MASTERLIST đ

#extradirty
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Cosimo Galluzzi
DEAR READER
dirt enthusiast
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
occasionally subtle
KIROKAZE

JBB: An Artblog!
Claire Keane
Sade Olutola
NASA

Kiana Khansmith
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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One Nice Bug Per Day
will byers stan first human second
Keni
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@georgiewritess
MASTERLIST đ
southern charm (will lamontagne x original character, criminal minds)
chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5 chapter 6 chapter 7 chapter 8
BACK ON YOUÂ (steve harrington x original character, stranger things)
chapter 1 - season 2 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5 chapter 6 chapter 7 chapter 8 chapter 9 chapter 10 - season 3 chapter 11 chapter 12
hot and cold (gator tillman x fem!reader, fargo)
chapter 1
oneshots
the salesman - joe keery x fem!reader (the office au) moonbird cafe - walter keys mckey x fem!reader (free guy) like i do - gator tillman x fem!reader (fargo) the finale - joe keery x fem!reader (joe watches friends) tour guide: part 1, part 2 - joe keery x fem!reader (joe shows you nyc) physical education - coach/mr steve harrington x fem!reader hot for teacher - college professor steve harrington x fem!reader night nurse - steve harrington x fem!nurse oc

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Better quality for you all. They are so cute. They were so perfect. I miss them endlessly.
GUYS SHUT UP!!!
early seasons daryl i love you
BACK ON YOU
đ chapter 12. find previous chapters here. yet another short filler because life is too crazy for me to keep up! tags: @bangaveragewhitewine @mendeslupin
âyou see anything?â dustin asked, arms folded over the shrubbery.Â
beside him, steve peeked through the binoculars, scanning the ground floor and first level of the mall.Â
âuh⊠i guess i don't totally know what i'm looking for.âÂ
ârussians. evil russians.â
âyeah, exactly.â steve began, pulling back from the binoculars to shoot dustin a glare. âi don't even know what russians look like. much less evil russians.â
âtall, blonde. not smiling. oh, and look for earpieces, camo, duffel bags, that sort of thing.âÂ
steve sighed and leant back into the binoculars, shifting to scan the area. âokay. duffel bags. sure. i can - oh, you've got to be kidding me!â
âwhat?â
âanna jacobiâs talking with that meathead mark lewinsky! jesus christ, what happened to standards?â steve asked himself, watching as anna and mark chatted by the railings on the first floor. âhe never even came off the bench!â
âif you're not gonna focus, give me the binoculars,â dustin held his hand out and steve took them off with a groan, dropping them into the child's hand. âyou are the worst spy in history, you know that? i don't get why you're even looking at girls when you have the perfect one in front of you.â
âif you say laura again-â
âlaura,â
âno, don't,â
âlaura. laura. laura.â
âstop, no, no.â
âlaura.â
âno, man, sheâs not my type. sheâs not even⊠in the ballpark of what my type is, all right?â
âwhatâs your type again? not awesome?âÂ
âthanks for that.â steve rolled his eyes, looking ahead. âdor your information, sheâs still in school. and sheâs weird. she's always been weird. it was a momentary lapse of judgement.â steve claimed, though dustin didn't buy it for a second.
instead, he turned his head, looking at the ground floor again to check for russians. âmomentary lapse of judgement, my ass. i thought you said she was the first girl you loved?â
âi-â steve shut his mouth instantly, pursing his lips. âwho told you that?â
dustin pulled back from the binoculars and flashed him a grin. âno one. i'm just observant. and, now that youâre out of high school, which means youâre technically an adult, donât you think itâs time you move on from primitive constructs such as popularity?â
âoh, primitive constructs? that's some stupid shit you learnt at camp knowâŠâ steve's eyes scanned the cap on dustin's head, shaking his own a little. ânothing?â
âcamp know where, actually. and no, it's shit I learnt from life.â dustin placed the binoculars down on the shrubbery for a second, still doing a terrible job hiding between the leaves. âinstead of dating somebody you thinkâs gonna make you cooler, why not date somebody you actually enjoy being around? like me and suzie.â
âoh, suzie. yeah, you mean, âhotter than phoebe catesâ? yeah, that suzie. and, uh, letâs think about how exactly did you score that beautiful girlfriend?â steve put a finger to his chin, feigning thought. âoh, yeah. with my advice.â
dustin sighed, picking up the binoculars again.
âvecause thatâs how this works, henderson. i give you the advice, you follow through. not the other way around, all right, peabrain?â
âwhatever. i'm just saying, you've already got the perfect girl hanging around waiting for you to make the first move and instead you're looking at anna jacobi.â
âokay,â steve turned his body to face dustin. âlaura is not waiting for me to make the first move. there are no moves waiting to be made from either of us, alright?â
ânot what you said earlier. you said she was flirting with you.â dustin looked back up to the first floor as steve slumped next to him, letting out a heavy breath.
