#I WORD DUMPED OMFG

[dazai-ritualist]

Omg ! I didn't think you'd actually respond !! We're gonna fly away from here is easily one of the best ones in the series!! It's so Twisted and disturbing but almost domestic... (Also tysm for including my name idea in your story, Idk where it came from, I just liked it and I appreciate you!) I digress. I've returned with a concept. Al almost always has a plan when he does something. I don't know where you want to go with the second child but this won't be too focused on that one...for now. I really liked how you interpreted Alastor being a weasel and weaseling his way back into the families life and was thinking about how many I wonder about if he has a plan right now, like not a long term one, obviously, but a very specific one for a 'short term'. Women back then, especially in the south weren't allowed to have bank accounts so finicial trapping works well in this case. Also just kinda the ability to turn their kids against her would be enough to terify me. People talk about the 1950's housewife, but oh my god, 1920's housewives were a new kind of depressed. I, personally, don't think Alastor is the type of physically abuse women. No, he's far too classy for that. Instead, like I said, I think he'd either use his status in their house to trap his wife. We were able to run away while we were pregnant and alone, but we have a child now...and would we be willing to leave our child with him? No, I don't think I would, personally. This was just me rambling. K, love u, currently hyperfixated on this au. Byeee !!!! _ Cherry Anon!

DON’T REALLY WANT NO TRUST FUND BABY

[before reading this, read the rest of the story!]

— seems as if alastor found out your little secret

— UR TOO SWEET I SC THIS ON MY IG STORY AND YAPPED TO MY BOY BSF FOR AN HOUR AB IT IM BLUSHING SO HARDDDD!! ABUSE WAS LIT MY LAST SOCIAL STUDIES LESSON FOR THE SCHOOL YEAR MY TCH YAPPED AB FINANCE SO HARD 🤭🤭

being married to alastor, the radio show host is quite the sensation in your town. but, behind the closed curtains, alastor did things that would’ve made lucifer shake in his boots.

no, he didn’t hit you. his mother would kill him if he hit his wife. but, just because alastor never hit you, didn’t mean he didn’t abuse you.

he tormented you in the worst way possible, through noah. and now, emilia.

it’s been 3 years. your little emilia lives up to her name, a cute little girl who’s eager to win. and, little noah is now a big boy, double digits and all.

and, since you’ve returned back to his house, alastor has done nothing but twist your babies’ minds. ‘once upon a time, mama wanted to run away from daddy… so, she ran away and took big brother with her. daddy was sooo worried for mama and big brother though… daddy was able to track mama down, and took her home!’ he cooed to your daughter, bouncing her in his arms— with you right beside him!

you wanted to yell; scream. of course, emilia was too young to understand what alastor was saying. but, still— the fact that he was trying to tell your children that he was some sort of white knight who saved you from yourself. you wanted nothing less, but to snap that neck of his like a twig.

you really shouldn’t act so brashly though. to outsmart alastor, you have to think like him. think of what’s smarter in long run.

alastor was ‘kind’ enough to give you an allowance. $200 every week for groceries and whatever you may need. he’s even so kind as to let you have some ‘private bonding’ with noah and emilia as they accompany you to the farmer’s market.

thankfully, you had a father who wanted to make his little girl survived even without a husband. and so, you had to hear all of his ramblings about finance. saving about 45% each week for 3 years… was about $14,000!

if you saved just a little more, you’d be semi-financially independent until you can get a proper job to take care of your children. it was run-away money, so to speak.

you hid the money in noah’s room. after all, who would expect money there? especially $14,000? and, it worked, for a while. every monday, while you tucked him into bed, you brought the money with you and hid it behind his dresser.

until, what had seemed like a normal tuesday. you came home from the tailor’s, getting back a dress that noah accidentally tore. when you came home, it was only two hours after noon. and despite that, alastor was home.

“a-alastor..! what are you doing home so early? you have a broadcast in 2 hours…” you narrowed your eyes at alastor, on the floor with your children, many new toys surrounding them. “ah, darling! i decided to pick up our children early, and we may have splurged on our little shopping spree…” he smugly grinned. “oh..? where’d you get the money?” you raised your eyebrow, closing the door and laying your bearings on the dining table.

“funniest story ever, my love! there was a random stash of money in noah’s room! seems as if the tooth fairy came early!” he laughed. random stash of money in noah’s room..? “oh. i see.” your breath stopped for a minute, thinking of what kind of consequences could come from it.

“do you have any idea how that money landed there?” he side-eyed you, expecting a lie. “perhaps it was from the old owners? you know this house, there’s so many secrets in here.” you said. “i see… i suppose you are right, darling!” he giggled.

you were back on square one. financially dependent on your husband, if you could even call him ‘husband’. as you climbed up the stairs, you heard alastor whisper to your son. “you see that? momma lied. she got less talkative when papa asked her a question.”

this is what alastor’s been teaching your son. as much as you want to protest, you did lie.

oh, how much you wished for much more simpler times. playing with your baby boy in the kitchen as you make little treats together for his snack at school. and now, the boy alastor’s turning him into— a cunning sociopath, the lord only knows what he will teach your daughter.

this is just a minor setback, it has to be.

#I WORD DUMPED OMFG #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hasbin alastor #alastor hazbin x reader #alastor hc #alastor headcanons #human alastor #alastor the radio demon #yandere alastor #yandere hazbin hotel #yandere

[emblazons]

“She was perfect, you know. And then she died. It wasn’t an easy death. She suffered. I knew the risks, but…then (she) left me.”

- Jim Hopper

El Hopper & Losing Max + Jim Hopper & Losing Sara aka: loss leading to the end of romantic relationships + mlvn breakup subtext (inspired by @heroesbyler)

#byler #< target audience #I am looking DIRECTLY at you ‘did she talk to you’ ‘not much’ with this quote omfg #BUT NANCY DUMPING STEVE OVER BARB BELONGS HERE TOO BUT WE’RE STICKING TO THE ONE PARALLEL LOL #anti mlvn #elmax #el hopper #jim hopper #max mayfield #my gifs #st parallels #my st commentary #stranger things #the me tag #the subtext LITERALLY implying blame ✨without words✨ though...god I love film and tv as an art form lmaooo #also sorry for the angst lol it just… it had to be done 😭

[fmhobeus]

jjk men and their red flags

a/n: i'm feeling problematic :> tell me what u think (agree/disagree/add more?) this is all for shits n giggles !! non sorcerer au kinda

kento nanami — (over)protective

but like... to the point where it feels like he's treating you like a child! he doesnt like to see you sweat or even work at all for that matter. he loves it when you cook but has bought covers for all the knifes. if he sees a burn on your hand get ready for a 10 minute long lecture. if you accidentally fall he wont let you get up for atleast 3 days to help you ""heal."" it's almost like he doesnt trust you to take care of yourself :') he probably has like 3 separate first-aid kits everywhere.

suguru geto — emotionally unavailable

i feel like this is explainable to his character (sort of.) i dont think that he'd make you feel isolated at all, he's be an amazing listener and probably memorizes every word you say. he listens to you rant and even trauma dump with insane patience. but at some point it feels as though you hardly know him. he's talk to you a lot but very little of it is personal and you hardly know what he's thinking because his ass is not tell you. he also unintentionally distances himself from people from time to time. this applies to you too and you can feel him getting emotionally distant sometimes. it isnt something he does knowingly but it sure ass hell bothers you.

satoru gojo — very clingy and needy

this nigga. he is so utterly clingy. and at first it's perfectly fine, even appreciated by you. you still love him like crazy of course but it is just overwhelming. he is like a child most of the time, he need you around him and is always accompanying you wherever you go, and he expects you to do the same. he also doesn't believe in "me time" because why would you feel better when you're away from him: (? want to hang out with your friends? what do you need them for: (? he's right there. he is also physically incapable of listening but boy is he good at making up.

toji fushiguro — controlling

he is so controlling omfg. it's usually subtle but sometimes he will outright just say no to things he doesnt like, not caring if you like them. it gets to the point where he actually starts to change your personality. he is very caring and that's his justification for this typa stuff. it is usually harmless stuff but he gets paranoid often. he doesnt let you wear miniskirts out if you're not with him. he doesn't let you befriend people he thinks are into you. he barely lets you buy stuff on your own, he usually gifts you whatever it is youre into at that moment. borderline turned on by fear and you being dependent on him.

choso kamo — has no social life outside you

pretty self explanatory. he doesnt have many friends outside you and isn't interesting in making them either. total loser. so taking him out to events, he probably doesnt interact much and chooses to look at you the entire time, which annoys your friends. he answers their questions pretty bluntly. he's never down to have people over and lowkey hates when you are.

hiromi higuruma — workaholic

also self explanatory. he leaves early, comes home late. you barely see him on the weekdays. sometimes he goes as far as ignoring your calls when in between cases. he calls you periodically but has to have an alarm set to remind him. he loves you very very deeply but is just used to working non stop T_T

#jjk #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk ^ ~ #multi :> #jujutsu kaisen smut #choso kamo smut #choso x reader #choso smut #geto suguru smut #geto x reader smut #gojo satoru #gojo satoru smut #gojo x reader smut #gojo x reader #jjk x reader smut #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto smut #choso kamo #gojo #geto #choso #toji smut #nanami smut #toji x reader #nanami x reader #geto x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

[maraczeks]

friends s3 thread pt 2

#like he has no respect for her he's just obsessed with her and how pretty she is he doesn't actually care about her as a human? and when she #does do her own thing he feels threatened it's sooooo annoying oh my god he has no self awareness #and like he expects her to not reciprocate ? sexist pig #jan 9 2023 #he never listens to her i'm actually gonna k word him #and he always turns it around like don't yell out me SHE SHOULD BE #at least rachel gets mad at him he OH MY GOD KILL HIM #BREAJ UP #PLEASE DUMP HIM OH MY GOD #phoebe <3 every episode she slays so hard #rachel my princess u deserve so much better #jan 10 2023 #chandler smoking oh the will parallels are growing and idk if i will recover #jan 11 2023 #the huntington beach jump scare naur also the cameos lately bruh #worst comes to worst i'll be your boyfriend I CANT these two are insane the cuddling and physical affection and literal talking about themse #themselves as a hypothetical couple i cannotttttttttt this is insane when are they gonna realize #omfg this beach house ep chandler and monica are insane .

[asakamasanobu]

i should honestly start paying some kind of therapist royalties to nakamura for all she has unwittingly done for my mental health omfg ….. i don’t think i could’ve made it through this week without her (and . and many similar weeks)

#this is so facking embarrassing after i just wrote in my asaka post that i haven’t had a mental breakdown this year #like famous last words! boom! you’re gonna get mildly traumatised by someone’s actions in the middle of finals! #which is fun and all bc now i have another ricchan-esque experience under my belt even tho i did not WANT #ANY MORE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT FOR ME WHATTHDKDHDJ THE FUCK #but i am doing kinda better now! still having mental illness tummy problems and loss of appetite but at least i’m not doing a voms #what have i been doing to therapise myself ….. i binged a bunch of old ricchan chapters <3 and then also watched 3 episodes of the anime <3 #really want to rewatch the whole thing again but i can’t when it’s finals LOL so i guess this means dec will be another ritsumas for me ! #somehow i always fall back into my ritsu habits when it’s nov/dec wghsjdhsj wtf is up with me in the holidays #and i’ve also been rereading the whole of yokozawa no baai ……. those novels actually come with like #therapist certificates i swear like they are the best pieces of literature ever #i have so many thoughts about them again i should dump them out here soon after finals! ehe! #plus my heart attack when they went poof but all is well again ….. would not have made it to today without them omfg #ok but yes that is all that is going on in my life …… many many things! and i will inevitably pop back here again soon i guess #i still need to read like two ritsu chapters in chinese that i’m behind on bc i’m a monolingual hater #bwehhhHh bweh

[gentlyweeps-world]

Hi Can I request Lance Stroll x Reader where people think she's with Lance for just his money and was very rude or bullying her until they found out she's from one of the very rich families like that Rothschild family. That's all thank you.

money money money

summary: above^^

pairing: lance stroll x fem! reader

warnings: haters | suggestive tones |

genre: fluff | smau

notes: fyi I don’t follow rich famous families or anything so this might be a bit off 😭

words: 1k

LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO

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lance_stroll Summa dump☀️

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user8382 UHMM A GF???

user018 she’s prob just a gold digger

user632 or she’s just a private person and they wanted to keep their relationship private?

user018 no babe 🫶😘

“So Lance..we saw that you got up to some fun during the summer break, more importantly you launched your relationship!” An interviewer says, like many wanting to pry into the private lives of drivers.

Lance lets out a chuckle, “Yeah, she wanted to keep it more private for reasons so I didn’t argue..” He replies with a smile.

“And do you think she has ulterior motives?”

“Uhm no, that’s a stupid question..” Lance says, giving the interviewer a weird look.

The interviewer lets out an awkward chuckle, “It’s just some people can’t help but assume that she’s using you for your money, hence why she would want to keep it private.”

Lance gives the interviewer another weird look, then laughs. “Oh yeah! She’s definitely using me for my money!” 

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youruser yeah I only want him for his money 🙄

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lance_stroll 🤍🤍

lance_stroll where’s my wallet??

youruser oops?

user8392 wait who is Y/n dating???

user09811 Lance Stroll

used8392 who??

user09811 he’s a formula one driver for Aston Martin

user2991 she’s so real for that 💀

your-bestie actually obsessed with you wtf

youruser 🤭🤍

user0361 omfg they are so hot together 🤭

s/n.l/n when’s the wedding???

youruser stfu s/n

user6841 say it with me! GOLD DIGGER

user7421 k you’re funny

user7421 she literally has like double the money lance does 😭

user3548 someone at Aston Martin is getting fired 😭😭

chloestroll love youuu ❤️

youruser 😘🤍

lailahasanovic love you queen 🫶🫶

youruser 🤍🤍

user62018 how long have they been together??

user00831 in one of her videos from March she talked abt having to go on a date with a guy so a few months

s/n_l/n2 love you sisterr 💋

youruser love you too 💋🤍

“I can’t believe people actually think I’m a gold digger..” You say with a laugh, setting your phone down as you glance at Lance.

"Oh, you mean you're not?" He asks, his voice teasing, eyes glancing up from his phone to look at you.

You let out an offended gasp, “I can’t believe you would say that!” You say with a grin.

"Oh, but I would, and I did sweetie." He says teasingly, eyes not breaking contact with yours.

“You’re a dick Lance..” You say with a chuckle, rolling your eyes playfully as you get up from your seat.

It was a nice day out, you and Lance were at your house, sitting by your pool.

“Hey maybe you’re the gold digger, I do have more money than you..” You add on with a smirk.

"Yeah, right, because I totally need your money." He answers, voice a playful tone, he stands up and walks up behind you, wrapping his arm around your waist.

“I have a feeling that if I gave you money you wouldn’t be against taking it..” You reply, leaning back into him.

"Maybe I'd take it to shut you up Y/n." Lance says, leaning his face down to kiss the side of your neck.

“Wow, aren't you a charmer?” You say sarcastically with a giggle, pulling away from his grasp.

"You know I am. And you know you love it when I'm like this." Lance responds, grabbing your hips and pulling back against him as he continues to kiss your neck.

“No comment..” You say with a smile, turning in his arms so you’re facing him.

More comments regarding yours and Lances relationship had flooded in.

Your comment sections were filled with them, his too. At first obviously when you guys went public they were easy to ignore, you guys had mostly made jokes about all of it.

But now they started to get at you. Now you weren’t a gold digger, and you knew you should ignore them, but you are human.

“Lance..?” You ask out quietly, shifting in bed to face him. It was late at night, and you couldn’t sleep. Your thoughts overwhelming you.

Lance noticed the way you shifted in bed, a small movement you made, but a noticeable one. He was still wide awake, his mind not shutting up either, as he had been laying awake for hours already.

"Yeah, sweetie?" He asks softly, rolling on his side to face you, draping his one arm across you as he looks at you.

“It’s kind of embarrassing..” You say with a small chuckle, “But you don’t think I’m a gold digger, right?”

Lance's eyes widen a bit, taken aback by the directness of the question.

"Babe.." He pauses, gathering his thoughts, "Why are you worried about what people say?" He asks softly, giving you a light squeeze and a light kiss on your cheek, "It's bullshit. You're not a gold digger."

“I know, but sometimes I can’t help but let those comments in..” You say softly, moving closer into him. “I mean it’s difficult to constantly be judged and looked at..” You add on. You and Lance both knew what that was like.

Lance sighs, he knew exactly what you were going through right now, he had been through the same thing before, he was being criticized by so many people in F1.

"I know, but you really shouldn't care what they think." Lance says, wrapping his arm around you, pulling you in against him, "You know? If we know it's not true, who cares what they say?"

You smile softly at his words, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his lips, “Yeah you’re right..” You say with a smile.

With time the comments had stopped, you weren’t called a gold digger any more, and on the contrary, Lance was starting to be called the gold digger.

You constantly made fun of him for that.

You let out a gasp, looking at the beautiful pasta dinner Lance made, with candles and soft romantic music playing in the background.

“Lance..” You whisper out with a smile, spotting him sitting in one of the chairs at your dining table. “This is beautiful baby..”

Lance raises a single eyebrow with a smirk at your words, "I’m glad you think so..” He says with a chuckle, moving towards you.

