#calling him autistic like it's a bad thing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kimstills · 10 months ago

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pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader, platonic!spencer x reader summary: in which your close relationship with spencer makes aaron wonder if there’s something going on between you and the young doctor. content warnings: mentions of kidnappings, torture, child abuse (typical cm case stuff), insecurities, age gap, and haley, jealous!aaron (hb is DOWN BAD), he kind of acts like a prick in the middle of this? but it’s v brief and he apologizes!! hints of autistic!spence, angst if u squint but mostly fluff, miscommunication, technically idiots to lovers but hotch is the only idiot <3 word count: 5.1k (this was NOT supposed to be this long omfg) a/n: this was inspired by a dream i had where i was besties w reid and everyone thought i liked him until i had to blurt out that i was into older men… enjoy!!

If looks could kill, Aaron was sure Spencer would be dead by now.

It was contradicting, in a way. How he thought of Spencer like the son that had come before his actual son, yet he was staring at him like a predator stalking their next victim.

You were standing next to the young genius, shoulders brushing against shoulders as you went back and forth with the geographical profile the two of you had been assigned to work on, something Aaron was really regretting having done.

The team had been called in to assist with a case in Portland, Maine, involving an abductor-type unsub. One who would stalk his victims and learn their routines before kidnapping them, torturing them for two to three days before disposing of them in forests and parks all throughout the city.

You and Reid were both tied when it came to your skills with geographical profiles, one of the many things that had blossomed your relationship with him. But with the way the unsub was beginning to rapidly devolve, the rush to develop said profile and figure out his next move had forced Aaron to assign you two together.

Deep down he knew that it had to be done for the sake of the case and all its victims, and that it was the best decision to make as leader of the team.

But, still, he couldn’t help the jealousy that was bubbling from within him, his gaze completely focused on the way you giggled and smiled, endeared, while watching Reid struggle to tape the map one of the sheriffs had supplied you with to a spare whiteboard in the office the team had been given to work in.

He hadn’t even noticed when JJ walked up to him, the blonde hair and white button up she was wearing apparently not enough to break him out of his trance until—

“Hotch.”

Aaron snaps his head towards her, blinking in bewilderment, “Sorry, what?”

JJ stares at him with a look of both concern and amusement, a smile tugging at her lips. Her hand is raised expectantly and her eyes flicker towards the case file in his hands.

He looks down at it, brows furrowing when he finally sees the death grip he was holding the paper with. It’s slightly crumpled from where his thumb had rested, the pages wrinkled.

He clears his throat, trying to soothe out the file as subtly and smoothly as he can before handing it to JJ, “Sorry,” he grumbled.

The blonde chuckles softly, taking it from him and doing her own best to bend it back into place. She begins to flip through the pages, though she can’t help but follow Aaron’s gaze back to you and Spencer.

You had finally gotten up to help him in taping up the map, taking it from his hands and effortlessly doing so before turning around and giving him a cheeky smile.

JJ turns her attention back to him, biting back a smug smile when she sees her boss practically glaring daggers at the two of you, “I assume you’re trying to figure them out, too?” She asks, looking down at the file.

Aaron blinks, this time slowly turning his head to gaze down at her, “What do you mean?”

Her eyes widen at the realization of what she just had insinuated about her co-workers to her boss. She shrugs coolly, trying to play it off, “Nothing. They’re just really close is all,” she gives him a tight-lipped smile before quickly walking away, leaving Aaron more confused than before.

He feels his fingers twitch by his side when he glances back at you. It’s cheesy, the way his heart skips a beat when you tuck the strands of hair that had made itself to the front of your face behind your ears. His hardened features soften at the sight of you laughing at something Reid’s said, something he’s sure only the two of you understand.

Aaron’s not sure what it was that had gotten him to stick out for you like a sore thumb or how his sudden infatuation with watching and admiring you and your every move had happened.

All he could recall was that it happened, and it had happened too fast for him to begin realizing how you had begun to overcome his every thought and consume him with feelings he hadn’t felt since Haley’s passing and his marriage with her.

A part of him had told himself that he wasn’t to blame; not only were you one of the best agents he had ever worked with, but you were the loveliest and wholesome of humans.

You had your rough days, everyone on the team understandably did, yet you never failed to meet people with kindness and patience, something else that Aaron wasn’t used to receiving when it came to his co-workers. And, as much as they loved him and he loved them, even his team members were prone to calling him ‘cold’ and ‘stoic.’

While you, on the other hand would always meet him with fond, bright smiles and greetings, never once avoiding his gaze or running the opposite direction as to ‘not get in his way’ like others did.

You were like the sun peeking out of the clouds after a dark and tremendous storm, shining on him with such warmth.

So, in the end, he couldn’t really help himself from falling for you. Or for even feeling childishly jealous when you were shining your warmth onto others.

Especially with someone who apparently the rest of the team suspected you of dating.

Perhaps he couldn’t blame Spencer for falling for you, too.

Everyone meant well, and Aaron knew he was also victim to cutting him off when the boy rambled, but you were the only one who truly listened to him. Who would interrupt him gently during urgent matters and let him continue after they were solved, and never made him feel inadequate.

He doesn’t know how he hadn’t seen it before now that JJ has mentioned it—too blindsided with his own feelings for you—but he begins to wonder, though, if there actually is something more between the two of you.

He likes to think that he begins playing close attention to your mannerism, body language, and shared interactions the two of you have throughout the entirety of the case because he has to. Now that it's been brought to his attention that two of his subordinates might be in a relationship, it's his job as Unit Chief to keep tabs.

So, he watches, when the whole team is sitting in the rectangular table, debriefing with one another and sharing ideas all whilst munching on take out food.

"So, we obviously know that the significance of the victim's being dumped in nature spots is important to this guy," Morgan explains, motioning his hand around the air as he goes on, "but could it be that he kidnaps and keeps his victims in similar spots, just somewhere more secluded?"

"Spencer and I were thinking that that could be a possibility," you say, stealing a fry off of said boy's take out plate, "Maybe he doesn't live in these same places, but he could be taking them to a hidden spot somewhere in the forests, something possibly hidden by debris, wood, or anything makeshift."

Spencer doesn't even blink as you continue to steal more neglected food off his plate, continuing to sort through pictures. Aaron could see Emily and Derek give each other a knowing, smug look through his peripheral.

He manages to swallow, the tip of his middle finger and thumb tapping against one another, "What else have you two come up with regarding the geographical profile?"

"Well, besides where he himself could be living or where he could keep his victims, the whole profile is scattered," Spencer answers this time, sliding the plate towards you as he sets down a picture of each victim with the name of the forests and parks they were found in written underneath. "The first two victims were dumped in a forest, the third in a park, and the fourth in another forest.."

As he goes on, you take advantage to continue eating, the way in which he had just let you eat off his plate despite his known phobia of germs not going unnoticed by everyone else.

If that one wasn't a sign, Aaron didn't know what else was.

With the geographical profile being all over the place, Aaron decides on pulling you away from the task the following day, instead pairing you up with him to check out the crime scene of the most recent victim.

He doesn't know if it's the leader in him doing so, pulling you away from your original project he had tasked you to do, or if it's just the mix of both curiosity and jealousy that continues to gnaw at him.

He was a grown man, for Christ's sake. Yet he couldn't help the way his heart churned when you hold his hand for a second longer than necessary after he helps you climb up the small, but frosty hill.

"Thanks," you mumble sweetly, your shoulders brushing against him as you walk past him and towards the await detectives.

Aaron trails behind you, trying to calm his beating heart as the lead detective on the case walks you both towards the victim's body.

"This is the second victim that's been dumped in a park," you start, squatting down to inspect the cuts and bruises on the woman's face. "These sites are obviously more public than the forests, yet he still leaves them in more secluded spots, away from general view."

"Well, we ruled out that he can't feel any remorse or sympathy," Aaron adds while he looks around the now closed off park. "He holds and tortures these women for hours."

You stand from your spot, placing your hands on your hips as you look around the park. Aaron recognizes the face you make as your 'thinking' face, your eyes squinted and your nose scrunched.

"What is it?" He asks, trying to meet your wandering gaze.

“Reid and I were talking about the possibility of the unsub dumping his victims in the same places where half—if not all—of his childhood abuse took place,” you miss the way his breath hitches in his throat and the way his shoulders sag slightly, continuing. “We know that he has to be a local here from Portland—probably raised around these same areas—and that he was abused severely as a child.”

Aaron tries his best to nod as nonchalantly as possible, “Something from his childhood obviously triggered him for him to start abducting and inflict the same pain on the victims before leaving them in similar places where he could have been left as a child after being abused.”

“Exactly,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. “We were theorizing around that idea for a while but weren’t too sure if the abuse could play such a huge part on his M.O.”

At the mentions of you and Reid again, Aaron couldn’t help but feel like an idiot.

Not only was he a grown man, but he was also your boss. And you were his subordinate, someone he should never had feelings for in the first place and someone he shouldn’t be feeling possessive over as if anything was to truly ever happen between you.

At first he had thought that Spencer wasn’t to blame for having the same feelings Aaron so strongly harbored for you. But, maybe, you weren’t the one to blame.

For falling for someone more your age, for someone you worked and paired so well with, for someone nobody else made such a grand effort to understand the way you did.

Not only was he a grown man and your boss, but he was also double your age, a single father, and a widower.

Swallowing harshly, he pulls out his phone from his suit’s inner pocket, “I’ll have Garcia check out any reported speculations of childhood abuse in these areas and see if she can narrow down our list,” He turns, using his height to his advantage and speeding off, leaving you completely behind.

You frown, rushing to catch up to him. You halt when you come to the same frosty hill he had helped you climb up and open your mouth to call for his help, but close it back up when you see he’s already made it back to the SUV and is climbing inside.

When you finally climb inside the car after successfully managing to climb down the hill without busting your ass, he’s talking with Garcia.

You wait patiently as he drives, the phone on speaker as he gives out quick orders that your friend rushes to catch up with. You try to take the chance of speaking up once he hangs up with her, but he’s quickly dialing for Rossi afterwards.

You’re quiet throughout the ride back to the precinct, the sudden change in mood too heavy for you to gather the courage to make any sort of conversation. Once parked in front of the building, he gets out right away, slamming the door while you’re barely unblocking your seatbelt.

You make a beeline to the conference room where you find Reid, no longer paying any mind on trying to find Aaron any longer.

Spencer jumps when you hurriedly slam the door behind you, eyes filling with worry when you lean against the wood and stare at the floor pensively, “You okay?” he asks.

“Fine,” you mumble, pushing yourself off the door and taking a seat across from him. “I just got back from the latest crime scene with Hotch and he started acting so weird after I told him about our theory of the unsub’s dumping pattern.”

“Weird how?”

You move to speak, but hesitate when you realize that going into detail about how cold your boss suddenly acted towards you after being used to receiving such kind—some might say preferable—treatment would make your friend speculate things he, of all people, did not need to speculate.

You shake your head, “Nothing. He’s probably just stressed or tired,” you drop your forehead onto the table’s cold wood, your arms stretched out in front of you. “I know I am.”

A beat of silence passes before you hear a creak and the feeling of a finger press against your index. You bite back a laugh, looking up to find Spencer leaning forward in his own seat to do a ‘finger touch,’ something you had come up with for him after realizing how persistent his germophobia was, even with the people he loved the most.

You smile at him, leaning your head on one of your forearms and pressing your finger into his.

From outside the glass-windowed office, Aaron watches you both, a solemn look on his face.

The case is finally closed once you and Spencer’s theory is proven right, the unsub securely put away and the green light to go home given at last. But with the late night icy weather too dangerous for the jet to take off, Aaron orders for everyone to instead turn in for the night at the hotel and head out first thing tomorrow morning instead.

He gives a silent thanks to no one in particular when he finds out it's his turn to have a room all for himself, the rotation always being cheated by Dave, Derek, or Emily that he always forgets who's next.

Shockingly enough, he's ready to turn in for the night, not even sparing an extra glance to any of the files he had brought with him as he prepares for bed. He's just about to sit down when a knock comes from behind his door, echoing throughout his room.

He lets out a quiet groan but stands nonetheless, rubbing tiredly at his face before swinging the door open. His first instinct is to snap at whoever's behind, but that's before his eyes cast over you.

You're fiddling with your fingers, dressed in your pajamas that consists of an off-the-shoulder shirt that dips low enough to show off your collarbone and the very top of your chest, your bra strap in the middle.

And, despite the chilly weather outside, you were wearing shorts. A pair of cotton shorts that peek out from underneath the shirt you were wearing and leave little to the imagination—more so, Aaron’s imagination.

Truth be told, he's seen you in a lot less. Your usual team outing outfits consisted of tank tops, baby tees, shorts, and slightly more revealing clothes.

But this, seeing you in what you would normally sleep in, sends him into a completely different spiral.

You cringe and immediately panic at the thought of having woken him up, "Sorry, were you already asleep?" you ask, taking a tentative step back.

Aaron blinks and clears his throat, the pads of his thumb and middle finger once again tapping against one another, "No," He lies. "I was barely getting ready."

Your shoulders drop and the panic dissipates as a small smile replaces it, “Oh, okay,” you bring your hands behind your back, rocking on your heels, “I just wanted to talk to you. If that’s alright?”

Aaron’s brows furrow though he immediately steps to the side to allow you in, a soft ‘of course’ following.

He takes in the way you hesitantly step in, back facing him and arms still intertwined behind your back.

You’re being respectful, probably hoping that you’re not overstepping with whatever it is that you want to talk about. And though you always are, he can’t tell if you’re nervous, worried, or filled with insomnia that you just couldn’t sleep.

“Is everything alright?” He finally asks when you don’t make a move to sit down anywhere, his hands slightly ajar to his side like he’s ready to reach out and touch you.

God, how he wishes he could touch you.

You clear your throat and turn around, “Actually, I was just coming to ask you the same thing,”

The harsh lines on Aaron’s face deepen when you take a seat on the edge of the bed, glancing beside you as a signal for him to join you.

He swallows as he does so, careful not to sit too close and award you space. His eyes flicker back up at you when he hears your breath hitch.

Seconds of silence pass before you shuffle closer to him, bringing your body forward so that you were staring at him directly.

“Are you… feeling okay?”

Aaron freezes, his movements completely stilling at your question. His mind begins to race with all the possibilities of what could have brought on your question when it clicks.

How he had concurred that you and him were completely different and could never be a possibility, and how he immediately decided that acting cold towards you would shun out the feelings he’s felt for so long now.

Another clear of his throat, he replies, “I’m fine.”

You raise a brow at him, giving him a look that shows that you know he’s not telling the truth.

“Are you sure?” you ask again, this time more firmly. “I don’t mean to overstep, but you’ve been acting rather…strange ever since you and I got back from the fifth victim’s crime scene.”

Aaron cringes at how your expression turns into a sad one, quickly masking it with one of concern afterwards.

He sighs. He supposes that if there’s a possibility that you and Spencer are dating, now’s the time to ask you about it.

He makes a show of staring directly at you in the same way he does when he’s in his ‘boss mode,’ trying to study your face before he asks the question, “Is there something I should know about you and Spencer?”

That wasn’t what you were expecting.

You’re taken aback, quite literally flinching as if you had been struck. It takes you a few seconds to take in what he’s just asked you, and you shake your head almost as if it wasn’t real.

“I’m sorry?”

The desperation gnaws at him once more, and he’s not sure which side of him wants to find out the answer.

“Are you and Spencer dating?” he asks again, voice somehow unwaveringly calm as he punctuates each word clearly.

Your mouth opens in shock, letting out a sound that’s half a scoff half a broken laugh. You look around the room in utter bewilderment.

“What correlation does my relationship with Spencer have with what I asked you?” You can’t tell if you’re angry or just confused, but you stand from the bed and stare down at him.

Aaron follows your lead, “I never noticed it before until the rest of the team pointed it out, but you two are close. Close in such a way that—” He swallows, “—as your boss, I have to ask.”

Before the rest of the team pointed it out. Of course.

You fully scoff this time, “As my boss, you should know that Spencer and I have always been close,” you concur.

“Then why can’t you look at me?”

Despite your heart hammering in your chest, you force yourself to look at him, “Excuse me?”

“You’re not looking at me, you’re getting defensive, and you’re practically avoiding the question,” he says, his own gaze practically boring into you.

“Hotch—”

“You’re deflecting by saying that I should know that you two have always been close, and while I do know that, you’re still not answering my question.”

It feels cruel of him to press you for answers like this, knowing that there was an easier way to do it.

“Reid and I are not dating!” you do your best to not shout it at him in fears of waking the rest of the team up, fists balled at your sides.

“Then why are you so nervous?” he asks, taking a step closer to you. “Why can’t you still look at me?”

“Because it’s you that I like!”

You slap your hands over your mouth immediately and the room falls silent.

Aaron blinks. Once, twice, three times.

You liked him?

You lower your hands, nervously brushing your hair behind your ears as you look around the room in a state of panic, “I-I’m just going to go,” you mumble and immediately rush towards the door.

Aaron stands the for a second, too frozen to do or say anything before his own panic settles in brazenly. His body moves before he has time to register what he's doing and what he'll do when he reaches you.

He wraps an arm around your forearm just as you open the door, halting you from stepping outside, "Y/N, wait,"

"Hotch, please," you're quick to try and release yourself from his grasp, yanking your arm towards yourself in what results as a poor attempt. "Just ignore what I said."

"I can't do that," he dips his head to try and get you to look at him but you simply avoid your gaze even more than your originally had, your cheeks flushed.

"Hotch, let me go!" you whisper-shout, once more fighting his grip. “I’m already embarrassed enough, I don’t need you chastising me anymore.”

“I’m not chastising you, Y/N,” Aaron’s sure he sounds as desperate as you probably feel, but he can’t find it in himself to let you go and ruin his one chance of bringing his feelings to the light. Even if it went against everything he had been telling himself earlier that week.

“Do you not think it’s possible for me to feel the same way?”

Your head snaps towards him, your movements suddenly rigid at his question, “W-What?”

You’re sure that, if your heart hadn’t raptured beforehand, it certainly will now.

Aaron takes you letting your guard down as the chance to bring a hand to your waist and pull you back into the room, shutting the door and thanking that nobody else from the team had emerged from the commotion.

“What do you mean by that?” you’re quick to ask, staring up at him with curious, yet hopeful eyes.

He lowers his head as to avoid your gaze this time, letting out a deep breath. Everything he wanted to do now went against everything he had told himself the day before, when he ridiculed himself for ever thinking that you would like someone such as him or that something could ever happen between you two.

“Hotch,” your voice is firm and you allow yourself to take a step closer to him. You need him to look at you, to give you some sort of clue that he didn’t just say what he said to play you, to get you to re-enter the room just so he could profile you even more. “What do you mean by that?”

Repeating your question doesn’t help him and it certainly doesn’t help the way his heart hammers in his chest, a sound so loud that he’s sure you can hear it from how close you’re standing.

“You like me?” you whisper, dipping your head to try and meet his eyes. How ironic that just a couple of seconds ago you were trying to avoid it.

Aaron shrugs, finally looking up, “How could I not?”

His boyish, yet vulnerable expression makes your breath hitch.

“I said that I had to know if there was something between you and Reid as your boss, but it was just because I was jealous,” he shakes his head, trying his best to suppress an all but amused smile. “It was immature of me, really.”

You shake your head, trying to collect both your own thoughts and everything he was telling you. He had been jealous?

“So, is that you acted that way after I told you about our theory in the park?”

The way in which he left you behind in both the park and in the parking lot of the precinct hits him like a brick, cringing at his actions, "I realized then, when you were talking about what you had both come up with, how compatible you two are. How it would make more sense for you to like someone more suited for you. I'm sorry for how I acted,"

Your heart breaks at hearing his confession, of how he, the same man you practically fell head over heels for after your first meeting, could think that he was unworthy of your attention. If you were being honest, you hadn't been hurt by the way he had acted earlier in the day, only confused as to why.

"Hotch--" you stop yourself. You take another step closer, closing the space between the both of you more and more. "Aaron,"

He snaps his head up at your usage of his first name, the way you said it so gently and naturally getting all his attention.

"I've liked you ever since I first met you," you confess. "I'll admit I was too intimidated by you to fully register what I was feeling, but the more I got to know you, the harder I began to fall. And I fell really hard," you let out a laugh, trying to ignore just how much you were putting on the line right now and how self-conscious you felt with his eyes boring into you.

"You've been with the BAU for three years," Aaron's voice is barely above a breathless murmur and he's sure you wouldn't have heard it if you weren't standing so close. "That's how long you've liked me for?"

