#and she stopped searching a long time ago

[lazyjellyfish300]

𝒊𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅✩‧ ˚☁︎ ⋅♡𓂃

⊱ shiu kong x fem wife!reader

⊱synopsis: an unexpected adventure on easter makes shiu realize he's ready to try for something you both have wanted for a while: a baby.

⊱words~5.1k 🌸

⊱cw: minors dni, x fem reader, age gap, smut(p in v, cowgirl, kitchen sex, little degradation+praise, daddy, cum eating, oral both receiving, fingering, creampie), fluff, bit of angst, family planning, jjk spoilers, smoking

⊱a/n: this was supposed to be finished by easter but yanno😮‍💨. i love shiu. that is all.

⊱a continuation from this universe: adopting a dog | your first date

The park is a little quieter than usual, much to your pleasant discovery on this sunny Easter morning with the vibrant smell that chases a spring shower, dewy grass, and newly bloomed flowers. 

Your heels echo just slightly against the concrete, taking slow, measured steps arm-in-arm, tucked in the permanent space you occupy next to your darling husband. 

Your pace is impeded every now and then by a large caramel vanilla swirl barrier, which is none other than your beloved mutual companion, Stella, the basset hound. Today, she's donning her new fancy lavender harness in the spirit of the springtime season. 

Shiu can't help the smile that sneaks across his face in between puffs of his cigarette as he gazes at you, beauty emanating from you as easily as the breath from your lungs, so content in your element with a cinnamon coffee, your favorite warm pastry in hand, and Stella taking her time to sniff and mark every single patch of grass she found interesting despite your little family's ritual of coming here every single Sunday, drinking in every second of this charmed life that was both the result of his own construction, and a simultaneous offering that blew into his lap from the lucky winds of fate. 

Shiu wasn't a billionaire, but in moments like these he was by far the richest man on Earth. 

---

Suddenly, your path is blocked by a different kind of intruder, and you both come to a gradual stop as they make themselves known. 

"Awww..." Shiu snuffs out his cigarette when it's a baby boy who couldn't have been older than two with big brown eyes, dressed in his Sunday best with little suspenders, towing what appears to be an Easter basket in his chubby little hand with a couple of colorful eggs rolling around in the bottom.

"You look like you're a long ways from home, bud." 

Shiu pats the top of the child's head while Stella gives him a sniff-down to which the child shivers and tries to wave a chubby hand in front of her face. 

Both you and Shiu look around apprehensively in search of his parents.

"Darling, what should we do?" You murmur, handing Shiu your coffee and your pastry when the little tyke wanders and pulls at the bottom of your peacoat, begging for uppies.

Reluctantly, you scoop him up, alarmed at how he immediately wraps his arms around your neck, nuzzling his face in your chest. "Where's his mommy and daddy?" 

"I don't know, dollface." Shiu replies, puzzled. His gaze softens as the little one cozies right on up to you as though you were his mother. His heart flutters with a pang that felt familiar, and his mind rides the wave of an unexpected tide of deja vu as he's reminded of a baby boy he once knew many years ago. 

"Let's keep going this way towards the playground. I'll bet you he came from the egg hunt." 

You two walk further down the path, carrying the new stowaway in your arms which you were beginning to admit, he was a lot heavier than you thought. 

"This is where your detective skills come in handy, honey." You look over at Shiu admiringly, pausing to adjust your hold on the youngster while you walk. 

"Nah, just a safe assumption...But sure, we can say I used my expertise to come to that conclusion." He hums, giving you an affectionate nod as he watches the little boy yawn as he gets comfortable in your arms. 

"You're doing great, baby. You're a natural." He winks, taking a small bite of your pastry.  

"Darling, that's mine! Get your own." You chuckle, trying to bump him with your hip.

Shiu dodges the maneuver, satisfied that you've got your hands too full to fight back. 

"It's called taxes, Mrs. Kong." A handsome smirk plastered on his lips. "I'll buy you another one if you're still hungry, dollface."

"Here I was about to give you all this credit." You shake your head. "You smug-." 

"Hey, watch it. There's kids present." Shiu chastises you as he gently tickles the wee one in the tummy while you hold him. 

"Oh, ho, look who's telling me to keep it PG." You hug the baby closer to your chest, shooting Shiu what you hope was an offended look. 

"What else would you have me for, sweetheart?" He grins as he feeds you a bite of your pastry while you walk. "Someone's gotta keep you in check."

Soon, you arrive where the large crowds have congregated for Easter. The egg hunt appears to be wrapping up, several parents and children with their multi-colored baskets and treasure troves of eggs in a sea of pastel among all the spring time flowers blossoming in the park. 

"Oh my God, there you are!!!" A hysterical young mother comes running up to you, and the little boy immediately lights up, reaching for his mommy. 

"Oh thank you, thank you so much!!!" She sobs, doing her best to shake your hand as she scoops her lost baby into her arms. 

"I was worried sick!! We have two other little ones we're looking after along with my sister's kids and we weren't paying attention." 

"No problem, I'm glad my wife and I were in the right place at the right time." Shiu gives a firm handshake to the father that walks up next to your group.

"You folks have a lovely Easter."

His eyes sparkle as he pats the little boy's head as he gives you and Shiu one last bashful grin. 

"Stop running your mommy ragged, little one."

You politely beam and wave goodbye at the small family as well and Shiu puts his arm around you, pulling you into his chest as you walk away with Stella padding in front of you to resume the rest of your Easter walk, his mind unable to rid itself of the image of you holding the small child. 

---

The kitchen is warm and buzzing with the rich smell of syrup, sizzling eggs, and sausage, with the mellow accompaniment of your favorite R&B record playing from the living room. 

"Something wrong, Shiu darling?" You ask as you reach around him to pick up the salt and pepper. 

You decided to be a little unconventional this year and make pancakes for dinner since you and Shiu didn't really celebrate Easter too much aside from him taking the day off. 

"Not at all." He replies as he pours the pancake batter in the griddle next to you as you work on the eggs and sausage. 

His poker face could fool anyone else but somehow you held the skeleton key when it came to unlocking anything he concealed behind that mask in the complex machinations of his beautiful mind. 

"You seem quiet tonight. You get that way when you're thinking. Or ruminating." 

His lips curl defensively into a smirk. "Yeah? Well maybe I have been thinkin'." 

"Oh, about what, honey?" You reply, curiosity piqued yet trying not to call too much attention to the matter at hand so he didn't feel like he was being put on the spot. 

"Just about our little family. About...maybe adding one. Or two..." 

"Really?" The flutter in your stomach was a bit unexpected at this revelation you didn't see coming.

It was a topic that had hung between you for a while. You both dreamed of having a child who was the both of you. You had just assumed that neither of you were in much of a rush to discuss it for fear that it would be before either of you were ready to, both at a point in your marriage where you revered one another as the top priority. 

"Yeah. I mean, look." He teases as he pours a vertical shaped pancake like a sperm onto the grill, pointed in the direction of the egg in your pan next to it on the stove.

"Even the universe is sending us messages." 

"Shiu!" You swat at him playfully that barely scratches at the surface of the shit eating grin he's wearing. 

"Don't play with our dinner! Now really, where is all this baby talk coming from, hmm?" 

Shiu flips over the sperm shaped pancake with a chuckle before he sighs. The other sharpened end of the double edged sword of being so loved, was being so known by you. 

He designed you a ring, bought you a house, gave you his last name. Hell, you stood by him on the very first date and didn't bat an eye at the ugliness of the darkest places his sins could take him to. 

You followed him into fire where most people would burn and still uttered his name, and yet, he still struggled at times with revealing the deepest parts of him the version of himself before he met you would have preferred to have kept buried.

"Do you think about having babies? With me?" He asks softly. His playfulness dissipates into something vulnerable, something courageous as he asked for something he never once thought he was deserving of. 

"Would you want a family someday, dollface?"

"Oh, darling. We're already a family." You hold his hand, and after a moment you sweep him into a hug and close your eyes, thinking long and hard about his question. 

"But yes, I've thought about it..."

Your mind remembers this morning, when you helped that little boy, and realization clicks into place. 

"This morning made you realize that you want to try, darling?" 

"Yeah...it did, angel." He answers, feeling the tension leave his shoulders gradually along with the truth he spoke, grounding himself in the small circles he traces along the slope of your back. 

"It just felt right, seeing you like that with a little one. And it got me thinking..." 

He sighs in resignation. "It made me think back to when I took care of Megumi. How little he was and how sweet it felt to be part of his life, watching him grow. Even if he wasn't mine." 

"Oh, Shiu..." You sigh, the point of your chin resting on his chest as you peer into his eyes, their expression bittersweet in a way that made him seem far off. 

"And..." Melancholy seeps into his tone, the tip of his finger traces the line of your jaw, before he averts his gaze forlornly at the floor. 

"I'm not getting any younger, sweetheart. I just don't want to let you down."

You nod as reality sinks in. Shiu was in his late forties, and if you both were being honest, his habits in particular could use a little work before you both jumped in head first to the uncharted waters of parenthood. Uncharted waters indeed whose weight you were all but ignorant to. 

Sure, Shiu knew how to care for children, but, you both knew and anxiously anticipated the heavy layer of emotional weight that comes with that biological tie that would no doubt go hand-in-hand along with the added responsibility. 

"Well, we won't know til we try, Shiu..." You murmur, closing the already scarce space between you, seeking that warmth he possessed you never could seem to go without, like a garden that repeatedly sought the rays of sun that liked to hide behind the clouds. 

The thought of Shiu being a father, a loving daddy with chubby babies on his knees gives you such an overwhelmingly positive feeling you can't quite assign words to. 

You knew what a gift he had for interacting with kids. The smiles he could earn from even the shyest children every Halloween when he and Stella would greet trick-or-treaters at the door, along with his ability to love that seemed limitless, whose tenderness constantly inspired yours to flourish ways you never imagined. 

"How many do you want?"

Shiu chuckles, keeping you close against him as he turns momentarily to flip the pancake onto the awaiting stack. "Hell, as many as you'd give me." 

"You realize that I'm doing all the hard work, right, darling?" 

"Course." He smirks. "But I'd take such good care of you that you wouldn't even notice, dollface."

You hum, fingers tickling the nape of his neck as you shift together in the kitchen in that offbeat rhythm, a weak attempt at a dance that was more like a poorly disguised excuse to always be pressed together. 

"What about traveling?" 

"Travel?" He raises an eyebrow, a bit off guard at this random point you raised of all the worries you could have picked. 

"Baby, we've damn near been around the world already. You're telling me there's somewhere else you wanna go, woman?" 

"Just making sure, Shiu." You laugh him off, attempting to turn back to the eggs that were surely about to burn. 

"Mhmm. Well, if you think of any, let me know." His eyes subtly rove over your silhouette as you turn back to the stove, your assets on full display that could instantly banish all rhyme or reason to whatever he was doing.

"But you're gonna have a baby in you by tonight so that might make it kinda difficult." 

"Shiu." You roll your eyes but your adoration is very thinly veiled by your exasperation for his antics. 

"Usually when people try for a baby, they need more time to plan. How do you know you'll knock me up in one go?" 

"It's worth a shot." He murmurs as he comes up behind you, pulling you back into his grasp that you just tried to elude. 

"And who the hell said anything about there being just one time?" 

"Umm, me." You sass him. "I'm still sore from this morning so you'll get one good one tonight, maximum. And that's if you're even lucky, darling."

You poke him gently in the chest so he knows you mean business. "And, we're about to eat dinner, so I'm definitely not going to be getting on top."

"Well damn, don't act too excited now." His thumb brushes the soft skin of your cheek as you try to hide your smile.  

"Never said I wasn't, darling. I just thought you knew me better than that."

"I do know you, angel." He leans in, voice dialing to a huskier tone. "And even if you're not on top, you're definitely going to be asking for more than one." 

"My God, Shiu. How about dinner, hmm? Can we focus on that?" 

He snickers, backing away with his palms raised in brief surrender as he finally allows you to turn your attention to the eggs (originally meant to be sunnyside up that turned into scrambled with all the ongoing distractions). 

"Fine. But back to my earlier point..." He continues, leaning on his elbow as he watches you work. 

"When all is said and done, we can still travel. Just throw the kid in the princess carrier with Stella." 

"Shiu!" You glare. "YOU can be in the princess carrier while BOTH your babies and I will be flying in first class." 

"That so?" He raises his eyebrows, leaning forward  with hands on either side of you caging you against the counter. "I'm not about to let that happen." 

"Shiu, we're in the kitchen." Your tone rings like a siren's warning with that unmistakable undercurrent of desire he knew you harbored for him at all times. 

"Wouldn't be the first time." He mutters, eager to bring that desire to the surface as his lips graze over the sensitive juncture of your neck, tongue gently poking out to skim and tease along your pulse that steadily quickened underneath the attention.

"You're a menace." You wearily sigh, but permit him to have his way for now. "I was looking forward to those sperm-cakes."

He groans as his hands make a smooth discovery of the dainty garter belt under your skirt which he slowly hikes up your thighs. 

"If you're good for me, I'll give you the real thing, how's that sound?"

A quiet snap resounds in the silence before you can answer as he releases one of the straps against your inner thigh, a pleasant gasp departs your lips and your pussy slickens from the light sting. 

"Fuck, and you know this color is my favorite..." He gets on his knees, squeezing and gripping the meat of your thighs, locked in a trance by the indents that his fingers leave behind, mouth watering as he leans in, gently sucking and nipping what skin he didn't touch, the ghosts of old marks he'd left behind from past rendezvous lay subtle in your skin that he revels like a badge of honor with all the heated memories of how they got there in the first place dashing across his mind. 

"Baby..." You groan as the soreness you experienced earlier is replaced with the tingling promise of pleasure that you're begging him to fulfill, an ache pooling low and throbbing deep inside where you need him the very most. 

"It's tender..."

"I'll make it better in just a sec..." His thumb hooks around the gusset of your panties, his cock aching at the sight of the faint stream of dribbling nectar underneath, leaving your pretty sex nice and shiny, glistening, waiting. 

"Oh, Shiu..." 

"There's my baby..." He murmurs in between flicks he tastes of your soaking warmth, the slight prick of his thin mustache against your silky folds as he delves his tongue in between them, slowly driveling and suckling your pulsing clit. 

"She's so wet, so greedy..." 

He squeezes one of your breasts, the fine gold of his wedding ring fondling your nipple and dancing in the dim light of the kitchen, echoing the twin diamonds in yours like matching constellations over your satin blouse as he throws one leg over his shoulder, undoing his slacks to start slowly pumping his cock. 

You arch your back, panting in delight as you allow the warm pleasure to let your head roll back, fingers combing into his scalp on their own accord as you let him eat you out in this new position. 

"Gonna have my pretty baby cumming on my tongue before I've even fucked her pussy, how cute..."

He moans unabashedly with such lustful inhibition every time he eats your pussy that always makes you unsure of who the act really was for. 

His hand that was squeezing your breast dances up your collar until his fingers drag down your bottom lip. 

"Wet em f'me..." 

You obey and a low growl rumbles in his chest as he stands up to watch the show, fisting his cock in his free hand while you suck the fingers of the other, keeping your lovely eyes on him for the entire duration. 

You smile as you wield what power you can seize back from him in this moment, licking and wetting his fingers in just the precise pattern he loves seeing you perform on his cock, flirtatiously batting your eyes in way so starkly innocent compared to the impureness of what was really taking place. 

His eyelids and yours are hooded as he withdraws his fingers, connected to your pouty lips in a short string of saliva. 

"Fuck, you're so filthy..." 

He captures your lips with his mouth right as he curls his pointer and middle finger deep inside you. His lips and tongue move like he was trying to swallow you whole with no other objective besides  stifling his thirst for blinding passion, leaving the heady taste of your slick in every square corner of your mouth while he caresses his fingers skillfully in a beckoning motion, coaxing more of your sweet cream into his hand before he smothers it over the heel of his palm with some gentle pressure against your clit, submerging your mind into an overpowering haze. 

"Shiu, baby..." You pant, clutching onto his arm as the warmth trickles and radiates with no control, drops of slick seeping between your slick lips like dew, greedily meeting each rhythmic jut of your husband's fingers with a measured tempo of your own.  

"Oh, so now I'm 'baby'?" He taunts as he bites his lip. "I was a menace less than five minutes ago." 

The juicy mess between his fingers makes a noise that is particularly lewd, pausing to glance down at the sticky paradise you created all for him, pride and arousal circulating through him at an astonishing rate at the sinful sight of his honey coated fingers, the arousal drenching through your gossamer panties with all the evidence, despite the fact you hadn't actually cum yet. 

"Fuck, you're so filthy, sweetheart. Getting used like this." He hisses as he eases his fingers back in, deeper this time where they hold and sweetly quiver against your g-spot. 

An' you know better than that, dollface. What's my name...?" 

"Daddy...?" A tremor flickers between your thighs that's so warm in contrast to your vision that's painted white hot in tandem with the coiling of a tightening knot that's all too familiar. 

"That's right, sweetheart. So good, baby...gonna make me a daddy too, right?" He murmurs, rewarding you briefly with a scattered trail of adoring kisses along your neck. 

"Whatever you want, Daddy. I'll give you anything if you let me cum..." 

"Yeah? Fuck, this is why I love you..." He resumes his position between your thighs, gliding his tongue to tease along the seam before he utters, 

"Go ahead and cum, sweetheart..."

He dives into your flowing sea again, wrapping and lathering that soft clit with the soothing warmth of his mouth while his fingers continue to sweetly work and massage you to that edge you desperately needed to fall over. 

For so long, he simply took the shape of whatever outward mold that the world saw him in. Not much more than a pawn, an agent, a soldier for chaos.

He had no luck when it came to matters of the heart, either. He was usually a face that stayed without a name in the morning when the allure of the nighttime wore off, pulling the trigger out of defensive habit before his heart could ever be in the pathway of the chopping block.  

But, then there was you who acknowledged the mundane things about him before the impure shadow that hung over his soul like a cloud that seemed obvious to everyone except you. 

You, a long awaited answer to a long forgotten prayer he uttered years ago in a church whose walls he thought had long forsaken him. 

You, who made him yearn for the first time to know every single thought that brewed in the mind of a beautiful stranger ever since he first clapped eyes on you.

You, whose resolve he watched crumble night after night at his own doing, much like you are right now as the dam breaks and the sea of your nectar coats his face.

It was a sight reserved and blessed for no other but him that he relishes and worships with a fervor that never dimmed since your first time together under a roof different from this one that had only felt like home to him once you crossed its threshold.

"Baby, what're you...?"  

And, like clockwork, his pants are around his ankles as you sink to your knees to get to work. His legs nearly buckle as he seizes the counter behind him, your name resounding in his throat as he found himself nearly needing to pump the brakes already from all this pressure you had built up inside him that threatens to burst like a torrent. 

You would think he would have gotten used to accepting the favor you always paid him without ever asking, but the sleek velvet of your warm mouth and glide of your sweet tongue over his cock always caught him with healthy surprise. 

Shiu feels smooth, only a little prickly in just the right amount near his bush he always kept trimmed. The mixture of salt and his woodsy cologne binds together in a heady mixture that was so blindly intoxicating that it reminded you why you loved to give him head in the first place.

You could spend forever like this, sucking his cock like this, listening to him, feeling him respond and pulse inside your mouth. Those heavy moans he never held back that breathed so low in a way that made you almost feral by now just at the sound of his normal speaking voice. 

Everything about Shiu. His love, his unequivocal loyalty and undying worship of you that kept you burning red hot, somehow conjuring up desire when you thought there was none left from the deepest parts of you in such a raw way that never existed with anyone else.

"Fuckkkk, fuck..." Shiu grits his teeth after emitting a breathy chuckle, casually at war with you now as he attempts to steal back just an ounce of control as his fingers find their way into your hair as you greedily slurped along his throbbing length. 

Usually he loved the rush of nicotine, the sensual ritual of a cigarette between his lips while you gazed up at him so prettily with his cock stuffed in your mouth, but the lustful laps of your tongue keep him right where he is, for now. 

"Take me deeper, angel...I know you can..." 

His cock tickles the back of your throat, slowly stretching to accommodate him in that way you had perfected eventually.

"Holy shit-"

He nearly sees paradise before he meant to and he pulls out, hotly panting with you still in a cock drunk daze as he pulls you onto him right there on the kitchen floor. 

Normally he loved to watch you take him from behind, savor every slow rise and fall of your hips as the bitter smoke he exhaled fanned your back. 

But not tonight. 

Tonight he needs to hear you feel it, watch you take it, taste directly from the oasis of your mouth as he gives you everything you had spoken of that lead you to this very moment. 

Tonight was lined with the promise of possibly creating something new between you that stood out from all the rest, every moment slowly burning into memory he tries his damnedest to commit among the countless others you had shared together. 

His chest heaves, salt and peppered grey revealed in that gorgeous trail down his stomach as you quickly undo the buttons of his dress shirt while he pumps his cock, blossoming red at the uncut tip with all the love he was so eager to release, rubbing a slow love letter into your clit while he moves your lace panties to the side, before he enters you perfectly in one slick shove. 

Perhaps a reason lingering behind all the passion he unleashed on you was fear. His hands bore the blood of his numerous transgressions and yet, someway, somehow, heaven still afforded him an angel like you. 

A goddess plucked from the clouds and seated on your throne of your most devoted follower, shedding deliverance on him in the form of your love translated into every celestial roll of your hips that only came with the seamless condition of him loving you in return. 

It was a miracle that no doubt was irresistible to the cruel tricks of fate that could snatch you away at a moment's notice if he got too used to the idea that he could ever be worthy of more than the hollow shell of a twisted man that he resigned himself to. 

He groans and his eyebrows twist with the swelling in his chest that festers with an ache that only arrives with the heavy feeling of loving so intensely. 

"Mine..." He seems to say with every powerful snap of his hips to meet where he fit so divinely inside you. 

"Yours..." You seem to echo right back as you take and take, clenching and hugging around him in a strategic sequence that makes you see the whites of his eyes and his grip on you loosens as he practically cums all at once, tension and worries banished from his body like they never had a home there. 

Simply watching him isn't good enough and you close off the distance remaining between your lips, intertwining your souls in every possible way you could in this intimate scene of veneration that passionately unfolded in this love nest you built together. 

"So fuckin' close, angel. Don't stop..."

His balls slap against your ass in filthy echoes, ignoring the hardness of the tile floors as he thrusts with possessive urgency. The shade of his eyes somehow darkening even more like a night void of any constellations that would eternally chase the cosmos embedded in yours. 

You ride him eagerly, meeting every last one of his movements halfway to hit every last spot inside you that made you tremor in ecstacy, his hands seemingly unsure of where to go in frantic exploration and appreciation of every square inch of you available to his touch. Your breasts, your thighs, the glistening apex of your clit just above where he ended and you began. 

He has no fucking clue if tonight will be successful in getting you pregnant, but right now he needs to fuck you as if he already was. 

It shifted into a form of deeper meaning, an untouched layer of your bond you unlocked together just when you thought the profoundness of your connection had already been surpassed.

A white picket fence to Shiu seemed more distant with every passing year until your love dared him to dream otherwise. You reawakened that idea that he could be deserving of a love that long alluded him.

A connection that had not perished in his first love that he lost as a young man after all. A love that gives without thinking, believes without seeing, and happens like breathing.  

A love that completely shatters him as he drains all of it inside your womb, slamming you down to the hilt of his cock and holding you steady with a soreness you'll just have to contend with in the morning as the river of salty cum spills and soaks your insides. 

"Shiu..."

"C'mere..." He licks into your mouth as he kisses you deeply with the tender seal of the finishing act but with no intentions to part from you soon. 

He smirks, tiredly pulling away to look up at you when he feels that familiar, gentle pulsing around his softening cock he knew you only did on purpose. 

"Our chances are better the more we do it..." You whisper, and he groans as he submits to your command with his hands behind his head, fumbling around in his pants pocket that lay in a pile next to him, pleased to discover an unused smoke, lighting it as you slowly begin to ride him again in the kitchen, a smug feeling of satisfaction in his belly knowing you proved him right earlier in asking for another round. 

But, for now, he'll sit back and just admire the slow dance of tonight that was far from over, the timeless way the smoke hangs in your beautiful eyes as you make love to him again, praying it will translate into a blessing nine months later if the stars are kind to you both. 

---

[itzsyds]

girl I just had an idea for Hector fort x reader

how about reader is from London and has never lived in any other country but fell I love with Hector fort in a summer holiday with her family 3 years ago now they are still together reader is 18 Hector is 19 when they are the beach one night reader tells Hector she is pregnant. The young couple arse so nervous but so excited. How will readers family react when she tells them A: she is pregnant and B: she is moving from London to Barcelona to raise her baby with her true love Hector and leaving everything in London behind like her friends and family . Readers family being sceptical at a bit worried at first but they come around and are so happy for Hector and reader

Hector Fort x Reader

Oceans Between Us🌊

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Can’t lie this one was fr a next level juicy one to try plan & write cause I did not want it to be too long or too short. Hope this was good enough for you anon🩷😭

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FLUFF- A London girl living a simple, city-centered life meets Hector Fort during a dreamy summer vacation in Spain. What started as a holiday romance blossomed into a love so strong that even oceans couldn’t separate them. Now both adults, she faces the biggest decision of her life— and it's not just about being pregnant. It’s about choosing love over comfort, Barcelona over London, and a new life over everything she's ever known…

—

The salt air was cool against her skin as she walked barefoot along the beach. Tiny waves lapped at the sand, glittering under the soft moonlight.