He wraps his arm around your waist to pull you in close, "Now I better not hear any talk about me being the gold digger tonight, understand me?" He asks with a teasing tone, voice laced with affection.

You let out a giggle at his words, “Right of course..” You say with a smile, wrapping your own arms around the back of his neck. You lean up and press a soft kiss to his lips.

Lance smiles against your lips, pulling you closer into his chest. “Want to dance?” He asks with a smile.

“Of course”

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︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚

radio 🪩: does this make up for my lando fic? 😭 send in any requests!!🤍

permanent taglist: @cixrosie @amajixi @i-wish-this-was-me @nelly187 @hannahwsworld @sltwins @itsprashimusic

#formula one #formula 1 #f1 #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 imagine #gently weeps fics #lance stroll x you #lance stroll x y/n #lance stroll x reader #lance stroll #ls18 #ls18 x reader #aston martin f1 #formula one x y/n #formula one x you #formula one blurbs #formula 1 blurb #formula one imagine #formula one fic #formula one fanfiction #f1 wags #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #gently weeps blurbs #f1 x you #formula 1 x female reader #f1 smau #lance stroll smau

[luv4fushi]

omfg i litr read everything uve written off ur masterlist I NEED MOREEEE. i love the way u write megumi especially, i couldn’t get enough of it. i hope you write more of him, my heart aches for more tbh 🥹 tysm for being such a good writer and feeding us starved readers well

tysm! i'm sooo glad i can be a good source of megumi content for you >_< i looove writing megumi so you'll be seeing sooo much more of him, dw! happy holidays!

this december

jjk fushiguro megumi x fem!reader

it’s always colder on your own, especially around this time of year. you should be at home, bundled up with a warm cup of hot chocolate, but here you are in shinjuku, exorcizing curses with your ex boyfriend two weeks after your breakup with him. great.

content: post break up, aged up megumi (19/20), megumi is terrible at feelings, getting back together, fluff if you squint, a bit of angst, miscommunication, one bed (but it isn’t the main plot point sorry), megumi calls you baby like once, gojo is the best wingman, SHIBUYA ARC NEVER HAPPENED AND LIFE IS GOOD, not proofread im very sorry guys pls forgive me, kinda a word dump sry

word count: 5.8k (sigh this was supposed to be 2k words max)

click on my masterlist for more & merry christmas to those who celebrate!

it’s december 19th when satoru gojo tells you that he has a mission just for you. you’re less than ecstatic about it to say the least. the last thing you want to do is be sent to your death just shy of christmas day. you just want to rest your sore muscles and bask in the presence of your best friends. you’re not in the mood to kill any curses, mainly because you’ve just recovered from a previous mission.

“why me?” you groan.

gone are the days where you used to be a goody two shoes for satoru. you’re old enough to talk back now, not like when you had been a shy fifteen-year-old girl. besides, you’ve been around the silver-haired sorcerer long enough to know that he doesn’t mind the bite.

“sorry, kid,” satoru says with a shrug. at least he sounds genuine about it. “the higher ups requested for you specifically. they say you’ll get the job done in the cleanest way. we can’t have things getting messy before the holidays, right?”

“and you wouldn’t be the best choice?” you quip.

satoru only laughs. he ruffles your hair. even with your growth spurt and merciless training, he still towers over you. in a way, he’ll always be your mentor. “hey, i’m going out of town that weekend. give me a break.”

you huff petulantly. something about this mission seems fishy to you. you’re not nearly the strongest sorcerer out of the bunch of kids under satoru’s wings (not that you guys are kids anymore, but sometimes it’s hard to feel otherwise). hell, there’s the kyoto students. it feels like they never have to do anything. you wish that you were rebellious enough to chew utahime out for it.

“why couldn’t they just make yuta or megumi go?” you mutter under your breath. you stammer out megumi’s name and hope satoru doesn’t catch on to the way you can barely say it.

satoru knows about the breakup. why wouldn’t he? he’s basically megumi’s dad, even if the raven haired boy refuses to admit it. satoru’s six eyes mean you can’t hide anything from him (he’d been the first to know that megumi was head over heels for you).

satoru raises a brow. “oh, right. megumi’s coming along too.”

your face twists and you immediately whip around to glare at him. “you’re lying.”

“i wish,” he jokes. “i was really hoping i’d get a wedding invitation one day, you little rascal. i can’t believe you two broke up. maybe this’ll be a good thing!”

“i appreciate your honesty, but—”

“but megumi’s an emotionally constipated kid, yeah, that i know,” satoru laughs. he makes his way to the exit of his office which has you furrowing your brows. is your former teacher actually gonna just leave after making you come all the way here? how rude and so very in character of him.

“please, gojo,” you call out after him, “i don’t wanna go with him.”

“sucks for you,” satoru responds halfheartedly. “merry christmas. try not to take more than a week on this. you’ll have to pay the rest of the fee for accommodations if you do.”

“gojo!” you whine.

“it’s not a hard mission!” satoru insists like it’ll make your life any easier. “y’know, this time of year is when things get ugly. think of it as saving as many people as you can while putting in the least amount of effort!”

and then he teleports. your former teacher teleports away rather than being normal and walking out of the door. you roll your eyes and hope that he can sense it (you know he can’t).

so that’s why you’re here now. with your ex. on the elevator to your assigned room on the tenth floor. you’re so glad that it’s a normal hotel and not a love hotel. lord knows what you’d do if you had checked into a love hotel.

megumi hasn’t spoken a word to you since he broke up with you two weeks ago. it had been in the doorway to your apartment a few days after a particularly rough mission assigned to the both of you—the one you’re still recovering from. he’d pulled you in for a hug, whispering sweet words into your ear. he gave you a look, one of those looks that made him soften his usually sharp eyes.

“i think we should break up.”

and then came the pathetic whimper of yours. he had wiped your tears, even kissed them tenderly, before telling you that it wasn’t your fault—it was his. how cliche.

now as you stand next to him, you want to beat yourself up for not asking for closure. neither of you had explicitly stated that you two were going to be no-contact, but it hurts a lot less to push the idea of forever with megumi away to the back of your mind. besides, you two aren’t confrontational like that. not with each other, anyway.

“need help?” his tone is soft, tender—the tone he reserves specifically for you, the one that tells you he still cares.

you stare down at the luggage at your feet. you’ve always been a chronic overpacker, a habit that megumi knows of by now. he watches you curiously, hands itching at his sides. you can tell that he wants to reach out and grab your suitcase like he always does. he thinks he isn’t obvious, but you can always read through the lines, especially when it’s megumi.

“i’m okay,” you croak out, clearing your throat awkwardly.

the elevator dings and you make your way to your room. as much as you hate to admit it, you’re sort of glad that you and your ex boyfriend are sharing a room. perhaps his’ll be a good way to get closure, though you’re not really sure what closure entails.

what you don’t expect is to unlock the door and be met with a singular bed.

if satoru gojo didn’t have a layer of infinity coating his body (and if he wasn’t the strongest sorcerer alive), you would’ve wrung out his neck.

megumi simply walks into the room, setting his duffel bag down on one of the dressers opposite from the foot of the bed. he doesn’t comment on the lack of double beds, seemingly already aware of the set up.all he does is puff out a weary sigh. you suck in a breath and follow him inside, slipping your shoes off at the entrance.

you lug your suitcase in after you along with your duffel bag and backpack. you stumble forward and megumi’s arm snakes around your waist, steadying you.

“careful,” he mutters, nonchalantly taking your bag off our your shoulders.

it’s a quick series of movements; he swings your bag over his shoulders and places it on the dresser next to the one he’s claimed while guiding you softly to the side of the bed so that you’re not standing in the middle of the doorway.

you scrunch your face, feeling your heart thump against your ribcage. it’s stupid how he still has such a hold on you, even after two weeks of not seeing or talking to him. he’s just so caring, so gentle. it stings, like little the little cuts you get when fighting curses, when you realize that this is something you’ll have to learn how to lose.

“thanks,” you manage to mutter. you don’t trust yourself to say anything else. you know from the way your throat tightens that you’ll be crying soon if you force yourself to talk any more.

“i can take the couch,” megumi says.

it’s that easy with him; he’s a gentleman, so of course he’d take the couch. that’s the way megumi fushiguro is—he offers a solution before you even have the chance to complain. in your year and a half long relationship, that skill of his had been a saving grace.

“no, don’t bother,” you croak. “i’ll book another room.”

“really?” he asks. he stands up a little straighter, awkwardly reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “i mean, i don’t mind sharing a room with you… we’ve..”

we’ve shared a room countless of times before.

megumi doesn’t have to continue his sentence for you to understand what he’s implying. you part your lips to speak, but nothing comes out except for a long, heavy sigh. your shoulders drop as you let the exhaustion seep into your bones. there’s no use arguing about it, not when you don't’ mind sharing a room with megumi, either.

“we’ve broken up,” you remind him in a quiet voice, like you’re afraid saying it out loud will make it truer than it already is.

megumi pauses. you see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly. “i know that, but … it’ll be fine. we’ve shared a room as friends before.”

he’s right, like he usually is. you two have shared a room before as just friends, but that had been as teenagers—back when you both harbored such hardcore crushes on each other that you two somehow didn’t notice.

“right,” you find yourself agreeing with a small nod.

“you should go get ready for bed.” megumi begins grabbing a few or the decorative pillow off of the bed. he places them gingerly on the brown couch tucked in the corner of the hotel room. “we’ll be getting up pretty early to deal with the brunt of the mission.”

to finish this mission as quickly as possible, you think.

and so you oblige and head to the bathroom. it’s december 19th, just a few days shy of christmas day, and you’re in bed with your ex boyfriend on the couch just a few feet away.

december 20th greets you with megumi hovering over you. he peers down at you with his messy bangs covering his eyes. they’re piercingly blue as he blinks. his lashes flutter perfectly, even in the early morning. your eyes meet his and you jolt awake.

“good morning,” he says. “your alarm has been ringing for a bit now, so i turned it off.”

you blink rapidly, getting the tiredness out of your eyes. “oh.”

he chuckles softly, just enough for you to catch it with your ears. he rises from his crouched position and heads to the front door. he spares you a glance over his shoulder before he heads out, presumably giving you the privacy you need. you let out a strangled breath before you swing your legs over the bed and head to the bathroom.

by the time you’re finished putting on your uniform, you swing the door to your hotel room open and see megumi leaned up against the wall, tapping away on his phone. his dark blue eyes flicker up to you and he turns away to head down the hall.

you furrow your brows. you can’t help but think that he’s being a little cold to you. it isn’t like you initiated the breakup. despite your frustration with his behavior, you can sort of understand why he wouldn’t want to be sweet around you; you two aren’t dating anymore and so it makes sense that he’d go back to being aloof in your presence, the usual way he acts around everyone else. losing that position in his life makes your stomach churn for reasons you’re less than willing to uncover.

your mission is a vague one; all you know is that it’s a clean-up mission. rather than a level 1 curse (or even a special grade), the mission consists of an acclimation of weak curses surrounding shinjuku. these missions are normally given to younger, more inexperienced sorcerers with the help of a senior sorcerer, but for an odd reason, it’s been given to you and megumi this year. megumi could’ve probably handled it himself. actually, you could’ve handled it yourself.

you bite your tongue to hold back on your complaints as you walk just a step behind megumi. he pauses regularly, waiting for you to catch up to his side. you roll your eyes in secret. does he not realize that you don’t want to walk next to him?

“it’s all just bars,” you mutter.

with that, you earn a tiny laugh from megumi. “well, yeah. this is the red-light district of shinjuku.”

you pale. “this sucks.”

“why do you think i wanted to come out here in the morning rather than at night?” he says, his tone strangely light.

“to deal with the brunt of the mission,” you repeat his words from last night sarcastically. you’re unsure as to what he’s talking about, so you think that it’s okay to give him a little bit of attitude.

he raises his brow but doesn’t comment on your sarcasm. instead, he says softly, “no, stupid. it’s because this is the red-light district. it’s unsafe for anyone, especially a pretty, young girl alone at night.”

your first thought is to coo and tease him. you think i’m pretty? it takes you half a second to remember that you two are broken up. you scoff, “i’m perfectly capable of handling myself.”

“i never said you weren’t,” megumi shoots back. “it would just be annoying explaining to the higher ups why you were fighting people and not curses.”

“i’m sure they’d understand,” you retort, frowning. you cross your arms.

“don’t be so pouty,” he says in that stupid, gentle tone he uses with you when you’re acting bratty.

you both decide to split up. well, it’s more like you demand the two of you to split up. you say it under the pretense that it’ll get the job done faster. besides, you both want to be home before christmas day, right?

there’s about two curses you cross paths with every hour. you’re starting to lose your mind. shouldn’t the streets be infested with them? you don’t even need a veil! all you have to do is give the weak curses just one punch and they vaporize on the spot. your head is running with hundreds of thoughts.

that’s when it hits you: the first years at the tokyo jujutsu school did come out here a week prior! maybe they did a bad job? but you remember nobara had been the one to lead the group. she may half-ass almost everything in her life, but she wouldn’t jeopardize her underclassmen for the sake of her freetime.

so why on earth are you here? it’s not like there are enough harmful curses for a mission to be assigned to you right before christmas, and to you and megumi of all sorcerers. you’re both strong enough to the point of having some kind of importance in the jujutsu world. the higher ups wouldn’t send the two of you on some stupid mission for the sake of it unless they’re planning some sort of secret execution. but even then, satoru gojo should’ve known through their lies to not send you or megumi. unless…he wants you two dead…?

you shake your head and bite your nails. the sun begins to set and you realize that you’ve been out here for longer than you expected. you’re starting to feel a chill in your bones—you had argued petulantly with megumi earlier about not wanting to wear your jacket despite it being the dead of winter; “it’s gonna get in the way!”

you always seem to forget the the sun sets earlier in the winter. it’s stupid how bright all the lights are in shinjuku. there isn’t a square foot of anything that isn’t lit up with neon signs reading out the names of clubs and bars. you see couples and large groups of people walking along the streets.

it’s lonely, you realize. it would’ve been less lonely with megumi.

you make your way to the meeting spot with megumi. you both share a few small words before retiring for the night. megumi says he wants to go sightseeing, even though there’s really nothing much to see. he doesn’t return to the hotel room until late at night.

when he slips into the only bed that the room offers, you chalk it up to the slight alcohol you smell on his lips. it feels so natural that you don’t push him away even though you should. his body is warm and you fit so perfectly against his broad chest that you think it’ll be okay for you to be a little selfish tonight.

“g’night,” megumi mumbles in his sleep.

you smile and nuzzle closer.

it’s december 21st as you realize how late it is in the day. megumi is back on the couch. you feel a tinge of disappointment in the bottom of your stomach.

to no one’s surprise, the sun is barely peeking over the buildings when you’re finally back in the red-light district. you’re doing the last bit of cleanup, but there’s really nothing much for you to clean.

tomorrow, you’ll be heading to a shopping mall, so you suppose you should do your best to sniff out the rest of the curses littering the place unless you want to stay here an extra day. the day is, yet again, slow.

it’s nearing 8 PM and you're finally sure that you’ve gotten rid of all the curses in the general area. you’ve been done for quite a while now, but you just haven’t found the courage to let megumi know that you’re ready to go back to the hotel room. a little sightseeing on your end wouldn’t hurt, right?

“hi, pretty.” a gravelly voice, battered by cigarettes, whispers in your ear.

you jump in surprise. you need to remember not to get too far into your head. you should’ve felt his presence coming from a mile away. it’s a terrible habit and satoru has scolded you for years about it.

“hi,” you mutter, pushing past his larger frame.

the man isn’t as nicely built as the men you know (but then again, your friends are jujutsu sorcerers, so it’s kind of hard to beat that), but he still towers over you. he’s got a squad of rough-looking guys behind him, smirking down at you.

“why’s someone like you alone?” he says, shoving his arm to loop around your waist.

you roll your eyes, getting ready to punch the man square in the nose. will you get in trouble? probably yes. will it be a funny story to tell? also probably yes.

“don’t touch my wife.”

the group of men turn their heads along with you to see megumi. his expression is shrouded with a mixture of anger and frustration. you blink in confusion—megumi usually looks pretty pissed off, but this is the most angry you’ve seen him in a while. and ‘wife’? what’s up with that?

“oh, my bad,” the man chuckles. “didn’t know this pretty thing was married.”

“this ‘pretty thing’ wants you to let her go,” you say with an overly sweet smile. your teeth clench and you hiss, “right now.”

the guy scurries down the sidewalk with his buddies trailing along, making fun of him for hitting on a married woman. nobody mentions the lack of a ring on your finger. nobody mentions the lack of a relationship, either.

“wife?” you scowl. “we’re broken up.”

“guys tend to back up when they know a woman is married. it’s the only way you can really, uh, get them to go away around here.”

you glare at him. “and how would you know? you come here often with girls?”

“...no?” he blinks, unable to comprehend your sudden burst of jealousy. “i sometimes get missions around here, though. pretending to be married was the easiest way—”

“we aren’t, though. we’re not even in a relationship.” you seem to be throwing that into his face a lot more than you should. you can’t help it, though. you still feel a little bitter about not getting a real reason as to why megumi wanted to break up.

“i was trying to help you.” he’s calm and collected, as heard through his voice. he walks up to you and takes your freezing hand into his much warmer ones. “let’s go home.”

“i don’t want to,” you argue.

