#and then ten seconds later disappears again

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Hit The Gas

[Written to 'Renegade (We Never Run)' from Arcane]

Technically speaking, Mr. Masters, Gotham's new aspiring crime lord, did provide them with a getaway car. It's just that, in Tim's honest, objective opinion, said car sucks major ass.

First of all, it's white, which is, well, not the best color for disappearing into the night. Then, it's old — not vintage old, thank fuck, but definitely made before 2005 — and long overdue for a makeover. Tim doesn't see a single part of it that doesn't have a scratch or a dent on it, and are those bullet holes on the passenger door?

Eh, whatever, this is a staged escape anyway. Tim doesn't need it to be successful, he only needs an alibi. Someone — their driver, in this case — to later tell Masters that Alvin Draper did everything he could to keep the package safe. So he can stay in the man's moderately good graces even after they get caught by Batman tonight.

Tim makes it to the car first, throws the back door open and slides inside in one motion, slamming it behind him. Jason, the drama queen, jumps in through the open window and into the front passenger seat.

"Hit the gas, they are on our heels!" He yells at the driver, struggling to turn himself over and put his ass in the seat. Serves him right, opening the door and getting in the normal way would have taken literally two seconds.

The car jolts into movement without a moment of hesitation — so at least the driver has a good reaction time — but Tim still hears a dull sound of a betarang hitting the rear end of it. Nice throw, Cass!

It's only then that he cares to actually look around and realize a few things. A few, arguably, very important things. Like the fact that their driver is a redhead girl who looks barely sixteen. Or that there are two kids, looking no older than ten, in the back seat beside him.

He blinks and stares. The kids — both boys, one of them white as milk with a dark mop of hair and the other one black, wearing glasses and a red beanie — pay no mind to either him, Jason in the front seat, or the speed the car is going at. In fact, they pay no attention to the outside world as a whole, hunched over an outdated PSP. They are playing it together, one of the kids in charge of action buttons and the other one controlling the D-pad, so Tim can understand the need to focus: it takes some impressive teamwork to sucessfully go through the game like that. And they are using some complicated combos while at it, wow.

Wait, no, this is such a wrong time to marvel at videogame skills! They are kids, in a car, in a getaway car, in the middle of a car chase with the fucking Batman!

They take a sharp turn, and Tim grabs onto the handle in order to not bump into the door.

"Oh, you didn't tell me we're racing with the Batmobile," the redhead girl says, but it sounds surprisingly nice and polite, like she's merely asking about the weather.

"Yeah, well, we didn't expect that kind of trouble either," Jason snaps back, scrunching his nose, but the girl just laughs softly.

"No, don't worry. It's no trouble," she assures almost gently, and then reaches one hand behind the seat without looking, tapping the black boy on the knee, "Tucker, sweetheart, switch with me?"

Hold on, what?..

"But Ja-a-azz," the white boy whines.

"We've just got to the boss fight," Tucker pouts, but the redhead just taps his knee more insistently.

"And I'm sure you'll get to it again after we make it out," she says, still perfectly polite and collected. Tim glances out the window. Either this girl has nerves of steel or there's something very wrong with both her and the kids; they are going at least 95 mph, and she keeps only one hand on the wheel like it's nothing.

"Ugh, fine," the kid rolls his eyes and nudges his friend in the shoulder, passing him the console, "Save it, I'll get the cord."

"What cord?" Tim asks because he thought this was a simple undercover mission, but now he gets a sneaking suspicion there's a lot more to it than it looked.

Tucker, with one hand under the driver's seat and searching for something blindly, turns to glare at him.

"The control-cord," he answers like the dumb one here is Tim, "How else do you think- A-ha!" His face lights up as he emerges victorious from under the seat, holding... Yeah, a cord, okay. Which he plugs into the PSP that the other boy hands him without prompting.

"Maybe fasten your seat belts, this is about to get interesting," Jazz offers, but doesn't do so herself. Neither of the kids do it either, and Jason just snorts dismissively.

"You're saying it wasn't 'interesting' before?" There's definitely some teasing in his voice. Tim looks down to the package in his lap, a metal box holding some unknown but evidently very important content.

He fastens his seat belt just in time. The car jerks and speeds up — they are definitely past 110 now. And Jazz is not holding the wheel.

It only takes a moment for Tim to connect the dots and look to the PSP in Tucker's hands. Sure enough, instead of a game, his screen is now a perfect replica of the car's windshield in real time, and his fingers are firmly placed on controls. Like he's done it hundreds of times.

They are racing the Batmobile, and a ten-year-old is driving. This mission is fucking wild.

"Brakes, brakes, BRAKES!" Jason yells from the front, and Tim only gets a moment to notice the quickly approaching back of a truck in front of them and realize they are going to crash before their car just goes through it with no resistance. He even looks in the back window to make sure he didn't hallucinate the truck, but no, it's still there and still real.

Did they... Phase through it?..

"What the fuck," he mutters under his breath.

"Language, there are kids in the car," Jazz chides him with a huff of laughter, and then there's a click.

"What the f- fudge," Jason repeats the question, albeit much louder and way more alarmed than Tim before.

When he turns back around, the redhead is holding a grenade launcher. It doesn't look like a model Tim is familiar with, but it's for some reason painted white, just like their car. Is that some kind of Masters' thing?

Wait, that's a grenade launcher.

Jazz ties her hair in the back in less than two seconds and then reaches up to the roof of the car, pressing a button to open the sunroof.

"Wait, you can't shoot a vigilante, they'll-" Tim yells over the wind, but Jazz just smiles at him and stands up on the driver's seat, peeking out and taking position. Tim throws a panicked look at Jason — they sure didn't plan for anything like this. The car chase was supposed to be over in less than a few minutes, none of them thought that Masters, a fairly new figure in the Gotham underground, would have a kind of vehicle that can phase through things and drive at- at 150 mph through the city roads! Not to mention some strange fucking kids and a teenage with grenades!

"She won't kill anyone," a voice comes from Tim's side, and when he turns his head, he finds the other kid, the one he doesn't know the name of, looking at him, his eyes calm and unblinking. And slightly glowing, okay, and here he was, thinking this clusterfuck of a ride can't get any weirder.

"How do you know?" Tim snaps because there's only so much he can deal with at once in the span of five minutes. The kid shrugs.

"It's Jazz. She has morals," he says, like the word disgusts him, and Tucker huffs a laugh.

"You have them, too. Vlad and Dan killed people before, though," he argues, his eyes still glued to the screen of the PSP.

"Not in Gotham," his friend adds, seemingly just for the sake of having the last word in the argument.

Whatever Tim wants to say back gets cut off by a sound of a gunshot. He turns to the back window again, his heart stuck in his throat, but it looks like the white kid was right: the roaring Batmobile is still on their heels. Whatever the redhead tried to do, she missed.

"Danny, on three!" Jazz yells from above, and the kid springs to action like he's been waiting for this moment his whole life.

"One!"

Tucker moves out of the way as Danny climbs over him and towards Tim, unceremoniously shoves the precious metal box away and all but falls into Tim's lap despite his loud yet wordless sounds of protest.

"Two!"

The boy yanks the latch and throws the door open, leaning down while still sprawled over Tim's knees, and Tim grabs the back of his shirt out of reflex. It doesn't matter that the whole thing is a disaster, he's not letting a ten-year-old fall out of the car on his watch.

"Three!"

There's a loud pop somewhere behind them, and the car suddenly turns and drifts sideways, the sound of skidding tires grating on Tim's ears. Yet, he still feels Danny move and sees him reach and touch the ground. There's a short moment of panic — at this kind of speed, the pavement will shave the skin off the boy's hands in seconds — but then there's a shimmer of white bursting from Danny's palms.

When Tim looks up, the road behind them is covered in ice, the smooth surface of it shining in the yellow light of streetlamps. And, a bit further, there's a thick layer of smoke that should definitely hide them from the view of pursuers.

Smoke grenades. And ice powers. That explains the glowing eyes, Danny must be a meta.

The car shifts again, changing directions, and Tim, almost like in slow-mo, sees the metal box that they've gone to such great lengths to steal, slide towards the open door and tip over the edge.

He is still holding Danny's shirt, and the boy is still hanging halfway out of the car.

The seat belt is pressing tightly into his chest.

The box falls out, and Tim shuts his eyes close. Fuck it, he can fail the mission, it's not the end of the world, Jason can still try and weasel his way into Masters' close circle, and Bruce would understand if Tim explains why quickly enough, it's okay, no big deal-

"Gotcha!" Danny yells cheerfully as the car makes a sharp turn and comes to a halt all of a sudden.

Tim opens his eyes.

Danny, a wide, wicked grin on his face, is holding the box in his hands.

"You're a little shit," Tim breathes out, and the boy laughs, wiggling on Tim's lap and trying to get back inside the car.

"Born and raised," he answers with such a shit-eating expression on his face that Tim doesn't even bother holding back his urge for petty revenge. He releases his death grip on the back of Danny's shirt and gleefully watches the brat lose his balance and faceplant the ground.

The 'quick' undercover mission is sure getting an extension, but somehow, he can't bring himself to feel bad about the fact.

[kxsagi]

the aisle be yours had be wheezing like an old man on his death bed😭 anyways, i have an idea!😼 What if it's the blue lock men (like bachira or anyone you find silly enough to do it) doing it to reader, but the reader just sighed, rolled her eyes and didn't even bother to chase them😭 then 15 minutes later the men grew worried so they try to find her but found her already paying for their groceries to the cashier😔

“𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐛𝐟, 𝐢𝐟 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐨𝐮𝐭”

a/n: reader is so nonchalant here, i could never 😭

ft. bachira meguru, shidou ryusei, karasu tabito, nagi seishiro, isagi yoichi

bachira meguru

he was hyping it up like he was on ninja warrior or something. 

“alright, babe, three... two... ONE—" and he's GONE, sprinting full speed down the cereal aisle with a bag of frozen peas like it's a baton. 

you? you just blinked, sighed, and turned the cart around. 

15 minutes later, he’s crouched behind the paper towels, whispering to himself like, “okay, any second now, she’ll turn the corner and be like ‘bachiraaa~’” 

but you never did. 

eventually peeks out, realizes you’re not even looking for him. 

rushes around the store in a panic until he finds you at checkout, scanning his dumb snacks like the loving wife you are. 

“baby? you weren’t worried i got kidnapped? :(” 

“no, because no kidnapper would deal with your hyper ass for more than 30 seconds.” 

he smiles like you just told him you love him. 

shidou ryusei

sprinted off yelling, “CATCH ME IF YOU CAN, SEXY!” 

makes it a full-blown chase scene with sound effects, dramatic dives, and fake backflips in the produce aisle. 

you? you didn’t even blink. just kept pushing the cart. 

after ten minutes of hiding in the walk-in freezer, he peeks out and goes, “where’s my girl at?” 

sees you at self-checkout with that little bored lean and your phone in one hand. 

he’s offended. appalled. scandalized. 

walks up like, “you weren’t gonna hunt me down like a sexy panther in heat???”

“no, because i’m not dumb.” 

pouts the whole way home. 

“you hurt my feelings,” he grumbles. 

“good.” 

he falls more in love. 

karasu tabito

thinks he’s being hilarious. 

runs off but keeps yelling over his shoulder, “I’M BEING KIDNAPPED, BABY SAVE ME!” 

you shoot him the “i will leave your ass here” look. 

he disappears anyway. 

fifteen minutes later he’s crouched behind a discount bin of clearance granola, whispering, “is she mad? is she pouting? is she playing hard to get?” 

spoiler: you’re none of the above. 

he finds you coolly tapping your card like the unbothered queen you are. 

“ya weren’t worried about me?” 

“you’re too loud to kidnap.” 

mutters “damn, she’s got a point” and takes the bags without complaint. 

lowkey never tries that again because he doesn’t like being ignored by you. too humbling. 

nagi seishiro

did not run so much as he wandered off like a toddler. 

saw a shelf of limited edition chips and floated away mid-conversation. 

fully expected you to grab him by the hoodie and drag him back. 

instead, you let him go. 

he spent 20 minutes taste-testing free samples and playing on his phone. 

suddenly realizes you’re not near him and immediately goes 😐. 

“did she leave me. oh my gosh. i’ve been abandoned. survival mode: activated.” 

finds you calmly scanning items at checkout like nothing happened. 

stands behind you, lips on your shoulder, arms dangling. “i missed you.” 

“you left.” 

“i was lost. like a kitten.” 

you roll your eyes but kiss his cheek anyway. he takes that as a win. 

isagi yoichi

he was feeling mischievous. 

like, he watched a couple prank tik toks and suddenly thought he was a menace. 

you’re comparing yogurt brands, and he just grabs the cart and books it. 

looks back like, “haha she’s totally gonna chase me 😼” 

what he doesn’t expect is for you to blink slowly… sigh… and just turn around and walk away. 

not even a “yoichi 🙄” or a “bring that back.” 

ten minutes later: panic. 

fifteen minutes later: full-blown regret. 

