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LOVEE THIS MANS ALWAYS!!😍🏹🔐💍❤️

#daryl dixon #twd daryl #walking dead #my heart #my love #norman reedus #tiktok

The Battle He Could Not Win

Rain tapped against the roof of your home, the soft sound would have helped you sleep on any other day, but not tonight.

Tonight, sleeping was impossible.

daryl-dixon-daydreams

Tucked away in Daryl’s bed, you felt like you were in a different world, and it was a feeling you relished. You turned over, blinking yourself awake to find his blue eyes already fixed on you. His heart jumped as you gave him a sleepy smile. “Hi,” you said softly. He reached for you under the covers and pulled you into his warmth. “Hey,” he drawled, pressing his lips into your hair. “How’d ya sleep?” “Good… except—I learned something about you last night,” you murmured. “Hmm?” The was almost a nervousness in his hummed response. You went on. “You are the biggest blanket hog I’ve ever met in my entire life,” you accused him. You felt the reverberation of his laugh deeply in his chest. “Well, s’my bed… so I figure I can hog the blankets as much as I want.” You pulled back and looked up at him. “Oh, really? And you don’t care if I just freeze to death?” “Naaaah, ya ain’t gonna freeze to death.” “How would you know? You had ALL the blankets, all night! I doubt you know how cold it gets in here! Maybe I’ll just kick you out so you experience it for yourself!” “Ya can’t kick me out! S’my bed!” “Wanna bet?” You started trying to roll him toward the edge but you could hardly move his strong frame and he only laughed further at you.

“Alrigh’, take it easy, turbo,” he teased you. “Ya know there’s another couple solutions to this problem.” You gave him a questioning look. “Ya gotta get closer to me, or… I mean, I can think of some really good ways to warm ya up.” The corners of his mouth flickered up in a smile and so did yours. “Well, I’m cold right now. So…” His only response was burying his face into the crook of your neck and kissing every bit of you he could reach. Prompt: “You can’t kick me out! It’s my bed!”

daryl-dixon-daydreams

Happy Flashback Friday!!!

omg-imstillatotalmess

Blowing a kiss at Daryl as he’s leaving on a run and he flips you off, then runs face first into the gate bc you made him nervous.

porndaryl

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤAn invisible architecture of affection

A/n: this isn't exactly a one-shot, but it's a short story about daryl and you showing affection in this quiet way. i particularly love writing about this so…

There was a comfortable distance between you and Daryl—the kind born not of dislike, but of two different kinds of solitude respecting each other. It wasn’t coldness, nor a lack of interest; it was simply the silent acknowledgment that you both carried your own walls and felt no rush to tear them down. On patrols, trust was unspoken: a glance was enough to coordinate your movements; a tilt of the head could replace entire maps. You knew he had your back, and he knew you wouldn’t hesitate. But outside of that, when the arrows rested and Alexandria’s gate closed behind you, words withered before they could be born. You exchanged information about supplies the way people trade tools—useful, practical, impersonal. “Need more ammo?” “The pantry crew asked for help tomorrow.” And that was it.

And in the mess hall, Daryl remains the same; he was an island. He wasn’t actively isolated—no one veered away from him out of fear or contempt; in the beginning, people had even tried to pull him into conversations. But he simply arrived already apart, wearing an armor of silence as naturally as someone who’d worn it for far too long. He sat in the corner, back to the wall, eating fast, his eyes sweeping the room as if he were still on watch, even in peacetime. He observed more than he participated. And you observed this about him without judgment, because you understood, deep down, that there was something deeply familiar in that way of inhabiting the world from the edges.

Maybe that was why you had never pushed. Maybe that was why the distance lasted so long—not from a lack of desire to bridge it, but from an excess of respect that could sometimes look uncannily like shyness.

Until the night you arrived late to the mess hall.

It had been too long a day. The pantry felt endless: boxes upon boxes of supplies to organize, inventories that had to be redone, and the smell of dust and cardboard clinging to your clothes. Your arms ached, and your head throbbed faintly with that hunger that crosses the line and becomes exhaustion. Walking into the mess hall, the warm buzz hovering over the tables almost made you turn back—too many people, too much noise, everything you didn’t want after a draining day. Your eyes swept the room, looking for an empty seat, anywhere, just to sit and eat in peace. But the tables were full, the benches taken by laughing bodies, serving dishes passing from hand to hand.

There was only one empty spot.

Next to him.

