#or something about grass. not a damn clue.

[candycryptids]

Good lord, we had a good thing.. good lord, we had it bad

Clouds set as the sun pokes through,

Rainy days make me think of you....

[bbyseok]

More teen satosugu x reader please!

thinking about clingy teen satosugu who only get even clingier when they suddenly get hit with a curse that turns them into… dogs?

a pair of wolves, to be exact. it’s so blatantly obvious on who’s who—there’s one wolf with fur as white as the first winter’s snow and uncanny blue eyes. the other is the color as dark as night with a pair of warm purple hues that strike into your soul.

they sit at yaga’s side like loyal lapdogs—only to perk up immediately to run and tackle you to the floor as soon as you set foot in the classroom.

“what the—?!” you splutter in surprise, unable to escape their wrath of licks descending upon your face as you look to yaga for help.

the principal simply crosses his arms and shakes his head. “satoru and suguru got hit with a curse.” and that’s it to his entire explanation, as it’s very obvious what happened to them.

when you finally manage to shove their muzzles away from your face, you groan in disbelief. “how long are they going to be stuck like this?”

“no clue.”

so just like that, you’re suddenly a caretaker for two oversized puppies who can’t seem to leave you alone—because apparently they absolutely refuse to hang out with anyone else.

they follow you literally everywhere on campus like a pair of lost puppies— you find it funny and even almost endearing out of all things.

coincidentally, this is after the night you had discovered them sharing your bed after you returned early from a solo mission. they had merely scampered out of your room after that—leaving you unable to ask them why they were in your bed in the first place.

and you certainly can’t ask them now.

“i thought you started smoking again?”

shoko shakes her head at your question, the faintest of smirks ghosting over her lips. “i did. but i think this is a better way to spend my time.” and then she nods to the two wolves sitting in front of you both.

you’re out on one of the training fields with shoko and your classmates-turned-dogs to test their… abilities. they lack any cursed energy, so it’s safe to assume that they can’t use their techniques.

“bet if you threw a stick, they’d fetch it for you,” a rare snicker comes from shoko along with her suggestion.

to which you simply roll your eyes at, but you find yourself grabbing a lengthy stick anyways. you’re unaware of how satoru’s and suguru’s eyes follow the item in your hand like moths to a flame as you hand it to shoko.

your short-haired friend flings the stick, but the boys don’t even dare to flinch. it’s quiet, save for the occasional thumping of their tails on the floor.

“see?” you shoot shoko a pointed look. she merely shrugs. when you walk over to pick the stick back up, you throw your friend a question over your shoulder, “did you know satoru and suguru were sneaking in my room at night while i’ve been gone?”

it’s news to her, but she doesn’t appear to be surprised in the slightest. “nope. sounds like something they’d do though.”

you grab the stick off the grass, turning to look at her and your classmates-turned-dogs. your gaze lingers on the canines for a moment. they’re obviously smarter than normal dogs, but you’re not sure about the extent of how well they can understand you in these forms.

“well.. i think they were kinda cute actually,” you confess, dragging your gaze back to shoko with a laugh, “you should’ve seen them, being all cuddly.”

a grim line settles on shoko’s lips at the image. “pass.”

you laugh again before turning and throwing the stick as hard as you can across the field. you watch it land several feet away, and then—

gojo and geto race past you, nothing but blurs of fur as they race each other to reach the piece of wood you had tossed. it’s hard to see who gets there first, because they start wrestling for the damn thing.

shoko simply snorts. “told ya.”

later on, with nighttime making its approach, the boys follow you into your dorm, seemingly determined to still accompany you. you hadn’t been sure on what to feed them since dog food seemed rather crude, settling to share your dinner with them.

and here you are, slipping into bed. just the night before, you had seen them all cozy under your blanket. in all actuality, you wouldn’t have minded sharing the bed with them. (depsite how cramped it would’ve been.) it’s just that now… they’re wolves.

suguru is beside you, circling in place in an effort to get comfortable on the blanket, whilst satoru opts for plopping his fluffy self riiiiight on your stomach. you emit an ‘oof!’ at his ministrations, but the white canine merely fixes you with a puppy-dog stare and you don’t go to protest.

“comfy, you two?” you hum out an inquiry, to which they snuggle into you further.

geto tucks himself closely by your side, burying himself under your arm as his silky fur tickles your skin. and gojo wiggles his chin on your abdomen, sky blue eyes already starting to flutter sleepily.

when you doze off, you dream of wolves and sticks.

and when you wake, it’s not the morning light trickling into the space of your room that stirs you from your slumber. rather, it’s the sound of gentle breathing and— heavy weight atop you.

it’s satoru and suguru, still in their spots from when they had fallen asleep, except— they’re humans again.

gojo’s body is draped over yours, one of his lanky legs dangling off the small mattress hilariously, his head lying just below your chest with his arms laxly wrapped around your abdomen. and geto is hugging your side, the air of his steady breaths hot on the skin of your neck. his long hair is messy, brushing against the underside of your chin.

oh.

oh shit.

what the hell are you supposed to do now? you obviously can’t move, not with all three of your bodies so intimately entangled with each other. you decide to risk it, trying to calm your racing heart and gingerly attempting to sit up.

you’re halfway there, when geto suddenly grumbles and yanks you back down to the pillows again. “s’too early to move,” he says in a hazy mumble.

aaaaand there goes your heart again. before you can reply, you hear gojo groan sleepily, and he then manages to get out a groggy “good morning.”

“…good morning,” you follow up, now hyperaware of their touch, “i see that you’re not dogs anymore…”

satoru blinks owlishly, seeming to finally notice your… predicament. but he also seems more irked by where geto is, so crawls up to be on your other side, planting his face right into your neck too.

“a wonderful observation,” suguru murmurs in a small snicker.

it’s quiet for a few moments, and it’s obvious that they aren’t planning to move from their spots any time soon. (you think you can get used to it.)

you decide it’s the perfect time to ask: “care to tell me why you were in my bed the other night?”

gojo mumbles something, but you can see the tips of his ears flush a pretty pink. suguru is the one who speaks up again after a moment. “…we missed you.”

“..oh.” your face feels warm at the simple confession, and an airy laugh breezes out of you at how— adorable their reasoning is. “well.. i missed you guys too.”

satoru hums an acknowledgment at that. there’s silence again for a while, before he breaks it. “you think we’re cute?”

oh— so they were able to understand you as dogs. you groan, moving an arm to cover your eyes out of slight embarrassment. “shut up. you two were the ones who sneaking into my room.”

“that was suguru’s idea-”

“you snuck in on your own, satoru.”

“you used their shampoo!”

“you stole their shirts first!”

“i can still kick you off this bed.”

“i’d like to see you try.”

you groan once more—albeit a fond sound—still trapped between them, “i wish you two were dogs again.”

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Yokai Harem x Reader (II)

The two yokai men reach an agreement and you begin your journey together, searching for clues regarding the mysterious case of your incomplete reincarnation. You learn about the third of the Legendary Yokai, a gargantuan monster worshipped in times of war.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Character Guide]

The next swish of the mysterious man's sword is parred by Kiritsubo, who managed to make his way to you in time.

"Wait! It's not entirely him, Murasaki, I can explain!" He shouts frantically.

"So you let him live. This is why you've never been good for anything." The dark haired man snarls in a low voice, disgust seeping through his sharp teeth.

It becomes obvious rather quickly that he has the advantage in terms of battle experience. You can only stare in fear, stuffing your wound with your jacket sleeve. What else can you do? You're bleeding profusely and if a demon of Kiritsubo's stature cannot compete, you'd be even less helpful.

"Listen to him, man, I genuinely don't know anything about your master!" You beg as your limbs are flooded with a prickling sensation. They're slowly going numb. "Please. I just want to go home."

Damn it. You have no idea whether the bleeding will stop anytime soon. Is this how you die? You won't even get a proper burial. Even worse, your family will live on thinking you vanished without a trace, unaware you've been stabbed to death by a crazy jackass in feudal Japan. You wish you could make them stop.

You squeeze your eyes tightly, trying to think of a way to escape, when you hear both men groan in pain. You look ahead to see them on the ground, clinging tightly to their chests, faces twisted in a grimace. Huh? They couldn't have killed each other in the few seconds they were out of your view. What is going on?

After a few agonizing moments, the yokai seem to calm down. Kiritsubo is gasping for air, clumsily pulling himself back up. Murasaki remains on the grass, forcing himself to appear collected despite the cold sweat coating his forehead.

"That's...what...I...meant..." The silver haired demon groans between hitched breaths. "Whew. You see it now, don't you? She doesn't emanate enough power to pull this off. It's coming from somewhere else."

Murasaki clicks his tongue in visible annoyance.

"So then, what do you suggest?"

"I don't know. But something is stopping you from killing her and there's a chance she's connected to the source."

"What are you guys whispering about?" You inquire, crawling closer towards the horned men. "And why did you suddenly collapse? You scared the hell out of me!"

"You didn't feel anything?" Kiritsubo questions you with raised eyebrows.

"Besides the, I don't know, stab wound? No, thankfully." You respond sarcastically.

Without a word, Murasaki stands up and approaches you. He crouches down to your level and nonchalantly slaps your hand away from your shoulder.

"Hey!"

"Have you ever tended to a wound in your life? You're shit at it." He uses his sword to cut off your sleeve and folds it over your gash with calculated movements. You hiss at the pain and glare at him. "Bite down on a stick if you can't handle it. Better than being dead."

The white haired yokai flashes you an awkward but reassuring smile.

"He might be an ass about it, but he knows what he's doing."

"Why are you helping me, anyways?" you point out, somewhat wary. "You literally tried to kill me a moment ago."

"I changed my mind. You'll help us find the damned bastard or whatever it is he's using to control us."

"What, the priest? Hell no, I'm going back to my world. I've had enough action for the rest of my life."

Murasaki finishes bandaging you and gives you one final press, almost as if messing with you, and you wince. He stands up and slides his sword back in its sheath.

"If you focus a little, you will find there was no question or request in my words. I'm not negotiating with a weakling like you."

Kiritsubo squats down before you and claps his hand together, pleadingly.

"Please think about it, (Y/N). I know you don't owe us anything, but there's a chance we could finally break the seal and be free. If you'd consider helping us. You can walk away, but that won't change the fact you're part of Abe no Nakamaro. He will want his powers back at some point, and we can protect you when the time comes."

You cross your arms and frown thoughtfully, pondering the options. He did save you twice already. So in a way, you're indebted to him. And if he's right, and you will have to deal with more crazy encounters in the future, it's probably better to have two powerful demons by your side.

"Alright, alright. I'll help you." You exclaim with a confident nod.

Kiritsubo grins, satisfied, and Murasaki huffs and looks away. There's a prolonged silence as you wait for them to continue with further instructions, but the men remain quiet.

"So...what now?" you eventually speak up.

"Oh. I thought you knew where to go next." the silver haired man retorts, confused.

"Idiot. She's not a compass." Murasaki scolds him. "Can you stand?" He adds, turning to you. "There's a shrine a few kilometers away that belonged to him. If we leave now, we should make it before sunset. Maybe we can find something there."

You try to prop yourself up, but Kiritsubo promptly scoops you with his sinewy arm and throws you on his back again.

"I'll carry you. Just hold on."

A faint blush dusts your cheeks, but you don't have the energy to argue it. You clutch onto his broad shoulders and nod.

The walk is uneventful and both yokai seem to be distracted. The gentle swaying is causing you to be more comfortable than you'd like to admit and your eyelids become heavy with exhaustion. Before you know it, your head drops against the toned back and you fall asleep.

By the time you open your eyes again, you've already reached your destination. You yawn and stretch, lazily scanning the surroundings. A heavy shadow looms over you and you glance up. Still groggy from your nap, you scream before you can fully process the object towering above.

It's a statue. A colossal statue of some sort of monster. A demon with thick, wide bull horns sprawling out imposingly, almost eclipsing the ridiculously muscular build. The creature has four arms, flexed in a threatening manner, with one hand gripping a heavy spear and the other a skull. The crimson light of the sunset creeps through the windows and reflects against the chiseled clay, giving the statue a devilish glow. You feel insignificant.

"That's Suma."

"W-what?" your head tilts to Kiritsubo.

"He's one of us. You might meet him soon, if he's been alerted of your presence. This is a shrine built for him, to bring good fortune during times of war."

You cannot help but gawk at the structure.

"Is it, uh, life sized?"

"Heh, almost. He's a little taller than this." He chuckles, slightly nostalgic.

You swallow dryly. Just a moment ago you thought Kiritsubo was unusually big.

"I'd rather not meet him, to be honest." You shiver at the idea.

"Don't worry about it. Now that Murasaki has joined us, you're pretty much safe from anything. He's the strongest of us." The yokai remarks with a sad smile.

"Really?"

You peek at the dark haired man, currently flipping through dusty manuscripts, and briefly observe him. Compared to Kiritsubo, he's quite slender, with noble, elegant features. And he'd be able to defeat this enormous beast? Then again, the glimpse you've caught of his swordsmanship is enough of a convincing argument.

What a bizarre gathering of creatures beyond your understanding.

You remember to look away when Murasaki grunts and throws the remaining scroll of paper. His lips form a thin line as he rakes his mind for the next step.

"Nothing here. But I'm rather certain he has to be at one of his hideouts. We'll check each and one of them if we have to." 

"Wait, are you saying he's still alive? We saw his body before Sekiya and Sakaki took him for the embalming and burial."

Murasaki scoffs at his partner's gullible nature.

"And you believed it? That parasite spent his entire life searching for ways to prolong his reign. He's probably hiding somewhere, waiting for his renewed part of the soul to return to him." 

He rests against the wall and points a clawed finger at you. 

"This must've been his solution. Releasing his remaining energy until it found a proper vessel to grow stronger, and patiently awaiting the body swap. Then we go back to being whipped dogs fulfilling his whims."

It's your turn to be outraged, twisting your mouth downwards.

"No way, I'll pound that old man into sand!" You bark and throw a jab against the air, emphasizing your threat. "As if I'd just hand myself over."

"I'm not sure if it'll be that easy, (Y/N)..." Kiritsubo glances at you with a hurt expression. "He's a terrifying, vengeful bastard."

"Not if we find him first and take him out." Murasaki counters with a glint of determination in his eyes. "Humans need to rest, don't they? We'll spend the night here and tomorrow we head out. Kiritsubo, find me a map so we can keep track of the locations. I'll bring the wood for a fire."

And with this, he marches out. Kiritsubo scurries to his duty and you quietly follow his movements. He seems to be used to executing Murasaki's orders. You hadn't considered their group dynamic much, but it appears to have some rather complex hierarchies involved. You almost wish you could witness all of them together, wondering how they'd interact with each other. 

Who knows? If you stick around, it could happen eventually. Murasaki was surprisingly easy to convince, so the other yokai might as well agree to keep you alive until you find their source of misfortune. Heh. Almost like a harem, or something. You snicker to yourself.

Which reminds you...

The fire has been lit and Murasaki mumbles something about guarding the perimeter. This time you hurry outside after him. You reach out to the dark haired man and pull on his kimono sleeve.

He turns to you, mildly irked.

"What?"

"Teach me how to use a sword." You state with the assertiveness of an order.

"Why? I can assure you I'm more than enough. I've never been defeated." He stares at you, incredulous.

"I don't want to rely on you all the time. You're already this close to being unbearable", you explain, pinching your fingers together. "Besides, if I'm going to be stuck among beasts, I'd very much prefer being the one doing the cool stuff."

And with that, you pretend to slice through an invisible enemy, whistling the sound of your sword cutting through the air. You furrow your eyebrows, imitating the engrossed expression of a seasoned samurai in the middle of a battleground. Murasaki quickly lifts a hand to his mouth - did he chuckle just now? - and responds, the faintest amusement in his voice:

"As you wish. But I'm warning you now, I won't hold back."

"I've been injured twice in less than 24 hours, I'm sturdy enough." You answer, patting your chest proudly.

Next time one of the Legendary Yokai comes for you, you won't be as vulnerable. That's for sure.

[1427]

petal plush’d

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary:

Sinnedenoderum: Floral Species - When inhaled by human beings it has psychoactive properties as well as acting on the nervous and vascular systems. Often causes a lack of inhibitions and desire or delusion of the need for sexual intercourse. In some cases will cause tumecense in individuals affected. 

Setting: Season 2, the farm. 

Warnings; dub-con (reader is willing but daryl doesn’t ask), drugging (sex pollen, without consent/forcefully), size!kink, panty sniffing, oral (m and f), unprotected piv, mentions of vomit (no one actually vomits), rough sex, swelling genitalia, poorly written SMUT, no plot just VIBES (sex pollen vibes)

Word Count: 3k

A/n: heed the tags y’all. Enter at your own risk. This is more idea/concept than good prose so; sorry if it’s written like dogshit.

18+ mdni. 

masterlist

Daryl should know better. Everyone who ever known anything up in the mountains knew you don’t smell the purple flowers. Daryl shouldn’t be wasting any time smelling any flowers. Supposed to be out hunting. But nah, had to stop and do it. After all there was a whole damn bush of ‘em. How could he not? 

Honestly, he’d probably already been influenced by the time he kneeled down and took a big inhale. The spores already creeping in and taking hold of him. As soon as he does it, he stands up straight as an arrow. A mission. A need. An ache. 