âyeah, i said that.â steve confirmed, fingers shifting to play with the greenery in front of him. âbut that was before i saw her talking to that idiot tim.â
âtim's back?â
âdid tim ever leave? like, was he waiting in some underground bunker or something, just waiting for my charm to clearly start working on laura again, so he could pop out and ruin it?â
dustin quirked a small smile, his attention never shifting.
âi mean, she never even mentioned him this summer, you know? not since the snow ball, actually, and that was like, forever ago. months. so, what? they're madly in love or some shit?â
âfor someone who isn't into laura, it sure sounds like you're into laura.â
âshut up.â steve gently swatted dustin's cap off before taking the binoculars back. âlet me see.â
a few quiet moments passed before steve's lips parted, his eyes widening behind the binoculars. âduffel bagâŠâ
steve and dustin shared a look, both muttering about evil russians, before they ran off to follow the blonde man. he looked suspicious, dressed in all black, wearing sunglasses. they ducked behind pillars and store windows several times, staying out of the way any time the man spared a glance over his shoulder.
though, eventually, they saw him walk into a fitness class and assume the role as the instructor. dustin sighed, turning away, whilst steve's eyes remained firmly glued on the women.Â
dustin turned back, pinching at his forehead. âthey're old enough to be your mom.â he commented quietly, though steve waved him off. âduuuude!â dustin laughed, pointing at one of the women. âis that your mom?!â
âwhat?â steve's heart dropped to his ass, his stomach churning his lunch as he watched a woman with dark hair swaying her hips. jesus⊠was thatâŠ?
she turned to the side, eagerly taking part in the class, and steve slumped against the wall, the breath knocked from his lungs. ânot her. thank god.âÂ
dustin grinned as wide as a cheshire cat, looking between steve and this woman before eventually gesturing for the older boy to follow him. steve knew there was no way he was going to let dustin take charge of this conversation with robin, so jumped in immediately as they walked into scoops.
âhey robin, youâll never guess who dustin thought was russian -â
âso did you!â
neither of them could finish the story before robin barged past them, muttering to herself as she stood in the middle of the mall, eyes impatiently flickering around.
âwhatâs up with her?â steve grumbled, following behind with dustin.
robinâs eyes moved faster than they had ever moved before, pieces of the puzzle seemingly falling into place. âa trip to china sounds nice. a trip to china sounds niceâŠâ she looked around, repeating the words until her eyes landed on a place in starcourt mall. âif you tread lightly⊠if you tread lightly.â
kaufman shoes. she couldnât wait to tell laura this.
âwhen blue and yellow meet in the westâŠâ robin continued, tapping her notepad.
steve and dustin exchanged a look. a quizzical look. a look that said âsheâs finally gone crazyâ, before they decided to walk over to the middle of the court, following after her.
ârobin? whatâre you doing?â
âi cracked it.â robin jumped down from the middle section, her eyes wide.
âcracked what?â steve asked, as if the answer was impossible.
robin smiled, letting out a soft breath. âi cracked the code.â
upstairs, laura had returned to stacking shoe boxes, sighing as tim complained about his summer break. when they had first met, tim never complained about anything. laura had begged the universe to let him be normal and find something negative to discuss, and then all her christmases came at once.
well, christmases from hell.
because now, tim complained more than anyone she knew. more than herself, more than courtney, and even more than her own mother.Â
tim sat on a small seat, intended to be used when people were trying on shoes. âi donât know, lau. i just feel like everyone has their shit together.â
âno one has their shit together. are you kidding me? you think me working two jobs is having my shit together?â laura climbed down the ladder hesitantly, brushing her hands on her trousers.
tim was about to respond when excited feet hopped off the escalator and ran over to kaufman shoes.
âlaura! youâll never guess what -â steveâs face fell when he caught sight of tim sat on the stool, his own eyes lighting up at the excitement. âoh, uh. hey, tim. long time no see.â
âsteve, man! how are you doing?â tim stood, walking over to steve and holding out his hand to shake.Â
robin and dustin looked to each other, then to laura, who was eagerly pretending she had more boxes to stack. they couldnât help but find the sight funny.
steveâs brows pinched together as he watched timâs hand extend, and hesitantly - and with obvious disgust on his face - steve took it, shaking his hand with a false smile. âyeah-huh. not long enough, maybe.â he muttered under his breath, but tim heard. tim chuckled, retracting his hand.
âwe need to talk to laura. super secret, uh, birthday stuff.â dustin began.
âyeah! birthday stuff. her momâs birthday.â robin nodded, hands in her shorts pockets.Â
tim looked over to laura, who was now tuned into the conversation. âi didnât know your momâs birthday was coming up.â
steve snorted, looking between the two. his face fell when both laura and tim looked at him. âsorry. need to clear my sinuses out.â
tim sighed and shook his head, looking to laura. âsee you later?â
laura nodded and tim made a swift exit, but not before patting steve on the shoulder. tim knew all about steve. steve shrugged him off, sliding his hands into his shorts pockets.Â
âso whatâs going on?â
ârobin cracked it.â
âwhat?â
âthe code!â steve told her, looking to robin and nodding, allowing her to jump right into what she had figured out, and leading the charge forwards.
