#the problem with these is once i start i feel like i can just keep going and going and going

[catscraftsandcommentary]

Slightly different technique, but a therapist once suggested that I take a pen and paper and just write out all my feelings. Whenever I'm having Big Emotions (tm), just start writing stream-of-consciousness. It doesn't have to make sense, it doesn't have to be organized or "appropriate", the goal is ONLY to get it out on the page. And to keep going until you run out of words.

(I always keep a box of tissues handy during this, because I *inevitably* end up crying lots of ugly snotty tears.)

And it WORKS. It helps figure out what is bothering me - what the biggest thing is, if there are multiple things, how some of them reinforce each other... And it also helps to just get it OUT. Like writing it down somehow makes the thoughts less powerful, less bothersome and painful.

It doesn't fix anything, that's a whole separate step, but it does help me see what the problem is so I can find a way to fix it.

When I was a kid I had a book of like, "fun physics experiments for kids". And one of them was an "experiment" where you hold an object by a string and just by focusing on the direction you wanted it to swing, it would start to move in that direction even without your input. The book of course explained that this was the ideomotor effect, a phenomenon where your thoughts can create minute, unconscious movements in your body.

Then a couple years later I got a fortune-telling kit that included a pendulum. You hold the pendulum over a piece of paper that says "yes" and "no" and ask a question, and whichever way the pendulum moves is the answer.

At which point I was like "hey WAIT a minute", and in hindsight I think that experience explains most things about who I am as a person

[thought-you-knew]

pb&jj roommates au: the one where bob has a crush

Summary: bob has a crush on his new roommate. too bad he thinks you and johnny are a thing. based on this request

✨️friendly reminder for anyone new to my pbjj fics, these aren't in chronological order. sometimes, it's platonic, and other times fem!reader is romantically paired with one of the guys.

Pairings: pb&jj x fem!reader/platonic!reader and bob reynolds x fem!reader

Warnings: living with four guys, typical misunderstanding trope, best friend!johnny, fem!reader and johnny are quite touchy, but it's all platonic between the two, jealous!bob, awkward!bob, wingmen!peter and joaquin, fluff, language, slight angst, vague descriptions of fem!reader, little to no use of y/n, and proofreadish.

WC: 2.3K

Author's Note: 💌requests are open💌 ✨️please check the disclaimer before requesting.

tagging: @wetspaghetti3

Bob has a problem. No, Bob has a horrendous life-altering problem.

Okay, so it's not that drastic.

Bob has a crush.

A massive crush.

On you.

His roommate, of course, because it would happen to him of all people. It's like life or fate is laughing a nice laugh at his expense. Because out of the 8.2 million people living in New York, he would happen to crush on the one person living with him.

His relatively newish roommate. You moved in 5 months ago, and one of the first things he learned about you was that you're Johnny's best friend. Although that could be debatable by how the two of you act.

---

"Morning, Bob," you say, and casually ruffle his hair as you pass his seated frame at the kitchen table.

"M-morning."

Bob watches as you move around the kitchen with ease. He tries to keep his staring to a minimum since Peter is sitting across from him.

But he's pretty sure Peter is half asleep in his cereal.

"Morning losers!" Johnny announces his presence while stealing some toast from Bob's plate.

"Who are you calling a loser?" You say playfully as Johnny joins you next to the toaster.

"Never you, sweetheart." Johnny presses a kiss to your forehead.

"Gross," you say and rub the kiss away.

"Hey! Don't be rubbin' my kisses away."

"Don't be usin' me like a napkin then. You left crumbs."

Johnny just shrugs and wraps an arm around your shoulders.

Bob is watching the whole interaction. He's partially jealous of Johnny's boldness and casualness whenever he touches you.

You and Johnny can't just be friends, right?

---

These thoughts continue to swirl around Bob's head all day. It's one of those rare days where it's just him and one other person in the apartment, and the other person just so happened to be you.

Bob was currently in the living room with Hank sleeping in his lap when he heard the front door open.

It's you.

"Oh, Bob, I'm glad you're here."

Your captivating smile is melting him.

"Me?"

"Yeah, I feel like I haven't had a chance to spend any time with you these past few weeks."

Maybe because you're always with Johnny is what Bob wants to say, but he doesn't.

"Well, here I am." He wants to throw himself out the window after he made that statement. Here I am? Is that the best he could come up with?

He's worried that you're silently judging him, but you just giggle and throw your keys in the bowl by the door.

He tries to remain calm once you take off your shoes and join him on the couch.

Hank remains asleep in his lap, so he starts to stroke his back. Something to help ground Bob.

"Oh, what are you watching?" You ask, and Bob just remembers the documentary he put on.

"Oh-uh, it's an animal documentary, but we can change it," he replies and reaches for the remote at the same time you do. He awkwardly jerks his hand back the moment your fingers brush.

"No, leave it. I love those."

Bob smiles to himself as he watches you from the corner of his eye as you curl up against the couch.

You absentmindedly reach out and pet Hank.

"He's quite taken with you," you remark, your eyes flitting up to Bob's face.

Bob just shrugs. "Cats have always liked me, I guess."

"You know what they say about that, right?"

"No?"

"Cats have a good judge of character." You're still petting Hank while keeping eye contact with Bob.

Bob starts to feel a little squirmish. His eyes keep darting to the screen and then back to your face.

You suddenly lean down close to Hank's face and pretend that Hank is saying something to you.

You sit up straight and smile at Bob.

"You know what Hank says?"

"Hmm?"

"He says that you're kind, patient, and sweet."

Bob plays along. "You can tell all that from his purrs?"

"Well, I am a cat whisperer." You reply.

Bob doesn't know where this confidence comes from, but he's copying what you did with Hank.

"Huh?"

"What?" You ask with an intrigued expression.

"Hank says you have an enchanting smile."

"Enchanting, huh? Hank said that?"

"Yeah, of course. Enchanting is a big word for Hank."

You both laugh.

The little bubble is burst when Johnny comes home early, and Bob fights the urge to roll his eyes when he watches Johnny all but lie on top of you.

It's not like you're protesting.

Bob doesn't know whether that's a good thing or a bad thing.

---

Bob is out with Joaquin, and he feels the most comfortable asking him since they've been friends forever.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" Bob asks, and Joaquin puts his phone down, giving Bob all his attention.

"Yeah, what's up?"

"So, I have this friend," Bob pauses as he gauges Joaquin's expression. "And he likes this girl, but..."

"But what?"

"They kinda live together."

Joaquin laughs. "What do you mean kinda? Also, Bob, you're not being very subtle."

Bob frowns and mumbles."I dunno what you mean."

"Dude, it's obvious you're talking about Y/N."

Bob flushes. "Maybe."

"Bro!" Joaquin smacks his chest. "I knew it."

"W-wait, what? Knew it?"

"Dude, c'mon. How long have I known you? I know when you like someone, and it doesn't help that you look like a lovesick puppy anytime she says your name."

"I do not!"

Joaquin gives him a knowing look.

"Ugh, is it that obvious?"

"Just to me... and maybe Peter."

"Not, Peter!" Bob groans and wants to bang his head on the table. Peter was pretty oblivious, and that's coming from Bob. He still can't believe it took Peter almost a year to realize MJ was into him. Although it is MJ, she isn't the easiest person to read.

"So, what's stopping you?" Joaquin asks.

"What do you mean?"

"From making your move." Joaquin wiggles his eyebrows.

"Well, for starters, she's with Johnny."

Joaquin throws his head back and laughs, and that just confuses Bob.

"Dude! What? Her and Johnny, hell no."

"No, I'm pretty sure there's something there."

"Trust me, there's not. A few months back, she and I got pretty drunk, and I asked her if she's into Johnny. She almost threw up at the thought. They're definitely just friends, and I quote, 'Johnny is practically my brother.' So there."

"Oh." That throws Bob for a loop. His brain is going into overdrive. This whole time, he was 98% percent sure you were into Johnny.

"Yeah, besides, Johnny's not her type. She said she's into the quiet, laid-back types."

Bob just nods his head, not realizing what Joaquin was hinting at or what you were hinting at.

Joaquin rolls his eyes at his best friend. "Yeah, and people named Bob."

"Oh."

"Oh? C'mon, man. You're killin' me here."

"Bob is a pretty common name."

"I could literally show you a picture of yourself and say she said she likes you, and you'd still be in denial about it."

"I can't help my overthinking," Bob mumbles.

"Jesus, I'm going to need reinforcements." Joaquin is already texting Peter and Johnny.

---

Bob is sweating.

He's a sweaty mess, and he regrets ever blabbing his mouth to his best friend.

Johnny has been staring at Bob for the last five minutes in complete silence, and it's starting to freak Bob out. He didn't even know Johnny could be this silent, and he's known Johnny for 6 years.

"So," Johnny drags the word out and starts to swivel back and forth in his computer chair. "You like my best friend, huh?"

"Uh...well-I guess-"

Johnny bolts up from his chair, making Bob jump.

"What do you mean? You guess?" Johnny has gotten right in Bob's face. "This is my sister from another mister you're talking about. So choose your words carefully."

"Dude, don't say that." Peter cringes from his spot on Johnny's bed.

Johnny waves his hand at Peter without looking away from Bob's face. "Not, now, Parker! If you have nothing to contribute to this conversation, keep your trap shut."

"What?" Peter is so confused, and Joaquin is fighting back a laugh.

Joaquin nudges Peter. "This is better than I thought."

"Reynolds, what makes you think you're suitable to date my best friend?" Johnny has started to pace in front of Bob, his hands behind his back.

Bob can feel sweat dripping down his neck.

"Uh... I do the dishes?"

Pitiful. But it's the first thing that popped into Bob's head. He indeed does the dishes all the time.

"Ah, well, women do like a man who's good with their hands," Johnny says suggestively and winks at Bob.

"Bob does have nice hands," Joaquin adds.

Bob blushes. "I didn't mean it like that."

Johnny slaps Bob's shoulder. "I know you didn't, buddy."

"Is this conversation going anywhere?" Peter pipes up.

"Okay, enough chit chat," Johnny says, "it's time to put Operation Love into order."

___

Operation Love ended in complete disaster, and you came down with a nasty cold.

Johnny Storm watches one too many rom-coms, and he was trying to give you and Bob a 'Cinderella Story' moment.

Whatever the hell that meant.

Bob has never seen the movie, and Johnny was going on about this dramatic scene involving a men's locker room.

Peter had to talk Johnny down, reminding him that this isn't a high school love story and they weren't going to subject you to going anywhere near a men's locker room.

"You're bringing Johnny down," Johnny says.

Peter rolls his eyes. "Peter doesn't care. Anyways, new plan."

Johnny was determined to live out his 'rainstorm rom com moment' even if it meant tampering with the sprinklers.

Bob was against this idea, but once Johnny had his mind set, it was impossible to talk him out of it.

Joaquin had made sure it was you and Bob that did the grocery run instead of him and Bob.

"This was nice," you say as the two of you near the apartment.

Bob was distracted the whole time he was with you. He was mentally preparing this romantic speech for you, but he kept messing it up.

"Bob? Are you okay?" He realizes that you stopped walking and you're looking at him with concern.

"O-oh, yeah. I'm good, yeah, good."

"Are you good?" You tease, and it makes him relax a bit.

Bob keeps scanning the area for Johnny, but there's no sign of him.

That's not good.

Bob watches as you start looking for the keys.

Do it now. Tell her now.

Bob says your name, making you look up. "I-uh-I...there's a leaf in your hair."

He thinks your expression drops, but you quickly mask it.

"Here, let me." Bob moves closer to you and removes the 'leaf' from your hair. "Your hair is soft."

There's a slight pause when Bob realizes what he said.

"Uh! I didn't mean that in a creepy way or anything!"

You let out a gentle laugh, and he joins in."Thanks, I like your smile and laugh."

The two of you drift closer to each other, and Bob's gaze moves towards your lips.

"I've been meaning to tell you something," he murmurs.

"Yeah, what?"

He says your name. "I just wanted to tell you that I li-"

Suddenly, Bob and you are being attacked from all sides by water sprinklers.

Quite aggressively, too.

Your screams turn to laughter, and Bob is too stunned to say anything.

It's safe to say that taking the groceries up took twice as long.

So much for his romantic rom-com moment.

---

The next day, Bob is standing on the other side of your door, holding a bowl of soup.

He can hear you sniffling and blowing your nose. He feels terrible. Peter and Joaquin share his sentiments. Johnny thinks it all worked out wonderfully.

"You can play nurse now, Bob." Johnny was telling him earlier.

He knocks, and he hears a faint 'come in' between coughs.

He can't explain it, but somehow you still look cute with a slightly red nose, messy hair, and watery eyes.

"Ugh, Bob. Don't get too close," you say as you blow your nose...again.

"I feel bad," Bob replies and puts the soup next to you.

"Uh, what do you mean?"

"I got you sick." He sits down beside you, even when you start to protest.

"No, you didn't. Those stupid water sprinklers did."

You watch as he fidgets with his hands. "That was Johnny."

"Johnny?"

"Yeah, he was trying to give me, or I should say us, a cute rom-com moment." Bob weakly smiles as he finishes the sentence. He's too afraid to look at you.

"Bob," you gently press, and he finally looks at you. "I don't know whether to say if that's romantic or something else."

"I was going for romantic, but with my luck, I got something else."

You shake your head. "I think it's romantic."

"What? You're sick, how is that romantic?"

You shrug and lean back against your pillows. "Well, for starters, you brought me soup in bed."

"It's, sorry I got you sick soup."

"Or how about sorry, I listened to my idiot roommate."

"Eh, that works too."

Maybe Johnny's crazy plan did work. In the end, Bob got to give you sick cuddles all week.

And he got to call you his girlfriend.

---

BONUS

Bob is cocooned up in your bed with a bright red nose.

"Ugh, nebermind I'm blaming Johnny." Bob sounds extra stuffed up. Maybe it wasn't a bright idea to be kissing him when you were sick.

"Oh, you poor thing," you say as you hand him more Vicks VapoRub. "How about this? Once you're feeling better, we can plot against him."

"Pretty and devious, how did I get so lucky?"

A/N i never know how to end these! anyways, i hope you guys like it!

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Rusty

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You and Bucky are taking your relationship to the next level, the only problem...Bucky's been out of the game for a while...like since the tv was in black and white

Warnings: First time sex, emotional vulnerability, gentle smut, Bucky being soft and nervous, giggling, asking for consent multiple times, mention of past trauma, overstimulation-lite (from touch/emotion), aftercare, reader is supportive and loving

A/N: This idea has been on my mind a lot lately. I don't think bucky would be some sex god right away. Like I feel like he'd be rusty and it'd be just giggly and intimate and soft. Don't get me wrong I love the intense Bucky who knows what he's doing the smut for this man on here is amazing but I feel like we need more awkward Bucky love too

XOXOXO

It’s quiet. Not awkward, but heavy. Full of things that haven’t been said out loud yet, hanging in the air between your mouths like a held breath.

Your back is pressed into the mattress, the soft glow of the bedside lamp painting warm gold across Bucky’s jaw. He’s hovering over you, his hair falling into his eyes, and he’s still fully clothed--because he hasn’t moved since you kissed him and whispered, “You can touch me, if you want.”

He swallows. His lips are parted, breathing shallow, pupils wide.

“I want to,” he murmurs. “God, I want to. I just…it's um..”

You cup his cheek, brushing your thumb under his eye. “You’re nervous.”

He nods, just once. “It’s been… a really long time.”

“How long?” you ask gently.

He lets out a soft, awkward laugh. “Uh… since before TV ...had... color.” He winced and looked away from you.

You blink. “Like--”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

Bucky looks back at you and smiles--bashful and crooked. “You sure you still wanna do this?”

“Buck,” you say, dragging your nails gently through his hair, “you could trip trying to take your pants off and accidentally elbow me in the eye and I’d still wanna.”

He laughs, startled. And it melts something. The tension loosens from his shoulders. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Okay. Just… tell me if I do something wrong.”

“You won’t.”

“...I Might.”

You stop him from overthinking more by tugging him down into a kiss. It’s slow. Tender. Not rushed at all. And the first time he touches your skin--under your shirt, palm pressed flat to your waist--he shudders. Actually shudders, like the warmth of your body hits him too hard and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

You help him undress. He’s careful with you, like you’re something breakable--but not in a scared way. In a sacred way. Like he’s terrified you're too good for this moment and he won’t be good enough.

His fingers tremble when he undoes your jeans. His lips part when he sees you fully, chest rising and falling like he’s trying to remember how to breathe.

“God you're so beautiful,” he says softly, like it’s a secret.

You reach up, touch his face. “So are you.”

He flushes red. Actually blushes, like a schoolboy with a crush, and mutters, “Shut up.”

But he doesn’t mean it. Not when he kisses your collarbone, then your sternum. Not when he says thank you under his breath, just for letting him be here.

When he finally slides inside you, he gasps.

It’s not a suave, sexy sound. It’s raw and fragile--like it shocks him how close you are, how warm, how real.

“Shit,” he whispers, freezing. “Is this okay? Are you okay?”

You nod, fingers threading through his hair. “You feel so good, James”

He closes his eyes, like he’s trying not to cry. “Jesus. I forgot… Oh! Fuck I forgot how this feels.”

You kiss his shoulder. “You’re okay. You’re doing perfect.”

He starts moving--slow and tentative, like he’s afraid he’ll do it wrong. He groans when your body welcomes him back in, one hand bracing beside your head, the other gripping your hip like he’s holding onto something solid in a world that keeps slipping through his fingers.

He’s awkward. Off-rhythm at first. He knocks his knee into yours trying to shift positions and mutters a “Sorry, sorry--fuck, sorry--” against your neck.

You giggle.

He giggles.

“God,” he breathes out, half-laughing, “I’m ruining this.”

“You’re not. You’re making it perfect.”

His forehead drops to your shoulder. “You’re only saying that because you like me.”

“I love you, dummie.”

He stills completely.

Your hands brush his cheeks, guiding him to look at you. His eyes are glassy, lashes damp. “Say it again?”

“I love you.”

His thrusts stutter, his body shivering slightly with the emotion he’s trying to contain. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve everything.”

“Can--can I go a little faster?”

You nod, smiling softly up at him. “Yeah Jamie. Please.”

He kisses you again--messy this time. Needy. Desperate in that quiet, shaky way only Bucky can be. His pace picks up, still slow but firmer, deeper. Every motion feels like a confession. Like he’s pouring every year of loneliness into you and hoping you’ll catch them before they slip back through the cracks.

When you whimper beneath him--your fingers curling into his shoulders--he chokes on a moan. “I wanna make you come. I-I don’t know if I'll last. I’m--fuck, sweetheart, I’m close already.”

You press your forehead to his. “Then let go. I’ve got you.”

He groans again, head dropping into the crook of your neck as he pushes a little harder, hips jerking out of rhythm. “I-oh, fuck, I-baby-”

It’s not pretty. Not practiced. Not anything like the effortless fantasy sex you’ve seen on screen. But it’s real. And raw. And when he comes, it’s with a shudder that rocks his entire body, one hand fisting in the sheets and the other wrapped around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

He doesn’t pull out right away. Just collapses on top of you, trembling.

You stroke his hair, whispering, “You okay?”

He nods slowly. Then lifts his head, eyes wide and panicked. “Did I hurt you?”

“No. Not at all.”

“You sure?”

