#t / reel em in

[lgcseojin]

REEL 'EM IN ✱ @lgcjiho

Seojin was firm in his belief that he must be a country boy stuck in a city boy’s body. The proof was in the pudding, so to speak — or more so in his intense enthusiasm for the great outdoors. Getting his hands a little dirty never seemed to be a fear for him. It initially sparked his "fantastic" and the spontaneous idea of inviting Lee Jiho to spend some time with him, assuming it would be a much needed change from their constant time spent within the walls of their company, seemed as good an idea as any.

It was a risk to ask someone as in high demand as a member of Agito. ( He questioned: how did he even manage to rope him in in the first place considering Jiho's pre-existing interests? ) But Seojin needed to nurture his friendships with as many people as possible, partially given the fact that he did not have nearly as many old friends in the company as he would like to. Many left or fell out of contact with him in between his two separate training periods. Jiho being one of the few.

An activity in the fresh air and a good friend to share it with — Seojin truly couldn’t ask for more. He was grateful for the Earth giving them a little slice of heaven at a secluded, peaceful stream. They were free to be as boisterous as they wanted, speak as they wanted, without any sort of prying eyes holding them to insane levels of scrutiny. Best of all, the incessant sound of traffic dissipated entirely.

The Korean language did not have enough words, metaphors, or idioms to describe the relief Seojin felt simply taking a walk outside. His wild heart belonged here.

“Ahh... Even the air smells nice, y’know?” Seojin tried to keep in pace with Jiho, slowing down his steps every once in a while when his feet got too ahead of themselves. Being overly excited was starting to become a detriment to their little excursion. "Where do you wanna set up our chairs by the shore? We can just chill out while we set stuff up or we can get right into it."

[sanguineterrain]

Would you be willing to write a Jason Todd x reader inspired by the bulletproof vest scene from Criminal Minds? Maybe it's early in their relationship and they're fussing after hearing he's been shot. Maybe with an annoyed Damian breaking up their flirting?

(Here is the scene if you don't know what I'm talking about!! youtube.com/watch?v=C2bjYavXWec)

Haha this was such a fun prompt! Thanks for sending 🩷 I love prompts inspired by tv scenes

jason todd x gn!reader. minor injury, fluff, suggestive/implied nsfw, making out, implied timkon

****

Jason opens the door, looking extra comfy in his GU sweatpants and a Wonder Woman t-shirt. His curls stick up in fifteen different directions, making him look like an overgrown chick.

You'd coo if your heart hadn't been in your stomach all night.

"Hey, ba—"

You launch yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck. The force of your embrace makes Jason stumble back a step. You suddenly remember his injury and reel back.

"Baby, what's goin' on?" His eyes are wide. Jason holds onto you, inspecting you right back.

"I'm so sorry!" you say, hands fluttering over his body. "Oh God, did I reopen stitches? Fuck, fuck—"

"Sweetheart." Jason places both hands on your shoulders and guides you away from the door. He kicks it shut with his foot. You both settle on the couch. "What're you talking about? Are you okay?"

"Am I okay?" You sit up. Jason rests his head on the back of the couch, watching you. "God, Jason, you got shot! I heard you caught fire this morning so I got here as quickly as I could. Did I reopen stitches? Be honest because I swear to God, Jay, if you lie to me about that..."

"Honey. Oh my love. Y'know I'm crazy about ya?" Jason holds your face with both hands and squishes your cheeks. He's smiling. "I got shot in my bulletproof vest. No stitches required. Who told you I got shot?"

You take his hands and hold them to your chest. "Well, I was listening to the comms 'cause I can't sleep when you have overnight missions and—"

"You haven't slept all night?" Jason frowns. "Baby, you need to sleep."

You scoff. "None of that matters, Jay. What I'm hearing is that you still got shot!"

"'S not a big deal, honest. Just a few bruises. Leslie wrapped me up, see?"

Jason lifts his shirt. His ribs are wrapped in an ACE bandage. You feel around for a secret wound.

"No blood?" you ask, poking at the edges.

Jason laughs and catches your hand. He kisses your knuckles. "No, sweetness. No blood. 'S just a little sore." He lets his shirt fall. You're only a little disappointed by the loss of his bare skin.

"Why would Bruce send you out in a bulletproof vest? Of all the stupid—usually you wear your armor! That's actually bulletproof! Vests are bullet-resistant. That's like saying Gotham rats are toxin-proof. Just because they don't die from the Joker gas anymore doesn't mean they aren't higher than kites when it happens."

Jason kisses your cheek. It turns your insides ooey-gooey. He's always so warm, so solid.

"Mm. I'll call Merriam-Webster tomorrow and relate your beef with 'em. And to answer your question, I was undercover, so no armor. But I am fine. Okay?"

"I'll be the judge of that, mister."

You hike his shirt up to his neck and pat down his chest. Jason honest-to-God giggles, which only encourages you. You pinch the soft skin under his biceps, then kiss down his sternum. He squirms, sliding so he's lying on the couch.

"Tickles," Jason says, letting you love on him.

"Excuse me, sir, I'm trying to conduct a very serious medical examination," you say, biting your lip to keep from laughing. "I think I'll need a closer look at these."

You kiss Jason's right pectoral, and his face flushes pink like it always does because you know how sensitive he is there and how his sensitivity makes him shy. Your mouth grazes his nipple and a tiny grunt pushes out of his throat.

"'M just a piece of meat to you, huh?" He catches you with a hand on your hip.

You smile and nip his neck, careful of his bandage. Jason's breath hitches.

"Please, baby, show mercy. Want me to get on my knees an' beg? I will."

"Sir, that is highly unprofessional language for this procedure. I'm afraid I'll have to give you an oral exam to see what's causing that filthy mouth of yours."

"Yeah, I'll show you filthy," Jason murmurs, cupping the back of your head. "Let's see how filthy y'get when I—"

"Oh my God, stop."

"Todd!"

You freeze with Jason's mouth on your neck and your shirt rucked up. Tim and Damian are at the edge of the living room. Tim looks nauseous. Damian's mouth is shriveled like a prune.

You scramble off of Jason, mortified, and smooth down your shirt. Jason leisurely turns his head, still holding onto you. He sighs.

"What d'you brats want?"

"To erase the last sixty seconds from my brain," Tim says.

Jason grins, all teeth. "That can be arranged."

You roll your eyes. "We're sorry, guys. Did you need Jason?"

"Yes. Father wants you back at the Cave immediately for debrief," Damian says, glancing at Jason's exposed bandages with tangible disgust.

You tug down Jason's shirt. His mouth quirks briefly before he registers his brother's request.

"Oh, hell to the fucking no. I got back two hours ago. Tell him to fuck off."

"I think you tell him enough for all of us," Tim says. "It's just a debrief. Babs started timing him and he's been good about keeping them short."

"He can email me. I'm not going to the Cave for a damn debrief."

Tim squints at Jason, then you. "I see. You know, you're awfully energetic for someone who should be recovering. Leslie benched Dick the last time he overexerted himself."

Jason raises an eyebrow. "I wouldn't be speaking about exertion after what you and Connor did at the Kents' fourth of July picnic last year, Timbelina."

Tim somehow turns more pale. Damian whips his head around.

"Drake? What is he talking about?"

"Nothing. C'mon, Damian, let's go. Jason can debrief later."

He hauls a protesting Damian out the fire escape. Jason waves after them.

"Uh-huh, take care now, bye-bye! Close the window on your way out!"

The window slams shut. You look at Jason, eyes wide.

"What...?"

He shrugs. "Brotherly blackmail. All in good spirit."

"I see. You really don't need to go? I can wait."

"Nah. Bruce can wait. I have a very important injury that needs tending to."

You roll your eyes, smiling. "Uh-huh. Are you sure you're okay?"

Jason kisses you. "Positive," he says against your mouth. "This is nothing. But I appreciate you worrying about little ol' me."

"I'll always worry about you, Jay."

He ducks his head and nudges your neck like a cat. "I know, baby. 'S why I'm the luckiest guy in the whole wide world."

[guitarstringed-scars]

how to lose a guy in 10 days- t. oikawa

masterlist

day one

you hear a knock at your door as you pull your shoes on. you do a quick scan of the apartment, all of your roommates doors closed. you swing open the door and are greeted with toru oikawas smirking face. okay, maybe its not really a smirk, but instead a toothless smile.

“hi.” he says

“hey!” you step out of your apartment.

game plan for today:

be as normal as possible

but also be as likable as possible

reel em in.

with those three steps in mind, you and toru step into the elevator, and head to the first floor. you notice he takes care to open every door for you. the conversation flows almost naturally, and you are at the little coffee shop in no time.

you’ve never been there before, but the brick walls, and bell above the door (that toru held for you) welcome you in like an old friend. unfortunately, you do recognize the barista. behind the counter stands hitoka, clad in an apron, and you watch her eyes widen when she sees who your with.

“hi yachi, good to see you!” toru greets.

“uhm! good to see you too… americano?” as she replies to toru her eyes don’t leave yours.

“yes, and what would you like?” toru turns to you.

“i’ll have a latte. thanks hitoka.” you say, shooting her the most awkward SOS smile of all time.

toru leads you to a small table in the corner while you wait for your drinks.

“i didn’t know you knew hitoka.” you say, drumming your fingers on the arm of your chair.

“i don’t know her too well, but i come here often enough that we talk.”

“so is this your favorite coffee spot?” you ask.

“yeah, i’d say so.” he smiles at you.

“one americano and a latte!” hitoka calls out.

“here, ill get it.” you say, standing up. hitoka waits for you at the counter. ”why are you here??? with him????” she immediately begins to question you.

“how to lose a guy in 10 days!” you whisper to her. you watch her mouth open in a mixture of what you can only assume to be shock and disappointment.

“so this is a date?”

“technically! how come you never told me you worked here?”

“never really came up, plus i only work like 2 days a week.”

“hm, its nice here, koushi would love it. thanks for the drinks!” you cheer as you head back to toru, setting his americano in front of him.

“didn’t really take you as an americano kind of guy.” you quip.

“i’m full of surprises.”

“doubt it.” you laugh, “i have to get drinks for my roommates before we leave here, they always make me get them coffee.”

“greedy roommates, huh?” he says, sipping his drink.

“nah, i love them. they’ll just have to pay me back.”

toru oikawa thinks to himself that this is working perfectly for him. he’s been nothing but gentlemanly, opening doors and paying for your drink, and you seem interested in starting conversation. this bet will be a breeze, he thinks.

you think that this is a great start. he’s obviously interested in you, now you just have to get him uninterested in you, which will be easy enough.

toru holds the door for you yet again as you leave the coffee shop. you both wave goodbye to hitoka, and he carries the 3 drinks for your roommates. a mocha for yui, a caramel cappuccino for tetsuro, and a matcha for koushi.

“i had fun this morning.” toru says, as you fiddle with your keys, unlocking your apartment door.

“me too.” you reply, and you aren’t lying. toru is good company, and your conversation was never dull as you sat in the coffee shop, even if you don't want to admit it. finally the door pops open. “i can take the drinks now.” you smile.

“oh yeah, sorry.” he says, handing them to you.

“thanks for the coffee.” you grin, and then lean in, planting a kiss on his cheek before heading into your apartment and shutting the door behind you. at this point, all of your roommates are crowded on the living room couch, laptops in front of them, typing away.

“brought coffee.” you say, putting the carrier down on the coffee table.

“took you long enough.” tetsuro jokes before grabbing his drink. “how was the date?”

“it was good. now i just have to lose him!”

“ooooo invite him out tonight and start acting like yui!” koushi says, sipping his matcha.

“hey!” yui interupts, looking up briefly from her computer. “that’s rude.”

“you should go to the basketball game tonight. toru loves those.” tetsuro chimes in.

“great plan! this is why you are my favorite!” you exclaim, pulling out your phone.

the rest of the afternoon was spent writing a log of your morning, and making your game plan for tonight. right before the last 2 minutes of the game, you’ll figure out a way to make him miss it. fool proof!

your plotting makes time fly, and just a few hours later you are adjusting your basketball jersey in the mirror. as a student journalist, it’s easy to get free tickets to all kinds of sporting events. also, tetsuro is your roommate, and that guy knows people. so it isn’t long before he’s shoving 2 tickets in your hand.

“good luck tonight with the bozo.” he says, leaning against the bathroom doorframe.

“thanks, i’m gonna need it.”

then, theres a familiar knock on the door, and you are stepping out to see toru in his university merch.

“nice jersey.” he says, smiling at you.

“thanks. so, do you like basketball?” you ask as you shut the door, even though you already know the answer.

“oh yeah, i love it. second favorite sport, right below volleyball.”

“right, i forgot you played volleyball.” another lie. “i really like basketball, i’m excited for this game.”

“the team we’re up against are pretty good, so i’m not sure who’ll win. guess we’ll see.” he says, leading you to the arena.

as the two of you stand in the long ticket line, two girls approach toru.

“um, your toru oikawa right?” they ask, hiding behind each other. you roll your eyes.

“yes, can i help you?” he asks, shooting them an ever so charming smile.

“could we get a picture?” they ask, swooning over him. you’re surprised. you knew he was popular, but these girls are having actual physical reactions to him. they hand you the phone, and toru gives you an “i’m sorry” smile. you quickly snap their photo, and hand back the phone.

“didn’t realize i was on a date with a celebrity.” you joke. he simply laughs.

your small talk with toru picks up again once the girls leave, and it makes the long line move quickly. soon enough, you're handing the tickets to the person at the desk, and being shoved into the area.

you and toru head to your almost front row seats, and sit down for a moment before the game starts. he begins talking about basketball, and to be totally honest, you start to zone him out, until the arena lights begin to flicker, and the music starts.

the first half of the basketball game goes well for u-tokyo, with your players holding a steady lead. its halfway through the second half when the other team begins to catch up. a quick media break starts as the players drink water, and then the music starts up. the jumbo-tron fills with hearts, and the words “KISS CAM” flash across. first an uninterested couple, an old couple, and then, wait-it’s on you and toru.

fuck fuck fuck fuck, you think, but you see toru turn to you on the jumbo-tron screen, and you have no choice but to turn to him too. you nervously grin, and then his hand is on your face and your lips are pressed to his. you hear the crowd roar, and toru pulls away, high-fiving you as the screen switches to another unsuspecting couple. then like nothing ever happened, the game is back on. theres a minute and thirty seconds left in the game, when you decide its time.

“toru?” you ask. he's completely focused on the game, and gives you answers you dismissively.

“what?”

”toru-”

”yeah!” he cheers for the game

“i’m kinda thirsty.” you poke his arm.

“uh, yeah!” he is again distracted by the game.

