#WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY HAD A GOOD CONVERSATION ABOUT TRUST

[brazenautomaton]

I guess I should've been more clear when I said Boeing "paid off" the bereaved family, that's on me I guess, but I didn't mean they paid them off in the same sense that you'd pay off a cop. If it even transpired, it would more than likely go something like: "Hey, we feel really bad about the tragic loss of your son who definitely for sure killed himself, so uh, here's some money for your loss. See, we're the good guys in this! Please don't point fingers at us." Or alternatively, they could've not been paid at all. Both are just as likely and explain why the family might still be pointing fingers. It wouldn't have been hush money, more like a gift meant to ingratiate them as an innocent party that obviously didn't work (again, assuming it even happened).

You have already forgotten what you were supposed to be explaining! You said they were paid off to explain why they looked at the evidence and concluded Boeing didn't assassinate him! Neither of those explain the thing you said! Neither of those make a fucking lick of sense when slotted in to the claim you made! You're not even paying attention to the things you say and think, the only consistency is that you believe it must all be a conspiracy of some kind!

"Alternatively, they could've not been paid at all." Your explanation as to why they blame Boeing for his death, but conclude he was not directly assassinated, was that they were "easily corruptible" but "could not have been paid at all."

But the evidence that he killed himself is the hole in his head and the "trust me bro" we get from the cops, which is the same exact kind of evidence that we got from Epstein's supposed suicide as well, just a man hanging in his cell and a "trust me bro" from the cops.

No. That is not what the evidence is. That is the opposite of what the evidence is. I have specifically told you that the evidence is not "trust me," in the post you did not read. You didn't read it. You didn't read the post. Because you do not care about facts in material reality, you only care about who you like and who you dislike when you look at what to believe.

The evidence he killed himself is: the lack of signs of a struggle, the fact the gun was one he owned since 2000, the struggle with mental illness, the testimony of everyone who had seen him dealing with Boeing's harassment and how it had caused his mental health to deteriorate, the notebook full of profane rants in his handwriting about what utter fucking scumbags Boeing was, the complete lack of anyone else's fingerprints, the lack of any unusual activity on his cell phone, the lack of any unusual activity on his hotel room key, and the fact that there was a fucking security camera in the parking lot and nobody else got into his car and nobody else touched his car and his car didn't move. The lack of unusual activity on his phone/GPS and hotel room key indicates nobody got into his car at another location. I said all of this in a post you claimed to read but did not read.

Not anything, no, just the ones where Occam's razor applies. Again, which is more likely, a hundred billion dollar company who are active agents of shady, illegal business practices had both the cause and the means to have someone with information dangerous to their company killed and covered up... or that the guy who was about to testify with said-dangerous information just up and decided to end it all right before the finish line?

That's not what happened you fucking twit. I have said this, in this conversation! He was not about to testify. He had already testified. The Boeing attorneys wanted to call him back for a third day of questioning, during which THEY planned to ask him questions that would be good for their case because they were the ones asking the questions and attempting to get him to say things that discredited him. His testimony was not invalidated by his death, it had already been admitted. He had already testified. He had crossed the finish line. He had already testified. That is knowledge about material fucking reality that you don't think is important because you just keep repeating large quantities of money like it overrides time and matter.

You didn't read that paragraph. Go back and read that paragraph.

No, actually go back and read that paragraph. Actually read the words in it.

I know you didn't read it. Go back and read the words in that paragraph instead of not reading them.

So then explain to me how exactly it's so unbelievable that a dude not in prison, not under watch by guards or cameras, was murdered in his car and then covered up as a suicide? How was one dude with dangerous information under total security and surveillance mysteriously killed and staged, but the other dude with dangerous information with no security or surveillance probably just killed himself?

Is this a bit? Are you doing a bit? Do you literally not care about material reality beyond asking the question "who benefits?"

Do you need me to answer why it is more suspicious that a guy who had a 24-hour detail of people whose entire job was to prevent him from killing himself killed himself when all of those people suddenly stopped paying attention at the same time and the equipment that was supposed to record him in his cell also suddenly stopped working, than a guy who did not have a 24-hour detail of people whose entire job was to prevent him from killing himself killed himself?

There are facts and details about the world we can observe and draw conclusions from. Repeating a large quantity of money does not override time and matter. It is not naive to rely on observations of reality more than repeating a large quantity of money. You do not have to believe that money does not have corrupting properties to believe money does not override time and matter.

Remember earlier this year when Boeing very clearly had a whistleblower executed? And law enforcement didn't even look for anyone or release any info about it or anything?

People keep comparing Luigi Mangione's case to the subway murderer who got off because of systemic eugenics, but I think there's something more apt about the fact that a CEO had someone executed in recent memory, with zero attempts to find a culprit, while they spared no expense at all to find (and probably frame, it's beginning to look like) someone who shot a CEO. It's always fine to slaughter if you're rich, but if you kill the rich, they will hunt you down.

[antinousletmehit]

Antinous anon from earlier: headcanons of an Antinous x Reader where she is very aware she has the worst taste in men and literally every red flag he sends her way she just twirls her hair about. Like. Antinous threatens someone for talking to her and she tucks hair behind her ear and flutters her lashes at him about it. (Aka she's the average Antinous fan. This is a self callout)

୨୧┇Antinous x Fem!reader

୨୧┇warnings: Antinous calls reader a whore, antinous is his own warning, and antinous is really mean here

୨୧┇ Oh antinous anon keep those requests coming

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ─── Antinous was leaning casually against a marble column in the great hall, his dark eyes fixed on you like a hawk. He had that dangerous energy about him, the kind that kept everyone else at bay but somehow drew you closer.

You were sitting with one of the other suitors, a harmless enough young man who had dared to strike up a conversation. He was polite, sweet even, but your focus was splintered. You couldn’t help but glance at Antinous every few seconds, feeling the weight of his gaze like a storm cloud rolling in.

The poor suitor didn’t stand a chance.

“So, uh,” the young man stammered, gesturing vaguely, “do you enjoy weaving? I hear it’s a favorite pastime in the palace.” You nodded absentmindedly, twirling a strand of your hair around your finger. You weren’t even paying attention to his question anymore. Your mind was completely occupied by the man who was now pushing off the column and stalking toward you. Antinous moved with predatory grace, his strides long and deliberate. The suitor didn’t notice him until it was too late.

“Move,” Antinous said, his voice low and sharp as a blade.

The suitor blinked, looking up at Antinous with wide eyes. “I—I was just—”

“Talking to her.” Antinous’s tone made it clear he found the act utterly unacceptable. He leaned down, his face inches from the suitor’s, and added, “Do it again, and you’ll regret it.” Your lips parted slightly, and you felt heat creep up your neck. You knew you should be concerned maybe even appalled, but instead, you found yourself twirling your hair faster, your pulse quickening for all the wrong reasons.

The suitor stammered something incoherent before scurrying off like a frightened rabbit. Antinous straightened, his dark gaze now locked solely on you. “Why do you even bother talking to them?” he asked, his tone dripping with disdain.

You swallowed hard, trying to suppress the grin threatening to spread across your face. “I wasn’t really paying attention to him,” you admitted, your voice softer than you intended. Antinous stepped closer, looming over you in that way that should have been intimidating but wasn’t. Not to you.

“Good,” he said, his lips curving into a smirk. “You shouldn’t.” His possessiveness was a red flag so bright it practically lit up the entire room. And yet, you found yourself twirling your hair again, unable to stop the giddy flutter in your chest. “You’re being ridiculous,” you said, though your tone lacked any real conviction.

“Am I?” he asked, tilting his head. “I just don’t like seeing what’s mine being bothered by fools who think they have a chance.” Your breath hitched at the word mine. Rationally, you knew you should roll your eyes or tell him off, but instead, you bit your lip, the heat in your cheeks impossible to ignore.

“You’re so dramatic,” you teased, though your voice came out shakier than you intended. Antinous noticed. Of course he did. His smirk widened as he leaned in, his hand bracing against the chair you were sitting in, caging you in.

“Dramatic?” he echoed, his voice dropping to a low, almost seductive murmur. “Maybe. But admit it, you like it.”

You looked away, trying to gather your thoughts, but the truth was written all over your face. Antinous chuckled, his confidence practically radiating off him.

“Thought so,” he said, straightening up. “Now, come on. I don’t trust the rest of these idiots not to bother you again.”

He offered his hand, and despite every logical voice in your head screaming at you to reconsider, you took it without hesitation.

As he led you out of the hall, you couldn’t help but glance up at him, your heart racing. Sure, Antinous was full of questionable morals, but somehow, you found yourself not caring. If anything, you found it maddeningly attractive.

And judging by the smug grin on his face, he knew it too.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The hall buzzed with the usual chaos, suitors drinking, boasting, and tossing dice across the long tables. You were perched on a bench, politely entertaining a normal conversation with Telemachus. He had approached you with genuine curiosity, asking questions about your day with a boyish charm that was endearing but hardly romantic.

Yet, across the room, Antinous had been watching.

You didn’t notice him approach until the shadow of his tall frame loomed over you both, his piercing eyes locked on you with an intensity that made Telemachus stop mid sentence in confusion.

“Enjoying yourself, are we?” Antinous drawled, his voice sharp and cold.

You blinked, startled. “Antinous, I was just—”

“Talking,” he spat, his lip curling into a sneer. “Talking to him.” Telemachus stiffened but didn’t respond, clearly unwilling to provoke Antinous further. You, however, felt your pulse quicken, not out of fear, but something else entirely.

“It was harmless,” you said softly, though your tone lacked any real attempt at defending yourself. Antinous’s dark laugh sent shivers down your spine. He leaned down, his face mere inches from yours, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper that only you could hear. “You’d talk to any man who gives you a moment of attention, wouldn’t you? Like a desperate little whore.”

Your breath hitched at his words, not from offense but from the strange thrill they sent through you. Instead of pulling away or arguing, you tilted your head, batting your eyelashes at him in a way you knew would only fuel his temper.

Antinous,” you said, your voice light and teasing, “are you jealous?”

His jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed. “Jealous?” he repeated, his voice dripping with disdain. “Of Telemachus? Don’t flatter yourself.” But the way his gaze burned into yours said otherwise. You twirled a strand of hair around your finger, feigning innocence as you smiled up at him. “You’re awfully upset for someone who claims not to care.”

Antinous’s hand shot out, gripping your chin firmly but not harshly, forcing you to look directly at him. “You think this is a game?” he hissed. “I don’t like sharing, and I sure as hell won’t tolerate this.” Your heart raced, but not from fear. If anything, his possessiveness only made your smile widen. “Oh, Antinous,” you said sweetly, leaning just enough to make him notice. “You’re so…romantic.”

He froze for a moment, clearly taken aback by your lack of shame, or perhaps by how much you seemed to be enjoying this. Then, his expression darkened further, his grip on your chin loosening but not pulling away entirely.

“You’re insufferable,” he muttered, his voice low and dangerous.

“Am I?” you replied, your tone playful as you tilted your head, still twirling your hair.

Antinous stared at you, his frustration evident, but beneath it, there was something else a flicker of something more primal that he couldn’t hide. He finally released you with a scoff, standing straight and glaring at Telemachus, who had wisely stayed silent through the entire exchange.

“Stay away from her,” Antinous snapped before turning his attention back to you. “And you, come with me. Now.”

You followed him without hesitation, a satisfied smile tugging at your lips. He may have been furious, but you couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered at his intensity. Antinous might have called you every name under the sun, but somehow, it only made you want him more. Freakyyyyy

[amethystarachnid]

A PLACE TO STAY - part II

⤷ STEVE G. ROGERS

ᯓ★ Pairing: Steve G. Rogers x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff, some angst, more fluff at the end

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.6k

ᯓ★ Part I

ᯓ★ Summary: one Olivia is officially your daughter it's time to show her what having a family means

ᯓ★ TW(s): mentions of abandonment and abandonment issues, reader discovers she's pregnant

ᯓ★ I'm so sorry I know you asked just fluff but I swear the fic wrote itself, and I will sure as hell write a second part where Steve and Y/n adopt Olivia because I'm crying.

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The days since you and Steve had decided to adopt Olivia have been filled with a blend of excitement, nerves, and a deep sense of certainty. It feels like the right thing to do. Every time you picture Olivia’s face—her bright smile, the way she clings to you for comfort, the way her tiny hands grasp your fingers with unspoken trust—your heart swells with love. The idea of offering her a stable, loving home is overwhelming, but you both know it’s what she deserves.

Today, after all the conversations and emotions that have led up to this moment, you and Steve are about to head back to the orphanage. It feels different this time. You’re not just there to spend time with Olivia. This visit is about making things official, about taking the first steps toward a new future—for all of you.

The crisp air of Brooklyn greets you as you and Steve step out of your apartment, bundled up against the cold but still feeling the warmth of each other’s presence. Every step toward the orphanage feels like it matters. Today, you’re not just visiting a child. You’re talking to the headmistress about adopting Olivia.

When you arrive at the orphanage, the familiar sight of the building brings both comfort and nerves. It’s strange to think that not too long ago, this place was just where you met Olivia for the first time. Now, it’s a place where your future with her is about to take root.

The moment you step through the doors, the warmth of the building surrounds you. Children’s laughter and chatter echo in the hallway, but your attention is on the headmistress’s office. You know that Olivia is probably somewhere in the building, playing or perhaps getting ready for her afternoon snack, but today isn’t just about her. It’s about speaking to the headmistress and moving forward with the plans to make Olivia officially part of your family.

You exchange a glance with Steve as you approach the office. His face is soft, yet resolute, the same warmth you’ve come to know in his every expression.

“She’s going to be so happy,” Steve says softly, his voice filled with the same tenderness that’s always there when he talks about Olivia.

“I hope so,” you reply, squeezing his hand. “I know we’ve talked about it, but… asking her feels like a big moment.”

“I think she already knows, Y/n,” Steve responds, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “She already looks at us like we’re family.”

With that, the two of you push open the office door and enter, greeted by the headmistress, who stands up as soon as she sees you. Her kind face radiates warmth, her smile deep and genuine. She’s always been welcoming, and today, that feeling is even more palpable as she takes in your presence.

“Y/n, Steve,” she says, her voice full of kindness, “it’s so good to see you both. I’m glad you could make it today.”

“Thank you for meeting with us,” you say, your voice quiet but filled with gratitude. “We wanted to talk about something important regarding Olivia.”

The headmistress nods knowingly, a slight glint of understanding in her eyes. “I can only imagine what this is about,” she says gently, sitting back down at her desk. “You’ve both been wonderful with her. It’s clear she’s formed a strong bond with you.”

