Welcome To The Shire

Roach 22 all pronouns

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

gif @daryl-dixon-daydreams

Carol: How’d you get that scar anyway?

Daryl, glaring at Y/N when she chokes on her water: Just a bad situation.

Carol: Walker?

Daryl: No.

Carol: Person?

Daryl: Nah.

Y/N, laughing behind her hand: Tell her.

Daryl, sighing: Pissed off a goose.

Carol: …

Carol: I—

Daryl: Shuddup! Walkers ain’t as scary as one’a them things!

[reverieblondie]

Idea that just came to me. What if Rolan writes out his thoughts and feelings—both romantic and spicy—about Tav in Infernal but, unfortunately (or fortunately) for him, Cal and Lia are teaching Tav the language and have been grabbing random notebooks of his (usually ledgers, inventory lists, commissions, stuff like that) to teach her. I'm sure you can guess where this is going.

Just imagine Rolan coming back to the tower only to see Cal and Lia standing there looking guilty.

Rolan: "Alright, what did you two troglodytes break."

Cal and Lia: *simultaneously trying to explain what happened and blame it on the other sibling*

Rolan's Journal

NSFW! MDNI!!! 18+ Only! Warnings- Dirty talk, sex (p in v), riding, and filth in general so read at your own risk.

Gods... to just taste her skin.

​

The mere sight of her makes my heart race and my thoughts run rampant. Today, seeing her in the shop made my mouth water.

Her fingers running over her lips in contemplation, the way her movements simply glide through a space.

​

If only my mouth could match the way I feel... 

"Buy Something or leave. We don't need any loiterers." As soon as Rolan said it and your eyes met his, he was kicking himself.

​

Of course, you just smile,"I'm sorry, Ro. I promise to buy something after my lessons today. "

​

Ah, yes, your lessons . That's why you've come by; it's not that you're not a loyal customer, but that you have even more of a reason to come around. Not that he's complaining, just more opportunity to make an ass out of himself.

​

Rolan tries to look busy as he reshelves some tomes while staying close to your side. "How has learning infernal been going for you?"

​

You do that tail curling pout of your lip, almost as if you're guilty of something. "It's been going alright, I just need to study more."

​

Of course, you should be studying more. If you had asked Rolan to teach you, he would have given you so much to study and read that you would be fluent by now.

​

“Tmyh wmafdv qujy haf wapyzmulq za ryiv... “ (They should give you something to read... )

​

“zmyh vory zrhulq zmyur kywz” (they are trying their best). Rolan holds back his laugh at your rusty, unpolished infernal, but can't hold back his smile. 

“voryl'z haf erytuafw” (aren't you precious ). He didn't mean to let it slip, but judging by the look on your face, you didn't have a clue. Thank the gods.

​

Before you can ask what he said, Lia is rushing down to gather you for your lessons. Lia shoves past Rolan, making sure to give him a playful bump before grabbing your hand.

​

"Rolan, stop bothering our student. We have a busy day ahead of us."

​

He can't help but roll his eyes, "Yes, drinking tea and gossiping before learning a little infernal does take quite some time.”

​

Lia jabs his shoulder, "We have been teaching more than that. Just because we don't run a boot camp like you do doesn't mean it's not working.”

​

You pause at the foot of the stairs, gripping your hands onto the railing tightly, "If you wanted, you could join us?"

​

The slight redness in your cheeks wasn't lost on Rolan; it was like you were embarrassed to even ask. Teaching you, helping you, it sounds like a perfect day... "Though I think you would benefit from it, I can't. I have to go to the market.”

​

You looked disappointed before quickly masking it with that chipper smile of yours that makes his chest twist. “Well another time then…” 

Rolan cursed himself as he watched you head up the stairs. Why must he always say the opposite of what he wants? 

He looks down at his journal, it has it all, everything he wants to say to you written down in his native tongue. When he writes it’s so easy to just get all his thoughts off his chest. How you enchanted him, how the scent of your perfume makes his heart swell when he catches whiffs of it lingering in the air, and how he so badly wants to be the one spending so much time teaching you, getting closer to you… 

Rolan signs before snapping his fingers and blipping his journal back to its rightful place. One day maybe he will get the courage, but not today. 

​

​

The market is always a headache, but it's a necessary one. How else are they supposed to have any supplies? Bags in hand, he walks up the steps to the tower: It's been a few hours now, so he's sure you have left, but that doesn't stop him from hoping just a bit to see you before you go.

​

But as he reaches the top of the stairs, he only sees Cal and Lia pacing nervously. From the second their eyes met, he instantly knew they were guilty of something. 

​

He sighs as he puts the bags down "Alright, what did you two troglodytes break?" 

Both immediately tried to talk, in a confusing, bombarded manner, about parts of the story and multiple apologies. 

​

It’s enough of their crowding and rambling that leaves his ears ringing, finally Rolan has had enough. "Silence, you two! Just tell me, calmly.”

​

Lia and Cal look at each other, seeming to draw mental straws, til finally Lia relents with an exasperated sigh. "Alright, but you have to swear not to get upset ... "

​

Rolan rolls his eyes , "Upset? What exactly - "

​

Lia’s sharp nail comes close to his nose as she holds up her finger to silence him. "Just promise."

​

He relents, "Alright, I will remain composed, but if you keep me with bated breath, I will lose it."

​

"Well, we had lessons with Tav today, and towards the end she asked if she could take home a book written in Infernal. Well, as you know, that can be limited, so we were helping her look. Then she found one, and we didn't think anything of it ... until we looked over at your desk later... "

​

Rolan feels his blood run "You're not saying…”

​

Cal's voice is pleading,"We think she took your diary! "

​

Normally, Rolan would be snapping that it's a journal, not a diary... but the news has his whole body frozen. Then he nods with an eerie calm hum.

​

"Rolan, you okay?" Rolan's, unsure who had even asked the question, as he turned back towards the stairs, then, in a blink, he was running down them.

​

Cal and Lia look at each other before Cal smiles, "Well, his reaction could have been worse."

​

​

Rolan can only hope that by some miracle you haven't read his secret desires. If you haven't, it will be simple enough to just take it back, but if you have read it, this could uproot everything.

​

Rolan urges his feet to move faster over the cobblestone, ignoring how he almost trips and falls. Finally, down your street, he slides as he comes to your front door. Before he can think better of it, he rushes up your steps and knocks feverishly on your door.

​

As soon as he sees you open the door with that shocked look on your face, he feels that familiar stirring in his gut. Then he sees his journal in your hand, and his heart sinks. He is breathing heavily and knows that the look on his face is pleading, "Did you understand it? "

​

Red fills your cheeks as you nod, “Majority of it … enough to get the gist.”

​

Great, this is even worse than he thought … What should he do? What should he say… Swallowing down his pride, he averts his gaze, "I'm So-"

​

He feels himself pulled forward by his collar. Before he can ask he feels your lips on his. As soon as it happened, that moment of bliss was over as you pulled away. Rolan watches as your own panic fills your eyes, your lips forming words of 'sorry,' but he can't hear it over his racing heartbeat.

​

It's the rush, the quick spur of the moment and their blood rushing with adrenaline, Rolan’s mind tries to reason, but as always, he betrays his thoughts with his actions. Rolan keeps his eyes on yours as he walks through the threshold of your door. Your beautiful eyes widen as he steps towards you, and when his hand touches your face, you practically melt for him becoming a puddle of want as his lips softly brush over yours again and again.

​

"I should've told you sooner.” He says, before caressing his hands down your back and taking in the scent of your neck.

​

"Tell me now ."

​

More of a whine than a demand, it still has its tail and ears twitching. He betrays himself by giggling, "Didn't you read it?"

​

You breathe into his ear, and he feels himself moan, "But I want to hear it."

​

Rolan, for a moment, doesn't get it ... till he feels your teeth on his neck and you mutter, “Pdyiwy” (Please)

So he lets out a shaky sigh as he peppers your skin not only with the caresses of his kiss but with the warmth of his words.

​

“Yaf mijy miflzyv ph yjyrh zmafqmz orap zmy vih xe pyz haf ul zmiz mydd ao xe qrajy” ( You have haunted my every thought from the day I met you in that hell of a grove.)

As he feels your body tremble and your heart race even hotter he growls in your ear, his voice heavy and dark. Rolan smiles, watching the goose bumps roll over your skin. "Nas edyiwy. dyz py xe'jy afz ph yjyrh vywury al haf…” (Now please. let me live out my every desire on you... )

​

He's unsure if you even understand these words, but his want must somehow translate and match yours. Rolan tries to say more, but every infernal growl is stifled by heated lips and desperate hands. It's udder bliss that has him just falling into your lead. That utter bliss lands him in your bed.

​

Rolan chuckles as you stand before him, sheading your clothes. He leans up on his elbows, feeling himself twitch as your soft skin is slowly revealed to him. “nyyvh vory sy?" ("Needy are we?")

​

Grinning, you position yourself on top of him, beginning to undo his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours.

​

“Xe safdv wih qryyvh..”  ("I would say greedy.. ")

​

With those words, it clicks that you have been doing extra studies.... Gods, you're mesmerizing …

Straddling over him with hooded eyes. Rolan couldn't help but roam his eyes all over your body. He wanted to burn this image in his mind to hold onto forever. Then he felt his whole body twitch as your soft hand grasped his cock, working him, teasing him till his tail was thumping and sweet started to bead against his brow. Part of him thought this must be torture for how hard he was on you during certain lessons... but your face, you were totally amazed by watching his arousal grow harder and harder.

​

Then you pressed yourself against him, and his eyes widened as you slowly eased his textured girth inside you. Rolan felt his nails shredding into your sheets as he mentally prayed for this to last forever. You moved your hips slowly, your face close to his, stealing kisses from his softly panting breath. But then your hips started rolling over him faster and faster till his nails were digging into your soft flesh and his lips caressed your slick skin.

​

Your skin is cool against his, and he can feel your pulse racing as he kisses your neck and rocks you against him harder and harder. The sensual sounds of his cock filling your slick pussy fill the room as he fucks into you. As he growls in your ear, he feels your pussy pulse against him.

​

You can barely think as he fills and stretches you as far as you can go. You start to feel your legs start to tremble, that overwhelming feeling of him nudging against your G-spot. It was an insanely euphoric feeling being so full, you just can't help but whine.

​

Everything about you drives him crazy, but hearing you whine and watching how your body shudders with every bounce on his cock. He squeezes as his cock throbs inside you, and as your cunt is fluttering around him, you feel your body shake as the pleasure rushes over you, and your mind hazes as you feel him spill inside you.

​

As you're coming down, you slide down and settle yourself beside Rolan and take in his warmth as you feel yourself slowly coming down from your high .

​

“Yafr wa dajydh... “ (You're so lovely ... ), he brings his hand to your cheek, gently brushing back your hair. 

You're the one giggling and before he knows it you're pushing his journal into his hands, he looks at you confused and that's when you nug him on. “Go on, read me the ones I missed…” 

Rolan shakes his head before cracking open the book and clearing his throat, “If you insist.” 

[justagalwhowrites]

Curse and Comfort - A Jackson!Joel Miller One Shot

You get your period when spending the night in Joel Miller's bed. He takes care of you through it. AKA I wanted a comfort fic for that time of the month so I wrote one. Now you can have it, too.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Reader gets her period so there's talk of blood and period stuff, brief mention of past sex but this isn't smutty (sorry), fluff fluff fluff all the fluff, hurt/comfort, bit of an age gap (reader is in her mid to late 40s, Joel is newly in Jackson so 56-57), talk of pregnancy being possible in the future toward the end, Joel is just the best man because I'm convinced he would be, Joel settled in Jackson is the softest of Joels I will die on this hill, reader can borrow Joel's boxers and has hair of no specified length and can have a period but no description otherwise. Whole blog is hella smutty so Minors DNI 18+ only.

Length: 3.4k

A03 | Masterlist

The cramps and a sticky wetness between your legs woke you up. 

You were naked. You usually were when you shared a bed with Joel, the only exception when you went out on patrol together and might need to move quickly but couldn’t resist sleeping near each other, anyway. When you were home, safe and warm and comfortable in his bed or yours, clothes were far from your mind. 

That was usually a good thing. It meant you could feel the heat of his leg between yours when you hitched your knee over his thigh in your sleep. It meant you woke up with his skin everywhere around you. It meant that, sometimes, when you were both half asleep, you found him slipping inside of you with an unconscious, needy groan, his hips rocking into you just two or three times before stilling, like he couldn’t be close enough to you, even when he wasn’t awake. 

But as you woke up with the foreign yet strangely familiar feeling between your thighs and in your stomach, you realized that there was a downside to sleeping naked. 