You nod, lips pursed, "I never said anything because I thought you would never see me that way, let alone reciprocate my feelings. If I'm telling the truth, I wouldn't have said anything if it weren't for you pressing me into telling you that I was dating Reid."

Aaron smirks despite the warmth he feels on his cheeks, shrugging his shoulders and letting out a soft laugh, "Well, then I'm glad I ended up asking. Who knows how many more years we would've gone like this if I hadn't."

You both laugh, subconsciously curling towards each other when you both double over and bring yourselves even closer than before.

You stare up at him with a warm expression before casting your eyes downwards. You lift your hand to linger above his, the pads of your fingers brushing against the hairs on the back of his palm, "So, what happens now?"

Without breaking eye contact, he takes your hand in his while the other reaches for your waist once more. You let out a small yelp when he pulls you even closer, your bodies now touching and radiating the warmth you both thought you’d never be able to feel from one another.

The next few seconds are filled with bliss when he lowers his head to press his lips against yours. You’re immediately weak, letting go off his hand to place both on his shoulders as to support yourself.

The other now free hand of his comes to rest on your other hip, fingers digging into the fabric of your shorts ever so possessively. A whimper escapes from your mouth and Aaron takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, doing so with so much fervor and passion that it leaves you feeling dizzy even with your eyes closed.

Aaron is relentless even after you pull away to catch your breath, the act of kissing you now something he’s inevitably hooked on. He presses kisses all over your face, from your cheek to your chin to your jaw, then all the way down to your neck.

“You know,” you cough out, flushed from the attention, “I told you how long I’ve liked you, but you didn’t tell me how long you’ve liked me.”

Aaron smiles into your skin, immediately recalling when he first realized his own feelings for you. He lifts his head to press a sweet kiss to your lips, eliciting a hum from you.

“I can tell you all the details over either a nice dinner tomorrow evening after we land,” he says, another kiss to your lips. He turns your bodies around so that his back was to bed, the mattress dipping under his weight when he sits. “Or you can spend the night here and we can stay up all night talking about it.”

His voice is sultry, and the way in which he grabs at your hips to get you to straddle him makes you flush.

“Are you already trying to seduce me?” you ask, mock offense in your tone though you happily take your guided seat on his lap, both knees on each side of his thighs.

Aaron hums this time, brushing your hair back to begin kissing at your neck again, “Can you blame me?”

He already knows your answer, he’s sure. He knows you can’t, because he can’t, either.

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sirfrogsworth · 3 months ago

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So, I did know the basic psychology of this. Or I have a good guess at least. But I was too tired and just needed a way to end the post quickly. I am running on fumes nearly all the time and sometimes I just do whatever I need so I can publish something and feel like I accomplished a goal.

But a few people are having issues with what I said.

They mentioned that autistic folks find comfort in repetition and feel like I am calling that sad. I definitely see that as a possible interpretation and I appreciate them mentioning feeling that way.

But I just wanted to use a little bit of energy to address why I don't think I was referring to these normal, healthy coping mechanisms. I mentioned in a reply that my father actually needed to watch the same show over and over because he was too sick to concentrate on something unfamiliar. I get why it can be helpful.

Firstly, I don't know many autistic people who trap everyone they know at a party and play the same 12 songs over and over.

By and large, that aspect was what I found most sad.

But aside from that, I see this repetitive behavior as a very different thing.

In fact, I would say it isn't the behavior itself... it is the *reason* for the behavior.

I see Trump's repetitive behavior more as living in the past, stuck in his ways, being stubborn, and unwilling to try new things. Something I see a lot with elderly conservative folks. They yearn for a better time in the past when they forgot all of the shitty things and only remember happy times. They say music was better in the good old days and refuse to consider any good music could be created outside of that golden age.

Trump is stuck in the 80s and 90s. He was young and healthy and grabbing pussy and fucking models (with and without consent) and going to parties of important people. He was invited to celebrity weddings and was literally Regis Philbin's best friend. Society generally liked him. He was just the goofy rich guy with the hair and many of us thought he was really good at business. Something enhanced by The Apprentice which was heavily edited to make him seem like a business genius. He likes people thinking he is good at business more than he likes being president.

I actually think he hates being president and only ran this time to stay out of jail.

Trump is not well liked as he used to be. No matter how many cult members love and praise him, he remains deeply unhappy. His wife refuses to touch or even kiss him in public. She does this little hand escape thing every time he tries to hold her hand. And when he tries to kiss her she makes him do that French thing where he has to kiss the air near her head.

Every one of his current "friends" is just playing the game. They are hoping their fealty will help them climb the ladder. I doubt he has a single genuine friend left. Except maybe Rudy Guiliani, who turned into a fucking nutball.

He was traumatized from being inches away from death and I think that was the real reason he moved his inauguration inside. A life long New Yorker is pretty well adapted to the cold.

He probably has erectile dysfunction. He is said to need a diaper. People say he smells really bad. Getting old sucks for everyone, but it is devastating to a narcissist of Trump's caliber.

Trump is in a psychological prison of unhappiness and all he has left is his rallies and his parties where he tries to trigger memories of better times. He has the world's thickest nostalgia glasses.

Why do you think he says "Make America Great AGAIN"?

He says he is going to restore the US to its "former glory."

Almost every personal and political goal of his is based on restoring how things used to be. Which is why he so easily fit into the regressive Republican party despite being a New York Democrat for most of his life.

Trump has elderly nostalgia brain and he is stuck in a loop. He is desperately trying to recreate his glory days.

I get why people had an issue with the caption. And I should have waited until I had more energy to clarify.

In the end, this man is stuck in his ways and stupendously uncurious of new things.

And those are terrible traits for a president.

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tinysunshine · 3 months ago

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━━━ ✧˖° 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒

[ 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐱𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ]

female reader, inclusive language. minors dni.

warnings and triggers: extremely dark subject matter, graphic mentions of abuse. sexual trauma. hints that daryl might be autistic. name calling. no smut, but moments of fluff. slight alternate universe.

word count: 9.4k

you and daryl grew up in broken homes. bonded by the abuse you both suffered, you find comfort in each other. but as you grow up, you drift apart, although the connection between you two never fully goes away.

when you reconnect as adults, you both realize that the love between you two has always been more than just friendship - it was also survival during the rough times, and in each other you find healing. in daryl, you realize that home isn’t always four walls and a roof.

sometimes, it’s a man with rough hands and a kind soul, who’s always had your best interest at heart. who knows all your demons - and loves you anyway.

you grew up with daryl - but instead of riding bikes around the neighborhood and telling fairy tales like a normal kid, you trauma bond over stories about your abusive family situations and collect empty beer bottles littered around both of your childhood homes to throw baseballs at, looking for any form of entertainment to get through the day. you’re practically neighbors, and as you grow up you’re more like brother and sister than just friends. shared trauma will do that to anyone.

during the summer, you stay awake and out of your homes until it’s dark, looking for frogs and eating berries, finding loose change on the road and walking the mile to the little convenience store in town to buy and share a bag of chips. you stay out until merle comes looking for daryl, or your own brother calls out to you, yelling, “get your ass inside or i’m locking you out!”

daryl and you always exchange a look, one that’s founded in humor, a ‘look what i deal with everyday’ expression while you try to act strong - but you both know it’s a very thin thread that holds your emotions, your hope, together these days. the only thing that brings a little light into either of your worlds is the friendship you have with one another.

you don’t have to hide around daryl. both of you can be your broken selves, show your bruises around each other. it’s not even embarrassing to bring daryl into your home, because his home is just the same. dirty, loud, a place that has you constantly tense and ready to defend yourself.

daryl is like your shadow, and you’re his. wherever you go, he goes. wherever he goes, you go.

you’re so close - until you’re not.

────

as teenagers, you grow apart.

you get pretty - and a little slutty. you look for validation from the mean guys at school, offer yourself up to any man that reminds you of your father. your beauty is your currency, your weapon, but also your biggest curse. makes it so you don’t even want to be around your father when he’s drunk, or your brother or his friends for that matter.

you’re busy, flunking your classes and stealing fashion magazines from the same convenience store you used to go to with daryl as kids with pockets full of change. you spend your time in bedrooms, mostly yours, hanging up photos from those precious magazines on your wall to cover up the cigarette smoke stained wallpaper. but you also spend a lot of time in the bedrooms or truck beds of different men.

sometimes, you wonder about daryl - the boy with the haunted eyes that was your lifeline and such a big part of your childhood. he’s just as much of the voice in your head as your own is, and when you walk home alone, from school or the store or past his house without catching a glimpse of him, you think back to the memories you shared together. the games you played, when there was still a little bit of innocence in the both of you.

like pretending to be cops, with daryl being the good cop and you being the bad. hide and seek by the stream in the woods that destroyed both of your school shoes, and you only got one pair a year, in just one weekend. grabbing an old bowl from your house to collect grass and leaves and little rocks and mud, so you could play family and make dinner, pretending the random squirrels that ran past you both were your pets. it was an idealized version of a family from the television you watched - because neither one of you have any actual memories of your mothers cooking.

or your favorite game: royalty, when daryl made you both crowns out of old grass and twigs and bestowed upon you the most important title you’ve ever held: mud queen to his mud king. like you were married or something.

on especially rough days in your present, you swear you see the tiny, muddy footprints of you and daryl when you’re walking on a trail back to your house. when you’d both check to make sure your fathers were at the bar or out of the house so you could sit next to each other on either of your couches, and share a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on stale bread, watch cartoons on televisions with grainy screens and bad audio.

you still remember how daryl likes his peanut butter sandwiches. lots of spread, a little jelly, and if there was one available - a whole banana smashed up inside.

you wonder if he remembers anything about you. you wonder if he even thinks of you at all.

────

daryl’s not like the rest of the guys in town, and that’s good - because he was always worried he would be. used to look at merle and your brother in disgust and hatred whenever they were high or drunk or just being themselves. and you don’t know daryl anymore, not at all, but what you do know about him, hear about him - you can tell that he kept those promises to himself.

promises to you, when you’re feeling extra sorry for yourself.

you have a memory of him walking into your bedroom so you could show him a new coloring book you got. you were much too old to be so excited about a coloring book, but daryl was ranting about how much he hated his family, and you wanted to cheer him up.

you notice this in your life even though you’re almost all grown up. maybe coming from poverty, having nothing, being denied a real childhood - it keeps you young. interested in things that normal people your age would’ve outgrown already.

like now, with your bed full of stuffed animals you could’ve never afforded as a kid, but that you’re so excited you can give to yourself now. back then, it was that coloring book that your mom’s boyfriend of the month, when she finally remembered she had a daughter and came to visit, gave to you. it had unicorns on it and you also had a brand new pack of crayons.

but when you opened your drawer looking for it, excited to show daryl, there was just a bunch of broken crayons and ripped up pages. your eyes watered, and daryl stopped his story about his father putting out a cigarette on his hand to see what was wrong. his expression fell, seeing what was in the drawer, and he picked up whatever was left of the coloring pages. your brother walked by your bedroom at the same time, and he saw what was in daryl’s hand.

he shook his head, and you couldn’t tell if he was angry or not. daryl stepped in front of you, and you don’t even think he realized he was doing it, but you remember that it was obvious that he was turning into a man. he was finally taller than you, and too strong now to climb up and into your favorite tree. your brother scoffed, like he was disgusted just by your presence.

you knew that feeling all too well.

��yer too old for a coloing book anyway. what you do to get that, huh? mom didn’t give me anything. she didn’t even say hi, but you - you whoring yourself out like her already?”

you saw daryl’s hand tense up. he grabbed onto the coloring book so hard it was damaging it more, but you didn’t say anything. just whispered, “let’s go for a walk,” as soft as you could until your brother walked away.

and on that walk, daryl grabbed at his hair and kicked empty cans in the road.

“god,” he groaned angrily, and you still remember that he was the only man or boy you’d ever been around who’s anger didn’t scare you. “i’ll never be like them. i swear it,” he ranted the entire walk. you stopped at the convenience store again.

the guy at the front hassled daryl about telling merle to pay up, and daryl hassled him back, which was unusual. you didn’t realize why he did that, until you both left.

on the way back home, daryl pressed a fresh pack of crayons into your hand. he had been distracting the guy at the counter so he could steal it. he shrugged. “can always just use regular paper,” he suggested, and you remember leaning on your tip toes to kiss his cheek.

nowadays, daryl sticks to himself, and eventually, drops out of high school. but you know he’s still in town because you see him sometimes when your brother drags you to the dixon place to pick up a bag of something to get him high. you never talk to daryl, but sometimes you see that he’s there, from his crossbow by the door or a banana on the kitchen counter - because merel wouldn’t eat that gay shit. or sometimes you hear him in his room, blasting music while merle bangs on his door and roars at him to “turn that shit down!”

you don’t know if he’s avoiding you or just avoiding the world. you wonder why you grew apart exactly. you have some theories, because there was never a falling out between you two. one day - you just stopped hanging out. you don’t even remember how it happened.

both of you just wanted to outgrow the shitty childhood you had, maybe hope for something better as you got older. did it happen? no. but the memories you have together are just reminders of the abuse you’ve seen the other handle. the dreams you bonded over, about escaping this town and your families - they never came true. looking at each other is just a reminder of that.

but your paths keep crossing. it is a small town, after all.

────

daryl sees you at a party one day, being shoved in a room by three guys that you don’t know beause you’re drunk and your reputation precedes you. he pulls you out of the room and gets in a fight in your honor, one against too many to win but daryl is a dixon and can hold his own. he walks you home and when you thank him he just shakes his head. won’t even look you in the eye. “quit bein fuckin’ stupid,” he says, and it hurts. but you know he’s not wrong.

it’s not your fault that you got shoved in a room, but it is your fault that you can’t say no. it is your fault, that you dumb yourself down so you’re easier to use, anything for a crumb of attention from a man who might be your ticket out of this town. you don’t want to be ashamed, but you are. of the woman you are, of the one you’re becoming - at the things you’ve done, just for an ego boost that ultimately ruined your self esteem even more.

daryl can see through you, even after all this time. and you hate it.

you see him smoking on the steps of a diner a few days later, eye bruised and black and nearly shut. his hair is dark and floppy and he’s so handsome, but your heart hurts when you see that even though he’s getting taller than his dad and merle, even though he’s strong now, the way he always used to wish he was as a kid, with big arms and shoulders from buffing up on his porch with the weights merle has - he’s still a punching bag.

you know the feeling. you gaze down at the bruise on your wrist, hidden by a tight sweater. it’s the sad proof that daryl is a stranger now, that you have to hide things from him that you never would’ve had to hide when you were kids. although: both are fucking sad situaions. the fact that you were kids, bonding over bruises anyway.

you walk up to him, and he offers you a cigarette. you shake your head. “good girl,” he says mockingly, and you hate the way that your body heats up. you can’t deny that you feel like he’s mocking you, like cigarettes are where you draw the line in terms of risky behavior, but you try not to dwell on it. it’s just nice to see him.

“they got you good,” you say, referring to his eye and the party. “thanks for helping me.” you don’t know what else to say, aren’t really thinking - you just want daryl to talk to you again. but daryl just shakes his head, scoffs and walks off. but not before putting his cigarette out, stepping on it with his scuffed up boot.

“wasn’t from that fuckin’ party,” he says, about his eye. “you know that.”

you don’t speak again for years.

────

in a blink of an eye, you go from two damaged kids to two fucked up adults.

daryl, a man now, big and strong and tough. handsome, dirty, rough. you see him in town sometimes, around his brother and their fucked up friends. or maybe they’re just merle’s friends, but you can’t judge. the people you hang around aren’t exactly good.

you hear the whispers about him, how nobody can read him, how he’s stupid, or a creep with anger issues - all things you know aren’t true. you know that, because they say shit about you too. that you’re stupid, slutty, a whore no better than your mother.

you don’t have an excuse for your behavior, but daryl does. you’ve got a television in your room now, and you watched a show one day that talked about��mental stuff. it was a little too complex for you to fully understand, but the doctor on the show explained somet things that just screamed out daryl to you. quiet, sensitive. they talked about some spectrum thing, and you wonder if that’s what daryl is on. why he’s so hard to understand.

why he dropped out when you saw him coming from a classroom that your peers used to always call the idiot class.

you wish you could tell him about it, but then again. what do you know? about life, or even about daryl in general.

you want out of this life, but you don’t know anything else. you don’t know how to get out. you wonder if daryl thinks about the future you used to dream about when you were kids. two apartments in the same complex, so you could always play together but got to experience your own space, you know? a big, color television. you have that now, but so does everyone. a fridge stocked with food and snacks. no beer allowed.

it’s a sad, funny thought. because every time you see daryl in town it’s with a beer bottle in his hand. and you, well - you’re never alone. never have truly experienced your own space that you’ve always yearned for.

these days, you see daryl as a stranger. not as a childhood friend. not anymore. and you certainly don’t see him as your brother. maybe you never did. because your brother is mean, with cruel hands and even crueler words. daryl could never be like that.

and you know that daryl doesn’t see you as his friend or his sister, or as anything different than the people in your town see you, because whenever he sees you at a bar in town, dressed up and on the arm of whatever shitty boyfriend you have, the way he looks at you, with the same disgust he used to look at your brothers with and something else in his eyes - it makes that clear.

although, when you’re hopeful, you hope that disgusted look is meant for whatever man you’re with and not you.

sometimes, when you know you might see him in passing, you dress up just a little sexier. but you’re not sure why. daryl’s not the type to think you’re any happier than you were as a kid, just because your skirt is short and you’re wearing cheap perfume. he’s not fooled by the charms of any woman, because he does have admirers. you embarrass yourself, for even thinking about getting his attention with your body and your looks. this is the same person who used to smear dirt on your face and call you mud queen, pretending to throw arrows with twigs before merle stole him his first crossbow.

daryl could give a shit about cleavage - and he sure as hell doesn’t think being chosen makes someone any more worthy. you should take notes.

while it’s a good feeling that deep inside, daryl might be the same person he always was, it scares you a little bit. because maybe you’re the only one who’s different. and not better in this case.

sometimes you feel even worse off than when you were a kid.

────

you’re walking home from the store one day, bag of groceries on your arm, when you run into daryl. he’s hopping on his motorcycle, and it starts to rain, which sucks - not because you don’t want to get wet, but because you’ve got makeup covering your black eye and the hand prints on your neck, that’ll surely wash off on the long walk back to your house in this weather.

daryl spots you. he’s leaving the gas station. you’re humiliated that of all people, you run into him today. you pretend you don’t see him, and tighten your hold on the bag.

“hey,” he calls out as you pass him. his voice is different. a little deeper than you remember hearing, but you guess it makes sense - you’re both all grown up. you always wished for that, but now you’re not so sure it was the right wish. because you’re in the same position you were in as a kid.

maybe you should’ve wished for a ride out of this town instead.

you look back at daryl, and give a tight lipped smile and nod of your head to let him know you saw him. you keep walking, but as embarrassed as you are, you’re pretty happy that he’s talking to you.

he starts up the motorcycle, and you wait for him to speed by you. a thought occurs to you, that he’s always wanted a bike like that. used to talk about it as a kid, used maple syrup to stick pictures of motorcycles from his father’s magazines to his bedroom wall.

you’re happy for him. it must feel good, to finally get something you want. you don’t know what that feels like. maybe daryl is happy in this town, and it’s just you who’s so miserable you’re projecting that onto everyone else.

the motorcycle stops right beside you, and you’re closer to daryl than you’ve been in years. you see his face, with more lines than he had the last time you spoke to him. but just as handsome as ever, hair longish and dark and in his eyes. you want to push it back, like you did with dirty, sticky hands back when you were kids.

“you need a ride?” he asks shyly, and you swallow hard, wondering if he remembers that was the first thing he said to you back when you were kids. the sentence that started your friendship.

you were stranded at school, your mom run off with a new man and your dad too drunk to give a fuck, brother probably high somewhere. daryl rode by on his run down bike, just slightly too big for him, the parts all mismatched - but at least it was wheels. he rode that thing until merle went to prison and coudn’t steal him anymore parts to fix it.

he asked you that same question then, and you still have the same answer.

“wanna ride?” he’d asked, no backpack or anything even though you were both leaving school. “you live by me. i’ve seen you.” you nodded, and got on, just like now.

it breaks the ice. much like it did when you were kids.

you realize that day, from a thought that's just as sweet as it is scary for someone like you - that history really does repeat itself.

