#poor reader

[mothwingwritings]

Can we have Ren/Fox (TPOF) and Mc with a child?Long after Fox decided to stay with MC, they both had a daughter (probably not something with consent and a bit of Stockholm syndrome).The daughter asks her mother how she got the scars and this makes MC have memories of post-traumatic stress.

I was so tickled by this ask that I started manically typing out a response for it nearly as soon as I saw it in my ask box (which at this point, was quite some time ago. Forgive me, I am a mess lul). I wrote the whole damn thing in a fit of passion, excited to release it into the world… But ultimately hated it and thought it was garbo, so I scrapped it and tried again. Wrote a second iteration and thought ‘hell yeah, this is it!!! Sick!’, but then I read it AND HATED THAT ONE TOO AAAHHH!!!

I rewrote this… so much…

But I never give up on my dreams, and you shouldn’t either! Persevere! Don’t give up on yourself! Here’s your daily motivation for the day! Keep writing even it makes you cry!!! :D

Anyway, so I wrote this third one, comprised of new stuff and the stuff I actually did like from the first two stabs, and it ended up being the one. Truly it is a Frankenstein of a fic lol. Regardless of all the reworking, I had a lot of fun writing this and enjoyed the prompt very much!!! I I hope you enjoy reading it just as much. :)

I’m sorry if the writing seems a tad too mature for the reader’s daughter in this, writing children isn’t my forte. ^^;

Due to the nature of this fic, IT IS 18+ ONLY!!! Thank you!

WARNINGS: Incessant mentions of abuse of all kinds for reader and mentions of physical abuse for her child!!! Reader is heavily scarred from said abuse and that’s a main theme in this fic so please avoid if that is upsetting to you. Also, though not the main focus, there are multiple mentions of child abuse in this fic, as well a part where reader goes off verbally on her child, so please be mindful of that as well! Other things of note: reader is a parent in this (which you can probably tell by the prev warning lol), reader getting hurt, blood, manipulation, Stockholm syndrome, being held against your will/isolation, mentions of noncon, sad family stuff :(

Diminishing rays of afternoon light splayed through the open window of your quaint living room, casting a comforting orange glow over everything they touched. The light gave the environment an ethereal and nostalgic feel, wrapping you in peaceful warmth as the sun sunk lower and lower. The loveseat you occupied was plush and inviting, and a mug of your favorite tea stood at the ready on the small coffee table beside you, steadily cooling with help from the last hurrah of winter blowing in gently from the outside. Besides the slight chill, the wind brought with it the heavy scent of freshly bloomed flowers, a delightful precursor to the oncoming spring.

Relishing the rare moment of serenity, you couldn’t help but wish that all your days could be this lovely.

You smiled down at your daughter who sat perched in your lap, happily flipping through the newest gift she had acquired from her Father- a thick picture book full of bright illustrations highlighting various exotic animals. As it lay sprawled across her tiny lap, her chubby finger pointed out each animal she took an interest in, her high pitched voice chirping away as she explained what she liked about the creatures. She got particularly excited when she spotted the page full of foxes, jabbing at the red one feverishly as she exclaimed “its daddy!”

Spotting the foxes began her down a path of assigning an animal to not just herself, but you as well. She didn’t find it fair that only her father had kin in the animal world, even though you pointed out that she technically did as well by sharing half the man’s blood. Your revelation did little to deter her, she wanted something new, something just for herself, and she wasn’t going to stop until she found her perfect soul animal. So she continued on, scanning each page in earnest until she found a creature that suited her.

She ended up picking a bunny for herself, supplying you with a comprehensive reason as to why she chose it. As she explained in great length, skimping no details, you couldn’t help but hold back laughter. She spoke as if she were a professor teaching a class, and you did your best to keep a straight face as she yammered on with her shoddy reasoning, deep down knowing she only picked a rabbit because of how cute they are.

After she was done waxing poetic about bunnies, she continued scouring the book, coming to a halt once she reached the wild cat section. She stopped with a gasp, beaming up at you as she pressed her finger firmly against one of the images on the page.

“Mommy this one is you!”

Your eyes traveled to the picture she was rapidly tapping, “An African Wildcat, huh?” You smirked down at the little girl in amusement, “Why did you pick that one for me?”

“Because it looks just like you!”

You chuckled at her enthusiasm, “It looks like me? How so?”

“It has marks just like you do!”

Her innocuous words sent a chill up your spine. Eying the stripes that crossed the cat’s legs, you felt a great unease begin to overtake your body. Her reasoning was not lost on you, the cats coat did quite resemble the jagged scars that covered nearly every inch of your body, and just like the feline in her book, your limbs were the most prominent location of said ‘markings’. You quickly shook your head, not wanting to dwell on it further. In hopes of moving on from the subject, the outpouring of words that flew from your mouth were jumbled and messy.

“O-oh, I see,” you stuttered, clearing your throat to steady your voice, “well you certainly picked a cute animal for me! Thank you baby, it was a good choice.”

She smiled at you innocently, a gesture that usually made your heart melt with affection. But as her tiny hands moved from the book to your arms, that smile did nothing but fill you with dread, the realization that you wouldn’t be getting out of this sticky situation hitting you like a brick to the face. 

“Yeah mommy, the kitty’s marks are just like these ones,” her stubby fingers gently traced the old wounds, a look of reverence reflected on her cherubic features. “They make you look like that kitty mommy,” her little voice cooed, “I like them a lot!”

Your muscles constricted at her words, a slight tremor coursing through you as you involuntarily tightened your grip on her. She took note of this, looking up at your strained features with a puzzled expression on her face.

“Don’t be sad mommy,” she spoke assuredly, “I really do like them! I think they are pretty!”

Her words burned you, scorching the inside of your frozen shell of a body, leaving you feeling sickly and discombobulated. The room around you started to spin in a hazy blur, a wave of nausea making you nearly wretch. Your breathing grew erratic as you tried to calm yourself, inwardly repeating that your daughter was just a child, a little girl barely four years of age who had an incredibly limited view of the world. Her words were not meant to upset you. Her opinions were coming from a place of total naivety.