He stalks back to camp, handful of flowers and spores that he’s tracking all through the forest. This is how they spread. This is how they used the human species to populate. 

He’s over by the tents, blinking back into reality as he unzips yours. He doesn’t know it’s yours, doesn’t care. Doesn’t matter. His brain is reset - back to zero. Back to puberty and being so horny he could fucking die and he’s going to find a pair of used underwear and he’s going to put it in his fucking mouth. His ears are pounding, he’s never felt dirtier. His cock rock hard and killing him. 

Your few pairs of dirty panties are hidden in a ball in the bottom of your backpack and they are honestly disgusting. Just exactly how Daryl likes them. Worn maybe a few days, and when you were working in the sun. Sweaty and salty and tangy and delicious. His saliva bringing the taste back to life on his tongue, his eyes roll back into his head.

He’s an animal. On all fours in your half unzipped tent with a wad of soiled underwear in his mouth. Hand shooting down his pants to touch himself but it doesn’t feel like anything. 

Nah, he should know better. Knew it wouldn’t. Knew he either had to ride it out or find a girl. But now he knew he had to find whoever these belonged to. This fuckin’ taste. He needed you. 

He quickly scours the tent for a clue as to whose tent it is. Coming across some silly charm bracelet he’s seen you wear and a few notebooks he’s definitely seen you writing in. 

Daryl exits the tent with a bit more hesitancy, his heart pounding even harder. Part of his brain fighting back against what he knew this flower was about to make him do to you. 

This is how they spread. 

He comes across you alone on the far edge of the field hanging laundry on the line, almost hidden in the tall grass that edged the property, grateful that he didn’t have to face anyone else like this. His hand covers his hard dick in his pants before he calls out to you, “Hey!” 

You jump, not realizing anyone had been out here with you, wondering how long he’d been standing there. You give him a once over and realize something’s wrong, he’s out of breath and looks like he’s in pain. “Hey!” You call back, continuing to hang clothes, “What’s going on?” 

You put your hand up to shield the sun as you make eye contact with him. He’s standing there with his hand over his mouth, slumped shoulders, other hand loosely over his crotch - before he starts walking toward you. Feet scraping against the grass as he stalks over. 

“Gonna need yer help w’somethin’.” He shouts, finally getting close enough to speak at a normal volume; to see him without squinting your eyes in the sun. 

He’s flushed, his heart racing. You can tell just by looking at him that whatever he needed help with, you didn’t want to be involved. You assumed it was something like hard labor. Or walking far somewhere. And you were enjoying the mendacity of hanging the laundry on the line. It was serene. "I'm kinda busy, can't someone else help you?"

"Naw, s'gotta be you." He replies quickly, his voice almost dancing up your neck. His moves are deliberate as he positions himself behind you, one hand grazing the skin on your shoulder before pulling it right across your body. Crossed across your chest, he whispers even deeper into your ear, "These're yers, righ'?" He asks gruffly while pulling his arm up and into a light chokehold, elbow crooked around your neck, his whole body pressed into you. Your eyes shoot wide while he holds up a pair of your used panties with an extended arm directly in your line of sight. The light stain clear as day, you're more mortified than confused. His grip gets tighter, "They are, ain't they?" his heavy breaths moving your hair as he speaks into your ear. 

You nod, cautiously, curiously. "Mmhmm" 

As he pulls the panties close to your face you see the soft purple colors of a flower - and then you smell it. On top of your own scent there is a light delicate unmistakeable floral smell. Daryl’s holding the flower inside the panties, shoving them both forcefully in your face. “Don’ be shy, com’awn.” He grunts, without taking his arm from your neck he removes the flower to put the panties back up to his own face. He maneuvers you slightly in his grip and shoves the flower back into your nose. Both of you taking deep breaths in. You don’t have time to wonder what the hell is going on before it hits you. Daryl’s inside his head screaming at himself, but he can’t stop. He doesn’t know he wouldn’t have to use some flower to get with you. Or that you’d probably have done this willingly. 

You don’t have time to think about it. You don’t care. 

You’re overtaken. Set to zero. This insatiable need; you look over at him, gnawing at the light stain right in the center, and it fills you with desire. He tears himself away to see if it had worked yet. Your dilated pupils in the midday sun were an instant give-away. He pulls you fifteen feet towards the tall grass and shoves you backwards, you land on your ass and your elbows but even that pressure and shock vibrates through your body like a dull orgasm. 

Your heads swimming, you’re fucking drowning in it. Daryl’s between your legs and pulling your panties off of you as fast as all of this seemingly has happened, his tongue covered in saliva like he’s fucking drooling for it. He needs you, now. To taste that fuckin’ juice right from the tap. He dives into you nose first, parting your lips harshly for his rough tongue, he’s not trying to please you. He’s trying to eat you alive. He’s never been hungrier. 

There’s a thought prickling in your subconscious; you know the flower is what did this to both of you. Looking down your body, his tongue on your cunt is starting to become way too sensitive, you realize your pussy is swelling. Engorged, puffy, and honestly adorable. Daryl seems to like it, licking along the glossy wet skin more slowly. Taking your swollen lips in his mouth and swirling his tongue all around them. The sensation vibrating inside of you only reminding you of how hollow you feel. “Daryl-!” You choke out, he grunts into you in response. 

“Put that fat cock down my throat already.” Your eyes go wide at your own words, you can’t imagine ever saying that; and yet it slips right out of your mouth like you’d never been more confident in your whole life. It is what you wanted. But…damn. It was like every dirty thing your subconscious ever wanted was pushing it’s way through and to the surface. It’s on your skin, it’s in your thoughts, it’s bursting out of your fuckin’ soul. 

When Daryl hears your words it sparks something inside him too. Reignites a desire long lost to actual experience. Something he’d always wanted to try but never could. He was going to fuck your face until you threw up all over his cock. He smiles, kissing up your leg, “Ya wanna choke on it, huh?” 

Your eyes roll back as you feel him move from between your legs, shuffling through the tall grass to kneel beside you. Daryl gazes down at your body, your skin sunkissed and flushing and perfect, everything seemed brighter. Like you were fuckin sparklin’ in the sunshine. He’s not expecting his cock to be just as swollen as your pussy was, but jesus christ. It almost makes him lose his balance, he’s never seen himself look so big. It turns him on that much more. He can’t take it, your mouth just inches away and drooling for it. 

Your cheeks immediately burn at the entrance of his engorged member. Spit rocketing out the sides of your mouth around him as your breath quickens. He pushes himself deeper into you. poking at the back of your throat and you gag. He doesn’t care, you don’t care. He drives himself in and out of your mouth with no abandon, like he’d never been able to do before. Always too scared, too ashamed, too embarrassed. Never able to take the back of the girls head and just force her down on him. Exactly everything he’s doing to you now. And you love it. Your eyes sting with tears, and you’re gagging and spitting up thick strings of saliva and mucus, and you can hardly breathe. Daryl’s looking down at you, thinking to himself that he’s never seen someone look more fuckin’ beautiful. “Takin’ ma cock like such a good slut, hm?” 

You look up at him, mouth stuffed full. As he speaks your eyes flutter closed, nothing's ever sounded hotter. It seeps into you and shakes your core. Daryl pulls his hips back, hands in your hair and pumps long purposeful strokes into the back of your throat while he continues praising you, “So. Fuckin’. Good. Fer me.” Each grunt another rough assault on your mouth.

Your jaw was starting to seize up, your cheeks completely abused. Your tears turning to real ones, whines at the back of your throat. Snot bubbling out of your nose as you try to breathe. 

Daryl doesn’t notice but he stops anyway, pulling himself out of your mouth, his cock bouncing proudly as he makes his way between your legs again. 

He’d looked down and over you, taken one look at that puffy pussy, jiggling in the sunlight, and the flower took him over. No thoughts left in his head; no more perverse diversions, just the need to empty inside of you. To fill you full. 

You close your eyes and wait as you feel him push through your folds, kissing the head of his cock with your sensitive clit a few times before dipping himself inside of you. His swollen head pushing your walls apart is an agonizingly delicious burn. Slowly inching himself inside, he can’t fucking breathe you’re so fucking tight. 

Every part of you pulsates with extra blood, so sensitive and juicy and perfect. As he starts to pull out, you can feel your pussy being pulled back with it. The size and girth of him creating a suction inside of you, it pulls him back in. Daryl groans deeply at the feeling and begins to reposition himself 

Grabbing your legs and pushing your knees up toward your head, your hips angled directly to the sky as he plunges long deep strokes into you. Your pussy pulling up with his cock every time he pulls out. You can see him pulling and pushing with every thrust, your lips coming to meet his shaft and swallowing him again. 

“Fuckin’ made for ma’ cock, huh?” He takes one hand off the back of your thigh and holds himself at the base, rubbing himself back and forth through your folds harshly. Watching the plump skin jiggle around his cock. He’s never seen anything like it, so full and perfect and so fucking hot. He almost gets lost in it, fucking up and into your tumescent lips, but you want him inside again. You’d never felt so full in your life. 

You buck your hips up into him and he gets the message, burying himself inside of you slowly and to the hilt. He pulls himself out of you again, even slower. Both of you just feeling as every vein and bulge is suctioned tight to your walls as he moves. 

You both seem to drone into this feeling. Him slowly sliding in and out of you, both of you watching as your pussy contracts around him - until you start moving to meet his hips, wanting him even deeper. 

Daryl sits up and repositions you both again, his thick calloused digits moving over your skin so gently in comparison to this whole experience.  Pushing your legs, and repositioning your hips so that you’re face down in front of him. Can’t fuckin’ wait to feel that grip from behind. He knows he’s done for the second you arch your back and push yourself back into him. He’d hardly got the tip in before you were bottoming yourself out ontop of him. As you slowly pull yourself off he watches your asshole puff out, his cock head pushing it out from the inside. Fuck, he can’t even move. Just letting you ride him from underneath, watching your asshole push out and around his cock from inside your fucking body. Holy fuckin’ goddamn shit. 

You milk his cock with your pussy until you can feel him swelling even more. You slow down to give him back control, to let him use you however he wants. Daryl takes one hand on each hip and pushes you flush with the ground. His thumbs spreading you apart so he can watch his cock drive into you as he finishes. He’s doesn’t know it yet but he’s going to think about how good your cunt swallowed him every time he cums for years - it’s the most intense orgasm he’s ever had in his life. 

Pulling your hips back against him with such force his fingernails dig into your skin, your gasping out screams as he fucks into you so deeply you forget how to breathe. You can feel every single twitch of his cock as it pulsates his load inside of you.

But you were still aching. He slumps over ontop of you, his sweat kissed forehead dropping to your shoulder, as if reading your mind he asks you sweetly, “What do you need?” 

“Suck on my tits.” You rasp out, not needing even a moment to think about it. Your nipples had been screaming for attention this whole time. He grunts a smile into the skin of your shoulder before flipping you over on your back again. Moving out from between your legs he kneels on the ground beside your sprawled out body. He moves his hand swiftly over the top of your dress and yanks it down, your nipples just as puffy and swollen as your pussy. Even though the effects of the flower are wearing off Daryl can’t help but salivate again at the sight. He dips his head down to your chest, licking into your nipple, pushing it around inside his mouth. You lose it. The tight tension in your belly unraveling and twisting itself into every part of you. Your hand shoots down between your legs to play with your clit but Daryl pulls it away and replaces it with his own. 

His warm rough fingers circle your sensitive bundle of nerves so gently, you’re dissolving against his touch. Climbing inside and up the steep hill to the top of your orgasm. His lips still tightly sucking on your breast, one hand between your legs, and the other pulling on your other nipple harshly. Your body feels so ruined, so pulled and prodded apart, destroyed against the force of the flower through the arms of a man. It cascades through your cunt like you’re expecting, but you’ve never felt an orgasm that tore through the nerves in your nipples as well. Like every place he’s attached to you explodes all at once. Screaming into the open air while it rips through your body. Pussy to fingertips to toes and back again, a shaking mess underneath of him. 

Daryl didn’t have time to feel the post-nut shame, not with you to take care of. But you feel it. The prickly grass on your skin like small reminders of the dirty things you’d said, you’d done with him. The way he’d seen your body, the way it reacted to him. 

His voice cuts through, as he’s putting himself away and back into his pants, “Shit, sorry I made ya do all that. It’s the damn flower…” he doesn’t even know how to explain, how to begin to apologize for what he’d just done to you. How he’d violated you. 

“No,” you scramble, blushing, “I liked it. I mean-“ you cough, standing up and dusting yourself off, “I know the flower made me really like it. But, I would have… liked it anyway.” 

Daryl observes you getting awkward and stumbling over your words, it makes him feel less like a super fucking predator. He takes a few big strides to stand close to you again, leaning down and kissing your forehead. He touches his thumb to your lips, “Cuz yer fuckin’ made fer me.” He means it. Your scent, the way you fit around him, the way you took his cock so perfectly. Fuckin’ made for him. 

“Don’chya got somethin’ yer s’possed ta be doin’, girlie?” He tugs on some of your hair before slapping your ass and making his way back to the tents. Leaving you to gather yourself and finishing hanging clothes. Going back to tell everyone the bad news that he didn’t hunt anything today. ‘Cept a pretty girl and her womb.

He left that part out. And no one believed him about the flower when he tried to warn them it was in the woods close by. Just an old Appalachian wives tale. Sure. 

a/n: had this idea swimming for a few days, had a few parts written. Blasted it out in a few hours and I didn’t really proofread it but I feel like this is NO PLOT JUST VIBES.

[salparadiselost]

A random idea that I'm not ever sure I'm going to pick up and finish. AU is that everyone lives in a movie genre and the universe if governed by the rules of that genre. Bruce, fed up with being a failed lover interest, starts to adopt kids from other genres.

-----

"I don't get it," Dick says, standing at the top small set of stairs and looking down them. There's like six of them, hardly enough to actually call it a staircase. Dick could probably jump the full way down without hurting himself. It's definitely not a flight, just six steps to get from the raised dias of the bank's entry to the street. But Bruce is still hesitating at the top, staring at them like they are a snake curled up in the grass. 

The man who had assigned himself Dick's father (He doesn't need a father. He doesn't have parents. His parents are dead. Killed. For eight years, their case has gone untouched as cold as their corpses. He needs to solve it. He needs to find the killer. He has to. He has to. He has to...) drags his eyes from the stairs to Dick.

"You live in a *rom com*," Dick practically spat the words. He had been growing to hate this saturated colour, plastic world. There were too many people. None of the streets were ever empty. Movements from the corners of his eyes that his brain screamed could be someone pulling a gun, someone reached for a knife, someone passing a drug off to another, was usually just a woman dressed in LuLulemon pulling her yappy dog along. It was maddening the way that his brain wasn't built for this. He saw people doing things and his mind screamed that it was clues! It was evidence! You need to investigate it! You need. You need. You need.

But he doesn't. Because he doesn't exist here. The Graysons don't exist here. No one has been killed in this city for over 100 years apparently. The worse crime in the paper had been when Miss Betty accidentally stole cupcakes because her and Joe's orders got mixed up. They were getting married now apparently.

Dick shook his head trying to dislodge the part of him that was screaming that he was missing a clue. He tried to focus on the present. Him. Bruce. Stairs.

"This is a romantic comedy," he repeated. "It's all about love, so what's the fucking worse thing that could happen on the stairs."

"*It seems I've fallen for you*," said Bruce suddenly, his voice so devoid of emotion it startles Dick. Dick's eyes snap up to meet the other man's eyes, but Bruce is still looking at the stairs.

"That's the part of the script," he continues, his voice blank. It's disconcerting. Dick has only heard him peppy or bubbly or other words that paint him as a happy-go-lucky dog. He's never heard... this. "I fall down the stairs and I... I break something. I lay there until she's suppose to rush in. She's supposed to be a nurse or a doctor or maybe just someone with first aid training. She's supposed to treat me until the ambulance comes and I'm supposed to say *'it seems I've fallen for you'*"

Bruce finally looks at Dick and he can't even describe what's in the man's eyes. It's... he would almost call it haunted. The same glint that he has when he stares in the mirror.

"I've broken my leg from falling down stairs 48 times. I've broken one of my ankles 53 times. My left arm 18 and my right 26. Three times it's been my collarbone. One time after two flights, it was my back. I was paralyzed from the neck down. I couldn’t move a damn finger, so I just laid there in pain until the clock hit midnight and everything reset. And that’s just the staircase falls. There’s also the open manholes, the broken railings, getting hit by a car, a couple of times where a bridge gave out from under me. Any of them will do as long as I end up hurt and on the ground."

Dick stared. Coldness washed through his veins, fixing him to the spot. For the first time since he got here, fear settled into the pit of his stomach. The only thing he could think to say was: "I thought that nothing went wrong here?"

Bruce gave a harsh laugh that seemed more fitting for Dick's genre. "Everything works out if you actually have someone who wants to love you. If your love interest isn't interested or she just doesn't bother to turn up... well, the universe keeps trying to correct itself even if that means you have to lay in a crumpled, bloody heap at the bottom of stairs for a few hours."

He... he didn't know what to say. Say that he was sorry? That Bruce didn't have anyone coming to love him?

He looked back at the stairs and saw them how Bruce saw them. He tried to figure out what to say, but Bruce just turned on his heel.

"Let's go find the wheelchair ramp."

