#can you tell that I'm still mad about the rope

[jeeaark]

Lol, I was scrolling through some of your older posts and saw the one where Greygold was an NPC in the adventures of a Durge. Which made me wonder: Do you think Greygold would willingly travel with a Durge and try to help them with their urges?

The key word is "try"

[maxlarens]

i promise i'm writing my max oneshot CURRENTLY but i had to get the sillies out about this really badly. australian spring/summer i love u i love u i love u!!!! also at this point i think the difference between a one shot and drabble on this account is non existent and simply based on vibes. this is only a one shot bcs it feels a bit more coherent i suppose?

LN: australia street

pairing(s): lando norris x piastri!reader, oscar piastri & piastri!reader

word count: 1.3k+

It all feels very familiar, nostalgic even— though you've never been in quite this situation before. With Oscar sure; you always rope your brother into doing things when you're in Australia again. But this is the first time that Lando's joined you.

It's nice, to be home.

Not that it's yours or Oscar's home anymore (that's not true. It always will be, no matter where in the world you jet off to). It's certainly not Lando's. It's hard to put words to the feeling, you just know it's nice.

You're driving, of course, because Oscar and Lando can never decide which of the two of them should drive. So you'd snatched the keys to the Piastri family '96 Holden Commodore and slammed the driver door behind you before either of them could say boo. Lando had snagged the passenger seat in a mad dash that you'd watched play out in the rear-view mirror, while Oscar had complained all the way to the backseat.

"Whered'ya wanna go?", you half turn your head to ask Oscar, checking your blind spot at the same time.

Oscar hums as he thinks. You can feel Lando's eyes burning a hole into the side of your face.

"Do you remember that fish and chips shop—"

You do, "Where Dad used to take us? Yeah, it closed down," then you add, "Besides, Lando hates fish. Jeez, Osc."

"Ah fuck," Oscar groans, "That sucks."

Lando makes a noise, indignant, "I can't believe you forgot. It's my one thing."

Oscar rolls his eyes, "It's not your one thing, Lando. You have plenty of things."

They start to bicker, devolving into an argument that you only understand about half of, about pet peeves and the things the other one does that get on the other’s nerves. You chime in a few times to agree about Oscar’s annoying habits, the things you'd grown up complaining to your Mum about. Quietly to yourself, you decide on a route to an old Italian place you know is still kicking around— they won't mind.

You roll your window down, feel the balmy spring breeze in your hair, on your face. It smells like the bloom of jasmine flowers, of warmth, of the smoke of people BBQ-ing in their backyards. You breathe deeply, absently aware of the petered-out conversation. Oscar dozing in the backseat like he always does. Lando looking out the other window, watching gum trees and bottlebrush on the sides of the road. 'M looking for koala’s he'd said the other day, which had made you laugh. You'd been tempted to tell him about drop bears, but you're sure that Daniel had already warned him of the dangers.

"Do you miss it here?", Lando asks suddenly.

"Mm," you affirm, "I do."

"A lot?"

You shrug at the question, not sure why he's pressing it, "Sure, Lan."

"Then why do you travel with Oscar?", you spare a glance at him, he's fiddling with a bracelet on his wrist, the one you'd made him that matched the one you'd made Oscar that matched the one you wore, "Don't you want to, y'know, settle down here?"

You raise an eyebrow, scoff a little, "God, I'm not an old maid, dude. I'm not ready to pop out babies yet. Far out."

"No, no," he's blushing, you know he is, you don't even need to check, his tan cheeks growing a little darker, redder, "Fuck. That's not what I meant. You know what I meant."

You snicker. You do. But Lando is fun to rile up.

A latent sigh leaves your mouth, "I dunno," you admit, "It's my favourite place. But I have the rest of my life to come back, and besides, it's more special like this. I appreciate it more when I'm only here for a short time."

Lando hums, turning your words over in his head. You think he may be about to say something else—

"Do you like it here, Lan?"

You're not sure why you ask. No, you are. There's this fantasy that keeps floating around in your head. Little bits of it have been coming true on this trip. Lando standing in the garage with your Dad, talking about project cars and then showing him grease covered parts, explaining where they'll eventually end up. Your Mum roping you, Lando and Oscar into helping her cut vegetables at the kitchen counter. Your younger sisters giving you loaded looks behind Lando's back, you trying to pretend you have no idea what they mean by them. It's a pipedream, it's weird and you need to stop doing it.

But you can't. Sometimes, you look at Lando and your thoughts just pick up and run away with themselves.

Lando nods in answer to your question, "'Course. It's very," he trails off, fingers finding the beads on his bracelet again, he hums, "It's very you. Hm, does that make sense?"

You feel warm all of a sudden. Something creeps up your neck, settles at the base of your skull. You blink a few times, remind yourself to focus on the road.

You skitter out a laugh, an awkward thing, you're trying not to look at him, your hands tight on the wheel, "Yeah— uh— it does. I s'pose."

You lapse into silence for a short while. The sky is eggshell orange and purple and red, stretching out in front of you. Punctuated by the star-brightness of the street lights, terracotta tiled roofs and the shadowed branches of towering Eucalyptus trees. It fills you with a feeling you can't name— there's nothing else quite like it out there. Not in London, not in Monaco, not in any of the many other cities you've traveled to or lived in for a stint.

They're all gorgeous and interesting in their own right, but they don't live up to the special peculiarities of suburban Australia. The flash of a possum's eyes where it's skittering across a powerline. The faint sounds of kookaburras laughing as dusk falls. The glow of families watching TV in living rooms coming through screen doors left unlocked. Old men tinkering in wide open garages. Wheelie bins with red and yellow lids out on the curb— cricket stumps painted on the sides.

It’s special. In the way that home is always special.

Then Lando says, apropos of nothing, “Pretty.”

“Huh.”

He shrugs, gestures around at the neighbourhood, “It’s pretty. Warm too. I can see why your parents live here. Raised you guys here. I can see myself doing that.”

You decide not to tell him about the bipolarity of Melbourne weather. Cold to hot to wet to dry to gusty all in a few hours. You let him enjoy the rare consistent spring day. And you try not think about what he’s saying, what he’s admitting. You try not to think about what you might be admitting, driving him through streets you used to play in, to places you used to go with your family, talking about settling down, like it’s on the horizon anytime soon.

It’s not— you’ve not met anyone to settle down with.

At least you don’t think you have.

It’s certainly not Lando, in the passenger seat of the old family car, fresh off a day of meeting your grandparents for fuckssake and taking a tour of your childhood bedroom. Laughing at your old boyband posters and the teenage girl shrine you’d kept to Niki Lauda. It can’t be Lando, who you turn to when you can’t turn to your brother, who gives you his hoodies when you’re cold even though he’s colder, who’s come on a bloody trip to Australia in his four week break because you’d said you wouldn’t know what to do without him for that long.

It can’t. It’s not.

He’s talking in hypotheticals and you’re getting carried away with yourself again. Like you always do.

listened to this playlist while writing😌

[beatrixstonehill2]

"What? Why would I be mad?" Heather said, smiling prettily. "You're my boyfriend. It doesn't matter if we've only been dating two months. You know I'm a very traditional girl, pretty sure that's why you asked me out! I'd be happy to explore any of your kinks, I don't care how dark they are. It's my job as your girlfriend to please you however I can!"

Heather's boyfriend, Jake, eyed his gorgeous girlfriend, feeling slightly ashamed for even thinking about what went through his head. He couldn't help himself..... "You can say no if you want. I'm just warning you."

Heather rolled her eyes. "No. I can't. I'm your girlfriend, Jake, like I've been telling you I have to please you no matter what! In any way I can, trust me, with the way I was raised I'm fully prepared for what that could mean! Now quit stalling and tell me how to satisfy you...."

"Fuck.... well..... I want to destroy your breasts."

"Destroy my breasts? What, like blow 'em up?"

"What!? No--well, actually...... no, I mean I want to debreast you."

"Ohhhh, you're one of those guys who likes to see a busty girl's titties get chopped off. What's the big deal, then? Why were you so nervous?"

"Well, it's just..... your breasts are so big and sexy I thought you might hate getting them chopped off."

"You're such a dork. My feelings aren't important, dummy! If I were reluctant to have these big fat udders of mine chopped off, I'm betting that'd make this whole thing even hotter! I can pretend to hate having them chopped off if you want, though."

"Uhhhh.... wow, I didn't expect you to be so cool about this."

"Your ears need a serious cleaning. Besides, I was here thinking you wanted to off me and toss me in a ditch or something. I mean, you still can but I'd like a bit of warning, unless it's part of your kink that I don't get any warning in which case I'm sorry if I spoiled the moment for you!"

"No, uh..... not that. But wow, you are just the perfect girl, aren't you?"

"Raised to be whatever my man wants, just like every girl ought to be.... at least that's what my daddy says."

"Well, he's a wise man."

"Sooooo, how're we doing this Mr. Titty Chopper? You got a preferred way of doing things? These big fat udders of mine aren't going to cut themselves off. Well, if they get too much bigger they might sag so much they drop right off! Kidding....."

"But I'd pay to see that! No, I own a sort of guillotine for breasts. I made it, and it works pretty well."

"Test it on lots of girls already?"

"Maybe."

Heather bit her lip. "So what, you gonna tie me up? shove my boobs into this thing and film me as I squirm and beg you not to chop them off?"

"Pretty much. I'd prefer it if you beg me TO have them chopped off, though!"

"That, I can do. I'd love to see my massive udders get removed, it's such a pain having boobs this big, you know?"

"Good, glad we're on the same page. I'll be fucking you as you're strapped in, the blade over your tits. You and I will hold the rope preventing the blade from dropping. You let go right as you're about to cum, that way you lose your tits right as the orgasm hits you. Guarantee it'll be the best orgasm of your life."

"I'll hold you to that. Then what? I'll be breastless, strapped into your machine..... what's a girl to do?"

"I'll fuck my children into you as I call you my flat-chested, worthless whore. Then, once your belly is full of my seed, I'll send you home with the basket containing your severed breasts, you show up at home with no boobs and tell your daddy you're pregnant from the guy who chopped off your boobs. Once you're all bandaged up, we go from there."

"And where might that be? Will you discard me like a used up piece of meat?"

"No, I'll introduce you to the other girls whose tits I've used my guillotine on.... You can admire how big their bellies are with my kids, and dream of how big yours will be in a few months."

"And if I give you enough kids will you marry me?"

"Maybe, or I'll consider it, if you help me find more busty girls like you to date, chop of their tits, and impregnate. You have some stiff competition but from what I can tell you seem like the kind of girl who's going to take this way more seriously than the others...."

"I am your girlfriend after all. Pleasing you is my purpose, and if finding a hundred girls with big fat titties like mine for you to chop off will make you want to spend the rest of your life with me.... I'd be happy to oblige!"

[sxorpiomooon]

How do they feel about you - pac reading

Paid readings

Tip me

Check out my masterlist

Pile 1

Pile 1 I'm sorry, the first thing I noticed was that my eyes kept forcing themselves to shut down for some reason it's like when you are thinking about someone and you sort of force yourself not to that's the vibe. I feel as if this person feels like you are walking away from this connection. I want to tell you that you are very brave for making this decision as I can see how stressed you look. Pile 1 might be extremely exhausted I heard "it's time to go" and had a vision of a clock tickling a brown one very light or dark academia core I think it was 9 o clock? I heard "i let go off what no longer serves me". This person has a victim complex they still that they are the victim here, the one who was wronged they are refusing to see the truth it reminds me of the first thing I mentioned while writing this the eye thing. This person self sabotages things and then cries about it. It's like someone is crying with their eyes closed to everyone that they are tied with rope and can't move but they don't realise that they are never tied in the first place. OML im so mad😭😭😭 this person has placed everything in your power I'll tell you what this is the kind of man who would NEVER plan ANY dates or anything and will ALWAYS say "we'll see" etc I'm so mad this person refuses to put any efforts and wants you to do all the WORK and they might also Gaslight you oh my pile 1 you are doing right throw this son of. A bitch away this made me mad too. Also for those who need it, the flower that you guys choose is lotus and the reason why lotus is my favourite flavour is because even while being surrounded by mud, it never loses it's beauty and goodness. I hope you remember that<3

Pile 2

i like this whoever this person is they might be really forgetful air signs if you are asking about a man ooo he good looking might have good eyes but dark circles I'm seeing a dark blue tshirt and very dim yellow lights is this a party no idea a libra is involved anyways this might be a new connection or you guys might be starting a new cycle. Also the second thing I got and I forgot to include was that whenever this person remembers you they might do it in a very pleasant manner it's like a bunch of people talking about you and all a sudden they'll be like "ooooooo xyz? Oh yea they're good they're nice they're very nice i like them" that's the vibe I'm seeing whiskey??? This connection has alot of raw potential only slowly unleashing or revealing itself now, you have the power to take this connection wherever you want it go rn. There are endless possibilities. Apples keep playing in my head SOMEONE STPP IT. I hope you don't take this the wrong way but I feel like either they feel like this or its both of your energy but there's something about childhood trauma here I keep hearing something shattering like plates or glasses broken family and disharmony is what I heard. And this person might also think that you might be a loner or someone who just really enjoys their own company I had a vision of painting? I guess this might also be interpreted as this was a connection with alot of potential but past trauma kinda ruined shit for the both of you and if that's the case I'm so sorry to my pile 2

Pile 3

Someone here might speak like singing as in even while saying normal sentences you might say it in a very melodious manner something about singing also had a vision of a takeaway as in the window and vibing alibi started playing YOU WONT BELIEVE WHAT UUST HAPPENEDNNOTONCE BUT TWIECE OKAY MY RUMBLR CRASHED OUT OF NOWHERE AND THEN OPENED AND I WAS SVARWD THAT MY 3NTIRE READING WILL BE WASTED BUTBIT GOT RESTORED AND THEN IT HAPPENED AGAIN BUT AGAIN IT WAS RESTORED. Anyways for some of you something might have happened in this connection that destroyed it as in there was so much hope and light which all ended up in darkness for some reason "all this rage was once love" came to my mind and a very nice warming instrumental played in my head. This is a pile for a very few of you, you might be asking for a past connection. I think there is hope however there's also a need to let go off your emotional baggage in order to continue to connection or for anything. This person also feels this way, that you might have walked away or both of you did because of the unreleased trauma. I hope everything works out in your favour pile 3 <3

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

everytime you write about gaz i get so lightheaded and blackout 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 like ommmmggggggg he’s sooo fine i need to bite him

i love you, sweet low blood pressure suffering anon.

46 / 1.6k / sequel to "call me bunny, cause i wanna bounce on your lap" with more mean reader <3

...

You must think you can get away with anything just because you’re sitting in Gaz’s passenger seat.

"We've been waiting for, like, twenty minutes,” you tell him, obviously annoyed.

Gaz doesn’t look up from his phone. "If I remember correctly, you were the one who made us late."

"I was getting ready.” You flip the mirror in the passenger-side visor back up, dabbing at your eye makeup with a polished fingernail. “And that means Alex should’ve been waiting by the time we pulled up.”

"You know how he is. Probably offered to help someone else and got roped into ten other things."

You huff, unlatch your seat belt, and prop your feet up on the dashboard. Might as well get comfortable if you’ll be here awhile.

Gaz’s eyes stray from his phone to linger on the strip of bare thigh between your skirt and thigh-high socks. "You look cute today, by the way."

Don’t you know it. You took your time getting ready for this “date.” You’re wearing the skirt he likes, the socks that make you feel confident—you put on fuck-me eyeliner. You dug out the heart choker you don’t even wear out to bars anymore because it makes you feel a little too casually easy.

You wanted to get laid today. But who knows how long it'll be before Alex comes out. And who knows where else he’ll want to go when he finally shows. There’s always something with him. He’s too nice.

⬇ nsfw; semipublic car sex; brat taming undertones

You huff and look down at your phone. Your nails click irritably against the screen.