Yet still, the mental assurance did little to help with the extremely uncomfortable position you now founds yourself in. It wasn’t as if this was her first time noticing your scars. She had mentioned them before, her curious mind trying to piece together the reason that her arms appeared different from your own. Each time she brought your old wounds up you couldn’t help but feel flustered, responding with weak explanations and misdirection to try and quickly brush off her questioning.

The marks came from a silly mistake, or a childhood accident, or from a careless moment when mommy should have been paying more attention. It was always excuses on repeat. How many lies had you told her on this topic alone?

But even if they were lies, it beat telling her the truth. You didn’t want to have to explain where the scars on your body actually came from to anyone, let alone a child, and especially not to your own daughter. How could you possibly word it gently, or in a way that she would understand, when you barely understood why you had them yourself? How could you look her in the eye and tell her that these markings were a permanent sign that you had been very, very hurt and that it was her own fathers hands that inflicted the pain?

Reliving the horrific moments that left your body in such a state was overwhelming enough on its own, but to also have to lay bare her father’s sins, relay to her the unsavory proclivities of a man who she idolized and adored, was not something you were keen on doing.

She didn’t know her daddy like you knew him. She was ignorant to the constant state of concern you lived in, unaware of the worries that plagued your mind and kept you up each night. All the troubles of the hell she had been born into were completely lost on the small, carefree girl.

But honestly that was for the best. You had made an unspoken promise the moment she entered your life that you would protect her no matter what. From the day of her birth onward it became your mission to keep her as happy and healthy as possible.

Ren had broken you, but she did not have to suffer the same fate.

At this point in her life, your daughter knew nothing of her daddy’s profession or ‘hobbies’, and you wanted it to remain that way for as long as possible, if not for the rest of her life. You dreaded each time Ren came home from an auction, terrified he may let casually slip too many details about his ‘lively client’ or that he would carelessly step through the door with the stains of his liaisons still littering his clothes. Your daughter was at an age where she was brimming with questions, and she was relentless in getting answers to each question she asked. Everything had to be explained in complete detail for her to be satisfied, drop the subject, and move on. She was a smart little thing, possibly too smart for her own good. You highly doubted a silly joke or wave of the hand would assuage her whirring mind should Ren grow too impetuous in her presence.

And should her questioning become too pesky, you fretted over what Ren’s reaction to it may be. The more you tried to avoid thinking about it the more you seemed to fixate on the topic, pondering just how much goading it would take from your daughter before his temper would rear its ugly head.  You, above anyone, had firsthand experience in just how volatile the man could be, the scars that littered your body a testament to his turbulent emotions and violent outbursts.

Looking back on it now, it’s a wonder you survived any of it at all.

Ren often told you he loved you, each confession spoken through honeyed words that spilled from his lips easily and often.  And while you didn’t doubt those words (you knew better than to, at this point), you also knew his sweet nothings weren’t merely a term of endearment, they also served as your curse. He loved you, but he also loved your fealty to him, your adoration and worship of him and only him. Should you not reciprocate his feelings as quickly or ardently as he expected, the mere thought of whatever punishment he would concoct was enough to send you into a debilitating panic attack.

There were few things he loathed more than when you flinched from his affection or if you exhibited any sign of distress towards his presence, especially after he had spent so many years going above and beyond to provide for you, devote himself to you. You had learned early on to keel any feelings of aversion you had to his advances, several of your more prominent scars a brutal reminder of that misstep alone.

 If your daughter uncovered the truth and saw her father for who he truly was, if she began to fear him the way you feared him, how would he respond?  If not only his partner, but his own daughter started shying away from him, what length would he go to to correct this behavior?

Dwelling on it made your skin crawl.

But perhaps all of your worries were asinine. Despite his inclination for cruelty, Ren had never so much as raised a hand towards your daughter, even when she did act up. If anything, he was overprotective of her, barely letting her move faster than a brisk jog lest she fall and hurt herself. He hated seeing his little girl experience even a modicum of physical pain, mentioning to you previously that were he able, he’d keep her locked up in a padded room all day and night to prevent any foreseeable accidents or injuries. Surely it was just his idea of a joke, but the insinuation still made you cringe.

It was almost comical, just how greatly the manifestation of his affection for her differed from how he showed his love for you.

His domineering nature shielded her from experiencing any true pain. Every scrape, bruise, and cut she ever received was superficial, nothing that caused major bleeding or left a lasting impression. She had no way of knowing what had been done to you to cause the scars that marred your form, the torment and hell you experienced with each slash, smack, burn. Hell, she probably didn’t even really understand what a scar actually was. All she knew was that her mommy and daddy had strange marks on their skin that didn’t follow any kind of set pattern, weird jagged lines and indents that her soft skin was curiously free from. The mystery of it all was as puzzling to her young mind as it was enticing.

However, some mysteries were best left unsolved, and just as with each other time she brought up this hot topic, you found yourself unable to look into her clear, bright eyes and tell her any semblance of the truth. She may have been forced upon you, but she was your daughter. You loved her, and you refused to be the one to shatter her innocence. You would keep her ignorant for as long as possible, shielding her to the endless nightmare of your daily lives, even if it cost you your sanity.

“Mommy,” her voice jarred you, dragging you from your thoughts, “mommy did you hear me? I said I think they are pretty!”

“T-that’s… I…” You stuttered, struggling to find the right words to say, your voice coming out much smaller than you intended it to. The room felt like it had dropped thirty degrees, your body twitching in response to the sudden chill.

“Daddy told me he gave some of them to you, like this one,” her pudgy, cold finger pressed into the faded heart that resided on your chest, the first of many indelible sins he had etched onto your form. Only the top half of the carved symbol was viewable above the collar of your shirt, so she tugged at the loose hem until she could see it in its horrible entirety.

“Daddy said he gave you this one because he loves you so much,” her voice grew quiet, a thoughtful look in her eye as they drank in wounds you wished you could forget, “Daddy loves me too, right mommy? You think he’ll give me a cute heart someday too?”

You felt as if you had been hit by a train.