[nyctoaerah]

⋆♱⋆REGRETS

Content warnings: Angst, Death, Foul Language, Toxic behaviors, Unhealthy Relationships.

Pairings: Sanemi Shinazugawa x Fem! Reader

“Are you still thinking about her?”

Obanai questioned, leaning  into the oak tree with his hands behind his head as his heterochromic eyes dissected every flicker of emotion on the wind hashira’s face, searching for clues hidden beneath the mask of indifference that sanemi had.

Sanemi didn’t answer at first, opting to shred a blade of grass between his calloused fingers. The muscles in his jaw tensed as he chewed the inside of his cheek.

“No i’m not.”

He avoided Obanai's searching gaze, staring up into the leaves instead as they rustled gently in the breeze. 

Obanai gave him a look.

The serpent hashira knew how sanemi’s mind works. He was probably thinking about you again, and fuck was he right, Sanemi was thinking about you.

He was thinking of you like some lovesick idiot, he was thinking of your smile, the way you’d bark insults back at him whenever he’s in the mood to be grumpy.

The way you feel, and the sweet sighs you’d breathe into his skin.

He missed how well you knew him, able to read his moods with just a glance.

And damn, did he wonder what would happen if he didn’t acted on impulse back then?

What if instead of breaking up with you, and telling you to just leave the corps, he supported your decision?

Would things be different? Would the two of you still be together?

Would he be able to marry you like he had always wanted to?

“I know you’re thinking about her, Shinazugawa.” Obanai interrupted his wishful thinkings bluntly. Sanemi shot him an irritated glance but didn’t deny it.

There was no point in arguing — Obanai could see right through him anyways.

“Thinking of what could have been if you didn’t split up, yeah? Putting a ring on her finger?”

“Tch. Mind your own business,” he grunted.

“So what if i am thinking about her? It doesn’t matter.” sanemi answered bluntly, making obanai sigh.

“You should move on. it’s been a year and a half.” Obanai replied.

“It’s pathetic to still yearn for a girl. When you wwre the one who broke up with her in the first place.”

“I know it’s pathetic. You don’t have to remind me.”

Sanemi scowled.

He hated it—the reminder that he was the one who had broken your heart, the one who had walked away.

The mere mention of you was like a blade, pristine yet serrated; It was a very sensitive topic for sanemi.

Whenever you were the topic, Sanemi grew sensitive—He disliked discussing about you, because it hurts and left him feeling ashamed.

He loathed this conversation, this topic that dug into the wounds he thought had scabbed over, and he was ashamed that he was the one who broke your heart, when now he was the one pining and in pain. 

Why the fuck did the both of you have to be so stubborn?

All he wanted was to protect you—to shield you from the bloodshed and gore he faced daily as a demon slayer—yet your determination to join and spill demon guts for vengeance for your family was as immovable as a mountain.

Time and again he pleaded with you, begged you to reconsider, to choose another path, any path but that one. But you wouldn’t bend. 

It hurts him whenever he remembers that you and two had something special back then.

Every time he returned home injured from a mission, you would gently clean and dress his wounds with a tender touch, wanting nothing more than to ease his pain.

Your days were spent caring for the handful of stray dogs he had rescued from the streets, nursing them back to health alongside your own beloved pets and your relationship with him was basically all sunshines and rainbows.

But that was until a demon attacked and slaughtered your family.

Your gentleness turned hard as stone. Gone was the refuge you once shared; in its place grew thorns of bitterness, vengefulness, and distrust. All the love you had poured into caring for sanemi and your home seemed wasted and all you cared about was getting revenge. 

And your relationship became toxic, always arguing and all.

Though, one argument made him snap — when you said something hurtful about him.  He knew that he shouldn’t have risen to the bait, shouldn’t have let his temper get the best of him, but damn you just know how to push his buttons.

And before he knew what he was doing, the words were spewing from his mouth like vomit—words he could never take back, words meant to wound as deeply as you’d wounded him, and in the heat of the moment, he ended up storming out and dumping you on the spot, so that you’d quit the corps because he knew you wouldn’t want to see his face anymore or some shit like that.

Sanemi ran both hands roughly through his white hair in stress, tugging slightly in frustration as the events replayed in his mind. The hurtful words you had said were burned into his memory.

He let out a groan and leaned back against the tree, eyes closed as he tried to forget the look on your face when he left.

But no matter what he did, he just couldn’t escape the guilt.

And the fact that obanai just kept mentioning you was just adding salt into the wound.

 “If you miss her so bad, why don’t you just send her a letter and apologize?” Obanai asked casually, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Lower your pride a little. It wouldn’t kill you.” He added.

 “Trust me, I’ve always wanted to apologize.” Sanemi huffed out gruffly. 

“Damn it... I look like such a dramatic fool.” He grumbled to himself, cringing as he recalled his rash actions.

“Then why don’t you send her a letter? You know where to find her...” Obanai said with an arched brow, as if the solution was obvious.  

“I don’t wanna bother her.” Sanemi muttered, already dreading your possible reaction if he tried to reach out, he feared that you’d just tell him to fuck off.

But maybe Obanai was right... He really needed to apologize.

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝.♡

©𝐍𝐲𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐡 || 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐀/𝐍: i was listening to xxxx by loonie when i was writing this dawg, it fits the theme & atmosphere of this fic... Same ground by kitchie nadal fits this aswell.

(this is totally not inspired by my previous rs)

[runningfrom2am]

moon river // part one

summary: people in lincoln county are dropping dead alongside their livestock, the wells are running dry and children are prompted from their beds to wander unconsciously in the night. billy has been hired as a last resort by the lawmen as a bounty hunter, charged with the task of hunting and killing the witch responsible in exchange for a reward and the clearing of his name. how could he turn that down?

pairing: william h. bonney x fem!reader

wc: 7.6k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: witch!reader x bounty hunter!billy, warning for like,,, witchcraft and stuff i suppose?? mentions of death, minor amounts of gore and animal mutilation. devil worship and other supernatural/biblical tea. also angst. probably.

a/n: impulsive new series dw ab it. i'm thinking this'll be only a few parts but based on how long part one is, i don't think that means much lol. buckle in.

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // pinterest board // playlist

The reward had been posted for weeks, and any man who dared to set foot in the woods on the hunt for the witch who had been cursing local crops and killing livestock didn't return at all. Billy was confident, though. He could draw and shoot quicker than anyone, and he had not only been offered the reward, but also the clearing of his name and a clean slate- and damn if that wasn't an impossible offer to turn down. Even if the sheriff was pretty damn desperate in order to seek Billy out unarmed to beg him to go after this witch.

Rifle in hand, he walked for hours hunting for a girl he'd only heard rumours of. Of her pretty hair that fell in enchanting waves and her bright, sparkling eyes that were deceptive in a way that could suck a man in and kill him with nothing more than a quick flick of her wrist. But he'd met plenty of girls like that before. He also heard she was horrid, scary and old and plucked straight from everyone's mother's horror stories passed onto them as children to keep them in their beds at night. In truth, he had no clue what he was walking into.

The forest was quiet today, eerily so, without even the chirping of birds or the wind in the trees to keep him company on the foot journey. Nothing. He wasn't welcome here and something deep inside of him knew it. Walking into a clearing, he gets only the mildest relief as the wind brushes the long grass against his boots and the woods isn't suffocating him any longer. Until the breath is vacuumed straight out of his lungs when he sees the first sign of life in miles.

This girl must be his age, of all the things he heard he didn't truly expect that. It was hard to tell as she was crouched over one of many graves in the open clearing, the sun making her hair glow like it had hand picked that surface to reflect off of. She can't be the witch everyones afraid of. He can even hear her now, the subtle humming of a tune coming from her lips as she laid out flowers from a basket below the shoddy cross. This was just a girl taking care of a forgotten grave, that was all. Despite his better judgement, he wants to believe that.

"Hello?" He calls, tilting his head slightly as he takes a hesitant step closer across the clearing.

You already knew he was there, of course. You could feel the shift in the air when he entered the space a minute or so prior. You turn your head, standing up straight again and brushing off the front of your dress.

"Hello, there." You reply, offering him a small smile as you pick up the basket from your feet. Admittedly, he was the youngest (and handsomest) of the men you assume had come to kill you, but you're surprised the woods had even let him get this close. The forest can see something in him you could not, clearly. Who are you to deny its very will?

The power in your skin thrums like a second heartbeat in your fingertips and against your ribcage, and you bring a hand up to grasp at the crystal hanging around your neck.

He notices the way your hand tightens around the necklace in your fingers almost anxiously, and it makes his own hand subconsciously itch to raise his rifle as he takes another step closer towards you. He swallows, trying his damndest to not show even a flicker of fear behind his eyes. There is none. She's just a girl, he has to convince himself, but you can see it. Feel it in the air around him even as he stands perfectly steady and strong in front of you.

"Who are you?"

A pretty girl, alone in a forest that no-one else dares tread into. It's a curious sight, and it only serves to make him more on edge. No one in their right mind would be in this forest of their own will.

You tilt your head slightly, watching him as he steps closer but making no attempt to move away yourself.

You answer with your name, soft and sweet as honey as you twist the chain around your neck slightly, eyes locked now on the gun in his hands.

"You're..." You pause for a moment to think, taking a deep breath and closing your eyes. "Billy. That's your name, right?"

His hand tightens on his rifle. The feeling of being somewhere he was never supposed to have entered made beads of sweat roll down the back of his neck as he felt the air thicken all around them. "How do you know that?"

You hesitate on how to answer. You can't very well tell him that you felt it, that you just knew. That you just knew he was here to kill you. You are far from the most social of girls, but you had to save face.

"You look like a Billy." You smile softly. "And it's a common enough name, is it not? A safe guess."

His eyes narrow slightly as his grip on the rifle relaxes. You were hiding something, that much was blatantly clear just from looking at your face, but still, he couldn't imagine someone like you to be the reason the townsfolk kept their doors locked and children well away come sundown.

"I suppose." He finally says, a hand coming up from his rifle to pull his low brimmed hat off his head- a small show of reluctant respect. Though, he still keeps his distance.

Your smile relaxes a little bit just as the subtle sounds of birds chirping and the wind through the leaves surrounds you again in background noise. "It suits you." You tell him, grabbing the basket handle with both hands now.

A hint of surprise flickers across his face at the odd compliment, but it fades just as quickly as it appeared. He lets out a hum of acknowledgement, watching you carefully. If he was being honest, he didn't want to believe that the woman in front of him was a witch. You are far more delicate than that.

"What are you doing out here anyway?"

"Oh, well, I was passing through and saw all these graves. I couldn't help but feel they were lacking some flowers." You explain, lying easily and glancing down at the ones you had already spent time laying lavenders over, five or six of them still looking fresh, without as much grass regrowing over the dirt just yet. "Lavender helps with sleep, you know. It ensures a peaceful rest."

He takes a moment to look at the surrounding graves, his stomach twisting at the sight of how many there were. Ten, at least. He'd seen graveyards before, many times, but something about the lack of proper head stones and the makeshift crosses that were just wooden sticks shoved in the dirt made this feel so much darker.

He frowns as he turns his eyes back to you. "Aren't you afraid of what people say about this place? That it's cursed or something."

"Cursed?" You ask, brow furrowing slightly as you look back at him with a slightly confused smile. "It isn't cursed. It's just a forest."

You knew as much as he seemed to that what you were saying wasn't true, but "cursed" was definitely not the right word to describe it. Though, if the townspeople were saying it was cursed, well, it made more sense as to why people came in here intent on killing you more and more recently.

He can't help but notice the way your smile tightens ever so slightly at the comment, like it was forced to remain on your lips in an attempt to keep up appearances when in reality you wanted to do anything but. You were nervous.

"It don't take a genius to figure out that no one goes in these woods alone for no good reason. A lot of people get lost in here. A lot of people don't come back." He can't help but look back at the headstones of people who most likely went missing, forever lost to the forest. To you. "And I ain't ever seen you in Lincoln."

The two of you stand in the clearing for another moment, neither of you speaking. Neither of you moving as the world around the two of you seems to hold its breath. He feels himself wanting to reach out and touch you, like he was in a trance of sorts. He wants to know what you're hiding, he wants to know who you are. A large part of him already knows, subconsciously wishing it wasn't true.

He tears his eyes away, shaking his head. He wasn't here to make friends, he was here for the reward- not to start sympathizing.

"Oh," You reply quietly, unsure what to say as you force yourself to keep your eyes on him instead of looking over at the fresh graves. "I... I am sorry to hear that."

He studies you for a moment, trying to decipher your carefully worded reply. He can't tell if you actually feel sorry for those who came here and never made it out alive, or if you're just trying to cover up the fact that you may be connected to it.

"It's a shame, really. A lot of good men have gone missing out here, never to be seen again."

He looks like he's about to ask another question before he notices the way your knuckles start to turn white from gripping the basket so hard.

"Your hands are shaking." The observation is formed more like a question, an accusing tone you pick up on easily.

You look down at your hands, eyes widening a bit before you tuck them behind your back with the basket. "Oh, uh... sorry. I can't control it sometimes." You admit sheepishly.

He watches the way you try and hide your hands out of view, and it only serves to make him more suspicious of you. Why would the thought of him seeing your hands shaking make you so anxious?

He doesn't call you out on it, though. "What do you mean can't control it sometimes? Are you nervous?"

"I-I just... I haven't eaten yet today. And it runs in my family, you know. Shaky hands." You explain, trying not to sound as nervous as you are.

"You're lying." He accuses, watching your reaction carefully.

As he speaks the previous chirping of the birds and the wind in the trees and in the grass halts in an instant, like the forest itself was tensing with you. You knew what that meant. Your gaze flickers from his face down to the gun in his hands and back quickly as you take a small step back. "I- I'm not, honestly." You reply with a slightly nervous laugh, trying to lighten the atmosphere again and delay the inevitable. Either he wasn't going to hurt you, or he was the one meant to hurt you. It was a mystery of the universe you were less than eager to discover the outcome of.

His eyes flick over to the surrounding trees as the forest goes quiet, as if it was listening- waiting. He grips the rifle a little tighter when you take a step back, his shoulders tensing slightly.

"You're a very bad liar." He responds, his eyes back on you again. The change in your behaviour doesn't go unnoticed by him, as he slowly starts to lift his rifle to an almost aiming position.

"Don't-" You urge him quickly, your eyes going wide again with more urgency as you hold a hand up to try and stop him. In the same moment he starts to lift his gun, the clouds seem to cover the sun and the beautiful beams of light entering the clearly through the trees is all but gone to gray.

His eyes flick up to the sky as the forest is cast into darkness. He isn't an idiot, he doesn't believe that clouds could move across the sky that quickly- only one other thing could make a place this dark this fast.

"...You did that." He points out with an accusatory tone, his eyes back on you as he adjusts the rifle, aiming the barrel straight at you.

You drop the basket, raising your hands as the still air picks up a somewhat electric buzz to it, the sky darkening further. You didn't know what the forest had done to the other men, but you suspected you were about to find out.

"I-I didn't, I haven't done anything. I swear." You promise him, voice shaking a bit.

He holds the gun steadily as he watches you closely, the way your eyes dart around the clearing as if searching for a way out, the way the air is now thick with something that he can't put his finger on. It's something that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight up, it's something that feels dangerous. He's always been attuned to it.

"Don't bullshit me." He says, cocking the rifle with a click. His eyes watch you like a hawk, the barrel of the gun now pointed directly between your bright, enchanting irises.

"I know why you're here." You stammer out quickly, slowly moving your hands out to your sides toward the trees on either side of you as the leaves start to rustle more urgently in the wind. "I mean... I don't know why but I know you're here to kill me, right?"

He tenses slightly as you begin to move your hands toward the trees, his finger hovering dangerously close to the trigger of his rifle. "You have the townsfolk scared shitless. They put a damn price on your head, and word spreads fast." He tilts his head, continuing to watch you intently as the air becomes more and more electric.

"What?" You ask, to him looking genuinely confused as you watch his finger graze over the trigger. "I-I've never even been into town. I've never done anything to them."

The wind picks up then, blowing wickedly through your hair and ruffling the skirts of your dress.

His body tenses at the feeling of the wind blowing so fiercely, the trees beginning to sway with the force of it. The air is thick, almost electric in a way that can't possibly be natural, and he's beginning to realize just what he's gotten himself into.

"You expect me to believe you?" He responds, the barrel of the gun still aimed at your head. He doesn't know why he hasn't fired already, he knows he's staring down the sights of his hunting rifle directly at the witch he was meant to kill. Who has killed six of Lincoln's bravest men and is currently standing over their graves.

When he moves the gun you wince, and the sound of the trees shifting becomes almost more intentional now as you hold your hands up higher at either side of your body. "I-I'll explain... Just... just put down the gun. Please."

"Why should I do that?" He asks, keeping his aim on you despite the trees that now seem so alive all around you- like they were whispering.

"You just have to trust me!" You call out, now that the wind was getting louder and louder, the sky darker as the trees closed in on the two of you, more specifically, the branches reaching for him.

He clocks it quickly; the branches slowly creeping down, the leaves reaching out towards him. It was like they were going to reach out and grab him at any moment, and the idea is making the hair on his arms stand straight up. It wasn't real, he knew better than that.

"How... how are you doing this?" He asks, his eyes flicking back to you, his rifle still raised.

