#I don’t punch children by the way

[chiefguideandcentre]

I don’t know why (bc normally politeness is appreciated) but there are just some specific people whose politeness is so irritating, so grating on the nerves that it makes you irrationally angry. They were nothing but nice but something about it, their voice? The way they phrase things? Something! It just makes you want to run outside and punch the nearest child. There’s no reason for your irrational crazy reaction to someone just being polite but it’s happening anyways

[tariah23]

He apparently has 2 kids with 2 different women and doesn't take care of either of them

Women, I will protect you-

[tender-rosiey]

“GOOD! NOW PUNCH HIS FACE!”

— when your baby and gojo, geto, nanami, toji, and sukuna get protective over you (f!reader)

a/n: I am alive!! as an apology here is a multi-character post 🙏 btw in toji's part, you're megumi's mom

GOJO SATORU:

two peas in a pod, twins, copies: these are all things people have called your husband and son.

honestly, they’re not wrong. your son has his father’s looks—satoru swears he has your nose and ears but anyway—and he carries the same protectiveness and love he holds for you, if not amplified.

you can’t count on one hand the amount of times the house has been turned upside down because of their fights for a cuddle session with you.

of course, you have always tried suggesting them simply sharing you, but these problem children would rather eat raw zucchini than ever share the cuddle time.

so while your son is barely six, you can still count on him to team up with satoru against anyone who wrongs you in anyway like what’s happening right now for example.

you’re out with your lovely family to buy some groceries, and since they both were whining about getting some sweets, you allowed them to go and snatch a couple from the next aisle.

on the other hand, you stayed to look for another type of detergent to clean the floor—especially since satoru got this new type of paint for s/n and it’s quite an endeavor to remove it with a regular detergent.

however, being in the cleaning supplies section never guaranteed the lack of filthy men who can’t take no for an answer. this one man approaches you, smug grin on his face as he leans on the wall, ��what’s a pretty lady like you doing alone?”

“buying groceries like a normal person; now please leave me alone.”

he quickly frowns, “don’t be so stingy doll,” his hand extends towards your arm, “I can show you a good time; I promise—“

the man is swiftly smacked with an egg on his face, and he is left with the egg dripping down his face, “what’s your wrong with your kid, man?!” he yells at the person behind you.

he then grumbles, “ruined a potential good night.”

“my kid was absolutely right in what he did,” you hear satoru’s voice. you then feel a hand on your shoulder, and you’re pulled into a chest you’re all too familiar with, “’toru—“

your husband shoots a small smile your way, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, before looking at his son, “that last throw was very good, s/n! throw another one but just below his stomach."

a cheshire cat-like grin is plastered on your husband’s face as s/n prepares to launch another egg at the man.

there is a very evident scowl on your son’s face as he yells, “don’t you ever bother mama again, you stinky bum crumb!”

the man gasps and tries to make a run for it, but your son wouldn’t be the son of gojo satoru if he doesn’t manage to land the hit exactly where he wants.

the man quickly crumbles to the ground screaming and alerting literally everyone in the store.

so satoru picks both you and s/n and makes a run for it.

you hold tightly onto him, “wait, ‘toru, the groceries!”

“we can always order! saving my princess and son is more important!”

your son grumbles, “but I want to hit the rude man!”

“me too, champ, but—“ satoru sweat-drops and glances behind him, “I doubt the angry security guards would like that!”

GETO SUGURU:

your twin girls are one of the sassiest to exist.

in a way, they take after their father who is also pretty sassy but very low-key.

the sass of all three combined is terrible to be the victim of. luckily for you, they don’t dare direct their triple ray towards you, especially—in any argument—at least one will try to win you over.

if it’s suguru trying to stay on your good side, then he is hugging you from behind, pressing feather-like kisses on your shoulder and whispering about how sweet you are. if it’s the girls, then they cling to your legs and keep yelling about how much they love you.

so it is safe to say that you have a small squad to protect you from any potential “danger”.

“oh my, dear shouldn’t you focus on refining yourself a bit more?” you hear a woman say beside you.

you turn towards her, offended, “excuse me?”

“I mean,” her eyes scan you, disapprovingly, “you look average at best, and with that you won’t be able to find yourself a husband, let alone have children.”

you’re still processing her audacity as she continues, “but then again, it’s probably for the better that you don’t have children; you can barely take care of yourself.”

“can I help you?” your husband says as he approaches the woman.

she smiles condescendingly before chuckling, “I was simply telling this lady to take care of herself more; she hardly looks presentable.”

geto’s smiles tenses up as he is about to give the woman a calm peace of his mind, but his daughters beat him to it.

your older twin stands in front of the woman, scanning her with pure disgust in her eyes.

she grimaces and voices out her thoughts, “you are like a crunchy lizard.”

the woman gasps, “how dare you—!”

you cut off the woman, curious about your daughter’s conclusion, “why a crunchy lizard, sweetheart?”

your daughter looks at you with a small frown, shaking her head, “a crunchy lizard is an ugly sad lizard.”

a snort escapes your husband, and you’re barely able to contain your smile.

your other daughter follows up, looking at her twin sister, “the lady looks like that one green thingy we saw yesterday,” she taps her little foot, trying to remember and beams at the woman, “shrek! you look like shrek!”

then they both glare at her, frowning, “you’re a monkey!”

your husband doesn’t let it go as he deals the final—subtle—blow, “come on now girls; we shouldn’t bully the lady with the mcdonald’s like hairline anymore.”

it seems like the woman can’t take it anymore as she starts sobbing and running to the hills.

a moment of silence is shared across the four of you, before you carry both of your girls in your arms and start tickling them, “I don’t know whether to be proud of you or scold you, little evil girls!”

they squeal, trying to escape your hold and calling for their father.

geto chuckles and wraps his arms around the three of you, “let them have it for tonight, y/n,” he ruffles their hair, “they were brave and defended their mom, after all.”

“yeah, papa is right!”

“yes mama, please!”

you pout then smirk at geto, “well I don’t mind, and since papa is also very proud of you girls, he will buy any toy that you guys want today!”

the color drains from your husband’s face, and he watches motionlessly as his girls latch onto him, screaming about the toys they want.

you giggle at his expression and blow him a kiss. he reluctantly blows you one back, while the girls excitedly pull him towards the toy store.

NANAMI KENTO:

you and your husband were blessed with the sweetest girl as your daughter, and she was just recently joined by another sweet girl.

you can never forget the happiness on your daughter’s face when she saw her baby sister.

it also seems that no matter how many times you give birth, your husband can’t help but get emotional when he holds your baby. his hands are forever delicate as he cradles her to his chest.

you remember what he said during the birth of your first daughter.

“I feel like a piece of heaven has been plucked and placed in my arms.”

the way he always goes soft for the three of you is honestly adorable.

today, you were going on an outing with your—now 6 months old—baby and your older daughter who is almost six.

your husband never brags about his muscular form, but he never misses a chance to carry the baby or the baby supplies.

you have offered to at least carry the bag, but he always refuses, stating that ‘you already carried the baby for nine entire months in your belly; this is the least I can do.’

so yeah, sometimes you wish to smooch your husband till forever, but that’s not the point.

you’re walking hand in hand with your daughter as she sings her favorite song. you hear someone click their tongue, so you look to the side and lock eyes with an old lady. she takes the opportunity and approaches you.

“you should be ashamed of yourself!” she yells pointing at you, “your husband shouldn’t be carrying the baby supplies nor the baby itself for the matter,” she scowls, “that’s your job!”

“with all due respect ma’am, but that isn’t her job, and taking care of the baby should be something we are both responsible for.”

“yeah!” your daughter huffs, “and don’t take out your sad life on my mama!”

your eyes widen as you stare at your daughter.

on the other side, your husband is just as speechless. your daughter pays no one any mind as she continues, “mama works hard every day! you wouldn’t know that! you immature nugget!”

nanami frowns lightly, “d/n, that’s not nice—“

and for the cherry on top, your baby daughter throws the bottle cap she was playing with at the old lady, and frowns at her.

she starts babbling some nonsense that you're pretty sure are curse words in baby language.

having had enough, the old lady huffs, “the utter disrespect,” and starts walking away.

the rest of the spectators’ eyes follow her till she is out of sight. finally then, people start minding their own business, and you and your little family are left to the aftermath.

you giggle, “that was funny.”

“really?!” your daughter beams.

nanami cuts her off, “no,” he then looks at you with a small frown, a sigh escaping his lips, “y/n don’t encourage them—“

your baby daughter screams happily when she sees her sister smile. she starts kicking her feet with the biggest smile on her own face.

your older daughter starts laughing with her and tries to make her little sister laugh more—she was successful.

meanwhile, you chuckle, leaning on your husband’s shoulder, “admit it, kento; it was kind of funny.”

his resolve softens at the sound of laughter from all three of his girls, “okay, maybe a little, but—“

“yay!!”

ladies: 1

kento: 0

FUSHIGURO TOJI:

your husband and son are so alike, save for the part that your husband is a bit more shameless, and your son is more on the shy side.

however, they both have the same bluntness and the tendency to give anyone who they don’t like attitude.

for example, today, you were walking in the park with the both of them to unwind a bit.

not to mention that megumi wanted to walk his dogs which was a plus, since you would be able to watch your dear son play around with them.

it was all going great until you saw an old ‘friend’ who came running at the sight of you. he was someone who has always been way too touchy and in your personal bubble.

you have tried talking to him about it, but you’re confident that he does it to somehow force you into reciprocating the intimacy.

even if you’re a married woman with a freaking kid.

he giddily clasps your hand, “y/n, ‘been a long time!”

“h-hey,” you smile awkwardly.

he laughs, “I was passing by when I saw your figure, and I couldn’t help but come and say hi.”

you nod, “that’s great, but I am busy, so maybe later?—“

“you’ve gotten even prettier!” he exclaims, “I wish you would finally take me out on a—“

“can’t you see that she is uncomfortable?” your son retorts, “also, you should step back; you shouldn’t touch someone like this without asking them.”

megumi squeezes himself between the both you and glares at the man.

the guy was about to reply to your son, but toji pushes him back with ease, pulling you beside him and hand resting on your waist almost by instinct, “kid is right,” he tilts his head a bit, “ever been taught manners or do I have to do the teaching for you?”

the guy is taken back; offended, he snaps “you can’t speak to me like that!”

“and you can’t hold my mom’s hands like that, but here we are,” your son cleverly sasses him.

on the other hand, your—shameless—husband pulls you into one scandalous kiss and smirks at the guy when he pulls back, “and you can’t hit on a married woman, by the way.”

you hear your son gag in disgust at his dad’s actions, but you’re too busy burying your face in your husband’s chest, hoping that the guy disappears before toji makes even more of a bigger scene.

you also hope that the ground would swallow you, but that’s the alternative option.

the guy clutches his fist, before walking away, spewing insults at the sky—since he is too scared to cuss out your buff husband. once the man is out of sight, toji ruffles megumi’s hair, chuckling, “good job, kid.”

your shy bean’s cheeks redden slightly as he looks away, “…thanks.”

you’re still thinking about what just happened when you slap your husband’s chest, “toji, literally why?” you grumble, patting megumi who started holding onto your leg the moment you hugged toji.

“why not,” your husband shrugs with a small smile, taking pride in your flustered form.

“dad, I want ice cream.”

“no, you just want me to let go your mom, so you can hog her for yourself,” toji grumbles, staring down at megumi.

unfaltering, megumi looks up at him ,“dad, I want ice cream.”

“god damn it, listen here you—“

“divine dogs.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA:

there is no denying that both your son and your husband care for you very much, and they both—very aggressively—compete for your attention.

I am talking he literally throws the kid across the room kind of aggressive, and your son, in turn, throws whatever he has at him.

it’s eventful, but you would be lying if you said that it wasn’t one of the reasons why you will get grey hair earlier than everyone else.

so their very aggressive nature is also shown in their protectiveness over you.

a person doesn’t need to insult or even dare flirt with you for your devil duo to make their life a living hell; your husband and son don’t tolerate someone speaking to you if it causes you to ignore both of them.

for example, this one new servant was clueless to where the broom is, and unluckily for him, he saw you sitting with your husband and son in the gardens. he humbly approached you, “excuse me, m’lady.”

you turn to look at him with a smile, “yes?”

he clears throat, a bit flustered by the attention, “I—I wanted to ask where the—“

“up your ass, you disgusting fiend,” your son sneers followed by his father’s ever-permanent scowl.

“who gave you the permission to come and speak to her so casually?” sukuna presses, and the servant quickly falls to his knees.

“m-my apologies, my lord! I did not mean to disturb you!”

sukuna crosses his arms, “well, you did, and you also disturbed your queen and prince,” his eyes narrow at the servant, “what do you have to say for yourself?”

meanwhile, you’re watching all of that, mouth agape and trying to articulate anything to save the poor guy. you finally find your voice, “sukuna, it’s okay; he didn’t mean—“

your son hugs you tightly and glares at the servant, “to think he would so brazenly speak to you like you’re old friends is terrible, mother.”

you can almost see your son’s cursed energy flaring, and you can spot the small smirk on your husband’s face as he watches his son.

before it escalates any further and you find yet another dead corpse in your palace, you pick up your son, kissing his cheek which makes him flustered and causing him to bury his face in your neck.

you look at the servant, “you’re dismissed, and you can ask the head maid about anything you need, okay?”

“y-yes, m’lady!” he, however, stays glued to the ground, “may I have the permission to lift my head?”

sukuna grunts, “sure.”

“thank you, m’lord,” the servant says, before scurrying towards the gate, having secured his freedom after his little mistake.

or at least, that’s what he thought.

your husband slices his legs off with a flick of a finger, and your son, who has inherited his father’s technique, slices the head off.

and so the body falls to the ground, and the other servants hurriedly start cleaning up the mess.

you frown at your husband, “sukuna! he apologized!”

he rolls his eyes, and pulls you by the waist, “do I look like I care? he shouldn’t have interrupted our time together.”

“aww, you’re jealous!”

“no, I am not—“

“hands off, old man!”

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do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[malewifespike]

Work today is hell we had to put the same kid in seclusion 3 times in the span of 2 hours because he just could not chill out and he kept attacking staff and the seclusions were traumatic as fuck for everyone involved the kid was screaming and begging and then trying to bite us it was just so bad and then I just have to go back to my group and be like hi everyone! :) but i feel dead inside

[amiableness]

Dad!James Potter x Bsf!Reader ☼ 631 words | briefly 18+ and a comment that implies henry looks similar to reader

“Your wife is gorgeous!” Exclaims Cassie, a girlfriend of one of Sirius’s school friends. She’s had a bit too much to drink, her cheeks flushed and eyes slightly glazed as she sways unsteadily in front of James. He worries she might topple over at any moment.

“I don’t have—” James starts to correct her, his voice tinged with awkwardness. He knows she’s talking about you. You two have been inseparable all night, except for now, as you dance with Sirius across the bar.

“Oh! And your son!” Cassie interrupts, her voice loud and enthusiastic, waving her drink around dangerously. “You two make the most beautiful babies!” She beams at him, her grin wide and tipsy, clearly not registering the odd look on James’ face.

The statement hits him like a punch to the gut, knocking the breath out of his lungs. It takes him a moment to regain his composure and remember how to breathe. 

You two make beautiful babies.

Without warning, his mind flashes with a vivid image of you in his bed. He sees you lying there, hands gripping the sheets, legs bent and spread open. Your lips are swollen and darkened from his kisses, your eyes filled with a wild, intense longing. He can almost hear your voice, and the way you’d moan so sweetly for him. The way you’d beg him to fuck you raw, to fill you up and make you his. 

Cassie’s words echo relentlessly in his mind, looping with a relentless intensity. 

