#‘doubt him at your peril’

[rowanthestrange]

Assuming Rogue is close to the Chuldur (which seems a solid guess, he makes sure the gun’s out of the way the second there’s a risk it could actually get used on them) then they have such a good character setup right now. So good for why dancing with the Doctor’s so dangerous.

The birds have been hopping through places resembling their favourite ‘shows’, that’s what their “Season” as they called it is - we know it’s not just Brigerton, they don’t seem to have been here long and frankly don’t seem to have the attention span either, this is only the setting for the “season finale”.

We know they’ve watched Doctor Who (‘the Duchess’ knew the Doctor’s name without being introduced, and that he’d come back for some reason once the wedding/screaming at the end started).

So now you know all the birds are now thoroughly excited to play Doctor Who, cus this didn’t count, they barely saw him. And Rogue kissed him, squeeing ensues etc. ‘And it’ll be fun to have a cool character who isn’t just played by you, no offence.’

And Rogue knows he’s got a great hook to see the Doctor again. Wants to. He’s got the whole plotline sketched out.

…But he also knows that his fam only like to play their Baddy Characters Pretending To Be TV Characters, because honestly they’re not great at the roleplay thing, and even if he tries to convince them they’ve got to stay super-duper-undercover they probably won’t, and the Doctor has told and shown him directly that he will worse-than-kill them if this goes sideways.

When he’s the devilish Bounty Hunter, or Pirate Hunter, or Vampire Hunter trying to catch them, that’s one thing. He’s quick, he’s clever, he’s always two-steps ahead of them. But that’s easy, because they’re idiots. The Doctor isn’t. The Doctor is an actual threat. But they won’t want to be left behind when he plays alone either, and who knows what they’ll get up to if one of the others decides to take up his dungeon master mantle in his absence. So the question is, will he be able to balance them all and keep them safe next time too?

(My endgame would be: Ideally the Doctor has since become convinced that Rogue is the Master just pretending, but he wants to keep the pretence up cus their relationship now is working isn’t it? But either way, we get a reprise where the Doctor gets into Oncoming Storm Mode which while he usually tries to keep a lid on in front of companions, he thinks Rogue already saw so might not have the mask on so well where he’s concerned, and especially if he thinks this is the Master that could bring out the worst in him. And now the birds are actually going to die, and finally Rogue breaks character- all of the characters, for them and us as the audience- and screams for them, by name, to run. Has to throw himself after them to save them. And does he? If I was writing it, with nothing else to guide my hand, no, he wouldn’t. Those are the dangers of playing pretend in real life. Playing villains. Playing with the Doctor. And if he wasn’t the Master before, maybe now he is.)

[swordgrace]

𝐨𝐡, 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬. (𝐈𝐈)

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: after being pulled back from one of the latest missions to recuperate, you take advantage of the time alone with your boyfriend.

can be read as a standalone fic. read part one here.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: robert reynolds (sentry) / fem!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 8.2K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: light smut (mdni), mild angst, talk of insecurities, mentions of past abuse/addiction, lots of fluff, heavy petting, heavy kissing, sub!bob, praise kink, male whimpering, dry humping, body worship, extremely soft/gentle smut, fingering (fem!rec), mutual orgasm, aftercare.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: thank you guys so much for the love & support on the first bob fic! he is so fun to write for and I just adore him! If you all are interested in more bob content, let me know! thank you all for your love and support and I hope you enjoy! 🫶

When the rest of the team inevitably discovers your relationship with Bob, there isn’t a single surprised face in the room.

Instead, you’re met with plenty of understanding, snide remarks regarding how it was bound to happen, and mild shock that it hadn’t happened sooner. You’re grateful that it doesn’t become tense or awkward — everyone’s accepting.

There is always an element of danger, forming a bond with someone who’s life is constantly on the line — yours and his. This additional layer complicates things, but you’re learning, navigating it all, and so is he.

An incessant fear still gnaws at the recesses of your mind, the fear of losing him somehow, leaving your heart ragged. Bob is afraid of it too, much more than you — when you leave for a mission, it’s perilous, dark whispers nipping at his heels.

However, things are progressing — it’s a sluggish beast, recovering from immeasurable trauma, but he’s putting in the work. Even after so many months, there’s a stagnation he feels, as if he’s slammed into a brick wall, a plateau.

It’s to be expected, his therapist warns, and Bob doesn’t enjoy the feeling of little to no progress. Nevertheless, he swallows the discomfort and only lets it loose when most appropriate, long-winded conversation during his sessions.

He has you, though — his biggest supporter, a cheerleader encouraging him every step of the way without wavering. Sometimes, he feels unnecessarily clumsy, like a child, and he knows that he isn’t. However, you’re always the first to assure him that he’s doing well.

When doubt begins to fester, you extinguish it as best as you can, but it doesn’t always work out the way you intend. The Void is a patient creature, skulking about within the darkest parts of him, a predator preparing to strike.

Low days, high days; the low days eat him alive.

Bob wonders why you continue to stick around even after what you’ve witnessed; a blackness so encompassing that it nearly takes you, too. Though he's gotten better at managing it, it doesn’t lessen the burden, doesn’t take the sting away.

He’s taken to calling the “in-between” days even days, where he’s caught somewhere in the mix of it all, of despair and joy, of grandeur and melancholy. It starts when there’s word of a mission, he knows that you’ll go — he gets scared.

The nightmares still haunt him, lingering when he’s most vulnerable, but they become less frequent. More often than not, you sleep in his bed every night, limbs entangled, anchored to one another to make the pain lessen.

There’s something to brighten his days — your budding relationship, soft and effortless, a bond he cannot recall having with someone else. Yelena is protective, cautionary; he assures her that you treat him well, that you’re perfect.

Today is an even day, made lighter by the revelation that you aren’t going on this newest mission.

Admittedly, you’re desperate for a break, to savor time away from constant missions, publicity events held by Valentina for funding, fighting; you’re tired. As the opportunity arose to skip out, you seized it, and that meant spending more time with Bob.

Once the team is gone, the tower is blanketed by an unusual hush, save for the dismal sound of running water. He’s doing the dishes again, you realize, watching as the jet departs from the landing, soaring through the skies above New York City.

An impressive palette of hues paint the atmosphere, shades of violet intermingled with the glow of a waning sun, settling into a gentle twilight. When you wander back inside, you can hear him humming; tranquil, placating.

Slivers of sunset fall across Bob, turning his brunette tresses to a warm caramel, sleeves haphazardly tugged up toward the crooks of his elbows. It makes your heart lurch within your chest, skipping a beat, mesmerized by him; dazzled, really.

“Hey,” Greeting him with a smile, you inch closer, leaning against the edge of the granite countertop. “Do you want some help with those?” You gesture toward the pile of dirty porcelain.

Tension unfurls from within him as soon as your voice inhabits the space between, head craning over his shoulder to peer at you. He nods, stepping to one side, making room for you at the sink. “Sure.” He hums, passing off plates for you to hand-dry.

Busying yourself with such menial labor, Bob is preoccupied with you, stealing glances every few seconds, lashes fluttering. He notices the shirt you’re wearing, because it’s his, grey material sagging on your shoulders.

A warm scarlet invades his visage, creeping along his jaw, stretching against his throat. Having you here with him is incredibly soothing, and he’s happy to spend more time with you. Truthfully, if he could steal you away, he would’ve.

He’s discovering what he enjoys again, buried beneath the ruin of his trauma; and you make things so much easier. “What do you want to do tonight?” Breaking the bout of silence, you wipe off flecks of orange from a plate.

Bob gawks, uncertain of what to say. You don’t really have to do much of anything, as long as he’s with you. With a nonchalant shrug, the stack grows increasingly smaller, until there’s only a handful of crockery left.

“I’m not sure,” He admits, cerulean hues flickering over you again, flustered by the sight of you in his shirt. It was unexpected, but he wasn’t adverse to it, not in the slightest. “Is that my shirt?” Bob inquires, head canting to one side.

Caught, a familiar heat rakes over the nape of your neck, tendrils creeping towards your face. “It is,” Embarrassed, you chew at the inside of your cheek, knowing you should’ve asked beforehand. “I’m sorry. I should’ve asked you if it was okay.”

Instantaneously, Bob is refuting your apology, afraid that he’s upset you. “No, no,” With a shake of his head, he smiles, an awkward chuckle slipping from his mouth. “I—I like it, I don’t mind.” He assures, and you feel relieved, lips twitching into a bright beam.

“Good. I like it, too.” Delighted, you fail to stifle your laughter, helping to clean the last of the dishes before you take the time to put them all away. Bob assists when you can’t reach something, hovering over you with a relaxed expression.

Slouched lounge pants complement his shirt, grey material swallowing you whole, still carrying the scent of him. Staying in the Tower often relaxed your dress code; Bob always thought you looked pretty in anything and everything.

When you weren’t looking, he was; azure hues never strayed far from you, his sun, emanating with a radiant warmth, chasing away the darkness. His gaze was one of longing, thinly-veiled affection, a security that he finds in you, you in him.

Fading sunlight turns grayed windowpanes to masterpieces, catching refractions of light, splaying out over the dark tile. Everything is bright, splendidly so; you’re bright too, beam glittering over your pearlescent teeth.

“I was thinking about watching a movie, maybe ordering something to eat,” It’s something idle to pass the time, but you’ve found that Bob finds enjoyment in it. “Does pizza sound good?” Your stomach snarls at the mere thought.

Bob barely registers your suggestion, too busy ogling you with doe-like hues and a countenance bristling with affection. He realizes how strange it might’ve been for you, his constant staring, murmuring an apology before he answers.

“Hm? Oh,” His throat stirs. “Yeah, pizza’s good.” Lips split into a smile that melts your insides, butterflies swarming within the pit of your belly, marrow turning molten.

“Hey,” You reach for him, hand gentle against his forearm. “Are you okay?” It’s something you’ve grown used to asking, practiced; it’s a habit, born of concern for him. Bob nods, visibly reassuring, the sincerity reaching his eyes.

“I like watching you,” There’s a peculiar softness in his admission, but he fumbles, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “Not — Not like that.” He sighs, but you understand what he means, flattered that he’s drawn to you; it’s endearing.

“I know what you mean, Bob.” With a wrinkled nose, you step closer, hesitant to invade his space without permission. He savors the physicality of it all, growing accustomed to your touch — it’s always gentle, always accommodating.

Allowing you to thin the distance, Bob exhales when your arms curl around his midsection, musculature firm beneath your palms, through the material of his sky-blue sweater.

He always tries to hide his blushing, hands coming to cradle your face, foreheads dipping to ghost over one another. Every facet of your countenance is committed to memory — it’s a face he knows he won’t forget.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” It’s almost breathless, the way he says it, steeped in such reverence. He’s gotten better with the compliments, better at being a partner, a boyfriend. He’s warm to the touch, a kiss of fire to your flesh.

Flustered, you fail to dismiss his sweet praise, content to stand here in the kitchen like this; together. A shiver cascades down his spine, able to feel your fingertips draw patterns over his back, the sensation unbelievably soothing.

His lips caress against your crown, allowing it to linger, moments stretching into some blissful infinity. It’s his heartbeat you listen to, a melody that climbs in rhythm, quickening when his head lowers, dipping against yours.

“So are you.” Without pause, it earns you a small chuckle from Bob, whose heart gallops, sings to you when your mouth ghosts over his. Everything slows to a crawl, deliberation exuding from you, sluggishness intentional, meant to savor.

Just as his heartbeat begins to race, so does yours, ringing deep within your ears as you let the kiss continue, disarmingly gentle. He’s careful with you, cautious even when he doesn’t have to be, thumbs stroking along your cheekbones.

Absentmindedly, you find yourself smiling into the kiss, palpable, and he feels it too, unable to stifle the blush that flourishes within his features. Bob exhales, flesh beginning to sting with excitement, and he gingerly withdraws, visibly smitten.

Reaching for your tresses, he toys with your hair, satiny between his fingers. Wordlessly, he kisses your cheek, lips drifting over the bridge of your nose, over the corner of your mouth.

“That’s nice,” You hum, lulled into a state of serenity, delighted to be doted upon, showered in peppered affection. Bob knows that you’re just as starved for contact as he is, the pad of his thumb sweeping over your brow. “I’m going to order that pizza now.”

He’s nearly forgotten about it, hunger lurching within his stomach, growling at the thought. Before you untangle yourself from him, you rock up upon your toes, planting a chaste kiss against his mouth before reaching for your smartphone.

Bob never strays very far away when you’re together, the closeness comforting to him; and you don’t mind whatsoever. He lingers beside you when you’re on the phone, fingers idly messing with his sleeves, waiting for you to finish.

“It’s your turn to pick a movie.” He reminds you, curious to see what you choose. You have a unique taste — you like everything, and he tends to find something good in each film you’ve watched together.

Indecisive, you hum, wandering toward the lounge, couches forming an oval, centered around a massive screen. It’s typically used for analysis and surveillance, but you don’t mind hijacking it from time to time for entertainment purposes.

With a soft huff, you unceremoniously fall into the plush, crimson cushions, one leg folded beneath you as Bob sits beside you. “How would you feel about watching a drama? Something historical, maybe?” You muse, and he shrugs.

“I don’t mind.” Bob feels you reach for his hand, digits twining together. The consistent touch is something he’s grown used to, something he adores. He feels seen, wanted; his thumb traces across your knuckles.

Contemplative, you recline, partially slumped against his shoulder as you wrack your brain for something to watch. When you come up empty-handed, you clear your throat. “Would you rather listen to music?”

That suggestion is met with some enthusiasm as Bob nods, seemingly embarrassed. “I figured out how to make a playlist,” He wasn’t incredibly skilled with a smartphone, and watching him try to navigate it was amusing sometimes. “I made one for you.”

Incredulous, you sit up enough to tilt your head, flattered by the innocuous gesture. It’s unexpectedly charming, endearing — he’s a little flustered, but he doesn’t shy away from wanting you to browse the songs he’s chosen for it.

“You made me a playlist?” Others might’ve scoffed at the gesture, found it meaningless or juvenile — not you. Music was something that you often shared with Bob, a method of connection, of furthering your relationship.

Flickers of anxiety tick across his features, coupled with that of boyish abashment. A stifled hum escapes him as he nods, dark hues meeting yours, lips wobbling into a half-smile. “Yeah,” He clears his throat. “It’s just songs that make me think of you.”

“Do you mind if we listen to some of it together?” Unsure if he wanted this to be something private, you ensure to ask, and he’s willing to share. After he tells you he’s agreeable to it, your belly pools with a pang of heat.

Bob shuffles from the couch, finding the nook he’s crafted beside the window. There’s a variety of books haphazardly stacked atop one another, a side-table where his phone sits.

“It’s still a, ah — A work in-progress,” He clarifies, wandering back towards you, eyebrows scrunched together as he navigates through his phone. Rejoining you, he sits down, feeling your hand nudge against his ribs. “There.”

Connected to the Tower’s mainframe and subsequent speakers, he hits ‘play’, starting the playlist from the beginning. A softer folk song reverberates throughout the room, the melody reminiscent of a lullaby.

Songs that make me think of you; it means more to you than he fully realizes, the thought that each song was chosen with meaning, with intent. A hush fell between, a comfortable silence as you listened to the music, feeling his arm curl around you.

Tucking your head between his collar and jaw, you listen to the thrum of his heart, to the idle humming that occasionally slips from his lips. Draping an arm around his midsection, space becomes nonexistent, bodies flush together, basking in the moment.

Bob’s eyes flutter, pleasantly half-lidded, drinking in the physicality that you provide. Gooseflesh ices his spine as your knuckles graze in circles over his ribcage, cheek resting comfortably atop the crown of your head.

“This is the sweetest thing someone’s done for me,” A low utterance leaves you, cadence bristling with a kindly warmth, one that weaves around him. Each song had meaning — things he remembered about you, or the melody simply resonated with him, as you did. “Thank you, Bob.”

Flushed, he nodded, throat bobbing as he swallowed the growing lump forming, stuffing down his nervousness. There was no reason to be anxious around you, he knew this — it was his own thoughts that made him flustered.

“You mean everything to me,” Despite the twinge of shrewdness within his tone, he’s sincere, palm mimicking your action of tracing over his ribs. With a brief exhale, he gets closer, if that were even possible; you’re nearly in his lap. “I should be thanking you.”

A mirthful scoff huffs from your mouth, as if the idea of him thanking you is a preposterous notion. “No, you shouldn’t,” You murmur, head tilting just enough to plant a chaste kiss against his jaw. “I really like being with you.”

It’s a raw reminder of how incomparable you are in his eyes — glittering, radiant, perfect. Bob’s smile is small, but it grows in your presence, proximity having something to do with it. Digits idly sweep aside his hair, lingering behind his ear.

Somewhere in the darker recesses of his mind, scrambled memories float about; he recalls feeling like a burden, feeling unwanted. Bob winces, pain unfurling from his chest, scratched raw, but it subsides when he glances toward you.

Several of the music choices are merely classical compositions, sound strung together to create enchanting harmonies. You wonder how they remind him of you, what goes on inside of his head, how he sees you from his perspective.

“I hope you like it,” Some small sliver of him worries that it’s all too much — he’s being too much, but you seem elated. “I wanted to make it special.” His cadence softens to a lower timbre, one that he doesn’t use often.

Gooseflesh ices your spine, a twinge of want stirring within your chest. It feels detestable to desire him, as if you’re some pervasive force invading his space, but you can’t help it. With a smile, you shift against his side, distracting your thoughts with something else.

“I love it,” As the music crawls to a heartfelt ballad, you decide to stand, slowly untangling yourself from Bob’s embrace. He seems a little disappointed, but it’s fleeting when you extend your hand towards him. “Do you want to dance?”

He laughs as if the idea is silly, but he’s more embarrassed than anything else. “I—I’m not going to be very good at it,” Bob trips over his words, gaining footing toward the end. “If that’s alright.”

With a wrinkled nose, you reach for him, hands twining, digits threading together, two pieces of a puzzle. It’s a seamless fit as you coax him forward and off of the cushions. “I’m not any good, either. We can just sway.”

“Sway,” Bob chuckles, still clinging to timidity even as he moves off of the couch and into your arms. Hands find their place against your waist, a touch shy as your arms loosely dangle around his neck. “What now?”

“We move,” A grin splits your lips, and he’s still laughing, a soft sound that jostles his shoulders. He’s a little uncoordinated, but he’s adaptable, mimicking your movements as you slowly turn about the lounge. “See? You’re a natural.”

“I don’t feel like it,” Blushing, Bob nearly hides beneath his lashes, posture hunched, as if he’s attempting to suppress his own height. Though, he does like being closer to you, too. “It’s nice.” He murmurs, digits curling into your shirt.

“Yeah?” A sigh of a whisper fans across his jaw, your breath a sweet plume. He begins to relax, less rigid, beginning to sink into one another. “Spin me around?” Playful, you take one hand, starting to twirl, albeit a little graceless, as he lets you turn.

Bob’s smile is the widest it’s been in a long time, and he’s careful with you, so delicate for someone with his inhuman strength. He eases you back in, hands joined together at one side, and he spins you again, caged to his chest.

You’re giggling, he’s chuckling, too; it’s pure bliss.

There’s a constant hint of shyness that permeates his visage, as if he’s stupefied by you. He knows that sentiment won’t change anytime soon; you’re beautiful, and you’re home.

“I’m happy,” Bob blurts, lips parting to make way for a trembling exhale. It almost feels strange, as if his life isn’t meant to be this way — he’s not meant to be happy, not meant to feel worthwhile. “Almost forgot what it felt like.”

Steps cease, swaying coming to a crawl as you stop to muster up a response. It’s devastatingly poignant, his statement — and yet, there’s something saccharine about it, too. “Bob …” Brows knit together, lips twitching into an empathetic smile.

“I—I know you don’t want my gratitude, but you make me happy,” It’s as if the earth shifts beneath your feet, something monumental; you feel just as undeserving as he does, sometimes. “You do, and I want you to know that.”

Tears sting the corners of your eyes, vision growing bleary, a haze of emotion as you swiftly try and blink them away. “You make me happy, too — so much,” You murmur, forcing a laugh to dispel any potential sobs. “I’m proud of you.”

Proud of you; Bob wants to dismiss it all, tell you that there isn’t anything to be proud of, but the words fade to ash upon his tongue. He’s still learning, still healing, a heart and mind that haven’t completely mended.

He knows that you don’t care, you take him as he is — Bob, the Void, Robert. Even the darkest parts of him are ones that you care deeply for.

It was his turn to become blubbery, head dipping as he stifled the tears, a smile still tugging at either corner of his mouth. Wordlessly, Bob’s lips press against your crown, the kiss firm, lingering; it’s his way of thanking you without saying it.

Violet-bruised skies subside, falling subservient to an inky black, chasing away the last wisps of an orange sunset. The room darkens, save for the glow of the monitor’s massive screen and the pallid lights that shimmer near the floor.

Before your lips can search for his, there’s a buzz that hums throughout the room — the bottom floor. There’s a monotonous voice that alerts you to movement downstairs, and you realize that the pizza is here.

“Oh,” Bob hums, mouth agape as another chuckle escapes him. “The pizza.” Admittedly, he had forgotten all about the food, forgotten about the vicious snarl emanating from his stomach.

“The pizza,” Conceding, you click your tongue, peering up at Bob with a tender smile. He’s flushed, using his sleeve to rid himself of any stray tears, pearlescent teeth glittering through the dim light. “You okay?” You ask, and he nods fervently.

“Yeah,” His smile grows when you kiss his neck, unable to reach his jaw this time. Fire follows in the wake of such an innocuous gesture, and he gapes, wanting to feel it again. “I’m fine — I’m hungry, too.”

“Perfect,” Clearing your throat, you move towards the elevator, pressing the communication button beside it. “Have him put it on the elevator, Tower.”

There’s some strange intelligence unit that helps power the Watchtower — you’ve taken to calling it ‘Tower’. Bob is somewhat unnerved by it, but it’s helpful to have an additional layer of security. Though, the elevator is notoriously slow.

“Now we wait.”

Remnants of a pepperoni pizza lay scattered atop the granite counter in the kitchen, scent of melted cheese and marinara heavy in the air. Bob is licking the grease from his fingertips while you’re cleaning up, tossing the box into the trash.

He’s grown fond of junk food; when in the throes of active addiction, he rarely ate, wasting away whilst searching for drugs. Bob fills the cravings with everything he can, with a penchant for burgers and milkshakes, too.

“That was good,” He remarks, having eaten a majority of the extra-large pizza you’d ordered. You were content to let him, noticing the streak of red sauce that’s still on his chin. “Thank you.”

“You’ve got something,” Gently, you reach forward, rocking up upon your toes as the pad of your thumb wipes away any stray marinara. “There.” You’re smiling and he’s smitten again, a bemused huff escaping him as the kitchen turns sparkling again.

The two of you go to your room this time, as opposed to his. Bob prompts the change of scenery, curiously admiring some of your decor, a reflection of your personality. There’s a picture of the two of you that Alexei took, secretly, both of you two deer in the headlights.

As the door slides shut, you move to turn on the nightlight over your headboard. You never had much of a use for it until Bob started sleeping in your bed — you don’t mind it.

“You kept this,” Bob murmurs, gingerly handling the photograph with a shy smile. “I—I didn’t think you wanted your picture taken.” It’s a small detail he’s picked up about you, incredibly adverse to flash photography.

“I didn’t, but it’s of us,” With a beam, you begin to fix up your comforter, making sure the pillows are there, sheets corrected. “I talked Alexei into developing it for me.” You muse, sitting down along the corner of your bed.

He examines the picture, finding you to be flawless in all senses of the word. You look startled, and even still, it doesn’t detract from your beauty. “Do you think I could have one?” He asks, glancing from the photo to you.

A peculiar warmth snakes over the back of your neck, heating your skin as you nod. “Absolutely, and we can take a new one together, too.” You wonder if it’s more than just sentimental reasons; so he’ll remember you, if something happens.

“I’d like that.” Bob hums, gaze fluttering about your room again. He’s been in it a handful of times, but things are constantly shifting around. You’re often inclined to go to his room when it comes to this.

Fingertips trace over the picture once more before he places it back on your vanity, hands retracting to toy with the hem of his sweater. Bob glances toward you again, his shirt pooling around your frame, exposing a glimpse of your collarbone.

A sliver of flesh, and he’s reeling, mind beginning to drift off, wondering what you might’ve looked like without his shirt. It makes his flesh burn with a feverish pitch, as if he’s been swallowed by fire.

He’s been thinking about it more often — intimacy.

Everything seems murky, clouded still as he wades through the tides of his past, searching for memories fragmented after he consumed the serum. He knows that he’s had a past fling, but none of it held a candle to what he shared with you.

He knows that he yearns for you, a feeling so intense that it’s overwhelming at times, something he tries to bury; and that’s wrong. Bob doesn’t want to scare you off, and he doesn’t want to make anything awkward.

Sluggishly, he moves to sit beside you, feeling your fingertips lightly trace over his spine. The sensation is something he welcomes, attempting to relax; you can hear his heartbeat. It’s somewhat erratic, an uneven rhythm that pounds within your ears.

Quiet, Bob dips lower, nose grazing yours, able to hear the subtle hitch within your throat. The kiss is devastatingly gentle, as always; there’s something inviting about his mouth, sweet and cautious, usually a touch shy.

As lips linger and still, he draws away, gazing down at you as if he’s awestruck, the ghost of a smile haunting his features. Wordlessly, you ask for more, tilting in again until his head briefly jostles in a nod, a sharp inhale puncturing his lungs.

There’s a subdued fervor behind this kiss, as if the both of you are actively skirting around the elephant in the room, avoiding startling the other. Absentmindedly, your hands gently perch against his abdomen, muscles firm and marblesque beneath your palms.

Bob feels himself burning with affection, but it’s heavier, heady; he feels your hands, steady atop his midsection, and it’s enough to make his head spin. Your lips are saccharine, each kiss one of a prevailing tenderness, a softness that he savors.

Kisses intensify, born of ardor as you tilt your head, deepening your entanglement. A soft, keening groan reverberates within his throat, a noise that makes you writhe in delight.

Finding some sliver of courage, his own hands snake toward your waist, hesitant, caging you in against his chest. Your hands are all over him, lavishing him in sweet caresses, and he begins to squirm beneath you.

One palm splays over the small of your back, digits ghosting over bare flesh, beginning to glide beneath your shirt. He feels your mouth stutter during the kiss, breath sharp and punctuated, likely out of shock.

“Sorry,” Bob apologizes, fearing that he might’ve taken it a step too far, but you’re there to soothe him, visibly content within his hold. “I—I should’ve asked, before …” His heart threatens to beat right out of his sternum.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Reassuring, you wonder what he’s thinking about, teeth chewing at the inside of your cheek. “I wanted you to.” Admitting your growing feelings, you notice the gears turning within his head, darker hues sparkling through the faint illumination.

“You do?” Incredulous, Bob doesn’t pull his hands away, doe-eyed as you attempt to broach the subject of physicality. You wouldn’t do it if you didn’t love him, that much you know. “If we … Would it be okay if we kept going?”

The thought entices you, heart pounding away beneath your sternum, as if it might rip a hole through your chest. You want to tell him just how much you want to, but it’s better to approach this gently, slower steps, easing into it.

“Yeah,” Swallowing the nervous lump within your throat, you ensure that you’re both on the same page about this. “We don’t have to do anything that you aren’t comfortable with. Even then, I want to take things slow.”

Bob isn’t exactly discomforted by the thought of exploring the physical aspect with you, but he’s terrified of disappointing you, or not being good enough. It’s maimed him, darker insecurities, but he knows how much you care.

There’s a distinct lack of raw lust, instead instilled by a burning tenderness, a mutual yearning, souls and bodies interconnected. That’s how you know that you’re willing to be vulnerable with him like this, in a way that you never were with others.

He nods, lips twitching into a tranquil smile as he holds you close, and you reach up to caress his brow as you’ve done many times before. “You’re so pretty.” Bob utters, wide-eyed and wanton, eyelids fluttering beneath your embrace.

Fingertips skirt along his brow, until your palm cups his jaw, thumb tracing circles over his cheek. He exhales, tension unfurling from his shoulders as he lets himself relax, lets himself become vulnerable. “You’re perfect.” You croon, beguiled.

It’s you who closes the gap this time, lips softly tangling with his own. Passion festers, a present spectator the more your mouths meld together, seamlessly molding to one another.

Bob shivers when your digits toy with the hem of his sweater, the feather-light dusting of your fingertips brushing over bare flesh. He’s not used to being touched like this, with kindness, reverence; a low groan stirs within his throat.

Shy, he begins to urge you closer still, but you’re halfway in his lap. “Is this okay?” Bob mumbles between sluggish kisses, and you’re quick to nod, adjusting yourself until your thighs are firm on either side of his hips.

This all feels like some distant fantasy, one that might slip through his grasp at any moment. He’s blushing, features permanently stained with scarlet as he adapts to the new position, his hands still politely gripping your waist.

He doesn’t know where to start, but he has inklings of ideas, awkwardly fumbling with the hem of your shirt, his shirt, blanketing your frame. You’re patient, preferring to explore, drinking him in for the hundredth time.

Tilting forward, your lips meet in another kiss, deliberate, and you can hear his heartbeat climb with a peculiar intensity. Bob caresses your waist, fingers flexing against the cotton material of your shirt, feeling your hand nudge beneath his sweater.

As mouths clawed for one another, a gnawing ache began to fester within your stomach, manifesting as arousal that coalesced between your legs. There is little space between you, replaced with a heated friction that seeps into your bones.

Your palm is cold against his abdomen, his flesh running hot, a shiver coursing through him at the contact. The sensation is somewhat foreign, but he enjoys it, reciprocating the kiss with a sudden blaze of passion.

His hands are like hot brands as they trace your bare flesh, gathering the confidence to push beneath your shirt. You shudder, delighting in the lingering kisses you give one another, never devolving to anything rough.

Slowly recoiling from his lips, your hands find the hem of your shirt, beginning to peel it from your body. Admittedly, you’re just as shy as he is about it, and the process of undressing feels like some sacred ritual.

Bob swallows, countenance one of pure amazement and elation as you toss the garment toward the foot of your bed. “You’re so beautiful.” He whispers. There’s scars on your body, past experimentation, but he finds favor in every single one.

A simple, black-cotton brassiere conceals your chest, nothing extravagantly fancy. His hands smooth over your waist, one arm curling around you, drawing you closer. Quiet, he presses a kiss to your shoulder, over a small scar.

One of your hands shifts, coming to perch against the nape of his neck, digits idly carding through brunette tresses. Bob exhales, the sensation pleasant to him as he feels your lips pepper his jaw, each kiss one of pure ardor.

A hoarse, low whimper escapes him when you gently kiss his throat, feeling his hands caress over your body. “Is this okay?” You mumble into his flesh, feeling his head jostle in an eager nod.

Poised to continue, you lavish him in feather-light, sweet kisses, chest flush to his, other palm still firm atop his abdomen. His noises are endearing, eyes nearly closed, preening beneath the attention you give him, kissing your way along his neck.

Thrumming in your ear, his heart sings a melody, calls your name, feeling your hand peruse through his hair. Flushed, Bob wants to reciprocate and more, heat bleeding from his skin, like warmth oozing from a crackling flame.

Lavishing him in the affection he deserves, your mouth continues to explore his neck, dipping against the hollow between throat and shoulder. Every kiss is fire, and he is naught but ash, a string of groans leaving him.

Joined hands meet at the trim of his sweater, following after you as he rids himself of the garment, running abnormally hot. As the blue material crests over his head, you marvel at the sight of him, as if he’s carved from stone.

He’s indestructible, muscles taut and nothing short of impressive, prompting you to swallow the lump within your throat. He’s so handsome, endlessly shy, his visage smitten as your gaze meets his.

Bob smiles, scarlet-faced as he moves to cradle your face. He’s more relaxed than he thought he’d be, stomach still coiled into an excitable, anxious knot, flesh bristling as he kisses you again.

Bodies twine together, and you’re slotted in his lap, hips occasionally urging against his own. There’s friction present, hot and unfamiliar; he’s infatuated by the sensation. He feels your hand drag from his torso to chest, hovering over his heart.

It’s soothing, your presence; a sanctuary that he feels uninhibited within, where his confidence begins to take root. It’s faint, but he can feel his courage flourish when his mouth begins to descend towards your jaw.

Bewildered, you feel yourself gasp; a subtle, surprised noise that becomes lost in the entangled barrage of sighs. He’s agonizingly slow in the best possible way, gaze occasionally shifting to make sure that he isn’t hurting you somehow.

Bob simply mimics your actions from before, and it has a rather powerful effect, ripping a low moan straight from your diaphragm. The sound is pretty, gives him some encouragement to know that he isn’t completely hopeless.

“S’good?” He murmurs, and you can feel the little quirk of his mouth against your throat. You nod, urging him to continue, and he’s more than eager to do so, kissing a trail toward your collarbone.

His hands remain stagnant, one occasionally caressing along your spine, the other content to rest against your hip. You don’t mind it, reveling in the affection he provides you, deliciously gentle, in the way that you desire most.

A shiver passes through him, your digits idly carding over his scalp, threading within his tresses, the sensation pleasant. Cupping the nape of his neck, you exhale, a shaky noise wrought with exhilaration as he kisses toward your sternum.

He’s blushing again, heat radiating from his skin, hesitant to continue further. Every scar on your body is tended-to by his sweet kiss, as if he’s worshiping your flesh, something you feel marrow-deep.

“Do you mind if I …” A tremulous sigh escapes him, and he reminds himself that there’s nothing to be nervous about; it’s just you, he loves you. “I want to see you — more of you, if that’s alright.” Bob inquires, his timbre low, a touch skittish.

A molten warmth curls over you, festering throughout your entire body, as if you’ve been struck by a fever. His constant desire for consent is endearing, and you nod, crawling off of his lap in order to sit beside him, instead.

It’s been so long; he knows what to do, he thinks, but it’s overshadowed by this unforeseen pressure, impressing you. Bob knows it’s going to take some time for him to work himself up for the entire act, but he knows just how patient you are.

Shimmying out of your thin, pajama bottoms, you nudge the material aside, letting it pool on the floor below, left in your undergarments. His eyes are wide again, silently appreciating you, drinking in your beauty — he’s not subtle about it.

His hand flexes into the edge of the mattress, nearly ripping it apart, if he wanted to. Bob watches, mesmerized as you tilt forward, capturing his mouth in another kiss, one hand poised against his thigh.

He tenses, a soft groan pulled from his throat as each kiss seems to burn with a growing intensity. It feels incredible, to be wanted — to be desired by you, in all ways imaginable. As your other hand settles against his abdomen, his lips come to a crawl.

“Still okay?” Ensuring that he’s still wanting to explore, he nods, though there’s a bit of hesitancy present. “What’s wrong?” You ask, cadence soft and assuring, wanting him to know that his well-being comes before any physicality.

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” The weight of his confession is somewhat relinquished, vocalizing his nervousness out in the open. You’re nearly slotted in his lap again, chest ghosting over his, caressing across firm muscles. “It all feels new; but I know it’s not.”

Through furrowed brows, you shake your head, fingers sweeping to stroke through his tresses. “You’re not disappointing me,” You murmur, lips curling into a warm smile. “It’s okay if it feels new. I don’t have any expectations — I just want to be with you.” With that in-mind, he begins to relax.

Bob nods, visibly flustered as he shifts beneath you, attempting to hide the evidence of rousing feelings. “I want to keep going,” He gushes, hands settling against your hips. “Just a little more.” The enthusiasm in his voice is charming.

“Define ‘a little more’,” You utter, gaze glittering with curiosity as you caress his jaw, thumb tracing circles into his skin. “This is new for me, too, but it feels comfortable with you.” Those words strike a chord within him; he’s safe for you, too.

A twinge of embarrassment settles onto his countenance, marked by furrowed brows and a halfhearted, anxious smile. “I want to touch you,” He decides it’s best to be forthcoming. “If that’s alright.” Bob murmurs, watching your lips part in surprise.

Touch holds a certain meaning — you know what he wants, and when it comes from his mouth, it makes your skin scream with heat. Even then, he appears a little shy, as if the admission of it somehow tarnishes him.

“Okay.” Conceding, you watch as he sits back just enough, politely adjusting you to ensure that you’re in his lap again. Your hands settle against his shoulders, taut and broad beneath your palms, flesh an open furnace.

Bob beseeches you for another kiss, something to distract himself with, one hand fumbling over your thigh. He wants to come across as confident, self-assured, but it’s harder than he thought it would be. He starts to relax when your digits idly massage into his shoulders.

Lower, lower still; you shiver when his hand ghosts over the inside of your thigh, touch incendiary, a brand etched into your skin. Each kiss makes your head spin, a dizzying feeling.

Between loving, sluggish kisses, he finds the confidence to skirt past the material of your panties, digits finding the warmth between your legs. A sharp gasp splits your lungs, and he almost thought he might’ve burned you.

If it weren’t for his arm keeping you aloft, you might’ve collapsed beneath his touch, melting away into wisps of ash. Each sigh was rapturous, wanton moans inhabiting the space between bodies, a feverish warmth crawling over your spine.

“Bob,” Stifling a whine, you kiss his face, mouth snaking over his jaw as he begins to touch you. His ministrations are slow to start, sheepish, trying to find his footing with the act itself. “Keep going.”

The sound of his name rolling from your tongue with such ardor makes his heart catch fire, a low groan stirring when you plant kisses below his jaw. Nimble digits find the apex of your thighs, gliding through your folds as he touches you.

The sensation clouds your vision with a haze, drowning in desire as his fingers idly stroke along your cunt, rhythm somewhat erratic. He’s trying to discern where you enjoy it the most, but it’s difficult, especially when you’re kissing his throat.

A low, husky groan fluttered from his mouth, a noise that turned your stomach to molten heat. “G—Good?” The words barely escape between his hand and your mouth, and you nod, forehead drifting to press against his.

Pleasure coils your stomach into knots, letting him touch you, explore as much as he wants. He treats you with such care, visage flushed, chest-to-chest, his heartbeat slow compared to yours.

Scarlet blooms against his features, perspiration building along the nape of his neck, in spite of the friction. Your body continues to urge against his, sending tremors of delight through him, the closeness nothing short of perfection.

Arousal seeps into his bones, visceral and raw as he urged his digits against your cunt, easing them backward in rhythmic strokes. His pace was jumbled, each touch wanton, exploratory.

As his fingers deftly caress your core, you lurch forward when they graze your clit, countenance contorted into an expression of desperation. “There,” You moan, feeling the little spike in his confidence. “Right there, Bob.”

Bob exhales, head jostling in a brief nod, faces flush together, allowing him to steal a kiss from you. He whimpers into your joined lips, coupled with the sensation of your hand caressing his tresses, hips grinding against his.

Listening to your encouragement, his digits seek the spot that made you shudder, and when he finds it fully, you’re sighing his name. It’s beside his ear, hot, fervent; he’s enamored, completely and utterly devoted to you in all senses of the word.

As his fingers carefully circle around your clit, you find it difficult to sit still, squirming atop him, which only furthers the existing friction. Bob steels himself, flushed and exhilarated, gaze wide and doe-like as your eyes momentarily find one another.

You’re everything to him — his world, center of gravity, light in the darkness. There’s a semblance of awe in his eyes, coupled with adoration, a budding desire.

With a soft whine, your hands relocate, back to caressing over his chest, abdomen, ribs; anywhere within reach. Lurching forward, you desperately seek whatever scrap of friction he provides, feeling the coil in your stomach begin to unfurl.

“You — You’re so pretty,” Bob sighs, and it makes your limbs crawl with heat. “Like this.” He’s stumbling over his words, but it doesn’t stop you from soaring, completely enamored with him. He feels strange, saying something like that, but it’s the truth.

“Doing so well, Bob,” You huff, “Don’t stop.” It emerges as a breathless plea, and he reels at the thought of you embracing him like that. The room is shrouded by tangled sighs, groans, whimpering; the temperature feels rather tepid.

Preening beneath your praise, Bob holds you close, delighted to know that he’s been the source of your ecstasy. Lips collide once more, the kiss bruising, devastatingly tender even through the constant flurry of passion.

Consumed by want, by the adoration you feel for him, your hips continue to urge into his hands, chasing after any lick of heat. Bob is more than eager to give it to you, grinding haplessly against the pearl of your cunt.

Close; you can feel it, your body screaming for a release that you haven’t had in what felt like forever. Unbeknownst to you, Bob is there too, pushed to the brink by the constant drag of your hips against his.

The touching doesn’t stop, trembling digits steadying as he circles your clit, rhythm somewhat erratic, but you don’t care. You’re nearly there, each kiss raw, eliciting amorous sounds from the both of you, tangled within one another.

He groans your name and it’s your ruin, toppling over the edge at that sound. Bob sputters, foreheads nestled together, your chest flush to his, fingers drawing circles into his abdomen. Muscles tense, clench beneath your palms, his head canting just slightly.

As his fingers still toy with your cunt even through your orgasm, you reach for his wrist, a gentle reminder for him to slow down. A gentle ‘sorry’ slips from his lips, hand ceasing as he withdraws, caressing your body, instead.

