#and look at his life�� look at his mother— of course he is!

[deikshen]

Shen Yuan, who opens his eyes and has just transmigrated into some strange demon deep in the Endless Abyss. Well, GREAT! He's a demon, and while he's not OP, if he behaves and doesn't mess with Binghe's women, maybe they could even be traveling companions. Cool! Incredible!!

It doesn't take long for him to find Luo Binghe in the Abyss some time later. He leaves a trail of carnage... And he's speedrunning!! Ignore the wife and solo plots, just mow down monsters and charge forward! He's awesome!

Shen Yuan tries to avoid the red flags that the stallion protagonist isn't, well, forming a harem. Maybe he would form later, when he had more power!! He's not exactly sure in which narrative arc are.

However, his days of watching Luo Binghe through the shadows are soon over. Luo Binghe catches him!! He has obviously noticed Shen Yuan following him. What does he want? Is he looking for him to kill him?

Shen Yuan ducks out a bit, but ultimately decides to impart his honed Abyss 101 knowledge from months of Wiki editing. He disguises himself as a demon who has been searching for a way out of the Abyss, and he knows that he can only do so with Xin Mo, but he knows he doesn't have enough power to wield it. So, he will tell Luo Binghe where the portal-opening sword is, if he allows him to travel by his side and accompany him when he leaves!!

... It's very easy to become travel companions after that.

Luo Binghe is suspicious (of course he would be!! After all, who wouldn't be?!) but he's nice when he's not on his monster-killing rampage. Shen Yuan kills minor monsters, but in reality, he might be getting into more trouble than he should... spiritual flora, ancient artifacts! Luo Binghe should collect them and become more stronger with them! Shen Yuan rambles a lot: he talks about flora, beasts, monsters, demonic history, he throws out fact after fact of PIDW backstories that never got fleshed out from the old demonic civilizations, banished kingdoms, people literally turned into black jade statues...

Luo Binghe seems to find it irritating that he's talking at first, but actually... It's like he can't stop looking at him afterward. Shen Yuan guesses that he must be considering getting rid of him, sometimes: Luo Binghe looks at him with an expression of dismay and doubt. It's like he's searching for something in him. Like he sees something familiar, but Shen Yuan finds it ridiculous. Bah!! As if there's something familiar about him to some random NPC in the world!

One day, after several weeks of traveling, Luo Binghe asks him: "Little Demon. Do you have a name?" And it's not like Shen Yuan has introduced himself, but he considers saying "Shen Yuan" to him not to be wrong.

After that, Luo Binghe... gets worse? He also becomes a little more talkative, which is good, they can have conversations. Shen Yuan enjoys learning little things about his favorite character: how he likes tea, what he misses most is not water or clean clothes but being able to cook with spices, his favorite food, his mother's favorite recipe, about his life on Qing Jing Peak...

That's when everything goes to hell.

A kind Shen Qingqiu? What the fuck? Luo Binghe speaks about his Shizun with more passion than he has spoken about Ning Yingying or any other person or thing. That he had had this horrible qi deviation, but right after, he had been so kind, giving him medicine, a new cultivation manual, fair training, even letting him live in the bamboo house! For the past few years, Shen Qingqiu had practically spoiled him: the best missions, all the running of the Peak, he was basically the head disciple in all but name.

That Luo Binghe had fallen in love with him. Deeply, devastatingly. And Shen Qingqiu had pushed him into the Abyss when his heritage was revealed. However, Luo Binghe will not doubt! He will leave the Abyss, return to his Shizun, and show him that his heritage does not determine who he is. He will become a righteous cultivator and will have his respect to reach his heart.

OOC! So OOC! What the fuck!? Where was the scum villain!? Why is Luo Binghe gay now!? What weird fanfic did he end up in!? Actually, Shen Yuan supposes, well. That means at least he wouldn't destroy Cang Qiong and all that. Wow. Dramatic but calm ending. A better world!! And worse for him, being a demon. Maybe Could he find a way to disguise himself as a human? He believes he has already won Luo Binghe's friendship and sympathy. Maybe he'll even help him to disguise.

Revelations are a rare thing, but Shen Yuan guesses, it's okay. They continue their travel, collecting flowers along the way (for real, not meimeis) who improve the cultivation, and occasionally fight for their lives. Shen Yuan has defended himself very well with his claws so far, but Luo Binghe teaches him how to use a sword, and it's nice to have one.

Shen Yuan has drawn a map, more or less: it is the path that must be taken to reach Xin Mo. He knows that some of those places will be more difficult than others; he explains to Binghe many times that collecting things to strengthen him is necessary: it's a waste of time for him to meet with his Shizun now, but he'll be grateful! He'll need to get strong fast!

Shen Yuan shamelessly takes advantage of all his knowledge of the plot: he teaches Luo Binghe everything he knows, all the weaknesses of the beasts, all the strengths of certain flowers or roots. However, the more Shen Yuan teaches him over the weeks of their travel together, the more Luo Binghe seems... weirder. If he looked at him too much before, now it's incredibly worse. Sometimes he even asks extremely specific questions and seems frustrated when Shen Yuan doesn't answer exactly as he expects. Once, even, when they are crossing some paths surrounded by magma and the heat is suffocating, Binghe improvises a folded fan of leaves for him, and he seems clearly aggrieved when Shen Yuan's first instinct is to fan Binghe!

Luo Binghe is a frustrating little creature who seems to be testing him. Constantly. Shen Yuan assumes it's normal, but still!! He thought he had the protagonist's confidence!! Something seems to sparkle in his eyes when Shen Yuan stops halfway to explore a forest of giant mushrooms and talks at length about the properties and, above all, about the mole-squirrels who get high off their asses biting mushrooms, and he even seems fucking frustrated when he offers some weird herbal blend similar to a bitter tea and Shen Yuan accepts it just out of politeness because it tastes awful. It's like they're running in circles!!

Still, they continue on their way.

There is still a large stretch of the map to go, which Shen Yuan translates into a few more months of travel, when they are cornered by some beasts. They're horrible, disgusting spider-beetles the size of a fucking elephant; it's an unfair fight, seven against two, and even with their swords the bugs are fast, their legs sharp, and Shen Yuan is too exhausted after hours of only being able to defeat two of them.

Luo Binghe fights majestically, but even so, there is one thing Luo Binghe cannot fight: being outnumbered. And when Shen Yuan sees the giant insect's attack at Binghe, his only instinct is to get in the way.

The insect's leg pierces through him. It doesn't quite touch Binghe, but Shen Yuan isn't even aware of the pain from the way his nerves have been ripped apart. He's stunned, disoriented, and only a moment later Luo Binghe enters that desperate berserk mode that the protagonist only got once every two hundred chapters. The horrible insects fall, and Shen Yuan doesn't even know why he's still alive.

He supposes that dying while Binghe is fighting is a bit anticlimactic. He's in a pool of his own blood and he's sure that not even the blood parasites will be able to regenerate any of it. He's dying, he knows it, and from the way Binghe drops to his knees beside him after defeating the insects and holds him, Binghe knows it too.

"It's okay," Shen Yuan manages to speak, weakly patting Binghe's face, "follow the map, leave the Abyss and meet your Shizun. I bet you'll scare him to death, but hey. You're a great boy. A very good one. Show him there's no one better than you for him."

Luo Binghe holds him. Shen Yuan is aware that there were blood parasites in his food months ago, but oh well. Nothing can be done now. It's too much.

Actually, he wants to say something else, something other than a pathetic goodbye talking about how the ex-stallion protagonist should go after his Shizun's bone, but while he recognizes that he is dying (he already died once, damn it, he recognizes death) a blue screen flashes in his head.

[ Recalculating data... Correcting recipient... Downloading files... Importing... ]

[ Bugs fixed! ]

[ Returning the Host to his main user... ]

At the exact moment Shen Yuan dies, Shen Qingqiu wakes up in Qian Cao with a gasp, suddenly touching his chest where a second ago he had felt a hole that pierced him from side to side. His head hurts, his muscles burn, and someone definitely screams in surprise because a bunch of disciples call out to Mu Qingfang and, damn, it's fucking chaos.

He's apparently been in a coma for the past eighteen long months since the Immortal Alliance Conference. A qi deviation? No one knew. It was as if he were just asleep, but nothing woke him. His vital signs were normal, low, but active. Except for Without-a-cure, there was nothing else in his spiritual veins, and Without-a-cure could not cause his current state.

Now, with a huge headache, Shen Qingqiu remembers. He remembers not only the last year and a half with Binghe in the Abyss, but his last years as Shen Qingqiu. And he remembers that, just after of pushing into the Abyss, the fucking System COLLAPSED! Damn SHITTY AI! And Shen Qingqiu believed that he was really going to deport him back to his body even if he pushed Binghe into the Abyss! ... But he hadn't. Just to a random demon's body until the system repaired itself.

The story he tells to Mu Qingfang about the qi deviation after Binghe was swallowed by the Abyss is as good as any. So, Mu Qingfang finally lets him rest until he recovers, and Shen Qingqiu accepts it.

During the Abyss, he had been... Free, somehow. He had no memory of being Shen Qingqiu, and he hadn't had to pretend to be anyone else. It had been the greatest freedom he had had since he arrived. Fuck, he has a lot to think about. How, above all, what the hell he's going to do now that, damn it, he knows Luo Binghe has somehow fallen in love with him. Fuck.

... Well, at least the other transmigrant on the scene will surely have something to say. Eighteen months in a coma! Ha! Shang Qinghua wouldn't even know what hit him.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Undeserving

Fandom: The Pitt

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x F!Reader

Summary: In a tragic car accident, Jack loses his wife, who was your best friend, and you lose your husband, the father of your child. Now both of you navigate life together and co-parenting your daughter, Evelyn, while also trying to figure out your feelings for each other.

Warning: death of side characters

The Pitt Masterlist

Yours and Jack's lives were intertwined for years. Your best friend was his wife. You were the Maid of Honor at their wedding. Then the accident and both of you lost the loves of your lives. You and Jack were close but after losing the most important people in your lives, you leaned on each other through grief and therapy. You vowed to each other that you couldn't lose each other now, you were stuck with one another.

Even moreso when you realized you were pregnant shortly after the accident. Jack was there for every appointment, when your morning sickness was really bad, and when you gave birth. Giving birth to Evelyn was a bittersweet thing. She was the most precious thing and she would never be able to meet her father.

"I'll take care the both of you. I promise." Jack said as he stood over you and Evie in the hospital bed.

It was just you and Evie living together for a short time until Jack proposed you move in with him. You fought him on it, tried to convince him that taking care of Evie will be a lot, but Jack has always been stubborn. He wanted to help you, not because you were his wife's best friend but also because he cared about you. It just made sense. So you relented fighting him.

The first year of Evie's life was...a lot. You had a lot of breakdowns because you were a single mother, you missed your husband, and you felt like you were a burden to Jack.

But Jack, despite his own issues, he'd been the stronger of the two of you. Despite his late hours at work, he still offered to watch Evie while you slept or ran errands.

He was your angel.

It wasn't until Evie got older that you started to question your feelings for Jack. Whenever the three of you went out, people thought you were a couple and Jack was Evie's father.

Hell, even Robby, Jack's fellow doctor at PMTC would joke about you being a cute little family.

But you did your best to ignore those comments. Because you couldn't have feelings for Jack. He was your best friend's husband, he was your friend. It just...can't happen.

_____________________________

"Uncle Jack Jack!" Evelyn calls out as you enter the Emergency Department.

Jack pops his head out from behind a curtain and his brows furrow. He excuses himself from his patient and fully steps out, "Everything okay?"

"Mommy got hurt!"

Jack looks looks you over and see's no visible visible injuries until you lift your wrapped up hand, "Evie dropped a glass. I was picking up some pieces and cut myself. It's...kinda deep."

He takes Evelyn into his arms, "Evie, honey, my friend Bridget," he points to one of the night shift nurses, "She's gonna watch you while I fix mommy's boo boo. Okay?"

"Okay," she says shyly as Jack hands her off.

"I'll be back, baby. Be good okay?" Evie nods as Bridget brings her to the break room to color.

Jack guides you to an empty room. You sit on the bed and hold up your hand to him. You watch him work in silence, but it's not awkward. You two are used to the occasional silence between you two. You take the time to enjoy the silence while he works on cleaning and stitching up your hand.

Eventually, he finishes and tosses his gloves in the trash, "Please be more careful next time."

You nod, "I know. I just...today has been chaotic."

He chuckles, "Tell me about it," he murmurs as he fills out your discharge papers.

"I-Thank you, Jack."

He nods, "Of course, sweetheart."

Your heart flutters at the nickname. He'd been calling you that a lot more recently, but you try not to think too much about it. You don't want to get your hopes up. You don't want to think that Jack has started seeing you differently like you with him.

He escorts you out of the room, his hand on your lower back. You hope he can't feel how hot your body has gotten under his touch.

You open the door and peek in. Evelyn and Bridget are coloring on some pages Dana had printed out, "Ready to go, baby?"

"Yeah," she scurries off the chair and to you. You lift her into your arms with a grunt and she holds out the paper she was working on, "Look Uncle Jack Jack!"

He glances at the unicorn coloring page with rainbow scribbles all over it. He smiles at your daughter, "It's beautiful, honey. You gonna put that on the fridge when you get home?"

"Uh huh!"

The three of you step out and bump into Samira, "Well if it isn't my favorite three year old!"

"Auntie Sami, mommy got hurt!"

Samira looks at you and you shake your head, "Cut my hand on glass. Very minor, Jack stitched me up just fine." You hold up your hand.

"That's good. Hope I never see you here under more serious circumstances."

You snort, "Join the club, babe," you bump hips with her, "I'll see you guys. See you at home, Jack."

"Bye Uncle Jack!"

"See you in the morning, baby," Jack waves at your daughter and watches as you exit the ED.

Once you're out, Samira looks at the attending night shift doctor, "Have you told her yet?"

Jack scoffs, "Fuck off, Mohan," and proceeds to walk away.

________________________

Dana sits with you on the picnic blanket, watching Jack and Evie play on the playground. You're laying on your back, sunglasses on, and enjoying the sun.

"You know he's basically Evie's dad, right?"

"Who?" you ask craning your neck to look at the older woman.

Dana chuckles, "Jack, obviously."

"I-I'm yeah. I guess he basically is." You sit up, but lean back, using your arms to prop you up. It always surprises you how much energy Jack still has for your daughter. It brings a smile to your face when Jack catches Evelyn and she squeals in delight.

"Oh brother, you're so fucked," Dana says with a cackle.

You groan falling onto your back again, "I know!"

"Why don't you tell him?"

"Absolutely not. That man has done so much for Evie and I. We've been such a burden and I don't want my baggage to bring him further down than he already is. He's got enough on his plate."

"Honey, you and he share the baggage. You're living out of the same fucking suitcase!" You shake your head and run your hands down your face. Dana tsks, "He cares about you, loves you and Evie. Does he love you romantically? Hell if I know! But what I do know is that man would go through Hell for you and your daughter. If he doesn't feel the same, sure, it sucks. But it's not like he's gonna kick you out if you tell him how you feel!"

You shake your head, "I'm not risking it, Dana. I can't. Besides...I don't deserve someone as caring as Jack. Besides, we're only bound together because of our shared trauma, which, according to my therapist, isn't necessarily good. So I gotta work through that."

"So what, you gonna quit him cold turkey or somethin'?"

You sit up again, watching Jack and Evelyn, "...I've been looking at apartments. Evie is still a hand full, but-but I think I can take care of her on my own now. I got that promotion I told you about, so I'm making more. I can move out of Jack's, become more independent." You look down and start picking at the grass, "I don't want to keep relying on Jack. He's done a lot for me and I feel like I've reciprocated very little to his life. He'll have more peace and quiet once Evie and I move out."

"Mommy!" Evelyn calls out for you, running ahead of Jack.

You smile at her, "You having fun, baby?" She crashes into you and you both fall back, giggling.

"Uncle Jack Jack gonna get me ice cream!"

Jack finally catches up, slightly planting, "Only if you're okay with it, sweetheart," he stands above you, hands on his hips.

You stand, "I'll get it for her. You go rest. I'm tagging you out."

Jack immediately pulls out his wallet, "Here-"

"Nope! Walking away! Don't see you!" You take Evie's hand and guide her to the ice cream truck in the parking lot.

Jack takes up your previous spot, "What were you two gossiping about?"

"You."

"Oh great," he says with an eyeroll, digging into your tote bag where you packed some snacks for the three of you. He opens a bag of trail mix and tosses some nuts and raisins in his mouth, "Should I be worried?"

The older woman shrugs, "That's for you to decide whenever she decides to talk to you."

Jack's face turns serious, "Dana-"

"It's not life threatening or anything. It's just....a potential lifestyle change."

Jack frowns even more and then turns to you and Evie at the ice cream truck. You're accepting a popsicle from the ice cream man and handing it to Evie. You hand the man cash and shake your head. Jack assumes you're telling the man to keep the change. You then turn and walk back towards Jack and Dana, Evelyn walking a little bit ahead of you.

"I got a rainbow pop!" the three year old exclaims in excitement. She plops herself onto Jack's lap.

You chuckle, "Careful, baby. Don't spill any on Uncle Jack Jack." You then catch Jack's gaze, "Everything okay?"

He softly smiles, "Yeah. We're good," he looks at Dana who nods.

______________________

When Jack comes home from work, you and Evie are already awake. The three year old tends to wake up much earlier than you'd like, but what can you do?

Evie is sitting in her high chair eating breakfast at the counter, "Uncle Jack Jack!"

Jack gives a tired smile to the little girl, "Mornin', baby," he kisses her head.

You're currently not the kitchen, but hearing the toilet flush in the distance lets him know you're in the bathroom.

On the kitchen counter is your laptop propped open. Jack doesn't mean to look at it, but something catches his eye. You're looking on an apartments website. His heart suddenly drops to his stomach.

He recalls the conversation he had with Dana weeks ago:

"Should I be worried?"

The older woman shrugs, "That's for you to decide whenever she decides to talk to you."

Jack's face turns serious, "Dana-"

"It's not life threatening or anything. It's just....a potential lifestyle change."

You plan on moving out.

Jack hears you approaching, "Your plate is in the microwa-" you stop when you see him staring at your laptop.

He turns the laptop to you and points at the screen, "You plan on moving out?"

You gulp, "I've been thinking about it."

He clenches his jaw, "Why? Why didn't you bring this up to me?"

You let out a deep breath and slowly approach him, "It's not a for sure thing yet, Jack." You close your laptop and slide it away from him. Avoiding his gaze, you say,"Just think I should be more independent and stop relying on you."

"I said I'd take care of you." In your peripherals, you see him cross his arms over his chest.

You continue to avoid looking at him, "I know and I really appreciate what you've done for me and Evie over the years, but-but I got a promotion. I'm making really good money now and Evie's getting older. I think it'd be best for us to be on our own. It's a good thing."

He scoffs, and leans one arm on the counter, "How'd it be a good thing? Evie should grow up in a house with two loving parents-"

"You're not her dad, Jack!" you burst out, frustrated that he just won't let you go. He grows still and you know you've hurt him, "I'm sorry, but you're not. And us moving out would be good for you! You get to have more freedom and peace-"

"Stop-"

"You can start dating and bring women over without having to worry-"

"Stop!"

"You're not going to be around forever-"

"Yes, I will because I love you!"

You're rendered speechless but his outburst confession. He runs his hands through his hair and sighs, "I love you. I love you and I love Evie like she's my own." He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, "Never, and I mean never, have I ever once regretted having you live with me. Never have I thought you and Evie were a burden. I can't imagine my life without you both. I love our little family and life that we have."

Your eyes are tearing up as you speak, "If you're saying this just so-"

"Sweetheart, I'm saying it because I mean it. It's not a trick. I'm not trying to manipulate you. I'm trying to fight to keep what we have."

You begin to pace, "I don't-I don't-"

"Mommy," Evie calls for you and she looks upset, "Mommy sad?"

You sniffle and give your daughter a little smile, "I'll be alright, baby."

Jack takes a step closer to you, "Y/N-"

You shake your head, "Go take a shower and go to sleep. You're exhausted, Jack. We'll continue this later," you mumble, helping Evie out of the high chair and bringing her to the sink to clean up.

You don't see it, but Jack's body sags a bit after your dismissal. He wants to continue the conversation, but you're right. He is tired and maybe some rest will allow him to gather his thoughts properly.

PART 2

[thecoochiefairy]

grillz. onyankopon.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 8.0K word count. wifeblackfem!reader, husband! onyankapon, football! onyankopon, grumpy!onyankapon, sweet!onyankapon, dominant!onyankapon, black woman, vaginal penetration, rough, lil bit of sweet talkin’, hair pulling, creaming, squirting, pussy eating, choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk/aggressive dirty talk, condomless sex, creaming, slapping ass/face, kissing, just a fine ass black man, minors aren’t welcome!

𝓐ᥫ᭡

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ y’all already know what it is, it’s yo’ favorite couple. i just hope you like this one. ony is very grillz by nelly + paul wall coded, idk. anyways. lemme hush. for reference, my girl’s hair is in that curly/braids jayda-wayda hairstyle if it seemed confusing ! aight, love y’all. bye. teehee.

visual. visual. visual. visual.

𝓐ᥫ᭡:: your husband is invited to a basketball game.

YOU MIGHT’VE BEEN MORE NEUROTIC THAN YOUR MOTHER IN LAW. You came to that conclusion as you sprinted through the house, the scent of vanilla and jasmine wafting through the air each time you found something else to fixate on. 

You were supposed to be ready an hour ago. Your husband had been invited to a Lakers VS Pelicans game—and if being honest, this might’ve been your first outing since you had your third baby. 

Saint, you’d named him. A little too on the nose, but Onyankopon wanted to keep the tradition of your children’s names going. This pregnancy had been entirely different than Salem or Sage—pains, sickness, barely able to walk, accidents on yourself—you 

endured all the worst parts within your trimesters, but you were so blessed to have a healthy five month old boy. 

Now having three children, life was a lot different than you prepared for it to be. You were a full time stay at home wife. But it came with a price—being without Onyankopon for weeks at a time as he traveled, the overwhelming amount of time that you spent taking care of your children alone—not to mention the lack of dates, and sex. Hard to believe that you hadn’t hunched on your husband in six months. But having children all close in age required an extensive amount of attention, and although you’d die for them, a small part of you just missed being alone with your husband. And now, you had the opportunity—you were just a little too anxious. 

“Papa? Do you wanna pack your football?” 

Your eldest was now three, Salem being the sweetest baby boy you could ask for—he was always helpful with his one year old sister, being the big brother he was always excited to be. You were currently trying to pack up all three of your children for their grandma's house, while you were supposed to be getting ready. Onyankopon was too busy with a conference call to notice your hysteria.

“Yes, mommy. Can I pack my Legos?” 

“Of course, Papa—“ your eyes flick around the bed, noticing that something was missing. You scratch at the bonnet atop of your head, a sigh passing your lips as you question, “You wanna be a big boy and go find Sage’s binky for me? Did she drop it in the toy box?” 

He’s already running out. You turned around to look at the packed suitcases, eyes narrowing as you tried to think if you were missing anything. 

“Say-Say?—did we pack your baby brother’s socks and diaper bag? I know I put down Sage’s—“

Speaking of Sage, your one year old sits on the bed, previously focused on a fruit pouch that’s now drained—Her miniature fingers wave up for your attention. 

“Mommmma—Abu.”

You exhale, “You want your apple slices, pretty girl?” 

She nods, hands clapping together, 

“Yes, yes.” 

She looks around the room, seemingly waiting for the magical fruit that she wants to appear out of thin air—and at this point, you might’ve needed to be a magician.

“Okay,” you huff softly, “Just—okay.”

You place her on your hip as you throw on your house slippers, quickly padding your feet down the sleek stairs of your condo. The open kitchen nearly takes up the downstairs area, your hand reaching for the miniature fridge where you keep Sage’s snacks refrigerated. 

That’s when you stop. Your eyes flick over to your husband as he stands on the porch—you’re able to hear the baritone of his voice as he has the door cracked, pouring food into the bowls of your two Dobermans. You weren’t trying to run into him before you weren’t ready, but it was unfortunate that you lived together—and that Sage wanted those damn Apple slices.

You sat her on the counter as you pulled open the container of freshly cut fruit, putting one in her hand as your voice softly replied, “You’re welcome,” to her babble of “Thanyou.” 

Seeing Onyankopon reminded you of all the reasons you’d married him. The sable shirt he wears hugs the sculpt of his muscular frame, covered by an oversized varsity jacket that fits his broad shoulders perfectly. His cargo pants and forest green Nike dunks pull the entire outfit together, chain heavy on his neck as it shows his jersey number on the pendant. You’d redone his cornrows for tonight, neatly braided as he cleaned up his hairline, crawling all the way down to his facial hair around his lips and jawline. But the current star of the show was the glitter in his mouth, nearly ten bands of fully diamond encrusted grills he’d bought for the both of you—you just hadn’t worn yours yet. He was erotically intimidating at times, your eyes falling to the band on his ring finger. He was yours. 

“Baby,” his deep voice catches your attention, now realizing he was walking back into the house, “I know a nigga ain’t losin’ his mind—why you ain’t dressed?” 

The moment you go to answer, Salem comes flying downstairs. 

“Mommy! I can’t find Sage’s binky!”

Your eyes flicker back to your husband, pulling Sage onto your hip as you confirm, “That’s why.” 

“Why you ain’t come tell me, huh? I would’ve helped you. I was just talkin’ to coach about our last game.”

He looks good up close—smells good too, the scent of his cologne pulls you closer as you breathe in the aroma. 

You shake your head, “You know how I get before they go off to your mom’s house. I wanna make sure Salem has all of his favorite toys, Sage has her snacks and—“

You stop yourself, “Do you remember if I pumped milk for Saint? I fed him before I put him down for a nap, I just—“

And in that exact moment, the baby monitor goes off. Saint weeps through the microphone, wanting the attention of his momma. 

