#and I found out there is one (1) man it is acceptable from

[stargrltara]

Kinda Outa Luck III

pairing: jason todd x fem!reader

summary: based off of the song "Kinda Outa Luck by lana del rey. 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩. Reader is kinda inspired by catwoman in the batman, she works in a club, and on the low she's gothams most wanted female thief. She is gorgeous, and she uses it to her advantage. Oh, did I mention she has a thing for the Red Hood? And, honesty, he does too, though he is pretty shit at hiding it. PT 1 PT 2 PT 3

warnings: 18+ MDNI,

a/n: hey cuties!!! i cant apologise enough for how long i’ve spent doing this, DAMN. but heres the long awaited part 3!! lmk if u enjoy my fics bc i’ll definitely write more in the future! xox

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“ 𝒊 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒉𝒊��� 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒊’𝒎 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒂 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒌. „

Each day blended into another after that night. It felt as if your own soul melted from your skin and body, but you were still conscious in the empty pit of your mind. Of course, you were still making drinks, talking to your friends and your boss like normal, but behind your melancholic eyes is a forbidden abyss; impossible for you to crawl out of.

You were so drawn to the electric feeling that scraped through your limbs that night; the sounds of your lewd moans and his gruff pants and grunts. Even the familiar sound of rain trickling onto the glass windows still shoots memories back into your mind. Every word he uttered sounded perfect in that moment, no matter if it was complete bullshit. The slam of the door behind him when he left scarred a burn in your soul.

Although, he left your apartment like it was nothing. And the night after, you found yourself rushing around the city, watching his every move. Every punch and hit he took and gave. Every criminal he stopped, every person he put a bullet in. This was the man you fucked.

You were finally coming to terms with the actions you performed that night; finally accepting that you had hot, sweaty sex with the infamous Red Hood.

You were finally coming to terms with the fact how it would never happen again, and it was a one time thing. He’s clearly got something up with him, the way he just strutted out of your apartment after he just finished inside of you.

That was until you heard the thudding of boots entering the lounge, gasps and light chatters echoing in the room and your eyes glaring up, wondering who it is.

Your lips parted in disbelief when you saw Red Hoods tall, muscular figure glance over the bar, his crimson mask boreing into your bewildered features. And suddenly, you felt a slight sensation pool into your lower stomach, an unknown emotion. You unhand the glass you were cleaning, plopping the hand towel on the wooden countertop before making your way to him, noticing the way he’s just staring at you, almost as if he’s trying to work out a puzzle, or a riddle.

“Anything I can get ‘ya—?” your voice was breathy, but your tone was stern, almost too nonchalant as if the known vigilante isn’t standing before you. He cut you off quickly, “Know where Oz is?” He shifted in his position, arms now folded over his chest which revealed his broad shoulders and highlighted his biceps.

You thought for a moment at how he just cut you off, clearly in a rush for some odd reason you’re not even sure you want to know; a low hum escaping your lips. ��He’s not here today.”

Penguin wasn’t here for the whole week actually, apparently some business he had to handle elsewhere, he cut out all the gorey details before drowning you in the responsibility to handle his lounge while he’s gone, along with a few of his other close assistants.

“Where is he?” The man grunted impatiently, a low grumble erupting from his throat and seeping from his helmet. You sighed, not wanting to tell him much as you don’t wanna piss off Penguin for spreading confidential information.

You take your bottom lip between your teeth before shrugging bluntly. “He’ll be back in a few days.” You reached for the hand towel and continued where you left off and focused on drying the glass, trying to act as unbothered as you can, though your furrowed brows and narrowed eyes betrayed you. “Left me and some others to manage it in the meantime.” you muttered lowly, and you heard his abrupt scoff.

“..Oz left.. you in charge?” his brows raised in disbelief, and though you couldn’t see it, you could tell he was shocked by the fact how The Penguin left you in charge of his Lounge for a few days, as if you couldn’t run it, as if you were undermined and deemed weak.

You scoffed back at him, mimicking his own move before glancing back up at him slowly, eyes raking leisurely over his body and then back up at his helmet. “Got a problem with that?” you questioned, clearly taken offence at his passive aggressive tone.

You could feel his stare into you, and a rough snicker emerged from his throat. His head shook, “No.” he said bluntly, but you could tell he was biting back his tongue. You hummed in satisfaction before he spoke again. “You’re just ‘gonna tell me instead.” his head jerked towards upstairs, gesturing Penguins Office; your eyes narrowed in suspicion.

You abandoned the drink you were fixing up and the two of you made your way to Penguins office. He carefully shut the door behind you, and you leaned against the desk filled with stacks of paperwork, some cash and a glass of whiskey left behind.

“So are you gonna tell me what this is about?” your eyes rolled, trying to act as cold as possible, though the heated patch in your chest was growing hotter and hotter by the second.

He inched closer to you, each step thudding, mirroring the exact way it thudded the night he left you in your apartment. “Tell me everything you know about his caches.” he ordered, voice rough and rigid.

“..and why would I tell you that?” your head tilted, almost challenging his authority. “You know that ‘info is classified.” you crossed your arms over your chest, still leaning against the desk.

Red hood creeped closer and closer, until you could almost feel his chest on yours, as your eyes raked along his helmet, head folded up at his tall figure as silence echoed the atmosphere. You couldn’t deny the burn flowing under your skin at the familiar proximity of his body before you.

“I’m not asking, doll.” his voice was ragged, and almost a warning. You knew he would leave until he got what he wants, but you also knew Penguin would fire your ass if he knew you told Red Hood anything about his upcoming illegal activities.

You bit the inside of your cheek which was helping to refrain something you’ll regret escaping your lips. But he noticed, and he huffed in annoyance at your stubbornness and grabbing your chin and making you lock eyes with him, his fingers gripping your skin harshly.

You winced before your hands flew up to his chest, attempting to push away the muscular frame as you finally opened your mouth. “—Fine! fine..god..” you kept shoving at his chest, before he finally let go of your chin.

A sigh left your lips. “It’s tonight..” your muttered reluctantly, eyes falling from his to the ground in defeat. “Where?” he straightened his back, listening to your every word, but that also meant his body loomed over you like a tower, raking his shadow along you.

“Downtown..by the docks.” you huffed, still stubborn and pissed at your obvious defeat, knowing you could probably break free but you don’t wanna reveal your strength too soon. “..but all of Penguins goons will be there guarding the place.” you snorted, undermining his strength. “You don’t stand a chance.”

Red hood was silent until a low scoff left his helmet as you underestimate him. “We’ll see about that.”

His grip loosened on your cheek, and you rubbed the reddening marks softly, soothing the pain. He turned around, boots thudding as he left, door slamming shut mimicking the same night he left your apartment. You sucked in a shakey breath, cant deny you were a little intimidated, but also felt a small spark between you two. Did he feel it too?

You were left there in that room flustered, and then you realised. You really want him back. So, a little danger can’t hurt, can it?

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“ babe you can see that i’m danger,

glamorous but i’m deranged, yeah,

teetering off of the stage, yeah „

It was probably a bad idea, but what could go wrong? You just wanted some fun, life was getting tedious without something or someone to play with. And you cant deny Red Hoods sexiness.

Once again, you peeled on your black suit, the material clinging to your curves so perfectly. After putting on your mask and hood over your head, you climbed out of your window, rain trickling down onto your back as you melted in the cool atmosphere.

You made your way to the docks, and you peered over at the sight from a building, examining the setting and waiting for Red Hood to make his appearance. You were starting to lose your patience when heard the interference, and that was your cue.

You leaped down, crawling behind a crate as he swiftly took down multiple goons so effortlessly. You scoffed under your breath as you leaned crawled into the now opened cache while he was distracted, and took as much money as you could stuff in such a compact bag hurriedly.

“In a rush?” his voice echoed through your ears as he stomped his boot on one last thug, making his way closer to you and you bit the inside of your cheek before turning around.

“..you here to stop me?” you raised your hands defensively as you asked through a hum. Even though you planned to get caught, you couldn’t help but allow goosebumps to raise on your arms in anticipation and desire.

He chuckled dryly, arms crossed in-front of you and you could make out how his forearms spilled out of his tight shirts. It was almost alluring. “Just curious on what you’re gonna do with all that money. ”

A playful smirk creeped onto your lips, and you walked up close to him, so close you could feel his body heat radiating yours. Your hands came up to rest in his chest, and slid up to his neck as your heart was beating out of your chest in adrenaline.

“You never kissed me goodbye.” you muttered lowly, leaning up on your tip-toes to glare at him. He was praying that you couldn’t hear the way his heart was beating, the way his breath hitched at every word you spoke.

“..about that,” he huffed roughly, though there was an unknown edge to it. “That was a mistake, ‘m not usually one for one-night stands.” His hands reached down to your wrists, pulling them down from him and your eyes narrowed in disappointment.

“—but,” you stammered, watching him as he began to move away from you. “Oh, come on.” you blurted out, eyes hazey as you watch his every movement. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.” your tone was nearly a purr, low and teasing. A small hum rose from his mask.

“I never said that.” he stopped in his tracks before admitting, still facing away from you.

“Exactly.”

“Don’t act all smug now, doll.” your hand was on your hip as you watched him stand still in his spot, head tilted slightly at you.

You both were silent for a bit before you walked up to him and placed your hands on his chest, riding them up around his neck right below his red mask. “Still wish you would ‘just take off this pretty thing, hm?”

He shook his head, scoffing at your persistence to see his true identity. “You won’t be impressed.” his hands reached in his pockets as he grabbed the remote of a device. Your eyes narrowed in confusion as he backed up a little from you. “Might wanna stand back for this one.”

“Huh—?” you muttered before the cache blew up. And then you chuckled at all the money being destroyed before you turned back to him, although he disappeared. Like. Always..

You were about to leave before you heard some of penguins thugs shouting, “There ! Get her—!” your eyes widened as you tried to find a way to escape, but it was too late. Some big guy knocked you out cold on the ground, and your eyes fluttered closed.

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“ 𝒊 𝒔𝒂𝒊𝒅 𝒊𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒚, 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒓? ,,

Your eyes began to flutter open and adjust to the dimly lit room you were in. You were restrained; wrists tied together around the back of the wooden chair you were seated on. Your eyes narrowed in annoyance at the sight, how could you let yourself get caught?

You grunted, attempting to break free at your tied hands, but then you noticed Penguins thugs surrounding you. Their murmurs were annoyingly loud, talking about you as if you weren’t there. Thankfully, they hadn’t taken off your mask yet, if they did, you’d be truly fucked and jobless.

“Look, boys—“ you sighed, adjusting your hips in your seat as the murmurs silenced, “Let me go. — or we ’gna do this the hard way?” You’d raise your hands in defence if it wasn’t for the restraints, it only pulled at your wrists earning another light grunt from you.

What was worse is that you recognised some of these guys from the bar; especially the leader who just scoffed at you, shaking his head. “Not till you tell us what the fuck you were doin’ messin with Penguins cache.” his rough voice echoed through the walls and the thick air.

“That wasn’t even me—!” you snapped, eyes widening. He inched closer, pulling out a pocket knife and pushing it up to your throat, the cold metal lingering against your skin sending shivers down your spine. “Listen, lady. We ain’t playin’ games here.” He spoke again, voice laced with spite. “So unless you wanna live to see Gothams lights shining again tomorrow, you ought’a tell us.”

You rolled your eyes, honestly getting a bit bored of this, you didn’t really have a plan, but you were planning to go with the flow. “I told you already, ass hole.” you groaned, before slamming your forehead against his nose, he staggered back with a painful groan into the other thugs, grasping onto his nose now gushing with blood.

Another thug turned to you and kneeled down to your height on the chair, “Oh.. You’re gonna regret that, bitch.” and his hand came to wrap around your throat. Your eyes widened, and taking caution your legs lifted up, wrapping around his neck before snapping it with ease.

The other thugs stood in shock, and you took the opportunity to quickly stand up, chair still attached to you before you whipped your body round, slamming the wooden chair against one of their bodies before it broke and you pulled the ties, your hands breaking free.

You beat up all of the thugs, knocking them out. You had your boots heel on one guys neck, waiting for him to pass out before your ears picked up a sound in the distance. Your head turned round, and you were hit hard, a force which knocked you only the ground with a thud.

You could feel blood trickling down from your brow, and you muttered ‘fuck.’ You tried to stay conscious, really, but it was hard as the figure lingered over your splayed out state, glaring at you. “Not— cool, man..” you slurred lowly, before you passed out.

Though, you could slightly hear a cacophony of chaos happening. Some swearing, some punches and some knives. But one noise in particular made your eyes shoot open. A gun shot.

You gasped at the sight, the thugs were all shot. Your vision was spotty and a haze, you couldn’t really see much though you could definitely decipher what was said to you. “Looks like I’m late to the party.” a familiar voice ricocheted across your ear canals, his cold but slightly smug tone making you scoff lightly.

“You.. weren’t invited.” you muttered, wincing as you tried to sit up, his colossal hands wrapped around your waist, helping you up, and you fell limp into his chest, body aching. He stood straight, not sure on what to do, but then you felt his gloved-palm creep up to your head, pushing it into his chest in an embrace.

You glared up at him through lidded eyes, still a haze. The crimson mask blinded your eyes, helmet glimmering in the dimmed lighting, still shining in the shadows. “What? No thank you for saving you?” he stared back at you, and though you couldn’t see his eyes, they were softening behind the helmet.

“I didn’t need saving..” you muttered, knowing you had it under control.. for a bit. Though, you still didn’t need a man to save you, you’re fully capable and independent. He chuckled roughly under his mask, and the sound echoed through your mind, sending waves of an unknown emotion in your stomach.

He picked you up, hands wrapping around your body to carry you out of the scene. Before you knew it, you were placed on the back of his motorcycle, and you didn’t even realise but your hands subconsciously wrapped around his waist, craving that sense of protection.

He drove you to his base. Fortunately, by now you were pretty much awoken, and back to reality. You followed behind him as he entered through the doors, and your eyes wandered around the place. It was nice, cozy. “..cmon let’s patch up those wounds.” he sighed, placing his keys on the counter before you jumped up onto the kitchen counter opposite him, watching as he opened the cabinets looking for some rubbing alcohol and cotton pads.

You waited, swallowing hard as he turned around, now facing you as he inched closer, positioning himself between your thighs. You both couldn’t deny the tension, it was still strong, still clinging onto the air. Every time he got closer, sparks of electricity from the night before come back, and you find yourself shifting in your seat, trying to hide your growing arousal.

He brought the cotton pad up to your forehead, dabbing the rubbing alcohol against your cuts. You winced at the stinging, and moved your head slightly which resulted in him grabbing your chin with his free hand, holding it in place. “Don’t move.”

“Fine— god.” you muttered low, scoffing at how cold and blunt he is. “How’d this even happen, huh?” he continued with the task a hand, patching your cuts on your forehead before throwing the used cotton pad into the bin and lowering his gaze down your body, checking for any other injuries.

“It’s your fault.” You stated in annoyance, “—they thought I blew up that cache.” you sighed, crossing your arms over your chest as he glared at you intensely, scoffing through his helmet. “You were there.” he shrugged, mimicking you and crossing his arms over his chest.

“So? .. anyway— I had them, you didn’t need to come to my rescue.” you rolled your eyes, and he just shook his head at your attitude. “You gotta be a bit more grateful.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, before you spat, “ and you gotta learn to not leave a girl hanging.” he growled when you mentioned the night again, before he pressed up against you, impossibly close to the point you felt his body heat, and the undeniable bulge growing in his pants that rubbed against your clothed groin.

“Look, I had a lot goin’ on— I didn’t mean to hurt you, really.” his tone was sincere but laced with something else, need? desire? his pitch low, rough. The truth was, he didn’t know what to do. Afraid you might’ve saw his identity, how scarred he is outside and inside. He didn’t want to hurt you by staying and leading you on but leaving meant hurting you more.

You glared down, avoiding eye contact as you sighed, biting the inside of your cheek. “It’s.. fine.” You wanted to say more, wanted to tell him about that burning desire that still pools in your stomach even at the sound of his voice, but you bit back your tongue.

“It’s not..” he admitted lowly, his gaze also faltering as he looked down before his hands came up to his helmet, and you heard a heavy thudding to the ground. You were too afraid to look up, too afraid to see what might be under the mask, good or bad. But his fingertips came to your chin, lifting your gaze to take in the sight of him.

Your lips parted in shock, confusion, arousal, deep unknown emotions. He was ethereal, his gun-metal, heavy lidded with yearn eyes glistening in the light and locked onto yours. his messy hair from the helmet jet black and tickling his forehead slightly; pink lips wettened by his tongue and a nose which looks like it was carved by a greek god himself.

He stared at you intensely, searching for any signs of fear or disgust, but he couldn’t find any, instead he noticed the way your eyes darkened with the same look you gave him that very night. His glare twinkled between your eyes and your lips, and your hand came up to cup his face.

“—now, why would you hide your beauty from me?” you cooed, soft palm resting on his rough skin which contrasted with the way his heart melted under your touch. “..i’m scarred.. and unfixable..” he whispered, eyes closing softly as he leaned into your hand.

You shook your head, other hand now coming to cup either side of his face as you pulled his face closer to yours. “You’re perfect.” you said without hesitation, noticing the way his eyes softened and the way he was completely allured in your touch. It was different, but you weren’t complaining. Having the Red Hood like this, at your mercy was actually quite heartwarming nonetheless.

You both felt it, the electricity pulling you two together. He leaned into you, flush against your chest as your legs wrapped around his waist, and his lips collapsed onto yours.

Although he was at your mercy, he still devoured your lips. His tongue slipped into your mouth, gliding against your and capturing each others saliva. It started off slow, but gradually became more rough, and filthy as his hands snaked up your torso, gripping the flesh through your suit firmly, as if he’d never were to let go.

Your fingers grazed up his neck, tangling in the wavy, jet-black locks and tugging lightly resulting in the most desperate moan you’ve ever heard him let out. He deepens the kiss as he pulls you impossibly closer, hand sliding down to your hips and that’s when you realise the growing bulge that’s prodding at your heat; you take the opportunity to grind against it teasingly, and Jason moans again, slightly reluctant of surrendering to you.

You pull away, though Jason’s taken aback by the sudden stop, his eyes open back up and glare into yours. His emerald orbs yearning, his drooping with need and hunger.

You reach for your domino mask, beggining to take it off since he took off his but his hand comes to your wrist, stopping you. “what..?” your brows furrow in confusion before he chuckled dry and gruffed. “..You think I don’t know who you are? I knew since the day we fucked, since then you’re all I could think about..” he trailed off, eyes fluttering closed at the confession, though he carried on.

“..still cant get your fucking scent off my suit,,” his voice was low, a hint of annoyance at the statement but then his voice turns into a soft, needy whimper, “—don’t wanna get your scent off my suit..”

Your breath hitched, and your fingers stopped gliding through his locks as you were in complete shock at his confession. How he knew this whole time who you were, how he was afraid to tell you.

You were stunned, “I don’t know what to say..” his hand came up to your chin, holding it up to look at him and he groaned softly, “I just— I need you..” he rocked his hips against yours to prove how much he needed you, and you gasped when you felt his solid buldge hitting against your core, the feeling sending shivers of arousal down your spine, and slick to coat in your panties.

You knew you had the upper hand, and you felt a wave of dominance rush through you as you grabbed his face, fingers brushing over his lips before dipping them into his mouth. His eyes widened at your bold move, but soon they were shut as he took them in his mouth.

Jason's breath hitches at the feel of your fingers in his mouth, his mind spinning as he loses all control and self restraint, a small moan slipping out from between his lips. “So good for me..” you purred, lips forming into a small smirk.

He lets out another rough moan, his hands coming up, grabbing your wrist, his warm fingers curling around it, pulling your hand in deeper, taking your fingers deeper into his mouth, his mind going blank; his tongue wrapping around them, sucking softly, his mind and body completely at your mercy.

You abruptly pull your fingers out of his mouth, and he whines at the empty feeling. You instead find your fingers raking through his hair,, and then pulling tightly for him to come down to your mouth level before whispering in his ear, “—let’s take this to the bedroom, sugar.”

He waisted no time hoisting you up onto him, carrying you with one hand supporting your ass and the other around your back as he entered the bedroom. He laid you down on the mattress, but before he could get on as well you pulled him by his shirt onto it, crawling on top of him confidently and straddling his lower abdomen.

He looked up at you in pure awe at your beauty, at your fierceness and at the way you looked down at him with a mischievous grin. You take fingertips along shirt-clad biceps, raking along the fabric and glaring at him through doe eyes.

“You gonna tell me what you want?” you raised a brow, leaning in and laying opened mouth kisses along the skin of his neck. He shuddered at the feeling, your soft lips now biting down creating maroon marks to wake at the surface.

“I want—“ he stammered, chest heaving uncontrollably, “I want you..” he groaned, his cock now pulsating with need of release. You hummed, but then shook your head as you leaned back up to glare at him.

“..where do you want me?” your hands came up to run down his chest, and back up again before tugging firmly on the material. “I want you everywhere..” he breathed, struggling to focus on anything but the feeling of your hands on his chest, body tensing up.

You pulled his shirt up and he helped you get it off of him, now he laid under you bare chested, and you could properly see the way his muscles curved. Every scar, every dip and line on his skin was now revealed to you and you bathed in the beauty of it all.

You immediately leaned in, wet kisses planted all over his chest and stomach. You couldn’t help yourself, you needed to mark him, you needed to mark the Red Hood, to make him yours. “Ahh..” he moaned at your touch, eyes shutting as he needed more, “..please..”

You hummed, tilting your head as a way of asking, ‘what?’ and he just whimpered softly, “Need more..” so you complied, and began to grind hard against him, and his head flew back against the pillows, letting out a sharp gasp whilst his body arched up against yours.

His mind went blank as he grabbed onto your hips, fingers gripping hard, his breath ragged and uneven as he tries to regain control, his teeth gritted together, trying to hold in another moan that pleads to escape his lips. "Oh..god...please" He begged so beautifully, his voice low and rough, the desire coursing through his entire body.

Your hands grab onto his that rest on your hips, and pull them off of you , interlocking your fingers before pinning his hands on either side of his head.

You must admit, having him pinned here like this, under your submission, aching for you is quite ironic knowing that he can easily flip you over and take you, he’s twice your size and strength, though it’s amusing seeing him like this all pathetic, starving for touch. “..let’s not get ahead of ourselves, honey.” You whisper into his ear, hot breath fanning his skin. He nods, humming a small sound before you chuckle, “..now tell me where you want me, again.”

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, he finds his mind a haze, this feeling foreign to him. “Where..?” you repeat teasingly before licking a long stripe from his jaw to his throat, a slick trail of your saliva glistening through the moonlit reflection. He lets out a groan at the feeling, wanting to pull you off of him and flip you over, wanting to show you who’s boss, show you who’s stronger, but he couldn’t, he felt under your submission.

“..was it here..? You then move down moving up to where you have his hands pinned and nibble on the skin of his muscles, before kissing the reddening mark. “—or here..” you giggle slyly, knowing how pent up you’re making him before giving one hard grind against him.

His eyes closed at the wave of pleasure that rushed through him, and he begged again, this time more rough, more demanding, “Please— stop teasing me,” and you just smirked, bottom lip coming between your teeth. “..because you asked so nicely.” you trailed off, sitting back on his lower abdomen, now staring at his state. He looks fucking gorgeous, could genuinely devour him right there right then.

His hair a mess, beads of sweat collecting near his eyebrows and gunmetal blue eyes now hooded with need and desire. You peel off your top, and Jason relishes in the sight, savouring every moment as you then throw the shirt into the abyss of his bedroom floor.

Jason’s body tense with anticipation, his eyes drinking in your every movement, his breathing ragged and uneven. His eyes move across the exposed skin, your laced-lingerie that he just wanted to rip off, the way your nipples pebbled under your bra.

His body reacting almost automatically, his hands reaching up, wanting to touch you, to pull you to him, to feel your body against his. He pulls your bra down, hands coming to unclasp it as quick as possible as he almost moans at the sight of your breasts, all perky and on display for him.

He leans in, taking the bud into his mouth before swirling his hot tongue around your nipple, over hand coming up to palm at your other breast, your body warmth radiating off of each other. He groans against your skin, vibrations attacking you, when his nose is corrupted with your natural aroma.

Your eyes shut at the feeling, your hips slowly moving at a rhythm against his. He pulls away from your breast with a pop, before moving to the other one, thumb rolling against the nipple as he watches it harden. “—fuck..” you gasp at the mix of pain and pleasure, it overcomes your senses, and you drown in the bliss.

He pulls away again, leaving you in a quivering mess as he moves you slightly to take off his pants, along with his boxers. You sit between his thighs as you watch his cock spring free, the sight heavenly.

Seeing it this time was different, last time it was mere features that happened to show in the dimmed lighting, this time you could see it perfectly. The thickness, long length and slight curve, two veins which ran down the sides and the twitching, flushed mushroom tip leaking with pre-cum. He looked like he was carved by a greek-god himself.

You needed to taste him, to taste his seed. You wanted to feel him in your throat, and he wanted nothing more than to feel the warmth of your lips wrapped around his length.

Your lips part as he looks down at you with desperation; then your palms come down to his thighs, before you leaned in, kissing the tip of his dick too softly, too sweetly. He groaned in pleasure at the feeling, but he needed more. His hands came to your hair, tangling in the locks before forming a ponytail and without warning, shoving your throat into his cock to end the teasing.

He moaned, so beautifully; head thrown back onto the pillows whilst you sat between his thighs taking his thick cock. You took him so well, head bobbing up and down as he face fucked you, spit bubbling at the corner of your mouth and dripping onto the sides of his length, onto the sheets and his thighs.

Your hands removed their grip from his thighs but moved to where you couldn’t take all of him. Your hand wrapped around the bottom of his cock, pumping as your spit that dribbled down from your mouth was now lubricating the bottom of his cock.

“Shit.. ahh— ‘m gonna fuckin’ cum if you keep doing that,“ jason’s voice was strained, full of lust as his grip on your hair got tighter, and you started stroking rougher, eager to make him release all whilst hollowing your cheeks which made his legs tremble.

Though before he came, he pulled you off by your hair, and you gasped for air, eyes rolling back as you came back to reality from the haze of his cock shoved down your throat. He sat up, pulling you up onto his lower abdomen as you tried to look at him through hooded eyes.

His fingers came up to your chin, tapping your face lightly, “—need to feel you,, need to feel my cock inside you.” he muttered low, and you nodded, a smirk growing on your lips before you leaned in, letting him taste your saliva.

He groaned into the kiss, hands coming to wrap around your hips. The slick in your panties now seeping through, and collecting on his stomach. You moved off of the kiss, before lowering onto his cock, pulling off your panties and throwing them onto the floor, as you took his cock inside of you.

Your hands placed on his chest, steadying you as you slowly took his thick cock. Every inch that went inside of you resulted in your mouth gaping open, the tip twitching in your walls as you took him fully; a guttural moan left his throat when he felt your pussy squeezing him up so tight, so possessive.

His precum and your juices mixing inside of you, and leaking down onto his thighs and onto his sheets. Your fingers grazed up his chest, manicured nails leaving light marks as they came up the back of his neck to tangle in his hair as you found the strength to bounce lightly, not too fast, you didn’t want to tire yourself out too quick.

Your mind quickly grew a blurred haze, unable to focus of anything but the growing arousal both of your pants and moans which filled the four walls. "—ah.." Jason breathed out, his grip on your hips tightening, bruising as you were sure it’d leave a mark in the morning.

Your pace grew faster, and his whimpers turned into primal groans, “..you’re so beautiful,” He found himself fucking up into you, hips slamming against yours as he adjusted you to his desired speed as he moved you back and forward on his cock. His digits dipping into your skin, “..all mine..” he was lost in the moment, muttering sweet nothings all whilst colouring your skin in unethically beautiful maroon marks.

Your mouth gawped open, and you couldn’t contain the moan that escaped your lips, “Red—“ , his hand came to your mouth, silencing your screams as he corrected you, “Jason.”

You nodded as his hand moved off of your mouth, fingers dancing over your lips as you whimpered, “..Jason..” . Your lips purred his name so perfectly, so seductively as you looked like a goddess bouncing on his cock. Hooded eyes shutting, furrowed brows with sweat beading on your temple, relishing in the feeling of his cock inside of you, re-arranging your guts.

You felt your release approaching, along with his as his cock twitched inside of you. Your bounces faltered, beginning to get tired so he gripped onto you and fucked his cock up into your walls fast and hard, every thrust knocking the wind out of your lungs as your arms snaked around his neck; his pants and primal grunts growing louder as your gummy walls squeezed him, aching to come all over him.

The sounds grew filthier and slicker, and you were both close. The moon shimmering its hue onto his hooded eyes, deep with hunger and a hint of an unknown feeling.. love?

He was whimpering, moaning into your ear, breath fanning over your ear as you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, lips brushing over his skin at every thrust. He was so aching for release, his thighs trembling, “..so close, baby.“, so eager to fuck his seed into you.before grinding so hard onto him, “—know you are too, can feel you squeezing me, i’m right here, honey— not going anywhere,” he muttered sweetly into your ear as you were gasping his name; you were seeing stars, literally.

“Jason—!!” A loud scream escaped your lips, and again, and again, you couldn’t stop saying his name, the way it rolled off of your tongue, it sounded all too natural, like you were made to be screaming his made with his cock stuffed in you.

His seed emptied inside of you whilst your cum spilled out of your cunt mixing with his. You were both panting, gasping for air and seeking the privilege of coming back to reality. He looked perfect a mess. Hair scruffy, tugged and stuck to his forehead, eyes darkened and breathing like an animal in heat. He grabbed the back of your head by your hair and shoved you into a filthy, sloppy kiss. It was passionate, each of you moaning into the kiss as your hands came to cup his cheeks whilst your saliva was leaking down his chin onto his chest.

You slowly moved off of him, the warmth of his cock now gone as you fell back against the mattress beside him, staring at the ceiling catching your breathe. You were still in shock about the whole situation, but now you’re literally lying in his bed.. naked.. whilst he’s next to you.

He’s reluctant about what to do, but then hand comes up to face, pushing a stray hair away from your face as he glared at you with puppy-dog eyes, like he’s been waiting for this his entire life.

“You’re perfect.” he chuckles softly whilst taking in your every feature, even when you’re lying here a fucked out mess, you still looked amazing, still looked like his perfect mess. Your lips cracked into a small smile at his words, heart melting at his soft touch.

He pulls you closer, and your head lays contently on his chest whilst you two simmer in the wave of silence, though it’s not awkward or uncomfortable, it’s quite tranquil, as you listen to his every breath, counting way his heart beats.

His fingers rake through your hair, scratching softy through the scalp as you grow tired whilst your heart flutters at the feeling. Your body relaxes at his touch, mind slowly feeling at ease as he keeps you close, his heart filled with a warm feeling that he almost doesn't recognise. You let out a soft sigh, his body melting against yours, the sound sounding more vulnerable than you would like to admit.

He chuckles while watching you relax under him, "You're making me soft." mutters gruffly and you giggle tiredly, innocently, “Uh, Oh, big bad Red Hood gotten soft?” your voice is low and muffled against his chest.