You hesitated for three heartbeats before hunger won out over pride—or it wasn’t really pride, but more that old unease about bothering him, about puncturing a bubble he seemed to guard so carefully. You gripped your tray tighter and walked over. “Mind if I…?” The question came out low, almost swallowed by the background noise. Daryl raised his eyes slowly, his expression as neutral as a still lake, and you noticed that he looked tired too—maybe more than you. There was dust on the shoulder of his vest and a fresh scratch on his forearm that hadn’t been cleaned yet. He shrugged, a minimal gesture, almost dismissive of its own importance. “Ain’t my chair.”

You sat down. His silence wasn’t hostile—it was just silence. The rare kind that doesn’t demand to be filled, that doesn’t push you out. He went on eating; you did the same. The sound of cutlery on plates made a quiet music between you. And somehow, that was a relief. Not having to speak. Not having to fake an energy you didn’t have. Just being there, side by side, each with your own hunger, each with your own fatigue, but together.

The following night, the scene repeated itself almost identically. You were late again—this time because of a meeting that ran long, not the pantry—and there he was, in the same corner, the same slightly hunched posture, the same gaze roaming the room like a lazy lighthouse. And the seat beside him was empty. You didn’t hesitate as much. You just went. Didn’t even ask, “mind if I?” this time; you just pointed at the chair with a lift of your chin, a silent question. He shifted his elbow barely an inch, making space, and that wordless answer was more eloquent than any sentence.

The third night, you realized your feet already knew the way.

And the night after that too. Sometimes because the mess hall was full. Sometimes because you arrived late. Sometimes because sitting in the middle of the chaos, with conversations popping off on all sides, required an energy you didn’t want to spend after a full day of work. And sometimes, you had to admit, because sitting next to him was just calmer. Daryl’s corner was an oasis of quiet in the middle of Alexandria’s social noise—nobody came over to pull you into idle chatter there, nobody dragged you into gossip or complaints. It was just him, you, and the background hum.

Little by little, the silence changed its texture. From empty to full.

At first, you barely looked at each other. Then, you began to trade those quick glances that said “you seein’ this?” when someone was arguing loudly at the next table. The corner of a mouth lifting in an almost smile when the argument verged on the ridiculous. An arched eyebrow of complicity when someone told the same story for the tenth time. Then came the small observations in low voices, almost shared thoughts: “Eugene’s at it again…” “It’s cold tonight.” “The food’s better, finally.” Nothing deep, nothing revealing, but they were words that hadn’t existed before. And each one was like a stone laid across the river—small, unsteady, but enough to begin the crossing.

You began to build a rhythm of your own, a clumsy dance with no choreographer. If you sat down first, he would arrive later and take the place beside you without asking, as if it were already understood. If he arrived first, there was always a second chair strategically empty next to him—and it took you weeks to realize it wasn’t a coincidence. When you finally noticed, you felt something warm spread through your chest, a shy little creature you chose not to name.

The communication between you started needing fewer whole words. Half-phrases were enough. Sometimes, silence was enough. There were days when you arrived too exhausted to string anything together, and Daryl seemed to understand that without you needing to explain. He’d just shoot you a sidelong glance, that blue heavy with old storms, and go back to eating, giving you space even inside closeness. Other days, it was him who came in carrying an invisible weight on his shoulders—a rough patrol, maybe, or one of those days when the world felt too heavy—and you returned the favor, staying quiet beside him, present but asking nothing.

You caught yourself looking for him the moment you entered the mess hall. Your eyes scanned the tables automatically, hunting for the dark vest, the hunched shoulders, the hair falling over his face. When you found him, a subtle knot in your chest came undone—a sensation so small you could barely describe it, but one that made all the difference for the rest of the night. On the days he wasn’t there, because he hadn’t made it back from a run yet or was on guard at the gate, the mess hall seemed louder than it should be, fuller, more exhausting. You ate faster on those days. And you hated admitting to yourself why.

Daryl, in turn, developed his own rituals—rituals connected to you, though he would never admit it, not even to himself, maybe especially not to himself. If he got to the mess hall first, his eyes would already pick a table with two free chairs. Not a big table, where other people might join; a small one, tucked in the corner, that fit exactly two. If someone tried to take the space beside him—that space that had no name, no sign, no official owner—he’d feel a strange irritation bubbling in his stomach, without any rational reason. He never said anything, of course. He’d just grow quieter, more closed off, until the person left of their own accord, discouraged by the wall of silence. And then he waited.

He waited for you to arrive, late and slightly breathless, tray in hand and tiredness in your eyes. And when you finally appeared, he’d glance away quickly, as if he hadn’t been paying attention, as if your presence or absence made no difference. But the corner of his mouth would relax almost imperceptibly, and the space beside him remained there, available, held by chance—or by whatever it was he refused to name either.

And then the small gestures began. The objects.

