#I think he’d like to know he’s doing enough right that his kids still want to bake him bread

[skribbledarker]

Added to this little drabble…. idk just have this cause the brainworms are affecting me BAD

—-

They fall silent after that, but Zoro’s fingertips never still, grazing over the sensitive skin on Sanji’s back. They travel almost over every inch— Like the mosshead is trying to map the marks Memorize them.

Zoro isn’t gentle by nature. He’s crass, rude, and gross, especially to Sanji. they don’t do gentle. But this… this is nice.

“Why are you hiding?” Zoro says after a while, and Sanji bristles at that, because he is, isn’t he?

He rocks forward, wrapping his arms around himself. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Luffy and Usopp are sad ‘cause you don’t take baths with us anymore.”

“Luffy and Usopp will be fine,” Sanji retorts, his eyes starting to follow the pattern of grout on the floor for lack of something better to do. “Is wanting privacy such a fucking sin now?”

Zoro’s hands still. “Sanji.”

Every time Zoro uses his name, it gives Sanji pause. He doesn’t know whether it’s because it rarely ever comes out of the mosshead’s mouth or because he’s still getting used to being just Sanji.

At the Baratie, it was always Sanji with the big nose, or Sanji with the prissy bangs, or Sanji, the kid who doesn’t have enough meat on his bones to hurt a fly. It stayed that way, no matter how much muscle he put on or how many products he ran through the blonde strands every morning. It’s not any of the rowdy cooks’ faults, though. Zeff did his best, but that’s just how working in a restaurant goes (he’d never stop trying to prove them wrong).

“Sanji, turn around.”

I don’t want to. “What, you done staring?”

“You’re being stupid.”

Sanji knows he is, but something guilty amd spiteful in him still pushes him to snap back. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

Evidently, Zoro becomes impatient, standing abruptly and tromping over until he’s sat down right in front of Sanji. Sanji, pointedly, does not look up. He has half a mind to put his discarded shirt back on and leave.

“I meant what i said,” Zoro murmurs, his knee bumping into Sanji’s from where he’s mirrored the way the blonde is sitting. His voice is quiet, measured.

“About me sprouting ferns?” Sanji tries, a wry smile on his face. Then there’s a hand tilting his chin up, urging him to bring his gaze to Zoro’s. This is dangerous, he thinks briefly, but the way Zoro licks his lips before answering makes apprehension simmer down into something else, sitting low and heavy in his stomach.

“No,” Zoro whispers. Sanji didn’t think so; not with how the swordsman’s breath fans warm over his lips.

—-

and then they kiss but i didnt write that part OUGHHHHHHHHH THE ZOSAN BRAINROT IS SO BADFD IM CRYING but take this while i figure my shit out and get to the 10 wips ive been working on

Back on my bs with another Zosan brainworm…. post Skypiea feels

—

Sanji, after having his “I needed a light” moment and getting shocked head-on by Enel, gains big lichtenberg scars that never fade. They’re darker than his usual skin tone, spiraling down the back of his neck, the entire expanse of his back, then curling around his shoulders and hips.

he hates them. Sanji thinks they make him look diseased, or like Frankenstein, sort of.. He doesn’t think scars are bad or ugly, no. It’s just the way they look on him.

He goes to so many lengths to hide them from the rest of the crew; he takes showers after everyone else is asleep, and his short-sleeved shirts get pushed to the back of the closet.

Chopper’s the only one who’s seen them. well, until Zoro. Somewhere in between when they didn’t like each other and when they suddenly did, the swordsman catches Sanji late at night in the bathroom, shirtless and twisting around himself to look at his back in the mirror.

Somehow, they end up on the floor, Sanji sitting cross-legged on the tile, hunched over with red tipped ears as Zoro sits behind him, taking his time tracing the patterns over Sanj’s skin.

“Do they hurt?” Zoro asks, grazing a calloused thumb over the back of Sanji’s neck.

“Sometimes. they sting when it gets cold.”

Zoro doesn’t say anything for a long time. Sanji feels like a bug under a microscope, just sitting there, being inspected like this. He finds himself zoning out— he doesn’t want to be here right now. This is embarassing.

“I like them.”

“Huh?”

And then Zoro’s hands are smoothing over Sanji’s shoulders, warm and careful like he’s handling a blade. “What, you don’t? It looks badass.”

no, they really don’t. “No. It looks…stupid.” Ugly, is what Sanji wants to say, but he doesn’t. The word suddenly seems a little too crass for whatever’s going on right now.

“Do mine, then?” Zoro counters, and that’s different. Zoro wears his like a collection, each mark a record of battles he’s won and lost and a testament to the shit he’s survived. Sanji hasn’t ever been blemished like that, barring the faint lines on the bridge of his nose still barely visible after eleven years. The scars just look out of place on him. Like they aren’t supposed to be there.

“No, no.” Sanji shakes his head. “Yours are— are badass.”

Zoro pauses again. “They look like vines.”

“Oh, so i’m sprouting greenery like you, now?”

That gets an exasperated huff out of Zoro, and Sanji can feel breath fanning over the back of his neck. “Stop, ‘m serious.”

It’s frightening, kind of, being laid bare under the watchful eye of someone else like this. Sanji can’t even see Zoro (well, besides his hands), but it’s almost like he can— the weight of his gaze falls heavy on Sanji’s back.

“Of course you are.”

A chill slides up Sanji’s spine when Zoro’s hands slide down to his waist, thumbing at the spots where the scars encroach onto his stomach. “ ‘s Pretty.”

Sanji’s throat suddenly feels dry, because the admission of pretty feels less like a descriptor of the lightning bolts spiraling down his back and more about him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Never thought I’d hear you call something ‘pretty,’ you brute.”

“Maybe you needed to.”

Maybe you needed to. Fuck, Maybe Sanji did.

—

gughhhh this was supposed to be a little drabble but got out of hand so fucking quickly??1!1?1?

anyways i want to shoot both of them dead lololololol

i also love projecting my self-image issues onto Sanji…. my blorbo AHHH

[shortbcofkoffee]

CW: Cursing, child abuse via parentification

Bruce didn’t cry. He never cried. Bruce whined and sulked, but he never cried. Tim hated it when Bruce whined and sulked. He hated when Bruce acted like a kicked puppy because he had to take care of him. Tim thinks Alfred is happy he doesn’t have to do it anymore. Bruce is well into his 40s; he shouldn’t need this. Either way, Tim is closing Bruce’s bedroom door behind him and turning to the man in bed.

“Alfred wants you to come to dinner.” Tim sits on the foot of the bed, placing a hand on Bruce’s calf. The man is facing away from him, lying down but not pretending to sleep.

“I’m fine.”

Tim sucks his teeth and furrows his brow. “What’s wrong?”

Bruce shrugs and curls into himself. 

Tim purses his lips. “C’mon, chum. You can tell me.” Tim swallows and his stomach twists. He tells himself that it feels numb on his lips. He’d says he’s long past feeling gross, disgusted with himself, as he gently runs his thumb back and forth over Bruce’s calf. Bruce needs this, he reminds himself. He needs me.

“It’s nothing, I just-... It’s nothing.”

Tim frowned, Bruce wasn’t usually one to share but still. “Is it a case?” He knew Jason had mentioned one. Something about a seemingly normal family leaving their kid with the Falcones before the parents were murdered. It wasn’t the type of thing to stress Bruce out but it was the only one Tim could think of. Bruce didn’t answer. “Okay, well, you don’t need to tell me. But let's get some food in you, yeah?”

Bruce shifted but made no attempt to get up. Tim sighed.

“Alright, chum, I’ll bring dinner to you. Just wait here.” Tim patted his leg and stood up.

“Thanks, Dad,” Bruce said as Tim reached the door.

His eye twitched. “Anytime.”

When he steps out of the dark bedroom, he’s Brother Tim, the Tim the rest of the Waynes like. He makes his way to the dining room where everyone is filing in. Luckily it wasn’t everyone tonight. Just Tim, Dick, Cass, Jason, and Damian. They all sat at the table in their unofficial spots. Tim usually sat between Bruce and Dick with Cass right across from him. He eyed his seat, thinking maybe he could ask Alfred to bring the plate. He wanted to sit down and eat. Dick raised an eyebrow as Tim passed his chair.

“You’re not gonna sit down?”

Tim shook his head. “I will in a minute, Bruce isn’t coming down so I’m bringing him food.”

Jason scoffed. “Why do you need to bring it, ask Alfred.”

God, he wanted to. “Alfred does enough, I’ll do it.”

He could feel their eyes as he quickly moved past them to the kitchen. Alfred is there, garnishing a casserole. The Butler meets his eyes and frowns.

“I assume Master Bruce has elected to stay in his room?”

Tim nods. “I’m gonna fix him a plate.”

Tim thinks Alfred knows because Alfred somehow knows everything. Maybe he doesn’t know how far it’s gone, but he knows. He also needs Tim, but not for himself like everyone else. He needs Tim for Bruce. 

Alfred hums. “Master Timothy, please come here. I want to show you something.” Tim stepped closer, watching as Alfred cut a perfect square out of his casserole. “Master Bruce has a very particular way he likes to be served. You’d do well to memorize it. All foods must be separated by one-third of an inch, vegetables should be opposite the meat. He drinks milk right after his water, if he plans to sleep right after dinner crush two valium pills and mix it well into his milk. If they’re fully dissolved he won’t notice the difference.”

Tim nodded along. God, this was so final. He already knew most of this but Alfred never took the time to actually teach him. It took the butler less than a minute to finish Bruce’s plate, he placed it on a tray with two glasses of milk and water. He handed Tim the tray and sent him on his way.

Tim felt eyes on him again as he passed back through the dining room. There’s a pang of anxiety in his chest telling him they know, they know. He doesn’t know what he’d do if they did. They’d be disgusted, disgusted with Tim for going along with this for so long. They’d think he’s a freak, that somehow he enjoys this. Tim doesn’t know how he’d handle it. 

The walk to Bruce’s room was quiet, the whole manor was quiet. Tim had mixed feelings about long, quiet halls. It meant he was alone; either for the moment or months on end. It was lonely but there was a freedom in that emptiness. He didn’t have responsibilities, he could do whatever, whenever, however. No one was watching him, he didn’t need to be anyone. Tim took a deep breath in. As long as he was in this hallway, he’d be fine. Unfortunately, he was only a few yards from Bruce’s door.

He balanced the tray in one hand and opened the door with the other.

“I’m coming in, chum.”

Bruce turned over in his bed and sat up. “What did Alfred make?”

“Hamburger casserole, broccoli, and turmeric rice. If you want dessert, though, you’ll have to come downstairs.” Tim placed the tray on Bruce’s lap. “Spend time with your kids.”

Bruce stared blankly at his food. “What’s for dessert?”

“Tiramisu, I think. Your favorite.”

Bruce nodded and started to eat. 

Tim ruffled his hair, letting Bruce lean into his touch for a moment. It’s… a lot. “Come down when you’re ready.”

Tim was two steps from the door when Bruce spoke again.

“Wait. Dad…”

Tim turned around and shifted his weight onto one leg. “What’s up, bud?”

Bruce didn’t meet his eyes and poked the food. “Recently I was made aware of… a situation.”

“Uh-huh.” Tim walked back to the bed next to Bruce.

“Jason has let me know about a development in a cold case involving the Falcones.” So he was right. “There was a child involved. I found him, he’s… traumatized. He saw them kill his parents, he told me and I just- I… He doesn’t want to leave the Falcones. He told me he loved it there, they were nice to him. And I just left him. He wouldn’t come with me, he fought so much, I left him.” 

Tim pouted. “I’m sorry that happened, bud. You think you’ll go back for him?”

Bruce leaned onto Tim’s shoulder. “Jason said he’d deal with it. I just wish I did some more. I could’ve, I can, I just. It’d be encroaching on Jason’s territory. Where they’re keeping him. I should do something. I can.”

Tim wrapped an arm around Bruce’s shoulder and scratched his scalp. It felt weird, warm. Bruce had probably washed it earlier, poorly, but at least it was washed. “Yeah, Jason has been on edge with you hasn’t he?” Bruce nodded. “It’ll be alright, bud. Jason can handle this, and besides, this case could be a lot for you. I think you should sit this one out instead of beating yourself up about it.” Tim unwrapped his arm. “Okay?”

“Alright.”

“Good. I’m gonna go eat dinner, you can come down for dessert.”

Tim finally got away, slipping off the bed and out the door. When Tim steps outside the room again and walks a few feet before leaning against the wall. He pressed his forehead against the red wallpaper and placed a hand over his stomach. He doesn’t want to touch anyone ever again. His stomach is churning with that familiar weird feeling. It’d go away soon, a few minutes to a few days, but it’d go away. This wasn’t weird. This isn’t- Bruce needs this, he needs this. As long as Bruce needed him, Tim would be there. He couldn’t just abandon Bruce. His hand gripped his shirt and he took a deep breath. He was okay. Tim stood up straight and walked back to the dining room.

He slid back into his seat next to Dick and Bruce’s empty chair. Alfred already put his plate out, just how he liked. Tim looked around the table at the subtle differences on the other’s plates. He wondered if they noticed and if this would be his life from now on, learning the specific ways he needed to care for everyone. If it’s like that he’s happy only Bruce needs him. He was prepared for a few questions, it’d be weird if he didn’t get any. Bruce’s kids would be worried about him even if they hated to admit it.

“You’ve been fussing over the old man a bit much lately,” Jason started.

“I guess,” Tim shrugged as he began to eat. Had it been more than usual lately? It felt a little less frequent. 

“Is he okay?” Dick asked.

Tim frowned. “He’s upset about a case.” He nodded at Jason. “One of yours, actually. About the kid with the Falcones. He’s eating himself up because he wants to help the kid but he doesn’t want to piss you off. I told him you could handle it.”

“Thank God,” Jason huffed. “That asshole keeps straining my alliances every time he steps foot in the alley.”

“How old is the kid? We don’t need him trying to take another kid in,” Dick joked.

That seemed to satisfy the table as they all went back to eating and their individual conversations. Mainly small talk and meaningless arguments, Tim wanted to contribute but he still felt weird. He felt awful. The food didn't settle the churning in his stomach, unfortunately, the feeling was here to stay. Begrudgingly, his thoughts wandered back to Bruce. What would he need next? When? He could feel the man’s hair on his hand still. It was warm and a little greasy from product that hadn't been washed out. Tim roughly swallowed. He didn't like this feeling. He should be grateful, if it wasn't for this he wouldn't be needed here. Of course, he was CEO of Wayne Enterprises but his professional relationships weren't fulfilling enough to replace personal ones. He needed Bruce to feel useful. Bruce needed him to feel better. It wasn’t weird. It wasn’t disgusting. Tim was okay with it.

He didn't want to finish his dinner. He didn't want to be here when Bruce came down for dessert. Oh God, he’ll probably have to put him to bed if he’s still upset after dinner. He stood with his only half-empty plate and started to the kitchen. Cass grabbed the back of his shirt and tapped him twice, asking where he was going.

“Ah, I'm done eating. Wasn’t too hungry anyway.”

Cass frowned but waved him off but Dick stopped him too. 

“Hold on, Timmy, dude, you barely ate.”

“I'm not hungry,” he reiterated. “And besides, I have a meeting with some shareholders tomorrow, I need to prepare.” A lie so quick it surprised even him. “Do you want my food?”

Before Dick could answer Damian slammed a hand on the table. “Drake! Give me your vegetables!”

Tim quickly dumped his food on Damian's plate and walked to the kitchen. Alfred was still there, preparing dessert, and to Tim’s luck, it was actually Tiramisu. So now he didn’t accidentally lie to Bruce. 

“Should I throw this out or keep the leftovers?” He asked Alfred.

The old man looked between him and the plate a few times. “You only ate one thing.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Just place it on the counter, I’ll deal with it.”

Tim muttered a thanks as he did and left. Unfortunately, always unfortunate for Tim Drake-Wayne, Bruce was there. Smiling at his kids, carrying his tray to the kitchen. Tim didn’t have to look closely at Bruce anymore. Every line crinkle was there whether he liked it or not. He could read Bruce’s face better than anyone he knew and he hated it. Bruce’s smile faltered a little when he was Tim but no one seemed to notice. It wasn’t weird , he reminded himself. He brushed past Tim with a “hey.” The interaction was short and impersonal but it didn’t make the feeling go away. Tim left the dining room. Bruce would probably go to the cave tonight, to look over whatever he’s working on. By tomorrow morning only Dick would be back in Bludhaven and Cass and Jason would be back at their apartments. Tim hoped he wouldn’t have to scold Bruce for staying up too late. 

Tim’s lungs felt light like the air was barely tickling them. He wanted to sleep, he’d set an alarm for three and if Bruce was still up he’d drag him to bed. Soon enough he was in a quiet hallway again. Just alone with no one watching. He jumped as high as possible, fingers barely touching the high ceiling. Tim liked being alone for these small bits of time when he felt like this. It gave him just a little release when he did little things with no one else around. He jumped again. He wants to go on patrol. He wants to jump from building to building and breathe in the night air. He should do it soon, tomorrow maybe.

