#big scary bird god

[feech]

"There were dragons when I was a boy."

Screaming, crying, throwing up, etc.

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - SEVEN

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of pregnancy, abortion, alcohol, drug consumption.

MASTERLIST

You never spent much time on The Cut, unless you were being dragged by duty, mostly charity events for the local populations, fundraisers for their schools usually.

You always showed up in something tasteful but subtly expensive—pearls, understated Louboutin heels, and a blazer that whispered wealth without screaming it. 

Your mother taught you that.

Now, you sat in Poguelandia, doing god knows what.

The name alone sounded like some bad beach-themed party game. But you kept the snark to yourself—mostly. Sarah swore to you this was her new "thing," her big redemption arc, and who were you to judge? It wasn’t where you pictured spending any afternoon, yet there you were.

Pregnant. On The Cut. Drinking—well, holding—a very flat ginger ale out of a plastic cup.

You smoothed your dress for the hundredth time, light linen in a neutral tone that looked effortless but cost more than most people’s rent, while pretending not to notice Pope and Cleo staring like you were a rare bird that had wandered into the wrong habitat. 

Were they always this... intense? Did people on this side of the island not know how to look away when someone made eye contact? Your mother’s voice echoed in your head. They’re not staring at you, dear; they’re staring at themselves in relation to you. 

Whatever that meant. 

To their credit, they weren’t mean about it. Just... curious, as if you’d wandered in from a wildlife documentary called Kooks in the Wild.

You moved your weight around in your seat, hyper-aware of every grain of sand sticking to your hérmes sandals. Every time you shifted, you felt the grains grinding between the straps and your skin.

Should’ve worn the espadrilles, you thought ruefully, but even then, this wasn’t the world’s most glamorous venue. Sarah had begged you to stop by, though, and you owed her. It was also good for you to leave the house instead of being cupped up inside all alone.

“Okay, seriously, what’s with the staring? Do I have something on my face? Is my makeup smudged? Be honest.”

Cleo snorted. “No, you’re fine, princess. We’re just surprised to see you.”

You were still holding your sad little plastic cup. “Just thought I’d participate in—whatever this is.” You gestured vaguely at the mismatched chairs and string lights that looked like they’d been stolen from someone’s backyard wedding. “Community service?”

It was supposed to come off as witty. You weren’t sure it did.

Pope choked on his drink—sweet tea? soda?—and Cleo chuckled outright. “You’re funny,” she said, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if she meant it.

“Thanks?” It came out like a question, and you wanted to die just a little bit inside.

Pope grinned, leaning forward with a chip in his hand. “You don’t seem like the kind of person who hangs out in The Cut, that’s all.”

You blinked, feigning shock. “You don’t think I spend my weekends in—what is this, a glorified surf shack? I’m crushed.”

Cleo laughed again, which—fine—made you feel a little better.

“Nah, it’s just... you’re different up close. Not like, scary kook different. Just human. Y’know?”

“Great. That’s exactly what I was going for today.”

Pope gestured to the bar. “You want a snack? Chips? Cookies? We have...three options.”

You straightened, eyes narrowing like a hawk zeroing in on prey.

Food. Your stomach growled loudly, as if it had been cued by a stage director. “What kind of cookies?”

He blinked, not expecting you to care. “Uh... chocolate chip? Maybe oatmeal raisin?”

“And the chips?” You pressed, leaning forward now.

“Salt and vinegar,” Cleo piped up, eyeing you curiously. “Barbecue too, I think. Why?”

“Okay, shit, great.” You clapped your hands together decisively. “I’ll have all of it. All the chips, both kinds of cookies. Do you have anything else? Pretzels? Popcorn? Random condiments? I’m not picky.”

Cleo stared at you, her mouth slightly open. “Everything?”

“Yes, everything. Is that a problem?”

She blinked, her eyes darting to Pope like he had an explanation. He shrugged helplessly.

“Woman” she muttered under her breath. “Did you not eat for a week, or...?”

The salt and vinegar chips were divine, borderline transcendent, as you shoved another handful into your mouth. The truth was, you weren’t just hungry—you were still terrified. Every bite, every easy conversation with other people that weren’t Sarah, was a game of jenga to you. One wrong move, one offhand comment, and your secret could be out in the open.

Six more days until this would all be... over. Until the secret growing inside you—the one you’d barely admitted to yourself most mornings—would be gone.

The past three days had been the best you’d felt in ages, cravings and all, thanks to Sarah. She’d slept over, stayed up late talking with you, making you laugh, distracting you from the endless pit what-ifs and why-mes.

It was the longest you’d gone without crying in three months. The longest you’d lived without feeling like you could suffocate at any given moment. With her help, it had been easier to forget—to pretend that things were still okay.

But Sarah wasn’t there, she’d left earlier with John B, something about helping him with a tour.

“You good, princess?” Cleo’s voice cut through your thoughts.

You blinked at her, realizing you’d been crushing the chip bag in your hands like a stress ball. “What? Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You look like you’re about to fight that bag of chips,” Pope said, grinning.

You forced a laugh, leaning back and tossing the bag onto the table. “No fighting. Just... intense snacking."

You reached for the chocolate chip cookies he had offered earlier, focusing on the sweetness, the comfort of food that tasted good for once. Sweet, crumbly, safe. If only the rest of you life felt like that.

Pope and Cleo knew something was up, they all did, probably.

Sarah had been glued to your side, and it wasn’t exactly subtle.

Her sudden move to “stay over” at your place had obviously raised eyebrows, especially since you two hadn’t had a proper conversation in months before all this. And there was the beach clean-up, Kie and JJ had been there when you felt ill, and while you’d been too disoriented to keep up with the cover story once Rafe drove you away, Sarah had stepped in later to handle it.

Heat exhaustion. Overworked. Totally fine.

Still, to your relief, neither Pope nor Cleo seemed inclined to pry, perhaps it was pity, or maybe they were just decent enough to let you keep the little shred of privacy you had left. Either way, you were grateful.

“So,” Pope said, leaning back on his elbows and flashing you an easy grin, ���How are you finding our place? I mean, other than our fine selection of snacks.”

You swallowed a bite of cookie, forcing a smile. “It’s...charming. Rustic. A real je ne sais quoi vibe.” You waved your hand vaguely, trying to mimic the way your mother used to describe terrible restaurants we’d never go back to.

Cleo snorted. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

“It’s cute,” You offered, looking around, “I can tell you guys put your heart into it.”

Pope smirked, lifting a brow. "That's nice of you to say."

You gave a small shrug, feigning nonchalance, but you meant it.

For all the mismatched chairs and questionable decoration, there was something undeniably warm about the place. You weren't used to that—spaces filled with love instead of decorators and florists, it wasn’t bad. Just different.

“I mean it,” you said, brushing crumbs from your lap. “It’s very authentic. ‘Pogue Chic’ or something.”

Cleo laughed, loud and genuine, her grin lighting up her face. “Pogue Chic?"

Pope chimed in, “Hey, don’t knock it. We’re trendsetters. Ahead of its time.”

You smiled, but your mind was already falling back to the sand clinging to your dress and the ginger ale that tasted like disappointment. You’d never say it out loud, but you admired them, that ability to make joy out of scraps. It was something you didn’t quite know how to do. Not yet, anyway.

Cleo leaned forward, her elbows resting on the makeshift table. “So, are we going to see you around more? Or is this just a one-time royal visit?”

You hesitated, twirling the rim of your cup between your fingers. “I don’t know. Maybe. If Sarah keeps dragging me here, I guess I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice.”

You didn't know if it was the way he said it, the tone he used, or just your hormones fucking you up, but suddenly there were tears in your eye sockets. You blinked rapidly, tilting your head back slightly and praying that the tears stayed put.

These kids, all of them, sitting here like they hadn’t spent their lives scraping by, like they hadn’t been hurt or abandoned or let down a hundred times over by people they loved and trusted. Yet somehow, they were still full of hope, full of life.

You envied that.

You wished you could bottle it, whatever it was that kept them laughing and fighting and welcoming someone like you—a result of privilege and mistakes and heartbreak—into their home. It was humbling in a way that made your chest hurt.

“Does that mean I can choose to order better snacks next time? Maybe some sparkling water? Flat ginger ale is a crime against humanity.”

Cleo snorted, still not fooled by your deflection, but she let it slide.

“Good luck with that, princess. Our snack budget’s about three bucks and whatever we can steal from Kie’s pantry.”

Pope chuckled, tossing a chip in his mouth. “And you’re welcome to contribute if you’re so concerned about the menu.”

It surprised you, how easy it was to talk to them.

On paper, you had nothing in common. They were younger, grew up in a completely different world, and you were used to the polished conversations of country club luncheons and charity galas. 

Here, things were different.

They didn’t seem to care if you stumbled over your words, if your jokes were awkward or if you occasionally sounded like a walking trust fund catalog. They didn’t care about your last name, your family’s money, or any other things that had weighed you down for years.

That was disarming.

You’d spent your entire life around people who mirrored your upbringing—kids who summered in the Hamptons or Barbados, adults who measured their worth in stock portfolios and vacation homes. Now, you were here, in this cobbled-together haven with salt-stained cushions, sitting with people who’d grown up struggling for things you took for granted.

You thought it would feel more awkward or forced, but it didn’t.

It was easy.

Pope sat on the counter, gesturing with a half-eaten chip. “Serious question. How do you even survive on Figure Eight? Do they hand you iced lattes and designer handbags when you’re born, or do you have to work your way up to that?”

You raised a brow, smirking. “Oh, absolutely. The moment you’re born, they issue you a monogrammed diaper bag and a gold-plated pacifier. It’s very exclusive.”

Cleo nearly choked on her drink. “See, this is why we can’t take you seriously.”

Your phone buzzed on the table, lighting up with your cousins name, interrupting the fun. You sighed, rolling your eyes before picking it up. “Yes, Top?”

Topper’s slightly whiny tone spilled into your ear. “Can you believe Mom’s threatening to rent out the beach house for the summer? Actual strangers, staying there. What’s next? Turning it into a hostel?”

“Tragic,” you deadpanned, resting your chin in your hand. “Truly, a devastating blow for humanity.”

Pope fake-coughed, mumbling “white rich privilege problems,” while Cleo mouthed, “Hostel!” and shook her head, laughing silently.

“I know. Anyway, I’m coming over later.”

“Where’s your invitation?”

You heard him scoffing, “I’m family, I don’t need one.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “Top, you can’t just announce you’re coming over. I might have plans.”

