#but they were SUPPOSED to have all the time in the world to fix it

[cyberhughes]

LET ME LOVE YOU #𝒒.𝒉𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒆𝒔

𝜗𝜚˖ ࣪ ִ𐙚 summary pretending to date quinn was supposed to be simple, but as jealousy, comfort and silent longing blurs the lines of an arrangement that was meant to get his ex back, you don't know if you can keep pretending.

warnings alcohol is mentioned ONCE, mentions of a past toxic relationship, self sabotage, that's it i think! wc 761

note requested by my baby girl isa for my 500 follower celly this is literally self sabotage in it's highest form i'm #projecting. anyways i hope this lives to your standards my love... also i rewrote this three times i think help but guys i lowkey am really proud of this one i hope you all enjoy ok bye

"you don't mean that." quinn's voice was laced with dissent as it echoed through your head, and it was impossible to tell if it was the alcohol or the truth that left a bitter taste in your mouth.

but you knew it, he was right.

but he didn't need to know that.

he didn't need to know that when your plan was so close to success. it was a deal the two of you had made, you would pretend to date each other for two reasons; quinn wanted his ex back, and you wanted yours off your back. it was simple, really.

except it wasn't. it stopped being simple the moment you felt jealousy creep in every time her eyes lingered on him, just how they were supposed to. your heart wasn't meant to beat faster at the ghost of his fingertips on your waist as he held you close, seemingly searching for a reaction from her. the way you could know exactly what he was thinking just by looking in his icy eyes was anything but simple.

but it wasn't just you that felt it, and that was the hard part.

you knew quinn was falling too.

his gaze that was once only fixed on her would find itself gravitating towards you. he'd seek you out late at night, when the world was quiet and there was nothing but the feeling of your shoulders pressed side by side, would you comfort in each others presence with no words being spoken, yet everything said. he'd wrap his arms around you—not for show, but to feel you—lingering longer than he should've as her eyes burned holes in his back, but all he seemed to notice was the feeling of your heart beating with his.

he was falling too and that's what made your decision that much harder.

he was right, you didn't mean it when you whispered the words "i don't love you."

maybe it was fear, or that familiar shadow of insecurity that haunts you.

the shadow that would creep onto you, whispering all the reasons that you'd never be enough; that you could never be like her.

you'd never be able to get away from the insecurity that'd haunt you at night knowing the two of you only started because of her.

it would always lead back to her.

your plan had worked. she wanted quinn back, while your ex had found someone new so quickly that it left your stomach twisting, just as quickly as you were falling for quinn like rain falling through the cracks of a broken roof.

"you don't mean that."

you couldn't hold eye contact, knowing that your facade would break the second you did. you couldn't face him, you couldn't face the truth you had spent so long fighting.

"she wants you back, quinn. there isn't a need for us to continue this anymore." the hem of your sweater was ruined as your nervous fingers tugged at the frayed threads.

"i don't even know why you're being like this. it's obvious we have something here-"

"but we don't." your eyes flickered to his, your gut twisting at the way he looked at you, like you were both the problem and the answer.

your bottom lip was turning white from the pressure of your teeth as you tried to keep yourself together.

"why are you pushing me away?" the softness of his voice broke you, it was painfully gentle as he searched for reason. he wasn't mad, and it left you with a bittersweet feeling. he was such a contrast to your ex, who's voice would always be raised as it fought for dominance, never a hint of understanding in his tone.

quinn didn't want to fight with you.

he wanted to fight for you.

you didn't mean to let the tears fall from your eyes, but they came anyways. your ex always called you weak for crying, making you feel like your sadness was a trick to get him to apologize, as if your tears were tools and not truth.

you couldn't even hear the words that quinn was saying, as a storm of insecurity clouded your mind, but the warm and familiar feeling of his arms embracing you steadied you. his hands brushed through your hair gently, as if undoing the knots of your past.

quinn wanted to fight for you, and as you felt the low rumble of his voice grounding you, and his heartbeat syncing with yours, you knew that you didn't mean it.

you'd let him fight for you.

©cyberhughes; do not copy, translate or repost my work without permission.

[echodoctor]

I've noticed a few people take "the Universe leads and we follow" to mean that the Northern Island's spiritual traditions were a more authoritarian kind of faith, similar to something like Catholicism- God hands down decrees and mortals must obey them.

And while that is one way you could interpret that, it's very much not the way I read it when I saw that line.

I do want to preface this by saying I am some extremely white dumbass who knows shit about this secondhand only so please take what I am about to say with not so much as grain as an entire Lot's wife worth of salt, but:

I think the followers of the Universe might have something closer to Taoism going on.

Again, this is something I'm very vague on, but I remember reading that the ideal in Taoism is essentially to be in utter harmony with the natural rhythms of the world around you, effortlessly moving with them instead of desperately struggling against the flow. The world has natural processes: night follows day, decay follows death, the tides come in and out, etc. Understand and accept those processes, and you can float through seemingly effortlessly, because the natural movements of the world are at your back and carrying you forward, instead of something you struggle against.

There's a dynamic that shows up in a lot of classical Chinese stuff between Confucianism (very concerned with things being right and correct and proper) and Taoism, where the Confucian is angrily trying to make everything Work The Way It Should and the Taoist is affectionately teasing the Confucian for getting so worked up, and is having a much easier time because they've accepted the way things already are.

Like, the Confucian walks through a lovely peach grove and keeps getting mad because the trees are shedding leaves all over the path and no one bothered to rake them off, you're supposed to be keeping these paths clear, doesn't anyone do anything around here! The Taoist just has a nice walk and enjoys the peaches, maybe catches a nice ripe tasty fruit right before it falls on the Confucian's head.

I don't think it would be a one-to-one thing, but my personal guess is that the followers of the Universe believed in something similar.

The Universe leads you, in the same way that an ocean current sweeping you out to sea is leading you. That's just the way it is, and you can either struggle against it until you tire yourself out and drown, or you can recognize what's happening and learn how to ride the current to your destination.

This could have both positive aspects (compassion and acceptance towards others, living in peace with the world instead of changing it by violence) and negative ones (sometimes the world really does need to be changed, and you don't just have to accept things that make you miserable instead of working to fix them).

We can see a lot of that negative side in both the King and Siffrin. The King urges the party to be frozen at their happiest moment, because he can't wrap his head around the idea that you could make things even better instead of just being given something and praying you don't lose it. Siffrin falls into the natural rhythm of the script, and doesn't try to fight against what feels the most correct because this is how things are, why would he believe that's something he has the power to change?

(One big difference here is that Taoism also believes that change is one of the fundamental forces, that the world is constantly changing, whereas I think the Followers of the Universe would probably be a kind of narrative foil for the House of Change in canon, just for story purposes.)

(Sometimes things need to change, and sometimes you need to accept them. A healthier outlook probably finds a good balance of both.)

When the Change God tells Siffrin that his god "will never really talk to you", I wonder if a follower of the Universe who remembered more about their beliefs could have argued back that their god never stops speaking?

Through the flight of birds, the movement of clouds, the beating of your own heart- the Universe is speaking all the time. To live is to be in constant conversation with it.

It's fun and all the think the universe is being mean to Loop and Siffrin but tbh I like to think the universe is more apathetic than actively malicious. Real "a universe that doesn't care but people do" type of deal.

The universe is hard to grasp or even personify. According to the change god the universe can't even talk to its followers. It's so massive and incomprehensible it just can't.

Like... imagine you had to do something for one of the like octillion atoms that make up your body. You don't know this thing, you don't know it's situation, not really. It's kinda hard to pay attention when you're busy being... well perpetual existence. But it becomes just loud enough to hear. Hurts just enough to feel. But instead of squashing this thing like a bug you give it a crumb and simply move on.

But that also makes the whole "The universe leads and we must follow" philosophy very hilarious. Like the universe does NOT know what the little specks on this single planet are doing just like we don't notice how our cells move around in our body.

The universe isn't leading shit. It's giving you the tools to do it yourself. It's like when you ask your mom to drive you somewhere and she just hands you the keys and says don't wreck the car, except this "mom" doesn't comprehend that its kids aren't even old enough to drive (aka can't handle godly powers like timecraft)

[crispy-art-on-fire]

How bad would sg soundwave or bumblebee crash out if they ever see the canon? Universe

Well if they become aware there is another universe where things are better I think would just comfort Soundwave. He is basically living in the worst timeline ever so knowing there's a world were things aren't perfect but they are alive and with loved ones it would make him ache for such times. Goldbug would be so unbelievably envious that somehow Bumblebee hadn't screwed everything up yet and he'd curse it was unfair that his Shockwave was the one to die.

If they actually opened their eyes in normal adoption au then Soundwave is basically on vacation, no war to worry about, no murderous big brother, all the people he cares about is alive and though fundamentally different he still sees the people he knows in their shadows.

Goldbug would be happy the first couple minutes but then the fact that it's not the people he knows would sink in. They're all too wrong for him, Shockwave isn't supposed to have a detached view of the world he's supposed to be an emotional crybaby. The need to fix things and make things right would probably make him snap and try to force people into the roles they had in his universe.

[colemorrison]

ᴅᴀɴᴄɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴄᴀɴᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ (GN Reader)

INCLUDES : Vander Viktor Silco Jayce Mel

Vander :

Dancing with Vander always changed the mood for the better, he was warm, it felt safe to be with him. He was much bigger than you, so he could guide your movements with ease, though he knew you sometimes liked to control when you both spun or which one of you bowed.

He didn't mind who did what as long as it was with you, sometimes the kids would dance around you two, making it harder to stay in one spot as they were clumsy and tended to bump into you more often than not.

"You little rascals are supposed to be sleeping."

You tried but the kids were smart, they knew how to pipe back to get their way.

"Not fair we have to sleep while you two laugh louder than anything else."

Vander smiled, twirling you into a dip before you both shared a small kiss.

"Ewwww"

Each one of them whined but couldn't help the laughter that escaped them.

Viktor :

It's hard for him to move as is but he enjoys trying, for you. He'd do anything if you asked, he's far from perfect but it's hard to be perfect in a world like this one. Topsiders being hated, under city folk being treated as if they were scum.

"Viktor, how bad is the pain today?"

You asked a pleading look in your eyes, you had something you wanted, and already he found himself wishing to lie to make you feel better, to give you what you wished.

"What is it you need love?"

"I want to dance, you can lean your weight on me. Put it all on me, I can handle it."

He chuckled softly, setting his cane aside, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, he could handle pain if it meant seeing that healing smile on your face.

Silco :

He was busy, work had to be done after all, he was running it all. But Silco knew better, today was important to you, it was the one day you both were.. More free than usual which means you deserve his attention, and he wanted to see your face flush at least once before work took over again.

"Darling."

Silco's voice was gentle, the deep gravelly tone was comforting, it reminded you of the countless nights he helped you calm from the nightmares and thoughts you wished never surfaced.

"Hm? I was thinking I could just sit in here while you work? I know you're busy."

You watched him walk over to you, slender fingers reaching out for your own to lace together. As you rose, his free arm wrapped around your waist a soft sway enveloping you both.

"I am free enough to be yours for a bit."

Jayce :

"We made good progress today I think I can sleep properly tonight."

He spoke as he closed the door, the sweet smell of caramel filling the room, it was one of his favourites. You tended to light the candle when he was gone for long periods of time, which was often.

"Babe?"

Jayce whispered in case you were asleep or working but the soft music and sweet scent led to your dancing body. Weaving through the air as if you were a bird who finally got their wings back. For a brief moment he watched but couldn't help himself so he came to dance next to you. His movements were much less graceful but the laughter you two shared fixed any wrongs in the moment.

"I missed you."

"I know."

Mel :

Fancy gatherings were not your thing, to put it lightly but Mel had begged you to go. Well she convinced you pretty easily actually, she had a tendency to be persuasive when she wanted.

"There you are dear. Chin up, we can dance together."

At first you both danced together, a waltz before you both got a little careless and danced around each other. Soft whispers were shared between you two, foolish confessions and claims of love spread around you both.

"Does this make up for the fact you're forced to be here my dear?"

"Seeing you happy makes it worth it."

[chaoslifeforme]

The blurb shared is fascinating. It's like I felt what Davrin and the creature did.

Tag to anyone seeing this that's not already tagged and gets an idea from any part of this post.

I originally did think of how it fits my Rooks (especially Veryl), and I may write a little something about them... someday, maybe. However, it's Davrin week, so I hope it's okay if I just talk about how fitting the lyric is for in game Davrin.

Major Spoilers for the game of course:

"I'm prepared to sacrifice my life, I would gladly dot it twice"- from the song "Mercy" by Shawn Mendes. Even from the most general look, the preparedness asserted in the lyric is a third of the wardens motto. "In Death Sacrifice" say the wardens, reminding themselves in every refrain of what they are working towards. The song repeats it too. The singer and the wardens drill this idea of their own mortality being a tool to maintain their nobility. No one shows this better than Davrin.

