#could not stop thinking about this all day

[classyrbf]

thinking about fucking professor!nanami who you met at a bar, celebrating your last day of summer before college classes begin again. With his blonde hair, chiseled cheekbones and those muscles popping out from his dress shirt may have made you a little nervous, but with a few shots of liquor in your system you gained liquid courage. His perfect smile and smooth voice only drew you in more, and god how his thighs looked in those khakis made your imagination run wild. The conversation ran smooth, he told you he was a professor, which led you to realize he was older than you may have believed, but that didn’t stop you. Honestly, it seemed exciting being with an older man considering you’ve been told many times that they’re great in bed.

So with a few drinks in your system and hours of flirting back and forth, you both end up in his car, in the back of some random building. Your dress is hiked up, and his hands are gripping your ass, guiding your hips up and down his cock. The aroma of sex and sweat lingers in the air, your bodies pressed close together as he thrusts up into you. The tip of his cock grazes against your cervix, your eyes rolling back. “You’re so fucking deep! Yes!” You cry out. And Nanami doesn’t plan on stopping, the intoxicating of your pussy gripping down on his does something to his brain. Having a pretty little thing like you on top of him makes his dick throb harder than ever before, especially with how eager you are.

His hand swats down your ass, grabbing at the flesh to soothe the sting. His breath fans against your ear, panting heavily as he succumbs to your warmth, basking in the pleasure and thrill of this moment. “You like it right here? Huh?” He angles his hips just slightly, flushed against yours as he presses against your sweet spot. You let out a pornographic moan, gripping onto him tightly. “That’s the spot, baby? Right fucking there, hm?” He toys with you, thrusting up into you again. Your body shudders in his hold. “Ohhh, yes, baby. Take it. Fucking take it.” He starts loving at an animalistic pace, repeatedly hitting your sweet spot.

“Oh my god! Oh my god!” With each brutal thrust, your skin heats up, heart rapidly pounding in your chest. Your brows furrow in pleasure, turning your head to catch his lips, feverishly kissing him. His tongue slips against yours, both of you moaning, panting, high off pleasure. “Ohhh…shit…I’m gonna—gonna c-cum!” You moan, biting down on your bottom lip.

“Atta girl, cum on my dick. Let me feel all of you,” he whispers against your ear, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you. “I got you, sweetheart.” His presses a messy kiss to your lips, each growing second your orgasm builds, and you already know how intense it’ll be. Your mind goes completely blank, incoherent mumbles and whimpers are all that are heard from you. Without warning, your entire body shakes, your orgasm raining down on you like a storm. “There she is,” he chuckles. “Good fucking girl.” He spanks your ass a few times, taking enjoyment out of watching you cum on his dick, still fucking him back as best as you could.

And the next morning, your up early in the morning, walking to your new class like nothing happened the night before. Thankfully it was your last year of college before you were officially done. It felt like a lifetime before that would happen though. You sat down in the lecture room, noticing a few faces from campus and previous classes through the years. It wasn’t anything you weren’t used to. All you were hoping is that the introduction was quick and smooth so you could go back to bed.

The side door to the room opened, the professor clearing his throat and setting down his things on the empty desk. “Good morning class, welcome to bio chemistry. I’m sure it’s nothing new for you. My name is Professor Nanami—”

You look up from your laptop, eyes wide in shock to see that your professor is in fact the man who just fucked you in his car last night. Why didn’t he say he was working at this college? Why didn’t you ask more question? You were so stupid. “Oh my god, oh my god,” you quietly whisper to yourself, hoping he didn’t notice you in the sea of students. “Are you fucking serious?!” You sink down in your seat just enough for the laptop to hide your face.

If only this class wasn’t a requirement for your major…

[81pastrys]

He’s Married?!

Summary— Oscar brings a baby to track and hides the fact it’s his while his wife deems they should tell the world about them

Warnings— secret relationship ; secret baby

A/N— I started writing this and went off-topic but I kept going and couldn’t stop myself 😭 (streamer is sort of like this as well just Lando based)

Oscar One Shots

Dividers @bernardsbendystraws @dollywons

Request— hihi, if possible could you do a oscar piatri fic, in which he married young and forgot to mention it, and the grid finds out (ive read a few fics with this plotline and im in love) -🤍 @fctnllvrs

Oscar was very closed off, meaning absolutely no one expected him to arrive at the paddock with a baby carrier. He doesn’t even have a girlfriend or hookups or even a wife?!