“could you get me a soda?”

“uh, yeah so you see theres a minute and twelve seconds left-”

“i’m parched.” you cut him off.

“in the game, and-”

“i’m really thirsty.”

he turns and smiles at you, a bit of confusion in his eyes. you swat your hand,

“i’ll go get it, its fine,” you say, squeezing by his seat. he grabs you as you try to pass him.

“no, its okay, i'll go.” he says

“no ice toru!” you shout out. he simply nods, still focused on the game. “thanks!” you call after him

toru bolts up the stairs of the arena, thankful for all the stairs he was forced to run at volleyball practice. he quickly turns the corner to the concessions stand.

“coke, no ice, thanks!” he says, turning to watch the game on the tv.

“alright.” says the concessions worker, who is unfortunately, a confused elderly man, “so you want ice, or you don’t wan-”

“no ice.” toru cuts him off, turning again to the game.

the man slowly gets the coke, and hands it to toru, who slams down the money on the counter.

“thanks!” he shouts, running back to his seat. he hands you the drink. you weren’t expecting him to get back so quick, theres still 20 seconds left. you take a sip.

“toru, i wanted diet.” you say, shoving the drink back at him.

he winces.

“alright, alright.” he slowly turns to go back up the stairs and bolts back up them.

the countdown starts in the crowd.

5,

toru is halfway up the steps.

4,

he's close to the top.

3,

his foot hits the top step.

2,

he's rounding the corner.

1,

hes made it to the concessions stand, tv just out of view. the game is over. a last second shot from one of your players secured the win, and toru missed it. he sighs as you cheer with the patrons next to you back at your seat.

as the two of you walk back to your apartment, diet coke in hand, you begin to talk up the game.

“wow, that final shot was just incredible, i was on the edge of my seat. i’ve never seen a more exciting game. too bad you missed it.” you say. toru laughs, half-heartedly.

“yup.” he says as you reach your apartment door.

“are you as nice as you seem, toru?” you ask, leaning against your door.

he thinks for a moment, before shaking his head.

“no.” he leans in, kissing your cheek.

you laugh.

“good, neither am i. oh, here.” you hand him your empty diet coke cup, before opening the door and closing it behind you.

a/n: yay! taglist in replies!

[asdfghjklmals]

THE SWEETEST SIGHT✩༶‧˚

GENRE + T/W: sfw, fluff. suggestive jokes. WORD COUNT: 2.1k words. TAGS: satoru gojo x fem!oc, dad!gojo, mom!oc, established couple.

SYNOPSIS: oc gojo girlfriend and satoru take their child to get donuts after an unfair game of hide and seek. AUTHOR'S NOTE: this is the first fic i've ever written with sayuri being a little older. it's so cute and fun to imagine how oc gojo girlfriend and satoru would be as parents. after what happened with jjk 236, i thought we could use some lightheartedness. 💚 artwork is from ‘who made me a princess’. REMINDER: if you want to imagine yourself in oc gojo girlfriend's character descriptions instead, please do!

“satoru gojo! how many times do i have to tell you to stop leaving your socks around the apartment?!” you screeched out to the white haired sorcerer. "we have a laundry hamper for this exact reason!"

this over-a-decade long battle with satoru’s socks terrorizing the apartment floor would never end.

two little feet came quickly shuffling towards you in the living room where you were standing.

“mommy!” your white haired child yelled at you while wiggling her index finger with the sass she inherited from you, “no no yell daddy!” (translation: “don’t yell at daddy!”)

this child not only has you, but satoru gojo wrapped around her finger. sayuri gojo would do anything for her daddy, even if that meant defending him from mommy. you kissed the front of your teeth and crouched down to your baby girl’s level to calmly say to her, “mommy’s not yelling at daddy, yurs.”

that satoru gojo. ever since sayuri was born, satoru always used her to double team you. and now that she could walk (very wobbly) on her own and speak a few words for her young age, she always came running to his defense with her two little feet. it was like he trained her just to spite you for all the arguments throughout the years you've been together.

“mommy yell.” sayuri reported back to you innocently, holding your cheeks in her two tiny plump hands. (translation: “daddy said mommy is yelling at him.”)

you grabbed her hands from your face and kissed each of her palms before picking her up and perching her on the side of your hip. you asked her cunningly, “now, where is your daddy?”

she replied with a giggle, “daddy pee-ah-boo!” (translation: “daddy is playing hide and go seek!”)

peek-a-boo was another name for hide and go seek in your household according to sayuri. you sighed and made your way to your master bedroom to find your childish baby daddy. his go-to hiding spot whenever he was playing with sayuri was the master bedroom closet.

“satoru,” you called out to him in a threat-laced tone, “don’t make me come find you—or else.”

sayuri started to giggle again. it was obvious she knew where satoru was hiding. you looked down at your baby girl in your arm and whispered to her, “where is daddy hiding?”

she shrieked with laughter and nuzzled her face in your chest, pointing at the closed closet door. she thought this game of hide and go seek was hilarious because mommy was playing this time.

you walked towards the closet and attempted to turn the doorknob. it was locked. you closed your eyes and sighed again. time for plan b.

“i guess mommy and sayuri should just go to the bakery down the street to get donuts since we can’t find daddy.” you feigned out loud, turning on your heels to make your way towards the living room with sayuri. you noticed she was still looking over your shoulder at the closet door, probably wondering why her father hasn’t shown himself yet.

you heard the doorknob rattle quickly, “wait!” satoru called out to you, “—daddy wants to come too!”

hook. reel. and sink em’.

you felt two strong arms wrap around your waist as sayuri started laughing again. your child’s laughter was the best sound in the world. satoru always said he loved your laugh, and you never understood why until you heard sayuri’s laugh for the first time. her laugh always started out with a cackle—then a high pitch squeal type of giggle.

“gotcha.” you turned to face satoru and teased him, “you are so bad at hide and seek, babe.”

satoru grinned at you before he bent down to kiss the top of sayuri’s head. “so, are we going to get donuts or not?”

“your treat?” you asked innocently with the puppy dog eyes you knew he couldn’t resist, “—since you made me pick up your socks… again.”

“daddy,” sayuri also looked at him with the same green puppy dog eyes as you, “yuwi donuh?” (translation: “can sayuri have a donut too?”)

with no hesitation at all, satoru caved, “well, when my two girls double team me with such cute eyes like that, how can i say no?”

******************************

you and satoru watched as your daughter sat across from the both of you in a high chair. she was eating her double chocolate donut, sweet milk chocolate all over her face and hands. donut crumbles scattered around her and her plate. it was a sweet (literal), but messy sight. you were so grateful for whoever created silicone bibs for children.

“how did our baby girl get such a sweet tooth?” satoru smiled while admiring sayuri, watching her stuff her face. his elbow resting on the table, cheek resting in his palm.

you face palmed yourself before taking a bite of your glazed donut, “don’t you know who her father is?”

“some handsome guy named satoru gojo.” satoru sat back in his chair with his arms folded. he thought he was so funny with that statement.

you rolled your eyes at him and turned back to face your daughter. she was licking her chocolate covered fingers. she stopped when she made eye contact with you and satoru.

“daddy,” she started to say, “no donuh?” (translation: “why aren’t you eating your donut?”)

you looked at satoru’s untouched double chocolate donut sitting in front of him. her question was very valid.

“i’m just watching ya’ first, sweetheart.” satoru replied calmly, he winked at her from under his sunglasses. “i’ll take a bite, just for you, yurs.”

satoru picked up his donut and broke it in half before he bit into it. it was a tiny habit he had whenever he got a donut because he didn’t want to get chocolate glaze all over his mouth.

sayuri started giggling and clapping, her sparkly green eyes gleaming, “yay!” she was happy to see her daddy enjoying his donut too.

it was the simple moments like walking down the street to get donuts with your little family that made life worth it for you and satoru. your heart swelled at the sight of your white haired baby girl and your white haired lover sitting across from each other, both enjoying their double chocolate donut. they were the spitting images of each other… with the same exact sweet tooth. like father, like daughter.

you happily put your arm around satoru’s broad shoulder and pulled him closer to you, planting multiple kisses on his cheek as he continued to chew on his sweet treat. you could tell by the way his lips curved, he was loving the attention he was receiving from you.

“me!” sayuri called out, hands reaching out for you.

you asked your baby girl, “you want a kiss from mommy too?”

“no! yuwi kiss daddy!” (translation: “no, i want to give daddy a kiss too!”)

you laughed and reached into your diaper bag to take out baby wipes to wipe your daughter’s chocolate covered fingers, purposely skipping her face and mouth for now. you picked her up from the high chair and held her as she leaned her face towards satoru’s cheek.

sayuri held her father’s face with her chubby hands, pecking satoru with her tiny lips. the sweet chocolate-covered kiss decorated satoru’s cheek as you giggled. you and satoru were never shy when it came to spoiling your daughter with affection, it was a no brainer she would want to give love to her mom and dad too.

“thanks, sweetheart.” satoru said with a toothy smile.

he wiped his mouth with a napkin while you returned to your seat next to him, this time with sayuri in your arms. you wiped off the remaining chocolate from sayuri’s face and satoru’s cheek with another baby wipe.

“ready to go?” you asked satoru as he finished eating. he took one last sip of his coffee and nodded. you got up from your seat.

“hold on,” satoru grabbed your arm, “you got something on your face, sweetheart.”

“i do?” you turned to grab a pocket mirror from sayuri’s diaper bag to inspect your face.

you felt satoru pull you towards him. you looked back at him. his lips found yours as he gently peppered kisses along your bottom lip. he pulled away from you to lick his lips, “just a piece of glaze from your donut. i got it.”

“satoru—” you whispered with a warning, “no funny business in front of our daughter or the bakery employees.”

sayuri’s curious green eyes looked over at you two, “kiss!”

“again?” you asked her with a soft chuckle, eyes disappearing behind your smile.

you may have not understood sayuri, but satoru did. the doting father laughed out loud before leaning over to give his daughter a kiss on the cheek too. how could he resist her cute little comments? and not to mention she embodied half of the best parts of you and him. he couldn’t love anything in the world more than sayuri and you.

sayuri giggled and squealed loudly as satoru snuck a few more kisses to her cheek and forehead. she attempted to hide from him by shoving her face into your arms and chest. it was the sweetest sight you ever saw.

EXTRA:

a pair of socks sitting in the middle of the floor of your bedroom taunted you this morning as you were making the bed.

satoru, who was playing with your daughter in the living room earlier, walked into the bedroom. he made eye contact with the socks and his eyes widened. "wait. babe, before you yell at me... watch this." satoru raised his hands up in defense and called out for your daughter, "yurs!"

you glared at him, "are you calling the president of the satoru gojo protection squad so she can just defend you again?"

sayuri's two little feet came running into the room, she looked at satoru with eager eyes. he pointed to his socks on the floor, "socks."

two bright green eyes shared a cheeky smile with him. she picked up the socks and walked to the laundry hamper to place them next to it. she wasn't tall enough to put them directly into the hamper, but right next to it would do according to her father.

"so you're training our daughter to be your maid?" you threw an ice shard at satoru as he laughed. he walked over to the hamper where your daughter was standing and picked her up. putting her up on his shoulders as she held his head, nuzzling hers with his.

"come to mommy, yurs. daddy is being ridiculous." you held your arms out for sayuri, but satoru backed away from you playfully, refusing to give you his baby girl. you scolded satoru, "—be careful, satoru. don't drop her."

"would i ever drop her?" satoru asked incredulously, offended that you would even think he would drop the most precious thing in the world to him. he always had a secure grip on sayuri, and his infinity would never let her hit the ground if she ever fell from his arms or shoulders.

"i mean... you've dropped me before, so there's no reassurance there." you retorted, remembering the very brazen shower memory where satoru dropped you. you may have slipped out of his grasp, but you weren’t going to admit that. you had a bruise on your butt cheek for weeks because of it.

satoru smirked and approached you with a sultry voice. he whispered in your ear, "i said i was sorry. if we try it again, i promise i won't drop you this time."

you giggled at the tempting offer but refused, "no, i swore off of showers with you after that."

satoru kissed your earlobe as you shivered. your returned the favor and kissed him on the corner of his lips before reaching up for your baby girl, swiping her from his shoulders.

"should we have breakfast, my baby?" you asked sayuri. she held your face in her tiny little palms and smiled at you. she had the same exact smirk as satoru. the same one you fell in love with so long ago.

“pancake?” sayuri asked.

you laughed, “yes, baby—with bananas too.”

you started to walk out of the bedroom to make your way to the kitchen with your daughter attached to your hip.

satoru smiled at the sight of you and sayuri. he called out to the both of you, "wait for daddy you two!"

you and sayuri were the sweetest things in satoru gojo's life. satoru thought that he could stay on this specific type of sugar rush forever.

© 2023 ASDFGHJKLMALS — ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. PLEASE DO NOT COPY, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORK.

DIVIDERS PROVIDED BY @/ANLIAN-AISHANG

[platonicyanderereverie]

I dunno if you do doubles but if you do then awesome, if you don't then don't worry about it or you can just pick one character!

But what about Yandere platonic Dottore and Pantalone as a tweenager(11-13) reader and they're like readers dads even though reader wants nothing to do them I was thinking letter A, B, C, E, G, H, J, M, O, P, R, S, T, U V, W, AND Z! I know this is alot but please choose which ones you want to do if these are too much, all I ask is that maybe you especially Z, S, W, T, O, J, H, F, D, OR C! Again pick at which ever one you want!! Thank you!!

( I luv your platonic yandere writing!!!)

Thank you for your request‼️ I tried my best to do the main ones you wanted <3 I really hope you like em

Platonic yandere Dottore and Pantalone with a tween reader using the yandere alphabet!!

[Warnings!: usual possessive behaviour, implied kidnapping, isolation and so on]

Zenith

(Would they ever break their darling?)

Chances are, no. Dottore is very calculated with his advances and actions, and Pantalone tries to avoid actively placing you in situations that could make you crumble. However, it's not entirely impossible for their child to snap under the pressure, and both of them would be highly displeased if that happened. They would immediately swoop in, attempting to piece you back together.

Stigma

(What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?)

For Pantalone, his childhood was filled with troubles. Born poor, he always felt beneath everyone else, constantly forced to look at things he wished he had from afar. He never wants that for you; he wants to give you the childhood he wished he had, even if he becomes overbearing in the process.

Dottore, on the other hand, experienced significant mental isolation. Driven by an unquenchable thirst for knowledge, he strives to understand everything there is to know. You seem like a book with endless pages to study, each one holding possibilities that he craves to uncover. His obsession drives him to push you onto the same page as him, fueling his desire for intellectual satisfaction.