“Yeah, and I’m your family, so those plans now include me,” Topper said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. “Besides, I’ll bring food.”

Across from you, Pope was already gagging dramatically, holding his stomach as if the mere sound of Topper’s voice made him physically ill. 

“I don’t know if—”

“See you at noon,” he interrupted. “Later!”

The call ended before you could even argue, and you set your phone down with a resigned sigh. 

“Looks like I’m hosting a one-man Topper pity party,” you said, crossing your arms and slumping back in your chair.

Pope clutched his chest. “Will you survive?”

You only left once the sun dipped lower into the horizon, you gathered your things promising Sarah you’d drive safely and talk to her tomorrow.

Cleo, Pope and John B were mid-argument about the best way to fix something in the shack. You felt lighter than you had in weeks.

With a few more quips exchanged and goodbyes said, you walked back to your car. That night, the ache in your chest wasn’t completly unbearable. You weren’t okay, but you weren’t drowning, either.

You’d been terrified of this afternoon all day, worried you’d stick out like a sore thumb or say the wrong thing.

But the Pogues hadn’t cared about your awkwardness, your polished self, or even the giant invisible cloud you carried everywhere these days. They let you just be.

The drive home was quiet, but this time you even hummed along to a song on the radio, which was strange because you couldn’t remember the last time you cared about music or even turning on that thing. When you pulled into the driveway and stepped into your house, it didn’t feel as cold and empty as it did last week.

You set your bag down on the entryway table and kick off your sandals, the floors cool beneath your feet. Heading to the kitchen, you decided to see if there was anything decent for tonight’s impromptu early dinner with Topper. The fridge greeted you with a sad bag of lettuce, half a bottle of sparkling water, and a single container of leftover pasta you weren’t sure was still edible.

“Great,” you muttered, closing the door and moving to the pantry.

The situation there wasn’t much better. Sarah’s latest health-kick contributions—a bag of chia seeds and some organic trail mix—laughed at you from the top shelf. You frowned, pushing them aside to reveal a dusty box of crackers and a jar of Nutella.

“Guess we’re going shopping tomorrow,” you murmured, grabbing the crackers and Nutella to snack on now.

You placed them on the counter and glanced around. The sink held a few dishes from earlier —a couple of coffee mugs, a bowl, a plate.

You sighed, rolling up your sleeves, might as well get this out of the way.

Normally, you’d have had someone else to take care of this—stocking the pantry, cleaning the dishes, even deciding on the menu for your lunches. But lately, you’d been scaling back. You hadn’t let anyone go, of course. You could never do that; the staff had been with your family for years, and many of them felt more like extended family than employees. Still, you’d quietly rearranged their schedules, giving them more time off.

They didn’t question it—probably thought it was some new phase, another eccentricity of a bored, privileged young woman.

Truth was, you liked doing these things.

Focusing on something small, tangible, gave your brain a break from drilling itself into a million dark corners. Folding laundry, washing dishes, even the routine of chopping vegetables—it kept your hands busy and your thoughts manageable enough. It wasn’t that you’d suddenly become a domestic goddess or anything. Most of the time, you’d forget to pick up groceries or burn whatever you tried to cook.

It wasn’t about being good at it. It was about doing something.

You looked around the kitchen, noting the little imperfections you wouldn’t have noticed before. A small water stain on the counter from where your glass had sat too long, the scuff marks on the cabinets where your chair scraped when you leaned back. They weren’t problems to be fixed—they were just signs of life.

And right now at that very moment, life felt…okay.

The house didn’t seem as cold or empty when you were doing things for yourself, even if it was mundane work. You finish up wiping down the counters, glance at the time—definitely cutting it close—and head toward the dining room to tidy up a bit.

Topper was not the type to notice if the place is spotless, but you always liked things to look... presentable, yourself included.

You heard the doorbell ring in the distance, he was early as usual, probably checking his watch just to make sure he wasn't a second late.

"Of course he’s early," you muttered to yourself, a little smirk pulling at your lips.

You walked towards the front door, ready to greet him, but when you opened it, your eyes immediately locked onto the large takeout bag in his hand. It smelled... amazing.

Topper grinned at you, an exaggerated flourish as he held up the bag.

“Guess what I brought?”

“You brought... Korean chicken wings? Really?”

“Hell yeah, I did!” He stepped inside, completely ignoring any formalities and heading straight toward the kitchen, “They just opened.”

He placed the bag on the counter with the confidence of a man who knew he’s just won “Best Dinner Host” without even trying. You peeked inside, the crispy wings drenched in a glossy, sweet-spicy sauce that looked downright delicious.

Topper laughed and took a seat, pulling out the wings, not even bothering with plates. “You’re welcome.”

You rolled your eyes but sat next to him, picking up a wing, the heat of it still making your fingers tingle. The crispy exterior cracked open with a satisfying crunch as you bit into it. It was everything you'd hoped for—tangy, spicy, perfectly cooked. You nearly moaned in pleasure, not even caring that your cousin was watching you with that cocky grin on his face.

“You look like you’ve seen the light,” He teased, leaning back in his chair as he grabbed a wing of his own.

“I mean,” you said, savoring another bite, “this might make up for you barging in uninvited.”

“Barging?” He clutched his chest dramatically, mock offense radiating from every inch of him. “I'm saving you from a night of sad dinners, and this is the thanks I get?”

You gave him a pointed look, but the corner of your mouth tugged upward despite yourself.

“Fine. Thank you, Topper. You’re the hero of the day. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” he said, grinning as he reached for another wing. “What’s new? Still slumming it with my ex and the Pogues?”

“First of all,” you said, wiping your fingers on a napkin, “slumming it implies I’m suffering, which I’m not. And second, Sarah’s not a pogue. She’s pogue-adjacent.”

“Pogue-adjacent?” He snorted. “You’ve been spending too much time over there.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” you shot back. “You basically live at Kildare Brewing these days. That’s like, one pogue away from full assimilation.”

He opened his mouth to argue but then stopped, realizing you had a point. “Okay, fair. But only because they have good beer."

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you should even bring it up, but curiosity got the better of you. You hadn’t heard about her in a while, and you knew by experience, that was never a good thing.

“So... Ruthie,” you started, watching him over the rim of your glass as you took a sip.

Topper paused mid-chew, looking up at you like he wasn’t sure he wanted to have this conversation. “What about her?”

“I mean, you two are still together, aren’t you?”

He wiped his hands on a napkin. “We’re… not talking right now.”

You tried not to look pleased, but a rush of vindication bloomed in your chest. You'd grown to hate her, plain and simple. Her recent proximity to your cousin had always baffled you. He wasn’t perfect, but surely, he could do better. 

“I’m surprised.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, reaching for another wing. But then he stopped, like whatever he was thinking was messing with his head.

“What happened?” You asked, trying to sound more curious, concerned, than nosy.

You weren’t sure if he’d tell you, but the look on his face made it clear something big had gone down.

He hesitated, debating whether to answer. Finally, he sighed. “She... started a rumor about you.”

Your head jerked back in surprise. “About me?”

“Yeah,” he grimaced like he’d swallowed something sour. “She said you passed out at the beach cleanup and decided to spread some bullshit about you doing drugs.”

You just stared at him. “She what?”

You weren’t sure why you were so surprised.

You knew what she was capable better than anyone, especially when she was bored out of her mind.

“I didn’t believe it,” he added quickly, his tone defensive, as if that made it better. “I told her to shut the fuck up about it, but you know how she is. She thought it was funny.”

“Funny?” Your voice was sharp now, “She thought it was funny to spread lies about me? About drugs? What the fuck?”

“Yeah, it’s so messed up. That’s why I’m not talking to her. I told her if she couldn’t act like a fucking decent human being, we were done.”

You blinked, stunned.

You weren’t sure what shocked you more—the fact that Ruthie had stooped so low or that Topper had finally stood up to her. You shook your head, biting back another nasty comment about how awful she was. You’d been saying it for months, and he hadn’t listened.

No point in beating a dead horse now.

“It’s about time you saw what she’s really like. She’s really bad fuckin’ news, Top. Always has been.”

He gave a low grunt, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the counter. “Yeah. Took me long enough, huh?”

You didn’t answer, just raised an eyebrow and sipped your water.

“She’s always been weird about Sarah,” Topper muttered, almost to himself. “Even when we were together, she’d find these ways to dig at her. Like that one time at Midsummers—”

“—When she ‘accidentally’ spilled her drink on Sarah’s dress,” you finished, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, I remember. She’s always had this thing about trying to one-up her. Honestly, it’s so pathetic. But you never listen to me, so.”

“Okay, ouch.” He threw a crumpled napkin at you, which you easily dodged. “I listen to you sometimes.”

“Do you, though?” You gave him a pointed look.

“Yeah, I do!” Topper protested, though the whine in his voice made him sound more like the teenager he used to be, back when he’d follow you around during family holidays like a puppy. “Just… selectively.”

“Selective listening isn’t listening, dumbass. You’re just proving my point.”

He narrowed his eyes at you but didn’t answer, reaching for another wing instead. He took a bite, chewing dramatically, as if the exaggerated crunch would somehow end the conversation.

“Look, I’ve been saying for months that Ruthie’s bad news. Since she showed up at last year’s Christmas party wearing a dress identical to Sarah’s, just in a different color. You thought that was a coincidence?”

Topper groaned, dropping the wing. “Okay, fine, you’re right. Are you happy now? Can you stop rubbing it in?”

You grinned, propping your chin on your hand.

“Oh, I could. But what kind of older cousin would I be if I didn’t remind you how often you’re wrong?”

“You’re not that much older than me.”

You shrugged. “Old enough to know better than to date someone that awful.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a genius. I get it.” He looked over at you again, his gaze softer, this time, “But seriously, you’ve been off lately. If there’s something going on, you can tell me, y’know? We’re family, even if I don’t listen to you half the time,” he added with a small smile, though his eyes were searching, hoping you’d let him in.

It would be so easy to tell him the truth—that you were pregnant, scheduled for an abortion in six days, and drowning in uncertainty and dread.

But he was still Rafe’s best friend, and the risk of this ever reaching him was too high. Instead, you forced a lightness into your voice.

“Nothing I can’t handle. And right now, I desperately need the bathroom.”

He looked at you skeptically, not fooled for a second.

“You’re really okay?” he pressed, his voice dropping to a level that told you he wasn’t going to let this go easily, "I texted and called before, you didn't answer. Thought you were resting from the scare."