"I'm not!" You shout, hands pushed out on either side of you as you squint against the wind, expression tense as the air pushes in on you from every direction. "I'm trying to stop it, just drop the gun!"

His eyes dart between you and the trees, noticing the way the branches are slowly inching towards him, and how you seem to almost be trying to push them back, your entire body tensing with some unknown effort.

"And if I drop the gun and you try something, huh?" He yells back, his finger still resting against the cool metal of the lightened trigger.

"You'll end up dead either way!" You shout, squeezing your eyes shut now as a couple small roots start to slowly coil around his ankles. "I don't want to bury you! Just drop it!"

He glances down at the roots slowly making their way up his lower legs, and his eyebrows furrow as he tries to comprehend how in the hell something like this is even possible. Finally, he grunts, clicking the safety back on his rifle and dropping it to the dirt. As soon as the weapon is out of his hands, the atmosphere in the clearing changes.

Even with your eyes shut, you can feel the pressure get taken off of you as soon as he drops the gun.

You drop your hands back down to your sides, winded from the exertion of keeping him alive. It seemed to have moved quick, the forest in its efforts to eliminate the threat, but you have to imagine it was much slower than it was when it set its sights on the other men who set foot in here to kill you.

"Are you okay?" You ask, gasping to catch your breath as the roots remain wrapped loosely around his ankles, incase it needed to grab him again quickly. Though, the skies had mostly cleared and the wind had stopped now.

He stands frozen in place for a moment, his breath heavy in his lungs as adrenaline courses through his veins and his heart hammers violently in his chest. "I.... I'm fine I think..." He responds, looking down at the roots still clinging to his ankles. He's at a loss as to how the hell something like that can even happen, even more so how you could make that happen.

He tries to get his legs free from the roots, but they cling to him stubbornly, even when he pulls with his full weight. He huffs in frustration, dropping himself to sit down on the ground. "Are you gonna get those things to let go of me? I dropped the damn gun."

They tighten a bit as he talks to you like that and you watch as more vines slither across the ground and wrap around his rifle, dragging it away while also doing the same with the revolver on his hip.

"I... I can't." You admit quietly, wringing your hands nervously in front of you. "I told you, I'm not doin' it."

His eyes widen as the roots from the ground pull his revolver off of him, and the vines drag his rifle towards some far off tree line. He realizes promptly he's being toyed with- like a mouse to an un-hungry cat.

"The hell do you mean you can't?" He asks frustratedly, his eyes locked on you as you fidget in place. His heart is still pumping faster than it has in years. "Do it!"

"I-I, well-"

You start, ready to try and explain but you don't get very far before he's quickly hoisted up off the ground by his feet, being hung upside down as bullets and coins rain from of his pockets. He curses loudly over your yelp of surprise as the forest tosses him up into the air, leaving him to hang by his ankles nearly twenty feet above the ground. He can feel the blood quickly rushing to his head, leaving him dizzy as the items in his pockets come tumbling out. As he tries to reach for something, he loses his balance and starts to swing back and forth like a pendulum.

You wince in sympathy as you hesitantly reach out toward him before pulling your hand back quickly. "Sorry, sorry..." You say through clenched teeth, a guilty expression on your face.

"Could you... please... get me down?" He asks in a strained voice, trying his hardest to keep what was left in his stomach where it was.

You frown, taking a small, hesitant step closer. "I... I told you, I'm not doin' it." You repeat, glancing down at the small objects that fell from his pockets.

"Do you... always carry that many bullets?"

This is the first time in a forever that he's felt so defenseless, hanging from his feet in some clearly, definitely cursed forest. Still, he tries to ignore the humiliation he feels at being in this position, trying to keep his cool while also trying to keep in his breakfast.

"I like to be prepared." He responds tightly, his eyes staring at the ground as he continues to swing back and forth slowly above you.

"For what..?" You ask, knowing that now probably isn't the time, but you truly are curious. And it's not like he could hurt you at the moment.

He pauses for a second, thinking it over before shrugging awkwardly in his hung up position. "You never know when danger might come knocking." He explains, his eyes continuing to be locked on the grass below him. This was a damn embarrassing position to be in with an audience, especially a pretty one.

"Yeah I... I guess so..." You agree, unsure what to do as the vines circle him further, searching inside his clothes for more weapons, no doubt.

He lets the forest strip him of his weapons in silence, his pride already bruised for the day anyway. He only lets out a small grunt as a particularly sharp branch pokes him in the stomach, searching for anything else that might be hidden.

"If I ask you something, these things aren't gonna try and strangle me or anything, right?" He calls down, gritting his teeth as his blood continues to rush to his head.

You can't help but giggle a little as you look up at him, his arms dangling below his head and his shirt starting to fall a little bit as well.

"I don't think so." You say, tilting your head slightly and squinting against the sun as it comes back with your quiet laughter, surrounding you in more warmth and lighter air.

He watches you as you laugh, watching the way your eyes crinkle and the way your smile spreads across your face. He's starting to realize that he's pretty unfortunately attracted to you, especially with the way the sunlight hits you the way it always seems to. Taunting him, tempting him- you were a gift from the trees he doesn't think he would do very well to try and pluck away from the stem.

He takes a breath, swallowing hard and lifting his hands to try and swat away the vine digging into the waistband of his trousers to get at the dagger he had there. "Why aren't you scared of me?"

You giggle again, lowering your hand as some of the tree branches grow up and out in the perfect spot to shield only your eyes from the sun.

"No offense, but you're not exactly very fear-inducing at the moment." You reply, watching in slight amusement as he dangles from the roots, spinning slowly without an ounce of control over it.

He watches you shield your eyes with the branches, finding himself a little surprised at how the forest seems to bend to your will. Despite that, a small smile appears on his face, his arms crossing in front of his chest. "What're you talking about? I'm terrifying."

You let out another laugh as he tried to cross his arms over his chest, and then the birds are singing again. The roots start to lower him just a little bit at his lighthearted joke and the way it made me smile, and he finally stopped resisting.

"Yeah, I'm quakin' in my boots."

He rolls his eyes as he lets the plants lower him down, still trying not to look completely humiliated. "Very funny, smartass. Mind telling them to lower me the rest of the way?"

The roots quickly jerk him back up again at the comment and your smile drops as you wince again. His lips form into a tight line when the roots yank him back up again, his head spinning as all his blood shoots straight back to his brain. "I can't tell them what to do, unfortunately." You remind him, head still tilted back at a mildly uncomfortable angle to look up at him.

"They seemed to listen to you just a minute ago to give you some shade." He mutters, feeling like an idiot just hanging there.

"I didn't ask for them to do that." You reply, another small smile tugging at your lips that seems to bring the sun back just a bit.

He watches as your lips pull into a smile again, noticing the way the sun seems to come back just a little every time it does. He's starting to get it, even if he was far from a comprehensive or even realistic understanding.

"Oh, so this stuff is just what- a coincidence now?" He asks, gesturing to a nearby tree that had pushed its branches out to act as your own personal umbrella.

You look up at the branches over your head before back at him. "Okay, well, I never said that." You chuckle, standing on your toes and reaching up to one of the leaves, letting a ladybug crawl onto your fingers.

He watches you stand on your toes and reach up, nymph-like in the most graceful of ways- a sight if he's ever seen one. He can't help but notice how the sun seems to break through the trees a little more now, lighting your face and hair up in a way that's almost angelic. He can feel his mouth starting to go dry as he watched you play with the ladybug. "So... you talk to bugs too?"

"What? No." You giggle, letting the bug crawl up your arm and into your hair. They did really seem to like your hair, something you had always picked up on. You didn't like it much, but they never stayed for long. Just explored for a few moments before continuing on their merry way. "It's... it's more complicated than that. More like a feeling. Not with bugs," You explain quickly. "Just like... the space, if that makes sense."

He lets his eyes linger on the small red bug that was currently making a home in your hair, trying to distract himself from the way a few strands of it seemed to fall against the exposed skin of your collarbone.

"I'll be honest... not really." He responds, a small smile on his face, "I'm not much acquainted with stuff like that."

When you look up at him again, smile widening a bit when you see he's smiling too, the roots start to lower him another foot or so again. "That's alright. I don't really get it either." You shrug softly.

He lets out a small huff of laughter as he's lowered down again, finally feeling like he's starting to get used to hanging upside down. "Well, I guess we're two peas in a pod then, huh?" The sun breaks through the trees even further, casting a golden glow on both of you and the plants surrounding you.

You grin up at him and his flushed red face as you step out of the little umbrella and pick up his hat from the ground, dusting it off before starting to gather all his things and setting them inside like it was a bucket.

"So... what did you say was happening in the town? Livestock are dyin'? People gettin' sick?"

He watches you dust off his hat and collect his belongings as you speak, trying to ignore the flutter in his chest that he felt when he saw you handling his stuff like it was the most casual thing in the world.

"Yeah..." He responds, his voice sounding a little distracted, "No one's been able to figure out why for months now. They tried blaming it on all sorts of things, but nothing's worked so far... that's why I'm here."

"They think it's me." You comment, nodding slightly, picking up the last of his things before standing up again, looking up at him.

He watches you brush down your dress, his eyes lingering longer than they should on the gentle curve of your waist and how your seemingly soft hand smoothed over the surface. With the sun lighting you up like you were an angel sent from heaven itself? Maybe you were just as dangerous as they said. "Well... are you?"

Your brow furrows slightly and you shake your head, a small frown pulling at your lips. "No... I... Like I said I've never even been to the town. Okay, well, maybe once or twice, but I just like to go to the farmer's market every once in a while. I'd never want to hurt anyone."

He watches you look down sadly, noticing how your expression shifts to the sad one he saw when you were tending the graves not too long ago. He feels a pang of guilt in his chest, realizing his comment had been a little thoughtless.

"Hey, I didn't mean..." He starts, pausing for a moment as the vines slowly let him down even lower, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed."

"It's not your fault." You reply, watching him get lowered a little bit further. "If everyone believes it, I wouldn't expect you not to."

He's finally almost on the ground now, hanging just about eye level with you. At this point, looking at you from the upside down view makes his head spin a little.

"Yeah, well... I guess I still shouldn't have jumped to conclusions." He responds, watching as a soft breeze blows in through the clearing, messing your hair up for a moment and filling the air with the scent of wildflowers.

Your smile grows a bit at that. "Well, thank you. I appreciate that."

Then the roots are suddenly turning him upright again before he has the chance to even consider what to say, lowering him quickly to the grass and thrusting him forward into you. "Whoa..!" He stumbles forward, suddenly upright again, only to be flung forward at full speed straight into you. He grabs your arms by instinct, trying to keep from knocking you both backwards but failing as both of you land on a soft area of moss. The two of you fall back onto the ground, him landing on top of you with a soft thud. He can feel his heart racing in his chest as he looks down at you below him.

You're shocked at first, getting your bearings quickly though as you look up at him and into his blue eyes. It feels like you're looking straight through him at the beautiful and now clear sky above you, and you can't help but giggle when you've realized what happened. Clearly, the forest didn't see him as a threat to you anymore; stripped bare of his weapons and armed only with an apology for making assumptions.

His heart skips a beat the moment you start to laugh, the sound like music to his ears. He'd never heard a prettier sound than that. His heart hammers against his chest as he looks down at your face, the sunlight streaming through the tree tops to perfectly light up your face, giving you a golden glow. He can feel his mouth going dry again, just like it did earlier. He had never found someone so beautiful before, and for a moment, he's scared he's fallen victim to your rumoured enchantments.

He realizes after a moment how long he's been staring, and how close the two of you are. His face was so close he could see the individual lashes framing your eyes, the freckles spread across your skin, the light flush across your cheeks. His eyes fall to your lips, realizing how soft they looked... and how he badly he would like to taste them... Oh, he must be enchanted somehow.

"Are you quite alright?" You giggle, shifting a little bit, unwilling to outright ask him to get off. "I didn't expect them to throw you like that."

The giggling helps snap him out of it, and he suddenly realizes just how embarrassing the situation looks, and how strange it is that the forest would even do that to begin with. He scrambles to get off of you, sitting beside you on the ground.

"Yeah.. yeah... I'm fine...." He responds sheepishly, a flush on his own face as a few stray pieces of moss stick onto his clothes.

His face was still burning, and he couldn't get the sight of you laughing out of his head. The way your eyes had sparkled, how your hair had been splayed out around you against the grass... he shakes his head, trying to dispel the thoughts. He didn't have time to be getting all distracted like this. He glances over to you, noticing how your hair was still messy from the fall, a few blades of grass sticking out of it as a few flowers from the surrounding area are caught in the strands too.

You close your eyes, letting out a soft sigh as he moves off of you, smiling a little to yourself as you feel the sun on your skin. Just for that, it seems to burn a little brighter.

After a few moments you push yourself up so you're sitting as well, your gaze finding him again. "You must really believe me."

He tilts his head slightly, watching you push yourself into a sitting position beside him, your back against the tree and the sun still shining through the branches onto your face. He can feel his heart skip a beat as he stares.

"How do you figure that?" He blinks, trying to snap out of it and trying not to think too hard about how he was starting to feel towards you so quickly.

You nod over to the roots and vines retreating slowly back into the tree line. "They wouldn't have let you down otherwise."

He glances back over to the trees, watching the roots and the vines disappear back into the underbrush. He'd almost forgotten they were there, so distracted by you. A frown tugged at his lips, he should never be this distracted.

"I guess you're right..." He responds.

"You were the first to even get that close." You admit quietly, a thoughtful expression on your face as you glance over at the makeshift crosses and mounds of dirt a few feet away.

He lets out a soft breath of disbelief, his eyes flickering back and forth between you and the little burial site, a wave of guilt washing over him as he realizes just how rude he'd been when he first got there. You had been taking care of something really important to you and he had just thrown accusations at you without even knowing you. And for some reason the forest had even allowed him to get that close... there must be a good reason.

Even in these past few minutes of speaking to you, he'd been able to tell that you weren't dangerous, and hell- you were honestly one of the nicest people he'd ever met, and by far the prettiest. Not that that mattered.

He finally looks away from the crosses and focuses back on your face, noticing the grass and the flowers, and he can't help but think that they look kind of cute on you.

"Who are those for? ...If you don't mind me asking."

"The men who came before you, I assume." You tell him, looking down and picking at the grass. "You mentioned that people were hunting me, and no one came back. And I was wondering why bodies kept turning up here..."

A lump lodges in his throat as you confirm what he already knew deep down inside. He swallows hard, trying not to let the realization that he could've been just as dead as them show on his face, but by the look on yours, he knows you can tell what he's thinking anyway.

"You... didn't kill them?" He asks, trying to sound strong, but not quite keeping the trepidation out of his voice.

Your eyes snap up to his and you quickly shake your head. "No! No, I-" You defend quickly, sitting up a bit straighter and pushing yourself back a bit. "I... Like I said, they just turned up here. I come out here often to check on the older ones and lay flowers, I started coming back and there would just be someone laying there dead. I didn't... I just buried them."

His face softens slightly as he sees the panicked expression on your face, how defensive you were at the accusation, how you quickly scooted away from him as if you would run if you had to. He knew you were telling the truth. He curses himself for letting his imagination create the image of you again, standing over a corpse with your hands covered in blood- that thought alone made him somewhat nauseous.

He lets out a slow, shaky breath, his eyes glued to the little crosses. He could've been there too, no better than carrion for the animals. Of course they were the men who came before him, and he's sure the forest was much less forgiving than just hanging them by their boots and taking their guns.

"Why do you come back here every day?" He finds himself asking.

"I... uh... I don't live far." You explain, glancing back over your shoulder. "And... um... my parents are here. And my brother." You add quietly, fiddling with the crystal around your neck as you look briefly over at some much older graves at the edge of the clearing.

His eyes follow your gaze over to where a group of older, smaller crosses laid on the other side of the clearing, and the realization finally set in that you were here every day to tend the graves of your family.

"You're an orphan...." He says it like a statement instead of a question, not realizing he'd said it out loud until a moment later.

You nod softly in response, leaning back on one of your palms.

"You are too." You reply, tone gentle in the observation.

He freezes, his eyes going wide as you call him out so delicately. The way you say it, it was almost like you had looked inside and had seen him for exactly what he was.

"How'd you know?"

"I can feel it." You tell him, knowing how vague it sounded- but you didn't have any better understanding of it than he did.

He blinks, looking down at the ground as he processes that. An uncomfortable feeling settled in his stomach, knowing that somehow, you'd seen straight through every front he put up in seconds."What do you mean by that?"

You shrug slightly. "Exactly what I said. I can just... feel it. Like you can see or hear things, you know? I just... know. It's hard to explain."

He was silent for a few moments as he nodded slowly, still watching the way your fingers fidgeted with the necklace around your neck. He knew something was up with you, with how the forest seemed to welcome him when it made everyone else run. But he was starting to get the feeling he was only just scratching the surface.

He took a moment, looking up again at the simple crosses and mounds of dirt littered around the clearing, the thought that you'd had to bury your family by yourself and continue tending to their graves for who knows how long was making his heart ache in a way he didn't know was so familiar to him until he was faced with it.

"I'm sorry." He finally speaks after a few stiff moments, his voice sounding a bit softer and more tentative than before. "How old were you?"

"Fourteen." You answer quietly, looking over at him again and offering him a weak smile.