“Bucky,” you whisper, cupping his face. “I’m perfect. That was… God that was everything.”

He leans into your touch, forehead resting against yours. “I--I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like that.”

You smile. “Me neither.”

It takes him five more minutes to stop asking if you’re okay. Another ten before he lets himself relax into your chest, sighing with a contentment he’s probably never felt sober and safe before.

“I’m gonna be better next time,” he mumbles into your skin. “I’m gonna learn. I want to make you feel good.”

“You did.”

“I wanna do it again. Not tonight. I don't think I'd survive if we do it again tonight. But… soon.”

You kiss the top of his head. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

And for the first time in what might be a lifetime, Bucky believes it.

XOXOXOXO

Bucky woke up to the smell of coffee and bacon drifting through the air.

For a second--just one long, blinking moment--he forgot where he was.

The sunlight was starting to peak through your curtains. The bedsheets were tangled. His arm was draped across the other side of the bed, warm but empty.

He stretched, and every inch of him ached.

Right. Last night.

A smile tugged at his lips before he could stop it.

He rolled onto his back with a soft groan, blinking up at the ceiling. You had kissed him like he was made of glass, made love to him like he was real, touched him like no one had in eighty years...really in his entire life. And now you were… making breakfast?

The thought made his smile falter. He sat up slowly, rubbing his hands over his face.

You should’ve made her breakfast, he thought, guilt creeping in like a draft under the door. You should’ve gotten up early, let her sleep in, brought her coffee in bed--

He pushed off the blanket, a little too fast, wincing as his muscles protested. He hadn’t used some of them like that in decades. He found his boxers and tugged them on, then padded into the hallway barefoot, following the low hum of music and the sizzle of bacon. The smell made his stomach growl, but it twisted at his chest too.

You didn’t notice him at first. You were standing at the stove, wearing his t-shirt, dancing gently to some music you were trying to introduce him to as you flipped bacon with a casual ease that made something ache in his ribs.

He leaned on the doorframe, watching. “I thought I died and went to heaven,” he rasped out, voice hoarse from sleep.

You jumped a little and looked back with a smile that made his heart stutter. “You didn’t die,” you teased. “But you did snore.” He shook his head, "I do not snore!" he grumbled making you giggle, "If you say so grizzly bear."

He tried to grin, but it came out faint. He crossed the kitchen to you, pressing a soft kiss to your temple, arms curling around your waist from behind. “You should’ve let me make breakfast,” he murmured against your neck. You leaned back into him. “You looked peaceful. Figured I’d let you sleep.”

He didn’t respond.

“Bucky?”

He was still holding you, but something in his posture had changed. Quieter. Tense. You turned in his arms to face him. “Hey,” you said softly. “Talk to me.”

“I wanted to be the one who took care of you this morning,” he admitted, brow furrowed. “You deserved to wake up to breakfast in bed. You did all the heavy lifting last night--emotionally, I mean, and--God, I didn’t even hold you long enough after--”

“Jamie, hey,” you interrupted gently, bringing your hands up to cup his face. He blinked at you, ashamed, vulnerable in a way that made you ache.

“You’re allowed to be taken care of too. Especially after your first time in--what? --eight decades?”

His shoulders sagged, but his gaze stayed locked on yours.

“You don’t have to earn rest,” you continued. “And last night had nothing to do with heavy lifting, Buck. It was about us. Something good. You don’t need to repay me with bacon for it.” He cracked a smile at that, just a little. “Still wanted to try.”

“You can make me breakfast tomorrow,” you said, kissing the corner of his mouth. “And every Sunday after that if you want.”

That did it. His eyes softened completely. “Deal.”

You pressed your forehead to his. “Now sit your cute, broody ass down and drink some coffee before the bacon gets too burnt.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, grinning--just a little bashfully now--and kissed your cheek before finally letting himself be led to the table.

You handed him your favorite mug--crooked and wonky, with a faded image of Snoopy smiling from both sides. The chipped rim and faded paint were scars of years of use, and Bucky never missed a chance to tease you about it. Maybe you just have a thing for damaged things, babydoll, he’d say with that boyish grin, eyes twinkling with mischief. You’d always scoff at him, rolling your eyes but secretly loving the way he cared enough to notice.

He smiled again now, tracing the familiar curves of the mug with his fingers as he lifted it to his lips. The warmth seeped into his hands, steadying him in a way nothing else had lately. Outside, the morning sun spilled golden light through the window, brushing soft kisses along his shoulders and the nape of his neck.

As he looked over at you, framed by the gentle glow of dawn, Bucky felt a weight shift inside him--slow, steady, real. For the first time in decades, the tight coil of tension in his shoulders loosened, and the ever-present waiting--the dread of the other shoe dropping--began to fade away.

Here. Now. With you.

He could finally let himself breathe.

XOXOXOXO

If you like my work please let me know! Reblogging, commenting and liking are huge and easy ways to let me know you're enjoying my work and it keeps me motivated to post way more!!! Request are open <3

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[wilting-wild-flowers]

●◉✿ 𝓖𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓖𝓸𝓸𝓭 ✿◉●

Summary: Breaking up shouldn't need to involve a whole town's discussion, and yet here you are being stalked by half a dozen people who feel entitled to your relationship status.

Warnings: dismissal of feelings, refusal to listen or respect boundries, implied clingy Dick, Stalking behavior from waynes and co, implied unprotected sex but no smut, coercion into marriage, kidnapping

Starring: Romantic!Yandere!Dick Grayson 💙 Platonic!Yandere!Batfamily 💙 GenderNeutral!Reader

Reminder: it says so on my blog but as a reminder please dont interact with my work in any way if you are a minor or a profile with no age visible. I have had to block like 5 people already and I will continue doing so but I dont want to. Even just an "over 18" or "early 20s" in your bio is fine so long as I know youre an actual adult. I write and share these for fun, but the thought of a minor reading them makes me want to keep them offline all together so please respect my boundries.

When you were young, you loved to read about pigeons. They were smart and small and so easily overlooked by everyone around you despite the way their feathers would catch light like living oil spills. You spent months learning about how they always knew true north when flying and the ways they had adapted to cohabit cities with humans and their strong bonds. It was easy to love them once you started.

It was harder to love Dick Grayson.

On the surface you were lucky, and every girl and guy you met made sure to remind you of that. Dick was funny and kind and attentive. He remembered important dates without prompting, knew your likes and dislikes better than his own, and he had no problem flaunting you to everyone. The day he'd asked you on a date was one of the best days of your life.

"Wha-what are you talking about?" His voice sounded frayed at the edges, worn out despite the conversation just starting. There had been hope that asking him to a cafe would keep the conversation from becoming too dramatic. It was dwindling with every second that passed.

"I cant do this anymore Dick. I think were at two different points in our lives and it wouldn't be fair to either of us to try and force a connection." The waitress at the bar was clearly listening in. Did she see the way that his hand snaked out to grab yours? Did the pedestrians in the street see the way that your drink had been pulled the center of the table before you could tell him not to?

"What did I do?" What didn't he do? What didn't he take from you when he thought you wouldn't notice or fight back?

"You didnt do anythin-"

"I must have. I cant think of another reason youd throw away years of our lives if I hadn't." The blue of his eyes used to remind you of the sky. Now it reminds you of the great lakes, seas contained only because they allowed it. The desperation in his voice sounded like waves crashing against shores, eating away at the land that kept it back from the rest of a country.

"Dick its not you. Its just the timing of everything." His hands squeezed yours. His sweat was uncomfortable against your skin but when you tried to pull back his grip just grew tighter. Once upon a time his insistence on touching you at all times was endearing. Now it was just suffocating.

"Everything meaning the engagment?" The cup on the table was sweating, condensation dripping down to form a ring around its base. Deep in your gut something turned over, the brief urge to purge your guts of any trace of him inside of you nearly bowling you over.

The silence drags on. The barista eyes you two again. Would she take your side if you explained it? Would she urge for you to fix things instead when your future was on the line? Your mouth went dry just thinking about someone else telling you it was your fault.

"You deserve someone who's ready to settle down, who wants to have a family and a house and a community. I'm not that."

"I can wait until you are." We're young, there's still time!

"I might never be that." Might did a lot of heavy lifting. You knew you wouldn't be. You had known you weren't cut out for family game nights and daily dinners at the table before you had hit adulthood. No matter how many times Dick tried to con you into attending his own family events that didn't change.

"Then I wont have those things. I dont care." The man's voice was pitching up, not quite a yell but not the conversational volume of previous either. Your eyes met another customer's when you started glancing around.

"Dick, please," The hiss only seemed to egg him on.

"No! I dont want to break up! I won't!" That was a yell. There were dozens of eyes on you now, judging you for breaking the heart of a seemingly perfect man. Would they still judge you if they knew?

"Youre a real catch, youre going to make someone really happy someday Dick." It took real effort to pry your hand from his grasp. If he hadn't been sweating you doubted it would have been possible at all.

The silence that sat at the table as you stood was suffocating. His expression was devestated, mouth open and brows furrowed. Dick looked winded.

"I dont want someone. I just want you."

Dick had taken to calling you Dove when he found your sweet spot for pigeons. He had even shared that his mom called him Robin (back before Gotham's local vigilante had taken up a sidekick that is) and laughed about being two lovebirds.

That first date still feels magical to think about. Casual and real, the two of you finding common ground so fast you were stunned to have never hit it off sooner. He had asked if pigeons mate for life that night and you hadn't answered him. Just teased him for being so forward and relished in the boyish grin he sent your way at being caught.

In hindsight he was never hiding his desire for something life long. You should have noticed. You should have known.

The first unexpected visit was from Damian. Of course, in hindsight, that made the most sense. He was younger, with a better grip on how to abuse the oversized eyes that only youth grants you. He also was the one who spent the most time with Dick. If you had been paying attention, you would have read into that first meeting more and bolted from the city all together.

"Does Dick know you're here?" Damian pushed past you without a word when you opened the door. He had rain on his jacket, mud on his shoes. The sun had set hours ago, it wasn't safe for a child his age to be out in this storm alone.

It was because of this that you had let him in in the first place. The studio apartment was no where near as nice as the two bedrom you had shared with Dick back in Bludhaven, and the boy was judgemental even of that.

But, for all the strange stains and smell of mildew it was a space that was yours. Just yours. It had been years before you had any space to yourself, let alone a whole apartment.

"No, Grayson is currently under the belief that you still live together." Small hands began rooting through boxes, pulling out stuffed animals and books and pots and pans with the same disinterested gaze. "When I spoke to him an hour ago he was waiting for you to come home."

The smell of soup clung to the inside of your nose, a warm room turning blistering under his gaze. Your mouth ran dry at the memory.

"Well, you know that's not true so why are you here?" The boy scoffed and rolled his eyes. Two weeks ago the rejection would have hurt. Now it didn't reach you. There was nothing to prove to him. Nothing to fix with your ex's family. In fact if Damian hated you that was good, maybe he'd even manage to talk Dick out of whatever fixation he had developed.

"To bring you back to him. He is obviously unwell without you." Damian spoke as if telling you the weather was mild. Voice just as even when speaking about you like a run away pet as it was when he told you that of his art award at the last family dinner you attended. Fear snaked down your spine, puppet strings tightening around your bones to keep you upright and attentive.

"Damian, Dick and I broke up." It was hard to tell if your words themself were what made the boy crinkle his nose in disbelief, or if your sow and sympathetic tone was to blame. Regardless the youngest Wayne made no effort to hide his disdain.

"I am aware." The rain outside grew worse, slamming into the windows of your home without restraint. A small, scared part of you wanted to run outside into it anyways.

"Then you know why I can't move back in with him. Especially if he's already this…" Delusional? Crazy? Obsessed? "Confused."

"Whatever issue there was with the relationship I'm sure you can fix. Now, however, he needs you." Damian's eyes locked with your own, head tilted up like a prince giving an order. Somehow you managed to restrain yourself from the immediate instinct to tell him Dick needed a therapist more than he needed a fiance.

"There wasn't any issues buddy, sometimes people just aren't compatible."

"So youre giving up on him?" It would have hurt less to have been slapped. Damian had no idea what you had almost given him, all the compromises you had made through the years. He was just a kid. Damian would hopefully never know just how much you could give a relationship before realizing you had to walk away.

"No." The word was choked but a recognizable. "No, I'm just letting him free so that he can find someone that wants the same things he does."

Damian sighed. For a boy so young, his gaze always made you feel so small. Suddenly the shoebox apartment felt the size of a closet, or perhaps more akin to a lion's den.

"He wants whatever you want. Richard is a pushover that way." The way Damian said it, you had no doubt that he believed it too.

"I'm not getting back together with Dick, Damian." The backbone finally returned to your words did little to sway his expression. But you werent interested in continuing this fight. Not now, not ever. The few things you had managed to unpack thankfully inckuded a landline for emergencies and as you began to dial all too familiar numbers you did your best not to think about who taught them to you. "Would you rather I call Jason or Tim?"

"I would rather you call richard." Smartass.

"Jay it is then."

Dick was everything that made your friends blush and whine about their single statuses. Even some in relationships would swoon when he would surprise you with a new bag or drop by with an Alfred made lunch. He pressed kisses to your forehead, stuck his hand in your back pocket, wrapped his arms around you and swayed when you were waiting in lines- dating Dick Grayson was like living in a Rom-com every day. The problem with that was that you knew you weren't.

This level of clinging was a red flag. Your mother hadn't taught you as much as you or she would have liked, but she had taught you that. Dick didnt care about how many men you talked to or why, just that he was pressed up against your side the entire time you did so. If you had to work late he was understanding, but only if you snuck him into your office to keep you company while you finished up work. Hell, towards the end of the relationship, convincing him you wanted to shower alone was enough to send him into a spiral. You're still not sure if the tears were real or just another tool he had to squeee every ounce of attention from you.

It wasn't normal.

It wasn't healthy.

It felt like the only times you had space to breathe were when he disappeared for a week or two on end. No notice, no message on who he was with or why. If he wasn't so obsessively attached to your side you'd think he had an affair partner somewhere. Now you wish that had been it.

The next to visit was a two for one deal. Tim and Cas, the main public face of Wayne enterprise and the city's princess, both showed up at a small party you had been invited to. This, in and of itself wouldn't have been strange. Tim and Cas were attached at the hip when not seperated by work and favors. The problem was that this was no gala, not even a networking event. This was a small party to celebrate a successful quarter in your company.

There was no reason for them to roll up to the banquet hall in designer clothes that cost more than your company's entire budget. No one for them to talk to and network with that would provide any sort of benefit to them.

No one, that is, except you.

The first hour of their presence in the hall was easy to ignore. Between Tim's pressed grey suit and Cas's shimmering champagne colored dress the pair had all but worn neon signs that announced their position. Angler fish luring in smaller prey animals desperate to make an impression on them. All you had to do was avoid the largest cluster of people.

The problem came when they split up, Cas sliding into the shadows of the party despite her notorious status and stunning apperance.

By the time you had realized you had no visual on the woman, she was looping her arm through yours and steering you back towards Tim along the wall.

"Hey Cas! Isn't this party a little low level for you?" The laugh that clung to the end of your scentence was nervous and that sensation only increased when her gaze slid to look you over.

"Don't be afraid." You had always thought that Cassandra's voice resembled windchimes, gentle and tinkling. Now though the sharpness cut through you like broken glass.

Had Dick finally broke down and asked for help? No. No that couldn't be it. Damian still appeared at random once every few days, chastising you for the way that his eldest brother was sinking into delusion. Jason was a possible suspect though, likely growing tired of fetching the boy from wherever you happened to find him, taking longer and longer to appear and spending more time at the apartment with him when he did.

"It wouldnt be so bad, would it? Ya know goldie would do anythin' for ya." The mountain of a man hovered in your doorway as if even he was aware that you were one boundry crossed away from grabbing the baseball bat you kept by your door for intruders and swinging on him.

"Anything except respect my decisions." Your spit had earned you a thin pressed grimace and a door you could finally close. It was a victory, however small or fleeting.

"Relax, we're not here to kidnap you." Tim's voice was too smooth, an uncanny valley version of the boy who beat you at uno in Dick's apartment.

"Well, I doubt you're here for the party either." Cas's grip on your arm squeezed before she loosened it. A silent warning? A comforting support? You had always struggled to read her the most out of Dick's siblings.

"And we're not allowed to stop in and say hi to a friend?" Tim's face had that plastered on mask Dick had pointed out to you once. The broadcast of such a lean figure and such a wide smile making you uncomfortable until he pointed out the way that it didn't pinch the corners of his eyes like it had the night before. It was comforting at the time. Nice to know when you were seeing an authentic version of his family and when they were putting on a show.

It turns out knowing when you are an audience member though was distressing.

"Im sorry. I dont mean to avoid you guys or anything, I just know Dick is taking it really hard and I figured hanging out with his siblings wouldnt help." The small hotel banquet room was dull of sticky eyes and listening ears. It wouldn't be long before dots started to connect between the bludhaven transfer and the waynes. Despite this though, you kept your voice low to minimize the potential for it getting out.

It'd be one thing for you to have been dumped by Dick. It was another entirely for you to do the dumping and then move to his hometown. The press would have eaten you alive even if everything went smoothly. If it came out that you had left brucie wayne's oldest child a delusional wreck your life as you had known it would be over.

"Should visit anyways." Cas chirped. "Miss you."

"Just name a time and place." Despite the obvious platitude, both sets of eyes took on a new glimmer to them. You couldn't help but feel the weight of an unspoken conversation happening around you. The urge to pull away from Cas' grip and run back into the rumor mill behind you was so great that you actually did slip away from Cas, taking a step back.

"Friday at the manor? We have a game night planned. We even managed to convince Alfred to let greasy pizza and Chinese takeout past the front door." It's playful but cold. Your gaze flickered between the siblings for just a minute before asking the obvious question.

"And Dick?"

"He loves you." Cas said simply. As if love alone was enough to make up for everything else. Tim shot her a look you couldn't quite decipher and the woman shrugged.

"I know." You said quietly, watching them.

"You still love him as well." The statement was made to Tim more than you and when the boy's gaze looked to you for obvious confirmation. Your own gaze slipped away, scanning the crowd that was failing at hiding their interest in your hushed conversation.

"It's not about that." It really wasn't. There was a part of you that would probably always love him, or at least some version of him. "We're too different, we want different things in life."

"Its Dick, he'll do whatever you want." the flippant disregard ground into you like salt in a wound. God how many people were you going to have to explain yourself to people who weren't even there? Cas must see it in your face because she quickly steps between you and Tim before you can actually push him the way you want to.

"Nothing about us was going to work long term, don't you get that? He wasn't giving me any space and I couldn't give him what he wanted! Trying to force that to happen wouldn't have been healthy!" Your voice is little above a hiss, but its undoubtedly the harshest tone you've ever taken with a member of Dick's family and, while Cas says nothing in her spot between you two, Tim's whole demeanor cools in front of your eyes.

"And this is? You should see him, he's like a shell. All he does is talk about the wedding he's planning." Eyes narrowed, arms crossed over his chest, you can't imagine what anyone behind you is thinking about this situation.

"Dick is an adult and so am I and that means being an adult about things like breakups. I'm sorry if he's freaking you out, but he's freaking me out too!" Your stomach knotted around nothing and you were thankful that you'd steered clear of anything stronger than water tonight. Just the thought of carbonation made you naseaus. The sickness does force you to calm yourself down just a touch though. Just enough to recognize that you're not going to be heard in any way that matters.