You carefully, hesitantly, reached down to your slit and cautiously tucked two fingers inside yourself and confirmed what you already knew: it wasn’t come leaking out of you. 

“Fuck,” you whispered, looking behind you to find Joel nestled against your back, his sleepy breaths hot on your neck, one of his thick, heavy arms draped around your waist. 

You carefully disentangled yourself him and tiptoed to the bathroom with your thighs held as tightly together as you could manage. 

The light felt blinding when you turned it on and it took your eyes a moment to adjust enough that you could see the smears of red over your legs. 

“Shit,” you groaned quietly, sitting on the toilet, trying to figure out what to do, your cheeks getting hot as you realized that you’d probably bled all over the man who’d let you in his bed. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!” 

If this had been 25 years ago when you were a college student and the world was still what it had once been, it wouldn’t be as big of a deal. You’d have tampons near by and plenty of clean clothes and sheets so if something got wrecked, throwing it away was hardly a tragedy. Hell, you’d even have a Snickers bar to help make you feel better about the whole bleeding on someone thing. 

But that was 25 years ago and this was now, more than two decades into the apocalypse. It had been years since you’d last had a period and, since you were well into your 40s, you’d assumed it was menopause. It hadn’t occurred to you that it might have been just another way your body tried to help you survive as the people you’d been with struggled to find food and were eventually nearly wiped out by raiders. That was how you’d come to be in Jackson to begin with. Joel’s brother, Tommy, found you a few miles away while on patrol as the threat of infected grew worse and you were alone. He convinced you to come back with him and you’d just stayed. 

You’d only been in Jackson about eight months, which both seemed like so much time and none at all. It was hard to remember what life had been like before this, it was hard to believe you’d been here any time at all. You and Joel and his would-be daughter, Ellie, had arrived just a few weeks apart. You’d wound up spending time with him out of convenience more than anything else. Everyone else in town already knew each other, you and Joel had naturally drifted together. It didn’t take long before you were fucking. 

You still weren’t entirely sure how it started or why it had kept going or how Joel actually felt about you beyond friendship. He wasn’t the most forthcoming man. He kept his hands to himself when others were around, he seemed to less seek you out more than just run into you as the cadence of your lives brought you together. It was like he just chose to move alongside you for a while before going his own way. When you were alone, it was different. The way he touched you, explored your body, moaned in your ear made you feel like it meant something. You hoped it meant something. You’d grown attached to him, more than you really wanted to admit to anyone, including yourself. Because what good was there in loving someone who didn’t love you back? It was the end of the world, you’d take whatever small pieces of kindness and pleasure and care you could get, you weren’t about to be greedy and ask for more. 

So you had Joel in his stoic, strong way of being, and you treasured that. But you weren’t together, not really. He didn’t have any reason to tolerate something like you fucking bleeding all over his bed with no warning. And the last time like this had happened, you’d been in your 20s and that guy had practically bitten your head off, pissed at you for not knowing you were about to start your period and wrecking his sheets. Why would you expect Joel to be any different? 

What were you supposed to do? It was the middle of the night, did you wake him up to check the sheets? Did you see if there was scrap cloth to put in your panties to soak up the blood? Did you use his shower and hope that you could get cleaned up without staining something else he owned? 

You weren’t sure when you’d last felt this mortified, tears stinging at your eyes. Why couldn’t this have happened when you were alone? Or at least in your own damn bed instead of his? 

You heard the creak of the floorboard only a second before the gentle knock at the door made you wince. 

“Baby?” Joel said, his voice thick with sleep. “Everythin’ alright?” 

“Fine,” you said, trying to keep your tone from sounding wet. It was easier said than done. 

“Don’t sound fine,” he said. “Can I come in?” 

“Um…” 

“Ain’t nothing I haven’t seen before,” he said gently. “C’mon, baby. Lemme in.” 

You sighed and stretched to unlock the door before staring determinedly at your clasped hands as you sat, dripping blood into his toilet while it was still smeared and drying over your thighs. 

Joel had pulled on his flannel pajama pants before seeking you out and he leaned against the sink, his arms crossed over his chest as you felt his eyes on you. 

“You OK?” He asked after a moment. 

“Fine,” you sniffed, trying to get your shit together. You were a middle-aged woman, for fuck’s sake, you had no business crying over a goddamn period. You sat back and really looked at him for the first time since he’d come into the bathroom and watched as his face shifted when he saw your legs, blinking in shock for a moment. 

“Oh,” he said. “I thought you just weren’t feelin’ well…” 

“I’m really sorry,” you cut him off, your chest getting tight. “I can clean it up, I…” 

“S’OK,” he said quickly. “Just… uh… get yourself cleaned up.” 

He left before you had a chance to respond, closing the door behind him and you just sighed, leaning on your knees again, trying not to cry. 

***

Joel tried to not be too loud knocking on his brother’s door. He knew the baby would be asleep, the last thing he wanted to do was send the whole house into a tizzy. He wasn’t trying to be a problem, but it’s not like he had anywhere else to go. 

He knocked, hoping it was loud enough to rouse Tommy or Maria but let their child sleep. 

Just as he was going to knock again, the porch light flipped on and Tommy opened the door, squinting against the brightness of it as he glared at Joel. 

“It’s 3 a.m., Joel,” he said, his voice groggy. “You know what 3 a.m. means, right? It means people are fuckin’ sleeping…” 

“It’s an emergency,” Joel said. Tommy stood up straighter then, reaching behind him to grab his jacket but Joel shook his head. “Not that kind but… is Maria awake?” 

“She is now,” he muttered and then sighed. “Come in, I’ll get her. She’ll really love you after this…” 

Joel hovered in their living room, hands awkwardly shoved in his pockets, thumbs drumming against his hips as his brother went to get his wife. 

It had been years since he’d had to worry about anything like this with a lover. Ellie, of course, had needed to keep up with a supply of tampons and they worked their way across the country and he’d gotten accustomed to looking for them any time they stopped somewhere to scavenge supplies but, since they’d come to Jackson and she’d been supplied with… some other solution Joel didn’t ask for details about, it had been far from his mind. 

As far as he knew, you didn’t have periods anymore. You hadn’t said as much but there were clues. You sure as hell weren’t worried about pregnancy. You’d told him as much after the third time the two of you had slept together and he lost control, not pulling out like he knew he should have, apologizing to you over and over as he cleaned you up. 

“It’s fine,” you’d laughed. “That’s not something I need to worry about.” 

He didn’t ask for details. He just relished the freedom and intense pleasure that came with coming in you all the goddamn time. He tried to remember, over the last six months, if there was a time where the two of you had gone more than just three days without sleeping together that he just hadn’t noticed but he couldn’t place one. 

“This had better be good,” Maria grumbled, shuffling into the room, her hair in a bonnet and her arms crossed over her robe. “Lucky you didn’t wake up my kid…” 

“Believe me, ain’t tryin’ to cause trouble,” Joel said. “And this is… it’s kinda awkward but… well… I… I got a… uh… lady friend…” 

“Jesus, everyone knows who you’re fucking, Joel,” she rolled her eyes.

He just blinked at her for a moment. 

“They… they do?” 

“It’s not like you spend time with anyone but her, Tommy and Ellie,” she said. “It’s obvious. Just get on with it so I can go back to bed.” 

“Right,” he said. “Well, she’s over and… uh… she started bleedin’…” 

“OK,” she looked at him incredulous and he just raised his eyebrows at her. It clicked into place then. “Oh! Oh. OK, and I take it she needs… supplies?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Didn’t know where else to go.” 

“No, you did the right thing,” she said. “Just… two minutes.” 

She left him standing there again, not gone long before she returned with a brown paper bag and a hot water bottle. 

“Give her this,” she said, handing him the bag. “It has what she’ll need, plus instructions. This,” she passed him the bottle, “you fill with hot water, it’ll help with the cramps.” 

Joel nodded, an odd sense of almost peace coming over him as he did. 

“Thank you,” he said. “Appreciate it. Sorry for waking you up…” 

“Don’t worry about it,” she smiled a little, reaching out and giving his bicep a small squeeze. “Go take care of your girl.” 

Joel smiled a little back. 

“Yes ma’am.” 

He went back across the street, looking up to the sea of stars for a moment as he did. 

In so many ways, Joel was still adjusting to life in Jackson. He’d been here the better part of a year now but it was so different than the lives he’d led over the last two decades it was still a strange reality for him. No more scrounging to survive, no more constant threat of death and misery, no more constant feeling hopelessness and dread. Life was different here. It made him want something different. 

It made him want you. 

He knew it was hard for you, too. You were new to this life, too, more used to the harsh and cruel realities of the world. Falling into you had been like gravity, a force beyond what he could really control pulling him in. He wanted connection here, he wanted understanding and there you were, so like him in so many ways. 

But it wasn’t just that. It was your beauty, your kindness, your passion that drew him in. He’d resisted at first, the lingering fear of what caring for someone would mean heavy inside him, but the safety of Jackson made it safe to care about you, too. Soon, he just did everything he could to be around you, seeking you out at every opportunity, finding a sense of security and contentment unlike anything he’d really known since the world ended every time he fell asleep with you in his arms. 

He just wasn’t sure how to say that or how you felt. He didn’t want to pressure you, he sure as hell didn’t want to scare you off, so he just kept the warm feeling you gave him in his chest where it belonged. You let him be close to you, he wasn’t about to ask for more, especially when he didn’t deserve it. 

This, though, was something different. It was oddly comforting, having a way to take care of you. He understood himself best, it seemed, when he was caring for someone. If he could protect them, provide for them, hold them when they needed it, he was doing his job. He’d just never had a way to do that for you. While it had been a long time since he’d had to worry about a period in this way, this was familiar territory. He loved you, it felt good to have the chance to look after you. 

The shower was running when he got home and he quickly filled the kettle and put it on the stove before heading to his room. He turned the lights on and pulled back the sheets, finding a bloodstain on the side of the bed that had become yours in the months you’d been together. He quickly stripped the bed - balling up the sheets and tucking them out of sight to wash once you weren’t in the shower - and put fresh bedding on before throwing a clean pair of his boxers over his shoulder and going back downstairs to fill the hot water bottle and make a cup of tea for you just as he heard the water shut off in the bathroom. 

Joel took everything - the paper bag, the boxers, the hot water bottle, the tea - and knocked softly on the bathroom door. 

“Sorry,” you called to him. It still sounded like you’d been crying. He frowned at that. “I’ll be out of your way in just a minute, I…” 

“Not worried about that,” he said, frown deepening. “It OK if I come in?” 

You sighed. 

“Yeah, I guess.” 

You had a towel over your front when he came in and your eyes were red but you were, at least, not actively crying. 

“I’m sorry,” you said again. “I haven’t… I had no idea that was going to happen, I’ll clean up whatever mess there is and…” 

“Why do you keep apologizin’?” He asked, setting the brown paper bag and the boxers on the edge of the sink, near the toilet. “You don’t have a damn thing to be sorry about, baby. Shit happens. I just want to make sure you got what you need and that you’re feeling alright.” 

You just looked at him for a moment, blinking in shock. 

“Really?” You asked, brows raised. 

“Course,” he said, nodding to the bag. “Ran out and grabbed… whatever that is. I’ll be honest, I ain’t sure, I didn’t look. But I got something to help with the cramps, made tea… just take care of what you need to in here and come back to bed, OK baby?”

You just nodded and he turned to go before thinking better of it. Instead, he leaned over and kissed your cheek, breathing in the smell of his soap on your skin before heading back to bed. 

It didn’t take you long before you came in, closing the door quietly behind you, wearing his boxers, your hair still wet. You seemed surprised when you saw that he was sitting up in bed, the lamp on his side of it on as he flipped idly through the book about space he was trying to work his way through so he could talk about it with Ellie. 

“You doing OK?” He asked, marking his place and setting the book aside. 

“Yeah,” you nodded. Your eyes weren’t red now but your arms were crossed over your chest protectively as you came over to the bed. He pulled the covers back and you froze for a moment. “You needed to change the sheets?” 

He shrugged but you didn’t climb in beside him. 

“I really am sorry,” you said, your hand on the bed. “If I knew that…” 

“Baby, I really need you to stop acting like you did somethin’ wrong here,” he said. “You think this is the first time I cleaned up some sheets or ran out and got tampons or whatever was in that bag in the middle of the night? I’ve loved women before, this ain’t new. Besides, you’re the one who has to deal with all the pain and shit. Think I can handle cleaning up some sheets now and then.” 

Your eyes met his then, an odd, almost misty expression on your face. 

“What?” He asked. 

“You love me?” You asked quietly. 