laura hadnât quite contemplated how awful this plan would be. not the plan itself, but the weather when she got onto the roof. she was already late - thanks to her car all but breaking down on the drive back from home - and now she was absolutely drenched.
she groaned, pushing wet hair off of her face and hooking her hood further over the top of her head. the ladder up to the roof was slippery, dangerously so, and laura suddenly wished she hadnât agreed to any part of this.
laura had to lie to her mom, again, about where she was going and what she was doing. her momâs conclusion was that she was hanging out with courtney again, and laura let her believe it. she felt guilty often, keeping this stuff from her, but what was the alternative? telling her about the upside down? about why they were watching evil russians?Â
hauling herself up onto the roof, lightening struck, and she flinched as the light travelled downwards, and the sound engulfed her hearing. âfuckinâ weather.â she grumbled, desperately trying to keep her hands dry but failing immediately. up ahead she could see dustin, robin and steve hiding, so laura kept low, making sure no one else would see her up there.
but as she got closer and hid behind another block of granite on the roof - why was that here? - she saw it. them. steve and robin.
the fear had gotten to them. maybe they had been seen, she didnât know. all she did know was they were there, catching their breath, holding hands so tightly she could see their knuckles turning white from here.
oh.Â
so she hadnât been making it up. they really were into each other, possibly even dating by now.Â
a soft breath left her lips and before she could decide what to do, they were scrambling off of the roof and heading down to erica.
without her.
without wondering where she was.
laura didnât follow, instead turning on her heel, climbing back down and making a beeline for courtneyâs. she knew her best friend was probably with her boyfriend now, but she didnât care. in a split second, laura had realised how stupid she had been, and how much she truly loved steve.

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Forbidden Fruit
jack abbot x daughters best friend!reader
w/c: 3.73k
warnings: yearning basically but jack doesnât know yet, sexual innuendos, depressed themes, probably some cursing, reader is kinda teasing him, typical gen z dialogue, old man jack, whole chapter is from his pov, english isnât my first language, also NOT proofread
a/n: have fun you little age gap gremlins
Jack Abbot was a good man.
Every month when he received his paycheck, he donated to a Pittsburgh nonprofit that supported the children of Afghan war veterans. He always kept a little change in his wallet in case he came across a homeless person. He once helped his elderly neighbor when her pension was late and she couldnât pay her rent on time. Last but not least, he was a doctor. Helping others and being a good person was an indelible part of his soul.
Many of his med school colleagues had given up medicine long ago to settle down in other fields. He knew this because he liked all of their Facebook milestones. That was pretty much the only app he had on his phone. He had installed it after Robby showed him some photos of his newborn niece during a rare shift they worked together.
Jack didnât hold it against them, though. He could understand why they had turned their backs on medicine. There were many nights when he himself stood on the rooftop terrace of his apartment complex, taking one step after another toward the edge. However, he couldn't even bring himself to lose his patients. He didnât need to pretend every day, that he was fed up with his life.
He wasnât.
So, every day, he did his best to be a good person and not lose either his patients or himself.
Of course he wasnât perfect. In fact, he had made many mistakes in his life. But he wouldnât want to undo any of them. After all, it was his mistakes as a newly graduated doctor during his residency that had given him his wonderful daughter. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Her mother, Evelyn, was Godâs gift to him on earth. She gave him 15 wonderful years together, and an even more wonderful daughter.
Jack could treat wounds, manage crises, boss people around, and most importantly, save lives. But he couldn't save hers. She died of a heart attack while he was at work and she was at home. It was quiet, and silent. Her heart had been sick for a long time already. It was for the best, sparing her a long and painful death.
His thoughts were interrupted by a scream. He rolled his eyes and finished spreading butter on his toast. He didnât like eating sweet things in the morning, they provided you zero nutritional value. Suddenly, a pair of delicate arms wrapped around him from behind, and a slender body pressed itself against him.
"Allison Abbot, how many more times do I have to ask you not to use me as a human shield?"
His daughter was still breathing heavily from running around the house, giggling behind him. She was twenty-three, but sometimes she still acted like the immature and not even slightly grown up seventeen-year-old girl who had lost her mother.
And then there was you.
The girl he initially thought was in a relationship with his daughter because you spent so much time together. Jack was very progressive. His cousin had been in a same-sex marriage ever since they were legalized in 2016.
But as it turned out, the trauma of endless nursing exams and bad clinical instructors bound you together. Non romantically, in this case.
Jack tried not to look at you, but utterly failed at that. Small sweat stains dotted your white tank top, and he wished he were repulsed by the sight. The last thing he wanted to look at was a sweaty 23-year-old college student.
Since his wifeâs death six years ago, he hadnât tried to meet anyone new. The flirtatious advances of his older female patients were already too much for him. At one point, Dana had tried to download an app other than Facebook onto his phone, something called Tinder. But Jack just grimaced at the thought of judging and rating someone like a product through a screen. Back in the day, youâd go out and actually talk to the person you liked. He had snatched his phone right out of Danaâs hand. She raised her eyebrows and looked at him. She looked at him for quite a while. To this day, he still didnât know what was going on behind her head in that moment.