────

suddenly, you’re not avoiding daryl anymore. and he’s not hiding from you. when you see him in town, you walk over to him to talk. you offer to go to his house to get shit for your brother from merle because you know you’ll see daryl, and you share a soda on the porch with him, sitting mostly in quiet, but daryl’s presence has always been comforting to you. not his words.

being around daryl now, as an adult - it doesn’t feel like friendship. it feels like something else. when you see him, ripped arms showing in a vest, his new camaraderie with his brother that feels more equal than it ever has before - you realize you’re attracted to him. it’s the first time you’ve ever though of daryl like that, and even though your friendship or whatever it is is growing, you pull back, scared.

it’s been a long time since you’ve been around a man who just wants to be your friend - and you trust daryl, but it’s hard to believe that’s all he wants. the pressure you’re making up all in your head starts getting to you, and you change.

start wearing makeup to your little porch sessions. a push up bra that’s a size too small. you’re a little jealous, you think one day, sitting on his porch after your own brother punched a hole in your bedroom wall because you drank the last orange soda, that daryl’s big enough now that his brother and father don’t pick on him, while you’re still at the mercy of the two men in your home who will always be bigger and stronger than you.

you see daryl one day when merle and his father are out so he’s alone at his place. you’re in a little, yellow sundress and daryl scoffs at you. “what the hell are you wearin?’” he asks, and you blush, attempting to sit on the dirty stairs of his porch. but he stops you by reaching a hand out and you flinch - and he notices. looks at you like he always did when you were a kid and he heard your father yelling at you. pity, but something like hurt in there too. hurt, maybe, that you flinched around him. but’s it not like you can control those types of reactions. your body is just being cautious.

daryl doesn’t say anything. he just puts that angel wing vest of his on the step so you can sit on it so you don’t ruin your dress, and it’s sweet but it makes you sad.

you’ve never had a guy be thoughtful to you before. only daryl - and that’s pathetic. you’ve shared your body with more men than you can count, and daryl doing something so normal makes you feel incredibly indebted to him.

“just wanted to feel pretty,” you tell him, embarrassed. he looks you over, shakes his head like you’re an idiot. maybe you are. you can’t say you’ve ever had a man not want to see you in a sundress, but you’re happy he’s noticing the effort you put in to be around him.

“don’ have to do shit to be pretty, mud queen,” he says. your stomach erupts in butterflies. he remembers. “yer already the prettiest girl in this garbage town.”

────

weeks go by, of sharing sodas on daryl’s porch, or bringing him those peanut butter sandwiches he likes so much when he stops by yours. eventually, those childlike foods progress to beer, and then somehow, some way, you kiss him.

it just happens. you’ve never been good with boundaries, and daryl has never made a move. you worry, even if you’re not conscious about it, that if you don’t show him you’re interested soon that he’ll be done hanging out with you. men play the long game that way. it’s all a game to them. you know daryl is different but still -

you put yourself out there. or maybe, a better term would be get desperate. you make it clear, how you’re feeling. and after his compliment, calling you the prettiest girl in your entire town, all you can think about is the fact that you got pretend married when you were kids. you found a dirty lace shirt in the back of your closet that must’ve belonged to your mom, and it looked like a veil you saw in a movie. and daryl humored you, used a leaf as a bow tie and held one of your dirty hands in his own as you said i do.

and then you admitted that you don’t know what being married actually means. how could you? you'd never seen a normal example of a family. “i think there’s supposed to be rings,” you remember telling daryl that day, and he just shrugged. “i’ve never heard of that,” he’d said.

but now you’re adults. and you're not a mud queen, you’re the town slut. and daryl isn’t the broody, quiet kid skinning frogs for fun, he’s strong and handsome and a man - and, okay, he's still broody and sinning frogs. but things are different, and so are you, but he’s still the daryl that always brought you peace.

you wonder, pressed arm to arm on his little porch step, what it'd be like to be married to someone like daryl. to daryl dixon himself. but you shake yourself out of those random, childish thoughts, because they do nothing but hurt. with your reputation, there's no way in hell anyone, even a man as kind as daryl, would ever actually marry you.

but daryl's always been your peace. even with the screaming and yelling and the violence in your home, or in this case, with merle screaming at the television inside of the dixon home -

you’re still that same little girl you've always been. desperately looking for someone to care. to love you. you push yourself into daryl’s arms and kiss him, and he kisses back for a second before pulling away. shoving you, although gently, back.

‘’m not one of those losers you gotta fuck for some attention,” he spits, and you’re speechless. embarrassed. he stands up, and you know it’s your cue to leave, especially when merle comes out. he overheard, despite the screaming. or laughing. hard to tell with merle.

“oh hell, little brother,” he teases. “you finally fuck her? wassit been? ten years? how much longer you gunna make her wait? she’s aching for it, comin’ here all the time. you sure your pecker works?” he goes on and on.

they starts bickering, and you leave, heading back to your home with nothing your brother asked of you - weed, something stronger. you’ve got nothing but the last piece of self-worth in your hand, and you want to just toss it down the toilet and flush it.

what kind of woman puts the moves on a man? it's so desperate. you're mortified, and as you pass the mirror in the entryway of your shitty home, you feel like the ugliest person on the planet.

of course, not having what your brother asked for causes a fight, only - you’re not daryl, and you’re not strong. it’s not a fair fight, and you end up with bruises so bad you just pack your sundress away, because there’s no way in hell you’ll get to wear it again by the time summer is over. it's long-sleeved shirts from now on.

you think you ruined whatever you had with daryl and you hate yourself. how stupid you were, treating him like some other guy. just because that’s the only way you connect with other men, doesn't mean that's the way to connect with daryl. you should known that, better than anyone.

you ignore him. avoid him. but it’s not like he’s seeking you out.

until one day, he comes to your window.

that’s how he used to ask you if you wanted to play, when you were kids. would walk through the dense woods, because he said he was never scared - which was a lie, because you’d seen his eyes when his father pulled his belt out of the closet one day. but maybe he just meant he was never scared of anything in the woods. he would throw a rock at your window to get your attention. anytime you ever watch a romantic movie with a window scene, you always think about daryl - and you wonder why it took so long for you to see him in that light.

why it took so long to realize that daryl dixon is so much more than the dirty, damaged boy you knew as a kid. but maybe that’s because it’s a scary realization. would mean that you could be more than the damaged, dirty little girl you used to be - and if that’s the case…what do you do? how do you move on and learn to live as someone you’ve never even known you could be?

you open your window when daryl taps on the glass. he doesn’t use a rock this time, probably because he remembers when your father shoved you against a wall for throwing a book against the television once as an accident. now that you think about it - the rock throwing did stop after that incident.

when you see daryl and open your window, all you say is, “i'm sorry.” he doesn’t say anything else, just crawls through the window, body almost too big, and lands with a thud after almost tripping. you giggle, so happy he’s not mad.

“room looks different,” he comments, sitting on your bed. he looks funny, a little filthy and all dark clothes, on your ratty, floral print bed covers in your trashy, uber pink room. you wish you’d cleaned up, but you never have anyone in here who matters.

never have had a man in your room who’s more interested in the design of of it rather than the little pajama set you’ve got on. you nod.

"i’m all grown up now, daryl,” you remind him, standing in front of him. “and so are you.” you’re not trying to excuse kissing him or making him uncomfortable, but maybe he forgot. you’re not kids. you’re not friends - you don’t call yourself brother and sister to the people at school after they question why daryl always shares his lunch with you.

it’s okay if he wants to kiss you back.

you wish he would.

he just looks at the ground, at your dirty carpet, the red nail polish on your toes that are so close to touching his boots. you follow his gaze. and then, he notices the bruises on your arms.

“whos been hurtin’ you?” he asks, and you understand why. you’re always seen with a different guy around town. or, you were, before daryl filled the void a few months ago. maybe he thinks it’s someone from town, but you’re too embarrassed to admit that it’s not. or maybe, he forgot that just because he’s bigger, can handle his brother and father - you’re not. it feels like he should really be asking who’s hurting you now?

you understand now, how he felt that day outside the diner. on the spot. like the answer is obvious, and someone is just trying to pry the truth you’re so ashamed of from your mouth. you bite your lip, shutting your eyes as you answer. “you know who.”

he looks from you to the door, hearing your brother laugh at something that’s playing on the television, before visibly taking a deep breath. he shakes his head as he exhales, pausing before his eyes look into yours. he’s quiet for so long, that you shift on your feet, looking for something to fill the silence the way his large frames fills your room.

“i don’t think of you like the other guys, daryl. i just. i dunno. i felt comfortable with you and,” you don’t know what to say. you’ve never had to apologize for coming onto someone before - and you’ve definitely never had anyone apologize for coming onto you.

he looks at you, neutral expression on his face, and then he sighs.

“come here,” he says, tugging you closer by the hand. gently. you stand between his legs, in nothing but your pajama camisole and a pair of shorts, and he kisses you. has to lean up a little from sitting, but it works. he wraps his arms around you, holds your body close, and when he rubs a hand down your back, your body shudders with sobs.

daryl is a good kisser. sweet. he’s timid, and you can tell he hasn’t had much experience. not compared to you, where kissing is like breathing at this point. you like that about him - it makes you, selfishly, happy.

but you’re still crying.

daryl pulls away, visibly confused and worried, but you you push yourself back in his arms. like a stray kitten, who's not taking no for an answer now that it's finally being shown some love.

you’ve never been kissed so gently. never been touched so gently. you never thought about what it’d be like to kiss daryl until recently, but you didn’t know it’d feel so, so. soft? the opposite of home? warm and calm and safe. maybe it's what home should feel like. you lose yourself in him, even with the sound of your brother screaming at the television and hitting the wall in the other room.

you cry like an idiot in daryl’s arms, even as he kisses you. some first kiss between you two.

when you were a kid, you never cried. always prided yourself on being strong and tough - just like your best friend daryl. maybe you have changed more than you realized. you sniffle, and sit beside him at the end of your bed, but he still holds loosely onto your hand.

“you’re the only one who has ever held me without hurting me, daryl,” you admit. sheepishly, with heat in your cheeks, you sort of shrug. “you’re the best man i know.”

you don't know what this is between you two. what it could be, what it will be. what you want it to be. you just know that it feels like the strings of fate wove together to give you both someone to count on. someone who understands. unlike when you were a child, tonight, in daryl’s presence, you don’t hope or wish for anything.

you don’t care what that kiss meant. you just don’t want daryl to go.

daryl says nothing at first, just strokes a hand down the back of your head, a comforting gesture you’re not sure where he learned, considering the way he grew up.

if you weren't so upset, you'd realize that his mother used to comfort him like that. the few times she ever did.

“yeah,” he finally replies, swallowing hard, like the compliment isn’t one at all. maybe he just doesn’t like what it means for you. “that’s a shame.”

and that’s it. you’re inseparable again.

────

after that night spent together, you don’t kiss again. but you touch. something is different between you two. you’re more than just the former friends you used to be, but there’s a line you haven’t crossed.

it sort of feels like it’s always been, you know? you and daryl. daryl and you. you see each other almost every day, but it's hard since you both still live at home. you stopped sneaking him in your room when your father ran into daryl at a bar and slapped him on the shoulder. said, “so you’re the one screwin’ my daughter now, huh? enjoy it while it lasts, dixon. she’s a pretty little thing, ain’t she?”

daryl had to punch a hole in the wall of the men’s bathroom to stop from punching your father in the face. he wants to hurt him, you know. your brother too. now that he’s big enough, no longer the little boy that used to help cover for whatever mistake would get you hit as a kid because he lacked physical strength, he wants to be the friend he’s always wished he could be.

but you tell him no. it’ll just complicate things. you still live at home, and he can’t be there every second to protect you. daryl seems pissed, but he understands. has the scars on his back to prove how just much he does.

but things are good. as good as they can get, anyway. you spend a lot of time together. find an empty field behind your homes and lay on the grass together, watching the stars. he never tries to kiss you again, but he lets you hold his hand or nuzzle against his arm. and that’s enough. it is.

shit’s getting crazy in town. a few hours away, in the big city, there’s word going on about people getting sick and dying. first it’s a fever, and then they’re up and walking and trying to bite others. you don’t understand, but daryl tells you not to worry. you want to trust him, and you do, for the most part -

but it's getting worse every day. people are dropping dead all around. which would be horrible in itself, except for the terrifying fact that they don’t stay dead. they get back up, and they - the walkers - try to attack and -

that’s what daryl says they’re called. you see your first one when daryl’s walking you back from your spot on the field. it looks like the man that owns the old convenience store, but he’s growling, and he’s trying to walk towards you, and his scalp is missing and you’re so scared you start crying.

daryl kills him with a big rock. you’re shaking, hysterical when you get home, and daryl walks you inside. “your dad home? brother?” he asks from the doorway, but you don’t see their truck or the television on, their staple. you shake your head, and he comes inside.

“shit’s going to hit the fan. you understand?” he asks, and you don’t. you’re scared. you’re confused. and you’re worried. but you nod anyway.

“you need to be ready for,” but the sound of a car driving into the garage and alerts you that’s someone’s home. daryl looks at you, then the door that leads into the house from the garage, before nodding. “i’m gunna go. gunna get some shit together and check on merle. i’ll be back in a few hours to check on you. pack a bag or sumthin’ just in case,” he says, and for the first time in all the times he’s walked you home lately, he looks shy as he leans in and kisses your cheek.

he’s out the door before your brother and father even drunkenly stumble in the house.

you obey what daryl says. you lock yourself in your room, and you’re not sure what daryl meant by be ready, but you grab a bag from your closet and fill it with clothes. just in case, right? who knew it’d take an apocalyptic situation to get you to finally leave this shitty town.

you’re worried, about daryl. you count the minutes until he comes back, because it's getting later and later and he’s not here yet. the sound of the clock, the tick tock tick tock makes you want to puke. you honestly consider trying to empty your stomach in the bathroom before your body makes you puke on its own when there’s a sound outside your door.

the door opens. it’s your brother.

“get your shit,” he orders, your door bouncing off your wall. there's a hole in the wall from the doorknob being constantly slammed against it. you catch a glimpse on the skinny part of the door that's normally hidden when it's closed - it still has the height markers you and daryl used to measure yourself with. he's everywhere, has always been, even when you don't notice.

your brother looks down at your bag already packed, purse on top of it. “shit, you already did. where you goin’?” you open your mouth to answer, but then your father is walking behind him, both of them peering at you with so much suspicion in their eyes you actually feel like you did something wrong.

“you planning’ on leavin us as soon as shit goes wrong? we’ve put a roof over your head for how many years? and now, what? you think dixon is gonna save you? that fuckin' re," he stops before he finishes that statement. even he knows better. besides, he'd never be mad at another man - only his daughter gets that special treatment.

"we’re all gonna die, girl. you first. can’t fight, can’t think, can’t do nuthin but pass yourself around town.” your father won’t stop, and you try not to cry, but you really just wish daryl would come back. your hands are shaking when they try to zip up your jacket, but it seems like that just pisses your brother off more. that you’re avoiding their angry outburst.

there’s nothing an angry man likes more than getting someone else angry. so he has an excuse to be the asshole he is at his core. you’re not going to give them the satisfaction.

in the distance, there’s a noise like an explosion. the sound of alarms going off from the neighboring city, the smell of smoke, so strong it actually masks the smell of cigarettes in your own home, which you didn’t think would be possible. tears start flowing from your eyes.

but it’s not because of the state of emergency in the city. on your brother and father’s face you see fear - something you’ve never seen before. and then it all happens so fast.

your brother reaches out and pushes you down. grabs you by the hair and hurts you, hurts you, hurts you. your father only interrupts to tell him it’s time to go, and they leave you, alone on the ground with new bruises and trauma to take with you wherever you go.

they used you, like always, to mask their own fears and pain. at this point, you really feel numb.

daryl comes back, a few hours later. you’ve been staring at the floor, scared to move. the town is literally a hellscape right now, the sound of people breaking windows, screaming, growling. you stay as quiet as possible on your bedroom floor, and you almost jump out of your skin when you realize it’s daryl coming through your window.

“you good?” he asks, a huge bag slung over his shoulder. he’s in a rush, you can tell, is looking around the room with a frequency you’ve never seen in him. he’s reading the situation, and he sees it written all over you.

but you see through him too. he’s scared, but he’s trying to be casual as to not scare you. you wonder where he learned to be gentleman - sure as hell wasn’t from any man in this town.

when you don’t answer, he tosses his bag down and pulls you up, grabs your little bag too and hands you your purse. there’s a little stuffed bunny keychain hung on it, and it looks so fucking stupid for the severity of the situation happening outside your window. you rip it off and daryl notices but doesn’t say anything.

“c’mon. we gotta go. i grabbed some supplies, i’ve got my bike. can’t stay here. it’s crazy outside,” and he goes on and on but you’re not really listening.

you interrupt, just as he helps you to the front door. “my brother and dad. they left,” you say, embarrassed to admit. yeah, you both know you’d be leaving with daryl - but the fact that they didn’t even care about what happens to you hurts more than you thought. maybe you convinced yourself, all these years, that they were so hard on you because they loved you. showed they cared in different ways - kind of like merle with daryl.

you were wrong. because your arm hurts, your hand is cramping, and you’re pretty sure you’re missing hair from the way your brother hurt you. it’d be tough to fight a walker at your full health, but right now, you’re completely useless.

thank god for daryl dixon.

daryl freezes, pauses. looks down before ushering you to his motorcycle. “yeah,” he says, nodding. he won’t look you in the eye. “i know.” another pause. “c’mon. we gotta go.”

he leads you to his motorcycle, and you hop on. it’s kind of impossible to get comfortable, because you’re holding two fucking bags and trying to hold on for your life, but you manage. daryl speeds off, and you wonder how a normal day could turn into such chaos. fire blazes through the trees and neighboring city. there’s these, these - things walking around, slowly, growling.

you hold onto daryl tighter. press your face in his back and breathe in the comforting smell of him. he smells like home - cigarettes, cheap detergent, woodsy.

you want to ask about merle. about your own brother and dad. how you can just leave them, how that’s fair, but you just can’t. you’re scared, but you still know the best place for you to be right now is with daryl.

you just know. and anyway, it’s not like anyone else gave a fuck about you to make sure you got anywhere safe.

that day daryl picked you up on his motorcycle in the rain - you imagined what it’d be like if he just kept going. if you didn’t stop on your street, if you didn’t have to go home. you pictured the two of you driving somewhere better, so long as it was out of this fucking town.

but you never imagined it’d be like this. with the walking dead running after you, cars stalled on their journey out of town because the walkers got to them before they could drive off. fire in the distance, the sound of some alarm going off so loudly you can hardly think. the dead litter the streets - walking, but also just laying there.

and then you see them. you're not even a few minutes away form your house. they’re laying on the ground, right next to a truck you’re sure you’ll see in your dreams for years to come. it belongs to your father.

“daryl,” you say, but he keeps driving. you’re certain the people on the ground are your father and your brother, a group of those things surrounding them, ready to dig in. “daryl,” you say again, “stop the bike.” but he doesn’t. you turn your head to look back, almost dropping your bag, but you catch a glimpse of the muscle in your brother’s arm being torn out. the muscle he always utilized to hurt you.

you sob into daryl’s back.

────

you keep driving until daryl’s bike needs gas. there’s a long road that leads to all the major highways, and it’s completely jam packed. you’ve been on the road for hours, so daryl parks the bike, tells you the run down of the plan that you’re not even listening to because you’re so scared and frozen. he's beyond frustrated with you, but he leads you to a spot in the woods to spend the night.

it’s risky, being anywhere right now. but daryl knows what he’s doing more than you do. you trust him, more than anyone else you’ve ever met. more than you even trust yourself.

“did you,” you start to ask, wanting to know if he was the one who saw your brother and father and put them on the ground. you couldn’t see the blood or how they died, but there was no gunshot wound. it was too clean, and you counted the arrows daryl has left in his crossbow. he's missing two.

“yeah,” he answers coldly, leaning against a tree with a sigh. he pulls out a bottle of water from his bag and hands it to you, and you take a greedy sip before realizing you better learn to ration. embarrassed, you hand the water back to daryl who raises his brows in amusement and puts the bottle back in his bag. you think that’s it. that he’s not going to talk about what happened, what he did, anymore.

but you’re wrong.

“been waiting for a chance to do that. ‘ve wanted to, for a long time. now that the world is shit, thought there’s no better chance, you know? no police, no laws,” he seems proud of himself, but even though you’re not close to your brother and dad, them being dead is still painful.

daryl’s not stupid. far from it. he reads your expression and then hands the water back to you. anything to stop the look you’re giving him. it looks like fear, you know -

but anyone looking a little deeper can see that it’s gratitude.