Gaz sees the little pout trying to form on your lips. He knows what you want, and he certainly intends to give it to you, but there's no harm in making you squirm a little in the meantime. Plus he's enjoying the view. He stretches out in his seat to sit a little straighter and give himself a better angle to eye the hem of your skirt. You don't notice it until he slides his hand over the seat, resting his palm between your skirt and thigh highs.

"You know it drives me crazy when you sit like that." He squeezes. His fingers are warm and calloused. 

You shift, eying his forearm in veiled interest. "I do?"

He knows exactly what you're doing, but it's cute so he'll humor you. "Of course you do. That's why you do it."

"Mm." You sense an opportunity and grab his hand, sliding it higher up your thigh. He leans around the armrest between you two to follow the motion. "You want to get out of here?" you ask.

His eyes drag up the stretch of skin you show him from that angle. He slides his tongue over his bottom lip. "Yeah, I do."

"Then let's--"

"After we get Alex."

You groan and push his hand away. "Just ditch him! Just once. He wouldn't even get mad. He’s too polite."

"I already said we'd pick him up. You’ll just have to wait."

You huff and pull your legs back, tucking them under you. You sink further back into your seat and go back to your phone. You know you're not exactly dating Gaz. You have no claim on his time besides being his one-night-stand-turned-booty-call.

But still. You're giving up a Saturday lunch with your friends for this guy, and here you got all dolled up just to sit in his car. The rejection stings. So does the unwelcome pang of jealousy toward Alex.

This is why you don't text your one night stands back. Gaz just... made you feel good enough to ignore that rule. You’re a horny idiot.

"Come on, love. Don't be like that."

"I'm not being like anything," you mutter.

"You're pouting." He slides his hand to your leg again. "Did you think I’d do whatever you wanted just because you're sitting pretty in my passenger seat?"

You pull your leg away from his hand out of spite. "So what if I did."

"Mm, well, it almost worked." He pushes the armrest up, leaving the middle seat bare. Then he hooks his hand under your knee in one swift motion and tugs you closer to him. You slide onto your hip, thrown off balance, but it just makes it easier for him to pull you in. "Till you started running your mouth."

"You like it," you retort. "Or else you wouldn't carry on with me like this."

Gaz lets go of your knee to push your skirt up higher. Your eyes shoot down to watch him do it.

"Never said I didn't," he says. "You've got a mean mouth when you don't get your way."

You bite your lip, watching his hand slip up between your thighs. His thumb brushes where the edge of your panties would be, if you were wearing any.

He makes a low sound in the back of his throat and locks eyes with you when he realizes you’re not wearing anything else under your skirt. Fuck, you’re nothing but trouble. He watches you as his hand slides higher, making you lean back and spread your legs to make room.

Your breath quickens. His eyes are fixed on you now; he wants you. This is what you wanted, too, sort of. You shift your hips and bite your glossed lip in a way you hope is tempting.

"What's wrong?" he purrs. Damn, he likes it when you fall in line. He might even like it more than when you're mean. It’s hard to choose. He doesn't know whether he wants to fix you or toy with you forever. Even if he had time to actually date you instead of stringing you along before his next deployment. "No bite to your bark now?"

"Nnh..."

A smirk pulls across his smug face. "That's what I thought."

His fingers press against you. There’s no way to play off the way you arch your back and collapse back onto your elbows. You give yourself away too easily. He knows very well that he could’ve had you anytime. He had his teeth in you from the moment you hopped into his car and he flashed you a smile. Even if you weren’t looking at him with half-lidded eyes right now, he can feel how warm and wet you are under your skirt. He forgets why he waited so long to give you what you want.

“Look at that. Already getting all worked up just from some simple touching?”

"Just shut up. But don't stop."

“Ask nicely.” But his hand doesn’t move away, fingers slowly rubbing over your opening in the same gentle up-and-down motion as before.

"Please," you concede. You just don't want him to stop.

He’s enjoying this--watching how quickly you go from cocky to cock-hungry. He likes a challenge, but he likes winning you over even more. So he keeps his fingers stroking up and down between your legs, slow and gentle. “Say it again. Ask for it nice.”

"Please-- please keep going."

“That’s better.” He presses his fingers into you so slowly it’s torturous. You groan, and he shifts closer, pupils dilating. “See, bunny? Being nice isn’t that hard.”

You push yourself up and move your hips in tandem with his hand. You really are like a bunny, moving and bouncing at the slightest provocation. His eyes sharpen and he bites the inside of his cheek when you move to touch yourself, too. The sight of your freshly manicured nails rubbing your own clit pulls more praises from his eager mouth—positive reinforcement—but you're hardly listening, of course. You're too greedy for more of what he's giving you. He just grins and lets you have it, his fingers pushing rougher and faster between your legs.

You gaze up at him with a dazed smile on your face. You look so good like that--completely lost to everything except his touch and his voice.  He likes this more than he should. It’s the way you need him, only him, even in places you shouldn't. Even in public.

He plunges his fingers into you and relishes your delighted cry, rubbing you harder, faster. "Let me see you cum,” he growls.

Before, you might have snapped at him not to rush you. But that thought is distant.

Instead, pleasure wells up in you, shooting up your spine and all the way down your toes. You cry out with abandon, forgetting who might see or hear you in his car as you cum around his fingers. Your body rolls of its own accord, riding him and taking what it needs.

He works you through your orgasm with a sharp grin. He keeps it up until you’re finally done, and he slowly withdraws his hand once you’re coming down. Your legs twitch with pleasurable aftershocks.

"Feeling better? Gonna behave now?"

"Mm... yeah. I guess," you murmur. You're suddenly feeling much too lethargic to cause as many problems as usual.

He chuckles. From feisty to sated on just two fingers. He waits until you’re looking at him to bring those fingers to his mouth and wrap his tongue around them. With you as his audience, he makes a show of licking them clean.

Goosebumps break out over your skin. But you can't suppress a smirk. "God, you're disgusting."

His ego swells as you bite your lip, trying and failing not to let the sight arouse you again. His hand drifts back between your legs just like that, and he rubs over your still-sensitive mound with the back of his knuckles.

“Haven’t had enough?” he asks with faux sympathy, watching your half-lidded eyes trace down the sinews of his arm.

You push against his hand again, and he silently thanks Alex for doing him the favor of always taking so damn long.

...

more Gaz / masterlist

[kaeyx]

How would angry/upset chuuya/dazai punish reader in bed?

Ooooh many options here. I think it would mostly depend on if they're pissed/irritated in general or if they're mad at the reader specifically. This got long so I put it under a cut!

Warnings: smut, gn!afab!reader, overstimulation, cockwarming, bondage, vibrators/toys, bondage, spanking, stretching, edging/denial, slight manipulation in Dazai's part.

Chuuya

Chuuya has had a long day, lots of little things that haven't gone right. It's the end of the fiscal quarter so he's up to his neck in talks with investors, trade routes, lists of products. He's tired, he's wound up, he opens the door to his apartment and sees you curled up on his couch, takeout boxes still warm on the coffee table. Judging by the amount you got some for him too, and his heart warms at the thought. That plus the stress, plus seeing you in his shirt, in his house, already waiting for him... it sets him off.

He barely gives you time to look up and greet him before he's grabbing you, pulling you in for a brutal, searing kiss, sending both of you crashing onto the cushions. In no time at all you find yourself with one leg thrown over the back of the couch, Chuuya's heavy girth splitting you open. He looks half feral, hair flying around his face, grunts and growls rising from his chest. He hasn't even bothered to take any clothes off, just pulling your shorts to the side and yanking at the collar of your shirt until he can sink his teeth into your neck. Chuuya is muttering under his breath the whole while, complaining about all the things that have been wrong with his day; but he's also moaning out praise, telling you how good you make him feel, how he's been thinking about you all day, how you take him so perfectly every time.

It takes a few rounds to drain him completely, leaving you completely fucked out and half stupid by the time he collapses against your chest, panting hard. He's probably cum several times and made sure you did the same just as much or maybe even more, each time your face contorts and goes slack with please making him feel better and better. He nuzzles against your sweaty neck, murmuring an apology that he only half means, fingers running gently over all his harsh bites and the place on your hips where he'd grabbed you hard enough to bruise.

If you're the one making him mad though it's probably a whole other story. Either by bratting or favouring Dazai too much, he's going to get back at you and he's going to be creative about it. Making you suck him off under his desk is a classic, not allowed to move or speak for hours, just feeling his length rest hot and heavy on your tongue, his hand occasionally pulling your head towards him until you're gagging around him and your nose is pressed against his skin, hands trying to push him away to no avail. If you get too fussy then he's happy to cuff your hands behind your back and maybe put you in a frog tie, keeping you immobilised under him until you're completely docile.

Or he'd make you cockwarm him while he reads or relaxes after a long day, not letting you do so much as squirm but occasionally tugging at a nipple or giving your poor, ignored clit a swift smack, grinning when you yelp and your cunt tightens around him. Talk too much or make too much noise and you'll get gagged, probably by him shoving a few fingers down your throat.

He'd also like to spank you I'd think, though I'm personally not a fan of it so I don't really have many thoughts on that. Put you over his lap and alternate between hitting you until your ass is bright red and fingering you to laugh at how wet you are, that kind of thing. Gloves on, obviously.

I think he'd like bondage quite a bit, but also stress positions? Making the ropes just a little too tight, or arrange them so that if you relax they'll tug on your hair(if it's long enough) or tighten around your neck. Seeing you struggle and apologize is endlessly entertaining to him, watching you squirm and protest when he brings out a vibrator and presses it against your leg, slowly working it up your thigh while you struggle and promise you'll be good.

Dazai

Dazai might punish you without realising it. If he's agitated, had a bad or stressful day and wants to unwind, there's little better than spooning you and slipping into you, cuddling as close as he can. He could spend hours like this and indeed he does, occasionally readjusting himself or thrusting shallowly into you, feeling you get wetter and wetter while he nuzzles against your neck. He won't even realise you're squirming and trying to touch yourself until you plead with him properly, and by then you're both so edged out that you don't last more than a few minutes.

If he's mad at you though, he'll edge you on purpose. Take his time eating you out or running his hands over you until you're crying, trembling, completely undone in his hands. You can't even apologize by then, so that's exactly when he'll tell you to speak up, repeat all those defiant things you said to him. Might not even let you cum at the end, just clean you up and pull your clothes back up, patting your cheek and telling you you're done here.

I think I've talked about this but he'd also make you go out with a toy in you, or a vibrator. He'd sit back and play with the controls, randomly turning them to the max before dialing it down to a buzz, grinning as he thinks of you gasping and your legs shaking, sneaking glances around you to see if anyone had noticed. He mocks you when you get back, cheeks red and legs trembling, sliding his long fingers through your folds and laughing at how the slick is staining your thighs.

Another one, though this might take some time and dedication (and also be specific, like if you ever implied you could take care of yourself perfectly fine), would be to stretch you out. Dazai loves the look of his fingers inside you, your hole squelching obscenely as he spreads you open. He'd keep you full with plugs or dildos between sessions, resisting the urge to fuck you every time he pulls your pants down and sees you so warm and wet and ready for him, your insides soft and gooey. The end goal is to stretch you enough that when he eventually fucks you you're stretched just a little too wide, desperately clenching around him but still so empty. You feel amazing to him though, loose enough that he can slide in with no resistance, deep enough to hurt, to feel him in your guts. You're whining and mewling, telling him it's not enough, that you need more of him. His fingers inside you too, maybe. He laughs, petting your head and calling you greedy, as if this wasn't the thing he'd been after all along. You need him, see? You need all of him to feel good, to feel satisfied.

[howlingday]

RWBY Kidnapped

Pyrrha: You're gonna untie and then you're gonna let me go. That is not up for discussion.

--------------------------------------------------

Penny: Um, I don't really feel comfortable with you sitting so close to me, so could you sit in the front of the vehicle?

--------------------------------------------------

Yang: Could you loosen these ropes a little bit~?

Yang: I SAID, COULD YOU LOOSEN THESE ROPES?!

Yang: Alright. That does it. Jumping out of the van!

Yang: (Jumps)

--------------------------------------------------

Kidnapper: This is the last time I'm gonna tell you to shut up!

Weiss: (Gasps) No. I don't wanna shut up! Kill me if you must, but that lien bill you took out of my pocket? That's mine!

--------------------------------------------------

Nora: Where are we going? I'm hungry! Keep driving! Stop driving! Oh, wait, hang on! I gotta pee again!

--------------------------------------------------

Ruby: You said this was an ice cream truck. Where's the ice cream? I'm suspicious now!

--------------------------------------------------

Blake: Can I be the kidnapper now, because this kidnapping was a one out of five stars.

Blake: Oh, so you're pointing the gun at me because I'm right? Is that it?

--------------------------------------------------

Ren: I am not getting in that van. That is disgusting. Kill me and chop up my body if you must, but do not put me in the dirt. Put me in some disinfected water.

--------------------------------------------------

Jaune: I have been here for 3 years. 3 years ago, you hit my head on the roof of the van and I'm STILL mad at you about it!

--------------------------------------------------

Kidnapper: Just tell us where the money is!

Oscar: No, and I'm gonna take that secret to my grave!

--------------------------------------------------

Emerald: For the past three minutes I've been in this van, you kidnappers smell like sweaty, saggy balls in 90-degree heat. No filter.

--------------------------------------------------

Kidnapper: I told you to stop talking or I'll kill you!

Mercury: I tOlD yOu To StOp TaLkInG oR i'M gOnNa KiLl YoU~!

Mercury: You see how stupid you sound?

[panda-noosh]

authors note: oh hey. enjoy!

ask me about commissions!

--------

this is Daryl's fault.

all Daryl's fault, as most things tend to be nowadays.

this isn't the first time you've been held captive in the three years since you joined Rick's group. in fact, you get captured at least once every fortnight, but you always took it as a sign you were doing your job right; hunters cannot be hunters without a brief spell of missteps, and getting caught by the enemy is usually high on the list of scenarios that could take place. by now, you are used to it.

but this is different, because it's Daryl's fault, and that makes it ten times worse.

the rope holding your wrists together is painful, skin already red raw despite the fact you've only been tied up for an hour. Daryl tells you it will hurt less if you stopped trying to maneaveur your wrists enough to flip him off, but that doesn't stop you from continuing your attempts.

the walls are oozing condensation. it drips onto your head, slides down your nose, gets in your eyes, and it smells like damp. mould grows in the cracks in the floor. mice dart in front of you, as if boasting the fact they are free to roam and you aren't.

the worst part is, your knives are nowhere to be seen.

"i didn't even see them take them off me!" you exclaim. beside you, Daryl has barely moved. his hands and feet are tied in the same way yours are, but he's putting up no fight to get free, or even loosen them. he keeps his head down, shoulders sagging, shifting every now and then with his ragged breaths. you can't make out his expression due to the curtain of dirty brown hair shielding his face, but you would like to think his expression is one of pure guilt and sorrow for being the idiot who got you both captured in the first place.

"oi," you hiss. "a little communication would go a long way right now."

"what do you want me to say?" he bites; anyone else would back away from that tone, but you're not anyone else. you're the person put on this earth to be a pain in Daryl Dixon's ass, and that's exactly what you plan to be.

"i want a plan," you reply. "the others are expecting us back before nightfall."

"we're not getting back before nightfall."

"not with that attitude." you sigh, doing yet another pointless scan of the room - well, dungeon more like, considering the amount of rock and concrete there is. "how long has it been since they left? do you think they'll feed us?"

"we're not dogs, y/n," he grumbles. "we're hostages. chances are, next time we see them, it'll be so they can slit our throats."

"i didn't really get that vibe off them, to be honest. i know we're tied up and everything, but i think we can negotiate."

finally Daryl looks up, bloodshot eyes bored. "don't even try. things always go tits up the minute you open your mouth."

your jaw drops open. "are you serious? how can you say that when you're the one who got us into this situation in the first place?"