He might be a doctor, but he couldnât explain why his body started sweating all of a sudden when you bent down to grab an ice-cold can of Coke from the fridge.
"We were playing tag, relax, Dadâ, Allison muttered, who had the habit of driving her father up the wall in all sorts of situations.
His gaze wandered back to you. Y/N was your name, if he remembered correctly. It was almost funny how you were trying not to get involved in the discussion between father and daughter, your gaze drifting around the kitchen ceiling before concentrating on your drink again.
His gaze wandered down to your fingers, which were struggling to open the can. You had beautiful nails, a pretty floral 3D design, Jack had to admit that, even though he didnât approve of the idea that women in this society had to make themselves as pretty as possible for men. Still, he had always paid for his daughterâs nail salon appointments. What else did he work for?
Sheâd never had it easy in school. The other kids always teased her about having a doctor for a father. They called her a spoiled brat. Jack shook his head at the memory. It was incomprehensible to him how anyone could view saving lives as a bad thing, let alone bully a child for the type of job their parents did.
So he was more than glad that his daughterâs college years were going far better. It seemed that her unpopularity in school was really just a result of youthful immaturity. Jack tried to remember his daughterâs difficult school days whenever he felt the urge to scold her. For example when he came home early after a particularly exhausting night shift, having to chase her classmates out of his house because she thought it was the perfect place for a house party.
He tried to never be angry with his girl. She had finally made friends and stopped coming home with a tear-stained face after all these years. She looked too much like her mother when she cried. And her mother cried much, more and more as she got sicker.
His girl who brought that other girl home with her every day.
You.
Jack didnât know when it had started.
In his 50 years on this planet, heâd never been one of those men who took younger women as their own, parading them by their side as if they were accessories. Or even looked after them.
The can hissed, and a small drop of Coke rose to the surface. You let out a surprised sound before bringing your finger to your lips, sticking out your tongue, and licking up the drop. Jack quickly looked away and turned toward the kitchen window.
He shouldnât have thoughts like that about his daughterâs best friend. He shouldnât even be looking at you that long, to know that you always licked your lips after you swallowed something. For crying out loud, you were nearly thirty years younger! You could be his daughter.
"Well, anyway," Allison said, "I still have to hand in that stupid exam registration form at his office, even though Iâve already sent it to him by email. I donât know why old people still want everything in paper form these days. Whatâs the point of him having an email address then? He should just take it off his university website." His daughter sighed beside him, and Jack could practically feel her doe-eyed stare boring into his head from the side.
"Could you give me a lift to uni?", she asked in that sugary tone which she always used when she wanted something from him and knew he would say no. He raised an eyebrow and looked at her. "How urgent, one to ten? You have your own car, Allison. As much as Iâd love to drive you around forever, itâs 30 degrees outside, and Iâd hate to roast in the car like a rotisserie chicken on the one free Saturday I get per month.â
A short giggle escaped your lips, and his eyes darted over to you.
"Sorry," you muttered, but your eyes didn't look as though you really were. Heâd noticed that before. Whenever he said something that wasnât actually funny, you laughed at it. It was as if you were trying to make fun of him. He hadn't ever heard you laugh that much with his daughter.
He wished he could erase the sound of it from his head. Wished he could stop locking his bedroom door at night because the way you laughed burned itself into his head, causing him to do things that should forbid him from going to church every Easter.
He looked back at his daughter, who merely shrugged her shoulders, giving a half-hearted glance in his direction. âMy professor said by the end of next week. Thatâs the deadline for registration.â He tried to, but he couldnât get mad at her for taking so long to sign up for the exam. Heâd been the exact same way during his own college days.
He crossed his arms, giving his daughter a stern look, and turned his gaze to you. "And you, do you have anything to hand in, or are you a better student than my daughter?"
You took a sip of your Coke, wiped your mouth, and shook your head. "I am always behaving, Mr. Abbot." Allison laughed. You rolled your eyes and took another sip of your Coke. Jesus, how much liquid could possibly fit in such a small can?
"Well, anyway, I try to, sort of. I donât have to hand anything in, but thanks for asking.â You set the can down on the kitchen counter and wiped your condensation-smeared hands on your already damp shirt.
"If we stay in this house any longer, I think we'll all end up with a heatstroke from the heat building up in here." Those words were true. Jack felt incredibly hot, and wasnât quite sure if the sweat that was forming on his neck was caused by the sheer too high temperature, or something else entirely.
His daughter made a thoughtful sound and crossed her arms. "I didn't know you were finishing your degree in construction management."
You rolled your eyes but didn't let that snark stop you. "Why don't we just drive to the lake? Itâs only a 15-minute drive. I donât know about you two, but I could use a cool-off. What do you say?â
Jack was already shaking his head. Seeing you in swimwear would be the end of him, a sight, from which heâd never recover.
Sometimes, when he locked his bedroom door at night, he wished heâd been born 30 years later. Then he wouldnât have to feel so bad about touching himself every night to the image of you in exactly such situations.