He takes a deep gulp of his whiskey, hoping the fiery burn will drown out the swirling thoughts that keep resurfacing. The more he tries to push them away, the more vivid they become. He doesn’t need to be consumed by these thoughts right now, but they keep intruding, making his heart race and his mind spin.

“Do you think you’ll have more?” Cassie asks, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. James’s gaze snaps to her, noting how eager she seems to dive into the details.

James’s mouth parts, and he flounders for a moment, struggling to find an answer. He had never considered having more children, especially after the difficult experience with Henry’s mother. But if you were the mother of his children, he could be convinced to have one more.

Or five.

“Hey, uh, babe,” her boyfriend says, wrapping his arm around her waist. She leans into him affectionately. “They’re not together, and Henry isn’t her son.” 

James racks his brain, trying to remember the guy's name. He only knew Cassie because she had introduced herself so enthusiastically.

Cassie gasps and slaps her hand to mouth, “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s alright, really. A lot of people mistake her for my wife,” James says with a smile, trying to ignore the clench in his stomach at the thought of calling you his wife. And fuck, he wishes you were.

He needs to get out of here. For a fleeting moment, he considers calling Henry’s babysitter to let her know she can head home, as he’s on his way to take over.

“Really, I’m sorry,” she says, her words slightly slurred. “I tend to ramble after a drink.” Her boyfriend catches James’s eye over her shoulder, raising an amused eyebrow. They both know it’s more than just one drink.

The couple strolls away, and James watches them until they disappear into the crowd. He lets out a weary sigh, leaning heavily against the bar as he stares down at the whiskey in front of him. Despite his strong urge to turn around and search for you in the crowd, he knows it won’t ease the dirty images of you in his mind.

He feels a pang of guilt, knowing that you’re his best friend and he can never have you in that way.

please reblog or comment with your thoughts! they are very appreciated and keep me motivated to keep writing! 🤍

Dad!James and Bsf!Reader Masterlist

[izvmimi]

three for one - izuku x reader

cw: children mention. pregnancy mention. husband izuku, married female reader. reader wears a dress. a/n: a repost!

“I’ll be home in an hour. I can’t wait to see you.”

You smile ear to ear as you hang up, still savoring the sound of his voice, but in the immediate silence thereafter, the trepidation you’ve been feeling for the past month and a half resurfaces.

You let out a sigh as you set your cell phone onto the dinner table and return to the stove, turning pork cutlets that sizzle in oil and stirring a pot of soup. Rice steams in the cooker on the countertop, and the smell of Izuku’s favorite foods fill your home.

It smells heavenly, but you’re exhausted, and while the thought of the joy in his expression spurs you forth, you consider for a moment if you should have just aimed for takeout and an evening cuddling on the couch. The fact remains however that you haven’t seen your husband in two months and if you plan to give him life-changing news, you should probably do it over a home-cooked meal, even if he wouldn’t care either way. 

After all, you’ve been hiding the truth from him for months now, and you can’t possibly any longer.

Your belly turns a little, and you worry that you might throw up again before you see him. The table is set by now, and you clean up as much as you can of the kitchen, hoping that the sound of running water calms your nerves.

Before long, Izuku makes it home, right on time, and he’s a whirlwind of motion and joy - his bags go flying out of his hands, as he whisks you into his arm, nearly smothering you with an embrace.

“God, I missed you.”

He spins you as you reply the same, and you can’t help but laugh and squeeze silly tears from your eyes as you wrap your arms tighter around his neck. Your Izuku is back, safe, and you couldn’t be any more grateful. 

“I’m so happy you’re okay,” you say in a voice that’s thick with affection. Your lips meet quickly and don’t separate, engrossed in a dizzying kiss. Your hands run through his messy waves and once your lungs all scream for air, he buries his head into your neck, making a show of inhaling your scent.

“I missed you so much,” he repeats, kissing your cheek. “So much.”

More kisses pepper your skin, and you blink back a few tears, and nod somewhat embarrassed.  You’ve learned to be comfortable with his love language heavily reliant on touch. When he finally pulls back to look at you again, his smile is wide and innocent as usual, familiar and comforting.

Your Izuku, back for you. No scars, no injuries, you are thankful. 

Once he’s finally set you down completely, he begins to tell you excitedly about his adventure, but you don’t miss the gentle yet protective hold on your arms, and the careful once-over, where his eyes quickly scan your body for bruises and other injuries. It’s a habit he’s picked up over time that’s made it nearly impossible to hide your clumsiness from him (something that further reinforces the behavior). It makes you particularly nervous today however, given the circumstances.

Today you wear a baggy dress with an undershirt that covers your arms, the changes your body has undergone in his absence much less evident, but he can still see the anxiety that underlies the excitement in your eyes.

If he does notice, he doesn’t say anything immediately, opting again to kiss you on the forehead, and pet your hair gently.

“Were you good while I was gone?”

The warmth in your cheeks returns, and you nod but give him a playful punch on his shoulder anyway for the paternalistic remark. He grins, then changes the subject although he too is a bit nervous, your slightly muted behavior getting to him. His eyes glide over to the rest of your apartment finally, and then to the dinner table, lighting up immediately.

“Oh my God, that looks amazing.”

He moves over to the dinner table to peruse the wars; you follow him quickly, tension dissipating slightly with the discussion of food. 

“It better taste amazing too,” you joke, bumping himn on the hip. He takes the liberty to go one step forward and pat you on the ass before running off to the guest bathroom to wash his hands.

“Scrub beneath your fingernails!” you call after him, teasingly. You take the opportunity to wash your own hands in the kitchen sink again and consider what to do next.

How do you say this? Should  you wait and let him relax first? 

Surely it’s better if you say something before he puts two and two together? After all, the moment your clothes come off, he’ll notice.

Or perhaps he won’t. Perhaps he’ll just assume you’ve gained a few pounds and say nothing, kissing your belly softly as he’s prone to do. Perhaps it’ll be lovemaking as usual, and his usual sensitivity to your body and needs won’t be enough to notice.

But what if he does?

You were pregnant before he even left.

The days leading up to his trip had been hectic to say the least. Between the two of you preparing his departure, and the unnecessary safety precautions Izuku put in place for you for his absence, and your own work with the new Hero commission ramping up in urgency, you had barely registered that you’d missed one period and then another until you found yourself with a very positive pregnancy test.

What if it wasn’t the right time? Your marriage was still fresh, you’d just settled into the groove of being young professionals who lived together full time, and Izuku was so damn busy all the time-

“Come eat, love,” he calls from the other room. Your hand goes reflexively to your lower belly. 

You have to tell him now or you’ll agonize over it. Now is the time.

—

“Is it good?” you ask , smiling as you watch him eat with gusto. It’s a silly question because he’s nearly cleared his already overloaded plate.

“Incredible,” he says between ravenous bites. They say watching someone you love eat fills you up, and it’s true. Your cup is full of love.

“You’d say that even if it were awful,” you point out.

“Yes,” he admits, “but I haven’t had to,” he teases. You narrow your eyes at him playfully and he does an air kiss, cheesy enough to make you blow air out of your nose. You pick at your own dinner, but manage only to get a few bites in, which he notices.

It grows quiet for a moment as you think, and you wonder again if now is really the time, but he beats you to breaking the ice.

“Babe, is everything all right?”

Your heart starts to pound. You glance up from your plate towards him and he watches you curiously and patiently, a fleck of rice still stuck to his bottom lip. You consider deflecting, telling him something else that is not really a lie, because his gentle gaze and furrowed eyebrows betraying concern distress you. 

You don’t want to add more to his plate, figuratively.

And yet…

You swallow hard.

“Everything’s fine,” you start, and he nods, “but I have something to tell you.”

Izuku looks slightly surprised by the necessary warning shot. You don’t usually extend him that courtesy, so it’s clear that whatever you’ll say next is serious.

You breathe out slowly through your nose. Izuku watches you again carefully as you steel yourself.

“So you know how we haven’t been trying, but we’ve been a little less careful recently?”

Izuku’s eyes widen, and in the split second where the realization sets in, you can see his cheeks flush deeply and his mouth drop open in an ‘o’.

He immediately jumps to his feet.

“You’re pregnant?” he exclaims.

You nod slowly, and he seems to genuinely bloom with excitement.

“You… fuck, I-I can’t believe this! This is so exciting… babe!”

His hands rest on your shoulders then glide to your cheeks where he squishes them before kissing you again, barely able to contain himself.

Then immediately he starts to pace, the muttering beginning as he figures out what’s going to happen next.

“Why didn’t you tell me immediately? I can’t believe we’re gonna have a little girl or a boy-”

This is the hard part.

You slowly and deliberately raise three fingers and he freezes. A second then two passes, and you blink and then he blinks and the two of you watch each other in silence.

He mirrors the action, raising three fingers to meet yours.

“Do you mean… three…”

“Yes.”

The blood seems to drain out of his face.

“Oh. I need to sit down.”

He means it. As he settles back down into his seat, he genuinely looks dizzy and you make some sort of distressed sound between laughing and crying while he’s rubbing his temples, trying to make sense of the loop you’ve thrown him for.

“So… we’re having triplets.”

He looks up from the fixed point he was staring at on the table then at you, and you nod slowly. The both of you take a good look at each other again, and you sigh.

“I know this is so much all at once,” you start, “I’m sorry I-”

“Why are you apologizing for getting pregnant?” he interrupts with a chuckle. You give him a surprised look, then consider it. It’s true. Why are you apologizing for pregnancy?

He reaches over to grab your hand and squeezes it.

“We’ll be fine,” he says, pulling you towards him. You move over to him and he makes space for you to sit in his lap. Your head rests against his chest, and his heart, despite all the news you’ve just dumped on to him, now beats steadily despite yours that races.

Izuku thinks again, pulling your hand to his lips and kisses it softly. You can see the gears turn as you watch his profile, planning, strategizing. In this moment, you realized you were being silly. 

“We’ll be fine,” he repeats. “We can handle anything.”

He turns to you, green eyes twinkling. “Right?”

You smile, genuinely, and it feels like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

“Right.”

Bonus:

“You would fucking have triplets after I have my second, wouldn’t you, asshole?!”

“Kacchan, this has nothing to do with you!”

“Like hell it doesn’t! How dare you compete with me?”

You and Bakugou’s wife give each other a look and both sip your tea in unison, in amusement.

[nebulaafterdark]

The Blacks & The Greens

Summary: A marriage of convenience is not enough to bridge the gap between their warring houses. Y/N and Aegon pay the price for his crown. Based off this request.

Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

18+ ONLY MDNI

Roughish sex, Targcest, angst, depictions of stillbirth.

Y/N and Aegon marry out of convenience. To keep peace, to mend a house broken long before they were born.

Aegon does not mind bedding her, she is pretty enough. He does not mind watching her swell with his heir, he enjoys it even, paying special attention to Y/N as she grows.

“Does it hurt?” He wonders, tracing a little hand or foot across the skin of her abdomen.

“No,” Y/N smiles, passing a hand over his hair.

Aegon kisses her bump, bidding her and his child a good night before making his way down to the pleasure house.

Their first child, a son named Laenor, is Aegon’s pride and joy. His heart swells with something close to love for his wife, the first time he sees bits of her in their son’s features.

Y/N loves Laenor, carrying him about, showing him the Red Keep and all her favorite places in it. Aegon joins them, on occasion, sharing quiet moments with his little family.

Outside of Laenor, they exchange few words. Refusing to share apartments, but Aegon sneaks into her room more often than not, after nights spent in the company of other women.

“I could never fuck you like that.” He tells his wife, words slurred from his cups.

“I would let you.” Y/N assures him.

“You make my heart ache.” Aegon admits, “I hate when you do that.”

“I do not mean to,” Y/N sighs.

Aegon rests a hand over her beating heart. “I know.”

————————————————————————

When asked for another heir, they are more than happy to provide. Exchanging sloppy kisses and sweet words, but never love, it couldn’t be love. Not with the twisted, possessive way of it.

“Beg,” Aegon demands, fucking her roughly enough that air is punched from her lungs with each snap of his hips.

“Please,” Y/N wails, clinging to him desperately.

“Please what?”

“Fill me with your heir, I wish to bear you a hundred children.”

Aegon grins, brushing sweat damp hair from her forehead. “I adore you, you know?”

Her eyes shoot open, meeting his.

“My pretty, bastard wife.”

The princess’s breath hitches, her cunt clenching around him.

“Enjoyed that, did you?”

There is no point in denying it, she likes the way he says it. The way he acknowledges it without insulting her. “Yes.”

“I do not care who sired you. You are mine now, bastard. Mine to fuck and breed. Mine to love, until we are both cold in our graves.”

Love? “Aegon?”

“You heard me well and clear.”

“I love-”

Aegon seals his mouth over hers, swallowing the words. “Don’t you dare say it.”

“Why?” Y/N asks, with big fat tears welling up in her eyes.

“You hold it inside until you burst or pour it over my cock as you milk me, but you do not say it.” Aegon sneers. He couldn’t be loved, he wouldn’t be, by her least of all.

The princess nods, allowing him to cradle her head against his shoulder. Whispering those forbidden words over and over, while she is never allowed to speak them. Her heart aches.

Like every other aspect of their marriage, this too is complicated.

————————————————————————-

Y/N’s term is nearing its end when her grandsire passes and Aegon is forced to usurp her mother’s throne. With blood running down her legs before Aegon is crowned in the dragon pit, she is rushed swiftly away to labor in her chambers.

Now that Aegon is king, he is allowed at her side without contest. Watching as their second child is brought into the world. The babe does not cry, something inside him knows….

The grand Maester is called to work on the child, a sweet little girl with silver hair.

Y/N begins pushing with the second, her tear stained face pleading for him.

Aegon goes to her, because that is all he knows how to do. He goes to her and holds her hand.

“Aegon,” she cries.

“Shhhh,” he hushes her.

“Will the babe live?”

He presses a kiss to her forehead, “I need you to calm yourself, dearest.”

“I can’t.”

“We must focus on this babe,” Aegon brushes a hand over her belly. “They need their mother to provide them safe passage into the world.”

“I want to see her.” Y/N cries, searching for her child.

“I am so sorry, sweetheart.” Aegon says, “so terribly sorry.”

Y/N bares down, sobbing as she does. The child is safe within her, the same cannot be said after it enters this cruel world. “I do not want to lose my child.”

“I will give you another,” Aegon promises, knowing that a thousand children can never make up for the one they’ve lost. “As many as you wish. Please, allow me to get you through this. You must live, our son needs you, I need you.”

“You must keep pushing my queen.”

Y/N brings her third child into the world, expecting the worst. But the little girl cries.

“Thank the gods,” Aegon lets his head fall against his wife’s chest. “Thank the gods.”

The child is laid against her.

“Healthy?”

“Kicking like a goat, my Queen.”

Aegon looks to his wife, their perfect babe in her arms. “I love you.”

Y/N nods, choking on her grief and joy and love for him.

“Say it, my heart.” Aegon feels it on the tip of her tongue, “it’s alright.”

“I love you,” Y/N laments, “I love you and I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for.”

“Our babe-”

“None of this is your fault. Please know that.”

Y/N nods, not entirely convinced.

The King and Queen spend days in that bed, mourning their loss, unaware of Rhaenyra’s similar suffering across the sea.

There is no war so hateful as a war between kin, they will all pay the price for it; the Blacks and the Greens.

[nadvs]

home before dark (part seven)

pairing rafe cameron x kook! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary as children, you and rafe were best friends, but then tragedy suddenly struck his family and he shut everybody out. years later, you need his help when a pushy ex-boyfriend won’t leave you alone. rafe is perfect for the job because everybody’s afraid of him. except for you.

content warnings stalker ex, violence, smut, substance abuse, death and mourning of parent

» masterlist

· · ── ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ── · ·

Rafe feels like he’s come undone. The string that just barely keeps him composed has unravelled. There’s no use in trying to tie it back together. Not when you’re holding him like this.