Attempting to catch your breath, you notice his flurry of embarrassment, visibly sheepish as your gaze drops toward his groin. “That was perfect,” You whisper, and he’s crimson. Tracing your fingers over his brow, you make sure he’s alright. “You okay?”

More than okay, he realizes, sticky with an amalgamation of perspiration and his own spent, watching with mild dismay as you crawl off of him. However, it gives him an opportunity to retreat to your bathroom for a few minutes.

When he returns, hunched and flustered, you’re laying in bed, wearing his shirt, no pants; his heart nearly bursts from his chest. Bob basks in the afterglow, crawling into bed with you as he curls inward, his larger frame engulfing you.

“I’m fine,” Bob assures, pressing a kiss behind your ear, arm looped over your middle. He feels you writhe within his grasp, only to turn and face him, smiling as if the world is right again. “Was that alright?” He murmurs, hoping for your approval.

“It was amazing,” Admittedly, you weren’t expecting his enthusiasm, but it all seemed to work in your favor, and his. “I want to touch you too, next time — maybe a little more.” It’s an absentminded remark, but it makes him blush.

“I—I liked that,” Bob sighs, feeling you perch atop his chest, lying beneath you as your fingers caress over his torso. “I liked touching you.” His confession is sickly-sweet, wrought with a tenderness that makes you melt into him.

Loved it, really; his arms cage you in against him, holding you, even if it’s you halfway on top of him. There’s a semblance of contentment he feels, closer to normalcy, closer to himself.

Smiling to yourself, you hear his chest expand with a yawn, rising and falling underneath your head. “You’re good at it.” Praising him with saccharine words, you watch as his visage brightens with mild glee.

He’s less timid; he’s still nervous, but it isn’t as outwardly prevalent. Bob turns just enough to kiss your forehead, nestling against you, his breath pluming over your features. A hush falls between, and he’s content to hold you.

Beneath your palm, his heart hums, the rhythm even, placating. You press a kiss to his collarbone, bare skin still fuming with heat, his warm breath tickling your cheek. “Are you tired?”

With a nod, Bob melts into you, chin tucked atop your head, arms tangled around one another. “Yeah,” He hums, gaze half-lidded. He wishes that he could stay up longer and talk to you, but he’s beginning to feel groggy. “I can stay up, if you need me to.” He offers.

“No, no,” You soothe, peering up just enough to fully glance at him, pressing a kiss against his jaw. “We should get some rest.” Typically, you’re always the one falling asleep first — it was reassuring that it was the other way around this time.

“I can hold you,” Bob murmured, knowing that it was often you holding him; he wanted you to feel just as loved as you made him feel, too. With a smile, you turned over, back snug to his chest, his arms caging in around you. “You’re cold.”

“You’re really warm,” With a cheeky grin, you feel his head nestle within the hollow between your neck and shoulder, perfectly slotted there. Reaching for his hand, you interlace your fingers together, resting together over your abdomen. “Bob?”

His eyes are closed, legs tangled within one another, as if he’s wrapped you up in the heat of his body, all coiled around you. “Mm?” On the cusp of sleep, he’s almost out, so comforted by your presence that it’s lulled him to slumber.

You want to say it — the monumental confession, the three words that change everything; it hangs upon the tip of your tongue, dangling there until you swallow it whole. You’re anxious that it might be too soon, or that it might scare him.

“Goodnight.” You whisper, and your response is a soft kiss, buried into the column of your throat.

[fushitoru]

chapter 2: the aftermath a bridgerton!au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, heir to a dukedom mr. satoru gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary ⸺ after an eventful first ball after your debut, you continue the season with thinly veiled vexation towards gojo. but fate is not on your side; you and gojo keep encountering each other, matching fire with fire (7.8k)

a/n some parts of this chapter broke my brain to write but i kind of had fun! as always thank you to @/sinn-claire for beta reading :p i was going to say i'll try to have weekly updates but i don't want to jinx it lol

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Dearest gentle reader, 

It appears that Her Majesty has bestowed the coveted title of this season’s Diamond upon none other than Miss Itadori, who has indeed lived up to her newfound acclaim as the incomparable of the year. At the latest ball, our shining Diamond was quite occupied, with suitors lining up in such numbers that one might have thought them to be queuing for the royal throne itself. Furthermore, blooms were budding between many of the debutantes and gentlemen, including…..

...Yet, one particular couple captivated the attention of all: none other than Mister Satoru Gojo and our season’s Diamond. After having kept his words sparse and his attentions limited to none, Mister Gojo appeared utterly taken with Miss Itadori, conversing with her intimately on the dance floor. It seems your humble Author was indeed correct⸺Mister Gojo has entered the marriage market. However, the exclusivity he has adopted may not deter the determined maidens he seeks to avoid, for the Ambitious Mamas will no doubt perceive his selectiveness as a challenge to be overcome. 

One cannot help but wonder if an announcement of particular interest will be made at the upcoming Gojo country house party. Although your Author has not yet laid eyes upon the guest list for the Duchess Gojo’s anticipated gathering, reliable sources suggest that nearly every eligible young lady of marriageable age will be journeying to Kent next week. The country house party is known to be a perilous affair. Married individuals often find themselves enjoying the company of someone other than their spouse, while the unwed frequently return to town betrothed with surprising haste.

Indeed, the most unexpected engagements often follow closely on the heels of such rustic diversions.

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

Satoru had no intention of squandering his time this season⸺or at any time, for that matter.

The notion of love matches held little appeal to him, despite witnessing such a union firsthand in his own parents. Make no mistake, the Duke and Duchess Gojo enjoyed a happy marriage, and Satoru held both his father and mother in the highest regard. Yet, he was perfectly content on his own.

Being one of the strongest bachelors⸺both intellectually and physically⸺has been Satoru’s destiny. Ever since his ancestors had been blessed by the royal family with the dukedom, the Gojo family had made its goal to be the most powerful nobility and the closest to the royal family. (Which is still maintained in the status quo, because the Queen dotes on Satoru, inviting him for tea every fortnight. The Queen lavished him with overly sweet biscuits, and in return, Satoru provided her with the latest gossip from court). 

But this responsibility doesn’t get fulfilled without independence; one had to accept the solitary truth that to be truly great was to remain unswayed by the fleeting pleasures of the world⸺love included.

Satoru had little time or interest for the other vices that tempted men of his station, such as lust. Contrary to the whispers circulating among the ton, Satoru had never indulged in the life of a rake or frequented brothels as many of his acquaintances did. Really, the allegations were, in truth, merely just a byproduct of his appearance and demeanor; with a young man with the stature, face, and eligibility of Satoru, the public would immediately like to slap on the label of “rake” due to his arrogant personality. Moreover, any encounters he had witnessed between men and women⸺whether dropping his friends off at brothels in his carriage after an evening at the gentleman’s club or overhearing flirtations at parties⸺struck him as shallow and an utter waste of time, especially when he was already a week behind on the ledgers and other official matters his father had entrusted to him. (He did have one indulgence, however: a weakness for gluttony, with an array of sweet confections as his loyal companions during long, sleepless nights.)

Marriage was an even greater burden. The thought of being accountable for a wife, and eventually children, seemed like a daunting task to Satoru. With sleepless nights spent on covering just a fraction of the business his father must do as a duke, Satoru was tired. He was exhausted⸺exhausted from the weight of responsibility, from striving to meet his father’s expectations, from seeking the Queen’s approval, from worrying over what Whistledown might print about him, and from the gossip of the businessmen with whom the Gojo family dealt. 

And yet, despite this weariness, Satoru was gripped by an insatiable obsession with perfection, an obsession that only deepened his fatigue. He craved approval, power, and the flawless execution of his duties⸺desires that gnawed at him even as they threatened to consume him.

Which is exactly why he needed a perfect wife. A wife that was capable, could handle bothersome people⸺which he was steadily losing the patience to deal with⸺and a reliable companion. Someone that would reduce his stress, not add to it. 

Satoru had spent all day lurking in the shadows as best as he could; being the most eligible bachelor did mean that brothers and sisters were coming up to him, singing praises of their debutante in an effort to capture his interest. But Satoru knew all too well that the loudest families often had the most to compensate for.

As ladies in white paraded before the crowd, many buckling under the weight of judgment and attention, Satoru prowled like a jungle cat, staying hidden in the throng, biding his time, and waiting for the right moment to strike.

What he noticed first about you was your way of carrying yourself. Even Auntie⸺the Queen⸺who, after seeing countless of girls today, had been incredibly bored, dragged her eyes over you in slightly more interest than she did for others. The moment you stepped through those grand doors into the court, it was evident to everyone that your stride was that of someone who understood her role and position in life⸺a confidence that set you apart from the other debutantes. Satoru’s eyes raked over you, observing you as your chest rose slightly as you took a breath in. 

And then you smiled.

Satoru's eyes widened, just imperceptibly, as he watched your expression as you made your way to the Queen. He made sure to shake his expression off to a more nonchalant one as he watched your form walk. Lesser men than Satoru would die for your smile. Men, out of all traits a woman could possess, cherished a pretty visage the most. Yet, what your smile conveyed went beyond mere beauty; it embodied innocence and the qualities most esteemed in a demure bride (which Satoru knew was just all a show, but it was indeed indicative of your skill to put up appearances, hence deeming you a reliable companion).

The corner of the young man's mouth rose.  When the Queen declared you the diamond of the season, Satoru knew he had found his quarry.

When the ball came, Satoru acted similarly: observing from behind, staying in conversation with his friends and other noble men that did business with the Gojo family as he prowled the ballroom, waiting for the right moment to ask you for your hand. And then Naoya came in when you were finally alone, away from all the incompetent men that dared to think they had a chance to court you, and Satoru almost laughed snarkily at how easy it all was. 

Approaching you, saving you from Naoya⸺it was all a perfect construction of his. Dancing, he noticed your steps were carried out with a practiced perfection and grace, and your responses to his questions displayed a respectable level of intellect. He could tell your responses were practiced and simple, your constitution and demeanor a result of much effort into presenting yourself as best as you could. But what does it matter, when you do it so perfectly?

Maybe it was a bit naive of him, but you seemed to glow when conversing with him. It amused him, as he kept watching your pretty eyes as you kept smiling while he kept throwing difficult questions at you. It was all expected, however. Satoru knew he was blessed with the brilliant blue Gojo eyes and eccentric fair, white hair; he was the most eligible bachelor for not only wealth and power but reproductive capabilities and opportunities as well. Which lady wouldn’t want to be mother to his cute and beautiful blue-eyed babies?

After witnessing such mediocre men who paled in comparison to Satoru, surely you must be smitten. Gojo could see right through you: you, the diamond, have been looking for a man as meritorious as you, and you had found it in Satoru. 

So why were you acting this way?

When you wake up in the morning and get ready for suitors, it is as you expected; there are multiple carriages outside your doorstep, and there is a line from the drawing room, extending all the way down the stairs. When Choso stumbles into the drawing room, where you and your mother are enjoying tea, he is clearly unhappy at the selection of men waiting to be let in to call upon you. 

“This is absurd!” Choso’s hands raked over his hair in an effort to process the scene he had just witnessed. “Why do I see Naoya waiting outside?”

Your nose crinkled in distaste. “Well, dear brother, I certainly cannot control which suitors call upon me. He must’ve enjoyed our conversation yesterday. The enjoyment, however, is one sided.”

Choso’s eyes widened comically. “You had a conversation with him yesterday?” He then turned to your mother accusingly, who was reading a Whistledown while sipping on her tea innocuously. “This would not have happened if I was there, Mother. This is your fault.”

Your mother continued drinking her tea nonchalantly, waiting for a few beats to grace him with a response. “I prefer this, my son, to no visitors out there because our dear Lord Itadori scared all the bachelors away with his pickiness.” Then, her eyes flashed. “And don’t give me that tone.”

You snickered behind your palm as Choso visibly deflated.

 “Kuna! Get back here!”

Pitter patters of small paws started to get closer and closer, as heavy footsteps followed it. Yuji and the family corgi, Sukuna Jr., burst into the room. Eyeing the biscuit in your hand, Kuna made his way directly to you, panting at your feet. A pet given affectionately by your-not-so-affectionate older brother, Sukuna, when he left for his year long trip around Europe, Kuna was the cutest little puppy. You and Yuji loved to spoil him, clearly shown as Yuji patted him while breathing heavily. You cooed as Kuna licked your fingers while inhaling the biscuit you had presented him. 

“Well,” your mother stood up, having finished her tea, and began ushering in the maids to clear the table. “It seems our morning will be quite busy. You’d best be prepared for a long day, my dear.”

Choso was still grumbling as he took a seat across from you, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the long line of suitors outside. “I’m keeping an eye on that Naoya fellow. If he so much as looks at you the wrong way…”

You raised an eyebrow at your brother’s protectiveness, feeling both amused and touched. “Choso, I appreciate your concern, but I can handle myself. Besides, with Kuna here, I doubt any of these gentlemen will get too close without proper approval.”

As if understanding the conversation, Sukuna Jr. barked enthusiastically, his tail wagging as he looked up at you with bright, expectant eyes. You smiled and scratched behind his ears, watching as his tiny body wriggled with joy.

Yuji, still catching his breath from the chase, flopped onto the chair beside you, shooting a grin at Choso. “Come on, big brother, give her a break. It’s not every day our sister gets declared the diamond of the season. Let her enjoy it.”

Choso crossed his arms, still unconvinced. “I’m just saying, if any of these men don’t meet my standards⸺”

“Your standards?” you interrupted with a teasing lilt. “Choso, I’d never find a husband if I had to meet your impossible standards. Besides, you should be more concerned about finding someone yourself.”

Choso’s cheeks tinted with a slight blush, but make no mistake; he was hot with anger, ready to make a snarky retort. Your mother, who had been overseeing the maids, turned her attention back to the conversation with a soft smile.

“Your sister is right, Choso. It’s her time to shine, and as her family, we should support her, not make things more difficult.” She gave him a pointed look before turning to you with a gentler expression, and he backed down as he always does for your mother. “Now, my dear, are you ready to begin receiving your guests?”

You took a deep breath, nodding as you steeled yourself for the hours of polite conversation and careful navigation of the social battlefield ahead. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good,” your mother said, her voice laced with both pride and encouragement. “Remember, you are the diamond of the season. There isn’t a man out there who wouldn’t be lucky to have you.”

You offered a weak smile. “Let’s get this over with.”

As you walked toward the sofa where you would be talking with suitors, Kuna trotted alongside you, his presence a comforting reminder.With Yuji and Choso trailing behind, and your mother leading the way to open the door, you braced yourself for the onslaught of admirers waiting beyond the door.

But as you straighten your posture, in anticipation to greet the first suitor, you couldn't help but glance down at Kuna, who stared up at you with wide, curious eyes. You chuckled softly.

“Well, Kuna,” you whispered, “let’s see who passes your test today.”

Gojo’s gaze wandered down to Sukuna Jr. in your lap as you stroked his fur, and he gave you a saccharine⸺yet strained⸺smile. “Must this dog bear witness to our conversation? 

As if sensing Gojo’s unfriendliness, Kuna started growling, and you could feel the rumble deep in his stomach. You met Gojo’s sweet smile with one of your own. “Yes.”

Gojo blinked, and the smile on his face faltered. You noticed that this was one of the first time Gojo’s ever expressed an emotion outside of smugness, and you count this as your personal win.

“Well,” he hesitated, and then a smile was on his face as if that stumble didn’t happen. “You look wonderful this morning, Miss Itadori.”

Your eyes flashed at his audacity to talk behind your back and try to fool you with flattery. “On the contrary, I think I look rather simple.”

Gojo, none the wiser as to what you were referring to, waved his hands. “Nonsense.”

Before you could respond, Kuna let out a low, rumbling growl, his sharp eyes fixed on Gojo. The sound was subtle, but in the quiet of the morning, it was unmistakable. Gojo’s gaze flickered down to the small dog, and his smile tightened ever so slightly.

You gently scratched behind Kuna’s ears, calming him, though his gaze never left Gojo. “I apologize on behalf of my dear Kuna,” you said, your voice light but nonetheless pointed. “He tends to be wary of many, particularly those he believes to be with ulterior motives.”

Gojo nodded, unfazed, and looked down at the dog in question. Upon eye contact, all your efforts to calm Kuna went to naught as the dog stood up, tense and teeth almost bared fully, to stare back at Gojo defiantly. Gojo, to his credit, was starting to be a little wary and was giving the pup an impassive stare. 

“You know, I have an affinity for dogs. There are many pups that I have spent my entire childhood with.” He offered a chuckle and moved his hand to pet Kuna. “Dogs do have a way of sensing things, don’t they?” That was clearly the wrong decision because the dog’s growl grew louder, and suddenly, he snapped at Gojo’s hand. Before Kuna could sink his teeth into Gojo’s hand, however, Gojo smoothly withdrew it out of his reach. 

“Protective, isn’t he?” Gojo laughed, but his stare towards Kuna was veering more and more into a glare. He tried to disguise his irritation by suavely adding, “Admirable. I’m glad he has protected my lady so well.” Gojo then grabbed your hand to give you a small kiss on the back of it while keeping eye contact. You had to divert your eyes elsewhere to avoid coloring your cheeks; while you knew this was just another one of Gojo’s pretenses to charm you, you were still fazed by it. 

You cleared your throat and tried to uphold the conversation. After all, it would be outright rude to keep throwing thinly veiled insults his way when there were others in your company; he also had the potential to spread further malicious rumors about you if you showed attitude. You mustered up a fake smile, and offered, “He was a gift to me and Yuji offered by my older brother, Sukuna, when he went traveling,” you offered. 

“Is that the brother you hoped to follow to Europe?”

You blinked and faltered. You didn’t expect him to remember that tidbit from your conversation at the ball last night. While most of the preferences you had asserted were artificial⸺supplemented to you by your tutor, who had drilled what fake preferences of yours would woo men⸺you truly did gain enthusiasm for the languages because you hoped to prove your helpfulness to Sukuna in an effort to run away from your inevitable debut. At the time, you were rebelling against anything your mama said, avoiding anything  associated with being paraded around like an animal, put on display for men. “Yes,” you said slowly, “Yes, it is.” 

Gojo smiled, this time a little more genuine at the fact it was his first time receiving an authentic response from you this morning, rather than something covered with a fake smile. Just as he leaned in slightly, probably preparing to make another smooth remark, Kuna, who had been shifting in your lap, suddenly stilled, his face buried in your lap and tail facing Gojo. For a moment, you thought he might be settling down.

And then it happened.

The largest fart ripped through the room out of Kuna’s arse, which was pointed directly in Gojo’s face. While you were not a scholar studying physics, you were aware that the air dynamics did not do Gojo any favors in preventing the smell from hitting him direct-on. Gojo’s eyes widened in surprise, and his suave expression faltered entirely as the smell quickly followed, filling the air around you both.

You could feel the heat rushing to your face in your effort not to laugh out loud. Trying to keep your composure, you gently patted Kuna’s belly, who was now face up, tongue lolling out in bliss. “Oh, dear,” you muttered, your voice strained with the effort to suppress a laugh.

Gojo, for once, was at a loss for words. His eyes were tearing up, probably at the smell; whenever you and Yuji spoiled Kuna with those biscuits, he dropped nasty-smelling dungs, and you knew Gojo wasn’t spared at all. The arrogant bachelor, who always seemed to have a witty response ready, was now at a loss of words as he weakly gazed upon the weak little poot! poot!s that escaped Kuna as you continued patting his stomach in an effort to relieve your pup’s digestive system.

At Gojo’s expression, you had to take quiet, deep breaths in an effort to rein in the cackles that were threatening to overcome you. You resorted to covering your mouth as you strained, “As you can see, my Kuna is quite expressive, and he seemed quite eager to show you that.”

He offered you a strained smile. “He does indeed generate quite a bit of wind.” At that, you could no longer hold back. Genuine laughter wracked through your figure, hurting your ribs as you tried to quell it with a hand to the mouth, but no avail. Your muffled laughter was still loud, and when the giggles subsided, you wiped your tears and threw an apologetic look at Gojo, preparing to express your regret. 

But you stopped at the sheer wonder he contained in his face as his gaze fixated on your lips, which were drawn back in the ghost of the smile you had while laughing riotously. Without allowing you much time to dwell on it, he stood up and dipped his head in a little bow. “Well, I have been taking quite a bit of your time, Miss Itadori. I better let other suitors have their chance.” He kissed the back of your hand. “I hope to see you at the horse race tomorrow.”

“Likewise.” You couldn’t help but spy some red coloring Gojo’s alabaster cheeks as he made his way to the exit. As you greeted the next suitor, the imprint of a certain man’s lips continued to tingle on your hands. 

“I told you he was a rake,” Nobara muttered as she scrubbed your arm with an intensity that matched her outrage. After hearing what Gojo had said about you, she was livid. Unfortunately, your skin was bearing the brunt of her frustration.

“Well,” you mused, trying to distract her, “what rumors have you heard that make you think that?”

“Momo told me a few months ago⸺” Nobara paused, her hands hovering over the various bottles on the counter. “Which scent would you prefer for your hair?”

“Sandalwood,” you replied.

Nobara nodded and poured some of the rich liquid into her hands before massaging it into your scalp. You closed your eyes, feeling the tension from the day's exhausting and dull conversations slowly melt away under her skillful fingers. “Momo mentioned that he’s often out late at night, which seems suspicious. But now that I think about it, Momo isn’t the most reliable source,” Nobara added, her tone shifting to one of skepticism.

You quirked an eyebrow. “Why do you say that?”

“There’s talk that she attempted to lure another maid’s husband into an affair,” Nobara replied, her hands now working the shampoo through your hair with a practiced ease. “She even tried to gain access to his quarters.”

You gasped. “How scandalous!”

“I know,” Nobara said, her hands now massaging the back of your neck with a gentler touch. “So, who knows how much truth there is to her gossip. But still, Gojo’s behavior is less than honorable, don’t you think?”

You sighed, gazing up at the ceiling with a mix of frustration and resignation. “He was gossiping about me with other men, calling me all sorts of horrible things⸺‘simple,’ of all things. And yet, he has the audacity to want to call upon me?”

“You know,” Nobara mused as she continued her task, “He sounds the exact opposite of what some of your books would imply.”

You hummed in agreement, recalling the radical works you kept hidden beneath your bed. Your mother would be appalled if she ever discovered them, but you often sought solace in political writings that challenged the rigid expectations of society. “I know. And that is precisely why I have no intention of encouraging his attention this season—at least, not before I ensure his complete and utter humiliation.”

“But do take care. His connections to the Queen are quite strong.”

You drew back from Nobara's hands, much to her chagrin. She gave you a glare while you exclaimed, "What?"

“Surely you’re aware that the Gojo dukedom is among the closest to the royal family?”

You fervently hoped your mother hadn’t caught wind of Gojo's status. Yet, the way she had been observing you⸺subtly scrutinizing you in the drawing room while feigning interest in a suitor awaiting his turn⸺suggested otherwise. She had certainly noticed Gojo's growing interest, and the thought of her getting involved, fixating on a match with him, filled you with dread. Drawing your hands over your face, you moaned, the very notion of her scheming to pair you with Gojo weighing heavily on your mind.

“But that should hardly be a concern if you’ve begun to distance yourself from him, correct? You have been creating some distance, haven’t you?”

Your silence spoke volumes, and Nobara, ever quick to discern your hesitation, gasped in exasperation. “You cannot seriously be considering giving this gentleman any encouragement, can you?”

"No, no, it’s not that,” you replied, massaging your temples in frustration. “It’s just that my mother is probably ecstatic at the prospect of securing a match between me and Gojo.”

“But surely, if she knew the things he’s been saying behind your back, she would understand.”

You tried to open your mouth to respond, but it felt as if your throat had closed up. Would she really? A match with Gojo would mean elevated status for the Itadori family⸺a duchess for a daughter. What worth is there in being the diamond of the season if not to secure the most advantageous match? The very thought made your chest tighten with the suffocating realization that your mother might very well advocate for the union, despite Gojo’s duplicity.

“I⸺” you swallowed. “I’m not sure.” Before Nobara could interrupt, you stood up and reached for your robe. 

Nobara's brow furrowed as she watched you stand up. "Where do you think you're going? You’re not done with your bath, and your hair is still full of suds!" She reached out to stop you, her hands hovering as though unsure whether to pull you back into the tub or grab the robe you were now clutching.

You forced a small, tired smile, grateful for the distraction. “I need just a moment. The water's gone cold, anyway.”

“Oh, nonsense! You’ll catch a chill if you get out now. Sit back down,” Nobara insisted, her protest tinged with genuine concern. She placed a firm hand on your shoulder, guiding you back toward the warm water.

With a reluctant sigh, you allowed yourself to be coaxed back into the tub. The momentary reprieve from the conversation was a relief, and you welcomed Nobara’s determined focus on completing your bath. She picked up a sponge, her earlier frustration melting into concentration as she scrubbed your back.

“Well, we can discuss that scheming rake later,” she muttered, more to herself than to you. “For now, let’s get you properly cleaned up before your mother comes looking for you. She’d never forgive me if I let you appear anything less than perfect.”

You nodded with a lump in your throat, grateful for the change in topic, even if only temporary. The soothing rhythm of Nobara's hands working through your hair, the warmth of the bathwater, and the familiar, comforting routine helped ease the tightness in your chest. For now, the troubling thoughts of Gojo and your mother's ambitions could be set aside.

“Now, hold still,” Nobara said, her tone softening as she rinsed the last of the soap from your hair. “We’ll have you looking radiant again in no time.”

The conversation was left unfinished, hanging in the air like a question that neither of you was quite ready to answer. But for now, the silence was a welcome refuge.

"Do you have any notion of how impossible it is to charm a lady when there is a pup expelling such foul air right beneath your nose?" Satoru lamented, leaning back in his chair and raking a hand through his tousled hair. The trio gathered at the table presented a rather unusual sight: Satoru, visibly discomposed; Nanami, calmly sipping his drink as ever; and Suguru, nearly doubled over in laughter at his friend’s misfortune.

“Would you please⸺SMACK⸺cease your laughing?!” Satoru glared at Suguru, who seemed to be of no hope, now with tears in his eyes as he clutched his stomach and the back of his head, which Satoru had just hit. 

“Truly, your vanity⸺haaah⸺your vanity was in need of humbling,” Suguru managed between breaths, still snickering behind his palms. 

Satoru glowered, crossing his arms and staring daggers into his drink, as if his gaze alone could break the fine glass. “My pride had already suffered enough. She was positively frigid.”

Nanami hummed. “Perhaps she’s merely discerned your true nature.”

“It defies comprehension,” Gojo groaned, ignoring Kento’s statement. “What kind of lady disparages her own beauty as ‘simple’? I cannot fathom what has caused her such vexation. Only the night before, she was utterly taken with me!”

Suguru⸺who had now calmed down⸺was in the midst of wiping his tears when he suddenly stopped. “You don’t suppose it had anything to do with your careless words, do you?”

Kento eyed the pair in front of him with an accusatory side eye. “And what precisely did you say?”

 “Satoru, in his usual fashion, could not contain his tongue. Out on the terrace, with the garden as witness, he spoke rather unkindly, referring to the diamond as ‘simple and dull.’”

“Nonsense,” Satoru waved his hands, dismissing the idea. “The lady would never wander the gardens at such an hour in the night unchaperoned.”

“I suggest you reconsider.” Kento gave him a stern look and continued, “I happened upon her last night, emerging from the gardens, and she appeared rather disheveled.” 

This revelation gave Satoru pause, but if there was one thing certain about Satoru Gojo, it was this: his arrogance was such that he could scarcely fathom anyone, least of all a lady, finding his charm anything but irresistible⸺even if that very lady had overheard him uttering defamatory remarks about her. And this lady was one he could not let go of, unless he wanted to wave good-bye to his future.

“I am confident all will be well,” Gojo exhaled, his lips curving into a Cheshire smile. “Even if she did overhear, surely a few well-chosen sweet words will surely set matters right.”

(He was most grievously mistaken.)

“How many of those biscuits do you suppose we could finish?” Yuji was eyeing the biscuits from his seat next to you in the pavilion where you and your family were sitting. Out promenading with the other families of the ton, it was a scenic and beautiful day for you to mingle with even more suitors. The joy!

“Certainly less than me,” you remarked, sipping on your tea smugly. By the irritated pout on his face, you knew you were successful at getting a rise out of your younger brother. Knowing your mother wasn’t in sight, you quickly darted for the jam-filled biscuits, and your brother quickly followed in tow; soon, you were both stuffing your faces silly with the sugary treats.

“You two are incorrigible,” Choso scrunched his nose from where he sat across from you, arms crossed. “There’s no need to inhale those biscuits. What if someone sees?”

Yuji stuck out his tongue⸺now adorned with biscuit crumbs⸺and continued gorging, while you snickered at your younger brother’s pettiness.

“Miss Itadori.”

You began coughing wildly, caught off guard, and hastily straightened your posture to greet your guest. You turned to see Lord Ino, who offered you a slight nod before acknowledging your brothers. “Lord Itadori. Mister Itadori.”

“Lord Ino, nice to meet you on such a fine day.” You try to put a smile on your face as best as you can, even though you were caught off guard. “How do you find today’s weather?” 

Takuma grabs the back of your hand to kiss it. “I find it wonderful for the prospect of promenading. Do you care to do so with me?”

“Of course,” You stand up and link your elbows with Takuma’s.

“We’ll be thirty paces behind you, sister.” You both turned to look at Choso, who was giving Lord Ino his inevitable protective glare. Given Ino’s acceptable station, Choso hadn’t immediately protested, unlike the many suitors he had chased out of your manor the day before. He grabbed Yuji by the elbow, who, with cheeks comically inflated like a chipmunk hoarding acorns, was promptly dragged away. “Yuji, get up.” The last you saw of your brothers was Yuji’s futile protests, his mouth too full to be coherent⸺inevitably sending some crumbs flying onto Choso⸺and Choso swatting him for it.

As you began your walk with Lord Ino, the conversation naturally turned to the upcoming horse race. “Are you looking forward to the race this afternoon?” you asked, trying to keep the conversation light.

“I am,” the lord replied. “And you?”

“Very much so,” you said, a hint of excitement in your voice. “I have a feeling that the less popular horse⸺Blaze, was it?⸺might surprise everyone. The conditions seem just right for an underdog victory; the track is soft and warm, which would favor Blaze’s build.”

Lord Ino glanced at you with a polite but unconvinced smile. “But Thunder has higher odds and more bets. It’s as simple as that.”

You couldn’t help but bristle at the word “simple,” a word that had recently come to grate on your nerves. You pressed on, though, determined to keep the conversation pleasant. “I suppose there’s some truth to that, but sometimes there’s more to a race than just the odds and popularity.”

Ino chuckled softly. “Well, a good mentor and friend of mine⸺Duke Nanami⸺agrees with the odds, and His Grace is someone I deeply respect. I tend to follow his lead⸺the duke has a way of teaching lessons without hindering one’s growth.”

Before you could respond, the sound of a trumpet blared in the distance, signaling the start of the race. You looked at him, giving him a courteous nod, gesturing in the general direction Choso and Yuji were supposed to be in. “It seems the race is about to begin. I must rejoin my family.”

You curtsied as he bowed, and you watched as he walked away, leaving you momentarily alone. You took a deep breath, trying to dispel the lingering irritation from the conversation. Just as you began looking for your family, you felt a presence approaching.

You turned to find Lady Mei Mei and her entourage closing in. Their expressions were a study in artful contempt, laced with curiosity and barely concealed amusement. The atmosphere between you was thick with unspoken competition, each woman silently gauging the other’s position on the social ladder. 

“Miss Itadori, what a nice surprise!” Lady Mei Mei remarked, her tone dripping with false sweetness. “It appears you are alone and unchaperoned in a garden yet again! At least, according to what the rumors say. Was it part of yet another one of your charming ploys to get what you want?"

You met her gaze with cool composure, not giving her the satisfaction of a visible reaction. "I have no clue what you're talking about."

Lady Mei Mei tilted her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as if appraising a particularly interesting specimen. "Really?" she mused, drawing out the word as though savoring it. "It’s just that Lord Gojo hasn’t spoken with you all day. Even if Whistledown commended you in the last issue, I wouldn’t expect his interest to linger." The two ladies flanking her⸺unremarkable save for their sycophantic attachment to Mei Mei⸺giggled behind their fans, as though she had delivered a crushing blow.

You allowed yourself a small, almost imperceptible smile, one that didn’t reach your eyes. "So I’m assuming he called upon you?" you questioned sweetly, your voice laced with feigned politeness.

For a fleeting moment, Lady Mei Mei’s carefully curated composure slipped, the faintest flicker of irritation crossing her face before she regained control. She leaned in slightly, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper meant for you alone. “None of the suitors will be interested in you any longer. The Queen may have mistakenly proclaimed you the diamond, but a pretty face, empty smiles, and hollow words can only last so long.”

“Whatever would be most convenient for you to believe.” Her words were empty and her threats dull, but you couldn’t help but let it compound on the irritation you had experienced today. But you knew better than to let your tongue loose; you were quite impulsive when you had started, and you didn’t want to start any scandal anytime soon. Instead, you held your ground, trying to maintain your composure (outwardly, at least) as Lady Mei Mei and her entourage turned to leave, their laughter echoing in your ears. 

You tried to implement a few things your tutor had ingrained in you: taking deep breaths and setting your posture correctly. However, as you stood there, collecting yourself, the last thing you needed seemed to manifest before you: Satoru Gojo.

His tall figure approached you with that familiar, self-assured stride, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Ah, Miss Itadori," he greeted, a sly smile playing on his lips. You were already irritated, and it took all your will-power to stifle a groan. 

"I couldn’t help but notice you were conversing with Lord Ino," he remarked casually.

Give him a smile. "Indeed, we were enjoying a promenade. It is, after all, what young ladies and their suitors are expected to do."

“Quite the choice in company!”

KEEP up the smile.  "He is a nobleman, and I am of noble descent. I fail to see your point, Mr. Gojo." 

Gojo’s smile was quick and cutting. “Oh, I’ve no particular quarrel with Lord Ino. It’s simply that he’s hardly the sort I’d expect to see on your arm. After all, he’s practically Nanami’s lapdog.”

You felt the familiar irritation rising within you⸺and you were fighting for your life trying to keep a smile on your face⸺but you kept your tone measured. "And what, pray tell, are you implying by that, Mr. Gojo?"

"It’s quite simple, really⸺" 

But your patience, already worn thin, snapped at that word.

"My good sir, do you not think it rather dishonorable to speak ill of others behind their backs?" Gojo began to respond, but you cut him off. "It’s curious how quickly opinions can change, is it not? Just the other evening, you seemed to hold me in rather low regard. Tell me, do you often dismiss people as ‘simple’ when they fail to meet any of the lofty expectations you have set? Or do you perhaps truly believe yourself to be at a station higher than others?"

Gojo stiffened, the smile slipping from his face as your words hit their mark. Before he could respond, Choso appeared at your side, his protective presence a welcome relief.

“Is there any problem, sister?” Choso asked, his tone polite yet firm as he glanced at Satoru, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Gojo’s gaze flicked to Choso, his irritation clear as he opened his mouth to make a cutting remark, and you couldn’t thank the gods enough for Choso’s mother hen tendencies. But the words faltered when he recognized who had interrupted. For a brief moment, surprise flashed in his eyes before he masked it with a tight-lipped smile.

You seized the moment, turning to Satoru with a sweet smile. “I think our time is up, Mister Gojo,” you said, your voice laced with venom.

Satoru hesitated for just a fraction of a second before nodding curtly, his expression unreadable. “Of course. Until next time, Miss Itadori.”

With that, he stepped back, allowing you and Choso to walk away toward where people were gathering for the race. As you moved through the crowd, you could feel Satoru’s gaze lingering on you, but you didn’t look back.

“That horse appears rather stout, does it not?” Yuji squinted against the blazing sun as he observed the horses from his seat beside you in the grandstand. “Why has it garnered so many bets?”

Choso, seated protectively on your other side, kept a steady arm linked with yours. His presence was reassuring, though your irritation was directed at the figure seated just below you. Satoru Gojo, to your endless chagrin, was sitting with Lady Mei Mei, who had all but forced her way into the seat beside him. Though he tried to appear indifferent, his signature flirty remarks flowing with ease, you noticed the subtle signs of irritation crossing his face. Whether it stemmed from Lady Mei Mei's advances or from your earlier exchange, you couldn't be sure. You refused to meet his gaze, though you could feel his eyes on you intermittently as the crowd waited for the race to begin.

“Men can be quite foolish at times,” you remarked hotly, your voice carrying just enough to be overheard. “Some people value the superficial and materialistic over true substance, much like they do with horses. Blaze, for instance, has the qualities that truly matter.”

You could almost feel Gojo’s gaze intensify, and despite yourself, you glanced in his direction. Lady Mei Mei, ever the actress, feigned a stumble, exclaiming with a coy smile, “These crowds are rather rough on a lady!”

You scoffed inwardly at her transparent attempt to press her bosom against Gojo’s arm.

“Oh my,” Gojo drawled, his voice oozing concern. “We can’t have that, can we?” Ever the gallant gentleman, he interlaced his arm with hers. “Here, for extra protection. I wouldn’t want a pretty lady shedding tears beside me.”

Mei Mei’s smirk was as satisfied as a serpent after a meal, and she batted her eyelashes coquettishly. “If I were to cry, would you console me?”

“Of course,” Gojo replied smoothly. “Though I might find myself crying should my horse lose. The bets I’ve placed are rather substantial.”

A flirtatious giggle escaped Mei Mei’s lips. “Then I shall cheer with all my might, so you needn’t suffer any losses, my lord.”

You were perilously close to tearing your hair out.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, my lady,” Gojo said, taking her hand and kissing the back of it with exaggerated flourish. “But rest assured, I am quite confident of a victory today. Thunder is swift and cunning, far superior to that... other horse. It’s simple, really—Thunder will win.”

Your composure cracked. “Yuji,” you called, your voice sharp. Your brother, who had been lost in thought, snapped to attention. “Despite the other horse’s popularity, Blaze possesses the one quality universal to all champions: speed and diligence. The track conditions are in its favor.”

Yuji, caught off guard, blinked in confusion. “Yes, of course, sister,” he mumbled, clearly unsure of why you were addressing him.

“And anyone who thinks otherwise,” you continued, raising your voice slightly, “is bound to lose their money. Sorely and simply.”

Gojo matched your tone, his voice ringing out. “But of course, it’s all in good fun. There’s no need for hostility over a sport, is there? Both horses are fine contenders, though I remain convinced Thunder shall emerge victorious.”

Mei Mei tittered, parroting his sentiments, but you could hardly see straight for the anger coursing through you. Unable to hold back, you retorted, “However, it is, after all, still a race. And Blaze will win.”

By now, your exchange had drawn the attention of those around you, including your brothers. Choso and Yuji exchanged puzzled glances before Yuji asked weakly, “Are you still talking to us, sister?” Meanwhile, Choso’s protective instincts flared, his gaze darting suspiciously between you and Gojo.

Before you could reply, the horses lined up at the starting gate, and the crowd collectively rose to their feet, including Gojo. “Steady now, Thunder!” he called out, his voice brimming with confidence.

Not to be outdone, you shouted, “Come on, Blaze!”

The bell rang, and the horses surged forward, the crowd erupting in cheers. Blaze and Thunder quickly pulled ahead, the two horses locked in a fierce battle for the lead. Thunder was currently ahead, its sleek form cutting through the track with precision.

“Steady, Thunder! Keep the lead!” Gojo’s voice was full of excitement, urging his horse onward.

Your heart raced with frustration as Blaze lagged slightly behind. “You can do this, Blaze!” you urged, your voice rising above the din. Without thinking, you began whistling sharply, drawing alarmed looks from your brothers. The stares from the crowd meant nothing to you as you focused solely on the race.

Blaze, as if responding to your encouragement, began to accelerate, its powerful strides eating up the ground between it and Thunder. You noticed Thunder’s pace faltering, fatigue setting in, while Blaze surged ahead, pulling into the lead with a quarter of the race remaining.

Now it was Gojo’s turn to whistle, his voice tinged with desperation. “Straight to the finish line, Thunder! Don’t let up!”

But Blaze only widened the gap, its momentum carrying it farther ahead. You couldn’t contain your laughter, a joyous sound that bubbled up from within as Blaze crossed the finish line first, with Thunder trailing behind.

“Goddamn it,” Gojo cursed under his breath, his frustration palpable. You clapped your hands in delight, your laughter ringing out.

With deliberate grace, you placed your hands on your hips and turned to Gojo, flashing him a triumphant smile. “I’m so glad the ‘simple’ horse won,” you said, your voice dripping with satisfaction. “It seems I’ve finally bested a duke.”

Gojo’s blue eyes bore into you, their intensity searing, but you met his glare with a boisterous laugh, savoring the victory as the crowd’s cheers and claps echoed around you. Until it was only the two of you, staring each other down.

Gojo ⸺ 0, you ⸺ 1.

Now, Duchess Gojo had always had a penchant for gossip, no one escaping her eye and observation. Of course, it was now the Whistledown era, for the unknown author could observe far more than the high-profile duchess, who was the receiver of much praise and attention due to her son’s eligibility. But this eligibility had only been achieved because of her ability to direct the tide based on her reconnaissance, and in all her years, no could match her sass and direction. Except one. 