You glance at Steve, and he squeezes your hand as if to reassure you that this moment, this conversation, is one you’ve both been ready for.

“We’ve been thinking a lot about Olivia’s future,” Steve begins. “And we want to make sure that if we’re moving forward with adoption, we’re doing it with her best interests in mind.”

The headmistress nods, her gaze soft but wise. “Of course. We always want what’s best for the children here. Olivia is a wonderful little girl, and I’ve seen her grow so much since you two started visiting her. You’ve brought a light into her life that wasn’t there before. She deserves all the love she’s getting.”

You smile, a mixture of relief and emotion filling your chest at her words. “We want to give her that love permanently,” you say, voice steady but your heart beating faster as you realize the magnitude of what you’re saying. “We want to ask her if she wants us to be her parents.”

The headmistress looks at both of you, a warmth in her gaze that only deepens. “I think that’s a wonderful idea. Olivia has always been a shy, cautious little girl, but over the past few weeks, I’ve seen how much she’s come out of her shell around both of you. She’s more confident, more trusting. She’ll understand the question more than you might think.”

Steve nods, though there’s a trace of doubt in his eyes. “We just… want to make sure she’s really ready for this. Before we go through any legal processes, we want to be sure that it’s something she wants, too.”

“You’re being very thoughtful,” the headmistress says. “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled. But it’s important that she feels like she’s part of the decision. The transition won’t be easy, but I can see how much she’s come to rely on you both. She looks up to you so much.”

There’s a slight pause, and then the headmistress leans back in her chair, her eyes twinkling with understanding. “I can’t think of a better family for her, if I’m being honest. And I know she’ll be happy with you. But asking her is the right way to go.”

The words feel like a confirmation, as if this is the final piece falling into place. It gives you the confidence you need to move forward.

You take a deep breath, and then glance at Steve, who nods again. You both stand together, ready to ask Olivia the question that will change all of your lives.

“We’re going to ask her now,” you say, your voice steady. “Thank you for your support.”

The headmistress smiles warmly. “Take your time. I’m sure it’ll go wonderfully.”

You and Steve exit the office, your hearts racing in unison as you head toward the room where the children are gathered. As you approach, you spot Olivia near the corner, sitting with a few other kids and playing with a set of building blocks. Her little hands are busy, but the moment she sees you, her face lights up.

“Y/n! Steve!” she calls, pushing herself up from the floor and rushing over to you both. The others around her giggle, some calling her name playfully, but it’s clear Olivia only has eyes for you.

You kneel down as she reaches you, and she practically throws herself into your arms. The weight of her small body in your arms feels natural now, like she belongs there.

“Hi, sweetie,” you greet her, brushing a few strands of hair from her face. “How’s your day been?”

“Good!” Olivia exclaims, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “I make tower!” She holds up a small block, showing off the tiny structure she’s built. “Look!”

“That’s amazing,” Steve says with a smile, bending down to admire the little creation. He’s always so gentle with her, always so patient. You can see the love he has for her written clearly on his face.

But today is different. Today, you’re here to ask her something that will change everything.

“Olivia,” you say softly, your voice filled with warmth and care, “we need to talk to you about something important.”

She tilts her head, her brow furrowing slightly as she looks between you and Steve, her small hands still clutching the block in front of her.

“Do you remember when we talked about going home with us? About being a family?” you ask gently, making sure she’s following along.

Olivia’s eyes widen, and she nods enthusiastically. “Home!” she exclaims, her small hands clasping together. “Go home with you!”

You smile at her eagerness, your heart swelling. “We’ve been thinking a lot about that,” you continue, “and we wanted to ask you something. We want to know if you’d like us to be your mommy and daddy. If you want us to be your family. Forever.”

Her eyes search yours, blinking a few times as she processes the words. It’s quiet for a moment, and you wonder if she truly understands the weight of the question. But then, after a beat of silence, she lets out a little gasp.

“Yes!” she says, a huge grin spreading across her face. “Yes, yes, yes!”

You can hardly believe it. The joy in her voice is undeniable, and her little arms reach up toward you as if to prove it. You pull her into your arms, laughing with tears in your eyes.

“Are you sure?” Steve asks gently, his voice thick with emotion. “You really want us to be your parents?”

Olivia nods so enthusiastically it almost makes her dizzy. “Yes!” she says again, her tiny voice filled with joy. “Mommy, Daddy. Yes!”

You and Steve exchange a look of pure joy and disbelief. It’s as though everything has fallen into place—this little girl, who had been so cautious at first, now completely trusts you both to be her parents.

“Then it’s settled,” you say, your voice breaking slightly with emotion. “We’re going to be a family.”

Steve smiles, his eyes glistening with tears of his own as he hugs Olivia tightly, pulling you into the embrace. The three of you hold each other, the weight of what you’ve just agreed on sinking in. This is the beginning of something beautiful.

And in that moment, you know that Olivia has found her home. And you’ve found the family you were always meant to have.

The days after Olivia’s joyous acceptance of the adoption felt surreal. Everything was changing, but it was a change that you had longed for. It was a change that filled you with a sense of purpose and a warmth that made every moment feel even more meaningful than the last.

As you and Steve sat down to discuss the legal steps of adoption, you knew that this wasn’t going to be an easy or quick process. The legalities of adopting a child, especially from a system as large and complicated as the one Olivia had come from, would take time. A lot of time. It would require patience, paperwork, and plenty of legal representation. And while you were confident that everything would work out in the end, there was one thing that remained a little daunting: the financial side of it all.

But neither you nor Steve gave much thought to the cost. You both knew that money would come and go, but this—Olivia—was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. This was your future. The legalities, the bureaucracy, the long wait—none of that mattered when you had the love and commitment that you and Steve shared.

“We’re going to do this,” Steve said one evening as you sat at the kitchen table, papers strewn across it. “No matter how long it takes. No matter how much it costs. Olivia deserves this.”

You nodded, taking a deep breath. The stack of forms was daunting, but it didn’t faze you. “We’re ready,” you replied, your voice steady. “We’ll get through it together.”

It wasn’t easy, and it certainly wasn’t fast. There were meetings with lawyers, phone calls with social workers, and stacks of paperwork that seemed to multiply by the day. It was overwhelming at times, but every step felt like it was bringing you closer to Olivia. Every time you signed a form or spoke with someone about the process, you felt more certain that this was the right thing to do.

In the midst of the whirlwind of legal meetings and paperwork, there was something else that kept you both busy—transforming your apartment to prepare for Olivia’s arrival. You’d always loved your space, but now that the thought of being a family was a reality, it felt more important than ever to make sure everything was perfect for her. Your apartment in Brooklyn had been cozy and inviting, but there was one room that remained a little underused—the spare room. It had always been a place for storage or an extra guest room, but now, it was about to become something far more important.

This room would be Olivia’s.

“Alright,” Steve said one Saturday morning as you stood in the doorway of the spare room, surveying the space. “We need to make it perfect for her. What do you think?”

You looked around at the room, which was still filled with old furniture and boxes that hadn’t been unpacked from when you first moved in. It felt like it had so much potential—like it was waiting to be something special. And now, with Olivia’s future in mind, it felt like the perfect canvas.

“I think it needs to be… pink,” you said, your voice full of certainty. “It’s her favorite color.”

Steve’s lips curled into a smile as he looked at you. “Pink, huh? I’m not sure I’m ready for a pink overload, but if it’s what she wants…”

“It’s not just what she wants,” you replied, your tone soft and affectionate. “It’s what she deserves. She deserves a room that’s all hers, a place that feels like home. A place where she can feel safe, loved, and special.”

Steve’s smile softened, and he nodded. “Alright. Pink it is. But we’ll need some other colors to balance it out. Maybe some white and cream? Light wood accents?”

You nodded, already mentally planning the color scheme. “Yes, exactly. Light and airy, but still warm and cozy. We can put a little white dresser with pink accents, and maybe a cream-colored rug. And for the walls—maybe a soft pastel pink with some fun, subtle wallpaper that has little hearts or stars?”

“That sounds perfect,” Steve agreed, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “I love the idea of making it feel like her own little world.���

You both spent the next few weeks going to stores, picking out paint samples, furniture, and little decorations. It was one of the most enjoyable experiences you’d had together. Every decision felt meaningful—the color of the walls, the design of the bedspread, the little stuffed animals that would sit on the shelves. Each little detail seemed to add up to something bigger than you could have ever imagined. This was no longer just a room. It was Olivia’s room, and you were making it a place where she would feel nothing but love.

One Saturday, you and Steve got to work. You started by painting the walls a soft, pastel pink, the color already feeling like it belonged. You laughed as Steve struggled to find the right angle to reach the top of the walls, his tall frame a bit too much for the small space. You stood on a ladder, rolling paint on the lower parts of the wall, exchanging playful comments as you both worked together to create a room that would feel like home for Olivia.

“You know,” Steve said between strokes of the roller, “I didn’t think I’d ever get this excited about painting a room. But this… this feels different. This feels important.”

You smiled, looking over at him. “It is different. This is her space, Steve. She’s going to have a place to call her own, a place where she’s safe and loved. And that’s everything.”

As the paint dried, you and Steve began to assemble the furniture—an adorable white bedframe with a matching dresser, soft pastel-colored bedding with little floral patterns. You hung up shelves, arranging stuffed animals and toys that you’d bought for Olivia over the past few weeks. There was a small rocking chair near the window, perfect for reading bedtime stories, and a pink area rug in the middle of the room that felt so soft underfoot.

Steve was putting together the final pieces when you stood in the doorway, admiring the room. It felt perfect—so inviting and full of love, a space where Olivia would flourish.

“We’ve really done it,” you said softly, your voice filled with awe.

Steve walked over to you, his hand resting gently on your back. He gazed at the room with you, his eyes soft. “She’s going to love it.”

“She already does,” you replied, your heart swelling. “We’re giving her everything she needs. She’s going to have a real home.”

Later that evening, after Olivia had returned from the orphanage, the two of you brought her to the room, her little hands grasping yours as you led her inside. Her eyes widened in shock and wonder as she stepped into the transformed space.

“Wow,” she whispered, taking in the pink walls, the soft bedding, the shelves filled with toys. She ran her hands over the bedspread, a smile spreading across her face. “Mine?”

“It’s all yours,” you said gently, kneeling down to her level. “This is your room, Olivia. You can play here, sleep here, and just be yourself.”

Her face lit up with joy, her small hands reaching out to touch everything in the room. “Pink! I love pink!” she exclaimed, her voice full of excitement.

Steve crouched down beside her, smiling warmly. “I’m glad you love it, sweetheart. We made it just for you.”

Olivia beamed at both of you, her little arms reaching up to wrap around your neck as she hugged you tightly. “I love it. Thank you, Mommy. Thank you, Daddy.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, and your heart swelled with an emotion you couldn’t describe. This was real. This was happening. You were building a life with Olivia—a family. And every moment, every decision, every laugh, every hug made it feel like the most beautiful thing in the world.

As Olivia giggled and bounced on her new bed, you and Steve exchanged a look. There was so much left to do—so much more to give her—but in that moment, you knew that this was the beginning of everything. This room, this life, this love. It was all for her.

And together, you and Steve were ready to give her the family she had always deserved.

The months since Olivia had become an official part of your life had been a whirlwind. What started as visits to the orphanage, cautious steps toward adoption, and days of transforming a room into a bright, pink sanctuary for her, had led to this moment. The paperwork was finally done, the court hearings had been completed, and after months of waiting and hoping, Olivia was now your daughter—legally, forever.

The day you got the final confirmation that the adoption had been approved was a blur of emotions. You and Steve sat together in your apartment, holding each other as you stared at the email, the news still sinking in. A few months ago, you couldn’t have imagined that this day would come so soon. The future that had once seemed uncertain now felt like a reality—a family forged in love, patience, and care.

“Olivia is our daughter,” Steve whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he held the phone up to show you the confirmation. “She’s ours.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you squeezed his hand. “She’s really ours, Steve. After everything, it’s real.”

Now, it was time to bring her home—truly home. No more visits. No more goodbyes. Olivia, the little girl who had captured your heart with her smile and cautious trust, was about to become a permanent part of your family.

It was a warm Saturday afternoon when you and Steve drove to the orphanage to pick up Olivia. The sun was shining, the city bustling around you, but none of that mattered. Your heart was focused on the little girl waiting for you. Olivia had already been told by the headmistress that today was the day, and when you walked into the orphanage to find her, she was already bouncing with excitement.

Her eyes lit up when she saw you both standing in the doorway. She didn’t hesitate for a moment, her little legs propelling her forward as she ran into your arms.

“Mommy! Daddy!” she squealed, wrapping her arms around you both in a tight embrace. The feeling of her small body pressing against you was something you never got used to—it was the feeling of home, the feeling of being exactly where you were meant to be.

“Hi, sweetheart,” you said, hugging her close, feeling the joy bubble up inside you. “Are you ready to come home with us?”

Olivia nodded enthusiastically, her eyes sparkling. “Home! Forever?”

You looked over at Steve, your heart full. “Yes, sweetheart. Forever.”

As you made your way out of the orphanage and into the car, the world outside felt different. There was a sense of finality, but also excitement. You could almost feel the air shift, as if everything had aligned just right for the three of you. This was the moment you had been waiting for—the day when Olivia would finally get to experience what it was like to have a real home, a safe space with two parents who loved her beyond measure.

The ride to your apartment felt like it took forever. Olivia chattered excitedly in the backseat, her tiny voice full of enthusiasm as she looked out the window at the passing scenery. “Is it big? My room? My bed? My toys?” she asked, her curiosity bubbling over.

“Your room is waiting for you,” Steve answered, glancing at her through the rearview mirror. “It’s just as you left it—pink and perfect, just the way you like it.”

You smiled at her, your heart swelling. “And we’ve got lots of toys and books for you to enjoy. We can play together, every day.”

By the time you arrived at the apartment, Olivia’s excitement had reached its peak. As soon as you parked the car, she was already unbuckling her seatbelt, eager to get out. You both helped her out of the car, holding her hands as you walked into the building and up the stairs to your apartment.

When you opened the door, Olivia stood frozen in the doorway for a moment, her eyes scanning the familiar space. It was no longer just a place she had visited—this was her home now, every corner filled with love and warmth. She walked inside slowly, her little steps careful, as if she were waiting for something to change.

“Do you want to see your room?” you asked gently, crouching down to her level, making sure to give her the space she needed.

Her eyes widened, and she nodded quickly. “Yes!”

You took her hand and led her down the hallway toward the room that had been waiting for her all this time. The door creaked open, and Olivia gasped, her tiny face lighting up as she took in the sight of her room—her very own room. The walls were painted a soft pink, the bed covered with a fluffy duvet, and the shelves lined with toys, stuffed animals, and books. The soft cream rug beneath her feet added to the warmth of the room, and it felt like a true sanctuary.