Daryl rolls his eyes, looking away. "i never asked you to come with me."

"yeah, well, someone has to keep you from killing yourself."

"you can keep me from killing myself, but not getting kidnapped?"

"i'm not a miracle worker."

Daryl scowls. you scowl back, even though he's not looking at you. it would be so easy some days to just punch him square in the face, but you've never let yourself get that far. at the end of the day, and as tough as it is to admit it, Daryl is the only one in the group you can properly talk to, whether he likes it or not. everyone else is too. . . flowery, too keen on sparing your feelings. they know what you've been through, and that effects everything they do when in your presence.

Daryl isn't like that, and for some reason, it feels safer to be with someone who tells you the truth, and nothing but the truth. sometimes, it feels safer to be with someone who hates your guts.

still, that doesn't mean he doesn't drive you completely mad. the way he chokes up in stressful situations, offering no help or communication - this is a life or death situation, and yet he still insists on kneeling there with his thumb up his ass. you could scream. in fact, you're so mad at his silence that you're being driven into your own silence, unable to come up with a plan when you're so angry at the idiot beside you.

he's a domino effect. a bad one. a domino avalanche.

you sigh heavily, closing your eyes, tilting your head against the concrete wall behind you. Daryl glances over, but neither of you get a chance to continue arguing - as much as you'd love to - before the rickety wooden door on the other side of the room creaks open. light spills in, blinding you, but you don't let your discomfort show. instead, you stare right into it, waiting for the face of your captor to appear, because you don't remember it all too well. they were wearing balaclavas for one, the smart bastards, but you can imagine they're young with the shabby way they've tied you up, and the complete whim of which they decided to-

"what the fuck."

two people come into view once the door is closed. their faces are lit only by the flashlights they carry, but the puny yellow light is enough to show the wrinkles indented in their leathery skin. the flashlights shake from elderly trembles, held by veiny, pockmarked hands damaged from years - years - of hard labour never soothed by retirement.

you and Daryl share a look; something isn't right. these can't be the same people who managed to pin you to the ground and tie you up.

that would be too embarrassing to even fathom.

"are you awake?"

the voice is frail but commanding.

"yes," you reply, earning a glare from Daryl that you ignore. "quite hard to sleep on concrete."

the flashlight pivots in your direction. you wince.

"right, stop blinding me, would you?"

"what's your name?"

"who's asking?" Daryl grunts.

the stranger - the male - steps closer. "the people who have the power to kill you, or let you go. i suggest you cooperate."

you stare at Daryl, hoping to God he can feel what you're trying to say through gaze alone; he needs to work with these people. they didn't come in here guns blazing, which means there is room for release if they just cooperate, but that word has never been something Daryl fully understands. right now, you need him to understand. right now, you need him to use his brain, need him to-

he spits on the concrete, right at the mans feet.

you close your eyes, resisting the urge to start cursing.

"go to hell," he growls.

the man steps back and wraps an arm around the female's waist. she curls into him, shooting daggers at Daryl as she places one hand on her husband's chest, as if protecting him from Daryl's lack of manners. you really can’t say you blame her.

“there’s no need for the hostility,” the man says. “we did what we had to do; you can’t trust anyone nowadays.”

“the wise thing would have been to leave us. kill us, even.”

“he doesn’t mean that,” you hasten to add.

daryl shoots you a glare before continuing. “instead you tie us up and bring us to your base. what good is that going to do?”

“it keeps us in control,” the female replies. “just because we want the upper hand, doesn’t mean we want you dead.”

daryl scoffs. “biggest load of horseshit i’ve ever heard.”

“do you want us to kill you? because, young man, that can easily be arranged,” the man growls.

your heart jumps in your chest; this isn’t going as smoothly as it could be going, all because daryl can’t keep his mouth shut. he’s the quietest guy in the group when he shouldn’t be, and the biggest loud mouth when he should.

your brain work at a mile a minute as daryl and the elderly couple have a stare down. it’s your first instinct to scan the room for any weaponry, but then you imagine yourself actually slaughtering this elderly couple, and your stomach twists; there has to be another way, some kind of reasoning you can find, even ground you can all agree-

your eyes land on the wedding bands on the couple’s fingers.

you don’t even fully process the next words out of your mouth, just dive head first into the ridiculous idea that has suddenly sprung to your mind. “look, i’m so sorry about my husband. he gets grumpy when he’s tired.”

daryl’s head snaps around, mouth open,ready for a retort, but you’ve stated digging the hole, and you’ll be damned if you let him ruin it now.

“i’m sure you understand, being a married couple and everything.” you laugh nervously. “we were actually just talking before you came down - we think i’s so admirable that you two have grown old together. it’s the kind of marriage we want. of course, the cards we’ve been dealt make that a little more difficult, but hope prevails.” you look at daryl and smile. “hope prevails. isn’t that what you said, dear?”

daryl only stares.

the elderly couple share a glance. if you’re not mistaken, they look almost sympathetic, and when they look back at you and daryl, their expressions have changed entirely, watered down to something you can certainly work with.

“i’m sorry,” you chuckle, waving a dismissive hand. “i always get carried away when it comes to taking about him. we’re newly weds, you see - got married just a few weeks before the news broke about. . . well, everything.”

“oh, goodness,” the female gasps, wrinkled hand covering her mouth. “you poor souls. did you at least get to have your wedding?”

“a tiny one,” you reply. “people were isolating, you see. my own mother, god rest her soul - she never made it. we had to put her down the day after.”

the woman shakes her head like this is the worst story she’s ever heard come out of the apocalypse. you glance at daryl, urging him with your eyes to play along, though you have very little hope you’ll ever get him to tart spewing bullshit marriage stories. the least he can do is stay quiet - that’s all your asking.

“we’re married, though, and we’re together,” you continue. “that’s what we’re focusing on.”

“yes, of course,” the man says. “do you . . . do you have a home to go back to?”

“a group, actually,” you reply. “we have a few young’un’s waiting for us. don’t tell anyone, but i think of them as our children now. they’re probably worried sick.”

the couple share yet another glance, and you know you’ve got them. when it comes to old married couples, the idea of a young couple mirroring their experience with marriage is always an easy fix; if you want anything, just tell them it’s because you want to end up like them, old and in love. they fall for it every time.

the woman inhales shakily, letting her hand drop to her side before she pulls a knife from a tiny sheath in her leggings; you almost whistle appreciatively at the blade, how shiny and well-kept it is, nothing like your own which have grown almost completely dull with age and overuse, and very little care on your part.

she walks over and slices the ropes from daryl’s hands, and then she steps back and waits. you blink at the scene, waiting patiently for her to make her way over to you to do the same, but she doesn’t. she just stares at daryl, lips pursed.

she’s waiting for him to make a big scene about being released.

what would a young, married man do in this situation? probably rush to his significant others side, smother them with kisses, ask them if they’re okay. daryl just rubs the raw skin on his wrists, cursing quietly under his breath, seeming almost oblivious to the audience watching him.

panic grips your chest. you have to do something before they realise something isn’t right.

“baby, you’re free!” you exclaim.

daryl’s head whips around. “huh?”

“you’re free!” you repeat. “come here, let me make sure you’re alright.”

daryl raises a brow, but he’s at least got the common sense not to say anything in the presence of your captors. slowly, he crawls over and kneels in front of you, confusion still etched on his expression. you rake your eyes over him dramatically, feigning worry; in truth, he looks to be in better form than you are, his wrists not even raw from the ropes.

“what are you-“ he begins.

“you’re okay!” you throw yourself forward, letting him catch you, and then you do the extreme part of the plan. without warning, you press your lips to his. he grunts against your mouth, eyes widening, fingers curling around your biceps, but he doesn’t pull away, and you almost sob in relief. you were fully expecting him to shove you to the floor, probably fight his way out of this dungeon and leave you for dead. instead, he goes still against you, but his lips don’t leave your own. you’re almost tempted to push your luck and stick your tongue in his mouth just to piss him off, but there’s a time and place for things like that, and it certainly isn’t here and now.

you keep the kiss short and sweet, pulling away with a smile you hope is convincing. the elderly couple are looking at you like you’ve hung the moon and the stars in the sky; apparently the kiss was all they needed, as the man walks over and finally cuts the ropes binding your wrists. the cold air against the raw skin makes you hiss in pain, but you don’t let it take you from the character you have suddenly developed. as soon as you’re free, you throw your arms around daryl’s neck and drag him in to a hug. his hands hover at the small of your back.

you turn your head and whisper in his ear, “play along, you son of a bitch. i’m trying to get us out of here alive.”

he drops his hands, wrapping you in his arms. a warmth spreads through you, an odd sense of relief tat you don’t want to acknowledge when you’re in this position with daryl dixon.

“you two get home safe,” the man says, his voice being the only thing to remind you and daryl that you can actually let go of each other now. “tell your folks we’re sorry. we didn’t mean no harm.”

you pull away from daryl. he keeps his arm around your waist, tugging you into his side like the old little actor you never knew he could be. “thank you. honestly. we appreciate this.”

daryl gives a nod, which is probably all you should expect from him.

and with a final goodbye to your captors, you walk up the stairs and into the night.

——

daryl doesn’t speak the whole way back to camp. you didn’t really expect him to.

nonetheless, you still try. you would hate to go back to camp with all this tense energy between you, a direct result of daryl’s inability to communicate like a regular human being.

he barrels ahead of you, letting all the branches swing back in your face. usually you would tell him to fuck off and stop being a child, but it’s obvious what happened has shocked him, and the last thing you want to do is make it worse.

maybe you shouldn’t have kissed him. maybe you shouldn’t have let things get that far. hell, you probably could have worked out some way to get free without telling lies, but in the heat of the moment, it was the only thing you could come up with.

it worked, didn’t it?

“daryl!” you holler after him. “daryl, come on. slow down.”

“keep up,” he shoots back.

“are you mad at me?”

he tugs on the ropes holding the prison gates together; in the distance, glenn stands atop one of the watchtowers, watching you like a hawk.

you grip daryl’s arm. “are you mad?”

he pulls away and glare before finally getting the gate open; he doesn’t give you a reply, instead storming off without another word, which you suppose is answer enough.

you follow him into camp, eyes cast to the floor in any attempt to hide your emotions from anyone you might come across; it doesn’t matter that you’ve been gone for hours - you don’t want to explain why daryl has marched off in a huff, because that will be the first thing they ask you. always you, like you’re tied to the man in some way.

you make your way to the canteen without seeing anyone. you slump in one of the metal chairs and finally take time to rub at the raw skin of your wrist; it burns, but the sting is familiar at this point. you could easily go another few days before having it looked at, but of course hershel has other plans.

“you’re like a bloodhound,” you say, sensing his presence in the doorway.

the click of his cane echoes. “what happened?”

“what always happens - we got in shit, got out of shit. now we’re here.”

“now you’re here.” hershel kneels in front of you, taking your wrist for examination. “where’s your other half got to?”

you wince. “don’t call him that. he’s nothing of the sort; especially not right now.”

hershel raises a brow. “no?”

you sigh, looking at the ceiling; hershel is one of those men you are able to trust with anything, the grandfather of the group after dale died. you have told him secrets, confided in him with embarrassing questions, but he has never judged you. in fact, nine times out of ten, he knows what you’re going to say before you’ve even said it. still, he expects you to make an effort, which is why he doesn’t fill in the blanks, just inspects your wrist whilst waiting for you to speak.

“it’s complicated.” your go-to statement when it comes to daryl. “we ran into some people, and we had to. . . play pretend, and i don’t think daryl appreciated it very much.” you wince, cheeks burning. “did i violate the poor guy?”

“i’ll need more details before i can answer that.”

you hesitate. “we kissed.” hershel’s head snaps up, but you’re quick to clarify. “we had to kiss. the only way we were going to get free was by pretending we’re a married couple.”

hershel blinks. “i’ve. . . never heard of that tactic before.”

“either have i, but it worked like a fucking charm.” you sigh. “only problem is-“

“daryl’s huffing.”

“yep.”

hershel shakes his head, muttering almost to himself. “i don’t understand that man. he makes absolutely no sense.”

“he has every right to be mad,” you say. “it took him off guard, and we all know daryl doesn’t like surprises.”

“yes, but. . .” hershel shakes his head, taking your wrist again. “never mind. i’ll have a chat with him; i want to check him over anyway.”

——

the days pass, and daryl continues ignoring you.

you’re very good at pretending this doesn’t bother you; the group are absolutely none the wiser, not mentioning daryl to you once. however, you refuse to be in denial - you have greatly pissed daryl off, and you don’t like it.

your hunting trips aren’t the same without him. they’re lonely, and boring, and too quiet; you never realised how often you turned to him when it was just you in the woods, and no one else, how often you leaned on him to take your mind off everything going wrong in the world. without him, these hunting trips are almost scary.

of course, it would be easy for you to approach him, just ask if he wanted to hunt, but you can’t throw your pride away like that.

so you spend the next few days trying to distract yourself from his ever-looming presence. he stands in the corner of the room during group meetings, arms folded, avoiding your gaze. the fact he finds it so easy to completely block you out is a punch to the gut, but you refuse to let it get to you.

you will not be the first one to break.

two weeks pass with no disturbances at the prison. days actually start to grow boring, a repetitive cycle of prison upkeep and hunting that drives you insane. you tell carl this as the two of you sit on the floor of the courtyard, watching the small pile of walkers cling to the gates; you and rick fixed them up yesterday, so you’re in no rush to get up.

carl scoffs at your complaint. “have we not earned a little boredom?”

“yes,” you grumble. “i knew you were going to say that. make me feel all bad and stuff.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad.” he shrugs. “i’m enjoying the boredom.”

“not like you.”

“keeps dad calm. can’t ask for much more than that.”

you nod. “fair enough, i suppose. fair-“

carl suddenly lurches forward, eyes narrowed. immediately your knife is in your hand and you're joining him, one hand on his shoulder, the other curled around the hilt of your knife.

you don't need to ask him what he's looking at, because you see it instantly, the one breathing being amongst the dozens of corpses clawing at the gate.

"fuck," says carl.

"watch your mouth." and then you're both on your feet, sprinting for the gates. you catch glenn's attention up in the watch tower and wave your hand above your head, signalling for him to get the others. your heart pounds with an adrenaline you haven't felt in days, you're dizzy with it, on the verge of-

you nearly trip over your own feet when you finally get a glimpse of who the person is.

the same woman who watched you kiss daryl. the same woman who took you captive and forced you into this situation.

the same woman who let you go when she could have easily slit your throat.

"carl, wait!" you grab his arm and yank him back. "i know her."

carl doesn't lower his gun, merely glances up at you with a raised brow.

you step forward, pushing him behind you. the woman meets your eyes and continues to yell, slamming her hands desperately against the wire fence; a few walkers have already noticed her, slowly peeling away from their group and making their way towards her. by the looks of things, she doesn't even have a weapon; she's come here out of pure desperation.

"what's going on?" rick hollers, sprinting down the hill with most of the group close behind. "y/n?"

"open the gates!"

"what-"

"open the gates!" you demand, before thrusting your knife through the fence and into a walkers brain.

you ignore the confusion happening behind you and just hope they're following your orders. you continue to stab and yell, drawing the dead away from the terrified woman and towards you.

it doesn't take long for daryl to join you, though you aren't sure who he's doing it for. even though this woman showed you kindness, she is still the one who kidnapped you in the first place; you aren't sure if daryl would appreciate her presence near him again. and yet he takes the walkers down without hesitation, even helping glenn and rick rip the gate open, allowing the old woman in.

she's disgruntled to say the least, gasping and stumbling. she collapses at your feet, and that's where she breaks down completely. tears streak the mud caking her face, dripping into a mouth held open in absolute horror. her grey hair is matted with blood, and her husband is nowhere to be seen.

you glance at daryl, and for the first time in days, he looks back.

"someone grab her," rick orders.

"no," you bark, pushing maggie back. "can't you see she's distraught?"

