#but sometimes you have to sit and chew on things to find the answer

[steamworksfairy]

Now for canon characters!

Verde: 🤲 for a religious headcanon 😡 for an anger headcanon

Colonnello: 🏡 for a home headcanon ⌛for a sleep headcanon

And of course… i can’t resist asking Reborn: 💣 for a stress headcanon

-Butter

Hi Butter and thank you so much for the asks and the chance to ramble about some Arcobaleno. Sorry it took me forever to answer this. I low-key died. But it's okay because Verde revived me 💚

This one will be under a read more because it's bordering on being long.

Verde:

🤲 for a religious headcanon

So I do love to go against and subvert tropes where I can and for Verde religion is one of those where I do deviate from the classic 'he's a scientist so must be an atheist' stereotype. I think Verde considers himself Christian. He doesn't really claim to be Catholic or anything specific tho his family would because they're Catholic. And he isn't the type to pray often. He also remains skeptical as to if God or any God exists. Tho if God does, tho he suspects the ancient alien theories might be right. Anyways religion doesn't really have anything to do with his experiments, so he doesn't have strong opinions on it one way or another. It's kind of one of those things where he'll remain open-minded on it, especially after learning that Earthlings exist. He was bummed that Kawahira wasn't an alien. He low-key wants God to be alien.

😡 for an anger headcanon

He doesn't feel anger often. Most emotions in that range tend to be irritaion/annoyance or even fear and panic based. But outright anger? That's rare for him. He only feels it if someone truly pisses him off. And to piss him off....well there's a few things that could, but it's hard. You'd either have to mess up his experiment, drag him into some deep trouble, or stab him in the back when he's truly did trust you. (Not sure if I'd include Luce in this but I do have an oc who has done this)

Colonnello:

🏡 for a home headcanon

He has two. An apartment with Lal in Italy near the CEDEF HQ and then an apartment on Mafia Land. Both are nice, but I think for him it's the people that make it feel like home for him. (As corny as that is.) Lal is the love of his life. She's the person he'd give up anything for. Anywhere with her feels right. They could live in a tent and he'd be content, but they're both selfish in also having their work life being important to them. At the same time, they wouldn't have it any other way.

Which is a blessing because Colonnello would hate to leave his job at Mafia Land. His security team and the people that run the place are like family to him. He was never close to his actual family so to have a place where he could finally feel that is something he treasures. Not to mention those are his people and Mafia Land is his to protect. Only Lal, Arcobaleno stuff, or Ryohei needing some training could pry him away at this point.

⌛for a sleep headcanon

Colonnello can literally sleep anywhere. In a bed, on the cold hard ground, in a tree---you name it and he can fall asleep there. He had to learn how to this because Lal’s training was...lets just say getting sleep was a luxury. Sleeping with his eyes opened also comes from Lal's training.

Reborn:

💣 for a stress headcanon

Reborn feeling stress? Idk seems far fetched...🤨/j

Being serious this one is hard to answer. We actually get a really good idea of how Reborn reacts and handles stress thanks to the final arc in the manga. But that was high stress. So I guess I answer how how he handles/copes with lower stress.

Which is he doesn't 💚 I feel like he mostly just barrels through the problem or gets rid of it. Tbh Rebirn is one of those characters where I don't see him being affected by stress too often. He's pretty confident, and if there's a problem, he solves it.

[darylbae]

𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡🩰

i think daryl would definitely not realize it at first, in fact i think the group would notice it before him. rick would see the way daryl's gaze would linger onto you when he'd talk about a risky supply run. rick would of course tell michonne, who would poke a little fun at him. "you like her!" "shut up, i do not!" and it wasn't until he'd laid down for the night, that he had realized it. he'd think about your eyes, and how bright they were when you'd be talking to anybody. he'd think about the nervous tells you had, like bouncing your leg, chewing on your lip and looking around the room. he'd think about how, sometimes annoyingly, bubbly you were no matter what. it would typically bother him how happy you were mid-apocalypse, but he lets it slide more often than not. he would not pick up on this stuff if he didn't have a crush. he'd be hyper-aware of how he acts around you, after admitting to himself he had a crush on you. he'd glance at you, then quickly glance away, but always end up looking back over at you. he'd study your lips and how they moved, wanting nothing more than to feel them on his. most of all, he'd keep it to himself. because the last thing he needs is everyone finding this out. and making your friendship with him tense. carol could see through daryl almost too easily, so she's the only one who can get away with poking the bear. besides you. "you like her, huh?" carol would ask, and daryl would just roll his eyes. "so what?" "do something about it!" daryl had no understanding of 'doing something about it', despite his moody, careless attitude, he cared deeply about your friendship and wanted nothing to ruin that. rick was playing matchmaker and suggested the two of you to go out on a run, much to daryl's dismay. now he'd have to deal with his constant reminder of his crush on you, as well as you. there you were, sat sweetly on the hood of a car waiting for him, a smile plastered onto your face as you spotted him. "ready to go?" you asked, your voice smooth as honey and it had sent shivers up his neck. "get in." he'd mumble. "yes, sir." let's not talk about your use of the word sir, and what it does to him. he couldn't explain it, the authority of the word sir, just hit him in his sweet spot. he'd constantly look out for you on runs, even when going along with others, he'd volunteer to split up but stick with you. it wasn't like you were a nuisance, not all the time anyway, he just loved being there for you. he'd walk behind you, trying to be a gentleman and stop himself from gazing across your body as you walked. you were the total personification of sex. "can i bring this back?" you'd ask, picking up something stupidly unnecessary, this time it was a small, pink, glittery cowboy hat attached to a pink headband. "will it help us?" he'd respond, not even looking your way, but still having to keep you entertained. "no." you'd respond, glum face as you look down at it back on the shelf. "then i think we found our answer." daryl was always a bummer, but you had gotten used to it. you knew how deeply he cared for his people, so what was a little grumpiness. but you'd always return back, and find whatever stupid thing you'd found on a run, sitting on your bed by the end of the day.

[humanjarvis]

your cheeks burn.

post after post flashes on your laptop, the screen’s light painting your frowning face in multicolored hues. 

their technique? stronger than yours. their concepts? more creative. even their aesthetic is nauseatingly perfect. 

your cheeks burn.

scorn. envy. embarrassment. 

“why don’t you take a break?” zayne offers, face drawn in gentle concern. 

you look at him. and then you burst out in laughter, the sound shrill and bordering on hysteric. “i don’t need a break,” you say as if it’s obvious. “i just need to get better.” 

he hums contemplatively, taking in your hunched figure on the armchair you haven’t left in hours. “is ‘better’ something you can get?”

you’re already wound up—anxious and ready to strike. so his words hit like a drop of blood in the ocean. 

“what?” you snap defensively. “you don’t think i can? you don’t think i’m good enough to?”

his eyes narrow. “i never said that. don’t put words in my mouth.”

the taut coil of your anger loosens at his sternness. chewing your lip, you look to the side and lower your laptop screen. “sorry.” 

nodding his acceptance, he crosses one leg over the other. “you’ve been staring at your computer all evening. i’d be concerned about your eyes, but i’m more worried they’ll burn a hole through the screen before the night is over. what’s wrong?”

a heavy sigh deflates the rest of your body, and for the first time in what seems like forever, you set your laptop on the coffee table. battling the numbness in your folded legs, you pull your knees to your chest, shoving your chin between them with a thud that makes zayne wince.

“i feel…bad,” you begin, tired eyes trained on the carpet. “it feels like everyone is more talented than me. or more successful. and it makes me feel bad.”

when you look up, kind hazel eyes greet you, as if he expects you to keep going. but when all you do is fidget with your fingers, he knows you’ll need a bit of help.

“i feel bad sometimes, too. what happens when you feel bad?”

“i get stuck,” you mumble, cheeks squished between your kneecaps. 

“stuck?”

“i can’t do anything when it happens. i just sit there and watch and think of what i don’t do well. and how i can do it differently—better. i just get stuck.” 

he thinks for a moment. “dr. greyson is better at septal myectomies than i am.”

raising your head, you scan his face for signs of teasing and find none. “thanks…but i don't know what that means.” 

his lips quirk. “it’s an open-heart procedure. greyson can remove the problematic tissue fairly quickly, whereas i take more time.” 

“you know that’s not anywhere near the same thing,” you grumble, plopping your chin back down with a huff. 

“but how is it different?”

you don’t answer.

zayne sighs. “come here,” he instructs simply. 

sliding your gaze over to him, you see the expectant look on his face. with a sigh of your own, you untangle your limbs and pad over to his seat, where he pulls you into his lap. 

“how is it different?” he repeats, splaying a soothing hand on your back. 

you pluck at his shirt. “your whole job is being talented and successful. you’re a heart surgeon!”

“and even heart surgeons have weaknesses. everyone does. but if they strive to be someone else, they lose what makes them unique,” he murmurs, cupping your tender cheeks in his hands. “it’s alright to want to improve. i admire you for it. but if you spend your time wondering how to get better, i’ll be a very lonely man. do you want to know why?” 

“why?” you whisper.

“because i’ll be here to celebrate your strengths, even when you can’t see them.” 

[gofu-kurself]

lmao i’m rotting in the head with this frat boy/drug dealer steddie au so here’s a continuation of this post:

—

steve is trying his best to focus on the biology textbook in front of him, he really is. but.

instead he’s just laying on his stomach atop eddie munson’s crumpled bedsheets sporting his tightest jeans and thinnest t-shirt, and trying to pop his ass out in a subtle but sorta obvious way.

he’s trying his absolute best to clue eddie into the fact that he’s very interested in the long haired man joining him on said bed. and perhaps also that he’s interested in shedding their clothes and fucking nasty because steve has been flirting with this boy for what feels like eons and he’s nearly at the end of his wits. his dick definitely is.

so steve is arching his back in hopes of highlighting his, ahem, assets, and chewing absently on the end of his pencil while eddie sits entirely too far away and decidedly not on top of steve naked.

he allows himself to heave a huge sigh, trying to draw attention to himself because eddie’s been messing around with his guitar for the past 20 minutes and even though steve’s caught him sneaking looks (hopefully at the way his jeans are stretched across his ass) a few times, the long haired boy keeps dragging his eyes back to the neck of his acoustic.

eddie either ignores steve’s sigh or is too preoccupied by his music to hear the way it exhales from steves mouth in a bitchy and huffy manner.

steve pouts to himself but lets his mind wander back to reality instead of zoning out and screaming internally “if you can read minds get over here and fuck me”

since eddie’s probably not a mind reader, seeing as steve is currently not being dicked down in his bed, steve try’s another tactic and turns his attention to the soft strumming of eddie’s hands and his little hums or whisperings of lyrics under his breath.

he continues to chew on his pencil, but lets his eyes slide away from the textbook and gives up the pretense of studying biology instead of eddie.

god he’s pretty. with big hands and dexterous fingers that fiddle with the strings of his guitar like he doesn’t even have to think about it. steve lets his gaze linger on the way eddie’s legs are spread and sock clad feet planted on the floor so he can perch the guitar on his lap. the black jeans he’s wearing are a little baggy and sport random holes and bleach stains, but they still hug the meat of his thighs in a delicious manner that kinda make steve want to crawl over there and bite new holes into them.

“who’s the cute guy with the wide, blue eyes and the big bad mmm?”

wait. what the fuck?

steve’s eyes fly up to eddie’s face where he finds his big brown eyes fluttered shut, his mouth lax, and lips moving around mumbled syllables as his fingers continue to stumble across strings while he sings half-memorized lyrics under his breath.

“holy shit are you singing sabrina?” steve blurts in a breathy question. who even thinks before speaking? not steve, that’s for sure.

eddie startles and nearly drops his guitar, the body making a hollow echo as he slaps his hand down to stop it from falling from his lap. he lets out a nervous sounding laugh. “shit stevie you startled me princess,” he grins a toothy bashful smile that makes steve wanna kiss him until hes memorized it.

“well is it?” steve pesters, because he’s a little shit and needs to know the answer like, yesterday.

“i mean, yeah, it’s from the album you showed me the other day—“

steve interrupts because that’s who he is as a person “yeah, Bed Chem, it’s my favorite one!” he smiles broadly, remembering how when it came on in the car he exclaimed the same thing before bopping his head along to the beat and singing along to every word.

eddie shifts awkwardly in his desk chair like he’s a kid in detention “exactly, it’s a good one. and, i mean, i know it’s your favorite so, i thought it’d be nice if i learned and played it for you sometime. ‘s stupid, not like i can be sabrina or anything, im like not five foot, first of all, and i mean—“

steve has to cut him off again because holy fuck he needs the man in front of him so badly it’s become a health hazard.

“eddie, you—mr. exclusively listens to 80s metal and like, machine girl—is learning my favorite sabrina carpenter song on the guitar to play for me?”

“i don’t exclusively listen to metal and also, im impressed remember who machine girl are—“

“eddie, you’re evading, answer the question.”

“i mean i said i was doing that. so your question is redundant. but yeah. i did. i said i know its stupid—“

“eddie. ohmygod please come here” steve scrambles into a seated position and pats a spot on the bed next to him.

the long haired man slowly sets down his guitar and approaches the bed like a nervous newborn horse. it’s adorable and steve needs to just be upfront about everything at this point because it turns out they both might be denser than he thought possible.

“i’m sorry,” eddie begins to apologize for something he likely has convinced himself he’s at fault for

“nono,” steve starts and runs a hand through his hair like an overworked dad, “ohmygod, eddie i don’t know how to make it more obvious that im obsessed with you and want you to make a move on me but you literally just played sabrina fucking carpenter in front of me and said you learned it for me so i need to know if this is like, a secret band kid maneuver of making a move that i was supposed to be picking up on—“

eddie’s brows are furrowed and his eyes are so wide that his shock would be comical if steve wasn’t so fuckin pent up “wait you want me—?”

steve continues his interruption streak “to fuck me seven ways to sideways. yes. eddie, i’ve been pulling out all the goddam stops and you’ve been exclusively like, friendly back. i don’t know what to think.”

“wait wait wait. is this happening?” he shakes his head like he’s trying to shake water from his mop of hair, “is this like, for real? not a joke?”

for fucks sake who hurt this guy? steve’s gonna unpack that later, but not right now. now he needs to know if eddie feels the same.

“not a joke, ed’s,” he says sincerely as possible, looking into his dark eyes, “i know im probably not like, your type or something, but i. i really like you,” steve’s getting more vulnerable than he thought he would this morning, but in for a penny and all that, “and i—i like the way i get to be around you, and i think you’re so hot it’s ridiculous” eddie lets out an aborted guffaw at that but steve persists “and you learned a sabrina song for me and i want that to mean you like me back and i want you to be able to read minds so you could have heard me trying to telepathically get you to fuck me earlier and i want to listen to machine girl with you even though it’s like, just noise so i don’t really get it but i like the way you bop your head to the music when it gets really fast—“ steve cuts himself off because he finally realizes he’s rambling and making a fool of himself.

eddie’s hands have a firm grip on steve’s own, he’s not sure when that happened, and eddie is staring at him like he hung the stars in the sky or some other stupid metaphor.

“mind reading?—whatever we’ll go back to that later.” he takes a deep breath and steve watches as a tuft of his bangs floats and lands back on his forehead at the action.

“i like you too, steve, fuck. i’ve liked you since the moment i met you and you blushed and laughed at my terrible jokes.”

steve unclenches and lets himself laugh and ride the buzz of omgomgomghelikesmeback. he catches his breath and laughs again before joking, “yeah, they were pretty terrible”

“you’re not supposed to agree!” eddie exclaims, moving his face to mirror steve’s, grinning like a fool.

“sorry sorry, they were great, dude.”

eddie’s grin gets impossibly wider, eyes rolling a little at the title, “stevie, don’t call me dude right before i kiss you”

steve feels his breath catch, “you’re gonna kiss me?” he knows he’s blushing from the neck up.

“yeah, dude” eddie says cheekily before leaning in and stealing the last bits of steve’s meager supply of breath.

[sturnioz]

ok you def don’t have to answer or go along with this idea but… imagine like bun and kitty and whoever are all having a convo about faking orgasms and chris is there not really contributing just barely listening and kitty asks bun if she’s ever faked one and she just kinda timidly shrugs and tries to change the topic. well that catches his attention and later when they’re alone chris asks if she’s ever faked with him and she just sorta shrugs again. then he makes it his mission to make her cum as many times as possible.

"i faked it, like, once or twice," you hear bee admit to kitty one morning, her voice cutting through the quietness of the kitchen. you glance up from your cereal bowl, spoon halfway to your mouth, blinking at them both with little curiosity as bee continues. "sometimes i can't be bothered, y'know? like, just wrap it up already."

kitty lets out a soft laugh, her fingers curled around a steaming mug of coffee. she takes a sip before she nods in agreement. "it takes me longer to finish, and sometimes matt knows what he's doing but other times? i just need it to be over 'cos i'm not getting anything out of it."

you remain quiet as you watch them, slowly chewing on your cereal, unsure if you should talk or not. the thought of talking about your own sexual experiences makes your cheeks feel hot, and you don't really want to embarrass yourself so early in the morning.

kitty notices your silence, and she raises an eyebrow at you. "what about you, bun? ever faked it?"

the question aimed at you catches you completely off guard, and you almost choke on your cereal. you quickly swallow as your eyes dart toward chris, who's lounging on the couch in the living room.

"uh..." you stammer, struggling to find your words. instead, you opt for the safest response possible—a slow and noncommittal shrug.

kitty grins over the rim of her mug, "is that a yes, or a no?"

your cheeks burn hotter, and you quickly drop your gaze back to your cereal bowl, stirring the milk absently. desperate to change the subject, you quickly ask, "a-are you, um... are you both doing anything later? are you still going to the store?"

"OH!" bee gasps dramatically, smacking her palm against the counter as if you've just reminded her of something. she digs into the pocket of nate's oversized hoodie, pulling out her phone and unlocking it with rapid taps as she rambles about the list of things she needs to get that's in her notes app.

the weight on your chest lifts as the conversations shifts, grateful the attention is no longer on you. kitty joins bee in a discussion about running errands, and you take the opportunity to sneak a quick, cautious glance toward chris.

he's sitting sitting on the couch, manspreading, his face buried in his phone as he scrolls mindlessly. relief washes over you in waves, thankful that he wasn't listening in.

or so you think.

it's when you're in his room, rummaging through clothes in search for something to wear to join kitty and bee on their day, you hear the door click shut behind you.

you glance over your shoulder to see chris leaning against the doorframe, his eyes trained on you. he doesn't say anything at first, he just tosses his lighter onto the desk with a dull thud.

searching for something to wear to join kitty and bee on their day out, that you hear chris walk in, his eyes trained on you as he closes the door behind himself.

