𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘; 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐑𝐎𝐄˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ 𝟗𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧. 𝐬𝐡𝐞/𝐡𝐞𝐫. 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐡. welcome! this blog contains certain works of 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐋, 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡. Also most of my works will be coded as a 𝐠𝐧/𝐟𝐞𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫! Happy reading and thanks for stopping by my corner of the internet<33
𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐔 ; 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 ⎮ 𝐦𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⎮ 𝐦𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐭
𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑 ; I don’t tolerate any kinda of hate, disrespect, Islamophobia, racism, misogyny, zionism, xenophobia, or homophobia on my blog. You will be immediately blocked if you engage in those behaviors.
music ; the weeknd, ariana grande, rihanna, lana del rey, playboi carti, yeat, drake, kanye west, future, travis scott, the neighborhood, chase atlantic, bryson tiller, brent faiyaz, partynextdoor, frank ocean + many more !
tv shows ; bridgerton, the 100, anne with an e, gossip girl, tvd, suits, twd, never have i ever, game of thrones, surviving summer, alta, heartbreak high, outer banks, young justice, house of the dragon, titans, castlevania, voltron, she-ra + many more !
movies ; tatbilb, dune, the darkest minds, jurassic park, mean girls, miss peregrines home for peculiar children, the amazing spider-man, maze runner, hunger games, avatar (+the way of water), the parent trap, the princess diaries, 10 things i hate about you, star wars (esp. revenge of the sith), lotr, marvel movies + many more !
watching . . . gilmore girls ( s4 ), the walking dead (s3, rewatch)
ones w no links = no content for one to be made/not bothered atm lmfao (send requests for any)
btw im also planning on making a side blog for other stuff like castlevania, castlevania nocturne, voltron, the legend of vox machina, genshin, honaki star rail, etc. (since i feel like it does go w theme of this blog 😭)
CONTENT ; established relationship, fluffy, viktor mentioned (bcs why tf not)
WORD COUNT ; 450
A/N ; im still in denial that this man isnt alive and also that the fact ARCANE is over forever like i believe i deserved more and better😭 (but it was like inevitable lwk so). ANYWAY my title is inspire by Good Looking - Suki Waterhouse
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐄 is warmth.
The kind that settles into your bones, lulling you into that perfect space between wakefulness and dreams. A strong arm drapes over your waist, the weight grounding and familiar, fingers tracing absentminded circles against your bare skin.
Jayce.
You can feel his breath against the back of your neck, steady and deep, the rhythm of sleep still holding him captive. It’s rare to see him so still—no council meetings, no hammer-forging, no Hextech worries clouding his mind. Just him. Just you. Wrapped up in golden morning light and tangled sheets.
A smile tugs at your lips as you shift slightly, stretching. The movement earns a sleepy hum from Jayce before his arm tightens around you, pulling you back into his chest.
"Mm, don't move," he murmurs, voice thick with sleep. "Too early for that."
You chuckle, turning in his arms until you’re face to face. His eyes are still closed, dark lashes resting against sun-kissed skin, his hair tousled from sleep. He looks softer like this—less like the brilliant mind of Piltover, more like the man who whispered sweet nothings to you last night, who kissed you like you were something sacred.
"You’re awake," you tease, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.
"Only because you moved," he grumbles, cracking one eye open to peer at you. "And because you're staring."
"I'm allowed to stare at my handsome genius boyfriend."
He huffs a laugh, eyes finally opening fully. They’re warm, filled with something soft and unspoken. His fingers trail along your spine, sending a pleasant shiver through you.
"Last night was..." He pauses, a slow, lazy grin spreading across his lips. "Incredible."
"Yeah?" You raise a brow. "Good enough to skip work for the day?"
Jayce groans, flopping onto his back. "Tempting. But Viktor would kill me."
You prop yourself up on one elbow, tracing a finger along his bare chest. "He would. But you work too much anyway. One morning won’t hurt."
Jayce catches your hand, bringing it to his lips. "You make a good argument."
"And if that doesn’t convince you," you say, voice dropping into something softer, "I can think of other ways to keep you here a little longer."
His grin turns wicked as he rolls over, pinning you beneath him. "I like the way you think."
The morning stretches on, filled with soft kisses, whispered laughter, and golden light spilling across the bed. For once, the world outside can wait.