The first was a flashlight. It appeared on your worktable one morning, small and silver, with fresh batteries. You furrowed your brow and turned the object over in your hands, searching for a clue, a note, anything. Nothing. When you asked someone, they shrugged. Only later, when you crossed paths with Daryl in the hallway, he averted his eyes quickly and muttered something about “nights getting longer” and “you walking around alone out there.” It wasn’t an explanation—Daryl never gave explanations. But it was enough.

Then came a book. You’d mentioned weeks before, in one of those almost-whispered mess hall conversations, a book you’d read before everything fell apart—a silly story, nothing important, about a detective in a rainy city. You didn’t even remember giving details; it had been a comment tossed to the wind while you pushed food around your plate. But one day, coming back to your room, you found the book perched on your doorstep. It wasn’t the same title, but it was the same genre, worn and yellowed, rescued from some dusty shelf in the world outside. He never mentioned it. You never thanked him out loud. But the next night, you sat down next to him a little closer than usual, and he didn’t pull away.

And then came the chocolate.

It was after a particularly long run. You were in the mess hall, alone that night, when Daryl appeared in your field of vision like a silent shadow. He said nothing—just set something wrapped in slightly dirty paper beside your plate and kept walking, as if it were the most normal thing in the world, as if he hadn’t just placed a rarity in front of you. You unwrapped it. A chocolate bar, a little squashed, a little melted at the edges, salvaged from the back of an abandoned market where it had probably sat since before the apocalypse. It looked like gold. You looked toward him, already across the room, his back turned, busy serving his own plate as if he’d done nothing out of the ordinary. But he had. Every one of those objects was a message he didn’t know how to say in words: “I saw this and thought of you. You exist in my head even when we’re not side by side.”

Neither of you ever talked about it. The objects kept appearing now and then, without fanfare, without demands. A piece of fruit that was almost at its peak, and he split it. A small knife he returned was sharper than when he’d borrowed it. An extra blanket that showed up on your chair on a particularly cold night. And you reciprocated in your own way: you saved food for him when he came back late from patrols, a covered plate waiting at the corner of the table even after you’d already gone to bed. You left hot coffee in his thermos without him asking. Signs. Traces. Small proofs that the distance of the beginning no longer existed.

All of Alexandria noticed before you did. People exchanged knowing glances when they saw the two of you entering the mess hall around the same time, always sitting together, your bodies tilting toward each other without you noticing. No one commented directly—they were afraid of scaring off whatever was growing there, as if your relationship were a skittish creature that would flee at the slightest noise. But eyebrows arched. Elbows nudged discreetly. Once, Carol passed by you both on your way out of the mess hall and gave a small smile, almost imperceptible, but heavy with meaning. You pretended not to see. Daryl grumbled something inaudible and walked faster. But the heat in your ears betrayed what your mouth didn’t say.

Because the truth was that something had changed. That distance from the start, that armor of silence Daryl wore, hadn’t disappeared—no one sheds a defense built over years just like that. But it now had a door. A small door that only opened inward, and only when you were near. And the two of you, with the patience of those who understand that some things need time to put down roots, kept tending that new territory without naming it.

You kept sitting together. You kept leaving little things for each other. You kept trading glances that said more than any speech ever could. And deep down, even without words, you already knew: that empty place beside him wasn’t empty anymore. And it never would be again.

keniscrepes

"my opposite

chapter 1: jealous!katsuki bakugo x oblivious!reader

synopsis: jealous!katsuki bakugo has started to realize that he has romantic feelings for one of his classmates, oblivious!reader, and just as he's coming to terms with his feelings, his friends find out about his infatuation as well…

content: mdi — third year timeline, canon universe, playful teasing, friendly banter, complicated feelings, introduction to main character

searching…

katsuki bakugo wasn’t one to dwell on his feelings— let alone romantic ones, though he rarely had those. at eighteen years old, he could count how many crushes he’s had his whole life using just one hand.

one.

how pathetic is that?

it’s clear he’s had other priorities— he still does. being the number one hero is still his main goal, that’s all he’s wanted since he was just five. but now? now it seems like besides wanting to be the number one hero, he also wants to pursue a certain classmate, romantically.

that classmate being none other than reader.

he had known her since he started at u.a, having been sat near her since the first day of class. he didn’t pay much attention to her at first— well he didn’t pay much attention to anyone when he started high school, far too egotistical to focus on anyone but himself. but, over the years, especially with the war over, he started to notice everyone more often.

he started to notice her more often.

how intelligent she was, even more than he was if they were using test scores. how effectively she used her quirk, and how strong her quirk was at that— he didn’t praise others often for their quirks but he found reader particularly interesting (and that wasn’t just because he found her interesting, or at least that’s what he’s been telling himself)...