Olivia’s small hands touched the bedspread, the pink fabric soft under her fingers. “My bed… it’s so soft,” she whispered, sitting down gently, her eyes wide with awe. She ran her hands over the sheets, a sense of wonder filling her voice. “This is mine?”

“It’s all yours,” Steve said softly, his voice full of pride. “And it’s where you’ll sleep every night, sweetie.”

Olivia beamed, her little face glowing with happiness. “I love it,” she said, her voice quiet, as if taking in the gravity of the moment.

You sat next to her on the bed, wrapping your arms around her. “We love you, Olivia. This is your home now, and we’ll always take care of you.”

Over the next few days, Olivia slowly settled into the rhythms of her new life. At first, everything was new and a little overwhelming for her. She had never had two parents who looked after her constantly, never had a place where she could leave her things out without worry, and never had the security of knowing that no one was going to take it all away.

There were moments when she seemed uncertain, moments when she clung to you a little tighter than usual, but as time passed, she began to relax into the comfort of her new home. She knew she was safe here. She knew that Steve and you would always be there for her.

You and Steve took turns comforting her when she woke up in the middle of the night, crying softly for reasons she couldn’t always express. It wasn’t always easy, but you both understood that this was part of the process. Olivia was learning to trust that she would never be abandoned again.

“I’m here, sweetie,” you whispered one night as Olivia curled into your arms, tears staining her little cheeks. “I’m right here. You’re not alone.”

Olivia’s tiny hands clutched your shirt, her sobs quieting as she relaxed into your embrace. “Mommy… stay with me.”

“I’ll always stay with you, Olivia. We’ll always be together.”

And slowly, the nights became easier. Olivia began to sleep through the night more and more often, her dreams peaceful as she adjusted to the stability of her new life. During the day, she was full of energy—laughing, playing, and exploring her new home. She was becoming more and more comfortable with the idea of having two parents, and it filled your heart with joy to see her growing so quickly.

Steve was always there, helping to create routines that made Olivia feel secure. Breakfast together in the mornings, with the sunlight streaming through the windows as Olivia ate her pancakes and giggled. Afternoons spent playing games in the living room or reading books together, Steve sitting on the couch with Olivia in his lap as she pointed at pictures in the storybooks, asking him to read each word. Evenings spent cooking dinner together, with Olivia sitting at the kitchen counter, her small hands stirring the bowl of batter as you and Steve worked side by side.

Sometimes, when Olivia wasn’t looking, you’d catch Steve glancing over at you with a smile that said everything. The joy in his eyes as he watched his little girl grow more confident, more secure in her place within your family. It was a look you shared—one that said this was everything. This was what you had been waiting for, together.

Olivia had begun to call Steve “Daddy” without hesitation. It had been a slow process, but now, when she ran into the living room with a drawing in her hand, her eyes shining with excitement, she’d shout, “Daddy, look what I made!”

And when she ran into your arms at the end of the day, she’d whisper, “Mommy, I love you.”

There were still moments of adjustment, of course. Olivia sometimes had trouble articulating her feelings, and there were moments when she felt confused or afraid, but those moments were fewer now. With each passing day, she was learning to trust the love you and Steve had for her, learning to see you both as the safe haven she had always longed for.

One afternoon, as you sat on the couch with Olivia nestled beside you, her head resting on your shoulder, you thought back to the beginning. The first time you had met her at the orphanage, the way she had clung to you so tightly, unsure of the love you were offering. And now, months later, she was here—fully your daughter, fully a part of your family.

It had taken time. There had been struggles, doubts, and moments of uncertainty. But none of it had mattered. Because now, Olivia had a family who would always love her, who would always be there for her.

And you, Steve, and Olivia were finally together, forever.

Every day with Olivia brought something new—moments of discovery, laughter, and, occasionally, confusion. She was growing more comfortable in her new life, but there were still times when the weight of all the changes was visible on her small face. You and Steve worked tirelessly to make sure she felt loved and safe, prioritizing her happiness above everything else.

One of those days came during a trip to the mall, an outing you had planned as a fun adventure for the three of you. Olivia was still enamored with the idea of the mall after her first visit, but this time, you promised to let her pick out something special for herself. As you walked hand in hand through the bustling corridors, Olivia’s wide eyes darted from one brightly lit store window to the next.

“Mommy, what’s that?” she asked, pointing to a mannequin dressed in a shimmering pink dress.

“It’s a dress, sweetie,” you explained with a smile. “Do you like it?”

She nodded thoughtfully, her tiny face serious as she considered the possibilities. “Can I try it on?”

“You sure can,” Steve said, squeezing her little hand gently. “Let’s go see if they have it in your size.”

Olivia’s excitement bubbled over as you led her into the store. A kind salesperson helped you find the dress in her size, and soon, Olivia was standing in front of a mirror, twirling as the pink fabric shimmered under the lights. Her giggles echoed through the dressing room, and your heart swelled as you watched her revel in the simple joy of trying something new.

“You look beautiful, sweetheart,” Steve said, kneeling to her level as she continued to twirl. “Like a princess.”

Olivia stopped spinning and looked at Steve with wide eyes. “A princess? Like in the movies?”

“Exactly like that,” he replied, grinning. “But even better, because you’re real.”

Her laughter filled the air as she hugged Steve tightly. “Thank you, Daddy.”

Moments like these made the transition easier for Olivia. She was discovering a world she’d never known before, filled with kindness and possibility. But not everything was so straightforward. One evening, while you were all enjoying dinner together, Steve’s phone rang with a tone Olivia had come to recognize—the one that meant he was being called to work.

“No,” she said suddenly, her fork dropping onto her plate. “No, Daddy, don’t go!”

Steve’s brow furrowed as he crouched beside her chair, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Sweetheart, I have to. It’s my job to help people, remember?”

“But what if you don’t come back?” she asked, her voice trembling. Tears welled in her eyes as she clung to him.

Your heart ached at the sight of her distress, and you knelt beside her, wrapping an arm around her small shoulders. “Daddy always comes back, Livvy. He always will. You know how much he loves you, right?”

Olivia sniffled and nodded, but the worry didn’t leave her face. Steve pulled her into his arms, holding her close. “I’ll be back before you know it,” he whispered. “And I’ll call you every chance I get. Promise.”

Eventually, Olivia let him go, though her eyes stayed glued to the door long after he’d left. That night, you let her sleep in your bed, her small body curled against yours as you stroked her hair and reassured her that everything would be okay.

Despite these challenges, Olivia continued to flourish. Her days were filled with new experiences, like her first trip to the park, where she discovered the thrill of swinging high into the sky, and her first attempt at baking cookies with you, which ended in flour-covered laughter and some surprisingly delicious treats. She was constantly learning and growing, her curious mind eager to absorb everything her new world had to offer.

But what she seemed to love most of all was simply spending time with you and Steve. Whether it was movie nights snuggled on the couch, reading bedtime stories together, or lazy Sunday mornings filled with pancakes and cuddles, Olivia thrived on the love and attention you both gave her.

One particularly chilly evening, after a long day of playing in the park, the three of you were bundled up on the couch, wrapped in blankets as a movie played softly in the background. Olivia was nestled between you and Steve, her head resting on your shoulder as her tiny fingers played with the fabric of your sweater.

“I love this,” she murmured sleepily, her voice barely audible over the movie. “I love being with you.”

Your heart melted at her words, and you kissed the top of her head, holding her a little tighter. “We love being with you too, Livvy.”

Steve reached over to brush a stray curl from her face, his eyes filled with warmth. “You’re the best part of our lives, kiddo.”

Olivia beamed up at him, her face radiant with happiness. Moments like this were what made everything worth it—the late nights, the tears, the challenges. She was your daughter, and there was nothing more fulfilling than seeing her feel safe and loved.

As time went on, Olivia continued to settle into her new life. She grew more confident and independent, but she never stopped seeking the comfort of your arms or Steve’s reassuring presence. She learned to navigate the complexities of her world, from the excitement of trying new things to the confusion of understanding Steve’s dual role as her dad and Captain America.

And though there were still moments of uncertainty, one thing was clear: Olivia had found her place in your family, and she knew, without a doubt, that she was loved.

For her, that was enough. And for you and Steve, it was everything.

The week flew by in a blur of cuddles, playtime, and quiet moments that made life feel impossibly full. Then came the invitation: a family dinner that would bring both your and Steve’s families together, all eager to meet the newest addition to the Rogers household. You were thrilled at the thought of introducing Olivia to her grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, but as the day approached, Olivia grew quiet and withdrawn.

On the drive to your parents' house, Olivia sat in her car seat, clutching her pink bear—a beloved souvenir from her first mall trip. She was uncharacteristically quiet, her eyes fixed on the scenery outside.

“You okay, Livvy?” you asked, turning slightly in your seat.

Her little shoulders lifted in a hesitant shrug. “What if they don’t like me?” she asked in a small voice, barely audible over the hum of the car.

Steve met your worried gaze in the rearview mirror. “Oh, sweetheart,” he said gently, glancing back at her. “Why would you think that?”

“’Cause I’m not really yours,” she mumbled, her words tugging at your heartstrings.

You immediately turned to face her fully. “Olivia Rogers, listen to me,” you said softly but firmly. “You are ours in every way that matters. And our families are going to love you because you’re you. You’re smart, funny, sweet, and the most incredible little girl. They’ve been so excited to meet you.”

“Really?” she asked, her voice tinged with hope.

“Really,” Steve said, smiling warmly. “They already love you, Livvy. Just wait and see.”

The reassurance seemed to calm her nerves a little, but she still clung to her bear as the car pulled into the driveway of your parents’ house. The porch light was on, casting a warm glow over the scene, and the sounds of laughter and chatter floated through the open windows.

As soon as you stepped out of the car, the door opened, and your mother appeared, a wide smile spreading across her face as she waved. “They’re here!” she called over her shoulder.

Olivia hesitated, her small hand gripping yours tightly as you walked up the steps. Steve carried her overnight bag, his other hand resting reassuringly on her back.

“Hi, sweetie!” your mother greeted warmly, kneeling to Olivia’s height. “You must be Olivia. I’ve heard so much about you!”

Olivia glanced at you, her eyes uncertain. You gave her a gentle nod, encouraging her. “It’s okay, Livvy,” you whispered.

“Hi,” Olivia said shyly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Your mother beamed, her joy palpable. “Come on in, everyone’s so excited to meet you!”

Inside, the house was a bustle of activity. Steve’s mom was setting the table with your dad, and your siblings were chatting with Steve’s sister. The moment Olivia stepped into the living room, she froze. Piled in the corner, almost spilling into the room, was a mountain of brightly wrapped gifts, each adorned with a bow or ribbon.

“That’s for me?” Olivia asked, her voice a mix of awe and disbelief.

“Of course, they’re for you!” Steve’s mom chimed in, coming over to greet her. “We couldn’t wait to spoil you!”

Olivia’s grip on your hand tightened. “But… why?”

“Because we already love you,” your mom said, her voice filled with emotion. “And we want you to feel at home here.”

Slowly, Olivia’s nerves began to melt away as family members took turns introducing themselves. She remained quiet at first, answering questions in single words and holding tightly to her bear. But as the evening wore on, the warmth of her new family worked its magic.

The turning point came when your dad crouched down beside her and asked, “Olivia, do you like games?”

Her eyes lit up for the first time since arriving. “Games? I love games!”

“Well,” your dad said conspiratorially, “I happen to be the best checkers player in this whole house. Think you can beat me?”

A small giggle escaped her lips, and she nodded enthusiastically. “I can try!”

From that moment on, Olivia blossomed. She played checkers with your dad, who “accidentally” let her win every game, and she insisted on showing Steve’s mom her pink bear. Your mom pulled out a photo album and sat with Olivia on the couch, showing her baby pictures of you and Steve, much to Olivia’s delight.

“Daddy was a baby too?” Olivia asked, her tone incredulous.

Steve chuckled, ruffling her hair. “Yep, even me.”

As the night continued, Olivia grew bolder, her laughter filling the room as she bounced between relatives, sharing stories and soaking up the love and attention. The mountain of gifts was slowly unwrapped, revealing toys, clothes, and even a pink tricycle, which earned an ear-piercing squeal of delight.

By the time dessert was served, Olivia was perched on Steve’s mom’s lap, chatting away like they’d known each other forever. She didn’t seem to mind that her grandparents couldn’t run and play the way she was used to; instead, she found joy in their hugs, their stories, and the simple act of being included in the family.

As you watched her interact with everyone, your heart swelled with pride. This was her family now, and she was already carving out her place in it.

Later that night, as the guests began to leave and Olivia’s energy started to wane, she curled up on the couch beside you, her head resting on your shoulder. “Mommy?” she murmured sleepily.

“Yes, sweetie?”

“They really like me,” she said, her voice filled with wonder.

You wrapped an arm around her, holding her close. “Of course they do, Livvy. They love you.”

“And I love them too,” she said, her words slurring as she drifted off to sleep.

Steve scooped her up gently, carrying her to the guest room where she’d be spending the night. As he tucked her in, he kissed her forehead, his voice soft as he whispered, “Goodnight, kiddo. Sweet dreams.”

As you stood in the doorway, watching him with Olivia, you felt a wave of gratitude wash over you. This was your family.

[sugarandstars-x]

i’m still caught up on the fact that bluepoch actually had my favs interact,, the prettiest women you know are best friends

[ofbckers]

A phrase of great importance rang in Basil's head as he watched Peter pour over the concept of trust between them - the hesitation, the slight confusion, the quiet yet sharp bite of his voice. When someone tells you who they are, you should believe them. Is that what Peter was doing, telling Basil who he was now? Basil had believed a lot of things about Peter over the years, believed in him being a strong adult with good values and work ethic. Moral ethics too, if Basil had done his job well. Though, that point was entirely debatable now, and was one Basil felt all too uncomfortable discussing.

Of course stories of pirates and princes weren't to be believed, but that wasn't the stories they were talking about here. Peter had just spun a little here-say around about the "lost boys" and their affinity for shadows, the theatricality of it all. The phantasmic idea of danger that came with working in the underbelly - not much to go off of in terms of clues and facts. It would not have been much to believe at all, if it weren't punctuated by the strain in Peter's throat. When he was done with it all, through gritted teeth, he'd still had the faculty to say Basil... shouldn't believe him. Shouldn't believe that the lost boys exist? Or shouldn't believe that Peter knows nothing about them?

Peter's insistence that he was not trustworthy begged the very relevant question of what exactly he didn't think Basil should believe. Or better yet, who he shouldn't believe in, even after all this time.