“S-top,” the words were forced from your throat, airy and breathless, as if someone was wringing your neck to make them come out, “p-please, just stop talking.”

“What did you say mama,” your daughters sing-song voice responded as her fingers continued to trace and prod your scars, “You are whispering, is it a secret?”

“I told you to SHUT UP!”

As if following your command, your booming voice instantly silenced the small girl. Unused to such a violent outburst from her mother, her happy-go-lucky nature quickly shifted to one of alert, her tiny body going rigid as she stared up at you with fearful eyes.

Seeing her in such a state and knowing that you were the cause of it would normally have killed you inside, making you fall to your knees to beg for the child’s forgiveness. But right now, the thin thread that had been holding you together had snapped, and your words rushed out in a torrent you couldn’t begin to quell.

“Shut up, shut up, shut UP!” You seethed, clasping your hands to your ears to try and block out your own intrusive voice, “Just STOP TALKING about it! What are you even saying? Why would you ever want to look like this?!”

Tears started to flood your eyes, blurring the image of the girl who had quickly jumped from your lap and was now cowering before you. Through your bleary vision, you could see tears were brimming her eyes as well.

“You… You have no idea,” your voice warbled, shaking in equal parts grief and frustration, “You have no clue what you are saying, so just STOP IT. KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT AND DON’T YOU DARE SPEAK OF IT AGAIN!”

You slunk from the chair down to the floor, burying your face in your cold, stiff hands. The soft blubbering of your daughter could be heard through your own sobbing.

“I-I’m sorry mommy. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Hearing her broken voice began to shatter the spell you had been under, instant regret jerking you roughly back to reality. Your head sunk lower, your body scrunching itself up as tightly as possible to hide from this cruel reality.

Your screams were born from deeply buried feelings of hatred, tucked far, far away as a means of self-preservation. For a moment, you felt as if you despised your daughter, her existence tethering you to this wretched excuse of a life, binding you irrevocably to Ren. But as you lifted your heavy head, glancing up to stare into her young face, a face so very similar to your own, a face contorted in panic and sadness over her mother’s abrupt descent into madness… you realized it wasn’t her that you hated.

It was yourself.

Your daughter didn’t deserve this. She deserved normalcy. She deserved a father that didn’t pose a threat to her. She deserved a mother that wasn’t ruined by his hands. She deserved a happy and untroubled life, not to be stuck being raised in a barbed cage, navigating her way through life with nothing but the shattered remains of a battered woman to guide her.

“I’m so sorry,” you choked under the weight of your overwhelming emotions, snot and tears running freely down your ruddy cheeks and chin, “I’m so, so sorry baby…”

“What the hell is going on?”

You hadn’t heard the front door open, nor had you heard Ren’s jubilant greeting as he entered your home. He had no doubt been upset by the lack of welcome-it was one thing to be ignored by a child, but his doting wife? That was not something he was not apt to look past.

But surely any feelings of annoyance or frustration fled from his mind the moment he entered the room, his eyes falling upon your crumpled, messy form collapsed on the floor. You cursed his arrival, upset that he entered the scene at such a compromising time, right as you were struggling to regain an ounce of composure and properly apologize to the little girl who had done nothing wrong.

“D-daddy,” your daughter’s voice warbled as she barreled towards him, colliding into his waiting embrace. You wiped at your face in a desperate attempt to hide your previous outpouring of emotions, doing your best to avoid eye contact with Ren as his sharp gaze quickly flicked from you, to his daughter.

This had already become enough of a scene without Ren’s interference, it was best to try and begin damage control now. 

“Daddy I-I made mommy cry!” Tears continued to pour from your daughter’s eyes, her face twisting into a look of pure dismay. Her misguided admission of guilt made you recoil, knowing full well it would grant her no favors with the person she seeking comfort from. “I’m really sorry daddy! I didn’t mean to!”

After several endless seconds of silence, Ren spoke.

“… You made her cry?”

His voice was far sharper than it needed to be, further agitating the precarious state of affairs. In most cases he would have offered your daughter leniency, letting her get away with far more than she probably should. However that leniency was null and void if you ended up suffering in the process.  Ren could not forgive anyone that caused you any duress (himself, of course, being the exemption) even if that person was his own flesh and blood.

“What do you mean you made her cry? What the hell did you do to her?”

“I-I don’t know,” she wailed, a fresh wave of tears spurred on by the accusatory tone of her father’s voice, “I just told mommy I thought her marks were pretty and then she started crying! I wasn’t lying daddy, I like them! I think they make mommy look really pretty!”

“Her marks…?” Ren’s look of vexation began to dissipate as the meaning of her words donned on him. He lifted his arm, rolling up his sleeve to reveal his own scars to the little girl. Pointing a clawed finger to them, he leaned down until he was looking her in the eye, “You mean like these?”

As she nodded her head vigorously in confirmation, Ren tutted, “That’s the reason for all the water works? An innocent compliment started all this fussing?” He scoffed, shaking his head, “Isn’t that a little bit… silly?

You tensed at the sound of his barking laugh, your frown deepening as an amused grin spread wider across his lips. You wished that you could say it was shocking for him to have such disregard after finding the two of you in such an agitated state, but it was painfully in character of him to shrug off your misery and suffering as inconsequential.  How he could so nonchalantly normalize this hellish situation he kept you and your child ensnared in, you would never understand.

Your daughter was apparently sharing similar thoughts, as her face began to once more morph into a pre-sobbing scowl. She was no doubt wounded that her father was not offering her the comfort she was seeking, her emotional state already greatly weakened by her mother’s venomous tantrum.

To help quell another round of tears, Ren pulled the child closer, wrapping her up in his arms so that her tiny form was nearly enveloped by him.  “Shhh, no more tears angel,” he cooed sweetly, patting her head gently to appease her, “There isn’t any reason to cry, especially because… Well, you’re right! Mommy’s whole body is pretty, isn’t it? Her marks just compliment the beauty that’s already there.”

Slowly but surely, her tears began to dissipate. Hunched over shoulders loosened, and sniffles and hiccups gave way to even breathing. Like clockwork, her father’s gentle handling soothed her, the same touch that destroyed you offering her salvation.