Wit's End

(Would they ever hurt their darling?)

The short answer is yes, but it would be in calculated, mentally focused strides. If you've been particularly disobedient, expect isolation, loss of privileges, and an intense struggle to regain the love they once showered on you freely. You might even find yourself wrapped up in a few of the doctor's "tests." Nothing serious, but certainly enough to leave a lasting impression.

Tears

(How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?)

Pantalone would be the first to lean forward and wipe your tears. He hates seeing you upset, he truly does, but if it’s due to a punishment, he'll softly coo, reassuring you that it’s all necessary. Meanwhile, the doctor might run a hand through your hair in a slightly chastising manner.

Screaming or throwing a tantrum would earn you disappointed looks from both of them. They’d regard you as a child throwing a fit over not getting what you want. Dottore would shake his head, speaking in a cool, calm tone to remind you that such behavior is unfavorable. Pantalone might attempt to soothe you with promises or small gifts if nothing else seems to work.

Isolating yourself would prove difficult, as they’d quickly sense your withdrawal. Once they do, they’d reel you back in for a lecture and enforce some "mandatory family time."

Oppression

(How many rights would they take away from their darling?)

Most likely, they'd control nearly every aspect of your schedule. Pantalone would ensure it’s filled with classes and tutors, while Dottore would require time in his lab. You wouldn’t be making any significant decisions on your own either, as they consider you too naïve and impulsive. Despite this, they still expect a certain level of engagement and respect from you, even if you’re resistant.

Jealousy

(Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?)

Jealousy is an interesting concept when it comes to your fathers. Pantalone is confident and self assured in his status, knowing no one else could give you everything he can. No one else would sacrifice as much as he would for you, even if you don’t recognize it. If someone tries to interfere, he has the power to make sure they can’t.

Dottore, however, would be fascinated by jealousy itself, viewing it as a curious feeling. Understanding its implications, he deals with it by turning it into a personal experiment. He identifies the cause of the itch in the back of his mind and manipulates situations so that you seek him out, he won't fetch you himself, oh no, you will be the one cementing your dependence on him. He won't stop until he’s fully satisfied with the results.

Hell

(What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?)

Once, you managed to slip away from the manor, somehow finding yourself wandering the streets, finally tasting freedom and reveling in spite.

However, I hope your short loved feedom was worth it. Upon your inevitable return (having been dragged back by the agents), you faced endless berating from Pantalone and a slew of unpleasant new tasks from Dottore, not to mention an extended session in his lab. Anything that entertained you was confiscated, and any servant you liked was dismissed. And god forbid If one of them had assisted your escape, the punishment would be even harsher. You were met with cold discipline, leaving you powerless to change the outcome. Days seemed to blur, each one more isolating than the last. Should you resist further, you might find yourself bedridden, unwell due to "mysterious circumstances."

Darling

(Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?)

Short answer, yes. For one, they expect you to stay with them, fulfilling their aspirations for you. To them, it’s simply that you can't see what’s best for you yet. Resistance is futile; listening to them would make things so much easier. Furthermore, you don’t have a say in spending time with them...it’s simply not optional.

Cruelty

(How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?)

Pantalone would present the situation as a luxurious arrangement, framing it not as a victory for himself but rather as the natural, ideal state of things. He’d act as though everything is perfectly fine, assuring you that all you need to do is stick with family.

Dottore, however, would be slightly more biting. He wouldn’t mock you outright, but his words would carry a tone of condescension. He’d calmly lay out the terms of your new reality, driving home just how powerless you are, making sure you fully understand the situation.

□●■□●■□●■

(Original request forum)

[heartfullofleeches]

Bullied yan x delinquent reader who beats up their bullies once (probably because they were in the readers spot or getting in their way) know bullied yan clings to the reader and treats them like a god and basically willingly becomes their slave and the reader just looks at them with disgust and slight concern.

Bullied yan: I’ll kill them all if you told me to

Delinquent reader: that’s fucking stupid- you’d be throwing your life your away by murdering someone or anyone for no reason other than “somebody told me too”, don’t waste your life like that

Bullied: Y-You care about my life

Delinquent reader: NO! Fuck off

[light violence, excessive language]

"Alright, idiots. Since you chucklefucks clearly forgot how things run around here while I was away - I'd say it's time for another lesson. Line up and spread 'em."

Trembling in fear, your fellow delinquents part their fingers wide as they place their hands palms down on the gravel - breathing quickened as your looming shadow towers over their battered forms. Whistling along, you step over their hands in a leisurely stride - twisting your heels into the backs of their hands and crushing their fingers raw. You stare down every one of your victims - drawing your foot back to plant it square in the chest of the bully who immediately retracts their hands at you step off their hand. Yanking them forward by the collar as they reel, you crack them hard upside their head as you his.

"Did I fucking say you could move, bitch? I should break every god damn bone in your body for the shit you've been pulling lately, but I'm not trying to get expelled. "

The bully covers their face, shrinking as you ball your fist. "W-we're sorry, Y/n. We thought you were going to be out for the rest of the week. Please don't hurt me.."

What's happening...? The bullies who made their few short weeks in town a living hell - cowering as if they were cut from the same cloth. How-

Thomas had never been the most liked by their peers. Nish interests and their weak frame made them a prime target for bullying. Their parents already had the car packed at the first sign of trouble and off to the next district to try again instead of taking the easy route and letting them in their high school years at home. They tried harder to fit in this time. Blended with the crowd, stuck to themself and their books. In such a short time their family had found stable jobs and made friends with their neighbors. They didn't want to take that away from them, even at the expense of their own happiness away well being.

The bullies here were a different breed. All it took was mistaking one of their bags as their own for everything to crumble around Thomas. The next day they found glass in their locker, accusing words etched into their desk. They were hounded for the money from their part-time job and beaten when they refused to comply. What made matters worse was there were rumors of someone worse than them on suspension after assaulting another student in the parking lot. This was hell, and if they had to deal with another bully they likely wouldn't survive. All they wanted was for someone - anyone to rescue them from this nightmare.

"I've told you time and time again that the bleachers are my territory. You dumbasses think you're sneaky, but you always leave cigarettes and other filth behind. I want you to clean your shit up - and get the fuck off my property."

You look back at Thomas like a beast to prey. "And I want you to return everything you stole from that guy. I let you off the hook easy one to many times. On second thought, gimme me that."

You tear the watch off leader's wrist and throw it at them as you walk pass. "Pawn it. Should be worth almost as much as they took."

Thomas misses the catch, scrambling to their feet to pick up the watch. "T....thank you?"

You scoff. "Don't thank me. Those morons never learn and needed an explanation of what happens when you mess with my shit. Stay away from me or you'll end up just like them."

You push past them as you walk off. Thomas would later come to find you were the student spoken of in rumors and the guy you nearly put in the hospital had tried to fight you the authority you never sought to claim. Many saw you as another target for your reserved nature until you put them in their place with your fist. You were almost alike in that regard. Challenged by peers for your differences. Unlike Thomas, you had the courage to hold your ground and knock someone down if needed. It was aw inspiring. It was enchanting. Maybe you were more alike than they'd originally thought. Thomas had always longed for companionship and maybe deep down you wanted the same. Partners in this cruel, fucked up world.

The next day, Thomas waits outside for you to show. You arrive almost thirty minutes late making it the first day they've ever been late for class, but they were fully prepared to shed their old self to make room for whatever you wanted them to be. They run up to you, digging through their bag as they call out.

"Ah - Y/n! Wait!"

You turn, annoyance clear as day. "Yea?..."

Thomas laughs, oddly giddy at the aggression in your tone. "So that is your name... I, uh - have a present for you. My mom goes hunting in the fall and really wants me to come with her. She gave me this as an early gift and I thought you'd be better with it."

Raising a brow, your curiosity plummets as the sheath of the item Thomas drew comes into view. A hunting knife, roughly sixteen inches in length and engraved with their initials. It felt almost romantic to give something with their name to you. Your eyes shoot around the open hall; shoving their hands and the knife back into their bag as your voice drops to a venom posed whisper.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Thomas giggles hysterically. They never wanted to wash their hands again. "Y-you're touching me...."

"Why did you bring that here? Are you trying to get us both kicked out or arrested?"

"I-I just wanted to give you something to help you out if you get into trouble again. You said it yourself that they never learn. There's no better lesson than slitting someone's throat, right? If you're worried about getting caught you don't have to be. I'll take care of everything - and even if we do get caught I'll take the blame."

You let them go, wiping your hands on your shirt as your face scrunched in disgust. "You're stupider than you look. Stay the fuck away from me freak - and don't throw your life away over dumb shit like someone knocking you around.

Thomas sighs as you storm off. They feel as though they should be upset, but even in threat it almost sounds like you're just looking out for them in your own, special way. This move really had been a change - for the better.

[daryltwdixon]

The Ruins of Us: Chapter 7

Summary: Still reeling from the traumatic events of the night before, you struggle to figure out your next move. Your suspicion and fear of Shane continues to grow, and aren't ready to face him or Daryl after the night's events. This chapter follows the last episode of TWD S1 pretty closely, but we do veer off towards the end.

Warnings: mentions of child abuse, abusive households.

You creep down the hallway, your steps quickening, until you pull open a storage door on your right. It’s the first room you see and hope is empty. As you shut the door behind you, you slide to the floor, your back against the cool wood. Pulling your knees up to your chest, you press your hands to your face, rubbing your eyes hard enough to see flashes of color. The events of last night replay in your mind, and you reach up, gingerly touching your sore neck, hoping there aren’t any visible bruises.

There are gaps in your memory—flashes of Shane standing in the doorway with Lori, the yelling, and then him choking you. You can’t fully remember what he said, just the way you felt after. Hurt, betrayed... hollow. The last thing you recall is him dropping you to the floor, and everything blurring until you drifted off to sleep.

What you don’t remember—what sends heat flooding your cheeks—is how you ended up in that bed. You have flickers of someone picking you up, the faint scent of cigarettes and musk surrounding you. At some point, you were lying on something soft, but the details are foggy, slipping away as quickly as they come. Letting out a heavy sigh, you lean your head back against the door.

When you open your eyes, you notice a suitcase on the floor, clothes scattered around it. It doesn’t belong to anyone from your group, but the clothing is definitely women’s. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you crawl over, sifting through the fabrics. A grin spreads across your face as you realize someone must’ve packed this knowing they’d be stuck here for a while. You could use a new pair of shorts and a clean shirt.

You pull out a pair of denim shorts, a black band t-shirt with a faded Queen album cover on it, and—thank god—a clean pair of socks without any holes. The clothes look a little big, but manageable with a belt. Quickly, you change into the new outfit before stepping back into the hallway.

You make your way to the bathroom, less panicked now. Standing in front of the mirror, you inspect your neck. No bruises—just tender, reddened skin. You splash cold water on your face, trying to calm the burning heat rising to your cheeks as memories from the night before resurface. Pulling a comb from your pocket (thankfully found in the luggage), you run it through your hair until you're satisfied.

Back in the hallway, you slide on your black boots, quickly doing up the laces. Voices drift toward you from the left, drawing you toward the cafeteria.

Inside, a few people glance up and murmur good mornings. You spot Glenn slumped over the table, looking more than a little green. Smiling, you notice that most of them look a little worse for wear.

Rick comes in behind you, his hand brushing the small of your back to let you know he’s moving past. “Morning, everyone,” he says with a raspy voice, sitting beside Lori and Carl.

“Are you hungover?” Carl asks loudly. “Mom said you would be.”

“Mom is right,” Rick admits, smiling despite his hoarse voice. Lori murmurs something about it being one of her annoying habits, earning a grin from Rick and Carl.

“Eggs!” T-Dog calls, carrying a pan of scrambled eggs over to the table. You didn’t know him well until yesterday, but he’s friendly, his gap-toothed smile endearing.

“Powdered, but I do ‘em good,” he says proudly. “Bet you can’t tell.”

Glenn groans next to you, leaning into Jaqui as she tries to stifle her laughter. “Don’t ever, ever let me drink again,” he moans, eyes half-closed.

Your smile fades when Shane enters the room, offering a brief “Hey” as he passes. You watch him intently, taking a sip of coffee Jaqui poured for you. After murmuring a quick thanks to her, you keep your eyes on Shane, tracking his movements behind the cup.

“Feel as bad as I do?” Rick calls over to him.

“Worse,” Shane mutters, grabbing himself a cup of coffee.

T-Dog squints at him. “The hell happened to you?” he asks, noticing the angry red marks on Shane’s neck.

Shane walks over to the table, sitting diagonally across from you. He doesn’t meet your gaze. “Must’ve done it in my sleep,” he says, his voice low.

You glance over at Lori, catching her eye just as she quickly looks away, her face pale and tight with tension.

“I’ve never seen you do that before,” Rick says, concern lacing his voice.

“Me neither… not like me at all,” Shane grumbles, his wide-eyed gaze shifting to Lori. You stare at him, waiting for him to look away from her, but he doesn’t.

Just then, Dr. Jenner enters the room, greeting everyone as he makes his way to the coffee pot. The energy in the room shifts, the tension still thick but more manageable.

Dale clears his throat, breaking the silence. “I don’t mean to bring up questions so early,” he starts, but Andrea cuts him off, saving him from the awkward moment.

“We didn’t come here for the eggs,” she says, her eyes fixed on Dr. Jenner.

He looks at all of you, taking a long sip from his coffee before setting it down. “Come with me,” he says.

You all file out of the room, following the doctor down the hall. You stray behind, trying to match Lori Grimes’ stride as she walks out. She has her arm around Carl’s shoulders as you match her pace. 

“Lori, I–” but she cuts you off, her eyes hard as steel.

“Don’t,” she looks over at you with hard eyes, “I’m fine, everything is fine ,”

All you can do is nod under her glare, falling silent as she walks ahead.

You trail behind, watching Shane as he walks up front, his head turning every now and then to glance over his shoulder at you. You ignore him, keeping your eyes down as you continue down the hallway.

A door opens to your right, and you look up to see a sleepy Daryl stepping out of his room, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes. He pauses, looking at you for a long moment, his gaze dropping to the change of clothes. His cheeks flush a light pink.

“Nice shirt,” he murmurs with a half-smile, his voice low and groggy.

All you can manage is a small nod, barely smiling back, your heart fluttering as you walk past him into the main control room.

You stand silently as Dr. Jenner shows the group his Test Subject 19 on the large screen. You already have a basic understanding of brain synapses and the different lobes from your first year in college, but you notice how invested everyone else is in what he’s showing. The screen lights up with a scan, taking you deep into someone’s brain, showing the electrical pulses of a living human.