A lump forms in his throat as he takes in your answer. You'd taken care of them at only fourteen years old. The realization settled heavily in his stomach like a rock, how impossibly unfair the world was, to be dealing hands just like his out to others. To sweet girls with soft skin and perfect smiles. "Jesus ...." He mutters quietly, rubbing his hands over his tired eyes.

Picturing you as a reflection of himself, nothing more than a child, all alone in the dark forest trying her best to dig a hole for all her loved ones overturning into a vision of the last he had seen of his family. Year after hurtful year, standing over graves and tossing in handfuls of dirt to send them on their way. It made bile rise in his throat.

He looks over at you silently, and his heart aches again. He knows what it feels like to be all alone. You, in the cold, dark woods for so long with no one to look to and him, in the cold and bright lights of being hunted for his actions. You, sitting next to him on the soft forest floor, were his only chance at leaving that behind. Of looking to the future, burying you and the harm you supposedly caused behind him with his wanted posters left to blow inconsequentially in the wind. He wonders how long it had been since you had seen another face other than his in this little graveyard, and he realizes he couldn't stomach carrying your corpse back into town. If the trees would even let him take your body so far without leaving your cold skin covered in the claw marks of it's efforts to keep you here with it, nestled in the safety of its tree cover.

"No one should have to live like this... all alone." He says quietly, the words leaving his mouth before he even realizes it.

You pull at the grass in front of you mindlessly as you shrug. "I'm not alone. Not really." You say quietly.

You look over at him again, studying him for a few moments. "You're a lot more lonely than I am, I think."

He pauses at that, his heart panging in his chest again at the truthfulness of your statement. He knew you were right, he was lonely. No family, no friends. Hell- before today, he's pretty sure no one's ever looked at him the way you are now. With something like kindness. He lets out a rough sigh as he rubs the back of his neck.

"Guess we've got that in common, then."

"I guess so." You agree quietly, giving him a small, slightly sad smile.

You lean over and pick up his hat from the ground next to where you'd both fallen, checking inside that it still held all his pocket change and bullets before holding it out to him.

He stares at the hat in your hands for a moment before looking back up at you, studying the way you sat beside him with your head tilted to the side, the way your dress clung brunched up around your hips and the way your hair fell over your shoulders in messy waves in the afternoon sunlight.

He swallows hard as he reaches out and takes the hat from you, his fingers brushing yours for a second. "Thank you..."

"Of course." You hum, tucking your knees up to your chest and brushing some of the stray grass and moss off of your calves and arms. "Thanks for not killing me."

He lets out a short laugh, setting the hat back onto his head after shoving its contents back into his pockets. "I'm not going to kill you." He says firmly, his eyes following your fingers as you brush off your skirt.

A small smile twitches at your lips as you look over at him, and you feel that familiar pulsing of power in your fingertips and chest, running through your skin again.

You can feel that he means it, and you felt safe before, but even more so now.

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence for another moment, listening to the sounds of the forest around you, and he feels a sense of peace in this quiet space he'd stumbled into.

There were a hundred different ways he could be spending his afternoon. There were bounties to be collected, townsfolk to cheat at poker, and cards to be dealt and drank to. But instead, he was sitting in the middle of a makeshift graveyard with a lonely, beautiful, witch in the middle of the woods and he'd never been more at peace in his entire life.

"Are you... hungry?" You ask after a minute or so, glancing up at the sky to see whereabouts the sun was. It was likely mid to late afternoon by now, and you still hadn't eaten yet- that hadn't been a lie. You had to get back, but you didn't just want to let him go without making sure he would be able to make it back safely.

He was actually a little surprised that he hadn't thought about it. After all, he'd been walking around in the forest for hours. Now that you mention it, he can feel a hollow emptiness in his gut and a sharp pang of hunger go through his body.

"Yeah.. I could eat." He says, rubbing the back of his neck as he tilts his head up towards sky and squints against the sunlight streaming down.

You push myself up from the soft moss you were sitting on, ignoring the bits of it that clung to your dress and hair for the time being.

"Alright, well, c'mon then." You grin, glancing back at him over your shoulder as you go to collect the basket of drying lavender from the grave you were tending before he interrupted.

His eyes widen a little as he watches you stand up, his eyes lingering a little bit too long on the curve of your hips again. He shakes his head before getting up himself, gathering his things and brushing himself off before following the witch deeper into the forest that would inexplicably kill to keep her.

no taglist this time around!! my fics usually get over a hundred requests to be added to the taglist so instead i made a library! follow me over on @runningfrom2am-library and turn on notifs to get updates when i post new parts!!

[bybobbysbeard]

Cooldown

Day 3 for @bucktommyfluffebruary: spiderman kiss. read on ao3 read other days here

Buck opens his eyes to the familiar view of his boyfriend’s bedroom’s popcorn ceiling. Morning sunlight slants across the walls. Buck stretches, reaching out, but the sheets beside him are cool. The house is quiet. 

Tommy's home is tiny. It’s a two bedroom bungalow, set on a pie-shaped lot in a friendly Van Nuys suburb. Tommy’s put a lot of work into it. Maybe not the same way Buck would have, if he owned a house, but he can still appreciate what his boyfriend has prioritized. The eat-in kitchen is still very 90s, with golden oak cabinets and a tiled backsplash in a pale dusty rose, but the appliances are newer. The bedrooms are done up in warm tones, and the living room is dominated by a massive sectional and a giant TV. Most of the furniture is secondhand, worn and scratched, but well taken care of. 

Buck likes to call the house cozy, just to see Tommy smile. 

The backyard and garage have had more effort put in. There's the brickwork patio Tommy laid himself, a nice BBQ setup that even Bobby would be jealous of, and a couple of mature sycamore trees dotted around. Tommy told him how he ripped all the sod out years ago, and spent a few incredibly sweaty days planting frogfruit starters for groundcover. Now the lawn is lush, and fully native. The fences are edged with hardy, drought-friendly perennials and long grasses. 

The garage is a snapshot into Tommy’s hobbies. One half is mostly taken up by Tommy’s car lift, a long stainless steel work bench with half a dozen projects in various states of completion, and two giant Stanley tool chests. The other side has Tommy's home gym setup, including a few different pieces of equipment, and a clear area with mats for sparing. 

He takes his time getting going. It's a peaceful morning, and although Tommy has a shift in a few hours, Buck doesn't have anywhere to be until 8:00 am tomorrow. One of the hazards of dating another first responder is the conflicting schedules, so being able to lock the house up behind him when he has to leave at ass-o’clock in the morning has been great. Tommy told him the code to the garage door a few weeks ago. 

The knowledge that he’s welcome in Tommy’s space makes something warm curl in his belly.

There’s a pot of coffee waiting for him when he makes his way to the kitchen, and the pre-workout mix and protein powder sitting on the counter gives a clue as to where his wayward boyfriend is. He pours a mug, slips on a pair of slides, and enters the garage. 

The big door is lifted about a foot, showing a strip of sun-drenched driveway on the other side. There’s music playing, some guitar-heavy ‘Dad Rock’ Buck will mock him for later. Tommy notices his entrance, giving him a quick grin before finishing his rep. Buck opens his mouth to say good morning, but gets stuck. He just woke up, so he’ll blame the goofy record-scratch sound effect he imagines on his half-asleep brain. 

Tommy’s doing bicep curls, dressed in that damned grey sleeveless hoodie and a pair of baggy athletic shorts. That shirt haunts Buck. He flashes back to that fateful basketball game, when he was so jealous. Desperate for something he couldn’t even name. Naturally, Tommy’s worn it since, and every time Buck has a visceral, gut-deep reaction. More than once, it’s ended with them tangled up together, in bed, on the couch, on the floor, or the backseat of one of their cars. Once, on Buck’s dining room table. Nothing between them but sweat. The fact that he’s wearing it now, when he knew Evan would be up soon, sends a shiver racing up his spine, despite the heat in the garage. 

Tommy exhales, lowering his arms and moving towards the weight rack. The gaping arm hole offers a tantalizing glimpse of skin as he re-racks the dumbells.

“Morning baby. How’d you sleep?” 

Buck forces his attention away from Tommy’s chest and back up to his face. The smirk that’s waiting tells him his staring was not subtle. He takes a sip of his coffee. His ears feel hot. “G-good morning. I slept great. I was just going to start breakfast. Any requests?”

“Whatever you feel like making sounds good to me. I’m almost done. Just going to use the bench and then cooldown.” Sweat makes one curl stick to his forehead. 

This Clark Kent looking motherfucker.

Buck carefully sets his mug down. “You want a spotter?” He’s holding onto his pokerface by the skin of his teeth. Sure, he wants to make sure his boyfriend is exercising safely, but damn, he also wants to ogle. Tommy quirks an eyebrow. His teeth flash when he smiles.

“Sure. Help me load the plates?”

Some 250lbs of steel later, Tommy is laid out on the bench and gripping the bar. He looks up at Buck, hovering needlessly close, and hums thoughtfully. He releases the bar, sits up, and grabs the hem of his hoodie. He pulls it off in one smooth move, before balling it up and throwing it towards the door. For the second time in five minutes, Buck’s brain fuzzes out, TV static replacing every thought that isn't TommyTommyTommy. All that pale olive skin is on display, shiny with sweat, making Tommy’s chest hair curl in the humidity. Tommy lays back down, muscles rippling as he settles and rolls his shoulders. Buck’s gaze chases that tempting happy trail, leading under the damp waistband of Tommy’s shorts. 

“Evan, you good?” Tommy grabs the bar again.

Buck has to swallow, or risk drooling on his boyfriends grinning face. Not fair. Ah, fuck it. 

“No. I am not good.”

He swoops down, pressing his lips to Tommy’s upside down, but too desperate to care about circling around the bench. One hand lands on top of Tommy’s where it's still wrapped around the bar, but his other dances down that broad chest, tweaking a nipple to make Tommy jump. It’s a little strange, kissing like this. But it’s Tommy. Tommy’s mouth, Tommy’s stubble, Tommy’s tongue meeting his and deepening the kiss. It's so easy to get lost in it. 

Eventually, they have to breathe. Tommy’s other hand has wound into his curls, keeping him close. His voice is low, a promise that settles deep in Buck’s core, “If I didn’t have a shift…”

Buck hums in agreement, pressing a smacking kiss to Tommy’s forehead. He straightens up, and smiles down at his boyfriend. There’s a flush across his lovely cheekbones and stubble burn on his upper lip. They both stare at each other for a minute, cooling down.

“So, pancakes?” 

[socialpsycho484]

Word Count: 1424

Proofread?: yes

Proofread by: @wannabekook

Warnings: Some gore-ish words, angst, fluff

2/2

@taost4life

=====================================

(Pyramid Head’s PoV)

As I watched you run off, a pang filled my chest. I couldn’t explain what it was I was filling but I knew it had something to do with me not getting the chance to learn everything about you. The strange feeling was like I was being strangled. Your disappearing figure made it harder, I wanted to chase after you. You had been the only one to treat me like a living being and not some murderous beast even though I was. If only I could speak, if only I was able to show how much I had begun to care for you.

I turned away, this odd feeling seemingly getting worse as my back now faced yours. I walked back into the red fog, I could feel my body struggling from the weight of my blade and helmet while I drug my heavy feet across the uneven terrain. I knew that there were so many secrets I held onto.

Back ten years ago after you had been taken by the church, I sat in the darkness, waiting to punish the damned. The priest dragged down a man and a woman. They had sins so I did my job and slaughtered them. I had no clue who they were til you had told me about your parents, they easily fit the descriptions of the man and woman I had killed years back. But due to my inability to speak I couldn’t tell you, I didn’t know how to tell you. It was tearing me apart.

As I arrived back at that barrel, I stared at the ground, memories flashing through my head. Seeing an illusion of you standing there, looking at me with that sweet smile and those beautiful two toned eyes. I reached out to the illusion, wishing to hold your chin in my palm once more. The illusion of you fading quickly as I tried to grasp it. I clutched the air in my palm, slamming my blade against the tree in anger.

I lowered myself onto the ground, thinking of all the good memories I had of you.

You stood in front of me, smiling and laughing. “Come on P.H! Just follow my lead, okay?” You say, your voice so kind and sweet as you grabbed my hand and showed me how to do an odd hand shake. I was so confused but I tried to mimic your movements. I let out a frustrated groan after failing again.

I continued to try over and over but couldn’t seem to get it right. My failures seemed to make you laugh harder to the point you were rolling on the ground and clutching your chest. I let out a grunt of amusement, tilting my helmet to show my interest in your odd behavior.

Coming back to reality, I run my hand across the grass and dirt where you used to lay beside me. My eyes well up under my torturous helmet. Sadness. That’s what it was that I was feeling. You told me about these things, they’re called emotions. I pull myself from off the ground and walk around, pacing for hours. My mind glued on you instead of my job.

I began to make my way to the execution grounds, seeing the human that was trapped to the ground just like you were, bringing back more memories. I step over to the human, raising my blade before my vision is directed to the priest. I thought for a moment about the memory that had flashed through my mind.

I stared down at you, thinking about what to do with you. You were much too sheltered to have been a sinner, the look in your eyes told me everything I needed to know. I didn’t move from where I stood before bending down to grab you by the hair, pulling you up to get a better visual of your face to determine what you deserved.

Hearing you scream out in pain, I quickly released you, noticing the chains around your wrists. I reached behind you and broke them with ease.

I was pulled back to reality once more by the sound of the human before me yelling and screaming at me.

The human struggled against the chains, staring at me with fear and anger. “Get away from me you fucking monster! I did nothing to deserve this!” the human yelled and spat at me.

It didn’t affect me but it told me this person was in fact a sinner. I swing my blade down and sever the human’s body in half, blood spraying on my clothing and helmet. Blood dripped from my blade, The Great Knife. I look at the mangled body I had destroyed with my dull and rusty blade. ‘Worthless human..’ I said in my mind.

I shake my blade downward to get the majority of the blood off of it. ‘Disgusting and Vile..’ I thought to myself as I leaned down and grabbed what I could of the body before ripping it from the chains. I then drug it away into the darkness. More memories filled my head.

I carry you through the darkness, letting out occasional grunts and groans. My body swayed with each massive step. I would take small glances through the holes in my helmet at you to make sure you were comfortable. You then spoke to me for the first time. “What are you?” you asked. I didn’t respond, dropping you onto the ground, expecting you to land on your feet. I was confused why you didn’t.

You looked at me with an odd expression, sitting up and rubbing your back. “You could’ve just set me down instead of dropping me on the ground.” Your voice tinged with a weird tone so I just groaned in response.

I took a deep, elongated groan as I tilted my head back, the force from the weight of my helmet making my neck pop. I felt so.. I don’t know but I could tell it certainly didn’t feel good and I fucking hated it more than anything, probably more than I hated sinners. I stood there for what seemed like hours, thinking of everything.

‘I want to see him..’ I thought to myself as my mind circled you. I began to walk towards the rest stop where we first properly interacted.

I repeated myself for days after you had left Silent hill. The silence grew more hurtful as the days went on to the point it was almost unbearable. After a while, I found myself standing on the edge of the town of Silent Hill, waiting for you to return to me. I groaned as I sat down on the sickening cold ground, waiting quietly and unmoving.

A part of me didn’t want you to return but the other did, almost like it needed your presence now. I looked up towards the sky in the far distance after staring at the ground for some time. Through the holes of my helmet, I saw your smile, you reached towards my helmet and pressed your palm to the cold metal. It seemed so real but part of me thought you were just another illusion or memory.

“Hey big guy..” Your voice called out to me as you knelt in front of me. I didn’t dare to reach out this time, thinking you would just disappear if I attempted to embrace your small figure. But then you spoke again. “Are you doing okay, you seem uncertain.”

I hesitated and reached out, placing my hand on yours, as if I was trying to ask you if you were real and not one of the many illusions I have had. Your hand spun slightly to grasp mine, you understood my gesture, nodding softly.

“Yes I’m real.. I missed you..” You whispered to me so softly, my chest feeling so much lighter now. I stand up and let go of your hand before drawing you in close to me, hugging you against my broad chest firmly. I didn’t want to let go, not again. I held you tight to show you that I was..scared to ever let you go again.

I pulled away after a moment, using my hands to say that I loved you. I did, I loved you more than my pathetic life that I’ve lived for over a thousand years. I was grateful to have you back.

“I love you too P.H..” You responded before we both disappeared into the red fog together, hand in hand.

=====================================

I know it wasn’t as long as the first part but I hope you all enjoy it the same. I’ll be taking requests now, please include detail. Such as what prospective you want it, description of what you are wanting, and word minimum. Also please give respectful feedback if you’d like.

[moonafalke]

When they're far enough away from Death — from that godforsaken school — and Charles says that he needs a moment to himself, Edwin hesitates for a second. Then he nods and produces a small notebook from his pocket.

He is still scribbling something in there when Charles returns some minutes (hours?) later. The map of Hell, he answers when prodded, he wouldn't want to figure this out from scratch once again if it comes back for him. Charles grins and promises to kick every stray hellspawn's teeth out, should it come to this. Which is incredibly confident for someone who was bludgeoned to death by a bunch of teenagers not two days ago. Edwin doesn't mention it. Just as Charles doesn't mention the fact that the page Edwin was working on contained not some hellish landscape, but a sketch of a tree just across from them and — Charles is pretty sure — Charles' own name.