────

it’s been just the two of you for weeks.

you spend those weeks sharing a little tent, eating the animals daryl catches and cooks for you, wanting to cry at the sheer discomfort that not bathing has brought on. you're itchy, you're tired, you're hungry - but most of all, you're scared.

you don't know how daryl does it. wakes up every morning after a shitty night sleep to hunt for food to feed you both, to protect the both of you against walkers, since you still haven't got the hang of it.

the first few nights, things weren't so bad. the reality of the situation wasn't yet known. deep down, you thought something would be able to save you both from this mess. you were wrong.

but on those nights, you curled up against daryl in the tiny tent, and tried to take his mind off of the sound of distance cries and screams.

"we shared a tent before this, remember?" you asked. he just shook his head. it was actually the night you got fake married. both your brothers and fathers went to some poker game, and you both knew it'd be impossible to sleep at home. so you found a sleeping bag in your garage, and daryl found a tent in his, and the both of you camped out in the woods, too scared to go home.

"married people live together," you remember daryl saying while he zipped up the tent and you opened up a can of expired ravioli. you just shrugged, shared the food with him, and spent the night telling stories about what your future would be like.

you didn't imagine this, but it's like history is repeating itself again.

────

a few weeks later, you find a group to join.

it’s when you’re looking for a place to sleep after moving through the forest, dirty and hungry, that you come across a camp. you hear a child laugh, and then the sound of a woman's voice, and before you know it you're tugging daryl towards the sound while he drags his feet and curses.

he doesn’t want to see anyone else, let alone join anyone else. but you do. you don't know a lot about surviving, but you do know that pretty soon, you're both going to be walker food if you don't eat something proper. if you don't get a full night of rest. it's impossible, to live like this as two people.

it's been days since you even had more than a sip of water.

you both need help, you need -

“do you need a place to stay?” a man says, walking towards you and daryl while you try to reason with him. he scoffs, and you’re too tired to roll your eyes. you nod to the man, and then a woman appears. they must've heard you bickering while you walked towards the sound of their camp. they look friendly. they seem nice. and so you go with them, tugging daryl behind you.

it’s like asking for help makes him feel like a failure. but he goes because he knows you want to, and mutters something when you’re alone about looking for merle again when he gets his strength back. you tell him okay, good plan, knowing and hoping you never see merle dixon ever again. not that you’d ever tell daryl that.

daryl just feels like your other half these days. bonded now, not just from the childhood trauma you shared - but also this situation. you don't hold hands, you only touch to keep each other warm. you don't smile - and sometimes it feels like daryl regrets ever bringing you along with him. you're dead weight, and extra mouth to feed.

you don't know what he's thinking because he won't open up.

the first night at camp, you have dinner with the rest of the group. but you still haven’t had a chance to freshen up. there’s mud on your face and caked under your nails when someone asks daryl who you two are to each other, he pauses for so long that it's actually uncomfortable.

you’re more than friends, but you’re not exactly friendly. you're not close, beyond the memories that you share, that you're not even sure if daryl remembers.

you're stuffing your face with a can of chili, wondering why you're worried about a relationship status during the fucking apocalypse, and you're so in your own world that you don't see the way daryl is looking at you.

you take his word so literally - because you trust him so much. when he told you, ages ago, that he didn't get scared - you must've believed him.

because he's terrified. of losing you. of misreading what you want from him. of admitting, that every single memory with you is etched into the forefront of his brain. that he had to distance himself from you back then, because you deserve more than a hick like him, and watching you destroy yourself never came easy. that he wonders if you'll ever forgive him, for what he did to your dad and your brother.

there has never been a day that has gone by that he hasn't thought about you. and all day long since this shit started, he feels like he's failing you. can't feed you enough, can't find a good enough shelter.

and he looks at you, with mud and dirt on your face, messy hair. even at your worst, you're better than another woman's best, and he sees the greedy eyes of the men around the campfire, wondering if you're free. daryl doesn't know these men. he doesn't know if these people are safe, women and kids here be damned. that doesn't mean shit, not when people put themselves first to survive.

he thinks about the tent you shared a decade ago, after that fake wedding ceremony he went through with to make you happy. how it felt when your soft lips pressed against his before you left town. how you want him, how you never give up on trying to connect with him, even when he doesn't open up back to you. he likes that you're chatty. likes that you're trusting, and even dirty and starved you're the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

but when he sees the mud on your face, your hands, your clothes - and he sees the men looking at you, leering, he makes up his mind.

a lot has changed. but not how he feels about you. you're still his mud queen, the girl that loved him so much she said yes to marrying him, even without a ring.

“she’s my wife,” daryl says, and that's it. the rest of the men look away, because a man's claim is more important than a woman's own voice. and daryl knew that’d be the case. he knows men. he is one, even if he sometimes hates that he is - particularly when you flinch from a movement he makes, or go all quiet when he raises his voice. being apart of a gender that can do so much hurt has always made him feel like an outsider.

at his words, you don't even think about the way history is repeating once again. because your history, your past that you share with daryl - they've been the best parts of your life. and instead of trying to run from them, to avoid them because of what they mean - you should embrace them.

connection formed during the worst hours of your life is still connection. and you're done feeling ashamed.

daryl throws a look your way. one that feels like you're sharing your own secret world. like you did as kids.

but most importantly, you're riding on a high, because daryl dixon might be a man of few words. he might be more guarded than a maximum security prison, might be ashamed of his emotions and wants and everything else that makes him human. but -

he remembers.

the childhood you shared. the memories you made. history may be repeating - but that doesn’t mean you can’t make new memories together.

life is different now. tough. and it’s all about survival. but then again -

when has life ever been anything different for you and daryl?

so you put yourself out there again, this time without fear. you put the can of chili down and reach for his hand.

but daryl grabs yours first.

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quarterlifekitty · 5 months ago

Note

first, im a bit new to cod but idk…

thinking about ghost’s spouse visiting him on base or some shit, and everyone else wondering how tf he was emotionally flexible enough to bag a bad bitch 🫶

note: this is just my personal little fantasy world headcanon lol so take it with a grain of salt!

Simon maintains a vaguely human lifestyle by adhering to one very strict rule: rigid compartmentalization. You don’t come up at work, and work doesn’t come up around you. Never the twain shall meet, he thinks. And he’s not exactly a watershed of information when he’s with his mates. And it’s not like anyone is asking “When was the last time you got fucked, Ghost?” and seriously expecting a response.

He tells you about the crew, but not about what he does with them. Killing, espionage, torture– that kind of thing stays off the dinner table.

Let it be known that you do not surprise him at work. You respect his boundaries too much, which is why he’s so fucking serious about you, honestly. He calls, asking if you can run something to him. This is maybe the greatest symbol of trust he can bestow, as a man who has only a fraction of an existence in the eyes of the government: he asks you to bring a document of his. He gives you the instructions on how to find it, and trusts that you won’t look at anything you don’t have to.

You know Johnny lets out a low whistle when he sees you coming up with a manilla folder in your hands.

“Who’s that bloody bombshell, then?”

You spy Simon and jog up to him with a smile. He’s the one who embraces you, short but strong. Cue the nigh audible gasping.

“LT, you absolute dog.”

Simon rolls his eyes as the two of you are crowded in short order. You make polite introductions, but have a previous engagement– you really did only have time to stop by.

Hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave.

Everyone is wondering how this could’ve happened. For the record– I think in this scenario, Johnny and Gaz go through a constant string of heartbreaks, and John is kinda married to his job. So in a cruel twist of fate, Simon is actually the only one currently with a partner, much less a spouse.

“How’d you manage to bag a right beauty like that, LT? C’mon, spill it–”

Simon doesn’t mean to diminish your value or anything, but his answer is not going to be satisfying, because he doesn’t find it that difficult to get women. And also, you’re his true love, so you’re perfect for each other and growing close to you was as easy as breathing. But he doesn’t say that.

“S’not that hard. Remember the stuff she says, don’t keep no secrets… dick ‘er down the way she likes.” He doesn’t mean to be crude about it, but from his perspective, is one of the main reasons why you tolerate him. Soap howls at the response.

He’s telling the truth, though! He has a scarily good memory. Remembers every friend you’ve ever told him about, every movie you’ve ever mentioned, every meal he’s cooked for you and how you liked it. He remembers dates, times, and lists with no issue whatsoever.

And he’s never kept anything from you. He tells you how the fuck he’s feeling, and you return the favor, even if it isn’t pleasant. The only thing he doesn’t mention to you are the gorey details of his work.

And you have never had more of a communicative partner, ironically. There were times in the beginning when he didn’t know all of the ins and outs of coaxing pleasure from your body, so he asked you to show him how you like it. And that scary memory is at work yet again– every sensitive spot, every offhand mention of a kink you’ve not yet explored together, every arch of your spine and clench of your cunt. He’s got it down to a science. Could write novels about making love to you specifically.

What I’m trying to say, at the end of the day, is that Ghost bagged a bad bitch by being autistic.

#writing #cod fanfic #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader

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megalony · 6 days ago

Text

They Know Best

This is a new Buddie x reader imagine I had an idea for, I'm really excited about this one.

Please let me know if you like it and would like another part.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro @itsgigikay @harry-satellite @midsummereve1993 @babyqueen17 @buckyyyismahhlife @sammiejane22 @mrsyixingunicorn10 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @talicat713 @niamhmbt @strawberry-canyon @bieberhoodforever @911fangirlie @hollandxxmix @jasmineee05 @creat1venat1onn @devilslittlehelper @darlingcharling-blog @bear8585 @nickie-amore @elliott-calls @person-005 @mbioooo0000 @amara-mars @teenwolfbitches28

Buddie Masterlist

Summary: Evan's parents visit to see the kids, and while he and Eddie are at work (Y/n) and his parents take the kids out. But things get out of hand when the Buckleys try and intervene with Bonnie, who is autistic.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A deep frown set into (Y/n)'s features and she locked her jaw tight as if to ensure that she didn't say any of the thoughts rattling around in her mind right now. Her lips pressed together tightly to stop herself from saying something she shouldn't when she looked up at Evan.

The way he was stood with his arms folded over his chest made him look authoritiative yet his fingers were constantly tapping away at his biceps, showing he was nervous. And he was biting down on his lip while his head was tilted at an angle. Her eyes danced up and down Evan's frame, watching the way he stood there in the bedroom doorway and simply watched her.

And those eyes. Those piercing blue eyes looked uneasy and almost like they were starting to flood with sorrow and it was making (Y/n) feel bad.

She didn't want to be arguing with Evan, but she couldn't help how annoyed this whole situation was making her feel.

"Baby, you know I haven't planned this."

With a deep breath, Evan sighed and dropped his arms from over his chest when (Y/n) looked up at him like she was desperate to glare at him but she couldn't quite find it in herself to continue being mad with him.

He stepped forward so he wasn't in the doorway and he aimed towards both girls who he had been watching for the last few minutes.

He and (Y/n) had been in the middle of a discussion until Bonnie bounded in with the hairbrush in hand that she almost whacked (Y/n) with. That was her way of saying she wanted her hair doing. Bonnie found it very theraputic to have her hair brushed or plaited and done in styles. She would sit for hours and let her parents play with her hair.

And she was their first girl, so Eddie and Evan had both had to learn how to style her hair because she loved her hair being brushed and they wanted to connect with her any way they could.

A small glimmer of a smile started to pull at Evan's lips when he looked down at Bonnie. The four year old was sitting on the end of the bed in between (Y/n)'s thighs. One hand was waving in front of her with her fingers pressing together in her manner of stimming, and her other hand was slowly running up and down (Y/n)'s thigh. Clearly feeling the material of her leggings that she was finding sensory and calming.

There was a bright smile on Bonnie's lips and every few seconds she kept closing her eyes and tilting her head further back until she was leaning into (Y/n)'s chest. Whenever she tilted her head too far, (Y/n) would smile and ease Bonnie forwards again or she couldn't plait her hair properly.

Aiming towards them, Evan slowly crouched down in front of the bed and reached his hand out to glide his finger across Bonnie's cheek to gain her attention. He loved how she grinned down at him and how she stopped shaking her hand so she could grip his hand instead which she confiscated like it was one of her numerous teddies.

When Evan rested his other hand on (Y/n)'s thigh, she looked down at him sharply and raised one brow. "Sucking up won't help you, mister."

A sheepish look flooded Evan's face and he adverted his eyes down for a moment before he sighed and leant forward until his cheek was resting on (Y/n)'s thigh.

He couldn't help but grin when Bonnie giggled and let go of his hand so she could start running her fingers through Evan's curls and tugging on them. The four year old had gone through a stage last year of pulling hair, but not in a cruel way. She liked people playing with her hair so Bonnie tried to return the favour, but she started to yank and pull on each parent's hair when she was trying to interact with them.

(Y/n) rolled her eyes and leaned forward to kiss Bonnie's head since she was nearly done putting her hair into two plaits now. She mumbled "Poor daddy," which caused Evan to look up at her with those puppy dog eyes that she could never resist.

"I'm sorry." Sincerity flooded Evan's voice but it only made (Y/n) feel even more annoyed, because she knew he wasn't lying. She knew he was sorry and that he wasn't happy about this situation either, but it was still irritating to (Y/n).

"I just don't see why you can't be off too. They're your parents, Evan, not mine." The way she said his name caused Evan to wince and he finally lifted his head off her thigh when he noticed she was done with Bonnie's hair.

He straightened up and scooped their daughter up, settling her on his chest so he could kiss her cheek and she could ruffle his hair as much as she liked.

"My pretty baby."

"Pretty."

A broad grin lit up Evan's face and he nodded, briefly looking up at (Y/n) to see her smiling too because Bonnie didn't say that many words. It irritated Evan that they had to write 'nonverbal' on all the forms they filled out when they got Bonnie into nursery and for when they would enroll her into a special school.

Because technically she could speak, she could say her name, she said mama and daddy and papa. She could say Chris and a slurred version of Johnny and she could say drink. Bonnie understood what was being said to her and sometimes, she would sporadically repeat words.

But because she couldn't answer questions- and most of the time she didn't know how to respond- and she couldn't say more than a few words, she was classed as nonverbal. It grated on Evan to have people say that when in his mind she was verbal because she could say a few words, and they were all praying that when she went to school, they would help Bonnie develop speech and sentences.

"Yep, you're so pretty. Go find papa, tell him how pretty you are." With a kiss to her cheek, Evan gently set Bonnie down to her feet and watched her trot out of the room. A slurred rendition of 'pretty' leaving her lips as she went.

When she was gone and safely out of earshot, Evan moved both his hands out and held onto (Y/n)'s hips. He pushed up on his knees so he was knelt between her thighs and he tilted his head back so he was looking up at her. He knew he wasn't totally in bad books when (Y/n) looped an arm around the back of his neck and finally kept eye contact with him.

"Why can't you have the day off?" (Y/n) murmured quietly even though there were no kids in the room anymore to listen in and eavesdrop.

Evan's parents were in town, and they wanted to see the kids tomorrow which happened to be the day that both Eddie and Evan would be working.

(Y/n) didn't get along with the Buckley parents. They weren't very happy about the poly relationship between Evan, (Y/n) and Eddie. It had been hard enough to convince them to be civil when (Y/n) was pregnant and gave birth to Johnny. They were under the impression that the kids couldn't have more than one dad and they barely talked to Eddie whenever they saw him and they were less than kind to (Y/n).

It was the reason whenever they were in town that Evan would be there when they visited the kids, which didn't happen too often.

(Y/n) didn't want to be the only one there when his parents came to town. She didn't want them to be abrupt with her and rude and she didn't like how they interfered and tried to boss the kids around. And they didn't understand Bonnie's autism either.

"If I'd of known I would of swapped the shift, but it's too short notice now baby. Eddie's on call, if I call in he has to stay late to cover my shift so either way no one wins."

If Evan had been given some prior notice, he would have talked to Bobby and either swapped or cancelled his shift tomorrow. He didn't want to leave (Y/n) to deal with his parents on her own, it wasn't fair and he knew how crude his parents could be. But he didn't have a choice.

If he called in sick tomorrow then Eddie would have to stay and cover because Eddie was on the early shift and Evan was on the midday shift. They would make Eddie stay to cover him and that wasn't a good or fair solution.

"No, either way I don't win." (Y/n) moved her hand to rub at her temple as she tried to calm down. "They don't like me, it's so hard to try and be polite and be inclusive when they don't want to be around me. They won't even talk to Eddie when he's home."

"You think I don't know that?"

If Evan stayed home, Eddie would have to pull a double shift which wouldn't be fair but (Y/n) would still have to be there to deal with Evan's parents. If both of them went to their respective shifts, (Y/n) still got left with her in-laws. Either way, she lost the game and had to put up the Buckley parents.

And it was hard, it was harder than she ever thought it would be because they weren't open-minded, they weren't warm and caring or loving, not even towards their own son.

They seemed to think (Y/n) was the problem, that she was playing both men and they made it clear they didn't like the fact that all the kids had double barrell names. Even Chris had asked to have Evan's name too so he would match Johnny and Bonnie. The Buckleys didn't like this because in their views, Eddie and Evan couldn't both be father to the kids.

And they barely spoke to Eddie when he was around because they knew he wouldn't hold his tongue with them. He didn't care if they were rude to him, but he wouldn't have them disrespect (Y/n) or the kids or talk about their family in front of the kids and upset them.

"What about Maddie?"

"Hm?" (Y/n) moved her hand to cup the back of Evan's neck and she started to glide her thumb up and down over his hair as she waited for him to explain.

"I can ask her to spend the day with you too, she's not at work tomorrow." Evan knew his sister wasn't at work this week and he knew their parents would most likely spend their time with her rather than with Evan's family. Something that was both a relief and an insult at the same time.

He could ask Maddie if she would come over with Jee so (Y/n) didn't have to deal with his parents alone. They would be easier to handle if Maddie was here playing referee and steering conversation and telling their parents when to stop and be quiet. They listened to her, they respected Maddie because she was their own and she was the child they were closest to.

(Y/n) nodded and muttered "Please," before she leant forward until they were level and their noses were touching. Her eyes closed when their lips pressed together and she tried to stop herself from tilting too far forward since she was sitting on the very edge of their bed.

She felt Evan's hands squeezing her hips as he pushed up until their chests were pressed together. And she could feel Evan smiling against her lips, especially when he scraped his teeth against her lower lip and caused her to gasp into his mouth.

When their lips parted, Evan kept his eyes closed and basked in the feeling of their lips almost touching, until something caught his attention.

"It's too quiet. Come on." He couldn't hear the boys playing a video game or arguing over a colouring book or asking to go to the park. And he couldn't hear Bonnie giggling or running around crashing into things or stimming. He didn't like it when the house was quiet, that was a bad indicator.

He pushed up to his feet and held his hands out for (Y/n) to take and he pulled her up with him. When (Y/n) looked up at him and realised where his line of sight was trained on, she found herself smiling again, especially when one of his hands let go of hers in favour of reaching out for her stomach.

"You have told your parents about this one too, right? I don't want to be giving them a big surprise when I see them tomorrow."

(Y/n) moved her hand down to cup Evan's wrist and she followed his line of sight to where he was looking at her bump. She and Eddie always left it down to Evan to tell his parents whereas when they told the team or (Y/n) and Eddie's parents they were having a baby, the three of them did it together.

Evan's parents were the only ones who were never as congratulating or pleased or warming when (Y/n) got pregnant. And she certainly didn't want to see his parents tomorrow and find out that he hadn't mentioned this third pregnancy to them yet.

"Didn't need to, Maddie let it slip last month… don't think mum was too happy that Maddie got a scan photo and they didn't."

It had been an inward relief to Evan that Maddie had accidentally told their parents the news. She had presumed Evan would have mentioned it already and with a slip of the tongue over the phone, she ended up telling them that (Y/n) was pregnant again.

And as always, Evan had given Maddie a copy of the scan photos because she was his parental figure and he loved to show her and bubble over and be giddy about his family. He did find it ironic that his parents had been dismayed not to get a sonogram, despite not being very involved grandparents as it was.

"Oh, good." As long as (Y/n) didn't have to tell them or give them a shock, she didn't care who had let it slip.

Their hands stayed entwined as they headed out the bedroom and down the hall, wondering where the rest of their family were and what they were up to.

The pair of them barely got down the hall before they heard Eddie's deep voice ring out through the air. "Go show dad, that's his area of expertise, not mine."

Whatever Eddie was talking about, it was clear in his voice that he wasn't too keen on the topic of conversation.

Evan unlatched his hand from (Y/n)'s just as Johnny bolted from the kitchen and nearly barelled into the pair of them in the hall. The seven year old had such a bright grin on his face that rivalled the sun and his hands were clasped together with his arms outstretched in front of him.

"Dad! Look, look!"

Johnny pushed up on his tiptoes and presented his cupped hands as close as he could to Evan to try and get his attention. And his smile broadened when Evan obliged and crouched down in front of him to see what he was cradling so tenderly.