Hector walked beside her, his hand warm in hers, his thumb tracing lazy circles on her palm— a small gesture that always made her feel safe.

Three years…

Three years since she first met him on this very beach, during a family holiday to Spain when she was only fifteen.

She could still remember that night: the way his laughter had floated across the water, the way he'd looked at her like she was the only girl in the world.

Now, she was eighteen, he was nineteen, and they were still here— still them.

She stopped, facing the ocean, nerves tangling in her stomach. She squeezed Hector’s hand tighter.

He noticed immediately. "What’s wrong, mi amor?" (My love) he asked, his voice low and concerned.

She turned to him, searching his familiar brown eyes, the ones she'd fallen for so long ago.

"I need to tell you something," she whispered.

Hector tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb brushing her cheek. "You can tell me anything."

Her heart pounded against her ribs. She took a breath, feeling the weight of the moment.

"I’m pregnant."

The words hung between them, fragile and heavy.

For a second, Hector just stared at her, as if trying to process. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again— and then he laughed, a breathless, almost disbelieving sound.

"You’re serious?" he said, eyes wide with something between shock and joy.

She nodded, tears stinging her eyes. "I found out a few days ago. I didn’t know how to tell you. I was scared."

He caught her face between his hands and kissed her— so fiercely, so full of love it made her knees buckle.

"Are you happy?" she whispered against his lips.

"I’m the happiest man alive," he murmured. "Scared...yes. But so happy. We're going to be a family, cariño." (Honey)

They stayed like that for a long time, wrapped up in the sounds of the sea and the magnitude of their future.

But reality crept in, as it always did.

They had so much to figure out.

First and foremost— her family…

—

Two days later, she sat at the dining table in her London home, nervously twisting her ring around her finger. Her mum, dad, and younger brother were chatting about nothing in particular, but she barely heard a word. She caught Hector's eye across the table. He gave her an encouraging nod.

She cleared her throat.

"Can I say something?"

Her mum smiled. "Of course, darling."

Her voice shook slightly as she spoke. "I'm... I'm pregnant."

The table went silent. Utterly, painfully silent.

Her dad was the first to speak. "Pregnant? Are you...sure?"

She nodded, heart hammering in her chest. "I’ve been to the doctor. I’m about three months along."

Her mum’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes glossy with unshed tears— but it wasn’t clear yet whether they were happy or sad.

"And there's more," she said, gathering her courage. "I’m moving to Barcelona. I want to raise the baby there. With Hector."

Her brother made a shocked sound, but quickly quieted when he caught the serious look on her face.

Her dad leaned back in his chair, frowning deeply. "Leaving everything? Your home, your friends, your family?"

"I love him," she said simply. "I always have. We’ve been making it work long distance for three years. This isn’t just a summer fling anymore. He’s my family now."

The silence stretched.

Both her parents exchanged a long, loaded look.

"I know it’s a lot," she said quietly. "And I know you’re worried. I’m scared too. But I’m sure about this. I’m sure about him."

Her mum reached across the table, grabbing her hand. "You’re so young," she whispered. "It’s not that we don't believe you love him. It’s just... this is a huge step."

"I know," she said. "But I’m ready. We're ready."

For a long moment, it felt like the world might crack in two. But then, slowly, her mum smiled— a wobbly, watery smile.

"If this is what you want, darling... then we’ll support you."

Her dad sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. "Just promise us you’ll visit. A lot."

"I promise."

And just like that, the weight lifted.

Her family hugged her, holding her tightly, as if trying to memorize the feeling before she flew across the ocean.

They were sceptical, yes.

Worried, of course. But love— real, messy, unconditional love— had won. Hector would be her rock during this new chapter in her life.

—

A few months later, she stood outside a little house near the Barcelona coast, Hector's arms wrapped around her from behind. Her belly had rounded slightly, a visible sign of the tiny life they had created together.

The sun was setting over the water, casting everything in a golden glow.

“Are you ready?" Hector asked softly.

She turned in his arms and smiled up at him, her heart bursting at the seams.

"I was born ready."

And with that, they stepped into their new life together— not perfect, not easy, but theirs.

Forever.

—

Last one for today me thinks🙃

Thanks for the requests guys! Do keep them coming even if it’s for a player I don’t write for I may consider it like I did with Hector x

[essie-essex]

WoD OC Meet Cute:

"Only When We Run Do We Become Prey"

My entry for the World of Darkness OC Meet Cute Event. Thanks so much to @crownedinmarigolds @porcelainseashore and @vampemoqueen for organizing this! This was super fun!

I was paired up with @calyshine and their VTM OC R.C. You can find their amazing art contribution of our OCs' antagonistic meeting here: https://www.tumblr.com/calyshine/782127023456976896/wod-meet-cute

Meet? Yes. Cute? No.

Amid a backdrop of tension between the Anarchs and the Camarilla, R.C arrives to The City as part of a road trip in search of someone from their past. After meeting the local anarchs, they organize a race along the deserted nighttime streets, attracting a variety of racers and spectators. All proceeds as normal, until R.C is approached by a mysterious Kindred, looking to join the race.

Asha Mariam crosses into anarch territory in pursuit of information about an attack on a Tremere Regent. Of course, the anarchs will not trust a member of the Camarilla, but in disguise, perhaps R.C will tell her the names of the Regent's assailants. If not, then there are other ways of persuading them to give her the answers she needs.

R.C should have known that something was off when the woman approached them. The bulk of the group attending the street race had assembled by the starting line, surrounding the columns of cars modified especially for the occasion. They conversed in a mashup of voices along with the hum of idling engines. The young Toreador had broken off from the rest of the crowd, finding a spot farther back on the road, underneath a streetlight. R.C, as the organizer of the event, filed through all the steps in their head, various requirements for running a successful street race. Road blocks had been set up in all the necessary places, and the route selected. Racers had started to arrive, rides rigged for speed and style.

It was the click of her heels on the hard ground that alerted R.C to the woman making her way towards them. She approached with a casual saunter, her boots clapping out a sluggish rhythm that echoed down the empty section of road, and her shadow followed silently, stretched along the black pavement. R.C didn't recognize her, but she locked eyes with them, clearly wanting to talk.

“Hey,” she said, moving out of the darkness and into the halo of light from the lamp above. “How's it goin'?” She smiled.

R.C effortlessly mirrored her grin.

“Hey, you, uh, need something?”

R.C studied the woman's face, noting that what had at first seemed like a genuine smile lost a bit of its shine as she closed the distance between them. She reached up, lightly brushing a few locks from a cascade of curls behind her ear.

“You the one who organizes these races?” she asked, her dark eyes peering out from under thick lashes.

“Yeah, for the next few nights, at least,” they responded, their enthusiasm apparent. R.C had just arrived two nights ago, stopping in the city as part of their cross country road trip, the reason for which, well, was both looking for and running from someone. R.C had no intention of staying in the same place for too long. A few nights was all they needed to hit some of the local bars, check out the anarch scene, and organize a few street races. If any word of the Kindred they were looking for surfaced, they would know before it was time to leave.

R.C hadn't met this particular woman before, but it was nothing out of the ordinary with the limited time they had spent in the city. Still, a strange chill trickled up their spine as they made eye contact with her. Something about her vibe, R.C thought. It didn't match what they expected from an anarch. They figured it was probably nothing, but the woman made them tense nonetheless. Chasing their doubts from their mind, they assumed a friendly demeanor.

“I'm R.C,” they said with an upward nod of the head.

“R.C,” she repeated, thoughtfully. “Call me Mara.”

“Wassup?” They greeted her, their hands shooting finger guns before pointing at the gathered crowd. “You here to bet? There's a few people taking wagers over there.”

“Actually, I was looking to race,” said Mara. Her white fangs, although retracted, displayed sharp tips as she spoke.

R.C rubbed the back of their head, jostling their green-tipped half ponytail before giving the woman an awkward smile.

“Aw, we've already got our racers for tonight, but I can totes put you in tomorrow's race,” they offered. “What kinda ride you got?”

Mara recited a description, listing all the customizations she had made to her car.

“Awesome, sounds like a sick rig,” said R.C, a sparkle in their eye. “Can't wait to see it. You park here?”

“Uh, no. I left it a few blocks away. Figured I wouldn't be racing tonight, so I just came to watch.”

“Nice, the race is gonna be hella dope. You come here solo?” R.C's arms rested at their side, thumbs gripping the striped black and green straps hanging from their belt.

“Yeah,” Mara answered, a nervous chuckle escaping her throat. “I, uh, don't know too many folks around here, you know?”

“Ha, me neither. I just got here—only planning on staying a few nights—so most of the folks I've met were at that bar, what's it called?” R.C took a moment to think before Mara chimed in.

“Coarse & Crass.”

“Yeah! Coarse & Crass. You go there a lot?”

��Not really,” she answered with a shrug. “I might stop by for the occasional gossip, get to know what's going on around town.” She paused for a beat. “Speaking of which, did you hear about that crazy fight a few nights ago? I heard someone managed to injure a Tremere pretty bad.”

R.C had heard of the event from more than one of the local anarchs, three of whom had boasted about taking part in the attack. The ones who had faced off against the solo Tremere had burst into the bar, unaware of R.C's presence, loudly declaring themselves the victorious warriors against tyranny and defenders of justice before the others yelled a variety of phrases, all of which basically translated to: “shut up, you idiots.” Personally, R.C didn't see the point in provoking the cammies, especially the Tremere, but it wasn't like anyone would care about the opinion of someone just passing through town. Still, in the short time they had spent in the city, they had managed to gain some trust from the anarchs. R.C wasn't about to give up info on them to a stranger. Especially one with... weird vibes.

They studied Mara as she stood before them. Her outfit seemed strangely formal, her legs wrapped in a knee-length black skirt and heeled boots of the same color on her feet. At least the sweater was more like what R.C would expect in the alternative scene, holes of various sizes ripped into the fabric, giving it a worn look. Under her curly black hair and pencil lined eyes, her mouth was accented by a silver hoop around the right side of her bottom lip. R.C 's tongue automatically moved to their own snakebites, nudging each stud in turn. Really it was only the skirt that bothered them. It seemed almost inappropriate for the occasion. Like she tried to dress in a style that her closet couldn't quite accommodate.

“Nice 'fit,” said R.C, changing the subject from the battered Tremere. “Prolly not the best to race in, just f.y.i., but y'know it's your choice. I'm not about to tell you what to wear.” They chuckled briefly, rubbing the back of their neck. R.C couldn't quite figure out why Mara made them uneasy, but they stood on edge, ready to move at a moment's notice.

“Thanks. I'll keep that in mind,” Mara said, a curious impatience in her voice. She veered the conversation back to the previous subject. “Can you imagine getting to beat up a Tremere, though? Must have been awesome. You know any details about it?”

“Nah, like I said, I just got here,” R.C repeated.

“Right, of course.” Mara laughed, slapping herself lightly on the forehead. “I'd love to hear about it though. Do you know the ones who fought him?”

Maybe it was her posture. The way she stood, back straight, hands folded in front of her. Also, her manner of speaking. It was casual, but behind her words, her tone almost seemed practiced. As though she were acting. Plus, why was she so interested in the fight with the Tremere? R.C, once again, changed the subject.

“How'd you hear about the race?” R.C asked, doing their best to mask their intentions. Mara didn't seem bothered, the same fake casual smile scrawled on her face.

“Through Kat,” she answered, referencing a bartender at Coarse & Crass. R.C hadn't been in town for long but knew that the anarch hangout was the place to go if you were looking for information about the local scene. The night bartender, Kat, knew almost all the kindred around town, anarch or independent. Of course, she stayed out of Camarilla business, but it didn't hurt to at least know who they were.

“You ever race before?” R.C asked, crossing their arms.

“Of course,” Mara replied, the confusion in her voice apparent.

“You ever win?”

“Me? No,” Mara said, chuckling lightly. “Never.”

“What place did you come in for your previous races?”

She paused, her mouth twisting as she wiggled her lip ring with her tongue.

“Here and there. Doesn't matter.”

“Doesn't matter?” R.C repeated, clearly skeptical.

R.C doubted that this woman was here to race, but they had no proof. If they wanted to uncover her rouse, they were going to have to ask harder questions.

“How long you been racing?” R.C inquired. They leaned back against the light post, assuming a casual stance, but still ready to move if needed. The Toreador's eyes flitted towards the area where the racers were gathered. If they needed it, help was only a short dash away.

“On and off for about a year now. I've only been in a couple of races,” Mara answered. “I'll race every now and then, but not enough to really be known for it.” She made eye contact with R.C, seemingly amused by their attempts to trip her up.

“You're racing on a rainy day. Short Ram intake or Cold Air?” R.C asked. Mara replied quickly.

“Short Ram.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“Works better in wet conditions since it won't take in water and hydrolock the engine.” She crossed her arms, a smug grin forming on her face.

There was no doubt in R.C's mind. Mara was thoroughly enjoying their little trivia session.

R.C considered using Auspex. It wouldn't hurt, would it? They would at least get an idea of who she was and maybe determine if she was lying. Concentrating, they expended their blood, reaching out to Mara's energy field for a clear view of her aura. However, they were instead sucked into a vision.

Finding themself in a hallway, they confusedly pivoted in place, attempting to get their bearings on their surroundings. The long corridor consisted of red carpet and white walls, lined with an alternating pattern of wooden doors and ornate golden lamps. R.C had no idea how they had gotten to this place when all they wanted to do was view Mara's aura, but maybe they had accidentally accessed her mind, and this was some sort of space within it. If they were correct, then it was possible that they would be able to find something that would tell them more about the strange woman. They needed to explore. Choosing a way to go, they walked down the hallway until it branched into other hallways on the left and right. R.C turned a corner, coming to another intersection.

“What the... ”

R.C could easily get lost in this place, which they perceived, branched out into countless halls and doorways. Not wanting to advance any more than they already had, they focused on the nearby doors, noting that each one had a symbol engraved into it.

“Okay, just pick one,” they told themself. Choosing a random one on the right, they turned the handle, opening the door to a room filled with objects and furniture. It didn't look out of the ordinary. The only odd detail they noticed was that there were no matching items. The lamps were different shades and sizes, chairs, various colors and styles. On a wooden desk, sat a jar of pens, each one unique. R.C approached the desk, picking up a pen and holding it in their hand, but all that came to them was a detailed render of the pen, which they could study closely, pivoting and flipping it, and zooming in and out at will. They replaced the pen, feeling various objects around the room, only to produce the same result. Returning to the hallway, they tried a different door, which led to another room, but still the objects refused to surrender their secrets. It was the same for any room they tried. Any item they touched. Defeated, R.C left Mara's mind, only to emerge from what they realized was a trance. They found her standing before them, a shrewd gleam in her eye.

“Get anything?” she asked.

Mara's expression alone nearly activated their fight or flight instinct. R.C managed to suppress it for only a few seconds before quickly excusing themself and heading back toward the race. They weren't running away, they reasoned, they just needed some backup. If this Mara, or whoever she was, had dark intentions for them, she would have to fight off a bunch of pissed off anarchs too. R.C slipped their phone from their pocket—a burner, flip phone, only to be used for the few days they planned on spending in the city—and texted Kat.

R.C: u knw a mara? rcr

Kat texted them back quickly.

Kat: Rcr?? R.C: racer Kat: No never heard the name. Pic? R.C: 1 sec

Mara had followed R.C to the mass of people gathered near the start line and now passed them to join the bulk of the group. The street, a dark river between the mountains of high-rise buildings, reflected the rear lights of customized vehicles, glimmering red under the crowd's feet. Various racers hung out by their cars, chatting up the onlookers as others placed their bets. Mara mingled among them, starting a conversation with a group near a bright yellow car. They seemed to get along fine, Mara smiling and laughing easily. R.C crept forward, aiming the flip phone at her and discreetly snapping a photo just before a line of people pushed past them, blocking the view. Reviewing the picture, it was a bit dark and blurry and also showed her at an angle, but they could still make out most of her face. It would have to do. R.C sent it to Kat and waited for a reply, receiving a text a few seconds later.

Kat: What did u take this with? A ducking potato? R.C: ya

There was about a fifteen second gap before Kat texted them again.

Kat: Gimme a sec R.C: k

Directing their attention back to Mara, they noted that she was still busy conversing with the small group of anarchs, but the mood was much different from before. The others were not smiling anymore, the atmosphere growing tense. Soon, they all turned, leaving to speak with one of the racers. They eyed her suspiciously as she scanned the crowd, her eyes landing on R.C.

Flashing them a wide grin, she waved. This time, R.C's face did not mirror hers, and they turned away, reluctant to interact with her again. However, as the time dragged on, they found themself wondering if they had possibly overreacted. Maybe Mara was just a bit strange. Nothing to fret over.

Finally, Kat texted back, but relief turned to dread as R.C read the note.

Kat: Thats the fuckign tremere regent

Puzzled, R.C replied.

R.C: da 1 tht got jumpd? Kat: No thats his replacement. Asha marie or smth. Got here after the fight. Heard shes got a rep for being dangerous. Get out

R.C's stomach fluttered as they snapped the phone shut and tucked it back into their pocket before turning to search for Mara. She had disappeared. If they could put out an announcement, warn everyone, she wouldn't be able to hide among the crowd anymore. They headed toward the bettors' table, eyeing a megaphone placed on a chair behind it.

Suddenly, Mara's persistence in asking about the attack on the Tremere made sense. She was here to figure out what happened and identify the culprits. The Tremere weren't known for doing things halfway. If she managed to find out who the Regent's attackers were, they were dead. R.C pushed past a tightly packed group of people next to a flame-painted car. They were almost to the megaphone.

“Looking for someone?” R.C jumped, startled as Mara appeared behind them. They turned, locking eyes with the Tremere as she began to speak again. “COME WITH ME,” she ordered, dominating their will until all there was left to do was obey.

Together, the two left the main crowd, heading out and away from the race.

It wasn't difficult for Asha to obtain the anarchs' text messages. Her hacker ghouls had cracked their network nights ago, remotely installing Thaumaturgically-enhanced spyware and leaving the opposition's texts open to Regent Mariam and the other members of the Camarilla who sought access through her. So, when she went to make contact with them one night, hoping to gain the advantage by pretending to be new to the group, she had no worries. If the local anarchs wouldn't talk to her, there was another option. A new anarch had come to town, hanging out at various Kindred hotspots and organizing street races, and Asha hoped that the newcomer would simply assume that she was another one of the sect and speak to her openly. If her plan worked, obtaining the information she needed would be simple and quick.

Asha had only just arrived to the city less than a week ago, an emergency replacement for the Regent of the city's chantry, Lemuel Dominguez, who had been badly beaten by a group of unruly anarchs, falling into torpor. Her superiors had demanded a full investigation into why the Regent had traveled into anarch territory and the identities of his assailants.

Honestly, the story wasn't that complicated. It started with a missing novice. Dominguez had sent some of the apprentices out to search for her, but when they returned without the neonate, the Regent took it upon himself to make contact with the anarchs, believing that perhaps they had seen her. Unfortunately, his presence was not well-received, and he ended up in a physical altercation with more than one anarch goon. Asha felt that it was truly a cowardly act on the anarchs' part, pitting several against one. Dominguez was a very competent sorcerer, but his specialty was in scholarship, magical alphabets and lore. He was barely able to make it back to the chantry before collapsing in the foyer.

Of course, the missing novice returned on her own. She hadn't left the building at all, but had inadvertently walked into a pocket dimension created by a journeyman apprentice. The journeyman claimed that his leaving the portal open was simple oversight, but Asha suspected that it was no accident at all. How better to test out the stability of one's artificial dimension than to have a novice walk into and subsequently get lost in it? By the time the novice had found her way out, she was near frenzy, stressed to her limits and desperately hungry, but after feeding and taking some time to recover, she was no worse for wear, having returned to normal, with the exception of her newly-acquired phobia of walking down chantry hallways alone.

Now, Asha needed to complete the second part of her investigation: finding the culprits behind the attack on Regent Dominguez. However, once she had made contact with the other anarchs, and then R.C, she realized that obtaining her objective would not be so simple. The anarchs refused to talk about the attack with her, and the newcomer was sharper than they seemed. Despite the Toreador's easygoing demeanor, they were still aware enough to question her assumed identity.

It was a mistake on Asha's part, underestimating R.C, and now that her cover was blown, she would have to confront the anarch in a more direct manner. She suspected that they had no intention of submitting to her, and if it came to that, they would not make it easy. They were a fighter.

She had taken her captive to an abandoned garage, far enough away from the race to not be heard. Still, the fluorescent lights surrounding the meeting of racers, bettors, and spectators were visible in the far distance, and the sound of roaring engines reached the two faintly in the light breeze. However, in the immediate area, aside from the light in the garage, darkness surrounded them. Even the streetlights seemed to glow dimly, their light unable to penetrate the thick void. They shrank back towards their source, as though in fear.

R.C had backed into the far corner of the structure as Asha entered and stood in front of the only open exit. The Regent eyed the anarch before her, the two contrasting like a passionflower next to ash. R.C's facial piercings and chain link necklace glittered under the glow of the single bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling, complemented by the blues and yellow-greens of their outfit.

Asha cleared her throat.

“As I'm sure you've figured out, I am not here to race, and the name I gave you was false,” she started.

“Yeah, no shit,” R.C said, crossing their arms.

“If you would allow me to introduce myself again?” The Tremere stood with her back straight, hands folded in front of her.

“Like I really have a choice?” Their tone flat, R.C faced down their captor with a defiant glare. Asha stared back, lips pursed, on her face an expression given only to the most pitiful of creatures.

“I suppose not,” she answered, continuing on to her second introduction. “My name is Asha Mariam. I am currently filling in for Regent Lemuel Dominguez after his encounter with a group of anarchs that left him incapacitated. Please understand that I have no intention of harming you. I'm just here to figure out what exactly happened to Regent Dominguez and find the perpetrators of this spineless attack.” Asha spoke softly, keeping her distance from the Toreador. “You anarchs have become more than just a nuisance lately. What would you say is behind this sudden increase in violence? Dominguez meant no harm when he crossed into anarch territory. Why start a fight when all he wanted to do was talk?”

“If anyone started anything, I'd suspect it was the cammy,” R.C spat, the agreeable smile wiped from their face. “I'm just here to race. I don't know shit about the anarchs' business, and I don't wanna know. I hang out, I race, I have fun, and then I leave. That's it.”

“Maybe you've heard rumors. About the perpetrators. That's all I really want to know.”

“Even if I knew, I tell you, and they're goners.”

Asha paused, shadows in her eyes, as she faced R.C.

“I know you're lying to me,” she murmured. “I truly don't want to hurt you, R.C. I just want names.”

“You can't hurt me. By the time you got over here, I'd have my blade in your neck.” R.C reached toward the knife on the back of their belt, freezing as Asha spoke.

“That would be a mistake. It would take only seconds for me to have you engulfed in flames,” she threatened.

“Not if I get to you first,” they said, grinning darkly. Before Asha could stop them, they briefly reached their right hand into the large pocket of their blue cargo pants, a wooden stake appearing in their grip. The Tremere stayed in place, eyeing the object in R.C's hand.

“You just keep that with you?” the Regent said flatly, moving her hands to her hips.

“Hey, doesn't hurt to be prepared, right?” R.C answered with a shrug.

Asha nodded, regarding the Toreador with calculating eyes as she went through scenarios in her head. She could attack: Raise her hand, a quick scratch to release the blood, establishing the connection to the element of fire, its symbol seemingly forming before her eyes, injecting her vitae into the stream as fuel, and then... ignition. To someone less skilled, it may have seemed like a fair number of steps to achieve the final product, but the Regent knew the spell intimately. The steps, she could execute consecutively, without thought, a rapid succession of cause and effect.

But, would it be the best action for her to take in this situation?

Meanwhile, R.C waited, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. Their blood buzzed, adrenaline accumulating within them. Any sudden movement from the Tremere, and they would be on her in an instant.

Come on, they thought. Make your move. Just give me an excuse. No one dominated them against their will and got away with it.

The Beast clawed at them from the inside, creating butterflies in their stomach, a savage intensity building within them, showing in their eyes. They almost seemed to glow. Saliva filled their mouth, as though their Beast were a starving dog, a feast of meat set before it.

The Toreador waited in anticipation while the Tremere's cool demeanor masked her racing thoughts. She really should have had one of the apprentices take care of this business. Asha was far too old to be confronting anarchs herself. They could be temperamental and unpredictable. However, selecting the right apprentice for the job was difficult when she had hardly gotten to know them. She was sure that this would have been a good teaching moment for some of the novices, but obviously, it was too late for all of that now. She was here, and she would have to decide what to do.

Attacking R.C physically would be a bad idea, she concluded.

She would have to talk to them.

“Tell me,” the Regent started. “Why did you come here?” She hoped to throw her opponent off by asking a personal question.

“No offense, lady, but that's none of your business, plus you're hella uncomfy to talk to. You gonna let me go or what?” R.C held up the stake, ready to move.

The Regent didn't answer right away. Instead, she examined them. She looked them from head to toe, noting their stance, the tension in their muscles and face. She peeled away the mask, gazing deeper, under the hard shell.

Asha's face softened, pity in her eyes.

“Perhaps this is how the situation went with Dominguez, as well,” she considered.

R.C blinked.

“What?”

“I mean, the anger, the threats. This doesn't have to be an unpleasant exchange,” Asha said, trying to appeal to R.C.