"I can. I'd say a vague recollection of rumors and stories makes you, quite frankly, a terrible witness, in fact," Despite it all though, Basil did not want to believe that Peter was a terrible person. When he was asking questions like this, Basil aired in the caution of treating everyone like witnesses ( though the initial reason he'd come to survey the bar was long forgotten now ). Right here, now, Basil was becoming disturbingly aware that the conversation had gotten ahead of him too fast. He'd fallen into the deep end of mixing personal and professional feelings, and yes, even the great Basil could admit when he was drowning. If he'd just had a moment to think, he could slow down and get at what he was meaning to say at its core. That Peter wasn't a witness, but just someone who Basil would always be open to a conversation with. Maybe the detective wasn't so different from some of the gang leaders in town - he could certainly relate to fighting for those slivers of loyalty he hoped were still there.

"I suppose I just wanted to listen to you," Not that either of them could be particularly candid with the other at this point, but they could try. So what if Peter wasn't a great witness in court, he was a witness for Basil as a human being - and vice versa. Whether they liked it or not, they were both living proof and testimony that things hadn't always been this way, "Do you want me to believe you?"

Peter fought against the urge to roll his eyes at Basil's conclusion that the lost boys ran on the same principles as the other gangs in town, knowing firsthand just how wrong that assumption was. every gang required loyalty; of course, they would lose power without it, but it was different with the lost boys. the loyalty between them wasn't merely a byproduct of their business dealings, a necessity to keep them functioning; their loyalty was worth something; it had been earned. and despite his violent reputation that frequently implied otherwise, he did actually value his lost boys as a family above all else — a trait that he knew many of the other leaders didn't quite share. they viewed their people as dispensable, a chess piece to gamble with as they saw fit; meanwhile, he saw his people as something worth trying to protect.

but on his worst nights, on what he feared were his most honest nights, he'd wondered just how much of that he told himself to make himself feel better — if maybe, after all these years masquarading as a leader as equally ruthless as the rest, he'd actually become one. " you wouldn't think that they cared all that much about allegiance; based on all of the infighting you can see happening around town at most hours of the day. " it was one of the reasons that Basil was so passionate about stopping all of the gangs, he imagined — the fact that they always ended up making their fights everyone else's fight in the end. he'd never been one to sit back and quietly allow that kind of injustice; it was one of the things that had made him feel so heroic to Peter back in the day and one of the things that now made him feel so suffocatingly unreachable. " but you're probably right. if the lost boys do exist, they're probably just another gang fighting for loyalty like the rest of them. "

Peter, I take everything you say quite seriously. his head turned to face the detective instinctively, eyes a little wide and almost panicked, as he heard those words. was this another game? a tactic to catch him off guard enough to reveal more? it seemed unlikely. Basil was cunning, smarter than most ever gave him credit for truthfully, but he'd never been cruel — not intentionally and not maliciously. but the alternative, the idea that Basil could've been saying it simply because he meant it, was so much worse. if Basil was going to give up on him either way, why couldn't he at least give him the peace of mind of a clean break? why did he have to hold some reserve of faith for him? to give him hope? " you shouldn't. " he choked the words out, not proud of how small they sounded. " my stories aren't usually worth that much weight. "

the facade that he'd put firmly into place since the very beginning of their conversation, that he'd been putting into place since the day that he'd walked out of Basil's home for the very last time, crumbled just slightly. he trusted him? implicitly? now? still? no, he couldn't. it wasn't fair of him to believe in him now, when there wasn't anything left in him worth believing in anymore. he turned his gaze away sharply, an uncomfortable guilt gnawing at his chest. " why? I'm sure you can find much better witnesses. "

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

"i mess up things and then i don't have the energy to fix them up" yes brain true sentence but no brain the appropriate response is NOT "therefore i should kill myself (and here's how)"

[blujayonthewing]

thinkin again about the time elyss's DM cut in to stop a conversation between her and a semi-retired player character to hurriedly take back control of him as an NPC before he could give her, as an extremely kind and thoughtful gift, one of his own personal belongings, and then said 'elyss can probably buy it from him though :)' instead

like. what an egregiously fucking shitty thing to do, actually.

[exopelagic]

i said i wouldn’t do it this time but it’s 3am and mods asleep. boy

[pepprs]

prefacing this by saying im fine and its whatever and im mostly numb to it. but it kinda fucking sucks that being gaslit about my own sexuality leads to… doubting my own sexuality lol!

[fellhellion]

my hubris is always trying to tackle all thirty thousand of my character thoughts in one fic

[leidensygdom]

Please be aware that the "opt-out" choice is just a way to try to appease people. But Tumblr has not been transparent about when has data been sold and shared with AI companies, and there are sources that confirm that data has already been shared before the toggle was even provided to users.

Also, it seems to include data they should not have been able to give under any circumstance, including that of deactivated blogs, private messages and conversations, stuff from private blogs, and so on.

Do not believe that "AI companies will honor the "opt-out request retroactively". Once they've got their hands on your data (and they have), they won't be "honoring" an opt-out option retroactively. There is no way to confirm or deny what data do they have: The fact they are completely opaque on what do they currently "own" and have, means that they can do whatever they want with it. How can you prove they have your data if they don't give everyone free access to see what they've stolen already?

So, yeah, opt out of data sharing, but be aware that this isn't stopping anyone from taking your data. They already have been taking it, before you were given that option. Go and go to Tumblr's Suppport and leave your Feedback on this (politely, but firmly- not everyone in the company is responsible for this.)

Finally: Opt out is not good under any circumstance. Deactivated people can't opt out. People who have lost their passwords can't opt out. People who can't access internet or computers can't opt out. People who had their content reposted can't opt out. Dead people can't opt out. When DeviantArt released their AI image generator, saying that it wasn't trained on people who didn't consent to it, it was proven it could easily replicate the styles of people who had passed away, as seen here. So, yeah. AI companies cannot be trusted to have any sort of respect for people's data and content, because this entire thing is just a data laundering scheme.

Please do reblog for awareness.

[snowballseal]

How they react to you feeling insecure (LaDS)

Summary: How the Love and Deepspace boys react to you feeling insecure about various things. Includes Rafayel, Sylus, Zayne, and Xavier. Lots of fluff.

Word Count: they're all around 1000 roughly

Note: Warnings of different kinds of insecurity, ranging from physical to mental. I'm not sure of how well the Xavier one turned out, he's harder for me to write, but I couldn't leave him out!!! Anyways, hope yall enjoy!

Rafayel

His ended up being a lot longer, so it's posted separately.

here

--

Sylus

Being partners with Sylus is a…daunting position to be in.

You always considered yourself a fairly average person, more focused on who you are than what you look like. It’s not that you don’t like the way you look - you do - and you don’t like comparing yourself to anyone, but you don’t plan on being a model anytime soon. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

Then you met Sylus, a man who looks like he was carved from the marble of ancient architecture. He could stand in a room of masterpieces and people would still look at him instead of the art. And since you’re by his side now, that means they’re also looking at you.

Being stared down by wanderers in one thing. Being stared down by the most powerful and prevalent members of the N109 Zone? You hate to admit that it gets to you. In fact, it gets so under your skin, that even when you’re dressed in the most extravagant dresses and decadent jewelry, you can’t help but feel…insecure.

Twisting in front of the mirror, you eye every detail of the dress Sylus bought you. It’s perfect, of course. The man has an annoying knack for getting you the most beautiful things and knowing exactly what fits you. The color compliments your hair and it’s comfortable to boot.

Still. You can’t help but feel like a kid trying to fit in at the adults table, wearing your mother’s heels even though they don’t fit. A bit ridiculous.

“Do you not like it?” Sylus appears behind you, dressed in a matching, lavish suit. 

You jump a little, eyes flicking up to meet his in the mirror. His eyes burn into you, reading the hesitation on your face as you curl your arms around your stomach. There’s no fiery retort or witty comment like usual. You just look back at your dress, the tips of your ears tinging pink.

A frown pulls at Sylus’ lips, his voice softening, “What’s wrong?”

“...Do you really think people believe us? That we’re together?” You ask quietly, shuffling your weight back and forth. “That I’m a good match for you?”

You’re keenly aware that you’ve never had a conversation like this with Sylus. For the most part your relationship has been filled with teasing and playful bickering. It’s always light. Or about work. This is new, and while you trust him more than anything, you hate not knowing how he will react.

Sylus hums, low and thoughtful, as he curls his arms around you, “Does it matter to you what others think?”

You let out a sigh, leaning back into his touch thankfully. You want to say no. You want to keep up the air of confidence, but that quiet voice of doubt keeps worming its way through your thoughts.

“I just…I feel like I’m not what people expect. And…” you try to explain, hesitating. Sylus presses a kiss to your shoulder, offering a hum of encouragement. Taking a deep breath, you add, “It bothers me. It feels like I’m being forced into the spotlight but I’m not meant to be there. Like I don’t fit.”

“Hmm, so you feel like an odd duckling.” You give him a small jab, and Sylus chuckles. “My apologies. I think you misunderstand the attention though.” He pulls you closer. You shiver as his lips trace along the crook of your shoulder, pressing delicate kisses up the side of your neck, until he can murmur lowly into your ear, “You’re too humble, kitten. When you walk into a room, all eyes turn to you, not out of judgment, but out of jealousy. Afterall, you’ve tamed the leader of Onychinus. Even if you walked in with your uniform, they’d look at you the same. And I get the pleasure of walking around with the most powerful-” He presses his lips to your jaw. “-beautiful-” His lips trace against your cheek. “-woman of Linkon City. Don’t let the attention of those lesser than you make you doubt, otherwise I might have to find another way to show them just how well we fit together.”

Sylus’ eyes catch yours in the mirror again. They’re dark, like coals surrounded by flickering cinders. So intense you can almost feel the flames licking along your skin. There’s not a doubt in your mind that he’s being genuine. And that sets your heart racing. Along with the way he holds you so close, equal parts possessive and reverent. Like worship.

“Your devotion might scare some people, Sylus,” you whisper, glancing sideways at him.

He flashes a dangerous smile, “Does it scare you?”

You cast one final glance at your reflections before turning around in his hold and curling your arms around his neck. Sylus raises a challenging brow.

“I’m not. I like how you stand up for me, even when it’s against my own insecurities.” You draw him down, pressing a kiss to that carnal smile. Sylus softens immediately, cupping your jaw to draw you into a deeper kiss. The warmth that simmers in each and every touch leaves you a little breathless when you pull away. Pressing against his chest before he can drag you in again, you make sure to say one last thing, “Thank you, Sylus. I’ll make sure to remember all of that…especially the part about you being wrapped around my finger.”

“Hmm, such a cruel mistress, indeed.”

“And you love me.”

A chuckle rumbles through his chest, “Yes, I do. So, will you accompany me to this auction now?”

---

Zayne

“Are you sure it’s okay that I’m going?” You ask, voice wavering with nerves as you straighten Zayne’s tie for him.

“Isn’t it natural to bring one’s partner to these kinds of events?” He tilts his head, brow perked ever so slightly.

You nod, but can’t seem to erase the frown on your lips.

A week ago, Zayne had asked if you would accompany him to his medical school’s class reunion banquet. He had been asked to give a special word, given the reputation he had developed in his time at Akso Hospital, not to mention winning the Starcatcher Award for his work.

At first, you were ecstatic to have an opportunity to learn more about his old life. He has such a thing about living in the present, you hardly get to hear any stories about his time in med school, or when he was doing rotations at the hospital. You were eager to meet the people who he used to spend time with and hopefully catch a few stories you could tease him with later.

But as the night drew closer, you started actually thinking about all the people you would be around, all of whom graduated from the same medical program Zayne did. You can only imagine how smart they all are. And how you’ll get lost the moment any medical jargon comes up. 

The more you think about it, the more nerves you feel buzzing under your skin. You know you’re not the smartest, not compared to Zayne at least. He’s a genius, after all, and could probably outsmart most anyone. You’ve always been better at the physical stuff. That’s what makes you such a good pair. 

It’s not like you can impress everyone by whipping your gun out and fighting, though. All you’ll have are your words, and you’re not particularly good with those…

You blink when a large hand suddenly circles your wrist. Glancing up, you find Zayne looking down at you, brows furrowed ever so slightly.

“While I appreciate your attention to detail, I believe you’ve been straightening my tie for five minutes now.” Heat creeps up your neck. You hadn’t even realized you had been lost in thought. Zayne’s eyes narrow inquisitively.  “What are you thinking about that has your mind so preoccupied?” 

His thumb brushes casually along the inside of your wrist, not so subtly checking your pulse. A strangely endearing habit of his when he’s worried about you. You let out a long sigh and hide your face against his chest, feeling the heat bleed across your cheeks.

How are you supposed to tell him that you’re insecure about how smart all his friends must be?

Zayne doesn’t push right away. He knows you’ll explain when you want to, and if you don’t, then he knows you’re not ready to. It was an unspoken rule between you, something you started with him because you noticed he likes to think his words out. It felt natural to offer you the same when you struggle to express yourself. Like now.

Ultimately, you figure it’s better to just be straightforward. That’s how he would do it, and it’s better than dancing around the subject.

“I guess I’m nervous because I feel like I’m going to be the dumbest person in the room tonight,” you mutter against his coat. Your fingers tap out an anxious beat against his abdomen. “It’s silly and I know it shouldn’t matter, but I just don’t want to make you look bad.”

Zayne remains quiet for a long minute. Your fingers move a little quicker, matching the stuttering rhythm of your heart. His hand slides up, gently trapping them against his body.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“Physical tics are a common result of anxiety,” he hums dismissively, thumb smoothing over your knuckles. “As is your rapid heart rate. This truly bothers you.”

“Of course it does,” you sigh, a bit exasperated, ”You’ve worked hard to get where you are, Zayne. I love you so much, and I respect your work more than anything. I don’t, I don’t want to say something stupid and have it reflect on you badly.”

The doctor clicks his tongue, “First, I would prefer if you stop using that language to describe yourself.”

Your heart falters when his cool fingers touch your cheek, drawing your face up to his. He looks upset, but not exactly at you, the sharp line of his jaw contrasting with the softness of his eyes. Like it pains him that you think this way. Which it does.

“Those words don’t suit you. I wouldn’t allow another to call you them, so why would I allow you to?” He asserts, the corner of his lips twitching with distaste. “I don’t want to hear them again, do you understand?”

“Okay.” A thread of warmth curls around your heart when Zayne nods approvingly. His protectiveness really knows no bounds.

“Second, I do not agree with your diagnosis.” 

Your brow furrows a little. What? What does he mean, he disagrees? He’s literally surrounded by geniuses, you can’t match up to any of them if they’re anything like him. 