"Oh wow, where'd you find this little guy?"

When she heard Evan's words (Y/n) couldn't help but lean forward to see what Johnny had found. Her hand rested on his shoulder and she slouched her hip into Evan's side as she looked down to see that Johnny was presenting them with a lime green caterpillar with fuzzy spikes which looked like a Mohican.

"Um, that little guy lives outside, boys." (Y/n) reminded them as she pressed a kiss to the back of Evan's head and did the same to Johnny while she passed and headed into the kitchen.

Both the boys were nature lovers, they were interested in creatures and science and the Earth, the same as Evan. He did their science projects with them and they read science magaines together and always went to the zoo and the museums together. So it was only natural that they had a little 'out house' in the garden where they kept any creatures and little insect pets the boys found.

They had all built a small bee house together last month and although they hadn't gotten any bees yet, they were all still hopeful.

"Come on, let's go put him in his new home." Evan turned Johnny around and scooped him up beneath his arms to take him through the kitchen and out into the back garden.

They couldn't keep any little creatures like that inside where Bonnie was around. It was safer to have them outside because Bonnie had Pica, she would eat things that weren't food and even though she had never eaten any insects before, they couldn't risk it. She had tried eating mud when playing in the garden and she had eaten a handful of sand when they were on the beach. They had to keep a close eye on her.

(Y/n) watched the pair of them head out the back door with a fond smile, but her head whipped to the left to look over at Eddie when she heard his voice.

"Ow- hey, madam don't do that." Eddie tried to tilt his head back but he couldn't lean out the way before Bonnie got her hand fisted in his hair again.

A high pitch giggle left her lips as she pulled on his locks and pressed her lips to the side of his temple like she was trying to give him a kiss.

The sight was endearing and caused a smile to flood (Y/n)'s face as she walked over to Eddie. He had their youngest perched on his right hip, and his head was now bent down against Bonnie's shoulder from the sudden force she had grabbed and pulled on his hair.

He hissed again when she yanked on his roots and he muttered "Help?" and waved his free hand out towards (Y/n) before he tried to grab their daughter's hand to get her to release him.

Out of them all, Eddie seemed to be the one Bonnie loved to pull hair with. She would end up yanking his head from side to side or scratching his scalp or giving him a strain in his neck from how she grabbed at him. It was one of the reasons Evan always switched between long curls and short, shaved hair because when Bonnie started grabbing, he got a haircut. She didn't seem to pull on (Y/n)'s hair quite like she did with Eddie.

"Baby, let papa go or you'll hurt him." (Y/n) held onto Bonnie's wrist and gently pulled her hand back until she finally released his hair with a whine. But she ceased when (Y/n) kissed the back of her hand and Eddie tilted his head as far back as possible so he wouldn't be a target again.

"You're mean, you know that?" It was clear Bonnie didn't agree or understand because a round of giggles left her lips and she began to clap her hands since she couldn't entertain herself with Eddie's hair anymore.

And her cheeky grin only broadened when Eddie kissed her cheek and bounced her on his hip. And she seemed even more delighted when (Y/n) leaned against Eddie's chest and he encased them both to his chest like he was giving them a bear hug.

The four year old was all for cuddles and games and close contact, the more cuddles she got the better. Which was a relief considering some of the kids at Bonnie's nursery didn't like physical touch, even with their own parents and families.

But Bonnie wasn't like that, and she leant more into Eddie's chest as she reached out for (Y/n)'s hair this time with a cheeky giggle that told them she knew exactly what she was doing. She wanted to play.

***

Unease tore through (Y/n) as their little group continued on their walk through the park. She thought she had been doing well at hiding her unamused and rather unsettled expression, until she looked across at Maddie. The sympathetic look (Y/n) received told her that she looked outwardly uncomfortable and it was crystal clear.

She wished Evan or at least Eddie had been off today or that the Buckleys had come down a few days ago. They should have talked to Evan first, found out what everyone was working or asked in advance so they had time to ask for a day off or switch their shifts around.

Just turning up unannounced wasn't the right way to go about it and (Y/n) wished she could crawl into a hole and disappear.

At least when she was around Eddie's parents, they were inclusive and kind. They had been against the relationship at first, being devout Catholics. But once they saw how happy (Y/n) and Evan made Eddie and Chris, they had come around. They were kind to (Y/n), they treated her like she was actually family, like she was one of their daughters and they made the effort.

The Buckleys didn't.

(Y/n) wasn't sure what to do with herself. Whatever she did, whatever she said seemed to make them huff or look at her gone out and even the kids didn't know what to say or how to act.

The only one who wasn't affected was Bonnie, but (Y/n) knew if Margaret or Phillip tried to pick Bonnie up or get too close, she would retreat. It took her a while to form a bond with people, and she hadn't been around these grandparents enough to be comfortable with them and interact with them. Whereas Maddie could pick her up and play and sing with her and Bonnie would be happy as ever.

"Can we go to the play park?" Johnny looked up between his mum and his aunt with an inquizitive look and he timidly pointed ahead to where the fenced off playground was.

"Sure, lead the way." Maddie let go of Jee's hand so she could run ahead with Johnny, seeing as though they were in the middle of the park and not near any roads.

When (Y/n) looked down to her left, she could see Chris was smiling and nodding, they all loved the park, even Bonnie. Chris leaned his cheek against (Y/n)'s arm while he had his right hand holding onto the stroller (Y/n) was pushing where Bonnie was happily sat clapping and stimming.

Chris usually liked to push the stroller, it help him with coordination and it was sometimes easier to lean on the stroller than to walk unaided or with his crutches.

They walked in tandem with Maddie beside Chris and Margaret and Phillip two steps ahead of them, watching Jee and Johnny. For a minute or two, the atmosphere was calm and almost serene around them.

And when Margaret turned to look behind her, she had a somewhat pleasant smile as she looked between Chris and Bonnie. But then her gaze lingered on Bonnie for a moment too long, and her head angled to the side like she was scrutinising her granddaughter, and something inquizitive passed over her face.

"Why don't you let her walk for a bit?" Margaret pointed between the stroller and the grass surrounding them as if it wasn't clear who and what she was talking about. But (Y/n) shook her head and tried to smile all the same.

"She's fine." She didn't bother to lean over and look at her daughter because she knew Bonnie wouldn't get out.

That didn't stop Margaret from tutting and smiling down at Bonnie like she thought (Y/n) was making some kind of mistake. She held her hand out and waved her fingers towards Bonnie and the four year old looked up at her for a second or two before she went back to clapping.

With the way that Bonnie was constantly rocking her head back and forth and sometimes her shoulders too, she was shaking the stroller every now and then. But it was a movement that (Y/n) was used to, her daughter could never stay still. Even when she was having a cuddle or settling down at night with one of her parents, she was either humming, tapping her fingers or twitching her foot.

"Oh but look at little Jee, she's walking and she's the same age." Margaret looked back ahead towards her other granddaughter, the one who clearly got more attention and affection and even her smile brightened when she looked towards her.

Sometimes it didn't bother (Y/n). She could see that Margaret and Phillip didn't know how to interact with Bonnie because she was autistic, she needed different approaches and they weren't grasping that yet. It wasn't such a big deal either because Bonnie didn't need that bond with them, she had (Y/n)'s parents, Eddie's parents and Bobby who was like another grandparent to her. But when (Y/n) saw them favour Jee over the boys too, then it started to annoy her.

Glancing her eyes to the left once again, (Y/n) shared a look with Maddie who simply rolled her eyes. She knew her parents didn't understand and it was starting to get tiresome trying to explain things to them.

A sigh bubbled up in (Y/n)'s chest but she tried to force it down as she folded her arms over the stroller and arched her back out.

"She doesn't like walking when she doesn't know where she is, it scares her. She feels safe in the stroller."

"She can't use that forever."

Something stabbed at (Y/n)'s chest when Margaret shook her head and even looked towards Maddie as if she expected her to agree.

(Y/n) knew that. She knew that this wasn't a long-term solution and she would never want to confine Bonnie to her stroller and give her that assumption that she was only ever safe like this. But for now, this was how they all coped. Bonnie was four, she was a toddler and the world was a scary place when she didn't understand it.

Being in her stroller was a comfort, she was strapped in, she was being controlled by her parents. She didn't have to get lost or panic or get overwhelmed by the world and the sensory objects around her. She got to be pushed around and go out in the fresh air without that sense of panic.

Whenever they tried to get Bonnie to walk, she would get overwhelmed. She seemed to panic, even if she was holding someone's hand.

Sometimes, on rare occasions when she was in a familiar place or she was walking around the block surrounding their home, she would walk. She would have one hand tangled with either her parents or her brothers and she would stim and rock, but she would walk.

She walked round the house and garden just fine, she would go to the station and trot around happily, she went to nursery because now that was familiar to her just like the swimming pool.

But walking out in the community she didn't know or a busy shop was different and (Y/n) wouldn't let Bonnie get upset and go into a meltdown.

"Well for now, I'd rather her feel safe than get distressed. I know what I'm doing." Bonnie was her daughter and she knew how to look after her.

(Y/n) and the boys were in agreement that once Bonnie got a bit older, they would do strategies with her. They would get her to walk a few steps outside somewhere new, and then build up her resiliance and when she went to school that would help too. But for now, she got carried or went in her stroller because it was safe and she was still a little toddler.

Their group continued walking towards the playground, but (Y/n) felt cold shudders running through her blood when she heard Margaret mutter "If you say so," under her breath.

What did they know about raising a child like Bonnie? What parent groups had they gone to like (Y/n) and the boys did? What teachers and doctors and social workers did they ask for advice and how best to calm down Bonnie's anxiety?

They didn't know how hard (Y/n) tried to do what was right for Bonnie or how she agonised over whether or not she was doing what everyone else would deem as right. They were trying to make Bonnie happy and comfortable and do what was best for her and put her first. They would never do this if they thought it wasn't right. They couldn't just pick Bonnie up and demand that she walk like her brothers and Jee. They couldn't expect Bonnie to understand or forget her worries and do something everyone else thought was simple.

They had to take other precautions and approaches, and that was what (Y/n), Evan and Eddie were doing each and every day.

(Y/n) almost jumped when she felt a hand resting on her arm but she simmered down a little when she realised it was Maddie. "Ignore them, they clearly don't know what they're talking about."

With a warming smile, Maddie gave (Y/n)'s arm a squeeze before she stepped forward and opened the playground gate so she could get the stroller through.

Once they were inside the relatively empty playground, everyone seemed to filter off in their own direction.

Chris confiscated Maddie and aimed for the tyre swing that was currently unoccupied. Something that he loved because the spinning motion was calming to him, the same as it probably would be to Bonnie when she was a bit older.

Johnny aimed for the slide and to (Y/n)'s surprise, Margaret was following him. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. On one hand it was good that Margaret was trying to make an effort with the boys, but at the same time it was unnerving when (Y/n) didn't exactly trust them around the kids and when she didn't know what they would say to them.

With both boys happy and Jee directing Phillip towards the baby swings, (Y/n) rested the stroller up beside the fence and crouched down in front of Bonnie.

The four year old had a bright smile on her face and she was clinging to the new toy Evan had found for her. It was a baby chew toy, designed to look like a zebra with plastic feet and different cloth materials so Bonnie could chew and bite it without damaging it or hurting herself. It was for teething babies, but all teething toys were great for Bonnie as they gave her something to focus on and stopped her from trying to chew and eat things she shouldn't.

"Shall we go play?"

Bonnie giggled and kicked her feet out excitedly and once (Y/n) unclipped the buckle, she reached down and scooped her up.

It was getting a bit harder each week to be picking and carrying Bonnie around when her bump was getting in the way. (Y/n) was twenty weeks along now and she was surprised Bonnie didn't seem too bothered or disgruntled at her changing shape. Every now and then Bonnie would tap her stomach or try prodding it if she thought it was in the way, but so far she wasn't bothered. (Y/n) had a feeling that would change once her bump got bigger and she wouldn't be able to carry Bonnie anymore.

She sat Bonnie on her hip and headed towards the swings, keeping her eyes down because she didn't know how to act or what to say to Phillip.

Once Bonnie was settled in the swing, (Y/n) slowly started to push her back and forth. Looking between both girls who were giggling and kicking their legs out.

Phillip looked between both granddaughters with a fondness in his eyes and a bright smile before he leaned a bit closer to (Y/n). "Will she walk, you know, in here?"

He moved his hand to motion to the park and for the first time in a while, (Y/n) looked up at him. He always seemed less intimidating and disappointed than Margaret, but he still wasn't the easiest person to approach and sometimes the way he was so dismissive with Evan made (Y/n) less inclined to want to talk to him. But if he was making the effort today, then so would she.

"Yeah, it's small and has a barrier, she must think seeing the perimeter is safe."

The park was relatively small and there was an old red metal fence all the way around to stop kids from running off or going to far from their parents. Something like this showed Bonnie that she was enclosed, she was safe and she couldn't get lost in here.

She could trot from the slide to the swings or to the roundabout and wait for someone to push her and help her. But she still liked to see her stroller nearby, like a safety net, or if she got too overwhelmed or too tired she would hold her arms out and wait for someone to carry her.

And most of the time, the person she would go to be carried would be Evan. She knew he would always pick her up. Bonnie was his little girl, his 'Bonnie baby' as he used to call her when she had first been born and he loved carrying her around and having her cuddled up in his arms. And if she needed to feel protected and safe, Evan would always oblige and have her engulfed in his arms.

Being at the park seemed to calm everybody down and they stayed there for near on an hour. All the kids could spend the day there, even Bonnie who had a short attention span, but when Chris took her on the roundabout or helped her on the small toddler slide, she had been in fits of giggles.

Everyone was ready to leave now though, especially because the kids knew that they were going to the station. Evan had texted Maddie to say that they were having a slow day and that they were all welcome to drop by the station if they wanted.

The kids loved the station and it would give his parents a chance to see where he worked and try to be civil to him and Eddie in front of the team. They would never want to embarrass themselves.

"Daddy. Papa. Papa." Bonnie began to tap her hand down on Maddie's shoulder who was currently carrying her along the path since they were all on their way out the park towards the street.

"I know, we're going to see daddy and papa and Captain Bobby."

"Papa." The little girl nodded her head, but that was the main word she was focused on at the moment. It would be the one word she kept saying on repeat until they went to see Eddie. (Y/n) sincerely hoped he didn't go out on a call before they got there or Bonnie would have a tantrum if she didn't get to see him for at least a minute.

Looking down to her right, (Y/n) smiled as Johnny entwined their hands and began swaying their hands back and forth between them. He leant his cheek against (Y/n)'s arm as they walked together while Maddie was in front of them with Bonnie in her arms and Chris was to (Y/n)'s right, pushing the empty stroller. Phillip and Margaret seemed to be leading their little group as Jee was pulling on Phillip's hand, telling him she knew the way to the station from here.

A small chuckle left (Y/n)'s lips when she looked at Maddie and Bonnie. When Bonnie started to hum, Maddie did the same and tried to match the tune she was creating. This really made Bonnie smile and she began to gently tap her fingers against Maddie's lips, maybe to feel the sound and vibrations as some kind of stim. Whatever the reason, it was making her happy and Maddie was grinning, clearly unbothered by the touch.

(Y/n) looked down at Chris when he stepped towards her and leaned into her side causing her to be safely sandwiched between her boys. His hands were tapping and clenching around the stroller handle but his eyes were drifting around like he was looking for something to entertain himself with.

"Are they coming back to our house for tea?" The air of caution in Chris's voice showed he wasn't too keen on that idea, and he wasn't the only one. He seemed a bit more at ease when (Y/n) looped her arm around his shoulders and pecked the top of his head.

"I don't think so, not when your dad won't be there." (Y/n) highly doubted they would want to stay when Evan- and Eddie- would both still be at work. And even if they were home, (Y/n) wasn't so sure they would stay that much longer, at least not in the same day.

This was a lot of interaction for them all and the kids weren't as close or keen on Margaret and Phillip as their other grandparents. They wouldn't be so happy and settled if they stayed at their home. (Y/n) had a feeling that all the kids would disappear to their rooms the moment they had eaten if Margaret and Phillip joined them for tea. It was more plausable that they would go home with Maddie.

When (Y/n) lifted her head as they all left the park and headed onto the main street, her heart momentarily jumped up into her throat and clogged her breathing when she looked at Maddie and noticed her arms were now empty. She scanned around to find that Bonnie was now in Margaret's arms, and that didn't make (Y/n) feel much better.

Bonnie loved being carried, but she wasn't so keen on being with people she didn't know well or bond with. And she wasn't humming anymore. The four year old was twirling and stimming her hands and she wasn't looking at Margaret, a sign that she wasn't too settled.

"Can we sit in the truck when we get there?" Johnny kept swaying from left to right as they walked down the path and turned the corner. They were only a few minutes away from the station now.

They hadn't been down to the station in a while, and although they were always on their best behaviour when they were there, they always got to look around. They could go down the pole, look in the truck and the ambulance and sometimes have something to eat. He wanted to sit in the truck again.

"You'll have to ask Bobby when we get there." That wasn't something (Y/n) could agree to, but she couldn't see Bobby denying it, he was all for the kids coming to the station.

A strange sort of smile formed on Margaret's lips as she looked at the little girl in her arms. Bonnie still hadn't looked at her yet, and she was humming away to herself as she looked around and it made Margaret wonder if she knew where she was. After all, the station was just down the road, the red shutters were visible from where they were now. Maybe she knew the way. She could probably walk it from here.

Crouching down, she gently set Bonnie down to her feet and took her hand, promptly stopping her from bending her fingers and stimming. She tried to start walking again, but three steps ahead was where Bonnie stopped.

Her head tilted down so she was staring at the floor and she began to try and pull her hand out of Margaret's hold. A small whine left Bonnie's lips as she turned on the spot and tried to look around. She didn't want to walk, it was written across her face that she wasn't happy.

"Mum, she's gonna get upset." Maddie stepped forward, promptly tugging on Jee's hand since she had switched from walking with her grandad to walking with her mum. If Bonnie was going to panic then Maddie would happily carry her to the station or get her back in her stroller, but she wasn't going to walk.

"She has to learn."

Once again, Margaret tried pulling on Bonnie's hand but it was more like dragging her when the little girl whined and tried not to. Her feet skidded against the pavement and she kicked her feet out as she tried leaning forwards. She didn't want to.

In an instant she dropped down to her knees with a bang and started to rock back and forth, continuing to look at the floor like she was too unhappy to try and look at any of her family. The word 'no' muttered beneath Bonnie's breath until it was barely eligible with how fast she was muttering and it turned into a hum rather than a word she was expressing.

(Y/n) felt both boys cling to her arms as she tried to look around Maddie and see why they had stopped walking and what they were all doing. But she could feel a fire burning within her chest when she saw that Bonnie was kneeling on the floor. She did that when she was upset or about to have a meltdown. She was trying to make herself feel safe and block out the world.

What were they doing?

"Now let's not be a silly girl. Come on, walk with nanny." Margaret scooped her hands beneath Bonnie's arms and tried to set her back on her feet, but the toddler's legs were turning floppy.

She was getting distressed and if this carried on and she wasn't calmed down she would have a meltdown and begin to scream. They didn't need people stopping to ask what they were doing or give them dirty looks and it wasn't fair on Bonnie when her grandparents were the ones causing her distress.

"You're upsetting her, she can go back in her stroller." It was hard to control her tone when (Y/n) could feel her temper rising within her.

They were frightening her daughter and she wouldn't let them drag her like she was a child having a temper tantrum. She was autistic and they were upsetting her and not adjusting to her needs. They couldn't just expect Bonnie to walk and ignore her anxiety and feel the same way they did when she was programmed differently.

(Y/n) tugged on Johnny's hand to get him to stand closer to the wall rather than near the road on their left. She needed him to stand with Jee and Maddie so she could go get Bonnie and carry her or put her in the stroller. She wouldn't have Margaret dragging her around like a puppet.

She shook her head with a growl when Margaret still tried to pull on Bonnie's hand and get her to walk. And she could feel herself beginning to shake when Phillip tried to take her other hand too. They clearly thought dragging her between them would somehow make her feel safe and secure rather than like she was a prisoner being taken away. And they were stopping her from stimming, she was trying to shake and twist and pull her hands out of their grip but they weren't letting her.

"She needs to learn not to be naughty-"

"She's frightened!" The wheel of the stroller screeched as Chris tried to shove it forward to get to his sister.

They were frightening her and dragging her around like a doll. If his dads were here he knew for a fact that Eddie would have picked Bonnie up by now and Evan would have stormed in and shouted at them for what they were doing.