Tim reached his room, set his alarm for three, and let himself relax into his pillow. Bruce has been better lately, this case was gonna be a huge setback, especially if it involved Jason. Tim hated to say it because it wasn’t true but every problem he had with Bruce was because of Jason. Tim knew it wasn’t fair to blame him, he had no stake in how Bruce would mourn him, but if he never died in the first place… That was so unfair. It made Tim feel disgusting for even thinking that. Bruce wasn’t entirely to blame either, no one is how they mourn. Tim took the role of caretaker quickly and easily, it was a lot, especially for a thirteen-year-old, but Tim could take it. Tim could take everything. He did and will.

Tim didn't know when he fell asleep or if he had a dream but the alarm clock on his bedside table was screaming. Tim groggily rolled over and hit it off. If Bruce wasn't in the cave Tim could go back to sleep sooner. If he was, Tim would have to drag him to bed. Bruce needed as much sleep as possible, the holidays were coming up and that always put Batman on overtime. Tim got out of bed and dragged himself over to Bruce’s room, but of course, he wasn't there. Tim groaned, dragging a hand down his face. He found his way down to the cave and followed the sound of typing to the Batcomputer. 

“It's late.” Tim came up behind Bruce.

“I'm working.”

“And you'll have time to work tomorrow. The sooner you sleep, the sooner you wake up.” He put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “C'mon let's get you to bed.” 

Bruce made no effort to move and Tim leaned on his shoulder. 

“I’ll go to bed soon.”

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Listen, bud, I’m not going to sleep until you do. And I’m tired.”

“No one is asking you to do that.”

“I know you’re tired too. You’re not at your best when you’re tired, you could slip up and miss something.”

“I won’t. I slept yesterday, I’ll be fine.”

Fair, Bruce could easily stay awake for three to four days without shutting down. Unfortunately, with the aforementioned holidays, sleep would be few and far between. “Yeah, well I’m not asking. We’re going to bed.” Tim looked up at the screen. “What are you even working on?”

“I told you. The case with the Falcone kid. I haven’t updated the report yet.”

“I thought I told you to let Jason deal with it.”

“I can help.”

“He doesn’t want your help.” 

Bruce paused his typing for a moment before resuming. “Did he tell you that?”

“I told him that I told you to let him deal with it. He didn’t thank me but he was appreciative.” Tim pulled away from Bruce’s shoulder making the man twitch. “Besides, I don’t want you working this case. It won’t be good for you.”

Bruce just grunted, an unintelligible one that meant he was acknowledging but ultimately ignoring you. It’s like a toddler throwing a quiet tantrum.

“You know I’m right. C’mon, chum, let’s go to bed,” he tried again. The man didn’t answer. “Okay?” He said with more force. Bruce silently saved the report he was working on and logged off. “Thank you. See that wasn’t so hard.”

“Sorry, Dad,” Bruce grumbled. 

“Mm-hm.” Tim held out a hand and pulled Bruce from his chair.

Bruce held onto his hand as they started to walk, he seemed like he needed it. He didn’t let go until they were halfway to his room. Bruce, for someone who craved it so much, hated physical affection. He only accepted it from certain people. Alfred was one since he raised him practically by himself. His kids, obviously, he’d never turn down a hug from one of them, he actually hoped for it. Though Tim had never personally seen it, according to others Bruce didn’t seem to mind being touched by Clark Kent. Lastly, there was Tim. Tim was the only person Bruce reached out to first for affection. Usually just a hand on his shoulder or arm but sometimes Bruce wanted a hug or a hand to hold. It was always over quicker than it happened when Bruce acted first. 

Once he got Bruce to his room it was 3:14. He could still get a good amount of sleep and still be good in the morning. He yawned as he walked the dark halls back to his room. Sleep would be good, Bruce was exhausting. TIm just wanted to melt into his pillow and disappear forever. Tim jumped, almost yelped as he turned a corner and came face to face with a mop of white and black hair. Jason stared at him quietlywith his jaw locked in anger. Neither of them spoke but Jason nodded in the direction of the library. Jason was here, why was he here? Tim hadn’t noticed him come in so it must’ve been when he was dealing with Bruce. 

Oh, God, had he seen him with Bruce? The seeing wasn’t the hard part Tim knew how to lie and deflect. He could say that he asked Bruce to hold hands. It wouldn’t explain why it looked like he was guiding Bruce but it was a start. The hearing was the bad part. If Jason had heard the end of their conversation Tim doesn’t know. An inside joke maybe? That was the only thing Tim could think of at the moment. He bit his lip nervously. The disgusting feeling was back. His hands and feet felt heavy. Tim was tired, he just wanted to sleep.

“Why are you here?” He asked nervously.

“Left my commlink in the cave. Came back to get it,” Jason said.

“Ah.”

So he was in the cave. When they entered the library Jason sat down in one of the lounge chairs and motioned for Tim to sit across from him.

“The fuck was that?” Jason started.

“What was what?”

Jason leaned forward and sighed. “Okay. Are you… okay?” He asked through gritted teeth.

The question felt weird coming from Jason. “Fine. Why?”

“I heard you talking to Bruce.”

Tim is pretty sure all the color left in his face drains. He’s pretty sure Jason noticed it too. “Oh.”

“So are you okay?”

Tim pinched his fingertip with the opposite hand. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just- just forget what you heard, okay? It’s nothing weird, just an inside joke, y’know?” Tim feels a little stupid for deflecting immediately. He could’ve played it off better, but the mental exhaustion was getting to him.

“It didn’t sound like a joke.”

Tim pinched harder, sinking his nails into his skin. “Then you misread the situation.”

Jason leaned back, splaying his arms over the back of the chair. “Alright humor me. What’s the joke then.”

“If I explained it it wouldn’t be very “inside” anymore. It’s private.”

“Kay, so how long have you and him had this private “joke.””

Tim grimaced. “Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not. Just answer.”

Tim scoffed. “Why do you care? It’s a joke me and Bruce have, that’s it.”

“Why do I-?! Why do I care?! You know I kill abusers?”

Tim took a deep breath in and rolled his eyes. “Don’t call it abuse just because you think it’s weird. I get it, you don’t buy the joke thing but that’s all it is.”

Jason was quiet for a moment before his eyes widened. “Oh my God, is that why he listens to you? Because you have this dad thing going on?”

Tim’s stomach churned. God, he wanted to throw up. He wanted to run away and hide under his cover until this was all over. “Nothing’s going on, leave it alone.”

“Listen, I’m trying to help you.”

Jason? Help Tim? When he was the reason for this in the first place? Tim couldn’t help but smile at the irony. “Yeah right. I don’t need any help, it’s fine. If it makes you feel better, I started it, not Bruce.”

“So, what, you started calling Bruce “ chum” and shit.” Tim almost gagged. “And he just went along with it?”

“It’s complicated, okay? Bruce needs someone to deal with him.”

“Why not Alfred? That’s literally his job.”

“It’s different-”

“Is it? Alfred’s practically raised him and I don’t see Bruce calling him dad.”

“It’s different,” Tim repeated. “You weren’t there, you don’t know.”

“Okay then explain it. I’ve got all night.”

Tim clenched his jaw and glared at Jason. “I’m going to bed.” He started to stand but a throwing knife stuck into the bookshelf behind him, barely missing his head.

“Sit. Explain.”

Tim sat back down. “Fine. What do you want to know?”

“When did this start?”

“Four or five years ago.”

Jason hummed. “That’s what you meant by I wasn’t there. Alright then, why is he calling you dad?”

That one was loaded. Tim wasn’t a psychic, he couldn’t read Bruce’s mind. He only had his best guess. “He likes to be parented. Talking to him like he’s a teenager sometimes helps when you need him to do something. Like shower or eat.”

“So… you act like his dad because he’s an overgrown teenager.”

“No. He only acts like that when he’s depressed, or stressed, or wasted.”

“Bruce doesn’t drink.”

“Not when you guys are around. He used to drink himself stupid after you died. That’s also why it’s me and not Alfred. Alfred was grieving too, Bruce wasn’t something he needed to deal with.” 

“So you took Alfred’s place.”

“Only when he needed it.”

“But it never stopped. You’re still doing this weird shit just to make him feel better.”

“He still needs me. I can’t abandon him.” Tim shifted uncomfortably.

“Tim, you’re 17, Bruce isn’t your responsibility.”

“He is. I need to take care of him. You don’t understand, you don’t get how bad he needs me.”

“You’re right, I don’t. He’s grown, he doesn’t need you.”

“Well he does, okay? And I’ll do it until he stops needing me.”

“Do you think of him as your son?”

Tim was silent. He didn’t like to, it made him feel gross to say it so he’d never actually verbalized it before. “It… can make it easier.”

Jason shook his head. “I don’t get you. Both of you know how fucked up this is, you kept it a secret this whole time. You’re clearly feeling shitty about it, you just never said anything. He’s not threatening you, is he?”

“He’s not threatening me, I just… He needs me. That’s all there is to it.” Tim was tired. He wanted to go to bed. “We didn’t tell anyone because we knew you would react like this. You’d think it was weird.”

“It is.”

“You’re not even making an effort to understand. You don’t get it.”

“Oh, believe me, I get it. I get all there is to get. Tim, I’m sure you know this, but I don’t like you. I think you’re a stain and you never should’ve been Robin. But I’m on your side, I’m trying to help you . Because I’m supposed to protect people like you.”

“I’m not a victim, Red Hood, I’m telling you, I’m just taking care of him.”

“You don’t need to.”

“We’re talking in circles. It’s fine if you don’t get it, just don’t tell anyone and keep it alone. Me and Bruce are fine, this has worked for years. If I left Bruce wouldn’t be able to pick himself up again. I can take care of him as long as he needs me.”

“Do you want to?”

Tim rubbed his arm. He didn’t, he liked feeling needed but he didn’t want to do this. But that’s how it was, it was how Bruce needed him. Since he couldn’t, he wouldn’t change a thing. “Yeah.” He felt disgusting.

Jason raised his hands in surrender. “Then I’ll leave it alone. But if I find out something I don’t like, I’ll act. Trust me, I will.”

Tim finally pushed himself out of the chair. “Thank you. I’m going to bed, it’s late.”

Jason stayed behind in the library leaving Tim alone in the long dark hallway. He was alone again, he exhaled a breath he didn’t know he was holding before his chest sank again. Oh God, someone knew. Jason knew, probably the last person Tim wanted to know. Jason had called Bruce an abuser and threatened to kill him. That’s the last thing Tim needed. He wanted to sleep, he should sleep.

.

Read the rest here and read the fic that inspired it here

[vasilissadragomir]

y’all i really think sid abernathy is intellectually and/or developmentally disabled. idk if this is a common belief or not, but after the audio excerpt i’m more convinced than ever. here’s why:

1. sid’s dialogue and behavior

“you said be your rooster. you said you wanted to get to the woods at daylight.”

“haymitch!” wails sid. “the sun’s coming up!”

sid’s language and cadence suggest a young child. which makes sense; he’s 10, which is a young child. so it’s consistent that haymitch would tell sid to be his “rooster,” which is, of course, a callback to “tuck your tail in, little duck.” however, while katniss’ pet name for prim is humorous and light-hearted, her intention in using it is to make prim feel better facing the imminent reaping.

sid’s joy on reaping day, especially the reaping day of the second quarter quell, suggests sid is at best aware but unconcerned about the day’s proceedings, but realistically, that he doesn’t know or understand whatsoever what will occur. as far as he’s concerned, the most important event of the day is haymitch’s birthday.

granted, sid is 10, and prim, at 12, is reaping age. but there’s no way he can avoid the truth about the games or reaping day at school. and haymitch “resistance is not an option” abernathy would not indulge such wanton disregard for the dangers of the day. acting like the reaping isn’t happening is insolence in and of itself. unless, of course, sid’s behavior is not disregard, but true ignorance. and the only way he’d be ignorant of the reaping is if he is, at least in the eyes of haymitch and his mother, incapable of understanding it.

2. sid needing an explanation about the reaping

“i wonder whether it'll be me or ma who sits him down beforehand and explains about his role in the reaping, how he had to look nice and keep his mouth shut and not cause any trouble. even if the unthinkable happens and his name gets drawn, he's got to suck it up, put on the bravest face he can muster and climb onto that stage, because resistance is not an option.”

as implied by sid’s happy attitude in the excerpt, and now confirmed by the audio clip, sid will need to have the reaping explained to him when he turns 12. but in his worry about sid’s first reaping, haymitch is concerned with telling sid step-by-step what to do. and it’s not just about where to stand or the proceedings themselves. he will have to explain to sid that he needs to be quiet and docile.

no kid in district 12 would need it explained to them how to act on reaping day by age 12. that is, unless the normal district 12 peacekeepers would otherwise know that the kid means no harm in stepping out of line. on reaping day, with peacekeeper reinforcements and cameras, the same lenience would not apply. an intellectual disability would explain not only that, but why haymitch and their mother intend to keep sid in his happy ignorance as long as they can.

3. sid’s death within two weeks of haymitch’s defiance

the most common question about snow’s punishment of haymitch is why he didn’t have sid or lenore dove reaped. on lenore dove, it would be too obvious to reap haymitch’s girl just a year or two after haymitch’s games. that’s especially true if haymitch’s insolence is so egregious as to warrant a punishment as severe as the death of all his loved ones. after a year or two lenore dove would be aged out. to create some plausible deniability for the capitol citizens, the only realistic option for snow to reap would be sid.

with sid, he would have nine years to choose exactly the right moment to punish haymitch in this way. if sid is anything like prim, he’d be beloved in the capitol during haymitch’s games, largely for his youth and innocence. but katniss herself considers prim to be reaped. that’s a particularly strong possibility once prim was older, and thus less angelic and harmless in the eyes of the capitol. even still, rue is evidence that age is not reason enough for the capitol to grow sour at the idea of any tribute’s reaping.

so why wouldn’t snow wait it out for sid? i’m sure we’ll get plenty of reasons in the book, but the best explanation is that it would create blowback for snow if sid was reaped, regardless of his age or how beloved he is in the capitol. the most realistic scenario why that would be true is if sid is too naive and “simple” to be a threat, even as an older teen in a strong, adult-like body.

that’s not to say the capitol is “above” reaping a disabled child (see: the boy from 10 in the 75th and wovey in the 10th). but a beloved younger brother of a quarter quell victor who is ALSO developmentally disabled? the optics would be terrible for snow. that’s especially true if the capitol’s attitude toward people with mental disabilities is anything as patronizing as that of the people of district 12 (see: the people at the hob treating greasy sae’s granddaughter like a pet out of ignorance rather than malice).

4. it’s great device to explain the games to the audience without too much info-dumping

we’re going to spend much of the games in haymitch’s head. even in the midst of a battle royale, that can get boring really fast. that issue was avoided in tbosas by snow’s narration, since the boring bits of lucy’s gray’s time in the games were easily supplemented by snow’s life in the capitol.

with katniss, the quiet parts of the games were broken up with flashbacks. the flashbacks served double duty of keeping things interesting AND creating character development/worldbuilding. we saw katniss’ father’s death, her interaction with peeta, her friendship with gale, and her life at home with her mother and prim. her father’s death explained her character, the bread incident her feelings about peeta, her friendship with gale her worldview, and prim/her mother the inter-12 seam/town tensions as well as katniss’ motivations.

unlike with katniss, though, we know a lot about who haymitch is and what happened to him. we don’t need as much basic worldbuilding (and i doubt he’d have much more information than katniss does at this point, anyway), so the only things left are his family and district 12. for haymitch’s family, which is 100% seam in a way katniss’ is not, we’re going to need a new lens through which to view 12. it can’t *just* be typical single-mother seam life; we got most of that through katniss and gale. haymitch’s story has to provide a new angle.

i think that additional layer *has* to be sid. haymitch, unlike katniss, was himself reaped—what is motivating his survival? what makes him different than all the others in the seam, who are reaped to an inevitable death? a clear explanation could be that sid is incapable of surviving if haymitch dies. even with their mother working, everyone has to contribute. and if haymitch doesn’t have a gale, sid’s protection is even less guaranteed.

sure, haymitch might just have the same maternal instinct katniss has for prim, but that’s one of the key distinctions between them in the trilogy. haymitch loves peeta and katniss like they’re his own, and yet he lies to and betrays them in a way that katniss considers unconscionable. and, imo, if it’s as simple as haymitch wanting to protect sid’s innocence like katniss wants to protect prim’s, the similarities between them become less parallels and more replicas. what’s the point of sid’s death if katniss and haymitch are so similar that the loss of their siblings conveys the same message?

[queenie-ofthe-void]

WIP Weekend WIP Snip Share!

Didn't have time to do any WIP games this weekend, but here's a bit I've written for my Steddie (-Jonathan) fic. Because I thought, "huh, you know what this steddie angst fic needs? A Stobin fight."