Davrin needs a specific purpose. The wardens gave him that and he's itching to give back not just to the wardens but also to the world. Even when he becomes more disillusioned with the wardens later in the game he's still embodying that core belief. The moral checkmate of being so certain of your cause that you are willing to die for it. Davrin literally tries to die for it at least twice in game. Three times if he leads the distraction team. (You know what they say, third time's the charm... ouch, we cry).

The first time where Davrin tries to save everyone at the expense of himself in game is at Weisshaupt. He has a banter with whatever companion Rook brought with them about how ready, "prepared" he is to do the right thing. We can't really argue it's the wrong thing to do, because it seems the only way anyone left survives. He nominates himself to lose everything to save everyone, since there's no way out. The noblest of sacrifices. A purely good motive of trying to save not only the remaining wardens, but also the whole world. There is truly no better way to go. Even if the sacrifice cuts deep and he tears up about leaving Assan, he is fulfilling his purpose.

Davrin is also a man who watched the symbol of the purpose he dedicated his life to (Weisshaupt) being destroyed and overrun by the very forces it's meant to stand against. He's lost most of those sworn to work with him. How many of his friends do we think we arrived just in time to watch die? How many of the bodies we ran past were people with whom he argued about who would die so the rest could live? How many demoralizing losses can one man take in the span of minutes/hours? Of course, he would gladly give up this pain. All he has to do is lose a little more and it'll all be over. The world will be slightly better off, and the pain of grief will not be his burden for much longer.

And then the First Warden shows up, and maybe he won't have to lose anymore. Maybe he gets to raise Assan. Maybe Davrin will have to mourn more than just the symbol of his purpose. Except Ghilanain intervenes.

He will actually have to do it, unshed tears in his eyes, sword in his hand, and resolve in his heart. Years of training that built his capabilities and solidified his certainty about his purpose, all leading to this moment. This is what it was all for.

We could count this as the second time he's "prepared to sacrifice his life", say he's already proven he "would gladly do it twice". However, I am counting Weisshaupt as one for my sanity's sake.

So when things don't go to plan when he's still here after all that he's shocked, betrayed, lost and many other understandable emotions. How is he suppose to go on when the fortress, the physical representation of his purpose couldn't. How can one person grieve so many lost? How could Davrin have failed to make the noble sacrifice? It was not supposed to go this way. Was he somehow not noble enough? Something went wrong with his sacrifice. He has to fix it.

And Rook talks him out of that, reminds him he's still needed for Assan. One conversation sure can't fix everything, but he keeps trying. For Assan, for Rook, for all his lost friends.

When another archdemon shows up, this is Davrin's chance to fix it. To fulfill his purpose, to give everything and save everyone. He starts preparing in obvious and physical ways, like working out with Taash, but also in less obvious ways. After Blood in Arlathan, we get the first outing that does not have the excuse of being for Assan. It's just two friends drinking magic/drug tea. He says it's because of Antoine, but what if this is a way to ensure Rook has good memories of him? Or a reminder to Davrin that he's sacrificing more than just time with Assan, he's also losing time with Rook. A way to get as much as he can from life before he goes, for real this time. Something went wrong when he killed Ghilanain's archdemon, but it won't happen again. It will go right this time.

As glad as he is to be filling his purpose, he's also more aware of what he's losing. Weisshaupt was unexpected chaos. The strike against Elgarnan is planned, he can actually appreciate the time before he goes. Once the griffins are rescued, he even tries to see if Assan will leave to join his family. An example of being willing to make slightly smaller sacrifices on Davrin's part. It's also one that could make his later larger sacrifice easier.

Those are the two times where Davrin tries to sacrifice his life for certain in game. He's truly "prepared to sacrifice" his life and he does "gladly do it twice", at least. Without counting the choice. He's a perfect martyr but also a really complex character and I can't stop trying to give him the chance to learn to live without the goal of sacrifice. To live for himself, to build more of his own purpose which we only get to start to see in game.

Thursday Bangers!!

Rules for your Copy and Paste: Free form a blurb or drawing based on the weekly lyrics prompt. It doesn't have to include the prompt just whatever you're inspired to write, write it! Then tag some friends so they can play as well. It doesn't have to be finished on Thursday just post it whenever you can (you have a whole week between Thursdays).

This week we are going a little Warden flavored with our lyric for the upcoming Davrin Week hosted by @datvcompanionweeks. Please consider contributing to their amazing projects even if it's simply be reblogging or reading a work.

Of course your offering doesn't have to be Davrin flavored but you guessed it... mine will be!

I'm prepared to sacrifice my life I would gladly do it twice - Mercy by Shawn Mendes

No pressure tagging @himluv @thedissonantverses @mythals-whore @serensama @whispersleo @tarasmom @hedwigoprah @becausedragonage @kindlyfeline @davrinsleftpectoral @fenrelmercar @plasticfreckles @kai-dimir @teamtakagi @a-mumbling-nerd @fiberpunk027 @larknnightingale @jenn2d2 @hyperions-light @tkwritesdumbassassins @feelslikepants @trash-nerd @cute-ellyna @brennacedria @lottiesnotebook @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @operative-arrow @librivore42 @obsessed-with-book-boyfriends @fireheartedpup @mikylechase @bonesandivy @vime5 @notyourmamasdeerbat @griffongrey @master-of-the-elements @chaoslifeforme @carrieing0n @lotusrhys @serstolas @beachhotdog

And if you are reading this...

You

Reminder if you want to be added/removed from the weekly tag list just let me know. Also please tag me when you post your bangers I love to read and share them (though I also browse the tag)

Davrin has never known what it's like to lose. To feel helpless. But as the beast pins him beneath its mass of fur and muscle, for the first time he feels true fear tingle up his spine.

But there is hope as he spies the glint of his sword just outside his reach. Knocked from his grasp by the monster's fierce tackle. And he debates if he can grab for it faster than the wolf can react. Before teeth can tear muscle from bone and his life will end in a final pitiful cry.

Not that he is afraid to die. Wardens are meant for this purpose. Prepared to sacrifice their life. He would gladly die, twice even, if it meant slaying the danger threatening his forest.

There's a split second where he hesitates. His eyes meet the violet irises of the beast’s, and he's transfixed on their glow. Something familiar, akin to recognition between them, stays his hand. A warmth that starts deep in the pit of his stomach and spreads throughout his limbs. And he finds himself unwilling to move despite the hold on him loosening.

Maybe it's madness. He's heard of the Taint consuming hunters in time, though most die well before those years come. But whatever it is, it seems to have seized the creature as well.

His brow furrows in confusion as the weight shifts off him as the wolf leans back on its haunches. Head tilting in an almost intelligent way. As if it is debating his existence. As if it now contemplates further harm.

He knows he should grab his weapon and strike the killing blow, but he simply sits up and watches. Both of them staring, waiting for the other to make a move. Until the beast bows its head in a sign of acceptance. And for a moment, a foolish desire so strong seizes him that it takes everything in him to fight it down. His hands tingle to reach out and touch. To run his fingers through the brilliant white fur. To make a connection that he knows will alter his life forever.

There's a small eternity as they silently sit there together. Until some unspoken thing seems to pass between them. When the very air seems to shift. A gasp escaping him as the monster begins to transform.

[darnell-la]

YOUR LIFE WITH ME

pairing: dom!bucky x mutant!reader x sub!bob

summary: Bucky isn’t the type to share, but the chemistry Bob and y/n have is oddly satisfying. It might have gave him more of a push to make his move, and make sure the two knew the line fr they could be living with him.

warnings: threesome, oral (male receiving), penetration, rough sex, making out, choking, slight embarrassment kink, slightly stalking mentioned, etc

note: this story was clearly rushed, but we still hope you enjoy it. PLEASE, we beg for ALL OF YOU to submit some type of Robert “Bob” Reynolds suggestions, as well as some Bucky Barnes suggestions. Thank you!

———

It had only been a month since the new Avengers had found you. It turned out, Mrs. Valentina had a secret deeper than her secrets. She hadn’t planned to come out with y/n yet, but after what happened, she needed extra members on the team.

When she introduced y/n, she had thought the team would be upset. Thankfully, most of them weren’t. They were actually happy that more people wanted to join and help them do good for the world.

The only one who didn’t want to go along with whatever Valentina had up her sleeve was Bucky. At first, he kept his mouth shut, but it wasn’t long until he started taking some anger out on y/n. Like today.

“There’s no reason for you to be here — Just leave and start a new life or something,” Bucky said right after y/n got comfortable in the living room. No one was around but him and her. That’s how he'd usually act a certain way towards her.

“Bucky — I get you’re not use to new people, and new groups, but please understand- Not all of us have places to go. I’ve got no one — You should know this,” y/n said as Bucky leaned back in his chair, upset that she couldn’t just up and leave.

This job is too dangerous for her, and Valentina doesn’t even know if her powers work. What if someone came to invade the old Stark tower, and y/n couldn’t do anything? That would be too much work and stress for Bucky’s hand.

“This job isn’t for you,” Bucky said in his cold, stern voice. “Who I decided to work with does not concern you, Bucky. You’re not my legal guardian or whoever you’re trying to be,”

It wasn’t hard to see that Bucky just wanted to keep y/n safe. People just didn’t know why? What was his deal with this young lady he’s never seen before or knew existed?

“I think she’s right, Mr. Bucky,” Bob said as he made his way into the room. Any time you/n would lay her eyes on him, she’d smile brightly. Bob was so sweet and too kind. How couldn’t she like the man?

“What is this? Some take down Bucky movement?” Bucky sighed as he leaned further back into the couch he was on. “N-No, nothing of that sort — I-I just think you’re taking it a little too hard on Mrs. Y/n here,” Bob said as he awkwardly smiled back at y/n.

“Now, what? Are you going to beat me up, then sweep y/n off into the wind? God, you guys are just so hard to deal with — So damn difficult,”

“I think you’re the only one being difficult, Bucky. Why can’t you just tell me your deal with me? Maybe we can fix it,” y/n said, making Bucky’s heart skip a beat.

For weeks, Bucky has been trying his best to ignore his questions and feelings towards y/n. He hadn’t felt anything like what he was feeling in years, so for them to come up out of nowhere, especially towards someone way out of his age range, triggers him.

“Ain’t no fixing it,” Bucky said, then got up from his seat to get out of the room. “She’s all yours,” Bucky said as he passed Bob. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Bob asked, but Bucky didn’t reply.

“It’s okay — He’ll survive,” y/n said, making sure Bob didn’t feel any time of way about Bucky being himself. Y/n would like to come down to some friendship with Bucky, but he wasn’t exactly a person you could get through to. Or so she thought…

“What are you talking about?” Y/n asked as she stood around the corner from the party Yelena’s dad decided to throw for the weekend. “I see the way you look at him and me — No need to hide, y/n,” Bucky said with a hint of alcohol breath.

“You’re drunk, Bucky,” y/n said, but that only made the man laugh. “Drunk, but not dumb,” Bucky leaned closer to y/n, scanning her face so hard, y/n became uncomfortable.

That wasn’t because he was close. It was because Bucky finds everything out, and no matter how hard y/n has tried staying professional, she couldn’t like the two people she finds unbelievably attractive.

“Look, Bucky- The party is getting hot, and I’d like to drink too, okay? Now, can we leave whatever you want to say for another time?” Y/n said right before she tried to leave. That worked, probably.

“Hey- Stop it, y/n. Weren’t you the one saying I should speak to you? Tell you what, my problem? So you can fix it,” Bucky said, seeming closer to y/n than before. She just knew he could hear and feel her heart pumping fast.

“Why do you want to fix it now? It’s late, and there’s a party,” y/n was trying her best to get this conversation to an end, but that only drove Bucky further. “If I wait for this liquor to wear off, you’ll never get a chance again,”

“Are you guys good?” Bob asked as he came around the corner to the sight of Bucky unbelievably close to y/n. “Yes, yes, everyone’s fine,” y/n quickly spoke as she slipped away from Bucky before anything got too tense.

“And, you’re telling me she’d be fine with something like this? I-I just can’t believe it,” Bob said as Bucky scrolled through y/n’s iPad that she keeps everything she wants no one to see, on.

“I mean, look at this. All of these are writings about us from fans,” Bucky said with a smirk, finally knowing that she liked him for sure. “Yeah, but maybe it just popped up on her uh- her for you page,” Bob said, trying his best to debunk everything Bucky was showing him.

“Well, they definitely did, and then she liked them — In her likes Robert,” Bucky said before placing her iPad back on her test next to her bed. “I don’t know, man. This is like, privacy things, you know? She could get mad, and I don’t like when she gets mad. It stresses her out,”

Bucky shook his head with a smile at how much Bob liked y/n. At first, Bucky wanted y/n for himself, but Bob didn’t seem too bad. He somehow liked the chemistry the two had, and he didn’t want to pull that part.

“Look, I’ll start. You can stand in the dark corner all you want until you feel like coming out, and trust me — You’ll want to come out,”

Throughout the night, Bob and Bucky stalked y/n’s every move like they always do, but harder. It’s like they rarely took their eyes off of her.