You’d been having such a calm, easy time with Sarah, you almost forgot about everything else. The thought of picking up the phone, letting all that anxiety and worry back in, just wasn’t appealing—so you’d ignored his calls, but not on purpose. You were doing him a favor.

You plastered on a smile and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder as you passed. “I promise, I’m fine. Just felt a little light-headed and needed some peace."

His eyes narrowed slightly, unconvinced. “That’s all?”

You forced a giggle, hoping it would sound more genuine than it felt. “Yes, Dr. Thornton. Just needed to eat more or drink water or whatever the fuck it is you’re always telling me to do.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, crossing his arms, watching you closely. “Because you’ve never just fainted before.”

“I guess there’s a first time for everything. Besides, don’t you think I’d tell you if something serious was wrong?”

It took everything to maintain eye contact, your stomach twisting at the lie. He was family, and you wanted to trust him, to let him help you. But you couldn’t. He hadn’t even told you about Rafe and Sofia until you found out by yourself. 

Topper tilted his head, considering you, then sighed and gave a reluctant nod. “Alright, fine.”

“Okay, if you’re done being weird,” You pushed back from the counter, grabbing your glass. “I gotta pee,” you announced casually, as if this was the most normal interjection in the world. The wings were good, but running away was tempting. And also, the pregnancy had made your bladder a ticking time bomb, and you really didn’t want to risk any accidents. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

You offered him one last smile, hoping it was convincing enough. He whined some sarcastic comment about your water consumption as you hurried away, but you barely heard him.

All you thought about was the blessed relief that awaited on the other side of that door.

You didn’t usually spend this much time with Top nowadays—your own tendency to avoid “close” family drama—but tonight had been oddly… nice.

Even if you wanted to wrap your hands around his neck half the time. Even if you hated lying to him. If he’d just pushed a little harder, maybe you would’ve folded, let it all spill right there in the kitchen.

Every time you thought you’d come to a decision, another doubt would take over you, leaving you back at square one. You knew what you wanted, so why was this so hard? 

Topper had looked at you with such genuine concern back there. The “if you need me, I’m here” sentiment was the same one you’d grown up with, the kind of care only a cousin, practically a sibling, could have.

This was hard.

When you came back into the kitchen after taking your sweet time in the bathroom you immediately noticed something was off.

Topper was by the counter, staring at the half-eaten pile of wings by the table like they’d personally offended him. He looked paler, too—almost like he’d seen a ghost.

“Uh…” You stopped mid-step, furrowing your brow. “What’s with the stupid face? Did the wings betray you or something?”

He jolted slightly, as if he hadn’t even heard you come in. “What? No. No, the wings are fine. Great. Amazing, even.”

“Okay…” You gave him a skeptical look, setting your glass down and crossing your arms. 

Topper laughed, but it was this oddly nervous, stilted sound. He glanced at his phone, tapping the screen for no real reason, then shoved it into his pocket.

“You know what, though? I totally forgot—I have something planned. Like, super important. In about… ten minutes.”

You stared at him, unimpressed. “You forgot you had plans? Sounds fake, but okay.”

“So unlike me!” He got up from his chair with such sudden energy that it made you take a step back. “Anyway, I should really get going. Don’t want to be late. Uh, thanks for… hanging out. And for, uh, letting me use your wings as a form of therapy. Yeah. Later!”

And with that, he was sprinting for the door.

“Topper!” you called after him, confused and mildly annoyed. “What the hell is going on? You’re acting fuckin’ weird!”

“Nope, not weird! Just busy!” he shot back over his shoulder, not even looking at you as he opened the door.

You didn’t have time to yell at him before he disappeared out the door, the sound of his Jeep starting up echoing from the driveway a moment later. You stood there bewildered, staring at the now-empty doorway.

Something was definitely up. He was many things—dramatic, stubborn, occasionally insufferable—but shifty wasn’t usually one of them.

You went back to the kitchen, glancing at the counter, ready to brush off his weird exit as just another of his dramatics, when your eyes landed on a random envelope— the one you’d been using to scribble down everything lately. 

Extra small grocery lists, reminders, and, unfortunately, the number for the abortion clinic.

Rafe’s fingers curled loosely around the tumbler of bourbon, eyes set on nothing in particular. The lunch rush was winding down, country club regulars filing out.

He’d been there for over an hour—first, the meeting, listening to those finance guys ramble on about numbers, projections, all that bullshit he usually liked to hear. 

He’d faked his interest well enough, but his mind had been miles away. Mostly thinking about you. And the company, of course, because that was his priority right now. Or, it should be.

The whole thing with you, three days ago, it was a slow-mind-burning headache he couldn’t ignore, even if he wanted to. And he had wanted to, tried to, in fact.

He took another slow sip, hardly tasting the bourbon. Across the room, Sofia was working between tables, balancing trays and forcing her best country club smile.

All he saw when he looked at her was you, it only made him force down another swallow, running his thumb over the rim of the glass, mind somewhere between the company projections and the mess he’d made of things with you. 

It was ridiculous that you were still in his head. He should be thinking about that deal, about locking down his place in the Cameron empire. 

Rafe pushed the glass aside, signaling for the check when something caught his ear—a conversation from a nearby table.

“Yeah, she actually passed out the other day. Pathetic.” The voice was loud, sneering.

A dude’s voice followed, fake sympathy dripping from his tone. “I heard she was a fuckin’ mess after the whole breakup.”

“Oh, totally.” A different girl laughed, high-pitched and cruel. “She’s probably on something. Can you blame her? I’d be desperate too if he dumped me.”

It didn’t take a fucking genius to know who they were talking about. Small town and all, of course, things got around, mostly turning into half-truths and petty rumors.

He stopped all his movements, jaw clenching. His fingers tightened around the edge of the table, the only thing keeping him from breaking something, preferably bones.

They were talking about you. 

About some made-up version of you, the fact that these spoiled, airheaded brats thought they could shit talk about you like that, rip you apart for fun just because you weren’t there to defend yourself made him sick.

He pushed his chair back and stood, crossing the room with long strides. He didn’t care about the eyes following him as he walked up to their table, the laughter stopping the moment they looked up and saw the look on his face.

“What did you just say?”

The girl who’d been laughing, a petite brunette with too much makeup and a self-satisfied smirk, blinked up at him, her smile faltering.

“Oh, Rafe! We didn’t see you there. We were just…joking around,” she stammered, trying to backpedal.

“Joking?” He laughed, the sound making them flinch. “That what you call it? Spreading some bullshit rumor because it’s all your pathetic little lives have to offer?”

The brunette’s face went red. “I mean, we all heard about it. I’m just saying what everyone’s already thinking—”

His fists clenched and his patience, already thin, snapped the second he heard the guy—one of those trust fund preps with an overdone tan and a too-tight polo—chime in.

“Oh, come on, dude,” the guy smirked, leaning back in his chair, feigning nonchalance. “It’s not like she’s worth all that trouble, is she?”

His entire body went rigid, and before he registered it, he was leaning down, letting them feel the weight of his glare.

“Say that shit again,” Rafe taunted him, something almost amused twisting at the edge of his mouth, daring him to keep talking. “I’d love to hear you repeat yourself.”

“Relax, man—”

He didn’t even let him finish, eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a near whisper, more dangerous than shouting ever could be.

“You think it’s funny? Talking about someone who’s not even here to defend herself?”

The guy’s face paled, and Rafe swore he was seconds away from landing a punch, from wiping that smug grin off his face. Just as he prepared his fist, ready to make good on his threat, he felt a hand on his arm, a small, insistent tug. 

“Rafe,” a soft voice hissed. Sofia. He barely glanced at her, shrugging off her grip.

“Don’t,” he snapped, his voice sharp, dismissive.

He kept his eyes on the guy, who looked more uncomfortable by the second, squirming in his seat.

Sofia’s hand still hovering near his arm, cautious now. “Rafe, come on, this isn’t worth it. You’re better than this.”

She looked scared. Scared of him, scared of the situation. He wasn’t better than this.

He’d never been, and he’d been good enough at lying and pretending for her even to think that.

You would’ve known better.

Fuck, you wouldn’t have wasted time talking.

You would’ve yanked him back by his collar, shoved yourself between him and the guy, shot him that warning glare, daring him to keep pushing you so you’d have to drag him out by force. You always knew when he’d get like this, that edge in his voice, that look in his eye that told you he was seconds away from snapping. You knew better than anyone how to pull him back when he hit that switch.

But you’d never bothered with gentle.

Sofia’s eyes darted around the room, clearly embarrassed, maybe even afraid of drawing attention. He knew this wasn’t fair to her, that she hadn’t signed up for this part of him—the anger, the unpredictability. It wasn’t in his nature to stay silent, to ignore things and walk away. 

He could almost see it—feel it, like a familiar bruise under his skin. You’d shove him hard enough that he’d stumble back, half-pissed and half-shocked. You’d get in his face, not even close to scared, cutting through his spiral. “What the hell is wrong with you, Rafe? You wanna end up in jail over some loser? Grow up.”

If you’d been here, you wouldn’t have given him a choice. You’d have grabbed his arm and dragged him away, kept a grip on him until he’d snapped out of whatever dark place he’d dropped into. You’d push him until he finally let go, forced him to come down from that blinding fury and face the mess he’d just caused. It was the only way he’d ever been able to listen—when you pushed him to wake up, forced him to look at himself and see just how reckless, just how stupid he was about to be.

But Sofia? She had no idea. 

She thought saying “you’re better than this” was going to do anything, that with a light touch and some empty words, he’d suddenly be calm, reasonable, soft. 

But he’d never been that way, never with you, never with anyone.

She hadn’t done anything wrong; she’d just seen the version of him he’d wanted her to see. The version he’d put together, patched up and polished, all so he could convince himself he was something he wasn’t.

With her, it was easy to pretend. He could smooth his sharp edges, show her just enough of himself to keep her interested without letting her close enough to see the mess underneath.

He’d let her believe he was the kind of guy who could just calm down, let things slide. The kind of guy who’d listen. He’d wanted her to believe he was controlled, calm. Sofia’s softness had appealed to him, but now, it only highlighted the differences between them.

With you, he’d never had the luxury of pretending.

You’d seen through him from the start, never let him get away with putting on some act.

You hadn’t let him pretend to be better than he was, hadn’t let him off easy when he’d tried to brush things off or shut down. You knew every side of him, even the ones he’d rather ignore. You’d always known exactly who he was, who he wasn’t, and you’d never been afraid to remind him.