Edwin keeps doing this for years. He keeps meticulous notes for their cases, sure; but he jots down other things just as meticulously. Small things, everyday things, not even new to him. He would get his notebook out when they catch a sunrise on the roof; when the girl who lives downstairs helps her older neighbor with the groceries; when he spots a first blade of grass in spring; when they get their third edition of Clue; when Charles makes some terrible joke. A lot of times Charles can't even pinpoint the reason. He would think it a sudden conclusion about their case Edwin came to, some thought he'd like to return to later, except Edwin shares all of those.

(Edwin also doesn't let out a tiniest, easiest-to-miss sigh before writing them down — ghosts don't need to breathe, but it seems to be a habit of his.)

Charles doesn't ask, of course, because how awkward would that talk be? He figures it out pretty quickly, though. Edwin tells him about Hell in dry, impersonal descriptions, and among the different kinds of demons and all flavours of torture, there are stories of people: forgetting their past, forgetting their names, forgetting everything but pain and despair and fear.

Edwin never talks about his own experiences, but Charles can make an educated guess.

Seventy years is a long time.

It takes about twenty for Edwin to stop frantically keeping notes of everything he would like to remember.

…and then all of his notes are left on this plane when he is dragged back to Hell, all his hope to escape, all his hope to stay human, and Charles would be damned if he doesn't — at the very least — get them back to him

inspired by this post

[kayawolfhorse]

Day 7 — Between Your Teeth

—☾—

Pearl kisses the top of Tilly’s head in a hasty goodbye before scrambling down the rickety ladder at her tower’s core. When the ground is close enough to make out the individual blades of grass, Pearl releases her hold and curses when she feels the damage tick in her ankles. Normally, she wouldn’t mind sending a tickle or two Scott’s way, but Scott definitely knows what she’s planning now.

The forest is a blur around her as Pearl careens through dense underbrush and just barely avoids getting caught on low-hanging branches. Birch turns to oak and gentle hills give way to a steeper uphill climb until finally, Pearl reaches spawn.

The clearing is about the same as she remembers it to be; a meadow overlooking the plains below, miraculously untouched by the snow that cascades down the side of its crest. The only difference now is a group of seven stones in its center, arranged in a perfect circle, a golden apple set upon each one. It stands empty, the apples untouched; Pearl is the first to arrive.

Pearl slowly approaches the circle. Every apple is identical, but as she looks between them, something tugs at her heart, like a string suddenly pulled taut between her ribs. Extending her arm, she allows the invisible line to guide her hand until it closes over the easternmost apple.

Nearby, a twig snaps. Pearl snatches up the apple and holds it in a tight fist as voices draw nearer, rustling in the boughs of the forest around her until they emerge into spawn.

Scott’s bright blue hair is hard to miss amidst the brown trunks, and the laugh he shares with Cleo is achingly, hauntingly intimate.

“I figured that’s why you were in such a hurry,” Scott says to Pearl after he looks from her hand to her face, and Pearl swears he sounds smug.

Pearl grits her teeth before displaying them in a too-wide smile. “Well, wouldn’t you look at what we have here! I couldn’t let just anyone get a hand on this, now could I?”

She holds her victory aloft, and in the morning sun its golden flesh shines with the faint purple sheen of enchantments. Pearl’s next inhale is a little sharper. They all know what regular golden apples are rumored to do, but this—Pearl’s not sure.

Scott’s gaze is calculating as he takes it in. Scoffing, he says, “We both know we’d be better off if you ate it.”

Before Pearl can respond, Martyn comes crashing through the trees, stumbling at full speed towards the stone circle before stopping abruptly when he catches sight of the two empty spots.

“Cleo-oooo!” he whines, to Cleo’s smirk.

“You really think I’d trust you with this?” Cleo says, raising an eyebrow. “You’d get us both killed!”

“C’mon, we’ve got no clue what it does!” Martyn says. “You’re just going to eat it for yourself.”

“You’re damn right I am.” Cleo raises the apple to her lips and bites down. Martyn flinches hard, half-reaching for them. Scott looks on with vaguely detached curiosity and Pearl holds her breath.

Nothing visibly happens. Cleo frowns at the fruit in their hands, and Martyn straightens up in relief. Its unbroken skin is a punch to Pearl’s chest when Cleo twists their wrist to reveal it. Her win over Scott suddenly feels very hollow.

“It didn’t even work,” Martyn says, between a short laugh and a cheeky grin.

Cleo fixes him with a stare. She’s not glaring, but the sentiment behind her unwavering yellow eyes is all the same. Pearl’s tempted to clap her hands, just to see what would happen.

Soon enough, Martyn shifts, and Cleo tosses their hair over their shoulder. “I’m not breaking a tooth for this fool,” they declare, and walk back over to Scott. Addressing him, they ask, “And you?”

Scott shrugs. “She’s got the apple. I don’t care.”

Cleo glances at Pearl before looking back at Scott with an expression that speaks of concerns she won’t raise until they’re back in the safety of their base.

“Can I at least have the apple, then?” Martyn asks, joining their little group.

“No.” With a decisive swipe of their hand, the apple disappears into Cleo’s inventory, and Martyn hums in disappointment.

“Well!” Scott says after cheerfully letting the moment linger too long. “We’d best be on our way. Don’t want to be here when the reds show up.”

“Right,” Cleo agrees. “I’d say it’s been nice, but…”

“Yeah, yeah, point taken,” Martyn grumbles. “I’m out of here.” He trudges down the snowy side of the hill, muttering complaints as he goes.

Neither Scott nor Cleo offer Pearl anything more before they take off together, leaving Pearl standing alone. Her fingers flex. She wishes she had thought to bring her powdered snow bucket.

As she strides back home, she purposefully takes a few landings from too high up.

—☾—

Pearl tosses the wretched thing between her hands and groans in frustration. Tilly looks up from her spot beneath the window and tilts her head at the noise.

Tucking the apple into her pocket, Pearl drops onto the floor next to Tilly and wraps an arm around her. “I just don’t know what to do.”

As far as anyone knows, there’s only ever been one golden apple within the boundaries of this world, and it’s long gone now. This was supposed to be Pearl’s chance to finally unbind the shackles between her and the soulmate that never wanted her, and she can’t even eat it.

Magical foods tend to be tricky things, meant only to be pierced by the recipient’s bite. Slicing it would ruin its properties, as would any sort of denting, cracking, or otherwise tampering. Pearl had thought that maybe Cleo just hadn’t bit down hard enough. Her own aching mouth proves otherwise.

Tilly turns and snuffles into Pearl’s side. Pearl laughs and scratches between her shoulders, and Tilly leans into the touch hard enough to almost topple them both.

“I’m glad I have you, Tilly,” Pearl says, smiling something bittersweet. “No matter who the universe stuck me with, I know who my soulmate really is.”

—☾—

The weight in her pocket grows heavier as the games continue on. Pearl doesn’t know why she bothers keeping the apple on her person. She can’t bring herself to put it properly away.

It becomes a comfort in the center of her palm. It’s a perpetually painful reminder of inevitabilities outside of her control. She debates throwing it at Scott a few times.

Weeks later, after the apple against her hip has become a permanent bruise, the finale is finally upon them. Pearl begrudgingly teams with Scott until it makes more sense to split up, and she relishes in leaving him for once, even if he had technically agreed to it. Their shared health is a liability; it was never going to work out.

Pearl and her wolves hunt through the night and watch the sun rise on what she knows deep in her gut to be the final day. Death reins like lightning around her as pair after pair are sent to what lies between this world and the next.

Her vision turns red in the wake of Tilly’s death. Pearl kills Impulse and Bdubs in a blind rage; Martyn and Cleo fall to her blade soon after. Suddenly, jarringly, the world is quiet, save for the quiet yips of the few wolves still wound around her legs. Pearl gives them the last bit of food she has and wonders if this is the end.

Pearl meets Scott at spawn. The game is not yet over.

Scott strips away his armor and places TNT at his feet. Striking flint to steel, he looks up at Pearl and says, “You deserve this more.”

Lurching backwards with a yelp, Pearl exclaims, “Excuse you? What do you mean?”

“You do.” Scott crouches down and sets the TNT alight. “Tilly death do us part.”

Pearl scrambles for the apple in her pocket in the ticks it takes for the spark to eat away at the fuse. Grasping its smooth surface, she brings the apple to her mouth and bites as hard as she can, even as a tooth shatters and her jaw screams in agony.

Just as the world goes up in a catastrophic symphony, her mouth floods with sweet ambrosia and the metallic tartness of her own blood. Her scrapes and bruises knit themselves back into unblemished flesh as Pearl is flung backwards into the tree behind her.

Scott is dead. The wildly pounding heartbeat that rings in her ears is hers alone. Pearl, a lonely victor in an empty world, has won.

[msklassickilla]

Prada You Chapter 3

Summary:

In the summer of 1998, sparks fly between Nyeya and Jey.

Nyeya is an 18-year-old around the way girl. Jey is older, paid, and fine. He is also the leader of the infamous Prada Bois alongside his twin brother Jimmy.  The two have chemistry. However, Nyeya has plans outside of her attraction. With a birthday around the corner and dreams of living a good life, Nyeya sets her sights on enjoying the perks of Jey's money and hood celebrity.

But baby girl has no clue what it takes to really be down. Nyeya is about to learn some hard life lessons at the expense of her 'Prada' priced dreams.

Paring: Jey Uso x Nyeya (Nye) Green (OC)

Author's Note: This story is happening in an alternative universe. It features the current and original Bloodline members along with other WWE stars. So, the characters are themselves, but some things are switched around for the stories sake. This was originally written with all original characters, but I think it could work better this way. Hope you guys enjoy it and I actually finish it...

Warnings: Please be advised that this chapter contains harsh/foul language, age gap

Disclaimer: This work of art is fictional in nature including the original characters created by me. I do not own any of the existing characters or lyrics from songs referenced in this story. All rights belong to their respective owners with the exception of my original characters. This work is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to cause harm.

Chapter 3: Youngin'

Bad ass kids chased each other with water balloons across the courtyard. I guess it was the best way to cool down in this heat. I sat out on our patio in a cut off shirt and blue jean shorts.

Michael was amongst those bad asses. Last night had been wild but worth the 40 I had to come off of. I took a sip of my grape pop thinking back on what happened after Jey left. I eventually met back up with the girls. They was too hype..

"You met who? Bitch I didn't think he was comin'!" Kiyah shouted over the music.

Jey was a big deal but that was to be expected. Prada Bois was a big deal. They couldn't believe he was just chillin’ in the cut with me. He was the more serious, quieter of the two brothers.

"Jey. The only reason I knew that 'cause I was ear hustlin' something serious," I stated.

The three of them beamed in excitement as I continued telling them what happened.

"You serious like for real? Nye that's a big fucking deal, girl," Natasha chimed in. Kiyah and Nataya co-signed.

"If y’all say so. I mean he fine but what that grown ass man want with me?" I inquired.

Jey had to be damn near 30. I was two months from being 19. What could I possibly do that these old broads couldn't?

"Bitch, do it matter? You act like you ain't all that and then some. You betta lock that old nigga down. Jey is paid," Kiyah reasoned.

The twins nodded in agreement. I appreciated the faith they had in me, but I was still unsure. I didn't think I was about that life.

------

"Nye, let me in," Kiyah yelled, bringing me back the present.

She was standing in the grass looking up at me.

"Okay."

I passed by my mama who was braiding hair in the living room to open the door. My mama did hair on the side to supplement her job at the hotel. She worked a lot, but we never went without.

"What's up, Nye? Hey, Ms. Green," Kiyah greeted as she stepped inside.

My mama and her chatted for a few minutes before she joined me on the patio. We took seats in the hot plastic chairs.

"Damn, this shit burn. It's hot as hell out here," Kiyah grumbled.

I laughed as she rubbed the back of her legs.

"Every year it seem like it get hotter," I commented.

"Hell yeah but let me put you on to what I found out this morning," Kiyah chirped.

She always had information. It wasn't nothing going on in these projects Kiyah ain't know.

"What's the word, girlie?"

"Well, you know how you said you met Jey, right? Tell me why my mama put me on to some you can use."

I was intrigued even though I still wasn't sold on the idea of inviting Jey into my life.

"Go on, heifa. Spill," I urged.

She grinned.

"Jey a big spender," she winked.

My eyes widened. I wasn't expecting that revelation. Most dudes that had money tended to be cheap, doing the bare minimum.

"Word? The head of Prada Bois be tricking off money, huh?" I said, more to myself than Kiyah.

"Mhm. Sure is. My mama say that's why all these hoes after him. Once he fall in love, you can get whateva you want from his ass," she said, snapping her fingers for emphasis.

Wheels started turning in my head. Think of a spinning slot machine reel. Oh, the possibilities.

"Ain't that something. Never would have assumed that about him."

"Well, it’s true. You know what that mean right?," she smiled, knowingly.

"What?" I asked her even though I knew what type of time she was on.

"You just found the golden ticket, bitch!" she hooted.

We both laughed, slapping fives.

⸺

Kiyah and I talked it up until the sun went down. She had been filling my head up with all the things we could do if I was to hook Jey. To be honest, I had been plotting while she was talking. My birthday was coming up and I was tryna have a dope ass time.

If I was with Jey, the whole hood would turn out for my shit. All I could visualize at the moment was the glitz and glamour of being the girl of a Prada Bois leader. By the time she left, I was sold on the move. Jey was gon' be my man at least until I got all that I wanted from him.

------

"Nye, walk to the corner sto' and get ya mama a brown bag. Take Michael with you."

I rolled my eyes, annoyed.

"Why I gotta take him? He gon' slow me up," I groaned.

"I ain't gon' do shit," he spat.

I flipped him the bird. I wished the sun was still up so he could be outside away from me.

"Don't be cussin' in my shit, Michael! And you-," my mama said looking at me. "Take him. I don't want you out going to that sto' by yaself."

I groaned inwardly, stomping off to get my shoes. Michael was already standing outside when I came back. Mama pulled some money out her wallet, handing it to me.

"Get you and Mike somethin'. Don't take too long. You know they be actin' a fool up there," she pleaded.

I only nodded, taking the money.

"Let's go, negro," I mumbled as I passed Michael.

"Little girl you gon' learn to respect me."

I shot him a heated glance. He got on my damn nerves. We made it to the store in no time due to us not arguing along the way. As usual, the store was packed. Cars was everywhere. The small store held a crowd, but they was mostly in line for the food.

Michael and I traveled through the store. I grabbed mama's preferred drink. A WKD which was alcohol and soda mixed together. I thought it was nasty, but she loved it. Michael met up with me with chips, candy, and a pickle in his hands.

"Oh, you about to spend that little 40 dollas, huh?" I teased.

"Nah, girl. I heard what mama said. She said we can get something so I ain't gotta spend my monies," he replied.

I was hoping he ain't hear that part, but I guess that was just my luck. I grabbed my usual which was some hot fries, gummy bears, and a pop.

The line was clear, so we walked right on up to the register.

"23.96," the clerk said.

I pulled the crumpled 20s out my back pocket.

"It’s on me, Ahmad. Keep the ya money, mamas."

My heart fluttered. Jey was standing right behind me. I bit down on my lip turning around to face him. He looked good, dressed in all black. The gold chain that read Prada Boi matched with the gold diamond encrusted ring on his pinky finger.

He was so damn fine.

"What's good, Jey?" Michael greeted, dapping Jey up.

Why wasn't I surprised. The way Michael ran around the projects it was a given that he had knowledge of this man.

"Yo, nothing too much lil uce," Jey replied back.

Ahmad bagged up our goods and pushed it our way. Michael beat me to it, swooping it up. I mugged him.

"So y'all related? You gotta be hell 'cause this dude is," Jey laughed.

I couldn't help but join him. It was true. As Toy kids we was known for our fly mouths and unique ability to find ourselves in trouble. Michael more than me though.

"Nah, I'm nothing like this dude," I lied.

"She a damn lie," muttered Michael.

I could've chin checked his ass right there. Jey laughed. A piece of me wanted to stand around and wait for him but I knew better than to do it in front of Michael. So, we started towards the door.

"Aye, don't go too far. I gotta somethin' to say," Jey called out, looking after me.

I only nodded continuing out the door. A few minutes later, Jey exited. A few dudes dapped him up but that was all he was offering. His attention was on me. I stood with my hand on my hip, tryna play it cool. Deep down, I was ready for him to come over and speak to me.

"What that old nigga want with you?" Michael questioned.

I sighed. I couldn't get my groove on with him around.

"Stay outta grown folks business," I chided, rolling my eyes.

He blew out an unconcerned breath, "Girl, please. Ya ass ain't grown. You still live with ya mama too."

I sucked my teeth in response. His ass was blowing me right now. Jey motioned for me to come to him. That shit was sexy as hell. I gave Michael a look letting him know to stay where he was.

"Just hurry up. My show about to come on," was all he said.

I nudged him out the way before walking over to Jey. He stared me down the entire way. I still had on the cut off t-shirt that exposed most of my stomach and shorts from earlier. He was doing exactly what I wanted. I wanted him to need me like the air he breathed.

"Why you ain't used that number yet?"

His voice had changed. It was deeper, laced with a hint of danger. My body was set ablaze.

"I was tryna figure out if I wanted too," I admitted.

He lifted an eyebrow with an amused look on his face.

"You must not know who I am."

He looked at me with a neutral expression. My palms was getting sweaty, but I held his gaze.