One thing Bob noticed that he didn’t notice before was the men flirting with her. Younger and older. For some reason, that didn’t sit well with Bob. He’s never wanted to get violent over something so small, yet he was ready to blow through these men talking to her.

“Relax — Don’t need that thing coming out before our mission,” Bucky said as he passed Bob to make his way towards y/n. Bob had no idea what Bucky was saying, but it had to be good enough to have y/n leave with him.

Bob hid as the two men called out of the party, towards the rooms where they slept.

“What is it now, Bucky? Aren’t you supposed to be the professional one-“ y/n spoke, but soon got cut off by Bucky’s lips softly smashing onto her. For a second, y/n slightly pushed at his shoulders in surprise, but soon pulled him in.

That’s when Bucky chuckled, and she moaned between their kiss. This whole situation felt like a dream, but she was going with it. She could only be thankful that this situation was happening.

“Jump,” y/n didn’t waste her time, and did what she was told. Seconds later, Bucky had them both in his bed, ripping at each other’s clothes. “Want you to keep some of it on just in case anyone unwanted walks in,”

Bucky knew Bob would take a while to come in, so he hoped no one else would come before him. One thing he was not doing was stopping.

Bob couldn’t believe any of this was happening. He could’ve sworn the two would be fighting in his room, so he placed his ear against the door. That was when he heard y/n’s soft moans.

“He actually did it,” Bob said, surprised as he played with his fingers nervously. Bob's heart rate began to increase, knowing Bucky was waiting for his entrance. He was sure Bucky wouldn’t pull this off, but now that it pulled through, Bob was left to fulfill his part.

“Wait, I don’t think we can do this. We work with each other, and- I-I don’t know if this is even meant to be,” y/n said, not overthinking every kiss he’s placed on her body. “Don’t switch on me now, sweets — I mean everything I do,” Bucky said as he began pulling y/n’s panties to the side.

“You wore this dress for me, huh? Short and tight — I love them just like that,” Bucky said, making y/n’s cheeks get hot. “I-I didn’t know,” y/n told the truth, but was glad she picked this out for the night.

“Of course, you didn’t, because you’re so damn clueless, huh?” Bucky asked as he heard the door behind him creak open. Y/n, on the other hand, heard absolutely nothing. She was too distracted by what was going on between her legs.

“I seriously didn’t know, I just- I just wanted to look good,” y/n said as Bucky groaned inches away from her ear. “Well, it worked because I can’t keep my hands off of you. I just need more,”

That’s when Bucky reached into his dress pants to pull himself out. They’ve been making out and touching each other for a while, but y/n still felt like everything was moving too fast.

“Wait- I — Are you sure about this? Y-You said you’re drunk, and-“ y/n tried finding everything to debunk this just like Bob, but Bucky continued to prove the two wrong. “I’m a grown man, baby — Liquor doesn’t make me act on things I wouldn’t do if I were sober. Maybe speak about my feelings, but that's about it,”

Y/n looked into the older man’s eyes, noticing how serious he was taking all of this. It’s almost like he wasn’t drunk. She wasn’t even sure if he was.

“Just let me do what you want me to do. I know you’ve been waiting,” Bucky said after he spat on his hand to rub himself in. “What are you talking about?” Y/n asked as her heart dropped. Be mind went straight to her likes on her reading apps.

“Oh, yeah, I know it all,” Bucky said as he slowly pushed at her entrance. Y/n whined as Bucky’s length instantly stretched her further than she’s ever been stretched before. He was long and big.

“Yeah — You feel good,” Bucky said as he continued to push deep into y/n, only allowing her to choke on her moans and arch her back. “Fuck, you’re big,” y/n blurted out as she tried to control her breathing.

“Yeah? Think you can take it for me? You take everything else when we train, so I’m sure you can take this,” Bucky said as his eyes pierced through y/n’s eyes with a slight smile on his face.

“I-I don’t know,” y/n pushed at Bucky’s lower stomach to keep him out just a little bit, but her lips kept swallowing Bucky back in. “Don’t think this is your only surprise, princess — I’ve got another one. Isn’t that right, Bob?”

Y/n’s eyes widened at that name, hoping he didn’t come in when she was too loud to notice, but he did. “O-Oh, I didn’t know you heard me come in. H-Hey,” Bob said as he emerged from the darkness, showing his bright, awkward, and shy facial expression.

“Oh my god- Wait, Bucky- Fuck!” Y/n cried out loud as Bucky pulled out just to slam himself all the way back into her with no warning. “Hey- I don’t think she can handle that,” Bob said, feeling a bit of sympathy for what y/n had to take from Bucky.

Bob wasn’t a sexual person, and still isn’t, so when he sees the way y/n cried from Bucky’s thrust, the only thing he can do is feel bad, not knowing y/n’s pleasure was higher than ever.

“She’s fine, Bob, don’t worry. Jesus,” Bucky said as he cupped y/n’s face. “Tell him, y/n. Tell him you’re fine, and I’ll make you feel the best you’ll ever feel,” Bucky leaned close to y/n’s face, watching as her eyes rolled back.

“I-I-I’m fine — I-I swear, Bob,” y/n said with a hint of embarrassment, but too much pleasure to tell Bob to shop Bucky. Why in the hell would she want Bucky to stop? She was close. Too close.

“You were that, Bob? Now you can stop being so tense and give yourself a hand, yeah? Help yourself. I’m sure she’s fine with it,” Bucky said as Bob stood right next to y/n’s shaky body.

“I-I don’t know if this is okay, Bucky, I mean- Look at her. She can barely take it,” Bob said, making Bucky chuckle. He loved that and wanted her to feel more. “Stick your dick in her mouth before I take her for myself,”

Bucky knew that would trigger something in Bob, and it indeed did. The way Bob’s eyes glowed at Bucky, made Bucky want to laugh at how much Bob wanted y/n. Bob would never let anyone get in the way of him and y/n. Ever.

It took some time, but Bob ended up reaching into his own dress pants to pull himself out. Y/n’s instantly panicked, knowing his cock would be to much for her mouth.

“I-I don’t know-“ y/n said too many times, but Bob cut her off by slipping into her mouth without thinking. Because the man’s cock is pretty soft while hard, he could squish himself deep enough in her throat to make her gag.

“Fuck-“ Bob cussed as his legs twitched. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Just wait until you get a chance to fill her up down here,” Bucky said as he picked up his pace, pounding her walls harder than she could imagine.

“Hey- Not too much,” Bob stuttered at Bucky, wanting him to slow down on giving her too much pleasure, or else her moans would vibrate too much onto his length. He swore he almost came when he watched Bucky pound into her for the first second he came in the room.

“Deal with it, Bob. It’s not like she’d hate you for it. She’d probably take it all, just for you,” Bob’s stomach began to positively rumble at the thought of her take him, all for him.

“Right, y/n? You gonna take all of Bob, whether he gives it to you now or later?” Bucky asked as his hands tightened on y/n’s waist to pull her in, and keep her still enough for his thrust.

The younger girl couldn’t say any words, but her moans were all the speaking Bob needed to hear before his body shuddered. “Oh my god-“ Bob whined before he began to spill heavily into y/n’s mouth.

“Oh my god, y/n, fuck,” moaned as he grabbed her face to pull her closer to him, making sure his cock stuck deep enough down her throat to force her to take all he had to give.

Her gags and whines only made him shake harder. He even thinks he came twice while being in her.

“You f-feel so good,” Bob stuttered, letting his orgasm take him over. “I know she does. Just wait until you’ve got full control of every part of her body. She wouldn’t be able to last,”

Y/n felt embarrassed by her moan to his comment about her. She just knew Bucky would ruin her. He’s too cocky not to. And, Bob? He was going to make sure Bob knew how much y/n would submit to both of them. Bucky is going to make y/n’s life the best she’ll ever have.

[myokk]

😇

[reflectionsofgalaxies]

.

[hopefulstarfire]

Why is it the thing that I actually feel accomplished about lately is that. I'm almost done with one neighborhood on my sims 4 save I'm making for myself. I've got one more family to finish for Willow Creek and then I can move onto the other worlds.

[yanchive]

Man, I've been obsessed with the isekai trope lately. I've been imagining a scenario where the reader gets isekai'd into a yandere romance story as a side character. You're not the main character or a love interest. You replaced a nameless character who was solely created in the story to be killed off by the yandere love interests to further the plot.

After realizing that's the role you took on, you devise a plan to re write the story to keep yourself alive.

In the official plot, your death was the cause of getting too close to the main character. Your positive relationship with them was considered a threat to the yanderes, and so they wiped you out of the picture.

So, as any semi intelligent individual would do, you decided to avoid the main character completely.

I'd like to imagine the reader wasn't well informed of this story, didn't know who the yans were, and accidentally befriended them before they even got a chance to develop any feelings for the main character. You jumped into their lives before the events that led into the original storyline. Earning their trust and unfortunately causing some peculiar emotions in them to develop.

This fucks up the whole plot. I mean, that was your plan. You just weren't trying to fuck it up so bad that you unintentionally attracted multiple yans who decided you were the perfect match for them. You were a joy to be around. You were far more intertwined in their lives than the previous main character ever was. It was generic with them and their story. A boring, "yan see's their darling from afar for the first time and falls in love on sight." Type plot.

But with you, it was so much more personal. They grew to love you for way more than just your looks. They got to know you as a person before any sort of feelings of devotion could form.

This made their efforts to claim you so much worse than they ever were in the original plot. They were much more sinister and brutal. They usually only did massive amounts of stalking, blackmail, and the occasional murder when it came to the canon story, whereas they went all out for you.

Kidnap, murder, torture, blackmail, stalking, theft, harassment, etc. Everyone around you was a threat in their eyes. Everyone around you didn't deserve you.

By the time you realized what you've done, what you've created, its far too late to fix your mistake. You attempted to break off the friendships, avoiding them at all costs, closing yourself off and spending your time trying to find a way back to your original world.

But they don't take kindly to that. Not after everything you guys have been through. Before you could find the key back home to your world, you'd be whisked away, having your new world be the confines of your yans humble abode, away from society.

Bonus option: You attempt to bring the original main character back into the plot in hopes they could redirect the yandere back into chasing them and get them off your back. But why would they need this stranger? They don't know them like they know you. And they could care less to even try to get to know them. So, the original main character ends up taking on the role you were supposed to be. The side character who was meant to die to further the plot.

You're the main character now.

[itneverendshere]

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

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mention of pregnancy; abortion; lack of self-care; drug and alcohol addiction;

Rafe had been clean for the past three years.

Over the course of the year, things between him and you had been smooth sailing. 

It was almost easy, something he wouldn’t have believed a few years back when everything he touched seemed to go up in flames. There’d been a time when he was just too much—angry, impulsive, doing all the wrong things for all the wrong reasons.

He’d been selfish, reckless, it was intense, way too intense, and when you fought, it was like you were both throwing grenades, just waiting to see who’d blow up first. You’d pushed him away, he’d pushed you harder, and you’d both crossed lines that should’ve never even been close.

Eventually, both of you learned to talk instead of shouting, learned when to back down instead of pushing buttons just to get a reaction. You’d gotten better at letting each other breathe. He’d pull back when he felt himself getting heated, and you’d do the same.

It wasn’t perfect; sometimes you’d still get into it, still end up in an argument that felt like old times, but it was different. There were no more lines on the bathroom counter, no disappearing at all hours. 

Until Ward died. 

Rafe didn’t know what the fuck to feel when he got the news. He knew what he was supposed to feel, right? He’d done it before with his mom, now it was his dad’s turn. The man who had raised him, the one to teach him everything he knew about how the world worked, even if it wasn’t pretty. 

Ward was a hard man, a strong man. The kind of guy who commanded respect, even if he didn’t always show it the way others might expect. But that’s the thing, he was a man of respect. 

To Rafe, that meant something. Everything. 

Ward had shaped him, he couldn’t just forget that, couldn’t act like that wasn’t important.

At first, you were there for him, no question. 

He knew you hated Ward, you barely tolerated the thought of him even existing in the same room as you. You spent those first few weeks with him, making sure he didn’t spiral back into the shit that nearly destroyed him. He needed the support, even if he didn’t always know how to ask for it.

You were there, holding it down. You got through it, the late-night talk, but then, you started getting distant.

At first, it was subtle—small things. He’d catch you looking at him like you didn’t quite get him anymore. You’d pull away when he needed you to listen, when he was ranting about Ward, and even though you tried to hide it, Rafe could see the dissociation.

He pretended he didn’t sense it, tried to tell himself you’d come around. 

After all, this was his grief, and no one else was going to understand it the way he did. His dad had been everything to him—maybe not in the way you thought he should’ve been, but that was just the reality of it.

For the first time in years, it felt like you weren’t there with him. It didn’t make sense to him how you couldn’t see it. 

