I beg y’all please help or share. Lost my job June 16 alongside 2 Black employees. I currently need help with an urgent utility hardship. My electricity has been disconnected since June 24, leaving me without refrigeration, cooking access, or laundry.
Daryl Dixon x Female Reader • Prison Era • Fluff • Hurt Comfort • No smut but sexual innuendo • Established relationship • short fic •
Summary: Daryl gets hurt during gate duty, and is too stubborn to get checked. Reader offers to kiss it better.
Hershel sat on one of the cell block benches, carefully dabbing antiseptic over the scrapes on Carl's knees after the boy had taken a tumble in the yard.
Nearby, Daryl lingered against the railing, favoring his left arm as he watched the scene with growing indecisiveness, unsure if to go get his arm checked or just man it up and let it be.
Hershel was still recovering from the loss of his leg so Daryl believed that he didn't need another patient crowding him while he was tending someone already.
Out of habit, he reached for his cantee with his injured arm and winced, before giving up and grabbing it with his left hand.
That noise of discomfort was enough for her to drop her book and stand from her spot at the bottom of the metal steps to the top cells.
Before Daryl could leave the room, she stepped into his path. "You've been avoiding using that arm all day. I've noticed," she said, matter-of-factly.
He narrowed his eyes. "You spyin' on me, woman?"
She folded her arms. "When am I not?"
He scoffed, weirdly flattered. "It ain't worth botherin' him over it," he muttered, pointing his chin towards the cell where Hershel worked.
"So let me take a look intead."
"Ain't broke."
"No," she agreed, "but if you keep pretending it isn't injured, you might make it worse."
"An' since when're ya a doctor, sweetheart?"
"Since when are you this stubborn, Daryl? Just sit down."
He looked ready to argue, but instead he lowered his gaze, grumbled something under his breath, then took a seat at the nearest empty bench.
She gently turned his arm, careful not to jostle it, but still, he hissed. "Easy, yer handlin' a livin' person not a walker."
"Shh, just want to see how bad it is..."
Daryl huffed, feigning annoyance even as he let her fuss over him. He had to admit, he didn't mind it as much as he thought he would. Having her so close, tending to him with gentle hands, made something warm settle in his chest.
Her brows were knitted together in concentration, as though scowling at the bruising hard enough might shame it into healing faster, and, who knows, maybe it would.
He hissed through his teeth as she gently eased his arm into a folded position against his chest. Once it was settled, she tied the ends of the wrap into a secure knot over his shoulder, keeping his arm comfortably supported.
"There," she murmured. "It's just for a few days so don't take it off, unless you plan on showering, but that's just hope talking."
"Funny."
Daryl then immediately reached for the wrap.
She swatted him. "What did I just say?"
He lifted his free hand in surrender. "Alright, alright."
She inspected the arm sling one last time before tilting her head. "Does it hurt?"
"Nah."
"Oh?" She nodded thoughtfully. "Guess I don't have to kiss it better, then." She hummed to herself as she slowly turned on her heel, as if about to leave.
But then—
"...It does hurt."
She paused mid-step and glanced back over her shoulder, doing her best to keep her expression neutral. "Hmm?"
Daryl rubbed the back of his neck with his good hand, cheeks warming beneath dirt. "Got confused with the heat an' all... Didn't hear ya right the first time."
A grin spread across her face. "So it does hurt? Awww."
His eyes widened at that patronizing sound. "Never mind, dammit!"
"Too damn late," she teased, reaching into her back pocket. She pulled out something that looked like a black bullet. After removing the cap and twisting the bottom, it revealed itself as red lipstick.
"This right here has healing properties," she said, twisting the lipstick up, "but only with multiple applications…so I will have to keep checking on you. Yep, Doctor's orders."
"Ya makin' fun of me?"
She applied her lipstick with practiced ease, a skill all on its own without a mirror, then pressed her lips together. "Never," she whispered. "Now hold still for me."
She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder right below the edge of his leather vest, lingering a moment longer than necessary.
His whole body went rigid, ears burning red as he fixed his gaze on the opposite wall, refusing to look at her. She continued her descent down his arm, unhurried, each kiss warm and soft, leaving behind a trail of lipstick marks that only made him more flustered.
When she reached his bicep, just above the edge of the wrap, she settled there, feeling the strength beneath her lips. She didn't move on right away this time, letting the moment stretch.
Then she looked up at him, and he finally flicked his gaze toward her from the corner of his eye, cautious, almost shy.
She gave his bicep one last kiss before resting her hand gently on the wrap. "Poor baby," she cooed. "You won't be able to use this arm for a while..."
Daryl forgot how to breathe, his face somehow turned even redder. Damn her
"...But I'll lend you a hand whenever you need it."
He groaned at the suggestion—because there was no way in hell she could look at him with those hooded eyes, like she wanted to be dragged back to their cell in the middle of the day, and not mean it any other way.
"Y/N—"
She pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him. "You should let others take care of you more often," she whispered, her voice now gentle intead of teasing. "So don't hide when you're hurt, okay? Not from me."
He turned his head away. "Don' wanna be weak, is all..."
"You're not weak, Daryl." She cupped his cheek so he'd look at her. "But you are made of skin and bones and that has its disadvantages... You take care of me, and you don't think I'm weak, do you?"
He sighed, then kissed her palm. "Nah... Real pain in the ass, though." He muttered, pulling her in by the waist with his good hand until she was settled between his legs.
She giggled leaning forward to rest her forehead against his. Noses brushing, his eyes fluttering shut.
"Come on, let's take a nap."
His grip on her waist tightened. "Yes, ma'am."
Quick fic I wanted to write after I saw this silly picture on my feed:
leon’s daughter learns the word no and uses it the whole day. fluff. 0.9k wc.
leon has handled worse in the past. he’s sure of it. he’s been shot at, chased, infected with deadly viruses, and thrown into abysmal situations where the only plan was to survive and improvise. this, however? this shouldn’t be harder than that, right?
he should’ve known today was going to be difficult the second his daughter woke up and discovered the power of the word no. since breakfast, she’d used it for everything. she used it when she was angry. she used it when she was happy. she used it when she agreed with something. sometimes she even used it while actively doing the thing she was supposedly refusing to do.
now, as the evening settled outside the windows and painted the living room gold, the toddler stood by the front door, bouncing excitedly. “outside!”
“yeah, kiddo,” leon said, grabbing her tiny sneakers. “outside. now c’mere.”
the smile on her face immediately vanished. “no.”
“no outside?” he asked, confused.
“outside!” came the enthusiastic reply.
“okay.” leon crouched down in front of her. “then let’s put your shoes on.”
“no!” she declared, jerking her foot away, making leon miss the shoe entirely.
your daughter sat heavily on the floor, arms crossed and bottom lip sticking out in pure stubbornness.
“sweetheart,” he tried again, gentler this time, “can i put your shoes on?”
“no.”
“can mommy put your shoes on?”
“no.”
“can the president of the united states put your shoes on?”
and she actually seemed to consider it for a moment, before the expected reply came, “no.”
“mm, thought so.” for a minute, leon simply sat beside her, scratching the back of his neck and looking at the tiny sneakers as if they held all the answers. leon was beginning to suspect that whoever said toddlers were easy had never actually met one. now that wasn’t to say he didn’t love her. if anything, experience had taught him that trying to out-stubborn a toddler was like trying to fist-fight a tornado. eventually, he gave up and asked, “what shoes do you want to wear?”
now that got her attention and tears stopped before they’d even started. when she pointed to the front door, leon followed her finger, pointing to the pair of black combat boots sitting there. his boots.
“no, bug...” he tried to reason with her.
her tiny finger, however, remained steady. “papa boots.”
he knew there was no trying to reason with her. that simply wouldn’t work. still, leon looked towards you for help. you had a digicam in your hand, recording the whole thing and trying not to laugh. playing this at her highschool graduation dinner and embarrassing her would be so fun. “she’s got a point,” you said.
“how?” he chuckled at the ridiculousness of it.
“i don’t know?? toddler logic.”
your toddler waddled over to the boots and wrapped both her arms around one of them. it looked ridiculous. the boots were as long as her entire leg. leon sighed and gave in.
five minutes later came tantrum number two when leon wouldn’t let her wear his boots without socks.
tantrum number three happened because he put the left boot on first.
tantrum number four occurred because he’d tried to zip up her jacket. “no!” she cried.
“you don’t want to wear your jacket?”
“no.”