“It’s a person’s memories, experiences, life,” Jenner explains, his voice quiet but profound.

“You don’t ever make sense?” Daryl grunts, crossing his arms, clearly unimpressed.

Jenner explains synapses and brain function, his tone patient. But the realization hits—the group is about to watch someone die on screen.

“This was someone who was bitten... infected,” Jenner continues, the sadness thickening in his voice. “They volunteered to let us record the process.”

He scans forward to the “first event” watching the virus invade the brain. The person on screen is dying in front of you. Conversations murmur around the room as people mention their own lost loved ones, faces tightening with grief. You glance over at Andrea, who looks hollow, her face drained when Amy’s name is mentioned. Your heart clenches for her.

Jenner pauses the video, asking his AI to fast-forward. What you see next makes your breath catch, your eyes widening as you stare at the screen.

In an hour, one minute, and seven seconds, a flicker of light appears on the brain stem. The rest of the brain is dark, lifeless—dead—but this flicker sparks something. It brings the person back to life, or at least what’s left of them. But just as quickly, a sudden flash blows through the brain, and the movement stops. Carol reacts first, asking what it was.

“He shot his patient in the head… didn’t you?” Andrea says. Jenner powers down his station. Jenner powers down the station, his face grim. More murmurs break out, trying to grasp the idea of something that brings people back only to turn them into mindless killers. You glance over at Daryl, and he’s already looking at you. The two of you lock eyes, almost like having your own silent conversation from across the room.

“So there’s nothing left anywhere, nothing?” Andrea says and you turn to watch the doctor. He says nothing. You stand there, processing the truth. The person may technically come back, but they’re not truly alive. Not in any way that matters. They don’t think, don’t feel—just walk aimlessly, driven by the need to consume. Nothing else.

“Man,” Daryl mutters, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I wanna get shit-faced drunk--again.” He walks away, leaning heavily against one of the computer desks, frustration etched into every line of his body.

The room is still when Dale speaks up. “Dr. Jenner,” he says cautiously, eyes filled with concern, “I know this has been hard on you, but I’ve got one more question.” He points to the large clock on the wall. “That clock… it’s counting down. What happens at zero?”

You all turn to look at it: 60 minutes remain.

“The basement generators—they run out of fuel,” Jenner replies quietly.

“And then?” Rick asks, the tension in his voice clear.

No answer.

Rick asks the AI what happens when the power runs out, and she explains: “facility-wide decontamination will occur,” her robotic voice making it sound even more ominous.

The silence is replaced by movement as Rick, Shane, Glenn, and T-Dog rush toward the basement to check the generators for themselves. The urgency is palpable.

You start to follow them when Daryl’s hand grips your arm, pulling you back. His grip is firm, his eyes searching yours. You glance around, noticing the others filing out of the room, but Daryl doesn’t budge. He looks back at the group, then pulls you into the hallway, steering you toward the room where you woke up earlier that morning.

“What happened last night?” he asks, his voice low, a rough whisper meant just for you.

“What do you mean?” you try to deflect, feigning confusion. You’re not sure you’re ready to face the truth of where he found you or how you ended up there. His eyes narrow, scrutinizing your face, searching for answers that you’re not ready to give. The hallway falls eerily silent. You realize the air conditioning has stopped, leaving the air heavy and still. When you glance back at Daryl, he’s still watching you intently, waiting.

You sigh, your shoulders slumping. “I… well… Shane…” You trail off, shaking your head, unsure how to even begin explaining the weight of last night. Before you can continue, the lights flicker and go out, plunging the room into darkness.

You and Daryl peek outside as the group surrounds Dr. Jenner, bombarding him with frantic questions as he walks briskly down the long corridor. The tension is palpable, the fear growing with each second that ticks by.

“Energy use is being prioritized,” Jenner explains, his voice distant and detached, walking faster than anyone can keep up. “Zone five is shutting itself down.”

Your heart skips a beat as the realization hits. “What the hell does that mean?” you shout, quickening your pace to catch up with him. Panic bubbles up, but you fight to keep your voice steady.

Daryl, more forceful, charges up beside you. “Hey, man, she’s talkin’ to you!” he shouts, voice rough with frustration. “What do you mean it’s shutting itself down? How the hell can a building do anything?”

Jenner barely looks back. “You’d be surprised,” he mutters flatly, his answer offering no comfort.

The group exchanges nervous glances as you follow Jenner back into the main control room. Anxiety spikes, your thoughts racing ahead, searching for an escape route, a solution—anything. You can feel the tension mounting, tightening in your chest. You hear Jenner suddenly bring up the damn French, rambling about how they were the last to try and hold out for a solution, only to run out of power, just like here.

Rick’s voice breaks through the noise, cutting sharp and clear. “Everybody get your things. We’re getting out of here—now.”

The air seems to shift as Rick speaks, the urgency in his tone making it real. The AI system blares an alarm, and the robotic voice announces coldly, “30 minutes until decontamination.” The words hit like a physical blow. A frantic urgency overtakes you, spreading through the group like wildfire. Before you can even react, Jenner rushes to his computer, fingers flying over the keyboard. You and the others start to make your way toward the exits, but suddenly, the thick, metal doors slam shut, cutting off your escape. The heavy thud echoes in your chest, and a cold sense of dread settles over you.

“Did you just lock us in?” Glenn’s voice trembles, panic lacing his words. “He just locked us in!”

Your eyes dart to Daryl, and in an instant, he charges at Jenner. “You son of a bitch!” he bellows, his fists clenched, fury etched across his face.

Chaos erupts. You sprint after Daryl, desperate to stop him, but Shane gets there first, grabbing Daryl just as his hands close around Jenner’s shirt. Shane throws Daryl off, sending him crashing into a desk. People are shouting, screaming for Jenner to open the emergency exits, demanding answers. But Jenner, eerily calm in the storm of panic, shakes his head. His voice is too steady, too cold.

“I told you, once that front door closed, it wouldn’t open again,” Jenner says, pointing a finger at Rick. “You heard me say that.”

The room falls into a deafening silence, the weight of his words crushing down on you.

“It’s better this way,” Jenner says quietly, a hollow certainty in his voice.

Rick steps forward, eyes blazing. “What is? What happens in 28 minutes?” he demands, his voice rising. Jenner looks away, refusing to answer. Rick grabs him, his hands fisted in Jenner’s shirt. “What happens?”

Suddenly, Jenner starts screaming, breaking his eerie calm. He's explaining that this place can’t let things out when the power goes out–small box, ebola, viruses that could wipe out humans. The HITs prevent organisms from getting out. There’s questions on everyone’s faces. But you know what that means. Organisms. No organism can escape this place for the safety of the planet. Your brain clicks into place as your heart starts pumping harder. 

The AI, “VI” defines HITs to the room. All you can make out over the pounding of blood in your ears is explosives. The air catching on fire. Absolute devastation makes your skin crawl.

“It sets the air on fire. No pain. End to sorrow, grief, regret…everything,” Jenner whispers.

There’s a deafening silence in the room as you all stare at him. Suddenly Daryl starts throwing things at the door, using hammers with Shane against it to open it. You join them with more weapons, trying to hit the door as hard as you can. You don’t back down from a threat. You know better. The Dixon brothers taught you better. You feel like a caged animal being backed into a corner. All you know how to do is kick and scream and fight . It’s the only thing that’s kept you alive all this time. The adrenaline in you is pumping so hard that you’re in fight or flight. You use all your strength to continue pounding on the door with the sledgehammer in the room. 

“Those doors are designed to withstand rocket launchers,” Jenner says from behind you, his voice infuriatingly calm.

Daryl turns and charges again, “Well your head ain’t!” Everyone goes for him, holding him back. You watch, your heart hammering in your chest, knowing Jenner is your only hope. He’s the only one who knows the code. The only one who can let you out. But he’s given up. The realization hits you like a punch to the gut. There’s no way out unless he decides to let you live.

“There is no hope,” Jenner says, his voice soft but heavy with finality. “There never was. This is what takes us down. This is our extinction event.”

The room erupts again, voices overlapping, but your mind zeroes in on Carol, who’s clutching Sophia tightly, her face streaked with tears. “You can’tkeep us here!” she screams, her voice cracking, her sobs growing louder.

Suddenly, the unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked cuts through the chaos. You whip around to see Shane, his shotgun aimed squarely at Jenner. His face is contorted in rage, eyes wide and wild. Rick rushes forward, shouting for him to stop, but Shane doesn’t seem to hear him. He’s like a rabid dog, on the edge of losing control completely.

But Shane turns, you’re not sure if it’s Rick that was able to turn him or he did it himself to shoot the machines all over the room. You duck behind a table across the room. Rick is on top of Shane, about to punch him with the butt of the gun, “you done now?” he asks. He turns and after a long moment, says he thinks the doctor is lying about no hope. He had to be here working all this time for something.

“I made a promise,” the doctor stands, “to her, my wife.” he’s pointing at the large blank screen.

“Test subject 19… your wife,” you say, standing now. Jenner continues to explain how intelligent and amazing she was, and that she died for this. Because of this. But his wife didn't have a choice.

“All we want is a choice–a chance,” Rick says quietly.

Carol pleads, “Let us keep trying. As long as we can.”

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Jenner hesitates. Then, with a resigned sigh, he punches in the code. The doors unlock with a loud hiss.

“Come on!” Daryl shouts, his voice like a battle cry, and the room explodes into movement.

You sprint to your room, adrenaline fueling your every step. Grabbing your gun and knife, you scan the room for anything else you might need. There’s nothing. Just the clothes on your back and the weapons in your hands. You tear back into the hallway, your heart pounding.

But where is everyone? You whirl around, checking each room, panic clawing at your insides. They were just here—where the hell did they go? The building feels like a maze, but you refuse to leave without Daryl. Not until you know he’s safe. So you keep running, searching every room, every hallway, your pulse racing as the clock ticks down. Time is slipping away, and with it, any chance of survival.

But you won’t leave without him. Not now. Not ever again.

Daryl

Daryl rushes toward the main entrance, hammers gripped tight in both hands. Shane’s right beside him, charging up the stairs with a gun in hand.

“Daryl!” Shane yells, holding out his hand. Daryl tosses him one of the hammers without missing a beat. They both start pounding the windows, desperate, each hit echoing in the dead air. T-Dog joins in with a chair, slamming it against the thick glass. Suddenly, Carol steps forward, trembling, and walks over to Rick. Her hand shakes as she digs into her bag and pulls out a grenade. Rick pauses for a second, eyes wide, then snatches it from her quickly. His movements are sharp as he pulls the pin and places it at the base of the window.

Daryl backs off fast, instincts kicking in. What the hell is he waitin’ for?  he thinks, watching Rick linger too close. Then the realization seems to hit Rick, too.

“Oh shit,” Rick mutters, bolting away from the window.

“Get down!” Shane yells. Everyone drops just in time as the explosion rocks the room, the blast shattering the window.

It worked.

Everyone scrambles to their feet, grabbing their things in a rush. Daryl slings his crossbow over his shoulder and leaps through the broken window, hitting the ground outside. One by one, the others follow, pouring out into the night. They’re running, sprinting through the maze of dead bodies, the stink of decay thick in the air, walkers already stirring, drawn by the noise.

Daryl’s foot catches on something. He stumbles, crashing to the ground. When he looks down, his heart stops. The lifeless body beneath him is wearing nothing but tattered, bloody pants and a Queen band t-shirt...the same shirt you were wearing. His mind reels, blood roaring in his ears. The image of your face flashes before him. No, no, no.

“Y/N,” he breathes, his chest tightening with panic. He’s wrenches himself to his feet, eyes wide, whipping his head around to search for you. His breathing is ragged, frantic. You’re not with the others, you’re not running ahead with the group like you always are. You’re not beside him. You’re nowhere.

Rick and Shane are screaming at him, their voices a blur in his mind. He can’t hear them. Can’t hear anything but the pounding in his skull. All he can think about is you. Where the hell are you? How did he lose track of you? His fists clench tight. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He knew better than to let you go off alone. Should’ve waited for you, should’ve been with you. Always together, always watching each other’s backs. He promised he’d keep you safe, and now… now…

Daryl spins around, ignoring the shouts from behind him. He bolts back into the building, his legs moving before his mind can catch up. He’s shouting your name, his voice raw, desperate. He passes Dale and Andrea—they’re trying to call him, but he doesn’t stop. Won’t stop until he finds you. His throat burns from screaming, his vision narrowing. He knows time’s running out, but he can’t think about that. Not now. Not when you’re still inside. 

He pauses for a second, gasping for breath, trying to pull himself out of the panic. He can’t do this. Not like this. He forces himself to stop, closing his eyes for a second, trying to clear the fog. Focus, track her. You’re good at that. You know how to find her. His mind sharpens. The noise, the chaos fades into the background. He listens. And then he hears it—your voice. Faint but there. Screaming his name. Daryl’s head snaps toward the sound. He sprints down the hallway, his heart pounding. The doors are all open, rooms emptied out. And then, at the end of the hall—you.

You’re running toward him, panic all over your face, your skin flushed. His own chest is tight, matching the terror he sees mirrored in your eyes. For a split second, everything stops. Just you and him.

And then you’re running again, full speed toward each other. He grabs your hand, his grip tight, pulling you with him. Without a word, you’re both sprinting, racing down the stairs, out the shattered window, feet hitting the ground hard. The cool morning air feels like a slap, but there’s no time to think about that.

In the distance, you both hear the others—Rick’s voice, Shane yelling—but it’s all a blur. Daryl knows they’ve only got seconds. Maybe two, if they’re lucky.

He shoves you down behind a pile of sandbags, throwing himself on top of you. His body covers yours, his arms hovering protectively over your face and neck, his breath quick and shallow against your ear. The ground shakes beneath you, the sound of the explosion deafening. The CDC building behind you bursts, flames erupting from the windows, shattering glass and sending a wave of heat and pressure through the air.

Daryl holds on tight as debris rains down around you. His body shields yours, his arms bracing against the force of the explosion, his heart pounding in his chest. For a long moment, all he can hear is the roar of the fire and the pounding of his own blood in his ears.

And then… silence.

Daryl’s breath comes in ragged gasps as he lifts his head slightly, looking down at you. His hand is still gripping yours, tight, but he loosens his hold, blinking away the dust and ash. Your face is pale, but your eyes are wide open, staring up at him. Alive.

You’re both alive.

He lets out a shaky breath, leaning his forehead against yours for a brief second, the tension finally breaking. You’re safe. You made it out.