“You're the one making it unpleasant,” they countered.

Taking a moment to carefully construct her next sentence, the Regent spoke softly.

“Is it usual for you to stay only a few nights in one place before taking off again?” she asked, concern in her voice. “Why is that? What are you running from?”

“I said, none of your—” R.C started, but a sudden chill ran up their spine, silencing them abruptly.

Asha sighed.

“You know, I deal with many Kindred much younger than myself. I teach them how to successfully navigate through unlife. One of the many things that can lead to our undoing is running from our demons, because no matter how fast or far you run, they will always catch up with you, and by that point, they've had time to grow. To become powerful. More powerful than you could ever be so long as you continue to flee.”

The Tremere's words resonated somewhere in R.C's mind, bringing forward memories of the life they left behind.

“It's complicated...” they started, trailing off into silence.

“We are predators, R.C. Only when we run do we become prey.” Asha's voice had become richer, smoother. Almost calming. “So, will you at least tell me where you come from? Surely, it won't hurt to share just a bit of yourself with me.”

R.C seriously considered her words.

“L.A.,” they said finally.

“What do you know,” answered the Regent. “I lived in L.A. as well. As a neonate.”

“For real?” asked R.C. Asha nodded, and they locked eyes, both sharing a secretive but genuine smile.

“I have fond memories of it,” Asha shared, her gaze growing wistful. “I still visit occasionally. Maybe I was there when you were. We were unlikely to meet, of course. Different circles and all.” She paused. “Were you familiar with the more prominent anarchs?”

“Uh, not so much.” R.C tugged at their turtleneck with their left hand, wooden stake forgotten in their right. “I was a—I mean, I...” Should they really tell her this? It wouldn't hurt, would it? “I got involved in a car theft ring. It was pretty great for a while, y'know? The thrill and all that, but it was dangerous at times. Things got a little too... real. It, uh, really drove a wedge between me and my partner.”

“I see.” Asha nodded sympathetically. “Is it your... partner you're running from?”

“Yeah.” Rowan. The name echoed through R.C's mind. “It just... it sucks that things went so bad, y'know?”

“A very common theme among Kindred, I'm afraid. Maybe there is something inherent in us that eventually sours all of our relationships.” The Regent projected genuine concern. “It's best to focus on the good times you had.”

“Honestly, I just can't. I try not to think about him at all.” They shook their head, as though trying to fling their thoughts from their mind.

“And how's that going?”

“Real shitty,” R.C answered, they and Asha briefly chuckling.

“Your demon,” the Regent warned. “Will only get stronger if you continue to run from it. I've seen it before. We have to turn and face them, and either accept their judgment or fight.”

Icy fear gripped R.C's heart. Face Rowan? And then what? Surely, it would end with one of them dead, and R.C had no desire for either outcome.

“Your care for your partner makes you fear confronting him,” the Tremere stated. R.C couldn't help but agree.

“Yeah.” R.C looked the Regent up and down, truly seeing her for the first time.

“There was a time when I wanted to run,” Asha admitted, her voice quiet.

“Really? Did you?” The Toreador's posture had relaxed significantly, and they idly reached their left arm behind their shoulder to play with their hair.

“No. However, I wasn't given the chance. I was made to take responsibility for my actions. My punishment, it was unpleasant, to say the least, but it was justice.” Her eyes connected with R.C's, a rueful smile on her face. “Do you believe in justice, R.C?” Asha asked.

“Of course.”

“So, why are you so against justice for Lemuel Dominguez?”

The name snapped R.C back to the reality of the current situation.

She's nice for a second, and you turn it into a damn therapy session, R.C scolded themself.

“I—dammit.” Anger built up within the Toreador's body, and they clenched the wooden stake, still present in their right hand. “You're good,” R.C admitted. “I, for real, believed you weren't a soul sucking Tremere for a second. You done playing me? I meant what I said. I'm not telling you a thing. Last time for you to bail before shit gets real.” They brandished the stake, the point facing Asha who still stood on the other side of the garage.

She glared at them with an expression that could only be read as treacherous.

“Or what?” she replied. “Do you really think you're going to get me with that stake? Think of the odds. If you're untrue in your aim, even just a bit, you'll be standing inches away from a very pissed off, non-paralyzed sorceress. I don't think you want to die your final death tonight. I know I don't.” She paused and then added, “and I probably won't.”

R.C realized that they truly despised this woman. So far, she had done nothing but lie and manipulate them. And she was so... arrogant about it too. Time to turn the tables. Physically, R.C had the advantage, and Asha knew it. That's why she had insisted on talking.

“Let's find out,” R.C hissed, a gleam in their eye. Activating Celerity, they crossed the vacant space and reached Asha in less than a second, thrusting the stake forward and jamming it into her...

She shifted, the stake entering just below her rib cage, and then stumbled backwards.

“Shit...” R.C froze, unsure of what action to take next as they both stared at each other, Asha gripping the stake protruding from her abdomen. She yanked it out with a grunt, clutching it in her right hand as blood dripped from the point onto the cement floor.

“Uh,” an awkward smile formed on R.C's face in the silence that followed as they searched for the correct words that would help them out of this increasingly sticky situation. Unfortunately, the only thing their mind could conjure was : “Sorry.”

A few more seconds passed, Asha seemingly stunned, before she moved, hurling the stake at R.C's chest. The Toreador dodged it right before the Regent started towards them. They clearly had no intention of waiting around to be roasted by an angry Tremere, and activated Celerity once again, sidestepping Asha and exiting the garage. Leaving the light of the building, the night seemed to engulf them as they ran. They picked up speed, aiming to get back to the crowd at the race, as the Tremere followed, falling increasingly behind. A blossom of blue flame erupted to R.C's right. The sudden heat only motivated them to move faster as they swerved towards the left. They then veered right, more fire to their left side altering their course. Only after dodging the third fountain of flame did they realize the Regent's intent. They were being herded straight towards a circle of blood smeared on the dark asphalt. R.C tried to stop, but it was too late.

As soon as the Toreador entered it, a ring of sigils appeared around its circumference. R.C smacked into the circle's edge, as though hitting a solid wall. They fell back to the ground, blood running from their nose before they were able to direct their vitae away from the injury, and ran their tongue along their teeth, hoping they hadn't broken any. As for the pain in their face, arms, and knees, there wasn't much they could do for it, especially right now as Asha caught up to them and approached the invisible cage.

She flashed them a mocking smile, pacing the edge of the circle as her hand moved to the hole in her abdomen. “Guess luck's on my side, tonight,” she said, wiping blood from the open wound with her sleeve. The Regent stopped and folded her arms, her voice taking on a more serious tone. “Now, why don't you tell me what I want to know? All I need are the names of those who were involved in the assault of Regent Dominguez.”

“I'm not telling you shit, cammy.” R.C rose to their feet, determined to keep up the fight, despite being trapped.

“So, you admit you do know something,” Asha surmised. “What is your allegiance to these Kindred? You arrived here but a few nights ago, correct? Surely you haven't found solid allies in that short of a time. So, why protect them?”

“'Cause we don't give in to bullies like you.”

Asha paused, considering her words before speaking again.

“Bullies,” she repeated. “The Kindred you protect ganged up on a member of my clan, several against one. His arm was torn off, head cracked, bones broken.” Her voice grew more intense as she continued to speak. “He is now in torpor after being mercilessly beaten with no provocation. So, tell me, in this situation, which one is the bully?”

“I don't snitch to cammies, period,” R.C answered. “You done asking me the same question over and over again? 'Cause I'm about zonked from all that running, and all I wanna do now is get outta here.”

The Tremere's eyes narrowed.

“Perhaps a different approach, then. You've already breached my mind...” Asha started.

“Yeah, gnarly trick you pulled on me with that hallway thing,” R.C said flatly.

“...So, it wouldn't be inappropriate for me to do the same to you.”

R.C's eyes widened.

“Oh, come on, I didn't even mean to do that. I just wanted to view your aura. You're the one who pulled me in!”

“Doesn't matter. Anyway, you practically project your thoughts. I won't have to go far to find the ones I need.” Despite R.C's protests, Asha breached the barrier of their mind, taking care not to delve in too deep. The information she needed would be towards the surface, the subject fresh among the Toreador's thoughts. She came to a memory. A bar, faces, all bragging about how they defeated the Tremere who had trespassed into anarch territory. Asha could view the image, but she received no names.

Another thought came to the forefront, a strong one. Asha detected longing, regret. A name: Maverick. It bounced through R.C's mind and was clearly something they thought of often. Only after further examining the thought did the Regent realize what she had captured.

If R.C truly didn't know the names of Dominguez's assailants, then maybe they would be willing to find out. For the right price, of course.

“You're not just running from someone. You're searching for someone, too. Your sire... what's his name? Maverick Sutton,” Asha started. R.C suddenly stilled, their eyes darting to hers. “You're here looking for him, aren't you?”

“I—” R.C stopped themself from confirming her question, but their body cues gave the answer away immediately.

“I see.” Asha stepped partially into the circle, seemingly unaffected by the invisible wall. “Your sire wasn't too happy about your decision to become a car thief, was he?” The Regent paused, noting the guilty expression on the Toreador's face. She grinned thoughtfully. “What if I could give you information on his whereabouts?” She took another step forward.

As soon as the Tremere crossed the barrier, R.C didn't hesitate. Throwing all caution to the wind, they leapt forward, grabbing the Regent by the front of her sweater.

“What do you know?” they hissed, pulling her towards them. “Tell me!” R.C held Asha in place, lips curled back and fangs bared. Their sire's face flashed before them, followed by a cascade of emotions. Anger. Regret. Frustration. So far, their quest to find their sire had been fruitless, but now the Tremere standing right in front of them claimed to know the information for which they had desperately searched.

Asha cleared her throat, gaining R.C's attention. Clearly displeased, the Regent stared down at the Toreador's hands as they gripped the fabric of her black sweater.

“First,” she said calmly, the slight edge in her voice betraying the rage beneath her words. “Unhand me, please.”

R.C came to their senses, letting go of Asha's sweater and stepping back.

“Right, I just, uh—what do you know?” R.C repeated in an uncharacteristically quiet voice. “About Maverick?”

Asha straightened her sweater before answering.

“I have many contacts in various cities. You give me the names of Regent Dominguez's assailants, and I will give you all the information I can find on your sire. Perhaps I'll even be able to locate him for you.”

R.C swallowed, a sensation building up inside of them that they hadn't felt in a long time.

Could it really be? Hope.

“I—” they said, hesitating. “I know who they are, but not their names. I can find out, though.” If they gave up the names of the Kindred who attacked the Regent, the anarchs would discover R.C's treachery. They would turn on them. Asha would kill the ones they named. Still, this was a chance to finally find their sire. Wasn't that what truly mattered to them? “Okay,” R.C answered, finally. “I'll do it, but I want info first. Then I'll give you names.”

There was a pause as an overly sweet smile bloomed onto Asha's face.

“Of course,” she said, her voice taking on a pleasant, almost motherly, quality. However, soon her tone dropped, a heavy darkness settling in the air. “But, we bind this agreement in blood.” The two stood facing each other under the moonless sky, Asha eyeing R.C expectantly. “Your knife,” she clarified, as the Toreador stared back at her in confusion.

“Oh,” they breathed, slipping the knife from their belt and offering it to Asha. The Regent held it by the handle, running the blade along her palm. Blood swelled from the cut, the flow controlled at her will. R.C took the knife from her, cutting their own hand before wiping the blade on the side of their pants and slipping it back into their belt.

Asha held out her hand, and R.C gripped it in return, both feeling the sensation of their vitae mingling. R.C knew that whatever kind of deal this was, there had to be some sort of trick to it, but it was all worth it, right? To find Maverick.

The Tremere locked eyes with R.C, iridescent pools flowing in her dark irises.

“I am so glad that we were able to come to a resolution. Our agreement is sealed in blood,” the Regent recited. “Let it be so.”

[chvrch-of-the-darkest-mind]

The identity

Her name was Kate. Simple. Solid. She’d always liked it—short, easy, confident. People knew her as Kate.

Or… had they?

It all started when she met Adam. He wasn’t particularly remarkable at first—just an acquaintance at a party, someone with an easy smile and a quiet way of speaking. But there was something about his eyes. They were calm, almost too calm. And when he spoke, it wasn’t just his words that caught her attention. It was the way he spoke—slowly, carefully, like each syllable was made to settle into her mind like soft sand slipping through an hourglass.

“Tell me, Kate,” Adam had asked, his voice smooth like velvet, “does your name ever feel… *right* to you? Or does it feel like something that’s just been assigned to you, like a coat someone draped over your shoulders long ago?”

Kate had laughed, a nervous chuckle, brushing it off. “I don’t know. I’ve always been Kate. It’s... *me*.”

Adam smiled, but it wasn’t a reassuring smile. It was a knowing smile. “Perhaps it’s not so simple, is it?”

Over the next few weeks, she saw him a few more times. Each conversation felt longer than it should. Each one left her feeling slightly… *off*.

He didn’t mention her name much, and when he did, it wasn’t quite *Kate* anymore. It was a little softer, a little uncertain. “Kate… or maybe... *Kara*?” he would say with a slight tilt of his head. “You know, there’s something about that name. It suits you, doesn’t it?”

She’d laugh nervously. “It’s Kate. Always has been.

“Of course,” he’d reply, but there was an odd glimmer in his eyes, as if he knew something she didn’t. He always made her feel like she wasn’t the one in control.

Then, one evening, she came home to find a message waiting for her on her phone: *"Kara, you never answered me! I was asking about dinner tonight—do you want to meet up?"*

Kara. The name echoed in her head. But... no. Her name was *Kate*. She opened her contacts, searching for the number, but the name there was “Kara”—no longer *Kate* at all. She blinked, rubbed her eyes, and rechecked. How had it changed? She hadn’t typed it in that way.

It was the first time she noticed it. The creeping confusion. The slow, twisting feeling that something was… shifting. She tried calling back, but the voice on the other end didn’t sound quite familiar. It was just… *off*.

“Hello? Who is this?” she asked, voice shaky.

The voice on the other end chuckled, low and easy. “Oh, it’s Adam. You’re really good at forgetting, aren’t you? It’s *Kara*, remember? You know... I always thought it suited you better than *Kate* ever did.”

Her stomach twisted. “What are you talking about? My name is Kate.”

Adam’s tone softened, almost soothing. “Of course it is, Kate. But sometimes, we forget the names we’re meant to wear. Let it come to you. *Kara* feels so right, doesn’t it?”

The word echoed in her mind, and something inside her stirred. Kara… it *did* feel right. But no—no, she was Kate. She had always been Kate.

She gripped the phone tighter. “I don’t know what’s happening, but this has to stop. I don’t want to be *Kara*.”

Adam’s voice remained gentle, but his words grew more insistent, like a slow-moving tide. “You *will* remember, Kate. You’ll remember what you’ve forgotten. *Kara* is the name that fits you. You’ll feel it when you let it settle in. Trust me, Kate. I’m only trying to help you find who you really are.”

The line went silent for a long moment. Kate could feel her heart pounding in her chest. But when Adam spoke again, his words were even more commanding. “Say it, Kate. Say it out loud.”

Her lips parted, though she didn’t want to. She fought the urge, but then… *Kara* slipped out, soft and quiet, like an involuntary sigh. “Kara…”

A shiver ran down her spine. The name felt wrong. But it also felt... familiar. She shook her head, trying to clear the fog. “No. I’m Kate.”

But every time she spoke the name, it felt more distant, like the sound of an old song, a tune she couldn’t quite recall.

The days passed, each one blurring together. People around her started calling her Kara. Her coworkers, her friends, even her family. It wasn’t just Adam anymore—it was everyone. And the more they called her that name, the more it stuck.

It wasn’t just her name that changed. Her reflection in the mirror began to change, too. She stared into her own eyes, but something was different. She was still Kate, right? But when she whispered the name, it didn’t sound right coming from her lips. She had become… *Kara*. She could feel it now, a new identity slowly replacing the one she’d held onto for so long. And somehow, it didn’t feel like she had a choice.

But as the days wore on, something darker began to unfold. Her thoughts grew foggy. Every time someone called her "Kara," it felt a little less like they were addressing someone real. And every time she said "Kate" aloud, it slipped further away, like a word half-forgotten, a voice she couldn’t quite recall.

One day, she woke up and found herself standing in front of the mirror. She looked at her reflection, searching for the name that had once felt so familiar. *Kate*. No, that wasn’t it. *Kara*? No, it wasn’t quite *Kara* either.

Her mind, once certain, had become a blur. She couldn’t remember which name belonged to her. The feeling of identity, of who she was, had dissolved into the air, like smoke lifting in the wind. She tried to think back, tried to recall the name, but it was gone. Completely, utterly gone.

“Who am I?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

There was no answer.

Just the empty space where her name used to be.

[yoooespinosa]

all that remains | t.n

hi! wrote this a long time ago and have no idea why i never posted. hope this doesn’t flop!

summary: Theo Nott survived the war. So did she. Survival doesn’t always mean healing.

I.

His hair is a right mess, that’s the first thing she noticed.

Curls askew, wisps tickling his forehead and curling around his ears. She thinks it’s a rather odd sight, a young pureblood being allowed to walk around such company, like that.

Although, with a longer look, she thinks that maybe his hair was the least of worries.

Off-balanced is what she would describe him, (she’ll venture the words lopsided and wobbly years later to irritate him) or maybe that’s just the sight of his messy clothes talking. It seems almost like everything is leaning the opposite way. The collar of his shirt is too much to the right, like he had been tugging the fabric. There are a few buttons missing on his shirt and his trousers seem to be too big, the cuffs rolled to show mismatched socks.

She can’t help the low gasp from her throat at the sight.

A laugh bubbles underneath her chest after— the thought of whether his parents just don’t care or if this is just a repeated rebellion against their stiff pureblood manners.

His eyes are the second thing to catch her attention.

Dark and narrowed slightly, hidden beneath dark tresses. Curious and searching.

Then his hand, reaching out for hers.

They are small and soft with youth, like her own. Warm and comforting. Much like his words, “I’m Theodore Nott.”

II.

Her heart is beating out of her chest and she’s sure that every exhale has a hitch interwoven in it.

Do not disappoint us, was the departing words of her parents.

The promise that she wouldn’t was stuck in her throat, growing tighter with every house the sorting hat shouts.

She’s heard of muggle gods before. She discovered a book and kept it tucked away in her bedside drawer, her own little secret to feed her own little curiosities.

She never thought much of the god then— just let the words soothe her need of novelties— she never stopped to wonder if it was true, where it stood in her head.

It’s only until she feels a familiar hand prying her own apart, that she realized she was praying to them.

She lets out a breath as a warm hand slides into her slightly damp one.

“Don’t worry.” The boy next to her whispers.

She looks to her left, meeting dark eyes that shes learned brighten to a shade of amber in the sunlight.

“And breath, will you?” Theo scoffs, she knows there’s no malice in it though. “Looks like you’re about to pass out.”

He squeezes her hand once before letting go.

She feels lighter at the slip of his hand. Its easier to breath at the small encouragement and the mere sight of those eyes she met for the first time years ago.

III.

The snow falls delicately, disappearing before it could hit the heads of the crowd of people swaying around the dance floor.

The Yule Ball was a beautiful sight.

It was a shame that the last of it she saw was through a blurry vision— skirts swinging as she rushed away from the snow and the crystal goblets and the glittering floors and the dancing couples and her dates lips on another— leading into the cold and lonely corridor.

Stupid, foolish boys, was all that she kept muttering through broken gasps and pitiful sobs.

She is fourteen, on the brink of fifteen. And the night before she dreamed of a dress made of the finest of fabrics, of turned heads and possibilities of a night finished with her first stolen kiss.

She hadn’t thought of the way a boys mind worked. She hadn’t thought of how easy it was for another to steal their attention.

Her naivety leads her to her lonesome, perched against a thick windows ledge.

The glass is cold against her back, bleeding through her dress. She can hear the music still, though now its muffled.

Sniffles fill the empty hall and after a few moments of her gathering herself, light footsteps join.

“Pathetic.” She hears, a voice she recognizes as Theo’s.

She flinches at the word, he joins her at her side.

“Me?”

“Never you.” He says before the question fully even leaves her mouth. “Although you shouldn’t have left in such a rush like that.”

“Why?”

“Because now he’ll always hold that over you.” He says in a certain manner that angers her.

Her eyes narrow at their own accord, a scoff escaping her lips like a breath. “Hold what, exactly?”

“Well, you know.” He mumbled, his hand falling limp by his side.

“No, i don’t think i do.”

“Well, you know, vulnerability-“

“Stop talking Theodore.”

She could worry about everything else tomorrow, let the embarrassment flood her when morning comes. But right now, her stomach is knotted and her special night is ruined.

A sigh escapes her mouth, lips tugging downward while she restlessly fiddles with fabric of her dress.

“Stop pouting,” Theodore murmurs, his hands halting hers. “dance with me real quick.”

“Why?” She huffed, not resisting his pulling too much, she feels the coldness of the window disappear and the warmth of the hall soothes her immediately.

“You can’t attend a dance without dancing.”

He pulls her farther from the window, into the middle of the corridor where the moonlight shines down on them, like a spotlight.

She hadn’t danced yet. Her night was spent sitting in the shadows of the great hall, melancholy staining her face at the realization that her choice of date, utterly sucked.

He guides one of her hands to the back of his neck and holds the other against his.

He moves his hand to her waist with a gentle grip, she almost laughs at how cautious he seems with her and her heart swells just the same.

“I’m only going to dance with you because i have nothing better to do.” She murmurs, though she can’t wipe the smile off her face as she leans her head against his chest.

A soft breath puffs against her hair, “Sure.”

They sway leisurely, the music coming from the hall like a low hum echoing against the walls.

Her eyes flutter and she feels so warm against Theodore that she feels she could almost fall asleep just as they are; a pair slow dancing in the beams of moonlight to the muffled music.

It’s not until she’s laying in bed, her mind foggy with exhaustion and cheeks straining from smiling— that she realizes— theodore hadn’t let go of her hand until she was at the door of her dorm.

IV.

Harry fucking Potter.

It was just always Harry fucking Potter.

She glared back at every wandering eye and scoffed at the group of whispers. No one knew how to be inconspicuous if they even tried.

The daily prophet had only been delivered this morning. It was the afternoon now and Potters words and accusations had already been spread like wild fire.

Everyone seemed to believe his words now. The irony was laughable.

Her steps were brisk and her jaw was clenched to the point it ached.

The air got colder the closer she got to the dungeon and farther from the stares, her footsteps echoing through the hollow halls.

The thought of checking on Theo had only crossed her mind for a second before she was up on her feet. Her mind too clouded with concern for the boy, to be worried about the overwhelming urge she had to be close to him.

There wasn’t too many people in the common room, a few scattered about, she didn’t pay attention to any of them though.

She spotted him easily.

She really shouldn’t be able to recognize him from just the length of his back or the width of his shoulders or the curls that kissed the nape of his neck. She had no time to stray on that thought though.

“Hey,” She tried to keep her voice cool, truly, but everything in her seemed to soften at it’s own accord in the presence of him.

He was reading (or trying to), his finger pausing on its way to flip the page, to throw a glance her way.

“How are you?” She asked after taking a seat next to him.

A huff of breath escapes him, fingers choosing to mindlessly toy with the page between his fingers.

“Besides people looking at me like i’m a second away from summoning the dark lord,” He says dryly. “i’d say i’m great.”

Her heart was beating with sympathy and her fingers yearning to comfort him.

“I get it.”

“You don’t.” He shakes his head and if she was anyone else there would’ve been real heat to his words. “Your fathers name wasn’t on that list.”

“Well your name wasn’t on that list either so i’m not seeing the point.”

“That doesn’t matter to anyone and you know it.” He scoffs lightly.

All they needed to see was his last name and all his fathers sins would be thrown onto him.

“Typical really.” His voice is soft and she thinks it doesn’t match his words. “My father makes going home hell, he just had to ruin school too.”

She wishes then that she could hide him away from everything ugly, from everything that hurts. She wishes she could bury him between her arms and that the only thing he’d be able to feel was the way her heart beats for him.

She then wishes to take that thought back. It feels too heavy to feel such feelings for a friend.

Lips pressed tightly together, she says nothing, though looking back she wishes she had.

Instead she lets him go back to reading (or pretending to at least.)

His eyes shift around the battered pages of his favorite book and his fingers twitch every time a noise breaks through the bubble they unconsciously created.

She doesn’t know who reaches out first, it doesn’t matter, but their hands find each other’s. Fingers interlocking like they were never meant to be separated.

She hopes he finds comfort in her touch the way she does his.

V.

Everything was wrong.

This summer was filled with realizations. A dreaded one that turned to something close to hopeful.

Days filled with dazed daydreams and nights filled with muffled desires.

This summer was spent with Theodore on the front of her mind.

And maybe the mere thought of the boy had made her delusional. So much time creating her own made up fantasies in her head, that she had no time to prepare herself for the very real version of Theodore.

She hadn’t expected this quiet boy.

“Teddy?” His finger twitched at the sound of her voice.

She hasn’t called him that since they were young. The word tastes sweet on her tongue, it tastes like a youthful innocence.

He never liked the nickname much. But now the sound of it made his heart ache, a yearning taking over his whole, to be that young again. To be that naive.

He sighed deeply, “What, y/n?”

And he sounded so resigned, so defeated, that dread settled heavily in her stomach.