He didn’t want to let it go, didn’t want to give the guy an inch of leeway to think he’d won this. Rafe sighed and released his grip, his hand falling from the table as he finally stepped back. Sofia relaxed, giving him a relieved smile, but it only made him feel emptier. 

“You talk about her again and I’ll fucking kill you, you hear me?” 

The guy sputtered, looking down, embarrassed and shaken. He muttered something under his breath that sounded like an apology, but Rafe didn’t care enough to hear it.

Sofia’s hand was still on his tail when he left, and as soon as he walked out of earshot of the table, she followed him, crossing her arms. Her eyes narrowed with an expression he’d never seen from her —disbelief. 

“What was that?”

Everything.

Rafe didn’t speak. He was staring past her, back at the group, mind far from the confrontation and miles away with thoughts of you. She seemed to notice, her lips pressing together.

“I can’t believe you did that. You threatened to kill him, Rafe. Over what, a stupid rumor?”

A stupid rumor? She was making him feel like he was out of control, irrational—even though he couldn’t explain why this mattered so much.

“You wouldn’t get it. It’s not your problem.”

She flinched a little, her face falling, but to her credit, she didn’t look away. “You’re right. I don’t get it. Tell me.”

He wanted to believe that it could work with Sofia.

Nice girl, pretty too. She laughed at his jokes, and she didn’t call him out on his bullshit, because she didn’t even know that side of him existed. On paper, she was perfect. But she wasn't you.

He looked back at her, her worried eyes scanning his face.

It was frustrating—seeing the fear, feeling her judgment when she didn’t even know what she was judging.

To her, this was just some meaningless outburst, something he could turn on and off at will. This wasn’t her fault. He knew that. He hated how this wasn’t something he couldn't put into words, not in any way that would make sense to her.

“Forget it, alright?” his tone was harsher than he meant.

Sofia shook her head, clearly not willing to let it drop this time.

“Why would you get so worked up over something like this?"

To her, that’s all this was—just noise, harmless, inconsequential. 

She looked up at him expectantly, her brows furrowed in confusion, waiting for some reasonable answer.

And it pissed him off, how she kept waiting, expecting him to offer some calm, measured response when he didn’t even understand it himself.

Sofia’s eyes softened, but it only irritated him further.

“She’s nice,” Her words drifted out casually like she didn’t know she’d just cracked him open. “She defended me, last week, when I was serving brunch.”

He couldn’t stop the self-loathing.

You had always been that way—ready to defend anyone, even when you were the one hurting. Rafe winced, hating himself for it, hating that you could still be so good even after everything. He swallowed hard, keeping his expression blank.

“Did she?” he muttered, trying to sound indifferent.

“Yeah,” Sofia replied, watching his reaction with mild curiosity. “Guess I wouldn’t have expected that.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched, that familiar hurt in his chest.

His mind was already conjuring all the times you’d jumped in, backed people up, and called out anyone who crossed a line. Even when it came to people you barely knew.

It made him feel like the worst person in the world, knowing that you’d been there for Sofia of all people, that you’d shown her that same loyalty. It made him hate himself even more.

His phone buzzed, saving him from the inevitable conversation, his hand brushed the side of his face as he glanced down at the unknown number flashing across the screen. He didn’t hesitate, before swiping the answer button.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Cameron, this is Dr. Harris from the hospital,” the voice on the other end said. “We’ve been trying to reach Miss Thornton about the blood work results from her visit three days ago. Unfortunately, there’s been an issue with our system and a few patient’s data has been deleted, except for the emergency contact information.”

Rafe’s stomach dropped.

He was still your emergency contact, not by choice probably. The hospital was calling about your blood work.

Was something wrong?

His blood ran cold. “Is she okay? Did something happen?” The urgency in his tone made Sofia’s eyes widen again, her confusion growing.

“We’re concerned about a possible infection. We need to run more tests to rule it out, but the symptoms suggest it could be more complicated. We must check thoroughly to be sure.”

“An infection?”

“Yes, but it could be nothing serious. We just need her to come in as soon as possible for a follow-up,” Dr. Harris explained.

There was a pause as if he expected Rafe to say something reassuring or offer to pass on the message. 

Sofia’s brows knitted together as she watched him. “Rafe?” 

“I’ll tell her,” he said, the words cracked in his throat. The doctor thanked him and hung up.

He stared at the phone waiting for it to ring again with more news, a reassurance that this wasn’t as serious as it sounded. 

You probably hadn’t changed your emergency contact because it slipped your mind.

He couldn’t stand the idea that something could be wrong, and he was not the one you called when you needed someone. All he’d ever done was mess things up between you.

“What’s going on?”

How the fuck was he going to tell you when you'd blocked him everywhere?

He couldn’t call, couldn’t text, couldn’t even show up unannounced without risking the usual argument that would end with you screaming at him to get out, or worse, you looking at him with that unforgiving stare.

He knew you’d locked every door, bolted every window to keep him out, and he deserved it. 

“It’s nothing,” he said, the lie slipping out automatically. He could feel her studying him, waiting for another explanation he also didn’t have the patience to give.

Maybe Topper could help.

The irony wasn’t lost on him—he’d given your cousin the mission of checking in on you, playing the careful messenger while Rafe kept his distance. That was supposed to be him.

But the reality was you hated him now, hated him enough that Topper was a safer option and yet, the private information still landed on his lap. As if he still had the right to be in your orbit, let alone the person trusted with this kind of news.

It felt wrong.

He knew you were going to hate him even more for still having access to your private details. It wasn’t really his fault—the hospital called him. He should have hung up the moment the hospital mentioned your name, told them they had the wrong guy. But he didn’t. He listened. 

“If you need to go—” she started, trailing off when he didn’t answer. Her voice softened, tentative. “It’s about her, isn’t it?”

Rafe’s jaw ticked, and he looked away, out at the horizon where the sun was setting.  “Yeah,” he muttered, not bothering to lie this time.

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard. He typed something out, then deleted it, then typed again.

Finally, he just went with the simplest thing he could think of and hit send.

Can we meet up? Tannyhill in 30. I think I know what’s wrong.

He half-expected some lame excuse or joke from Topper. Instead, the text he got made the deep lines across his forehead make an appearance.

Shit, you do???

Did the fucker already know?

Did he suspect? Or was this just the kind of baited question someone asked when they thought they were the last to know something big?

He frowned, gripping the phone tighter.

If Topper did know, why hadn’t he said anything?

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige

@rafebb @rafesbby @whytheylosttheirminds

@zyafics @astarlights @bruher @nosebeers @carrerascameron

@serrendiipty @sunny1616 @yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog

@psychocitylights @maibelitaaura @kiiyomei

@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

[recreationalfanfics]

"What A Beautiful Family!"

In which you get confused for being a family

Rengoku:

- It happens during a trip to the store in town with his little brother. Maybe it was to restock groceries or maybe it was buying supplies for his next demon conquest, either way: all three of you went down to visit.

- Rengoku smiled softly at you as he watched you with his little brother, holding his hand and laughing with Senjuro and occasionally lifting him up and spinning around.

- At some point during the walk, Senjuro pointed at some birds flying in the tree and begged Kyojuro for a closer look, which Kyojuro happily allowed him to do and put him on his shoulders with a big smile. You helped Senjuro steady himself and laughed at how precious the two looked.

- As Senjuro and Kyojuro debated about what kind of birds they were, you couldn't help but look at Kyojuro with nothing less than love in your eyes and a fond smile.

- "Aw, how precious!" a woman walking past with a basket filled with baked goods cooed at you three, "I'm glad even with demons terrorizing us, people can still have moments like this. Here, have some!"

- At first you tried to decline out of embarrassment but Kyojuro humbly took them and gave one to Kyojuro and handed a pastry to you. You were hesitant but then you took it and graciously thanked the lady, "but also, I feel bad for not paying for these, ma'am. Please, let me-"

- "Don't you worry about it. A beautiful family like you should enjoy a good snack on such a lovely day, especially since your husband's a hashira."

- Rengoku opened his mouth to let out a hearty "TASTY!" but stopped himself halfway when he heard that. You just stared at the lady in flustered shock as she bowed her head and walked away.

- You and Kyojuro shared a look with each other, Kyojuro giving you a nervous yet wide grin and you returned it. Both of your faces felt warm and you were barely able to hold eye contact with each other.

- "Haha, that lady thought you were (Y/n)'s husband! Isn't that funny, big brother?" and Rengoku's gaze softens as you become timid and look down at your feet, "Yes...I suppose it is, Kyojuro."

Tengen:

- You were walking with Tengen and his wives, happy to see him a bit more after his retirement, when you stumbled upon three neighboring children, who played too roughly and were crying their eyes out about it.

- You and Hinatsuru helped them while Suma tried not to cry with the two boys but offered to help and Makio awkwardly tried to calm them down. Tengen just squatted down and told them that it wasn't very flashy to cry, which made you and Hina elbow him.

- Instead of getting more upset, however, all three boys became excited and seemed to recgonize Tengen, asking him if he was the sound Hashira, which seemed to greatly inflate his ego as he said: "Yes but I am also the God of Festivals!"/ "WOW! REALLY!?"

- You and his wives exchanged glances knowing he wouldn't shut up. When they asked if he could tell him a story of the demons he fought, he tried to be all: "Oh, it might be too scary for you kids...BUT WHAT THE HECK- So I was in the Entertainment District which is filled with prost-"/ "UZUI."/ "IT'S IMPORTANT TO THE STORY."

- Anyways, after some censoring, each boy found a home in your lap, Suma's lap, and another sat on Hinatsuru's but leaned their head on Makio's arm. All of you entranced by Tengen's storytelling and prescence.

- "Haha, such an energetic father. Those boys are definetly gonna grow up strong!"/ "I wonder which of those women are his wife?"/ "From the way they're looking at him, all four, probably."

- Tengen's voice suddenly stopped, most likely because he heard what they said, but instead of correcting him, his eyes landed on you. You could feel Hina's, Suma's, and Makio's gaze on you as well and you felt timid...but not uncomfortable. His lips upturned into a smirk and you felt yourself trying to look at ANYWHERE but the attractive faces that were staring at you.

- "Well, what happened next!?" One of the boys demanded, impatient from the cliff hanger.

- "Huh- Oh, right! Anyways, this demon CAME OUT and he was UGLY. Absolutely hideous, like a monster that crawled from under your bed-"

- When the boys finally were called home, you all waved goodbye and parted ways. Leaving you alone with the retired Hashira and his wives, you didn't say anything but the energy felt different as Suma clung to your arm and Tengen walked closer to you, Makio's eyes would stray towards you but timidly look away when you caught her gaze as Hina wished this walk would last forever. Just the five of you.