For now.

x Flashback x

Young reader & Daryl 

It was a cooler day, the crisp bite of fall in the air, when Daryl showed up at your front door. You were maybe six or seven at the time—having only met him a few days ago. When you opened the door, you found him standing there, quiet and pensive, chewing on the inside of his cheek like he was working up the nerve to say something.

“Hi,” you greeted shyly, waiting for him to speak. After a long pause, he finally looked away from you, fidgeting with his hands.

“Wan’ come hunt squirrels?” he mumbled, twisting his fingers together, still avoiding your gaze.

A grin stretched across your face, showing the gap where you’d just lost a baby tooth. His shy grin mirrored yours, growing wider as he waited for your reply.

“Yeah!” you agreed, stepping outside to join him. Daryl’s grin got a little bigger, his shoulders loosening as you walked off the porch together.

“Don’t you gotta tell your mama and papa?” he asked, stopping you halfway down the stairs. The smile faded from your face as you glanced back at the door.

“Daddy ain’t here no more,” you said quietly, your eyes dropping to the cracks in the worn wood of the porch.

“And your mama?” Daryl asked again, softer this time.

You shrugged, turning away. You knew she wouldn’t notice you were gone. She rarely did these days, spending her time either asleep in bed or out late, reeking of booze when she stumbled back in the early hours. You doubted she even realized you were still in the house most of the time. Once in a while when she was conscious she would look at you with her nose crinkled or swatted a newspaper at you.

Daryl walked in stride beside you as you left the house, the cool wind picking up around you. The woods were nearby, the sound of a small stream trickling as you approached the trail. Daryl had a large crossbow strapped to his back, way too big for a kid his size, but he carried it like it was the most important thing in the world.

“What’s that?” you asked, pointing at the weapon slung across his small shoulders.

“My pops’ old huntin’ crossbow,” Daryl said proudly, puffing out his chest a bit.

“Wow,” you whispered in awe, your eyes wide. Daryl’s chest puffed up a little more, clearly pleased that you were impressed.

“Darylina!” a voice called from behind, interrupting your conversation. You both turned to see a lanky teenage boy on a beat-up bicycle coasting up to the curb. He had messy dark hair and a smirk plastered on his face.

“Who’s this, Darylina?” he taunted, jumping off his bike and walking over with a swagger. “Is this your girlfriend?”

Daryl’s face flushed, and he stared at the ground, the confidence he’d had moments ago disappearing.

“Stop callin’ me that, Merle,” Daryl muttered, kicking at the dirt.

“Aww, did I hurt your w’ittle feelin’s?” Merle sneered, crouching slightly as he leered at his younger brother. “Is this your girrrlfriend?” he asked again, this time directing his smirk at you.

“How ya doin’ little lady?” Merle approached you with a swing in his step, “I’m Merle. This kid’s big brother,”

 You had been around a lot of bullies in school–those who’d taunt you about your dirty clothes, your greasy unwashed hair, and sometimes even followed you home off the bus to taunt you about living in a trailer park. Merle seemed just like them. Your face was turning red, but not out of embarrassment. It had been a long while since you let other kids embarrass you. 

“What’d’ya want?” you stood straight, arms crossed. Daryl shot you a glance, eyes wide with surprise at your boldness.

“Ooohoo hoo! We love a girl with some spunk, don’t we, Darylina?” Merle said, whistling through his teeth. He looked back at Daryl, who remained silent, but his eyes never left you.

“Go away,” you said confidently, standing a little straighter.

“Or what? What’re you gon’ do, little lady?” Merle teased, taking a step closer. “What’s yer name, anyway?”

“None of your business,” you shot back, folding your arms tighter over your chest.

Merle’s leer just gets wider, looking you up and down, “I like you, Daryl needs someone to be his backbone for once,” 

That seemed to be enough for Daryl. “Get outta here, Merle. We’re huntin’ squirrels,” he said, turning his back on his brother, clearly wanting you to follow. But you stayed put, watching Merle closely, daring him to push you further.

“Aww, ain’t that cute—this your first date?” Merle laughed, his voice sing-songy. “Should I mark the date on my calendar for the weddin’?”

You stare up at the teenager, your mouth tightening into a thin line, eyes narrowing. He’s leering down at you too, waiting for what you’ll do next. You honestly think he might actually like your spunk, but you can’t be sure. You knew many bullies like him. But you make up your mind and turn your back, following Daryl.

“Darylina and his girlfriend, kissing in a tree, K-I-S-S-I–” you hear behind you, and you stomp back over and kick your foot out, hard into Merle’s shin.

“Ow! You little–!” he shouts.Without missing a beat, you grabbed Daryl’s arm and bolted into the woods. You could hear Merle cursing behind you, but the two of you veered off the path, ducking under branches and weaving through trees where Merle couldn’t follow on his bike.

When you were sure you’d lost him, you both collapsed into laughter, breathless and exhilarated. Bent over, hands on your knees, you looked at Daryl, who was grinning from ear to ear.

“He might kill you,” Daryl chuckled, still trying to catch his breath.

“I’d like to see him try,” you shot back, straightening up with a defiant smile. “Now, you gon’ show me how to hunt squirrels or what?”

Daryl’s grin returned, and he pulled the crossbow from his back, holding it like a badge of honor. “Yeah, let’s go.”

You and Daryl made your way into the woods, and kept telling you to keep quiet.

"Your fat feet keep scarin’ everything off," he muttered, glancing back at you with mild frustration. "You wouldn’t last a day on your own if you had to hunt fer yourself."

You whipped around on him, and he staggered to a stop, “Ain’t you s’possed to be teachin’ me?” you snapped, hands on your hips. he rolled his eyes at you, then pointed to your feet.

“You’re muckin’ up the trail, come here,” he said, pulling you back. You backed up so you were right next to him, following his pointed finger.

"I only see dirt," you said flatly, squinting at the spot he was so focused on.

“Look closer,” he whispered, leaning down to the ground. You squatted next to him, your face inches from the forest floor. That’s when you noticed it—subtle gaps in the leaves, some pressed down, others left undisturbed. It looked like nothing at first, but then you saw the faint shape of a footprint.

“Prints?” you said, heart swelling.

Daryl stood up quickly, a rare smile flickering across his face. "Yeah," he said, nodding, then turned to lead the way again. His sharp eyes tracked the trail effortlessly, pointing out when the path veered or when the prints led up onto a tree. His focus was intense, like this was second nature to him.

Suddenly, he stopped, scanning the branches above. His posture tensed as his eyes flicked to his right, across a small clearing. That’s when you both heard it—the chattering of a squirrel, hidden somewhere in the trees. Daryl glanced back at you, pressing a finger to his lips to signal silence. Then, with practiced precision, he raised his crossbow. Despite its size, the weapon seemed like an extension of him. He took aim, waiting for the right moment. When the squirrel ventured down to the center of the trunk, Daryl released the arrow. It flew through the air, striking the target with deadly accuracy.

"Wow!" you whispered excitedly, running up behind him as he approached the tree. "Where’d you learn to do all this?"

Daryl crouched by the tree, yanking the arrow free from the squirrel’s chest and tying the small creature to the strap of his crossbow with a piece of rope. "Have to eat somehow," he replied quietly, his voice distant.

You paused at that, his words sinking in. Sure, you had to fend for yourself most days, but you always managed to find a way to get food. Your mom was a mess, but there were usually a few crumpled dollars in her purse you could get away with stealing. But Daryl…Daryl didn’t seem to have that luxury.

"Your parents...?" you started to ask, but trailed off when Daryl’s eyes met yours, hard and cold.

"Pops always said if we couldn’t figure shit out for ourselves, we’d never learn," he grumbled, tightening the rope around the squirrel. "Ain’t old enough for a job. Merle’s barely around since he turned 16."

A heavy silence settled between you. Daryl stared down at his hands, fingers fumbling with the rope, his face tense.

"Sometimes I steal my mama’s money out her bag to buy somethin’ from the corner store," you admitted quietly, glancing away. You didn’t know why you said it—it wasn’t something you told anyone. But with Daryl, it felt like you could share that secret.

Daryl’s eyes flickered up to meet yours, then quickly darted back down. "If I ever tried that, I’d get whooped," he whispered, his voice tight. The weight of his words hung in the air, the reality of his life sinking in deeper.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything, standing there in the middle of the woods, two kids with too much weight on their shoulders. Finally, Daryl cleared his throat and looked up at you, trying to change the subject. "You got a crossbow at home?"

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. Daryl let out a long breath, nodding. "Right. Well, let me show ya how to make a snare, for the little guys like this. For when I ain’t around."

The way he said it—for when I ain’t around—made your chest tighten, but you just nodded. You followed him closely, watching his every move as he showed you how to set a snare, feeling, for the first time in a long while, like maybe you weren’t so alone.

[nectardaddy]

'88 Ford | Kita Shinsuke

chapter three | wash out

masterlist

ignore timestamps

track three . . . keep 'em on they toes

cw: the tiniest hint of sexual humor in one single sentence, I'm so country I managed to use the term "backwater" forgive me

Her eyes flickered to the windshield once again, tracing over the small crack in her mind's eyes before letting a groan pass her lips. Seeing as the rain went from a shower to a down pour in the matter of minutes, she leaned her head back against the head rest in defeat. "Piece of shit tire, fucking weather, dumbass road," grumbling a list aloud to no one of things that managed to piss her off today.

Clothes wet, sticking to skin as every article was water logged, and phone dead, she decided this, surely, was the worst day of her life. So she wanted to ignore the lump in her throat upon hearing the engine of a truck behind her, ignore the sickly feeling bubbling up as she heard the the door creak open and slam shut - wanted to, but simply couldn't. Hearing the gentle knock on her driver side window was enough to pull her completely to the deep end.

She didn't wait for him to open the door, knowing his hand was already on the handle to do it for her, she just opened it with a sigh. Revealing the man, the handsome man with pretty brown eyes, and seeing his brows furrow in confusion. "You're wet," he said in a statement rather than a question.

You couldn't even imagine, is what she wanted to say, biting back the smirk that ate away at her lips. "So are you," is what she opted for, watching as the rain poured down on him. Hat protecting his hair and face, but leaving all else to elements. His sleeves were rolled up to his mid arm, and rain water glided down pale skin as it hit him. This is why they write songs about the rain, fucking hell. "Good thing we're not made of sugar," spoken with a shrug before turning to get out.

"Do you wanna' jacket, ma'am?" Asking sincerely, not minding the rain at all through his question. Always respectful, always considerate, not a single rotten bone in his body - an absolute dream of a man.

"I wanna' get going," she added, a sass that she tried to reel in but was unsuccessful. A twang in her tone heightened by her snippy response. Erring on the side of caution, he simply moved out from the way of the door, if her tone got too backwater, he was a goner. She let out a deep sigh as the rain pelted her again upon getting out, and she heard him close the door behind her. "Shitty ass weather."

"Rain's a good thing," replying with a small smile. "Makes things grow; it's my favorite actually." She saw him pass in front of her after his statement, the corners of his lips still pulled into a smile as he made his way to the passenger side door. His hand already on the handle of the door before she could reach for it herself, she found herself smiling in response.

"Hard to argue when you say it that sincerely," musing as he opened the door for her. "But I'd prefer weather that doesn't leave me soaked t' the bone." Especially in front of you, saying the latter in her head before getting in the truck, hearing him hum before closing the door behind her. "Should be illegal to look that good in the rain." Mumbling quietly to herself, eyes tracking him pass in front of the truck to the driver's side door.

Shamelessly, she watched as he got in himself and closed the door, taking off his hat and putting it on the dashboard once he did - his grandmother's words forever stuck in his mind: don't wear a hat inside, anywhere, it's rude. Hair damp from the soaked fabric of the hat, and stringy pieces falling in his face that weren't contained and met with the rain. Maybe rain's good, great even, oh my god. To which she turned her head, hands meeting her face and dragging down in an attempt to stop the thoughts that hammered in her head.

She didn't turn when she heard him sigh, only put her head against the head rest once again. "Ma'am?" Questioning softly, to which she only hummed in response. But his words were cut off by a loud crack of thunder, rumbling through the area with force, followed by the bright flash of lightening. "It's coming down too hard to drive at the moment, 'm sorry."

Rain pelted down harder than before, hitting the truck with an, almost relaxing, drone. But it was a compete, and total wash out; if the man tried to drive, he would be met with bogged roads and little visibility. She let out a loud groan at this, keeping her eyes closed as it passed her lips in annoyance. "Whatever god I managed t'piss off is taking it out on me today and dragging you down with me." Reopening her eyes and gaze shifting towards him, she caught his own. Locking for a fraction of a second before he averted, turning his eyes to the windshield as she still kept her's on him.

You can't be looking at me like that, I'll lose my mind. Looking him over once more, again shamelessly, before sighing at the thought. "You got my dad's number?"

"Yes, ma'am," he spoke with a nod. "You want me to let him know we got stuck in the storm?"

"Yeah," she agreed. "And tell him my phone's dead too, so he'll have t'bitch at me when we're back."

A small chuckle left his lips at her words, "I'll tell him we'll be back as soon as it lightens up." The man was simply too good for this world, pure as snow - which she told him often. Always smiling or laughing off the comment with a gentle I just do what's right following suit. But maybe that was why the woman found herself infatuated with him, smiling to herself like an idiot after every conversation.

He had nothing but generosity and care in his soul, spilling over upon every interaction he had with anyone lucky enough to cross his path. While she, although caring and compassionate in her own regard, was nothing but a firecracker. But he would never be subject to venom laced words, even if he deserved it, some how some way, because he was the only reason to why her heart squeezed - giving her a heart attack with every smile.

So deep in the trenches of her own feelings she didn't dare think of coming back out, because hell, it felt good. I'll make it everyone's problem the day I have the balls to tell you how happy you make me.