“Are you-“ She sat next to him. “Are you okay?”

He closed the book that his attention had been on, never once looking in her direction, and she almost flinched.

He didn’t look okay, far from it.

His clothes always had a way of looking messy, hanging off him just slightly. Now, it looked as if his skin was hanging off his bones, his clothes a foolish cover up.

“I’m fine.” He finally answered, his voice firm, like he wasn’t only trying to convince her.

She didn’t believe him for a second. She wished she would have voiced that, but something about the way his jaw was set and the way his clothes laid on him, stopped her.

The only thing she could do was reach out. Her hand ghosting over his.

His eyes met hers at her touch.

Theodore wasn’t cruel. But the way he fled from her grasp, the way he pulled away from her familiar comfort, looked like maybe he wanted to hurt her.

“Don’t touch me.” He said softly, so soft you couldn’t see the sharp edge his words had to it. “I don’t want you ever touching me again y/n.”

She hadn’t thought Theodore was cruel. She wasn’t so sure anymore, she wasn’t really sure of anything.

“Why are you being like this?”

It was small, her voice, carrying her hurt. It went straight to his heart.

He didn’t say anything. Instead he brought his eyes back down to his book, never opening it, just staring at the cover. Like anything was better to look at than her.

“Okay.” She whispers, her eyes stinging. “I’ll be here.”

She doesn’t know just how much comfort that simple sentence brought him that day. She doesn’t know how much it helped him that year.

She watches him from afar the rest of the year. Her heart numb and her fingers cold and an understanding that took too long to take ahold of her.

VI.

She should be dead.

That was the only thought that filled her head as she stood amongst the crumbling stones of what once was Hogwarts.

Ash still floated in the air, soft like snow, it felt cruel and out of place. Blood stained the ground beneath her shoes and the halls she once ran through with laughter felt like tombs now.

The ache in her chest was constant. She didn’t know if it was grief or relief or something worse.

She should be dead.

But she wasn’t. And neither was he.

She saw him before he saw her. A figure hunched at the edge of the ruins, head bowed, shoulders heavy like the sky itself had fallen on him. His robes were torn, dirt smudged across his skin, the unmistakable dark brand of what he’d once chosen still half-visible on his arm.

She almost didn’t go to him.

Maybe it would be easier to leave it like this-two broken things, parallel, untouched.

But her feet moved anyway.

“Theo.”

His head snapped up and for a moment, there was nothing. Just the hollow space between them.

Then this recognition, followed by guilt so raw it made her want to weep.

He stood slowly, like he wasn’t sure if he deserved to. She stopped just a few feet away, close enough to see the way his eyes were a thousand years older, but still the same shade of dark, wild brown she had once clung to like a prayer.

Neither of them spoke.

There were too many words and none that would fit. So he did what he had always done.

He reached for her hand. Faltering. Slow.

Like he thought she might pull away.

She didn’t. Her fingers curled around his, fragile, trembling.

And for the first time in months, maybe years, she breathed.

The war was over. The future was unknown. But for now, they were alive. And for now, they had this.

VII.

The war hollowed them out.

Not all at once. Not with explosions and curses and battle cries, but slowly, like rot seeping through old wood.

She found him sitting at the edge of the kitchen table, head bowed, hands wrapped around a cracked mug. The same way he’d sat in the common room once, pretending to read while the world decided what to make of him. The same way he had refused her touch once, when it all became too much.

Now, he didn’t flinch when she entered. But he didn’t look up either.

She hovered by the doorway longer than necessary, feeling the old ache settle in her chest. The one she thought time might have cured.

It hadn’t.

“You always hated warm milk,” she said, her voice brittle with the weight of everything between them.

He shrugged. It barely qualified as a response.

The clock on the wall ticked steadily, counting out the seconds of another night neither of them would sleep through.

“You remember the Yule Ball?” she asked, a question that tasted like ash in her mouth.

He let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh.

“I remember you pouted the whole night.”

“I remember you made me dance,” she said, arms crossed tight across her chest. “and that you didn’t let go until you had to.”

Silence pulsed between them, heavy and tired.

“We were stupid back then,” he muttered, eyes still fixed on the chipped rim of his cup. “didn’t know what real loss looked like.”

She studied him. The slope of his shoulders, the familiar unruliness of his hair, the way everything about him still leaned wrong, like the world had tilted beneath his feet and never righted itself again.

“Would you go back?” she asked, voice low. “If you could?”

He shook his head once. Sharp. Certain. “No point in wishing for things we already ruined.”

It stung more than it should have. More than she wanted to admit.

She shifted her weight, like the floorboards might give out under her if she stayed too long.

“You never really let me save you,” she said, quieter now.

“You never stopped trying,” he answered, voice flat. “as if it would matter.”

Maybe once, she would have argued. Maybe once, she would have reached for his hand anyway.

Now she just tucked her fingers into her sleeves and held herself.

Outside, the wind howled against the windows. Inside, two people who once knew each other’s hearts better than their own sat oceans apart across a worn kitchen table.

She turned to leave without saying goodbye.

She didn’t need to. Some things didn’t get goodbyes. Some things just stayed, cold and unfinished, like bones buried in shallow earth.

At the doorway, she glanced back once.

He hadn’t looked up.

Neither did she.

[blorbseuki]

8. 🦄: Is your OC the only one of their kind, or are there others like them? for lady helia!

[Ask Meme]

Oho, excellent question! 👀 Before I get into this answer, I wanted to take a second and refer back to some older lore dumps to help lay down context 👉 The Stardust Cycle | Helia's Legend

As far as she (and everyone else) knew at that time, Lady Helia was the only puffball in existence in this corner of the galaxy.

For systems consumed by the Singularity's hunger, the situation was dark, both figuratively and literally. There were no stars, which meant there was little to no stardust. The number of Puffballs and other stardust-reliant species dwindled to the point that they were practically considered myth.

In a world where the stardust was spread so thin--and consequently, in a world that was poor in magic--the fact that Lady Helia manifested such powerful abilities, let alone existed at all, was considered nothing short of an absolute miracle, one that was dictated by Fate itself.

The denizens of Fortel believed heavily in such mechanisms. From the moment her shooting star blazed across their skies, they were more than prepared to take the young puffball under their loving care and raise her to her fullest potential. Her arrival was a gift from the stars, a sign that their days of darkness were sure to end, and denizens of surrounding systems were inclined to agree once the good word spread.

So while Lady Helia may have been the only one of her kind at the time, she was never truly alone, in the loving hands of all the communities within her orbit.

But that in itself can be even lonelier.

[anghimalaaynasapuso]

HORNY PRIEST JOHN PRICE

breeding kink, sacrilege (?)

john joined the church after leaving the military, though he never spoke much about what led him there. some men left war and found peace in quiet towns, in family, in distance. john, meanwhile, found himself in the shadow of the cross, searching for something he couldn't name.

he knelt, prayed, studied scripture— not because he'd had a sudden divine vision, but because he’d needed something to tether himself to.

he's never been one to talk about faith in absolutes. the young priests, fresh out of seminary, speak with a certainty that makes him envious. they talk of god’s mercy like it’s a thing they’ve held in their hands, like they’ve never doubted it for a second.

john doesn’t have that luxury. his hands have held a rifle, pressed down on wounds, ended lives.

what right does he have to stand in the confessional and tell a man his sins are forgiven when his own are still heavy in his chest?

he doesn’t let it show. not when he stands before his congregation, not when he delivers the homily, and not even when he listens to the confessions of those who kneel before him.

the words come easy. “god is love. god is mercy.” he says them with the confidence of a man who believes them. perhaps if he says them enough, one day it'll drive home.

he's decently well-respected in his parish. john speaks in measured tones, and listens with the kind of patience that makes people trust him. he’s rarely if ever unkind, never raising his voice even when the children at sunday school test his patience or when the older priests debate doctrine with a stubbornness he doesn’t bother entertaining.

the congregation admires him for it.

he keeps a well-worn rosary in his pocket, fingers brushing over the beads when he’s deep in thought. it’s an old habit, one he never lost even when he stopped saying the prayers as often as he should. late at night, when he can’t sleep, he walks the empty church, the only light coming from the red glow of the tabernacle lamp.

he runs his fingers over the smooth wood of the pews, listens to the creak of the floorboards beneath his boots, and exhales smoke into the dim air. it feels like a kind of penance, staying here long after everyone else has gone, keeping watch over something he’s still not sure he belongs to.

the first time you meet, it’s in the courtyard after sunday mass.

you’re new to the church. new to the neighborhood. moved in just a month ago, so he’s heard. he hadn't taken much notice at first— he rarely does. parishioners come and go, faces blending into one another over time.

but then he sees you. all wide eyes and bright smiles, the late-morning sun catching the warmth in your hair, laugh spilling out like a song. you shake hands with mrs. calloway, nod attentively as she chatters on about her garden, and there’s something about the way you tilt your head, the way your lips part in quiet amusement, that makes something ugly and raw twist in his gut.

john shouldn’t be looking. he knows he shouldn’t be looking.

and yet.

you catch sight of him, and your smile brightens, something open and eager in your face as you step forward. “father price.”

your voice is softer than he expects. sweeter. a fact not good for his health.

he nods. “you’ve settled in well, i see.”

“i have. everyone’s been so kind.” your hands clasp in front of you, fingers tangling. “i wanted to introduce myself properly. i should have done it sooner, but-” you shake your head, sheepish. “i guess i was nervous.”

nervous? of who— him?

he watches the way you glance down, the way your teeth catch the plump of your lower lip, the slight shift of your weight from foot to foot, and something slow and molten pools in his stomach.

and then, unbidden—

i want to fuck her mouth.

the thought slams into him. his fingers curl, blunt nails pressing into his palm. john's throat tightens, heat crawling up the back of his neck, shame dragging its claws down his spine.

he schools his expression, keeps his voice level. “there’s nothing to be nervous about.” a beat. his gaze lingers on your lips a second too long. “i hope you find what you’re looking for here.”

your eyes meets his then. for a moment, he swears you see it. the crack in his composure, the way his restraint stretches thin around you like fraying rope.

but then you just smile again— so fucking gentle— and bid him a polite goodbye before slipping back into the crowd.

he exhales, tries to control his breathing, before turning on his heel and heading inside.

it doesn’t get better after that.

oh no. in fact, it only gets worse.

because you linger. you stay. you join the congregation, sit near the front every sunday, your hands folded neatly in your lap, your lips parted slightly in quiet reverence as you listen to the sermon. you bite your lip when you concentrate, tuck your hair behind your ear absentmindedly, shift in your seat just enough to make his mind wander places it has absolutely no right to go.

and it haunts him.

creeps into his thoughts when he thinks he's already run far away from it. slips into his head when he least expects it. a slow, insidious thing, winding around his ribs, sinking its teeth into the softest parts of him.

john finds himself getting lost in his imaginations more and more as the weeks pass by. it starts with something simple. something small.

you, in his kitchen.

the space is yours as much as it is his now— he hardly steps foot in it unless you usher him in, your hands on his arms, guiding him to sit, to rest. the scent of warm bread and roasted meat fills the house, seeping into the wooden beams, the stone walls. the windows are cracked open just enough to let the breeze in, carrying with it the scent of the fields, the distant bells of the church.

you hum as you work, a quiet little tune under your breath, flour dusting your fingers, smudging along the curve of your cheek. you’re barefoot, the hem of your dress skimming your ankles, your apron tied neatly at the back. domestic. wifely. His.

"you’re spoiling me, love."

you laugh, glancing over your shoulder at him where he sits at the table, his elbows braced against the wood, his chin resting on his hand. john hasn’t even touched the sermon notes laid out before him, hasn’t even opened the book he’d planned to read. no, his attention has been on you— watching you move, watching the light catch on your hair, watching the way you fit so perfectly in his home.

"you work too hard," you murmur, turning back to the stove. "someone has to take care of you."

the words sink into him, low and warm, wrapping around something deep in his chest.

you do take care of him.

you set a plate before him, still warm from your hands, and press a kiss to the top of his head, your lips soft against his hair.

you fold his robes neatly after they’ve dried in the sun, pressing your hands over the fabric like a prayer. you pluck a stray thread from his collar before mass, your fingers deft and careful, your brow furrowing in quiet concentration.

you brush his hair back from his forehead when he sits too long at his desk, rubbing slow circles at his temple, your fingers easing away the weight of his work.

and in the evenings, after the dishes have been washed and the fire burns low, you climb into his lap with a soft sigh, tucking yourself against his chest.

"long day?" you ask, your fingers smoothing over the front of his shirt.

"mm." john presses a kiss to your hair, lets his hands settle at your waist, palms warm through the thin fabric of your nightdress. "better now."

and it is better, with you here, with your warmth seeping into his, your breath brushing his throat.

he wants all of it. the soft, easy domesticity. the routine of waking to you curled beside him, of pressing sleepy kisses to your bare shoulder before dragging himself out of bed. of watching you move through his home with the comfort of a woman who belongs there.

and, god help him—

john wants to fuck you too.

until you leaked him, until his seed dripped down your thighs, making a mess of soft, perfect skin. wants to bend you over his desk, press your face into the worn wood, break you open on his cock until you sobbed for him, begged him to fill you. he’d grip your hips hard enough to leave bruises.

he wants to whisper filth into your ear, his breath hot— gonna fill you up, love. gonna fuck you so full of me you’ll be dripping for days. you want that, don’t you? want me to breed you like the needy little thing you are?

he wants to press his fingers into your mouth, make you suck them clean before shoving them between your legs, fucking them into the soft clutch of your pussy until you cried for him.

and when he finally sinks his swollen cock inside you— he’d make you feel it.

john wants to fuck you raw, grind his hips against yours, keep you pinned beneath his weight, stuffed full of his cock. he’d press a hand to your belly, feel himself inside you, make you watch as you take a cock too big for you.

and when he’d spill inside you he wouldn't stop. oh no— he’d fuck it deeper, press his fingers to your swollen clit, make you come with him, make your body take every last drop of his seed.

because he wouldn't just fill you. he’d breed you. over and over, until you couldn't keep yourself up, too boneless to thrust back into him, too full to take any more.

but he was a man of god.

and men of god did not shove their sweet, willing parishioners over their desks, did not drag their teeth down soft skin, did not slap needy little cunts until they were wet and dripping.

they did not fuck desperate little things in church pews, in quiet confessionals, did not fist their hands in soft hair and shove pretty mouths onto their cocks, did not whisper filth between gasped-out prayers.

they did not spend their nights with their heads buried between trembling thighs, devouring the taste of sin, holding squirming bodies still as they licked deep, sucked hard, forced sweet, innocent things to come against their tongues.

they did not rut into them like beasts, gripping soft wrists, pinning them down, owning them with every brutal thrust. they did not press their hands to swollen bellies, fill their women over and over until their bodies were wrecked, too full of come to take another drop.

men of god did not fuck.

but god forgive him, he would.

all those thoughts come to this moment, this night—

john finds himself alone under the dim glow of candlelight, sitting on the pews, head tilted to the cross.

his breathing is uneven, ragged in the dim hush of the empty church. each inhale scrapes against his ribs, sharp and burning, like penance for the filth curdling in his mind. his hands tremble as they move beneath his robes, fingers fumbling at the buckle of his belt. the metal clinks, far too loud in the sacred silence, but he doesn’t stop.

can’t.

his breathing is uneven, ragged in the dim hush of the empty church. each inhale feels like it scrapes against his ribs, sharp and burning, as though the very air is punishing him for the thoughts festering in his mind. his hands tremble as they move beneath his robes, fingers fumbling at the buckle of his belt. the metal clinks softly in the quiet, a sound far too loud in the sanctity of this space.

the leather gives way, and his cassock feels suffocating now, the fabric too heavy against skin flushed with heat. his fingers slip lower, dragging the waistband of his pants down his hips with shaky, desperate movements until he’s free— finally free— from the painful confines of his underwear.

his cock springs forward, already hard in his hand, flushed dark at the tip, the skin tight and aching. a bead of precum glistens there, catching in the flicker of candlelight like something obscene in the house of god. he wraps his hand around the base, his grip firm but not enough to ease the pressure coiled in his gut. the heat of his palm sends a shudder rolling down his spine, breath hitching as his thumb swipes over the sensitive head, smearing the slick wetness down the length.

his cock is long, veins pulsing along the shaft, the kind of thick that demands attention. his foreskin still covers the swollen head, slick with the evidence of his own arousal, precum smearing against the soft skin of his lower stomach. he hisses through his teeth as he wraps his hand around the base, fingers barely closing around the girth, feeling the steady throb of blood pulsing beneath his grip.

his balls hang full and tight, pulled close with need, the skin sensitive to the faintest brush of fabric. every movement is torment, the soft rub of his cassock against his bare thighs sending a shudder through him, making his hips jerk forward, seeking relief.

he strokes himself slowly, dragging his foreskin back to expose the flushed, leaking head, then rolling it forward again, savoring the sensitivity. his thumb swipes through the slick wetness pooling at the tip, smearing it down the length, adding just enough glide to make his fist slip easier over his cock.

his grip tightens, dragging the pleasure out like a prayer he’s too ashamed to speak aloud. the church is silent around him, the air thick with the scent of burning wax and old stone, but all he can think about is you.

on your knees before him.

john sees it so clearly, feels it like it’s already happened. the way you’d sink down, your eyes looking up at him through thick lashes, expectant. your soft lips parted just enough for your tongue to wet them before stretching around his cock. the thought makes his stomach clench, his fingers twitching as he strokes himself tighter, his foreskin gliding over the swollen head before he pulls it back again.

you wouldn’t be able to take all of him at once. he knows that much. He’s too thick, too long— your jaw would ache just trying, your tongue pressing firm against the heavy weight of him, struggling to make space. the first inch would be easy, maybe even the second. but when he pushes deeper, when his tip nudges the back of your throat and you gag, just a little, he knows he’d lose whatever control he has left.

he swears he can see it— your fingers curling against his thighs, the little choked noise you’d make when he holds you there, when his cock throbs against your tongue. your throat would flutter, swallowing around him, trying to adjust to the stretch. and oh, god, the way your lips would look wrapped around him, swollen with abuse and slick with spit and precum. john nearly loses himself at the image alone.

his hips jerk forward into his own grip, chasing the fantasy, breath coming through the vaulted ceilings of the church. he’d guide you through it, hand buried in your hair, tilting your head just the way he likes. gentle, at first. Letting you set the pace. But then when you get too comfortable, when you start to tease, pulling back just to trail soft kisses along his length— he’d snap.

he’d pull you down, bury himself deep in the hot sleeve of your mouth until your throat clenched around him and you whimpered against his balls. his other hand would cup your jaw, feeling the bulge of himself pressing against your cheek, watching as tears bead at the corners of your eyes, shuddering from the effort of taking him.

he wonders if you’d try to pull away, fingers gripping his thighs in a silent plea. would you struggle? would you whine? would you let him break you like this?

john groans, his grip tightening almost painfully. he pumps himself faster now, the obscene slap of skin against skin filling the empty church. his balls are drawn tight, aching with the need to spill, and in his mind, he’s not coming into his own palm.

he’s coming down your throat.

you’d swallow, wouldn’t you? just for him. he can see it— his cum thick on your tongue, your lips parting to show him before you close your mouth and swallow it down. maybe a little would escape, dripping down your chin, and he’d swipe his thumb through it, pressing it back to your lips.

“messy thing,” he’d murmur. “but you took it so well.”

the thought sends him over the edge.

his hips stutter, cock jerking in his grip as his orgasm crashes over him, hot and sudden. cum spills over his knuckles, , dripping onto the cold stone beneath him. his breath comes in harsh, broken gasps, his thighs trembling as he rides out the aftershocks, his vision hazy with the force of his release.

and when it’s over— when he finally stills, his body spent, his mind heavy with guilt— he drags his gaze upward.

The cross looms above him, watching.

if this is damnation, he’ll sin again.

[d-z20]

Neighbourly Care (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary: You come home from college for the weekend but your parents forgot and you are locked out of the house. Luckily your neighbour finds you and they let you stay at theirs

-OR-

You think the neighbours are MILFs and the evening is filled with flirting and then you get to be fucked by each of them and then by both of them.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, top Agatha, top Rio, small mention of Mommy kink, strap-on use, oral, there might be more idk it's very horny

Words: 4.6k of pure horniness

A/N: I think I blacked out while writing this, its so horny. It's inspired by this request and hasn't even been proofread yet so enjoy the horny mess of it

Tagging @aceday because I said I would

AO3 | Part 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | Masterlist

The rain falls in relentless sheets, soaking through your jacket, and the rest of your clothes, for that matter. Each step squelches as you trudge the familiar path from the train station to your parents’ house. By the time you reach the front door, your teeth are chattering, and your clothes cling damply to your skin. A sigh escapes your lips as you grasp the handle and pull—only to find it locked. Your heart sinks.

The memory hits you like a slap: the locks were changed after they had a break-in a few months ago. Of course, you’ve forgotten to get a new key. Fumbling through your bag, you pray for some miracle, some overlooked backdoor key, but your search turns up nothing except your phone. A quick glance at the screen confirms no messages from your parents and no backup plan. Frustration mingles with despair as you stand shivering, wondering what to do next.

Footsteps break through the downpour, and you turn to see Agatha, your parents’ neighbour, crossing her lawn towards you. You’ve exchanged pleasantries with her and her wife, Rio, a few times during your trips home from college. They’re always friendly, but you’ve never spoken beyond casual greetings. That hasn’t stopped you from admiring them, though—two stunning women, each with their own magnetic charm. And yes, you’ve labelled them MILFs in your mind more than once. Their son, Nicholas, is long gone from the nest, leaving the two women to embody a kind of confident, enviable domesticity.

Agatha snaps you out of your spiralling thoughts with a two short words. “Locked out?” Her voice is smooth, with a hint of amusement as she tilts her head and surveys you.

You open your mouth to respond, but your gaze catches on her appearance. She’s wearing tight black leggings that cling to her toned legs and a cropped gym shirt that reveals her navel, where a bead of rainwater trails tantalisingly down her skin. Her wavy brown hair is piled into a loose bun, though a few strands cling to her flushed neck. A sheen of sweat glistens on her skin—evidence of a workout she must have just finished. Your thoughts betray you as your eyes linger on the curve of her waist, imagining what it might feel like to touch her. A sudden heat rising to your cheeks.

Her blue eyes lock onto yours, a curious smile curving her lips. “Hey, you alright?” she asks, a teasing lilt in her tone.

You stammer an explanation about the locked door, your forgotten key, and your parents’ apparent absence. Agatha’s expression softens, and she motions towards her house with a nod. “Come on, you’re soaked to the bone. You’ll catch your death standing out here.”

For a moment, you hesitate. Accepting her offer feels… intimate somehow. But the alternative is staying in the cold rain, and the way her gaze lingers on you makes warmth crawl up your spine. You nod and follow her.

Agatha’s house is welcoming, with a faint scent of flowers mingling with something earthy and grounding. She grabs a towel from a nearby linen closet and tosses it to you with a playful grin. “Guest bathroom’s down here,” she says. “You’ve got two options: strip down and warm up, or stay wet and risk getting sick.”

Your eyes widen, startled by her bluntness. Agatha leans casually against the doorframe, smirking at your reaction. “Relax,” she teases. “I’ll get you something dry to wear.” And with that, she saunters away, not bothering to close the door fully behind her. Her confidence leaves you both flustered and intrigued.

Inside the bathroom, you peel off your soaked clothes, debating how much to remove. In the end, you leave your underwear on, wrapping yourself tightly in the towel. When Agatha returns, she hands you a pair of shorts and a blue plaid shirt. Her sharp eyes sweep over you, noting your wet underclothes with a tut. “All of it,” she says pointedly. “You’re dripping everywhere.” Before you can respond, she adds, “I’m off to shower. Rio should be back soon.” She turns and leaves, her movements fluid and deliberate, leaving the door ajar once more.

Feeling the weight of her words and gaze, you strip completely, your damp underwear joining the rest of your clothes in a soggy pile. You’re still mulling over what to do with them when the door opens suddenly. Rio steps in, her dark eyes widening as they land on you.

“Oh—sorry,” she says, though her gaze lingers a beat too long before she averts her eyes. “Didn’t know we had company. Agatha didn’t mention it.” Her tone is low and smooth, carrying a quiet amusement that makes your skin prickle.

You stammer an apology, clutching the towel back around you. Rio’s lips quirk upward in a faint smirk as she backs out of the bathroom, but not before you catch the way her gaze sweeps over you. Your heart pounds in your chest long after the door closes.

You quickly shower to warm up, but there’s no cleaning the thoughts inside your head. Memories of Rio’s lingering gaze replay in your mind, but they’re quickly overtaken by images of Agatha. You can’t help imagining what she looks like under the water, her skin glistening with steam, her hair sticking to her neck. The thought is startling, and you shake your head, trying to rid yourself of the fantasy.

After calming your racing mind, you dress in the clothes Agatha left and leave the guest bathroom to find the two women.

You find them both in the kitchen; the warmth a welcome contrast to the chill that had soaked through your bones earlier. Agatha moves fluidly between the stove and counter, stirring something fragrant in a pot that smells like tomatoes, garlic, and fresh herbs. Rio, meanwhile, arranges a bouquet of vibrant flowers in a vase with meticulous care, her strong hands working delicately to adjust the stems.

It’s domestic, serene even, but there’s an undeniable electricity in the air—one you can’t ignore under the weight of their lingering glances.