"have you?" he finally asks.

your brows knit together as you turn to face him fully, blinking in innocent confusion. "have i what?"

"faked it, kid."

the question hits you like a slap, and your face heats up instantly as the realisation sets in. when you thought he wasn't paying attention to his surroundings... he did hear.

your lips part as you try to come up with something—anything to say—but all that comes out is a jumble of stuttered words that make absolutely no sense. completely incoherent.

finally, you resort to the same answer you gave before—a slow shrug of your shoulders.

chris huffs out a short, dry laugh, shaking his head as he presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek. his jaw tightens as he keeps his eyes on you, his sharp gaze making pulse quicken.

"right," he mutters, his voice low and unreadable.

it all happens so fast—one moment you’re being stared at, and the next you're pressed against the bed with a sticky mess between your thighs.

you're gripping the bedsheets tightly between trembling fingers, a choked squeal leaving your drooling lips as his hips smack harshly against your ass he he fucks into you brutally, giving you what seems to be your third or fourth or fifth orgasm.

honestly, you have no idea. you've lost count.

"c-chris! mmph—i ca—ah!!" you're unable to form a coherent sentence, your body bouncing against the bed with each thrust, your thighs flailing as his grip on your hips tighten, pulling you back repeatedly against him, driving his cock further into your snug warmth.

"shruggin' your shoulders," he scoffs to himself with a shake of his head, clicking his tongue against his teeth as one of his hand dips around the front of your body, pressing his thumb against your sore, swollen clit. "y'funny if you think you can fake shit with me, bun."

divider credits. @issysh3ll

[vivwritesfics]

No Need To Ask

Chapter One

Neither of them want to get married. Its a marriage of convenience, not of love. They can find it in themselves to love each other, but life has other things in mind.

Mafia!au

Chapter Two

"Check," said Y/N as her Queen took his Knight. He had no moves himself, none that would win the game for him. In one more move Y/N could take his King, winning the game.

Lando stared at his sister, annoyance and amusement written on his face. "How did you get so good at chess?" He asked and leaned back in his chair. There was no point making his next move, not when she was going to win anyway.

With a smirk on her face, Y/N made that final, winning move. "I played a lot with my mum while you were off with dad."

Off doing unspeakable things.

While Y/N and Lando had the same father, they didn't share a mother. Landos mother had died when he was young. Nasty business really. He and his dad were alone until Y/Ns mother came along.

Landos dad and Y/Ns mother weren't meant to fall in love. It just sort of... happened. She gave the Norris boys so much love while being ruthless with their men. She fell into place in their world and, before she knew it, she was the heavily pregnant Mrs Norris.

A lot of people didn't realise Y/N and Lando were only half siblings. Some didn't realise they were related at all.

After having a baby girl, Mr Norris wanted to keep her away from their world. He already had Lando set up to take over from him, as head of the Norris family, working for the Hamiltons. But Y/N wasn't supposed to be involved.

"How is dad?" Asked Y/N as she packed away the chess set. Y/N hadn't seen her father in near two weeks. His health was deteriorating and he spent all of his time and energy working. Lando would be taking over as head of the Norris family but it was only once his body was in the ground. That was going to be any day now.

Lando cleared his throat and turned towards the window. "Don't be surprised if he calls you into his room any day now," he answered.

Oh. That wasn't good news. Y/N placed the wooden chess set back on the desk that used to belong to her mother and turned back towards her brother. "You have your first meeting with Mr Hamilton, don't you?" She asked, nervously chewing at her nails.

Lando narrowed his eyes towards her. "You've been listening in, haven't you?"

"Only sometimes," Y/N answered, sitting in her mothers chair. Sometimes she'd be there for hours, sitting behind the desk, pretending she was as involved in the Norris Family as her mother once was. They were big shoes to fill. “I could go with you, you know?”

“No!” Lando shouted, slamming his fist down onto the table in front of him.

Y/N jumped back. This was what her brother had been bred and raised for. Already he was ruthless and calculating, every bit the man their father had been trying to turn him into. “Dad wouldn’t allow it and neither will I,” he spat and stood from his chair.

Lando was already dressed in one of his best suits. He had attended several meetings with Mr Hamilton before, but none without his father. This was his first. He wasn’t yet head of the family, but he was going to act like it. At these meetings he was used to being seen and not heard, but this was his first time speaking. It was on behalf of his father, yes, but the words were still coming from Lando.

He marched out of the study, leaving Y/N there. He didn’t apologise for being harsh; it was the only way to keep her safe.

Y/N watched her brother go. As soon as he was gone, Y/N began trying to pull open the desk drawers. They were locked, had been ever since her mother had died. But she was desperate for some way to be close to her mother; it was lonely in a crime family when you couldn’t be involved with the crime.

When she couldn’t get into the desk, she stood and walked out of the room.

The halls were full of portraits. Members of the Norris family that had since passed on. there were family portraits, too. One of little Lando with his mother and his father and one of Lando, Y/N and their parents. Further down the hall there was a portrait of Lando’s mother and another of Y/N’s mother. Mr Norris loved both of his wives equally, that was clear to anyone.

Two men stood on either side of Y/N’s door. They were silent, unspeaking. The guns Y/N knew they had on them were saying enough. She walked past them, giving just a curt nod and pushed the door shut behind her.

Just because she wasn’t a part of the crime family didn’t mean her father didn’t want her protected. There were men outside of her door and men under her window. There were at least two at every entrance; nothing came in or out of the house without them knowing.

She sat on her bed and looked towards her window. Normal girls could go out and spend time with their friends. They could go out and get dinner, sit at a bar with a cocktail in hand. They could go out to the club and dance the night away. But not Y/N. She had to sit in her room and dream of a life she could never have.

There was a polite knock on her door before it opened. Oscar Piastri, a young man on loan from Mark Webber in Australia, popped his head around.

“You okay?” He asked her.

When she nodded, he strode into the room and sat on the bed beside her. Her best friend, the only person allowed to be this informal with her. If any of the other men tried, Lando would have shot them where they stood.

She shook her head. “Come on,” Oscar said and laid back, knitting his hands together over his stomach. “Talk to me.”

So, she did.

***

Lando was in the big leagues now. When he was a boy he used to sit on the side lines, taking notes for his father. But now he was up at the table with the other heads of house. Charles Leclerc of Monaco, Carlos Sainz Sr, one of the heads of family from Spain. There was Sergio Perez from Mexico, Jos Verstappen from the Netherlands and more.

At the head of the table was Lewis Hamilton. He ran everything, kept all of the families together. Before him there had been Schumacher and then Vettel. Hamilton was a wonder boy. He’d risen up in the ranks in the button family before breaking away and starting his own. It had started a war, a war that Hamilton had been quick to put an end to.

He was in charge of the crime family now.

Lando listened as Lewis ran the meeting. He spoke to each family member, a man from his organisation taking notes. “We have a newcomer at the table today,” Lewis bellowed, leaning forward with his hands clasped in front of him. “As we all know, Norris isn’t in the best of shape. So, in his steed, he has sent his son, Lando.”

Lando has a tight smile as he waved to the rest of the room. He’d met them all before, Sainz and his father were once friends. He’d spent a lot of time with his son when he was younger.

Finishing the meeting, Hamilton dismissed everybody. “Ah, Lando, can I speak to you for a moment?” He asked as he lit a cigar.

Lando walked over to him and accepted the cigar he offered to him. “What can I do for you, sir?” Lando asked, sitting in the seat beside his own.

Hamilton took his cigar from between his lips. “As you know, your father and Sainz haven’t always been the best of friends. There has been something brewing between your families for a while now and it is my job to squash it. Your father, Sainz and I have been having talks for years now, and we came to one conclusion.”

Lando cleared his throat. He hadn’t smoked very much before, but it was a habit he had been picking up since his father’s health started declining. “What might that be, sir?”

“Your sister.”

Lando’s face paled. His eyes went wide, and his mouth felt metallic. “What sister?” His protective instincts kicked in, but he couldn’t do anything in front of Hamilton. Lando felt sick.

“Before your mother died, she came up with a plan to unite your families. Your sister is to marry Sainz Jr and you’re to make sure it happens, okay?”

Hamilton gave Lando no time to reply. He put out his cigar and walked away, leaving Lando still sitting at the table.

He couldn’t stand up. His chest hurt and he needed to empty his stomach. Lando stood from his seat and rushed out of the room. He made his way through the halls and out to his car. He couldn’t throw up in Lewis Hamilton’s bushes, could he? No, Lando had to get home.

Driving around the fountain, Lando sped back home. He could hide his sister away, couldn’t he? Send her somewhere that didn’t have any of the families in power. Their house in Monaco was a no go, not while Charles was in power. Maybe their house in Belgium, but too many families in power surrounded the country.

Driving home was a blur for Lando. He couldn’t allow his little sister to marry into another crime family. And it was a plan his stepmother came up with. She was the one hellbent of protecting Y/N in the first place; how could she let this happen?

As soon as Lando was out of his car, he threw up onto the gravel driveway. He threw up until he had nothing left in his stomach. Lando couldn’t face going inside, not yet. He couldn’t tell her, not yet. How was his father allowing this?

Lando wanted them answers. He wanted them real bad.

Leaving his car where it was, Lando marched towards the house. He threw his eyes to somebody at the front door and stormed past them. Up several flights of stairs and towards the furthest bedroom. When he walked past Y/N’s bedroom, his steps faltered. She was in there, and she had no idea what was waiting for her.

Lando burst into his father’s bedroom. It was a horrible sight to see, him laying in bed hooked up to oh so many machines. He stared at Lando as he walked over to the desk, grabbed the chair and dragged it back over to the bed. “Dad,” he said, staring at him.

Mr Norris didn’t respond. He stared at his son, waiting for him to continue.

“I had my first meeting with the heads of the families today,” Lando said, his leg bouncing. “Hamilton pulled me to the side to talk about a deal Helena made with Sainz. Do you already have an invite to Y/N’s wedding? Or am I the last to find out? Well, aside from Y/N, of course.”

Mr Norris coughed. “Has she met with him yet?”

“What?”

“Has Y/N met with Carlos Sainz Jr yet?”

Lando shook his head. “No, she hasn’t.”

“Arrange it for the end of the week. I want the ball rolling on this as soon as possible,” said Mr Norris. He waved his hand, dismissing his son, but Lando ignored it.

“No,” he said and stood up. He pushed his hair back, knocking it over. “No, not until you tell me why! Why are you throwing Y/N to the lions when we’ve spent the last twenty years trying to protect her?!” He shouted, fury written on his face.

Mr Norris shook his head. "You know what will happen if we do not make peace with Sainz. Set up a meeting between Y/N and Sainz Jr."

With no other choice, Lando left the room. He stopped just outside of his father's door and punched the wall. The men guarding Y/N's door watched, but they didn't let their gazes linger.

Lando let out a shout as his fist connected with the wall, but he didn't register the pain. There were more pressings things at hand.

He marched down the hallway and pushed his way into Y/Ns room. "Lan!" She cried when he pushed the door shut behind him. "How was your meeting with the heads of family?"

This wasn't something he wanted to talk about. Especially not with Y/N. But, what other choice did he have? He was supposed to arrange a meeting between her and Carlos.

Lando stood by the window, looking out into the gardens. "We've got something we need to talk about," he said, refusing to look at her.

"What's the matter, Lan?"

With a sigh he turned around and sat on the bed beside her. "Before your mother passed, she set up a business deal using the help of our dad, Hamilton and Sainz. This business deal actually involves you."

"Me?" Y/N gasped as she stared at her brother. "What could I possibly have to do with anything?"

Lando sucked in a breath. "You know the problems we've been having with the Sainz family? Well, your mother, our father, Hamilton and Sainz had been working together to try and rectify this. Before she died, your mum came up with a solution."

"Lan, just tell me," she muttered, picking at the skin around her nails.

This was the hardest thing he would ever have to do. "Y/N, you're getting married," he said quickly. "It was your mothers ideal, so there can't be any other solution."

Y/N was quiet for a moment. Married. She was going to be getting married.

"I didn't want this for you, but we have no other choice," he continued. "Please, Y/N, try to understand."

"No, Lan, I understand. I get it," she mumbled, placing her hands in her lap. "I know its something I have to do. Just, tell me, who am I going to be marrying?" But Y/N was pretty sure she already knew.

"Do you remember my old friend, Carlos?"

A/N: yes, I still have the novel version in the works. @nurse-floyd is the only person who's had the privilege of reading it so far, but this fiction is a taste

[affableramen]

when they try to woo you

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

tags: early stage of relationship ; suggestive ; minors dni

Wriothesley

Lots of, I’m telling you, lots of cuddling and hugging. Wrio is very touchy

He tries very hard to be a real gentleman with you however it results in funny, awkward situations (which is so endearing of him)

Will talk a lot about his piercing telling you a story of each

Lets you touch his hair because you want to touch it

Can’t choose the proper colour pallette for his formal suit and ends up wearing the most laughable socks ever

Wants to show off with his bike and will certainly give you a night ride

Will come to your date half-sleeping after late night shift but still see you

Neuvillette

Would pull the chair for you at the restaurant 100%

Chooses the suit for your first date for a whole week in advance

Wants everyone to know that you’re his so will hold your hand at every possibility

He puts a lot of effort to be a perfect boyfriend so he’ll even offer to pick you up from work

Neuvi has a closed personality so he generally won’t be the first to kiss but if you do, he will certainly be the one to deepen it

Chooses the date place really attentively, remembering all your needs, food choices, allergies and the general vibe you give off

Is the person to spend the night with you completely without doing anything naughty besides sleeping

Pantalone

Would certainly wear a cologne with pheromones on your first date in order to woo you. Not that he’s insecure but he’d definitely like to add up to his charm

Very nice hair styling in gel and possibly perfumed shampoo with a sweet-spicy scent like amber

Neatly manicured nails (lol always in gloves)

Expensive gifts are must-have for him but sometimes he’s afraid he will scare you off with that so does that in moderation

Helps you do shopping, choosing the highest quality goods and balance your spending

Is actually a horny catastrophe but will never push you past kissing and cuddling if you are not ready. When you ask if he is ok with being patient, he nonchalantly responds that he is a grown man and can control his needs

Dottore

Different mask on every date

Gifts you his vial earring as a token of his affection

He’s not very touchy and it is exactly the problem! He doesn’t want you to slip off his fingers because of his personality, that’s why he offers you lots of phone calls in order to compensate some other aspects…

Will help you make choices in absolutely different aspects of life because he’s older and also has a unique perspective on things

Can definitely answer your message in the late night if you feel upset

Buys you concert tickets before you do it

Capitano

FLOWERS is a must have on every date with you. The bouquets he gives you are rich and radiant

He’s like a rose with sharp thorns and can demand lots of privacy in the early stages. If he doesn’t feel like it, he won’t go past hand holding and kissing

Asks you a lot about your previous relationships (if you have ones) because he genuinely want to learn more about you. Capi desperately needs to gather every single detail abt you in order to make his company as comfortable as possible for you

Will let you examine his helmet and will certainly let you braid his hair

Tells you epic stories about each one of his scars

Even exhausted from work and with tight schedule will agree to see you at least 3 times a week because he wants to stay close to you so much

Alhaitham

Hardly talks, prefers listening to you

Lets you wear his headphones, but worried you might not like his choice in music (mostly lo fi)

Loves hand holding with you. Does that on every date

Will make sure to finish your dates with kisses even if brief, he just needs your lips on his

Provides you with fast access to Akademiya library if you ever need that

Sits never in front of you, but next to you

Will take you for a late night date only to gaze at the stars afterwards. He finds it romantic and dreamy

Chews mint gum and wears fresh-smelling cologne in order to attract you

[cherryheairt]

Dragon Dreamer pt. III

tags: @beebeechaos

Daenys avoiding her problems per usual

all feedback appreciated <3, I'm unsure how I want to write this longterm, bc the two will have to separate after the wall scene and idk if people would want chapters with just Daenys and no cregan lol

also appearently cregan's actor tom taylor has heterochromia and i think green/blue eyes but for the life of my i cannot find a clear pic of it </3

Daenys woke from her distant dreams only after the sun had risen. While still snowing and freezing outside, Morningstar had done well to warm the pair under her protective wing.

Cregan sat vigil all throughout the night, no complaints coming from the young lord as he did. Protecting the princess was simply a part of his many duties, he mused to himself sometime in the night while she whispered.

She blinked a few times, eyes heavy and body nearly numb. Though warm, she was still only clothed in house slippers and her night dress. A weight around her caught her attention, knowing that Morningstar couldn't wrap herself around Daenys like that.

"You awake, Princess?" A soft voice asked beside her.

Tilting her head up and squinting, "Cregan?" She whispered, voice horse from speaking all night.

"Good morrow, my lady," was all he said, that secret smile of his plastered on his face. She didn't know how to feel. A million things rushed to her mind; shame, humilation, frustration-

He interrupted her thoughts, shuffling to a crouch from his sitting position. Cregan offered her a hand, which she took without thinking. Leading them both out from under Morningstar, Cregan bowed his head respectfully to the she-dragon.

"She allowed you to come near us?" Daenys asked, in awe.

"Aye, I don't know why, exactly. I'm grateful for it, so I will not question a blessing." He told Daenys, reaching down to grab his sword that had been sitting on the snowbank for hours and shouldering it.

"Shall we break our fast, or would you like to sleep?" He turned to her, attentive grey eyes finding her violet ones.

Biting her cheek, she waited for the other shoe to drop. When would he demand answers from their night? Banish her from his house forever and ridding himself of the Velaryon girl.

"You should sleep, Lord Stark. I have kept you from it all night." She decided, looking at the tired expression pulling at his handsome face.

"Sleep often evades me with my duties, this is only another one. I would never sleep again if my Princess asked it of me." He told her, placing a gentle hand on her arm. "The day is new. Will you break fast with me?"

Daenys followed the lord into the dining hall. It was more active than the previous night, bustling with the activity of the Keep's servants. It only took a minute of sitting before their breakfast was in front of them, some light bread and oatmeal. Daenys greedily drank the cold water provided for her, the relief for her throat that had been burning the whole way to the Keep.