As if under a spell, the turmoil that had overcome your daughter quickly began to vanish, her sobbing fading into quiet sniffles. Once she was fully calmed, Ren continued speaking, “That’s all you meant to say to mommy, right angel? I’m sorry she took it the wrong way, she’s probably just tired or hungry, you know how mommy gets. She’ll get over it in no time flat!”

Heat spread through your body at his flippant dismissal of your feelings, an indignant blush lighting your cheeks as you gripped your hands tightly at your side. Your previous emotional episode left you all but drained, but your will to fight back against his callous commentary could never truly be contained.

“In fact, I bet she is already over it now,” Ren’s voice took on a jovial tone as he directed his focus solely on you, “Aren’t you, pumpkin?”

With the ball suddenly in your court, you flinched as both sets of expectant eyes fell on you. Your own eyes darted from Ren’s piercing glare, down to your daughter’s wide-eyed look of unbridled hope. You felt much like the rabbit that had been caught by the fox, stuck in a lose-lose situation. Seeing him hunched over her small body as she clutched to him as a life line, openly concerned that her mother may once more reject her while her father remained a bastion of strength and understanding, left you reeling. Either you would get heated again and stay the villain, but possibly hold on to an ounce of your dignity, or concede to Ren and have yet another piece of your soul wither away and die-the price to pay so that your daughter could remain in blissful ignorance for another day.

“Aren’t you, pumpkin?” He repeated himself slowly, enunciating each word. The kindness in his voice serving only as a mask for the threat buried beneath.

“Y-yes,” you responded quickly, shooting them both a smile you hoped was convincing, “I am very sorry, baby. Daddy is right. Mommy is just… tired.”

A serene smile lit her face, your words placating her. Seeing her happy once more helped relieve a bit of the ache in your own heart, making the lie worth it.

“Good, good,” Ren affirmed with a nod, carefully detaching himself from your daughter as he stood, “but you know little one, mommy deserves some love too, don’t you think? She may have been in the wrong, but it’s not nice to make her cry like that. Why don’t you go give her a hug, hm?”

With no further persuading necessary, she quickly padded over to you, hopping on your lap with so much enthusiasm that it nearly knocked the wind from you. Her arms tightly latched around your torso as she smushed her face into your chest, rubbing it back and forth like she was trying to burrow beneath your skin.

“I love you mommy,” her voice spoke clearly, any hint of previous sadness long gone. You sighed, relieved that this dramatic chapter was over as you pulled your daughter closer to you.

“I love you too.”

During this show of affection, Ren had made his way behind you, slinking so deftly you hadn’t even known he had moved until you heard him chuckle softly behind you.

“This is what I like to see,” he spoke with a sickeningly dreamy sigh, “nothing makes me happier than when my two girls are happy.”

He placed his hands gingerly atop your shoulders, trailing them down until they rested on your arms. His thumbs pressed gently against the marred skin, rubbing in a small circular motion in an attempt to subdue you. His claws grazed your flesh, uncomfortably scratching against you as they snagged against your skin.

He planted a firm and lingering kiss to the side of your head, pulling away just enough that his lips grazed the shell of your ear. “There really was nothing to cry about,” he whispered breathily, his words quiet enough that despite your daughters’ proximity, she would have no chance of hearing them. “It’s almost unfair how gorgeous you are, scars and all. But you must know that, right my sweet pet? I tell you all the time.”

Ren took in a deep breath, releasing it in a shaky sigh, “Seeing these scars reminds me of all we have been through, all that we share. They are a symbol of our bond.”

One of his claws pressed down sharply, a small bead of blood pooling around the piercing. Leisurely he began to drag his finger up your arm, a thin red line following in its wake. You shivered at the burning sensation, but deigned to give him any reaction further than that.

“Don’t forget pumpkin, these pretty marks are a reminder of my constant love for you.” He chuckled softly, peppering a few kisses to the back of your neck while his claws slowly sunk deeper, “And right now I am feeling  terribly sentimental, so for old times’ sake, why don’t I add a few more to remind you just how precious to me you are~?”

[ff7-has-taken-me-over]

The principal in Scream is so fuckin weird so here’s a fun one for us.

But when they’re doing the interviews with all the students and reader goes in for their turn, the principal does the thing he does with Sidney but lingers a little longer with it.

Reader gets freaked out, for good reason, and can’t stop twitching whenever the principal comes near. The sheriff notices and decides to cut the interview short, getting up so he can stand between you and the principal.

“If you have any troubles, with anything, just let us know ok? And I mean anything.” He says that with a wary glance toward the principal who’s no longer paying attention to them. You nod, quickly making your escape and trying to shake off the lingering nerves of the encounter.

Lunch comes around and you’re with the group, a little spaced out cause you just can’t shake off the icky feeling the principal had left on you. A gentle hand on your shoulder pulls you from your thoughts, looking up to see Stu looking at you with worried eyes.

“Are you ok?” You can tell the smile you pull on isn’t at all convincing, Stu’s growing concern evidence enough. Billy’s the next to reach out, closer now that Sidney’s gone off somewhere.

“Did something happen in your interview?” You can’t help but tense immediately, something the boys clock immediately. They look toward each other, expressions darkening before they look at you.

“Hey. You can tell us, what happened?” Tatum is the one to speak up this time, Randy leaning around her to nod along.

It takes you another moment, taking a few deep breaths before you’re telling them what happened during your interview. You stutter your way through it, sniffling in a useless bid to stop the tears threatening to spill.

When you finish Tatum looks horrified, Randy looking wildly uncomfortable. Stu and Billy look absolutely livid, the latter glaring at nothing in particular while the former tries to mask it somewhat, opting to try and look comforting for you instead.

And I assume you know what happens from here.

[noisytoadhoundzipper-blog]

batfam x reader story idea

ok, so I have an interesting idea for a semi-batfam x reader related story, but not really?

So I've been watching edits on YouTube about studying hard, then growing up to become billionaires, and I thought this is an interesting story idea.