katuki could go on about how he found reader intriguing, and how he slowly developed feelings for her over the two and a half years they’ve been at u.a— but, it already took him far too long to admit how he felt to himself the first time around. he’s come a long way with understanding his feelings and coming to term with the various emotions he’s been bottling up for so long, but it still wasn’t the easiest process for him.

he was always more of an actions speak louder than words guy anyways.

right now, his actions consist of staring— constantly.

katsuki sat in his seat, listening to present mic drone on about something with that painfully irritating voice of his. but, instead of looking up at the board and giving the lesson his undivided attention, he had his attention directed at the girl sitting two seats away. stupid kaminari’s fat head was in the way but if he leaned forward just a bit, he could get a decent view of her.

he wasn’t creepy though! not by any means! his staring was never perverse or too intense, he just appreciated the look of her focused face as she jotted down notes, paying full attention even though this was just a filler lecture.

so that’s how bakugo stared at reader in class— but class wasn't the only place where he stared at her.

it was much easier to stare during lunch as she was somewhat a part of his friend group, quote on quote.

the group consisted of mina ashido, denki kaminari, hanta sero, kyoka jirou, eijiro kirishima and katsuki bakugo. they were his closest friends, beside izuku. reader was close friends with jirou so she often sat with the group at lunch, giving katsuki another chance to easily admire her, even talk to her a bit.

he didn't strike up conversation often but when he did, it was mostly coming from concern, or care, that he covered up with a gruff voice and an uninterested tone.

“you've been eatin’ rice and pork for the past three days— are ya too lazy to cook anythin’ else?” he would ask her with a quiet scoff, observing her bento with narrowed eyes. reader looked up from her food at his comment, quickly shaking her head and reassuring him that she enjoyed the simple meal.

katsuki wasn’t bothering her about her lunch cause he thought plain rice and pork was bad— it wasn’t a bad meal, just plain. he was just worried at the fact that she wouldn’t enjoy her lunch when it had been repeated so many days in a row. plus, if cooking was a problem, he could easily make her whatever meal he wanted. he was 3a’s best chef and wouldn’t hesitate to make reader her daily bentos if she wanted…

but he’d never offer to just make her food. it would seem far too forward, and he didn’t want to make too many sudden moves and scare her off. staring and light conversation would do, for now at least.

besides class, and during lunch, he also spent much time observing her when 3a had full-class mandatory training periods. her quirk and strength was what caught his eye in the first place, so why wouldn’t he enjoy watching her spar with classmates? it always amused him seeing her beat sero in hand-to-hand.

katsuki stands off to the side, panting quietly as he leans back against the cool metal of the vending machine, catching his breath and taking a deep sip of water after an extensive sparring session with eijiro— who was standing beside him doing the same. as katsuki's breath steadied, the heaves of his chest starting to slow down, his eyes drifted to the side, finding reader. his head tilts slightly as he watches her spar, laughing quietly while she moves.

eijiro, now finished with his bottle of water, quickly noticed katsuki's stare directed not at the ground but at someone else instead. when he follows his gaze and realizes that he’s staring at reader, a gentle grin quickly appears on his face.

bakugo is snapped out of his little trance when eijiro roughly elbows him in the ribs, making him jerk forward slightly. his head whips around to glare at the red-haired boy, but before he could open his mouth to yell at him, eijiro spoke up first.

“you shouldn’t stare at her so much, you look creepy.” he comments bluntly, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

katsuki's mouth snaps closed, the tips of his ears starting to turn pink from the embarrassment of being caught practically ogling a friend of theirs. “... ‘m not staring at her..” he grumbles a few seconds later, turning his head to look off to the side.

“and ‘m all might.” his friend snaps back with a scoff not even a second later, making it clear that he didn’t believe the other boy for a second. “you’ve been staring at her a lot lately dude, anythin’ ya wanna tell me?” eijiro nudges katsuki in the ribs again, earning yet another irritated grumble from the blonde.

“i don’t have anythin’ to tell you, moron— so just drop it, ok?” bakugo grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest, tucking his half-empty water bottle underneath his arm.

“nope, quit deflecting. i know ya better than that man.” kirishima laughs quietly, swinging a heavy arm over his shoulders and yanking him a bit closer, trying to persuade him to open up. “now, do you have anythin’ to tell me?”

two years ago, he would’ve started yelling, shoved his friend off of him and told him to mind his own business— but that wasn’t him anymore. the war, and his injuries, had really made his attitude far more subdued than it used to be. so instead of shouting and overreacting, he just let out a deep sigh, reaching up to scrub a calloused hand over his face, which was now lightly flushed.

