#Or maybe that’s me being dramatic. Who fucking knows

[lazysoulwriter]

My Man, My Rules - Rafe Cameron

There was a fight. Of course, there was a fight.

Because Rafe Cameron couldn’t go one week without being knee-deep in some rich-kid drama.

And as usual, it all started with some guy looking at him the wrong way. Or maybe breathing too close. Or—God forbid—standing within a five-foot radius of her.

So now, here he was, blood dripping from his nose, shirt torn at the collar, grinning like he just won a championship fight, while his friends stood around awkwardly, avoiding her gaze.

She, on the other hand, was livid.

“Oh, great. Just fucking great,” she started, storming up to him. “Again, Rafe? You really have one brain cell, and you let Topper borrow it for the night, huh?”

“Baby—”

“No.” She raised a finger, effectively shutting him up. “I swear to God, Cameron, if you get into one more fight, I will personally beat your ass myself.”

The entire party went silent.

Kelce let out a low whistle. Topper looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole. Even the guy Rafe had just fought—some dude from Chapel Hill who probably just wanted a beer—was staring like he had just witnessed something far more terrifying than Rafe Cameron’s right hook.

Rafe, though? He just looked amused.

“You done?” he asked, licking his busted lip.

She stepped closer, grabbing his face with both hands. “Oh, I am not done. In fact, I’m just getting started. Because you know what, Rafe? You’re mine. My man. And that means I get to decide if you’re allowed to get your dumb ass into fights.”

He blinked. “I’m… not allowed?”

“That’s right,” she snapped. “Not. Allowed. What the fuck do you think this is? Some fight club for trust fund babies? No, sir. We are done with this. From now on, I make the rules. You got a problem with someone? You tell me. You feel like punching someone? You tell me. You wanna get your knuckles bloody? I will find you a punching bag, Rafe Cameron, but it will NOT be at a fucking country club party.”

Rafe looked at her for a long second. Then, he smirked. “Kinda hot when you boss me around like that.”

She groaned, letting go of his face only to smack the back of his head. “Are you hearing me? You are banned from fighting. BANNED.”

“Banned?”

“BANNED.”

“…Like, for life?”

“Oh my fucking God—”

She turned to the crowd, gesturing wildly. “Does ANYONE else want to tell this idiot what I’m saying before I lose my mind?”

Kelce coughed. “I think she means you’re not supposed to fight anymore, bro.”

Rafe scoffed. “Yeah, no shit, Kelce—”

She grabbed his chin again, forcing him to look at her. “Do. You. Understand. Me?”

His smirk softened just a little. “Yeah, baby. I understand.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Do you really?”

“I do.” He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to her nose. “I promise.”

She squinted, trying to decide if she believed him. Finally, she sighed and wiped some blood off his cheek with her sleeve. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I am cute,” he agreed. “And strong. And—”

“Do not make me take it back, Cameron.”

He grinned, wrapping an arm around her waist. “C’mon, let’s get outta here.”

She sighed dramatically but let him pull her away. “Fine. But if I ever catch you fighting again—”

“I know, I know. You’ll beat my ass.”

“Damn right, I will.”

Rafe smirked, tugging her even closer. “My scary little girlfriend.”

She rolled her eyes. “And don’t you forget it.”

[7-deadly-cats]

killing me softly (part two)

kms masterlist | <- part one | part three (soon) ->

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!introverted!kook!reader

cw: swearing, y/n being an awkward mess, subtle and indirect mention of sexual themes

synopsys: it's the last year of high school and y/n is paired up with rafe cameron for a 2 week long project in art class. this wouldn't be a problem if y/n wasn't awkward as hell and well ... if there wasn't her big fat crush on him. could this be the beginning of a friendship or maybe even more? one thing was certain: rafe cameron's intense, impulsive, and complex in ways that weren't always for the better, and y/n's mind? that shit was even more tangled. but she hadn't spent seven years crushing on him from a distance just to let this chance slip through her fingers ... right?

summary of recent events: y/n and rafe were paired up for a 2 week-long art project. they agreed to meet during lunch break to start working on it. after y/n picked him up after PE, they headed for the school’s dining hall.

word count: 3.3k+

a/n: i don't have much to say for this one as it's just an immediate continuation of the last one but i'm very thankful for the likes and comments on the first part. i didn't expect any at all so a big thank you to everyone who decided to support <3 i hope you also enjoy this one as well :) (also super excited when i’ll get to future parts where y/n gets to be more silly :3)

Important: I started using dividers after chat convos that include more than one screenshot, so you guys know when to switch back to the written story. Yk you usually click on the image to get a full-screen mode to read the messages easier, so whenever the blue rectangle image pops up, you know when to back out. Makes it easier to avoid potential spoilers, hope that makes sense :P

The dining hall at Kildare Academy was moderately full. Most students’ classes were already over, and a lot of Kooks went to the restaurants down the street, even though the serving station offered fresh high-quality food.

Okay, fries weren’t exactly healthy but they probably made them from potatoes grown specifically for Kooks (yes, as a Kook yourself, you were their biggest hater).

Whatever. The dining hall wasn’t the reason your heart was about to explode in your chest.

No. You were having lunch.

With. Rafe. Cameron.

If someone had told you this morning, you would’ve laughed.

Because, hello??? Rafe had been your crush since you’d first set foot in Kildare Academy in fifth grade.