“Don’t start.” he warns playfully, though there’s also a relaxed tone to his voice too. You smile contentedly at how peaceful this moment is his usual gruff and tough exterior completely gone, replaced by the sight of a man who looks completely vulnerable and yet somehow, completely at peace. He continue to rock you softly and soothe you until you’re completely asleep, your soft breathing the only sound in the room.

୨♡୧

As the golden morning hue peaked through the blinds in beams of blaze, Jason’s eyes blinked open to be met by the sunrise. His heart melted, a smile creeping onto his lips as he took a glance at you in a peaceful slumber. Your hair slightly messy and lips parted, you shifted your position in your sleep while you began to awake as well.

Your head rested on his chest, rising and falling with each breath he took and you lifted it lightly to take a look at him. His fingertips came to your temple, brushing away the stray hairs as he gruffed, “Mornin’ sleepyhead.”

You giggled softly before lifting your hands from around his waist to crawl ontop of his lap, kissing him on the forehead. His hands immediately gripped onto your hips, pulling you impossibly closer and you were soaked in his body heat. “Morning, handsome.” you purred, voice still sly and laced with tease which was surprising even at this time of morning.

“You still think this was a mistake?” you tilted your head, leaning in to plant another kiss, this time on his nose which resulted in his face to get all undeniably flustered. He shook his head, a dry chuckle escaping his throat, “Never. I don’t regret a thing.”

You smirked, “—not gonna get up ‘nd leave like last time?” you teased, the memories of that night still rushing through you. He just scoffed at how you thought so low of him, even now; emerald eyes rolling sarcastically.

“Well— maybe,” he shrugged, a bit too nonchalantly and your brows furrowed as he got up from the bed, now towering over your confused figure. “..to shower.” he raised a brow, and you sighed in relief but then a small giggle escaped your lips when he held his hand out like a gentleman. “—care to join me, m’lady?”

You nodded eagerly, jumping from the bed as he hoisted you up into his arms, your legs immediately wrapping around him as his lips smashed onto yours in a passionate, gentle kiss. Your hands rushed up to cup his face, and as you pulled away from his lips, you gave him a smitten grin, “It would be my honour, baby.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

a/n II: I’d like to thank everyone for all the support i got during making this series. I’m also so so so sorry for how long it’s taken me, i hope this makes up for it. Please tell me if you enjoyed it, it means a lot and i’ll be sure to make more fics like these in the future. I’m also happy to make part 4, it might not follow the same song but i’d could just be little blurbs or head cannons that reader and jason do in this universe! <3

tags: @1abi @vrtualknife @callmeash @dollishmehrayan @marveljedimaniac

[aneertawrites]

Shadows of Our Pride

Xavier x fem!Reader

!pride and prejudice remake

Chapter 3

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 4 | chapter 5

a/n : thank goodness i had this in my drafts 😩 chapter 4 will take half a week IM SORRY

The street was lively with morning bustle — carts groaning over cobblestones, women calling to one another from open shopfronts, and the crisp, cool air tinged with the scent of bread baking somewhere further down the lane. Lydia and Kitty flitted ahead of you, already bickering over the difference between lilac and mauve ribbons, while Mary trailed behind, nose buried in a volume she had insisted on bringing despite your mother’s warning that it was “entirely unnecessary.”

You clutched your small reticule close, mind occupied not just with colours or hems or lace trims, but the upcoming ball — Jane’s health had returned in full, and with it, the house was now caught in a fever of preparations. Your mother could speak of nothing else, and even you had found yourself casting longer glances at your reflection in the mirror at night, wondering — despite yourself — if a certain blue-eyed gentleman might notice when the time came.

The sharp clang of a shop bell jerked you from your thoughts. A gust of wind pulled at the edge of your shawl, and as you adjusted it, you failed to notice the soft square of embroidered linen that slipped free from your bag.

It wasn’t until you heard a voice — low, unfamiliar, yet pleasantly warm — call out behind you, “Miss, I believe this is yours,” that you turned.

The man was young, no older than thirty, tall and striking in a uniform cut sharply to his frame. His hair, a light brown just kissed with gold, was tousled from the breeze. He held the handkerchief delicately between gloved fingers, and when you met his eyes, there was a glint of something there — amusement, perhaps, or ease.

“Thank you,” you said, accepting the handkerchief with a nod, uncertain whether to offer a smile or simply move on.

But he didn’t step away. “No thanks necessary,” he said, tilting his head. “It’s rare one is allowed the opportunity to be of service before an introduction is made. I hope I haven’t overstepped.”

You studied him more closely now, something in his manner so polished, so deliberately gracious, it was difficult not to respond in kind.

“I’m afraid you have the advantage of me, sir,” you said, your tone even.

“George Wickham,” he said easily, offering the smallest bow. “At your service.”

The name struck faintly in your memory — spoken once, maybe twice by Alexei in passing, though not with detail.

“I—“

“—Oh! Is that one of the new officers?” Lydia’s voice broke through before you could speak again. She had doubled back, Kitty in tow, both of them drawn to Wickham like moths to flame. “Are you staying long in Meryton?”

“I’ve only just arrived,” Wickham replied, his tone charming but not forward. “But I imagine I shall be here through the winter.”

“Then you must come to the ball!” Kitty exclaimed, bright with delight. “It’s to be held at Netherfield — next Friday. It will be the event of the season.”

You shot her a look, though Wickham seemed unfazed. He turned his attention back to you. “Netherfield? You are among the party there?”

“For the moment,” you said quietly.

“Then I must consider myself fortunate indeed, to be in such great company.”

Before you could answer, Lydia had already begun to ask about his regiment, peppering him with questions about the cut of his coat and the colour of the facings, entirely unbothered by decorum.

Wickham’s answers came smoothly, practised but never patronising. Still, as you observed him, a subtle discomfort stirred low in your stomach — not because of anything he said, but because he said everything so well. There was a gleam behind the easy words, a self-assurance that bordered on rehearsed. But again, wasn't society itself rehearsed? Wasn't every social cue, curtsy, bow, and invitation, rehearsed?

Still, when he turned back to you with a polite nod and said, “I hope to see you again before the ball, Miss,” you nodded.

"Are you not to come to the ball?" you asked casually, walking at a steady pace with the officer down the cobbles.

"Well, I would very much like to come," he began, an expression that toed the line between smile and grimace finely on his face, "Am I invited to this event?"

“Oh,” you said, slipping the handkerchief back into your bag. “I am not sure. I shall ask Mr Alexei the next I see him.”

He hummed, nodding slowly. "Alright then, I shall come, if the man allows it," and then, he grinned down at you teasingly. "But only if you promise me the first dance."

You laughed, nodding. "Oh, well, when you ask like that, I can hardly decline."

As the girls dragged him toward the milliner’s stall a few shops down, you stood still for a moment longer, feeling the weight of eyes that were no longer there.

"Oh, you must come with us on our walk back to our Estate! Your company is most riveting," Lydia, ever the reckless flirt, crooned.

Their conversation faded into background noise as you followed after the group, lagging behind a few feet. You had the oddest feeling you’d just met someone who knew exactly what to say — and exactly when to say it.

The winding path from town to Longbourn had grown golden with late sunlight, shadows drawing long across the road. You and your sisters walked at a languid pace, your parcel of ribbons tucked neatly beneath one arm. The earlier noise of town had dulled to a distant hum, replaced now by the chatter of your younger sisters and the crunch of boots against gravel.

Wickham strode at the center of it all — charming, poised, and infuriatingly at ease. Lydia and Kitty orbited him like twin moons, demanding tales of regiment gossip and swordplay, their laughter lilting too high. Mary trudged along a few steps behind, tuning in and out, arms crossed firmly over her book. You kept to the edge, observing rather than joining.

“Miss,” Wickham said with practiced softness as he stepped beside you again, “I hope I haven’t bored you entirely. I’m afraid the younger Misses have dominated the conversation.”

You glanced at him, your tone cool but not unfriendly. “It’s no great crime to let them speak, though one might call it an endurance.”

Wickham laughed — a warm, easy sound — and was just leaning in to respond when the rhythmic beat of approaching hooves silenced the group. Two riders crested the hill ahead.

Alexei was first to dismount, a familiar grin already forming as he took in your party. “Ladies,” he said with a slight bow, “what an unexpected pleasure. I see the town has been most productive?”

“Very!” Lydia answered brightly, holding up her small parcel of ribbons with unnecessary flourish. “We’ve been to the modiste, and met Mr Wickham! He’s promised the first dance to — well, someone — and he tells the most marvellous stories about camp life!”

Wickham inclined his head politely. “George Wickham, sir.”

“Alexei.” The corners of Alexei’s mouth tightened for the briefest moment, though his tone remained amiable. “You’re with the militia stationed in Meryton, I believe?”

“Yes, just arrived,” Wickham confirmed.

From above, Xavier still sat mounted, silent. His eyes were sharp, focused — on you, on Wickham, on the ease with which your sisters clung to the officer’s every word.

Then Lydia, undeterred as ever, clapped her hands together. “Oh! But wouldn’t it be the most wonderful thing if the whole regiment could come to the ball! They’d look so dashing in their red coats.”

Alexei blinked. “The entire regiment?”

“Why not?” Kitty added. “It would be the grandest ball Hertfordshire’s ever seen.”

There was a pause. Then, with a good-natured shrug, Alexei nodded. “Well, I suppose there’s no harm in it. You may extend the invitation to your officers, Mr Wickham.”

Wickham bowed slightly. “Thank you, Mr Alexei. I’m sure they’ll be most delighted.”

And still, Xavier had said nothing. He had dismounted by now, the reins loose in one hand, his figure composed — but his eyes remained locked on Wickham. A silence hung in the air, taut as a pulled thread.

You glanced toward him, uncertain, your brow pinching slightly at his quiet.

Wickham turned to him then, offering a civil, if measured, “Mr Xavier.”

Xavier’s response was a single nod. No words.

You then curtseyed, bowing your head slightly in greeting to him. “Miss,” he acknowledged, nodding his head and bowing in return.

And then a beat passed. A very awkward one.

Then, without warning, he turned, mounting again in one swift movement.

“Xavier—” Alexei started, but was cut off by the sudden crack of reins as Xavier wheeled his horse sharply and took off at a quick canter, heading away from the group, back toward Netherfield.

A strange hush followed in his wake.

You stood still, your hand tightening slightly on your ribbon parcel.

Wickham exhaled lightly beside you. “Well,” he said, tone still mild, though something flickered beneath it. “That was… abrupt.”

But you didn’t answer. Not yet. Not as your eyes followed the disappearing figure in the distance, wondering what exactly had passed in that brief moment—and why the air suddenly felt heavier in his absence.

Xavier

The wind cut sharper once he had cleared the hill, the thudding of the horse beneath him the only sound filling the space Xavier had deliberately carved between himself and the others.

He hadn’t meant to leave like that. Not so obviously, not with so much urgency biting at his heels. But standing there — surrounded by the shrill delight of the youngest sisters, by Wickham’s infuriatingly easy grin, and your soft laughter, more rare and far more potent — it had become unbearable.

Dastardly man.

Xavier’s jaw tightened.

He had not seen Wickham in over a year. And yet nothing had changed. That same effortless charm, the same polished lie of gentility, of warmth. It clung to him like a second skin. But worse than seeing Wickham was seeing you respond to him, Xavier knowing exactly what that bastard was. That flicker of amusement in your eyes. The way you listened to him spouting his false politeness and manners. How quickly he’d slipped into your orbit.

Xavier dug his heels gently into the horse’s sides, urging it faster across the fields. Not quite running — but not allowing himself to slow, either.

He didn’t want to care. You had every right to laugh with whom you pleased, to stroll the lane with officers and entertain harmless flirtations. He knew that. And yet.

He thought of the way you had looked at him just a few days before. Quietly. Curiously. The soft pause before you spoke, as though weighing your words. As though he was something worth weighing. That moment in the woods, where you had walked just ahead of him and he had wanted — without reason — to stay in that silence a little longer.

And now?

Now, Wickham had wormed his way into that space, careless and smooth as always. And Xavier had stood there, silent and still, listening to the man lie with a smile on his face and his past buried under that red coat.

Xavier let out a breath through his nose, sharp and slow. The worst part wasn’t Wickham’s presence.

The worst part was how it made him feel like a boy again. Foolish. Too kind for his own good. Stripped down to instinct and half-formed words that never reached his tongue.

He hated that. He hated that Wickham still had that power. And he hated even more that you — someone he had only just begun to understand — might fall for it too.

He didn’t stop riding until Netherfield’s outline rose in the distance, steady and grey against the sky. And even then, he did not dismount. Not yet.

“Xavier!” Alexei’s voice rang out, hooves hitting against grass as he approached close behind him.

Xavier glanced over at his companion, expression unreadable.

“I’m sorry for inviting the militia,” Alexei’s voice had a tone of breathlessness to it, as if having rushed to catch up to Xavier. He felt a pang of guilt. “I know how it is with you and Wickham, but I could hardly decline it when Jane was there.”

“Nonsense,” Xavier muttered, avoiding eye contact. “I shouldn’t have rushed off like that. It was rude of me.”

Alexei remained silent, taking off his hat and holding it to his stomach, brows pinching. “Let’s go,” he said after a few moments, followed by the hitting of hooves against ground.

You

“I must admit,” Mr Wickham said, glancing over at you with a grin that bordered on conspiratorial, “I didn’t expect to find such company in Meryton. Nor such beauty, if you’ll forgive the boldness.”

You gave a small, practiced smile — just enough to be polite. “We don’t often receive compliments from strangers, Mr Wickham. Not with such fluency, at any rate.”

He laughed, a low sound. “Then your neighbours must be either blind or cowards. I’ve never believed in holding back the truth.”

There was something in the way he said it — not flirtation exactly, but a performance of it. Measured. Intention behind every word.

A pause, the rhythm of footsteps and the rustle of wind, and then:

“Tell me — the tall gentleman from just then. The one who looked as if someone had insulted his tailor. You know him, I assume?”

You blinked. “Mr Xavier?”

Wickham’s mouth twisted in a half-smile. “Ah. Yes. Xavier.”

There was a beat too long before he added, “I had not realised he was… friendly with your family.”

“We’re hardly friendly,” you said, too quickly.

He glanced sideways, noting the speed of your reply — and smiled faintly, as if that had told him everything he needed.

“I see,” he said softly. “And here I’d thought he’d spent all his affection.”

You frowned. “You know him, then?”

“Oh, we are—” He paused, the smile deepening, turning darker at the edges. You didn’t catch on. “—acquainted. From childhood, in fact.”

The word acquainted hung in the air like smoke.

“You were close?”

He let out a soft breath through his nose. “Once. It’s difficult not to be, when raised side by side under the same roof. I was something of a charity case — his father’s kindness, not his, mind you — but I’m afraid Xavier was never quite able to forget the difference in our stations. Not really.” There it was. Not stated outright. Just… suggested. Softly. Almost apologetically.

“He has always had a particular talent for pride,” Wickham went on, eyes ahead. “You must have noticed it.”

You said nothing.

“I don’t fault him entirely. He was raised to it. Told he was better than everyone in every room, and so he’s spent years acting like it’s true.”

You turned your gaze to the path.

“I only mention it,” he said, voice lower now, “because I would hate for anyone to mistake his manner for honour. He is… careful with appearances.”

That struck a chord — one you hadn’t expected. Your fingers curled slightly inside your gloves.

Mr Wickham slowed his steps just slightly, enough to glance toward you again, eyes softer now. Regretful. The victim of something unnamed.

“He does not forgive easily,” he said. “Nor forget. Particularly when it’s someone who once stood beside him.”

His tone was light. But the wind had picked up, sharp and cold. You looked ahead, heart uneasy, your home just beginning to appear through the thinning trees.

“And yet,” you said after a long moment, “he still looks at you like a ghost.”

That prideful man. Conceited beast. What good is money and status and good looks, if your soul is not one to match? You should have known based on his first few words to you, that he’d be so… so insufferable. But to someone he had grown up with? Unbelievable.

Wickham’s expression shifted — just for a second. Something flickering behind his eyes. “Perhaps I am,” he said quietly. “But ghosts only linger where there are wounds.” He added lowly.

The dining room at Longbourn was unusually full that evening, chairs drawn out to accommodate the surprise arrival of Mr. Collins — your cousin and, as your mother so frequently reminded anyone within earshot, the future heir to your father’s estate.

He had arrived with the usual fanfare: a stiff bow, a declaration of “humble gratitude,” and a letter of introduction clutched dramatically in hand, though it was entirely unnecessary. You all knew who he was. You had simply hoped he would never find it necessary to actually appear.

Now, seated directly across from you, he chewed his boiled potatoes with an exaggerated care, making appreciative hums with every swallow. You subtly rolled your eyes. “I must say, my dear cousins,” he began, setting his fork down with affected delicacy, “I have always heard of Longbourn’s domestic elegance, but I confess, even my high expectations have been… thoroughly surpassed.”

Your mother beamed with pride at the head of the table, as though she had personally designed the wallpaper and grown the garden from seed.

“You are too kind, sir,” she replied, fluttering her hand. “We do our best to maintain… comfort.”

Mr. Collins nodded solemnly, dabbing at his lips. “Indeed, indeed. Lady Catherine herself would find little to fault here.”

You took a long sip of your wine, just to avoid rolling your eyes once more. He certainly seemed to speak very highly of that woman.

“Lady Catherine,” he said again, with reverence blooming in his chest, “has often remarked on the importance of propriety in a household. She would, no doubt, be pleased with your table settings, Miss.” He turned to you, eyes round and eager, “Is it you who arranges them?”

You smiled — tight, polite, yet utterly sarcastic. It was, of course, lost on him. “Only when I’m not too occupied with embroidery and contemplating the fragility of the female mind.”

He paused, fork halfway to his mouth, then laughed with a breathy wheeze. “Ah, very good. Very good indeed. A keen wit, Miss, though I must caution — Lady Catherine has always advised a woman should be measured in her intellect.”

“Of course. Heaven forbid a woman think too much,” you murmured.

He nodded as though you had agreed with him, rather than insulted the very premise. “Precisely. It disturbs the balance of the home.”

Across the table, Jane glanced at you with a faint smile that betrayed her amusement, and you returned it with a knowing glance. Lydia, meanwhile, had grown distracted by the passing dish of stewed pears and paid Mr. Collins no mind whatsoever, while Mary made a valiant effort to introduce a theological topic to the conversation and was quickly overridden.

“And I do hope,” Mr. Collins went on, “that while I am here, I might become better acquainted with the household — particularly with you young ladies. Lady Catherine believes strongly in familial unity, and I must say, it is my intention — my humble intention — to see that unity honoured.”

Your mother nearly dropped her spoon in excitement.

And you? You simply smiled again, folding your napkin a little too precisely in your lap.

“Indeed, Mr. Collins,” you said sweetly, “we are all of us quite curious what intentions you’ll reveal next.”

He flushed, mistaking it for encouragement. “Then I shall take that as permission to remain a while longer,” he said, puffing his chest, clearly imagining himself as some prized guest bestowing favour upon your modest home.

You sipped your wine again, already knowing this was to be a long visit and attempting to ease your mind.

Dinner wound on with the slow inevitability of a drawn-out sermon. Mr. Collins had by now turned his attention to Jane — deeming her “serene” and “angelically mild,” a compliment that seemed to both confuse and gently amuse her — though his eyes strayed back to you often, as though uncertain where to settle his affections.

“I find it quite admirable,” he said now, gesturing vaguely with his spoon, “that you ladies have remained so… accessible. In Kent, among Lady Catherine’s acquaintance, modesty is rather a rarity. You cannot imagine the pretensions of certain families.”

“I’m sure we could manage to try,” you said under your breath.

“What was that, my dear cousin?” he asked, blinking earnestly at you.

“I said we are most grateful to be so agreeable,” you replied with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Your father, who had been quiet throughout most of the meal, now looked up from his plate with a dry sort of curiosity. “And how fares Lady Catherine these days, Mr. Collins? Still instructing the world on how to be properly civilised?”

“Oh, magnificently so,” Collins beamed, missing the sarcasm entirely. “She has lately taken to inspecting the cottages on her land, ensuring that the tenants’ windows are washed and their hedges trimmed. She believes strongly in visual order, you see.”

“How… philanthropic of her,” your father said mildly.

“And may I say,” Collins continued, undeterred, “that I am most fortunate to be in her good graces. Indeed, she has advised me to find a suitable wife — one of modest taste, gentle manner, and familial obedience — before the year ends.”

Gag.

At this, your mother nearly knocked over the gravy boat in her eagerness. “Oh! Well, what a fine ambition, sir. I am certain we may help you find just such a girl here, within the comforts of your own future estate!”

You pressed your napkin to your lips quickly to hide the twitch of a smile.

“I… had hoped,” Mr. Collins said, glancing down at his half-eaten turnip, “that it might be possible to form a connection during my stay. But, of course, I shall speak with propriety and deference, and only after the necessary span of acquaintance.”

“How noble of you,” you murmured.

Jane, ever gentle, steered the conversation toward the ball. “You shall attend next week, of course, Mr. Collins?”

He brightened. “Most certainly! I shall make every effort to be sociable. I have taken instruction from Lady Catherine on the art of conversation — and while I am not a dancer by nature, I shall certainly participate, as it is my duty to do so.”

“I imagine your dancing must be quite the spectacle,” you said, taking a delicate sip of water.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Only that it must be memorable.”

“Ah!” He chuckled again, a sheepish sound. “Yes, I do tend to draw attention. A hazard of height, no doubt.”

By the time dessert was served, you felt your patience thinning like worn linen. Your mother’s eyes gleamed with a peculiar brightness that meant she was scheming, while Lydia whispered something absurd to Kitty that made both of them giggle into their napkins.

Mr. Collins cleared his throat once more. “Might I trouble one of you young ladies for a tour of the gardens tomorrow? I should like to see what improvements might be made once I inherit the property. Of course, I would seek your opinions most respectfully.”

“I’m certain we’ll draw straws,” you said sweetly, standing as the dishes were cleared. “It would only be fair.”

“Indeed, yes,” he said, rising quickly with a proud tilt to his shoulders. “A very wise method of decision. Lady Catherine always advocates for drawing of lots in minor domestic debates. It prevents discord.”

Your father gave you a long look as you passed behind him.

“Do try not to poison the man,” he said under his breath.

You smiled. “Would I ever be so obvious?”

Between juggling preparations for the ball and spending time with the dreaded Mr Collins, you couldn’t be more excited to wind down and dance.

The carriage slowed to a gentle halt before Netherfield’s wide front steps, its lanterns casting a soft, golden glow across the gravel. Evening had folded itself over the estate, sky the colour of indigo ink, stars caught faintly between drifting clouds. The air was sharp with the scent of polished wood and autumn leaves, but beneath it lingered something sweeter —candlewax, rose oil, and the faintest trace of lilac from the hedges flanking the estate.

You stepped down with care, your gloved hand brushing against the chilled brass of the carriage door. The night air pinched delicately at your cheeks and neck, the silk of your new gown whispering softly as you moved. Inside the house, light blazed in every window — music already drifting out, low and warm, the hum of strings rising over the muffled thump of conversation and laughter.

The grand hall opened before you like a theatre mid-performance. Everything gleamed. Chandeliers glittered overhead with crystal firelight, scattering brilliance across marble floors and golden mirrors. The scent inside was heady — beeswax, fresh pine garlands twisted around banisters, and something rich and citrus-laced, likely from the spiced punch being ladled out in the far corner.

A footman took your outer wrap, and as you stepped forward, your eyes were pulled upward toward the open gallery above, where Aurelia leaned over the balustrade in quiet conversation with a lady you did not recognize. Aurelia’s gown was severe, her hair dressed impeccably, but her eyes caught yours with a flicker of something unreadable before she turned back, the silk of her sleeves catching the light like a blade.

Below her, the drawing room doors stood open, spilling warmth and revelry into the main corridor. Alora stood near the threshold, her posture more relaxed than her sister’s, laughing as she greeted a pair of older gentlemen. She spotted you and gave a brief, cordial smile, but her attention moved quickly on to someone else.

Your family had already scattered across the space like spilled pearls — Lydia and Kitty disappearing with a rustle of skirts into the throng, your mother sailing past you with her chin high, eyes sharp and scanning. Jane, radiant despite her usual reserve, remained beside you a moment longer.

“I had nearly forgotten how bright Netherfield could be,” she murmured.

“It feels like it might lift from the ground,” you answered, voice low as your eyes swept the ballroom just beyond. Rows of guests moved in elegant clusters, gowns blooming like flowers, gentlemen clad in crisp black and white, the glint of buttons and brooches catching the flicker of the chandeliers.

The quartet in the corner struck up the opening bars of a cotillion. Glass clinked somewhere behind you. A peal of laughter rang too loud from the staircase. It was as if the house itself breathed — rising, expectant, alive.

And still, even amid the golden light and rising music, your eyes searched — quietly, and perhaps foolishly — for a familiar figure in the crowd.

You had not yet seen Mr Wickham.

A gentleman brushed past, murmuring a polite greeting, but your attention stayed fixed on the crowd, your spine held a fraction too straight. Still no sign of him.

Then Jane turned, radiant in pale blue, and before you could speak, Mr Alexei approached. His bow was swift, his smile earnest. “Miss Jane,” he said, his voice warm with familiarity. “Would you allow me the honour?”

Jane hesitated only a moment before placing her hand in his. Her expression softened — not quite a smile, but something close. She glanced back at you briefly before being swept into the current of the dance.

You were left alone at the edge of the ballroom, anchored and yet strangely adrift. The room pressed in around you — laughter, silk, firelight — but none of it quite reached your skin.

And then—

“Miss.”

Your name, spoken quietly. No fanfare. No warmth.

You turned, pulse already quickening.

Xavier stood only a few paces away. His coat was dark, severe against the golden glow of the ballroom. He looked impossibly composed, as if the noise and light slid right off him. His gaze was steady. Too steady.

“Mr Xavier,” you said, dipping into a curtsey just shallow enough to be polite.

He bowed. “You’re—” A pause. “Here.”

You raised a brow. “Astute as ever.”

A faint tightening at the corner of his mouth — not quite a smile, not quite irritation.

“I had wondered,” he said, after a beat.

“What, if I would dare show my face in respectable company?” You could barely conceal the newly-found disdain for his company from your tone.

His jaw moved, but he said nothing. The silence between you thickened. Around you, music swelled. Voices danced.

Still, he did not move.

“Would you care to dance?”

It wasn’t the polite, practiced offer you had expected. There was no smooth charm, no elegant flourish. The words fell from his lips like something more raw, more deliberate. It wasn’t an invitation, it was a challenge. He stood there, as poised as ever, but there was something in his posture — an intensity that you could feel, even from where you stood.

You studied him for a moment, noting the way his jaw tightened ever so slightly, his posture rigid, but there was an openness in his eyes — a flicker of something beneath the surface that you couldn’t quite place. It made you pause. Made you hesitate. The room around you seemed to shrink as your mind reeled. Damn it. You had sworn to never engage with him like this.

You fought the urge to turn him down, to retreat into the safety of distance. Instead, you held his gaze, long enough that he almost looked away. The silence stretched between you, heavy with expectation. Why did you care?

“I suppose,” you finally replied, the words leaving your lips as cool and composed as you could manage, “it would be the polite thing.”

It wasn’t a challenge. It wasn’t flirtation. It was a statement. But the very fact that you had uttered the words at all left you wondering if it had been the right choice.

He didn’t respond verbally. His hand, strong and warm, slipped into yours. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t even tender. It was just there, firm and unwavering, a direct connection that seemed to send a spark through your body — one that you could feel in every inch of your skin, even through the fabric of your gloves.

And then, just like that, you were moving toward the floor, stepping through the crowd of dancers, the space between you shrinking with every step. The quartet’s strings rose, and the lively notes of an English country dance filled the room. You stepped in sync, each move sharp and practiced. You had danced this countless times before, but this was different — this time, every step was infused with a weight you couldn’t explain.

Xavier’s hand at your waist was firm, commanding, but there was a precision to it — control, a deliberate restraint that you couldn’t ignore. He didn’t speak. Neither did you. Your breath quickened ever so slightly, but you kept your expression neutral, your gaze unwavering.

His fingers brushed against yours as your gloves met. Too warm. Too kind, you thought. It didn’t make sense. You had never wanted his touch, never sought his company. And yet, here you were, standing closer than you’d ever intended, moving together as though the space between you had always been there, meant to be filled.

The dance spun you both around, a turn that left you apart for a brief moment before you came together again. The world around you swirled in movement, but all you could feel, all you could focus on, was the way his presence anchored you. It was unnerving, how easy it was to fall into this rhythm, this unnatural familiarity.

“I imagine,” you said lightly, keeping your voice steady, “that you’re regretting this already.”

His eyes never left yours — unblinking, unwavering. There was no amusement in his gaze, only that quiet intensity that made your pulse quicken. “You imagine a great deal.”

You arched an eyebrow, heart hammering. “And you say very little.”

He paused. For the briefest of moments, you wondered if you’d said something too bold, something that had pushed him beyond the boundary of what was acceptable. But then his gaze flickered, just slightly, and he leaned in, close enough for your breath to mingle with his.

“Because saying anything would be…” He stopped mid-sentence, his words hanging in the air.

You leaned in, just enough that your bodies aligned. “Revealing?” you suggested, the tension between you building with every passing second.

His jaw clenched, and he didn’t answer immediately, as if weighing his response carefully. The quiet between you grew thicker, charged with something neither of you could name. And in that moment, everything around you — the music, the laughter, the hum of conversation — vanished. It was just the two of you in this bubble, moving together in perfect synchronization, yet remaining miles apart.

Your steps faltered, just slightly, caught off guard by the unexpected closeness, the tension crackling between you. But before you could stumble, Xavier’s hand tightened at your waist, guiding you back into the rhythm without a word.

The music swelled around you — faster, louder, as if reflecting the racing beat of your heart. You could feel the heat of his hand at your waist, the slight press of his palm against your back, urging you closer into the rhythm of the dance, but all you could focus on was the way his fingers brushed the small of your back, leaving a trail of warmth behind.

The world was spinning again, but not with the graceful flow of the dance — it was something darker, something more thrilling, like you were caught in the pull of an unspoken storm. His presence surrounded you, filled you, suffocated you in the most intoxicating way. It was all you could do to keep your breath steady, your movements in time with his.

The final notes of the dance began to fade, and the space between you and Xavier seemed to grow just as the tempo slowed. He stepped back from you, too quickly — leaving you cold in the wake of his touch.

“Thank you,” you said, the words coming out flat, measured — almost mechanical. You couldn’t bring yourself to add anything else, not when the weight of what had just passed between you felt so heavy in the air.

He bowed, his eyes never leaving yours, the same unreadable expression masking whatever thoughts were racing through his mind. “Of course.”

And then, just like that, he was gone — swallowed into the crowd, leaving you standing on the floor, your heart still racing, your body still thrumming with the echoes of his touch. The dance was over, but the aftermath lingered. The room around you blurred, the sounds fading into a dull hum as your pulse throbbed in your ears.