Enjoy (or... you know)

~~~

Context: As Robin finally convinced Steve to tell Eddie how he feels, they're shocked when they go back to the party and find Jonathan and Eddie making out on the couch.

“Everyone’s gone home,” Robin consoles, tone grating against his skin. He doesn’t need her pity, or anyone else’s. Besides, Steve wouldn’t even be in this mess if it wasn’t for her. Meddling in his love life has never worked out for Steve in the past, and he doesn’t understand why he convinced himself it would be different this time just because it was Robin.

Because why would anyone, let alone someone like Eddie, be interested in dating Steve Harrington, King of Assholes and Jocks. Compared to someone like Jonathan, someone who is so clearly a better match for Eddie, Steve brings nothing to the table.

He laments himself for believing anything she ever said about how Eddie apparently looks at him when his head’s turned, or how he always goes out of his way to make Steve laugh. None of it was real. It was all just lies. Bullshit.

“Then why are you still here?” It’s colder than he meant. Steve can already feel the crown sliding back into place. It’s sickening how much he misses it, an old, awful comfort he worked so hard to shed. And yet, it feels so fucking good to wear it again. 

If only it wasn’t Robin.

Heavy silence weighs against him. It’s not the response he expected. People always have a reaction when they meet King Steve– whether it’s disdain from the kids he tormented, pride from his asshole friends, or disappointment from people like Nancy. 

Steve still hasn’t turned around, his back to the door Robin had come through to find him. The inability to read her eats at his nerves. He denies the sharp urge to look at her– to consume and study every twitch of her mouth, every crinkle of her eyes– to know what she’s thinking right now. But that would mean giving her the same opportunity which is something Steve can absolutely not allow her.

The crown is a cold comfort if yet still a bit ill fitting. It’s been too long since Steve’s had to wield it as a sword and shield to fend off the people closest to him. He’s forgotten how. It wobbles on his head no matter how hard he clings to it. The heat of shame still stings behind his eyes. Steve hates it. So he clings to the anger, if he can’t cling to anything else.

He’s ripped from his seething by a firm hand on his shoulder. Robin’s next to him now, appearing almost out of nowhere. Steve wonders how long the silence lingered, if she said anything to him as he was stuck in the swirl of ruminating thoughts.

“Steve, look at me.”

Brushing her hand off his shoulder, Steve storms across the kitchen. She can’t look at him, she can’t see him. He can’t talk to her with all the shit clogging his throat. It’s all bubbling up inside him, the way it always does, thoughts and feelings he can’t name or pin down long enough to examine, not that he’d ever want to in the first place. Robin needs to leave before it bursts from him like a monster crawling through a hole in the ceiling, ready to hurt anyone in its path. Like a stupid, bigoted boy willing to throw a punch in an alleyway.

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

Part of mes like wondering about yuta nanami bonding time and my minds settled on yuta (plus second years) bake nanami a loaf of bread or something and yuta gives it to him in a very clear i wish to run away now way and it freeze frames nanami for like five minutes

No one told him it was for Yuuta specifically to give to Nanami until they were shoving it in his hands and kicking him through a door. Sometimes Yuuta reconsiders this friends thing.

Nanami had to go lie down after.

[classyrbf]

YOU'RE PREGNANT! — JJK MEN

SYNOPSIS...how the jjk men(toji, gojo, geto, nanami, choso) act when you’re 9 months pregnant and ready to pop

INFO...jjk men x fem!reader, fluff, comfort, reader is pregnant (obvi), mention of mood swings, cravings, emotional reader, jjk men being great dads

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

TOJI

toji has already dealt with this kind of thing before when it came to megumi, but it’s been so long that he’s almost forgotten what it was like. You’re waddling around the house, a stank look on your face as you stare at him. “Yes?” He questions, eyebrows raised. “I want food,” you simply answer. “Okay, what do you want?” He asks. And when you tell him you’re not sure, he lets out a long sigh because he knows this is gonna end in you getting emotional. You’ll complain your back hurts, your feet hurt, and then you’ll end up cursing him out for putting a baby in you. So all he does is walks over to you, and hugs you because he’d rather do that than get into a stupid argument about food. “Toji!” You cry into his arms. “I’m just so hungry and I don’t know what to eat!” You sniffle. To help with your problem, he starts listing off every fast food restaurant and food he could think of in hopes you’d find one appealing enough. “Chinese food?” He shrugs. You gasp with excitement. “Ugh, yes! Me and the baby could go for some orange chicken!” You smile. Toji just chuckles, “making the call right now, sweetheart.” He watches as you waddle over to the couch, smiling like a kid in a candy store.

GOJO

ever since he found out you were pregnant, he was at the stores buying whatever supplies he saw, doesn’t matter if you needed it or not. And till this day, when you’re about a few weeks from popping, he’s still buying the baby things. “What do you think of this, eh?” He smirks, holding up a onesie that says “my dad is the best”. “You’re gonna spoil her rotten, is what I think,” you groan as you reach into the bag to see what else he bought for your daughter. “More toys?” You hold up a fake set of plastic keys. Gojo snatched them from you. “I’ll have you know that she will be learning life skills at a very young age, thank you very much,” he scoffed. All you did was laugh, shaking your head at him in disbelief. Your daughter’s room was filled to the brim with clothes, toys, blankets, you were starting to wonder if you had any more room. “I can already tell she’s going to be a daddy’s girl,” you said with a sigh, rubbing your belly. “Yes she is,” Gojo leaned in towards your very plump belly, “isn’t that right?” He placed a kiss on your stomach.

NANAMI

nanami is the type that doesn’t let you do a damn thing by yourself. You’re reach for something to high on the shelf, he’s sprinting towards you, ready to be at your service. “Be careful,” he says, rubbing your back. “Kento, I got it,” you chuckle. His eyes are always on you, watching your every move. Especially when you’re in public, he hates when people get too close to you. He knows others don’t watch their surroundings and could easily bump into you. “Ken!” You shout from the bedroom. “Yes?” He peeks his head around the corner. “Can you help me get my shoes on, I can’t even reach,” you pout. Within seconds he’s on his knees, slipping on your sandals, and tying them around your ankle. He will even go as far as to paint your toes if you forgot because he knows how much you hate not having them done. Like I said, he won’t let you do a thing by yourself. “Thank you, Ken,” you kiss his lips.

GETO

geto literally pampers you. I’m not saying he acts like nanami, but I’m saying that he makes your pregnancy as comfortable as possible. “Sugu, baby, can you rub my feet? They’re swollen.” You frown. “Of course.” He grabs the lotion and casually massages your feet while you’re both watching a movie, and literally over the course of your pregnancy he’s become the best masseuse ever. He’ll also randomly creep up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist before lifting your belly, feeling the weight off of your back. “Feel better, mama?” He kisses your cheek. “So much better.” You nod, closing your eyes as you embrace the moment. You’ve even found it hard to shower while being pregnant and geto takes it upon himself to help you, albeit jumping in the shower with you or sitting on the edge of the tub while you’re in the bath. “Is the water too hot?” He rubs the soapy water over your shoulders. “It’s perfect.”

CHOSO

I’m sorry but choso is clueless. Not in a bad way, but in like a panicky way. You’re an emotional wreck through your pregnancy, moods swings like crazy. “Can you just get out please?!” You’re annoyed with him, bothered about the littlest thing ever and then in the next two minutes you’re walking out the room just crying and apologizing to him, kissing his cheek. He has no idea what the hell is going on, and you’d think he’d learn after nine months, but no. All he can is just sit there and comfort you. “It’s fine,” he assures. He gets your favorite food that you’ve been craving for the past two weeks, eating it non stop and then within a split second you’re gagging, pushing the food away. “Oh my gosh, Choso! Please throw it away, it tastes so bad.” You gag again. “But…I…you were just eating this yesterday…?” He’s says, confused before throwing the bowl of food in the garbage. Quite literally doesn’t understand anything, just confused to all hell, but he’s trying his best.

[nezuscribe]

life as a hit man was dirty but simple, and gojo preferred keeping it that way. he didn’t know his clients names, they didn’t know his. he’d send over proof of his work, they’d wire in the money. dirty, yet simple.

so when he gets a message to kill the daughter of some oil tycoon, he doesn’t think much about it. sure he thinks it’s cheap to go for the kid, but what does he know. this is the most he’s ever been offered for a one shot job, so he’s not an idiot to turn this offer down.

and unfortunately, that meant his next confirmed target was you.

he gets your information, where you go to school, what apartment building you live in, where you like to eat. usually he prefers a straight shot to the head, but sometimes sneaking in something to your food lets him off easier.

gojo gets to know your routine. what you do at what time. what shows you watch, what your favorite sweater is. he watches from the high rises that faces yours, crouching down so none of your bodyguards could see the reflection of the magnifier of his rifle.

and gojo is used to taking out a wide range of people. men, women, grandpas, aunts. it’s just business to him. but there’s something about you that makes him hesitate to pull the trigger.

maybe it’s the fact that the weeks he’s spent trailing after you he’s noticed you’re pretty much a loner. you keep to yourself, never bothering anyone. you don’t seem to have my friends in your classes, or even out of them. gojo never questions to morals of his clients or who they ask him to kill, but judging you so far you seem to have done…nothing wrong.

you treat the old lady who works in the convenience story with such kindness that gojo wonders if you were born into this level of wealth, because most people of your status treat those beneath them like ants. you always hold the door open for your body guards despite them insisting they do it for you. you always buy some food for the stray cats in the alley you pass, and you never yell when you’re on the phone with your dad, even though gojo tracks those calls and feels the need to yell for you.

it all comes to a moment when you’re at your favorite coffee shop (he knows this because you come here so often), and you’ve managed to weasel away from your bodyguards. he knows they must be freaking out by now, but you just want some alone time.

he’s right there, right behind you, the little pouch of his condition of drugs that instantly kill in his pocket ready, and you turn around with your coffee cup and bump into him.

your eyes seen, letting out a shocked gasp as the iced drink stains his shirt and pants, the cup not empty on the floor.

“oh my god, oh my god,” you stutter out, scrambling to find some napkins, “i’m so so sorry! i didn’t even see you there - gosh,” you shove some napkins into his hands, trying to dapple the coffee away but it does nothing to help, “i can’t believe…!” you trail off, the two of you moving out of line so you don’t hold the others up and your shaking your head in dismay, mad at your clumsiness.

“it’s alright,” he assures you, waving it off as his eyes take in your appearance. “don’t even worry about it, accidents happen.” it’s the first time he’s seen you this close, and he feels that pouch growing heavier in his pocket.

because you’re pretty. really pretty. and he likes the plush of your cheeks, the scrunch of your brows, the way you’re nearly gnawing your lip raw. you seem even prettier in person, and there’s a lump forming in his chest, something he’s never felt before.

“no, no,” you murmur, trying to find the tide pen in your bag, only to realize you left it at home, “and it’s stained too, fuck. i am so sorry about this, you probably have somewhere to be and…” your words trail off as you scramble for your wallet, pulling out some cash as you push it into his hands.

it’s more than he needs to replace the shirt and pants, probably enough to buy him a couple pairs from ralph lauren, but you still seem to think it’s not enough as you look for more.

“it’s no worries at all, i keep an extra of shirts in my car for emergencies like this,” gojo lies smoothly and you look up from your purse, eyes wide in shame. fuck he really likes your eyes too.

“no, please take it, it’ll be on my mind all day if you don’t,” you insist, but he’s shaking his head defiantly, a reassuring smile on his face as he hands the money back to you.

“and it’ll be on my conscience all day if i take it,” he promises you, and after you realize he’s not going to retract his hands you take the cash, shoving it back into your wallet as heat settles all over your body.

of course with your luck you spill coffee all over the most attractive man you’ve ever met.

you still look worried, finding another napkin as you take out a pen from your purse, messily writing something down.

“this is my contact information if you ever need me to replace your clothes,” you hand it over to the man with an apologetic smile, “please don’t hesitate to call me, i know stains and that’s gonna be really hard to get out,” you go to say something else but your eyes dart to the large windows behaubd him, catching sight of your body guards who seem to have seen you, and your face falls.

“i’m really sorry, again, but i have to go,” you mutter as you speed off, waving goodbyes to the stranger as you duck your head down and leave the coffee shop, not wanting to cause another scene as three buff men race in to find you.

gojo stands there almost in a haze, looking at his stained white shirt to the napkin with your number and name on it.

almost as if he didn’t already know it, almost as if you weren’t the girl he’s supposed to kill.

and in that moment he realizes how screwed he is, because he’d rather down that packet right there than shoot you down, and he’s never felt this dread before.

[yanderenightmare]

TW: yandere, noncon/dubcon, angst, unwanted pregnancy, blackmail, ish-baby trapping

PART ONE only avaliable on AO3 due to Tumblr restrictions

fem reader

You went cold and forgot how to breathe.

When you got to the kindergarten, they told you his father had already come and collected him early. All looking at you as though you were crazy, assaulting the daycare workers with your hands in a bruising grip, shaking her by her shoulders—demanding she tell you where he took him. 

She spilled the name of some family restaurant down the road and said he’d wanted you to join them there. The poor thing was on the verge of tears when you let go.

Rushing out, you all but ran down the streets before pushing yourself through the doors—cold-sweating and swivel-eyed—in a panic, scanning faces with his name coming out weak under your breath. 

With your vision spinning, you felt faint before you heard it.

“Mommy! Mommy! You’re here! Look! I’m King of the castle!” he shouted, and your peeled eyes snapped to see him up high in a bright red plastic tower.

But before your shoes could hit the soft foam of the playground, you were intercepted by something larger.

“He’s fine,” he said under his breath, catching and stopping you in your beeline, holding you by the waist. “I need to talk to you.”

Something old and instinctive didn’t bother paying him heed—as if forgetting how to speak, you just ignored him in favor of pushing past him, eyes glued to the sight of your son blissfully unaware, playing with other kids with an oblivious smile on his face. But his grip was stronger than your instincts, firm enough to keep you still but not enough to hurt you, even when you tried twisting yourself free.

“Come on,” he urged.

You were about to sneer something, finally looking at his face—that face you hated—but the bark of curse words got held back.

“Look around you. Let’s not cause a scene.” The wild animal within went silent while your eyes flickered around at the surrounding picnic tables where families were having their dinner. “We can talk outside. My assistant will look after him.”

You didn’t feel much inclined to listen, but still, even though it made you hate to fold on his behest—reluctantly, you accepted the sense of what he was saying. Looking back at your son still laughing up in his tower with cinched brows. You didn’t want to scare him when he didn’t know what was going on, even though you felt the need to scream at the very top of your lungs.

You allowed him to lead you outside, but as soon as the fresh air welcomed your rigid state, you were at once whipping around and pushing him away. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!” snarling at him. “How fucking dare you?!”

“Calm down. He might still see us,” he hushed, hands raised in halfhearted surrender, casting a nod to the glass walls separating you from the frivolity inside. “Let’s just talk rationally.”

“Rationally?!” you scoffed in a shout, eyes still manic. “You fucking kidnapped my son, you psycho-”

“You wouldn’t answer my texts or calls,” he snubbed. “He’s my son too-”

“Fuck you,” you interrupted to return the favor. “If you fuck with me on this, I swear I’ll ruin you.” You had a finger raised at him, breathing furiously—looking down-right mad—sweaty and disheveled from your run with your face twisted with such a state of frenzy. “I’ll tell everyone how I got him in the first place!”

Despite the threat, he didn’t seem all that fazed. 

“Think about it…” he said calmly, much in contrast to you. “Who do you think people will believe? A teenage mom abusing her son for a paycheck or his estranged father wanting to provide for him?”

You blanched, and before anything else made it out—whether it be more rage or something else, he was already further silencing you.

“Not to mention… the trial would be gruesome, and Junior would have to grow up with it always hanging over his head—is that really what you want?”

You look at him, and you still can't believe it. How could it have turned out like this? You’d been perfect only a month ago before he’d shown up at your apartment.

You thought you’d sent him on his way for good that day, but only now did you realize he had no plans to leave you alone.

“Come, let’s talk in the car. It’s cold, and you’re not dressed,” he ushered, taking your arm again where you stood, stunned and still, trying to wrap your head around his threats. Letting yourself be led into the black vehicle standing perfectly parked in its neat white rectangle.

You both got in the back with enough room to battle your homey sofa nook at home.

“I don’t want this to get ugly,” he started anew—his voice still so irritatingly calm, unfairly so. “I just want to see my son-”

“He’s not yours,” you croaked, feeling the situation slip from your fingers—battling a drumming heart, shifty breaths, and the mean sting of tears welling up in your eyes.

“If you try and keep him from me, I’ll sue for full custody. And given I’m the only one out of us who isn’t a pro-bono case and the only one with any future that isn’t managing a register, I’d say I have a pretty fair shot at winning.”

You can’t keep from bursting out crying then, overwhelmed by the fear of losing the only thing that mattered and the pure disgust of the man who’d given it to you. It felt like everything was tearing—your whole life—crumbling before your eyes.