Okay, not exactly special—what Figure 8 girl hadn’t had a crush on Rafe at some point?

But that wasn’t the point. This whole ... thing just felt so surreal.

A crush had always been just that—a crush. You weren’t the type to walk up to a guy and say, Hey, you’re cute, let’s go on a date. That would mean putting yourself out there and making yourself vulnerable.

And the last thing you ever wanted was to be seen.

Not in a physical way. That was unavoidable. No, what scared you was someone actually seeing you, the parts of yourself you kept locked away.

Ew, that sounded so fucking dramatic.

So while your 11-year-old self was doing backflips of joy, your 18-year-old self was having a full-blown existential crisis.

Okay, maybe not that bad.

“You were right,” Rafe said, pulling you from your thoughts. He was sitting across from you, pushing his fork through his quinoa-veggie bowl.

You eyed him confused. “About what?”

Rafe nodded toward your fries, the corner of his lips tugging into a subtle smile. “I am a fries guy. Quinoa tastes like shit and rocks.”

You glanced at his bowl before meeting his gaze again, a knowing smile on your face. “I guess it’s the color. Red and black ones are usually more bitter and more firm than their white counterparts.”

Rafe raised a brow, amused. “As a quinoa expert, you could’ve warned me.”

Your cheeks heated. You kind of had, with that dumb joke outside the gym earlier. “I thought you already knew what it tasted like.”

“I do,” he shrugged, taking a bite of his bowl anyway. “Maybe I just didn’t want you to label me as the fries guy.”

Wait—was that a joke? And why did he care what you thought about him?

God, I suck at whatever this is.

So you just forced a chuckle and took a sip of your water.

…

…

...

Shit.

Now there was that awkward silence you always dreaded in conversations.

Okay, okay, stay calm.

Should I say something? Should I offer him my fries?

You almost laughed. Hell no, that’d be so weird. Plus the quinoa part of his bowl didn’t even take up a third of the whole meal.

You wished Cara were here. She’d know exactly what to say and how to act. She went on dates all the time, made out with guys at parties just for fun, and could hold a normal fucking conversation with a guy she was interested in.

“So, you like… a real artist or something?” Rafe asked absentmindedly, breaking the unbearable silence. “Since you picked Art as an elective?”

You looked up, quickly swallowing the bite of fries in your mouth before giving him a nervous smile. “Yeah, I mean—no, I wouldn’t call myself a real artist, not like Da Vinci or such.” You let out an awkward laugh. “I just draw sometimes when I’m bored.”

Jesus Christ, did he have to look at you like that? His blue eyes were drilling into your entire existence.

Rafe nodded. “Digital or traditional?”

You blinked at him, stunned.

How the fuck did Frat Boy Rafe Cameron know the difference between digital and traditional art?

Your expression made him smirk. And as if he had read your thoughts, he said, “My little sister Wheezie draws random shit on her iPad all the time.” He shrugged. “I don’t know, figured it was a thing—”

“No, I mean—yes, totally,” you blurted, immediately turning red because you just cut him off. “Most people start with pencil and paper but drawing on a tablet or iPad is just as legit. Um… so, yeah … I do both, to answer your question.” You smiled awkwardly.

Help, he would’ve had a more entertaining conversation with a rock.

Rafe barely raised a brow, a lazy smile on his lips. “It’s cool that you draw. Guess I got lucky having you as my partner for this project.”

WHAT.

Okay, everything’s chill.

NO, NOTHING WAS CHILL.

Is he flirting with me??? Is he just being nice ??? WHAT DOES ALL OF THIS MEAN.

What were you even supposed to reply to that?

Hahaha, thanks, did you know I made our Sims get married in eighth grade? Topper was your best man by the way.

WHAT THE FUCK, NO, STOP.

Whatever, just say something. Anything.

“Thanks,” you mumbled with an embarrassed smile, eyes fixed on your fries and salad.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Rafe lean back, pushing his half-eaten bowl aside. He shrugged. “Only sucks for you. Art’s not really my thing.”

No shit.

Also, what was that supposed to mean? Was he fishing for a compliment? Like Aww, no, come on, I’m sure you’re great at it.

Holy shit. Was Rafe Cameron secretly a pick-me guy? Were all these years crushing on him wasted?

“Yeah, I figured. Most people just take art class thinking it’ll be an easy A”, you said before he could say more and give you the ick.

OH my god, take it back, take it back—

When you saw his expression, you wanted to crawl into a hole and never come back. He looked… surprised? Confused? Maybe a little offended…?

Then the tension in his face eased. His lips twitched slightly before curving into a lopsided grin, making him look unexpectedly boyish.

“Shit, yeah. Guess that makes me ‘most people’”, he said with such ease, it was like you hadn’t just called him out.

How the hell did he manage to turn all your miserable attempts at a normal conversation into something so smooth? If you were in his place, you would've already walked out and dropped art class.

Yo, Mr Smith, this chick you paired me up with, she’s got the social skills of a dead fish.

This was so frustrating. It wasn’t like you were socially incompetent—not really—but around him, your brain just seemed to completely shut down.

“That’s not what I meant,” you said, furrowing your brows, annoyed at your own nervousness.

“Nah, it’s true,” Rafe replied, shrugging. Then he looked at you, a teasing edge in his voice. “So, if your art grade tanks, you know who to blame.”

Okayyy, he was either trying to get on your good side or looking for a smooth way out of this project—and you weren’t sure which was worse.