It was his turn to freeze then. He hadn’t meant to say that. He wasn’t sure how you felt, he didn’t want to pressure you or freak you out but… the way you were looking at him made it seem like that may not be a bad thing. 

“Yeah,” he said eventually. “I do. Is… Is that OK?” 

“Yeah,” you laughed, smiling for the first time since this whole thing had started. “Yeah, it is because I love you, too.” 

He smiled, too, something warm and comforting starting in chest and spreading over his whole self when you said it. You loved him, too. 

“Well, should get in bed with me then, woman,” he said and you laughed before climbing in. 

You snuggled against his side before putting the hot water bottle over your lower stomach and drinking your tea, Joel’s arm around your shoulders, fingers trailing over your bared skin. When you were done, he turned out the light and the two of you settled in, you on your back, Joel on his side, one arm below you, his other hand resting on the hot water bottle, holding it in place over your skin. 

“I haven’t had a period in forever,” you said quietly. “I thought all that was done for me.” 

“Place like Jackson can change a lot,” he said. “Having enough to eat makes a hell of a difference.” 

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “Should probably… probably start being more careful now that… well, you know.” 

Joel was going to agree but something stopped him. 

He’d meant it when he’d said that a place like Jackson can change a lot. Before be came here, before Ellie, before you, he’d have agreed. He wouldn’t want to bring a child into this world, wouldn’t want to know what he could lose if he did. 

Now, things were different. There was still the twinge of fear at the thought of having a child, the same one he’d have if the world had never ended, especially given his age, but it wasn’t the same terror there would have been even just a year ago. 

“If that’s what you want,” he said instead. “But… I wouldn’t be against the other option.” 

“Really?” You said, turning your head to look at him in the dark. “You… you would want that?” 

“With you?” He smiled softly. “Yeah. I… I think I would.” 

You snuggled closer and he pressed his lips to your temple, his hand still holding the hot water bottle in place. 

Maybe your period wasn’t a bad thing after all. 

[cansu-m]

[silver-lined-pages]

Jayroy Polyamory But...

Hear me out on this, I just really like the idea of Jayroy being in a polyamorous relationship with the reader, but rather than being a throuple, reader is only in a relationship with one of the two, while the other is also dating their boyfriend. So like, they're only dating Roy but he's also dating Jason, or vice versa. Maybe after a certain point the two who aren't dating start toying with the idea of closing the triangle, but before they get there leaves so much room for shenanigans.

Like imagine Jay coming home after going to get some groceries for the apartment he shares with Roy, where you are a frequent and very welcomed guest, and finds you absolutely crushed under the redhead. The man's barely clinging to consciousness, pressing most of his weight down onto your body, your head hidden from where Jason can see you.

"Harper..." He sighs. "You're not crushing your partner are you? They're not as sturdy as me."

He's met with a soft giggle from his boyfriend, and an offended sound from under him.

"They wanna be crushed, said they like it."

Roy mumbles, his body barely muffling your rant.

"How dare you Todd, I am just as if not more sturdy than you."

You argue, poking your head out like a gopher. Jason laughs softly, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Just wanted to make sure our boyfriend isn't breaking any of your ribs."

He teases, pressing a kiss to Roy's forehead. You grumble falsely from inside your Roy fortress, the sound so clearly played up, and your tone so clearly a joke.

"Yeah, well, next time I'll order Roy to break up with you to have his crushing abilities to myself."

Roy giggles sleepily from on top of you.

"We made a rule that you can't make a ruling on that, baby."

He mumbles, kissing your cheek. Jason laughs from the kitchen, unpacking the groceries.

"You'd want to remove the man who buys you your favourite snacks from our boyfriend's life?"

That earned a gentle laugh from you.

"You're right, I nearly forget your usefullness."

-

Or if you're in a relationship with Jason, and Roy and yourself are the only one's welcome to his garage, obviously to help him out (ogle him)

You're both perched on one of his countertops he uses as a worksurface, watching with eagle eyes at every moves he makes, committing this free erotica to memory.

"Y'know, I was never that into muscly, sweaty men before." You mumble, taking a handful of trail mix from the bag you're sharing with Roy. "But he really changed my mind."

"I get what you mean." He responds, taking a handful as well just to pick the M&Ms out. "I mean, I've always been into sweaty guys, but he also just wears it so well."

You shoot him a look from the corner of your eyes, but get you attention brought back to the center of the room by Jason popping up over the seat, muscle bound arms highlighted by prominent veins on display as he stands.

"You two know I can hear you, right?"

He chuckles, wiping his brow with a rag, a smudge of black oil or grim or whatever on his cheek. You shrug.

"I mean, I don't think we were trying to keep anything we're saying a secret."

You comment. Roy takes one of the peanuts in his palm and tosses it at Jason, it hitting him square in the chest and hitting the ground.

"Take your top off Jaybird! Take us to the gun show!"

He cheers. Jason chuckles and shakes his head, looking to you for solace, only for you to start whopping along with Roy.

"I should have never introduced you to each other. You're both freaks that just spur each other on."

Roy laughs softly, leaning a head on your shoulder.

"Freaks for you."

You nod at his statement.

"Oh, for sure."

You boyfriend just sighs, pulling his tight black t-shirt off to the delight of the crowd.

"Now flex for us!"

Roy adds, throwing another nut at him. Jason just sighs.

"Sweetheart, can you ask my boyfriend to stop throwing peanuts at me?"

"Not until it stops working at getting us what we want."

-

Like yeah these dynamics can exist with all three of you being in a poly relationship, but I'm just a fan of the idea of "friends because our shared boyfriend (babygirl) brought us together to lover"

(Part 2 here)

[belleeebelleee]

Daryl Dixon (The Walking Dead) x fem!reader

Daryl Dixon finds you so cute that it makes his brain short-circuit. Which is deeply inconvenient. And concerning.

Daryl Dixon had survived things that should have killed him.

Walkers. Starvation. People.

Merle.

He’d slept in the woods in freezing weather, stitched his own wounds shut more than once, and once fought off three walkers with a broken arrow shaft and pure spite.

He considered himself a reasonably capable man.

Which was why it was deeply concerning that one shy smile from you could apparently reduce his brain to static.

It was humiliating.

Honestly.

The first time it happened, Daryl thought maybe he was sick.

You’d only joined the group a few days earlier.

Quiet thing.

Soft-spoken. Polite. Always trying to help with chores before anyone asked.

The kind of person who apologized when other people bumped into you.

Daryl noticed you mostly because you kept sneaking food to Sophia when the adults weren’t looking.

One evening near the campfire, he watched you split your last granola bar in half because Carl looked hungry.

You didn’t even hesitate.

Just handed it over with a tiny smile like it was nothing.

Something strange happened in Daryl’s chest then.

Not bad strange.

Just…

Warm.

Uncomfortable.

He ignored it immediately.

Then came the incident with the frog.

Daryl was cleaning a rabbit near the edge of camp when he heard your voice nearby.

Very serious.

Very soft.

“You are very handsome.”

Daryl frowned.

Who the hell were you talking to?

Then he glanced over.

You crouched in the grass staring solemnly at a tiny green frog perched on a rock.

The frog blinked.

You blinked back.

“I hope you know that,” you informed it gently.

Silence.

Then the frog jumped directly onto your shoe.

You gasped like you’d just been chosen by royalty.

“Oh my God.”

Daryl’s brain stopped functioning immediately.

Just—

Gone.

Entirely.

Because your whole face lit up so brightly it physically hurt to look at.

Pure excitement. Pure softness.

Cute.

Cute enough that Daryl forgot he was holding a knife.

The knife slipped.

“Shit.”

You startled violently and looked over.

“Oh no, are you okay?”

Daryl stared at you.

You stared back.

The frog remained on your shoe.

Then slowly, heat crawled up Daryl’s neck for absolutely no reason at all.

“…M’fine.”

You smiled in relief.

Daryl nearly dropped the knife again.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

After that, it kept happening.

Constantly.

In increasingly ridiculous ways.

You laughed at one of Glenn’s terrible jokes?

Daryl forgot what he was saying mid-sentence.

You tucked your knees to your chest while sitting by the fire looking sleepy?

His brain buffered like a broken computer.

You absentmindedly hummed while hanging laundry?

Death.

Immediate death.

The worst part?

Other people noticed.

Mostly because Daryl Dixon, renowned antisocial menace, had apparently developed the survival instincts of a concussed raccoon whenever you were nearby.

“Hey Daryl,” Glenn said one afternoon, visibly trying not to laugh, “you know you’ve been holding that empty water jug for like five minutes, right?”

Daryl looked down.

Shit.

You stood twenty feet away talking to Carol.

Smiling.

That explained nothing.

“Ain’t your business.”

Glenn grinned.

“Oh, it absolutely is.”

Daryl scowled harder.

Unfortunately, the scowling didn’t really work anymore because the second you glanced over and smiled at him—

His entire expression softened automatically.

Glenn looked delighted.

“Oh my God.”

Daryl looked horrified.

The thing was, you weren’t trying to be cute.

That would’ve been easier.

If you were flirting or showing off or acting intentionally charming, Daryl could’ve dealt with that.

Probably.

But no.

You just existed like that naturally.

Which meant Daryl got ambushed constantly.

Like the morning he woke up early and found you asleep beside the dying campfire wrapped in one of Carol’s blankets.

Your cheek squished against your folded arms. Hair a mess. Tiny sleepy frown on your face.

Daryl stopped walking entirely.

His chest did something deeply alarming.

Then you shifted in your sleep and made this tiny soft noise.

Daryl’s soul left his body.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered to himself.

“What?”

He jumped six fucking feet.

Rick stood nearby holding coffee and looking concerned.

Daryl pointed vaguely at you.

Rick blinked once.

“…She’s sleeping.”

“I got eyes.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

Daryl struggled violently to explain something he didn’t understand himself.

“She’s just…”

Rick waited.

Daryl gestured helplessly.

“…Like that.”

Rick stared at him for a long moment.

Then slowly:

“You have got to be kidding me.”

You liked Daryl immediately.

Not in a dramatic way at first.

Just quietly.

Because beneath the gruffness and the constant glaring, Daryl was kind in strange little ways.

He always walked closest to the walkers during runs. Always gave food to the kids first. Always noticed when somebody needed help before they asked.

And he never made you feel stupid for being shy.

Other people sometimes pushed.

“Speak up.” “You’re too quiet.” “You don’t gotta be nervous.”

Daryl never did.

If anything, he seemed to understand instinctively when you needed space.

You appreciated that more than he realized.

Though you did notice something odd eventually.

Daryl acted… weird around you.

Not bad weird.

Just—

Weird.

You’d catch him staring sometimes before he abruptly looked away.

Sometimes he’d walk directly into things while talking to you.

Once, you handed him a canteen and he dropped it immediately after your fingers brushed.

You honestly thought maybe he disliked you at first.

Until Carol nearly laughed herself unconscious after witnessing one interaction.

You’d offered Daryl part of your apple during lunch.

He stared at you for three full seconds before taking it like you’d handed him a live grenade.

Then you smiled.

And Daryl walked directly into a support beam afterward.

Carol had to physically leave the room.

The problem got significantly worse once Daryl started developing feelings.

Because suddenly every tiny thing you did became catastrophic.

You smiled at him across camp?

His stomach flipped.

You touched his arm while thanking him for something?

Cardiac arrest.

You laughed softly at one of his sarcastic comments?

Daryl immediately forgot how human conversation worked.

One afternoon, you sat beside him while he repaired arrows.

Quiet comfortable silence settled between you.

Then after a while, you leaned slightly against his shoulder absentmindedly while reading a book.

Daryl stopped breathing.

Actually stopped.

You noticed after a second.

“…Daryl?”

No response.

“Are you okay?”

He swallowed hard.

“…Yeah.”

You tilted your head slightly.

“You seem tense.”

Tense.

Right.

Because a pretty girl casually using him as a pillow was definitely a normal experience he handled well.

Daryl looked straight ahead rigidly.

“M’fine.”

You hummed softly and kept reading.

Then after a moment, you smiled to yourself.

Cute, you thought.

Daryl nearly died because of the smile he couldn’t even see properly.

Everyone else suffered alongside him.

Mostly because Daryl became incredibly stupid whenever you were involved.

“You volunteered for laundry duty?” Maggie asked suspiciously.

Daryl scowled.

“So?”

“You hate laundry.”

Daryl glanced toward where you stood hanging clothes nearby.

“…Ain’t that bad.”

Maggie looked at Glenn slowly.

“Wow. He’s gone.”

Or:

“Why are you helping organize the pantry?”

Daryl blinked.

You stood inside the pantry with Beth.

“Oh.”