You stood there, frozen, trying to grasp the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. What had just happened? What had he just done to you?

Across the room, Aurelia watched you. She said something under her breath to Alora, both of them turning in near-perfect synchrony, their gazes sweeping over you with a precision that felt like a blade.

But you held your ground.

The chandeliers blazed overhead. The next dance began. And still, you didn’t move.

masterlist

Taglist : @etsuniiru @kyokoyya @i-messed-up-big-time @firefly1103 @gracekerzzz @mcdepressed290 @sylusgirlie7 @plzdonutpercieveme @m00nchildwrites

[lady-lilly-gray]

Chapter 214 Theory!!!

edit: either the scanlation I read made an error or I'm just stupid (probably the latter) so I've rewritten this post, but retained the original below it for posterity lol

Who is the person at the end?

Is it Polaris? Possibly.

Because I am in the D. Gray-man fandom, and have therefore been a victim of the Past!Allen* confusion of the last (decade?) I am reluctant to accept this person as Polaris until we are EXPRESSLY told so.

*long story short; we were introduced to a character in a flashback without being told his name; based on the scene/context, the whole fandom assume his identity...and then recently found out he is someone completely different!

That being said; could it be Polaris? Sure! But what would Polaris have a history with Sebastian, when we already know Polaris to be someone linked to the Phantom Fam, as shown by their desire to "not lose anymore of them"? Additionally, how would Polaris know Sebastian to be a demon? (Yes, UT could have told him; but the way the above is presented implied that 1) this person has met Sebastian in his current form before and 2) knew Sebastian was a demon the first time they met.

Another case people have presented is that this is one of Sebastian's former contractors. I like this theory, too; but I don't believe it. As per the Blue Memory Arc, this is the first time Sebastian has appeared in this form in the human realm. Thus, why would this person know Sebastian?

My proposition: this is another demon! As Fairchild said, "guests of Any Kind are welcome here" which absolutely screams not everyone here is Human.

I guess that could reference Bizarre Dolls ("so long as they pay" is almost certainly a reference to Blood Collections), or even Reapers—but both of those groups of beings were once humans. Whilst my personal theory does have Demons being once human too, they are much more removed from Humanity than BD's and Reapers.

That being said, it could be interesting if this person was the demon whom Vincent sold his soul to, as is sometimes theorised! It could also tie into their desire to protect the Phantomhives. Maybe they even (re)gain some humanity as part of the contract, hence the IV bag—which, if this is not Polaris, may just be a disguise this person was using to get close to Sebastian. Obviously that fall was on purpose so as to get close to him!

So who is this person? I really don't know.

If they are Polaris, they are supposed to be attached to the Phantomhives, so why not even acknowledge O!Ciel?

If they are not Polaris, I am absolutely sticking to the Mary Jane Kelly theory mentioned below because it's funny and fits in with my Red Butler pt. 2 theory!)

I don’t think so. Polaris described himself as a butler; so probably not. More importantly, Polaris knows the Phantomhives; why would she say she was looking for Sebastian and not O!Ciel?

So, is she a past contractor that Undertaker revived? Possibly, but then why would she call him Sebastian. Heck, why would she even recognize him.

So, is she someone from an earlier arc? Three options:

The girl Seb chatted up for information on the Sphere Music Hall? Not impossible, and the most likely person on this list to know Sebastian by name.

The female aristocrat of evil we see in the Vanell arc? What ever came of her? I had a working theory that she would be a point of contact in France, but this works too! However, I will say this is the least likely of the three.

Mary Jane Kelly, the victim of Jack the Ripper whom Ciel made a grave for? Most likely, in my opinion — especially since Undertaker handled her burial, and it would further tie into my theory that we will see Madame Red again this arc!

[wolfsong-the-bloody-beast]

I'm a bit obsessed with Adaar, Cadash, and Lavellan, paired with Blackwall. As Adaar, you're this huge, buff mercenary that towers over even a big burly man like Blackwall. With horns. A lot of people call you and people like you an "ox(wo)man", view you with suspicion, or even fear. As Cadash, you come from the rough life of crime, and due to being a surfacer, you're less than nobody in your homeland. Hardly glamorous. As Lavellan, you're an elf, a second class citizen in the eyes of plenty humans to begin with, and you come from a migratory tribe. Hardly pampered. They're all tough cookies, and their cultures and personal lives are to various degrees very different from even the lowest of human nobles. No princesses here. And then Blackwall comes and keeps calling them, "My lady," and says that knightly stuff like, "You have the whole world at your feet, including me". And he acts the part, too. Of course, each Inquisitor is different, and their reactions depend on everybody's headcanon, but I can't help but imagine my Adaar, especially at the beginning, quietly losing. her. shit. while trying to play it cool.

[deadsetobsessions]

Short DPXDC prompt #2, from @stealingyourbones.

“It’ll be good for you!” Dick threw an arm around Tim’s shoulders as he beamed his way through Gotham U’s campus.

“I could have done this online. They have virtual degrees. I could have hacked my way into one.”

“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t get the authentic experience!”

The group arrived at the dorm building, one of many, and Damian gave it a dubious once over.

“If this is authentic, I refuse to be a part of the locals.” Damian quietly remarked, before peering cautiously at Dick. “I have obtained my degrees. I do not need this experience.”

“It’s really not that bad, guys.”

“How would you know? You went to Blüdhaven for college.” Tim retorted with the voice of a young man resigned to despair. “You lived off campus and your door pin was Zitka’s birthday, month first then date second.”

“… Tim, why the fuck do you know that.”

“When I knocked on your door, that was just common courtesy. I didn’t actually need you to open it. I could have opened it myself.”

Dick’s smile brightens even further, with the light of an LED bulb instead of his usual sun, and places a hand on Tim’s head. “You’re creepy sometimes, you know that?”

“And you’re careless sometimes, you know that?” Tim groused. “Ugh, whatever. Let’s just get this over with. I can’t believe I’m going to have a roommate.”

“It’ll be fun! And if it isn’t, you can always swap roomies. We have enough pull to have that happen.”

“Doubtlessly.” Damian said. “This campus barely passes the bar of acceptability. Why is the campus like this. Why is it incorporated into the city.”

Tim smirked. Even though Damian spoke with formal language only found in the highest of echelons of society, Jon’s influence was beginning to make itself known. Good for him, the little shit. Privately, Tim thought the presence of a Kryptonian brought out the better sides of a bat. God knows Kon did, for him.

“Okay, enough whining you two! Let’s get Tim settled in.”

Tim elbowed Dick in the gut and kept walking into the building as his big brother wheezed dramatically. Damian rolled his eyes- he’s seen Nightwing take harder hits than Drake’s pointy elbows and walk it off- and followed. Unbeknownst to them, Dick all but beamed with joy at their solidarity. His plan was working.

——

Tim settled into the dorm, disgruntled at the small and uncomfortable twin mattress. The dorm smelt of faint mildew, had at least ten safety code violations, and had ventilation that probably hasn’t been cleaned since the last fear gas attack. The vent thing honestly might explain the state of Gotham U’s students and their proclivities to become supervillains. Tim is more tempted to go into villainy than ever before with these conditions.

That is, until his roomie walked in.

Step 1) reboot brain.

Holy shit, his roomie was HOT.

Step 2) notice all the weird things his roomie all showed unconsciously. Too graceful. Walking carefully, like how Kon does sometimes when he’s remembering to be careful with his fragile surroundings. Meta? Too sharp teeth.

Wait. Sharp teeth?

“Uh, hi. I’m Danny. You must be my roommate. Tim, right?” The guy, Danny, had a deep voice. And too sharp teeth. Because he smiled. It was a damn nice smile.

Step 3) bi panic. DID TIM MENTION HE WAS HOT??

“Uh. Hi. Yeah, I’m Tim.”

“Cool. What’re you majoring in?”

“Forensic Analysis. You?”

“Aerospace engineering.”

They looked at each other awkwardly. “Cool, I’m just gonna set my stuff down.”

“You’re not from here, right?” Tim asked and promptly flushed when an amused smile gets thrown his way.

“The accent give it away?”

“Yeah. Uh. You want a tour, man?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

——

It was flashes of things.

“Oh. I don’t go anywhere without my thermos.” Danny smiled, patting the dented thing. Except, Tim’s never seen him drink from it.

Or:

“Oh, woah. Food’s not attacking me.” And the thing is, Danny actually looked apprehensive before poking at the cafeteria food.

What??

And a month passes before Tim realizes he’s one hundred percent absolutely fucked.

Because it’s one thing if it’s an extremely attractive dork with brains and humor.

It’s an entirely different thing if the extremely attractive dork with brains and humor was a complete and total mystery. Tim is an absolute sucker for mysteries. It’s even more attractive than smacking him in the face with a brick!

“Hey, Tim?”

“Uh. Yeah?” Tim screamed at himself. He’s dated like fifteen different people! Why the hell is he so awkward with Danny?

(Tim was always awkward. He has that autistic rizz.)

“Tell me more about blood splatters?” Danny asked with a hopeful smile. Tim folded like wet paper. (It helps that he knows a lot- too much- about analyzing blood splatters.)

——

Outside of their window, Nightwing cackled to himself. It was worth using the Wayne name to get Tim the most interesting college kid Dick could find as a roommate. Who said Tim had the market corner on stalking anyways?

Nightwing flipped off of the roof, all but skipping home.

Robin, his patrol partner for the night, grimaced. For all Richard was his favorite, the man unsettled him at times.

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"Mad Woman"

ok yall im out of school now! this was rushed so don't judge, when i write i just pour out whatever's in my head, that's why it's almost always rushed. i feel like if i don't write it, it'll disappeare! also to everyone hating in my asks, NO ONE IS FORCING YOU TO READ MY WORK!!!! hating does nothing but discourage me and lower my already non-existent confidence in my writing. pls leave me alone, if you don't have anything nice to say; don't say anything. i LOVE all my positive asks and comments, they make my day. don't ruin it for me.

Prologue: hapter 1: Chapter 2: Chapter 3: Chapter 4: Chapter 5 Chapter 6:

Six months, that's how long it's been since Bruce exiled you to New York and left you alone once again. It's been 387 days since Tiffany Maverick pulled the rug from beneath your feet and ensnared your family in her web of lies and manipulation. For six months, your family ignored you, only Alfred sending you the occasional care package which you promptly threw in the garbage.

You wish Tiffany and Damian were as content with ignoring you as the rest of the family but unfortunately, they went out of their way to rub their closeness in your face by sending you pictures of family movie night, family game night, and the family attending their school events. It made you angry at first, before you saw how funny it was. A family of billionaires, a family of detectives, a family of vigilantes, sitting next to a spy; obliviously feeding her insider information. The Batman, sitting grinning ear to ear next to a girl who could be his downfall.

Surprisingly, boarding school was amazing. The boys were hot, though most arrogant and dumb, they were all loaded and into you. The girls idolized you from the moment you walked in, your word was law around here and the power felt amazing. You decided what was in and out, who was hot and who was not; a huge difference and change of pace from the years of bullying and ridicule at Gotham Prep.

The charm came with your new abilities, most likely. Sure, the first two months were fucking painful and exposed you to pain you didn't think was possible but it was a small price to pay. It was nothing for the power of being able to charm and flirt your way out of just about anything, being able to eject venom with the slightest trace of your fresh set of acrylics, being able to literally bite people with your fangs and have them enjoy it, sensing heat signatures and feeling emotions and eyes on you, having the ability to give literal bone-crushing hugs, and so many things you haven't even discovered.

Not to mention your random overnight makeover! Suddenly, your figure was to die for, perfect in all senses of the word. Your skin gleamed and shimmered in the light, long shed away were all the blemishes and scars. Your hair always shiny and your teeth always pearly white, albeit a bit sharp. You're the image of beauty.

Who cares about the price when the product was this good anyway?

Who needed familial love when everyone here worshipped you? That new view and utter hatred for the family is what convinced you to accept Ariele, your boarding school bff and roomie,'s offer to spend summer break with her family in the south of france. Of course, you wanted to go back to manor for a week before meeting her there. Alfred asked you to come and though you were angry at him, you missed the old man. You swore to yourself that you'd only stay the night, catch up with Alfred, and ignore your 'family' then promptly spend the summer half naked, tanning on a super yacht with your girls.

Little did you know that you'd never make it to france, in fact, you wouldn't even make it out the manor now that Tim discovered the truth and told the rest of the family.

Tim Drake noticed things. Small things. Minute details that other people might overlook. That's how he found the truth.

It started with the cooking. Tiffany had casually mentioned one evening that she’d found some old recipes in the manor’s archives, recipes that you had once written down, hoping to impress Damian with Arabic dinners and desserts. Tiffany had barely glanced at the handwritten notes before she had offered to make dinner that night—a perfect replica of your signature stuffed cabbage leaves, Malfoof, as you called it.

Tim had been there when it happened. He’d recognized it immediately. The dish was one of your favorites, one you had made for family dinners. It was too familiar, too precise for Tiffany, it lacked the usual love and effort.

Then came the awards. It was subtle at first, too. Tiffany casually dropping that she had “entered a local baking competition” and how much fun it had been to win. Tim had known that you had been the one to actually win that competition the year before, he remembered rolling his eyes as you foolishly tried to impress him. But when he checked the award Tiffany had won? It looked eerily similar to the one that you had earned. Tiffany didn’t even bother hiding her gloating as she showed it off, calling it “another step toward making Gotham proud.”

Tim’s stomach churned. It wasn’t a coincidence. Tiffany was stealing your life and he was the only one that saw it. Who knows what else she was stealing.

The pieces clicked into place when he found the old photo albums. Tiffany had been snooping around the library one afternoon, pulling out albums that had been tucked away in the back, ones that hadn’t been touched in years. They were full of memories of your achievements, pictures of family vacations, awards won for charity work and academic excellence. Baby photo's, old camera's, journals, even old clothes.It wasn’t just admiration. It was an obsession.

He saw her dig through and read every one of your old entries, saw her stare at pictures and attempt to manuever her body how you stood, but what really creeped him out was when she started tracing over your handwriting.

Tim couldn’t let it go. This was insane. It was almost as if Tiffany wanted to wear your skin.

It wasn’t that he wanted to make Tiffany an enemy or villainize her, quite the opposite actually, he'd been ignoring her strange behavior and smell for a year now because of how fond he was of her. But this? This was crossing a line. She wasn’t just trying to fit in anymore, this was dangerous.

He now suspected there was more to Tiffany than just her obsession with your life and after putting the pieces together, it was becoming clear: Tiffany was playing a much deeper game. She wasn’t just trying to steal your identity, she was stealing information, too.

Tim’s investigative skills had been honed through years of being the tech guy of the Batfamily, and when something felt off, he didn’t ignore it. Not anymore, he started tracking small anomalies—times when Tiffany’s presence seemed too convenient, moments when crucial data about Gotham’s underworld went missing from the Batcomputer, or when confidential mission details were leaked through channels Tim knew the Batfamily didn’t use. Times when the Joker seemed to know the family's course of action and times when villains knew Duke's plans.

That’s when it clicked.

Tiffany wasn’t just trying to fit in with the family. She was spying. Her affections with the family were a cover for something darker. She had been gathering intelligence for a shadowy organization, feeding them vital information about their operations. This was bigger than him—this was a full-blown infiltration. Tiffany was working for someone else, someone dangerous.

Tiffany’s betrayal ran deep, and her spying wasn’t just about information anymore; it was personal. She had been stealing pieces of your life, your successes, your talents , your family. She had slowly taken everything that you had worked for and twisted it into her own false narrative. It was sickening.

Tim couldn’t stand it anymore. He had dug through encrypted files, tracked hidden transmissions, and pieced together cryptic conversations. Tiffany wasn’t just trying to steal your identity for the sake of becoming the perfect family member. No. She was mimicking your cooking and baking skills, down to the awards she had won for those very talents. She had been trying to erase you and replace you with a manufactured version of herself.

It was almost too much for Tim to handle. But there was something even worse lurking beneath the surface: the deeper he dug, the more it became clear that Tiffany wasn’t just feeding information to criminals. She had been feeding off your spirit, your presence and she had nearly replaced you entirely.

Now he just needed to tell the other.

The tension in the Batcave could be cut with a knife as Tim stood before Bruce, Dick, Jason, Damian, Duke, Cass, Steph, Barbara, and Alfred, ready to show them what he had discovered.

“I’ve been tracking Tiffany’s movements for the last few days,” Tim began, his voice low but sharp. “And I found something that’s... unsettling.”

Bruce, who had been scanning a mission report, looked up with interest. Dick turned to Tim, a puzzled expression on his face. Alfred stepped forward, his usual composed demeanor now replaced with a rare concern. Even Damian looked confused.

“What did you find, Master Tim?” Alfred asked, his tone calm, but there was a flicker of unease in his eyes.

Tim didn’t hesitate. He clicked a button on the computer, and the large screen behind him flickered to life. A series of encrypted files appeared—mission logs, surveillance footage, and even intercepted communications. The Batcave was suffocating in its silence as Tim presented the evidence to Bruce, Dick, Jason, Alfred, and the others. His fingers flew over the keyboard, and every new image, every new file, felt like a punch in the gut.

There was a long silence as everyone processed the information. Bruce’s usual stoic expression faltered for a moment, and Dick clenched his fists. The weight of the revelation was hitting hard, but it wasn’t just the betrayal that hurt. It was that someone in their midst had been pulling the strings behind their backs for a year.

The data was damning. It was all there, proof that Tiffany had been copying your recipes, your designs, your machines, even stealing the culinary awards that you had earned over the years. And on top of that, she had been siphoning critical Batfamily intel to an unknown organisation. The information was so sensitive, it could have jeopardized every single one of them.

“Do you see it now?” Tim’s voice was quieter, but his anger was unmistakable. He flicked the last file onto the screen. Tiffany’s false accomplishments, stolen directly from you. The stolen recipes. The mission intel sent out from the Batcomputer under her watch. “All of us have been blind to it.”

“About a month ago,” Tim said, “I found an odd encryption pattern in the Batcomputer—something I’ve never seen before. When I decrypted it, I found a set of mission details. Ones that shouldn’t have left the system. I traced the origin back to Tiffany.”

Alfred's face tightened as he took in the footage on the screen. It was a recording of Tiffany accessing classified Batfamily data, tapping into their most sensitive files.

“She’s been stealing information,” Tim continued, his voice gaining intensity. “Every single time she’s interacted with the Batcomputer, she’s been sending that data out to an unknown address. I can't track where it's coming from, it's too advanced; even for me.

“Impossible,” Bruce muttered, but his eyes were narrowing in disbelief. “Why would she—?”

“Because she’s a spy,” Tim interrupted, “and it gets worse. She’s been feeding them everything. Our weaknesses, our next moves, our schedules. She’s not just a mole in the manor. She’s been working against us this whole time. She's why so many missions have failed.Tim’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not just the family’s accomplishments she’s been stealing. She’s been getting close to each of us, using our trust. She knows things, personal things, and she’s been leaking that information. She’s been feeding it to the highest bidder, giving Gotham’s worst players a playbook for taking us down.”

Dick’s face twisted with disbelief. “She was pretending to be (y/n), taking her accomplishments as her own, but—” He trailed off, his voice faltering. “How could we have let this happen? How did we not notice?”

Jason’s voice cut through the heavy silence, rough and sharp, like a crack of thunder. He stepped forward, fists clenched. “I should’ve known. She’s been playing everyone, pretending like she’s all sweet and innocent, but she was using all of us.” Jason’s eyes flicked to the screen, then back at Tim, his face a mask of fury. “She lied to me. She’s been lying to all of us. And she’s been trying to replace her.” His hand slammed onto the table, and the anger in his voice was unmistakable. “She doesn’t belong here. We trusted her. We all trusted her.” Jason’s anger bubbled over. This betrayal, the way Tiffany had wormed her way into their lives, made him see red

He couldn’t keep it in any longer. “I should’ve known,” Jason spat, pacing in circles, his fists clenched tight at his sides. “I let her get close to me. I let her in, we all did! And now look at this. She’s been pretending to be everything she’s not. She’s been trying to take her place, her rightful place in this family!”

Alfred, who had been silent until now, cleared his throat, his voice filled with quiet but growing fury. “I should have seen it,” he muttered, his gaze darkening. “I was too lenient with her. I allowed her to slip through the cracks, to play at being part of this family. I should have known better.” His usually calm demeanor was cracking, and the regret in his voice was palpable.

Bruce’s lips pressed into a thin line as the weight of Tim’s words sank in. His eyes hardened as he stared at the screen, disappointment creeping into his features. Tiffany had been their guest, their supposed family, and this whole time, she had been playing them all. You had tried to warn them.

Duke, who had been standing quietly at the back of the room, spoke up. His voice was low but steady.

“I knew something was off,” Duke said, his eyes fixed on the screen. “I couldn’t put my finger on it, but... she’d been acting weird around me. Always asking questions—asking about the family, the missions, everything. I thought I was paranoid.”

Damian had always been fiercely protective of what he considered his, no one could ever doubt that. He mocked you, saw you as his pathetic bastard older sister, he had wanted to hurt you. But now, as the reality of Tiffany’s betrayal settled in, something darker began to take root inside him. He remember your unconditional love for him, how you took everything he said did to you with grace and compassion. He remembered how good you were to him. He noticed that everything he thought he loved about Tiffany was what she stole from you. His eyes burned with rage as he thought about how Tiffany had wormed her way into the family and his heart, how she’d stolen your accomplishments, and how she’d attempted to erase his sibling from the very fabric of their world.

She was trying to replace her. That thought alone made his fists tighten, nails biting into his palms.

It had been a long time since Damian had felt this kind of protective rage. He was the blood of the Wayne family, the one who deserved to be at the center of it all, but you; his blood sibling, his equal, had always been ignored, undervalued ridiculed and neglected. And now Tiffany, a mere interloper, had dared to manipulate and tear him away from you.

Damian watched the family, his gaze flicking to each of them as they tried to process the betrayal. The anger from his family was palpable, but there was something else there too: possessiveness. Protectiveness. regret. They weren’t just angry at Tiffany for what she had done to you, they were furious at themselves for pushing you away and leaving you alone and unprotected in New York.

You were his responsibility, his blood, and no one; not even Tiffany, was going to steal you away from him. He had always wanted to prove his superiority to the others, but now that wasn’t his focus. His attention was fixed solely on bringing you back to him, where you belonged.

Cass, who had been silently observing, nodded. Her face was unreadable, but the tension in her jaw told Tim that she, too, had been sensing something wrong for weeks.

Steph, ever the sharp observer, had her arms crossed over her chest, her usual sarcasm now tempered with a cold seriousness. “I knew she wasn’t perfect, but this? This is next-level crazy. Are you sure bout this Time?” She leaned forward, her voice suddenly harder.

Barbra was too shocked to say anything. This was not how today was supposed to go.

Alfred glanced toward Bruce. “Master Bruce,” he said softly, “the level of infiltration, this is something I never anticipated. We should have seen the signs.”

Bruce’s expression was steely. “We were too distracted, too willing to accept her presence as part of the family. We let our guard down.”

“That’s not just her fault,” Dick interjected. “We’ve all been too trusting. Especially with everything that happened with (y/n).” His voice hardened as he glanced at the screen again, eyes flicking to Tim. “What now? What do we do about it?”

Tim stepped forward, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. “I’ve already notified our allies. The information she’s passed is enough to give this organization an upper hand in Gotham, maybe beyond. She hasn't revealed our identities but she might soon. we can’t let her get away with it. She’s been playing us this whole time.”

Steph threw her hands up in exasperation. “So what, we just let her go? She’s been lying to us, manipulating us for months! ?”

Tim’s eyes were cold, calculating. “We’ll have to trap her. Use the information she’s already stolen to set her up. Once we confront her, we’ll make sure she doesn’t get away.”

Bruce’s fists were clenched at his sides, his jaw set in stone. He had failed [Y/N]—he had failed his child. The weight of that was too much for him to bear. “This ends now. We’re going to fix this.”

Ok yall since apparently 8 ppl think my work is absoulte shit and and SURE i knew how they felt this is pretty rushed and i feel like it sucks! anyway!! i hope at least some people enjoy <33 send in nice aks and questions and ideas pls. its so fun answering them. yall are mind readers and are so creative!! lmk if there's any typos bc I copy-pasted half of it from my notes app. yeah i did write half of this when i was supposed to be in class, and??? Next chapter Tiffany gets confronted, reader comes home, Batfam start groveling and regretting their actions, sort of on their way to yandere-ism and make reader move back to gotham to be closer to "family"

[venomvalley]

FEED ME!

PART III: MILK AND COOKIES ↬ sevika x pregnant!reader | 4.7k words

SUMMARY: The third trimester.

TAGS: 18+ (oral and fingering, both receiving). fluff. happy ending.

NOTES: this is the last chapter and im so sad about it. already working on an epilogue i love these two so bad

-> READ ON AO3 | 1 / 2 / SERIES MASTERLIST

Sevika is officially at a loss. She's never experienced this kind of… affection before, and maybe it’s a pregnancy thing, but you just won’t leave her alone. Constantly touching her, talking to her, following her around both the apartment and the streets like you can't bear to be apart.

It's weird. Terrifying, as much as she hates to admit it. Because she actually likes it. Has gotten a taste of what she's been missing, and she can't get enough.

Her favorite moments are when you join her in bed, all sleepy and grumbling. Smelling like her soap, wearing her clothes, laying in her sheets. Hers. Hers.

She's never been able to say that.

You curl up against her side as best as your belly allows, cheek atop her shoulder, arm slung across her chest to play with her hair. She purrs like a cat, turns her head to give you better access to the strands that have grown a bit too long for her liking.

“Found a midwife while I was out yesterday,” she says. “She's probably delivered half the babies in the Undercity.”

You exhale a soft breath. “That's a relief.”

“We’re going tomorrow.”

The hand in her hair moves to shift her head toward you, touch light against the curve of her jaw.

Your eyes mist over with tears, and your chin dimples as you peer up at her. “Thank you, Sevika. I mean it. I'm grateful.”

She nods, leans forward to rest her lips against your forehead. “I know.”

You sleep in late the next morning, a new routine you’ve picked up over that last couple of weeks. Late enough that she has to wake you up for your unofficial appointment, and you sulk in bed for the better part of twenty minutes before finally getting up to start the day.

After a long walk, you reach the building belonging to the midwife. The woman that waves you inside oozes experience with her curly grey hair and deep-set wrinkles. A pillar of the community according to the women she spoke with (Sevika had to make sure that she would take good care of you, after all). Brought into the world half the kids walking around the Undercity. Stern but loving.

“It’s nice to meet you, dear. I’m Lyra.”

You smile in return and give her your own name, accepting the arm that the woman offers to help you onto the stoop.

Lyra orders Sevika to wait outside, says the exam shouldn’t take long. It makes her skin itch, the thought of leaving you alone with this stranger, but you give her one final, reassuring smile, and she knows she’s outnumbered.

Fine. She can wait. But she doesn’t have to be happy about it.

She spends her time smoking cigarettes and people-watching. The streets are busy this time of day, families passing through, couples holding hands. A father carries his daughter on his shoulders, her tiny hands curled beneath his chin, and she thinks of her old man. If he’d see the person she became and look upon her with pride. Maybe he’d tell her that he didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about, that his grief over losing her mother and brother corrupted him. That he fucked up big time with raising her the way he did.

As a teenager she was rebellious, desperate to free herself from under his thumb. Got into the wrong crowd more times than she can count. An unfortunate side effect of anger and impulse—a dangerous recipe she’s relieved she grew out of.

For the longest time, she was left with that anger. It never failed her, never broke her heart, never left her behind. It was safe.

Your presence hasn’t fixed everything in her life, but it’s softened her edges. Cured the loneliness that added fuel to the fire. And every day that passes means one less day she might have with you. She knows the kid is due soon, a month at most.

She can’t lose you like she lost her mother. But she’s in too deep to back out. Couldn’t if she tried.

Still, the thought terrifies her.

And although she’s never considered herself a good candidate for parenthood, for building a family in general, she’s accepted that she now has a kid to raise. A less scary prospect when it’s you she’s raising it—her—with. You’ll be a great mom, already are despite the circumstances.

When the front door creaks open, she shoves away from the wall and stamps out her cigarette, waving the smoke away (even though she stands at the corner of the building).

You step out with a wide smile and a new canvas bag looped around your arm, waving goodbye to Lyra. When the door closes, you spot her immediately, reaching for her hand as she walks over.

“How was it?” she asks, leading you out into the street.

“Good. Baby’s healthy, and she thinks I have a few weeks before I give birth.” Your unoccupied hand reaches around to rub at your back. “Praise Janna, ‘cause this kid’s getting heavy.”

“I’ll rub your back when we get home.” A second-nature offer, instinct at this point.

“Oh!” You squeeze at her hand, take a step in front of her to say, “Can we get some more sweetbread while we’re out? I’ve been craving some all day.”

Your eyes shimmer at the mention, and she fully expects you to start drooling at any moment.

“Yeah, we can.”

An expression of relief paints your face, and she can’t help the smile that stretches her lips. “I absolutely love you right now.”

Her heart explodes inside her chest. She wonders how deeply you meant it, then decides that she’d rather not find out. Better to exist within the realm of her own fantasy for a little while longer.

.

.

.

The kid’s due any day now, and you’re ready to lose your mind. She’s given more massages in the last few weeks than she ever has in her life. Every day introduces another thing for you to cry over. Sleeping is difficult, as is every other task.

But today, she touches your stomach for the first time. Lays a hand against the taut skin and registers the flutter of… something beneath her palm.

“Feel that? She’s kicking the shit out of me.”

She looks up at you with a raised brow. “Takes after her mom.” Says it just to watch you giggle and roll your eyes.

“I’m not that bad.”

“You have a lot more room than she does.”

This is her life now. A realization that catches her off-guard, stops her in her tracks, and your hand reaches over to comb through her hair as her entire world falls apart. Like her center of gravity has shifted—like there’s no gravity at all anymore.

“Hey. You okay?”

She looks up at you, brows furrowed in thought. “Yeah.”

Everything has changed, and soon, things will change even more. She’s already bribed a handful of lackeys to do her jobs the next few weeks, and she’s lost sight of the main goal. Can’t really pinpoint when the switch happened.

Except she can: the moment you grabbed her hand that night in the alley—the moment you dug yourself a home in her heart.

But she has a plan. Set you up in a quaint house in the better part of the city, get in touch with some old friends that could hire you on for some money, and continue her duties as Silco’s right hand. It’s selfish of her, wanting the best of both worlds, but maybe there doesn’t have to be an either/or. Maybe she can have both.

Maybe her old man was wrong.

(Shit, she's turning into Vander—the Vander who prioritized his kids before the good of the Undercity.

If she starts considering deals with Enforcers, she might as well hang it up.)

A soft kiss to her forehead as she lays her cheek on your shoulder. “What are you thinking about?”

Nothing you need to concern yourself with.

She exhales a breath through her nose. “I’m not used to this. Being happy, I guess.”

“Me neither. It’s weird, isn’t it? The good kind.”

“We should move. Get a bigger place.”

“What, you don't like it here?”

The mocking grin you shoot her makes her lip curl. “No. I never have.”