You’re standing in your bathroom as he cries into your shoulder, your breaths intertwined. His knees are weakening and it’s getting harder to hold his weight as he leans on you.

Your arms are loosely encircled around his neck and you collect every bit of strength you have in you to hold him up. You can feel the moisture from his tears dampening the fabric of your shirt, hear the gasps of breath spilling from his mouth. You can’t help but cry with him.

When you slowly glide a hand up the back of Rafe’s head, stroking his hair, he cries harder, his body thrown off center even further after being touched so gently. His hands tighten on your waist, pulling you in closer.

Rafe’s chest is burning, his hand still aching from nearly punching the life out of your ex-boyfriend. His legs are giving out and he realizes just how much he’s bearing down on you.

“Shit,” he grumbles, angry at himself for hurting you. “Sorry.” He straightens, pulling back just a bit, your cheeks touching.

“Don’t worry about it.” Your voice sounds just as fragile as the atmosphere between you. You’ve never wanted to take care of someone more than you do right now. “Let’s go to my room.”

You keep all the lights off as you pace upstairs. When you reach your room, Rafe sits on the edge of your bed, sniffling.

You watch his darkened figure angrily swipe at his tears. You settle beside him, your heart stinging, the side of your thigh pressed against his.

“I…” Rafe’s voice is hoarse. His heart is racing. He’s failing at choking down his sobs. “I can’t stop.”

“You don’t have to stop,” you say. You watch him helplessly, eager to do whatever you can to ease his pain, to make him more comfortable.

You wipe one of your own tears away and rest your hand on his shuddering back, feeling how damp the cotton of his shirt is, surely from sweat.

You can’t get how he looked leaning over Ty out of your mind, the way he struck him over and over. When his friends pushed him up against the wall, he looked so angry and lost.

“Are your pajamas in the other room?” you ask.

Rafe nods. You rush away towards the guest room.

He feels completely powerless to his own body. He’s lost every bit of composure he thought he had. He can’t believe he’s doing this right now, sitting in your room, crying this hard in front of you.

He should’ve known being around you long enough would wear him down. His mother may be gone, but the weight of losing her never will be, and every time he looks into your eyes or feels your skin on his, he remembers that he’s carrying that weight everywhere he goes.

When he’s in this state, he takes whatever he can get his hands on to get wasted enough to forget. But he doesn’t have anything to numb his agony.

You return holding Rafe’s sweats and t-shirt and see him hunched over your bed, his head in his hands. You sit next to him again, his clothes bunched up against your chest. His breaths are short and uneven.

“I can help you get changed,” you say, words faltering between your tears. “And I can ramble or I can be quiet or whatever you need to fall asleep.”

Your chest aches even more at the desperation in your own voice. It reminds you of being ten years old, standing at Rafe’s bedroom door, offering to do anything just to carry a piece of his pain for him.

He rejected you then. He’s rejected you a thousand times since. But tonight, he lowers his hands from his face and turns his head just enough to catch your gaze.

“Okay,” he murmurs, throat thick with tears.

He remains sitting as you stand and lean over him to bunch the bottom of his shirt in your hands.

You pull the fabric up over his torso and he lifts his long arms for you. Your eyes are better adjusted to the dark now, allowing you to see the way his chest is rising and falling as he breathes through his cries.

In any other scenario, undressing him like this would feel suggestive, but the intimacy between you is innocent. You’re helping a friend in pain. At least, you hope he considers you a friend now.

The cotton of his pajama shirt is soft between your fingers as you draw it over his head. He finds the strength to pull his arms through the sleeves and then shuffles to unbutton his jeans. You help him take his jeans off and replace them with his sweatpants.

Rafe still doesn’t get why you think he deserves your unconditional kindness. But then he remembers what you said downstairs. You said he’s good. When was the last time someone called him good?

It’s been years since he thought something positive about himself. But maybe you’re right. Maybe whatever good you see in him really is there.

He pushes himself up to his feet to brush his teeth in the bathroom down the hall and you quickly change into your pajamas in the dark and get ready for bed.

When Rafe comes back into your room, his strides are slow and his shoulders are hunched as he settles into your bed.

“Do you need ice for your hand?” you whisper. “Or some water?”

“No,” he responds. He shifts, head resting on your pillow, and swallows hard, never having had a harder time saying what he wants before now. “Just… come to bed.”

It’s jarring. The same man who’s spent years averting his gaze the second you walked into a room, who found the quickest way to end every conversation you tried to start, doesn’t want to be apart from you for even a minute.

You sink into the mattress next to him, bodies turned towards each other. His breaths continue to hitch with his cries. It’s like he’s letting out all the tears that he’s repressed tonight.

You find his hand and stroke it gently, fingers running over his swollen knuckles.

One of the last times someone tried to help Rafe was when the paramedics arrived on the side of the freeway. They were asking him if anything hurts. If he could slowly get out of the car.

The rain was falling from the dark sky in hard, heavy drops and he had to shout for them to hear him. He kept telling them to check on his mom. They told him someone was already with her. He told them they should all be checking up on her and not him because he was fine but she wasn’t breathing.

“What are you thinking?” you ask. After a moment, he answers.

“It never gets easier,” Rafe says, his tone teetering on whimpering. His grief is still eating him alive. It never stopped.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, your tears hot against your cheeks. “Did you… ever get any help? Anyone to talk to?”

“No. At the beginning…” His mind flashes through how much the therapist he saw after it happened reminded him of his mother. Since he was ten, all he’s done is run from every reminder. “No. I couldn’t.”

You inch closer to him, holding his hand tighter, your legs tangling together.

“How about your family?” you ask.

Rafe can’t do this.

“Distract me,” he whispers. “Please distract me.”

You scramble to find something, anything to talk about. You think back to the start of the summer and the hopes you had before your ex started tormenting you both in and out of your relationship.

“I haven’t been off the island as much as I’d like to,” you begin. You press your hand against his chest to feel his heart, gauging if your words are helping. “I was thinking to go into the mainland some more this summer.“

You start to talk about how you’ve daydreamed about seeing what kinds of things the world has to offer across the water.

Rafe shuts his eyes, letting your sweet voice permeate the air, filling him with a quiet warmth like it always does.

You chase away the demons when you speak to him like this. You short-circuit the painful thoughts that rush through his head. You blur the terrifying images he sees. And it’s so much better than any drug he could ever take.

Slowly, you feel the pounding in his chest recede into softer, further apart thumps. His breaths are still sharp, but his sobs aren’t as hard. You comforted him like this when you were kids and it grants you a sense of pride that you can still soothe him.

Minute after minute, Rafe’s crying loses its intensity, and finally, he dozes off with your hand pressed against his sternum.

Your eyes gently flutter shut. The sound of his deep breathing alleviates you after what may have been one of the worst days you’ve ever had. You fall asleep feeling the pulse of a boy who lost his innocence too soon.

Rafe can’t remember the last time he slept so deeply. He drifts into consciousness feeling rested for the first time in ages.

You’re facing him, your hand cupped around his, his knuckles up to your lips as you sleep. He watches you in awe.

At some point in the night, he remembers shuffling awake and feeling your lips press against his sore hand, kissing him and calming him in your dazed state.

Rafe looks at the way your eyelashes curl over your closed eyelids. You were so patient with him, letting him cry as hard and as long as he needed to.

Can he actually do this? Can he have you in his life in a real capacity, instead of just inside this arrangement to keep you safe? Can he let you in while keeping something so painful from you?

You still don’t know the whole of it. He never wants you to. He’s not sure what to do, so he slowly shifts out of your soft bed.

It’s a few minutes past nine when you make your way downstairs. Rafe is sitting in the front room. You had hoped he’d stay in bed with you this time.

“What time are you meeting the lawyer today?” he asks once he sees you.

“Ten.”

“I’m going with you,” he says. He told you he wouldn’t leave your side and he’s not breaking his promise.

You nod, staring at him. It feels like there’s distance between you again. Does he regret last night?

“How are you?” you ask quietly, leaning against the wall.

Rafe’s eyes flit to you. When he sees the sorrow in your expression, he tells you the good instead of the bad.

“Had a good sleep,” he tells you. He looks away again. “Thanks for…”

“Of course,” you say once you realize he won’t finish his sentence. “Any time.”

Rafe rubs his knees, his hands running over the denim of his jeans, remembering how you took them off for him last night. It’s embarrassing to think about how he broke down in front of you.

“I need to go home,” he says, “to shower and get some clean clothes. I’ll come back.”

You watch him leave and you lock the door behind him. Maybe he’s just uncomfortable after everything last night. You try not to let it get to you. But it gets to you. Because it’s Rafe and his effect on you has always been to impossible to avoid.

You arrive at the lawyer’s office in your car with Rafe in the driver’s seat. You asked not to take his bike simply because driving out in the open like that was daunting. Your nerves are sitting heavy in your stomach. It still feels unbelievable that Ty has gone so far that you had to get the law involved.

Rafe asks you if you want him in the office with you. You do.

You settle across the desk of the kind-faced lawyer, your hands clasped tightly together. She tells you how sorry she is about your circumstances and that your court date has been set for a week from today.

She explains the process of getting a permanent protective order and goes through the evidence you have. Rafe looks over at you every so often, his chest pinching from how worried you look.

“Do you have any questions?” she says.

“The police told me that if he violates the order, I should report it,” you say. “Is there someone on the case I can call? Or should I go to the station? Or the courthouse?”

She shakes her head in disappointment, looking genuinely sympathetic of your situation.

“What happened?” she asks. “I can relay it to the police. You don’t have to worry about going to them. I’m here to make this easier for you.”

“Thank you,” you say. “He ran up to me last night, yelling about how I went to the cops. I think he was going to…” You look at Rafe, your lips twisting. “I think he was going to hurt me but my friend stopped him.”

You wonder if friend is a generous title for what Rafe is to you. Or maybe not generous enough.

“He knew you went to the police last night?” she says. “I called them before our meeting. Your ex-boyfriend was informed of the temporary order this morning.”

Your body flushes. Ty didn’t know about the court order last night. But he knew you went to the police.

“He was probably following me yesterday and watched me go to the police station,” you realize, eyes darting to Rafe again. “I didn’t… I didn’t see him. Did you?”

“No,” he says. He was extra vigilant yesterday. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

“The parking lot wasn’t that full,” you stammer. “I didn’t notice a car following us or anything. How did…”

It hits you. Maybe he hasn’t been tailing you like you thought. Maybe he’s had another way to know where you were without having to be there.

“What if he’s… tracking me somehow?” you ask the lawyer. “That’s illegal, right?”

“Yes,” she tells you. “He’d be criminally charged.”

You look down at your lap. Just like yesterday, fear makes you feel like you’re leaving your own body.

You pull your phone out of your pocket. It’s the only thing you have with you constantly. He could’ve put something in it. You stare at it in your shaking hand.

But why did you find footprints in front of your house a few nights ago when a tracking device would have told him that you were at a party down the street? What reason would he have to be creeping around your empty home?

Unless it isn’t in your phone. It has to be in something else you own. Your mind is racing. Your car was parked in front of your home that night. You walked to the party. Maybe Ty thought you skipped out on it. That you were home alone.

The footprints never made sense. Until now.

“Could it be somewhere in my car?” you ask her.

You struggle to keep your composure as the lawyer talks you through what would happen if they find something and link it to him. Depending on the judge, it could mean jail time.

You thank the lawyer when you leave, taking her advice to drive your car to the police station and have an officer search it.

It all happens so fast. You watch two cops inspect your car. You hear one of them mumble “I think I found something” to his coworker. Your stomach drops.

Rafe is standing next to you the entire time and when he sees the small, white box dropped into a plastic evidence bag, he has to step away for a second, pinching the bridge of his nose in anger and disbelief.

There was nothing, nothing you could have done to deserve any of the shit this creep put you through. Learning that he was aware of your every move for who knows how long makes Rafe’s skin crawl. Beating the shit out of him last night wasn’t enough.

You’re silent when you leave the station. Rafe keeps looking over at you as he grips the steering wheel.

You’re gazing ahead, your stare distant, your body curled like you’re trying to make yourself smaller so nobody can see you.

He’s livid that the cops didn’t think to investigate further. You had to come to the conclusion yourself that your ex was tracking you.

“It’s their job to figure this kind of shit out, but you had to do it for them,” he mutters angrily. “And they seriously told him to stay away from you just this morning?”

“Yeah,” you say flatly. You’re in a fugue state. Your heart is racing. It’s hard to breathe. Your skin feels cold.

“Did you eat?” Rafe says.

You shake your head no.

“You need to eat.”

“So do you.”

“Don’t worry about me right now,” he says with a huff.

“I’m always going to worry about you,” you say absentmindedly. Your words are so simple, but they make his stomach go numb.

You approach a red light. Rafe taps his thumb against the wheel. He needs to make things better.

“We’ll pick some food up, alright?” he says.

You feel your phone buzz in your pocket. When you see you missed a call from your dad, it’s what pulls you back into reality.

“I have to call my dad back,” you mumble. You rub your forehead in frustration. You can understand why Rafe always wants to be distracted. It’s so much easier than dealing with a scary, painful reality.

“Do you want me to talk to him?” he asks.

You almost tell him he doesn’t have to. But he knows he doesn’t. Finally, you accept that Rafe isn’t just looking out for you only because he feels like he needs to. He wants to.

“He’s not going to believe that we’re…” you trail off.

In this second, Rafe decides having you in his life is worth reliving any echos of the past. He’ll just bury the truth deep enough that he’ll forget it exists. He can do it.

“Friends again?” he says.

You meet his eyes and when your lips pull into a small smile, so do his. You don’t have to wonder if he’s still stuck in the idea that this will only be temporary anymore. It’s a ray of light in the darkness that’s become your life.

A car honks impatiently behind you and Rafe looks ahead to see that the light turned green. At the same moment he groans “shut up” to them, you mutter “relax”, and you both chuckle at your shared frustration.

Rafe pays for the takeout and when you arrive home, you sit at the kitchen island together to eat. You don’t have much of an appetite, but you take as many bites of your lunch as you can to gain the courage to call your dad.

“I think I can do it,” you say, picking up your phone. Rafe nods and watches you with softened eyes as you put the phone on speaker. After a few rings, your father answers.

“Hi,” you say. You take a deep breath. “First of all, I’m safe, so you don’t need to worry. But I ended things with Ty after you left and he’s been taking the break-up really badly. I… had to get a restraining order yesterday. I know it sounds crazy-“

“What? Are you alright?” your father asks.

“I am.” Your eyes meet Rafe’s. “I found a lawyer. And Rafe’s been helping me through all of it. I’m with him right now.”

“Cameron?”

“Yes,” you say. You’re not sure what your dad may say about who he knows to be your estranged childhood friend, so you rush to your next sentence. “Can you come home?”

“Of course. I just told your mom to start looking for flights,” he responds. “Are you… a restraining order? How - what has Ty been doing?”

You suddenly don’t feel as capable to speak as you did minutes ago. Retelling it yet again feels agonizing. You look at Rafe in desperation. He holds his hand out to you and you pass him your phone.

You watch as Rafe speaks to your father, addressing him as sir, reassuring him that you’re not alone or hurt. He walks back and forth through your kitchen as he speaks.

You watch his tall figure pace in front of you. He has the sense to give your dad a watered down version of the past few days. He mentions how Ty has tried to get into contact with you and the tracker the cops found, but he leaves out things like last night’s fight.

“Thank you for looking out for her,” your dad eventually says with a worried sigh. Rafe’s eyes find yours.

“It’s no problem,” he responds.

After your father says the earliest flight they could find would have them arrive home at eleven p.m. tomorrow, he tries to reassure you, telling you it’ll all be fine.

You hang up and go back to trying to eat. Rafe sits beside you.