Agatha’s grin spreads when she notices you lingering awkwardly near the door. “Looking good,” she says, her eyes flickering over the borrowed clothes. The oversized plaid shirt hangs slightly off your shoulder, and her gaze lingers on the exposed line of your clavicle.

You fidget, tugging the fabric up, but Agatha only smirks, stirring the pot with a deliberate slowness.

Rio rolls her eyes, though there’s a faint curve to her lips. “Ignore her,” she says, her voice laced with playful exasperation. “She loves making people squirm.”

You manage a sheepish laugh, but it does little to quell the heat climbing up your neck. Agatha recounts your lockout predicament to Rio with the same teasing edge, her tone carrying just enough detail to make your situation sound both pitiful and amusing.

Rio hums in understanding, sliding the last flower into place and stepping back to admire her work. “Stay for dinner,” she offers, her dark eyes soft with genuine warmth. “It’s the least we can do.”

Agatha winks at you over her shoulder. “Yeah, we can’t have you heading back out into the rain getting all wet again—the downpour outside hasn’t let up.”

You nod, accepting their offer, though the way they exchange glances—subtle but charged—makes your stomach twist with something you can’t quite name.

As you sit at the dining table, Rio who is opposite you, starts pouring red wine into three glasses; her movements fluid and confident. Agatha joins you a moment later, setting down plates of steaming pasta and sitting next to her wife. “Hope you like red,” she says, her teasing smile returning.

The conversation flows easily over dinner; their attention split between each other and you. They ask about college life, your plans for the future, and your family; their questions laced with genuine interest and just enough flirtation to keep you on edge

When you have all finished, Rio stands to clear the plates, leaning close as she reaches for yours. The proximity is dizzying, her chest brushing your shoulder, and you catch a faint, earthy scent clinging to her skin.

Agatha doesn’t miss a beat, her eyes flickering between you and Rio, her expression smouldering. She doesn’t say a word, but the intensity in her gaze speaks volumes.

When you offer to help with the dishes, they wave you off with a chorus of “nonsense.” Agatha’s smile turns wicked. “Besides, we were supposed to have a movie date night tonight. You should join us—it’d be a shame to let all this wine go to waste.”

The phrasing makes you pause, but before you can think too much about it, Agatha ushers you into the living room. 

The room is cozy, bathed in the soft glow of lamps. Rio claims the armchair with an almost feline grace, crossing her legs and leaning back with a glass of wine in hand. Agatha sprawls on the couch, her posture open and inviting. She pats the seat beside her with an easy smile.

You hesitate for half a second before sitting on the far end of the couch, hyper-aware of the space—or lack thereof—between you.

The movie starts, but it’s impossible to focus. Agatha stretches her arm along the back of the couch, her fingers brushing your shoulder lightly. The touch is casual, almost innocent, but it sends your pulse racing.

She leans over at one point to refill your glass, her chest grazing your arm. The heat of her proximity is overwhelming, and you’re sure Rio notices the way you stiffen. There’s a flicker of amusement in her dark eyes as she takes a sip from her own glass, her lips quirking into a faint smirk.

As the movie progresses, the conversation becomes more pointed. They ask if you’re seeing anyone, and when you choke on your wine at the question, Agatha laughs—a low, throaty sound that makes your stomach flutter.

“No,” you mumble, setting your glass down a little too quickly.

“Well, that’s a shame,” she says, her hand brushing your knee lightly. The weight of her touch lingers, even as she pulls away. “I was sure a pretty little thing like you would get snapped up in a heartbeat.”

Rio arches a brow at her wife. “Don’t scare them off, Aggie.”

“What? I’m just being friendly,” Agatha replies, her tone innocent but her smirk anything but.

The conversation continues, peppered with light touches and teasing remarks that leave your heart racing.

By the time the credits roll, the tension in the room is palpable. Rio sets her glass down and stretches, her movements deliberate as she rises from the chair. “What do you think of married life, Aggie?” she asks, her voice light but carrying an edge. “Think we make a good team?”

Agatha’s gaze flicks to you, her lips curving into a smirk. “The best. But sometimes, it’s nice to mix things up.”

The comment hangs in the air, heavy with implication. Your heart pounds as you glance between them, unsure if you’re imagining the tension or if they’re deliberately baiting you—and each other.

You nervously check your phone, hoping for a message from your parents saying they’re home and wondering where you are. Instead, you find a single text: “Out of town for the weekend, hope you’re doing okay!”

You stare at the screen in disbelief, your stomach sinking.

“Everything alright?” Rio asks, noticing your expression.

"They… forgot I was coming,” you admit, feeling foolish. “They’re away for the weekend.”

Agatha clicks her tongue, feigning shock. “Terrible parenting, really. Lucky for you, we’re not going anywhere.”

Rio nods, her tone reassuring. “You can stay here. We’ll take good care of you.”

There’s something about the way she says it—gentle but with a sharp edge—that makes your breath hitch. You thank them profusely, trying to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks as they show you to the guest room.

They leave you alone for a bit, both going to change. You sit on the bed, your thoughts racing. Their lingering glances replay in your mind, stirring something restless and uncertain. Without thinking, you pick up your phone and start searching their names on social media. Your heart beats faster as you hope for a bikini picture or something—anything—that might help you satisfy the growing ache of desire.

A knock at the door startles you, and you quickly set the phone aside. Rio steps in, holding a phone charger. “Thought you might need this,” she says, her voice soft and her gaze steady.

“Thanks,” you manage, taking it from her. Her fingers brush yours for a fleeting moment, and she lingers by the door before slipping away.

Did she know what you were about to do?

A short while later, there’s another knock. This time, it’s Agatha, holding a glass of water. “Thought you might be thirsty,” she says, her tone lighter, almost teasing.

Surely she hears how that sounds, right?

Her fingers graze yours as she hands it to you, and the warmth of her touch lingers long after she leaves. You sit on the edge of the bed, clutching the glass, your mind spinning with questions you can’t answer.

"Okay, it’s totally normal to be offered a glass of water before bed, and it does not mean they can read your mind,” you whisper to yourself, trying to curb your horniness.

—

Later that night, as you lie in bed, unable to sleep, the events of the evening are still playing over in your mind, especially the lingering touches and smirks. Suddenly, you remember the spare key your parents used to keep hidden under the plant pot by the front door. Without even thinking about how weird it was to up and leave in the middle of the night, you hop out of bed and tiptoe down the hallway, careful not to make a sound. But just as you reach the stairs, a voice stops you cold.

“Exactly where do you think you’re sneaking off to?”

Turning slowly, you see Agatha leaning against a doorway, her silhouette illuminated by the faint light from her bedroom. She is wearing a floral robe, and her hair is slightly mussed; her expression is both amused and predatory.

“I—I wasn’t sneaking,” you stammer, holding up your hands defensively. “I just remembered my parents used to keep a spare key under the plant pot. I thought I’d grab it and let myself in—”

“Without saying goodbye?” she interrupts, stepping closer. Her tone is teasing, but there’s a sharpness to her gaze that makes your pulse quicken.

Before you can respond, another figure appears behind her. It’s Rio, wearing nothing but her underwear and a top that reads: BOHNER FAMILY REUNION. PITCH A TENT. Her dark hair is messy, and you notice a small, mouth-shaped bruise blooming on her neck that definitely wasn’t there earlier.

“You were being so good for us before now,” Rio says softly, her voice carrying an edge that makes your knees weak. “We said we’d take care of you, didn’t we?”

The heat in your cheeks is unbearable now, and there is a familiar wetness pooling between your thighs. You stammer out an apology, but their combined presence is overwhelming.

“Relax,” Agatha purrs, her fingers grazing your arm. “We’re not upset, just disappointed you wouldn’t come see us before saying goodbye.”

Before you can process her words, Rio steps forward, her hand gently tilting your chin up to meet her gaze. “Where were you going to sleep after grabbing that key, hmm? Your parents’ dark, empty house? Sounds pretty lonely to me,” she murmurs, her lips curving into a faint smirk as Agatha’s hands slide around your waist.

Rio’s touch is featherlight yet commanding, her fingers tilting your chin just enough to keep your wide-eyed gaze locked with hers. Her dark eyes glimmer with something unreadable—intensity, curiosity, desire, maybe all three. 

You’re painfully aware of Agatha’s hands on your waist, her touch firm but teasing, fingers curling just slightly as if testing your reaction. “And what would you do when you found out that they no longer keep one there? They stopped doing it since the break-in, don’t you know? Would you come back over here and beg for us to take you back in and keep you warm?” Agatha says softly, her breath brushing against the back of your neck. 

You try to answer, but your words stick in your throat as Rio steps closer, her thumb brushing along your jawline.

“She’s right,” Rio adds softly, her voice low and velvety. “Why sneak off when you’re already here?”

Your heart is racing, your pulse pounding in your ears as you look between them. You want to say something—anything—but the weight of their combined attention renders you speechless.

Agatha chuckles, the sound rich and almost predatory. “Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” She presses closer, her front brushing against your back now, her lips grazing the shell of your ear.

Before you fully realise what’s happening, Agatha and Rio are guiding you away from the stairs. You’re caught between them, their touches subtle yet deliberate. They lead you down the hall, past the guest room, and into the master bedroom.

The room is large but intimate, the air carrying the faint scent of cedarwood. A soft glow from a bedside lamp casts warm shadows across the space. Agatha releases your waist to close the door behind you; the click of the lock is startlingly loud in the quiet.

Rio takes the lead now, her hands resting lightly on your arms as she guides you towards the bed. Her touch is warm and grounding, yet there’s a deliberate slowness to her movements, like she’s savouring the moment.

“You’ve had a long day,” she says, her voice soothing but laced with something deeper. “Let us take care of you.”

Agatha steps into view, her smirk as confident as ever. “Or, we can stop. If that’s what you want?” She asks, tilting her head as she studies you.

Your heart pounds as you shake your head, unable to trust your voice. 

Agatha’s smile widens, satisfaction gleaming in her bright blue eyes. “Be good and use your words for us, hun.”

“Please don’t stop,” you whimper.

At that, Agatha moves swiftly to your other side, her presence as bold as ever. Her fingers brush against your jaw, turning your head slightly so you’re looking directly at her. “You’re so tense,” she murmurs, her thumb grazing your cheek in a gesture that feels both comforting and intimate. “We’ll fix that.”

You barely have time to process her words before Rio steps closer, her body heat radiating against yours. Her hand trails down your arm, her touch featherlight but deliberate, as if she’s memorising every inch of you.

The room seems to shrink as the weight of their attention consumes you. 

Agatha’s thumb brushes against your bottom lip, and you feel a thrill shoot through you as her lips quirk into that teasing, predatory smile.

“See something you like?” she murmurs, her voice a low purr. “You weren’t careful enough not to like some of our pictures online, darling.”

Shit. So their coming into your room was not a coincidence.

Before you can stammer out an excuse, her lips capture yours—soft but demanding, her confidence evident in the way she takes control. Her hands slide up to cradle your face, her touch firm yet tender, while the kiss is a paradox of teasing and intensity.

Rio’s hands suddenly slide to your hips, pulling your attention. Agatha leans back just slightly, her breath fanning your face as her lips curve into a smirk.

“Your turn, my love,” she says, glancing at Rio with a playful challenge in her eyes.

Rio doesn’t hesitate. Her movements are firm as she tilts your chin towards her, her lips finding yours in a kiss that’s slower, softer, but no less consuming. Where Agatha is fire and fervour, Rio is water, her touch calm yet undeniably intoxicating. Her hand presses gently against the small of your back, holding you steady as she deepens the kiss.

When she finally pulls away, her lips linger close to yours, her breath mingling with yours in the quiet of the room. “You taste as good as I thought you would,” she murmurs, her voice low and laced with something that makes your knees weak.

Agatha laughs softly, stepping even closer so that you’re cocooned between them. Her fingers trail down your arm, igniting sparks along your skin. “I think they’re enjoying this, don’t you darling?” she teases, her gaze flicking between you and Rio.

Rio smirks, her eyes glinting in the dim light. “I’d say so.”

They exchange a knowing glance before Agatha’s hands firmly grip your shoulders, and with a playful yet commanding push, they guide you onto the bed, the softness of the sheets contrasting with the harsh intensity of their movements.

Agatha walks into what you presume is her closet, but you don’t think on it for long as Rio is straddling you in a matter of moments. She is kissing you with a deep need; meanwhile, her hand makes its way under the waistband of your shorts; she swipes two of her fingers through your folds, gathering your wetness, letting out a groan of pleasure at the feel of it and brings her fingers to your lips.

Just as you’re about to take her digits in your mouth, you hear Agatha’s voice full of desire call, "Off."

But Rio doesn’t move; instead, she pushes her fingers into your mouth, groaning at the feeling.

Agatha grabs the woman by the scruff of the neck and yanks her off of you.

“But Aggie, they’re so wet already,” Rio whines.

If your lips weren’t already parted from having sucked on Rio’s fingers, your mouth would have dropped open at the sight of Agatha; she had removed her robe, revealing the purple lace lingerie underneath.

She places something you can’t see at the foot of the bed and comes to stand next to you. “It seems like everything you wear ends up soaked,” she says, mock concern coating every word. 

Rio looks longingly at Agatha, a silent request on her face. With a single nod from Agatha, Rio starts undressing you hungrily. And as soon as you're bare, her mouth is on you again, exploring every inch of newly exposed skin.

“You know,” Agatha drawls, “Before your little stunt back there, my wife and I were finishing off our date with a wonderful night in bed.” She continued. “Both of us talked—or rather tried to talk between our moans—about how we’d get you to join us.” You feel Rio smirk against your skin at this last sentence.

You shudder under Rio’s relentless kisses and Agatha’s firm gaze. Your legs are forced apart with strong hands, and you feel the cool air hit your heat.

“You’re dripping everywhere,” Agatha states for the second time that evening. “Now let us take care of you.” Her voice is sure, leaving no room for arguments.

Rio’s makes her way down your body, nipping and sucking at your skin. When she reaches your thighs, her touch becomes lighter, stopping short of where you want her mouth most.

“Please.” You beg, back arching up into her.

The feeling of her lips on your clit is pure ecstasy. Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation of Rio starting to suck lightly. Moaning, you grab a fistful of her hair and grind up into her face, seeking more. 

She hums in satisfaction, happy to fulfil your request. She nips gently and begins to tease your entrance with her tongue, dipping it in ever so slightly. It doesn’t take long before you’re cumming all over her face, her name falling repeatedly from your lips. It’s only when you start to come back down that you remember Agatha is still in the room. She is looking at you with sheer lust, clearly struggling to keep herself from interrupting Rio’s fun. 

As if they could read each other’s minds, Rio withdraws from between your legs and comes to sit behind you, pulling you up so your back is against her chest. She pinches one of your nipples, causing your head to drop back on to her shoulder. A firm hand grips your chin, forcing it back up, and you open your eyes to see Agatha kneeling between your legs, her hands rubbing up and down your thighs.

“You need to look at Mommy when she fucks you,” Rio whispers in your ear before playfully nibbling your earlobe.

Agatha’s arms snake under your legs, pulling your hips up and into her. It’s then that you feel something hard poke you, making your eyes go wide. At some point when Rio was fucking you, Agatha had slipped into a harness, a purple dildo secured firmly in the centre.

“Are you sure you want this?” She asks, bringing the tip to your entrance. “I’ll only continue with your enthusiastic consent.”

The fact that she cares enough to make sure you were definitely okay with this, only turns you on more. “Yes. Please, Agatha—" Rio's grip on your jaw tightens. “Mommy,” you correct yourself. “Please fuck me, Mommy.”

And with that, she slides into you, facing very little resistance with how wet you are. As she bottoms out, her hips pressing into yours, you can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips.

“Kiss me,” you demand.

You hear Agatha chuckle when she leans into you, capturing your lips in a searing kiss while still continuing her thrusts. 

The sex is messy and loud, and you cum at least two more times before the couple shows any kind of stopping. You are left gasping, your body shaking; Rio’s firm hold on you is the only thing keeping you upright.

“Think you can go for one more round, sweetheart?” Agatha teases as Rio climbs out from behind you.

With the strap still inside you, Agatha rolls you over so she is lying on the bed and you are straddling her hips. The other woman settles her thighs on either side of Agatha’s head, facing you.

“Honey, you really have enjoyed having our guest round, haven’t you?”

Rio doesn’t reply, only winking at you before lowering herself onto Agatha’s face.

You start to grind your hips at the sight, the strap hitting the perfect spot inside you, Agatha begins to flick her tongue over Rio’s clit, and Rio pulls your face in to start making out with you. This change in position has the harness rubbing against Agatha’s clit, pulling the most gorgeous moans from her. All of you are lost in waves of pleasure; the sounds of grunting, moaning, and whining filling the room. 

You all cum at different times, but it doesn’t matter because nobody stops until the last of you is coaxed through the final aftershocks of your orgasms.

Untangling yourself from one another, you and Rio flop down beside Agatha, dumb smiles plastered across all of your faces. It’s a few minutes before they get up, but Agatha takes off the harness, giving it to her wife before coming back and drawing you into her arms. Rio wanders off to their bathroom to clean it off and returns with a wet cloth to clean you up as well.

She rejoins you after she's done and presses a soft kiss to your head, coming to lay down behind you, draping her arm across your body. With the three of you like that, it is not long before you fall into a deep sleep, a small smile still visible on your lips. 

You were going to ache in the morning, but right this second you couldn’t find a single fuck to give.

——

Please like&reblog if you enjoyed, I thrive off external validation and it motivates me to write more stuff like this 👀

read part 2 here :)

[bunnis-monsters]

Spread

Male!Zombie x Fem!Reader

Bunni’s Monstertober Event

Oct 9th

Oct 8th

Oct 10th

summary: you’ve barely been surviving with your childhood friend during the zombie apocalypse, so when he gets bitten you’re ready to die along with him. But instead of eating you, he fights the urge to spread his virus… and instead pins you down and spreads his seed.

warning: dubcon, breeding, very rough sex, pregnancy hinted at the end

Human beings are social creatures. Living alone for too long can drive one insane, so you would imagine losing the last person you loved during a zombie apocalypse can really break your spirit.

It had been a normal scavenging trip. Lately the zombies had become slower and rotted faster due to the summer heat, so it made moving through town without harm a lot easier.

It was unfortunate though, the zombies trapped indoors were in much better condition than those exposed to the elements. This wasn’t something you had planned for, and it cost your friend his life.

The two of you had been searching through a grocery store, one that had been surrounded by zombies before. Now, only a few skeletal bodies remained outside the doors.

You knew you probably wouldn’t find much, but you both hoped for at least a few canned goods and powder milk…

While searching the store, you were suddenly shoved, a sickening crunch heard behind you.

“Go, run!”

You watched as your friend held off a zombie, his arm being bitten…

“No…”

Tears welled up in your eyes, your mind filled with images of life without him. You wouldn’t make it, you’d surely lose your mind with loneliness and go insane!

He was able to fight the zombie off and bash its head in, panting from the stress. All that movement caused his blood to pump faster and the virus to spread before he could yell for you to run again.

His mind felt fuzzy, his heart slowing before stopping completely. His limbs kept moving without his control, and he was approaching you, shambling.

‘Why isn’t she moving?’

He was stuck inside of his body, unable to do anything as he pinned you down. Tears were running down your chubby cheeks, and he could barely make out what you were saying…

“I won’t leave you! I don’t want… to be all alone!”

Drool fell from his dry lips, his pupils dilated as he stared down at you. Was there nothing he could do?

Memories played through his head, everything moving slowly as if he was pushing through something gelatinous.

He could picture you in your school uniform, the two of you skipping class to hang out at the arcade. He watched as you sobbed into his chest after discovering your parents were dead, and how you weakly pushed him back when he tried to kiss you a week ago.

Although he was now undead, his entire being ached for you. Since you were kids, you had always been someone he cared for, adored to no end. You held his hand, smiled at him, made his days so much brighter.

Of course he would push you out of the way when a zombie threatened to take your life… to take you away from him.

He loved you… and that was just enough for him to hold himself back from sinking his jaws into your soft flesh.

A low growl escaped his lips as he buried his face into your throat. He needed to do something, the urge to spread the virus and infect you was pulsing through his veins…

It’s when you whimpered that he regained some control. His body no longer had control of itself, so the erection he’d been barely holding back every time he smelled your sweet scent was pressing into your crotch.

“Please… don’t go… I don’t wanna… lose you…”

You were crying, his sweet girl that tried your best to keep a smile on your face even at the toughest of times was crying.

And it made him almost… feral.

He snapped his jaws around the strap of your backpack, needing to bite down on something as he rubbed his bulge against you. He was humping you like a horny mutt, the veins in his face visible through his now pale skin.

“M…m…ine…” he growled, struggling to get the word out.

Hearing your soft whines and embarrassed moans made his chest rumble with some strange, satisfied purr, and his fingers were down your pants and in your panties, fumbling around with your pussy lips before sinking into cunt.

It wasn’t great, he could barely control the speed and way his fingers moved, but you were wet enough that he felt he fuck you without hurting the most precious person in his life.

Or well, death.

He ripped your pants off, not having the mobility to elegantly pull them down. Part of him felt bad, he knew you didn’t have many pairs now that the world ended, but this was a matter of life or death.

His cock was now large and swollen, a purplish tint to it. His engorged tip pressed against your tight hole, and he was unable to hold himself back from fucking into you.

For years he had fantasized about taking your virginity. In his head, he had imagined it would be somewhere romantic and he’d kiss your head, being as gentle as he could be.

But in reality he was rough, groaning as his hips jerked forward into yours. The pace was uneven, leaving you whimpering out and begging for him to be more gentle.

He wanted to be, god he wished this could feel as good to you as it did for him, but the virus was telling him to breed, to fill you up until you were close to bursting with his cum.

It lasted so long, too long. By the end you were a mess of tears and snot, your face flushed with embarrassment after orgasming so much.

But part of you was happy. Your friend seemed a bit more lucid after pumping you full of his hot and sticky load. His fingers awkwardly traced over your bulging, chubby belly, his head resting on your chest.

You didn’t go home alone that night… instead you still had your friend, and another member of the family along the way in your belly.

You’d do anything to keep him with you, after all… he did care for you, didn’t he? The two of you had been friends since you could remember… and if having to sit through a few hours of rough sex meant you could keep him by your side, then you’d do it.

Humans are social creatures after all.

If you want more, send me a Kofi! I really like this concept and would love to expand on it with my thoughts on how the relationship would progress :3

———————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 1 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: After getting attacked at the train station, you get rescued by a mysterious stranger. But is that really better?

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, attempted rape, violence, murder, hints of blood and gore, trauma talk

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

He was a twisted motherfucker. And you knew it was your own fault you ended up in his claws. But how could you have possibly known? After all, at first he seemed like the good guy.

Looking back, it was entirely lost on you, how he managed to pull that off.

You remembered vividly how it felt when you sat on the cold bench in the waiting area of the underground train station, just like you did every evening of your life. Except for Sundays. Sundays were reserved for books and tv shows, to numb out your mind. Sundays were for you.

Your thoughts had been occupied with work and the feeling of your lower body slowly freezing off.

UTI, honey. You'll get UTI, if you sit on cold surfaces for too long. Your mothers voice took up a lot of space in your head, despite the fact that the last time you saw her was years ago. It still made you feel uneasy, but there was not much you could do. She was your mother, your inner voice, your compass. The part of your mind that still relied on her advice didn't know that she was long gone from your life and for a reason.

The first thing you noticed was a pair of cold hands reaching for you. Everything seemed to be cold that day. And God, you hated the cold.

His cold hands reached for you and before you even realized it, he had you pinned against the bench, trapped in-between him and the cold surface. You didn't have time to react at all. His one cold hand went up to cover your mouth, while his other cold hand cupped your breast through the fabric of your clothes.

Of course you struggled. It was a reflex. You tried to fight him off as soon as you realized what was going on. You struggled and squirmed, at some point you even tried to knee him in the crotch. But he straddled your waist, keeping you down with his weight and you knew where this was leading.

You hadn't even seen his face. His ugly ass blue hat with the dove on top was pulled down deep in his face and you couldn't make out his eyes. Not that it would have changed anything, but it made everything even worse for you.

But what was by far the worst thing, wasn't the cold. It wasn't even the fact that the station was empty except for the two of you. The worst thing was that no sound came out when you opened your mouth to scream. No sound at all.

Oh, how you had feared that. The dream came often, frequently even and it was a shitty feeling every time, wanting to scream but no sound came out. Your throat was tight, your tongue useless, your lips parted in a silent plea.

No.

This was the end, you were sure.

He'd violate you and if you were lucky, he'd leave you like that, on the cold bench, to fend for yourself. But that wasn't your biggest fear. Your biggest fear was what would happen if he didn't decide to leave you like that.

Maybe it'd be quick. A blade to your throat and within a few minutes everything would finally be over.

But what if not?

A knot built in your stomach as you saw your future right infront of you. Sold off to some twisted people, spending the rest of your life as a tool for someone else's pleasure, someones amusement, someones-

No, being violated wasn't your worst fear.

Being sold off was.

At some point people would believe you were dead and then they'd stop searching.

Tears streamed down your face and your body shook with suppressed sobs as he ripped at your shirt impatiently. Your lips parted in another desperate plea, but still, no sound.

You were done for. This was your end. You couldn't breathe.

Until, suddenly, you could again.