Cregan watched the display for a moment, smiling to himself before politely focusing on his food, not watching her pick at her breakfast like the previous night. "Do you want anything else? If you don't like the food, just tell me. No one will take offense, as long as you're fed."

"This is good." Daenys answered shortly. She took small bites of the oatmeal, pulling parts of the bread to slowly chew. She felt like her body was going through the motions completely on its own, her brain firing in a million different directions yet going nowhere at all.

"..Princess?" Cregan asked again, stirring her.

He had been talking for a while, she thought. Daenys hummed, gesturing for him to continue. His meal was done already, how much time had passed?

"I said I would like to take you to Castle Black, if you would allow me."

"The Wall?" Daenys furrowed her brow, placing her spoon into the half-full bowl.

"It would be a two week trip on horseback, and you can see what your predecessors witnessed all those years ago. A reminder of what the North protects the realm from."

In simple terms, he wanted to convince her to take the least amount of men to arms as possible. She was not dull. Perhaps he thought she was, just like the court men. He was talking like a Southerner, now. All hidden meanings and pretty half-truths. Disappointing, truly, Daenys liked the straightforward Stark better.

"I would not oppose a trip to see the Wall. It would be much faster on Morningstar, but I'm sure your council would oppose their lord doing such a thing." She said wryly. Daenys didn't want to become curt with the kind lord, but her displeasure with his words made itself clear in her tone

He grimaced slightly before straightening up, bowing his head politely. "I have some matters to attend to before we depart. I will have some things packed for you. For now, get some rest, we'll leave in the afternoon." He left quickly, and it was then that she noticed his fur coat was missing. She could make out his body shape now, no longer hidden and cloaked by the massive fur. When had he left them?

The weight on her own shoulders as she stood solved that question for her. The familiar brown furs surrounded her like a blanket, warm yet drowning. Was it bear? Or even wolf? Daenys wasn't sure, but her heart beated harder knowing that he had sat with her all night, keeping her safe and warm despite knowing her dragon was perfectly capable.

Daenys settled into her chambers, forgoing slipping under the furs already on her bed in exchange for the fur Cregan had provided her. It smelled like him, a deep wood and iron scent that might have been too strong and unfitting on anyone but the Warden himself. The comfort soothed her to sleep quicker than she had in many moons.

🗡

Strong hands guided Daenys through the courtyard of the Red Keep. Ser Harwin Strong, her mother's sworn protector, had become more of a protector for herself these past few moons.

When the nightmares started, the Red Keep was put ill at ease with the little girl, avoiding her like the plague. While most took after Queen Alicent, avoiding her and gossiping about how the girl must be a witch, condemning people to horrible fates with her predictions, the bolder ones like her uncle Aegon had done the opposite.

Harassments, taunts, planting some of Helena's bugs into her bed, even getting physical when no one was looking. Who would believe the mad girl besides her own mother? The prince, of course, never received any reprimanding or punishment. He always got away with everything, per usual. He had the Queen herself in his corner, who defended his vile behavior even when multiple servant girls came sobbing to the Queen's chambers.

Rhaenyra couldn't bare to watch her only daughter be so tormented, especially by her own family. She instructed Harwin to keep a close eye on her, as her escort and guardian around the keep. He had no qualms with this, of course. The girl was beloved by him and Rhaenyra deeply, though this coddling did not go unnoticed by the royal family.

Daenys' one credit as a child was her silver hair and purple hues, an image of her mother. Her brothers after her were not so lucky, born brown-eyed and brown-haired. Ser Harwin was said to be the sire of Rhaenyra's army of dragon-riding bastards, to the obliviousness of Daenys.

When she grew older, she realized that Alicent was right in that one thing. Harwin Strong undoubtedly fathered the boys. She was unclear about her own father, but Harwin's affections for her never differed from her brothers.

She found herself not minding. Ser Laenor claimed the children as his own and loved her mother as a dear companion. But Harwin's love for Rhaenyra was different than Laenor's. She saw the look in his eyes as he gazed upon the heir, filled with devotion and love unmatched by any other wed couple in the keep. Daenys had only seen such a love displayed by them. Even long after Harwin's death, when Rhaenyra remarried her uncle Daemon, Daenys never saw that look in another man's eyes.

Daemon's love was passionate but possessive. It scared Daenys slightly, but she was happy so long as her mother was safe.

This day, Daenys wished to watch her uncles and brothers training in the yard. Ser Criston Cole usually overlooked the boys' training, leaving much to be desired in terms of favoritism. Much like his Queen, Criston despised the bastard boys. Though the four trained together, Rhaenyra's sons usually only watched as Aegon and Aemond practiced with their wooden swords.

Harwin left Daenys at the steps after a gentle ruffle of her loose hair, where she quietly sat and observed. Glancing at a bench overseeing the yard, Daenys spotted King Viserys also overlooking the morning training.

Harwin spoke a few words to Ser Criston for a moment, inaudible to Daenys but clearly pissing the Dornish knight off. Cole intructed that the eldest boys be placed against each other, though it was unfair.

Harwin's protests were thus ignored by the kingsguard, Daenys perking in her seat to watch Aegon and Jace spar. Quite a poor match, seeing their age and skill difference.

Aegon easily beat Jace, knocking the sword from his hand but not giving his opponent any mercy, still stepping forward to attack the young boy.

Harwin grabbed Aegon in a firm hold, tossing him away from Jacaerys. "DON'T TOUCH ME!" Aegon screeched like a banshee, never being put in his place like that before. Spoiled brat.

Harwin scolded Cole, ignoring the eldest prince intentionally. After lifting Jace from the floor, Harwin glanced over the boy.

"Are you alright?"

Embarrassed, Jace only nodded with flushed cheeks and dusted himself off. "Thank you, Ser." He mumbled.

But Cole did not leave the matter, baiting the older knight. "You forget yourself, that is the prince." He said, a smirk on his tanned face.

"Is that what you teach, Cole? Cruelty." Harwin spat back, picking up the wooden swords from the dirt.

"Your interest in the princeling's training is quite unusual. Most men would only have that kind of devotion toward a cousin. Or a brother." He smiled brighter, "or a son."

Without skipping a beat, Harwin strong turned and swung at Cole's smug face. Again, and again until the man was on the floor and not fighting back.

Daenys stood and gasped, calling out towards her protector. "Ser Harwin!" she rushed forward, being stopped only by Jace and Luke, who could also only watch.

Harwin was dragged off of Cole, still spitting insults at the younger whilst the blood-covered man laughed as if he had won.

Aegon laughed loudly, now the loudest sound in the yard as both knights were escorted inside.

"Seems like the Strong bastards won't be so protected anymore." He snickered with Aemond at his side, loud enough for only the three to hear. Viserys took his leave, too, most likely to go settle the fight.

"We're not bastards!" Jacaerys yelled at him. Daenys and Lucerys were quiet behind him. Jace, though a year younger than Daenys, had taken the mantle of the protective one of the siblinge ever since Daenys had started getting shunned.

She was grateful for it, despite the nagging guilt she had for never defending herself or her little brothers.

"Just look at yourself, Lord Strong. Brown hair...pale skin..brown eyes. Perhaps Rhaenyra isn't your mother, either." Aegon said, earning a half-hearted laugh from Aemond beside him.

Ever the quiet of the two, Aemond faced his own bullying from Aegon and Daenys' brothers for being the only one of them to not claim a dragon. Typically, this made him stay out of any spats between Rhaenyra's children and Aegon, out of fear that he would be the next target.

Surprisingly, he even left Daenys alone. He spent much time with Helena, just as she did. They happened to spend a lot of time together in their youth because of their mutual bond, but they never gained a bond between themselves.

"You take that back!" Jace demanded, stepping foward and shoving at Aegon's chest. Being so much taller than Jacaerys, Aegon barely stepped back, only growing more amused.

"Jace.." Daenys urged behind him, tugging at his armor. "Let's go inside, I want to check on Ser Harwin."

Aegon turned to her now, "Its a mystery who your father might be. Ser Strong, Prince Daemon, Ser Laenor. I've even heard rumor of Rhaenyra having a tryst with Criston Cole at one time. Perhaps the cunt herself doesn't even know who your-" Aegon was abruptly cut off with a punch to his face so hard that he was sent to the floor. Shocked, he looked up expecting Jacaerys to have been the offender, but instead met the furious face of Daenys Velaryon. She didn't give him time to get up, punching and scratching at his pink face.

The other three stood stunned for a few moments, unsure if they wanted to let her continue or pry her off. Even Aemond stifled a laugh with a hand, turning away so Aegon couldn't notice.

Eventually Aegon grew out of his shock, easily throwing the younger girl off of him by her shoulders. Wiping his face, he stood and snarled down at Daenys, lifting a foot to kick at her while she was down, but was stopped and tackled by her two brothers. Now, Aemond choose to defend his older brother against the boys, albeit slightly reluctantly. The Pink Dread prank still heavily weighed on his mind every day.

Guards noticed at this point that the squabble of princes and the princess was no mere play fight, punches and kicks being thrown this way and that. The four of them seperated by forceful hands, given no time to walk themselves as they were dragged inside.

"Keep my mothers name out of your dirty mouth, līve!" She screamed behind her shoulder at the boy, who seemed shocked at the insult coming from her mouth. Jace and Luke, not versed in High Valyrion yet, didn't react, although she heard a snicker from Aemond as he was taken to Viserys with Aegon.

The other three were taken directly to Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra, quietly resting on her settee with little Joffrey coddled up in her arms, was surprised to see all three of her eldest children in such a state. She stood immediately, "what happened?" She asked the guards, handing Joff to the wet nurse and gingerly cradling her children's bruised faces.

"The princess and princes got into an altercation in the yard. Ser Harwin and Cole have also been sent to the King for their actions." One said, before being dismissed by Rhaenyra.

"I want the truth of it, now." She sternly told them, stress furrowing her brows.

"Ser Harwin beat up Cole." Luke said first, giving no context.

"Because Cole called us bastards." Jace continued, clearing it.

Rhaenyra sighed, putting a hand over her stomach, which Daenys noticed became a habit during her pregnancies as a way to calm herself.

"If Harwin is the one who fought Cole, why are you three all bruised up?"

Daenys avoided her eyes, earning a lifted brow from her mother. Jace stepped in to help, "Aegon started it! He called you.." He seemed to pause now too, not wanting to shame his mother with Aegon's vileness.

The three shared glanced between themselves, not guilty for fighting Aegon but guilty for not defending their mother's honor better. "He called you a cunt. And implied dishonorable actions." Daenys told her, biting her cheek hard after. Her face hurt.

Rhaenyra only sighed, bringing her children to her side to embrace them all. She breathed in to start a surely long speech, but Harwin entering the room disrupted that plan. Daenys was grateful for it.

He closed the chamber doors behind himself, gold Lord Commander's cloak was no longer wrapped over his shoulders. His armor was also off, as if he was taking a leisure day.

"Harwin?" Rhaenyra spoke, confused as to why he was visiting in such a state.

"I am being assigned back to Harrenhall with my father. The King has let me go from my time as Lord Commander." Was his answer. Pretty words for 'fired' from his duty. Just for defending the princes and their mother.

Rhaenyra gasped, hand bringing itself once again to hover over her stomach. "For what offence?" She demanded. Her eyes were glossy with tears, but she could not let herself cry. Princesses do not cry over losing their guards.

Daenys knew then, that they were not merely protector and princess. They were husband and wife, in all but name. Harwin looked down at Rhaenyra with all the softness in the realm. "It is my own fault, I lost my temper." The two stood to the side for a minute, whispering amonst themselves. Daenys respectfully looked away, finding Jace staring them down intensely.

Harwin held Rhaenyra's face for only a moment, tender and bittersweet as they couldn't do anything more to say their goodbyes.

He turned to the children, "Luke, Jace. Keep up with your training, do not let Cole or the princes bully you out from improving. You will be fine knights." He smiled at them proudly, petting each of their heads and turning to Daenys.

Tears welled in her eyes, falling down her cheeks freely. She was not as strong as her mother, unable to control her feelings. "Ser.." She sobbed, barreling into his chest and burying her face into the tunic's material. Gently he held her, soothing her hair down from the mess it had became in the yard. "Don't fret, my dear girl. I will not be gone forever."

The smell of fire invaded her senses as he said that, a suffocating feeling enveloping her as she continued to cry. "I don't want you to leave at all." She told him.

"He must, we cannot change the will of the king." Rhaenyra said from behind her, rubbing her back soothingly. Harwin and Rhaenyra shared another heavy look, both knowing how much Daenys relied on Harwin.

Harwin had to break the princess off of him eventually, pressing a tender kiss to her temple as he did. "I will be a stranger when we meet again.' He told Rhaenyra, who only nodded and smiled solemnly at him.

Harwin Strong took his leave from the Red Keep that day, and never returned to his family.

Jace watched the man walk away, down the hall. "Is Harwin Strong my father?" He asked Rhaenyra stiffly. "Are we bastards?"

Rhaenyra swiftly looked around for any onlookers, relieved to find none. "You are Targaryens. That's what matters," she whispered firmly.

Daenys only stared at the space Harwin had once been, wishing things could stay the same forever.

"I am going to bed," she told her mother.

She wished she had not.

🗡

"My Lady?" The maid from yesterday evening woke Daenys from her deep sleep. Groggily she sat up, stretching out her stiff muscles. The cold affected her more than she thought. "Lord Stark is ready to depart. We have packed all the things you will need for the trip, I just need to get you ready."

Daenys was too tired to talk, only nodding along and allowing the older maid to dress her and do her hair. Pulled in a simple half-up braid, Daenys groaned at the thought of having to do her own braids while in the wilderness. The dress she was put in was a light blue, lined with white fur, softer than any she had felt before.

"All done, princess. He's waiting in the hall for you." She patted Daenys' shoulder in a motherly way, sending the girl off to the dining hall.

Daenys grabbed his fur coat before leaving, finding him standing in front of the hearth silently. He perked up when he spotted her, smiling almost instinctively. "Princess," he nodded. "Ready to leave?"

It was only then that she noticed a giant wolf at his feet, staring at her with bright blue eyes, contasting its brown fur. A direwolf, it must be. Tamed by the Stark? Their sigil seemed to ring true, just like the Targaryen's.

"As I'll ever be." She answered evenly, slightly looking forward to the trip. She'd never been on such a journey, only ever riding horseback for short distances and never once staying outside for more than a night. It would be interesting. "And who's this?"

"Dusk. He mostly stays outside, but I figured we could use his protection on our travels." Cregan gestured to the wolf. He seemed wild in most ways, Daenys would guess that he was when he was on his own, but Cregan being bonded to him and accustoming the animal to human domestication. Quite like the Targaryens and their dragons.

"I'm happy to have him, as long as he can get along with Morningstar." She smiled.

Hopefully she can find common ground with Lord Stark, gaining more men for the Queen.

Cregan offers Daenys his arm, which she takes as he guides her to their readied horses. "I picked out this one for you. He's a young stud, but he reminded me of Morningstar." Daenys felt her heart skip a beat when he said that, the thoughtfulness of the aftion making her smile brightly. She released his arm to pet the horse's snow-white face, greeting it.

"Thank you, my lord. He's beautiful." She said.

"Of course, princess." He kept his eyes on her a moment longer, before offering his hand again to help her mount. After adjusting herself on the saddle, Cregan mounted his own horse, a pretty chestnut mare.

Winterfell gave the two a cheerful goodbye parting, Daenys had to resist rolling her eyes. The same commonfolk who had gossiped about her yesterday were eagerly waving hankerchiefs at her and wishing their beloved princess well.

Cregan seemed amused by her stiff jaw as they walked past the gates. "Do you know what the folk call you?" He asked.

"I could think of a hundred names I've been called. None of them pleasent." She replied, eyeing him.

Above them, Morningstar glided gleefully, happy to be traveling again although she didn't know the destination.

Chuckling, he shook his head. "The Dragon Dreamer."

Stunned, she turns to look straight at him, finding his attention fully on her still.

"I..don't see why." She blushed. Never before had her visions been painted in a positive light of any kind.

"Northerners aren't so out of tune with the magic of this realm, as other kingdoms are. Have you ever heard of wargs?"

"A few times, in fairytales." She sniffed.

He nodded, "do you not believe in them?"

"Anything could be true. In a world where I ride a dragon, who am I to deny other types of magic?" She offered.

"Aye. My ancestors have dealt with magic since the first men. Stuff you wouldn't believe, out beyond the wall."

"What's beyond the wall?"

"Death."

🗡

alicent hightower you ARE the father

Līve - whore

[deadhands69]

Concrete Dust

Tomura Shigaraki x gn reader

☁️ tooth-rotting fluff tws: nudity mentioned (non-sexual) quick read (sub 1k wc)

Tomura Shigaraki stands outside your door a little after 9pm. His pearly hair tinged by blood and dust, along with the rest of him.

“Come in,” you say in a hushed voice. The hood of his jacket shrouds his face, mostly, but you still eye the hallway to make sure your neighbors haven’t noticed his presence. 

With the chaos of his life, you’re never really sure when he’ll come around. So much of your time without him is spent doom scrolling. Hoping you don’t see his name in the headlines. Days and sometimes weeks will pass without him around. He always comes back though, making time for you whenever he can. 

This time, it's been a week and six days. 

Not that you were counting.

Tomura sits near the door, pulling his clunky boots off. By the look of him, you’re amazed he hasn’t slumped over and fallen asleep out of exhaustion. But he pushes through, standing to hold you in the entryway. The sharp sting of concrete dust on his jacket burns your eyes but you’re so glad to be in his arms again.

“Sorry,” he grumbles, “got kind of dirty this time.”

“That’s okay,” you say, pulling him towards the shower and peeling his clothes off layer by layer. Each giving you a view of new rips and tears until you reach the familiar scars on his body, now covered in new cuts and bruises. When you ask what happened, he gives you a half an answer before changing the subject. You've never been sure if he doesn't want you to know all the details or just doesn't care to talk about it. Probably both. He asks about your day. What you've been doing since he saw you last. You answer, feeling boring in comparison to his fast-paced life. He doesn't think so though. With the tumultuousness of his life, he enjoys hearing your stories. Listening intently, he finds it cute in the way most people would watch a slice of life anime.