“Don’t cry,” he soothed, his hand coming to drape your hunched shoulders where you held your tears. “I don’t want to take him away from you…” His attempt did little to comfort you, but the next words had your heart grasping for what little hope they offered. “And I’m not going to either.”

You looked at him through the hurt of swollen eyes, tears still falling while he wiped them away with the course pad of his thumb—rubbing your cheek affectionately. In any other circumstance, you’d surely slap him, but right now, all you could do was listen.

“I’m buying a house,” he revealed, still holding your cheek and gaze. “Fit for a family. Safe neighborhood, good school district, giant backyard.” The list went over your head—it was all too surreal to register. You couldn’t even fathom what he was getting at until, “I want the two of you to come live there with me.”

Stunned, you remained completely silent until the tears dried, and he let go of your face. 

“You don’t have to say anything right now.” He reaches across you and fetches the seatbelt before coming back over you to click it in place. “I’ll go get Junior and drive you home. Just stay here.”

You do as suggested and stay seated as he pops his door open and leaves—feeling all but cemented in place as your thoughts go tumbling around and around as if caught in a rip curl. When Junior jumps in beside you, a farfetched smile is all you can offer. Thankfully, he’s so enamored by a toy he’d gotten to notice much of your state.

When your door opens again, you’re led out and onto your neighborhood street. The fresh air does little to clear your mind. Feeling all but feverish as you hold Junior's small hand in yours while the man of your nightmares smiles all too fondly at the two of you.

“I’ll come pick you up after your shift on Monday.,” he says decidedly—cheerfully as he ruffles Junior’s hair enough to make him giggle. “Bring the rascal with you, and he can pick his room first.”

You weren’t planning on staying. You were never planning on staying—certain you would leave the second the opportunity to skip town arose—you just need to scramble the money together first. 

But the house was huge… nothing you could ever dream of, and while it made you desperate with grief, you couldn’t deny it either… Junior really loved having a dad.

It nearly brought sick to your throat to call him that. It was a shot through the heart every time you heard Junior’s boyish call, squealing with giggles, saying “Daddy, daddy, daddy-”

None of it seemed right to you. Seeing his bright smile, now at the age where a new tooth fell out every other week—looking so goofy as he proudly shows the two of you the new one he’d just knocked out playing soccer at school. “Mommy, Daddy, look!”

What’s worse is that you can't even deny how good the man you hate is at it all—spoiling him with gifts and making him laugh—giving piggyback ride after air-plane flight after tickle-fight and a game of tag and hide’n’seek. 

And it’s not just the easy stuff. He’s good at the shit that used to make you go crazy—putting him to bed, getting him dressed, making him eat the right stuff, and not just scuffle down candy. It’s as if the two of them have developed a secret language you’re not a part of. If Junior weren’t a toddler, you’d even suspect he’d been bribed and told to do his best to make you lose your mind. But no, it’s just reality.

The man you live with drives and picks your son up from school as if he’d done it since he was born, goes with you to meet the teacher if and when he gets into trouble and helps the two of you pick out the right shoes—shoes that you can now afford, thanks to him.

“I thought I might sleep in the master bedroom tonight.” He says, leaning against the frame in the doorway.

You’d been living there a month now. He’d been generous enough to sleep in the guest room up until now.

You don’t know how to deny him. It feels as if anything you might say would just be ignored or threatened until you eventually took it back. You didn’t want him in your bed—you didn’t want him in the same house—in fact, preferably, you’d want him to be six feet deep in the dirt.

You end up not answering. But he’s used to that by now. 

“I get it…” he says, taking steps into the room you’d wrongfully thought was your safe space. “You don’t trust me.” He sits down at the edge of the bed and reaches out across the sheets. You’re too late to pull your feet to yourself before he has one in his hand. He doesn’t do much but stroke it. “But you can.”

The sincerity in his eyes makes you want to gouge them out. It’s all been some cruel joke ever since you moved in—all the pleasantries and presents, as if trying to distract you from the past. Your wardrobe is chockfull of it, and so is Junior’s room—filled to the brim with lies.

“I’m never gon’ hurt you.” Another lie. “I did you wrong once, and I’ll spend the rest of my life makin’ up for it.” 

You want to shake your head, laugh in his face—anything to reject it. But you’re terrified of what he might do if you didn’t play along. The threat of losing Junior is enough to make you cooperative.

“I know I’ve not been fair—pushin’ you into all of this so fast.” He gets down on his knees on the floor as if praying, right down beside you. “I took advantage of a vulnerable situation ‘cause I’m an impatient asshole—but I promise you—” He takes your hand in both of his. “If you give me the chance, I’m gon’ make our lives together like somethin’ outa’ a fuckin’ fairytale—all that happily ever after shit and more, just like you always wanted.”

The kiss he presses upon your knuckles beckons goosebumps to rise all across you. All his words feel like a bad script read by an even worse actor—in fact, this whole thing feels like a prank. And still, it doesn’t surprise you—he’s been laughing at you ever since you were children.

And now, laughing still, only with a fucking ringbox in his hand.

“I want Junior to see us as a united front. I don’t want him askin’ question why we ain’t sleepin’ in the same bed, why we fight behind locked doors, why you cry in the bathroom.” 

He pops the black velvet lid and reveals something so outrages it almost looks tacky lying there in a plush bed of red silk.

“I want us to be happy.” He picks the little thing out and holds it up between his thumb and index, still holding your hand in the other. “I want us to be real.” You can almost see your life flash before your eyes as it threatens your ring finger. “Let’s make us real.”

You don’t say anything as he eases the tiny hoop on, sliding it all the way back until it sits snugly right at your knuckle—dazzling in the dark. A tiny tear slips down your cheek—equally dazzling.

He played some with the digit—a smile on his face. 

“Looks good on you, Mrs.” As he calls you by his last name you almost shake the ring off as if it burned to wear, but it all gets lost when he rushes forward and locks his lips with yours.

You yelp against his mouth, kept from turning away by the large hand holding your jaw, threatening to seize your throat and squeeze. You remember how it had felt. You don’t want more of a reminder, so you intercept his tongue with yours before he forced it down your throat.

He groans at the warm welcome, and your entire body shudders in memory.

You hadn’t let anyone touch you since that time five years ago. It had left a poor taste in your mouth, and the hunger for it had never come back.

You choke it down now as he climbs on top. 

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Dabi, Hawks ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Geto, Gojo, Naoya, Toji

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[rmview]

saying they want to break up during a fight, SKZ.

featuring — stray kids members x gn!reader ( masterlist )

summary — a reaction of what happens when the stray kids boys impulsively say they want to break up during a fight!

contents — angst, fighting, some tears, reconciliation.

bang ☆ chan

fights with bang chan weren’t common, but when they happened, they hit hard. his naturally calm and rational demeanor made it rare for him to lose his temper, but tonight was different. the stress of balancing his responsibilities, combined with your ongoing disagreement, pushed him to the edge.

“you always think i’m not doing enough!” he shouted, his voice cracking under the weight of frustration. “i’m doing everything i can, and it’s still not enough for you!”

“that’s not what i said, chan,” you retorted, equally exasperated. “i just need you to make time for us — just once without your work taking over.”

his jaw tightened as he ran a hand through his hair, his usual composure unraveling. “maybe we’re not right for each other,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “maybe we should just… break up.”

the silence that followed was deafening. bangchan’s eyes widened, and his expression immediately softened as he realized what he’d just said. “wait — no. that’s not what i meant,” he stammered, his voice trembling.

you took a shaky breath, stepping back. “you said it, chan. if that’s how you feel…”

“no, please,” he interrupted, his voice pleading. he reached for your hand, but you pulled away. “i didn’t mean it. i swear, i didn’t mean it. i’m just… i’m tired and overwhelmed, but that’s not an excuse. please, don’t leave.”

tears welled up in his eyes as he stepped closer, desperate to fix what he’d just shattered. “you’re the most important thing in my life,” he said, his voice breaking. “i’ll do better. i’ll make time — i promise. just… don’t walk away.”

felix ☆

felix hated confrontation. he was always the one to diffuse tension, his warm smiles and soothing words calming any storm. but tonight, the argument spiraled beyond his control.

“why do you always think the worst of me?” he asked, his usually soft voice laced with hurt. “i’m trying my best, but it’s like you don’t trust me.”

“it’s not about trust, felix,” you shot back, your voice rising. “it’s about feeling like i’m not a priority!”

his frustration bubbled over, and before he could think, he blurted out, “maybe we shouldn’t do this anymore. maybe we should just break up.”

the words hung in the air like a punch to the gut. felix’s freckles seemed to pale as the weight of what he’d said hit him. “no, wait,” he said quickly, his voice trembling. “i didn’t mean that. i didn’t mean that at all.”

you stood frozen, your heart aching. “how could you say that, felix?”

tears brimmed in his eyes as he stepped closer, his hands shaking. “i’m sorry,” he whispered. “i was angry, and i wasn’t thinking. you mean everything to me, and the thought of losing you —” his voice cracked. “please, don’t leave. i’ll do whatever it takes to make this right.”

lee ☆ know

lee know was known for his sharp tongue, but he rarely let his emotions get the best of him. tonight was an exception.

“you never understand my side!” he snapped, his voice colder than usual. “you always make it about you.”

“that’s not fair, minho,” you replied, your voice quivering. “i just want us to communicate better.”

“maybe we shouldn’t communicate at all,” he shot back, the words cutting like a blade. “maybe we should just end this.”

the moment the words left his mouth, regret washed over him. his face fell, and his usually stoic demeanor cracked. “wait,” he said softly, his voice laced with panic. “that’s not what i meant.”

you stared at him, hurt evident in your eyes. “minho…”

“i was angry,” he admitted, his tone desperate. “i didn’t think before i spoke. i don’t want this to end. i don’t want to lose you.”

he reached out tentatively, his eyes searching yours. “i’m sorry,” he murmured. “i know i hurt you, but please give me a chance to fix this. i’ll prove to you that you mean more to me than my pride ever could.”

hyun ☆ jin

hyunjin’s emotions always ran high, and tonight, they overwhelmed him completely.

“you don’t understand what it’s like to be me!” he yelled, tears streaming down his face. “i’m constantly trying to be perfect, and it’s never enough — not for you, not for anyone!”

“i never said you had to be perfect, hyunjin,” you replied, your voice trembling. “i just want you to let me in!”

“maybe it’s better if we’re not together,” he snapped, his voice breaking. “maybe i can’t give you what you need.”

the silence that followed was suffocating. hyunjin’s chest heaved as he realized what he’d just said. “no,” he whispered, shaking his head. “that’s not true. i didn’t mean that.”

tears welled in your eyes as you took a step back. “hyunjin, you can’t just say things like that.”

“i know,” he said, his voice cracking as he stepped closer. “i’m sorry. i was scared and angry, but i don’t want to lose you. you’re the one thing that makes me feel like i’m enough.”

hyunjin fell to his knees, his hands trembling as he clutched yours. “please don’t go,” he begged, tears streaming down his face. “i’ll do whatever it takes to fix this. just… don’t leave me.”

i.n ☆

jeongin wasn’t someone who fought often, but when he did, it was because something had truly gotten under his skin. tonight was one of those nights. the argument had started small, but it escalated quickly.

“you’re always treating me like i’m a kid,” jeongin snapped, his voice louder than usual. “like i don’t know what i’m doing or how i feel.”

“that’s not what i’m doing,” you countered, frustration evident in your tone. “i just worry about you, jeongin. is that so bad?”

“well, maybe i don’t need you to worry about me!” he shouted back. then, in a moment of blind frustration, he added, “maybe we shouldn’t even be together if you don’t trust me to take care of myself.”

as soon as the words left his mouth, regret hit him like a wave. his eyes widened, and he looked at you as if he wanted to take it all back. “wait, no,” he stammered, his voice softer now. “i didn’t mean that. i… i don’t want that.”

your expression faltered, hurt flashing across your face. “jeongin…”

he stepped closer, his hands trembling as he reached for yours. “i’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “i didn’t mean it. i was angry, and i said something stupid. please don’t take it seriously. you mean so much to me, and i can’t lose you.”

tears welled up in his eyes as he looked at you, desperate to fix the mess he’d created. “i’ll do better,” he promised, his voice barely above a whisper. “just don’t leave.”

han ☆

han’s emotions always bubbled just beneath the surface, and when he was upset, it showed in every word and expression. tonight, his frustration boiled over in a way he hadn’t intended.

“you don’t get it!” he yelled, pacing back and forth. “you don’t understand what it’s like to feel like you’re never enough!”

“jisung, i’m just trying to talk to you,” you said, your voice shaky. “why are you shutting me out?”

“because i don’t know how to talk about this!” he shouted back, his voice cracking. “maybe… maybe it’d be better if we weren’t together. maybe then you wouldn’t have to deal with me.”

the second the words left his mouth, he froze. his hands dropped to his sides, and he looked at you with wide, tear-filled eyes. “no,” he whispered, shaking his head. “that’s not what i meant. i didn’t mean that at all.”

you stared at him, hurt and disbelief written all over your face. “how can you say that, jisung?”

he stepped closer, his voice trembling. “i’m sorry,” he said, tears streaming down his cheeks. “i was scared, and i let my fear get the best of me. i don’t want to lose you. you’re the only person who makes me feel like i’m enough, even when i don’t believe it myself.”

seung ☆ min

seungmin was usually calm and level-headed, but even he had his limits. tonight, the argument had pushed him to a place he rarely went.

“why do you always think i’m the bad guy?” he snapped, his voice sharp. “i’m doing my best, but it’s never enough for you.”

“that’s not fair, seungmin,” you replied, your tone frustrated. “i just want us to communicate better.”

“maybe we shouldn’t communicate at all,” he said coldly. “maybe we should just end this.”

the second the words left his mouth, his heart sank. he saw the look of hurt on your face, and regret washed over him. “wait,” he said quickly, his voice softer now. “i didn’t mean that.”

you took a shaky breath, stepping back. “seungmin, you can’t just say things like that.”

he nodded, his expression filled with guilt. “i know. i’m sorry,” he said, his voice trembling. “i was angry, and i wasn’t thinking. please don’t take it seriously. i don’t want this to end. you’re… everything to me.”

chang ☆ bin

changbin’s temper was quick, but so was his regret. tonight, his frustration boiled over in a way he couldn’t control.

“why do you always have to push me?” he snapped, his voice rising. “can’t you just let me be for once?”

“i’m not pushing you, changbin,” you replied, hurt evident in your tone. “i just want to talk about what’s bothering you.”

“maybe we shouldn’t talk at all,” he shot back, his voice colder than usual. “maybe we should just end this.”

as soon as the words left his mouth, regret hit him like a truck. he froze, his eyes wide with realization. “wait,” he said quickly, his voice shaking. “no, i didn’t mean that.”

you stared at him, tears welling in your eyes. “how could you say that, changbin?”

“i’m sorry,” he said, stepping closer. his voice was softer now, filled with guilt. “i didn’t mean it. i was angry, and i wasn’t thinking. please don’t walk away. you mean everything to me, and i’ll do whatever it takes to fix this.”

notes: i don’t like redoing the same prompt, but angst is fun, so enjoy!

[whytheylosttheirminds]

Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 8 (part one)

(Rafe Cameron x Reader series, 4.1k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

series content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

⇢ series masterlist

additional chapter cw! suggestive moments, mature readers only

Carter could hear his car approaching before it even came into view.

She had been grounded for two weeks, caught out with Topper on his granddad’s boat past curfew, and she had never been more bored in her life. Slumped back on the couch, she dipped her hand in the bag to grab another chip, pausing mid-bite when she heard the familiar hum of Rafe’s truck engine growl down the street.

“Oh fuck no,” she hopped off the couch, a trail of crumbs in her wake as she jogged to the front door. 

Though she knew you were away for the afternoon, your mom taking you to tour a local college on the mainland, she instinctively double checked that your car was still gone. She was thankful you weren’t here to see him in his oversized ego-mobile zipping down your street like he owned it.

You’d been devastated all week, crying yourself to sleep in the wake of seeing Rafe kiss Cassie Bryant. Nothing made Carter angrier than knowing you were hurt and not being able to do anything about it. 

She couldn’t believe his nerve to show up here. He’d been texting to you all week, clearly not taking your lack of response for the answer that it was. You were finally finding the strength to stay away from him, and she was not about to let that unravel.

She stood on the front porch, closing the door firmly behind her, arms crossed and stance wide like she was prepared to defend her castle. Really, she was prepared to defend you.

Rafe parallel parked on the street, some misogynistic country song blaring from his subwoofers. Carter rolled her eyes at the way his massive truck took up enough space for two cars, always claiming what wasn’t his, taking and taking and giving nothing in return.

Closing the driver’s door with a bang, Rafe hopped down from his truck and strolled toward the house, stopping short in the front walk when he noticed Carter glaring out at him.

“You have some fucking nerve, Cameron,” she spat at him.

“I’m not here for you,” he glared back.

“Well no one else in this house wants to talk to your ass right now so you can go ahead and turn right back around.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I just wanna know why she wasn’t at my game today.”

“Uh-oh,” she tilted her head in mock-sympathy, “did ya lose?”