But his daughter beat him to it. âI like the way you think.â She let out a sigh and fanned herself with her hand. "I ordered this cute bikini the other day, and it arrived over the weekend. We have to take so many photos. Iâve already got the perfect songs in mind for both of us.â
Jack raised his eyebrows. Were the women of his generation back then, when he was their age, the same? He couldnât remember. Other memories were now overshadowing those from his youth.
Apparently the two girls took his silence as a yes, because you two were already storming up the stairs, chattering loudly about tanning oils until your voices grew fainter and finally vanished into his daughterâs room.
Great.
Really great.
This was going to be the worst fucking day of his long life.
The drive to the lake was quiet. His daughter offered to drive, a small gesture to make amends for the way you both had taken him by surprise earlier. Jack declined immediately. He could certainly use the distraction while driving. Besides, sheâd recently received a speeding ticket in the mail. There was no way he would let her drive anything but a bike for the next month.
She was sitting behind the passengerâs seat, you right behind the driverâs seat. Unfortunately, this seating arrangement meant that he sometimes catched your gaze in the mirror when he went to check on the cars behind. From your seat, you had a perfect view of his face for the entire duration of the drive. Jack convinced himself that it was just pure coincidence, pure coincidence that your eyes met every time he looked in the rearview mirror.
When you arrived at the lake, it was fairly quiet. To Jackâs surprise, you were the only ones on the small beach. This would very likely change as the day went on, but in the morning warmth no one seemed too eager to go down to the water just yet.
He spread the picnic blanket and towels while you two changed behind the car. He had already put on his swimming trunks at home before you set off. When you and his daughter emerged from behind the car and tossed your clothes onto the back seat, the sight he was met with briefly took his breath away. Your bikini consisted of not more than a few scraps of black fabric that clung to your body in just the right way. And there was that mischievous smile again as your gaze set on him kneeling on his towel across the few feet distance.
Jack was suddenly glad his bathing shorts were spacious, otherwiseâŠthis situation would have been rather embarrassing. He sat down on his dark blue towel with a deep sigh while you and his daughter made yourselves comfortable on the large blanket.
You promptly lay down on your stomach, giving him a perfect view of your bottom.
God forgive him if there was one.
Maybe he could be discreet and innocently offer to put sunscreen on your back. He was already starting to stand up, when his daughter beat him to it and undid the bow of your bikini top, exposing your beauty mark scattered back.
Jack sat back down and shook his head. That was how itâs supposed to be. No woman your age should have someone like him rub cream on her. Besides, you probably had a boyfriend and would have politely declined anyway.
That was the problem with you. You were always so polite and smiled so much, that he thought it couldn't possibly be meant seriously. Not all the time.
You stretched your arms upward and rested your head on your right upper arm. Your fingers curled, and uncurled.
His daughter began applying sunscreen to your back in circling motions, and he quickly looked away before you could turn your head and catch him in the act of watching you bask in the sun.
Jack forced himself to look out over the lake. The water glistened in the morning sun. As expected this early, it was fairly calm, the water barely swishing around in soft waves. He normally loved days like this, when he didnât have to work and be a doctor, but could simply be himself. Nobody wanted anything from him. Relaxation in its purest form.
Today, however, his day off felt anything but relaxing. For a moment though, it felt like he finally catched a moment of rare peace until a shadow settled beside him. He didnât need to turn his head to know who it was. Your tangerine smelling perfume wafted up to his nose, wrapping itself around him like a cocoon. Slowly, he turned his head.
You had pulled your knees up and wrapped your arms around them. Your hair, still dry, was held in place by a claw clip, though a few strands had broken free and hung loosely in your face.
You looked at him.
Not with the disdain or judgment with which most people usually looked at him. Simply with interest. And that made it worse.
"Allison talks about you a lot, you know?"
âHopefully nothing bad.â
"Actually, only good things."
The corner of his mouth turned up, and he couldn't help but smile.
"Then she's lying."
You let out a thoughtful hum.
"You never forget your friendsâ birthdays or any special occasion. You donate to charities. You always make Alli feel like she can come home, no matter how bad your day has been or how bad she fucked up.â
Of all the things heâd heard, he hadnât expected this to leave him speechless.
"I think you can be proud of that."
For a moment, he didnât know how to respond. He rarely received compliments, neither for his work nor for himself as a person.
A small thank you was the only thing that escaped his mouth in a quiet whisper.
You gave him a small smile.
There it was again, that strange feeling in his chest, something tightening that he wished wouldnât.
A warm, dangerous tug. For a moment, he forgot how old he was. How old you were.
Then suddenly, his daughter called out your names from a distance, tearing the two of you from your little bubble.
"If you two keep sitting there, I'll gladly eat the watermelon without you."
You rolled your eyes. Jack really laughed this time and pushed himself up with a heavy sigh. He may be doing yoga every morning at sunrise, but he was still a 50 year-old man with bones just as old. He reached his hand out toward you almost automatically, without noticing how quickly and instinctively he was doing it.
Before he could think about it too much, you took his hand before he could take it back and pulled yourself up.