Curiosity starts to prick at Rafe. If you’re really going to be friends again, he’ll see your parents around more often. Your dad sounded appreciative on the phone, but maybe he was just being polite. He’s not so sure they like him.

“Do your parents ever ask about me?” Rafe asks.

“They used to,” you say. “But I asked them to stop a long time ago.”

His eyes remain focused on you. He’s waiting for details.

“I just said we grew apart,” you add. “I didn’t want to tell them you wouldn’t talk to me.”

Rafe looks away in shame. The fact that you haven’t told them what really happened reminds him of what he heard the day you were in Sarah’s room. You never let anyone say anything bad about him. She always knew you liked him.

Rafe’s heart-rate quickens at the idea of you having those kinds of feelings for him. While his sister probably only said that because she’s under the impression you’re dating, the thought of you feeling the same thrill he does when you touch won’t leave his head.

It feels good to imagine you liking him like that. And he’s used to chasing whatever feels good, so he’ll allow himself to feed the delusion.

“I’ll be different,” Rafe says. “I won’t act like that anymore.”

You smile. Things don’t feel as cold as before. Not even close.

“Good,” you say. “I don’t know how we can be friends if you do.”

Rafe’s dimples dip into his cheeks when he smirks, relieved but not surprised that you’re being so compassionate.

The sight of his smile makes your problems feel a hundred times lighter.

After the takeout containers are empty and in the trash, Rafe cocks his head as he looks at you, more nervous that he thought he’d be to propose this.

“You said you wanted to get off the island,” he says. “Let’s go.”

“Now?” you say with a laugh.

“Now.”

You recognize Rafe’s family’s boat bobbing in the gentle water when you reach the docks after a quick drive to the marina. The afternoon sun is hidden by clouds, adding gusts to the warm summer air.

Rafe is quick getting the boat ready for departure. You sit on the bench behind the helm, watching him start the boat and navigate into the dark blue sea.

After a few minutes of quiet, the only sound being the rippling water and humming motor, you stand beside Rafe, seeing the coast in the far distance.

“We don’t have to dock anywhere if you’re cool with that,” you tell him. “Honestly, it feels really good to be out here.”

“You don’t want to go to the mainland?”

“No,” you tell him, an uncontrollable smile on your face. “This is better.“

You step out to the bow, leaning over the point of the boat. Rafe can’t keep his eyes off of you as you stand ahead of him. In this moment, finally, he’s not in the past. He’s living in the here and now.

You look back at him every so often, the smile on your face so beautifully genuine that it makes him swear he’ll do whatever it takes for you to smile like that as much as possible.

It’s nearing sunset when you get back to the docks. It feels so easy to be with Rafe. It’s like you’re kids again, no discomfort or sorrow or anger between you, just two souls that don’t need to second-guess if the other wants to be there.

“I’m exhausted,” you say as you both enter your house.

“From what?” Rafe teases, watching you reset the security system as he shuts the door. “I drove the whole time.”

“Does it have to be a competition of who’s more tired?”

“Yeah. It does,” he responds, stepping close to you as you punch in the numbers.

“You really haven’t changed at all,” you say with a happy shake of your head, turning to face him.

“What’s that mean?” Rafe asks, his tone low and amused.

“It means you always wanted to win at everything.” You cross your arms and tilt your chin to look up at him, taking in the way his windswept hair has fallen over his forehead. You want to brush it back.

“What’s so bad about that?”

“It’s just an observation.”

“What else have you observed?” Rafe asks.

He lifts his arm to lean against the wall, tilted over you. Your eyes drag over the planes of his handsome face, wondering if it’s just you that feels like you’ve been angling towards flirting with each other all day.

“About you?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says, squinting in a self-assured way.

Just a few nights ago, it still felt odd having him in your home, standing right here, but now, it feels natural. Rafe slipped back into your life, nearly effortlessly. You’re sure it’s because you’ve always held a place for him in it in case he ever wanted to come back.

“You’re just as protective as you were then,” you say. “No. More protective, actually.”

You don’t think the Rafe you knew before the accident would have ever resorted to violence. But you don’t tell him that.

“You’re honest,” you say, a grin on your face. “And fun. And I think you have a ridiculously strong sense of responsibility. How am I doing?”

Rafe looks down, his tongue jutting beneath his cheek as he huffs a chuckle.

“Only for you,” he says solemnly.

“What?”

“I only feel a sense of responsibility for you,” he says. He gazes at you again. “Before you came asking for help, I really didn’t give a shit about anything.”

You almost have to steady yourself. Your playful smile drops, your lips parted even though you can’t think of anything to say.

You stand in the moment together, facing each other, eyes locked.

A few nights ago, he snapped at you, saying that you don’t know him. But you think you do. Because the way he’s staring right now, almost slack-jawed, looks like he’s looking into a mirror for the first time.

You’re frozen, but if he makes a move, even leans forward an inch, you know you’d close the distance.

He doesn’t, though. So, you step back.

“I need to shower,” you say with a short laugh. “I smell like the sea. Do you wanna have dinner after?”

Rafe nods, offering you a tight smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

You replay the day in your head as you shower. Mostly, you replay the moments you caught Rafe looking at you. You knew you always had love for him in your heart, and over these past few days, you can’t deny that it’s grown stronger.

And you wonder, and hope, that maybe the friends thing isn’t an official title. Because you want more.

You change into fresh clothes in your bedroom and head out into the hallway. When you round the corner, Rafe is coming up the last few steps of the staircase.

“Hi,” you say, approaching him to stand only a foot away for him. You place your hand on the bannister, mostly just to have something to do while your stomach flutters.

He stares down at you, the smell of your shampoo now committed to his memory. He’s been overthinking downstairs, aimlessly striding around, unsure if you feel the pull between you too, but so damn willing to take the risk.

Maybe you’ll shoot him down. But not knowing for sure actually hurts at this point.

“What?” you ask with a smile. “You okay?”

Rafe’s eyes search your face.

“I…” he begins. Rafe steps forward, mainly to see if you tense up and move away. But you don’t. “I can’t stop thinking about…”

“About what?”

“When we kissed the other night.”

The air goes thick, your throat suddenly dry. You remember how intoxicating it was kissing him. How it was just a tactic to chase away his friends. How hard it was accepting that it was all for show.

“I have to know,” he rasps. “Did you feel anything or was it just me?”

Your eyes fall to his lips. You’ve gotten used to things not feeling real by now, but not in a good way. This is like you’re living in a dream.

“It wasn’t just you,” you find the courage to say.

It’s all Rafe needs to hear. He leans forward. His lips brush against yours. Your breath catches.

You’re floating in the feeling of him on the cusp of kissing you. Finally, he closes what little distance remains, capturing your lips softly, gently, alleviating the years of pain you both held for so long in a way words never can.

His mouth is hot, his hands skimming over your hips as your lips weave together. Your heart pounds even faster when you feel his tongue dip into your mouth, running over yours.

You pull him in closer by his shoulders, impatient. Rafe can’t stop his groan when he feels your torso curve against his. He needs this. He needs you. A fire in him has been set alight and he’ll go as far as you’ll let him.

“Can we go to your room?” he mumbles, his nose nudging yours, the weight of his words not missed by either of you.

“Yes,” you whisper. You begin to step backwards, pulling him with you.

You settle on your bed, the hallway light spilling into the room, and lie on your back as he hovers on top of you.

Your kisses are growing deeper and hungrier. Rafe can’t believe this is happening. He feels nothing but fortunate right now, and he hasn’t felt like luck has ever been on his side.

He dips to kiss your neck and you run your hands through his soft hair, realizing your breaths have become short and eager. It feels so right to have him on top of you like this.

Rafe’s lips are soft as he trails kisses over your skin. Your arms hook around his body, drawing him in closer, allowing you to feel him growing under his jeans.

He stills for a moment in case it’s too much for you, but you roll your hips beneath him, and the fact that you want him as badly as he wants you makes sparks erupt through him.

One arm holds him up while the other moves over your side, fingers hooking below the hem of your shirt.

“Is this okay?” he huffs against your neck as he starts to drag his hand up under your shirt. You nod and your skin blooms in goosebumps when he reaches your chest, gently palming you.

He sharply inhales as he feels over your bra, starting to rock against you.

“Am I going too fast?” Rafe whispers. He couldn’t forgive himself if he made you uncomfortable, even for a second.

“No,” you say. “Don’t stop.”

His lips find yours again as he caresses you. Your hand trails down his firm body and when you close your fingers around his length over his jeans, he kisses you harder.

“How’s this?” you ask when you pull back, starting to stroke him slowly.

“Fuck,” Rafe says shakily. “That’s good.”

He captures your lips in his again as you touch each other so tenderly, both your chests heaving.

You feel his hand drag down your stomach and rest on your inner thigh, gently squeezing. The anticipation, the thirst you feel for him is overpowering.

You arch your back, inviting him to touch you where you need him most. When his palm grazes between your legs, the feeling makes him twitch in your hand.

He brushes against you with languid, sweet movements, kissing your lips over and over again. Slowly, his fingers go to the band of your pants.

“Yes,” you whisper before he can even ask.

When Rafe feels you completely, no barrier in the way, it’s like he’s drunk. Moans spill from your mouth as he caresses you, his fingertips moving with gentle glides. Everything about you is perfect, down to the sounds of pleasure you make.

You shift to unbutton his jeans and pull down his zipper, feeling him buck up against you. You finally wrap your hand around him and he groans.

You kiss each other over and over, lips moving eagerly while your hands move slowly. When you start to stroke him faster, he follows your pace.

You’re panting into each other’s mouths now and you finally let go, writhing beneath him as you meet your peak. Rafe is shuddering seconds later, euphoric in the climax you’ve given him.

You’re blissed out, skin covered in sweat as you lie next to him. You feel so weak and tired and happy, resting your head on his shoulder.

You wake up in darkness. You search for him next to you, but he’s gone.

When you go downstairs, you find Rafe sitting in the kitchen. Your eyes meet and you smile, albeit a little nervously about what just happened upstairs, about how you took your friendship to a new level you can’t come back down from.

“Another observation I’ve made,” you start to joke, “you always leave me to wake up alone. How long was I asleep?”

He cracks a smile, but you can see it’s disingenuous.

“Sorry,” he says. “Not long.”

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Rafe responds. The faraway look in his eyes tells you otherwise. You come closer, standing across from where he’s sitting.

“What is it? Tell me.”

“I can’t.” Rafe shakes his head. It’ll reopen a wound in him and cut open a new one in you. He should never tell you.

But your words from earlier ring in his head. You called him honest. And he’s not. He’s a liar. And now he’s derailing.

“Do you…” you begin. “Should we not have done that? Do you regret it?”

“No,” he answers quickly.

“Then, what is it?”

“Don’t…” Rafe looks away. “Don’t push. Please.”

Normally, you wouldn’t. You never have. But you feel painfully vulnerable. What you just shared was so meaningful. At least, to you it was. Why is he closed off again? Why do you deserve this?

“What’d I do?” you ask, your voice starting to tremble.

Rafe stands from his seat, raking his hand through his hair. He was sure he was strong enough to repress this. He’s always been an expert at escaping reality.

But being around you weakens him. He’s starting to panic, starting to feel his blood go hot.

Giving into his physical impulses upstairs made him lose any power he had left. He’s in love with you. He knows that for a fact. But how can you love someone while you also blame them for the worst thing that ever happened to you?

“I… I can’t,” he whispers.

“You can’t what?” you ask. “What’s wrong?”

“I never… I can’t tell you.” Rafe’s breaths get shallower. “I can’t tell you.”

You step in front of him, your hands softly resting on his chest.

“You can tell me anything,” you say.

“We can’t do this,” Rafe mutters.

“What do you mean?” you ask. Your heart breaks all over again. “Don’t go back to treating me like this. Please.”

“We can’t do this,” he repeats.

He’s losing it. He can’t leave the house. He’s here to keep you safe. But he doubts he could even drive right now if he had the opportunity. And he has no substances running through his veins, dampening the pain.

He has nothing.

“Why?” you ask, dread filling you, tears starting to form. “Why? Whatever it is, we can talk about it and fix it.”

“You can’t fix this.”

“Why?”

“Because it already happened.”

“What are you talking about?” Your tone is frantic now.

“It already happened!” he shouts.

Rafe’s stomach twists with self-hatred when he sees you falter, your eyes widening with shock. He startled you. He’s scaring you, just like your ex does.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. His hands find your face, his thumbs stroking over your cheekbones. “Let’s forget it, okay? Let’s have some dinner and forget it.”

But you’re already crying.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“What already happened?” you ask. You’re not sure if it’s just anxiety crawling up your body or a painful sense of intuition. But something tells you that whatever he has to say will shatter you.

“Rafe,” you say. “Please tell me.”

He drops his hands. You’re begging now. He’s infuriated that he couldn’t just keep it together. The loss, the heartbreak, the regret fills him all at once.

“We were…” He looks away. He can’t bear to see your face when he says it. “We were in the car because of you.”

(part eight)

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[strawbeerossi]

You Think, Genius?

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Description: Being friends with Spencer Reid is an adventure within itself. Movie nights are no exception.

Content/Warnings: Friends type humor, tension, mention of food/food fight, best friends to lovers trope, heavy kissing, very sweet smut (wild because I hardly write that, I feel like lmao).

Word Count: 2.7k

Anon Request: spencer reid x sarcastic funny reader? not mean but like kinda like Chandler from friends humour? with earlish seasons reid (season 3/4)ish cute smut. ADDING TO THE SARCASTIC!READER SHE AND SPENCE HAVE A BESTFRIENDS TO LOVERS ARC 🫶🫶

Navigation || Criminal Minds Masterlist || Request

RIP Matthew Perry, thank you for playing the king of sarcasm and being my inspiration for this. 🩷

“Serial killers and childhood neglect have actually been linked together for years. Some of the most notorious serial killers were abused in some shape or fashion at home. Which makes sense whenever you take into account how easy it is to psychologically break a person and cause them to shut down, children being more receptive than most adults.” Spencer rambled on about some study he had been reading about.

Everyone was mostly tuned out besides you, your left hand holding the travel size cereal box up in clear view, your eyes wide. “That explains why I can’t stop eating this cereal! My mom made my life a living hell and now, all I think about is cereal. Oh god.” You said in a sarcastic tone, causing Derek to chuckle from his desk.

“She’s a cereal killer.” He joked while you both were giggling, making Spencer look between you and Derek, a confused expression on his face.

“She’s not a serial killer. I don’t think she’d be working here if she was one.”

The laughter continued on at your coworker’s obliviousness. “No, Spence,” JJ shook her head as she approached your chair, gently taking the little box before holding it up. “The joke is that she’s eating cereal. Cereal killer.” The blonde explained as you were turning back to Spencer.

“Oh, it’s no joke. I’ve got six bodies in my apartment right now. Just waiting to get home to do away with them.” You continued on, a little snort leaving your lips as you were getting your cereal back.

As you were pushing a handful in your mouth, you watched as Spencer looked at you with his head tilted to the side. “You haven’t killed anyone. I know that for a fact. You’re too nice.” He said while he was tapping his pen against his desk, JJ let out a huff and waved him off before she was walking away from your desk to get to her office.

“Isn’t there such a thing as killing people with kindness? That is my big move. I will be nice to them and boom,” You punched the palm of your hand to appear menacing. “I go in for the kill.”

Spencer was shaking his head with a soft giggle at the mere idea of it, your sarcasm slowly seeping through the cracks in an obvious way where he could see it.

“Right. How foolish of me to not understand it.” He joked softly while looking back down to the page he’d been doodling on. Your humor was new to Spencer, something he wasn’t really used to. You were a very sarcastic person, hardly ever having a conversation without injecting the encounter with your wit and sarcasm. He was still pretty clueless with it, however he felt he was getting better. Especially now that you had him saying his own sarcastic phrases at random times. It was weird for the rest of the team seeing the way you’d slowly brought Spencer out of that little bubble he was used to.