You roll your eyes. “I was joking. I think it's a fantastic idea.”

“Later, then. After the kid comes.”

You press an open-mouthed kiss to her shoulder, snuggling closer into her side. “Fine by me.”

When she gets home the next day after a chaotic morning of running around the docks, she finds you in bed with a large book and a pen.

“So. I got this today.” You hold it up to show her the covering, the letters embroidered in the black fabric.

“You sure you’re supposed to be holding something that heavy?” she asks, brows lowered as she walks up to the bed with an outstretched hand.

Lips twisting into a frown, you pull the book to your chest. “Not the point. Look at the title.”

100 BABY NAMES AND THE MEANINGS BEHIND THEM.

She exhales a laugh. “Where the hell did you find that?”

“Tayla brought it by. Gave us some free cookies, too.”

“Really? I didn’t see any.”

You glance away from her, lowering the book to your lap. “I might’ve indulged a little bit, but to be fair, I didn’t know how long you’d be gone.”

Something warm swirls in her chest. Affection—an emotion she welcomes with a small smile. “I told you I’d be back today.”

She takes a seat next to you on the bed, peering over your shoulder to the page below. You’re on the letter S now, some names underlined in pen.

You blow out a breath, tilting your head back to rest on her shoulder. “I need your help picking a name.”

“I'm not the creative type.”

“You don't have to be. The list is right here.”

In truth, she doesn't want to choose. It's not her kid, not her future to determine.

“You're her mom,” she says, quiet, words stained with a sadness she didn't realize she even had.

You fall quiet for a moment, picking at a corner of the page with your thumb.

“If you want, and only if you want, you can be in her life, too—”

She says your name with a resigned sigh.

You turn to look at her, a hand braced against her thigh. A searing brand even through the fabric of her pants. “I know we haven't talked about it, but… I don't expect you to take care of me forever, especially since I'm gonna have a baby. I just—”

“Stop.”

She hasn't talked about it because it isn't a conversation she wants to have. Confronting the inevitable means moving forward, and she doesn't want to. She wants to live in her little bubble where the Big Bad is defeated and she might actually get a happy fucking ending.

“I'm serious. You've done enough for me. She's my responsibility, not yours, but—”

“You both are. End of story.”

“I wanna be more than your responsibility, Sevika.”

At the hurt look on your face, the prickling of tears in your eyes, she panics. Backtracks as quick as she can. “No, you are. I didn't mean it like that.”

“Then I want you in her life. Taking care of her, teaching her, loving her the way you do me.” You rest a hand on her cheek, smile sad and watery. “The way I do you.”

She doesn't know what to say. If she can even form words right now from the way her tongue hardens to stone inside her mouth. But her heart tenders, dissolves at your words.

You love her. You actually love her. Stupid, naïve, weak woman.

She kisses you, soft and sweet. Cradles the back of your neck in her palm like you're the only thing keeping her world glued together.

“You mean that,” she mutters, nose brushing against yours, lips a ghosting touch against your own.

“That I love you?” She nods, and you grin. “Have you met yourself? How the hell could I not?”

She exhales a laugh. Relief relaxes the pouch of her lungs—relief and something a lot more sickly.

Fear. Can't remember the last time she's been loved, been open to it. So far beyond possibility's reach she couldn't grasp it if she tried. For most of her years alive, she hasn't even wanted it. At its very core, love is what killed her mother and destroyed her father from the inside out. It makes you weak, stupid, impulsive. Irrational. A word that has no business in her vocabulary.

So why, then, does the word seem so appealing when it's you?

“I would like for this… thing between us to last a while. But I don't want you to feel pressured into it.” You shrug. “I come with a lot of baggage.”

She exhales through her nose. Says, “So do I.”

You roam your eyes over her face, a soft smile stretching your lips, before you plant the book in her lap. “Pick. I've already underlined the ones that interest me.”

“And if it's a boy?”

“It won't be. I'm telling you, I sense it. The baby whispers to me in my dreams.”

She actually laughs at that. “That another pregnancy thing?”

“Yep. Now pick. Don't make me tell you again.”

With a raise of her brows (you already have the mom voice down), she turns to the page. Runs her finger over each underlined name, testing them on her tongue, before landing on:

Stella — ‘star’

“This one.”

You peer down at the one she chose, cheek squished against her arm. “Why that one?”

She pulls a face. “Well…” It reminds her of how you've been the brightest thing in her life thus far, and if everything goes to plan, the kid won't be limited to the cage of the Undercity–she'll have the whole universe at her fingertips. “I like the sound of it.”

You nod, slow and thoughtful. “Stella… Ste…lla. Stella.” A tilt of your head. “I like it. It's pretty.”

So are you, she wants to say, but she stays silent.

.

.

.

You're ready to pop this kid out.

Lyra stopped by yesterday, examined you behind the locked door of the bedroom, and said that it was time. Suggested a more… unorthodox method to induce labor.

(”Sex is the most natural thing in the entire world,” she had said, turning to Sevika with both hands on her hips and a deep frown. “Why do you act so surprised, dear?”)

You're a lot less open to the idea, no matter how ready you are to be done with pregnancy.

“I just don't understand how you could want me,” spoken softly, melancholic.

Sat on the bed, Sevika soothes a palm over your thigh. “What do you mean?”

“I mean physically. ‘Cause of the…” You motion to your stomach, and she shushes you with a kiss.

“I don't care. You're more than that.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I want to help you.”

Your brows cant upward, a war waging in your brain as your eyes dart back and forth over her shoulder. “Are you sure you want to?”

“I'm sure.”

With a relieved breath, you nod your head. “Gods, please help me.”

Sevika is not soft, but she has to be with you. Wants to be.

You lay down in the sheets that smell so much like you and spend five minutes getting comfortable, fluffing the pillows behind you and removing clothes and adjusting your hips. You spread your legs and her first instinct is to bite, to scar the plump curve of your inner thigh, but she can't. Won't. Too much trust in the way your soft body blooms for her, fingers delicate on your full tits.

“Are you sure about this?” she asks. A loaded question—it isn't the act itself, but the person you've chosen for it. She wants to be seen as worthy after what you've been through.

“I've had the last ten minutes to change my mind,” you say, lips spreading into a dopey grin. “Need it so bad. Need you to help me.”

She closes her eyes, takes a steady breath at the sound of you so needy and sweet. Smooths a rough palm over the lower curve of your belly before pressing a kiss to your cunt. Already slick, puffy against her lips. Her tongue licks over your clit and you whine, fingers twisting around hers so tight the joints creak.

“Shit, that's—” You're cut off by a heavy sigh when she sucks the bundle of nerves into her mouth, soft and rhythmic, humming against you.

Best thing she's ever tasted, skin so soft under her hand, so wet she risks drowning. What a way to fucking go. You tilt your hips up to rut against her face, and she rides out your movements, offering up her tongue for you to grind against. Her hands move to your thighs but you bat her flesh one away.

“Fingers, Sev, please–need your—”

She's quick to split you open on two, groaning at the slick heat that sucks her in, at the way your shudder and keen high in your throat.

Between the rhythmic thrusting of her fingers and her tongue licking over your clit, it doesn't take much for you to cum. A surprisingly short time, in fact. Must have something to do with hormones, who fucking knows. It's hot. A beautiful thimg to watch—and feel, fuck—as you fall apart from just her fingers and tongue. Thighs tensing over her shoulders, insides fluttering, a hand fisted in her hair.

When you whine and shove at her head, she leans away with a long inhale of breath, sitting back to look at you still spread out beneath her, chest heaving, cunt plump and glistening. You've made a wet spot on the sheets under your ass.

You swallow with a click, arms stretching over your head. “Damn. Didn't realize how bad I needed that.”

She huffs out a laugh, wiping the lower half of her face off with her shirt (still can’t get over how wet you were; never seen anything like it in her life). “Glad I could help.”

“Your mouth should be illegal.”

She crawls up on the bed then settles in beside you as you lavish her with praise, basking in the afterglow with a hand in hers. Heat flushes up the back of her neck and courses down the length of her spine when you beg to kiss her, to taste yourself on her tongue.

You'll be the death of her.

She curls a hand over the back of your neck and slots her lips against yours, and immediately, you lick into her mouth. A moan vibrates your chest as you pull her closer, both arms wrapping around her neck.

“Can I return the favor?”

The question comes out of nowhere. By the steady rhythm of your breath, she thought you fell asleep ten minutes ago, but you're already rising to your knees to peer down at her with an expectant grin.

“That's not why I did it.”

“So I have to beg?”

A very nice thought. One she'd like to indulge in under different circumstances.

“How would you even—”

You roll your eyes. “For the love of Janna, I'm pregnant, not dying.” You scoot over to the side of the bed then grab one of the pillows you use to prop yourself up. “You can just lay on the edge of the bed, and I'll get on my knees in the floor.”

Well. You're more than willing, and she might actually combust if she doesn't cum soon. A win-win situation.

She takes a seat on the edge of the bed and helps you pull her briefs off.

When she spreads her legs, you tug your lower lip between your teeth, sweeping your eyes over her bare pussy. “I'm a little rusty, so you'll have to forgive me.”

She doesn't give a shit, will probably cum as soon as you get your mouth on her. And that's what she tells you.

With a teasing wriggle of your brows, you lean in, the flat of your tongue licking her from hole to clit. Her thighs twitch on either side of your shoulders, breath hissing through her teeth.

Shit, how long has it been since she—

“I don't have any other way to thank you for being so good to me,” you say, and her ears burn when you suck the lips of her pussy into your mouth. “This’ll have to do.”

She's nothing but a white-hot ball of need at this point. Heat broiling beneath her skin, coiling dangerously in the pit of her stomach.

You gaze up at her with low-lidded eyes as you swirl your tongue over her clit, watching her face twist up in pleasure.

Already, she's close. Thighs twitching, hips tilting up into your face. You circle two fingers over the entrance of her cunt, dipping in with a wet squelch.

When you lean away with a grin, she almost resorts to begging, and then you slide those fingers inside her, eyes locked onto the way she swallows you up.

“Fuck. You're so wet, Sev,” you pant, the thumb of your other hand raising to circle over her clit.

She knows. Shit, she knows—

“Please,” whispered under her breath.

Your soft gaze meets hers, and she's never felt so raw before. Flayed alive. Stripped down and vulnerable. The word means more than just begging. Sevika does not beg. Hasn't needed to in a very long time.

But she does for you.

“I know, baby.” You press a kiss to her puffy clit. “I'll take care of you.”

She will not cry. She absolutely will not fucking cry right now over some stupid little thing you said between her legs.

She collapses back against the bed and throws an arm over her face as you work her up to a quick orgasm with the steady rhythm of your fingers and tongue. She spreads her legs even wider when the coil in her belly snaps to keep from crushing your head between her thighs, and she grunts into the bend of her arm from how tight her limbs lock up.

It takes a good fifteen seconds before she can even breathe again, and she looks down the line of her body, flinching at the wet kiss you press to her stomach. Then another a little higher, and another, your chin sticky and slick as it glides over her skin.

“Thank you,” you say, reaching for her hand to help you climb on the bed and straddle her waist.

You're beautiful like this. Sated and sleepy and still so wet that your pussy leaves a puddle on her stomach. But the heated look you give her is a warning that you won’t be satisfied with just the one time.

Three rounds later—with you riding her face, and her leaned back against the wall, and you bent over the bed, and at one point you go to the kitchen for a snack and bend her over the counter, and then she fucks you in the shower when you’re supposed to bgetting clean—you’re both curled beneath the sheets, your belly pressing into her side, halfway between wake and sleep.

But something gnaws at her. Something she should've done months ago.

“I feel like shit. About… the way I talked to you when we first met.”

You sigh, and her heart begins to pound.

“Yeah, you were an asshole. A huge asshole.” At her guilty wince, you curl closer into her, cheek resting on her shoulder. Your hand soothes over the skin of her stomach. “But I get it now. You don't like to get close to people.”

“That's a nice way to put it.” She exhales a breath through her nose. Can't remember the last time she's tried to conjure up an apology. “I really am sorry, though. I want you to know that.”

You hum, voice thickening with the lull of sleep. “I appreciate it. Guess I knew there was more to you than what you show people.”

“Did the kid tell you that, too?”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“You already did. Four times.”

You laugh, and her sky shines a little brighter.

Everything is good. Great, in fact. But that’s the thing. Good things are fleeting in her life. Something always comes along to fuck it up.

She just hopes that the good days last a little while longer this time.

.

.

.

Fresh out the womb, the girl already looks like you—the shape of your eyes, the curve of your lips, your fingers and toes. Chubby-cheeked, a head full of thick hair, eyes blinking the world into existence.

Sevika does not make life, she destroys it, and yet in the same hands that have killed many, she holds creation in its purest form. Her face is one of the first things this baby will ever see.

She wants to cry.

She thinks of her mom, dying alone on that cold floor, and her vision mists over. Not this time. She’s older now, stronger, more lucid to the world. She'll do right by you—both of you.

But she’s terrified. Doesn’t know if she has it in her.

A trembling hand curls over her wrist, and she looks over, greeted by the gentle curve of your smile.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” you whisper, voice dragged through the jagged rocks of the river.

All she can do is nod, a thumb soothing over the fine wisps of your daughter’s hair. Curious eyes peer up at her, squinting, wiggling tiny little fingers.

She’s never held a baby before. Always thought them too fragile, but Lyra insisted that if a baby can squeeze through a vagina, it can handle being held. It made her feel better, if a little flustered, and you had laughed yourself to tears at the look on her face.

But the woman had a point.

She won't touch her with her prosthetic, though. For all Lyra's talk about hardiness and resilience, that part of her has no business near such an innocent thing. It's seen and felt too much blood. Caused it.

You notice, though. Of course you do.

“We can put a sheet around it,” you say in an attempt to reassure her, trailing a finger over the metal. “It's gonna be hard to hold her with one hand.”

“I'll manage.”

You let it go, turning back to nurse your glass of water, and she's grateful. Wouldn't budge on this no matter how hard you try.

She holds the baby until she can't any longer, when it's time for her to feed and the room fills with fussing cries. Watches you for a long time, long enough for you to notice and look up at her with a smile, eyes turning to those crescent moons that she loves so much.

Loves. Huh.

Yeah, she—fuck, she loves you. The realization scares the shit out of her, but the sight of you cooing at your nursing baby (hers, too, if she wants it, and she doesn't think she's wanted anything more in all her life) makes the fear inconsequential.

Now, she just has to figure out where the hell to go from here. How to be what you need.

A new place is a good start. She did promise you, after all.

[jooyeonsvape]

gym games: seungcheol smut

w/c: 2k

pairing: idol!seungcheol, female!reader

genre: smut

summary: seungcheol challenges his lazy girlfriend to workout. every level completed, a reward will be given.

a/n: i didnt know how to put the ‘keep reading’ link on my posts but now i do, i apologize if that annoyed anyone lol

your bed was your favorite place to be after a long day at work; unfair wages, annoying employees, nagging customers. when you're in bed, watching your favorite drama, all the problems go away.

"[Y/N]!!" you hear a distant voice shouting and look up to see your sweaty boyfriend, seungcheol, waving his hand to get your attention. "are you dissociating again?" he asks with his arms crossed and a mischievous smirk on his lips.

he's trying to get you at the gym more because after work you just lay around, and you promised him you'd be his workout buddy. "i'm sorry baby, but not everyone enjoys working out like you." you defend, crossing your arms to copy him.

"i know you don't like working out, that's why i came up with an amazing idea, hoshi, bring it in." you stare at the man coming in with a white board, raising an eyebrow. "what...is that?" you ask confused and seungcheol stands on the otherside of the board.

"this, my dearest, is the motivation to inspire you to work out." he proudly smiles, grabbing a hand pointer and slaps it against the board, making you jump.

"level 1, warmups, you get a kiss for every warmup you complete. level 2, cardio, run 1 miles on the treadmill, i'll give you a sexy hot oil massage. level 3, dancing, you complete a whole seventeen song, of your choice, you get head. finally, level 4, weightlifting, if you can lift 100lbs, you can pick the reward." seungcheol points to each level as he talks and you hide your blush away from the two men.

"hoshi, did you come up with this?" you ask and he laughs, looking at the board proudly. "i helped, the hot oil massage was my idea." you roll your eyes out of embarrassment, glaring at seungcheol. "okay, i accept your offer, i'll go through all the levels," you confidently nod your head and start the warmups.

"20 pushups, 20 squats, and 10 lunges." your boyfriend commands, acting like a personal trainer. you try to hide your laugh at his stern demeanor, you were usually the one telling him what to do so you found it cute.

"thats all? this is gonna be a piece of cake." you get down to a pushup form and seungcheol walks to you, hovering over your smaller frame. "i forgot to mention, its 2 sets of pushups."

you groan loudly at the thought of doing 40 pushups and plop on the ground, hearing hoshi maniacally laughing in the back.

"come on baby, kisses are in store when you finish." you roll your eyes again at the offer and get back in form. "with this many pushups, i better get a full makeout session, not just a peck." you hear your boyfriend hum in agreement, watching you start on the warmup.

when level 1 was complete, the last thing on your mind was kisses, you were sweating profusely and chugging your water until it was almost gone.

seungcheol goes to the white board and puts a checkmark by level 1, looking at you with satisfaction. "take a 10 minute break and start level 2." he commands, you instantly dropping to the ground in a starfish formation, groaning to yourself loud.

"man, how is she going to get through the other levels when she's dying on warmups?" hoshi asks, doing pullups in the background. "she'll make it, she's just dramatic." your boyfriend answers and you lift your head up. "i'm already plotting my revenge, don't make it worse for yourself."

level 2 starts with the treadmill, and it was quite easy considering this is the only machine you use when you want to stare at seungcheol work out. "i've done 5 miles on this before," you brag to your boyfriend when he hops on the one next to you.

"have you done it on 12% incline and 7 miles per hour?" he asks with another cheeky smirk, and you gulp. "i-is it hard?" you chirp out, scared of the pain you'll be in tomorrow.

hoshi comes up and presses buttons that were foreign to you, but you read 12% and start going at a jog as he heightens the miles per hour to 7. you whine when it starts burning your calves and never keeping your eye off the mileage. "i'll do it with you," seungcheol smiles at your cuteness, running beside you.

the more you run, the less it hurt, and it was actually making you more energetic. "i'm halfway done!!" you proudly shout to your boyfriend, breathing heavy and he looks over at your machine. "good girl, don't give up." he cheers for you and your cheeks turn red from blushing.

when it hits the 1 mile mark you turn off your machine, slowing down with the motor, and stepping off with shaky legs. "that wasn't bad at all." you announce to the two boys and hoshi gives you a highfive, holding a stereo with the other hand.

"good job, now level 3, dancing to one of our songs, which one do you choose?" seungcheol asks, getting off the treadmill as well.

you think hard about what song you want to choose, then stick your finger in the air. "i got it! 'very nice'." the two boys start laughing and you slap your boyfriends arm. "it's my favorite, leave me alone."

hoshi plays 'very nice' on the stereo he had earlier and you begin the choreography, hitting every beat. they look at you with wide mouths, not expecting you to know the entire dance, "go [Y/N]!!" hoshi yells out, doing the dance to himself while he watches.

when you finish you blow your boyfriend a kiss and he catches it, putting it to his heart. "level 3 complete, i'm impressed [Y/N], seriously." he says and gives you a hug, rocking the both of you back and forth.

level 4 was to lift 100 lbs but after all you did, seungcheol decided to go easy on you, and change it to 50 lbs.

you easily lift the weight above your head and cheer to yourself, setting the weight on the ground, dancing around. "i get kisses, hot oil massage, head (sorry hoshi), AND pick my own reward."

seungcheol lifts you up and waves to hoshi, "thank you for helping, i have to go fulfill my promises." he puts you over his shoulder and you feel a slap on one of your butt cheeks, making you squeal. "bye hoshi, sorry you had to be involved with his perverted behavior."

hoshi waves and laughs, watching seungcheol run out of the private gym under your apartment complex, with you still on his shoulder.

at the apartment, he lays you on the bed the both of you share, and spreads his arms open to welcome you in his chest. you curl up comfortably on him, rubbing circles around his cheek. "level 1 prize please."

seungcheol leans down and kisses your nose, making you huff. he chuckles and goes down further to your lips, kissing gently until you open your mouth so his tongue could enter.

the kissing lasted only a few minutes before your hands roamed his body but he pulls away, "uh-uh, we need to do level 2 now." you pout but change your mood when you see seungcheol bringing in the massage oil, him smiling from ear to ear.

"get undressed, i'll warm the oil up." he tells you and gets the warmer, while you take off the athletic ware you had on. you put a pillow at the end of the bed and lay belly side down, anticipating the feeling of seungcheol's hands on you.

the feeling of him straddling your waist from the back made you let out a deep sigh at his weight. "am i too heavy?" he asks, hearing your breath hitch but you just shake your head. "no honey, im good." you whimper out and he laughs, getting off your butt, kneeling on the bed next to you. "i forgot you're half my size." you giggle and lean your head up to kiss his lips, admiring his compassion for you. "i'll get started now." 

he pours the oil on your back slowly, the pain hitting your skin instantly but you old it in until you're used to it. seungcheol massages your shoulders first and you let out a low lingering groan which made him start laughing, but you ignore it. his muscles flexed as he rubs every knot that was in your shoulders, continuing to make unnatural sounds at the massage. 

"flip." he whispers so he didn't ruin your zen state, and you abide, turning over so you were now on your back. he gently rubs your shoulders from the front with the oil, dragging his fingers up your neck in the process, making chills run down your body. 

he moves his hands down to your boobs and you smile with your eyes closed, squirming around when he squeezes them tight. the oil wasn't as hot anymore so when he poured more on your chest it didn't hurt your boobs. 

seungcheol admires your body and hums, pinching your perky nipples so they could get hard. you blush and watch him take one of your now hard nipples in his mouth, your head thrown back when you feel him start nibbling on it softly. his tongue swirls around you and he looks up at you with a smirk, "do you want to move on to level 3?" 

you nod and buck your hips gently in the air, signaling you needed him. he kisses from in between your boobs to your belly button and rubs your inner thigh gently. "good girl." he whispers and kisses down to your pelvis, just swiping his tongue over your clit. you whine at his teasing and buck your hips again, "i need it." you whimper out, seungcheol listening and flicks his tongue over your clit in a fast pace. 

you let out a loud moan at his tongue and grip his hair in your hand tightly, looking down at him pleasuring you. he pulls away so he could spread your legs open wide, his tongue sliding through your folds skillfully, then back up to your clit. his tongue pace never lessens while he lifts your legs up to your knees so he could see more of your pussy. 

he slides his tongue in your hole, feeling the inside of you with a moan and rubs your clit with his thumb. the sensation of him inside you made your legs shake and you buck your hips fucking his face. "you have a magic tongue baby." you moan out and feel him chuckle, sending vibrations against your wetness. 

you throw your head back again, arching your back and push his face closer to you while you cum in his mouth, yelling loud for him. "fuck..." you whimper when he sucks up all your juices and kisses your now throbbing clit. 

"thank you my angel." you breathe heavy and he goes up to kiss you on the lips, rubbing your arm softly. "anytime, i love you." he mumbles, wrapping an arm around your naked body. "what do you want to do for level 4?" seungcheol asks after you catch your breath and you hum, cuddling up to him close. "watch my shows naked, eat, have sex, watch my shows, eat, have sex, repeat, until we fall asleep. if we fall asleep." 

"deal."

[writingunderneathawillow]

second base

part 1 here content warnings: angsty, undercover mission, mutual pining, bucky being the standard (chivalry is not dead as long as that man lives and he is immortal to me), canon typical violence (gunshots, BUT neither at Bucky nor you) word count: 1.9k a/n: due to popular demand (hehehe i’m so proud and grateful to say this) i’ve written a 2nd part :)

Bucky’s hand rested on your thigh, the velvet material of your dress keeping you from going fully insane at his touch. The warmth that spread from his fingers seeped through your skin straight into your veins and it was as if Bucky’s essence was transported to your heart. You didn’t dare shift, didn’t want to prompt him to move his hand in any way. His taste still lingered in your mouth, the fluttering sensation of his beard brushing up against you was practically printed into your memory as you held your breath, fearing that exhaling would take away the ghosts of the kiss you had shared. To say that your brain was wrecked after what had happened in your room was an understatement. There was not a single clear train of thought currently happening in your head and it killed you. What was that kiss? Did he do it do calm you down? To prepare you? To shut you up? Or, and you much preferred that version, did he do it because there was even the tiniest spark of affection for you in him?

Only seconds away from spiralling, you were glad when the car came to a halt in front of an incredibly boring building.

It was an art museum, specialising in glass and laser artworks, but it looked like some kind of futuristic blob of cement with strangely placed windows.

Bucky also evaluated the place where the gala, that you were going to attend as Mr and Mrs Alderton, was held with a displeased look. Unlike you however, it wasn’t the architecture style that he was scrutinizing but much rather the lack of emergency exits – just in case the two of you would have to make a quick getaway in the course of the evening.

Still he smiled at you, and opened his door, making sure to reach your side of the car within milliseconds to extend a hand to you.

Now, Bucky was born a gentleman. Opening doors came to him like second nature, same as offering up his seat for anyone in need and just general good manners.

While you were well aware that it was mainly due to his upbringing a couple decades ago, you still basked in his chivalry.

With a grateful smile your hand met his and he helped you out of the car, hovering in front of you as you fixed your dress quickly.

When you were finished with readjusting the fabric, he held out his arm and you took a deep breath before you accepted. Despite the heavy material of his suit jacket and pressed shirt, you still felt his muscles flex as he guided you towards the entry way of the museum where a young man with a tablet stood.

“Good evening, sir,” he greeted Bucky and nodded to you, “Ma’am.”

The doorman’s gaze wandered over both of you expectantly and Bucky seemed to spring to action.

“Thomas and Gabriela Alderton,” he introduced your made-up personalities with a stern voice, one that was so similar to his own but somehow still differentiated.

It gave you light goosebumps, the words stricken with authority. He played his part of the wealthy, borderline aristocratic, man very well.

“Ah, welcome Mr and Mrs Alderton,” the doorman continued after quickly checking the guest list.

“Do enjoy yourselves,” he said and stepped aside to let the two of you pass with a subservient smile.

The inside of the building was objectively speaking even uglier than the outside. Thick, grey walls that swallowed the last bits of natural light from outside, imposed and cornered you in.

The lack of windows was incredibly unnerving, along with the fluorescent lighting that was just a tinge too bright.

With long strides, which you found hard to match, Bucky led you towards the sound of people. Bustling crowds, ostentatious conversations and flashy coloured dresses drenched your senses in overstimulation as two guards opened the door to the main area for the two of you.

The abrupt onslaught on your eyes and ears was countered by Bucky’s warmth at your side. Something about the way you could feel his chest expand every single time he breathed out seemed to ground you.

He grabbed two glasses of champagne from a server who walked by and passed you one. The cold crystal calmed your nerves just as much as the first sip of the bubbling liquid.

“Don’t quit breathin’ on me, yeah?” Bucky murmured into your ear. To an outsider, it might have looked like a husband whispering sweet nothings to his wife, but his words buried themselves supportively into your heart and you nodded.

You didn’t know how else to answer him. The concern was palpable despite the quietness of his tone, and it melted your heart.

Part of you wished that he hadn’t kissed you. Maybe it would have made it easier to be in his proximity if you couldn’t distinguish the exact taste of his mouth, but that clearly wasn’t an option anymore.

You were not going to freak out.

To prove exactly that to both yourself and Bucky, you chuckled as if he had made a flirty joke, playing the part of his doting wife well.

He gave your arm a soft squeeze and led you further into the mass of people.

You spent the night doing exactly what you were here for: making connections and listening for traces of rumours about illegal weapon trafficking.

Reports of stolen guns and ammunition had made their way to your desks not too long ago. But not just any kind of guns and ammunition; it was alleged alien tech, originally stored by S.H.I.E.L.D. years ago at’ the Fridge’, and when it had been stolen, a whole lot of hell had broken loose. Which is why even the faintest of whispers about it possibly being sold and moved, had caught your attention and why you and Bucky were here in the first place.

At some point throughout the evening, the two of you attempted a new tactic: you separated.

Bucky made his way to a poker table that had been set up in the middle of the room; the seats were all occupied by men – rich men if you could trust their appearances. Your pretend husband melted into their ranks within seconds, and once again, you were surprised by how well he fit in with them.

Of course he was shamelessly good looking, but whenever you saw him, he was just Bucky. Bucky, who left his cups on the kitchen sink at the compound instead of putting them into the dishwasher; Bucky, who showered so hot that the air conditioning had to put up a fight; Bucky, who wore worn out jeans and second-hand hoodies.

But dressed in his expensive suit and surrounded by some of the richest men in the United States, he blended in like a chameleon.

Not that you were doing a poor job. You flashed bright smiles, gossiped with wives about your pretend horses and yachts, and recommended skin serums with genuine gold flakes (you had looked up the specific product to have something to talk about two days ago) to anybody who asked. In fact, you were so emersed in your role that you almost missed the shift in the air. The panicked whispers and the entrance of security guards might have slipped past you if you hadn’t felt a burning stare in your neck. When you moved your head, you locked eyes with Bucky and saw the way his jaw locked. He tipped his head ever so lightly towards the left, and you immediately understood the signal. With long but casual strides you made your way towards him, an easy smile plastered across your face. Every step towards him let your heart beat faster, every inch closer to him heightened your anxiety as it became easier to make out the hint of panic in his eyes. “Are we made?” You asked as you reached him, your voice so quiet that only he could hear you. He shook his head and another one of his fake laid-back smirks decorated his face as he looked at you. “They’re nervous,” he whispered and shifted slightly so that you could peer past his shoulder to the men he had conversed with just minutes ago. They were muttering among each other, their calm facades disrupted by the air of mistrust that hung above them like a cloud. “But they don’t know about us?” You demanded, making sure to keep your voice soft and smiled at him sweetly, just in case anyone was close enough to overhear. “Not as far as I can tell,” he clarified and ran a hand over your arm. You knew the gesture was to keep up appearances, but it was hard to remind yourself of that when it felt so good. However, the impending doom of potentially being figured out within the next few seconds kept your mind sharp. You were just about to ask Bucky what his plan was when chaos erupted. A woman, just a few feet away, screamed when the security guards made their way through the crowds, weapons loaded and pointed. At the sound of distress, you grabbed Bucky’s metal arm and pulled him forward. Farther, anywhere where both of you were out of danger, that is where you wanted him to be. You couldn’t even make out who the guards were heading for as people started fleeing. Someone ran into your side, almost knocking you out of your heels but Bucky steadied you and made sure you stayed at his side as he shoved you towards one of the doors. The empty hallway, that greeted you as Bucky pushed you through the door, was quiet and badly lit. There was no question that this area was off-limits for guests. But the first shot rang through the air, so whether you were allowed to be here or not was not your current concern. Bucky walked behind you, his large figure covering you, as his eyes darted around, looking for any way out of here. There was an inconspicuous door just a couple of feet away and he headed straight for it, keeping you in front of him. He grabbed the door handle, twisted and it gave in. With a last glance backwards, he put his hands on your hips and guided you into the room. Another gunshot sounded, and panic practically poured out of Bucky as he slammed the door shut behind him and only then did you realise that this was not an exit. This was a closet. A tiny one at that. Whether it was the alarm that Bucky felt or the adrenaline flushing his system, he lost his balance and tumbled right into you, hands stretched out to catch himself. But instead of stabilising himself on one of the shelves in the small room, he made contact with you. Or much rather, your breasts. His weight pushed you into the furthest wall as you somehow managed to catch both of your falls. Despite the dim lighting in the closet, you could make out Bucky’s eyes – wide with horror and embarrassment and even though you were quite literally in a life or death situation, you couldn’t bite back the comment that immediately came to you: “Guess you’re also going for second base tonight.”

thank you for reading :) gentle reminder that likes are more than appreciated but comments and reblogs make the dream work

[psin314]

Honestly, I love Murat so much, like my god, if he were a romanceable character, I would 100% choose him without thinking twice, I would want to take care of him and give him lots of delicious food, say lots of compliments to him and I would marry him so badly (IM BEING FOR REAL OKAY,,,) :}c

anywaay, What do you think his route would be like? 👉👈

• 🐢 anon

so!! a really big post ahead.

i was thinking about npc murat for a while actually. (i wanted him to romance lucanis in my other rook's playthrough. x)) so i will talk a little about this version and much more about his companion version. enjoy! (everything's under the cut. there's even pictures!!)