So poor girl in Gotham, she's Damian's age. She joined Gotham prep in a full ride scholarship a little before Damian first met bruce and was enrolled in gotham prep now I was thinking of making Damian a little bit of a bully to this girl cause she's basically the top in everything (she kinda has to be scholarship and all) and Damian he didn't like that someone was better than him; you guys gotta remember Damian is 10 fresh out of league of assassins so you know he's a little shit, so what does Damian do? Instead of the mature response you might expect, he bullies and picks on her.

Now, like over the years, he mellows out, she's still the top of the grade, he's always second (somehow) except in physical education (vigilante remember?) she's second, he's first again how she's second escapes me she's poor her moms a drug addict her dad and alcoholic gambler, most days she goes without food because her dad gambled it all away or her parents use it for their addictions so yeah. Anyway, back to the story, despite Damian mellowing out a little, he still competes with her in everything; she's basically his rival canon is all the same it's not a love story just a story of going from rags to riches for her because by 22 she becomes one of Americas youngest self-made billionaire

What do you think?

[aliolly]

Dear Rafe Cameron (2)

PART TWO

Rafe Cameron x chubby black reader

Low on money and at the brink of being evicted, theres no choice else to make but to take your mother up on that offer and help around at her newly re-opened cafe. It’s just downtown, the pay is good, and your home at a reasonable time. The only downside? You caught Rafe Cameron’s attention, and hes not keen on passing up the opportunity to pick at fresh meat in salted water.

TW: fat shaming, bullying, dead beat mom, kooks being low-key racist, alcohol intake, drugs, reader is deaf, mental abuse, broke reader.

In my head reader is light skinned (because I am) but imagine whatever shade you want.

This chapter is very very short, i hit a little writer’s block down the line and I wasn’t able to get far unfortunately. But next chapter will be longer, I also apologize for the long wait just for it to be short.

If you want to be tagged let me know🤗

I wasn’t expecting her to answer the phone so quickly. The line had rung twice, exactly two times before it cut off. Her voice filtered through the ear i wore my hearing aid on, sending vibrations through the device. It’s like she knew exactly why we were calling, her tone was so smug I could tell on the other side she was sporting a smirk of satisfaction, probably sitting by the beach in her beach house feeling like shes won.

And I felt it too. I remember telling her days ago when the subject first surfaced that I wouldn’t do it, that I’d pass on the offer and search elsewhere for a job- then, i didn’t know just how difficult it was going to be, it was like the interviewers took one look at my hearing aid and seemingly determined themselves based on that alone that I wouldn’t be able to keep up or do a good job as the next person.

That didn’t stop me from looking, but it did create a pile of overdue rent and missed assignments that I hadn’t even known were passed out. So it was safe to say that it felt pretty humiliating calling my own mother who I knew felt proud of herself for predicting this to happen. She had already seen through me the time i declined the offer. Told me then and there that I’d call soon enough because in her words, “your father won’t have that job forever with his addiction, and your hard of hearing won’t be welcomed with opened arms, as much as you think it will. They’ll take one look, thats all they need- then escort you out with a smile saying they’ll keep in contact, but never do..trust me honey, I’ve seen it before, it’s nothing new”

I took her words with a grain of salt, and hadn’t really dwelled on it because it sounded as though she was trying to get under my skin again, manipulating me into thinking she was right and I wouldn’t get a job with my disability. And for some time I can admit how puzzled I was after every interview that seemingly gone well but evidently not, I thought the knowledge of telling them I can read lips and sign without a hearing aid would be useful and helpful in my case, but it wasn’t. I spent over three months searching for a job,then when my dad was let go, I covered him the best I could with what I had in that moment, but it was never enough. Rent felt like it was going up more and more each month, and little by little, the house started falling apart, as if I didn’t have enough troubles already.

If you were to ask how humiliated I felt in the moment, I’d just answer with a yes. I could feel my fist clench around the phone, teeth practically grinding against the bottom row and my eyes stinging. But I wasn’t gonna cry, not of tears of sadness but tears of frustration and complete helplessness. I had to give the phone to my dad because I couldn’t fathom crying for my mom to hear, god only knows her ego would grow more if she was to ever think that I was crying because of her.

When he took the phone, I sat by the table, knee bouncing up and down and my thoughts swarming my head, I couldn’t understand why I felt so anxious all of a sudden, I knew she’d give me the job, i was sure of that, more then anything but the feeling didnt go away. The feeling deeply rooted in the pit of my stomach that conjured up the most fundamental thoughts that flashed in my head on and off like a light switch. What if she purposely gave me a position she knew I wouldn’t be good at? What if she put me in charge of serving people? I was never good with conversation unless I knew the person, and the thought of talking to someone all day everyday made my knee bounce faster.

But I knew it was just my nerves taking root, I knew it wasn’t really about where I’d be placed but more so the thought of working with her, those thoughts were just after thoughts. But I couldn’t be like that, I couldn’t act like that, not now and possibly not for a long while. We need the money, that much is abundantly clear, and my dad needs the help, that much is, also clear. I couldn’t let my own fears get in the way of a good stream of income that could not only fix the house and pay the rent, but also help my dad for his recovery.

I hated this, but I couldn’t do that to him, I can’t be selfish.

When dad got off the phone he messaged the bridge of his nose and sighed to himself softly. He told me that she had given me the job, but hung up before she could ask to speak to me again, he didn’t specify what position I’d cover but then again mom probably didn’t go into detail about it anyway. The only thing I now know is that I am to be expected early tomorrow for the grand reopening in which I am to start right away, either cleaning the tables or bringing out newer and fresher treats for the display glass and getting rid of the old. I only hoped my job would be that simple and easy, easy enough to not need help, and simple enough to not have to ask for help.

Nicole would be back tomorrow, which was great, I’d get the check for watching her pups and put that towards rent. Then when I get my first paycheck, I’d likely put that towards rent as well, then give the remaining to the landlord so she could look into the roof.

It was a solid last minute plan, one im sure to see through. So with that, I take my hearing aid off and scratch behind my ear where it was rested, then got to work cleaning the kitchen as quietly as I could with the pups down for nap in the living room.