"Look. You two stay, have fun, meet people. Im going home. And I won't be coming to game night." You feel the eyes that cling to you as you leave, more than just Tim's and Cas' but no doubtedly including theirs among them.

It wasn't that you didnt want a family. You just didnt think you were a good fit for it. You had never been the type of mesh well into family gatherings and calls with your parents or sibling were short and stilted. You were too anxious to fly, too excited about what you could do to be settled at home with a toddler on your hip.

Dick had known that. Hed never said a word about how you avoided the subject. But likewise he didnt hide how much joy he got from kids. How bashful he was when someone called you two married on accident. The first time you had met his friend Wally, married with kids already, you could see the gears turning in his head to calculate the age differences between the redheaded children and any of your own.

He never asked. Never pushed. But he never gave you the room to step back and talk about it either. Dick Grayson lived in the here and now, too busy kissing you stupid to make five year plans. Or at least not with you. Any plans he was making were secret, surprises.

Steph is the first one to show up to your job. Familiar lunchbox in one hand as she waved with the other.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" You make no attempt to hide your suspicion this time. The silly, nightwing themed lunchbox was one Dick had gotten you as a gag gift after arguing about heroes one night. It was a ridiculous gift but one that you had happily used for the rest of your relationship. You had also left it at his apartment when you broke up.

"Bringing you lunch, duh." The box sits on your desk with a dull thud. Heavy in its contents as well as its implications. "Dick wanted to bring it himself but hes on bed rest."

"Oh my god. Is he okay?" Steph's eyes look you over like a difficult math problem. You can only imagine what your coworkers must be thinking of the interaction. But bed rest? For what? He was perfectly healthy last month. Or, at least, healthy as he was any other time.

Had that been what the twins meant at that party?

She shrugs after a long minute, ponytail swinging with the motion.

"Dunno. Bman's been keeping it all pretty hush hush. Wont let anyone into his room to see him or anything."

"His room? You mean back at Bruce's?" God. That was bad. That was really bad. Dick would never stay at the manor if it wasn't dire. It also meant that the whole point of leaving Bludhaven was null and void now that you were back in the same city.

"Yeah. Whatever's going on its bad enough Alf wouldnt let him keep living alone." Steph confirms almost blase. If it weren't for the slight narrow of her eyes, you'd believe that she wasn't interested in your shocked intake of air or wide eyes. Her eyes narrow a bit, bitting her lip.

"I know everyone is kind of ganging up on you here but…It's dick. If you cared about him at all you would come visit. Even if its just to try and talk some sense into him." It was cruel to hear, but the truth of the matter was that you were close thinking the same. However fucked up Dick was you did love him and he did love you. He clearly wasn't well but if keeping your distance was making things this bad-

"What if I make him worse? Like, visiting and talking about the breakup makes him shut down completely?" The lunchbox on your desk was painful to look at but you couldn't risk seeing Steph's reaction to your own selfish fear. If you went to visit and it made things worse you might never forgive yourself. If you didn't go and he fell apart you also would have to live with guilt on your shoulders.

"He's already getting there." She sighed. "Listen, from one Wayne ex to another, they all have problems letting go. Even if you break up with them you're supposed to stick around so they know you're safe and happy. You cutting and running like that breaks the mold."

"Well I'm a trend setter." In another setting Stephanie would have laughed. As it was she scoffed in a way that reminded you far too much of Damian.

"You're also hurting a guy who was going to propose." Heavy ring on your finger, the sound of the phone call in your ears, there's still time, accidents happen-

"It wouldnt-" The words die on your tongue. Luckily Steph must have been briefed by one of the many others who have already heard your side of the story.

"Have been fair to him. Yeah. I know. But it isnt about being fair. Its about being kind." If only they actually cared about what your side of the story meant. The silence dragged on, her presence solid and your determination wavering.

After minutes of agonizing debate and wrestling your inner fight or flight response, you sighed.

"If I can get time off of work I'll consider it." Your voice was barely a whisper but the smile that you glimpsed on Steph's face as she turned to leave was blinding. The bounce back in her step as she waved. There was the distinct impression in your gut that you had made a mistake, but you couldn't tell where.

You had only been scared of Dick once. Right towards the end, when he'd been on a phone call with a friend. The apartment was empty save for his voice echoing around it and the smell of dinner warming in the stove. You had meant to surprise him.

Well, sort of surprise him at least. You were only home an hour early despite having a half day of work. But the time off was a surprise and you'd known that Dick wasn't at work today so he wouldn't have seen you out and about either. there was no better time to go and take a walk by yourself, stop by your favorite cafe. Hopefully the muffin you'd picked up for him would be an adequate apology.

The muffin was promptly forgotten when you'd snuck in, the door closing quietly behind you and your shoes slipped off before taking a single step so as not to alert him to your presence. His voice was too far away to make out at first, but the closer you got the clearer it was what Dick was talking about.

"Yeah but I mean, we're still young! Theres time to change opinions on things. And its not like we wouldnt be good parents, its just the whole image thing thats the problem." The warm feeling of love you had been nurturing withered away at an otherwise comical speed. Like a sped up timelapse of a plant curling away from the sun. Dick knew how you felt about kids, knew how you felt about family and domesticity and-

"Well I mean, its not like accidents dont happen, even if its not the traditional sort I'll figure something out." Oh gods. Oh gods you were going to be sick. This wasn't just hope that you would change he was- Dick was-

No. Calm down. Dick would never trap you like that. You know better. It's been uears and he's never even proposed. There's no way.

"Walls, trust me, you should see the smile flashed my way when I hold up little toddler clothes. I know this is right, for both of us. We just have to get on the same page and this will help." You took a step back, and then another, just as silent in leaving as you were entering. When you made it back to the front door you made a show of opening and closing it as loudly as possible, clattering your shoes around at the door.

Dick appeared seconds later, as if he'd never been on the phone in the first place. His smile was the same one you'd seen this morning when he walked you to work, his eyes the same sparkling blue seemingly innocent.

"Hey! I didnt know you were getting home early! I wish you would have called, I could have come and picked you up!" The smile turned to an overdramatic pout as Dick moved closer, arms wrapping around your waist. It normally was nice to be wrapped up in his grip but you felt suffocated. Trapped.

"Figured I'd surprise you. Surprise." Your voice was weak but aside from a curious glimpse at your face, Dick didn't push. He just snagged the muffin from your hand and began chastising you for spoiling your dinner, and doing so without him as well. Even as the night turned from a domestic dinner in to a romantic evening together you couldn't help but hear his jovial tone echoing in your ears.

Accidents happen

The email was short.

You have been approved for two weeks paid vacation. Enjoy your rest and get well soon!

The dates were effective immediatly. A two week gap that you didn't request and that you had no idea how to turn down without raising suspicion. Thinking back, the receptionist was confused to see you this morning. She must have already known that you'd be out.

Still, maybe it was a sign from the universe. You had been putting off asking for a day as an excuse to continue putting off deciding if you were going to see Dick at all. Even when Barbara had texted you to update you on his condition last night. He was asking for you now. The first break in his delusion that everything was normal between you despite your absence.

But with this email in your inbox somebody must have been listening, right? And if somebody greater than you was urging you back into the jaws of Dick Grayson then it must be for a good reason. Some sort of greater good at play then just your comfort.

Besides, Dick was at his father's house. You wouldn't be alone with him. If something started to go wrong there would be someone to help within minutes of screaming.

The dread had grown over the weeks and, as if sensing your displeasure, Dick only grew more insistent on being with you. Every second of every day that he didn't have a responsibility he could pawn off on someone else, you had yourself a lanky gymnist drapped over your shoulders like an overgrown housecat.

The tighter he held, the more you wanted to bolt.

He continued trying to intitate intimate moments but you just couldn't bring yourself to be in them. Not with the idea of an accident happening or knowing that he might pull out dirty talk of how good you would look full of his kids. How hot it would be to have you here at home waiting with a baby on your hip when he got home from work. How well he would take care of you.

It was just meaningless pillow talk before but now it felt more like a plea, a bargain you couldn't make.

You tried to convince yourself in the moment that that was why he had pulled out all the stops for dinner. That that was why he insisted on you dolling yourself up and getting into a suit that you had vocally gushed over in the past. It was easy to convince yourself that he was just trying to reignite the relationship when he ordered wine and entrees and then desserts.

But his hand on your wrist, shaking as he held a ring in the other, was too much of a wake up call to ignore.

"Please. Please just…say yes." Your silence was deafening in the empty dining room. It had seemed ridiculous to rent out the restaurant at the time. Did he do it because he knows you don't like strangers? Or was it because he knew that he would have to beg you to let him put the ring on?

"I can't." When you finally respond to him, daring to look up from the ring that he must have gotten from his father, your mouth goes dry. Dick is on the verge of tears again, gutted and desperate in a way you had never seen.

"Why? Don't you love me?"

"Dick, we live in a city almost as bad as Gotham. We're both trying to figure out our careers and life goals an-"

"I'm not. I'm not confused. I just want you." —- "If its just the city we can move. I talked to my uncle out in kansas, there's this little farmhouse for sale. We could pack up and move out tomorrow. Tonight even."

"It's not just the city."

"Please. I love you, don't give up on us." And maybe it was the wine speaking, or the desperation to get out of there that led you to close your eyes and sigh. Maybe it was neither of those things and you were just desperate to live in that world with him for a minute.

All you knew for certain is that when he leaned across the table to kiss you, mouth hungry against yours, you pretended not to notice the weight of the ring on your finger.

The manor loomed over you, but the man next to you was twice as bad. You had only met Bruce in passing. Dick still had a complicated relationship with the man and, quite frankly, you couldnt stand him. But Alfred was away and you were familiar enough with Dick's childhood home to find his room alone.

"I appreciate you coming to see him." The tea in front of you was growing cold, untouched. Your nerves were so bad you didn't think that drinking anything was a good idea until after you had gotten this whole situation over with, but when Bruce had insisted you didn't know how to turn him down without seeming rude.

"I just want what's best for him sir." Your voice sounded meek. What must this man think of you knowing how you've hurt his son? Would he believe you when you told him that you still love him? Does he know why you had to leave?

Whatever answer you're looking for, you don't receive it. Only a low hum is given as a response, melding into the background of the manor's ticking clocks and creaking floorboards.

"How is he?" Your hands find the tea cup out of lack of purpose. You need something to hold in your hands and hide behind as you look up at Gotham's most influential man. Bruce stares back, calculating.

"We have him on some sleeping medications at the moment to ensure that he's resting and not just laying there with his eyes closed." The knots in your stomach return just before you lift the drink to your lips. You set it down immediatly.

"Are you sure this is a good idea? I don't want to make him worse." Bruce Wayne sighs, a deep and trouble noise that you can't comprehend fully. His chair squeaks under him as he shifts.

"I think that you are the only person capable of giving me my son back. I'm just sorry that I've had to put you in this position."

"It's okay." You placate, trying for a steady smile despite knowing that you fall short. "But, uhm, I'd like to see him now if that's okay."

"Of course. Right this way." Bruce stands, hands tucked behind himself like the butler you've met so rarely. You move past him without a thought.

You also are caught in his grip without a thought.

By the time your brain has caught up to the circumstances there has already been a pinch in the back of your neck and the world is fading fast. And even then the only thing you're capable of putting together is less than eloquent.

Shit.

When you wake next its to a deafening sort of silence. you've only ever lived in cities and towns with big roads that run through them so the lack of traffic and pedestrian noises may as well be a physical slap to the face. Its this that lets you know you're in trouble before anything else.

The next sensation to tip its hand and let you know just how fucked you are is the way that your limbs remain heavy and strange against the bed. Despite having slept for gods know how long you're still exhausted in a way that you suspect has something to do with the pinch at the base of your neck. Though, you hope not. If Bruce Wayne really did drug you and move you, there's no telling why.

"You're awake." The third sign is a voice that takes far too long to place. You haven't spoken with Jason since the night he tried to convince you to drop Damian off at his apartment while Dick was there.

"Where…am I?" The words in your mouth feel like glue. Jason snorts and you hear the turn of a page. Your whole world has been turned upside down and he's reading.

"Bum fuck nowhere, kansas. Bruce figured Dick could use some motivation."

"moti…vation? For what?" It takes far too much effort to pull yourself into a sitting position, but you do eventually get up. From the new position you can see wood flooring and rich colorufl wallpaper. There's a closet open and full of clothes you recognize, but a nighttable with jewlery and trinkets that you don't. Not except for the ring.

"Well, he's not allowed to see ya unless he eats all his meals. When he does, then Dickie gets to see you asleep in your wedding bed like you're waiting for him to get better." You should be focused on the image of his family using you like a carrot on a stick to motivate Dick, but your brain has latched onto a different problem Jason has presented. Jason hasn't even looked up from his book, some worn copy of a title in another language. "So he stays motivated to actually get healthy so he can shoe everyone outta his house and have ya to himself."

"Wedding bed? What-how long-" Your breathes are coming closer and closer together.

"Ya don' wanna know." Jaosn sighs. "Between you and me doll, the less you know about things from now on, the easier it'll be. Jus' wear your ring and play house and life will go much, much easier for ya."

"And if I dont?" The fear makes your voice pitch up. This, finally, brings teal eyes to rest on your face. It's strange how similar he looks now compared to the first time you'd met him. Tired expression, pitying eyes, slump to his shoulders like he's already given in to some great demand you don't know about.

"I wouldn' test it. Ya got too many eyes on ya now." The realization comes quickly, the pack mentality of the waynes on full display and you didn't even bother to see it. Too caught up in a world where maybe they just missed you as their friend and not for what you did for their brother. Maybe that two weeks off wasn't a sign from the universe to visit, maybe it was a sign to run while you could get a head start. "'sides, I'd just enjoy what you can before dickhead gets the itch to have a little bit more noise around the house if ya catch my drift."

The pointed gaze is enough to send you into full blown hysterics. Jason doesn't reach over to comfort you, but he doesn't leave you to suffer alone either. He just sits next to you in silence, waiting for you to come back to yourself.

When you do you see he's handing you that stupid ring and, without any choice in the matter, you put it back where it was always going to end up.

Authors Note: Dick is the type of freak to just believe youre still together despite all proof and i will die on that hill. All honestly this was partially on by a drabble I read ages ago from someone else that just has never left me. But despite doing my best to root through my following list and find them I couldn't figure out who or even when it was posted. I just remember someone talking about how yanderebatfamily would 1000% kidnap dicks partner if they broke up and it has for real lived in my brain rent free since then. so if this plot seems familiar PLEASE comment below so I can give the original poster their flowers!!!

Also yesterday was my birthday and I genuinely spent half of it writing this monster. I am unwell lmao.

[erwinsvow]

one last thing but i am thinking about one of those humid august storms. it's seven-thirty and it's still light out but it's storming so bad that it's caused three accidents already in the last few hours. there's lightning and thunder and the power even flickered once or twice and you're ready to go home. there's just one little problem—you picked a great day to not check the weather. you walk to work so you're clad in your good sneakers with no raincoat or umbrella. you stand by the doors waiting to see if someone will accept your uber request, staring outside at how you can't even make out the street signs or lampposts with how heavy the rain is. and you feel him before you even see him, robby behind you, looking at your screen, wondering why you thought anyone would accept an ride in these conditions. then you blubber a story about how you didn't know it was raining today and you were going to figure out a car situation before winter and you're sure that someone will accept it eventually, right? you mentally smack yourself upside the head for not asking dana or trinity before they left. and robby, well, robby isn't gonna let you sit in the hospital for hours waiting for the storm to die down (he checked the forecast, which is why he drove today. it's not dying down anytime soon) not after the day everyone's had. so that's how you end up in the passenger seat of robby's truck, your bag tucked in by your feet and staring at robby while he reverses out one-handed with what can only be described as a love-struck expression. he was listening to the beatles this morning and it starts playing from his car again where he left off, and you stare out the window to avoid staring at your attending. you two are good at small talk and it's all normal, with you promising to finally look into getting that car, until he pulls up beside your apartment complex. there's no covering or garage for him to pull into, and the rain has somehow gotten even worse. the windows of his truck are foggy and you know that he can't see anything. you also know that he doesn't live near you and the idea of robby driving in this weather makes you unsettled, especially since you have no way of making sure he's okay. so you put aside your better instincts and invite him inside—just until the rain slows down. please?—and against his better instincts, he agrees. you two run inside and get drenched in the process, and you offer to make tea even though it's still eighty degrees outside. tea is long forgotten when you stare at him, soaked to the bone, his shirt sticking to his skin and hair messy and wet. he peels off the black scrub top and leaves the white shirt on—though it's completely soaked too—and you stare, mouth uncomfortably dry, before jumping when the kettle goes off. you're soaked too, and you need to change but you feel weird changing when he's still in his scrubs, so you stay in the damp clothes and drink your tea next to him while you two watch the weather channel. it seems like the storm's not stopping and there's a flood warning. there's so many things you want to say—more than just small talk, more than just fillers—and you keep glancing over at him to find him watching the screen, so you turn back and that's just when he turns to look at you. when the weatherman is talking about how everyone is advised to stay inside and not drive, you decide to speak up— wanting to offer him a dry shirt and whatever you can make for dinner to thank him for bringing you home—when the power goes out. well, looks like he's staying.

[kuronarnze]

Hello!

I have been reading your Blue Lock posts for a while now and I really like them! Please continue to feed us with your words and ideas 🙏🏻

I was wondering if you could do a request with Sae and a deaf/hard of hearing partner, targeting how they handle/act in their established relationship.

GN! Reader if possible and while I'd like to see Sae specifically, of course you can do it like general bllk boys headcanons and add anyone else you want. In that case I'd also ask for Kaiser, but the rest is your free pick!

Thank you for taking the time to read my message!

- 🦦🌺

a/n: AAAAA TYSMMM 🫶💗 I LOVE THIS REQUEST SMMM, okokok enjoy reading 💗

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Blue lock boys with a Deaf/HoH!Reader

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Isagi Yoichi

- Golden retriever energy + eager learner = he's immediately invested in learning your preferred way of communication.

- Whether it’s sign language, lip reading, written notes, or speech-to-text apps, he’s got them memorized and practiced.

- If you're signing and he doesn’t understand something, he asks you to repeat it with zero shame — he genuinely wants to do better.

- Keeps his hand gently on your back or shoulder in crowded rooms so you’re always aware of him.

- If you're in a group setting, he makes sure you’re included in the conversation by signing/talking with you in between and explaining what others said.

- Random moment: during a press conference, someone asks who he loves most in the world. He signs your name before even speaking it.

- “You don’t need to hear me say it. I just want you to feel it, always.”

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Itoshi Sae

- He’s quiet already, so having a partner who communicates differently is never an issue.

- He prefers eye contact, subtle touches, and expressive body language — all things that suit a deaf/HoH partner perfectly.

- He took a sign language course in secret after you started dating. Showed off by casually signing “I love you” one night and pretended like it was nothing.

- Doesn’t force verbal conversation; he’ll text you from across the room, write notes, or just sit beside you in comfortable silence.

- Will fight anyone who speaks over you or acts like you’re a burden. Sae-style glare activated.

- Puts subtitles on everything — even his phone reels and TikToks — just so you can both watch comfortably.