“wait… she hasn’t texted me. oh no. what if she’s mad? what if she’s GONE?” 

starts speed-walking up and down aisles, whispering your name like a worried victorian husband. 

finally sees you at the cashier, already paying for everything. including the dumb snacks he picked. 

walks up with the saddest little pout. “you weren’t worried?” 

“yoichi, you ran away in an air-conditioned building with security cameras.” 

“… fair.” 

grabs all the bags to carry them himself as a quiet apology. 

doesn’t try to prank you again. 

instead holds onto the cart the whole time on the next trip like he’s afraid you’ll disappear now. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[mandiemegatron]

𝕭𝖆𝖉 𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 [𝕯𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝕿𝖆𝖑𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌]

𝖭𝗈 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌. 𝖨𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝖣𝗈𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗈 𝗆𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝖺 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖱𝗈𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾 13 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆. 𝖮𝗋 𝗌𝗈 𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗌. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗆 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝖼𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗀𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽, 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗎𝖼𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌. 𝖵𝗂𝖾𝗐𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝖽𝗏𝗂𝗌𝖾𝖽. 𝖲𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗂𝖼, 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝖡𝖺𝖽 𝖡𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝖡𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖣𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖢𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖳𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝗒 𝖱𝗈𝖾 𝖪𝖺𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖺.

Shock. 

Pure shock, immediately ravaged over by rage and a tinge of fear. Sweat gathers over an intricately plucked brow, though it never falls.  

“You're supposed to be dead.” 

Silence was the answer, as it always was, even so long ago. Fury only rose higher in Doflamingo's chest at it. 

“You forget, I know you can speak.” The words were spat out like poison, betrayal and irritation laced in every vowel. 

“...”

ᵂᵉ ʷᵉʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘⁿᵍ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵈʳᶦⁿᵏᶦⁿᵍ ᶦⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵃʳᵏ

ᵀʰᵉʳᵉ ʷᵃˢ ⁿᵒʷʰᵉʳᵉ ᵉˡˢᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵒ

ᴬⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵃᶦᵈ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃˡʷᵃʸˢ ʰᵃᵈ ᵐʸ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ

ᴼʰ, ᵇᵘᵗ ʰᵒʷ ʷᵉʳᵉ ʷᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵏⁿᵒʷˀ

A tight string streaks across thin air and strikes the near spitting image of himself, just as a resounding BANG echos. The string embeds itself through the others left shoulder, only to disappear moments later. 

Doflamingo looks down as agony rips through his torso. A large hand covers over a slowly seeping wound just under his ribcage, barely missing his heart.

ᵀʰᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉˢᵉ ᵃʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵃʸˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵇᶦⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘ

ᵀᵒᵍᵉᵗʰᵉʳ, ᶠᵒʳᵉᵛᵉʳ

ᴬⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉˢᵉ ˡᶦᵗᵗˡᵉ ᵗʰᶦⁿᵍˢ ᵈᵉᶠᶦⁿᵉ ʸᵒᵘ

ᶠᵒʳᵉᵛᵉʳ, ᶠᵒʳᵉᵛᵉʳ

Doflamingo winces slightly, frowning as his strings refuse to thread the wound shut. His eyes flicker from his wound to his once dead brother not ten feet away, holding a gun that looked all too familiar, now resting in a steady hand this time. 

A lit cigarette sat between painted lips, black sunglasses covering those same markings that he'd always paint, with that same deep purple feathered coat covering broad shoulders - though now broader than they used to be all those years ago. 

Doflamingo smirked to himself, keeping his hand pressed against the wound as he decides to try a different approach.

ᴬˡˡ ᵗʰᶦˢ ᵇᵃᵈ ᵇˡᵒᵒᵈ ʰᵉʳᵉ

ᵂᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ˡᵉᵗ ᶦᵗ ᵈʳʸˀ

ᴵᵗ'ˢ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ᶜᵒˡᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵉᵃʳˢ

ᵂᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ˡᵉᵗ ᶦᵗ ˡᶦᵉˀ

“You've grown into a fine man, little brother.” 

“...”

Irritation flares inside Doflamingo again at the continued silence. He goes to snark a biting remark when the prodigal son finally opens his mouth, cutting off the Heavenly Demon.

“And you've continued to grow ugly, older brother.”

Doflamingo's smirk widens into a playful grin, unable to bite back the chuckle of remembering such simple sibling badgering. It had been too long, he'd almost forgotten how quick witted his clumsy brother was. 

“Still snappy as ever, Rosinante.”

The gun in Rosinante's hand still smoked, a warning that a second shot wasn't far behind if Doflamingo didn't behave.

ᴵᶠ ʷᵉ'ʳᵉ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵉᵛᵉʳ ˡᵒᵒᵏᶦⁿᵍ ᵇᵃᶜᵏ

ᵂᵉ ʷᶦˡˡ ᵈʳᶦᵛᵉ ᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᵛᵉˢ ᶦⁿˢᵃⁿᵉ

ᴬˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠʳᶦᵉⁿᵈˢʰᶦᵖ ᵍᵒᵉˢ, ʳᵉˢᵉⁿᵗᵐᵉⁿᵗ ᵍʳᵒʷˢ

ᵂᵉ ʷᶦˡˡ ʷᵃˡᵏ ᵒᵘʳ ᵈᶦᶠᶠᵉʳᵉⁿᵗ ʷᵃʸˢ

“Come now, brother mine! Must you hold that thing in my face-”

Another shot echoes out, this one whizzing right past Doflamingo's sunglasses and cheek, cutting a thin line across a high cheek bone that immediately oozed red.

“What was it you said?” Questioned Rosinante, as his thumb pulled back the small mechanism for a third shot to ring out at any time he wished. “There's no way you can shoot me, you are too much like Father…?”

Doflamingo grits his teeth, both from the gunshot and unbridled rage. He hissed back, 

“Clearly you've outgrown your cowardly ways.” 

Rosinante huffs, a slight look of disbelief washing over his features as he asks, “Is that so?” 

ᴮᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵒˢᵉ ᵃʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵃʸˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵇᶦⁿᵈ ᵘˢ

ᵀᵒᵍᵉᵗʰᵉʳ, ᶠᵒʳᵉᵛᵉʳ

ᴬⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵒˢᵉ ˡᶦᵗᵗˡᵉ ᵗʰᶦⁿᵍˢ ᵈᵉᶠᶦⁿᵉ ᵘˢ

ᶠᵒʳᵉᵛᵉʳ, ᶠᵒʳᵉᵛᵉʳ

Sticky warmth seeps through Doflamingo's long, lithe fingers. “Sea stone bullets, brother?” He muses darkly, somehow both unimpressed and proud of the sneaky move. 

“I've been keeping a close eye on you all these years, Doflamingo.” Rosinante lowers his sunglasses just enough that his eyes show, dark circles under his bottom lashes showing how many nights he went without sleep, knowing his brother was still out there causing chaos. He raises them back up as Doflamingo sputters out a low, mirthless chuckle.

“A shame I couldn't do the same for you, considering I thought you were dead,” the Heavenly Demon spat in return, digging a finger into the gunshot and feeling around for the bullet. He grunts as his fingertip just brushes against it. 

“A shame?! You were the one to fill my chest full of lead! Or have you forgotten that in your years of slaughtering the innocent?” 

The gun shakes slightly as the ferocity in Rosinante's voice raises. 

“You shot me then left me for dead! A shame?! The only shame was my own, not having the strength to do what I'm going to do now.” 

ᴬˡˡ ᵗʰᶦˢ ᵇᵃᵈ ᵇˡᵒᵒᵈ ʰᵉʳᵉ

ᵂᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ˡᵉᵗ ᶦᵗ ᵈʳʸˀ

ᴵᵗ'ˢ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ᶜᵒˡᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵉᵃʳˢ

ᵂᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ˡᵉᵗ ᶦᵗ ˡᶦᵉˀ

A chill runs down Doflamingo's back at those words, his brow furrowing in mock curiosity as he comments in a thick voice, “Revenge, eh? A disgusting look for you, Rosi.” 

BANG.

Doflamingo grunts again, feeling a second bullet enter his chest the same way his own had sunk into Rosinante's. Coughing up a decent amount of blood, Doflamingo roars out, 

“You are a ghost! You are dead, and the dead cannot take from the living. The dead cannot tell lies, the dead cannot bring peace, the dead cannot change their mistakes-” 

BANG.

Doflamingo falls back as a third bullet hits his navel, a through and through this time. His blood stains the gravel under him, even as he tries to shuffle his massive form backwards, long arms and legs tangled in the now soaked pink feathered coat he treasured. 

ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ʰᵉᵃʳ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵃᵈ ᵇˡᵒᵒᵈ ᵃⁿʸᵐᵒʳᵉ

ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʷᵃⁿⁿᵃ ʰᵉᵃʳ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵃˡᵏ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᶦᵗ ᵃⁿʸᵐᵒʳᵉ, ᵒʰ

ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ʰᵉᵃʳ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵃᵈ ᵇˡᵒᵒᵈ ᵃⁿʸᵐᵒʳᵉ

ᴵ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʷᵃⁿⁿᵃ ʰᵉᵃʳ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵃˡᵏ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᶦᵗ ᵃⁿʸᵐᵒʳᵉ

“Brother, don't do this-” 

BANG.

Another harsh cough splatters Doflamingo's wounded chest with his own blood, a pained grimace overtaking the irritated and snarky look under those rose tinted glasses. 

Panic truly began to settle into Doflamingo's bones, his fingers frantically trying to tie the wounds shut to no avail. He gave a pathetic shout of rage, biting back angry tears as he demanded once more, 

“You can't do this! I am the Heavenly Demon, and you are fucking dead!” 

ᴬˡˡ ᵗʰᶦˢ ᵇᵃᵈ ᵇˡᵒᵒᵈ ʰᵉʳᵉ

ᵂᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ˡᵉᵗ ᶦᵗ ᵈʳʸˀ

ᴵᵗ'ˢ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ᶜᵒˡᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵉᵃʳˢ

ᵂᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ˡᵉᵗ ᶦᵗ ˡᶦᵉˀ

Rosinante kneels on his brother's chest and shoves the gun to his forehead, pulling back the mechanism again with a faint click. Doflamingo's whole body freezes as Rosinante remarks ever so gently, 

“And yet, you're the one rotting in jail. See you again soon, brother.”

BANG.

With a shout, Doflamingo hits cold cement. His large body smacks the floor with utmost disgrace, tangled in chains and his own limbs, bleary eyes trying to make out surroundings only for a deep-seated agony to rip through his bones and muscle like a hot knife through butter. 

Tricked? By his own mind? Nightmares flashing through his brain as if he were a child frightened by a lightning storm. 

“Must you make so much noise, Doflamingo?”

The Heavenly Demon sneers through his jail bars at Tsuru, who stands with arms crossed and an unimpressed expression across her tired face. 

“Calling out for your murdered brother will not help you,” she comments in a matter-of-fact tone, sighing deeply as she adds, “Or have you forgotten that you yourself killed him?” 

Doflamingo remains silent, sitting up and resting his aching back against the cold stone of his cell with a hand covering his chest where he swore he'd been shot. 

Right where that final shot hit Rosinante. 

“...”

Tsuru simply sighs again, shaking her head and walking away from Doflamingo's cell. “Back to bed, Donquixote. No more shouting for dead relatives.”

The second the main door shut, Doflamingo cradles his head in his other hand, ignoring the stinging ache in his eyes as he blinks back angry tears. 

“Still miserable and uptight as always, isn't she?” 

ᶠᵉᵉˡ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵒʳᵐˢ ᵉᵃᵗᶦⁿᵍ ʰᵒˡᵉˢ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵐʸ ᵐᶦⁿᵈ

ᴸᶦᵍʰᵗ ʳᵉᵍʳᵉᵗˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ’ˡˡ ᵏᶦˡˡ ᵐᵉ ᶦⁿ ᵗᶦᵐᵉ

ᵂᵃˡᵏᶦⁿᵍ ᵇᵃᶜᵏʷᵃʳᵈˢ ᶦˢ ᵃˡʷᵃʸˢ ᵃ ᵍᵘᵉˢˢ

ᴰᶦˢᵗᵃⁿᵗ ᶠᵃᶜᵉˢ ᵇᵘʳⁿ ʰᵒˡᵉˢ ᶦⁿ ᵐʸ ᶜʰᵉˢᵗ

Doflamingo freezes as a familiar voice echoes in his ears once again. Slowly, he pulls his hand down, wide eyed and slightly shaking as he takes in the very solid form of none other than Donquixote Rosinante, sitting with a leg casually thrown over the other sitting comfortably on his cot.

Doflamingo immediately shuffles across the floor, back dragging against the wall and digging into his delicate skin, ripping it open in some places as he tries to create more distance in the small cell.