"You know, Lady Itadori," the Duchess remarked, her tone laced with feigned pensiveness, "the Gojo manor in the countryside has been dreadfully quiet, and, if I may say, it has been quite some time since we last enjoyed a proper tête-à-tête.”

The two ladies stood together near the stands, choosing a more secluded spot from which to observe the horse race. Lady Itadori, her closest confidante, met the Duchess’s gaze with a gleam in her eye. "Indeed, I must agree."

For a moment, the two women stood in silence, their eyes surveying the scene before them. From the ladies flirting shamelessly to the gentlemen scrambling for the favor of the season’s debutantes, they were like spectators at a grand circus. Yet, their attention was drawn to a particular act.

Raising her fan to her lips, Lady Itadori whispered conspiratorially to the Duchess, "I might add, my diamond has been spending a considerable amount of time in your son’s company."

The Duchess met her friend’s eyes and laughed lightly. "How many days do you wager it will take in the manor?"

Lady Itadori, now fully smirking, gave a delicate shrug. "It took you and the Duke but four days."

prev. the debutante | next. the manor

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n: reader is hearing boss music rn

forced proximity whatttt

gojo when kuna ripped one in his face

comment, reblog, and send in an ask to let me know ur thots :3 memes are also appreciated <3

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[targaryenimagines]

A Gentle Flame

Dark!Daenerys Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6,701

Summary: After months of trying, you are finally able to give something back to your Khaleesi that she never thought she’d have again — an heir to not only House Targaryen but the Iron Throne. You just aren’t sure how you’d like to reveal the good news to your beloved; taking solace in your dearest friend’s company as he tried to help you in revealing the truth. Of course, you should have known that your dragon’s possessive fire would never be quenched — not even for Grey Worm.

Warning(s): G!P Daenerys, jealousy/possessiveness, and pregnancy.

Notes: Can be seen as part of the “My Khaleesi” series, but can also be read as a stand-alone as well. Thank you to the wonderful @rain-mikaelson for this amazing idea!

Series Masterlist

“She doesn’t know?”

You don’t have to turn around to see, with picture perfect clarity, the confusion that must have been etched upon your dearest friends face. The thickening of his accent alone told you all you needed to know.

“No,” you reply, setting the brush you had been fiddling with firmly back in its place on your vanity. “I only just discovered it. I went to the Palace Healer after I missed my second cycle in recent months.”

The familiar sound of leather rubbing against sharpened metal echoes through the air — a telltale sign that he was processing what had been revealed — as you begin to fiddle, once more, with the brush you hadn’t needed since the conversation had commenced.

“And the Healer?” He hedges out the question, hesitation clear in his tone. “She won’t divulge anything to the Queen?”

“No, I made sure of that. The only way Daenerys will find out I’m pregnant is from my own lips and no one else’s.”

There’s a brief moment of silence. “Why tell me, Your Grace?”

Twisting around, so you’re finally staring face-to-face with your closest companion, you can’t help the small, albeit genuine, twist of your lips as you smiled at him. “Because you’re my closest friend, Grey Worm.” You wave a hand in the air, even as a melancholic twinge echoes within your heart. “Dany always had Missandei and I always had you.”

“And you still do,” he intones, clearly fighting through the wave of emotions that her name still invokes within him. “You always will, Your Highness. For as long as I shall live and be able to raise my weapon to the sky in your honor.”

You’re touched by the fierceness within his tone — not doubting, for even a second, the sincerity behind his words; Grey Worm would always protect you, would always be there — but the knowledge of what the upcoming days would bring, causes you to lean back against your vanity with a heavy sigh.

“I just don’t know how I’m going to break the news, Grey.” Running a frazzled hand through your hair, Grey Worm simply observes as you sort out the various thoughts whirling in your head. “The Summit is commencing in five days, the guests will be arriving in two, and you know how Daenerys has been planning this for months.” Your eyes raise to meet stoic brown. “I can’t have her know I’m pregnant until after.”

He tilts his head. “I would assume the Queen would be ecstatic to learn the news, Your Grace.”

“She would be,” you state, confident in that knowledge at least. “But, I can’t have that be what she’d focus on this week. Even if she’d pretend to be business as usual, we both know how Daenerys gets when even the slightest chance of my safety is in question. How do you think she’d react or behave, with all these unknowns arriving in King’s Landing, if she knew I’m with child?”

Grey Worm doesn’t respond, he didn’t have to, not when the last time your life had seemed to be in peril was still so fresh within both of your minds. You had been ambushed returning to the Red Keep after a day in the city, a couple of vagabonds testing their luck against Valyrian and Dothraki blades, it had ended quickly, but your darling wife had not taken the news of no major injuries lightly; not when things could of had a different conclusion. Daenerys had been on a warpath for weeks, refusing to let any stone go unturned, until everyone she deemed responsible for such a fuck up was punished accordingly; whether that be the genial blacksmith that had sold them their weapons, the proprietors of the tavern the vagabonds frequented and loudly discussed their plans, or the guardsmen themselves that hadn’t realized there was a threat before it was almost too late.

“She can’t know,” you stress. “Not when this Summit means so much to her.”

There’s a beat of silence, wherein your closest companion simply observes you, taking note of what feelings must have been flickering within your gaze, before he inclined his head, an imperceptible motion that only the people who knew him would be able to pick up.

“What will you have me do?”

“I wish for you to stay close, my love.”

It wasn’t a request, nor a question, by the steely undercurrent that lay within her tone, the diplomatic smile on her lips causing her eyes to strain with the force of keeping her emotions in check. You could tell that Daenerys had begun to tire of playing host to all the nobles, both of major and minor houses, that Westeros seemed so proud to boast. However, the end result of what this Summit could potentially do, collecting all of the major players within the Seven Kingdoms to witness the power that is House Targaryen, meant that she was allowing herself to be docile for the moment.

At least until the single House that caused her hackles to rise appeared.

House Stark moved as a singular unit, bringing truth to the old adage that its members were like a wolf pack, but the lone man leading met your gaze solidly with his own steely brown. An action that didn’t go unnoticed by Daenerys, nor the guard standing mere feet behind you both, and you could practically feel the air thicken with growing tension. Something that would have caused Daenerys to take up arms if she knew of the life I’m now carrying.

“Your Majesties.” A familiar gravelly voice greets, his head inclining to the both of you. “It’s a pleasure for House Stark to be invited back to King’s Landing.”

His sentiment was clearly not shared with the two women behind him — the shorter of the two looking like she was about stab someone and the taller one’s lips twisting in bitter distaste — but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Warden Snow,” Daenerys greets in return, her smile now almost looking like she was baring her teeth in warning; a sign of dominance that any wolf would know to back away from, unless it was a fight they were after. “I welcome you to the Summit with open arms. I do hope that the amenities within the Keep will be enough to sate you during the duration of your stay.” Violet eyes flicker to icy blue just behind him. “If there’s something you need, you’re more than free to find an attendant that will help you with any issue you may have.”

You stifle the urge to curse under your breath at Daenerys’ veiled insult. It was no secret that House Stark, namely the red-headed she wolf, was at odds with House Targaryen; ever since Daenerys had blatantly told them that the North would not be gaining any form of independence, siting there was no justification for it, as Daenerys had barely gained anything from the short alliance they had brokered during the Long Night. Nor did the North have anything to truly offer since The Wall fell.

It’s an argument that still caused an icy frigidity from members of House Stark now — one that Daenerys didn’t deign important enough to deal with at the present moment, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t ever watchful for what the scheming mutts could be cooking up in order to gain a modicum amount of power for their insipid region — which is why, due to their close proximity, you could feel the steady presence of Grey Worm at your back, his rigid posture even more tense than usual due to the news that only he, and the Palace Healer, were privy to. His close proximity is something you’re sure Daenerys has taken note of, if her varying glances throughout the night were anything to go by, but she was constantly pulled in different directions before she was able to speak the words that clearly wished to escape.

Although aware of your close relationship to the Captain of her Queensguard, she was also aware of Grey Worm’s unfaltering fealty to her and how he would never cross a line that Daenerys had drawn in the sand the moment she had claimed you as her own; you were off limits. The only time anyone should ever enter your personal space, barring her and your handmaidens, and even they had a tight leash to tread with, was if they were pushing you out of the way of immediate danger.

You had told Grey that his proximity would be a red flag to your wife, but his protective instincts seemed to not care as he stared impassively at the three individuals at the bottom of the dais you were standing upon.

Knowing that this could only go one way, if the looks that were being exchanged between Daenerys and the youngest Stark were anything to go by, you step forward, placing a gentle hand to the small of your wife’s back. “I believe it’s time to give your speech, Dany,” you murmur. “And we both know you don’t want to keep this crowd waiting.”

While Daenerys doesn’t turn to face you fully, you’re well aware that you have her attention, her body leaning against the palm of your hand, the simple touch soothing the roaring fire that might have been into a gentle flame.

“You’re right, ñuha perzys.” A gloved hand ghosts across your hip, but Daenerys keeps her gaze resolutely forward. “I’m afraid I must cut this rather delightful exchange short. It’s about the time that I should be addressing the room.” Violet eyes glint sharply. “Wouldn’t wish for anyone to think I favor House Stark.”

Crisis averted, you think, observing the whispered conversation between the three as they left to find their seats. For now.

A soft touch to your cheek causes you to almost jump out of your skin, the sight Daenerys’ concerned expression doing little to sate the racing of your heart. “Are you well, dearest?” Worry colors her tone, eyes flashing with a protective fire. “You’ve seemed preoccupied all night.”

“I’m fine, Dany.” You cradle the hand that’s currently still doing the same to your cheek. “It’s just been a long day. I’m anticipating when it’ll all be over and I’ll get to be alone with you.”

You could tell that your wife felt the same, but something still lurked in violet depths that you adored so much. Something that made you want to curse once more — sometimes you hated how perceptive your wife was, even if the knowledge that she observed you to the point that she could pick apart the very foundations of your moods set you alight with adoration, you couldn’t help but wish that Daenerys would let this slide.

“I’m anticipating the same,” Daenerys replies, stepping back to offer you her arm; a gesture that you accept instantly. “But, for now, we must be the royals that Westeros demands us to be.”

Keeping your gaze locked with the seat that’d be your home for the next few hours, you completely miss the look Daenerys sends Grey Worm as he diligently follows behind you, never missing a step, remaining your ever loyal shadow, and the way her arm tightens around yours that much more because of it.

“I truly don’t know why I haven’t killed them yet,” Daenerys mutters, running gentle fingers through the tangled locks of your hair. Violet eyes staring up at the ceiling of your shared bedchamber. “It’d be so easy then I could simply appoint a new Warden of the North that wouldn’t annoy me so.”

Huffing out a laugh, you rest your chin on Daenerys’ clavicle, staring at her with soft eyes, despite the topic at hand, and press a light kiss to the patch of the skin that was easily available. It was later, hours after the dinner had ended, with the moon hanging high in the sky, but, despite the weight of the day bearing down upon your shoulders, you couldn’t help but feel like you were floating; here, in this bed, with your darling dragon, tangled naked in the rumpled sheets of your marital bed.

“Because you don’t wish to deal with the hassle such an action will cause, beloved,” you reply, knowing that Daenerys would appreciate your insight. “You’ve already dealt with two wars in this infernal landscape as it is. There’s no reason to fight another so soon. Not so early into your reign.”

Tendrils of your hair curl around pale fingers, a soft look etched upon her face; an expression that Daenerys only leveled at you and Drogon. “So much knowledge hidden behind such a beautiful face.” She strokes your cheek, love speaking through every action and echoed in the look upon your own face. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, which is exactly why I wish to deal with those blasted mutts.” Her arm tightens around your naked form. “I don’t trust them, and I know they don’t trust me, nor do I think they’ll just let things go. They have a personal vendetta against me and I fear they’ll use you to rectify it.”

You nuzzle closer, comforted by your Khaleesi’s sweet scent. “We don’t know what the future may bring.” Some more than others. “But, I have hope that I’ll be protected.”

What was meant as a soothing gesture, an affirmation that Daenerys would always be able to keep you safe, seemed to have the complete opposite effect. Her pliable body going stiff against your own, hand halting its comforting movement, a sharpness entering her gaze.

“Dany?” You question, rising up onto your forearms to peer down at her. The silence settling over you like a thick blanket, a brooding entity that meant she was deep in thought, an elegant brow furrowed as she tried to corral her rampant thoughts. “What’s the matter?”

Finally, after another beat of tense silence, her eyes slip to meet your own. “Do you feel that confident with your security detail, ñuha perzys?”

“Yes?” Not understanding where this line of questioning was coming from you couldn’t help the slight lilt at the end of your answer. “Of course, I do.”

A stormy look falls across your wife’s face. “Really?” She straightens to lean against her pillow, now peering down at you. “You feel so confident when those very people almost got you killed by random mercenaries? I find that hard to believe.”

“I thought we went over this when it happened, Dany,” you sigh, finally sitting up to be on a more level field. Knowing now that you weren’t going to go back to snuggling anytime soon. “The two responsible for the oversight were dealt with, by your own hand if you recall, and the rest have more than made up for it. They won’t fail me or you again.”

“It was dealt with so swiftly due to my Captain straightening it out,” Daenerys snipes, arms crossed over her naked chest, the thin sheet having fallen around her hips sometime ago. “I don’t even want to imagine what those fools would have done without him.”

A small smile curls your lips. “Yes,” you agree. “Grey Worm did an excellent job at handling the situation. I’m thankful for his help and continued support.”

Your wife’s cheek twitches due to force in which she’s clenching her jaw, a sight that causes worry to bubble within your chest. Something had obviously set her off, but you couldn’t, for the life of you, figure it out. Leaning forward, you gently take Daenerys’ hand, releasing her white-knuckled grip on the sheet, and cradle it.

“But,” you continue, ensuring you maintained eye contact. “If it wasn’t for you, my darling dragon, I know that I would have been lost long ago. You’ve saved me from so much, Dany. You’re my constant protector, my most treasured companion, and my loving wife. I could never ask for, nor want, anyone else by my side, and I’m so thankful that I get to call you mine.”

The tender words, coupled by the unwavering sincerity in your voice, finally causes Daenerys to slacken, violet eyes going soft as a hint of embarrassment reddens her cheeks. Slim hands soon finding their way around your waist to pull you back into her embrace, head nestled in the crook of her neck, as she seems to simply breathe you in.

“I’m sorry, darling.” Warm breath ghosts across your skin, a phantom touch that raises the fine hairs on your arms. “I think the long days, coupled with being around boastful imbeciles constantly, has muddled my mind more than I would like.” Long fingers curl underneath your chin, tilting your head back just enough so you could see the beginnings of a smile curling full lips. “Even getting to the point where I thought you were hiding something from me.” Daenerys huffs out a laugh, clearly perplexed at herself, even as you feel your blood freeze in your veins. “And do you want to know the funniest thing?”

Your tongue feels like lead in your mouth, a suddenly dry throat trying desperately to make any sort of sound. “W-What?”

“I believed Grey Worm was in on it.” Daenerys rolls her eyes, scoffing. “I couldn’t help but notice how attentive he’s been of you as of late. Always being one step behind you at all times.” Lean arms, that hide a strength few were ever privy to, flex around your body, pulling you closer. “Can you believe I thought something was going on between you?”

Laughter bubbles in your throat at the outlandish insinuation — you could never want, or ask for, anyone else — but the strain around your eyes, as you desperately tried to keep it together, was apparent, but Daenerys, lost in her own thoughts, obviously trying to come to terms with how she could come to such a conclusion, didn’t notice.

You weren’t sure if that fact was fortunate or not.

Soon Daenerys, curled protectively around you, falls asleep, after a final whispered apology, her gentle breathing a soothing melody that you have grown to adore over the years you’ve spent in her bed. Normally, you’d be quick to follow your Khaleesi into the land of dreams, but her words, the thinly veiled accusations, the quickly shifted in self-deprecating jokes, kept the lull of oblivion from claiming your mind.

The very notion that you’d ever cheat on Daenerys was laughable — something that would never cross your mind, an annoying gnat that you simply swatted away without a second glance — but the knowledge that she believed you wouldn’t keep something from her unsettled you. Of course, you knew you had good reasoning behind your decision, but it still stung all the same; feeling like you were betraying your wife somehow.

Your wife didn’t have faith in many people — the ones she used to were either dead, imprisoned, or gone from her life in some other fashion — which left only a small handful left: Drogon, Grey Worm, and yourself.

The Summit will be over in three days. You just have to hold out for three more days.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you force the thoughts, and the feelings they invoke, from your mind as you nuzzle closer to your wife; heart aching when she instantly brings you closer in response.

Just three more days, my love, you think, pressing closer. Three more days and then I can tell you the news that we’ve both been so desperate for. Just three more days…

It never seemed like such a large amount of time before.

Guilt, you learn, did not go well with pregnancy.

You weren’t able to be around Daenerys for long after that night — knowing what you did and what you were keeping from her — which was something that could easily be explained due to how hectic the daily life usually was in King’s Landing; now multiplied even further due to the Summit. Feigning different duties around the castle was simple, even if you missed your wife terribly during the long hours apart, that ache was easier to handle then the one that erupted every time you looked into her soft gaze.

The guilt, coupled with your own growing symptoms of your condition, caused your stomach to twist constantly, ensuring that you spent a large portion of the day keeled over a bucket with Grey Worm standing watch.

Of course, after the first day, when you only greeted Daenerys with a fleeting kiss to the cheek, and an airy greeting mixed soon after with a brief farewell, your wife began to grow concerned, her gaze often seeking you out within the crowded room of nobles and dignitaries. Uncaring of anyone that may be trying to talk to her, her attention focused solely on you alone, something you wouldn’t normally mind, except for the simple fact that you’d sing like a canary if she leveled you with inquisitive look one more time.

You hadn’t come this far to mess up on the last day of the Summit; the final meeting being hosted in the Dragon Pit, recently reconstructed to an echo of its former glory. Although your darling son refused to even grace the structure with his presence unless it was to deliver you and Daenerys.

“Are you feeling well, Your Grace?” The familiar presence settled a half-step behind you, his accented voice a relief over the miasma of varying conversations that were occurring as people prepared to head over to the Dragon Pit. “Do you require anything?”

“No,” you reply, side-stepping an obviously over encumbered stable hand, as you spot the hulking obsidian mass that was Drogon; the people unfortunate enough to have left their things where he decided to land were scuttling around him like frantic ants, his own expression one of boredom if it was ever possible for a reptilian face to showcase such an emotion. “I’ll be fine for now. Thank you, Grey.”

At the sound of your approaching voice, Drogon swings his head in your direction, crimson eyes lighting up in recognition, as a gentle croon rumbles from deep within his chest. The people around him pause their activities, afraid that he may lunge any second, but your son didn’t pay them any mind. Instead, he lowered his head to give you easy access to scratch the underside of his chin, pebbled scales warm against your cool fingers.

“I’ve missed you too.” You smooth your hand out against his jaw, an adoring smile on your face. “Need to make sure that I carve out more time to see you in the future.”

You can’t even begin to imagine how lonely he must feel — what was once three was now only one — if the ache in your chest was anything to go by it must be difficult; something you didn’t wish for your son to go through alone.

A son, you quickly notice, that was now pressing his snout against your stomach, a low rumble sounding from deep within his throat, not unlike the croon he released earlier, but this, coupled with the protective glint in his fiery gaze, made you understand, with perfect clarity, that Drogon knew. That he had no doubt about the life you were now carrying.

“I know that you and your mama have this special connection,” you whisper, scratching his jaw. “Like the one that I shared with Viserion, but you can’t give her any hints about what you’ve discovered.” Crimson eyes flicker in understanding, his intelligence shining through. “Do you think you’ll be able to hold your protective instincts back for the day, Drogon?”

You knew, even as you asked, that it would be like asking Daenerys the same exact thing. Something that causes your stomach to twist once more. You could play off Grey Worm’s presence and increased vigilance, as he had been appointed to your guard until competent ones were found, but Drogon? Your wife would instantly be able to tell that something was happening, and it probably wouldn’t take her any time at all to discover what it was.

Which meant that you wouldn’t be able to fly with Daenerys to the Dragon Pit; something you had been looking forward to as it’d give you a chance to be with your wife, soaring over the city she had claimed, and may cause the growing suspicion to die within her gaze.

“Ready to go, ñuha perzys?” Daenerys’ lovely voice causes you to startle, wide eyes meeting her questioning one. “I believe we’ll be able to do a few laps around King’s Landing before the first people arrive at the Dragon Pit.” A charming smile catches your wife’s lips. “Giving us a chance to spend time with one another. I’ve missed you the last few days.”

The genuine statement causes your heart to twist, your stomach lurching, but you maintain your smile, hoping that you didn’t look as faint as you felt. “I was actually thinking of taking Nox.” You gesture to the dark stallion, his large stature easily seen over the fences of his stable. “Grey Worm has been meaning to show me something, and it’s on the way to the Dragon Pit, so I thought I’d just do both at once.”

While the genial smile doesn’t fall from Daenerys’ lips, the fire behind her eyes grows with intensity until it’s almost scalding across your skin. “Grey Worm?” At the mention of his name from his Queen’s mouth, the aforementioned man steps from his place in the shadows. Forever dutiful, even if it meant walking straight into the gaping maw of a dragon. “You wish to go with Grey Worm instead of me?”

Any other time the incredulous tone within your wife’s voice, causing it to turn almost shrill, would have made you chuckle, but you could see the darkness that was beginning to become apparent — one that had a propensity to turn lethal if it wasn’t dealt with appropriately — and you wanted nothing more than to chase those shadows away; to bring your wife back into the light.

Just a few more hours, you try to soothe yourself. Just a few more hours and this will all be behind you. You’ll be able to tell Dany and everything will right itself.

“Yes,” you reply, maintaining an air of obliviousness in hopes that Daenerys wouldn’t press the issue further. “Besides, I’ve been meaning to let Nox stretch his legs for some time now. You know how Dothraki horses can be, Dany. They’ll only get more irritable the longer they’re cooped up.”

Violet eyes shift from you, to Grey Worm, all the way to the aforementioned stallion across the courtyard, until they land back on you; the expression on her face made you glad that this would be the last day of the Summit, because you know that Daenerys was at the end of her patience, that she wouldn’t let you get away with this one. For now, as the sounds of various voices finally broke in through the haze of everything untold, and Daenerys allows herself to shift back into her queenly stature.

Even though, you knew, that it’d only take one more thing for the bow to break, and then nothing would keep her from finding the answers she’s seeking.

“Very well.” Her tone clipped, detached in a way that stings your heart, Daenerys easily mounts Drogon and stares down at you. “I hope that your journey to the Dragon Pit is fruitful, but do be prepared for the discussions that’ll take place once we return to the Keep.”

And, with those parting words, and one last gentle nudge from Drogon, Daenerys is in the air, soaring higher into the sky until she breaches the clouds. You wish, more than anything, you were with her and your son, but you know that this was the right course of action. Even if it felt like it was the absolute worst.

Grey Worm settles beside you. “I wasn’t aware there would be more talks after the meeting held at the Dragon Pit.”

“There isn’t.” Your stomach twists, meeting concerned brown eyes with a grim expression. “That was a direct summons for me, and only me, by my darling wife.”

The heavy doors of your bedchamber close with a sharp bang behind you, a sound that almost causes you to flinch if it wasn’t for the woman watching you from across the room garnering all of your attention instantly. Daenerys had already changed out of her court attire — wearing a simple dress instead of the black ensemble she had been wearing, the very one she had worn upon conquering King’s Landing — but she looked anything but relaxed.

“You’ve been avoiding me, dearest.” It’s not a question, simply a statement of fact, as Daenerys stalks towards you. “And I’ve been trying to figure out why. Why would my darling wife not wish to be in my presence? Why would my most cherished companion not wish to see me?” She’s closer now, close enough for you to see the rage that’s beginning to build in her slim form. “And do you know what I uncovered? The only possible reason I could come up with?”

You’re not going to like this. “What?”

“Guilt,” Daenerys snarls, lips pulling into a sneer. It’s clear she was trying to rein herself in, that her famous temper wished to unleash itself, but, even now, when she was at her breaking point, she’d never wish to turn it on you. Something that both breaks and reassembled your heart. “You’re guilty about something. To the point that you practically reek with it now. Of course, I truly don’t know what you could feel guilty about, until I remembered the conversation we had a few nights ago.”

Oh no…

She’s pacing in front of you now, a short line that doesn’t take her too far from you, but gave enough room to excise some of the energy bubbling within her. “A conversation wherein I explicitly told you that I believed you and Grey Worm were hiding something from me. Where you told me that I didn’t have to worry.” The sharpness in her tone, the accusation within her eyes, were like physical blows. “So, I truly don’t know what to believe. Should I believe my wife, who’s been pulling away from me, or should I believe my gut instinct and deal with the problem immediately?”

Your eyes snap to look at Daenerys, horror-stricken. “Deal with the problem? What in the Seven Hells do you mean by the that, Daenerys?” Stepping closer to your wife, when she doesn’t answer immediately, you can’t help the desperate lilt from entering your voice. “What have you done to Grey Worm? Did you do something to him? Answer me!”

“Begging for your lovers life already?” Anger twists her face, shrouding the deep love you know she has for you. “I haven’t done anything, but make no mistake that it means I won’t. I’m going to make that man remember that when you swear fealty to House Targaryen it’s for life, and there isn’t any room for dissenters.”

Lover?

An even more horrific realization strikes you like an arrow to the chest.

“You think he’s my lover?” Barring the complications that would already bring due to the environment Grey was raised in, you couldn’t even begin to comprehend him in that manner. Nor could you ever imagine wanting anyone else beside your wife. “No, Dany, no.”

Sighing, you run a hand through your hair and move to settle on the end of your bed. This wasn’t how you wanted to tell her — over a nice dinner, after a nice ride on Drogon, or simply curled up together in this very bed — but you had created this situation and now you had to go with where it’s led you. Looking up, taking note that Daenerys had trailed after you, a gentle smile curls your lips and you beckon your wife closer.

“Grey Worm isn’t my lover, Dany. Nor will he ever be. I know that things have been tense these last few days, but I never wish for you to think that I’d ever be unfaithful to you.” Taking her hand, you tug her pliant body closer, even if you could still see the tension within the rigidity of her shoulders. “You are, and will forever be, my first, my last, and my always.” You place a tender kiss to her clothed abdomen, leaning into her comforting warmth. “Why would I ever want anyone else when I have my Khaleesi?”

Slender fingers run through your hair, the familiar motion allowing your eyes to slip shut contentment. “Then what has been going on, ñuha perzys? You haven’t been yourself and I still have half a mind to take Grey Worm to the dungeons to get him to answer me.”

Looking up, resting your chin on her abdomen, you peer into the violet gaze that you adore. “You’re not going to do anything to Grey Worm, Daenerys. He hasn’t done anything except be a good friend to me and faithfully serve me to the best of his ability.” Standing up, you easily maneuver Daenerys to settle in the position you had just been in, now looking down at your beautiful wife. “Which is something you’ve desperately wanted for me, if I recall.”

“Not if it means that I’m kept in the dark about you.”

The petulant pout causes a tender expression to fall across your features, love and adoration sparking within your heart, as you look at the woman that could turn the world to ash in an instant melting into your gentle touch. And, in that moment, you knew it was time.

So, without preamble, you take one of her hands and gently place it on your abdomen in return. “I didn’t wish to tell you until the Summit was over because it was too important to screw up, and I’m well aware how you get when my health is involved.” Your fingers ghost across her sharp jawline, watching as the beginning of her understanding begins to spark within her gaze. “Add our unborn child’s health too? The Summit would have ended like a Dothraki Wedding if you had your way, and I couldn’t let that happen.”

There’s a beat of silence wherein Daenerys digests the news, a multitude of emotions flickering across her face, before complete and utter jubilation takes its prominent spot.

“You’re pregnant?” Her hand presses gently against the spot you had placed it, wanting to get closer to the life that lay within. “We’re going to be parents?”

You grin. “We’re having a baby, Dany.”

Before you know it, you’re wrapped in the tightest embrace Daenerys had ever given you, happy tears staining the skin of your neck as she nuzzles closer. You’re well aware that she was going to have a talk with you about your secrecy at a later date, especially given the fact that Grey Worm knew before her, but, for now, she was content in simply holding you in her arms, the both of you sharing in the happiness the moment brought.

“Drogon won’t be alone anymore.” Violet eyes look down at your abdomen with utmost affection. “He’ll finally have a sibling again.”

You press your forehead against hers. “The dragons will be returning to Westeros, my Khaleesi, and the skies will once again be filled with dragon song.”

“And everyone will know the power of House Targaryen.”

“Yes,” you murmur, pressing your lips to hers in a chaste embrace. “As well as the woman who leads them.”

“The women,” Daenerys gently corrects. “For I’d still be lost if I didn’t have my darling Queen by my side.”

“And I’d never know that I was cold without the gentle flame of your love keeping me warm.” You lean into her touch, pressing your bodies firmly together. “You brought me to life, Dany, and I’ll never take the love you’ve given me for granted.”

Daenerys smiles. “Together we will bring back what has been stolen from my family, we will right the wrongs that have plagued this land, and we’ll ensure that our children will be able to reap the benefits once we’re done.” She smooths her hand across your abdomen. “Even if it means Fire and Blood will be paid in penance to make it happen.”

“Together.”

For one couldn’t be without the other — the Khaleesi and her Queen — as it always should be.

[invincibledc]

Demetrius felt the intensity ignite within him as he gnawed on his lower lip, unwavering in his attempt to ignore a certain Wayne, the very person who had captured both his attention and heart.

Y/N Wayne was Damian’s twin sibling—a reckless choice, no doubt.

Damian had made it abundantly clear to both Jon and Demetrius that if either of them dared to date his precious twin, he would consider them a dead man. And right now, Demetrius was walking a perilous line as he attempted to subtly steal glances at you, who kept looking back.

This was a challenge—an undeniable struggle—especially with Damian's watchful gaze locked onto him from across the dinner table. He had to be aware of the tension brewing; surely he had to know. Demetrius couldn’t shake the feeling that he was in deep trouble.

Later that night, irresistible chemistry ignited, leading him to kiss you with a fervor that was all-consuming. It was as if you held him on a leash, and it was astonishing how quickly a guy like him surrendered to your touch.

[sonotpattismith]

let him make a woman out of me

pairing: martial arts!sukuna x preacher's daughter!reader word count: 13.5k content: angst, religious themes, religious trauma, low-key sacrilegious at points, implied sexual harassment/abuse, mentions of miscarriage, smut, 18+ a/n: this was just supposed to be a self-defense trainer sukuna fic, but I was listening to Ethel Cain and my religious trauma jumped out idk what happened SORRY- also thank you to @yoyoheart for the inspo :')

You had never been sure who’s wrath you feared more: your father’s, God’s, or the world that both of the aforementioned possibilities sheltered you from. Perhaps they were all one in the same, as your father lived to enforce his own version of God’s will, and the world of the small community surrounding you bent to their every whim. 

Of course, you had never been so naive as to believe there wasn’t a whole other world beyond the confines of your father’s commandments and God’s watchful eye, even though you had never seen it— a faith you had learned from the very Bible that shackled your mind— believing without seeing, the presence of the other world lingered all around without your needing to touch it to acknowledge the fact. 

None of these things though could have prepared you for the trials and temptations ahead of you; not your father’s scorn, not God’s promises, and certainly not the world that had kept you barred for so long— because you never knew this was what all these things were hiding from you.

Nothing could have prepared you for Sukuna. 

Here you were though, staring up at the martial arts gym in the middle of a city you had never known, with hopes that it would help bring you that much closer to feeling confident in the world you were always a fingertips brush away from. Second doubts were creeping into your muddled mind though, because the man emerging from the back of the gym at the sound of the front door jingling with your arrival was monstrous, unlike anything you’d ever seen before, but everything you imagined Lucifer’s deceptive beauty to be. 

He was tall, ducking his head ever-so-slightly through the archway as he took a long swig from his water jug. Even the way his long finger’s wrapped around the plastic appeared perilous, the flimsy material bending under what looked like it was supposed to be a casual grip. Tugging the wire from one of his headphones down, he raised a brow at your timid stance while leaning his hands on the front counter. 

“You my six o’clock self-defence beginner?” His question rang in your ears, making your heart pound violently against your chest. 

This was supposed to be who would be training you? He looked like the very people you were hoping to learn how to defend yourself against, what with the menacing marks that littered his otherwise captivating face. He reminded you of what the scripture had said about how even Lucifer masqueraded as an angel of light. 

“Oh, um…” Your gaze flickered, taking note of the way the sleeves of his compression shirt strained pitifully against the swell of his biceps. This man could kill you with a flick of his wrist should you make a wrong move. Twisting your fingers into the hem of your hoodie, you mustered the courage to respond to him as his brows rose in an exasperated go on expression. “You’re the… martial arts trainer?”

“There a problem with that?” The subtle edge in his tone had your breath hitching, every doubt that you were sure you had buried when you left your hometown flooding back to you. 

“No! I just…” Your anxious voice trailed, and the silence in the modestly sized gym had a premature sweat breaking out onto your neck— you were alone with this man. “Is there maybe a um… female trainer?”

His face remained intimidatingly neutral for a few seconds before the slightest of amused smirks broke the sudden tension. Pushing off the counter, he trailed around to the front, a motion that had you inching back in a manner you could only hope was subtle. Instead of stopping in front of you though, he moved past you and toward the front door. You watched with furrowed brows as he pushed it ajar before shoving the door stopper between it and the frame. 

“Look princess— this is my gym.” He explained with a resigned sigh. 

For a moment, Sukuna had contemplated rolling his eyes at your request. It wasn’t that he was offended— no, he was far too accustomed to the intimidated stares and shuffles away from his vicinity. Still, irritation was a state of second nature to him, built up over years of needing to put up with the aggravatingly shallow individuals that had plagued his life since he was a teenager and first sprouted both in size and fear factor. 

Taking a better look at you though, he had to remind himself of how he came off most times. Your comparably small frame was swallowed up by his shadow, and by the way your wide, dewy eyes darted about the gym, it told him that perhaps he needed to tone it down a notch. After all, you were a kind-looking girl all by herself in a gym with a six foot something bodybuilder who couldn’t understand it when people told him he had a perpetually murderous look in his eyes. 

Standing up once the door was successfully propped open, he made his way back over to you as you tried to conceal your shell-shocked expression. Meanwhile, the assessing glint in his ruby eyes as he dragged his gaze up and down your tense figure did nothing to ease your nerves. 

“So, no, I’m the only trainer here.” He finally continued before meeting your eyes once again. “What are you here for?”

“Um… what am I here for?”

“Why are you taking these lessons?”

 You blinked apprehensively up at him as memories of your life leading you all the way here to this stranger’s gaze flooded your mind. Gulping down the lump in your throat, you tried to straighten your posture in an attempt to appear more confident than you actually felt. 

“I want to protect myself.”

He nodded firmly at your answer, leaning his elbow against the counter. 

“And do you think anyone fucks with me?” He fought back an amused smirk watching you flinch back at his crass words. It made him wonder what the fuck you were doing here, as it was becoming abundantly clear that you were likely heavily sheltered. In his experience, girls like you always had some helicopter parents doing all the protecting for them, even at their grown ages. Your lips twitched nervously as your eyes continued to flutter up at him. “Hm?”

“No— no, I don’t think anyone… bothers you.”

“And why not?” At this point, you were almost sure he just enjoyed seeing you sweat as he continued to press with a mocking tilt of his head. Sensing your apprehension, he nodded encouragingly. “Go on, I’m a big boy— I can take it.”

“Well, you’re— y’know, tall and… big.” You weren’t sure what other term to use without flat out calling him scary, but he seemed to have understood you anyway— much to your relief. 

“So, you’re telling me you’d rather have some pipsqueak trying to teach you how to kick someone’s ass?” 

“Oh… well I guess that—”

“Oh—” The pink haired man mocked before pushing off the counter to head toward the center of the mat that was covering the majority of the gym. “Get your ass over here, we’re already running behind.”

Despite the nerves still taking hold of every inch of you, you quickly sprang into action at his command. Setting your bag down by the counter, you gave one last hesitant glance his way before tugging down the zipper of your jacket. Shrugging it off your shoulders, you were left in your long-sleeve top that, despite covering nearly every inch of you, made you feel unnecessarily exposed in his presence. You tugged at it in hopes it would stretch into a less form-fitting material as you walked to stand before him. 

“Take that off.” 

“W-What?” You stammered out, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. He jutted his chin toward you. 

“Your necklace— if it gets caught on something while training it’ll fuck up your neck. Don’t wear jewelry when you come here.”

Your fingers slowly creeped up to curl around the cross that dangled from the dainty chain around your neck. It was the one your father had gifted you after your first Communion so many years ago, and it hadn’t left your body since. With a small nod, you reached up to unhook the chain. Your fingers trembled though, slipping and sliding the hook out of your grasp as your face began to heat in embarrassment. 

“Sorry.” You attempted a nonchalant smile, but it appeared more like a grimace as you continued to struggle with the clasp. 

Sukuna watched you silently, the way your eyes wouldn’t meet his, the guilt that swam behind them as you fought to maintain your composure long enough to do what he’d asked of you. 

He had been teaching self-defence lessons for a few years now— not as long as he’d been involved in martial arts, but long enough to recognize certain cues and quirks in the people that passed through his gym. It had begun out of irritation, all the kids being brought into a martial arts class by their parents because they were getting bullied, all the women fearing the rising crime rates in this city— weak people bothered him, they pissed him off like nothing else. 

When deciding to begin teaching individual lessons geared specifically toward self-defense, Sukuna tried to tell himself that it was because he wanted at least one less wimp walking out into the world each time he finished a class— that, and the extra income certainly didn’t hurt. It was beginning, though, to teach him harsh truths about himself and about the world he had convinced himself he hated for so long. 

It was never weak people that bothered him. No, instead he was quickly coming to the startling realization that he saw himself in each frail recruit. Of course, it was never the version of himself that he had now grown into, but the young boy who had been alienated by the world under the false pretenses of love and righteousness. Sukuna had to be reminded each day that where weak people were— the self proclaimed righteous were never far behind, and nothing infuriated him more.

In the midst of your mortified fumbling, you hadn’t noticed that he’d stepped closer to you, reaching behind you to push your hands away and nimbly unhook it himself. You peered up at him through your lashes as though too scared to meet his gaze head on as his large hand came back around to hang in front of you, dangling the cross just beside your nose. He was glowering down at you, sharp eyes seeming to assess your every breath, and, for a moment, you were sure he could see straight through you. 

“Thank you.” You mumbled sincerely, holding your palm up for him to carefully drop the necklace in the center of it. 

The towering man stepped back to allow you to place the jewelry safely into your bag before rejoining him. In the minuscule interaction, you came to the comforting resignation that he had already had the chance to use that grueling size of his to his advantage, but the only use he put to his hands thus far was to help you. 

“I’m sorry, I’m just a little nervous is all— I was being judgmental. Let’s start over.”

“No, remember that.” Sukuna insisted with a nonchalant shake of his head. He raised a splayed out hand in front of him before nodding toward it. “Punch me.” 

“Punch you?” You repeated, eyes flickering apprehensively between him and his large palm. “Aren’t you supposed to… I don’t know— put gloves on or something?”

His expression deadpanned at you, and you could practically hear that unimpressed glint in his eyes asking you— are you serious right now? The borderline exasperated look on his face actually managed to break through your nerves for the first time since you’d walked into the small gym. A horribly concealed, breathy laugh escaped you as you realized the ridiculousness of your question. It made him look away from you for a moment, fighting back a tired smile of his own that showed just how long he’d been working today. 

Quickly collecting yourself, you squared your shoulders to show him that you were ready. He nodded at you, barely adjusting his stance to prepare for whatever force your comparably small fists would deliver. His scarlet eyes observed your form as you hurled your balled up fist forward with what looked to be all the strength you could manage. You wouldn’t have the chance to see if it dealt any damage because you were quickly curling back, cradling your fist into your chest with a pained groan.

“That’s why you need to correct your form before you jump into anything else.” He explained simply, not at all phased by your pathetic attempt at a punch as he cracked his neck concerningly loud. 

“If you knew that, why didn’t you teach me that first?” You gaped in exasperation, wringing out your now throbbing knuckles. 

“Because now you’ll never forget to fix your form, huh?”

The first thing you learned about Sukuna is that, when there was an option to learn the hard way— he always took it. It didn’t matter that he was lightyears taller than you, or that the only thing you’d ever hit in your life was your pillow, or that you were a girl. In that hour that you were his student— he was going to make sure you learned. 

Despite the dull ache that remained in your hand the remaining hour as he demonstrated the proper posture to take, even down to how you should be breathing, it was exhilarating to have been taken seriously for once. His corrections, though gruff and direct, were never the condescending tone you had grown so accustomed to among the men who you grew up alongside in the church. 

They, like your father, had so many stories to tell you of the heathens that were often drawn to the city with allures of its greed and idolatry. These caricatures they’d conjure up would leave you shaken at night as you prayed to the Lord for any alternative— stuck between the fear of what may be awaiting you should you leave the safe confines of your hometown, and the isolating horror of what it may mean for you if you stayed. 