He clenched his jaw, an angry huff of air flaring his nostrils, “yeah, we lost.”

“Good.”

“Can you just let me in?” He started moving toward the front steps, but she didn’t move from her spot blocking the door. “I need to talk to her and she’s not answering my texts.”

“Do you think that’s an accident?” She scoffed. “Take a hint.”

“Okay, what’s your fucking problem, Carter?” He snapped the sentence off with a bite of her name.

“You’re my problem, Rafe,” she bit right back.

“What the fuck did I do? Why isn’t your sister answering my calls?”

“I dunno, maybe you should ask Cassie Bryant,” her hands uncrossed and rested on her hips.

Rafe stepped back, head dropping back in exasperation as he rolled his eyes at the sky.

“That’s what this is about? Cassie and I are just hooking up, what’s the big deal?”

“You mean besides the fact that Cassie’s made my sister’s life hell since they were in the same Kindergarten class?” She threw at him. “Or that you’ve been dragging my sister along since she was six years old just to ditch her for some wannabe Addison Rae tiktok flop?”

“God, you’re always so fucking dramatic, it isn’t even like that,” he gestured toward the window of your bedroom, still assuming you were up there somewhere avoiding him, “your sister knows we’re cool.”

“You’re not cool, Rafe. You’re an idiot,” she told him with a pitying shake of her head. 

Rafe turned her words over in his head, finally stopping long enough to consider the possibility that he’d done more damage than he initially thought.

“Is she really mad at me?” He mumbled, tucking his hands into his pockets.

Carter sighed, “No. She’s not mad at you. She’s never mad at you, that’s the problem. You don’t make her mad, you make her sad. All you ever do is make her sad.”

Shoulders falling, Rafe looked past Carter with a vacant stare. He looked so confused and distraught she almost felt bad for him. Almost. 

“I didn’t mean to make her sad,” he mumbled, almost at a whisper.

Carter scanned him with narrowed eyes, trying to decide if his penance was sincere. He looked down at his shoes, digging the tip of one into the stony walkway.

“How do I fix it?”

Carter started to think maybe he was sincere after all, but she still wasn’t sure he was in any place to be asking for advice.

“I don’t know if you can,” she told him.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” he said hopefully, trying to console himself. “She’ll come around.”

He looked at Carter like he was actually expecting her to agree.

“And then what, Rafe?” She tilted her head, genuinely curious about the answer. “What’s the end game here? You’ll just make her sad for a few more months and then go off to school and…what?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged defensively. “I haven’t thought about it.”

“Exactly. You don’t think things through. That’s always been your problem,” she informed him, “you just do what you want and pay no attention to how it affects other people. If you really cared about her, you wouldn’t keep putting her through the same shit over and over.”

“I do care about her,” he mumbled, her words beginning to penetrate his carefully constructed antagonistic armor.

“I wish I could believe that,” she shook her head sadly, “I wish she could believe that. At least when she did, she wasn’t crying herself to sleep every night.”

Sour regret burned in his throat at the thought of your tears dripping onto your pillowcase, some unfamiliar heartache he didn’t understand. 

“Maybe you could convince her that I do,” he offered, “she listens to you.”

“Why would I do that?” Carter snapped.

“Because then she wouldn’t be so sad,” his voice was so feeble it was like he was shrinking right before her eyes, his tall, intimidating frame so small and inadequate under the towering shadow of his guilt.

“Tell you what Rafe,” she began, “I’ll try and convince her that you care about her if you can look me in the eyes and tell me with your whole chest that you won’t hurt her anymore, that you won’t use her to your advantage, or drop off the face of the earth for weeks not answering her texts, or kiss other girls right in front of her face. That you’ll fight for her and put her before your own selfish bullshit. Can you make that promise?”

He wrung his hands, mindlessly adjusting the ring on his right forefinger, jaw clenched as he tried to will forth a convincing enough yes. He couldn’t do it.

“That’s what I thought,” Carter said. “If you can’t fight for her, then…”

“What?” He asked desperately, hoping she’d offer him some olive branch shaped way out of the  shame engulfing his chest.

“Then I am asking you- begging you really - to let her go. Stop texting, stop coming by the house, stop making promises you’re not gonna keep. Please. If not for me, then for her.”

“Do you think that’s what she wants?” He asked.

“No. But I think it’s what she needs,” she said, knowing it would kill you if you knew she was doing this, but believing with her whole heart that it was right.

Rafe rarely thought about the future. The farthest his mind went was the next few minutes in front of him. It was his fatal flaw, acting for the moment and not for the moment after, or the version of himself that would face the consequences of his poor choices. Yet, in this moment, he had the keen sense that his next move would be a pivotal one, the gravity of it making his feet feel heavy on the stone pathway. He could stay, he could argue, scream your name until you came out and talked to him. But then what? Would he have the courage to follow through? Was he enough of a man to handle the weight of your expectation?

Ultimately, he knew the right thing was to stay and fight, but the easy thing would be to just go.

So, as he almost always did, Rafe made the easy choice.

“Okay,” he nodded to Carter. ��I’ll let her go.”

“Thank you,” she said, voice shaking with the fear that if you knew what she just convinced him to do, you’d never forgive her. 

“I’m not doing it for you,” he made sure she knew before turning and climbing back into his truck.

Once in the driver’s seat, he pulled out his phone, looking at your name in his contacts. Like his fingers were moving without his mind’s permission, he deleted you. It didn’t matter really, he thought, he’d remember your number on his deathbed. He’d remember it all, and he’d hate himself forever for driving away.

Carter stayed on the porch, watching him go, praying desperately that you’d never find out she was the reason he left.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄

“We’re gonna have to go back eventually,” you said.

Rafe sat behind you in the sand, holding you with his chin resting easy on your shoulder as you took in the sprawling pink sunrise together. 

“Says who?” He countered.

You smiled, craning your neck to look up at him. His eyelids were heavy, purple under the eyes from the exhaustion of being awake all night.

“You’re falling asleep,” you noticed.

“Yeah because some girl kept me up all night, begging me to take her to the beach and kiss her,” he joked.

“Excuse me, sir, this was your idea!” You sat up and stretched, your words making him laugh despite his immediate discomfort at the loss of your body in his arms. “What time is it anyway?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged, “my phone’s in the car.”

“Mine too,” you chuckled, “I hope Carter’s okay. She was looking rough before we left.”

He had half a mind to propose the two of you never leave the beach, but he could hear the genuine concern under your lighthearted words. He stood from the sand and dusted himself off, reaching out a hand to pull you to your feet. You took it with a smile, lingering for a moment as you stood, your hand in his, taking one last look around the beach, searching for some kind of landmark.

“What are you looking for?” He asked.

“I just want to remember exactly where we were,” you explained.

“Why, you wanna recreate it?” He smiled softly at you.

“Oh, I plan to recreate it many times,” you wink at him.

It took all his strength to leave that spot and head back to the car, back to the house full of people who weren’t you, back to reality.

“I can drive,” he suggested, planning to take the slowest route possible, and actually follow the speed limit for the first time in his life.

As soon as he started the car up, your CD started blasting through the speakers. You laughed at each other, the catalyst of this whole encounter feeling like it was days ago. The time on the car radio told you it’d only been about two hours. You lifted your phone but the screen remained black.

“Shit, it’s dead,” you told him, opening the glovebox and digging around for a charger.

While you were distracted, Rafe lifted his own phone from the cupholder he’d left it in. His screen did light up, displaying a slew of frantic texts from Topper and Kelce. He winced, wishing he hadn’t looked. He didn’t read the texts, not wanting whatever nonsense they were bothering him with to pop the blissful bubble wrapped around the two of you. He knew he shouldn’t start off your new…whatever this was…by lying to you, but he needed to stay in this happy place just a little longer.

“Mine’s dead too,” he lied, flipping the phone over in the cup holder to hide the screen.

“Of course Carter doesn’t have a charger,” you sighed, “she has like twenty hair ties and lipglosses, but no charger. Classic.”

“I know my way back,” he shrugged, “we’ll be good.”

Rafe put the car in reverse, backing out of the little side road with his arm on the seat next to your head. You watched the way he turned in his seat to look out the back window, neck muscles flexing with the stretch and his big hand manipulating the steering wheel with ease. 

For the first time in the sixteen years you’d known him, you didn’t try to hide your gaze as you took him in. The same attraction that used to make you feel skittish and ashamed now settled over you peacefully, like an icy winter finally melting into a warm, bright spring. You looked at him all you wanted, noting every detail, taking mental photographs of every inch of his skin.

You’d always thought he was cute - actually, no, you always thought he was hot as fuck - but now for the first time, you allowed yourself to look long enough to notice how beautiful he was. Pins and needles burst out all over your body as you realized how badly you needed to kiss him again.

Rafe could feel your eyes on him as he drove, choosing not to say anything and risk you looking away. He felt at home in your gaze, happier than he could ever remember being.

Inhibitions left back on the beach, you fearlessly reached out toward him, hand grazing gently over his jaw. You loved the ticklish little stubble that had grown there in just a few days without shaving. You smiled as you thought about the boy who could barely grow peach fuzz, now a man, strong and solid under your fingertips. Something warm and electric buzzed in your stomach, and you knew Rafe could feel it too, his skin heating under your tender touch.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked, keeping his eyes on the road but leaning slightly into your hand to encourage you to keep touching him.

“Nothing,” you smiled, “I’ve just never gotten to look at you this long.”

“Is it making you change your mind?” He smirked, clearly not worried about the answer, his confidence making him impossibly sexier.

“Just the opposite,” you confirmed, “I think you’re always gonna have to drive from now on.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well now that I’ve gotten a good look I don’t think I could keep my eyes on the road. I always had the hardest time not looking over at you.”

Rafe grinned wide as your hand slipped from his jaw to the back of his head, fingers lacing in his soft hair, scratching his scalp lovingly. There was no rhyme or reason to your movements, but you didn’t care, you just needed your hands on him. He didn’t seem to mind, head leaning back into your palm to let you know he needed you as much as you needed him.

“I know you did,” he said.

“How?” You asked.

“Because I could never keep myself from looking over at you,” he confessed.

A kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttered their way through your chest. Now you were certain- you’d never been more attracted to anyone as you were to him in this moment.

Rafe took your silent smile as a good sign, “did I get another A with that line?”

Your hand slid slowly down to his shoulder, over the ridges and ripples of his arms, flexing under your soft touch, until you found his hand, pulling it into your own. 

“Gold stars, baby,” you smiled.

Rafe’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, the air in the car becoming thicker by the second as he shifted in his seat. You beamed at him, realizing with a flurry of excitement - you had Rafe Cameron flustered.

“You like when I call you baby?” You purred, eager to see how far you could push it.

His grip tightened around your hand, “you can’t say shit like that to me when I’m driving.”

You could feel the dam breaking. You needed him. Now.

“Then pull over.”

He finally took his eyes off the road for a second at that, looking over at you for confirmation; are you serious? You gave him a steely, lustful look in return; as a heart attack.

Rafe practically popped a tire turning the wheel hard and pulling the car down a side street, driving until he found a little secluded enclave by the beach, a perfectly private spot. He threw the car in park, making you laugh at the jolt it gave with his urgency. He didn’t waste a second, reaching both hands over to grab your face and pull your lips to his.

You sighed into his mouth, no hesitancy holding you back from slipping your tongue between his lips. He pulled away just long enough to grit out a raspy, “come here,” before throwing his seatbelt off.

You unbuckled your own, holding tight to his shoulders as you swung your leg over the console and climbed, somewhat awkwardly, into his lap. Your head fell back in laughter as your butt accidentally pressed the horn, the sound blasting through the quiet morning air. Rafe laughed too, easing your slight embarrassment as he reached down to slide the seat back.

Once you had more room, you pulled back to get a better look at him. He looked up at you with wide blue eyes, so gentle and kind in the way they took you in. Rafe reached up and brushed your hair over your shoulder, taking a deep breath as his hands grazed your shoulder.

“Hey,” he whispered to fill the silence.

You cracked the slightest smile, unable to repress your amusement.

“What?” He puzzled.

“I just didn’t imagine you to be so…sweet like this,” you explained, though you hated how the words sounded coming out of your mouth, afraid it would sound like a criticism and cause him to withdraw.

“Only for you,” he said.

“Uh oh,” you teased, hands laying flat over his chest as you leaned forward, relieved you hadn’t ruined the moment after all, “is big bad Rafe Cameron going weak for me?”

“He always has been,” he nodded, his dimples creasing his cheeks with his sheepish smile.

You slid your hands up to either side of his face, thumbs dipping into his dimples. You’d always wanted to do that. You couldn’t believe that after all that waiting and longing, you really could just lean forward and kiss him if you wanted to. 

So you did, like you were trying to prove to yourself that this was actually real. The second your lips met his, you could tell he was thinking the same exact thing.

Rafe’s hands gripped your hips as he sat up off the seat just slightly to meet your mouth fervently. You bent over him, your hair falling in a curtain around his face. His hands felt so good, so right, warm and strong against you. You smiled into the kiss as you could feel them sliding so slowly, reverently, over your curves, until they found a home on your lower back, bringing you forward to rest fully against him. It was the same gentle control he had taken on the jetski, and it was addictive.

He was hard, you could feel him firm beneath you, and your head flooded with lustful thoughts. You rolled your body just slightly against him, but he felt every second of it, his hands sliding lower until he was kneading the flesh of your ass. Breathless, you paused, forehead against, another roll of your body as you pressed into him.

“Do you want me to stop?” He breathed, chest rising and falling with heavy pants.

“No, don’t, I’ve wanted this for so long,” it came out more desperate than you planned, but you didn’t care, you needed him to know.

“Me too, kid, you have no idea,” he smiled.

Your nose scrunched, pulling back to look at him with narrow eyes, “kid? Really?”

“Well you don’t like when I call you baby, so…”

“That is not what I said,” you laughed, “I said don’t say things you don’t mean. You can call me whatever you want, as long as you mean it”

“In that case…” he leaned in again, hands on either side of your face as his lips met yours before pulling away to meet your eyes as he said, “hey baby.”

You melted into him, his hands cradling your head the only thing keeping you grounded to the planet. He littered your face and jaw with slow, deliberate kisses, working his way toward your neck as he whispered more sweet pet names into your skin.

“Beautiful,” with a kiss to your jaw, “angel,” with a kiss to your neck, just below your ear, “my girl,” with a kiss to your collarbone, lingering to suck on the skin right at the base of your neck, marking you lightly.

Your whole body pulled him in tighter, dizzy with the ecstasy of having him like this. Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging just hard enough to tell him how good he was making you feel. You couldn’t resist but push down into his hardness, muscles tense as his lips tickled the sensitive skin around the collar of your shirt.

“Rafe…” you sighed out as he continued to suck lip shaped marks into you, his hands kneading your ass, arms strong around you like he alone was the one keeping you tethered to the earth.

He pulled away from you just far enough to look you in the eyes, his pupils blown out. There was a kind of darkness in his eyes, sending excitement, and maybe even a touch of fear, shooting through your body. You wondered what would happen if he dropped the gentleness and really seized control, longing to be the one to send him to that place.

“Are you?” He whispered. Hunger, lust, and some more vulnerable third thing laced the deep tenor of his voice as his eyes searched yours, “are you my girl?”

His brows were furrowed so tight with intensity, you worried he was gonna give himself a headache. 

You ran your thumb over the scrunched skin on his forehead, smoothing it out, gentle but firm. You continued to run your fingers over his face, both to put him at ease and to buy yourself time, the answer to his question stuck somewhere in your chest, unwilling or unable to make its way to your tongue.

“I…” you started, the worry growing back on his face at the sound of your hesitation.

Before you could finish the thought, a loud DING! rang out through the quiet car, making you both jump.

“I thought you said your phone was dead?” You questioned, more edge to your tone than you’d meant, frustration over the interruption seeping into your words.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “I just wanted more time with you.”

“It’s okay,” you said, a bit non-committal in your forgiveness. “Who is it?”

Rafe sighed as he retrieved his phone from the cupholder, reading the most recent message.

“It’s Top,” he answered, “he’s saying we should get back to the house but won’t say why. So dramatic.”

You chuckled softly, relief washing through Rafe at the return of your smile.

“We should probably go then,” you said, “if for no other reason than I’m nosy and want to know what’s going on.”

He nodded slowly, hands reluctantly letting you go “we’ll come back to this, though, right?”

You knew he meant more than just the kiss and your intimate position in Carter’s front seat. He meant this; the big ‘What Are We?’

Never in a million years would you have guessed that he’d be the one posing the question, or that you’d have this hard of a time coming up with the answer.

(Chapter 8: part two)