TAG LIST

@davinashifts333

@syraxnyra

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

[navybrat817]

You have to get away from the city. You're not sure how long you plan to stay in the cabin. Long enough to forget about your ex-roommate's handsy boyfriend.

It's too bad you caught someone's attention.

Someone who doesn't want you to leave.

So, who's watching you?

[waltywritey]

I saw your headcanons, and I was wondering if you take requests:

If so, I´d like to request headcanons with Howard Hamlin (or other financially well-off characters) and a S/O reader, who is poor 😩

Anyways, keep up the great work 👏

⚖️ How Howard Hamlin would treat his poor S/O ⚖️

Warnings: Classism.

🌟 He would give you an allowance of $100 a week for whatever you need. He'll even encourage you to buy nicer clothes.

🌟 You always feel guilty about how much money he spends on you, but he'll reassure you that it's alright with his salary.

🌟 When you invite him over for the first time, he'll be taken aback by how small your apartment is. Concerned, he'll ask where your kitchen island is and why your cabinets are white.

🌟 You'll feel embarrassed when he's in shock at how different your lives are, but he'll reassure you that you he loves you even if you're poor.

🌟 Smiling, he'll embrace you and offer to pay for your expenses. You'll decline at first, but he'll insist it's not that much after looking at your bills.

🌟 He'll notice certain habits you have like cutting open your toothpaste container when it seems finished or putting water in the soap dispenser when there's a little left.

🌟 He'll find it odd and confusingly point it out, which you remind him that you didn't grow up with much money. You'll explain that these are methods done to save money.

🌟 He'll make comments like "I can't imagine having no money!" and "Is that why you buy great value brand?," but will apologize when he notices your discomfort.

🌟 When he invites you to his house, you'll be in awe at how luxurious it is. You'll even be amazed when he shows you his stainless steel Samsung refrigerator with touchscreen doors.

🌟 After giving you a tour, he'll ask if you want to take a dip in his pool, and you'll admit that you've never been in one. Only ever having "swam" in part of your yard when it rained heavily growing up.

🌟 His eyes will water every time you tell him childhood and recent stories of you being poor. He'll use a spare $5 in his pocket to wipe the tears that escape every time.

🌟 Eventually, he grows accustomed to your way of living and will even excitedly ask if you could teach him how to "live like the poor" for fun.

🌟 Although he's ignorant about the life of the lower class, you're willing to ignore it if it means you can wash and dry your clothes for free with his dual washer and dryer.

[totallynotavampir3]

tee hee im reverting to my screenplay writing tendencies for this fic im writing :3 stay tuned

[haeryna]

i rly love everyones takes for reader's career but i rly hope you take on the realistic approach for her job like maybe she works at a small family shop since it sounds like a small town setting or maybe she just took the first office job that gave her a good salary bc she decided to put her focus solely on her parents to avoid confronting her emotions AHHH i can't wait 😭❤️

i'll probably use this ask to mention what exactly reader has been doing since satosugu left.

after graduating high school with shoko, reader was set to go to a four year uni, but with the diagnostic of her parents' illness, she quickly scrapped that idea. instead, she took community college classes online, and works both a remote office job as well as shifts at the local coffee shop. i know a ton of people wanted to see reader do more with music, however, reader is very burnt out with her jobs and with the sad memories music leaves her :( a lot of what people were telling me felt great for storytelling but i also wanted to go along with the modernday!au as much as possible, yk?

but thank you for your ask anon! i appreciate you :)

[valleynix]

do you really have mommy issues if you're not constantly doubting that they could have changed

[kiiwiigii]

Completely out of left combination but threesome with emmet and felix 👀

I have questions... but ok!

[boop-le-snoot]

“negan making rick eat out a girl that he's holding in his lap” is hands down the most genius way to write a regan blowjob scene. homoerotic heterosexual sex for the win!!

[navybrat817]

Me: "How much can we traumatize our sweet florist?"

My muse:

[reaperfeels]

Mitsuya could be my prince

hellooo~ may I request a headcannon prompt where the tokyo revengers boys react to y/n passing out? like including the characters draken, ran, etc.

Prompt: TR characters reacting to reader passing out

Genre: Fluff

Characters Included: Draken, Ran, Rindou, Mitsuya

Warnings: mentions/suggestions of syncope in Rindou's part , mentions/suggestions of hypoglycemia (low blood pressure) in Mitsuya's part, mentions/suggestions of anemia in Draken's part, Arrhythmia (heart condition) in Ran's part, reader passes out/temporarily loses consciousness

A/N: heyy luv, here you go! Enjoy!

Draken

The first time you passed out on him, he was freaking out.

He left to go get groceries while you preferred to stay inside and relax since you felt a bit light-headed from the workout you had engaged in with Draken not too long ago.

As soon as he leaves, you pass out right on the couch, immediately blacking out.

Checking for his keys, Draken realizes he must have left them back in the house, so he goes back inside, only to find you passed out on the sofa.

Now, he's used to knowing what to do when things go south, always staying composed and making sure you weren't in any lethal danger, but when he doesn't understand what had caused you to pass out, he immediately dials your doctor's number, which was embedded into a silver bracelet you wore that had all your medical information.

When he gets through, the doctor immediately explains the situation, informing him that you suffered from anemia and things like this are normal for you and instructs that the only kind of danger you would be in is if you weren't breathing or waking up after five minutes had passed.

When the doctor explains that passing out is inevitable, Draken somewhat relaxes, but was still concerned about when you would wake up.

Thanking the doctor, he hangs up and gets you comfortable on the couch, making sure to prop your head on a pillow so you could breathe easier.

When you do eventually wake up, he's asking you if you're alright, how you feel, or if you need anything.

When you confirm that you're ok, he immediately scolds you while flicking your forehead. Half angry and half hurt that you didn't tell him about your condition sooner.

"What if you needed actual medical attention and you weren't wearing your bracelet? I wouldn't have been able to know what to do!"

Don't worry though, when he does calm down, he's quick to pull you close to him and nuzzle into the crook of your neck as his tough exterior melts away, making him succumb to your gentle touches and loving words.