- “You’re not missing anything. I’ll make sure of it.”

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Itoshi Rin

- Rin may not be good with words, but he listens in the way that matters.

- Communicates through thoughtful gestures — bringing your drink the way you like it, leaving you little notes when he goes out, gently tapping your hand before speaking.

- He always positions himself where you can read his lips clearly if needed.

- If you’re overstimulated or frustrated by trying to lip-read/speak too much, he doesn’t push — just offers his hoodie, takes your hand, and lets you cool down in peace.

- Practices sign language alone at night watching YouTube videos. Gets embarrassed when you catch him.

- Once told you: “I’m learning this for us. Not just you. Us.”

- “Even if the world’s too loud, you never have to shout to be heard by me.”

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Shidou Ryusei

- Surprisingly intuitive and unapologetically protective of you.

- He might be loud, reckless, and chaotic — but when it comes to you, he’s always tuned in.

- Gets upset when people speak to you like you’re a child or slow things down unnecessarily. → “They’re deaf, not stupid. Dumbass.”

- Learns your communication style fast. Doesn’t care if it’s sign, texting, or pointing — he rolls with it.

- Loud music isn’t a problem — he’ll dance with you to the beat of vibrations, grab your hands, and pull you into a living-room concert.

- Signs “I love you” wrong at first but so proudly that you can't bring yourself to correct him.

- “I don’t care how we talk. You could slap morse code on my forehead and I’d still understand you.”

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Michael Kaiser

- Acts like he knows everything, but actually studies up behind the scenes to get everything right for you.

- Thinks your sign language is beautiful and secretly loves when you sign fast because it looks like magic to him.

- Pulls you into his lap in loud settings like clubs or stadiums so he can sign against your palm or whisper against your cheek so you can feel the vibrations.

- Shows off with overly dramatic signing, makes everything he says theatrical, just to make you laugh.

- But also incredibly serious when needed: makes sure any interviews, team meetings, or events you attend have accessibility accommodations.

- “If they don’t know how to make space for you, I’ll make it myself.”

- “I don’t care if the world’s on mute — you’re still the loudest thing in my heart.”

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

THANK YOU SM FOR REQUESTING have a nice day and tysm for reading 🫶💗

[un-till-the-end]

Ivan strangled Till in a way that would be lethal

Whether or not he intended to kill him is another matter but pressing on Till's vocal cords like this is deadly. My friend, who's a medical resident, explained Ivan's thumbs are pushing on either side of the larynx. If the hyoid bone (at the top) is broken, it can cause severe damage to the airway. (The middle image below shows where Ivan's thumbs are pressing.)

I questioned if Ivan's thumbs weren't pressing on the sternocleidomastoid muscle instead. The middle image is what he returned to me (blue representing Till's voice box/windpipe and red the sternocleidomastoid):

"Isn't this the same method used for breath play?"

Fans have claimed Ivan is choking Till the way you would for erotic asphyxiation. The main problem with this argument is: there is no guaranteed "safe" way to choke someone.

The "method" used for breath play is pressing on the carotid arteries while avoiding pressure on the windpipe. This decreases blood flow to the brain both directly through constriction of the arteries and indirectly through compression of the baroreceptors triggering decreased blood pressure and heart rate. This can lead to cardiac arrest as well as permanent brain damage.

There are numerous ways breath play can be fatal including: cardiac arrest, respiratory alkalosis (decreased carbon dioxide increases blood pH), metabolic acidosis (decreased oxygen decreases blood pH), rupture of the windpipe, fracture of the larynx, blood vessel damage, stroke, seizures, and aspiration (saliva, vomit, etc. gets into airway/lungs). You cannot predict when someone will go unconscious and detection of an abnormal heart rhythm can already be too late.

Even if Ivan had strangled Till in the same manner as erotic asphyxiation, it would remain potentially lethal.

"Shouldn't Till have struggled?"

Another claim has been that Till would have autonomically struggled rather than going still. Research does not support this: there is no indication there is a universal reflex that occurs in all cases of strangulation. Not all strangulation victims have shown defensive movements.

Was this Ivan's intention?

My first impression from the Round 6 Behind was that Ivan had tried to kill Till, because he didn't know what he wanted to do. Vivinos explained:

With [the second draft], however, we felt that Ivan's emotions weren't being conveyed fully - so we decided to revise it once again. We made it so that viewers wouldn't be able to fully grasp Ivan's true feelings. After all, he's the only one who will ever know how he truly feels. You can't just move on from such long, deep-seated emotions in such a short time. Ivan tries to strangle Till, then kisses him, stares at him yearningly, and murmurs nonsense. His contradicting actions show his clashing emotions - he is both sure and unsure at the same time.

It's also explained that "in the end [Ivan] pours his emotions out and acts like a child." It's repeated again later that Ivan is "emotionally immature" and "expresses his emotions like a child." This gave me the impression that Ivan is just acting out and trying everything. He isn't acting with a plan in that moment, he is just expressing his emotions in every way possible.

However, in the most recent Q&A during Animate Thailand, it's answered Ivan strangled Till with the intent for Till to survive.

This brings a lot of questions I can't answer. When did Ivan decide strangling Till would be the best way to save him? Did he originally try to kill Till and then shifted his goal to saving him instead? Did he plan to strangle him from the start? Did he have a plan at all?

Since this is a rare moment Ivan's behavior is being driven by his emotions, perhaps - much like Till's character - we cannot assess his actions logically. At some point, Ivan felt that this is what he needed to do to keep Till alive. There wasn't a plan, a structure, or a methodology. Ivan either didn't know or didn't even consider he could accidentally kill Till. He didn't realize strangulation can be fatal even without constricting his air supply. He only knew if he used violence to be disqualified - to be shot down - then Till would win by default.

[zyart-jpg]

a/n: this is kind of cute to write, i wanted a tsundere reader but here's one for now lol thank you for the request!❤️ here's for everyone who asked for a Hajun smut! i'm sorry it took so long hehe

"Princess Problem"

Pairing: Park Hajun/Joker x Reader

Summary: You just wanted to make him feel good like he makes you, but maybe it's still too early.

Tags: SMUT, Established RS, Sub!reader, Soft dom!Hajun, MDNI

You were so fucking determined tonight.

Straddling him with shaky legs and a pout on your face, gripping his broad shoulders like that might keep you steady. You’d climbed on top, tugged at his shirt like a brat, told him to stay still, even tried saying it with a little attitude—tried being the one in charge for once.

Hajun just blinked up at you, silent and amused. Arms folded behind his head. Cock already half-hard under his sweats from nothing but the sight of you grinding down like you knew what you were doing.

You didn’t.

“S-stop—don’t look at me like that,” you gasped, your hips rolling messily over the thick bulge in his pants. “I-I’m serious this time, Hajun—l-let me—ngh—make you feel good.”

“Mmhm,” he hummed, low and calm. “Go ahead then.”

That was it. No resistance. No teasing. He just laid there and let you try. Which somehow made it worse. Your brain was already foggy, and all you’d done was dry hump him through a layer of cotton. He hadn’t even touched you yet.

You sat up straighter, huffing, trying to move with more rhythm. Your hands slipped down his chest, trembling slightly.

“Bet you’re… r-really hard for me, huh?” you tried, voice thin with effort. “Wanna… cum for me like a good boy?”

You nearly choked on your own words, face burning.

Hajun raised a brow. “You rehearsed that in the mirror?”

“Shut up!” you whined. “I can do this! I want to do this—I wanna make you feel good, Hajun, I swear—”

But your voice cracked as soon as you pulled his sweats down. His cock was heavy, flushed, leaking already. And you just froze. Like your body knew this was a losing game.

You tried to touch him, you did. Started stroking with both hands, but you were already squirming with every twitch of him against your palm. So warm and hard it made your stomach flip, your thighs clenching tighter around his hips.

You tried to lean down, rubbing your clothed pussy against him again, whining softly with every drag. “N-Ngh—you feel so good, Hajun… want you so bad, please—”

Your words were a mess now, more desperate than dominant. You tried to kiss along his throat like you were still in control, but you were panting too hard, trembling too much, body twitching like you were about to cum just from the idea of his cock inside you.

“You alright?” he murmured, voice deep, a hand finally brushing down your side. “You’re shaking.”

“Shut up,” you whined, rutting down on his cock without rhythm now. “I can’t—I—ngh, I just wanna feel good too—I wanna cum with you, I-I swear I’ll make you feel good I’ll be so good for you I swear—”

“You said you’d make me cum,” he said, gently tucking hair out of your face. “But it looks like you’re the only one falling apart.”

“I-I’m trying,” you hiccuped, voice breaking, tears welling in your lashes. “I don’t know what I’m doing—I wanna do it right but I c-can’t—please, I’m sorry, I—ah—I can’t do it, Hajun, I want you—”

His cock throbbed against your soaked panties where it was trapped under you, untouched now. He still hadn’t moved. Still hadn’t fucked up into you. Just let you sob into his chest like a pathetic little thing, overstimulated without even getting there.

Your fingers curled into his shirt as you cried against him, rocking pitifully with no friction left.

“I didn’t even cum,” you whimpered, broken and dazed. “Didn’t make you cum either—I’m such a—o-ooh, I’m sorry, I can’t—”

“Shh,” Hajun finally whispered, sliding a hand up your back, warm and heavy. “You done pretending now?”

You nodded, trembling.

“You want me to take over?” he asked, voice low, hot against your temple.

You nodded again. “P-please—please, I need it so bad—Hajun, please—just wanna be your good girl again, I’ll be good, I’ll let you do anything—just please make me cum—”

He finally smiled, dark and slow, letting his hand drop down to your ass.

“Atta girl.”

He shifted underneath you, just enough to grab your hips properly—and you didn’t even try to stop him.

Didn’t even want to anymore.

Your body went pliant, soft, aching everywhere, too far gone to fake control. You were still trembling when he rolled you onto your back like you weighed nothing, pressing a kiss to your cheek as you whined in relief.

“Poor baby,” he murmured, thumb brushing a tear off your cheek. “Wanted to play big girl for once, huh?”

“Shut up,” you sniffled, clinging to his wrist now. “You just—p-please, Hajun, I needed you.”

“I know, princess.” He smiled softly—sweetly—but the way his cock pressed hot and heavy between your thighs told you he wasn’t feeling particularly patient anymore.

“You tried so hard,” he whispered, cupping your face in both hands now, like he was scared you’d slip away. “Said you were gonna make me cum, talk dirty to me, do it all by yourself…”

He lined himself up, kissed your forehead, and slid in slowly—deep and warm and stretching you open in one long, devastating thrust.

You wailed.

Your back arched off the bed, mouth falling open—already so wrecked from doing nothing but cry and grind and fail. But this? This was what you needed. Full, thick, filling you up with no teasing. No resistance. Just Hajun giving you exactly what you’d been begging for.

“You couldn’t even make yourself cum,” he said, voice rough but fond, laughing softly against your throat. “Got all worked up just from rubbing on me like a bunny in heat.”

“N-Nooo—”

“Shh, baby. I got you now.”

He rocked into you again, slow but deep, the stretch obscene, slick sounds filling the room with every thrust.

“Next time you wanna try being in charge,” he grunted, pushing in hard enough to make your breath catch, “you better come prepared. Because all you did tonight was hump my dick and cry.”

You sobbed, arms wrapped tight around his shoulders now. “I tried—”

“I know, baby. I know,” he murmured, stroking your cheek as he moved inside you. “And it was so cute. So cute I almost came from watching.”

He didn’t stop moving—not even to kiss you again. Just kept that steady, loving pace. His hips rocked into yours, deep and smooth, rubbing right where you needed him. He kissed your jaw, your temple, whispered between every stroke.

“Could’ve let me do this from the start,” he breathed. “Just laid back and let me fuck you like my princess. Let me love on you.”

“H-Hajun—”

“Wanted to play dominant,” he teased, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Look where it got you. All needy. All swollen and wet and crying. My poor baby.”

You moaned into his chest, high and broken. “I’m sorry—I’m s-sorry—feels s-sho good now, please—!”

“I know,” he cooed, thrusting deeper now. “You’re being so good. So good for me.”

He reached under your knee and pushed it up, open wide for him, letting him grind in deeper—slow and full, like he wanted you to feel every inch of him.

“Look at you,” he whispered, “taking me so well. My sweet girl. My princess.”

You whimpered, barely able to breathe, soaked and aching and already fluttering around him.

“Gonna cum for me this time?” he asked, voice breaking now too. “Gonna cum with me like you said?”

You nodded desperately. “Yes—yes, yes, I will, I promise, please don’t stop—”

“Fuck, that’s my girl,” he murmured, pressing his forehead to yours. “Let me take care of you. Let me make you feel good. That’s all you ever have to do. Just be mine.”

You shattered.

Your whole body locked up as the orgasm tore through you—sudden and violent—your legs shaking, your nails dragging down his back, the cry that left your mouth broken and raw. You clenched so tight around him he gasped, cursed low into your neck, held you down and fucked you through it, hard and messy, until he buried himself deep and came inside you with a muffled, helpless growl.

His body trembled over yours. He didn’t pull out. Didn’t move.

Just lay there, his arms around you, both of you panting. His cum already spilling from where he filled you.

“…Better?” he asked quietly, nose brushing yours.

You nodded, dazed and still clinging to him like he was air.

He kissed your temple, your cheek, your lips—tender and slow, like you hadn’t just been fucked dumb.

“Next time,” he whispered, “just let me fuck you stupid from the start, yeah?”

“Shut up,” you mumbled sleepily. “Still hate you.”

“Sure, princess,” he chuckled softly, running his fingers through your hair. “Hate me while I clean you up and kiss your thighs and carry you to the bath. Gonna make you all warm and soft again.”

“…Okay,” you whispered, already melting.

He kissed your forehead again.

“Good girl.”

[touchlinewhore]

Kenan breaks up with reader and than regrets this choice . So angst to fluff :)

Say It’s Not Too Late

𝘾𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩: 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙨𝙩, 𝙗𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙠𝙪𝙥 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙝, 𝙝𝙪𝙧𝙩/𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩, 𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙩𝙛𝙪𝙡!𝙆𝙚𝙣𝙖𝙣, 𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙧𝙚𝙪𝙣𝙞𝙤𝙣, 𝙨𝙤𝙛𝙩 𝙛𝙡𝙪𝙛𝙛

It had been twenty-six days since he ended things.

You weren’t counting.

Except you were.

Every time you rolled over in bed and didn’t feel his warmth. Every time your phone buzzed and your heart raced, hoping it was him. Every time you walked past a football highlight reel on TV and your chest ached like someone had taken a hammer to your ribs.

Kenan was everywhere and nowhere all at once.

The breakup had been fast. Brutal. Like he’d ripped the stitches off something that hadn’t even begun to heal.

“I just… can’t do this right now,” he’d said, standing in your doorway like the words didn’t mean anything. Like they wouldn’t wreck you. “I need space.”

You hadn’t begged. You hadn’t cried in front of him.

You waited until the door clicked shut. And then you fell apart.

Now, weeks later, you’d managed to string together something resembling a routine.

Wake up. Work. Avoid social media like your life depended on it. Try not to cry when you see someone who looks like him. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.

You hadn’t heard a single word from Kenan since that night. No texts. No calls. Not even a like on your old photos.

Which is why when your doorbell rings at 10:42 PM, you don’t expect it to be him.

But it is.

Kenan.

Standing on your doorstep. Hoodie on. Hair messy. Eyes red like he hasn’t slept.

Your heart stutters.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice is quiet. Controlled.

He runs a hand through his hair and laughs under his breath, ike he doesn’t know where to start.

“I fucked up.”

You blink.

“I figured that out twenty-six days ago,” you murmur.

He flinches like the number hits him square in the chest.

“I know. I know you have no reason to hear me out. But I’m begging you. Please. Just let me explain.”

You cross your arms, trying to keep your heart from jumping out of your chest.

“You ended things. You didn’t want to talk. You didn’t even check in. So why now?”

Kenan steps closer, eyes pleading.

“Because I’m miserable.” His voice cracks. “Because I wake up and I reach for you and you’re not there. Because I’ve been trying to convince myself I did the right thing giving you space, protecting you from my chaos, but all I did was hurt you. And lose the best thing in my life.”

You want to stay mad. God, you do. But your chest hurts.

“And now you think what? That you can show up and fix everything?”

He shakes his head.

“No. I don’t expect that. I just… I need you to know that I regret it. Every second of it. Walking away from you was the worst decision I’ve ever made.”

You stare at him. He looks like a mess.

Eyes swollen. Lips chapped. Like he hasn’t slept or eaten or smiled in days.

“Why did you do it, Kenan?”

He looks down at the ground. Shame spreads across his face like a shadow.

“Because I didn’t think I was enough. Because I was scared I’d drag you down with me when things got hard. Because I thought you’d be better off without me.”

You laugh bitter, sad.

“And how did that go for you?”

He looks up, eyes glossy.

“Worse than I could’ve imagined.”

There’s silence. Thick. Heavy. You hate how badly you still love him. How much you still ache for him.

“You broke me,” you say softly. “And now you want to patch it up like it’s easy.”

Kenan shakes his head again.

“I don’t want easy. I just want you.”

You breathe in sharply.

“I cried myself to sleep for a week straight, Kenan.”

His shoulders tense. He looks like he wants to crumble right in front of you.

“I know. I’m sorry. I should’ve stayed. Fought harder. Let you in instead of pushing you out.”

You bite your lip.

“I still love you.”

He blinks fast.

“What?”

“I still love you,” you repeat. “That’s the problem.”

His voice is barely a whisper.

“Then let me prove I can be better.”

You let the silence stretch. Let your heartbeat echo in your ears.

Then, finally, you step aside.

“Come in.”

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath since the day he left.

—

The lights are low. You sit on opposite ends of the couch.

Kenan fidgets with the sleeve of his hoodie.

“I’ve been thinking about you every day,” he says. “Even when I didn’t reach out. I kept typing your name. Kept almost calling. But I was scared you’d block me. Or worse… that you’d already moved on.”

You watch him. He looks so small all of a sudden.

“I was mad. But I didn’t hate you. I just… didn’t know how to trust you again.”

“I’ll earn it back. Every second. I swear.”

You don’t say anything for a moment.

Then, you lean closer.

“Why now?”

He swallows hard.

“Because I saw your picture on someone’s story and you looked so beautiful and happy. And I wasn’t in that world anymore. And it destroyed me.”

You blink back sudden tears.

“You could’ve lost me forever.”

“I know.” His voice breaks. “But I couldn’t let that happen.”

You reach for his hand. Slowly. Carefully. He laces his fingers through yours like he’s scared you’ll disappear.

“I’m still mad,” you whisper.

“I’ll take it. I’ll take anything, as long as I get to be with you again.”

And maybe it’s reckless. Maybe you should make him work harder.

But you’re tired of pretending your heart doesn’t belong to him.

So you kiss him. Soft. Hesitant. Like you’re both still learning each other again.

He sighs into your mouth. His fingers cradle your jaw like you’re something sacred.

“I missed you,” he breathes.

“Then don’t ever leave again.”

He pulls you into his arms. Holds you like he’ll never let go.

“I won’t.”

You believe him this time.

Because love doesn’t always look perfect. But this his raw, messy, real thing you share with him, feels like something worth saving.

Even if it takes time.

Even if it takes everything.

You’re both still here. Still in it.

And that’s enough.