“i think ‘m jus’ kind of interested in her— reader, i mean..” katsuki confesses with a deep sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat while eijiro’s whole expression lights up with excitement.

“interested is an understatement!” he chuckles, yanking him even closer to his side so he can punch at his ribs, again. at this rate, katsuki was going to have bruises littering his chest.

“oi! quit that, will you!” katsuki finally squirms away from eijiro’s grip, gently shoving him off and straightening up. his eyes briefly find reader across the field before they focus back onto his friend— he just couldn’t help it, could he?

“it’s not like ‘m in love with her.” he states bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest again. “i jus’ think she’s cool, that's all.” his gaze drifts across the training grounds, heading back to her like they were magnetized.

“she is cool. you two would make a good match.” eijiro comments with a gentle smile, his expression softening as he realizes that his friend was still a bit sensitive about his feelings.

“who’s cool?” a third voice questioned.

when the two boys turned, they saw another friend of theirs, mina ashido, approaching them with a curious expression, clearly wondering who and what they were talking about.

“no one!” katsuki quickly spoke up, not wanting anyone other than kirishima to find out about his so-called interest in reader.

“bakugo has a crush on reader.” eijiro announced casually, watching as katuki’s brows furrowed with irritation and mina’s expression lit up with pure joy. “i said it wasn’t a crush—” the blonde quickly tries to argue.

“ah! this is so awesome!” mina chirps with excitement, leaping forward to grab katsuki's shoulders. “she’s the sweetest person ever! i mean, she’s way too nice for you, but i think you two would look cute together!” she smiles up at him.

“wha- what do you mean she’s too nice for me?!” bakugo exclaims, “i’m like the nicest person ever!” he shouts, shaking his head.

“pfft— who’s the nicest person ever? cause it sure as hell isn’t you, bakubro.” kaminri chimes in as he also approaches the group, coming to a stop beside kirishima, both of them grinning down at bakugo as he tries to wrestle mina off of him.

“we’re talking about how bakugo likes reader—” mina comments before bakugo screams, continuing to attempt to squirm away from her.

“quit telling everyone my business!"

by that evening, their whole friend group, plus izuku, knew about katsuki bakugo's interest, quote on quote, in reader. he wasn’t exactly happy about everyone knowing, but what could he do now other than grumble? the cat was out of the bag..

plagiarism, feeding work into AI & reposting of content not allowed without permission (@keniscrepes)

divider credits to @cursed-carmine

taglist: @mxchiii @sugarinjected @vikizzy

angelwings-crossbowstrings

gif @mcbride

Y/N, poking Daryl’s arm: Are you still grumpy over the auto air freshener spraying you in that store?

Daryl: …

Y/N: C’mon, it was hilarious. It went pfft and you did a combat roll.

Daryl: …

Y/N, lightly sniffing: You smell like fresh meadow.

Daryl: Shuddup.

Y/N: Nope. You chose me, sir.

moonlitfates

Leon S. Kennedy's first and last appearance in Resident Evil: Requiem

storiesforallfandoms

one of the guys ~ jimmy smith jr;8 mile

word count: 3481

request?: no

description: she’s always been viewed as just “one of the guys” despite having feelings for one of her friends, and now it’s looking likely that she’s going to lose him to the wannabe model

pairing: jimmy smith jr. x female!reader

warnings: swearing, pining

masterlist (one, two, three)

Keep reading

storiesforallfandoms

can’t buy me ~ jimmy smith jr.;8 mile

word count: 1577

request?: yes!

@girl-toxxic “reader and Jimmy are in a relationship not long ago but Jimmy was always in love and they both live in the same place, ok but let’s say that reader meets a new friend at work (she is a waitress or can be a babysitter for a rich girl) and this new friend has a lot of money and is very interested in reader and the reader get along well and this makes Jimmy insecure, since reader’s friend gives him small gifts and helps him a lot. But you can add something that is more interesting as the boy confesses his feelings to the reader and she rejects him since Jimmy is her great love and he tells her how can she go out with that poor devil … or something else interesting what occurs to you. And that this ends in a lot of love and smut, bah if you feel comfortable🤗💕💕”

description: in which her new friend keeps trying to make advances through gifts, but her heart belongs to one man

pairing: jimmy smith jr. x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two)

I walked through the door and made a beeline for the kitchen to throw away yet another gift from my not so secret admirer. The last thing I needed was for Jimmy to see what Mark had give me and to get upset about it.

I worked as a waitress at a bar and grill down the road from mine and Jimmy’s house. The hours were only okay, but the tips more than made up for it, especially after our newest regular, Mark, started dining there and specifically asked to have me as his server whenever he was in.