It began to make you wonder though as you placed your water bottle back into your bag and shrugged your hoodie back on. You questioned the tales you had been fed your entire life— because none of them had ever mentioned that the people in the city, who had a knack for giving into the sins of the flesh and denying the name of the Lord, would also be the first to speak to you instead of at you. Perhaps it was just Sukuna though— you wouldn’t know.

“I have you down for the same time next week.” He instructed firmly while moving to shelf the weights he’d been having you use to practice your form. “Better be practicing too— I can tell if you’re bullshitting me.” 

It had only been a little over an hour, but you had somehow felt as though you’d already grown accustomed to his intense way of speaking. Then again, there was also the possibility that it was sliding off your shoulders because he was treating you with the kind of basic human decency you hadn’t even known was possible for so long. Additionally, you took comfort in the fact that you knew what he was thinking— what with him being so terribly honest even about what pissed him off. You didn’t have to guess what atrocities might be hiding behind sickly sweet, feigned smiles and traitorously kind words.

So, you only smiled and nodded affirmatively at him as you bid him a goodnight. From behind you, he only grunted in response, casting one last look at you from over his shoulder as you left the gym, still practically bouncing with adrenaline. That exercise-induced dopamine hit only lasted so long though, because you were soon reminded of how far you’d parked your car as you stared out into the now pitch-black night surrounding you. 

Your fingers fiddled with the straps of your bag as you lifted yourself onto your tiptoes to survey all the dimly-lit alleys between yourself and your vehicle. All your skepticism about the fear-tactics you had been fed your whole life flew out the window in favor of recalling all the stories about what happened to girls like you out in these big cities. Gulping down the anxious lump in your throat, you bounced on your heels apprehensively. 

Slowly sliding back, you found yourself pulling open the door to the gym once again, where Sukuna was cleaning the space up for the night. He looked entirely absorbed in the task at hand, headphone tucked snuggly into his ears and face scrunched initimidatingly firm. It made you hesitate, but you weren’t able to concern yourself any longer about if you were being a terribly annoying inconvenience to him, because he caught your hovering form in his peripheral. 

“You forget something?” He questioned with a calculated raise of his brow. 

Chewing on your cheek, you remembered the fear that look struck in you the moment you’d seen it first— the subtle temper that seemed to be permanently lurking behind it and how his stature did nothing to comfort his observers. 

“No, um…” You pursed your lips, your blunt fingernails rapping against the door as he watched you expectantly. At the ridiculousness of your own request, you found yourself flushing.

“Spit it out.” 

 “Do you think you could walk with me?” You finally squeaked out at the sound of his impatient order. He blinked incredulously at you a few times, so you clarified. “To my car? I-I just parked kind of far and…”

Your words trailed in embarrassment as he watched the way you glanced behind you uneasily, but he knew. How could he not? He’d been doing this for far too long, after all.  

Though the man had his own, begrudgingly personal reasons for being in the line of work he was in, it always ended right when that hour was up. Knowing that he had already done all that he would have been able to in the time allotted, there was never any pull for him to try harder or dig deeper. Of course, it could also have been attributed to the fact that he’d never been one to care much for connection— not when what he had learned so early on about connection severed so many critical parts of him at such a young age. 

Still, it was the very reason his typically automatic refusal faltered. The look in your eyes was humble, flickering between him and the darkness that lay behind you. Your gaze held a vulnerability not unlike the kind he so vehemently detested— the one that had once glimmered in his own eyes. 

With a soft click of his tongue, he tugged his headphones out and shoved them into his pockets. Your lashes fluttered as his long legs began striding toward the door, and you stepped aside for him to push through it. Already a few yards ahead of you, Sukuna paused and swiveled his head around to see that you were still at the door.

“You coming, brat? Or do you need to be carried too?” Despite his taunting words, his tone didn’t hold the malice he intended it to, and you knew it too. With a soft, wobbly smile of appreciation, you quickly fell into step beside him, nodding in the direction of your car. 

It was silent as you two walked beside one another, the only noises permeating the peace being the thuds of your feet against the concrete and the jingling of his keys deep in his pockets where he had shoved his hands. Sukuna’s crimson eyes regarded you discreetly from his peripheral, noting the way you walked as though the ground might give out on you at any second. It was becoming clearer to him by the second that you were new to being out in the world on your own— at least that’s what your shifting eyes and tense shoulders told him as the rowdy conversation of a group of men grew closer with each step of your trek. 

Even through your attempted subtlety, he picked up with a sharp precision the way you inched ever-so-slightly closer to him at the sudden intrusion. Casting his eyes to the side, his fist clenched twice in contemplation before he pulled it from his pocket and rested a guiding hand on the nape of your neck as you two passed the group in what he hoped would be a message to chill the fuck out.

The motion stung at your nervous system for a moment before you felt his fingers tighten as the two of you brushed against the men on your route. The protectiveness that came like a second nature to him spread a subtle warmth through your chest, one you were sure to stomp out before you let it fester anymore. Now a safe distance from what sounded to be a drunken group, his grip on your neck eased up. Clicking his jaw, he felt a sense of relief for a fear that wasn’t his to shoulder as he wondered what would have happened had you not come back for him.

The worn down car beeped a few feet away from you as you clicked at the key, and Sukuna’s hand slowly fell from your neck. 

“Thank you.” Your tone was overly sincere for an action as miniscule as walking you to your car, but it only added to the growing, twisting sensation in his gut that said something was off about the look in your eyes. Despite this, you smiled up at him, far more assured than the tense one you had given him when you still feared him. 

“Yeah, whatever,” He muttered, shoving his hands back into his pockets as you tugged open your door and settled in. Finally taking the chance to glance over you again, the man leaned his hand against the dingy vehicle. “Don’t park so fucking far next time. There’s a lot behind the gym.”

In the growling irritation that laced his tone, you were still able to detect that he was trying to help you— even if he wanted it to seem like you were deeply inconveniencing him. Still, you didn’t want to take advantage of his kindness, so you nodded ardently. 

“Behind the gym, got it.” 

His lips twitched up softly at your sincerely affirmative tone, but he made sure to turn his face away before you could see it. 

“Not everyone’s out to get you.” Sukuna grumbled as you clicked your seatbelt on. Perhaps he was jumping the gun with his assumptions, but he had a sneaking suspicion about the way you view the world around you. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip at his words. “And get a can of mace, will ya? Not always gonna be around to play knight for you.”

He didn’t give you the chance to respond, closing the door firmly with his monstrous hand. Waiting until he heard the soft click of your door locking, you watched as his broad frame stalked away from your car. 

God won’t allow you to be tempted beyond what you could bear.

It was meant to provide you solace as you recalled the scripture, however it only fed your doubt the entire drive to your apartment, thoughts of how his warmth felt against your skin haunting your once steadfast beliefs. 

It was more than his sinful beauty that plagued you though— it was the wisdom he seemed to keep about the very things that terrified you. Like a gatekeeper into the depths of your naivety, Sukuna seemed so sure of his every move and belief, and, in turn, he seemed to hold that same confidence in you. It was so foreign to you to receive that confidence without the need to prove yourself first— always guiltily fragile before proven innocently competent. 

You busied yourself as best you could in the days that followed, trying to build your new apartment from the ground up and make it into some semblance of a home. It was with a haste that you came though, only a duffel bag on your shoulder and certainly no furniture to liven up the space. With the limited budget you were working with, you spent a day searching though thrift stores and garage sales for decent enough pieces that would suffice for your living space. 

With each bill you pulled from the modest wad of cash you kept hidden within a sock at the corner of your bathroom cabinet, the looming reality of being truly on your own was settling in, and you wondered who the hell would hire you with only babysitting experience. It was just another reason to curse your upbringing, never having prepared you for the real world, because in their version of it, teaching you to bring up a child was all the preparation you needed. 

You shook your head in an attempt to veer yourself away from where your thoughts would eventually take you. In your journey of self discovery, you were quickly learning that pitying yourself wouldn’t save you from the uphill battle of moving forward. 

A determined huff escaped you as you finally located the parking lot Sukuna had told you about the week prior. Though you no longer feared him in the way you had upon first meeting, it was the energy he emanated that had you needing to hype yourself up to enter the gym for your second lesson that evening. 

He was doing warm ups when the bell on the door chimed alerting your arrival, his long legs spread into a near completely horizontal line on each side of him as he leaned to the right to grasp onto his foot. His movements were almost supernaturally fluid, and it was jarring to see such precise agility coming from a man with such an imposing figure. The hem of his black, compression shirt had ridden up in the midst of his stretch, revealing the wickedly small sliver of his sculpted back. 

There was the smallest of parts between your lips as you found yourself leaning forward with each centimeter the fabric continued to crawl up. The abrupt lifting of his head snapped you from your pathetic gawking though, his scarlet eyes finding yours instantaneously. 

“What’s wrong with you?” He questioned brashly, taking note of the subtle flush in your cheeks. He twisted his torso to crack his back before standing easily from his place on the mat to gather a few gloves and weights for the lesson. 

“Oh— nothing.” You shook from your thoughts long enough to smile at him, to which he only responded with a quirk of his brow and an unconvinced grunt. 

“You practice like I told you to?” 

You nodded at him, dropping your bag carefully onto the side of the counter before moving to unzip your jacket. This time around, you had half a mind to pick a less form-fitting t-shirt lest you be forced to anxiously readjust yourself between every move. 

“I tried. I don’t really have any weights though, so…” 

That subtle vulnerability, the unnecessary embarrassment in all your explanations was driving him insane. It made him want to shake you, to scream at you to fuck the world and stop being so damn scared of everything. It’s not what he was here for though, so he pushed the timid twitching at the corners of your lips to the back of his mind and nodded for you to stand before him and demonstrate the form he had spent so long perfecting with you the week prior. 

You felt like shifting your weight under his scrutinizing gaze as it dragged from your firmly planted feet up your parted legs and to the controlled stiffness in your spine. Sukuna circled around you, akin to a predator stalking its prey— at least a helpless lamb in the jawls of a wolf was exactly how you felt at the moment. 

He hummed, placing one hand on your shoulder and the other at the center of your back to straighten your posture. Nodding to himself at the correction, he almost allowed his hands to fall when he caught sight of the deep bruise forming on your forearm. 

“The fuck happened to you?” The man questioned with a laser-like focus, lifting your injured arm to emphasize what he was inquiring about. 

When your eyes fell upon his target, that infuriatingly familiar blush coated your cheeks once again. Pulling your arm from his grasp, you traced a gentle palm over the nasty mark. 

“I was… trying to put together a coffee table.” You murmured bashfully, not lifting your gaze for fear of his reaction. 

It was silent for a moment. 

“A coffee table?” Sukuna repeated as though perhaps he’d just heard you wrong, a subtle exasperation in his tone. You only nodded. “And what, did it grow fucking arms and fight back?” 

At this, you giggled hesitantly, but his seriousness only made your laughter bubble up uncontrollably. Had he not been so perturbed at your claim, perhaps he would have found himself fighting back a smile at the sound. Quickly adjusting to fix your posture once again, you shook your head in an attempt to fight off your tickled smile. 

“No, no, I just—” You shrugged sheepishly as he stared impatiently down at you. “I’ve never had the chance to do stuff like that before, so I don’t really know how to use all the tools.”

“Right,” He responded doubtfully, still eyeing the blackening mark just above your wrist for a moment longer before he released it. “You at least get the shit standing?” 

“Well… no, but my landlord offered to come over after he got off work to help me with it.” 

This made Sukuna pause mid shoulder stretch, a volant sense of unease seeping into his chest. Slowly lowering his arms back down to his side, his cautionary gaze struck you sharply. 

“Your landlord?” He began lowly, making you nod hesitantly. “Offered to come to your house to help you build a table— at night?”

You gulped at his warning tone, the growing expression of exasperation on his face gave you pause. The disbelief in those crimson eyes suddenly made you feel sickly insecure about the decision that you were so confident would fix your little dilemma. Picking at your nails, you cast your eyes to your feet where they still sat planted firmly in the mat below you. 

“I mean, yeah. I don’t really know anyone—”

“So you were gonna let a stranger into your place by yourself?”

“You were the one that told me that not everyone was out to get me.” Your feeble attempt at a defense only made him scoff disbelievingly under his breath, hands on his hips as he looked to the side in frustration. 

“Yeah, but—” He clicked his tongue with a shake of his head, and it was clear that he was trying to reign in his temper. “I’ll teach you how to put the damn table together. Don’t let that asshole into your place, so help me god.”

You gaped at him as he moved around you to shift around the weights that he’d set out for today’s lesson with no real rhyme or reason. Sukuna only knew that if he didn’t do something to distract himself from the possibilities of what kind of scumbag you were about to let into your space, he would have barrelled out the door to find the asshole himself. 

“But—”

“But what?” His abruptly challenging tone made you flush. It wasn’t out of fear though, it was the finality in his tone that was stirring that familiar warmth in the pits of your stomach that only seemed to make its star appearances when he was nearby. 

It wasn’t his intention to come off so harshly— though it never was, that sharp tongue was simply ingrained into his bloodstream— but there was a fierce protectiveness that stirred in him that needed to guard that infuriating innocence of yours the way no one bothered to protect his. Taking note of your flushed cheeks, he released a calculatedly controlled sigh before softening his tone as best as he knew how to. 

“Quit overthinking it. I’ll show you how to do it so you don’t gotta be asking assholes to help you for stupid shit.” He grumbled, finally coming back around to stand in front of you as he nodded for you to get back into form. 

It took you a few moments, too busy staring up at him with a type of gratitude he wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of. To be fair though, he was holding out something that you too had yet to grasp at, and it was the chance of independence Sukuna was forcing into your unsuspecting hands. Your eyes shone even through the downright ugly lighting of his gym, flaring your presence throughout the space in a way the very walls were unworthy of. 

He could barely look at you as the two of you exchanged numbers after your lesson that evening, feeling for the first time in so long defenseless against what your perfectly intact soul would do to him should he continue meddling with it for too long. That fear didn’t stop him from knocking— perhaps a bit too firmly— on your door just a few days later, because if anyone was going to be blinded by whatever fucking sunshine you miraculously still kept in your pocket while living in a city like this— it sure as hell wasn’t going to be your creep of a landlord. 

“You live in a fucking shoe box.” Sukuna commented gruffly as he ducked in through your front door. 

This made you glance around the modest apartment, but your estimation couldn’t possibly be correct now that his imposing figure was taking up so much space. There was a subtle sense of your heart racing in your through at the sight of him, hair rustled and damp as though freshly showered, in his joggers and the t-shirt you had been praying would be loose enough to not showcase each rippling muscle in his abdomen. It seemed your prayers had fallen on deaf ears though— much like they seemed to have been your whole life. 

Sukuna was big, and devilishly handsome, and generous— and he was a man in your apartment unchaperoned, and you couldn’t tell if the notion scared you or excited you. It made you wonder if whatever threat Sukuna was so sure your landlord would pose to you would have been safer than the temptation this man wafted toward you with each confident step into your space. You felt small beside him, even more so here than you ever did in that gym. 

“I moved in a little bit of a hurry.” You explained with a bashful huff, finally finding the courage to shut the front door. 

Quickly falling into step behind him, you followed as he stalked toward the heap of wood on the floor of your living room. 

“Shitty roommate?” He guessed absentmindedly while squatting down to inspect the disheveled instruction manual on the floor, setting down the toolbox he’d brought with him.

“Uhhh, yeah, I guess you could say that.” You offered a forced smile as you allowed yourself to fall back onto the couch behind him. 

The pink-haired man abruptly lifted his head at the sound of the second-hand furniture creaking softly under your weight. His brows were raised into his hairline as he shook his head expectantly at you.

“Uh-uh, you better get your ass over here, Princess. I told you I’d show you how to do it, and I’m fucking showing you.” 

His sharp command had you springing into action, hopping off the couch to kneel down beside him. From so close, the scent of the musky body wash that still clung to every inch of him. Hiding your sheepishly tickled smile, you nodded affirmatively at him. He regarded your eager posture with a sidelong glance, the anticipation you held for learning how to put together a damn coffee table softening his brash expression ever so slightly. 

“What— your old man never teach you how to use a damn screwdriver?” His grumbled question, though accusatory, held more curiosity than he was willing to admit that he held for you. 

“He always said that was… man’s work.” The soft laugh you attempted didn’t conceal the regret laced in your tone, especially not from Sukuna’s keen senses. 

Your explanation had a scowl forming abruptly on his already intimidating face. That grossly outdated sentiment sounded so familiar to him, and he found himself pressing to confirm despite the way his question may reveal a part of his past he tried to bury under all his muscle and tattoos. 

“Jesus freaks?” He didn’t look at you as he made his assumption, instead focusing on laying out the tools you two would need. 

“He was— is a preacher; my dad.” 

It was all beginning to click into place— your near irrational fear of the world around you. The odd slip up in tenses wasn’t lost on him either, and it only added fuel to the fire of his building questions. 

“Preacher’s daughter, huh?” Sukuna whistled lowly in amusement. You hung your head down so your hair would curtain your face. “Surprised they let you leave the nest without a ring on your finger.”

He had been half expecting you to reciprocate his banter with that bashful defensiveness that seemed to roll off your tongue so easily, but you had fallen silent as he picked up the base of the table. Pulling his lips into a thin line, his eyes seemed to unconsciously drag down toward your neck, noting that it was still bare of the cross he’d unhooked from it weeks prior. An inexplicable guilt panged deeper at his chest with each second that passed within your silence. 

“Eh, I think it’s all bullshit, anyway.” He wanted to ease that tension he’d unknowingly placed upon your shoulder. A determined sigh escaped him as he shifted onto his knees. “Grab me one of the legs.” 

At this, you glanced up at him in surprise, lips parting gently, too thrown off by his confession to be relieved that he’d shifted the topic from your leaving home. With a fluttering gaze, you did as he asked. 

“What do you mean?”

“All that religious superiority crap— it’s all bullshit.” His reiteration only made you scoff out an uncertain laugh. A smirk tugged at his lips at your shock. “Quit blubbering and watch me. You’re doing the next one.”

“So what do you believe then?” You challenged, leaning against your hand that lay splayed out just beside his hip as you observed the way his hand curled around the grip of the power drill.

“If you’re asking me if I believe in some all knowing god or fairy or whatever the hell it is you people come up with to feel better about yourselves— then no. There ain’t no higher power, I don’t buy it.” 

The dull buzzing of the tool filled the small space separating the two of you. About a minute passed before he finished securing the respective screw, and he pulled back to assure you were still paying attention. Your eyes narrowed along with your accusatory smile. 

“You don’t really believe that.” 

“You don’t think so?” He muttered with a small smirk, nudging at your arm for you to take the power tool from him. 

Your breath hitched as his warm hand enveloped yours over the grip to press down against the two fingers you had placed over the trigger. The heat from his chest was radiating against your shoulder that had subsequently pressed right into him. Once he was sure you had grown used to the weight of the hefty tool in your grip, he slowly released your hand. 

“I think you only want to believe that.” You weren’t sure where you had found the nerve to test him in such a way, but something in the way his haughty smirk faltered subtly as you turned back to observe his reaction made you believe that there was some truth to your words. “It just sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself, is all.”

“Yeah? And what about you?” He prefaced his rebuttal by sweeping the hair from your neck, revealing the absence of your own symbol of belief. The sudden brush of his fingertips across your sensitive skin made your fingers stall against the trigger. “Never put that pretty necklace of yours back on.” 

“So?” You tried desperately to sound more confident than you felt at the moment, but the breathlessness that lingered in your tone betrayed you.

“So, maybe you’re trying to convince yourself that you still believe it, too.”

It was his fierce defensiveness over the walls he’d built around that part of him that was talking right now, stomping so carelessly over what was clearly a sensitive topic for you. No matter how much you didn’t want to hear it though, you knew he had dug deep, and you couldn’t understand how he had seen right through you. 

The guilt of your doubt was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before. Laying awake at night these days, you prayed and prayed for signs and answers, begging the Lord to tell you that what you had to do to protect yourself wouldn’t damn you. You were running though— running from the very temple you were meant to be tethered to. Would God grant you his mercy still? And if he was a merciless God, would it be so blasphemous of you to turn your cheek against him?

Your pained vulnerability reflected in your dewy eyes as they bore into his. Sukuna’s jaw ticked, taut with the type of vexation he only reserved for himself. It wasn’t his intention to wound you, only to disarm you against looking too deeply into him. If you pried too far, perhaps you would understand that he wasn’t just terribly astute. Rather, the doubt etched across your gentle features was much like a looking glass into his own past— he saw himself.

Sukuna blinked slowly at the war waging on in your mind against righteousness and safety, and he saw a young boy ostracized in the name of the Lord. He saw a boy frenzied in his turning the already frayed pages of his Bible in search of answers that would have been blurred by his tears should he have found them. In spite of all the ways his faith excommunicated him, even he couldn’t deny the way the promise of an all merciful God comforted him even as he was tearing himself away from such sentiments. 

“Don’t listen to me.” The man finally grumbled, turning from you to survey the screw you’d just secured into the table. It was a bit crooked, splitting the wood surrounding it ever so slightly, but it was secure nonetheless. “It’s good to… believe in something bigger than you. Hold onto that.”

Because God only knew how lonely it felt to have been burned so savagely that he was rendered incapable of belief, but the sting of the Father’s loving punishments always hurt much more. 

Sukuna left you that afternoon with a freshly built coffee table and more confusion than someone who seemed so sure of himself should have been able to provide. Sinking down on your couch, you eyes remained glued to the fruits of yours and his labor, your mind running over all the eye rolls of feigned annoyance he’d offer whenever you’d mess something up. None of them ever negated the subtle pride evident in the twitch of his lips every time you’d beam up at him with the hope that you’d finally gotten a technique down. 

No matter how quickly he tried to backtrack, his words only fed the ever growing mountain of doubt that had sprung up before you had even packed your first bag to leave home. It sounded personal to him, as though he was speaking from painful first-hand experience. Just a few months ago, someone so confidently spouting heresy in such a way would’ve had you running the other way, back to the safety of conformity. Now though it only seemed to draw you deeper into his contrasting orbit. 

Each lingering, crimson stare and brush of his calloused hand worked their way into perspiring dreams, accompanied by sensations of longing you weren’t sure you had ever allowed yourself to feel. Either that, or the neatly groomed, prim and proper boys of your church you had been surrounded by growing up could never come close to permeating the barrier the Lord had put up in your mind against sinful thoughts of temptation. 

Sukuna though— Sukuna was temptation incarnate. He was everything you had been warned against, and he seemed to have been pulled straight from Ezekiel, boiling over with each accusation the Lord wrought against Lucifer. He was the seal of perfection, that sharp tongue of his full of wisdom, and his flesh perfect in beauty. The signs all pointed toward deception— yet, much like a naive and longing Eve, not even the fear of damnation could hinder you from how sweet that forbidden fruit might taste against your awaiting lips. 

“Focus.” Sukuna growled as you were knocked onto your back for the third time that day. 

Though it took every ounce of courage left in you to show up for your next lesson the following week, that gnawing urge to let your fingertips brush against the fire outweighed any survival instinct you held for your poor soul. It might as well have been for not though, because you couldn’t for the life of you concentrate hard enough to brace yourself for the test attacks he continued sending your way. 

The trainer wasn’t fairing any better though. This had somehow become personal to him. Each strike he was able to land and stance he was able to dismantle struck an unanticipated irritation in his chest, because if he was able to disarm you so easily— surely someone else with less favorable intentions would be able to as well. He tried to be tougher on you, push you harder, but, in truth, it was difficult for him to focus on his own technique each time he pressed himself against you in demonstration. 

It was borderline pathetic. Sukuna had been in this field for years now, and he prided himself on the level of professionalism he always maintained with his students. Perhaps it was one of the reasons he never allowed himself to toe the barrier of professionalism and connection, because they could pant and press against him all they wanted, but it never meant anything to him— not until you. 

That type of determination in your eyes wasn’t uncommon for the women who came in for self-defense classes, but his fatal mistake was digging deeper. Now, despite the puzzle pieces still being strewn about and disorganized, he still held an ample amount of them to begin to be able to see the bigger picture. 

“I’m trying.” You huffed out in frustration, brows drawn together in subtle embarrassment as you took his outstretched hand to help you up. 

“Bullshit.” He spat out instantaneously as you stumbled up with the force of his pull.

 Shooting a palm out toward his chest to steady yourself, you tried to keep your eyes trained on anything but him. It was no use though— he had been picking up on each little lingering eye and flushed cheek of yours since last week, and it was driving him insane. 

“Shouldn’t you be teaching me how to like… I don’t know not get kidnapped?”

“Should I be?” He challenged immediately, and this time his bewitching eyes caught yours with no real intent of ever letting them go. The question was calculated— prying. Sukuna wanted to know why you were here, that much you could tell.

“Aren’t you the teacher?” You tried to reciprocate that same level of trial, but this type of banter was new to you— especially with a man. 

“Aren’t you the one paying me?” 

Sukuna’s lip curled up at the way your resolve slipped under his logic. Nonetheless, he hung his head for a moment as though collecting himself before stepping back a few paces. Once backed up sufficiently, he nodded at you. 

“Okay— new lesson. Try to escape.”

“What am I escaping?” You laughed hesitantly, looking around the small gym like a child would scope out potential hide-and-seek locations. 

At once, a wolfish grin lit up his face, casting his eyes ablaze with a dangerous glint that had you regretting asking for a change of pace in the first place. A nervous gulp forced its way down your throat.

“Me.”

No quicker than you could process his response was he lunging forward, his monstrous hand closing around your forearm in a crushing grip. You yelped in surprise as he tugged you forward. 

“C‘mon, you would’ve been in the back of the van by now, Princess.” He taunted as he watched you struggle against him. “What would you do?”

With a grunt, you tried to pull away from his hand’s demanding weight, but it only made your wrist ache with the strained effort. 

“Ground your feet again.” The man demanded, continuing to yank at your arm. “Forget your posture and your ass is getting taken.” 

It took a disciplined focus to halt your attempts to fight against him long enough to plant your socked feet into the mat once again. With the proper distance and subtle bend of your legs, it had admittedly become easier to keep yourself from falling against his firm tugs. 

“See where my thumb is?” His free hand reached up to pat at where his thumb curled around his middle finger on your forearm. “It’s the weakest part of my grip. Twist your arm out toward the weak spot instead of fighting against the strongest part.” 

With a fluttering gaze of determination, your face scrunched up as you maneuvered your arm against the Achilles heel he’d revealed to you. A triumphant laugh escaped you as your arm twisted underneath his own and subsequently broke free. There was barely an opportunity given for you to give a hop of glee, because Sukuna wasted no time lunging forward once again. The motion made you squeak in surprise, jumping into action to race across the gym, where his thundering footsteps weren’t far behind. 

“What happened to your victory dance, Princess?” The man taunted as you ducked behind the counter, knocking over your abandoned bag in the midst of your pursuit. He prowled on the other side, knees bent ever so slightly as if waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce on you. With a mocking tilt of his head, he offered you an intoxicating smirk. “What— you think a kidnapper’s gonna let you go just cause you got out once?”

“Well, I was hoping he would—” You jolted to the right as he pounced to the left as though to swoop in on you. An anxiously tickled smile tugged at your lips. “—grant me a little mercy considering I got it on my first try?”

“He was granting you mercy by giving you a head start.” 

A shriek left you as you watched him hop over the counter with ease. Adrenaline was coursing through your veins as you barely escaped his grasp, his fingertips catching against the fabric of your t-shirt. In the back of your mind, you knew you should have been taking this seriously, and your activated fight or flight response certainly was. The less disciplined part of you though— the one still riding on the high of her newfound freedom— couldn’t help but like the game of cat and mouse he had sprung upon you. 

It was something in his predatory eyes and lascvisious smile, with his canines glittering under the dim lights above you— it was almost making you want to be caught. You wanted to know what he would do, how his victory would translate against the grips of his sinful hands. 

That shuddering falter in your step as the blood rushed down your body made sure you’d find out soon though, because his arms were quickly taking advantage of your misstep, wrapping around you from behind to clutch at your wrists. You couldn’t stifle the gasp that ripped up your throat as he pressed himself against your back.

“What now, hm?” Sukuna challenged as you finally began to struggle against his grip. 

You could barely concentrate enough to hypothesize what might be the right technique to use here, because heat was bursting from his chest and soaking through your clothes like rays of the sun, and it was rendering you useless, your breathing laboring with each nudge of his chin against the crown of your head. 

“Drop your weight.” He finally offered, and it sounded as though he was expending no effort to keep you secured. 

Against his chest, he could feel each ragged expand and deflate of your ribcage as it became clear it wasn’t only him being affected by the proximity. Though his mind was telling him to hold you tighter, keep you this close just a bit longer, he wasn’t sure how long he could maintain his composure without causing a serious problem. 

With a shuddering nod, you allowed yourself to fall into his grasp, your t-shirt sliding up with the sudden movement. 

“Faster— all at once. You’re supposed to catch them by surprise, make them lose grip.” His arms quickly hoisted you back up in tandem with his barking order. “Do it again.”

You nodded deliriously at his command, nearly drunk on the scent of his body wash lingering on his perspiring skin. Doing as he said, you quickly kicked your feet out from underneath you, your weight falling limply into his arms. 

Sukuna grunted softly, and you had assumed it was from this catching your now dead weight. You were painfully unaware of how the swell of your ass had rolled against his groin on your way down, and he was fighting forces greater than demons to continue this lesson. Glancing up toward the ceiling in a desperate attempt to shift his focus, he sucked in a calculated breath. 

“Good, now wriggle out with your hips, make it impossible to keep the grip on you.” 

He regretted his instruction as soon as it left his mouth— because just as you began writhing out of his grasp, no mouth of counting back from one-hundred, or repeating multiplication tables he hadn’t thought of since middle school was able to stop all the blood remaining in his brain from rushing to his dick. 

“C’mon,” The man grunted half out of desperation for this to be over with already to maintain any sense of professionalism he could still manage. “Use your feet— kick me— get out.”

In your hazed oblivion, you did as you were told, swinging back to land a barely impactful kick to his shin. When that did nothing, you reared back once more, this time making sure your foot collided with his knee. This maneuver finally did him in, though his arms remained locked around you as his leg gave out under him.

You tumbled to the ground along with him, the air temporarily abandoning your lungs at the impact of his firm chest against your rib cage. From under you, he groaned from what you thought was the force at which he hit the ground. Unbeknownst to you though, it was the fact that you were now frantically shuffling around to apologize to him, and you had sat directly onto his growing… dilemma. 

“I’m so sorry.” You gasped out, your hands that had finally been released falling forward on either side of his head to support yourself. “Are you…”

Your breathless concern trailed off as you looked down at him to find he was already staring up at you, ruby eyes half-lidded with a certain hunger you weren’t sure you could place. Despite this, the intensity of them made an incriminating heat spread between your legs. Unlike you, Sukuna had experience in this walk of life, and he could pinpoint that look in your eyes that told him he wasn’t alone in his wandering thoughts. Still, he felt it was far from his place to make the first move— not when you’d clearly never been in such a position before. 

So, he stayed perfectly still beneath you, save for the ragged rise and fall of his chest as your hair curtained around him and enveloped him in your scent. The tips of his fingers dug into the cushioned mat beneath him. 

The tendrils of temptation swirling in his heated eyes made you realize that it was no wonder you had been so quick to believe the cautionary tales you were told about lust growing up. In all your years being raised alongside what were meant to be God’s children, his born again men, all of the lecherous gazes sent your way in the midst of sermons or while receiving the body and the blood— every last one of them held the threat of caged animals. 

God said to abstain from the passions of the flesh because they’d wage war against your soul, but the scripture failed to mention the white flags your heart would so quickly wave when met by the eyes of the right beholder. Sukuna wasn’t sin, or lewd temptation— he wasn’t the morning star that would soon capture you in his fall from grace, despite how the uncharted emotions he stirred in you led you to believe. He couldn’t possibly be all those things— not when he was staring up at you as though your poorly timed awakening was a gift you were bestowing upon him. 

The apprehension in your gaze was palpable, and, though he couldn’t be sure what his encouragement might mean, he allowed his head to tilt in the subtlest of nods at you. You hoped all the romance novels that you’d hide under the shoebox in your old bedroom hadn’t failed you as you leaned down with a timid quiver of your lips to offer your first kiss to him, one he could feel all the years of repression hidden behind. 

A baritoned hum reverberated in the back of his throat as he allowed his eyes to shut, relishing in the feeling of your exploration. The sound served to validate your reserved actions, allowing you to melt against the way his doughy lips molded against you with all the confidence of an experienced man. Your chest gradually lowered against his, the hands that had since been idle by his head instinctively sliding up to grasp at his strapping shoulders that flexed dangerously under your touch. 

It felt as though that incandescent ball of energy that had been building in your chest since the moment you first laid eyes on him was traveling up your throat, trailing a blazing heat in its wake while it spilled from your whimpering lips to find its home in him. Sukuna’s neck strained up to hungrily leverage a better angle to take whatever it was that you were willing to offer him. 

The way your hands remained ever so timid in their exploration, one remaining balanced on his shoulder as the other trailed hesitantly up his neck— it was filling him with a warmth unbeknownst to him if from the anticipation of your next move, or the burning fondness that seemed to gnaw at his stone heart each time he was reminded of the innocence that had been forced on you. Whichever it was, it had his hands finally moving from their respectful place on the ground to lace your fingers together, guiding your trembling hand up to brush against his flexing jaw and heating cheeks until the message was set in stone that you could do with him whatever you pleased.

The sudden reassurance made way for your fingers’ insatiable journey up the remainder of his face and into his pink tufts of hair. Sukuna moaned unabashedly at the sensation of your once shy grip curling into his roots, the sound sending shockwaves through your already buzzing system as he bit at your bottom lip before his tongue raced out to chase the subtle sting away. 

You arched against him, and it was then that you became painfully aware of the unfamiliar stiffness pressing against you. Though you knew that you had already crossed that strictly set moral line separating your human instinct from the parts of you that you could actually accept, it was still evident that this was completely different territory than a mere kiss. Even so, you couldn’t deny the way his concealed arousal excited you, pulling you like a magnet deeper into his allure.

The hand you had remaining on his chest curled into the fabric of his compression shirt as you pressed your hips down in a way you hoped was subtle. Of course, he could feel every breath and tremble of you though, and most definitely heard your gasp when your small shift caused him to press sinfully against your own heat. 

It wasn’t what he had expected, not with how much courage it seemed to have taken for you to give into your temptation to simply kiss him, but he was pliant beneath you. Sukuna was offering up his own body to the altar of your self-discovery— and despite all the verses he swore to erase from his mind, he could suddenly recall through his wanton haze that the Bible referred to one’s own body being offered in sacrifice as the utmost form of spiritual worship. It was far from him to agree with the very pages that tormented his youth, but as you experimentally rolled your hips against him to chase that pooling desire spreading through you, he was sure that he was a man of the Lord once again. 

Your lips parted from his, foreheads still pressed together while the barely audible, breathless moans slipped from you. He watched your expression fervently, taking note of that subtle frustration that creased between your brows in the pursuit of a relief that your clumsy ruts were insufficient to provide. Reaching up, his hands closed around your waist to adjust you over his straining length. 

“Try now.” Sukuna instructed in that husky tone of his that only made your affliction that much more damning, slipping a strand of your hair carefully behind your ear to get a better look at you.

Ever the obedient student, you did as he said, though it hardly took any effort on your end as his urging hands aided in the steady rhythm of your thrusts. It wasn’t long before you were steadying your hands against his chest, too overwhelmed by the foreign pleasure to be embarrassed by your pitched moans. 

Faster than you could grasp, everything that you had been told for so long was being pushed to the back of your mind to make room for him. He was rendering you utterly speechless with only his half-lidded stare and charitable hands. Sukuna thought if he didn’t keep his hands glued to your hips that they may be tempted to drift up your top, ablaze with an infuriating curiosity of what it was you always hid under those baggy shirts. 

He didn’t though, and perhaps that’s why you felt emboldened enough to chase the pleasure you’d been told was corrupt all this time. You couldn’t possibly feel the immorality the congregation always spat upon the act, because his hands were so much different than the pleasure-driven ones that grabbed at you with no regard to your own wishes. Sukuna’s hands were driven by a desire to teach you as they had been doing so diligently for weeks now, eyes studying you much like they studied your posture before you’d take a swing at him. 

Your release was building, swirling within the pits of your stomach and so incriminatingly evident in your shortening gasps, your scrunched face and nails that dug into the firm muscles of his clothed chest. The groan that escaped him sounded so melodic through the blood coursing in your ears. It left your fingertips brushing against the waves of your release, encouraged by the knowing glint in his eyes. 

A muted gasp of his name began to fall from your parted lips, but he only nodded at you hazily. 

“I know, Princess, c’mon.” 

The safety of his encouragement had you tipping over that rapidly building precipice, squeezing your eyes shut until he tapped at your ass with a firm command to look at him. It was when you opened your eyes back up though, a peculiar type of fuzziness clouding the edges when a glimmering caught your attention from your peripheral. Your gaze drifted up to where the dull lights were catching on the charm sprawled out on the floor by your fallen bag. It was your cross necklace— the one that had been lying forgotten at the bottom of your bag for weeks now. 

The sight of it clutched at your already racing heart, bringing you to a stammering halt as you jolted back with a mortified gasp. Sukuna quickly sat up at the sudden abandonment of your release.

“What—”

“I-I’m so sorry.” You whispered frantically, your fluttering gaze desperately attempting to hold back the tears lining your waterline. 

You flinched back when his grip on your waist tightened with concern, and it was enough to make him release you all together. His hands fell slowly in bewilderment while you shuffled backwards until you were off of him. 

“The fuck do you mean ‘sorry’?” His tone was harsh as always, but he just wanted to understand the sudden fear in your energy that hadn’t flared up in his presence since that first time you two met. 

“I shouldn’t have…” You shook your head, a trembling hand coming up to cover the lips that you’d allowed to act so blasphemously. “It was wrong, I—”

“Did it look like you were doing anything fucking wrong to me?” 

“But I should have known better— I do know better.” At this point, it appeared as though you weren’t talking to him anymore, but to yourself, to whatever part of you was telling you that what you two just shared was anything other than pure. Shaking your head, you stumbled up to your feet, and Sukuna quickly followed suit. “If they found out—”

You stopped yourself, almost as though you knew you were about to open a can of worms that he would not be so easily coaxed to close back up. He narrowed his sharp eyes at you. 

“If who found out?”

“I should leave—”

“Like hell you should.” Sukuna hulking arm shot out over your head to shut the door you were frantically prying open. The tears you had been desperately withholding were stinging furiously at your fluttering eyes. “Who are you trying to protect yourself from?”

At his astute question, you only looked down, somehow feeling both exposed and safe entrapped by his imposing figure. 

“Huh?”

“I don’t know, Sukuna.”

“You don’t know.” He chuckled bitterly with a nod, staring at the wall by your head with a far off look in his eyes that told you he wasn’t letting this go anytime soon. “Why don’t you show me what you’ve learned then, huh?”

An urging hand was placed at the small of your back, and he was leading you quickly back to the mat. 

“Please, just let—”

“Nah, we’ve still got half an hour left.” Sukuna firmly shut down your plea before nodding for you to get into proper form. “Go ahead and take me down.” 

It didn’t matter how unwavering you attempted to make your glare, his firm stance didn’t falter as he awaited your first move with a calloused expression that contrasted so starkly against the passionate way he was gazing up at you just minutes prior. Sinking your teeth harshly into your bottom lip, your body trembled as you adjusted your posture and lunged into a side step to swipe at his feet. 

It was just as he’d taught you— always using your opponent’s size against them to knock them off balance. You had done it perfectly too, but this time around he wasn’t so lenient in falling over in demonstration as he normally did. This time, he had a point to prove, and his firmly planted feet didn’t falter at your sweep as he took the opportunity to reach down and swallow you up by your midsection. 

A grunt of frustration rolled from you as he hoisted you easily into the air. You kicked out your legs, trying with every last ounce of your waning energy to hit his groin, his shins, stomach— anywhere that might allow you to escape. It was all for naught though, and he was absorbing each of your comparably weak blows as he kneeled to the ground and pinned you beneath him. 

“Escape.” The practically fuming man commanded again, pinning both your hands at the small of your back. 

Your flaming cheek was pressed against the cushioned mat, beginning to gloss over with the sheen of sweat your exertion was producing. Each exasperated pant that escaped you was bringing you closer and closer to understanding just what it was that he was trying to prove, yet you still strained against his grip and jostled your shoulders desperately. 

“What are you gonna do if whoever the fuck they are find you, huh?” He had lowered himself until his chest was pressed against your back, his lips brushing against your feverish ear. 

The since built up tears finally boiled over as the last shred of hope and energy abandoned you, falling limp against the mat as the salty waves cascaded freely down your cheeks. His grip on your wrists slowly eased up, and that harsh scowl was being replaced with a more resigned frown. 

“I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.” Sukuna rationed with you. 

In truth, his resolve was breaking with each heaving sob that spilled from your lips. Finally releasing you all together, he watched in barely concealed unease as you made no attempt to move from your position on the floor. So, he instead worked to pull you up himself, shoving your trembling form against his chest as his eyes remained locked blankly at the counter behind you. 

“I left— I-I ran away.” Your confession was barely comprehensible through your desolate sobs. “I didn’t tell anyone, I just left. I had to leave. I had to—”

“What do you mean you had to?”