“stop being a brat,” he says, but there’s no bite to his words. “you’re cold and you’ve been out here all day. if i hadn’t stopped those guys, you probably would’ve beat them up pretty badly.”

“i’m not a fucking brat!” you try to retract your hand, but megumi’s grip only tightens.

“baby, stop,” the pet name rolls off his tongue with ease. megumi sighs softly and pulls you to his chest. “why are you so worked up, hm?”

from the way he speaks, you can tell that he already has an inkling. the breakup. cuddling last night. hugging you now. everything.

you don’t realize you’re crying until he gently wipes his thumb under your eye. he has the audacity to have an amused grin plastered on his stupidly pretty lips. your vision is blurry but if it hadn’t been, you would’ve thrown a punch.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers into your hair. “it’s all my fault.”

“it is,” you whimper pathetically. all the tears and the emotions you’ve been holding back bubble up to the surface.

“don’t be upset,” he almost pleads. “let’s go back, okay?”

the night ends with megumi on the couch. neither of you bring up the argument or the fact that he had slept in your bed with you last night. you two don’t talk about the usage of pet names, either.

when you open your eyes on december 22nd, you’re surprised to see that megumi has already headed out for the day. you click your tongue in annoyance—he’s always been good at avoiding his problems when it comes to dealing with them, especially problems involving his emotions. you already know where you’re supposed to be headed, so you suppose that it’s for the best that he’d left before you.

the shopping mall is a long line of vendors and stores among other things. the snow on the ground is fresh—it must’ve snowed late last night after you’d fallen asleep. it crunches underneath your beat-up sneakers with each step you take. you’re not shocked when you end up wandering aimlessly, dipping in and out of stores with no real urgency to finish your mission.

there’s nothing to do anyway.

you’ve killed about 3 curses total and it’s really starting to look like you’ve been sent out here for busy work. you really should’ve figured that out the first day of the mission when you had to practically beg the curses to come out and fight you.

you find yourself in the front of a jewelry store, eyeing a pretty bracelet that you know would look stunning around megumi’s wrist. it’s one of those bracelets that clasp tightly. there’s a thicker band in the center with pretty carvings that seem to resemble some sort of swirly heart. it’s pretty, you have to admit.

without much thought, you buy the gift.

the seller has to clear her throat to get your attention when you don’t answer her question. “um, would you like this to be wrapped?”

you nod absentmindedly. “oh, yes. sorry. please wrap it.”

she nods in return and proceeds to wrap the bracelet in a tiny box, adorning it with a festive bow. you ask her to change it out for a different color, explaining that it isn’t a christmas gift and instead, it’s for someone’s birthday. she offers you a warm smile before switching it with a muted blue ribbon.

you return to the hotel, having to take an expensive taxi. you don’t mind—the bracelet has already made a decent-sized dent in your wallet. why not spend an extra amount on getting home? it’s not like jujutsu sorcerers are paid poorly.

reality hits you when you finally get back to the hotel room. you want to punch yourself for being so stupid. did you really just buy a birthday present for your ex-boyfriend?

you’re thankful that megumi hasn’t arrived yet. he seems to be determined to avoid you for as long as he can. you can’t blame him, either. you did give him quite a hard time yesterday.

you toss the box on to the dresser and head to the bathroom to splash some much needed cold water on to your face. maybe that’ll wake you up enough to clear your mind. you’ve acted out once during this trip already and you’re not really looking forward to any other possible outbursts.

you rinse your face and pat yourself dry with one of the face towels provided to you by the hotel staff. you hang it over the rack again and tiredly make your way to your bed. you halt your movements when you see megumi standing by the dresser, admiring your gift.

he looks up at you in surprise with the smallest grin on his face. it’s so subtle that you would’ve missed it had you not been dating him for nearly two years.

“is this for me?”

“no,” you quickly deny. his face falls and you cough out, “um, i mean.. yeah. i-i didn’t… i… happy birthday.”

he brightens, lips pulling up into a real, genuine smile. “you remembered?”

“why wouldn’t i?” you blurt gently. you bite your inner cheek to stop yourself from saying anything more.

“i dunno.” his voice is distant and low, like he’s trying to hold back his tears. “i just…i didn’t think i was deserving of a gift from you. thank you. i like it.”

you stand awkwardly, shifting your weight onto your other foot. “yeah, well…”

“can you help me put it on?” he asks, sitting at the edge of your unmade bed.

you feel your body heat up. part of you screams for you to stop. you shouldn’t do that. it’s far too intimate and you two are broken up. you’ve never been good at making decisions, though, so you sit next to him and feel the mattress dip.

he gives you a grateful look, one that you willfully ignore, and gives you his wrist. you clasp the bracelet on, fingertips just barely grazing his skin. your heart skips a beat and you have to inhale sharply before pulling away.

“thank you,” he whispers.

december 23rd is a sore reminder that life goes on. you had half-expected something to spark between you and megumi. perhaps he’d beg for you back, or maybe with less wishful thinking, he’d give you his real reason as to why he doesn’t want you anymore.

“i don’t think we need to go anymore,” megumi says when you come out of the bathroom after freshening up.

“huh? why not?”

“there’s nothing out there.” megumi’s voice is flat.

“i know, but we’ll get in trouble if we…”

“gojo probably sent us out here for fun.”

your lips part. megumi turns to you with a slight frown.

“don’t you think so too?” he asks, but you know it isn’t a question he’s looking to find an answer to. “why would the higher-ups assign a mission like this to a special grade sorcerer and a grade 1 sorcerer? if they needed that much manpower, this mission would’ve been deadlier. instead, we’re playing cleanup crew.”

“yeah, but..” you trail off, unable to think of a statement to refute his words. “if we go back now, we’ll get chewed out.”

“it’s just a scolding. you’ll be fine.” megumi stands up and stretches his arms.

you watch him cautiously as he begins to fold his clothes and throw them into his duffel bag. he doesn’t say anything else, letting the silence overtake the room.

“...are we leaving, then?” you ask meekly, not bothering to hide the slight quiver in your voice.

he pauses slightly. “do you want to stay here until christmas? this mission is stupid and you know it. there’s no point.”

why is his tone so cold all of the sudden? it’s as if you two hadn’t shared a moment last night before bed. does your gift not mean anything to him now that he’s cleared his mind with a good rest?

your eyes flicker to his wrist. the gold glimmers underneath the light and you realize that megumi doesn’t seem to hate wearing it. so why is he acting so … unpleasant?

you feel a lump in your throat. it’s embarrassing how quickly he’s able to upset you from just the tone of his voice. even his body language, usually fluid and smooth, is rigid with your presence. you want to tell him that you’ve enjoyed your time with him. you want to shake his shoulders and tell him that if you two cut your mission short, you might not get another chance to be near him again.

“do you still care about me?” you whisper instead.

he stills completely. “what?”

“this entire time,” you begin shakily, “you’ve been nice to me. you treat me like you always do. you’re always hovering over me even though you pretend you aren’t! you obviously still care, megumi.”

his adam's apple bobs as swallows. a beat of silence. then two. then three.

“i do care,” he admits sorely.

“then why did you break up with me?” you blurt. there it is, the question you’ve been meaning to ask. you both had seen it coming.

“because…” megumi winces as if he’s the one getting hurt from the ordeal. “because you deserve someone that’s normal. someone that isn’t a sorcerer. i can’t give you that life.”

you feel your chest swarm with anger. why does he always think he needs to sabotage himself to make others happy? this is something you’ve tried working with him on, but it seems like old habits are hard to kill off, just like your habit of loving him.

“why the hell would you decide that for me? when did i ever say i wanted a normal life?” you snap. your hands clench at your sides.

“it’s too early for this,” he says, his voice straining as he finally musters up the strength to look at you in your eyes.

“tell me, megumi. if that’s the real reason, then that is the most pathetic excuse for a breakup i've ever heard.” your voice cracks and you gulp down the oncoming sob that’s threatening to explode from your throat.

he inhales slowly and makes his way to you, holding you close against his chest. you should push him away, but you would rather let him hug you. you know that you can’t fight him, anyway.

“you…once said you wanted a regular relationship. when you got hurt a few weeks ago, i realized i couldn’t be that for you,” he confesses lowly. “i knew that you’d never find it in yourself to leave, so i figured i should just let you go for your sa–”

“are you kidding me?” you shout incredulously. “i said that when i was fifteen, megumi! before i even knew what being in love was like!”

he flinches against you. “but i…”

“you and your damn savior complex! i don’t need to be in a regular, normal relationship! i don’t need any of that, megumi! i’m a sorcerer, I won't ever get to be normal! in fact, it’s even better that i’m with you because you at least know what this life is like, you idiot! you’re always ruining the good things in your life because you—”

he takes his fingers to grab your chin and he pulls you in for a kiss. if the kiss is a ploy to shut you up, you hate to admit that it’s working. his tongue slips into your mouth and you melt against him. your arms loop around his neck as you desperately drag him down closer to your body. his hand grip your waist while the other clings to the small of your back.

you whimper out of instinct and he pulls away, lips bruised and breathless. it’s been so long since you’ve tasted him and you frown, tiptoeing to capture his lips again. you need to savor him, to feel him lips against yours again.

“baby, wait.” his chest heaves as he looks down at you. “don’t…don’t do this to me.”

“do what?” you ask, an edge to your voice. did he just reject you? even after all that?

“w-we gotta report back to—”

“we’re supposed to leave tomorrow,” you interrupt.

the gears shift in his head. “fine, but—”

“i’m still really fucking mad, but i just need you to kiss me right now,” you whine impatiently.

all megumi does is laugh when he swoops down to press his lips against yours.

it’s december 24th when you two find yourselves in satoru’s office. steam is practically rising from your ears as you try to compose yourself in front of your former teacher.

“... i wanted a wedding invitation.” satoru shrugs.

“you set us up!” you whine angrily. “gojo, are you serious?! isn’t this a little immature?”

megumi stays silent, averting his gaze. he suddenly finds the succulents on satoru’s desk very interesting. he’s never noticed that they’re all nearly dead! how cool.

your eyes shoot daggers at megumi's silence.

"we aren't gonna get married any time soon..." megumi mutters when he feels your pointy glare on him.

satoru raises his hands in mock surrender. “you two can’t blame me! it worked out! you two are back together now, right?”

“but did you have to make us look like fools out there?” you groan.

“you should’ve figured it out on the first day that the mission was a sham!” satoru exclaims, offense taking over his features.

“but still!” you’re borderline hysterical at this point, unable to believe that your former teacher of all people had to set up an entire fake mission so that you and your ex could talk your feelings out. “we would’ve figured ourselves out sooner or later!”

megumi nods. he feels like he should at least give you a little support even if he’s embarrassed out of his mind.

“oh really?” satoru’s voice drips with sarcasm. “you guys should be thanking me—”

“you’re so not getting an invitation to our wedding!” you grumble.

“wha—hey! i’m the one that got you two back together! besides, i’m megumi’s guardian! you can’t just not invite me.”

“watch me!”

“megumi, tell her that she can’t do that—hey! where are you guys going? invite me, you rascals—why are you guys leaving? we aren’t done discussing this! megumi, don’t you dare take her side! she isn’t even your wife yet—don’t slam my door!”

#jjk x reader #jjk x you #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #megumi x you #fushiguro megumi x reader #jjk megumi #megumi fluff #not my best work tbh

[dixons-sunshine]

js read your shopping spree and dying for your haircut fics and omg

can u pretty please, with a bow on top, write another part to that series or like an au where they get separated at the fall of the world and a few season later (preferably that prison era of daryl he was so fawking sexy there like omg) they found each other again and i want some build up to their reunion yk like someone else finds r and brings them in and some ppl kinda chatting abt the new girl or wtv and dars not rlly gaf cuz he kinda getting tired of trying to find r (realistically i don’t think he’d give up easily but let’s js pretend yk) but then they see each other and they’re like omfg the love of my life’s here and safe and like i need that glenn and maggie type reunion but like tenfold bc r and dar alr loved and knew each other before the fall yk and like yeah😣

idky but i’m a sucker for “r and daryl had a relationship beforehand, got separated, and reunited” trope (?) fic, blurb shit and you’d literally be godsent if u wrote this oml

I Found You | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: When the dead started to rise and the world went to hell, Daryl got seperated from you, the love of his life. After over a year of searching for you and finding no evidence of your survival, Daryl was beginning to give up and count his losses. One day, Carol stumbled upon a wounded woman while out on a run with Glenn, and the two of them decide to accept you into the prison. Little did they know, that would end up being one of the best decisions they could've ever made.

Genre: Angst to fluff.

Era: Prison, pre season 4, post season 3.

Warnings: Swearing, blood, death, mentions of attempted sexual assault (not descriptive)

Word count: 4.3k

A/n: Thank you so much for the request! I've decided to write the au since there's already a part three for the SSHD (Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams) universe in the works, but this request was way too good to not write. I hope you like it! And I absolutely agree with you. There's something about prison era Daryl that just hits different. He was on another level completely.

As always, my requests are open for any TWD requests.

(Just thought I'd say that both third- and second person is used. I referred to the reader in third  person when Glenn and Carol first met her, but it soon shifts to second person when she introduced herself. Just thought I'd let y'all know the shift is intentional.)

—

“Okay, so I can't guess what you did before all of this correctly, but I bet there is something that I will be right about.”

Daryl looked at Zach skeptically as they trudged through the abandoned store, looking for supplies to bring back to the prison. “Yeah? Wha's tha'?”

“You're brooding, quiet, you like to keep to yourself,” Zach started, leaning nonchalantly against one of the shelves while he watched the archer place multiple different packs and boxes into his bag. “The way you act most of the time would suggest you've never been in a relationship before, but there are clear signs that you were with someone before all of this.”

Daryl stiffened for a moment, his hand lingering above a pack, before regaining his composure and continuing his task. “Wha' signs?”

“Well, for one, you know exactly what kind of tampons and pads to get for the ladies at the prison. I would've just dumped everything in and have them sort through it, but you are only taking specific brands,” Zach pointed out, motioning to the box of tampons Daryl had just put back onto the shelf.

When Daryl didn't reply, Zach took that as his cue to continue. “And while we're on the topic of periods, you seem to know exactly what to get the girls for the pain and what to do to curve their bad tempers. What guy would know that if he didn't have a girlfriend before all of this? And to top it all off, and this is totally unrelated to everything I just said, I've seen that locket necklace you keep in your pocket. It's pretty worn out and faded, but you can definitely tell it's something from this generation, so it can't be something that was passed down from a relative, so that brings me to my conclusion. You, Daryl Dixon, had a girl before all of this.”

Daryl sighed, shutting his eyes tightly as he willed the onslaught of memories away. Memories that were too painful to think of, memories that did nothing but remind the archer of his failure. His failure at finding you, the love of his life, after the dead started walking. A failure he had to live with for as long as he remained alive.

Daryl opened his eyes and turned abruptly, leaving the young man behind him as he stalked towards the exit, his bag slung over his shoulder. Zach hurriedly caught up to him, struggling to keep at a steady pace beside him as Daryl strode quickly, wanting to put some distance between him and Zach.

“Woah, man! Slow down!” Zach complained, jogging to keep up with him. “Was it because I brought up the girl thing? I didn't realise it was a touchy subject.”

“It ain't none of yer damn business,” Daryl grumbled under his breath, stalking over to the truck him and Zach were using that day.

“Daryl! Come on, man. It's not that deep.”

Daryl gritted his teeth as he opened up the driver's side door of the truck, throwing his bag into the back before climbing inside. He started up the truck and revved the engine, a warning sign to Zach that he was about to leave, with or without him.

Zach hurriedly scurried into the passenger seat, barely having time to close the door before Daryl started speeding off. He gripped the edge of his seat, sending Daryl an exasperated look.

“Daryl, what the hell? Calm down!” he exclaimed, unnerved by the archer's sudden burst of fury. He'd seen Daryl angry before, but it was never directed towards him. It was downright scary.

“'M calm,” Daryl replied through gritted teeth, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.

“That's what you call calm?!” Zach exclaimed, motioning out towards the road. “You're driving like a maniac! Slow down!”

Daryl simply ignored the man, keeping his eyes trained on the road. Memories of you unwillingly flooded his mind. Memories of your smile, your laugh and your beautiful eyes. Memories of the calm mornings you'd spend with the archer in your shared sad excuse for an apartment where the hot water was a joke. Memories where you'd both stand under the cold water of the shower, Daryl embracing you from behind in an attempt to make the cold water bearable for you. Memories of your loving touch on his skin, your fingers lightly tracing over the scars on his back as you whispered reassuring things into his ear, assuring him that his father's abuse had nothing to do with him, that it wasn't his fault that any of that happened to him.

The more Daryl's mind wandered, the more he remembered some of the bad memories. All those arguments you had with him over some of his escapades with Merle, telling him that it would only get him into trouble, flooded his mind. One of those arguments ended up being the reason he got seperated from you in the first place.

Merle had wanted to go do some drug deal and had barged into your apartment, practically dragging Daryl from your bed. You had begged him not to go, arguing with him that it was a bad idea and that something would go wrong this time. He remembered being so angry at you for insisting during that argument that Merle wasn't good for him, that he needed to cut back on seeing him or set some boundaries with him. He had stormed out of the apartment without so much as a goodbye, and now he regretted it more than he's regretted anything before in his life.