(Y/n) was almost within reach of her daughter, even with her in-laws trying to pull her forward despite the way she was clearly whining and shaking her head and scuffing her feet into the floor. She could see Maddie out the corner of her eye, wanting so badly to argue with her parents but she was trying to usher the rest of the kids to one side to give Bonnie some space.

It was clear to Maddie and (Y/n) that the four year old was about to have a meltdown. When Bonnie had meltdowns, if she was at home she would slam doors and scream and throw herself on the floor. Out in public she wasn't always predictable, she might scream, she might stomp her feet or lay on the floor or start hitting whatever was close to her. Sometimes she had a tendency to scratch her neck if she was really upset.

There was no chance for (Y/n) to reach out for her girl.

With a violent scream, Bonnie bent her knees and started to bounce and waver until her hands were finally free from their constraints. Her hands began to shake and twitch at her sides and before (Y/n) could call her name, Bonnie bolted.

"Bonnie no!"

Reaching her hands out, (Y/n) roughly pushed past both Margaret and Phillip to take off after Bonnie. For being only four and having rather bad coordination, Bonnie was fast and light on her feet. Her head was shaking from side to side as she screamed at the top of her lungs and if (Y/n) had to guess, she would say that Bonnie had her eyes closed. Something she often did when she was upset like this.

(Y/n) couldn't keep up with her. She couldn't reach out for her and grab her quick enough and Bonnie was light on her feet. Whereas (Y/n) was trying to run off the pure adrenaline coursing through her system, but she was barely catching a proper breath.

"Stop! Baby stop!" Tears were starting to blur (Y/n)'s vision and whip against her skin from the wind hitting her face.

If Bonnie didn't look where she was going and she started to veer left, she would end up on the road.

Droplets of sweat glistened on Eddie's skin as "Bloody shutters." mumbled past his lips. He lifted his arm to swipe his forearm against his temple. The station shutters kept getting stuck and wouldn't open on one side, so he had been trying to fix it. But the most he had managed to do was get them to lift up a few more feet.

He started to climb down the small step-ladder he had found in the inventory cupboard, but his head snapped to the right and a frown settled in his features when he heard a round of screams. The high pitch noise started to get closer and it caused the hairs on the back of Eddie's neck to stick up.

He felt it in his blood before his eyes managed to confirm his suspicions. That was Bonnie's scream.

Sure enough, there was his little girl. Bolting down the street with another scream and her little shoes stamping against the pavement creating an awful echo behind her.

The heel of Eddie's boot caught on the step-ladder when he jumped down. He could feel his heart pounding through his body and igniting his skin on fire as his sights set on his daughter. He could just about see (Y/n) a few feet behind her, pointing and practically screaming herself as she just couldn't reach her.

"Bonnie- Bonnie stop!" Eddie's guttural voice must have chilled Bonnie to the bone because she almost jumped from the ground at the sound of his voice. She hadn't been expecting to see him, and she hated when any parent used that tone of voice or she thought they were angry with her.

Eddie's boots hammered against the floor but he held his breath when Bonnie veered to her left. Towards the road.

She stumbled off the curb, clearly having no awareness of where she was going or what she was doing. She just wanted to get away.

Determination set into Eddie's bones as he heard (Y/n) scream; the desperate sound rattling through him and making him want to be sick. He jumped down the curb, his arms stretched out in front of him and he swooped down and hoisted Bonnie up into the air.

Her back became pinned against Eddie's chest and he pivoted on his heels, aiming for the pavement again just as a car horn blared out. With Bonnie pinned to his chest, Eddie pressed his lips to her temple and briefly waved his hand towards the car because at least the driver her slowed down to check that everything was okay in case he had to stop.

The moment Eddie stepped back onto the pavement he felt like his legs had turned to jelly. His knees started to tremble and his arms were shaking as he bound Bonnie to his chest.

She stopped writhing and kicking the moment she realised who had grabbed her and that it wasn't a stranger or the grandparents she had tried to run away from. And when Eddie carefully turned her around in his arms so they were face to face, Bonnie bound her arms around his neck.

He felt her shaking hands knot in his hair which caused his head to angle back a bit, but right now he didn't care. She could tug on his hair and scream into his neck like this and he wouldn't argue or say one thing. She was safe in his arms, that was all he cared about.

Both (Y/n)'s hands cupped her face and she doubled forward, creasing over until her stomach ached and the sickness rising within her started to fade. She didn't bother to stop herself when she felt like screaming; she let the sound vibrate through her fingers as tears continued to trickle down her face.

She could hear Maddie shouting behind them, clearly trying to hurry along with the rest of the kids. She could hear Johnny crying and Chris calling out for all of them now that he could see Eddie was here too. And she tried to block out the sound of Phillip and Margaret's voices.

"Okay, ooh baby. Papa's got you." Eddie pressed a dozen kisses to Bonnie's temple as he moved over to (Y/n).

It was hard trying to move one arm when both arms felt like stone and were deadlocked around his daughter, but he reached out and curled his hand around (Y/n)'s arm as he stood at her side. His eyes raked up and down her frame, trying to see whether she was about to be sick, whether she was somehow hurt or if this was just adrenaline and terror taking over her system.

"What the Hell happened? W-why was she running?" Eddie had never seen Bonnie bolt that fast before. They all knew if something frightened her she might run or scuttle, but she had never pelted down the street like that or wandered onto the road. But she had no road sense, she was only four.

And Eddie couldn't fathom why she hadn't been in her stroller when he could see Chris up ahead, running as he pushed the empty stroller Bonnie should have been safely strapped into.

"I- I shouldn't keep her in the stroller apparently, so Margaret tried to make her walk. She had a meltdown, she… she bolted, because they know best."

(Y/n) pressed one hand to her temple as she tried to straighten up, but her lips creased and she couldn't stop herself from crying and gasping for breath. Her stomach was churning like a cement mixer and she could feel the baby kicking and wriggling to the point it was starting to hurt and she felt like she was going to collapse.

She had almost been too late. If Eddie hadn't been outside when he was, if he had been inside or a second too late at seeing Bonnie, she might not have made it across the road. She could have been hit by a car or crossed the road and gotten even further away from (Y/n).

If they just let Maddie or (Y/n) pick Bonnie up or put her back in the stroller then everything would have been alright. They had pushed Bonnie into this meltdown, they had caused this and almost got her hurt.

When she looked up through her watering lashes, she could see the fury written across Eddie's face.

He had never looked so furious.

His lips were curled into a snarl and were pressed together so tightly his nostrils were flaring as he tried to catch his breath back. A dark shade of rouge was quickly slithering up his neck and clouding his face and his shoulders were quaking with each heaving breath he took.

His hand was trembling as he tightened his hold around (Y/n)'s arm and carefully tugged her to the side so she was stood near the station door. And his head angled to one side as he looked over at the boys.

Johnny was clinging to Maddie's hand, still sniffling and gasping as he tried not to cry. Eddie wasn't sure if his boy knew what had happened or if he was crying from all the panic, Johnny got scared easily. But Chris was seething, he was bashing his palms down against the stroller and he was rocking back and forth to try and calm himself down.

While Maddie was stood with Jee on her hip and a concerned expression that was mixed with grief and torment. Why couldn't her parents listen to them?

Letting go of (Y/n), Eddie moved his hand to point towards the doors and he clicked his fingers. "Everyone inside."

No one dared argue with him. Maddie led the way, guiding Johnny inside while Chris steamed in and shoved the stroller into the corner so it wasn't blocking the entrance in case the trucks had to go.

(Y/n) tried to head inside but she could feel herself going lightheaded once she was through the doors. The adrenaline was wearing off and it was making her feel sick. Every part of her was shaking. She pressed her hand against her stomach and turned away just in case the kids were looking, she didn't want them to look if she was going to be sick. She leant forward and closed her eyes, breathing through her nose to try and ward off the bile rising in her throat.

Loud footsteps echoed through the station as Evan picked up the pace when he saw his family flocking through the open shutters.

A broad grin spread across his face, right until he looked around his loved ones and realised that not a single one of them was smiling back. Chris looked furious, stood with his hands balled into fists and his lips formed into a pout. Johnny was tucked into Maddie's side with a tear stained face and quaking shoulders, giving away that he had been crying.

His sister had that kind of expression Evan used to see when their parents didn't celebrate his birthday or when they forgot about his football games or didn't turn up at school when he hurt himself. She looked disappointed and enraged and tormented all at once, and it made Evan want to cry.

But it was his partners he found himself focusing on. (Y/n) had her back to everyone and she was doubled forward like she was in some kind of pain or like she didn't feel well.

And there was something in Eddie's eyes that set Evan off-kilter. Those maroon eyes were almost black. His jaw was locked and clicking from side to side and he was actually shaking as he cupped the back of Bonnie's head and tried to calm her down. And when Evan looked at their daughter, he realised she was whimpering. She was tugging on Eddie's hair, her legs were thrashing into his abdomen and she was hitting her other hand down on his shoulder.

"Hey… what's wrong?" Evan wasn't quite sure who to approach first, his partners, their kids or his sister.

The only people he didn't want to go near was his parents who were stood off to one side, clinging to each other like they had witnessed a massacre. They wouldn't meet Evan's eyes, they wouldn't look anywhere but at the fire truck like it was some kind of omen or beacon of hope for them.

He watched with wide eyes that were quickly being consumed by panic as Eddie advanced over to him with a face like thunder, but Evan wasn't expecting the words that came out of his mouth.

"Get your parents away from the kids. Now."

What on Earth did that mean? What had they done that was so bad that Eddie didn't want them around the kids? Had they hurt one of them, lashed out at one of the kids, shouted at them? Had they acted inappropriately?

Evan stood with an open mouth and blank expression, unsure what he was supposed to say in response to that. So he just stood and watched as Maddie set Jee down and gently ushered the kids to go and find Chimney because he would be able to find some sweets for them. They didn't need to be around to witness this.

The only child that needed to be with them right now was Bonnie because she was still trembling and whimpering in Eddie's arms.

When Eddie turned his back on Evan to look in (Y/n)'s direction, Evan reached out and held onto his bicep. "Babe I don't understand."

Chills roamed through Evan's body when Eddie spun back around so fast that Evan got whiplash. He quickly reached out when Eddie handed their daughter over to him and motioned to her once she was then trembling and clutching at Evan so tightly he could barely breathe.

"She almost got run over, thanks to your folks."

All the blood drained down to Evan's toes and his skin turned a milky shade of white as he looked down at his daughter in panic. He juggled her higher on his chest and gently cupped her cheek, tilting her head back so he could observe her and scour for any injuries or signs of blood or scrapes and bruises.

He hushed her when a rendition of "Daddy," babbled past her lips and he obliged and leaned forward when Bonnie cupped his face and pulled him closer so she could start kissing his cheek. Something that she was clearly doing to try and calm herself down as she was still rocking her upper body back and forth against Evan's chest, desperate to regulate her system and calm down.

"What did you do?" Evan's tone was harsh but his expression was cruel as he stepped in front of his parents, staring them down until someone decided to fill him in.

Why had his daughter almost been caught up in an accident? How was that his parents fault? What had they done today?

"Baby sit down." Eddie grabbed a plastic chair from the corner and dragged it over to (Y/n). He could see that she didn't want to, she tried shaking her head but he held onto her elbow and waist and guided her to the chair. She looked like she was going to be sick, she needed to sit down before she fainted or threw up.

He wouldn't have her collapsing or making herself any worse, not on account of Evan's parents who had caused this whole mishap today. Once she was sat down, Eddie stood beside her and moved his hands to her shoulders and he leaned down to press his lips to the top of her head. One hand slid up to cup her neck and he started counting as he felt her pulse but he was relieved to feel that her heartbeat was starting to simmer back down. The last thing they needed was a trip to the hospital.

"Tell me what happened." It was hard for Evan not to raise his voice when everything inside of him was setting on fire and he could feel himself getting riled up. But with Bonnie still trying to kiss his cheek and cuddle into him, he had to control his temper or he would frighten her.

"We were only trying to get Bonnie to walk with us, like Jee and the boys. She's perfectly capable of walking, she ran off-"

"She ran into the fucking road." Margaret's shoulders slumped when Eddie cut her off with a viper's tone and a snapping jaw.

"You wouldn't listen to me," (Y/n) hated how broken her voice sounded and she tried her best not to shout or let the tears force her into a sob, but they were riling her up so much. "I explained, I told you she has the stroller, that she was scared. You told her to stop being naughty and tried to drag her down the street, no wonder she ran."

The look on Evan's face was one that couldn't be deciphered and one that Maddie had never seen before. She tried to observe her brother, to figure out what was running through his head and what he was going to do, but she didn't expect tears to start trickling down his face.

His lips attached to the top of Bonnie's head as he bounced her up and down in his arms and turned his back to his parents so he could go over to Eddie. He didn't feel like setting Bonnie down and he wouldn't go over and argue with his parents with her still in his arms, that wouldn't be fair.

He eased Bonnie down once he was next to (Y/n) and their girl instantly scuttled in between (Y/n)'s thighs and cuddled up into her like she was hiding away in a cocoon.

It gave Evan a sense of glee to watch his parents lock hands and see how his mother leaned into his father like she thought she needed protection. Like she thought Evan would really lash out at her or raise his voice at her in front of his family, in his place of work. But she didn't like the look on his face, or the heartbreak welling up in his eyes.

"Why?"

"Evan… we, we just want to teach her, to get her integrated into the world…" Phillip stopped short when Evan shook his head and held his hand out because he wouldn't stand and be lectured by people who barely knew his children.

"You don't know what's best for my daughter!"

The gritty, furious tone to Evan's voice was enough to have everyone shrinking back in fear and those words sent his parents reeling. Evan never got upset or aggressive with them, he had never bothered to defend himself or plead with his parents to love him or show him some respect and attention that he deserved but never received. He wouldn't bother to get them to love him, but he would go to the ends of the Earth to defend each of his kids.

Especially when Bonnie didn't have a voice to defend herself.

"You dragged my girl down the street, you frightened her to the point she ran off and I'm guessing by the state of (Y/n) that she's the only one who ran after Bonnie. You have no right to come down here and pretend you know anything about raising an autistic child."

"We wanted to help-"

"Then listen to us! If you wanna help, you- fuck, you learn, okay? Bonnie doesn't see the world like you, she can't communicate your way. She sees the world as scary, it's unknown and frightening and walking is scary. Being carried or strapped in her chair is safe, she knows she's protected if she's in my arms or she's being pushed and steered and shown where she's going."

If they wanted to help then they needed to listen, they needed to understand and read about autism and try to see things from Bonnie's point of view. They had to listen when (Y/n) or Eddie or Evan told them something and not question them and their methods in raising their girl.

"You don't drag her, you don't force her to do something she doesn't understand or she's frightened of and you certainly don't call her naughty for being upset."

Evan locked his hands into fists and took a step back to prevent himself from lashing out in front of them and Bonnie.

He took a second to glance to the right, but it only made his heart ache to see (Y/n) cuddling Bonnie yet trying her best not to throw up or curl into a ball. And seeing Eddie wrapping around her and glaring holes into the Buckley parents made Evan feel even worse. His parents had upset everyone, and they still had the nerve to pretend that they hadn't done anything wrong.

"Leave."

"Evan, we don't want to argue."

Their pleading expressions did nothing to make Evan feel relieved or sorry for them and he certainly didn't feel like they had earned any forgiveness. Not wanting to argue wasn't commendable considering they had caused this row and they were the ones who were in the wrong. They would be arguing if they thought they were in the right here.

They had done enough. Evan didn't want them around his kids anymore, he didn't want Bonnie becoming any more distressed than she already was and the boys were both clearly upset and worried. This visit had been a disaster and it wouldn't be happening again.

"Good, so get out. I don't want you going anywhere near Bonnie and the boys certainly don't need to be around you either. You don't respect either of my partners or my kids so leave. I'm done with whatever this is."

When he turned around so his back was facing his parents, Evan headed over and reached out for Bonnie again. He picked her up, glad that she was a lot calmer now, although she was still looking at him with those frightened eyes and her usual beautiful smile was nowhere to be seen.

He cuddled her into his chest and attached his lips to the side of her head while he watched Eddie help (Y/n) up.

She looked drained. Tears were splashed across her face, her arms were wrapped around her middle and she was still breathing deeply like she hadn't been able to catch her breath back yet. The way she leaned back into Eddie showed she was losing what little energy she had left and Evan had never been more glad that his shift was coming to an end so he would be able to take his family home.

"Let's go get the boys." Eddie whispered the words against (Y/n)'s temple, keeping his arms looped around her waist as they followed after Evan.

(Y/n) had the urge to look over her shoulder, to see whether Margaret and Phillip looked as down-trodden and guilty as she expected them to feel. And she wanted to look over at Maddie and make sure she knew they weren't arguing with her. But she resisted the urge. Looking at her in-laws wasn't going to make a difference and seeing them look so surprised and sorrowful wasn't going to help.

They all knew that Maddie was going to stay and chat with her parents, to try and get them to see this from Evan's point of view and let them understand what they had done was wrong. She would be trying to smooth things over and she would get her parents to leave.

But Maddie wouldn't be able to change Evan's mind on this. She wouldn't get him to draw a truce with their parents and she would have a hard time convincing the three of them to give the Buckleys another chance to be around Bonnie and the boys.

They hadn't listened to (Y/n) and they had belittled her. Eddie would throw fists before he let them near Bonnie after how they had treated her. And Evan wouldn't forgive them for this.

#imagine #911 imagine #evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #eddie diaz x reader #pregnant! reader #evan buckley imagine #buck x reader #buck imagine #eddie diaz imagine #eddie x reader #eddie diaz #eddie x buck #buddie x reader

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starsofang · 1 year ago

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simon riley x autistic!reader requested by anon! <3 tw: none!

When a certain John Price had recruited you under his own jurisdiction, you were cautious yet excited to be joining a new task force. It was an opportunity you simply couldn’t pass up, and you’d be insane to say no. Price had promised you would fill in the gap that seemed to be missing from their team, and for the most part, he was absolutely correct.

Gaz and Johnny were the most welcoming in the beginning. Price was more the serious type with an occasional bad joke here and then, but all in all, everybody approved of you and had your back so long as you had theirs.

None of them seemed to mind when you’d have days where you’d be talkative on one, and quiet the next. They’d listen to your passionate ramblings on specific topics, or they’d allow you to sit in comfortable silence if they knew you needed it.

There was one person in particular who didn’t seem quite fond of you, and that would be Ghost – or Simon, as Johnny called him on occasion. It wasn’t that he didn’t seem to like you, no. He just seemed distant, purposefully keeping you at an arm’s length and only acknowledging you when necessary.

Johnny had told you not to worry about it, that he’d come around eventually. Simon was impartial to new people and it took him a while to open up.

You did notice, though, that Simon was someone who stared. One too many times, you’d catch those brooding eyes boring into you, as if trying to puzzle you together and figure out where the pieces fit. It would always cause a bit of anxiety to well in you when you’d find his eyes across the room, already locked in on you, and you would find yourself avoiding his stare as soon as you felt it.

It wasn’t until a particular mission had gone bad that you completely shut down. In the presence of your new task force, you had successfully masked yourself as much as possible. But now, when Johnny had nearly been killed, all due to an error in your own judgment, that mask was slipping off and you needed time to let it crumble on your own.

You thought that was all you needed – time. But time proved fruitless as you spent the next few days on lockdown, avoiding all conversation and interaction. Your eyes would stray to the ground, or you’d find yourself staring blankly at the walls of the mess hall with your nails picking at the skin around them from beneath the table.

You didn’t think anybody noticed. After all, everybody was on edge and decompressing from the failed mission, and they didn’t have the focus to see your mind eating you up.

Simon did, though.

He’d seen all the signs, from the way you picked at your nails, to the way you’d consistently tuck your hair behind your ear, even if it was already tucked, and to the way you’d tap your foot along the ground in a repetitive motion, leg bouncing wildly underneath the table during breakfast or debriefs.

At first, none of it made sense to him. He thought it was simple signs of anxiety, and for that, he truly thought that if one bad massion made you close up this much, you wouldn’t last long enough to see a second one. But when he returned to his quarters and searched up all of your stims that he’d taken mental notes of over the course of the week, things clicked.

He didn’t know much about autism. To his embarrassment, you were the first person with autism that he’d actively been around on a daily basis. Everything he’d seen made complete sense, and that last puzzle piece he was trying so hard to fit seemed to fall right into place.

Simon took it upon himself to educate himself. He, too, had his own struggles that not many people had an understanding of, and now that he knew what made sense, he didn’t want you to continue hiding yourself away for the sake of the rest of the team.

It started off small.