You throw his clothes in the laundry basket to deal with later. While he showers, you pull out some clean laundry. Tonight you pick a soft sweater he left here last time and a pair of your sweatpants. 

After he’s dry, you push him back onto the bathroom counter to look at the cuts on his face. Some are new. Some aren’t. You disinfect a particularly nasty one, bandaging it together. He winces, but lets you. Some of them would probably heal better with stitches, but you know he'd never bother.

After the blood is wiped away, you coat him in a thick layer of lotion that he swears works better than anything he's tried (even if it is the same brand.) He likes the way your hands feel and how gentle you are with him. It's a sharp contrast from the day he's had. Most of the time he shows up at your door he looks like the world has chewed him up and spat him back out again.

Tomura’s not just here for you to clean him up, but he doesn’t mind it at this point. When you first started dating, he refused to let you tend to his wounds. It was an uphill battle to get to where you are. Worth it though. He’s learned not to make a fuss when you show him how much you care. In turn, you've learned that sometimes he just doesn't know how to accept affection; you're more patient with him now.

On your couch, he happily eats the leftovers from your dinner. You would have made more or something more exciting had you known he’d be by tonight, but he still swears this is the best thing he’s eaten all week and tells you so repeatedly. 

Throwing on a random movie, the two of you curl up under a blanket together. You run your hands through his damp hair, lightly untangling the strands as you go. The smell of collapsed buildings lingers on him even after he showered. You don't mind it anymore, it's just another part of him you've fallen in love with.

To most people it would be silly seeing the symbol of fear here in your living room. Your domestic bliss is the absolute opposite of his everyday life, but that’s what makes him love times like these. You’re a perfect oasis of tenderness and affection in his harsh, destructive life. The world is a scary place. There are a lot of battles he's lost and he's sure there will be more. But right now, in your arms, everything will be okay for him.

Tomura leans his head on yours, scoffing at the terrible movie you both picked. His body is sore and heavy with exhaustion, but he stays awake as long as he can to take in every minute with you. 

Tomorrow he'll leave and you'll wake up to an empty bed. You'll tell yourself not to wait for him, but you can't help it. You always miss him when he's gone. 

He misses you too, trying to get through missions as quickly as possible. He hopes that one day, there won't be anything else needing to be destroyed and he can just stay in your sanctuary forever.

But for now, just spending the night in each other's arms is as close to perfect as you can imagine. 

masterlist

taglist: @shigarakislaughter  @cryptidfuckerofficial @minniessskii @vaval3ntin @ykyouluvme 

@dummi666 @lotus-flower420 @nonominchan @softnfuzzy @mysticalhills 

@reireitaka @crwavee @baby-pink-flowers @drlucichen @frieren-imposter

@lou-the-naga-queen @multifandomidk @xytraxpy @venom-barf  @shiiigaraki

@thetinas21 @kitkat13001 @kennys-partner @amira-44820 @its-evee16

@thesecond2demonking

[sweetheartsofpanem]

Almost Subtle - Soft Things Survive

Previous Part

not me blushing and giggling over my own writing, i got a little carried away writing this but i just love writing their dynamic

warnings: refer to series masterlist

pairing(s): refer to series masterlist

word count: 3.47k

series masterlist | main masterlist

The box was dusty and half-crushed when you found it hidden in a closet in the hallway—missing the bottom half of the box, corners frayed, a faded picture of a forest lake on the front. You almost tossed it out, thinking it was junk.

But now it’s spread across your coffee table in an uneven sprawl of blues and greens, and Haymitch is sitting on your couch beside you, peering at a sky piece like it personally offended him.

“I think this one’s from a different puzzle,” he grumbles, turning it upside down.

You snort. “You said that about five other pieces. Pretty sure the problem isn’t the puzzle.”

He shoots you a look, unimpressed. “Pretty sure the problem is you inviting me over to suffer.”

“You showed up on your own, actually,” you point out, nudging his knee with yours. “I just didn’t kick you out.”

He hums. “My mistake.”

But he doesn’t leave. He hasn’t moved in over an hour, aside from shifting to grab new pieces or lean closer when your fingers reach for the same edge at the same time. He smells faintly like soap and the mint he sometimes chews when he’s not drinking, and his arm brushes yours now and then without either of you commenting on it.

You slide a corner piece into place with a small, triumphant noise.

“Showoff,” he mutters.

You smile sweetly. “Some of us have talent.”

“Some of us have patience. I’m still waiting to see if you develop any.”

You lean back against the couch cushion, watching him squint at the mess of puzzle pieces like he’s trying to solve a war strategy. “You know,” you say, “most people find puzzles relaxing.”

He makes a vaguely offended sound. “Most people aren’t trying to make sense of three thousand pieces of identical-looking water.”

“It’s a thousand-piece puzzle.”

“Feels like more.”

You bump his arm with your elbow. “I can go find one with puppies on it if that’d be easier for you.”

“I’m not eighty,” he says dryly. “Yet.”

You grin. “Give it time.”

He side-eyes you. “You calling me old?”

“Not directly.”

“Coward.”

“Observationist,” you correct. “It’s different.”

He huffs, but there’s no bite to it. His fingers brush yours as you both reach for the same piece again, and this time neither of you moves away.

You slot the piece into place, triumphant again. “That’s three for me.”

Haymitch raises an eyebrow. “You keeping score?”

You shrug. “Only because I’m winning.”

“Alright, then,” he says, voice low. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

And then it becomes a game.

Piece by piece, you trade jabs, elbows brushing, knees touching as you lean closer, muttering things like, “That’s clearly not the right shape,” and, “Are you squinting at it like that because it helps or just because you’re dramatic?”

He doesn’t answer that one. Just smirks and keeps going.

Eventually, the silence grows long between the banter, but it’s not uncomfortable. The kind that feels worn in. Like an old sweater. Like the kind of quiet that doesn’t need to be filled.

He glances over, eyeing your corner of the puzzle.

“You know,” he says, “for someone who claims to be winning, you’ve got a lot of empty space.”

You nudge him harder with your elbow this time. “I’m building tension.”

“Looks like you’re losing momentum.”

“Looks like you’re compensating with bluster.”

He leans a little closer, lips twitching. “Keep talking. We’ll see who finishes their section first.”

You meet his gaze, hold it for a beat too long. Then you smirk. “Bring it, Abernathy.”

He laughs low in his throat, and somehow the sound makes your living room feel warmer than it is.

The sun shifts through the windows as the morning stretches on, striping the rug in long gold lines. You’ve both managed to finish the border and maybe a chunk of the trees, but the lake is still a chaotic mess of blue and silver reflections that all look the same no matter how you turn them.

Haymitch leans back with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. “Whoever made this puzzle hated joy.”

“Or they hated people with low frustration tolerance,” you say, pretending not to nudge one of his misaligned pieces into place while he’s distracted.

His eyes narrow. “Did you just cheat?”

“Course not,” you say, far too quickly.

He stares at you. You stare right back, feigning innocence.

“I should take a photo of your face right now,” he mutters. “Use it as a warning label.”

“For what? Competitive puzzling?”

“For smugness. You’ve got it down to an art.”

You smile, not denying it.

He reaches for another piece, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like, “Menace,” under his breath.

You pretend not to hear him.

A few more minutes pass, just the sound of pieces hitting the table and the occasional huff from Haymitch when he picks the wrong piece three times in a row.

Then you say, casually, “You know, for someone who complains so much, you’re putting in real effort.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he says. “I’m only here because your couch’s more comfortable than mine.”

“And because you love spending time with me.”

“That too,” he deadpans.

You glance over in surprise, but his face is unreadable. He doesn’t take the words back, doesn’t clarify them either. Just keeps searching for a corner of sky that matches the one in his hand.

You don’t know what to say to that, so you don’t say anything. Just slide a piece into place, satisfied when it fits.

Haymitch leans his elbow on the arm of the couch, turning slightly to face you more fully. “So what happens when we finish this thing?”

You tilt your head. “We frame it. Hang it in the hallway like a trophy.”

He snorts. “Right next to your ‘Most Likely to Talk Back’ award.”

“Please. I’ve got a whole shelf for those.”

He lets out something between a laugh and a scoff. “Figured.”

You grin at him, then pause, letting your gaze flick across the mess of pieces and half-finished lake.

“I don’t think I’ve ever done a puzzle before,” you say.

He glances at you. “No?”

You shake your head. “We didn’t have the money for them.”

He doesn’t say anything to that. Just looks at you for a long beat, then reaches over and slides a sky piece into place with surprising precision.

“Well,” he mutters. “First time for everything.”

You watch him for a second. Then lean back against the couch again, your shoulder brushing his.

“Guess so,” you say softly.

And then neither of you talks for a while—just the two of you and the puzzle and the quiet, full as ever.

Eventually, Haymitch leans back and drops the puzzle piece in his hand onto the table with a dramatic sigh.

“I swear this lake’s mocking me.”

You smirk, stretching your arms above your head. “Maybe it senses weakness.”

“Maybe you’re insufferable,” he says, already standing.

You push yourself up after him, rolling your shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go outside. It’s too nice out to be fighting with cardboard.”

He grumbles something noncommittal but follows anyway, pausing only to snag his flask from the end table like it’s a reflex. You both step out onto the porch, the warm air wrapping around you like a soft blanket.

It smells like sunlight and damp earth, the breeze teasing at the loose strands of your hair as you settle into the porch swing. Haymitch drops into the chair next to it with a grunt, stretching his legs out and tipping his head back to soak in the sun.

“See?” you say, nudging the swing into motion with your foot. “This is much better than being mocked by a lake.”

“I don’t know,” he says, eyes still closed. “That lake had attitude. Almost impressed.”

You tilt your head. “You’re just bitter because I found more pieces than you.”

“I’d accuse you of cheating again, but I don’t want to stroke your ego.”

You smile, slow and lazy. “Too late. It’s already thriving.”

He cracks an eye open to look at you. “Tragic.”

“Jealous.”

“Delusional.”

You shrug, leaning back in the swing. “You keep coming over, so clearly you enjoy the company.”

“Only when it’s quiet.”

“You’re the one who keeps talking.”

He smirks. “You bring it out of me.”

You glance over at him, arching an eyebrow. “That sounds dangerously close to a compliment.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

The swing creaks softly beneath you as the breeze picks up again, lifting the hem of your shirt and ruffling Haymitch’s hair. Neither of you says anything for a while, letting the air move around you, the quiet settle.

He takes a slow sip from his flask and rests it on his thigh. “You ever just sit like this before? Just… do nothing?”

You think for a second. “Not really. Not until I came back.”

“Not bad, is it?”

You shake your head. “It’s actually kind of nice.”

Haymitch hums. “Don’t get too comfortable. You’ll get soft.”

You roll your eyes and smile into the sun, the swing swaying gently beneath you.

Everything feels steady. Simple. Warm.

Somewhere down the road, a bird trills a high, lonesome song. You let your eyes slip closed for a few seconds, breathing in deep.

When you open them again, Haymitch is watching you.

Not in a sharp or uncomfortable way—just quiet. Curious.

You raise an eyebrow. “What?”

He shrugs, looking out toward the trees again. “Just seems like you’re finally breathing.”

You blink at that, caught off guard. “I breathe all the time.”

“Not like that.”

You don’t answer right away. Just let the words settle in your chest like sunlight through an open window.

Then, after a beat, “It’s easier with you all around. You, Katniss, Peeta.”

He doesn’t say anything, so you keep going—softly, honestly.

“I think I forgot what it was like. Being around people who don’t… expect anything. Who just let me be.”

Haymitch lifts the flask again but doesn’t drink. Just turns it in his hand, watching the metal catch the light. “Yeah. Know the feeling.”

You glance at him, careful. “Did you ever have that? Before?”

He exhales through his nose. “A long time ago. Before the Games, maybe. After that, it’s just… noise.”

You nod.

Then he adds, “But this—” he gestures lazily to the porch, to you, to the stretch of sky above—“this ain’t bad.”

Your chest tugs in a way you can’t name.

You rest your cheek against the back of the swing, watching him.

“Not bad at all,” you murmur.

He meets your gaze again, something steady there. “You’re not as much of a mess as you think.”

You huff a laugh, dry and fond. “You saying that makes me deeply concerned.”

Haymitch tips his head a little, squinting at you with mock scrutiny.

“Sun’s doing something weird to your hair,” he mutters. “It’s practically glowing. Like it’s trying to blind me.”

You snort. “You’re just mad it’s thriving while yours looks like it lost a fight.”

He raises an eyebrow. “My hair’s seen more action than most people’s entire lives.”

You lean back again, tilting your head thoughtfully. “Yeah, I believe that. Just not the kind that involves a comb.”

“Comb’s overrated,” he says. “It’s called texture. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand,” you say, smirking. “I understand you wake up and pretend your hair looks good.”

He huffs, clearly trying not to smile. “You put this much effort into all your insults, or am I just special?”

“You’re special,” you say sweetly. “Like the kind of special that gets their own warning label.”

“That so?”

You nod. “Says ‘keep out of direct sunlight and away from puzzles.’”

Haymitch chuckles under his breath, shaking his head as he takes another sip from the flask. “You keep talking like that and I’m gonna start thinking you like me.”

You glance over, eyes gleaming. “You’re alright. When you’re not grumbling.”

He smirks. “So never, then.”

“Exactly.”

The swing creaks softly as you both settle into the quiet again, the kind that’s easy to fall into when neither of you is trying too hard. You don’t know how long you sit there like that—letting the sun warm your legs, letting Haymitch’s steady presence fill the space beside you—but eventually, the sound of footsteps crunching up the path cuts through the stillness.

Peeta appears first, a grin already on his face. Katniss follows behind him, her braid over one shoulder and a canvas bag slung across her body.

“You two look cozy,” Peeta says.

You raise your head lazily. “We were having a very intellectual discussion about the philosophy of hair maintenance.”

Katniss snorts. “Let me guess. Haymitch was losing.”

“I was winning,” Haymitch mutters.

“In what universe?” you say under your breath.

Peeta leans against the porch railing. “Anyway. We were thinking of heading to the lake.”

“The cold one?” you ask, sitting up a little straighter.

Katniss nods. “The water’s clearer. Good for swimming.”

You glance at Haymitch, already preparing to hear the grumble in his throat.

And there it is. “No thanks,” he says. “I don’t do lakes. Or trails. Or sunburn.”

Peeta raises an eyebrow. “It’s shaded most of the way.”

“I’ve seen enough bodies of water for a lifetime,” Haymitch replies, already looking like he’s gearing up to dig his heels in.

You give him a look. “You’re coming.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah. You need fresh air and, like, joy or something.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but you cut him off. “Come on. If I can hike through the woods and willingly get in a freezing lake, you can manage not to complain for a few hours.”

He squints at you like he’s searching for an out. You stare right back.

Finally, he sighs. “Fine. But if I die out there, it’s on you.”

“I’ll make you a lovely gravestone,” you promise.

Peeta snorts. Katniss just turns toward the path. “Meet us at the edge of the woods in ten?”

You nod, already pushing off the swing. “Just gonna change.”

Inside, you rummage through your drawers until you find something usable—an old pair of shorts that are a little shorter than you remember and a black tank top you’ve slept in more times than you’ve worn it outside. It’s not a swimsuit, but it’ll do. You tug your hair back, splash some water on your face, and grab a towel before heading out.

Haymitch is already waiting near the trailhead when you get there, flask in hand. He gives your outfit a quick glance, says nothing, but raises an eyebrow.

You arch one back. “Don’t start.”

“I wasn’t saying anything,” he says, entirely too innocently.

Katniss and Peeta lead the way into the woods, Peeta carrying the bag now, Katniss setting an even pace. You and Haymitch fall into step just behind them, side by side.

The trail is narrow in places, but easy enough to follow. Light filters through the leaves, dappling the path in shifting gold and green. Peeta talks while he walks, telling some story about a bee chasing him the other day. Katniss chimes in here and there with deadpan commentary that makes Peeta laugh louder every time.

You glance at Haymitch, who’s eyeing the roots underfoot like they’ve personally offended him.

“Having fun yet?” you ask, nudging his arm.

He sighs. “I’ve had worse days.”

You all keep walking—four figures surrounded by trees, sunlight, and the quiet comfort of knowing no one else is out here.

The trees begin to thin.

You can hear it before you see it—soft waves lapping against the shore, the quiet hush of water moving just enough to break the stillness. A breeze cuts through the trees ahead, cooler now, touched with the scent of fresh water and pine.

Then you step into the clearing.

The lake stretches out before you, silver-blue tucked between the thick arms of the forest. Sunlight dances across the surface in glimmering shards and you notice a dock stretching into the water. There’s a slope of grass leading down to the lake, and a crooked old log rests half-submerged at the edge of the water like it’s been waiting.

Katniss sets her bag down and kicks off her boots. Peeta’s already pulling his shirt over his head, grinning like it’s the first real summer day he’s had in years.

Haymitch comes to a slow stop beside you, squinting at the lake like it’s done something personal to him.

You look up at him. “You look like you’re preparing for battle.”

“Feels like I am,” he mutters.

“It’s a lake, not a death trap.”

“Debatable.”

You roll your eyes and head down toward the edge, bare feet sinking into the soft grass. The sun’s warm on your shoulders, the air cooler here but still pleasant, touched with the kind of breeze that raises goosebumps if you stand still too long.

Katniss steps into the shallows first, barely flinching at the cold. Peeta follows with a loud yelp and an exaggerated shiver.

“Feels like snowmelt,” he calls over his shoulder, grinning.

“Perfect,” Katniss says, and dives under.

You glance back at Haymitch. He hasn’t moved.

“You coming, old man?”

He raises an eyebrow. “You first.”

“Coward.”

“Smart,” he corrects.

You stick your tongue out and step into the water, hissing softly at the chill. It bites at your ankles, then your calves. Still, you keep walking—slow, steady, until you’re waist-deep and grinning despite yourself.

“Come on,” you call, voice echoing a little across the clearing. “It’s not that bad.”

Haymitch grumbles something under his breath but starts making his way down the slope anyway.

Peeta laughs as he floats nearby. “Ten seconds before he starts swearing.”

“Five,” Katniss says flatly.

You smile and tilt your head toward Haymitch, who finally toes off his shoes and slides his shirt off, and wades in up to his knees with a scowl.

“This is unnatural,” he mutters.

“It’s called nature,” you say. “Try enjoying it.”