[starkeygirl114]

Baby daddy Rafe x shy reader

Warnings: toxic relationships, cursing, past trauma, pregnancy, possessiveness, narcissist, mean girl vibes, Abuse, physical and mental abuse, mentions of blood, weapons, Ward Cameron (yes he’s alive in this story 🥴, past drug abuse, mentions of drugs, rehab, alcohol, being drunk/high, teasing/ poking fun of friends, Mentions of cheating, mental health mentions, anxiety, angst, crying, vomiting ( I’m sorry 😣) smut 🙂‍↕️

Authors note. Damn this took a minute but I love the way it turned out! Rafe is really starting to piss me off 😑 part 3 is gonna be CRAZY

Part two 2/2

Enjoy 💖

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

Rolling your eyes, you finish getting Keegan ready. He’s wearing a nice collared shirt and khaki pants—tiny Rafe, half Kook. Grabbing your purse and phone, you and Keegan say your goodbyes to the Pogues. He’s so excited, barely able to stay still. Sarah pulls you in for a tight hug and whispers, “If you need me, I’ll be right here.”

Your heart feels full, knowing you have them in your corner. Grabbing Keeg, you go stand outside. A quick glance at your phone—3:55. You put it away and look at Keegan, who’s talking a mile a minute about school, seeing his daddy, and just the overall excitement of tonight.

Rafe’s car rolls up the driveway, stopping next to the Twinkie. You both head down the sidewalk. You can feel the Pogues’ eyes on you before you even look back. They’re all standing in the house, peering out the window.

Keegan runs straight to Rafe as he climbs out of his car, dressed in his usual rich-boy attire, fresh buzzcut and all. “Daddy!” Keegan squeals. Rafe laughs, snatching him up.

“Hi, buddy. Are you ready to go?” he asks, holding Keegan.

You stop in front of the car, watching them greet each other. Rafe looks over at you—expression unreadable. His eyes roam over you once, then again. Finally, he says, “You look nice.”

Your cheeks flush. Shifting on your feet, you mumble, “Thank you.”

He just smirks, still staring.

The screen door creaks open. John B, Pope, and JJ are standing there. Rafe’s attention snaps to them, all pretense of warmth gone. The Pogues don’t say anything—just give him that silent warning look, the one that says act right.

Rafe visibly tenses. He’s never backed down from them, and he sure as hell isn’t about to now.

“We got a problem?” he asks, standing tall.

John B speaks up. “Nah, Rafe. Just making sure our family gets in the car safely. That’s all.”

Rafe scoffs. “‘Your’ family?” He says it like the words taste bad on his tongue.

Before you can defuse it, Sarah steps outside, standing next to John B. Rafe’s eyes land on her, and something in his face twists—tight, like it physically hurts to see his sister standing against him.

Sensing this could go bad quickly, you murmur, “Rafe.” He doesn’t hear you, too wrapped up in the silent war on the porch. Keegan feels it too—he glances at you, eyes worried. “Mommy…”

Giving him a soft smile, you step forward and gently place your hand on Rafe’s arm. “Hey, Rafe. Let’s go.”

Your touch snaps him out of it. He blinks at you, then glances down at your hand, which you drop immediately. He nods, kisses Keegan’s temple, and settles him into the car seat.

You climb into the front seat, turning to give Keegan a small smile as he looks around. Rafe throws a final “fuck you” glare at the porch before getting in. You can feel the tension radiating off him.

As he backs out of the driveway, he kicks up rocks with his tires, pelting the Twinkie. You hear John B yell, “Hey! You fucking dick, that’s my car!”

You don’t say anything. You’re not trying to start something that’ll ruin Keegan’s night.

Sighing softly, you glance out the window. Rafe and Keegan are chatting away. You’re not listening—the air in the car is thick with Rafe’s cologne and body heat. Your fingertips still burn from touching him.

You keep sneaking glances at him. One hand on the wheel, the other tapping his thigh to the beat of whatever song is playing. He doesn’t look at you, but you know he knows. Rafe always knows when you’ve got something on your mind. He lets it go—for now.

Keegan keeps the conversation going, which helps. You nervously mess with the hem of your dress. Rafe notices. Without looking, he reaches over and pulls your hand away.

“Stop. You’re gonna rip it.”

He doesn’t say anything else. Just goes back to talking to Keegan. That one touch sets your whole body on fire. You’re flushed, breathing heavy. Why the hell do I act like this? you think. Get it together, please.

Pulling up to the school, you’re grateful for the fresh air. You climb out quickly. Rafe watches you rush from the car, smug—like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

Keegan is bouncing with excitement, eager to get out. Rafe helps him down, and you all walk together to the front of the school. Keegan slows just outside the door, suddenly shy.

“What’s wrong, buddy?” Rafe asks, kneeling.

Keegan buries his face in Rafe’s shoulder. You rub his back. “It’s okay, bud. I know it’s a big day, but you’ve got this. You’re gonna love it here.”

Keegan clings tighter. “But Daddy, I have friends. They’re my bestest friends.”

You smile. He means the Pogues.

Rafe just nods, jaw tight. You know he hates how close Keegan is with them.

Eventually, you coax him through the doors. The school is beautiful—fresh paint, clean lockers, everything you never had. Rafe picked this place, sparing no expense.

You find his classroom. Inside, kids are already laughing and playing. A teacher with a warm smile greets you.

“Hi! I’m Mrs. Lawson. What’s your name?”

Keegan hides behind you, peeking out. You introduce yourself, and Rafe gives a quick handshake. Keegan barely whispers his name.

Mrs. Lawson beams. “It’s lovely to meet you, Keegan. We’re gonna learn so much this year.”

“Will we learn about dinosaurs?” he asks, eyes wide.

“Oh yes! So many.”

Rafe spots a dinosaur book on a shelf and points it out. “Look, buddy—dino books right there.”

Keegan tugs your hand to go look. You walk with him while Rafe chats with the teacher.

“He’s shy, but he’ll warm up,” Rafe tells her.

“He seems sweet. I can tell we’ll be good friends.”

As you’re reading with Keegan, a little girl approaches.

“Do you like the big ones with little arms?” she asks.

Keegan lights up. “Yes! They have big sharp teeth. Rawr!”

They giggle. You smile. He’ll be just fine.

A man approaches—tall, broad-shouldered, brown hair, working-man hands despite the Kook clothes.

“Hi, I’m Mike,” he says, extending a hand.

“Y/N.”

“Pretty name,” he says with a smile.

You look down, awkward. “Feels like yesterday she was born. Now she’s in school,” he says.

“Time flies. Can’t believe it myself.”

“This your only one?”

“Yeah. He’s it. One and done,” you laugh. “it’s… a lot.”

He laughs too. “Same here. My girl’s five going on fifteen.”

You chat easily, but you can feel it—the heat of someone watching. You glance back. Rafe. Standing by the door, eyes locked on you and Mike.

You turn away quickly.

“He’s usually shy,” you say. “I’m glad he found someone to talk to.”

“Lily can get anyone talking,” Mike grins.

Lily’s mom and her new husband approach. Lily introduces Keegan. Mike introduces you. They excuse themselves to meet the teacher.

You smell Rafe before you hear him. He walks up, placing a possessive hand on your lower back.

“The teacher wants to talk to you too,” he murmurs, close to your ear.

“Oh—okay. Uh, Rafe, this is Mike. Lily’s dad.”

Mike offers his hand. “Nice to see you again. I remember you from when you worked for your dad.”

Rafe squints. “Really? Don’t remember you.”

You shoot Rafe a warning look.

Mike just smiles. “It’s okay. That was a few years ago. You still work for him?”

“No. I run my own business now.”

His hand is still on your back, tense.

Thankfully, Mrs. Lawson calls for everyone to find a seat for the welcome video. You sit with Keegan in the back. Lily sits with her family in the middle. Mike gets a call and leaves.

Rafe mutters, “What an asshole,” under his breath.

“Hey… it’s fine. Don’t worry about him,” you whisper.

He doesn’t reply. Just stares at you, blank.

“Daddy, watch the screen,” Keegan scolds, grabbing Rafe’s face to turn it forward.

“Sorry, buddy.”

“It’s okay, Daddy. Listening is important.”

You snicker. They both turn to look at you.

“Mommy, you too. You’ll get a timeout if you don’t listen!”

You nod seriously, trying not to laugh.

After the video, the kids go back to playing. You meet with the teacher.

“He’s a sweetheart,” she says. “Your husband said—”

“Oh! He’s not my husband. Just Keegan’s dad.”

She blushes, flustered. “Oh—I’m sorry! I assumed.”

“No harm done.”

She explains the curriculum, garden project, and activities. You’re impressed.

When you’re done, you find Rafe and Keegan at the basketball court.

“Mommy! Catch!”

You toss the ball back. Keegan takes off running with Lily and some other kids.

“He’s gonna do great here,” Rafe says. “Better than he ever would in the Cut.”

“Yeah,” you say, ignoring the jab.

“I have plans tonight, so I don’t wanna be here too long.”

He’s texting—Topper and Kelce, no doubt.

“We can leave whenever.”

Rafe calls Keegan. “Time to go, buddy. Say goodbye.”

Keegan doesn’t protest. “What’s for dinner?”

“Spaghetti, Daddy.”

“Pasta it is.”

Rafe tickles him all the way to the car.

Rafe drives you all toward the country club, playing music softly in the background. Keegan’s humming along in the backseat, feet kicking gently. You glance out the window, heart still beating fast. Rafe hasn’t said much since leaving the school—not that you expected him to.

You pull up to the valet, where a young guy greets Rafe by name.

“Hey, Mr. Cameron. Table’s ready whenever you are.”

Of course it is. You roll your eyes as Rafe tips the valet and helps Keegan out of the car. You smooth your dress and grab your purse, adjusting the strap on your shoulder.

Inside, the place is all polished wood and low lighting, expensive smells and whispers. You don’t belong here—and you know it. You catch a glimpse of your reflection in the glass: a young mom clinging to grace in a sea of privilege. And beside you, Rafe looks completely at home.

Keegan’s tiny hand reaches for yours, grounding you. You grip it tightly.

“Reservation under Cameron,” Rafe tells the hostess without looking at her.

She nods, eyeing him. “Of course. Right this way.”

She leads you to a booth in the back. Rafe slides in on one side, and Keegan insists on sitting beside him. You take the seat across, smoothing the napkin in your lap.

The waiter appears instantly. “Good evening, Mr. Cameron. Would you like the usual?”

Rafe gives a slight nod, then glances at you. “You want wine?”

“I’m okay,” you reply quietly, already feeling out of place.

Keegan orders spaghetti—again—and you smile at how happy he looks. You lean back, watching them together. Rafe cuts his food for him, wipes his face when sauce gets on his cheek. He’s a good dad, you’ll give him that. When he’s present, he’s all in.

But you also know this version of him doesn’t always last.

Halfway through dinner, your phone buzzes. A text from JJ:

“You good?”

You don’t reply. You just stare at it, finger hovering.

Rafe notices. “Who’s texting you?”

You glance up. “It’s just JJ. Checking in.”

He smirks. “What, they think I’m gonna murder you in the booth?”

You shrug. “They care.”

Rafe’s expression hardens, but he says nothing.

When the check comes, Rafe grabs it without hesitation. You thank him. He just shrugs like it’s expected.

As you’re leaving, an older man stops Rafe.

“Rafe! Good to see you. Still keeping your head down?”

Rafe laughs tightly. “Trying my best.”

The man eyes you. “This your girl?”

“No,” Rafe says quickly. “This is—this is Keegan’s mom.”

The man nods slowly. “Ah. Got it. Well, nice to meet you.”

You plaster on a fake smile and let Rafe guide you away. Keegan’s still rambling about dinosaurs and spaghetti, oblivious to the tension.

Back in the car, the mood has shifted. Rafe’s quieter. You try to ignore it, but it sits heavy in your chest.

“You didn’t have to correct him like that,” you say softly.

“What?” he asks, eyes still on the road.

“The guy at the club. You said I wasn’t your girl like it was something gross.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it?”

He doesn’t answer. Just keeps driving.

Keegan dozes off in the backseat. You watch his reflection in the rearview mirror, heart squeezing.

When you finally pull up to the house, the porch lights are on. JJ’s sitting on the steps. Sarah, Kie, and Pope are standing by the door.

Rafe gets out and walks around to get Keegan. You do the same, meeting at the passenger side.

“Thanks for dinner,” you say, reaching in to unbuckle your son.

Rafe nods, watching your hands move. “He was good today.”

“He’s always good.”

You lift Keegan carefully, his head resting against your shoulder.

“I’ll come by tomorrow,” Rafe says. “Grab him for the weekend okay.”

You pause. “Text me first.”

“Right.” He doesn’t like that answer, but he doesn’t push.

You walk past him toward the porch. JJ stands, meeting you halfway. He takes Keegan gently from your arms.

“Got him,” he murmurs. “Go inside.”

You turn around. Rafe hasn’t moved. He’s watching you all from the sidewalk, face blank. You don’t wave. You don’t say goodbye. You just walk back up onto the porch, into the house full of people who chose you.

JJ settles Keegan on the couch, covering him with a blanket. The others crowd around, asking quietly how it went. You give a tired shrug.

“It was fine. He was fine.”

You disappear into the kitchen, needing space. Needing air. Sarah follows, placing a hand on your back.

“You okay?” she asks gently.

You nod. “I just hate how easy it is to fall back into it. With him. Even when I know better.”

She squeezes your shoulder. “You’re not alone, you know. We’re all here. No matter what.”

You look back toward the living room—Keegan asleep, safe, surrounded.

You’re home.

The music’s thumping. Beer cans litter the deck. Smoke hangs in the humid air like a fog, and the party’s hitting that messy, late-night peak where nothing makes sense and no one remembers what they said an hour ago.

Rafe’s leaning against the balcony railing, watching the yard with a tight jaw and a looser grip on his beer. The drink’s warm in his hand, the buzz not hitting like it usually does. Not enough to drown it out.

Behind him, laughter spills from the kitchen. A group’s playing some drinking game on the porch, cheering every time someone messes up. It’s a blur. None of it matters.

What does?

You. Keegan. Them.

He thinks about JJ carrying his son like it was second nature. Pope handing Keegan a juice box. Sarah brushing his curls from his face like she’s some kind of world’s best aunt. You, standing in the kitchen, smiling at something Kie said, like you belonged there. Like he never did.

It’s eating him alive.

Soft lips brush against the side of his neck.

“Hi, baby,” Sofia murmurs in his ear, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t lean into her. Just keeps his eyes on the yard like she’s not even there.

She kisses his cheek, then lower—down to the spot just under his jaw. “You’ve been ignoring me all night,” she pouts, voice half-teasing. “Starting to feel like I’m dating a ghost.”

Rafe finally shifts, pulling away just enough to take another swig of his beer.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he mutters.

Sofia frowns a little but forces a giggle, brushing her manicured nails across his chest. “Yeah, physically. But your head’s somewhere else.”

He shrugs, eyes still distant. “Just tired.”

She leans in again anyway, kissing his shoulder, trying to keep it playful. “You sure it’s not someone else that’s got you like this?”

That makes him glance at her—for a split second, a sharp flick of his eyes. Not amused.

“Don’t start.”

Sofia raises her hands like she’s backing off. “Okay, okay. Touchy.”

She steps back, crossing her arms, her flirtiness fading into something more irritated. “You’re seriously gonna be this moody all night? We’re at Topper’s. People are watching. You’re acting like your dog just died.”

Rafe snorts bitterly, tossing the empty beer bottle into the trash with more force than necessary.

“No, I’m acting like I’ve got people I hate playing dad to my son while I stand here getting slobbered on like a fucking prop.”

Sofia flinches a little. “Jesus, Rafe. I was just trying to be nice.”

He sighs, runs a hand down his face. “Yeah. I know.”

Sofia doesn’t say anything right away. She just looks at him.

The vibe’s loosened again. Rafe and Sofia are sitting in the circle on the grass with Topper, Kelce, Ruthie, and a few others, red Solo cups in every hand, a half-smashed game of “Never Have I Ever” underway. Someone’s playing Travis Scott from a speaker that’s been knocked over twice, and the scent of weed and spilled beer hangs thick in the night air.

Rafe’s arm is slung over Sofia’s shoulder now, fingers lazily drawing circles on her skin like they didn’t just fight an hour ago. She’s leaning into him, cheeks flushed—either from the tequila or the attention. Maybe both.

Topper laughs loudly at something Kelce says, tossing a bottle cap at his head.

“Okay,” Ruthie grins, eyes scanning the group, wine cooler in hand, “my turn.”

She tucks a brown piece of hair behind her ear, putting on that fake innocent look she always uses right before she stirs the pot.

“Never have I ever…” Ruthie says sweetly, holding her drink like a prop, “…dated a Pogue.”

The circle breaks into a low ripple of laughter. Topper cackles, Kelce mutters “yo,” and Sofia stiffens beside Rafe.

Rafe doesn’t move right away. Just lifts his drink and takes a slow sip, his jaw clenching the moment Ruthie opens her mouth again.

“I mean, clearly some people in this circle are really into slumming it,” she adds, eyes flicking between Rafe and Sofia.

Sofia glares. “Are you for real right now?”

Ruthie doesn’t blink. “I’m just pointing out the pattern. First your baby mama’s a Pogue, now you’re with another one. Gotta be a thing, right?”

Rafe finally shifts. He drops his arm from around Sofia’s shoulder, sits forward, eyes locked on Ruthie with that simmering heat in them.

Kelce lets out a nervous chuckle. “Yo, Ruthie…”

But Ruthie’s not done.

“Pretty wild when you think about it,” she says, taking a long sip. “You got this big Cameron name, all this money, but your kid? Half-Pogue. Lives in a busted house with those dirtbags you can’t stand. Daddy of the year, huh?”

The silence hits like a slap.

Topper’s face drops. Sofia stares at Ruthie like she’s lost her mind. And Rafe—Rafe just blinks, slowly.

Then he stands up.

“You wanna say that shit again?” he says, voice low, sharp, dangerously calm.

Ruthie smiles, tilting her head. “I’m just saying. Cameron blood or not, the kid’s growing up more Pogue than Kook. Guess that makes you… what? A hypocrite? Or just a shitty dad?”

Sofia immediately grabs Rafe’s arm, trying to pull him back. “Rafe—no.”

He doesn’t hit her. He doesn’t even yell. That’s what makes it worse.

He leans in just enough for Ruthie to feel it, eyes cold.

“You talk about my son again,” he says, “and I’ll remind you how fast I can make people disappear from these parties.”

The threat lands like a brick.

Sofia is tugging at his shirt now, panicking quietly. “Let’s go, Rafe. Come on.”

He doesn’t break eye contact with Ruthie. Just smirks.

“Ruthie I swear” topper says

“Oh what?” Ruthie snaps, chin lifted. “You gonna swing on a girl now, Rafe? Real classy.”

Sofia pulls at his arm. “Rafe—stop. Let it go.”

But he doesn’t.

He laughs. One of those cold, mocking, I’ve already decided I’m gonna ruin you laughs.

“Oh, you want classy?” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t talk to me about class when your own boyfriend told the group chat you can’t even give head without using your teeth.”

The whole circle reacts instantly. Kelce chokes on his drink. Topper slaps a hand over his face, groaning, “Jesus, bro—”

Ruthie’s smile drops. Her entire body goes still, eyes wide.