You swallowed your last fry and gave a chuckle. I sound like a fake ass bitch. “I’m sure you'll manage. Art is not about drawing perfectly — it’s more about the ideas and how you approach them.”

Jesus, you sounded just like Mr. Smith.

Rafe’s lips twitched into a cocky smirk. “Alright, then I guess you’ll have to help me be more creative.”

...

HUH?

OKAY. I MEAN SURE.

Be for fucking real, did he even realize what his words did to you?

Of course, he did—he probably flirted with girls daily. Or was he just lucky to be born with full charisma stats?

Probably both.

God, this was so embarrassing. Your face probably screamed HI CAN YOU MARRY ME, and to him, you were just some random Kook girl he was stuck with for a boring art project.

Okay, wait no.

Now YOU sounded like a pick-me.

“Yeah, we’ll see,” you said, cheeks pink, before clearing your throat to change the subject. “Okay, so… maybe we should start brainstorming some ideas? Like a mind map or mood board or something?”

Rafe leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table, and you had to fight the urge to glance at his biceps which flexed slightly as he moved. “Mood board? You talking about Pinterest type shit?”

Okay, wow, Rafe was absolutely not the type of guy you thought he was. Did he know about this stuff from Wheezie? Or some friends-with-benefits girlie?

Um, no, Y/N, none of your business.

You gave him a quick nod. “Yeah, something like that. We can also just start by writing stuff down.”

Rafe shrugged in agreement. “Okay.”

Okay.

He looked at you expectantly.

Ugh, did he really expect YOU to be the one taking notes?

Well, crush or not, he was still just a guy, after all.

You reached for the iPad in your bag, grabbed the Apple Pencil, and opened the Notes app.

As you scribbled down today’s date and gave the note a title, Rafe leaned in even closer, glancing at your screen. “Is this the iPad you use for drawing?”

He was so close now, his woody-aquatic aftershave filling your nose, giving you a strange feeling in your chest … and a very special part in your lower body.

“Yeah,” you replied shortly.

“Show me something then.”

“No.”

HUH?

“No?” Rafe’s gaze flicked from the screen to your flushed face, his lips curling into a crooked grin. There was a cocky glimmer in his gaze.

Good heavens, up close his eyes looked even more beautiful. They were the kind of blue people wrote bad poetry about. To you, they were a pretty contradiction—cold in color, warm in the way they lingered on your own eyes.

Heart racing, you looked away and laughed nervously. “I mean… maybe we should focus on the project first, you know, time pressure and all.”

With an amused scoff, Rafe leaned back again, glancing at his phone (wow, rude) for a second before saying, “To the boring part then."

Somehow it felt like you'd scratched his ego.

Girl, how could you mess up this badly? He probably thought you were some pretentious nerd now.

“So… do you have any ideas?” You twirled the Apple Pencil in your fingers, just praying for this painfully long lunch break to end.

Rafe pressed his lips together, scratching his jaw. The glass of his Rolex reflected a spectrum of lights under the ceiling’s lights. “Uh… dunno. What’s the prompt again? A modern take on the Greek gods?”

“A reinterpretation,” you corrected — then realizing you sounded like a know-it-all, so you quickly added, “but yeah, a modern version could definitely count.”

He nodded absentmindedly, fingers drumming on the table. “Okay, so…", he gave a dry laugh and ran a hand over his face. "Shit, what a stupid prompt."

You chewed the inner part of your cheeks. Okay, he clearly had zero interest in spending his free period working on some elective class’ project with you.

But it had been his idea to meet during lunch, you reminded yourself.

Forcing a smile, you offered, “We can always do this later. We still have two weeks.”

Rafe raised a brow. “You got plans or something?”

Oh. Guess that didn’t go over well.

You shook your head. “No, but if you’re not feeling it—”

“I’m not,” he cut in, his fingers stopping their steady rhythm against the table. “But we’re already here, so.”

That didn’t sound very motivated.

“Yeah, I guess”, you said, cringing at the sudden bitterness in your tone.

By the shift in Rafe’s expression, he must have noticed but before he had a chance to comment on it, you quickly picked up on what he’d said earlier. “So, a modern version of Olympus sounds fun. Maybe we can make it about the gods’ roles in today’s society or something like that.”

Rafe eyed you quietly, his expression impossible to read. He then tilted his head, scratching his nose. “Yeah, I guess. Maybe Zeus as the CEO of Olympus Industries or some shit. He’s the big boss, right? And everyone else just kinda works for him.”

Your lips curled into a soft smile. A corporate structure? Why were you not surprised.

“What?” He looked genuinely confused.

You shook your head, cheeks heating up again. “Nothing, that’s… that’s good.”

He raised his brows, a challenging tone in his voice. “You think it’s crap.”

“No,” you replied quickly, then adopted a more serious expression. “Really, it’s a nice take. Maybe his wife — Hera I mean — could be his girl boss PR manager, always cleaning up his scandals?”

A grin tugged at his lips, and with that, the weird tension in the air seemed to fade. “Shit, isn’t she also his sister? Well, yeah, guess she’s gotta cover up his dozen affairs. That guy’s a huge player.”

Okay, real talk—where did he get all this information from? He really didn’t seem like the guy to be interested in greek mythology.

It was cute though.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “You seem to be an expert in this field.”

He scoffed amused, leaning back into his chair. His eyes mustered you with a strange mix of entertainment and irritation. “You think I'm a fuckboy or some shit?”