He was always the one who didn’t understand jokes or take sarcasm, appearing confused a good chunk of his career from the jokes and lighthearted banter. Being friends with you was a good way to learn how to understand though, which was why he was so lucky that you were his best friend.

“I was thinking of watching a movie. Do you wanna join me?” You asked, packing up your things as you looked over at Spencer as he raised an eyebrow.

“Tonight?” He asked, making you shake your head.

“No. Next week.” You answered with a deadpan expression while he crinkled his nose.

“You’re.. Being sarcastic..” He began while you rolled your eyes fondly with a smile.

“You think, genius? Come on, are you gonna come over or not?” You asked while putting your bag over your shoulder.

“I don’t see why not. Can we watch that new show that’s airing tonight?” He asked curiously, already following you out of the bullpen. He knew you’d give him a ride rather than sending him to go on the metro and meet you there later.

“Sure. I’ve been interested in it anyway. The new sci-fi one, right?” You asked as you made it to the parking garage with him as you were both in search of your car.

“Yes! It actually looks very interesting because from what I’ve read, they don’t make up their own rules as they go. They are using actual scientific data and evidence.” He gushed while you were clapping your hands together.

“Like learning in school! Oh how I loved school!” You were laughing as he had taken notice of the sarcasm and nudged your arm.

“Seriously. It’s going to be great! You may not think it now but you’ll enjoy it while learning about the real world when it comes to tech and space exploration.”

“We’ll have to see about that Dr. Reid.”

The ride back to your apartment was peaceful, the sounds of some radio station filling the quiet atmosphere of the car as you passed by numerous street signs. The comfortable silence was something you liked, never needing to strike up a conversation to enjoy Spencer’s company. Even if he was just reading while you were on your phone.

Back at your apartment, you’d just gotten the channel you needed pulled up, having about ten minutes until the show was supposed to air. Spencer made sure to tape it back at his own apartment, wanting to go back and watch alone to fully appreciate the show for more than its entertainment quality.

“Do you want me to run to the kitchen and get snacks?”

“You don’t have to run, Reid. You can walk.”

“Ha ha. So funny. Snacks or not?”

You were waving him off with a little laugh, offering a smile. “Yeah, yeah. Please go get some snacks. I think I have a big bag of that buttered popcorn you’re obsessed with.”

Spencer practically skipped to the kitchen upon hearing the news, retrieving one of your mixing bowls from one of your cupboards. After filling it up generously with the snack of choice, he was stopped by the fridge to grab two water bottles. With the two cold beverages under his arm, he was hurrying to the living room.

“I think we are all set.” He beamed with pride while placing the bowl on the table.

“Perfect. You’re right on time. It should start after these commercials.” You informed him while leaning forward to get a handful of popcorn from the bowl. While pushing a piece of popcorn into your mouth, you were only raising an eyebrow when you felt a pair of eyes on you. “What?” You asked, head turning to face Spencer as he quickly put his hands up in self defense.

“Nothing! I just wanted to see if it was good, that's all.”

“Right. I hate to tell you this, it tastes like buttered garbage. I don’t think you should subject yourself to eating it.” You joked, picking up a piece before flicking it in his direction, his eyes widening as he felt the snack hit his cheek.

“That could’ve taken out my eye!”

“Too bad it didn’t. We could get you an eyepatch.”

That was when Spencer took it a step further, getting a small handful of popcorn before throwing it in your direction. He was too busy laughing at your expression that mirrored his shock from earlier, pieces of popcorn in your hair and some on the couch.

“Is it a war that you want?”

“Me? You started it! Call it returned fire.”

That kickstarted a popcorn fight that didn’t seem to let up. Spencer was reaching into the now empty bowl before letting his eyes widen. He had no more ammo yet you had two handfuls. He was done for.

“You can apologize and we can end this.” You warned, your body now propped up on your knees as you had eventually turned to face him on the couch. “Just one ‘I’m sorry’ can end this bloodshed.”

“Never.”

“Suit yourself, Reid.” You were winding back one hand whenever Spencer was moving quickly to grip your wrist. There was some screaming, some laughing, and eventually you were being wrestled down onto the couch.

“Drop it!” Spencer laughed, both of your wrists being pinned down. “You do that and this will be all over.”

“No way.” You laughed, panting as you were being pinned down, some of Spencer’s long hair tickling the skin of your cheeks. You had both been in that position for a few more minutes before things calmed down, leaving you and the man above you to stare at one another and wait to reach a stalemate.

There was a growing tension, your faces only inches apart as he had you trapped between his body and the couch. Those beautiful eyes were looking down at you, almost as if Spencer was using the close proximity to take in every feature on your face. It was enough to make your face flush, cheeks hot from his gaze fixed on you and only you. The sound of the opening credits for the show you were supposed to be watching was playing in the background yet you could only look at each other.

There wasn’t a beat missed as he leaned down, lips against yours in a soft, yet cautious kiss. He felt like he had to play it safe, although the way you were feverishly returning the kiss told him all that he needed to know.

There was a fiery passion as your lips slotted together, almost as if they were made for one another. Your hands were moving to tangle in his hair, legs now wrapped around his waist as you both gave in to your urges that were always bubbling under the surface for however long you’d known the loveable genius.

It felt right, in a way. The way your were wrapped in one another’s embrace while having a moment of passion that you never expected to happen. However you had to admit, this was better than you ever thought.

Spencer was pulling out of the kiss, face flushed as he stared down at you with a shy smile. “It felt right. I’m sorry.” He whispered, only being pleased with the way you responded by pulling him down to connect your lips again, wanting to savor another moment as if he were going to disappear in thin air if you let him get too far.

The kiss had escalated soon enough, both of your clothes in a pile on the floor as you were tangled up on the couch, nothing but underwear separating you from each other. “Are you sure that you want this?” Spencer soon asked, his forehead against yours. Your friendship was always special to him, so naturally, he was worried about preserving those positive memories and the relationship as a whole.

“Definitely sure. I’ve thought about this for years.” For once, you were genuine. There was no hint of sarcasm dripping from your tone. That’s how he knew this was serious. “I’ve always loved you. I know you know that because I tell you all the time but it’s.. It's different than loving your best friend.”

Your confession had Spencer’s cheeks bright red, head nodding slowly to show he was paying attention. “Y-yeah. I love you more than a friend too.” He said slowly while he was bringing his hands down your hips, his fingertips tracing over your hot skin as he was hooking his fingers in the waistband of your panties.

Your hips lifted to assist him tugging your underwear down, your own cheeks hot from being exposed in one of your most intimate areas. It wasn’t like you hadn’t had sex before and you had confidence when you did but this seemed different.

“I need.. Hold on.” Spencer began while pushing himself up a bit, your watching with a raised eyebrow as you propped yourself up on your elbows. He went for his slacks, getting his wallet.

“Are you gonna pay me for this?”

“What?! No! I-I just..” He began, shuffling through the wallet before he was pulling a condom from one of the wallet folds.

“You have a condom? You were planning for this?”

“No! I have.. I asked Derek for one. Obviously not for tonight but I had to be prepared!” He said quickly while tossing his wallet on the table.

You didn’t tease him any farther, instead your eyes gazing over his body as he was shimmying out of his boxers while standing. Just kissing you had his cock semi-hard, his hand wrapping around his shaft to give a few pumps in order to complete the process although it wasn’t too hard with the anticipation of what was to come tonight.

After sliding on the contraception, he was heading over to get settled between your legs. His eyes were glancing over your glistening pussy, your arousal shining in the dim light of the living room. “Wow.” He whispered, hand moving between your thighs as his thumb pressed against your throbbing clit. The pressure alone was enough to make your mouth go slack.

“Fuck.” You breathed while feeling the pad of his thumb start to rub your clit, your arousal coating it with each swipe. He was taking his time with teasing you, at least.

When he was finished with massaging the bundle of nerves and he couldn’t hold back any more, he was grabbing his cock before lining his tip along with your entrance, thick tip breaching your slick cunt as he was slowly pushing into you when you were both ready enough.

There was a pleasurable burn as he was stretching out your inner walls, your hands tightly gripping onto his shoulders as you pulled his body down onto yours just to feel his skin against yours. It was oddly more intimate than you could’ve expected, even with him staying perfectly still with his cock nestled deep inside of you.

There was a soft gasp leaving your lips when he gave a slow thrust, just testing the waters for now as he didn’t wanna go too crazy before you were ready. He didn’t plan on going super hard anyway, that wasn’t who he was. “You alright?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Keep going.” You urged.

Once you proved comfortable enough due to your persistence, Spencer’s thrusts began to pick up a steady pace and rhythm. Your moans were enough encouragement for him to feel confident enough in the act, not shying away from you as much as anyone would’ve expected.

They rhythmic sound of his skin slapping against yours coupled with your gasps, shaky breaths and moans were filling the living room, the long forgotten show still filling the background noise. Spencer had since embraced you, one arm wrapped under your frame as the other kept himself pushed up over you. He just wanted to feel you close, to hold you as he made love to you.

It was beautiful to him, the way you were holding him and keeping him close in return. It was like you were the only people in the world, no responsibilities other than being close to one another. The warmth of your flushed skin against his was all he needed to be happy.

It was a dream, essentially. A dream so vibrant that Spencer didn’t want it to end, even if he knew that realistically he couldn’t be in a dreamland forever.

As he was torn from his thoughts at the feeling of your hands on his cheeks, he was offering you a smile as you were locking eyes with one another. “I love you.” He said softly, repeating what you’d both confessed earlier while leaning down to press his lips against yours.

It was after the fact whenever you were finally speaking again, body sitting up from the spot you were in on the couch as Spencer had retreated to the kitchen to dispose of the used condom. “Do you wanna come take a shower with me? No funny business.” You put your hands up in defense.

“No. It’s too personal for me to see you naked.” For the first time, Spencer was the one to be sarcastic with you, making you both burst into laughter.

“I’ve taught you well. Come on.”

[breadbrobin]

“doc”

luke castellan x reader ��� percy jackson and the olympians

[child of apollo reader, should be gender neutral]

i tried to write a summary but it sucked so: reader is a child of apollo and luke is always hanging around the infirmary with a new injury. you hate it (do you really?)

(this got so out of hand but im so obsessed with luke castellan rn it’s not even funny. like. help.)

warning: like one or two swear words, mentions of injuries and illness, fluff i think

word count: 1.2k

____________________

you’d never been a fan of luke castellan. you knew it, he knew it—hell, everyone at camp knew it.

but a little unfriendliness never stopped him.

children of apollo were meant to be warm and kind all the time, but you’d rather die before being happy-go-lucky all the time like your siblings. you’d rather do your job: healing the campers who injured themselves throughout the days at camp. you’d also rather those campers not include luke castellan for once, but not all wishes can come true.

scarcely a day could pass by without luke coming into the infirmary, or coming up to you elsewhere in camp if you weren’t there, with a minor injury that he insisted needed healing immediately.

“i just don’t think i can continue kayaking with a sprained ankle, y/n.”

“what if it was your knees you skinned? wouldn’t you want to get them healed so you could get back to arts and crafts?”

“if my cut finger isn’t healed as soon as possible i’ll have to sit capture the flag out tomorrow! yes, i know it’s a paper cut. that’s not the point!”

he really was ridiculous.

either way, you had to heal him, technically. at your heart, you were a good person. on the surface, you wanted to punch him. give him something to really cry about.

“y/n, your boyfriend’s here again.” one of your sisters, cassidy, called out to you as you checked the stock of bandaids.

you rolled your eyes, not even bothering to correct her. “what this time?”

“i just have the worst headache, doc. it’s killing me.” luke said dramatically, holding his forehead. the small grin on his face didn’t support his statement at all.

you turned around, eyes wide and face serious, but trying not to smirk. “oh no, you might have meningitis! if it’s the worst headache of your life, we should get to you a hospital so they can do a spinal tap and run some tests.”

the grin on his face faltered as you pulled him to a seat. “uh—“

“lie down. don’t move. i’m going to get chiron.”

he gripped your arm. “no, wait, i think—“

“you’ll be fine?” you turned around with raised brows. “yeah, thought so. drink some water, castellan.”

“but—“

“what? you won’t be able to do sword fighting practise with a headache? big deal.”

“y/n—“

“you need to stop coming in here every time you get bored. we’re not an entertainment space.”

“but, i really do have a headache. like. a migraine.”

you stopped and turned back around, dropping the bandages you had been organising. “oh. shit, i’m sorry. hold on.”

cursing yourself internally, you rushed off to get nectar to hopefully help, along with some painkillers and a bottle of chilled water. when you came back, luke was lying on the bed, eyes closed.

“you okay, soldier?” you patted his shoulder gently.

he cracked one eye open and nodded. “kind of.”

you gently pulled him to sit up. “come on. gotta get some meds in you. eat any food today? drink enough water?”

he shook his head as he sipped the nectar, his eyes squinted. “got busy.”

you shot him a disapproving look and he smiled guiltily. “you need to eat or you’ll die. do you want to die?”

he looked up at you with furrowed brows. “you don’t have a very good bedside manner, you know?”

“then why do you keep coming back here?” you went back to organising bandages, busying your hands.

“i like my doctors prettier than they are kind, honestly.”

you froze your movements and looked over at him. luke was smiling slightly. your cheeks weren’t turning red, you told yourself. they weren’t allowed to. “whatever,” you finally said. “take your meds, drink all of that water—sip it, don’t chug—then get some sleep, alright?”

he nodded, taking a sip of the water. “yes, doc. got it.”

you nodded at him firmly and walked off once he’d taken the painkillers, hoping he couldn’t see right through you.

luke hadn’t been to the infirmary in a week, and you were genuinely starting to get concerned.

every free moment you got, you were staring at the door, or out the window, waiting for him to come in with some stupid injury and even more stupid excuse. but he didn’t.

after watching you pace for the seventh time in one morning, cassidy groaned. “just go find him.”

“i’m sure he’s fine.” you said, wringing your hands. “i mean, he’s probably just busy.”

“just go. you’re stressing me out. i can’t get anything done with you filling the room with your nervous energy. go find your boyfriend.”

“luke’s not my boyfriend.”

“i never said who it was.”

“well, it was pretty obvious—“

“just go!” she threw a bandage at your head, effectively forcing you out the door.

you didn’t even know where he was.

camp was huge, so it took you around twenty minutes to find him, he sun glaring into your eyes and likely burning your cheeks. regardless, you were on a mission. finally, you spotted him in the arena. of course.

you watched for a while until he noticed you, standing in the shade with your eyes squinted in the sun and your arms crossed over your chest. he grinned and jogged over.

“hey, doc. what brings you here?” he asked, sheathing his sword.

your eyes followed the precise movement. “why haven’t you been to the infirmary?”

he shrugged. “i haven’t been injured.”

“didn’t stop you before.”

there was a silence.

then he smiled again. “did you miss me?”

your cheeks burned. “no!” you cleared your through awkwardly. “i just… i get… bored. and you… keep the monotony away.”

“you missed me.”

“i did not miss you.”

he leaned closer, rocking back and forth on his feet. “you missed me.”

you glared up at him, but couldn’t fight the tiny smile that forced itself on your lips. you shook your head, pressing your lips together tightly. “nope. didn’t miss you.”

“well,” he shrugged. “guess i don’t need to tell you that i did actually just hurt my hand while training, huh?”

you frowned. “are you aware that consuming as much nectar and ambrosia as you seem to want to will cause you to burn to a crisp?”

“i don’t need godly food if i have you as my doctor.” he smiled cheekily, clenching his fist then wincing. “seriously, though. it hurts.”