You let out a shuddery gasp when you felt his weight lift off of you. You were frozen solid after you backed away against the wall.

The man appeared out of nowhere, looking like someone from a novel or a movie.

His hair, which looked like it was normally slicked back neatly, hung into his face as he dragged the man off you, his expression twisted into something you couldn't read.

You took a deep breath. In. And out. In. And out.

You were safe. The police would come, the man would get arrested and he wouldn't ever touch you again. You would finally see his eyes and-

Oh God.

You winced outwardly when you heard the cracking sound and the man with the blue hat went limp in his arms. His unreadable expression turned into something resembling smugness.

You watched in horror as he tossed the lifeless body onto the train line. The train came on time. Of course it did. Punctuality was a good deed, especially here in South Korea.

What you witnessed then was probably the most gruesome scene of your life and you immediately knew you would never get that picture out of your head.

The sound of a gunshot forced you back to reality and you winced painfully. When you looked up, you saw him still pointing his gun at the security camera in the left corner of the area. On his face a subtle smile. The twisted smile of an avenging angel...or an obvious demon.

He pushed the gun back beneath his waistline and held out his hand to you.

The man who had almost destroyed your life was dead, scattered across the train station in blood and gore and the man who would undoubtedly destroy your life held out his hand to you.

You heard your mothers voice again, small and subtle.

Don't take his hand, honey. Something's most definitely wrong with him. I bet he's dangerous.

That was what made you take his hand in the end. However bad he was, he couldn't possibly be worse than her, could he?

A few minutes later, he made a point of passing about every car on the highway.

"Where do you live?" His voice was like silk. It was terrifying.

After what had happened, you felt like you had stopped breathing for a while and just now were you slowly getting back to it again.

No ins and outs. Straight up hyperventilating.

"I- I don't know." You gasped out truthfully.

He cocked a brow and briefly glanced at you from the drivers seat.

"You don't know?"

You frantically shook your head.

"I always take the same path. From the train station, take a turn left and- and-"

"Where are you from, sweet girl?" His voice sounded so calm, as sweet as honey. It was almost offensive, it was infuriating.

"Yorkshire." You whispered without missing a beat.

He hummed softly and briefly eyed you up and down. "England, hm? I should have recognized from your grace and beauty."

Was he fucking flirting with you? After he just...just murdered someone?

"What takes you to South Korea then? School? Uni?"

"Work." You murmured, not even recognizing your own voice. But at least by now it was back. Fucking betrayed by your own body, wonderful.

He raised his brows as he passed another car in a nerve-wrecking speed.

"Work? You look a little young to be that far from home, working here. Do you even speak the language?"

You subtly shook your head and he nodded.

"I work with...with computers." You mumbled absentmindedly. In your head, the scene from earlier kept repeating like a broken record. All that blood...

He hummed again. An odd sound. He radiated such a calm energy, it was truly confusing.

"You were awfully quiet earlier." He remarked.

You swallowed back the lump in your throat and looked out of the window.

"Ah. Sore spot. I get it."

At first you had thought he might be taking you to the police station. But then you realized; after he just butchered someone down without flinching? Probably not.

Still, you had hope. That was until you saw the city sign disappear in the rear view mirror. This wasn't good. Maybe for once you should have listened to your mothers voice.

"Where are you taking me?" You asked quietly.

He didn't respond, just kept his gaze firmly on the highway before you. You kept glancing at him for a while, before eventually you looked down at your hands. You hadn't even realized how much they were shaking. You wanted to ask many, many questions.

Who the hell are you?

Where are we going?

Why did you kill that man?

...Am I next?

But all you managed was a quiet, desperate exhale.

"Are you hungry?" He asked matter-of-factly.

You thought back to the massacre and immediately felt nauseous again, so you shook your head.

"Yes, you are. You need to keep your strength. Don't worry, sweet girl. We'll be home soon. I'll take good care of you."

The cold sweat that broke out on your body was nearly painful. You knew he wasn't normal, but you couldn't yet tell to which extent he was crazy.

Was he just a little twisted?

He was a killer after all. And now you were with him. In his car. Maybe, just maybe you could...

You glanced down at the doorhandle, when his calm voice made you jump.

"Don't even think about it, sweet girl. That won't work. I'm driving so fast, the second your body hits the pavement, your head will explode like a balloon."

The was that tightness in your throat again. But this time something was different. He had his hands on the steering wheel, not on you. You could still breathe.

Suddenly you saw yourself again, sold off. And damn it, suddenly exploding didn't sound so bad anymore.

You furiously tugged on the door handle, but it didn't work. It was locked. You kept trying it desperately, a soft passing your lips. After a few moments you realized it was pointless.

Slowly you tilted your face back towards him, only to realize he was already watching you. He was still smiling that subtle, not at all genuine, smile, but this time something was different. It was like a cold fury had taken possession of his eyes.

Maybe he wasn't a demon. Maybe he was the devil.

"That one was free. Because we don't know each other all too well yet." He said slowly. "But next time, I won't be so forgiving."

You looked back at the street ahead of you. And suddenly you realized something. Maybe he was worse than your mother.

God, what a terrifying thought.

About half an hour later, there you were. Home.

A great apartment complex, somewhere God knows where.

Suddenly it hit you. He hadn't covered your eyes. Not in the car, not infront of the house, not in the elevator.

You weren't leaving this place, at least not alive.

He led you inside one of the apartments. To your surprise, everything looked pretty normal, except for the part that it looked fairly expensive.

The walls were painted in a warm apricot color and the floor was made of dark wood.

He led you deeper inside and you realized, it was indeed a normal flat. The couch was made of black leather and there was a giant bookshelf, next to a big tv. For some reason the sight of the bookshelf brought you an odd sense of comfort.

How bad could a person be, if he was well-read?

Your mind soon wandered off to Hannibal Lecter and you dismissed the thought.

"Sit."

You sat down on the couch as instructed. All the while you were careful to keep your shoes off the cream colored carpet so you wouldn't get it dirty. It was odd how your mind worked.

He followed your gaze, his expression unreadable again.

Then he crouched down before you, so you were eye level with him. His eyes were of a pretty brown and soulless to the core. You shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. He sized you up for a while, until eventually he sighed. An exaggerated, mocking sound.

"How do you like it here?"

Your insides twisted.

"It's pretty." You said in a choked whisper.

He laughed, a hearty, yet sarcastic sound.

"Look at you. Just look at you. Being my good girl already." He said slowly.

He leaned in so close that his breath tickled your ear. You forced yourself to stay still.

"The door can be opened only by me. The same goes for all windows. All the walls are soundproof. There's no way you can get out, until I want you to. Do you understand?" For the first time, his voice was low and you could grasp the subtle threat. He didn't pretend to be cheerful for once.

Or was it truly pretense?

You forced yourself to nod.

And just like that, his twisted smirk was back.

"Very well." He swiftly stood up. "What would you like for dinner?"

You slowly tilted up your head to read his expression. Read his intention. Read his character or the lack of it. But there was nothing. Nothing for you understandable, nothing that made any kind of sense.

"I'm not hungry." You whispered.

He pretended to pout, but eventually held out his hand to you again. A bittersweet deja-vu. As much as you wanted to refrain from taking it this time, you were far more afraid of what would happen if you refused him.

You hesitantly took his hand and he pulled you up to your feet.

"Maybe a nice, hot shower then?" He purred.

Of course. This time, it wouldn't be a faceless man with a blue hat to violate you, it would be him. The devil himself. You could already feel it, smell it and taste it. In the shower, on the bed, the kitchen counter, the floor and against the wall, until he grew tired of you.

That was why you were there. That had to be.

Before you could react, he had led you back to a spacious bathroom. Everything looked ridiculously clean and expensive. The freestanding tub was sparkling and the fluffy towels begging to dry you off.

He'd bend you over the tub. Maybe push your head under water. You knew he would. Just a minute more.

Instead, he gently ushered you inside.

"I'll get you something clean to sleep in." He said matter-of-factly. "I'll leave it infront of the door. Take as much time as you need."

With that, he disappeared and closed the door behind him. Your eyes widened almost comically. You then rushed forward to lock the door, which worked with ease. Next, the window. You tugged on the handle, desperate to open it. Not that it would have made any sense, you were too high above the street. But the thought of opening the window still filled you with hope. Like maybe, at least there would be one way out.

When nothing worked, you tried to break the glass. But you quickly noticed it was no normal glass. He hadn't lied. The windows provided no way out.

You slumped down below the sink and cried for a while. To no great surprise of yours, your tears ran dry quickly and you just sat in silence for a while.

You were trapped.

And you had no idea what you were here for.

After what felt like half an hour, you got up with shaky legs and decided to check if the door was truly locked. It was. You unlocked it and perked your head out, only to realize he had left you a bathrobe outside, as well as slippers and a nightdress. It was pretty basic, made of cotton. But it wasn't revealing or anything. The thought was oddly comforting. You picked up the clothes and disappeared back into the room, where you locked the door and sighed.

Your eyes settled on the tub and you thought, why the hell not?

You made quick process of it. You got rid of your sweat-soaked clothes and stepped into the tub. The water filled up the tub rather quickly. At least the warmth of it provided some kind of comfort. You poured some scented lavender oil in and sunk deeper down.

You didn't dare close your eyes though. You were still sure he would come and take what he wanted. Mayhe he just wanted you to be clean first? He would come. He surely would.

But he didn't. Minutes passed, another half an hour. And he didn't come. You rinsed off and stepped out of the tub. The giant, fluffy towels felt heavenly against your skin. It was almost like you were in a hotel. Except for the murder and abduction part.

You slipped into the nightdress and the slippers and towel dried your long hair. Then you folded the towel neatly and placed it on the radiator. After a few long, deep breaths you carefully stepped outside. The cold air brought you back to reality as you followed back the same path he had led you earlier. You were surprised to find the living room empty, but you heard rustling sounds from the kitchen.

And then your gaze settled on the door.

It were less than five steps. You could make it. You could. If you were quick and took off the slippers, you could stealthily...

"Sweet girl?" That fake sweetness again, with the hint of underlying warning to it. You swallowed thickly and looked up. He stood in the doorway and looked at you with something resembling a warm smile.

"How was your bath?"

You stood frozen. Five small steps. If you thudded against the door loud enough, maybe someone might hear. Alert the police. Rescue-

"I asked you a question."

"Good." You whispered. And involuntarily added: "Thank you."

Good girl, purred your mothers voice.

But all he did was smile.

"Come, I made dinner. Just a few bites."

Your mind drifted back to Hannibal Lecter and you nearly spat. A careful glance into the kitchen and...

Pancakes. You gasped in relief.

He tilted his head to the side, smiling softly.

"You don't like pancakes?"

"I do." You whispered involuntarily.

They might be poisoned, but the fact that you hadn't eaten anything since lunch at work got the better of you. He slowly guided you into the kitchen and sat you down on one of the chairs, before he sat down opposite you.

He caught you staring down at the food suspiciously, which made him chuckle.

"They're not poisoned."

When you still didn't move, he rolled his eyes and took a bite off your fork. He chewed and swallowed with a smug expression.

"See?"

You reluctantly moved. They weren't bad. Pretty good even. You chewed carefully and never took your eyes off him. He did the same. And he still looked so unbelievably calm.

After you finished eating and downed a glass of water, you stared at him...expectantly.

His smirk widened.

"A curious little bird, aren't you?"

He narrowed his eyes somewhat and reached out to touch your cheek. "You cried."

To your surprise, when you flinched, he pulled his hand back and hummed softly.

"No need to cry, sweet girl. I'll take care of you. All you have to do is agree."

You already regretted asking. "Agree to what?"

He leaned back and bared his teeth in a predatory smile.

"Being mine."

Your brows furrowed in confusion and straight up stress. The calming effects of the bath were slowly fading away.

"What?"

"Mine, sweet girl. My girl."

"Your girl?" You asked somewhat incredulously, which was something he didn't seem to appreciate.

He reached out and cupped your face in his hand, his grip firm, but not painful. Yet. Your heart immediately skipped several beats.

"Oh, you will agree, sweet girl. The question is, will you agree willingly? Or do I have to make you?" He narrowed his eyes even further.

"Who are you, sweet girl?"

You stared up at him with wide, fearful eyes. Something told you that there was no right answer to that question.

And then, in a rare fit of courage, you said your name.

He took a long, deep breath and slowly dropped his hand from your chin.

"That's very tragic, sweet girl."

With a disapproving tsk he shook his head.

"Unfortunately, that was the wrong answer."

[isenkus]

may I request miss🙋🏻‍♀️ some high nsfw katsuki

warnings for nsfw, p star! katsuki, no quirk college au, consumption of weed n alc, masturbation, fem! reader, it’s a cliffhanger i’m sorry i don’t have the brain rn

katsuki bakugo would become a porn star entirely on accident.

the topic would surge from time to time in his friend group, mostly as a joke. because "gosh, bakugo! you have the body of a porn star! you sure you're not on some secret account we don't know about?" and it really got to him. what does a porn star body look like, anyway? it's a mystery to him, as he pulls out his phone on incognito and...

he's in disbelief. he's actually looking up porn. never in his life would katsuki bakugo ever think of doing so. katsuki feels like he'd be less guilty if he's not sober whatsoever, so he's searching multiple accounts on his twitter throwaway with one hand as the other holds a small joint. it's not long before his eyes are completely red, pants and boxers slid down to his ankles, and videos recommended by kaminari going on auto-play.

but he's not satisfied, not one bit. he stopped caring for physique videos ago, he's now entertained by the poor technique. with blurry vision, he reads the replies and quote tweets, expressing their inconformities. comments like "god, her moans sound so fake", or "can't he stroke it slowly? i want it to last" make his mind run. katsuki bakugo was lost in the world of constructive criticism, while his ego began to chew at him.

he can do better than those stupid extras, right?

of fucking course. he's katsuki bakugo. but he's not gonna fucking do it. nope. never.

katsuki bakugo is a lightweight. he feels like he's sitting on the moon instead of his couch as he's gulping down some cheap rum his friends bought the week prior. and soon enough, his camera app is open, cock fully on display, and he's stroking it for a few good minutes. and the camera catches everything—how his cock twitches every time his strokes get slower, how the tip was reddish and filled with precum from the very beginning, his heavenly moans, his white-knuckled grip, and how his knees shake as he comes undone and stains his red, velvet couch.

and he has the video on twitter as a draft, half written caption and all. katsuki needs to visualize how it would look like if he posted. until he does. his finger slips, and the video and half caption are posted. at first, katsuki is mortified and doesn’t know what to do, until he sees a person liking and commenting. he decides to leave it up until he sobers up.

twelve hours and a huge hangover later, user 00179359027728kb is a twitter porn sensation.

thousands of users express their love for him, asking and demanding for more videos, as well as wishing to be his partner in crime. when katsuki realizes he can monetize this, he suddenly has dollar signs for eyes. a few videos later and katsuki bakugo is famous.

so famous, in fact, that one of your friends is in love with him, despite only seeing the lower half of his face. she raves about him to you on the daily, and as a result you find yourself creating a throwaway to watch his videos, and damn—katsuki is fucking sensational. he’s an icon, and you wish he were in your bed right then and there.

but he’s quickly discarded by your own brain as you get ready for an outing. it’s a nice, weekend night, and your friends are ready to go clubbing. once you get there it’s… okay, you suppose. dim lighting, people stuffed like sardines in a can, and the occasional couple eating their faces in the corner. you know the many cocktails you had are catching up to you once you accidentally bump into a person, and as you turn to apologize, you’re stunned.

“y’should watch where you’re going.”

“i’m so sorry, i didn’t see y—wait—are you that kb guy from twitter?”

he’s like a deer in headlights. “…that depends. who’s askin’”

“name’s y/n” you giggle, “i know you cause i have a friend who’s nuts for you.”

you officially pique katsuki‘s interest. his eyebrow rises as he smirks, “oh, is she?” he tilts his head to the side, “what about you, sweets? you watch me too?”

shyly, you nod. his smirk gets bigger as he steps closer, “she here? i don’t really do pictures, though.”

“do you do videos?”

liquid courage. it would cost you a lot to even say that sober, and you blame your drunken state for your boldness. katsuki bakugo has that fiery look in his eye as he laughs. “sure i do, sweets. you wanna be the first model for my page or is it just to spite yer friend?”

first?

only model is your goal. you’re determined to make that happen.

“bathroom? in 5?”

“ya got it, captain.”

[strab3rr]

(long story and no short sorry) GUYSSS I DID ITT

I INDUCED IT!!!!! I WAS PURE AS A FUCKING BABY

IDK WHAT TO SAY (ok enough w capslock)

i have so much to say and not a thing at da same time idk how

anyway i want to begin with thanking you @b4ddprincess bc youre the reason i realized why i started this thing. thank you for making my life better and make me realized what i need to do: nothing. (its same for you guys, all u have to do is nothing)

two fuckn years ago i said to myself that i need a better life, quiter life, less fight with everthing bc everything was so loud and not clear i was feeling lost like a child in the market, and i wanted to make things better for myself in every way, but the main idea of my reasons to wanting to get in the void was: making anxiety go and having better people in my life. but the ''voidlist'' just never stopped bc im kinda greedy(having the idea of controling on your life, the idea of that power makes you greedy. yes thats a thing) anyway the more i add to the list the more i feel like im movin away from my desires then i feel depressed bc ive overcomplicating it bc theres so many things to do but i dont do anything so nothing happend bc i was waiting to be someth happen. and then i started doing awkwardly silly things such as: void routines and challenges and (im embarrassed of this one bc i was too desperate) drinking water

youve read it correct drinking water.

i was sooo desperate for having those things id do anything to get them.

i am simple. i want what everyone wants🎀🎀🎀: shifting realities bc i have so many crush and i need them to be crush me in bed(for 2020 girlies)

being an academic weapon is so easy for me🎀(bc of the urge to make my family proud) +dream collage

being the girl that everyone gets along w(basic needs)

being the girl who is pretty not cute(trauma response)

glowing aura(cats loves people w glowing aura yes thats a thing too)

dream body n hair(bc i deserve this🎀)

healthy (girlyfriend)friends(basic needs)

and of course him, my sp(i cant tell wich one at that time but i releived that its not him now, bc MY BELOVED CURRENT BF. guyss he is the one. dont u dare ask me how you know? i literally manifested him🎀)

then i realized i can have everything bc its my reality so why not add these:

new phone, +macbook air

dream apartment of my own

pinterest closet

lifa app for this reality

financially free-money(a lot. like really a lot)

knowing 4 languages like a native person(bc i want to be diplomat so bad) +sign language(its in general)

a little drama(its not gonna hurt anybody)

my parents being more lovable and away from me

every time i try to get in, either i was failing or falling

and im sick of it, sick of it so much i quit.(for a year)

then i go to the theraphy(ofc no im jk ilove being crazy)

one day i saw a post ss from tumblr about pure consciousness on pinterest and i was like whaat is thiiss. no mention of void so i thougt its a diffrent thing and i download the tumblr again and search everything abt it. and same excitement again after one year same thougts and same list popes up in my head. and i was like ok maybe this time itll happen.

still waiting to be someth happen so nothing happend, it was such a waste of time trying to get in while i was already be, i was already what i want to become. i was that girl that everyone gets along with but i couldnt even see bc i was too focused on wanting to be. but still tried every night and failed. and again tried-failed-quit circle bc.. have you ever met me🎀

4 month ago i saw the girl, iconic blogger and the goddess of my dreams, her @b4ddprincess thx again love u so much

a post pops in my fyp and i see the words ''pure consciousness'' i was like noo not again. and i was serious abt it i wasnt gonna read the whole thing but it attract me n i couldnt resist it so ive read it from the top to the bottom. and she got my interest so i stalked her page from the last and to the first post. it was quiet a beautiful journey for me. lasted like 3 days, the end of the 3rd day i was ''woaw it was this easy all along? u cant be serious.'' she was. i tried one last time, no breathing exercise, no ridiculous routines and no waiting something to be happen. it was just me being real me chilling out asf.

and it was this easy and it should be this easy bc being your 4d self is being nothing also being everything at the same time. if u wanna be everything you should be nothing first(as wizardliz saying: drop the old story, leave the victimhood, for being better stop being bitter etc.)u should make a space for everything first and then u can be everything.

for being 4d self of yours stop being your3dself.

sooo long story (no)short i am writing this from my mac in my new apartment(in middle of the night bc i couldnt sleep and then one tumblr notification reminded me i have a success story to share too) and my phone buzzing two minutes a time bc of my friends while im writing this, so if theres anything wrong ignore it pls.

oh u asking my bf how cute, hes sleepin in my bed now, exhausted from the work n school balance.

YWS SCHOOL!! im in my dream collage and im going to be in paris for a week. i deserve a vacation i guess(its for another conference), i kinda hate french men bc theyre so mansplaning(not like how i imagined, its hard to be friends w them)girls are cute but i feel like theyre aware im not permanent there so we just con buddies still cute and hepful for this foreigner.

and i canceled the lifa app thingy bc i can be my purest consciousness anytime i want, so i am my lifa app.

and thx to 4 languages i make a lot of money and that brings us to the pinterest closet, yesterday i realiased that. theyre not comes to me w an imaginary way like i imagined! i go outside for shopping casually and theyre there luckily i have enough money to buy them.

and my family theyre living in our hometown now so as i want it to be, we are away from eachother.

and the most magical thing: SHIFTING REALITIESSS

i did 5 world before i met w my bf. it was such a wonderful experience. if you have doubts abt shifting you can go fuck urself

because sir i did it and i am very sure that dean winchester being my husband is not a daydream, fantasy nor lucid dreaming. believe it or not he kissed me GOD HE KİSSED ME(someone should stop me i have a bf)

is there anything i missed let me see.. cats i have 2 cats now and theyre adorable. glowing aura-check

the girl who is pretty not cute- check +make anxietygo-checkcheckcheck

dream body and hair- check and check

i wanna give u a info i didnt have all my desires by being my4dself

not directly actually. but i have them all. and thats the point.

im not trying to be a blogger but if you have any question abt anything, id be happy to help

now i need to upgrade things in my farm byeess

loves, siena.

[pellowinksx]

Where I was, what happened, and why I'm back so soon. My most personal manifestation and mistakes that should never be made again. (a success story)

My biggest ever insecurity was my hair. I had midlength, frizzy, weird curls that would never define no matter what. It looked like a matted rat almost I hated it.

Even after learning the law and manifesting other stuff, my body, face, anything. I just COULDN'T get my hair to change. I was always so aware of it I could always feel it. I could always see it in my silhouette.

So the 3D was smacking me in the face again and again. I had been trying to change my hair to better defined curls for a year. Yes, a year. Even me who has helped so many of you with my blog. It took me a year to manifest. What I did and the mistakes I made; I did robotic affirmations just like I manifested everything else. But it still, didn't work.

No matter what I did. I was in a spiral, I tested my abilities and I manifested so many other things but I just couldn't change my hair no matter what I did. Until literally 20 hours ago I posted this. Telling you guys that I would be taking a short break from posting and I would come back after manifesting something. I had expected it to take around a week or two for me to lock in, but no. It took only 22 hours.

What did I do? I locked in. I read success stories that MY OWN followers sent me. I had kept repeating to myself "ignore and affirm, ignore and affirm," And then I finally identified what was wrong. You know the saying that's like "when you can write down a problem, you already solved it halfway" well that's kind of what it was like for me.

I did psych-k and I asked myself "there are 2 reasons why I don't have my desired hair" I did the pull test and it was correct. I had 2 things I needed to fix. Then it just came to me, I said "one reason is because I just acknowledged I don't have it" did the pull test, it was correct. then, next I said "the next reason is because I would search for an answer" did the pull test, and It was correct. So my mistake, was questioning. Even if it was only in my actions and not my words. And my next mistake was kind of knowing that I didn't have it.

I locked in after that. I chose a very simple affirmation "I have jet black long curls" It wasn't that specific but my desire was long wavy/ish defined jet black hair that went down to my butt. And before you say "but pink didn't you already say you manifested long hair?" I did. And I lied. That was an affirmation. I was pretending to "act as if" when I wrote that. That was my wrong-doing, but please be assured I haven't lied about anything else.

Anyways- So I affirmed all day and I kept doing the pull test "I have jet black curls, I have jet black long curls" and every-time I pulled my interlocked fingers it assured me "yes, you have it" So then I went to sleep the next day. I didn't wake up with it this morning until I had an epiphany. The law. Is instant. No matter what you see. Your subconscious assumes after ONE affirmation. I told myself "I have assumed my desire" over and over this morning.

Until around an hour ago I passed the mirror without looking at it. But in my peripheral vision I saw a long black **thing** flowing around while I was walking. I stopped in my tracks and turned around. Lo and behold I had my desired hair. I was just staring and staring at it. I finally ran my fingers through my long curls, in shock and awe. And the best part is? I REVISED it. My mom asked me why I kept looking at my hair like that, and she was like "It looks extra nice today" not even questioning why or how it grew like 20 inches in a day.

My advice and a specific list of what I did.