(don't ask about plaideweave lucanis please it's the only proper screenshot i had and i was very lazy to open the game to make a new one...)

npc murat

- murat is a temporary, location exclusive companion / npc. he can be taken on some missions in treviso that are related to the antaam. in some, he goes fourth, bringing the company to the task point, in others - he takes a place in the squad. the rest of the time, he can be found in the cantori diamond, and you can talk with him about: him, the crows and the qunari.

- murat also kills the antaam squad in this au, but doesn't interfere much with the plans of the crows. he just gets a reprimand from viago, about which he doesn’t care at all.

- viago's old friend and teia's best friend. a qunari specialist. he knows a lot about the qun, vashoths and, naturally, knows how to fight them.

- first meeting: after you rescued lucanis from prison and took some kind of treviso quest from viago, a man stops you on the way out. it turns out to be murat, who wants to join you. you have to refuse him, because you already have the crow, but you can accept his help. in this case, he is very happy and will appear in the following quests. or refuse, in this case, he will not be present in the quests with the antaam and some quest moments will be missed due to the absence of murat.

- a non romanced lucanis will romance murat (of course) if you don’t save treviso. murat, together with lucanis, tried to protect the city from the dragon and in the process he saved lucanis, shielding him from idk what enemy. the blow hit his back and tore his coat and jacket. the wound is not deep, but a scar remained across his entire back. while lucanis was away from the lighthouse, he became close to murat. by act 3 there will be a moment where you catch lucanis trying to escape through the eluvian in the lighthouse. you think it’s spite, but it turned out to be lucanis, with some kind of package in his hand, very similar to a gift for someone. from him in the dialogue you can find out that he is going on a date.

companion murat

- the first meeting with him is the same, but this time you can recruit him.

- where he lives in the lighthouse: an attic appears above the dining room and he lives there. you can climb up there by the ladder. at first the attic is all in dust, wooden boxes and planks. murat sleeps on a questionable bed like lucanis'. in the future the attic will be transformed. there will be a variety of crow symbols everywhere, melee weapons, armor, some herbs hanging from the ceiling, and a large soft carpet on the floor. the same bed. next to it is a nightstand with a bunch of mugs, blackened inside from tea.

- romance. (not like in datv. more like in dai. you can start a relationship with a character already in the middle of the game and kiss them whenever you want.) you just need to flirt with him. likes funny dialogue options.

personal scene 1 - before going to bed, you go into the kitchen and see murat rummaging through the shelves. he doesn't notice you. he finds a bottle of wine there and turns around. when he sees you, he immediately hides it behind him. murat mentioned earlier that he was an alcoholic for a very long time, so he doesn't drink anymore, and he shouldn't drink at all. you have the option of either telling him that it's bad, or allowing him to steal the bottle. the second option is not thought out, because it will affect the entire future story of the character, so for now without it. you take the bottle away. and then you either support him in a friendly way, or support him more uh intimately idk maybe hinting at sympathy. in response to this, murat only gets embarrassed and leaves. (or tell him that if you see him near alcohol again, you will kick his ass.)

personal scene 2 - an interrupted kiss, of course. constant flirting with murat and improving your relationship with him leads to this scene. murat offers you to spar together. you can refuse, agree to hand-to-hand combat or to use knives. in a fight with him, you can give in to him (murat will win and notice it), fight fair (50/50), fight unfair (murat will lose and notice your tricks. he will react positively) and fight with all your might (rook wins). in any case, murat ends up on top of you. either you slap him in the face in a friendly way so that he gets off you, or the romantic option - you reach for a kiss. murat doesn't mind, but you're interrupted by some companion and murat immediately gets up. after the scene, murat tells you that he wouldn't mind training with you sometime again. he doesn’t comment on the almost kiss.

personal quest - viago gives murat a letter. it turns out to be from his ex, layla. it indicates the meeting place. your goal is to kill her, since she betrayed the crows in the past and disappeared. and since she came back, you can't let her go. murat asks you to let him talk to her in person first, and then deal with her, since he had a past with her, you agree. the meeting place is in a quiet abandoned small port. you watch him from afar, from the balcony of an abandoned house, and hear only fragments of dialogue. after murat and layla's conversation, he turns around and just leaves. layla waves at you, apparently, she noticed you a long time ago. you can choose to go after layla or murat. if you choose layla, then when you go down to her she'll already disappear. so the choice is without a choice in particular. then you catch up with murat. he walks and then suddenly falls, grabbing the wall. you think he was poisoned, but coming closer, you see that he is just crying. well not just. he's having a full mental breakdown. you try to calm him down and lead him to the lighthouse, since he can't see where to go through his tears. he doesn't really want to go anywhere. he just wants to stay here and die. in the lighthouse, you calm him down in the attic. he talks about his past and how shitty his life is. there are also friendly options and romantic ones. (and the mean ones too, you can say that you don’t want to listen to him whining and that he should get his shit together and not cry because of his ex. murat agrees, but the relationship with him worsens.) romantic option - you also hint at your sympathy for him, something like "you deserve love. moreover, there is someone who can provide you with this love." murat understands you and kisses you softly. murat is now romanced.

after this, you can approach him for a portion of kisses. you can also break off the relationship.

eeewww sex - after a certain story quest, an exclamation mark appears above murat and you immediately run to him in the attic. first, he gives you a gift - a weapon depending on your class. and then he presses you against the beam and kisses you. you can push him away, ask him to just kiss you and nothing more, or allow him to do what he has in mind.

sex scene!! very beautiful and hot, believe me. he probably goes down on you. and there are wet noises and heavy breathing. the scene after - you are on the carpet, a druffalo wool blanket and pillows. very naked. here you can dump him, say that you just want to have sex without anything serious or talk about love. in the latter case, murat holds your hand in his, kisses it and says that he is ready to do anything for you. after that, in addition to kisses, you can also ask him for sex. murat won't refuse.

a romantic scene towards the end: murat takes you to his favorite place, one of the rooftops in treviso with a beautiful view. here he tells you a little about crows, again about his past + you can talk about your future together. plus he reads you poetry, but forgets a couple of lines. (here you can also break up with him.) then he comes to kiss you again. if you want, you can offer him sex on the roof. murat, as usual, won't refuse.

after the fade prison: murat comes to you and looks very exhausted. he doesn't cry, but his eyes are wet. he tells you that it was very difficult for him to live without you these couple of weeks and if it weren’t for the belief that you could still be saved, he would… he doesn’t finish the sentence and comes up to you, squeezing you in his arms. he whispers to you that he loves you so so much and can't live without you (maybe in antivan), and eventually a couple of tears come through. no sex. even if you suggest it, he will say that he can't do it after worrying for that long, but he will offer to be a weighted blanket for you.

the scene at the very end: he runs to you, happily hugs you and lifts you up into the air (he can lift you even if you are a big qunari, but not very high, and then adds that something clicked in his back, but it doesn't matter). he tells you that you finally dealt with this mess and no matter how much work you still have to do, he'll always be there for you. final kiss.

pics from the epilogue: 1-2 drawings with murat and rook. on both he will look lovingly at them, or he may kiss the back of their hand on one of them. the text will say something about that now you have a personal assassin who will help you deal with any problem. especially if this problem is alive and bothers you a lot.

- you can't romance him if you, crow rook, didn't choose treviso. in all other cases, romance is possible.

- if neither he nor lucanis are romanced, then yeah. (sorry neve...) you can find this out from their dialogues in the lighthouse or in the banters. plus there is a scene with them. you need something from lucanis very urgently and you burst into his pantry without knocking. lucanis is there, yes. but besides him there is also murat. on his knees. with his hands on lucanis's hips. you have 3 options - say OH and leave them alone. tease em a little, murat will answer you, and lucanis will simply cover his red face with both hands. or ask murat to leave, since you need to talk to lucanis. in the 3rd case, murat gets up, whispers something in lucanis's ear, he blushes and murat leaves the room.

- dialogues with companions in the lighthouse: 1 sometimes you can see how murat and luc talk in antivan with each other. rook asks if it is possible to repeat what they said for them but in common, because they heard their name in the dialogue. both crows answer you no. if rook is a crow too, then rook answers them in antivan. 2 discusses dragons and qunari with taash. 3 plays with manfred and tells you in disappointment that he doesn't understand why manfred keeps winning. 4 quarrels with davrin in a friendly manner, but it seems to you as if they are about to kill each other. he also talks like that with harding, but the insults are coming only from lace. 5 helps bellara to write her fanfictions. he has a lot of certain experience that will come in handy for writing certain scenes.

[corameiwrites]

𖦹 i want somebody to want pt. 2 𖦹

pair: jason todd x gn!reader

plot: faced with the knowledge that there is someone out there for him, jason todds life is thrown in a whirlwind

wc: 3.8k

authors note: i'm thinking about making the reader in this series an artist. the issue: i can't decide whether their focus is visual art, music, writing, or some performing art. I would appreciate any input you have on this, as it'll probably be mentioned in the next part of this series!

pt. 1

The first time Jason Todd saw you, he swore his heart stopped beating again. 

Since that drunken night out at the bar, Jason had begun to look for you everywhere. He went out as a civilian more, began accepting offers to grab a coffee or go hangout somewhere. His siblings, of course, had taken advantage of this fact. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but everywhere he looked, he always tried to catch a glimpse of you. The photos Tim had found online of you were ingrained in his brain. When he closed his eyes, his subconscious was no longer filled with all the dreadful things he’d done and experienced. Your smile—the same one he now searched for in crowds—replaced every aspect of his mind. 

Jason had opted for a hoodie layered underneath his leather jacket that day. Damian was bundled up as well, donning a rather janky scarf that Dick had made for him during his crochet phase. Aware of his brother's newfound interest in going out in public, Damian asked Jason if he would take him to a park to gather materials needed for his science class diorama. Agreeing, Jason had picked him up from school and walked with him through the better parts of Gotham to one of the only clean and functioning parks, which just so happened to be near the University area.

“Odd location of park, Todd.”

“Shut it, Wayne.”

Despite the various offers from his family to track you down or learn more about you, Jason had strictly told them not to, beyond looking up your social media and what was public. Even then, he had hesitated when Tim found your accounts. He didn’t want to learn every little thing about you before you had even met—it felt intrusive. He didn’t want his vigilante family stalking you; crashing into your apartment or kidnapping you to meet him, as Damian had lovingly suggested. He wanted what was between you two to be natural, to happen in its own time.

Damian was crouched beside a bush, gathering twigs and little rocks while Jason stood beside him, surveying the park out of habit. Despite the sun's rays shining down, the chill in the breeze had every kid playing on the playground bundled up, and the occasional couple holding hands, walking a little closer to retain some heat. Thankfully, Damian had no interest in looking for materials anywhere near the rowdy playground, so they opted to walk around the wide field, staying on the somewhat scenic walking trail. 

In the middle of the grassy field, about 30 people were gathered around a picnic table where an older man sat. He had kept his eye on the group for a while now, and had deducted that it was a class of sorts. The people listening to the man speak looked to be around his age, and all of them had bags. Some stood while many sat on the grass in front of the man. 

“Jason, the bag please.” Damian's arm shot up towards Jason, gesturing to the grocery bag halfway full of rocks and twigs. Handing it to him, Jason watched in amusement as Damian inspected two rocks meticulously, carefully placing one of them into the bag and tossing the other behind him carelessly. 

“Hey, look before you throw those things.”

 Damian's response was another smaller rock thrown at his brother's chest. Jason scoffed, crossing his arms as he turned back to the field, observing the class. 

It seemed to be ending, as the people began to stand up and walk away, some by themselves, others in groups. Through the rush of everyone standing, he saw—

You. 

Holy fucking shit. You were here. 

Even from far away, he could see laughter bubbling out of your mouth as you wiped grass off yourself, talking to a friend of yours. You were radiant; and call it cliche, but to him you were shining brighter than the sun. Thankfully, you were slow to pack up, so he watched, totally captivated by you as you talked with your friends in a small group around the professor. 

Seeing you like this was surreal to Jason. The way you smiled at something someone said, how you looked around at the scenery around you, the way you existed and interacted with people—it was surreal. 

Until now, you had only existed in the wonders of his mind at night and as a static photo in his phone. Yet here you were, existing in your own world that hadn’t yet collided with his. You had no idea that in less than seven months, you would find his name on your arm. 

Jason felt nauseous. Even from this far away, you outmatched everything his mind had come up with from the photos. An overwhelming sense of dread slowly crawled its way up his throat. He couldn’t pinpoint where it came from or what he was feeling exactly, but all he knew was that he wasn’t okay. His mouth was dry, and his eyes were slightly more watery. Despite this, he couldn’t look away. If seeing you from this far away had that effect on him, he didn’t know what he would do when he actually met you, face to face. A little sadly, he watched as you picked up your bag, waving to your professor and friends as you walked away. His eyes never left your retreating figure, and the muscles in his calves twitched to follow. 

“Ahki,” the tug on Jason's pants reminded him why he was here in the first place, who he was, where he was, and that he wasn’t alone. “Am I allowed to put this in the diorama?” 

Hesitantly (and with much effort), Jason tore his gaze from your distant figure, looking down to the caterpillar in Damians hand. He sighed, shaking his head and turning back to where his heart had disappeared to. 

“No, leave it be Damian.”

Later, further down the line on a cozy night in, he would inquire why your class had been outdoors that day. You would tell him the heater in your classroom was broken, causing the room to feel like the insides of a toaster oven. Your professor could only shed so many layers before he decided to go on a field trip to a local park for class where it was much cooler. The students had been enthusiastic about it, and ultimately, paid more attention to what their professor was lecturing. 

You, being the way that you are, would apologize for not noticing him further away on the trail. Scoffing at that, he would pull you tighter against him on the couch. 

“Nothin’ to be sorry for,” he’d say softly, placing a delicate kiss on your temple. “I was a wreck when I saw you anyways. Probably would have thrown up if you came up to talk to me.” 

“Well, I was a wreck when I first talked to you too.”

“At Sifted?”

“No, not the coffee shop,” you would snuggle further into him, closing your eyes as a hum of contentment rumbled through Jason's chest. “When I was walking home from the studio.”

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩  ♡  ✩˚｡⋆𖦹｡°⋆✮

The first time Jason Todd interacted with you, it was behind the mask. He had added your general area to his patrol route, despite the low crime rates. If he were being completely honest, it was a much needed respite from crime alley. It allowed him to calm down before going somewhere to rest, simply watching as students walked home from their late night classes, or drunkenly hopped from bar to bar. Occasionally, he would beat up some bastards from following students home, save a couple places from robberies, crack down on some drug deals—the typical stuff. 

It was nearing five in the morning when he arrived at your apartment. He typically started out his patrol here on the roof of the building, surveying the area (and resisting the urge to jump down onto your third floor fire escape) before expanding outward towards the more crime ridden and shadowy parts of the area. 

The streets were eerily vacant this time of night. The only noises were the occasional far off gunshot, the sounds of cars backfiring, and distant yells of drunk frat kids at the bars a couple blocks over. These sounds had all become familiar to Gotham residents, and sitting atop some random buildings jagged rooftop, Jason closed his eyes, allowing his bruised and scar ridden body to relax for a minute. 

A far off cry for help snapped his eyes open. 

Alert, his head whipped around, trying to determine which direction the cry had come from. 

Another yell, and he was running across rooftops. 

Grappling down onto a balcony, he spotted the struggle between two people on the side of the street. One of them ran out of the darkness, towards the streetlight and Jason felt his heart stop yet again. 

It was you. 

You, and some asshole attempting to do god knows what. 

Instantly he jumped down from the balcony, running to the man who had his eyes set on you. He was attempting to say something, probably some threat meant to scare you into submission, but it never left his throat. 

The Red Hood grabbed the man's ragged clothing, yanking him back. He came tumbling backwards, a curse escaping his mouth. 

Jason swung, his fist colliding with the man's chin. The sharp clack of teeth hitting teeth was painful to hear, let alone watch as the man was hurled to the hard pavement from the punch. 

The man groaned loudly, yelling curses. Jason stalked over to the man, lifting him up by the shirt before giving him another painful punch to his temple. The man wasn’t knocked out, per say, but now he was incapable of forming a coherent sentence or moving his limbs in a precise manner. 

Squatting, Red Hood rummaged through his belt for tactical wire. He turned his head, helmet looking at your shocked figure. At some point, probably when he had uppercut the guy, you had sunk to the floor, leaning against the light pole. 

You stared wide eyed at the scene, gaze flickering from the man to Red Hood. He simply turned his head, flipping the man onto his stomach and tying his hands together behind his back. His head pounded from the adrenaline, from the fact that you had been in danger. 

He stood, walking towards you. From this height, you looked like a frightened alley cat, curled up on itself. Slowly, he stuck his hand out. 

Your gaze flickered from the gloved hand to the helmet, hesitantly placing your hand atop his. Jason's heart soared. 

In the most careful manner, Jason helped to pull you up off the cold cement, standing back on your feet. His hand never let go of yours, and you slowly pulled it back, fixing your attire. 

“Thank you…” your voice was shaky, and this close, Jason saw the way you trembled slightly. If you weren’t here, he would have killed the guy squirming on the sidewalk a few feet away. 

Despite the obvious tremor in your voice, Jason's throat had closed up at finally, finally hearing your voice. The deep, soul-clutching feeling from when he saw you at the park a couple weeks ago slowly made its second appearance in his gut, and the temperature inside his helmet seemed to increase. Turning his head, he saw a bag discarded on the ground, the same one you had with you on that cold day at the park. 

Walking over to the bag, he got down on one knee and picked up all the things that fell out of it. 

Chapstick, two pens, a wallet with a very familiar government ID, some coins, and….a tiny plastic dinosaur? 

Jason smiled, putting it back inside your bag before standing once more, bringing the bag back over to you. Your eyes hadn’t left him, and your hand had grabbed your bag with much less hesitance than before. You thanked him yet again, fumbling with your clothing and keychains. Jason watched, and noted how your breathing continued to come rather fast, your jaw beginning to tremble. 

He didn’t want you to feel threatened, didn’t want you to ever feel whatever you were feeling right now. Your gaze flickered to the semi-unconscious man on the pavement. Jason could tell how scared you still were, despite the attacker being tied up and incapacitated behind him. His mind raced to help you without coming off as odd or threatening. He couldn’t offer you a hug, who would want to hug Red Hood? The famed murderer and crime lord turned vigilante, turned Batman Associate. Not exactly the most comforting person. Despite this, his arms ached to hold you, to wrap his frame around yours and guard you from the rest of the world. 

All Jason wanted was to protect you. 

“Were you walking home?” When he spoke, he tried his damn best to sound less intimidating through the helmet modulator. Your head lifted to look at him, or rather the mask. You nod slowly. 

“I’ll walk you the rest of the way.”

“You don’t have to, you’ve already done enough—”

“I want to.” His voice left no room for negotiation, and somehow, you knew this wasn’t a battle you would win. A small smile crept its way onto your face, and you nodded, muttering a small okay. 

You began to walk. 

Jason followed. 

He always would. 

It had only been a few silent minutes by the time your apartment building loomed before you. You turned back towards Red Hood, awkwardly thanking him once more, getting a nod in response before entering the building. 

From a rooftop, Jason watched as the lights in your living room turned on. Turning with the final knowledge that you were safely home, he made his way back towards the man he left binded up on the sidewalk. 

Despite his own doubts and insecurities, he reminded himself you were his for a reason. You were the one person who could comfort him the most, help him in his darkest times, and love him despite all the wrongs he's done, rough edges and all. And regardless of what his brain told him, he could do the same for you. Tonight was proof of that. The universe, despite it’s wild and fucked up ways, had given him the gift of you. You two were made for each other—you’re his soulmate. 

As he landed down on the sidewalk, the man turned his head, eyes widening at the return of Red Hood. He blabbered, begging for mercy as Jason loomed over him. 

The bastard was going to regret ever attempting to hurt you. 

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩  ♡  ✩˚｡⋆𖦹｡°⋆✮

The first time you met Jason Todd was an accident. 

In the last year or so of moving to Gotham, you had made it a habit to leave your overpriced apartment every couple days to work/study in the cozy coffee shop—Sifted—a block away. You had settled into a routine of going there after class, in the mornings, and whenever you needed air from your cramped apartment. Quickly, you had made yourself a regular. 

You began to notice other regulars as well; a mother with her two toddlers who would be there for lunch every Tuesday and Thursday, back on Sundays with the father. A group of teenagers who would come in every morning before walking to school, and an older man who seemed to constantly be stressed out who ordered a comically large plain black coffee. 

The quaint little Cafe was a hidden gem in Gotham, hidden away from the crime and ugly side of the city. Everywhere you looked inside the place was aesthetically pleasing, with a plethora of plants, as well as a small free library and games for kids. The seating was diverse as well, with tables of different heights and shapes, comfy chairs, and plush couches/cushions for the kid area. 

Simply put, it fulfilled all your aesthetic coffee shop dreams. 

As of late, you had noticed the recurring presence of a handsome guy, about your age, brunette with good style, who was absolutely shredded. You had first seen him a couple weeks ago in the afternoon when you sat down at your usual corner table to get some work done. He sat across the shop in a leather chair, facing your direction. On the little side table, he had a steaming beverage—either tea or coffee you guessed—and a book in hand. 

The Picture of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde. 

To say that you were a little attracted to him would be an understatement. He had sporadically been showing up to the coffee shop since then (always with a book), and you had been lucky enough to be there at the same time he was. Once, while waiting in line to order, you had watched through the front glass windows as a red motorcycle pulled up to the shop, the rider parking and taking off their helmet.

 Of course, Mr. Bookworm rode a motorcycle. After gaining this new bit of information on him, your mind went wild with fantasies and dreams of being swept away off your feet, taken to ride somewhere at top speeds through Gotham streets. 

Your brain told you that this was a stupid hallway crush—there was zero chance of getting with him. And yet, the countless times you had caught his eye, or exchanged a quick smile with him while leaving or entering made you think otherwise, because maybe, just maybe he was curious about you too. 

Today, you were a mess. You had attempted to pull an all-nighter working on a project for one of your classes, but had fallen asleep on the rug in your living room. You woke up around noon feeling more tired than you were before falling asleep, and your stomach was rumbling and aching for food. You were more than disappointed to see you forgot to go shopping for basic snacks and things to eat that didn’t require cooking or more than two dishes. 

You had opted to stop by Sifted, the coffee shop on your way to class to pick up a sandwich and coffee to help energize you before rushing to your 1 PM class. When you approached the cafe, your heart skipped a beat to see a certain red motorcycle parked outside. 

Entering, you were a little shocked to see your guy sitting with another man (also shredded) with a small gray dog in his lap. His eyes flickered to you as you entered, and you smiled at him before rushing to the counter and ordering your much needed coffee. Rather than sit down, you stood by the counter where they placed all the drinks, opening your phone and aimlessly scrolling. 

You would be lying if you said you weren’t eyeing the two men in your peripheral vision. 

The soft music playing over the speakers, combined with the typical clamor from the kitchen and baristas muffled their conversation. After five or so minutes of scrolling and stealing glances, the barista placed two drinks down on the counter. 

Taking one of the cardboard cups into your hand, you quickly thanked the barista before turning. On your way out, you passed the guy on his way to the counter. An intrusive thought about the height difference between you two filled you with shame, and you quickened your way to the door. 

Once outside, you threw away the receipt in a trashcan, bringing your coffee in its to-go cup to your lips. 

What went down your throat was not coffee. This was not what you ordered. 

Swallowing, you brought the cup up higher, inspecting the writing in bold marker on the side—

Hot Chocolate - Jason

No way. 

No fucking way, you had just stolen someone elses drink. 

It wasn’t just anyone either. It was the guy of your dreams, who you now knew to be named Jason. Jason, who rode a red motorcycle, read at a coffee shop for an hour almost every day, while drinking Hot Chocolate of all things.

Sighing, you turn back around, walking into the cozy shop once more. Instantly, you make eye contact with the guy Jason, who is standing in front of his friend, or whoever he was here with, drink held high to inspect it. Your drink. 

Sheepishly, you make your way over to him, apologizing. “Hi, I am so sorry, you’re Jason, right? I just grabbed a drink without looking even though I probably should have and I accidentally took yours and already took a sip of it, so can I buy you another drink if you want? I’m sorry again…” 

The lack of proper sleep seemed to be getting to you, and you only realized when you were done how you had rambled to him. You heard a chuckle, and glanced behind Jason to his friend who was smiling, looking down at the dog in his lap. 

“It’s no big deal,” Jason responded, looking down at you. He took a sip of his your drink. “Do you always get this? It’s good.”

A little taken aback by his friendly demeanor, you allow yourself to smile more freely. He wasn’t mad, which meant he probably didn’t hate you, which also meant that you still had a slim chance with this guy. 

“Sometimes I do.” You tell him your name, pointing to the cup where it was written. He introduces himself too, despite the fact you already know. 

“I’ve uh, noticed you around here a lot.” He ran a hand through his hair, and you swear he knew what he was doing. 

“Yeah, me too. Not me, obviously. You–I’ve noticed you too.” Seriously, you need to work on how well you respond in high-stress situations. He smiles in response, nodding. It’s an awkward interaction, really, but not in an unbearable way. It’s almost sweet, how neither of you can hold eye contact for too long before looking down or fidgeting in some way. 

The conversation lulls there before you see a clock and realize you have fifteen minutes to make it to your class on time. 

“Well I uh, I have to go but it was nice to meet you.” You take a step backwards, wanting to run away and stay there talking to him at the same time. His lips draw tight into a line and he nods. “And sorry again for stealing your drink.” 

“It’s really alright. Have a good day.” 

“You too!” With that awkward end, you turn and basically run towards the door, exiting the shop and quickly walking down the sidewalk, away from Jason, Hot Chocolate in hand. Even with embarrassment flaming through your body, you can’t help the wide grin from settling onto your face. 

He had noticed you. 

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩  ♡  ✩˚｡⋆𖦹｡°⋆✮

You had noticed him. 

The thought alone made him giddy, and as he replayed the entire interaction, he couldn’t help his heart from thumping wildly in his ribcage. 

You had talked to him. You apologized to him, said his name. 

Slowly, he sat back down in his usual leather chair, starstruck. Next to him, Dick laughed as he watched his brother. 

“If this is how you're acting after one small interaction, I think you’re in trouble.”

“Shut up, Dick.” 

Haley barked softly, wagging her tail.

[euphoria-looney]

Astro!

Yan!Batfam x Neglected!Reader Squid Games!AU

m. list|next

"And goodness knows, The Wicked's Lives are lonely. Goodness knows, The Wicked die alone. It just shows, when you're wicked, You're left only, on your own." 'No One Mourns The Wicked' by Wicked the Musical

Divider creds: (?) and @dollywons

As a kid, all I longed for was someone to play a game with me that didn’t require some form of technology to keep both of us entertained.

Well, be careful what you wish for, because I have reached an all-time low, willing to kill people with children's games to earn money.

How much longer will I spend in this twisted game before getting killed? Maybe this is better whether I win or lose, I still gain freedom.

One choice is just the better option. 

That’d be losing winning.

Sure I would feel immense guilt, but I’d be free from debt… and then what? No longer needing to slave anyway from the amount of money I receive.

What then?

Could therapy even help? They’d probably send me off to a mental ward. 

Who's going to believe I won millions from playing some children’s games?

I looked around and saw the old man again from earlier, sitting alone in a space, I approached him, and he accepted to play with me.

“When I was little, this was one of my favorite games as a child.” The old man told us while we were walking into an open area.

“Really? I’ll be honest, I’ve never played this game before.”

As we finally found a point to play the game, we conversed.

—

“Did we do this to make a pact?”

He held out his hand, his pinkie and thumb sticking out, I laughed, wrapping my pinkie around his, pressing our thumbs together.

“Sir, no my gganbu- I think that’s what they called a really close friend right?”

—

Eventually we went all for nothing, this was the funniest game I ever played… I almost forgot the fact that I was going to die at the end.

“Ah, guess you won, betting all my marbles for your single one. Didn’t see that one coming.” I chuckled sadly.

He held my hand and placed the last marble in my palm.

“Take it, it’s yours anyway.” I looked up at him in shock, I could feel tears welling up in my eyes.

“We are gganbu aren’t we? Remember we swore on it. And Gganbu always shares everything no matter what. You made this all possible.” My shoulder shook, as I could only stare at my shoes, my eyes felt like facets at the point. 

And then I felt these same hands embrace me, and I felt like a child all over again.

“What a great way to go.”

He pulled away, making me face him.

“Thank you. I had a good time.”

I hugged him once again, my tears overflowing on his shoulders.

He let go and I walked out of the gates.

Sniffles were all I could do before I heard the voice behind me.

“I remember my name now. My name is Il-nam. Oh Il-nam.”

I kept walking then flinched when I heard a ‘bang’ go off.

Surrounded by all these dead bodies, and these empty emotions, I pushed forward.

[Player 1, Eliminated]

—

Despite everything, I’m still having these selfish thoughts of staying alive.

We had just played ‘glass bridge’ leaving three of us here, dressed in suits, and eventually I was talking with Penelope, she’s the one that helped me out of the restraint we were in after we left for the first time.

“Hey, [name], just in case either of us can actually make it out of this hellhole, promise that we will take care of each other's loved ones, okay?” 

“Don’t say that, we’ll be okay.”

But she took more damage than any of us once the glass had shattered and was losing blood fast.

“Stay where you are, I’ll go get someone.”

I left and went to the guard or whatever they were, to beg, plead, for a doctor, maybe one that could’ve been on standby, but instead they walked past me with a coffin.

I could only stare at my once best friend standing over her bed.

I ran over there and held her body up, shaking her for some sign of hope.

“No, Penelope, please, no…”

—

Approaching the end game, we ate a feast, so fresh and nicely made, I felt the need to puke.