Rafe leans in just a little more, voice dropping even lower—just for her now.

“Yeah. He said you cry when he finishes too fast because it ‘hurts your self-esteem.’ Maybe focus on fixing that instead of running your mouth about my son.”

Ruthie is frozen—humiliated, crushed, seething—but she has nothing to fire back with.

Sofia tugs harder this time. “Rafe, enough.”

And finally, he listens.

He turns his back, smirking to himself as he lets Sofia pull him away from the fire he just lit.

She’s shaking her head as they walk toward the house.

“You didn’t have to go that hard,” she mutters, even though a part of her—deep down—likes that he stood up for his son.

Rafe just shrugs, smug as hell. “She wanted to play dirty. I buried her.”

You’re sound asleep as your phone blows up drunk Rafe on his bullshit

Rafe- 1:44 AM

You seriously think it’s smart having Keegan around those losers 24/7?

1:45 AM

JJ’s one bad day away from jail. John B can’t even hold a job. And Pope?? He acts all perfect. Pretends he’s above everything but he’s still a Pogue with a savior complex.

1:47 AM

Why the hell is my son being raised by them??

1:49 AM

You let them play house with him. You really do. JJ teaching him how to throw rocks and cuss. John B acting like he’s “cool uncle.” Pope correcting Keegan’s manners like he’s the damn stepdad.

1:52 AM

He’s a fucking CAMERON. Not a project for the chateau charity case club.

1:55 AM

I’m not saying you’re a bad mom. But come on. You know they hate me. You think they’re not saying slick shit around him??

1:57 AM

Just wait till Keegan starts repeating it. Saying some JJ line like “my dad’s a psycho” or some shit.

2:00 AM

I should’ve fought harder for custody.

2:02 AM

Don’t push me to do that now.

[octuscle]

From tutor to rookie of the year

Hi, my name’s Jake. I recently started working at one of the top accounting firms in the city. Strangely enough, one of my first assignments wasn’t analyzing spreadsheets — it was tutoring a few high school students with subpar grades. It’s not why I joined the firm, but hey, I’m new, and saying no on day one isn’t really an option. Besides, I once considered becoming a teacher. Maybe this is fate’s way of nudging me in that direction.

The first tutoring session starts off… awkwardly. I almost have to tear myself away from my desk to make it to the school on time. But when I arrive, the classroom is empty. Fifteen minutes later, I hear footsteps, loud voices, and then the door slams open — in come a bunch of football players, still in gear, still dripping sweat, and clearly still riding the adrenaline from practice.

The smell hits first — pure locker room. Then the noise. Then the looks — strong jaws, broad shoulders, testosterone basically fogging up the air. And suddenly I’m back in high school: the quiet kid, smart but invisible, praying not to get stuffed in a locker.

I clear my throat. Try to lay down the law. “I’m not here to waste time. You’re not either. So let’s focus.” They barely react. Paper airplanes start flying. I start writing out equations. I’ve got my degrees. I’ve got a future. Their grades? Not my problem. I hope.

By the second session, I’m already dreading it. But I need this internship. The firm’s elite. If tutoring meatheads twice a week is the price, I’ll pay it. I’m already doing 60-hour weeks — what’s two more hours of chaos?

But then — surprise — the guys show up on time. They even ask some semi-reasonable questions. “Yo, can you use math to figure out how a football flies?” I bite. Start talking about vectors, force, velocity. They burst out laughing. “Bro, chill! I was jokin’. Football ain’t math. It’s speed. Power, bro.”

I think about giving them a quick physics lesson — Newton, force equals mass times acceleration — but they’re already off, bragging about some savage tackle or insane touchdown. And... damn. I’m kinda hooked. Listening to them. Watching them. Wishing, deep down, I’d been more like them back in school.

Yo, real talk? Coach only made me do tutoring ‘cause I ain’t a total flop at sports. Said the team might listen to me. Yeah right. They don’t respect me. I respect them. Especially him. My secret crush. Even just thinkin’ ‘bout explainin’ math to him got me leaking into my Calvin Kleins, no cap.

I knew they’d show up late. If they were organized off the field, they wouldn’t need help. And me? I don’t wanna be here either. So we make a deal: 30 minutes of tutoring, 30 minutes of tossin’ the pigskin. Not like I’m allergic to sports — I lift, I swim — but team games? Meh. Not my thing. Still, out on the field with the bros, feels kinda… right.

Aight, lemme keep it 💯 — math ain’t my jam. But I’m passin’, ya feel me? I’m solid in English n’ history. Still don’t get why I gotta sit with these clowns in tutoring. Makes no damn sense.

And that tutor dude? Bro. Major L. Guy walks in lookin’ like someone’s awkward cousin at a funeral. Shirt tucked, tie tight, hair all perfect like he’s in a toothpaste commercial. Who wears a tie these days? If I had to wear that kinda drip, I’d quit life. Real talk. Dude prob thinks deodorant’s a flex. Me n’ the bros? We smell like victory, sweat, and straight-up testosterone. Axe body spray and raw man juice.

I’d let him sniff my pits just to watch him faint — but detention’s waitin’. Leave that stuff to the juniors. We varsity now.

“Jack, BRO!”

That’s Chuck. QB1. You can tell by the voice. And the scent. Dude smells like leather and sin. I’d recognize that anywhere. Hell, I could taste it blindfolded.

“Bro, where were you? The DEAN showed up. You’re cooked, man!”

Ah, shit. I was benchin' at the gym. Tryna catch up to the big dogs. Chuck’s like, “We said you were takin’ a mad dump. Nerd didn’t say squat. But maybe you should, like, let him suck you off or sumthin’. Keep his mouth shut, y’know?” Broooo. That idea lowkey slaps. I ain’t busted today yet, and we got 40 minutes till practice.

“He still in the room?” Chuck nods. I dap him up. “I got this.”

If Chuck n’ Matt bounce to college next year, it’s MY shot at QB. But bro — I gotta bulk. Those two? Next level. Matt’s got chest hair like a beast. Armpits like a damn jungle. Dude's goin’ full gorilla. I’m jealous, not even gonna lie.

My bulge don’t stack up. But they don’t care if I smash. Matter fact — they like smashin’ me more. Long as we don’t do eye contact. Cuz like… then it’s sus.

Skipped tutoring again today. Coach says we’re “conditioning.” Translation: pumpin’ iron and runnin’ laps while that nerd rots alone. Ain’t even sure if Chuck and Matt leavin’ for college next year.

But y’know what? Screw it. NFL pros don’t need algebra.

Thanks to @misctf for saving this!

[lokislady17]

This goes hand in hand with the American mono myth, not to be confused with the Mono myth as presented by Joseph Campbell. The difference being that the Campbellion hero returns to their people with the “elixir”-the solution to the problem that set the hero out on their journey. The hero ultimately stays to help the people move forward. However, the American mono myth has a society that is relatively untroubled until some “big bad” comes along and disrupts the peace. A hero then comes along to protect said society, defeat and remove the big bad. The hero then walks off into the sunset and the society goes back to its way of life. The MCU films, though enjoyable, are exemplary of this.

Never do any of the heroes stick around to try and help societies. Nor do heroes like Captain America or Iron Man ever do anything to try and make life for people better, like, you know, get involved in politics. Hell, Thor is supposed to be a king yet after the first movie, Thor pretty much spends his whole journey trying to avoid that responsibility. Why? Because it would mean having to come up with solutions to achieve a better society. It is so crazy that we live in an age where media is obsessed with heroes but terrified of actual leadership and responsibility.

I only watched season one of Andor (since the Acolyte was cancelled, I’ve been rather adverse to Star Wars) but I found it to be a very depressing watch because of where it sits on the time line. I know in more or less 30 years, everything these people fight and sacrifice for will mean absolutely nothing. The First Order will rise and the whole thing will start over again. This is what made the sequel trilogy so frustrating upon its completion. Not just because TROS was a terrible movie but ultimately because I did not feel like any meaningful change had been brought to the galaxy. Not once did anyone, rebel or otherwise, ever take a minute reflect how the galaxy got to where it is. Furthermore, what can we do to see to it that this never happens again? No, it was just another mind numbing battle sequence, the emperor dies again, and ends with Rey literally staring off into the sunset. No new leadership is established. No one steps up to take any responsibility.

I’m guessing stories keep ending this way because creators don’t want to see their hero’s tarnished by the realities of flawed societies and the trials and yes, even failures, that come with the territory of leadership. And yes, trying to come up with solutions is hard and responsibility is frighting. This is what makes the story of Danerys from GOT so interesting in the beginning . Danny was willing to step up and take that responsibility. She had a vision for a better world and it’s started with an end to ills like slavery. Was it hard? Yes. Did it work out in the end? No. I blame D and D for that one. Danny lacked experience and made some bad decisions but she did not surround herself with ‘yes men’. She strived to do better in a world intent on kneecapping her at every turn.

It’s hard not feel like the narrative was punishing Danny for simply daring to dream of a better world. It’s because the writers would have had to come up with actual ideas for how such a thing might be achieved. And that is where conservative viewers might feel the discomfort. The line “it’s difficult to see something that’s never been before.” Though spoken after her fall, I think, still rings with truth. Yes, it is hard to see a world that is peaceful. But first we must dare to dream of it.

The Fantasy of Revolutionary Sacrifice

I think what has ultimately pissed me off so much about Andor, especially season 2, is that Tony Gilroy got so caught up in the romantic image of the doomed revolutionary, that he completely missed the true message of Rogue One. Gilroy is on the record saying that when he was brought on to re-write the script, the theme he landed on was sacrifice. Sacrifice is important, for sure, and it's a theme that leads to the tragedy of Rogue One, but I don't think it was ever as central a theme as Gilroy made it out to be. I think hope and faith are far more important themes than sacrifice. The story is about finding hope in a seemingly hopeless world and spreading that hope beyond one's self.

The Rogue One crew can be divided into those with faith but no hope, and those with hope but no faith. And Chirrut, who still has hope and faith. Cassian, K-2SO, and Baze have faith - Kay even has the statistics to back it up - but no hope. Bodhi and Jyn have hope, but no faith. Bodhi has enough hope to get Galen's message to the Rebellion, but very little faith in himself. It's harder to see with Jyn, but while her lack of faith in others is palpable, I truly believe that she never gave up hope that someone would stick around. Throughout the film, everyone finds that missing part they need that ultimately gets the Death Star plans to the Rebellion.

Gilroy's vision of revolutionary sacrifice is a nihilistic one. Nemik's manifesto is inspiring, sure. Luthen's speech is galvanizing. But there's no future, not just for themselves, and not for the galaxy. Bix's baby feels so wrong so many reasons: the sexism, racism, re-traumatization by going back to Mina Rau, the heteronormativity of it all. It all feeds into this massive, damning weakness of Andor's narrative. The fetishization of revolutionary sacrifice without an idea for a future appeals to both leftists and conservatives. We love underdogs, we tend to see ourselves as ones, and who doesn't want to be the insurgent fighting against a greater foe. The problem is framing and aesthetics. I've been frustrated by people who I consider more radical, more left wing, than myself who seem blind to all the problems of Andor, who seem deaf to the praise its getting from right wing commentators. The most pushback I've seen it get from conservatives is the hackneyed critique of being "too political." For me, at least, sacrifice means nothing if there is nothing at the end of the road.

If Andor was so revolutionary, than how could it have been produced by the, at best, conservatively risk adverse Disney? Unless they were assured that the presented politics would not alienate conservative viewers. Many see themselves as the Rebels, as the forces of good fighting against a growing, existential evil, with the goal of restoring a lost way of life. Even if many would rather play the Empire (*cough Alex Jones cough*). I don't want to paint the Rebellion as reactionaries, but Star Wars has bad track record, especially in the main canon, of not presenting any new vision for the Galaxy. Because to do so may make those conservative viewers nervous and uncomfortable. I've even seen viewers (mostly on Reddit) asking why Andor didn't get a lot of push back, and I think it goes back to my main thesis: the show embraces romantic revolutionary sacrifice without presenting a future, thus allowing both leftists and conservatives - especially men - to insert themselves into the narrative. They can play out heroic fantasies of dying for a cause in a blaze of glory. That way, no one has to come up with a concrete idea of what the galaxy (or our world) will be like after Cassian sacrifices his life. Disney and their conservative viewers don't have to get uncomfortable with anti-fascist critique that would hold up the mirror to them. The mirror hurts, remember. Meanwhile, leftists who should know better get caught up in novelty and glamour of having characters spout revolutionary speeches in a mainstream show. Even if it's all smoke and mirrors.

It's all vanity.

[augustjustice]

you wanna feel how it feels (let's exchange the experience) 8/?

start here | Part 7 | AO3

Rating: E (overall; T for this section) | 5.4k for this part of the chapter

Tags: Bodyswap, Friends to Lovers, Slowburn, Getting to Know Each Other, Disabled Eddie Munson, Disabled Steve Harrington, Class Differences, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Bisexual Eddie Munson, Ableism, Jealousy

Summary: After the Spring Break from hell, Eddie and Steve become fast friends, with a possible hint towards something more…except they’re never quite sure what the other is actually thinking. But maybe, just maybe, walking a mile in each other’s shoes can lend them some much needed insight.

Notes: The boys debrief after meeting up with Nancy. Then, Eddie heads back to Harrington Manor for the night.

Continued conversations around ableism unfold here, and Steve definitely struggles with some negative self-talk.

“So…” Eddie elongated the syllable in his mouth, “you wanna talk about what happened, back there?”

Steve's hands adjusted around the steering wheel, suddenly white knuckling it, and the tenseness in his jaw was visible even in the low lighting. 

Despite the fact that they’d ended on a seeming high note–even if Nancy had shot them some odd looks, each time they cheered when “Steve” got a question right–after everything that went down at the study session, Eddie had been more than willing to let Steve win their prior argument and get back into the driver’s seat of his baby. 

…Once Nancy’s station wagon was well out of the parking lot, of course, red lights disappearing into the darkness. They ought to be safe, especially now that they had the cover of night to conceal them from any other prying eyes. 

So they were clipping right along back to the trailer park, Steve putting the pedal to the metal. His driving wasn’t anywhere near as wild and erratic as Eddie’s usually was, but it was still fast enough to suggest he definitely needed this after the day they’d had. 

Huffing out a breath, Steve gave a shrug, playing it casual despite the stiffness that lingered in his shoulders. “I mean, not really. What exactly is there to talk about?”

“I don’t know, dude. Shit just got…kinda intense, for a second.” Understatement of the century, but Eddie was doing his best to keep things light, especially when Steve already looked like this conversation was making him want to jump out of Eddie’s skin. “So…whaddya say you give it to me straight, Harrington–”

Steve snorted, cutting him off. “I thought I already made that totally clear, Eds. I can give it to you anyway but straight.”

“The man’s got jokes!” Eddie crowed, glad for the cover of night, dark enough to hide the flare on his cheeks at the innuendo. “But seriously, dude. What was up with you and Wheeler? She really didn’t know about your whole…reading thing?”

Steve sighed, long and dramatic, as he raked a hand up into Eddie’s curls. “I don’t get why it’s such a big deal. Everybody already knows I'm an idiot, man. A day with the kids should have taught you that. What would be the point of, like, getting into all the nitty gritty details?” 

“That! That’s part of the problem!” Eddie jabbed an accusing finger in Steve’s direction. “Jesus H. Christ, Stevie! Did you miss everything I said earlier? You're not an idiot, okay, dude? And I'm gonna keep saying it until it finally penetrates your stubborn, thick skull to that brilliant, beautiful brain of yours.” 

“You know, technically, you're the one with the thick skull now.” Master of deflection, Steve reached over and gently rapped at the side of Eddie's head.

“Well, what can I say? It suits me. Ask my uncle, I’m plenty stubborn too. Once I find a mystery that needs solving, I’m as bad as the Scooby Doo gang–can’t put it down until the case is closed. Like why exactly you never said anything before. To Wheeler, I mean.” 

Or me, he didn’t add. Worry still clawed at him, though, that Steve didn’t trust his friends enough to share certain parts of himself. 

Did he really think that Eddie of all people would have made fun of him? Because there was no way. 

Steve shook his head, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I don’t believe that for a second, dude. You’re such a total Shaggy.”

Eddie clutched a hand to his chest, offended. “Excuse me, good sir, I think you’ll find that you’re the Shaggy now. Got the hair for it and everything. I, on the other hand…am our fearsome and noble leader Fred.” Flipping down the sun visor, he took in Steve’s reflection in the dim light, making a show of adjusting the polo he was wearing. “Honestly, man, picture it. This preppy ass outfit of yours is practically begging for an ascot.” 

Steve gave him a light shove, not quite able to keep the laughter out of his voice. “I swear to god, Munson, if you put me in an ascot, I’m chopping off all your hair.”

“I’ll happily call that bluff, Stevie. I know you love me for my beautiful locks.” 

Since he couldn’t fluff his hair in a show of exaggerated vanity, as he normally would have, Eddie settled for giving a strand of it a teasing tug.

“Watch it, dude! You’re gonna damage it,” Steve complained, not exactly beating Eddie’s allegations that he cared. “And, you know, if you’d really let me get my hands on it, then what you just said might even be true.”

“You wound me, good sir. So what, in order to love it, you gotta give my hair the ole Farrah Fawcett treatment? Not sure how that’s gonna play in front of Corroded Coffin’s two whole fans. I’m going for something that’s a lot less Fabio and a lot more Eddie van Halen.”

“If you say so,” Steve said skeptically, pulling out a frizzy curl to give it a judgmental once over. 

“You are such an ass, man!” 

Steve only giggled, pleased with himself. 

The banter had settled something between them, as it always did. The atmosphere in the car was easy again, enough so Eddie took the risk and said, “Honestly, though…she seemed pretty cool with it.” 

He swallowed a little thickly, trying to tamp down on the feelings of jealousy that stirred at the memory. The way the air between Nancy and Steve had seemed to shrink, crackling with intensity, and the soft looks Steve kept shooting her after she’d apologized. Unfortunately, the image was basically seared into Eddie’s brain, now. 

At Steve’s puzzled look, he added, “Wheeler. When she found out about the…dyslexia.”

Eddie was careful with the pronunciation, the word foreign on his tongue. 

Steve let out a huff. “You’re really not gonna let this go, are you?”

“No way in hell, man. I’m like a dog with a bone.”

“Is it really such a crime that I didn't want my ex-girlfriend knowing just how much of a dumbass I really was?” Steve asked, exasperated. 

He hadn’t snapped, not exactly, but the harshness in his tone made Eddie flinch anyway. 

“‘Course it’s not,” he said hurriedly. “Sorry.”

The apology was weak, and Eddie knew that the uneasy silence that lapsed after it was his fault. He just wasn’t sure how to make up for it. 

But before he even got a chance to try, Steve murmured, so quiet he almost missed it, “‘You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.’” 

The words were like a slap to the face. Eddie had already known that he’d fight anyone, including Steve himself, who had the audacity to make that kind of comment, but even he was a little surprised at how instantly ready and raring to go he was.

“Shit, man, what did I just get done sa–”

“No, not–I wasn’t calling myself that, okay? It’s–Nancy used to say that. To me, back when we were together. It was like a fond thing? Like a joke, you know, between the two of us. I guess I just…didn’t want her to think that for real.” He added, in a low undertone, “Not anymore than she already did.”