You dig your nails into the top of your bonnet, scratching away your anxieties as you sigh, “Maybe you should just go, Ony. The Pelicans gave you front row seats, I don’t want you to miss that.” 

You weren’t the only one stressed. Onyankopon had been having a hard time balancing football and family life, but he’d been there every second since the season was close to being over. He knew you needed time with him—you’d been cooped up for months.

He raises an eyebrow, “And leave you here? I thought you was tryna’ have a night out with yo’ nigga— I’m tryna’ show you off to the whole world tonight, I ain’t goin’ nowhere until you ready—C’mon, Imma’ help you find lil’ mama’s binky.” 

“Ony—“

“Mama, c’mon now. I wanna make this easier on the both of us.”

He takes Sage into his arms, the one year old babbling giggles as he blows his lips onto her cheek, “You act like you the only girl inna’ house that need attention, huh? Let yo’ momma breathe.” 

You sigh, “I’m not even close to being ready, baby. Don’t we still gotta’ drop them off to your mom’s—“

“My momma gon’ come finish packing them up. You tryna’ find another reason to skip out on this date?”

Okay, maybe you felt a little bad. He was already dressed, up and ready to get out the house without the tribulation of three little ones. This would be an adult night. 

You lean your head into his shoulder as you murmur, “I’m actin’ like my damn momma.” 

A soft chuckle passes Onyankopon’s lips, a hand reaching down to cradle the back of your neck, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. 

 “Sum’ like that.”

“Don’t be funny, nigga. I ain’t asking for commentary.”

“Aight, Aight. Forreal’—Imma’ make sure they all packed up and go change Saint. I know he givin’ that diaper the business while he sleep.”

He nudges you softly—your arms crossed, eyes looking down to the floor. He knew that you were overwhelmed, and a date didn’t even seem practical at this point. A hand rubs your chin as he tilts your face towards him, a finger curling under your jaw, “You gon’ give up on me now?”

You hated how sweet he could be at times. You pout a bit, “I’m sorry. I’m going, okay? You love me?” 

Onyankopon’s hand cups your cheek, pulling you into a kiss, his lips a bit harsh as he whispers against them. 

“You just askin’ to hear me say it. You already know what it is.”

A smile finds a way to your lips, hands wrapping around his neck while standing on your tippy toes, pressing pecks into his jawline, ”I love you too.”

“Hurry up. Gon’ make that ass clean so I can put my tongue in it—“

“Onyankopon!”

“See? You already gettin’ me started. Should’ve been ready, I wouldn’t have said allat’.”

Here was something else new that came with your third child. Your body. You’d always been curvier in your hips and thighs, but after Saint, that seemed to tenfold. 

The black mini skirt you wore was now was smaller than mini, the poke of your ass nearly peeking from the bottom of your girlishly pink thong. Your matching black baby tee clung around the full weight of your breast, going from a C to a Double D in the span of six months. 

You’d braided the front of your hair and perfected the swoop of your edges, the rest of your tresses bouncing in wand curls above your shoulders. Your lashes darkened your slender eyes, honey freckles bouncing off the complexion of your caramel skin, heart shaped lips coated in brown liner. You weren’t used to heavy jewelry, as Onyankopon had bought you a real anklet—it was weighted, cold around your skin, matching the silver sparkles in the pink platform sandals you wore. 

Your lips parted a sigh as you turned to the side—you weren’t insecure, but seeing the full figure that motherhood had given you in tight material was a bit nerve wracking, especially after months of only oversized clothing. 

 “I don’t look—different, do I?” 

Onyankopon’s eyes narrow at you, chin hovering over your body as he wraps his arm around your neck, gently putting you within a headlock. You smelled good, a bit sweeter. 

”Different,” he repeats, licking his lips, “You look like a muhfuckin’ meal, baby. A nigga might have to keep you inside.” 

You hum a soft laugh, trailing your French tips against the arm that wraps around your neck, “I told you about puttin’ me in these headlocks like I’m one of your teammates,” you roll your eyes. 

He presses a kiss to your cheek, watching you through the mirror, “What’chu’ mean? Thought you liked this shit, it be makin’ you blush like a lil’ school girl.”

He lets go of the pressure, but not the arm around you, “You look gorgeous, Mama. You gon’ stop all that overthinkin’ now?”

“Maybe.” 

You pull his arm down as you turn, running your fingers over the shown tattoos on his neck and face. You hum, “You look good,” sticking your tongue out as you await for his mouth to follow. His grills shine within your vision.

He grunts into a chuckle, leaning down to press his lips against yours. His tongue is cold from the ice he chews, lips always softer than they appeared. His mouth pops from yours as mutters, “You tryna’ distract me.”

You give him a smile, showing off the pure shine of the matching ones he’d bought you. The heart shape of your lips made them look perfect, sultry even. 

“You like em’?”

“You know I like em’,” he rasps. 

His hands are harsh, grabbing onto the sides of your small face as he pulls you back in for another kiss. His lips suck on the plush of yours, “Matchin’ a nigga fly.” 

“You better like them for ten bands, nigga. You be gettin’ real besides yourself cause you got money.” 

“You talkin’, but that money takes care of this family, and be buyin’ yo’ ass allem’ bags, perfumes, and shoes. Daddy be takin’ care of you, huh?” 

His eyes narrow into a snarl, smacking one hand against the plump of your ass, watching it bounce through the skirt it’s hidden behind, making you giggle as he grunts, “I don’t?” 

“You do,” you kiss at his jaw, “Did Saint wake up when you changed him?”

“Nah, I just put him in my momma car. Sage was good too, you know crybaby quick to start screamin’ if she don’t get that binky—and Salem, he just excited to go to grandmas. You know we’ a team, right? I always got you, girl.” 

You sigh, “I know. You um—got his diaper bag?”

“Nah.” 

He smacks your ass again, “Goddamn, girl—Ion’ even know what you just asked me.“ 

You giggle, “The diaper bag, dork.” 

“Can’t hear you. Yo’ ass covering all the sound in the room.” 

“Onyankopon.” 

“Aight, lawd. You ain’t no fun.” 

In this moment, you almost felt similar to a baby—like you’d just gotten thrown into the world without any preparation. You forgot how much you hated the spotlight that was required being married to your husband—this was a Pelicans basketball game, and he somehow got more attention just being there as the New Orleans Saints’ quarterback. Your nerves got the best of you as you pulled up to the front of the stadium, seeing the valet workers prepare to open your passenger door. It was—chaos.

“You’ straight?” 

You give him a nod, knowing you weren’t entirely.

The paparazzi was always a nuisance, and even more so with the news of your newly born baby—Onyankopon could tell that he was being watched as you step out of the car, the flash of  light going off as his hand holds on to your hand firmly, pressing your body into his, as if he was shielding you. You lower your head as you hear him politely answering questions, cameras flashing in every direction—you hated this part every time.

“I’m excited to be able to come to a Pelicans game close to our off season, they been on a roll lately—and Zion, that nigga crazy onna’ court. We gon’ make it a close game tonight—hopefully.” 

The questions were quick to come up, “You have any bets on who’s winning tonight?” 

“Bets? Nah, ion’ do that shit,” he turns to you, “My wife my lil’ good luck charm—she gon’ be the reason they win tonight.”

You lean your head into his shoulder, a shy smile finding its way to your lips as you squeeze his hand a little tighter. He pulls you into a small kiss, the cameras flashing from the showmance between the two of you. 

It was quieter on the inside, the amount of people, security, and other familiar faces crowding the arena as you’re guided to the front row of the court. It was a couple minutes before the game started, and you already knew the drill—you crossed your leg over the other as you fixed your hair, re-touched your lip liner, sprayed yourself of perfume—all the awkward ways you could distract yourself as Onyankopon socialized with others sitting in the row next to you. Unlike you, he was extremely friendly. You would give a soft smile each time he introduced you to someone, but that was about it. You were more comfortable talking to your three year old than most adults.

He’d kissed your cheek multiple times, trying to coax you out of your shell as your eyes stayed transfixed onto the players practicing on the court. He could sense that you were trying your hardest to fit in, but he didn’t want that. He just wanted you to be yourself. 

“You want anything to drink, baby?” He leans down, lips close to your ear as he holds your thigh, “They got food too—it’s gon’ take a minute to get to you, might as well see what you want now.”

You shake your head, eyes flickering up to him, “I’m okay.”

“Don’t be lyin’. I know them’ lil’ apple slices you be stealin’ off our daughter ain’t that good—“

Onyankopon cuts himself off when he sees you smile. He’d always been good at making you laugh, and it wasn’t any different now. 

Your voice is soft as you ask, “They got Sangria? And loaded fries?”

“Oh aight, you tryna’ turn up tonight? You’ scandalous,” which makes you giggle as he continues, “Heard you. I’ll be back.” 

The moment he began walking away, the stadium camera seemed to find him— your husband appeared directly onto the Jumbotron—it showed a quick reel of him on the field, the crowd creating an echo as they cheered. His grills shine under the camera as he smiles, throwing up his fingers as he greets the cheers—It makes you blush. 

The game officially starts. Right on time, a hand rubs at the back of your neck, Onyankopon sitting next to you as he presses a cold drink into your hands, “You need me to turn on yo’ seat fan?”

You lean closer to him as you steal the fries out of his hands, “Nope. Just want you to enjoy the game, baby. I don’t wanna see you cry when the Lakers put belt to ass on the Pelicans,” you giggle.

“I ain’t even gon’ put that Lakers blasphemy into the universe. You actin’ bad.” 

“And you’ delusional.”

“Call it what you want!” 

The game is a brawl. Cheers take over the stadium as the Pelicans manage to get a few points over the Lakers, who are just barely in the lead. You hold back your laugh as you watch Onyankopon lean into the court, eyes narrowing as his voice carries, “What you doin’, nigga? You’ gon’ let him take the ball from you? Ref—you gon’ call that foul? Nigga tripped his feet clear as day!”

You sigh as you take a sip of the sweet alcohol flowing between your lips—this was your husband. 

It was now half time, and you couldn’t lie—you were feeling the effects of your Sangria. You might’ve become a little mouthy as you watched fouls or unfair calls of the ball, nearly as into it as your husband was. When they were back to showing familiar faces against the Jumbotron, your eyes flickered up as you heard the crowd go back to roaring, seeing yourself and Onyankopon in your seats as you watched the game. You gave a shy wave into the screen, giggling as your husband childishly pecked your cheek repeatedly along the Jumbotron. 

“You prettier on the big screen—shy ass,” he nudges your shoulder, “You still good?”

You nod, “I might order another Sangria—or a Margarita, or—one of those. What’s in Sangria, baby?” You tug at his letterman, humming through your question as you lean into his lap. 

A chuckle leaves his lips, “What I’m gon’ do with you, girl? You’ tipsy already.”

And although you were a little tipsy, this was the most laid back you’d ever been in a while. He missed your playful attitude, and even more so when you were comfortable. 

His hand rubs at your shoulder, pecking your cheek as he says, “Ion’ know. How bout’ we order both and mix ‘em into one cup?”

“You’re so smart,” you sigh, “My sexy, smart man.” 

Yup. That was it—you were now drunk.

Well, blame the Sangria-rita you’d just made. You were always able to hold yourself together in an environment where you couldn’t show just how intoxicated you were. But being around your husband without your kids, it might’ve had you a little more relaxed. And horny. When the game ended—and the Pelicans won, of course—instead of going home, Onyankopon had gotten a call from one of his teammates, mentioning that they would all be out at the club for another teammate's birthday, their wives joining in at the section as well. And of course, Onyankopon's friendly ass just couldn’t say no.

He could see the nerves in your face as you arrived at the club. Your eyes scan around, seeing familiar teammates with their wives and girlfriends. You’d never met half of these girls, and the ones you had met already seemed to be having fun together. 

Onyankopon leaned down, lips near your ear as he gently said, “We can go home, Mama. I can go pick up the kids on the way back—“

Were you giving off that you weren’t enjoying yourself? Hell. The Sangria might’ve worn off and made you a little sleepy, but you really weren’t ready to go home. You pull him down by his jaw as you interrupt,“I’m fine, baby. Promise—just need to hear a lil’ music. I want you to have fun.” 

His nose nuzzles against your hair, a soft chuckle leaving his lips as he pulls you into his side, “I’m always gon’ have fun if I’m with you, girl. Come on.”

A hand comes down to the lower part of your back, leading you right into a VIP section. Onyankopon was greeting his teammates, a soft wave pulling at your fingers as you greeted the wives and girlfriends. You could be friendly—they just weren’t your type of crowd. 

But of course, you loved your husband enough to try something once. You took a couple of shots with them, Hennessy their choice of drink. When you mentioned that you didn’t enjoy the taste of more common brown liquors, one of them gave you an eye roll, and that was your cue to head back over to your husband. Maybe it was the liquor in your system, but you might’ve been a little irritated from that interaction. 

You wrapped your arms around Onyankopon’s neck as you sat on his lap, trying to hide the annoyance in your face—Too bad you weren’t good with that.

“I see that face you makin’. What happened?” 

You try to shake it off, “I be tryna’ be cool with them hoes. They’ weird,” your murmur to him, going into your purse as you search for your phone.

“You gettin’ mad for no reason,” he holds your phone out for you, “They just be tryna’ fit in with the crowd.” 

“You don’t need to give me explanations for bitches you don’t even know,” you flick your eyes back up to him, “Ain’t nobody mad. If I was, I would’ve said that.”

He raises an eyebrow. Onyankopon leans down into your ear, a hand pulling you in by the cradle of your neck as he questions, “What ‘you gettin’ an attitude with me for?”

“What I look like startin’ an argument with you in front of everybody? I’m just sayin’, I don’t like them girls.” 

“You don’t like nobody. Yo’ ass mean.”  

You narrow your eyes at that. You then wrap your arms further around his neck as you smile, “I like you, Daddy.”

Your eyes. He could see it all in your eyes. 

He raises an eyebrow, pressing a kiss to your lips before pulling you into another one, a bit more harsh as you feel his hand caress across the bottom of your thigh, a thumb stroking against your skin. 

“Keep behavin’, girl. You gon’ let a nigga dance wit’ you, or you gon’ have an attitude about that too?”

“You gon’ throw some ones on me if I dance?” 

You move your hips along his lap, giggling through the shots you were beginning to feel in your system.

“I’m throwin’ hundreds out this bitch if it’s you.” 

Onyankopon’s hand smacks at the side of your thigh, “You talkin’ too much. C’mon.”

You stand in front of him, your eyes a bit blurry from the lowlights of the club, which somehow makes your tipsiness worse—This was a side of you that hadn’t shown in months, the arch of your silhouette drowning in his sight as you hold the edge of your skirt, ass shaking within his face. You dip your head down to watch him from behind, teeth sinking into the plush of your lip.

“That’s how you feelin’?”

Swat, his hand palms your ass hard. The sting rushes into a pleasure you hadn’t expected, making the skin flush.

The mixture of a giggle and whimper passes your lips, barely audible as you hear the music thumping around you. You’re really horny now.

Your brain is foggy—so foggy that you tug your panties to the side for a millisecond, letting him see the glisten of your pussy. You feel his palm latch along your throat from behind, tugging you back onto his lap. 

He grunts, “You tryna’ have me kill a nigga in here.”

“I think that Hennessy’ talking,” you giggle to him.

His hand smacks your ass harder, the sound piercing the atmosphere. The music wasn’t going hard enough to mask it. 

“Yo’ ass gon’ be the reason we leave. Keep fuckin’ playin’.”

“Okay—down, boy. You got a teammate to celebrate his birthday with. Go, imma’ babysit another drink.”

“You gon’ behave?”  he tilts your chin up, finding your eyes in his.

“I always do. Kiss?”

Onyankopon’s lips are on yours in seconds. He knocks your head up as he taps your chin, grills shining a blue tint under the lights of the club before he leaves you alone. 

The thing is, you didn’t exactly do what you’d told him you would.

You’d ordered a lemon drop martini, doing the opposite of babysitting your drink as you consumed it in minutes. A small smile spread across your lips as your mother-in-law sent pictures of your babies enjoying their time at grandmas, and although you missed your kids—the sight of your husband across the club had your attention. 

You could admit it now—you were fully drunk. The club was closing, and you were entirely too far away from home for Onyankopon to drive back. So you’d both decided on a hotel for the night—and with your intoxicated minds, you might’ve chosen the nicest one in New Orleans, booking the rooftop of the tallest building. 

You giggle as he carries you bridal style, using his foot to open the door to the room—and it’s a sight to see.

The floor is marbled, an expensive crystal chandelier casting warm shades of orange and gold across the room. The walls were high, mirrors reflecting the lights from the chandelier. The bed is huge, with a golden, lacy canopy.

You gasp, “Baby—there’s a pool!” 

An infinity pool to be specific—it was beautiful, lit up against the night skyline, the sounds of jazz music faint in the background from the echoes of downtown. 

“Baby. Be care—“  

You almost fall, saved by Onyankopon as he lifts you up by the back of your thighs, holding you in front of him as your legs wrapped around his waist, throat giggling as you hold onto him, “Oops.”

“You drunk as hell, Mama.” 

He tosses you onto the bed before you can answer—And you squeal, drunk laughter passing your lips as you bounce up once, eyes still on the man in front of you—and God, he was your everything. You didn’t know if it was the alcohol you’d been drinking all night, but you missed him—and now, you wanted him all over you.

You watch him undress himself—that jacket hits the floor, tattoos on his arms and biceps beginning to outline underneath the lights.

You groan, “I’m hot, baby. I wanna go swimming.” 

“Ion’ know,” he’s slow with his words, easing out of his pants, “I could just rub up on you, baby. Let you fall asleep in my arms.”

“That’s boring,” your eyes wander his body as you bite your bottom lip. Your legs spread a bit on the bed, “Can I go look at it?”

You were a drunken mess, your words slurred, your sentences a bit incoherent as he shakes his head, chuckling at the sight. 

“You can’t even think straight, girl. Just lay yo’ ass down.”

You roll your eyes, huffing, “Whatever. I gotta go pee.” 

You didn’t give him time to answer. 

Your body was stumbling off of the bed—but instead of the bathroom, you made your way directly towards the pool. You’re tugging off the material of your clothes, stepping out of the skirt you wear, pulling the baby tee over your head effortlessly—you’re bare up top, nipples shining a pretty brown under the lights, your thong molding along your hips at the bottom.

“You’ hard headed.”

His voice is a chuckle, but his eyes glare at you. He watches your body dive into the pool. 

“I thought you was usin’ the bathroom,” His voice is low, eyes at your figure that flows beneath the water as his feet begin to follow you outside. 

And then you come up—Your eyes are the only thing above water, slender as you swim to the edge. 

“It feels good, baby. You wanna feel?” 

You come up more the moment your fingers fall around the flesh of your breasts, squeezing at your hardened  nipples as you whimper, “C’mon, Ony…”

His voice gets lower, “Goddamn. Aight.”  

Your eyes flick down to his dick that slaps his abdomen the moment he pulls it from his boxers, a sultry smile on your face as you swim to the side of the pool where he’s fully undressed, his body towering above you as he steps in.

The minute he steps in, you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down within the water as you lift yourself against him. Your eyes glow, your tongue dragging against his lips as you giggle, “I missed you, Daddy.”

Onyankopon chuckles, lips brushing against yours, “What you miss about me?”

“Being alone with you. Touchin’ on you—“

You’re softly whining, your tongue swirling along his throat, meeting him in a filthy kiss as you come up. And of course, he’s kissing you back even worse—tongue invading your lips, drowning you under his mouth. You allow your body to sway its way towards the edge of the water, turning as you lean yourself against the glass of it, back now facing him. Your little show from the club returns, and under perfect lighting? Your pussy was even prettier. It’s pink as you spread it in his face, glistening to coax him even further.

You whimper, “—The way you fuck me. Come take me, Ony.”

Onyankopon grunts at the sight.

Being drunk brought out a whole different side of you—but your husband was no better. It was the way he ate your pussy when intoxicated—his tongue wagged up against the soft flesh of your folds, the soppy arousal drenching his facial hair each time his full lips sucked your clit up into his mouth. He can’t help it—he’s dipping his tongue in between your opening and hole up top, your fingers tightening along his braids as you whimper in return. But you’re worse—you’re twisting your hips from side to side, riding his face to meet his tongue that sucks your clit from behind. Your ass is all in his face, but he loves it, spanking you with rumbles vibrating against your flesh. 

You always got what you were asking for, but you were needy regardless. You didn’t expect your back to arch any further than it was, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as his fingers tightened within your curls, fucking you in a way you’d missed in months. Your ass bounces onto his creamy dick by the pull of his strength—your lips releasing giggles, squealing in between your moans as he takes you from behind. 

“This’ how you missed me, huh? Boucin’ back on my dick like a muhfuckin’ slut? Look at you.” 

You were so drowned in him, you were hardly paying attention to where you were. The marble was cold on the edge of the pool, and with the tiniest bit of sense you had, you whined, “It’ssogood, baby.” 

A low groan leaves his lips, the sound vibrating against your neck. 

“You loud. Finna’ wake up the whole neighborhood.” 

You’re too drunk to listen, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you place your arm behind your back, waiting for him to grab ahold of it. Your moans are long, whiney as you’re somehow still giggling, so elated from how good every stroke feels. His tip is becoming lost in your pussy, your intoxication making you wetter by the second. 

His hand wraps against your arm, your leg going further over the edge, your back in the perfect arch as you mewl. Your eyes roll as he snakes his other hand to the front of you, clutching your jaw to snap your face behind to look into his—That’s when you sling your hips back, fucking yourself on his dick, a hazy smile on your face, screwed with a mixture of pleasure. 

“Ony…” 

You’re squealing to him.

“You still miss a nigga, huh? My shit deep enough for you to remember?”

Onyankopon’s hand tightens along your neck, his fingers gripping the bottom of your chin to bring your face closer to his. You squirm at the change in angle.

One of your hands slides against the side of his head, fingers running across the length of his cornrows. Your lashes are heavy, fluttering as you plead, “It’s deep,” your voice hardly audible over the sounds of your skip clapping together. 

“Feel so full when you’re in me,” you whimper along his mouth.

Your voice was music to his ears. 

The wet flesh sends echoes against the marble, your moans loud in his ear. But everything you were giving him was worth the wait of you being pregnant. He’d taken care of you, babied you. And now, he fucked you like you were his again. 

He could be sweet, sensual—but he could also be a demon. You’re out of the pool now, close to the bed—but you couldn’t make it there on time. Your fingers clutched

along his shoulder as he carries you with no effort, legs held by his arms as he’s lifting you up, tip slapping the sensitivity of your puffy folds, dropping you down in seconds. A squelch comes in return from the curve of his dick reaching inside. 

“Ion’ wanna hear nothin’,” he grunts to you, “Just listen to us.” 

You knock your forehead against his, eyes watering as you tremble whimpers, cradling the nape of his neck in your fingers. Your mind is hazy.

His gaze pierces yours, your lips barely hovering above his as he grunts, “You hear that? That’s the sound of you leakin’ all on my shit. Just droolin’.” 

Your face screws into a pout as you whimper, “Ohmygod, baby. You’re so strong. Oh my goddd. Ughn. F—fuck,” your nails sink into his skin. 

“The fuck did I say, huh?”  

A swat comes to your face, and your eyes flutter, sinking your fingers between your lips as you hush the noises from your mouth. There’s tears in your eyes, thighs trembling as he continues to hold you in the air. Plop, plop, schluck. 

“That’s my good lil’ bitch. Open.” 

He spits in your mouth, gripping your neck tighter as he speaks.

“Tongue.” 

When you do, he spits again. 

“Goodbaby.”  

Your whimper is a high-pitched sound, your teeth nibbling against his bottom—but that’s when he releases you onto your feet—your legs instantly trembling, and he can tell you won’t be able to keep this up. 

“On that bed,” his voice is low. 

“Knees first.”

The moment you crawl onto the bed, you drop your face onto the sheets, back still arched, spreading your reddened pussy as you gently rotate your hips for him. 

“C’mon, Daddy.” 

The arrogance pours from his body as he slaps his tip against your folds, your hips jolting at the feeling. His dick is sliding in, sinking every gifted inch he has for you—It’s even deeper this time, a pinch coursing through your lower stomach the moment the back of your thighs clap with his abdomen, tearing away like Velcro each time. 

You’re mewling, “Damn, baby. I love you so much—why you fuckin’ me like this…”  

You’re babbling, asking nonsensical questions. You knew that.

He finds a grip in your curls, tugging you onto him. His eyes are low as he grunts, “I’m fuckin’ you like this ‘cause you want me to. Look at that pussy. Look at that shit. Pretty lil’ bitch I got.” 

Your eyes are watering heavily. You’re nearly silent for a while, just feeling everything he has to give you. Your body shakes, and you let out the deepest gasp, your exhale a low sob. 

“Keep goin’.” 

It came out a grunt, his voice cracking through the thickness of his Southern drawl. His words are nearly harsh—he craved you—but he meant it, “That’s so muhfuckin’ pretty, Mama. That cream you givin’ me. Yo’ cum is so pretty.” 

And he’s right—you’re cumming, the creamy release of your pussy painting his balls in your affection. Onyankopon’s fingers are tucked along the back of your neck, tattooed frame large above your smaller figure. 

You don’t mean for your mouth to unlatch a loud, “Ughn—Ooshit, baby…”

But it does. 

His body slaps against your round ass, “You been goin’ through it—You coulda’ just came and sat on this dick, Mama. Know you’ been thinkin’ about it. Know you been needin’ it.” 

Your fingers slip in between your lips, sucking lightly to muffle your sounds. You whimper, “Sorry, baby,” as you go back to dropping your hips down to meet his body. You imagine how that looks from behind—how your walls just suck him in, a whiney mess that you are, becoming needier by the second. 