ˢʰᵃᵈᵒʷˢ ᶠˡᵒᵃᵗᶦⁿᵍ

ᵀʰᵉʸ’ʳᵉ ᵒᵘᵗ ᶦⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵃˡˡ

ᵀʰᵉʸ ˢᵗᶦˡˡ ʰᵃᵘⁿᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ˡᵒⁿᵍ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉʸ’ʳᵉ ᵍᵒⁿᵉ

ᴮᵘʳᶦᵉᵈ ᶦⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵃˢᵉᵐᵉⁿᵗ

ᶜᵒˡᵈ ᶜᵉᵐᵉⁿᵗ

ᴰᵉᵃᵈ ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵗᵃˡᵏᶦⁿᵍ

ᶜᵃⁿ’ᵗ ᵖᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉˢᵗ…

“The dead don't speak,” Croaked Doflamingo. “The dead don't speak, the dead don't speak…”

Rosinante simply sits back a little further, a grin on his painted lips as he nearly purrs, 

“And yet, I speak.” 

ᴳʰᵒˢᵗ ᵃᵗ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵈᵒᵒʳ

ᵈʳᵉˢˢᵉᵈ ᶦⁿ ʷʰᶦᵗᵉ ˡᶦⁿᵉⁿ ˢʰᵉᵉᵗˢ

ˢᶜᵃʳᶦⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᶦˡᵈʳᵉⁿ

ˢᵃʸˢ ʰᵉ’ˡˡ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ˡᵉᵃᵛᵉ

ᴴᵉ’ˡˡ ᵇᵘʳⁿ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵒᵘˢᵉ

ᵀᵃˢᵗᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵐᵒᵏᵉ ᵒⁿ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵗᵒⁿᵍᵘᵉ

ᴴᵉ ᵘˢᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵒⁿᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ˡᵒᵛᵉᵈ…

Doflamingo cradles his head in his hands with a pained groan, wishing the image of his brother away as he continues to mutter over and over, “The dead don't speak, the dead don't speak…”

He refuses to look up for the rest of the night, even as the smell of burning cigarettes fills his senses. 

ˢʰᵃᵈᵒʷˢ ᶠˡᵒᵃᵗᶦⁿᵍ

ᵀʰᵉʸ’ʳᵉ ᵒᵘᵗ ᶦⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵃˡˡ

ᵀʰᵉʸ ˢᵗᶦˡˡ ʰᵃᵘⁿᵗ ʸᵒᵘ

ᴸᵒⁿᵍ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉʸ’ʳᵉ ᵍᵒⁿᵉ

ᴮᵘʳᶦᵉᵈ ᶦⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵃˢᵉᵐᵉⁿᵗ

ᶜᵒˡᵈ ᶜᵉᵐᵉⁿᵗ

ᵈᵉᵃᵈ ᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵗᵃˡᵏᶦⁿᵍ

ᶜᵃⁿ’ᵗ ᵖᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉˢᵗ…

[writtenjewels]

Four Zero

The sayings that “age is but a number” or “you're only as old as you feel” did little when Salim was faced with his fortieth birthday. As the months drew closer to May, he could feel that number looming in front of him larger and larger. Once the clock turned past ten o'clock that day, he would officially be a middle-aged man.

Bad enough that he had a son who would be eighteen only a few weeks later; even worse that he was divorced. To see that four and that zero put together was just too much.

But when Zain surprised him with birthday basbousa, he couldn't help smiling and embracing his thoughtful son.

[I bought it,] Zain admitted. [I wanted to try baking it from scratch, but I was worried I'd burn it.]

[It's wonderful,] Salim assured him. He took out a knife to cut the cake into pieces. [Come. I hope you don't expect me to eat this by myself.]

[Wait!] Zain jumped up and briefly disappeared into his room. He returned with small candles. He began sticking them on the cake; Salim was a little pleased that there only ended up being five in total. [We need to light these so you can make a wish!]

[I may be a little old for that,] Salim said with a shake of his head.

[That's what I said last year, and you still made me do it,] Zain pointed out. [Please, Baba?] Again, Salim had no other choice but to indulge his boy. Zain beamed and grabbed his father's lighter. [And it has to be a wish for something you want for yourself,] he said as he lit the candles.

[Isn't it my birthday wish?] Salim asked playfully. Nevermind that Zain wouldn't know the difference anyway.

[Just try it, Baba,] Zain persuaded him.

Truth be told, it'd been years since Salim thought of asking for anything he wanted for himself. He sighed and stared at the flickering candlelight, letting his mind wander. He would never wish back for the things he chose to give up for Zain; it had all been worth it. Nor did he want Maysa back in his life. Salim rolled his eyes at himself. He was taking this too seriously. It was just a bit of flame, nothing magical about it. He could wish for world peace or a new pair of socks and it would mean the same.

Then he thought of that four and that zero looming over him, and he didn't want to let go of one more thing.

I want to be healed, even if just a little, he thought. I want to find hope. He took a breath and blew out the candles.

One flickered a second longer than the others before snuffing out. Almost like that last flame was the one to carry his wish to the air.

[livinginadumpster]

I saw it pointed out in a german magazine of all places that ghosts being briefly material after coming into contact with iron would make them briefly visible to the average living person and while that should be obvious I just... never considered it before? and now that I have, it brings up so many fascinating possibilities

[illbegottenfaith]

the one where you scold theo for dozing off

a/n - was inspired by this post + a tiktok I saw where this girl was talking about how her boyfriend games till like 3 am with his friends but nods off at like 9 pm with her and all the comments were like girl he's so relaxed w you cuz of how much he loves you and it was all just soooo cute 😭😭 anyways enjoyyy :))

tropes/warnings - flufffff, eepy theo, established relationship, cuddling idk

word count - 830

taglist - @allie-sturns @hzdhrtss @friedfreyfries @bushnellswife @rose-of-the-grave @thaliashifts @pariahsparadise @babene-e @fratbrochrisgf @iamheretoread1234

"Teddy."

"Teddy?"

"Theodore."

One hard shove to his sternum later, Theo's eyes flew open.

"'M up - "

You gave him the stink eye as he coughed sporadically, choking on his saliva. You sniffed disapprovingly.

"Honestly, Teddy. I didn't bring you here to nap."

Theo glanced around incredulously. The two of you were sitting on a picnic blanket on the side of a grassy knoll on the other side of the Great Lake. After indulging in some chocolate-covered berries, a sleepy, hazy kind of quiet had descended on the hill in that late afternoon sun. In short, it was a perfectly comfortable setting for napping.

He winced, rubbing at his sternum. "Oh, c'mon. You feed me these - these fuckass strawberries - "

"Don't talk about my strawberries that way!"

" - then you lie me down and expect me to stay awake? It's warm out, cara. I sleep warm. You know I sleep warm."

Scoffing, you lie down next to him, muttering darkly under your breath. Still, you can't resist running your fingers through his hair, gently raking at his scalp. It's an addicting thing, watching the tense parts of his face relax, watching that crease between his eyebrows disappear. Some of your earlier anger dissipates.

“You are so easy,” you tease, fingers still carding through his hair.

“Only for you, amor,” he murmurs, voice low and knowing.

Your face burns. “Merlin, shut up.”

Chuckling, he stretched his arms over his head before letting them fall lazily back down, one draping across your back. He tugged you against him, his warmth seeping into you.

"How is it that you can stay up till 3 am with your friends, but ten minutes with me and you're out like a light?" you mused. You pull your fingers away from his scalp.

"Am I that boring, Theo? Do I put you to sleep?"

Theo huffed a quiet laugh, his fingers ghosting over your shoulder before settling there, warm and grounding. His other hand found the curve of your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer.

"Obviously," he murmured, voice still thick with drowsiness. "You drone on and on - "

A sharp pinch to his ribs cut him off, making him suck in a breath through his teeth. "Fuck - alright, alright." His grip tightened, holding you in place before you could enact further vengeance. "You don't put me to sleep."

Theo's half-lidded eyes fluttered shut again, his breathing evening out. His fingers resumed their slow tracing along your arm, dragging lazy patterns that sent shivers up your spine. As your own eyelids grew heavier, your eyes drifted over the lake’s glimmering surface.

"Actually," you murmured after a beat, pressing your cheek against his chest, "this is quite nice."

Theo made a show of pretending to shove you off.

"I see how it is," he grumbled as you laughed. "When you want to doze, it's perfectly fine, but Merlin forbid I"—he poorly stifled a yawn, blinking blearily—"get a little shut-eye."

You scoffed. "This is different. Even logistically speaking, how am I supposed to drag you back to the castle? You sleep through anything, Nott."

Theo grunted. "And you sleep through absolutely nothing."

You smiled lazily against his chest, knowing exactly what he meant. Many a night, he'd creep into your dorm, taking great pains to quietly shuck off his jacket and shoes, only for you to stir the second the mattress dipped. He’d scowl at you in the dim moonlight as you blinked at him sleepily, voice hushed but teasing as he slipped under the covers beside you. Every single time, he’d scold you for staying up, telling you in that firm, low voice of his to go to sleep, as if he hadn't been the one showing up at your bedside to begin with.

"Maybe you should try staying up with me for once," you said idly.

Theo snorted. "You'd make me watch those god-awful Muggle films."

"You love my god-awful Muggle films."

He hummed, neither confirming nor denying. You tilted your head to look at him, absentmindedly running your fingers through his hair again.

"I just wish you'd save some of that energy with the boys for me."

Theo sighed, long and slow.

"Can’t help it," he mumbled into your hair, fingers ghosting over your arm. "You’re so...warm. And soft. And you smell - " he dropped his head to the hollow of your neck as he inhaled, holding you close even as you squirmed in his ticklish hold, "- like that. Like...home. Like love."

You could sense him dropping off again in the way his words slurred and his voice quieted. He was probably too drowsy to even know what he was saying. For a moment, all was silent except for the rustling that came with the occasional gentle breeze. You felt the steady rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of him pressing into your side.

Maybe you should shove him awake again. But then again…

You nestled closer to him, your own eyes drooping shut.

Maybe not.

[i2rizz]

Ngl im CRAVING dante content from the netflix adaptation and its not even funny anymore...

Trust im boutta BUST

Steamin Hot!

The door shut with a familiar thunk—heavy, careless, like the man himself. You didn’t even flinch.

You’d grown used to it: the clink of his weapons, the way he dropped his coat on your chair like it wasn’t your favorite, how his boots always left demon gunk on the rug you’d begged him not to ruin.

And still, your stomach fluttered.

He was already halfway to the bathroom, shirt hanging from his shoulder, the slice of pizza you’d made him take on the way up still dangling from his mouth like an afterthought.

"Long day?" you asked without looking up from your spot on the couch, cross-legged and wrapped in one of his shirts—oversized, a little torn, and still warm from the dryer.

Dante grunted. "Demons don’t take weekends. Apparently" He bit the slice, chewed, and finally turned to look at you. "You wearing my shirt again?"

You smirked, flipping the page of your book. "You left it here. Possession’s nine-tenths of the law"

"Is that so?" he muttered, already tugging off his belt. "Guess I should start leaving more stuff around, then"

You didn’t look—but you felt it. The weight of his stare. That flicker of something heavier behind the teasing. He was tired. You could see it in the way his shoulders slumped just before he disappeared into the bathroom, muttering something about "needing to boil off the stink"

The sound of the shower filled the apartment a moment later—hot, hissing steam bleeding into the hallway like smoke curling off a cigarette. You let out a slow breath and stared at your book without reading.

Five minutes passed. Ten.

You heard the water stop.

He didn’t come out right away.

Eventually, the door cracked open.

You didn’t look at first. You were trying to be normal. Chill. Unbothered.

But then you caught the sound of his bare feet padding across your wooden floor—and the scent hit you. Clean skin. Soap. A little sweat, still. All him.

He appeared beside the couch like a ghost: towel low on his hips, hair wet and slicked back except for the few silver strands that clung rebelliously to his forehead. Drops of water rolled down the carved lines of his torso, trailing down into the soft dip of his abs. His necklace—the one he never took off—glinted against his chest.

"Shower’s all yours" he said lazily.

You finally looked up, slowly, your eyes trailing from his face to the rest of him with zero shame. "Did you even dry off or did you just steamroll out to flex?"

He smirked, one corner of his mouth tugging up. "Can’t help it if you’re the one staring, sweetheart"

You tossed a pillow at him. He caught it effortlessly, didn’t even flinch.

"Cocky bastard"

"Your cocky bastard" he said, dropping the pillow and then—uninvited—dropping himself onto the couch next to you, his skin still warm and damp. "Unless that changed while I was gone"

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t move. His thigh pressed against yours. You could feel every heartbeat in that contact.

"I don’t know," you murmured, "depends. You planning on stealing all my hot water every time you crash here?"

He leaned in, slow, so close his breath brushed your cheek. "Maybe"

You swallowed. Your brain short-circuited for a second.

Dante noticed.

His grin deepened, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he reached behind you—his arm brushing your back—and grabbed a piece of cold pizza from the coffee table, taking a bite with zero shame.

"I hate you" you said softly.

"No, you don’t"

"No, I don’t" you agreed, even softer.

He leaned back, stretching with a low groan, his head tipping back against the cushion. The tension in his body—always there, even when he laughed—slowly melted out of him. His chest reflecting the light. His jaw relaxed.