For a moment, he forgot why heâd been trying to keep his distance from you all this time ever since his daughter brought you home in her first uni year.
After eating, Allison insisted on taking a few more photos with the sun in the background before they would pack their things and set off again. She placed her phone on the carâs windshield, set the timer to ten seconds, and quickly jogged over to you and Jack. Jack stood between you two, and as the timer ticked down, Allison quickly wrapped her arm around his waist and smiled.
Moments like these kept him going every day, allowing him to take a few more steps away from the edge. But then he felt your arm wrap around his waist from the other side. His body tensed for barely a second before relaxing again, but the moment was over as quickly as it came.
Allison clapped her hands and grinned at her phone with satisfaction as she tucked the picnic blanket under her arm, and got into the car.
"Iâm definitely adding these on my Insta post later."
Later, as Jack laid in bed, he could still hear you both giggling in her bedroom across the hall. He unplugged his phone from the charger and opened the App Store.
At 50 years old, he downloaded an app heâd only ever heard of through his med students and daughter. And Dana.
All because of a single photo.
Surprisingly, he found that setting up an Instagram account wasnât that difficult.
It was even easier to find his daughterâs account. He frowned. Her username was her real name, first and last name visible for anyone. Any weirdo could find her that way. Heâd have to talk to her about that later.
His fingers clicked on the small square where he could make out a face all too familiar to him.
Posted two hours ago.
He zoomed in a little. It wasn't the way his hair stood up or his hand hung awkwardly in the air. He zoomed in on your smile. He really shouldnât have looked at the picture for so long. There was no reason to. He should have clicked away from it ages ago. But then he accidentally clicked on the now big picture.
Was this your account his daughter had mentioned? He believed he heard her say the word âtagâ before in connection to the app. But the only connection his brain made, was to the game paint tag he quite frequently played with his friends in his teens. His finger hesitated before finally clicking on the little box that led to your account.
He only did this because he was a father interested in his daughterâs friends. It couldnât hurt to know a bit about you, could it? He scrolled through your profile without realizing it. He looked at one picture after another. When he glanced at the clock, already 30 minutes had passed since heâd downloaded the app.
With a heavy sigh, he swiped your profile away. It was getting late, and he really shouldnât be doing this.
Wait, what was that?
No. Oh God, no.
While swiping, he had accidentally double tapped the screen by mistake andâŠliked a photo of you from two years ago? It was a photo of you in a national park in front of a tree taller than the PTMC.
He quickly took back his like, hoping you hadnât received a notification.
He quickly switched off his phone and put it back on his bedside table to charge. The house was dead quiet; you were probably fast asleep by now, as the giggling had long since stopped. You were probably one of those people who deleted their notifications without reading them after waking up anyway.
Ping.
A shrill sound broke the silence, and Jackâs head snapped toward the small bright square on his bedside table.
He squinted to avoid being blinded by the brightness of his screen and unlocked his phone.
No.
Just a few Facebook notifications and emails. But there, at the top of them all, a message stood out. He pinched his wrist briefly.
Not a dream.
yn_lastname sent you a message
Jack opened the app with a vigor that surprised even him.
Why did you message him?
Oh.
Oh...
âNext time you want to know something about my past, feel free to ask me over a hot chocolate.â
Jack Abbot was screwed.
Ultimately, utterly screwed.
Thank you for sticking around to the end of this fun little fic! Itâs my first time writing for The Pitt and Jack, and I hope you enjoyed it.
I appreciate every like, reblog, and comment!
Love, Jamie xx
~~~
tag list: @celestialceremonials @rienxangl @777bambi777 @xxzomqiexx @gayfanficsanonymous @runnergirl10-love @whowillibecometonight @canyonmoon941 @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @obx-paradise-on-earth @naps-and-narcotics @georgiewritess @hurts-my-brain @tumbletune @missannwinchester @arandomqueenfan @gen0cidi0
THE PUNISHER (2017-2019)
Arkin just own my mind, sorry
how do I edit my bio i must add a year to my age
how do I edit my bio i must add a year to my age

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he's so fucking cute i hate him
Ten billion years in Clip Studio The Cocktagon, if you will. I'm not in there with them, they're in there with me.
i'm crying they were confused af đ
hot and cold
đmini fic incoming... warnings: gator calls women bitches! shocking. talk of cancer and parental death, future chapters will reference abuse. gator x fem!reader word count: 2.2k
âfuckinâ piece of shit,â you cursed under your breath, watching as the contents of your plastic bag fall out onto the ground. it wasnât like you to forget your reusable grocery bags, much preferring their sturdiness to those of the store, but logical thinking had not been your friend lately.
returning to stark county had not been on your to-do-list. in fact, the only time you ever returned to this hell of a home was to see your mother at christmas. even then, you didnât leave the house until it was time to return to chicago.Â
this wasnât a place where you stayed to live. this was a place where dreams and hopes died, and so did your freedom along with it. between the dust, the poison and the constant lingering of sadness, there really was nothing to do in this town. you could count the coffee shops on one hand, the old library no one used, and the hospital falling apart a couple blocks away. this wasnât home. not anymore.