You furrowed your brows in confusion. Huh? What did he mean—

…

Did he-- ... OH SHIT.

A revolting feeling spread in your stomach and your cheeks probably invented a new shade of red.

WHY ON EARTH HAD YOU PHRASED IT LIKE THAT?!

Some evil gods or spirits must be messing with you right now because there was no way this situation could get any more awkward.

Frantically, you shook your head. “What? I… oh my god, no. NO! I was referring to the Greek gods. Not… you don’t give off such vibes. I mean, it’s none of my business anyway.”

Hey, if there’s a sniper out there, please take me out.

In your mind, you already estimated the cost of moving to another country. Canada had pretty landscapes and New Zealand--

A laugh escaped his lips — cocky, yet carrying a certain warmth. It made your heart stop and race at the same time.

“Relax,” he said bemused, leaning forward with his arms crossed, biceps flexing again. “People have said worse things to my face.”

No, this didn’t sit right with you.

You shook your head again, daring to meet his eyes. “No, I’m serious, I didn’t mean it like that. I was just … surprised about your knowledge of Greek mythology.” You froze, realizing this also sounded stupid. “Not that I took you for clueless…” Shit. You sighed. “It was stupid of me to phrase it like that and I don’t want you to think I take you for a fuckboy. It’s a shitty term anyway.”

Your nerves were going crazy and you fidgeted with the case of your iPad, waiting for his response.

Rafe silently STARING at you didn’t help at all. He seemed … surprised, maybe a little perplexed even.

SAY SOMETHING PLEASE.

“Alright”, he finally said, his usual cocky expression returning to his face. He slightly shifted in his seat, avoiding your gaze for just a second but long enough for you to notice. “Guess I picked up a bit from Wheezie when she had to do a presentation for school or whatever. She couldn't shut up about it. Shit was annoying as hell.”

For a moment, you didn't know what to respond. Why wasn't he offended? Why didn't he mock you for being so awkward?

You smiled, trying to relax your nerves. “Sounds like we could use her little expert knowledge on this project.”

Rafe gave a low chuckle. “Well, I believe we’ve already got a little expert right here”, he said with a crooked smile, his eyes burning a hole into your soul.

Oh. My. God.

The teasing edge in his voice made your brain shut down. This had to count as flirting, right? RIGHT?!

You chuckled nervously, cheeks a deep shade of red, and placed the Apple Pencil back on the screen. “Then I hope whatever I picked up from reading Percy Jackson will be enough.“

That's it, Y/N, you are officially banned from doing any more jokes.

-----------------------------------------------

In English class, you could finally breathe again.

Your suffering was over.

During the rest of the lunch break, Rafe and you had talked about some more ideas. Gladly, you hadn’t embarrassed yourself any further (if that was even possible because you’d definitely reached your peak today).

At the end of lunch, Topper had picked him up and they’d left for their own English class. Your goodbyes had been a little awkward but you’d managed.

Right now, you were grateful they didn’t attend the same class as you because you certainly didn’t want to listen to them laughing about what a weird ass person you were.

Okay, just breathe. I did it, it’s over.

You tried to concentrate on whatever Mrs. Andrade was talking about but only half the students truly paid attention.

Afternoons in the Outer Banks truly were a cruel thing.

So you decided to check your phone:

Sighing quietly, you put your phone away and rubbed your temples. A thousand thoughts raced through your mind, yet at the same time, it felt so empty.

Maybe I'm lucky and tomorrow I’ll wake up to a big newsflash: This just came in, Kildare Academy was reduced to ashes by a sudden fire.

But when had you ever been lucky?

Your phone buzzed again but you really didn’t feel like talking and thinking about Rafe anymore.

This guy had thrown you off track in just an hour but in the best and worst way possible.

And even though every part of you wanted to run from the thought of seeing him again — the way that uncomfortable feeling in your chest wouldn’t let up — there was still a small part of you that found yourself oddly eager to see him again, work with him on that stupid little project and listen to his stupid little laugh.

Because somehow in just sixty minutes you’d learned more about Rafe Cameron than you had in nearly seven years at Kildare Academy.

For instance, he was a lot kinder than you’d expected. Not that you’d ever thought he was like a high school movie bully or some shit but his occasional soft smiles and the way he didn't mock you when you'd said some stupid shit had definitely surprised you.

Plus he seemed to care about his little sister which was such an attractive attribute (and the bare minimum let's be honest).

All of this was so strange.

It sounded stupid but Rafe Cameron had always been just a concept to you. A crush you enjoyed looking at and maybe making up your own little idea of (and some scenarios to fall asleep to be for real).

But now he was... real and—

Bzzrt.

Seriously, Cara had class too—and with Ms. Langford, no less. And unlike Mrs. Andrade, she wasn’t exactly chill.

You picked up your phone again, expecting some delusional text messages—but the moment you saw the notification on your lock screen, your heart stopped.

No fucking way.

NO. FUCKING. WAY.

Holding your breath, you unlocked your phone, and the second your eyes landed on the profile picture, your heart took off in a full sprint. You didn’t even register Mrs. Andrade calling your name.

Because by some strange twist of fate, Rafe Cameron had gotten your number and decided to text you—after what you were sure had been your ultimate humiliation today.

You didn’t know whether to grin, cheer, or jump out of your seat—shit, maybe all three—but instead, you just sat there, wondering if there really was a god of luck and if he’d just decided to bless you.