We place in the field shapes surrounding us, to resemble a squid, this was, Squid Game.

The rain soaking both of us, gray skies, and a single guard on the side.

Astro’s shirt still soaked in blood, his suit back on. He spoke before the game began, a knife in hand.

“I ended her suffering. You know she would have died anyway.”

The tears that once stained my face had been washed off by the rain, and now I could only feel disdain for the man I once knew in front of me.

“That’s bullshit, stop lying. She could’ve survived, they could have treated her.”

He retorted.

“I know what you’re like, you’re the reason I had to kill her. I knew you two would stop all this, so she didn’t die there. Even though we’ve gone so far, just to quit?” 

It seemed so similar to the time back at the manor.

—

“Damian had a lot happen to him as a child, are you going to blame him for this?” Dick sighed Damian behind him with no remorse for the fact I had slashes on my arm, not deep but painful. And though they wouldn’t leave scars, would that really matter?

He held a weapon against me while all I had was a stack of books now discarded and torn on the ground.

“[name]. You’re older than him, he’s still a child. You are the reason for this, it could’ve been avoided if you didn’t egg things on. Don’t blame Damian for your faults.” Egg him on? All I did was try and avoid him.

It wasn’t fair.

—

Now, if it wasn’t high before, my blood pressure had to be spiking. For that petty reason? Simply because he didn’t want all of this going to waste?

“Was that it? You killed someone because this might end?” My voice trembled.

“Yeah! You and that girl would have been the majority you needed to get out! Going home without anything! I couldn’t live with that!”

“And you think that means anything?! What?! one more life on top of the others you’ve stolen isn’t enough, and won’t be enough until you receive something?! You’d rather have one more dead than for all three of us to leave and somehow find another way to bring something, anything home?!” I shouted back at him.

I took my knife out of my pocket.

“It's over…”

“I won’t let you leave here with the money.”

3RD POV

While the VIP’s finally stood up to watch this entertaining last game.

Two people who have developed over time physically and mentally, once friends, were squabbling, fighting with very small amounts of energy, but a passion to win.

Both stabbed the other when eventually, player 456 was able to get the other on the ground and punched him over and over again.

The Waynes couldn’t help but be relieved this was it, they’d never let her go again, they would make up for everything starting with making sure she would be okay.

“Found the location heading there soon!” They heard Cassandra on the other line.

Late, but they would make it.

—

[name]’s POV

I held my knife, before stabbing it into the field, next to his face, before limping over to the goal point, it felt miles anyway, the guard had his gun loaded and aimed at Astro.

There before me was the practical finish line.

I can’t… No, I refuse to if anything, playing this game has fucked me other the head, but I refuse for one second to let this game be the last thing I ever see Astro at.

“I wanna end here.” I face the guard walking back to them.

“Clause Three of the agreement. The players are able to end the game when the majority agrees, so if we both give up,  you have to end it right?” I stumbled over.

The guard spoke on the walkie-talkie while I gazed back at Astro.

“Astro.”

“Back when we went to the same school, we’d hang out together and study before leaving chasing after our purpose that called out for us. Nothing's calling anymore.” After all this time, he still is.

I smiled at him, that once gummy smile I adorned, one that I hated so much.

“Let’s go”

I extended my hand to him. 

“Let’s go together.”

He slowly lifted his hand.

“[name], I’m sorry.” 

And before I could react, he took that hand and grabbed the knife that I put right next to him, and impaled himself in the neck with it. 

Blood gushed out and he choked out blood.

I quickly went to his side, stabilizing his head.

“Astro! Astro!”

“[name]..”

“No, no, don’t speak! Hang on!” I was panicking, this can’t be the end of us.

“M-my mother, please take care of my mom. And…”

“I love you.” That made me freeze my erratic movements, I was sure he could’ve seen my eyes widen.

“Loved you since meeting you.” With that, he closed his eyes and I could only call out his name, and held onto his body, it was getting colder fast.

[Player 218, Eliminated. Congratulations, Player456]

—

3rd POV

“Believe in Jesus or go to Hell!” A guy holding two signs chanted outside in the rain, strangers walking past each other, a white limo rolled up on the side of the street, dumping a bruised and exhausted body on the sidewalk, the same guy chanting untied the girl.

“Believe in Jesus.”

The girl was in the bank depositing 4.56 billion dollars before withdrawing some out. Her hair a mess, eyes sullen and eye bags that dragged down her face, she seemed exhausted. Walking back to the store she once worked at, a sign stated ‘SOLD’ and next to it a reef, “Rest in Peace, Conny Claire, Died too soon, old shop owner that meant so much to many people.” Flowers that surround the message.

The girl that came there for a snack could only sink to the ground in shock, hands rising to cover her face, body shaking and quivering.

Walking down a store alleyway, Astro’s mom approached the girl.

“How have you been, here take some food for the road after losing…” She sighed, and patted the girl's back, walking back to her shop.

“Have you heard from… Nevermind.” 

The girl opened her run down apartment where she once lived and went to see all the old photos in the yearbook of classes she had with Astro and in all of the group ones featuring her, her classmates, and Astro she noticed how in each one he was looking at her, with those fond eyes.

She could only fall onto her bed, her tired state crept on her before she fell asleep.

Some time later, the girl kept her promise to Penelope and helped out her family, then left them with Astro’s mom, leaving a wealthy sum of money, they became a family… somewhat of a replacement for the other's loved one, and the girl left paying off whatever debt any of them had.

The girl was sitting alone at the pond, drinking some alcohol. Before an old woman approached her, a flower basket in hand, it seemed she needed to sell them immediately before they wilted away. The girl reached into her pocket, handing her some money before the old woman went off. 

Picking up the nicely wrapped flower, a card appeared, making the girl stumble at picking up the card before reading it.

Approaching a hospital, card in hand.

It was the old man.

“What is this… Who are you?”

“Pour some water for me. Please, [name].”

And there she sat, anger rising in her, but she couldn’t do anything against the man who made the games.

She sat listening to the man talk, about the homeless guy below them, about how everything he said about himself was true, how he missed the old days, him and his friend used to have the time of their lives, and how no matter if you're homeless or rich both lives are no fun. Then a clock struck.

She looked at the machine to see that his heart was no longer beating, instead a flat line appeared. Getting up, she closed his eyes.

That’s when she finally started her life again. She got it together.

So, at the first place, her life changed at the same bus stop, well across from it, the skies were clear and the sun was glaring into the area. It had been a regular day for her, working at her own company and all.

Maybe that’s why when she unlocked her car and stared right in front of her at that same place, she was shocked to see her father, Bruce Wayne, and his family.

That’s it for this part of Astro! Did you like it?

Also, unlike Squid Game, soon after [name] left, everyone that participated in Squid Games got arrested, which made it on the news, but was looked past after a few months, [name] made gravestones for Penelope and Astro.

Ofc the Batfam got the credit and got even more famous for uncovering this incident, which is also why they hadn’t ‘visited’ [name] and now are just getting to it.

Not the update you expected, but I hope you like it.

Any comments, advice and corrections are appreciated!!!

-ILoveeeMoney

Taglist time! ❤

Also, I love the idea and from fic from both @jellyfishmoon97 and @not-weirdoshrek and a new addition that I'm super happy I bumped into @alilobsessive.

@holysoulsweets @sh4rk-k1d @sillysealsies @loomspuddle @cantfindmelol @alwaysholymilkshake @leitor-sonolento @randomlyappearingartist @beyondblissxoxo @sirairi @yhin-gg @frankie-moon3 @welpthisisboring @yokesmam @bat1212 @enchantingarcadecreation @twismare @delias-stuff @ladylupuscrow @ferchu0406 @c4xcocoa @cruzerforce4256 @anonymoushehehehe @godoreo22 @blerp-22 @facelessisnthere @sirenetheblogger @themightybee4067 @boredselkie @tiffyisme3760 @random4137 @midnightgrimoire @mybones537 @chaoticmoontimetravel @jsprien213 @crazycaoticsimp @elfollaburras3000 @czarinera @tiffyisme3760 @exactlynumberonekryptonite @gwyneveire @k-anaru @a-lurking-fae @nxdxsworld @ryuushou

I think that's everyone who wanted to be tagged, I hope I didn't spell anyone's name wrong and tag the wrong person.

[thepossummoldypasta]

Okay okay, the people have been heard, part 2 of the accidental baby acquisition thing (part 1)

Sometimes Steve wonders how his life turned out this way. Most of the time the omega jokingly says it’s all Dustin’s fault. This time it’s definitely Dustin’s fault.

Steve kicked the kid out after he cracked wise about Eddie being in a coma for 9 months—He did it nicely under the pretense of the pup being sent to find a nurse, but he’s forced out of the room all the same—now he’s desperately attempting to get Eddie calm.

The heart monitor is complaining loudly at Steve and the alphas breathing isn’t giving him any comfort, and it’s all around not an ideal situation. Steve shifts the baby (still asleep thank god) so he has an arm free to offer Eddie to scent. The movement catches the other man’s eye, and when the alpha he turns his head Steve can see Eddie’s crying.

“Oh Eddie.” Steve croaked “No, don’t cry. Dustin was just being a dick—you’ve only been under for six days—everything’s alright.” Eddie finally accepts Steve’s arm but instead of scenting he cradles it with shaking hands and doubles over awkwardly against Steve’s shoulder.

“Stevie,” the alpha sobs “Stevie.” He lets Eddie cry it out for a minute or so.

“Do you want me to walk you through what happened?” Steve offers.

Eddie nods against his neck; yes.

“How much?”

Eddie leans in even further, lungs drawing as much air as they can hold; everything.

“Nancy blew Vecna’s head off, but uh, we could tell something was up.” Steve grimaces “so, so I got worried and went to grab you and Dustin.”

Eddie stiffens as Steve talks, but doesn’t give any other indication that he’s heard enough, so Steve keeps going.

“ I found you just outside the trailer park—I don’t know if you remember it but the bats kinda beat your ass—I got to you before Dustin did thank god ‘cus it was gnarly. They, the bats, they nicked an artery so there was a lot of blood. We managed to drag all of us out through this new gate that spat us out at the Creel house on the right side, I don't know how that happened by the way…uh what else…there was an ambulance there because Carver’s gang broke Erica’s arm. The EMT guys were so freaked out when they saw us they shoved all of us in the back of the ambulance and hauled ass here—“

“Wait,” Eddie buts into Steve’s rambling explanation, “Erica got hurt? Who else got hurt? Is—“ now it’s Steve’s turn to interrupt.

“Everyone’s gonna be okay Eddie” Steve promises “The pups have a few minor breaks between all of ‘em but nothing serious. You and me got the worst of it.” Apparently not the best thing to say because Eddie jerks back with a whine, frantically checking over Steve’s injuries.

“You, I, WHAT?” Eddie, well, he screeches, unfortunately waking up the baby with his noise (the omega can’t stop himself from shooting him a dirty look for it).

“We’re both out of the woods now that you’re awake.” The omega reassures while soothing the tiny puppy’s cries. “There’s the bites, obviously, but none of them on you or me were particularly life threatening apparently. Although you lost enough blood to go into cardiac arrest—” Steve thinks he could put it nicer but there’s no point sugar coating it “the doctors did put you in a coma so you could recover but you were out less than a week, nowhere near nine months” Steve rolled his eyes at Dustin’s shithead antics.

“As for me, apparently the bats had some kind of venom that was rattling around long enough to cause some nerve damage and speed up this weird genetic thing I apparently have that messes with connective tissue. Now I’ve got this sweet new ride to help on the bad days but that’s about the worst of the damage ” Steve pats the armrests of his new chair, the one Jack helped him adjust to be his and not the one on loan from the hospital, and smiles in a way he hopes makes Eddie believe “bad days” will only happen some days instead of most days.

He expects Eddie to laugh at the attempted joke, or maybe crack a watery smile, But the alpha starts crying with renewed vigor.

“Is that why? Stevie is the puppy okay? How could Nancy let this happen?” Eddie gasps, reaching out to hold Steve’s face. The omega leans softly into the hold, but he’s soooo confused.

Before he can ask what the hell Nancy has to do with any of this,Jack waltzes through the doorway with a sheepish Dustin in tow. If that brat thinks that going out of his way to find Steve’s favorite nurse will get him out of trouble, he’s got another thing coming.

“Well now, sleeping beauty is awake.” Jack grins politely “I’m Jack, nice to officially meet you mister Munson.”

“Uhh, yeah, back atcha” Eddie nods

Jack ruffles Steve’s hair as she passes him on her way to Eddie’s IV line. Over the past few days She, Steve, and the others have grown close. The baby had imprinted on her as part of his pack, and the baby is part of Steve’s pack, so on and so forth until they all shared a bond. It’s nice.

She checks the levels of Eddie’s saline drip, and the numbers on the monitor that Steve can’t remember the meanings of no matter how many times it’s explained to him. Whatever they say must be good because Jack looks relaxed when she turns back to Dustin who’s haunting the entrance to the room leaning on his crutches (Steve resolutely tries not too give him pity points for the broken ankle).

“Alright kid, clear out.” she chimes,“I got to give your friend the full checkup and it’s feeding time.”

Jack clearly tacked on the last bit to get the stubborn pup to leave, and once upon a time it would have embarrassed the hell out of Steve, but it serves its purpose as Dustin turns heel and calls out that he’s going to visit Max.

Jack checks Eddie’s reflexes, then she has him push against her arms, follow a pen with his eyes, and tap her palm as she moves it around. All that good stuff to make sure Eddie’s brain still works right. Everything seems to be fine, the only exception being Eddie’s heart rate seemingly picking up when Steve takes his shirt off to feed the baby. Jack laughs under her breath when it happens though, so it must’ve been fine whatever it was.

“Alright Mr. Munson, you’re looking good. Your whole merry band still is being kept under observation otherwise I’d say you’re free to go. Do you have any questions for me?” Jack asks as she slips off the gloves she donned before she ran her tests. Eddie nods.

“When did Steve have the baby?” What?

“WHAT?” Steve crows, Jack’s absolutely no help as she’s too busy cackling to set the record straight. “I didn’t have a baby, Eddie!”

“But—you—You’re literally holding a baby right now big boy! And you smell like a mom!” Eddie retaliates, but he’s keeping his voice low so he doesn’t disturb said baby. That’s sweet actually.

“That’s my fault I’m afraid” Jack chuckles “he was supposed to be looking after baby nameless for me temporarily, but the little guy had other plans and decided Steve here was his new Ma. What you’re smelling and seeing right now is the result of that baby doing a very good job of convincing Steve’s body they’re his puppy”

Eddie’s mouth is hanging open on a broken hinge, Steve watches him collapse back into his bed. He would think the alpha brain dead if he wasn’t just given a clean bill of health.

“So you weren’t pregnant when we were in… you know?” Eddie prods weakly

“No, I was not knocked up when we were in the Upsidedown!” Steve shuts that line of thought down as quickly as he can, Jack might be “in the know” thanks to her job but Steve does not need his new, basically older sister, to know he did the hanky-panky with Eddie in an alternate dimension.

“Oh thank Jesus” Eddie sighs and he’s so lucky that Steve’s beginning to think he’s in love with the idiot (and that he’s a little too distracted burping the baby to smack him). “What’s the baby nameless thing about?”

Steve goes quiet for a second. Not bad quiet, just shy quiet. It’s kind of an embarrassing question to answer. Jack lets him know she’ll be right outside if he needs her, but he’s been shyly waiting for this moment and just waves her off with an appreciative look.

“He technically doesn’t have a name, before he imprinted I was only really allowed to nickname him” Steve starts “but now he’s my baby so I can name him whatever I want. I’ve had a name picked out for a while but I wanted to talk to you first. Jack’s been trying to guess the name for days now and she’s been calling him that to try to annoy me into spilling the beans” he says with a snort.

“Why did you want to talk to me first?”

“I want to name him Theodore, after you?” Steve admits but when he looks to where Eddie is propped up against his pillow the alpha sucks in a breath between his teeth. “What? What’s with the face?”

“Eddie isn’t actually short for anything, so uh it wouldn’t really be naming him after me” Eddie says hesitantly “But! But I think Theodore is a great name!” And he smiles so brightly at Steve, the omega has to kiss it off Eddie’s stupid little face.

A week later the whole group is lounging in the ward’s common room just waiting for time to pass.

The roads are back open and the town is slowly knitting itself back together. Owen’s says that his team is waiting on one more thing before they all finally can go home. The older teens haven’t said anything to the pup’s yet, they don’t want to jinx anything, but it’s looking like home might be one of the recently vacated houses for packs instead of where they lived before. Steve thinks he’ll sleep easier having everyone safe under one roof, that at least some good will come out of so much of his family being left displaced by the “quakes”.

Steve’s cozy on a squishy couch with Robin tucked against his one side, Mike and Will are tangled together on his other, he’s even got Theo napping on his chest. God it’s a far cry from the nervous buzz that thrummed under Steve’s skin at the beginning of their stint in the hospital. He basks in the calm that comes with the rest of the pups piled on top of Eddie taking a nap instead of being obnoxious. Nancy has even huddled together with Jonathan and Argyle.

It’s really nice except for one thing nagging at the back of Steve’s mind, he hasn’t seen Jack or El for a while.

“Hey Steve?” Oh, speak of the devil and all that, Steve thinks as Jack pops her head into the room. “Your adoptive dad is here looking for you.”

Steve looks at Robin then to Nancy and Jon. It’s very clear that none of them know what she’s talking about.

“I don’t have an adoptive dad?” Steve replies.

“Okay rephrase. A man, who is not Harrington Senior, and who matches your emergency contact information is at the visitor’s desk asking for his kid, who he says is you.” Jack doesn’t even get to finish her sentence before El slips into the room her dragging with her—

“Hop” Steve cries weakly, the name catching in his chest. No matter how much he blinks Hopper is still there. Will bursts from Steve’s side and launches himself at Joyce Byers, who Steve hadn’t even noticed was there, Hopper is here.

Steve somehow manages to get on his feet. Theo, the sweet angel that he is, doesn’t even fuss at the abrupt movement, instead he coos at the newcomers as if he’s confused why they haven’t started fawning over him yet.

Steve is pulled into a side hug the literal second Hopper’s close enough. Steve missed him so much. He hadn’t told anyone about how in the early days of his parents leaving him home alone he would sneak over to the police chief’s trailer because he was afraid being by himself. Or about how many nights the man spent driving him to or picking him up from the hospital after Steve’s dad got too drunk. Nobody knew how confused Steve was after Starcourt, when he didn’t know how much he was allowed to grieve. But now Hop’s back, and Steve missed him.

“Please tell me I’m hallucinating the baby” Hopper laughs into Steve’s hair. He laughs like he doesn’t know how else to react, which is fair, but he also laughs like it’s the first time he’s laughed in a while so Steve doesn’t really mind.

Very helpfully, Mike pipes up with “Thats Theo.” At the same time Dustin says “That’s Steve and Eddie’s puppy.”

Steve barely has enough time to playfully warn Eddie to run before it’s too late.

——————————————————————————————————

Sorry for the wait, I wasn’t really planing on continuing this so it to a while to figure out what I wanted to do.This is going up on my Ao3 as a one shot at some point by the way, so maybe look out for that I guess. I hope you enjoyed!

[sugarplum217]

Essence Of Loyalty (Pt.1)

Pairing: Terry Richmond X Black Plus Size Female Reader

Warnings: MDNI (18+) contains sexual explicit content, heavy smut, spit play, oral sex, A VERY HEAVY USE OF “daddy” and “mama”, unprotected sex, cursing, major dirty talk, creampie, mentions of murder, lots of heavy sexual flirtation, detailed sexual acts , fluff

AuthorsNote: Please excuse any mistakes or grammatical errors. I hope you enjoy the story and remember to be kind and if you want to be tagged in the next part let me know.

Summary: Everyone and their mama has been trying to either set you up on a date with someone or continuously remind you that your clock is ticking away. That you weren’t getting any younger and your looks would eventually fade. What they didn’t know is that you already had your special someone. In fact you’ve had him a while. You know how that saying goes, “Good things come to those who wait” and for you in this instance. It was nothing but the waiting game for your special someone to finally walk into your life. The question is .. would it be acceptable for everyone else?

You never expected to fall in love with a man behind bars. It started as nothing more than a random click—some late-night curiosity fueled by boredom and an ad that popped up between Facebook posts. Find love where you least expect it. Meet single men looking for companionship. You damn near scrolled past it, but something made you stop. Maybe it was the way the words “love” and “companionship” stood out, teasing something you didn’t realize you were craving. Maybe it was just the boredom, the same mundane routine of work, home, sleep, repeat, stretching on like a treadmill you couldn’t step off. Either way, you clicked. Scrolling through the profiles felt like flipping through a catalog you had no business browsing. Men of all ages and backgrounds, some looking for friendship, others for love. But none of them caught your attention. That is—until you saw him. Inmate 07541, Terrance Richmond. Baby, that mugshot stopped you cold. Rich buttery light caramel skin, sharp jawline, and full lips that looked like they could whisper secrets straight into your soul. His nose was strong, his features chiseled, but it was those damn piercing uniquely colored eyes that did it. Deep-set, hooded, with a stare so intense you could feel it through the screen. Something about them made your heart stutter—like he was looking at you, past you, into you. There was no forced smile, no tough-guy posturing. Just that stare. You hesitated, hovering over the message button. What the hell were you doing? Messaging a man serving time? A man who, according to his bio, had been locked up since he was 18? Still, curiosity won. You typed out a casual introduction—something light, something safe—and hit send. Then you pushed it to the back of your mind, fully expecting no response, but he wrote back. And not just some half-assed, one-line reply. He wrote you back.

That first message turned into another. And another. Emails became long letters, paragraphs bleeding into pages, until you found yourself rushing home from work just to see his name in your inbox. You learned everything about him—the way he used to play football before his life changed, the music he listened to, the books he read to escape the four walls of his cell. He told you about his past, the pain, the betrayal, the night everything changed. And you told him about yours—how life felt like it was happening at you instead of for you. How you wanted more, but you didn’t know what more even looked like. Then came the sweet video calls. The first time you saw him move, saw that sharp jaw flex when he smiled, heard that deep, velvety voice rumble straight through the screen—you were done. Hooked. Gone. Two years later, here you were. In a relationship—a real one, even if nobody knew. And in a few days, he’d be free. And that? That scared you more than anything.

“You always got an excuse, girl. What is tea?”Sonya’s voice snapped you back to the present, and you blinked, realizing your fork had been hovering over your plate for way too long. It was lunchtime at Taste Of The South Cafe, your usual Friday spot with the girls. The table was cluttered with half-empty margarita glasses, plates of fried catfish and mac and cheese, and the scent of honey butter croissants floating in the air. Normally, this was your escape from the monotony of work. But today? You were ready to go.

“I just wanna relax,” You half way lied, pushing your food around. Sonya wasn’t buying it. Neither was Deja.

“Girl, please,” Deja scoffed. “Every time we plan a girls’ night, your ass come up with something. What’s up? You sneakin’ around with somebody?”

“Ain’t nobody sneakin’.” You forced a laugh, shaking your head. 

“Then why you always rushin’ home like you got a man waitin’ on you?” Sonya arched a brow, swirling her margarita.

“Because I do.” You thought to yourself. But you didn’t say that. Instead, you shrugged, hoping they’d let it go. They didn’t.

“You sure it ain’t that new dude in accounting?” Deja pressed. “The one with the Audi and the beard? Girl, he is fine.”

“Not my type,” You said quickly.

Sonya snorted. “And what is your type? Because last time I checked, you were single as hell.”

You just smiled, keeping your real thoughts locked up tight. Because your type wasn’t something you could explain to them. Your type wasn’t sitting in an office, making six figures, and posting gym selfies on Instagram. Your type was locked behind bars. A man who had spent more of his life inside than out. A man whose voice alone made your thighs clench, whose absence felt like a missing limb. But they wouldn’t get that. So you just laughed it off, switched the subject, and counted down the hours until you could talk to him. The day dragged. By the time you made it to your car, your feet were aching, your patience was shot, and you were tired. But none of that mattered. Because in just a few minutes, he’d be calling. The drive home was full of bumper-to-bumper traffic and the usual call from your mama.

“Hey ma” You greeted, honking the car in front of you to move their ass. 

“Hey my baby. You comin’ to dinner this weekend?” She asked.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” You make a face, thanking god she can’t see you.

“Good. Your sister’s bringing her fiancé.” She said, her tone laced with excitement. Of course, she was. Your older sister had the picture-perfect life—a man, a ring, a timeline that fit neatly into the family’s expectations.

“And he’s bringing his brother,” You mother added casually.

You sighed. “Ma—”

“Just be open-minded! You’re a beautiful girl, and you ain’t gettin’ any younger.” She reminded for the hundredth time. You gritted your teeth, gripping the steering wheel. If only she knew. But you decided to let it go. 

“I’ll see you Saturday.” You shook your head, hanging up.By the time you got home, it was 6:59pm. You barely had time to drop your purse before your phone lit up with that Incoming Call from your ‘Big Daddy’. You squealed, feeling your heart flip. 

You snatched it up, answering with a smile. “Hey, baby.”

“Damn, I needed to hear your voice.” A low chuckle rumbled through the speaker, deep enough to send heat pooling between your thighs. 

You melted instantly. “Long day?”

“Long as hell,” He sighed. “But I knew I’d be hearin’ from you, so I got through it.”

Your chest tightened. “I missed you.”

“Yeah? I missed you more baby” He smirked. You could hear it in his voice. “Tell me about your day, baby.”

So you did. You told him everything—lunch with your nosy-ass friends, your mama trying to set you up. And he listened quietly like always when it came to your day and what crazy ass story you had ready for him. That was one of the many things you loved about Terry, how he could just listen and never get tired of you talking. 

“Don’t sweat that shit, baby. You got a man.” He chuckled, low and smooth. That possessiveness made your toes curl.

“Yeah?” you teased. “I got a man?”

“Hell yeah,” He murmured. “And in a few days, you gon’ have me in every way possible.”

Your breath hitched and your body got hot. Because in just a few days, Terry Richmond would be free. And you would finally be his.  You adjusted the phone against your ear, stretching out on the couch, letting his voice roll over you like thick honey.

“You talkin’ real reckless, Mr. Terrance,” you teased, biting your lip. “What makes you think you gettin’ all this good good so easy?”

A deep, knowing chuckle rumbled through the receiver, sending shivers down your spine. “Baby,” He drawled, voice rich and slow like he was savoring every syllable. “Don’t play wit’ me. You and I both know the second I touch down, I’ma have you laid out for me, just how I like it.”

“Oh yeah?” Your thighs pressed together at the promise in his tone.

“Hell yeah. First thing I’m doin’ is spreadin’ them thighs, makin’ up for lost time. You know I been starvin’ for you. Ain’t had a taste of sweet pussy in years. I need my plate, ma.” He stated, making your breath hitch and heat coil in your lower belly. 

“Terry…” You breathed, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Say my name just like that when I’m between them legs,” He murmured. “Matter fact, scream it. I’ma put my mouth on every inch of you. Them thighs? Mine. Them hips? Mine. That spot you say makes you weak right under your belly button? I’m kissin’ it first. And you already know where I’m endin’ up.”

Your body responded to his words instantly, your nipples tightening against the fabric of your blouse. The ache between your thighs grew unbearable. You were so tempted to rub on your clit as he talked to you, but you knew big daddy’s rules. You weren’t allowed to touch yourself at all unless he gave the permission and could listen to you without any interruptions. 

“You talkin’ crazy,” You whispered, your voice thick with need.

“Nah, baby, I’m talkin’ facts. You gon’ see. Soon as I get out, you ain’t leavin’ that bed for at least three days.” He chuckled. 

“Oh, so I’m just gonna be held hostage?” You let out a shaky laugh, your fingers toying with the hem of your skirt.

“Damn right,” He said without hesitation. “Ain’t no way I been locked up this long just to finally get my hands on you and let you go. Shit, you gon’ be beggin’ me to let you breathe.”

Your stomach flipped. You wanted that. Needed that. But then, reality settled back in. The system didn’t make things easy.

“Speaking of that…What did your lawyer say about your release date? Will you be out on my birthday like we want?” You exhaled, shifting the phone closer to your ear. It was silence for a moment. The weight of it pressed heavy between you, thick and uncertain. You held your breath preparing for the worst case scenario possible. 

“They still pushin’ for my original release date, but you know how this shit go. Paperwork, red tape, all that. My lawyer confident, though. He say if everything lines up, I should be out right on time. Maybe even a couple days before.” Terry let out a slow breath.

“For real?” Your chest tightened with cautious hope. 

“For real, baby. But…” He hesitated. “You know they been tryin’ to trip me up in here. COs, some of these jealous-ass inmates. They know I’m close to freedom, and they hate that shit. I gotta keep my head low, stay out the way, but it’s hard sometimes. Real hard.”

“They still on that bullshit?” Your jaw clenched.

“Yeah,” He muttered. “They hate a nigga like me gettin’ a second chance. And these lame ass inmates tryna set me up don’t help either.”

“Terry, I swear to God if they—”You closed your eyes, frustration bubbling inside you.

“Relax, mama,” He said, voice dropping into that deep, soothing register that always made you weak. “Ain’t nothin’ stoppin’ me from comin’ home to you. I promise you that. I done made it through too much to let these motherfuckers take my freedom again.”

“Baby, please promise me you won’t do nothin’ to mess this up. I need you here. I need you home.” You frowned, Terry remained silent allowing you to vent because he knew this was becoming harder everyday for you to cope with. You swallowed hard, throat tight.

“I just…” You hesitated, then admitted softly, “I just need you here. I don’t want anything messin’ this up. My 28th birthday… Terry, all I want is you.”

“I know, ma. Trust me, I know.” His voice softened, turning serious. “You the only thing keepin’ me sane in here. The only thing keepin’ me goin’. I promise you, I ain’t lettin’ nothin’ get in the way of me comin’ home to you.”

“Okay,” you whispered. “I trust you.” You inhaled deeply, letting his words settle over you. 

“You got me for life baby,” He said assuring you, voice thick with emotion. “I swear to you, baby. If I gotta fight every damn day until that judge signs my release, I’ma do it. ‘Cause you worth it. We worth it.”

“You better mean that,” You whispered. Tears pricked your eyes, but you blinked them away.

“I do. And when I’m finally out, when I got you in my arms, I’ma make sure you never question that again.”

“I love you so much.” You exhaled shakily.

“I love you more, baby.” He bit his lip, feeling his heart speed up. 

“You swear you gonna come home to me, Terry?” You exhaled, stretching your legs out on the couch, your free hand absently trailing over your bare thigh. 

“Baby, listen to me.” His voice came through the receiver, deep and unwavering. “I need you to hear me when I say this. Ain’t nothin’ stoppin’ me from comin’ home to you. I done wasted enough years locked up, dreamin’ about what it feel like to be free, to wake up next to a woman who actually give a damn about me. I ain’t lettin’ no CO, no hating-ass inmate, no system take that from me.”

You closed your eyes, soaking in his words. A small tear escaped your eyes as you just let him talk and calm all of your fears. 