He takes one more step and flinches as the cold reaches higher. “If I die of hypothermia, I want it on record I was peer-pressured.”

“Duly noted,” you say, grinning.

You dive under before he can get another word in, the shock of the water stealing your breath in the best kind of way. When you surface, Katniss is swimming slow, even laps, and Peeta’s trying to balance on a half-submerged rock and failing spectacularly.

You drift lazily in the water, watching the ripples you make stretch outward. The sun glints off the lake like shards of glass, and for a second, everything feels a little unreal. Like you’ve stepped sideways into a dream.

You turn your head just enough to catch Haymitch standing a little ways off, the water lapping just below his navel now. His arms are still crossed like he’s considering whether it’s worth it to dunk himself or just grumble until you all head home.

Your eyes catch on the pale line slashing across his stomach.

Maybe it’s the way the light hits it, or the contrast of the water, or just the fact that he’s standing here at all, quiet and solid—but it makes something in your chest go still for a second.

He must notice your gaze, because he raises an eyebrow at you, deadpan. “If you’re gonna stare, at least try to be subtle.”

You snort. “I’m not staring. Just observing.”

“Sure,” he mutters. “Observing my trauma. Very therapeutic.”

You smile and swim a little closer, keeping your voice light. “It’s just weird seeing you not covered in an old shirt or muttering into your flask.”

“That’s because I have layers,” he says. “Depth. Mystery.”

“Ah, yes. Nothing says ‘mystery’ like sulking in lake water and threatening to drown in your own sarcasm.”

“Keep it up, honey. I’ll splash you.”

You grin. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He shifts like he might, sending a ripple of water in your direction.

“You’re predictable,” you say, smirking. “That’s your problem.”

“And you’re a brat.”

You float closer, the sun warming your face. “Yeah,” you murmur, “but I’m your brat.”

The words are out before you think about them, the same way all your teasing comes out with him—easy, unguarded, weightless. You’re already swimming away before he can say anything back, cutting through the water toward where Katniss has climbed onto the crooked old log, shaking droplets from her braid.

You don’t look back—but you feel his eyes on you, lingering just a beat longer than usual before he finally follows.

Next Part

[chuellas]

Fine Line | Chuuya is always overworking himself, always choosing work over you and you’re finally fed up with it.

⤷ Ft. Nakahara Chuuya

Warnings | Fem!reader, mentions/consumption of alcohol, term “doll” used, a tiny itty bit suggestive if you squint, hardly edited, WC: 5k

A/N | I had no idea where I was going with this one when writing it but I had so much fun writing it

You’re sitting at the bar now. You moved from your reserved table after an hour of waiting, figuring it could go to a couple that actually planned on spending the evening together. You let out another sigh into your gin and tonic. You’ve been at this restaurant for about 2 hours now and haven’t eaten a single thing. It’s your date’s fault, really, they were the one that never showed up. You don’t know why you even try anymore. Dating was pointless in your line of work anyways. 

But sometimes going on dates warded off the loneliness and that incessant craving you get for normalcy.

You check your watch for the time only to find it’s now past midnight. Chewing the inside of your cheek, you finally make the decision to pull out your phone and call the person you actually wanted to spend the evening with. You're pleasantly surprised when he picks up on the first ring.

“Thought you had a date.” You’re greeted with a tone that’s laced with exhaustion but something else jumps out too — annoyance, maybe? Or maybe you’re just imagining things after downing your third drink of the night on an empty stomach.  

You hum, pointedly not answering his question directly, as you signal for the bartender to close out your tab. “You still in your office working on that mountain of paperwork?”

The pause from the otherside of the phone is a long one, it’s a contemplative pause you conclude, you can tell he’s trying to decide whether to humor you or to push his own question. It would be a waste of his time to go with the latter, you had no intention of breaching the topic of you being stood up yet again. This time especially stung with it being a woman and all. You thought she would have known better, or at the very least have the common decency to warn you of her impending absence, knowing very well how long it takes to get ready for a first date. You shaved and took an “everything” shower for this occasion.

A soft sigh of defeat is heard from his side and you grin widely, Chuuya is much smarter than he’s given credit for. “So what if I am?”

“Stay there. I’m on my way.” You don’t give the executive room to argue as you hang up on him. 

As if on cue the bartender brings you the receipt and your card, after signing you leave a generous amount of cash in the tip jar with a smile. You leave the restaurant the same way you came, without a word as the manager babbles on about how much of a pleasure it was to have your patronage. You wave him off with the same smile that’s feeling more forced by the minute as you step into the elevator.

When the doors slide shut after what seems like an eternity, you’re finally able to relax for a moment. The disappointment of another wasted night sinks into your shoulder, making them cave in. You deflate in defeat, having to resign to a fate that’s been set by some stupid carrot topped man that has to use his ability to reach the top shelf of overhang shelves. He’d never admit it but you’ve actually caught him doing it before. 

This was all somehow Chuuya’s fault. If he ever did anything other than work you wouldn’t seek solace in other people. You would be able to let yourself actually explore the feelings that stir in your chest when you’re around the ginger. But instead you’re stuck calling him after failed dates to see what he’s up to and if you can get away with bugging him. 

Headquarters is just a few blocks north of where you’re at, it shouldn’t take you more than 10 minutes to get to Chuuya. Well, maybe 20 since your favorite ramen place is on the way and you know they’re still open. So you have to stop there for two bowls because not only have you not eaten but you know Chuuya probably hasn’t either, being too engrossed in his paperwork to remember that basic bodily functions exist. 

Another 5 minutes after picking up the ramen and you’re making your way up yet another elevator to the floor that holds both your office on one side and his on the other. You take a moment when the doors open to decide whether you want to go straight to Chuuya’s office or if you want to stop at yours to change into something far more comfortable than the dress you’re currently wearing. Your stomach ultimately makes the decision for you when it rumbles loudly. The ginger’s office it is.

You don’t even bother with knocking, too tired, hungry, and impatient to wait on him to answer. The door creaks as you push and then groans out a complaint when you kick it shut behind you. Chuuya isn’t even fazed when you enter, his nose still buried in his paperwork. Thankfully the pile was no longer a mountain, more of a small hill now. It still looks like an hour or two’s worth of work. You’d offer your help if it weren’t for the fact that you’re pretty sure you’re drunk. 

Making yourself comfortable without a word you saunter over to his desk and choose to sit yourself on top of his scattered paperwork, plopping the ramen in front of him.  

Chuuya freezes, staring at the bag of food in disbelief before turning his accusing glare at you. “What the f-”

His words die in his throat when his eyes finally land on you. Even in your slightly, maybe more, inebriated state it’s hard not to notice the way his eyelids droop as his dual colored eyes scan your figure. He must be really tired, he’s usually far more tactful when he checks you out. 

You swing your legs where they dangle from his desk, pleased with yourself and his reaction. “I brought you some dinner. I didn’t get a chance to eat so I figured neither have you. Looks like I was right!”

Chuuya has to practically tear his gaze from you to see what you’re talking about. You untie the bag to reveal two containers filled to the brim with ramen. You lean in to read the labels to make sure you were taking the right container but in the process it gives the executive a nice view right down our cleavage. You have to bite back the smile that threatens to stretch at your lips when you hear the way his breath stutters. Maybe now you’re the one not being tactful but you figure someone deserves to appreciate the way you look in this dress since the intended party will never get to. 

“You stop at that shop down the road?” Chuuya clears his throat as he waits for you to grab all of your things before reaching for his own container.

You kick off your shoes and jump off his desk to pull a chair up to the opposite side. “Yeah, thankfully they stay open late. Can you clear some of the papers up? Don’t wanna get them stained in ramen broth.”

“Really makin’ yourself at home, aren’t you, Doll?” He raises a brow at you in amusement but clears his desk off regardless.

You hum and nod your head, too busy taking a bite of your ramen. Your eyes practically roll to the back of your head and you let out a pleased hum at the flavors dancing along your tongue. The savory taste of the broth alone almost completely washes away the lingering bitter aftertaste the last few hours left in your mouth. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were until you had stepped foot into that shop. Now you are famished and even the most bland of foods would taste absolutely divine in this moment. You’re so absorbed in your meal that you don’t even take notice of the way the ginger sitting before you is watching you so intently that he hasn’t even touched his own food. 

It’s not until he clears his throat that you peer up at him. “You’re eating like you’ve been starved, didn’t you have a date tonight?”

There’s that question again, you suppose you gave him too much credit earlier. He wasn’t smart enough to just let it go. Or maybe he really was just letting his curiosity get the best of him. Either way there was no way in hell you were going to tell him that another date bailed on you. So instead you smile sweetly.

“You know how small the portions are at those types of restaurants, I took like two bites and it was all gone. Had some drinks after too. So, yeah, I’m famished. I know you are too. Eat.”

Your tone leaves no room for question. You’re both dancing around touchy subjects. Chuuya knows if he wants to get you to admit what really happened he would have to swallow his pride and admit he was overworking himself and he'd be damned if he ever let that happen. 

Or at least that’s what you thought. 

You watch him through your lashes as he opens the ramen and takes a bite, and then another, and then another. He hardly ever eats when there’s work to be finished. This is definitely a rare occasion and you have a sneaky feeling, somehow during the few seconds of your exchange in challenging glances, something shifts between the two of you. 

You stare at the other executive absolutely gobbed smacked at the fact that he’s actually listening to you. Your eyes are wide, your jaw is dropped open, and the chopsticks you were using to eat fall from your fingertips and splash into your soup. A few drops from the broth fly into your eye and you let out a hiss at the sting from the spices and temperature. 

The moment the two of you just had ends just as swiftly as you fan at your eyes frantically and then hold out your hand to Chuuya. “Eye drops- Oh my god your eye drops. Now, Chuuya.”

The ginger is jolted from his stupor when your voice becomes sharper. He reaches into the drawer to his left and produces a small bottle of eye drops, something you knew he keeps around due to his frequent late nights burning the midnight oil. It’s how he keeps his eyes from getting dry with exhaustion. 

You snatch the small bottle from his hands and throw your head back to all but squirt the soothing solution into your eye. It takes a moment to work, the sensation getting worse before it gets better. But after a moment you’re good as new, maybe even better than before. 

It’s a truly sobering experience and any left over buzz you were holding onto sadly fizzles out. You’re now stone cold sober and kicking yourself for coming here this late, know the only outcome is getting sent away so the ginger could finish his work in peace. You’re nothing but a distraction to him.

But if that were true, why even let you into his office, his space, in the first place?

“Thanks…” You hand the medicine back to Chuuya and pick your chopsticks back up to continue eating, pretending like nothing happened. “So, how many nights in a row have you slept here this week?”

You tilt your head to the couch that has a head pillow and blanket set up on it — inviting, almost, if you didn’t know how incredibly uncomfortable that couch was. It couldn’t be good for his back. You know he already deals with the residual chronic muscle pain he experiences after using his ability, especially after using corruption. You wish he would slow down, his body already pays for his ability, it doesn’t need to suffer because of his excessive working habits too. 

But then you would just sound like a broken record. 

Chuuya never really listens. He’s stubborn that way and it’s not just his body that pays for it, his social and love life pay the price for it too. It’s frustrating to care so deeply for someone who would rather think of others and their work than their own wellbeing. 

What’s worse, though, is that you’re selfish. You’ll take the heated stares and intimate touches in the dead of night on the rare occasions he’s not spending them at his desk over nothing at all. Maybe it isn’t selfish, maybe it’s self-deprecating but you can’t help yourself. You’ve tried to move on — that’s what you were trying to do tonight. But the universe has a sick and twisted sense of humor, so you once again find yourself in his office during the devil’s hour.

Suddenly you hear a muffled voice and you’re thrusted back to reality. Chuuya looks at you expectantly and you furrow your brows at him. “What?”

“I said: I figure you wouldn’t be eating with me right now if your date went well, you’d be over at his place, right?”

Your eye twitches in irritation and not from the soup broth that landed in it just moments ago. He’s trying to evade your question. Of course he was actively avoiding it, why would he ever admit to you something that you don’t think he’s admitted to himself. 

What’s worse is he’s pushing his question from earlier. Wording it differently to mask his nagging curiosity. His gaze is hypnotizing, something shifts again. You don’t think you care for the butterflies that erupted in your stomach. The usually light and exciting flutter of their wings now feel like razors slicing their way up your throat. It burns and you might throw up.

It’s so unfair, the way he makes you feel is unfair.

You don’t know what possesses you but a single syllable flies past your lips in response before you can catch it. “Her.”

“Her?” And this man has the audacity to look semi-amused as he says the word back to you in a questioning tone. 

In that moment you know he knows and you watch in abject horror as his amused expression twists into a knowing one. Now you’re sure, he’s aware that you know he knows. 

Your eye almost twitches again at the way his brow raises in amusement at your answer and suddenly you feel defensive. You don’t give a shit if he knows what you’re trying to do by dating around. You don’t care if he knows that each attempt has ended in failure. You don’t care that he knows that each failure ends in you crawling back to him.

You don’t care.

You don’t.

You steel your expression, eyes becoming sharp as they bore into Chuuya. “Yeah, it was supposed to be a woman I was meeting tonight.”

“Well she’s an idiot for not showing, especially when you look like that.” His tone sounds sincere and it makes you want to throw up.

You let out an incredulous scoff — you can’t believe that he just said that, of all people. “She’s not the only idiot.”

“She’s not?”

Now he’s really starting to piss you off, his smug expression tells you all you need to know. This must all be a game to him. He’s toying with you, he has to be, and he has been for a while now but you’re finally sick of it. You’re tired of the constant back and forth but not getting anywhere because he would rather stubbornly overwork himself half to death to have an excuse to avoid you than admit his obvious feelings for you. 

The revelation sends your whole body into a fit, you’re trembling and seething and it’s pouring out the seams. You’ve cracked. You should congratulate him, really, no one has elicited this much emotion from you before.

Chuuya’s demeanor changes when he notices how worked up you seem to be getting but he’s too late. You’re already past the point of being settled down because you’re shaking like a goddamn chihuahua. Your nostrils flare in irritation and ears flush in anger. 

“No, she’s not the only idiot that’s managed to fumble me. Look in a mirror and you’ll know who the other person is. Enjoy overworking yourself to death. I’m going home.” 

All at once the blazing rage that washed over you burns out when Chuuya makes no indication of moving to stop you and immediately you wish the ground would just crack open to swallow you whole. Suddenly you’re all too aware of your response to his play. It was more of an overreaction. How embarrassing? How is it that he’s able to elicit this strong of a reaction from you. 

How can he not follow after you like he has better things to do?

But he does have more important things to do than console you, doesn’t he?

For the second time tonight you’re mortified, but unlike earlier, this one was your own doing. You just threw a fit, had an actual tantrum, over someone who has made it clear he’s not ready for something that you think you are.

Maybe selfish is the right word.

You contemplate halting in your spot and apologizing but your pride keeps you from doing so. You should have never put all your cards on the table. You curse yourself for ever letting your true feeling for the ginger slip that one drunken night several months ago that when asked about the next day you had conveniently forgotten all about it. Something tells you that he remembered it clearly, so, if not stopping you was his final response to your confession then you have to accept that. 

Your hand reaches out for the door knob and you almost flinch when it comes in contact with the cold metal. He’s really just going to let you leave like this. Your head is a mess— no, your whole body is a mess. Your head is filled with fog, a mist of endless thoughts descending on you to make everything blurry. Your chest is like a tsunami of emotions washing over you in sharp waves. Then there are those damn razor sharp butterflies that are still threatening to claw up your throat. 

But just as you start to turn the knob, a gloved hand covers your own and halts your actions. Your breath hitches when the anxiety you’d been feeling just a moment ago completely dissipates. Chuuyas chest is pressed against your back and his forehead falls to your shoulder. 

“Chuuya wha-”

He doesn’t give you a chance to finish your question when he mumbles out, “I don’t need a mirror to know that…”

Oh. 

Is he really implying that he knows he’s been a fool? Is the world coming to an end? Chuuya? Admitting to being an idiot? You thought there was a higher chance of getting struck by lightning before hearing anything of the sort from the executive himself. 

“I’m sorry.”

You blink, you think your brain’s been fried, convinced that Chuuya can see the steam rolling out of your ears as you short circuit. “For what?”

You croak out the short question, words catching in your throat. It surprises even you when a sob follows. You hadn’t realized that the emotions you were feeling hadn’t dissipated but instead had been forced out in the most embarrassing way possible. 

“I…I’m sorry for…” Chuuya trails off and curses under his breath, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Jesus Christ. I’m sorry for not putting you first.” 

His voice trembles in something akin to fear. Something in your chest tears at his tone and it hurts. You look up at the ceiling to try to blink away the water that’s blurred your vision and take in a sharp breath after getting winded from the sudden blow. Your hand finally falls from the door knob and you both stand there in silence. The only noise is the grandfather clock that stands tall on the far end of his office, if it wasn’t for the loud ticking, everything would feel frozen. Something about the silence on your part is agonizing, you want to respond, but your voice is caught in your throat, swallowed dryly as you try to wet the dry patches stinging the lining of your esophagus.

Funny how your eyes feel too wet while your throat is too dry. 

You try to take a few breaths to calm yourself down enough to speak but you can feel the impatience radiating off of Chuuya and it just makes you even more anxious. It almost physically pains you but you take a step away from the ginger and stride across the room to an open window. Fresh air, something you always appreciated about Chuuya is that he prefers open windows and fresh air to fans or air conditioning if he can help it. The executive doesn’t follow, he hasn’t even moved from his spot. His head is still drooped down from where it was resting on your shoulder and suddenly your mouth and throat flood with saliva. That familiar feeling of nausea hitting you like a freight train once again.

You clear your throat to speak but realize -- how the hell do you respond to that? Are you really upset with Chuuya? Yes. Are you upset with yourself for letting things go this far? Also yes. So, as much as you want to blame all of this on the gravity manipulator, you can’t. 

Your shoulders slump and your gaze stays glued to the twinkling city lights in the skyline as you finally speak. “You always chose work. Always.”

Chuuya looks up at that. Your words seemingly hit a nerve as irritation flashes across his face before he can contain it. You bristle at that, preparing for an argument. You’re exhausted and don’t want to argue but you will if you have to because although you know you’re at fault too, you’re not going to just let this asshole get away with his part in all of this.