Summary: Tension at camp is nothing new, but after Daryl nearly takes a swing at Shane, you pull him away to the quarry, offering a distraction that quickly turns into something else entirely.
Tags: smut MDNI, pinv, fem reader, pullout method, kissing, public(ish) sex, outdoor sex, quickie, quarry!daryl, protective!daryl, husband!daryl, shane ‘tell ya what’ walsh is an ass what's new, little bit of praise kink, established relationship, sweet relationship, age gap mentioned but not specified
a/n: I’ve been watching season 1 on repeat too often. I remember when I didn’t think quarry Daryl was that cute and now I’m FERAL for the man. Top 3 fave versions of this man that’s for damn certain. thank you for reading!! lmk what you think!
The smell of campfire smoke was thick in the air, clinging to your clothes, your skin, following you no matter where you sat. It was the first time in a while you’d joined the others instead of sitting around the separate fire Merle usually built on the other side of camp. But with him gone on a recent run into the city with a few of the others, along with the sight of the pile of fish Andrea and Amy had hauled in, you told Daryl the best way to get a bite was to play nice and sit with the group—unless, of course, he wanted squirrel stew for the fifth night in a row.
But now, sitting there, you were starting to regret that decision.
Even with the world gone to hell and class lines erased overnight, some things hadn’t changed. They still shrank away from you, their discomfort as thick as the smoke curling through the air. And Daryl? They didn’t just avoid him. They dismissed him. Ignored him. Like he wasn’t worth a second glance.
You didn’t pay it any mind. You were used to people underestimating him, used to them not seeing him for who he really was. Beneath the sharp stares and sharper tongue, he was a good man. Your man. And these people—they’d never understand that.
The sun dipped lower, setting the valley in a wash of pink and orange, the glow of the fire growing brighter with every passing minute. Conversations murmured around you, voices low as they discussed camp security—how to reinforce their perimeter, how to keep the geeks out. So far, they’d been lucky, nestled deep in the woods with none of the dead stumbling through just yet.
Still, that luck wouldn’t last forever.
You shifted, glancing toward the tree line. “We could set up noise traps,” you offered. “Tin cans, broken glass—something to warn us if somethin’s comin’.”
The second the words left your mouth, Shane, a man with dark eyes and even darker scowl, scoffed as he paused mid conversation with another resident. You barely had time to blink before he turned on you, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you’d had the audacity to speak up.
“Yeah? That what you think?” He let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Tell you what, next time I need advice on how to run this place, I’ll be sure to come find you, sweetheart.”
The word dripped with condescension, slow and deliberate.
Your lip curled, rolling your eyes as you turned away. “Dick,” you muttered under your breath.
Shane barely let a beat pass before he fired back, voice laced with smug amusement.
“Better watch your lil’ backwoods girl there, Dixon,” he sneered, dark eyes flicking toward Daryl. “Might just have to give her somethin’ to scoff about with that mouth on ‘er.”
Silence hushed over the group like an uneasy wave. The fire popped, the only sound in the sudden, tense stillness as the eyes of everyone in the camp turned to look at you.
There was a loud scrape of metal groaning, Daryl’s lawn chair shoving back under him as he stood abruptly.
“The hell d’you just say, asshole?” he snapped, voice sharp as steel.
Shane barely flinched. His jaw worked, tension coiled tight in his shoulders, but instead of rising to the fight, he let out a slow breath through his nose. He ran a hand down his face, shaking his head.
“Christ, Dixon,” he muttered, voice low, measured, not even smug, just tired. “Ain’t gotta get all riled up. Was just a joke.”
Daryl’s hands curled into fists. “Yeah? Didn’t sound like one.”
Shane exhaled hard, eyes flicking around at the others watching before landing back on Daryl. His expression hardened.
"Ain't my fault you can't take a joke, Dixon. Least when your brother was here, we didn't have to listen to you run your mouth. He at least kept you on your side of camp.”
Daryl’s knuckles went white, his fists clenching tighter as he glared. Across the fire, Shane held his gaze, eyes steady—calm, almost—but there was a challenge in them, a quiet go on, do it lingering beneath the surface, prodding without a word.