“Uh-huh,” He groans, “Yeah—you been missing your nigga, huh?”

“Mhmm.”

That’s all you can manage to get out—your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, but you try your best to keep them open.

“Missed you so—muc—ugh—much, daddy.”

Seeing you this way was always rewarding. It was like all the senses in your brain went fuzzy, and you’re swirling your hips in a circle, throwing your ass back to meet his body. Fingers still tucked in between your mouth, you’re groaning. 

“See’—there you fuckin’ go. That’s my girl—“

His equal groan is deep and husky—loud, almost guttural.  It makes you shake, “You my good girl, ain’t you? You gon’ start acting right, huh?”

You had no thoughts within your mind.

“I’m your good girl,” you whimper, “See, baby—just wanted you,” your siren eyes peer behind your shoulder to watch your ass bounce. One of your arms reaches back—but Onyankopon’s already there again, snatching your wrist behind your back. 

“That’s all it was? You just wanted me?”

He leans his body down, pushing himself deeper into you. With your arms held, he’s got you locked—helpless.

Your face was red, eyes cloudy. You nod in answer, not trusting your own voice. 

Onyankopon’s hand releases the one held behind your back, his fingers wrapping around your throat from behind instead. His hips are going, heavy body throwing you onto his dick. 

His groan is a low hum, “Daddy’s here now, Mama. That’s all you needed.”

You can’t help the sound that comes from your lips—the whine that’s loud, a shaky breath being sucked into the air. His words, his affirmations to you—your eyes water again, and you give him a continuous nod as you watch your ass go up and down. Your feminine tone cries softly, body quivering as his words echo in your brain. 

He wants to mean every word he says. The way he grips your throat is a sign, the way he’s dropping you down, holding you in place.

Your sobs come out in low gasps,“Ohhh my god—“ 

You’re getting lightheaded.

“O—Oh—Oh, baby…” your brain’s getting foggy—no wonder you see dots.

You moan, “Oh, God. I love you so…much.”

“Yeah?” He grunts, “You mean that?” 

His body makes it hard for you to answer—and his words,  “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you, baby. You forgivin’ me, huh?” 

“Uh-huh,” You nod, “I forgive you. I’m so sorry,” you whine, “S’much, baby.”

You were being honest. Although, you weren’t sure what you were apologizing for. 

You can barely even see, mouth parting as you’re going to speak again, eyes rolling back. It’s silent. But that’s when your voice gets louder—even though it doesn’t seem possible, “Please forgive me, baby. Just needed you, Ony.” 

You give him a shaky nod, trying to focus on your breathing. He grips your throat harder, just the way you like, “I hear you, Mama. You hear me?” 

You gasp,  “Yes—Oohgod, baby.” 

“We ain’t finna’ have these problems no more?” 

“No—I love you—love you so much,” you sob again, body beginning to give. You’re shaking harder, you know you’re crying, but it only makes him go faster, a loud groan coming from his lips.

“That’s how you feelin’?”

“Uh-huhhhh,” you moan, lips quivering, “I forgive you—I always forgive you, Ony.”

Your nails dig at his skin, the sounds you’re making being loud enough to wake the dead. You moan, “I’d never—ooh—doubt you, I was jus—just—“ 

Your brain gives up—you can’t make sentences.

Maybe you shouldn’t have been so sorry. You now have to prove your own words, curls hanging above your face as you’re exhausted from now being on top—Onyankopon’s large hands unfortunately have you trapped, your whimpers seeping through the walls as he’s constantly bouncing you down against his lap. This is the sight you’d been looking for—that glare, that growl from his lips, your smaller frame being swallowed by his—even if you were above him. Your thighs burned, your hips ached. 

His hand lifts your body by your throat.

“You know how I feel?”

His hips thrust upward, “I gotta be here for you a lil’ more,” His deep groan makes your legs jolt, “That’s on me, aight? Imma’ make up fo’ that, I promise.” 

His tone goes dark. 

"I love you, Mama," He grunts, "And my kids—I haven’t been a good husband, have I?”

You shake your head, finding your own rhythm within your hips as you rotate above him, “It’s okay, baby—“ you breath hitches, “Such a good h—husband, Ony…” 

His hand around your neck loosens—his thumb rubs against the pulse beneath your jaw, “You promise?” 

His lips suck on your bottom lip, his hips moving against yours now—slowing.

You nod. Onyankopon’s other hand cups beneath your thigh, guiding your body—up and down, your head lolls to the side, curls draping along your hand as your eyes roll, “Baby, I c—can’t…” 

“Yeah?” He grunts, “You can’t—lemme’ hold you then. C’mere.” 

His kiss is soft—he’s tasting you, groaning through a snarl of his lip, “Uh—uh-huh—“ His hips aren’t slowing, “I feel you, mama.”

You’re crying softly as you hold onto him,

“O—Ony…”

“I’m a good husband, ain’t I? Talk to me.” 

He’s begging, his voice deep, “Please don’t be mad at me, baby. I’m already mad at myself because I’m not there for you no’ more.”

This bastard was evil. 

The tears in your eyes aren’t helping your case, your arms wrapping around his neck as you shakily sob out in return, cumming again, holding onto him for dear life as you cry, “Not m—mad at you, Daddy…” 

His tongue slides down to your neck, sucking on the skin, leaving bruises. 

With the sudden touch of cold metal against your thigh, your body shivers, mind entirely fuzzy at this point. 

“That’s yo’ niggas ring,” He hushes you with a light grunt, his hips going—”You feel it, mama? You feel it on me?”

“I feel all of you,” you moan, hands scratching his back, “And I love you so much, baby—feel you so deep—oh god—don’t—stop, baby.”

His tongue swirls on your throat, and it makes your head fuzzy, “I’m sorry, baby.”

“I hear you, baby,” you whimper in his own words he spoke earlier, “It don’t matt—oh, matter, anymore, baby. I’m yours, Ony.” 

Your back arches—but he’s still holding your throat. Onyankopon grins at the sight, his head leaned into your neck—grunting and groaning while his large hands help you move. Faster.

“I’ll always be there fo’ my kids—But, you my baby—I’ll never leave you when you need me. And you gon’ need Daddy, huh? Just like now.” 

You press your forehead against his, digging your teeth within your lip as your eyes roll—your mouth parts as you shudderingly moan, “Yeah, Daddy. Okay.”

You’re gasping, eyes watering, hips burning. Your entire body trembles as oceans of pleasure crash in violent waves, the mixture of a groan and scream dropping from your lips, panting as you try to control your sounds. You’re squirting. 

His eyes are glaring, tone deep, “Who you gon’ get on the phone and cry to, huh? Who gon’ treat you the way I do? Fuck yo’ ass the way I do? Who gon’ catch all these tears like me?” 

You’re fully sobbing, “Fuuuck, Ony.”

He grunts at your sounds, “Just like that—“ His hand presses on your waist, “Go ‘head baby. You know I’m right behind you.” 

Your body gives for a third time. Onyankopon’s tongue rushes against yours, the warmth of his cum filling you as his large palm cradles you into his body. You don’t know when your eyes closed, or when you stopped breathing. Your vision is a blur when you’re able to see again. 

“Mama—you aight?” 

You give the smallest nod. Your face is flushed, your mind a bit fuzzy as you whimper, “Got too drunk, baby. My head hurts.”

Onyankopon chuckles, the sound low as he’s leaning against the pillows, your smaller figure sinking into his chest.

“Lemme’ get you a warm towel—“

“Nuh-uh,” you mumble, “I’m fine. You stay here.”  

His hand is slow as his palm smoothes along the small of your back, his lips pressing against your cheek, “I told you I ain’t goin’ nowhere.” 

A comforting silence fills the room for a couple of minutes, your body nearly passed out against his. That’s when you feel your husband shift a bit beneath you as he murmurs, “Baby…I wanted to give you sum’ before the end of the night.”

You hum softly, eyes still closed. 

“Can I guess what it is?”

His laugh is low, his hand gently stroking the skin of your lower back. 

”You get one guess,” He murmurs, his other hand finding a grip in your hair.

“A Unicorn,” you softly gasp, eyes still closed as you hum, “Yup. It’s my very own unicorn.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Onyankopon chuckles as he says, “You was’ close, but nah— I know you’ been talkin’ bout how you wanna renew our vows.”

Your head peeks up. 

“And?”

“And—I figured, yo’ nigga can’t re-marry yo’ ass without some new rings.”

He leans over the bed, pulling two small boxes from his pants. It’s brighter than the jewelry within his mouth—a heart shaped diamond crystals within your eyes, the ring larger than the rock you already carried on your finger. 

You gasp, “Ony—are you serious?” 

“Dead serious. I got that lil’ venue you wanted in Rome, too. I’m ready for another lifetime with you,” His fingers find your chin, “You ready for another lifetime with me?”

“You did this all for me?” 

“I’d do anythin’ for you, girl. You my best friend,” He grins, “Can you promise me one thing, though?”

A sigh escapes his lips—you leap into his embrace, hugging him tightly, “That I’ll give you like a million more babies?” 

Onyankopon chuckles at your reaction, his large arm hugging around your frame as he answers, “Nah. Promise you ain’t never gon’ doubt me again. A nigga love you forreal’.” 

Your heart is warm. Your hands graze along his facial hair, looking over the face of the man that truly loved you like no one else would. 

You sigh, “I love you too, Ony. You got a hair tie?”

“Yeah,” he raises an eyebrow, “Whatchu’ need one for?” 

He’s shifting across the bed, digging into an open drawer of the bedside dresser.

“Cause I’m finna’ suck the skin off that di—“

“Girl,” he chuckles, “Lawd. You ain’t tired?

“I’ll never be tired of you. Say you feel the same—and that you love me!”

He chuckles, “I do. Quit playin’.”

And you knew that, because he did.

[brownsugarcoffy]

The Vine Between Us (3)

Summary

Annie left the Mississippi Delta with a broken heart and a full-ride scholarship, determined never to look back. Now a celebrated professor in Chicago, she’s called home to care for her mother—and the last thing she expects is to run straight into him.

Elijah "Smoke". Her first love. Her first everything.

He disappeared the summer after graduation, leaving only unanswered calls and a goodbye she never got. Now he's back in town, running a moody, magnetic blues lounge with his twin brother, playing late into the humid Southern nights like he’s pouring his soul out just for her.

Annie wants to hate him. She wants to forget the way he made her feel. But one look from those stormy eyes, and she’s seventeen again—burning, aching, and lost in the man he’s become.

He left without a word. But now? He wants to finish the story they never got to end.

Characters: Annie x Elijah " Smoke" Moore (Modern AU)

Themes: Angst, Fluff, Mention of Abuse, Vulgar Language, Sexual content & more...

Chapters: PART (1), PART (2)

A/N: Thank you for all the like and comments! It you did not get tag please let me know. I will definitely try get a list started soon. Enjoy!

NOT EDITED

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The gravel beneath Annie’s tires crackled as she eased her car into a tight spot beneath the blinking neon sign of The Cypress Lounge. Purple and gold light shimmered on her windshield, casting a soft glow across her cheekbones. She killed the engine and sat in silence for a moment, gripping the wheel like it might talk her out of going inside.

She could hear the low thump of music seeping through the club walls, steady like a heartbeat. Faint laughter spilled out every time the door opened. It sounded like the kind of place where memories waited, curled in the corners like cigarette smoke.

Annie stared out the window, her stomach fluttering with nerves she hadn’t expected. She hadn’t been back long. And even though this was her hometown, nothing felt the same. Should I even be here?

But then she thought about Pearline’s laugh, the way it used to echo down school hallways like a warning and a promise. She thought about how long it had been since she let herself breathe around old friends, let alone dance or sip something that burned going down but warmed her chest. And of course—she thought about Smoke.

I deserve this, she whispered to herself, adjusting the strap on her heel. One night. One laugh. One damn drink.

She grabbed her purse, pushed open the car door, and stepped into the thick Mississippi air that curled around her like warm breath. As she headed toward the entrance, her heel clipped the edge of the sidewalk.

The music spilling out from the double doors was smooth, tinged with soul, and paired nicely with the scent of sweet cigars and barbecue drifting on the warm Mississippi air.

The neon sign above the door glowed deep blue, like twilight caught in glass, and beneath it stood a bouncer with arms like tree trunks and a face she hadn’t seen in years.

“Cornbread?” Annie blinked, pausing just short of the rope.

The bouncer turned, squinting. Then his face lit up like a porch light. “Well I’ll be damned. Lil’ Annie Marie from Mrs. Griffin’s fourth grade class?”

Annie laughed. “Ain’t nobody called me Annie Marie in years.”

Cornbread chuckled and pulled her into a quick, friendly hug. He was heavier now, broader in the shoulders, but his round face and easy smile were just the same.

“I heard you went off to college and never looked back,” he said. “Where you been hiding all these years?”

“Chicago,” Annie said with a smile. “I’m a professor now. I teach Botany at the University of Chicago now.”

Cornbread let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. “Oh, we got a brain in the house tonight! Look at you. Smart and still fine.”

She smirked. “You always were full of compliments. How about you?”

He puffed out his chest with pride. “I’m married now. Got my first baby on the way.”

“For real? Congratulations, Cornbread. I’m happy for you.”

“Velma finally said yes after all them years,” he said, beaming. “And now we nesting and everything.”

Annie laughed. “Velma must’ve gotten tired of running.”

“Nah, I just got too good to resist.”

They both shared a laugh before he stepped aside and gestured toward the entrance. “Go on in. First round’s on me, just tell Pearline.”

She gave his arm a friendly squeeze and stepped into the Cypress Lounge.

The interior took her breath for a moment.

It was two floors of elegance dipped in Southern charm—dark wood, golden accents, lush velvet curtains, and soft lighting that made everyone look like a movie star. A spiral staircase curved toward the second level where a live jazz trio played, and the bar below was backed by mirrors that stretched up to the ceiling. Everything about it said grown, sexy, and proud.

She still thought of them as the boys with scraped knees and crooked grins, hustling at corner stores and making mixtapes off the radio. But this… this was grown-man status. No shortcuts. No half-steppin. They’d built something that felt good, something that welcomed people in and made them want to stay.

They really did this, she thought. Elijah and Elias Moore weren’t just the twins from math class anymore. They were businessmen. She took a slow, admiring look around, taking in the laughter, the clink of glasses, the way people were moving like the whole lounge had a pulse.

“Annie!” a voice called out.

She turned and saw Pearline waving her down from the bar, her smile wide and full of surprise. Wearing her big hoops, big hair, and a beautiful yellow summer dress. She stood near the bar waving a menu like a church fan, her hips already swaying in time with the music.

Annie smiled and made her way over, her gold sandals clicking softly against the floor.

“I didn’t think you were gonna come,” Pearline said, pulling her into a warm hug.

“Honestly, I wasn’t sure myself. But I figured, why not?”

“I’m glad you did.” Pearline motioned to the seat beside her. “Come on, girl. Sit. I wanna know everything.”

They spent the next half hour catching up,;talking about old classmates, wild dating stories, and the rollercoaster of adulthood. Pearline shared how she’d done a few Broadway shows when she lived in New York but came back to the Delta for a breather.

“Too much fast living,” Pearline said. “I needed air I didn’t have to fight for. Plus, Mama guilt-tripped me into coming home.”

Annie grinned. “That sounds like something my mom would do.”

Pearline leaned in, sipping her drink. “And you? Are you really teaching college kids now?”

“Yep. Botany,” Annie said, smoothing the side of her dress. “Working on my Ph.D., too.”

Pearline’s eyes widened with delight. “So I’m supposed to call you Dr. Annie now?”

Annie laughed. “Not yet, but soon.”

Just then, a familiar voice chimed in.

“Dr. Annie, huh? That got a nice ring to it.”

They both turned to see Stack—Elias—sauntering over, a fresh drink in his hand, smiling as easy as ever.

“Hey, stranger,” Annie said, warmth in her voice.

“Damn, you look beautiful,” Stack said, eyes full of admiration. “And congratulations. That’s big. I’m really glad you came tonight.”

“I am too,” she admitted, her voice softening. “This place... it’s beautiful. You and Elijah really built something special.”

Stack beamed. “We put our backs into it, that’s for sure.”

Annie’s eyes scanned the room, just for a second, subtle and quiet.

Stack noticed. Of course, he did.

“If you were wondering,” he said, leaning a little closer with a grin, “Smoke’s upstairs.”

Annie rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Nobody is looking for him.”

Stack chuckled. “Sure. Okay. Women are always looking for a Moore man.”

Annie playfully smacked his arm. “Elias, go on somewhere before I hurt you.”

He laughed, the sound rich and warm. “Ain’t nobody called me Elias in years. You might be the only one that gets away with it.”

For a moment, he just looked at her, eyes full of something old and familiar. It was good to see Annie again.

“Well I gotta make my rounds ladies. Enjoy yourself. We will catch up later.”

Annie watched Stack walk off with that same confident stride he always had in high school—shoulders squared, slight bounce in his step like the world bent just a little to make way for him. She shook her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips. Same ol’ Elias.

But the Cypress Lounge… that was something else entirely.

She turned her gaze upward, admiring the chandelier that hung from the center of the ceiling like a cascade of gold teardrops. The soft lighting kissed the mahogany railings and velvet booths just right, casting shadows that made the place feel intimate, sultry even.

Jazz drifted from upstairs—a saxophone player melting notes like butter over a warm biscuit. Down below, glasses clinked, laughter rose and fell, and people moved through the space like they belonged to it.

Annie let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

It felt good to be here. Not as the girl who left Delta, Mississippi all those years ago, but as the woman who came back wiser, sharper, still soft, but not naive.

“This place got layers,” she murmured to Pearline, who was now sipping a cocktail that looked too fancy to pronounce.

“Right?” Pearline said, nodding. “It’s like... upscale juke joint meets speakeasy meets a grown-folks lounge. Smoke had the vision. Stack made it real.”

Annie swirled her drink, a bourbon and honey with a twist of lemon. It was smooth, warming her chest.

Her eyes moved across the room, catching glimpses of small-town faces dressed in big city energy. Some she recognized from high school who were now older, with laugh lines and wedding rings. Others were strangers, out-of-towners, maybe tourists or weekend regulars.

She leaned back, soaking in the chatter, the jazz, the scent of expensive perfume and fried catfish floating in from the kitchen. A waitress glided past in sliver heels, her tray balanced with precision.

Pearline leaned in. “Tell me the truth. When’s the last time you felt like this?”

Annie looked at her, thoughtful.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re allowed to enjoy yourself,” Pearline said. “Like the night is just for you.”

Annie hesitated, then smiled softly. “It’s been a while.”

“Then let it be tonight,” Pearline said, raising her glass. “To feeling like ourselves again.”

Annie clinked her glass against hers. “To that.”

As they toasted, the jazz upstairs slid into a slow, dreamy groove. The kind of music that made couples drift toward each other. The kind that made people believe in second chances.

Annie caught her reflection in the bar mirror Fuchsia dress hugging her just right, gold jewelry gleaming against her brown skin, her natural curls framed in a soft updo like her mother suggested. For the first time in a long time, she saw a woman who was present. Glowing.

And maybe, just maybe… open.

She didn’t come here looking for anything. But maybe something found her anyway.

From the second-floor overlook of the Cypress Lounge, Smoke leaned against the railing, a lowball glass resting in his hand. The golden lights bathed the crowd below in a soft, romantic haze. But his eyes weren’t on the stage or the bar.

They were on her.

Annie.

She stood near the bar with Pearline, her laughter catching even from where he stood. Her fuchsia dress clung to her curves like it had been sewn just for her. Gold jewelry shimmered at her ears and wrists. Her hair in those soft, coiled curls swept up and off her neck looked like something out of a dream. Or maybe a memory.

He didn’t realize how long he’d been watching her until Elias—Stack—appeared beside him with a drink of his own.

“Nigga, you gonna burn a hole in her,” Stack said with a smirk. “You gon’ keep staring or go down there and say something?”

Smoke didn’t answer right away. His jaw ticked slightly as he watched two men approach Annie and Pearline. Locals, dressed clean, full of confidence.

He watched as one leaned in toward Annie, all teeth and charm, nodding to the dance floor. She smiled politely, shaking her head with a laugh, while Pearline entertained the other man with a teasing smirk.

Another song kicked up, an old school groove that had couples sliding onto the dance floor like butter on grits.

One of the men offered Annie his hand again, clearly trying harder. And this time… she considered it.

Smoke straightened just a little.

Stack chuckled under his breath. “It’s funny. All these years, all them women, and look at you now. Jealous like a boy with his first crush.”

Smoke shot him a side glance. “Ain’t jealous. Just observant.”

“Mmhmm,” Stack said, clearly amused.

But Smoke’s gaze returned to Annie.

She looked so at home in the lounge, like she’d never left the Delta. Like she belonged there among gold light, rich music, and warm laughter.

And maybe she did.

But something in his chest pulled taut as he watched her lean closer to say something to the man again. Not because he didn’t want her to enjoy herself. He did.

He just didn’t expect it to feel like this.

In the supermarket, seeing her again had stirred something, but tonight, seeing her radiant, laughing, shining. She wasn’t the memory of the girl he once knew.

She was a woman. and maybe, it was time he stopped watching and made his way downstairs.

Annie’s laughter floated effortlessly into the air, carried by the soft thrum of music and the low hum of voices all around the lounge. She leaned against the bar, a fresh glass of sweet wine in hand, her gold bangles catching the light as she talked animatedly with Pearline.

She hadn’t felt this light in years.

No papers to grade. No office hours. No revisions staring her down.

Just music, good drinks, a beautiful lounge, and the warm comfort of old friendship.

“So, Professor Annie…” Pearline teased, tossing a curl over her shoulder, “…you just out here mingling with the common folk now?”

Annie rolled her eyes and sipped her wine. “Girl, please. I barely got out the house without guilt. Between teaching full time, writing this dissertation, and managing my apartment, this is the first night in months I’ve done something that didn’t involve caffeine and footnotes.”

Pearline beamed. “Then tonight, we dancing.”

As if on cue, two sharply dressed men approached them. Both tall, with easy smiles and that smooth Delta charm that didn’t have to try too hard.

“Excuse me, ladies,” the taller of the two said, his voice velvet-rich, “but we been standing over there trying to figure out how long it’d take to work up the nerve to come speak.”

Pearline smirked. “Well, it took you long enough.”

That made them all laugh. The other man turned to Annie, extending a hand. “Name’s Darius. And you must be… trouble.”

Annie quirked a brow but smiled. “Annie. And I prefer Doctor Trouble, if we’re going there.”

Darius chuckled. “Doctor Trouble? Lord have mercy! Smart and fine.”

“And you are?” she asked, sipping her wine again

“Darius Jackson. Contractor. Work out in Clarksdale. This here’s my cousin Quincy. He owns that new vinyl shop down on Main.”

“Pearline,” her friend chimed in, shaking Quincy’s hand. “Actress, singer, Broadway star. For tonight, your favorite dance partner.”

“Then can I have the honor of the first dance?” Quincy asked smoothly, extending his hand to Pearline.

“And the second,” Pearline replied with a wink, taking it.

Darius looked back at Annie. “What about you, Dr. Annie? Can I steal a dance, or are you one of those women who’s too smart to let a man lead?”

Annie let out a rich laugh, full and unbothered. “Darius, I came out tonight to have fun. I’ve earned that much.”

She placed her glass on the bar and took his hand. “Let’s dance.”

From above, Smoke watched her move onto the floor, her fuchsia dress catching the light with every sway of her hips. He watched her laugh, watched Darius lean in to say something, watched her throw her head back in amusement and move like she hadn’t been holding the weight of the world for years.

She looked free.

Beautiful.

Untouchable.

Yet, the heat that rose in his chest wasn’t from the whiskey anymore.

It was something much older.

Much deeper.

He didn’t like the way Darius held her waist.

Smoke gripped the railing of the upstairs balcony so tightly, his knuckles paled. The drink in his free hand had long since gone warm, untouched as he stared across the dance floor below.

Annie was glowing.

Her body moved like it remembered music in her bones. Swaying, dipping, rising again with ease. Her laughter floated up to him through the air thick with cigar smoke, sweat, perfume, and bass. Her dress, that vibrant shade of fuchsia, clung to her body like a second skin. Every time Darius’s hands rested lightly at her waist, Smoke’s jaw clenched tighter.

It was like watching someone slow dance with his oxygen.

That was his girl.

At least... she had been.

Back when they were sixteen and stupid and brave. Back before life threw bills, heartbreak, and distance between them. Back before the Cypress Lounge and Bo Chow’s and all this damn noise.

The DJ faded Lucy Pearl into the first few notes of “Love of My Life (An Ode to Hip-Hop)” by Erykah Badu, and that’s when it hit him like a punch to the gut.

He was right back in Annie’s living room.

It was a warm Friday night in the Delta, the kind where cicadas buzzed like static in the trees and the stars seemed to hum. Annie’s parents had left earlier that evening for a friend’s wedding in Jackson, and Elijah had ridden his bike over just as the sun tucked itself behind the pine trees.

Annie had on some worn cotton shorts and a tank top, curls tied up in a puff, and barefoot. They’d spent the last hour curled on the sofa, knees touching beneath the quilt her grandmother made, watching Brown Sugar on DVD. The part where Dre confesses his love for Sidney had just ended and the credits began to roll.

The silence between them was warm, not awkward. Just the kind of quiet that came from being understood.

“You liked it?” Annie asked, brushing popcorn from her chest.

“Yeah.” Elijah nodded. “I like stories that know what they are.”

Annie chuckled, nudging him with her elbow. “You so deep, Eli.”

He shrugged. “Just honest.”

She looked over at him, eyes soft in the dim lamp light. “Say somethin’ honest now.”

Elijah turned toward her fully, his breath catching. The air shifted. Time slowed.

He was a boy raised by a father who didn’t believe in softness or being vulnerable. But Annie? She was soft. She was the center.