Luckily, the ginger simmers down easily and slumps again, showing you how truly exhausted he is. “That’s not entirely true, I chose you…Sometimes….”

“You think I should be grateful for that? You only chose me instead of work ‘sometimes’ to make yourself feel better about stringing me along.” You’re not looking at him when you speak, too interested with the view, or at least that’s what you’re telling yourself.  “Or to get your mind off of work. I was just an escape to you. Nothing more.” 

This time you don’t have to look back at him to feel the frustration radiating off of him in a similar way gravity manipulation does when he activates it. It’s hot, his frustration, you imagine if you reached out there was a chance you’d get burned. It’s rare to witness Chuuya losing his cool like this, the only other person besides yourself that could get him riled up like this long gone from the organization. Thinking about him makes you even more bitter so you take another stab at Chuuya.

“You certainly put on a convincing act, though. So congrats for that I guess.”

Snap. 

You imagine that’s the sound that would’ve been made when Chuuya’s patience finally breaks. His steps are heavy and you almost think he’s activated his ability. You almost forget how fast he is because you barely have time to turn around before he’s got a firm grip on your face. His hold is unrelenting as he forces you to look at him. 

Chuuya looks like a wreck, so many emotions written all over his face but most of all he’s hurt by your words. You know it’s wrong, you shouldn’t be lashing out at him like this but a part of you is pleased that he looks just as devastated as you feel. This is not your proudest moment by far and you’re sure you’ll feel ashamed over it later. Right now, however, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel guilty in the slightest. You said what you said and you're going to say it with your whole chest.

A shaky breath is let out by the executive standing before you. “That’s unfair. You’re being unfair.”

There’s no way this man is accusing you of being the unfair one here.

“You were unfair to me first. I’m tired. Be straight with me or just leave me alone, Chuuya.” Any fight you had in you moments ago vanishes as you finally give up.

Chuuya’s reaction shows you that he sees it, the way you’re letting him hold all the cards in this, making this his decision, the final one when it comes to this situationship. You’re done, you’re tired and now you just want this shitty night to be over with. If you had a white piece of fabric on you, you’d wave it like a flag, surrendering completely. 

He’s not good with his words, Chuuya has never been as articulate as some of the others, but he is good with actions. His actions have always spoken volumes for him, so why wouldn’t that work for him now? The executive pulls you in and crashes his lips to yours in a desperate attempt to convey to you what he couldn’t speak.

You’re a little slow on the uptake as your brow furrows and you attempt to pull away. You look at him incredulously but the expression he’s making has you halting altogether. His eyes are screwed shut and his brows furrowed in concentration and maybe a little bit in fear by the way you can feel his lips and hands slightly trembling against your face. It clicks then.

Chuuya Nakahara is finally choosing you over his work. 

This was him telling you in his own way that he’s not letting you give up like you wanted to. And if you can claim to know anything about Chuuya, it’s that he always makes good on a promise. That’s what has you melting into his hold and returning his kiss with just as much fervor. 

You both stay like that for a long while and you feel like Chuuya is trying to devour you whole in this one single kiss. As if he’s scared that if he doesn’t, you’ll slip from his grasp forever, but that would be impossible with the way he’s holding onto you for dear life. Even if you wanted to, which in this moment you didn’t, you couldn’t escape him. But you do need to pull away for air though. You shift your face the best you can away from his and even though he tries to chase your lips, you manage to separate from him.

You instantly bring your hands up to his wrist and nuzzle your face into his hands, showing him you still have no plans of going anywhere. The tension in his body dissipates and he watches you closely, patiently waiting for your response. As if you kissing him back wasn’t enough. 

“You piss me off, y’know that?” Chuuya lets out a chuckle at your statement and leans in to rest his forehead on yours.

His eyes bore into yours and there’s something there that you’ve never seen before, a sort of adoration you think he’s been holding back for a long time now. “Yeah, I have a confession to make that might piss you off even more…”

You stiffen in anticipation for the worst, staring up at him suspiciously with narrowed eyes. What was it now? You wrack your brain thinking about what he could possibly still be holding back. All you wanted was to know where you stood with him and now you do. So what else would he be hiding from you?

“It’s, uhh…Well it has to do with your date tonight, and maybe all of the other first dates that stood you up…” The look on your face must tell him that you’re picking up on where this is going and his grip on you tightens once again. “It was fucked up of me, I know. I’ll- I’ll make it up to you…I’ll take you out on two dates for each first date I ruined.”

Oh. 

You can’t even really find it in yourself to be that upset. It clears up a lot of inconsistencies for you. You have full confidence in your personality and looks, so it wasn’t adding up why you were being stood up so much. Even with you being a part of the upper echelon of the Port Mafia, that’s not public information. So, intimidation was ruled out too. You are becoming increasingly more annoyed at the thought of it all.

Maybe you should find it in yourself to be more upset about this…

Your expression displays just how unconvinced you are by his words, Chuuya can clearly see it and sense it so he tacks on some extra sweet talking to sooth your overthinking. “I’ve got a lot of time to make up for anyways.”

Your previous statement of Chuuya not being very good with his words is a lie. You were lying. The simple statement is enough to have you melting into him again. Maybe it’s the exhaustion. Maybe he got lucky. Maybe you’re just that down bad for him. Or maybe it’s all of the above. Who knows (you do).

Either way you find yourself giving in again for hopefully the last time tonight, but not before you decide to add a condition for your own benefit. “...Fine. But any trip or out of town get away counts as only one date.”

“Don’tcha think you’re getting greedy now, Doll?” Chuuya lets out another chuckle, shaking his head a little.

You shrug with a soft grin on your lips. “No, you owe me. Plus, it’s like you said, got a lot of time to make up for.”

[unclewaynemunson]

Pt2 of the badly kept secrets of Eddie's heart monitor

After the first two weeks, Steve seems to have suddenly decided to stop visiting Eddie. No explanation, no goodbye: one day he's there, and then he... Isn't. It takes a few days, sometimes, Steve has a life of his own after all, but a whole week goes by with nothing. And another one. Eddie only knows he's alive – and in town – because the others told him when he asked. Maybe Steve's gotten tired of being surrounded by all that hospital sterility. Or maybe he's gotten tired of being around Eddie. Or maybe... Eddie groans and takes up a stare-down with the fucking heart monitor that's still attached to him at all times, his biggest enemy.

Unfortunately, he has way too much time on his hands, alone in this room and unable to do anything but lie in bed and stare at the ceiling. It makes it far too easy to let his thoughts spiral. Maybe – no, probably, certainly, undoubtedly – that goddamn heart monitor was the ideal help for Steve to decipher Eddie's biggest secret without any difficulties.

Yes, that must be the reason why Steve is staying away. Sure, the guy could tolerate being around “the freak” for a few hours a week out of pity, but of course he wouldn't want anything to do with him anymore upon finding out exactly what kind of freaky thoughts he really has about Steve. Steve was polite enough to pretend like he didn't notice the heart monitor speeding up every single time he got in Eddie's proximity, but of course, of course he noticed. He noticed and now he hates Eddie.

And honestly? He has every right to hate Eddie, with the way Eddie has been exploiting every opportunity to get Steve to touch him. Even though he'd regret it right away whenever the heart monitor couldn't shut the fuck up, Eddie never learned from his mistakes. He was even stupid enough to find meaning in the way Steve's touch would linger after helping him lie down or sit up, stupid enough to find tenderness in the way Steve held his arms when helping him out of his bed and to the bathroom. Obviously, Steve never wanted any of that. Obviously, that only made Steve uncomfortable, but the poor guy was too polite to lash out to the dude chained to a hospital bed healing from having all his organs chewed inside out.

Eddie sighs and closes his eyes; not because he wants to sleep, but because the staring contest with the heart monitor isn't really getting him anywhere. Maybe it's for the best that Steve is staying away. That way, Eddie might be able to get over him more easily. He doesn't deserve Steve's friendship anyway.

***

“I wanna visit Eddie today.”

“Alright, have fun,” Steve answers. “Tell him I said hi.”

Robin sighs dramatically. “No, dingus, you're coming with me. I need a ride.”

“No!” It comes out of his mouth a little too quick, a little too loud, and Robin raises her eyebrows at him.

“No, I can't,” he explains in a calmer voice.

Robin raises her eyebrows even further, making them disappear beneath her bangs altogether. “You literally just told me you don't have plans after work.”

“Yeah, but...” He lets his voice fade out and settles on muttering something incomprehensible.

“I did not understand one single word of what you were saying,” Robin points out. She sounds annoyed, but there's a vaguely amused smile playing around her lips, betraying how she really feels about the whole thing. “Seriously, what's up with you and Eddie? Did you have a fight or something?”

“No...”

“Until two weeks ago, you were at the hospital basically every spare minute of your time. You even canceled two dates just so you could spend more time with Eddie! And now, all of a sudden, you'd rather spend your evening on your own at home watching TV than visit your friend?”

“He's not my friend,” Steve protests.

She gives him a punch against his shoulder.

“Okay, I'm pretty sure he hates me, Rob.” Steve finally caves in. “He gets, like, very uncomfortable whenever I'm around. And I don't wanna add to his discomfort any more than necessary, so it's better I stay away from him.”

“Well, I don't know what on earth gave you that idea, but that is by far the biggest load of bullcrap I heard all week,” Robin says matter-of-factly. “He's asked about you every single time I visited him. He'll be happy to see you, dingus, you're coming with me today. No excuses.”

***

Like clockwork, the steady beeping of the heart monitor falters as soon as Eddie locks eyes with Steve. To make things even worse, what little color that is on Eddie's cheeks leaves his face immediately.

Despite the paleness of Eddie's face, Steve can't help but notice how good he looks in comparison to when he last saw him two weeks ago. He's sitting straight up, leaning against a pillow, and the look in his eyes is far from drowsy.

“S-Steve,” Eddie stutters out. “Hi.” He clears his throat. “And – and Robin, of course, hi! Good to see ya, Buck.” He stretches out his arms to embrace her, and Steve awkwardly comes up behind her. It feels weird not to follow Robin's example and give him a hug, but when he bows over the bed and wraps his arms around Eddie, the beeping immediately picks up speed again. To make things even worse, Eddie quite literally recoils from his touch, leaning away as far as possible and letting his arms hover in the air around Steve more than actually hugging him back.

When Steve looks at Robin, he notices that her eyes have grown about twice their normal size while they flash back and forth between Eddie, the machines around his bed, and Steve.

He locks eyes with her and tries to silently convey a See, I told you so about Eddie resenting him. She answers with a barely visible nod and relief fills Steve's chest. He's lucky to have Robin right by his side, his best friend, the one person he can always count on understanding him. She'll get them out of here in no time and leave Eddie in peace and –

“Oh shoot, sorry, I forgot I need to get a, um, a thing from the car,” Robin says. “I'll be right back.”

As she stumbles out of the room, Steve wants to scream at her that that was very much the opposite of what he wanted her to do, but she disappears before he can do anything about it, only leaving an awkward silence in her wake. So Steve has no choice but to turn back to Eddie and take his familiar place in the chair beside his bed.

“I kinda didn't expect to see you anymore.” Eddie is the one to break the silence. He sounds more distant than the last time Steve saw him. It must be worse than Steve thought: Eddie had been happy to be rid of him and now here he is again, after a meager two weeks of peace.

“Sorry,” Steve mumbles. “She insisted I come with her.”

“So you didn't wanna come?”

Steve chuckles darkly at the irony in that question, not really knowing how to answer that.

“Alright, I'm just gonna say it,” says Eddie when it becomes clear that Steve doesn't quite know what to say. “You figured out what I – how I felt about you, didn't you? Cause of the heart thing.”

Steve looks away, stares intently at the ugly dark blue linoleum carpet under his feet.

“Yeah,” he quietly confesses. There's no use denying it now, he figures.

Eddie heaves out a long sigh.

“For what it's worth: I'm really sorry, Steve, I didn't mean to make you-”

“It's fine,” Steve quickly interrupts him. He doesn't think he could bear Eddie's pity right now. “Don't worry about it. I just wanted to give you some space, y'know, get outta your hair for a bit. I didn't want to make this any more painful for you than it has to be.”

“Really?”

The heart monitor stutters again and Eddie's voice sounds weirdly strained. Steve can't help but look up. He's met with big brown eyes that are looking at him like Eddie actually cares about him. For a moment, Steve imagines to see tears, but then Eddie blinks and the illusion is gone.

“I um... I appreciate that, man,” Eddie says.

Another awkward silence dawns over the room.

“Wait,” Eddie says after a few seconds. “So you're not angry?”

“No!” Steve immediately replies – and it's true. He understands why Eddie doesn't like being around him, that too much has happened in the past for them to just move on and hold hands or some shit.

“It's not your fault,” he tells Eddie. He looks away again, back to the floor in front of his sneakers. “If it's anyone's fault, it's mine, right?”

Eddie huffs out a sound of disbelief. “Why, cause you're just too damn sexy, Harrington?”

Steve frowns. “Well, no, cause I was an asshole and I was mean to your friends during all of high school and it's stupid of me to expect you to just get over that shit and-”

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”

There's that stutter in the heart monitor again. It makes Steve wonder if he's putting Eddie's health at risk by simply existing next to him. Maybe it would be better to leave Eddie alone and wait in the car until Robin is done with her visit. What the hell is taking her so long anyway?

He keeps his eyes stubbornly focused on the blue floor. “Isn't that why you got so uncomfortable having me around?” he points out. “Look, I get it, man. I was an asshole, it's true. And it was selfish of me to keep showing up here only because you were too polite to say to my face what you thought about me. I was only thinking about myself and about how much I liked being here with you, it wasn't fair.”

All of a sudden, the soft touch of a hand lands on his shoulder. He hates how that makes his own heart speed up. If he were the one attached to a heart monitor, Eddie would've seen right through him in an instant, that's for sure.

He looks up and meets Eddie's wide-eyed, somewhat shocked face.

“You - you thought you were making me uncomfortable?” Eddie asks him, sounding like he's completely gobsmacked.

Steve frowns. “Isn't that what we've been talking about for the past five minutes?”

“Steve,” Eddie says. “I am so sorry. I didn't – I never – Look. Listen.” He removes his hand from Steve's shoulder and roughly wipes it over his face. His heart monitor accelerates even further. “Please don't hate me for what I'm about to tell you, okay?” He doesn't wait for a reaction, only uses his pause to take a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before opening them again and looking right into Steve's.

“I'm gay, Steve. And that evil computer over there-” He points towards the heart monitor, “-keeps betraying my big, fat, gay crush on you. Every time you walk in here, or read my book to me, or do so much as smile at me, I just – God, I'm such a goner for you and there was no hiding it because of that stupid fucking thing.”

This time, Steve is quite sure he is not at all imagining the tears in Eddie's eyes.

“I thought that's why you stopped visiting. Cause you figured out how gay I am – about you – and you didn't want anything to do with that. With me. Being gay. For you.”

Eddie swallows. He lifts a hand and pulls a strand of hair over his face in a poor attempt to hide the truly terrified expression that's all over his features.

“Jesus, Eddie,” Steve breathes out. He can't even begin to comprehend how spectacularly wrong he has been about everything. It's almost like he's in shock. Only a minute ago, he thought Eddie despised him. And now, he has to process the revelation that the guy in fact has had a crush on him – a “big, fat, gay crush” – all along. That the reason his heart was behaving so weirdly was because Steve's proximity made him lovesick. That he recoiled from Steve's touches out of fear that the monitor would give him away and make Steve realize he was gay and in love with him.

“Please say something?” It sounds like a question, small and so afraid of what is about to come.

“Eddie, I – Jesus. This is... A lot. To process,” Steve manages to choke out.

“I know,” Eddie says. “I'm sorry I made you think I hated you. But... Please don't hate me. I really missed you visiting. We can be friends, right? You won't even have to touch me ever again, we can just hang out like bros, and I'll try to get my feelings for you under control, and you can-”

Steve finally gains control over his body again: he leaps forward and presses his lips against Eddie's with slightly more force than he had meant to do.

A surprised yelp escapes from Eddie's mouth, and the beeping of the heart monitor goes even crazier. It makes Steve's own heart do a goddamn cartwheel, that audible proof of what he is making Eddie feel.

He completely understands why the heart monitor is going batshit crazy right now; everything about this is fucking amazing. One of his hands finds its way to Eddie's surprisingly soft hair, and he revels in the feeling of touching Eddie again and in the taste of Eddie's lips against his own, and maybe he should just climb into Eddie's bed to–

“Thank God for that.”

They quickly jump apart to find Robin standing in the doorway, an annoyingly smug grin on her face.

“You two could really not be more stupid if you tried, huh?”

Steve squints at her while his hand blindly finds Eddie's on top of the sheets and curls itself around it. He feels his cheeks heat up, but he doesn't care. Nothing matters anymore, except for Eddie's hand warmly resting in his own.

“Did you even need anything from the car at all?” he asks Robin, raising an eyebrow at her.

“No, of course not,” Robin scoffs. “Just needed you idiots to finally get your shit together. I don't think I've ever met anyone more dense than the two of you, seriously! There were at least three moments when I almost barged in here to just smash your faces tog-”

“You were eavesdropping on us?!”

“Obviously.”

Steve opens his mouth, indignant and ready to tell her exactly how mean and evil she is, but she merely raises a hand and the look in her eyes is terrifying enough to shut him up before he has even started speaking.

“Hey, listen,” she says. Something in her face softens. “I'm really happy for you guys. Seriously, no matter how stupid you are, you two deserve every bit of happiness in the world.” She takes a step backwards towards the door. “I'll go wait in the car, dingus. Go kiss each other some more.”

And before Steve or Eddie can say anything, she winks and closes the door behind her.

Taglist: @estrellami-1 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @saramelaniemoon @lololol-1234 @carlajim98 @7-starboi @acedorerryn @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @zoeweee @resident-gay-bitch @my2amgaythoughts @didntwant2come @steveshairspray @noodle-shenaniganery @thedragonsaunt @finntheehumaneater @queerriotgrrrl @co5m0 @dino-nuggets-posts

[bnny0rgnz]

The Bloom Effect

Wayne Manor was quieter than usual, and not in the peaceful way. The air felt thick with unspoken thoughts and hushed regrets. The aftermath of the gala still lingered—an event that left ripples through the halls of the manor and inside Bruce’s mind.

He had danced with you.

He had looked at you and truly seen you.