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kms masterlist | <- part one | part three (soon) ->

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Taglist (open):

@ursogorgeous13 @my-name-is-baby @moneybaby07 @jjasmiineee

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"You are." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

To Daryl, you are different, you are special, you are everything. But when his jealousy over a "prank" from your friend leads to a misunderstanding you can't resolve, and an incident the next day that nearly costs you your life, it causes Daryl to have a huge revelation about his feelings for you.

@artsynana: heyy dear!! i was wondering if you could ever write something with some soft jealous daryl x reader at the prison era, btw i love the way you write daryl🥰

A/N: Hi love. First, sorry! I didn't know you had left a request :( but thank you so much for doing it. This is a little short and different :( and a little more dramatic, but I really hope you like it♥ And for your words, thank u again! I think I write Daryl a little bit off the character, but I guess it's because I picture him like that hehe

Daryl Dixon is not a possessive person, never, but he is not made of steel either, that’s way he’s unable to stop jealousy from creeping up on him.

The night is ending inside the prison, the heat of the day floating in the air, but the still warm weather seems to hang over Daryl almost in a suffocating way. As he continues to wait for his dinner, he has a panoramic view of you across the dining room, sitting in the long steel chair, elbows on the table, always accompanied by that pretty boy Sean, with his stupid green eyes and that stupid smile, following you ever since Daryl rescued his group from the governor.

And Daryl hates not being able to hate you for the senseless jealousy that you make him feel now, as he thought he did in the past.

Daryl hated ​​you for being a badass, like the afternoon you showed up to save his ass back in Atlanta, like a force of nature, like a fucking storm–sweeping away the little peace he managed to find at the end of the world, shaking his own with your magnetic presence. But he also hated how your strong gaze could rest, turning you into an angel when he could see the tenderness in your soft smile, and your dreamy eyes when things got a little bit better in that grey world.

The secret of his hate was because of your selfishness, your wild and free heart, and that fucking dimple that formed on your left cheek, so yeah, he fell hard for that, he fell hard for you. But no one knew about your relationship, everyone blind to those little displays of affection: the casual brush of your hands, the secret smiles, the way his hand rested on the side of your neck before he kissed you.

“You are like… staring much. Don't you think?" Carol chuckles beside him, making Daryl look away from you as he takes his plate. "Damn, pookie, you are not subtle at all."

She continues with the bland jokes; the same ones she’s been making since Carol caught the way Daryl looked at you.

"Shut up." He hisses, turning his attention back to the food.

But Carol is not ready to give up.

"I once read that when a feeling is silenced, bottled up or imprisoned, the eyes, the lover’s gazes scream everything."

Daryl frowns, confused.

"What the hell are ya talkin’ ‘bout?"

She chuckles, crossing her arms.

"Oh, nothing. I'm just saying that maybe you should start making it clear to everyone that (Y/N) is with you."

He clears his throat, but the heat on his cheeks burns more than the sun on that season.

"Ya knew?"

"No. You just told me." Carol turns around towards the pot to serve herself a plate, Daryl narrowing his eyes at her, even if she isn’t looking at him.

"But, uh... like what?" He asks after a few seconds, hoping that Carol will understand the question without him having to spell it out for her.

She shrugs.

“I don’t know. Maybe approach her not only when you two are alone.”

Carol smiles at Daryl, walking away to leave him with the weight of his thoughts.

Daryl Dixon is a strong man, to survive, to protect, but as a boy who grew tall but is still a boy on the inside, he feels lost with the feelings he keeps inside him, not knowing what to do with them. He had had casual encounters in bars, but was too drunk to even remember, to even care about them. But you are different, you are special, you are everything. That’s why, even with his heart hammering in his chest, Daryl walks over to the last table, eyes fixed on your profile, his sometimes noisy mind disappearing the rest as he sets his plate down on the table before sitting down next to you, ignoring the confused look from Sean, who was silent for a second in shock before resuming his story of a past life on his farm with the rest.

“The lake water is cold during that season…” He keeps talking, oblivious to the way you hold your breath when you feel Daryl's fingers on your lower back.

But out of nowhere, his hand begins to seek out the skin beneath, a light touch over the edge of your black t–shirt until he finds the warmth of your flesh. Your back arches slightly beneath his calloused fingers on your skin, but you try to control your body as your dirty thoughts begin to overflow.

The small group is so wrapped up in the funny anecdote that no one notices the way Daryl leans in close.

"Breathe, peach, ‘fore ya pass out."

His words are the jolt back to reality, and you let out a breath as you squint, your hand darting from your lap to his leg, only to pinch his skin over his pants with your fingers. As a reflex, his leg jumps slightly, but Daryl takes the attack with a smirk that is almost imperceptible to the rest of them, but not to you.

"Isn't that right, (Y/N)?" Sean glances in your direction, catching your gaze and a confused expression that silently prompts him to repeat his question. "You told me you dated a guy who looked like me."

Confused, you clear your throat.

“Yeah. Uh, but we separated long before all this...”

Mary nods, a young woman who came with Sean’s group.

“Wow. He must have been really handsome. But did you love him, (Y/N)?”

Your skin feels cold again when Daryl's hand leaves your body, even if your skin feels boiling hot when the attention falls on you like the midday sun in that stifling season. As if someone had put their hand on your throat until it was blocked from air, your uncomfortable laughter comes out muffled, but you don’t answer before changing topics. But it's sad that after a short while, Daryl stands up to go to his own cell, his thoughts run wild about the jealousy he feels about that guy, thinking that there was someone who made you feel something when, for him, you were his first everything.