“...Oh,” Eddie breathed in, fingers tapping a restless staccato on the passenger side door. “So…you never told her.”

“Nope,” Steve popped the ‘p.’ “Or anybody, really. After they found out, my dad really didn’t want me to talk about it. How would it look, right, to his business partners, to hear he had a complete moron for a son?” Steve laughed bitterly. “I mean, Tommy and Carol kind of knew, probably. And Robin, of course, cuz there’s nothing I can get past her. But…nobody else.”

“‘Cept for me and Wheeler, now,” Eddie amended, inclining his head. “Confidantes by necessity.” 

“Right,” Steve sucked in a breath, rubbing an anxious finger at his upper lip. “I really wasn’t trying to keep it from you, dude. I literally just…forgot.” 

“Nah, man, I know,” Eddie rushed to assure him, regretting that he’d needled him so hard. He hadn’t meant to make Steve feel guilty, since he had no reason to. 

Maybe a selfish part of him had wanted the assurance he hadn’t done anything wrong. But, more than anything, he’d just wanted Steve to open up. Eddie knew how bad he was about bottling shit up, if given half a chance. 

“No question. Plus, it’s not like you owe it to anybody, to tell them if you don’t want to.” 

“Yeah, but you’re the one having to put up with it, now. I’m sorry about that, too. You know, that you got saddled with my…” Steve made a helpless gesture at his head, “messed up brain.”

Eddie let out a pained noise. “Shit, Stevie, don’t do that. There’s nothing to apologize for, ya hear me?” he adopted his best no-nonsense tone, the one he’d learned from Wayne. “Besides, I should be saying the same thing to you. After all, you’re stuck with mine.” 

“Okay, well, but there’s nothing wrong with your–”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Eddie waggled a finger at him, cutting off his protests. “Third year senior, remember? I’ve long been said to have a few screws loose.” Though his tone was light, joking, he couldn’t help but murmur, more seriously, “Christ, trust me, it can be kind of a nightmare up there, sometimes. And that was before all the Upside Down related shit.”

“They were bullshit,” Steve said, the word carrying weight, conviction. At Eddie’s questioning look, he added, “Anybody who ever said there was something wrong with you. Total losers.” He spit the title, Steve harnessing all his high school mean girl energy as he often did now–in the name of good. 

“And so was your dad, big guy, and our shitty high school teachers, and whoever the fuck else made you feel that way. I meant what I said before. To Wheeler? I get what it’s like, man. But you’re the farthest thing from stupid. It’d actually almost be kind of funny, that people treated you that way, if it wasn’t so goddamn infuriating.”

Panting from how worked up he’d gotten from his impromptu speech, Eddie slapped his hands against the glove box once, twice. Not hard–he didn’t want to hurt Steve’s hands or his car–but just enough to get the pent up energy, the fury of it, out.

Lip caught between his teeth, Steve shot Eddie a quick glance. He braced for it–the reprimand, Steve to tell him off for being reckless, meet Eddie’s anger with some outrage of his own. 

But it didn’t come. 

Instead, he waved a hand back and forth between them. 

“This whole bizarro Freaky Friday thing. Sure, it’s been weird as shit, but…” Steve shrugged, clearing his throat before redirecting his gaze to the road, “at least it’s you. You know?”

Eddie blinked in confusion, feeling like he’d lost a step somewhere. 

“I’m, uh…gonna need you to elaborate on that one for me, Harrington.”

“I’m just saying, I don’t know if I could handle it, if this happened with anybody else.”

As touched as he felt at the sentiment, Eddie couldn’t help but scoff. “Get real, Stevie. You and Buck are so joined at the hip, I bet money you’d both just go merrily on like nothing had even happened.”

The Beemer came to a full stop, and Eddie realized, magically, they had somehow made it back to the trailer park in one piece. He hadn’t even noticed, too caught up in the conversation to register the familiar surroundings flashing by.  

Though Steve put the car in park, neither of them made a move to get out. 

Cocking his head, he hummed in clear contemplation. 

“Sure, okay. Robin, maybe. In theory, except I'm really not sure either one of us is prepared to have each other's…junk." Steve made a face at the thought. 

Eddie let out a short, amused bark of laughter. "We've got each other's junk right now, dude.”

"Well, yeah, okay, but at least we've both still got…dicks, you know?" 

"Oh, I'm aware,” Eddie muttered. 

How could he not be, after that shower earlier?

"Look, I’m just saying…can you imagine a suddenly 19 year old Dustin?” Steve said, drawing Eddie abruptly out of the x-rated memories that threatened to flash across his mind. His eyes went so wide with horror, it bordered on comical–Eddie definitely got it, now, why the guys sometimes called him ‘bug-eyed.’ “He'd be a goddamn menace. I'd never get the Beemer back in one piece."

Eddie flashed a grin. "Can't argue with you there. You'll be lucky to get it back in one piece as it is, with me behind the wheel."

Steve's lips turned down in a frown, looking petulant. It was becoming less weird by the second, seeing Steve's sour pout on his own face. Instead it was mostly just…cute. 

“Like hell I’m letting you drive my car again, Munson,” Steve said, nudging his shoulder into Eddie’s as he picked up the old argument again. 

It should have been tired by now, but instead it just felt…easy. Warm and comfortable, like pulling on one of the worn flannels Eddie had stolen the first year he’d started living with Wayne, the ones he still refused to give back.  

“That right, big boy? Well, then, how the hell do you propose I get back to Casa de Harrington for the night?”

They’d already agreed that recreating the situation as the first time they switched seemed like their best bet for switching back. Eddie might have struggled through each and every science class Hawkins High required, but even he’d absorbed enough to understand that was how experiments worked–if you wanted to replicate the results, you had to keep running the test the exact same way again and again.

Steve shrugged, unbothered. “You can walk.”

“That’s miles away, Harrington! You’d really just abandon your good pal Eddie, leave me out here to die?” 

Even in the darkness, Eddie could see the slight twinkle in Steve’s eye. “Don’t worry about it, Eds. I work out. You’ll be completely, 100% fine.”

“Can’t believe you're willing to let me take your body for such a reckless ass spin but not your car,” Eddie shook his head, Steve’s shorter hair tickling the back of his neck. “Such priorities you’ve got, Stevie.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t really have much of a choice on that first one, now do I?” When he caught Eddie’s eyes again, his expression became open, sincere in that way Steve had that always struck him down to his core. “But, I’m serious. I’m really glad it’s you.” 

Unable to pull a strand of hair over his face, Eddie settled for ducking his head to hide his shy, pleased smile. 

“Me too, Stevie. Nobody I’d rather be stuck with.”

Reaching over, Steve settled a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, giving him one of those tight, reassuring squeezes. Eddie couldn’t help but lean into the touch, soaking in the warmth of the moment. 

…That was, at least, until the opening notes of ABBA’s “Dancing Queen” wafted into the air from whatever pop station Steve always had his car radio tuned to, shattering it. 

Eddie wrinkled his nose before shooting Steve a shit-eating grin. “...Even if your music does absolutely suck.”

“Munson, I swear to God…” Steve groaned. 

But then, not even a beat later, his face broke into a wide smile, showing off Eddie’s teeth and dimples. A mischievous glint appeared in his eye. 

Eddie didn’t care for that look, not one iota. 

“Uhhh, dude? What’re you do–?” 

Hand darting out to grab the knob, Steve turned the song up to full blast. Then, he opened his mouth, and, to Eddie’s horror, crooned out an Ooh. 

“No, no, no! Goddamnit, Harrington, don’t you dare!” he cried out. 

…To no avail, as Steve was already belting out the first lines of the song at the top of his lungs. 

Eddie practically vaulted over the gear shift to try and stop him. But Steve just shoved open the car door and raced out into the Munsons’ front yard, too fast for him. 

“Hey, just consider this payback for the Scoops uniform, jerkwad!” he called back over his shoulder, laughing in the face of Eddie’s scowl.

In his haste to follow, Eddie all but fell out of the driver’s side door, scrambling around the Beemer to go after him. 

“Diggin’ the dancing queen!” Steve sang, giving a dorky little shimmy to go along with it. Right out in the open, where there could be witnesses. “Oh, wow. You really do sound, like, super good, dude.” 

Eddie harrumphed, momentarily offended. “Yeah, well, you don’t gotta seem so surprised, man. I’m a professional, after all. Although I’d sound a helluva lot better if you’d sing something decent like–like Dio, or Ozzy, or, fuck, Judas Priest! Have mercy, Stevie, anything but ABBA.” 

As he should have predicted, his comment only made Steve raise his voice even more, loud and proud as the next line rang out into the night sky. 

In retaliation, Eddie shouted out the opening lyrics of Mötley Crüe’s “Come On and Dance” to try and drown him out, sticking his tongue out and banging his head in time. 

“When she's hot, well, damn she's hot! Electric love like Sandra Dee!”

And…what the hell? Steve sounded fucking bad ass, he absolutely had the vocal range for metal. 

But before he could test said range further, Steve pulled him out of his reverie.

“Not gonna work, Eds!” he shook his head, amused. “Like I give a shit who hears me singing your metal crap.”

“Metal crap! Metal crap, he says! Oh, it is so on, Harrington!”

Thankful once again for the boost of Steve’s added speed, Eddie zipped straight towards him and caught him around the waist. Mindful of his own body’s injuries, he wrapped Steve in what was basically a big bear hug, clapping a wide palm over his mouth to silence him. 

Muffled sounds issued from behind his hand, Steve doing his best to keep singing. He wriggled in Eddie’s arms, working to free himself, but to no avail.  

“Well, well, well, still not so easy, is it?” Eddie taunted, wiggling his eyebrows triumphantly. “Going up against those jock muscles of yours?” 

Steve scowled at him, eyes narrowing. 

Then, Eddie felt a warm, wet stripe drag over his skin as Steve licked his hand. 

He dropped his grip, more startled than anything. 

“What the fuck, dude?!” Eddie demanded, wiping the moisture off on Steve’s light rinse jeans. “You’re the one that went on and on about how gross spit was! Just where the hell are those prim and proper royal manners now?”

Steve threw back his head and laughed, pleased as punch with himself. 

“I mean, sure, it absolutely is, but it’s your spit on your hand. I don’t have to put up with it.”

Twirling away from Eddie, he started right back up again. 

“You come to look for a king. Anybody could be that guyyy.” 

“Yeah, uh, not just anybody.” Accepting defeat, Eddie settled for snarky commentary. “Pretty sure we can safely say that’s you, Harrington.” 

Ignoring him, Steve surprised Eddie all over again by extending a hand to him. 

“Eddie,” he needled, batting his eyelashes. Eddie would have said it was a move worthy of him at his most ridiculous–but Steve had pulled the same thing on him before, too, usually with resounding success. 

It shouldn’t have still been as effective as it was, considering Steve was peering back at him out of Eddie’s own big, brown eyes. 

“Come on, man, don’t be a buzzkill,” Steve jutted out his bottom lip, coupling the puppy dog eyes with a devastating pout. “Dance with me.”

…But it was looking more and more like Eddie remained a total sucker for Steve Harrington, in any and all shapes and guises. 

“Somebody’s gonna see us out here, Stevie,” Eddie protested reluctantly.

“So what?” Steve wriggled his shoulders. “Oh, right, I totally forgot, gotta protect your reputation as the biggest, baddest metalhead in town. Seriously, Eds, I thought we put that dumb high school shit behind us.”

He seemed completely unconcerned with his own reputation, what someone might think if they caught “him” dancing with Eddie Munson, local outcast and known freak. 

And, in the face of that, how could Eddie really argue?

He sighed, hanging his head, making an exaggerated show of his defeat. 

“Well, fuck, man, when you put it that way–”  

Steve let out a whoop of triumph. “Score one for Harrington! I knew you’d see it my way.”

Eddie held up a finger. “Let the record show I'm doing this under extreme duress.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just get over here, Munson.”

Steve mimed throwing a lasso and looping it around Eddie, reeling him in. After acting out a brief “struggle,” Eddie went, grinning all the way. 

As soon as he was in range, Steve grabbed both his hands, pulling him close. Eddie matched his silly dance move for move, twisting his shoulders and shaking his hips. 

Which that, at least, probably made for quite the show. Eddie was a little sorry he was missing it. 

But Steve’s expression, happy and light and carefree, was even better. So good, in fact, the entire town of Hawkins could have been out on the lawn watching them, and Eddie couldn’t have held on to an ounce of annoyance or embarrassment, even if he tried. 

“You are the dancing queen!” Steve shouted, pointing a finger right at Eddie. 

“Uh, pretty sure you’re the only royalty I see around these parts, Stevie.” 

“Come on, man, you already said I was the king. That means you’ve gotta be my queen, yeah?”

Eddie flushed, stomach swooping as Steve spun them around in the grass. 

“Well, shit, we are a couple of queens,” he conceded. “Nailed that part, at least.” 

“That’s the spirit!” The enthusiasm with which Steve agreed–something that would have been a complete impossibility for him to fathom only a few hours before–warmed Eddie to his core. “Damn right we are.” 

They swayed together, Steve still singing along with every word. And for just a moment, Eddie pictured what it might be like to finally make it to one of those gay clubs he’d heard whisper of up in Indy. Imagined the way sweat would drip off his body under the strobing lights as he lost himself in the music, Steve at his side. 

So, swept up as he was, the next time Steve bellowed out the chorus, movements buoyant and excitement infectious…Eddie joined him. 

“You are the dancing queen! Young and sweet, only seventeen!”

And though he would have only admitted that he’d sang along to the end under threat of death, the way Steve’s smile lit up, bright and shining as any star, honestly made the whole thing worth it.

As they made their final circle, the last chords fading out, Eddie couldn’t help but say, “You know, sweet seventeen Steve Harrington wasn’t this much of a goofball. At least, not from what I remember.”

“Oh, he so was, trust me. You just didn’t know him. And…well,” Steve shrugged his shoulders, sheepish, “he also hid it a lot better, back then. At least in public.”

“Ah. Doing his best to protect his own precious reputation, keep that crown firmly in place, was he?” Eddie said knowingly. “But, you know…kinda wish we had gotten to know each other, during those bygone school days. Probably would have done us both a world of good.”

Steve grimaced. “No way, man, you so don’t. Seriously, I was such an asshole.”

“I mean, you didn’t exactly keep the best company, I’ll give you that. But…nah. Like I told the kids, you weren’t all that bad.” He shook his head, eyes glazing as he took a not at all pleasant stroll down memory lane. “Jesus Christ, you were an absolute peach next to Hargrove and Hagan.”

Steve’s face screwed up, sour like he had sucked on a lemon. “Not exactly a high bar.”

“Better than most, trust me. I’m just saying, sorry we didn’t get our shit together sooner. To think, I could’ve gotten to see the prom king’s dorky ass moves ages ago! For shame!” Eddie teased. Then, he dropped into a dramatic bow. “So thank you for gracing me with a dance now, kind sir.”

Steve rolled his eyes fondly. “Thank you. I mean, after all, it’s only cuz you quit being such a ginormous stick-in-the-mud that I got to.” 

“Well, shit, what can I say? Even the jester himself,” Eddie gestured to himself with a flourishing hand, “has to be reminded to get off his high horse sometimes.”

“Thought we both already agreed you’re my queen, Eds,” Steve said, settling a hand on the small of Eddie’s back and keeping it there as he guided him back towards the car. The weight of it, steady and warm through the material of Steve’s polo, sent a pleased tingle running up Eddie’s spine. 

As he slid into the driver’s seat and shut the door, Steve crossed his arms and leaned onto the open window. 

“And hey, man, who knows? We’ll probably wake up tomorrow, and everything will be hunky dorky again.” He held up his hand, fingers curled into an ‘ok’ sign.

Eddie refused to ask how many times that had actually happened in this town. 

Instead, he chuckled. “Honestly, you’re such a dork, Harrington. I can’t believe people used to go on and on about how damn cool you were.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve waved a dismissive hand at him, then gave the car one final pat as he stood up. “Don’t wreck my car, Munson.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Harrington.”

“I mean it. Just get home in one piece, alright?”

“Roger that, dad,” Eddie taunted mercilessly. 

Steve pursed his lips into that catty, annoyed look Eddie was so fond of and flipped him the bird. Eddie only cackled in response.

“I’m not kidding, asshole! Everything better be in tip-top shape when I wake up tomorrow morning. Not a speck of dust on the paint job or a hair out of place, got it?”

Even amongst his nagging, Eddie could appreciate Steve’s attempt at eternal optimism. 

With a mocking salute, he called back, “Aye-aye, sailor! I have my orders.” 

He waited as Steve, ever the jock, jogged up the front porch steps, making sure he got the trailer door open with the key Eddie had singled out for him. When Steve wiggled his fingers in a final, exasperated wave goodnight, Eddie revved the engine once, just to rile him up. 

Then, he was off. 

—

At night, Harrington Manor stood quiet. 

The whole neighborhood did, really, those eerie little identikit Stepford houses dark and silent. Even just shutting the door to the Beemer a tiny bit too hard had Eddie worried the housewife across the street might call in a noise complaint on him. 

He couldn’t help but wonder how Steve had pulled it off, all those years of house parties, without Hopper immediately turning up to break things up. 

As he entered the house, unease crept up Eddie’s spine, lingering with him as he started towards the stairs that led to Steve’s bedroom. 

It wasn’t the horror movie kind, like something was watching, out to get you. After his run-in with the Upside Down, Eddie was intimately aware of how that particular brand of discomfort felt. 

No, this was more the itchy sensation that came with visiting a distant relative you only knew through stories. Long gone was the sense, from earlier in the day, that Eddie shouldn’t still be counted as a guest in the Harrington house. 

He felt like a guest, now. Or, even worse–an intruder.

Because, apart from when he’d woken up that morning, Eddie had never been in Steve’s house without the man himself around. It felt wrong, to be here when he wasn’t. 

The whole ‘alone’ thing wasn’t even what really bothered Eddie about it, at least not completely. Honestly, that was familiar enough. Wayne worked third shift at the plant, after all, so he’d spent many a night by himself. 

But, even when he wasn’t home, his uncle’s presence lingered at the trailer, in every trucker cap and souvenir mug lining the walls. 

So, no, being alone wasn’t what left Eddie’s chest aching, had him missing Steve fiercely despite the fact they’d spent the entire day together. It was just how lonely the empty Harrington mansion felt. 

Because if the Harringtons’ signature touch was here, Eddie couldn’t tell it. 

Surely Steve’s mom had had a hand in decorating the place? But every space felt more like a showroom you’d see in the glossy pages of a magazine than a home, each item in its place, tidily tucked away. 

Most of the furniture, expensive though it might have been, looked uncomfortable and barely used, further evidence that Eddie’s hunch was right. Only the couch in the den showed any signs of wear and tear, the result of many a movie night Steve had hosted for the party, as Eddie now knew from experience. Abstract paintings lined the white walls along the staircase as he climbed it, not a single photo of gap-toothed baby Steve to be seen. 

Seventeen year old Eddie had often wondered, in moments he'd been anything but proud of, what it might be like to be born with a silver spoon in his mouth. 

He’d never pictured it’d be anything like this, drifting through the halls of a so-called ‘resplendent’ palace and finding it cold and empty. 

Sure, for his own sake, he was glad that the wayward Harrington parents weren’t here–had no idea how he’d manage to fake it if they had been. But…how the hell must Steve feel, spending night after night in their gaping absence? 