You felt the fight still coiled tight in Daryl’s body as you wrapped your fingers around his upper arm, could feel the way his muscles flexed under your grip, the way his whole damn being was strung tight. You stepped in closer, lowering your voice so only he could hear. “Come on,” you murmured, his body warm as your hand curled tighter around his bicep, firm but gentle. “Let’s get outta here.”
Daryl didn’t move at first, his breathing still uneven, his fists still clenched.
Then, finally, he exhaled sharply and let you pull him back, turning away from the fire, from the camp, from the people who would never understand either of you.
The sun's dying light stretched long over the jagged rocks of the valley below, the water rippling in deep, coppery hues as you walked down to the quarry to get your mind off the argument at the firepit.
When you finally got to the bottom, Daryl leaned against a boulder, his face half-lit in the glow of dusk. He'd been quiet most of the evening, despite his blow up earlier, deep blue eyes flicking to you like he was chewing on something he didn’t quite know how to spit out.
You stepped in front of him, close enough to smell the sweat and earth clinging to his shirt, the faint scent of pine from the day hunting. "I’m sorry about…about whatever that was,”
His jaw ticked. “Ain’t nothin’ for you to apologize for,” he muttered, but he wasn’t looking at you, gaze fixed somewhere past your shoulder. “Dickhead don’t even know good advice if it hit ‘em upside the head.”
You sighed, reaching up to brush a short lock of hair from his forehead. He let out a breath, more like a huff than anything, barely audible, but you caught it.
“You always get like this when you’re thinking too hard,” you teased softly. “What is this really about?”
His lips pressed together, jaw working, like he was still chewing on the words. Then, as natural as breathing, his fingers found your waist, rough and certain, pulling you in just a little closer.
“Just don’t want ‘em talkin’ to ya like that,” he admitted, voice gruff, quieter than the night settling around you. “Like you ain’t worth listenin’ to. Like you ain’t got a damn brain in your head. They only do it ‘cause you’re with me.”
Your chest ached at the frustration in his voice, the way it came out stiff, like he hated even saying it out loud.
“Daryl…”
“They already look at me like I don’t belong here,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Ain’t gonna let ‘em do that to you too.”
You cupped his jaw, fingers grazing over the rough stubble, waiting until he finally looked at you. His blue eyes were sharp, searching, like he was waiting for you to tell him he was wrong.
“I don’t give a shit what they think,” you murmured. “I chose you. You get that, right?”
Daryl swallowed hard, something flickering across his face–vulnerable and open, his brute mask slipping now that it was just the two of you. His grip on you tightened, his body pressing just a little closer, his breath warm against your skin.
“I ain’t gonna let ‘em make you feel small,” he muttered, almost more to himself than to you.
Your chest ached at the way he said it, like he wasn’t sure how to handle the way he cared. Like the thought of letting them think so little of you was gnawing at the edges of his mind. Your thumb traced over his skin as you held his face, grazing over his bottom lip, his chin, until you leaned in.
“You don’t have to,” you murmured, lips barely ghosting over his. “I know who I am. And I know who you are. Even if they can’t see it.”
His blue eyes caught to yours, something different in them, something raw and sweet that no one else was ever allowed to see. Then, before you could say another word, his mouth was on yours, sweet and gentle, lips chapped but insistent. His hands gripped your waist tighter, pulling you closer until there was nothing between you but the fast, unsteady rhythm of your heartbeats.
You melted into him, hands sliding around his neck, letting the kiss ignite into need and heat, letting him pour everything into it—his frustration, his fear, the love he wasn’t good at putting into words. The quarry was silent except for the quiet rush of the wind over the water and the uneven breaths you shared between kisses.
When he finally pulled back, forehead resting against yours, he took a long moment just to breathe as he closed his eyes. His hands stayed on you, gripping you tightly against him, and you couldn’t help the smile that tugged across your lips.
"Thinkin' too hard again?" you whispered.
He huffed a quiet laugh. "Shut up," he muttered, but his lips brushed yours again, even softer this time, like he couldn’t help himself.
No one understood Daryl like you did. Not the folks at camp, not the people who side-eyed him like he was nothing but trouble, not even his own damn brother.
Thing was, no one really tried to know Daryl. They saw the brittle edges, the temper, the way he kept to himself. They saw the bickering between him and Merle, the way he came back from hunts with blood on his hands, all silent and brooding.