"I do. That's exactly why I don't if I want too," I answered.

He smirked. The dudes surrounding him shared a few chuckles. Jey clasped his hands together, moving closer into my personal space. Close enough that I could smell the Calvin Klein cologne he had on.

"You ain't gotta be scared of me. Use that number and don't let me see you until you do," he whispered in my ear in that same dangerous laced tone.

The hair on the back of my neck was standing. This man hadn't even touched me, but he handled me. Jey put some distance between us.

"Be easy, mamas."

Jey nodded in my direction, dismissing me. I turned on my heels, feeling something. Michael mugged me as I approached him. I pushed him along. Our walk was a quiet one. It wasn't until we reached the entrance of the projects that Michael said something.

"You betta leave that nigga alone, Nye. You might be crazy but that nigga crazier."

He ain't even look back when he said it. I was left wondering what the hell he knew that I didn't.

AN: Thank you all for the follows, likes, shares, and reblogs. Love y'all real bad.

[allzelemonz]

Annoying: John Marston X Male Reader

Fictober Prompt: Day 3, Hate Sex Pronouns: he/him, Reader referred to as ‘man’ Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut Warnings: Hate sex, anal fingering, anal sex, prostate massage, dirty talk, teasing, mentions of John’s situation with Abigail and Jack, Reader is an asshole, pre-Blackwater, violence, punching Summary: You’ve been sent on a scouting excursion with John to find a good spot closer to Blackwater, John is annoying through the whole ride.

It has been two hours. Walking along a barren trail with your tired horse and listening to the endless and constant complaining of John Marston. The man is undoubtedly irritating, wholly annoying. But Dutch picked you for scouting, so you to try to tune out that stupid scratch in his voice and focus on looking for a new spot closer to Blackwater.

“I just don’t get what her deal is.” John continues.

You feel the distinct desire to bash your head against your saddle horn. Maybe that would end this insufferable ride. Why couldn’t Dutch have picked Javier or Charles or someone quiet? At least Micah talks about interesting things on occasion. Bill can crack a joke. None of them have this apparent need to vent whilst riding.

“She just doesn’t-”

“Marston.” You groan. “Shut up, for the love of life itself. Just be quiet for once.”

“Oh, are my problems annoying you?”

“Yes, jeez, just shut it.”

He huffs, looking away to pout like a child.

“No one wants to hear about you and Abigail, the whole camp already has to listen to you go on and on about how the kid isn’t yours. No one cares.”

“Fuck off.” He mutters.

“I wish I could.”

There is a blissful minute of silence before he opens his mouth again. “You think he’s mine?”

“Fuck, Marston.” You sigh. “I have no clue, just shut the hell up.”

“He ain’t.” He mumbles. “Can’t be.”

“You won’t have to worry about it if you keep talking, because I’ll shoot you.”

“Why’re you always so damn irritable?”

“Because you annoy me to no end, Marston.”

You pull on your reins to move towards a clearing that looks promising, only slightly visible from the narrow path between trees. Finally sliding off your horse, you stretch your legs a little and look over the spot.

“How do I annoy you exactly?”

You rub at your eyes, feeling the ache forming behind them from having to listen to his voice. “In every possible way you could ever imagine.”

“You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“I’m not the one bothering other people with my problems.”

“At least I find the time to bring money in instead of lounging around camp all damn day!”

That, now that, brings a twinge of much more than annoyance to buzz around in your head. Not only have you been bringing in consistent money since you joined, you just pulled a job with Mac and Davey that scored the camp funds upwards of eight-hundred dollars. So, naturally, you punch John in the face for suggesting otherwise.

“Shit.” He mutters, recoiling and tackling you to the ground.

You roll for a while, exchanging punches and losing your hats along the way until you find yourself atop John. You sit across his thin torso, your fist curled into his shirt as the other stands ready to lay another blow. But, John, he goes still, as if he’s afraid to move. For all the scrapping and talk, you know you’re not scary enough to make him freeze like this so you lower your raised fist and look over your shoulder. You half expect to see lawmen or O’Driscolls or something, but it’s just the forest and the horses grazing by the trees.

“What’s your problem, Marston?” You ask, shifting slightly on him.

Then you feel it, barely brushing against the back of your thigh as you move. John Marston is hard in his pants from being beaten up by a man that hates him. His face flushes and he claws at your arm, but you just push him down harder into the grass. Your mind races for a moment, thinking of the roads you could take. You hate the man quite a bit, but you’d be a fool to deny he’s attractive and something in the back of your mind is begging you to find out what that raspy voice sounds like when it’s full of want.

“We tell no one.” You mutter, giving John a threatening look.

John’s chest moves slow as he processes, then he nods quickly. You lean down and connect your lips, catching the taste of tobacco and the scruff of his stubble. John’s hands find your hips, urging you down to grind against you but you resist.

“You’re not in charge here, Marston.” You murmur against his lips. “You just lay still and let me use you, understand?”

His eyes dart around yours quickly as his face gets redder by the second. “Y-Yeah.”

You move down to unfasten his pants and as he kicks them off, you fish a tube of gun oil from your pocket. It has always been a suspicion of yours that John gets around more than he lets on, and it is all but confirmed by the way he stuffs his pants under his hips and spreads his legs.

“You some kind of whore on the side, Marston?” You ask, fixing yourself between his open legs. “That why you got on with Abigail, a shared profession?”

“Shut up.” He mutters.

He intends to say more but you cut him off easily by inserting your slicked fingers without warning. His back arches, pressing into the feeling as he chokes on a bit of air that turns into a whimper. You’re not going to give him the time to rest or adjust, he doesn’t deserve it after talking all day. So you crook your fingers, running them along until his hips jolt from the contact. Then you focus and focus hard, pressing into that nice sensitive spot inside of him until he can’t even speak to warn you. He releases across his stomach, his softening dick untouched.

His head lulls to the side as he catches his breath and you slip your fingers out. You move as fast as you can, not wanting to hear any of his protests about being sensitive. He’d whine about it, you know he would, so you grip his hips and press inside in the midst of his recovery. John chokes on air again, muttering as he covers his red face with his arm. Only one eye peaks out at you as you start your pace and you ignore it, focusing on the act rather than the who. If you don’t think about it being John, the image of your dick disappearing inside such a nice ass and the feeling of gripping such a slim waist make you groan to yourself. If it were any other man, you’d praise him for feeling so good.

John, however, does not have that control. “God, you’re… fuck you’re good.”

It’s the moan that gets you, raspy just like you imagined, and completely wanton. You double your effort because that sound was so good for something that came from John of all people. And, to your delight, it happens again. As you slam into him, your balls bouncing enough to truly earn the nickname, John begins to pant. Your eyes are drawn to his dick as he reaches for it and stops it from slapping against his stomach. His hand wraps around and pumps in time with you.

You lean down a bit, enough to speak over John’s lewd noises. “You better get yourself off before me, Marston. I’m not helping you otherwise.”

He groans, seemingly all too happy to be treated like nothing but something to fuck in the grass of the gang’s next camp spot. You watch his hand, your eyes flicking down to watch your own fucking on occasion. Both are such a sight. John cums again, spilling a little on his hand this time. The sound he makes, such a shaky and raspy guttural moan, hits the right things for you and sends you right over. You slow your thrusts, milking yourself before burying deep inside of him.

It takes a few minutes before your muscles respond and you can pull out to rest back on your knees. John still has a haze in his eyes, his arms splayed out as his chest heaves. You let yourself relish the sight, forgetting only for a moment that you hate him, then you pick up the tube of gun oil from the grass and pull on your pants. A one time thing, albeit a great one, with such an annoying man.

[starlit-crossing]

A Ghost of Yourself Chapter 2

Chapter 2 - Flying Solo

---

Danny had lost track of the time quickly after beginning to fly, his stress ebbing away with the landscape that spend by. He tried to focus on the grass, the roads, the horizon, anything but what had just transpired. Every time his mind wondered; he would be reminded that he needed to not feel. His friends' face as he took off — nope, not thinking about it. How worried Jazz would be — what a really cool tree I just passed. His parents’ confusion and not getting to say goodbye to anyone — that is a lot of white vans up a head. Wait… Danny stopped midair above a state highway. Similar to a police barricade, white vans, jeeps, and motorcycles were stationed in the middle of the street. Guys in White were stopping the passing cars, scanning them, then letting vehicles through the state border. Lines were beginning to form and angry honks floating up to him. This isn't good… Danny fished for his burner phone, feeling for the metal at the bottom of his backpack. Digging it out, the clock read 12:45. He had left Casper high during lunch, which had been around 11:30, and he had left Amity around 11:40. Good to know it takes less than an hour for the Goons in White to make a move. He floated closer to the cars to see if anyone had a Wi-Fi spot open. I should've grabbed the Fenton GPS from the emergency OPS center, finally a Wi-Fi signal popped up under the name __Not_The_FBI__. Danny choked on a laugh as he pulled open his map app. He was going to need to avoid every joke and pun on this trip, or he was a dead man. Well, a deader man… wait! Bad brain! He yelled at himself. He had to be less than a five-minute flight from Chicago. Zooming in, he looked for a train station or a ferry… and there was a train station used for hauling cargo from the US into Canada.

“Perfect!” Danny exclaimed, pumping his fist into the air, only to hit something metal. Turning, Danny watched as a pristine white drone steadied itself in the air. Its camera focusing on him.

“Shit.” Danny turned to watch as the men below froze, then look to the sky. Spotting him immediately, he just waved as they began to take aim. Turning invisible and speeding away as round after round of ecto blasts lit up the sky. Nice going Fenton, he berated himself flying towards Chicago; I have two things I can't do: express emotion and use powers publicly. I've already done both! Like he thought it hadn't taken long to reach the station, gravely rails and signs directing conductors were sprawled throughout. He found an empty car, checked for any passerby, and phased inside. A flash of light leaking through the cracks as he returned to his human self. The darkened car was cold, with metal walls and doors. The floor was a kind of embossed metal, a crisscross pattern embellished the sheet metal.

“I should've brought a book or something.” he laughed tiredly to himself… “Damn it!” Danny yelled, banging his head on the car wall. It's probably best if I just sleep, I'll be over the state border by the time I wake up. He thought to himself, settling into a corner. Propping his backpack to use as a pillow, the cold had no effect on him as he drifted to sleep.

---

It had been a little over an hour since Danny had gone on the run. Sam and Tucker had decided to skip what was left of school and head straight home. It would be difficult to catch up with him, but they had to at least try, and every second that passed was a second wasted. They didn't have anything in mind for Danny being tracked so easily, but they would figure something out. They had to.

When Sam got home, her house was surrounded by GIW agents. Her parents stood at the door listening to a panicked Jack and Maddie. As she pushed her way to the front, she was able to make out some of what Danny's parents were saying.

“Please! Just let us make sure Phantom didn't leave anything here. Anything could be a clue to where he took Danny!” Maddie cried, Jack stood by her as she pleaded, an arm around her shoulder. Her parents shared a pained look as they tried to decide what to do.

“Maddie, we know your situation with ghosts is important. To your career and with your family,” her mother started softly, remaining in her polite and cheery tone. “But we can't risk involving Sammikins more than your son already has.”

“Not to mention when we let you search our home earlier during that wild goose chase! Left a large mess that our house cleaner had to pick up.” Her father chimed in, annoyed.

“We understand that, but we need every clue we can! Sam!” Jack shouted, seeing her as she entered the path leading to the door.

“Sammy get inside! You don't need to be pestered by agents as well.” Her dad called, ushering her inside the large house.

“Same, please! Have you heard anything from Danny? Is he with Tucker?” Maddie called, fighting the door as her mother tried to close it. Sam tried to calm down, closing her eyes and slowing her breath. Key word being tried.

“No! I haven't and neither has Tucker! So just leave the two of us alone and don't you dare try storming his house too!” she hollered, shoving the door fully closed. She sighed back sliding against the door.

“That's right Sammikins! Just because they risked their family with ghosts doesn't mean they can risk ours!” Her mother cheered.

“And sorry, Sammy, the house cleaner couldn't get to the second floor today, so your room's still a mess.” Her dad added.

“It's fine, dad. I'll clean it myself. Can I… Can I just be alone for a bit? Stressful day and all.” Sam mumbled, making her way upstairs.

“Of course, sweetie!” they answered, leaving Sam with herself. Once her parents were out of sight, she ran up the stairs. As she entered her room, she looked at the damage caused by the aforementioned goose chase. It looked like a storm had blown through, her bed and desk had their contents thrown about. Anything related to Danny had been pulled out. Ignoring the mess, she pulled over a chair to her closet and felt for the backpack taped to its ceiling. Once down she poured out its contents mentally checking everything was still there. Her clothes? Check. Money? Check. A letter? Sam pulled out the simple envelope that made an appearance in her bag. It was addressed to her, the whole thing crisp and clean. Inside a piece of notebook paper full of Danny's handwriting, nothing looked rushed, and it seemed he had prepared these in advance.

*Ring* *Ring*

Tucker’s face lit up her phone's lock screen, she answered the video call while reading the letter.

“Sam! Did you get home safe? I heard the GIW were swarming your house. Did you find a letter?”

He blurted, the room behind him burring as he moved.

“I'm fine, and I did. Did you get one too? Why would Danny write these?” She flipped the page to see if there was more, a hint to what he was thinking.

“I did, that was why I called you. Does yours say the same thing. Well, maybe not the exact same.” He rambled, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Shut up, Tuck! He wants us to stay in Amity? To abandon him and protect the town that barely cares he's here?” She exclaimed. Tucker nodded along from the camera.

“I know right? He's our best friend, we can't just let him be on the run!” Tucker ranted, “Can we? I mean, I know where he's coming from. We can't really trust his parents or the GIW to keep ghosts out. Valerie can handle her own, but she still hates ghosts. It will be hard for her to leave the neutral ones alone.”

“I don't know, Tuck, Danny even said we could tell Valerie his secret if things got out of hand and became too much for us and Jazz. I don't think he plans on coming home, at least not anytime soon.” she contemplated; there had to be something they could do. “What about other heroes?”

“What? What would they do?” Tucker asked.

“I'm not sure, I know we don't really keep up with stuff outside of Amity, but the Justice whatever works with the government, right? We could tell them our local hero is being unjustly hunted.” Sam suggested pacing the room.

“Sam, what will they find when they look into Phantom? That he's a wanted criminal, robbing banks, and threatening mayors? The media doesn't shine Danny in a good light.” He countered.

“But those can be explained, the GIW have files on Freakshow.”

“Didn't Danny wipe his memories with the Reality gauntlet? They couldn't get the whole truth, or they would learn his brain has been messed with through magic or martians.” They went back and forth.

“Then what do you propose we do? We can't track him down without others noticing.” Sam huffed in defeat.

“We'll just have to do what he asked of us. We'll watch over the town, if Valerie gets out of hand, we'll offer our help first. Say we helped Phantom with ghosts, Danny included. We can say Danny is protecting Phantom even now, and it will buy us some time to see if she can handle Danny's secret.” Tuck finished.

“She trusts Danielle, right? We might be able to convince her.” A moment hung in the air between the two friends. The reality settling in that they may never see their friend again. “Where is Danielle? She might get caught in the crossfire of this, being a clone and all.” Sam wondered.

“She's in Italy last I checked, I'm glad I gave her one of my old phones before she left the US.” Tucker answered.

“That's good… Which of us is telling Jazz?"

---

The train started to move shortly after Danny fell asleep. Four hours passed before Danny's body forced him awake, ghost hunting had ruined his sleep. He could hear Jazz's voice in his head talking about the importance of sleep for teens today. He checked the burner for the time and saw the numbers 6:05 glowing back at him. Pulling open the map he saw he had made it to Indiana, finally.

“Time to get moving, I guess.” As he spoke, he focused on keeping his voice even. The events of earlier, still fresh in his mind. The sound of the car's rolling wheels echoed in the empty car as he stood. Stretching to pop his back. He stuck his head invisibly through the train door, seeing the cargo station grow closer. Bringing his head back in, he readied to slip off the train. Steadying himself as the train arrived, opening the door, and running through the train yard as fast as he could without getting caught. It had been easier than expected, no one cared, as the teen bolted through the gravel-filled rails with ease. Once outside, he went searching for food. A mini mart was on the corner and a King Burger across the street. He couldn't risk lingering, so he made way for the minimart. The convenience store felt dated with white walls and neon signs, the floor was black and gray checkered tiles. Grabbing some water bottles, bags of jerky, and some premade sandwiches. The many sweets and freezy drinks were tempting, but the longer the food could last, the better. The place was deserted, only the clerk scrolling on his phone could witness he was ever there. After finishing his resource gathering, Danny went on the hunt for a gray hound bus stop, it would be the easiest way to get around without drawing too much attention. Looking for the longest possible route to the East Coast, he was left with two options: Gotham or Metropolis. Both had international ports and superheroes that protected them. He had always meant to look into other heroes more, find some inspiration or role models for hero work, but with ghosts constantly attacking the town and homework, he just didn't have time. Mr. Lancer tried to keep class interesting by referencing the things happening on the global news. Now if he could only remember what he had said about the heroes protecting the cities. Danny had actually perked up when Lancer mentioned that one was an alien with super hearing and other abilities. Aside from that, all he could remember was their names, Batman and Superman. I'm feeling a lot better about my hero name. He would have to give Amity News a break about Invis-O-Bill. Between the two, he was pretty sure Superman was the alien. Sam had done a report on meta-human rights and had gotten very passionate when she discovered that they didn't reference the ecto acts whatsoever. She had been so sure that someone would shed light on the act, accounting it to being unknown meta-humans being unjustly removed of their rights. A point she got stuck on was that Batman had all but banned metas from Gotham. Stating they should seek sanctuary elsewhere due to the antics of his villains. It had something to do with gas, scarecrows, and clowns? So, he could either go to the city where no powers were allowed, or the city protected by a super-hearing alien. The GIW might expect him to go to an alien for sympathy or to overshadow him in a power grab. Gotham seemed like the safer choice, even with the high amounts of criminal activity they seemed to have. He would be able to fight off most thugs without causing serious damage, humans can't normally through a guy through a brick wall like ghosts can. No one would question him being alone and sneaking around, he'd use his powers to get on a boat for Europe and keep a low profile while he searched for Danielle. He'd fill her in on what was going on, send a message to Sam and Tucker that he was safe, and wait to hear what was happening in Amity. So, Danny waited in line and got his ticket for Gotham. The bus was crowded full of people trying to do the same as him; to take a bus as far from one's old life as possible. He was able to grab a seat towards the back, settling into the stained fabric seats. His backpack between himself and the wall of the bus window. Settling in for the longest stretch of his journey out of the country.