“what jacket do you want?”
and at the question, the toddler pointed at the leather jacket leon was wearing. “you want my jacket?” he asked, and she nodded vigorously in reply.
thankfully, there were no more tantrums after that. by the time you three finally made it outside, leon felt like he had survived a boss fight. your toddler, however, was delighted. papa’s boots and papa’s jacket? oh, this was the best day ever.
she waddled down the sidewalk happily and with all the confidence in the world. leon had to fold the sleeves of his jacket up six times, and it still nearly swallowed her whole and the hem nearly touched the ground.
his boots were even worse. every step was an adventure. clomp. pause. wobble. clomp. the boots slid and slipped around her tiny feet so much she looked like a baby duck learning how to walk.
but she was beaming, and that is what mattered. plus leon was careful, helping her each time she wobbled. every few steps, she’d look down at herself, visibly remembering what she was wearing, and wobble.
“papa boots!” she chirped happily.
leon nodded proudly.
“papa jacket!!”
“yes, bug.”
she took another few steps and then she held up her arms dramatically. “papa!”
the declaration was so proud, it made leon laugh warmly. “that’s right, bug. papa.”
she giggled and continued her impossible journey down the sidewalk. after about thirty feet, she got tired and demanded uppies. leon lifted her effortlessly and immediately she curled against his chest, tiny hands grabbing at the collar of his shirt.
“you know,” you said, walking beside them, “she just wanted to match with you.”
“yeah.” leon smiled warmly, looking down at the little girl already getting sleepy against his chest. and then, smugly, to tease you, “my outfits are obviously cooler. she has inherited my fine taste.”
“sure,” you rolled your eyes playfully, cracking a fond smile nonetheless. when you looked at your daughter, she looked ridiculous, really. one boot almost dangling off her foot. ridiculously adorable. but also impossibly happy.
“papa...” your daughter yawned softly, the hold of her tiny hand gripping his collar tightened.
“yeah, sweetheart,” he whispered back, kissing the top of her head.
this time, there was no no. just a content little hum as she snuggled deeper into papa’s jacket, perfectly satisfied now that she looked just like papa.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Disgustingly loving sex (sorry). Soft dom!Simon Talks You Through It™️ Creampie. Brief mention of Reader’s insecurities w sex
Note: I’m on Instagram now (kinda), come say hi :-)
Word count: 2.1k
It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried before.
You’d had your fair share of lovers and experienced more than a good deal of fun. With everyone in the past, climax came the same way, every single time: clitoral stimulation, and clitoral stimulation alone.
By this point in your life, you suspected your g-spot was probably just a figment of your imagination, no more real than Atlantis, Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy.
That was, until, you met your boyfriend, Simon.
And things had only been official for a week.
You and him had fooled around a handful of times—made love, as he called it, and kissed and cuddled and occasionally dry-humped until the two of you were both panting, groaning messes—but all of this was new. Simon was still learning you, as you were him.
He finished between your tits. You came on his tongue. He fingered you to the point of tears, and you learned how to touch his sac just right to get him to blow his load in seconds. On this night in particular, you were fucking missionary, and holding hands while you did.
Lovesick puppies, Price would say. Neither one of you seemed able to unglue your lips or unlace your fingers or keep your hips from colliding again and again and again in frantic search of the other’s furthest depths. You were perfectly wrapped up, with no desire to move
Except, you needed to reach down between your bodies to actually get off. That was a minor detail.
You didn’t think the man above you would mind if you moved your touch from his, but then that grip tightened the second you tried pulling away.
“Keep it there, lovie. Like holding you like this,” he said.
You enjoyed it, too. It was intimate, and sweet, and with your hands pinned on either side of you, locked securely in his, you felt safe. You just couldn’t finish.
“But I…I need to come,” you whispered against him. You rolled your hips and felt his cock twitch inside you.
Simon grunted, then swallowed. Nodded slowly.
“Yeah. I’ll get you there. Feel this?”
He slid deeper for emphasis.
You didn’t.
You rarely did, or at least not in the way you figured you were supposed to get when something pressed there.
“I think…sort of, yeah,” you hedged your answer.
Don’t bruise his ego, don’t hurt his feelings.
This is all on me, Si, I promise it’s not you.
Cutting in over your thoughts, Simon moved swiftly. Took your hips in his big, strong hands, lifted up, and plunged his cock to the hilt. The girth of him was enough to knock the air out of your lungs, and you felt your walls stretch, sting, and weep sweet liquid warmth around that intrusion. You moaned.
“Better?” The man’s question was simple.
Before you could answer it, he was sliding a pillow underneath your backside. Sawing his long, thick, leaking cock in and out of you, he reached a new spot.
You made a face, feeling good from that but…strange.
Simon snatched your hands up again and planted them beside your head on the mattress. He thrusted steadily. He peppered kisses all over your face and your neck while the bed frame squeaked in time, and you had to dig your heels into his ass to ground yourself.
“Talk to me, baby. Can’t make it better if you don’t.”
“I—I know, I just can’t—”
At the same time, Simon tilted your hips slightly once more, and the tip of his cock kissed something soft and wet and dizzyingly pleasurable inside your body. A loud, embarrassing cry slipped out between your lips.
You wanted to clap a hand over your mouth, hating the way you’d just sounded, but your fingers were stuck to his. Simon grinned down at you, toothy and approving.
“Can’t do what, now, darlin’?”
The warm, bulbous head of his cock had found its mark, and he just kept prodding that spot, like it entertained him to do it. The fingers laced between your own constricted their grip even more, and Simon leaned down to kiss you while his cock carved a mind-numbing path. In between kisses, he praised you.
“That’s my girl. She’s likin’ it now, isn’t she?”
“Feel good when my cock hits that spot?”
“Your pussy’s fuckin’ soakin’ me, baby.”
But still, somehow, it just wasn’t quite enough.
Maybe you’d never found that place after all.
This was where most men gave up—after a few good minutes of fucking when their balls had gotten to be as swollen as stones and their bodies were aching for release, more often than not, they’d go off chasing their own high. That was when you usually started rubbing your clit, or waited for your partner to finish so they could get you off with their tongue or something.
You hated to feel like a burden, and you really despised the thought of being the reason your sweet Simon couldn’t get to orgasm. So you squirmed again.
Straining to reach down, to try and touch yourself, you whimpered, “Si, please, it just—it takes me too long—”
“Good thing we’ve got all night,” Simon replied bluntly.
Then, once again, he twisted your bodies like you were as soft and malleable as putty in his hands, and this time, he hitched one of your legs around his hip, high.
With one slow-rolling thrust and an audibly squelching sound, Simon’s cock stretched your hole to maximum capacity, and then a little more. Your juices leaked down his shaft, aiding the slide, and he stabbed in a few shallow strokes. Probing. Testing the waters, as if he were trying to find something hidden inside you.
You sucked in a breath. Simon’s gaze slid to yours.
“Let’s find that precious spot, lovie. Easy, now.”
Gently coaxing your body open, he drove a slow, measured pace. He split your cunt like it was the easiest thing in the world, delving within your wet, velvety heat to tease every contour and crevice of your pussy. His tip leaked precome. His balls glistened in your arousal and landed with the gentlest plap, plap, plaps while he explored your insides with his member.
It really was as simple as that, nothing more and nothing less than poking around. Having patience.
“S-Si,” you stammered, nose wrinkling slightly.
“What’s’at, baby? Got something to tell me?”
Like a teacher, almost, he pressed for more.
Like his cock was showing you something new about your body but he needed your help to tell him just how and where to find it, Simon took care to be kind. He smoothed a hand over the crown of your head and then cradled the back of it, one massive set of fingers splayed out against your skull and engulfing it wholly.
He still held onto your other hand tight.
Your cunt pulsed. Ached. Fluttered around him.
Stuffed to the brim, you had only to feel, and murmur:
“Higher.”
“Higher?”
“Um, to the…to the left.”
Simon tilted his hips left.
Yes.
That was just it. So close.
Almost…
Or, maybe…
“Maybe it just…isn’t there,” you huffed out, deflating. “Know you’re trying so hard, baby, but I think I can’t—”
Then Simon hit the same spot as before, only higher.
Just like you’d told him: to the left, and then…
“Oh, fuck,” you cursed. “Oh, fuckfuckfuck.”
The grin above you stretched even wider.
“There, lovie?” Simon goaded you on.
“Right there.” You nodded furiously.
A wave of pleasure swept through your limbs, from your core down to the soles of your feet. Your toes curled, and you squeaked, feeling Simon’s cock graze that soft, spongy, sensitive place—except he’d pushed in deeper. The sensation made your eyes roll back.