But you saw the man beneath all that.
Before the world turned upside down, you saw him for what he truly was. Gentle in ways he didn’t realize, kind in ways he never gave himself credit for. A man who had spent his whole life bracing for a fight, wearing his rough edges like armor, until you came along and showed him there was more to life than just surviving, even before the dead came back to life.
You were younger, but that never mattered to you. And once you finally convinced him that nothing—not even a pesky thing like an age gap, and definitely not his own doubts of whether he was good for you—was going to stop you from being with him, you watched him… soften. Let you in.
You saw him on lazy summer afternoons, stretched out in the bed of his truck, hands behind his head, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips as he stared up at the sky. You saw him when he picked you up for late-night drives, old country rock humming low from the radio, one hand on the wheel, the other resting warm on your thigh.
Back then, he was just a man trying to carve out a place in a world that had never been kind to him. A man with rough hands but a soft touch when they traced the curve of your back. A man who met the world with a scowl but looked at you like you were a miracle—something precious, something his, something he’d spend a lifetime trying to deserve.
You remembered the nights he’d come to you after a bad fight with Merle, his knuckles split, his jaw clenched. He’d never talk about it, never tell you what happened—but he’d let you run your fingers through his hair, let you patch him up in the glow of your bedside lamp.
“You’re too good for me,” he’d mutter sometimes, voice low, like he wasn’t sure he wanted you to hear it. Like he was afraid that this time you’d believe him and run for the hills.
And you’d brush your fingers through his hair, tilt his chin so he had no choice but to meet your eyes.
"You don’t get to decide that," you’d tell him, voice warm, certain.
He never argued. Just pulled you close, held onto you like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers.
And now, here in the middle of the world ending, he still held onto you like that.
The way those rough, calloused hands could still be careful, still be tender when they touched you. The way he always put himself between you and trouble, whether it was a walker shambling too close or some asshole in camp running his mouth. The way he let you get near, let you see him in a way no one else did.
Some things hadn’t changed, even when everything else had.
Something about those memories had your lips crashing back onto his, pressing him against the boulder with a force that made him grunt softly into your mouth. His fingers dug into your waist, like he wasn’t sure if he should stop you or drag you closer, but you didn’t give him a choice.
You grabbed the collar of his dirty shirt, fisting the fabric as you kissed him deep, claiming, letting him feel the way you wanted him. He let you have it—let you take and take, let you push up on your toes and press into him like you couldn’t get close enough.
Then, when your hips rolled just right against his, he growled. Low, guttural, needy against your mouth.
His hands slid down, gripping the curve of your ass, dragging you closer until your hips fit against the hard press of him. You gasped against his lips, nails raking up the nape of his neck, and pulled the short hair that stuck there, and that was what made something snap in him.
He twisted you around so fast you barely had time to think, hands gripping your hips as he pressed you forward, your palms bracing against the boulder. The rough stone bit into your skin, but it barely registered. Not with the heat of him behind you, breath hot against your neck, hands dragging under your shirt, spanning wide over your ribs before sliding down.
“You want somethin’ from me, girl? Hmm?” His voice was ragged but taunting, sending goosebumps down your spine as he leaned his body over you.
A sharp breath left you when he pulled your hips back against him, grinding slow, measured, and the stiff press of his cock behind his jeans made your eyes roll, feeling just how much he wanted you too.
His lips dragged over the back of your neck, sucking in a breath like a hiss when you pressed your ass back into him.
“You, w–want you, Dare,” you murmured, the sound of his name breaking something open in him.
His fingers hooked under the waistband of your denim shorts, yanking them down with a roughness that made your breath catch, the cooling night air biting against flushed skin.
After the clatter of his belt buckle and the sharp zip of his jeans, he was on you—kissing your shoulder where the strap of your shirt fell, your neck, anywhere his lips could reach. Then he was there—thick, warm, heady with a scent that made you dizzy. He pressed the tip of his cock into you with a need so desperate it made your knees weak. Your center was slick with wanton need just from his touch, his kisses, the way he took you like he had to—like it was instinct, carved into him, a hunger he could never ignore. His hands splayed over your stomach, dragging you back onto him with a solid thrust, his breath heavy against your shoulder as he took you to the hilt in one long press of his hips.