“aw, poor baby.” you pouted, leaning forward and placing your hand on his and trying to feel if there was any injury present.

before you could do anything, his fingers had interlocked with yours and he was stepping closer to you.

you looked up at him, heart pounding and cheeks burning. “what are you—“

“i don’t know what we can do for a date around here, but i’d love to take you on one, doc.” he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

you froze, heart fluttering. butterflies danced in your stomach. you found yourself nodding before you could stop yourself, smiling. “okay. yeah. take me on a date, soldier.”

“yeah?” he smiled, squeezing your hand. “great! i’ve been trying to work up the guts to ask you for weeks now. also, can i kiss you?”

“i’ve been trying to pretend i didn’t want you to ask me for weeks.” you said, stepping slightly closer to him. “also… yes.”

his free hand cupped your cheek and his lips pressed to yours, soft and sweet.

you wondered why you ever said you didn’t like him.

[trans-androgyne]

For men having a rough time right now, my friends and I have put together a couple reminders:

1) You are not a monster. Nothing in your nature predisposes you towards violence. Your presence does not harm others and there are people who love having you in their space. Yes including around women. Yes including around children. You are not inherently dangerous, you are a person just like everyone else. Your body is not a weapon.

2) You don’t have anything to prove. You don’t have to be strong. You don’t have to serve and protect others if you don’t want to. Even women. You don’t deserve to be treated as a punching bag for others’ anger or trauma at the hands of the patriarchy, and it’s not okay for them to take it out on you. You deserve to be protected too.

3) Your emotions matter. All of your emotions. Your anger isn’t dangerous. You can be sad and hurt and jealous and guilty and a million other things and express them in whatever way you need, all without being less of a man or more of a threat. Women’s needs and emotions are equal to yours, not more important. You’re allowed to talk about sexism and other issues you experience as a man—it doesn’t make you anti-feminist and it sure as hell doesn’t make you weak. Being mistreated can hurt, and you can let yourself feel and process it.

4) Manhood can be wonderful—make it your own. You don’t have to be masculine if you don’t want to. You can present and act however femininely you want without being any less of a man. You can also be the most masculine person alive. Masculinity is not toxic by itself. Being masculine does not make you toxic. Being a man does not make you toxic. Nothing about you is inherently toxic. Your attraction is not immoral and being attracted to you isn’t either. Manhood is not a contagion. Be whatever kind of man you want to be, it is completely up to you.

There are people who love and care about you. I care about you deeply and as an intersectional trans feminist I will advocate for you until my last breath. This goes for every single man alive. Cis men, trans men, intersex men, multigender men, straight men, queer men, White men, men of color, disabled men, and more; every single one of you. You deserve care. Let us care for you.

[kitkatscabinet]

Always been you

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f! childhood friend reader

Summary: From the moment you first smiled at him as children Simon knew it would always be you.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: some nsfw content so minors keep scrolling

It starts like this, he’s 9 years old feet listlessly guiding himself to the rundown park desperate to be somewhere, anywhere that wasn’t the oppressive confines of home. The weather, as was typical of Manchester, wasn’t exactly cooperating. A dreary grey drizzle that served to keep most of the general populace indoors. Few parents were willing to stand outside and supervise their rowdy children. 

That’s not to say the area was completely devoid of activity and for a while Simon was content to sit idly on the swing set and people watch. Trying desperately to ignore the clench in his chest and the sting of tears in the corner of his eyes as he watched the loving interactions between child and parent. Bitterness and wanting in equal parts threatened to consume him. 

A voice from the side quickly pulls him from the harrowing thoughts, though he quickly thinks maybe they’d be easier to deal with. It’s a boy, around his age, maybe a little older and he’s boring like Simon’s deeply offended him. 

“Get off the swing, I want a turn.” The demand leaves Simon more than a little flabbergasted. Apparently, he takes too long to not follow the sudden command as the boy's face twists in even more displeasure. 

“I said, move!” He’s taller, and maybe it's because Simon had already been scared by Tommy that morning but he freezes. 

Or maybe it’s just because he’s pathetic, his father’s voice whispers traitorously in his mind. 

Thankfully, the thought doesn’t get to stick around for long as a new voice enters the fray. “Hey! Fuck off!” Both boys whirl around with wide eyes at the newcomer, neither sure how to respond to the loudly swearing girl. However, when the boy responds with what Simon assumes to be your name it becomes clear that you already know each other. 

“I don’t have to listen a girl.” That proves to be exactly the wrong thing to say, Righteous indignation lights up your face and before Simon can even blink the would-be bully is on the ground, clutching his nose with a cry. You’d punched him, hard enough that Simon could see the blood spilling out from over the crying boy’s hands and down his chin. Not wanting to suffer the same fate, Simon had let you pull on his hand, keeping it in a deceptively strong grip as you marched the two of them away. When you make it far enough from the crime scene you turn to him with a toothy grin, introducing yourself and promptly claiming the title of his new best friend. 

It’s not quite love at first sight, but years down the line Simon will recognise it as something close. 

The fourth time you meet at the park, not even two weeks from the initial greeting, you ask after his parents. It wasn’t unusual that Simon didn’t talk much, content to listen to you chatter away but you must have noticed something different in that instance of silence. You were alarmingly perceptive like that when it came to him, your eyes feeling as if they were staring directly into his soul, seeing all the shattered hurt he tried to hide. Nodding to yourself you grabbed his hand, an occurrence that he hadn’t quite gotten used to yet - your gentle touch, and tugged him along. You walk him all the way to your house, open the door with an excited bang and march straight up to your parents. 

“This is my best friend, Simon, he’s gonna sleep over tonight!” Your parents are rightfully not amused but their protests quickly die down. He has no idea what convinced them in the end, but from then on he’d somehow become a permanent fixture in your home. Dinners became a regular thing which often became sleepovers as you attempted to keep him out of the house that had caused him so much fear and pain. It was about as subtle as a brick to the face but Simon never complained, especially if it meant you’d pull him into your bed as often as possible to sleep. 

He hadn’t minded the first two ‘boyfriends’, they had been nothing serious, silly childhood infatuations. Because at the end of the day, it was always him that you returned to. Crawling through his window late at night and pouting that you couldn’t sleep without your favourite pillow, because somehow, despite his protests you always wrestled him into being the little spoon. 

No, it isn’t until he’s 17 and more than aware of how painfully in love with you he is that the boyfriends finally become a problem. Simon wasn’t a violent person, didn’t want to be, not like his father was. But as he holds you in his arms after you’d climbed through the window in tears, cuddling up to him under the blanket covering his bed that he swears for the first time in his life he could kill somebody. He offers too, you simply laugh and tell him he’s the best friend you could ever have. You think he’s joking, Simon’s not entirely sure he is. 

You’re his first kiss, something that had only occurred at your aghast knowledge that he’d never kissed anyone at all. He’s not sure why you’re surprised, you’re the only person he ever lets near him let alone touch him. It’s simultaneously the best and worst moment of his life because now he actually knows what it feels like to kiss you. Knows that nobody will ever live up to you. 

It’s then he realises that you’re his first everything really, first friend, first crush, first and only love. 

He reads some of your smutty books, the ones you giggle at, a secret he’ll take to the grave, just to learn what you like. It comes about after a drunken confession on your part, liquor loosening your lips just a tad too much as you detail how much your last boyfriend sucked in bed. It’s a mistake, because now every time he looks at you he can’t help but imagine the way you’d taste. How you’d sound begging so prettily for him. 

His decision to join the military was not made lightly, you’d gotten accepted into some fancy university and it’s then Simon starts to realise just how much his entire life has started to revolve around you. As much as he wants to follow, he knows that life isn’t for him, and he knows how much you want him to flourish in whatever path he chooses. 

Training isn’t easy, but it’s far from the hardest thing he’d ever done. That title was reserved for telling you about his chosen career path. 

“Promise me you’ll always come back home to me” you demand, parting just slightly from your hug to look into his eyes. Simon knows he shouldn’t, after all there’s never any guarantee that he will, but as has been the case since you were both 12 he can’t bare to say no to you. 

“I promise love” it’s barely a whisper but you still hear it, your fingers clutching at the back of his shirt starting to shake a little. 

He wants to kiss you, he always does, but standing before him now, eyes glassy from the tears you’re trying to hold back, Simon swears you’ve never looked more ethereal. As much as he wants to lean down and finally taste your lips he doesn’t, it wouldn’t be fair. Not to you or to him, so instead he presses a soft kiss to your hairline, keeping you held tightly against him. 

You send him more care packages than he can count, photos, letters and little trinkets he kept tucked safely away in his bunk or on his person when he could get away with it. He gets teased for it but Simon couldn’t give less of a fuck about their poorly hidden jealousy, not when you cared for him so deeply. Not when he gets to fall asleep with your words in his head and faint scent rubbing off on him. 

He’d thought that perhaps the distance would do him some good, would finally douse the blazing flames of his love for you. He really should have known better because as the day's drone on you start to consume his every thought both waking and asleep. His life becomes a series of training and missions that only serve as a way to pass the time until he gets to see you again. Because no matter how much blood stains his hands he knows you’ll always be there to wash it away. He’s aware how selfish it is, to place the brunt of his longing and emotional baggage that only continues to grow in your careful hands, but Simon’s never claimed to be a good man. 

Some of the darkness slips out one night, after his brother's wedding, after the revelry had died down and it was just the two of you lying on the grass and looking up at the stars at your insistence. He’ll forever blame it on the alcohol, descriptions of the violence he’d tried so desperately to keep from you pouring from his lips in confession. He can’t bear to look at you, heart roaring in his ears as he waits for the moment you’ll run, the moment you’ll finally realise what a monster he is. That moment never comes, instead, you ensnare him in your protective grip, hands cradling him far more softly than he deserves. It’s that moment that finally cements the fact that you’re never leaving in his mind. You’re never leaving so it’s up to him to pull away before he tarnishes your light, but Simon is weak and so he stays. 

It happens after his third tour, the one where he’d had too close a call, the one he’d thought for a few moments he wasn’t coming home from. In those moments he’d thought of you, of your smile and god he regretted. He regretted never telling you how he felt. 

It feels like he’s barely off the plane, eyes searching desperately for you before he hears the shout of his name. He spins just in time for you to launch yourself at his chest, gripping desperately onto him. You’ve always tried to keep your affection for him private, knowing he wasn’t entirely comfortable with people staring. Neither of you cared in that moment though and Simon’s already dropped his bags, engulfing you in a near-crushing grip. 

It’s an eternity before you pull away, but it’s still too soon. He briefly glimpses the tears in your eyes before he leans down and kisses you. Something in the back of his mind is screaming at him, but he doesn’t really care to listen. At first, you don’t respond and Simon finally panics as the consequences of his actions set in. You don’t give him the chance to run away though, hands grasping his face and keeping him in place. 

When you pull away you don’t say anything, simply taking his hand in yours and tugging him out to your car. The drive to your apartment is silent, but not uncomfortable. It isn’t until you’ve pulled him into your bed, in a mirror image of your younger years that you finally break the silence. 

“I never thought you felt the same.” The same? The implications of your words seared into the forefront of his mind. 

“Silly girl, why would I ever even look at somebody else when you exist?” You let out an adorably embarrassed squawk at his words, lightly hitting him on the chest as you bury your burning face against his neck.“It’s always been you” he murmurs, the confession settling over you like a wave. 

For a split second, he fears your relapse into silence means he’d pushed too far too fast. Years of pining bubbling up and over the surface at the slightest bit of reciprocation. You’re quick to shut down his internal spiral with another earth-shattering kiss, pulling away and resting your chin on his chest. 

“Yeah, you’ve always been it for me too Si. From the moment I pulled you from that swing." It's a little embarrassing, how fast his heart races at the confession. Tears build in the corners of his eyes as he finally, finally lets himself fully succumb to your love. You're quick to wipe them away though, because you would always take care of your Simon.

[marvelsmylife]

Escaping reality

Pairing: Azriel x reader 

Plot: Azriel accidentally makes you feel bad when he jokes about the types of books you read. Nesta tears him a new one when she finds out what he said and reveals why you’re so attached to that book.

Warning: angst, mention of attempt of SA. Cassian is protective of the reader. Nesta sees her as a sister. The Valkyrie wants to kick Azriel’s ass.

a/n this one is a tiny bit darker only because it involves SA so please don't read if that triggers you

Request

Azriel never had a problem talking with females throughout his lifetime. That changed the day Cassian brought you to the house of wind.

Cassian had rescued you from four males who were about to do unspeakable things to you. Fortunately, he was walking past and heard your pleas for help. After slaughtering the males that were about the harm you, Cassian flew you to the river house, where he got Madja to do a check-up on you just to be safe.

Once he got confirmation you were physically ok, Cassian suggested that you move to the house of wind with him, Nesta, and Azriel. Even though the males who were about to assault you were dead, he wanted to make sure you were not going to be assaulted again.

Luckily, he got approval from not only Rhysand but also from Nesta and Azriel. They saw how shaken up you were and didn’t think it would be a good idea for you to be on your own. Nesta took you under her wing and became very protective of you. She saw a lot of Elain in you and had the instinct to protect you.

As for Azriel, he found himself thinking about you constantly and always asking both Cassian and Nesta if you were doing ok but never actually had a conversation with you. He would send at least one of his shadows to watch over you at all times even though you never the house. Cassian would often tease that Azriel was afraid to talk to you because had a crush. That would result in Azriel punching Cassian and storming away. 

To Cassian’s credit, he did suggest to Azriel that he should start a conversation with you about the book you were reading. Since moving in, you basically lived in the library with Nesta. You would constantly recommend books to each other and actually started a book club with the other Valkyrie and some of the priestesses. Cassian knew you would open up to Azriel if he talked to you about something you were passionate about.

Taking Cassian’s advice, Azriel made his way into the library, where he spotted you reading at a small table. Azriel bit back a smile as he watched the shadow he had sent to watch over you caress your cheek as you read out loud.

Not wanting to scare you, Azriel let out a cough to get your attention: “Mr. Shadowsinger, what brings you down here?”

“Please, call me Azriel,” Azriel replied. His heart started beating fast when you smiled at him, “I was just looking for something to read in bed. What are you reading?” 

You began to explain to Azriel the book you were reading, and Azriel jokingly said: “I thought that book was for children?” The smile that was once on your face disappeared and was replaced with a frown. Azriel realized he messed up and tried to apologize: “Y/n, I’m sorry that came out wrong.”

You tried your best to put on a happy smile before replying: “It’s ok. You don’t need to apologize. It is a children’s book,” you stood up and held the book against your chest: “I-I have to go. It was nice talking to you, Mr.Shadowsinger.”

“Y/n, wait-” Azriel watched as you disappeared and flipped over a table out of frustration.

Azriel knew he was going to face the wrath of Cassian and Nesta, but nothing could have prepared him to face the wrath of all three valkyries and his brother at once the following day. “Are you kidding me, Azriel ! ! !” Nesta snapped at Azriel and caused the shadowsinger to wince.

“I meant it as a joke, but-” All three females covered their faces out of frustration while Cassian did everything in his power to not lunge at his brother.

Nesta let out an exaggerated groan at Azriel’s explanation: “That book is important to her. She didn’t have the best home life and used to read that book as a way to escape her situation,” Azriel felt like a complete asshole at Nesta’s explanation. He wished he could turn back time and stop himself from making that joke.

“Fix the mess you made or else,” Cassian pointed towards the three females who were ready to murder him: “I’m going to let them skin you alive,” Cassian warned before leaving with the Valkyrie to train.

Azriel was already planning on apologizing, but knowing that the Valkyrie would, in fact, murder him, he decided to stop by your room later that night. 

Azriel lost his train of thought for a brief moment when you answered the door in a nightgown. He tried and failed to avoid checking you out, and he started to feel like a creep for his actions. “Mr. Shadowsinger. How can I help you?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“I wanted to apologize for the comment I made about the book you were reading the other day.” Azriel apologized: “I didn’t know how important that book was to you, and I made a horrible joke.”