the only person that could be a reflection of home was your mother. your wonderful, loving, dying mother. she didnât like you thinking of it that way - her dying - but it was true. the cancer had spread and despite her upcoming surgery, you knew it would take a miracle for her to recover.
that hadnât stopped you from trying. your faith in god had died along with your father nearly ten years ago. and here you were, in the same boat, a little older and a little wiser, and a lot more sad.
you had only been back in town for two days, but things were different now. your mother, once eager to get out of the house and go to all of the stores she once swore she hated, now could barely get to the front door without feeling like her chest was caving in. the medication, they said, itâll help ease the pain. it wasnât working. watching her lose herself more and more every time you facetimed killed you faster than the cancer was killing her, and you stayed in chicago for as long as you could until no one - and nothing - needed you more than your mother.
maybe it was selfish to stay away; to hide behind your corporate job in a big city, hoping that your motherâs illness wouldnât quite reach the confines of your new home. she hadnât needed you then, but she did now.
your first stop, after settling back into your childhood bedroom, had been the pharmacy to pick up the medication that wasnât working. it took everything in you not to cuss out the pharmacist for just doing his job, but doing it at a pace that sucked the life from you. you saw several people you knew from school on the way to and from the pharmacy, all looking like they had been through their own hell.
your second stop - your most recent before the grocery store - had been the church. church was a strong word, but it was all this town had. roy tillmanâs church. the church that held the service for your father after he passed, but not before nearly breaking your motherâs bank account. this place still held its services, you heard, but you werenât there to attend one. on your hands and knees, you prayed for the first time in ten years. you prayed for your mother, for your fatherâs eternal soul, and prayed for yourself that, when the time came to say goodbye to your mother, you werenât crippled by the agonising grief she was sure to leave behind.
your knees werenât accustomed to the feeling of praying anymore. your hands trembled, fighting the urge to remind yourself god wasnât real just this once. if he was real, this was the last time you would bother him.
so, when the plastic bag split and threw your groceries onto the floor, it felt a bit like a bad omen. it was god telling you to saddle up and get used to the bullshit this town had to offer. with a heavy sigh, you crouched down, quickly picking up what you could salvage and shoving it into the trunk of your car - a car that was much too nice to be driving on the roads of fargo.Â
âneed a hand, maâam?â
the voice had you rolling your eyes before you had even confirmed it was him. though, as you turned your head, you felt the irritation boiling under your skin.
âthey got you in a uniform now?â you asked, hand on your trunk, preparing to close it.
gator let out a quiet oh, taking three strides over and picking up a small bag of oranges you had missed. âyeah, sheriff, ân all that.â he went to put the oranges in the trunk, but you quickly snatched them back.
âdeputy,â you reminded him. âand no, i donât need a hand.â
you round the car, opening the driverâs side door when gator followed you around, closing it before you had a chance to get in. âiâm just tryna help. donât gotta bite my head off or nothinâ.â
âi didnât ask for your help.â
âwouldâa forgotten them oranges if you ainât had me pickinâ them up for ya. donât i get a thanks?â gator knew he was pushing your buttons. of all the people in fargo, he knew how. âhavenât seen ya momma âround lately. stopped cominâ to church.â
there was a hint of genuine concern in gatorâs voice - not something he showed often, but something you could pick up on. you nod, sparing a look around before looking back up to gator. his dark eyes bore into your own, his proximity forcing the mix of sandalwood cologne and vape smoke down your throat.Â
âshe ainât well,â you told him, truthfully. âainât well at all, actually.â
gator didnât miss the quick glance down to the ground, as if you were worried about him seeing something you were trying to hide. âshit. sorry tâ hear that. really. ainât many good women left in fargo but sheâs one of âem. royâs missed her at service.â
âyou still call your dad roy?â you wondered, arms now folded across your chest. the history between gator and roy had always been a sore subject, and it was something you had always felt guilty for. gatorâs life hadnât been as easy as he pretended, but that was no excuse for him to be such an asshole.
âfuck off,â gator cursed, though there was no real malice behind it. âainât gonna start callinâ him daddy now. not like that dumb bitch karen.â
there it was. his foul mouth. the same one that always got him into trouble in high school. the same one that talked you out of trouble in elementary.Â
âthe twins okay?â you asked gently, earning another scoff from gator. jessica and maude were his step-sisters, though there was no real love lost between them. thatâs what gator liked to pretend, anyway, but he knew deep down that his sisters were one of the few good things in this world.
âtheyâre fine. bitchinâ and moaninâ like always. bigger than the last time you saw them.â
you mutter a quiet yeah, before sighing. âi gotta go.â
gator hummed and nodded, taking a few steps back. he looked around sheepishly, then back to you as you opened the car door. âmhm, yeah. yeah. you uh - tell your ma tâ... i dunno. whatever. keep fightinâ, i guess.â
emotional vulnerability hadnât been a strong suit of gatorâs since his mother was alive, but you appreciated the effort, quickly ducking into your car and speeding off home.
gator stood there for a moment, in the small parking lot of the grocery store, and couldnât help but think back to when you were both kids. before the world seemed to go to shit. before you moved away and forgot about him. eventually, his feet took him back to his car, where he drove around for hours under the guise of patrol. his job was a joke.Â
âyou were gone forever. thought iâd have to send out a search party.â your mom joked, slowly pushing herself to stand up from her chair in the living room.