He fidgeted with his thumb, gaze dropping to the curve of her knee, then back up. “I... I been tryin’ to say something for a while now,” he said, voice low, like he was scared to speak it too loud would break the magic.

She didn’t blink. “Say it.”

Elijah swallowed. “I love you, Annie.”

A beat passed.

Two.

Then a small smile broke across her face, slow and sure. “I know.”

He blinked. “You know?”

“I was just waiting on you to know,” she said. “Took you long enough.”

She leaned in, kissed his cheek—soft, then firm. Her lips rested near his ear. “I love you too, Elijah Moore.”

And that was the first night Elijah knew what it meant to truly be seen.

Smoke’s jaw flexed as he watched Darius lead Annie into a playful spin. The way she smiled at the man. His girl smiling at someone else caused an ache in his chest to expand until it became unbearable.

He looked away, muttering to himself, “She is still mine. She gotta be.”

The music pulsed. The past bled into the present.

Elijah Smoke Moore realized that no matter how long it had been...Annie Marie Baptiste still had his heart in her back pocket.

The song faded into the background as Annie laughed, her chest rising and falling with breathless joy. Darius thanked her for the dance with a charming smile and a hand squeeze before heading back toward his group of friends. Pearline, mid-conversation with another admirer, gave Annie a knowing wink.

Annie smoothed her dress down, her skin warm from movement and her heart still fluttering from the rare sensation of being completely free.

Then she felt it that unmistakable pull.

She turned.

And there he was.

Smoke. Elijah.

Leaning casually against a column near the bar, half-shrouded in the lounge’s moody amber lighting, his dark eyes locked on her like she was the only person in the room. He hadn’t moved a step, yet the energy between them shifted like gravity realigning itself. Her throat went dry.

“Elijah,” she said, more breath than word.

He pushed off the column and made his way toward her, slow and deliberate, the crowd parting instinctively. When he stood in front of her, time compressed into that heartbeat of silence.

“You still dance like you got magic in your bones,” he said, voice low and velvety.

“And you still talk like you trying to put a spell on somebody,” Annie replied, steady, even as her pulse betrayed her.

Smoke’s eyes drifted over her face, then lower, pausing at the way her gold jewelry shimmered against her skin. “Didn’t expect to see you out tonight.”

“Pearline invited me. I needed a night out.” She tilted her head. “Stack inviting me too, if you remember?”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I remember. Didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“I almost didn’t,” she admitted.

“Why’d you change your mind?”

Annie hesitated, her mouth parting, then closing. “Because I deserved to have a little fun. Been working too hard not to.”

Smoke nodded, something unreadable flickering in his expression. Then, softer, “You look good, Annie.”

“So I’ve heard,” she said, half-smiling. “But thank you.”

They stood there, the hum of the lounge pulsing around them. Two old lovers suspended in time, surrounded by music, memory, and everything unsaid.

Smoke leaned in slightly. “I ever tell you how much I hated seeing another man with his hands on you?”

Annie raised a brow. “Elijah—”

“I know,” he said, holding up a hand. “You don’t owe me anything. Not tonight. But I can’t lie and pretend it didn’t mess with me. Not after the way we ended. Not when I still…”

He stopped himself.

Her voice softened. “Still what?”

He didn’t finish. Instead, he glanced down at her hand, then back to her eyes. “You still wear your scent the same. Citrus and shea. Smells like home.”

Annie swallowed hard. “Elijah, don’t start something you’re not ready to finish.”

His gaze lingered a beat longer. “Maybe I came tonight ready.”

She blinked. For the first time in years, she didn’t know what to say.

From the bar, Pearline’s voice floated over, playful and teasing, “Annie, girl, you better not be fallin’ under a Moore spell again!”

They both laughed, tension breaking like steam rising off hot asphalt.

Annie stepped back slightly, her smile edged with caution. “I came to dance, not to rewind the past.”

Smoke nodded. “Then let me make it simple.” He extended a hand. “One dance. No spells. No promises. Just music.”

Annie stared at his hand… then slowly placed hers in it.

“One dance,” she warned.

“One,” he echoed, leading her toward the floor. But in his gut, Elijah Moore knew one would never be enough.

The moment Annie placed her hand in Elijah’s, the room shifted. “Soul Sista” by Bilal poured over them like honey, thick and slow, syrupy with nostalgia. They moved toward the center of the floor where the lights dimmed just enough to blur the lines between memory and moment.

As his hand slipped around her waist, Annie felt the warmth of his touch seep through her dress. Her other hand rested on his shoulder, reluctant, but steady.

“You always wore gold like it was made for you,” Elijah murmured.

Annie looked up, raising a brow. “We’re starting off with compliments now?”

He smirked faintly. “Just telling the truth.”

They began to sway, the beat guiding their steps in time with the ache that had been living in the space between them for years. The hush of the lounge faded into the background, as though the music had built a room just for them.

Annie kept her eyes on the dance floor behind his shoulder. “So… what is this, Elijah? A peace offering?”

He pulled her in a little closer, not enough to provoke, but just enough to be felt. “No. It’s a moment. That’s all I’m asking for.”

Annie sighed, a soft huff of breath between them. “Funny how you ask for a moment now… after disappearing for years without giving me one.”

Elijah stilled. Just for a second. The weight of her words hung in the air like smoke.

“I know,” he said, his voice low.

She dared to meet his gaze. “Do you? Because you left, Elijah. No note. No call. Not even a rumor. I thought something happened to you. Then I realized… something did. You just didn’t think I needed to know what.”

The music swelled. “You’re my soul sista…”

His grip on her waist tightened with emotion. “Annie, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“But you did.”

“I know I did.” He pulled back slightly, just enough to see her full face. “And I’ve carried that every damn day since.”

Annie’s lips trembled, but she held firm. “Then why? Why didn’t you say anything? Why just vanish like I never mattered?”

Smoke’s jaw clenched. His eyes, usually calm, stormed with guilt.

“Because I was scared. And selfish. I didn’t know how to be everything you deserved. I was seventeen with a thousand demons and no answers. And you… you were brilliant. Focused. Full of light. I thought leaving would protect you from me.”

Annie blinked, stunned. The raw honesty in his voice cut deeper than she expected.

“You didn’t get to make that decision for me,” she said quietly.

“I know that now.”

They moved slowly, their bodies pressed close as the song continued to pour through them. “...Ooh, you’re my soul sista…”

Smoke lowered his forehead to hers for a beat, their breath shared in silence. “Annie, I’m sorry. For all of it. For leaving. For hurting you. For not being man enough to look you in the eye and tell you goodbye.”

Annie didn’t respond right away. Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she closed her eyes trying not to let the years of confusion and hurt unravel all at once.

“I waited for you, you know,” she whispered. “I waited and I wondered and I hated myself for not being enough to make you stay.”

He pulled her tighter then, unable to pretend anymore. “Don’t ever say that. You were everything. I just… wasn’t ready to stand beside someone like you. I was broken, Annie.”

“You still are,” she said, not cruelly—but with painful truth.

“I’m trying,” Smoke replied. “I came back because… I couldn’t stay gone anymore. Not when every place I went, I still saw you. Heard you in the music. In the quiet. You were always with me.”

The song reached its final stretch, winding down into soft, soulful notes. Their steps slowed too, until they were nearly standing still, holding each other in the middle of a dance floor full of strangers who felt a world away.

Annie’s voice cracked as she looked up at him. “You don’t get to walk back into my life and expect me to pretend none of that happened.”

“I’m not asking you to pretend,” he said. “I’m asking you… to let me earn your forgiveness. One step at a time.”

Silence bloomed between them.

“I don’t know what I’m ready for,” she admitted.

“That’s okay,” Elijah said. “I’ll wait. However long it takes.”

The music faded completely, and still they didn’t let go.

Not yet.

Not while something between them fragile and undeniable had finally been spoken aloud.

The music drifted into silence, replaced by the soft hum of the lounge around them. She gently pulled her hands away from Smoke’s and the space between them stretched wider with each step back.

“I need a minute,” she said softly, almost to herself.

Smoke didn’t stop her. He only nodded, his eyes following her with an intensity that burned hotter than anything the music could offer.

Annie turned, her heart thudding loud and uneven as she weaved through the crowd. The lights of the Cypress Lounge, golden and low, swirled above her, but nothing felt steady. Not her breathing. Not her thoughts. Not the aching press of Smoke’s words echoing in her chest.

He had said sorry. Really said it. Not in the casual, rehearsed way people apologized to ease their own guilt, but in a way that cracked open something she had sealed years ago.

She made her way to the upstairs lounge. A quieter, more intimate space with plush velvet chairs and soft jazz playing in the background. Her heels clicked against the hardwood as she approached the bar, signaling the bartender with a flick of her fingers.

“Just water,” she said, her voice a whisper.

The bartender nodded, sliding her a tall glass filled with ice and lemon.

Annie took it with shaky hands and sat near the corner, facing out over the balcony where she could still see the dance floor below. She watched people laughing, swaying, living like they didn’t have history haunting them.

Her eyes, inevitably, found Smoke.

He hadn’t moved from where she left him.

He stood still in the middle of the floor, hands in his pockets, head bowed slightly as if replaying every word they had just exchanged.

Annie exhaled, long and slow.

She sipped the water and closed her eyes for a moment, leaning back in the chair. The memory of his voice clung to her skin like heat.

“I’ll wait. However long it takes.”

God help her… part of her wanted to believe him. Part of her wanted to melt into the space between those words and everything they once were.

However, the wiser part of her, the woman who had spent years rebuilding herself from the absence he left behind. She needed more than beautiful words. She needed proof.

Still, she didn’t move.

She just sat there, watching him.

Waiting to see if he would follow.

Waiting to see if maybe...he meant it.

“Girl,” Pearline said, breathless and curious, as she slid into the seat next to Annie on the velvet settee. “You damn near flew off that dance floor like it was on fire.”

Annie gave a tired smile and sipped her water. “Maybe it was.”

Pearline tilted her head, scanning her friend’s face like only a true friend could. “You alright?”

Annie didn’t answer right away. Her eyes drifted over the balcony edge, down to where Elijah still stood like a statue in the middle of the lounge. His head had turned slightly like he felt her eyes, like he knew she was watching.

“I’m trying to be,” Annie said softly.

Pearline followed her gaze. “He’s been staring up here since you left.”

“That sounds about right.” Annie turned her attention back to her drink. “He’s good at showing up just a little too late.”

Pearline reached over, resting her hand on Annie’s knee. “But he said something, didn’t he? Something real.”

Annie nodded slowly. “Yeah… he apologized.”

“Did it feel real?”

“That’s the problem,” Annie whispered. “It did.”

Pearline leaned back, letting out a low whistle. “Whew. Now I see why you dipped.”

They sat in silence for a few beats, the jazz from the overhead speakers settling into their bones.

“Pearline,” Annie said, voice barely a murmur, “I spent so long trying not to think about him. Not to wonder why he left. Then tonight… it’s like none of that time passed. He touched me and I—”

“You felt it.”

Annie nodded. “Worse. I wanted to feel it. I didn’t want to, but I did.”

Pearline sighed, taking her friend’s hand in hers. “That man has loved you since we were kids, Annie. I saw it. Everybody did. But love don’t excuse leaving without a word. Love don’t excuse silence.”

Annie blinked back heat behind her eyes. “Exactly.”

“But,” Pearline added, squeezing Annie’s hand, “maybe this ain’t about what he feels. Maybe it’s about what you want now. Do you want answers? Closure? A second chance? Or do you want to finish that dissertation and leave this night as just a beautiful evening with some damn fine music?”

Annie let the question settle in her chest. Heavy. Unforgiving. True.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I just know I don’t want to run anymore.”

Pearline smirked, bumping her shoulder gently. “Then don’t. Stay. Be still. Let him be the one who has to move this time.”

Annie smiled faintly, the first real one in a while. “You always know what to say.”

“I’m gifted,” Pearline said dramatically, flipping her curls over her shoulder. “And I’m also about to go get another drink. You want anything?”

“Just another water.”

Pearline winked. “Playing it safe. I respect it.”

As Pearline walked away, Annie looked down at Smoke one more time. He had finally moved, and he was heading toward the stairs. Her chest tightened.

She wasn’t running.

Not this time.

That’s when a voice broke through the velvet hum of the lounge. It was deep, smooth, laced with charm.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Stack’s voice rang out from the stage mic below, drawing the attention of the crowd like a magnet. Annie and Pearline both leaned over the balcony railing, their eyes catching the soft golden glow of the spotlight that now bathed Stack’s confident figure.

Pearline grinned. “And here goes your other boy…”

Annie smirked faintly, grateful for the distraction.

“Now I don’t usually get on this mic unless the bar is low or the crowd is too quiet,” Stack began, earning chuckles from below. “But tonight, we got a little treat for y’all.”

The crowd leaned in, drinks stilled mid-sip. Upstairs, Annie felt her shoulders ease.

“This here,” Stack continued, “is my cousin Sammie. He flew in from Memphis just for tonight. Brought his guitar and a little heat to share with y’all. Don’t let that shy face fool you. He been pickin’ strings since before he could spell his name.”

More laughter. Anticipation crackled through the room like static.

Stack stepped aside, motioning toward the tall, lean man who strolled into the spotlight, a well-worn guitar slung over his shoulder. Sammie tipped his hat to the crowd before settling onto a stool, adjusting the mic.

“I wanna give y’all something gritty,” he said into the mic, his voice rich and slow like molasses. “A little something that reminds me of Mississippi swamps and kitchen radios… a piece of my soul.”

Then he leaned forward, plucked the first mournful note, and launched into his own haunting rendition of Smokestack Lightnin’ by Howlin’ Wolf.

The sound crawled through the lounge like smoke through a keyhole. It was bluesy, raw, mesmerizing. The guitar wailed under Sammie’s fingers, and the crowd fell into a reverent hush.

From the balcony, Annie felt it thrum deep in her chest.

Pearline whispered, “Damn… this boy ain’t come to play.”

Annie said nothing.

For the first time all night, the music wasn’t just background, it was speaking to something buried inside her. Something that's aching. Something that wants to be awakened.

Sammie sang that rough, aching chorus, as Elijah finally reached the top of the stairs.

Annie didn’t look at him.

Not yet.

Not while the blues were still singing.

TAGLIST:

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[obeymeluv]

Kalim's family tradition of seeing a fortune-teller before introducing the partner leaves him with concerns when she says something comforting and cryptic about your future with him.

There was a tradition in the Al-Asim family where a fortune-teller must be consulted prior to bringing a partner to see the family for the first time. It was a highly regarded practice meant to see the compatibility of the couple and how it might impact the family. Rumor had it that an Al-Asim had been saved long, long ago by a fortune-teller and promised them a life without want in return. Kalim sat nervously, swallowing thickly as the swathed woman lit her incense and rearranged her trinkets.

Jamil stood guard outside the tent, as did several other men loyal to the family. Kalim knew he was safe; he was more scared of what she may have to say. Divinatory magic was her family's specialty and she had a fantastic record. Thus far she'd correctly predicted the gender of six of his siblings, which suitors would come for his older sister, and the night his father would've been successfully poisoned (if not for her dream and intervention).

He couldn't imagine a life without you! What could she possibly have to say?

Sure, you weren't far along in your relationship but Kalim knew in his heart that he didn't want anyone else. For him, the sun rose and set in your eyes. The relationship was pretty serious, given Jamil's threats to strangle him if he talked about you anymore than he already talked to you.

"Be not afraid, little Al-Asim," she smiled, talking in their shared tongue, "I see a very happy life for you."

Kalim jumped, snapping to alertness. He didn't realize he'd zoned out staring at the smoke winding up from the incense sticks. She hummed and swirled her hands around the giant crystal ball in front of her, inhaling the smoke and blowing it over the sphere. Some of his siblings warned him that she would describe the partner--with scary accuracy; she could even tell him what toe his brother-in-law had a freckle on!--before giving the vision.

She correctly guessed the color of your skin and quoted his favorite way to describe your eyes. Kalim physically shivered; apologizing hastily soon after. His cheeks were a fierce pink that made her chuckle. "For all your privilege, the greatest one is to have them as your spouse. They will nurture your independence as much as you desire to coddle them for all of their suffering. You will become a great leader and they will guide your hand. The foundation of your dynasty is made with mud and tears but it will support something beautiful and prosperous."

That was it? It was over? She dismissed him sweetly and he stumbled out, dazed and deep in thought.

Why would there be tears? Happy tears, he hoped! You and Kalim had never fought, much less raised your voices at each other! He didn't know his brows were knit with concern until Jamil placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. Kalim blew out a heavy sigh, feeling himself relax at the touch he didn't know he needed.

"Good?" Jamil's brow quirked with curiosity. Per the tradition, Kalim could not share the fortune-teller's words with anyone. It had to unfold as she described. She would tell his parents and things would go from there. Worry gnawed at him, twisting his guts into knots as he realized not even you could know.

"Yeah," Kalim mumbled. That was a bit slow for Jamil's liking. Kalim wouldn't look at him directly and was twisting the biggest earring in his left ear. He was nervous about something, Jamil observed.

"Then you have a week to enjoy. Be happy." Jamil patted him on the back as they made their way to the main house.

As expected, his parents were thrilled with the news. His mother was conflicted with the idea of her little one blossoming into a man, of course, but could not deny she was intrigued by a 'beautiful and prosperous dynasty'. How many grandkids was that, exactly? Maybe she could pull the fortune-teller aside and ask her in private! Kalim had aspirations of a big family, like his father, so her imagination was running wild.

Kalim's heart squeezed at his father's large, comforting hand. The half-hug pressing him to the reassuring belly was also nice. "Don't fret over the tears, my son. Tears are like rain in the desert, they help things grow."

"No relationship is perfect, anyways!" his sister waves her hand in the air, "everyone screams and cries at some point!"

"For different reasons!" his brother cackled, dodging two of her slaps. She swung a silk pillow with gold threads and teardrop rubies hanging from the corners. He yelped when the rubies smacked him, complaining to their mother.

"It will be fine!" his mother swooped down to pinch his cheeks. Her perfume swirled around him and Kalim couldn't help but break out into a smile. "You've sunshine in your soul, my love, and people will always want the light. Don't worry!"

"Are they staying for the whole break?" his sister asked, voice curious and sweet as she maintained eye contact with her cowering brother, pillow poised for another blow.

"That's the plan!" Kalim smiled.

His sister gave a squeal that made them both cringe. "I have so many ideas! I have to make some calls!"

The plan was for Kalim to spend the night with you in Ramshackle, give you a quick run-through of his siblings, and bring you to his home in the Scalding Sands in the morning. You were the first person he'd ever brought home on break and it was a very big deal.

He steps through the mirror with kisses from his mother and siblings still tingling on his skin. Kalim loves his family dearly but he's happy all of the pressure, worry, and excitement is on the other side of the mirror. The magic crackles over the surface, dies, and becomes a still pool. It's not until Jamil nudges him gently with one of the bags that Kalim realizes he was lost in his own reflection.

His own thoughts.

Most of the groceries and luxuries are restocks for his and Jamil's room in Scarabia but there's a few things for you. Kalim always liked to bring gifts over when he visited even though you've told him a million times that he was the gift. Jamil's threatening the boundaries of his role as a watchful servant to house Al-Asim when he tells Kalim to go straight to you and that he'll come to Ramshackle in an hour. It's a dangerous game they play, Kalim constantly overanalyzing the technicalities of what he can get away with to give Jamil some semblance of freedom and him, his independence, but as long as neither one of them say anything it works.

The white-haired boy chuckles to himself as he realizes he has, in fact, become more independent since knowing you. Sure NRC is protected with charms and enchantments but that still counts, right? He knocks on your door and you answer in your comfy clothes. Kalim feels his heart flutter and melt; you may have holes in the hem of your shirt and your pants are slightly too big because they're from a thrift shop but it doesn't take away from how beautiful you are.

In this moment he thinks his mother is wrong. You must be the sun and he, a sunflower, because he's always looking in your direction. There is nowhere he wants to be but with you and he is ever-reaching. You're chastising him about bringing gifts--again!--but he doesn't hear it. The second you arms circle around him, warm and soft, all of his senses fall away except for the one that registers your touch.

It's better than any massage he's ever gotten. It's as if his soul is a precious infant and you are the ultimate protection. The best comfort.

You manage to get him out of the doorway and Kalim laughs as you become an awkward tangle of limbs. He separates just long enough to set up the treats and show you the gifts--a silk pillow, a body scrub, a hair mask, and another set of sleepwear--before fishing out the little cards he'd made.

It's a huge stack! He sees your wide eyes and giggles as he pulls you against him, rubbing your arm comfortingly. "I have a lot of siblings, remember?"

"There's over thirty!"

"I have a lot of siblings," he repeats, cheeks heating up.

Jamil uses one of the three spare keys you made and finds you curled together, Kalim snoring quietly in the crook of your neck. The floorboard creaks under his foot and your eyes snap open. He sees the hand in Kalim's hair flinch but he doesn't move. Kalim's handmade family cards are all over the small coffee table, as are some half-eaten snacks. "Get ready," he whispers to you, "it's going to be an experience."

Jamil's words left you not knowing what to expect but you certainly couldn't predict the towering, ornate palace or the sheer number of white-haired people ready to drown you in the impressive entryway. Hands pulled you from all directions, hugs coming two at a time. You tried to turn your head at the feel of someone touching you hair but couldn't. Someone grabbed your face and you found yourself staring into Mrs. Al-Asim's eyes. "My grandchildren will be lucky to have such eyes!" she teased.

Kalim grabs you now, laughing nervously as he weaves through the siblings like it's nothing. You take a relieved breath and look back on the crowd. They've settled but you can definitely see where Kalim gets his excited puppy look. He introduces you to his mother and father first, breaking his siblings up into two groups: those older than him and those younger than him. One of his siblings is a literal toddler and it makes you wonder how old Mrs. Al-Asim is because she's as youthful and exuberant as Kalim!

Flawless, really. Good genes!

Said toddler has been watching everyone come up and hug you or shake your hand. He waddles up to you and plops himself down on your foot, hugging your leg. One of the older girls scoops him up as he giggles, another yanking you away and down a series of massive halls. Kalim tries to take you back but one of the girls ushering you along calls something out in their language and the kids swarm him.

"That's a dirty trick and you know it!" Kalim yells.

The room you spill into is just as massive as any other part of the manor. You take in the gold thread on the carpet, the expensive-looking vases, and nearly faint at a walk-in closet that looks big enough to fit the first floor of Ramshackle in it.

You're beginning to understand what Jamil said about the whole thing being 'an experience'. It was just luxury upon luxury with the Al-Asims! Some of the girls were holding up pre-made outfits, telling you not to be discouraged because you would have a custom outfit within a few hours. Others were holding rolls of uncut fabrics under your chin at the advice of a...color analyst? Someone is measuring your waist and it makes you flinch.

You can't give it much thought after one of the sisters ask if you're a 'jewelry person' and they start bickering about what would suit you. You can't even begin to imagine how much what they're holding costs! It feels like you're in there for hours but you come out with a casual outfit, one for swimming, one for shopping, one for the dinner party, and a different style of sleepwear you'd never seen before. There's more to come, they promise, but this is decent enough to start. Stunned by the opulence and generosity, they drag you back through the halls to show you off.

Your heart is fit to burst with how welcoming the Al-Asims are. It makes tears prick at the corner of your eyes. Kalim looks like he wants to cry, too. His mother and father assure your safety, thank you for being so precious to Kalim, and welcome you into their culture with the wish that you embrace it. The kids promise to teach you all kinds of words and it makes you laugh.

The outfit is colorful and you're glad it covers you because you'd probably burn to a crisp otherwise. You walk over to Kalim, trying not to stumble in the shoes as you get used to the feel of things breezing and jingling around you. He catches you and his eyes start to sparkle with tears again. "Did I step on your toe?" you joke.

"You look so pretty, hayati!" he sniffles like he can stop the tears from slipping down his face. Kalim is always daydreaming of your future together but something about the realness of you being in his arms, wearing traditional Scalding Sand garb, hits his tender heart hard.

"Come on now, stop crying. We can't do anything fun if you're crying!" you dab at his eyes with a flowy sleeve and he leans into you.

"That's one of our words!" one of the kids points at Kalim. "Do you know what that means?"

"My life," you reply, taking Kalim in your arms like you have a million times before. Every time he's ever said it, actually.

One of his brothers walks by and teases him about teaching you sweet nothings. Kalim glares at him from your shoulder, pouting. He points at his brother and yells something. The kids take off after him. "I told them he's 'it' for the next round of tag!" Kalim beams, satisfied with himself.

Your first day in the Scalding Sands is an innocent one of meeting family, playing games, and having a delicious dinner that isn't unlike one of the parties at Scarabia. Kalim is by your side at every opportunity. Some of his younger siblings try to feed you and teach your how to eat the food, ignoring Kalim as he politely explains you're big enough to feed yourself. He's trying to keep them from choking you with food but can't deny that you look adorable with your cheeks packed like a squirrel.

The party winds down and you fall into your usual habit of picking up everything. Jamil hisses at you to stop but you ignore him. Kalim saves the moment by swooping in to collect things, too. It's clear the help is stunned and trying not to look too surprised in front of his parents. "Ah, I see," his mother laughs over her glass, "your sanadi."

Kalim whines, guiding you hurriedly to the kitchen, clicking his tongue at you before you take a wrong turn. He removes his bracelets and gives you gloves to wear, putting on a pair of his own soon after. It's not until you're wrist deep and washing the dishes that you ask what the new word meant.

"'Sanadi' means backbone." he blushes, suddenly very interested in the custom plates, "it's a term of endearment in the Scalding Sands."

"I like it," you smile at him.

Your first night in the massive palace is odd. You know you're in one of the most protected places in the world but it's new and the shadows and sounds make you nervous. Trying to focus on the obscenely soft pillows and comfy sheets help a little. You're almost asleep when a noise outside the window draws your attention. A little wary, you open the window.