“Little dove doesn’t mind my pokin’ after all, huh?” Simon’s words were a tease, but you heard a strain in them, too. The second you were caught in the throes of real pleasure, your cunt must’ve clamped like a vice.
“Keep…keep pokin’, Si,” you choked out. “I like it.”
Your lover kept at it—poking from the inside.
The routine almost felt like losing your virginity all over again, together. Simon cradled your head, told you how good you were doing, how sweet you were for him, and you whimpered under his hold. Squirmed and clung to him for dear life, then kissed him feverishly.
Simon’s mouth was hard and hungry, his thrusts deep. His cock throbbed within the wet, clenching confines of your pussy, and he seemed to be going wild at the feeling. With the idea that he was driving you wild, too.
You realized as much when he whispered it to you.
“Could lose my bloody mind when you’re like this—” Another sharp, labored breath. Another shudder passing through his body when your insides squeezed. “—so why didn’t you talk? Ask for what you needed?”
Your voice was small. “Didn’t wanna be a bother.”
Your eyes were locked with Simon’s, and in his irises, you caught a shade of concern. It flared, hot as anything, then mixed with disbelief. Disappointment.
“Don’t be angry, Si, I—” you started, hurried.
“‘M’not.” Simon blinked. But he gritted his teeth, and he withdrew his cock until the head was bumping and teasing between your folds, then he shook his head. “It’s those fuckin’ pricks who should be sorry, yeah?”
The ones that you’d been with before.
You wanted to protest, insist that you were at least partly to blame, but you never got the opportunity.
Simon was back inside you in a blink.
Hitting that same spot again, and again, and again.
He grinned, the tic of a muscle in his jaw telling you that he was less amused this time around, but proud.
Vindicated.
“Well. It’s not like they’re ever gettin’ a chance in between these pretty legs again, are they, lovie?”
You nodded in agreement.
You smiled back at him, only to have that gentle curve falter a little when you felt Simon’s thrusts accelerate.
“Only thing that’s gonna touch this spot other’n my cock is my seed, splatterin’ all over your walls, right?”
When he gave a playful nip to your lower lip and squeezed your hand tighter, you knew that he meant it. The man had plunged so deep inside you that his pubic bone was now grinding against your skin, and the rest of him was buried. His balls, all full and warm and heavy with his release, rested firmly in your cleft.
And the steady, measured strokes of his cock landed with near-surgical precision on the G-spot you’d convinced yourself up until tonight didn’t exist.
Simon beamed. You were overcome with ecstasy.
“This it, lovie? This spot right ‘ere?” he cooed.
His cock bobbed against that gummy and indescribably dizzying place, causing your last moan to morph into something more akin to a shriek.
You nodded your head: “Y-Yes. Yes.”
“Feel good when I hit it?”
“Fucking perfect, Si.”
You sighed when the man bottomed out for what felt like the millionth time, and the pleasure never waned. He felt just as good now as he did when he first got in.
“Yeah? Gonna come on my cock then, pretty girl?”
“Yeah. I’m— I’m so close.”
“Go on then, love.”
And, shortly, you did.
Maybe three, four, five more stabs of his cock to your most precious, intimate place and you were unraveling beneath him, stars bursting in your line of vision. It seemed dramatic to say, but that was really what it came to—your mouth hanging open, eyes wide, gaze peering into Simon’s while he fucked you through the most intense orgasm of your life. You clung to him, and your walls spasmed again and again and again, milking the man’s release in the next few seconds. Simon shuddered and grit his teeth as he unloaded a thick, gooey load inside, dousing that spongy, body-numbing spot and then some. The two of you moaned in unison.
Your body was boneless, your head a hazy mess.
It took several seconds for your conscious mind to come back online fully, and when it did, Simon was leaning in again and planting kisses along your face.
“That’s my girl,” he murmured, breath fanning hot across your skin. “My perfect girl. You did so good.”
You smiled and caught his mouth for a proper kiss.
“Thank you,” you murmured against him.
Then Simon squeezed your hand—the one he’d been holding this entire time. He lifted it gently, like he was afraid too rough of a movement might split you in two.
He turned your wrist and kissed the back of your hand, eyes locked on yours and expression soft while he did.
If travel is a passion of yours (obviously, why else would you be here?), you’ll have heard the term overtourism. Whether it was Barcelona and Japan restricting the number of Airbnbs, Venice taxing day trippers introducing strict rules around where you can sit, or Croatia having to limit how many people can visit the city of Dubrovnik at one time—we’re pretty sure you’ll have seen a story on the news about travellers overcrowding destinations to the point where locals start to find it unlivable. In some cases, the location or attraction may even be damaged.
The EU welcomes 1.5 billion tourists every year, a staggering figure, and most of them visit the same spots. Newsflash, that’s where the problems begin. But what exactly is overtourism, and how can you make sure you’re doing your best to travel mindfully?
What is overtourism?
Responsible Travel defines overtourism as tourist activity that “diminishes the quality of life for local residents and creates a negative experience for visitors”. It occurs when too many travellers visit a single destination at the same time. When we say ‘too many’, we aren’t referring to a specific number, but how many people visit a town that is in excess to what their local facilities and infrastructure can service before things start to turn bad.
We’ve seen this happen in Barcelona, Japan and to a growing degree, Lisbon, as homes are rented out as holiday rentals to meet the lucrative tourist demand. This can force rental prices to increase so locals (in some cases) can no longer afford to live there. This causes a breakdown in that community and can lead to locals moving away, leaving it as a tourist town, completely void of the authentic culture travellers came there to see in the first place.
It’s not just people, either. Overtourism places a strain on the environment as pollution increases due to extra cars and flights in the area, waterways get polluted from overflowing trash and wildlife becomes affected when crowds of people disturb their homes. There are only so many people who can stand on the edge of the Grand Canyon at one time, for example, before it collapses and then no one can enjoy it. Maybe not, but you get the picture.
What are governments doing to stop overtourism?
In some places, government bodies are already policing tourism and putting restrictions in place to manage travellers. Venice is a famous example, with its many rules around tourist behaviour that may seem ridiculous until you experience the overcrowding first hand. Thailand is another well-known example, with the government choosing to close the idyllic island hot spot of Maya Bay due to tourist numbers destroying the pristine environment.
It’s a wait and see game in some cases, but in others, governments and official tourist bodies have found ways to manage tourism numbers. Dubrovnik for example: instead of turning visitors away, now makes cruise ships abide to a strict, assigned arrival time in the stunning port so there is less overcrowding.
Europe has been forward thinking when it comes to long term solutions and amongst their list of 169 sustainability goals they plan to reach by 2030, many items speak to overtourism, like managing numbers, welfare of citizens and visitors, and protecting the environment. Peru is another good example, where they have capped Inca Trail hiking permits to only 200 per day and close it entirely to visitors for one month every year. This has helped immensely with preserving the trail and manage numbers, while never diminishing its appeal to travellers.
How can you help stop overtourism?
Once you start to understand the impact of overtourism, it’s only logical that you then want to avoid contributing to the problem the next time you travel.
Last year, my partner and I visited Southern Italy and did a seven day cruise in the Mediterranean. My previous travels, and there had been many, had been during autumn and spring or at the end of the tourist seasons. I was shocked at the tourists in Rome, crushing crowds at every major attraction. I was part of it. I was a tourist.
And berthing on a damn big ship in Dubrovnik, there were four others in port spewing out hundreds of travellers.
What to do? Transport can be policed plus numbers to attractions, but we can’t draw a line as to who can visit.
But all is not lost! There are a few things you can do to help turn the tide on overtourism, and the answer definitely isn’t to stop travelling (never!), but rather, to spread the travel love:
How can we as tourists respect the environment we are landing on in big numbers? After all, no one wants an encounter with an angry local or to contribute to the demise of a beautiful destination. We all travel to discover cultures different to our own, and if locals are no longer able to live in these locations because they’ve been forced out, we as travellers are unable to have that authentic experiences while abroad.
Travel to places off the beaten track: visiting the grand European cities like Paris and Venice are total musts, but maybe next time you travel to Europe you can visit lesser known (and less crowded) destinations to discover somewhere new and help those smaller economies and towns outside the already thriving cities. Eastern Europe, for example, is an amazing belt of countries that so many people have never been to and heading there instead of the big ticket destinations will have a lower impact on the environment overall.