You tilted your head, watching him.

He looked… younger like this. Almost soft.

"You okay?" you asked, nudging his knee with yours.

He cracked one eye open. "Took a demon’s blade through the ribs. You tell me"

You frowned instantly. "Dante—"

"Relax" he said, waving you off, but his hand found your thigh, grounding himself. "Didn’t hit anything vital. You’d be crying over my corpse if it did"

"I wouldn’t cry"

He looked over at you, serious for a flicker of a second. "Yeah, you would"

That shut you up. His hand stayed on your thigh.

You leaned into him, shoulder to bare chest. He didn’t move away.

Minutes passed like that. Just the two of you, half-dressed and quiet in your cluttered little apartment. The night hummed around you. Steam still curled in the hallway. The city beyond your window was loud and filthy and alive.

You turned your head slightly. "Hey"

He looked down.

You pressed your lips to his—quick, soft, but enough to remind him.

I’m here. You’re not alone.

When you pulled back, Dante blinked once.

Then he leaned in and kissed you again—slower. Thicker with something unspoken. His hand gripped your thigh tighter.

"You’re damn dangerous" he murmured against your lips.

You smirked. “hilarious coming from you"

[fmnxpl]

Liar, Liar

Pairing: Jason Todd x reader

Summary: Jason comes home from a mission with an injury that he hides from you.

Warning: blood, gore, injuries, nudity but non-sexual(showering together), spicy kiss

Word count: 1k

A/N: im in the process of the second part of Hold me, please:)) Thank you for the 20 followers this is huge to me!! I will open comms after some time as a Thank you!💗💗

My mother language is not english so please be aware!

You are sitting on your couch watching some TV show that you had accidentally clicked on and got way too engrossed in the storyline when you hear a rattling sound coming from the bedroom.

You lean over the back of the couch, eyes narrowing as you peek through the open bedroom door. Lo and behold, on the floor, you see Red Hood with his mask off next to his head as he breathes heavily. Your eyebrows furrow as you realize he is not getting up any time soon, and you slowly stand up. You put your snacks down carefully on the table in front of you so as not to startle Jason. He seems vaguely unaware that you are here. In front of the bedroom, you knock softly before pushing the door open. Jason's head snaps toward you, and you notice how wild his eyes are.

"Everything okay, love?" you softly ask as you crouch down next to him, your hand slowly cradling his cheek as if to test the waters before your thumb runs over the prominent J scar on it. He lets out a sigh that he seems to have been holding back before moving to lean into your hand.

"’M fine, baby. Patrol was a little much, but it’s all good."

"Are you sure? Get up, love, let me check on you to make sure." You move to lay one hand beneath his head to help him up, but he refuses to get up. "No, baby, you don’t need to. I’m just tired. I think I just need a shower. Can you please make me one?"

He places a kiss on your soft lips before he pulls himself up. You let out a heavy sigh before you move to the bathroom to turn on the shower to a decent temperature, adding bath salts to help him scrub off all the dirt better. You hear the door behind you open and you turn to him. His suit is still on, and you furrow your brows.

"Why haven’t you taken anything off? Hold on, let me—" You move to pull his shirt up, but he grasps your hands to stop you.

"Baby, I just need a second, yeah? Just a quick shower." He moves past you to put his hand in the water to test the temperature.

"Oh, okay. I’ll be outside making you some food. I’m sure you are hungry." You leave as you realize you will not be getting any answer, and he was waiting on you to leave. A mere ten minutes later, you hear a strong thud vibrating the pan in your hand that you hastily place back down. You quickly rush out toward the bathroom and try to open the door, only to realize it was locked. You knock harshly on the door.

…

"Jason? Jason, are you okay? Open the door!"

The door rattles with the strength you pull the doorknob with, but before you can tear the entire door off its hinges, it opens with a squeak. You burst inside and see Jason on the floor with his hand clutching his thigh. There is blood slightly seeping through the cracks of his fingers, and you inhale a sharp breath.

"Jason, I told you to let me check on you! What exactly was your fucking plan here? Man it out? Maybe some unicorn will come and magically make your wound disappear before I—"

"Can you just please get the first aid kit? My fucking leg hurts, baby," he interrupts you. get up without another word and scramble to find the first aid kit. In the moment, you hadn’t even truly realized that Jason was fully naked, staring at you with wide, bare eyes. You lower to sit on the edge of the tub as you help raise his knee up slightly. It took you a good 30 minutes of cleaning all the oozed blood from his skin to then stitch the deep gash closed. After you were done, you again went over the wound with some disinfectant that Jason had stolen from the hospital. He had brought it with him since there was no alcohol in it and it wouldn’t add any unnecessary pain to his already deep wounds. You put everything back into the box or the garbage can if it can't be used anymore, leave a quick kiss on his forehead before standing up to leave the bathroom.

However, before you can even take one step out, a large and warm hand grasps onto your wrist and pulls you backwards with no strong force behind it so as to not have you fall.

"Can you stay, baby? Can you shower me? I can’t move, my leg’s fuckin’ killing me," he says, placing a kiss on your wrist and trailing up your arm.

You let out a sigh and pull your hand away as you take your shirt off, followed by your pants and underwear. You step one foot into the tub and then soak the rest of your body into it. The tub on its own was vaguely huge, but Jason has become the size of two gym-obsessed men fused together, and you with him just makes it seem like a container surrounded by only him.

You turn to grab the faucet and the shampoo bottle, which you pour on his head. One hand massages the shampoo into his hair, the other one rinses it out with the water. Your hand carefully runs down his damp skin as you clean off any dirt and blood that may have caked on his body from the mission. You let out a sigh as your hand cradles his face and he leans into it. You lean in to give him a quick kiss, but he follows you, deepening it into something raw and lingering.

“I love you,” he murmurs into the space between your lips.

“I know,” you whisper back.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

text message. l Joel Miller

a/n : a while ago i got a message from anon asking me to write something for joel. i managed to do it today. sorry you had to wait so long. i hope you like it.

warnings : pre-outbreak Joel, some angst, misunderstanding, age difference (about 10 years), suspected pregnancy, argument, Sarah and Tommy mentioned, lots of uncertainty and fear

[Joel Miller masterlist] [my masterlist]

He shouldn't have done that. It was crossing all boundaries, violating your privacy and trust, but he couldn't help himself. When your phone made a series of strange noises that indicated a message had been received and you were in the bathroom at a gas station, Joel reached for it and looked at the screen. A cold chill ran down his spine a second later.

"Two weeks late? Did you take a test? You should see a doctor. What did Joel say?"

A heavy stone landed squarely in his stomach, and he felt his head spin. “Fuck!” he groaned almost silently, shaking his hand as he placed the phone back where you’d left it.

He immediately guessed what you and your friend could have been talking about, he had no doubts. If you were pregnant, that complicated everything.

Joel Miller wasn't entirely sure if he should do it, but when he met you on one of his bar crawls with his younger brother Tommy, he felt like fate had finally favored him. He was almost thirty-six, had a teenage daughter, worked hard, and couldn't remember the last time he'd met a woman. You, on the other hand, were simply beautiful, talkative, with a charming smile on your lips. You were also almost ten years younger than him.

It didn't bother him as much on your first date, or your second, or when you kissed on the couch, or after the first time you had sex. Joel felt younger and happier with you, and everyone around him noticed the change in him.

He fell in love like a stupid teenager, and you didn't make it any easier for him. It was only after a few months that he started to wonder. Maybe dating you wasn't so wise? Maybe you were really too young for him?

When you would visit him at work, bringing him lunch or something, guys would often make fun of him. Joel wasn't as immune to this as he thought. His insecurities grew, and worries about whether he was doing the right thing also grew in his mind too.

And now this. Pregnancy. When Sarah was born, he was too young, and now he felt too old to be playing in diapers. What if you, too, disappeared, like Sarah's mother? Would he be able to cope? What if no woman saw the possibility of a permanent relationship with him, and when the baby came, she simply ran away?

"Hey. Is everything okay?"

He didn't even notice that you had returned and were already sitting next to him. He nodded uncertainly and cleared his throat.

"Yeah. Tommy called, something at the construction site." he lied, quickly starting the engine.

"Do you want to go there?"

"What? No, I don't have to." Joel replied, "Sarah has a game today."

He didn't say anything else the entire ride home, and then to the game you went to with them. He seemed strangely distant, but you were certain he was constantly thinking about work. Even when you suggested ice cream afterward, Joel showed almost no interest.

You dropped Sarah off at a friend's for a sleepover and you were sure that you and Joel would go to his place, but when he suddenly said, "I'll drop you home." You already knew something was wrong.

“Did I do something wrong?” you asked as he pulled the truck up in front of your apartment. Once again, you spent the entire ride in silence, which wasn’t normal.

He shook his head. "No, everything's fine."

“Joel? Look at me, please.” He did it reluctantly, but eventually your eyes met. “You’ve been out of sorts all day. What’s wrong?”

"I've had a lot on my mind lately and..."

"Please, don't lie to me." You interrupted him. You weren't mad, he saw concern on your face. "Did something happen?"

“I…” he began, but the words were hard to get out of his throat. He felt your warm hand on his forearm and it broke him. “Are you pregnant?”

"W-What?" you blurted out, completely surprised.

"I saw, quite by accident, a message from your friend. You're two weeks late. Something about a test and a doctor. I need to know."

You looked at him with slightly parted lips, a small wrinkle appeared between your eyebrows. You couldn't gather your thoughts in your head, but Joel clearly couldn't stop himself from talking.

“I think about it all the time. You’re still young, you have plans,” he said, and you felt every word hit you harder. “I know we should be more careful. This whole thing between us is still new and uncertain. You’re so young, I shouldn’t have… Fuck. I fucked it up.”

"What the hell are you talking about, Miller?" you gasped, completely stunned by his words "What do you mean - too young? I..."

"Look at us. I have a teenage daughter, and you're at the beginning of your career. You can leave this town anytime you want, because there's nothing keeping you here. But what if you're pregnant? That complicates things like hell and..."

"Stop it!" you raised your hand in warning "You're talking nonsense! I knew how old you were from the beginning, I knew about Sarah and it didn't bother me."

Joel rolled his eyes. "Now you say that."

“Oh! And you’re a know-it-all!” you snorted angrily. “So I think it’s safe to say you took advantage of a young and fresh pussy.”

Joel gave you a stern look, but you didn't even blink. You were ready to fight him if he wanted to. You were aware of his fears and insecurities, but you thought that by this point you had already shown him how much you cared about him. Age was just a number to you, and ten years didn't make much difference when you weren't a teenager anymore.

"I never thought of you that way." he replied, clenching his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning slightly white.

"I feel different now." you replied, shrugging. "Because you're acting like you're just looking for an excuse to break up with me. Because you read some message on my phone? Please! That's pathetic!"

“Pathetic?!” Joel raised his voice. How could you be so indifferent to how your life might change? No one in their right mind would decide to have a child so soon. But of course, you were still young, the romantic vision of a family still lingered in your mind, and you didn’t realize how much it would affect you.

Joel wanted to say something else, but you suddenly grabbed your things and got out of the car slamming the door. He quickly got out after you.

"Did you take the test? When are you seeing the doctor?" he asked, catching you before the door.

"Leave me alone." you hissed, ripping your arm out of his grip. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I think I do."

You looked at him in a way Joel had never experienced before. Your warm gaze turned hard and angry, your mouth a thin line, and your entire body took on a defensive stance. You had never argued like this before.

"Fine." you finally said. "I'll tell you. I have an appointment on Monday. Are you happy?"

"I'll go with you."

“Don’t be ridiculous, this doesn’t concern you at all,” you laughed nervously. “And it definitely doesn’t concern you now.”

Joel looked at you in surprise. So he's already screwed everything up? He's already erased those few really good months?

“I’m not pregnant,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “My last checkup showed I had ovarian cysts. They caused my periods to be irregular, and now my period is a few weeks late. The doctor said I should see him if that happens.”

"Cysts?" Joel repeated.

"Yes! I didn't tell you anything because I didn't see the need." you replied "I'm not pregnant, Joel. And you... You, fucked up."

You turned around and disappeared through the door before he had a chance to say anything.

Joel had all night to think about what had happened. All night without sleep, when he kept seeing your angry face in his mind, when he kept repeating your words and feeling worse by the moment. He picked up the phone several times to call you, but he kept giving up, terrified you wouldn't pick up.

What would he have done if you hadn't picked up? Would that have meant the end for both of you? He couldn't believe that his own fears and insecurities had led him to attack you so suddenly. He could have done it differently, he could have waited for you to say something. Instead, he had cornered you and forced you to admit to something that was clearly your own personal issue, one that you wanted to resolve on your own.

He knew nothing about women's health issues. When Sarah got her first period, he managed with the help of a nice store employee, and then his daughter took over. For Joel, a missed period meant pregnancy, and that meant panic and everything he had experienced before.

No, he didn't want to make excuses for his behavior. He had screwed up. He felt like you were disappointed in him and he had no idea what to do about it.