"Want a preview before the girls run you all over the Sands tomorrow?" Kalim offers you his hand, carpet fluttering patiently underneath him.

"Sure. Couldn't sleep anyways," you shrug. He secures your hands, body over yours to protect you from the windchill as he points out details in the palace before telling carpet how to get past the garden and gates without being seen. Clearly he's snuck out enough for people to look skyward now and then.

Kalim's only fifteen minutes into describing the bazaar when he realizes you're asleep. He gives a breathy laugh, tugging gently on one of carpet's tassels to make him head back to the palace. Carpet glides smoothly into the still-open window of the guest room, rolling you back into the sheets as he flops onto a nearby chair. Kalim locks the window back and tiptoes to the bed, snuggling in beside you.

He doesn't know how long you slept, but it was long enough for people to look for him and realize he's not in his own bed. The door to your room bursts open, a chorus of squeaky 'Sanadi!'s pouring in with little feet. Kalim shrieks like he's being drowned in cold water when something much bigger jumps on the bed and it lurches your bodies, the tiny ones collapsing all over you with giggles. Crisp smacks echo in the room, Kalim tangled in the sheets and fighting for his life as his sister yells. You try to cover Kalim but the kids dive on you and press into you, seeking protection from the shoe's rage.

Kalim falls out of the sheets like he's just escaped a cocoon and can't use his legs. Blind with sleep, hair a mess, clothes wrinkled, he's piloted by the primordial fear of being a younger sibling at the mercy of an older one. He makes it around the door and down the hall.

You're allowed to dress yourself but the sisters insist on fussing and fawning over you, giving you this or taking away that before summoning bodyguards to escort you to...wherever they want, really.

It's hard for you to process that they can just do whatever they want at the drop of the hat. They don't have to panic crunch numbers or scour every possible inch of Ramshackle for a thaumark and you're stunned. You don't know why you are, but you are. The girls are sweet but they have no concept of reservations and they don't recognize their own entitlement--you think--because people are just as happy to cater to them as they are to ask.

You're taken to a very expensive, insanely exclusive spa that you've heard Vil mention before. No appointment needed, of course. Staff just seemed to materialize and rooms were just conveniently there. The girls are established here and the employees are familiar with their skin and favorites but you're a new face.

Your stomach clenches nervously and you wonder if they're judging you. Do they see a blank check or someone who looks out of place in the clothes you're wearing?

When they're given permission to charge the account but 'be reasonable' you wonder what reasonable is to an Al-Asim. You can't help the smile that cracks your lips when you think of Kalim and his many parades and parties. He thinks those are reasonable and they're quite extravagant.

'Reasonable' is a skin analysis and so many treatments--special steam, cleanser, toners, mask packs, funny lights, weird tools--in the comfiest bed-like table that you're not even sure you were awake for half of it. You're amazed by what you see in the mirror. You don't see someone who's fought overblots or eaten something questionable to keep from starving.

Dazed and ethereal, you're escorted to the next experience. You and the girls spend the day in the spa, this time in several soaking pools before finishing in a mud pack-body wrap combo. You're introduced to several native drinks and get some sort of special infusion. Whatever it is, the girls swear by it.

You're surprised Kalim recognizes you when you get back to the Al-Asim home. He sweeps you up and gives a surprised peep about how you smell and how soft you are. The embrace is short-lived because you're being dragged away to change for dinner. He makes up for lost time by sitting next to you and sneaking into your room again.

It's cute and a little harder than the night before. Some of his siblings stayed up to make sure he didn't just walk in. When you have that many siblings, you always have more than one plan. You and Kalim have to shush each other at times but you're happy to tell him about your day.

He's just as happy to listen. His heart relaxes when he realizes you had a mud bath and you're doing your best not to ugly cry because you feel clean and pampered and had a day where you didn't have to worry about anything.

That means everything came true and it's smooth sailing, right? Everything she said came true?

He kisses your tears away and lets the emotions dwindle into exhaustion, holding you close.

The rest of the week is a balance of playing with Kalim's siblings, finding fun things to do around the main house--or having them brought to the main house--and going out into public with a crazy amount of guards. The third day was a personal parade of animals not unlike a standard Scarabia party; Kalim and his siblings translated how to hold, care for, and feed them. You got to ride some of them!

You spent the fourth day taking in the local sights with Kalim, Jamil, and his sister. It was nice to get away from the splurging whirlwind of the Al-Asim girls and just be casual in the browsing. For all his wealth, Kalim blended seamlessly with the interesting hole-in-the-wall spots others seemed oblivious to. It was an interesting side of him.

Kalim promised the last day would be for you and him and he was keeping his word. You took off on carpet at first light, watching life trickle into the bazaar. He'd begged the kitchen staff for several baskets and you were enjoying a simple morning of people-watching and sharing food. When you were finished eating, he found someone who looked like they could use the rest of the food. Carpet tucked safely under his arm, Kalim took you to a shop you'd passed over yesterday.

"I want to get matching rings," he smiled.

Back in the world you came from, custom jewelry would take a week or more. In Twisted Wonderland you guessed magic made the process near-instantaneous. Or maybe they just had multiple hands on it since it was a request from an Al-Asim. You wouldn't be surprised if they had a file for the Al-Asims given how much jewelry they wore.

The ring was beautiful. It was a thin, elegant, curving design that looked like a blooming flower with a ruby in the middle. It reminded you of Kalim's eyes. Kalim's ring shared the curving, elegant design, but his flower hadn't bloomed; the petals were flush against the jewel and almost crown-like. He'd just paid when the door to the shop burst open.

Neither of you were surprised. You half-expected it to be Jamil. Or one of his siblings.

You were both wrong. Very wrong.

You had no idea who these people were or what they wanted. Had they been watching you since yesterday? Earlier in the week? They rushed you and you thanked the Seven that they didn't immediately draw their magi-pens. It gave you the time to sock one of them.

There was a brief moment of stillness when they saw his head snap back. Four strangers realized they didn't know you or what you were capable of. Before they realized you didn't have a magi-pen, you kicked one as hard as you could in the knee. He buckled, sinking enough for you to punch him hard in the stomach.

You felt one of Kalim's arms wrap around your middle, yanking you back to his chest. He thrust his magi-pen forward and you held your breath. Kalim was far more valuable without a scratch or burn.

And they assumed you were valuable to Kalim. They were right. Kalim was so focused on anticipating a spell, on getting his protections ready, that he didn't anticipate a physical attack. He started sliding across the shop floor when they got the idea to rip you away.

It took three of them but Kalim wasn't done yet. He wasn't beaten. They escape in an uncoordinated stumble and Kalim's hot on their heels, taking to the skies and firing off spells from carpet. They fire back but between trying to keep you from running and aiming up at a moving target, he has the advantage.

Until they run through the bazaar, of course. There's so many people now that he struggles to keep his eyes on you. He almost loses you once or twice but he can hear you yelling. You call his name and he'll always hear it.

Kalim's not surprised they managed to sneak out of the bazaar into somewhere semi-abandoned. The bazaar wasn't always a bazaar; it used to be a small community. Pockets of old homes remained. People sold them for ample compensation but vendors found them off the beaten path and not as lucrative so they sat, unused.

A spell caught him by surprise, carpet veering sharply and almost throwing him off. Kalim patted his little singed tassel, peeking over the fringe to fire off a spell of his own. Carpet wove through the air, doing his best to keep Kalim safe but let him see through broken windows and open entryways. His goal was to confuse them, have all the attention on him and give you time to escape.

Kalim saw you bolt out of the home and gave carpet a tug. You were halfway to carpet, kicking up sand, when the men charged out. The jewel in his pen was starting to darken but Kalim knew he wasn't at his limit. Something in him snapped; he saw red when those men dove atop you like rabid dogs.

"Respite in the scalding sands, a neverending party. Dance! Sing! Oasis Maker!"

The sky turned dark and ominous in an instant, a cool shadow stretching over the sand. The rumble echoed Kalim's brewing rage. With a hair-raising crack, the rain poured out in a fierce deluge. It was icy, heavy, and stung like a whip. Carpet sagged under the weight of the water; Kalim guided him down carefully, squinting against the downpour to find you.

Why weren't the firing off spells? Were their clothes too heavy? Did it hurt too much to move? Could they not see? Kalim's suspicions were high and he could only assume that any grass magic wasn't strong enough to cut the water and fire was pointless.

He took advantage of the situation and fired off a few smaller water spells. They were boosted by Oasis Maker. It almost felt wrong, knocking them around like toys, but he didn't care. Oasis Maker dwindled to a drizzle, then stopped, when he saw you trying to crawl through the mud.

He couldn't help but laugh as the fortune-teller's words finally made sense. It was weird to have his face half-numb from icy rain and still be able to feel his tears. It took effort, but he managed to pull you out of the mud with a wet squelch! The two of you sat, stunned and freezing, just looking at each other for a moment.

He wiped water and mud off of you. You immediately grabbed his pen and started checking his hands. "You feel okay? You're not going to overblot?!"

"I'm fine, sanadi. As long as you're fine, I'm fine." Kalim breathed, resting his lips against your forehead.

He composes himself and looked at how utterly stuck the men are in the mud. Some of them probably need to be observed for drowning; they probably inhaled enough water to feel like they were drowning. Serves them right, Kalim thinks as his nose turns up in a sneer. Carpet does as Kalim wishes, carrying him to the nearest guard to report the event.

Kalim picks mud out of your ring and cleans it with his drenched shirt as carpet takes you back to the main house. There's no way in hell anyone will let you bathe together but he can dream.

He can also dream that he won't get his ear pulled off. Kalim was surprised to feel his father's warm, firm hand on his ear after he stepped onto Al-Asim property. Usually it was his mother's. Hissing through his teeth, Kalim risks a look back to see you getting swarmed and dragged by his sisters and mother. There's multiple people shouting in a language you're beginning to understand but you don't need to know anything to know you're in trouble.

"Welcome to the family," Jamil mumbles under his breath as he takes instruction from Mrs. Al-Asim to fetch Kalim some dry clothes.

[thefallenangel2008]

Imagine being Caryn Pines.

You give birth to twins. One of them has 6 fingers on each of his hands. The other was unplanned. Money is tight. But you love them both regardless. Your husband... He definitely loves them too.

One is smart, he will get far, that is evident. The other is reckless, and he doesn't study, you worry about his future.

Your husband plays favourites, praising in his own way one and blaming the other. You try to balance it out. Because you love them both and you don't want them to feel left out (but you can't stop the damage your husband is doing anyway).

They grow up, you see your boys becoming men, but they're still your boys.

A science fair project. A fancy college. A machine breaks. There's tension in the house. Everyone yells, explanations and accusations being thrown in the air. Your husband throws out one of your boys. Your free spirit. And you watch in the back, in the dark, unable to do anything, because you're a coward (you're not. You're holding a crying infant, it's the 60's, you can't get on your husband's bad side, God forbid you do, what if he hurts you or the baby?)

You can't sleep that night. The house feels empty. It shouldn't feel that way. You're laying right next to the man who kicked out your son like nothing (he's awake too. You know he's awake, he knows you're awake, but neither of you talk).

Your son, the one that stayed, moves out. The house feels empty. Both of them call from time to time. One talks about his life in college (he made a friend! So proud of him). The other talks about work. He has a small business. You believe that, you've seen his ads on the TV. He got an apartment. You don't believe that, even over the phone. You birthed him. You taught him how to lie, how to get away with lying. You know, but you don't address it. Maybe because you really want your son to be safe, to have a roof over his head, so you decide to hold onto that delusion. He never accepts your invitations to come over. He says he has work. You don't believe him. You say you understand.

It's been 10 years since you've seen your son. Your son, the one who went to college and made a life for himself in a town you've never heard of before, calls you one day. "He's dead" he says. Your free spirit is dead. He got into a car crush. You go to the funeral, alone. Your husband isn't there, not any other family members. It's only you, your son, and an IRS agent. (oh, what had he gotten himself into?) It's a close casket funeral. You desperately want to see your son's face again, but you don't think your heart could handle seeing him all bruised and broken from the crush.

Something's up with your son. You can't quite put your finger on it, but your mother instincts tell you that something is wrong. But you ignore it. Because of course something is wrong. One of your boys is going to be buried 6 feet under. You haven't seen your son in 10 years. So, your brain, your stupid brain, can't help but imagine your 17 year old son in that casket. Because that's the most recent memory you have of him. Of him being a loud, reckless, lovable teenager who never seems to sit down, now laying still, quiet, his chubby and rosy cheeks pale as snow. Imagination hurts just as real life does.

But it's that feeling again, that persistent feeling, that something is wrong. You don't notice how your son's sixth fingers look off in his gloves, or how his voice sounds more gruff than usual. Or maybe you do. But you try to ignore it.

You cry and cry in the funeral. Your son is dead. One of your boys is gone. You can't help but replay the past in your head, the "what if's" darting all over your mind like a roller coaster. You could have been a better mother. Been more stern to him so he studied and wasn't perceived as a failure to get kicked out. You could have done something that night. That dark, faithful night, that sealed your son's future. You could have reached out to him, helped him, insisted he came over, convinced him to tell you the truth about his life, you were his mother, you could have helped him, you could have you could have you could have!

But you didn't. It's too late now. Your free spirit is going to be buried 6 feet under. You will never see your boys together again.

Imagine being Caryn Pines.

[twovialsofamortentia]

effie’s vineyard 🍇

🎧 tell him- ms. lauryn hill

a/n: so i’ve been a writer for about eight years and this is the first time i’ve ever posted fluff. it probably sucks but the idea literally came to me in a dream and i couldn’t not share it with you all <3

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff written by a smut author, reader and james as disgustingly in love newlyweds, effie and monty have both passed away recently, not proofread

James was told his whole life that he loved too hard. He felt too deeply. He couldn’t help it, it was just habit. He loved, and he loved hard. It was just his way.

And by God, did he love you. You, and your beautiful hair, which contrasted so perfectly against your beautiful skin. You, and the way you walked. The way your eyebrows would raise, then furrow, then raise again just before you were about to tell him off. The way your eyes betrayed the rest of your face when you were looking at him like he was crazy, giving away every time that you loved him, really.

James was sunshine in a bottle. Being near him felt like stepping into direct sunlight on a spring morning and realising that if you just held on a little longer, summer was coming.

James was good at helping you to hold on. Whether he knew it or not. He was a walking reminder that if one person could be so kind, and so loyally loving, then so could the rest of the world, and that gave you hope.

What also helped James’ case was that he was fit. He was so, so fit that sometimes it physically hurt you because you couldn’t put it into words. The amount of times Alice had just watched you screaming into your pillow was testament enough to the fact that she had the patience of a saint.

He had his flaws, of course. He had too big an ego. He was impatient. He was reckless when he needed to be careful. He didn’t always think before he acted. Despite all that, he had a good heart. He cared deeply about the people he loved. He would move mountains for them in a heartbeat, he simply needed to be pointed in the right direction.

And he loved you.

That was why you married him.

You listened to the voice in your head for once. Do it, you silly bitch! it said. Good God, do it. If you let him slip through your fingers, you’re the stupidest woman to walk the earth.

That was how you ended up in his parents’ massive house. Your favourite place to sit and think (or smoke) was the window seat at the end of the first floor hallway, because you could look out across the garden, and the vineyard that hadn’t been a vineyard since James’ mother died- you were planning on getting it back up and running. That was your favourite thing to think about.

You would often catch James looking at it out the window, too, when he thought no one else was around. He had more of a sentimental attachment to the place than he liked to let on, so when you had mentioned the idea of getting it back up and running, in that offhanded sort of way you spoke sometimes, his heart filled to bursting.

You couldn’t count the number of meetings you’d had with wineries, specialists, that sort of thing, who were interested, mostly in the fact that a filthy rich young man and his intelligent young wife were trying to revive something from the dead for seemingly no reason except romance. They were intrigued, and a bit sceptical, but James was too good at persuasion. He had an incredible way of convincing people to just give him things, or do things, by just being himself.

And, of course, it was also partly down to you. Because God, how could anyone say no to you?

James shook himself out of his own thoughts as he watched you watching the world outside. He leaned against the bannister, about ten feet away from where you were sitting, hands in his pockets.

“When I was younger,” he spoke up. “My dad used to tell me that to him, my mum got prettier every day.”

You were snapped out of your daydream at his words, and you turned to see him, which made a smile spread across your face. You hummed in response, leaning your head back against the wall, waiting for James to continue.

“And I just used to say sure, dad, because I thought that they were just old and lovey dovey- which they were, obviously.”

You giggled, nodding along. When James started stories like this, took that certain tone of voice, you could tell he had been thinking about it for a while beforehand. It was if it were his life’s mission to tell you what he wanted to say, and every story was just as important, even if they just ended with Anyway, I love you.

“And then when you happened- it was actually the first day you moved in- I looked at you and I thought no shot, dad. She’s already as beautiful as it gets.”

James pushed off of the bannister, walking the few short steps to where you were sitting on the windowsill. He leaned against the wall next to the window, so that he could gaze out of it from the same angle as you. He freed one of his hands from his pocket, bringing it up to smooth over your hair.

“I was wrong.” James said quietly. Finally. Certainly. “Fuck me, I was so wrong.”

You just smiled. What else could you have done? Your gaze flicked between the white wisps of smoke rising from your cigarette, and the expanse of the vineyard- not in total disarray, but definitely in need of some love.

It was just as well that the vineyard was yours and James’ problem, in that respect, because between the two of you, you had enough love for a thousand vineyards. You hoped that would reflect in the end result.

“Are you thinking about the vineyard?” James asked gently, still running his fingers through your hair as he stood behind you.

You just hummed again, nodding.

James nodded too, slowly, his mind drifting towards his mother. She loved you, with all her heart. He couldn’t help but think about how proud she’d have been of you for running the house in the way that you did.

You crossed your legs underneath you, making space for James to sit down as you stubbed your cigarette out in the ashtray before dragging that out of the way, too.

“I was thinking,” you began, lighting another cigarette. “That if we’re doing up the vineyard for your mum.. Monty should get something too- I don’t know what, but-”

“I think-” James swallowed, taking the cigarette from you when you offered it to him. “I think Dad would be happy just to know that you’re doing something for Mum. That you’re putting the effort into keeping her around- he’d want that more than he’d want something of his own.”

“You really think so?”

“Yeah.” James agreed, pausing to take a drag of the cigarette before passing it back to you. “They were joint at the hip- but like, more than that. They were like two halves of the same person, you remember. The way they loved each other.”

“I know,” you sighed, raising the cigarette to your lips as you cast your gaze out of the window.

You were both unaware of the irony in James’ words, as you sat across from one another on the windowsill. There was something strangely intimate about the fact that you were sharing a cigarette and talking about love. You just didn’t realise because you were so smack bang in the middle of it.

There was an indescribable sort of comfort in having moments like this one. The intimacy of just- existing, next to the person you loved the most, and doing nothing of real importance in the grand scheme of things. There was something so simple about sitting on a windowsill, sharing a cigarette, drinking in each other’s presence. That was how love truly worked, you thought. It was these moments that made all of the other hard things worth it. It just made it oodles better that that person was James.

Everyone would always get on at James for being such a loverboy. Even back in Hogwarts, when he was just hopelessly pining for you, everyone would rinse him for being too in love. He’d laugh, because he knew it didn’t matter what anyone thought, he was in love with you regardless.

But it was always James who got the stick for being so in love. You should have been thankful for the fact that he was taking the heat, but it made you wonder if he knew sometimes that it was possible for you to love him as much as he loved you. Because you did.

“You okay?”

“Mhmm.” you hummed slowly, finally tearing your gaze away from the fields out of the window to meet James’ eye. A small smile spread across your face as you did- because it wasn’t just you who looked beautiful in this light. “I’m okay.”

“What are you smiling at?” James challenged, returning the smile as he watched the way your face relaxed as you looked at him. He was sure that no matter what else happened or changed in this world, he would never tire of looking at you. It was impossible to tire of someone like you.

You laughed quietly, eyes drifted to your legs, intertwined. You debated whether or not he’d just rinse you for saying all the sappy things you were thinking, but then you’d be able to come right back and call him a hypocrite, so there.

“Love you.”

“What was that?” James lifted a hand, holding it behind his ear. “I didn’t hear you.”

You raised an eyebrow, a look of mock annoyance falling across your face as you shook your head. With a roll of your eyes, you repeated yourself.

“I said, I love you.” you told James, leaning forward. “I love you.” you leaned further forward, taking his face in your hands. “I love you.” a little further, squishing his cheeks together, and then a final, muffled “I love you.” because you were mimicking the pout you’d put on his face.

As you leaned forward, squishing his cheeks together, James wrapped his arms around you and pulled you towards him, shifting you until you were sitting in his lap. He held you like that for a moment, his face still trapped in your hands as he laughed at the expression you had put on it. As he did so, you could feel the vibrations of the sound moving along your body as your chests were pressed together.

“Thought you ought to know.” you shrugged teasingly, raising your cigarette to your lips and taking a quick drag.

“Why, thank you.”

James shifted his grip on you so that he could pull the cigarette from between your lips. He brought it to his own mouth, his gaze flickering from your face, to the cigarette, and then back to your face. He took a drag then, before gently blowing the smoke into your face.

“Eugh-!” you winced, scrunching your nose up. “Fucker.”

He just laughed at your reaction, taking another drag off of your cigarette before taking the opportunity to kiss the side of your neck- which also involved blowing the smoke across your skin.

You stole the cigarette back, placing it between your own lips for a final drag, ignoring the way the filter burned your finger because you had smoked it down too far, then stubbing it out in the ashtray.

“Do you think-” James began, then paused for a moment, his gaze roaming your face, from your lips up to your eyes. “Do you think we’re doing the right thing? About the vineyard, I mean?”

“Yes.” you said, and as you did, you nodded certainly. “I know it’s a lot right now, but it was your mum’s- I don’t want to just leave it to ruin.”

James smiled faintly at that, sufficiently reassured and reminded of the fact that, if at least, it all went wrong, it would be a valiant effort in the name of his mother anyway. You wouldn’t let it be anything else.

“Anyway,” you said, taking James’ face in your hands again, making him smile when your eyes locked onto his. “I love you.”

“You’ve said.” James beamed, and he looked like an actual ray of sunshine as his gaze bore into yours, looking up at you with no intention to stop any time soon.

You nodded slowly, obviously, pretending to be thinking, then you leaned down to catch James’ lips in a gentle kiss, one that tasted like cigarettes and the realisation that James had been eating your strawberries even though you made him promise not to. You’d get him for that later, though, because right now you were dedicated to showing him that he married you for a reason, and that reason was that you loved him very very much.

“Just making sure you know.”

[syndrossi]

Aemon's Sons AU: Auspicious Beginnings

Okay, I lied about being done with Aemon's Sons AU. It's tradition at this point, apparently, to at least cover the twins greeting the world (and vice versa), and I hadn't done a proper Aemon POV yet, so here we are!

x~x~x

“They are hale for their size,” his father remarked.

He gave Aemon an expectant look until he reluctantly surrendered into his arms his firstborn son, whose furious screams upon emerging from the womb had settled into grunts and frowns after his first feeding. Aerion had Jocelyn’s dark hair, thick like Rhaenys’s had been at birth, though she had lost most of it before her true locks had grown in.

“He will have your eyes,” his father said after studying him for a few moments. “Yours were darker at birth, but lighter by far than Baelon’s.”

Aemon stole a glance at Jocelyn, who smiled at him, clearly pleased. Rhaenys’s eyes were much like hers—perhaps a shade paler—and his wife had spoken longingly about a child with his. He had spent much of his wife’s latter pregnancy too concerned about her health and that of the babes, however, to dwell on such things.

His eldest son’s lustiness was also very much his mother’s. Jocelyn in a wrath was the very embodiment of a Storm Queen. It was beginning to show the longer his father held him, as though the babe could sense that his worth was being weighed and measured from the very first hour of his life.

As mine doubtless was. As it had been ever since. That was the burden of the king’s heir, and one his son would grow up knowing. Every flaw held up to the light, weighed against each virtue. Aemon could rattle his off without thinking. Deliberate, but too reserved. Thoughtful, but not decisive enough. Mild-mannered to a fault.

Aemon had been raised the king’s heir, and looked the part with his height, but it was Baelon who charmed the court, whose spirit shone so bright that all were drawn to it. Baelon who rode the mighty Vhagar, and had wed a sister, just as the king had.

Of course, their father had his own opinions about Baelon’s faults. If he could forge a single king from the two of us, perhaps he would be satisfied. But for that very reason, Aemon had always been determined that Baelon would be his hand for as long as they both lived.

“Aerion is a strong name,” his father pronounced at last, returning his son to him. It was as close to a blessing as he was like to give.

Aemon traded his eldest son for his youngest to avoid the storm that would have followed had his father tried to make the same demand of his wife.

“Your hair was just as pale,” his father said, once he had Valerion secure in his arms. “Though I do not think even Baelon’s eyes were so dark.”

Valerion’s hair was almost as thick as his brother’s, which meant it likely would suffer the same ignoble end before growing back. He endured the king’s scrutiny with more calm than his brother, almost seeming to study the king in return, though Aemon knew that it was not until they were a few months old that infants truly perceived the people around them.

“You do not mind the name?” Aemon asked.

He had hesitated about taking his youngest brother’s name for his own son, worrying that it might be an ill omen. His youngest brother had barely lived beyond a year, which had grieved his mother in particular. Gael’s birth had been both a blessing and a balm for her spirit.

But something about the names had felt right. Aerion and Valerion. One name steeped in history, and one yet to forge a path.

“If you are asking whether your mother will be troubled by it, I cannot say. She is oft given to whimsy and superstition. His name will be what he makes of it.” Valerion began to fuss, and his father returned his son to him. “I intend to make preparations for a tourney.”

Aemon was unable to conceal his surprise. His father had no great love of tourneys, having held less than a dozen throughout his long reign. Rhaenys’s birth had not warranted one, even though she had been the king’s first grandchild and his heir’s first child. Because she was not a grandson. His daughter’s worth was already eclipsed in the eyes of the realm by the birth of her brothers.