“I love you,” he said, voice hoarse as he continued to press open mouthed kisses to your skin, “Love you so god damn much,”
The sun dipped lower, its dying light casting everything in cool blue and shadow, the only warmth now rolling off Daryl’s body. You turned your head, reaching back to thread your fingers into his hair, tugging until his lips found yours in a kiss that was all teeth and hunger. It was haphazard, messy in the way that made it real—the slide of tongues, the clash of breath, the moan that tore from your throat, loud and shameless against the quiet night.
He groaned into your mouth, swallowing the sound, pressing his forehead against yours for the briefest second before dragging his lips down your jaw, your neck, everywhere he could reach with his mouth. His hips rolled in steady, aching thrusts, sinking deep before dragging his cock out slow, teasing, making you squirm against the rock.
“I love you too,” you murmured, voice wrecked, sincere. “Always, Daryl.”
His jaw slacked and he rested his face against your shoulder, his pace growing rougher, more erratic, each thrust punctuated by the sharp slap of skin against skin, his groans mixing with the wet, sinful sounds of your bodies joining in the cool evening air.
“So good f’me, baby,” he whimpered, the sound raw, unraveling. His hand slipped between you and the rough stone in front of you, fingers seeking, finding, calloused fingertips pressing into the heat of you. He knew your body too damn well—knew exactly how to wind you up, knew what it took to have you gasping, shaking, screaming his name just the way he liked it.
“Daryl, it’s—too much—they’ll hear—” you choked, gasping as his fingers worked tight, slow circles over your swollen clit, a shudder wracking through your body.
His lips dragged up the side of your neck, breath hot, voice ragged.
“Fuck ‘em,” he murmured, his voice low and grinding. “Wanna hear every pretty sound you make for me. Wanna feel you come on my cock, just like you always do—c’mon now, baby, give it to me. Be a good girl now.”
A shudder rolled through you, his words sinking deep, making it impossible to fight the pleasure coiling hot in your belly. His fingers pressed harder, circling your clit with devastating precision, his thrusts turning sharp and frantic.
You bit your lip, trying to smother the cry threatening to break free, but he wasn’t having it.
Daryl’s free hand came up across your chest, fingers gripping your jaw, tilting your head so his lips were right against your ear. “Don’t you hold back on me,” he rasped. “Wanna hear you, feel you, know you’re mine.”
Your body tensed, the pleasure mounting too fast, too sharp, and when his teeth scraped down against your pulse point, it sent you flying.
Your moan broke free, loud and inhibited as your eyes rolled back, Daryl groaning in response, the noise tearing from his throat as his hips slammed in rhythm with his fingers against you.
“There it is,” he gritted out, voice strained. “That’s my girl, fuck—jus’ like that, baby.”
The pleasure tore through you like wildfire, your palms trembling against the rough stone. Your walls clenched tight around him, and Daryl let out a deep, wrecked fuck, his rhythm faltering as he chased his own release.
With a sharp curse, he pulled his hand from your clit once he knew you were through, his breath hot and ragged against your shoulder. His thrusts grew erratic, deeper, rougher, chasing his own release. At the last second, he pulled out, his fist working over his cock, a deep, guttural groan tearing from his throat as thick ropes of cum spilled onto your lower back, hot and slick against your skin.
For a long moment, all that filled the night air was the sound of heavy breathing, the cool breeze ghosting over sweat-slicked skin.
You turned your head, looking at him over your shoulder, a lazy smile tugging at your lips. “Come wash up with me?”
Daryl huffed, still catching his breath, his hands squeezing at your hips like he wasn’t ready to let you go just yet. “Yeah? That what you want?”
You leaned back just enough for your ass to brush against him, teasing, knowing exactly what you were doing. “Well… we’re already dirty,” you mused, glancing at him with a glint in your eyes. “Might as well get clean together.”
Daryl let out a rough chuckle, his fingers dragging slow and deliberate over your skin. “You’re killin’ me, girl.”
You grinned, pulling off the rest of your clothes before taking his hand and tugging him towards the water’s edge.
CONTENT ; pinning, confessions, fluffy, use of y/n
WORD COUNT ;
A/N ; just rewatched avengers and fell in love w them again
── .✦ 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐊
𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐑𝐘 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 smooth about it, cracking jokes to hide how nervous he actually is. He’s used to having confidence, but when it comes to you, it’s different.
𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐁𝐄 𝐈𝐍 a grand yet casual way—maybe over dinner at one of his penthouses, or while working in the lab together. “So, hypothetically speaking… if a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist had feelings for you, would you entertain the idea? Asking for a friend.”
𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐎𝐑 push for a serious answer, he’ll drop the act for a second. “I mean it, y/n. I want you. No games, no distractions. Just us.”
── .✦ 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒
𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐎𝐋𝐃-𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 it comes to romance. He’d take his time, making sure he’s certain about his feelings before confessing.
𝐇𝐄'𝐃 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐘 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐓—like a walk in the park, a quiet dinner, or even a handwritten letter if he’s too nervous.
“𝐈'𝐕𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋 you something, but I didn’t want to rush it. You mean a lot to me, and I…I care about you more than I should as just a friend.”
𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 for any sign of rejection, but once he sees you feel the same, his signature soft smile appears.
── .✦ 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍
𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐓𝐋𝐄. 𝐀𝐓 all. He’d make his feelings clear through grand gestures—bringing you rare Asgardian gifts, calling you his beloved even before confessing, and just showering you with affection.
𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒, 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 with absolute certainty. There’s no hesitation in his voice.
“𝐘/𝐍, 𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐘 battles, faced great foes, and yet none have left me as breathless as you do. You hold my heart, and I would be honored if you allowed me to cherish you.”
𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐎𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐎 the confession, lifting his drink and demanding the others in the room celebrate this glorious revelation.
── .✦ 𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐂𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑
𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐂𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐆𝐆𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 with confessing. He’d second-guess himself, thinking he’s too dangerous or not good enough for you.
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐏 out in an unguarded moment—maybe after a near-death experience where he realizes he can’t keep bottling it up.
“𝐈…𝐈 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐈𝐅 this is the right time to say it, but I need you to know. You’re the only person who makes me feel like I’m more than just… a mess. I—God, I really care about you, y/n.”
𝐇𝐄'𝐃 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐎 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊 away, but if you accept his feelings, the relief in his eyes would be overwhelming.
── .✦ 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐎𝐍
𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐅𝐔𝐋 at first, throwing in flirtatious quips and seeing how you react. But when he gets serious, he’s serious.
𝐇𝐄'𝐃 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐘 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐀 mission, still riding the adrenaline high, realizing that life is too short to keep things bottled up.
“𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊, 𝐈 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 tomorrow brings, but I know I want you in it. I’ve been falling for you for a while now, and if there’s even a chance you feel the same, I’d be the luckiest guy alive.”
𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄, 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐀 smirk, a relieved sigh, and probably a terrible joke to lighten the mood.
── .✦ 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐀 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐅𝐅
𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐀 𝐈𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑 emotions, so her confession would be subtle at first—lingering touches, deeper conversations, protective instincts kicking in more than usual.
𝐒𝐇𝐄'𝐃 𝐓𝐑𝐘 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐈𝐓 casual, not wanting to make a big deal out of it, but her words would carry weight.
“𝐈 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐃𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒. 𝐓𝐇𝐄 whole… feelings thing. But if I did, I’d probably say that I want you. That you mean something to me. More than I let on.”
𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐉𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑 getting soft, she’ll roll her eyes, but you’ll catch the faintest blush on her cheeks.
SUMMARY ; After a long night, Jason finds comfort in his girlfriend’s love, reminding them both that their bond is unwavering.
JASON TODD x fem!reader.
CONTENT ; established relationship, domestic, fluffyyy asf
WORD COUNT ; 2k
A/N ; inspired by the song from Bertha Tillman
𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 in the apartment. The kind of peace that came with the end of a long day, the soft hum of city lights filtering through the half-drawn curtains, and the faint sound of the television in the background. You sat on the couch, the warmth of the soft blanket you’d thrown over your lap pulling you into a comfortable daze.
Jason Todd’s boots echoed from the hallway as he made his way into the living room. You didn’t need to see him to know it was him. You could always tell by the way his steps were slightly heavier, the way the air around him always seemed to crackle with energy. You had spent so many evenings like this, together, waiting for him to come home after his patrols. Even though the world outside was dangerous, filled with chaos and violence, when Jason was home, you felt safe. Safe, loved, and almost perfect.