Travel outside peak season: if you prefer fewer crowds and want to save some money, this is responsible tourism. Travelling to Europe in winter, Africa and Asia in their shoulder seasons and even visiting Canada in the summertime are all great options for those who want to travel to specific countries, but to experience it without contributing to the crowding.
Travel slower and smaller: instead of flying from destination to destination, if you have the time, why not drive (or catch a train) your way to the next stop so you can discover some lesser known towns along the way? You can also choose companies that offer smaller travel groups.
And since Covid, post travel restrictions have loosened. Towns, villages and cities suffered with the tourist dollar and they are making up for lost time and lost income. Damned if you do and damned if you don’t.
As a tourist I am the problem, not the solution. I was in shock in Venice trying to cross the tiny canal bridges and fight people trundling their luggage and jostling for a view of a gondolier gliding under the bridge. Because I had visited before I spent time at an expensive restaurant on the square watching the herds shuffle by.
I don’t know what the solution is for package holidays, or large groups. I can only do my thing and think each journey through and be mindful of what I do, how and when I travel.
What’s the general consensus? What’s your individual take on overtourism. All comments considered.
the desire to pretend white women are simply always victims and groomed into fascist movements instead of being willing participants is by design, u have been taught ur entire life that white women are dainty angels that have to be lead and protected and no harm they do is fault of their own, thats why u think literal nazi women are just confused harmless babies, it’s designed that way on purpose
cw. phone sex, masturbation (m), established relationship between rafe and reader, rough sex, unprotected sex, mild degradation, heavy praise, p w/o plot
synopsis. there's a really famous saying about absence making the heart grow fonder. it makes the sex rougher too.
an. unedited and very poorly done.here ya go.
"How much longer till you can come see me?"
You’re on the phone with Rafe while studying in your dorm room one evening. Your phone is propped up against your stack of textbooks while you divide your focus between your work and your boyfriend.
"My answer didn’t change from yesterday, Rafey," You laugh softly, propping one leg up on the chair. You’re not wearing much, since your roommate is out with friends and the room is hot and stuffy as is. You took the opportunity to feel comfortable in your bra and a pair of shorts.
He groans, laying back against his headboard as he watches you. "But I miss you so bad," He sits up a little, taking your lack of focus on him as an opportunity. Normally, he’d ask you to shut your laptop and notebook for a couple minutes so he can enjoy all of you after a whole day of not hearing the sound of your voice, but he’s so pent up and he doesn’t have you to take care of him.
"Tell me about your day, baby," he mumbles, one hand moving off his phone to discreetly slide his hand lower, lower… until it was at the waistband of his pants, slowly pushing them down so the camera doesn’t shake.
He doesn’t feel obligated to mute his microphone as you start talking, either. Maybe because there’s a thrill of you catching him and scolding him. Or better, you catching him and stripping and giving him a show as you touch yourself along with him. The thought sends a shiver down his spine and a twitch to his hardening cock.
Either way, he just wants your attention.
"It was mostly just classes today. Nothing special," You say, and he whines, not wanting you to stop talking. You smile, continuing to write notes and study. "Okay, okay. You’re such a baby, Rafe."
"I am not."
"You are."
"Fine. You never let me disagree with you anyway."
You laugh softly, a pretty twinkling sound that literally gives him butterflies. He grunts softly as his fingers brush against his hardening cock. He's been thinking about you all day, imagining all the things he wants to do to you when he sees you again. He's not sure how much longer he can last like this.
"So tell me more," He coaxes through a grunt, hand wrapped firmly around his cock. Just seeing you in your skimpy little clothes while you chew on the end of your pen while making direct eye contact with him is enough to make him throb. You huff teasingly, eyes rolling playfully as you get started on elaborating on your very boring day, unaware that his pants are off and he's rubbing his thumb back and forth on the drooling slit of his mushroom tip, panting softly into the receiver.
You're still not noticing. He's partially disappointed. It's not hard for you to take notice of it either. The camera's bobbing unnaturally, he's flushed and grunting softly, and his responses are soft 'uh huh's' and 'mm... yeah's'. Regardless, his eyes roam your body, landing on your plush lips through the screen as he imagines you wrapping them around his cock and sucking him off when you see him again during break, your ass up and back arched while he lays down and you give him a nice view while your tongue swirls around his tip, fuck, he moans loudly, squeezing his cock with his fist.
"Rafe?"
He looks up, eyes hooded and hazy. You look confused, and he hopes you're finally starting to catch on. He grins, sweat trickling down the side of his jaw. He hasn't stopped. With neither of you talking, the schlick schlick schlick sound of him milking his cock is quite audible. Just his luck though, you still don't catch on.
"Just asked you a question, baby."
He groans, partially annoyed, extremely turned on. "What's that, gorgeous?" You smile so adorably at the compliment. He wants to ruin you. "I wanted to know what gifts your family would want for when I come over. I think Wheezie mentioned a Squishmallow."
"The hell is that." He grunts, now looking at the way the light reflects off your tits. You laugh, and he frowns, wanting you to see. He lowers his phone just enough for you to see the flushed tip of his cock if you really focus, still stroking himself. His eyes flutter and he bites back a moan, now thinking about you sucking him off again, but this time using your breasts too.
You tilt your head curiously, still not quite catching on to Rafe touching himself. "A kind of stuffed toy? I'll ask her to make sure," you reply distractedly, flipping through a few more pages of your textbook. Rafe growls lowly, your casual demeanor only encouraging him. He wants nothing more than to reach through the screen and grab you, to pull you onto his throbbing cock and make you feel every inch of his pent-up desire.
But for now, he's left to grind his teeth and stroke himself, hoping like hell you'll notice his telltale movements and sounds. Sometimes you could be so blind. "What about me? What do I get?" he murmurs suggestively, almost letting you see his hand gliding up and down his shaft, the camera angle unmistakable now. He squeezes his thick cock from base to tip, lips parted slightly. His cheeks are a pretty pink.
"Me, duh." You smile. "Why? Want me to get you a gift with the money you keep putting in my account? You'd basically be getting a gift for yourself, Rafey."
You lean over to grab your pen, your breasts strain against the thin fabric of your bra. The flimsy material does little to hide your hardened nipples, clearly visible in the dim light of your dorm room. Just then, you hear a loud groan over the phone, startling you. "What's wrong, Rafe?" you ask, brows furrowed with concern.
Rafe grits his teeth, desperately trying to hold back a moan as he realizes you've finally noticed his predicament. "N-nothing, baby. I just… I got a cramp, that's all," he lies unconvincingly, his voice strained.
His hand moves faster, milking his cock intently. The obscene sound of his strokes fills the otherwise quiet room. You notice his labored breathing, the way his chest rises and falls rapidly with each panting breath. A flicker of realization crosses your face as you realize what's really going on. "Rafe, are you...?" you start to ask, a hint of amusement and surprise in your voice.
Of course he'd be touching himself to you. He's always been kinda pervy for you. He tells you all the time which of your pictures make him cum the hardest, but jerking himself off to you in real time is sort of different. Before you can finish your question, Rafe lets out a deep, guttural moan, his hips bucking up off the bed as he starts to come undone. "F-fuck, baby. I can't... I need you so fucking much," he growls, his hand moving in a blur beneath the sheets.
He thrusts into his hand, head tipping back. He fully lowers his phone, letting you watch what he's doing. It adds to the thrill he experiences, and he groans loudly, not bothering to hide anything from you anymore as he brings himself to the edge, hot spurts of cream coating his long fingers.
He rocks himself through his orgasm, mumbling your name under his breath and imagining he came inside you instead, causing him to leak a little more. He squeezes out all he's got, panting and leaning back against his bed as he comes down from his high.
He lowers his head to make eye contact with you, a lazy grin spreading across his handsome face. "Did you see that, baby? Did you see what you do to me?" he asks teasingly.
You blush deeply, suddenly feeling the warmth of your own arousal spreading through your body. "mmm.. mhm," you hum softly, shifting in your seat to relieve some of the pressure building between your thighs.
He leans back against the headboard, his head falling back against the wall with a soft thunk as he groans. "Fuck, I need to be inside you. You better be ready for me, hm? Gonna fuck you like I hate you."
ᥫ᭡.
Rafe likes to watch everything when he wrecks you. He has your legs shoved upwards as his body slots between you, drilling into you in a mating press on his bed.
The second you came to visit him during the holidays, he made light on his promise. He had picked you up, shoved your suitcase by his front door for later, and swung you over his shoulder like a caveman. You had merely squealed and giggled, squirming playfully when he gave your butt a little squeeze. It was cute, he'd thought then, how you had no idea what he was going to do to you. You just thought he was playing with you.