Your nose burrowed deeper into his sternum before you shook your head. 

“I tried; I tried, and I prayed, and I begged God to lead me back on his path, but I just… I couldn’t do it anymore.” You continued to babble as you clutched at his shirt. The more you spiraled down the memories you left behind, the more scared he was becoming of what you might tell him. “I thought he was trying to test me— test my faith, but how could I trust in a God that abandoned me like that? That let them…”

Your face scrunched with the trailing of your words. It made a ball of nauseating dread pool in Sukuna’s stomach, his face hardening once again. 

“Let them what?”

“They told me that lust was blasphemous, that God’s children didn’t give into sins of the flesh, but they used the same hands to pray as they did to wander when offering me my blessings every Sunday. What was that supposed to tell me about my God?”

The man’s jaw clicked with the force of his clench as he absorbed your infuriated explanation. Your tears were rapidly becoming ones of rage, continuing to recall each time you stood in waiting, dreading your weekly eucharist as you knew how the associate preacher’s hands liked to stray too far as he performed the sign of the cross against your chest. 

“I thought I was doing the right thing.” You cried, pulling away from him to shove your face into your hands. “So why do I feel like I’ve damned myself? Like I’ve turned against God’s will?”

“God’s will wasn’t for you to be used by those lowlife fucking perverts hiding behind the Bible.” Sukuna finally snapped, trying with everything in him to level his voice lest he displace the rage swimming through his veins. 

“But how am I any better, Sukuna?” Your sudden outburst took him aback. “I gave in too.”

He scoffed incredulously at you. It wasn’t you that he was so bothered by though, it was the depths in which those people had sunk their claws into your psyche that irked him so deeply. Grasping at your jaw so you’d look him in the eyes, the solemn expression on his face made you shiver. 

“How are you any better? Because you wanted it this time, and so did I.” He emphasized, and your damp face flushed furiously at his words. “Don’t you dare fucking compare what they did to you to what happened back there.”

Clutching at the wrist of the hand that grasped you, you tugged at it to no avail, shaking your head once again against his hand. 

“You don’t get it—”

“Oh, I don’t?” Another menacingly bitter laugh slipped past his lips. “You don’t think I grew up hearing the same bullshit? That I had to beg forgiveness for shit that wasn’t my responsibility to be sorry for?” 

The grip you had around his wrist faltered as his words sunk in. You allowed your eyes to rake over his tattooed face, as though you couldn’t believe that someone who appeared so starkly different than you had once absorbed the very lessons that had placed you before him in the first place. 

“I had a twin, you know— least I was supposed to. Preacher used to tell my mom that God took her baby away because she gave into temptation out of wedlock.” 

The tremble in your bottom lip didn’t stop him from driving his point home, not even when your eyes began to pool once again with regret. 

“You know I still remember that damn verse line for line? No matter how much I tried to forget it.” Sukuna’s desolate tone continued to tug at your heartstrings, but it was almost freeing to hear that perhaps you weren’t the only one forced by your circumstances to question the faith that had been thrust upon you. “‘But every man is tempted, when he is drawn away from his own lust, and enticed. Then when lust hath conceived, it bringeth forth sin; and sin, when it is finished, bringeth forth death.’”

His thumb reached up to swipe at the fresh tears that began to fall from your sorrowful eyes despite the fact that it was his grief that was filling the space between you. He had finished his drawn out battle against his own spirit long ago though. 

“You think that’s what I am? Death conceived? That I was a punishment from God cause my mom wanted to fool around?”

“No— I don’t think that.” You finally cried out firmly, and it was the first decision you’d made in quite awhile that you felt confident in. “You’re none of those things. I won’t believe that.”

“How do you know that?” He tested, drawing you closer to him with a burning desire to kiss away each tear that dared disturb that kind face of yours.

“Because you’re good, and you’re kind, and you’re everything they ever told me to be afraid of,” You heard the sharp inhale he tried to conceal, because of all the sharp tongues that had spat troves of profanities at him, no one had ever called him good. “But they were wrong about you, and so was I.”

Humming deeply at your explanation, he tilted his head at you. 

“So, what the fuck makes you think they were right about anything else?” 

His challenge lingered in the heavy air between you, your breaths mingling as you stared down at the lips that had just spun your world on its axis. It had been a lifetime of being told that your body wasn’t to be trusted— that it would test and betray you time and time again. At the very least, despite the notion acting as a marionette puppetting each thought and breath you’d experienced thus far, there was some sort of safety in the familiarity of your cage. 

Still, Sukuna seemed to be awaiting you outside the confinement of your apprehension with all the beauty you once thought akin to the devil himself, but you had come to realize that he was the closest thing to holy you’d ever held within your grasp before. You wrestled with the part of you that had been conditioned to believe your worth was in your virtue and your purity, and the part of you that thought his lips were proof that man truly was created in God’s image.

He could see the storm brewing behind your apprehensive eyes, biting back the sharp lecture that was instinctively conjuring up in the back of his mind that would shake at your shoulders to snap out of the chains they’d bound your mind with. Instead, a strained sigh fanned out across your face, and he was suddenly reaching behind you to grab your abandoned necklace. 

“I’m not telling you to give all this shit up.” He murmured, twisting the cool, silver cross between his fingers.

 Looking down at the pendant, you weren’t sure that you could recall a time that it ever appeared so blinding. After a moment of contemplation, he lifted it carefully before draping it across your neck once again. Your nose brushed against his chest as he leaned forward to secure the clasp in the back. Of all the years it spent weighing down on your chest, you couldn’t help but feel that Sukuna had taken a certain weight off of it that had since been suffocating you. 

The tips of his hair tickled at your cheek as his head dipped down to press heated kisses to your jaw. Your lips parted, head falling to the side unconsciously to allow him more room. The gentle moans he was procuring from you made the corners of his lips twitch up as they trailed down your neck and left goosebumps in their wake. It wasn’t long before his descent led him to the pendant laying proudly against your chest, and he pressed a final kiss to it before lifting his head once again. 

“But don’t let it make you believe shit you don’t want to, you hear me?” You only nodded, eyes transfixed on his lips as they drew closer to yours. His thumb pressed down against your chin to hold you in place for him to offer you a fervent kiss, sighing yearningly into you before pulling back. “If I’m not a sin then you sure as hell aren’t one either.”

You smiled softly at his words, chasing his lips while your hands twisted more confidently up his nape and into his hair. 

Truthfully, you weren’t sure if it mattered to you anymore whether or not Sukuna was sin incarnate, or a test of your faith, or God’s punishment to an unholy woman, or whatever it was that your father would so ardently convince you of. Right now, his hands were traversing your waist with a tenderness no man had ever bestowed upon you, and his heathen tongue was knocking at your lips in search of permission to enter. You understood more with every inch of you he kissed why Lucifer had fallen from grace with the hope of being worshipped himself.

Your father, if he was even looking for the daughter that had fled from his feigned mercy, would simply have to forgive you of your sins.

a/n: where my ethel cain girlies at

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I love hearing everyone's thoughts! ◝⠀(ᵔᵕᵔ)⠀◜

[bonus-links]

Hello! Could we have a director’s commentary on Ruins pt.11 please?? It drives me insane 🥺🥺

YEAHHH this is gonna be a long one. link to the update

this is also one of my favorite updates (and 100% my favorite dialogue in all of ch.1, possibly the whole comic so far) but I'm glad I waited to do a commentary bc I think this is actually really relevant to the latest update

cause like the conversation Loft has with botw Zelda here is very similar to the one he has with Ganondorf, though he's much less snippy during it

I wanted to give Zelda a chance to be bitter and share her grievances with the gods. Her entire story in BOTW is largely about how the legends and the expectations put upon her by them fail not only her personally but the entire kingdom. And yet she's made to feel like it's all her fault.

A lot of his comic focuses on the legacy of the Hero, but I don't want to leave Zelda (or Ganondorf) out of the conversation. The cycle makes victims of all three of them in various ways, and while I can't do everything at once, it's still my goal to explore that. The Zeldas in particular are all in interesting positions as members of the Royal Family, because they're at once always thrown in peril by it with little agency, and expected to be the facilitators of its success as the people with the closest proximity to the gods. Much to think about.

on that note BOTW Zelda is my favorite Zelda. she is my babygirl. she is my everything. I will die a BOTW Zelda defender. we haven't seen the last of her in this comic i promise :-)

okay on to actually analyzing the comic. This top panel is framed like a diptych, two paintings hinged together. these are often (though not always) associated with religious paintings and are often altarpieces. I use a triptych format in the newest update :D sidenote I think it's very cute that some of the Hylia statues in BOTW have been decorated, so i gave her a little flower crown

I imagine praying starts to feel a little strange when you are dating ur god. yeah. Also I think it's interesting that Skyloft seems to mainly worship Hylia, with the other gods being more distant. It makes sense given the whole "she personally raised us up into the sky to save us all" thing. Even though Loft is the very first hero sent on a personal religious quest directly by his goddess, I've always imagined him as kind of,,,,casually devout? In that way that it's all you've ever known. Like obviously his beliefs are deeply ingrained, but he's not as into the formality of it all as other Links we might meet later.

I think about Zelda in that freezing pool on Mt. Lanayru all the time. RAHHHHHHH

I've posted this before but close up of Slate running their errands, the errand being talking to the Great Fairies about if they've noticed anything weird going on lol. I actually wanted to make it a whole update on its own, but I cut it for time and also because. I don't think the Great Fairies really have any information that was necessary other than "no I don't know what's going on". So u get this panel.

I like this shot of that little statue towering over the both of them, and I mimic it a little bit in the new update here. something something about why we build monuments and what they stand for.

negative sim interaction

Loft still has to believe that Zelda and Slate's negative experiences had to have been some sort of misunderstanding. If Hylia could have helped, she would have. Knowing and loving your goddess on a human level also makes you want to give her the benefit of the doubt.

I actually really love that in BOTW Zelda resents Link for having some sort of access to the divine that she just can't reach. She has her arc about it in the game, but especially now she's come to understand that having the gods' favor is a double-edged sword. Also, that's not really meant to be Peony, but I like the idea that Champion also had an affinity for fairies. :-( Intentionally the same pose as Slate at the fairy fountain, though Slate is so tiny I probably didn't need to bother lol

that was a lot of rambling lol but i have. so many thoughts abt the subject matter of this update. this is the shit about LOZ that makes me froth at the mouth tbh

[citrinae]

holding hands with them.

contents; cloying, tooth-rotting fluff. goes well with coffee to cleanse the palate. there might be one itty-bitty mention of marineford. 🎀 

ft. east blue 5 | masterlist

⋆ ˚｡༄ luffy 

the boldest one out there. if he feels like taking you by the hand, he’ll go ahead and do it, no matter the time or place. like everything about him, luffy won’t be any subtle when holding your hand either, swinging it with the widest smile, whistling a merry tune as you head your way. his hands may feel a little sticky from whatever he’s eaten at the time, but there’s also a comforting warmth to them sending butterflies to your stomach. when he holds your hand, he does it tightly, assertively, like he has never ever doubted his decision to let you enter his life.  

sometimes the thought of having a special someone to explore new places with has him so excited that he just grabs you by the wrist, or cups his hand around yours. he will lightly squeeze your palm with his thumb each time he wants to grab your attention to something he knows will make you smile, laugh, or both. at least once he tried to see how far his hand could bend from yours (pretty far, it’s all rubber after all). 

in a dangerous situation, a fight especially, there will be times when he will unconsciously search for your hand, an unsaid promise that he won’t lose. he will also do it as a way to assure himself that you’re still there, and you’re safe, a habit that might have something to do with marineford but he hadn’t realised he picked up until meeting you. he can’t afford to lose you, and feeling your hand into his is the one certainty that he's grown stronger and capable of protecting his dearest ones.

⋆ ˚｡༄ zoro

even before it became clear to you that what you’re having breaks the norms of a friendship, it had been a habit to sunbathe together on the ship's deck. his lids would slowly fall close, tanned skin sliced in the light, hair ruffled by the breeze, and you would watch him fade into a distant universe as sleep took you over. 

you can’t tell if the first time it happened was more than the mere remembrance of a dream, but what’s certain is that soon enough you started to fall asleep to the peaceful sensation of his fingertips reaching yours, closer and closer each time, until one day you woke up to find your hand completely clasped in his. your mouth hitched into a small smile, wondering if this had ever happened before, or it was simply a moment you would forget before happening a second time. even now, you still find yourselves interlocking fingers in your sleep. he also likes to drape an arm over your shoulder, taking hold of your hand as he does, especially before falling asleep together. 

his hands are roughed up and battered from swordfighting; however they feel like velvet as they touch you, at first watchfully and only for a few fleeting seconds, and then with more certainty. he may still show some signs of hesitation when it comes to holding hands in plain sight, but he will gladly accept it if you’re the initiator. your hands will often find each other under tables, on his lap, around a bottle of booze if the two of you are out drinking. 

⋆ ˚｡༄ nami

from time to time she may come up with different excuses for holding your hand. at first, it was when she offered to help you carry your shopping bag, “i left my perfume in there, i can’t afford to lose it because you were careless with the loot.” your fingers touched, and she left them there for a second, the realisation that she could be affectionate with you without feeling vulnerable rushing to her head like a shot of rum.

soon after you would start to notice her fingertips linger on several occasions. passing the sugar, applying sunscreen, asking you to lay out some maps for her. her skin is smooth and laced with the smell of tangerines and coconut milk. extremely well-kept. if she knows you’re reaching a more perilous portion of the sea (which luffy will insist on crossing), nami will take you by the hand, and you will estimate how scared she is by the tightness of her grip. 

definitely a fan of the one-finger hold. whenever the crew is free to take a breather and wander about a new island, nami will cheerfully jump out of the ship and offer you her arm, the space between you remaining roped along the way by nothing more but your tangled pinkies. at the dinner table, your fingers will often stay linked in the same way, a casual, subtle gesture, but a reminder that you will always have each other’s backs. 

⋆ ˚｡༄ usopp

another one to hold your hand if the seas you’re going across are overfilled with monsters, but unlike nami, god usopp will do it to show off his bravery. he’s there to protect you, he goes on and on, and usually this will be accompanied by a story of his earliest travels on the sea. and yet, one questionable sound is all it takes for him to leap into your arms, later excused as his way to tell you that there once was this gruesome pirate lord who almost fell overboard in fear, but luckily he was there to catch them. captain usopp is nothing but a merciful soul.

extremely open and affectionate with his partner. when it comes to holding your hand, he won’t hesitate to do it in front of everyone so they all see he could pull someone as awesome as you. when he’s testing a new weapon, he loves it when you come from behind and place your hands on top of his, guiding each other towards your target. i feel that, with usopp, there will be plenty of moments where your hands will just top each other, during dinner or a party or simply while assisting him in the workshop. 

speaking of which. he works with his hands a lot, so they may catch a certain metallic scent, scarce traces of gunpowder under his nails and into his skin. but each time you end up cuddling under the stars and his hands tangle with yours, you begin to feel even more comforted since getting to notice these little things about him means you couldn’t be any closer. 

⋆ ˚｡༄ sanji

if it isn’t the ultimate sucker for hand-holding. believe it or not, to him this pretty much seals the status of your relationship, so at the very beginning when things were rather uncertain between you, his worst nightmare would have been to initiate such an intimate gesture and be rejected. that was also around the time you started to do grocery shopping together, two forms pushing past the lively crowds, taking the moment to enjoy each other’s company somewhere away from the crew. 

sanji jolted when he felt the back of your hands brushing against each other, and then your forefinger coiling around his own, an open invite that paused the world for him for a couple of seconds. loosening the knot of his tie, he took your hand in his, fingers eagerly interlacing into a most soothing grip. ever since your relationship became established, you’ve come to notice that he often attempts to hold your hand, and each time he finds it, it’s a promise that you will always have his full and irrevocable attention. 

his hands carry the smell of the cigarettes he smokes, combined with that of some herbs he’s used in the kitchen, and seafood at worst times. they are smooth like silk when wrapped around yours, and emanate warmth each time he gently starts to stroke the skin with his thumb. he’d hold hands with you pretty much anywhere, but the times he feels the most relaxed are at the railing of the ship, during a cigarette break, or while walking behind the rest, leaving the impression of a freshly married couple on their honeymoon. 

[zepskies]

BREAKING POINT - Part 2

Pairing: Russell Shaw x Reader

Summary: Russell made you a promise, but “getting out” of government contract work is even more difficult than he thought it would be. Is he willing to put the past aside, or is this going to be your breaking point?

AN: Deep breaths, friends. It's about to be another angsty fun time. 😅

Song Inspo: “Come in From the Night” by Chicago

Posted on Patreon: 4/04/2025

Word Count: 8K

Tags/Warnings: 2x02 events, perilous situations, blood and violence, injuries, protective Russell, another Shaw sibling reunion, secrets and confessions come to light, major angst, but also major hurt/comfort…

⌖ Series Masterlist

Part 2: One Chance

You still hadn’t been able to get in touch with Russell. All your texts had been going unanswered. You grabbed your phone and began to find Reenie in your contacts, but you paused. You were reminded of something you forgot to do when you walked in the door. 

Along with the coded door lock, there was an app on your phone where you could monitor the cameras strategically placed outside the house. However, when you checked the app, you realized that the camera feed said Unavailable. For every single camera. 

Your brows furrowed. That’s weird… 

Seconds later, the first bullet broke through your impact windows. 

You flinched at the fracture of glass, the splintering corner of your Pottery Barn coffee table. Shock made your entire body stiffen. 

But when the second and third bullet became lodged in your couch and finished shattering two windows, you screamed and dove for the ground. You crawled on hands and knees across the hardwood floor, no doubt cutting your palms on broken glass. The coffee table only somewhat protected your body, but seeing the edge of something black in the corner of your eye, you managed to grab one of Russell’s Glocks taped under the wood that typically held your empty wine glasses and lavender candles.

Your mad scramble took you across the living room and into the bathroom, where you locked the door and backed away from the door, to the farthest corner beside the tub. Your path on the white tile was streaked with your own blood. 

You clutched Russell’s gun with shaking hands, your thumb just barely managing to pull back the safety. When you tried to shift your body away from where the bottom of the sink hung over your head, you whimpered at a sharp twinge in your side. Looking down, you realized that blood had plumed through your shirt, right along the curve of your waist. 

You took one trembling hand off the gun to lift the hem of your shirt, and a shaky breath escaped you. 

Fuck. You’d been hit. 

You didn’t see the bullet, or even a hole puncture. You prayed that you had just been grazed.

But! You still had your cell phone. It was lodged in the back pocket of your jeans. Your hands were occupied though, so you had to make a choice—keeping your weapon at the ready, stopping yourself from bleeding out, or calling for help. 

You heard the front door splintering open at a distance, footsteps echoing on the hardwood floors. Holding in a whimper, you heeded your instincts and reached for your phone. You tried calling Russell first, but it just went to voicemail. Goddamn it…

You considered calling 9-1-1, but in your manic desperation, all you could think of was reaching your boyfriend. 

So you called Reenie next.

While the phone rang, tucked between your shoulder and your ear, you were forced to set down the gun. You quietly rifled through your medicine cabinet for gauze or an ace bandage. Fuck, yes! Okay. This could work. You found the big square bandages that stick on. Russell bought them the last time he came home with a couple of nasty abrasions from a job.

Still, the phone rang.

Come on, come on, come onnnn!

“Hello?” The lawyer’s voice was smooth and retaining a note of exasperation.

“Reenie! Where’s Russell?” you whisper-hissed. You forgot about the bandage for the moment.

“I have him right here. What’s wrong?” she asked. Immediately, her tone shifted to concern. You’d never met Reenie in person, but you knew she worked with Colter and, according to Russell, was damn good at what she did. 

You didn’t give a shit about any of that right now.

“Put him on the phone, please!” 

In a few seconds of shuffling, you finally, finally heard his voice. 

“Sweetheart, what’s going on?”

A breath of relief escaped you in a rush.

“Russell,” you sobbed.

The raw panic in your voice made his spine stiffen. Every muscle in his body coiled in alarm. Russell sat up straight in the backseat of the SUV with Colter right beside him, along with the retired Scott Palmer, the conspiracy theorist they saved from a government black site. Reenie looked back in concern from the front seat.  

“Someone’s in the house,” you said on the line. Every word was ragged, like you were trying to stay quiet, but crying all the same. “I got hit, bleeding a lot. I’m locked in the bathroom…”

In a beat of a second, Russell processed the words, I got hit. 

The fucker was armed. You were shot. He wasn’t there to help you.

His blood turned to ice in his veins. A nightmare. A waking nightmare.

“Okay, it’s okay,” Russell said, immediately hiding what he felt under calm reassurance. His dark brows became a knitted line. “Were you able to get to one of my guns? Under the bed, under the—”

“Coffee table,” you said, in a tremulous voice. “Russ, what do I—”

Your scream was shrill in his ear after a gunshot went off, even making him flinch. His eyes never blinked though. He could hear the door ripping open, and a rustle of clothing preceded your sharp yelp. Someone manhandled you to your feet. 

Russell’s jaw clenched tight. His heart hammered under his ribcage as he followed every sound. He yelled at the driver of this SUV to fucking floor it. 

The sounds reaching him on the phone fuzzed over then, like someone was grabbing the phone out of your hand. You screamed and struggled, but a man’s grunt and a sharp hit echoed in the phone speaker. Russell’s teeth ground together so hard, he could feel them creaking with strain. He shouted your name.

The call ended abruptly.

Russell felt every minute, every second that clipped by. 

Another half hour would pass before he reached his car. In that time, Colter had to explain to Reenie why calling the police right now was a bad idea. 

“The police are going to trigger them to react. It’s more likely they’ll take her and move her than leave her behind,” Colter said, sharing a grim look with his brother. “Worst case…”

Russell shook his head and stared out the window, his lips pursing tight. He didn’t need to hear that said out loud. He was already thinking it, his mind shooting off sparks of one scenario after another. Each and every one of them shredded his insides to ribbons. His fingers clenched around the interior door handle of the car.  

“Okay, but who’s doing this? The shady-ass government operatives you just pissed off?” Rennie asked. 

“That’s my bet,” Russell said gruffly. He could picture that blue-eyed smarmy dick in his mind’s eye too—the shadow government stooge who took his brother captive, and thought he could get the drop on Russell at that lab. 

He was probably still salty about the way Russell broke his goddamn nose. 

“This one’s coming out of their ass,” he groused.

“We can’t underestimate them,” Colter said. His tone wasn’t censuring, but a reminder. “They got to Dr. Blair.”

Dr. Blair was an astrophysics professor who had taken special interest in some of Scott Palmer’s theories, particularly into the idea of extraterrestrial life. The professor had been found dead in her own car that afternoon, barely a couple of hours after Russell and Colter questioned her about the missing Scott’s whereabouts and her involvement with him. The police had ruled it a suicide. 

Russell did glare at Colter this time. What happened to that professor wasn’t going to happen to you. You weren’t directly involved in this mess…

Russell’s fists clenched at his sides. He slid a hand over his bearded face and thought hard. Whoever had you was going to answer to him. Anything they’d done to you was going to be a mercy, compared to what he had in mind for them.

Colter parked his truck and airstream just behind Russell’s Chevy in your neighborhood. They hadn’t parked directly in front of your house, however. They wanted to retain the element of surprise, just in case your captors were still here. 

Looks like they are, Russell noted by the dark gray SUV parked on the street, right next to your mailbox.   

If they hadn’t moved, it was because they wanted Russell to go into the house. They wanted to make a show of this, drag this out. 

Russell could just see that arrogant fuck in his mind’s eye already, waiting for him, smirking at him when he walked in. 

“Like your father, Ashton Shaw. You have a long family history of getting in the government’s way,” he’d said, while holding Russell at gunpoint.

Then Russell proceeded to talk a little shit, as was his specialty, followed by a thorough ass-kicking. Also his specialty. 

But he was interrupted from that satisfying recap by Colter’s subtle tap on his shoulder. He pointed toward the house with two fingers. Russell nodded and signaled back, leading him in. 

Both of them had suited up with bullet-proof vests and proper weapons, with Russell favoring his usual .45 caliber M1911. He called her Betsy. She’d take your kneecaps off if you weren’t careful, and Russell was always careful. Especially about kneecaps. 

He and Colter cased the house and veered to the left, where they caught sight of the carnage that wrecked the living room. Whoever broke in must’ve used silencers on their guns, because surely in a residential neighborhood like this, someone would’ve heard the commotion and called the cops themselves. All three windows at the front of the house were shattered, littering glass across the floor. The couch was a Swiss cheese rendering of fabric and stuffing, with picture frames, candles, books and bookshelves, and other keepsakes battered, ruined, and scattered. 

Russell was sorry to see it, feeling an angry twinge, but it only got worse when he saw who was sitting on the edge of the couch. The man was flanked by four other men in solid black uniforms and guns, their faces obscured by masks.  

Russell’s eyes widened in shock at first. And then in anger, and steely determination. After giving his brother a nod, he and Colter split up without needing to speak or signal. Colter went around the back and stirred the men’s attention. Three of them split off and went toward the diversion of the back door caving in. 

Meanwhile, Russell shot out the window near the kitchen. It allowed him to tumble into the house, protecting his head from glass as he went. By the time he rolled to a crouch, he had his gun at the ready to shoot the remaining two men—headshot for the first one, arm and neck for the second one. 

Adam Brody stood ready to shoot him next. He wore tactical gear as well, but he didn’t bother to mask up his face.

“Hey, Russ,” he said, with a humorless smile. There was something melancholy in his blue eyes. 

“It’s simple. Start fucking talking, or I start shooting,” Russell snapped. Inside, he raged at the betrayal. It roiled like acid deep in his gut and solidified like a stone.  

Adam sighed heavily. “Trust me, this wasn’t an assignment I wanted.”

He shifted the aim of his gun away from Russell…and directly to the ground, just a few feet away from him. Russell followed the trajectory with his eyes, and his throat constricted.

You were lying there on the cold floor, half twisted onto your side. Your arm was bent at the wrong angle beneath your cheek. The left side of your face that Russell could see was bruised and bloody, and there were shards of glass in your hair. But the sight that stopped him cold was the large patch of blood staining your waist and stomach through your shirt. It was slowly getting worse. 

Russell’s gaze flicked back to Adam, and it sharpened, his fingers tightening a fraction on his gun.

“Let her go,” Russell demanded. 

“We got what we came for. I don’t think we need to take it any further than this,” Adam said. “Just consider tonight as a warning. And word of advice? Stay off of the fucking black sites. You could get into some real trouble out there.”

“That’s not fucking good enough," Russell seethed through clenched teeth. "Why this? Because I quit?”

Adam gave him a look that was slightly pitying. Like a teacher who secretly thought you were the dumbest kid alive.  

“No,” he replied. “That gig was just our way of keeping an eye on you.”

Russell blinked, a new layer of shock rattling down his spine.

“What, Horizon wanted to keep tabs on me?" he said. "Before I fucking joined up?” 

Adam didn’t answer him, but there was more there in his silence than his slimy words could’ve spoken. He slowly leaned over and grabbed up an old white shoebox from where it was placed on the arm of the couch. 

“I’m here for this,” he said. There seemed to be real conflict in his eyes when he looked back at his friend, a man who once was his brother in the deepest of fucking trenches. “Look, Russ, I had a job to do and I did it. It’s really all just business.”

Russell’s eyes narrowed with cold fire.

“It’s never just business, you stupid fuck.”

Adam’s mouth twitched at a frown. He knew the look in Russell’s eye. It held a deadly promise, marked right here and now. And as Adam knew better than anyone, Russell never forgot to make good on a promise.

Adam’s fingers slowly flexed over his gun. Before he could make a decision about Russell, he saw Colter coming out of the corner of his eye. Adam moved fast, shooting off a clip at Colter first. Colter manage to dive back behind the wall that led to your bedroom. Then Adam ducked and dodged Russell’s aim at his head, all while still holding onto the box.

Adam threw himself through the last remaining window in the living room to make his escape. Russell moved to follow him, but he spared a second to lock eyes with his brother and gesture at you.

“Stay with her!” Russell barked.

Colter nodded and was already kneeling by your side to check your pulse. It tore at Russell’s heart, but he couldn’t just let Adam go. Russell ripped the front door open and sprinted outside. Dawn was just approaching over the horizon, with rays of orange-gold peeking out behind rows of suburbia and picket fences. Adam was half a shadow getting into the black SUV parked out front.

Russell fired off a shot that somewhat made its mark. He couldn’t aim for the heart; Adam was wearing a bullet-proof vest. Couldn’t aim for the head; he was moving too quick. But when Adam opened the car door, the bullet caught him under the arm, where the vest couldn’t cover. The projectile could rip through the chest cavity and at least knick an artery, if not a lung.

Adam cried out in pain and grabbed at the bleeding wound, but he still managed to climb into the passenger seat and shut the door as the car sped off. The windows were tinted, so Russell couldn’t see inside. It didn’t stop him from emptying his clip at the car’s windows and tires as he ran into the street.

Russell’s dark brows knitted in anger as he watched the SUV drive on and turn the corner, even with a blown tire. 2Y5-M20 read the license plate. Russell muttered the number to himself over and over while he ran back inside.

There he found you and Colter in the same place in the living room, except that he had carefully turned you over onto your back and moved your broken arm into a more stable position. He also grabbed your favorite throw blanket off the back of the couch; he had the corner of it crumpled in his hand to put pressure against the wound in your side.

“She was grazed, no bullet entry,” Colter said, hearing his brother’s boots approaching. “I need to grab some stuff from the car to help stabilize her arm before the ambulance gets here. Police are on their way too.”

Russell’s knees hit the ground beside you, where he carefully took control of keeping pressure on your wound. He then gathered you into his arms. He stroked your bruised cheek with a gentle, half-gloved hand. 

“Hey, sweetheart. Can you open your eyes for me? Huh?” he said. 

When you didn’t respond, still unconscious, he had to check your pulse for himself. It was weaker than it should’ve been, but it was there. 

You were alive. 

While Colter ran back out to the car, Russell’s thoughts led him in exhaustive circles, questioning every word that had come out of Adam’s mouth, questioning himself and his choices, worrying for you, and what you would say when you opened your eyes.

It was good that Colter called the police too though. There would be no other way to explain your injuries at the hospital than a break-in, else they might suspect Russell himself as the culprit. Always the boyfriend, as they said. 

Maybe that was the case in civilian life, but not in Russell’s. In his, it was much crueler than that.

A couple of minutes later, Colter returned with the supplies he needed. He found his brother holding you as tightly as he dared, his face deep and brooding as he rested his cheek against the side of your head. Between the brothers, they were able to stem the bleeding on your wounded side and stabilize your broken arm. Russell tried to rub some warmth back into your bare arms. 

“Come on, sweetheart. I know you can hear me,” he murmured into your hair. There was a subtle shake growing in his voice. 

Colter glanced up and met his gaze. There Russell saw the weight of concern, for you and for him.

The hospital room was tense from all angles while you slept.

Russell sat in a chair on your right side, Dory to your left. Again, he silently brooded with his hands folded under his chin, elbows resting on his thighs. Dory was slumped in her seat, head in hand; tear tracks remained on her pale skin. Colter leaned against the wall by the door. 

None of them spoke, because they all knew what each other was thinking. All of them wore shades of guilt, along with underlying anger. Colter had some measure of a grudge at Dory for giving you a burden you weren’t meant to have. He thought she should’ve given that damn box to him or Russell directly. Dory carried that guilt in hindsight, but she was also angry at Russell, and to some extent Colter too, for exposing you to this kind of danger. 

Russell could harbor resentment for both of his siblings right now, but mainly, he was angry at himself. 

“So Adam doesn’t really work for Horizon?” Colter asked, keeping his voice quiet. The question was aimed at his brother, who glanced up at him. 

“Not sure,” Russell replied after a moment. “Could be. Or could be that whoever he works for does business with Horizon. Either way, I think he might’ve been planted there to recruit me, then watch me, keep me occupied.” 

To keep him from looking into his father’s death.

Colter nodded. He directed his attention to Dory. “We’re going to have to do a sweep of your apartment for bugs. Likely they were watching you too.”

Dory’s eyes widened. “That’s how they knew I had Dad’s stuff, that I gave it to her. But why did they want it so bad?”

“Dad must've been into some shady shit,” Russell replied, shaking his head. 

“The question is what,” Colter said. 

“Check…m’ cloth-s,” you interrupted. 

All three Shaw siblings stirred to attention with concern, their heads swiveling toward you.

You finally clawed your way through the anesthesia to keep your eyes open. It hurt, even to speak. The bruising around your throat betrayed Adam’s iron grip, choking you halfway to unconsciousness. The left side of your face was one mottled, ugly bruise all the way to your eyebrow, your lower lip split near the corner. 

Russell stood quickly, his chair scraping the floor. He drew closer to you and sat at the edge of your bed so he could gently take up your hand. Dory came up on your other side and touched your shoulder—the one not currently wrapped in a sling. The doctor told them you’d broken your arm in two places. Not only would you need surgery, but you would also be in a cast for several weeks. The bullet wound had been a graze, for which you’d still lost a decent amount of blood. You would need to stay at the hospital for a week, at least.

“What, baby?” Russell asked. But then he thought better of it. “Don’t worry about it, just take it easy.”

“Check…m’clothes,” you repeated, with slightly more strength. You blinked your weary eyes open and found Russell. Your lips twitched when he pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles and threaded your fingers together. 

Then he shot Dory an imploring look. He’d rather it be her sorting through your bag of bloody clothing than Colter, and Russell didn’t want to let go of your hand. 

With a small sigh, she grabbed it from under the hospital bed and sorted through, finding just your jeans, shoes, and underwear, since the Emergency Department has cut through your shirt and bra.

“I don’t…” Dory began to say, but she cut herself off short when she found a small, old-fashioned film tube mixed in with your panties. 

You hadn’t just taken the box with you into the house. On the way home last night, you’d stopped at a red light. Your curiosity was insatiable at the best of times, and you couldn’t stop yourself from having a look inside the box.

You found a short stack of essays and a couple of small wood carvings, but you also found that film tube. It reminded you of the disposable Kodak cameras you used to buy as a kid, complete with a little container for undeveloped rolls of film. 

You took out the little canister and examined it. When you popped it open, you found rolled up papers inside.

And then the light turned green, a car honking behind you. You shot the black SUV behind you a narrowed look of annoyance. Instead of tossing the thing back into the box, you folded the papers back up into the little canister, secured the lid, and slipped it into your pocket on reflex. 

Later, when you sat huddled and terrified and bloody on your bathroom floor, you set down the gun and took out the film tube from your pocket. If this thing was important, if it had anything to do with Ashton Shaw’s death, then you didn’t want to give it up so easily. 

You stuffed it behind the waistband of your jeans, hopefully for safe keeping. The thought was dubious at best, but it was still worth a shot, you thought.

Now, Dory stared at the tube with the cap popped open. She saw the papers rolled up inside, but didn’t bother to unfurl them. She didn’t want to know what they were, but she knew instinctively that this was what you almost died for.

She bit her lip and gazed back at you in apologetic sorrow. Handing the item off to Colter, she went back to you and laid a gentle hand on your shoulder. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said tearfully. “I should’ve never given…”

Her tears sparked your own, welling up in your eyes. You managed to shake your head a little.

“Y’didn’t know,” you replied.

Dory tried and failed to stifle her weeping. Colter came up to your bedside as well.

"I'm sorry for what happened," he said. You managed to roll your head somewhat in his direction, your gaze reflecting some wryness.

“Why? ‘S not like you work…for Horizon,” you said, glancing over at Russell. He pursed his lips, lowering your hand to the bed. 

Colter picked up on the vibe that you and Russell had things to talk about. Sharing a nod with Dory, he helped her up out of her chair and subtly led her out of the room with him. After the door clicked closed, Russell sighed, hanging his head.

After a moment, he drew enough courage to look up at your beaten face. His eyes were full of devastation, and the remnants of self-loathing.

“Sweetheart, I’m so—”

“Don’t you sweetheart me,” you warned. Your eyes stung all over again, and you sucked in a shaking, painful breath. “The world you’re a part of…you and Colter…it’s dangerous. I knew that full well when we got together, but…I naively thought you knew you what you were doing.” 

Russell’s shoulders sunk. His gaze fell to his hands, resting on his thighs.

“You said you wouldn’t bring your work home with you,” you accused. 

“I’m gonna protect you, I swear,” he vowed. 

“From what? Horizon? Your friend? Whoever he works for? You don’t. Have. A clue,” you said. You still struggled for breath, for every word. “Regardless, you’re not breaking out of this life anytime soon. And I…I can’t do this anymore.”

Hot tears slid down your cheeks. They stung over cuts and nicks in your skin. But the distressed look on Russell’s face was what threatened to break you. His jaw worked as he processed your words. He looked away for a moment to gather himself, but he soon met your gaze again. 

“I was just starting to turn things around, wasn’t I? Please, give me a chance to fix this,” he said. 

You shook your head wearily. “Russell, there are parts of you that I’m never going to know. There are things that you either can’t or won’t let go of, things you can't control. I’m tired of getting caught in the crossfire.”

You didn’t know if you were being fair, but you couldn’t help how you felt. And yet, you also felt shredded from the inside just looking at him, knowing that you were breaking his heart as well as your own. But how else could you protect yourself at this point? It was all just too much.

“I need you to go,” you said. 

Russell’s eyes widened. That was the one thing you’d never asked of him, no matter how pissed off you got. You might’ve wanted a little space in bed, but you never told him to sleep on the couch, never told him to go find a motel, or sleep in his truck. There was space, and there was space. This was fucking it.

“Baby, come on. I’m not leaving you,” he said. His hand itched to take hold of yours again, but you moved it away from his grasp, resting carefully over your bruised ribs.

“No,” you said more firmly, even though it hurt to strain your voice. “Just go.”

Everything within him protested. But, at that hard, angry, broken look on your face, he rose to his feet. He forced himself to head for the door, briefly hesitating there. He cast you one last look, his jaw and his heart clenching in tandem at the sight of your watery eyes, your swollen face, your pained attempts for even breaths.

He left your hospital room.

But, of fuckin’ course, the man he ran into in the hall was Charlie.

“Hey, where’re you going?” Charlie asked, grabbing Russell’s arm. “What happened? You barely told me anything on the phone—”

Russell sighed. He led your brother a little further away from your door so you hopefully wouldn’t overhear, but he tried to explain it all in its simplest terms, avoiding any talk about his father’s death. He understood Charlie’s anger. It mounted and mounted in your hothead brother, until he was gripping Russell’s jacket in half a threat.

“It was my fault,” Russell said. He didn’t even bother to grab Charlie’s wrist. He fucking deserved the hit if it was coming. “They were using me, and I didn’t know. Just waiting for an opening to grab something they thought was important.”

“Did they get it?” Charlie asked. “What even was it?”

Russell hesitated. “It doesn’t matter. But I’m going to make sure she’s safe.”

Charlie made a sound of frustration and shoved at Russell’s chest.

“I fucking trusted you!” he shouted. “I thought you’d be the last one to let some shit like this happen to her!”

“I know,” Russell said, swallowing his shame. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Charlie paced in the hall like an agitated animal. He seemed to be warring with his instincts to throw that punch, maybe more than one. But Charlie knew what kind of guilt was on Russell’s shoulders. Charlie still bore the weight of that guilt, even today. It would never leave him for as long as he lived.

So, Charlie simmered down, pressing a fist against the wall to try and calm himself.

“I’ve, uh…I’ve gotta go,” Russell said.

Charlie frowned and glared back at him again. “You’re leaving?”

Russell met his gaze, but he couldn’t hold it. Otherwise, his shame would break through the cracks.  

“She asked me to,” he said. 

Charlie shook his head. “Do you love her?”

“Charlie.” The look on Russell’s face warned him not to ask stupid questions. There was only so much he could handle right now.

“Okay,” Charlie nodded. “So are you gonna make good? Are you gonna protect her, or not?”

Russell didn’t know why, but he felt pinned to ground by that question. His heart, his soul, and his mind were all at war, pulling in different directions of what he should do, what he wanted to do, and what he knew he couldn’t.

Charlie’s frown deepened, with a spark of his anger returning.

“Make a fucking decision, Russell,” he snapped, and made the last few strides over to your room.

It left Russell in the hall, contemplating his next move. His fingers twitched at his sides. He stared hard at the linoleum, until the tiny blue patterns became smudges in his vision.

Then, he kept walking, even took the elevator downstairs. You’d told him to leave after all, but to go where? Back home? 

That was your house. Hadn’t you broken up with him? All his stuff was still there though. Not to mention, your house was a mess. He wouldn’t leave it like that for you to come home to.

Even with all those thoughts swirling like angry coils of snakes through his mind, he stopped short of leaving the hospital. He stood in the way of the lobby’s glass double doors, his fingers flexing at his sides and nearly closing into fists. His jaw clenched and ticked with strain. 

He turned back and took a seat in the lobby. He sat there for an hour, and then two. He passed time on his phone, but really, he was watching every single person who walked in through the double doors. He made a note of each face and scanned the way they walked and what they were bringing in the building with them. He checked each of them off as not a threat. 