Daryl blamed himself daily for not having listened to you that day. If he had, he never would've been seperated from you and you would've been safe by his side. He longed to have you by his side again, to tell you that he was sorry and that he loved you. However, even after all this time of searching, going out for extended periods of time to look for signs of you, it was to no avail. You were gone, and it was all his fault.

“Daryl? Are... you okay?”

Daryl snapped back to reality at the sound of Zach's concerned voice. He felt a droplet of water roll down his cheek and he hurriedly wiped it away, realising that he was crying. He hadn't even realised that tears had started to well up in his eyes, so immersed was he in his own thoughts.

“'M fine,” Daryl insisted, wiping his eyes hurriedly as he willed the tears away.

Zach furrowed his eyebrows, before realisation dawned on him. “You did have a girl before all of this. You lost her, didn't you?” he asked sympathetically.

Daryl hesitantly nodded, swallowing in an attempt to get rid of the lump in his throat. “I didn't lose her,” he began, bringing the truck to a halt in front of the prison gates as he waited for someone to open them.

“I don't know if she's even dead at all. She's just... Gone.”

—

“What are we looking for, exactly?” Glenn asked Carol as they scanned over the shelving of an abandoned pharmacy, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Carol sighed as she looked upon yet another empty shelf, its medical contents a thing of the past. “Anything medical. With all the new people we've been taking in, the supplies we have aren't going to be enough.”

“Okay,” Glenn drawled hesitantly. “But it doesn't look like there's anything worth scavenging here.”

“Let's just do a once over before we check the back. If there's nothing, we head on back. It's getting late,” Carol instructed. Glenn nodded, and the two of them dispersed to sweep through the small store once more.

“So,” Glenn started. “Is it just me, or has Daryl been more grumpy than usual?”

Carol hummed in agreement. “He has. He gets angry at the smallest of things lately.”

“Do you know why?”

“No,” Carol said, shaking her head. “I've asked him, but he won't say anything. Just tells me to mind my own business. It's really odd. He's more like he was back at the quarry. More closed off and snappy and I don't know why.”

“It's ever since he came back from that run with Zach a week ago,” Glenn replied, meeting up with the Carol again to go into the back room. “I've asked Zach if he knows why, but he refused to say anything. Says it's not his place to say.”

Carol frowned, opening the door that lead into the back room. “That's odd. So that means something—”

“Stay right there. Don't move another inch or I swear to god I'll shoot.”

Both Carol and Glenn froze in their tracks. They looked up and locked eyes with a woman, who's eyes were fiery as they darted between them.

“Names. Now. And weapons on the ground.”

“Okay, alright,” Carol responded, trying to diffuse the situation. She slowly lowered her gun and knife to the ground, urging Glenn to do the same. “I'm Carol, and this is Glenn. Now before we answer anymore questions, what's your name?”

The woman hesitated for a moment. “Y/n. What are you doing here?”

“We were looking for some supplies,” Carol spoke truthfully, eyeing the gun aimed at her carefully. “We're running low on medical things.”

After a couple of long, tense moments, with you scanning them from head to toe, you nodded to yourself after spotting something. Deciding to trust them for now, you slowly lowered the gun. However, you quietly hissed in pain, quickly clutching your side as you stumbled to regain your balance. After you steadied yourself, you limped over to your bag and grabbed a few things before handing them over to Carol and Glenn.

“Here. Hope these help. The place was ransacked when I got here. Wasn't a lot left to clear out.”

“Thank you, but we need more than this. This isn't going to last us long,” Carol responded, placing the items into her bag.

“No offence, lady, but I think I need the supplies more than you do at the moment. And I gave you more than half already. I can't spare more,” you said, clutching your side tightly.

“What happened?” Glenn asked, pointing to the your side, unable to stop his curiosity from seeping through.

“Flesh eaters,” you replied nonchalantly, shrugging your shoulders. “I was fighting a bunch of them when one lunged at me from the side. It toppled me through a broken window, and a shard sliced me.”

“Don't you have a group? Couldn't they help you?” Glenn questioned.

“Nope. I've been on my own since this whole thing started. I guess I should probably find a group, though. Things like this wouldn't happen if I had backup.”

You gingerly lifted your shirt, and both Carol and Glenn grimaced at the painful sight. The wound was deep and oozing blood. It would definitely need stitches, as well as someone to remove the remaining fragments of glass that still painfully stuck out of the wound. It was terrible. You wouldn't be able to get it all out without a professional.

Suddenly, an idea struck Carol. “You gave us some of the supplies you scavenged without even knowing us. Why?”

“Well, you didn't try to kill me, even after I held you at gunpoint. And by the looks of it, you guys have a group and are set up somewhere. Figured I should do the honourable thing and offer up some medical things if there's kids involved.”

“How do you know there's kids?” Glenn asked, confused.

“I can see the toys in your bag,” you pointed out, motioning to the toy truck that stuck out of the top of his bag. “Figured that adults wouldn't be playing with toy trucks while the world was ending.”

“Still, why would you? You don't owe us anything,” Carol questioned, though her mind was already set on one thing.

“Some might call me naive, but I hope that by doing some good in this fucked up world, karma will decide to do something good for me. That probably makes me stupid as shit, huh?” you replied, laughing before wincing at the pain that shot through your side at the small action.

Carol smiled at you. “We have a group set up not too far from here, at the prison. You can join if you want, but you have to answer three questions first.”

You raised your eyebrows at her. “Three questions? That's it?”

“Yeah.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Alright, shoot.”

“How many walkers have you killed?” Carol began, watching you closely.

“A lot. Too many to keep track of at this point.”

“How many people have you killed?”

You hesitated for a moment, guilt creeping up on you. “Three.”

“Why?”

“Two of them were bit. They asked me to kill them. The other one... That bastard tried to rape me. I wouldn't let him.”

“I'm sorry,” Glenn said sympathetically.

“It's fine. I'm fine,” you waved him off, before turning your attention back to Carol. “How'd I do? Satisfactory enough?”

Carol nodded. “For me, yes. You'll still need to meet the leader and have him evaluate you, but I think you'll be alright. You'll fit in just fine.”

“Hopefully,” you laughed nervously, instantly paying the price for it with a sharp pain shooting up your side, making you visibly wince.

“Come on, let's get going. We have a doctor who can get that checked out for you,” Glenn prompted. He walked over to you and grabbed your bag, stopping your protest instantly. “It's fine, I've got it. One extra bag won't kill me.”

Together, all of you made your way out of the pharmacy and over to their car. You got settled in the back while Carol and Glenn got into the front, and before long you were setting off to the prison. Your eyes were beginning to droop, but Glenn seemed eager to get to know the new recruit better.

“What were you doing out there on your own anyway?”

“I was looking for my boyfriend. I was hoping that he might still be alive.”

“No luck?” he asked.

“No,” you shook your head, pursing your lips. “I'm beginning to think I might never find him, if he's even still alive.”

“Never say never,” Glenn encouraged you. “You'll find him someday, I know it.”

“I really hope so.”

—

“Have you seen that new chick Glenn and Carol brought back? She's a real looker.”

“I know, right? You think she's into blondes?”

“Even if she was, I doubt she'd go for your scrawny ass.”

“Easy, boys. She might not even be into guys. I could have a shot with her for all you know.”

Daryl groaned inwardly as he entered the cellblock. The new girl that Glenn and Carol brought in the day before was seemingly the hottest topic of discussion amongst everyone and he couldn't escape it, no matter where he tried to run to. Nobody, apart from Glenn, Carol, Rick and Hershel have officially met her, yet everybody had seemingly already formed an opinion about her. Although there were a lot of different opinions, everyone seemingly agreed on one thing; the new girl was hotter than hell.

Daryl was the only guy in the entire prison that hadn't seen her yet. He was out hunting when Carol and Glenn brought her back and he hasn't bothered to go out of his way to introduce himself to her ever since he got back. He'd meet her soon enough and he wasn't hoping to make friends with her. The more people he managed to keep at arm's length, the better.

“Yo, Daryl. What do you think about the new chick?” a guy called Mitchell asked him, snapping him from his thoughts.

Daryl shrugged. “Ain't met her yet,” he replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Okay, but have you seen her?” another guy called Ronnie asked. “I'm telling you, man, hotter than the sun on a summer day. I'm hoping she'll let me hit at least once.”

“How 'bout ya leave the poor girl alone?” Daryl snapped, turning to face the group that was walking with him. “She ain't even been here two days and y'all are already ogling her like she's some prize to be won. Have some more respect.”

“Jeez,” Mitchell whistled. “What's got your panties up in a bunch?”

“Nothin',” Daryl muttered angrily, turning around to walk further into the cellblock. “Jus' wanna get this fuckin' job done and all y'all can do is yap 'bout some girl ya dun' even know properly. I dun' give two flyin' shits 'bout who or wha' ya talk 'bout, but do it after the job's done. Y'all ain't free loadin' here. Do yer job, earn yer keep.”

“Sorry,” a girl called Ariana muttered, sending him an apologetic look. “What do you need us to do?”

“Take those planks over there and take em to the guard tower. Rick wants to fortify it and wants it done by the end of the week.”

“What are you gonna do?” Ronnie asked, crossing his arms as he sized Daryl up.

Daryl glared at him and squared his shoulders, looking down on his shorter, scrawny frame. “Hershel needs help with somethin'. I believe ya can understand tha' if the doctor needs somethin' done, it's considered top priority?”

Ronnie shrunk under Daryl's intense glare, nodding quickly. “Yeah, of course.”

“Great.”

With that, Daryl turned on his heel and set off to find Hershel. He didn't have to search far, however, because Hershel halted him before he could go outside.

“Daryl, over here,” the old man called after him, halting him in his tracks.

Daryl turned and walked over to Hershel, nodding at him respectfully. “Wha' ya need, Doc?”

“I'm sure you've heard of the girl Carol and Glenn brought back yesterday by now?” Hershel questioned, chuckling at the slight groan Daryl emitted.

“Who hasn't? Apparently she's really good lookin'. Her looks has been all people has to say 'bout her.”

Hershel nodded. “Unfortunately, that is true. Only Rick, Glenn, Carol and myself has had the pleasure of meeting her personally up until this point. She's a lovely woman. Had no problem that there wasn't anything to ease the pain when I had to stitch her side and she's more than willing to get up and start working to earn her keep. She won't be able to for at least another day or so since her side needs to heal up a bit first, but Carol and Glenn did good with bringing her back. She'll fit right in.”

“Good,” Daryl nodded. “She a good fighter?”

“From what I understand, she's been out on her own since the beginning. She's not dead yet, so I'd say she's alright,” Hershel replied, adjusting on his crutches.

“Alrigh', now enough 'bout her. Wha' did ya need me to do?”

Hershel gave him an encouraging pat on the back, confusing the archer. “You're going to be one of the very few people who gets to say they met the new girl for the next couple of days. I was hoping you could help her fix her bunk? One of the legs on the bunk broke and she's dead set on repairing it. She won't let me help because she keeps insisting I've done enough for her, so I told her I would send someone else to help. She'll be expecting you.”

Daryl pursed his lips but nodded, parting ways with the older man. He walked over to the cell that Hershel had pointed towards and stopped at the doorway, hesitating to make his presence known.

You had your back turned towards the door, hunched over as you inspected the leg of the bunk. You weren't aware of the archer that stood a few feet behind you, engrossed entirely in your own thoughts. That was, until he spoke up behind you.

“Hey. Hershel said ya needed help?”

You froze at the voice, willing the supposed hallucination away. You slowly rose to your feet and turned, locking eyes with the one person you've been searching for since the world went to hell—your boyfriend, Daryl Dixon.

The moment Daryl locked eyes with you, a whirlwind of emotions flooded his being. Relief, love, happiness, wonder, sadness, confusion and so much more that he couldn't decipher. Although his first instinct was to wrap you in his arms and never let go of you again, he hesitated, refusing to believe you were real. He took a step back, his eyes wide as he looked at you.

You stared back at him with equal amounts of disbelief. You took a hesitant step forward. “Daryl?” you whispered. The man in front of you looked slightly different; a little bit older and his hair was longer, but there was no mistaking it. The man in front of you was Daryl.

Daryl remained silent, his eyes locked on you as you continued to take agonizingly slow steps towards him. He watched as you stopped in front of him and hesitantly raised your hand, bringing it to rest on his cheek. Daryl instantly melted into your familiar soft touch, and that was all the confirmation he needed. Without another thought, he gently grabbed you and pulled you into his arms, tightly clinging to you as he pressed multiple kisses to the top of your head.

“Yer real,” he whispered, a laugh of amazement falling from his lips. “Yer real. Yer alive. Yer actually still alive.”

You laughed quietly against his chest as you held onto him tightly, never wanting to let go ever again. Your laughter soon turned into sobs, tears of relief and happiness falling from your eyes.

“I thought I'd never see you again,” you whispered through your tears, burying your face into his chest. “I thought you were dead, Dar.”

“'M here,” he whispered into your ear, a few tears of his own falling from his eyes. “'M alive. Yer alive. 'M never lettin' ya go ever again. 'M sorry I ever left tha' day in the first place.”

“It's okay. I'm sorry, too. I never should've asked you to cut Merle out of your life. He's your brother. It was unreasonable of me.”

“Nah, it wasn't,” he denied, placing another gentle kiss on the top of your head. “Ya were jus' lookin' out fer me. I never shoulda gotten mad at ya in the first place.”

“Let bygones be bygones?” you whispered against his chest.

Daryl chuckled before nodding. “Yeah, of course.”

The two of you held onto each other for a couple of moments longer until you pulled back. Daryl was about to voice his protest until you pressed your lips against his in an urgent kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. His arms settled on your waist, pulling you closer into him as he kissed you back. There was no lustful hunger behind the kiss—there was only love and longing, two broken parts finally reuniting and mending together as one.

Daryl pulled back and placed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. “I missed ya so much,” he whispered, willing the lump in his throat to go away.

“I missed you too. More than you even know,” you replied, cupping Daryl's cheek with one of your hands. “But I found you. I finally found you.”

Daryl leaned into your touch before turning his head to kiss the palm of your hand. However, he soon pulled away from you and strode over to your bag, slinging it over your shoulder.

“C'mon,” he said, taking your hand in his as he pulled you to walk beside him.

“Where are we going?” you questioned, falling into step beside the man you loved.

“There ain't no need fer ya to sleep in there. Yer gonna sleep with me in my cell,” Daryl said simply, pulling you along to his cell.

You giggled but said nothing, silently following him into his cell. When he placed your bags down on the floor, Daryl placed a soft kiss on your lips before stalking out of the cell.

“Where are you going?” you called after him, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion.

“'M gonna find tha' prick who objectified ya and teach him a lesson. Yer hot as fuck, yes, that much I can accept people sayin', but Ronnie implied he wanted to sleep with ya outrigh'. He's really gonna regret sayin' tha' in a few moments. Dun' even try to talk me outta it.”

“Hey, Dar?” you called after him, halting him in his tracks. “I love you.”

Daryl smiled at you. “I definitely love ya more.”

#krys writes .ೃ࿐ #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl x reader #the walking dead #twd daryl #norman reedus #norman reedus x reader

[pablitosgf]

𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 ! — PG08

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ! — pedri x fem!singer!reader

𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎 ! — in which pedri cheats on y/n, leading to her publicly dumping him.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ! — curse words, maybe some incorrect spelling, and cheating ofc. if theres anything more lmk <3

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ! — no hate to pedri i think he's an awesome player and awesome person. keep in mind this is just an smau and i do not think of him as a horrible being! <3

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓 ! — social media

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐁𝐄 !

𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐌 !

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 !

𝐩𝐞𝐝𝐫𝐢 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 !

𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 !

𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 !

𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐌 !

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐟𝐜𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐚, 𝐦𝐢𝐤𝐤𝐲𝐤𝐢𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐲, 𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐳𝐜, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝟏,𝟖𝟐𝟏,𝟓𝟑𝟒 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 reckless is out on spotify and more!! love yall <3

𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝟕𝟑𝟒,𝟐𝟎𝟓 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬

𝐦𝐢𝐤𝐤𝐲𝐤𝐢𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐲 officially me, sira, anna, and dani's fav song!!!! 🩷

↳ stop ily guys sm 😭🫶🏼

𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐳𝐜 THATS MY FUCKING BEST FRIEND YOU GUYS

↳ BEST FRIENDDD ❤️❤️

𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬𝐤𝐚 that ugly whore fumbled a 10/10

↳ anna ur literally a walking 10/10 😍

𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫𝟏 thank you for blessing is w this song

↳ of course <3

𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫𝟏 @𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 OMFG AM I DREAMING?!

↳ @𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫𝟏 no you're not 😭🫶🏼

𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫𝟏 @𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 AHHH

𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫𝟐 @𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫𝟏 OMG UR SO LUCKYY

𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫𝟑 added to my playlist 😘

↳ you're the best !!

𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 !