Now, he couldn’t stop noticing everything he had missed for years.

One morning, a chill hung in the air as you crept through the front door. You were careful, almost silent. Hoodie pulled tight, steps calculated. But Bruce had been waiting.

The bruises on your arms and the faint limp when you climbed the stairs hadn’t been new. But now, they haunted him. Every fresh scrape that bloomed across your skin felt like a personal failure. His daughter—his blood—was getting hurt and sneaking around, and he hadn’t noticed. Not really.

“Where have you been?”

Your breath hitched. You looked up to find him in the foyer, arms crossed.

“Out,” you answered softly.

“Out where?”

“With some friends. Just hanging out.”

He stepped closer. “Hanging out?” He glances at you, eyes darting up and down clearly with suspicion

You nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Bruce's eyes narrowed. “You’ve been coming home covered in bruises and cuts. You’re limping half the time. No more sneaking out.”

“I’m fine—”

“You’re grounded. Effective immediately.”

You froze. “I’m sorry?”

“You don’t leave this house unless Alfred, one of your siblings, or I go with you. That’s final.”

The days blurred after that. No missions. No late-night training. No Lucian. Just you and the vast halls of the manor that suddenly felt much smaller.

You held back the urge to push back. “Yes, sir.”

You spent most of your time texting in quiet corners. First the kitchen, then the sitting room, sometimes your bed.

Lucian: Grounded? Seriously?

You: Yes. Father found out.

Darlene: That’s ridiculous. You’re not a child.

You: To him, I still am.

Lucian: We’re not sidekicks. We’re vigilantes.

You didn’t reply right away.

You: He’s just… worried. I think.

Lucian: Worry doesn’t give him the right to clip your wings.

You chewed your lip, glancing toward the door. You’d chosen the library this time, nestled into one of the armchairs. Behind you, footsteps echoed.

“Hey,” Tim said, leaning on the doorframe. “I made some hot cocoa. You want to join us in the lounge?”

You looked up from your phone. “Thank you, but I’m okay here.”

He lingered a moment, as if about to say more, but walked away.

Later, in the kitchen, you sat at the island counter, thumbing a text.

Darlene: What are you doing right now?

You: Trying to survive house arrest.

Lucian: If they’re watching you, be subtle. Use code.

“Who’s got you smiling like that?” Stephanie’s teasing voice interrupted.

You straightened slightly, putting your phone face-down. “No one. Just my friends.”

“Friends or boyfriend?” she pressed.

“No,” you answered, cheeks pink. “Nothing like that.”

Jason looked up from his mug. “Friends who don’t live here?”

“Yes.”

“Probably teaching her how to throw a punch better than you, Todd,” Damian muttered as he passed.

Jason raised an eyebrow. “She’d have to try first.”

You didn’t answer. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you didn’t know what to say. You turned back to your phone.

Damian frowned. “You spend more time on that thing than with your family.”

You paused. Slowly turned to him. “I didn’t mean to ignore anyone.”

“You just did.”

Stephanie reached over and gently touched your hand. “Ignore him. He says that stuff to all of us.”

But the comment stuck. Especially when Dick started asking questions. Softly at first.

“You okay, kiddo?”

You nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

That night, Bruce appeared at your doorway. Silent. Stern.

“Your phone.”

You looked up, blinking. “Sir?”

“You’re grounded. That includes the phone.”

You hesitated. “But it’s just my friends.”

“I know. But you’re not here. Not really. And I want you to be. We all do.”

There was no venom in his voice. Only guilt.

You nodded and handed it over.

Family dinner. Movie night. Game night. Botanical gardens. Homemade pizza.

Everything changed after that.

You didn’t know how to handle it.

The board games were awkward. You didn’t know the house rules, and when you won a round by accident, they all cheered and you didn’t know how to react.

“Beginner’s luck,” Tim teased.

“Obviously,” Damian muttered, though there was no heat in it.

You sat curled up beside Cass during the movie night, half-distracted by the unfamiliar sensation of being invited.

“I like this part,” she whispered.

You nodded, unsure what else to say.

At dinner, Alfred had made your favorite dish. You hadn’t told him—it just appeared.

You quietly thanked him, your voice barely above a whisper.

Later that week, Bruce took everyone out to the botanical gardens. You walked beside Vivienne.

“These colors suit you,” she said softly.

“They’re beautiful,” you agreed.

She glanced at you. “I’m glad you’re getting some time with them. You deserve it.”

You gave her a small smile. “Thank you.”

Behind you, Bruce walked with Tim and Dick.

“She’s different lately,” Tim said.

Bruce nodded. “I think she’s always been this way. We just… never gave her room to show it.”

“I didn’t know she liked flowers,” Dick murmured.

“I didn’t know her favorite color,” Bruce admitted.

Later that night, you helped Alfred clear the table. Vivienne and Bruce were still in the dining room, sipping coffee.

None of them said what they were really thinking: they didn’t know you at all.

“I remember when I was her age,” Vivienne mused. “All I wanted was to be noticed.”

Bruce looked toward the kitchen. “She makes it so easy to miss her. Always quiet. Always polite.”

“She shouldn’t have to scream to be seen.”

By the third family night, you laughed at one of Jason’s terrible jokes.

He nodded slowly. “I’m trying. I just hope it’s not too late.”

Everyone paused.

You froze.

“Did she just laugh?” Jason grinned.

Stephanie nudged you playfully. “Welcome to the chaos.”

You relaxed. Just a little.

After the game, you and Cass sat on the stairs while the others cleaned up.

“You’re getting used to it,” she said.

You nodded.

“It’s okay if it feels strange.”

You looked at her. “Does it go away?”

She thought for a second. “Not completely. But it gets easier.”

The next morning, Bruce knocked on your door.

You believed her.

“I thought we could go to the lake house next weekend. Just us. If you’d like.”

You looked up, startled. “Really?”

He nodded. “I want to know you. Really know you.”

For a moment, your throat tightened.

You nodded slowly. “I’d like that.”

He smiled faintly. “Good. I’ll make sure Alfred packs the cocoa.”

You smiled back, tentative.

Maybe this time, it wouldn’t fade away.

Maybe this time, you won't be forgotten.

You were blooming.

And they were finally seeing it.

[kimingyuslover]

You once mentioned his group name, and now he's down bad for you. The worst part? his teammates seem to always tease him about it, but the best part? you answer his message.

★ okay, so finally, the third part (i only have ideas at night, but i sometimes can't be a night owl)

previous | next | main masterlist

YOU MAKE ME WANNA MAKE YOU FALL IN LOVE ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Saturday, 14th December 2023

Seungcheol can't lie, the dinner was first awkward and he didn't even know why you're saying yes to his invitation, but he should be grateful because if you say no the members will most likely bullies the shit out of him.

Some time passes and the atmosphere between you becoming more comfortable, no more stiff position, just a chill coversation while waiting for your food to came.

"Do you have any plans if you're not being a singer right now?" Seungcheol asked curiously after swallowing his food.

You chew yours for a second before answering him, "I actually have a business degree on Yonsei, so if i'm not a singer, i'd be most likely to follow my father career, he have his own company business"

"Oh! I heard you already finished your master degree at Anyang. That's so cool, I want to continue to have my master's degree, but my schedule is too packed, so i don't find any time to study"

Well, the conversation flows smoothly like a river. There's both of your occasional laugh when each of you says something hilarious.

After you finished, he insisted on paying the bill since he's the one who brought you here.

And while you appreciate the nice thing he does, you still feel bad, and so you bought a desert for him to take home.

Seungcheol is first politely declined the nice gesture, but being a stubborn you are, you tell him to take the desert for awhile because you have something on you.

When he does just that, you open your mouth, "The desert is yours! You already hold it. I don't want to take it back" which he chuckled at, and then he said that he really appreciated it and will eat it with his members.

At first, he thought you had gone here by a cab, but you told him that you brought your own car and you parked it in the basement.

So he walks down with you to the underground because he also bring his car here.

You both then send each other a goodbye and you drive to your own house with your own car.

What you don't know is that there's a paparazzi there, ready to take your photos and making it the cover of the news hours later.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

"How's your date?" Seungcheol jumped when he heard that, his older brother is sitting infront of the TV with kkuma, his dog.

Seungcheol frowns, "You're scaring me, and no, that's not a date" His brother finally detached his eyes from the television, looking at Seungcheol with a teasing glance.

"Your members have been so fussy about this, and they say it was a date. Also, they say that you only met her this once despite there's no interaction between both of you before this"

Of course, his members are the nosy people ever, so he just rolled his eyes at his brother before going to his room to change his clothes and also, change your profile pictures because he got that perfect shot earlier.

He smiled when he looked at the photos, and you both even took pictures together, a very couple coded photos in fact.

He will secretly put it on his wallet after he prints it so he can see a beautiful scenery when it was his turn to pay the bills for an outing

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

Meanwhile, you still flustered by Seungcheol's gestures earlier, covering the bills, taking pictures together, and even holding your hand while you're going down on stairs.

You always remember yourself that it's just a friendly act between junior & senior, because the fellow actors that in the drama you starred also does that to you.

But this time, you feel your heart thumping loudly against your ribcage, and you think you drunkenly inlove with him.

Like, it's understandable, right? who doesn't love an enigma male named Seungcheol, who's 178cm with that big ass bicep, and let's not start with the way he looks at you because you might die.

There's a several misscall from your friends, Jiwoong, Kevin, even Juyeon. So you decided to open your sns, and what you looking at right now makes you want to poke your eyeballs.

How can they have your photos taken and in the basement, too? you remember Seungcheol said that the restaurant offers a very private dining experience, but how can this paparazzi take pictures of you?

So open your imess, text Seungcheol about the rumors, you don't want to ruin his career, so you got to act quick.

While doing that, you ask your management team through the group chat, and they were all pretty laid back about the news since you're not in the K-Pop industry, nevertheless they still told you to contact Seungcheol regarding this rumors.

[oimitocat]

MIND ME | HC

txt ot5 (separately) x gn!reader

reacting to reader with dark/trauma humor + implied past suicidal tendencies + implied past trauma + coping with humor + therapy sessions + idol au! + implied eating disorders

a/n: literally fair warning, if you can’t handle it, move on. this is fiction but with real life tendencies.

—HUENING KAI

one day you had to do your therapy session over the phone due to your busy schedule. kai had come in to sit with you as your session was close to an end. the basic “see you next time, call me if you need to chat or have questions” thing goes on and then you hang up.

he’s comfortable in your bed, you crawl in to cuddle with him.

“anything new?” he asks, he’s always so caring, so tender.

“nah.” then you pause, smiling.

“what is it?” he asks, “why are you smiling?”

you shake your head, “just remembered this joke i made to my therapist.”

“a joke?” he asks, curious.

you watch him, smiling at the mess of his hair. “so like, i use to self harm-“ his eyes widen a bit, yet he quickly fixes his expression, “-and so she asked if i still do it and i joked and said ‘no i have alcohol now’…” you sigh, “she didn’t laugh.”

and you bust out laughing when kai purses his lips, unsure if he should cry or find it funny either.

“y/n!”

“kai! i don’t drink! be for real!” you cackle as your cuddle him, easing his worries.

—CHOI BEOMGYU

“y/n, do you want to stay with me and keep practicing?”

“what? you’re saying i suck and need to keep practicing?”

beomgyu gasps, “no! what? i just- well the step we keep messing up! we should practice it!”

“so you’re saying i’m bad at it and you’re covering it by saying we both do? great, another thing i’m bad at.”

“what’s the other thing you’re supposedly bad at!” he argues, smiling at you.

“oh it’s a long list,” you say with a grin.

“as if.”

“no for real,” you pick up your water bottle, back facing his, “killing myself is number one. apparently i’m bad at it.” you shake your head before pausing.

“what?”

“i’m joking,” you say quickly, seeing the worry in his eyes. “beomgyu.”

“ah…” he just watches you, messing with his water bottle. “am i allowed to laugh when you joke like that?”

“if you want, i don’t care. would be preferable.” you pat his back, “let’s practice yeah?”

—KANG TAEHYUN

you were watching people getting their bones popped. it’s crazy what areas can be popped to soothe the body. yet you and taehyun were cringing and laughing.

“oh- ah!” taehyun flinches, watching how they popped someone’s neck.

“dude maybe i should go get my neck snapped.”

“don’t you mean popped?” he asks, smiling at your silliness.

you shake your head, “no. i mean snapped.”

taehyun rolls his eyes, “you wanna die or something?”

“always have.” and you get a smack on the arm, to which you laugh at. he knows your joking, and that makes you feel warm.

—CHOI SOOBIN

literally you love food. sadly the industry makes you develop a decently bad relationship with it sometimes. so, one day you’re eating sweet bread and go- “shit, i’m supposed to be on a diet for our comeback.”

“huh? why?” soobin frowns. “wait, really?”

“it’s okay, i’ll just starve until then, it’ll be like this never happened.”

“y/n, what?”

you glance at him while chewing, “what?”

“why the hell would you starve?” he eyes you, “wait, what does your diet consist of then?”

“coffee and antidepressants.” you joke.

“funny.”

“i know.”

—CHOI YEONJUN

it’s a task. literally, all of you are on a reality show and you have to fill out a questionnaire or something. you’re thinking on this question.

“what’s wrong?” yeonjun asks you while beomgyu and soobin make ruckus about what their answers are.

“i’m not sure what to put.”

“y/n, it’s basic questions.”

“that’s what my therapist said and then i was diagnosed a bunch of stuff.”

“the question is literally what’s your favorite childhood memory?”

“so about that, i don’t remember cus apparently — fun fact, when you experience some sort of trauma as a kid your mind blocks any memory during that age and time. i don’t remember shit,” you whisper. “what am i supposed to put? that my mom beat me with a spoon until i finished my homework?”

he stares at you, unsure what to do with that bomb drop. he knows you cope with humor, hence, “steal one of mine then.”

“bet.”

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Chapter 31

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; parents of a newborn just going through it

You felt like you had just fallen asleep when Birdie began to stir. With a grunt, she made tiny squeaking noises to wind herself up for a mighty wail. You had yet to open your eyes, when you felt the mattress shift. 

“Ssh, quiet lil’ Bird. Give your mama a chance to wake up ‘fore ya start your fussin’.” Everything was bleary from tiredness but when it cleared, Daryl was already on his feet, Birdie on his shoulder with a large hand rubbing her back. “S’alright. She’ll be awake in a minute.” There was a gentle bounce to his steps as he paced back and forth. “Ain’t even tryin’ the diaper thing by myself. Sorry, kid.”

Birdie wiggled and rooted against Daryl’s shoulder, and you heard him chuckle. Watching him with the baby, it just looked so—natural. His head angled so his eyes were on her, a gentle smile curving his lips when she turned her little head to press her mouth against the side of his neck. 

“Alright, alright. Let’s getcha to your mama.” 

When he turned to find you awake, he actually appeared startled, freezing mid-step.

“Hey.” You whispered, sleep still lacing your voice. It was your first full night with the new baby and the first time she had woken the two of you. There was a twinge of guilt finding Daryl up first with the newly named Birdie, especially since he planned on hunting the next morning. That guilt, however, was rivaled by the overwhelming adoration you felt warming your heart when you saw the new father interacting with his daughter. 

“She’s hungry. Prolly needs a diaper too, ‘cordin’ to Carol.” 

The saint of a woman had sat with the two of you for over an hour going over the different cues Birdie would give you for different things; when she was hungry, needed changed, or just wanted to be talked to. She taught you ways to position her for nursing. Rashes to watch for, the correct way to clean her with the wipes. 

“Always front to back.” Carol demonstrated with the next pee soaked diaper. You were front and center, soaking it all in, desperate for all the help you could get. Daryl was still reeling back and away from the scene with discomfort at seeing his daughter’s anatomy, but that had him leaning forward to catch Carol’s eye. 

“She’s got a pref’rence?”

The other woman fastened the diaper and scooped up the baby. “To be so smart, your daddy is so clueless sometimes.” She cooed in baby talk. 

You unbuttoned your flannel and lowered the right side of the bra as Daryl repositioned Birdie to the crook of his arm before he gently deposited her into yours. She was ridiculously eager and latched on right away, making those sweet noises that had you staring at her in awe. 

The mattress dipped on the other side and you found your partner making himself comfortable against the headboard. 

“Why don’t you go sleep with everyone else? You’re going out hunt—”

“No.” He answered around a yawn. 

“Then go back to sleep?” 

He scrubbed a hand over his face with a quiet mm mm. “Gonna need changed. Wanna help.” Crossing his arms, he rested his head against the wood behind him and closed his eyes. “Need the practice.”

“You need the sleep too, Daryl.” After he opened one eye but before he could speak, you moved one of your hands from beneath Birdie, balancing her weight on your arm so that you could hold out your palm in an attempted display of acquiescence. “I know, I know. Her mama, not yours.”

He snorted, closing his eye again. 

The silence—aside from the little suck gulp breath from Birdie—was not uncomfortable. Daryl was dozing. You weren’t concerned about his tired state, even if the only time you’d ever seen him actually do something about it was when he had been so ill. It had been a wild couple of days. You, yourself, could have fallen asleep if not for the task at hand, actually finding that you needed to chew your lip to keep from nodding off. 

With the baby sitting on your thigh, your hand supporting her head with a hold just beneath her chin, you patted her back, just like Carol had shown you. “Can you grab a diaper and the wipes?” 

“Mhm.” You didn’t need to try any harder to rouse him. He was up and moving to grab the bag containing those specific supplies. Birdie let out a quiet hiccup of air while he was still up, making it possible for you to get her situated on the mattress. “M’gonna do it.” 

When your exhaustion-burning eyes trekked upward, Daryl was shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot while tapping the diaper against the side of his leg. You smiled affectionately, yet sympathetically. He was still so nervous about seeing that part of her. 

“I’ll be your backup.” Scooting slightly, you kept a hand on Birdie’s belly so as to not allow the shifting of the mattress to jostle her. “Your wingwoman.” He was already curling his lip while situating himself cross-legging. 

“That ain’t helpin’.”

“Sorry. Sorry.” You chuckled. He reached for the zipper on the sleeper and pulled it down to maneuver that baby’s bottom half out of the legs, her little limbs drawing up. His hands were shaking. “You’re her father, Daryl. What you’re doing is okay. You’re just taking care of her.” His attempted scowl was belied by the desperation in his eyes. 