Beth snorted.

“Hopeless.”

Even Carl noticed eventually.

“You act weird around her.”

Daryl looked offended.

“Do not.”

“You smiled.”

“…Shut up.”

The breaking point came because of a cat.

A tiny orange cat wandered into camp one afternoon during watch duty.

You spotted it first.

Your entire face transformed instantly.

“Oh my God.”

Daryl, who had been sharpening a knife nearby, looked over automatically.

Big mistake.

Because there you were kneeling in the dirt holding this scruffy little cat against your chest while it purred loudly.

Your smile was soft and delighted. Your eyes bright. The cat pressed its face against your chin.

Daryl’s brain completely shut down.

Blue screen.

System failure.

Gone.

“Daryl?”

He blinked slowly.

You looked up at him with the cat still in your arms.

“Look how cute she is.”

Daryl stared.

At you.

Not the cat.

You noticed eventually.

And slowly your cheeks pinked slightly.

“…What?”

Daryl opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

Because the truth was horrifying.

The truth was that you looked so cute holding that cat that something deep inside him genuinely malfunctioned.

“Yer…” he started.

Then stopped.

You waited.

Daryl rubbed aggressively at his face.

“Jesus.”

You blinked in confusion.

“Did I do something?”

“No.”

Too fast.

Too intense.

You startled slightly.

Daryl immediately looked horrified with himself.

“Not bad,” he muttered quickly. “Didn’t mean— shit.”

The cat meowed loudly.

Somewhere behind Daryl, Glenn quietly whispered:

“Oh, this is painful.”

Daryl ignored him.

Mostly because he was too busy staring at you.

Still holding the cat. Still looking confused and shy and unbearably cute.

Then, to make things infinitely worse, you smiled nervously.

Tiny little thing.

Soft.

And Daryl blurted:

“Yer too cute.”

Silence.

Complete silence.

Glenn made a choking sound behind him.

Your eyes widened hugely.

Daryl froze solid.

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

Because he had not meant to say that out loud.

You stared at him.

He stared back looking deeply alarmed.

Then your face went bright red.

“…What?”

Daryl wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

“You heard me.”

His voice sounded rough now.

Embarrassed.

Glenn looked one second away from exploding.

You still held the cat frozen against your chest.

“I’m cute?”

Daryl barked out one short disbelieving laugh.

“Sweetheart, ya got no idea.”

The endearment slipped out naturally.

And somehow that made your expression soften instead of embarrass harder.

Daryl swallowed hard.

Then admitted quietly:

“Think m’losin’ my damn mind over it actually.”

Your heart skipped violently.

Because Daryl looked genuinely distressed.

Like finding you adorable was a legitimate medical emergency.

You stepped closer slowly.

The cat jumped down and wandered away immediately ignored by both of you now.

“Daryl,” you said softly, “you know I like you too, right?”

His entire face went blank.

“…What?”

You smiled shyly.

“I thought maybe you knew.”

Daryl stared at you for a long moment.

Then looked genuinely offended.

“How the hell would I know that?”

“I stare at you constantly.”

“That ain’t evidence!”

You laughed softly.

Daryl’s brain short-circuited again immediately.

“There!” he pointed accusingly. “That! That thing ya do!”

“What thing?”

“Exist!”

You burst into startled laughter.

And Daryl—

God.

Daryl looked at you like you’d hung the moon.

Then suddenly he was laughing too.

Half embarrassed. Half relieved.

“You are deeply weird,” you informed him fondly.

“Yeah,” he muttered, stepping closer. “Probably yer fault.”

Then finally—

Finally—

He kissed you.

And unfortunately for Daryl Dixon, kissing you turned out to be even worse for his brain than smiling at him had been.

[belleeebelleee]

Daryl Dixon (The Walking Dead) x fem!reader

You're a little chaos gremlin. Daryl Dixon thinks its adorable. Not that he'd ever tell you that.

The first time Daryl Dixon realized you were going to be a problem, you were hanging upside down from the roof of the RV.

Not metaphorically.

Actually upside down.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, staring up at you where your knees hooked over the metal edge, your body dangling freely while you rummaged through a ripped backpack. “What the hell’re you doin’?”

You looked at him with all the calm confidence of someone not currently one bad grip away from a concussion.

“Inventory.”

“You’re upside down.”

“Blood flow helps me think.”

“That ain’t a thing.”

“Says who?”

“Says common damn sense.”

You grinned at him then—bright, crooked, utterly unashamed—and tossed a can of peaches down toward him. Daryl caught it automatically against his chest before glaring harder.

“See? Teamwork.”

“You’re gonna break your damn neck.”

“But I haven’t yet.”

“That’s not comfortin’.”

You dropped lightly to the ground beside him, boots crunching against gravel, and dusted your hands off like none of this had been strange. Which, unfortunately, was becoming normal for you.

Daryl watched you shove another two cans into your bag before wandering toward the tree line like a raccoon with opposable thumbs and absolutely no fear of God.

He should’ve been annoyed.

Probably was annoyed.

But somewhere beneath the headache you constantly gave him was something warm and helpless and dangerous.

Because you made this dead world feel alive again.

The group called you many things.

Rick called you a liability.

Carol called you “resourceful.”

Glenn called you “the human equivalent of a lit firecracker.”

Michonne once stared at you for a full thirty seconds after catching you trying to teach Judith how to throw knives and simply said:

“No.”

You’d smiled innocently.

“Okay.”

Five minutes later Daryl found you in the yard showing Carl how to pick handcuffs with a bobby pin.

“You ever listen?” Michonne snapped from the porch.

“Not particularly!”

Daryl nearly choked trying not to laugh.

That was the problem.

Nobody else saw it.

To everyone else, you were chaos incarnate. Tiny disaster. A gremlin in human form who somehow survived entirely on caffeine, spite, and poor decisions.

But Daryl saw the little things.

The way you made Judith laugh when she cried.

The way you always gave someone else the bigger food portion when supplies got low.

The way you stayed awake beside people having nightmares because you knew what it was like to wake up afraid.

You hid kindness under sarcasm and recklessness.

Daryl knew something about that.

Which was probably why he kept ending up near you.

Even when he swore he wouldn’t.

“You are banned from traps.”

“I don’t think you can legally ban me.”

“I ain’t askin’ legal permission.”

You sat cross-legged on the floor of the church, pouting dramatically while Daryl dismantled the horrifying contraption you’d built from fishing wire, a soup can, and what looked concerningly like a fork.

“It was defensive.”

“It was pointed at the bathroom door.”

“In case of intruders.”

“It nearly took my damn eye out.”

“You still have both eyes.”

“Woman…”

You snorted.

He tried to stay irritated.

Then you smiled at him.

Daryl hated that smile.

Not because it was bad.

Because it wasn’t.

Because it made something inside his chest go soft and stupid.

You leaned back on your palms, watching him work.

“You’re pretty when you’re grumpy.”

Daryl almost stabbed himself with the screwdriver.

“I ain’t pretty.”

“You kinda are.”

“Shut up.”

“You blush really easy for a scary redneck.”

“I ain’t blushin’.”

“Your ears are red.”

“Cold.”

“It’s August.”

He glared at you.

You grinned wider.

And Christ.

That grin was going to kill him someday.

You had absolutely no survival instincts.

That became obvious during a run when you found an abandoned toy store.

“Absolutely not,” Daryl said immediately.

“But—”

“No.”

“There could be useful supplies.”

“You’re lookin’ at a stuffed giraffe.”

“It could contain medicine.”

“It contains fluff.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know exactly that.”

Twenty minutes later, Daryl walked out carrying ammunition, canned food, and somehow three stuffed animals because you’d shoved them into his arms with an expression so heartbreakingly hopeful he physically could not say no.

“You’re manipulative,” he informed you.

“You like me.”

“I tolerate you.”

“You carried the giraffe.”

“…Shut up.”

You beamed like you’d won something.

Maybe you had.

The prison changed things.

Not all at once.

But slowly.

Quietly.

Daryl got used to hearing your footsteps beside his.

Got used to your voice drifting through cell blocks.

Got used to finding little stupid things left for him.

Half a candy bar.

A sharpened hunting knife you’d spent hours fixing.

A note that said:

found this. thought of your grumpy ass.

You never signed them.

You didn’t have to.

And Daryl—

Daryl started smiling more.

Not big smiles.

Tiny ones.

Rare enough that the entire prison noticed.

“You like her,” Glenn said one evening.

Daryl nearly walked directly into a wall.

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“She’s literally sitting in your lap.”

Daryl froze.

You were.

Somewhere during game night, you’d apparently climbed onto the bench beside him, gotten comfortable, and eventually ended up sprawled half across his lap while arguing with Maggie about card rules.

Neither of you had noticed.

Or maybe you had.

Because when Daryl looked down, you tipped your head back to look at him upside down and smiled sleepily.

“You comfy?”

Every thought left his head.

“…Yeah.”

Glenn made a face like he wanted to scream.

The thing about you was that you trusted Daryl completely.

Without hesitation.

Without fear.

You’d hand him your weapons without thinking twice.

Fall asleep against his shoulder.

Reach for his hand automatically in crowds.

And Daryl, who’d spent most of his life feeling unwanted, didn’t know what to do with that kind of trust.

Especially because he wanted more of it.

Wanted all of it.

Every smile.

Every laugh.

Every terrible impulsive idea.

Every moment.

It scared the hell out of him.

“You ever gonna tell her?”

Carol sat beside him on the prison tower roof while Daryl cleaned his crossbow.

He didn’t look up.

“Tell who what.”

Carol snorted softly.

“You’re hopeless.”

“Ain’t ask for commentary.”

“You look at her like she hung the moon.”

Daryl immediately scowled.

“I do not.”

“Mmhm.”

“She drives me insane.”

“You’re smiling right now.”

His face flattened instantly.

Carol laughed outright.

Below them in the yard, you were attempting to roller skate using scavenged children’s skates two sizes too small.

“You’re gonna bust your ass!” Daryl yelled.

“I believe in myself!”

“You shouldn’t!”

Two seconds later you crashed directly into a fence.

Carol nearly cried laughing.

Daryl was already climbing down the ladder.

“Y’alright?”

You sat in the grass blinking up at him after your spectacular wipeout.

“One day,” you announced solemnly, “my athleticism will reveal itself.”

Daryl crouched beside you, trying and failing not to smile.

“You got a death wish.”

“You caught me last time.”

His expression softened before he could stop it.

Because he had.

Months earlier.

You’d slipped climbing a shelf during a supply run and Daryl had caught you before your head hit concrete.

You’d stared at him afterward like he’d hung the stars.

Daryl remembered every second of it.

Now you looked at him that same way again.

Open.

Warm.

Fond.

Dangerous.

“You always catch me,” you said quietly.

Something painful tugged in his chest.

He looked away first.

“C’mon. Let’s get ya cleaned up.”

You took his hand immediately.

No hesitation.

Never hesitation.

The first time Daryl kissed you happened because you almost got bitten.

Which honestly felt fitting.

You’d split from the group during a run after hearing a dog barking somewhere nearby.

Because apparently your survival instincts had fully evaporated.

Daryl found you cornered in an alley with three walkers closing in.

Afterward, after the blood and panic and violence, after he killed the last walker with brutal fury, he grabbed you by the shoulders hard enough to make you stumble.

“The hell were you thinkin’?!” he shouted.

You looked startled.

“There was a dog—”

“You coulda died!”

“I didn’t—”

“You don’t get to run off like that!”

Your face changed then.

Not angry.

Hurt.

“I said I’m sorry.”

Daryl stopped breathing.

Because your voice had gone small.

And he hated that.

Hated being the reason for it.

You looked down, rubbing your arm awkwardly.

“I just thought maybe if it was alive—”

Before he could think better of it, Daryl grabbed your face and kissed you.

Hard.

Desperate.

Like he’d been holding it back for months and finally snapped.

You made a tiny surprised sound against his mouth before kissing him back instantly.

Like you’d been waiting too.

When he pulled away, both of you were breathing hard.

Daryl looked horrified with himself.

You looked delighted.

“Well,” you whispered. “That’s one way to communicate.”

“I—”

“You really need healthier coping mechanisms.”

He groaned and dropped his forehead against yours.

You laughed softly.

Then kissed him again.

And Daryl Dixon, perpetually grumpy survivalist, realized he was completely and utterly screwed.

Dating you was a nightmare.

Not because you were difficult.

Because you were impossible.

You stole his shirts constantly.

You hid plastic spiders in his bedroll.

You once convinced Glenn to help you paint tiny smiley faces on all of Daryl’s bolts.

He discovered them mid-run.

“What the hell is this?”