#pedri x you #pedri one shot #pedri smut #pedri x reader #pedri x y/n #pedri gonzalez #pedri imagine #pedri fluff #pedri fanfic #pedri #pablitosgf #football imagine #soccer #football #fc barcelona

[leighsartworks216]

hello i love your work, i check the collection on ao3 every morning like a newspaper haha. it astounds me how much you're able to write in such a short time. i also have a request. what are ur thoughts on this as tav and astarion (tav being the sleeper, astarion being the insomniac)

https://twitter.com/sevspam/status/1706371876367503693?s=46

I don’t have the right brain rn to write a full story out of this (fighting off the Enola Holmes hyperfixation omfg) but here’s some random hcs/thoughts. This is set after the end of the game (no spoilers or anything) if y’all decided to live in the city or smth idk, just above ground

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Warnings: none

Word Count: 556

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You always try to sleep in

Always

And you always try to keep him with you when you do

He’ll meditate or sleep for his 4 hours (if he’s lucky enough to avoid nightmares) and just be laying there until morning, cuddling you

And then he’ll get restless as the sun rises, but the moment he tries to slip away, you’re wrapped around him like a vice

And no matter how long you keep him imprisoned there, you’re still utterly exhausted when you get up

When you were traveling across Faerûn, he thought it was just because of all the fighting and adventuring

But no

You’re just always tired

You probably take a nap on the couch in the afternoon, and he’s there with your head or feet in his lap as he works on something, or he’s straight up squeezing in to lay with you

If he doesn’t go to bed with you immediately, you have to go retrieve him

He’ll put off sleep at night for as long as possible, especially if his mind is being cruel to him

You’ll find him hunched over his embroidery or nose-deep in a book, and you’ll lean over the back of the couch and hug him from behind

If he doesn’t get to a stopping point fast enough, you’ll fall asleep just like that

Gods, how many times he’s had to carry you back to bed just because he’s too stubborn

You both have deep bags under your eyes

Both of you kissing under the others’ eyes as a cute little thing <333

If there’s a sun beam on the floor, and you happen to walk through it, oh boy he will find you on the floor taking a nap

He would move you somewhere more comfortable, but he doesn’t want to get burned, so he simply rolls his eyes and moves on

He does love it when you wake up from your sun beam nap and hug him, because he can feel the lingering warmth clinging to you

Sometimes he’ll have a nightmare late at night and cling tightly to you to ground himself

And he feels bad for it, but you’ll wake up, all bleary-eyed and slow-brained, and you’ll rub patterns into his lower back and pet his hair

You actively fight against going back to sleep just to stay up and comfort him

If he can’t calm down as easily, you’ll get up with him and make yourself coffee or a very strong tea to keep you sort of awake

Lots of late night convos during these moments

You sitting on the couch with your back against the armrest and Astarion spreading out along the length with his head in your lap

Or like laying on his stomach and pressing his face against your belly with his arms wrapped around your back

Oh yeah that’s the shit

You’ll always fall asleep before him, but he loves listening to your even breathing

He’d probably be annoyed if you snore at first

But then it grows on him and becomes too endearing

Honestly he probably gets so adjusted to it and so subconsciously tuned to it, that if you ever stop snoring just randomly in the middle of the night for whatever reason, he’s awake and just trying to figure out why tf he’s awake wtf

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis @hypopxia @flsalazar @beverlybeav @angelofthorr @emiemiemiii @marina-and-the-memes @aurasyn @furblrwurblr @cappsikle @mjmygd @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @kindadolly @bloopthebat @pandimoostuff @chesb0red @black-star1472 @sessils @puppyg1rl666 @maruichio @cyber-dump-171 @katharynmarie @twinkliker3000 @cherifrog @catching-fire-in-the-wind @phantoms-fandom-blog @thespectacularspaceace @lynnlovesthestars @tototini @ashrio20 @bambamwolf87 @astarion-imagine-archive @thistrashisreadytobash @rosxtinted @bongwaterflavoredgatorade @the-lake-is-calling @nyxmainex @squid-killer

#request #requested #fanfic #fanfiction #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate astarion #baldur's gate tav #baldurs gate astarion #baldurs gate tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #headcanons #hcs #fluff

[fountainpenguin]

Commentary after watching Grian’s, Impulse's, and Etho’s Ep 1s:

Mumbo is back??? And Lizzie??? Amazing. I had my fingers crossed but my hopes were low. That's exciting.

The instant dump of puns... Grian and Mumbo really do share a soul

The secrets should be an interesting mechanic; this is going to force a lot of interactions and be a delicate balancing act. I think it was a good choice for a social series

Looking forward to seeing BigB's POV... That man just backpedaling and running circles around people with his confusing words and giant death trap in the ground... good for him.

Crying at the mental image of Impulse holding a piece of paper that says "Make cherry wood your entire identity" and he just (big sighs)

Impulse: "What if I just cut down ALL the cherry wood because it's MY identity?"

I appreciate how Impulse tried to demonstrate what goats do by backing up and then tackling Gem

Skizz hovering around Gem because his task was to stay within 10 blocks of her for 10 minutes... Scott turning to Impulse like "This... this is weird for Skizz, right?" sklfdj gotta check with the best friend

Cleo and Tango: "We're speeddating"

Wheezing at Scott's task of building a base that's obnoxiously attached to someone else's and Gem keeps scooting away and so Scott keeps moving his base to follow hers

So we're all going to draw Impulse with pink tools and pink crafting tables and stuff this season, right? slkdjf

Etho: "You have my heart, Joel"

omfg my "manifesting a Skizz and Cleo team-up" worked lskjdf. Looking forward to that perspective

Cleo moving in with Etho...

We get Skleo AND Boat Boys AND Cletho interactions this season? All in one episode? omg, this one's gonna be wild

Looking forward to more POVs when I'm home <3

#Secret Life spoilers #Secret Life #Secret Life SMP spoilers #impulseSV #Grian #ZombieCleo #TangoTek #Skizzleman #GeminiTay #MumboJumbo #trafficblr #traffic life smp #mcyt #traffic spoilers #Boat Boys #Cletho #The Clockers #Skleo #Riddle watches Traffic

[mydearesthrry]

hi!!! could u maybe write musician reader x harry idea dumping in the middle of the night???

a/n: u get it. this was fun to write teehee. song used is ‘a love letter from the sea to the shore’ by delaney bailey! enjoy :P (this got away from me.)

warnings: nothing, cute fluff from our fave knuckleheads!!!!

“hi baby angel, what are you doing?” harry murmured, a grin on his face as he walked into the living room, seeing his wife sitting on the floor with her guitar on her lap.

“writing something, i think,” she grumbled, scratching aggressively at her shoulder since her guitar strap was rubbing against it. “something’s not working here.”

“well, what’ve y’got so far?” he asked, plopping himself next to her, resting his chin on his hand that was propped up on his knee.

“um, i’ll play it for you,” she shifted in her spot to face him, itching her nose as she scooted. “i’m thinking it’ll be called like, ‘a love letter from the sea to the shore’? i mean, i basically say it in the first verse anyway.”

“cute!” he replied, making her giggle softly.

“okay, um,” y/n began strumming, eyes closing as she played the round of chords she had in mind.

‘cause you hold in my tide

i would die a thousand times

just to see you in another life

stopping after the second chorus, she drops her chin to her chest, hair curtaining around her face as she groans in annoyance. “i can’t figure out the fucking bridge.”

“baby, that was beautiful.” harry says seriously, eyes shining with adoration and utmost love.

“shut up. help me write this bridge.” she muttered, but leaning to press a kiss to his lips in gratitude.

“hm… what if y’like, made it still ocean themed? like slow down the song at that part and make it so it sounds like the water’s coming back up the shore.” he explained casually, not realizing how complicated that sounded.

“what?” she questioned, a confused furrow in her brow.

“like, hold on, give me the guitar.” he held his hands out to grab it, settling it on his lap against his tummy when it was in his possession. harry furrowed his brow, humming a little before just barely singing the words, ‘my love’.

y/n watched as he used relatively the same chords to strum a different pattern, already filling in the gaps with his hums. “i got it! h, wait!”

“see, there y’go lovie. jus’ needed a little boost, hm?” he smiled widely, his bunny teeth peeking out.

“god, we’re fuckin’ good at our jobs.” she murmured after rerecording the song with harry’s added bridge. a giggle left harry’s throat at her look of relief, high-fiving her as she set her guitar back on the stand.

“should i release it? i think we could probably record it tonight.” y/n shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, standing from her place on the floor.

“y’wanna record this song right now? its 2:45 in the morning, sweetheart.” he chuckled at her, standing up after she did.

“yeah, honestly. wanna be my producer for the night?” she giggled, moving towards him slowly, her hands coming to rest on his chest, then fanning out to the nape of his neck.

“sure, baby. if that’s what y’want.” harry promised, his hands resting on her hips. leaning forward, he pressed a kiss on her forehead, both cheeks, and eventually her lips, savoring the flavor of her chapstick that she loved to use before bed.

“i do want that, please?” she whispered between them, pecking his lips again.

“alright, lead the way, angel girl.”

———

liked by harrystyles, sabrinacarpenter, charles_leclerc, and 4,262,819 others

yourinstagram: my new song ‘a love letter from the sea to the shore’ is out may 1st 💌 written & produced by me and husband harrystyles eeeeek i love this song i cant wait for it to be yours!!!!!!!

view all 19,552 comments

landonorris: so excited y/n/n!

sabrinacarpenter: omfg stop

user1: THEY WROTE IT TOGETHER AND PRODUCED IT TOGETHER STOP 😭

harrystyles: I love nothing more than I love you. Thank you for letting me work on this with you. H Xxx

> yourinstagram: harrystyles the sea to my shoooooreeeeeee i love u to pieces and pieces and pieces!!!

niallhoran: Yay bug! Can’t wait to hear it ❤️

user2: y/n probably painted the cover art im unwell

user3: “i love you too much to drift completely” BRUH IM DONE THEYRE SO 😭😭😭

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles blurb #harry edward styles #harry styles drabble #harry styles smau #harry styles x musician!reader #famous!reader x harry styles #singer!reader x harry styles

[fandxmslxt69]

Lesson Not Learnt

Loki Laufeyson x f!reader

Warnings: Loki he's a warning. SMUT SMUT SMUT LIKE FILTHY SMUT. Swearing, a lot of sex, like a lot lot, um...oral (m and f receiving), praise a LOT of degradation (dont look at me like that) umm. Literally just. Smut okay disgusting filthy stuff

A/N: So this took well over a month to finish (wayyy more) and I don't know if I like it because its umm definitely a lot? TO BE FAIR I took like weeks worth of sexual frustration and dumped it all out here so :/ It in fact did go off script and I just..went a little crazy ngl. it's definitely a lot. But :D umm oh!! I'm gonna tag whoever seemed interested in the snippet I posted like a million years ago but PLEASE DONT FEEL PRESSURED TO READ <3

-Clem

Synopsis: Despite how many times Loki told you to behave yourself before this party, you couldn't help causing a little bit of trouble. (or, alternatively, friendly flirting with Matt causes Loki to flip out and fuck you to heaven and back)

Word count: 3.9k (omfg...)

MINORS DNI BEYOND THIS POINT

Tied to the bed, legs spread wide open.

Hours of merciless torture.

Or hours of endless pleasure and pain. 

Your mind spiralled with image after image, each worse than the last. You could barely focus on the task at hand, the actual setting up to the big finale. 

You knew it was wrong.

You knew how risky it was to tick him off. You knew it would only be your downfall. But Loki always made that punishment too sweet for you to stay away from. 

You stood at the bar, fingers tapping on your thigh. It was one of those big Avengers nights, tonight you were all treated to Tony’s nice collection of drinks, and a loud party. 

You had every intention of behaving for the night. You could still hear Loki’s whisper as his hands moved up your thighs and under your skirt, be good tonight, and maybe you’ll get a reward hm?

Your legs squeezed together at the memory. But you knew he knew that as soon as you walked downstairs you’d do everything not to behave like he asked. 

So there you were, shamelessly flirting with one of Natasha’s old friends- Matt.  He was attractive, no one could deny that, and he went along with you perfectly, every move well placed. They did always say he was too aware of his surroundings. 

He took a sip of his drink, smirking slightly. “I think everyone in this party can feel the jealousy oozing off of him,”  You shrugged. “Good. Means we’re doing it right, aren’t we?” “Hm. You know I came here with every intention not to die tonight,” You chuckled. “You won’t, he wouldn’t do that,” He raised an eyebrow. “Really?” You paused. “....Well.” “Mhm, I pro-” “Murdock.” Loki’s cold voice sliced right through the conversation. He looked collected, but you swore you saw a storm growing in those gorgeous eyes. You felt him move behind you, his body caging around your smaller frame, arm rested and leaning against the bar. 

You kept your eyes trained on your hands in your lap. 

“I believe this is my girlfriend you’re talking to, no?” “Laufeyson,” Matt took another drink. “What can I say, the conversation was interesting,” “And here I thought you were a respectable man,” Loki tsked. “But I must say, it did look very interesting.” He leaned down, lips grazing your ear. “Were you keeping Mr. Murdock quite entertained, pet?”  Your breath caught in your throat. “I-..um.” Matt hummed quietly, a laugh clearly starting to build up inside of him. “I think I’ll..be going now. Enjoy the rest of your night folks,” There was definitely something in his tone there. You threw a sharp glare at him as he walked away. 

It’s silent between you and Loki for a second, before he grabs you by the arm tightly, pulling you out of your seat. “Let’s go.” He said firmly. 

You frowned as he started walking, and with how tall and quick he was, you felt like you were going to trip and face-plant. “Slow down. Go where?” “We’re going before you get yourself into any more trouble,” He gritted out as you walked down the hallway.  You were heading to his room!! “Trouble?” You scoffed. “I wasn’t even in trouble,” 

Instantly, he pushed you against the wall, his hands planted on either side of your head, his body so close, his face was merely inches from yours, and the fury in his eyes sent shivers down your spine. “Oh? Is that so, pet?” He spat. “You think you aren’t in trouble? Not even after flirting so shamelessly with Murdock? Like a whore?” 

You inhaled sharply, feeling your thin panties start to soak from his words. “It…it was friendly flirting. I was just making conversation,”  “Don’t lie to me, darling. I know what friendly flirting looks like, and it was not that. You were getting nice and close, hm? Did you want him to know how much of a slut you are? Or were you just wanting to rile me up, hoping I’d swoop in to take you away and fuck you until you can’t even think anymore?”

You felt a blush creep up your body, his words shouldn’t be affecting you this much, but the way his voice dripped with anger and hints of lust, the way his grip tightened on your arm you were sure it might bruise. You felt pathetic, being so turned on by his words, it was marvellous how he’s studied you and memorised you so well he knows just what to say to get you in the right trap.  “No I-” Before you could finish your sentence, he finally takes you to his room, practically throwing you at the bed and slamming the door shut. He points to a chair in the room. “Sit.”  You sat up, the covers on the bed wrinkling under your touch. “What?” “Sit. Now. Are you too dumb to understand such simple commands? Will I need to repeat them as if I were talking to a dog?” 

You quickly scrambled up, rushing and taking a seat in the chair without further arguments. This was a new side you’d never seen of him. You could feel your heartbeat pick up as Loki watched you with darkened eyes. Your nerves felt like they were vibrating inside of you, you couldn’t sit still even if you tried, the excitement was too much. 

He sighed then, and started carefully unbuttoning his shirt. You sat up straighter, leaning in. He stops midway, before discarding his suit jacket and taking a seat on the bed, scooting to the back and dramatically laying on his back. You frowned, not sure where this was going until he slipped a hand into his pants. You let out a quiet gasp, leaning in forward to get a better look. You could see the outlines of him slowly stroking himself, and you could feel arousal pooling between your thighs. You watched in full attention, your body getting up on its own, eager to go over and please him yourself. “Stay in the chair.” Loki spoke, his voice laced in pleasure. He shot you a glare, before adding, “And no touching yourself,” 

You felt something tighten in your lower stomach as you sat back down. “What? That’s not fair!” “Oh I think it’s very fair, darling. Especially after what you pulled downstairs,”  “That’s different!” You grumbled, yet still moved back to the chair.  “Mm…I don’t think it is,” He mumbled before getting lost in the moment, his hand moving faster under his pants as he leaned his head back and groaned. You felt like bursting into flames. He sounded so pretty and it was unfair that you weren’t pulling those noises from him yourself.  “Loki,” You started, digging your nails into your thigh. “Please take off your pants Loki- I wanna see,”  He groaned louder, his free hand gripping the sheets tightly. “I don’t know if you’ve been good enough for that,” You made a noise of protest. “Loki! Please, I asked nicely, didn't I?! I’m doing everything you’re asking!” He sighed, pulling his hand reluctantly out of his pants and quickly discarding his clothes before laying back down elegantly, naked and glorious. His hard cock stood to wide attention, the tip red and angry and so desperate for attention- attention you craved to give it. “Better, pet?” You nodded, eyes fixed on him. “Yeah…” You breathed out. You could see his lips curve into a smirk before his hand wrapped around his cock again, slowly gliding along it and pumping. He let out a shuddery breath, his eyes fluttering shut. You watched intently, your eyes never leaving his body for a second as you took in every detail, from the soft lines of his body to the small buck of his hips as he neared his climax. 

You squirmed in your seat, trying to keep your pathetic whimpers at bay. He just looked so goddamn gorgeous, the way he looked blissful and caught in the moment. You couldn’t stop the question tumbling from your mouth, “Are you thinking of me when you’re touching yourself like that?” 

He let out a near feral sound. “Fuck- yes. Always, you’re all I see. Every time, I just wish it was you on your knees, taking all of me in your mouth like a good slut. My good little slut.” 

Fuuuck.