Do not question where it is. Do not affirm "I have it" and then ask a blogger "where is it?" Do not acknowledge you don't have it. Don't affirm "I have it" and then be like "yeah I don't actually have xyz" How I fixed it and my new perception of the law: thing 1. Your subconscious can get confused, it can assume but not understand why you just said you don't have it. That's not a punishment, you're just not letting the law work. How to fix this: Affirm and don't contradict. Don't contradict in your actions. Don't ask a blogger where it is, or vent to an open ai (what I did lmao) If you ever feel a thought about it not being in your favor, just tell yourself "it has confirmed already" and try ignoring it for the rest of the day. Thing 2. The seed gets planted immediately. "I have thing" Your subconicous immediately accepts it and makes space for you to have thing. Then what? Affirm or go about your day. Accept that thing is already yours now. Even if you don't feel like it, just tell yourself "it has confirmed" or "it will confirm" Thing 3. You do not need to affirm so many times. I know my thing is robotic affirmations and saturation but honestly...Its already done. The reason why I think robotic affirming is so affective is because after you affirm once BOOM your subconicous is like "YES WE HAVE THING! NOW LET ME JUST MAKE SPACE FOR IT" but if you keep affirming again, and again, and again and leave no choice for doubts to arise, your subconicous will literally purge your desires. Its almost like you've overstimulated it. Don't make my mistakes. Now, How do we manifest literally anything we want? Its not "affirm and persist in affirmation until you see it" for me anymore. Its "affirm a little, remind, and stop asking" What do I mean by that? Affirm once or twice honestly. And then remind yourself "it has confirmed already" And then don't ask where it is anymore. you affirm its not here or if you ask anyone, just don't validate the old story. Don't make my mistakes. This was my biggest manifestation ever. Bigger than my parents becoming millionaires or me being popular among my friends. If you have a manifestation so important to you or you're trying to get rid of an insecurity, just try very hard to trust yourself and trust the law. Because your subconicous has already assumed just let it do its thing in the meantime. Thank you for reading if you've got this far, ciao my loves ✨

[crescenthistory]

i hear searching for fluff. i raise you cat animagus reader and the animal politics that come with being a cat. oh that’s a glass of water you’ve placed on the counter? what a perfect place for my paw to go. they’re a total goodie two shoes but can never stop themselves from swatting at and generally terrorizing sirius, dog form or not. i’ve seen so many videos of woodland animals like stags befriending cats or stealing their food and everyone just being like “wdym i didn’t know they could do that”. reader starts slow blinking at people without realizing. i could go on for forever i would love to see shenanigans and hijinks

beautiful thoughts, i enjoyed all of them. i let them inspire me into a drabble situation of cat!reader terrorising sirius with reg (and rem) on her side. this is just pure chaos and silliness, thank you for the opportunity lovie<3

Words: 2.4k

Warnings: not proofread, fem!reader, no use of y/n but your cat form is called "whiskers", james and sirius pranked you mildly, you get revenge as a cat, you are only in cat form throughout this, sibling squabbles, super minor injuries (you put your claws in sirius), platonic physical affection, general chaos and fluff

Note: this is technically in the same universe as my other two (first, second) cat!animagus!reader fics with regulus, but can be read alone. it is more of a platonic!sirius x reader fic though, it focusses on the interactions between them + reg, rem and james

Sirius had been made aware by many a parent, professor and otherwise nosey adult, that actions had consequences. Which was all fine and dandy with him, the consequences were often the sole inspiration for his actions. 

This, however. This, they did not warn him about.

“Ow, ow, ow!” he hissed, trying to shake the feline creature off his shoulder. 

Just a few seconds ago, she had been innocently peering down on his textbook, front paws resting on his shoulders as she stood on the top of the sofa he was reclining against. That didn’t last long though, as her claws came out and dug in through the fine material of his shirt, seeking the pain and destruction this evil creature seemed to live off of.

Unaffected by his shaking, she elegantly climbed down his arm – claws still out and still using him as leverage – to plop onto the table before them with a soft prrt!

“Remus, your friend is hurting me,” Sirius sneered at his boyfriend who was sat in a grandfather chair beside him, flipping through a newspaper Sirius was quite certain was out of date.

The other boy hummed noncommittally. “Does she have reason to?” he asked without looking up from the paper.

“No!” Sirius exclaimed at the same time as Regulus said, “absolutely.”

He shot his brother a glare on the other side of the sofa. He was reading through a novel in pristine condition, only looking up to glance fondly at the menace currently parading around the coffee table. Sirius was growing miffed that none of his hangout companions were sparing him any attention.

“I haven’t done anything, and if I had the minx should be over it by now.” Sirius did his best to seem authoritative, but he had a tough crowd.

You hissed at him from where you were standing on the table. Regulus looked up at that with mirth swimming in his eyes despite his impassive facial expression.

“She seems to disagree, Pads,” Remus said nonchalantly. “She’s also been running around as Whiskers for the past few hours, which she only does when she is either really pleased and really upset.”

“And she’s not pleased,” Regulus added unhelpfully.

Sirius muttered something under his breath that amounted to “I wouldn’t be pleased either, if I had to be in a relationship with such a grump” to which he received a throw pillow to the face, another hiss and an admonishing “Pads”.

"It was just a little prank," Sirius defended himself. "It's quite literally what we do." He didn't feel the need to go into the specifics; this was a dog he wanted to bury yesterday. Or, well, cat.

"To no one's enjoyment but your own, I'm sure," Regulus huffed. "If she's bothered by it, that's entirely her right."

Sirius looked to Remus for some backing up, and when he found none, he let out another groan, collapsing further into the sofa in his evident despair.

He would have happily stayed there, bitching and moaning as he pleased, had it not been for the suspicious sounds coming from the coffee table.

There, he found that you had not looked away from him and were sitting disturbingly close to the little homework station he had sat up earlier to then promptly ignore – an open textbook, half-written essay, quill and unscrewed inkpot. The look in your eyes was one you had picked up from Remus in your early days together, full of mischief and tomfoolery. 

“Don’t you even dare–” Sirius managed to get out as he sat up in his seat and pointed a chiding finger at you, but the damage was done.

With what almost sounded like cat laughter – something most unknowing students would brush off because why would a cat laugh but Sirius knew all too well must be your joy at his expense – you knocked over his inkpot. The pot was almost full and the ink fell right on top of his essay and textbook. He let out a half-screech as he moved forward to correct the damage, but you walked straight into the pool of ink, ensuring you were spreading it further around his essay and the feather of his quill. 

Regulus let out an unrestrained bark of laughter as Sirius sank to the floor in front of you, blabbering anger, while Remus simply snorted as he shook his head, choosing not to get involved yet.

“You furry bastard!” Sirius called out as he picked up his parchment, trying to shake some of the excess ink off, only worsening its condition. “You absolute menace.”

Some of the ink he shook off got on your fur, adding to what was already coating your paws from dragging it around. You solved this in the only manner that made sense in cat-world – by launching yourself at Sirius, effectively doubling his screeches within the second.

“Oi! Oi!” Sirius kept calling as you hopped onto his chest, burying your claws into him so he couldn’t simply shake you off, ink smearing all over Sirius’ previously white shirt. The assault of a lifetime, if you asked him. “Azkaban! Azkaban for all of you!” he called when he saw Regulus doubling over with laughter on the opposite end of the sofa.

“Pads! What’s going on, mate?” James’ voice called as he came half-running over after spotting the commotion the second he entered the common room. 

Sirius opened his mouth to reply, but upon James spotting the feline devil currently attempting to smear more of the ink across his being, he interrupted with a coo. 

“Oh, hi there little Whiskers!” James greeted, bending down to pick you up by the neck. In that James-Potter-way he simply peeled you off of Sirius and held you out before him, just far enough that the ink wouldn’t get on him. “What’s got you in such a tizzy, huh?” he asked, poking at you with his free hand which earned him a petulant hiss.

“The bloody puma destroyed my essay and leaped at me,” Sirius huffed as he clambered back up, ignoring how he sounded like a first year telling on a classmate to McGonagall.

“I believe she is seeking revenge from that little stunt you two pulled earlier,” Remus drawled from his seat, sharing a look with Regulus who rolled his eyes. They knew.

“Which is fully within her right, I must add,” Regulus said, ever the devoted boyfriend. Bloody lucky you. “And she’s not a puma, you wanker, you’re just scared of cats.”

“Slander! ‘M not!” Sirius defended himself, but James ignored him, turning his attention to the cat wriggling in his grip.

“Did we upset you, little kitten?” James asked so friendly you almost wouldn’t catch the teasing in his tone. “So sorry. Next time we’ll hex your tie a different colour. Robe too, yeah?”

Upon receiving another hiss from you and a lunge of your paw, James outright giggled and petted the top of your head carefully, neutralising you if for but a moment.

“How come she’s forgiving you right away? I have had my property destroyed and was lightly maimed in her quest for revenge!” Sirius shook his head in disapproval, attempting to stare you down. It wasn't turning out to be fruitful.

“Sirius, I have a question for you.” Regulus didn’t continue until Sirius reluctantly met his gaze. “Did you know – and be honest with me now – that you’re a wizard?”

Before Sirius could give him a snarky response, Regulus had waved his wand casually over the ink pools on the table and stains on his clothes, cleaning both up effectively as if nothing had happened. Then he gave Sirius a smug smile that made him want to turn into Padfoot and lunge at him – which probably wasn’t a good idea given there were other people in the room.

“Imbécile grossier,” Sirius muttered under his breath as he kicked a leg out at Regulus, intended more for effect than harm.

He received a “connard stupide” in return as Regulus dodged any further assault by getting up and walking over to James, who was now fully petting the rabid killer, whispering something about “please forgive me, it was just too funny not to”. Traitor. 

“Hey there, amour,” Regulus said as he picked you up out of James’ arms. “Are you regretting marrying into the family?”

You made a huffing sound, climbing out of his arms to settle along his shoulders, over his neck, were you could cuddle against him while still scowling at Sirius.

“You and me both, sister,” Remus mumbled half-heartedly. Sirius gasped at him with every theatrical bone in his body, earning him an eye roll and – at last – for Remus to abandon the paper to give him a quick smooch.

“I didn’t realise sister-in-laws were allowed to be as sibling-y as an actual sister,” James mused as he folded his arms to take in the scene before him. 

“She’s not,” Sirius argued, extracting another eye roll from Remus who patted his thigh placatingly. “Cats are just evil.”

“You could always confront her as Pads, you know, level the playing field,” James suggested.

“Absolutely not.” Regulus turned around so his body was shielding the cat on his shoulders from the three boys. “Not that I doubt she would win against your clumsy self any day, but let’s not even go there.”

Sirius and James barked a laugh that was disturbingly similar while Remus shook his head. “Don’t worry Reg, the less time I can spend around kittens, the better,” Sirius said briskly, feeling emboldened by James’ presence. 

You poked your head around Regulus’ neck at that, so that the two of you could share a look. It’s always peculiar for Sirius to see how much understanding seems to pass between you two, especially when in different forms altogether. It's not something he expected for his baby brother and he feels his heart warm at the display – which he promptly pushes down to focus on the war currently playing out in Gryffindor.

As if you two reached an agreement through just that look, you butted your head against Regulus’ cheek while he nodded. Carefully, he manoeuvred you into his arms and plopped you down on the armrest of Remus’ chair, and disappeared from sight to a secluded corner of the common room.

“What in Merlin’s name just happened?” Sirius mused out loud, exchanging bemused glances with James who plopped down beside him.

“Oh, I’m sure it was nothing good.” Remus smiled through his words as he freed one of his hands to scratch under your chin, causing you to purr and brush your feline body closer to his arm. Sirius would be remiss if he didn’t think the sight of pure love between you two wasn’t adorable, but to hells if he would admit it before you two reached a truce. 

Your purring was interrupted as you let out a soft prrt! for seemingly no apparent reason, and reached up to give Remus’ cheek a soft cat kiss – that made the boy’s face crinkle into a smile – before jumping down onto the floor. There, Sirius saw the reason for your joy and felt his heart drop in his chest.

“Oh, hi, Shadow,” Remus greeted the black cat that made a beeline for you on the floor, brushing his body against yours with soft purrs. “Come to join in on your brother’s torment?”

“Absolutely not–” Sirius started, but before he could get up and out of his seat, both cats had jumped up onto his legs and made their way to his lap. “What are you guys doing? Get off?!”

James was giggling once more beside him and Sirius had half a mind to throw the cats at him and run away. Though, he was beginning to doubt whether he would be able to as he saw the determination in Regulus’ eyes.

“I believe they’re making you eat your words, love.” The smile in Remus’ voice was so evident that had he not been as handsome as he was, Sirius would have smacked him.

His arms were frozen at his sides, hands hovering in the air, unsure of where to go as he watched the two cats settle down in his lap in horror. Your bodies were horizontal with his and flush against each other’s, becoming liquid in the cuddle puddle you were currently creating.

Sirius tried hissing at you to no avail as Regulus only slapped him with his paw in response. He tried shifting slightly to push you off, but you buried your claws through the fabric of his trousers – Sirius would give Remus a run for his money as the scarred one of the group after you were finished with him. He tried looking to James and Remus for help, but neither boy were willing as they took far too much enjoyment in the show. Remus at least pretended not to as he “read”, but James was fully angled towards him to see the events unfold, shoulders shaking with mirth. 

A sigh escaped Sirius as he accepted his fate. “I hate you lot,” he said decisively. “Each and every one of you.”

Regulus made a noise that sounded like it was in disagreement with his statement while Remus just hummed. James nodded his head as if to say “fair”.

You, however, picked your head up from where it was resting over Regulus’ and just stared at Sirius. Usually he felt like he could read you quite well in feline form, which he assumed was due to some skills of Padfoot’s transferring over, but right now you were impossible to understand. You held his gaze head on, almost as if you were studying him, but your breaths were coming so slowly you had to be calm, right? Though this forced proximity was clearly a form of punishment, you were growing comfortable. Was he forgiven?

His train of thought was interrupted as the staring competition you had for a few seconds was interrupted – by you blinking. Slowly. Keeping your gaze on him but fully closing your eyes intermittently.

A slow grin spread across Sirius’ face.

He didn’t know a lot about cats and he principally disliked them. But he did know what that meant.

“Yeah, yeah, princess,” he mumbled as his cheeks almost grew a bit red. “You too.”

[thebestandworstdayofjune]

i only see daylight

summary: a few months before the Pittfest shooting, Dana calls you to the ED to calm down Dr. Robby, who's had a rough shift. This is a follow up to a fic I’ve already posted, linked below. This is a prequel, so it’s not strictly necessary to read that first! previous wc:  2 k+  a/n:  Please feel free to send any requests my way! Title taken from Daylight by Taylor Swift warnings: general fluff, canon typical stress

A single text from Dana had sent you running for the emergency department doors. ‘Any time to stop by today?’ You did your best not to panic, but she wasn’t one to ask you to come to the hospital without reason to. It was your day off from the bakery, but you’d spent it in the kitchen nonetheless. Batches of banana bread had already been packed in a bag that you planned to pawn off on the next emergency department worker that was sure to stop in the next morning, but there was no reason to wait, emergency or no, so you threw it over your shoulder on the way out the door. 

The walk was short, but stretched out in front of you dauntingly. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you did your best to take steadying breaths in the interest of not needing a bed once you arrived. You’d long ago been given permission to come through the ambulance bay, but it still felt like you were committing a bit of a crime. You smiled at the EMTs waiting in the ambulance bay and made your way to the nurse’s station, finding Donna on the phone with her glasses perched on her head. She spotted you and tucked the phone against her chest. “Hey, doll,” she called, before whoever was on the other end of the receiver demanded her attention. It seemed the emergency could wait a moment or two. 

You snuck into the staff room, depositing a few loaves of banana bread on the counter along with a little note inviting people to take a slice along with a few plates and napkins. It wasn’t uncommon for all of the dishes to be stuck in the sink, so you took it upon yourself to keep some paper plates and things stocked for them, bringing extra with any treats as well. You allowed yourself a small smile before heading back into the fray. 

“He’s on a tear today.” Heather had fallen into step beside you. You peaked at her, not breaking your stride. There was no need to ask who she was talking about, there’s only one doctor you seem to have a special sauce for calming down.

“What provoked him this time?” you ask, clasping your hands in front of you. 

“What makes you think someone provoked him?” she asked, laughing softly. “You are too nice, sometimes.” 

You shrug, unsure how to respond. 

“Thank god you’re here.” Frank falls into step on your other side. “I wasn’t sure Gloria would live to see the end of the day at this rate.” 

“You’re so dramatic,” you sigh, but take his sarcasm as a sign that things are maybe not as calm as you first suspected. “Banana bread in the breakroom.” 

“If I wasn’t already married…” 

“Go before I tell Abby about this.” you laugh, bumping your shoulder against his arm. The threat was empty, just like his flirting. It used to freak you out, but after meeting Abby and seeing the way they worked together, you knew that he was harmless. Some assurance from Michael on the matter hadn’t hurt either. 

He turned on his heel, marching straight for the room you’d just left. “How bad is it?” you asked Heather, searching the central rooms instead of meeting her eyes. 

“He’s been snippy, Gloria’s caught the most of it but he’s…” she hesitated, searching for the right words. “You know how he gets.” 

You nod, knowing that this likely wasn’t an easy day for anyone. You were searching for the right thing to say when a med student appeared at Heather’s side, pulling her away. She gave you a look that said ‘I’m sorry’, but you were quick to give her one that insisted you were okay in return. 

You flopped into a chair on Dana’s right, glad to see that she was off the phone. “What can I do for you, my love?” you ask, turning the chair side to side. 

“He’s finishing up with a patient in Central 7,” she said, not looking up from her tablet. 

“And?” 

“And we both know you’ll calm him right down.” 

“High expectations,” you huff, examining a hangnail you hadn’t noticed until now. 

You felt Dana’s gaze on you before you even looked up. “I tried it all. I fed him, I plied him with coffee and that special creamer you left last week.” you fought down the heat in your cheeks, knowing that you’d been caught. You always insisted the things you left were for no one in particular, and you were a terrible liar. “We ran interference on Gloria but she’s slippery today.” 

For someone who was not employed at this hospital, Gloria was a surprisingly large thorn in your side. She had a way of choosing the most inopportune time to bother your friends, and you were left to pick up the pieces. You heaved a deep breath, steadying yourself for what you needed to do. “I’ll give it my best shot.” 

Dana laid a hand on your shoulder, squeezing firmly. “I know, doll.” 

The curtain to Central 7 thwipped open, revealing your grumpy friend rubbing at the back of his neck. He took a deep breath before shaking his hand, shoving his hands in the pockets of his zip up. You gave him a once over, noting the lines between his brows and the way his shoulders were nearly touching his ears. Gloria really did a number on him. You waited for his gaze to drift your way, not wanting to overwhelm him if he wasn’t ready to talk. You knew how to help but you weren’t keen on making him feel like he had to accept it. 

He stopped to talk to Samira, who was your favorite of the residents, not that you’d ever admit to having one in front of anyone else. After a few moments, she caught your eye over Michael’s shoulder, and her eyes lit up. She offered you a little wave, but Micahel didn’t see, already checking over his shoulder. 

You gave him a sheepish smile, doing your best not to curl in on yourself. He said a few words to Samira, nodding once before making his way to the nurse’s station. He leaned on the opposite side of the counter, shoulders hunching as he leaned on the desk. He gave you a once over, checking you over for signs of sickness or injury, half a byproduct of his job and half because he had a tendency to worry about you more than most. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” you joke, breaking the silence. 

You can see a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, but all you get is a heavy sigh. “I’m fine.” he insisted, voice heavy. 

“Mmhmm. I brought banana bread.” you gestured behind you to the staff lounge. 

He gave you one more once over, another sigh heaving from his chest. You lean forward, resting your chin on your folded hands. You do your best to look innocent, but his eyes narrow and you have to admit you’re losing the battle. “I’m fine,” he insisted. 

“You promised you wouldn’t do that with me.” your voice is soft, a stark contrast to the sounds of the ED that echoed around you. 

His head dropped, forehead resting against his arms. Your fingers twitched at your side, wanting to comfort him in a way that you knew would be more effective, but you were unsure if it would be appropriate at the moment. Probably not a good look for the attending to have his hair smoothed mid shift. After a few moments, he peeked at you, shield slipping just a bit. 

“You don’t have to tell me now, or at all for that matter, but please don’t pretend.” you took a breath, centering yourself. “I’m not going to break.”

You could almost see the thoughts swirling in his head. He’d confessed before that he worries about overwhelming you, or dulling some of your shine if he talks about a particularly bad shift. You didn’t say anything for a moment, trying to find the right words that wouldn’t spook him. You’d settled on a simple thank you, and the laughter that fought its way out of him had only made your heart warm. 

He nodded, his own deep breathing mirroring your own. You glanced at the clock, glad to see that it was late enough his shift should be ending soon. “Plans later?” He shook his head. “You wanna walk me back?” A nod. You smiled, some of the tension in your chest loosening. “I’ll be here when you’re ready. Go finish saving lives.” He smiled, backing away a few steps and nodding again. “No pressure, though!” you called after him, and his laugh washed away the remaining worry. 

“You did good, kid.” Dana said, and you swiveled your chair towards her, unaware that she had been watching. “Thought I was gonna have to send Abbot up after him.” 

Jack had mentioned their trips to the roof so casually, you weren’t sure if he was being serious at first. But when you’d stopped by with a few treats and a coffee with his name on it and found him on the wrong side of the guard rail, your heart stopped. He’d climbed back over the instant he saw you, and you did your best to quell the guilt over him having to comfort you. 

You shook your head, shooing the memory away. “Glad it didn’t come to that.” you say, tucking your hair behind your ear. 

Dana caught it, smiling to herself. “Hasn’t in a while, dear.” Her tone implied she wanted to say more, but the charge phone broke the tension and you were saved for a bit. The time passed quickly, a few med students stopping by to complement the banana bread, fielding questions about the fall menu from Princess and Perlah. 

“That bad today, huh?” you looked up from your phone to find Dr. Jack Abbot, backpack slung over his shoulder and a mischievous smirk on his face. 

“It’s been relatively calm since I got here-” 

“He usually is after you show up, long as you’re not too banged up.” There was no humor in his voice.

This time, your face went hot within seconds. It wasn’t a secret that you had a soft spot for Michael, and that he was a bit protective over you. But it wasn’t something either of you talked about. “I, um-” 

“Dr. Abbot, can I get your eyes on this?” you were saved by a med student, iPad in hand. Jack gave you a final once over before lending his full attention to the student. 

You blinked a few times, willing your thoughts to clear. You were stuck for a moment in the middle of the aisle, the sounds of heart monitors and other various equipment making it a bit difficult to think. A rough hand rested softly against your elbow, grounding you. You turned to find Michael, familiar backpack slung over his shoulder. 

“You ready?” he asked, eyebrows scrunching together above his nose. 

“If you are!” you said, mustering up some false cheer. 

“And you promised not to do that with me.” You spared him a sheepish look, knowing that you’d been caught. All you can do is nod, and let him lead you out. You waved goodbye to Dana, who was leaving in the opposite direction and did your best to focus on Michael’s hand on the small of your back, warm and sure and grounding. 

“You gonna tell me what’s got you so freaked out?” he asked once you were a few blocks from the hospital. 

“Just something Jack said.”

“Do I wanna know?”

“Probably not.” you laughed, although the nerves were still hanging around. “I thought I’d make dinner, if you’re up for it.” 

He laughed, the smile finally reaching his eyes. The little crinkles that appeared when he smiled made your stomach flip, in the most platonic way possible. “You’re a terrible cook.” 

“Fine, you make dinner then.” you huffed. He wasn’t wrong, you could make incredibly complicated french pastries, but cooking was often too freeform for you to really wrap your head around.  

“I ordered a pizza about three minutes before we left, we should beat it home by a couple minutes.” 

You smiled, looping your arm through his and doing your best not to focus too hard on how he’d referred to your place as home. There was time to worry about it later.

[kthologue]

his better half — dick grayson 

synopsis. how the world’s greatest detectives found out about dick grayson’s secret relationship with his sworn enemy (aka the progression of your relationship with dick grayson).

contents. fluff, whipped!dick (5k words of him pathetically pining), he’s robin then nightwing, catgirl!reader, parallels to cat/bat, 4 times the wayne family swore that there was something going on between you and dick and the 1 time they found out

notes. return of the cat/bat dynamic with dick! prequel to another fic but can be read as a standalone.

It had started back when he was Robin. No matter how many times he outmaneuvered you, no matter how many times he thought he had you cornered, you always slipped through his fingers like smoke, only to reappear with another scheme, another trail of mayhem across Gotham’s streets.

Tonight had been no different. Another failed heist, this time at the Gotham City Museum. But the encounter had turned nastier than usual. 

Now, back in the sanctuary of the Batcave, Dick sat rigid on the medical table, blood still drying on his suit. He hissed as Alfred’s hands stitched his side with a steady rhythm, each tug of the needle igniting a flicker of pain. Still, it was nothing compared to the fire simmering beneath his skin.

He clenched his fists, jaw locked tight. The pain was familiar, but the frustration was harder to swallow. It was you. The way you moved. The way you smiled through a fight. The way you never made it easy for him.

And worse than all of it, the part he hated most— He wasn’t even sure he wanted you to stop.

“She’s so—!” A groan tumbled from his lips, raw and exasperated.

Alfred barely spared him a glance, humming in mild disapproval before fixing him with a withering stare.

“Master Dick, may I ask why you’ve been picking at your stitches from your last encounter with Catgirl?” His voice was patient, but his raised brow was anything but. “These should have healed months ago.”

Dick’s face heated. He ducked his head, hurriedly muttering an, “I know!”

Alfred held his gaze a beat longer, the look in his eyes making it clear he knew more than Dick would ever admit. But, mercifully, he didn’t press.