When dinner time is over and everyone returns to their cells, you find yourself timidly entering Daryl's cell only because his door was still open, but staying close to it. He’s lying on his back, eyes fixed on the arrow in his hands just to keep himself busy.

“Hey. Uh, can we talk?”

“’bout what?”

His voice is flat, not a single emotion in it.

“About what happened in the dining room with Sean.”

 “What ‘bout it?”

You shrug, even if he isn’t looking at you.

“Don’t know exactly, but I think I made you feel uncomfortable.”

Daryl scoffs.

“Ya didn't make me feel anythin’.”

His words form a lump in your throat, completely silencing the truth you were going to tell, just because your own anxious mind tells you that you don't make him feel anything, at all, like never, and that is painful.

“Okay, uh, I don’t want to force you to talk so… I guess I’m gonna go. Oh, we'll leave early tomorrow for the run, by the way.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

You sigh, walking away.

But jealousy is an irrational force, but a force of nature that resembles a hurricane, or any destructive phenomenon inside a timid and fearful mind: that’s why when the early morning arrives and the first ray of sun shines on the horizon, Daryl decides to switch places with Glenn, just so he wouldn't be stuck with his thoughts of you in a car for hours.

However, the day grows tedious for him, even in the small details like the wind blowing dust into his face, or the way the walkers keep piling up against the fence, taking the place of the lifeless body when Daryl stabs his knife into their skulls. But before his ocean–blue eyes can see the car returning at a worrying speed, his ears can hear the horn, like a desperate call that makes his heart wake up frantically.

“Someone is hurt.” Carol tells him, a second before they start running towards the main fence.

Maggie and Rick are closer and they open the gates, the car raising tornadoes of dust until it stopped inside the prison. Michonne steps out of the passenger seat as Daryl and Carol arrive to meet her, Bob and Glenn following as she begins to narrate the horror story.

“… and one of those men was behind me, (Y/N) shot him but another stabbed her in the abdomen.”

The back door of the car is open, but like a roller coaster of emotions, Daryl’s heart is so up that it threatens to stop because of the fear, as if it stopped pumping blood to replace it with an infinite void. But he refuses to listen to the death whispering in his ear that you won’t make it as he carries you, arms under your shoulders and knees.

“Call Hershel!” He says, to whoever is faster as Daryl starts waking fast, because, even though he wants to run to catch the seconds that seem to slip away, your body feels as fragile as porcelain.

And it’s crazy, it’s wild the way Herself has to perform a surgery to control the bleeding on the same table where the night before your and his playful fingers had teased each other, minutes before ruining it all with your silence and his jealousy. But when it's all over and the madness has cleared like a thick fog, he finds himself sitting on the edge of your bed, taking in the way your closed eyelids make you look like you're just asleep and not unconscious.

“She will make up, Daryl.” Carol says softly, standing close to him. “It’s late, you should rest.”

He shakes his head.

“Nah. I’m stayin’ here with her. Don’ want her to be alone when she does.”

Carol nods, knowing perfectly nothing will change his mind.

“Okay, Pookie, I will come to check on you both in the morning.”

She kisses his forehead, but Daryl is too absent to notice as she leaves the room. The entire prison falls into a deep sleep, and Daryl can hear the almost imperceptible sound of your breathing fighting against the almost deafening silence of his world, telling him without words that you are there, and that you are not going anywhere. But after a while, Daryl lies down on his right side, still close to the edge of the bed to give you all the space you needed, but able to leave only that small space between his body and yours.

“Fuck… now I know I love ya, peach.” He whispers, shy and scared you can hear him even like that. “That seems to be the only answer to why I almost lost ma shit when I saw ya there… bleedin’ out. Jesus, ya would probably laugh if ya saw me here now scared to death like a damn child.” Daryl tries to laugh, a nervous little laugh that falls to a heavy sigh. “Please, wake up, okay? I promise I’ll be better.”

But since there is no answer from the other end, his words hang in the air for the rest of the night, even after Daryl falls asleep. However, as the sun begins to peek through one of the prison's tall windows one more time, your eyelids open slightly, the world in front of you blurring for an instant, until your scattered senses become one and focus on the pain pounding your abdomen.

But still, you turn your head slightly to the side when your peripheral vision catches a body beside yours, smiling weakly at the image before you. Daryl's hair covers part of his closed eyes, but his slight frown reflects his concern, even if you don't know that.

You raise your arm until your hand touches the skin of his face, soft flesh under your fingers.

“Daryl?” Your voice brings him back easily, walking him up from that terrifying dream as he sits up, his hand cupping the side of your face just to feel that you're actually awake.

"Ya okay, peach, ya okay."

“Am I? Since when I’m here?”

Daryl sighs, but he decides to mask his fear with humor, just because he feels like he can spill all his feelings for you in a single second.

“Jus' a day, but ya took yer sweet time to wake up, woman.”

“Sorry.”

You chuckle shyly, but his gaze turns soft.

“Nah. Don’t be, I’m jus’ so glad ya came back, peach.” Concern allows him to smile slightly, before telling you that he's going to go find Hershel.

The examination lasts a few minutes, until you two are left alone, again.