His silhouette appeared in the doorway, and you glanced up from the book you’d been reading.
“You’re late,” you teased, trying to mask the concern in your voice. The worry was always there, no matter how many times you told yourself it wasn’t.
Jason let out a small sigh, but there was a softness in his expression that made your heart ache in all the right ways. He hung his leather jacket on the coat rack by the door, the familiar motion bringing a sense of normalcy that you appreciated. His eyes met yours as he walked over to you, the faintest hint of a smirk pulling at his lips. He was exhausted, but you never saw it on him. He could fight off a small army, but when it came to you, there was a gentleness he never showed anyone else.
“Sorry,” he murmured as he dropped down beside you on the couch. He brushed a few strands of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering on your skin in a way that made you shiver. “Got caught up with some things. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
You rolled your eyes, knowing that 'some things' always meant more than he was letting on. But you also knew there was no point in asking. Not now, not when he was so clearly trying to distance himself from whatever darkness had followed him home. You had learned early on that Jason was a man of few words when it came to his past.
The sound of his boots hitting the floor as he leaned back against the couch was a comfort, the weight of his presence like a shield that kept the world at bay. The silence between you both was never awkward. It was the kind of silence that only the closest people could share, where words weren’t always needed to understand each other.
“How was your day?” he asked softly, his voice a little hoarse. He stretched his arm out across the back of the couch and turned his head slightly to look at you.
You smiled at the question, feeling your worries ease just a little. “It was fine. Just the usual. Got some errands done, caught up on work. Nothing too exciting.”
Jason chuckled lightly, a sound you had come to love. You noticed the tired lines around his eyes, the faint bags that betrayed just how little sleep he’d had the night before. You reached over, placing your hand on his chest, your fingers brushing over the fabric of his shirt. The contact grounded you, as it always did.
“Tell me you at least ate today,” you teased, giving him a playful nudge.
He rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away from your touch. “Of course, I ate. I’m not some kind of monster.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” you replied, giving him a mock-glare. “You’ve been known to go on patrol without food, you know.”
Jason raised an eyebrow, but a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t need food to take down bad guys. And besides, it’s not like you’re here to make me dinner every night.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, a light sound that filled the room with warmth. “I make you dinner all the time, you just don’t always appreciate it.”
He hummed, clearly amused. “I appreciate everything you do, baby. You know that.”
You were grateful for his words. Jason didn’t often express his feelings, but when he did, they carried more weight than a thousand spoken declarations. In the silence that followed, you rested your head on his shoulder, your arm curling around his. The rhythmic sound of his heartbeat was the only thing you needed to know that he was there, that the world outside wasn’t going to intrude on the peace you had found together.
The TV played softly in the background, the comforting glow of the screen lighting up your faces as you settled into the quiet rhythm of the evening. Jason’s hand found yours, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand in a gesture that spoke louder than words. He wasn’t the most openly affectionate person, but with you, he was different.
“I’ll make it up to you tomorrow,” he murmured after a few moments, breaking the comfortable silence. “I’ll take you out for dinner, just the two of us. No distractions.”
You didn’t need to reply, not with words. You tilted your head to kiss his cheek softly, the moment tender and full of a love that didn’t need to be said out loud to be felt. Jason, for all his rough edges, was still the man who would hold you close when the world outside seemed too much. He was the man who would come home, no matter how long it took, just to be with you. And that was enough.
The next morning, Jason was up before the sun, something that had become routine. You woke to find his side of the bed empty, the sheets cool to the touch. It was a small part of your life with him, the quiet mornings when he was already out of bed, already lost in his world, but you knew he’d be back soon.
You stretched, letting the soft morning light from the window warm your skin, and decided to make breakfast. It wasn’t much—just pancakes and coffee, but the familiarity of the task brought a sense of peace to your busy mind.
Jason returned just as the pancakes were nearly ready, his boots clicking against the wooden floor as he entered. His presence filled the small kitchen, a whirlwind of energy that made everything else seem smaller.
“Smells good,” he said, his eyes lighting up as he walked over to the stove.
“Figured I’d treat you to something that isn’t take-out,” you said with a smile, pushing the plate toward him. “Sit. You’re going to need the energy.”
Jason grinned, sitting down at the table and pulling you into the chair beside him. “I’m already energized by the sight of you,” he replied softly, his tone teasing but laced with sincerity.