[gremlingottoosilly]

please more Konig x maid/housekeeper reader

He buys you costumes. Unpractical ones - little bows in your head, frilly skirts. Tiny aprons that barely cover anything, pink cow print. Stocking that gets mudded immediately after you get on your knees to scrub the dirt off. Makes - asks - you to bend over and try to clean up this way, tiny skirt getting over your panties. He wanted to stuff a plug tail in your ass, make you all soft and inviting for him - make you crawl on all fours, get you a headband with cat ears. Force his cock in your leaking pussy, making the floor dirty with his cum. Maybe you'd clean it up with your tongue. God, he would fucking love to see it. He gets you expensive costumes - tailor-made, hugging your curves perfectly. Tight at your tits, kind of short, too much open skin. You don't want to know how he got such perfect measurements, what kind of pervert he found to make something this obscene. He likes to take it off you, fuck you right on the floor - sometimes you whine in his ear, ask him to at least put a pillow under your knees. You don't dare to cockblock him completely, still wanting to get at least something out of your little arrangement. He makes you forget about dusting the shelves, forces you to sit on his face instead - and tips you at least triple the amount of the whole house. Makes the bed for you and lets you sleep in, tugging a blanket over your naked body. You don't when you wake up with his mouth sucking on your tits - he is at least kind enough to ice your nipples latter. Let them become less puffy before making you wear another tight dress. It's not all sex - sometimes he makes you dinner, a snack plate, a girl dinner that he desperately tries to make as pretty as the ones you watch on tiktok. Buys too much cheese and eats it off the whole thing after chopping down a few bits for you. Doesn't know the difference between different kinds of salami, so he just buys the most expensive one. Huge bits of jamon on the plate, adorned with slightly wilted fruits. He likes to feed you, calling you his little bird - doesn't let you wash the dishes after. Pushes you on his lap and turns on some scary movie, kisses your neck between jumpscares. Calls you his wife - you're not sure if you should finally go to the police when he starts asking about the ring, but you let yourself lean in his embrace. Surrounded by his heat, you like to nap at him. Like a big cuddly bear, honestly - you don't hug him, too scared of making him retaliate with sex, but you let him wrap his hands around you. Nuzzle in your hair, and inhale sweet seconds of nothing before his cock makes its way into your panties again. God, whenever this guy is home - which isn't a lot, thanks to his job - it's like he is horny 24/7. You're kinda flattered. You're kinda terrified. Konig kinda forgets you aren't married.

[esthercore]

Thinking of older Fatui men with a young, promiscuous and insatiable lover (Genshin Edition) 18+

Featuring: Dottore, Pantalone, Capitano, Pierro

Cw: Dumbification. free use, exhibitionism, cock warming, tiny body worshipping, pet play, throat training, dacraphyllia

★ ⋮ Dottore ⸝⸝

Is somebody gonna match my freak? No, cause he's ten times worse then whatever the fuck you are.

On the counter, on his table, in his lab, in front whatever abominations he's working on, in the Sumerian Forest to relive his younger years and traumatizing all the aranara, yes sir, you two being fucking 24/7, you wanna be a needy little bitch, my my, he would love to indulge.

Now, he can't exactly just stop his work but that doesn't mean you gotta stop, just lap his balls like a good lil pup, and warm it while he work. And don't you dare try to retreat when somebody walks in his lab, nuh uh, you gotta do your job like a good baby, and focus on him and his cock.

Big on dumbification too, you wanna be little whore and give him those fuck me eyes 24/7? You wanna be a shameless slut humping on his leg when he's working cause you just need it so bad?

Silly thing, you are just asking for trouble aren't ya, getting the big scary doctor addicted to your insatiablilty, unable to focus on his work without his baby pleasing.

God how much he hate when you are doing something else than focus solely on him, and he equally hate when his darling is sad, but he is at the end of the day Dottore, so of course he won't deal with his worries normally.

So, hitting to birds with one stone, he will make sure one way or other to make you his personal fleshlight, constantly pleasuring him and since no thoughts except cock, no sad darling.

Though the jerk sometimes will deny you pleasure or outright attention if he wants in the mood to spice things up. Will lick stains you tears after you fall asleep after crying.

Oh, and despite all the agents in his faction being uncomfortable with the blatant shamelessness of their Boss, and the struggle they go through to not catch a glance of naked you in between his legs, cause that would just lead to their beheading, at least they are grateful that you being there makes him at least a bit rational.

★ ⋮ Pantalone ⸝⸝

Oh he digs it, definitely the type keep you as his sugar baby, his pretty eye candy he likes to stay on his lap during his meetings. Dressing you up in the prettiest jewels and the softest fabrics, his sweet sweet status symbol.

Loves just being with you 24/7, you make up as a fine entertainment, having you hanging around his arm, groping you in front of whoever's talking to him, shamelessly if they are someone below in rank or discreetly if he respect the other person in front of him. But never showing much of your skin, although he loves to show off his darling, their precious body is only for him to savor.

And also the type to not mind if you have a promiscuous reputation, finds it cute even, you are a trained and experienced one, so that just means better quality, might even tease you about, if he can get a good reaction.

But, that doesn't mean he likes when someone else, especially your ex hook ups point it out, especially if you don't like that. The business smile on his face will remain the same except he will have that anime villain black aura around him, that make the latter super uncomfortable. Don't sweat your pretty head if you later found that person wailing in the northern bank, just focus on your lover.

Big on cock warming too, except instead of oral like Dottore he likes to use your warm holes. Not a big fan on keeping you on the floor, kneeling in front of him, you are his treasure, you deserve to be in equal standing. Sometimes during his break he like to lift you to his table, and pleasure you orally, savoring your taste for a good while, as a thank you for keeping him company.

★ ⋮ Capitano ⸝⸝

For the captain it's just another one of your cute traits, his needy little lover he likes to take everywhere. Now especially a much younger lover will make Capitano extra protective of them, hence being the only one who will find your insatiably a bit worrisome, especially concerned with how much he could indulge due to being extremely well endowed down below.

Now unlike the other three, his work is out in the battle fields, and heavy expeditions, and normally he would prefer to keep you tucked in Snezhnaya, but insatiable darling is a special case, where he can't just leave them alone with no one to pleasure which means, he just have you travel with him, wherever he goes next, having at least 10 fatui members as your body guard 24/7, and him carrying you princess style, on his back, whatever fits wherever the carriages during the travels can't go, cause fucking him is a goodbye to your legs.

Now back to Capitano's big dick problem, this man loves to use your mouth, but his dick is so hard to fit in! So before travelling with you, back in Snezhnaya he had you warm his cock for prolonged amount of time, slowly increasing the length everyday, so your throat can accommodate his monster of a cock, till you can deepthroat like a pro!

Also likes to pleasure you with his mouth and fingers, stretching you out before every session, despite how much experienced you are, because his cock will hurt, and he can't have his little darling in pain, that just ruin his own pleasure.

But, that's Capitano on a normal day, cause behind the gentle boyfriend persona, there's a devious monster, which comes out when the adrenaline kicks in, especially after a battle, the second he sees you, he's ripping your clothes up, plowing you like a rice farmer, with his tongue shoved down your throat. This isn't jut sex anymore, it's your lover's need to be deeper inside you, as a person, as if he wanna fuck your soul, desperate to have you in his eternity.

Kinda likes exhibitionism too, gets super flustered if you point out the soldiers outside your tent could probably hear you getting railed and then start fucking you even harder, blessing them with your pretty moans.

No one brings up your past or your inability to walk for few days after they heard you moaning loud enough to wake a village like a chicken, out of respect for the captain.

★ ⋮ Pierro ⸝⸝

He's too old and grumpy to keep up with your bullshit. Try to flirt with him in front of someone and he smack your head. No he's not blushing! Don't point it out, he has he reputation to keep up.

Out of everyone on this list, Pierro will be the one most embaressed to have a lover like this. He has never been the type to around, always been a straight forward man, focused on his work, ethics and goals, even during his days before Khanneria fell. So now having to deal with you it trully is overwhelming for the old man.

Now that doesn't mean he hates it, this man is a simp in heart for real-for real, he just don't know how to show it and has a big enough ego to not try, so yeah, he's tsundere granpa.

Not a big fan of people talking about your reputation, that just pisses him off, you might have a past, but now you are entirely his, and if someone dares mention it, they will disappear from the face of Tevyat.

Also cause grandpa, he fucks the least in the list, but when he doesss. The man fucks nasty, like a rabid animal, making up for all the denial, 10/10 eyes rolling, multiple orgasms, thighs weakening, throat drying by how much he make you scream.

Likes to degrade you for being a desperate whore, calling you mean names till you cry, only to fuck you harder when he start seeing your tears, god this man loves those tears.

Big on pet play too, like calling you his dumb bunny, telling you how you are as simple minded as an animal, as you mouth his dick, earning you a smack as your teeth graze his cock. Once he starts coming out of his shell, he like to keep you in a collar, sometimes even adding a collar to your neck, and just look at you or drag you around.

| Tell me suggestions for other men who fit in this trope (current list: (Genshin) Zhongli, Neuvillette; (HSR) Welt, Blade, Jing Yuan)

[mactavishsgfandwife]

Possessive/Dominant Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley Headcanons 🎀

i don’t know if possessive/dom is the right word but idk 😋 he’s just big and scary and loves his favourite girl sexual references so mdni!

ghost who secretly loves those cute little girly dresses you wear - him in the black polo shirt that hugs around his thick biceps and you in that mini skirt. he loves how sweet you look, seeming so innocent and vulnerable as if you just need a man like him to protect you and save you from those bad men who wouldn’t treat you right. it doesn’t matter that he’s a bad man as well, that doesn’t count. and he thinks you look so pretty with that skirt around you ankles, too. ;)

ghost who will always have a hand on you in public - he needs people to know that you belong to him, that you’re his sweet favourite girl and he’s your guy

ghost who, on a similar note, bought you both matching rings - so that even though you’re not married, and he is away on a mission, you’re still together. he’ll send you photos of him wearing his ring while he’s at work, in the same style photo as this

ghost who idk but this is so him

ghost who is so protective over his little girl… a man comes up to you in a bar and starts flirting, not making much effort to hide his long glances at your body. just as he tries to grope at you, a sleazy smile on his face, a dark shadow swoops over him - a man, more like a giant, with a firm, muscular hand gripping tightly around your waist. military boots, long black cargo pants that can’t quite hide his meaty things (and that bulge between them) with a black bomber jacket draped over one of his broad shoulders. dog tags dangling from around his neck and a full sleeve of tattoos, including numerous black-eyes skulls that started out from his rough skin. this guy was terrifying. safe to say, that creepy guy left you alone.

ghost who has a dedicated album of photos of you on his phone - mostly, he just uses them to look at when he misses you or when he’s bragging to the others about his pretty little bird, but sometimes he likes to use them for other purposes. god, seeing your sweet little face, happy and smiling at the camera… you’re such a good girl for him…

ghost who’s definitely the kind of guy to fantasise about protecting you from danger

just a quick silly one, thanks for reading! xx (I think my love of big protective sexy scary older men shows through way too much here this is very self-indulgent lmao)

[tubbytarchia]

Doc and Jimmy brainrot part 1 lmao oh no

Basically "What if Doc was in the Life games and Jimmy triggered his parental instincts again". You guys will see my vision. I don't care what it takes. You will see this very specific vision I have god damn it if it's the last thing I do

This is all I have to use as propaganda right now but some ideas and justification below cut!!