Ward had been a tough guy, sure, cruel sometimes, but he was also a provider, a father who tried to teach him how to survive, even if it didn’t always come wrapped in the right way.

He wasn’t perfect, but he was the only father Rafe had ever known. He was gone all of a sudden and that was what had hurt the most—knowing he’d never get the approval he’d always been chasing, even when he was clean, even when he was doing better. There was no fixing that. 

He wanted to mourn in peace, but no one seemed to understand why Ward still mattered to him, not even Sarah.

Three weeks after the funeral he spent his days surrounded by a few bottles of scotch he’d stolen right out of his dad’s stash. Who was gonna stop him now, anyway? He almost laughed. Three years clean. Shit, that was something, wasn’t it?

He’d had people telling him he wouldn’t make it three weeks, let alone three years. Shit, his dad sure didn’t think he’d get this far. Only you.

Rafe squinted at the amber liquid swirling in his glass, then leaned back in the worn leather of his dad’s old armchair. It felt weird being in here, in his chair, in his office, breathing in that persistent smell of old cigars and varnish.

After the whole “funeral”, with everyone looking at him like he was a wild animal about to snap, this was the only place he could sit without someone judging him.

If you’re so clean, why are you drinking yourself half to death? He took a slow sip, letting it burn down his throat. 

It wasn’t like it used to be, that high that hit fast and hard, and didn’t care if it broke him apart.

This was different, a slower, quieter process.

Besides, he was in control this time. Just a drink, he told himself, fingers tightening around the glass. No powder, no pills. That was progress.

So what if he had to take the edge off? Who wouldn’t, if they’d just said goodbye to their only living parent and had to look at their younger sisters crying like that? 

He was practically swimming in alcohol. Rafe knew he was overdoing it, but he didn’t care.

Every time he saw himself— on a window, mirror, whatever—he had a drink in his hand, and something about it just felt terrifyingly right.

Grounded.

Nobody understood him; they just kept looking at him with that worried face, like he was on the verge of losing it like he used to when he was younger. Maybe he already had.

You watched him—really watched him—and yeah, he could tell you were pissed. He saw it in that little wrinkle between your eyebrows every time he took another sip. But you didn’t say anything. 

Even Wheezie was on his case in her quiet way.

She was hanging around, throwing out old jokes and trying to make him smile, but he barely reacted. She was looking at him like she was scared, as if he was some stranger she was trying not to set off. And he hated that—God, he fucking hated it. So he kept his distance, hoped she would back off, let him get through this his way.

But then came that night at the beach bonfire, when everything changed.

He probably shouldn’t have gone, but he needed to get out and feel normal again—even if that just implied showing up and pretending, he was fine. He dragged you along, flashing that cocky grin you could see right through, but you followed anyway, probably just to keep an eye on him. He could feel it—the way you were watching him, worried as hell, that just made him want another drink.

Half the people were staring, too. Waiting to see if he was gonna go off, if he was back to the same volatile Rafe he used to be, the one they loved watching spin out. And just when he thought he could ignore it, some random pogue, scruffy, half-drunk, threw out a comment loud enough for the whole group around him to hear.

“Guess Ward Cameron finally found some gold he couldn’t buy his way out of, huh? What was he thinking, running off to some country where people don’t just take bribes? Practically killed himself.”

It took everything in him not to lunge right there, but he was too plastered to keep the anger off his face. He pushed his way over to the guy, hands clenched into fists.

“You got something you want to say to my fuckin’ face?”

The guy shrugged, muttering something under his breath, people were looking now, everyone watching to see if he was finally going to give them a show.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was shoving him back, hard enough that the dude stumbled, beer splashing out of his cup. The crowd around them stirred, murmurs, but nobody did a thing—they were just staring, waiting to see the blood spill. He felt tempted to hurt someone, felt that cameron fury crawling up his throat.

It didn’t matter that he was twice as drunk as he should be; all that mattered was the way his father’s name was rolling off this nobody’s lips.

He felt you grab his arm, long nails digging hard enough to pull him back, he jerked his shoulder, trying to shake you off, but you weren’t letting go.

“You’re gonna waste your time on him?”

Rafe gritted his teeth, but you didn’t give him a chance to argue. You hauled him back, forcing him away from the guy, who was still standing there with that smug look plastered on his face. 

“Get out. Now,” you urged him, voice calm but with the tone that even he didn’t want to test. He glared at you, mouth opening to argue, but you didn’t let him get a word in. “Rafe. Now.”

You were mad at him.

It was enough to knock some sense into him, and he let you reel him away, but not before you turned back.

“And you,” you called out, enough to silence the chatter around you. “Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut.” 

There was no bluff, no hesitation, and Rafe watched as the pogue’s smug expression dropped instantly, eyes widening as he realized you were dead serious, your family’s name always had an impact around town, old money and all.

As you dragged him to the car, he muttered that he didn’t need you playing bodyguard, but you ignored it, taking him out of the spotlight he hated but couldn’t seem to avoid.

His head was spinning, his blood boiling, and he couldn’t even look at you, not with how angry he felt.

By the time you pulled up to his house, you got out, guiding him inside with that hard, that silent determination he both hated and admired in you. 

You were there, right behind him with that look on your face—angry, disappointed, like he was missing something big, as if he was the one who didn’t get it.

He stumbled into the bathroom, holding himself against the sink, and before he could even catch his breath, you turned on the faucet and splashed cold water in his face. He jerked back, sputtering, wiping it with the back of his hand. When he looked at you, his anger burned again.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he snapped.

“My problem?” you scoffed head already shaking, “Are you serious?”

“You don’t get it,” he growled, barely controlling the rage, the shame—everything. “You don’t know a fuckin’ thing about him. I had the right to defend him.”

You took a step forward, finger pointed at your chest, “Don’t I? Because I remember standing in this very house, watching him tear you down every chance he got. You’re so busy mourning this man who treated you like shit, that you’re pushing the people who care about you away. It’s not just me. It’s everyone.”

Rafe laughed bitterly, the sound humorless. “Oh, here we go,” he muttered, rolling his eyes as he turned back to the sink, gripping the edge hard enough to make his knuckles turn white.

“Don’t you dare roll your fucking eyes at me,” you retaliated, stepping up beside him. “I stood by you through all of it, I’m not gonna stand here and watch you kill yourself because of him. He’s the reason you felt like you had to be so perfect all the time, why you’re always trying to prove yourself to people who don’t deserve it. And now he’s gone, and you still can’t see it. You’re still trying to be good enough for him!”

He didn’t look at you, didn’t want to see the indignation—or worse, the pity—in your eyes.

“Just stop,” he muttered, but you were past listening.

“No, I won’t stop. I can’t. I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself again. You’re better than this.”

He suddenly pushed himself away from the sink, and turned to face you, his blue eyes practically black with a hurt that was older and deeper than either of you could touch.

“You don’t get to stand there and tell me what I deserve.”

“I know what you deserve.” 

He scoffed, rolling his eyes again, though his face had gone a shade paler. “You think you know everything, don’t you?” he sneered. “Think you know what’s best for me? Get off your high horse.”

“You’re damn fucking right I know better than you do, I’m not the one who’s drowning every night in some pathetic tribute to a man who wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.”

He could feel it now, the bitterness you’d been hiding for weeks. It wasn’t just about him drinking himself stupid. It was everything—every fucking thing you’d been ignoring, it had festered between you two while you pretended things were okay.

“You’re the one who’s just tired of me, of everything that comes with me.”

You took a step back, eyes narrowing, but you didn’t flinch.

“What?” Your rage momentarily dialed down, the sound gurgling, “You think I’m tired of you? I’ve been here this whole time, trying to make you see the truth, but you won’t even look at me. You won’t let me in. You’re too fucking blind to notice.”

His breath was shaky, too fast, but he didn’t care. “So now I’m blind, huh? I didn’t see you sneaking out the door when I needed you? I didn’t notice how you pulled back, how you stopped giving a fuck about me? You’re just waiting for me to give you an excuse to leave.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he wasn’t done.

“You don’t get it! I didn’t need you to fix me, I needed someone to stay. But instead, you—" His voice cracked, the anger choking him up, "Instead, you started to make me feel like I was a b-burden. Some mess you had to clean up. How am I supposed to deal with that, huh?"

You were shaking your head, your eyes had already been filled with tears, your chest suffocating.

“I’ve been here. I’ve been standing right next to you, waiting for you to pull your shit together. I didn’t walk away. You did.

His stomach churned, as if you’d taken every inch of space in his chest and twisted it, just for fun. The worst part was, he couldn’t even argue with you. Not really. He had been so wrapped up in his own shit, so obsessed with keeping everyone out, that he hadn’t even seen how far you’d already gone.

“Don’t. Don’t you dare try to make this about me,” he spat, the words ugly in his mouth, it felt like they were scraping their way out of him. “You don’t get to make me the villain in your story just because you’re tired of playing my fucking hero.”

“I’m not trying to play the hero!” you screamed, stepping closer, your eyes were cold. “I’m trying to help you see that you have to fix this. Not me. Not anyone else. But you. And if you’re so fucking broken you can’t see that, then maybe you really don’t need me.”

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Rafe could feel his heart racing, that agonizing coil in his chest, but he couldn’t stop.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said, voice quieter, but just as venomous.

He turned his back on you, walking to the door. The sound of his boots clamped against the wood floor like a countdown.

“Maybe I don’t. Grab your shit and go.”

"Don’t you fucking—" you snarled, but he was already moving, grabbing your jacket off the hook by the door and throwing it your way, “You know what? Fine. Maybe I will.” You shoved that stupid thing on, hands shaking as you yanked the zipper up. “Don’t come running back in two days like you always do. Don’t come crawling back.”

Rafe paused, hand on the doorknob, his jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle ticking.

He didn’t turn around, didn’t look back at you.

“I don’t need you to feel sorry for me.”

“Good. Because I stopped feeling sorry for you a long time ago,” you replied sharply, every syllable punctuated with weeks of resentment. “What I feel now? That’s just disappointment.”

You watched his shoulders lock up; his whole body wound so tight it was like he was one wrong look away from completely losing it. He didn’t turn around either, even as you slipped out the door, but he knew.

That was it.

Two moths later, almost three, he was standing in front of the ER pacing like a complete fucking idiot after you passed out in his arms earlier.

He’d told himself he’d stay away, make it easy for both of you. 

That shitty plan had gone down the drain once he saw you speed away at that party with absolutely no regard for your safety or Topper’s. He’d seen that wild look in your eyes before—the one that said you were about to burn it all down. Or when your dad’s gala came around, and he couldn’t sleep properly knowing he wasn’t going to be there that year, knowing how you spiraled every time you had to step on that stage.

He had stupidly thought that maybe, one day, you two could still be friends. But today? That shit blew up in his face, for the second time in the span of a week.

He forgot what you could invoke in him when you were standing merely an inch away. He promised himself that he’d moved on, forced to consider that the love of his life might not be someone he could spend his lifetime with. Maybe you weren’t meant for each other.

But how the fuck was he supposed to act when the girl who had been everything to him was hurting? 

No, no, no.

Sofia was what he needed.

Someone who didn’t know shit about his past, who didn’t ask questions he didn’t want to answer. She hadn’t seen him the way you had, hadn’t been there through every drunken rant and punch he’d thrown at the wall or someone’s face, hadn’t heard him rail against his dad or drag himself back from one of his darkest nights. 

She hadn’t called him a fucking idiot when he chose to throw his father’s ashes on the ocean. She wasn’t going to call him a coward for it. She didn’t have a clue about any of it, and that was supposed to be what he wanted.

He looked up at the ER doors for the millionth time in the past hour, his fingers clenched around his jeep keys so tight they left marks on his hand.

It was over between you two. He’d make sure to keep the fucking distance, two whole months. If he didn’t give you enough closure, you’d hate him faster and you’d both get over it. 

So why the fuck was he about to set the whole hospital on fire as he watched John B’s beat up twinkie pull up to the parking area? It shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. 

Of course you’d call her, his own sister—his father's favorite.

Sarah had always been the golden child, Ward’s little angel who could do no wrong, while he was the family screw-up. Even now, you’d picked her, just like Ward would have. 

He didn’t think before he moved, closing the distance between him them in seconds. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He barked right up in her face, daring her to explain herself.

Sarah didn’t back down, though. She just looked up at him with that same cool, level expression she always had whenever he tried to get a rise out of her. 

“I’m here because she called me.”

“She called you?” He scoffed, eyebrows pulling together in disbelief. “You? She called you?” He took a step closer, “So what, you’re her savior now or some shit? Why the hell would she call you if I’m right here?” His eyes narrowed, searching her face like he couldn’t believe it. “Are you kidding me?”

Sarah threw her hands up, a look of pure exasperation on her face.

“Are you dense, Rafe? You’re with someone else! Why would she want the guy who broke her heart to drive her home?”

He blinked, thrown off. “I broke her heart? She broke mine!” He laughed, but it was harsh, bitter. “I did us a favor. We were just—”

“Oh, right. A favor?” Sarah cut in, voice dripping with sarcasm. “That why you’re pacing out here like a goddamn lunatic?”