He couldn’t be certain that Adam would keep his word about backing off for now. If he realized that you took something important from that damn box…

Every muscle in Russell’s body wanted to go back up to your hospital room. He wanted to tell you again that he was sorry. Matter of fact, he’d be content if you just let him sit there beside you in silence. 

Okay, maybe he’d try to crack a joke or two, see if he could make you smile. Extra brownie points if he could make you laugh. 

Yeah, don’t bet on that one.

Russell sighed and rubbed at his face with both hands. 

Colter came around to find him, first asking how you were. The look on Russell’s face was good enough of an answer.

Colter let him know that he’d just dropped off Dory at her place. He was going to stick around for a couple of days to keep an eye on her, just in case Adam came poking around. 

“For the record, I don’t think he will,” Colter said. He took out the film tube you recovered from the box. Russell’s gaze fell to the little black canister. 

“I had a look, and—” Colter began, but Russell raised up a hand. 

“I don’t care,” he said. He slowly stood and met his younger brother’s gaze. “Look, if you wanna go chasing ghosts, that’s your prerogative, but count me out. I don’t wanna know about it, don’t wanna hear about it. As far as I’m concerned, Dad’s dead, and he ain’t coming back no matter what the fuck we find at the end of that tunnel.”

For once, Colter looked taken aback. It wasn’t a big expression, but it was enough to make his eyes widen a little, his mouth parting with almost nothing to say. 

“You’re saying you won’t help me?” he asked. 

“I’m saying if you open that door, you’re on your own. I’m not losing anything more to this,” Russell said. His eyes burned with his determination, and perhaps other emotions he wasn’t willing to let fly in front of his brother.

He lowered back down into his seat and crossed his arms. Colter watched him with a measure of dismay. But ultimately, he respected his brother’s choice.

“I’m sorry. Really, I am,” Colter said. He hesitated, and even drew closer to lay a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

Then, he left. 

Out in the parking lot as he headed over to his pickup truck, Colter’s hand tightened on that film tube. In his mind’s eye, he already saw the map that was hastily scrawled on the curled-up page inside.  

As for Russell, he spent the rest of the evening there in the waiting room. 

A security guard eventually came over to tell him that visiting hours were over. Russell only pretended to leave. He waited until the guard was distracted, flirting with the receptionist, and Russell snuck back into the stairwell. 

He found his way up to the second floor, then the third. He slipped down the empty halls. He didn’t intend to check in on you in your room, but that was where his feet ended up, stopping just outside of the door. It was open a crack. 

When he peeked inside, he saw that you were sleeping after your surgery on your arm. Charlie was watching over you, so Russell pulled back. He stayed in the hospital all night, ducking nurses and doctors on the night shift. He retained some of his peace of mind, knowing you weren’t alone. 

In the morning, Russell headed back home just to shower. He felt all right about it, knowing Dory was at the hospital with you today after relieving Charlie. Russell arrived at the house, just to remember that it was still an incredible mess after the police had cleared out. 

Russell took the time to sweep up the glass, and mop up your blood from the hardwood floors in the living room and the bathroom tiles. He righted picture frames and whatever else he could. The rest, he stored in a big black garbage bag in case you wanted to sort through it later. Then he finally ate a sandwich and showered up. He hadn’t slept in 48 hours, but he kept pushing himself.

He took measurements of every window that got busted, and he went to the closest hardware store to buy replacements. He installed them himself.

Finally, Russell allowed himself to sleep for just a few hours. Afterward, he returned to the hospital. He resumed his seat in the lobby, and he subtly monitored who came in and out while looking busy on his phone. He never forgot a single face. 

The cycle repeated itself. Three days.

He didn’t let himself see you.

Your voice was still weak and muffled, being that half your face was swollen, but you had enough energy to argue with your brother.

“Saving Private Ryan is more historically accurate than Jurassic Park is scientifically accurate,” you said, more than a little testy already. 

“You’re giving me a stats-based argument,” said Charlie, “when all that really matters is the dinosaurs still look real! The CGI holds up—”

“Oh, please,” you huffed. “Lincoln, War Horse, Schindler’s List—Spielberg movies that actually matter.”

“Hey, tell my eight-year-old self that dinosaurs don’t matter,” he said. “Raiders of the Lost Ark, Temple of Doom, Close Encounters, fucking Jaws—these are the staples of Hollywood, my friend. Those are the movies people actually remember when they think of Spielberg and his Steve Jobs glasses.”

“Raiders is all right,” you grumbled, after a moment of deliberation. “At least it’s rooted in some real history.”

Charlie snorted. “You’re such a nerd.”

Your smile weakened. “That’s Russ’s favorite.”

Charlie perked up in attention, noticing your shift in demeanor. 

“What, Raiders?” he asked. When you merely nodded, seeming lost in thought, Charlie smiled a little. “It’s a classic.”

You knew that it was one of the few movies Russell remembered watching before his father moved the Shaw family to that compound in the Sierra National Forest.

You tried to take in a deep breath. Letting it out was painful though, a sharp twinge in your side making you wince. Goddamn stitches.

“You okay?” Charlie asked. He was coiled and ready to spring into action, whatever you needed. “Want me to adjust your pillow? Or you want to lay on your side again?”

“‘M fine,” you managed. You both knew they were empty words.

The room fell quiet, save for the movie playing on your small TV screen that was mounted against the wall. Laura Dern was limping on one foot away from a velociraptor. 

After lowering the volume, you turned your head on your pillow toward Charlie, even though you couldn’t quite hold his gaze. 

“He’s still here, isn’t he?” you said. There was a knowing gleam in your eyes. 

Charlie feigned innocence. “Who?”

You just gave him a look. Your brother’s lips twitched at a smile, and he leaned back in the recliner seat, folding his hands over his chest.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Your Mountain Man’s still here.”

You blew out a sigh of exasperation. “I told him to go home.”

“To an empty house that isn’t his, not knowing how long he’s gonna be able to stay there?” Charlie pointed out. “Did you break up with him for sure?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to answer. You knew you weren’t all that specific when you told Russell to leave, but…maybe it was because your heart hadn’t totally decided on the matter.

“You know, he finds a way to dodge security every night, just so he can keep an eye on you, make sure you’re okay when I’m not here,” Charlie said. “Hell, even when I am here. Don’t know whether I should be insulted by that one.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, fighting a swell of emotion. Looking back on that conversation after you woke up, you’d felt so raw and frayed. You knew what happened to you wasn’t exactly Russell's fault. He’d needed to help his brother. His own friend had likely sold him out as well as betrayed him.

You just couldn’t help the deep well of insecurity lying far underneath your skin, a bone-deep thought…

“He’s never going to be happy with a boring, normal life,” you said, with tears burning behind your lids. “I’m never going to be enough.”

Charlie frowned in sadness. For once, he felt bad for Russell. He opened his mouth to reply, but someone else beat him to it.

“Sorry,” Russell said from the doorway. “But that’s just categorically untrue, baby.” 

Your eyes widened at the sight of him. Your breath stilled in your lungs. He entered the room cautiously, waiting for you to throw him out. When you just stared back at him with those weary, uncertain, glassy eyes, he tried to give you a smile.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

After a beat of hesitation, you nodded. It was barely a movement of your head, but he’d take it. 

And Charlie took his cue to stand up, rubbing his hands together. 

“Think I’ll get myself a burger or something,” he said. 

On his way out, he and Russell shared a look. On Charlie’s end, it was imbued with a cautious trust. 

One chance. 

Russell understood full well. He nodded in agreement.

The door shut behind Charlie. Russell lowered himself into a chair and tugged it over to your bedside, resting his hand on the mattress. You still didn’t know what to say, but despite your reluctance, your heart swelled just to see him. You missed him beyond belief.

You slowly moved your hand toward his on the bed. Russell noticed, and he smiled. He took your hand with both of his big, calloused ones, and he laid a tender kiss across your knuckles. 

You trembled inside as your tears spilled over, hot and unfettered. Your breathing shallowed with it, your emotions bubbling up and over the surface. On your first hiccupping sob, Russell moved. He got up to sit on the edge of your bed, and he cupped your uninjured cheek, so he could press a gentle kiss to your forehead. Your hand, still clasped in his, he pressed over his heart. He was sure you'd be able to feel the uptick beating of it.

Once chance.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” he said. It was a confession from the very depths of him, laden with grit. “This is on me. But I’m done, you understand? I’m done with all that shit.”

You pulled away a little. “What do you mean?” 

“I’m more than ready to be my own boss,” he said, grinning some. “When you’re feeling better, I’m gonna need your help tasting the menu for the brewery. Plus, the décor. You know me, I’m shit at figuring out what kinda lamps go with beige walls.”

You uttered a weak laugh through your tears. You raised a trembling hand to cup his cheek. Your thumb brushed tenderly there. All too soon though, your smile dimmed.

“Look, I know what I said, but understand if you want to find your father’s killer,” you whispered.   

Russell released a sigh through his nose. He appreciated you for that, and even kind of marveled that you could say that to him from your hospital bed. But this was enough.

What he couldn’t tell you, not just yet, was that he planned to track down Adam Brody. Russell could care less who the man worked for now, but once he dealt with that unfinished business, he fully intended to devote the rest of his attention toward building a steadier life, that firm foundation. He wasn’t about to take this second chance with you for granted.

“I’m done with contract work, and with anything having to do with my father,” he said firmly, grasping your hand. “It’s not worth losing you.”

Your lips trembled. You were still a hint uncertain, trying to figure out if he was being sincere. You knew he wanted to protect you, to be with you, but could he really give up all the rest of it?

“Are you sure?” you asked. 

Russell sobered further. He licked his lips, debating something in his mind. He could be honest about one thing, at least. 

“When I was a kid, I saw a man up on that cliff with my dad,” he said. “You know that part. Now, I didn’t see what happened. Maybe they argued, scuffled. Maybe that guy was a part of what my dad was running from all those years. But when I got up there and I looked over that cliff, even in the rain I saw his body down below, mangled up…”

He shook his head. You squeezed his hand. Even now, you let him know that you were listening, that he had an anchor. He let out a slightly shaky breath.

“Colter was there,” he admitted. “He was just a kid. All he could do was try to connect the dots on what he saw, and that was me on the top of that cliff.”

Your eyes widened. “No, he…he thought you did it?”

Russell nodded. “When I got back to the house, my mom told me it’d be best for the family if I got gone. So, I left. And I stayed gone. Wasn’t ‘til last year that I could get Colter to hear me out, let alone believe me.”

“God, Russ,” you said in dismay. His mom told him to leave? How could she do that? What the hell was in her head?

Questions, too many questions…and you wondered if Russell had those same ones. How could he not? The more you learned about his parents, the more you understood his and Dory’s decision to try to bury it, and leave the past behind.

“My dad was a paranoid son of a bitch. You know, he even pulled a fucking knife on me once,” Russell said, earning your gasp. “Yeah. One of his little episodes. Mom calmed him down, but…"

He thought better of diving into that one, considering what you'd just been through. He met your gaze.

"No, the line for me was when he started going off again on his bullshit, grabbed my little sister and pinned her to the wall," he said. "I saw fucking red then. Pulled him away, made him snap the fuck out of it. That was the night he took off.”

Your lips pursed in shock. Russell shook his head at the old memory, though it still got to him. He rolled his shoulders and forced himself to relax. 

“Man, I was fucking relieved when he did,” he said, an edge of anger lacing his words. “But I didn’t kill him.”

You nodded. There was conviction in every word, and your heart ached terribly for him. You tugged him closer by his shirt, so you could slip your good arm around his broad shoulders and pull him in for as good of a hug as you could give him. His long hair tickled your cheek and your neck, but you didn’t care. You sucked in a breath, your eyes glistening with tears, and you kissed his cheek. It was a weak press of your lips, but he felt it.

Russell couldn’t believe that you were the one comforting him right now. Grateful, relieved, those words didn’t even cover what he felt. His chest swelled with warmth, allowing him to let go of some of that bitterness. Some of that hurt, buried deep. His arms slipped around you, strong, secure, but gentle.

Eventually he pulled away, just so he could stroke your cheek and smile down on you. He took in the bruising around your eye. Your right arm, too, was still in a sling. The doctor would probably fit you for a cast next week, after the swelling went down. 

“This is probably a stupid question, but how’re you feeling?” he asked, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“I’m okay,” you replied. “Pain meds are awesome, when they want to give them to me.”

“They’re being fucking stingy, huh?” Russell gave you a conspiring look. “Want me to break into the pharmacy, grab you a couple of the little blue pills? They’re fun, I promise.”

You snorted a laugh, even though it hurt your side and your face. You winced in pain. Gotta stop doing that.

Russell slipped a hand over your hip in concern, and to try and soothe you. 

“It’s okay, I’m fine,” you said. 

He wasn’t buying it, but he didn’t press you either. 

“Will you stay with me tonight?” you asked, your lips tugging at a smile. “Legally I mean, in this room. We can let Charlie go home.”

Russell met your gaze and held it.

“Sweetheart, I’m not leaving you. Not if you don’t want me to.” 

Slowly releasing a deep breath, you nodded.

“I believe you,” you said.

Again, you tugged him closer with your hand on his cheek. He read the imploring request in your eyes. 

Russell leaned in, carefully brushing his lips against yours. You felt bold enough to meet him a second time with a better kiss. It hurt your cut lip, just a little, but it was worth it. 

You finally felt safe again.

AN: 🥹 whew! Okay, so perhaps a lot to unpack there, some 2x02 stuff, some plot stuff from the book cheekily making its way in here. I will say that this is an end to Breaking Point...for now.

I will probably continue this as a mini series within the ESC word, but I want to wait for the show to catch up to see what they do with certain book plotlines. Or, I might just get impatient and write my own spin on things. We'll see! 😂

Until then, what did you think about Russell's decision? How do you think he could settle his "unfinished business" with Adam, considering it might mire himself deeper with Horizon/the "mystery" employer Adam really works for? Or should Russ leave well enough alone on that one? 🤔

(Hint: We both know he won't.)

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[yvesssssssss]

Don't forget to take rest as well! Always loves your fics and thank you for bringing us happiness! I got an idea for request, maybe Nagumo and his childrens wanted to know how Nagumo and their mama (reader) met!

The Story of Us

(Nagumo Yoichi x Reader | Domestic Fluff | Family AU)

Thank you so much! Your support and kind words truly mean the world to me. I’m so happy my fics bring you joy, and I’ll definitely make sure to rest too! I hope you’re taking care of yourself as well—your enthusiasm always motivates me to write more.(⁠・⁠∀⁠・⁠)

The living room was an absolute disaster zone.

Scattered crayons, pillows from the couch repurposed as part of an ambitious but very unstable-looking fort, and two little troublemakers climbing all over their father. Nagumo Yoichi, once an infamous assassin, now found himself pinned under the weight of his own children—both quite literally and figuratively—as they tugged at his hair, pried open his eyelids, and demanded a story.

“Daaaad! Tell us how you met Mama!”

Nagumo, ever the dramatic storyteller, sighed deeply and draped his arm over his forehead as if recalling a tragic yet heroic tale. “Ah… it was a time of peril and danger. A fated encounter between two star-crossed lovers—”

“Mom said you’d exaggerate!” his younger daughter cut in, puffing her cheeks.

Nagumo gasped as if personally offended. “Me? Exaggerate? Sweetheart, your mother is a wonderful woman, but she underestimates my gift for storytelling.”

His eldest daughter tugged on his sleeve. “So what really happened?”

Before he could spin another ridiculous version of events, the front door clicked open. You walked inside, juggling a few grocery bags, pausing as you took in the state of the room. Your sharp gaze settled on Nagumo, who was still dramatically sprawled on the couch like a fallen war hero.

“Yoichi.”

Nagumo perked up immediately, springing to his feet and taking the bags from you with an easy grin. “Welcome home, my love! We were just about to embark on a trip down memory lane.”

Your daughters bounced over, eyes gleaming. “Mama, how did you and Dad meet?”

You sighed, setting down the rest of the groceries. “If I don’t tell you, your father will make something up.”

Nagumo placed a hand over his heart. “Everything I say is the truth.”

“That time you told them you were a prince from a lost kingdom?”

“Truth.”

“That time you said you saved me from a burning castle?”

“Also truth… metaphorically.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose before giving in. “Fine. I’ll tell you. But no interruptions from you.”

Nagumo mimed zipping his lips shut and throwing away the key. (You doubted that would last long.)

Your daughters immediately scrambled into your lap as you sat on the couch, while Nagumo flopped down beside you, resting an arm behind you as he grinned in anticipation.

“It all started a long time ago,” you began, ignoring the way Nagumo wiggled his eyebrows. “Your father and I met under… questionable circumstances.”

Nagumo leaned in. “It was love at first sight—”

You shot him a look, and he immediately pretended to zip his lips again.

Sighing, you continued. “I was minding my own business when this man dragged me into one of his ridiculous schemes.”

“Was he already an assassin?” your youngest asked, eyes wide.

“Oh, absolutely.” You glanced at Nagumo, who was making a heart with his hands at you. “And he was a menace about it.”

Your first meeting had been nothing short of chaotic. You had been going about your day when suddenly, a very suspicious-looking man—who turned out to be none other than Nagumo in disguise—grabbed your wrist and whispered, “Play along if you want to live.”

Naturally, you did not play along.

You had shouted, whirled around, and elbowed him in the ribs. Hard.

Nagumo had grinned through the pain, saying something ridiculous like, “Oh, I like you already.”

It turned out he had been undercover, trying to escape a group of armed men who had just realized his disguise wasn’t real. And thanks to your refusal to go along with it, you ended up being dragged into a high-speed chase, a fake engagement, and at least two explosions—all in the span of a single night.

Your daughters gasped. “Explosions?!”

Nagumo grinned, clearly reliving the memory. “Ah, yes. A beautiful backdrop to our love story.”

“I thought he was insane,” you admitted, running a hand through your daughter’s hair. “And I was very sure I never wanted to see him again after that.”

“But you did see him again!” your eldest pointed out.

“Oh, I didn’t have a choice,” you muttered, giving Nagumo a pointed look.

Because after that disaster of a first meeting, Nagumo had not left you alone.

He popped up everywhere.

At your favorite café, where he casually slid into the seat across from you and said, “Fate keeps bringing us together, huh?”

At the bookstore, where he leaned over your shoulder and said, “Oh, I love that book. We should totally discuss it over dinner.”

At your workplace, where he somehow charmed all your coworkers into thinking he was your boyfriend.

It was relentless.

Your daughters giggled at the idea of their father being that persistent. “Mama, what did you do?”

“I told him to go away.”

“And I didn’t listen,” Nagumo added proudly.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile on your lips. “Eventually, I realized he wasn’t as awful as I thought.”

Nagumo gasped dramatically. “That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, nudging him lightly.

The truth was, somewhere along the way, Nagumo had stopped being just an annoying presence in your life.

He had become the person who made you laugh when you were stressed. The person who always showed up when you needed help—no matter how much trouble he had to go through to do it. The person who made everything a little more fun.

And somehow, without even realizing it, you had fallen for him.

Your youngest daughter clapped her hands together. “So then you got married and had us?”

Nagumo grinned, pulling all of you into his arms. “Exactly! And now we’re living our happily ever after.”

Your daughters squealed in delight, giggling as Nagumo smothered them with affection.

You leaned against him, warmth blooming in your chest as you watched your little family. Despite his many flaws, Nagumo had a way of making life exactly how he wanted it. And you had to admit…

It was a pretty good one.

[heliosunny]

Yandere!Ayato x Reader

The day you met Kamisato Ayato was anything but ordinary. You had stumbled upon his younger sister, Ayaka, in peril, cornered by a group of hostile individuals while wandering through Inazuma. Without a second thought, you intervened, defeating her attackers and ensuring her safety. Ayaka’s gratitude was immediate, but her elder brother’s reaction was far less welcoming.

From the moment Ayato laid eyes on you, suspicion clouded his sharp gaze. He was a man who trusted few, and the idea that a stranger had “conveniently” saved his sister reeked of ulterior motives. Though Ayaka vouched for you, his skepticism remained. To his credit, he didn’t cast you out entirely. Instead, he insisted you stay within the Kamisato Estate under the guise of “monitoring you for further investigation.”

It wasn’t easy. Ayato’s cold demeanor and sharp tongue made it clear that he doubted your intentions. Yet, despite his hostility, you stayed. Ayaka needed time to recover, and you couldn’t abandon her—not after what you’d witnessed. Gradually, your genuine care for Ayaka chipped away at Ayato’s walls. You weren’t the enemy he had convinced himself you were. In fact, you were nothing but kind, patient, and selfless.

When Ayaka fully recovered, you quietly left the Kamisato Estate, believing your part in their lives was over. But the universe had other plans.

Not long after, a larger threat emerged—one that had the Kamisato Clan in its crosshairs. Strange disappearances, sabotage, and threats plagued their estate. It wasn’t a coincidence, and Ayato knew it. What he didn’t expect, however, was your return. This time, you weren’t alone.

You revealed yourself as a detective working alongside Shikanoin Heizou. It had been Heizou who assigned you to investigate the earlier incident with Ayaka, and now he had sent you back to aid Ayato with this new case. Though Ayato was initially taken aback by the revelation of your profession, he couldn’t deny the relief he felt at your presence. He trusted no one, yet you had already proven your loyalty once before.

As the case unfolded, you became Ayato’s anchor. Whether it was unraveling cryptic clues, protecting the estate, or simply listening when the burden of leadership weighed heavily on him, you were always there. You were sharp, resourceful, and unyielding in your determination to help. Slowly but surely, Ayato found himself drawn to you in ways he couldn’t explain—or resist.

The realization hit him like a storm. He didn’t just appreciate you—he needed you. You were his equal, his match, the one person who could stand by his side through anything. When the case finally came to an end and the culprits were brought to justice, Ayato wasted no time in confronting you.

“I have a proposition.” he said one evening, his calm mask betraying nothing of the emotions swirling beneath. “Stay by my side—not as an associate, but as my partner.”

You blinked, taken aback by the suddenness of his words. “Wait… are you saying—marriage?”

“Precisely.” His tone was unwavering, as if he were stating an undeniable fact.

You laughed nervously, unsure if he was serious. “That’s… a bold offer, Lord Kamisato. But I’m afraid I can’t accept something so sudden.”

Ayato’s smile didn’t falter, though there was a glint of something unsettling in his eyes. “I understand your hesitation. But I assure you, my feelings are genuine. You’ll come to see that, in time.”

Little did you know, Ayato wasn’t one to take no for an answer. The more you resisted, the more determined he became.

After finishing a case at Narukami Shrine, you were invited by none other than Yae Miko for a private meeting. Her playful smirk never left her lips as she gestured for you to sit down. “You’ve been busy lately, haven’t you?” she teased, her sharp eyes gleaming with curiosity.

When she offered to tell your fortune, you couldn’t exactly refuse. It was Yae Miko, after all, she was rarely wrong about anything. But when the results came in, her expression turned unusually serious.

“Your love line” she began, her tone far softer than you were used to, “is a complicated one. A dangerous one, in fact. Be careful, dear. The one who holds your heart might not let go so easily.”

Her cryptic warning left you unsettled. You tried to brush it off as another one of her enigmatic tricks, but her words lingered in your mind. Yae Miko wasn’t one to say such things lightly.

Days later, you found yourself visiting the Kamisato Estate. You had heard that Ayato had just returned from a major mission assigned directly by the Shogun, and part of you wanted to check on him. He had been unusually quiet after your last encounter, and though you didn’t want to admit it, you were worried about him.

When you arrived, Ayaka greeted you warmly and led you to the training grounds, where Ayato was recovering from the aftermath of a fierce battle. His usually pristine appearance was slightly marred by cuts and bruises, yet his expression was as calm as ever. However, the moment he saw you, his eyes lit up with something unmistakable—relief.

“I didn’t expect to see you here” he admitted, his voice carrying a warmth that made your heart skip a beat.

“I heard you just got back from a case.” you replied, crossing your arms. “Figured I’d check in. You look like you could use some help.”

He smiled faintly, his exhaustion evident. “Your timing is impeccable, as always.”

As it turned out, your instincts were correct. What Ayato hadn’t told anyone was that his case wasn’t quite over yet. The Shogun’s orders had uncovered a deeper conspiracy threatening the stability of Inazuma, and Ayato was at the heart of it. Once again, you found yourself by his side, aiding him in unraveling the mystery and standing by him in yet another perilous battle.

The fight was grueling, pushing both of you to your limits. But together, you triumphed. Your unwavering determination and skill had earned you not only Ayato’s deepest admiration but also the respect of the Shogun herself. As a token of her gratitude, the Shogun personally rewarded you for your service.

What you didn’t expect was Ayato’s next move.

Standing before the Shogun in all her commanding presence, Ayato bowed deeply. “Your Excellency, I have one more request, if I may.”

The Shogun raised an eyebrow. “Speak.”

“I humbly ask for your blessing in marriage,” he said, his voice steady yet filled with conviction. “With them.”

The words hit you like a lightning strike. You stared at Ayato, stunned, as he turned to meet your gaze. His eyes held nothing but sincerity, as if he had planned this moment all along.

The Shogun considered his request for a moment before nodding. “Very well, Lord Kamisato. If they are in agreement, you have my blessing.”

Your head spun. This couldn’t be real. Ayato, always composed and calculating, had just asked for the Shogun’s approval to marry you in front of everyone. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out.

“You’re not saying no, are you?” Ayato asked, his voice soft yet laced with an undercurrent of possessiveness. “I meant every word, and I won’t retract my proposal.”

You felt the weight of Yae Miko’s words return. A dangerous love line. Her warning rang in your ears as you looked at Ayato, whose calm mask had slipped just enough for you to see the intensity lurking beneath.

Despite the intensity of Ayato’s feelings, you had come to understand that beneath his possessiveness was a man who valued respect and devotion. While his obsessive nature could be overwhelming, he had never crossed a line, always treating you with the utmost care and reverence. Refusing his proposal seemed pointless—he was a man of his word, and as long as he didn’t tire of you, there was no harm in accepting his love.

And so, the preparations for your wedding began, with the Shogun herself granting her blessing. The ceremony was nothing short of a spectacle—luxurious, elegant, and befitting the head of the Kamisato Clan. Nobles, diplomats, and high-ranking officials filled the grand hall, marveling at the union of Ayato and the detective who had earned their place beside him.

Among the attendees were old friends and colleagues from the detective office, including Shikanoin Heizou. They greeted you warmly, reminiscing about past cases and your shared adventures. It felt like a moment of reprieve amidst the overwhelming grandeur of the event.

But Ayato’s sharp eyes were never far from you. From across the room, he watched as you laughed and chatted with Heizou and your other colleagues. The sight of you smiling so freely with others, particularly Heizou, ignited a storm within him. He didn’t say a word during the festivities, maintaining his usual composed demeanor. Yet, as the night wore on, he indulged in more wine than usual, the jealousy simmering beneath his calm façade.

By the time the wedding concluded and you returned to the privacy of your chambers, Ayato was visibly tipsy, his usually refined movements slightly unsteady. You helped him remove his outer robe, gently guiding him to sit. But as you turned to fetch water to sober him up, his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward him.

“You seemed awfully happy tonight” he murmured, his tone low but laced with jealousy. “Laughing with them, reminiscing like old lovers… Did you forget whose name you now bear?”

His words caught you off guard, and you turned to face him fully. “They’re just friends, Ayato. You know that.”

His lips curled into a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Do I? Because watching you with them made me think otherwise.”

You frowned, recognizing the edge in his voice. “You’re drunk, Ayato. Let’s talk about this in the morning.”

But Ayato wasn’t listening. Before you could pull away, he stood, towering over you as he backed you against the wall. His usual restraint seemed to waver as his arms caged you in.

“I’ve waited too long for this night to let anyone else steal your attention” he murmured, his voice low and commanding. “You’re mine to cherish, Y/N. And I’ll make sure you never forget it.”

That night, Ayato’s jealousy manifested in a way you hadn’t expected. His touches, though fervent, never crossed the boundaries of respect—he was still the man who cherished you, even in his drunken state. But his possessiveness was undeniable as he marked you as his in every way imaginable, whispering promises and warnings against anyone else daring to take your attention from him.

As the first rays of dawn peeked through the curtains, you found yourself lying beside Ayato, his arms wrapped around you even in sleep. The night’s events still lingered in your mind—his jealousy, his drunken insistence, and the way he’d poured his emotions into his actions. Despite everything, you couldn’t deny that a part of you understood his feelings, even if they were overwhelming at times.

When he began to stir, his eyes fluttering open, you gently reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. He blinked up at you, his expression soft but guarded, as though unsure of how you felt after the night’s intensity.

“Ayato…” you murmured, leaning down to press a feather-light kiss to his forehead. “I’m sorry for not being more mindful last night. I didn’t mean to make you feel insecure or neglected. I’ll do better at respecting your feelings—and our boundaries.”

He stared at you in silence for a moment, his usual composed mask cracking just enough to reveal a flicker of vulnerability. For a moment, you thought he might accept your apology and let the matter rest.

But then his lips curled into a sly, mischievous smile, and he tightened his hold on you, pulling you closer. “Boundaries?” he repeated, his voice still tinged with a huskiness that made your cheeks warm. “Darling, I don’t recall any boundaries between us. Especially not after last night.”

“Ayato, you were drunk” you countered gently, trying to pull away. “You weren’t yourself—”

“I’m perfectly sober now,” he interrupted, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “And I think it’s only fair that you make up for the… distress you caused me. After all, you were quite close with your friends last night.”

You sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to let this go so easily. “I already apologized. And I kissed you just now to show I meant it.”

He chuckled, the sound low and teasing as he tilted his head. “A kiss on the forehead? My, how chaste of you. But don’t you think I deserve a little more than that, my dear spouse?”

Your face grew hotter as he leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “How about another kiss? Here.” He tapped his lips with a finger, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “And perhaps… elsewhere, if you truly want to make it up to me.”

You groaned softly, torn between exasperation and fondness. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you married me” he quipped, his tone smug as he leaned back against the pillows, waiting expectantly. “So, what will it be? Will you grant your husband his ‘redemption,’ or shall I continue to lament my cruel, neglectful spouse?”

Despite his teasing, there was a warmth in his gaze that reassured you he wasn’t truly upset. Reluctantly, you leaned in, brushing your lips against his in a soft, lingering kiss. When you pulled away, his arms tightened around you again, keeping you close.

“Better” he murmured, his smile softening. “But I think I’ll need more time to forgive you properly. Perhaps… a day in bed together would suffice.”

You sighed, hiding your smile against his chest. Ayato might have been possessive and dramatic at times, but you couldn’t deny that he had a way of making you feel loved—even when he drove you absolutely crazy.

[ofswordsandpens]

Am I the only one who thinks about how The Lightning Thief would have gone if instead of Grover, Percy picked Luke to go with him and Annabeth on the quest? Luke, who was sick of the idea of doing quests that had already been done was just picked to go on a unique quest by this demigod who he was planning to manipulate, and the quest was unique because he helped to make it so. And while he'll likely be plotting to hide the fact that he's a lightning thief, reworking things to take heat off himself, one of his quest mates would be Annabeth, the half blood he personally saved and brought to camp, whom he would have to work like hell to hide his deeds from.

listen I'm loving the comedic potential of this because in my heart of hearts, I feel like Luke's too enamored with the idea of razing Olympus for him to doubt what he's doing, but balancing that razors edge where he's actively trying to sabotage the quest and kill Percy while not tipping off Annabeth, and also trying to plant seeds of doubt and discord both between Percy and Annabeth and also about the gods while trying not to be too obvious about it because maybe, just maybe he can convince Annabeth to side with him.

except as usual Luke's nefarious plans are constantly being foiled by 2 tweens and its embarrassing cause they're not even trying. Percy's not wearing the shoes and keeps making up polite reasons on why he can't without seeming like he's rejecting Luke's gift (cause that would be rude) and Annabeth's like "well I'm gonna wear them then" and Luke's panics like "NO" but he also can't wear them so then they just stay in the bag untouched. then Luke keeps directing them into the paths of monsters in the hopes Percy's gonna get taken out but holy hell this kid just won't die. Like literally just escapes mortal peril by the skin of his teeth and doesn't even realize it. It's like an old silent film where the entire front of the house falls off and the guy survives because he just happened to be standing right where the open window is.

Then Luke's also trying to stir up some anger at the gods, testing the waters with Annabeth, but she's so in the height in the idealization of her mom it's getting no where. Luke's trying to be subtle like "hey... don't you think it's kinda of fucked up that the gods are..... uh... blaming? percy for this? and that he has to do this quest to set things right" but annabeth's like "what do you mean by that? 🤨 this is what heroes do this is how we prove ourselves" and unfortunately Percy is the only one vibing with the "hey don't you hate your dad" comments that's Luke's throwing down and that makes him fond of Percy against his better judgement but he's still gotta kill him so you know, bummer

anyway, in this quest AU Percy perceives Luke as the Responsible Adult cause he's 19 (lmao) and thus feels a little less pressure to be responsible for things himself and so when they get to the Underworld, Luke's like smirking, grinning, cause a. he's in in the Underworld and how many heroes have achieved that? b. the shoes in Percy's bag are about to drag that kid to the depths of hell or c. the lightning bolts about to appear in the bag and Luke will throw Percy under the bus to Hades (he's been practicing his betrayal speech) except wait "Percy... where's your backpack??" and Percy's like "oh I forgot it at the hotel 👉👈" and Luke loses it and picks him up to throw him into tartarus himself (he is unsuccessful)

[verstappenf1lecccc]

Through it all

In the perilous, often ruthless world of the mafia life, power, loyalty, and family are the currency that drive every decision. But what happens when the greatest betrayal isn’t from an enemy, but from within your own household, when the people who are supposed to love and support you your family turn against you?

This is the story of Lando, a powerful mafia don whose devotion to his wife is tested in the most brutal of ways.

It was meant to be a time of joy a time to celebrate the birth of their first child, the beginning of a new chapter in their lives.

Yet, for Lando’s wife, the days after childbirth were a blur of exhaustion, self-doubt, and overwhelming emotional pain. Instead of basking in the warmth of family love and support, she found herself under the harsh, unrelenting criticism of Lando’s mother and sisters. They mocked her, tore her apart for not being the perfect mother they thought she should be.

Their criticisms were venomous, whispered behind closed doors but loud enough for her to hear.

She was too tired, they said. She was too overwhelmed. She was too emotional. They even questioned whether she could be a good mother, doubting every move she made. At a time when she needed their compassion and encouragement the most, they were nothing but cruel.

Lando’s wife, once strong and full of life, was now on the brink of collapse, crushed by their words. The tears came in the quiet moments, when the house was still and the weight of her thoughts became too much to bear. She could hardly look in the mirror without questioning her worth, her ability to be a good mother, or even if she deserved to be loved. The woman who had fought so hard to become a mother was now doubting everything she had ever known about herself.

One night, Lando returned from a long day at work. He had been fighting a battle of his own one of power and strategy but nothing had prepared him for the sight that awaited him. As he stepped into the nursery, he found his wife kneeling by their baby’s cot, her face obscured by her hands as her shoulders shook with quiet sobs. The small, fragile form of their child slept soundly in the crib, unaware of the devastation his mother was experiencing.

“Baby… what’s going on?” Lando’s voice cracked with concern as he moved to her side, gently touching her shoulder.

She looked up at him, her eyes red from crying. “I’m not enough, Lando. I’m not a good mother. I’m failing you… and him.” Her voice broke with pain. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to make it right.”

Lando’s heart slammed against his chest. His fierce, protective instincts ignited. His wife his partner, the woman who had just brought their child into the world was broken, and he had failed to see it. He knelt beside her, his hand cupping her cheek, wiping away her tears with a tenderness that contrasted with the storm raging inside him.

“Listen to me.” His voice was firm, steady, a promise wrapped in every word. “You’re doing everything right. You’re a better mother than anyone in this house could ever dream of being. And I’ll be damned if I let anyone anyone make you doubt that.”

But Lando knew that words weren’t enough. His wife wasn’t just upset; she was devastated by the judgment and rejection she felt from his family. And that was something that could not go unpunished.

That evening, after their baby was asleep, Lando’s rage boiled over. He had always been the calm, calculating don the kind of man who played the game with the precision of a surgeon but when it came to his wife, there were no games. He would protect her with the fury of a lion.

He overheard his mother and sisters once again ridiculing his wife. Their voices were low, but sharp enough to cut. They mocked her for being too tired, too fragile, too emotional to handle motherhood. They questioned her ability to raise his child and, by extension, her worth as a woman. Every word felt like a slap in the face to Lando. It wasn’t just an attack on his wife it was an attack on his family, his blood, his legacy.

Lando’s jaw clenched so tightly it felt as though his teeth would crack. His first instinct was to storm in, to unleash his fury in a way that would make even the most hardened Mafia enforcer tremble. But he knew better. He would not give them the satisfaction of seeing him lose control.

Instead, he waited. He let his anger fester, building to a boiling point. Then, when the time was right, he moved.

As his family gathered around the dinner table that evening, their chatter faltered when Lando walked in. His presence was commanding, his eyes colder than a winter storm. His mother and sisters froze as they saw the storm brewing in his gaze. They knew something had changed. They knew they were about to witness something they would never forget.

Without a word, Lando stood at the head of the table, his gaze sweeping over his family, cold and unforgiving. Then, in a voice so low it sent chills through the room, he spoke.

“You have disrespected my wife.” His words were a heavy punch, deliberate and slow, every syllable like a warning. “You have belittled her in my home. And I will not stand for it. You have crossed a line that cannot be undone.”

His mother, always the dominant force in their family, opened her mouth to argue, to defend herself, but Lando silenced her with one glare. It was a look that froze her in place. His sisters, once so confident in their cruel judgments, shrank in their seats, realizing too late the depth of their mistake.

“You will never speak about her that way again,” Lando continued, his voice cold, but carrying the weight of his wrath. “She is the mother of my child. She is my wife. And you will respect her. Or you will leave.”

His voice didn’t rise, but the venom in his words was unmistakable. The tension in the room grew suffocating. His mother, who had spent a lifetime ruling over her family, suddenly realized that she had lost her hold. She had underestimated Lando’s loyalty to his wife, to his family, and now she was paying the price.

“You want to talk about being a good mother?” Lando’s words were searing. “She’s everything you could never be. She’s strong, brave, and she’s given me the greatest gift of my life. Our son.” His eyes narrowed. “And I will not let any of you diminish her. Not now, not ever.”

The room was silent, and his mother, for the first time in her life, felt the sting of true regret. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words died in her throat.

“I’ll say it once more. You will support her, or you will leave. This is your last chance to make it right.” His gaze burned through them, each word a promise of consequences that would be far worse than their petty insults.

In the days that followed, Lando ensured that his wife knew she was valued, that she was never alone in this journey of motherhood. He reminded her daily that she was doing everything right, that she was enough, and that her worth was beyond measure.

His family, once dismissive and cruel, began to shift. His sisters apologized, their heads hung in shame. His mother, though her pride still stung, offered a reluctant but sincere apology. But it wasn’t enough for Lando. His loyalty to his wife had changed the dynamic in the house forever. And his love for her had shown his family what true respect, protection, and loyalty meant.

The lessons they learned that night were painful but necessary. Lando’s family would never again underestimate the strength of his love. They would never forget the price of betraying his wife, the mother of his child.

In the world of Mafia Lando, power and dominance ruled, but there was one thing that always came first: loyalty. Loyalty to those you love, and above all, loyalty to family. Lando had defended his wife, not just with his words, but with the unbreakable power of a man who would stop at nothing to ensure that the woman he loved would never again be doubted, disrespected, or forgotten.

And that, in the end, was the greatest power of all.

[newobsessionweekly]

Breaking boundaries

Main masterlist | The Rookie masterlist

Tim Bradford x Grey!reader Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: You are Sergeant Grey's daughter and despite the reservations about your relationship with Tim, he still found out. And not only that.

A/N: Here it is, another request. Thank you so much for your support and patience. I appreciate all of you and thank you all for reading my stuff. Requests are still open, so feel free to send them! Have a nice day, bubs! Lots of love and take care of you! ❤️

Fluff

Warnings: None. Pure fluff. Not proofread

Requested: Yes Words: 4.3k GIF not mine, credits to the owner.

From a young age, you were mesmerized by the world of law enforcement, inspired by your father's dedication to serving and protecting the community. Growing up, his commitment to justice and his unwavering dedication to his job as a police officer shaped your perception of the world. You wanted to walk into his footsteps, to make a change into the world and protect what's right.

As a child, you often accompanied your father to the station, fascinated by the inner workings of the police department. You idolized the officers you met, dreaming of one day following in their footsteps. But your father, ever protective, urged you to pursue a different path, fearing for your safety in such a dangerous career.

Sergeant Grey had seen the dangers of the job firsthand and was determined to shield you from its perils. You followed your father's advice, channeling your passion for helping others into a career focused on caring for children in need. Yet, the allure of the police force never truly faded.

It was during one of your cases involving a troubled teenager caught in the cycle of crime and neglect that you first crossed paths with Tim Bradford.

Assigned to assist with the case by providing support to the juvenile offender, you found yourself face to face with him. His stern expression and no-nonsense approach initially intimidated you, but beneath his tough exterior, you sensed a depth of compassion that intrigued you.

For Tim, meeting you was unexpected. He had grown accustomed to the routine of his job, keeping his emotions tightly guarded behind the badge. But there was something about your presence – the way you approached your work with a combination of empathy and determination – that drew him in.