You're a little more conscious now about what he wanted as he thrusts into you hard and sloppy, your face scrunched up in pleasure while needy whines leave your kiss swollen, bitten lips. He rolls his hips rough and firm into you, and you're so soaked that each thrust had filthy gushing sounds resounding through the room as your slick coats Rafe's cock and your thighs.
"Rafe!" You scream, heart slamming against your chest with each thrust. Perhaps the time apart has made him sloppy in bed, or maybe he's so desperate that he can't control himself, because his thrusts are uncoordinated and hard and rough.
He moans, loud and unashamed, spreading you apart further as he shoves his fat cock into you sporadically, his strokes rough and hard enough to jolt your whole body. "Fuck, this fucking pussy," He groans, using every bit of his willpower not to bust his load in you each time you squeeze down on him or dig your nails into his broad shoulders. "Drives me... ugh, fucking insane."
Each time he bottoms out of your creamy hole and drags his cock against your walls up up up until the flushed tip of his cock is nestled against that really soft spot deep inside you that makes your toes curl, he doesn't stop until he hears that telltale squelching sound of his cock filling you to the hilt, with his bulbous mushroom tip hitting the very back of your cunt, kissing all your little sweet spots all at once.
Rafe grunts in satisfaction as he feels you clench around him, your velvet walls gripping his thick cock like a vice. He knows you can feel every ridge and vein as he grinds against your most sensitive spots. Because you're screaming, legs shaking and fat tears of pleasure rolling down your cheeks.
"Fuck, knew you wanted me to fuck you like a whore," he grunts, feelings the pleasant sting of your nails dragging down his back and leaving red welts in their wake. You moan, eyes locked onto his, which are hooded, the pretty ocean blue replaced with a dark, stormy color. He looks rabid. "Mngh yeah… 'm your whore, Rafey," You mewl, reaching up to grab onto his face and push your mouth against his.
He swallows all your little cries, tongue shoving into your mouth and tangling with yours while his leaking cock rams into you. "Fuck yeah, you are. My little slut. Allll mine. Fuck, you're fuckin' made for me, you know that? Listen to how your little pussy takes me in. She doesn't want me to leave," he moans into your mouth, practically slurping on your tongue. "We aren't meant to be apart, pretty girl,"
He nips and sucks on your lower lip, laving his tongue over it, before trailing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down the column of your throat. He latches onto your pulse point, sucking hard enough to leave a vivid mark. "Got so fucking sick of daydreaming about you all the time." He moans against your neck.
"All the time. All I did was think about my perfect little girlfriend. I can't fucking take being without you." You keen, back arching as he gropes at your tits, the pad of his thumb rolling roughly over your swollen nipples as he practically slobbers onto your throat, marking you up. "Missed you too, mmm… f-fuck… more, Rafe," You babble, and he almost, almost cums when you moan his name like that. Gosh, he can't handle you.
He can feel his release building, his heavy balls drawing up tight as the telltale tingling starts at the base of his spine. But he grits his teeth, refusing to let go just yet. He wants to make this last, wants to linger in the exquisite torture of bringing you to the brink again and again before finally allowing you the sweet relief of climax.
He slows his thrusts, rolling his hips upwards to hit that gummy spot in you without fail with each thrust, simultaneously stimulating your clit with each pass. He pinches your nipples one by one, before licking your clavicle. "Yeah? Feels good?" he moans, hips driving forward mercilessly. Each thrust drives his fat fucking cock deeper into your pussy, stretching you around him until you swear you can feel every throbbing inch of him pulsing inside you. "Feels real fucking good for me, princess. Can't get enough of you."
Unable to muster an intelligable response at this point, you cry out his name, voice slurring as your hips buck up to meet his. Your needy sounds in response are all he needs to come down. He leans down to sink his teeth into the meat of your shoulder, biting down as he slams into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his orgasm crashes over him.
His cock pulses and throbs as he shoots thick ropes of hot cum deep into your hungry womb, painting your walls white as he fills you up just like he promised. You both cry out all loud and wanton as you cum with him, your hips jerking as you ride out the intense waves of pleasure coursing through your body.
He collapses against you, weight pressing into the mattress as he leaves sloppy kisses over your tits, sucking on your breasts to help your orgasm crash down long and hard.
✧･ﾟBucky moans your name, and it’s the prettiest sound in the world.
✧･ﾟ“Please, baby,” he mutters, fingers digging into your hips. “Just- Fuuuck-“
✧･ﾟHis words fall off into a tiny whimper, and you giggle softly. Whenever you roll your hips, his whole body shudders under your hands. His head pushes back into the pillows, his jaw tight and eyes squeezed tight like he can barely take it. You know he can’t. The heat and softness of you around his cock, fluttering and squeezing deliberately around him.
✧･ﾟ“Come on, Buck,” you tease, scraping your nails slowly down his abdomen. “We’ve barely started, you can’t already be begging for me.”
He tries to glare at you, but it just makes you giggle again. You lean down, kissing over his face and rolling your hips cruelty down. You know just how to keep him on the edge. He hits deep inside of you, right against your g-spot as you use him to get off. He looks up at you with glossy, star-struck eyes and parted lips, and you smile sweetly.
“Hi,” you whisper, and he groans.
“Don’t- Don’t be mean, doll-“
“Hmm.” You pout, dragging your hips in a slow, torturous circle. “But you like it when I’m mean.”
A broken whimper escapes Bucky’s lips, and you hum, picking up the pace just enough to make him pant.
“You want to cum for me, baby?” You whisper, and Bucky nods frantically.
“Please, please-“
You start to rock back and forth, shoving down on his chest and purposefully clenching your tight, sweet walls around his cock. Bucky cries out your name, his face slack and eyes unfocused as you pull him right to the edge.
“Still trying to hold it for me,” you whisper. “Good boy.”
He moans, staring at you hopelessly, and you take mercy. He’s too pretty like this, for you to say no.
“Let go, Bucky,” you whisper, and at your command—just as always—Bucky cums.
Beautiful sounds escape him, as he does. His whole body trembles with the force of it, his hips rutting up into your heat as thick ropes of cum paint your walls and dribble down your thighs. You don’t stop when he’s sensitive and moaning, using his orgasm to get yourself off. When it’s done, you roll over and guide Bucky’s face into your breasts, petting his hair with a lazy smile.
“Good?” You ask softly, always just to be sure.
He makes a garbled sound and holds you tighter. Good.
✦Bucky Masterlist - Main Masterlist - read on AO3!✦
✦Author's Note: sub bucky? in this econamy? more likely than you think✦
Ghost who doesn’t know how to flirt like a normal person, instead asks “How much d’you weigh?”
Shadow falling over you, broad enough to swallow the reflection in the mirror behind the machine you were just using at the gym. You look up and find Ghost standing there in a black compression shirt stretched tight across his chest, mask in place even here, eyes flat and unreadable above the fabric. One gloved hand resting on the frame of your machine.
The question lands blunt, no lead up, no softening. Like he’s asking for the time or the weather. Your mouth goes dry. He’s too close, too big, the sheer width of him making the space between you feel airless.
You could tell him to fuck off. Should. But the words stick somewhere behind your teeth, and what comes out instead is a mumbled number, barely loud enough to carry, your eyes dropping to the seam where the mat meets the floor.
He doesn’t react at first. Just tilts his head a fraction, that slow, assessing cock of it Then, low and rough through the mask: “Lighter than I’m used to.”
Confusion flickers across your face but he’s already moving, already loading the bar next to you with plates that match the number you gave him exactly, no hesitation, no adjustment. The barbell settles across the padded support with a dull clank.
You should look away. You don’t.
He lies back on the bench, plants his feet wide, and rolls the bar into place across the jut of his hips. One smooth motion and he drives up, hips snapping high, the loaded bar rising clean with the power of it, his body locking into a straight line from shoulders to knees. The muscles in his thighs flex hard under the fabric of his shorts. Up, hold, lower. Up again. The bar doesn’t even tremble under the weight.
It takes a beat for the meaning to sink in. Heat crawls up your neck, tightens in your chest, but it doesn’t stop there. It drops lower, coils hot and insistent right behind your navel and settles between your legs with a heavy, liquid pulse, cunt clenching around nothing. The reaction is immediate and traitorous, slick gathering hot and fast, soaking into the seam of your leggings, clit throbbing in time with every snap of his hips.