When Simon would notice you picking at your fingernails, he’d place a large hand over yours to stop you without sparing a glance in your direction. If he wasn’t there to stop you, he’d silently wrap your fingers up in cute bandages he purchased himself, because he noticed you liked them more than the typical brown ones.

If he noticed you zone out and lose a piece of yourself, where your eyes would find the walls and focus in on them as if they were the most interesting thing in the world, he’d gently grab your shoulder with means to snap you out of it and remind you that he was there with you.

At first, you were surprised when Simon began showing you these subtle signs of companionship. He hadn’t shown any interest in you up until this point, but as time went on, you found yourself actively seeking out that safe space that Simon was slowly building for you.

You crawled your way out of that hole you found yourself in and began returning to normalcy; except now, you didn’t feel you had to mask all the time.

When you returned to your rambling moments, your hand would subconsciously find its way to Simon’s, grasping and fiddling with his fingers while you spoke. He’d never pull his hand away, and instead, he’d sit there quietly with his full attention on you, eyes soft and affectionate from beneath his mask.

Often times, when he’d head to the mess hall to grab a snack or a drink for himself, he began to bring you something back as well – cookies, chips, you name it. If he knew you liked it, he’d snag a couple of whatever it was and place it in front of you without a word (and would absolutely ignore Johnny’s childish whines of how he never did that for him).

This back and forth between the two of you didn’t go unnoticed, and when Gaz nudged Johnny when the three of them sat in the debrief room together, claiming that Simon had a crush, he didn’t blatantly deny it.

Simon wasn’t sure what it was he felt for you. He wanted to see you happy, that he knew for sure, but when Gaz and Johnny continued to feed into their teasing remarks, he was beginning to think that, okay, yeah, maybe he had a bit of a crush.

It took him months to even proclaim this confession to you. He didn’t want to overwhelm you, or god forbid you didn’t feel the same way, didn’t want you to close up on him like you had with others before. Being your safe space was something he took pride in, and for a man who had no knowledge months ago on how to approach you in a way that showed he understood, he didn’t want to ruin that.

That wasn’t at all what happened, though. When he had the gall to tell you, you were practically bursting at the seams. Hands moving wildly, feet causing you to bounce with excitement as you eagerly confessed your own feelings for him. He was scared your lips were crack open from how widely you were smiling and babbling on about your affection.

And when he had the chance to kiss you? He did it with so much tenderness, keeping it as gentle as possible, hands only cupping your cheeks when you told him it was okay.

You had never met someone who was so passionate about you, that they’d learn everything about you. He knew your quirks, your hyperfixations, your interests, your stims. He knew more about you than he did himself at this point.

To have somebody cherish you in such a way that they’d go that far for you, even when they themselves aren’t partial to getting attached to people, it was all Simon ever hoped to make you feel, and it was all you ever wanted to feel understood and accepted.

Simon would happily assure you of that any day.

—

thank u for this idea anon!! i really hope it lived up to your standards, i tried to make it as accurate as possible while trying not to make the stims too specific and detailed since i know many people have different ones and that autism is not linear! <3 please enjoy fluffy simon because he’s my favorite

#cod #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #call of duty #cod mw3 #cod x reader #cod mwii #cod imagine #ghost simon riley #autistic!reader #ghost x reader #request #cod requests

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ghelullu · 3 months ago

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Ghost Tour and Album release timelines Infopost

I saw a lot of curiosity and also really bad takes about the upcoming album release in relation to the tour starting soon: „he’s decepting us by selling tickets and we don’t even have an album yet“, „it’s worrying that the album hasn’t even been released!“ etc, and I couldn’t take it anymore. So have a very short overview on how Ghost handled these things in the past and some speculations, brought to you by my autistic historian ass

Opus Popus as the first album doesn’t count here Update: see below, so I’ll ignore it. Just like the EPs (even Popestar, yes)

Infestissumam

Papa II was introduced by Papa I on 15.12.2012 in Linköping

there we also got the first songs (Secular Haze, Marionette cover) played live,

SH single was released a few days (20.12.2012) later on their Website

Papa II Tour start: 23.02.2012 (if you don’t count the bit in december and that P3 Guld Awards thing)

Album Release Date: 10.04.2013

time between tour and album: 1,5 months (46 days)

Meliora

Papa III premiered in Linköping on 03.06.2015 (with the wrong facemask), which also started the tour

first single (Cirice) released on 30.05.2015

Album Release Date: 21.08.2015

time between tour and album: 2,5 months (79 days)

Prequelle (my beloved)

we meet the Cardinal on 06.04.2018 in a Chapter (and some small concerts) before tour kicks off properly:

Tour start: 05.05.2018

first single (Rats) was released on 13.04.2018 (followed by Dance Macabre on 18.05.2018)

notably there's a bit of a break after the pre-release tour (ROTR), the release of the album and then the „proper“ tour (Pale Tour)

Album Release Date: 01.06.2018

time between tour and album: just under 1 month (27 days)

Impera

not counting the Ascension on 03.03.2020 and Sympathy for the Devil (my beloved) on 22.01.2021);

we get 3! singles before the album releases (Hunter’s Moon (super early bc of the movie), CMLS, Twenties)

Preimperatour started on 25.01.2022 (again with a break between the pre-release tour, release and post-release tour)

Album Release Day: 11.03.2022

time between tour and album: 1,5 months (45 days)

Conclusion:

As you see, Ghost always go on tour first and THEN release the album with about 1,5 months inbetween. Many songs are first played live and then we get to hear the studio versions.

Recently we even got dedicated „pre-tours“ (Rats on the Road, Pre-Imperatour) to hype us up. So there is no need to be worried, or even accuse him of being a scammer or whatever. It’s literally the normal modus operandi!

My guess for this Album/Tour (this might age terribly with the most recent website update): I’d assume we get a single later this month/ in march at the latest, and, if I had to guess, the album comes out after the Euro leg of the Redacted tour in late May (1 month passed plus theres a break again, like there was for ROTR/Pale Tour and Pre-/Imperatour)

Update

Since it's been pointed out that not including Opus isn't fair, I shall add that era. I didn't include it, because first albums always have a bit of their own rules and there's a whole lot of issues coming with releasing your first baby - plus I was trying to make a point based on recency (4 of the last 5 albums) etc. plus the lack of money & recognition didn't allow for a real Tour for quite a while. ANYWAY, here's it:

Opus Eponymous:

12.03.2010 they uploaded the Demo tape to MySpace and got a LOT of attention immediately (because it's a frickin' banger)

the album itself was released on 18.10.2010 officially

they played their first gig at Hammer of Doom in Würzburg of all places on 23.10.2010 - yes, after the album release

it wasn't really a tour in that sense; they went on to play some gigs wherever they could, then supported other bands (Paradise Lost in early 2011), the first thing you could call a real tour was Defenders of the Faith III with Trivium, In Flames (my beloveds, check out In Flames if you haven't!) and Rise to Remain in late 2011 - not a real Headliner Solo tour, though, either

Sources: Setlist.fm, wikipedia, my memory, really

#the band ghost #ghost #a friend asked me to write it down properly so here ya go #infestissumam #meliora #prequelle #impera #papa v #redacted tour #i just really cant handle people accusing him of being a deceiver when they really only need to wikipedia the album release and tour dates #info

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itneverendshere · 7 months ago

Note

hi again! so I've been meaning to send a request, but before i go about it I wish to say it's completely okay if you're not inspired by this, or if you simply don't want to write it, i would hate myself if I made you overwhelmed or smth. love you anyways 💕 so for the request: reader who's autistic. she's not very talkative nor socially active, never had a boyfriend, has one or two friends, yet somehow rafe notices her and finds her endearing. she's okay being herself with her friends, like she's funny, kind and passionate about her interests (like geek stuff, fantasy books, animals and such). she has zero flirting experience and is always dismissive towards rafe bc she doesn't think someone could like her romantically, and she's always suspicious of people bc they've wronged her in the past (in my experience as an autistic person i tend to believe everything ppl say and am kinda naive, so ppl played me or said unrealistic things and I believed them, which then is a reason for laughter, now I'm always suspicious to ppl's intentions). I'm giving you creative freedom with this, just wanted an autistic reader for once :) if you feel like writing it but need to know more abt autism, you can just post question and I'll answer in your asks, if that's okay. Just a reminder again before I go: feel free to decline this request, I know it might not be something cool to write and that's okay ☺️ love you lots, thank you for your time!

i tried my best, hope you like it 🫶🏼 and if you don't lmk so i can do better!! this was really fun since it's a compeltely new topic of inspiration. kinda left an "open" ending bc i couldn't make my mind up lmao. thank you for the resquest and sorry it took me a while to finally do it 🫂

got dreams but i can't make myself believe them - r.c

paring: rafe x autistic!reader word count: 6.9k

The party was a mistake.

You knew it the moment you walked in, the terrible music and crush of people making your skin crawl. Your friends had been relentless, insisting that you needed to “get out more” and “live a little,” despite your repeated attempts to explain that “getting out” meant something different to you.

You’d caved eventually, and now you were standing awkwardly in the corner of a stranger’s living room, clutching your book like it was a life vest. You needed to stop letting them drag you everywhere.

It was the typical college party scene, at least the one's you'd heard or read about before. Red solo cups everywhere, groups of people huddled on couches or pressed together on the so called dance floor, and a few already-drunk guys yelling loudly in the kitchen.

This was supposed to be fun?

“Just stay for an hour,” they said. “If it’s really that bad, you can leave.”

Right.

Except an hour felt like an eternity when you were trapped in a sensory nightmare. You took a deep breath, scanning the crowded room, the noise was a constant, overwhelming buzz in your ears.

This was definitely a mistake.

You did what you always did best in these situations: found a quiet place to hide.

After walking through the drunk college students, you ended up on hidden nook near the back of the house. It was a small room, probably some sort of den or study, but blessedly, it was empty.

With a sigh of relief, you settled into an oversized armchair, opened your book, and let the world outside your pages melt away.

Time slipped by as you read, the overwhelming noise changing into a distant hum. You were so engrossed that you didn’t notice when someone stumbled into the room until a loud crash jolted you out of your fictional word.

He nearly tripped over his own feet, catching himself at the last second with a slurred, “Shit.”

You looked up to find a guy standing unsteadily in the doorway, blinking blearily at you. He was tall, with tousled dark blonde hair and a loose grin that spoke of far too many drinks. His eyes were a striking blue even in the low light, and it took you a second to place him.

Rafe Cameron.

You knew him—well, of him, at least.

He was in your sociology class, always sitting a few rows behind you with his gaggle of equally charming friends. He’d never spoken to you before, though, and you’d never had a reason to pay him much attention.

Rafe's face split into a lazy grin, and he swaggered—no, stumbled—into the room, managing to make even that look effortless.

“Heyyy,” he drawled, leaning heavily against the arm of the chair across from you. “It’s… it’s you.”

You blinked at him. “Me?”

“Yeah,” he slurred, squinting like he was trying to see you clearly. “T-The girl from my class. The quiet one.”

Your stomach did a weird flip, part confusion, part disbelief.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” He nodded sagely, as if you’d just confirmed some great truth. “You’re the uh, the smart one. With the books.” He gestured vaguely at the one in your hands. “Always sittin’ up front, all… all cute n'shit.”

Your cheeks burned. Was he calling you cute? No. He was drunk—really drunk. He probably didn’t know what he was saying.

“Do you need help?” you asked cautiously. “You look—”

“I’m fine,” he cut you off, straightening up as if to prove it, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way he swayed on his feet. “Needed to get away from those fucking idiots out there. Too many people.”

You almost laughed.

Rafe Cameron, overwhelmed by people? The guy who was always surrounded by friends, girls draped over him like accessories? But he looked sincere—well, as sincere as a drunk person could look.

“Why don’t you sit down?” you suggested, gesturing to the empty chair. “You, um, might fall over if you don’t.”

“Pfft, I’m not gonna—” He paused mid-sentence, wobbling precariously. Then, as if he’d just made the smartest decision of his life, he plopped down in the chair, sprawling out. “See? Told ya m'fine,” he said, flashing you a lopsided grin.

You couldn’t help but snort.

“Right.”

He looked at you then, his gaze roaming over your face.

“What’re you doin’ here?” he asked abruptly.

You glanced at your book, then back at him. "Reading?”

“No, I mean… here,” he insisted, gesturing vaguely around the room. “At this shitty party.”

You shrugged, feeling awkward.

“My friends dragged me. I didn’t really want to come.”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and he looked almost sober.

“Yeah, same.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

He smirked, a flash of the cocky, arrogant guy you’d seen in class.

“Yeah, well… they’re fucking assholes, but they’re my assholes, y'know?”

You didn’t, but you nodded anyway. “Sure.”

“So, what’s that book about?”

You hesitated. “Um… it’s a fantasy novel.”

“Fantasy, huh?” He tilted his head, eyeing the cover. “Like wizards and dragons n'shit?”

“Sort of,” you admitted. “It’s about a girl who finds out she has magic and goes on a quest to—”

“Save the world?” he finished with a mock-solemn expression.

“...Yeah,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “But it’s more complicated than that.”

“Bet it is,” he murmured, his gaze still fixed on you. “You’re really into that stuff, huh?”

You shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah. Why?”

He shrugged, his smirk softening into something that looked like genuine interest. “You looked happy, talkin’ about it.”

Your heart did another weird little flip, and you frowned, pushing the feeling down. He was drunk, this didn’t mean anything. He wouldn’t remember it in the morning.

Rafe's eyes drifted shut, his head lolling back against the chair and within seconds, he was snoring.

You sat there, stunned.

What the hell had just happened?

Three days later, you were sitting in your usual spot in the lecture hall, flipping through your notes. Class was about to start, and the room was filling up with the usual pre-lecture chatter.

You were getting settled when someone slid into the seat beside you.

You glanced up, expecting one of your friends.

It was Rafe.

“Hey, friend,” he greeted casually, like you hadn’t left him passed out at a party a few nights ago.

You stared at him, completely disoriented. “Hi?”

He grinned, leaning back in his chair, acting like this was completely normal.

“Didn’t think I’d forget about you, huh?”

Your eyes narrowed. “I… yeah, actually.”

Rafe’s grin widened, and he leaned in closer, “See, that’s where you’re wrong, princess,” he murmured. “I remember everything.”

Did he just give you a nickname?

Your stomach dropped. “Oh?"

“Yeah.” He crossed his arms, looking entirely too smug. “You, sitting there all cute with your book, talking about magic and shit. Thought I was too drunk to remember, huh?”

“I—” You gawked at him, completely off balance. “Why are you here?”

“Because I want to be,” he said simply. “Got a problem with that?”

You blinked, caught off guard.

“No?”

“Good.” He flashed you a grin, “So, you gonna tell me more about that book, or what?”

You gaped at him. “You actually want to hear about it?”

“Why not?” he shot back, raising an eyebrow. “It made you smile.”

For some very stupid reason, that simple statement knocked the breath out of you.

“Okay,” you said, still unsure if this was some kind of elaborate prank.

Rafe leaned back in his seat, eyes fixed on you like you were the most fascinating thing in the world. Weird dude.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I think I’ll stick around.”

The next few classes were…weird, to say the least.

Ever since Rafe decided you were his new "friend," he’d taken to sitting beside you every lecture, plopping down in the empty seat as if he’d been there all along. It was confusing.

Most of the time, he’d breeze in at the last possible minute, sauntering up to your row without so much as a greeting and settling into the chair with that infuriatingly self-assured face. You were already seated, your notebook open and your pen poised to start taking notes when he dropped into the seat beside you with his usual nonchalance. He stretched his long legs out in front of him, casting you a sidelong look, daring you to acknowledge him first.

“Hi,” you said quietly, eyes flicking back to the front of the room.

“Hey, princess,” he replied, voice teasing.

You kept your gaze firmly on your notebook. You’d quickly learned that the best way to deal with him was to pretend his presence didn’t affect you—no matter how much his proximity messed with you.

He’d spent the last three classes nudging your foot under the desk, passing snide comments under his breath, or leaning over just close enough to murmur sarcastic observations about whatever the professor was droning on about. And today was no different.

The lecture started, Professor Callahan launching into her usual detailed overview of sociological theory. You tried to focus, pen flying across your notebook as you jotted down her points.

“Is she always this boring?” he whispered, leaning in slightly so his arm brushed against yours.

You stiffened, eyes fixed on your notes. “If you listened, it wouldn’t be so boring.”

He snorted. “Yeah, right. Like I’m gonna waste my time listening to her go on about… what is it today? Class structure?”

“Yes,” you hissed, refusing to look at him. “And if you don’t stop talking, I’m going to—”

“You’re going to what?” he challenged, his grin audible in his voice.

You snapped your mouth shut, trying to ignore the way his leg brushed against yours under the desk. He was doing it on purpose—nudging your knee every so often, shifting just a little closer until the faint scent of his cologne surrounded you. It was infuriating. And yet, when you glanced sideways at him, he was looking at you with that maddening, lazy grin that made your heart stutter.

“Just pay attention,” you mumbled, cheeks warm.

“Why would I do that when I have such a pretty view right here?”

Your head whipped around, eyes wide. “What?”

But Rafe just smirked, his gaze drifting lazily up and down your face before flicking back to the front of the room as if he hadn’t just made your brain short-circuit.

“Relax, princess. Just messin' with you.”

You swallowed, trying to refocus on the lecture. His attention was like a physical thing—intense and all-consuming. It made you uneasy.

Determined not to give him the satisfaction, you forced yourself to look at the professor, tuning out the heat of Rafe’s gaze. Professor Callahan was in the middle of explaining something about social hierarchies when she suddenly stopped mid-sentence.

“Mr. Cameron.”

The entire class fell silent.

You looked up, eyes widening in surprise as Professor Callahan fixed Rafe with a stern look. “I’m aware that I’m not as pretty as your classmate,” she said dryly, gesturing toward you, “but I would appreciate it if you could pay attention for at least ten minutes.”

A ripple of snickers spread through the room, and your cheeks flamed scarlet. Rafe, however, didn’t even blink, he was completely unruffled and offered the professor a lazy, arrogant smile. “Sorry, Professor. Just got a little distracted.”

Your stomach dropped. He was staring at you, unabashedly.

The professor raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure.” Her tone was dry, unimpressed. “Would you mind keeping your distractions to yourself until after class?”

Another murmur of laughter swept through the room, and you shrank in your seat, mortified. His smirk widened, but he leaned back in his chair, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“Of course, ma’am,” he drawled. “No more distractions.”

Professor Callahan gave him a pointed look, then turned back to the board, resuming her lecture. You sat there, face burning, refusing to look anywhere near Rafe, but you could feel his eyes on you.

“Guess I got you in trouble, huh?” he whispered, leaning closer.

You grit your teeth, still staring resolutely at the front of the room. “Stop talking.”

“Can’t help it,” he murmured, his voice teasing. “You’re way more interesting than this shit.”

“Rafe, I swear—”

“Okay, okay, I’ll behave,” he said lightly, sitting back. But he didn’t take his eyes off you. You could feel him lingering, warm and intent, and you wanted to scream. How was he so calm? So unaffected, like getting called out by the professor was just a minor inconvenience?

You hated every second of it.

“Rafe,” you hissed under your breath, finally daring to glance at him. “Will you just—”

“What?” He leaned in again, eyes bright with mischief. “You want me to go back to ignoring you?”

“Stop staring.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Can’t promise that, princess.”

Your heart hammered, and you squeezed your pen so tightly it nearly snapped. “Why are you even here?”

He shrugged, his expression turning oddly serious. “I like sitting next to you.”

Rafe Cameron—the arrogant, cocky asshole you’d written off as nothing more than a nuisance—had just chosen to stay by your side.

As soon as class ended, you gathered your things in record time, heart still thumping wildly. The room buzzed with students shuffling out, but you kept your head down, hoping to slip away unnoticed.

Maybe if you were quick enough, you could escape before he decided to make good on his new, annoying habit of sticking to you like glue. But, of course, he was nothing if not persistent.

You’d barely slung your bag over your shoulder when he appeared at your side, his tall frame looming over you as he fell into step like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Heading to lunch?” he asked, all casual charm, as if he hadn’t just spent the entire class making you the center of unwanted attention.

“Yes?” You tried not to sound as thrown as you felt, but the way he looked at you—with that infuriatingly lazy grin—told you he could see right through you.

“Cool. I’m starving.” He said it like it was an invitation, like he was entitled to follow you, and before you could muster up a half-hearted protest, he was already steering you through the crowded hallway.

“Wait, what are you doing?” you demanded, glancing around in panic. People were staring, eyes widening as they took in the sight of Rafe Cameron, of all people, trailing after you. Whispers flitted through the air, curious and disbelieving, and you shrank under the scrutiny, feeling painfully exposed.