After the suffocatingly still hallway, even Steve’s room felt like a breath of fresh air. Finally, Eddie was in one of the only spots in the whole place where there were signs of life, limited though they might be. The terrible matching plaid wallpaper and single poster aside, a few of Steve’s sports trophies on display, alongside a wayward bowling pin, and he did have personal pictures framed on his desk and bedside table. 

Eddie’s eyes ran over them eagerly. Dustin, all decked out for one of the middle school dances, hair done up in a Harrington-approved ‘do. Max, on her skateboard in front of the Byers’ place, Lucas and El off on the sidelines happily cheering her tricks on. Steve and Robin, perched on the Scoops Ahoy counter, making faces at the camera. There were even a few shots of Eddie, sprinkled in amongst them. 

Silly as it might have seemed, just seeing those familiar faces smiling up at him was a comfort, after the blank drabness of the rest of the house. 

He hoped it offered the same relief to Steve, on nights he found himself up here on his own. 

To try and drown out the echoing silence, Eddie turned on Steve’s stereo. Hell, he’d welcome ABBA at this point, anything to disrupt the gnawing feeling of solitude. 

When the opening chords of Dio’s “Rainbow in the Dark”–the third track on the mixtape he’d made for Steve–filled the air, he did a double take. Eddie started humming along as he went to Steve’s dresser, mouth curving helplessly into a giddy smile. 

Rifling through the pajama drawer, he grabbed a pair of Steve’s Hawkins High Athletics sweatpants and one of his own Judas Priest’s tees, left behind after many a night spent staying over. Steve might have slept shirtless usually, but there was no way in hell if he tried that, Eddie would last til morning with his sanity still intact. And while he certainly wasn’t opposed to wearing something more prototypically Steve, like the swim team or Wham! T-shirt he spotted–both well worn and soft as hell, enough so Eddie had gone for them himself countless times in the past–a part of him delighted in imagining Steve waking up the next morning wearing his shirt. 

Which, with any luck, he would. 

Eddie drifted off surrounded, as he had been all day, with that strange, intoxicating mix of Steve and him together–Ozzy Osborne playing lowly in the background, the scent of expensive detergent and fancy shampoo all around him. 

His last thoughts were the hope–wish, really–that tomorrow, they’d be able to look back on this whole thing and laugh. Munson and Harrington, rolling Nat 20 once more on a wild and whacky but, for once, mostly harmless trial in Hawkins, Indiana. 

—

For the second morning in a row, Steve woke up in Eddie Munson's bed.

Taglist below! As always, if you’d liked to be added or removed, please just let me know:

@tinytalkingtina @eriquin @spectrum-spectre @grimweathers @highkingpenny

@yesdangerpls @vthx @queenie-ofthe-void @pearynice @felixir-of-moths

@stevesworldxx @themellowyellowmomma @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @anne-bennett-cosplayer

@sidekick-hero @thefreakandthehair @hbyrde36 @lingeringmirth @too-efn-old-to-be-here

@ellietheasexylibrarian @sharingisntkaren @a-lovely-craziness @soaringornithopter

[andy-15-07]

Can we have more soft hc w Joaquin pls 🥺

Maybe instead of assassin reader, shes his younger mentee and maybe pushes herself a little too hard

Or maybe hes just her self defence teacher cuz shes an ordinary civillian and her just sees how tired she is recently and all and tends to hide all her problems to herself and doesnt ask for help

Soft Mentee Headcanons

PAIRING: Joaquin Torres x Reader 💋

WORD COUNT: 543✍️

REQUESTS: Open! 💌 (send yours my way ,I love writing them all!)

🌟 Danny Ramirez Masterlist 🌟 | 🔥Kink Masterlist 🔥

“You don’t have to keep it all together just to impress me. I already think you’re pretty damn amazing.”

🥊 You're Not Built for War—but You Train Like You Are

You showed up to self-defense class on a whim. Joaquin noticed you immediately: quiet, focused, maybe a little too hard on yourself.

You were smaller, a little unsure, but didn’t flinch at bruises. You stayed after class to redo drills by yourself until the lights flickered.

Joaquin saw the bags under your eyes, the way you clenched your jaw when you thought no one was looking.

You didn’t come here for fun. You came here because you felt like you had to be strong.

💬 “I’m Fine” – Your Signature Lie

He asks how you're doing every time. Always softly, casually.

“Hey, how’s school?” “You get any sleep last night?” “You ate today?”

You always lie. "I'm good." "Yeah, totally." "Fine."

But Joaquin? He’s a horrible liar—and an expert at spotting them.

One evening, you roll your ankle during a pivot, try to shake it off.He kneels next to you and gently presses on the injury. You flinch.

“So you’re ‘fine,’ huh?” “Just tired,” you whisper. “Like... always.”

That moment changes something. He doesn't push—but he stops pretending not to notice.

🧃 He Starts Taking Care of You in Quiet Ways

Leaves a bottle of water by your mat before class. “Just in case you forgot yours.”

Brings protein bars. “They were on sale.” Lies. They were your favorite.

You once joked about how expensive bus fare was. The next week, he’s offering you a ride home every time. “Not letting my best student get jumped at the bus stop, thanks.”

Joaquin checks in with you between classes. Casual texts like:

🕊️ Torres: hey kid, you good? 🕊️ Torres: drink water today? 🕊️ Torres: pls don’t punch anyone unless necessary

☁️ The Day You Crash

One class, you're slow. Your footwork is messy. You go quiet. You flinch when he says your name.

After everyone leaves, he finds you still sitting in the corner, back to the wall, fists clenched like you're holding yourself together by sheer force.

He doesn't say anything. Just sits beside you, shoulder to shoulder.

“Bad day?” You don’t answer. You can’t. So he speaks softly: “Y/N… You don’t have to hide it from me. Whatever it is… you’re not a burden.”

And that’s when the tears come—silent, but heavy. You never let anyone see you like this.

Joaquin doesn't rush you. He hands you a towel, not for sweat this time.

“You’ve been carrying too much alone. Let someone carry it with you, yeah?”

He doesn't say "you're strong."He says, "You’re allowed to be tired." And that means more than anything.

🫂 Quiet Affection & Gentle Words

After that, he keeps things soft. Still trains you hard—but always with warmth.

He puts his hand lightly on your shoulder when you’re zoning out.

“You with me?” “Yeah.” “Good. Let’s go slow today. You don’t have to prove anything.”

You never realized how much kindness could undo you. How soft could feel safer than strong.

He reminds you gently, often:

“Rest is part of training.” “Asking for help doesn’t make you weak.” “You’re not alone, okay? Not while I’m around.”

[angstama]

Please I don’t get why people want Jeno to have his redemption arc… like come on this man gave up on his family just to go start one with a y/n carbon copy, except this one is the nepo baby version. She literally gave up her career, just to be a better wife and mother and she didn’t complain about it, yet Jeno just made it all about his hurt pride and ego. Like I know he wasn’t the one that told her to quit, but still he chose someone in the same career that she was once in, it just shows that it wasn’t the job that was too much for him, but that she just wasn’t enough.

And how the fuck are you out here starting a whole new family without knowing how your girlfriend feels about your son truly. Like I’m just trying to figure out timeline cause at first, I thought Soomin was lying about the pregnancy to get in y/n’s head but no cause Jeno knew about the pregnancy… so like did he only tell y/n about Soomin in the first place because she was already pregnant????

AND THE FUCKING AUDACITY TO BE JEALOUS ABOUT JAEMIN!!! Like my guy you’re literally starting a whole new family and you have the nerve to be hurt and upset that y/n is hanging out with him. Like first of all his ass knows she’s fully not over him and that she wants to try to keep him, her, and Jun as a family. And what irks me the most is that he even said himself that Jaemin and y/n have always come off as the perfect pair and that Jaemin is the one that matches her the best, yet you don’t want her to be with him. Like you’re the one that initiated the divorce, you’re the one that already moved on, you’re the one that got your new girlfriend pregnant, yet you’re mad that y/n is hanging out with someone new. Why is he allowed to move on but the second y/n is with “someone new” it’s a problem. And the fact that he knows that right now, at the time we’re at in the story, that y/n isn’t fully into Jaemin cause she’s still holding onto them. He’s literally upset over a the fact that there’s a chance she could potentially fall for Jaemin. How selfish could he be, like what does he want to keep his new girlfriend and new family, but also keep y/n around giving her false hope so he can fall back on it in case this new family doesn’t work out for him… I just can’t with him

Sorry for the rant lol… I’m just so invested in this. You’re writing is so good that you got me personally mad at Jeno right now lol

idk why i can imagine the rage in your voice even though i don’t even know how you sound like😭😭😭😭😭

[thenoellebird]

ficlet under the cut

do not tag as ship, everything is platonic. I will block anyone who tags this as a ship.

Stan stared at the ceiling of his bedroom.

I should be working on the portal.

He’d stopped early because he’d realized that he forgot to put Dipper and Mabel to bed, and once they were in bed, he’d found himself unable to go back to the basement, scared they’d follow.

So he decided to wait a few minutes.

Which had turned into a few hours. 

Which had turned into most of the night.

Stan wasn’t sure how long it had been, all he knew was the ceiling and the far-away feeling he associated with utter uselessness. He could do nothing in this state, and he knew it. Getting out of bed just for the portal would never work.

There was a knock on his door.

Stan opened his eyes. He didn’t remember closing them. He sat up on his bed, swinging his legs over the side and slowly stood up, his back and neck aching. Slowly, very slowly, he shuffled to the door and cracked it open, glancing down at the floor just outside his door.

Mabel stood there, eyes bright despite the tear streaks on her cheeks, a stuffed animal and a small soft blanket clutched in her hands.

“Mabel?”

“I’m sleeping here,” she said firmly, pushing the door open and padding across the room in her socks. Stan turned around slowly, still confused. Dipper and Mabel had only been here three weeks and nothing like this had happened before.

“Mabel?” he asked again.

“I won’t leave, Grunkle Stan,” she said, tossing her animal and her blanket onto Stan’s bed and climbing up onto it. “I had a bad dream, and you’re our summer caretaker. So you have to cuddle me.”

Stan simply stared at her. Then he closed his bedroom door and shuffled back to his bed, realizing that he wanted nothing more than to cuddle Mabel and go to sleep.

He climbed up beside her.

“Go ahead, tell me to leave. I won’t do it,” Mabel said stubbornly, but her lower lip trembled, betraying her scared sadness. Stan realized that her coming to him, asking for cuddles was basically the ultimate show of trust.

And she was braced for him to refuse.

“I’m not gonna tell ya to leave,” he said gruffly, unsure of how to handle the outright affection. “You can stay here if ya want to.”

He lay down on his pillows.

“Oh. Yay!” Mabel cheered quietly, and then lay down next to Stan on her side, facing him. 

There was a moment of silence. Stan stared at the ceiling and then closed his eyes again, sighing. Mabel fidgeted with the edge of her blanket as though debating something in her head.

“Grunkle Stan, is it okay if I tell you about my bad dream?” she asked softly a moment later, her voice hesitant and still quite upset.

Stan decided there wasn’t really any problem with this.

“Of course, Mabel,” he answered quietly, his rough voice still louder than he meant it to be. He turned his head and focused his attention on her. Mabel smiled, her eyes lighting up a little despite the tears.

“I got really sad,” she whispered, scooting closer so that he could hear her. “Because I had a bad dream about Mom and Dad.”

Stan’s stomach dropped. He’d known why the twins were there from the start. He’d hoped they didn’t know quite yet.

“Dipper doesn’t think I know about everything, but I do,” Mabel whispered. “I know more than he does. But I have to keep him as happy as I can.”

Stan swallowed as he rolled onto his side, facing Mabel.

“Mabel, do you want to go downstairs?” he asked softly.

Mabel lifted her head. “Why?”

“Because I think it’d be cozier in the armchair, and I need a drink,” Stan said, voice rough as he rubbed his eyes. “C’mon.”

He stood up and shuffled back over to the door, Mabel following close behind with her stuffy and her blanket trailing on the floor. She really was so small. She was very tired, but clearly determined not to fall asleep.

Halfway down the stairs, when she tripped, Stan caught her and simply carried her the rest of the way. He tried to ignore the warmth swelling in his chest when her small hand caught ahold of and fisted in his shirt.

Mabel yawned, but it was small and cute, like a kitten. She nuzzled his chest a little, clearly comfortable in his arms. He liked the feeling of her nestled there. It was protective, like he could keep her safe. He sat down in the armchair and adjusted her so she was in his lap, curled up and had her head leaned against his chest, cuddled in the crook of his arm. She snuggled herself against his soft belly, making herself more comfortable.

Stan didn’t mind. He leaned back in his chair, arms around Mabel protectively. It was a nice feeling, her trust. He just had to make sure he didn’t break it or mess something up. Both of Mabel’s hands were fisted in his shirt now.

“I’m really sad about my parents cuz they’re so mean to each other,” Mabel said sleepily. “And Dipper sees it a lot. I’m really sad for him because he gets anxious a lot, especially when our parents aren’t getting along. I try to distract him. Sometimes it works.”

She yawned again. Stan smiled down at her.

“I don’t wanna go back to sleep,” she murmured against Stan’s chest. Stan gently lifted one hand and ran it through her hair very gently, over and over again.

“It’s alright,” he said softly. “I’ll keep those nightmares away for ya.”

Mabel giggled sleepily and snuggled against him more contentedly.

Stan chuckled. “You’re a sweet lil’ pumpkin, ain’tcha?” he asked softly, still gently petting her hair. Mabel nodded.

“I’ma pumpkin,” she murmured, her words slurring together a little bit since she was so tired. She cuddled against him again and Stan’s heart positively melted at the trust and affection she was showing him.

“Yeah, you’re a Pumpkin, alright,” he said softly in reply, kissing the top of her head almost instinctually. It seemed the right thing to do.

Normally he would be angry at himself for being such a soft, sappy old man, but he found that he really didn’t care. He liked holding Mabel. This was nice. It had been a long day. He’d been yelled at by several people, and yelled at them back. He’d given tours and answered frustrating questions while keeping his showman persona in line. He’d taken care of the kids even though Mabel had gotten glitter all over everything in the kitchen and Dipper had tried to jump onto the pine tree off the roof with the excuse that “Wendy did it last week,” which Stan was not buying.

It had been a long hard day. He’d cried in the basement while he was down there for the first bit, his chest aching while he missed his twin, working furiously through his tears, angry at himself for his weakness.

But now he felt anything but weak. He felt stronger than he ever had, even though he was being soft and holding his niece like she was the most precious thing in the world. Maybe she was.

Maybe she was the most precious thing in the world. What was wrong with that? Stan couldn’t see anything wrong with that logic.

He started swaying gently from side to side, gently trying to coax Mabel to sleep. She fisted her hands tighter in his shirt and made a small noise of frustration as she fought to keep her eyes open.

“Shh,” Stan whispered. “I’ve got you, Pumpkin. Just sleep now, okay? You need sleep so you can play with your brother in the morning.”

“I wannnn…play with Dipper,” Mabel murmured, her smile becoming softer on her face, still trying to keep her eyes open.

“Yeah. That’s tomorrow morning,” Stan whispered softly, holding her close and kissing the top of her head again. His heart swelled again, and he wondered what else he’d been missing by not paying these kids as much attention as he should’ve.

Maybe…Maybe if he paid them a little more attention, ruffled their hair a bit more, smiled at them…hugged them…maybe Mabel would come to him again. And maybe Dipper would come to him too. Maybe Dipper could trust him.

That thought made him feel a sudden wholeness that he realized he’d never quite had and he suddenly felt the urge to keep Mabel cuddled close to him all night just because he could protect her and keep her away from every bad thing in the world that way.

She was quickly dropping off to sleep, no matter how hard she fought it. She would doze off for a few minutes and then jerk slightly, opening her eyes and Stan would shush her and reassure her again till her eyelids were drooping again, and then until she’d blinked them shut yet again.

Stan found himself smiling fondly at her, wondering at how she could sleep in his arms, how innocent she was.

Stan thought about himself and wondered if even at twelve he would have been able to fall asleep in anyone’s arms except for Ford’s or his Ma’s. He decided that no, he couldn’t. He had one memory of his father being soft with him. One.

It was a late night and then-six-year-old Stan was sitting outside his and Ford’s room, he couldn’t remember why. Filbrick had come down the hallway and simply picked Stan up in his arms and carried him downstairs. He’d shown Stan how he locked up the shop, keeping one arm around his son, holding Stan’s small frame braced on his hip like his Ma would whenever one of them wanted affection while she was making dinner.

Stan cherished that memory.

He wished he had more like it.

No matter, he was going to give Dipper and Mabel so many memories it’d make up for his own longing. He’d fulfill their needs where his weren’t met.

He didn’t care how many nights he’d spend cuddling the twins. All he knew now was that he wanted to.

And he would make sure that nobody hurt them. Ever. Because if there was one terribly evil thing someone could do, it was to hurt a child.

Stan kissed the top of Mabel’s head yet again, making sure to be gentle so she wouldn’t stir. She didn’t, now fully asleep, a small smile on her face.

“I love you, Pumpkin,” he whispered, feeling that it was entirely true. For all her chaos and glorious, brash personality, and her general ability to trip over things, get glitter on things, or break stuff, Stan loved her.

She felt small in his arms as he slowly stood up, keeping her burrowed against him so that she wouldn’t wake up, and slowly and quietly walking over to the stairs. She was so small. And she trusted so easily. The world hadn’t had a chance to break her, and Stan would kill himself rather than let something happen to her.

It was completely peaceful as he settled in his bed and nestled Mabel against him beneath the covers, tucking her blanket near her face and gently pushing her stuffed animal into her hands which grabbed it and cuddled it immediately. She stirred just slightly and then turned towards Stan as if seeking his warmth. The feeling made him feel even warmer, his chest almost aching with affection.

His father would’ve hated him for this. But Stan no longer cared.

He let himself bask in the feeling, holding Mabel close as she shifted against him and then quieted down, her breathing evening out and her heartbeat keeping a steady pace, just a bit faster than his own.

He suddenly missed Ford so much that it hurt. And Stan suddenly wished the same fate for his brother–he wished Ford could hold Mabel like this and feel the warmth and innocence that seemed to simply pour out of her and make him feel whole again.

The simple act of trusting herself to him was so precious to him that Stan suddenly vowed he would never betray Mabel’s fundamental physical trust. If she wanted hugs, she’d get hugs. If she wanted cuddles, she’d get cuddles. She’d never be rejected or hurt by him.

He’d tell her so in the morning. He’d likely tell Dipper too, try to have a conversation with the boy. He wasn’t very good at that–having conversations, but he felt it might be a good place to start.

“Goodnight, Mabel,” he whispered, pressing another kiss to the top of her head. He felt her sigh in her sleep, relaxing against him. Stan sighed as well, keeping his arms wrapped protectively around her.

He closed his eyes, reassuring himself with the feeling of her small body inflating and deflating with breaths beneath his arm. She was alive. She was safe.

He would keep her safe.

The End <3

Hope you enjoyed this ficlet I wrote while sad. It certainly cheered me up.

AGAIN, EVERYTHING IS PLATONIC, IF YOU TAG THIS AS A SHIP, I WILL BLOCK YOU. LEAVE MY SWEETNESS ALONE.