a/n: entering my 'posting what's ready when it's ready and not caring about word count' era, welcome!!

please note, i've closed the taglist for this story. to be first to know when i post please follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifications 💘

[mvth3r]

daryl doesn’t think he’s anything special. he never has. but to you? he’s everything.

or

5 times daryl feels your affection down to his core and the many 1 time he unconsciously returns the favor.

cw: 18+ MDNI, p-in-v, mention of injury, swearing, mostly fluff, 4283 words

a/n: this draft got the most votes in the poll, which was surprising tbh! next up medieval au, princess reader, forbidden romance?? hmmmm

one.

daryl hears you coming before he sees you. he knows it’s on purpose, so you don’t startle him (“and get an arrow in the tit or something, i don’t know!” you had explained, laughing). he’s long since taught you how to be quiet when walking over leaves and branches.

his eyes drifted in the direction of the noise, watching you melt out of the trees, water bottle in one hand and knife in the other. you had a bad habit of speeding through or ignoring your own duties in favor of tracking him out into the woods while he was hunting. the teasing looks from rick and carol when they saw the gates open in the evening, revealing the two of you instead of just him, were enough to have him blushing up to his ears, but he couldn’t find it in him to stop you. if anything, daryl found himself lingering closer to the prison when he was first setting out for the day and making his tracks a little easier for you to follow as he went on. he liked to think of it as a teaching moment, encouraging you to follow his lessons, but he knew what it really was.

he liked having you here with him, away from prying eyes and ears. daryl wasn’t big on pda, he’d never been, and you knew that, but you could be as affectionate as you wanted out here.

the smile that split you face when you saw daryl was blinding, creasing your eyes and cheeks, “hey, handsome.”

daryl felt his heart start to pound immediately in his chest and warmth radiate through his belly and down his limbs. he had the distant, bizarre thought that any walker for a few miles would probably be able to smell his blood as it rose rapidly to his face, coloring his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

he scoffed quietly to keep the words he really wanted to say from spilling unbidden from his throat as you caught up to him, instead deadpanning, “handsome? really?”

you hummed, raising a hand to card through his long bangs, eyes tender when they met his, “mhm, very handsome. don’t i tell you every day?”

you leaned up to press a sweet kiss to his lips, no longer than a moment. you hand drifted from his hair down to cup his jaw as you did, and daryl found himself leaning into your palm, his own hand coming up to grip your wrist loosely.

you pulled away with a smaller, more intimate smile, one that daryl had only ever seen directed at him. and, if you had felt the pounding of his heart through his shirt or seen the intensity of his flush, you didn’t say a word.

two.

daryl was distracted.

this council meeting was dragging on much longer than intended. what was initially supposed to be a quick conversation about planning a run to get supplies for judith and a few of the other kids had turned into a heated debate about possibly opening up the council to a few of the people from woodbury. he could understand why. there was still a stark divide between their group and the new people, but daryl had been content to sit back and let the situation mend itself, so long as it didn't escalate.

the discussion was split down the middle. or.. maybe there were more in favor of maintaining the current council? daryl couldn’t tell because he couldn’t focus and he couldn’t focus because every time he tried to lock in on the conversation, he could feel your fingers brush over his knuckles.

earlier, when the meeting started, you had sat yourself right next to daryl, reached under the table, and grabbed his hand where it was resting on his knee. no fanfare, no lovesick gazes, just your fingers intertwined with his calloused ones like they belonged there. which, he mused to himself, maybe they do.

and so there your hand had remained as the meeting went on. every so often, you would brush your fingers lightly over his knuckles, or give his fingers a squeeze if you happened to catch his eyes… which would lead to you chuckling quietly to yourself when his neutral expression would warm over with a blush.

the meeting had been going on for at least an hour. god.

“daryl, what do you think?”

glenn’s voice cut through daryl’s thoughts like a knife. he jerked a little, almost dislodging your hand when he looked across the table, meeting the expectant stares of the council.

“uhh,” he grunted eloquently, “‘bout bringin’ some of them folks on?”

hershel nodded expectantly, his voice thoughtful, “don’t you think we could afford their input? after all, this is their home now just as much as it is ours.”

your fingers brushed again over his knuckles and daryl willed himself not to lose focus. not to allow his mind to run on with thoughts about the softness of your fingers and how much he liked the feeling of your palm against his. how comfortable-

no.

daryl blinked and cleared his throat, “we don’ even have rick on the council right now, i’on think it’s a good idea.”

glenn nodded along with maggie and, reluctantly a moment later, hershel did too, though his mouth had settled into a thin frown.

daryl felt your hand squeeze his twice, taking it as a nonverbal ‘good job!’, and paused only a moment before squeezing back his own nonverbal ‘thank you’. he saw a small smile flit across your face out the corner of his eye.

before the debate could start up again, you were leaning forward and speaking up, saying, “alright, let’s table this for next time then. the run is already planned for the baby stuff, so—?”

hershel’s eyes swept across the table and he nodded, “meeting adjourned, i suppose.”

three.

the woods were clear as daryl looked out over the gate. he could see everything from the watchtower, as was intended, but for once the calm darkness was not a comfort.

instead, every moment that passed heightened the panic that had been swirling in his gut since earlier that evening.

it had been roughly fourteen hours since you had left on a run with glenn and maggie. there was a small gas station a little ways out that looked to be mostly untouched, and you had been pulled to fill in daryl’s usual slot since he was already slated to go hunting.

he was regretting it now, though, as he continued to watch the road leading up to the gate for any sign of maggie’s headlights.

while the general rule of thumb was to be back to the prison before dark, everyone knew that sometimes shit happens, whether it be walkers appearing at the worst possible time, or not being able to secure the haul. hell, shit happened more often than it didn't, as far as daryl was concerned.

maybe the haul had been much larger than the three of you had planned for, and you had to hide some of it away for a return trip.

maybe y'all had come across a herd large enough to block the car's path and had to find a way around it to get home without leading them back behind you.

maybe the gas station had been a bust all together and you’d gone further out in hopes of not returning empty handed.

the thoughts swimming through his mind sent daryl pacing across the small area of the watchtower. back and forth he went, eyes flashing over to the gate of the prison every few seconds.

“you’re gonna wear out your shoes like that.”

oh right. daryl isn’t even on watch, not officially at least. he’d joined carol a little after the sun went down and been up here ever since.

carol continues on despite his brooding silence, “they’re okay. something probably held them up, it happens.”

daryl turned to face carol, scrubbing a hand down his face. he opening his mouth to respond, but before he could, the sound of wheels crunching across gravel made him whip back around.

he barely registered that it was maggie’s car before he was yanking the floor hatch open and climbing down. rick, who’d been poking around the farm despite the late hour, unwilling to admit his own anxiety, was already pulling the gate open to let the car in.

daryl stopped further up the hill to meet you, and, as soon as you popped the lock on your door, he was tugging it open with one hand and reaching for you with the other.

you went willingly, a sheepish smile on your face as you let him turn you this way and that, checking for any injuries or bites, neither of which you had.

“sorry i’m late, handsome,” you whispered, “i didn’t mean to worry you.”

daryl grunted in response, resisting the urge to press himself against you and feel your heart beat against his skin. he understood that you were capable, and that you had lasted just as long in the apocalypse as he had, but he can't help but wonder if he'll ever get used to this, or if he'll spend any moment you aren't within his reach on the edge of a panic attack.

by then, rick had made his way up the hill to the car and was helping unload their findings from the boot. all things considered, the three of you had brought back a pretty decent amount of stuff.

“everyone alright?” rick questioned, eyes skirting over the contents of the trunk to scan the three of you instead. "what held y'all up?"

maggie shook her head with a smile, “nothing like that. we found a good bit at that gas station, but there was a map of a small trailer park a little ways away, and we thought it was better to go for it while we were right down the road.”

“and we had the space anyway. didn’t make sense to waste a second trip, but it took a little longer to search than we thought,” you added. you had turned to face the group and, under the cover of the dark, you leaned back just slightly into daryl’s side.

carol, who had followed daryl down from the watchtower, hummed, and rick nodded thoughtfully. they both followed behind maggie and glenn, grabbing as much as they could carry from the car and heading up to deposit it for sorting tomorrow.

now alone, daryl took a moment to breathe you in, but he was moving soon as well, heading for the trunk to grab what was left.

he didn’t notice you coming up next to him until he felt your fingers slipping into his pocket.

“found something for you,” you said quietly, standing at his side.

daryl patted his pocket, feeling the dented box of what he assumed to be cigarettes and looked over at you, brows furrowed in confusion.

“i noticed you ran out the other day,” you answered his unasked question, a small smile lifting your cheeks, “combed through every trailer looking for ‘em.”

with that, you turned away from him and back to the trunk.

daryl stood speechless, his heart building up to that rapid thrum he only seemed to feel in your presence.

you had brought something back for him. had spent the daylight rummaging through dirty trailers on the off chance that you’d find a pack of cigarettes to replace his empty one that he himself hadn't even bothered to go searching to replace.

he wanted to think he didn’t understand why you would do something like this, why you would care, but he did. he’d done the same for you, time and time again on the road, if only to see you smile. he understood exactly why.

“‘preciate it,” he grunted, thankful that the darkness surrounding you kept his blush from being too obvious.

you hummed in acknowledgment, and daryl could your small smile growing out the corner of his eye.

four.

having sex in the prison was no easy feat, mostly due to the lack of privacy. a sheet could only provide so much, and even then it did nothing for the noise echoing constantly off the concrete walls.

as far as most were concerned, maggie and glenn had found the best spot early on, making the most unused watchtower their designated private retreat, but you and daryl knew otherwise.

deep in the tombs, which were no longer a threat as they had long since been cleared and sealed, there were a few tucked away offices that had sat empty even after the woodbury residents had been moved in. noise didn’t escape the tombs, and no one ever just wandered in, especially not in the middle of the night, so despite the cell that you and daryl shared, you both much preferred spending your more intimate moments here.

well, daryl did. you weren’t picky, and could be quiet when you really tried, but it made daryl more comfortable.

he’d like to think it was just because he was wary of any listening ears, especially with all the children roaming around, but he knew the truth of his resolve.

daryl had never been a selfish man, and certainly not after the world fell. everything he had, everything he was, he would give to his family in a heartbeat.

but this.. this was just for him.

your body arched beautifully under his, legs falling open to accommodate his weight settling against you. daryl’s hand left your heat, fingers dripping with wetness, to squeeze your hips, using them to guide you as your moved against him.

you were already bare, both of you having stripped each other of your clothes between heated kisses while you stumbled in the office. you hadn’t even made it to the double-stacked cot in the corner, daryl instead pushing you firmly down on the dusty desk and leaning in to mouth at your neck.

you moaned under him now, a breathy sigh of his name, and the sound sent a shiver down daryl’s spine.

“needy girl,” he grunted teasingly, reaching down to grasp his hardness. he dragged the head of his cock up your slit, collecting your wetness and smearing it over your clit.

your head knocked back against the desk and a loud groan burst out of your throat. your knees tried to close around daryl’s waist as if to keep him away, but you arms came up to wrap around him, pulling him closer to your body, and he leaned into you willingly.

your voice trembled when you spoke into his ear, want dripping from every syllable, “please, baby. need you inside me so bad.”

and god, daryl wanted to make you beg for it. he wanted to wait until he could see the desperation in your eyes and then wait some more, but he couldn’t. not when you looked so pretty spread out beneath him and your hands were petting over his shoulders and neck just how he liked. he almost thought you were doing it on purpose, but he knew better. this was just you.

you couldn’t stay off him when he was in you, always tugging at his hair or rubbing his chest, hands scrabbling for any skin you could reach. it used to send him reeling, flustered and blushing bright, but now he looked forward to it. he could feel the want in your touches like physical imprints of your affection.

daryl pushed into your slowly, groaning deep in his chest. your slick walls felt heavenly around him, but daryl was more focused on you right now.

soft whimpers fell from your lips as your hands drifted over his sweat slicked skin. daryl’s thrusts were slow but purposeful, and he ignored your legs squeezing around his waist, trying to urge him to speed up.

“relax, peach,” he soothed, hands drifting up and down your sides in pace with his thrusts, “i’ma take care of you.”

“kiss, please,” you whispered, voice floating past daryl’s ear. he would have missed it if you weren’t pressed together like this.

daryl would not describe himself as a selfish man. he might have had his moments in the past, but now, with the dead walking and a prison full of survivors to protect, it was virtually out of the question.

but as he leaned down to press his lips to yours, feeling your hands finally make their way up into his long strands, daryl thought that he might be a possessive man.

he’d sooner spread you out deep in the woods than have you where anyone could see you like this or hear the noises you make.

no, daryl thought, tongue sliding in your mouth to tangle with yours, this would always be just for him.

five.

daryl came into awareness slowly and then all at once. he startled, trying to sit up, but a searing pain made itself known in his abdomen. the pain clouded his senses, blooming out across his torso and down his limbs. he flops uselessly, feeling like the wind has been knocked out of him.

hearing bits of voices above him, daryl wills himself to focus. he’s hurt, obviously, and it’s pretty fucking bad, but he’ll have to suck it up and figure out a way home if he’s in bad company.

the voices start to filter in. the volume makes his temples throb in rhythm with his abdomen and his heart as the situation starts to force adrenaline through his body.

“—harder! put more pressure on it!”

daryl relaxes just a bit. that’s rick. frantic, angry, but rick all the same.

“what the fuck do you think i’m doing?!” the other voice, higher, snarls in response, “just drive the damn truck!”

and daryl feels his body try to relax all together. he would recognize your voice in his sleep, and this milky haze of pain is no different. he can feel your hands pressing a wad of something soft into his abdomen.

he can hear your panicked breaths and feel the way your fingers flex continuously against his skin. whatever’s wrong with him must be bad, and it definitely hurts like hell, but daryl takes comfort in the weight of your body against his. you won’t let anything happen to him if you can help it, you’d sworn that fiercely, and if you can’t help it then he doesn’t think anyone could have.

daryl can just barely make out the creaking of the gate being pulled open over the sound of rick laying on the horn.

as they pull in, the gravel of the path rocks the truck and daryl feels the ache in his abdomen bloom again, distracting him from his thoughts, but here, knowing he’s safe and back with his family, he allows himself to drift away.

—

this time, when daryl comes into awareness, the first thing he feels is fingers carding through his hair, tugging gently as if to untangle a couple of knots and snarls.

without even opening his eyes he knows it’s you. he can feel the heat of your body settled next to him and smell the soap you like to bathe with. daryl leans towards you, chasing the warmth of your hand against his skin.

the bandages on his stomach are wrapped tight, but it’s more annoying than anything and the pain has finally, thankfully, subsided to a dull ache. daryl stretches on the cot, trying to loosen him limbs from their inactivity, but what he focuses on is your fingers immediately pulling away.

“daryl?” your voice prods quietly, “you awake?”

he opens his eyes slowly, squinting at the sunlight that streams through the bars of the cell. the privacy sheet isn’t down, actually there’s no sheet at all, daryl notes as he looks out. he must be in one of the cells near hershel’s.

“‘m up,” he grumbles, a cough working its way out of his throat. before he can attempt to clear the dryness, you’re standing to grab a bottle of water off some boxes stacked nearby and pressing it into his hand.

your fingers linger against his wrist as you pull away, but you’re resuming your previous position anyway, in a chair brought right up to his bedside.

daryl hasn’t sat up yet, staring instead at you as one of your hands return to his hair and the other rubs down his arm.

a few quiet moments pass before you speak again, head bowed and voice a little choked, “we almost lost you. i almost lost you.”

“didn’t though,” daryl croaks. he feels your grip tighten on his arm and just knows. knows that you’ve been sitting right here every moment that you could since he went down. knows that you probably haven’t had your hands off him. knows you’ve spent the time, however long it’s been, agonizing over what went wrong and how to keep it from happening ever again. he knows.

“i didn’t,” you agree with a barely restrained sniffle. you refuse to allow the tears beading your waterline to fall, but daryl sees them all the same.

oddly, he feels that familiar warmth blossom in his chest. he hates to see you upset, but to see your love, your heart laid so bare for him? daryl thinks he can finally understand the depth of your affections.

plus one.

to anybody who knew what to look for, it was obvious that you and daryl were.. something.