Seeing you start to overthink, Zayne shakes his head and gently pinches your cheek. You jolt back a little. The corners of his eyes crinkle, making you pout.

“Meanie,” you grumble, “Fine, explain your reasoning, Doctor Zayne.”

“It’s simple. Intelligence is made up of more than just academic knowledge, which, I assume, is what you are thinking of when you make such comments.” You nod. He’s not wrong about that, you guess. “Intelligence also includes the knowledge of how to use one’s strengths to achieve the best outcome. It is true that for some, this means using academic reasoning. However, it also includes those who develop the skills and discipline to maintain their bodies and fight for those who can’t, like…”

He pauses and gives you an expectant look.

“...me,” you finish slowly.

“Yes,” he hums, stroking the redness of your cheek, “I believe, under these standards, you are far more intelligent than most of the people you will meet tonight, darling. Though there is no comparison in the first place.”

His words sink in slowly but surely, filling in the cracks of your doubt. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he probably has some kind of healing magic, because you can already feel the burden of your insecurities melting away.

Leave it to Zayne to know exactly what to say, but in the most complex sounding way.

“You always know how to make me feel better, huh?” You ask, finally cracking that smile he loves.

“I am simply telling you the truth.” Zayne leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “There is not a lifetime in which my reputation will be more important than you. I would gladly throw it all away if it meant reminding you of that.”

You snort, “Don’t do that, please. I can only imagine the fit Doctor Greyson would throw. He’d be so mad at me.”

“I can handle Doctor Greyson, in the same way I can handle everyone tonight.” He slips his fingers between yours, bringing your hand up to kiss your knuckles. You wiggle your fingers  happily and Zayne can’t help but grin to himself. “If at any point you find yourself uncomfortable, just stay by my side and I will act as your distraction. Though, I’m sure they will all love you, just as I do.”

“...Thank you, Zayne.”

“Of course, my jasmine.”

---

Xavier

Working with Xavier is a blessing, as much as it is a curse. You couldn’t ask for a better partner. Someone who you know will always have your back, who can handle himself completely, who is probably the most talented hunter you’ve ever met in your entire life. He’s undeniably amazing.

On the flip side of that, though, you often fall into the trap of thinking about how he deserves better. Wondering if, maybe, the only reason he chose to stay with you was because of the aether core in your heart. If that’s also the reason you’re in a relationship now…

And some days, these thoughts win out over the rest. Like today.

“What’s wrong?”

You blink, eyes flickering up from the bowl of ramen in front of you. Early on, you had started a tradition of eating a meal together after a successful mission, to just enjoy the peace of your home and each other. But today, you weren’t feeling that hungry, just…tired.

Xavier tilts his head, concern furrowing his brow - he noticed your mood start to shift days before, but didn’t want to push since you didn’t seem to notice it yourself. Now, though, it’s too obvious for him to ignore.

“I’m fine,” you sigh, flicking your chopsticks back and forth to watch the noodles swirl around in the broth, a small frown capturing your lips. It’s a horribly obvious lie.

“Is it something I did?” His voice isn’t accusatory or upset. It’s just a rational question to help him figure out what’s wrong. Still, you feel guilt tug at your chest, and you set the chopsticks down with another sigh.

You don’t want him to think that. You’d never blame Xavier for something like this. That would be like asking him to be a worse person, which is stupid. It’s just you. Your problem. Dragging him into it will only make you feel worse.

“No, Xavier, you didn’t do anything, promise. I’m not upset…with you.” 

“But you are upset.”

Chancing a glance up at him proves a bad idea, making it all that more difficult to keep your thoughts quiet. Behind his normal sleepy expression, worry gleams in the deep blue of his eyes, unyielding and undeniably calm, like waves lapping gently at the beach. 

The sight makes your heart ache and the words are tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them, “Do you think I’m actually a suitable partner for you?”

Surprise flickers across the hunter’s face. Of all the things he was expecting you to say, that wasn’t even on the list. He doesn’t laugh though, or take your question lightly.

“Do you mean, as a hunting partner? Or as a romantic partner?”

You shift uncomfortably, eyes falling back to your ramen, “I don’t know. Both, I guess?”

He hums softly. You try to ignore the nerves fluttering in your chest as Xavier gets up, watching him out of the corner of your eye as he circles the table to stand next to you. The hunter drips his head, catching your gaze.

“May I see your hand?”

A small frown pulls at your lips, not exactly sure where he’s going with this, but you offer him your hand anyways. Xavier takes your wrist, touch featherlight, and moves it so your hand is held up flat, facing him. Your brow furrows.

“Xav-”

“Look.” 

Pursing your lips, you let out a little huff. He really hates giving direct answers, doesn’t he? Still, you’re in no place to really judge him, or expect anything for that matter. He’s always been a bit of a mystery to you.

You watch as Xavier places his hand against yours. His palm is warm and you can feel the calluses from who knows how many years of hunting. Your hand looks tiny in comparison, his pale, delicate fingers long enough to curl over your own a little. The sight makes your heart squeeze, fondness competing with the feeling of being so…small.

“They’re pretty different,” Xavier hums, voice still calm, his own eyes fixed on your hands. “Your fingers are always cold, and your hands are small. You have a scar here.” His free hand grazes the side of your palm, along your pinky. “And here” He traces another along your knuckle. Your breath falters at the tenderness behind his touch, like you’re delicate porcelain. “Mine are in different places. Yours are skilled at weaving silk balls and mine can…open jars.”

You snort. Xavier’s eyes dart up to yours, sparkling with humor, a brow raised. You try to smother your laughter, rather ineffectively, and motion for him to continue.

“They’re different, but-” His fingers spread apart, and you mimic him instinctually, only for his fingers to slot between yours in one fluid motion. You inhale softly, laughter dying in your throat. It’s like two puzzle pieces fitting together, a perfect embrace that washes over you with a comforting warmth.

Xavier watches you, keenly aware of the way you squeeze his hand tightly, desperately, like you’re worried it might disappear. He gives yours a tender squeeze in return, thumb brushing over your knuckle.

“I think they’re a suitable match. Don’t you?”

God, how could you go without this man? The worries that have been pricking at the back of your mind all week seem to melt away. It leaves you with that warmth, the kind that only comes from Xavier, that he offers you over and over again.

You give his hand another squeeze, finally smiling, “Yah. I do…Thanks, Xavier.”

The hunter leans down, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. You can feel his lips brush against your skin as he murmurs, “Let me know if you ever feel this way again, angel. I’ll be more than glad to remind you.”

“I will.”

---

This was really fun to write!!! I really hope you guys like it! There are so many freaking tags on this puppy.

[whorelaud]

꒦꒷ 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 kissing you numb ¡

pairing uncle¡rafe cameron x babysitter¡reader

summary babysitting sarah's baby wasn't a problem for you, not when her attractive uncle was around to keep you company, making it extremely hard for you to do your job.

contains fluff, brief sexual content, accidental kiss, making out, sexual tension, confessions (sort of), mutual pining, slightly suggestive towards the end, rafe being a tease, flustered reader, wc; 3.7k

a/n this was sosos fun to write sb had to do it ugh luv uncle rafe 37:$: i hope you guys enjoy hehe!! feel free to request if you wanna!

While managing your busy schedule was diffcult, babysitting was not the worst side-hustle. 

Besides the decent pay, you get to hang out with your friends, take care of baby Jackie, and spend more time with her hot uncle. 

That was not intended, nor was it apart of your plan, however, you were not one to complain. You were sure he knew, he definiltiy caught up on your attraction for him, whether it was the foolish grin that spread across your face, or the way you brighten up when he strikes a conversation. 

Rafe visits often, always using Jackie as an excuse to extend his stay. It would end with the little girl deep asleep, while you two chatted the night away. Most times, you had to force him out, leaving you no choice but to do so whenever his teasing gets too overwhleming for your well being. 

Now, you were well aware of how cocky the latter was, using every chance he gets to tease you over how flustered you grew whenever he, in the slightest bit, flirted with you. He would, out of the blue, drop the most gut-wrenching, bold statement known to earth, indicating that he might’ve been into you. 

However, you didn’t fall for it. You knew Rafe, Sarah would always tell you about him, and how much of a douche-bag (in her words) he was. He’s been with far too many girls for you to trust him, or go further with your feelings for him. 

People change, though, and Rafe might’ve been more desperate than you thought he’d be, implying that maybe, he was being sincere, and it’s not your delusions talking you into things. 

You perked up when you heard a sudden knock on the door, startling you out of your seat. Your attention shifted to Jackie, inserting the pacifier in her mouth before heading towards the entrance. A smile made its way across your lips, well aware of who was behind the door. 

You twisted the doorknob, a breath knocking out of your chest as you caught sight of Rafe, leaning against the wall while he awaited his welcome. A smirk spread across his lips, showcasing the single dimple on his cheek. 

You rolled your eyes, tilting your head to the side as your gaze shifted to Rafe, sighing when you noticed the cocky expression plastered on his face. You moved to the side, giving the boy enough space to squeeze through, to which he contently accepted, letting himself inside. 

“What’s good, m’lady?” He grinned, walking past you. “You miss me?” 

“I haven’t had the time to, Mr. Rafe Cameron.” You sarcastically responded, following behind him. “Weren't you just here yesterday?” 

“Hey, am I not allowed to visit my niece now?” He questioned, a dramatic gasp escaping his lips once he spotted the little girl. “There she is, my darling girl.”

You giggled, watching as Rafe approached Jackie, instantly scooping her in his arms. The little girl smiled at the sight of her uncle, reaching for his face with her little hands. He pecked the tips of her fingers, scrunching his face when she scratched him.

“You miss your uncle, baby?” His voice softened, barely above a whisper. “It was insufferable being with her, yeah?” 

“Hey!” You lightly slapped his arm, chin finding the blade of his shoulder, though you could barely maintain your composure with how tall he was. “She loves me.” 

“Mhm,” he glanced over his shoulder, flashing you a knowing grin. “I’m sure of that.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” You dramatically gasped, observing as Rafe placed Jackie back in her crib. 

“Oh, Jackie baby, you’re adorable.” He gently rubbed her chin with his thumb, the gesture earning a wide smile out of the little girl. “Yeah, there you go, you like that?” 

“Mhm, I don’t think she does,” you playfulled responded, making yourself comfortable on the sofa, next to Rafe. “Right, baby? He’s a bit annoying, yeah?” 

“Don’t listen to her, Jackie.” Rafe chuckled, slightly turning to face you. “She’s trying to ruin our bond.” 

“Oh, hush.” You avoided his gaze, feeling goosebumps break out across your arms when your bare skin made contact with his. “Should we kick him out again? He’s been spending a concercing amount of time with us, don’t you think?” 

“Us?” He questioned, teasing hinted in his tone. “Who said I’m here for you? I’m only here for Jackie.” 

“Mhm, yeah sure.” You playfully replied, leaning back in your seat. 

Rafe turned to face you, smirking once he caught the flustered mess he had created out of you. He darted his tongue out to coat his lips with a layer of spit, turning towards Jackie with a scoff. 

“Okay, yeah maybe I’m here for her too.” Rafe started, veiling your presence. “Don’t tell her I said that, though. She’s a brat, she’ll probably never let it go.”  

“Shut up.” You muttered, feeling heat crawl past your neck, all the way to your face. 

It usually stops here, you never go past that stage, brushing off his flirting as a joke, and shifting the attention back to Jackie. Either that, or Sarah and Johb B, therefore, you weren’t anticipating a response, nor anything that would stir up your emotions. 

“And what would you do to make me shut up?” He questioned, adjusting his position until he was manspreading. “I’m quite intrigued on what you might do.”  

Your heart skipped a beat at the flirtatious statement, the boldness in his voice knocking a breath out of your chest. You felt your mouth go dry as the boy turned in your direction, mind going hazy when your eyes locked with his. 

You could’ve sworn his eyes flickered to your lips, but that might’ve been your vision, because no way. Rafe Cameron? Not in a million years, you knew it was not happening, especially with how complicated things were. 

He was your friend’s brother, what were to happen if you did get together, and it eventually fell apart? That would create awkward tension between you and Sarah, therefore, you didn't want that, especially with how much you cherish the girl. 

However, you chose to take the risk, using the dim darkness seeping through the windows as an excuse for your response, although you know it was risky, tempting, could ruin whatever you had with Rafe, even if it was mere banter. 

“I can think of a few ways, actually.” Your voice dropped barely above a whisper, knee brushing over his leg. 

“Yeah?” He questioned, slinging his arm over your shoulder. “Care to enlighten me, doll?” 

Your stomach stirred at the pet name, lips parting with an exhale. To say you were nervous was underestimating it. Rafe’s gaze burned holes through your skin, as well as the hand that lightly traced the blade of your shoulder, not much of help for your situation. 

You gulped, eyes trailing down to his lips, suddenly feeling desire wash over you, too wrapped up in your own head to think it through. However, before you could get a chance to do anything you could regret, Rafe suddenly turned his attention to Jackie, the action startling a sigh of relief out of you. 

You cleared your throat, attempting to maintain your cool as you admired Rafe while he played with Jackie, entertaining the little girl. She took liking into it, her smile wide on her lips as her fingers fiddled in the air, trying to reach for Rafe’s hand while he teasingly retrieved them from her touch. 

It was so adorable, the sight melting your heart, you weren’t able to contain the smile spreading across your lips. You knew of Rafe’s poor relationship with Sarah in the past, the boy distancing himself when they grew apart. Yet, here Rafe was, taking care of her daughter while she was away. It was endearing, to say the least. 

You leaned over his shoulder when you noticed Jackie dozing off, eyes widening as Rafe turned around, the gesture ceasing the distance between you as your lips collided with Rafe’s in a chaste kiss. Your breath knocked out of your chest, the sensation of his mouth against yours spiraling you over the edge. 

His lips were so soft, you lingered for a moment before letting realization wash over you, eventually returning back to reality. You pulled out with a small pop, attention shifting to Rafe, who remained in his position. 

A smirk leisurely tugged at his lips, eyes never leaving you as a hand came up to cover your mouth, disbelief visible on your face. Rafe’s teeth dug into his bottom lip, amused by how flustered you grew from besides him. 

“I– that was not intentional–” you stammered, face flushing with a mix of embarrassment and the desire of wanting more, even if it was for a mere second. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry, Rafe.” 

“It’s okay,” he snickered, “Why are you panicking?” 

“Because,” you shot back, a frustrated sigh escaping your throat. “I didn’t mean to do it, and I don’t want to make things uncomfortable between–”

Before you could further speak, Rafe cut you off with a kiss as he captured your lips in between his. It was the answer to your worries, and while you were shocked, it did wash relief over you. His mouth moved against yours, the gesture subtle, barely even there, though you took notice of it, instantly returning the kiss. 