You looked unbearably pleased with yourself.

“Morale.”

“You vandalized my weapons.”

“They’re happy weapons.”

“Why are they winkin’?”

“Artistic flair.”

Daryl stared at the bolt.

Then at you.

Then back at the bolt.

And despite every effort not to—

He laughed.

A real laugh.

Rough and rusty from disuse, but real.

Your entire face lit up.

There it is, your expression seemed to say. There you are.

And God.

Nobody had ever looked happier to hear him laugh.

You loved him loudly.

Openly.

Without shame.

Daryl had no idea what to do with that at first.

You kissed his cheek in passing.

Curled against him at night.

Told him you missed him after short supply runs like he’d been gone for years instead of hours.

And every single time, Daryl looked vaguely stunned.

Like love was something he still didn’t fully believe belonged to him.

One night, lying together beneath a threadbare blanket while rain hammered the prison roof, you traced the scars on his arm gently.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” you murmured.

Daryl shrugged.

“Nothin’.”

“Liar.”

He stayed quiet for a long moment.

Then finally:

“Ain’t never had… this before.”

You looked at him carefully.

“This?”

“Someone carin’ this much.”

The honesty in his voice nearly broke your heart.

You shifted closer immediately until your forehead touched his.

“Then I’ll care enough for all the years nobody else did.”

Daryl stared at you like he physically didn’t know how to process that sentence.

Then he kissed you slow and deep and aching.

Like he was trying to memorize the feeling.

The prison fell.

Everything broke after that.

But not you two.

Never you two.

Even separated, even terrified, even covered in blood and grief and exhaustion, Daryl searched for you like breathing.

And when he found you again—

God.

He nearly collapsed from relief.

You ran toward him through the trees so fast you almost tripped.

Daryl caught you around the waist as you slammed into him.

“You idiot,” you choked out, crying and laughing at once. “You’re alive.”

He buried his face against your neck.

Couldn’t speak for a second.

Because you were alive too.

And that was everything.

Absolute everything.

“I gotcha,” he muttered hoarsely.

Your arms tightened around him instantly.

“I know.”

And you did.

You always did.

Years later, after Alexandria, after wars and grief and rebuilding, after all the ugly parts of surviving finally softened around the edges—

Daryl still woke up every morning with you tangled around him like a sleepy octopus.

Still found random objects hidden in his vest pockets.

Still watched you climb things you absolutely should not climb.

Still heard your laughter carrying through whatever place became home next.

And every single day, Daryl loved you more.

Even when you filled his motorcycle saddlebags with stolen candy.

Even when you taught Judith swear words “educationally.”

Even when he found you sitting on the kitchen counter at two in the morning trying to train a possum you’d found outside.

“You cannot keep that thing.”

“He likes me.”

“It hissed at me.”

“That’s just his personality.”

“You said that about me once.”

“See? Soulmates.”

Daryl stared at you holding the possum like a proud mother.

Then he shook his head slowly and stepped between your knees, hands settling automatically on your hips.

“You’re a damn menace.”

You smiled lazily, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“But I’m your menace.”

And there it was again.

That feeling.

That soft helpless warmth that had started the first day he found you hanging upside down from an RV roof.

Daryl pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Yeah,” he murmured quietly. “You are.”

[belleeebelleee]

Sitting on Daryl's lap

Daryl Dixon (The Walking Dead) x fem!reader

It starts as a habit.

A weird one.

But still—just a habit.

You don’t even remember the first time it happened. Just that one day the prison yard was packed, people crowding around the tables, arguing over rations and watch shifts. You were tired, your legs aching after a long run, and Daryl Dixon was sitting there, quiet as ever—

You walk straight over.

He looks up at you, squinting. “What?”

“No seats,” you say simply.

And you just… sat on his lap.

Like it was the most normal thing in the world.

He froze.

Completely.

“Uh,” he starts. “…What’re you doin’?”

You get comfortable, shifting slightly, leaning back against his chest. “You’re not using it.”

“My—” he cuts himself off, clearly recalculating something. “…lap.”

“Correct.”

“Resting,” you said simply, settling in.

He didn’t move you.

Didn’t push you off.

Just sat there, stiff as a board for a solid thirty seconds before very carefully relaxing—like he’d decided this was happening whether he understood it or not.

After that?

It just… became a thing.

You’d drop into his lap at the fire.

Lean back against his chest without asking.

Sometimes you’d be mid-conversation with someone else while perched there like it was your designated seat.

People noticed.

Of course they did.

You ignored them.

So did he.

Mostly.

(There was the occasional grumble. A muttered “Ain’t a chair” under his breath. But he never actually stopped you.)

If anything—

He adjusted.

A hand resting automatically at your hip so you didn’t slip.

His legs shifting slightly to make it more comfortable.

Like he just… accepted it.

Accepted you.

By the time Alexandria happens, people notice.

They definitely notice.

“You know,” Glenn says one afternoon, watching you casually drop onto Daryl’s lap mid-conversation, “most people would call that a relationship.”

You glance over your shoulder. “Most people are wrong.”

Daryl snorts quietly behind you, like he agrees.

And that’s the thing—

Neither of you ever define it.

It just… is.

Which is why it throws you so completely when you see him with her.

Her name is—honestly, you don’t care enough to remember it.

She’s one of the Alexandria women. Soft-spoken, neat, always hovering just a little too close to Daryl whenever he’s back from a run.

You notice it before you mean to.

The way she lingers.

The way she smiles at him.

The way he doesn’t immediately walk away.

And yeah—he’s not exactly encouraging it.

But he’s not shutting it down either.

That’s what gets to you.

Daryl—who usually avoids conversations like this—is actually… staying.

Listening.

Your stomach twists.

Weird.

Unpleasant.

You don’t like it.

“…Oh,” you murmur under your breath.

Maybe that’s it.

Maybe that’s what he wants.

Someone normal.

Someone who doesn’t treat him like a piece of furniture and sit on him whenever they feel like it.

You huff quietly, crossing your arms.

“Good for him,” you mutter, even though it doesn’t feel good at all.

So you stop.

Not all at once.

Not dramatically.

You just… stop sitting on his lap.

Stop leaning into him.

Stop taking up that space like it’s yours.

Daryl notices.

Of course he does.

He notices everything about you.

The first time you choose a spot across the fire instead of next to him, his eyes linger.

The second time, his shoulders tense.

By the third—

He’s staring.

You pretend not to see it.

“Somethin’ wrong with you?” he mutters one night, catching you as you try to pass by him without stopping.

You shrug, casual. “Nope.”

“You ain’t been—” he gestures vaguely, like he doesn’t have the words for it.

“Been what?”

He frowns. “Y’know.”

You tilt your head innocently. “I really don’t.”

His jaw tightens.

“…Forget it.”

You almost do.

Almost convince yourself it doesn’t matter.

Until the day it finally snaps.

You’re in the middle of the street when it happens.

A few people gathered around, talking, trading, trying to build something normal out of what’s left.

You’re half-listening.

Until you see her again.

Standing close to Daryl.

Too close.

Laughing softly at something he said—something you didn’t even hear.

And he’s—

He’s not laughing.

But he’s not walking away either.

Something in your chest twists.

Fine, you think.

Fine.

You turn, ready to leave, to give them space, to pretend this doesn’t bother you nearly as much as it does—

“Hey.”

His eyes are on you.

Tracking.

Waiting.

You hesitate.

Just for a second.

And that’s all it takes.

“C’mere,” he calls.

You blink.

“…What?”

He jerks his chin toward himself.

“C’mere.”

The woman looks between you both, confused.

You glance at her.

Then back at him.

“…You’re busy.”

“Ain’t,” he says immediately.

She opens her mouth like she might argue that.

Daryl doesn’t even look at her.

“C’mere,” he repeats.

There’s something in his voice this time.

Not a request.

Not quite a command.

Just… certain.

Your feet move before your brain catches up.

You walk over slowly, aware of the woman watching, of the shift in the air.

“Daryl—” you start.

And then—

He grabs your wrist.

Not rough.

Just firm.

And pulls.

It’s so sudden you don’t even process it at first.

Until you realize where you are.

How close.

His arm locked firmly around your waist, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

Not casual.

Not absent-minded.

Deliberate.

Right there.

In front of her.

Like it’s nothing.

The woman goes quiet.

You can feel it without even looking.

Feel the shift in the air.

The message.

Your breath catches.

“…Daryl.”

His gaze flicks down to you for half a second.

Softens.

His hand tightens slightly at your side.

A silent stay.

Like you belong there.

“Hey,” he says, quieter now.

You stare at him.

“Hi,” you manage.

There’s a beat.

Then you remember—

Oh.

Right.

You glance at the woman.

She’s staring.

Openly.

A little stunned.

A little… put off.

“Oh,” you say, suddenly feeling awkward. “Sorry, I didn’t—”

“You didn’t nothin’,” Daryl cuts in.

You blink.

The woman clears her throat.

“I, uh… didn’t realize you two were—”

“We ain’t,” Daryl says.

Your stomach drops.

Of course.

You knew that.

Still—

His arm tightens slightly around you.

“But she’s mine,” he adds.

Your brain short-circuits.

“…What?”

He doesn’t look at you.

Still watching the woman.

Steady. Unapologetic.

“She sits here,” he continues, like he’s explaining something obvious. “She stays close. That’s just how it is.”

Silence.

The woman shifts awkwardly.

“Right,” she says after a second. “I—I should go.”

“Yeah,” Daryl replies easily.

She doesn’t need telling twice.

You watch her leave.

Then slowly turn back to him.

You swallow. “…So.”

He looks at you again.

Really looks this time.

“Thought you didn’t wanna sit here no more.”

There’s something rough in his voice.

Something quieter underneath.

You frown slightly. “I didn’t think you—” you stop yourself.

Didn’t think you wanted me to.

His eyes narrow. “Didn’t think I what?”

You shake your head. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

You huff a small laugh, shaking your head again. “You had options.”

“Options?” he repeats, like the word offends him.

You gesture vaguely in the direction the woman left. “Her, for one.”

Daryl goes very still.

Up close like this, you can see it—

The faint tension.

The way he’s bracing, just a little.

Then—

“Don’t want her.”

The words come out immediate. Firm.

Like there was never a question.

Your breath catches.

“…You don’t?”

He stares at you like you’ve just said the dumbest thing he’s ever heard.

“Been sittin’ on my lap for months,” he mutters. “Thought that meant somethin’.”

Your heart stutters.

“It did,” you say quietly. “I just didn’t know if it meant the same thing to you.”

His expression shifts.

Softens in a way that feels almost dangerous.

“Only ever meant one thing to me.”

Your heart stutters.

“…Daryl.”

He exhales, like he’s already said too much.

But he doesn’t stop.

“Don’t like it,” he mutters. “You thinkin’ I—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Ain’t her.”

Your breath catches.

“Oh.”

Silence settles between you.

You shift slightly in his lap, suddenly very aware of how close you are.

“How long?” you ask quietly.

He shrugs one shoulder.

“While.”

You huff a soft laugh.

“Great. And you didn’t think to mention that?”

He looks almost offended.

“Thought it was obvious.”

You stare at him.

“…Daryl.”

“What?” he mutters.

“I sit on your lap.”

“Yeah.”

“That does not automatically equal ‘I’m yours.’”

He frowns.

“…Should.”

You laugh—actually laugh, a little breathless.

“You’re unbelievable.”

He huffs, but there’s something softer in his expression now.

“Yeah.”

A beat.

Then, quieter—

“…You don’t gotta stop.”

You blink.

“Stop what?”

He gestures vaguely—between you, your position, all of it.

“This.”

Your heart does something stupid again.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” you admit.

That tension in him eases.

Just a little.

“Good.”

You study him for a second longer.

Then smile—slow, a little teasing, a little something more.

“…So this is mine now?” you ask, shifting slightly in his lap.

He snorts.

“Always was.”

Your smile softens.

“Good,” you murmur, settling more comfortably against him. “Because I wasn’t planning on giving up my seat permanently.”

Daryl huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“Pain in the ass.”

“Your pain in the ass.”

He pauses.

Then nods once, like that settles it.

“…Yeah.”

[author-morgan]

Title: Eivor’s Wingman Pairing: m!Eivor x fem!Reader Rating: T Summary: A feathered thief provides Eivor with the courage needed to face his harbored emotions. header pic and plot idea by @jaegers-and-kaijus 

A RAVEN SWOOPS down from the grey sky and perches on your shoulder. He ruffles his feathers after the flight and drops a stalk of purple iris in your open, waiting hand. The raven croaks —a low rasping gurgle. “Thank you, Sýnin,” you muse, scritching the dark feathers under his neck. For weeks now, the raven has been bringing you flowers and small trinkets. You’ve amassed a small collection of things from him and pages filled with drying blooms. Just yesterday, he gifted you a smooth river-stone. Sýnin croaks again before jumping from your shoulder and taking to the sky. 