Oh.
(Ghost who doesn’t know how to flirt but somehow it works every time.)
you’re well aware that your relationship with satoru isn’t exactly normal. people seem to think you have no clue, but you’ve never been ignorant. for all the casual jokes and whining clinginess, you can tell your boyfriend is deeply, possessively in love with you.
it shows in everything he does. satoru likes to hide it behind a veneer of playfulness. you don’t mind. in all reality, you find it pretty cute—the doting, the teasing, the silly jokes that all veil that intense want that lurks in him. he wants you so bad it’s impossible to ignore. no, more than that: he needs you so much it bleeds into everything he does.
he’s teasing when he winds an arm around your waist, joking when he drops his chin on your head and pulls you away from whoever you were talking to. there’s a casual, unspoken jealousy to the action, but he’s so good at pretending it’s just gojo being clingy. it’s just what everyone expects of him. you’re the only one that knows better. you can see the angry glint in his eye, hear the way satoru’s heart picks up in his chest every time you reciprocate. you’re the only one he lets past infinity, the reason he’s been working to make it cover you as well. he just can’t bear to see other people touching you—you don’t blame him, do you?
best of all, you’re the only one that sees him desperate, that gets to watch him unwind. he worships you. you don’t have sex as much as you make love, his hands roving your body and plucking sweet moans from between your lips. satoru will murmur as he takes you, voice unbearably vulnerable and unspeakably intimate. “no one else can make you feel like this, baby,” he says on a moan. on the next, quiet and sure, “even better, i’m the only one that gets to see you like this. they don’t even know what they’re missing out on. i won’t let them ever find out.” he holds you tightly, kisses you ardently, and if you let him, he’ll fuck you until his legs give out. until he has no more love left to give.
so maybe you’re a little too encouraging. so what? who cares if you let your gaze linger on another man just to watch satoru’s eyes sharpen? what does it matter if you’ll play ignorant to another man’s advances, just to revel in the way satoru steps in and stakes his territory?
sex like that is even better. satoru gets mad, possessive—not at you, never at you. but your entire body becomes a canvas for him to stake his claim on, and it makes him rough. he’ll grip you until you bruise, kiss you until your lip splits, fuck you deep and hard so that you wake up the next morning sore, just so he can dote on you all over again.
“he’s so needy,” utahime complains to you one day, after he’d dragged you home from an event. he’d claimed he just wanted you all to himself for a moment, to get away from such boring company. it’s more honest than everyone suspects. he really does hate to see you talking to other people. “he wants to leave, and you leave. he hates when you talk to other guys. i swear, whenever you’re not paying attention to him, it’s like the sun’s frozen over. and then he has to act up until you’re looking at him again. how can you handle a guy that clingy?”
“i think it’s cute,” you reply. “i like how much he likes me. makes me feel like i’m the only girl in the world, you know?”
utahime snorts. “he sure seems to think so. remember last week? it’s like he didn’t even realise that girl was flirting with him.”
he hadn’t. or maybe he had, and satoru simply revels in your jealousy as much as you do his. you’d attached yourself to him like a limpet, fingers curling around his bicep as your head leant against his shoulder. you were polite to a fault until you chased her off, so clingy that satoru couldn’t tear his eyes away. in the end, he’d barely said three words to the girl before you monopolised all of his attention. he’d grinned wide and proud, and been twice as clingy as you were thereafter.
(when you got home, well. you’d been on top, riding him to a slow climax while he stared up at you worshipfully. his thumbs rub circles into your thighs, and with every rock of your hips, he lets loose an unabashed groan. he’s so free in his pleasure, so open about how good you make him feel. satoru never lets you doubt how perfect you are for him.
he comes first, for once. heaves and whines into your mouth even as he tells you to keep going, tells you that i’m sorry i want you so bad, baby. that doesn’t mean you need to stop—take me for all i’ve got, kay? he whispers those promises until you follow him over the edge, curled on top of him and breathing deep against his collarbone.
“you’ll never leave me, will you?” he asks, except he doesn’t say it like a question. he says it like a vow.
“never,” you promise. “you’d be dead before i let you get rid of me.”)
Hi!! I adore your writing, would it be possible to request reader being Maggie's best friend who was at the farm with them, and reader mentioning how she can 'see what she likes' about Glenn and him being a cutie, & Maggie in turn teasing her about liking a certain redneck and maybe Daryl overhears?
Crush - Daryl Dixon
pairing: Daryl Dixon × reader
a/n: first of all stopp thank you for the compliment you made my day, I loved writing this I hope you like it too!
word count: 1.5k
You'd know Hershel and his family since you were born, your own family had a place close to theirs – as close as it could be, and that was with yards of grass in between your homes. You made a routine of your mornings to wake up, shower and walk straight to the Greene's, at a point, you felt like they were more like your family than your own, so when everything went down and you ended up losing them, they Greene's held you like an anchor to your feet, helped to get it together again and welcomed you in as one of their own just like so many times before.
You sat on the porch enjoying the calmness of another night at the farm, things had been shaken since the new group arrived, you all felt a little on edge since they came in for help and made themselves comfortable in no time, the sheriff one posing like he owned the place deeply bothered you. "I don't know how I feel about them." You said "Daddy's scared they might turn against us as some point, and we wouldn't stand a chance." Maggie speaks on low tone.
Daryl wasn't far from you. As always, he was a little stepped away from everyone else, propped on the side wall of the farm house, smoking a cigarette and minding his business when he started to listen to the whispers and giggles, unsure if he should stay or not, he remained still, hidden by the thick darkness of the night, prying on what the pretty farmer's had to say about his group.
"Fears aside, you know damn well how you feel about one of them atleast, huh?" she nudges you with her elbow, smiling.
"Nah, you're the only one who's living an actual romance here. Daryl doesn't even look me in the face, it's just a little crush."
"He doesn't seem like he looks anyone in the face if that helps."
"Yeah." you sigh, glancing down to your lap "I actually think he only spoke straight t'me when I was bringing him food on the room after he stole your horse to look for that lil' girl. I even think he smiled at me, or tried to." you and Maggie laugh.
Daryl froze in place. Why were you talking about him? He felt childish at the way his heart skipped a beat over hearing that, cringing at himself. How couldn't he, thought? He knew you were pretty, he had eyes, for God's sake. And kind. Always kind to him and the others, specially Carl, he'd grown fond of you, in his own way, after seeing how easygoing you were with the kid, and after speaking to you in very rare occasions.
Daryl's boots dragged quietly through the grass as he circled around the house, antsy, cigarette long forgotten between his fingers. He told himself that it didn't matter, he shouldn't be hearing that, that he'd forget it, that he'd just head to the RV or maybe check on the bikes, sleep it off, something. Anything but face it. Before he knew it, Glenn was right there crouched beside a toolbox near Dale's camper, fiddling with some busted flashlight.
"Hey." Daryl grunted. Glenn looked up immediately, unable to hide his suprise. "Uh... hey?" Daryl shifted awkwardly, eyes darting anywhere but his face. Glenn waited patiently, eventually shaking his hands in a way that said 'spill it'.
"Gotta ask ya somethin'." Daryl finally blurted out. That alone made Glenn grin a little, responding with a curious. "Okay..." in motion for Daryl to keep going.
He hated how childish he felt. "That girl, Maggie's friend." he says your name embarrassed, in secrecy.
Glenn's smile widened instantly and Daryl nearly walked away right there, cheeks burning red. "Oh my God."
"Shut up." Daryl snapped quickly, pointing at him. "Ain't nothin' like that."
"Sure." his smile was still there, stamped wide on his face.
Daryl glared hard enough to kill the poor kid where he stood. Glenn lifted his hands defensively, still laughing under his breath before calming himself down enough to answer.
"What about her?"
Daryl rubbed a hand over the back of his neck roughly. "Heard her an' Maggie talkin'."
Glenn blinked once, then his expression shifted into something almost guilty.
That made Daryl narrow his eyes. "What?"
"Nothin'."
"What is it?"
Glenn hesitated only for a second before sighing, only acquiring a single look to make him break, it was common knowledge he wasn't the greatest example on keeping secrets. "She's mentioned you before."
Daryl felt his stomach twist strangely. "Mentioned what?"
Glenn stood up straighter now, clearly enjoying this way too much. "That she thought you were cute."
Daryl stared at him like he'd spoken another language. "Cute?" he repeated slowly, deeply offended by the word itself.
"Yeah." Glenn laughed softly. "And she said she'd like to get to know you better sometime, but you don't seem like you'd down for it so she was scared to try."