Hello and welcome again! I hope everyone is enjoying the story. It’s been very exciting getting to see everyone’s comments and enjoyment for the fic. Don’t worry about the lack of Bat family, I am getting their as fast as I can. I wanted to revisit Amity a little bit to wrap up a few loose ends. I’m not sure at what point in the DP timeline I am placing this, but it will most likely either be prefinal of the show or post A Glitch in Time. Two very different time periods but both work with the general DC timeline I am using. As for the Bat family I’m more familiar with the characters themselves than the canon timeline. So, I’ll primarily be referring to the Batman: Family Adventures for the family and Young Justice for world events such as meta-humans.

I spent a lot of my time working on this listening to the Epic: Underworld Saga musical concept and got stuck on the song No Longer You. It’s so good and feels like it could fit Danny in some aspects if you go for a post A Glitch in Time ghost king Danny. Might draw something if I got time.

See you next week, byee!

Master post - Chapter 2 Prev. <<< Next >>>

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for saying tomy dad he doesn't knows how to use the damn washing machine?

🎣 So I can find it later

Me (transmasc, 25) live with my parents. This is something they suggested me after I had a breakup with someone abusive, before someone jumps at my neck for living with them, immediately voting that I am the asshole. No they don't respect either my name or my pronouns, that's how bad the relationship was. I also pay a fixed amount per month that's about half of my salary+do more complex house chores. This was a while ago when mom had just given birth.

My dad is pretty big at fishing, and gets his fishing clothes pretty dirty. Fishy smell, dirt, grass, dirty water, you know the drill. Fishes a shitton of fishes and sell it for some extra money. I think it's important to mention his salary isn't bad, it's actually about 7 times the minimum wage here, he just spends in a lot of stuff he doesn't needs like getting a lot of toys for the younger sibling, a lot of fishing material he doesn't uses, paying for bills he made back when he exchanged our house for a farm and then got absolutely ridden in debt from farm expenses because he thought everything would be perfect like in those farm movies. And then had to exchange the farm again in a worse house and still pay back some money, getting pets he can't pay for the expenses like about 15-20 native birds (that are illegal btw) and canaries that cost some real money because they eat specialized food and fresh fruit+medicine. I think it's also important to mention that when I was younger my mom and him fought at least one time per month about his fishing habits that were like, leave on Friday and coke back either sunday night or monday morning. Now they're much more tamer usually capping off at one day, but still are frequent, like at least one time per week.

Now to the real deal: mom always washes his clothes, but in this specific time I was doing laundry because she just was cut open with a C-section to have the twins because of an emergency with the babies .Twins weren't home yet but it was not like she could do anything, so I was doing laundry, organizing my siblings chores (15F, 13M, 4F), taking care of the younger one, unfortunately overwhelmed from being the mom. And dad just leaves to fishing every weekend like it's no biggie and leaves their children to just fend for themselves I guess if I wasn't here. So I am making food, making chores and all of that, real mama chores including dealing with the very moody 4yo that isn't happy dad isn't home and mom can't get out of the bed and cried from about anything that mildly inconveniences her.

Then he comes home from fishing and tuck his dirty clothes god knows where, and one week later finds it again and starts bitching about how no one washed his fishing outfit and I, very tired, very overwhelmed and very stressed, say to him "why, don't you know how to use the damn washing machine?" And he gets like, really offended and says he won't even answer me do he won't offend me, and in my tired state I just answer that all he needs to do is to throw it there with soap and turn it on, he could do that and he gets more mad and storms off to fish (again yes, leaving my mom with basically a recovering surgery with the kids.)

Another detail is that a year before he did the same thing but mom had left for some christian stuff for two weeks, and when I asked him if he could load the washing machine so I could finish fixing lunch, he told me he didn't know how to use it and I taught him. He's 45. It's one of those washing machines with literally everything written on them on how to use.

I also should clarify that he's not mentally disabled or physically disabled, if the fishing trips weren't enough clue for his overall wellness. Mom acted as I should bend to his will and just washes the clothes because it's not worth fighting. My 15yo sister is with me because he makes her clean the sink he uses to clean the fishes every time he fishes. Mom is mad at both of us because we're tearing this family apart and we should just accept dad as he is and do what he says.

Tldr: AITA for asking my dad if he doesn't knows how to do the laundry even after I taught him to do so?

What are these acronyms?

[bigsoftmarshmallow]

Honestly, I'm trying to find a very specific sort of shipping dynamic picture that I just eat up like, yum.

It's kinda like this:

Only, in a:

Sort of way.

Like, dude's yandere af, but & this totally befuddles him beyond imagination, but she basically just sort of *deep heavy sigh* "Okay, I can see that there's no getting outta this & I am legitimately concerned for your mental health, so I'm gonna just accept that this is my new lot in life & do my best to try to get some therapy into your ill-socialized head."

But also, "Damnit, you call me your Darling/girlfriend/fiancée/wife & keep me locked up?!?! Bitch, you better start treating me like a damn Darling or I will make sure you regret it!!!"

Like, she gets so flipping pissed that he's trying to keep her inside like a dang housepet & will make this fact known!

He gets upset about her trying to escape & she just looks at him like, "TO TOUCH GRASS & FEEL THE SUNSHINE ON MY SKIN!!! Where exactly do you think I'm going??? You have miles of monsters out there!!!"

And, if he insists on keeping her inside, she's just very passive-aggressive about telling him how his "prisoner" needs enrichment. Ya know, books, art supplies, cards, SOMETHING to hold off the slow encroachment of insanity. But in that jilted lover sort of way.

So, like, she's intelligent & perceptive & cunning & even manipulative & is receptive to his advances, but she basically says, "Listen, man, you wanna relationship with me, then fine. But I'm gonna make this the healthiest freaking relationship you've ever had, if it kills us both."

Like, she takes no bs & demands the respect due a wife/girlfriend/queen/whatever.

And I just have no clue what one would call that ship, but I wanna read a dang fiction about it with Ganondorf or Vlad Masters as the yandere.

Like, just imagine all the typical yandere tropes, but the victim is just sort of approaching it the way one might socializing a spicy kitten.

And... I just desperately want this relationship. Even just a scene would do! 😭

I have this daydream all the time, so I am so happy to hear you love this plotline too! I have trust issues, so having a man that is obsessed with me and only me? I can fix everything else, just don't betray me, dearest <3

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Wind Waker Ganondorf

Setting: A grand, dimly lit chamber within Ganondorf's fortress. His lover, defiant and resolute, faces him.

Lover: (sighing heavily) "Alright, I see there's no getting out of this. But if I'm going to be stuck here, I expect to be treated like the precious Darling you claim I am."

Ganondorf: (frowning, confused) "You think you can make demands of me, woman?"

Lover: (crossing her arms) "Yes, I do. You want me to be your queen? Then treat me with the respect a queen deserves. I'm not a pet to be caged."

Ganondorf: (grudgingly) "And what do you propose?"

Lover: "For starters, I need books, art supplies, something to keep my mind sharp. If you want a sane queen, you'll give me the means to stay sane."

Ganondorf: (muttering) "Very well. But do not think this makes you free."

Lover: (smirking) "I wouldn't dream of it. But you'll see, Ganondorf. This will be the healthiest relationship you've ever had, even if it kills us both."

Ocarina of Time Ganondorf

Setting: The throne room of Ganondorf's dark castle. His lover stands before him, determined.

Lover: (sighing) "Okay, Ganondorf, if I'm stuck here, we're doing this my way. You call me your fiancée, but keep me locked up like a prisoner. That ends now."

Ganondorf: (scowling) "You dare speak to me this way?"

Lover: "Yes, I dare. I need sunlight, fresh air, and mental stimulation. You have an army of monsters outside. Where do you think I'm going to run off to?"

Ganondorf: (pausing) "What do you want?"

Lover: "Books, art supplies, something to keep me from going insane. And if you ever truly cared for me, you’ll respect my needs."

Ganondorf: (reluctantly) "Fine. But do not test my patience."

Lover: (smiling) "Deal. Now, let’s work on making this the best relationship you’ve ever had."

Twilight Princess Ganondorf

Setting: A dark, foreboding hall in Ganondorf's castle. His lover confronts him with fierce determination.

Lover: (deep sigh) "Alright, Ganondorf, you win. But if I’m your wife, I demand to be treated like one. Not a housepet."

Ganondorf: (smirking) "You think you have the power to demand anything from me?"

Lover: "Yes, because if you don't, you'll regret it. I need books, art supplies, anything to keep me mentally stimulated. I won’t be a passive prisoner."

Ganondorf: (intrigued) "You are bold. Very well, you shall have what you need."

Lover: "Good. And if you really care about me, you’ll start treating me with respect. This relationship will be healthy, or it will be hell."

Ganondorf: (chuckling) "You amuse me. Perhaps this will be interesting after all."

Hyrule Warriors Ganondorf

Setting: The war room of Ganondorf’s fortress, filled with maps and strategy plans. His lover stands resolutely before him.

Lover: (sighing) "Ganondorf, if I’m going to be your queen, then start treating me like one. Keeping me locked up is not how you treat someone you care about."

Ganondorf: (raising an eyebrow) "And what do you propose?"

Lover: "I need books, art supplies, something to keep me sane. I’m not running away. Your army of monsters ensures that."

Ganondorf: (nodding slowly) "Very well. You shall have your distractions."

Lover: "And start respecting me. If you want a relationship, we’re doing this right."

Ganondorf: (grinning) "You are a fierce one. This will be... enjoyable."

Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf

Setting: A grand hall with windows overlooking the vast landscape. His lover faces him with determination.

Lover: (deep sigh) "Okay, Ganondorf, if I’m going to be your queen, then treat me like one. I’m not a prisoner."

Ganondorf: (thoughtfully) "What do you want?"

Lover: "Books, art supplies, anything to keep me sane. I’m not trying to escape; I just need mental stimulation."

Ganondorf: (nodding) "You shall have what you need."

Lover: "And respect me. This relationship will be healthy, or it will be nothing."

Ganondorf: (smiling) "You have spirit. Very well, let us see where this leads."

Demise

Setting: A dark and foreboding throne room, filled with the aura of darkness. His lover stands defiantly before him.

Lover: (sighing) "Alright, Demise, if I’m stuck here, then treat me like the queen you say I am. Not a prisoner."

Demise: (glaring) "You dare demand anything of me?"

Lover: "Yes, because if you don’t, you’ll regret it. I need books, art supplies, something to keep me from going insane. Your minions outside ensure I’m not escaping."

Demise: (considering) "Very well. You shall have your distractions."

Lover: "And start respecting me. If you want a relationship, we’re doing this right."

Demise: (grudgingly) "You are bold. Perhaps you are worthy of being my queen."

In each scenario, the Ganondorfs and Demise are initially taken aback by their lover’s demands but ultimately agree, intrigued by her spirit and determination. This dynamic creates an interesting and unique take on the yandere trope, where the captive actively works to make the relationship healthier and more respectful.

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BONUS:

Title: "The Gilded Cage"

Scene: The Castle of Twilight

The sun set beyond the horizon, casting long shadows through the tall windows of the castle. Within its imposing stone walls, Ganondorf paced restlessly, his fiery eyes occasionally flicking towards the grand oak door at the end of the hall. His “darling,” as he fondly referred to her, was beyond that door, where he kept her safe from the dangers of the outside world. The very thought of her escaping or being harmed filled him with a primal rage.

Inside the room, the atmosphere was markedly different. She sat by the window, the cool evening breeze rustling her hair. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she looked out at the world she once freely roamed. Turning back to the room, her eyes narrowed at the sight of the gilded cage she now called home.

The door creaked open, and Ganondorf entered, his presence commanding and filled with dark energy.

"My darling," he greeted, his voice a mix of adoration and possessiveness. "Why do you sigh so? Are you not happy here, with me?"

She turned to face him, her eyes sharp and unyielding. "Happy? You call this happiness, Ganondorf? You keep me locked up like a prized possession, but refuse to treat me with the respect and care you claim I deserve."

His brow furrowed in confusion. "I keep you safe. The world outside is filled with monsters and dangers that you cannot even imagine. I protect you because I love you."

She took a step forward, her stance defiant. "And in doing so, you’ve made me your prisoner. If you truly loved me, you’d understand that I need more than just protection. I need freedom, sunshine, and the feel of grass beneath my feet. I need books, art supplies, something to keep my mind from withering away in this cage."

Ganondorf’s expression softened, but his resolve did not waver. "You think I can simply let you roam free? The risk is too great. I cannot bear the thought of losing you."

Her eyes flashed with determination. "Then meet me halfway. You call me your darling, your fiancée, your wife. Treat me as such. Provide me with what I need to keep my sanity, to feel human. If I am to be yours, then you must learn to respect my needs and desires."

He stared at her, his mind racing. The idea of compromising, of bending to her will, was foreign to him. Yet, her words struck a chord deep within. She was not just any captive; she was intelligent, perceptive, and strong-willed. She demanded more from him than he had ever been willing to give.

"Very well," he finally said, his voice low and measured. "I will provide you with what you need. Books, art supplies, whatever you desire. But remember, you are still mine, and I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe."

A small smile tugged at her lips. "I accept your terms, for now. But understand this, Ganondorf: I will continue to push for more. I will make this relationship as healthy as possible, even if it means challenging you every step of the way."

He stepped closer, his eyes locked onto hers. "You are a peculiar woman, my darling. Most would cower, yet you stand and fight. Perhaps that is why I find myself so drawn to you."

She met his gaze unflinchingly. "And perhaps that is why I will never give up on making you see reason. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a request for a library to make."

As she walked past him, Ganondorf couldn’t help but feel a mix of admiration and frustration. This was not the dynamic he had envisioned, but it was one he found himself reluctantly respecting. His darling was not a mere possession; she was a force to be reckoned with, and he would have to learn to navigate this new reality.

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BONUS BONUS: The room was opulent, furnished with the finest antiques and draped in luxurious fabrics. A grand chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the scene. Vlad Masters, dressed impeccably in a tailored suit, paced back and forth, his usually confident demeanor faltering as he glanced nervously towards the locked door. Behind it was his "darling," the woman who had unexpectedly turned his life upside down.

Inside the room, she sat on the edge of an overstuffed armchair, her arms crossed and eyes narrowed. Her expression was a mixture of frustration and determination. She had been in this gilded cage for too long, and her patience was wearing thin.

Vlad finally gathered the courage to enter, his eyes meeting hers with a mixture of longing and apprehension. "My dear," he began, his voice soft and almost pleading, "you must understand, I only want to keep you safe."

She let out a deep, heavy sigh, her gaze unwavering. "Safe? You call this safe, Vlad? You keep me locked up like a prisoner. I can't even step outside to feel the sun on my skin or touch the grass. What do you think is going to happen to me out there? There are miles of monsters, yes, but I'm not planning an escape. I just want a semblance of normalcy."

Vlad's face twisted in confusion and hurt. "But you are my precious darling. I can't bear the thought of anything happening to you."

She stood up, her posture strong and defiant. "If I'm so precious, then start treating me like it. You want to call me your girlfriend, your fiancée, your wife? Fine. But I'm going to make this the healthiest relationship you've ever had, even if it kills us both. You want me to stay? Then I need books, art supplies, something to keep my mind occupied. You can’t expect me to sit here and go insane."

He was taken aback by her boldness, but there was something about her strength that only made his obsession grow deeper. "I... I didn't realize how much this was affecting you," he admitted, his voice trembling slightly. "I'll get you whatever you need."

Her eyes softened just a fraction, seeing the cracks in his otherwise impenetrable facade. "Vlad, I understand that you're... different. But if you want this to work, you have to trust me. I won’t run away, but I need my space, my freedom within these walls. Treat me with the respect I deserve, and maybe, just maybe, we can make this work."

He stepped closer, reaching out to take her hand. She didn't pull away, but her eyes were still hard, watching him carefully. "I promise," he whispered, "I'll do better."

She gave a small nod, squeezing his hand slightly. "Good. Because I won't settle for anything less."