Eivor holds his arm out and Sýnin lands. “Did she like it?” He asks and the raven bobs his head up-and-down, hopping from foot to foot in response. Eivor Wolfsmal smiles to himself, retreating into his home to finish last-minute chores before the feast that had been called started. 

Keep reading

[author-morgan]

Title: A Good Day Pairing: m!Eivor x fem!Reader Rating: T Summary: A good night needs the perfect day. header pic and plot idea by @jaegers-and-kaijus​

THE MORNING AIR is warm and filled with birdsong. Eivor adjusts the weight of his axes and bow, pushing the sleeves of his tunic up above his elbows as he treks farther into the dense forest of Anglia. Crops had been sewn and in honor of the first harvest from new soil, he had called for a celebration. Now he hunts for the unfortunate beast who will be at the center of the table —boar or deer, either will be roasted on a spit and devoured. 

Ahead is a small clearing and a spring of crisp water surrounded by stone and trickling out as a small stream. Mingled with the sound of water bubbling from the earth is a familiar voice humming a song —soft and sweet. Eivor nears the spring and kneels in the thicket, smiling to himself. So, this is where she ran off to so early, he thinks after having woke to an empty bed. He shifts, moving a branch and peers over the short rock wall. 

Spread out on several of the rocks are yours and Eivor’s clothes, freshly mended and scrubbed after helping work in the fields and now drying in the summer sun. You could have returned all the garments to the reed-basket and returned to the settlement, but the cool water is inviting after a hard morning’s work. Stepping down into the pool, you let out a long sigh —leaning back against a smooth stone. Slipping from your shift, you set to washing it and leaving it to dry over a rock too. 

Keep reading

[author-morgan]

Title: Open Water

Pairing: Alexios x Fem!Reader

Rating: T

Summary: Alexios offers you a place at his side on the Adrestia -claiming Barnabas has a soft spot for people like you and him.

“HALT MISTHIOS!” ALEXIOS’S shoulders sag at the familiar voice calling out to him. He drives the point of his spear into the soft, upturned earth, and removes his helm before turning with hands raised in surrender. You emerge from behind an olive tree, bow strung and arrow nocked –aimed at the eagle-bearing mercenary though you are not eager to release and bring him to harm. “You’re easy to find,” you tell him. Finding him was as easy as finding an angry bear –though angry bears tended to leave less damage in their wake than the Eagle Bearer.

He sighs, closing the distance between you and him. “Are we going to go through this every time our paths cross?” Alexios asks, pushing the drawn bow aside. You eye him but do not offer and answer. The Eagle Bearer glances down, catching sight of a roll of papyrus stuck in your belt with the broken seal of Hypatios the Manticore –undoubtedly a contract for his head. “Thought I already paid you,” he comments. It’d cost him two hundred drachmae three nights ago to be sure you wouldn’t put a dagger in his heart while he slept –a fraction of the growing bounty on his head– after a casual romp in the Fountain of Peirene.

Keep reading

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

gif not mine

Daryl: Stop climbin’ shit!

Y/N: I’m a free spirit, Daryl!

Carol: What’s going on?

Daryl: My free spirit’s on the roof again.

[mx-pastelwriting]

GOW HC - Reacting to you having a cat

GOD OF WAR X GN! READER

SUMMARY: Reacting to you having a cat. WARNINGS/TAGS: Fluff, Established Relationship, Cat Owner, Fluffy Cats

CHARACTERS: Kratos, Thor, Freyr, Heimdall

KRATOS

- Didn't care for them at first, even as the cat made a point to cuddle up to him every time he sat or laid down. Pretends he doesn't like them moving the cat to your lap or side of the bed, only for them to come back, and he accepts it.

- Hates it when the cats get in the way of cuddling you in the middle of the night, especially when they take over his side of the bed. Asking you to move the creature, having been down that road before, coming out of it with war injuries.

- Doesn't think twice about leaving you alone at home, knowing what it did to him, ensuring you could throw the cat and be fine against an intruder.

- Loves seeing you cuddle up with the cat. Slowly, he comes to love the furry creature, little by little, when he leaves the house, placing a kiss on your forehead and sometimes the cat’s. They also come to love Kratos mostly for the body heat; purring in his presence for the first time scared the shit out of him.

- Only lets up when secretly catching him cuddling the cat, even hearing how he talked cutely to them, playing with a feather that came from a bird you had for dinner nights ago. When coming out of your hiding spot, shock is the first emotion on his face. Laughing at the situation, from then on, he's not so shy.

Waking to the chaos of Kratos trying to pick up your cat, the ball of fur in his hand, attacking the chain-scarred arms. Quickly removing the angry cat from the bed, watching as it scurries off and out the door, you hold back a laugh at Kratos's state.

Looking at him with tired eyes watching as the scratches on his face heal, "You okay?" you ask, getting only a deep grunt before taking you up in his warm arms.

Minutes later, your cat comes back, having it out for Kratos, laying so elegantly on his pillow, waiting for the moment he would turn over, getting a nose full of hair and toe beans.

-

THOR

- Adores them, being a little distant at first from past experiences, but comes to love them as they comfort him after Odin's words when you're not there too.

- The cat learned not to sleep next to him, being crushed by the thunder god too many times. Though loving the heat from Thor, only now sleeping on his pillow, feet, and hand that is thrown over your waist when cuddling.

- Swearing it was his cat now, from cuddling to kisses, they always welcome him home, forgetting you completely. Though they have their rough patches from your fights or drunken nights, the cat takes your side, making him apologize quickly.

- Feeds the cats most mornings, making sure they get the freshest mix of meats. Talking cutely, not caring if you hear, though gets a bit blushy when you "aww" at it, always gives you both a kiss before heading out for anything.

- Comes to you asking if he could get another cat; depending on your answer, he still brings one home from the wild. Loves cats at any age, would bring home a pregnant cat, watching as him so careful with the mess of the feral mama cat.

Walking through the tall, thick wooden door, greeted by the sight of Thor cuddling up on the bed, spoon-feeding the kittens of the pregnant cat he brought home months ago.

Still remembering how broken his reaction was to you saying that the kittens had to go, tears welding up in his eyes as you explained that having almost ten cats in the house, let alone your bedroom, would drive Odin up the wall, seeing as you both were already on thin ice from just having one.

Hearing his stomached laugh as they all climb on top of his body, fighting to get a lick at the spoon as their mama lay next to him sleeping.

-

FREYR

- Two words, Cat Dad. Love at first sight, even if they hissed, he would talk to them in a cute voice while trying to pet them. Quickly getting the cat to love him took only a few days, with some good treats and tasty critters.

- Gladly gives up his pillow to the furry creature, liking yours better anyway. Sometimes ends up cuddling them instead of you, making some good stories for the crew to hear the next morning. Has no problem with them taking up most of the bed, as it allows him to cuddle closer to you.

- Trains them so that when you go on your trips to other lands, walking along shoulders, staying close, and hunting for meals, the cat will know everything. When the cat isn’t with him in the wild, he brings them back little charms for them to play with, hanging some while others are tied to a stick.

- Overfeeds the poor thing, but it all works out, having them work off the treats in the forests of Vanaheim. Making sure they eat a good meal before coming home to you after an afternoon of exploring the land's forest.

- Gets a little jealous when the cat gives someone else attention, wanting his furry baby to want him. Cries at night, saying, "They're all grown up" and "They don't need me anymore," with you reminding him they're a cat.

”Jump,” Freyr’s voice commands, making the furry ball jump off his shoulders to a tree branch, earning laughing praise from Freyr.

Walking along the dirt path in the Vanaheim jungle on your way back from one of your favorite stops to relax with the sunset, bring the cat along to get some training in.

Holding the Vanir god’s hand, ready to get home to cook something up, meeting his brown eyes, which sparkled with happiness. Planning on taking the cat to Alfheim, wanting to make sure the furry ball could handle adventuring in the wild alongside you and their papa.

-

HEIMDALL

- Does not like cats, but when you point out that he acts just like one, something in his brain takes a one-eighty. When you're out of the house, he looks at them, wondering and watching if they are similar.

- Takes naps with the cat; whether knowing or not the cat sleeps against his stomach, it still leaves you to find them like that on the bed. At night, he kicks them out of the room, not wanting to share you or the bed, but as soon as he falls asleep, you crack the door, allowing the cat to cuddle with his pillow or feet.

- Jealous of the creature, if you give them a head kiss, Heimdall wants one too, says their nickname; he wants one too; head scratches don't matter; he wants some too.

- Doesn't hate the cats; he actually kind of likes them, of course, after some time. Pushing some meat straps to the floor, smiling at the cat eating it, softening when they look back up at him with big eyes, making him want to dump the whole plate on the floor.

- When you finally catch him kissing a cuddling the cat, his face drops immediately, moving away quickly, but the cat persists, rumbling up against his arm with their tail feathering his nose. Laughing at the sight, he relaxes a bit but is still a bit shy to show the furry creature some love.

Laying next, Heimdall cuddled up to his leg, purring away as the Aesir god scratched the top of their heads, watching from the kitchen, loving the sight.

Smelling the aroma of the food that sizzled in the pan, risking another look at the pair. As Heimdall reads a new book while the cat rolls over, allowing his hand to scratch their belly, quickly moving away as the cat is going to bite.

Laughing caught the attention of both, embarrassed Heimdall looked away, taking his hand off the cat, causing them to roll over, pressing their feet against his side, cutely winning his heart back. Hesitantly, putting his hand back into the soft fluff, started up the purr machine once more.

-

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

♥ mx-pastelwriting does not consent to their fanfiction being copied, copied & credited, translated, used in videos and/or audios, screenshotted, used in AI.

𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @fullmoonwolfer1 @loki-love

[blondejellykitty]

₊♡ ˚⊹ I find myself reaching for you ₊♡ ˚⊹

୨୧ older!atreus x fem!reader ୨୧ In Norse mythology, Idun (also spelled Idunn or Iðunn) is the goddess of spring and rejuvenation. She is known for keeping the golden apples that grant immortality to the gods. In one myth, Idun and her apples are stolen. Loki, seeing her under duress, eventually rescues Idun, often taking the form of a falcon or transforming Idun into a nut or sparrow. a/n: (1.4k words) first god of war fanfic. (i'm imagining atreus in his 20's, also no y/n or name mentioned) hope you all enjoy! 🩷

Atreus docked the boat at the pier and tied the rope into a tight knot so it didn't float away. He set foot on the wooden planks of the dock and sighed deeply.

It had been too long since he'd returned to Midgard, to home. He'd explored many foreign lands and had returned home a few times but never like this. Never with someone to bring back. He felt tension on his shoulders ease as he glanced up at the sun and he swore it shone brighter, even the air smelt different here.

He turned back towards the boat and outstretched his hand. Your hand slips into his as he steadies you onto the pier. You look around the new terrain and smile as it fit every description he'd told you about his home country.

You walked to the end of the dock as Atreus slung both your bags over his shoulder easily. Looking around at the tall trees and exotic plants, Atreus watched you with a smile as you wide-eyed took every little thing in.

You both walked down the dirt path through the forest, towards the settlement that had flourished after Ragnarök ended. With every step you make the ground surrounding you bursts to life. It was one of the things Atreus loved about you. Without meaning to you spread bursts of life from cold places in the form of beautiful nature.

As you exited the forest, a set of markets lined the edge of the forest. Midgardians and Asgardians mingled and traded amongst one another. Atreus was glad to see how much Midgard had changed for the better since he'd last been there years prior. Your eyes widened as they searched the colorful busy market.

"Wow" You muttered under your breath and turned towards Atreus with a wide smile. "Atreus" You hummed out.

"Yes?" He encouraged with a soft smirk as he met your eyes.

"Can I borrow some silver pieces? I promise I'll find you something good for it" You practically sang out and he was already reaching for his silver pouch on his hip, handing it over to your waiting hands.

You had already started to walk off when he yelled out over the noise of the crowd "Meet me in the center when you're done!" You turned around, walking backwards and waved at him with a swift nod before being lost in the crowd.

Atreus huffed amusedly and began walking towards the center. He saw a few wooden tables beside a small creek that ran past the market. He eyed an empty bench and headed over to it.

"Atreus! Is that you?" Skjöldr's voice sounded so different from the last time Atreus had heard it he almost didn't recognize him.

"Skjöldr? Holy shit" Atreus smiled as he walked over to the blonde man. Atreus was slightly taller than him and more muscular but Skjöldr's hair was longer even while being braided back.