“Go away. I’m driving her home.”

She stepped closer, her voice steely as she looked him dead in the eye.

“No. She called me, she wants me here. Not you. So do yourself a real favor and go home before you do something even more stupid.”

A breathless chuckle escaped his lips, “She already hates me, Sarah. What’s the fucking harm, huh?” He threw his arms out, as if daring her to come up with an answer that would hurt less. “What’s one more screw-up on top of everything else?”

“You’re real dumb if you believe that. But if you wanna make it worse, then by all means, go ahead. You’ll just prove her right.”

He stayed rooted in place, chest heaving, the conflict ripping him to pieces. His hands shook, his throat tight with words he couldn’t even begin to understand.

But Sarah had already turned her back on him, heading toward the entrance.

“Walk away,” she warned him, looking over her shoulder, “That’s the only thing left for you to do right now.”

Rafe didn’t know why the fuck he listened to her.

It was as if his body had already made that decision for him, understanding that if he didn’t leave right then, he’d end up doing something stupid—something even more fucked up than what he’d already done. His tongue was locked in place, a curse on the tip of his pursed lips, but it never came. 

His feet wouldn’t move, his hands stayed at his sides, and that tightness in his throat wouldn’t let him get a single word out, not one that would make any fucking sense. He hated that. Hated that you still had this kind of control over him.

Hated that he just…felt like something was wrong.

You hadn’t been this frantic, so impulsive since he had to take you home after your sister passed. He didn’t want to remember that night—you damn near threw yourself out of his truck.

But he couldn’t ignore the memory, the desperation on your face, the screams, the fight in his grip as he pulled you by your shirt back inside.

He’d felt like he was holding on to something breaking apart in his hands, something he couldn’t fix but couldn’t let go of either. He’d seen it again in your eyes when he’d caught you earlier at the beach clean-up, the way you’d tried to dodge his stare, voice cracking, legs wobbling when he mentioned the hospital. 

Rafe still felt like he’d swallowed shattered pieces of glass every time he thought about you. And if he could just push it down, if he could just get through one fucking day without looking back, maybe he’d start to forget you.

His feet were glued to the hospital pavement, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. If you were about to crash, if this was anything like before…He didn’t know what the fuck he was going to do.

He had no reason to stay, you’d made it clear as day. He was supposed to be gone—out of your life for good. You’d told him you didn’t need him, he told you he didn’t need you. So why the hell was he still standing here? 

Perhaps because he remembered the last time he’d let you walk out, the way he’d watched you disappear, thinking he was doing the right thing—giving you the clean end you’d both needed.

Maybe that made him sick to his stomach now, thinking of you in there with Sarah, telling his sister things you wouldn’t say to him, letting her be the person he once was to you.

But you’d called her, not him. You’d picked Sarah to be here, and that hurt like a bitch, but it was what he’d asked for, wasn’t it?

This was what he deserved. He told you to grab your shit and go, forced you to leave because that was supposed to make it easier.

He’d impulsively made his choice the minute he’d wrapped his arm around Sofia, pulling her close in front of everyone who’d once known he was yours. He’d talked himself into it. It was the right call, moving on was the only way to finally get you out of his system. 

He was the one who decided it’d be easier to act like he forgot you than to actually try. He thought he could make it easy—pain-free.

Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose as he walked back toward his Jeep. He gripped the door handle so hard he could break it in half if he wanted to, feeling his knuckles strain.

If he let go, if he closed that door and stormed inside, he’d just be right back where he started.

He stared at his reflection in the window, his hardened face staring back. His pulse was pounding in his temples, his gut twisting and turning as he tried to bury it all six feet under—the need to just go to you, to hold your hand or yell at you for making him care so fucking much.

He finally released the death grip he had on the door handle, forcing his fingers to relax, his knuckles still throbbing. He slid into the driver’s seat, the cold leather you’d help him choose, mocking at his skin as he slammed the door shut.

With a quick flick of his wrist, he threw the car into drive, the tires screeching as he peeled out of the parking lot.

He drove like he was being hunted down. He wanted to get as far away from that place as possible, praying the miles between him and you would stop the churning inside him. 

You’ll just prove her right.

He hated her for saying it, hated Sarah for knowing exactly what buttons to push. 

As he rounded a curve, his headlights swept across Topper’s house. Rafe cut the engine and stalked toward the backyard. Topper’s sprawled-out form on a reclining chair, arms crossed over his chest, sunglasses somehow still on evenly.

He stomped up and smacked the end of his chair.

"Wake the fuck up."

He jolted, nearly tumbling off the chair, ripping his sunglasses off and squinting up at him. “Jesus fucking christ, dude, ever heard of calling ahead?”

But Rafe didn’t answer. He just paced, hands in his growing hair, digging into his scalp like he could rip the frustration out of his skull. Topper sighed, propping himself up on one elbow, he didn’t even look at him, just kept muttering to himself, biting his lip, pacing.

“What the hell happened?”

Finally, he stopped, “I need you to find out what’s wrong with your cousin,” he muttered, not wanting to admit he cared enough to ask.

Topper blinked, brow furrowing. “What do you mean, what’s wrong with her?”

Rafe only shook his head, hands on his hips as he stared at the ground. “I don’t know, okay? She just…she’s acting off. And I can’t—I’m not supposed to care, Top. I’m not. I’m with Sofia now, alright? But she’s still…” His voice trailed off, as he scrubbed a hand down it.

Topper tilted his head, eyeing him knowingly.

“Right, yeah, whatever you say. I’ll figure it out.”

If Sarah Cameron didn’t walk through that hospital door within the next three minutes, you’d lose all the courage you’d summoned over the last hours. Or was it just an hour? You weren’t sure how long you’d been lying there, the IV needle taped uncomfortably into your arm. 

Your fingers curled into the thin blanket draped over you, and you wished—desperately—that you didn’t feel so…empty.

Ten minutes later, she strode in with a glance at the door, as if she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to get there on time. The relief on her face when she saw you was reassuring but it only made the confusion in your chest heavier.

She was so different from Rafe, yet still looked so much like him. She sat in the chair by the bed, eyes scanning your face like she was trying to gauge just how bad it was.

“Hi.”

You swallowed, blinking up at the ceiling to keep the tears at bay.

“Thanks for coming.” 

“Of course,” She reached for your hand where it lay on top of the blanket, hesitating for a split second before giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You okay?” 

You felt a laugh bubble up, “Not even a little.”

She let out a small breath and nodded, squeezing your hand again. “I figured,” she said quietly, and you appreciated that she didn’t pretend to have some miracle answer, “I made him leave.”

She’d made him leave.

You could imagine his face distorted with anger.

You wondered if he’d put up a fight or if he’d just walked away,  giving in to his sister in that infuriating, self-pitying silence he’d perfected.

You weren’t going to ask, the less you knew, the better.

“Good.” You were relieved, but it felt bittersweet, “I didn’t want him here.” 

Except your voice shook, like it simply had to let her know you were lying.

You’d been telling yourself for so long that you didn’t need him—that you didn’t want him anywhere near you. But the second you pictured him there, waiting… God, you hated yourself.

Hated that tiny, pathetic part of you that still wanted him to care, even if it was just a sliver of anything that wasn’t anger or flat-out ignoring you.

“He threw a hissy fight, but don’t worry. He’s not coming back.”

You nodded, half in agreement, half in frustration, “He never listens.”

“Especially when it matters,” Sarah added, rolling her eyes. “I swear, sometimes I think he just likes to make things worse for himself. And everyone else.”

You recalled the sound of his footsteps trailing yours earlier, the way his hand had hovered near you when you swayed, the wild look on his face when you told him to back off. He had seemed…hurt. Like he wanted to fix something he’d already smashed to pieces.

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

She respected that—she wouldn’t insist. There was a lot to unpack when it came to Rafe, but you didn’t need to go there right now. She could tell.

"Okay. Do you want to tell me why you called me and not Topper?”

There wasn’t any judgment in her tone—just plain curiosity, confusion. And you couldn’t blame her. If the roles were reversed, you’d be asking the same thing.

You had to bite your lips to avoid crying for the hundredth time that day. You hadn’t planned on telling someone the biggest secret of your life in a public space, or after nearly having a mental breakdown.

Not like this, with the IV in your arm.

"I—" you started, the words tangled in your throat. "I don't trust him," you admitted quietly, "I don’t trust him with this.”

This.

You turned your head to look out the window, the late afternoon light pouring through the blinds, but it never touched the void you felt inside. 

“He’s too close. He wouldn’t get it. I needed someone who could just… not be involved, you know? I mean—You’re still his sister but—”

Sarah’s already frowning, interrupting your pitying party, “Sweet girl, you don’t have to explain your reasons to me. I’m listening either way. I don’t know what’s going on, but I get it, I understand why you’d want to keep him out of this.”

“You’re the only one I can trust to keep this a secret,” you confessed, “If anyone finds out—if Rafe finds out—it’s over. I’m not ready for that.”

A shadow crossed Sarah’s face, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn’t ask questions about what you meant—about how Rafe had ruined things before. She didn’t need to. 

“I won’t tell him,” Sarah promised, her grip tightening on your skin. “It’s safe with me. I’ve got your back.”

You closed your eyes, breathing out slowly.

This was hard, harder than anything you’d ever done before, and that was saying something considering all the shit you went through when your family died. She had no idea what you were about to say, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it would change everything between you—between you and her, and you and everyone else.

"Sara, I—" The truth choked you once more, cutting you off. You couldn’t breathe.

Your chest felt vacant, something was missing, something that you didn’t know how to fix, but you had to say it. It was the only way out.

“Are you—" she started to ask, but you quickly shook your head. You could hear the hesitation in her voice.

"Just… just let me tell you,” You begged, pushing the words out before you lost them. “I-I’m pregnant,” you finally blurted out, as if confessing it all at once could make it easier.

But it didn’t. 

You didn’t dare look at Sarah right away. 

Your eyes were stuck on the ceiling, blinking rapidly, you didn’t need her to see how much this was breaking you or how terrified you were. You could feel her eyes on you now, and your hand clenched around the blanket, your knuckles white from the lack of circulation. 

Then, slowly, Sarah squeezed your hand again, she was giving you a moment to breathe, even though you didn’t feel like you deserved it.

“Rafe’s?” she asked quietly, confirming what you already knew she understood.

You nodded, not needing to say it aloud; she could sense the truth in the way your chest hitched, how you couldn’t bring yourself to meet her eyes.

“God,” Sarah breathed out, "And you... you want to...?"

You nodded again. She wasn’t asking if you were sure; you could hear it in the hesitation of her question. She was asking if you were ready to make the choice.

“I don’t want this,” you choked out, the tears finally breaking free. “I can’t have it, Sarah. I can’t. I’m not ready for that. I’m not sure I even know what I want anymore," you spit the doubt out with the brokenness you felt, wiping the traitorous tear that traced down your cheek. "I don’t know what to do."

“I’m here. Whatever you need, however you need to do this—I’m here,” she promised, making sure you wouldn’t float away.

“I can’t… I just… I don’t want him to find out,” you managed between shallow breaths. “If he knew, he’d… I don’t know what he’d do. Maybe it’s stupid, but I don’t want him to look at me like… like he owns me something.”

Sarah nodded, not a hint of judgment on her face, “He won’t know a thing from me, I swear. He’ll never have any say in this, not unless you want him to. This is your choice, no one else’s.”

You didn’t know you’d been holding your breath, but it came out all at once in a shaky exhale.

“Thank you. I just… I didn’t know who else I could ask.��

“Hey,” she said, her voice gentle. “This? This is exactly what I’m here for. I’ve got you, no matter what.”

The empathy there, the way she held space for all your broken pieces.

“New Mexico’s clinic rules… they won’t let me go through with it alone. They said I need someone with me.” You took a shaky breath. “I can’t imagine anyone else but you there, Sarah.”

“Then I’ll be there,” she said, without hesitation. “I’ll get the tickets, we’ll go together. And if you feel like breaking down, then break down, because you don’t have to keep any of this in anymore.”

Her words broke something in you that had been holding everything so tightly. The relief, the gratitude— “You’re really… You’d really do this for me?”

“Of course,” she murmured, pulling you close so your head rested against her shoulder, her fingers brushing through your hair soothingly. “Sweet girl, I’d do this a thousand times over.”

“I mean—he’s your brother. I don’t want to mess things up between you two even more.”

She sighed, giving a small, sad smile, almost like she’d been waiting for you to say that. “You think he’s my priority right now? Don’t you worry about me and him, we always figure it out. Trust me, I’m used to it.”

“He might hate me for this. And if he takes that out on you…” You couldn’t finish.

“Listen to me,” she sighed, “I’m here because I care about you. Rafe and I, we’ll always have our issues—he’s stubborn, and he thinks he has all the answers. But that’s our problem. He’ll never have a say over what I do or who I’m there for. Especially not with this.”

