definitely autistic, but... the obsession/hyperfixation with dark arts, struggling impossibly to explain things to Lily, pissing James off in the train on accident (if his suprise at his reaction is anything to go by), the intense eye contact, the way he walks, the way he talks, not reading the cues when Sirius practically lead him to his death. Like, the full list of signs can be a post by itself, but any of these will make you very unliked/unsafe even to the best of your efforts/intentions.

5. The marauders don't treat her anything like the way they treat Snape, just as the deatheater hopefuls treat Snape differently than how they treat her.

6. Snape has never known a day without disrespect. I don't think he was excluded from being called a mudblood by his housemates (or his mother for that matter), and I don't think it registered as the worst of his worries. His experience of this word wouldn't be the same as Lily, and while you can blame him for abusing others with it, he can't be blamed for feeling whichever way about it when it applies to him too.

7. Lily being non-compliant in Gryffindor gets her somewhat nagged at by her friends. Severus being in Slytherin and non compliant can get him targeted and blacklisted. The consequences just aren't the same.

8. After years of magical education, both of them are essentially incompetent in the muggle world. But if they had to resort to moving back, at least Lily has her family for support, whereas Severus has his family as an additional detriment.

9. Lily is never critisized, and people NEED someone to hold a mirror to them in order to improve. Whereas Severus is constantly criticized and invalidated no matter what, so where tf is he supposed to go if left, right, up, down, backwards, and forwards, are all the wrong answer deserving of divine and worldly punishment?

It makes sense that Lily gets frustrated and feels done with Severus because he's refusing to take her advice and 'be better'. It makes sense that she prioritizes her own happiness when it becomes clear that nothing she says or does to 'help' Severus pays off. To her, he never shows a sign of improvement or even readiness to follow her advice.

She's a child. She's not a therapist. She's not clairvoyant. Her empathy and understanding of the world are limited. Her energy and time are limited. The weight of trauma and the lens of a neurodivergent person are unfamiliar to her.

To ask her to be a good friend to Snape is like giving abstract algebra to someone who gets good grades in math. The support that Snape needs is beyond anything that can be reasonably asked of one teenage girl. Especially while they are both trapped in an environment that compounds and preys on his trauma, and demands of them to pick one of two sides.

Not to mention her own circumstances. She's being asked to give loyalty to someone who is prancing around with people who wish her 'sort' harm, never truly knowing who Severus feels loyalty to until she pretty much got her answer. She's being pressured by her peers, under a ton of stress because of the political environment at the time, she's the only somewhat reliable prefect from Gryffindor, her sister is an asshole so she is always around at least one or more asshole not knowing a day of peace from the unrelenting assholeness of people... Give her a break.

Blame any of the adults.

Lily Evans was incredibly lucky that Severus had his self-esteem in the negatives and was emotionally dependent on her because if it had been me, and a so-called friend watched me get bullied and abused for years by a gang of rich kids she lowkey thought were funny (like, seriously, that alone is insane), and then gaslit me about the abuse I was experiencing, only to cut me off because I lashed out under intense emotional distress… I swear, I’d lose it.

Like, no, I wouldn’t literally hurt her, but if I’d been Severus Snape, I’d either have smashed her smug little face in or come up with a twisted, slow-burn revenge plot to make her beg for mercy.

Lily Evans: the queen of double standards and moral inconsistency. No sense of loyalty, no real ethics, absolutely no personal code.