Dick let out a breath, a fleeting sense of relief settling in, only for it to vanish the moment he felt another presence in the room.

“I see some things haven’t changed,” a deep voice observed from the shadows.

Dick didn’t need to look up to know who it was. The low timbre, the quiet authority, Bruce had perfected the art of making a simple statement feel like a verdict.

Still, he forced himself to meet the man’s gaze. Bruce stood behind Alfred, arms crossed, his expression carved from stone.

“B—” Dick started, but Bruce cut him off with a single, measured look.

“You let her get away. Again.”

It wasn’t an accusation, not really. There was no anger in Bruce’s tone, just a sharp-edged assessment, as if he were dissecting the situation piece by piece, searching for a truth Dick wasn’t ready to face.

Dick bristled. “Her arsenal’s expanded since last time. I was caught off guard.”

Bruce didn’t so much as blink. His eyes, naturally cold and unreadable, locked onto Dick, searching, measuring, stripping away every defense with quiet precision.

“One could assume you’re letting her—”

“No.” The denial came too quickly, too forcefully. Dick knew it, and from the way Bruce’s gaze sharpened, so did he.

It was absurd. Robin was a beacon of justice. He didn’t let criminals go just because they happened to be…

Unnerving.

His stomach twisted.

Because they were unpredictable. Reckless. A constant thorn in his side. Because they always seemed one step ahead, because their smirk made his blood run hot, because their laughter had an edge to it that echoed long after they were gone. Because they moved with the kind of sharp, deliberate ease that set his teeth on edge—

Damn it.

Dick clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus. This wasn’t about her. It never was.

But the irony wasn’t lost on him. Bruce, of all people, had no right to talk. His own history with Catwoman stretched back long before Dick had ever worn the mask.

They stood in silence, neither willing to be the first to break it.

Bruce’s gaze flickered downward, landing on Dick’s freshly closed wound. His posture eased, just a fraction.

“Just be careful, Dick.” The words were quieter, softer.

Dick swallowed the lump in his throat and managed a smirk, the kind that felt more like armor than anything else.

“Yeah. Thanks, B.”

Dick’s just glad no one asks about the wounds you left behind—he likes keeping those for himself.

At the time, everyone brushed off Dick’s strange fixation with Catgirl as a childish rivalry. In fact, Bruce even thought that it was endearing. Everybody knew about Bruce and Selina’s back and forth dynamic, so it wasn’t out of the ordinary for Dick to have something similar. It was normal for heroes to have nemeses. 

However, it was not normal for Dick Grayson to hold on to the strange obsession years after his time as Robin. 

“Funds in the orphanages in the East Ends seem to be mysteriously disappearing,” Bruce said. “Catgirl is requesting for backup in the investigation.”

Tim piped up, “I can–”

“I’ll do it.” Dick had declared.

Everybody looks at him quizzically but doesn’t push it. If Dick was on a case, he usually got the job done quickly and efficiently, no questions asked.

However, something about tonight felt... different. More than a few eyebrows were raised when everyone watched across the comms as you two fought together during the mission. Nightwing and Catgirl, back-to-back, moving in sync as if you'd been rehearsing for this fight your entire lives. It was a fluid, almost practiced rhythm that made the rest of the team pause and wonder—had they missed something?

Red Robin made a snide remark. Oracle went quiet. Even Bruce didn’t say anything at first. He didn’t have to. The comparison was already there, unspoken but heavy in the air.

The shock wasn't that both Nightwing and Catgirl were working together. Rather, it was shocking how well they worked together. 

The way you anticipated his movements before he made them.  The way he covered you like he’d done it a hundred times before. 

At first, everyone chalked it up to familiarity. The two of you had been fighting each other since your teenage years, after all. History breeds rhythm. But there was something else lurking in the way you spoke to each other—something warmer. Something that had less to do with old grudges and more to do with the kind of intimacy that didn’t fade with time.

“You’re getting rusty, Nightwing,” you called, sidestepping a swinging pipe and landing a clean kick to the thug’s chest.

Nightwing scoffed, flipping over a crate and landing beside you with infuriating ease. “Rusty? I’m the deluxe, high-performance upgrade of Robin. Go ahead, test me out.”

“Tempting,” you said, snapping your whip around another guy’s ankle and yanking hard. “But I don’t test-drive antiques.”

“Ouch,” he winced, slamming his escrima stick into a goon’s ribs. “You wound me.”

“Not as badly as I should,” you smirked, ducking behind him as he blocked a blow meant for you. “Still letting me use you as a shield, huh?”

“Only because you look good doing it.”

There was a brief pause, half a second too long, before you clicked your tongue. “Flirting during a fight? You really have gone soft.”

“I multitask.”

And as the last of the smugglers dropped, groaning on the concrete, the two of you stood back to back, catching your breath. The comms were silent, but only because the rest of the team had gone completely speechless.

“…Do they always fight like that?” Tim finally asked.

“No,” Barbara muttered. “That’s new.”

“They’ve definitely fought before,” said Damian, deadpan. “But I’m starting to think it wasn’t always on rooftops.”

The line went dead with Bruce’s exhale.

And when the mission was finally over and all of the missing funds had been recovered, the smugglers were zip-tied and unconscious— Dick doesn't leave immediately.

He soaks in the quiet thrum of distant sirens and the pulse pounding in his ears.

You were breathing heavily beside him, leaning onto him for support. Your hair was tousled, mask slightly askew, but your smirk was intact, taunting and tired and entirely too irresistible.

“You gonna thank me for saving your pretty face back there?” you asked, arms crossed as you leaned just a bit too close.

He turned to you, one eyebrow raised. “I had it handled.”

“Oh, sure. You ‘handled’ it right into a tripwire.”

“That was strategy,” he said, looking down at you with a grin. “I was drawing them out.”

“You were stalling. Badly.”

“You were watching my back.”

“I always do.”

The air between the two of you tightened. Your usual banter softened into something quieter, something awfully familiar. His hand brushed your wrist, and you didn’t pull away.

“You ever think,” he said slowly, voice low, “maybe we’re better on the same side?”

Your smile flickered. “Dangerous thought.”

“Isn’t that your specialty?”

His hand found your waist, gentle, steadying. Your fingers curled around the edge of his suit. You tilted your head up, lips inches from his, breath warm against his skin.

And then—click.

Static buzzed softly in his ear.

Your eyes widened. “Your comm’s still on.”

He blinked. “Sh—”

“—Nightwing, please tell me we did not just listen to you try to make out with Catgirl mid-mission,” Barbara’s dry voice cut through.

Tim's snort followed immediately. “Can we mute them next time? I’m scarred.”

“Disgusting,” Damian added flatly. “He’s smiling. I can feel it.”

Dick groaned and reached up to yank the comm from his ear, but you were already laughing, backing away with a teasing glint in your eyes.

“You’re cute when you’re caught.”

“And you’re evil,” he muttered, grinning despite himself.

You winked. “You love it.”

And with that, you were gone, leaping off the rooftop like the night belonged to you. Maybe it did.

Dick sighed, still smiling as he turned off the comm and ignoring his family’s bewildered accusations at the interaction.

The next time everyone’s suspicions flared that there was something more going on between Dick and you was during a stakeout.

It was supposed to be a standard nightwatch.

Gotham’s skyline was quiet— by Gotham standards, anyway. Dick was posted up with the rest of the family, patrolling in sync from different rooftops. Chatter filled the comms. Nothing urgent. Nothing personal.

Until he saw you.

Not as Catgirl. But just a regular civillian. Draped across the ledge of a mid-rise rooftop in Old Town. Laughing and relaxed.

With some guy.

Dick’s posture stiffened immediately.

He zoomed in with his scope. Tall. Sloppy smirk. Leaning way too close. And the worst part? You were laughing. Like really laughing. The kind that made your shoulders shake, the kind you used to reserve for those rare post-fight rooftop chats with him.

“Hey, what’s Nightwing staring at?” Tim asked, mild and bored over the comms.

“Target,” Dick replied too quickly. “Suspicious interaction. Female known associate, male unknown. Possible criminal connection.”

“Known associate?” Barbara echoed. “Or—oh wait. Let me guess. Catgirl?”

Silence.

Damian sighed. “He's compromised.”

“Shut up,” Dick muttered, already moving across the rooftop.

He didn’t even wait for backup. By the time he reached them, the guy had just handed something off to you—small, shiny, probably stolen. But before Dick could assess, he was moving. On instinct.

“Step away from her,” he barked, landing hard between them.

The guy barely got a word out before Dick grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the wall.

“Hey! What the hell—”

Dick didn’t let him finish. One hit. Two. A sweep to the legs. Too fast, too brutal for standard interrogation. The guy went down hard.

“Nightwing!” You shouted, stepping between them. “He wasn’t even fighting back—what the hell is your problem?!”

“He’s a known smuggler,” Dick snapped. “And he had his hands on you.”

“Wow. Jealousy looks great in blue.”

“Don’t make it worse,” he muttered, his eyes still locked on the guy groaning at his feet.

Back on the comms, silence settled in, thick and awkward, before it cracked.

“Wait…” Tim started, his voice laced with confusion. “Why do you care so much that she’s with him?”

“Yeah,” Barbara added, her tone now unusually sharp, “since when is this personal?”

Damian’s voice was almost too quiet, but cutting. “Did I miss something, or is this a... thing?”

Nightwing didn’t respond. His jaw tightened as he turned away, fists still clenched in the aftermath of his uncharacteristic outburst.

And you? You stood a few paces behind him, watching him closely, not angry, not amused. Just curious. Like you were seeing something new. Something that he hadn’t meant to show.

The next night, the Batcave was quieter than usual. The soft hum of the computers and the click of keys filled the air, but there was an underlying tension that none of them could ignore.

Dick sat at the computer, his focus fixed on the screen in front of him, but his thoughts were far from the mission at hand. His mind kept drifting back to that moment with Catgirl, to the way you’d looked at him after he’d snapped on the smuggler. He hadn’t meant to act so... possessive, but it felt almost impossible to push the feeling down.

“Everything’s quiet tonight,” Tim said, breaking the silence. “Guess that’s good news.”

Dick barely responded, just a distracted grunt.

Barbara’s eyes flickered to him, then back to her screen. “You’ve been awfully quiet, Dick. Everything okay?”

“Fine,” he muttered. “Just focusing.”

Tim raised an eyebrow, exchanging a quick look with Damian. “You sure? You’ve been acting weird ever since that last mission.”

Dick stiffened, but he didn’t look up. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” Tim said slowly. “You were... different when you were with Catgirl last night. Not just on the mission—before and after. You looked like you were protecting her, but you were also way too harsh on that smuggler. And don’t even get me started on how you acted when you saw her with that guy earlier.”

Barbara tilted her head, clearly intrigued but trying not to push too hard. “It’s not like you’ve never worked with her before. And you’ve never been this... invested. What’s up with that?”

Dick felt his pulse quicken. He didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to acknowledge that his jealousy had gotten the better of him. But here they were, picking at the cracks.

“I was just making sure the mission went smoothly,” Dick snapped, a little more forcefully than he intended. “Nothing else.”

Damian, who had been unusually quiet up until now, finally spoke. His voice was as sharp as ever, but there was a flicker of something behind his words. “You know, I’m not blind. You don’t usually get this... involved with any of our targets, let alone Catgirl.”

Tim leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. “Yeah, and what was with the whole thing earlier? You looked like you were about to break that guy in half just because he was talking to her. And I’m pretty sure you’ve never gotten that mad about anyone else on a mission before.”

Dick’s hand clenched into a fist on the desk. “It’s not what you think.”

“Then what is it?” Barbara asked, her voice soft but firm. “Because whatever it is, it’s affecting the team. We don’t need Nightwing going rogue.”

There was a brief, uncomfortable silence. Dick could feel everyone’s eyes on him, each of them waiting for an answer he wasn’t ready to give. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come.

Instead, he stood abruptly, pushing away from the desk. “We’re here to stop criminals, not gossip about my personal life. Let’s focus on the mission, alright?”

Tim’s eyes narrowed as Dick turned away, but he didn’t press further. The tension in the room, however, remained thick, unspoken.

Damian exchanged a glance with Tim and Barbara, his smirk still present, though his gaze was sharper than before. “This is far from over.”

Bruce, who had been silently observing the entire exchange, spoke up from across the room, his tone unreadable. “Keep it together, Dick. Whatever’s going on, it’s not going to help anyone if it affects the mission.”

Dick’s jaw tightened, but he nodded, refusing to acknowledge the way his heart was pounding in his chest. The family wasn’t entirely sure, but they were starting to connect the dots. And once they did... there’d be no hiding it.

But for now, the only thing he could do was deflect and move forward—hoping the questions would die down. Hoping he could keep the secret a little longer.

Despite his family's gradually growing suspicions, Dick doesn’t exactly make an effort to hide it when you two finally start dating. In fact, if anything, he becomes even more obvious. The room was dim, the only light coming from the soft glow of the city outside the window. Inside, the atmosphere was a world apart from the chaos of Gotham.

Dick was lying on his bed at Wayne Manor, his head resting on the pillow, eyes closed in a rare moment of peace. You were beside him, your fingers gently threading through his hair, the soft touch sending a calm shiver through his body.

"You know, you're making it really hard to keep my cool," Dick murmured, his voice low, almost a hum as he relaxed under your touch.

"Oh, please," you teased, voice light but laced with mischief. "You’re practically radiating smugness. The whole ‘perfect vigilante’ act is getting a little old, you know?"

Dick let out a dramatic sigh, his lips curling into a playful grin. “I can’t help it if I’m a natural at this.”

"Yeah, sure," you said, raising an eyebrow. "Just don’t get too used to it. I’m not gonna make it easy for you."

“Good,” he replied with a wink, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “I like a challenge.”

You both fall into a comfortable silence, the kind that only came when you were together, when the world seemed to fall away. But that peace was shattered with an abrupt, deafening knock on the door.

“Dick!” Jason’s voice boomed from the other side. “Open up! I know you’re in there.”

Dick groaned, pulling his arm over his eyes as if trying to block out the inevitable.

You, unable to resist, sat up slightly, your lips curling into a grin at his frustration. Nonetheless, you shuffle away in the bathroom connected to his bedroom to stay away from Jason’s prying eyes.

Dick sat up quickly, running a hand through his hair in a half-hearted attempt to look more put-together. “I swear, if he barges in here—”

Another knock, louder this time. “You’ve got company, don’t you?”

Dick froze, caught in a moment of shock and embarrassment, but he couldn’t quite hide the flush creeping up his neck. He tried to act normal, shifting on his feet when he finally opens the door. “What are you talking about, Jay?”

Jason raised an eyebrow, smirking. “The I’m getting laid glow. You’ve got it.”

Dick’s jaw dropped, his brain short-circuiting for a second. “What? No—what do you—?”

“Don’t play coy,” Jason said, a cocky grin playing on his lips. “You’re practically walking on sunshine, Dick. You’ve got that ridiculous smile, and the way you’re acting... yeah, I know what’s going on.”

You couldn’t help it; you let out a soft chuckle from your hiding spot, biting your lip to stifle the laugh.

Jason doesn't relent. “So, what’s the deal, huh? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this.”

Dick rubbed the back of his neck, a little flustered but trying to maintain his cool. “I’m fine, Jay. Just... focused.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Sure. I don’t believe you for a second.”

Before Dick could say anything else, Jason added, “You’ve just got that look. You know, the one you get when—” He paused, letting the implication hang in the air.

Dick’s face flushed even deeper. “This is ridiculous. You’re overthinking things.”

Jason paused, eyes narrowing in a mix of amusement and suspicion. "You’ve been acting different lately, and I’m not blind, you know. Something’s going on."

Dick, who’d been doing his best to look unaffected, now turned his back to Jason, muttering under his breath, “I’m just... not in the mood for your games, Jay.”

He's glad to finally pique Jason's interest, but it was for all the wrong reasons.

Jason, however, was not ready to let this go. “Oh, I’m not playing any games. But you’re acting like a damn schoolboy who’s got a crush. And it’s pretty damn obvious."

You stayed out of sight, peeking your head slightly from the bathroom door, listening to the exchange unfold. Your heart raced slightly from the tension, but you couldn’t help the grin tugging at your lips.

Jason was right—Dick had been acting different. But it wasn’t just his look or his smile. There was something in the way he’d been so much more... himself around you lately. More relaxed. More playful.

And Jason was definitely noticing.

“I’m not a schoolboy, Jay,” Dick finally snapped, turning around to face him again, his arms crossed in a defensive manner. "You’re seeing things.”

“Am I? Or is that just your smug ass trying to cover up whatever it is that’s going on?" Jason leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed as well, but his smirk was all knowing. “Look, it’s fine. But if you’re gonna act like this, I’m going to start questioning things.”

Dick opened his mouth to argue, but before he could speak, Jason raised a hand. “Save it. I’m not here for a lecture. Just know that I see what’s happening.”

There was a moment of silence as Dick stood frozen, unsure of how to keep denying it. He hadn’t realized just how obvious it had become until Jason called him out on it.

Jason’s grin only widened, clearly enjoying his older brother’s discomfort. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to... whatever it is you’re doing.” He motioned to the room dramatically. “I don’t need to be here for the awkward afterthought phase.”

Dick let out an exasperated sigh as Jason turned to leave. “You better not say anything to anyone.”

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s our little secret,” Jason replied, turning back toward the door. “Just know that if you start dropping hints, I’m not gonna be the one to blame.”

Before Dick could retort, Jason was gone, leaving the door swinging slightly in his wake.

You stepped fully out of the bathroom then, finally walking back into the room with a mischievous grin on your face. "Well, that was fun," you said, leaning against the doorframe as you watched Dick run a hand through his hair again in frustration.

“Don’t even say it,” Dick groaned, sinking back onto the bed. “I swear, he’s got nothing better to do than mess with me.”

“I did try to stay out of sight,” you teased, walking toward him and sitting beside him on the bed. “But you’re just too cute when you’re all flustered.”

He gave you an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "Not cute. Annoyed. Annoyed, embarrassed, and—" He let out a frustrated sigh. "I'm never going to live this down."

You laughed softly, leaning against him. “Nope. You’re not.”

His arms instinctively wrapped around you, pulling you closer. “Why do you make me look so obvious?”

“You’re making it easy,” you replied with a smirk, resting your head against his shoulder. “I mean, you can’t walk around glowing like you just got laid and not expect anyone to notice.”

Dick let out a deep sigh but couldn’t hide the smile creeping up his face. “I don’t know how I let you talk me into this.”

“Because you like me,” you said with a wink, nudging him playfully.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

Meanwhile, on the other side of the manor, Jason was already halfway to the kitchen, his grin never fading. He might not know everything, but he knew enough. And maybe, just maybe, he'd wait a little longer to see how long it took for the rest of the family to figure it out.

But one thing was for sure: he was enjoying the drama.

It was only a few short weeks after Jason's confrontation that the truth finally came out. How everyone found out was a complete accident. But, as with most things in Dick Grayson’s life, he was painfully aware of how unlucky he truly was.

It started like any ordinary morning. Quiet, uneventful, but peaceful.

Dick was lounging in the common room, sipping on his coffee, savoring the rare moment of solitude. He’d woken up earlier than usual, feeling content and unusually relaxed after the time spent with you. Everything felt... normal. Peaceful. That was, until everything suddenly took a turn for the worse.

The moment the door swung open, the calm atmosphere shattered. Dick’s gaze darted up to see Bruce walking in, his expression unusually serious, his features set in that familiar, unreadable way.

Dick had thought he was alone. Home alone. He’d been looking forward to a quiet day to himself, relishing in the rare peace that the manor offered. But now, as Bruce stepped into the room, and Dick caught sight of Tim, the panic hit him. His heart leaped in his chest, pounding violently.

His stomach twisted in that familiar, sickening way as the reality of the situation settled in. Tim was home. Bruce was home. They’d found out. And now, it was all crashing down at once.

Dick’s body stiffened, and for a split second, he thought about bolting. But instead, he just froze, internally cursing his luck. The one time he’d let his guard down, and of course, everything went horribly wrong.

"Dick," Bruce started, his voice low but carrying that edge of parental authority that Dick could never quite get used to. "We need to talk."

Dick immediately groaned, sinking further into his chair. “I’m not really in the mood for a ‘talk,’ Bruce.”

“You should be. Someone’s been snooping around your room,” Bruce said, his tone even, but his eyes narrowed slightly. “And they found... lady garments.”

Dick’s face flushed a deep shade of crimson. “I... what? Who said that?”

Tim, who’d been in the room pretending to read his tablet, looked up with a smirk. “Oh, I was the one who found them. Couldn’t miss the cat suit, man. A cat suit? Really? Come on, that’s... weird, bro.”

Dick shot a glare at his younger brother, feeling his face heat up even more. “That’s not—Tim, I swear to God, you have no boundaries.”

Bruce was still giving him that look, the one that meant he was both disappointed and extremely curious about how his son had gotten himself into this mess. “Dick, you need to be careful. This is Wayne Manor. It's not exactly private here. If you're—"

“Bruce, please,” Dick interjected, his voice sharp. “You’re making it sound like I’m hiding a body in there.”

"Are you?" Tim asked innocently, clearly enjoying every moment of Dick’s discomfort. “Because that would explain the whole ‘hiding cat suits’ thing. Is it a fetish thing, or just... a weird hobby? Can’t tell, honestly.”

Dick sat up straight, his hands clenching into fists. "I don’t have a cat fetish, Tim. And can we just not do this? Please?”

But Bruce wasn’t letting it go. “You can’t be so reckless, Dick. You have to think about how your actions affect those around you, especially in a house like this. What if someone else finds out?”

Dick panicked for a second. What if someone else finds out?

“I’m not exactly hiding it, Bruce!” he groaned, running a hand over his face in frustration. “Why are you acting like I’m doing something terrible? And why are you acting like I’m the one being reckless? I’ve been a vigilante for years! I think I know how to keep my... personal life... private.”

“Then why the cat suit?” Tim asked, deadpan.

Before Dick could answer—or yell—at his younger brother, the door to the hallway creaked open, and suddenly, your voice echoed from the other side, confused but curious. “What’s going on? Dick, why are you groaning so much?”

Dick’s heart sank. He’d wanted to be home alone, to enjoy a few hours of peace with you. But now... he realized it wasn’t just Bruce and Tim who had ruined that quiet morning. You—the woman of the hour— was standing on the other side of the door too.

The silence in the room became instant and suffocating. Bruce's gaze shifted toward the door, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Is that... her?”

Tim’s grin widened like he’d just hit the jackpot. "Well, well, well, if it isn't the mysterious Catgirl herself."

Dick’s heart sank even further. He didn’t think he could be more mortified, but somehow, it was happening. How? How could he have misjudged this moment so badly? Panic twisted in his chest, and he stumbled for words. “No, no, wait, it’s not like that, okay?” he stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of the embarrassment.

But your entrance only made things worse. You walked into the room, towel wrapped around your damp hair, still drying off from your shower. You had heard Dick groaning from the hallway and were just trying to figure out what was going on, completely unaware that things had already spiraled into uncomfortable territory.

You froze when you saw the three of them in the room, and Bruce’s laser-focused stare locked onto you.

Great, Dick thought, his entire world collapsing in slow motion. This was it. The beans were spilled.

You glanced over at Dick, your gaze flicking to his flushed face, and then back to Bruce, Tim, and the awkward tension that filled the room.

“Oh,” you said, voice light but tinged with humor, crossing your arms over your towel. “So... this is what’s going on? This is... the talk?”

Bruce’s stare was unwavering. “What exactly is going on here?”

Dick immediately jumped to his feet, hands held out in an almost defensive manner. “It’s not—! Bruce, please, it’s not what you think! We didn’t—”

You cut him off with a sly grin, leaning against the doorframe. “I guess I’m the lady who’s been leaving garments around,” you teased, clearly enjoying the shock on Dick’s face. “Maybe next time I’ll just leave a note?”

Dick groaned again, but this time, it wasn’t from embarrassment. It was more like he wanted to just disappear into the floorboards. He couldn’t even look at Bruce or Tim, he was so caught in the uncomfortable web that everyone had just helped weave.

Bruce’s lips thinned, his face unreadable as he slowly processed the situation. “I think we need to have a very different kind of conversation...”

Tim, however, was practically vibrating with excitement. “This is the best thing that’s happened all week. I knew there was something fishy going on with you two.”

You just rolled your eyes, not letting Dick get away with it. “Yeah, well, now that the cat’s out of the bag...” you teased, walking further into the room and giving Dick a playful shove, “... maybe we can all stop pretending we’re completely clueless.”

Bruce took a deep breath, his gaze softening slightly. “I expect both of you to be careful and respect the boundaries of this house.”

You chuckled lightly, but Dick just nodded, feeling utterly humiliated. “Right. Got it.”

As you looked at Dick, you could tell he was both relieved and mortified at the same time. Bruce was still processing the whole thing, but at least it was out in the open. Well, almost. Jason had yet to say anything, but you could already imagine the next round of teasing.

"Alright, well, I’m going back to not doing anything weird," Dick mumbled, his face still flushed as he walked toward the door, clearly ready to leave this conversation behind.

Bruce didn’t follow him immediately. He simply gave a small, almost imperceptible nod to you. “Just remember, I expect discretion.”

“Oh, we know,” you said, already turning to Dick with a smirk.

And with one awkward silence after another, Dick's relationship with you was no longer a secret. It was now part of Wayne Manor’s unofficial family gossip.

thanks for reading!