You swallowed hard, “I don’t want you to regret it.”

She gave a wry laugh, brushing a piece of hair back from your face. “You don’t have to protect me from him, remember? He’s my brother, yeah, I love him despite all our shit, but I’m not here for him right now. I’m here for you.”

“You’re sure?” you asked, the question a whisper, almost childlike. You were afraid of the answer, terrified she’d eventually pull away.

“Of course I’m sure,” she replied, tilting your chin so you’d meet her eyes. “Whatever’s going on with Rafe will figure itself out—But right now, you need someone who’s all in, no strings, no doubts. That’s me. You focus on you. I’ll handle him.”

You looked down at your hands, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket, “I don’t think he loves me anymore,” you admitted, almost hoping she wouldn’t hear it, “I was so mean when your dad died.”

When you finally looked up, Sarah was watching you with a sad smile, one that made your heart hurt in both comfort and ache. “You really believe that?” she asked quietly, and you could hear the disbelief in her voice as if it was so obvious to her, something you couldn’t see.

You nodded, swallowing down the sting in your throat. “He doesn’t want me, not really. He’s…he pulled away. Like he’d rather hate me than be close to me. He’s with her.” 

The words tasted bitter, and made you want to hurt him twice as bad, but there was finally some relief in saying it out loud.

She sighed, looking down for a second, almost like she was thinking how to tell you something that hurt her to admit.

“I don’t think that’s the problem,” she murmured, with a knowing sadness. “I think the problem is that you two will never stop loving each other. He’s still hurting from dad’s passing, he’s angry because he doesn’t know how to stop loving you. And you—you’re here, angry that he loved my dad so much, hurt that he left, trying to protect me from him, still worrying about me when you should be focusing on yourself. You’re scared he doesn’t care anymore, and he’s scared you don’t need him at all."

Your lips quivered, your heart about to leap out of your throat, your tongue darted out, briefly brushing your lips.

You weren’t sure you should say it out loud, but maybe you had to. “We’re better off without each other, aren’t we?”

“You’re allowed to be someone without him, and you’re allowed to find out who that is.”

You were slipping, falling back into that spiral of guilt and shame, the one that told you maybe this was all you were good for. Maybe Rafe was right to break things off, perhaps he’d realized that, in the end, you weren’t worth fighting for.

And shit, you hated yourself for still caring. For still wanting him to want you, even though you knew it was poison. Even though you knew that being with him, needing him, was only dragging you both down.

“Thank you.”

And as you sat there, in the stillness of that room, with the sunlight dimming outside, you felt that maybe someday you’d be able to trust yourself too. To believe that you were worth more than the heartache you’d come to accept as your own.

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

[toji-bunny-girl]

Toji with a puppy girl👀

Nah cuz puppy!reader…x wolf!toji‼️⁉️ GOODBYE YALL🫡

Alright imagine wolf cop!Toji and puppy!reader who accidentally got caught speeding and acting all fidgety and nervous when he made her roll her window down. Wolf cop!Toji’s leaning against your car door, merely asking for your driver’s license and you’re already shaking in your seat.

The first thing you did was trying to explain why you were speeding just a little, to buy some heat suppressants and Toji could see that you weren’t lying about that. Puppy girl is all sweaty, your eyes are droopy with indecipherable lust and your aromal pheromones were begging him to breed you. He is a servant of the law, supposedly having to be professional on his job, but fuck did he want to help you with your heat.

He doesn’t know the extent of his self-control and he has no interest in testing it today—so he promptly sends puppy off with a warning, he’d better not catch you speeding again.

The next time he saw puppy was a few seasons later—when he was passing by an alley on the way home from dinner with the chief. There was a little yelp of desperation, and what seemed to be someone calling for help. He could smell the scent fraught and despair, along with a familiar whiff of feminine pheromones.

Stalking into the tenebrous alleyway, he found you cowering all scared over the corner, ears back and tail between your legs as a hooded male prowled closer to you. 

Without much thinking, Toji hauled the male away from you, smashing his frame against the wall before locking his hands behind his back. 

The man tried to fight back but it was all simply in futile. He could try all he want but Toji would still have him subjugated under his strength. Ripping the hoodie off of him, and as his features were described; it was the serial rapist around your area. 

“Oi!” he called for your attention, sobbing as you shut your thighs tight together. “Get my phone outta my pocket.”

You did as you’re told, dialling the number he chanted aloud and soon the cops were there to bring the male under custody. 

“Thank you for saving me, sir,” you spoke to the intimidatingly huge wolf. And Toji returned with a terse ‘welcome’, noting the crimson blush you wore underneath your cheeks and your strong intoxicating scent; it made his head heavy and the world seemed to whirled in his sight. 

“Yer’ alright?” his voice was comfortingly deep, the grizzly pitch scratching the nerves in your ears. You’re practically sweating, and acting like how you were the first time he saw you. “Why are you out here alone this late?”

“I was going to get some heat suppressants and my car was getting fixed. So I had to walk…” you embarrassingly cried. Fuck, he swore in his head, not again. The officers were busy with the rapist bastard and letting you continue your walk alone seemed unsafe. So, he’d better send you back as quickly as possible and get on his merry way home. 

Or so he thought. 

“Please, please, please…!” you tearily whined, rubbing yourself against his knee, nose buried deep in his neck, breathing in his manly essence. Toji was beating back a groan, your scent punching his nostrils and messing up his heartbeat. He was supposed to drive you home, and somehow you’re straddled on top of him just as he has reached your home.

“Hey—”

“It hurts s’much, sir!” you’ve balled his shirt into your fist, staring at him with those wet puppy eyes. It’s your hormones against his instincts, and he has to put himself under control no matter what. “The toys are no use, I can’t do it anymore!”

“Where’s ya suppressant?” Toji sighed as he rummaged through your bag, his thigh began to dampen and the bulge in his pants pumped against the restraints of his brief as it grew in size. You didn’t manage to buy it, did you?

“Please, save me,” your voice broke as you cried, desperation oozing out of your eyes along with your tears. He could feel your pulse through his pants and your drenched panty, and fuck were you pushing him towards the edge of his limits. “It’s just this once, please…!”

Your words were the breaking point that wrenched the very last of his self-control out of his wavering self. But rules are still rules, and he worked quickly to call his partner, instructing him to help log out of his shift system for him. You were practically all over him when the phone call ended, your little teeth nipping and licking over his saliva-coated neck.

“Bad girl,” Toji clicked his tongue, his voice was low, almost predatory with a growl. You let out a yelp when he grabbed your face, forcing your head to the side as to expose the supple skin of your neck. It wasn’t fair for you to mark him without expecting him to imprint on you. Especially when you’d let out your adorable gasps as he sunk his sharp teeth into your flesh, your skin threatening to break and blood ready to flow under the subjugation of his canines.

He would only learn more of the sound you’d make when he pressed a finger against your pulsing clit through your embarrassingly wet panty, teasing and rolling your bud until your body shook and voice begged him to touch you more.

You were all he could smell and hear, his mind and body nearly drunk off of your pheromones that bubbled into the sizzling hot air. And it took the rest of a pathetic amount of restrain left in him not to eat you whole. He would have to compromise on the honey that seemed to coat your skin, sucking and biting the sweetness off of you.

Your gasps turned to whines when he stuffed a finger into your heat, a single digit of his large enough to please your squeezing cunt. But he expected you to take more than that, stretching out your slick-dripped pussy with two of his thick fingers. Your cavern squelched as he slipped them in and out of you, your head growing heavy and your eyesight turning hazy.

“Feel so—nnh, good…!” you slurred through the pleasure that shook your nerves. Your movements did nothing but agitated the bulge in his trousers, and Toji hated being edged of all things. So he had your wrists bounded by his cuffs, your arms raised above his head and your motions then restricted to your hips as you buckled them from the tingles in your core.

Toji smirked through one of the bite he was marking on your chest when he pumped his digits in and out of your sloppy cunt faster, his thumb reaching your clit and stimulating both of them at the same time. You burst into heightened cries as you felt your orgasm coming close, your hips rolling with his thick fingers as they curled over the gummy part of your wall, your eyes rolling to the back of head as pressure started building in your core.

“Mmnh—I’m cummin’, I’m cummin’!” you repeated into a chant, your features twisting to his enjoyment as he watched you come undone from his mere fingers.

From the look of it, Toji knew you haven’t had enough. You were at the height of your heat, any coherence long melted into your innate desires to mate, for hours at least. You tried to free yourself from the cuff he’d locked you in, your eyes raking over his body down to the pumping size in his pants, a spot of pre-cum damp from your doings.

“Please, sir…” you whined through your adorable doe eyes, your craving for his cock to fill your cunt catching up to your limit. “Please fuck me.”

“That’s what I wanna hear,” Toji smirked, nipping the end of your sensitive ear, causing you to shudder from his touch. He loved the fact that he doesn’t have to ask for you to beg for him, his animalistic ego stroked by your adorable neediness.

Your eyes nearly popped out when you watched him unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants down to release his fat cock, veiny and pulsing and ready to pump you full. You were almost too eager to fit him inside of you, your hips sinking down a little too quickly. But Toji was quicker to grab you before you hurt yourself. You were already well prepared, your body releasing all the hormones necessary but still, you were built a little too small for him.

“Someone’s impatient,” Toji chuckled as you wriggled in his hold. Just as he thought, your lips paused open when he slowly sank you halfway down his length, his thick cock pushing against the wall of your tummy, a little bump from the shape of his bulging from the inside of your stomach.

The both of you swore underneath your breaths, and you threw your head back when Toji started shifting into your hips. You were so damn tight and warm and wet that his carnal need to breed hit him like a fucking truck.

His jaw clenched as he forced his whole length into your pulsing hole, your eyebrows furrowed and teeth sunk into your bottom lip from how full you felt. Your breaths left your mouth as dragged moans when Toji began to draw his hips out and into your weeping cunt, slow but deep.

His thumb drew circles upon your hardened clit once again, attempting to ease your clenching hole but it did nothing but tightened your grip around his girth. “You gotta relax, pup,” he groaned into the sultry air, and you cried as you shook your head.

“M’ can’t! Please!” you mewled, rolling your hips for the least bit of friction, itching to ease the tingle between your thighs.

“Fuck,” Toji growled as tears of frustration began forming in your eyes. You weren’t the only one starved for sex, he’s been holding on for so long just not to hurt you. But you’re an eager one, can’t even wait for his cock to start moving and you’re sniffling your tears aback. “You better not regret this,” he clicked his tongue before drawing his hips back, slamming them up into your weeping cunt.

The car shook from the force and a scream lodge itself in your throat, your pussy ached with his cock dragging against your walls, and a pulsing warmth began to swarm all over your belly. “Haah—it’s s’good!” you mumbled unsteadily, your back arching into him and eyes turning crossed.

“I need you to be, shit—clearer, sweet.”

“Your cock f-feel s’good, sir!” you could feel the way Toji twitched inside of you, his pace relentless and rough. It doesn’t take long for you to feel the crack of the pressure in your core, and your released gushed all over his lap and car seat, the scent of your essence making his head heavy.

He doesn’t stop even when your lips spewed nothing but rambles, your drool slipping down your chin and onto your marked chest. Instead, he began to fuck himself into you, harder and faster. Your thighs shook for the way his cock spurred up your insides, it was as if he was trying to bring you apart then and there.

Toji bellowed out a low growl as his nails sank into the flesh on your hips, using your body like a fleshlight and messing up your sore cunt. Your slick cavern hugged his cock tight as he twitched, the nerves on his tip dancing upon the fire of pleasure before you feel a rope of his velvety semen paint your insides white, a wave of orgasm crushing down over you soon after.

You’re too drunk and dumb off his cock to stop him, your eyes rolled to the back of your head and tongue idly lolling out. Toji had spent too much of his time enveloped in your mating pheromones, his hormones raging all over his body, twisting the levels until he was down to nothing but a hulking body of a male intending to impregnate.

Unbeknownst to you, it would take days for a wolf’s rut to wear off.

[livingfandomly]

This is something I’ve seen a lot and I’ve also joked about a lot but after SotR I just need to clarify my actual thoughts on this topic: Snow’s “twink death” and his inability to let go of, what was essentially, a month long relationship.

The thing is, it’s not Lucy Gray that he’s holding a grudge against… it’s her lifestyle. He got to experience first hand, the freedom and self-assurance that groups like the Covey generated for themselves. He saw Lucy Gray run off into the woods, swim in a lake, sing and dance with her peers, all after a game that should’ve destroyed her spirits - because that is the point of the Games. To have a sole surviving reminder of why the Capitol is in control. To send back one “victor” who every district hates because the person standing in front of them is taking their friend/child/sibling/cousin/partner’s spot. To completely dismantle that person’s ability to cope with the world the way they used to and to have them beholden to the Capitol for “awarding” them with riches. They’re supposed to serve only as a reminder, a threat, a shell of a person who is visibly hollow and tarnished, hated by many, feared by some and pitied by few.