Been imagining a lot of Doc/Jimmy interactions both in a traffic and HC context, both of which I'd love to draw for but obvs this for now is 3rd life and I want to draw a little something for each Life series. You'll see!!

The general idea is inspired by a moment from one of the Decked Out streams in which Jimmy calls for Etho and Doc's all "you're triggering my parental instinct... I wanna take you into my hand and take you to a safe place" yep that's it that's the whole inspiration!!

Jimmy deserves love and he does get it to various degrees ofc (Tango, Bad Boys etc) but man... It's so fun to me to imagine Doc in traffic, I think he claimed that he didn't want to be part of the life games because he was afraid of being too competitive (or so I heard), but god it's so fun to imagine big scary mad scientist goat man in that scenario and him probably going at it on his own a lot of the time, but this god forsaken mf Jimmy knows exactly how to unintentionally trigger his parental instincts. I want Doc to subtly take Jimmy under his wing especially as Jimmy keeps dying first. So maybe Jimmy is a bit incompetent and loud as far as he knows, but he sees that he's trying his best and the dad in him can't help but intervene just a tiny bit (and I do mean just a tiny bit) as the games go on. Yes I'm just gonna shove Doc into the Life Games just because I wish this dynamic could have happened and I beg you to put up with it!!

For the above drawing specifically since, sigh, I'm slow and that's all I have to offer rn... it's of course 3rd life, starting off. I imagine Jimmy's wings sprouting during that, because the whole "canary curse" began with the Life Games etc. And this post isn't about FH but just for context as I imagine it, Scott who doesn't like unpredictability convinces him to clip his wings (thanks Bree) because Jimmy's not a proper avian (unlike Grian who has a more "airborne" body, bird feet etc rather than just... wings) and he'd never be able to take flight anyway, those wings would only encumber him. (And then Jimmy keeps clipping them himself until DL Ranchers but cough this post isn't about that). I imagine the avians (for my specific roster, just Grian) have their wings magically clipped anyway just enough to prevent flight and make the games fair. Doc ofc isn't avian himself but he knows that Grian greatly frowns upon the act of willingly clipping wings so when he sees that Jimmy's quickly growing wings have been clipped as well, he can't help but ask, because why would that be necessary while his wings are so small anyway? And Jimmy's response triggers a wee bit of fatherly concern in him but thats it for 3rd life woo

For the rest I just wanna draw more tiny moments of interaction until I get to Secret Life, I guess!! The brainrot is really fucking strong guys

[llamagoddessofficial]

Swamp God Skull! I missed him a lot. Do you have any headcanons for when he likes the mc? Sorry if you have done them before. I can't find them, tumblr's search is very bad.

Oh, Anon, I missed him too. Our boggy boy. I'm riding high on inspiration from @desktopdinosaur's art.

For those who came to the party late, the Forest God boys are ancient and scary nature deities, who are in desperate need of someone to give them little kissy-wissies

He's shy. So, so shy. If he likes you and your path regularly takes you through his swamp, he will linger out of sight and watch you, hiding where the fog shrouds him almost entirely and moving between trees so his massive misshapen body is disguised in the maze of twisting trunks.

... Unfortunately, with that hulking body, single glowing eye and thousand-yard-stare, his 'shyness' can come across as unsettling at best and absolutely terrifying at worst. If you don't know he means no harm it's hard not to think he's a monster, and you're being stalked for dinner. Especially with the way he stares, once he knows you know he's there.

You'd think a God would have a little more confidence. But it's just been so long since he engaged with anyone - and especially with anyone he likes. Last time he spoke to a human he didn't hate people still rode around in horse-drawn wagons. What if he botches it? How many more years will he have to wait until he meets someone like you? Hundreds, probably

If you'd like to show him you don't mind his presence, just talk to him. You might not be able to see him, but trust me - if you're talking aloud in his swamp, he's listening.

The first sure sign Skull likes you (aside from the trailing) is that the bog very clearly likes you just as much as he does. You'll hear birds and frogs, you'll see newts and lizards, butterflies and dragonflies. Everything will smell mossy and soft rather than dank and rotten... water flowers will bloom in and around the path you take, sometimes literally filling your footprints from the day before. The whole place will feel so alive, so welcoming. Like your presence is bringing it back to life.

It'll also never be truly dark when you're there. In the day the sun is allowed to peek through the veil of fog, and at night, ghostly blue will-o-wisps light your way home. It probably makes you the only person who can follow the wisps in his swamp and live to tell the tale.

If you keep returning to the bog regardless of him following you, he'll start drumming up the courage to 'flirt'.

... It's mostly in very strange, ancient ways - incomprehensible carvings on trees you walk past, strange trinkets appearing in your pockets, hearing unearthly humming at dusk, your home never suffering from damp/mould, cats following you around. But some of his methods are more recognisably romantic. Like the big, beautiful white water lilies he leaves for you.

He also flirts with fireflies. They're versatile! He can make them hang around you, lighting up your face and eyes, distracting you while he admires how pretty you are. He also finds that humans tend to find him less scary when he has ambling fireflies drifting around him.

He's not got much to woo you with, really. He's a Swamp God, he hasn't got jewels and castles and silks. But he has got some pretty plants. Maybe, once he's sure enough that you won't run away in terror, he'll get the confidence to give you some flowers in person.

A massive ancient fae beast, bending down to offer you a slightly squashed water hyacinth... how could you not reciprocate?

[zombieplaygrounds]

cw: drunk sex, car sex, casual intercourse, not proof read

Simon - a man intimidating on several different levels - did not know how to handle a crying girl. Especially not one of your caliber, drunk, babbling to him about god knows what. All he could do was sip his shitty liquor, stare at you and your group of friends giggling behind you. And of course you just had to blurt out magic fucking words: "Do you think I'm ugly?" He took a moment, not out of hesitance, but consideration; you and your big glossy eyes, flushed face, even the messy hair somehow you-

"No." Simon's voice was a low rumble, and for a moment it comforted you, made you shut your eyes and nod for a bit. Only a bit, before you choked out another sob.

"Then why does he not wanna fuck me?" It was immature, really. Simon shouldn't enlighten your bold behavior, but he couldn't help it. You were cute. But that didn't change anything. You were still sobbing before him, rubbing your face raw of steaming hot tears and drunken frustration. Ruining your pretty face. Simon leaned back for a moment, considering your words. Whoever broke your heart was a real, damn idiot.

Sure, you were a bit whiny, annoying; but it was easily overlooked with how sweet you seemed. Maybe it was the drinks Simon had indulged in himself, because he was actually considering this.

Another choked cry from you rushed him to blurt out his next words, "I'll fuck ya."

Something about your silence said more than words did. God, forgive him for relishing in this small victory - you were a virgin. Evident by your slight hesitance in his words, the flinch, the cute quivering lip like you really wanted it. But you were scared. Smart girl, should honestly know better than to fuck this big, scary man. And still -

"Okay." You nodded, huffed. Your friends by now had wandered off to do whatever the fuck drunk gals do. Looked just about as broken up as you were. Simon chuckled a bit, pocketed his keys, wallet, and offered your hand a place in his.

It was shocking, the moment you felt the scarred callouses along his palms. It made him laugh breathily, "Like it, do ya?"

"Mhm..!" Such a puppy. You practically scooted a snuggle against his arm, wrapping around his muscles while he led you out. Didn't deserve to be fucked in a bar like a common whore; he'd give you the benefit of some privacy with his darkened windows, turn the cooler on so the heat of the moment didn't overwhelm you so much.

You were so compliant, something he'd be sure to correct if this ever went anywhere; couldn't have you seeking cock from just anyone. But Simon understood, poor thing. You needed your pussy to be filled up, and he was willing to help you out. Let you cry on his cock, tighten up just a bit as your arousal drooled down and stained his pants with your fast orgasm.

Your hands attempting to cover your face, which Simon just couldn't have. He'd correct that with a single hand, tightening your wrist in his grip and holding them behind you. His freehand guiding your hips, while he tutted praises against your breasts. Panting roughly, either he was out of shape, or you felt much better than he anticipated.

Regardless, you were reduced to nothing but a mewling bitch. Burying your face against him while be babied you with each thrust. "Poor doll, needed someone to show your place. mm?"

"Don't worry, bird, Simon's gonna make ya feel real good."

[rockatanskette]

So, I've written before about how our relationship with predators would probably intimidate aliens, but I just pictured another way we interact with predators that is honestly just as scary from an outside perspective: we pretend to be predators and even make up new ones, all just for fun.

Now, we also adopt predator patterns for utility: wearing striped makeup for camouflage, imitating roars and bird calls, etc. But I'm specifically talking about the video I just saw from Creature Bionics of creature rigs designed for a human actor to better do motion capture. I'm talking about voice actors and sound designers creating new and terrifying clicks and roars and growls because lions' roars just aren't scary enough. I'm talking about adults dressing up as plush monstrosities to entertain sports fans and children. Gritty is terrifying, objectively.

One day at an early meal, human Janet seems confused when her alien crewmates start asking about a shape-shifting monster that they keep seeing in human culture. They ask her what it's like to live on a world with "dogjons;" animals that can shift from a fan-headed creature with eye-covered wings to an amphibious eel-like figure, humanoid but not human, to a death-pale monstrosity that chases anyone who dares get near its food. Human Janet is confused until they say that the pale figure has eyes in its hands; bloodshot, and glassy.