"that doesn't matter," rick fires back. "we don't know who she is, how she found-

"y/n said no."

all heads turn to daryl. he meets everyone's gaze, letting them know he is not one bit intimidated before looking back at the woman. too caught up in daryl's overall presence, you hadn't even noticed the woman go silent, flicking her gaze between you and daryl like you're some kind of spectacle.

you kneel next to her. "hello again."

----

you and daryl decide to talk to her together. nobody else allowed in the room.

he's nervous, or furious - you don't really know which one. he paces back and forth, crossbow not leaving his hands once; rosalie stares with wide eyes, glancing at you like she expects you to do something about it.

you have a sip of your water. "you can ignore him if you want. he never really adds anything to the conversation anyway."

daryl whirls. "you know, your little jokes really aren't handy in situations like this."

"good thing i don't give a fuck-"

"no, of course not. everything's just a big game to you."

"why are you yelling? you think that's going to-"

"please."

rosalie's voice is barely a whisper, but you hear it nonetheless. she sounds so fragile, so broken - so much so that you actually feel guilty for being so hostile in front of her. you have been in this interrogation room for nearly twenty minutes, doing nothing but bicker with daryl.

"please," she repeats, not looking up. "don't fight. we don't need any more of that in this world, especially between two people who love each other."

daryl stiffens, and you wince. that's right - she thinks you and daryl are married.

you fold your arms on the metal table. "rosalie. sorry. look, you have to understand why daryl and i have been sent to talk to you. this - you showing up out of nowhere. . . it looks a little weird. we just need some answers."

"why are you here?" daryl demands.

you shoot him a glare and repeat the question, softer this time. "why are you here, rosalie?"

she sniffs, wipes her nose on her blood stained sleeve. "our base got ambushed. patrick didn't make it; they got him while he was trying to protect me." she squeezes her eyes closed. "i ran out and just. . . kept running. your prison was the first place i came across that looked like it had any sign of life." she opens her eyes again. "i didn't know it was you two. i promise i didn't."

"bullshit," daryl scoffs. "it don't matter that you just kept running. this place is in the asshole of nowhere. you couldn't have found it unless you had us followed that day."

rosalie's eyes widen, darting to you for support you can't give her. despite daryl being a known drama queen, he also has a point right now. rosalie could have ran for days, but the chances of her finding the prison without forewarning of it's whereabouts are slim.

daryl stalks over, leaning close to rosalie's terrified face. "what do you want?"

she pulls back, and you don't miss her wince when she does. "i-i don't want anything you're not willing to give. i just needed a place to rest. i'm exhausted."

"you think we should give you anything after-"

"where are you hurt?"

daryl looks down at you, that familiar glint of frustration in his gaze. it's a look you've become accostomed to, so it's easily ignored, especially when you're focused on something else. you didn't notice it at first, but the wince rosalie makes every time she moves is becoming increasingly suspicious.

rosalie stares for another few seconds, as if waiting for you to retract your question. you lean forward, pushing your knife closer with your elbow.

"i've been nice to you," you say. "and i'll continue to be nice if you tell me where you're hurt. why you're hurt."

daryl stiffens. "a bite?"

you narrow your eyes. "i don't know."

rosalie shakes her head violently, fresh tears beginning to leak down her face again. "i'm not bitten! i swear i'm not bitten!"

you grab your knife. "show us."

immediately she scrambles to her feet and yanks up the hem of her pink jumper, revealing not a bite, but what looks like a nasty burn mark. still, you and daryl have been through this before, are both well aware that there's no such thing as being too cautious when it comes to injuries. it's an unspoken routine when daryl grabs rosalie's arms and tosses you the flashlight always strapped to his belt. you catch it with ease, shining it on the throbbing, wrinkled mess on rosalie's hip.

"well?" daryl grunts.

"looks like a burn." he drops her; she lands back in her chair with a clatter.

you glare at daryl.

he plucks his flashlight from your fingers. "now what? we keeping her here or not?"

"you're letting me decide?"

daryl shrugs, but you don't miss the tiny blush rising to his cheeks, one he tries to hide by going back to his pesky pacing.

you decide to leave the teasing till later, instead turning to rosalie. "hershel will want to check her over."

"why does hershel have to know? send her out on her ass without telling him, he's gonna be none the wiser."

you raise a brow. "you're not really that evil. the tough guy act doesn't work on me." and just to add salt to the wound, you add, "we're married, remember?"

daryl scowls, but that blush only gets more pronounced. you're finding this quite fun.

"okay," you say to rosalie. "we're gonna get our medic to look you over. that burn doesn't look too good. once he's said it's alright, the group should have some idea of what to do with you."

rosalie hollows out her cheeks, slumping back. "thank you." "don't thank us yet," daryl grumbles. "we aint decided yet."

----

daryl lets you in his cell that night.

it's the first time in a while he's let you follow him to bed, the first time in a while you've actually wanted to. after everything that happened when you were captured, it seems almost. . . inappropriate, even though these little sleepovers have never been anything more than a platonic comfort for you both, just having someone there to exist with.

daryl doesn't invite you in or anything, simply lets you hover in the doorway as he sits crosslegged on his bed, busy sharpening an arrow.

you fold your arms, watching him. it's always jarring to see him like this - sitting still, doing something slow paced. he's the type of man you expect to always be in motion, like he might cease to exist otherwise. when he's sitting still, you can admire everything about him, and there's nothing he can do about it.

"you didn't like it, did you?"

you say it because that's really the only thing you need to say, the only elephant in the room. judging by the way he freezes, it's obvious he knows it too.

"i thought it was our only chance of getting out of there." you shrug. "you know me and my stupid ideas. i should have asked you first."

"you admitting you were wrong?"

you hold your hands up. "just 'cause the word 'sorry' melts your brain, doesn't mean it melts mine."

he glares through the tops of his eyelids, making you grin.

you step into his cell. "i'm just messing. i really am sorry."

"stop apologising," he grumbles. "fuck, it worked, didn't it? we got out alive."

"alive and wed."

he scoffs, but it's close enough to a laugh that you make your way over to his bed and take a seat. he goes back to sharpening his arrows, and suddenly it's just like old times. it was only two weeks of his silent treatment, but you still missed the evenings spent just like this, watching him work, those calloused hands so skilled in anything he puts them to. you can imagine a ring on his knobbly finger, though you aren't sure why the image sends heat racing through you.

"have you ever been in a relationship before?"

the question takes you by surprise; it's not the kind of thing daryl would ever ask about, not a topic he particularly cares about. when you look at him, he keeps his head down, tongue gliding across his bottom lip.

you shift on the bed, bringing your feet under you. "not a serious one, no. i'm better on my own, i think."

"ain't that what they all say?"

"what about you? have you ever had that special person?"

he pauses a moment too long. your heart jumps, a flood of some dark, grim feeling filling your body before you can get a hold of it.

you clap a hand over your mouth, gasping dramatically. daryl groans, lifts his head to tell you to shut up, but you need to bury this burning jealousy somehow, and the only way you can come up with is by embarrassing the shit out of daryl.

"you have, haven't you?" you grab his arm. he lets out a hiss of pain, drawing his arm back to reveal a droplet of blood welling on his finger.

you flinch back. "shit, sorry!"

daryl glares, placing his finger between his lips, and holy god, why is the room getting so stuffy? why can't you stop staring at his lips? those same lips you kissed only two weeks ago, those lips you have tasted, those lips-

"i've never been in a relationship," he grumbles, snapping you out of your daze.

"i don't believe that," you scoff. "a fine, sociable man like yourself? surely the ladies were dropping at your feet."

daryl rolls his eyes. "funny."

"seriously though. never?"

"don't act so surprised. you haven't either."

"yeah but that's. . . different. i'm . . . me."

daryl freezes, eyes snapping up to meet yours. "what's that supposed to mean?"

"well, i'm not exactly the best person to-"

"shut up y/n. you're ridiculous."

your eyebrows rise. "woah, okay. fuck you, dixon."

he just shakes his head, going back to his arrow sharpening. this is what he does, one of the many things that infuriate you about him; he will say or do something entirely out of pocket, and then go silent when you confront him on it.

but it's been years, and you're used to it by now. taking a deep breath, you try steering the conversation someplace safer. "you know if rick decides to let rosalie stay, we'll have to pretend we love each other."

he flicks his eyes up. "why do we?"

"well, she thinks we're married."

"who gives a fuck what she thinks? she's our prisoner now."

you roll your eyes, exasperated. "don't call her a prisoner. we're not tyrants, daryl."

"everyone's a tyrant."

"she came to us." you sigh. "we could just stay away from each other if you think that's easier."

his reply is quick, almost panicked. "what good will that do? married couple it is."

just to really seal the deal, you shake hands. it goes quiet after that, neither of you knowing what to say or how to proceed. still, you don't leave his cell, enjoying his presence more than you would ever willingly admit. despite him being a complete pain in the ass, he's still your closest friend in this place, the guy who knows you better than anyone. the guy who somehow managed to break down every wall you've ever put up, all whilst keeping his perfectly in tact.

---

rosalie is released from the infirmary and put under watch, but she is still free to roam the halls of the prison. rick decided an injured, unarmed, grieving old lady isn't much of a threat in the grand scheme of things, and you weren't going to argue. you have no problems with rosalie besides the fact you have to get uncomfortably close to daryl when she's around.

again, this isn't something that ever bothered you; once upon a time, you and daryl would spend hours with each other, out in the woods hunting, or just sitting in each other's company. however, after your last little sleepover, being in daryl's presence has become a very confusing experience, one you don't have time to face head-on. all those weird, warm feelings you felt just don't make any sense.

nonetheless, you keep up the charade when rosalie's around, because it's easier that way. even daryl agrees, which is why he sits beside you now, an arm thrown loosely over your shoulder. you can hear glenn and carl snickering behind you, but rosalie is talking, so you can't do anything about it.

she's in the middle of a story about the travels her and patrick used to embark on, how they aren't even from atlanta, but got caught there after the first wave of walkers made an appearance.

she's explaining how they didn't fret, because at least they had each other, when she turns her attention to you and daryl and says, "i'm sure you two understand. this world could really do some damage if we didn't have people we love."

daryl's grip tightens, and you purse your lips. you can appreciate rosalie's optimism, but her naivety takes the forefront; how can she say such a thing to a group of people who have lost everything, have watched their loved ones get ripped to shreds one by one? it wasn't that long ago rick lost his wife, carl his mother, you a friend.

you sniff, grabbing daryl's hand to keep your angered trembles at bay. "very true, rosie, very true."

"such a good thing that daryl and y/n have each other," glenn chimes in, amusement dripping from every word. "not so lucky for us - they can be loud when their - uh - love takes over."

carl chokes in his attempts to keep from laughing.

"oh!" rosalie gasps, abashed. "goodness, well, at least that spark is still there. i loved patrick dearly, but when you're busy surviving everyday, you don't get time to . . . you know."

"i wish you'd tell that to these two," glenn continued. "almost every night its-" and then the little bastard starts slapping his hand against the wall just to really get his point across.

you spin around and punch him right in the leg. carl bursts into laughter as glenn cries out. even rosalie laughs, a nervous little titter that tells you she doesn't want to get on your bad side.

you slump back in your seat, and daryl immediately wraps his arm back around you, tighter this time, like he needs something to hold on to or he'll lose his temper. you flick a glance his way, but he doesn't meet your eyes, jaw set and gaze straight ahead.

you turn back to rosalie, shaking your head. "ignore them."

"they're just jealous anyway," daryl pipes up. "couldn't make someone moan if they tried."

you choke and bury your head in your hands; this is not where you expected the conversation to go. around you, everyone besides daryl is doubled over in fits of laughter, a sound you would have treasured if it wasn't for the fact it's aimed at you.

you glance at daryl through a crack in your fingers. he smiles smugly, chewing casually on a toothpick. you hate that he looks so good after embarrassing you like that, putting the image of that in your head, and now you feel all warm and gooey, like you might melt straight into his arms.

rosalie excuses herself to help maggie and hershel with dinner, and glenn and carl follow suit shortly after. you dislodge from under daryl's arm, ignoring the way you instantly crave the weight of him again.

"didn't realise you had such a sense of humour," you say, plucking your shoes from the floor. "good job by the way; arm over my shoulder and everything. you're really sticking to the character."

he shrugs. "might as well have fun with it."

"fun?"

"watching you get all flustered?" he trails his eyes down your body, back up again in a slow, almost sensual way. "my idea of fun."

you blink. he stares right back, and the thing is, he isn't even doing anything he wouldn't normally do. the man is just sitting there, waiting for you to reply to his teasing remark, but there's been something in the air these past few days, finally coming to immobilise you for good. you can't even keep the eye contact as heat crawls up your back.

"right," you mumble, looking away. "that's all good then. glad we got that over with. i'll see you later."

he lifts his hand in an amused little wave, ending the conversation and allowing you to scramble from the room.

----

"you were stomping too loudly the entire time. no wonder we didn't get anything."

"if anyone was being too loud, it was you."

"bullshit, daryl. i would have had that rabbit if you hadn't-"

daryl shoves past you, storming towards the prison. you grit your teeth and follow close behind, desperately trying to keep calm. another unsuccessful hunting trip, and daryl is clearly losing his patience - still, he doesn't have to take it out on you, and you're not going to let him.

"you can be such a child, you know," you call after him. "there's still plenty of food in the kitchen, so you don't need to be throwing all your fucking toys out of the pram."

"oh, shut up!" he exclaims. "all your smart little remarks ain't helping!"

"i'm not saying them to help, i'm saying them 'cause you're being a fussy little-"

he whirls around and pushes you against a tree.

you gasp, but the noise comes out weak and choked by the fingers gently tracing a line along the column of your throat. daryl presses his knee between your legs, all but holding you up at this point, because suddenly he is so close you can see the tiny green specks in his blue eyes. you have half a mind to shove him away, tell him to go to hell, but the words fail you when he drops his forehead to yours like it's the most normal thing in the world.

you swallow thickly. "w-what are you-"

"no more yelling at me," he says quietly. "rosalie is standing at the gate."

you go to turn your head, but daryl catches your chin, keeping your gaze pinned to his.

"don't look over," he orders. "that'll be too obvious."

without another word, he trails his fingers down your throat, hooking them in the neckline of your shirt. you rise on your toes, you can't help it. you've never had him so close to you before, never had the opportunity to crave this proximity so much, but there is a fire lit in your stomach right now that is impossible to ignore.

"y/n," he croaks, sounding just as desperate as you feel.

"daryl," you manage. "i-is she still looking?"

he nods without looking over, but you take his word for it, because you don't want the moment to end just yet.

you watch the movement of his eyes, the way they slowly slip to your lips, lingering there. he wets his own lips with a swipe of his tongue, throat bobbing, and suddenly this isn't a performance. suddenly you are overcome with the urge to grab him, drag him into you, audience or not.

you have the strange, impossible feeling that he might want the same thing.

but that doesn't make sense, because daryl doesn't like you in that way. from day one, his boundaries have been clear when it comes to you - you're his hunting partner, someone kept around to make life a little easier, his pain in the ass. not once has he ever expressed feelings for you. not to your face. not like this.

his hands fall away from your throat like leaves tumbling off a branch. your breath escapes you in a rush as you wait for him to step away, but he does no such thing; his hands find your waist, and he oh-so-gently nudges your hips back against the tree.

"y-you're taking this roll very seriously," you manage.

he huffs a laugh, breath fanning your face. his eyes slip closed. "right."

you cup his cheeks. "hey, open those eyes or she'll think we're breaking up."

he looks at you then, the eye contact more intense than it has ever been before. daryl isn't an emotional person, but he could fool anyone with the gaze he levels on you, like you're the only person in the whole world.

you draw back, hand still holding his face. "hey. what's wrong?"

"nothing."

but his answer is too quick, too orchestrated.

you furrow your brows and finally risk a glance at the prison gates; rosalie is nowhere to be found.