As you worked together on the case, you couldn't help but be drawn to Tim's dedication. His unwavering commitment to making a difference resonated with you, igniting a spark of admiration that gradually grew into something more.

But it wasn't until an intense moment during the case – when Tim risked his own safety to protect you from harm – that you realized the depth of your feelings for him. In that moment of vulnerability and shared danger, a connection formed between you that transcended the boundaries of professionalism.

Tim found himself opening up to you in ways he never had with anyone else. He shared his fears and doubts, his hopes and dreams, knowing that you would understand in a way that few others could. And as the walls he had built around his heart began to crumble, he realized that he was falling for you – hard and fast.

As your relationship with Tim evolved, you found yourself falling deeper in love with him, drawn to his unwavering support, his selflessness, and the way he made you feel seen and understood. And though the risks of starting a relationship with a police officer, especially one who worked closely with your father, weighed heavily on your mind, the love you shared with Tim was worth any sacrifice.

As you sat in your apartment with Tim, the sound of the football game running in the background, you couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you. For days, you had been complaining to your father about something that desperately needed fixing – a broken water pipe that's been flooding your apartment every time you took a shower. Despite his promises to help, his busy schedule always seemed to get in the way, overtime hours exhausting him while working on a crucial case about some serial killer. From as far as you know, police didn't have enough evidence to knot the suspect to the killings and your dad was working on that.

But Tim had managed to squeeze in some time between his own hectic schedule to come to your rescue. For him, the water pipe was only an excuse to get some more time with you, enjoying your presence. With his sleeves rolled up and a determined look on his face, he had tackled the problem head-on.

As the soft glow of the evening sun filtered through the curtains, you can't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you. The day had been long, filled with the usual chaos of work, but now, with Tim by your side, everything seems to fall into place. It's rare to have these moments of tranquility amidst the chaos of your lives.

"What's on your mind?" Tim asks, his gaze soft as his attention focused solely on you.

His heart swells with adoration, his eyes tracing the contours of your face with reverence. You possess an ethereal beauty, captivating him with every glance.

You lean back against the cushions, contemplating for a moment before replying, "Just... work, I guess. It's been crazy lately. And then there's this pipe," you say, gesturing to the bathroom. "It's been driving me crazy."

Tim chuckles, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I feel you. But hey, at least the pipe's fixed now."

But it's his smile that truly melts your heart – warm and genuine, it lights up his face and fills you with a sense of comfort and belonging. And when his eyes crinkle at the corners with laughter, you find yourself falling even deeper under his spell.

"Yeah, thanks to you," you reply, smiling gratefully at him, leaning over him, your lips touching his as you spoke, but maintaining a teasing distance "I don't know what I would have done without you, handyman."

Tim's gaze softens at your touch, a warmth spreading through him as he intertwines his fingers with yours. "Just doing my part to keep the peace," he says, his voice tender as he leans in closer to you.

Your stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud growl, breaking the serene atmosphere. You chuckle nervously, shooting Tim a sheepish grin.

"Looks like someone's hungry," you tease, trying to divert attention away from your rumbling stomach.

Tim raises an eyebrow, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Oh, was that you, or was it me?" he quips, his own stomach joining in with a grumble of its own.

You laugh, feeling the tension ease as you engage in playful banter. "Well, I suppose we're both in the same boat then," you remark, nudging him playfully with your elbow.

Tim grins, leaning closer. "I guess so. What can I say? All this exhausting work relied on my appetite."

"You know," you say casually, glancing over at Tim, "I can help you with dinner, but only if you promise to stay the night."

Every time he flashes you that crooked grin, your heart flutters, and you can't help but feel a surge of warmth spread through you. Despite his tough exterior, there's a gentleness in his eyes when he looks at you, a tenderness that makes you feel safe and cherished.

Tim's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, a playful glint in his eyes. "Oh, is that so?" he replies, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "And here I thought you were just being nice."

You shrug nonchalantly, a smirk of your own playing on your lips. "Well, I am nice. But a little incentive never hurt anyone."

Tim laughs, shaking his head in amusement. "Alright, you've got yourself a deal," he says, holding out his hand for a playful handshake. "But only if you promise to make that famous dessert of yours."

You chuckle, shaking his hand firmly. "Deal," you say, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at the thought of spending the night with Tim.

"I need to grab something from store." you told Tim as you grabbed your jacket. "Want something?"

"Nah, I'm fine. Want me to come with you?"

Your figure, graceful and lithe, moves with a natural elegance that leaves him breathless. Your presence commands attention, drawing him in like a magnet.

"No, no, I'll be back before you can enjoy the game too much." you teased, leaning in to press a quick kiss on his lips before heading towards the door.

As you return to the apartment, expecting to find Tim lounging on the couch, you're taken aback by the scene that unfolds before you.

Your father stands in the center of the room, his expression severe and unyielding. And standing beside him is Tim, his usual confident expression replaced by a hint of discomfort and shock.

"Dad, what's going on?" you ask, confusion lacing your voice as you set the bags of groceries down on the counter.

Sergeant Grey's gaze shifts to the door, his expression softening slightly at the sight of you. "Thought I'd stop by and help you with that pipe as I have some time to spare tonight." But the sternness remains as he gestures towards Tim. "Care to explain why one of my officers is in your apartment, Y/N?"

You feel a pang of anxiety at the disapproving tone in your father's voice. "Dad, it's not what it looks like," you begin, scrambling to find the right words to explain the situation.

Tim steps forward, his gaze meeting yours briefly before turning back to Sergeant Grey. "I stopped by to help Y/N with the pipe," he explains, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. "I didn't mean to overstep any boundaries, sir."

Sergeant Grey's lips curl into a sarcastic smile. "Ah, so you're a handyman on your free time now, Bradford?" he quips, his tone laced with sarcasm.

You jump in quickly, hoping to diffuse the tension. "Dad... Tim just offered to help me fix it. It's nothing more than that," you explain, your voice earnest as you meet your father's gaze.

Sergeant Grey's expression softens slightly as he regards you, but the disapproval still lingers in his eyes. "Well, next time, maybe call a professional if I can't come help you," he says, his tone gruff. "And as for you," he adds, turning his attention back to Tim, "I expect better judgment from my officers."

Tim nods, his jaw tight with tension. "Yes, sir," he replies, his voice respectful but tinged with frustration.

As Tim sits at his desk in the station, his fingers absently tracing patterns on the file in front of him, his mind is a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Thoughts of you swirl through his mind like a storm, each one more tumultuous than the last.

He likes you, he really does. From the moment he first met you, he was drawn to your kindness, your strength, your unwavering dedication to helping others. But now, knowing that you're Sergeant Grey's daughter, his superior, it feels like his world is crashing down around him.

As the days pass and Tim's attitude towards you shifts, you can't help but feel a heavy weight settle in your chest. At first, you brushed it off as work-related stress or simply a busy schedule, but as his interactions with you become increasingly distant, you can't ignore the sinking feeling in your gut.

The thought of him getting involved with you, of crossing that line between personal and professional, fills him with a sense of dread. It feels wrong, somehow, to entertain the idea of a relationship with you, to risk complicating both your lives and careers.

But despite his best efforts to push you away, to bury his feelings deep down where they can't hurt him, he can't shake the thought of you. Your smile, your laugh, the way your eyes light up when he's around– they haunt him, tormenting him with the fact that it's almost impossible to have you.

And as he sits there, surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of the station, he can't help but feel a sense of isolation. It's as if he's trapped in a cage of his own making, unable to escape the turmoil of his own mind.

Even as he struggles with his inner demons, one thing remains clear – his feelings for you are real, undeniable, and all-consuming. And no matter how much it tortures him to admit it, he knows that he can't walk away. Because in you, he's found something he never knew he was missing – a connection that transcends the boundaries of duty, a love that refuses to be ignored.

You've always admired Tim, and when your professional relationship with him blossomed into something more, you felt like you had found someone who understood you in a way that no one else ever had.

Now, as you watch him from across the station, his attention focused elsewhere, you can't help but feel a sense of betrayal. It's as if he's pulling away from you, retreating into himself, and you're left wondering what you did wrong.

Lost in his thoughts, Tim doesn't notice Angela and Nyla approaching until they take the chairs next to him, their voices pulling him back to reality.

"Hey there, Bradford," Angela says with a playful smirk, nudging him lightly with her elbow. "Got a moment to spare for a little gossip?"

Tim looks up, forcing a smile despite the turmoil churning inside him. "What's up, ladies?" he asks, trying to keep his tone light.

Nyla gives him a knowing look, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "So, we heard through the grapevine that you've got a thing for someone special," she says, her voice teasing.

Tim's heart skips a beat, a flush creeping up his neck as he tries to play it cool. "I don't know what you're talking about," he replies, his voice betraying his nervousness.

Angela raises an eyebrow, her expression skeptical. "Oh, come on, Tim. We're not blind," she says, leaning in closer. "We've seen the way you look at Y/N, the little touches, just like you're some high school kid with an enormous crush on her."

Tim sighs, knowing there's no use denying it. "Yeah, okay, maybe I do," he admits reluctantly, his gaze flickering back to the file on his desk. "But it's complicated."

Nyla and Angela exchange a knowing glance before turning their attention back to Tim. "Complicated how?" Angela asks, her curiosity piqued.

Tim hesitates, his throat feeling dry as he struggles to find the words. "She's... she's Grey's daughter," he finally admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

As Angela and Nyla's laughter fades, their expressions shift from amusement to shock as Tim's revelation sinks in. Their eyes widen in disbelief, and Angela's playful demeanor turns serious.

"What?" Angela exclaims, her voice laced with concern. "Grey as in Sergeant Grey's daughter?"

Tim nods, feeling a knot form in his stomach at their reaction. "Yeah," he admits reluctantly, his gaze dropping to his hands. "I only found out recently, and Serg... well, he wasn't exactly thrilled when he found me at her place."

Angela and Nyla exchange another glance, this time their expressions softened with sympathy. "Oh, man, that's rough," Nyla says. "You should talk to her, Tim. Clear the air, figure things out."

You've found yourself standing in the centre of the chaos after an unexpected call. The Mid-Wilshire unit were in the middle of an operation to apprehend some serious drug dealers when they discovered a little girl involved in the mess.

Sasha, an adorable and very smart four years old, was one of your social services cases. You had a bond with the little one as she's seen you dozens of times for the past year, after the neighbours called in repeatedly to report her parents for negligence. You knew they weren't the best, but they tried to keep their daughter safe from some business you suspected wasn't holy in the first place. But the parents to be traffickers, you didn't expect that.

As the operation unfolds, tension hangs heavy in the air, thick with the sense of imminent danger. The street buzzes with activity as officers prepare to execute the carefully planned raid on the operation.

Your father approaches you with a stern expression. "I want you to stay close to Bradford," he instructs, his tone firm, then he turned his attention to Tim. "Keep her safe."

Tim nods, his jaw set with determination. "Yes, sir."

You find yourself captivated by the way he carries himself, with an aura of quiet confidence that sets him apart from the rest.

"Just make sure you both come back in one piece," your father says quietly, his voice tinged with concern.

You nod as well at your father's words, though frustration simmers beneath the surface,a pang of resentment at being treated like a helpless child.

With a deep breath, you waited for the officers to break into the house, securing the perimeter, before you stepped inside, your senses on high alert as you navigate the dimly lit corridors of the house.

Tim follows closely behind you, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm. "Stay close," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

You find yourself mesmerized by the way his muscles flex beneath his uniform, his every movement commanding attention.

You searched for the young girl, your heart pounds in your chest with each passing moment. Finally, you spot her huddled in a corner, her eyes wide with fear as she clutches a stuffed toy to her chest.

"It's okay, sweetheart," you say gently, crouching down beside her. "We're here to make sure you're safe, okay?"

Tim pushes forward, his determination unwavering as he focuses on the mission at hand. With each passing moment, his love for you burns brighter, a beacon of hope in the darkness that surrounds him.

The girl nodded in understanding, a smile covered in fear playing on her lips at the sight of you. But as you scoop her into your arms and turn to leave, a sudden shout echoes through the house, followed by the sound of gunfire. Sasha starts to cry, scared by the loud noise, your heart pounding in your chest just as scared when you covered the little girl's ears. Panic surges through you, but Tim is quick to react, his voice steady and reassuring as he guides you towards the exit.

Tim stands by your side, his presence a steady anchor in the storm as he watches over you both with a protective gaze. "We gotta move," he says, his voice firm but gentle as he offers the girl a reassuring smile. "You're going to be okay."

But amidst the chaos and uncertainty, doubts gnaw at him, threatening to undermine his resolve. The knowledge that your father, Sergeant Grey, is also present adds an extra layer of pressure, his disapproval a constant weight on Tim's shoulders.

As he moves through the house, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of danger, he can't help but feel a surge of protectiveness towards you. Every instinct he has screams at him to keep you safe, to shield you from harm at all costs.

As you emerge from the house, the weight of the young girl in your arms a tangible reminder of the danger you both faced, you take a moment to ensure she's okay. Gently stroking her hair, you whisper words of reassurance, promising to keep her safe as you guide her towards safety.

Once you've settled the girl in a secure location, you turn to Tim, your heart heavy with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved tension. "We need to talk," you say, your voice tinged with a mix of frustration and hurt.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the confrontation that's been building since his distant behavior began. "Why have you been avoiding me, Tim?" you demand, the hurt evident in your tone. "Ever since you met my father, you've been acting like I'm some kind of liability."

Tim's jaw tightens, his gaze flickering with a mix of guilt and frustration. "No and it's not that simple, Y/N," he starts, his voice strained. "I didn't realize... I mean, finding out your father is Sergeant Grey, it changes things."

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with unspoken emotion. This hurt you like hell, all you could understand is that if he'd have known from the start you are the daughter of Wade Grey, he wouldn't have approached you.

You puffed as a response. "Why didn't you tell me sooner, Y/N?" he asks, his voice tinged with a mix of hurt and exasperation. "Keeping something like this from me... it's not fair."

Your heart sinks, the sting of betrayal sharp and raw. "I didn't think it mattered, Tim. I didn't think it would change how you feel about me." you retort, your voice tinged with anger.

Tim's expression softens, regret flashing in his eyes. "It's not about that, Y/N, it didn't change my feelings for you." he insists, his voice pleading. "I care about you, I do. But with everything that's at stake... I didn't know how to handle it."

"You want to know what really changes things, Tim?" you seethe, your voice trembling with emotion. "I'm pregnant."

Tim's eyes widen in shock, his mind reeling as he struggles to process the bombshell you've just dropped. He opens his mouth to respond, but the words elude him, lost in the whirlwind of emotions swirling within him.

For a moment, silence hangs heavy in the air, the weight of your revelation sinking in between you. Tim's expression is a mix of confusion and uncertainty, his thoughts a jumble of conflicting emotions.

Seeing his bewildered expression, you can't help but feel a surge of doubt creeping into your own heart.

You had expected shock, perhaps even anger, but Tim's response leaves you feeling adrift, unsure of where you stand with him. His lack of a clear reaction leaves you feeling exposed, vulnerable in a way you hadn't anticipated.

He's not sad that you're pregnant, nor is he angry. But it's not exactly the news he imagined. He finds himself grappling with a complex array of feelings – fear, apprehension, and a deep-seated sense of responsibility that tugs at his heart.

As the weight of your words sinks in, Tim's expression softens, his eyes reflecting a mixture of surprise and tenderness. "You're pregnant?" he repeats, his voice laced with disbelief.

Tim's features break into a gentle smile. "Wow," he breathes, his voice filled with awe. "I mean... wow."

Your heart skips a beat at the warmth in his voice, a flicker of hope igniting within you. "I know it's a lot to take in," you say softly, your voice trembling with emotion. "But I wanted you to know..."

Tim's smile widens, his gaze locking with yours in a silent exchange of understanding. "I'm... I'm happy, Y/N," he admits, his tone hesitant but sincere. "I mean, I'm thrilled, really. But..."

You nod, your own smile faltering slightly as you sense the weight of his unspoken concerns. "But it's complicated," you finish for him, your voice tinged with sadness.

Tim's expression softens, a silent acknowledgment of the challenges that lie ahead. "Yeah," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "But we'll figure it out.

As Sergeant Grey approaches, his eyes narrowing with curiosity and concern, he addresses you with a stern tone. "What did you say?" he demands, his gaze shifting between you and Tim.

You hesitate for a moment, the weight of your words heavy on your tongue. But then, with a resolve born of love and determination, you meet your father's gaze head-on. "I said I'm pregnant, Dad," you admit, your voice tinged with nervousness.

Sergeant Grey's eyes widen in shock, his features contorting with a mixture of surprise and concern. "Pregnant?" he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest as you brace yourself for his reaction. "Yes, Dad," you say firmly, your voice unwavering. "And I love him."

As Sergeant Grey processes the news of your pregnancy, his expression darkens with a mixture of disappointment and frustration. He turns his gaze towards Tim, his eyes narrowing with a steely determination.

"Officer Bradford," he begins, his voice low and stern, "I'll make this very clear. My daughter's well-being comes first, above all else. And if you think for one moment that you can waltz into her life and disrupt everything she's worked so hard for, you're sorely mistaken."

Tim meets Sergeant Grey's gaze head-on, his jaw set with determination. "With all due respect, sir, I care for her. I would never do anything to hurt her," he says, his voice unwavering despite the tension in the air.

Sergeant Grey's eyes narrow further, his resolve hardening with each passing moment. "I don't care how you feel, Bradford," he says, his voice cold and unforgiving. "I'm her father, and I'll do whatever it takes to protect her."

Tim's expression softens slightly, a hint of sadness creeping into his eyes. "I understand, sir. But you have to know that my feelings for Y/N are real. I won't apologize for that."

As the tension between them reaches a boiling point, Tim takes a step back, his gaze flickering towards you standing nearby. "I love her, Sergeant Grey," he says, his voice filled with sincerity. "And I won't let anyone stand in the way of that."

Sergeant Grey's features soften slightly at Tim's words, a flicker of understanding passing between them. But his expression remains guarded as he regards Tim with a sense of caution.

"You may think you know what's best for her, Bradford," he says, his voice softer now but no less firm, "but I'll be watching you. Don't make me regret this."

With that, Sergeant Grey turns on his heel and strides away, leaving Tim and you standing alone in the fading light of the evening. And as you watch him go, a sense of determination washes over you, knowing that no matter what challenges lie ahead, as long as you have each other, you'll find a way to overcome them.

[maple-the-awesome]

The Chain Meets You, His Partner || 1/3

Part 2 || Part 3

Pairing: Warrior, Twilight, Legend x GN! Reader

Requested by @temporarilyablog: i see requests are open still so im coming to you with a thought i had recently: how about a Link from the Chain interacting with the reader, another Link's s/o from their original adventures, when *their* Link isn't around. i can see some teasing another Link with the reader that they've only known through little stories here and here, or others grilling the reader relentlessly because another Link was so shy about their relationship and partner, and wants to know how that Link is like around someone he allows himself to relax. its kinda like when the Chain met Malon for the first time and interacted with her for stories about old man Time and as always stay awesome, i love your writing!

Zelda Masterlist 💙Fandom Masterlist

Concerningly delighted or eerily eager - the Chain can't quite agree on which descriptor best described their teammate the best once he realized they had all landed in his Hyrule. Bubbling with excitement ever since while maintaining a pace some of the other boys have to jog after, Link doesn’t waste breath saying where he’s leading them, although that giddy smile upon his face - as much as he tries to hide it - is plenty for the wiser heroes to get the hint...

Taking numerous shortcuts that avoid public attention, Warrior skillfully navigates the familiar streets of Castle Town with his only pause being at the doorstep of his apparent destination. There, he takes a quick second to smooth his hair and perfect his uniform before knocking a fist against the chestnut wood.

The curious murmurs of the boys huddled behind him adds ambience to his impatient wait where his thoughts temporarily worry that perhaps you aren't awake yet, after all the sun is only just rising above the waking town, however true to your many letters which have complaint of insomnia during his absence, the door soon opens not more than a minute later to reveal your tired figure.

Even with a mess of bedhead and a robe tied lazily around yourself, you look beautiful and sacred in Warrior's eyes - an observation he isn't alone in making. Some mainly Legend had doubted that you were even real or at the very least matching to the Captain’s honey-soaked descriptions, although none can deny how well you truly hold up to that image.

You awake in a snap and leap into your lover's arms with a cry of joy; a feeling that is contagious throughout the group who watches on in silent amusement. Suddenly their friend's excitement makes plenty of sense, especially knowing how much he's missed you throughout their journey. Seriously, he's never shut up about it!

You can't rid of the smile on your face when Warrior finally takes his attention off of you long enough to introduce the others, all of whom you’ve already learned about from his letters. Without hesitation, you invite the group of worn travelers into your home while waving off any concern raised about possibly intruding at such an ungodly hour.

"Nonsense. You’re all welcome here any time. I know from personal experience how much rest can mean during a long and perilous journey.”

"My love is a captain, as well~" Warrior brags proudly, his arm wrapped snugly around your waist as you both stand aside to let the others file through into the warmth of your home.

"We know. You've only mentioned it a dozen times," Four rolls his eyes teasingly while passing by.

"So I take it you all already know about me then. Hopefully all good things?" You eye Warrior with mocked suspicion, yet he’s hardly fazed, dodging any blame by pressing a quick kiss to your cheek.

"Of course. The trick is getting him to shut up about you," Twilight says, earning a laugh. You couldn’t deny it if you tried - that sure does sound like your Link, and seeing as he does nothing to argue against the claim, instead pressing another longer kiss to your cheek, he recognizes he’s a guilty man.

The group is simply happy for the chance to finally rest their feet somewhere homely, although none complain to your offer of throwing together breakfast, even if it’s just a small one made up of some toast, eggs, and a first-come-first-serve fruit bowl. While you gather this makeshift meal, Warrior remains practically glued to your side, sneaking kisses and lingering touches whenever he can manage before you shoo him away playfully.

The heroes have all experienced their fair share of interesting and distinctive adventures, however rather than saying much about themselves, they favor asking about you, wanting to confirm if everything Warrior has said is true, after all he’s built you up to be a talented soldier who’s sword should be feared by even the fiercest of monsters. It’s not to say they doubt it based on your build and stern undertone, but it would still be nice to hear from you personally.

You admit to your reputation, however are too modest to exactly rave about your military achievements or detail your victories during war. That role is left to your boyfriend who’s unafraid to brag for your sake while tying in as many compliments as possible, both professional and of the romantical sort. As for the boys, they only interrupt with brief questions or comments, mostly related to your relationship as curiosity and thirst for mischief get the better of some of them.

“Sounds like he was smitten at first sight,” Sky smirks after hearing the story of your initial meeting, not that he could ever judge. If anything, seeing you both together warms his heart with the memory of his own lover.

“Was the feeling mutual?” Someone else asks teasingly.

For once, Warrior remains silent, glancing at you subtly in an attempt to hide his own interest towards the answer. While you certainly struck him dumb with one look, your own expression had always held a bit of resentment during those early days, your attitude strict and standards held impossibly high - higher than they were for any other subordinate.

Link never blamed you, though. If anything, it made perfect sense for you to not be his biggest fan. All of your hard work had been largely overshadowed by the discovery of Hyrule’s new hero, his simple existence being to blame for the war you then had to fight tirelessly through. You weren’t willing to give him a pass just because of his shiny title and pretty face, instead holding him to expectations you’d set for anyone destined to defeat Ganondorf. He had to earn your trust and love overtime, at least what he always assumed.

Yet to Warrior’s surprise, you become slightly bashful as you stubbornly redirect your gaze and answer, “...I admit I found him attractive - both in appearance and personality…A little too cocky, though, and not the best listener there in the start. He had to be trained out of that habit.”

Startled by this revelation, Warrior mocks offense, “You barely gave me the time of day!” 

“I was putting your ego in check,” You reply easily.

“So you were playing hard to get that whole time?”

“Oh please, you were enjoying it,” You smirk, leaning in for the challenge with your noses centimeters apart. 

For a second, it’s as if you’ve forgotten about your guests, too busy staring into each other’s eyes affectionately, that is until Legend scoffs while biting into an apple, "If our captain here was smart, he'd hurry up and put a ring on it before you finally come to your senses."

Warrior’s eyes widen into a look of horror after the Veteran's comment, yet you take it in stride, laughing as you pat your boyfriend’s chest, “There’s really no need to rush, after all, life has only recently started calming down following Ganon, and the hope is that neither of us will be going anywhere anytime soon…assuming that you boys help keep this one out of trouble during your adventure.”

“Aye, aye, Captain!” The group cheers with a chorus of amused laughter resulting from Warrior’s flustered face; a rare sight they plan to memorize.

Your smile remains even as you lift yourself to sit on the counter where you can nibble on your piece of toast, Warrior following in suit with a huff while he shamelessly pouts like a child at your side. Alas, you merely find it endearing, kissing his cheek which seems to be addicting enough to have him chasing after your lips, pecking them as he takes your free hand in his and whispers in your ear for no one else to hear, “I’ll have you know I already have a ring.”

“And I’ll have you know I’ve already found it,” You smirk, placing a finger against his lips, “Keep trying and maybe one day you’ll be able to get one step ahead of me, my dear captain.”

He huffs again before stealing a quick bite of your toast.

The boys chase Twilight blindly through what appears to be a forest no different than the many others they’ve already traveled through during their adventure, however it’s when crossing a long wooden bridge over a canyon that they begin to connect the dots as to where they really are; a point soon proven correct once reaching a small treehouse standing by its lonesome amongst a meadow.

Even Epona seems eager to arrive here, confirming this is somewhere familiar to the two. She’s pleased to busy herself by grazing outside while her rider has other plans, leading his comrades up a steep ladder and into his cozy home. He invites them to make themselves comfortable, although he’s still clearly distracted by another thought himself. 

His eyes search the house excitedly, disappointment echoing on his face when he doesn’t seem to find what he’s looking for. He looks no different than a kicked puppy, his smile drooping into a frown that he doesn’t explain. There’s no need to. As quickly as his joy had soured, it returns in a blink when the front door once again opens from behind the group.

You’re understandably startled to look up and find eight heavily armed men crowded around in your house, however your surprise doesn’t stand long. Swiftly, you’re scooped up into someone’s arms then spun with ease. It only takes you seconds to realize it’s your lover doing, having already assumed he’d be somewhere within this party of travelers seeing as his loyal mare had been there to greet you just outside.

To say you’re both delighted to see each other again would be an understatement. You’ve been impatient awaiting the day Link returns, only having so many ways to distract yourself from his absence in this small village. With that said, you have no objections to the deep kiss he steals, instead savoring it as your arms steady themselves around his neck while he still holds you off the ground against his chest. It’s a display that has some of the boys gagging in mocked disgust, although most merely smile, finding joy through that of their brother’s. After all, if he can be this happy, maybe there’s hope for all of them.

Twilight has, of course, frequently mentioned you before to the heroes, but had never gone into too much detail nor had he exactly specified the extent of your relationship. Nevertheless, the boys already assumed you to be a lover, after all, you would have to be someone special to always occupy a rent-free space in their dear rancher’s head.

Only Time, Wild, and Four knew the exact specifics because one, they had actually gone out of their way to respectfully ask, and two, Twilight trusted them enough not to relentlessly tease. Seeing how long it took Warrior to drop the dog jokes after finding out his ‘wolfie secret’, Twilight could only imagine the jester that damned captain would become if possessing any other information about his intimate life…A fear proven rational now that the cat’s officially out of the bag.

Fortunately or unfortunately - Your boyfriend has yet to decide - you seemed to instantly forget that the eight travelers are total strangers to you and insisted they all stay the night; a kind hearted offer born from good intentions, but also the perfect opportunity for the boys to plan their rancher’s downfall by mercilessly interrogating you about your relationship.

“When did you guys meet and where?”

“Did he make the first move or did you?”

“How’d he ask you out?”

“Do you ever get tired of the dog smell?”

Twilight rolls his eyes, finding himself slowly regretting this whole show-and-tell of his lover. He should’ve just slipped away from the group and snuck home to visit you. They would’ve been none the wiser seeing as he often strays as Wolfie anyway. Surely had he told Four or Wild, they would’ve covered for him. Now he’s stuck listening to this meet-and-greet with the one person who knows all the good dirt there is to be found on him. It doesn’t help that you answer every question as if it’s your sworn duty assigned by Hylia herself.

“We met in Castle Town - back when he first set out to become a hero. Poor guy was completely lost, so I took pity upon him by pointing him in the right direction.”

“He made the first move, although I’d like to think I gave him a good push.”

“Oh, that’s one of my favorite memories! He set up this beautiful little picnic at Lake Hylia. It was very romantic.”

“...Sometimes, yeah.”

“Do you have any embarrassing stories to tell about him?” Wild asks with a devilish grin, taking joy in the betrayal that cuts across Twilight’s face.

“The better question would be where to start -”

“- Alright, alright. You’ve all had your fun. Don’t overwhelm them now,” Twilight cuts into the conversation at last, moving behind you with his hands set upon your shoulder. You wouldn’t be able to see it from where you sit, but he’s sending a warning glare to the other heroes who are hardly intimated.

“Oh come on! We’re just making up for lost time since you refuse to tell us anything about this lovely beauty,” Warrior punctuates his sentence by winking your way, making it clear he knows exactly how to push his friend’s buttons.

Twilight almost growls, seconds away from kicking everyone out under the stars for the night, however with your soft hand set upon his own, you smile up at him sweetly, “They’re okay, Link. I don’t mind the questions.”

‘I do,’ he wants to object, but he’s weak against your pleading eyes. With no other choice, he’s forced to sigh and take the seat next to you. The price of this compromise is your hand which he refuses to let go of, instead keeping it rested against his lap as the group eagerly continues teasing him questioning you.

“Have you always lived together?” Sky asks, perhaps the only one here who is truly innocent with his curiosity.

“Not until recently. It took some convincing for my family.”

“What, the goats and farm smells didn’t appeal to them?” Legend snickers playfully.

“Not exactly…” You grimace.

“They’re a well known noble family from Castle Town,” For once, Twilight answers a question himself, squeezing your hand with a smile that’s really closer to a smirk, “‘don’t think they cared much for their eldest running away with some plain o’ ranch hand.”

You return the action just as smugly, “But you won them over in the end.”

“Or they were just happy to get rid of ya’.”

“Why not a little of both?” You shrug before pecking his nose which leaves him grinning like a lovesick puppy. Legend sticks his tongue out and Warrior tells you both to get a room, prompting Twilight to promptly remind him whose house they’re currently in.

The rest of the Chain laughs heartily, save for Time who has been the only hero apparently mature enough not to actively take part in poking a wolf. He has simply been listening in respectful silence with his arms crossed over his chest and a small smile of amusement upon his face. Honestly, his presence could’ve been completely forgotten if not for him finally choosing to speak up as soon as the laughter dies down, “And does he behave himself around you?”

Twilight nearly chokes on his saliva and even you blush at this question, but you don't hesitate to offer an endearing nod, “Oh, of course. Link’s a perfect gentleman. I couldn’t possibly ask for anyone better.”

This seems to satisfy Time who returns your nod proudly, his smirk evident when Twilight dares take a peek at him, although the younger man struggles to fully face anyone beyond that; he’s too busy rubbing away the embarrassment from his face. 

Taking this as a sign that he’s officially reached his limit, you dismiss any further questions while placing a comforting hand on your boyfriend’s shoulder, yet your sympathy is a poor mask placed over the clear mirth even you take in his flustered state.

Legend never bothers announcing himself upon arriving home, although that’s something you’ve come to expect from your adventurous and often absent roommate. Seeing as you don’t get many visitors, it’s safe to assume it’s either him or Ravio whenever the front door creaks open, but nevertheless, you poke your head around the corner just to be certain. Yep, it’s Link…along with a group of strange boys?

“Funny. I didn’t think you had any friends,” Is your greeting as you lean against the doorway.

“You’re one to talk,” Legend scoffs back while simply brushing past you towards his chest room, “I’m just here to grab a few things and then we’ll be on our way.”

“Ah,” You nod, already accustomed to this pattern. As common as it is for his homecomings to lack any fanfare, it’s also fairly usual for his presence here to be short-lived so long as he has his sights set on adventure. Occasionally, he’ll take the time to fill you in on what he’s exactly doing, especially if planning on staying for a meal or nap, but other times, he’s in and out that door without a word.

You don’t mind, after all it’s exactly what you knew you’d be getting yourself into when you first agreed to move in, however it seems this group of travelers Legend’s brought along with him aren’t so used to his solitary ways. They all huddle awkwardly around the door, their eyes darting across the room and at times landing on you in clear curiosity that goes unspoken for now. You take it they’re unsure as to what they should be doing while waiting for Legend.

“Make yourselves comfortable. I’m sure he’ll only be a minute or two,” Your invitation is gladly accepted by the boys who quickly fill into the room instead of remaining in their crowded bundle. A few sit on whatever stools there are available at the table, but most remain standing. 

Faced with either awkward silence or a basic conversation, you decide to introduce yourself, telling them all your name with a friendly smile, “‘not sure if Link mentioned me or not, but I live here with him. I promise I’m not just some homeless person who broke in while he was away.”

“We didn’t think you were,” One chuckles stiffly, likely taking your comment as an odd ‘joke’. If only they knew about Ravio…

“Sooo, are you Lege - Link’s…Um -”

“- Roommate? Yeah. ‘have been for the last year.”

A brunette boy raises an eyebrow, even going as far as to squint his eyes at you as if you’ll suddenly confess to being a robber or something, “Are you only ‘roommates’ or…?”

"Well, what else would we be?" You ask, cocking your head to the side innocently. The boys all stare at you in disbelief.

“It’s just - The Vet talks about you all the time. Like, all the time!”

“Does he?” Now that’s a nice thought: Legend going out of his way to tell his traveling companions about you, speaking your name as if you’re someone important to him who always occupies a section of his mind…Oh, but you doubt it’s anything like that. He’s likely only mentioned you once and they’re exaggerating.

“I don’t know if he does ‘all the time’,” The shortest of the room argues almost as if reading your mind before adding more seriously, “But he has mentioned you. Pretty fondly, I’d say.”

“With the lovey-dovey eyes and everything,” The knight of the group nudges one of his friends teasingly and they both share a laugh.

You find it contagious, “If that were true, I’d suggest you check to make sure he hasn’t gotten a concussion. ‘Lovey-dovey’? Now that doesn’t sound like my Link.”

“What doesn’t sound like me?”

A few of the boys go pale while others smirk almost as if they take pleasure in having been caught. You never even heard Legend approach, although one look to your side and you see him already standing there with crossed arms, his eyes narrowed towards his friends.

You open your mouth, prepared to brush aside his worries and assure him they haven’t been saying anything bad about him behind his back, but then the youngest boy suddenly blurts: “Have you guys ever kissed before?!”

His question earns him a sharp elbow to the side and an even quicker scolding in a whispered tone, however the damage has already been done, particularly to your face which feels rather warm now. So that’s why they all seemed so confused by the whole ‘roommate’ thing. Apparently they doubt that’s the full story…

"No! I-I mean, not really...- It's not like we're a couple or anything if that’s what you’re thinking. We're just friends who decided to live together for convenience sake, that's all!" You explain in a rush.

“I needed someone to watch my house and stuff while I was away!” Legend adds, his face as red as his own tunic. Whether that’s from embarrassment or anger, you can’t tell, although the later might be the best guess given his puffed up cheeks. 

“Exactly! And I needed a place to stay.”

“Precisely! It was a ‘kill-two-birds-with-one-stone’ type of situation.”

“Simple as that!”

The group of travelers sit in silence, their eyes switching between Legend and you. Despite the diversity amongst them, they all manage the same deadpan expression; not a single one of them believes you, but then again, you’re not here for their approval. Hell, they’re in your house - Well, Legend’s house - NOT THAT IT MATTERS! You don’t owe these people an explanation for why you happen to live with a guy you may or may not find attractive! They’re not going to get one either!

Clapping your hands together, you do your best to change the subject, “So, no one’s told me how you guys have met yet. Let’s talk about that.”

.

.

.

Legend said they’d only be staying long enough to change his items, however that was a couple hours ago. You had lots of questions about finding out every stranger in your house was actually another version of him, all brought together across different timelines and kingdoms. A whole recap and dinner later, it had gotten late with many of the boys looking visibly tired from weeks on the road.

“What’s with the face?”

You want to call Link - your Link - a hypocrite because he’s had the same stupid pout on his face ever since he lost the vote on where they’d be staying for the night. You insisted that it be here, seeing no sensible reason for them to go camp elsewhere in the cold when they could have a warm roof over their heads. He did everything he could to argue, yet nine outweigh one.

“I’m just thinking about what your friends said earlier,” You sigh, rolling onto your back where you can stare at the ceiling instead of into his eyes as he lays next you. With the living room overflowing with guests, you’ve been forced to share a bed for the night not that you haven’t occasionally done it before, “I can’t believe they thought we’re dating. We’re friends who live together. That’s not illegal, is it?”

“Hmm.”

“And before they were saying you talk about me all the time like that means you’re in love with me or something. Like, I’m a fact of your life, sure, but I’m not your life itself, you know? It would be weirder for you to completely avoid mentioning me to other people.”

“...Yeah…”

“A-And maybe - just maybe - we’ve kissed before, but no further than a peck to the cheek or forehead…Only once have our lips actually touched…” You roll back onto your side to face him, biting your lip as you whisper, “...Maybe we should start putting more distance between ourselves to avoid any more misunderstandings like this…I’m sure if those boys already think we’re dating, the whole village must think it’s true.”

“...Or we could just do the opposite…” 

“What do you mean?”

Legend curls his face further against the pillow and his folded hands, doing everything he can to avoid your eyes as he mumbles barely audible words, “Clearly everyone is going to assume we’re in a relationship anyway, so we might as well avoid the hassle of having to explaining they’re wrong each time by just making it official…”

You blink, his hinted suggestion taking a few seconds to set in, although once it does you can’t help smirking. Leaning forward, you kiss his nose, causing his cheeks to flare as he stubbornly jerks away, “How convenient! I was recently thinking about looking for a boyfriend, but so long as you’re offering, you’ve saved me the trouble of finding someone as good as you!”

Legend grumbles, however that doesn’t stop him from inching closer to you and kissing your forehead, “...Just don’t say anything to them tomorrow or else I’ll never hear the end of it.”

[hyacinthandmoss]

Two Lonely Hearts Part Two

Summary: Batman reveals his identity to you and then introduces you to his family on Christmas Day.

Pairing: Batman (Bruce Wayne) x Plus Size Female Reader

Word count: 9,202

Warnings: Just fluff and sappy Christmas things.

A/N: HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

Two hours before Batman confessed his feelings to you

Bruce and Clark stood together in the dimly lit confines of the Watchtower, their silhouettes cast against the deep blue of the expansive night sky beyond the glass walls. They had just wrapped up a grueling two-week mission. Despite their success, Clark couldn't shake off the nagging feeling that something was off with Bruce. 

Clark approached Bruce, his eyes filled with both concern and curiosity. "Bruce," Clark began, his voice gentle yet firm. "Is everything alright? You seem...distracted."

"Everything is fine," Bruce responded.

Clark detected the subtle inflections and micro expressions in Bruce’s voice. He could tell that there was more to it than a simple "fine”. 

"Are you sure?" Clark pressed gently. "You know, you can talk to me if something's bothering you."

“I think I made a mistake,” Bruce finally said, as doubt crept into his mind.

Clark's eyes widened in surprise. It was rare to hear Bruce admit to a mistake. He leaned against the console, giving Bruce his full attention.

"A mistake?" he replied, encouraging Bruce to continue.

“I became too involved with a… woman,” he confessed, a trace of reluctance in his voice as he spoke. The words hung in the air, cloaked in ambiguity.

Clark raised an eyebrow, surprised by the revelation. It wasn't uncommon for Bruce to have women flocking around him, but the mention of him being "too involved" piqued Clark's curiosity even further.

"Too involved," Clark repeated, leaning closer. "Do you mean emotionally involved?"

"Unfortunately," Bruce replied with a sigh, his brow furrowing in disappointment as he glanced away, lost in thought.

Clark's expression softened, his concern turning into a blend of understanding and empathy. 

"I see," he said slowly, choosing his words lightly. "What happened? 

Bruce took a deep breath as he began to explain to Clark the intricacies of his complicated relationship with you. You were not just any woman; you were the skilled director of the Wayne Legacy program, a vital initiative tied to the Wayne family name and its philanthropic efforts. Despite your professional ties, Bruce had kept you at an arm's length, choosing to maintain a certain distance from you in his role as Bruce Wayne. 

But that never worked out as planned. There were circumstances that drew you together in a way he never anticipated. One time, you found yourself in a perilous situation, needing help, and Batman intervened. What was meant to be a single act of heroism turned into a shared evening that unfolded several times, each encounter drawing you closer and deepening your connection. Somehow you seemed to attract danger. 

This unexpected bond eventually transformed into a casual arrangement—one that was purely physical. In fleeting moments, you and Batman shared passionate escapades. 

Meanwhile, Bruce grappled with his feelings for you, having fallen deeply in love, torn from the secrets he kept hidden from you.