Mark was in his late 30s, handsome, worked a good job that paid good money. He came in one night after he had a particularly hard shift. He sat at the bar, and it was the night I was working it, so I talked him through his rough day. Next thing I knew, he was coming back and asking for me again. We became friendly, but it took me a little too long to realize he wanted to be more than friends.

I turned the corner and yelped as I realized I wasn’t alone. Jimmy was leaning against the counter, almost like he was waiting for me.

“Hey babe,” I said. “I thought you were at the Shelter with Future tonight.”

His eyes flickered to the gift bag in my hand. “He wanted me to come home. We haven’t had a night together in months.”

“Doesn’t help that we both work late night jobs,” I tried to joke. The bag felt heavy in my hand as Jimmy kept looking at it.

“That rick prick buy you more useless shit?” he asked.

“Jimmy,” I sighed.

“Sorry, I forgot it was okay for some rich jackass to buy my girlfriend expensive gifts.”

He wouldn’t meet my eye. He kept glancing around the kitchen, every so often looking down at the bag in my hand. I dropped everything I was holding onto the floor, including that stupid gift, and raced over to hug him.

“Hey,” I said, softly, resting my head on his chest. “Hey, you know there’s nothing to this. It’s just a guy who doesn’t understand I’m not interested.”

“It’s a guy who has money.”

I lighted my head to look at him. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Jimmy shook his head. “Nothing, never mind.”

I pulled away from him. “No, tell me.” When he didn’t speak, I took his chin in my hand and forced him to look at me. “Jimmy, do you think I’d leave you for someone who makes more money?”

“He’d be able to give you what you deserve,” he responded. “A house, a car, expensive gifts - ”

“We have a house,” I cut him off. “You have a car, and I don’t want expensive gifts. I don’t want materialistic things, I want happiness and love, and that’s what I get with you. You really have nothing to worry about in regards to Mark. You’re the one I’ll always want.”

Jimmy sighed and pulled me close. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’ll give you that reassurance any day.”

I leaned up to kiss him. He relaxed into the kiss and I leaned into him more.

When he pulled away, Jimmy turned to look at the forgotten present on the floor. “What did that asshole get you this time anyways?”

I picked up the bag and pulled out the box that was inside. Jimmy opened the box to reveal the gold necklace Mark had given me. The pendant was gold to match, and it was my initial.

“I was gonna chuck it when I got home,” I told him. It’s way too flashy for me, it wouldn’t match anything I own.”

“Don’t throw it out. This is, like, real gold. We can sell it for a good chunk of money.”