"coast is clear."

daryls eyes snap over, and he immediately stumbles away. "right. good. let's get back."

you watch him leave, legs still too weak to follow. he runs a hand through his brown hair, tugging on the strands, a complete demeanour change that leaves you stunned. you don't want to acknowledge your racing heartbeat, but it's difficult to ignore when it is so all consuming, so confusing.

you have to take a few calming breaths before heading to the prison. you duck under the gap daryl made in the fence and head to the canteen, desperate for a distraction. you think you've managed to sneak past the group until you actually enter the canteen to see hershel sitting at a table, all on his own. you have half a mind to walk away, avoid any conversation, but then you remember this is hershel.

"need company?" you ask, sitting across from him.

he looks up with a smile, though that expression is quickly replaced by furrowed brows and a frown. "what's wrong with you?"

you don't meet his eyes. "what do you mean?"

"you look like you've ran five miles."

"i don't know what you're talking about."

he lowers his head in an attempt to get a better look at your face. you do everything to hide away, but you should know better when it comes to hershel greene - nothing gets past him.

he slowly leans back, having clearly inspected your flushed cheeks and frazzled hair enough to make his own conclusions. "oh."

"don't start," you grumble.

"you know i hate gossip, but could you explain. . ."

you chew your bottom lip, twisting the ring on your finger. "just. . . daryl. rosalie was at the gate, so we had to keep up appearances, obviously. he's just. . . really good at his role. got me a little flustered, that's all."

hershel is silent for a beat too long. you risk a glance up and catch his sceptical eyes, all furrowed brows and a frown so deep you think you may have accidentally hurt his feelings somehow.

"what?" you ask.

"rosalie was nowhere near the gate."

you pause. "huh? yes she was. daryl-"

"rosalie's arthritis had a flare up this morning; she's been out cold all day. hasn't even left her cell."

your heart stops, because surely that isn't right. daryl wouldn't have gone anywhere near you if rosalie wasn't watching. you were having an argument, for crying out loud, and lord knows the only way daryl settles an argument is by blanking you, not pinning you against a tree and making your insides turn to complete sludge.

you go to tell hershel this, but the words die the moment you see the amused little smirk pulling across his face.

"what?" you spit.

"is it not so obvious?"

you know exactly what he's referring to, but you refuse to acknowledge it. "clearly not."

hershel chuckles. "my dear, that man is head over heels for you."

please don't.

"that's not true."

"you don't believe me?"

"it's not like that with me and daryl. we're hunting partners at best." you don't mention the way your heart races when he's around, the way you aren't comfortable with anyone in the same way you are with him, the way you would call him your best friend.

hershel tilts his head, but you can't meet his eyes. that would give too much away.

"y/n," he says softly. "come on now."

"you're looking too deep into things."

"i would agree if daryl hadn't confessed his feelings to me personally."

you open your mouth to shoot back a reply, but again, the words die the minute you process what hershel has just said. a confession from daryl? daryl dixon talking about his feelings? the idea is so bizarre you nearly start laughing, but the shock has left you almost immobile, so all you can do is blink, waiting for hershel to get to the punchline. he stares back, not a trace of humour on his face.

realistically, you know this isn't something hershel would joke about, but you can't bring yourself to accept any other possibility. it doesn't make any sense. it doesn't fit in the puzzle that is you and daryl.

"he. . ." you shake your head. "what did he say?"

"will you believe me if i tell you?"

"what did he say, hershel?"

"that he thinks he's in love with you, and it scares him." a soft smile graces his lips. "that's why i was so confused when he reacted the way he did to you kissing him. i would have thought he would be over the moon." "but that's. . . why wouldn't he just tell me?"

hershel scoffs. "when has daryl ever made his own life easier?"

you close your eyes, letting your head fall into your hands. "holy fuck."

"rosalie was nowhere near those gates today, my dear. i can promise you that."

you stand before you can think better of it. you are suddenly overcome with the need to see him, to look him in the eyes and hear this confession for yourself. you don't care that he'll be put on the spot, that his anxiety will probably morph him into a hostile beast. you need the truth, because going one more day without it might just drive you mad.

hershel doesn't even try to stop you. you storm out of the canteen and make a b-line for daryl's cell, pushing past a confused rick and carl on the way.

of course, daryl is laying on his bunk, crossbow held over his face as he inspects the weapons underbelly. he looks over when you storm inside, opens his mouth to no doubt yell at you, but he doesn't get the chance as you grab his crossbow and chuck it onto the floor.

"do you love me?"

the colour drains from his face in an instant. it is answer enough, so answer enough, and you nearly crumble under the weight of it. part of you wants to kiss him, another part of you wants to yell at him for making all of this so complicated, for denying himself something good just because he's less in tune with emotions than the corpses walking around.

you trail your hands through your hair. "oh, daryl. . ."

"did that old fuck tell you?" he sits up. "i swear to-"

you push him back onto the bed. "don't you dare start on hershel. you wanna know where rosalie's been all day? nowhere near those fucking gates, that's for sure." daryl looks away, but you're not playing games any more, not when your heart is beating so fast, and you don't know if it's out of anger, or excitement, or dread, or all of the above. you just need things to be straight forward from here on out. you just need the truth.

"daryl, what was that?" you demand. "why . . . why would you play along instead of just telling me the truth?"

"it's a lot harder than that," he grumbles.

"how long?"

he narrows his eyes. "huh?"

"tell me how long you've felt this way. since i kissed you?"

he scoffs like the suggestion is ridiculous.

you raise a brow. "before?"

"a long time before," he replies. "that's why the kiss. . . freaked me out so much. i ain't used to that shit. especially not with someone. . ."

you pause. "someone you love."

he squeezes his eyes closed. "it's so fucking stupid. hershel should have kept his goddamn mouth shut."

"rosalie's on bed rest. i would have found out eventually." you take a step closer and reach for his hand. he stares for a moment before slipping his hand in your own; his fingers are rough, yet the minute he intertwines them with yours, you realise you never want him to let go. "it's nothing to be intimidated by. it's not stupid."

"it is stupid. it should be the last thing on my mind. the dead are up and walking, but all i can fucking think about is you. it's always just you." he shakes his head, grip tightening the smallest bit. "i'm caught in a hoard and all i can think about is where you are, if you're safe or not. do you know how fucked that is? how in my head you are?" he scoffs in disbelief, tilting his head back. "christ, and you don't even try. you never have tried; you just managed to completely take me down without a care in the fucking world." he rakes his hands down his face, groans into his palms. "i should hate you for it."

"but you don't."

he drops his hands into his lap, dejected. "no. no, i really don't."

he looks up at you then, expectant, like a child waiting for their next task. you can only stare back at him, because there isn't an awful lot a person can say after an admission like that. you wish you could reply with something coherent, something that would get your own feelings across, but for the first time in history, daryl has articulated your emotions for you. every experience he so heart-wrenchingly described is one you have experienced yourself, so there's nothing you can add.

so instead, you guide his hand to your waist and let him draw you in. he's hesitant at first, never taking his eyes off you as you step between his knees and take his face in your hands. for a man so muscular, his cheeks are soft and round, a feature you've always found so amusing and appealing at the same time.

he inhales shakily. "you're still a pain in my ass."

"but you love me."

he scowls, but there is no denial.

you grin, and finally your mind clears enough for you to kiss him. for real this time.

he stiffens for just a moment before easing into it, grip tightening on your waist to pull you closer. you slide your hands over his shoulders, deepening the kiss, feeling his body against your own. you taste the cigarettes on his tongue, a flavour so perfectly him that it doesn't even gross you out. your nails bite into his back, forcing a growl from his throat that nearly has your eyes rolling into the back of your head with how desperate it leaves you.

that's how you know it's time to pull away.

he chases your lips, hands never leaving your waist even when you gently push him back. he groans, pressing his head to your stomach as he says, "why'd you stop?"

breathless, you reply, "it's the middle of the day, daryl, and these cells aren't exactly private."

"so? as far as everyone knows, we're a married couple." his hands slip lower, making you gasp. "and according to glenn, we're known for being loud anyway."

you swallow thickly. the only response you can give is another kiss, only this time you do let your eyes roll into the back of your head.

[ladyloveandjustice]

My Top 12 Favorite Anime of 2023 (and more)!

This was a great year for anime, so here's a long list of my top 12 (including some bonus great anime). If you get tired of clicking the review links, check out my anime overview collection for all of them here.  You can also check out my list of favorite manga here!

Some of these are ongoing, so consider those only a review of the first cour-- no official endorsement on the rest because it hasn't aired yet!

Mobile Suit Gundam: The Witch From Mercury (Season 2)

When I listed G-Witch in last year's top anime list, I prayed the show wouldn't betray me. Fortunately, it didn't! Though the final half of the show was a bit rushed, it remained must-see, compelling sci-fi full of exciting twists and turns. And I adore the well developed romance between the robot-piloting protagonist and precious girl, Suletta, and her fierce fiancé, Miorine.  Whether you’re here for starcrossed queer lovers, robots wrecking each other, tense battles between opposing political factions, or morally-horrifying moms on a revenge spree, you’re in for a treat.

See my full review here.

Yuri is my Job!

Hime is roped into working at a cafe where the waitresses playact as students of the fictional all girl’s school from a beloved novel series. However, Hime finds her co-worker, Mitsuki, has an inexplicable grudge against her. Thus begins a tangled web of romance and wounded feelings among the girls in the cafe! Yuri is My Job seems like a fun comedy boasting a cast full of quirky lesbians, but then reveals itself to be a complicated and fascinating examination of performance- as it intersects with queerness, girlhood,  and the desire to be “likeable” and “cute". It's top-tier lesbian drama full of fraught relationships and it's absolutely worth a watch.

See my full review here.

The Apothecary Diaries (still ongoing, review is for the first cour)

Though it's still going, I have to sing the praises of this dazzling anime about a saavy apothecary who uses her medical expertise to solve the many murders and betrayals in the Emperor's palace. MaoMao is a fantastic lead, a poison-obsessed gremlin who's whip-smart, deadpan, and fun to follow. The Apothecary Diaries has intrigue, well-developed characters, and an impeccable atmosphere. It tells a great range of stories, from romantic triumph, to bittersweet tales of recovering from grief, to pure tragedies. I'm totally hooked.

See my full review here.

The Magical Revolution of the Reincarnated Princess and the Genius Young Lady

When Euphie is dumped by her fiance at a ball, the oddball princess Anis rescues her.  Euphie becomes Anis' assistant in her quest to develop magical tools. The girls also start to develop feelings for each other, while discovering a conspiracy among the nobility. I'm always desperately in need of cool lesbians having action-packed fantasy adventures, and Magirevo delivers. The characters grow in entertaining ways, we get to see them fight dragons in killer action scenes, and the romantic development is completely satisfying. It's a simple story at its core, but the lovable characters, joyous queerness and jubilant execution make it a great watch.

See my full review here.

Birdie Wing: Golf Girls' Story (Season 2)

In the second season of the anime about girls homoerotically golfing while dealing with the mafia and ludicrous family drama, Birdie Wing remains a bombastically absurd sports anime that is fun all the way through. Please come watch these girls get ridiculous sports  injuries, scream their super golf attacks, experience extremely extra plot twists--and be super gay with each other, of course. The finale didn't go quite as hard as I wanted (and the romance is more subtexual than I wanted), but you need to allow yourself to experience the madness of Birdie Wing.

See full review here.

Skip and Loafer

An endearingly dorky, earnest, and driven girl moves from her small town to Tokyo. While she struggles to adjust, she befriends a nice popular boy who's got some baggage. Skip and Loafer is a show that’s like a warm hug. It's sweet, entertaining and funny. It handles adolescent struggles with tender nuance. There's a emphasis on kindness, connection, and looking past stereotypes and misconceptions. It also includes a trans character who's treated with respect (and is a great character in general!) Let this show touch your heart.

See my full review here.

Undead Murder Farce

An immortal woman has had most of her body stolen by a mysterious man. Reduced to a head carried around by her maid, she teams up with a half-demon man to track the thief down while solving supernatural mysteries all across Victorian England.

This a fun, campy mystery series starring three asshole weirdo protagonists,  it’s bursting with supernatural creatures and literary references. We've got Sherlock Holmes, The Phantom of the Opera, Carmilla and more...along with a vampire murders and werewolf drama galore. UDM is a wonderful romp with stylish, slick direction... and it’s unexpectedly really gay.  I’m aching to see more of these scrappy misfits and their adventures.

See my full review here.

Migi & Dali

A story of twins who are pretending to be one kid in order to fool their foster parents and find out who killed their mother. It starts out as an utterly absurd comedy becomes a impressive and genuinely tense murder mystery that is incredibly moving at times, all while keeping up it’s signature brand of goofiness. There’s genuine commentary on abuse, the damage you can do to children by forcing perfection on them, the struggle of being a foster kid, grief and recovery and more. There's also some great character development. It's a weird one, but it's absolutely worth sticking with.

See full review here.

Pluto

Somebody is killing the most advanced robots in the  world and murdering humans alongside them. A robot detective is trying to track this killer down, but he might be compromised as well. Pluto is a tense, tense, tightly plotted robot murder mystery that keeps you on the edge of your seat. Through robots, it explores the idea of being a tool in a corrupt system, and tackles subjects like war, imperialism, and the nature of hatred. It's a masterful psychological thriller with stunning animation and a rich story.

See my full review here.

Scott Pilgrim Takes Off

This anime approaches the story of Scott Pilgrim and Ramona's seven evil exes from a brands new angle, and the results are great. We get a exploration of relationships and regrets, the messiness of communication and connection, the trials of becoming an adult, all with the signature goofy video game antics. Characters neglected in previous iterations finally get their due, new facets of the story are explored, queer relationships are delved into more, girls kiss...and it's all accompanied by phenomenal animation and a killer soundtrack.

See my full review here

Soaring Sky! Precure

Sora lives in a world called Skyland and wants to be a great hero. When rescuing the kidnapped baby princess, she falls through a portal to earth. There she meets her fellow magical warriors, and as Precure they protect the princess from the villains!

This vibrant, warm-hearted adventure got me back on the Precure train! This series boasts a lot exciting firsts for the franchise--the first official male cure, the first main cure that's eighteen years old- but above all, it has a lively team of characters with who have an entertaining dynamic and enjoyable individual journeys. It's often very funny, the baby has a surprisingly good character arc, and it's bursting with magical girl (and boy) goodness! It's also not afraid to give you an emotional gutpunch when you've been lured into a false sense of security by all the fun times. If you're new to Precure, this is a great jumping on point, and if you've watched it before, this is a series you won't want to miss.

I'm in Love with the Villainess

Rae is reincarnated as the heroine of her favorite dating sim. But she has no interest in romancing any of the boys- she’s head over heels for Claire Francois, the snooty villainess.

Villainess may not be as polished--storywise or animation-wise-- as these other entries. It's a messy series, it has plenty of problems...but it's also very fun, and it touched my queer little heart like no other. Queer people get to indulge in our imperfect faves too, and the silly shenanigans, blatant lesbian wish fulfillment, honest advocacy for queer people, and the joy and earnestness of the series works for me!

See my full review here.

Some Other Great Anime:

Frieren: Beyond Journey's End (still ongoing, review is for the first cour)

Frieren is a long-lived elf who was once part of an adventuring party that saved the world from the Demon Lord. But now her friends are passing away and the world is moving on. She decides to retrace her old party's journey so she can understand what she's feeling.

Frieren is both an interesting examination of what happens after the hero saves the world, as well as a meditation on mortality, grief,  and the endless march of time. It takes you on a quiet, beautiful and sometimes touching journey though a pastoral fantasy world. There's some breath-taking animation and excellent atmosphere to enjoy.

See my review here.