You hummed into the kiss, taking his face in between your fingers as you brought his face even closer, feeling his nose brush over yours. He tilted your head to the side to deepen the kiss as he captured your bottom lip in between his teeth. 

Rafe nibbled on your lips, earning a muffled gasp out of you. The boy took the gesture as an opportunity, using it to explore the inside of your mouth with his tongue. You almost yelped as you felt his arms sneaking around your waist, tracing down to your sides as he tugged at the skin, nails digging into your skin. 

At this point, your brain was mush, no words could describe how desperate you were to have his lips on you, growing drunk to the mere taste of him. You knew it, you were well aware of that fact; that when you got to taste him, you’d never be able to get enough. 

And that was exactly your situation in the moment, tangled in Rafe’s hold as he kissed you numb, leaving you with nothing but despair, lust, the desire of wanting him, it consumed you as a whole. 

With enough guidance, Rafe managed to plop you on his lap, slinging both of your thighs over his legs, to make you comfortable around him. You adjusted your position, freezing in your spot when Rafe groaned into your mouth, causing realization to wash over you. 

You blushed, feeling your ass brush over his crotch area, the sensation sending shivers down your spine. You moved away for a moment, staring down at the boy as you now hovered over him, the angle driving you insane. 

He looked so good, his eyes hazed up, barely able to keep them open as he parted his swollen lips with a breath. He squeezed your sides, chasing after your lips, in an attempt to capture them in between his. 

“Sorry.” You whispered, not sounding apologetic at all. 

“Mhm.” Rafe hummed, taking you in between his lips again, this time with more keen. 

He was like a starving man, you have never seen him like this before. Sure, he was a flirt, he had his way around with women, but hell, had you known he was such a good kisser, you would’ve made the discovery sooner. 

His hand found the blade of your shoulder, trailing up the exposed flesh, until it reached the strap of your bra. He toyed with the material, dipping his fingers underneath, using the digits to slide it down your arm. 

You moaned at the action, unable to suppress it any longer with the boy’s hand roaming around your body, exploring every curve he could lay his touch on. You couldn’t believe, nor did you want it to end, you wanted it to last an eternity, even if it meant getting your heart broken. 

Because, how could you resist him? How could you when he’s there, existing and looking so attractive while doing it?

Your face heated, feeling blush crawl past your neck, right to your face as you felt something harden beneath you. You pulled away for a second, lips ghosting over his, as your forehead collided, the sensation of his hot breath fanning over your flesh sent tingles through your body. 

Rafe littered open-mouthed kisses to your lips, the sound of your mouth colliding with a pop the only thing heard over the silence seeping through the air. His hands squeeze around your hips, you were sure his hold bruised your sides. 

And that thought, it drove you crazy, knowing he was marking his territory, not afraid to show people that something went down between you, though, you knew he was against it. Come on, this was the Rafe Cameron, it should be obvious this was a mere fling, but for now, you chose to ignore it, look past that and enjoy the pleasure he’s spiraling through your body. 

He littered kisses down your jaw, trailing all the way to your throat, until he was nuzzled in the crook of your neck. You gasped, accidentally grinding down when Rafe’s teeth grazed over your flesh, followed with a nibble afterwards. 

Your hands found his hair, fingernails brushing his buzzed hair, the sensation causing the boy to groan. You almost chuckled at his reaction, but chose to hold it down, knowing how whiny Rafe gets whenever you tease him. 

“Fuck, baby.” He muffled a whimper out, retrieving his head from the crook of your neck. “You’re so pretty, jus’ wanna cherish you forever.”

You came to a halt, the hushed words catching you off guard. You fluttered your eyes down at him, parting your lips to speak, merely to be interrupted by the kiss that followed. You almost yelped, quickly relaxing into it after a moment. 

It was a mere peck, with the boy lingering for a moment to taste you on his lips, merely to indicate that he wanted this, just as much as you did. You felt him smile against your lips, the gesture causing you to grow embarrassed. 

Your eyes widened, when you suddenly heard Jackie whine, implying that the little girl had woken up. You pressed your hands to Rafe’s chest, applying enough pressure to push the latter away as he chased after your lips. 

Your fingers came into view, hovering them over his lips to stop him from further moving. Your attention shifted to Jackie, causing Rafe to follow your gaze as you caught sight of the little girl shuffling around in her crib, showcasing that something was making her uncomfortable. 

Right, you were babysitting. 

You instantly shuffled off Rafe’s lap, making your way toward the little girl, whose eyes shifted to you once you approached her. Rafe on the other hand, cleared his throat, attempting (and failing) to get a hold of himself. He fixed his position, gaze burning through you as you tried to find Jackie's source of discomfort. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” You asked, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Are you hungry? You want me to feed you?”

“Listen,” Rafe started, immediately interrupted by you perking up to grab Jackie’s bottle from beside him. 

“Let me feed Jackie first.” You replied before he could further talk, flashing him a quick smile before heading towards the kitchen. 

What the fuck was that? Did you just kiss Rafe cameron? With his niece around, at that? 

You were supposed to be taking care of her, yet, there you were, making out with her attractive uncle while she was asleep. Your face flushed with embarrassment, not capable of facing Rafe, hoping he’d disappear while you make Jackie’s bottle.

You regret it, because you know he will. He’ll look past it, act like nothing happened, and pretend it was all for show, just like he usually does, with every other girl. How were you any different? And why would he be genuine?

It never made sense, no matter how much he fed into your delusions, you chose to stay sane about it, considering reality before you fell head over heels. You’ve had this attraction towards him ever since you befriended Sarah, and it continued off from there, growing within every moment you spent with the boy.

In your head, this was definitely unrequited, nothing more than a mistake that you both will regret for obvious reasons, therefore, when you headed back, you wwe definitely not expecting to see Rafe, who busied himself with Jackie, distracting her until you were back. 

Your breath hitched at the sight, heart melting into pieces as you further approached the pair, earning Rafe’s attention as he glanced over his shoulder. He sat upright, giving you enough space to come through and give Jackie her bottle. 

“There you go, sweetheart.” He hummed, staring at Jackie as she sipped on her bottle. “You're hungry, huh? Is that why you interrupted us?” 

“Rafe!” You almost broke your neck with how swiftly you turned your head in the boy’s direction, the remark catching you off guard. 

“What?” He started, avoiding your gaze for a moment before trailing his eyes back to you. “Were we not having a moment?” 

“I– well…” You trailed off, stammering over your words. 

“What?” He questioned, “You regret it?”

“Do you?” You shot back, anxiousness visible through your tone. 

“Why would I kiss you if I was going to regret it?” He snorted, staring at you with disbelief. “C’mon, I don’t jus’ kiss anyone.” 

“Well,” you cocked your head to the side, squinting your eyes with suspicion. “That’s not…” 

“Okay, shut up.” He rolled his eyes, giggling at your response. “That was in the past, I’m a changed man.” 

“Changed man, huh?” You chuckled along, unable to hide the blush forming on your cheeks. 

“Okay, enough.” He clicked his teeth, lightly shoving your shoulder. 

“What?!” You defensively shot back, “I didn’t say anything.” 

“Right,” he nodded his head, inching closer towards you. “Do you really not get it?” 

“Hmm?” You hummed, suddenly growing flustered by how close he has gotten. 

Instead of answering, Rafe leaned in for another kiss, one soft enough, it spoke volumes on his behalf. It was unlike the first one you shared, this one was tender, so full of endearment, it overwhelmed you whole. 

He withdrew from the touch, a sheepish smile instantly spreading across his lips. His breath fanned over your face, now mere inches away from you, the gesture invading your personal space. 

“Does this answer your question?’ He whispered, lips ghosting over yours. 

“What are you doing?” You stumbled over your words, lightly shoving the boy, who admired you with amusement. “You should leave, Jackie keeps wakin’ up ‘cause you’re distracting her.”

“Hey, how is it my fault?” Rafe muttered, lips jutting into a pout. “Not my fault her babysitter is beautiful, I can’t keep my hands to myself when she’s around.” 

“Rafe.” You whisper-yelled, growing flustered by the statement. 

It was surreal, Rafe, liking you? Perhaps, more than you did? You couldn’t believe it. 

“What?!” He chuckled, pecking you once more before moving away. “She’s deep asleep, look at her.”

“Still,” you huffed, nervously biting your lip. “It’s not appropriate.”

“She’s barely six months, darling, relax.” He exclaimed, sneaking a hand over to your waist, letting it settle around your hip. “I’m sure she doesn’t mind setting us up, besides, we’re not doing anythin’ weird.”

“Oh yeah?” You questioned, scoffing at the remark. “Shoving your tongue down my throat is not weird at all?” 

“It’s human nature.” He reasoned, nodding his head. 

You slapped his shoulder, earning a hiss in return as he faked a pained expression. You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress the smile forming on your lips, too endeared by how cute he was acting. 

Maybe going with the flow is not so bad, after all. 

“You should head out, it’s getting late.” You mumbled, using the darkness as an excuse to get rid of him.

You don’t think you’ll be able to hold back if he’s around, especially not now, with how tempting he was being. 

“There you go,” he huffed, shooting up from his seat. “Kickin’ me out again.”

You giggled at his response, following behind as he made his way towards the door. He unlocked the doorknob, turning to face you before he could exit. 

“I’ll leave then, let me know if you need anything in particular.” He muttered, eyes flickering to your lips. “Also, lock the door, and wait until Sarah and John be get back, don’t open it unless you know who it is, okay?” 

“Relax, you’re acting as if I’m about to get kidnapped.” You crossed your arms, leaning against the door as your gaze shifted up to meet Rafe’s, who was now towering over you. “Besides, Sarah and John B aren't coming back tonight, I’m babysitting overnight.”

“Oh?” Rafe stood upright, a smirk replacing his worried expression from earlier. “I wasn’t aware of that.” 

“Well, now you are.” You slightly shoved his torso, feeling his broad chest through the thin fabric of his shirt. “Leave, I know you’ll jus’ keep delaying your stay until it’s too late.”

“Maybe I could stay a bit longer,” He started, voice dropping into a whisper as he took a step forward, causing you to take one back. “You know, keep you company while they’re away.” 

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” You beamed, hand finding his chest once again as you fisted his shirt with your fingers, the gesture earning a sly grin out of the latter. 

“It wouldn’t hurt.” He pressed you against the wall, stealing an open-mouthed kiss from your lips. “Besides, I get to protect you, and we could take turns looking out for Jackie.” 

“You know that’s not why you’re staying.” You muttered, barely able to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. 

“Mhm, you’re right.” Hr replied. 

And with that, the boy ceased the distance as he collided your lips in a chaste kiss, wrapping his arms around your thighs as he carried you to the guest bedroom. 

Therefore, you didn’t mind babysitting, especially when Rafe Cameron was keeping you company. 

[soobnny]

my girl — jeongin x f!reader ; the boys find out their youngest has a gf

(1.3k words)

It’s a once in a while thing for the boys to be able to eat out together.

Challenges usually pose through schedule conflicts, one or the other being absent, and timing. They can never truly catch a break. So, when the first sign of a temporary alignment showed, they took the opportunity in a flash.

It was going to be their first dinner together in months, one of their off days.

Usually, the next challenge of indecisiveness would present itself. However, their youngest is quick to suggest a place.

Apparently, they had really good jjajangmyun.

(The boys didn’t know then, but it was because the faster they could decide where to eat, the faster he could go visit you.)

(They also didn’t know then that jjajangmyun was your favorite.)

A chorus of laughter echoes through the little corner store as they’re served their third plate of food. Jeongin didn’t lie about their food, and it was a safe enough space for them to celebrate the end of their latest comeback season.

“Seungmin, you’re getting really brave with your jokes about PD-nim.”

“I ran that contract renewal like the military.”

They spend the night joking, revisiting their past, and being hopeful for the future. A few grateful messages are exchanged after liquid courage is brought to their table. And while a simple night, the boys knew they’d remember this day for the rest of their lives.

There’s quiet pop music playing in the back—the kind you’d hear in the early 2000s. And Han Jisung orders another plate of jjajangmyun.

“Ayen, the food here is crazy good. How’d you find this place?”

Jeongin snaps out of his mental chant at the call of his name, fox-eyes trained on the older boy before the question reverberates in his mind. “My girlfriend recommended it.”

A pin drops.

Their youngest has a habit of lying, taken after his roommate, Seungmin. He usually does it with sneaky smiles and a few giggles. However, both signs indicative of lying are absent, and the boy has the audacity to refill his plate and keep eating as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on his members.

“Girlfriend?” Hyunjin is the first to speak, asking the boy to reiterate what he had just said, even though he heard. Loud and clear, in fact.

“Uhuh.” Jeongin replies through a mouthful of food. “What?”

He looks curiously around the table. His friends’ eyes are glazed, and he’d expected the conversation to be over three minutes ago, but it doesn’t.

Jeongin is in the middle of another bite when all hell breaks loose.

“Girlfriend?!” It’s said even louder now, more amplified, and Hwang Hyunjin stands from where he was previously seated in pure disbelief. All the while, their eldest is having an existential crisis. “Innie, what do you mean?”

He perks his head up, pursing his lips slightly and tilting his head. “What’s the big deal?”

“You have a girlfriend and you didn’t tell us?” It’s Han’s turn to be perplexed, and it’s humorous the way his features mimic the dramatic shock on Hyunjin’s.

Seungmin simply keeps eating.

“Yah, Kim Seungmin. Why aren’t you as surprised as us?”

“I already knew.”

“Seungmin knew, but not us?!”

“Not my fault he trusts me with dating advice.”

That boy definitely knows how to add fuel to fire. Chaos erupts as the younger half harass Seungmin for knowing before them.

“How long have you been dating?,” Minho asks.

“Just around 3 months now.”

If Chan was out of it then, you wouldn’t know how to describe his state now. Felix sits next to him to comfort the poor boy.

“My baby has been dating for 3 months, and I didn’t know anything.”

“Sorry.” Jeongin responds bashfully, scratching the back of his head. He knew his hyungs would act this way, which had led to his decision of keeping it hidden for a while. He thinks he should’ve just told them right away.

Though, he thought they’d known by now. He wasn’t exactly the most secretive about it, and he was sure he’d mentioned you before.

And although shocking to suddenly hear that their youngest (and their baby) had a girlfriend, they will not have his head for it. They know he’s responsible enough to know what not to do, and it was a little touching to know the boy had enough time to fit romance in his life.

“Show us what she looks like!”

The boys get a selfie of you that’s set as his lockscreen, and it’s enough proof to have the boys cooing at how adorable you two would be together.

“Motherfucker, she’s really pretty.” Changbin comments.