"Man, is it good to see you! Did you- did you just get back?" Skjöldr folded his arms in front of him as he asked with a smile that crinkled the corner of his eyes.

"Yeah, I was heading to the cabin. Got distracted" Atreus answered with an easy shrug. "How've you been? It- it's been ages" He questioned his old friend who nodded.

"I'll admit I went out traveling on my own too." Skjöldr taunted with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah?" Atreus inquired and Skjöldr waved him off. "Yeah. Never as far as you though" Skjöldr chuckled and Atreus shook his head.

As Atreus looked up he glanced over Skjöldr's shoulder and saw you, glancing around the center for him. Skjöldr noticed his distracted staring and turned around. His eyes went wide at the sight of you and Atreus couldn't blame him.

You looked otherworldly, standing in your flowing colorful dress amongst the other plain people made you look like a true goddess of beauty.

"Wow-" Atreus cut off his blonde friend.

"My wife" Atreus' eyes never left your figure even as Skjöldr's head whipped around in surprise.

"What? Seriously?" Skjöldr's mouth hung open and he had to mentally remember to close it. Atreus merely nodded, looking lovestruck.

"She's-" Skjöldr was cut off once again.

"Perfect, beautiful, lovely?" Atreus felt as if he could list ways to describe you for days. Skjöldr shook his head amusingly at his friend.

"Totally in love with you" Skjöldr continued his previous statement and Atreus looked at you, seeing you wave at him with bright eyes.

As you made your way over to the pair, Atreus had a giddy smile on his face and heart shaped eyes.

Atreus outstretched his hand to yours as you moved to stand beside him, glancing at Skjöldr with a kind smile. Skjöldr nodded his head at you politely as Atreus introduced you both.

After a while of talking between you and Skjöldr about your home country and travels with Atreus, Skjöldr bid you both goodbye and made Atreus promise to catch up again before leaving for any more traveling.

"Well, he was very nice" You smiled as you watched the blonde man walk off past the last few market stalls.

Atreus hummed and gently brushed a small leaf from your hair. You beamed up at him and remembered your gift you'd gotten him.

"Oh, here!" You pulled out a small gift wrapped in a cloth and handed it to him carefully.

You rocked back and forth on the balls of your feet as he untied the cloth and held up your gift. It was a handcrafted bracelet with runes that spelled 'dearest love' on each bead. Atreus' heart beat faster and he delicately ran his finger over the carved beads.

"Thank you, love" He whispered so only you could hear him. You softly smiled at him and turned his wrist around and comfortably tied the bracelet.

"Looks good, handsome" You smirked and leaned up to press a kiss to his jaw. He dramatically kissed your cheek before placing multiple kisses over your lips before you both began walking away from the markets with lovesick smiles on each of your faces.

Walking through the wildwoods would've taken this long usually but every time you saw a new flower you hadn't seen before you were determined to pick it. Now you held a bundle of different flowers in your hand, your powers kept the flowers alive and thriving without needing roots or water.

You squealed and pointed to another blue flower, rushing over to it and picked one, adding it to your pile. Atreus watched you with a warm smile when he felt a pair of eyes on him. He turned around and saw none other than his father standing at the edge of the protection stave where the gate ended.

"Father" Atreus blurted out and began to walk over.

"Atreus" His father's gruff voice almost startled him, he'd almost forgot just how deep it was. He nodded his head with a smile and he saw something akin to relief in his father's eyes.

His father's eyes flickered over to where you were starting to walk back, rustling branches as you did.

"There's someone I'd like you to meet" Atreus smiled and glanced behind him as his father merely raised an eyebrow.

Once again Atreus outstretched his hand for you to take. You did so with a shy smile as you peered over towards Kratos.

"Hello" You softly introduced yourself, still holding the bundle of flowers. Kratos only grunted and looked between you and his son.

"She's my wife" Atreus explained after a brief silence fell over the group and he'd never thought he'd seen his father look so shocked before.

"Wife?" Kratos questioned and locked eyes with you, as if trying to read your mind for answers. You nodded with a loving smile.

"I-uh, I threw an apple at her" Atreus smiled, recalling the story his father had told him so many years ago.

You furrowed your brows and looked over at him with narrowed eyes.

"You mean you pelted me with it" You huffed without any real anger behind it and Atreus had the decency to look sheepish.

"I wanted to be sure you'd catch it" He blushed and rubbed the back of his head with a slight laugh.

You both looked over at Kratos who started to chuckle lightly, with the faintest smile you'd ever seen. He silently opened the wooden gate for you both as he walked towards the cabin shaking his head.

You looked at each other with wide eyes before you finally broke the silence. "Do you think he likes me?" You asked hesitantly and Atreus placed his arm over your shoulders.

"I think he likes you more than me" He smiled down at you and you failed to stifle your laughter.

[dixonsss]

i feel like i need like a Daryl Dixon x tiktok influencer gf one-shot. like he’s anti-social media but knows his gf loves it and puts up with her making videos or challenges or whatever

Anon I'm gonna be so for real rn, I wasn't super into this prompt when I first saw it. But this ended up being a blast so thank you! I went with Twitch streamer rather than any sort of beauty or wellness influencer just cause it felt right and as cute as hyper-femme!Reader and Daryl are, that ain't me. Tryin' to show the less girly readers some love.

1.8k words (this turned out so much longer than I expected), no warnings, Gen rating

Tags: Fem!reader but honestly pretty ambiguous other than one or two uses of the word girlfriend, no use of y/n, AU no apocalypse, fluff, some humor, Daryl is an internet cryptid

HOW DARYL DIXON BECAME THE INTERNET'S FAVORITE BOYFRIEND

In retrospect, Daryl should have known he would end up here.

The two of you had met the old-fashioned way – in person, when you showed up at his auto shop with an old Nissan that wouldn’t start. It was blatantly obvious that you didn’t have a clue about cars, but all the same, you weren’t letting Merle push you around. Daryl admired that. He usually turned a blind eye when Merle scammed clueless customers out of an extra hundred, or sometimes thousand, dollars, but here you were arguing back and insisting all the repairs Merle recommended didn’t line up with your research. Daryl couldn’t help himself.

“She’s right,” he had said, sidling up next to Merle and glancing under the raised hood of your car. “Jus’ needs new terminals. And prolly a fresh battery.”

Merle had looked like he wanted to bash Daryl’s head in, but then you smiled at him and, well, that was that. His heart actually did a little flip in his chest, and when Merle stormed off and left him to do the repairs himself, he took extra care in his work.

About an hour later, he came out and handed you your keys, not quite meeting your eyes. He’d been acutely aware of the grease stains all over his hands and ratty old jumpsuit.

“Good to go,” he’d said, and flinched just a little as his fingers brushed against yours. “Replaced your wipers, too. On the house. ‘Cause my brother’s a dick.”

That made you laugh, and boy, was he a goner. And then you’d offered to buy him lunch to say thank you, and every instinct he had screamed no, run, what the fuck are you doing, but somehow, he found himself following you over to the nearest fast food place and letting you buy him a burger and fries, and there he’d found out just how much he enjoyed talking to you. It was the first of many meals you had together, and it wasn’t long before the two of you made it official and he had to endure the other guys teasing him about how often his girlfriend picked him up from work. Not that he minded.

He’d never been a relationship kind of guy, but with you, it was the easiest thing in the world.

You lived together now, and it was a type of domestic bliss Daryl had never thought he wanted or deserved. It was amazing. Pretty close to perfect.

Except for one little thing.

See, you had this hobby. You really, really liked video games. All kinds, from creepy horror games to “cozy” farming ones to these weird indie things that you tried to explain to him while he just nodded along blankly. That much, he didn’t mind. It was cute, watching you play and get frustrated or listening to your long rants about what you loved. Daryl had even learned to like a few of your games and played with you often. He was actually kinda good at them.

The thing was, you liked to stream.

Daryl didn’t know a damn thing about YouTube or Twitch or anything online, and he tried to keep it that way, thank you very much. Yet he supported you anyway. It wasn’t a huge thing after all, just a few videos you recorded from time to time while playing a game and making commentary. You would share them online for your friends and a handful of strangers and then move on. It made you happy, so it made Daryl happy.

But then, oh, then, you posted a few of your highlights to TikTok. Overnight, you grew a huge following. You had fans.

Daryl was happy for you, really, he was. About time the rest of the world recognized what a funny, talented, amazing girlfriend he had. Except now you were making a lot more videos whenever you had a spare moment, any time of the day or night. It was all he could do to avoid being in the line of fire.

Daryl loved you, but he really hated creeping around his own apartment like a burglar in order to avoid being on camera.

He was so careful. Still, he knew better than to think his luck would hold out.

It happened one Wednesday night after he’d worked a double shift and was dead on his feet. He lumbered into the kitchen wearing nothing but an old pair of pajama pants and opened the fridge, praying there was leftovers of some kind. As tired as he was, he’d forgotten you’d warned him about your plans to stream a new game tonight.

He couldn’t see the comments rolling in on the side of your monitor, but you sure could.

Whoa is there someone back there?

Wait who is blurry shirtless man?

HELLLOOOOO SAILOR

From behind him, Daryl heard your little snort of laughter and started to turn.

“That’s my boyfriend,” you said into the mic.

Daryl fucking dropped.

He abandoned all thoughts of food and shoved the fridge door shut before army crawling in his own kitchen to get out of the shot. When he’s home free, he turns to glare at you, but you’re just turned around in your chair, watching him with a look that said he might as well have grown a second head.

“Babe, Jesus Christ,” you said, before swinging around to continue your game. As Daryl high-tailed it back to the bedroom, he heard you talking to your viewers again.

“Yeah, he just doesn’t want to be on camera.” A pause. “His name’s Daryl.”

He scowled and fell back onto the bed, his plans for dinner just a fond memory.

***

It was a long time before he screwed up again.

Your followers didn’t stop asking questions about him, though. He didn’t love that you’d put his first name out there for anyone to hear, but otherwise, you respected his wish to not be involved in any social media and gently refused to say anything more about him.

Daryl managed to stay in the clear until one very annoying morning. He’d overslept and was running late for work, so of course he’d forgotten his toolbox at home. He really should keep it at the shop, but they were a nice set, and he knew Merle would swipe them at the first chance. So he turned his bike around and sped back home.

“Sorry!” he called in your general direction as he rushed through the living room, shoved the toolbox into his backpack, and ran back to his bike. He didn’t have time to be pissed that, because you were off work today, you’d already started streaming in the living room and he’d gotten caught in the shot again. Thank God he was wearing the helmet you’d insisted he buy, or else his whole face would have been out there for anyone to see.

In his absence, comments began appearing on your screen with renewed speed.

DARYL SPOTTED.

Cryptid caught on camera!

Why is he so fast????

Boy can MOVE.

He heard the story later that night, once he was home and sprawled out on the couch with his head in your lap. His appearance had caused quite the stir. Apparently, your fans had been calling him a cryptid since the first time he’d strayed onto one of your streams. There were blurry screenshots going around comparing him to Nessie and Bigfoot, even instances of people cropping his tiny, blurry image and writing “I WANT TO BELIEVE” across it, like he was a fucking X-Files monster.

You were sympathetic, but you’d also made one of those pictures your phone background.

His latest fuck up was only adding fuel to the fire. He’d never been more thankful that Merle didn’t use social media, either.

***

Things continued like this for a few months. Your viewers asked questions and searched for him in shots, and you held firm in not violating his privacy. He still fucked up from time to time, and when he did, rest assured people would screenshot the ever-loving hell out of whatever tiny bunch of pixels showed half his arm, or the back of his head, or a third of his leg. It was a little creepy, but even he had to admit it was mostly harmless. Sure, you had a considerable following, but it wasn’t a massive crowd, not like some of those “influencers” with their product deals and millions of fans. They seemed to make you happy, too. As usual, he couldn’t bring himself to hate anything that brought you joy, your viewers included.

Which is probably why, on a random Tuesday night in the summer, he finally gave in.

You were playing a new game, one that the two of you had tested out the night before together. It was mostly combat-based, and Daryl enjoyed it, but it seemed to frustrate you to no end. You just couldn’t get the hang of the battle mechanics. After twenty straight minutes of hearing you grumble and growl at your screen, Daryl finally had enough. Both of listening to you complain about the game, and of sneaking around the apartment.

He left the bedroom where he’d been holed up like usual and strode straight up to you and your monitor. Then he reached over and plucked the controller right out of your hand.

“Christ, yer bad at this one,” he grumbled. “Can’t even nap with you hollerin’ like that.”

At the edge of the screen, the chat went wild.