Spy x Family (Season 3)

Spy x Family is pretty much staying the course from when we last checked in,  though this season gives a lot more attention to Yor, and I love the cruise ship arc and all the ridiculous fights she gets into a lot! That arc contains some of my favorite gags of the series too (like Loid’s  attempts to be a cool dad). Otherwise, Spyfam has settled into a series that intends to be around for the long haul, so don’t expect too much forward plot momentum. And Yuri (the man, not the genre) unfortunately still exists. Overall it was good season and remains a fun  adaptation. Yor, please step on me.

[imagine-silk]

May I request something with Nick? Like, Sole was a detective who worked with the Nick who Nick was based off of? So Nick would definitely be surprised to see Sole. I could kinda see that perhaps this could cause a bit of inner conflict with Nick too. Thank you for considering my request, hun!

》I need to learn how to make dividers. If any of you know how to make them let me know. (oh my god I never knew I liked to be called 'hun' (⸝⸝⸝╸▵╺⸝⸝⸝))

Nick back then was different for obvious reasons. The war was still going on but it was still not a lost cause, and he didn't encounter it day to day by force but by choice. He was married to Jenny, the girl of his dreams that he always thought was out of his league. His identity was unquestioned and never in doubt and he never had a problem with his body. He was happy with his life.

You had a huge influence on him. When he met you he was just barely out of his cop uniform and getting used to wearing what he wanted. You were the one he was assigned to to learn the ropes. Something you weren't very happy about in the beginning but you were never mad at him, he wasn't the one to make the call. So you showed him what you did and taught him what you knew at the time.

From the start he wanted to make a good impression and was very eager to please. It took a second for him to calm it down. He still admired you. After his tutelage was done neither of you asked for a change. It was silently agreed you were partners, no talk needed.

You were there when he scanned his brain. It was for college students and their studies. You told him it was strange and to think twice about it but he laughed and said it was for science. That's the last memory he had when he woke up in the trash.

While he was adjusting he stumbled a lot. Then when he was welcomed into Diamond city and given his agency he tried to take hold of his life. The way he did was to pretend like he was you, to do what you would do, to take authority and be the one in charge. Over the years he changed. After a lot of reflection he realized you wouldn't have wanted that, you didn't want him to be you. You would want him to be the best version of himself. So he strive to be the person you saw in him.

Time stopped for him when you saved him in the vault. He felt so many different things. And he saw your confusion. You were under the impression he survived like you did, because no one told you he was a synth. Neither of you remember who said you should get moving but one of you did.

At the agency you asked your companion to wait outside for this reunion. "Nicki." A nickname you always called him by fondly. "You do remember me, right?"

What was he supposed to do, lie to you? But that was the problem. How much of him was a lie? He tried to explain but that made him think in circle. He did remember you but he wasn't yours, he wasn't who you remembered. He wasn't Nick. But he did know you. He still wanted to please you. He wanted you to see what he made of himself and tell him he did good. But you weren't his to claim because he wasn't Nick. But he was. He was Nick and there was no running away from that.

You hushed him, "It's okay. If you want to go back to us we'll do that. If you want me to be a stranger we can do that. I'll go at your pace. No matter if you're my Nick or your own. And if you never want to see or speak to me again I'll leave after we find Shaun." Again you put the ball in his court, just like he remembered. And he knew whatever he said you would pick the ball up and play the game with his rules.

"I'm not him. I'm not. But I want to be with you again." It was all so much. He knew you but you didn't know him. Somehow you knew exactly what he meant; I want you to know the me now.

He never really thought about how much he missed you in the last couple of years but now that you were here it was kind of embarrassing. You hired him to help you but he still looked up to you. It felt like he was hired help instead of a private eye. Every step of the way you smiled and told him he was doing a good job.

Throughout your time together you bond. It's different but familiar, it's built on what you had and became what was new.

He actually held Shaun once. He actually held him several times but he only remembered the first. This was personal for him too. The child of his best friend.

He was so confused when you came back through the telepad without Shaun. He followed you when you stormed away to your house and saw your break down. "I lost everything. Every fucking thing! My world, my wife, my partner, and now my son. What am I here for? Who do I need to kill-" You stopped when you saw his face and realized what you said. "That's not what I meant. Nicki. Nick!" You called out but he was out the door.

There he was hiding in his office like he did after your first fight on the job. But that was the problem wasn't it, he wasn't the one you upset at the time. Of course you knew he was hiding there and showed up. He didn't stop you when you sat down next to him. "Do you remember-"

"I probably do." It was bitter and pointed but you continued.

"Not like that. Yesterday I said 'tomorrow this will all be over'. And you said?"

"'It's not over until the fat lady sings'."

You chuckled, smiled, like nothing was wrong. You were so good at that. "That was the first time I'd ever heard that. You, Nick, never said that. It surprised me. What a weird saying. You're not Nick, I know that. I lost him. But I have you."

You'd just found out you lost everything from before the war and here he was being selfish, having the gall to need reassurance from you. The sweet thing was he knew you would tell him that was a stupid thought and you'd always have time for him no matter how silly. "You do have me." Like that he tilted and put his head on your shoulder.

[pricegouge]

Fatted Rabbit, Part Fifteen on AO3

Content

Bearshifter!Price x reader | explicit

It's strange how different the drive north is from what the mad dash south had been. In John's anger, he'd felt stubborn and unyielding - a boulder in a stream, able to watch as little flickers of sensibility passed him by, yet unable to do anything to keep them. Even as the road had wound its way down the mountains, he had felt fixed. As if a rope had stretched straight and taut between him and his destination, and he'd had to work for every inch gained through sweat and blistered hands.

It's strange how different the drive north is from what the mad dash south had been. In John's anger, he'd felt stubborn and unyielding - a boulder in a stream, able to watch as little flickers of sensibility passed him by, yet unable to do anything to keep them. Even as the road had wound its way down the mountains, he had felt fixed. As if a rope had stretched straight and taut between him and his destination, and he'd had to work for every inch gained through sweat and blistered hands.

Despite the low anxiety that boils in his belly regarding the unknown quality that is Shepherd, the return trip breezes past in a slow crawl of rolling peaks, distance measurable in the changing of the range characteristics. They pull over to sleep somewhere in southern Montana and John finally gets to test the limits of the Jeep's suspension. It would be a pleasant little road trip, if his bear would stop grumbling in the back of his mind.

There are some things his human form simply won't suffice for, evidently. And he needs to sniff her out properly, get her soft body under him and just keep her still for a whole night, pressed under the immense weight of himself. 

(He won't crush her. Not really. But he at least needs to see his big ol' mit splayed across her belly possessively.)

If she notices him driving straight past Columbia Falls and into Glacier, she doesn't say anything, keeps quiet until he parks far up a ranger path and goes to climb out.

"The one time I dared to presume I'd be invited over for the evening, and you leave me to sleep on my own on a cold fire trail in the dead of night." She's teasing when she shakes her head at him, but John is not amused.

"Not leaving you anywhere, bunny."

He gets her little mattress pad set up in a pre-existing bear bed under a canopy of maple boughs and tells her to settle in. She seems to know what he's got planned when she asks him to stay where she can see him while he changes. He shakes his head at her though and hides away behind a copse of pines, shakes the viscera off thoroughly before snuffling back to her. She may have seen a video of it already, but there was no need to keep subjecting her to it.

She grins like a fool when she spots him and John can't help the happy chuffing it incites. She giggles when he snuffles her hair, her neck. He dives into her belly with a series of frankly embarrassing grunts, but he can't bring himself to care when her giggles turn to outright laughter. He stops when she starts kicking, worried about her poor leg. It takes her a minute to catch her breath but when she does, she holds her arms out wide in clear invitation and John carefully lowers himself so he can duck his big head onto her chest. She sighs contentedly and threads her fingers into the fringe of his collar, which prompts a happy groan from him.

"You gonna stop pretending you don't know what I'm talking about when I ask you to make that noise again?"

John chuffs, heavy breath displacing some of her hair. When he lowers this time, her returning smile is brighter than the stars overhead.

"That fuckin' moo. I think it's my favorite noise you make." He grumbles, indignant about being told he moos , but she ignores him. "You know you make that weird huffy noise when you're human sometimes too, right?"

He chuffs at her again illustratively and she wipes off some of the slobber it blows at her.

"Nasty," she gripes, but she wiggles underneath him until she's on her side and John shifts himself up so she can tuck in under his arm. She wastes no time trying to wrap her arms around his body (can't, of course, but it's cute that she tries) and buries her face in the shaggy fur of his chest. John returns the favor, sinking his nose into her scalp and breathing deeply, sorting through all the scents to be sure any trace of the other man is gone.

When he's appeased, he ducks down even further to headbutt at her and she kisses him on the snout, pressing her face against his own as she reaches up to scratch behind his ear.

"I probably shouldn't find you so cute, considering everything, huh?"

He'd laugh if he were human. Settles for a soft nod instead which sets her own head lolling. 

"Well, too bad 'cause I don't. Though maybe my danger radar's busted. Would explain the ex, I suppose," she trails off. He growls and she's quick to change the subject, leaning back enough to look at him in feigned seriousness. "And crocodiles. I think those are cute too, and that can't be wise."

This time when he chuffs at her, he wraps a heavy arm around her and pulls her to his chest. Her laughter gets caught in his pelt, warm against his skin. When she tells him she loves him, it's muffled there too.

He ducks down enough to sniff at her, hopes it communicates his returning affections. He throws a leg over her own for good measure, careful of her cast.

In the morning he's happy to sit with her for a while, ignoring all the responsibilities they're sure to return to once they head toward the bar. He sits on his rear, gets her propped up between his spread legs so he can paw at her thighs and sniff at her while she plays on her little game. She pauses occasionally to inspect his paws. He expects her to grow pale at the sight of his claws, but she just tells him he has cute little toe beans and kisses at them.

He's a little indignant that she'd call anything about him 'little,' but he's also well aware he's being ridiculous so he just huffs at her and mouths gently at her ear.

***

They don't make it to the apartment unaccosted because that would just be too much good luck all at once. He's not even sure where they come from, making no noise as they creep up behind him while he helps bunny out of the boot. She doesn't seem to have noticed them either, if the way she squeaks when he closes the hatch to reveal them is any indication. 

John jumps, nearly decks the closest one. Gaz side steps easily with a sly smirk while Soap practically rips the rabbit out of his arms. 

"Bonnie!" He crows, twirling her around like a buffoon and then apologizing profusely when her plaster knocks Gaz's knee and she winces in pain. 

"Watch it," John growls, setting bunny back up with her crutches and checking her over as if he's suddenly developed X-ray vision to assess her fracture. 

"Sorry hen, but ah'm so excited! Ye had us all worried." 

"Yeah, sorry." She looks endlessly embarrassed as the three of them just revel in her very presence for a moment. "Um, who are you?" 

"Oh, Kyle. Was the bartender here before this clown." 

"Oi!"

Kyle sticks his hand out to her but just holds hers between his once he gets it, smooth bastard.

"Right, good to put a name to a face." 

"Likewise," he winks, and bunny's ears practically twitch. 

"When'd you get in?" John interrupts, unable to completely ignore the growing ball of totally unearned jealousy in his stomach. Not his fault, it's been a rough few days. Soap uses the distraction as an opportunity to guide bunny inside. Through the bar door, not his own, he notes with annoyance.

"Last night. No one told me how the little mission went so I figured I'd come see for myself." 

"Bullshit, Simon was keeping you in the loop."

"Yeah. Still thought I'd stop in." He looks Price up and down pointedly, as if checking there's not still blood on him or something.

John grunts, brings him into a one armed hug. "It's good to see you, mate." 

"You too, cap. You've not gone off and signed your own arrest warrant though, I hope? From the look of things, Soap'll be only too happy to take care of your girl while you're away." 

"Have a feeling I don't need to worry about either thing, really." 

"Oh?" 

"You seen Simon around?" 

"Yeah, he's just inside, actually." 

"So not at the brewery, tinkering with his precious ale?"

Gaz pauses, hand on the door but not opening it. "Oh," he says quite simply, and then they shrug in unison and follow the sound of Soap's incessant brogue out to the bar.

It's blessedly empty out front. John never figured he'd be happy to hear his staff had unexpectedly closed for the day while he was out, but then he'd never been faced with the daunting task of sharing his mate with half the town after the week he's - they've - had. It's bad enough sharing her with this lot, although he does because she looks adorably flustered when Soap lifts her up onto a barstool ("Seriously, you too?") and because he supposes they owe Gaz some explanation for all the last minute favors he so discreetly handled. 

"No', wha ' happened tae yer gam, Bonnie? And would ye like ol' Soap ta kiss it better, hm?"

"Oh shucks. Thanks, but too late now. Locked away like a tomb, no kisses." She gives Soap a faux regretful smile, but he just grins all the harder, steps into her space. 

"Could always kiss a wee bit higher."

"Careful, Johnny. Anymore of that and cap might eat you alive," Simon threatens, completely deadpan. 

"That's right," so hands to yourself, Price doubles down. Soap sticks his hands up in dramatic surrender and scurries back behind the bar to get everyone comfortable, easy enough to distract; but Gaz is far too sly, watches bunny pale at their words with a shrewd eye that lets John know he won't be able to evade nearly as much as he'd hoped.

"Gaz, what'll it be?" Soap asks, setting up the standard orders for John and Simon. He gets a cider going for bunny which she thanks him prettily for.

"Just a water, mate, thanks."

Soap scoffs, affronted. "You dinnae wannae enjoy someone else doin' the work fer once?"

"Havin' too much fun watching someone else serve these picky bastards," he motions at his former bosses. "Don't wanna cloud the memory."

"Picky is it? They've no' complained abou' me yet." He places bunny's drink in front of her with a wink. "Mus' be ah'm better then, eh bonnie?"

"That's a good way to get that streak broken," John warns, motioning to Soap's lingering fingers on bunny's rim. He leans across the bar and grabs his own drink, claims the chair next to his girl and drags it pointedly closer to her.

"Ah, cap, ah'm jus' messin'. No harm."

But John was grumbling the second he heard the term of authority. "Christ, not you too?"

Soap cackles but bunny places a hand on his reassuringly. "Would it be better if I started calling you cap, too?"

"Hm, now there's a thought," John grins at her, leaning in for a kiss which is foiled when Soap turns the stream from the fountain hose on him. 

"See how ye like it," the Scot snarks, and John probably would've gone over the counter if not for Simon's rare, earnest laughter spilling through the room like thunder.

"Gotta say, cap. Wasn't expecting to like my replacement so much." Gaz has seated himself on the other side of bunny, while Simon stands at the very end of the bar, towering unapologetically. 

Soap tips his glass to the man, winks. "Had big shoes tae fill, I heard. Had tae step up."

John turns to catch the vanishingly scarce experience of watching Simon bite back a frown, finds the large man staring back at him already as if in challenge instead. John just huffs and goes back to smiling dopily at the back of bunny's head. 

"Well you certainly did that, bruv. Look at that brooding bastard. Never seen him go so long without swearing."

"Fuck off, Garrick." Simon deadpans.

"There it is. Anyway," Kyle turns to the soft girl beside him and smiles warmly. "You never did tell us what happened to your leg, luv."

"Oh yea!" Soap crows, a dog that's remembered it has a bone out in the yard. "You awrigh', bonnie?"

"Oh, uh. Yeah…" she flounders, looks to John for guidance, but for all their plotting, they had not expected Gaz, who knows far too much, to be in the same room with Soap, who knows the exact right amount - next to zero -, when they had to have this conversation.

John eyes Soap, eager and bright, and remembers how the man had been beside himself when Simon had said they were leaving to go retrieve her after being chased out of town by the nasty ex he himself had served. He doesn't trust the man with the whole truth, of course, but this bit…

"It's your leg, bunny. Up to you how much you wanna share," John shrugs.

She blinks, as if surprised to find that's an option, and then gives him a soft, private smile before turning back to Soap and rather bluntly sharing that her ex broke it.