It was still early when he showed up at your place. You opened the door, sleepy, with ruffled hair, in one of those oversized t-shirts you slept in.

"Joel?" you mumbled hoarsely, rubbing your face, "Did something happen? Something with Sarah?"

He shook his head. "No. I had to see you. I had to... Fuck." He scratched the back of his neck, nervously shifting from foot to foot, "Can we talk? I, I need to know that I didn't completely fuck this up."

You looked at him for a moment in silence, as if you were considering his words in your head. It was a really long few seconds, but you finally pulled away, allowing Joel to step inside. The apartment was bathed in morning sunlight, and Joel's eyes immediately went to the few framed photos of him and Sarah that you had at your place. Another needle stabbed him in the heart.

"So?" you asked, folding your arms over your chest. "I'm listening."

"I don't know where to start." he mumbled completely sincerely.

"I suggest you start from the beginning."

"I'm sorry, darling. I'm sorry for everything I said. I'm a fucking idiot."

You tilted your head. "Good start."

Joel took a deep breath. He wanted to do it right, he wanted to take advantage of the chance he was given. Maybe it was the last one he had.

"I know now that I should have been honest with you from the beginning. You're the most amazing woman I've ever met, and I still can't believe you chose me. I kept thinking we weren't right for each other, that we were too different."

“Are you still thinking about age?”

He nodded. "Yeah. See, you're young, and I..."

You rolled your eyes and cursed loudly. “If you’re going to give me this age difference bullshit, maybe just leave. Jesus! That’s not twenty or fifty. Joel, I’m an adult, I work, I pay taxes. I get to decide who I’m with?”

“You think so now.”

“I thought so from the beginning! When I met you, the first thing I thought was that you have gorgeous eyes and really broad shoulders. I felt good with you, I liked you, and I think you’re really sexy. It has nothing to do with your age.” You took a deep breath and put your hands on your hips, like you were trying to explain something really obvious. “Sarah is amazing, I love spending time with her. I love you, even though sometimes you drive me crazy, and yesterday you really pissed me off. I didn’t tell you about the doctor because there was nothing to talk about. But if you had any suspicions, you should have come to me instead of getting even more upset. I felt like you were just looking for a reason to break up with me.”

“It’s not like that.” Joel took a step toward you. “When Sarah’s mother left us, I was left to fend for myself. Yes, there was Tommy and my mother to help us, but single parenting is no easy feat. I was certain you would disappear, too. Not only would you leave me with a child, but you would simply conclude that I was somehow flawed, that I wasn’t cut out to be with you. I guess I preferred sabotaging us rather than simply facing my fears.”

You looked at him, trying to understand his words. His face, eyes, and body language told you he wasn't lying. Joel was full of uncertainty and doubt, but you thought you were past that stage. You told him many times that you loved him, you didn't belittle his needs, and you always helped him with Sarah or around the house. And yet he felt all of this?

“I’m trying to understand you, Joel, I really am.” You finally said, sighing softly. “But I can’t be the only one in this relationship fighting for us. I feel like no matter what I say or do, you’ll find a reason why we can’t be together. Do you even love me?”

“Oh, baby,” he groaned, moving closer and taking your face in his hands. “You have no idea how much I love you. And that scares me. I’m always afraid you’ll find all my flaws.”

"You have a lot of them. I do too. But does it matter when we're happy together?"

No, it didn't matter. The fear of losing you showed Joel what really mattered to him. He cared about you more than he could admit. He saw how perfectly you fit into his family, always trying to help everyone and make everyone happy. He didn't think he'd ever feel the same way about anyone again. 

"I'm sorry, baby. I don't know what I could do to fix this." He whispered, you felt tears welling up in your eyes at how much he was going through. "But I don't want to end what we have. I love you, I'm sure of that."

"You think so now." You replied, parroting his words.

He smiled slightly. “I’ve known this for a long time, and I think the knowledge scared me. The fear that you’d disappear and I’d be left alone with this feeling. I don’t want you to disappear. I want to stay, permanently.”

"I want to stay too, Joel. Don't push me away ever again."

"Never again, baby."

He kissed you, softly and tenderly, as if he was afraid he still might. But when you kissed him back, Joel felt an unimaginable sense of relief. He had you in his arms again, all the dark thoughts swirling in his head dissipated and he felt happiness fill him. Your arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer to you, letting him kiss you like there was no tomorrow.

You could get through this, together. By being more honest, by giving each other a chance at happiness and love, by supporting each other. Joel knew he would do anything to deserve you, and you couldn't imagine not giving him another chance.

“I’ll go to the doctor with you on Monday if you want,” he said as you poured him a fresh cup of coffee and sat down next to him at the table.

“If you want. I could use some support,” you replied, resting your head on his shoulder.

He kissed the top of your head and smiled. He would give you anything, and you never asked for much. You just wanted him to love you, and Joel wanted that too.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[be4chywritez]

big hands | luke hughes

luke hughes x fem!reader

rec: Can I request prompt 18. can we compare hand sizes with luke please. I love your writing!!

recs are open + prompt list

beachy’s masterlist🐚

You weren’t trying to flirt. Honestly, you just liked the color.

“Hey, cool shorts. They kinda match my top.”

That’s what you said.

But to the guy in the salmon-colored Chubbies, that was apparently a green light to talk your ear off about his workout routine, his protein powder, his hedge fund internship, and his “self-discipline mindset.”

You tried to nod along at first. You really did.

But then he started talking about “grindset culture” and asked if you’d “ever been to Monaco,” and that was your cue.

“I’m gonna go find my friend,” you mumbled, already backing away.

He smiled like he’d won something. “You should come back later. I could show you my crypto portfolio.”

You escaped into the house, dodging couples pressed against doorframes and someone aggressively playing Rage Against the Machine in the kitchen. You found your friend—well, you found her foot first, sticking out from under a blanket on the couch in the guest room, tangled up with Econ Group Project Guy.

You blinked. “Oh. There you are.”

She lifted her head, hair messy, flushed and smiling like she’d just won the lottery.

You gave her a thumbs up and quietly backed out.

The porch was quieter. Cooler. Saner.

And there he was.

Luke Hughes, hoodie pulled over his head, legs stretched out on the porch swing like he’d been there the whole time. You knew him in that “friend of a friend who’s at all the same parties” kind of way. Hockey guy. Tall. Quiet. Pretty.

He looked up. “Hey.”

You exhaled, smile tugging at your lips. “Hey.”

“You alright?”

“Almost got crypto-kidnapped by a finance bro. But yeah. Solid six out of ten.”

He smiled, barely. “Need to lay low?”

“Very much.”

He shifted, scooting over just enough. You took the invite and plopped down beside him. The swing creaked under the weight, wood warm from the day.

For a second, it was quiet again. Not awkward. Just… easy.

“You’re not in Jersey?” you asked, realizing it out loud.

He glanced at you. “Nah. Couple weeks off.”

“Oh. Right, break. So naturally you chose… this circus.”

He gave a soft shrug. “Was either this or go golfing with my dad’s college buddies. Figured this would have better music and fewer guys named Chad.”

“Debatable,” you muttered.

He smiled at that, a little more real this time.

You let your head fall back against the swing, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

Then, maybe two beats later: “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

You held up your hand. “We should compare hands. Y’know. For science.”

Luke raised an eyebrow. “For science.”

“Very important study.”

He looked at your hand for a second, then lifted his own and pressed it to yours.

The size difference was ridiculous. Your hand looked like it belonged to a doll.

“Oh my God,” you whispered. “It’s like I’m a borrower.”

He huffed a laugh. “You said it, not me.”

“Can you even fit those in gloves? Or do you just wrap them in pillowcases and hope for the best?”

You felt him smile more than saw it, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours.

“Why do you care?” he asked, not unkind.

You thought about that. “I don’t know. You just seem like someone who does everything with quiet giant energy.”

“Quiet giant?”

You nodded, completely serious. “Like, you probably open jars for people without saying anything and then disappear.”

Luke tilted his head. “I mean. Yeah.”

You laughed. “Knew it.”

Then the shouting started.

“COPS!” someone yelled from inside. A door slammed. Another voice screamed, “RUN!”

Luke was on his feet in an instant. “Come on.”

You scrambled up after him, disoriented but trusting. “Wait, my friend—”

“She’s good,” he said, pointing through the window.

You turned just in time to see her half-climbing, half-falling out of the front window with Econ Guy behind her, both looking dazed and deeply satisfied.

You blinked. “Oh. Okay.”

Luke grabbed your hand without thinking. You didn’t mind.

By the time you made it to his car, the party was full-on chaos behind you. He opened your door, waited until you were in, then leaned over to check your seatbelt.

“You’re good?”

You nodded, heart still racing. “Where are we going?”

He just smiled a little and started the engine.

Twenty minutes later, you were sitting in a vinyl booth at a tired-looking diner with flickering lights and a specials board from three months ago. You leaned on the table, chin in your hand.

The diner buzzed with soft fluorescent light and the quiet clink of dishes being cleared in the back. And somehow, even though your shoes were still slightly sticky from someone's spilled seltzer back at the party, you felt more comfortable than you had all night.

You were halfway through a plate of pancakes and working your way through the fries like it was your job.

Luke was watching you with an amused tilt to his mouth.

“You’re really going in on those,” he said, stirring creamer into his coffee with the tiniest plastic stick.

You looked up with syrup-glossed lips. “I didn’t have dinner. I was too busy bedazzling my shirt and hyping my friend up to make out with someone academically unreliable.”

Luke grinned. “Is that Econ Guy?”

You stabbed your pancake with your fork. “Mmhmm. Hope they finish each other’s homework.”

Luke laughed, a quiet, breathy sound, and took a fry from the basket between you.

“Also,” you said, gesturing dramatically with your fork, “I’m like… ten percent tipsy, ninety percent starving. I could eat a table.”

“I feel like I should be concerned about the structural integrity of this place then.”

You gave him a look. “Don't slander Gary's favorite diner.”

He blinked, smile tugging. “Gary?”

“Your dashboard. We named him, remember? Reliable Gary.”

Luke shook his head slowly. “You're something else.”

“You keep saying that,” you said, taking another bite. “Gonna start thinking it’s code for ‘weird.’”

“It’s not,” he said, simple and soft. “I meant it.”

You felt that one in your ribs a little. Warmed by syrup and coffee and whatever that look was he gave you across the table.

You softened into it, chin resting on your hand. “I don’t really do this often.”

“Eat pancakes at 2AM?”

“No,” you laughed. “Hang out with people I barely know. Like… this is the kind of stuff I usually only do with my best friend. Or, like, people I trust not to be creeps.”

Luke leaned back in the booth, arms stretching out along the backrest. “And I passed the creep test?”

You pretended to squint at him. “Jury’s still out. But I did survive a party and a diner run with you, so…”

“I’ll take it.”

You yawned without warning, one of those soft, shoulder-hunched ones you try to hide but never quite can. Your body was catching up to your brain, your eyelids getting heavier by the minute.

Luke caught it.

“You ready to head out?”

You blinked at him. “Yeah. If I stay here any longer, I’ll try to marry the pancake lady.”

He chuckled and slid out of the booth. You followed, hands tucked into his hoodie sleeves now, full and warm and soft around the edges.

The car was quiet, except for the low hum of the road and the occasional soft thud of a crack in the pavement.

You were slumped in the passenger seat now, legs curled up, head tipping forward in slow, sleepy jerks you couldn’t quite control.

Luke glanced over, one hand on the wheel. “Hey,” he said gently. “You’re fighting it.”

You mumbled something that may or may not have been words, head tipping again, this time toward the center console.

“Okay,” he said, pulling over for a second, flashers on. “Hang on.”

You felt his hand—warm and careful—on the side of your neck, guiding your head just enough to rest against the headrest in a more natural angle. His fingers lingered there a second longer than they needed to, like he wasn’t quite sure he should let go yet.

“There,” he said, quiet. “Better.”

“Mmhmm.” You were already drifting, that touch grounding you just enough to let go.

He drove the rest of the way slower than necessary. Kept glancing over. You looked soft in his hoodie, mouth parted just slightly, one hand tucked against your cheek like you were dreaming something good.

When he finally pulled up in front of your building, he cut the engine and turned to you.

“Hey,” he said, brushing your arm gently. “Sleeping Beauty.”

You groaned. “Already?”

“We’re home.”

You blinked at him, slow and dazed, before giving a sheepish little smile. “My key’s in my back pocket. Sorry.”

Luke blinked, clearly not expecting that, but you just turned and flopped forward so your back was facing him, like it was the most casual request in the world.

He hesitated, then laughed under his breath. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

And with that, he reached—carefully, shyly—into your back pocket. His fingers brushed denim, then skin, and his ears went visibly pink in the streetlight. But he got the key.

“Victory,” he muttered, and you giggled as he helped you out of the car, one arm wrapped around your waist to steady you.

“I owe you fries,” you mumbled as he guided you to your door.

“You already said that.”

“Well, it’s still true.”