DARYL??? OUT IN THE OPEN???

He DOES exist!!!

So were you gonna tell us he’s hot or??

Omg the voice

Holy shit those ARMS

He paid the comments no mind and started hitting buttons. Beside him, you simply stared, mouth open.

“Daryl,” you whispered through the side of your mouth. “The camera’s on.”

“Know that,” he replied, never taking his eyes from the screen. “But I’m tired of hearin’ you whine.”

He swiftly beat the boss that was giving you so much trouble and then passed the controller back. Then, he turned on his heel and went straight back to the bedroom, leaving you flabbergasted.

Um Daryl has game??

Why is he better than you

The absolute aura on that one

“Yeah, so, uh, that was Daryl,” you said, running your hand through your hair. You were at a loss for words. The chat, however, was not.

Daryl streaming when

NOOO come back

Pls play a co-op game with him!!!

We need to see more of his rizz

You couldn’t help but laugh, glancing back toward the closed bedroom door. “Don’t hold your breath.”

But something told you it just might happen.

A/N: Maybe not my best execution, but I really love this story! I'm actually a little obsessed with these two and the random unecessary backstory I created for them. Kinda wanna write more of them ngl. Anyway, to Anon, I hope that was something like you imagined!

[lushberrys]

Jason and his S/O who does not keep up with superhero and vigilante stuff. They barely know who Batman is but even then their knowledge begins and ends with "some guy in Gotham who fights crime" they've learned through osmosis

So when he confesses to them about being Red Hood they're like... "What, like the little red one? What are- WAIT! The little fat doll?! That's you?!" genuinely that's their only point of reference as to what Red Hood in this context means

🦇

no bc you simply Do Not keep up with most current events/news bc it deteriorates your mental health so when jason finds out you don't know too much about batman he's shook, understandably so

"what do you mean you just learned who batman is?" he's staring at you like you've grown a third eye

"....what?" you shrug like it's no big deal

"he's been around forever!" jason is about to pull his hair out. "how did you just now learn about him?"

"he saved me from being mugged the other night-"

"you were mugged and didn't tell me?!"

"and then robin told me to get my life together" you roll your eyes

jason has to step outside to smoke several cigarettes to calm himself down before coming back inside to talk to you rationally. he doesn't bring up vigilantes for a while after that bc if you don't know batman do you know him? and he can't handle that conversation right now, but he knows he can't avoid it forever

so when he comes home one night more beat up than usual and you're in his apartment when he doesn't expect you to be there... he finally has to confess. so he sits you down after getting cleaned up and soothing your worries

"i'm the red hood" he says with your hands in his, giving you a soft look. his anxiety, however, is making him feel like he's going to vibrate out of his skin

"red hood?" you repeat, confused. he figures it's bc you don't know who that is, who he is, and that makes a little part of his heart ache

"yeah, red hood..." he echos gruffly as he searches your face for any hint of how you're taking the news

"like... little red riding hood? wolf in the woods who eats her grandma?" you tilt your head to the side. jason's pretty sure he's on the verge of having an aneurysm

he laughs but you're already pulling out your phone to google him

"no, no, not like -"

"the little fat doll?!" you practically squeak

jason's eyebrows are instantly knitting together, "what?! no, i'm not a fat doll! what are you on about?"

so you show him fatson todd and he stares at you like the tired emoji and takes in a slow, deep breath

"how do you know about that but not any other vigilante running around in spandex fighting crime?" he's about to lose it. he wants to wrap you up and keep you hidden away and clueless forever

"you wear spandex?" you ask, fighting back a teasing smile

jason cracks, just a little and tries to snatch your phone from you

"alright that's enough, give me that-"

"no i need to buy fatson hood!" you try to keep your phone out of his reach when he scoffs

"it has its own name?!"

[jellyfishsthings]

I have a grandchild?

navigation , dc navigation

WARNINGS: none really, just funny banter

requests are open

dividers by @cafekitsune

Jason Todd liked to think he wore many masks.

The city knew him as Red Hood. To his brothers, he was the snarky, trigger-happy one. To Bruce, a question mark with a temper. But every Tuesday and Thursday, in a tidy, sun-filled classroom, he was something else entirely:

Mr. Jay.

He taught third grade English Lit. Paperbacks. Book fairs. Glitter-covered essays. Small chairs. Lots of stickers.

And somehow? He loved it.

Jason never expected to find peace in a room full of tiny, chaotic humans, but here he was—"Mister Jay" to twenty-four third-graders at Gotham Academy’s lower school, reading Charlotte’s Web with more expression than he thought humanly possible.

He wore cardigans now. He drank peppermint tea. He even had a bulletin board labeled "Our Word Wall."

And he hadn’t told a soul in his family

Not because he was ashamed—he actually liked it. He liked the simplicity, the structure, the way little Brian Jennings waved at him with both hands every morning and offered him a friendship bracelet made of rainbow rubber bands. He liked the chaos he could understand for once.

“Okay, who can tell me what the monster in Where the Wild Things Are really represents?”

Rory’s hand shot up first—Rory with wild curls, a constant sprinkle of glitter on her cheeks, and a reading level two grades above her age.

Jason grinned. “Hit me, Rory.”

“His FEELINGS. Because Max was MAD and monsters are mad feelings!”

“You nailed it.” Jason gave her a fist bump. “A plus level insight. Someone write that down.”

Rory beamed like she’d just won an Oscar.

It started during the fall parent-teacher conference, when you arrived ten minutes late, breathless and apologetic, your daughter’s glitter-covered backpack slung over your shoulder.

Jason took one look at you—coffee-stained shirt, wild bun, tired eyes and soft voice—and immediately short-circuited.

“Sorry—my car wouldn’t start, and then I had to stop Rory from feeding goldfish crackers to a raccoon.”

Jason blinked. Smiled. “Sounds like a Tuesday.”

“Sorry again,” you huffed, taking a seat. “I’ve had a long day.”

He blinked. “No problem. Uh, Rory’s doing great.”

You sighed in relief. “She talks about you all the time. Mr. Jay says this, Mr. Jay says that. I was starting to think she liked you more than me.”

Jason laughed—and it was a real one, the kind that crept into his ribs and stayed. “Don’t worry, she just likes that I let them write haikus about dragons.”

“Haikus?”

“Very serious educational practice.”

You smiled. Something clicked into place.

It started slow. A cup of coffee after conferences. A chat outside after school pickup. Then, one Saturday, he ran into you and Rory at the Gotham public library. Rory sprinted into his legs, squealing “MISTER JAY!!!” loud enough to startle nearby birds.

That day ended with the three of you at a bakery. Rory passed out with a cookie in her hand. You gave him a look—surprised, amused, softened—and said, “She’s never warmed up to someone like this.”

Jason didn’t say anything. Just wrapped Rory’s scarf tighter and said, “She’s a good kid.”

What he meant was: I’d do anything to keep her happy.

Jason fell hard. Harder than he’d fallen in years. He kept it quiet at first, didn’t want to spook you with his baggage, didn’t want Bruce to send a drone overhead and “investigate” why his second-oldest son was skipping crime fighting for PTA meetings.

He just wanted this one thing for himself.

And somehow, it worked.

You dated quietly. Rory loved him instantly. He helped her with spelling words and listened to her detailed theories about dragons living in Gotham’s sewer systems. He fixed your heater when it broke and always remembered your favorite snacks.

By the time spring rolled around, he was yours, completely.

Jason was...gone. Just absolutely a goner. He’d found a rhythm in the chaos—dinner with you, homework with Rory, bedtime stories, and night patrol. It was weird and messy and full of glitter.

And it was home.

He was there when Rory lost her first tooth. When she scraped her knee on the playground and insisted only Mister Jay could clean it. When she had a nightmare and called him, not you, because "Daddy Jay fights monsters."

He didn’t correct her. Not once.

You saw it—how she clung to him, how he always bent to her level, how she crawled into his lap like it was the safest place on earth.

You asked him once, “You sure you’re okay with this?”

Jason kissed your forehead. “She’s my kid, too. Blood or not.”

So when you had an emergency work trip and your usual babysitter canceled, you didn’t even hesitate.

“You sure you don’t mind watching her overnight?” you asked, handing him a list of instructions and emergency contacts longer than a novel.

Jason kissed your cheek. “She’s my favorite kid. We’re going to build a pillow fort and eat suspicious amounts of mac and cheese. Go save the day. Go save the world, I have this covered.” 

You kissed his cheek, hugged Rory tight, and left.

“Alright,” Jason turned to her. “Movie or fort?”

Rory’s eyes sparkled. “BOTH.”

What neither of you accounted for... was Bruce Wayne.

Two hours later, the living room was a pillow apocalypse. Jason wore a glitter crown and had his nails painted purple. Rory was asleep, snuggled in his hoodie, soft snores muffled under a blanket castle.

It started at 6:37 p.m., when Bruce—who was supposed to be on a League mission—showed up at Jason’s apartment.

The door creaked open.

Jason glanced up.

And froze.

Bruce Wayne stood in the doorway.

“I need to talk to you about the armory in Blüdhaven,” Bruce said, standing in the doorway like the world’s most dramatic bat.

“Uh.” Jason didn’t move. “Hey.”

Bruce’s eyes flicked to the bright pink tiara sitting crookedly on his hair. The glitter smearing his cheeks. The empty sippy cup peeking out of his pocket.

Jason, his Jason, was wearing a pink apron that said “Kiss the Cook” and holding a bowl of glitter slime, staring at him dumbfounded. “Now?”

Then Rory ran into the room with a towel-cape tied around her shoulders. “JAY. THE UNICORN IS UNDER ATTACK.” Hew hair wild as if she had woken up by a nightmare.

She froze when she saw Bruce.

Bruce froze when he saw her.

There was a long, loaded silence.

Jason opened his mouth.

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “...Is there something you want to tell me?”

Rory looked up at Jason and whispered, “Is that Batman?”

Jason sighed. “Yeah, that’s Batman.”

“COOL,” she whispered loudly.

“She looks like you,” Bruce said.

“WHAT?!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you WHAT?!”

“That you have a child.”

“She’s not—! I mean—! I’m babysitting!”

Bruce narrowed his eyes.

“I’m serious! She’s not mine!”

A pause. Then a tiny voice mumbled, “Daddy Jay?”

Jason died.

Bruce looked like he had transcended.

“She calls you—”

“She’s SIX and I READ TO HER. It’s a TITLE OF AFFECTION, not a PATERNITY CLAIM!”

“She has your nose.”

Jason screamed, his arms wildly flailing. “She has a BUTTON NOSE!”

Bruce just stated “I expect pictures at Christmas.”

Rory interrupted cheerfully, “He’s dating my mom!”

Bruce looked like he aged ten years in one second.

“...You’re dating a civilian... with a child… and didn’t tell me?”

“She’s not mine!” Jason repeated, clutching the slime bowl like a lifeline. “I’m just babysitting!”

Rory handed Bruce a plastic tiara. “Do you want to be the princess or the dragon?”

Bruce stared at it. Then at Jason.

Jason shrugged helplessly.

Bruce sighed. “Dragon.”

When you came back the next morning, you were greeted by a sight you would never forget:

Jason, asleep on the couch, Rory curled up beside him like a cat. The apartment was a war zone of glitter, tiaras, and cookie crumbs.

And Bruce Wayne, sitting in a tiny plastic chair at Rory’s tea table, wearing a paper crown and reading a bedtime story.

He looked up at you. “She made me tea.”

You blinked. “Is it real tea?”

“No. It’s glue and glitter water.”

“Ah.”

“She named me Sparkle Dragon.”

You smiled. “Fitting. What happened?”

“Your kid called me Daddy Jay. In front of Bruce.”

You blinked. “Okay. And?”

“He thinks she’s my biological daughter.”

“... Did you correct him?”

Jason stared at you. “She said I have her nose. Bruce believed her.”

You covered your mouth to hide your laugh. “Well... she has told people you’re her ‘real’ dad since February.”

Jason groaned into his hands.

You kissed the top of his head. “It’s okay. Honestly... I don’t mind. You are kind of her dad.”

Jason looked up.

You met his eyes. “You show up. You care. You paint her nails and make dragon haikus and fight the blender when she wants smoothies. That’s more than biology.”

Jason’s chest tightened. Then softened.

“I love you,” he whispered.

You smiled. “Love you more”

Jason opened one eye. “Tell me you brought coffee.”

You laughed. “Only if you tell me why Batman is babysitting my child.”

Jason sighed into the pillow. “Long story.”

Bruce stood. “She’s a good kid.”

“She’s a menace,” Jason mumbled fondly.

Rory woke up and shouted, “GLITTER PANCAKES?”