Lucy Gray is not that shell. Lucy Gray, therefore, serves as a constant reminder to Snow of what should not be happening to those who get to leave the arena. The more he takes command of the Capitol and the Games, the more the “mistakes” of the Games stand out to him because his benchmark for measuring them is Lucy Gray.

Keep in mind that the 10th Games were also the first time he got to see from the inside out. He saw what pissed off the tributes. He saw how they were transported. He also saw how the public reacted at the home district. Lucy Gray had nightmares, sure, but her ability to re-mingle with her friends was a failure of the Capitol. He saw the need to maintain a constant difference between “victor” and “friend”. He saw the need to put them on tours so that the divide and distance grows. He saw the need to be able to broadcast every aspect of the Games without having to constantly be frantically cutting the feed or very obviously fixing the narrative, because that was yet another failure of the system the Capitol was trying to enforce.

This becomes so clear in SotR when he has his talk with Haymitch and realises that the Lucy Gray spirit he has been trying to squash is still alive. Not only that, it’s infectious. It can take someone like Haymitch, someone who is very well pressed under the Capitol thumb, and spark a fire inside him. The colours of the Covey, the singing, it doesn’t just represent Lucy Gray, it represents aspects of freedom that shouldn’t exist. Even him saying:

“You love her. And oh, how she seems to love you. Except sometimes you wonder because her plans don’t seem to include you at all.”

Is so telling because he can’t fathom that a person in the districts could have the independence of thought to do whatever they want. To him, she should be desperate to go back to the Capitol with Snow to get a chance to live the dream that they’re trying so hard to sell, but obviously failing.

So no, Lucy Gray isn’t just the girl he couldn’t get over. She’s the girl that serves as a warning, as an abomination of the purpose of the Capitol. As his personal blueprint of what should not be repeated ever again.

[fairyysoup]

easy living

pairing: eric (a quiet place: day one) x fem!reader

summary: You ran into Eric on accident. Now you're facing the end of the world together. How do you get to know someone when you can't make a sound?

tags: smut, oral (f receiving), dry humping, piv sex, silent fucking, angst, hurt/comfort, survival, discussions of trauma, slight suicidal ideation by reader, words of affirmation as a love language, stay silent or die (obviously), strangers to lovers, apocalyptic, the cheesiest ending bc it's me writing, billie holiday lyrics bc it's also me writing

a/n: here it is, the silent fucking fic i promised y'all a year ago when this movie was announced. it was supposed to be like 1-2k words of plain smut but then I got too into the theory of what one does when you can't show affection through words and I genuinely discovered a tidbit of trauma I didn't know I had while writing it so I will be talking to a therapist about it, and also I'm literally out here baring my soul lol.

i also want to thank @bigtiddythanos @raraeavesmoriendi and @maximoffwxnda for supporting me throughout this writing process <3 this fic literally would not have been finished or published without y'all

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

The rain has ended. Morose, you stare up at the ceiling, wondering when you’ll get something close to free reign with your voice again. 

Of course the world had to end while you were at fucking Whole Foods.

You’ll miss certain things. Things you always took for granted, that you never even considered made a lot of noise until now. Typing on the computer. Making stir fry. Microwaving a burrito at 3am. Lighting a match, washing your face. Taking a shower.

And other things, too, that are more obvious, like singing while making cookies. Slurping the bottom of a milkshake. You’ll never be able to have a pet bird. You’ll never be able to see another concert again, and damn it if you didn’t really want those Glastonbury tickets a month ago. But it all just seems trivial, now. You don’t see why you shouldn’t just lay here on the couch forever. 

On the other side of the coffee table there’s a gentle shuffling. Eric rouses as quietly as he can; at the very least, your apartment creates a hospitable enough environment that he isn’t startled awake. It’s so silent in the apartment that you can hear the slight shift in his intake of breath, the rustle of the pillow as he turns his head to look at you. 

You want to look at him, but you fear that you’ll end up wanting to talk. So, you say nothing. You do nothing. You stare at the white paint on the ceiling and you wonder whether it would be better to get on one of the boats headed out into the water, or to move inland, away from people, away from sound. There has to be somewhere far enough away from the city that the… creatures won’t go, right?

Eric waves his hand in your periphery, so that you have no choice but to acknowledge that you know he’s awake. You have no choice but to turn your head and look into the depths of his eyes, and feel all the pain of the last 48 hours return to you. You’d been able to talk last night, just enough, in time with the rain and the thunder– enough to learn that he has family across the world. 

You can’t imagine knowing that somewhere, across an ocean and half a world away, your parents may or may not be dead. No way to contact them, no way to know what’s become of them. You can’t even begin to fathom the fear that he’s feeling, as much as you’re despairing. 

Eric’s big eyes tell you everything. Sadness and fear, and trying to grasp at the smallest hint of normalcy he can get. He blinks at you, and mouths, You okay?

No, you’re definitely not okay. Things are not okay. Things are broken and can’t be fixed. Things will never be the same again. He knows that, as much as you know that. But you nod anyway, even though you feel your heart beat a little bit slower than usual, like it wants to just go ahead and give up already. Tears prick at your eyes, and you have to close them before you let on that you’re lying.

Eric knows you’re lying, of course. How could anyone be okay, in this kind of situation? But he waits until you open your eyes, and then he mouths, Coffee?

You let out a small sigh of relief, and a smile that’s indescribably warm crosses your face. Even though he can’t make a sound, he knows exactly what to say.

You don’t have a coffee maker that doesn’t also make a ton of noise. But through some kind of witchcraft, Eric quietly empties two k-cups into a glass measuring cup and boils a soup pot full of water on the stove, and suddenly you have hot coffee in front of you. 

On a notepad left on the counter, you write, Wish I had some tea for you. 

Eric’s lips turn up at the edges, and he takes the pen from you. You’re able to doctor your coffee for about one second before he slides the notepad back to you.

Bloody American.

Your ensuing huff of a laugh is enough to make him turn pink around the ears, and he turns to place the dirty measuring cup into the sink. He reaches for the faucet, but then thinks better of it. You’ll have to figure out how to wash the dishes later.

You both drink your coffee in silence on the couch. You never considered yourself uncomfortable with silence; you’ve lived alone, you’ve gone for weeks without uttering a word before. But it’s so difficult to be sitting next to someone– someone you feel you could really get to like– and not be able to say a word. To make a sound, laugh or cry or snort or grunt. 

You’ll never be able to know what Eric’s laugh sounds like, or listen to his favorite song with him, or watch some stupid rerun of Friends with him while ignoring your responsibilities. He’s right there next to you, he’s risked his life to save you once already, and yet he’s so far away. You’ll never get to know him in all the ways you want to. Will you ever really know him at all?

He’d created a diversion when one of the fucking things had you trapped in a corner, between a dumpster and a brick wall. He chucked a rock at a car and set off an alarm, and then ran with you down an alleyway, his arm wrapped tight around your waist. Eric looked so sad, following you like a lost puppy. He was fucking drenched, too, so you know he’d probably been through one hell of a morning. And then the rain started, and the creatures were confused and… well, you weren’t just gonna leave him, scared and alone.

You, too, were scared and alone.

Eric’s hand appears to brush away a tear that had begun to fall down your cheek, betraying your internal monologue. You look to him with puffy eyes, and he pulls his hand away, suddenly unsure of whether you’re okay with such an intimate gesture. 

Your coffee cup meets the table with a quiet tap. You’re slow to move, but you scoot towards him, his arm still outstretched towards you, his eyes wide. Eric has the prettiest eyes in the world, you think. You want to tell him so.

But you’re a little too choked up to form words, anyways. Your forehead meets Eric’s shoulder, and his arm comes around you before you can huff the first silent sob that brims up. He coos softly into your hair, so softly that you can barely hear it, but it conveys enough. It does enough. 

The world is fucked. Your life is fucked. You have tunnel vision and you can only see things getting worse from here on; the only good thing you know anymore is holding you and caressing your head so gently that it pushes your tears out for you. 

You’ll never get to see a movie in a theater, and smell the stale popcorn again. You’ll never drive down the highway with the wind in your hair. You’ll never ride a roller coaster or sing karaoke. You’ll never go to a club and have a drunken heart to heart with a stranger in a bathroom.

“Do you think it’s worth it?” You whisper, so faintly that it’s barely above a breath, your lips pressed to the shell of his ear. “To try to exist in a world where you have to pretend like you don’t exist?”

Eric pauses, holding you to him. You can see the wheels turning in his head, while he tries to figure out what to say. Then he turns his face to put his lips against your ear, the same way you’d done to him. 

“I think it’s worth it to try to survive.” His breath tickles your skin when he whispers, “So survive with me, yeah?”

You nod solemnly, your tears threatening to rise up again. “I can’t stand not talking to you.” It’s so hard to keep your voice from cracking, from rising above the merest hint of a whisper, directly to him and no one or nothing else. 

Eric takes it in stride. “You are talking to me.” He pulls back and bats his eyelashes, and you think, he oughta fucking know what that does to me. 

“Not like this,” you breathe to him, because that’s really what it is– it’s a breath. A sigh. A gust of air and nothing else, barely anything that registers on your vocal chords. Your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him close to you. His hand, tightening on the middle of your back, holding you there. “I want to talk– I want to get to know you.” 

“Well, this isn’t so bad, is it?” Eric turns his head. His forehead nudges yours at the temple, and you swear you see a flash of a smile on his face. “What do you want to know?” 

His forefinger traces up and down, up and down, a gentle pattern that keeps you grounded. You bite your lip, trying to keep from letting the sounds come out too loud. You say the first thing that comes to mind. “What’s your favorite song?”

“Easy Living. Billie Holiday.” 

“You’re kidding.” You’re blushing, hot in the cheeks. You’re imagining it; slow dancing in the kitchen with him while oldies plays on the radio. You didn’t think such an innocent question would send you spiraling like this, but it hurts worse to know that it will probably never happen.

“Absolutely not.” 

“Somehow… I can’t picture you listening to jazz.” 

“Picture it all you want,” he whispers. Eric swallows, and continues, “My granddad used to have these records, and we used to play them on Christmas. But when– when he died, the records went missing. I couldn’t find the song until a couple years ago,” he explains, and his voice cracks just slightly into a murmur. 

You both freeze. You wait for the sound of creatures coming down the hallway, busting down the walls… nothing happens. You let out a breath, and you pull his face closer to yours. His eyes flick over your face, and you put your lips against his ear. 

“You have to be so quiet. Can you do that for me?” Eric nods in your hands. “I wish we could do anything but this. I wish that we could have met in better circumstances. I wish… I wish I had known you before all of this. I think we would have had a lot of fun. But if this is the only way I can get to know you, and hear your voice now, I’ll take it.” You’re nodding as well now, like you’re trying to convince yourself of it. “I’m telling you this because I don’t know how long we have. Together, I mean. And I don’t want to waste it passing notes. Okay?” 

“Okay.” He sounds clipped. His hand fidgets on your back, and you pull away to find him misty-eyed, his brows turned up. He fishes for words that don’t come, and then he nods. “Okay.” 

Neither of you move. The atmosphere around you feels heavy, like it’s pressing in on all sides. Eric’s hand slides up your back and to your face, and you remember that you’re still holding his. You’re near sitting in his lap with how close you’ve become, and the realization of that feels like a punch to the gut.

You think you should pull away. You don’t. 

Eric’s thumb traces a gentle arc across your bottom lip. It’s so featherlight it’s barely there– his eyes are honed in on your mouth, clearly lost in thought. You’d let him stay there as long as he wants, but you want every minute you can get. “Eric–”

He closes the gap and kisses you. The way you’d said his name– or not said it, rather, you sort of mouthed it against his thumb– had done the job you wanted it to. It feels like this was the obvious conclusion to the system you’d worked out, the close proximity and your shared fears. He’s scared, he said as much last night. You’re scared, you said so just now. 

Nowhere to go, nothing else to do except be right here, living. Alive, together. Kissing Eric, and him pulling you close by the waist, so that you do swing your leg and seat yourself in his lap. And as much as you love talking, and it breaks your heart that you can’t jabber at him, there are some things you just can’t put into words. Like the way that his hand on the back of your neck lights you up inside, or that you can’t think of anything other than all the areas where his skin is touching yours, and how you suddenly wish there was way more of them.

It’s stupid how much you like him already, really. You can feel your nonexistent friends clucking their tongues and shaking their heads, saying, “One day? That’s all it takes? You find some guy at the end of the world and you fall in love in 24 hours?” And they’d be right– maybe it’s not love. Not yet, anyways. But you could see it easily becoming that. And that fact scares you even more.

Your hands find Eric’s chest and the frantic beating of his heart tells you nearly the same thing. You break the kiss, trying to quietly catch your breath without gasping like you’re half-drowning. It’s harder than you expected. 

“Been wanting to do that all morning,” Eric whispers. And just like that you’re falling again, faster this time, like he’s just melted your wings right off and sent you plummeting.