“I know.”

Meanwhile, Han and Hyunjin are making up fake scenarios in the corner, scrolling through photos and videos. Then a message.

While their youngest is distracted, Han quickly taps on the notification.

(8:23pm) innie: I miss u

(8:30pm) ynie: miss u too!!!!

(8:31pm) innie: Wish you were here right now

(8:32pm) ynie: aren’t u celebrating with ur friends rnnn

(8:32pm) ynie: stop texting me and enjoy !!!

(8:33pm) innie: But i miss u

(8:33pm) innie: Call me later?

(8:36pm) ynie: after you spend time with ur friends let’s call

(8:37pm) innie: Wanna call now. Just for a second

(8:37pm) innie: Haven’t heard your voice in a while

(8:37pm) ynie: ok fine >:( give me like 10-15 mins

(8:51pm) ynie: i’ll call now

“Oh my god, she’s calling.”

That’s definitely enough to get Jeongin’s attention.

“Give me my phone back.” He reaches out to them, but Hyunjin is fast enough to swipe it.

“Answer it!” Changbin instigates.

Jeongin’s eyes widen in horror when he hears your voice go through his phone. “Innie? Oh—hello.”

You sound so shy, and Chan feels like he’s about to cry. “She calls him Innie.”

The youngest finally snatches his phone back when all Hyunjin could do was stare at you through the screen of his phone. You were real. Yang Jeongin actually has a girlfriend.

“Hi.” He mumbles, moving away from their table to talk to you privately. Though, before he does, he makes sure he leaves a threat to the boys not to follow him. “‘M sorry, did they scare you, baby?”

“It’s okay, I was just surprised.”

Jeongin visibly melts at the sound of your voice. “The boys know about us now.”

“I figured.” You laugh, and the service at the restaurant doesn’t do the warmth of your laughter any justice. He can’t wait to see you later.

“Can I see you later?”

“Mkay, but just… enjoy your time with the boys, okay? You told me it’s been a while since all of you were able to relax over a meal like this.”

“Fine.” He sighs, before a smile creeps on his face. “They liked your suggestion.”

“That’s good. Now go!” There’s a pout on his lips when you shoo him away. “Go have fun, go! I’m hanging up now. Love you!”

“Love you too.”

The wide, bright smile remains on his face even when he goes back to their table.

“Who has our Ayen smiling like that?”

“My girl.”

“Innie’s getting soft.” Minho teases.

Seungmin, on the other hand, fake vomits at his response, and another chorus of laughter bursts from their seats. The night continues through conversations over Jeongin’s sudden revelation, and the promise to let the boys meet you properly next time. He agrees if they promise not to scare you away.

And while he’d kept you a secret for a while, he can’t help but feel a tinge of happiness in his heart that the most important people in his life know about you now, are even eager to meet you. There is no better contentment than all of the people he loves aligning with one another.

The entire night, Jeongin itches in anticipation to hold you in his arms and hear your voice in person after his schedules had torn apart his much needed quality time with you. And when he asks to leave, they don’t need to know where he’s going.

One look at his face, and the only evident answer is you.

[wolvietxt]

𝓑UTTERFLIES.

pairing : bucky barnes x fem!reader warnings : light angst, shouting, reader stands up for bucky, kinda open-ended summary : bucky feels weird things in his stomach whenever he thinks about you, he’s convinced he’s getting sick wc : 1.7k a/n : part two here

the avengers tower was a hive of activity. agents scurried in and out, stark’s gadgets beeped incessantly, and the hum of conversations filled the hallways. amidst the chaos, you’d carved out your own little routine - something steady to hold onto in a world that rarely stopped moving. and then there was bucky barnes. he was the quiet one, always on the edges of the action, as though he wasn’t sure where he fit in. you’d noticed him almost immediately when you moved in, not because he tried to stand out, but because he did the opposite.

every morning, he’d shuffle into the kitchen, head down, hair slightly messy from sleep. you’d offer him a soft “good morning,” trying not to sound too eager, and he’d nod or mumble something before retreating to the solitude of the gym or his room. his shyness only made you want to know him more. there was a depth to him, layers you were dying to peel back, but he seemed content - or maybe resigned - to keeping everyone at arm’s length.

still, you didn’t give up. you tried in small ways: leaving him a cup of coffee when you knew he’d be up early, asking if he’d want to join for movie nights, even offering him a quiet corner during team meetings when things got too loud. his answers were always polite but distant. it wasn’t rejection, not really, but it still left you wondering if you’d ever get through to him.

then came the day you overheard something that made your blood boil.

it happened in the common room. you’d been looking for a misplaced file when you caught snippets of a conversation between two junior agents. at first, you thought nothing of it - just the usual chatter that filled the tower. but then you heard bucky’s name, and your attention snapped to them like a rubber band.

“he’s just so… weird,” one of them said, his tone dripping with disdain. “i mean, come on, we’re supposed to trust him? after everything he’s done?”

“seriously,” the other agreed. “it’s like walking on eggshells around him. guy barely talks, and when he does, it’s just… creepy. i don’t know why they keep him around.”

rage bubbled up in your chest, hot and immediate. before you could stop yourself, you stepped into the room, your voice cutting through their laughter like a knife. “who do you think you are?”

the agents froze, their faces draining of color as they realized you’d been listening. one of them tried to stammer an excuse, but you weren’t having it.

“no, i want to know,” you said, your voice steady but sharp. “what gives you the right to talk about him like that? do you have any idea what he’s been through? what he’s overcome? or do you just like tearing people down because it makes you feel better about yourselves?”

they exchanged nervous glances, clearly searching for an exit, but you weren’t finished.

“bucky barnes has more strength in his pinky finger than you’ll ever have in your entire life. and if i hear either of you - either of you - say one more word about him, you’ll be reassigned so fast you won’t have time to pack your desks. understood?”

they mumbled something that sounded like agreement before bolting from the room, leaving you standing there, heart pounding from the adrenaline.

unbeknownst to you, bucky had been standing just around the corner.

he hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. he’d been on his way to the common room to grab a bottle of water when he heard your voice. at first, he’d thought you were just talking to someone, but as the words sank in, he realized you were defending him. you were angry - no, furious - on his behalf, and it left him rooted to the spot, unable to move.

no one had ever done that for him before.

days later, the memory still lingered. he couldn’t shake the image of you standing there, fire in your eyes, your voice unwavering. it was as though you’d burned yourself into his mind, and every time he thought about it, his chest tightened. it wasn’t just what you’d said; it was the way you’d said it, with so much conviction it made him feel… something he couldn’t quite name.

that night, he lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. his heart raced, his palms were clammy, and his stomach churned in a way that felt almost… pleasant? but also deeply unsettling. was he getting sick? that seemed impossible - the serum made sure of that. yet the symptoms were undeniable. every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face, heard your voice, and felt that strange, fluttering sensation in his chest.

by the next morning, he was convinced something was seriously wrong.

bucky had never been one to dwell on his feelings. survival, duty, and regret had occupied most of his thoughts for as long as he could remember. but now, as he sat on the edge of his bed staring at the floor, he couldn’t ignore the storm swirling inside him. he felt… strange. his chest was tight, his thoughts were scattered, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop replaying the moment he overheard you in the common room.

he should’ve stepped in, said something to those agents himself, but instead, he’d stood there like a coward while you defended him. the memory of your voice, sharp with anger, made his palms sweat. no one had ever spoken up for him like that. people either feared him or avoided him altogether. but you - you’d stood there, unwavering, because you believed he was worth it. the thought made his heart race in a way that felt entirely too unfamiliar.

it had to be some kind of illness, right? he couldn’t be sick - the serum wouldn’t allow it - but what else could explain the way his stomach flipped whenever you were around? or the way his hands fidgeted nervously whenever you said his name? bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face. this was ridiculous. he needed answers.

and so, he turned to the only person he trusted to give him the truth.

“steve, something’s wrong with me,” bucky blurted out later that day. they were in the gym, steve halfway through a set of push-ups when bucky’s words made him pause mid-rep.

“wrong?” steve asked, pushing himself to his feet. “what do you mean?”

bucky hesitated, crossing his arms over his chest. “it’s… i don’t know. i’ve been feeling weird lately. my heart’s racing, i can’t think straight, and every time i see - ” he cut himself off, clearing his throat. “never mind. forget it.”

steve’s lips twitched into a knowing smile. “does this have anything to do with a certain someone?”

bucky’s jaw tightened. “what? no. that’s not… that’s not it.”

“sure, buck,” steve said, his tone teasing. “you’re probably just coming down with something.”

bucky narrowed his eyes. “serum, remember? i don’t get sick.”

steve’s smile widened. “exactly.”

bucky scowled, realizing too late that steve wasn’t going to be any help. he mumbled a quick excuse and left, his frustration mounting. if steve wasn’t going to take him seriously, he’d just have to figure this out himself.

next on his list was sam. surely sam would have a straight answer for him.

“ you’re not dying, man,” sam said after bucky cornered him in the kitchen. “although, judging by the way you’re acting, you’d think the world was ending.”

bucky frowned. “i’m not acting any way.”

sam raised an eyebrow. “uh-huh. look, maybe you just need to… i don’t know, talk to someone about it. someone who isn’t me.”

bucky groaned. “you’re no help.”

“at least i’m honest,” sam shot back, smirking as he left bucky alone with his thoughts.

it wasn’t until later that night, during a rare moment of quiet, that bucky found himself seeking out natasha. if anyone could give him a straight answer, it was her. she was sitting in the lounge, flipping through a book, when he approached.

“can i ask you something?” he said, his voice quieter than usual.

natasha glanced up, her expression unreadable. “always.”

bucky shifted awkwardly, his fingers drumming against his thigh. “if… hypothetically… someone couldn’t stop thinking about another person, and it made them feel all… weird inside, what would you call that?”

natasha’s lips twitched, and for a moment, bucky thought she might laugh. but instead, she closed her book and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “weird how?”

bucky struggled to find the words. “just… weird. like, heart-racing, can’t-think-straight, stomach-doing-flips kind of weird.”

natasha studied him for a long moment, her gaze sharp and assessing. “sounds like you’ve got it bad.”

bucky blinked. “got what?”

she smirked. “you’ll figure it out.”

and just like that, she returned to her book, leaving bucky more confused than ever.

over the next few days, bucky’s “symptoms” only seemed to worsen. he found himself drawn to you in ways he couldn’t explain. the way you smiled, the sound of your laugh, even the little things you did - like leaving a cup of coffee on the counter for him - made his chest ache in the best possible way. it was maddening.

finally, in a last-ditch effort to make sense of what was happening, he sought out wanda. if anyone could give him clarity, it was her.

wanda listened patiently as bucky explained his predicament, her expression calm and composed. when he finished, she tilted her head, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips.

“bucky,” she said gently, “you’re not sick.”

he frowned. “but - ”

“you’ve got a crush,” she said simply.

bucky’s heart stopped. “a crush?”

wanda nodded. “yes. and from the sound of it, it’s about time you did something about it.”

bucky stared at her, his mind racing. the idea felt foreign, almost impossible. but as he thought about you - the way you’d stood up for him, the way you’d always looked and spoken to him with so much warmth and understanding - he realized wanda was right.

ᰔ bucky barnes : @notacleangirl, @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @lemoanaid

@yvespecially, @hhiggs, @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts, @seasonofthenerd, @superlegend216

@withasideofmeg, @pvndomi, @flamin-hot-cheetos, @bbittenapples, @hazydespair

@aoi_targaryen, @person-005, @corvuscattus

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[pedrospatch]

flutter

Jackson! Joel Miller x Pregnant! Female Reader

snapshots masterlist

summary: When you finally start to show, Joel has a tough time with it as the reality sinks in—he’s going to be a father again.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) PREGNANCY. established relationship. no mention of reader’s age, however in other works for this universe, it is implied she is younger than Joel, her specific age will never be stated so do with that what you will. brief descriptions of a pregnant woman’s changing body, brief mention of morning sickness, mention of breastfeeding (it only comes up in a conversation very briefly) these subjects can possibly be triggering, especially mentions of a changing body, so while i try to handle everything with the utmost care, i still ask that you proceed with caution. domesticity, reader enjoys taking care of her family, ellie is a little shit, grumpy joel, he’s sort of a dick at first? but only because he’s working through some feelings so let’s forgive him, okay?

word count: 3.5k

a/n: this is part of the snapshots universe, but it could absolutely be read as a standalone too. minimal editing, this has been sitting in my drafts and i did a quick edit during my lunch hour, so please excuse any mistakes.

“Shit.”

You almost can’t believe your own two eyes. Staring at your reflection in the large, oval shaped mirror hanging over the porcelain bathroom sink, your gaze widens in complete surprise. “Jesus Christ,” you mutter, turning to the side. It takes your brain about a good minute or two to process, really process, the way that your belly strains against the thin, white cotton of your camisole. It had seemingly swollen overnight—because it hadn’t been this prominent the day before, had it?

Over the last few months, there’d been changes.

Some subtle and some not so subtle.

“Ellie! Stop fucking staring at them,” you’d scolded the teenager late one evening during yours and hers weekly game night. For as hard as you tried focusing on what move you should make next, it was hard to concentrate on the chessboard in front of you when you could feel the way her eyes were fixed on your breasts. “I mean it! Quit staring at my boobs, you little shit.”

She held up her hands, her mouth full of popcorn.

“Hey, in my defense, they’re just fucking there, man. If anything, they’re fucking staring at me, okay?”

During your chess rematch the following week, you had accidentally knocked one of your pawn pieces off of the table. When you’d stood up and bent over to pick it up, she had made the observation that your butt seemed to have gotten a little bigger too.

“Bet Joel’s liking these changes,” Ellie had smirked. “It sure as hell explains why the headboard’s been banging against the wall more than usual lately.”

You threw the pawn at her, smiling in satisfaction when it bounced off her forehead and landed into her glass of lemonade.

One part of your body, however, hadn’t changed.

Not until now.

“Hon, trust me, you have nothing to be worried about,” Maria had assured you with confidence when you had brought up your concerns about your stomach. “Every woman, and every pregnancy, is different. I didn’t start showing until I was around six months, remember?”

“I guess you’re right.” You’d been around four months, then. “Doesn’t help that I haven’t felt the baby move.”

“You will,” Maria had promised. “Just be patient”

Biting your lip, you place a hand on your belly.

It’s always been one of the softer parts of you, but now, it’s firmed into a perfect, round bump.

“Maybe soon I’ll feel you move,” you murmur, giving it a gentle pat. You tug the lace hem of your camisole down as far as it can go and then pull at the elastic waistband of your blue, terry cloth shorts.