As Bruce unfolded the complex tale of his involvement with you, Clark listened intently, his expression a mix of intrigue and understanding. The more Bruce described your relationship, the more the situation twisted itself like a labyrinth into even more complicated depths.

When Bruce finished speaking, Clark let out a breath, processing the information. "Well," he began, choosing his words carefully, "that...certainly is a tangled web you've woven, Bruce."

Clark crossed his arms, leaning against the console, his expression thoughtful.

"I know you're used to keeping your secrets, Batman," Clark added, using Bruce's superhero name to emphasize the point. "But this... this is different, isn't it? You're in love with this woman."

Clark's keen eyes studied Bruce's face, searching for any hint of hesitation or doubt. He knew how difficult it was for Bruce to open up, but he also knew how desperately Bruce was grappling with this situation, torn between love and secrecy.

"You know, Bruce," Clark added, taking a step closer, "there's a saying: love and truth go hand-in-hand. How can you truly love someone, fully and completely, if there's this wall of secrecy between you?"

Bruce's gaze narrowed, his expression caught between vulnerability and determination.

"It's not that simple," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

He pushed away from the console, turning to face Clark.

"This is not just a part of my life. It's at the core of who I am," he continued, his voice laced with a mixture of resolve and anguish. "If I reveal that truth to her, it would upend her entire world. How do I trust that she can handle that kind of truth?” 

Clark listened intently. 

Bruce's eyes darkened, the weight of his burden visible in his gaze. "She only knows Batman. Could she love me too, or only Batman?"

Clark absorbed Bruce's words, and a wave of empathy washed over him. He reached out and placed a hand on Bruce's shoulder, offering a reassuring squeeze.

"I understand your concern," Clark began, his voice gentle yet firm. "But you’re not just Batman. You're also Bruce Wayne—a strong, generous, and compassionate man. Why assume she couldn't see and accept that part of you as well?" Clark drew in a breath, his next words careful and deliberate. "Love requires courage, Bruce. It requires trust. But it also requires that you give the other person the choice to love you, fully and completely, without any secrets in the way. Are you ready to take that risk?"

Bruce held Clark's gaze for a few moments, his expression unreadable. The silence between them spoke louder than words. Clark could see the battle within Bruce, the struggle between his natural tendency to secrets and his desire for a true, honest connection with you.

Finally, Bruce spoke, his voice a whisper of vulnerability. "Maybe you're right, Clark." 

Bruce's admission carried a hint of resigned acceptance as if a small part of him longed to let go, to trust and open up. "But even if she could love me," he added, a tinge of doubt still lingering in his voice, "how can I be sure that she won't be hurt by the truth? How can I protect her from everything that comes with being closely associated with Batman?"

Clark sighed, empathizing with Bruce's concern. "Bruce, you can't control how others react to the truth.  But what you can control is how you share it with her. And more importantly, you can love her unconditionally.  Even if she might need to recover and take time to process the truth, you can support her. And as for protecting her, you won't be alone," Clark added, determination lacing his voice. “I'm here, and the rest of the Justice League will be here too. We protect the ones we love. We'll adapt, we always do."

A hint of gratitude flickered in Bruce's eyes as he looked at Clark, his expression a mixture of uncertainty and hope. "I appreciate your support, Clark. But making the decision to reveal my secrets... it's something I need to grapple with. It's not that I don't trust her; it's that I fear losing her."

"I know," Clark replied, his voice filled with understanding. "It's a huge risk. But you have to give her the chance to love all of you—Bruce Wayne and Batman. If you keep the secret..." Clark paused, his gaze steady on Bruce's. "You run the risk of losing her anyway."

Bruce let out a long sigh, the internal conflict still etched on his face, but there was a glimpse of acceptance in his eyes.  "I suppose you're right. I just..." he trailed off, words failing him for once. Then, with a hint of resignation, he added, "I just need time to figure out how and when to tell her."

Clark let out a soft chuckle, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “You know, I spent quite a while talking with Lois about the perfect Christmas gift for you,” he began, a warm smile crossing his face. “It’s a tough dilemma. I mean, what do you give a billionaire who seems to have everything? It took some time, but an idea just hit me.” Clark paused momentarily. “I want to gift you something that you can’t buy or accumulate more of—time. This Christmas, take the day off. Be honest with her; reveal your true feelings. Love her wholeheartedly. I mean it. I’ll take care of everything in Gotham while you focus on what's most important. It’s time you put your heart first.”

Bruce's expression slowly relaxed, a small, grateful smile playing at the corners of his lips. “That... that’s actually not a bad idea," he admitted. "But you know me, Clark," he added, the hint of a challenge in his eyes. "Taking a day off isn't exactly my strong suit, even on Christmas. Gotham…" He trailed off, the weight of his responsibilities hanging in the air.

Clark chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “I know. I know. That city is your life in a lot of ways. But, and I never thought I’d say this, it's gonna have to manage without you for a day.” 

He folded his arms, his expression turning stern, yet his eyes held a hint of humor. “I mean it, Bruce. I’m gonna make sure you take the day off, one way or another. You need this, even if it’s against every fiber of your being.”

Bruce's sigh was heavy, but he had to concede that Clark was right. "Fine," he grumbled, a trace of resignation in his voice. "I'll take the day off. But I'm holding you accountable, Clark. Gotham better be standing by the time I get back."

Clark let out a hearty laugh, placing a reassuring hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “You have my word. Gotham will be standing, and then some." His expression softened as he continued, "Now, let's make this Christmas count. You just focus on enjoying your time with her.”

Bruce nodded slowly, the weight of his responsibilities easing slightly. He couldn’t deny the appeal of spending a day truly focusing on you. 

“Alright, I’ll do it,” he said, a hint of determination in his voice. “Christmas it is. And thank you, Clark. For everything.”

Clark smiled warmly, a feeling of satisfaction washing over him. “Don’t thank me yet. Just make sure you come back with a smile. And a relationship, hopefully. If not, I’m not sure the League can handle your brooding.” Clark laughed. “Anyway, I’m out of here I have exciting news to share with Lois,” Clark said and headed out of the Watchtower.

Christmas Day. Batman unmasked.

"If you could please put on this blindfold, as instructed by Batman, madam," The British man said, his tone respectful yet tinged with an element of secrecy. 

With a flutter of anticipation in your chest, you took the sleek fabric from his hand and carefully wrapped it around your eyes, plunging yourself into darkness. You could feel the thrill of the unknown thrumming through your veins, heightening your senses even as your vision disappeared.

Bruce nodded subtly to Alfred. Without a single word or sound, he extended his hand to help you navigate the car’s low seat. As you emerged, he gently placed an arm around your waist, providing a comforting presence. With his other hand, he clasped your delicate fingers, interlocking them firmly yet tenderly, and began to guide you through the entrance of the intimate, dimly lit Manor. 

Mellow strains of a saxophone filled the home with a soothing rhythm. You shivered at the familiar touch of Batman, and your heart raced with recognition. "It's you, Knight, isn't it?" You asked softly, your voice barely rising above the soothing music.

But Bruce remained silent, his eyes fixed ahead, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he led you deeper into the manor until you reached his study. 

Bruce's heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing the weight of the revelation he was about to unveil. The thought of sharing his true identity with you sent a rush of adrenaline coursing through him, igniting a mix of excitement and anxiety. For so long, he had navigated this connection under the shadow of Batman, but today was different. Today, you would finally meet the man behind the mask.

Bruce guided you to stand in front of the grand ornate mirror, its surface gleaming with an almost magical allure, while your world remained shrouded in blissful darkness beneath the blindfold. The air was thick with anticipation as you felt his body heat so close behind you, his presence both commanding and intimate. As you anxiously clutched the fabric of your skirt, your fingers twisted the soft material, a tell-tale sign of your nerves. It was a habit that you fell back on during moments of uncertainty, and Bruce couldn’t help but be drawn to your vulnerability. The air around crackled with anticipation, and he knew that this moment would change everything.

With slow, languid movements, Bruce began to caress your face, tracing the lines of your jaw and the curve of your lips, his touch gentle and reverent. He moved lower, his fingers ghosting over your neck with a feeling that was both tender and intense causing you to shiver in anticipation of his next touch. His other free fingers traced reverently over the swell of your hips and then lower, to the generous fullness of your luscious belly. 

Leaning down, he brought his lips near your ear, his warm breath brushing against your skin as he whispered, “Are you ready, my love?”

That voice. Even without the voice modulator, you knew who that voice belonged to. It was a voice that you would know anywhere, a voice that had been imprinted in your memory and your heart. Your breath hitched in response to the whispered words, your heart racing with anticipation. With a nod, you responded, your voice barely a whisper, "Yes, I'm ready."

The feeling of his lips on your cheek was soft and tender, the warmth of his kiss leaving your skin tingling. As he leaned back, you could feel the silk blindfold being carefully unfastened, its soft weight gradually falling away from your face. The room slowly came into focus, the warm candlelight and the soft strains of jazz filling your senses. Your eyes widened in surprise, your gaze meeting Bruce's in the mirror as you took in the sight before you: the contrast between your own shorter stature and Bruce's towering presence, the way your bodies fit together like pieces of a puzzle. You turned around to face him, your eyes searching his with a mix of awe and disbelief. "Bruce...?" You whispered, your voice trembling slightly as you breathed his name, rich with unspoken feelings.

He couldn't help but smile, his gaze lingering on the softness of your expression, the way the light caught the gentle curve of your cheeks and the hint of vulnerability in your eyes. 

"It's me," he said softly, each word dripping with emotion and vulnerability. "I'm the man behind the mask, the man who has foolishly, desperately, and passionately fallen in love with you." A look of tenderness swept through Bruce's expression as he looked down at you, his eyes scanning your face intently. He could see the flicker of conflicting emotions in your gaze, the disbelief and awe mixing together with something else that tugged at his heart.

You reached up, your hand reaching out to touch his face, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw in wonder. "Bruce," you whispered again, your voice even softer this time.

The touch of your fingertips against his skin sent a jolt through Bruce's body, causing his breath to hitch in his chest. He had dreamed of this moment countless times, the moment when he could finally reveal himself to you. But now that it was happening, the reality of it was almost too much to bear. He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, savoring the feel of your fingers against his face.

"I’m here," Bruce murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "I’m no longer hiding from you."

Your hand remained on his face, your fingers running gently over his features. “Why did you wait so long to tell me?” 

Bruce let out a deep exhale, his hand coming up to cover yours, holding it against his cheek. He looked into your eyes, his own filled with a mixture of regret and vulnerability.

"I wanted to tell you for so long," he said, his voice strained. “But I was afraid of how you would react, afraid of putting you in danger, afraid of losing you.”

"Bruce," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, “Thank you for trusting me. For giving us a chance…”

A soft smile tugged at the corners of Bruce's lips, he grabbed your hand and held it against his chest. You could feel the steady beat of his heart under your palm, the rhythm of its pace a testament to the intensity of his emotions.

"You have no idea how much I've ached for this moment," he murmured, his voice filled with a mix of relief and desire. "To be able to stand before you as myself and not a mask. To have a chance at a future with you."

Your heart fluttered at his words, a sudden wave of emotion washing over you. You leaned into him, your body close enough to feel his warmth, your hand still resting against his chest, feeling the steady pulse of his heartbeat. Your eyes searched his, looking for any hint of doubt or uncertainty but you didn’t find any. “So you’re thinking about a future with me?"

Bruce let out a soft chuckle, his free hand coming up to brush a stray strand of hair away from your face. He met your gaze, the look in his eyes filled with a mixture of vulnerability and affection.

"Of course I am," he said, his voice low and filled with quiet confidence. "I want a future with you. I want to be there for you as both Bruce Wayne and Batman."

You stepped even closer, your body now flush against his, your arms wrapped around his neck. You looked up at him, your eyes shimmering with a mixture of emotions.

Bruce's hands encircled your waist, pulling you even closer, his body molding against yours as if they were made for each other. He marveled at the feeling of you in his arms, the way your curves fit against him, the softness of your skin under his touch. 

"I've imagined this moment countless times," he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion. "Holding you in my arms, being able to call you mine, without the darkness, without the cowl.”

You leaned your head against his sturdy chest, letting yourself succumb to the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat, a steady thrum that resonated in the silence between you. The sound was both exhilarating and reassuring, wrapping around you like an embrace. 

Bruce's voice broke the spell of the moment as he quipped, “You’ve taken this surprisingly well. My identity didn’t seem to surprise you.” His tone was teasing, yet there was an undercurrent of curiosity that hinted at his need to understand your reaction. 

“Oh, believe me, I have many questions,” you replied, your voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and concern. “one being the ethical implications surrounding our relationship, but we have plenty of time to discuss that.” You took a moment, your gaze piercing, as if searching for answers in his eyes. “And truthfully, my heart has already spoken; I’ve fallen for you, my Dark Knight. And that includes every part of you, Bruce. You’re a man of many layers, a complex tapestry of experiences and emotions, and I adore every thread that makes you who you are. I’ve seen you as my leader, authoritative and steady, yet we’ve shared moments of intimacy and passion. So when I look into your eyes, I don’t just see a man — I see a familiar soul. A man my heart recognizes as its own.”

Bruce's heart soared as you spoke, your words a salve to his soul. He felt seen, known, and understood in a way he had never experienced before. Your confession that you had fallen for him, all of him, both the man and the knight, was like a gift he hadn't dared to hope for.

"Y/N," he said softly, his voice low and gravelly, echoing the profound emotions that surged within him. 

His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer, his voice dropping to a ragged whisper. "I feel as if you’ve known me for lifetimes as if we have shared countless pasts together. You somehow manage to bring light in parts of me that I thought had burned out long ago." He looked away momentarily as if he was embarrassed at his vulnerability. 

"Listen to me, love," you whispered, your voice filled with a blend of awe and tenderness, "I see your darkness, your pain, all the shadows that you carry. And I promise to embrace them, as I embrace you, piece by piece."

As Bruce leaned forward, he felt a rush of warmth and anticipation. Your eyes locked for a brief moment, and he could see the spark of connection evident in your gaze. Then, with a soft and gentle motion, he pressed his lips against yours, savoring the sweetness of the moment as time seemed to stand still around you. Your eyes fluttered close, giving in to the dance of lips and tongues, a heated, passionate, and needy connection that consumed you both. His hand cradled the back of your head, holding you close as if he couldn't bear to let you go as if this kiss was the very air he needed to breathe.  

Bruce gently pulled away from the kiss, his eyes locking onto yours with a playful yet meaningful gaze. “Let’s save the best for last, shall we?” he said with a subtle grin, teasingly hinting at the wonderful evening that lay ahead. “Alfred has gone all out this time and prepared a special dinner for us.” His voice carried a mix of anticipation and affection, making it clear that he was eager to savor every moment of your time together.

“Alfred?” You inquired, your brow furrowing as you struggled to recall anyone by that name. 

Bruce smiled at your question, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Alfred,” he repeated, his expression soft yet filled with a sense of nostalgia. “He's more than just the man who helped raise me, he's the man who has been my anchor for as long as I can remember. He's been there through everything, from my childhood as an orphan to the present day as both Bruce Wayne and Batman. And tonight, he wants to introduce himself to you.”

You smiled softly, the corners of your lips curving upward. “Well, I’d be honored to finally meet this mysterious Alfred,” you replied, your voice laced with a hint of playfulness.

Bruce smiled, pleased with your response. He moved his hand to your waist, gently guiding you toward the dining room. "Be warned though, he can be quite the character, but it’s all with good intention."

As you stepped into the expansive dining room, you couldn’t help but notice the elegant setting, the table adorned with fine Christmas decor, candlelight flickering subtly in the corners. Soft music filled the air, adding to the atmosphere of refinement. Then your gaze shifted to an older man, standing near a side table, who turned to face you. You recognized the man as the driver from earlier. 

"Ah, Master Bruce,” the man said, his voice holding a note of familiarity. "And this must be the lovely miss Y/N I've heard so much about."

You felt a sudden wave of nerves wash over you as the man spoke. 

“Y/N, this is Alfred Pennyworth,” Bruce said. 

Alfred approached you, a warm smile on his face as he extended his hand in greeting. ”I can see why Master Bruce is so taken with you. You’re quite lovely, if I may so myself,” he said, his voice carrying a note of genuine kindness. 

You accepted his handshake, a soft smile crossing your face in response to his friendly demeanor. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pennyworth,” you replied, your voice laced with both politeness and a hint of curiosity. “Please, call me Y/N. None of these formalities are needed.”

Bruce's eyes moved from you to Alfred, a sense of pride in his gaze at how comfortably you two were already interacting. “Alfred, as always, has outdone himself with the spread,” he said, gesturing towards the beautifully laid-out dining table. 

“Indeed, Master Bruce,” Alfred responded, his eyes sparkling with pride and a hint of satisfaction. “I’ve prepared tonight’s meal with the utmost care and attention. I believe it's one of my finer creations.”

Alfred paused. “Before we commence with dinner," Alfred stated, his voice filled with a touch of seriousness, "I have a small request for the both of you."

Bruce turned his gaze towards Alfred, a slight furrow on his brow. He seemed puzzled by the sudden change in tone but also intrigued enough to give his full attention to the matter. “What kind of request?” Bruce inquired, the curiosity evident in his voice.

"If it's not too much trouble," Alfred started, his voice holding a hint of a playful smile, "I'd like a moment alone with Miss Y/N. I have some things I'd like to discuss with her."

Bruce’s eyes widened slightly in mild surprise, the request catching him off guard. He glanced at you, and you were equally taken aback, then back at Alfred. There was some hidden intention behind Alfred's words, and Bruce couldn't deny that it piqued his curiosity.

"Of course, that's not a problem," you replied, your voice steady.

Alfred nodded in acknowledgment, his eyes flickering to Bruce for a brief moment as if silently communicating something. Then he shifted his focus onto you, his expression one of pleasant curiosity. "Follow me, Miss Y/N," he said, gesturing towards a set of double doors nearby.

You glanced at Bruce, offering him a reassuring smile to ease any lingering uncertainty, before standing and following Alfred towards the doors. 

Alfred led you through the doors and into a small, elegant sitting room. It was cozy, yet opulent. The walls were adorned with rich tapestries, and the furniture was arranged to maximize both style and comfort. A small fire crackled faintly in the stone fireplace against the far wall, casting shadows and warm light across the room. 

Alfred led you to a pair of comfortable chairs facing each other near the fireplace. He gestured for you to take a seat, a gentle, yet purposeful look on his face.

Alfred took his seat across from you, the warm glow of the fire casting shadows across his face. He observed you for a silent moment, sizing you up, before addressing you directly.

"Miss Y/N," he started, his voice soft yet carrying an intense undertone, "I’ll be straightforward with you. In my years of knowing Master Bruce, I've observed him go through many relationships. None, however, have seemed to hold his attention and devotion like you."

You tilted your head slightly, absorbing his words. You hadn't expected such a declaration, let alone from someone like Alfred. Your brow furrowed lightly, a mixture of curiosity in your eyes. 

"And why do you think that is?" You asked. 

"That is a valid question," Alfred responded, his eyes studying you carefully. “You've managed to catch his heart, make him open up in a way he's never done before. The change in him is striking." He paused for effect, leaning slightly forward in his chair. "But there's something else that sets you apart from the others."

"And what might that be?" You asked. 

Alfred's gaze intensified as he observed you, weighing his words.

"I do hope it’s not premature of me to say this but, it’s your ability to see beyond the surface. You see him, truly see him, for who he is - as both Bruce Wayne and Batman. You connect with him on a deeper level. There's no pretense, no trying to change him. You simply accept him, flaws and all."

A small smile formed on your lips as you looked back at Alfred. "I see your perception rivals your wisdom, Mr. Pennyworth," you acknowledged a tone of respect in your voice.

A smirk tugged at the corners of Alfred’s mouth at your comment. 

"You've also managed to break his usually cold demeanor. I've never witnessed him smile or laugh as much as I have since he met you. You've brought a lightness to him that has been missing for a while." He paused, studying you, the look on his face becoming more serious. "But I must ask, are you aware of the life you’re stepping into? The dangers that come with his world?"

Your smile faded slightly, a hint of gravity entering your expression. "I am," you replied, knowing full well the implications of Bruce’s double life. "I’m aware of the risks and dangers associated with being with someone like him." You paused for a moment, considering your words carefully before continuing, "But I believe love isn’t about avoiding risks. It’s about finding someone worth taking those risks for."

Alfred nodded a flicker of approval in his eyes. “Wise words, Miss Y/N. Love isn’t for the faint-hearted, and loving someone like Master Bruce requires a level of patience that not many possess." He paused, studying you once again. "But love alone isn’t enough. You must also understand that there are aspects of Master Bruce’s life that will always be outside your reach. His crusade as Batman will always come first, no matter what.. unfortunately. Are you prepared for that?"

You took a deep breath, the weight of Alfred’s words settling in. You had come to terms with this part of Bruce and had accepted it as part of who he was the moment he revealed his identity to you. 

You met Alfred's gaze, your eyes holding confidence and determination. "Yes," you replied, your voice unwavering, "I’m prepared for that. I understand it’s a part of who he is, and it’s a part of what makes him the man I fell in love with."

A satisfied look crossed Alfred’s expression as he observed your response. "You’ve given your answer much thought, it seems," he noted, his tone holding a note of approval. He leaned forward slightly, a new determination in his eyes. "I need to ask you one final thing, Miss Y/N.”

You shifted slightly in your seat, your gaze fixed on Alfred, a mixture of curiosity and trepidation in your eyes. 

"What is it?" 

“Can I trust you with his heart?” Alfred asked.

You felt the question strike a chord within. It wasn’t a simple question, but rather one that held tremendous importance. But you didn’t hesitate. “Yes," you replied, your voice firm and resolute, "You can trust me with his heart."

"I believe you," he said simply, his tone softened. "Your dedication to him, your love and acceptance of him, they’re genuine." He took a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing, his voice steady and filled with conviction. "I want you to know that I will make it my priority to ensure he treats you with nothing less than the utmost respect and admiration. You deserve to be cherished, loved, and valued, and I won't stand by and let anyone, not even Master Bruce, treat you otherwise."

You listened to Alfred's words, touched by the depth of loyalty and concern. The thought of someone like Alfred, who knew Bruce so well, standing up for you, made you feel both humbled and protected. 

You offered him a small smile, your eyes filled with gratitude, "I appreciate your pledge, Mr. Pennyworth. I’ve never felt more cared for."

He returned your smile with one of his own, the lines of his face creased with both solemnity and happiness. "Please, call me Alfred," he insisted, his tone a mixture of insistence and warmth. "You're part of this home now, and in my eyes, that means you're part of the family." He paused, the fire cracking in the fireplace the only sound in the room for a moment. "And family looks after their own."

The words "part of the family" hit you with a sudden wave of emotion. Growing up, you had never known what it was like to truly feel like you belonged, not even with your own family. Tears prickled the corners of your eyes, but you fought them back, a small, choked laugh escaping your lips to fight the urge to cry. 

"Thank you, Alfred," you managed to say, your voice thick with emotion, "That means more to me than you can ever know."

Alfred's facial expression softened further as he leaned in, reaching out to gently pat your hand. "Family means everything," he murmured. "It’s a bond that binds you together through good times and bad. And you, my dear, have made Bruce a better man. You’ve made this place brighter, warmer already." He leaned back in his chair, a hint of a smile on his lips. "I can’t wait to see what the future holds for the two of you."

Your emotional turmoil heightened with Alfred’s reassurance, your heart swelling with a mixture of joy and melancholy. But this time, you didn’t fight it. You let the tears fall, the emotional release providing a moment of catharsis.

"Thank you, Alfred," you repeated, your voice catching in your throat. Your tears continued to fall as you wiped them away. "For everything."

Alfred reached into a nearby drawer, got a handkerchief, and handed it over to you. He gave you another soft smile, his eyes filled with understanding. 

He waited patiently for you to gather your composure, the room quiet except for the crackling fire. 

After a few moments, your tears began to subside, your emotions slowly returning to equilibrium.

You looked up at Alfred, your eyes red and puffy, a small sheepish smile on your lips. "I'm sorry," you mumbled, "I didn't mean to get so emotional."

Alfred dismissed your apology with a wave of his hand. "No need to apologize, my dear," he said gently. "Raw emotions are nothing to be ashamed of." He leaned forward, his voice taking on a slightly more serious tone. "What do you say we return to the dining hall," he suggested, "before Master Bruce begins to worry."

You nodded, wiping away the last of your tears. Getting up from your chair, you took a deep breath, feeling a sense of peace and determination settle over you. 

Alfred led you back to the dining hall, opening the doors to reveal Bruce waiting patiently at the head of the table. His expression changed from slight concern to relief as soon as he saw you, a soft smile spreading across his face. He stood as you approached. 

"Everything alright?" he asked, his gaze shifting between your tear-stained face and Alfred’s calm demeanor.

"Everything’s fine," you responded, your composure now returning. You could see the flicker of concern in Bruce’s eyes, and you wanted to assure him that there was nothing to worry about.

You took a seat beside him, forcing a small smile. "It was just a heartfelt conversation, that’s all," you added, casting a quick glance at Alfred.

Bruce eyed you for a moment, the concern in his gaze lingering, but he didn't press the matter. Instead, he reached for your hand under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze, a silent gesture of reassurance.

Alfred took his seat as well, his expression holding a hint of satisfaction, a silent statement that the discussion you had was more than just a heartfelt exchange.

“Y/N," Bruce began, his voice steady yet warm, as he gestured towards you. "I want to introduce you to my sons. They are Damian, Dick, and Jason, and they will be joining us shortly. It’s important to me that you get to meet them." He paused a hint of pride in his expression, knowing how much they all meant to him.

You nodded slowly, feeling a flutter of excitement mixed with nervousness at the thought of meeting Bruce's sons. It was more than just a social occasion; it represented a significant step in your relationship, a tangible sign that Bruce was ready to share a deeper part of his life with you—a facet that you knew must be important to him.

"I look forward to meeting them," you replied, your voice laced with sincerity and anticipation. You bit your lip, glancing down for a moment as you considered the potential implications of this meeting. “But are you sure about this? What if it feels like too much for them at this point? I mean, is it too soon?  I don’t want to overstep any boundaries."

Before Bruce could respond to your concerns, the door swung open, and Jason Todd strode in, his demeanor confident and lively. “No, trust me. This is way overdue!” he exclaimed, a playful grin spreading across his face. “We’ve heard so much about you, Y/N. It’s about time we finally put a face to the name. We’ve been curious.” His enthusiasm seemed to dissipate some of your worries, making the prospect of meeting the boys feel a little less daunting.

Damian and Dick followed close behind. Damian, the youngest, eyed you with a mixture of caution and curiosity, his stern expression giving way to a subtle interest in his eyes. Dick, on the other hand, greeted you with a charming smile, a warm glimmer of amusement in his gaze. 

"I must say," Dick began, a hint of good humor in his voice, "The mystery surrounding you has been quite the topic of conversation, especially amongst the family gossip circle."

You managed a smile, your nerves still evident but eased by Dick’s lighthearted introduction. You glanced at Bruce, who was watching the scene unfold with a stoic expression, but you could sense a trace of worry in his eyes. With all three of his sons standing there, each with their own distinct personalities, you couldn’t help but find it slightly intimidating.

"I hope the conversations were all good ones," you responded, your gaze flickering towards Damian, who was studying you intently.

Jason laughed, clearly amused, as Dick joined in, both of them finding your comment entertaining.

"If only you knew,” Jason quipped, “Half of it was just speculation, rumors, and wild guesses."

Damian, still serious and unwavering, spoke up, his voice cutting through the banter. "Father hasn't been this... interested in a woman in a long time." 

His words hung in the air, the room momentarily silent as the others chuckled softly at Damian’s bluntness.

You felt yourself blushing slightly at Damian’s straightforward comment, your nervousness returning as all eyes fell on you. You glanced at Bruce again, his expression unreadable, but you could sense a subtle change in the room’s atmosphere. 

"Well, I hope I can at least live up to the mysterious hype," you tried to keep the mood light despite your increasing anxiety.

Dick leaned against the table, a grin still lingering on his face. "Oh, I’m sure you’ll exceed all expectations," he replied, his tone light and friendly. 

Jason added, "Or at least make things a lot more interesting."

You smiled, appreciating their attempts at breaking the tension, but then Damian spoke again. 

"So, Miss Y/N," he began, his scrutinizing gaze never leaving your face, "What exactly are your intentions with my father?"

His question took you by surprise, but before you could reply, Bruce spoke up, his voice calm yet firm. "Damian, that’s enough."

Damian shot a quick, defiant glance at Bruce before shifting his gaze back to you, clearly not satisfied with the answer. 

Jason chuckled at the exchange, his amusement evident. "Classic Damian," he muttered.

"I think what Damian’s trying to say," Dick interjected, his tone softer, "is that you seem to mean a lot to Bruce, and we just want to make sure he's in good hands."

You felt the weight of the question, sensing the protective nature of the boys' concerns. You glanced at Bruce, his expression stoic yet filled with understanding. 

Taking a breath, you met Damian's gaze and, with as much composure as you could muster, responded. "I care deeply for your father," you began, your voice steady, "I'm committed to him, to our relationship." 

You paused, looking around the room, meeting each person's gaze, including Bruce's. Your next words came from a place of genuine care and sincerity. "I want to be a part of making him happy."

Damian's expression remained stern, his eyes locked with yours, though a hint of something almost resembling approval shimmered in his gaze.

"Sounds like we've got our answer," Dick noted, a small smirk on his lips. 

Jason quipped, "As long as you make him laugh more. The brooding has its limits."

You smiled softly at Jason’s remark, the hint of humor in his words making you feel a little more at ease. 

Bruce spoke up, his voice steady and firm. "Let’s just enjoy dinner," he suggested, his tone suggesting that the conversation about you was now closed.

The room fell silent for a moment, the tension easing as everyone took their seats. Bruce sat at the head of the table, with you to his left side. Dick sat beside you, and Jason and Damian took the seats opposite to you. 

The dinner proceeded, the conversation flowing with a mix of casual banter and the occasional playful jab, yet you couldn’t help but feel the lingering presence of the questions Damian had posed.

”Y/N,” Dick snapped you out of your thoughts. “The Manor is lively for the first time in years. It's never decorated for any holiday season. So this is a rare sight.“ Dick observed the decorations as they enjoyed their meal. "Bruce usually isn’t one for festive tidings."

Jason, never one to hold back, quipped, "Yeah, the Bat is allergic to anything resembling joy.” 

Damian rolled his eyes, a scowl on his face. "Don’t trivialize his dedication," he grumbled. 

Alfred interjected thoughtfully, his voice tinged with a soft nostalgia that seemed to echo through the grand halls of Wayne Manor. "It is indeed true, Miss Y/N. The last time this home was adorned in a proper fashion for the season was long ago when the late Mr. and Mrs. Wayne were still with us, filling these rooms with their warmth and affection. The whirlwind of responsibilities and escapades has left us little room to indulge in the kind of celebrations that this home truly deserves.”

Curiosity flickered in your eyes as you turned to Bruce, his expression a mix of contemplation and nostalgia. Even Alfred, the ever-observant butler, seemed lost in thought, a faint shadow crossing his face. 

“So, what changed?” You inquired, your voice soft yet probing, as you sought to unravel the mystery behind the contrast of the manor’s festive charm and the weight of the past that seemed to linger in the air.

"Well, your welcoming presence in Master Bruce’s life did, Miss Y/N,” Alfred remarked with heartfelt sincerity.

“But also, Bruce mentioned that your apartment resembles a scene straight out of a holiday disaster film, as if Santa and his elves had a chaotic celebration and left the aftermath everywhere,” Dick added, a teasing smirk on his face.

You chuckled softly at Dick's depiction and smiled at Alfred's response.

Meanwhile, Jason chimed in. "True. Bruce said you literally live inside a snow globe."

Damian, who had been quiet for a moment, suddenly spoke up, a hint of disapproval in his tone. "I fail to understand the appeal. Holidays are overly sentimental and commercialized," he scoffed, "A waste of time and resources."

Jason rolled his eyes at Damian's cynicism. "You just hate anything remotely cheerful and joyful, don’t you, D?"

"I merely appreciate practicality and efficiency," Damian replied with a cool indifference. "Holidays are unnecessary distractions, especially for someone with responsibilities like my father."

"Right, because having a holiday tree and some lights totally takes away from his ability to fight crime," Jason retorted sarcastically.

You couldn’t help but laugh.

Bruce intervened, his voice calm yet authoritative. "Alright, that's enough," he said firmly, casting an amused yet warning glance at his sons. He then turned to you, holding your gaze with a mixture of affection and resolve.

“I wanted you to feel comfortable tonight,” Bruce said.

Your heart warmed at his words. You reached for his hand under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I already feel at home, Bruce," you replied sincerely, your voice slightly quivering with the weight of your emotions.

The boys, despite their banter earlier, couldn’t help but notice the subtle tenderness between you and Bruce. 

"Seems like Bruce has got it bad," Jason murmured to Dick, a sly smirk on his lips. 

Dick laughed, his eyes flickering between Bruce and you, watching the exchange with a mixture of amusement and something that hinted at both protectiveness and genuine happiness.

Damian, ever observant, studied you carefully before shifting his gaze to Bruce. His expression remained guarded, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes that could be interpreted as a hint of acceptance. 

Bruce squeezed your hand lightly in response, his touch conveying the depth of his feelings for you.

The warmth of the moment was interrupted by Alfred, who had quietly refilled a few wine glasses, except for Damian. 

"It seems that Christmas has indeed brought us all together," he said sagely, a rare hint of contentment in his usually composed demeanor.

Jason, always first to lighten the mood, picked up his glass and raised it in a toast. "To Christmas, and all the sentimental nonsense that comes with it," he declared, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

Dick, following suit, joined in the toast. He smiled warmly, his glass raised high. “And to new beginnings," he added, his gaze flickering towards you and Bruce.

Even Damian, reluctantly, lifted his glass, his expression still slightly guarded. “To the holiday season, may it pass swiftly,” he grumbled before taking a small sip.

Bruce followed suit and raised his glass. His eyes met yours, the depth of his feelings for you evident in his gaze. "To us," he said quietly, "and to new traditions."

The boys' eyes widened slightly at Bruce's words, clearly not expecting such a sentimental toast from the usually reserved man. 

Dick smirked, his eyes darting between the two of you, while Jason elbowed Damian, who rolled his eyes but said nothing further. Alfred smiled softly, clearly pleased and perhaps a little relieved to see Bruce opening himself up in such a way.

You smiled, your heart swelling with a mixture of surprise and joy at Bruce's words. You held his gaze, your own affection for him mirrored in your eyes.

"To us," you repeated, echoing his toast, your voice filled with both tenderness and promise. 

The boys, perhaps silently acknowledging this new chapter, clinked their glasses together, a gesture of support and acceptance. The atmosphere in the room was filled with a subtle sense of hope and change. 

Bruce nodded, taking a sip of his wine, his gaze never leaving yours. The bond between you grew deeper with each shared moment, the holiday cheer seemingly bringing a new level of intimacy and understanding.

Jason started speaking with a warmth in his voice, his excitement palpable. "Since this is our very first time celebrating Christmas together, I thought it would be fun if we all wore matching pajamas, just like what normal families do during the holidays." 

The word "family" lingered in the air, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart skip a beat. Your thoughts raced as you reflected on the significance of that word. Did they truly see you as part of their close-knit group this soon? The idea sent a flutter through your chest, mixing hope with a touch of uncertainty. You glanced around at the others, wondering if they felt the same way, and what it would mean to be included in this new family tradition.

The boys' eyes widened in unison, a mix of surprise and perhaps a slight bit of horror plastered on their faces at Jason's unexpected suggestion. 

Dick, the first to recover, responded. “That’s... different."

Damian was the first to protest, a scowl on his young face. "Absolutely not. I will not be seen in such an absurd and infantile get-up."

“I'm in,” you said excitedly.

Jason, his eyes bright with delight, smiled widely at your enthusiasm. "Looks like we've got one taker," he announced, his gaze flickering to the others. 

Dick smiled, his initial surprise giving way to amusement at your eagerness. "Well, if Y/N is in, count me in too," he proclaimed, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Damian's scowl deepened, his arms crossed defiantly across his chest. "I refuse to participate in this buffoonery," he declared firmly.

Bruce, who had been silently listening to the conversation, cleared his throat and spoke up. "I think it would be nice if everyone joined in," he said, his tone brooking no argument. 

Jason, Dick, and you smiled, knowing that Bruce's word was final. Damian, still reluctant, rolled his eyes but nodded grudgingly. 

Alfred, who had been quietly observing, piped up, ”This shall be fun."

As Jason vanished from the room, no doubt to bring the pajamas, everyone exchanged glances, a mix of resignation and reluctant excitement on their faces. The thought of wearing matching Christmas pajamas was definitely unusual, but the prospect of having a new tradition with you was undeniably appealing. 

Jason came back with a stack of flannel pajamas. 

Everyone eyed the pajamas, each lost in thought. 

Dick spoke with a hint of resignation in his voice. "I guess we're really doing this." 

Damian held up his pajamas, his expression a mixture of disgust and disbelief. "These are hideous."

Your eyes gleamed with excitement. You grabbed your set of pajamas, holding them up against you. "I love flannel," you grinned, already imagining how cute they'd look. 

Bruce accepted his pair, studying them for a moment before speaking. "It’s just for tonight," he reassured, his tone serious yet with a hint of surrender.

They all dispersed to change into their pajamas, each returning to the main room at different times. 

Jason was the first to come back, his pajamas sitting perfectly on his frame. "Not bad," he smirked. "I could get used to this." 

Dick was next, his face a mixture of amusement and resignation. His pajamas fit him nicely, the flannel soft against his skin. "Okay," he said, holding up his hands in defeat, "It’s not as bad as I thought."

Damian was the last to emerge, looking decidedly unhappy in his pajamas. The soft flannel contrasted with his usual no-nonsense attitude, but he managed to maintain his aloof expression. 

As Bruce entered, your gaze traveled over his firm and toned body, your cheeks flushing slightly as your eyes roamed over his torso. You quickly tried to compose yourself before anyone noticed your lingering gaze.

Bruce caught your lingering gaze as it traveled up and down his body. A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, silently amused by your reaction to his casual, albeit still fit, appearance.

Bruce walked towards you and went in for a hug. “You always look stunning,” he whispered in your ear.

You smiled at Bruce's compliment, your heart fluttering. 

"And you look quite handsome yourself," you replied, your voice soft as your arms wrapped around his waist in a gentle embrace.

Jason interrupted the moment. “Anyway, I will choose the flicks for tonight.”

Everyone settled in the large living room, each finding a comfortable spot on the couch. As the movie started playing, you and Bruce sat close together. 

Dick, ever observant, noticed Bruce's arm casually around you, silently marveling at Bruce's open display of affection. 

Damian, seated next to you, remained silent. The sight of Bruce’s open display of affection, so unlike his usual stoic demeanor, seemed to have taken even the usually unruffled Damian by surprise.

As the movie flickered across the screen, casting a soft glow in the dimly lit room, an air of drowsiness began to settle over the group. Dick sprawled comfortably on the plush carpet, his head resting against the cool surface, while Jason sank deep into the cushions of the recliner, his eyelids growing heavy with each passing minute. Across from him, Alfred sat in his own recliner, a classic movie poster gently illuminated behind him, dozing off with a serene expression etched on his face. Meanwhile, Bruce, you, and Damian nestled together on the loveseat sofa, your bodies cozy against one another, the gentle warmth of their comfort lulling you all into a state of relaxation as you watched the film. The combination of the riveting narrative and the peaceful atmosphere made it increasingly difficult for anyone to stay awake.

Bruce's eyelids grew heavier as the movie progressed. His arm, wrapped around you, instinctively drew you closer, pulling you into a comfortable position against his chest in the cozy loveseat. 

Jason was the first to surrender to the drowsiness. He let out a long yawn and closed his eyes, drifting off into a peaceful sleep.

You shifted slightly on the sofa as you felt a warm weight settle against your arm. Glancing to your side, you discovered that Damian had dozed off, leaning comfortably against you. His brow was relaxed, and a hint of a smile played on his lips as if he was lost in a pleasant dream. 

With a soft sigh, you reached for the cozy blanket draped over the back of the sofa that Alfred had placed and gently unfolded it. You carefully draped it over him, wanting to ensure he stayed warm through the night. Your fingers brushed against his cheek as you tucked the fabric around him, feeling the softness of his skin against your hand.

Leaning in closer, you whispered tenderly, “Goodnight, Damian,” your voice barely above a whisper, filled with affection. The room was quiet, save for the soothing sound of everyone’s breaths, and in that moment, all felt right in the world.

Bruce's heart swelled as he watched you tend to Damian, tucking him in with gentle affection. Your tenderness towards Damian, despite his thorny demeanor, warmed his heart fiercely. 

Bruce, too, was slowly succumbing to the drowsiness that filled the room. He fought against it for a moment, not wanting to miss a single second of this unexpected moment of tranquility.

Bruce kissed the top of your head and stroked your hair, cherishing every touch, every sigh, every moment he could spend with you in his arms, until finally, you drifted off to sleep. The warmth and comfort of the room, coupled with his fatigue, were starting to overpower him.

As he gave in to the pull of sleep, he smiled faintly, his voice barely audible. "Good night, princess, and Merry Christmas."