“And you really think I’m about to let you be out here spendin’ another birthday without me? Nah, ma. That ain’t happenin’.” He let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through your chest. “Matter fact, you should start gettin’ ready now, ‘cause soon as I step through that door, I’m givin’ you somethin’ to celebrate.”

“Oh yeah? What you givin’ me, Terry?” A slow smile spread across your lips. 

“Ain’t it obvious? My last name, first of all.” He stated matter of factly. 

“Boy, stop playin’.” Your breath caught in your throat.

“Who playin’?” He challenged. “You really think I been doin’ all this talkin’, dreamin’ about you, makin’ plans, just to be out here on some casual shit? Nah, baby. You my woman. And when I get home, I’m puttin’ a ring on that pretty lil’ finger. You ain’t gon’ be nobody else’s but mine.”

Heat spread through your chest, settling deep in your belly. He always had a way of making you feel claimed, but this? This was different. This felt all too real and that he was promising you the moon and the stars and would actually reach up in the damn sky and get it for you. 

“Terry…” You purred slightly. 

“Say it again,” He murmured, voice dropping to that low, dangerous octave that always did something to you. “Say my name just like that.”

“Terry.” Your lips parted, slowing your words down for him. 

“Mmm,” He groaned. “That’s what I wanna hear every morning, every night. That’s what I wanna hear when I’m makin’ love to you, when I’m in it so deep you forget how to say anything else.”

“You tryna kill me, huh?” You sucked in a breath, your thighs pressing together instinctively. 

“Nah, ma. Just tryna remind you who you belong to.” He smirked, licking his lips. 

You chewed your lip, heart pounding against your ribs. The thought of him finally being here, of feeling him, touching him, owning him in the flesh—it was almost too much.

“Terry…” You started, voice soft, hesitant.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He adjusted the phone on his ear, eyebrows furrowing. You hesitated a moment afraid to tell him what’s really been on your mind. Afraid he wouldn’t understand but truth was Terry was more than understanding when it came to you. 

“I just… I keep thinking about what’s gonna happen once you’re really here. Like, when it’s not just phone calls and emails. When it’s real. When it’s us.” You honestly confessed, sighing. You heard a brief pause making your stomach tighten out of angst. You held your breath afraid he’d be upset but after a few seconds, he then spoke gently. 

”That’s what you scared of?” He asked, voice soft. 

You swallowed. “Not scared, just… it’s gonna be different. You been inside since you were 18, Terry. That’s—” You did the math in your head, stomach twisting. “Seventeen years. That’s a long time.”

“I know,” He said simply. “You think I don’t know that? Every damn day, I been countin’ down to this moment. I know it’s gon’ be an adjustment. I ain’t naive to that, baby. But what I do know is that I want this. You. I ain’t spent two years fallin’ in love with you for nothin’. And I damn sure ain’t finna let somethin’ as small as a transition period shake me.”

You exhaled, nodding even though he couldn’t see you. “I just want you to be happy, Terry.”

“I am happy, ma. You make me happy.” He professed from his heart, making your heart squeeze and stomach flutter. 

“Now,” He continued, voice laced with that familiar hunger. “Can we get back to what I was sayin’? ‘Cause I still got a whole list of things I plan to do to you soon as I get out.”

“Oh yeah? Go ‘head then, baby. I’m listenin’.” Your stomach flipped.

Terry exhaled through the receiver, the sound slow and deliberate. “Aight, so… First thing I’m doin’ soon as I step through that door? I’m droppin’ my bag, pullin’ you close, and kissin’ you like I been starvin’ for it.”

“Mmmm.” You bit your lip, already picturing the scene.

“Ain’t gon’ be no soft, sweet shit neither. Nah,” He rumbled. “I’m talkin’ about deep, wet, tongue all in your mouth, my hands locked around that waist, pullin’ you so tight you feel my dick pressin’ up against you.”

“Damn, Big Daddy. Can I at least take my heels off first?” You let out a breathy laugh.

“Hell nah,” He said smoothly. “Matter fact, leave ‘em on. I want you just like that. Fresh off work, tight lil’ skirt ridin’ up, them pretty ass legs wrapped ‘round my waist while I pin you up against the door.”

“Oh shit..” Your entire body heated at the image. You had to fan yourself, and cross your legs to avoid any wetness seeping out. 

“You know how long I been dreamin’ about that, baby?” His voice dropped an octave, turning into something dark, possessive. “Seventeen years. Seventeen years I been locked in this hellhole, surrounded by nothin’ but concrete and steel, knowin’ I ain’t got a real woman to touch, to taste, to claim. And then you came along…”

“B-Baby..” A soft gasp slipped from your lips. You squeezed your thighs shut tighter, already soaking your panties. 

“And now all I can think about is how you gon’ feel underneath me. How soft your skin is. How good you smell. How sweet you taste.” He growled lowly in your ear. 

“Shit.” You cursed, shifting on the couch, thighs pressing together.

“Mmm,” He hummed knowingly. “You wet for me, ain’t you?”

“Terry—” You swallowed.

“Nah, don’t try to play it off now,” He interrupted. “I know you, ma. I know you sittin’ there, grippin’ that phone tight, breathin’ all heavy, body heatin’ up just listenin’ to me talk. I don’t even need to be there to know how bad you want me.”

“You lucky you locked up.” You let out a shaky breath, tilting your head back against the couch. 

“Lucky? Nah, baby. Unlucky. ‘Cause if I was home right now, I’d have you laid out, ass up, back arched, moanin’ my name so loud the neighbors call the cops.”He chuckled, voice dripping with amusement.

“Boy, stop!” You laughed, shaking your head. “You talk all that shit, I hope you got the stamina to back it up.”

Terry clicked his tongue. “Oh, you doubtin’ me? That’s crazy. Lemme find out my baby think I ain’t gon’ put in work.”

“I mean, it has been a long time, Big Papa,” You teased.

“Aight,” He drawled, tone dangerous. “Keep playin’ with me. You gon’ be beggin’ me to let you breathe when I’m done with you.”

Your stomach flipped at the way he said it, so smooth and confident like he had zero doubt in his ability to back up every single word. The next few hours passed in a blur, the two of you tangled in conversation like it was your own little world. Terry told you about the meals he was craving—real food, not that processed mess they served on metal trays. He wanted collard greens, mac and cheese, cornbread, fried chicken, all made by you. “I need a home-cooked meal, baby. Something made with love,” He said, his voice full of longing. You laughed and promised to have a whole spread waiting for him. Then the conversation shifted to the small things—how he couldn’t wait to sleep in a real bed, how he wanted to go outside at night just to feel the wind on his face without fences in the way, how he wanted to sit on the couch with you and watch a movie with your legs draped over his lap. “Shit like that, ma,” He murmured. “The simple stuff. That’s what I miss the most.”

And you listened, hanging onto his every word, feeling your heart swell with each confession. The world had taken so much from him, stripped him of so many years, but somehow, he still had softness in him. He still had love to give. You found yourself telling him about all the things you wanted to do together, too—how you wanted to take him out to eat at a real restaurant, go on a drive late at night just because, lay up with him on a Sunday morning while the smell of breakfast filled the apartment. The more you talked, the more the reality of him coming home settled deep inside you. “You really gon’ take care of me, huh?” he asked, his voice low and full of something tender. “You damn right,” you whispered. “Somebody gotta make up for all that time you lost.”

If someone had told you years ago that you’d fall in love with a man behind bars, you would’ve laughed in their face. You always wanted love, prayed for it even, but you never imagined it would come in the form of Terry Richmond—a man with a past heavier than most, a man who had seen the worst parts of life and still found a way to hold onto his soul. He was the most fascinating, most alluring man you’d ever known, and you had never been more open with anyone in your life. You craved him in ways that scared you sometimes. You wanted to be the one to feed him, to run him a hot bath and wash years of struggle off his skin. You wanted to rub his shoulders, his chest, his back, to remind him that he was human, that he was home. And the way he talked to you, the way he poured into you, made you feel like you were already his sanctuary.

After you finally got off the phone, you moved into your nighttime routine, taking your time washing your face, patting your skin dry, smoothing your serums in like a ritual. You stared at yourself in the mirror, thinking about how your life was about to change. In just a few days, he’d be here, in your space, in your bed, in your life outside of those prison walls. As you reached for your bonnet and wrapped it securely around your head, your phone buzzed on the counter. FaceTime. Mama. You sighed, knowing she’d scold you if you didn’t answer, so you slid your thumb across the screen and propped the phone up.

“Hey, Mama,” You greeted, already bracing yourself.

“Hey, baby,” She said, peering at you through the screen. “Just callin’ to say goodnight and check on you before you went to bed.”  

“I’m alright , Mama. Just gettin’ ready for bed. Doing my usual routine.” You smiled. 

“Mm-hmm,” She hummed, then her face lit up. “Oh! Guess who I ran into today? You remember Kiana Perkins from high school?”

You frowned, digging through your memory. “Kiana Perkins… oh yeah, the one who used to run track?”

“Yes, her! Baby, she married now, got two babies, livin’ all happy with her husband. She showed me pictures and everything. And I just… I don’t know, baby, it got me thinkin’.” She started in on you. 

“Mama—” You groaned internally.

She held up a hand. “I know what you ‘bout to say, but hear me out. You not gettin’ any younger, baby. I just want you to have somebody. You always been my dumplin’, my soft-hearted baby, and I just—” She sighed. “I just want you to be loved, baby. I want somebody to take care of you for once.”

You bit your lip, heart squeezing at her words, but she didn’t know. She didn’t know that you did have somebody. That you had Terry. That soon, you wouldn’t be coming home to an empty bed anymore. You leaned back against the bathroom counter, swallowing the lump in your throat as your mother continued, her voice full of concern. 

“You know, I just don’t want you to end up like me, raising a family all on your own. You’ve got so much to offer, baby, don’t let it go to waste.” She paused, waiting for you to respond, but you were caught in a whirlwind of emotions. You wanted to tell her the truth, but you couldn’t—not yet. Terry was still behind those walls, and the world wasn’t ready for your truth. Not yet.

“I hear you, Mama,” You said softly, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “But I’m good. I’m happy with how things are right now.”

She eyed you, her brow furrowing, but she didn’t push it. “Alright,” she finally said, her tone softening. “Just don’t wait too long, baby. Time don’t wait for nobody.”

“I won’t, Mama. Promise,” You replied, though you knew the promise wasn’t to her. It was to yourself. You weren’t going to waste any more time. The conversation moved on, and you couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for not telling her about Terry. She didn’t know that every night, you fell asleep with thoughts of him, that his voice had become the lullaby you never knew you needed. You thought about his touch, his words, the way he made you feel like you were the only woman in the world. But for now, it was a secret. Your secret. You wrapped up the call with your mother, promising to be at Sunday dinner over the weekend, and hung up. The air felt thick now, like the weight of your own desires had settled in your chest. You finished getting ready for bed, your mind racing with thoughts of Terry, wondering if he was thinking about you too, wondering how much longer you’d have to wait before he was finally home. As you slipped under the

covers, your mind drifted to your happy place and that was Terry. Eventually after saying a quick silent prayer for him and his safety like you did every night, you finally went to sleep. 

The morning light seeped through the blinds, casting long golden streaks across your bedroom. You lay there for a moment, tangled in your silk sheets, staring at the ceiling with a heavy mind. The anticipation sat on your chest like a weight. Today could be the day you got answers—real answers—about Terry’s release. No more guesswork, no more waiting in limbo. Either he’d be home in time for your birthday, or he wouldn’t. And if it was up to you, there wouldn’t be a wouldn’t. Your phone vibrated on the nightstand, shaking you from your thoughts. The number was unfamiliar, but you knew who it had to be before you even swiped to answer.

“Hello?” Your voice was groggy, thick with sleep, but there was an urgency beneath it.

“Good morning, this is Michael Walker, Terry Richmond’s attorney.” The voice on the other end was smooth, professional, but you caught that slight edge—like he was bracing himself for a conversation you might not want to have. “I wanted to give you an update on his case. Do you have a moment?”

“Of course. What’s the update?” You pushed yourself upright, resting your back against the headboard.

Michael exhaled. “So here’s where we are. We’re still waiting on the judge’s final decision regarding his release. As you know, we’ve been pushing hard for full release instead of parole, but the system moves at its own pace. Right now, it’s looking like one of two things will happen—either the judge will sign off on his release, and he’ll be free to come home, or he’ll be granted parole with conditions.”

Your stomach twisted at the word “conditions.” That could mean anything. A curfew. Mandatory check-ins. Restrictions on where he could go, what he could do. You wanted Terry free—not still tangled in the system’s web.

“Is there a chance he’ll be home by my birthday?” You asked, your voice smaller than you intended.

Michael hesitated. That damn hesitation. You hated it. “That’s what we’re aiming for,” He said finally. “But it’s all in the judge’s hands. We’re doing everything we can to make it happen, but we need to be realistic.”

Your fingers tightened around the phone. “I just… I need him home.” The words left you before you could stop them, more vulnerable than you wanted to sound.

“I get it,” Michael said, and for the first time, there was something softer in his tone. “But here’s the thing—you need to make sure Terry understands how important it is for him to stay in line right now. He’s close. So damn close. But if he gets into it with the COs, if he so much as breathes wrong in there, it could delay everything. Or worse.”

A lump formed in your throat. Terry had been through hell in that prison. You knew how hard it was for him to bite his tongue, to play the game when the guards disrespected him just for breathing. You also knew how much some of those inmates hated to see another Black man about to touch freedom. Envy was a dangerous thing.

“I’ll talk to him,” You said firmly. “I’ll make sure he knows.”

“Good,” Michael replied. “I’ll keep you posted on any updates. Until then, just keep him focused on what’s waiting for him on the outside.”

And that’s exactly what you planned to do. Because he was coming home. To you. To the life y’all had spent two years dreaming up. And you weren’t about to let anything or anyone take that away. The weight of everything that needed to be done before Terry came home sat on your shoulders like a mix of excitement and pressure. There was so much to prepare, so much to buy, so much to perfect before your man walked through that door and took his rightful place in your life. Clothes, toiletries, shoes, cologne—he was stepping into a world he hadn’t been a part of since he was barely legal, and you were determined to make sure he had everything he needed to start fresh. And then there was you. Your own upkeep was just as important. You wanted to look good good for him. A fresh Brazilian wax so your skin was baby smooth, eyebrows snatched, lashes full and fluttery, and your hair? Oh, that had to be flawless—not just for your birthday but because you already knew he was going to have it all over the place by the end of the night. You could already hear the headboard knocking, already feel his breath on your skin, already picture the way he’d grip you like he was making up for lost time. The thought alone made your stomach tighten with anticipation.

But beyond all the surface-level preparation, there was a deeper feeling swirling inside you. Letting a man you’d only seen through a screen and heard through a receiver move into your home was a huge step. Some would call it crazy. Hell, a part of you knew it was risky, but love had never been about playing it safe. And with Terry? It had never felt like a risk. It felt right. He was your soulmate—plain and simple. The man you wanted to

wake up to, fall asleep with, build a family with. You’d spent two years loving him from a distance, and now, you were stepping into a reality where he was yours in every way. You weren’t naive to the adjustments that would come with it, but you also weren’t afraid. He was worth it.

With a stretch and a soft sigh, you finally pulled yourself out of bed, the silk of your nightgown clinging to your curves as you padded across your bedroom. It barely covered your ass, the hem rising with each step, and you lazily reached for your robe, wrapping it around you before making your way into the kitchen. The house was still, quiet, but soon, it would be filled with his presence. Him walking around shirtless, his deep voice filling up every room, his scent lingering on the furniture. You couldn’t wait. As you reached for the fridge, your eyes landed on the Polaroid photo of him taped to the door—one of the few glimpses of him outside of a call or a video chat. He had sent it during one of the rare inmate photo days, his expression serious but his eyes still burning with something that made your stomach flip. Damn, you fine. You ran a finger over the image, smiling to yourself before pulling out the eggs and milk.

The one thing people probably wouldn’t understand was why you had never visited him in prison. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to. God knew you had begged to. But Terry? Terry was territorial to his core. It had taken months of back-and-forth, of pleading and arguing, before you finally accepted that he wasn’t going to let you step foot in that visiting room. He didn’t want no prison guards or inmates looking at his woman—studying you, lusting after you, imagining things about you that only he was allowed to. You belonged to him, and the thought of other men—especially those locked up with him—laying their eyes on you sent him into a rage he didn’t even try to hide. It wasn’t just possessiveness; it was protection. He had seen too many things go left in that place, and the last thing he wanted was for you to be a part of any of it. So, you let it go, trusting that the day would come when you wouldn’t have to love him from a distance. That day was almost here.

You were in the middle of whisking the batter for your waffles when your phone vibrated on the counter. Without hesitation, you snatched it up, already knowing who it was.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Terry’s deep, raspy voice sent a warmth down your spine. His morning voice was dangerous.

“Mmm, good morning, baby,” You hummed, tucking the phone between your ear and shoulder as you continued mixing. “How’d you sleep?”

“Would’ve slept better with you underneath me,” He murmured, the smirk in his tone evident. “What my baby got planned for today?”

You bit your lip, smiling. “Just a quick Target and BJ’s run to stock the house up for you, then I gotta get my nails done. Oh, and I gotta swing by the post office to pick up my bundles that came in.”

He chuckled, low and knowing. “Mmm, you tryna get fine for Big Daddy?”

“Mmhmm.” You giggled, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t see you.

“Damn, girl…” His voice dropped a little lower, and you could almost see him licking his lips on the other end. “Ima eat that pussy like crazy, baby girl.”

Your breath hitched, a heat sparking between your thighs. “Terry!” You squealed, laughing. “Stop being nasty!”

“Nah, I’m deadass serious.” His tone was dark, full of hunger. “You don’t even know what you got coming.”

You took a steadying breath, trying to shake off the goosebumps crawling up your skin. “Listen, nasty man, we need to talk.” Your tone shifted, getting serious. “Your attorney called me this morning. We need to discuss what he told me.”

“What he say?” There was a pause before he answered with a serious tone. 

You exhaled. “Baby…” You gripped the phone tighter, staring at the batter as if it had the answers. “It’s about your release.”

Terry was silent for a moment, and you could feel the shift in his energy through the phone. That easy, teasing tone from before was gone, replaced by something heavier—something cautious.

“What about it?” His voice was lower now, tight with restraint.

You sighed, setting the whisk down and gripping the edge of the counter. “He said they’re still waiting on the judge to sign off, and it could go either way. Either parole or full release.” You paused, running your tongue over your lips. “I asked if you’d be home by my birthday, and he said that’s what they’re pushing for, but the judge has to approve it first and it appears the judge is taking their sweet ass time. Same shit you told me last night.” 

“Man… I been waiting years for this moment. If they try to stall this shit…” Terry sucked his teeth, exhaling sharply through his nose.

“Baby, don’t even put that energy in the air,” You cut in quickly, gripping the phone. “It’s gonna happen. You just gotta hold tight.”

“I’m tryna hold tight, ma, but you don’t understand. I been locked down since I was eighteen. Half my life. I done played by they rules, kept my nose clean, did everything I was supposed to do. And now, when it’s finally my time to touch down, they wanna drag they feet?” His frustration was raw, and you didn’t blame him one bit.

“That’s why we gotta be smart about this,” You soothed, lowering your voice. “Your attorney said you need to walk a fine line, Terry. These COs and some of them inmates? They don’t want to see you win, baby. You getting out means they lose power over you. And if you let ‘em get under your skin, if you give them any reason to stall this—”

“I know, baby,” He gritted, cutting you off. “I ain’t stupid.”

“I never said you were,” You softened, biting your lip. “But you know they’ll do anything to keep a black man locked up. You know that. You can’t afford to slip.”

Another deep sigh. “I just wanna be with you, ma,” He admitted, his voice quieter now, the vulnerability cutting through all the frustration. “That’s all I been holding on to. You. Us. The life we ‘bout to have.”

“And you will be with me, Terry. Soon. I promise.” Your heart clenched, and you closed your eyes for a second.

“You the only thing keeping me sane right now, baby,” He muttered. “You really are.”

“And you the only man I want. Ain’t nothing gon’ change that.” You swallowed hard, that warmth creeping back into your chest.

He went quiet for a beat, then, “Damn, you really love me, huh?”

“Boy, you already know.” You chuckled, shaking your head.

“Say it,” He murmured.

“I love you, Terrance Richmond.” You bit your lip, smiling. 

A deep exhale came through the line, like those words alone were enough to ground him. “I love you too, ma. More than you even know.”

“You better love me with your fine self.” You giggled, continuing to whisk the batter. He chuckled lowly, the sound making your ears perk up at the nostalgic sound.

“You know I want a baby soon as possible, right? Just like we talked about.” Terry’s voice dipped even lower, that familiar edge of possession curling around his words. 

“I know, baby.” You bit your lip, warmth spreading through your belly at the certainty in his tone.

“Nah,” He pressed. “I mean, soon as I get home, I’m filling you up. I ain’t playing.”

A giggle bubbled out of you. “Well, that’s good to know,”  You teased, twisting a strand of hair between your fingers. “Because I already got off my birth control, and I’m ovulating real soon.”

Silence. Then a sharp inhale from Terry. “You serious?”

“Mmhmm.” A smirk played on your lips 

“Good,” He growled. “‘Cause I ain’t pulling out. I want you pregnant, mama. You carrying my son or my baby girl. I already see it.”

A deep shudder rolled through you at the sheer conviction in his voice. There was no hesitation, no doubt—he wanted this, just like you did. Now you knew having a baby before a ring wasn’t the most conventional thing. You were raised better than that, taught that marriage first was the way to go, that being someone’s “baby mama” wasn’t the move. But Terry? He wasn’t that type of man. This wasn’t some half-thought-out, heat-of-the-moment decision. You knew exactly what you were signing up for. From the moment you told him you wanted his baby, he made it crystal clear—both you and that child would have his last name. There would be no question, no hesitation. You weren’t about to be just someone’s BM. You were his woman, his future wife.

The plan was already in motion—soon as he got out, y’all were hitting the courthouse and making it official. No long engagement, no drawn-out wedding planning stress. He wanted to be your husband immediately. And once he was settled, once he was back on his feet, working and bringing in real money, then he’d give you that big wedding, the

one with the flowers, the dress, the family all gathered to watch you walk down the aisle. But for now? The paper, the commitment, you—that’s what mattered most to him.

It wasn’t like you weren’t set up already. You made damn good money, and your degree in business administration had you sitting pretty in a high-paying corporate consulting job, helping multi-million-dollar firms streamline their operations. Your salary was more than enough to hold things down while Terry got back on his feet, and you’d already mapped out a business plan to help him reintegrate. Finding a job after doing seventeen years inside wasn’t easy, but you had resources, connections, a plan. You weren’t just bringing him home—you were making sure he stayed home. You were building a life with this man, and every step of it felt right.

“You think your family gon’ like me?” Terry exhaled through the phone, his deep voice softening just a little. Your smile, bright and easy just seconds ago, slowly faded. It was a fair question. A real one. But it wasn’t an easy one to answer. You knew your mama. Sweet, nurturing, and warm when she wanted to be, but judgmental as hell. A devout Christian woman—saved, sanctified, and filled with the Holy Ghost. She wasn’t fond of anything remotely sinful, and Terry… well, Terry was the walking definition of sinful.

There was no denying he was a fine-ass man. That wasn’t the issue. Standing tall at 6’3”, with those piercing hazel eyes that seemed to shift between ocean-gray and a stormy blue-green depending on the light. Rich, light caramel skin that deepened into a golden bronze in the summer but softened into a fairer hue in the colder months. A strong, chiseled jawline that made him look both dangerous and regal. His lips? Plump, full, always looking like they were ready to be kissed—or used for something far nastier. His short-cropped curly fro was just long enough to grab, and those thick, corded muscles? Yeah. His time behind bars didn’t just sculpt his body—it turned him into a damn statue, cut from flesh instead of marble. His tattoos, inked along his thick arms, added to his edge. Especially that sleeve—his latest one, a masterpiece he got done while inside.

He was the kind of man that turned heads when he walked into a room. The kind that made women cross their legs and bite their lip. But he wasn’t the “good, God-fearing man” your mother had envisioned for you. Terry was the complete opposite. And yet, his heart was the purest thing about him. Despite his past, despite the anger and the hurt buried deep in his soul, he was a good man. A gentle soul trapped in an exterior so hard, so intimidating, most people never got to see the real him.

You inhaled sharply, trying to find the right words. “Baby, I gotta be honest with you.”

“Mmhmm?” His voice was calm. 

You sighed. “I don’t know. My mama… she can be a bit much. And the fact that I’ve been hiding this—hiding us—for the past two years? Oh, she gon’ have a fit. And my sister? Whew, she gon’ have a mouth full too. You’d probably have better luck with my aunties than my own mama.”

Terry chuckled, a deep, warm sound that made your stomach flutter. “I get it, baby. I do.” His voice was soft, understanding. “But I ain’t going nowhere. She can side-eye me, throw oil on me, pray over me ‘til she blue in the face—I’m still gon’ be here. And I’ma do whatever I can to make her love me. To make her see I ain’t some monster. ‘Cause I want this, ma. I want us. I want your family to be my family, too.”

That made you smile. A big one. The kind that deepened your dimples and warmed you from the inside out. But there was something else weighing on you. Something heavy. Something you knew Terry wouldn’t want to talk about, but you had to ask.

You hesitated before carefully pushing forward. “Baby… you gon’ reach out to your mama once you’re free?”

“Nah, Y/N. I’m not.” He answered, his voice, tight and clipped. 

You swallowed. “Baby—”

“Ain’t like she gave a fuck about me in the first place,” he cut you off, his voice colder now. “I’m in here ‘cause of her. You know that.”

“I know. I do. But, baby… you gotta forgive. Not for her. For you. You need peace, Terry. You deserve that.” You exhaled slowly. His breathing was heavier now, like he was trying to keep himself from slipping into that dark place. You hated when he went there. When the bitterness and resentment started to eat away at him.

“I got peace, baby. I got you.” His voice softened just a little, but you could still hear the hurt beneath it. “That’s all I need.”

“I hear you baby.” You softly replied. You decided to respect his wishes and let the conversation about his mother rest. He had been through enough, and you weren’t about to push him into something he wasn’t ready for. Instead, you brightened up, shifting the energy as you let out a little squeal.

“Oh! Baby, my birthday dress came!” You announced excitedly, twirling a loose curl around your finger. “I can’t wait for you to see me in it.”

Terry’s smirk was damn near audible through the phone. “Oh yeah?” His voice dropped an octave, turning rich and smooth like warm honey. “That’s cool, baby… ‘cause I can’t wait to take that shit off you.”

“It is literally nine in the morning, and you already on go.” You chuckled, shaking your head.

“Because I got this pretty, brown-eyed woman waiting on me,” He murmured. “And I can’t stop staring at her picture, picturing our life together beyond these walls. I just need my woman bad.” He let out a breath, voice thick with longing. “I wanna turn your body inside out, have you laid up exhausted, and then make you breakfast in the morning while you recover, boo.”

“Leave the cooking to me, Richmond. Don’t need you burning our house up.” You smirked, scratching your head. You hadn’t even realized you said it like that—our house—until the words left your lips. But Terry caught it instantly. His heart swelled, warmth spreading through his chest like wildfire.

“Our,” He repeated, grinning through the phone. “I like the sound of that. And don’t worry, baby. I could never destroy anything of ours.” His words settled over you like a warm embrace, making your stomach flutter.

Terry cleared his throat after a beat. “So, your girls still takin’ you out for your birthday?”

“Mmhmm,” You confirmed, stretching lazily. “We’re hitting this grown and sexy lounge. Got a section, a table, should be real nice. I just wanted something low-key. Nothing too crazy.”

Terry hummed in approval. “That’s what’s up. You think your girls gon’ accept me?”

You snorted. “They’re gonna love you. Especially Deja. Sonya, though… she might take a minute. She’s Miss Fake Bougie, swearing she a real housewife of Atlanta. But deep down, she’s chill. Just real protective of me.”

Terry let out a low chuckle. “Aight, sounds like a plan, baby girl. Long as they ain’t plotting to run me off, we cool.”

“Never that.” You smiled, resting your chin in your hand, leaning on the countertop.

“Mm. Aight, tell me this, then—what’s the first meal I’m getting when I come home?” He inquired, with a devious smirk. 

“Well, I was thinking… me.” Your voice became real seductive, tilting your head. 

Terry’s laughter rumbled through the phone, low and sinful. “Ain’t no thinking, that’s a guarantee. But just to be safe, cook us something for after, ‘cause we gon’ need the strength.”

“Terry, you so damn silly.” You burst out laughing, shaking your head at him.

“You love it,” He teased, and he wasn’t wrong. Because behind all that reserved, stoic energy, Terry Richmond was a damn goofball at heart. And he was your goofball. The conversation between you and Terry continued, the two of you just vibing, killing time before you had to finally pull yourself away and get in the shower. He told you about a wild dream he had last night—some crazy mix of old memories and future fantasies of the two of you together.

“Man, I swear, I had the realest dream, baby,” He said, voice lazy and deep. “We was laid up in this big-ass house, had the baby in the crib next to us… you was wearin’ my T-shirt, lookin’ all sexy with your lil’ bonnet on, and I just kept pullin’ you closer, not even tryna let you sleep.”

“So you gon’ keep me up even in your dreams?” You laughed, rolling onto your side, twirling the bedsheets between your fingers. 

“Hell yeah,” He said without hesitation. “I been starvin’, baby. Soon as I touch down, I’m eatin’ you up, kissin’ on you, makin’ love to you every chance I get. You gon’ be sick of me.”

“Never that daddy,” You murmured, feeling warmth spread through your body at just the thought of how it would feel to finally have him home.

“Bet,” He chuckled, then let out a deep sigh. “I just be sittin’ in this cell picturing it, picturing us—you in the tub, all soaped up, candles lit, slow jams playin’… me right behind you, holdin’ you close, runnin’ my hands all over that soft ass skin, kissing up your neck… licking on your nipples..”

Your breath hitched, already envisioning the exact same thing. You had put together a playlist for his arrival—nothing but the smoothest 90s and early 2000s R&B, songs that made you wanna melt into somebody’s arms.

“You wanna know what I was thinking about?” You asked, biting your lip.

“What, baby?”  He feigned innocence.

“How you gon’ be sneakin’ into the shower while I’m tryna get ready for work,” you giggled. “Talkin’ about, ‘lemme wake you up the right way’—like I don’t have places to be!”

Terry laughed but then hummed in approval. “Shit, I am waking you up the right way. Gon’ have you walkin’ into work with a smile so big, they gon’ know somebody put it there.”

Your stomach flipped at the thought, heat rising to your cheeks. You were so gone for this man. “You just wait, Richmond,”You teased, sighing dramatically. “You about to be a full-time distraction.”

“That’s my plan, baby.” He grinned through the phone. 

After a few more minutes of sweet talk, you finally sighed. “Alright, I need to get in the shower before I lay here and talk to you all day.”

“I ain’t stoppin’ you,” Terry teased. “I just wanna hear the water runnin’. Let me close my eyes and imagine it.”

“Boy, bye!” You laughed, shaking your head before reluctantly hanging up.