"Oh, Doug Jones! No, he's not a monster, he's just a really good actor. Too good—the Shape of Water awakened something in me, specifically."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, let's just say the lady 'mating' with him isn't a horror story, it's a fantasy." Human Janet says, like it's nothing. Then something seems to occur to her, and her eyes brighten with what the aliens are quickly learning is mischief. "Oh my god. Am I the one who gets to explain monster fucking?"

Elsewhere, an alien accompanies xis human friend on a day out with their young. There's some kind of show being put on for human youth and Xlibthar is excited for this insight into how humans get Like That. Imagine xis surprise when the lights go up on the entertainment platform and a horde of creatures rushes up. They are large and bright yellow, with big black eyes as dark as singularities, with bright red spots on their heads that clearly indicate venom. Xlibthar shrieks and shields xisself behind Akio and Hinata, sure that something has gone terribly wrong.

"What are those?!" Xlibthar demands, quaking in xis shoes.

"Those? Oh, they're just Pikachus." Akio does not seem even the slightest bit distressed, and five-year-old Hinata is absolutely losing her mind with excitement at the sight of these garish monstrosities.

"What. On Earth." Because this could only happen on Earth. "Is a Pikachu?"

"It's a Pocket Monster. It's a series about monsters that battle with each-other. Pikachu is a mouse that can shoot electricity out of its body."

Xlibthar stares at Akio, wondering if this is an example of what humans call "gaslighting," because keeping monsters in your pockets sounds too insane even for humans. And, "you bring these things around your CHILDREN??"

"I mean, they're not real." Akio puts his hands over Hinata's ears. "They're just people in costumes. Though Nintendo would never let you see one with its head off."

Xlibthar has many questions: why? What? How? What? But one question has been answered: if this is what entertains human youth, it is exactly why Humans are Like That.

[pleaselmhau]

Okay but like husband Simon Riley (and Price too) having a lovely bird who sets up a real romantic dinner. The table is set with the placemats, candles, good silverware and plates. A small speaker off to the side places some enchanting background music. In the center of the table sits a big pot of stew, a hearty meal for a hearty man. The missus all dolled up, welcoming home with an embrace and kiss to the cheeks. His eyes flickering over to the table and his brows raising in question. “Wanted to treat you, you deserve it,” she chimes so sweetly, standing on her top toes to give him a big smooch before excitedly dragging him over to the table. He grunts, barely able to get his boots off first. “Alright, love, it’s not going anywhere, give me a minute,” he says all gruffly, but is pliant in letting her drag him over. He looks down at her bright eyes and beaming smile of pride at her handiwork and can’t help but to affectionately brush his hand over her head and give a kiss to her forehead. “Looks good,” he says, giving her butt a loving pat before settling in his seat.

It’s not until he’s grasping the ladle, pouring a big portion of the stew into his bowl that he notices something off. It smells… sweet. He pays it no mind though, his missus made it so he will clear his plate. As soon as the spoon reaches his mouth though his throat muscles clench and he pauses. It’s… edible he thinks but god does it taste so bad. His eyes lift to meet hers, all sweet and expecting, so he does the only logical thing, “good,” he says gruffly, shoveling the next bite in. He rests his forearms on the table, fully prepared to chow down the stew as fast as possible. She claps her hands together, beaming even more until she takes a bite herself. He watches her smile falter for a moment, even a hint of confusion fill her eyes. He may be a hardened solider, a killer, scary ass bastard or whatever, but he refuses to be a bad husband. His missus is his everything, puts up with all his shit, so yeah, he’s gonna eat the bad stew with smile because she made it for him. Besides he’s had far worst on field. “Unique flavor.” He adds, relieved when she doesn’t question further why he likes it while even she’s questioning what she did to make it turn out such a disaster.

She keeps making it that way though because she thinks he likes it and he just accepts this is the price he has to pay for a happy wife. A small price to pay if you ask him

[lady-ace]

(inspired by Puppetmaster13u's Cryptid AU, please check it out, it's amazing)

(formating inspired by Wonderjanga since i'm extremely new to Tumblr and tought it looked neat)

Inside Fawcett city, creatures of any kind were welcomed and seen as normal. An walking, talking, crocodile? Yeah, that's just Peter. A minotaur sharing a lemonade with an vampire? That's just Jeff and Jasmine.

Captain Marvel, the city's hero, though, seemed human. (or Kryptonian.. but there are records of kryptonite being thrown at him and him being fine if not confused)

Now, imagine if Billy (and thus, Captain Marvel) were cryptids who use magic to make an illusion to fool others into thinking he's more human-like, in an effort to appear less threatening, scary or weird.

His cape? That's his wings. When up in the air, the illusion magic makes them look like they're floating, but they're actually beating to make sure Marvel stays up in the air. When not in use, they fold in his back to appear more like well.. an cape.

When he joins the Justice league, he's oblivious to the gossip mill his teammates created.

Hal: “Dude, i'm telling you, he's not human.”

Barry: “What else could he be, then? Like, it's a given he's at least some type of meta, but what exactly? Kryptonian? An regular human with powers that can rival superman's?”

Diana: (a bit distracted, not paying full attention to the gossip) “My guess would be that he has some connection to the greek gods. He does mention them often. Maybe he's an demi-god himself?”

Hal: (shocked) “You CANNOT just drop that into the conversation and not elaborate.”

//

Oliver: (a bit annoyed) “Batman, could you please tell Robin to keep his pets out of the watchtower? There are feathers everywhere!”

Bruce: “Hmm? I can't see how Robin could have sneaked into the watchtower any kind of bird without me knowing. Could you show me one of the feathers so i could ask him about it?”

(Oliver gets up, a big, white and golden feather in hands, and gives it to Batman)

Bruce: (looking the feather over, thinking how this is too big to have been from one of Damian's chickens or parakeets) “...”

(Marvel, who happened to be passing by, sees the feathers all scattered about, with Batman with one in hand, immediatly gets embarrased about how he forgot the illusion spell breaks when he transforms back into Billy, and thus leaves the feathers behind) “Hey.. sorry, those are mine. I'll clean them up.”

Oliver: “What do you m-”

(Both Oliver and Bruce look over, Oliver obviously very confused)

Oliver: “You own a bird and let it loose on the watchtower?”

Marvel: “Oh, no, no, those are mine. Like.. mine mine.”

(Billy breaks the spell, the illusion going off instantly)

Oliver: "OH! oh, i see what you mean.”

//

Hal: “So, he's an.. bird-like humanoid and uses an spell to look like what we're used to seeing him as?”

Oliver: “From what i saw, yeah, pretty much.”

Barry: “...i owe Cyborg 10 dollars.”

Hal: (sighing) “Same.”

[giuseppe-yuki]

I HAVE A THOUGHT oh btw it's the original wolf!reader anon who's also the anon that sent in the ask about the groupchat hehe ANYWAY BACK TO MY THOUGHT

Ollie's gf is a bear. But not just any bear - a bear CUB. Like she's just a little cub and everyone is like: OLLIE WHY DO U HAVE A CUTIE PIE WJFNEJFJEJJFJD

Paul Aron's gf is a bird that likes to nest in his hair because it's so fluffy

Going down the Prema pipeline now but like - Dino's gf is obsessed with dinosaurs and wishes with all her heart that she can turn into one... And then she finds out that she can turn into a komodo dragon. She goes: welp, that's the closest I'll get!!

I have so much more omg 😭 but yeah too shy to go off anon for now

helloooo wolf!reader anon! i'm always down to chat :)

my thoughts under the cut!

pictures credits from pinterest :)

that would be perfect for ollie's gf to be a bear cub. i imagine she's clingy like a bear cub too, and it would be common for her to just scamper towards ollie when she needs some love, and to crawl up his long legs. unfortunately, more often than not, ollie would end up with the legs of his sparco racesuits and sleeves of his alpinestars fireproofs accidentally ripped up from her long claws. not that he minded, though. he would just pick her up both of his hands and give her a big smooch on her nose. at first, the prema manager in charge of racesuit distribution would be pissed the constant ruined clothing, but like everyone else, she would fall into the loveable bear cub spell and then spoil ollie's gf rotten. ollie has not only protective boyfriend instincts, but also fierce momma bear-like traits too. god forbid someone tries to harm his girlfriend- they always seemed to have their balaclava's ripped up and radio headphones cords cut before a big race!

i like the idea that paul aron has a songbird!gf. many of the f2 drivers joke that paul is like a princess with a feathery friend, just like george russell and his deer. nevertheless, he takes pride when his gf flutters around his head, singing the most beautiful tunes, or when she nests in the fluffy blonde ringlets on his head. when the jokes go to far, he knows that she doesn't hesitate to dive bomb the offending person and attempt to peck at their eyeballs.

it's not a secret that dino's gf loved dinosaurs. her phone case and background are pics of dinosaurs (she makes sure that a polaroid of her boyfriend is visible from her phone case at all times, though), she takes great care in putting up dinosaur string lights around the driver's room, and she knows every line from jurassic park. hell, even her boyfriend's name is dino. when she found out her special ability, she was over the moon. komodo dragons were basically mini dinosaurs! when she went out in the paddock, some people might have found her scaly, amphibious outer layer scary, but dino loved every bit. when he had bit of spare time from racing, he made sure to research every page on google and read every book on komodo dragons from cover to cover to make sure he could best take care of of his gf when she shifted. in return, she used her scary nature (and toxic/venomous spit) to piss off irritating reporters or touchy fans.

not to worry! thanks for the thoughts :) i've seen other blogs do emoji anons, so if you feel comfortable, you can pick out an emoji to use as your signature so you don't have to repeat yourself every time you send in an ask! 💕

[youryanderedaddy]

Bad dog

tw: very trippy and edgy rawr, hinted captivity, hinted abuse, insults, victim blaming

During the coldest nights, as the fireplace tickles your cheeks red, he likes to tell you over and over - with the slightest of smiles, the story of how you two first met. As if you don't remember it. As if you don't regret every second of it.

You with your long raincoat crying, barely coherent, searching for escape, for a savior to run into. Clinging to any stranger who looked kind enough, who had innocent eyes, who wasn't drunk or drugged out of their mind - but in that type of neighbourhood after dark, you hardly met any respectable people. Heavy stench of wet tobacco sinking to the very fabric of your flimsy dress under the cargo (feeling like a whore and looking like one, he often adds with a biting chuckle) - your heart was beating, clapping like a dying bird's wings, and if it could speak with a human voice, it would be screaming. You were being chased.