you remembered when the woodbury residents had really began to settle in, how they began to whisper about ‘the hunter and his lady’.

it had confused you at first. the group knew, of course, nothing could be kept a secret from them for too long, but for strangers? it was odd, given that you weren’t very public with your affections.

regardless, with an entire prison to secure and almost triple the amount of people to provide for, it was nothing to think too hard about. there was always something that needed to be done or something bigger to think about. you couldn't afford to think about it now.

eventually, though, you ended up mentioning it to carol, and the older woman had laughed, a teasing edge to her smile as she considered you.

“i think it has less to do with you and more with him, if i’m being honest,” she said.

“more to do with.. daryl?” you said slowly, raising an incredulous eyebrow, “nah, no way.”

carol hummed, her smile turning knowing, “just watch. he’s more affectionate than he gives himself credit for.”

you’d left the conversation feeling like carol had no idea what she was talking about. later that evening, though, when you were sitting with the group for dinner and daryl was sliding a couple pieces of meat from his plate to yours despite your multiple protests, you understood.

your face must have been the textbook picture of a lightbulb going off because carol sent you a wink from across the table, lips twitching like she was hiding a laugh.

it wasn’t that the woodbury residents were over analyzing the very minimal physical affection that passed between you and daryl in a day, no. instead they were observing his quieter, more unconscious actions.

they saw the way that daryl always took care to come and find you before leaving for a run, even if it meant holding everyone up a little.

and how every so often they could find daryl sharpening a knife that was far too small for him to be wielding safely while you sat nearby, watching with a grateful smile.

and how whenever you were in the same room, you always had his eye. daryl had been adamant about keeping you within his sights while you were on the road, and the habit hadn’t left him just because you were behind walls now.

even now, months later, the newer additions to the prison were starting to catch on quicker and quicker.

they overheard daryl talking to glenn about taking your place on the run later today because you’d overdone it in the sun earlier and he wanted you to get some rest.

they saw you gush excitedly every time daryl brought you back any kind of gift, whether it be a pretty rock that he thought you’d like, or your favorite animal to cook into the stew.

they watched him watch the road every time you left for a run, regardless of who was with you, and also saw him come back to be the first to greet you when you returned if he could help it.

daryl was a quiet lover and a private man if you didn’t know what to look for, but if you did, you’d see that his affections ran just as deep as yours.

your thoughts brought a sleep smile to your face as you stretched out on the cot in your shared cell, waiting for daryl to shut off the lantern on your makeshift nightstand in the corner.

you could barely make him out in the dark, but the weight of him settling in next to you sent you right into his arms, your head pillowed on his chest while his arms came up to wrap around your back.

you tilted your head up to place a small kiss to the bottom of his jaw, mumbling a quiet, “love you.”

daryl’s arms tightened around you momentarily before loosening again. you felt him lean down to press a kiss to your hair in turn.

just over the steady thumping of his heart against your ear, you could hear him whisper back, “love you too.”

[justevelynnnn]

Drabble for a protective logan of a pregnant!reader

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Pregnant!Reader

Warnings: Pregnancy, a bit of feral logan, childbirth..

A/N: ive had this prompt on my mind for a whileee however i don’t think this will have a follow up cause i got kinda lazy towards the end

- He knows before you do honestly. Strong sense of smell and all that jazz. But also he senses your heart rate slightly increase even though you’re not doing anything

- You smell different..almost…sweeter? At least to him.

- A week after he noticed you tell him how you missed your period and he just just looks at you and nods like “duh, you’re pregnant…”

- You still go to Jean to get an ultrasound and what do ya know, there’s a bun in the oven!

- Immediately after it’s officially confirmed Logan forbids you to go on anymore missions or really do…anything..

- Going out with Storm? Where? Why? No, no, no stay here it’s too dangerous out there..

- He didn’t let you lift anything, do chores, cook…

- Nope nope nope just stay there.

- As time goes on you get a bit annoyed but you’ll admit it’s cute seeing him like this.

- He cuddles with you every single night, arm protectively slung around your belly. He kisses it every night and then your forehead. He’s so soft with you..

- As your bump started to show he just couldn’t stop looking. He was surprisingly very excited to be a father. He was gonna raise this kid right. Protect them from any harm as much as he can. You included.

- He’s always been protective over you but now?

- One day, You were trying to reach something and Scott comes by, noticing you need help and walks over to help you reach whatever you want. Unfortunately for him, Logan saw this from around the corner and also saw how Scott gently touched your side as he helped you.

- Logan saw red. He snarls and then lunged at Scott and damn near bites him. Scott jumps back a bit, startled by the sudden feralness.

- “Don’t. Touch. Her. Again. Got it, Summers?” Logan growled angrily.

- Scott just nodded and then quickly left.

- You scolded Logan immediately after but Logan ignored you and just looked at you for any “marks”

- So after that no one was to ever touch you unless it was Jean doing a check up. Or another mutant if she couldn’t.

- Logan didn’t care. In his mind he was keeping you 100% safe. From harm..germs…whatever

- He’d make you wear his clothes so his “scent” would be on you and also because your clothes were getting too tight

- Whatever you craved, he’d get it.

- If you wanted water at 4am, he’s up and going to get it immediately, like he wasn’t just sleeping moments before

- Back hurting? He’s now a licensed massage therapist.

- Someone’s cooking food that’s making you gag? He’s going into the kitchen and scolding whoever’s cooking.

- That one was a bit embarrassing but they never really minded and understood you were pregnant

- After a while you started to become more and more out of breath so now you reallyyyy couldn’t do anything. You had to beg Logan to at least let you get some fresh air or something because staying in bed all day was not the answer even if your feet were swelling and you back was killing you.

- He’d walk with you outside as you talked about your day and he just listened. He’d ask about the baby and how you felt and how he felt about becoming parents

- He was more cuddly when you neared the end of your third trimester. Hugging you more, kissing you more, talking to your now huge stomach and rubbing it and feeling when the baby kicked

- You both didn’t know if the baby was gonna be a mutant or not or the gender or anything but just knew it was healthy and that was honestly enough

- You decided to deliver at the mansion because well, the hospitals nearby did not like or tend to mutants at all..

- You started getting braxton hicks here and there and you knew the baby had dropped. It was getting hard to move and the mansion was on edge. Logan especially.

- He’d pace around you as you groan and winced in pain but told him, “False alarm honey…just another hick..”

- But was it? What if it’s time? What if you two ignore this and then it’s too late? What if something is wrong and and-

- There was alot of calming Logan down now..reassuring you’re fine

- A week before you were due, you were thrown a baby shower.

- It was Rogues idea and everyone gave you a little something. Diapers, Toys, bottles…

- They had all your favorite foods from your pregnancy, even the super weird cravings

- You cried.

- Logan got mad when he saw you cry. “Who did this?? Why is she crying? Was it you, Summers? Why i outta-“

- You tell him you’re just very happy and emotional right now and not sad. And, no, Scott did nothing wrong so please put him down oh my gosh…

- It’s true you were very emotional and hormonal the whole time and you were so ready to be done

- A week later, in the middle of the night you got up to use the bathroom for the 5th time. Not wanting to wake up Logan over and over just to walk to the bathroom, you went alone, waddling to the door.

- The second you got there though there you immediately started leaking. And you would’ve been embarrassed of you didn’t immediately have the worst braxton, no….this wasn’t that…this was more…

- “Logan. Logan!”

- Logan jumped up and and ran over to you asking what happened and what’s wrong..

- You start to tell him and suddenly you’re hit again with another contraction

- It was time.

- Logan woke up everyone he could after getting you tot he medical room.

- He left the students be but it’s not like they couldn’t hear you yelling anyways

- He stood by you the entire time as you squeezed his hand and cried in pain. He almost growled at Jean hooking you up the machines but he knew it was to monitor if you and the baby were okay.

- He was so focused on you that he didn’t care for everyone crowding also but when it was time to push he barked for everyone to get back even Jean

- He let you squeeze the life out of his hand as you pushed and encouraged you the whole time and wiped your forehead

- And after several minutes of this chaos…

- “Congratulations…you guys are now officially parents!” Jean says as she holds the crying newborn baby.

- As she helped lay the baby on your bare chest, you and Logan just smiled at your child.

[honeyedfate]

loverboy | 심재윤

pairing. jake sim x idol!gf!reader

jake is in love. completely smitten. and anyone in his immediate vicinity knows it. they also know that jake is an incredibly caring and thoughtful boyfriend and that he’d do anything for you. which makes it all the more frustrating when both of your fans believe that you can barely stand each other. they even have proof.

genre. fluff

a/n: wishing everyone a happy new year! may 2025 be kind to all of us x

[ › second part ][ › third part ]

jake is not a lover boy. he knows that. he’s never been overly well-versed in romance and he never pretended to be. nonetheless, he believes that there is a pertinent distinction to be made between being a hopeless romantic and being a good boyfriend.

the latter is what he strives for every day of his life. if romance is a language then it might not be his native tongue but, damn it, he works tirelessly to be fluent in it. he wears the title of being a good boyfriend like it’s a polished badge of honour, not expecting anything in return but solely doing it because he believes you don’t deserve anything less (and because he’s hopelessly in love, but that’s besides the point).

so how he ends up in this deeply offensive predicament is a mystery to him. he will lose sleep over it and will continue to do so until it’s resolved, which is seemingly why he’s sat in a meeting room at the company building, nervously spinning his chair while sneaking glances at you.

if he’s a nervous wreck then you’re the embodiment of a peace sign. he is simply in awe at how you’re this unperturbed by the presence of your managers, a pr team, a higher executive, and jungwon and chaewon. to say he was equal parts surprised and confused when he first walked into this room is an understatement.

it was exacerbated once you entered the room as well, looking just as puzzled and uninformed by this meeting as he was. you sat a respectable distance away from him, yet your presence still calmed jake down.

until it didn’t.

alarm bells slowly started ringing once he looked around the room. the bells were practically blaring when yuki said, “jake, as your manager and your friend you know that i only want what’s best for you. you know that. and y/n, you’ve been spending enough time with us to know that i’m fond of you, i think you’re a good kid. i care for both of you, which is the only reason why i’m asking you this.” he hesitated a little, taking a deep breath. “are you two dating?”

the silence was loud.

neither of you dared to glance at each other. an eternity must’ve passed until chaewon cleared her throat and said in a calm, steady voice, “it’s okay, guys. really.”

jake glanced at jungwon who was nodding eagerly. that was when you caught jake’s eye and he immediately knew you wanted to tell them. you had both talked about this before, letting him know that you wouldn’t mind if the company knew. you also knew that jake had his hesitations.

just telling the guys and knowing that you had told the girls nearly gave him heart palpitations. and it’s not because he’s distrustful, he just really values his privacy and keeping your relationship private felt like the right thing to do. thus, revealing it to the people presently sat in front him felt like a violation to his own peace of mind, but you both nodded and so it was out.

the response was nothing he could’ve expected. ever. because they looked… relieved? they actually looked quite happy. both of your managers had loosened a breath while the pr team had cracked tiny smiles or were trying very hard not to.

“what’s going on?” you said with a frown, having picked up on it too. chaewon gave a small laugh.

“well,” said the pr woman in a blue top. she picked up a black remote and pointed it at the beamer on the ceiling to turn it on. “recently, you two have been quite the talk on the internet. it seems that both of your fans think you hate each other. they’re actually pretty certain.”

and so, for the next twenty minutes jake and you were presented with a slideshow involving various headlines, articles, comments, posts, and video compilations from different social media platforms that had jake and you gasping in rotation.

“this one’s just dumb!” jake sputters, waving at the screen. “they’re saying i pushed her to the floor because she was dancing in her seat? why would i do that? she was sitting on the other side of the row, how could i have seen her!”

“maybe you sensed it and it really pissed you off.” you snort, holding up a folder filled with social media comments. “someone said i must despise your whole being because you’re introverted and i apparently have a personal vendetta against your people.”

“my people are your people! you’re an introvert too.” jake sounds desperate now. “where are they getting this from? all of these are so obviously a reach, come on.”

jake takes the folder out of your hands when he sees you giggling over a comment, prompting you to pout playfully. he pokes your side.

“you see…” jungwon speaks up, shaking his hair out of his eyes and clearly planning to beat around the bush. “is it though? not really. that obvious, i mean.”

chaewon hums in agreement. “i mean, i know you guys are in love, but there have been too many incidents that have caught people’s attention. it just can’t be a coincidence anymore, jake. the compilation is 30 minutes long, you know.” she looks at you and him carefully.

jake is beside himself. “you mean to tell me i pushed my girlfriend to the floor intentionally?”

“no, of course not,” says yuki with wide eyes, “we know you couldn’t hurt a fly if you wanted to, but, it’s just, well, how else did it happen? you mean to tell me y/n coincidentally fell against your arm when she walked past?”

“i’m just clumsy, guys.” you say quickly, moving your own chair closer to jake’s and bumping your legs against his in the process. “i was just walking down to my seat when he moved his arm because he was pointing at something. he didn’t even see me.”

“and when you were sitting on the floor right in front of him after the whole venue saw you fall, he also didn’t see you, right? him looking straight into your eyes and not moving a finger, so that a member from boynextdoor had to help you up also doesn’t have to mean anything, right?” grey sweater guy from pr chimes in, sounding amused and curious and very punchable (to jake, at least).

“yeah, what was that about?” jungwon says in a low voice as if everyone in the room had suddenly developed hearing issues.

“or when you went out of your way to pour champagne on her at the prada afterparty?” blue top woman adds unhelpfully.

your manager winces like it’s a traumatic experience that happened to him. “there was also that one time when fans saw you hiding all of the vogue covers with y/n on them behind a bunch of other magazines at a bookstore.”

“or when y/n handed you flowers on music bank when we won and you gave them back. on camera.” jungwon snickers.

“okay!” jake lets himself fall back against his chair, feeling absolutely defeated. “i can’t believe that’s how people perceived all of this. that’s…god, i don’t even know, but i can explain.”

“please do,” you say in a teasing tone, “because i am also starting to think you might actually secretly hate me.”

“what—” jake leans towards you abruptly, searching your eyes and you can’t help but laugh.

“i’m just joking.”

“get better jokes,” he grumbles, pouting, before letting out a long sigh when he sees everyone staring at him expectantly. “i don’t even know where to begin.”

“start with the magazines,” you say.

“oh, those...” he scratches the back of his head. “i was at a bookstore when i saw the covers on display and i just felt really proud, i mean you looked beautiful and it was a cool concept. so i took some pictures on my phone and when it suddenly changed to the front camera, i could see two girls looking at me from behind. i panicked and didn’t know what to do, so i quickly shoved the magazines behind some others hoping they didn’t see me take the photos.”

“they didn’t,” grey sweater guy confirms. “they only saw you hide them.”

jake nods. “yes, and at the prada afterparty, i just… i didn’t saw anyone filming us, so i thought it’d be safe to bring my girlfriend a drink. i was being subtle, but when i turned around, she was standing a lot closer than expected and i bumped into her. the whole drink just kind of spilled over and that’s when i saw the phones filming us.”

jake glances at you sheepishly, but you simply smile reassuringly, knowing that it was just an accident and he had apologised profusely that night. it was never that big of a deal to you anyway, knowing no one was mad that the dress had been ruined. reaching over under the table, you interlace your fingers with his and draw small circles on the back of his hand with your thumb, hoping it signals to him exactly that.

he goes on to say, “i also didn’t mean to push her at the AAA awards. it was all an accident and it happened so quickly that when i looked down and saw y/n there, i just froze. i couldn’t believe what had happened and also…” he clears his throat. “she just looked really pretty, like she was wearing that dress and her hair looked so—erm, yea, anyway. i malfunctioned.”

jungwon gives a small laugh, shoving jake’s shoulder as chaewon coos. you try to hide your grin when you see how red his ears are and fail miserably, but jake mirrors it, so you don’t feel too bad about it.

“and the flowers, oh my god, i don’t know why i did that.” jake groans like the memory still haunts him. “i just saw the bouquet and my brain went oh, flowers! i need to give them to y/n so i did. like an idiot. and i obviously couldn’t snatch them back when heeseung asked why i did that. it was embarrassing.”

the whole room erupts in laughter and you lay your head on his shoulder, saying, “it was cute.”

jake grunts something incoherent, but wraps an arm around your waist anyway, pulling you closer.

“you know,” the higher executive finally speaks up, still laughing. “it’s extremely relieving that you two don’t hat each other because your fans were really turning this into a battlefield. this, however, is much easier to manage knowing you are both willing to cooperate.”