If any of them were expecting a sober reaction, the speed at which Soap's complexion turns cherry red ruins any chance of a civil conversation. "Tha' fockin' cunt!" he hollers, waving his hands wildly enough he doesn't notice how bunny flinches a bit.

"Easy," John warns, but it's Simon holding his palm out to the Scot that gets his attention.

"Down, boy. Indoor voices." He cuts a subtle glance at the rabbit and Soap deflates just as quickly as he was set off.

"Ach, sorry las. I jus' don' deal well wi' tha' shite ," he hisses.

"That's okay," she shrugs, doesn't elaborate. John places a hand on her thigh and she threads her fingers through his, the contact hidden under the counter.

Gaz pats the rabbit's back soothingly, turns to Soap. "Don't worry, mate. From what I gather, cap here doesn't handle it too well, either."

Soap's eyes are bright as a Zippo's flame when he turns back to his boss. "Did ye take care o' him, cap?"

Four sets of eyes on him, John can't really lie like he thought he could. "Yes."

A beat. Soap frowns, wound up and put away wanting. "Well, how so? Bust his nose? Break his leg?"

John turns to Simon who stares back, apparently just as cowed by the notion of actually admitting what he'd taken part in. Kyle just keeps boring holes into the side of John's head. 

"A bear got him first."

To her credit, bunny doesn't flinch under the weight of everyone's gaze like John had. She takes a sip of her cider, casual as can be, smacks her lips.

"Huh?" Soap asks, eloquently.

"Bear. Got him first. Phil abducted me from my motel room four nights ago -."

"What?"

"John and Simon - or rather Kyle, I gather; thanks," the man nods, tilting his water at her. "- tracked me down to the cabin where he'd been stowing me. God knows what John had planned for Phil, but that doesn't matter because in the funniest possible twist of fate imaginable, Phil was already dead by the time they got there."

A beat of silence follows. Two. John resolutely does not look at Simon, or even Kyle, but he allows himself a glance at Soap when the Scot scrunches up his face in confusion. "You said a bear?"

"Yep. Big, aggressive black bear."

"Did you call it in?" Gaz asks and bunny shakes her head, curling her lip.

"Honestly? Wanted to let the crows pick him apart." It's just enough honesty - enough admission - that Gaz nods once and frowns down at the counter in thought.

"Well, cannae blame ya there, bonnie." Soap grabs her another cider and assesses John openly. "What were you plannin' for the little shite when ye go' there?"

John shrugs, leans into how hard it is to meet the eyes of the men around them and plays it off for shame. "Didn't have one. Guess it depended on how hard he would've fought back."

"So you would've killed him?" Gaz accuses and John sighs, leans forward so he can see around bunny. 

"That fucker unloaded two cans of mace in my face, threatened to kill me, schemed his way into bunny's quarters by giving an old man a black eye, broke her fucking leg, and abducted her. And that's just what I've known about, since I personally met him. That's not counting all the -," he waves vaguely and bunny stiffens, proving his point. "So yeah, I might've. And I don't feel bad about leaving him there, either."

Gaz continues to squint, but Simon nods once and it's strange how it's that - after everything the big man had already done to help him along the way - is what finally lets John breathe a little easier, secure in the knowledge he may not have done the right thing, but he at least did the effective thing. Simon has always been a pillar of efficiency.

"Ah'm honestly a bit flapped that bear go' him first," Soap scoffs and John can feel the tension in the room melt around the edges a bit. Gaz continues to frown in a way that lets John know he's not heard the last of Kyle's opinion, but he loosens up a bit when Soap carries on about the particulars of how he would've chosen to dispose of Graves. He's funny about it, gets bunny laughing with increasingly more outlandish deaths. By the time it escalates to Acme products, even Simon is hiding a chuckle behind his mask.

And even Gaz forgets to be stuffy when Soap notes Simon's laughter with a smile, leans up to kiss his cheek with an obnoxious smack of his lips. Simon grumbles, but doesn't break his glass over the smaller man's stupid mohawk and John chokes on a peel of vindication.

He exchanges a wide-eyed glance with Kyle, nearly throws himself over the bar to wrap the two in a congratulatory hug. Bunny's firm grip on his thigh stops him, however, when she pushes him back into his seat and not-so-subtly nods back at Simon. The big lad is flushed pink up to his ears, clearly embarrassed enough. Any other time, John would take that as carte blanche to make the stoic man squirm, but he supposes after all the help he's been, Riley might deserve a little bit of grace.

Besides, the smitten, shit eating grin on Soap's face tells him he'll have plenty of opportunities in the future.

"Oh!' Bunny suddenly proclaims, patting herself all over as if in search of something. She blinks, rolls her eyes at herself and then turns pleading eyes on John. "Could you check to see how the muppets are doing? I lost track with everything going on."

John doesn't even have time to respond before Soap is thumping the counter with a heavy fist. "Elimination game six tonight! Nearly forgo'."

"How'd you know?" John asks as the other man sets up the TV.

"Always remember what my regulars want to watch." The wink he sends bunny is not diminished in quality at all by the kiss he'd just laid on Simon's cheek.

John waits until the muppets have a decent lead before sneaking out for a smoke. Gaz follows, much as John had expected he would. John debates busying himself with unpacking the cars just to stay out of Kyle's way, but he knows it will only delay the inevitable.

He doesn't even wait for John to properly light his cigar.

"You would've made me an accessory."

John nods contemplatively, spins his cigar over the open flame until it smolders. The man's right, is the hardest part. John had been selfish and hasty. Beyond reason. He'd prided himself for many years about his ability to control his bear, but here he'd gone and handed the reins off to the beast after just one altercation with his mate's. Happily. Unthinkingly.

"You didn't have to help." The furrow of Gaz's brow is ominous as he huffs, dropping eye contact. "Look, should I -."

"Not going to the cops," Kyle spits, as if even the taste of the words is bitter on his tongue.

"You know I wouldn't blame you if you did."

"I'm not -." Gaz cuts himself off with a sigh, rolls his head back to study the dead spiders under the awning. "I know it's not up to me to decide if Graves deserved what he got. I just -. I didn't think you were capable of something like that."

John grunts, smoke spilling from his lips. "Neither did I."

It takes a moment but Gaz eventually sighs, nods exactly once and then meets John's eye with a concentrated frown. "So now what?"

Cigar between his teeth, John can't help the overwhelmed sort of smile that stretches his lips. "Couldn't fuckin' tell ya." At Kyle's continued silence, John sighs. "Simon's kept you up to date?"

"Yeah. Most I've heard from him in years, probably."

"Love suits him, doesn't it?" John laughs.

"Don't change the subject."

"Right. Well. It depends on Shepherd, mostly. It's hard to know what he knew, so it's hard to know what to expect. If he knew the girl was there, it's possible he'll have some questions about why Grave's wasn't reported. But if he knew she was there, it's also likely he knew why she would just run for the hills the first chance she got." He shrugs. "Suppose it depends on how much he cares to waste his time and resources."

"Slimy bastards tend to stick together."

"Slimy bastards tend to care only about themselves," John counters. "A man was mauled to death by a big fucking bear in the middle of a tourist town. On his property. It's entirely possible he'll just want to bury this whole thing."

"And Graves was mauled by a bear, was he?"

John scoffs. "Graves was certainly mauled by a bear. No doubt in my mind. But let's say he wasn't. You don't think Shepherd would follow the same logic for murder on his property?"

Gaz looks like he has plenty more to say, but he just sighs, nods again. "Okay. Cross that bridge when we get there, I guess?"

"You won't be part of that, Gaz. Promise. The only crime that was committed was a failure to report a death. And it would be hard to prove any of us actually saw him."

"Should've at least reported the bear," Gaz grumbles and John suppresses a laugh.

"Yeah. Hindsight. Think we were all pretty shaken, though."

"Yeah."

They sit in silence another moment while John studies the cherry of his cigar. "How's uni going?"

"Mm. Good. Learning a lot."

"Clearly," John chuckles, thinking of all the backdoor cyber gobbledegook nonsense the younger man must've pulled to help them out the way he had. "Sincerely can't thank you enough, Kyle."

"You can thank me by never asking me again."

"Fair. How long you in town?"

"Just the weekend. I'll be back for break, though."

"Gonna need a summer job, kid?"

"You offerin' one, old man?"

"Always got a spot for you."

Gaz laughs, sticks his hands in his pockets. "Suppose it depends if I'm still mad at you."

John laughs as he stubs out his cigar. "Fair again. Well I better head in. The woman says I must be a good luck charm for those muppets so she'll be mad they get behind in my absence. You coming in?"

"Whipped already?" Garrick teases and John just nods with a grin. "Nah, don't like fifth wheeling. I'm headed out for the night. Tell everyone I said goodnight. See you tomorrow?"

"'Fraid not. Busy all day."

"Gross," Kyle gripes, and John just laughs.

"Have a good night, Gaz," he says, clapping the man on the shoulder.

"I'd say the same to you but I'm scared you'll make an inappropriate joke about it."

"Reasonable fear."

Gaz turns back as he's climbing into his car. "She's cute, by the way. I'd say she's nice but, well."

"She is nice. Just don't break her leg. Or kidnap her."

"Right," Kyle grins. "'Night, cap."

***

The muppets end up winning by the skin of their teeth. Simon makes a comment about the next game and you huff something about one game at a time. 

It's late when you make your way up John's steps. Well, John does, rather. You just hold tight and marvel at his ability to climb stairs with you thrown over his shoulder.  He sets you up in bed while he putters about a little while longer, getting the place settled after being away so long. You think you see a touch of obsession in his meticulousness and you wonder if it has more to do with his human preferences, or his bear's need to keep a cozy den. You wonder how many other idiosyncrasies you've yet to discover.

You call him out on it when his fiddling brings him back to the bedroom but he just smiles and kisses your forehead, says he's nearly done.

"Keeping me awake!" you holler after him goodnaturedly when he heads back out the door. 

"Good, I need your opinion!"

When he returns, he's fussing with the fern he'd insisted on getting that day at the market, holding it out for inspection as he runs a finger over the coarse hairs of the aerial roots. "This look too dried out to you?"

You can't help but smile as your finger joins his, stroking over the knobby, dehydrated joints. The leaves look a little wilted, but they're still a good dark color. And John's nothing if not nurturing.

"Nothing you can't fix, I'm sure"

Aaaaand fin (?) Shoutout to @/400badrequest for the idea to cap this part off here. I rushed the last few chapters because I'm ready to move onto some other projects, and I didn't want to treat the last leg the same way. As of right now, the plan is to eventually add a second part to deal with Shepherd, but in case I don't, or if you don't return for the second half, just pretend that selfish asshole was just like, "Well that sucks. Feel better, Graves!" That being said, I still owe two anons a double date and a mating season scene which I didn't write up cause I thought I'd squeeze them in here somehow. So if you don't see them pop up in the drabbles, it's because I'm cooking with them for the next part >:) Please lmk what you think!

That's all but you can find some non-canonical drabbles of these two here

[odetodilfs]

Pololo

Pairing: Joel Miller x hispanic!male!reader

Warnings: none but this has A LOT of Spanish (translations at the end)

A/N: I'm sorry that it's kinda shitty, but I tried to keep descriptions as vague as possible as well as many thing cause I want this to be readable for every hispanic no matter what your country is from

It was a quiet afternoon with Joel in Jackson, cuddling, kissing each other when you felt like it. Ellie was in her room, probably flicking through some magazines you’d managed to find in an abandoned home. Your head was on Joel’s chest, you were feeling really cozy in that position, his warm breathing on your hair, it was heaven. You still had a hard time believing this was real, how you had a beautiful boyfriend, how you had adopted a beautiful girl, it was all so perfect, of course, it wasn’t really, it was very far from it, you did live in a world where raiders and clickers were less than 1000 meters away from the city, but it was good compared to the realities of many others.

“Can you teach me Spanish?” he said out of the blue. He’d heard you speaking it, he knew you were proud of your *(insert hispanic country)*’s heritage, your culture, and the fact that he wanted to learn it was kind of cute. “It’s hard, do you really want to?” you made sure, 

“I’m very sure” he smiled, “Hola” he said, you laughed and rolled your eyes with a smile, “Oh wow”

“I’m trying my best, tell me something in Spanish” he asked, and you obeyed, “Joel, eres el hombre más hermoso que he visto en mi vida” you said, “Something about me” he smirked

“Yeah,” “Good or bad?” he asked “Hmmm, I could just not tell you,” “No, please tell me” “What’s the word?” you teased slightly 

“P-¿ Por favor?” he begs you 

“I just said that you were the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen” you smiled, Joel blushed slightly, “I am?” “Sí, lo eres” you kissed him sweetly on the lips.

“But can you teach me Spanish?” he asked again “Of course, querido” you said as you roped him in for a hug. His warmth filling you, you looked up at his eyes, those beautiful brown eyes that kept you alive, “My beautiful brown eyed man…” you smiled at him, he just looked down at you with a smile, “I could say the same about you” he smiled, looking down and kissing your forehead again, he lost himself in your dark hair.

Two months went by and Joel’s Spanish was surprisingly amazing, he clearly enjoyed learning just for you, you had a simple system, every time he got something right you kissed him on the lips sweetly, that proved to be very effective…

“Ok pues Joel, dime cómo te gusta tomarte el café” you asked, trying to have conversations in Spanish, “Me gusta con poca azúcar y poca leche” his words tinted with that cute southern accent of his, but you didn’t mind, “Correct!” you exclaimed and went to kiss him on the lips, enjoying that mustache against your upper lip, “Me gusta tus besos” he said, incorrectly, “Nope, you like my kisses in plural, so how is it?”  he thought about it,

“Ugh… I can’t remember…” he said, “You add a letter at the end of “gusta”” you hinted but he still didn’t get it, “I’ll kiss a part of your body that starts by it, you slowly went in and kissed his arched nose, he sighed in slight pleasure and it clicked for him, “Me gustan tus besos…” he corrected himself.

“Precioso” you kissed his forehead and hugging him, giving him his reward for his minimal thinking, you really just wanted to feel his touch, “look at you, you’re basically a ranchero now!” you joked, he laughed “or huaso, or gaucho” “What are those?” he asked

“Cowboys but from other countries” he smiled at the thought, “I see you, you’d look cute with a poncho and a hat” you teased, he blushed like mad

“I would?” “Yeah, you would,” you said as you kissed him on the cheek.

“Mi pololo” you said

“What does that mean?” “It means boyfriend in slang really, but you can pretty much use it for anyone you love” you smiled at him, he said “Po… lolo?” he repeated “Yes, pololo” you smiled at him, “but one day, we could be esposos” you smirked at him because he knew what you were saying, “Yeah, one day” he smiled and laughed to himself, as he knew that tonight would be the night he’d propose to you in your language.

TRANSLATIONS (won't translate what's already done in the fic)

Querido = Dear

Sí, lo eres = Yes, you are

Ok pues Joel, dime cómo te gusta tomarte el café = Ok so Joel, tell me how you like your coffee

Me gusta con poca azúcar y poca leche = I like with little sugar and little milk

Me gustan tus besos… = I like your kisses...

Precioso = Precious

Ranchero = Basically, the Mexican version of a cowboy

Huaso = A cowboy too, but from Chile Gaucho = Yet another cowboy, but from Argentina

[beatrixstonehill2]

"Oh my god you guys, you are soooo going to hate me, or maybe love me for this....? So.... this guy reached out to me on Instagram and he's a really famous photographer. Apparently he's doing a whole gallery about artistically showing really dramatic and inspiring detransition journeys.... So, trans men going from intelligent, handsome dudes with full beards to basically big-boobed trad wives pregnant with quintuplets, IQs lowered to the 50s. And of course he's cataloguing trans girls going from looking like me to big, macho, muscular men, with full beards, huge cocks..... He said it's OK if I don't want to detrans, a lot of the people he reaches out to have no interest in detransitioning personally, but decide to just to participate in his project. Soooo, don't kill me..... I agreed to join!