“Already?”

“What the people crave, highborn and smallfolk alike, is stability,” his father said. “Safe roads, plentiful harvests, and a secure line of succession. The birth of two healthy princes is cause for the realm to celebrate.”

“If you wait but a moon, it could celebrate three such births.” Alyssa was convinced her child was a daughter, but she had also insisted that their twins would be one of each.

His father shot him a look. “You are my heir, not Baelon.”

Aemon frowned. “That does not make his child any less a blessing.” If it was a daughter, then he would hope for a joining of his line and Baelon’s. If a boy, then he would hope their bond to be that of brothers.

“It does in the eyes of the realm.”

For all his renown as a man of diplomacy, his father often spoke bluntly, and in moments like these, he could understand why his mother was tempted on occasion to seek the relief of distance between them.

“Speaking of my brother,” Aemon said, holding his father’s gaze. “I would have him and Alyssa meet the babes now.”

His father’s brow rose at the dismissal, but he seemed willing to humor him. “Do not forget your mother.”

Aemon returned to Jocelyn’s side with Valerion, gesturing for Ser Robin to hold before sending for Baelon. Jocelyn’s labors had gone late into the night, and hopefully Baelon and Alyssa were still sleeping. And even if they were not, unlike the king, they would not begrudge him a few minutes alone with his wife and children.

He moved to one of the chairs beside the now-clean bed, right next to where Rhaenys was sitting. Less sitting, in fact, and more slumped. She had tried to keep awake during the birth, seeming to pick up on Aemon’s own excitement and worry, and her exhaustion had caught up to her. After mastering her disappointment at two brothers when she had hoped for at least one sister, she had kissed each on the cheek, then her mother, and nodded off.

Aemon tucked Valerion beside Jocelyn and gently lifted Rhaenys out of her chair, looking about for a more comfortable place for her.

“Here,” Jocelyn said, patting the other side of the large bed. “She is no less my babe.”

Aemon laid Rhaenys on the bed, sweeping her hair back for a kiss on the forehead before repeating the gesture with his wife, whose smile shone through the exhaustion. “You are beautiful.”

“They are beautiful,” she said, gazing at the babes in either arm. “The most beautiful princes in all the realm.”

“Am I so easily cast aside?” Aemon teased.

“I shall let you win my heart again later.” She shifted with a grimace. “A fair bit later.”

“I shall await my chance,” he said softly.

“They look like you,” she said, bending to kiss each atop their hair. She then shook her head at his unvoiced protest. “They do. Let me rejoice in this, as you rejoiced in seeing me in Rhaenys.”

“May I take one?” he asked, opting for Valerion because Aerion was beginning to stir again with smacks of hunger.

Jocelyn held him to her breast, gently guiding him to the nipple once more. “I do not want a wet nurse for them. Not unless they need more milk than I have.”

It had been necessary at first with Rhaenys because Jocelyn’s milk had been slow to arrive, but she had been adamant about being the one to feed her thereafter. Aemon had always wondered if a part of her wanted for her children what she had never had: to know the comfort of their mother’s breast.

His own mother had shared nursing duties with their wet nurses, which had shocked the court at the time. He recalled hearing later that it had presented the ladies of court with the quandary of deciding whether they should follow the queen’s example. Ultimately, they had decided that it was a quirk of the royal house. Dragon babes required the milk of a dragon.

“They are healthy eaters,” Aemon remarked after watching the motion of Aerion’s gulps for a time. “How do you feel?”

After the maesters of the realm had filled his mind with fear for his wife’s fate, he had scoured the realm and beyond for a midwife known for delivering healthy twins. He had found one in Lys and flown her to King’s Landing on Caraxes, much to the disapproval of the maesters of the Red Keep. Her strange methods and tonics had drawn scoffs, yet against their predictions, Jocelyn had held their babes within until they were strong enough to greet the world.

Part of him had worried that it would be more dangerous for his wife to deliver larger babes, one after the other, but the midwife had assured him that they were more likely to shift in the womb as it came closer to the proper time, and that she had means of ensuring such if they did not.

“I feel much better having them without rather than kicking my ribs from within,” Jocelyn said.

“I am glad,” he said, relaxing into his chair with Valerion. His younger son had stirred from sleep, and was blinking up at him with eyes of deep purple. “Shall I send for Baelon and Alyssa?”

Jocelyn made a distracted noise of assent, enthralled with the babe at her breast.

Ser Robin was dispatched, only to return mere moments later with a bow of apology. “Forgive me, my prince, but Princess Alyssa has begun her labors.”

“Oh,” he said, rendered speechless for a moment. Alyssa had not been far behind Jocelyn—no more than two or three weeks, in the midwife’s estimation. “Is Mistress Cynesse with them?”

“I believe so, my prince, but I shall inquire directly.”

“If she is not, see that she is summoned.” It was hardly a kindness to the woman after the sixteen hours she had spent with Jocelyn during her labors, but her skill had been apparent throughout. “And I should like to be informed of any developments.”

“Yes, my prince.”

He realized he was still holding Valerion, whose eye had been drawn by the sheen of Ser Robin’s armor, and he withdrew back into the room with a nod, dazed.

“It seems a good omen,” Jocelyn said, sensing his storm of emotion. “Their babe did not wish to wait a moment longer to meet ours.”

Three royal children in a single day. His father might not be able to avoid celebrating his newest grandchild in the tourney after all.

“Shall we take more time for ourselves?” Aemon asked. With the distraction of another birth, they could possibly even get away with it.

Jocelyn grimaced. “Your mother will be irate if we delay her for much longer. Let us be done with it, and then we can retire.”

Aemon caught her hand, squeezing it. “As you wish.”

[billloveshushu]

𝐂𝐡𝐚���𝐭𝐞𝐫 02━ 𝐁𝐢𝐠 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫.

✦∘˚━ ℙ𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕠𝕟𝕚𝕔 𝔹𝕒𝕥𝕗𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕝𝕪 𝕩 𝔹𝕒𝕓𝕪𝕆ℂ.

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∘˚✧˙𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽✦•˚∘

✦( "" ) Thoughts (━) Dialogue✦∘•

English is not my original language, the translation was fone by Google Translate, so sorry for spelling mistakes.

Warning🚨: There will Be another OC in the story.

"I finally have a name!!"

Suyana Martha Wayne.

When she saw Bruce signing his name completing his civil registration with his mother's name, Suyana was very surprised and felt a strange feeling, she felt happy realizing that Bruce, now officially her adoptive father, liked her to the point of putting her deceased mother's name as his surname.

But she realized, it was really happening, she was now the adopted daughter of Bruce Wayne, from Batman the Dark Knight, now she was feeling such a big existential crisis, and she wasn't even a year old!

Also, when she heard Alfred or Bruce say the name Suyana, she felt a good feeling, it was as if it already belonged to her, it was nostalgic. Could this have also been her name in her past life? That would explain this feeling.

Anyway, Suyana gave up on remembering her past life. That night traumatized her in a way she would never forget. The space filled with blood and those overwhelming emotions were like a threatening warning from her own subconscious showing that if she remembered, there would be no turning back. It seems that her past life was not happy at all. Of course, curiosity arose, but she put all that aside.

“As the saying goes, Happy is he who does not know what he is, and unhappy is he who knows what he is … why do I know that? Well, it doesn’t matter.”

Sometimes she forgot that she was just a baby, many times she would find herself playing with her teddy bears or even biting her own foot and would wonder "What the hell am I doing?!"

It was possible to see that he was very tired, even when Alfred appeared to wake him up, he got up without complaining and just adjusted his neck, Suyana knew that Bruce used meditation to control fatigue, muscle pain and even a broken rib just to keep up appearances, but seeing it in person is scary and impressive at the same time.

Bruce asked Alfred to prepare the milk while he got the baby ready. He wanted to spend as much time as possible with Suyana today because last night, at the exact moment Batman arrived at the cave, the Justice League called him to say they had a mission and that they needed him. It was unknown how long this mission would last. Bruce read in an article that young babies, if they don't see their father figure much, end up forgetting about them.

He doesn't want that to happen so he will do everything he can to make this mission go faster, for now he will enjoy this moment with his daughter. Bruce came down the stairs with Suyane in his arms already dressed in a fuzzy jumpsuit, Alfred handed her the bottle and Bruce fed the baby, he watched her cheeks sway as she drank from the bottle like a squirrel.

He couldn't help but kiss her forehead, this was such a normal morning, it wasn't boring, it was more like a calming agent, she was like a calming agent after a chaotic day, no, a chaotic night, his muscles relaxed, leaning his back on the counter and he just looked at her, enjoying the silence of the morning.

Until Alfred enters the kitchen━ Sir, little miss's room is ready.

"What!? Seriously?"

Suyana swung her little feet excitedly, she saw Bruce ask a few more things about the room but decided to ignore it, taking so long to just renovate a baby's room was probably because of this security system, to save her mental health she decided not to know any more about it and just ignore it.

"Ridiculous paranoia, seriously"

Bruce had already noticed that Suyana had already finished her milk and placed the bottle on the counter right after he helped her burp.━They finished faster than I expected, sir. ━Alfred said.

Bruce wiped Suzana's mouth━ But of course, they are competent Alfred, I guarantee that in addition to being safe, the room is beautiful.

"I wonder how it turned out" Suyana wondered, she didn't know what the room looked like even though it was close to Bruce's room, Alfred always stayed away because of the dust, after the dust was gone it was time to decorate the room, Bruce wasn't a man of style and used what was necessary, so he didn't even know where to start.

Normally it was Alfred who did this, but he is already an elderly gentleman, so he can only take care of Suyana because she is quiet and well-behaved, which is worrying, but Dr. Leslie said that it was normal for some babies to behave like this, especially like Suyana.

So Bruce hired an interior designer, a woman who was quite nice, and when she arrived she just told him that she was going to transform the room to be worthy of a princess.

And she actually did it.

Suyana looked at the newly renovated room with wide eyes, the walls were a pastel pink color with flower designs, the floor was padded with a large rug and the furniture around was hand-customized with a beige color and an antique style, and the crib now sat near the window with a large veil made of satin around it.

It really looked like a little princess lived there, Bruce smiled with satisfaction, it was perfect for his little princess.

The princess in question was still perplexed but could not deny that the room was beautiful ━ Isn't it wonderful?━ said the girl smiling at Bruce who immediately activated his Wayne Playboy personality ━ Wonderful, just like you ━ then he kissed her hand leaving the girl blushing while she let out a few laughs, she tried to start more conversation with Bruce Wayne but he interrupted her.

— I would like to enjoy this moment with my daughter, so thank you very much for your service ━ Bruce said, shaking her hand and asked Alfred to take her to the front door.

━ Oh, of course, but if you want, you can call me later ━ She said as she was almost pushed by Alfred to the exit of the room.

Suyana looked at Bruce in amazement. He seemed like a completely different person, outgoing, lively and even seductive. But the moment the girl walked out the door, Bruce returned to normal, the normal that Suyana at least knew. “He could win an Oscar with that.”

Bruce turned his attention to Suyana calmly as if he hadn't changed personality a minute ago ━So Susu, did you like your new room?━ And he kissed her cheek making her let out a sweet baby laugh.

Suyana sometimes felt embarrassed by Bruce's display of affection, it's not every day that she is kissed by Batman himself, and that affectionate nickname 'Susu' came about after a fateful day when Suyana tried to say her name, it was the same day that Bruce signed his name on the documents, but she could only say ━ Su..su. Ha..su ah Susu!.

Bruce found this demonstration so cute that he started calling her Susu, even Alfred called her that sometimes, it's a cute nickname but she felt a little embarrassed remembering it, Suyana remembers that Batman was portrayed as a very cold person and that he didn't show much affection, in fact the bat family in general weren't used to showing affection, Suyana never really understood these dynamics, but seeing him show this affection for her even if sometimes silently still leaves her shocked.

Soon Alfred returned ━ Mr. Bruce, the league called again asking for your presence━ Bruce sighed and nodded indicating that he understood, he handed Suyana to Alfred and stroked her small forehead looking lovingly at her but became serious again and said ━ If I take too long Alfred, show her my photo once a day and make sure she won't forget me.

Alfred raised his eyebrow.━Mr. Bruce, I think you are worried too much.

— Preparation is never enough, you should know that by now Alfred ━ then he looked at Suyana — I'll be back soon.

Then he turned and left the room while Alfred and Suyana looked at him, it didn't even seem like he was going to leave for a Justice League mission, leaving the room normally as if he was going to work, well in some way it was work, Susu could only hope that he would be okay.

"Batman is acting strange" was what Nightwing thought as he looked at Gotham City from atop a building, still dark and melancholic exactly as he remembered, he came here personally to ask Bruce what was going on.

He tried first with Barbara, but even though he insisted, she didn't say anything, the other members also didn't care much when Dick talked about it, he didn't blame them, saying that Batman was acting strange was just another ordinary day, but Nightwing lived long enough with Batman to know a lot about his obsession with Gotham, if he could he would spend the whole night protecting the city, risking himself in every way almost like suicide.

But suddenly he changed, Batman started to be more careful and even avoided getting hurt, and that's not the most shocking part, he started to finish his patrols earlier, his methods of dealing with thieves started to be more brusque, and with villains he started to be more violent, as if he was angry with them for making him late.

At first Nightwing was even happy with this change, a lot of the time he worried about Bruce and his health, and he was irritated by the way Bruce didn't care about it, so he was relieved.

But that was until the Riddler's attack on Gotham.

This made Nightwing finally come here, it wasn't disclosed in the media but Batman literally beat the Riddler, in a way that hit all the fatal points and that would take a while for him to fully recover, so it was obvious, Batman wanted the Riddler to stay out of the plan so as not to get in his way.

Nightwing quickly thought of some plausible reason for Batman to act that way. Could it be that he wanted to focus on a more important mission? That he couldn't be distracted for even a second? A mission that required all of his attention. Would it be the Court of Owls? Or the Joker? It wouldn't be possible, since he's in Arkham Asylum. Would it be to save the world again with the Justice League?

Nightwing didn't know but he wouldn't stay out of it.

He prepared to jump but his body stopped, Nightwing looked down and realized how tall the building was, his vision began to distort and his breathing began to become labored, he only managed to calm down after moving away from the edge of the building.

Nightwing looked down at his trembling feathers, cursed loudly, and pushed his hair back with a sigh. It looked like he was going to have to use the stairs. After several steps down, someone opened the back door of the building, already dressed in his civilian clothes and adjusting his coat. Now without his mask, it was Dick Grayson.

Dick first thought about paying a visit to the mansion instead of going straight to the cave, it had been a while since he had been there, very busy with his duties with the Titans, protecting Bludhaven and he still had his job as a police officer who took a few days off to go to Gotham, and he still has his girlfriend... Dick came out of his thoughts then started his motorcycle and headed towards the mansion.

Driving at high speed, Dick saw the Leon lights of the city center slowly disappearing and giving way to the darkness where he was going. From afar he saw the mansion's gate already opening with automatic technology. Alfred certainly already knew he was coming.

He saw the old butler already standing in front of the mansion's door, Dick got off the motorcycle and went to greet Alfred with a handshake and one of his classic bear hugs ━ Alfred! It's been a while! Is everything okay?

━ Master Dick, I am surprised by your visit━ said Alfred, pulling out of the hug and looking at Dick with a raised eyebrow, blocking the main entrance to the mansion ━ I dare ask, what is your objective, Master Dick.

He sighs with a tired smile.━ Nothing escapes you, does it, Alfred? Well, I came after Bruce.”

Alfred immediately understood what he was saying, knowing that the first Robin must have already noticed Batman's strange changes, so Alfred left the entrance asking Dick to follow him into the mansion.

Right at the entrance, Dick noticed something different, the rooms in the mansion were more reinforced and protected than normal, seeing some sockets using protection, and corners of cabinets or tables with rubberized edges, before he went any deeper, Alfred spoke.

━ I'm sorry to tell you, Master Dick, but Mr. Bruce is not in the mansion at the moment.━ Dick looked at him confused and then asked ━ Where is he then?

━ With the Justice League, they called him for a mission, I can't say when he'll be back.━ Dick regretted Bruce's absence, looked around the room and noticed toys and stuffed animals scattered across the carpet, then a pop sounded in his head.

He pointed to a rattle toy with a trembling hand. ━ Alfred, what is that? ━ The butler sighed when he realized he could no longer distract Dick. ━ I thought the ideal moment would be with Mr. Bruce present, but it seems that is no longer possible.

━ Please Master Dick, come with me and I will explain everything ━ Alfred walked down the hall with Dick following behind him, while he tried not to believe his hypothesis, it was not possible that Bruce had adopted another child, right? He knows that Bruce has a serious problem in leaving his "nest" empty.

But it hasn't even been a month since Damián fought with Bruce and left home and he's already adopted someone else?! Dick thought he had already taken care of this but apparently not. Not that he didn't like being the older brother, but for everyone the family was already complete, everyone was already used to each other and suddenly adding a new member!?

He rubbed his eyebrow and whispered uneasily━ I just hope it's not that much of a problem━ Alfred, who could hear, just sighed, knowing that it would be complicated to deal with Dick like that.

Alfred stopped at a door and opened it, signaling for Dick to enter first. He looked at the room in shock, seeing that there was no child but a crib wrapped in a thin fabric. He pushed the fabric aside with his hand and stared in a daze at the little baby who was sleeping peacefully.

He turned sharply to Alfred ━ A baby!?

Alfred quickly told him to speak more quietly,━Master Dick! I understand your fear, but there's no point in shouting and waking the child.

Dick sighed even more with his hands on his face━ I know, I'm sorry... ━ and looked at the baby again, she was a cute baby, with plump, rosy cheeks and reddish hair, he realized now that her appearance is quite peculiar.

But now he couldn't focus on her cuteness, all he could think about was the reaction of the other family members. Would it be a problem if she was a new child, but a baby!? ━ How many people know about her? ━ Dick asked Alfred━ Only four people, Mr. Bruce, Barbara, me and you.

Dick took a deep breath and looked around the room━ We were hoping to announce it at family dinner but something unexpected happened━ Alfred said looking at Dick.

━ OK ok, I'm sorry for showing up by surprise... ━ He put his hands on his face and sighed, Dick calmer looked carefully at the room, it was beautiful and cute, with the flower details and pastel colors, it was even out of place from the rest of the mansion that had a colder and more rustic appearance, looking like a castle from ancient times.

They were silent for a minute until Dick spoke━ Damián won't be happy about this... And Jason? I don't even want to think about his reaction━ Dick could only think about that now, he didn't want to admit it but he came here thinking about finding an adventure or a mission to distract himself from his own problems but now he found even more problems.

His sudden fear of heights gets in the way of his daily patrols and missions, and many times the bandits take advantage of this to escape, and this happened more than once, Dick has never felt so incompetent in his life.

He still had his girlfriend Shawn Tsang, a beautiful, cool and intelligent girl and Dick is an idiot who doesn't know how to value her, because of his busy schedule he can't give her the attention she deserves and she gets very uncomfortable with it, sometimes she even thinks that Dick was cheating on her. Now "running away" like this, it really seems like he cheated on her.

Alfred, seeing Dick sink even deeper into his thoughts, decided to intervene by placing his hand on his shoulder, attracting his attention━ Master Dick, calm down, I know it seems like an irresponsible decision but it's not.

━Master Bruce thought a lot about it, so much so that only after a month he decided to adopt her━ Alfred said calming the situation, Dick turned and nodded that he understood, even with his problems he shouldn't blame an innocent baby for this━ You're right Alfred, I'm sorry for... acting like this.

The butler smiled satisfied with the answer, he suggested leaving the room so as not to wake the baby and talk better, before leaving Dick decided to look again at his new "little sister" but was surprised ━ Hmm, Alfred... I think she's already awake ━ He said pointing to the crib where the baby was staring at him, as if he had found a treasure, Her little eyes shone as she looked at him, it kind of scared him, it seemed like she knew who he was, but she kind of really knew.

"Oh my god! Oh my god!! Is that Dick Grayson!!?? Nightwing!!??"

The little baby was waving her arms towards Dick, who didn't know what to do with her excitement, and he is considered the most lively and sociable of the family. Alfred came to the rescue, taking the little one in his arms.━It seems she's already woken up...━ He said, caressing her little forehead. Even though he wasn't smiling, you could see the affection in his eyes.

Dick just looked surprised, because it was one of the few times he saw Alfred being affectionate and delicate with someone, and also with the butler in front of her, the baby tried to look at him again. Seeing how the baby was distressed trying to look at the stranger, Alfred turned to introduce them formally.

━Master Dick, I present to you little Miss Suyana━ He showed the baby, pulling away the cloth and making the light illuminate her little face, looking now with the light reflecting her red hair looking like fire and her light brown eyes, Dick thought━ She's so cute...━ Right, he was weak with children.

Alfred offered to hold Suzanne but because of his nervousness Dick was afraid of dropping her so he refused, he just got closer to her face and watched as the baby looked at him without even blinking, which was a little strange. But who could blame her? One of DC's most beloved characters was in front of her, Suzanne had to act like a strange fan, maybe that's one of the reasons why Bruce was so distant in the beginning, every time he passed by Suzanne would stare at him, like she's doing now.

"Wow! He's so handsome, Bruce is also that handsome! Is Dick really adopted? It seems like beauty is genetic!"

━Is she that quiet?━ Dick asked, worried about her silence. Alfred nodded. ━It seems that Susu is like that with new people.

━Susu? Is that her nickname? How cute! ━ Alfred apologized, embarrassed by his carelessness, Dick smiled impressed, usually Alfred ensured his education to the extreme, always calling them master, sir, boss and miss, for him to hesitate and call them by their nickname he must be quite used to her.

━And I thought I was the only one who created nicknames in this family━Dick tried to lift his face but Suyana stopped him by placing her little hand on his nose, wanting to look even more at his face, his eyes widened but then he laughed and held the little hand and was impressed by how soft it was, so he decided━I'll stay here for a few days, to get to know Susu better and also help with the patrols while B is away, who stayed to take care of Gotham?

━ Miss Kate, but any help is welcome ━ Alfred said, noticing that Dick was relieved to know he had some to do here. The butler sighed seeing the resemblance between father and son.

If she spent a week with Dick at the mansion, he is exactly as Suyana imagined, a ball of joy, always smiling and making lame jokes, helping Alfred whenever he could and taking part in the patrols at night, and with her he played the role of older brother.

But to Suyana, it seemed so superficial.

Maybe it wasn't with others, but with her it was. Every time they were in the same room, you could see that he felt uncomfortable around her, and he hid it with laughter and jokes and soon found a reason to leave.

━ Sorry Alfred, I have to go━ Dick said, adjusting his coat━ But already sir? You won't be staying for lunch?━ Dick made a sad face━ Sorry, it's urgent.

Alfred sighed but agreed that he understood ━ But wasn't it saying goodbye to the little one too? ━ Dick looked apprehensively at Suyana who was lying on the couch looking at him.

━ Sorry, it's urgent━ He looked away and closed the door, Suyana lowered her head a little sadly, now he was avoiding her, at least in the beginning Dick talked to her, maybe it was also her fault. Dick tried to join in with common baby games, but Suyana simply didn't react and just looked at him, it was even comical to see Dick making a thousand faces and trying to make the baby laugh, in the end he was a little embarrassed and didn't know how to interact with Suyana.

Suyana scolded herself for not acting like a normal baby at that moment, but it can't be just that, Dick must be dealing with a lot of things and she is a problem he doesn't want to deal with right now.

In some way this could be a preview of what the other members of the family will be like, the baby was reassured thinking that Bruce and Alfred's affection was enough, but a part of her was still saddened thinking about the possibility that Dick and the others wouldn't like her.

"In the life they lead, perhaps I am a misfortune"

For the first time Susu wanted Bruce to be there.

At the North Pole at that exact moment, in a cave camouflaged by the blizzard, a hand covered in a black glove pressed a remote control signaling that he was at the vigil point, Batman sighed tiredly and felt the cold even with his suit having heating technology.

He looked at the mountain with some indignation. The Justice League had been investigating Lex Luthor because he had been acting suspicious lately, until we found out that he had made an alliance with one of Wonder Woman's villains, so it was obvious what they planned to do, combine magic with LexCorp's technology.

That's why Batman is now investigating a "mountain", which is actually a secret laboratory, and the current job is to find out what they are planning, silently and without attracting attention, it would be very easy for Batman if it weren't for... ━ That's it, mate!

By Green Arrow, Batman sighed tiredly and turned to greet his companion on this mission━ Have you done your part?

━ Straight to the point, isn't it? But yes, I managed to shoot the target, now we just need to wait for the signal━ Oliver sat on the cold floor tiredly while Batman checked his batcave communicator once again and saw that there were no messages because of the bad signal, he hit the wall angrily.

It had been a week since Batman had been on this mission trying to find out what Luthor was planning and putting up with Green Arrow's irritating presence. During these days, he was always worrying or thinking about Suyana, which was new to him. This feeling of worry never occurred with his other children, as he calmed down thinking that they could manage on their own.

But Suyana is different.

At first her concern was calmed by Alfred's daily updates, reporting how she was, but when she arrived at the North Pole, to be more exact near this "mountain", the signal suddenly dropped, there are few things that make the signal of your technologies drop, something was happening and it is strong enough to block all local communications

Batman looked at the last message sent by Alfred which had a picture of Suyana sleeping with a stuffed animal and this gave him a small, unnoticed smile. Deep in the cave, Green Arrow looked curiously at Batman's actions. Somehow he felt a similarity in these behaviors, because he had also gone through this phase with his son.

━ What are you looking at there?━ Batman quickly hid the communicator and returned to his cold countenance━ Nothing of interest to you━ Green Arrow raised his arms in surrender━ Hey, calm down! I was just curious.