I smiled. “I like the way you think, Rabbit.”

~~~~~~

The next day, Jimmy had the night off from the Shelter so he drove me to work. He followed me into the bar and grill with the intentions of sitting at the bar for an hour or two before going home. One of my co-workers spotted us as we walked in and gave me a panicked look. I immediately knew what she was trying to tell me.

I saw Mark sat at the bar before he saw me. I was about to turn to Jimmy to warn him when Mark spotted me and rose from his seat. He had a wide smile on his face, until he saw Jimmy behind me.

“Two nights in a row, Mark?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood. “Those wings and nachos are gonna start getting to you.”

“I went to the gym this morning, so it cancels out,” he responded. “Who’s this with you?”

“This is my boyfriend, Jimmy. I told you about him, remember?”

“Oh yeah, the…rapper,” Mark said. I didn’t miss the way he sneered the word “rapper”, and Jimmy didn’t either.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mark shrugged. “Nothing. Just stating a fact that (Y/N) told me. Although, rapping at that rundown warehouse probably doesn’t pay as much as a real job would.”

Jimmy stepped towards Mark, but I grabbed his arm to stop him. “Hey, he’s not worth it. Just go home. Thank you for the ride.”

Jimmy glared at Mark before turning to walk away. I breathed a sigh of relief, glad that the situation seemed to defuse easily.

And then Matt spoke again, “Yeah, go back to the trailer park, white trash.”

Jimmy snapped and charged at Mark before I could stop him. He knocked Mark to the ground and reared up to hit him. I quickly grabbed his arm and pulled as hard as I could until Jimmy was off of Mark.

“Get out before security gets called,” I told him.

He got to his feet and walked out the door before anything else could happen. Mark was getting to his feet and adjusting his clothes. I was trying to calm myself down as I regarded him.

“Please leave, Mark.”

“Seriously? Your trailer trash boyfriend attacked me, but you’re kicking me out?”

“You provoked him.”

“I wasn’t saying anything he hasn’t heard before, or anything that wasn’t true.”

“Fuck off!” I snapped, my anger finally bubbling over. “You are fucking insufferable! I’ve told you on multiple occasions that I have a boyfriend, that I’m not interested. Most people would take the fucking hint and move on. The way you’ve been acting, especially tonight, is way out of line. I want you to get the fuck out and if I ever see you here again I will contact the authorities and have you charged for harassment.”

Mark blinked, realized I was being serious, and finally left. He muttered some less than ideal names towards me as he walked out the door. I sighed and buried my head in my hands. I was grateful that there wasn’t many customers in the area as all of this went down.

“Hey.” I looked up at my co-worker, who was now in front of me. “Go check on your man.”

I thanked her and quickly walked out the door. I didn’t expect him to still be outside, so I was surprised to see him stood by his car, almost like he was waiting for me to come out.

“Did I get you in trouble?”

I gave him a small smile and shook my head. “No. If anything, you did me a favor. When it became evident that Mark wasn’t taking no for an answer, all of us wanted to ban him from the place entirely, but we weren’t allowed unless he really caused trouble. I think it’s safe to say starting a fight is more than probable cause to make sure he never comes back.”

Jimmy was nodding and rubbing the back of his head. “I probably could’ve handled that better though.”

“I didn’t expect you to handle it any other way,” I said. I walked up to him and wrapped my arms around his waist. “Are you okay?”

Jimmy chuckled slightly. “Cocksucker didn’t even try to hit me. Did you see his face when I tackled him? He looked like he shit himself.”

I giggled. “Yeah, he’s definitely not a fighter. He’s too much like a high school mean girl for someone who works an office job and makes as much money as he does.”

Jimmy wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to him, resting his chin on top of my head. “I’m glad you stopped me. I wouldn’t beat the shit out of him if you didn’t.”

“I would’ve liked to see that.”

We both stood in silence for a while. I buried my nose in Jimmy’s sweater, taking in the familiar scent of his cologne. It made a warm feeling swell inside of me, like a safe feeling. It reminded me of how I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else than in Jimmy’s arms, or with anyone else besides Jimmy. No amounts of money, or people like Mark could ever change my mind about that.

“I should actually go to work,” I said, reluctantly untangling myself from Jimmy’s arms. “I’ll see you when I get off?”

“Of course, I’ll come pick you up.”

I smiled and kissed his cheek. I started back towards the restaurant, but paused to turn back to Jimmy. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

storiesforallfandoms

the assistant ~ raymond smith;the gentlemen

word count: 2600

request?: no

description: in which mickey hires a new assistant to help out with his business, and his right hand man finds himself falling in love

pairing: raymond smith x female!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of violence

masterlist (one, two)

welikeimagines-andfandoms

Imagine Ros dragging you along to a fancy party and feeling extremely out of place, so Ray decides to stay with you the whole night

Ray: “Hello, love. How are you enjoying the party?”

Y/N: “I couldn’t keep up with the conversation even if I tried, my shoes are slowly crippling me and this wine costs more then my car”

Ray: “Sounds like you need company”

Y/N: “Or maybe a hit man. Think you’d kill Ros for dragging me here?”

Ray: “Now that I can’t do. But, I can find somewhere comfortable for us to sit and we can make fun of these rich wankers together”

Y/N: “You’ve got a deal. You’ll have to take my arm though, because I might fall over if I try to walk”

Ray: “It’d be my honour”

itsme-autumn

Be Mine.

Author: @itsme-autumn Pairing: King Arthur x Reader Warnings: None! Request: Hi can you do a fluffy Arthur Pendragon x reader where the reader finds out she’s pregnant but doesn’t know how to tell Arthur cause they’re not officially together and he’s so busy organizing the kingdom and overall doing his best to be a good king?

You just barely bring your hand up in time to catch the sword that Wet Stick throws towards you.