I couldn't be bothered to give this man a name, I'm sorry.

taglist under cut

@wyrcan @chizunata @seroh @chemiru @froyaoya

@h3xi2g0n3 @localgaytrainwreck @mollyrolls @causenessus @diorzs

@rory-cakes @phoenix-eclipses @pattys-got-cakes @girlkissersco

@jaynawayna

[skxllz]

“ 𝐚𝐝𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧’ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠. ”

lip gallagher x fem! reader

warnings; swearing. “creep” scene in the beginning. suggestive joking between minors. shameless humor and descriptive writing?

side note; I usually would write for 18+ characters, like... lip in the other seasons, but I find season 1-2 lip so cute (this is season 2, he's 17). plus I feel like the feel of the atmosphere from the earlier seasons match up with the tiny plot I had in mind?? idk. but like, enjoy my shitty writing 😗✌️🏻

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

✧⋆✧⋆✧⋆✧⋆✧⋆✧⋆✧⋆✧⋆✧⋆✧⋆✧⋆✧⋆✧⋆✧⋆✧⋆✧⋆✧⋆✧

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

It was chilly in the midst of october. the cool air was turning rather crisp and shiver-y to the feel. while you despised the feel of jeans snuggly fit against you, hot or cold weather, you figured today was a day as good as any to wear ‘em. it was going to rain soon, your other clothes were dirty in a growing pile on the swivel chair in your bedroom - and it was either jeans or pajama pants. although pj's weren't a bad choose, you rather not get soaked in that type of material. if just felt icky.

so friggin’ jeans were the go to in this bitter weather.

you wished summer would've stuck around a while longer, that way you could hang out in the sun in nothing but bikini bottoms, a ratty t and bare feet; but alas, the season only lasted like... three months. four tops, if you counted may. It was a bitch.

and so, due to your luck and the earth going down hill autumn came way too fast. it was actually your favorite season, you just preferred the warmth of the sun over the jittery winds that blew during this time of year. fuck temperature drops.

as of right now, with jeans riding up your ass from the fucking tightness - god it was annoying -, you were walking your behind to the high school that was about a mile away from your house. you lived between the southside and westside, which was both a blessing and curse - a blessing, since it was... a bit more relaxed than the southside, but a curse because you had to deal with the damn calvary of chicago. west and south did not get along, and the punches packed between could be brutally irritating.

so honestly, it was no surprise you got catcalled by some creepy fuck along the way past the bus stop. you ended up curling in your lips and flipping him off over your shoulder, but no queso dude. he still tried to bother you.

“ hey- that's not nice, little lady! ” the stranger cackled, only for his steps to fall in line behind yours. you could feel your teeth edging to grit together, but resisted; knowing you had to keep your cool in this situation.

“ bro, it's- ” you spared a glance at your flip’, squinting at the digital time that could barely be seen,“ — 7:24 in the am. go bother someone else. ”

the man cackled - only to place a rather chapped hand on your shoulder. you instantly made a face of disgust. “ but i- ”

“ didn't she tell you to fuck off, dickhead? ” a new voice entered the conversation. you recognized the owner as you turned your head; no other than phillip gallgher himself.

he had reeled the man back by his shoulder and got right in his face, shoulders squared and fists on edge by his sides. you could tell by the curling motion of his whitening fingers that lip was ready to throw down with this jackass.

the guy looked dumbfounded as he stared at lip - his eyes wide, jaw slack, exposing his chipped teeth. “ i- ” he stuttered - but, then his eyes instantly narrowed and he sized lip up with a squinted gaze. “ who the hell are you, man? get out of my face! ”

that wasn't the response lip was looking for, because before you could even blink, he threw his fist towards the guy in a swift motion; knuckles connecting right to the strangers jaw and knocking him on his ass. you inwardly winced from the gasping cough the guy let out, as he grabbed as his face immediately to cradle it.

“ fucking pig... ” lip muttered, before his frosty eyes turned onto you. he looked angered still, but the emotion began diminishing after you two locked gazes.

lip approached you, only to grab your arm and tug you along with him. “ come on, you're walking with me. ”

“ when the hell did I agree to ditch? ” your voice, filled with annoyance, bounced off the aluminum roof of the pavilion lip led the two of you under. it was one of those public ones that belonged to a church - but could actually care less for whoever used it. both of you ended up walking over to one of the few rickety picnic tables that sat benched out from one another, only to take seats on the table-top surface itself; you, criss-cross-apple-sauce, and lip sitting in a lazy man spread with one of his hands tucked into the pocket of his coat.

his eyes flickered up to glance at you, acknowledging your statement to him before they shifting back to the lighter he began flicking, “ th’minute you left with me. ” he mumbled over the roll of his cigarette.

“ huh? ” you raised a brow in question.

lip took his cigarette between his fingers once he sparked it up, blowing smoke out from between his lips as his gaze locked onto your figure again. “ I said, you agreed to ditch the minute you left with me. ”

those blue eyes of his seemed to be studying your expression, but you either didn't mind or just didn't seem to notice - given, of course, that you were looking out at the empty road; simply watching the cars pass by. “ technically, you forced me out here with you. ” you snarked back knowingly, finally turning your head to give the gallagher a smug smile.

he managed a half-assed smirk. “ is that necessarily a bad thing? I did save you from that fucking creep - he was ready to grab your ass. ”

your nose scrunched up and wrinkled in distaste. “ oh, yeah... thanks for that. ”

looking away, you coughed into your fist. “ but I could've handled myself, ya’ know. ”

the brunette-blonde rolled his eyes, taking another inhale of his camel light. “ sure. ”

you scoffed, looking at lip with pinched brows. “ right - and you only came to my rescue because you thought you'd get some pussy, right? ”

lip, who was now looking out at the road now himself, cracked a grin and said nothing. you shook your head in disgust, only to curl your lips in from angered disbelief and shove him.

“ hey! ” the gallgher boy laughed, putting his hands up in mock surrender once he stumbled from the bench, “ I didn't even say anything! watch it. ”

“ I saw that look, gallagher. ” your eyes rolled before pinning ahead once more. “ you're a real dick, ya’ know? ”

“ I know. ”

your half-lidded gaze moved onto him, mirroring annoyance. lip was wearing a cocky grin - the one he always seemed to have on whenever he pissed off someone. he truly was an ass.

“ fuck you. ” you spat, sticking out your tongue childishly. lip's brow raised in response while he tucked his bic away.

“ when? ”

“ never. ”

he shook his head, smile never fading. though, he didn't say anything else; choosing to sit beside you once more. you didn't say anything either, but you were eyeing him from your perennial vision to make sure he didn't try anything.

the both of you sat in silence for what seemed like eternity, but it was really only ten minutes or so. lip had decided to gaggle around, tapping a beat with his foot for no apparent reason other than to rid the silence away. he wasn't used to sitting in a quiet setting for too. although it could be nice, it just wasn't.

“ so, ” lip spoke while snuffing his butt out into the wooden table. “ what're you doing? ” his eyes moved onto you, only to see you looking out into the road again.

“ admirin’ the early morning. ” your voice came out soft - way softer than the tone you had spoken to him with before.

lip just... stared at you. It wasn't creepy, nor weird, he was just admiring you for a moment. taking note on how your baby hairs curled around the base of your ear, and how your lips parted just enough to let out a small puff of air once in a while.

It was cute.

you were cute.

“ why? ” he questioned finally, tearing his gaze off of you and pointing it to the ground.

a gentle smile tug at the corners of your mouth. “ because, ” you chuckled lightly, “ it's always nice out at this time. just- the hour of the day, the fog and rain around us. you never took any time to take this in? ”

why would he? “ no. ” lip spoke with a scoff, almost like what you were saying was a joke. he never had time to do that shit.

“ you should, ” you didn't sound bothered that he took your words with a grain of salt. he was lip gallagher after all. you didn't know him that well, so you couldn't fully judge him, but everyone knew how the gallgher's were like. “ it's therapeutic to appreciate the little things. ”

in lip's mind, he knew you weren't necessarily wrong - but at the same time, he didn't have time to just sit back and relax. a lot of people in the world didn't, because they had shit going on and things to do. right now, he shouldn't even be where he was; he should be in calc. in school. both of you should be, but he figured a day off wouldn't hurt.

but now that he thinks it over... it's probably hurting his grades right now, and he can only imagine how bad fiona is gonna’ chew his ear off for missing.

the thought made him internally swear, unintentionally balling up the fist that sat downright on his knee. his bottom lip had even curled in and he didn't take notice.

“ hey- ” that was until your voice called out to him.

he blinked- once, twice, in a manner that brought him back to earth.

lip looked at you - then down at your hand, that had moved over top of his from concern. why were you concerned?

“ you okay? ” your words made lip lift his head and inhale, “ you seemed mad, for a moment. ”

“ yeah, ” he nodded his head, wiping at his nose with his other hand out of habit. “ ‘m fine. just thinkin’ about some shit. ”

you stared at him for a moment - it's like you were contemplating his words, which you were - before nodding slowly. “ okay. ”

you paused. “ wanna’ go get something to drink? the stores should be open by now, it's past eight. ”

lip stared at you for a moment.

“ I don't have any money, ” he said finally, after a minute of hesitation. It was embarrassing to admit that - being a kid form that southside and all, just struggling to get by.

a sideways smile pulled at your mouth. “ don't worry about it. I got you. ”

lip swallowed at the words that rolled off your tongue as if it was nothing. he surely wasn't used to kindness. I mean - steve came into their lives, sure, but lip always seen him as sketchy. there's not really someone who exists that's so willingly nice unless they get something in return.

“ what's in it for you? ” he was was now defensive, and you noticed.

so, you did reverse psychology.

“ okay- ” you shrugged, and got up from your spot on the picnic table. “ since you wanna’ be like that, don't come. but the offer still stands. ”

It wasn't like you were a bitch, you just knew how boys like lip were. always thought a single sliver of kindness was dropped onto the table just to fuck them over ten fold. but, you didn't have those intentions. lip helped you out, so why not help him out?

maybe it wasn't with a blowie like that karen chick would offer him, but it was still something.

“ hey! ” you heard lip call after you, after you had walked off. you were half way down the road when you turned around, only to see him jogging after you.

“ uh- ” he breathed out awkwardly once he came to a stop in front of you. his hand raised to scratch at the back of his head. “ listen- I could actually use that drink... I'm pretty thirsty. ”

you smirked at him, “ I knew that. �� your head tilted in the direction of the gas station. “ so come on, I don't feel like standing around all day. ”

lip looked dumbfounded, but you didn't stay to watch how his mouth dropped open to catch flies. instead, you walked off once again; hands in pockets and a certain beverage in mind.

... okay. maybe appreciating the little things in life wasn't so bad. that was lip's last thought before he ran after you.

he was getting that cola he had in mind.

[riotwritesthings]

Hi hi 👋 love your writing, pink, winteriron?

thank youuu! I hope you like this!

(now taking prompts for pride month)

Fading Pink

WinterIron, T, 650 - Fluff

~

“Tony.”

“Mhm.”

“Tony. Angel.”

“Mm!”

A low, rumbling laugh makes its way to Tony’s ears as cool fingers trail down his spine.

“Doll face,” that warm voice says, warmer than the sun still soaking into his skin. “Tony, sweetheart, if you don’t wake up already I’m eatin’ your dinner.”

With another grumbled hum Tony finally lifts his head from his crossed arms, blinking sluggishly against the bright golden light.

Ah, right, he’s on a beach, sprawled out on their giant blanket and supposedly working on his tan. He must have fallen asleep at some point after Bucky had headed back into the biggest rental house Tony could talk him into for the trip. Their own little slice of paradise, at least for now.

It's been nearly perfect, but Tony can always find something to complain about.

”You abandoned me,” Tony pouts, narrowing his eyes at the dark shape sitting beside him, casting a shadow over him.

"Someone had t’make us some food," Bucky returns, and Tony can tell he’s grinning by the tilt of his head, “an’ we both know you weren’t gonna move.”

“I’m photo-”

“You are not photosynthesizing,” Bucky interrupts with a huff of laughter, and Tony grumbles as he buries his face in his arms again. “I really will eat your food,” Bucky warns, but he’s absently brushing the hair away from the nape of Tony’s neck.

“Five more minutes,” Tony demands, his voice a petulant whine even as he arches up into the wonderful contrast of Bucky’s cool skin against his.

“Are you tryin’ to roast yourself out here?” Bucky asks with another soft laugh.

“Like a rotisserie chicken,” Tony agrees as he flops over onto his back and stretches lazily. He smirks as Bucky’s eyes drag down his bare chest to stop on the tiny black swim trunks sitting low on his hips. “I hope you appreciate this,” Tony says as he bends one knee up, letting his thighs fall open just a little wider, “I’m only wearing the shorts because you like tan lines.”

“I do like 'em,” Bucky agrees with a thoughtful nod and now his chilled metal fingers are following the path of his eyes, down Tony’s stomach to trail along the waist of his shorts. “But apparently,“ he continues, ”there was th’ alternative of you not wearin’ these. So it’s a real win/lose situation for me.”

Tony laughs, and then laughs harder when Bucky’s fingers dip ticklishly beneath the fabric, pulling it up to inspect the line of his tan. “Now go back to touching my head,“ he demands, shoving lightly at Bucky’s hand without any real intent. ”that felt amazing. So refreshing.”

"‘Cuz I’ve been inside," Bucky says with a roll of his eyes, but reaches up to brush the hair off Tony’s forehead, “in th’ AC, where our dinner is waitin’ on us. C’mon.”

“And leave the sun?“ Tony demands even as he lean up into Bucky’s touch, ”The sun is my new best friend.”

"Well your new best friend burned me,“ Bucky says and Tony laughs at the memory of his skin flushed an angry red before he’d fled inside earlier. ”Stop,“ Bucky complains, poking him in the forehead.

”Sorry, sorry,“ Tony says, still laughing, ”but I told you to start slow, you have to woo the sun.“

”Woo me,“ Bucky grumbles, letting himself be pulled down beside Tony on the sandy blanket.

”Gladly,” Tony says and reels him into a kiss, dragging his thumb along the warm curve of Bucky’s cheek. His sunburn has already healed to just a hint of color, like a lingering blush, and Tony kisses him until the sun has vanished into the water.

“Dinner is still waitin’,“ Bucky points out eventually, but his fingers are still creeping beneath the waist of Tony’s shorts.

”Let it wait,“ Tony says and presses his lips to the fading pink over the bridge of Bucky’s nose.