From then on, he always goes to your frequent doctor appointments and makes sure to know all he can about your condition, so next time he'll be prepared.

     Ran

You had Arrhythmia, a heart condition, and on some occasions when you drink caffeine or don't keep your cholesterol under control, you end up having to take your medication or deal with passing out for a few minutes after taking your medication.

Of course, Ran was aware about your condition after he had experienced you passing out on the floor after accidentally drinking some of his coffee.

When there were days you would pass out he'd still be a bit on edge, since sometimes you'd stay out cold for a little too long, but he'd stay calm and prop your head up while occasionally checking if you're breathing was steady.

Sometimes when he'd tease you or prank you, you would use your condition to scare him by acting like you had passed out again.

When you would do that, he'd scold you and apologize to you as long as you didn't try to do it again. (despite how teasing and carefree he is, he couldn't stand the thought of losing you.)

I suggest you get use to him wanting to follow you wherever you go. He's scared to leave you alone, even in the confines of your home, since he knows you can be vulnerable when you do pass out.

When he's not around, he makes sure that Rindou or some men are around you or knows your location at all times.

When you get a medical ID bracelet for your condition, he goes the extra mile to customize it and decorate it with your favorite charms.

Rindou

Similar to Draken, he wasn't aware of your health condition that causes you to pass out and ends up finding out when he finds you passed out.

However, Ran, your best friend, was quite aware that you suffered from syncope and was sworn to secrecy to not tell his younger brother.

Your reasoning for not telling Rindou was due to the fact that you were scared of how he would react, and more importantly, you didn't want to be a burden to him. But, you knew he'd find out at some point, so you decided you would tell him when you felt ready.

He left you with Ran at his place when he decided to go to the corner store to surprise you with your favorite snacks.

On cue, when he had stepped out of the house, you immediately told Ran that you felt dizzy.

The older haitani was quick to guide you into the living room and lay you down with your head resting on a couple of pillows, while covering you with a blanket.

He sits close by on the floor, scrolling on his phone while occasionally checking your breathing.

When Rindou comes back with a bag full of goodies and sees you "asleep" with Ran next to you on the floor, immediately his boyfriend senses start to tingle.

He'll question Ran and why he was on the floor, knowing well enough his brother prefers the comfort of pillows than the harshness of flat surfaces.

And, with a straight face, he answered, "Oh, yeah, y/n's passed out and won't wake up for a while, so I let her have the couch."

Rindou is slack jawed with wide eyes as he glances between your "sleeping" form and Ran's calm expression before dropping the bag of snacks and smacking him upside the head away from you as he shakes your shoulders and calls for you to wake up.

Let's just say it took all it had in Ran to not knock his younger brother out to calm him down, since he was practically fuming and freaking out at the same time.

When he's got Rindou in a hold, he quickly explains your condition and the occasions of you passing out, and the reason why he wasn't told earlier about your health condition.

He's shocked, as well as saddened by your fear of how he'd react, understanding that he wasn't the best at handling his emotions or expressing his feelings and realized it was reasonable as to why you hesitated to tell him.

When the two of them seperate from one another and Rindou is calm, he settles next to Ran on the floor beside you, while holding his breath anxiously as he waits for you to wake up.

When you do wake up, he's quick to pull you into a hug and mutter a bunch of apologies and 'I love you's' in your ear.

"Don't ever hide something like this from me. I'll love you no matter what you idiot."

After that, expect to be pampered more than usual.

He'll accompany you to your doctor appointments, walk with you even if he doesn't feel like it, and constantly text you to see if you're ok.

Goes the extra mile to order cute matching emergency bracelets so you can notify him when your passed out as well as a medical ID so just in case he isn't around you, someone will see it on you and know what to do.

     Mitsuya

Eight months into your relationship with Mitsuya, you had worked up the courage to tell him about your health condition and that you suffered from hypoglycemia since you were a kid after Hakkai had insisted you tell him at some point.

He wasn't shocked since he had noticed you were careful with what you ate and how much sugar you consumed.

However, he became more aware of you and was extra careful with you as well, since he wanted to make sure you were comfortable around him with your condition.

He did a lot of research about hypoglycemia and how it to affects you.

When you first pass out on him, he's quick to react and check if you were breathing.

He sets you down on your shared bed and waits for you to wake up with your hand held in his.

When you wake up, you're quick to apologize, since you were embarrassed that you had passed out in front him for the first time.

"There's no need to apologize. After all, a sleeping beauty like you has a prince she can rely on, so don't worry so much." SBJSBDJ HE'S SUCH A SWEETHEART

Expect a lot of acts of service. He'll make sure you don't lift a finger and make alternative foods for you to eat so you can enjoy the same things he can enjoy.

When you aren't in the mood for eating, he'll coax, or sometimes beg, for you to eat something because he is worried about your blood pressure dropping too low.

However, when you are in the mood to eat, but not in the mood to follow your dietary restrictions you try to sneak eating a few sweets or some junk food.

Keyword "try"

Mitsuya almost always catches you trying to eat things your not suppose to, lecturing you that it wasn't good for you and that you shouldn't be careless about your health.

When he's done scolding you he'll let you slide with eating one or two sweets or the junk food you were craving, since he understands that it must be hard for you to be limited to things other people can enjoy. When your finished and end up feeling dizzy after eating, he'll watch over you when you pass out.

When he sees you stir when you are about to wake up from passing out, he'll press a long, sweet kiss to your lips to wake you up.