Shutting off the lights in the bathroom, you slip out into the bedroom where you find that Joel’s still tangled up in the sheets, fast asleep. He had been assigned to the afternoon patrol route today—normally an early riser, if he was still snoozing, it meant that he really needed the rest. Deciding it was best to let him keep sleeping for a little while longer, you quietly tiptoe out of your shared bedroom and head downstairs into the kitchen.

After making yourself a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice, and one for the kid as well, you prepare the coffee maker for Joel. You spoon dark roast grounds into the filter and set the timer for the coffee to start brewing in thirty minutes.

He should be up by then, you think, pulling a basket of eggs out of the refrigerator.

You’re starting to get used to this. Domesticity.

Despite your protests, Maria had made the decision to pull you off patrol that same afternoon you had shared the news of your pregnancy. “I’m putting you on leave,” she’d told you. “Effective immediately. I don’t want to see you outside of these walls. Got it?”

“That’s not fair, Maria. You were out on patrol until—”

One stern glare from her had shut you right up.

“Fine.”

Sure, you missed it and looked forward to the day when you’d be able to get back into the saddle with your rifle in hand, but this way of life had grown on you. Certainly a lot more than you thought it would.

You enjoyed taking care of the house. Packing Ellie her lunch for school and checking her homework. Having a nice a meal on the table for the three of you to enjoy in the comfort of your own home instead of having to go down to the crowded mess hall for supper because you and Joel were both always much, much too tired after a long day out on patrol to bother with cooking.

With the baby due to arrive in the winter, looking after your little family had become your purpose, and you did not mind it one bit.

As strips of bacon sizzle in one pan on the gas powered stove, you crack a couple of eggs into another, knowing the kid is already on her way downstairs. You can hear the sound of her old, tattered low top sneakers that you have been trying to throw away for almost a year now squeaking on the kitchen tiles just as you finish plating her breakfast.

“Morning!” Ellie pipes, the loud plop of her backpack into a chair prompting you to turn around. “What’s for brea—whoa! Holy shit!” Her brown eyes widen in shock when she sees you and her jaw drops. “Dude.”

“Ellie,” you say her name warningly as you walk over to the table. “Don’t.”

“You’re bigger!”

With a playful glare, you set her plate down, along with her glass of orange juice. “Thanks a lot, you little jerk.” You feign offense. “You’re making your own eggs from now on.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Ellie’s cheeks flush a shade of red and she squirms, sputtering apologetically, “I swear, I don’t mean it like that at all. It’s just, your stomach, it didn’t—you didn’t look like this last night, you know?”

She’s fucking lucky that your raging hormones decided to take the morning off duty.

“You look different. I mean, you look great—”

“Ellie?”

“Yeah?”

“Just shut up and eat.”

“Deal.”

She shoots you a sheepish grin and sits down, scarfing down her food in her usual manner. 

“You get your fractions homework done?”

“Yeah.” Ellie huffs, rolling her eyes. “Took me forever. I was up until fucking midnight.”

Amused, you offer, “Want me to check your work?”

“Sure.”

As Ellie inhales the rest of her breakfast, you pull out a green, single subject notebook from her backpack and look over her homework for miscalculations.

“So, uh, how are you feeling?” she asks after a minute.

“I’m feeling alright. I think the morning sickness finally stopped, so can’t complain.” Shrugging, you close the notebook and stick it into her backpack. “You did good, kid. Only got two problems wrong.”

“Man, I really wish we knew whether it’s a boy or girl,” Ellie mumbles through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “What do you want to have, anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter to me, Ellie,” you answer, honestly. Clocking the skepticism on her face, you laugh and say, “It’s true. As long as the baby’s healthy, that’s all I care about.” And you mean it. As an expectant mother in the post outbreak world where medicine is scarce, supplies are limited, and the closest thing you have to a hospital is the town’s old clinic, the only thing you can hope for is the smooth, safe delivery of a healthy child.

Before she can say anything, you both catch the sound of Joel’s heavy boots as he descends the staircase.

She quirks an eyebrow. “Uh, has Joel seen you yet?”

Grimacing, you shake your head. “No.”

“Well, I don’t wanna be here for all that awkward,” Ellie says, chugging the rest of her orange juice. She stands up and snatches up her backpack, along with her lunch bag, which you’d packed for her earlier that morning. Just as she’s about to whirl around on the heel of her sneaker and make a run for the front door, she pauses, watching as you make your way back over to the stove to light another flame. “Unless you want me to be?”

“I’ll be fine, Ellie,” you assure her. “Go on, get to school. Maybe you’ll be on time to class for once.”

“If you say so.” She wishes you luck and then bolts out of the kitchen, throwing a quick goodbye at Joel on the way out. “See ya later, old man!”

Nervously, you turn around and start cracking another two eggs into the pan. There’s no telling how he’s going to react.

Joel’s been fairly supportive since you’d found out you were pregnant, considering how unplanned it was. But you know him like the back of your own hand, and you know, despite the numerous times he’s denied it, that it has been weighing heavily on him. Each time you’d try to sit down to talk to him about it, he would brush you off and insist he was fine. But he wasn’t fine.

And you wish he would spit it out and tell you why.

In your periphery, you notice the stained glass butterfly he had hung in front of the window above the sink, the ornament catching and refracting the sunlight. Flecks of color dance across the walls in captivating patterns, brightening the space. You think of the sweet little girl he’d hung it for, the little girl he rarely talks about, that he keeps tucked away safely in his memory.

You bite back a small sigh.

By now, you’ve learned not to push him. Especially not about what he was feeling. He would tell you when he was ready.

“Who the hell lit a fire under her ass this mornin’?” Joel asks gruffly as he walks into the kitchen. “She ain’t ever this fuckin’ eager to go to school.”

“Not sure,” you reply in the most nonchalant tone you can muster as you use a spatula to scramble the eggs. Transferring them onto a plate, you add three strips of bacon, and then pour his coffee. “I have your breakfast ready, Joel. Have a seat.”

You hear a chair scrape against the tile.

“I keep tellin’ you I can make my own breakfast, darlin’.”

“And I keep telling you I don’t mind making it for you,” you quip, and you hear him grumble something under his breath.

Inhaling a deep, calming breath through your nose, you take the plate of eggs and bacon in one hand, and his cup of coffee in the other. Your fingers grasp the handle of his ceramic, owl mug in a near death grip. You exhale slowly, and then turn around to face him.

He sees your swollen middle and stiffens in his chair. 

The tension is instantaneous. Palpable.

Uncomfortable.

Awkwardly, you shift from one foot to the other.

“Your belly,” Joel murmurs, a visible tick in his jaw as his gaze drags over your midsection. “S’bigger.”

“Yeah. It is. Guess I’m going to have to start trading for maternity clothes soon,” you remark, shuffling over to the table. Setting down the plate and mug of coffee in front of him, you take a seat across the table. Your eyes try desperately to meet his, but they refuse. There’s no way for you to decipher what he’s thinking. You let out a small, nervous laugh. “Can you please say something?” 

He lightly clears his throat. “I’ll take you to Main Street on Saturday,” he tells you, picking up his mug. “I’ve got the day off from patrol. I’ll, uh, pick through some of my own things and see what I don’t need so we can make a trade for some clothes.” He pauses, then offers quietly, “In the meantime, you can wear my shirts. They might be more comfortable for you.”

You flash him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Joel.”

Sipping his coffee, he continues to avoid your gaze.

“Mhm,” is all he says.

Your smile falters.

It’s the middle of August.

The afternoon heat is sweltering. Unforgiving.

“Jesus, it’s a fuckin’ scorcher,” Tommy sighs, glancing over towards the lake where his mare, Maxine, is taking a drink beside his brother’s stallion, Phoenix. His raven curls are damp with sweat, plastered to his forehead. “Hotter than the devil’s fuckin’ balls out here, ain’t it?”

He’s met with silence.

Looking over his shoulder, he sees Joel leaning against a tree, his rifle in hand as he stares at the Grand Tetons in the distance almost like he’s in a trance. “Joel?”

Blinking furiously, Joel shakes his head. “Sorry, you say somethin’ to me just now?” He asks in a daze, pushing away from the lodgepole pine. “We headin’ out?”

“You’ve been actin’ real strange all afternoon,” Tommy observes, walking towards him with his own gun slung over his shoulder. “Either the heat is startin’ to get to you, or you’ve got somethin’ on your mind, big brother.”

Joel hesitates. His dark eyes flit to the other side of the lake where the other members of their afternoon patrol group are refilling their canteens with water.

“S’alright,” his younger brother says. “Don’t worry ‘bout them. Can’t hear us.”

Joel’s chest heaves with a heavy sigh. “She popped.”

“Huh?”

“Her belly finally popped. She’s showin’ now.”

Amused, Tommy lightly shakes his head. “Y’shouldn’t be so surprised, Joel. Was ‘bout time,” he remarks with a shrug. “What is she—like six months along now?”

“She’ll be six months in a couple weeks.” Joel wipes the perspiration off his brow with the back of his hand and sighs once more. “Look, I ain’t stupid, Tommy. I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, but it still caught me by surprise. When I saw her, it became real for me. She’s got my kid in there. I’m gonna be a dad again.”

“You’re scared.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.

“Shitless,” Joel confesses, feeling his chest tighten. 

“What are you afraid of?”

Joel almost laughs.

He doesn’t know where to start.

He’s afraid of everything.

“All of it, Tommy. I’m afraid for her, havin’ to give birth with no medicine,” he tells him, his voice breaking. “I’m afraid I won’t remember what to do with a newborn or that I won’t know how to help her durin’ those first few months—”

“This ain’t your first rodeo,” Tommy reminds him. “You did it once, and you did just fine, Joel.”

“That was over three fuckin’ decades ago. And it was a different world. If Sarah—” He stops, taking a second to catch his breath. The image of his daughter’s little face flashing in his mind feels like a violent punch to the gut. Even after all this time, it still knocks all of the wind out of his lungs. “When her mom had trouble breastfeedin’ her, I could head to the grocery store and buy her baby formula. If she got a real bad fever, I could load her up in the truck and drive her to the emergency room.” He glances down at his broken watch. “Besides, I was a lot younger, then. And I wasn’t half fuckin’ deaf like I am now. When Sarah would wake up cryin’ in the middle of the night because she needed a diaper change, I’d hear her. What if I can’t hear my own kid cryin’?”

“Joel—”

“I’m in my fifties. What if I can’t keep up because I’m too fuckin’ old?”

Tommy reaches out, clapping a hand onto his shoulder.

“Brother, I need you to take a fuckin’ breath,” he says, chuckling softly. “You’re puttin’ the weight of the world of your shoulders right now—you need to put some of it down. Look, we might not have everythin’ we used to before the world ended, but we make do with what we do have. Considerin’ just how many growin’ families we have and how many little ones we’ve got runnin’ around our town, I’d say it’s workin’ out pretty fuckin well.” He gives his shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “And as far as your ability to be a good dad, you’ve still got it, Joel. You know what to do, and so does she. I’ve seen her in action with my little boy, and it seems like she’s already got those maternal instincts, y’know?”

“Yeah, she does,” Joels agrees quietly, thinking of how you had stepped up to help him care for Ellie.

“Trust me, between the two of you, it’ll be alright.”

He peers at him. “You really believe I still got it in me?”

“I do.” Tommy smiles. “You never stopped knowin’ how to be a father, Joel. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Their patrol shift extends into the evening, turning into a double, and it’s late when he gets home. 

“What the hell are you still doin’ up?” Joel asks when he finds Ellie sitting at the kitchen table, cursing to herself as she flips through the stale, yellowing pages of an old life science text book.

“What does it fucking look like, man?”

“Shouldn’t have waited until the last minute, kiddo—”

Ellie holds up a hand and cuts him off.

“Save the lecture for another time, dude. I’m busy.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Finish up and get to bed. S’late.”

Without waiting for some smartass response, he turns on the heel of his boot and then heads upstairs to your shared bedroom. He flips on the lights only to find that you’re already in bed, fast asleep, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts and a pair of panties. He toes off his boots and leaves them by the door, being as quiet as he possibly can as he rummages through his top drawer for some clean boxers to sleep in.

He slips into the bathroom where he takes a quick, hot shower, scrubbing off that day’s sweat, dirt, and grime. After he’s dressed and his sopping wet, salt and pepper curls are haphazardly towel dried, Joel walks back out into the bedroom where he switches off the lights and climbs into bed next to you.

He lays on his side and he’s just about to close his eyes when he feels a light shift beside him. You roll over and curl into him, your belly pressing up against his curve of his spine.

He stiffens, freezing as if someone had just placed the barrel of their pistol against his back, their finger over the trigger.

Christ, get a damn grip, he thinks silently to himself.

Joel thinks about that morning in the kitchen.

He knows his reaction had hurt you. Or rather, his lack of a reaction. His shitty ways of coping aren’t your fault, and his struggle to come to terms with your pregnancy sure as hell isn’t your fault, either. He owed it to you to try harder to be the man you needed.

The man you both needed.

Joel’s train of thought comes to a screeching halt when he feels a soft flutter against his middle of his back, the spot right where your tummy is nestled—did the baby just move?

He lies still, waiting to see if he feels it again, and when he doesn’t, he rolls over to face you, causing you to stir.

“Joel?” you mumble his name, sleepily. “What time—?”

“Shh,” Joel soothes, pulling you into his bare chest. He kisses your temple. “S’okay, baby. Go back to sleep.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice.

Within seconds, you’re asleep again, snuggled into him and snoring softly.

Lifting a hand, he hesitates, then rests it on your belly.

He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

And waits.

Until the minutes turn into hours.

Until dawn’s light filters in through the lace curtains. 

Until he finally feels that little flutter again.

He feels it against the palm of his hand. Faint, nothing more than a brief whisper against his skin, but there is no mistaking it.

He’d just felt the baby’s movement.

There’s a sudden shift.

Tense muscles that had been painfully wound up since the moment you’d mentioned to him your period was a week late back in the spring loosen slightly—the breath he had been holding since he’d picked up that positive pregnancy test from the bathroom counter finally falls from his lips, fanning over yours.

His fears, his worries, his uncertainties about what lies ahead, they’re all still there, of course, but he finds they are now accompanied by a glimmer of hope, a sliver of optimism that maybe, just maybe, Joel doesn’t have to be as afraid as he is.

Joel’s eyes glaze over your face, warmth radiating in his chest when you breathe a little a sigh of content in your sleep as he gently rubs your stomach through his shirt.

With his hand still splayed over your belly, he closes his eyes and begins to drift off, falling into the most decent sleep he’s had in the last few months.

Maybe his brother’s right.

Maybe he will be just fine.

divider credit to @saradika 🤍