[thewolvesof1998]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @daffi-990 @theotherbuckley and @wikiangela

Bear with me...Since Halloween's over I think it's time for a change of picture, now its too early for anything Christmas so I thought I would change to my drawing of Rodeo Star Buck as I finally finished drawing it:

And since it's Wednesday, here's a little bit I've been working on today from Chapter three of Alright, Cowboy, Go Get 'Em:

Eddie watches as Buck pulls away, not physically, he stays lying next to Eddie, but he pulls away mentally and it hurts more than it should. It leaves a sour taste in Eddie’s mouth and it makes him want to chase after Buck, kiss him until it washes it away. It can’t end like this, on this sour note with Buck further away from him than when he entered this hotel room.  Eddie rolls onto his side facing Buck, props himself up on his elbow and reaches out towards Buck before he can think better. His hand connects with Buck’s shoulder first before sliding down over his chest and down to sit low on his stomach. He’s so warm even with the T-shirt between them.  “What are you doing?” Buck asks “We have an hour before I have to leave, we could you know, if you want?” Buck raises a single eyebrow, “Fuck?” Eddie blushes, he doesn’t know why he’d said worse things last night, “Yeah, I suppose that’s a word for it.” “I wanna hear you say it.” Eddie meets Buck’s gaze, his blue eyes practically glowing in the early morning light, leans until his lips brush against Buck’s ear and whispers, “I want to fuck you.” He almost says 'I want you to fuck me' but he's not sure he's ready for that yet. Buck swallows, “Yeah, yeah we can do that.”  At the permission Eddie slides his hand down and under Buck’s shirt, he lightly brushes over the skin above the waistband of his boxers, teasing and teasing until Buck is squirming.  “I thought you said you were going to fuck me?” He asks already a little breathless, his bottom lip in what Eddie would call a pout.  Eddie chuckles, “Always so impatient.” “We only have an hour,” Buck says and it’s a harsh reminder of the little time they have left together, something Eddie doesn’t want to focus on right now.  He pulls the covers off of them before returning his hand to Buck’s waistband, he’s already straining against the thin black fabric. Eddie slips his hand into his boxers and wraps his hand around Buck’s dick. His breath hitches in Eddie’s ear and he turns his head and catches Buck’s lips in a chaste kiss, the first of the morning. His lips are dry and he tastes slightly of morning breath, it should not be as cute as Eddie is finding it.  Buck pulls back, “We should brush our-ah-teeth,” Buck says somewhat distractedly as Eddie moves his hand along Buck’s length as best he can within the confines of the shorts.  “I don’t care if you don’t,” Eddie says, watching the challenge register on Buck’s face.  “Come here then,” He says, lifts his hand, slides it into Eddie’s hair and reels him in until their lips are brushing each other but no further. Eddie closes the distance, pressing into Buck, lips moulding together. He sucks in Buck’s lower lip, biting down until he’s gasping into Eddie’s mouth. He takes advantage of it to slip his tongue into Buck’s mouth, tasting the stale morning breath, it’s kinda nasty and so goddamn intimate and Eddie moans into Buck’s mouth. He chases the taste, sucking on Buck’s tongue in a sloppy kiss, that dissolves as Buck's gasps increase in frequency as Eddie’s hand continues its ministrations on Buck’s dick.  “Eddie,” Buck whines Eddie nips at the edge of his jaw, “You want something Darlin’?” He feels Buck shiver at the term of endearment, “You said something about fucking me.”

Masterlist of posts about this fic- 18+

Read Chapter One and Two on ao3- 18+

Tagging: @wildlife4life ​ @eddiebabygirldiaz​ @disasterbuckdiaz @spotsandsocks @try-set-me-on-fire @jesuisici33​ @bekkachaos @buddierights @forthewolves @911-on-abc @hippolotamus @shitouttabuck @911onabc @exhuastedpigeon @eddiediaztho @your-catfish-friend @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @watchyourbuck @king-buckley @chaoticgremlinwholikescheese @fortheloveofbuddie @steadfastsaturnsrings @mangacat201 @hoodie-buck @eowon @rainbow-nerdss @nmcggg @pirrusstuff @evanbegins @giddyupbuck @sammy-souffle @smilingbuckley

[nevarran-hahren]

Feast and Folly || Chapter 1

Pairing: Gale x Tav/Reader Rating: M (to be safe–it's fairly tame, just a little bit of spice in a future chapter!) Tags/warnings: Gale's Netherese orb, chronic pain, hurt/comfort

Summary: You are a wild magic sorcerer, gifted with an innate connection to the Weave, yet it has caused you nothing but immense strife all your life. Gale is a wizard, plagued by a Netherese orb that must feed on shreds of the Weave, lest the worst come to pass. Is there anything you can do to help ease his pain?

Slow burn, Act I pre-relationship, Gale x f!Tav/Reader. This is intended to be 3 chapters.

Read on Ao3

NOTE: This is written in 2nd person, but reader/Tav is my tiefling wild magic sorcerer, Tiresia. Her story is integral to the fic, so this is not really a true blank slate “reader insert,” but I don’t describe her physical appearance much beyond race-specific details (having a tail and horns and claws), story-relevant details (burn scarring, blindness in one eye), and being shorter than Karlach (as most everyone is). But there are lots of bits of backstory peppered throughout. (my drawing of the Tav in question, if you are interested!)

Chapter 1: Arcane Hunger

“So, remind me again, who are these ‘paladins' and, why are they riding your tail?” you ask, a little bit out of breath.

Your newest—and tallest—companion, Karlach, leads your small scouting party up the dusty, bush-lined path where you first met her just days ago. You try to keep up while you chat, but she has a good foot and a half on you so what amounts to a brisk walk for her is nearing a jog for you, your tail bouncing rhythmically behind you with each step. The vampire and the wizard have both fallen several strides behind now, long since having given up on keeping the larger tiefling’s pace.

You slow to a stop as the rundown toll house comes into view up on the hill, allowing a moment for your other companions to catch up.

“Zariel’s bootlickers,” she spats. “Trying to drag me back to the hells. They’re not particularly bright, but those fuckers are relentless, I’ll give them that. But between us, they won’t know what hit ‘em.”

You hum in acknowledgement, deferring to Karlach for the plan of attack. “What d’you think’s the best way for us to approach this, then?”

Karlach pauses for a moment, hellfire in her eyes, before launching into an enthusiastic pitch for how to banish the ‘paladins’ back to Avernus. You watch her animated hand-talking with bemused reverence, until her monologue is interrupted by a sharp intake of breath from somewhere behind you. Then—

An agonized groan,

followed by a heavy thump—

Something— someone— hits the ground, hard.

Time seems to slow as you spin around on your boot heel, your ears suddenly perked and alert. When you turn, you are half expecting to find yourself in the middle of an ambush—either the paladins had got the jump on you, or a roving band of goblins and Absolute cultists did.

But as the scene before you comes into focus, your eye is drawn to Gale’s cloaked form, doubled over in the dirt—his sweat-covered brow twisted up in pain, one hand clutching at the fabric of his collar, the tightness of his grip blanching the usually tanned skin of his knuckles.

Oh gods. What happened? Has he been shot?

Your mind reels, heart plummeting into your stomach at the thought. 

Not him.

Something had drawn you to Gale nearly from the moment you pulled him from the portal he’d found himself stuck in. The wizard had landed right on top of you, knocking you into the dirt, his mortified blush and spluttering apology instantly endearing him to you. You found him handsome and charming, if a bit pompous, but still, Archmage Gale of Waterdeep felt deeply out of your league as an avoidant sorcerer with barely any mastery over her wild magic. There’s no way that he would be interested in you once he learned who you are, you reasoned. So you resigned yourself to admiring from afar.

But as the days went on, he started to seek you out in the evenings as a fellow magic user, expressing a keen interest in your innate abilities and connection to the Weave. You shared a few lighthearted stories of magical mishaps—like the time that a sneeze caused your skin to turn bright blue for a week, or when you accidentally flooded a small section of the Lower City because your mother refused to take you swimming—of course leaving out the more traumatic experiences. He offered up his own stories of mishaps and mischief in kind.

He was so genuine in his curiosity that you thought maybe you had misjudged him at first. But still, you felt guilty for the selective truths and the lies of omission. Even after he had partially revealed his own magical affliction, you still hadn’t quite mustered up the courage to share your own rather strained relationship with magic openly, nor the fact that you hadn’t intentionally cast a spell in nigh on a decade. This illithid nightmare you’d been thrust into left you with little choice but to rely on your magic again, so you made the decision to grin and bear it on your own.

Then, just a few evenings ago, one of these late night conversations bled into a more intimate moment, a warm embrace entangled in the very threads of the Weave as he told you of Mystra, his goddess and mother of all magic. A strange jealousy twinged in your gut at the reverent way he spoke of her, and your thoughts had wandered to your own longing, the shared connection laying bare your every repressed desire. You imagined what it would be like if you just pressed your lips to his, the soft scratch of his beard against your cheek, your tongue tracing the rampart of his teeth. His fingers trailing the seams of your robe, hooking under your belt, eagerly pulling you in closer—

“Soldier, get down !” Karlach hisses, snapping you back to the reality before you, shaking off your moment of reverie. You can’t afford any distraction if his life is in danger.

In your peripheral, you catch a glimpse of Karlach as she yanks the greataxe from her back and braces herself, eyes scanning wildly for assailants hidden in the brush. To your left, you hear Astarion let out a low growl, his lithe form swallowed up by your blindspot.

Without another thought, you rush to the wizard’s side and drop to your knees beside him. You take him firmly but gently by the shoulders and guide him into a seated position, allowing you to examine him closer.

Your eyes flit over his chest, scanning for any wounds, but you see no errant arrows, no bloom of blood staining his purple robe, nothing that would suggest grave physical injury. Your chest swells in relief, but it’s ever so brief. Something is still very wrong.

Gale lifts his head gingerly, and his wet, brown eyes flicker to yours. There’s an intensity to his gaze, an immense anguish that makes your breath hitch, and your world narrows until it is just you and the man sitting before you. You hold his gaze, searching for an answer. As your thoughts race, you try to suppress your rising panic so you can pinpoint the source of his pain.

“Please—,” his strangled voice dies in his throat, barely a hiss escaping through gritted teeth. He reaches up again and shakily pulls on his collar so that it dips just below the bruised purple outline etched into his chest. 

Oh.

The hunger.

It isn’t the first time this arcane hunger has overtaken him since you began traveling together. You may not yet be privy to all the details of the wizard’s strange, magical affliction, but he’s told you enough for you to know more or less what is happening: his condition is worsening, yet again. The demon inside, as he had described it, had awoken to ravage him—clawing, tearing, teething from within.

He needs another magical artifact, immediately.

You start rifling through your pack, desperate to find anything you can part with—an enchanted amulet, a spare pair of boots, anything. Another pained whimper escapes Gale’s throat, and a knife twists in your own chest in sympathetic response.

You are no stranger to pain. The burn scars that pucker the left side of your face, neck, arms, and chest have caused you chronic, lingering pain for as long as you remember, ever since the day your magic ignited a fireball and set your childhood home ablaze. Though the burns have long since healed, the phantom prickles and incessant itching spells persist, and the restrictive tightness of the scar tissue itself causes you discomfort with even the simplest of movements. 

Each time you laugh at a companion’s joke, each time you lift your arms to take off your tunic at the end of the day… hells, each time you look into a mirror, you are reminded of your stinging guilt, your hollow loss, the worst day of your life.

But among your companions, you keep that pain close to your chest. It is still difficult for you to allow yourself to be vulnerable in front of them when you already feel like a liability because of your unpredictable magic. Some days are worse than others, but even on the bad days you find yourself pushing too far in order to prove yourself useful. You wonder idly if Gale has been doing the same this whole time, too.

“Come on, come on, come on, there’s got to be something in here,” you chastise yourself for hoarding so many useless baubles as your fingers graze past one too many pieces of pilfered silverware. You start tossing them on the ground next to you and they land with a metallic clatter. You make a mental note to clean out your pack later at camp—this level of clutter is clearly becoming a problem.

After another moment of digging, you produce the small golden locket that the little tiefling girl’s mother had given you after saving her from that wretched snake. You picture the looks of pure love and relief on her mother and father’s faces after being reunited with their daughter. You try to picture your own parents’ faces in your mind’s eye too, though with the passage of time, your visual memories of them have become less precise. The illuminating spell the locket is imbued with is not particularly useful to you, but still, it had been an incomprehensibly kind gesture to gift you with such an heirloom—especially when you know those tieflings had so little to their names. Their kindness will not be in vain.

You hold the locket out to Gale. He reaches for it, but recoils as another shudder wracks his body.

“Do you—” you pause, unsure of what it is you even want to ask. “Do you want me to do it?”

He nods.

The last time that Gale had to treat his worsening condition, you’d curiously observed how he held the artifact to his chest, touching it to bare skin so that the shred of Weave within could be absorbed into his body. It seemed simple enough.

You clutch the locket tight inside your palm and lean in to press it lightly to the bruised skin above Gale’s heart. Eyes closed, his hand settles on top of yours, thumb slowly rubbing back and forth across the back of your hand.

After a moment, a cool glow emanates from beneath your clawed fingertips, the outline of the strange orb on his chest now pulsing with magic. Bolts of indigo Weave crackle in the air around you and caress your entangled hands, the hairs on your arm standing on end, magic flowing from the locket and into Gale’s chest—through you.

The sensation is an altogether odd one, though certainly not unpleasant or unwelcome; it feels markedly different from the way that your wild magic usually does. You’ve tried so hard to keep the tides of chaos within you from spilling over for as long as you can remember, but it has always felt more like of a cycle of ever-building pressure, a mounting tension, rather than a pleasant ebb and flow of energy—rather like a bowstring being stretched ever more taut, yet never released, until finally it just snaps.

But this, this is something wholly different. This magic feels electric —a soft, buzzing energy, starting as a faint tingle in the tips of your fingers but radiating outward, to the crown of your head and the tip of your tail. Your nerves sing, a cold adrenaline flooding through you, and the frenetic vibrations that echo through your body push a nearly inaudible sound from your lips. You shiver. Has magic ever felt this good before?

Almost as quickly as it started, the tendrils of shimmering magic melt into the air.

The wizard groans, and you realize for the first time that your eyes had fluttered closed at some point, your lips still slightly parted. You open your eyes to find Gale gazing back at you from beneath hooded lids, closer than you remember him being—an unreadable emotion flickering across them for a fraction of a second. Your palm lingers on his chest as you relish in the soft electricity humming in your veins, his hand still resting atop yours.

Karlach’s soft cough from behind you snaps you out of it.

Suddenly hyper-aware of the intimacy of the moment you have just shared and your companions’ stares boring a hole into your back, you are the first to move away. Your cheeks grow hot, flushing a deep red. 

Your hands drop to your lap, opening your fist to observe the empty space where the little golden locket had been moments ago. You absent-mindedly fiddle with your mother’s tarnished ring on your middle finger, suddenly self-conscious and unsure of what else to do with your hands.

“You felt that too, didn’t you?” he whispers. Your eyes rise to meet his again. “It is a strange experience each time anew—like a lost soul is spelunking through the darkness that is me, only to be sacrificed on the dread altar of the heart.” You smile wide at the return of his usual grandiloquence—a sure sign that he’s feeling more himself again.

But the relief is gone in a moment. When Gale moves to stand, he winces, another deep pang ripping through his chest. You catch his elbow to steady him. His expression grows serious again, eyes darkening.

“Good gods, it’s hardly had any effect. Mystra have mercy on us all. Listen, I need to talk to you, all of you,” he finally looks past you to acknowledge Astarion and Karlach’s presence for the first time. Their expressions flicker between bewilderment and concern at what they had just witnessed.