Batman raised his eyebrow in question━ What do you want to know?━ Oliver rolled his eyes at his old friend's distrust━ I just noticed that you've been acting strange on this whole mission, more rushed and irritated.

━ Are you saying I'm getting in the way of the mission? Green Arrow.

━ What!? No B! I'm just expressing my concern... as an old friend ━ After he said that, Bruce realized that Oliver wanted to talk as old friends rather than coworkers, he sighed knowing that he would probably regret it in the future ━ It's okay, I'm just in my head somewhere else.

━I know, look how you're not easy to open up to, let's do it like this, I'll tell you my concern at the moment and then you tell me yours, huh? ━ He smiled sideways, as if he had been very intelligent ━So it would be more of an exchange of information than a conversation, don't you think? ━ Before Batman could refuse this idiocy, Green Arrow spoke.

━ I'm worried about my wife taking care of our son alone. ━ Batman stopped immediately and looked at Oliver in surprise, who was smiling, knowing what he was thinking. Bruce knew that Oliver and Dinah had been married for a long time, he even attended the wedding, but he didn't know they had a son. ━ How did you two have a son? If I don't even find out... That year Black Canary spent recovering.

Years ago, Black Canary was seriously injured in a Justice League battle, so she spent a year away recovering with Oliver, who refused to leave her side. It was probably around this time that Dinah got pregnant. ━Yes, it was that year that she found out she was pregnant. At that time, the Justice League wasn't as united as it is today, so we planned to pretend she was injured, and that helped the pregnancy go unnoticed.

Green Arrow took a small photo that Batman couldn't see━ After that, everything changed... that child became our lives Batman━ He caressed the photo with a smile, then Batman asked━ Why did you tell me now? If you hid this until today, then you want this child to grow up away from the life of heroes, away from danger.

━ Because I noticed that you're like that too ━ Green Arrow pointed his finger at him mockingly ━ Anxious, irritated, worried and even checking your communicator all the time or just... simply upset that you're not there ━ Batman remained silent until he simply sat down next to him with a frown on his face.

The two remained silent until the bat spoke ━ She's still just a baby, small and fragile, how can I not worry?━ Oliver laughed again but without mockery━ You won't, you'll always be worried.

Oliver turned his head and asked ━ So you adopted another child?━ Bruce nodded ━ But I met her not in a good way.━ He still remembers, the intense fire and the blood on the floor, but he mainly regrets how he acted around Suyana in the beginning━ And are you going to tell how it was?━ Oliver asked but Batman remained silent ━ OK ok, I understand.

━ You know, I want my boy to grow up as a normal child, happy and without any worries, look how happy he was to get a dog ━ Green Arrow finally showed the photo he was carrying, revealing a boy of approximately four years old, smiling with the Siberian husky puppy in his arms, he had blond hair and green eyes just like Oliver's ━ Isn't he very cute? ━ Oliver asked proudly.

He doesn't know if it was out of pride or mere competition, Bruce secretly showed Suyana's photo in the statement and simply said: ━ She's cuter ━ Oliver was so shocked by Batman's childish demonstration that he started laughing a lot ━ Hahahahaha! Ha... but I disagree, mine is cuter, although yours is too.

Batman growled in anger and threw a Batarang at Green Arrow who dodged it, soon preparing himself with the fighting stance and catching one of his arrows ━ Wow!, are you seriously going to fight me just because you don't admit that your daughter is cuter?!━ Batman responded by catching another Batarang with a more irritated face than usual━ If you want to see this situation that way, then yes.

Green Arrow became even more irritated by Batman's shameless attitude and launched an arrow in his direction which he managed to dodge━ The loser will admit that the winner's son is cuter, closed? ━ Batman didn't respond but he moved forward and at the same time Oliver did too.

Just as the two idiots were about to fight over their disagreement over their children's cuteness, suddenly the ground shook and a blinding light appeared behind the two, the mountain had exploded ━ What!!??━ the two looked in shock at the mountain that was previously covered in snow, was now full of flames, the League's communicator started working again and Wonder Woman's urgent voice came out ━ Batman! Green arrow! An accident occurred and the machine exploded! Luthor is missing and the other is dead.

━ How did this happen!?━ Green Arrow shouted, and Wonder Woman replied ━ We don't know!! The explosion happened out of nowhere!

Batman analyzed the mountain and said ━ Hun, Wonder Woman, focus on saving as many people as possible from the facility. I'll summon Superman immediately to help, in the meantime, let's capture Luthor. ━ Batman hung up the call with Diana's statement, then with just a nod the two immediately started running towards the smoke.

Continued...

OH PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!!!😫 I know it took me a long time to release the new chapter, and I apologize for that, most of the time was spent on this ending, if you didn't notice the new OC is Green Arrow's son with Black Canary. I don't know if they have children in the current comics but I haven't found any so far so if they do... apologies, but I did this because I wanted to highlight Bruce and Olive's friendship and them sharing something in common as old friends, I don't see that much lately in the comics. And I'll try to do the next chapter faster, I even bought a notebook just to write in at school!! The next one will be Suyana conquering her brother! I swear.（；´д｀）ゞ

Taglist: @proper-fox @kore-of-the-underworld @type-ink @mallowryblog @cruzerforce4256 @cxcilla @fantasyhopperhea @psysgr @hotdinoankles @bearlittlesworld @thatpersonnamedrook @bookwarm0-0 @nervousalpacalady @mircall4a @thegothamsiren @vxsire @butratherbutrather @1abi @alishii @umzugih @fadingenthusiastnightmare @yua-who @antov828 @seemeee3 @littlesweetbunnysworld @moon0goddess @ryudeiparine

[parkjihoonswifey]

Saw your requests were open and thought about a childhood friends to lovers with Yeon Sieun x reader? Slightly suggestive if ya want some spice, but it’s not necessary :D I’ll most likely come back and request for more weak hero content

Could I be 🐍 anon?

Thank you!

A/N: this has been sitting in the requests for a hot minute, so I'm happy to finally get it out.

Title: Assumptions

Pairings: Si-eun x Fem!Reader

Warnings: sexual content, slightly suggestive.

enjoy!

it all started when you were both two. He had just moved into the neighborhood, and you were an outgoing curious little girl. You had made your way over into their driveway somehow, where little si-eun stood, playing with some action figure. You had excitedly ran up, introducing yourself. He didn't say anything, but you kept trying and asked what he was playing with. He stared at you with a blank expression before handing the action figure to you. "Optimus prime. Keep it." You celebrated and excitedly hugged him before your parents had come out of their door, calling your name to come back inside.

"Thank you um—"

"—Si-eun"

"Thank you si-eun!" you exclaimed, planting a small kiss on his cheek before running back to your parents, who asked where you got the toy from. You cheerfully explained, si-eun was listening to the whole thing.

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Growing up side by side in the same quiet neighborhood, you and Si-eun shared a bond that ran deeper than most childhood friendships. You both built forts out of cardboard boxes, raced bikes down the hill, and traded secrets under the old elm tree at the park. From the time he had moved into the neighborhood, you were inseparable—not out of romance, but simply because of the understanding you guys shared with each other in a way few others did. Si-eun was always a quiet kid, and you never pushed him to speak. Even with little words, you could read him like you wrote the book yourself, he was basically you as a boy. But of course being a boy and a girl who spent nearly every waking hour together made you the target of constant teasing.

Every other kid in the neighborhood seemed convinced you were boyfriend and girlfriend. No matter how many times you and Si-eun made gagging noises or scowled at the suggestion, the rumors never stopped. Even classmates at school chimed in, whispering and giggling whenever you two sat next to each other in class or showed up to events as a pair. It was irritating, and to the both of you, absolutely ridiculous. After all, you saw each other more like siblings than anything romantic.

What was worse were the jokes from your parents, who found endless amusement in imagining a future where the two childhood best friends would “realize their love” and live happily ever after. “Just wait,” Si-eun’s mother would say with a wink, “You’ll end up marrying each other someday.” Your mom would nod and add, “It’s always the childhood friend.” Each time, you two would roll your eyes, exchange looks of mutual horror, and vow—once again—that nothing like that would ever happen. Of course, life has a funny way of turning promises like that into something far more complicated.

Elementary school was the same as early childhood. You two would protect each other from bullies, play on the playground together, sit at lunch together, and walk home together. Kids would see you guys around and point, saying "Everyone says they are boyfriend and girlfriend." and each time you heard that, you'd cover si-eun's ears as you tell them off for spreading rumors. It never bothered him, though, nothing did.

Through middle school, your bond only deepened. you stuck together like glue, shielding each other from the older kids who tried to pick on either one of you, and offering quiet solidarity when either of you had a bad day. You still sat side by side at lunch, signed up for the same electives, and rode the same bus home, where you'd part ways at the driveways with a wave or a sarcastic remark. Of course dating never crossed into your lives—not because you weren’t curious, but because every crush ended up assuming you were already off the market. "Aren’t you with him?" or “Isn’t she your girlfriend?” were questions heard so often, you eventually stopped trying. It wasn’t worth the trouble. At least, not then.

By the time high school rolled around, you found yourselves in fewer classes together, schedules pulling each other in different academic directions. You still clung to the one constant you both had—lunch. It was a sacred part of the day, that small window of time where the chaos of high school could fade away, and you could just be yourselves.

As you both entered senior year, the connection evolved into something quieter but more intense. You skipped classes like a synchronized routine, sometimes ditching school altogether to explore the city or just sit around doing nothing. The friendship became a world of its own—too familiar to question, too easy to fall into. Both of your eighteenth birthdays rolled around, celebrated with family and each other. On weekends, you each rotated between your house and his, lounging around like it was second nature. The teasing never stopped, not from the parents or the few neighborhood kids who hadn’t moved away. But somewhere between all the jokes and assumptions, things began to shift. This time, neither of you was rolling your eyes.

Si-eun had always been reserved, almost unreadable to most people—but to him, you were an open book written in a language only he could understand. He trusted you with parts of himself he wouldn’t even acknowledge aloud. you were beautiful in a way that felt unreal—quiet, grounded, and gentle, the kind of person who he could sit in silence for hours with and you would still make him feel heard. To you, he was a rare kind of boy—sharp-witted, oddly thoughtful, and never once afraid to be silent. He made the world make sense. So when your sixteenth friendship anniversary landed on a weekend where his parents happened to be out of town, and you casually invited yourself over to spend the night, it didn’t feel strange.

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"I'm so glad to finally get a turn eating all your food, my house is almost empty," you sighed as you flopped down onto his couch. The cushions sank beneath you, familiar and worn in from the years you'd spent hanging out here—watching movies, doing homework, or just sitting in comfortable silence. Si-eun cleared his throat from the kitchen, where he was rummaging through the fridge, the sound of bottles clinking and the hum of the appliance filling the space.

"You've eaten half my pantry," he called back. He returned with a couple of drinks and dropped onto the couch beside you, close enough that your knees brushed. The glow from the TV cast flickering light over the room, but neither of you were really paying attention to it. There was a charged stillness between you, the kind that had been building for weeks, maybe longer—something unspoken shifting in the way your glances lingered and how your laughter had gotten just a bit softer.

You looked over at him, your gaze meeting his, and for once, neither of you looked away. The air grew heavy. His hand rested near yours on the couch cushion, just barely brushing your fingers. "You know," you murmured, heart pounding a little faster, "this is the part where one of our parents would come in and say, 'See? Told you two you were meant for each other.'" Si-eun gave a soft, breathless laugh, but he didn’t move away. Instead, he leaned in slowly, eyes searching yours for hesitation. When your lips finally met, it was cautious at first—tentative, testing the weight of years of friendship and all the closeness that had come before. But once that boundary broke, everything rushed in at once. The kiss deepened, hungry and heated, hands moving with urgency, mouths meeting again and again like you'd been holding back forever. The room, the years, the world—all faded beneath the pull of each other.

You sat up, throwing your leg over his lap and straddling him. His arms hesitated, finding their way to the curve of your waist. You turned your head to the side, deepening the kiss. Your arms rested on his shoulders and your hands found their way into his hair, pulling softly. He barely had time to think before he was standing up, wrapping your legs around his waist and carrying you to his bedroom through the kiss.

You pulled away, falling back onto his mattress. He climbed on top of you, face digging into your neck as he left hickeys. He found your sensitive spot, and you sigh deep into his neck, hands finding their way into his hair once more.

"Are we gonna?—" He breathed out

"—If you talk I think I'll snap back into reality. just do it."

And so he does.

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You lay there, heavy breaths and moving chests.The room was quiet now, save for the soft hum of the TV still playing in the background and the slow rhythm of your breaths. You lay beneath the blankets, the weight of what just happened settling around you like a thick, electric silence. Neither of you spoke at first—not out of discomfort, but out of awe, maybe disbelief, at how something that once seemed impossible now felt right.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” you said softly, turning your head to glance at him. Your voice wasn’t nervous or unsure—just honest.

Si-eun let out a sigh  low and breathy. “Yeah.” He looked at you then, serious for a moment. “I think....part of me’s been waiting for that for a long time.”

You blinked, surprised by the confession—but not in a bad way. It was like something inside you clicked into place. Having such an intimate moment with the only boy you could trust for the past sixteen years of your life made you feel as though it was destiny you had invited yourself over tonight. “So... does this mean that everyone was right?” you asked, half-teasing, half-afraid of the answer.

He smiled, that small, rare smile he only gave you when no one else was around. “I think so.”

You nodded slowly, heart thudding in a new kind of rhythm. “If that’s true, I’m okay with it. I think I want it to be true.”

Si-eun wrapped his arm around you, pulling you a little closer. “Then let’s stop pretending it’s not."

And just like that, years of denying, joking, and brushing off the idea dissolved into something simple and certain. For once, everyone else might have actually been right.

A/N: I'm really proud of this I hope you guys like it.

[lazycats-stuff]

I could see BatCatbro! Being a bit of kleptomaniac, like he can’t help it; he takes things from the Batfamily until they notices and he’s like the best actor so he doesn’t confess he has them until Alfred while cleaning his closet in the manor a box with trinkets and stuff he took from them

Sure, the look on everyone's faces would be priceless. And this gif make me laugh at how (Y/N) would steal. Also, I feel like my spirit animal is a racoon. Also, maybe a little bit short, but college and assignments... I have a topic of Great Schism that I need to present in a few days...

Summary: (Y/N) inherits some kleptomaniac traits from his mother. Alfred finds out.

Warnings: cursing, (Y/N) stealing, all planned out...

(Y/N) Kyle was another of Bruce's biological children, half brother to Damian. His mother? Selina Kyle, the infamous Catwoman and the woman that Bruce has on and off romance with. Is anyone really shocked that a child was the thing that came out that relationship? No. Bruce decided to adopt him a better future. Maybe even send him to college.

(Y/N) was fine living in the manor, it was comfortable, the only problem was the distance from the city, but that's why they had Alfred to help out. And older boys who had licenses, so that was somewhat manageable. The manor had a lot of amenities and it was better than his mother's apartment in that manner.

But there was something that (Y/N) couldn't resist doing. It was just something from his mother. He may or may not be a kleptomaniac. What can he say, he just loves to take things. Not money and nothing really expensive.

Or anything sentimental.

Just things that (Y/N) knew wouldn't raise alarms right away. His mother taught him that. Just something that wouldn't raise any alarms right away. That means sentimental things because if he even touched one of those from his brothers, the manor would be flipped over upside down for them.

And not to mention the most obvious hidden place for any teenage boy to hide their shit.

Their closet.

Men just shove everything in the closet. It's a normal thought process that men have. Shove everything in the closet and just... Forget about it until becomes a problem.

Isn't that how it usually goes?

Shove it and forget until it exists until it becomes a problem.

Isn't that just life in general?

Alfred walked to (Y/N)'s room, closing the door behind him. He glanced around, trying to figure out how much mess there is and how long would it take to clean it up. While (Y/N) wasn't a messy person, he wasn't tidy either. There was some clothes thrown around the room and Alfred didn't mind it. It was not much work, but the closet was a whole another ball game.

Alfred got to work with the clothes before moving to closet.

Of course, a lot of things were shoved in there and Alfred wasn't shocked. Men do have that habit of just shoving everything in their closets. Alfred slowly started with folding the clothes, rolling up the socks...

Alfred raised a brow as he looked at a hidden box. It was a normal looking box, but something piqued Alfred's interest. Something called him to the box, a gut instinct it seems. He knelt down and took the box and opened it.

His eyes widened as he noticed all of the little things the other boys complained or mentioned that went missing. It was a blade from Damian, but not important enough so he would notice right away. Alfred remembered that this particular blade wasn't in Damian's most important arsenal, but still.

Damian was serious about his knives.

Then it was Jason's gun, thankfully, the mag was out and there were no bullets. And there was not that one bullet in the chamber. Again, Jason owned many guns, but this pistol, just like Damian's blade, wasn't primary...

There were some of Dick's and Tim's things as well...

Not important enough to cause suspicion right away...

Alfred connected the dots right away.

(Y/N) is a kleptomaniac.

Oh shit.

" What the fuck? " Jason muttered as he took his gun back, not loading it.

Alfred smacked the back of his head for cursing, making Jason let out an ow as he rubbed the back of his head.

" Language, " Alfred simply said as he watched others get their trinkets back.

" This was a smart strategy. Take something you know they wouldn't really know went missing, since it's not sentimental, " Damian said from his spot at the table, making everyone nod.

" Yeah... I don't want to insult Catwoman, but it's clearly that he inherited it from from Selina, " Dick said and Tim chuckled.

" Clearly Dick. But you have to give it to our brother, he was smart about it. Almost looks like something Damian would have done, " Tim said, glancing over at his brother Damian, who scoffed.

" Does B knows about this? " Jason asked Alfred, who shook his head.

" No, he's on a mission with the League. We won't bother him with it now. But we need confront (Y/N) about this," Alfred stated and everyone nodded.

Yeah, they needed to talk to (Y/N) about this.

[tickled-p1nk]

What the Heart Wants ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

CHAPTER 1 | RESPONSIBILITY AND REFUGE

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: ̗̀➛ a/n: yes sir this is a multi-chapter fic, did it start out that way? nope. did it end that way? yes. : ̗̀➛ cw: none really, royal!dan heng x fem!servant!reader, reader is awkward and shy, meet cute, emperor!dan heng, royal!au, reader comes from a poor family, 2nd person pov, fluffy fluff to come, Dan Heng lies, secret identity trope, sfw : ̗̀➛ tags: @kimura-uzuri, @blushho

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Dan Heng had only come to the throne a short while ago and already had to deal with a war he hadn't started. There wasn't a moment of peace, being constantly bombarded with decisions that affected nations, the future, and living up to his father's legacy. None of this should have been his responsibility, especially since he hasn't even come to terms with his past and living up to his potential as Imbibator Lunae of his nation. But there was one thing… a refuge from all the chaos and pressure. A life without the expectations of status and leadership, somewhere he was safe, he could love and be loved.

You.

It started when you were working around the palace as a servant. Your family was poor, and you were sold to work at the imperial palace so they could pay off their debts. This was common practice for those in need, and it did have its benefits, a few at least.

Working at the palace, you never thought you would ever actually meet the emperor, the young leader of your warring nation. Though you did hear things, he was quite handsome and very skilled with the spear which was an odd choice for someone of his status. The women in the palace giggled about him but of course, none of you would ever have a chance with someone of his status. Or so you thought.

You ran into each other while you were cleaning the long hall. You were alone and quietly humming a song your mother used to sing to you. You missed your family If you were to be honest, you didn't know people here, though they were kind enough. They looked at you with sympathetic eyes, or envious ones, depending on where they came from. 

Suddenly, behind you, you heard footsteps, slowly came a young man. You eyed him cautiously, he seemed sleepy with heavy bags under his eyes, stress lines across his face despite his youthful appearance. He was fairly handsome if he were to fix his appearance a bit, short black hair and a lean but muscular build, you could tell due to his thin linen garb. He seemed like he was of high status due to the quality of his clothes, but nothing else signified status. You determined he was probably one of the more favored servants, though there was something about him that seemed eerily familiar.

He noticed your suspicious glances and became confused, does she not recognize me? He felt half offended and half amused. Well this is interesting.

Most people would have bowed their heads to him by now, it was the law, after all to bow in the presence of their emperor. He never really cared for it but it was strange to see someone not adhering to it.

“Can I help you with something?” You spoke, interrupting the staring contest.

“Oh no, sorry. Can I… help you…perhaps? Is there anything you require assistance with?” He wasn't used to making conversation where he was treated like an actual human being and not the answer to everyone's problems.

“Oh…hm…,” This handsome man was talking to you and asking if you needed anything, as someone who is starved for nurturing and love this was basically a marriage proposal, “could you help me reach the top of that shelf it's a bit too high for me to clean and I can't find a ladder.”

You expected him to go get a ladder or a stool if he knew where, not take the duster from your hand and do it himself.

“Oh! Uh….thank you.” You were a bit flustered, not only did you feel bad for having him dust the high shelves but when he was handing it back to you he was very close and very tall. You hoped he didn't notice how red your ears were getting at the moment “I didn't mean to make you do all that, my sincerest apologies.”

“Nonsense, I could reach it, and you needed help.” Dan Heng stated in a matter-of-fact tone, his teal eyes staring directly into your soul.

“What is your name, by the way? I didn’t seem to catch it,” you asked, despite the lump in your throat and the need to run away from this mysterious, handsome man.

He stared at you, stunned, I don’t want her to treat me differently, he paused before saying, “Dannie, and you?”

“Just Dannie?” you asked. It was strange to introduce yourself with what seemed like a first name.

“Yes.” He felt terrible for lying to an innocent person for no reason other than his selfish desires, but he wanted to indulge himself, just this once

“Hm, okay, Dannie, nice to meet you.”

You gave him your name, and you both stared at each other a bit, awkward silence taking over. You weren’t sure what to do or say after this point, not having much normal human interaction for the past year would do that.

Dan Heng, or “Dannie,” was the first to break the silence: “May I join you for the rest of your shift?”

You were surprised and perhaps slightly embarrassed but agreed nonetheless. It’s only to get to know the people I rule, of course, of course, yes, there was no other motivation whatsoever.

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: ̗̀➛ a/n pt 2: hello once more dear readers, and my darling dearest @all-skedaddle-and-no-bop

banner credit goes to: @kat_allioth on pinterest but idk who the actual artist is

stay tuned for the upcoming chapters!

masterlist next

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

Hello, hope this is an ok ask but I was wondering if you could Omega and Fem!Reader where the reader takes an omega on a mother-daughter outing? And the boys see just how much of having a mother figure in omegas life is beneficial? Maybe omega has some attempts of trying to set you up with one of her brothers so you have a reason to stay? Funny shenanigans ensue as omega tries to push her brothers toward you (and succeeds with one of them, your choice of who)

Hope this makes sense! ♥️

“Operation: Stay Forever”

The Bad Batch x Reader

Omega was practically vibrating with excitement as she tugged your hand through the streets of Pabu, her curls bouncing and her voice a mile a minute.

“We’re gonna get snacks, and go to the market, and you have to help me pick a new dress—Hunter says all mine are covered in grease stains but I think they’re just lived in—and maybe we can do something with my hair later! Do you know how to braid? Of course you do, you’re amazing!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, heart full. “I do know how to braid. You want one with beads or ribbons?”

Omega gasped like you’d just offered her the throne of Naboo.

“Beads. Obviously. Ribbons are for formal events. This is casual fabulosity.”

You smiled, following her into the plaza. “Of course. Casual fabulosity. My mistake.”

Hunter squinted as he watched the two of you walk away, Omega’s hand in yours, already talking your ear off.

“…She never talks that much to Tech.”

Wrecker laughed. “That’s ‘cause Tech tried to explain fabrics to her like he was listing battle specs. She just wanted to know if it was twirly.”

Echo leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “She needed this.”

“She’s had us,” Crosshair said simply, though he looked less like he was arguing and more like he was observing.

Echo’s brow lifted. “She’s had four brothers and a droid. That’s not the same thing as having a mother figure.” He glanced at Hunter. “Which I keep telling you. For years.”

“Oh, come on,” Wrecker grinned. “You were basically the mom until she met [Y/N].”

Echo didn’t miss a beat. “And you were the big toddler I was babysitting.”

Hunter snorted. “Can’t argue there.”

⸻

Omega twirled in her new outfit—a bright tunic you’d helped her pick, complete with beads braided into her hair. You’d spent the last hour painting your nails and hers, sipping local fruit teas, and chatting about everything from your favorite foods to who the you thought the cutest clone was.

“So…” Omega said slowly, squinting up at you with faux innocence. “Do you like anyone?”

You blinked. “What?”

“You know. Like like.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Because I think one of my brothers likes you.”

You choked on your tea. “I’m sorry—what?”

“Well, it’s obvious. Everyone likes you. But I think Echo likes you. Or maybe Hunter.” She tapped her chin. “Definitely not Crosshair. He’s weird. He called feelings ‘tactical liabilities.’”

You laughed despite yourself. “That sounds about right.”

“But you could be the mom! Then you’d have to stay! I’ve decided.”

You raised a brow. “That why you’ve been dragging me by the hand all day like a trophy?”

“Yes,” she said proudly.

⸻

You returned to the Batch’s quarters just in time to find the guys lounging around post-dinner. Omega skipped ahead of you, proudly showing off her outfit and beads.

“Look what we did! She’s so good at braiding, and she picked this out, and—oh!” She turned, sly grin in place. “You know, she really likes men who are good with kids.”

Hunter arched a brow.

Echo narrowed his eyes.

Crosshair rolled his.

Wrecker leaned forward excitedly. “Ooooh. Is this one of those matchmaking things again?”

“Again?!” you hissed, turning to Omega.

Omega threw her hands up. “I’m just trying to help! She’s amazing, and you all need help with social cues.”

Echo blinked slowly. “I’m going to get blamed for this, aren’t I?”

Hunter sighed, rubbing his temple. “Omega—”

“I mean,” Omega went on innocently, “she is pretty, and Echo’s the responsible one, but maybe a bit too serious. Hunter, you’re too emotionally constipated—”

“Hey!”