You struggle to keep from gasping aloud when he kisses your jaw, just beneath your ear. It’s the lightest touch but you swear it burns, sears your skin. 

Your hands find the back of the couch, twitchy fingers digging in to keep you steady. Your mouth finds his again, his tongue tasting of coffee, and Eric kisses you a bit harder now, a bit sloppier. 

Breaking away, you open your eyes to find his wide, starstruck, his mouth hanging open like he’s been shocked beyond belief. You didn’t honestly intend for this to happen– you wanted to talk. But somehow this seems better, more appropriate. 

How do you get your feelings across when talking isn’t really an option? When innocent attraction becomes… whatever this is? 

You press a single finger to his plush lips, signaling exactly what you mean without a word. Quiet. 

Eric purses his lips, kisses your finger without breaking eye contact. His pupils are blown out so far that the barest hint of golden brown surrounds them, glinting in the sunlight from the window. 

You lean forward, until your mouth touches his ear. “Your eyes are so fucking pretty, Eric,” you whisper to him, and your teeth latch onto his earlobe to tug gently. You can’t help it– you grind your hips down into his lap, without even thinking of doing it. “You’re so pretty.”

Eric whimpers. It’s a soft sound, hollow in the back of his throat, but it’s still too loud for the world that you’re in. You clamp your hand down over his mouth, and his breath comes out sharp and hot over your knuckles as he tries to regain composure.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask him, whispering gently in his ear. Against you, he shakes his head no. “Want me to keep going?” Eric nods his head yes. 

He’s shaking under you, his fingertips digging into your lower back like he can’t hold onto you hard enough. At the thought, your pulse pounds, blood positively humming through your veins. 

You nuzzle his cheek, and give him the sweetest kiss you can while your hand is still clamped over his mouth insistently. “You have to be. Fucking. Silent. Do you understand?” He nods. “We can’t make a sound. Okay?” 

Eric nods again, and keeps nodding until you let him go. If the rain was still pouring like earlier, you could tell him how much you want him, too. How you don’t want to be mean, you just don’t want to get hurt. This is a bad idea, all things considered. But Eric slides his hand down and cups your ass to lift you up a bit, and the words bad and idea suddenly fucking vanish from your vocabulary.

You stand long enough to kick off your sweats, your day old panties going down with them. You hadn’t dressed to be sexy yesterday, you dressed to get groceries. You don’t necessarily want Eric to see your faded cotton underwear with the stretched out elastic and multiple frayed holes. You don’t think it would add to your sex appeal right now. 

He doesn’t notice the lack of a strip tease– he’s already taking you by the hips, not even waiting for you to shuck your t-shirt. He pulls until you’re stood in front of him, and then hooks your leg over his shoulder. 

So. Eric doesn’t need to be asked to go down on you, he just does. The gentleman. His hands are firm on your ass as he nuzzles into the patch of hair between your legs, and the precarious balancing act makes you snatch onto the back of the couch again. 

His tongue glides through the folds of your pussy slowly, methodically. You aren’t sure if he wants to take his time, or if he’s going slow so that he doesn’t make too much noise when doing it, but he latches onto your clit and sucks agonizingly softly, like he knows he should do it harder but won’t risk making you moan. 

It’s so gentle, and it builds. Pretty soon, you’re having a tough time keeping your whimpers in, even when he’s basically just teasing you, flicking his tongue over your clit with even the barest pressure. Your head has fallen back on your shoulders, your hand now clasped over your own mouth to stifle your sighs. 

Then, Eric’s hand glides up to splay across your lower back, and he sucks long and hard at your clit, and your hand squeezes murderously at the back of the couch while you ride out your orgasm on his tongue. 

Knees buckling, you collapse into Eric’s lap. He has a doe-eyed look on his face that’s way too innocent after what he just did to you. With panting breath and shaking hands, you cup his rosy cheeks in your palms, shaking your head in disbelief. 

Eric’s brows tilt in worry, like he did something wrong. He opens his mouth, but you put your fingers against his lips to silence him, and lean forward to breathe, “You’re too sweet for me, Eric.” 

He traces his fingers lightly up your spine, and turns his head. “Maybe one day I won’t have to be sweet. Maybe then I can really fuck you.” 

The sound of his whispering voice in your ear makes you shiver, your lust reaching a boiling point. The idea of him really fucking you– that this isn’t even him as normal, that he’s having to hold so much back– makes you burn hot all at once. That this isn’t something he’s planning on doing once. That there’s a ‘one day’ that he sees in the future with you in it. 

With a nod, your breath catches in your throat. You find your way to his mouth again, kissing him desperately. You can taste yourself lingering on his lips, and your hips rock forward against his again. 

Eric inhales sharply, stifling his own moan. You guess you have to take it just as slowly as he did, ease him into it. You work your hand beneath his unbuttoned fly and palm him, keeping your touch gentle against his hot skin. He shakes, his hands laid out against your spine, his eyes sparkling when he looks up at you. 

You push your forehead against his as you sink onto his cock, letting yourself adjust to his size. His breath stutters as he tries to keep quiet, small puffs of air spilling out and meeting your electrified skin. You curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, rocking your hips just barely, settling into his lap. 

This is more intimate than you can ever remember being with anyone, but right now it just feels right. Maybe it could be cathartic to fuck like a couple of animals in the face of doom, but Eric pulls your body flush against his, one strong forearm around your waist, and his nose nudges yours, and you think this is better. This is what you both need. Closeness. Sweetness. 

There isn’t a lot of movement– you can’t risk it. You and Eric seem to be in agreement on that, because as soon as you start trying to move in earnest, he just pulls you back to him, his arm around your waist and his hand petting the back of your head. 

Eric rocks his hips up into yours slowly, deeply, and it’s the depth of it and the slow sensuality that keeps you floating. Your clit catches on the patch of hair at the base of his cock each time you roll your hips with him, and you have to kiss him to keep from keening aloud. He doesn’t seem to mind it. 

You know he’s close when he tucks his face against your neck, his arm tightening around you. “Feels so fucking good,” comes his whine in your ear, and you gently shush him, your hand resting on the back of his head to keep him muffled against your shoulder. You want so badly to look at his face when he cums, but there’s that pesky issue of staying alive, and that hinges on whether or not he can keep quiet when he does. 

To his credit, he bites your shoulder and only whimpers a little bit. It’s just a squeak, but really, he could have been much louder about it, and then you would have both been in trouble. Imagine having to run for your life with your pants down. 

Ever the gentleman, he keeps you there even after he’s spent and sensitive, his hand clamped down on your thigh to prevent you from moving. His thumb finds your clit, and he lifts his head to watch you, his hooded eyes trained on your face as he brings you to the edge and over it again. He watches the way your brows tilt up, the way you struggle to keep your own eyes open, and the silent moan that threatens to break past your parted lips.

Eric claps his hand down over your mouth before it can. Your eyes fly open, your cunt clenches down around him, and he bares his teeth as you cum hard. It’s cyclical, comes in waves as he continues to stroke you through it, as he keeps his hand clamped down on your mouth to keep you quiet. 

To keep you quiet. 

Feverish and exhausted, you come down with your chest against his, Eric’s head flopped back onto the backrest of the couch. Your knees fucking hurt and you have yet to get off of him, and you sort of dread the moment when you have to. But this means your mouth is positioned right next to Eric’s ear, and you’re nothing if not a talker.

“Eric?” you whisper, and he turns his head just enough to let you know he heard you. “I’m glad that I met you when I did. Even if it’s terrible timing, I’m glad we met.”

A sweet, tired smile flits across Eric’s beautiful face. He nudges his nose against your temple. “I’m glad, too.” 

You shift off of him, and he squeezes your thigh just at the same time as he scrunches his face. He’s such a trooper about it, you kiss his cheek as you go, leaning over to grab a pair of earphones from the coffee table. 

You hand one ear bud to him, watching as confusion crosses his face. He watches you type on your phone as he tucks the bud into his ear, and you the other. 

On low volume, you listen to the soft piano and saxophone intro to an old jazz standard. Eric grins, his hand finding your cheek before he pulls you in for a kiss. 

And then, Billie Holiday’s voice plays for only you two to hear. 

Living for you is easy living, It’s easy to live when you’re in love And I’m so in love, There’s nothing in life but you.

[robinvomit]

†  legacy : damian.

♦ request: yes; damian wanting a child.

♦ beta’d: nope

♦ a/n: i have become a damian blog, it seems.

the conversation had come up before in passing, in quiet moments, in the rare hours where the world was silent enough for the two of you to just be. damian never pushed, never demanded, but you could see it in his eyes every time the subject was mentioned.

he wanted a child.

not out of obligation.

but because he had spent his entire life surrounded by the concept of family, yet had never truly felt the kind of warmth that word was supposed to carry. not until he had you.

and, now, he wanted more.

it had started small; brief mentions of what his father had built, the dynasty that bore the wayne name. discussions about the future, about what came next. then, his thoughts became more personal, more intimate.

a child. your child.

the way he had spoken about it wasn’t like his mother, or his grandfather, or even bruce. it wasn’t about training heirs or shaping warriors - it was about building something real. about him giving his child the family he didn't have.

and, perhaps most tellingly of all - he had been patient.

because he knew. he knew you were hesitant, that something was holding you back.

and he was waiting.

---

tonight, he had seen something.

you could tell the second he walked into the manor. his movements were slower, his usual post-patrol exhaustion laced with something deeper, quieter. his cowl had been discarded first, gloves next, fingers running through his hair as he made his way to the bedroom.

you sat on the edge of the bed, watching him. curious, nervous.

"tough night?"

his lips twitched slightly at the question, a shadow of a smile before it disappeared. he exhaled heavily, sitting beside you, suit still clinging to him like a second skin.

"there was a child," he murmured after a moment. "maybe four years old. lost."

your stomach tightened. your fingers curled just slightly into the material of your pajama pants.

damian had seen the worst the world had to offer since he was young. but he never grew numb to it. not really.

"what happened?" you asked gently.

he rolled his shoulders, eyes fixed on the wall in front of him. "their parents were killed in a mugging. they ran, got separated, ended up in an alley near old gotham." he huffed, jaw clenching. "no one was looking for them."

you swallowed hard, feeling uneasy. you weren't sure why.

you could already guess the rest. damian had found them. damian had taken them to safety. and now, damian was thinking about everything that came after.

his voice was quieter when he spoke again. "they kept asking when their father would come for them."

you hesitated, watching the tension in his shoulders. "and what did you say?"

his throat bobbed. he shook his head, a hand dragging over his face. "i didn't."

silence stretched between you, heavy, unspoken things filling the air.

and then, he turned to look at you.

you blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. "what?"

something unreadable flickered behind his gaze. something searching, something careful.

"..what is it that makes you hesitant?” his voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of something else. something unsure. something hopeful.

"you seem… uneasy, whenever the subject arises." he studied you carefully. "do you not want children?"

your heart skipped. the weight of the conversation pressed against your ribs, years of slow build-up culminating in this moment.

you had meant to tell him soon. you had meant to bring it up. but now, with his gaze locked onto yours, with his body angled toward you, waiting - the words caught in your throat.

"beloved.." he said softly, one of his hands finally moving to cover yours. "if it is not something you want, say the word. i will not resent you for it."

you let out a slow breath, gathering the courage you had been clutching for weeks.

"…it's not that."

his eyes flickered.

you bit your lip. your hands felt suddenly warm beneath his. you had imagined how he’d react to this a thousand different ways. but now, with the moment staring you in the face, you couldn’t find the right words.

so, you settled for the simplest ones.

"…i was nervous to tell you. because i'm already pregnant."

the batcave was one thing. the chaos of gotham’s streets was another. damian wayne had fought wars, had bled on the battlefield since childhood. he was trained to expect the unexpected.

but at this?

he froze.

his grip on your hand tightened; not harshly, not forcefully, but instinctively. his entire body went unnaturally still.

"…already?"

the word came out too slow, too careful, too measured, as if he was trying to process the weight of it in real-time.

you forced a nervous chuckle. "yeah."

his breath came sharper now. he pulled his hand from yours, only to place it over your stomach, hesitant, reverent. his fingers spread wide, like he could feel the shift in his entire world happening under his palm.

a child. yours. his.

something flickered across his expression. something you had never seen before.

and then - he exhaled, long and slow, and smiled.

not a smirk. not the small, fleeting upturns of his lips that rarely lasted.

you relaxed, tension melting from your shoulders. "so… you're happy?"

a real, unshaken, unguarded smile.

"..you are remarkable," he murmured, voice full of something too big to name.

his lips brushed your forehead, lingering, warm. "happiness is an understatement."

then, because he is still damian, he pulled back, raising an eyebrow.

"but next time," he said softly, "you will tell me sooner."

you laughed, bright and unburdened. "yeah, yeah, i’ll schedule a meeting first."

his fingers tightened against your waist. his lips ghosted over your temple. and for the first time since returning home, he let himself breathe.

[cosmiicfairy]

🗑