“Tonight. I will make us supper, and we will speak then. You deserve to know the truth of who I was. Who I really am.”

You can’t imagine that anything he could say would change the way you feel about him. Not when you have your own secrets you’ve been keeping.

“Is there anything more I can do for you, Gale?” you implore him, voice barely above a whisper.

Gale shakes his head. “Oh, you do plenty for me already. More than you realize,” he pauses. “But this… this cannot be remedied. Please, I need some time to think. We will speak more tonight.”

You nod your head solemnly. “Do you want me to walk you back to camp? I’m sure it wouldn’t take much to convince Lae’zel to take your place if you need a rest.”

“Oh, I assure you, that will not be necessary, but I am grateful for your endless thoughtfulness. Let us carry on, I do believe we were about to parley with some paladins.”

[reactor-stress-is-a-resource]

[BRIDGE LOG BEGINS]

>> Got her on radar, the Sylvia's Requiem. We're on approach.

[Cutting drives as planned. ISV Winterhalter IFF computer disengaged, silent running. Are you sure about this?]

>> Yep. Union's gonna be here to demil this rig before too long, if I want that gun I gotta grab it now.

[Five minutes to latch. We're going in on cold-chemical maneuvering thrusters.]

>> T-minus five, copy. Getting sideways.

[The low rumble of small maneuvering thrusters can be heard for thirty seconds. There is silence for the next four and a half minutes.]

>> Opening hold side doors. Okay, we're-

[There is a crash, and several ka-chunk sounds]

>> We're latched right on top of her, she's halfway in the hold. RA below, that is a glorious piece of machinery. CMC calls it the Texas Cannon.

[...]

[I can see why you wanted to retrieve this, that's all I will say.]

>> Okay, bringin' out the cutter. Gotta get inside and disconnect the ammo feeds.

[Five minutes pass, as Pyroclast leaves the bridge and proceeds to the hold. She can occasionally be heard on radio.]

>> Got the cutter. I'm goin in now, hole is three feet by three feet. Nothin' to depressurize, we're way in the clear.

>> Okay, found the ammo feeds. Gimme a few, gotta disconnect these. Grabbin' a shell, too, so we can print 'em later.

[Five minutes pass.]

>> Christ-the-buddha, that was difficult. She's a hell of a piece. Power leads are severed too, we can recreate those. Attaching the chains to the cannon, so we can cut and run.

[Five more minutes.]

>> Chains attached. Okay, we should be good. I grabbed a shell, we can cut her out and burn like hell away from here.

[Pyroclast returns to the bridge, strapping in. A console on the bridge shows the side entrance of the ship's hold, with cameras centered on the Texas Cannon and a readout showing the salvage cutters warming up.]

>> Okay. All cutters warmed. Starting the extraction.

[The four side cutters each begin to slice away at the Requiem's hull, each one running along a linear path along a wall, tracing a rectangle around the gun. All goes well until three-quarters of the way through, when Pyroclast notices something.]

>> Wait. Is that-

>> It is! Fuck, the cutters are causing the ammo to cook off! Brace!

[A large explosion shakes the ship, originating from an area below the Cannon. The last of the plating attaching the Cannon to the Requiem breaks free, and the Winterhalter is forcefully detached from the side of the larger ship.]

>> That's gonna attract a LOT of attention! Goddammit, we need to go, NOW! Reel it in, engines up, we need to fuck off as fast as we possibly can!

[Affirm. Destination?]

>> Straight away from here! Fuck, fuck, fuck! Now everyone's gonna know! I was gonna wait until it was all over, until the ship had already ben demilled- CMC's gonna be all the fuck over us!

[The Cannon is reeled into the hold by the heavy-duty chains that have been attached, and the bay doors close as the Winterhalter flares to life. The loud rumble of maneuvering, and then extremely hard acceleration, shakes the ship as it peels away from the Requiem.]

[Pyroclast sinks into her chair, head in her hands, as the Requiem shrinks in the rearview.]

[BRIDGE LOG ENDS]

[angel5ofp0rn]

I dunno but I just saw A Thing or whatever on Facebook reels about sleeping soundly knowing your husband is out and about at a party, sans wedding ring and then the comments are all like "Why would you put yourself in that position as a married person blah blah blah!!111!1"

But like... being in a secure relationship is hotter than hell. I haven't spoken to my husband all fuckin day, dude. He's out and about, oldest brother told my mom at one point my husband boy was doing yard work around our house [cuz the woodworking brother was looking for the husband for some help in the woods]. I'm at mom and dad's sucking up their wifi for my super duper overdue homework I'm probably gonna fail

Am I worried husband and boy is doing something else? Nope. Not one damn bit. The worst thing he could possibly be doing is going to a bar nearby and having a drink without me. I like drinking [too much] and I like bars and I like drinking too much at bars with the husband.

And I'm just thinking too now, because I swear this monologuing is relevant, that ALL of the 141 boys would have THE S E C U R E S T relationships ever. Not saying they'd go out without a wedding ring, or even their s/o, to begin with, but if they did? RING. If someone ignores it and advances anyway?

"Hey wanna buy me a drink?" Or dance or come home with me or whatever tf

"I dunno, lemme call the s/o and ask if they'd be alright with it."

AND THEN THEY CALL and wake you up or disturb you or whatever like yeah this random person wants me to come home with em and wouldn't take no, I'm married as an answer so I'm being polite and asking you if you'd be alright with it

I dunno, these are procrastination thoughts but they're making me giddy lol

the idea of someone coming up to Price or Gaz like “Wanna get outta here? *wink wink*” and the guys r just “Lemme ask the missus…” THATS SO ALGHEKNFA

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

Pumpkin patch: 2 Oct. Suptober

The source of the alarm seemed to be an attractive, wild-eyed woman pointing at Cas from the edge of the pumpkin patch. "You! It's you!" 

deancas ust, indeterminate s11 or s12 au

"We missed the turn," Sam repeated.

"How? Where?" Dean flicked his hands at the windshield. Baby listed slightly towards the narrow shoulder and he course-corrected before they wound up in a ditch. "Nothing out here but corn and soy for fifty miles."

"And sunflowers," Cas mentioned from the back seat.

Dean shivered, thinking of those big tall plants like slumbering scarecrows, their creepy, heavy heads bowed with rotted weight. "Something sinister as shit about those flowers," he muttered.

"There's a side street up ahead." Sam leaned forward to squint hard at something in the distance Dean couldn't see yet. "Hard right."

The sign for Daily Lane had taken some damage, like someone on a tractor joyride had sideswiped it. The road itself was somehow even narrower than the county road they'd been on, and threaded up another hill of corn and more corn and, for a change, corn.

Suddenly, though, there were pumpkins.

"Oh," Sam said, doing some fancy fast typing on his phone. "Starlight Farm and Family."

"You got service on that thing again?" Dean asked as they slowly passed row after row of jack o'lantern style pumpkins growing on snaky vines. 

"U-pick-it pumpkins, apples, cider donuts, coffee," Sam reeled off from whatever website he'd accessed.

"Coffee?" Cas piped up. He gave Dean a beseeching look and Dean sighed inwardly, knowing he was far too fond of that expression, and far too much a pushover in general, when it came to Cas, whom he was still looking at and needed to stop looking at and what had Sam just said about caramel apples?

"Legendary caramel apples," Sam repeated.

"If this place's so special, why weren't there signs for it way before now?" Dean steered them onto the farm's gravel driveway and into the last adjacent lot that seemed to have any empty parking spots. 

Sam shrugged. "Maybe the locals give 'em so much business they don't need anyone else's." He rolled down his window and a scent of popcorn and old leaves wafted in. "Plenty of people here today."

This, Dean felt, was a vast understatement. People were pouring into the pumpkin patches like small waves, kids running out ahead of their parents with happy screams as they pounced on whichever gourd they most wanted to procure. Near a barn a line of customers waited to buy corn dogs and sodas. On the other side of the parking lot, someone had created a small maze out of a seemingly endless number of hay bales. Inside the maze, more kids bounced around, many cheating by going up and over the bales to speed to the center, where someone dressed like a giant bat was handing out orange balloons.

"I don't see how this helps us find state road 7." Cas, as ever, walked as near to Dean as possible, and Dean tried not to think about how simple it would be to put an arm around Cas's waist, all casual like, as they strolled into the festivities.

"It doesn't," Sam called out, already pulling away towards a building clearly marked Restrooms, "but so what."

He had a point.

Dean cleared his throat as soon as Sam was out of earshot. "So." He knocked his arm against Cas's. "Buy ya a cup of coffee?"

Cas opened his mouth, surely to say thank you, and was interrupted by a loud shriek and a small splatting noise, both of which passed through Dean like a ghost.

The source of the alarm seemed to be an attractive, wild-eyed woman pointing at Cas from the edge of the pumpkin patch. "You! It's you!" 

Her expression, a combination of delight and astoundment, was only half matched by Cas, who'd paused to tip his head and study her, long enough Dean started to feel envious of the scrutiny.

"Mama, you smashed my pumpkin." A sweet-faced girl of maybe four or five, wearing pigtails and a Hey Ghoulfriend t-shirt, had crossed over to the woman as well, to inspect the cracked-open fruit at her mother's feet. The pumpkin had coughed up some guts in the fall. The girl pulled some out of the stringy viscera. 

As Cas approached, she held out one disgusting, but very cute, hand and told him, "See, there are seeds in there and you plant the seeds in the field and then it rains and the pumpkins grow real big and then you cut them free with a biiiiig knife and then you take them home and you cut off the tops and you scoooooop out the brains and you make a, like, you make the pumpkins smile and then you put, uh, the candles in there and then all the bad monsters are frighted, um, frightened away."

All in one breath. The kid grinned at Cas like they were old friends, rubbed her goopy hands on the grass, and made a beeline for the hay maze.

"You saved her," the woman said to Cas in a hushed, awed voice. "She was just a baby." Her eyes were bright but no longer deranged.

Cas remembered something; Dean could tell by the way he took a breath of surprise.

"I'm glad I could help." Cas's voice was a little rough with emotion, Dean thought. It made Dean's chest ache.

The woman nodded, a bit tearily. When she looked down at the ruined pumpkin, she snorted a laugh. "At least the deer will have a snack tonight." 

"We'd be happy to buy you another," Dean found himself saying. 

The woman shook her head. "No, no, not necessary. My husband and son are hellbent on buying at least five others. I should catch up with them before they fill up the whole trunk." She bit her lip and smiled at Cas. "Was great to see you again, though." She picked up the biggest chunks of pumpkin and stacked them in the crook of her arm. 

Just as she passed Dean, she said, cheerfully, "Your husband is an actual godsend," and she went on her merry way before he had a chance to register anything except agreement with the godsend part, since whatever else Dean thought about Chuck – none of it particularly pleasant – he was, after all, Cas's dad. Well. Father in a manner of speaking. Creator? Toxic boss? Whatever.

"What's up?" Sam asked, having wandered back. 

"Dean and I got married while you were peeing," Cas said.

"Cool." Sam quirked an eyebrow at Dean. "You gonna get a donut or something to celebrate?"

Or at least, that was probably what he asked. Dean wasn't completely certain. The satellite linking his brain to his mouth was experiencing solar flare complications; his mental plane had definitely hit a pocket of turbulence. 

"He's buying me a coffee." Cas smiled at Dean at the corner of his mouth. His eyes were kind, and led Dean back to civilization. 

Dean, unable to look away, smiled too. "Sure am," he said.

[honey-minded-hivemind]

ABO Parent AU, Post One...HOW THEY ENDED UP CONCEIVING THEIR BBY...

Chosen parent:

• Wolverine/Logan Howlett

• Sabretooth/Victor Creed

(Warning: This post contains some disturbing implications/conclusions. Nothing too explicit, but has allusions to possible dubious consent and/or unknown/non-consentual conception. Be careful, and skip this post if you need/want to💕)

• F*ck... wha' happen'd?... Everythin's too bright... where... where am I?... It smells... off... i's cold, too...

• He groans, slowly moving his fingers. His body feels stiff, cold and tense, as he comes to... The sharp scent of chemicals fills the air, along with something else... As he tries to open his eyes, he's blinded by harsh, bright light. What is this place?

• He feels cool steel under him, smooth and hard. As he tries to move his arm, he realizes something is preventing it's movement. That's when he fully wakes up. His eyes shoot open, and what he sees isn't a comforting sight. Thick clamps hold his wrists down, pinning him to the metal slab, and he looks down.

• Great. He's barely got anythin' on. He huffs. Good news: he's alive, and he won't be here long. Bad news: looks like someone drugged him while they were... "busy"... last night. A huff escapes him. Of course he ended up with some psycho as the only partner he'd been with in... frick, a long time... decades, he thinks...

• He tests his legs, smirking when he feels nothing holding them down. Good. Now all he has to do is break out o' this joint. He sniffs the air, and let's out a curious huff. Everything smells normal for what's to be expected of this place... but... does something smell a bit... sweeter? He isn't sure where it's comin' from, but it doesn't matter right now. What matters right now is gettin' the h*ll out o' here...

• With a sharp snap, he pulls his wrist through the cuff, wincing as it heals. His claws have come out, and in a sharp arc, he cuts through the other cuff. Stumbling a little, he catches himself from tripping. Looks like he's still a bit weak 'n the knees. He looks around the room, feeling a sense of dread enter him.

• Test tubes and bottles cover the tables, with long needles and syringes held on trays. There are various medical graphs... and he realizes what they are... they're ultrasounds of him. He reels back, disgust and dread warring within him. Sh*t! Seems like they had a plan to use him fer somethin'... and it wouldn't have been good...

• And with that, he exits the room, working his way through the facility and it's inhabitants as fast as he could. He can still smell that milky sweetness, but he isn't sure where it's coming from... When he finally gets out, after having gutted the guards and scientists blocking the exit, he reaches a realization in the pale light of dawn...

• That sweet scent... it's comin' from him...

• As he feels the familiar touch of his friend at his mind, and hears the roar of the Blackbird's engine... he reaches a hand to his stomach. He... he's... he has a pup. A tiny sensation runs through him. Huh... This is... this is his...

• The little being, nothing but the barest bit of cell and blood, is in him. He... didn't know what to think. He had a night with some psycho scientist... he got drugged... he ended up in their lab... he escaped... and he has a little pup inside him now. He isn't sure exactly if the pup was made between him and his... "ex"... or if they had a more dubious method used... but what he does know is pretty simple:

• He got one good thing outta this, and he's keepin' it. He may not know what they are, or how exactly he ended up with them for certain, but this pup... they're his... and he and his pack will take care of 'em, no matter what...