I actually have considered detransing off and on in the past, to see what male puberty would feel like, to see my cock get nice and big, and of course every trans girl's biggest fantasy: to cum like a man and shoot a dozen ropes of cum in a row. He showed me his t-girl models. Such gorgeous girls! Huge natural boobs, fat asses, the prettiest faces you can imagine. Most of them had no interest at all in detransitioning and were just flattered by his offer. We get paid, too, which is nice. What finally convinced me is he had a former trans guy message me, this sweet girl who still sounded kinda like a boy from all the T, who looked divine. Super curvy, breasts about as big as mine, full of milk, pregnant with sextuplets, long silky hair, a giggling mess with a huge smile. She teased me, telling me how much more fun I'd have fucking former fake-boys like her than being a girl. She asked me if I ever shoved my cock in a girl's pussy and got her pregnant. Of course I haven't. She teased me about being an impotent fake-girl. That I needed to work out, get muscular, lose my oversized moobs, grow my cock to over a foot long..... embrace being male.

Not going to lie, I jerked off during our exchange and came sooooo hard, for a fake-girl, anyway. I wanna take T and detrans so bad. I wanna get girls pregnant. I need to stop playing dress up and showing off the silly cow-tits I made my poor male body grow. It's time I lose them, bulk up, and become a hairy alpha guy who can lift girls like me right off our feet and fuck us senseless! I need to fuck gorgeous pregnant college girls and get lots of girls pregnant--especially poor misguided fake-boys. It's time I embrace being a man and give up on being such silly imitation of a girl, who gets morning wood and stares at girl's fat titties..... who jerks off ten times a day watching hardcore porn of girls getting put in their place, face-fucked, gang banged, used and abused as girls should be. I'm not some silly fake-girl who jiggles her ridiculous, estrogen-bloated boy-tits at people, hoping to get fucked in the ass by desperate guys. I should be an alpha, mocking fake-girls like me for our pathetic little hard cocks bulging out of our skirts and dresses because pretending to be a girl makes us soooo hard!

I hope you guys aren't too mad. This photographer really showed me who I'm meant to be. I can't wait to lose these stupid-looking boy-tits and finally become a man! My OnlyFans content will change from topless walking vids, topless public vids, public masturbation vids, and whipping out my phone when men decide to fuck me on public transportation, to me fucking gorgeous curvy girls, impregnating and reminding fake-boys to be good girls, and having my way with fake-girls in public, as I'm so used to, but I'll give them a nice shot of T as I fuck them to help them along to becoming men, too. ❤️"

[so-long-soldier-writes]

Survivors

theo raeken x reader

summary: people are being kidnapped and tested, and one day, you wake up with the startling realization that you're next. luckily, your captor releases you after something about you reminds him a little too much of himself.

tags: kidnapping, implied s3lf h4rm, implied child abuse, non-graphic

word count: 1.1k

a/n: i apologize in advance

also, i wrote this a month ago and haven't been able to title it! i've also had to rewatch parts of s5 bc i was so confused the first time around. this takes place before the chimeras start dying / when they're still being tested on and all that.

A dark cloth is pulled tightly around your head, and your hands are bound in rope. A metal pole supports your back, though it is uncomfortable between your shoulder blades. Two of your senses are rendered useless, forcing you to rely on the other three for support. Unfortunately, they aren't much help in a situation like this.

You sigh. There's no telling how long you've been here. You know you've faded in and out of consciousness three times now. This is the first time you've fully woken up and realized how endangered you actually are.

Even with the blindfold, you know you're in the dark. The hard and cold ground suggests a garage, storage building, or maybe even down in the tunnels, is where you're being kept. Who knows? A pill was forced down your throat the minute you were grabbed, your kidnapper rendering you completely unable to fight.

Speaking of which... Your kidnapper...

You wonder who they are. It's probably the doctors; they've been damning people for weeks now. Turning humans into creatures and throwing them back out into the world. Killing them if they're failures, but doing more tests if they seem to succeed.

Fear shoots down your spine as you realize you're next. You're captured, you must be their next test. You struggle against the ropes, but there's no give.

A heavy door is pushed to the side, and footsteps make their way towards you. You stop fighting immediately and prepare for the worst.

Someone crouches in front of you close enough that you can hear their breathing. They're calm in a way that horrifies you. They're not here to save you. No, no one knows you're here. No one is coming to save you.

You're startled by a gentle touch as two hands meet the sides of your head. Your blindfold is pulled down slowly, finally revealing the person on the other side. Their identity shocks you; a chill ices your body.

"You."

He sighs, glancing at the floor. "Sorry about this, Y/N. You're the one they wanted most."

"Really? And when'd you become their little errand boy, Theo? I thought you wanted Scott to trust you. Thought you wanted to be a part of his pack."

"it's all about survival, Y/N. There is a war, and I am loyal to whom I think will come out on top."

"You're wrong. The bad guys always lose, even if not in ways you'd expect. You will lose."

"Have that much faith in Scott, now do you? I don't see him coming to save you. You're all alone here. There's no getting out." You gulp visibly before you can stop yourself. "How's that for being the loser?"

"You're sick."

"Maybe. But at least I'm a realist."

You roll your eyes, looking away from him. Right now, his face is pissing you off just to see it. Two days ago, you'd admit you thought the little fucker was hot, but now, he's just a pain in your ass.

"Whatever," you snap, "have it your way. Just make it fast if you're going to kill me."

"Baby, if you've been following along, I'm not killing anyone. And the doctors aren't yet either. They're testing you all."

"For what? And don't 'baby' me."

He smiles. "To make the perfect monster. The best one for the cause."

"Which is?"

"Can't say."

"You're insufferable."

"And you're adorable when you're mad."

"Ugh!"

Theo takes a deep breath, then unties the cloth that was once around your eyes. He reaches around the side to undo the ropes, working at them for a good thirty seconds before unraveling the strongly-made knot.

"I do mean it when I say I'm sorry. Wish they picked anyone else, but they said you were special."

"I don't care, Theo. I already know this is the end for me. You're just drawing it out."

He slouches his shoulders before taking your wrists in his hands. He sits up on his knees, prepared to pull you up with him, but stops suddenly. Even in the darkness, the chimera can see the scars. Thin, white lines decorating the skin on your wrists. Some are more faded than others, but others look more recent. He stares at them for a moment, while you remain none the wiser, avoiding his gaze.

For a second, he's transported back to his childhood - kidnapped by the doctors at an early age, forced to undergo tests and experiments, and to live under their care. Forgotten by his family and haunted by his sister. The doctors didn't know how to raise a child, but they clearly didn't care. The torment he suffered still hurts every passing day, and even now, in Beacon Hills again, the pain hasn't ceased.

Theo bears plenty of scars of his own. Some are made by the doctors, some he brought on himself. It took him years to learn to not hate his body, to see the scars as a reminder that he's a survivor, not a failure.

His are littered around his body in places not well seen. The first time one of the doctors discovered them, he was punished accordingly. It's as if they're the only ones allowed to abuse him; how dare he bring it upon himself.

Theo looks at your scars and wonders what trauma is buried beneath them. What are you hiding? What emotional pain lies under the physical? Who knows your secrets, if anyone? It's none of his business, so he doesn't ask, but he closes his hands over your wrists and gulps.

"Run."

You look back at him, then at your clasped hands. "What?"

"Run. Run far from here and don't look back. Follow the pipes on the left side of the wall, and let them take you back above ground. Don't tell Scott anything I told you, it will only get you hurt. Just run, and don't let the doctors find you."

"Wait, why? I don't understand."

Theo pushes your hands into your chest and finally releases them. Fear floods through you as realization hits. He's seen you, seen your wrists, and your scars, and he's taking pity on you. But... he's letting you go.

"Just go, Y/N!" He yells in a whisper. "Go, before they come back. Any minute now, they're expecting you."

You scramble to your feet and look towards the pipes. The pipes on the left lead out, he said.

"But what about you?" You don't know why you ask. You don't know why you care. But, something deep inside you does.

"I'll be fine, I'll make up a lie. Just go!"

And so finally, you take off in the direction he points, still a little confused, but incredibly grateful.

Maybe there is some good in him. Maybe he's just as manipulated by the doctors as the rest of the chimeras. Maybe there's hope for him after all.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA For no longer wanting to continue a mutual hobby, started with a friend?

Hello! Long time lurker first time asker. Sorry if the title is a bit confusing!

Long story short I (27 ftm) recently started rock climbing as a hobby and a fun to exercise. For context I'm a heavier person, so I wanted to do a physical hobby that I could do at my own pace. I started with a 101 top-rope course and invited a long time friend of mine to attend with me (they suggest taking the class in pairs). After that I took a bouldering 101 course by myself (my aforementioned friend said they weren't interested, totally understandable).

I've since started to take climbing more seriously and ramped up to going 2-3 times a week (I live a 10 min walk away from the climbing gym). Also going earlier in the day to avoid the peak hours as i'm immunocompromised so the less people the better. This month will be my 4th month doing so.

We originally started climbing together however after a few weeks of meeting up once a week, they kept bailing with little to no notice (or telling me 11:30 pm the night before). Also when we'd met up the last time she brought her boyfriend along. Even though I said i'd prefer to meet him for the first time in a more relaxed environment (not me dripping with sweat and out of breath). He's a nice enough guy but I just don't want to spend time with him in this specific setting lol.

I have a very erratic work schedule vs my friend who a has pretty stable work schedule. So I find I often have to take initiative to message them (the week before) asking what days work for them. That way I can reference what days I have off. They often ignore the message for a few days or answer the morning of.

They've called out every week for the two months+. Either saying they're too tired, don't feel like it, forgot their gym clothes and or have other plans. I'm totally fine with this! Life happens and sometimes you don't have the energy for these activities. However what cheeses me off is I feel like I always have to comfort them, so they don't feel bad they bailed again and they give me little to no notice.

About 2-3 weeks ago I asked them about dates to hang out (I also specified we didn't have to climbing, even just to go hang out for coffee or something lol) and they haven’t responded, but I see them posting online with their other group of friends. Again I’m not mad about them not wanting to go, or hanging out with their other friend-group but I’d appreciate some sort response.

The thing is I also have ANOTHER friend who is interested in coming with me to try it out. Both of these friends of mine don't get along anymore. At one point all three of us where pretty close mutual friends. Nothing crazy dramatic happened but they had a falling out and they no longer interact with each other at all.

I however am still friends with both of them. They also both know I am still friends with the other friend (if that makes sense).

For possible added context I have ASD, so this sometimes causes issues when reading peoples intentions or possible passive aggression. I also get very anxious when my planned schedule/routine gets thrown off and often can derail my entire day.

So to sum it up, AITA for wanting to climb by myself, or other people besides the friend originally started the hobby with? Even if these two people aren't really friends anymore? Am I being just too hard on them? Am I just not picking up on something? Thanks!

What are these acronyms?

[wannab-urs]

The Spreadsheet Digest - Vol 23

Howdy y'all!

If you're new here this is every new (to me) fic I read this week and some of my silly lil thoughts about them.

I did some catching up on series this week and also did some writing so I've only got 12 fics for you this week! I read a lot of dark shit this week, but that's October for ya. There's still some sweetness in here somewhere if you aren't into dark stuff and I've made sure to mark everything appropriately (I think).

As always you can find all my previous fic recs here.

Recs below the Pedros!

Apple - a Frankie/Santi/Will one shot by @romana-after-dark

You are married to Santi and you have a CNC kink he very happily obliges. You set up a thing where Santi, Will, and Frankie pretend to be home invaders and they gangbang you. Stuff goes a lil sideways and it ends up being NC/DC. This was wonderfully unsettling. I love how there's this strand of believability that they don't intentionally overstep her boundaries. It's dark and scary and feels very real.

sam and diane, eat your heart out a Marcus Pike one shot by @chronically-ghosted

You've been working with Marcus for a while and finally wrapped up the case you were on. You've almost given up ever getting what you want with him when finally!! You both admit your feelings for each other. Cue steamy office make out sesh with thigh riding. I loved the will they won't they shit in the beginning. The frustration makes the pay off so good.

i am touchin', i am grabbin', everything I can't be havin' - a Dieter one shot by @chronically-ghosted

You show up at the doorstep of your long time but estranged family friend Dieter Bravo, soaking wet and with nowhere else to go. You've known him so long you call him Uncle Dee, no I'm not kidding. I almost didn't click on this bc like UNCLE?? But he's not really your uncle and I cannot express enough how fucking hot this was. Like Dieter is just so fucking good this OH MY GOD. If you love Dieter, read this. You'll love it.

Recovery Road - a Dieter series by @chronically-ghosted

Dieter finally gets his shit together, he's clean and married and working on a new project. His costar (you) is a cunt fr. You're on drugs, you're a brat, and you're a mess. And Dieter can't stay away from you. When his wife gets fed up with him and humiliates him in public, you're there to catch him... and ruin his sobriety, his marriage, and maybe everything else. I have a couple chapters left of this but OH MY GOD. I was so MAD at Dieter, but also so sad for him. Don't take that as me saying I didn't love this because I did. I do. It's so beautifully written. The pain and angst and desperation and everything is so powerful, this hurts to read. And the smut? Mind altering actually.

a revolting development - a Joel series by @chloeangelic

Your new step dad is really hot... and that's gonna be a problem. I've been reading so many step dad fics lately (not just Joel!) and I'm so into it and what is wrong with me?

The Rogue Who Coaxed You - a Joel series by @atticrissfinch

You're Joel's secretary and you suck him off while he fields a phone call from his wife! We love an infidelity fic round these parts, we really do. Reader is filthy, Joel is mean, there's a lot of degradation, the works. I'm so obsessed with this dynamic I can't wait to read more.

When the Gallow-Grass Gives - a Silva one shot by @gasolinerainbowpuddles

Silva rescues you (m!reader) from the gallows, walks you home by the rope you were supposed to hang by, and then tells you that you remind him of someone he used to know. I love a good gay cowboy fic and this is a GREAT one. The historically accurate lube made me cackle. This was so well written and so HOT and managed to maintain that wistful sadness Silva seems to have hanging like a cloud around him.

Desires and Complications - a Marcus Pike/Dave York series by @ezrasbirdie

Sweet little Marcus Pike wants to please you better in bed so he calls up your ex, Dave York, to show him how to be a dom. It goes a little differently than any of you imagined when Marcus turns submissive for Dave. This fic is so hot. I read up through "plead" and it looks like maybe there's some throuple dynamics forming!!! I'm so excited to finish this AHHHGHGHG

Ripping Sunrise - a frankie one shot by @idolatrybarbie

You accidentally take an edible and Frankie takes care of your high ass. And then once the high wears off he really takes care of you... This is so sweet and hot, I love it so much.

I Might Kill My Ex - a Joel one shot by @beskarandblasters

Joel leaves you for Tess and that... well that's just unacceptable. We got dark!reader, asshole!Joel, murder, dub con for Joel, the works. This fic is so good. It's dark and gives you a fascinating look into reader's crumbling psyche. I love the ending so much also

------------------

I wrote Ouroboros and Eat You Whole. Dave York x f!reader fics set in the same universe, canon divergent but some canon stuff still happens in the background. Love as consumption/Love as violence type thing. Basically you and Dave are two touch starved, miserable people with nothing left in this world and you have crazy sex about it. There’s some softness in there too.

-----------------

Here's some series I've been reading (not a comprehensive list): Hot and Heavy (Joel), Muddy Waters (Joel/Ez), Stepdad!Joel, Exile (Javi P), New York or Nowhere (Joel), Feral Woman (Joel), Yearling (Joel), a lover's pinch (joel), the world tipped on it's side (Frankie), and Pretend Alleyways (Marcus/Dieter)

(In order: @tieronecrush @bonezone44 @toxicanonymity @jksprincess10 @beskarandblasters @gasolinerainbowpuddles @justagalwhowrites @hier--soir @idolatrybarbie @radiowallet)

-------------

Happy Reading!