For a second Daryl's brain short circuited entirely, he felt the heat climbing up his neck so fast he prayed the darkness hid it. Glenn watched him carefully before snorting.
"You good?"
"I'm fine." he spits out, only playing tough.
"I'm just saying, man, you actually have a chance here."
Daryl scoffed hard, stepping back already. "Ain't nobody said nothin' 'bout chances."
"But you're smiling."
Daryl's expression dropped instantly.
"I ain't smilin'."
"You literally are."
He flips off, vanishing into the night before giving the younger man more space to tease him, leaving a giggly Glenn behind.
You were rinsing out a few dishes at the sink the next day after breakfast when the screen door creaked behind you. "Mags, can you peel the potatoes for me? I'm doing dishes of a battalion here, if you-" you cut yourself, embarrased, you expected Maggie, as usual, to be the one walking into the kitchen to help you out, but when you looked just slightly over your shoulder, there he stood, the archer, shifting awkwardly between his feet, unsure if he should've announced his arival to you.
"Oh." you blinked. "Hi."
"Sorry if I scared ya." he rubs the back of his neck.
"You didn't, don't worry, I was just... not expecting it, s'all." you dry your hands slowly on a towel, and you turned to face him, trying not to notice how strangely tense he looked, not that you'd ever seen him relaxed. Daryl tenses even more when he realizes he had your full attention, suddenly to self aware about the dirt and grime he collected in the woods earlier that same morning.
"What can I do for ya?" you ask, giving him a thin lipped polite smile.
"Y'uh..." he cleared his throat roughly, looking nowhere near you so the words could make it out of his mouth. "Y'ever hunted before?"
You frowned a little in confusion. Whatever you expected him to say, that wasn't amongst the options. "Hunted?"
"Yeah."
"I mean, yeah. A little bit when I was younger. My daddy tried to teach me once but I felt too much for the animals." you scoff "He used to call me a pussy f'that."
Daryl nodded, archiving in his brain another information about you. Apparently your father was a dick just like his. But he didn't insist on that topic, seemed to soon to go on about family matters.
"Would ya' maybe be interested on learning it now? I mean, circumstances changed. It's kinda... important." he struggled to find the last word. "I could teach ya." he stated finally.
You furrowed your eyebrows lightly. Was that an excuse to spend time with you? Sure sounded like it.
Daryl immediately looked irritated with himself after saying it out loud, shoulders tightening as he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. "I mean– if y'wanted." he muttered. "It's a good thing t'know.".
There was a brief silence, you looked up at him, considering his idea, corner of your mouth tugged upward before you could stop it, unable to hold your pinning comment before any response. "You offering to spend time with me, Dixon?" His ears burned red instantly. Cute.
"Ain't what I said."
You laughed softly, and Daryl swore it was one of the prettiest sounds he'd ever heard.
"I'd like that." you answered gently. "The hunting lessons, I mean."
Daryl finally looked at you then, blue eyes meeting yours for half a second before dropping again.
"A'right." he mumbled. "Tomorrow mornin' then."
You nod, gladly. "Deal." and before you could tease him any further, he was already halfway out the door again, disappearing quickly while you stood there smiling to yourself like an idiot. You had a date.
— in which! a hot lady suddenly moved in next door and got your life utterly fucked.
OR Ada Wong is your not-so-typical unfriendly neighborhood tattoo artist, and you own a coffee shop beside her.
word count! 2.5k
content! cliché, idiots in love, MDNI HEAVY MAKEOUT SESH, f!reader (wuhluhwuh), eng not my first lang, this was s'pposed to be posted with my anniv special but i got hit w writer's block soooo i couldn't finish some of 'em, this is my sacrifice. HAPPY PRIDE MONTH!! not beta-ed we die like my wips
loosely inspired by: kaba by tootsie guevarra
Your day started with you banging on your newly moved-in neighbor’s door.
Why? Because who the fuck would think that it’s a good idea to blast metal rock at the crack-ass of dawn? Your neighbor, apparently.
See, it would’ve been fine if it were the first time they did it. But nooo. Since the lot became occupied, your mornings have never been quite the same. If KISS’s I Was Made For Lovin’ You wasn’t playing on loop, you’d think the person next door had been kidnapped.
So, yes, while terribly endearing (haha), you really, really want to sleep in. Maybe a peaceful day where you won’t hear any 70’s rock metal, preferably. God forbid a girl just wants her peaceful mornings listening to birds singing while making coffee.
“What is it, Karen?” Someone grumbled, madly annoyed, just from her tone.
You would’ve been lying if you said that didn’t pissed you off.
But you also would’ve been lying even harder if you said that the drop-dead fucking gorgeous woman didn’t make your tongue twist in a pretty bow.
God, fuck. Why were you always so damn pathetically weak for hot women?
“Hello? Are you just gonna stand there ogling or what?” The pretty woman snapped her finger in your face, just as sassy as her tone. Shit, you were too obvious, weren’t you?
As if snapping out of a trance, you shook your head, a polite smile forcing its return to your face, as you returned her eye contact. Rude and hot. Of-fucking-course.
“I’m sorry, that was quite rude of me, wasn’t it?” You started, kinda sheepish. “Would you mind lowering the volume of your… wake-up call? It’s disturbing some people’s sleep.”
“Are you implying that I’m a nuisance?” She scoffed, already turning her heels and closing the door before even letting you speak. Your polite smile vanished, turning into a bitter scowl. You really would’ve liked her if not for her shitty attitude.
Deciding to be the bigger person, you walked away, disregarding the interaction for the sake of your mental health. But you did notice the dramatic decrease in volume from her bass speaker. Maybe the pretty neighbor was just horseshit at social interactions, after all.
That, ladies and gentlemen, queers and non-binaries, is your very first interaction with your suspicious, drop-dead gorgeous, loud next-door neighbor, Ms. Wong (yes, you still don’t know her first name; her porch did not exactly come with a birth certificate attached to it, y’know).
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You should’ve known the universe has been wanting to fuck you up in the ass. It’s been giving you signs, and you just. like. ignoring. it.
First, it was that hot neighbor and her loud-ass bass. Second, there were your unbearably warm pillows that put lava to shame. Third, your brand new fucking espresso machine that—for the love of everything holy and unholy—refused to turn the fuck on.
Fourth, is—well—how could you say this in a… less offensive tone?
Right.
Fourth, your fuckass, incredibly rude (& hot) house neighbor is also your neighbor here. At your freaking job.
She’s the owner of the newly bought tattoo parlor, right. next. to. yours.
Fuck your life, man.
“Hey, are you stalking me?” You barely registered her saying. Matter of fact, you barely fuckin’ registered her walking up to you—with a nasty smirk.
“No, I—… I work here!” You sputtered, pink dusting your flushed cheeks. You heard her chuckle—god, it was a fucking experience. It was light and airy, amusement dancing in her features. You actually cannot do this right now—
“Whatever you say, weirdo. You own that cute cafe, yeah?”
“Yeah? What about it?”
“Say, if I order, will there be a discount?”
“And for what? Being my neighbor doesn’t guarantee you a—”
“For, you know, letting you stare down for free. Don’t bother denying; I saw where your eyes were earlier—it’s not exactly in my eyes.”
…
The fuck could you even respond to that?!
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You gave one for free.
Out of spite.
“Don’t ever talk about this to anyone, ever again. In fact, don’t even come near my shop. You’re getting banned.” You stood in front of her, slamming the large cup on a nearby table with a glare that could rival a dinosaur. She thinks you look like a noisy kitten.
She then proceeded to stare at you with a twinkle in her eyes that meant you’d definitely see her again. Like, okay, of course you will. You’re damn neighbors freaking everywhere—but that’s not the point!
“Name’s Ada Wong, doll. Y’know, in case you wanna stalk me some more.”
Now that made you storm off in frustration. Loudly stomping your feet and slamming the door like a toddler having a tantrum.
And if you hear a soft, airy chuckle that makes your heart skip several beats for a minute? Well, that’s not the pandora’s box you wanna open.
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Days bled to weeks, and weeks sped by to months; you know what became a constant? Your banter with the one and only, your unfriendly neighborhood tattoo artist, Miss Ma’am Ada Wong.
Well, more like she’s bantering, and you’re stubbornly refusing to lose—exactly like an angry kitten being poked like a hundred times (her exact words, not yours).