“Daryl…” One more time, your voice pulls his eyes towards yours the moment he sits back down. “Sean was messing with you. You know? I was going to tell you about it that night before all this, but you didn’t want to listen and I didn’t want to push you to.”

Embarrassed, Daryl lowers his head a little bit, watching you through his long hair.

“M’ sorry, peach. I was jealous of ‘em and I ended up sayin’ the wrong shit again.”

Them.

“Daryl, that’s exactly what I was going to tell you that night. There was never another guy, Sean made up that story to get a reaction out of you because even he can see how much you want to kick his ass every time you see him coming." You chuckle. "Besides, he’s gay.”

Daryl blinks, confused like never in his life.

“He is?”

You nod.

“Yep, really gay, but don’t worry, Sean has a crush on Glenn because you look too intimidating for his like.” You want to laugh, but you can see his own shame sinking his heart heavily, feeling the pain and guilt for letting you go alone, because Daryl is a protector: that is in his nature.

And when things went wrong, that weight fell on his shoulders.

"Sorry, peach, I think I screwed this thing between us."

And in a second and with an overwhelming strength, you can see his eyes becoming teary with all the feelings he has inside him.

"No. You didn't, Daryl, unless you want this to end."

But he shakes his head.

"No. I don' want it to ever end."

You nod softly.

"Good." When your hand catches his, Daryl clings to it, but you don't force him to talk because you know better than anyone that it was difficult for him to express himself. "Now come, lie down and try to sleep. Okay?”

He nods, laying down next to you, too overwhelmed to speak his mind at that very moment, his hand still holding yours even after he falls asleep when his mind can no longer carry the full weight of his thoughts. But while he does, you can't help but smile slightly, because now, awake, you are convinced that his voice saying I love you was not just part of the dream you were having, sweet words you hope you can tell him soon.

[sugar-crash]

🪲👑CYBUG King Candy (Wreck-It Ralph) x (gn) Reader🍭🕷️

(Picture’s not mine!)

(Ask here! Had a ball writing this one, let me tell you, I LOVE MONSTROUS BUG PPL!! And this one in particular has a very special place in my heart lol, he’s so fucked up lookin’)

- Alright so, one thing we can agree on is that for both sides of this predicament here is that things escalate and escalate quickly, even before you see each other in person once more.

- I mean, imagine being roped into the nonsense that Ralph causes when he game jumps alongside Fix-It Felix and Calhoun… Essentially third wheeling them, their strange yet endearing dynamic blossoming right in front of you. Maybe a part of you is reminded of that long gone romance between you and Turbo.

- Every step, every word, everything feels as if it’s trying to make you remember him, down to the point when Felix tells Calhoun of Turbo in such a ‘in your face’ manner rather than beating around the bush or vaguely referring to him like people of the arcade usually do—

- The negative effects of that only making those supposedly long dead feelings come out of the woodwork, his influence seemingly all encompassing as haunts the narrative of the overall story.

- And the kicker? The cherry on this vile sundae?? That bastard is still ALIVE, HASN’T EVEN CHANGED, dramatically introducing himself to the little girl he’s trying to MURDER, to the guy he literally manipulated, and unknowingly to you, and he’s just as impulsive and selfish as you remembered him to be.

- To say there’s some negative consequences to this would be an understatement of the century… I can’t imagine a reader who would be ok with all of this crazy all at once. Especially if you were scorned by him in the past.

- Constantly having to walk on eggshells only for him to complain about the crunching sounds said eggshells are making… Yeah no it’s not fun and having to deal with weird bug monster things makes it even worse.

- Not to mention having to deal with him in a monster bug form that TOWERS over a 9ft Ralph and IS ABLE TO FUCKING PICK HIM OFF OF THE GROUND??? Terrifying. Terrible— Unfathomable.

- The wide variety of words I have in my arsenal would not be able to fully describe the absolute magnitude of it for anyone.

- I can’t imagine a final confrontation that doesn’t involve you guys duking it out in some way, I live for that type of angsty shit— Like trying to fight him as a means to stall for Ralph? Maybe.

- Having to handle your ex that’s a mutated, feral, and downright manic version of himself is something nightmares are made out of, having such a great disadvantage from not only his overpowered body, but with the emotional damage of all these sudden revelations this god forsaken night has caused?? Yeah it’s rougher than rough, which I believe Cybug King Candy would absolutely delight in.

- His sadistic tendencies being right out in the open now, now that he has the confidence and the form to back it up—

- Even if you two had something in the past, he still delights in misery, maybe has a twisted delight in seeing you in particular all bent out of shape about everything he’s doing not only to Sugar Rush but also to the main cast.

- If he’s given the chance I do see him trying to sweep you off of your feet, like, literally. Flaunting off his new form, relishing in your palpable fear among other things, it’s as if he strives to make you squirm.

- Keeps you on your toes with his unpredictable behavior, constantly switching from being overly joyful one second and frighteningly aggressive the next. He’s unstable both physically and mentally, face constantly glitching from the one you used to know all those years ago to this new more crazed one with a sharp toothed grin and a bloodthirsty glint in his eye.

- The audacity oozing from him is deadly when he’s the self-appointed ‘final boss’, throwing you around like a rag doll through the air and catching you by the leg just because.

- But in a way he’s always been like this, but now he has the power to be what he wants, and that’s something that craves power, thinks he’s owed it for everything he does.