You were already drifting again by the time the lock clicked open. Luke guided you inside and over to your couch, helping you sit, then easing you down when it was clear your legs had no further plans for the night.

You blinked up at him sleepily. “You can just leave me here. I’ll evolve into furniture.”

He huffed a soft laugh and grabbed the throw blanket off the back of the couch, draping it over you. Your eyes were half-shut by then.

He looked around, spotted a notebook and pen on your coffee table, and jotted something quickly.

Before he left, he slid the note into your hand, gently curling your fingers around it like it was a secret.

He slid the key out of your door and double-checked the lock. The deadbolt clicked, and Luke lingered for a second, just staring at the handle like he might somehow see through it.

Then he blew out a quiet breath and walked back to his car.

The street was still, the world that weird in-between hush that only happens when it’s too late for late-night and too early for morning. Luke got in, sat for a second behind the wheel, hands resting lightly where they'd been for the last hour.

He smiled.

It snuck up on him—small at first, just tugging the corner of his mouth before it bloomed. He shook his head a little like what the hell just happened? but he didn’t stop smiling.

You were... something.

Tipsy but warm, soft around the edges. Rambling about salmon shorts and pancakes like it was the most important conversation in the world. Touching his hand like that meant something—like it wasn’t just a joke or a bit or a party game. You’d looked at him like you already trusted him.

And that part messed him up a little more than he expected.

Luke leaned back in the seat, resting his head against the headrest. His fingers tapped the wheel.

You’d mumbled something about evolving into furniture and then passed out on your couch like you’d done it before. Not in a sad way—just... safe. Comfortable. You let him make you comfortable.

And sure, he’d written down his number kind of on autopilot, like yeah, this is what people do, but he’d also curled it into your hand like it meant something. Like maybe you’d wake up and smile the way you had when you first saw him on the porch swing.

He started the engine and turned onto the main road, headlights slicing through the early morning dark.

The smile hadn’t left his face.

Not yet.

You woke to soft morning light cutting across the room, couch blanket half-kicked off and your mouth dry.

And something in your hand.

A folded note, written in blocky, slightly crooked handwriting:

Luke :) text me if you remember any of that. or if you want pancakes again.

734-430-8643

Your heart did a weird little loop.

And suddenly, the night before didn’t feel so blurry.

[rafesorchid]

THE SWEETEST BREAKDOWN

how mechanic!rafe and baker!reader met <3

plot: when rafes motorcycle breaks down in front of a cozy little bakery, he doesn't expect the morning to be saved by a blueberry muffin and a baker with a soft smile and sass to match. one warm pastry and a folded-heart napkin later, he's wondering if fate stalled his bike for a reason

CONTENT: mild swearing, romantic tension, mild violence & emotional themes

have fun!

It was the smell of vanilla that hit him first.

Rafe wasn’t expecting to break down outside of a bakery. His bike had been running a little rough, but he figured he had at least another day before it completely gave out. Of course, it chose eight in the morning—right as the sun started pouring across the sleepy street—for its dramatic final act. With a sputter and hiss, it choked out and died at the curb. Rafe cursed under his breath, kicking the kickstand down and running a hand through his already messy hair. Great.

Across the street, you were adjusting the window display of your little bakery, rearranging croissants and raspberry thumbprints with practiced care. You’d opened only ten minutes ago, and already the air smelled like sugar and cinnamon and comfort. When you glanced up, you noticed the guy crouched next to a motorcycle, frowning like the world had wronged him. His white t-shirt was smudged in black, and his knuckles were stained like he’d been fighting engines—or demons.

You pushed open the door, the bell above it chiming softly as you leaned out. “Rough morning?” you called, eyebrows raised.

Rafe looked up, clearly surprised by the sound of your voice. His eyes flicked over you—soft sweater, apron with a little flour on the hem, gentle hands wrapped around a coffee mug like you belonged to a different kind of world. He blinked. “Rough year,” he answered, with a dry laugh. “But yeah. Bike’s being a piece of—”

“Language,” you teased, a smile tugging at your lips. “This is a wholesome establishment.”

He cracked a grin despite himself. “Wholesome, huh? You hand out cookies to strangers or just sass?”

You shrugged. “Depends. You want a cookie?”

Rafe hesitated. He wasn’t the kind of guy people usually offered things to. Not without an attitude or an agenda. “I mean, I’m not gonna say no.”

You disappeared inside, only to return a moment later with a warm paper bag and a napkin folded neatly into a heart. “Blueberry muffin. Fresh. And a little napkin art. Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

He took it like it was breakable, the warmth from the bag bleeding into his callused palms. “You always this nice to guys stranded on your sidewalk?”

“Only the ones with sad eyes and oil on their jeans,” you said, leaning on the doorframe.

Rafe sat on the curb, unwrapped the muffin, and took a bite. It was stupid good. Soft, buttery, with a hint of lemon zest. His jaw worked for a second as he chewed, and then, “Damn.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He looked up at you again—really looked. “You got a name, or am I just gonna call you muffin girl forever?”

You chuckled, told him your name, and asked for his.

“Rafe,” he said simply, and that was it. Just a quiet name hanging in warm air between you.

You stayed at the door for a few more seconds, watching him eat like he hadn’t had anything decent in days. Maybe he hadn’t. You didn’t ask. But you did reach into your apron pocket, pull out a sugar cookie wrapped in wax paper, and toss it his way. “In case the day keeps getting worse.”

He caught it midair with a smirk. “Only if I get to come back tomorrow.”

You tapped your fingers against the doorframe, a playful light in your eyes. “We’ll see if you earn it, Rafe.”

And you swore, from the way he looked at you then, like he’d never been offered something that simple and kind before—that maybe, just maybe, he’d be back whether his bike broke down or not.

authors note!

tehe i hope you, my sweet beautiful people, had fun reading the first blurbish drabble for mechanic!rafe x baker!reader <3

[10byten]

where the day gets softer-

★genre : just a fluffy moment between you and this guy you adore more than anything. ★words : 1k

Your day has been long. The kind of long that sinks into your bones, makes your limbs heavy, makes your brain static. You drop onto your bed the second you step into your room, staring at the ceiling, feeling nothing and everything at once. Moving? Not an option. Thinking? Barely. You just wish you could skip ahead—to the part where you’re clean, wrapped up in blankets, and today is nothing but a blur in your memory.

Your phone buzzes. You ignore it. It buzzes again. You groan, blindly reaching for it, glancing at the screen.

Mark.

Your lips twitch into something close to a smile. Suddenly, you have the strength to lift yourself up on your elbows.

Markie - Hey, babe. You done with classes? Wanna see me for a quick kiss?

Yes. A million times yes.

Your reply is instant, desperate in the way you don’t even try to hide. The thought of seeing him makes something in your chest untangle, makes your ribs feel a little less tight. You sit up, glancing around your room, half-heartedly straightening things up. You should shower before he gets here, at least try to make yourself presentable—

The doorbell rings. Not even ten minutes later.

“Shit.”

You roll your eyes at yourself, but honestly? You’re not mad. You’re already moving, already reaching for the door, already smiling before you even open it.

And there he is.

Messy brown hair. Ridiculously pretty eyes. That smile—the one that always makes your stomach feel like it’s folding in on itself. He steps inside without a word, without hesitation, arms slipping around your waist, body fitting against yours like it was made to. A kiss on your forehead, soft, lingering.

“Hey, pretty girl.”

You exhale against his chest, sinking into him.

“Hi,” you mumble against his chest, breathing him in. Suddenly, today doesn’t feel so bad anymore.

“You got here so fast.” You pull back just enough to look at him. “Were you nearby?”

“Mhm. And I was kind of excited to see you, so I didn’t waste time.” His fingers slide through yours, effortlessly, like second nature. Leading you toward your room, toward the quiet comfort of your space. “Should I have given you more time?”

“No, it’s just—” You hesitate. “I thought I’d have time to shower before you got here. I feel gross. I wanted to look cute for you.”

His head tilts. Something amused, something fond in the way he looks at you.

“That’s an easy fix.”

Before you can ask what he means, he’s steering you toward the bathroom.

You blink. “Wait—”

“If you need a shower, let’s shower.” His voice is soft, but firm, like he’s stating the most obvious thing in the world. “I love being clean. And I love seeing you naked. This is a win for me.”

“You’re impossible—”

You don’t finish, because his lips are on yours, and your brain goes quiet.

It’s slow, unhurried, his hands moving with the kind of gentleness that makes your heart ache. He pulls your shirt over your head, unbuttons your jeans, sliding them off inch by inch. Every movement deliberate. Worshipful. And then his own clothes hit the floor, and the warmth of his skin against yours makes your breath hitch.

The water turns on.

He watches you with something close to amusement as you shiver at the warmth seeping in, presses a dozen tiny kisses across your face, like he’s mapping you out.

“So,” he murmurs, “how was your day?”

You huff, tilting your head up to look at him. “Not great. Until now.”

“On a scale of 1 to 10?”

You pretend to think about it. “Before you texted me? A 3. After your text? A 7. Once you got here? 8. In the shower? 9.”

He hums, pleased. “Excellent. That means I’m doing my job right.” Then, lower, softer—“Turn around.”

You do, closing your eyes, waiting.

For a second, his hands disappear. Your brows knit together. But then—

The scent of your body wash.

The warmth of his palms returning, slow and deliberate, moving over your skin in soft circles.

And just like that, the weight of the day dissolves.

“Mark…”

“Shhh,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to your shoulder. “Let me take care of you. It’ll feel nice.”

And it does. God, it does. You let yourself sink into it. Let yourself exist here, in this moment, where everything is warm and quiet and safe. He rinses you just as carefully, and by the time the water shuts off, you feel boneless.

Then—softness. Warmth. He’s wrapping you in a towel, his hands impossibly gentle. You grip his shoulders, barely thinking, just following. He leads you back to your room, and you let him.

You sit on the bed, half in a daze, watching as he kneels in front of you, rummages through your drawer like it’s his own. He pulls out a pair of underwear, slides it up your legs, his touch featherlight.

“I can do that myself, you know.”

“I know.” He presses a kiss to your knee. “But you need someone to take care of you tonight. Let me.”

He smooths the fabric into place, then smirks. “Though, I usually prefer taking these off of you.” A wink.

You laugh, breathless, fingers sliding into his hair.

“And now?” His voice is quieter, lower. Eyes locked onto yours.

“10/10.”

The smile he gives you is something secret, something warm, something that makes your chest ache.

He smiles, pulling you down into bed with him, tucking you against his chest. His arms wrap around you, warm and steady, and you think—this. This is the safest place in the world. You could stay like this forever, feeling his breath against your neck, letting the rest of the world fade away.

And in this moment, you know. You’ll cherish this. This little pocket of happiness, this unexpected ending to an otherwise forgettable day.

“And now?” he whispers against your ear.

You smile, eyes fluttering shut.

“20/10.”

He kisses your temple.

And just like that, you fall asleep. Wrapped in warmth, in safety, in love.

Mark will always be your safe place. And nights like this always remind you why.

“Goodnight, babe.”

Your last thought before sleep takes you is simple.

You are loved. You are cherished. You are home.

-

[starsjulia]

Best Birthday Ever // Leah Williamson

a/n : someone requested this but i can’t find it for the life of me… sorry!

warnings : leah and reader are caught in the act…

It was a beautiful, peaceful morning, birds chirping, the sun shining, the perfect day for your birthday celebrations.

Unfortunately, no one had informed Beth Mead that she was about to experience a horror worse than any she had faced on a football pitch.

Beth had arrived early, eager to surprise you for your birthday, thinking herself thoughtful and considerate. The plan was simple: let herself in (Leah never locked the door anyway), set up some decorations, and bask in the glory of being the best friend ever.

However, what she walked into was not a scene of domestic bliss.

No, what Beth Mead walked into was a nightmare.

A full-blown, trauma-inducing, therapy-requiring nightmare.

Because there, in the middle of the living room sofa, where guests would soon be expected to sit, was Leah Williamson. And she was on top of you.

In the act.

Beth’s entire body seized up. Her soul attempted to evacuate her body. Her mouth opened, but her brain refused to form words.

Meanwhile, you screamed like you were being set on fire.

Leah, on the other hand, simply turned her head, grinned, and greeted Beth as if she hadn’t just been caught mid-thrust.

“Oh, morning, Beth! You’re early.”

Beth finally found the ability to move and immediately hurled her house keys at Leah’s head.

“WHAT THE ACTUAL—LEAH?! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THIS?!”

Leah dodged them effortlessly, still looking far too amused for someone in her position.

“I mean, I’d have thought that was pretty obvious, mate.”

You, meanwhile, were in hell.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God,” you whispered, slamming your hands over your face as if that would somehow make you disappear.

Beth was now backing out of the room, as if she had walked into the den of Satan himself. “I NEED A PRIEST. I NEED HOLY WATER. I NEED TO UNSEE EVERYTHING. OH MY GOD—YOU TWO ARE VILE.”

Leah, completely unashamed, simply shrugged, still finding the whole thing absolutely hilarious.

“Oh, come off it, Mead. Bit dramatic, isn’t it?”