“Come on, Y/N, spar with me a little. Arthur’s too busy with his royal duties to mess around with our lot as much.” He smirks as he gets into position.

You keep the sword in the hand down, “I told you, not today.”

“You said that yesterday!”

“And the day before!” Blue chips in from the side of the courtyard. None of them notice Arthur behind him, observing you with amusement. What started as friendship had turned into…more. More of what Arthur wasn’t sure. But he was loving figuring it out. Almost as much as he loved watching you with a sword. He felt pride in knowing he helped you attain your skill. He didn’t understand what your mood was about lately, you normally loved showing off.

Sighing, you try something else. “Why doesn’t Blue spar with you, then?”

“Ha!” Wet Stick laughs incredulously, “I’d have to take it easy on him. But with you–”

He then lunges forward, forcing you to bring your sword up to block his strike.

“Did you not hear me? I said not today!” You push him off, your swords still crossed then throw yours to the ground, the clang of the metal on the stone floor echoing in the silence.

“Oi, what’s got you in a piss mood? In your woman’s time, eh?”

Oh this is not going to go well. Arthur muses to himself.

What started out as irritation has now grown to a low boiling anger.

“Who the HELL do you think you are, you lazy sod!” You stalk towards Wet Stick, getting more worked up with every step. “I’m not on my woman’s time,” your voice mocking his euphemism “if you really want to know–” you stop and throw your hands up in an emotional rage “I’m pregnant!”

The words had come out before you can think to stop yourself. Your emotions had been so unpredictable lately, crying or yelling at any little thing. You freeze, looking from Wet Stick’s shocked face to Blue’s. Then you see Arthur’s face.

No.

No. No. No.

How long has he been here?

Your face pales, immediately you turn on your heel and run out of the courtyard as fast as your feet can carry you. You don’t get far before you hear Arthur behind you.

“Y/N, stop!”

You feel his hands on your waist, pulling you to a stop. You don’t turn to face him though. He seems to understand this and just pulls your back against him, wrapping his hands around you.

“You’re sure?” He asks softly.

“Yes.” You breath out, unsure of where this conversation is going.

“And that it’s…”

“–of course!” You turn around quickly, looking up at him. “I’ve been with no one but you. It’s only every been you, Art.” Tears start to pool in your eyes. “I don’t know what this–” you gesture between the two of you “–is, but I know that I have loved you long before you had that crown on your head.”

Deciding to continue onward with this burst of bravery, you press on. “And I will love this child with or without you.” A tear escapes and runs down your cheek.

Arthur reaches up and swipes it away. A huge smile breaks across his face.

“Y/N..”

He doesn’t finish the thought because the next second his lips are crashing onto yours. The kiss is long and relentless, Arthur’s arms wrap around your waist, pulling you further into him.

“Be mine, Y/N.” He whispers into your mouth. “Be my Queen.”

You pull your head to look at him, almost not believing the words.

“It’s not that simple, Arthur. I am not a suitable match for a King–”

“You are a perfect match for me.” He interrupts you. “I love you, Y/N. And this child.”

As his words sink in, your lips slowly curl up in a wide grin. You take a small step back and jump into Arthur’s arms, wrapping your legs around his waist, a feat not so easy in these bloody fancy dresses you have to wear now.

Arthur almost falls over at the surprise and starts to laugh.

“Is that a yes, love?”

“Hell yes, Pendragon.”

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Arthur Tag List: @lokilvrr, @smokey102

dailydragon08

Show Me

Prompt 8 from this list: “You don’t have to pretend to be all right around me.” Summary: Arthur can always count on you when he needs solace. Pairings: Arthur x Reader Warnings: some cursing, gets a little steamy, but not too much (mentions of very tight pants). A/N: From Arthur’s POV. Might make a part 2, or even more fics within this universe, where the rating goes up, but not sure yet. Thanks for reading and enjoy! Read here on AO3

Arthur sighed as the door to the great hall shut with a great boom behind him, echoing in the vast space. Sometimes all the spaces in the castle he now called “home” felt too vast—so much so, he hardly thought of it as home and missed the brothel and streets of Londinium sometimes. Sometimes he wished Excalibur had never shown itself. He was so close to getting his coffers full enough to buy a piece of land…But then, he never would have met you.

Still, he wished you were here now—like every night once he was alone. Like every hour of every day if he was honest with himself. He’d fallen hard for you and couldn’t help it. You’d been a local healer that came up to the castle for work so much, it only made sense for you to move into your own quarters.

He remembered going your place in the village for the first time and being struck by you. Of course, you’d had no idea who he was—and he preferred it that way for a long time. He always made sure to intercept his guards or anyone else with him before the your majesties started rolling off their traitorous tongues. He and Stick had originally rushed there after Blue fell at an odd angle with the telltale crack of a broken bone during a hunting trip. You’d been the closest healer. Blue had liked you, and if Arthur had to guess, he’d say the boy had a bit of a crush on you—and he couldn’t blame him. Plus, you were amazing with him, making him feel safe and cared for without patronizing him.

multific

A Language of Fire

Requested by: @pinupdoll45

Summary: At a tense royal dinner, you feel isolated as others speak Valyrian around you, unable to understand their words. When Aegon mocks you for trying to learn, Daemon defends you, in his own way.

You have never felt smaller than when the court starts talking in Valyrian.

It happens without warning, and you suspect with intent.

You sit still when it happens, back straight, hands folded in your lap, pretending not to notice.

But you always notice.

MY CUTIE!!🫶🏼💍😍🥰💘💖

#twd daryl #daryl dixon #walking dead #cutie pie #gif

zawija

This man is hotter than the heat wave here in Europe.

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