You shifted in your place, squeezing your thighs tightly together. You were absolutely positive the panties you wore right now were going to be thrown in the garbage by the end of the night.  You whined. “Then let me help you! I’ll be a good slut, right? Please. I’ll be really good!”  He chuckled, pausing to move to the edge of the bed and sit. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes shadowed with lust. “Mm, I bet you would, wouldn’t you?” “Yes!” You got up quickly, eager to get closer to him. “I would be really-” He didn’t let you finish your sentence, because midway through he snapped his fingers and cast an illusion- an illusion of you. It sat on its knees right between his thighs, and wasted no time to lean in and take Loki in its mouth with an obscene amount of noise. Loki groaned loudly, throwing his head back in pleasure. 

You felt your mind just…shut down. You stood there in shock as you watched the scene unfold right before you. You stared, you couldn’t help it. It intrigued you, in a sense. Did he do this often? Whatever it was, the illusion was definitely professional with the way Loki was moaning. “Oh fuck-” You inched back slowly, sitting back down before your knees gave out. Everything ached. You ached to touch him, to feel him, to please him- you ached for his entire being to be pressed so close to you that you shared the same breath. 

He pulled the illusion’s hair, wasting no time to start fucking her throat harshly. It was cruel, what he was doing. He knew just how desperate you get to please him and he enjoyed watching you squirm too much. He lasts a few minutes before his hips halt as he hits his climax, floating in bliss. He looked angelic, to say the least, his face flushed as he let out a sigh of content. The illusion melted away instantly, and Loki shifted back properly onto the bed, a look of fake pity on his face. “Tsk, poor pet. Are you feeling lonely?” You nodded, trying to find a comfortable position to sit in. He tsked again. “Come here then,” You immediately shot to your feet, rushing over to his side without hesitation. “Sit, darling.” Not a request, not a question, simply a demand. An order, one you were more than happy to obey. You quickly took off your dress, slipped out of your soaked panties and bra. You got onto the bed, carefully hovering over him.  “Go ahead, darling,” He grabbed your waist tightly, letting you lower yourself onto him at your own pace. He knows you have limits, but the way you were dripping wet, it didn’t take long before he was flush inside of you. He ran a hand up along your thigh, humming as he watched you with a lustful gaze. “Such a good girl, hm? Think you deserve some fun now?”

You nodded, feeling the burn of the stretch fade into pleasure. He squeezed your hips gently, slowly helping you find a good starting pace. You should’ve been a little suspicious for letting you out of trouble so easily, but you couldn’t find the energy to care right now, you just needed more. You tried picking up your own pace, to ride him faster but naturally, Loki wasn’t done with you. He held you tightly in place, a pathetic look of sympathy on his face. “Oh no, I don’t think so,” “What?!” You punched his chest lightly. “Loki please-”  “No, darling. You don’t get to go around flirting with other people and expect me to be nice to you after. You should’ve known better,” “Lokiii,” You whined. “It was a joke! You know I didn’t mean it!” “But do I?” He thrust his hips up lazily. “A joke, hm? You wanted me to get upset?” You shook your head, trying to move your hips but his grip on you wasn’t letting up. “No, I don't believe that. I think you wanted this, didn’t you? You wanted me to get all angry so I could fuck you senseless? To play with you like the dumb toy you are?” He groaned, feeling you clench around him at his words. He couldn’t keep this self control act up. “Fuck- why don’t you show me how sorry you are, hm? You wanted to be a useless whore, show me how good you are then.” He loosened his grip on your hips, giving you the freedom to ride him. You quickly take control of the freedom, eager to feel the slow climb of pleasure, but all there was were few sparks that light and blow out almost immediately. You could feel frustration start to bubble up inside of you as Loki lazily thrust up into you every now and then. He was making no effort to help, and you felt ready to crawl out of your own skin.  “Loki,” You groaned. “It’s not working,” “So?” He looked infuriating, smirking up at you with blown out eyes and a light flush on his cheeks. What. An. Ass. “I need help! Please-” “Oh no,” he chuckled. “You can keep going,” You whined. “Loki! It’ll take ages, I’ll give up right now,” The sound he made was damn near a growl as his hands tightened on your hips. “You are in no position to make threats, pet. You misbehaved, now you deal with the consequences. Argue again and it’ll be much worse,”  You grumbled, but the threat sent a shiver through you. “Sir please,”  His grip suddenly turned bruising, his eyes wide in an almost feral need. “Oh? You’re using sir now, are you?” You nodded quickly, trying to build up to your high again. “Y-yeah...thought you liked it?” “You’re right,” He started as one of his hands drifted lower, flicking a teasing finger over your clit. You were so desperate the slight action alone ripped a moan out of you. “I do. But I also know you’re only saying it to look like a good girl,”  You choked out a cry, needing another touch so badly you’d start crying for it. Not that he’d have anything against the idea of you in tears for him… “I’m not! Loki p-please please I need you so bad please sir-” You blabbered.

He can’t resist you, he’s never been able to, so you supposed it was why he gave in so quickly. He snapped his hips up to meet yours, sending a shockwave of pleasure rippling through you. 

You moaned, digging your nails into his chest. “Th-thank you sir,” You managed to choke out. He makes a sound of disapproval as he holds you down in place, fucking into you at an unforgiving pace. You moaned loudly, feeling the knot of pleasure intensify in your stomach as he hit deeper and deeper. He took one hand off your waist, reaching in between your bodies and pressing down harshly on your clit. It didn’t take long for the pleasure to wash over you in mind blowing waves. “Loki! F-fuck Loki-” You moaned louder, breathing heavily as he pushed you through your high and pushed through his. You were sure that the people through the halls could hear from how loud Loki was, but he sounded so pretty, muttering sweet nothings to you, you couldn’t be bothered to care. He flipped you over, pinning your hands above your head with one hand as the other gripped your waist, his hips relentless as they smacked into you over and over again. 

You withered under him, tears welling up in your eyes from the intensity. You leaned up a little, pressing your lips tightly to his to drown out your cries. He eagerly kisses you back, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth. He pulled away after a bit to catch his breath, his lips with a light bruise on them. “You’re doing so well, princess. Such a good little whore,” He said before kissing you again, letting go of your wrists to wrap his hand around your throat. 

This was definitely your fucktoy moment.

He was just using as he pleased, taking and taking until he was satisfied. He picked you up and flipped you around, forcing you on your hands and knees. He’s still got one hand around your neck as the other one palms your ass as he continued to fuck you roughly. You had lost track of everything. Everything but the feel of his skin touching yours, his heavy ragged breathing, and how wonderful it felt to have him buried so deeply inside of you. All you could think of was how the pleasure was blending with a pain that was absolutely delicious. 

You could tell he was close from the way his thrusts started getting a little sloppy, and his breathing ragged as his hands roamed across your body, trailing messy kisses down your back. You moaned loudly, pressing yourself back against him as you felt the pit of your stomach tighten, the waves of pleasure crashing through you. Your arms wobble, threatening to give out from your exhaustion. He groaned as he wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, keeping you in place as he reached his own release, his hips stilling as he came with a shuddered gasp. He breathed heavily, pulling you from your hips to sit up and press your back against him. Your bodies were slick in sweat, chests heaving. You could feel your mind slowly grow hazy from the pleasure- it always happened with Loki. He knew how to work your body better than you could’ve ever thought possible, and only after a few rounds you felt your mind slip into the cloudy haze of pleasure and float in clouds of joy as he kept having his way. 

You had thought today might be different, perhaps he’d deny you that calming bliss- but it seemed just the excitement from his show earlier and this was enough to send you flying. 

He pressed wet kisses on your shoulder, his lips trailing up your neck as he sucked and bit lightly, leaving small love marks littered across your shoulders. 

“Loki-...” Your breath hitched when his lips kissed over your pulse. His tongue dragged over the skin loosely before he started sucking on the spot. You knew there’d be a dark bruise there in the morning. “Loki…” You started again but your words dissolved into a mumble of confusion and frankly, a bit of hurt when he lifted you off of him. You felt empty without him in you, and it was a feeling you did not enjoy. He laid you gently on the bed, leaving your legs spread open for him as he hovered over you. “Shhh,” He pressed a kiss to your jaw, another under your ear, one on your cheek, another messy and quick at the corner of your mouth. His messy hair tickled your face, but all of that was lost when you felt his finger slowly rubbing your clit. You gasped, your head falling back on his shoulder.  “Loki-” “Shhh, pet. I know you can give me another. You can, can’t you? Such a good girl, you’ll let me pull one more out of you, yes?” His skilled finger pressed on your bundle of nerves, sending an electric shock of pleasure coursing through your body. You moaned, torn between moving away from him or begging him for more.  You felt like you were going to explode- he was both too close and too far. You wanted more, but your body wanted to shy away from his touch, the sensitivity making your whole body tremble.  He lowered his face, kissing down your body as his fingers continued their work. His lips left soft kisses on your quivering thighs before starting to suck on your clit. A cry fell from your lips and your hands flew to fist his hair, tugging at it as the feel of his fingers and tongue became overwhelming. You couldn’t think of anything but the growing feeling of pleasure pooling at the pit of your stomach, and the god before you as he wasted no efforts to continue devouring you, the sinful squelching sounds making your brain go haywire. Your eyes pricked with tears, your pussy feeling too sensitive from his relentless attacks.  It’s pathetic how quickly you came again, and as he slowly worked you through your high, you knew for a fact you would not be able to do anything tomorrow but stay in bed and sleep.  You felt completely and utterly wasted and used and you felt a bit of relief trickle in when Loki finally pulled away from your aching cunt, a satisfied smile on his lips. 

He leaned in and kissed you, and you could taste yourself on his lips. You were both breathless when he pulled away, and if you had the energy you’d reach up and run a hand through his hair, working on detangling every strand. You hummed happily, feeling your mind drifting dangerously close to the edges of sleep. “Mm,” Loki kissed you again. “My precious girl. You did so good darling, let’s get you cleaned up, shall we? C’mon, up you go,”  You chuckled lightly, feeling your eyelids get heavy. “Loki-..I literally can’t even move my finger,”  He laughed, and you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “Did I tire you out too much?” “Yes,” You mumbled. “I’m not getting up,” “Very well,” You felt the bed shift, and suddenly it felt cold without him near. “Loki come back,” You got no answer. You yawned, your eyes drifting open and close with every passing second.  When he did finally come back, you were but a step away from blissful rest. You heard him chuckle, and you frowned deeply but refused to open your eyes. 

“That tired, hm? Well, at least you learnt your lesson,” He got back in bed, carefully cleaning you up the best he could. With a snap of his fingers, the dirty bedsheets were replaced with fresh, warm new ones, and you almost wept in joy as your body melted completely into the mattress. You rolled yourself up in the blanket, burying your face in the pillow. “Lesson not learnt,” You yawned loudly. “Good night,” 

He laughed again, and what a blessed thing that it was the last sound you heard as you fell asleep, feeling his arms wrap around you and pull you into him. 

Despite how upset he might have been at your little joke, or how exhausted you felt, you both knew it wouldn’t be the last time you played dirty for his attention.

#loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki smut #loki laufeyson smut #marvel #mcu #loki #loki laufeyson x f!reader #loki x f!reader

[minniiaa]

I AM FROTHING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE!!!!11!!!!1!!!!!! YOU GOT ME BARKING

First of all, thank you ^-^ <333

You've not only satisfied my simp heart with bottom Law but also my yearn for and emotionally constipated Law being proven wrong

Second, I have more ideas or course :D

This is a gigantic leap from my previous… contributions, but I want to share my love for something I enjoy just as much as my little guys (grown ass men) getting railed in such a way it puts the trolley problem to shame. Sweet, sweet aftercare, I dunno what about it that enthralls me but just- like- I- jsbdudbskospaks-

It's an honest 50/50 whether the aftercare situations I think up actually comes after sex or if it's all I think of. It has me by the throat man.

Something about Law feeling safe enough to tell Luffy when he's had enough without feeling the need to force or threaten Luffy, or not holding out far past his limit so Luffy doesn't “get bored of him” makes my brain melt and mold back into the shape of a sea urchin.

OH, MORE THOUGHTS!!! >:0

Here me out, modern au, Law comes back to their apartment more tired than he's ever been after the longest shift he's pulled in a while. All he wants, more than anything, is their bed, screw the shower, he couldn't stand long enough to take one and he knows the moment his knee bends further than what's needed to walk his body will collapse. So he heads straight to bed, unsurprisingly, Luffy is awake and anticipating Law's return to give him his “goodnight kiss” that became the only constant thing Luffy upholds. Law tosses himself into bed as soon as he gets his pants off, leaving them on the floor along with his shirt, and Luffy is immediately on him. Not to Law's dismay, he knows he won't last long but the fact that Luffy still wants him when he's coated in sweat and deadweight kind of turns him on. He's right, he doesn't last when Luffy eats him out while running only the pad of his thumb up and down the base of Law's shaft, and GOD does everything *hurt. Law doesn't get that post-nut daze, instead he's hit with an ache deep in every muscle and bone from the souls of his feet to the back of his head that he has no choice but to succumb to. So badly does he want to feel Luffy all over him, all up in him, but he can't ignore his limit if he tries. He gets what he wants anyways, without having said a word Law's exhausted body is crushed by the concrete hold Luffy calls a hug, and Law couldn't be more grateful for Luffy's mysterious workout routine. It's the silent communication of Law's needs that relaxes him further, not needing to rely on his voice for Luffy to know, to understand, his pain makes it all the more easier to just let Luffy take care of him.

You got me out here writing paragraphs man, you've changed my chemical components on a spiritual level lol. Also, I stand by that my headcanon dumps are a bit much, so just know that I don't expect a masterpiece response every time. I MEAN THEY ARE ENCOURAGED CAUSE GYATT DAMN, would ABSOLUTELY eat your writing while dressed better than for a wedding and a napkin in my lap, but I dunno, I don't want you to think I'm trying to make you pump out tailored content for me. Definitely just like my own self-consciousness wanting me to make that clear sorry lol I think this might be the largest headcanon dump I've shared.

-💫💀💫

ANONNN I AM SO SORRY I JUST CHECKED MY INBOX AND SAW THIS BEAUTY!!

I am sooo glad you enjoyed my little oneshot I wrote and it scratched the itch of your last message. I just took that idea and RANNNNNN with it I have to admit.

I am also super happy that you came up with your own head canons omfg I'm frothing. I definitely can't write a whole story this time, but you inspired me to add some of my own little head canons because it was just too good!

You are hilarious and I am picturing you dressed for a wedding waiting for dinner but it's actually just my writing. Don't feel self-conscious, I live for this shit. You can leave headcanons whenever though I can't promise I'll be able to get back asap, I will always slurp it up and add my own thoughts if it's something that speaks to me. Maybe one day you'll decide to share your own stories and I will be the one who gets to leave my headcanons in there! :)

With that being said, here are my thoughts:

I loveee Lulaw aftercare (and just aftercare in general cause who doesn't like the sweet moments after getting your insides rearranged), especially your situation. I'm deceased at the thought of Luffy always waiting up for Law's goodnight kiss. Does he do it because he wants Law to be the last thing he sees every night before bed? Or because he wants to make sure that he's awake if Law needs him after his long hard days at work? Maybe both, Luffy is self-indulgent and also wants to do whatever he can to make Law feel loved and comfortable.

Sometimes Law needs Luffy to fuck him until he forgets about how shit his day was and how maybe he lost a patient and he just needs his mind and body filled with nothing but Luffy who can push him to the edge in unimaginable ways. Luffy never says no, he could eat Law for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He just loves watching the way his normally tense and irritated lover falls apart underneath him. Other times, Law just needs his partner to give him a quick and much-needed release before pulling him into his arms and giving him the attention he craves when he can barely think straight after a stressful day, his body screaming at him to just shut off and let go.

Luffy knows Law so well that he never has to tell him what he wants which is great because Law is terrible about asking for things. He never wants to be a burden, never wants to feel like he's taking too much from Luffy when he's already given him everything he's ever wanted and more. Luffy feels Law's body going limp after he comes, how he sighs contently and buries his face into his chest. Law just needs him there to recharge him, to soothe his weary body and soul and Luffy loves him so much he would never think of doing anything different.

Luffy knows exactly what Law needs in those quiet moments in the dark. He runs his hands over Law's aching body, healing him with his soft touches. Soft kisses are pressed against his skin, no intent to go anywhere further behind them even though Luffy yearns to feel Law around him, to hear his pretty sounds echoing through his ears. That can wait for another time, right now he will just satisfy Law with his gentle caresses. He wraps his arms around Law, pulling his weary form into his arms, so close that he begins to forget where he ends and Law begins just the way he likes it.

Law usually gets so flustered and cranky when Luffy spills his feeling out but they've been doing this for so long now that Luffy knows Law will let him say whatever he wants when they're like this and he takes full advantage of it. He plays with Law's hair, telling him how much he loves him, how he's so lucky to have him in his life, how he wants to be with him forever. He lists all of the thing he loves about him-his compassion, dedication, strength, and beauty.

Law loves the way Luffy's voice sounds when he whispers these sweet nothings into his ear. He's so calm and quiet, so different from his normally loudmouthed self. Sometimes he responds, though usually only with a "thank you" or "I love you". Words are hard for him even though he feels just as strongly for Luffy. It brings him comfort knowing that Luffy never expects him to say anything back, that he does this simply because he wants to.

Once, in a fit of insecurity, Law asked Luffy if he feels neglected because Law is so terrible with words and even though he tries, he just can't express how he feels inside. Luffy simply smiled at him and said "I know how much you love me. You don't need to say it. I just like to tell you because sometimes you get in your head like you are right now and forget". Another time, he apologized to Luffy for being too exhausted to move a muscle after Luffy went down on him. Just like before, Luffy smiled and said "Making you feel good makes me feel good. Taking care of you makes me happy."