“Crosshair’s a walking red flag—”

“Not inaccurate,” Echo muttered.

“—and Wrecker’s a brother to everyone. Which means Echo is the best option. Or maybe Hunter if he could manage one emotional conversation without running off into the jungle.”

Hunter looked like he was reconsidering all his life choices. “Omega, you’re grounded.”

“You can’t ground me. I have diplomatic immunity,” she beamed.

Wrecker burst out laughing.

You were crying with laughter now, face flushed. “I can’t believe you just called Crosshair a red flag.”

“She’s not wrong,” Crosshair said, leaning back with an almost-smile.

Echo, still composed, finally looked your way. “You’re really good with her.”

You smiled. “She’s easy to love.”

He paused. “Yeah. She is.”

Your eyes met. The moment hung—just long enough for Omega to wiggle her eyebrows dramatically in the background like a gremlin.

Echo sighed. “Omega, if you don’t stop matchmaking, I’m going to let Crosshair do your next math lesson.”

Her horror was immediate. “You wouldn’t!”

“Oh, I would.”

Crosshair smiled slowly. “I’ll make flashcards.”

⸻

Later that night, you were helping Omega with her beads and hair.

“Did I mess it up?” she asked suddenly. “Trying to push things?”

You looked at her in the mirror and smiled softly.

“No. You just reminded me how lucky I am to be here.”

She smiled back, cheeks a little pink. “You’re not gonna leave, right?”

You pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Not unless Crosshair actually makes those flashcards.”

“Please don’t leave,” she said dramatically, “I’m not ready for that.”

Neither were you.

And honestly?

You weren’t going anywhere.

⸻

The next morning, you found Omega hunched over the small dining table with a data pad, scraps of paper, crayons, and a very serious expression. Wrecker walked by, glanced at the mess, and raised a brow.

“Whatcha doin’, kid?”

“Mission planning,” Omega said without looking up.

“For what, exactly?”

She tapped the screen with finality. “Operation Wedding Bells.”

Wrecker blinked. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes.”

By midday, Hunter had found out.

Because Omega had tried to get his measurements.

“For the suit, obviously,” she said.

Hunter rubbed his temples like he had a migraine. “What suit?”

“For the wedding. Between Echo and [Y/N].”

You nearly dropped the tray of food you were carrying. “Omega.”

She held up the data pad and pointed to a crude drawing of a beach, some flowers, and what you assumed was Echo in some sort of tuxedo with his armor still on. “Do you want a sunset wedding or a moonlight one? I can make either happen. I’ve already got Crosshair assigned to security. And I told Tech that he could officiate.”

Echo stared at her blankly. “Why Tech?”

“He’s got that ‘wise old man’ vibe now.”

“I’m no older then the rest.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got the vibe.”

Hunter sighed. “You’re grounded.”

“You can’t ground me,” Omega said, standing up and striking a dramatic pose. “I’m planning a wedding.”

⸻

The sun was setting, warm orange light spilling over the ocean, casting long shadows across the sand.

You were sitting quietly, sipping a cool drink and letting the breeze brush across your skin, when Echo stepped out and joined you. He had something in his hands—a small, folded piece of paper, clearly drawn by Omega.

“She gave this to me,” he said, handing it to you.

You opened it.

It was another “wedding plan.” The two of you were stick figures holding hands, surrounded by a bunch of questionably drawn flowers, and what looked like Wrecker as a ring bearer. At the bottom, in bold handwriting, Omega had written:

“You’re already a family. This just makes it official.”

Your heart squeezed.

“She really wants you to stay,” Echo said softly, sitting beside you. “We all do.”

You glanced at him. “You too?”

He met your eyes, and there was something vulnerable there—an honesty he didn’t often allow himself to show.

“I think I’ve wanted that since the moment you helped her with that first braid. You made her feel… safe. And seen. That means everything to me.”

You smiled, heart thudding. “You know she called you the responsible one, right? Said you were the best option.”

A ghost of a smile pulled at his lips. “Guess I’ve got her endorsement.”

You nudged his arm lightly. “I’d take it seriously. She’s planning outfits now.”

Echo chuckled, quiet and warm. “Of course she is.”

The silence between you stretched into something comfortable, like warmth curling around your chest.

“She’s not wrong though,” you said softly.

Echo turned to you, brows lifting just slightly. “About what?”

You looked at him then, really looked. At the man who had lost so much, given so much, and still stood tall—quiet, steadfast, kind.

“That you’re the best option.”

There was a beat. Then another.

He reached out, hesitating only for a second before his gloved fingers brushed yours.

“I’d like to prove her right.”

You didn’t need any more words than that.

Your fingers laced with his as the sun slipped below the horizon.

Back inside, Omega leaned over the data pad and added a final touch to the sketch.

A heart.

Right over where your stick figures stood, holding hands.

She beamed.

“Mission success.”

⸻

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 189 (Brindleton Bay Picks a New Mayor)

Growing up, Alexander Goth dreamed of becoming Brindleton Bay's first real mayor in decades. After high school, he got involved with No Sim Left Behind, marrying his teenage sweetheart, Lydia Kim-Lewis. Now, they had two amazing kids - son Jagger and toddler Carina. His family was the light of his life, but he'd always been drawn to activism and politics.

Once George Brindleton met his end while wintering in Sulani, Alex could finally push for an election - and for a while it looked like he might run unopposed. Brindletonians were used to joking Heather Gordon's Tuxedo cat, Mayor Whiskers, ran the town, but just before the deadline, Bay Landgraab Security director J Huntington III entered the race. Alex hadn't run a campaign since he won student council president at Deadgrass Isle High - a real mayoral contest excited him!

Hazel Nesbitt was one of his wife's oldest friends, and she eventually moved to Brindleton Bay to be closer to both Lydia and her elder sister, local vet Heather. With her experience working for Henford's Mayor Varner before her divorce, Alex enlisted Hazel to manage a clean campaign focused on meeting locals and telling them his plans for the town in detail. It was the best way he could think to counter J's populist tough-on-crime agenda.

Alex wanted to clean up every shoreline, revitalize tourism, and make Brindleton Bay the kind of place families stayed for generations. That meant jobs, recreational spaces, and total commitment.

His ambitions were high, but his perseverance was higher. Voters saw a young, enthusiastic leader, and on election day, they rewarded him with a significant victory.

Brindleton Bay's often rainy spring weather couldn't dampen his excitement as he thanked his supporters for their faith in him. He was already raring to go - not even mud puddles in the rain could stop him from making Brindleton Bay a world class town!

(The 'energetic speech' option borders on aggressive but it made me laugh. Go Mayor Alex, you won! Since Mayor isn't actually a level in the political career in-game, he's a high-level politician and I changed his first name from Alexander to Mayor Alex. Officially.)

Alex's proud mother, Bella, threw a party at home to celebrate his electoral victory. His proud big sister, Cassandra, arrived with her husband, River, and their sons, and Cass headed straight for the piano as soon as she walked into her childhood home.

The Nesbitts' two-story cottage in Henford was more garden than home, with no room for a piano. But Cassandra took lessons as a child, and with gentle music humming from the ivory-coloured keys, guests gathered happily around the grand instrument.

"Isn't this the piano Conrad possessed when Bella made him that cocktail?" wondered Heather. "It's so big! I can't believe he made this thing float!"

Bella and Dexter prepared food for the guests in the kitchen, with Bella adding her secret spice to the superfood salad for an extra kick. Conrad grinned as he spray-cleaned the kitchen sink to prep it for dirty dishes. "I don't know how you do it, Mrs. Goth. Everything you make is impeccable."

"Oh, you know me." She laughed as the salad bowl seemed to shimmer in her hands. "It's just a little touch of magic, I guess."

"Ash said he's sorry he couldn't make it to the party, but he's having a sleepover with his friends tonight."

"Don't worry about it. Ash is growing up. He'll be a teenager soon; of course he wants to spend more time with his friends!"

"He's more ready to grow up than we are. Doesn't seem that long ago he was in diapers."

"Well, we can't stop time forever. Only Reapers stay the same."

"How are things with you and Grim?"

"Never better! It's still very casual, you know. It's impossible for us to live like a normal couple, so we don't. He's reaping tonight, but he might stop by once the party's over."

The hostess had also extended an invitation to the losing candidate and his family. Alex wanted to have a good working relationship with the guys at Bay Landgraab Security; for better or worse, they were important to the town.

In another room, Alex found J obsessively consulting a future cube and interrupted. "I wanted to make sure there's no hard feelings after the vote," he said. "As mayor, I want safety and security in the bay as much as you do, and I want to work with you to ensure the best for everyone in town."

J scarcely looked up from his cube, smiling as the toy revealed a positive fortune. "No hard feelings," he insisted. "I only ran because some suits at Landgraab Corp. said I should and paid the registration fee. If I won I'd be indebted to them, but this way I can say I tried so they don't punish my guys for my non-compliance. But between you and me? I voted for you, too."

J's lookalike fourteen-year-old son, Caiden Huntington, had joined his parents, approaching Lavender as she chatted with her cousins, Michael and Sammy, in the living room. "Have you been practicing your double stops?" he asked.

Lavender grinned at the teenager who'd recently become her violin teacher. "I have been. They almost sound good now."

"It always sounds better than you think it does, Lavender."

"If you say so!" She didn't really believe him.

Of all the guests at the party, Mortimer Goth was perhaps most proud of his son's mayoral victory. He wasn't a resident of the town and couldn't vote for him, but seeing him succeed meant the world.

"Another great Goth tale to add to the family archives," he mused, wrapping the oldest of his sons in a hug. "As a kid there was a simulation game I played, and I always made the sim designed for me become the president of the world. But you might actually go out and do it. I couldn't be prouder, Alexander."

Dexter scoffed from a nearby chair. "You were into video games? But Dad, you're so old!"

"It's not like I'm a hundred years old, Dex. Karl and I both like to play video games sometimes. We've got a console at the villa in Willow Creek."

"Are you any good?"

"You'll have to come to Willow Creek to find out," he chided.

After a special week for his family in Brindleton Bay, Mayor Alex Goth was ready to get started fulfilling his promises to the town. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

NOTE: Caiden elected himself Lavender's violin instructor when he took one of the Huntington pets to the vet and randomly idled like this. ⬇️ I was already looking for more ways to involve him in the main fam's plotlines though he and Ash aren't friends, and this surprised me because he doesn't look like a violinist - but, for me, that's what works about it! In my head Heather offered to pay him to teach Lavender after she heard him. (Heather 'likes violin,' which is sweet, because Lavender's playing makes her happy.)

NOTE 2: For those who like townie updates and gossip and for those who don't know, Alex's wife Lydia is the younger sister of Olivia (Kim-Lewis) Watson and Heather's close friend, Spencer Pancakes. She and Alex met after the Goths' old cat had kittens; River was already dating Cassandra, so he took Hazel and her friend Lydia to adopt one. Victory moved back to Brindleton Bay with Lydia once she and Alex were married.

In the bottom right photo before the cut are the parents of Avery Harms, who's the girlfriend of Bella and Mortimer's youngest son, Dexter in the posed pic before the cut. Hayes Harms and his wife Abby started life as the randomized Henford grocer and creature keeper after I made Michael Bell and Kim Goldbloom playable. They're parents to Elliott, Avery, and Isaac. Hayes is also the biological father of former Brindleton vet tech Emi Kudo's twin sons (including young ballet dancer Charlie, who's been teased enough and makes his debut May 27th!). Charlie and his brother, Oliver, are younger than Elliott and Avery, but older than Isaac. Currently, Hayes and Abby are aware of the affair twins but know nothing else by choice; Emi has stayed out of their way ever since she first left town, and Avery and her brothers are in the dark about the whole thing.

WCIF Poses Used: Three poses used for the top two photos - Special Day by @beto-ae0, Big Family by @traveling-sims, and Siblings by Katverse.

[youthereader]

Echoes in the Dark part 4.

PAIRING: joel miller (the last of us) x fem!reader

SUMMARY: 1.7k words. Every morning you wake up and remember two things. Firstly, that your son is dead, and secondly, that Joel Miller is your patient. A fix-it fic. Reader is Joel’s carer as he recovers from Abby’s attempt on his life.

RATING: E. blowjob and vaginal fingering. age gap (reader is in their 30s, Joel is in his 60s). heavy angst, grief and loss of a child, graphic violence.

A/N: Sexy interlude. Or, porn with a sprinkle of plot. I didn't intend to write yet another filthy chapter, but it just HAPPENED. Help.

PART 3.

The memories of last night take a couple minutes to come back to you when you wake the next morning. You flush, rolling over in bed, stretching. You remember the gasps, the groans and moans that came from him. You remember the taste of his come on your tongue as you make your first coffee of the day. 

Instead of going indoors the second you reach Joel’s place, you go to the wood chopping spot out the front. Each slam of the axe calms you as you build a small pile. You kick aside another piece when the front door opens wide, revealing Joel fully dressed, hands on his wheels. The front door thunks against the wall and you pause, before reaching for another log to cut.

“Morning,” he says, and you feel his voice go straight through you. 

You take a deep breath, then slam the axe down, splitting the log in two. 

“Morning,” you reply. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” he says, and you smirk, looking away. “Best sleep I’ve had in a while.”

“Wonder why,” you tease. 

Your eyes meet again, and his gaze dips distinctly at your body. As he drinks you in, you kick aside the wood, slamming the axe down on the chopping block a beat later. You scoop up some firewood and walk up the steps. 

He doesn’t move, blocking the doorway. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, and he could be talking about anything, until you realize he means the wood, not the handjob.

“Sure I did,” you murmur. “Can I put these down?”

He wordlessly moves back, watching you as you slip past him and walk to the fireplace inside, kneeling to place the wood next to it. You feed the embers from last night, blowing on them to build a flame. You settle back on your heels, Joel remaining at the doorway.

“I got word the foal came,” he says, and you smile. 

“What’s it’s name?”

“Clover,” he replies. He looks down at his hands for a second, something ticking over. “Do you wanna go see it?”

“Sure,” you say. 

The walk to the stables is quiet, but not awkward. You don’t talk about last night, and you decide you don’t have to. There’s not much to say, you’re not going to ask him what you are now. He’s still a guy you’re looking after, and you’re still more than happy to it, as long as he is. 

He doesn’t give the impression that he has any regrets by how he doesn’t shrink away from you, and openly smiles when he says your name to Tommy.

“Yeah, I remember her,” his brother says. He looks at you. “At least you’ve still got him in the chair. The less he moves the better for your sanity.”

“Of course,” you retort. 

Several people are already visiting the stables that morning, including Tommy and Maria. You wonder how obvious it is to other people that you and Joel are closer than this time yesterday. Maria is quieter than the last time you saw her, distracted. 

“Things are fine,” you add, somewhat pointed. “He’s behaving.”

You, on the other hand, are definitely not. You and Joel have already shared secret glances that morning, and at one point he grabbed the cuff of your jacket, just to hold it between his fingers. This secret, however small, feels tender to you, almost precious. You know wholeheartedly that you don’t ever want to go back to the way things were before.

Clover resembles her mother, a deep mahogany with a white stripe down her nose. You move on, feeling Maria’s eyes on yours. Walking back to Joel’s street, he brings it up in a diplomatic way. 

“She hasn’t always been my biggest fan.”

“I think she’s seen how picking me has kinda backfired,” you add. “She’s nice enough, but…”

“You’re not super friendly with her, though,” he says.

You snort, dropping your face close to his head as you still push him. “Pot, kettle… black…”

When you reach the front door, his hand slips into yours and he hoists himself up with a grunt. 

“I’m the expert when it comes to keeping folks away,” he says. “Or, I used to be. So I know what I’m talking about, is what I’m saying.”

You nod, knowing he’s watching your reactions. You being touch-starved is partly why last night was so thrilling, and being alone has only served you well over the last few years. Joel complicates this, holds a mirror to you. 

“She doesn’t have to worry about my character,” you say, walking him into his living room. 

He settles on the couch and you walk back to get the wheelchair. He doesn’t speak until you’re by his side again, your feet beside his as you stand over him.

“I know she doesn’t,” he murmurs. “You’re loyal, which is rare in this world. And kind.”

“I’m not that-”

You’re about to brush him off but he reaches for your hand again, threading his fingers through yours. He squeezes, brow lifting. 

“You are.”

Ordinarily, when people like Maria or other fellow Jackson residents praise you, it feels inherently false. None of these people knew you before, and so you know their impression of you is shallow at best. Hearing Joel say this feels different. You know he doesn’t appear this way to others that often. 

“Okay,” is all you can say, and he rubs the back of your hand with his thumb.

His touch warms you all over, your skin breaking out in goosebumps. His hand slips up to your arm, and then your elbow. He pulls you in, and you land on your knees between his, your hands settling on his thighs. 

“We never actually kissed,” you whisper. 

“I know,” he says. He takes hold of your face with both hands. “It’s a fucking shame.”

You shuffle forward and he kisses you. He is molten and thorough, lingering and torturous. It’s the best kiss of your life and you moan into his open mouth, his tongue meeting yours. His head tilts and your nails dig into him, while you take everything. You could do this for hours, until you’re dizzy and overwhelmed, until your numb… He pulls back, a wet smack of lips, and kisses your cheek, your eyelid, the tip of your nose. 

There’s that intimacy again, the tenderness that refuses to leave you. You slide your hands further down to meet his hips, and he hisses against the side of your face.

“How hard are you right now for me?” you whisper, and he attacks your throat, hands roaming your back, your waist, down to your ass. 

If he could, he’d put you in his lap, you know this by how he almost bucks into you, kisses landing wherever he can reach skin. Your jacket is shoved away and he pulls down your shirt to your elbows. You shiver, nipples pebbling as his huge palms slip into your bra to cup your breasts. You gasp into his mouth, hips rocking. 

If he’s hard, you’re soaking through your underwear, you swear your life on this. You rock together, a mindlessness to it, tongues tangling. Your hands scramble to his waistband. 

“I want to taste you again,” you whisper to him, and he moans, mouth missing yours for the first time. “Please?”

You pull him out, his hands slipping away from you, and he allows you to dive down, taking him in your mouth. He gasps like you did, hand immediately going to the back of your head, your hair tangling in his grip.

“Fuck me,” he says, a little louder than you expect. “Shitshitshit…”

He tastes of soap, and precome, and you pull off him to the sensitive tip, circling it with your tongue. For an older guy, he’s got no issues getting hard fast. You plunge back down, taking him to the root, coughing at the strain. He’s at the back of your throat and you want him to bruise, to leave you something to remember him by. Another secret thing you can treasure when you’re alone once more.

“God, you’re perfect…”

He sounds drunk. He’s delirious because you’re giving him head. You double your efforts, losing air over him, twisting him on the downstroke. He lasts only a few minutes until he’s trying to pull away, but you shake your head, pulling off. You stroke him with a slick fist, eyes meeting his. 

“Come in my mouth.”

He stares at you, then begins to nod. His fingers tighten on your scalp and you clench on nothing. He starts to come, quietly and then louder, groaning. It’s warm down your throat, like a comfort, like a reward. You lick it away, as he pants, sweat on his hairline. You give a yelp as he pulls you up by your elbows, shoving you into the seat beside him. 

“You’ve given me two now, how is that fair?” he whispers, and you remember your tits still being out when he cups one, nipping at the swell of the other. 

You give a helpless little sound, and though it’s a tricky manouver given he can’t move his lower half that well, he manages to half turn and undo your jeans. 

“Can I fuck you like this?” he whispers, and you nod.

God, yes. Anything. Fucking anything. 

He looks surprised when his hand reaches inside your underwear, his fingers brushing your soaked folds. Then he smiles up at you, and he’s blushing. 

“Jesus.”

He kisses you again, softer, and you rock, wanting more. He slips one finger and then another inside you with ease. Your cunt makes an almost mortifying sucking sound as he begins to move. You’ve never been more turned on in your life. You know you’re not long for this world when his thumb presses against your clit. 

“If it weren’t for my leg, I’d have you bent over this couch,” he whispers. 

“Good motivation for you to get better, then,” you pant, clenching on his fingers. 

His hand speeds up, your toes beginning to curl. Your hand falls down between you and you grip his wrist. 

“Joel,” you pant. You chant his name over and over, until it becomes all you know, your hips lifting–

You come hard, back bowing, Joel’s head bending down for his mouth to latch onto your neck. He claims you then, pinning you to the couch, drenching him down to his wrist. 

The world spins and for a little while, it’s all you know, it’s all there is. 

And you’re at peace.

I truly cannot get enough of this old man. Seriously, I think it's diagnosable at this point. Anyhoooooo, let me know what you think!

tag list: @littledebbieinabigworld

[igotatasteforoldermendelrey]

I will run miles for you.

Picture from 4ngelvision on Pinterest

A/N : Hi guys! Wrote this short one today. I hope you will like it!

English is not my first language you might find mistakes in there!

Ship : Joel x reader

Summary : Joel, you and Ellie were all living in Jackson. One night, you were woken up by the sounds of things being knocked over downstairs. After realising Joel was fighting someone who flee when he saw you, you had to make sure it won’t happen again.

Warnings : established relationship, fighting, swearing, mention of death (not Joel’s), running, mention of infected, fluff, a little bit of angst?

If I forgot anything don’t hesitate to tell me!

I do not consent to any of my work to be translated or posted anywhere else without my permission.

Banners made on Pinterest.

You woke up to the sound of things being knocked down downstairs. You ran your hand over the side of the mattress where Joel was supposed to be laying on only to be met with cold. You sat up, looking on your bedside table to look at the time on your watch. 2:30 in the morning. The noise continued even stronger, as if things were thrown around.

Not being sure if it was Joel, you took your gun from the drawer beside your bed and went downstairs, holding it tighter between your fingers when you heard two voices. You slowly, made your way at the door frame, staying hidden in the shadow, just to take a better look at the scene.

It’s when you saw them. Joel on the floor, a man on top of him trying to hit him with his fist. the older man was trying to get the other man to let him go, pushing and hitting all he could. You slowly made your way to them, putting your gun against the head of the other man.

You better let him go before I blow your brain out. You warned him, pushing your gun against his head.

The man jumped, looking at you before pushing you with all his force to flee the house. You stayed on your feet thanks to the hold you had on a chair, and saw Ellie standing behind you.

Stay with him. You tell her before running outside after the man.

He wasn’t too far, not being able to run as fast as he could because Joel must have hit him in the leg. You quickly catch him up, jumping on him and sending him rolling on the floor. After making sure he couldn’t flee again, you tore off his hood, realising he was just a kid from the neighbourhood, someone who was working in the kitchen.

The fuck do you think you’re doing, Austin?! You exclaimed, your gun still in your hand.

This motherfucker deserves to die! He spat out at you with pure rage in his eyes.

Are you high? Drunk? You asked him, still holding him down with your legs.

Of course no! Joel killed my dad! He exploded, trying to get you off of him.

What’s your father’s name?

Patrick.

Austin… your father was infected. He got bitte during patrol. Joel didn’t have a choice…

Stop it! Stop lying! He screamed at you, getting you off of him.

I am not. Ask your mother, or Tommy or Maria. He was bitten on the left arm. I’m sorry kid. Joel had to made sure he wasn’t going to be a danger for the town.

No one has ever been bitten on patrol!

They were asked to go watch a different road, the infected were lying under the snow. No one knew, Austin. The others had a lot of chance to be able to flee without getting bite.

That’s not… it’s not fair!

It’s not. I’m sorry. You put slowly a hand on his shoulder. Go home, kid. You’re mom must be worried.

She is sleeping. Always is since dad died. He sniffed.

Maybe Gail can see her. I’m sorry kid, really. Now go home. We won’t say anything about tonight if you stay in place.

He nodded one last time before turning around and walking to his house without looking back at you. You sighed, saddened by this kid who just wanted to venge his father. None of them deserved this life. You returned home, finding Joel sat on a chair and Ellie walking from one side of the kitchen to other, telling him how she will find him and kill him.

WoW, nobody’s going to kill anyone. I took care of it. You interrupted her, walking in the kitchen and putting your gun on the table before getting antiseptic to disinfect Joel’s cut on his brow.

Who was it? What did you do to him? She asked, almost jumping on you.

He was Patrick’s kid. You replied staring at Joel who sighed when he heard the name. His dad got infected on a patrol.

Why would he attack Joel then?

Cause he blames me. I was the one who took care of his father after he got bitten. Can’t be mad at him.

What? He tried to kill you! Ellie exclaimed.

Joel scoffed. No he didn’t. He couldn’t have done it, almost couldn’t land a punch. That was just an angry kid, Ellie. Think if you were in his shoes.

Well at least I know how to land a punch. She replied with a murmur, exiting the kitchen to go back to bed.

I swear this kid… Joel said, letting you take his face in your hand to apply the antiseptic.

She’s a teenager. I’m sure you were like that too at her age… or still are. You added with a murmur.

What’s that supposed to mean?

That you’re sometimes as moody as a teenager?

He scoffed, falling silent.

Well at least now I know you will jump on anyone trying to hurt me. Can’t believe you ran after him.

What? You thought I was gonna stay standing there while a man was trying to hurt the man I love? You don’t know me as much as I thought you did, mister Miller.

You love me? He replied, acting like it was something he didn’t know.

Shut up. You added with a smile, finishing patching him up. Now let’s go back to bed, you’re going to be even more moody tomorrow.

I’m not moody!

You hummed, taking his hand and leading him to your bedroom. You both laid down and he took you in his arms, needing to feel you close to make sure you were here. He would never admit it but for a minute he got scared downstairs when he was on his back in the kitchen. For just a few second he thought that maybe it could be the end for him, leaving you and Ellie alone and that thought alone made him fight back with everything he had.

Hey Miller? You asked in the darkness. I will run miles for you. You simply said, getting deeper in his embrace.

You smiled against his chest, feeling his heartbeat beating faster.