Beth pointed an accusing finger. “Dramatic?! DRAMATIC?! I JUST WALKED INTO LIVE ACTION PORN IN ME BEST MATE’S HOUSE! YOU THINK I’M BEING DRAMATIC?!”

Leah burst out laughing again.

You were seconds away from physically dragging Leah into another dimension where you could live in peace, away from the shame of this moment.

“Leah, for the love of God, shut up.”

Beth was now full-body shaking. “I came here to decorate. For the birthday party. I WAS TRYING TO BE NICE.” She let out a breath. “AND YOU TWO—YOU TWO WERE DOING GOD KNOWS WHAT AT TEN IN THE BLOODY MORNING.”

Leah smirked. “Well, actually, it was more like half-nine, wasn’t it, babe?”

You threw a cushion at her face.

Beth, still vibrating with horror, took a deep breath and slowly backed toward the door.

“I’m leaving,” she announced.

Leah pouted. “You just got here.”

“I AM LEAVING. I AM GOING TO GO HOME, I AM GOING TO PRETEND THIS NEVER HAPPENED, AND I AM NEVER COMING TO THIS HOUSE WITHOUT KNOCKING EVER AGAIN.”

She pointed one last, trembling finger. “And you two? You are sick, perverted freaks, and I hope you know that.”

Then, without another word, she turned and walked out the door.

Leah?

Leah was howling with laughter.

You?

You were seconds away from death via sheer embarrassment.

“I am never looking her in the eyes again,” you mumbled into your hands.

⸻

A Few Hours Later

The trauma had not subsided.

Beth had returned (hesitantly, after triple-checking that the house was safe), and the rest of the team had arrived for the party.

Unfortunately, Beth Mead was not one to suffer in silence.

The second everyone was gathered around, drinks in hand, music playing, she stood up, cleared her throat, and raised her voice so everyone could hear.

“Right, I’d just like to take a moment to formally announce that I will no longer be accepting invitations to Leah and Y/N’s house unless I have legal documentation stating that they are both fully clothed at all times.”

The room erupted in confused laughter.

You froze.

Leah smirked, immediately knowing what was coming.

“Beth, don’t you—”

“Oh, I fucking will.” Beth turned to the crowd. “Do you lot know what I had the absolute displeasure of walking into this morning?”

You slammed your face into your hands.

“BETHANY, PLEASE.”

Beth ignored you, taking a dramatic pause before announcing, loudly and proudly:

“LEAH WILLIAMSON RAW-DOGGING ONE OF MY BEST MATES ON THE LIVING ROOM SOFA.”

Silence.

Absolute, stunned silence.

Then…

Chaos.

Viv fell off her chair.

Lotte screamed.

Katie had to physically hold onto the table to keep herself upright.

You?

You were considering moving to another country.

Meanwhile, Leah?

Leah was laughing her head off.

Beth took a triumphant sip of her beer.

“Happy birthday, Y/N. Hope it was worth scarring me for life.”

[brainddeadd]

Chapter 2

masterlist

Jack was elbow-deep in a consult when Yn popped back into his orbit like a comet made of sugar and trouble.

“Dr. Abbott,” she sing-songed, poking her head around the curtain of his trauma bay, “got a 4-year-old with a Lego up his nose and a dad who’s two seconds away from passing out. Wanna help?”

“No,” Jack said, flatly.

She beamed. “Perfect. You’re coming.”

Before he could protest, she disappeared again, leaving him no time to argue. Jack glanced at the trauma nurse, who smirked.

“I think she likes you.”

“She thinks I’m a project.”

The nurse shrugged. “Same thing.”

He muttered a curse and followed the glittery chaos into the peds side of the ER, where the world was brighter and much more unhinged. Cartoon murals, colourful chairs, bubble machines (read: Hell on earth).

The kid in question was sitting on the exam table with a single, perfect tear rolling down his cheek. The Lego, bright blue and wedge-shaped, was lodged neatly in his right nostril like it belonged there. His dad stood nearby, white as a sheet, clutching the armrest of a plastic chair like it was a lifeline.

Yn stood beside the kid, holding a tiny stuffed dinosaur. “This is Dr. Jack,” she said, crouching beside the bed. “He’s very tall and very serious, but he’s also really good at getting sneaky Legos out of noses.”

Jack raised an eyebrow at her, but the kid looked up with wide eyes. “You’re like a superhero,” the boy whispered.

Jack blinked.

Yn wiggled her eyebrows behind the kid’s head.

He sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”

—

Ten minutes and one sneaky little suction tool later, the Lego was out. The kid was beaming. The dad looked like he might cry. And Yn? She was watching Jack like he’d hung the stars.

“That was impressive,” she said as they stepped into the hallway.

“It was a Lego,” he replied.

“Yeah, but you didn’t even growl at the kid once. I’m proud of you.”

Jack gave her a sidelong glance. “Are you always like this?”

“Like what?”

“Relentlessly cheerful. Bizarrely optimistic. Sparkly.”

She grinned. “Pretty much. Why? Is it annoying you yet?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” She winked. “Means I’m doing it right.”

Jack rubbed the bridge of his nose. “What do you want from me, Dr. Ln?”

Yn tilted her head, and for a brief second, her smile softened—like sunlight filtering through hospital blinds.

“Honestly? Nothing. You just look like someone who forgot what it feels like to laugh.”

And with that, she turned and walked away, hair bouncing, leaving Jack standing alone in a hallway that suddenly felt a little too quiet.

He hated how much he wanted her to come back.

[mvrlqni]

( i might send a few requests ) in ho x wife¡reader join the games together ?

❦ — ❝ 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 ❞

pairing - hwang in-ho x wife!reader

synopsis - you really meant it when you promised your husband you’ll always be there with him, even if it means joining the deadly games with him.

warnings - guns, blood, violence, swearing, brat!reader (sort of?), age gap, 20’s reader, 40’s in-ho, spoilers for s2, small mention of miscarriage, reader has a fake name obvi, this doesn’t really include a lot of in-ho now that i look at it…

wc — 1.6k words

AN - this doesn’t have a lot of in-ho in it so im sorry if thats disappointing 😞💔

in-ho had always spoiled you with his money that he earned from overseeing the games. you had always been accustomed to wearing the finest clothing, so you never expected that you would wear those flimsy green tracksuits like what the players wore.

the number ‘002’ was stitched onto your tracksuit whilst your husband had ‘001’ on his, an ‘o’ attached to both your shirts. the voting session had just finished and the second game was about to start.

in-ho stood in front of gi-hun, leaning down as gi-hun explained what he thought was the second game. you watched from behind as in-ho leaned back up.

“umbrella?” he asked with a scoff. “some people chose umbrella? those unlucky bastards must have bitten the dust.”

you grinned as gi-hun raised a brow before looking away. you knew exactly what your husband was doing and you couldn’t help but giggle quietly.

in-ho’s lips twitched up slightly in amusement at the sound of your giggle before disappearing immediately.

oh how he adored hearing your laughter.

before the second game started, you excused yourself to the bathroom, in-ho doing the same minutes later. you stood outside the bathroom, speaking with a guard before in-ho came into your view.

“how much longer do we have to play pretend?” you whined, looking up at him as he cupped your face, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“after we find out what gi-hun’s plans are, darling.”

“what a pest, he should’ve gotten on that plane…”

in-ho raised a small brow but grinned.

“he really should’ve.”

the guards escorted the players into the room where the second game would take place, you walked close to in-ho and looked around, feigning confusion as the PA voice spoke.

“welcome to your second game. this game will be played in teams. please divide into teams of five in the next ten minutes.” the PA explained, repeating its last sentence once more and you watched as gi-hun’s face was slowly turned to one of confusion.

“is dalgona usually played in teams?” you questioned gi-hun, but he didn’t answer, snapping his head towards player 100 when he spoke up.

“aren’t we playing the dalgona game?”

“no, it doesn’t look like it.”

“what are we playing then?”

gi-hun looked hesitant to answer, not making eye contact when he finally did. “im not sure.”

“what? you said you’d done this before, that triangle was the easiest. was that all bullshit?”

again, gi-hun looked hesitant, even alarmed as he looked down. “im sorry.”

“sorry won’t cut it! you talked like you knew everything, all these people believed your bullshit. what are you going to do? will you take responsibility?”

“that’s quite enough yelling.” you interrupted, narrowing your eyes at the old man. you can already feel a headache forming. “old man, you should watch your tone. don’t want to wear it out, when you do all that talking after all, do you?”

player 100 scoffed at the sarcastic undertone in your words and glared at you, taking a step towards you. “who do you think you are, you little bitch?”

in-ho immediately stepped up from behind you, glaring at player 100. “that’s enough.” his voice was firm and authoritative which personally had you jumping with joy at your husband.

player 100 seemed to falter as he stayed quiet while the PA voice spoke again, the large doors from where you came from shutting.

“please divide into teams now.”

the loud beeping of the timer began before the player next to 100 spoke. “yeah, just drop it, dont waste your time talking to this nutjob. we shouldn’t have fallen for his nonsense, jesus. come on, let’s form a team first.”

you scowled down a the players as they walked past gi-hun, each insulting him as they did. it wasn’t that you were annoyed they were insulting him, but the audacity for that old hag to call you a ‘bitch’ had your jaw clenching. you were on the verge with ordering the guards to kill him. but you stayed quiet.

standing with gi-hun and his new found friends, you all made up five people so there was no trouble at all. however, a young girl, player 222 came up to all of you.

“excuse me, can i join you?” looking down at the girl, your eyes went to her stomach. you could tell she was pregnant. you used to look like that before.

“sorry, we’ve already got five people.”

“please help me,” she continued, placing a hand on her stomach. “im pregnant.”

everyone else glanced at her stomach while you eventually spoke up giving the girl a small smile. “its okay, you can join them. i’ll find another team.”

she muttered a ‘thank you’ whilst nodding returning your small smile with one her own as you walked away from the group, in-ho’s eyes on you.

the PA voice began again, as you walked away, informing of the team selection nearly finishing. you spotted a group needing only one person left and came up to them. “excuse me, do you need one more player?”

player 149 turned towards you and instantly gave a motherly smile, ushering you closer. “ah, of course!”

“thank you, miss.”

after the team selection had finished, all the players were sat inside the circles as the game was explained.

“the game you will be playing is six-legged pentathlon. you will start with your legs tied together, each member will take turns playing a mini-game at every ten-meter mark, and if you win, the team can move on to the next one. here are the mini-games; number one, ddakji. number two, flying stone. number three, gong-gi. number four, spinning top. number five, jegi. your goal is to win all the mini-games and cross the finish line in five minutes. please decide players for each mini-game.”

your team began talking when player 007 turned towards you. “what game are you good at?”

“i think i’ll be better at the spinning top.”

it wasn’t long before two teams were placed on the rainbow shaped circles, their feet locked together as a gunshot rang out, signalling the beginning of the first round.

both teams did terrible. one of them only just finishing the flying stone at the twenty second mark while the other team made their way to the last game when the timer had ended.

both teams were shot, everyone falling to the ground, flinching and shaking as the loud sounds of the guns going off went on before the PA voice listed the players that were eliminated.

your team was up for the second round and stood on the rainbow circle, which was now littered in blood in certain areas.

“that’s right. i, jang geum-ja, survived the korean war. i will not die playing some kids’ games.” Player 149, or as you now know, geum-ja, paused, grabbing her sons hand and the players’ hand on her right, looking around at the team before continuing. “everyone, let’s pull ourselves together and do this.”

“im the son of ms. jang geum-ja who survived the korean war. im park yong-sik.” the man introduced himself, turning to you. “ma’am, what’s your name?”

“oh, um, kim seoun-il” you lied, giving the group a nod.

“i believe we can do this. let’s show everyone else here that these games are no big deal.”

it wasn’t long before you all had your legs locked together and your arms holding each other, immediately running or trying to the first mini-game. you watched, holding your breath as player 095 proceeded to fail her third flip, the girl beginning to breathe heavily as 120 stopped her as she picked the card back up.

“hang on, young-mi. try with the other side. the other side.”

young-mi flipped the card and threw the card down, successfully flipping the red card. you couldn’t help but cheer with the group.

in-ho watched your smile from afar, noticing how it seemed genuine. he knew you would have some fun playing these games.

your team made your way to the second mini-game, yong-sik failing his first throw. your team walked to retrieve the stone, walking backwards and his mother stopped him.

“yong-sik, look. imagine the stone is the face of the crook who scammed you.”

yong-sik started at the stone in front. “that asshole ruined my fucking life!” he yelled, throwing the stone as it knocked the other stone down.

by the third mini-game you were already tired of chanting along with the team and so you stayed quiet, settling down onto your knees as geum-ja began playing gong-gi. yong-sik, noticing his mothers downed look when she failed the first two times immediately went to comfort her.

“you said you played gong-gi with bullets during the korean war.”

geum-ja stayed quiet but began flipping the stones again, this time you could notice determination in her movements as she did. she stopped at the last flip and yong-sik began speaking again.

“mom, just imagine the stone is dads mistress’ face.”