Looking into his eyes, you could tell Azriel was being genuine: ”It’s ok. If anything, I overreacted to your comment. I know it’s just a book, but-”

“No buts.” Azriel cut you off: “You don’t need to explain yourself to me. That book is special to you, and I made a dumb comment. I just hope you’ll accept my apology, and we can start over.”

“Of course, I accept your apology, Azriel.” You sent him a shy smile.

Azriel was close to falling onto his knees at you using his actual name. Knowing what he was feeling towards you was more than just a crush he suddenly started picturing what his life would be like with you by his side. How he would protect you from anyone who would dare touch or even look at you in the wrong way.

Azriel was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t realize he was just staring at you until you waved your hands over his face. “Are you ok?” you asked in a concerned tone.

“Yes, sorry,” Azriel cleared his throat and scratched the back of his head: “I was just going to ask if you would like to get coffee with me tomorrow and talk about our favorite books. I promise I won’t make mean jokes about the books you love to read.”

Azriel knew it was a gamble making a joke about the very thing that got him in trouble in the first place, but to his delight, you started laughing. “I would love to, but” you poked his chest, “you have to buy me my coffee.”

“I was already planning on paying. I am a gentleman, after all,” Azriel agreed, sending you a crooked smile. You playfully rolled your eyes and said goodnight before closing your door and sleeping.

@sleepylunarwolf @paankhaleyaar

[wlntrsldler]

poisoned mercury | bad reputation

ii. bad reputation by joan jett & the blackhearts 

a/n: andddd we're at chb! reader is mean to luke lol. vaping, smoking, mentions of addiction. crumbs of clarisse x chris!

series masterlist | previous | next

“kid, you really need to look at the bright side,” your dad said, taking a sip of his diet coke. “you get to summer in montauk for free. no paying rent, no worrying about what to eat, the world is your oyster.” 

“i don’t understand why i have to spend the entire summer here,” you glared at him, close to ripping your hair out. 

“you’re smarter than that,” he replied, placing his can down on his table. he kicked back in his chair, letting his sandal-covered feet prop up on his desk. his aloha shirt wrinkled as he placed his arms crossed behind his head. he was taking his camp manager role too seriously. “you got put on probation by your field hockey coach.” 

your eyes narrowed, “and?” 

“... for punching a teammate.” 

“who deserved it!” you argued, huffing as you sat on the seat across from him. if there wasn’t a desk separating you from your dad, you were sure you would’ve strangled him with the camp necklace around his neck. “i promised you i’d be on my best behavior, but no. you decided that i needed to be glued to camp all summer.” 

“listen,” he leaned over on his desk, “the girl probably deserved it, but you still got kicked out from summer conditioning, kid– from the top field hockey team in the country! not everyone gets to attend unc but you did and you fucked that opportunity, so until you can prove to me that you have your shit together, you’re stuck in montauk.” 

“gods, you’re ridiculous!” you howled, getting up from your seat. “i hate you.” 

“love you!” he called out, chuckling to himself. you got your dramatic flair from him so he couldn’t fault you too much for your reaction. he probably would’ve reacted way worse if he was in your position. 

“yeah, yeah,” you yelled back, already out of his office. “love ya, too.” 

you walked out into the campgrounds, still huffing and puffing at your interaction with your dad. groups of children and teenagers were checking in for the summer. it amazed you how popular camp half blood became over the years. your dad wanted to create a summer camp for aspiring musicians and creatives to meet others and learn from professionals. he already had the network for it given that he used to be a hot-shot producer in the mid-nineties until he fell into his addiction. 

your dad never talked much about those dark moments in his life, and not many people knew about it, but he was happy to tell you about what came after it; meeting your mom, falling in love, and having you. his sobriety became his top priority when you were born, after you and your mom, of course. camp half blood started out as a dream your dad had when you were still a child, unsure of what you were passionate about, and he hoped you’d fall in love with music the same way he did. right before you turned four, he opened camp half blood. he said he wanted to have the place up and running and established by the time you were old enough to join. but alas, when you turned six and still had no musical or creative bone in your body, your dad’s hopes of having a musical protégé as a daughter were shattered. 

he bounced back from it though when he saw how passionate you were about field hockey. the second you picked up a stick, he saw your eyes brighten and he knew it was lights out from then on. he attended all of your games, bought you the best gear for the sport, and supported you in any way he could. you were thankful for that, for him, but you also knew that he probably would’ve preferred a kid he could talk music with. you saw it when he bragged about the new artists he signed to olympus records or when he talked about the kids at camp half blood. 

you took a sharp right turn at the corner of the dining hall, making a beeline to the secret spot by the lake that you stumbled across when you were fourteen. it was the place you retreated to whenever you and your dad fought while you were at camp. fights and arguments between you two happened often. your mom said it was because you were too similar for your own good. it was true. you and your dad were both stubborn, hot-headed, and unable to accept when you were wrong, but it also meant that you and your dad understood each other on a level that not many father-daughter duos did. 

even though you refused to tell him–or anyone for that matter– why the altercation with your teammate happened, your dad was on your side. he always was. 

you sat on the worn out bench, years of weather damage evident on the wood, taking out your cherry ice vape from your pocket. it was a vice you picked up in college. you weren’t proud of it, and it definitely started affecting your ability to play, but the stress of being a student-athlete, plus all the commotion with your probation started to get to you. 

you stared out into the view, appreciating the way the trees framed the lake in a picturesque way. camp half blood was beautiful; nature everywhere, there was utter silence except for the sound of water and birds chirping when you got far enough away from the noise and chatter of the campers, and the weather in the summer months was perfect. you let the smoke escape your lips, watching as the cloud dissipated into the air. 

“oh, my bad. i didn’t realize someone would be out here.” 

you turned around to see a boy, an unlit cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips. he wore a black, tight-fitting t-shirt and gray sweatpants. there was a silver chain hanging around his neck with a pendant tucked underneath his shirt. his tussled curls peeked under his backwards yankees cap. 

“spot’s taken,” you said, facing the view once more. you took a deep breath, sliding your vape in the pocket of the hoodie you wore. “go somewhere else.” 

“that thing’s gonna kill you, y’know.” either the boy didn’t hear you or he didn’t care enough to listen because he slid on the bench next to you, taking out a lighter for his cigarette. he closed his eyes, letting the nicotine into his system, “that has like chemicals and shit.” 

you scoffed, “like your cig is any better.” 

“i know what i’m putting in my body,” he shrugged. he motioned aimlessly in your direction, “you don’t know what’s in there. it hasn’t been around long enough for us to know the long term effects.” 

“‘m not planning to be doing this long term.”

“sure,” he smiled at you, unconvinced. “i’m luke.” 

you stared at his outstretched hand, shaking your head, “i’m not interested.” 

“i was just trying to be polite.” 

“if you want to be polite, find another spot to smoke.” 

luke eyed you, undeterred by your hostility. he leaned back on the bench, taking another puff, “nah, i’m good right here.” 

you took out your vape again knowing that you’ll need it to get through this conversation. the two of you sat in silence as you both smoked, letting the smell of the cigarette mix in with the artificial cherry scent. you tried your best to ignore the boy beside you, but it was hard to when he was so close to you. the bench seemed much larger when you were fourteen, when you were alone as its only occupier. 

“so five star, tough day?” 

“what did you call me?” 

“five star,” luke nodded to your hoodie, flicking off the ashes on his cigarette. “your unc field hockey hoodie? like five star recruit.” 

you looked down at your sweater, completely forgetting that you were wearing your team merchandise. you tugged on the collar awkwardly, suddenly feeling like you were exposed. “oh.” 

“so, tough day?” 

you glared at him, “what makes you say that?” 

“well, for starters, it’s the first day of camp and you’re by yourself away from where all the fun shit is happening, smoking a fucking– what is that? strawberry?”

“cherry ice,” you corrected. 

“cherry ice vape,” luke continued, “and you’re biting my head off for trying to start a conversation.” 

“maybe i’m having a bad day because a boy disrupted my me-time and decided to start a fucking conversation when i obviously want to be alone.” 

luke chuckled, pointing to the cigarette between his fingers, “relax, i’ll get out of your hair after this one.” 

“don’t make it a habit.” 

“what? smoking?” he asked, a boyish smile on his face. “already a habit of mine.” 

“interupting my me-time,” you replied, blowing out rings with the smoke in your mouth. “i don’t care what you do to your body.” 

“should we exchange numbers and coordinate when we’ll be using the spot?” 

you rolled your eyes at the teasing tone of his voice. this guy just doesn’t quit, “no, because you won’t be coming back here.” 

“i dunno,” luke looked out into the lake, a soft smile on his face. “i like it here. it’s pretty.” 

“i was here first.” you weren’t backing down. this was your spot. your secret spot, at that. not many campers ventured this far out into the woods, too afraid to get caught by their counselors and get in trouble, or too scared to get lost in the maze of trees. 

“sharing is caring, y’know,” his tone was playful.

you looked at him, no emotion on your features. you studied his face, furrowing your eyebrows like you were trying to place him. he looked familiar like you’d seen his face before. his eyes were big and brown, innocent looking compared to the smirk on his lips. a scar ran down the side of his face, subtle, but noticeable if you looked hard enough. it was slightly discolored compared to the rest of his face. his jaw sharp and cheekbones defined, with beginnings of a summer blush dusted across the bridge of his nose and the high points of his face. behind his ear, a small tattoo of the number “4” was hidden under his curls. his ears were pierced, two, small diamond studs on each earlobe. 

you’d seen him before, but you just couldn’t remember where and when for the life of you. 

you blinked, “i don’t like to share.” 

he threw the butt of his cigarette on the floor, gently stomping out the remnants of it with the tip of his converse convered feet, “noted.” 

you watched as he got up, keeping his promise of leaving you alone after one cigarette. the smirk on his face remained as he turned to face you before he left, “see you around, five star.” 

you made an noncommittal noise, not missing the sound of a deep rumble from his chest as he laughed at your dismissal. you watched him disappear into the trees, noting how his back flexed under his tight shirt as he cleared a path to avoid ducking under stray branches. 

you waited around twenty minutes before getting up to leave. you didn’t want to risk running into luke again, just in case he got lost on his way back. you were not going to lead him back to the safety of camp. if he got lost after trying to take over your spot, then so be it. that wasn’t your problem. 

as you entered the main campgrounds, you saw clarisse, a teammate of yours, who also got put on probation for coming to your defense, leaning against a tree trunk by the registration table. she needed a summer job and housing since she wasn’t allowed to come to practices and live on campus during her probation period, and you were quick to recommend her to your dad to be a camp counselor for the summer. thankfully, your dad was kind enough to say yes. at least you wouldn’t be alone all summer. 

you walked over to her, smiling kindly at the young kids you ran into on the way, excited out of their minds to be away from home for the next few months. “what’s up, la rue?” 

she smacked your arm, “why didn’t you tell me?” 

“ow,” you winced, clutching your upper arm. the girl was strong. there were many moments where you were thankful that you played for the same team. you did not want to be the poor girl who stood in clarisse’s way when she was in the zone. “tell you what?” 

“poisoned mercury!” she hissed, crossing her arms over her chest, “why didn’t you tell me they were gonna be here this summer?” 

“oh,” you rolled your eyes, “i didn’t think it was a big deal.” 

“not everyone grew up around celebrities, y/n,” clarisse reminded you, shaking her head. “sometimes, i forget that you did. you don’t talk about it as much as i would if i grew up like you.” 

“yeah, well, it’s not all glitz and glamor, to be honest.” 

you thought about your last relationship– a boy from california that you met during one of your dad’s work trips. it was a whirlwind summer romance that ended in a lot of heartbreak and a promise to yourself that you would never, ever date another musician again. your dad did try to warn you about him, subtly, of course, since he knew better than to butt into a teenage girl’s relationship. the boy had been begging your dad for a record deal for ages and he thought that by dating you, he’d get one step closer to his goal. your dad dangled the possibility of a record deal in front of him like a carrot, his own personal entertainment since he saw right through the boy, and ended up blacklisting him from the industry after he broke your heart. 

a little extreme? sure, but it wasn’t like he was that talented anyway. you still cringe when you remember his terrible rendition of “grenade” by bruno mars. 

“do you know when they get here?” clarisse asked, snapping you out of your thoughts. 

“i dunno, don’t care,” you shrugged, “when did you become such a huge fan?” 

“since i saw how hot their bassist is,” she laughed, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “seriously, y/n, chris rodriguez is fine.” 

“enough, there are kids around,” you shoved her playfully, laughing as you motioned for her to follow you into the cabin you were staying in. “i didn’t know they were gonna be here, actually.” 

“your dad didn’t tell you?” 

“i’ve been on a strict ‘no talking, unless it’s yelling’ rule with my dad the past few months,” you explained, entering your room and closing the door behind you. your bags were messily thrown across the floor, bed unmade, and walls empty. you didn’t get around to decorating and putting things in their place before you gave your dad a piece of your mind. “and i refused to accept that i would be staying here all summer.” 

“it’s not that bad so far,” she moved your training bag from your bed, sitting on it, “the kids are adorable little music nerds. i don’t think they’ll cause too much trouble.” 

“for your sake, ares cabin head counselor, i really hope they don’t,” you teased, beginning to put your things away. “i’m not worried about the kids, actually. it’s more of the people our age that i’m worried about. musicians can be such dicks.” 

“true,” she agreed, “do you remember the kid who acted like he was hot shit when he performed at the fall concert at unc?” 

“yes!” you let out a belly laugh, “the one who shamelessly flirted with lena?”

clarisse nodded, falling on your bed in a fit of laughter, “then ran away when he saw charlie.” 

“i mean charlie is a scary-looking dude,” you commented, taking off your hoodie and stuffing it into one of the drawers. you fixed the camp half blood shirt you wore under it, “big ass linebacker.” 

“but the biggest teddy bear.” 

“the biggest,” you grinned, thinking about your friends back on campus. you already missed them and your crazy, late-night adventures in your college town. you and clarisse met charlie the summer before your freshman year at unc during athlete orientation. he shyly asked if he could sit next to you and clarisse in the back row, not wanting to block the view for people behind him if he were to sit in the front. he was a timid guy for someone who could probably bulldoze you and clarisse without breaking a sweat. 

he introduced you to his girlfriend, silena, when the school year started, and the four of you became inseparable ever since. you were glad you found a friend group in college, one that you could trust and depend on. 

“and this is the cabin where you all will be staying.” 

you looked back at clarisse, eyes widening as you heard your dad’s voice in the living room of the cabin. he didn’t tell you that someone other than clarisse was going to be staying in the cabin with you. 

“there are six rooms in total. one master and five others. there are three bathrooms. one’s in the master and the other two are out here. this is the living room and the small kitchen is down the hall,” he continued to explain, “my daughter has dibs on the master bedroom, though, so tough luck for you guys.” 

“i didn’t know you had a daughter, mr. d.” it was a boy’s voice.

“yeah, i do, y/n,” your dad said. you can practically hear the smile in his voice. “she doesn’t like the limelight so i don’t bring her up too much. i’ll introduce you guys to her when i see her.” 

“chris, put that down!” another voice. this time it was a woman. she sounded older, and tired, like she’d said that phrase a million times before. “sorry about them, mr. d. they may all be of age, but i swear it still feels like they’re kids.” 

your dad laughed, “trust me, i get it, may. my little girl is turning 19 soon, but she’d give her 12-year-old self a run for her money.” 

“i call this room!” 

“travis, you can’t just call dibs on rooms when the rest of us haven’t gotten a chance to take a look around.” 