jake and you exchange a look. “what do you mean cooperate?”

“cooperate in what?” you add on.

the pr team pulls out another stack of folders, each of them tabbed and colour coordinated. “we have a plan.”

grey sweater guy starts another presentation, revealing the first slide which says in bold, capital letters OPERATION: NO HATE, JUST DATE.

your jaw hits the floor. jake inhales sharply and says under his breath, “no way.”

next to him, jungwon grins, enjoying himself a little too much.

“this will be so much fun, guys!”

[ second part › operation: no hate, just date ]

[luveline]

I can’t remember if you’ve done one yet of Jack being jealous of the new baby not because of his dad’s attention but because of readers!

“Jack, Jack, Jack,” Aaron says, hands on Jack’s shoulders where his son sits at the kitchen table, “I forgot to tell you, I got you a present.” 

“What kind?” Jack asks, used to presents by now. There’s been books, crayons, and enough toy cars to fill his parking garage to the brim. 

“What kind do you think?” 

He likes when his dad speaks like that. Aaron’s a peppy dad, he says everything in an altered bubbly tone that makes Jack smile, but his best voice is the soft one. Lightly teasing. He hugs Jack with one arm from behind, pressing his nose to Jack’s hair momentarily. 

“A big one?” Jack asks. 

“Sort of…” Aaron smiles. “Do you want me to go get it?” 

Jack’s about to say yes with a laugh, his excitement like a warm flame just below an outheld hand, but he stops when he hears a familiar gurgly sound and your loving laughter. 

“I know, baby.” That’s your voice, tired and soft as his father’s. “You’re exhausted. Let me give you a little squeeze before you sleep, hm? You’ll cry yourself awake if I don’t, you get all those trapped burps.” You laugh to yourself.

Jack sighs and turns back to his drawing. “Okay, dad,” he says, clearly monotonous. 

Aaron frowns behind his head. “Okay, buddy. It’s in the den.” 

“Okie dokie.” 

“Jack,” he says, and not a lot else. 

Aaron can’t wrap his head around it. Jack was so, so excited for Noah. He bragged to everyone at school that his step-mom was having a baby, that he’d have a little brother, and that they were all moving into a big house with a nice yard to play soccer. Jack and Noah Hotchner, best friends since the minute Noah was born. Or, that’s what you and Aaron hoped for.

It started well. Jack is gentle, and he’s understanding; he realised the baby would need extra care, and he’s done nothing but kiss and cuddle his new brother whenever they’re together. You got him a sound machine and some custom fitted earplugs for the long nights of crying, you never put Noah before him if you could help it. Aaron even pencilled in an hour of Jack time each day, but it isn’t working anymore. Jack’s just sad. 

The present is a jigsaw puzzle. A thousand pieces of guaranteed time spent together, but Aaron doesn’t have high hopes. 

He takes the two short steps down into the den to meet your eyes, shaking his head slowly. “I don’t know,” he mouths. 

You pat the baby’s back. “Well, I might have a suggestion.”

He couldn’t want to hear it more. “Tell me.” 

You hold his baby (your baby but his more urgently, the feeling an ache in his chest and hands) still as small and curled as a rabbit against your chest. Noah’s legs twitch in his onesie, his dark hair short where it brushes your lips. “I think maybe Jack misses me. I miss him, and I’m the grown up. I feel like I barely see him even though we’re living in the same house.” 

Aaron pauses, resting the jigsaw puzzle on the sideboard.

There’s no point in underselling the importance of you in Jack's life. You’re integral to Jack’s happiness, and Aaron can’t believe he hadn’t thought of your suggestion before now; he’s amazed by his own ego. Of course Jack misses you. You spend half your life nursing, which is half a life away from you he didn’t feel before.

“That’s what it is,” Aaron says. 

“Yeah?” you ask. 

He takes Noah from your arms, settling him on the slope of his chest. “If it isn’t, we might be out of answers.” Aaron rubs Noah’s back with delight. It’s nice to see a solution to Jack’s upset in sight, and nice to hold the baby while he’s in a good mood. “Seriously, honey. I think you’re right.” 

“What are we gonna do if it isn’t me?” 

“Give this one back?” 

“That’s not funny.” 

“Sorry, I’m kidding!” He gives Noah a little soft kiss. “Just kidding, beautiful. You’re all mine.” 

You take the jigsaw and give him a smile that borders shy. If his arms weren’t full he’d take your wrist in his hand and hold it for a while, but there’s stuff to do. You emerge from the den to the kitchen and Aaron follows. 

“Jack.” 

Jack immediately spins in his seat. Aaron doesn’t need to be a profiler to know your theory is correct. The change in Jack is unmissable. 

“Y/N,” he says, hiding his hope poorly. 

You show him the jigsaw. “I know it’s supposed to be your time with dad, but maybe it can be time with me instead? What do you think?” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah!” You pop the jigsaw in front of him without crushing his drawings. “Can we? I miss you.” 

“I miss you!” he says. 

“Yeah?” You brush his hair back. “You do?” 

“I do, I want to do the puzzle with you! Can we do it?” 

Your smile is part relief, part love. You hook a chair with your ankle and pull it under you as you sit, fingernail already scratching at the plastic wrap on the puzzle to pull it open. “We’re gonna do it right now.” 

The puzzle is a lot of pieces, you’ve barely completed the frame when it’s time for everyone to head to bed, but, reluctant, you and Jack sit at the table where Jack’s climbed into your lap for a ‘better view’, and you’ve wrapped your arms around him, occasionally loosing an arm to direct him to a right piece. The baby put to bed, Aaron pretends to pay more attention to cleaning the kitchen than he’s truly doing, finding himself leaning against the counter with a sterilised bottle in hand as you stroke Jack’s hair. 

“You know I love you?” you ask quietly. 

“Duh. You tell me all the time.” 

“I don’t want you to forget.” 

“I don’t.” 

Jack snaps a puzzle piece in to place and preens at your murmured, “Good job. Maybe we can try to do some of this every night you’re home?” 

Jack doesn’t cry, but it ties Aaron’s heart into a knot anyways when he turns into your chest to hug you tightly. “Okay,” Jack says, voice muffled by your t-shirt. 

You pat his back. His hands scrunch up like he’s worried you’re gonna pull away. 

“Can I get in on this?” Aaron asks. 

“No,” you both say. 

“Please?” 

Jack rubs his cheek into your collar. He doesn’t want to share. “No, dad. It’s not your time.” 

He supposes he does get you every night. “Fine. I love you, though.” 

“Love you too.” 

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being Tony Stark’s child

Tony Stark x child!reader

warnings: alcohol ment,

a/n: so i just really think that the concept of tony having the party kid as opposed to nerdy avenger kid would be a really cool idea to explore teehee. most of this does actually take place pre-avengers tho!!

prompt:

you we’re quite the exhausting kid

“is this really how it felt to raise me?” -tony

many of nights he’d find your bed empty, you’d snuck out to go have your fun as teenagers do

“yeah, boss, i imagine it was” -happy

you always showed back up in one piece (like him) and besides a little slap on the wrist you didn’t get much discipline

actually, it usually went like:

“so, where did you go off to last night?” -tony

“a party” -you

“really? didn’t want to loop me in before you snuck out…again?”

“last time i told you about a party you showed up!”

“uh—yeah, but it’s not like i went all dad on you and dragged you away or anything”

“yeah, you joined the party and offered to buy teenagers more booze”

“hey, they all loved you after that! and they couldn’t get enough of my classic dance moves” -tony, jokingly doing the sprinkler with one arm “but seriously, let me know next time”

“we’ll see about that” -you

^the above conversion went about the same every time

sometimes for entertainment purposes you’d try a little harder, throw a few pillows under the covers to make it look like you were still home to put a smile on tony’s face

“aw, y/n reminds me so much of me” -tony

tony was still partying at this point so you’d flip the script on him from time to time

“you were out late” -you

“what are you, a cop? leave me alone. actually, can you get me some aspirin and water?” -tony

“sure, one or two” -you

“make it three” -tony

he would nurse your occasional hangovers (what a great dad!)

okay, he didn’t always know when you were gone. he was busy a lot of the time with his own business and extracurriculars so you guys did just kinda do your own thing for certain stretches of time

honestly you could be a bit of a klepto in the best of ways

but only to tony and only for fun

“oh, great, where’s my car?” -tony

“which one?” -pepper

“the black one!” -tony

“be more specific” -pepper

“the only one missing from my garage!” -tony

“yeah, i know, just wanted to give you some more time to think about it” -pepper

“i changed the code on the lockbox like, five times this week. did they hotwire it?” -tony

“we are talking about your kid, right? pretty sure they just hacked it” -pepper

“i am…so proud” -tony

you MAY have gotten a few close calls with authorities, but nothing tony couldn’t handle

and up until tony’s accident, the phrase “you’re going to give me a heart attack” was silly and endearing

“you might actually give me a heart attack, y/n, give a guy some warning or just say please for god’s sake” -tony, now comes with an arc reactor in his chest

“sorry” -you

“what—huh—didn’t hear ya, wanna say that a little louder?” -tony, very sarcastically

i tell ya when he got that armor u couldn’t tell if u were gonna flip out at him or invite him to a party

or steal it for…you didn’t even know what

but tony was 3 steps ahead of you when all this came to be

and you weren’t very interested in weapons, still just parties and dumb fun for you

“dad, i dont wanna be a nerd, will you just let me go out?” -you

“come on! just help me in the lab a few hours, what’s it gonna hurt?” -tony

“my social status” -you

“might i remind you you’re a stark? i think you’ll live if you miss one party” -tony

“you’d be surprised” -you

“hey, i almost died! give your old man a break” -tony

once tony got involved with SHIELD and the avengers he got even busier really

and in came the parenting advice from fury, clint, nat, steve

“hey, i don’t see you raising a teenager, back off” -tony

*clint side eye*

steve once tried to give you a good talking to, but you reminded him a great bit of your father with your stubbornness

“you done? i dont think you should be giving out any parenting tips fresh off the ice” -you

tony was kind of proud of you for sticking to your guns

especially around such powerful people

but you had a knack for that and could do it to practically anyone

mostly because you felt like an invincible teenager since you were raised by tony, who also thought himself an invincible teenager at one point

u tried to tone down giving tony grief when he started having panic attacks

since u accidentally caused a few by pushing boundaries and staying out for several nights in a row

cuz as tony gained more enemies, he thought you’d be in more danger

which was true

“happy, you’re y/n’s personal bodyguard” -tony

“no!” -you

“uh, cool? any fun parties planned tonight? i’ll be the designated driver. god knows i’ve been tony’s too many times” -happy

taglist: @alwaysananglophile // @locke-writes // @sweetheartlizzie07 // @queen-destenie // @johnmurphyisqueer // @captainshazamerica // @ravenmoore14 // @canarypoint // @procrastinatingsapphictrash // @swanimagines // @randomfandomimagine // @petersgroupie // @summersimmerus // @scarthefangirl // @bad4amficideas // @sheridans-dynamos // @simsrecs // @prettysbliss // @skdkdkckfk // @simp-legend // @wild-rose-35 // @nekoannie-chan // @evilcr0ne // @v0idl1nq // @ruvaakke // @thedarkqueenofavalon // @amirahiddleston // @beth-gallagher22 // @brutal-out-here // @rqmanoff // @elenavampire21 // @mymelodymia // @pheonixfire777 // @deanzboyfriend //

[princessbrunette]

⊹ ᜊ(ᜊ ´ ˘)੭ ♡ … SHARPEST TOOL ♡

track five of the short n’sweet series. pairing: babydaddy!rafe x reader. based loosely on the song sharpest tool by sabrina carpenter. enjoy! ໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა

it’s not like you expected a marriage proposal or anything.

rafe was going to be rafe, you knew that— it was the whole reason he was your babydaddy and not your husband or even boyfriend. the cameron man was bright where it counted but not even nearly emotionally equipped enough to handle the trials and tribulations of an adult relationship paired with a baby. he got the baby on fridays and tuesdays. that was the agreement.

but that didn’t mean you didn’t see him inbetween.

“mmh, fuck— s’mine isn’t it? huh? c’mon—” rafe cups your chin, encouraging you to speak words that were incoherent whines as he drives his cock repeatedly through your gummy walls.

“yours, still yours rafey.”

god, you’d think the two of you were still together. it was sex talk, nothing more nothing less — you assumed anyway. unfortunately, due to unforeseen circumstances in your love life, and the fact you were somewhat soul tied to the cameron boy, you meant every word. there was no way he felt the same, merely doing you a favour even — due to your raging hormones post pregnancy recovery that were adjacent to a teenage boys. he was helping you out.

“this pussy is — goddamn, still as good as the first time i fucked it.” he groans into your neck because you know he’s close.

you roll your hips, forever trying to please him.

as aforementioned, it’s not like you expected him to suddenly come forward with a proposal after he’d finished into the condom. he drops a kiss to your temple like always, cleans himself off in the bathroom, awkwardly stands in your door making small talk, and occasionally decides that then is the time to drop your wad of allowance money that he gives you for raising his kid. you told him to stop putting money on your dresser after sex because it made you feel like a ‘paid service’. he rolled his eyes.

the problem didn’t lie with how rafe treat you within the four walls of your bedroom. rafe was going to be rafe, and that was that. it was how he’d behave upon seeing you in public. you’d think the two of you were merely strangers. if you were to stroll through the country club where you rightfully belong just as much as him, he’d turn his back, look away. like he’d forgotten everything.

at this point, you couldn’t tell if he was nonchalant or just plain stupid. you couldn’t keep chasing the feeling of the rare little nod of acknowledgement he’d send your way when you’d accidentally lock eyes. he wasn’t ashamed of the situation, no — you’d seen him proudly walk around the club with his little girl in his arms, letting everyone surround them, fawn over them. it was you that got left behind.

you’d decided enough was enough, coming to the conclusion you’d ignore him right back. it was approaching the weekend, and you knew you’d have to see him — so you prepared yourself to be strong. resilient. play him at his own game. you were simply there to drop off the baby and go home.

rafe comes and stands by you at the country club bar on a thursday evening.

“usual time tomorrow?” he nudges you gently with his arm, and you were shocked he was even speaking to you. not allowing the shock to cause you to jump straight into friendly conversation, you stare ahead.

“yep.”

“alright…yeah, yeah…” he nods, itching his cheek, eyes glancing back over to you. “i assume you uh, you’re gonna want something to help get you right huh? nothing some dick can’t fix…” you can hear the smirk on his voice and you exhale shakily, not wanting to react in the usual pavlovian way with your panties practically dropping.

so you say nothing. you stare ahead.

the bartender brings his beer, and yet he stays, staring at your profile. “a’ight… fucks a’matter with you?”

“you clearly don’t care, you can skip the formalities.” you find yourself spitting out before you can help yourself. he stares for another moment before he scoffs.

“the fucks your problem, little miss attitude?” he drawls, blinking in irritation but your order comes and you take it and walk away. he doesn’t chase you, of course not.

you drop the baby off the next day, and he tries his luck again, welcoming you inside wearing grey sweats. “c’mon.” he croons quietly, nodding his head inside after you’d got the sleeping baby situated and you stand up straight, look him in the eye, and smile.

“so you can treat me like i’m not a person afterwards? i think i’ll pass.” you turn your daughter, blowing her a kiss. “bye baby, mommy will see you tomorrow.” rafe stares after you, watching you go.

to answer your previous pondering, it turned out rafe was more stupid than he was nonchalant. truth be told, he hadn’t realised he’d been acting all that much differently. you were co-parenting, not a couple — so he figured his time at the country club was his time and yours was yours. he didn’t wanna bother you a whole bunch and put you off visiting.

but the dots were starting to connect, and rafe remembered that women do infact need more emotional stimulation to live happily beside you — and he’d be damned if he weren’t to look after the mother of his child properly. if that’s what you needed, he’d be happy to play ball.

the two of you don’t say much to eachother when you pick the baby up the next day, yet when monday rolls around, and you step into the country club with three of your friends to discuss an upcoming event — rafe cameron doesn’t waste any time.

he cuts topper off mid conversation, holding up a dismissive hand as soon as his eyes meet you and he begins to swagger over to you in his usual aggressive and demanding manner. you think he’s about to give you an earful infront of your friends so you stop nervously, brow creasing. however, when he reaches you — he grips you and brings his lips to yours, cutting off any potential confused greeting on your tongue with a kiss.

“gonna stop pouting about this whole thing now? huh?” he raises his eyebrows and you blink up at him, turning to your friends and shooing them to their table. turning back, you eye him.

“why did you—”

“you think i don’t care about you, that’s it right? like — like i don’t supply your ass with endless money, threaten any asshole that tries to make a move on you, defend you like my god damn life depends on it, fuck you when you need it? hm? nah, nah you really think—”

“wait, who do you threaten?”

“thats— ahh… thats not important, alright?” he scratches his temple, buzzcut bristling against his blunt fingernails as he quickly wets his lips with his tongue. “i didn’t know i was fucking up. okay?” his drags out his version of an apology and you feel the tiniest smile creeping up on you. it was pathetic, really.

“i just didn’t want you to be ashamed of me.” you sigh, looking down and he’s lightly gripping your chin immediately so you looked up at him when he spoke. old habits die hard.

“i’m not. you think i’d put a baby in someone i was ashamed of? that shits for the pogues.”

“rafe.”

“look,” he pulls his sunglasses on over his eyes and wraps an arm around you, the two of you now looking out over the club. the eyes of his friends and yours are quickly averted, having being watching the entire interaction. “i don’t know what more you want, okay i’m— i haven’t done this before. i don’t know if you’re aware but i haven’t had a kid before. this shit is my first fuckin’ rodeo too.” he turns to look down at you through the dark frames, a serious and promising look on his face. “but whatever i need to do… to keep that little attitude at bay, i’ll make shit happen. yeah? even if i gotta fuck you infront’a the whole club.”

he might not have been the sharpest tool, but he knew what you wanted to hear.