You couldn’t help the warmth that spread through your chest at his words. Jason’s compliments, though rare, were always the kind that made you feel seen. They weren’t empty, weren’t said for any other reason than because he wanted you to know how much he appreciated you.
“I’m serious,” Jason added, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You’re my angel, after all.”
The words, though simple, sent a rush of affection through you. You reached for his hand across the table, your fingers twining with his.
“Always,” you said softly, your voice steady but full of emotion. “Always, Jason.”
And as you shared the meal, the laughter, and the quiet moments that followed, you knew that even though the world outside was dark and dangerous, the light you shared between you was enough to guide you both through it all.
SUMMARY ; rafe gets jealous after seeing you flirt with topper at a party, so he pulls you upstairs to remind you exactly who you belong to
RAFE CAMERON x fem!kook!reader
CONTENT ; possessive!rafe, jealous!rafe, power dynamic, slight brat taming, reader has a slight bratty attitude, jealousy, established relationship
WORD COUNT ; 1.1k
A/N ; first posttt!!
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐘𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐋 was in full swing. The music was loud, the air thick with the scent of expensive liquor and the faint burn of cigarette smoke. Kooks gathered around the pool, laughing, flirting, and making reckless memories they’d pretend to forget in the morning.
But you had no interest in the party.
Not when your boyfriend, Rafe Cameron, had just dragged you upstairs with that dark look in his eyes.
You barely had time to register the way he shut the door behind him before your back was against it, his large hands caging you in on either side of your head. The smell of his cologne—rich, familiar, intoxicating—wrapped around you, making your stomach flip.
“You’ve been testing me all night, baby,” Rafe murmured, voice low and dangerous, a smirk curling at the edges of his lips. His blue eyes roamed over you, taking in the short silk dress hugging your curves, the delicate gold jewelry catching the dim light of his room.
You blinked up at him, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Rafe’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, his head tilting slightly. “That’s cute,” he said, fingers brushing along your jaw, trailing down the side of your neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “You really expect me to believe you weren’t doing it on purpose?”
Your lips twitched, but you refused to give in so easily. “Doing what, Rafe?”
His hand slid lower, fingers skimming the strap of your dress, the heat of his palm pressing against your bare skin. “Flirting with Topper. Laughing at his shitty jokes. Touching his arm like you didn’t know I was watching.”
You rolled your eyes, but your breath hitched as his fingers traced patterns over your shoulder, teasing the edge of the fabric. “Oh, please. Topper was just being nice.”
Rafe let out a dark chuckle, his free hand gripping your waist now, pulling you flush against him. “Nice?” he echoed, arching a brow. “Nah, baby. Nice is when I let you out of here without proving exactly who you belong to.”
Your stomach clenched at his words, at the way his breath fanned across your lips. You knew this game—you loved this game. Pushing Rafe just enough to watch him unravel, to see that mix of frustration and hunger flicker behind those stormy blue eyes.
Your hands slid up his chest, fingers toying with the collar of his shirt. “Maybe I just wanted your attention,” you murmured.
Rafe hummed, pretending to consider it, but the way his grip tightened on your waist told you he wasn’t amused. “You have all of my attention, sweetheart,” he said, lips brushing your jaw, then lower, grazing against the sensitive spot beneath your ear. “But you already knew that.”
A shiver ran down your spine. You hated how easy it was for him to melt you, to make you forget all about your teasing, your stubborn streak.
“Say it,” Rafe whispered, nipping at your skin lightly, like he knew just how much it drove you crazy. “Say you’re mine.”
Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, lips parting slightly.
You could drag this out. Play with him a little longer.
But the way his thigh pressed between your legs, the way his voice dripped with possessiveness, had you craving him more than you wanted to admit.
“I’m yours, Rafe,” you finally whispered.
The effect was instant. Rafe’s lips crashed against yours, hands tangling in your hair as he pressed you back against the door, his body heat drowning you. He kissed you like he wanted to consume you, like he wanted to make damn sure no one else could even think about touching you.
requests are always open but please be patient! i’ve got a life outside of tumblr and so the writing process may take time. make sure to read what i will and won’t write below before asking. if they go against what i’m comfortable with, they will be ignored/deleted.
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