—

The hot water cascaded over your skin as you leaned against the shower wall, letting the warmth soak into your muscles. Your mind was racing with all the intimate moments you’d been daydreaming about since Terry’s release date became a real possibility. Late nights soaking in the tub together, his strong arms wrapped around you, his lips trailing along your shoulder. Waking up to him pulling you into his body, whispering in your ear before making love to you first thing in the morning. The idea of sharing a home, a bed, a life with him made your stomach flip with anticipation. You had been living alone for so long, moving on your own schedule, answering to no one. But now, there would be him. His things mixed with yours, his scent lingering in your sheets, his presence filling the empty spaces. And you couldn’t wait.

Once you finished luxuriating, you stepped out, wrapping yourself in a plush towel. You took your time getting dressed—pulling on a pair of black leggings that hugged your curves and a Nike sports bra, slipping into your most comfortable sneakers. You tied your hair into a sleek bun, then grabbed a baseball cap to shield your eyes from the Georgia sun. After grabbing your Louis Vuitton Speedy 30, you were just about to head out the door when your phone rang and you saw it was Sonya.

You sighed before answering, already bracing yourself. “What’s up, girl?”

“Mm, what you got going on today?” She asked, her tone full of suspicion, like she knew you were up to something.

“Just about to make a quick Target and BJ’s run,” You said casually, hoping she’d just let it go.

“Oh, perfect! I need to hit Target anyway! I’ll meet you there.” She stated. You internally cringed. Sonya didn’t know about Terry yet. And you definitely didn’t need her up in your cart asking a hundred questions about all the men’s products you were grabbing.

“Girl, I’m moving quick today,” You abruptly said, trying to throw her off. “Gotta be in and out, no time for browsing.”

“Please, you never just ‘run in’ anywhere,” Sonya scoffed. “I’ll keep up.”

“Sonya…” You huffed, rubbing your temple. 

“What?” She laughed. “Why you sound so stressed? You tryna move funny or somethin’?”

“You know I move funny, that ain’t new.”You let out a dry laugh. 

“Mhm, and that’s exactly why I’m coming.” She snickered. 

You sighed dramatically, knowing there was no way out of this now. “Fine, I’ll see you there,” You relented, already planning how you were going to strategically avoid letting her see all the things you were picking up for Terry. You hurried up and grabbed your car keys and your Stanley cup from your kitchen counter before heading right out the door to your car. You hit the unlock button on your key fob and heard the chirp. Sliding into the plush leather seat of your Mercedes-Benz, you place your Stanley cup in the cupholder before pressing the push-to-start button. The engine purrs to life, and before you can even adjust the air, the CarPlay screen lights up, immediately blasting the smooth, honeyed vocals of Maxwell’s “Fortunate” through the speakers.

Your heart leaps in excitement. “SING IT, MAXWELL!” You squeal, gripping the steering wheel and swaying your shoulders as if you’re right there on stage with him. 

This is your song. Terry’s song. The one he always sings to you over the phone—completely off-key but with so much passion, like he’s pouring every piece of himself into it. You can still hear him now—“I never sang a song with all my might…”—his deep, rough voice twisting the lyrics into something that sounds nothing like Maxwell, but you never cared. It was him. It was you. It was love. You pull out of the driveway, easing onto the streets of Atlanta, the sun gleaming against the hood of your Benz. The beat of the song wraps around you, filling every inch of the car with warmth. With one hand on the wheel and the other tapping rhythmically against your thigh, you let the city move around you, the skyline stretching high above as you feel the music, feel the love behind every lyric. Terry is coming home. Soon. And as Maxwell’s voice croons through the speakers, you let yourself dream—of slow dances in the living room, of his arms pulling you close as you sway to this very song, of him pressing soft kisses along your shoulder while mumbling the lyrics into your ear.You exhale, your lips curling into a soft, knowing smile. It’s only a matter of time.

Pulling into the Target parking lot, you let out a long, heavy sigh, gripping the wheel as you mentally prepared yourself for Sonya. You loved your girl—no doubt about it. Sonya was one of those ride-or-die friends who would cut up with you on a Saturday night and pray with you on Sunday morning. But she was also the kind of woman who didn’t know the meaning of boundaries. She always had to be up in the mix, tasting the flavor, giving unsolicited advice even when it wasn’t needed. And it wasn’t that you didn’t want to share Terry with your girls—because you did. He was your man, and you were proud of him.

But you wanted to make sure this was real. That this was happening. That he was actually going to be home before you started bragging and boasting about him to your family and friends. You couldn’t count how many times you’d gotten excited about a brotha, only for him to turn out to be a disappointment. And every time, you had to do the walk of shame, explaining to everyone that it didn’t work out. You hated the look of disappointment on your mother’s face, the I told you so smirk on your sister’s lips, and God forbid Sonya’s infamous, “I knew that nigga wasn’t shit.” speeches. And then there was Deja, who always chimed in with, “Girl, want me to get my cousin to kill him?”

You loved your girls, but the last two years had been a sacred kind of peace. You had cultivated this private, intense, deeply intimate relationship with Terry while he was behind bars, and there was something pure about keeping it just between the two of you. You knew that sometimes, outside influence could ruin a good thing, and you weren’t ready to share your world just yet. But if things aligned perfectly—if the odds were in your favor, if the judge signed off, and if God was looking out for you—then they would meet him the night of your birthday outing. You just hoped everything would fall into place. You hopped out of the car, grabbing your Louis Vuitton Speedy 30 from the passenger seat and slinging it over your arm. Just as you shut the door, you spotted Sonya standing near the entrance, her arms crossed, her stance already radiating irritation. You took a deep inhale, bracing yourself, then walked over, greeting her with a quick hug.

“Girl, what’s wrong with you?” You asked, noticing her sour expression.

“Chile, my damn hairstylist just sent me that infamous ‘Hey boo’ text, and I just know it’s about to be some bullshit.” Sonya sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes.

“That’s why I told you to stop going to her, Sonya. She’s unprofessional as hell and always canceling on you at the last minute.” You snorted and shook your head. 

“I know, I know,” She whined dramatically, throwing her hands up. “But girl, she know how to lay my damn wigs. She makes that lace look like scalp! I do not wanna go to nobody else!”

You laughed, grabbing a cart and rolling into the store with her. You weren’t even five steps inside before you gave her a knowing look and smirked. “I don’t even know why you waste your time getting them wigs laid, knowing Omar gon’ pull that shit right off your head and have your lace looking crazy by the end of the night.”

“You ain’t lying, girl. You really ain’t lying.” Sonya stuck her tongue out at you before giggling, clearly thinking about how wild her and her man got. 

You shook your head, laughing as you made your way toward the laundry aisle, grabbing detergent, fabric softener, and some cleaning products. You wanted the house to be

perfect for Terry’s homecoming—fresh sheets, the scent of lavender and vanilla in the air, everything spotless for his arrival.

As you reached for a bottle of Febreze, Sonya nudged you. “So… you excited for your birthday?”

“Yeah… I really am.” You smiled, biting your lip as you nodded. Truth be told you were more excited for Terry’s arrival than your own birthday. For as long as you could remember you weren’t the most excited to celebrate your birthday. To you, it was just another day and another reminder that you were leaving your glorious twenties and getting closer to hitting your dirty thirties. That is until Terry came into your life and shifted your perspective on life itself. He taught you that every birthday should be celebrated and that life is too short to not celebrate the breath in your lungs and waking up everyday. Especially with his circumstances and how his life got snatched from him because he chose to do the right thing and defend his mother’s honor against her abuser, but in the end it wasn’t so honorable and his dreams and young life got cut short with the snap of a finger. So this year you chose to have a better outlook on your birthday, thanks to your baby Terry. 

 You continued to move swiftly through Target, pushing your cart with concentration, mentally checking off everything Terry will need once he’s home. You start with the Dove Men+Care bar soap, grabbing a few packs because you know the fresh, clean scent will suit him. Next is the Old Spice body wash—the deep, rich, masculine fragrance makes you weak in the knees, so you know it’ll be perfect for him. You toss it in the cart, followed by men’s deodorant, mouthwash, and toothpaste—because even though you’ve never stood close enough to breathe him in, you already decided that your man will smell fresh, clean, and irresistible.

You head down the haircare aisle, running your fingers over the different bottles before settling on a moisturizing shampoo and conditioner. You know prison air is dry as hell, and you’re not about to have your man coming home with his hair brittle and neglected. A large jar of Palmer’s whipped cocoa butter goes into the cart next—you love how smooth and rich it feels against your skin, and you can already picture yourself rubbing it into his arms, his shoulders, his hands… making sure he’s soft and well taken care of. Just as you’re reaching for a pack of Dude Wipes, Sonya turns from the next aisle, glancing over at your cart. She tilts her head, her perfectly arched brows raising as she takes in all the men’s products sitting inside.

“Uh-uh. Who’s all this for?” She asks, crossing her arms. Your heart skips a beat.

“Oh!” You force out a laugh, thinking quick. “My sister’s in town with her fiancé, and they’re staying at my mom’s house. She needed some stuff to keep there for him.”

Sonya narrows her eyes for a second, then shrugs. “Oh okay, that makes sense. I was about to say, girl, you got a whole grown man’s starter kit in there.”

You laugh nervously, nodding as you grip the handle of your cart, pushing forward. Just when you think you’re in the clear, your phone buzzes in your purse. You glance down and see the caller ID: Terry’s lawyer. Your stomach instantly tightens. He already called earlier—so why is he calling again?

“Hey, hold on,” You tell Sonya, trying to keep your voice light. “I gotta take this real quick.”

“Cool, I’ll meet you at checkout.” Sonya waves you off, already distracted by something on the next shelf. Stepping out of the aisle, you answer, pressing the phone to your ear.

“Hello?” You answer, voice low. 

“We’ve got a problem,” His lawyer says, his voice urgent.Your body stiffens.

“What? What happened?” You held your breath. 

“There’s been an incident in the prison yard. Terry was involved.” He deeply sighs. Your heart  plummets straight to your ass because you told this nigga—.

“WHAT?!” You shout, loud enough that people around you turn their heads. You clamp a hand over your mouth, forcing yourself to breathe, to stay calm.

“I’m still gathering details,” His lawyer continues, “ But from what I’m hearing, there was some kind of altercation. If the judge catches wind of this, his release could be revoked… or at the very least, stalled.”

The words ring in your ears, drowning out the noise of the store. Revoked?! Stalled?!Your hands start to tremble on the cart handle, your vision blurring with tears. Just when you thought you were so close to having him home—just when everything was falling into place—here comes some bullshit.

“Please… just tell me he’s okay,” you whisper, your voice cracking. You swallow hard, gripping the phone tighter.

“I really don’t know. I’m working on it. I’ll call you back when I know more.” He sighed again, sounding defeated. Then the line goes dead, making you tear up. You stood frozen in the middle of Target, your world spinning, your stomach in knots. And just like that, everything you had been dreaming of, praying for, feels like it’s slipping right through your fingers.

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[saintobio]

blank canvas: the epilogue.

pairings. ryōmen sukuna, fem!reader

genre. past lovers, angst, opposites attract

tags/warnings. mentions of toxic relationships, purple hearts-ish themes, maybe some heartache

notes. 2.4k wc. i said it’ll come in a few days, but i had free time so here it issss!

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

TWO YEARS LATER

Tonight was Yuki and Choso’s going-away party. 

Their decision to migrate to another side of the world was because Yuki had always talked about wanting to live abroad, and so when Choso was offered a once-in-a-lifetime job opportunity in another country, it became the perfect chance for them to make that dream a reality.

So despite your apprehensions, you couldn’t miss the chance to see Yuki one last time and accepted her invitation to the party.

The evening was alive with laughter and chatter as their families and friends gathered to celebrate their bittersweet departure. Among the crowd, you spotted some familiar faces who exchanged greetings with the couple, as well as some strangers you had never seen before.

But one person was conspicuously absent. 

It had been two years since you had seen Sukuna, and the thought of potentially running into him again filled you with a strange mix of anticipation and dread. However, deep down, you knew he wouldn’t be there. There was no chance of him ever showing up because you hadn’t heard from him since that fateful night. The apartment you once shared together now housed a new tenant, and the tattoo shop across the street had transformed into a record store. Neither Yuki, nor Choso (even Yuuji), had mentioned anything about Sukuna since then, possibly avoiding any mentions of him to you out of his request. He had simply disappeared, evaporated from existence, leaving behind nothing but a fading memory.

As you scanned the room with a forlorn smile, your thoughts were interrupted by Yuki’s cheerful voice. “Y/N! So glad you could make it! I thought you weren’t gonna come, too.”

Your first instinct was to hug her tightly. “Of course, not! You know I can’t not see you before you go.”

“Aww.” She embraced you tighter before pulling away with a sad smile. “I’m gonna miss you so much. You’re like a little sister to me.” 

Indeed, and she was the big sister you never had. Things would feel different without her here, but you supported her decisions and would always wish her the best in her future endeavors. So, despite the distance you two would soon have, you gave her a reassuring pat on the back. “We can still keep in touch. And maybe, I’ll pay you a visit there, too.” 

“Honestly, I would love that!” she enthused, “Please do, even if I have to harass Getou and Gojou about it.” 

You chuckled as she mentioned the duo’s name and spent the next few minutes with you chatting for a bit, catching up with your life, talking about your future plans. It was amazing how much can change in two years, and how some things can also stay the same. Like your friendship. And this bond that you would never find with anyone else.

For now, the night was still young, and you knew Yuki still had many more guests to accommodate, so you didn’t want to take all of her time. Eventually she did excuse herself to greet more guests, and you found yourself standing by the kitchen island, absentmindedly stirring your cocktail.

As you stood in the corner of the room, surrounded by the chatter and laughter of the party, you felt a sudden jolt run through your body as loud voices boomed across the room. They were Yuuji and Choso’s exuberant greetings cutting through the air, drawing everyone’s attention, including yours.

“Nii-san!”

“There he goes, Mr. First Lieutenant!” 

Your eyes widened as you saw the figure they were addressing with playful salute—a man in a crisp military uniform, standing tall and confident. It took you a moment to recognize him, but when you did, your heart skipped a beat.

It was Sukuna.

He looked different, transformed almost, his demeanor more composed, his smile softer yet still retaining the undeniable aura of masculinity. He looked a lot more muscular than the last you remembered. His hair, now dyed back to its natural color, was neatly trimmed. You recognized that the uniform he wore was of the Japan Self-Defense Forces, adorned with badges and insignias that spoke of his achievements. The reckless, wild look in his eyes had been replaced by something steadier, more focused.

It wasn’t just the sight of him that made your heart skip a beat—it was how different he looked. 

“That’s so cool!” Yuuji raved about his older brother’s badges, his starry eyes genuinely intrigued at the sight of Sukuna in a uniform. 

Choso, on the other hand, was pulling him in a hug in an emotional jest. “Dammit. You said you couldn’t make it!” 

“Don’t cry now,” Sukuna teased, patting the younger brother’s back. He seemed to be genuinely having fun teasing his brothers. “Had to pull some strings. I was on duty, but do ‘ya think I’d let you go without seeing you?” 

You felt a pang of nostalgia in their interaction, but also recognized the visible difference in the way your ex-boyfriend spoke to others. He was genuinely happy. He was all smiles. He was the healthiest version of himself, both physically and emotionally.

It was clear to you that Sukuna had turned his life around, and it was evident that he was doing well in his field of work. The man you once knew, who had been consumed by his reckless way of life, was now standing tall and respected as an honorable member of the military.

When you said you had never met Sukuna again in your lifetime, that was true. Because the Sukuna you knew was no longer here. It was an entirely different man, changed for the better, just not for you. 

As if sensing your gaze, Sukuna turned and your eyes mirrored each other’s surprise. For a moment, the world around you seemed to fade away, as if you were characters in a movie screen seeing each other for the very first time. It was as though your eyes were the camera, and he was the actor. You could say you were starstruck, your heart thumping so loud that you could hear it vibrate through your ears. 

Two freaking years, and Sukuna still had that effect on you. 

You didn’t know what to do. You found yourself at a loss, the red cup in your hand now shaking from the sudden surge of anxiety. Your mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts, a kaleidoscope of heavy emotions, a tornado of nostalgic bliss, leaving you feeling adrift in a sea of memories. 

You wondered if Sukuna hated having to see you here. And if so, should you leave to spare yourself—or perhaps him—from any potential discomfort?

Caught in this internal struggle, you felt paralyzed, uncertain of what to do next. But then, you saw a flicker of recognition and regret in his eyes. 

Before you could even contemplate your next move, Sukuna was already excusing himself from his brothers. Their knowing looks exchanged in silence spoke volumes, indicating they were aware of where he was headed. The realization then hit you like a wave. Sukuna, your ex-boyfriend of two years, was coming toward you, and you were suddenly faced with a decision between confronting the past or making a quick escape.

“Y/N,” he greeted with a boyish grin, his voice deeper, more controlled. The bad boy persona he used to carry was completely gone. 

“Sukuna,” you replied, struggling to keep your voice steady, a complete opposite from his confidence.

There was a moment of awkward silence before he spoke again. “You look great.”

“Thanks,” you meekly replied, clearing your throat and gesturing to his uniform, “You, too. Military suits you. I never saw that coming.”

He smiled in agreement, seemingly happy about his current appearance. You had never seen this kind of bliss from him before, like he was filled with content and a sense of self-worth. He was proud, and truth be told, you were, too. 

“It’s been a good change. It gave me structure, purpose,” he paused, taking a red cup from the kitchen island nearby, “I finally got something ‘better’ to do with my life, huh?”

You smiled softly, not missing the implication of his last statement. “I’m happy for you. Really.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” 

“Mhmm.” 

The minutes that followed were some of the most agonizing of your life, not because of Sukuna, but because of the overwhelming awkwardness that enveloped the two of you. It felt as though you had nothing else to discuss, knowing full well that delving into your shared past was a territory you could never comfortably navigate. However, Sukuna, always the more vocal one in your relationship, had finally broken the silence.

“Do you…” he began, leaving you on edge, anticipating his question, “Do you wanna get some fresh air outside?” 

Right. And with a smile, you nodded. “Sure.” 

— —

You were grateful for the opportunity to escape the stifling atmosphere of the party and find some solace in the cool night air. Both of you were at the front porch, sitting over the pavement talking about anything but your past. 

Sukuna excitedly talked about his time in the military, where you learned that he had enlisted two years ago and joined the army. After enlisting, he quickly excelled in the rigorous training required for the Special Operations Group (SOG). It didn’t surprise you that his physical prowess, sharp intellect, and determination made him a standout candidate.

“I actually completed advanced courses in counter-terrorism, reconnaissance, and combat survival,” he shared, his gaze set on the clear starry night above you. “Oh, and last month, I was deployed on a high-stake mission overseas. We extracted hostages from a conflict zone. Remember the action movies we used to watch? It was exactly like that. It was fun, thrilling.” 

You listened intently, an elbow propped on your leg as you absorbed the enthusiasm in his stories. Pride and joy swelled in your heart as you heard him talk about something he was passionate about, because it was a stark contrast to the old Sukuna who wouldn’t have shown interest in these things. And this time around, you felt like you were infatuated again, but with the new him. 

“I’m really proud of you.” Longingness dripping from your voice. “Very proud. And you’re First Lieutenant, too? Wow.” 

The compliment seemingly made him blush, a sight so rare to see that you haven’t seen it throughout your relationship. “I wanted to become a better man.” 

You felt a squeeze in your heart. You recalled the words he said that night at the parking lot, of him telling you that he had his own insecurities, too. That he knew all along that your uncertainties about him were rooting from his way of life. That he was aware that he couldn’t give you the life you deserved. 

“Y/N.” Your name rolled off his tongue in an affectionate manner. He soon rose from his seat, prompting you to follow suit, before turning to face you. “I forgot to mention.”

You swallowed hard. “Yeah?”

His smile was sweet and genuine. “I’m engaged now.”

Oh.

Of course. 

What did you expect?

His words settled in your heart like a suffocating shroud. Despite the ache in your chest, you managed a polite nod, concealing the storm of emotions swirling inside you. But you couldn’t contain it—the damn tears that pooled in your eyes. Please, not now. You turned away, hoping to shield your reaction from him.

But it was all too late. 

He was already pulling you into an embrace, the familiarity in his warmth only making you weaker inside. “You are and will always be my greatest love,” he whispered into your ear, pressing his lips against your temple, “And also my biggest regret.”

Damn it. You covered your face with your hands, feeling ashamed of the tears streaming down your cheeks. What an absurd twist of fate. You could have gone about your day without encountering him again, yet here you were, shedding tears over the same man who had broken your heart two years ago.

“When I say regret,” he continued, cupping your cheeks and smiling at you lovingly. He ran his thumb across your cheeks, wiping your tears away. “I meant regret of not being that man for you. I didn’t treat you the way you deserved, or respected your boundaries like I thought I did.” Sukuna’s charm had you holding your breath still, too enamored by his beauty under the moonlight. He used to be a man of a few words, and now he didn’t shy away from pouring out his raw emotions. “I’m sorry I was two years too late. I’m sorry I had to let you go and be with someone else. But you and I know that it’s for the best.”

You weren’t crying because you wanted to get back together with him. You weren’t crying because he had promised marriage to someone else. You were crying because it felt like he was the one who slipped through your fingers, the one that got away, the one who could have been your forever if circumstances had aligned differently. It was the regret of a lost possibility, the ache of knowing that in another universe, you and him could have shared a lifetime together, untouched by the mistakes of the past.

He had dreams of making you his wife, dreams of having your children, dreams of growing old with you.

But the old Sukuna was dead, replaced by the new Sukuna who was happy and free from love’s toxicity. You realized it was time to let go. Time to bury the past and instead celebrate the future. 

“Congratulations on the engagement,” you offered your well wishes, pulling away slightly to meet his gaze with your tear-filled eyes. “I hope she doesn’t find you a handful.”

He let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “No, no. I have to behave or else I’m a dead man,” he joked. “She's in the army, too.”

“Well, I’m glad you met her, Sukuna. You deserve it,” you said, your voice filled with genuine warmth as you wiped your lachrymose eyes. 

Gratitude and comfort shone in his gaze. “And I’m glad you found your peace, Y/N. You always deserved better.”

You smiled in appreciation of his words as he helped you dust off your pants. Just then, your phone buzzed in your pocket, briefly taking your attention away from the current scene. “Uh, I think I need to go,” you hesitated, glancing back at the house. “But I think Yuki’s pretty busy.”

“It’s fine,” he assured. “Do you want me to call you a cab or?”

“No, it’s okay,” you replied, shooting him a grateful expression. “Satoru’s on his way to pick me up.”

He nodded, smiling. “Cool.” You were surprised when he offered his hand, a gesture to finally close whatever remained between you two. “It was nice seeing you, Y/N.”

You shook his hand and gave him a playful salute. “Likewise, First Lieutenant Ryomen Sukuna.”

As he returned to the party, immediately attacked by his friends, there was no hint of yearning or longing in him, as if the poignant exchange with his ex-girlfriend had never occurred. He was back in the scene in a fluid motion, laughing, catching up with his loved ones, telling stories about his life. No heartbreaks, no painful memories.

While as you stood there, knowing you had shared respect and love for each other, you were happy that there was a sense of closure in seeing Sukuna as the man he had become. You had both grown, both changed, and in that moment, you knew that your story, though painful, had led you two to where you needed to be. 

That your love’s canvas, once blank, now held colors to complete the portrait.

[anhesacardia]

Forbidden Promises

Chapter 2 (Series Masterlist )

Pairing: Modernau!Sukuna x Mother!Reader

Genre: Hidden Baby Trope

Summary: Reader opens up a bakery after running away from her three year relationship with Sukuna, effectively ghosting him and hiding away in the middle of the countryside. Unknown to Sukuna, reader also had a baby, and now is living peacefully until an unfateful meeting starts to pull her back into the life she so desperately escaped from.

Tw: none for now except that Reader is a mother, called mumma/momma, Hana is five years old, Toji being a warning of his own,

Wc: 1.7k

A/n: I’m still too lazy to make a masterlist (I lowkey have no idea how to lmao) But I only post fanfics on this account so rest assured the post before this will have chapter 1. Likes and Reblogs greatly appreciated!!!

You had never been more grateful for the barrage of office workers that always made it to your shop at 1pm daily, grateful that they were your main source of income but god was it tiring to give out twenty different kinds of bread to vulture like businessmen.

A weak smile found its way on your face as you sat your daughter on a stool behind the counter, groaning internally when Toji takes a seat down, ordering a cake you knew he wasn’t going to finish.

The corporate slaves ordered in bulk, putting it on the company card as you got out the pre wrapped pieces of bread, eying jealously at the cups of caffeine in their hands, god knows you could use one with the incoming headache you were about to have.

“Have a good day Mrs.Owner!”

One day you should really correct them, you aren’t married, never have been and you don’t think you will be in the future either. The group leaves the cafe after another 45 minutes, precious time where you got your daughter her hello kitty pouch back and sat down to think of what excuses you would give Toji, perhaps you could just stab him… blame it on an unfortunate accident or something..

You were snapped out of your thoughts when the devil himself slapped a few dollar bills on the counter, grinning fakely at you as he pointed with his thumb towards the kid,

“So who’s the kid?”

You push Hana to hide behind your legs, but her stubbornness and outspoken behavior which once you admired was currently getting cursed out in your head. You flash a tight smile to Sukuna’s errand boy,

“Get out if you’re done eating, I don’t indulge in private matters with my customers,”

Hana states up at the man, twirling a lock of her hair as she looks almost akin to bored,

“Mumma is he bothering you? Should I call the police? That’s what we should do right!,”

She looks proud of herself for remembering such an important rule and you melt patting her head softly as you smiled,

“Yes baby! That’s right, but he’s unfortunately not a bad man-,”

You turn to look back at Fushiguro, side eyeing him,

“Yet, so why don’t you run along and leave mumma to talk with the customers hmm?”

Hana nods enthusiastically, glancing one last time at the man before running away into the house,

The silence between you both stretches out for a good minute before he breaks it with a wolf whistle,

“Goddamn she looks just like him doesn’t he,”

He rubs his chin with a calloused hand, resting his arms on the high counter and an inch away from leaning against the glass display,

“Sit down Fushiguro, I’ll get us some tea,”

You accept what your fate has become, brewing two cups of tea and setting it down in front of the 30- something year old man,

“So.. how’s Sukuna doing,”

Toji raises an eyebrow at you, chuckling dryly as he took a sip of the tea, you pull a chair out, sitting down with the man as lunch rush slowed down,

“I’m not sure if that’s something you can ask about doll,”

You bite your lip, fiddling with your thumbs under the table as you sigh,

“Look- I don’t want any trouble okay. Don’t tell Sukuna about this- any of this. Where I live what I’m doing- one word and I’ll just disappear, I’ve done it once and I’m not afraid to do it again,”

You seethe out, glaring at Toji to even move a muscle,

“Huh, yeah whatever I don’t really care about that- it’s just,”

You raise an eyebrow as Toji looks off to the side,

“I got a kid of my own okay, don’t fucking pounce on me goddamn,”

The chair screeches under you as you get up, placing the finished cup of tea in the kitchen behind the counter,

“I expected you to get someone knocked up, just didn’t expect you to go through with it,”

You laugh darkly, wiping your hands down as you finish cleaning the cups and turning back to face Fushiguro,

“Don’t fucking-,”

He starts before rubbing his face exasperatedly,

“Just shut it. I’m not gonna say anything to Sukuna, was just tryna relate or something for fucks sake. Not like me and him are all buddy buddy,”

Toji gets up from his seat, watching the school children start to fill the streets at 3pm, a few even coming into the shop and ordering bread. He watched them leave with a serene expression, the clock ticking being the only thing that served as source of sound,

“It was good seeing you again, I’ll swing by sometime later with the kid- Megumi. I’ll come with him later,”

Toji throws a lazy wave as Hana comes out again to see you both meeting Toji’s wave with a more excited one of her own, and he finally leaves.

Your palms slap the marble next to the sink, tension rolling out of your body in waves as you let out a sigh of relief. A soft tug to the fabric covering your knees brings you back to reality,

“Mumma was that man your friend?”

You pursed your lips, grimacing at the question but trying not to show it,

“That man was mumma’s old friend okay?,you don’t need to worry much Okay?”

A scene flashed through your mind,

Sukuna had a phone pressed to his ear, still in his black button up and slacks, the first few buttons undone. City lights streamed in through the small crack in the curtains, further illuminating his figure next to the ceiling to floor windows.

“Yeah no shit Toji, I expect you to deal with it before I’m back with her,”

You stir on the bed and the six foot man is already by your side cupping your cheek. You can see the chipped black nail polish from weeks ago that he let you convince him to do,

“Go back to sleep pet, Tojis on the phone. Something came up, I’ll come back soon,”

You nodded blearily, holding his hand for a second while his gaze softened, intense ruby eyes crinkling at the corners as you succumbed back to sleep

An almost identical set of eyes stared back at you, wide with curiousity. You sighed, picking the five year old up and placing her into your arms. A glance at the clock tells you it’s just a few minutes past 4:30, your part timer should be here any second so you change out of your apron.

Fumiko was only seventeen when she started working for you, but even four years into college she still holds the same amount of respect for you. You grace her with a smile when she entered, almost routine for you as she takes her own apron as you and Hana wave to her.

You sigh as you leave from the backdoor, walking through a small porch before keying your door and entering the pathway to the living room. Hana immediately removes her shoes, changing into home slippers and you do the same, arranging the shoes neatly into the shoe rack.

Hana follows you into the bedroom, watching you change into a more comfortable set of clothes and trailing behind you into the kitchen,

“Did you like the lunch I made baby?,”

The five year old sits at a tiny desk and chair, one that you bought her when she started . She neatly arranges her chopsticks, knife, fork and spoon and the sight of it makes you want to roll your eyes. Really did your genes even try to fight in this child’s genetic makeup.

“Yeah mumma! Are we having the same thing for dinner too?”

You nod, taking out the leftovers from the fridge and placing it on the counter to for a while,

“Why don’t I help you take a bath and then we can be all ready to have dinner okay?”

Hana nods her head, she’s at the age where she wants to do everything by herself and refuses help from anyone. You smile at her while her little fingers tug at the buttons of her shirt, pulling it over her head and running to the washroom. You check in on her soon after, watching her stand in the bath and scrub clumsily at her own skin.

A chuckle escapes before you can help it and she glares at you, pouting before offering the plastic loofah to you. You kneel by the bathtub and help her, slowly getting the dirt and grime from kindergarten washed away.

Scented lotion is applied to her baby skin soon after, and you massage it slowly into her limbs.

“Let’s go have dinner okay?”

Hana smiles at you and you both enjoy dinner while she talks about her day. She’s put to sleep not soon after and you check up on Fumiko as she’s cleaning up. The closed sign is up and the lights are switched off, Fumiko’s cleaning one of the tables and leaves the rest of closing up to you, muttering something about a group project as she dashes out.

A few more weeks pass by in radio silence until another figure enters your bakery, you can already feel the throbbing headache when your ex-boyfriend’s most loyal ‘servant’ shows up at your abode, effectively ruining what was supposed to be a calm Saturday afternoon.

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