After that, Law realized he might just be the luckiest man in the world. He stopped worrying about if Luffy wanted or needed more from him on these days when he he couldn't give anymore. He graciously took all the affection he was given, allowing Luffy's calming voice to lull him to sleep, saying words Law would never be able to accept were all for him.

That's all for today, sorry if it was a little messy I am too tired to proofread any further. Thank you once again for the food for thought <3333

#anon ask #ask #lulaw #law x luffy #lawlu headcanon #law #luffy #trafalgar d water law #monkey d luffy #one piece lawlu

[idolatrybarbie]

the world tipped on its side

chapter two - mouthful of diamonds

series masterlist | read on ao3

pairing: francisco "frankie" morales x f!reader

word count: 7.1k

rating & summary: mature | nightmares plague you. frankie drops off his contract.

warnings: allusions/reference to physical injury, (very) mild and brief body horror, mentions of death, severe levels of emotional constipation omfg. reader has a disability.

notes: thanks for all of the love on the first chapter of this thing, it's really been so sweet.

There’s this story that your English teacher had you read, right before winter break of your senior year. He’d said it was a good mirror tale to Macbeth, the Shakespearean title that your class was absolutely slogging through. The Monkey’s Paw by W. W. Jacobs, published about a hundred years before you were reading it.

At the time, you didn’t think too deeply about it. This story was like any other of the number of poems, journals, and creative whittlings that they threw at you for the sake of expanding your critical thinking capabilities. Lately, years since you’ve even set foot in your hometown, the story has haunted you. Your dreams, specifically.

Recalling the details of the story—the White family, their wealth and existence all glossy with a vague European sheen. Herbert White, crushed inside a factory machine as a consequence for his father’s greedy wish. You imagine the son’s corpse, mangled and battered beyond recognition, standing over you in bed. You’re unable to move, monstrous animal hands holding you down against the mattress. Herbert looms, staring, mouth lolling open because it has no choice. Then suddenly it’s you, a rotting corpse, staring down at yourself.

Today, you wake up at quarter past one. The sky is dark, the sun certainly not out. You are tempted to call Mia, reach for the phone to do so, then remember Sam. You hang up before it even has a chance to ring. Scrolling through your contacts, you hover over your father’s number for a moment, then shut off your phone. Everyone in here is a work contact or a landmine.

There’s finally food in your fridge, but none of it meets your appetite. Checking the cupboards, you push past boxes of Kraft Dinner, searching to no avail. What you’re looking for isn’t here. You don’t need a snack to tide you over and occupy the wait until you fall asleep again. That’s not happening. What you need is a good, cheap drink.

You put on clothes that match—dark colours and sneakers. Something socially acceptable that still, if unintentionally, indicates that a bar is not the venue you’d had in mind for the night. Thirty five minutes from home is a dive at the center of the city, the name irrelevant compared to the need the services inside will satisfy. The time has you antsy, practically dumping yourself into the driver’s seat as your car rumbles to life on the quiet street.

The I-75 is deserted, spare a few stragglers that glide past you, headed the way you’re coming from. No one is driving from the suburbs to the city at this time of night. No one but you.

If it were September, this would be different; all the college kids with rented bedrooms in laminate-floored McMansions built after the recession would be headed to the bars, just as you are. But it’s summertime, and all of those kids are at home in different states, surely as bored out of their minds as you were in your tiny apartment. Maybe not as lonely, though.

You pay the fourteen dollar parking fee, and that’s just for an hour, because you don’t feel like slowly trolling the block for some sketchy corner to leave the car. Instead, you’re parked right out front under the direct glow of a street lamp. No more horror movies for you tonight.

They don’t card you at the door, something you’re coming to appreciate as it happens more and more often now. Before it was a pain, digging your license out of whatever tacky pleather clutch was out for a spin that night; now you like the silent nod that bouncers give you, noting the tired look of age that’s replaced the bright wariness that used to be there. Soon enough, you’re sure, this event will start to feel bad. Everything does eventually.

The establishment you walk into is a true dive, but not quite a shit hole. It has the ever-present hum of low conversation and drinks clinking. A rack of billiards balls crack against each other as a game is started in the far corner of the room. The leather stool you take a seat on is plush beneath you. You already know you won’t be able to sit here very long. Hopefully the bartender doesn’t think it’s weird when you leave your seat to wander a couple antisocial laps.

At the thought, he materializes, throwing a rag over his shoulder. He asks what he can get started for you, leaning hard against the wood of the bar.

“Can I just get a gimlet?” you ask. The bartender nods, pushing himself off and away again. He returns minutes later with your drink, a pale greenish-yellow in the crystal tumbler he serves it to you in.

You barely get a sip down before someone slithers up to your side.

Rolling your eyes, you turn to the standing figure. “Look buddy—”

Frankie Morales, stunt pilot, smiles down at you.

“Oh,” you stop yourself. “Francisco. Hi.”

“Hey,” he says. “And it’s just Frankie.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“May I?” he asks, nodding to the stool beside you.

“Oh, yeah. Sure.”

You start to ask if Frankie got those contract papers from Mia at the same time as he asks, “So, what brings you out tonight?”

You shake your head. “Sorry. You go first.” Second apology of the night. This is going well.

“I got ‘em. Was gonna bring them back today, actually,” he says. That’s a relief. “So?”

“So, what?” you ask.

“You’re sitting in a bar, about…” He glances at the clock beside the clear bottles of liquor across from the two of you. “Six hours before you’re supposed to be on set. If I had to guess.”

“Four and a half,” you say. “But close enough.”

“D’you just enjoy a good dive bar?” Frankie asks.

“No,” you sigh, “I prefer titty bars. More glitter, less…vomit. Much more my speed.”

Frankie stares at you, face severe.

“I’m joking,” you clarify.

“Oh!” He breaks into awkward, relieved laughter. “Sorry.” One point for Francisco on the apology board.

You shake your head. “It’s fine. I’m a little dry in my humour.”

“You’re funny. More than most people got going for them,” Frankie says.

“Well, I’m glad I’ve got more than most people,” you smile. “What brings you here tonight? I figured titty bars were more your thing too.”

“You know, maybe for a special occasion. Tonight’s any other night, so I made my way down here. Lucky I caught you, huh?”

“I don’t know if I would call it luck. Coincidence? Have you pissed anyone off lately?” you ask.

“Well, whatever it is, I’m grateful. We didn’t get to finish our conversation,” Frankie says.

“You wanted to finish our conversation?” You feel that guilt from the other day, hot and foamy in your stomach, and take another sip of your drink.

“I like to get to know the people I’m working with,” he says. “You mentioned that you were a stuntperson.”

“Yep, I did,” you say. If only there was such thing as a time machine, so you could travel back to three days ago and slap yourself before the words could come out of your mouth.

“What’s the story there?” Frankie asks.

“Oh, nothing. It’s a long one.”

“I’ve got time,” he says.

“Longer than I’m willing to tell,” you say. Another sip of the gimlet, the tang of lime overtaking the sugar on your tongue.

“Okay,” Frankie says. You look at him, and there’s that twinkle again. “You can keep your secrets for now.”

“You’re asking about me when I barely know anything about you,” you say.

“Fine, what do you want to know? Favourite colour? Green. Favourite season? A toss up between summer and fall. My first dog’s name was Ruby, and we grew up on Yosemite Street.”

“All I need is your mother’s maiden name and you’ve become the perfect candidate for social security theft,” you say.

“I have a feeling you wouldn’t do it,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. There’s this general goodness that reverberates from you. Plus, Mia likes you,” Frankie says.

He catches your attention with that comment. What does that mean? “Have you known her longer than just the email exchange?” you ask.

“Eh. A little,” Frankie says.

“How?”

Frankie shakes his head, tutting lightly. “You have your secrets, and I have mine.”

He puts both of his hands on the bar, and only now do you notice he’s lacking a drink in either of them. Like Frankie the other day at the studio, you notice, but don’t comment.

“Fine. I’ll give you one,” you say.

“One what?”

“One secret. In exchange for yours.”

“I didn’t know you were a bartering man,” Frankie says.

“Neither did I,” you say. “Here’s my offer: I’ll tell you why I’m here, and you tell me how you know Mia.”

“Hmmm.” He makes a show of mulling it over in his head. “Deal.”

“I had a nightmare. It was pretty stupid,” you say. Frankie remains silent, waiting. “There was this story that I read in high school. Some early twentieth century horror fiction, about the whole monkey’s paw curls thing. I haven’t thought about it since high school but…I guess it’s been waiting for an opportunity to terrorize me.”

You finish the rest of the gimlet, waiting for Frankie to say something. When he doesn’t, you turn to see him watching you.

“What?”

“Nightmares. I get ‘em too,” he says. “Not Scary Stories to Tell In The Dark, but…” Right. War. “My solution is usually a good hot toddy and those twelve hour rain sounds videos online. Next thing I know, I’m out like a light. Hot toddy sans whiskey, though.” You raise an eyebrow, a silent question. “I’m sober.”

“Oh. But you’re here?”

“Jack serves me water and peanuts and I listen to him bitch about his mother,” he says, nodding at the bartender who’s currently talking to another customer.

The words come out before you can stop them. “You’re a little odd, aren’t you?”

Frankie chuckles, the sound never quite leaving his throat. “Takes one to know one, I guess.”

You roll with it, shoving down the embarrassment spreading warmth all over your body. “Okay, now tell me your secret. How do you know Mia?” you ask.

“I flew some of the planes she dove out of a couple times,” Frankie says. “There was this teen show? It’s been off the air for a few seasons, I think it was—”

“I remember,” you nod. “Well, hey. Small world.”

“Your turn again,” Frankie says.

“What? No, we had a deal.”

“And I gave you an extra secret. Two, if we’re really counting here. My top tier hot toddy trick, and my epic sober journey. But I’ll let you off with just the one.”

“Of the two of us, you are definitely the bartering man here.”

You think hard, trying to source a topic that won’t wedge loose anything you’d rather keep away from the charmingly persistent pilot to your right. Your childhood. Landmine. Your parents. Landmine. Your past with Mia, your career, the entirety of your personal life. Landmine, landmine, landmine.

“If you’re having trouble, I could help,” Frankie offers from beside you.

“Why, you have a burning question for me?” you ask.

“Not so much burning, more so just curious.” You don’t like the way the word sounds in his mouth. Laced with implication. “After our initial meeting, I was wondering why you were dressed like a paralegal when everyone else looks like they’re at the gym or watching Saturday morning cartoons.”

Ah. That’s a question you can answer easily. “Well, I don’t do the stunts, so that’s one part. The other…I don’t know. When I first started working, I was a PA. My supervisor told me that the best way to get noticed, to stick out in the good way, was to dress up a little. Show the powers that be that you’re taking things seriously.”

“But you’re not a PA anymore,” Frankie says.

“This is true, but,” you say, because there is always a but. “I can’t afford to not be noticed. In the good way, anyway. It’s how I got this job. I’m sure it’ll be how I get the next.” If. If you get the next. “When I can afford to not put the effort in, you’ll know. I just won’t be there.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Frankie says, repeating your own words from set back to you. It’s your turn to watch him now. From where you sit, he looks like a puzzle; you can’t figure out what exactly he’s supposed to be showing you right now, what game he’s set. You hate to admit that despite that, you’re having fun playing.

“And I’ll throw another one in for you, because why not,” you say, gimlet loosening your tongue just a bit. “Ashton Marilyn? My boss, your soon-to-be boss? The most pretentious douchebag I have ever met in my life. And that’s high praise. I lived in L.A..”

Frankie bows his head, seemingly relieved. “So it’s not just me then.”

“It’s not just you at all. The man makes my skin crawl.”

“After that little meet and greet, I was going to tell Mia that I couldn’t take the job,” Frankie admits.

“That would’ve sucked for me very specifically.”

“Be glad that I changed my mind then.”

“And what brought about this charitable change of heart?” you ask. “The money? I’d spend it all on dames and horses if I were you.”

“Nah. Air shows are light this year, but it wasn’t that,” Frankie says.

You take a hard turn, curiosity killing the proverbial cat that is your joking mood. “What was it then?”

Frankie raps his knuckles against the hard wood of the bar, looking out at those liquor bottles again. “I guess that’s for me to know and you to find out,” he says. Suddenly he’s standing, taking off his baseball cap to nod at you politely as he says your name. “I’ll see you around. Have a good night.”

Before you can ask another question, before you can stop him, Frankie is across the room and out the door.

-

You’re seated behind the wobbling desk that production has allowed you to call your own for the duration of filming. Underneath you is a gel seat cushion, supporting you in the swivel chair that Andy rescued from a Dumpster. Lunch is best spent up here with your yogurt cup, where no one can bother you. Ashton’s been up your ass all morning; he doesn’t like to talk to the stunt cast without your overseeing presence. He’s absolutely terrified of being reported for belittling behaviour, like he was on the last set he directed on. You both love and hate that the man’s biggest fear is being cancelled on social media.

At last, the gracious break for lunch had arrived, and now you are here. Blissfully alone with your breakfast parfait, watching the southern sun filter in through dusty windows in front of you. Watching the thousands of specks float through the air reminds you of stars. In college, Friday night was dedicated to Neil deGrasse Tyson. You forced Mia to watch all nine seasons of The Universe docuseries in eight months.

Aside from British literature, the cosmos features heavily in your dreams. The idea of zero gravity, specifically, since the accident. Nothing to keep you grounded to the surface beneath you; no force weighing on your spine. Floating in paradise.

A knocking at the doorway pulls your thoughts away from space, turning slowly to face the front of the office. It’s nothing special, with its puke green walls and the pendant lamp overhead, covered in grime. A time capsule of a bygone era.

Frankie leans in the room’s threshold, a neat stack of papers in his hand as he says hello.

“I was wondering when you’d make your way over here,” you say, plunking your spoon into your cup.

“I’m surprised you’re here at all,” he says, referencing this morning.

“When I have a job to do, I like to get it done.”

“You and that yogurt look hard at work.” He eyes your food, then asks, “Is that raspberry?”

“Boysenberry.”

“Ooh, fancy,” Frankie says.

You look at the reddish-brown fruit sitting atop a pile of granola. “Catering, you know. They get a little weird with it. Wanna keep your business.”

“Makes sense,” is all he says about that. “Anyway, these are for you.”

Frankie hands you the signed contract. You stick the spoon in your mouth, flipping through the pages to double check anything.

“What, you think I can’t read?” Frankie asks.

“Making sure I didn’t fuck up the wording of anything,” you mumble absently.

When everything looks about right, you stop flipping, turning over the stapled package to put your signature down next to Frankie’s. Your eyes linger over the fancy scribble of your name, watching the ink bleed into the paper. Then you look at Frankie’s signature. The F is harsh and bold, a stark contrast to the cutesy cursive letters that spell out the rest of his first name. A small circle sits overtop the line meant to be i in Francisco, like a cartoon cyclops.

“Great!” you say. “Thanks for this by the way. Don’t know if I’ll be able to say that enough in the time that we work together.”

“It’s no problem, really,” Frankie says. “Although I was wondering when I could see ‘er.”

Okay, now you’re confused. “Sorry, what?”

“You know, the helicopter. I’d like to get acquainted before we start rehearsal.”

You do not know the helicopter, mostly because there isn’t one. Another layer of seething rage towards Ashton settles over you, even if it’s a little misplaced. He’s the one who so gracefully sprung this on you with no plan in place.

You glance up at Frankie. You can’t tell him that there is no helicopter, not when he’s just signed this contract and locked himself into this wholly incompetent production.

So you say, “Let’s go see if production has anything for us,” with a slight smile, like everything’s fine, because everything will be.

Even though you can’t see him, you feel Frankie’s presence at your back. Leading him down the hall, you start to wonder why this needed to be a real helicopter. Why did Ashton need the real thing, with a real pilot? Half of this movie is made of scenes chopped up and filmed in front of a green screen. Why couldn’t this be the same?

Of course, that takes working with Frankie out of the equation, which if the way your stomach sours at the thought indicates anything, that’s would be bad . But now you have to choreograph a stunt with the very big, very dangerous obstacle of a helicopter in the mix. On the bright side, there’s a first time for everything…?

Moby is staring at a computer older than you when you brush into the production office, Frankie right behind you. A bagel spread with liver paté sits on a paper plate beside the keyboard, his glasses catching the reflection of the screen. You clear your throat, giving him a chance to minimize the tab of softcore porn he’s watching on mute.

“Oh! Hey,” he says, acknowledging you. “And…” Moby looks to Frankie, still standing behind you.

“Frankie Morales,” he introduces himself.

“What can I do ya’ for?” Moby asks.

“So you remember that helicopter?” you ask, cutting right to the chase.

“Uh, vaguely? I know the studio wanted it,” Moby says. This does not sound promising.

“Well this is the guy who’s supposed to fly it,” you say, nodding back at Frankie. He’s still lingering halfway between Moby’s office door and the hall, like he’s wary of entering. You try not to touch anything as you move to stand across from the sitting producer.

“That’s great,” is all Moby says.

“And he’d like to see the helicopter,” you say.

“Now, preferably,” Frankie adds.

Moby hisses on an inhale, a cat that’s been disturbed. “About that…”

“Moby Elias Clark, you are not about to tell me you don’t have a helicopter,” you say.