He had never experienced the tenderness he was trying to bestow on his daughter, afraid of every little thing he had to do for her somehow being frowned upon or causing her pain. You were nervous too but the demonstration by Carol had made you feel a bit more comfortable. 

For Daryl, it had done little other than give him the correct methods. He was still battling to understand his role, to feel confident in his ability to show affection to the little one beyond carrying her around. That part, he had down to a science. 

He paused after pulling loose the tabs on the diaper. You thought for a moment that you’d have to take over, yet just as the offer began to form into spoken syllables, he continued. The soiled diaper was removed and the clean one placed beneath her bottom, just in case the unexpected chill in the air resulted in her urinating again. There was a deep breath beside you, a deliberate shifting of his gaze before he schooled himself into actually watching what he was doing. 

The tremble in his hands was sending fine vibrations into Birdie’s legs. You wanted to allow him to do it on his own, but not at the expense of the baby’s comfort. Reaching slowly, you ran your fingers over the top of his hand before taking over with at least keeping her little limbs still and raised so he could clean her. 

Wiping her the way Carol had shown him took longer than it should have, what with him pulling back several times with an uncertainty that made your heart both warm and break. The swipes of the wipe were gentle yet thorough, ensuring she was clean. When it was time, you let him take hold of her legs to draw the fresh diaper up between them and fasten it before he wrestled her flailing feet into the onesie. 

“Quit squirmin’, kid.” The words were spoken softly, not even a command but more of a plea. Job done, you expected to be the one to lift her and get her settled back into sleep, but Daryl beat you to it. Scooping her up under her arms with his long fingers supporting the back of her head, he placed her against his chest and laid back. Birdie was instantly content, stretching before curling back up. Folding one arm behind his head, he placed the other hand on the newborn’s back. 

Lying back, you gingerly turned onto your side to face your little family, your core still aching. Carol had mentioned using ice pads made with aloe vera and witch hazel after Sophia was born but without a freezer, that wasn’t an option for you. Watching Daryl move his hand and run his fingers over Birdie’s soft little cheek, another ghost of a smile on his lips, you couldn’t even remember the discomfort. 

“Get some sleep.” 

You had utterly zoned out, blinking and meeting blue eyes that reflected the exhaustion you were feeling. “You too?” He dipped his chin in a nod and you let your eyes close. 

The next time Birdie woke you up, it wasn’t a gradual process. There was no build up to the squalling. You and Daryl shot upright at the same time, his hands instinctively coming up to secure the little squirming bundle to his chest. 

While you began unbuttoning your flannel, Daryl was moving the baby all over, inspecting her almost frantically. 

“Why’s she cryin’ like that?” Wide eyes looked to you. 

“Hungry, I guess? Carol said she’d wake up a lot and want to nurse.” Bra unhooked, you held out your arms. Daryl winced, one shoulder lifting toward his ear. 

“Kid’s got a set’a lungs.” 

You couldn’t help but mirror his actions, bringing her closer to position her at your breast. Her cries ceased when you accidentally brushed her cheek, her little mouth falling open in search of the nipple. 

Daryl snorted. “Like a lil’ bird.”

You tossed him a brief look and continued to help the baby latch. “Is that why you wanted to call her Birdie?” The little red face was starting to lighten to pink after a few moments of eager nursing. 

He smiled, one-sided, and brushed the back of the baby’s hand with his index finger, her tiny digits rising from where they flexed on your breast to wrap around it. “Nah.” 

You waited, desperate to keep the conversation going lest you fall asleep sitting up. “So, why Birdie then?” Daryl ducked his head, his cheeks flushed. 

“Was, uh—I was by the window yesterday, holdin’ ‘er. She just kept—starin’, like she was tryin’ to figure me out.” He was refusing to unglue his eyes from the baby at your breast. “There was a, uh—a blue jay. Carol said she can’t see much right now but she saw that bird. Won’t never convince me that she didn’t.”

“Like you saw a chupacabra?” He glared at you from beneath his lashes, only succeeding in making the battle not to laugh more difficult.

“Stop.” He drawled. 

“Okay, okay.” You pinched your thumb and forefinger together and drew them across your lips, but he waited, just in case you weren’t finished. 

Satisfied that your jesting had ceased, he sighed. “She watched that bird fly back an’ forth.” Pulling a face, he lowered his head until his chin nearly touched his chest. “Asked if she liked the lil’ birdie an’ she looked at me. Was diff’rent that time. She knew me.” Using his thumb, he pushed the little hand off of his finger. “So—Birdie.” He sniffed. “An’ Jade just kinda—I dunno—fit?”

“That’s—” He looked up, a step shy of wincing, waiting for you to change your mind about the name. “That’s really sweet, Daryl.” It appeared that he almost smiled before scowling. 

“Shuddup.” He slid a hand over his face, feeling the pull of exhaustion that he would never voice to you even though it was as plain as day. He may not have pushed the baby out, but his nerves were shot. 

“Get some sleep. I’ll lie back down when she’s done.” You attempted but were met with what was bound to be a repetitive refusal. 

“Ain’t making ya stay up alone with ‘er.” Pushing himself off the bed, he stalked over to the window and peered out. “Need to stay at least a lil’ alert anyway. Don’t know when we might hafta move on.”

“I’m sure one of the others is on watch. We have everything still in the bags. There’s no reason you can’t lie down and get some real rest.” You were shifting Birdie onto your shoulder to burp her, but watching your partner scan over what he could see outside. Daryl hummed and crossed his arms, laughing with a breath through his nose when Birdie burped, loud and sudden. 

“Maybe we should’a named ‘er after Merle.”

You chuckled and moved the baby back into the bend of your arm, her little hand making its way into her mouth. The sounds of her sucking her fist were deafening in the otherwise silent room. You watched her for a moment, just enjoying the way she cooed and gurgled in between the attempts. 

Daryl’s steps were near silent. In fact, you didn’t even know he was moving until the bed dipped beside you. 

“Don’t she need, uh—well, both’a ‘em?”

“Huh?” His eyes were on your bare breast, still uncovered, your nipple pink and puckered. “Oh.” Daryl’s ears burned red. He was quick to throw his leg off the edge of the mattress and turn his back to you. “You’ve seen them before, Daryl.” He merely grunted so you left it alone. “She seems content, so I guess we can try for some more sleep?” 

“Yeah, uh—” He rubbed at the nape of his neck. “Guess we should.” 

You wrapped Birdie snugly in the blanket and placed her between the two of you. She wasn’t asleep but she seemed quite content with her fist. You’d take what you could get. Daryl laid down at the same time you did, but with his back to the two of you. 

“Are you okay?” You chanced asking. 

“Mhm. Sleep.”

He wasn’t very convincing, but lucky for him, you were too tired to try and coerce the truth out of him. Still, as your eyes closed and sleep began to carry you away, you could have sworn you heard him say your name within a troubled sigh. 

All initial thoughts that Birdie was a quiet baby were gone by the next morning, before the sun had even graced the sky with its presence. She wailed relentlessly several times after only a brief reprieve. Feedings and diaper changes failed to soothe her, as did Daryl walking her around the room. You could see the dark smudges beneath the archer’s eyes and were certain your own would mirror them. 

“Y’all gonna be alright?” He asked, his voice raspy, his feet dragging.  

“Are you?” You countered, yawning and rocking the baby, the motion seeming to soothe her for the moment. Her eyes continued to slip shut until she somehow managed to startle herself awake, wriggling within her blanket before tiring out and repeating the cycle. 

“M’a be fine.” He grunted and placed his bag and crossbow on the foot of the bed, a pause in his actions while you carefully laid down the baby, her little fists swinging outward and pulling back in a sedated motion. “Maybe she’ll sleep for ya now.” 

“Maybe.” You stared at Birdie with the warmest of smiles, simply admiring how perfect she was, features of both you and Daryl already so prominent in her barely two day old face. 

“Hey.”

“Hmm—oh.” You hadn’t even noticed him move, turning to find him standing over you, his hand already beside your face, tucking your hair behind your ear. 

“So fuckin’ beautiful.”

Catching his wrist, you pulled his palm to your lips. “So fuckin’ sleep deprived.” He shrugged a shoulder and turned his hand to grip yours and pull you to your feet, flush against his chest. Dipping his head, he pressed his lips to yours, just as gentle as the hand that now cupped your cheek. 

It didn’t take long for things to grow a little more heated, your fingers tugging at his hair while his gripped your waist, your mouths moving in sync, tongues exploring eagerly. When you felt the first rush of arousal, it burned, eliciting a squeak against his lips, and you pulled back. 

“Ow, ow, ow.” Both hands clutched the crotch of your sweats. 

“Ow? S’wrong?” It was difficult to focus on him reaching toward you—but not touching—when he was so obviously hard beneath the rough fabric of his jeans.

“Six weeks, remember?” You moved slowly to seat yourself on the mattress, your core aching. “I think half of my vagina is still in the van.” 

“Ya gotta be so vulgar?” He ducked his head, face flushed all the way to the tips of his ears. 

You laughed, covering your mouth to quiet yourself, your eyes darting over to the sleeping baby. When you turned back, Daryl was giving you that smirk that might have melted your panties had you not been so sore that you were certain the pain had already finished that job. 

“Hey, pot, I’m kettle.” Lips curved into a smile, you pushed yourself from the bed and wrapped your arms around his middle, head on his chest. “We’ll be fine. You go, so you can get back to us.” 

Daryl pulled back just enough for you to look up, his finger hooking beneath your chin. This kiss was gentle, unhurried, ending before it could once again attempt to transform into something you couldn’t have. 

“I’ll be back soon. Keep ‘er safe.” He stroked the apple of your cheek with his thumb. “You stay safe.”

You nodded. “I will. I promise.” After a moment, he dropped his hand and returned your nod with a jerk of his chin. Watching him grab his gear, you frowned. You didn’t want him to go, but you knew he was right. You needed the meat. You needed to be able to nurse Birdie. Finding formula would be next to impossible, one of those things survivors would have fought, killed, and died to obtain. 

Daryl stopped at the other side of the bed, bending carefully to press his lips to little Birdie’s forehead. “Be good for your mama.” The baby slept on, completely unbothered. When he straightened and adjusted his bag, his attention turned to you. “See ya soon.”

He was halfway out the door when you quietly called his name. “I love you, asshat.” He smiled at you, warm and genuine albeit small, patting the door frame before stepping out. With a sigh, you dropped your eyes to your sleeping daughter. “Just you and me for a bit, Birdie.” Lying down continued to be one of the best reliefs you had ever felt. “And I am going to sleep.” Your eyes had no more than closed when the newborn grunted and began to shift around. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Sunrise came and went, dousing your hopes of any real rest. Exhausted, you wrapped a crying Birdie in her blanket and shuffled out of the room where Carol was tending to some oatmeal over a small fire. “Carol.” You sniffled, lip wobbling. You were just too tired to try and hide it. The woman looked up with a smile that vanished as soon as she saw your state. 

“Oh, honey.” The smile returned, softer and full of understanding. 

“How do I turn her off?” You stood a few feet away, softly rocking and bouncing to no avail. Birdie was determined to call every walker in the vicinity. 

“Here, let me take her.” You turned to find Lori approaching, arms open, and passed your bundle off to her without a second thought. “Come on.” Supporting Birdie on one arm, she was able to take your hand and lead you back to the bedroom. 

“She just—nothing helps. Not even Daryl taking her. I don’t think she likes us.” You gingerly sat down on the bed and observed, Lori bending awkwardly with her rounded belly and your daughter. She grabbed up one of the bags and sat it beside you. 

“She loves you both, sweetheart. She’s just doing what babies do. Can you get a pacifier out for me, please?”

You nodded feebly, wiping at your face before beginning the search. You were pretty sure you knew what a pacifier looked like. You couldn’t rely on packaging. Carol had removed everything that could possibly go in Birdie’s mouth and boiled it. 

“One of these?” You held up a small bag of binkies with a desperately hopeful expression. Lori smiled. 

“That’s them. Good job, mama.”

You passed one to her—green with a little frog on the end—while she shushed and cooed at your disgruntled baby. “Is something—did I do something wrong?”

“Not at all. She may be gassy or—has your milk come in yet?” With a finger gently holding the pacifier in Birdie’s mouth, she watched you. The baby finally accepted it and quieted almost immediately. You sighed in relief. 

“How would I know—about the milk?”

“Well, for starters, if those bra pads aren’t drenched when you’re getting up to feed her, then it likely hasn’t.” 

Your stomach clenched and rolled. You shook your head. “Is she—am I starving her?”

“No, honey.” She sat next to you, patting the baby’s bottom rhythmically as she swayed side to side. “She may not be fully satisfied, but she’s not starving. Maybe we can send the boys out to find some formula to supplement.”

You couldn’t mask the stricken expression, just too damn tired. “When—how long does it take?”

“Stress and nutrition have a lot to do with it, and let’s face it. We’re abundant in one and lacking in the other.” Using her belly to help support Birdie’s weight, she reached out and smoothed a hand over your hair and then cupped your cheek. “Why don’t you lie down? Carol and I can watch the baby and—”

“Birdie.” You smiled fondly. Lori beamed at you. 

“That’s so sweet.”

You nodded, feeling proud of your partner’s choice. “Daryl picked it. Birdie Jade.”

“Well, Carol and I will watch Miss Birdie Jade. I’ll bring her in to nurse and you can get some good sleep in between. How’s that sound?”

“Like you two are fucking angels.”

“You Dixons and your mouths.” She chuckled. You straightened and blinked. You weren’t a Dixon. Is that how they saw your relationship with Daryl? Swallowing hard, you ducked your head, actually being the one to blush. “Don’t think on it too hard.” Lori chuckled with a wink, levering her way upright. “Get some sleep.” 

As intriguing and terrifying as the thoughts she had sparked were, you didn’t need to be told twice. 

“Y/N! Y/N, wake up!” Carol’s voice was frantic, her grip on your shoulder tight and hurried. You shot upright, the fog of sleep clouding your awareness, panic gripping your heart from her tone. 

“What? What’s wrong? Where’s Birdie?” You were clambering off of the bed, Carol steadying you when you staggered, still under the intense clutches of exhaustion. 

“Lori has her. Come on, we have to go.” She shouldered one of the bags and shoved the other toward you. “A herd, we have to move.” She bolted toward the door and out of your sight. 

“Okay, okay!” You stumbled out after her clumsily pulling the bag over your shoulders, looking back to ensure you had everything. The room was so simple, even under the gaze of your bleary eyes. It was the first room you had shared with Daryl and Birdie. Where you had felt like a family. It shouldn’t hurt as much as it did. The farm was a sensible loss to mourn, but this was a room. A simple room in a random house. 

“Y/N!” You heard Carol’s voice ring out from somewhere nearby. 

“Fuck.” You said with genuine sorrow. The moment the little bundle in Lori’s arms came into view, a weight lifted from your chest. “Please.” You held out your arms even as Rick and T-Dog bellowed for everyone to run. Lori passed Birdie to you, barely a glimpse of her little face before you began to run. 

“The truck won’t start!” Glenn was running toward you, taking down two walkers in his path. 

“Damnit! Everyone to the van!” Rick ordered, stopping to usher everyone ahead of himself. 

Birdie jostled against your chest as you ran, thankfully she seemed content with the movement, continuing to sleep. The walkers’ numbers were growing thicker around you. Carol, Maggie, and Glenn were circling you, Lori, Carl, and Beth but it wasn’t enough. 

Daryl. 

Using your forearm and hand, you stabilized Birdie as best you could, drawing your knife. Stabbing the closest walker, you kicked it off your blade and spun for the next, repeating the process. Over and over, you held your ground until you were panting and aching, but they just kept coming, hindering your slow trek to the van. It wasn’t until a cold, dead hand twisted into the baby’s blanket and tugged that you absolutely saw red. Your hold on her was unyielding, the strength of a mother that you didn’t realize you had until that moment. 

Daryl, please. 

Severing the hand at the wrist, you stabbed the walker in the eye, kicking it to the ground. Bowing over your baby, you ran, using your momentum and your body to plow through the undead toward the van, knocking them off balance just enough to allow your continued sprint until you were opening the back hatch and climbing inside, closing it behind you. 

Daryl, we need you. 

You knew that extra second that one of your friends would need to take to open up the van could mean life or death, but your sole focus was on Birdie. You unwrapped her and pulled down the zipper of her sleeper, turning her this way and that to inspect for scratches or bites, finding her skin unmarred. 

“Oh, thank god.” She was wailing by that time but calmed into hiccups on your shoulder, the warmth of your body and her blanket enough to soothe her for the time being. “Good job, baby. You’re okay. Mama’s here. You’re okay.”

 She’s okay, Daryl. 

The hatch opened, your knife in your hand as if walkers had suddenly evolved and could work the handle, but as Carol and the others began to filter inside, you exhaled and sank against the back of the passenger seat. Lori made her way to you with a certain amount of difficulty. 

“Is she okay? Are you?”

You nodded, unable to articulate the relief that was suppressing your ability to form words. 

Both front doors swung open, Rick and T-Dog climbing inside. 

“Roll call!” The former deputy shouted, starting the vehicle just before you heard—and felt—the tires catch on the gravel in search of traction. 

You could already see every face accounted for, but allowed the system, if for nothing more than to ease Rick’s mind. 

“What about Daryl?” You asked quickly, the words tripping over one another as they exited your mouth. 

“We’ll leave him some clues. You know how good he is at tracking. He’ll find us.”

Rick spoke nothing but the truth. Still, the thought of Daryl alone was enough to make your stomach hurt, your heart beat a little faster. He’d be beside himself with worry for his daughter, for you. You didn’t want to imagine that experience. Birdie was safe in your arms, but Daryl wasn’t at your side and you could hardly stand it. 

Birdie stirred, squeaking, her little face growing red. “Ssh.” You soothed, turning your back to everyone, facing the side of the interior and the window. Arranging your shirt and bra, you situated the baby to your breast, her little lips wrapping around the nipple to suckle eagerly. Still, you could sense her unease. She knew as well as you did that her daddy wasn’t close by, a stressor she’d expressed even from within your womb.

“It’s okay, Birdie girl. Daddy will find us.”

Hopefully soon. 

Gazing out the window, you watched the trees fly by in blurred mixtures of brown and green, most of the leaves still missing from the cold weather. You saw Daryl’s face in every gap, heard his voice whisper reassurance. 

Stay safe, love.