You don't even recall his name or his face anymore. Maybe an angry lover? A crazed admirer? Your father, drunk and bitter after a fight? Back then you were so terrified you could describe him in your sleep, but now nothing seemed as scary as it did back then. Darkness has become your sanctuary and even the monsters pity you. You were afraid you were losing your mind, once, (don't be silly, he had said. you were crazy from the star, doll.) you could feel his hands on you, but whose hands were they really? Why were you running in the first place?

He was screaming. Threatening to murder you, maybe. You were shaking and wet and you just needed a hug. And perhaps one hundred martinis followed by the most gruesome, toe - curling, humiliating fuck of your life. The type that leaves you feeling filthy, bleeding, and not even in a good way. The type you could control and write down, and fully envision with director cuts and quotes and props, as if come out of your own personal fucked up pink little porn studio.

You needed someone - something. A friend? A kind soul that happened to pass by? You had watched too many movies. You were naive - all those offices, all those mass corporate names, those leather seats at the top floor right next to the big boss, those tears and sweats to climb the ladder and yet, you were still a naive, stupid little girl. Believing in fairytales, in the power of love, tenderness, believing that out there exists someone who might just take you as you are for free. Someone who will hold you without bruising you. Someone who will save you without destroying everything you are. Someone who will fight those fights for you without somehow perversely enjoying breaking down all those walls, all that independence you had created for yourself.

You're not a child anymore. And as you look at the man across from you, with his crazed eyes, with what he thinks is love, you're not sure if you're the naive one. You're not sure if good exists, if love is real or just some commercial bullshit. A lie that communists invented to get free sex, or whatever.

"You looked like a nasty little street rat. You jumped into my arms and I was thinking," He speaks and speaks and speaks, and God, you're tired of hearing. You wish your ears would bleed out before he is finished with the story. "Maybe I should blow your brains out. One less sad whore on those streets." He grips your thighs painfully and you kick him in the groin, but he only groans in return. Freak. "But then you opened that cute little mouth of yours and-"

And you begged him to help you. To save you. To take you away from this miserable life of yours.

"You looked so helpless. I couldn't help myself."

And that's why he decided to chain you like a dog and fuck you black and blue. Because he couldn't help himself. And because you couldn't help yourself, you had invited him. Your body was calling out to him. If you weren't so sad, if you weren't so lonely, so helpless. If you weren't in the wrong place at the wrong time, you wouldn't meet the wrong people. If you had only been a good girl. If you had just stayed put. If you didn't entice bad men - even as a child. Even as you were spilling your guts out, maybe your blood was just that beautiful.

"You basically threw yourself into my arms. It was love at first sight."

Right. It was love all along.

[redflagshipwriter]

Halfa Cass Chapter 8 Part ½

masterpost

Black Bat got back to Gotham well before flying time. She took a shower to get the stinkyman stink out of her hair and apologetically took the green jacket to the wash. Cigarettes. Yuck! 

She joined the family for dinner. Damibat was there, face like thunder and clearly Not Talking to Alfred or Brucedad. Cass slid into her place and gave him a nod. He returned it. Very civil. We are professionals, Cain, you and I and no one else in this dump.

Cass hid a faint smile.

No Timibird. No Jaybird. Those were rarer birds to fly out to Wayne Manor, so she wasn’t too surprised. Just…

Cass readjusted her body language to be fine and normal. She didn’t need her flock family close for comfort. She was fine and normal! Yes, Stinkyman had said that she’d died. Yes. He said that.

(That fits with the pain of the electrical shock and the voltage necessary to short out bat computer, Cass’s Black Bat brain said sensibly.)

Cass hid a shudder.

But he’d also said that there may be no repercussions! As long as she left it alone and did not think about it. She had permission to pretend it didn’t happen. That was the best thing to try. She would eat her dinner and take her nap and then go flying.

Alfie served dinner. Cass caught herself playing with her fork, winding noodles into a secret pattern that might somehow make her feel better. 

“Is there something wrong with your pasta, Miss Cassandra?”

She looked up at him guiltily through her eyelashes and stopped playing with her food. Big sigh. 

“Will Master Timothy be returning to the manor tonight?” Alfie asked Brucedad.

Brucedad cleared his throat and put his spoon down for a moment. “I expect that he might spend the night with his friends in San Francisco,” he said.

Cass read the words beneath the words. Timbird was with the Young Justice friends. New plan. Not discussed. He’d been sent to Amity Park to investigate the laboratory where Cass had

(died. Where Cass had died.)

Been with Captain Marvel. And if he was out all day, it meant he’d found something.

Her heart jumped in her chest. She wanted to ask questions. She wanted to make sure that no one knew. 

Suspicious, Cass told herself sternly. Suspicious behavior. So she drizzled hot sauce on her pasta and ate a big mouthful.

Damibat copied her after a moment. 

Brucedad and Alfie did not wince, but they made their ‘white man thinks spice is scary’ faces. 

Cass quirked a smile. She put a lot more hot sauce. It was too much sauce. It turned the pasta red.

Brucedad made an unhappy sound and deliberately looked away from her plate. Haha. He was thinking: my stomach hurts just looking at that. Oh god, I'm old. Acid reflux. Heartburn. Acid reflux heartburn heartburn-

Bullying her batdad made her feel a little better. How could she be an undead abomination if she was, in fact, a naughty girl? Check and mate, existential horror. Cass finished her dinner and danced to her room on her toes, feeling the music from the last time she had performed on stage. She did a leap for the sheer joy of movement.

Everything still seemed better when she got up from her nap. Cass stretched on the floor beside her bed, and then flopped into a side saddle stretch to happily drink a bottle of green tea. She took it to the kitchen and into the machine for a wash and stole a peek into the fridge to see the after-flight snack. Protein balls! Chocolate and nuts? Cass stole one and fled to the batcave before anyone could see the crime.

Timbird was waiting in the cave on the big screen. He looked very tense. He and Batdad both looked at her when she came down the stairs.

Oh. There was a rock in her stomach. 

Cass beamed at them and flipped off the stairs to land in a gymnast stance behind Brucedad’s chair. “Hi, Timbird,” she said, acting normally. 

“Hi, Cass,” he said, sparing her a tired smile. “I was just telling Bruce how my trip out to Amity went.” She nodded, waiting for elaboration. Tense. “There were fresh tank tracks.” 

Oh. What. “What?” Cass repeated, because it was worth repeating. “Tanks?” She mimed her mind being blown.

“Yes, I figure that you would have noticed if they’d been there before.” Tim somehow seemed even unhappier. “The running theory is that someone was keeping an eye on the place and something about your trip out there alerted them.”

‘Machine. Electricity.’

“Extremely suspicious,” Cass said on rote. 

“Yes,” Batdad agreed gruffly. “There’s no legal justification for that kind of force being deployed in the continental United States and no record that we’ve found for it.”

“Definitely criminal.” Cass hovered for a moment. “Should I help?”

Timbird and Batdad exchanged glances. “I think that I would be best used in the cave tonight on research,” Batdad decided. “I’ll run comms while I’m here. Cass, can you and Robin handle things? There’s nothing in particular going on, aside from the weapons case. Robin has the information on that. We think that we’ve tracked the gang’s mechanic down.”

Cass gave a double thumbs up, more than a little relieved that she didn’t have to do anything related to Amity Park today. “Okay, I find mechanic and beat peace into them,” she said cheerfully. 

“You investigate and observe them,” Batdad repeated, faux-stern. Hint of smile. Naughty kid, tugging at my cape.

Cass nodded just as seriously. “Robin and I investigate, observe, beat until peaceful.” She smacked a fist into her palm.

Timbird snorted. “It sounds like a plan. I’m with YJ tonight, so I’ll log off.”

“Byebye birdie.” Cass waved on her way to the equipment lockers.

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

💕 Moments 💕

Inspired by this scene in s4, with a similar occurrence happening. Lil fic, all fluff. May expand to write more cute moments if my readers want it ❤️🌸☺️ Minors Dni.

Summary; You're crushing on Eddie and it becomes very noticeable much to your friend Maddie's horror and Chrissy's delight.

It also becomes obvious to Eddie who may be a little bit smug with knowing this.

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Eddie was showing off again, it was like clockwork, every school day around lunchtime he would be loud, opinionated and you couldn't help but admire him.

Okay scratch that, you had a big crush on him and spent a night or two at the Hideout when Corroded Coffin was playing to see him shred on his guitar.

It was the hottest thing you'd ever seen.

Your friend Maddie rolls her eyes as you approach the table Eddie is strutting around on.

"Ugh, Munson being a freak again. What's new?" you ignore her, and your heart skips several beats as you approach the Hellfire table.

Chrissy tells her off saying Eddie is nice and not to call him a freak. You knew the two of them were friends and had been for months now.

The rest of the cheer team told you he was "mean and scary" and Chrissy was too much of a sweetheart to say anything.

You just thought they were far too judgemental.

You're so busy watching him that you don't realize that Maddie is talking to you.

"Hello? Earth to yn please?" she snaps exasperated and you come out of your reverie.

"Oh, sorry. Was distracted" Maddie follows your gaze.

"By that freak of nature? He's a loserboy" her mean assessment causes you to snap.

"Would you stop that? He's not a freak or a loser just because he listens to heavy metal or plays dnd it's just a fantasy game" Maddie's eyes widen.

"Oh my god take a chill pill or something why are you so defensive over... Oh my god. Do you have a crush on Munson?" she snorts.

Chrissy rubs your arm smiling kindly and throws a glare at Maddie.

"It's fine if you do honey, you should go for it. I think you two would be cute together" she beams and you know now that Chrissy knows this, that she will play matchmaker.

Eddie jumps off the table bowing to his friends in Hellfire who applaud him and he flips Jason the bird who has been watching Eddie with a scowl on his face.

He smiles as you, Chrissy and Maddie approach and steps back, motioning for the three of you to go ahead.

You chance a look back and he's still staring, there's a cheeky grin on his face and he winks at you.

You struggle to keep the grin off your face and decide to flirt back, why not? He was cute and you weren't going to let any of your friends dictate who you liked.

So you blow him a kiss and his eyes widen, he makes a show of catching the kiss adding an overdramatic flourish which makes you giggle.

Little did you know but that day Eddie Munson walked around with a goofy grin on his face all day, he went back to his trailer with the big smile still firmly on his face.

Wayne assumed it was something to do with his boys band or a new Dnd campaign he was cooking up.

Eddie really was planning how to flirt with you more, maybe you would blow more kisses his way?

All he knows is the most beautiful woman in Hawkins noticed him and that made him a very happy guy indeed.

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