“Uh, going to lunch with you?” He made it sound so obvious, his voice lilting with amusement.

“I didn’t invite you!” You glanced at him, trying to tamp down the fluttery, nervous feeling his presence always seemed to stir up. “What if I’m eating with someone else?”

He shrugged. “Then I’ll eat with them too.”

You gawked at him. “What?”

But Rafe just flashed you that cocky, confident grin. “Relax. It’s just lunch.”

Just lunch, he said, like this wasn’t completely absurd.

You narrowed your eyes, debating whether to make a break for it, but he was already steering you toward the main quad, his hand ghosting the small of your back in a way that made your skin tingle.

Your heart hammered as the familiar outdoor seating area came into view. Your friends were already there, sitting at your usual table—a small group of two girls and a guy, all talking animatedly. You hadn’t even sat down yet, and they still managed to look up as one, their expressions morphing from curious to shocked when they caught sight of you—and Rafe—heading straight toward them.

“Uh, hey,” you greeted awkwardly as you approached. They just stared, mouths agape.

Emily was the first to recover. “What the—since when do you two know each other?” she asked, eyes darting between you and Rafe like she was seeing some kind of glitch in the matrix.

“Yeah, what’s going on here?” Max, the guy in your small circle, chimed in, his gaze flicking to Rafe warily. “Is this, like… a project thing?”

“No, it’s not—” you started, but Rafe cut you off with a breezy smile.

“Can’t believe y’all kept her to yourselves this whole time,” he drawled, pulling out the chair beside yours and plopping down like he’d done it a thousand times before. “Thought you’d have the decency to introduce me to the most interesting girl on campus.”

Your friends gaped, eyes wide with shock. You could practically see their brains short-circuiting. Meanwhile, you were fighting the urge to smack him upside the head.

“Please shut up,” you muttered under your breath, cheeks burning.

But he just smirked, his gaze sliding over your stunned friends with lazy amusement. “What?” he said innocently. “It’s true.”

“What the hell is happening right now?” Emily demanded, still staring at you like you’d grown a second head. “You—you and Rafe Cameron?”

You sighed, already regretting every life choice that had led you to this moment. “There is no ‘me and Rafe Cameron.’ He just—he’s being annoying.”

“Annoying?” he repeated, feigning offense. “C’mon. I thought we were past that.”

“We are not past anything,” you snapped, shooting him a glare. But that only seemed to amuse him more.

“Okay, back up,” Max interjected, brow furrowed in confusion. “How do you guys even know each other?”

“Uh, sociology class?” you offered weakly, as if that explained anything. “He’s been sitting next to me.”

“Sitting next to you?” Emily repeated slowly, like she was trying to process a particularly difficult equation. “And now you’re… eating lunch together?”

“It’s not—” You looked helplessly at Rafe, who was watching the exchange with that insufferable smirk. “I didn’t ask him to.”

He looked completely unfazed by the mess he’d caused. “What can I say? I like the company.”

“Since when?” Emily shot back, clearly unconvinced.

Rafe shrugged, “Since she started talking to me.”

Your friends fell silent, eyes wide and suspicious as they turned to you, searching for answers. But you just sat there, feeling utterly, hopelessly lost. What were you supposed to say? That Rafe Cameron had decided, out of nowhere, to insert himself into your life? That he was following you to lunch like this was some sort of normal occurrence?

“Look,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “It’s really not a big deal. He’s just—”

“Rafe Cameron is never ‘just’ anything,” Emily interrupted, folding her arms as she fixed Rafe with a suspicious look. “So what are you up to?"

“Nothing,” Rafe said easily, his smile all sharp edges. “Like I said, I’m just getting to know her.”

“Getting to know her,” Max echoed, clearly skeptical.

“Yeah.” Rafe’s eyes never left yours, his eyes gleaming with something that made your pulse flutter. “What’s so weird about that?”

Your friends exchanged looks. You didn’t blame them. This was weird. More than weird. You’d never been the kind of girl to attract attention—especially not from someone like Rafe. Popular, arrogant, and completely out of your league in every possible way. And yet, here he was, acting like sitting with you at lunch was the most natural thing in the world.

“So,” He said suddenly, turning his attention back to the group, “Are you gonna sit here gaping all day, or are we gonna eat?”

Emily blinked, snapping out of her daze. “Uh, yeah, we’re… we’re eating.”

“Good.” Rafe turned to you, eyebrow raised. “You eating, princess?”

You stared at him, “I—yes?”

“Cool. Want me to grab you something?”

You stared at him, incredulous. “You’re offering to get me lunch?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I am. Now, what do you want?”

“I—” You swallowed, glancing at your friends, who were watching the exchange like it was some sort of bizarre performance. “Um, a sandwich?”

“Got it.” Rafe pushed to his feet, his smile smug. “Be right back.”

And then, to your utter disbelief, he sauntered off toward the food line, leaving you and your friends staring after him.

“What,” Max said slowly, “the hell just happened?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I have no idea.”

The awkward lunch with Rafe didn’t end as badly as you expected.

Your friends had spent the entire time shooting you confused, bewildered looks, while he seemed to thrive under their scrutiny, lounging beside you like he belonged. He didn’t flirt—thank God—but he didn’t exactly tone down his usual cocky self either. By the end of it, he’d somehow managed to charm your friends just enough to leave them confused rather than outright hostile. Still, after that lunch, you’d expected him to lose interest, to move on to his usual crowd and forget all about his bizarre little experiment. But of course, he wasn’t known for playing by the rules.

You learned that the hard way two days later.

It was late afternoon, and you were holed up in the campus library, buried under a mountain of textbooks and notes for an upcoming exam. The library was your sanctuary—quiet, calm, and blissfully free of distractions. At least, until Rafe sauntered in. You didn’t notice him at first, too absorbed in your notes. The library was busy, students murmuring as they worked, the rustle of pages and the faint clack of keyboards filling the air. You were hunched over a particularly dense passage in your sociology textbook when you felt it—

You stiffened, glancing up cautiously, and there he was.

He leaned against the bookshelf a few feet away, his eyes fixed on you with a lazy, assessing look. He didn’t move, just watched you, his lips quirking in that infuriating smirk when your eyes met.

“What are you doing here?” you hissed, glancing around nervously. No one seemed to be paying attention, but you still felt like the entire room was suddenly staring.

“Studying,” he said, straight-faced.

“Since when do you study in the library?”

“Since now,” he said easily, pushing off the bookshelf and strolling over to your table. He pulled out the chair across from you, dropping into it like he had every right to be there. “What? Can’t a guy broaden his horizons?”

You stared at him, incredulous. “You’re joking.”

“Not today, princess.” He leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand as he peered at your open book. “So, what’re we learning?”

“We are not learning anything,” you muttered, eyes narrowing. “I’m studying. You are… I don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Keeping you company,” he said simply. “You looked lonely.”

Your mouth fell open. “Lonely?”

“Yeah.” He tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over your face. “All holed up in here with your books. Thought I’d help.”

What was he even talking about? This was insane. He didn’t just hang out in the library, especially not to “keep someone company.” He was the kind of guy who spent his free time at parties, or on the field, or wherever people like him thrived. And yet, here he was, sitting across from you in the library like this was normal.

“Rafe,” you said slowly, “you don’t even know what I’m studying.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does if you’re trying to help,” you shot back, frustration seeping into your voice. “You’re—what are you even—”

“Okay, okay,” he interrupted, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Calm down. Just trying to see what’s got you all riled up.”

You bit back a groan, rubbing your temples. This was absurd. You didn’t need—didn’t want—his attention.

“Fine,” you muttered, turning your textbook around so he could see the page. “I’m going over Durkheim’s theory of social integration.”

Rafe leaned in, squinting at the page. “Durkheim, huh?”

“Yes,” you said, a little impatiently. “He believed that society functions through a collective conscience—shared beliefs and values that bind people together.”

“Sounds boring as hell,” Rafe said bluntly.

“It’s not boring,” you retorted before you could stop yourself. “It’s actually really interesting—he argued that a lack of social integration could lead to anomie, a state of normlessness that causes people to feel disconnected and isolated.”

Rafe stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. At least it felt that way to you.

“What?” you demanded, suddenly self-conscious. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He shrugged, a strange, thoughtful smile tugging at his lips. “Just… you get really into this stuff, don’t you?”

Your cheeks flushed. “It’s sociology. It’s important.”

“Yeah, but…” He shook his head, “It’s kinda cute.”

You blinked, your brain short-circuiting. “Cute?”

“Yeah.” He leaned back, crossing his arms as he regarded you with a casual, easy confidence that made your heart flutter. “You get all intense when you talk about it. Like, you actually care.”

“I—I do care,” you stammered, “It’s my major.”

“I know,” he murmured. “I like that about you.”

What—what was that supposed to mean? Why was he looking at you like that, like he actually meant it?

Before you could even begin to untangle your thoughts, a shadow fell over the table, and you glanced up to see another student standing there—a tall, lanky guy with dark hair and glasses. He looked vaguely familiar, probably from one of your classes.

“Uh, hey,” the guy said awkwardly, glancing between you and Rafe. “Are—are you using this seat?”

Rafe’s expression changed instantly, “Yeah,” he said flatly. “We are.”

The guy blinked, taken aback. “Oh, uh, sorry, I just—”

“You just can find another table,” Rafe cut in, “We’re a little busy here.”

You gaped at him, mortified. “Rafe, stop.”

But he didn’t even glance at you. He just kept staring down the poor guy, his posture tense and unyielding until, with a muttered apology, the student backed off, scurrying away like he’d just had a close encounter with a predator.

“What the hell was that?” you hissed as soon as the guy was out of earshot. “He just wanted to sit down!”

“Yeah, and we’re studying,” Rafe said dismissively. “No room for distractions.”

“We’re not studying anything!” you shot back, resisting the urge to smack him. “You’re just sitting here, being—being weird.”

“Not weird,” he corrected, leaning in again. “Protective.”

You froze, your mouth going dry. “Protective?”

“Yeah.” His eyes were dark, intense, locking onto yours. “Can’t have just anyone bothering you, can I?”

After the bizarre encounter in the library, you were convinced Rafe would drop this whole… whatever it was. Surely, following you to lunch and then “protecting” you in the library was enough.

So when you found yourself at another party two nights later—dragged along by Emily despite your vehement protests—you knew it was only a matter of time before he found you. Because somehow, no matter where you went, Rafe had made it his mission to seek you out.

“Come on, you need to have some fun,” Emily had insisted, half-pulling, half-dragging you through the front door of one of the fraternity houses on campus. The music was already blaring, the heavy bass vibrating through your body. People were packed in the main room, laughing, talking, drinking, the buzz of chatter filling the air.

“This isn’t my idea of fun,” you muttered, hugging your arms around yourself as you tried to avoid brushing against the partygoers. It wasn’t that you disliked parties, exactly—it was just that the noise, the sheer volume of people could get overwhelming quickly.

“Just stay for an hour,” Emily pleaded. “Please? I swear it’ll be more fun than you think. We can dance, have a few drinks—”

“I don’t dance,” you cut in flatly, giving her a pointed look.

“Okay, fine, I’ll dance, and you… can hang out and people-watch,” she amended, undeterred. “Besides, who knows? Maybe you’ll meet someone.”

You gave her a withering stare. “Yeah, because I’m such a social butterfly.”

You sighed, resigned to your fate, and began making your way through the press of bodies. After a few minutes you managed to find a relatively quiet corner in the back, near the stairs, and gratefully leaned against the wall. Maybe if you stayed out of sight long enough, Emily would give up on trying to get you to socialize and let you leave early. It was a long shot, but you could hope.

You hadn’t been there long when you felt it—the now-familiar prickling sensation of someone’s gaze lingering on you. Sure enough, when you glanced up, there he was.

Rafe, in all his infuriating glory, leaning against the wall a few feet away, his eyes locked on you with that lazy focus that made your heart stutter. He looked unfairly good, dressed in a dark button-up that clung to his frame in all the right ways, his hair tousled just enough to look effortlessly cool. And, as usual, he was watching you like you were the only person in the room.

You narrowed your eyes at him, your stomach twisting in irritation and something else. “Are you stalking me now?” you demanded, crossing your arms as you glared at him.

Rafe’s lips curved into a slow, teasing smile. “Would it be so bad if I was?”

“Yes,” you said flatly. “It would be very bad.”

He chuckled, the sound low, sending an unwelcome shiver down your spine. “Relax, princess. I just saw you standing here all alone and thought I’d come say hi.”

“Hi,” you muttered, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now you can leave.”

But he didn’t budge. Instead, he straightened, pushing off the wall and closing the distance between you in a few long strides until he was standing directly in front of you, his presence overwhelming.

You tried to step back, but the wall blocked your escape.

“Actually, I was thinking we could, I don’t know, hang out for a bit?” he suggested, tilting his head as he regarded you with a faux-innocent smile.

“Why?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Rafe blinked, seemingly taken aback by the question. “Why?”

“Yes,” you insisted, frustration bubbling up inside you. “Why do you keep… doing this? Showing up, sitting with me, following me to lunch, acting like—like we’re friends or something. What is your deal, Cameron?”

Slowly he reached up, bracing one hand on the wall beside your head, leaning in so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

“My deal,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, “is that I like you.”

No. No, no, no.

That couldn’t be right. People didn't just like you. They tolerated you, maybe, or found you useful sometimes, but they didn't like you. Not like that. Not in the way he was implying. You felt panic rising in your chest, like a wave that was too big to stop. You couldn’t stop it.

“You’re lying,” you said shakily, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re just—this is some kind of game, isn’t it? Some—some bet, or—”

Rafe’s expression tightened, his jaw clenching. “It’s not a game,” he ground out, his eyes flashing. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

You swallowed hard, your chest aching. No, this couldn’t be happening. This didn’t make sense.

“I don’t believe you,” you shook your head stubbornly.

His eyes narrowed, “No?”

“No,” you repeated, crossing your arms defiantly. “You’re just… you. You can’t just decide you like me out of nowhere.”

“I didn’t decide,” he murmured, “It just happened.”

Your breath hitched, your heart racing. Why was he doing this to you? Why couldn’t he just leave you alone?

“I—” You broke off, struggling to find words, but before you could answer, a loud voice interrupted.

“Yo, Rafe! There you are, man!”

You both jerked back, startled, and you glanced over to see one of Rafe’s friends—Topper, if you remembered correctly—stumbling over, a wide grin plastered across his face.

“What are you doing back here?” Topper slurred, his gaze sliding to you. He blinked, “Who’s this?”

Rafe stepped in front of you slightly, his posture tense and protective. “Doesn’t matter,” he said curtly, “Go find someone else to bother.”

Topper blinked, taken aback. “Whoa, man, chill. I was just—”

“Go,” Rafe repeated, his tone brooking no argument.

Topper stared at him for a long moment, then slowly backed off, muttering under his breath as he disappeared into the crowd. As soon as he was gone, Rafe turned back to you, his eyes softening again.

“Sorry about that,” he murmured, “Didn’t mean to—”

“Why did you do that?” you cut in, your heart still pounding.

Rafe frowned. “Do what?”

“Get rid of him,” you said, shaking your head in confusion. “He was your friend. Why would you—”

Maybe you’d misread him. Maybe he didn’t actually mean any of what he said. He was probably just bored, looking for some amusement—another toy to play with for a little while.

“I wanted to talk to you. Not him.”

You blinked, bewildered. “But he’s your friend.”

He gave a half-hearted shrug. “So? Doesn’t mean I want him interrupting us.”

Us. Like there was an “us.” Like there could ever be an “us.”

You shook your head, trying to clear the fog of confusion. “But I don’t understand,” you mumbled. “I don’t get it. You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough,” he said quietly, his eyes holding yours in a way that made it hard to breathe. “More than you think.”

You frowned. It was impossible to shake the nagging feeling that he was just… playing with you. That this was all some sick joke and at any moment, the punchline would hit, and you’d be the idiot.

“You’re just messing with me,” you muttered, taking a small step back to put some space between you. “You’re bored or something.”

“I’m not bored,” he said firmly, stepping forward to close the gap you’d just created. “I told you, I wouldn’t do that.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this. You’ve been following me around, showing up where I am, saying all these things like—like we’re something, but we’re not.”

Rafe stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as he looked at you, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What are you talking about? You really think I’m just messing around?”

“Yes!” you practically shouted, throwing your hands up. “Yes, I do! Why else would you be doing this? You’re Rafe Cameron, for god’s sake. You don’t even like me. This is just some twisted game to you, isn’t it?”

You stared at him, trying to read his face, trying to find any hint of dishonesty, any sign that this was all an act. But all you saw was that same intensity, that same focus, like you were the only person who mattered.

Your chest tightened, panic grazing at you. This wasn’t right. It couldn’t be. People didn’t just… like you. They didn’t seek you out at parties or show up in libraries to talk about sociology. Guys like Rafe didn’t choose people like you. There had to be some ulterior motive.

“You show up out of nowhere, act like I’m some project, some… someone who needs your protection—why, Rafe? Because I don’t fit into your world? Because I’m some joke to you and your friends?”

“That’s not it,” He growled, his voice defensive. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t know what I’m talking about?” you scoffed, shaking your head. “You haven’t been honest about anything. You haven’t given me a reason to believe any of this.”

“You think I’m lying?

You moved your head again, harder this time. “That doesn’t make sense. You’re—you’re saying things that don’t make sense. I don’t understand.”

He took a slow, poising breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "What doesn't make sense to you?"

"All of this," you replied, your voice quivering with frustration, "You, acting like you—like you actually care. Like you see me. People don’t just do that, not for someone like me. I don’t—" You cut yourself off, not sure how to finish the sentence, your thoughts spiraling.

It wasn’t just that you couldn’t believe him; it was that you didn’t know how to believe him. Your experiences had taught you to be wary, to always look for the catch, because there always was one.

Always.

Rafe's brows drawn together in something that almost looked like concern. "Someone like you?" he repeated, "What does that even mean?"

You swallowed, feeling your insecurities gripping down on your chest. "It means I’m not… like you. I don’t know how to talk to people, I don’t get things right all the time. People don’t notice me, and when they do, it’s usually because I’ve done something wrong, or because they want something from me. That’s just how it is."

He shook his head slowly. "That’s not how I see you."

You opened your mouth to argue, to say something—anything—to dismiss what he was saying, to protect yourself from the disappointment that was sure to come. But Rafe didn’t give you the chance.

"You think I’m messing with you because you’re not like everyone else? Is that it? You think I’m playing some kind of game because you don’t fit into some stupid idea of who’s supposed to matter?"

You wanted to pull away, to recoil into the safety of your doubts, but something in his voice, in the way he was looking at you, made you stop.

"I’m not going to pretend like I know everything about you," Rafe continued, no less serious. "But I know enough to know that I’m not bored. I don’t care if you don’t fit in with my world, or whatever you think that means. I like that you’re passionate about the things you care about. I like that you don’t put up with anyone’s shit—not even mine." A small, almost self-deprecating smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I’ve spent enough time around fake people to know the difference."

You weren’t used to this—this kind of sincerity. It felt too real. And part of you still wanted to push it away, to reject it before it had a chance to hurt you. But another part of you—a much smaller, quieter part—was whispering that maybe he meant it.

"Why me?"

"Because you're you," he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

For a long, breathless moment, the two of you just stood there, the noise of the party fading into the background. Your mind was still processing everything, but there was something in the way he was looking at you, something that made you feel—just for a second—like maybe you could trust this.

You shook your head, "I’m not… I’m not good at this," you admitted, your voice uncertain. "At understanding what people mean, or knowing if they’re being serious or not. I don’t know how to read you."

Rafe’s eyes softened even more at your confession, and he took a deep breath, like he was trying to figure out how to make you believe him. "I get that," he said quietly. "And I’m not always great at this either. But I’m serious. I wouldn’t lie to you, especially not about this."

You wanted to believe him. More than anything, you wanted to believe him. But there was still that tiny voice of doubt in the back of your mind, reminding you of all the times you’d been wrong before, of all the times you’d trusted someone only to be let down.

You hesitated, your throat tight. "I don’t know if I can."

He didn’t push, didn’t demand anything from you. Instead, he just nodded slowly.

"That’s okay. You don’t have to believe me right now. But I’ll be here when you’re ready."

And with that, he stepped back, giving you the space you so desperately needed. He didn’t try to force anything, didn’t press for more. Instead, he just gave you a small, almost hopeful smile and turned, disappearing back into the crowd.

And as you stood there, your heart still pummeling into your ribs, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d been wrong about him after all.

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