âdonât get up, ma.â you told her, carrying in the shopping bags. the loose items were pushed on top, clinging on for dear life. ââs all good. ran into gator.â
âthe tillman boy?â she asked, and you nodded. âoh. how is he? heard he got promoted.â
âuh, yeah. must have done.â you shrugged, putting the groceries away. âdeputy sheriff now. thinks heâs godâs gift.â you half joked, but it wasnât all that far off.
âthatâs just the tillmanâs for you. always have thought they were some divine creation.â she commented, now on her feet with a soft groan. she slowly walked over to the kitchen where you stood, picking up the bag of oranges. âthey didnât have apples?â
âno, sorry, ma. iâll check the corner store later.â
âoh, donât worry. oranges work fine.â her hand found your shoulder and gave it a squeeze.
with a warm smile, you leaned down to kiss her head. âgo sit back down. iâve got this.â
after dinner, you took a walk down to the corner store, not only looking for a bag of apples, but something to drink. something that wasnât blended fruit or boring water. it was chilly out - not as chilly as the winter, but the bitterness in the air was certainly preparing for a freezing winter.
pushing the door open, you looked around, hugging your arms around yourself to keep your jacket snug against your body. it wasnât much warmer in here, but you put on a smile for the cashier and walked around the small store anyway. this one had nearly been put out of business fifteen years ago when the larger grocery store came into town, and usually was abandoned by this time of night, except for those looking for cheap alcohol. those like you.Â
âi hope youâre keepinâ outta trouble.â gatorâs voice came from in front of you, and you looked up, your feet coming to a stop. âpretty weak shit you got there. college teach ya how to be a pussy?â
you sighed, though a small smile quirked at the corners of your lips. âmaybe i like the weak shit. you followinâ me?â
ânah. patrollinâ.â he stated, hands in his trouser pockets. it was near impossible to miss the flex of his arms - whether he was doing that on purpose or not, you didnât know - but your eyes remained on his face. âyou oughtta get this,â gatorâs hand moved to the shelf beside your head, picking up a bottle. âthis is the good shit. pretty cheap too, considerinâ. gets ya pretty blissed out.â
âif you pair it with weed, yeah.âÂ
gator couldnât help but let out a breathy, but quiet, chuckle at that. âsmartass still, i see. what, you offerinâ?â
âno, iâm not offering. you were the pothead, not me.â
âyeah, well,â gator put the bottle back, sensing you werenât going to go for his suggestion anyway. âwho said i stopped?â
you shook your head, walking past him to the checkout and rushing the interaction with the cashier so you could get the hell out of here. gator watched from down the aisle, a smirk laced on his lips before he followed you out of the store, the small bell ringing in the distance.
âhey, wait up.â he called after you, walking briskly but not too enthusiastically. âyâ headinâ home?â
âyeah,â you answered, glancing over your shoulder at him before allowing your feet to halt your movements.
âneedâa ride?â
âabsolutely not.â
âwhy the fuck not? gonna get yourself killed walkinâ back this time of night.â
âitâs seven. besides, iâm like, two blocks away.â you gestured in the direction with the bottle, the bag of apples in your other hand.Â
gator nodded, running his tongue over his lip for a second. âaâight,â he looked down the street, then back to you. âthen let me get you a real drink.â
you raised your eyebrows, chuckling. âyou? get me a real drink? what is this, two-thousand-and-eleven?â
âhey, you ainât gotta be a bitch about it, itâs a fuckinâ free drink and i can guarantee itâll be better than whatever the fuck piss-looking bottle you just spent four bucks on.â
âanyone ever tell you that you have a real way with words?â you tilted your head, watching as the crease between his eyebrows faded and was replaced with a calm washing over his eyes. âfine. a drink. one.â
gator held his hands up in mock defence, backing away before turning to walk to his car. you followed behind, surprised when he opened the passenger side door for you.
âyou call me a bitch again and iâm using your own gun on you, got it?â
âthat shitâs sexy.â gator smirked, closing the door behind you and getting into the driverâs side. he started the engine, reversing out of the three bay parking lot and driving onto the road. âalways was sexy when youâd get that attitude.â
you looked over to him, gatorâs eyes firmly on the road, but that damn smirk never leaving his face, and for a moment, you saw the seventeen year old who stole his fatherâs car just for an excuse to drive you around fargo until four in the morning.
I have such a little angsty gator mini fic in my brain and @bangaveragewhitewine is torturing me with more ideas

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Okay, but desperately in need of the fratiest looking images of joe đ„”đ„”đ„”
Im so glad to know im not the only one obsessing over frat boy keery đ§đ»ââïž
ImportantâŒïžâŒïž
I can contribute these...
itâs canon that gator tillman loves himself a liberal woman