[sixeyesonathiel]

satoru absolutely baby talks you when you’re sick.

not in a mocking way. no. this is full-blown softie satoru, disgusting levels of wife guy activated, baby voice on max, coddling you like you’re the most precious, fragile little thing in the universe—and not because he thinks you’re weak, but because it’s the one time you let him get away with it without putting up your usual walls.

because you’re sick. hot forehead, flushed cheeks, big watery eyes that blink up at him like you’re seeing god—or worse, like you might actually cry if he leaves the room. like you need him. and honestly? that does something to him. wrecks him, even.

and you do need him. you’re fevered, shivering, curled up in bed in one of his oversized shirts, your hair a mess, nose stuffy, brain thoroughly fried. your fingers twitch like you want to reach for him but can’t be bothered to try, lips parted in a weak sigh as you breathe through your mouth. your usual bratty, mouthy, too-proud-for-help self? gone. obliterated. absolutely bulldozed by the flu. all that’s left is a miserable little lump of a wife who clings to his sleeve like a koala and mumbles, “’toru… i feel like a soggy towel…”

his whole body stills. there’s a twitch in his brow, like his heart has physically clenched. his lips part, just a little, before curling up in the softest grin. eyes soften behind pale lashes—just a hint of red at the corners from how tired he is too—but none of that matters. not when you’re looking up at him like that. the corner of his mouth tugs upward, not in amusement—but in something far gentler. reverent, even. and then god. he melts. instantly. his heart shatters into a million pieces and reforms just to explode again.

“awww, my poor widdle baby,” he coos, already pressing a kiss to your damp forehead. his breath is warm, his nose brushing yours. “does my soggy towel need her soup? wanna be spoon-fed by the hottest nurse in the world?”

you don’t even roll your eyes. you nod. actually nod. sluggish, dazed. and then flop into his arms like dead weight, forehead nudging his neck, skin hot against his collarbone. you let him hold you like you’re made of glass.

he almost cries. really. because you’re letting yourself be coddled. cuddled. taken care of. no sass. no biting remarks. just tiny, pitiful sniffles and pouty faces and your arms wrapping around his waist like he’s your anchor. like you don’t want him to go anywhere. like you can’t function without him.

and satoru eats that up like it’s a feast.

“you want juice, angel? how about some water? apple slices? forehead kisses every ten minutes? medicine with a kiss as a chaser?”

“mmm… apple. but peeled…” you whisper, voice small and hoarse, eyes half-lidded and glossy.

“of course, peeled! only the finest fruits for my fevered little dumpling,” he gasps, hand dramatically on his chest like he’s been knighted for a sacred quest. there’s a shine in his eyes—something starry, something stupidly in love.

he tucks you in like a burrito, tugs the blankets up to your chin, and then scoops you onto his lap because apparently that’s where you sleep best. his fingers comb through your hair, slow and tender, while your cheek rests limp against his shirt. he puts on your comfort show, even though you barely keep your eyes open long enough to register the sound.

he hums something soft—tuneless and low—while cradling you like a fevered woodland creature. his tone dips lower when he leans in again.

“do you still love me even if i’m gross and sweaty and my nose is red?” you mumble, lips wobbling, brows pinched like the thought genuinely upsets you.

his hand smooths along your cheek. “i love you way more,” he says instantly. “you’re my sweaty, sniffly soulmate. cutest germ gremlin i’ve ever seen.”

“you’re lying…”

“baby, i would kiss your snotty nose right now if you asked.”

there’s something almost reverent in the way he says it—like it’s a vow. and he means it. he’d do it without hesitation, wouldn’t even flinch. because if it’s you, there’s no such thing as gross. not when he’s this stupidly in love. not when every part of you, even at your messiest, makes him want to wrap you up in his arms and never let go.

you groan into his shirt, muffled and pitiful, and he grins like you just serenaded him.

“who’s the most handsome man in the world?” he asks out of nowhere, fingers curling behind your ear, brushing tenderly as if coaxing the answer out. his voice dips low, honey-sweet and just a little smug. not because he expects the answer—no, he needs it. his entire self-worth depends on your silly little validation right now.

“you are,” you mumble, cheeks squished slightly against his chest, nuzzling closer without shame.

his fingers twitch where they cradle your skull. his whole face lights up like a sunrise. pale lashes flutter, and his pupils dilate like he’s just been told he won a lifetime supply of you.

“louder.”

“toruuuuu… it’s you…”

the pleased little noise he makes is downright sinful. his lashes flutter shut as he closes his eyes in smug bliss, and he tilts his head back like he’s soaking in the warmth of your praise. if he had a tail, it would be wagging.

“that’s right,” he beams, practically preening, fingers now stroking under your chin. “say it again. for my health.”

“you’re the handsomest… in the whole world… even when your hair’s stupid…”

he gasps, clutching his chest with a hand like you just shot cupid’s arrow straight through it. “rude and true. i’ll take it.”

his heart is doing somersaults. he’s convinced there’s never been a more fulfilling moment in his life. not the promotions, not the accolades, not even the recognition. just this—this feverish little version of you, croaky and honest and too tired to pretend you’re not as in love with him as he is with you.

he whispers the dumbest, softest shit while holding you against his chest like you’re something sacred. calls you every pet name in the book and then invents new ones on the spot: baby, sweetheart, princess, dumpling, snugglebug, fever bean, coughy cake, angel face mcsweats-a-lot.

you blink up at him between fits of sleep, lips parted like you want to say something else—but all that comes out is a pathetic little whimper. his hand smooths over your spine again, touch featherlight.

“what was that, baby?” he whispers.

“love you…” you murmur, eyes falling shut.

his heart flips. flips, spirals, and lands in a fucking somersault.

he kisses your temple and you go quiet.

and when you finally pass out, nose smooshed into his collarbone, snoring faintly like the most adorable little gremlin, he exhales like it’s the best moment of his life. like the universe aligned just for this. like his purpose has been fulfilled. his hand never stops moving—stroking your spine, combing your hair, tracing shapes into your shoulder blade beneath the fabric of his shirt.

he lives for clingy, soft, unguarded sick-you. because even though he adores the bratty, sharp-tongued, little menace version of you that picks fights and flicks him on the forehead and makes him earn every kiss—this version? this sleepy, dependent little furnace wrapped in blankets and his love? she needs him.

and satoru loves being needed. loves being the one you reach for, even when you’re half-delirious. especially when you’re half-delirious.

he leans down again, voice barely audible now.

“rest up, baby,” he whispers, brushing your hair from your clammy forehead. “you’ll feel better soon. and then i’ll go back to being emotionally bullied by my beloved wife.”

[ceilidho]

apocalypse au but it's Soap who's desperate for companionship and touch starved to the point of delusion