“rotten bitch!” geum-ja exclaimed as she caught the coloured stones. everyone cheered as the guard did the ‘pass’ sign whilst your team prepared to move to the next mini-game, everyone was chanting with the team.

even in-ho chanted as he watched you make your way to your mini-game.

taking the spinning top into hand and the rope, you carefully rolled it around the top before going to the bottom. everyone watched as you managed to tie the rope around the spinning top and they each held a breath as you threw it down, spinning it successfully.

everyone erupted into cheers, and your team hounded you before you each took each others arms again, making your way to the finish line.

a smile was painted onto your face as you all cheered after reaching the finishing line. that genuine, soft smile again.

in-ho’s heart ached at the sight of your smile, wishing it was just the two of you back in your quarters together, that it was him making you smile again.

but for now, you two had to focus on gi-hun and what his plans were. the quicker you two find out, the sooner he could have you in his bed again.

[evilminji]

Okay, so maybe it's just me? Projecting my new Tea Phase?

Cause for med reasons, no more energy drinks, only Teeeeeeaaaaa~☆

But honestly? Now that I am an adult and ACTUALLY KNOW HOW TO MAKE IT? Really digging it! Am enjoying the Teas. Mmmmmmm~ leaf broth. I like the fruity ones.

So! IMAGINE~☆ If you will:

Danny. 14 and his parents are LOUD AS FUCK (CRASH BANG SMASH BANG WHIIII-) dispite it being, once again, a school night. This has been going one For Years. That STUPID fucking machine. All God damned hours. Crashes and bangs and powertools. Explosions.

When will it ever end!

He's... he's honestly used it.

Unknowingly? This is is a skill that will come in handy later. Living and functioning while sleep deprived. Healthy? Fuck no. But it's USEFUL. He IS the ten year old downing Monster drinks in the parking lot before school.

It makes him a jittery weirdo. Twitchy. Too much caffeine, not enough sleep, his parents either blew up or TOOK APART the washing machine AGAIN. He... he never stood a chance. It's a miracle the indoor plumbing hasn't been compromised yet... AGAIN.

His blood is more sugar, caffeine, and guarana or whatever those other things in the can are, then actual human blood. He doesn't CARE. He just needs too get decent grades, graduate, and become an astronaut. It's... it's FINE. This is normal. They're FINE.

(If they weren't... someone would have noticed, right? Would have DONE something. Cared. So it HAS to be fine. His family's just weird. It's FINE.)

But THEN...

The Accident.

And his biology CHANGES. Green goo, wrapped vicious and loving, around his very DNA. Like Kintsugi of the body and soul. In green, Green, GREEN. It... it's a lot. Everything changing all at once. Maybe that's why it takes him so long to notice.

Why he thinks "oh, I'm just tired cause I'm running more then usual. Fighting and flying. Doing ghost stuff."

When... when honestly? Some part of him always kinda KNEW. From the very moment he stumbled out of the portal. The aftershocks. The pain. Sam and Tucker crying, scrambling to help him up the stairs. Sam tearing her bag apart looking for her cramps medicine. Because... because pain medication is pain medication.

"It's gonna be okay, Danny. Please. Please god, just take it! I promise it's gonna be okay!"

How do you look your panicked, crying, strongest-person-you-know best friend in the eyes and tell her... you can FEEL it dissolving in your throat. Like the pills were dumped in a human shaped pot of acid. That... that the pain isn't changing... and you... you don't think it's going too.

When you're scared. Might be dying. And you can already tell they think it's their fault. W... when you're all just KIDS. And all you can think is... you can let them know how bad... how bad it hurts...

They'd never be able to live with that knowledge.

Yeah. Yeah, Sam. Thanks. T... The pills helped a lot. He feels better. You really saved the day. He lo... loves you guys so much.

...

.....

He thinks about that moment A LOT. About how much he realized and knew, before the denial kicked in. Before he got so... Tired. Fresh of all that energy. And? You'd think he realize. The mood swings. The irritability. The headaches that disappear the SECOND he goes ghost. That he's in caffeine withdrawal. But? Nope.

He kinda blames the constant ghost attacks for distracting him.

But see... Sam? Doesn't drink tea. Goes against her diet. Tucker was where he GOT his illicit borderline illegal energy drinks. And his sister? Big on flavored sparkling waters. Which are gross to him.

His PARENTS drink a thick tar they insist is coffee. It might be liquid fudge. Zone knows its nearly the same consistency. It's horrifying. No thanks, he wants to LIVE.

It's? Ironically? Mr. Lancer and his constant detentions, that help Danny realize somethings up. Because Mr. Lancer shares. If he makes a cup for himself, he'll make one for you. It's how he was raised. And, yeah, the after school detentions? Those were herbal blends. No caffeine.

But...

But they tasted nice. Were warm. The classroom was quiet and as frustrating as it was? The tea itself? Was always... the one exception to how shit the situation was. So Danny finally broke down and asked about it. Learned Mr. Lancer knew a? Surprisingly LOT about tea. Huh.

Then one day he gets SATURDAY detention. Oh joy!

Bright and early. One of the few times he could be trying, desperately, to be sleeping through his parents cacophony. Catching up on his desperately needed Zzz's. Here he is... getting a handed a new cup of different tea?

Breakfast blend? And a bagel..

N...none hostile breakfast? A quiet space to catch up on his homework? No Dash? Just... just a quiet classroom, some tea, and the sounds on a peaceful morning outside?

......oh.

It's the best time he's had in school in... God, in YEARS. He gets so MUCH done. For once can concentrate. And? Actually, now that he thinks about it? Feels... awake? Or at the very least, not as sleepy. And being a Fenton, whom to the LAST are a genius if eccentric family, it's pretty damn easy to put two and two together.

Tea.

He felt more awake after having Lancer's breakfast blend tea.

He obviously asks about it. Then, after detention is done. Calm packs up. Goes home. Drops his back in his room. Goes ghost. And SHOOTS for the Far Frozen with his phone and an energy drink. Because clearly he's missing something and it's time to ask.

The good doctors of the Frozen are... gently horrified. Clawed hands steeples infront of their mouths as they try to tactfully figure out how to word "Great One, WHAT THE FUCK!?!? Why would you DO THIS TO YOURSELF!?" Because that... is not professional. Breathe. In, out, in, out. We can do this.

They get the most patient and restrained of their elders to... CALMLY, very VERY Calmly, ask some medical questions. Listen. Without judgements! Because they are medical professionals. Who do NOT want to scream, forever, into the void. Certainly not. So Calm! (They are going to BURN THAT CAN IN-)

Which! Huh. Yeah, that explains the constant exhaustion. He was poisoning himself. Kinda. Not so much the GHOST but the human half. Putting to much strain and too much trace chemicals, minerals, and buckets of sugar. General "mmmm :/ Don't Like THAT ™" energy from the Goo causing it too try and constantly burning it all out of existence. Endlessly.

The more he put in, the more there was to burn. The more there was to burn, the more tired he became. The more tired he became... well, the more he put in. It was a slowly lethal starvation cycle. Big Yikes.

The TEA on the other hand? Those are leaves. The good recognizes leaves and water. Other various plants, dried or otherwise. It ignores them as "fine" until they reach a "problematic" threshold, apparently? So... *blank look at the doctor*

*sighs in medical professional*

Tea? Good. Satan Can of Halfa Poison? Bad. Please drink tea.

👍🏻👍🏻👍🏻

And it's like MAGIC. He's suddenly BACK, baby! Ha ha ha! Skulker you fuckin THOUGHT?! Oh it's 2am? Well SUPRISE bitch! He's bright eyed and bushy tailed! His grades are up AND he's beating you like a drum! He has ice breakers for old people discussions now!! The local Tea Shops have NEVER been so well protected.

He actually manages to graduate with not just decent grades? But GOOD ones.

And the second. The INSTANT. He is legally his own man? Has his important paperwork squirrelled away and the go bags safely WELL outside of Amity. It's time. He meets OUTSIDE the house, because he's not an idiot. He's been practicing his Clones and has them ready to grab his parents so he can get out of there alive. Jazz is on video call from Star city.

His parents... suspected. Not at first, but as goofy as they are? They aren't ACTUALLY idiots. They've been watching, going over old research. Trying, failing, to get in touch with the League to have THEIR team test their research. Peer review is critical after all. They... they had been so certain. Are still somewhat certain.

But their research doesn't exactly ACCOUNT for this "halfa" phenomenon. So, there is a very real chance they are missing something. The one thing the DO know? Danny is their son. Stuck in some eternal mortally wounded state or not, he is a hero. And they weren't there for him.

They can't change their beliefs on a dime. But they've clearly missed a great deal. And refuse to fall to academic bias. The very thing that got them LAUGHED AT for decades. Mocked and belittled. This is their life's work. By God they WILL find out the truth.

It's? Better then he could have hoped. Not perfect. But better.

He helps set up safeties and a security check point at the portal. Both sides. He's kinda a big deal these days, mom, dad. Ghost scientists eager to work with them. A whole TEAM under their command. It certain endears ghosts to them a whole lot more. Then?

Copy of the blue prints, go bag turned into normal bags, Danny's off to college.

Bounces from major to major. Nothing really capturing his interest. As he aged, he's need less sleep. Gotten stronger. Grown into his father's height and grandfathers build. Tucker keeps calling him a dorito. Danny retaliates with Ancient Egyptian Cyber/Pharoah Twink allegations. According to SAM they are both dumbasses.

She's not WRONG... but hey D:<

Eventually? A really niche botany seminar run by Pamela Isely catches the attention of Tucker, who forwards it to him n Sam. Nice ™. It's being held in her Murder Park! Cool! Obviously they have to go. So off to Gotham they go. And? When they get there? Sam is APPALLED.

She may HATE landlords as much as the next activist.... but LOOK at all these run down, foreclosed, rotting buildings! Beautiful gothic infrastructure! Those could be businesses or homes! Danny, busy with signing them up, makes the mistake of tuning her out as she rants in fury. She does this some times. Needs to vent. Uh huh, you're very right. You should contact somebody. I agree. Mmmhmmm.

Hey, Sam, Ms. Isely needs your-....

Sam?

Oh FUCK ™.

By the time the Seminar come around? Sam has violently kicked in the door of more then a feel reality offices. Owns QUITE a few buildings. Danny is sweating. She... she's doing the THING again. The "gimme your Ghost Crew, I KNOW you have a highly specific Ghost Crew, don't you DARE lie to me or I take your knee caps, Danny" stare.

>.> Sam you can't keep doin- *stare intensifies* Yes Ma'am. *Pulls out Fenton phone* and so? Here come the renovation crew. The ONLY honest building Crew in all of Gotham. They cut no corners. Can't be threatened. Gangs, villians, and even local government office try to arrange... accidents on the build sites.

Nothing. Nada. In fact, it turns out more dangerous for THEM then this crew of outsiders!

Wtf!

Then? After these two College age weirdos finish Poison Fuckin Ivys HIGHLY SUSPECT biology seminar? Manson fucks off to who knows where! Leaving what HAS to be "the muscle" behind. Cause I mean? Look, at the guy! He's huge! And what does he do?

Goes building to building. Rents them out to low income families. Honest, hard working shop keepers. And? Eventually decides to settle smack dab in the middle of Gotham, in the shadow of Wayne fuckin tower, spitting distance from the Space museum..... and open? A tea shop? The FUCK?

"The Zone".

In a weird shade of green. With little ghosts, wearing crowns, because and I quote "it's funny"? Certainly crazy enough for Gotham. But like, it's loud as FUCK here. Crowded. There are gas attacks and shit. It'll never las-....

It stays untouched for MONTHS.

Sometimes being the ONLY building near it to be untouched. Gas NEVER getting in. The damn place a BUNKER. And? Despite looking like it's two floors? It's three. You enter and your actually on the second floor. No one's even sure where the fuck the guy LIVES, since he never seems to leave.

Not only THAT. But it... it's like one of those old school apothecaries. Big ol bank of drawers. Guy'll mix up your blend for you right as you watch. Tea nuts are actually risking COMING to Gotham to try his stuff. Writing articles. Apparently he has some pretty rare shit in those drawers.

Some UNKNOWN shit, according to one guy on ViewTube.

There's this whole debate on if it's Ultra Super Rare or that means it's just super cheap knock off crap. Some of them he won't make for people, even if they ask. There's a rumor it's for Meta's with specific diets. Or alien blends. But no one can verify that. Cause like?

Anyone who tries to cause trouble?

Can't fucking FIND the place. And if you're already inside? You just... drop. Stone cold unconscious. It's definitely magic but no one knows if it's HIS or Manson's? You know? He won't talk. Gets annoyed when harrased.

Which off course!

Leaves Only ONE gentleman for the job. An elite special forces trained expert. Polite, dignified, enjoyer of fine Teas. Alfred "Why do you chucklefucks keep forgetting I was in the Queens Service and a Registered Badass" Pennyworth.

After all! He DOES have the days shopping to do.

@babbling-babull @the-witchhunter @hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @lolottes