- I believe he thinks he’s owed you in particular, all the worst of him out in the open, not afraid to reveal those ugly parts of himself anymore, too far down the rabbit hole to stop and think.

- Which, as we all know, is how he gets got, letting his gloating and sadistic side to have too much of the spotlight, being inevitably put down like the rabid dog he is.

- Much like how he is with so many other things, he simply couldn’t resist letting those metaphorical and literal wings of his melt like Icarus, no more redos, no more chances, no more him.

(.. ... / - .... .. ... / . -. -.. / --- ..-. / .. - --..-- / . -. -.. / --- ..-. / . ...- . .-. -.-- - .... .. -. --. ..--..)

[billygoat26]

…Lemme just put this out there.

The amount of “gofundme I’m stuck in Gaza” asks are insane. I know the situation and trust me I really am sorry and hope you guys are safe and can get out safely but…

I AM A MINOR. I DON’T HAVE A JOB YET. I LITERALLY CAN’T DONATE.

I’ve answered a few of the asks I’ve gotten related to that over time but after discovering that one that I got before the Gaza asks started flooding in (I think it was the one with the mom and kids or cats? Idfk) was fake I’ve lost my trust.

I’m sure not all of them are fake (and chances are none of them are) but please- the only way I can help is to answer the asks so my followers can see and I don’t know how many of them are like me and literally can’t help.

I don’t think there’s any way to put this without it sounding like me being insensitive or something- I don’t want it to come off as that 😭

I guess I’m tired of getting the asks when I literally cannot to anything to help.

I’ve even said that before when I answered some asks and the person said something like even the smallest amount, even just a dollar, can help. Like- I have NOTHING to donate. No money. Not even a cent. What do you want me to do 😭

But if you guys are getting these too and they ARE real then please, do support them. But I don’t know what’s real and what’s fake anymore and I’m tired of being asked to donate something when I have nothing to give.

See the tags for more…

[faunandfloraas]

Look, I don't believe in preferential treatment, it's not right.... BUT ☝️ if we're gonna have changbin saying sydney is skz's second hometown I just think maybe australia could not be charged things like 60+ dollars shipping.... or 75 dollars for a normal album at the most prominent music retailer when other places pay 15-20 for the same thing.... lol

[forestgreenlesbian]

.

[diamondrib]

fun fact all those people who talk about how type 4 hair and dealing with it sucks are right but in a nuanced way where it’s actually systemic racism’s fault and not anything about our hair itself making it uniquely shitty

[melancholic-pigeon]

Okay this is the *actual* last comment, for real, but I just found out Spider is now smearing me as a convert and accusing me of being involved with drama I was not involved with because he mistakenly attributed my apologies for his public temper tantrum as being about something unrelated.

THIS IS A FALSE ACCUSATION and I do not appreciate having yet another bit of fake malicious intent falsely ascribed to my actions and* attributing a completely unrelated attack to me.

Also, it's very sad and disappointing whenever a Jew gets mad at a convert because something else is going on in the Jew's life and the convert happens to be in the splash zone and the Jew falls over backwards to smear the convert and invalidate her faith.

Just....the childish aggression is making me so, so sad and disappointed, from someone I used to think very highly of, who is now lying about me and publicly smearing me with false accusations based on a conflict he started because he misinterpreted something I said and I went out of my way to give him the benefit of the doubt when trying to clear up the mistake HE MADE that led him to decide bullying and attacking me for three fucking days was appropriate and okay and that I'm the bad guy for saying it's wildly unprofessional to behave like this in public to a former customer face.

Sorry, but facts, reality, linear time and the truth of what I actually said and did are on my side here, and I will not stand for being smeared and attacked and shat all over because I had the gall to try to kindly resolve his uncalled for, unjustified temper tantrum.

I am also not sorry that I left a side note in the tags that it was also unacceptable for HIM to drag his daughter into a stupid internet slapfight based on his own reading comprehension failure. Because it was and is unacceptable, and she needs to hear that message from someone.

End of story. Keep digging that hole as long as you like, Spider. It's not helping your case and is continuing to make you look progressively worse and more unreasonable, and the only person you have to blame is yourself.

*revised for clarity

[gravyhoney]

Guy who went on a seven year nostalgia trip so bad that they live in Texas again but the nostalgia has worn off and they’re realizing this actually sucks.

[teamfortresstwo]

In a life swap AU rather than just a role swap I think it would be sooo fucked up if Patroclus swapped with Theseus and Achilles with Asterius

[orcelito]

Sometimes I get worried about whether smth I'm doing is wildly ooc but then I'm like This Is Fanfiction, what the fuck ever

[stillfruit]

i love not knowing if i'll ever be healthy again i love all of the time i've used to move my body become nothing i love spending my adulthood wasting away year after year for various reasons baby!

[defectzim]

TaTr is real and good. <- have a whole story in its head that would NOT fucking happen in canon.

[thebigqueer]

2 years ago i fucked up a friendship w a girl (that im pretty sure i was in love with). to this day i think of her and sometimes when i see her on the street i just wanna cry. i understand your plight very much.

yeahhh man im sorry to hear that!!! it genuinely fucking sucks and i would never wish this upon anyone. cuz like it makes you fully think about all the what ifs and i genuilnely dont think ill ever find someone like her again

[chiistarri]

what if instead of messaging me in the middle of the night about your stupid fucking girlfriend and your stupid fucking problems with her you actually act like my fucking friend and message me like how you message everyone else in our group