“you snooze, you lose, rodriguez.” 

clarisse jolted from your bed, jaw hanging as she put the puzzle pieces together. she pointed at the door, whispering, “is that poisoned mercury?” 

your dad was in the middle of a conversation with the woman, may, when you opened your bedroom door to investigate. he was nodding along to what she was saying, taking mental notes of her words. you walked towards them, giving may a polite smile when she noticed you coming their way. 

“speak of the devil,” your dad clapped his hands, placing a hand on your back to guide you into the conversation. “may, this is my daughter, y/n. y/n, this is may castellan, poisoned mercury’s manager.” 

you held out your hand, “nice to meet you.” 

“oh god, a teenager with manners,” she exhaled, immediately accepting your handshake, “pleasure to meet you.” 

“you know we can still hear you, right, mama c?” a boy with curly hair peeked his head out from the room beside clarisse’s. he was wearing a white tank top, his tanned skin adorned with patchwork tattoos on full display. he had a pearl necklace around his neck, a charm of the band’s logo resting between his collarbones. he had a wide smile as if he wore his emotions proudly on his face. “these walls are thin.” 

“you were supposed to hear me, chris,” she replied, rolling her eyes jokingly. 

you tilted your head, analyzing the boy. you understood what clarisse meant. he wasn’t your type, but he was definitely hers. she always did like the golden retriever type. you raised your arm, giving him a small wave, “hey, i’m y/n.” 

“it’s the famous y/n!” you turned around at the sound of your name to see a boy with dark hair and a vintage iron maiden shirt on. he was leaning against his doorframe, toned arms flexed as he stuffed his hands in his front pockets. “travis.” 

another boy, looking eerily similar to travis popped his head out his door at the sounds of introductions. you cocked an eyebrow, “are you guys tw–”

the boy shook his head, stating “no we’re not,” at the same time as travis nodded, “yes we are.” 

you looked at may for help. she shook her head, throwing a pointed look at travis, “they are not. travis is older than connor by a year.” 

“which one of you fuckers stole my charger?” 

you froze in your spot. you knew that voice. your mind started connecting the dots then– luke castellan, lead singer of poisoned mercury. you’d seen pictures of him on your twitter timeline from both your friends from college and from home. he seemed to be the topic of conversation every week because there was a new thing to write about. his wild rockstar adventures were a crowd favorite. 

you once heard that he had a pet monkey that he bought with his first check from their album sales, but tmz reported it so it wasn’t the most reliable source. the last article you saw about luke was titled “leaving a trail of broken hearts: luke castellan’s extensive dating history and how they ended.” typical. 

“oh, luke, i want you to meet my daughter,” your dad beamed, none the wiser. he placed his hands on your shoulders, twisting your body to face the boy. 

you pursed your lips, biting the inside of your cheek. so much for him getting lost.

“five star, nice to see you again,” luke’s eyes lit up, the corner of his lips quirking up in a smile, “looks like we’re roommates.”

[heybatterbats]

I’ve been seeing entirely too many posts about how ace-spec people aren’t really LGBTQ+ and don’t belong at Pride. And I got mad about it. So…*aces your Batfamily*

Yes, all of them. Every last one is now ace-spec in some way. They even named their dog Ace.

Bruce is sex-neutral biromantic demisexual, and came out by accident at age 24 to a random reporter who was not expecting it. This sparked a social media storm that was only halted by the much bigger social media storm of Bruce adopting Dick.

The Batman has been asked his sexuality before. Bruce replied- perfectly straight faced- that the Batman is an asexually reproductive entity and creates its Robins via mitosis. A third of Gotham, most of Metropolis, and several members of the Justice League still believe this.

Dick is sex-repulsed biromantic asexual, and is of the type to make the dirtiest jokes you’ve ever heard because sex is a joke to him. Came out in the form of an acrobatics performance he did at a pride parade, wearing a terrible Batman costume with a bi heart as the Batsymbol, an ace flag cape, and no pants. The audience was ecstatic. Bruce was mortified.

Nightwing has never said his sexuality, but anyone who claims he’s straight is quickly met with pictures of the Discowing suit and up to a dozen laughing emojis.

Jason is sex-repulsed aromantic asexual. He’s not as vocal about it as Dick is, but he does like it to be known. He’s the type to make garlic bread/cake/world domination jokes. And ESPECIALLY dragon jokes. He kinda tends to just insert it casually into conversation, he didn’t do anything crazy to come out. It’s just a fact about him.

Red Hood claims to be sexually attracted exclusively to guns. Bruce hates this joke.

Tim is the opposite of Bruce- he’s sex-positive bisexual demiromantic. One of the few Batkids to come out while in costume- he got a concussion on a case and blearily mumbled into Bruce’s hair that he’s “you but backwards” and completely confused Bruce. Tim is a little shy about his identity, but since dating Bernard he’s been more open about it.

Red Robin is out as bisexual, but hasn’t added demiromantic to that. Tim is worried people will piece his secret identity together, since Tim doesn’t realize that most normal people are not highly skilled detectives who can tell a person’s identity from a single acrobatics move.

At the moment, Damian just thinks he’s feeling the normal “ew cooties” that most children do. In the future he’ll realize that he’s sex-repulsed ace/aro, although he’ll refuse to use those terms in favor of broodily muttering “this bloodline dies with me.” Ra’s has an actual heart attack the first time Damian says this to his face and has to go into the Lazarus Pit to recover. Talia has never been more proud.

Barbara is sex-neutral, demiromantic and asexual. She’s more outspoken about it than most of the family, and runs social media pages about disability and the asexuality spectrum alike. Aphobes and ableists that make the mistake of leaving comments often mysteriously find that their most embarrassing search histories have been sent to their grandmother.

Cass is sex-repulsed ace/aro. Steph was the one to explain sexuality to her, and also made her an ace ring. Cass told Bruce first, then the rest of the family. She’s never come out publicly- Cass doesn’t like media attention being on her- but some sharp-eyed Gothamites who are looking can spot the black ring on Cassandra Cain-Wayne’s middle finger in a few paparazzi shots the papers got their hands on. (I have a fic about this!)

Black Bat has never been asked her sexuality, mainly because she’s absolutely terrifying and nobody can stammer out the words when faced with her.

Stephanie is sex-positive graysexual grayromantic, and absolutely not shy about it. She’s almost as good as Dick at making horrible, filthy jokes. Has punched a guy in the face for aphobia, does not regret it. Stephanie is out and proud and loud about it.

Spoiler/Batgirl III have both been seen wearing a rainbow flag as a cape too many times for anyone to assume they’re straight.

Duke is sex-neutral demisexual/demiromantic, and is probably the most open about it of the whole Batfamily. He’s fully out and so is Signal, and will inevitably show up at any daytime Pride event just to say hi. Gotham adores him, and he’s practically the ace-spec community’s mascot. Can and will use the entire rainbow spectrum of light to create various pride flags over Gotham whenever he feels like it, and has started taking flag/location requests. Once turned the Batsignal gay.

Harper is sex-positive bisexual aromantic, and where Stephanie is loud about it, Harper gets violent. She carries a souped-up taser and doesn’t hesitate to use it. Has knocked at least four homophobes/aphobes out cold not counting the ones she beat up in the Narrows. Bluebird is not only publicly out as bisexual but wears two out of three bisexual colors, and while it’s not come up publicly yet, she won’t hide that she’s aromantic either. Along with Signal and Spoiler, Bluebird is one of the vigilantes that’s known for being specifically good at handling LGBTQ+ issues. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

After being forcibly outed as gay and then bullied for it, Cullen is still in the closet about the fact that he’s asexual and sex-repulsed, too. The first person he told after Harper was Alfred. By now the whole family knows, but they’ve been careful to keep it away from the media until Cullen’s ready to come out himself.

Alfred is sex-neutral, aromantic, and pansexual, though he’s older than some of those terms and doesn’t often use them to describe himself. Bruce didn’t know Alfred was anything but straight until he was almost seventeen, to which Alfred replied- signature eyebrow raise at full height capacity- that he had a career in the theater, Master Bruce, and no one who does that can possibly be typical in matters of orientation or any other aspect of life.

The outfit might seem antithetical to this, but Selina is ace too! Specifically, she’s sex-positive, heteroromantic and demisexual. The leather outfit is primarily for distraction purposes rather than true sex appeal. When it comes to Bruce, however, Selina’s more than once described herself as “morosexual.” Bruce, bless him, still has no idea what that means.

There ya go. Ace-spec Batfam. Happy Pride to everyone but especially all you fellow ace-spec folks who absolutely, 100% belong there.

[gothamhappiness]

You are my heaven 5 - the end (Bruce Wayne x f!reader)

It was supposed to be a little imagine of a dark and lonely Bruce Wayne switching place with another Bruce Wayne from a parallal universe, but I wrote more than I thought. And then you asked for more :)

My masterlist is here.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Warnings: no proof reading, fighting, language, violence, angst/comfort (in a way), pregnant!reader

Things went out of hand pretty quickly. Dick joined you home and saw Bruce speaking with you. He was towering over you. You seemed very uneasy. 

“So you knew”

“That I was with a man who was actually in love with me and taking care of me? Yes”

“I am your husband. Is it how you are loyal to me? No, no, don’t answer. You know what, I understand. I haven’t been the best. But once he’ll be back to his world, I’ll do better. I’ll take care of this child and we’ll be happy again. Don’t you want that?”

You didn’t answer because you realised how obvious the answer was: you were in love with the other version of Bruce, not with the one you actually married. You wished for him to go away, you wanted things back like when he was gone. You didn’t even feel guilty anymore. You were allowed to be happy, your children too. Even Barbara started to enjoy the new Bruce better.

“Don’t you want that?” Bruce repeated, losing it over your lack of answer

Dick walked over and with the way the man greeted him, he knew who it was. The new Bruce was always smiling at him, always grateful to have Dick around. This Bruce was a little bit annoyed, a little bit too cold to feel happy around him. Dick wrapped an arm around your shoulders and you relaxed a little bit.

“Stay away from mom” Dick groaned

“I’m not… For fuck sake, can you all stop acting like if I was the intruder here? I belong here, this is my world, my family, my home!” Bruce was getting angry

“Then start treating us better already” Dick continued

“How fucking dare you?! Without me, you’d be nothing” Bruce started to scream

“And you how fucking dare you talking with that tone in front of a pregnant woman? A woman you said you loved too. But really you never knew anything about that, did you?”

The batfamily had always been pretty protective of you, but it was even worse now you were pregnant. And to Dick, his former father was actually a threat to the family. Because it finally felt like a family and after everything that happened, he didn’t want to lose it.

Everything happened in a blur after that. The “real” Bruce threw a punch at Dick, out of pure anger and despair at being so easily replaced. They started to fight. They had no mercy. Actually, all the anger they always felt toward each other was finally getting free and making them even more ruthless.

Alfred quickly grabbed you and guided you away from the two men, finding you a safe place to lock yourself in until everything would settle down. Alfred wasn’t too sure what to do. He had guessed something happened when his Master started to treat everyone like Alfred always wished he would. For once, he had decided to pretend to not understand. But now, to be fair, he wasn’t recognising the man he raised and he thought that maybe he was gone in this other world. Or maybe he never truly existed. He just wanted them to stop fighting, but he didn’t know how to.

You called your lover, you tried to explain to him what was going on, but you were getting close to a panic attack. 

“It’s alright, my love, it’s alright. I’m on my way. Stay where you are, stay safe. This is all that matters to me. Jason will come find you so you won’t stay on your own, okay? I just need you to breathe in and out. Can you do that? For me? I know you are strong. You are amazing, my love. I just need you to trust me” he smoothly told you, trying to appease you no matter how tense he was himself getting.

But all that mattered was you. Always you.

“I… I trust you” you finally manager to whisper

“Good. Lay down and breathe, my love. I’ll be home soon”

After that, he called Kate for her to deal with the security breach while he was coming back to the manor. On his way, he also called Jason for him to protect you and help you calm down. Jason didn’t ask a question. If his father needed you to look after you, he didn’t need to know anything else.

You heard a car coming by, the front doors getting opened and then more sounds of fighting. You knew that your Bruce had started a war with your former husband. You guessed he asked Dick to leave, because he didn’t want his son to get hurt. Hopefully, Alfred was taking care of Dick now.

You started to cry.

You jumped when you heard a knock at your door. Soon enough, you opened the door to a very worried Jason who locked the door back behind him and settled on the ground by your side. He held you and rocked you, whispered words of reassurance to help you calm down. He hated to see you like that.

When he arrived at the manor, he did his best to follow the instructions he received for once, and to not intervene in the fight between the two Bruces. He was now praying to whoever divinity who might hear him to get rid of the former Bruce. He didn’t want to be in the same world as him again. You both heard the sounds of the fight and it was driving you sick with worry. 

“What if he kills him?” you cried our and Jason shushed you

“He’ll be fine” he whispered

“You haven’t seen the way he was acting. He was so desperate to get his life back here, he promised me things…” you felt like you were going to throw up

“Ma, don’t worry. He may want his life back, but I can tell you that dad is actually very desperate to keep this life as well. And you’re pregnant with his baby. He’ll fight with everything he has” Jason tried to reassure you

Jason was right. The two Bruces were on equal strength, on equal intelligence and on equal despair. They both wanted and needed this good life in this world, but for that, one of them needed to be gone.

Both Bruces had thought of so many plans and different contingencies to take care of the other. They hadn’t really planned on simply fighting the other one. But despair drives everyone crazy and makes them act like animals.

You heard screams of:

“This is my home! I’ll kill you or I’ll send you back to your personal Hell!”

“This is my Heaven and you can’t get it away from me. You didn’t deserve any of this anyways. Even my wife knows it”

“She isn’t yours”

“That’s no what she said. That’s not what the children said.”

“Fuck you”

You had no idea how long it last. Forever, maybe.

“I’m going to get sick” you whispered when a terrible silence engulfed the whole manor.

Then you heard a lot of footsteps. The children arrived and were taking care of things. You jumped when Alfred knocked at the door.

“Mr Jason, Mrs Y/N, the fight is over. You can come out” he told you 

Jason had to help you get up because your legs didn’t want to obey you anymore. You opened the door and Cass helped you walk to the living room with Jason. Everyone was so tense.

“How’s Dick?” you asked Stephanie who walked by

“He is fine, Duke is with him right now, to make sure he is all good” she answered and you felt a little bit better knowing that

Damian was sitting on the ground with Tim. They were both looking at the two Bruce Wayne lying on the floor. One was stabbed, the other one was tasered. They were unconscious. Damian was lost, Tim was trying to take care of the wound. 

“Baraba called Leslie, Alfred is waiting for her” Cass told you before helping you sitting down on a chair

“What are we going to do?” you whispered

“We need to make a choice” Jason told you

After a little while, the whole family was in the room, looking at the two men. The choice was pretty easy to make. 

Your former husband was locked up in an unbreakable room. Leslie took care of him while he was unconscious, and after that only Alfred talked with him. Damian sometimes too, but he never let his father go. Deep down, you knew that this fate was even worse than just killing him. But you couldn’t kill him; you needed to send him back to the other world, because this world didn’t have any Bruce Wayne now and who knew what the consequences could be.

When your lover woke up, he was in his bed. You were sitting next to him, holding his hand in yours. 

“Welcome back, darling” you whispered

“You choose me” he understood, fully relaxing against the mattress

“We choose happiness. Whenever we’ll find out how, we’ll send him back to the other world. For the last time, hopefully”

“I’ll make sure of it” he hummed before kissing your fingers

The man you loved never had any more nightmares about the other Bruce.

And you neither.

--

Taglist for all my work <3

@blublock404

@wind-canoe

Taglist for this series <3 (you’re my heaven)

@bat1212

@karakento

@kneelforloki

@nosebeers

Thanks for the ideas & the comments <3

@motherofdragons1998

@silverklaus

@alishii

@kazuko-stuff

@navs-bhat

@hisuitfgg6