It’s annoying; it’s hot. Oftentimes, you rub one out to release your (sexual) frustration. And when the post-nut clarity hits? Fuck, you keep on wondering what the hell fucking happened, and why the hell were you not shoving your tongues in each other’s throats? Because holy fuck, there’s tension. That’s a fact. You know that as a fact. Because why else does she stare at your lips while royally pissing you off, looking utterly pleased with herself?
“Hey,” Ada called your name, rousing you out of your reverie. Fuck, you really gotta stop doing that.
“The hell you want, Bobcut?”
“Oh? That’s new. What’s got your panties in a twist?”
“You—I mean, your loud-ass music. It’s deafening my ears.” That got her brow raised. She never really turned up her music today—not at home, not at her shop.
“Okay, weirdo. Do you always—”
“Sweets! Hey!” Ada heard a man shout, calling your attention. If she felt her eye twitch, she refused to talk about that. You were on your break, for godssake! And break meant you spending your time being pissy in her parlor while eating lunch. Fucking hell.
“Oh? Hey!” She saw your eyes brighten up, making hers dim. Not that god-awful man again. She walked away without saying anything, and if you saw her roll her eyes in annoyance? Well, all she’s gonna be doing is to deny, deny, deny.
“Oh my gosh—I told you to stop touching me like that!” Your sudden, distressed shout made Ada still, her hands clenched into a fist. She turned back, again, intervening against her better judgment.
“Doll? What’re you still doing here? Thought we’d leave early.” She said sweetly, as if you literally weren’t arguing about penguin tattoos moments prior.
“Must’ve slipped my mind, ‘m sorry.” You whispered, trembling while looking at her like she was your salvation. God, you hated the fact that her effects on you were still so fucking strong—even if you’re annoyed out of your mind with some fuckwit regular being a little too touchy.
“Naughty. I’ve reminded you that al—” her airy chuckles permeate the air before she is rudely cut off. By a man, no less. That got your eye twitch.
“Sorry, who are you?” The man bitterly said, sizing her up. Ada didn’t spare him a single glance. She just leaned to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, smoothly tracing her fingers to pinch your cheek. You felt like you had suddenly entered an alternate universe.
“Let’s get the hell out, yeah?” She whispered with a secret smile, beckoning you to stand up and holding your hand. Just as you did, you felt the man roughly grab your arm, leading you to almost stumble—if not for Ada’s support, gently steadying you.
“Hey, I’m still talking to you!” The man grunted, his grip tightening painfully, making you wince.
“Let go!—the fuck is wrong with you?!” You tried yanking your arm away, but it was futile. Fucking hell, you could already feel a nasty handprint-bruise forming.
While Ada? Ada is fucking livid; she could see flames. How dare he touch you? A god-awful, filthy stain in a shoe, man fucking touched you.
“Get your hands off, ‘else you want it gone.” She spat, jaw clenched with a matching glare that could shoot him dead. An icy chill ran down the pathetic man’s spine, making his grip slightly falter. But he couldn’t let go—not yet. He refused to. His ego’s way too big for that.
Listen, if you weren’t—quite literally—stuck being manhandled by an asshole, you would’ve kissed her by now. Like, seriously, she looks so fucking cute protecting you. Your head is becoming concerningly jumbled, and it wasn’t because of the asshole or the situation—well, okay, maybe if the situation was named Ada Wong, theeeeen you’ll bite.
“How about a no—” Before anything could be said or heard, a loud smack! rang in the silent room. One moment, the man was standing beside you (roughly gripping your poor, unfortunate arm), then the next, he was down to the ground, clutching his face with tears in his eyes, sporting a nasty bruise and an ugly lip cut.
“My girlfriend is not yours to touch—more or less, hurt.” She hissed, standing in front of you protectively. You don’t know how she got there, but you do know one thing for certain: something dripped, and it’s not tears nor sweat.
She stomped at the man one last time before facing you, silently scanning where you’ve been hurt. Her eyes zeroed in on your arm; splotches of red and purple in place of fingerprints were visible. “You’re hurt.” Her words soften as she places her hand on the small of your back, leading you further inside.
If you heard her employees (and customers) whisper and whistle in congratulations, well, you grinned in pride (Ada just looked mad defeated, but the smile she was fighting off speaks a LOT).
She guided you to her private booth, closing the door for privacy.
“Hey, I’m sorry for ca—”
“Did you mean it?” You breathe, looking at her with glistening eyes.
“Were you uncomfortable? Sorry, I—”
“No, I don’t give a shit. Did you mean it?” You persisted, gently holding her hands, tracing absent circles—either to comfort her or yourself, you weren’t quite sure.
Ada took a deep breath, her grip on you slightly tightening subconsciously before loosening.
“I do.” She whispered as if it were the first breath of fresh air. “From the moment you bitched about my loud bass, I knew I was done for.”
You didn’t speak, letting her finish. You continued to stare at her in the same fond manner you’ve always had. You continued to admire her raven locks and her bob cut that always manages to frame her face perfectly. You continued to look at her twinkling eyes, which always seemed to bring sarcasm and wit. You continued to gaze at her soft, kissable, pink lips—you’ve never once seen them chapped. Fuck, you’re in this deep, aren’t you?
“I never said anything because, well, I don’t know if you even like women that way—fuck, if you even like me that way.” Even if she couldn’t hold back the self-deprecating laugh she let out, she continued. “I just—I was just content with being whatever we are ‘cause I’d rather have that… than not have you at all.” Her voice gradually faded into a whisper, a testament to how much the ruthless yet graceful lady exterior earlier crumbled in the face of an uncertain variable called love.
Specifically loving a woman you didn’t know loves you back, and is currently clenching her fist to calm herself down, leaving her palm with mini crescents because—holy fucking shit, what do you mean my long-time crush-slash-enemy-ish just confessed to me aaaaaaaaaaahhh—but it’s whatever.
“I—… Fuck, it’s about time.” You threw your arms around her neck, grip slightly tightening with joy. “Thought you were never gonna say something.” You whispered in her ear—catching her off guard.
“I—”
“I like you. So much.” With your voice that only whispers the truth, Ada felt as if this godforsaken world finally did her right.
You leaned close, noses touching as you waited for her permission to continue. She closed the gap, not even a second later.
Her lips were soft, languidly moving in yours like a waltz. Her hand cupped the back of your head, while her other hand traced your back before settling on the curve of your waist—pulling you impossibly closer. You couldn't help but melt into her arms, parting your lips with a gasp. She took that opportunity to swirl her tongue in yours, greedily exploring the crevices of your mouth. Mewls and whimpers bubbled in your throat as she took it with a grin—lightly sucking your tongue.
You didn't know when she pulled away, just the fact that after she did, warm, wet kisses trailed to the column of your neck.
“F-fuck, babe.” You whimpered, mind barely functioning, as she was the only one keeping you anchored.
Ada chuckled, her hand trailing from the back of your neck down to your collarbone. She tugged the neckline of your blouse before popping open a button.
“Can't let other people think you're up for grabs, Doll. Gotta fix that, don't you think?” She mumbled to your skin, expertly finding your sweet spot. She licked a stripe before making marks with a vigour you didn't think she had. It wasn't long until she had you putty on her hold.
You were a mess. A whimpering, moaning mess. Ada thinks she could print out the sight from just her memory. Fuck, you look too pretty with lipstick smudges decorating your lips and her marks that littered your neck—with your brows furrowed in pleasure, and the unsteady rise and fall of your chest.
You're a masterpiece she wanted to be framed on her walls to spend hours worshipping.
“My needy Doll. You’re already this worked out after a bit of kissing? Haven’t even tasted you yet.” She hummed, tucking the stray strands of your hair behind your ear.
She then leaned close to your ear, her teeth grazing the tips, as her warm breathy whisper made you shiver. “Bet my needy doll’s already dripping for me, hm?”
ME NEXT ADA ME NEXT!! also i have to get real formal for a bit, i saw some minors interacting my sttnshp! leon fic and as much as i love love LOVE my readers, i would prefer if you don't interact w my fics w heavy suggestive shit—esp if it has allusions to SEXUAL INTERCOURSE!!! internet safety or whatnot. anywhooooo, did you enjoy this one? i struggled with proofreading this 'cuz ada just makes me crumble into a ball and giggle like a maniac. i really hope i freaking finish my wips like i SWEAR, i have a lot planned but it's hindering meeeeeeeeee!!! i was abt to publish a vanta fic too smh. as always, rbs are appreciated, inbox is open if u wanna send smexy ideas to get me out of my slump and hehhe ily mwah! see u on the next post!
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