“Jesus. What are you, my SAG card?” he asks, hands up in defense. “It’s not like I’m sourcing aircraft every day here.”

“But that’s your job,” you say.

Moby lets out a hum of slight disagreement, the noise dying in his throat as you narrow a stare at him. “Look, I’ll talk to Ashton. Get something for you in a couple days,” he says.

“Today,” you say. “And you aren’t going to get something. We need to see them. He does.”

“I do,” Frankie agrees.

“What, you want to go helicopter shopping or something?” 

You think about it for a moment, then say, “Yes. We want to go helicopter shopping. It’s eleven-thirty, we’ll be on set for another eleven hours. Make it happen. Today.”

“Geez, alright. I’ll make some phone calls, just—get the fuck out of my office, will you?” Moby asks.

Taking a deep breath, you square your shoulders and do as he asks, closing the door behind you. You can feel the come down from your sudden burst of adrenaline, brain coming back to yourself. Frankie looks at you, eyes bright with a smile across his lips.

“Remind me to stay off your bad side,” he says.

“So the goal isn’t to stay on my good side?”

“I like to set reasonable expectations for myself,” Frankie says.

Lunch ends, and it’s another hour before Moby gets back to you. He’s got a guy out in Athens with a fleet of helicopters for you two to look at. You immediately offer to take your car. As much as you don’t want to spend an hour in your own vehicle, filled to the brim with personal items and with them questions and stories, you can’t imagine the feel of the drive with Frankie’s truck’s suspension.

“Lead the way,” he says.

Moby meets you outside at your car, which Frankie seems surprised by.

“What’s wrong?” you ask. Moby’s already settling into the back seat.

“I didn’t know he was tagging along,” Frankie says.

“Well, his contact and all. It’s stunt budget but…it’d be best if he’s there, you know?” you ask. Frankie simply nods, pulling open the door to get into the front passenger seat.

The drive is an uneventful sixty-eight minutes, spent mostly listening to the quiet radio or Moby’s phone call with Ashton as he tries to placate him about both of your absences on set.

“Listen, it’ll be fine. We got the stunts we needed done before nine-thirty,” Moby says. A brief pause as Ashton surely bitches over the line. “I know. I know, it’s difficult, but Marie’s there.” Another producer on this heaping shitstorm of a movie. “I’m sure Gwen can help you with the continuity of the shots.” She should anyway, considering that’s her job and all. As you drive up the road towards the massive airplane hangar that Moby’s sourced address belongs to, he ends the call with a hasty goodbye.

Frankie hasn’t said anything about the cushion on your seat in the car, identical to the one on your office chair. He didn’t ask about the Hawaiian Breeze air freshener hanging from your mirror, or the chunky ring hanging on a thin silver chain that sways beside it. He’s been nothing but silent this past hour, picking at a tiny hole in the pocket of his jeans. For some reason, it bothers you.

As the three of you get out of the car, the sun hits you. Burning and relentless, you shield the top of your forehead from the rays as you walk towards the wide mouth of the hangar. The walls tower over you, concrete beneath your shoes turning to bright grey resin floors. Moby takes the lead on the interaction, shaking hands with a man that looks more like a mechanic than a business man in his blue cotton coveralls.

Moby introduces you and Frankie to the man. “John Whittaker. Nice to meet you both.” His handshake is firm, palms calloused. An orange shammy cloth is slung over his shoulder casually, the knees of his work suit stained with grease.

“So do you take care of these, then?” you ask.

“What? Oh, no. I own ‘em.” John looks over his shoulder at the half dozen helicopters grounded in the hangar.

“I think I’ve seen that one on Law and Order,” Frankie says, pointing to the skinniest craft of the bunch.

“You’ve probably seen them all over the place. I do a lot of business in the entertainment sector,” John says.

“That’s great. I know this was kind of last minute, but our studio put us in a bit of a time crunch,” you say.

“It’s no problem at all,” he shakes his head. “What kind of ‘copter were you thinking you’d need?”

You’re blanking, fumbling the words in your mouth when Frankie steps in.

“Nothing too complicated. It has to look military, but y’know, your average civilian isn’t going to know the difference. Ideally something that handles nicely. Give myself a break, you know?” he asks with a laugh.

John and Frankie seem to understand each other immediately, minds interlocking and delving into aviation talk that you can’t understand. You hang back a bit as Whittaker leads you between each helicopter. Moby trails behind you, typing away on his phone, wholly uninterested.

You should be looking at the helicopters and their large, would-be spinning blades, noting the glossy varnish on some of them and the grainy-finished camouflage on others. Instead you watch Frankie, observing how his brow scrunches together when John poses him a question you can’t quite hear.

He turns to ask you something in turn, catching you in the act. Immediately, you look away, eyes darting to the glowing floor.

“We’d definitely need it for a few weeks,” Frankie says to John, then back to you. “Right?”

“Yes,” you confirm. “About seven or eight rehearsals across a couple weeks, and then a day or two for the actual shoot. That part depends on our director.”

John hums, nodding. “That should work for me. This one,” he says, pointing to the helicopter just off to your right, “isn’t available in that timeframe, but otherwise you’ve got your pick of the litter.”

“You think we could hop inside? Not take her out, but just get a feel for the thing,” Frankie asks.

“Sure.”

You watch as Frankie walks along the row of helicopters, stopping at the one at the very end of the hangar. Its body shines a deep black under the fluorescent lights. Frankie steps up to it, pulling the door open and getting in. You follow him over to the metal creature, standing next to the landing skids. He’s left the door open, sitting in the cockpit by himself.

“You coming?” Frankie asks.

“Me?” you return. He nods. “Inside? Is that safe?”

“Of course it’s safe. Come on.” He stands from the pilot’s seat, leaning out to help you up. You take his hand, firm and warm over your own, feeling him pull you up by your arm as you step into the helicopter. He takes a seat on the other side of the cabin, leaving you to the seat in front of the main controls.

The leather seat beneath you is dense, warmed only a little by Frankie’s back. Dials and buttons you have no idea the purpose of lay on the dashboard before you, the lights unblinking as the machine remains powered down. Being in here strikes a chord with you. What could it be like when this thing was actually in the air?

“Okay, this is kind of cool,” you admit. “You do this for a living? I got into the wrong damn profession.”

Frankie smiles, holding his tongue between his teeth as he looks everything over. “I could definitely see you flying.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Sure. You’ve got the same intensity of everyone I went to flight school with,” Frankie says.

“You’re not too intense,” you say.

“We’re still on each other’s good sides.”

“I see,” you nod sagely. “I’ll have to play nice in case you decide to land this thing on me.”

You spend another hour getting in and out of the other five helicopters, even the one you know you can’t use, letting Frankie explain everything about them. The first one you sat in is a coaxial helicopter, which is why it has two giant rotors overhead; it eliminates the need for a tail rotor and simplifies the aircraft’s design. The one beside it—a Kaman K-MAX, Frankie tells you—looks squished, like it’s been pinched at the nose. He calls it an intermeshing rotor chopper, and you simply call it what it is: ugly.

“We used synchropters a lot in the military,” Frankie says. “Standard operations, search and rescue. They’re good for dense terrain. Forests, jungles, that type of thing.”

You are sure that if it were anybody else telling this to you, you would be bored out of your mind. Helicopters, rotors, terrain, who cares? But with the way Frankie explains it, you can’t help but listen. A special liveliness highlights his features as he tells you about each chopper, he keeps saying that, and you want him to keep talking. 

When you finally leave the hangar, dragging yourself away from their hard polished bodies and all that Frankie has to say about them, it’s almost five. You promise to send John an email by tomorrow at the latest, ironing out all of the finer details. The drive back to Atlanta is less starkly silent, Frankie throwing out a helicopter anecdote every few minutes as he stares out at the horizon. It reminds you of a little boy who’s just discovered something, immediately fascinated.

When you reach the studio, Moby ambles out of the car without much more than a quick and impersonal goodbye, leaving just the two of you.

“That was fun,” you say. You can’t remember the last time the sentiment has rang true about anything work related. About anything at all really.

“I’m glad I could teach you something,” Frankie says.

“Something? I think I’m ready to fly one of those things all on my own now.”

“I don’t know about that,” he says, shaking his head. “I think I like you better grounded.”

“Why? Scared I’d take off and never come back?” you ask.

“Would you?” he asks, playful and light. Still, it pulls at something in your gut. Would you?

Instead, you ask, “Do you want to grab something to eat?”

Frankie looks at you, then at the studio. “Don’t you have a job to get back to?”

“My next call time is at seven.” It’s six-something. That leaves you with about an hour to kill.

“I guess. If you’ve got time.”

You don’t tell him where you’re going until you get there, driving two miles from the studio to park beside a 7-Eleven.

“This is where you want to eat?” Frankie asks.

“I never promised you a steakhouse,” you say.

Walking through the aisles of the store with Frankie feels oddly close. Like you’ve skipped all the small talk and jumped right to the good stuff; the come-easy moments of connection without the awkward easing in, a newly-built house already settled on the foundation. You stick to the packaged and processed goods—Doritos and bottled water—staring at Frankie with your mouth half open as you watch him buy a corn dog.

“What?” he asks incredulously.

“You’re disgusting,” you mumble, holding the door open for him as you stroll back into the night air. The sun’s beginning to set behind your car.

“You bring me to the convenience store for dinner and expect me to not eat the convenience store food?”

“Yes,” you nod.

“So you want me to starve,” Frankie states. He sits on the curb, out of the way of the neon flash of the open sign.

“If it meant you not eating that, then sure.” You gently crouch down next to him. He makes direct eye contact as he takes the first bite. You feign a shudder.

“So we got the chopper,” Frankie says, mouth still half full, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at the word. “And you’ve got me.” He swallows. “Now all we need to do is do the thing.” He means the scene.

“Practice doing the thing,” you say, “and then do the thing. And then we’re done.” Summing up the next month of work in terms like this makes your stomach lurch. You’re beginning to think you’ve found another Mia. Another friend. You say, “I can’t believe we haven’t worked together before.”

“By proxy,” Frankie replies. “I knew who you were. A little.”

“I’m flattered,” you say, coming out like a question.

“Nothing but good things,” he assures you. “Not much, period.”

He continues to eat his corn dog as you slowly sip at your water. Just spit it out already.

“So I’m not good at this anymore,” you say. “But… Oh god.” You sigh, then look at Frankie. “How do you ask people to be friends once you aren’t seventeen anymore?”

“That’s a great question. I don’t know the answer,” Frankie says.

“I want us to be friends.” The words feel strange, too solid coming out of your mouth.

“I’d like that. It would be nice to have someone to talk to that doesn’t know what the inside of a basic training camp looks like.”

“So all of your other friends, they’re just military guys?”

“Well when you say it like that.”

“Not just. You know what I mean,” you say. “I’m glad to bring a different…tone to your life, I guess.”

“Perspective,” Frankie supplies, “Experience. Never went to college myself.”

“You’re not missing out,” you shrug. The Doritos bag opens with a slight pop. “The best parts of college were all the moments outside of class, if that tells you anything. That’s where I met Mia.”

Frankie hums, tossing the wooden stick that remains of his corn dog down onto the ground. “That figures. You two’ve got that bond.”

“What bond?”

“You and her seem to be interconnected,” he says.

“You mean codependent,” you say.

“No, not like that. I guess it’s something like what I have with my buddies from spec ops. Sticking with someone long enough, you start to grow under their skin. I don’t think it’s a bad thing.”

You pull a chip from the bag and put it in your mouth. “Alright Topgun,” you say.

“Actually, they call me Catfish. Fish, really,” Frankie says.

You blink at him. “I’m sorry?” you ask, mouth still full. “Like the animal that swims?” He nods. “Is that because—”

“It’s a long story,” he says.

“I thought you liked those,” you say.

“This one, you gotta earn,” Frankie counters.

“Touché.” And then, “So you know about all of my friends. The one. What about yours?”

“Well, there’s Santiago. He’s the only one still doing action hero shit these days. Private contracts, y’know, the works. He’s a bit of an asshole. You two probably wouldn’t get along,” Frankie says. “Benny and Will Miller are brothers, but Ben’s more of a pain in the ass. Will’s always been sort of on the straight and narrow.”

“Sounds like an interesting bunch.”

“This is the part where I tell you I have a kid,” Frankie says, looking halfway between you and his boot. You don’t know what kind of reaction he’s looking for, what he’s expecting, but you don’t give it.

You’re waiting for him to continue when you finally say, “Alright.”

“I’m waiting for the shock and awe,” he says.

“Why would that be either shocking or aweful?” you ask. Under different circumstances, you could’ve had kids by now, and Frankie’s older than you.

“People don’t usually expect it.”

“Well you aren’t exactly carrying around a sign, but we are adults. People have kids, I know that. What’s yours like?”

“She’s the sweetest bundle of joy I’ve been blessed to receive in my life,” Frankie says. “When she first got here, I couldn’t even believe it. This tiny human being that I am somehow apart of."

You figure this is how Mia will feel soon, what she’ll be thinking about once she and Sam tie the knot. Maybe she’s even thinking it now. Something that even you could wonder about, with a few major life tweaks. But no, you don’t want kids. Your body has been changed enough beyond your control for a lifetime.

“I’m happy for you,” you say, because it’s polite and showing him the apathy that coats your insides when it comes to this topic probably isn’t the best move in the name of friendship.

“Thanks. So how about you?” Frankie steers the conversation back around.

“Kids? You’re funny,” you say.

“Well, anything. Boyfriend, girlfriend, spouse…?”

“Certainly not. Me, all by myself. I have a house plant if that counts?”

“No dice,” he shakes his head. You feel like you’re under constant surveillance in moments like this, Frankie’s eyes a camera pointed right at your soul. “You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?” you ask, biting down on another chip.

“You freeze up and get all quiet whenever I ask about yourself.”

If he’s noticed that, you are worse at pretending than you thought. Now you have to wonder what Mia can see, what she doesn’t mention. “There’s not much to tell,” you say.

“Oh, come on. People love talking about themselves. It’s a scientific fact.”

“Well Bill Nye, I hate to break it to you, but I don’t.” Everything about your delivery is meaner than intended, each word harshly paved and scraping as they fly out at Frankie. “Sorry. That was—that was rude.”

“It’s fine,” Frankie says.

“To answer your question… My work is my life. I eat, sleep, and breathe what I do. It’s to the point where I used to stay up at my old place and draw out choreo for scenes. This was months before production, and I had sketchbooks filled with five, six different ways a scene could play out. And before that, actually doing the stunts? It’s the only thing that made me realize what makes me happy. The rush, that pure adrenaline after you do something that could kill you and you don’t die? It didn’t matter where I was. As long as I was doing it, my favourite place was myself.”

You clear your throat, scrubbing a palm over the side of your jaw. “Is that your favourite part of the job?”

“Nah, not really,” Frankie says.

“What, then?”

“In our line of work, you meet some pretty cool people along the way.”

“You think I’m cool?” you ask.

“Oh, no. I wasn’t talking about you.” But as he says it, Frankie smiles, mustache curling above his lip.

He thinks you’re cool. He’d like to be friends. They call him Fish. When you’re with him, you feel your bones start to settle. You can already feel Frankie growing under your skin.

#frankie morales #pedrostories #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal #triple frontier #fic: the world tipped on its side

[the-saltiest-saltine]

Oh my god I just remembered you’re a death note fan as well and it had me scrambling to your blog to dump these thoughts onto someone. But imagine yan L. The supreme intellect, the cameras and wire taps he’ll happily dumb around someone’s house, the absolute lengths he’ll go to to get what he wants. He’d be so obsessive and brilliant, there would be no escaping that man

THERE LITERALLY WOULDNT OMFG

Once he’s got his eyes on you, your whole house is bugged. When he catches a break from his current case, he’ll entertain himself by watching you in your day-to-day life. It’s no big deal for him to get footage from security cameras at your local shops, easily excused under the guise of top-level police evidence. He’ll scoff down a sundae as he criticises your food choices at the grocery store. He’ll chomp down on vanilla wafers whilst watching you make your bed after a rough night’s rest (once he’s taken you, he’ll provide you with a better one, he decides). If you’re going on a rant over the phone or humming an improvised tune, he’ll go for something less crunchy, like a nice slice of strawberry shortcake. The only time he’s not eating is when he’s watching you shower.

Once he’s got you, you’re observed to hell. If you thought the bugs in your house were a violation, then you should see how many cameras are installed just in the shower. You have a sneaking suspicion that the mirror above the sink is two-way. Conversations are an absolute drag, full to the brim with teasing - from him, that is. Your words are objectively far too malicious to be called that.

The chances of escaping are basically zero. He’s shown to be pretty athletic and strong, so just running away would be a feat in itself. But to hide from him (and the entire police force, for that matter) is a whole other beast. If you’re seriously hard to find, he’ll just put out a wanted notice for you. Now everyone in the world is searching for you.

But let’s be honest, the chances of successful escape are basically zero whilst he’s alive. And if you somehow manage to kill him, well that means you’ve committed a crime. The response from the police and the public would be the exact same, but you wouldn’t be able to justify it as him manipulating them - it’s simply the punishment that anyone would get if they were driven to commit such a crime.

(He might also joke that if you try to escape, he’ll enlist Eraldo Coil to look for you hehe)

#death note #death note headcanons #yandere l #yandere l lawliet #l lawliet #death note l #asks