“Mate who got you baby sitting on media day?” Lando joked lightheartedly. Oscar flushed a pink color and laughed it off.

“Not too good of an idea, huh?” He joined Lando’s banter hoping to ward off the ‘it’s actually my kid and I’ve been married since F2’ conversation.

Oscar went about his day, holding the little boy and doing his duties while simultaneously keeping up with the infants needs.

His wife insisted he take the boy for the day, she needed to catch up at home and it was the Australian Grand Prix. Oscar’s mum insisted she stay behind and help with organizing and cleaning up the house with Oscar’s wife.

The reporters were intrigued and asked him questions as well. “Who’s this little one?” Lawrence Baretto asked. Oscar smiled and held his baby boy to show the camera.

“This is Arlo.” Oscar said before returning his son to his chest where the baby sighed contentedly into him. No more questions followed but media had their suspicions.

Socials were no help at all to any fans or media stalkers, Oscar and his wife kept a low private social life. They never officially announced their wedding nor first born anywhere other than texts between families.

Oscar returned to his driver room and started getting Arlo ready for a nap, meaning changing the little boys diaper. If there was one thing the baby absolutely despised, it was getting changed.

There were loud cries and screams as Oscar did so, trying to keep the boy calm. “Such big feelings little man, it’s okay.” He soothed, rubbing the boys tummy when he was done. “Shhh daddy’s got you, it’s alright.” Now that Arlo was dressed and back on Oscar chest, he was calm and no longer a screaming, crying mess.

Oscar did slip up and call himself daddy though, hoping the scream died that out. Until Lando walked in quietly, shutting the door behind him. His face of pure shock and disbelief.

“Sorry, just trying to get him to sleep for a little.” Oscar said quietly with a few nods. Lando’s face softened at the little boy droopy eyed on Oscar’s chest.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?!” Lando whisper yelled, stirring the little one. “I’m sorry little man.” He apologized looking to Arlo after he flinched at Lando’s little shouting.

“Tell you what?” Oscar asked, puzzled. He didn’t realize Lando walked in on him saying ‘daddy’s got you’ so he’s left out of the loop.

“That Arlo is yours! Mate do you even have a girlfriend?” Lando asked, still quiet as for no one else to hear. “Oscar this is fucking huge! You’ve been flaunting him all day too.”

“Language and no I don’t have a girlfriend.” Oscar said to build suspense. Lando looked stressed at that comment. “I have a wife, who was overwhelmed at the mess from looking over him 24/7.” He smiled watching Lando relax.

“God mate you’re insane, how long?” Lando chuckled. He looked to Arlo as a nephew now, the sweet little boy sleeping on Oscar’s chest now a part of the McLaren family.

“4 years next month.” Oscar said looking as if he had to think about it. “Yes, I know. I don’t regret marrying her though.” Lando softened, why had Oscar kept this all a secret for so long?

“Secrets safe with me, but media is going to start speculating little Arlo here.” Lando reminded. Oscar nodded. He knew the risks and felt there wasn’t much need to hide it all anymore.

The day was done and Oscar went home to his wife and mum, a tidy home with barely any evidence that a newborn had taken over.

“How was track today? Was Arlo good?” His wife asked, scooping the newborn from his carrier. Arlo immediately relaxed in his mums hold.

“Good, I mean media is on my ass and Lando knows about us.” Oscar said casually. She hadn’t cared much about keeping it all a secret but she also didn’t want to push Oscar into it. “I was getting Arlo ready for a nap, you know how he is and when I went to calm him down Lando heard me call myself daddy so.” He laughed.

“He won’t tell anyone?” She asked, curious on Lando’s secrecy on things. “I know you trust him.”

“Yeah I mean I don’t see any threats of him just blatantly saying it or anything, it’s only a matter time people find out.” Oscar shrugged.

“Well if you want to do it before he accidentally does, we have hospital or maternity photos you could post.” She smiled, slightly joking. Oscar smiled with her and kissed her head.

“The house looks amazing by the way, you and mum did a good job tidying up.” He praised the cleanliness of the house that was once a mess. “I’ll send some pictures over to my media manager to post tomorrow before practice.”

She was going to be present for the race, but not the extras before. Arlo would not fare well with the long hours of sitting around in an unfamiliar place with loud noises.

Like Oscar said, scheduled posts from the hospital were posted the next day before he arrived at track. Him, his wife, and baby Arlo in their arms while cozied in a hospital bed widespread like wild fire.

Questions galore from reporters, congratulations from other drivers and shock from finding out the last 5 years were kept secret. Headliners read ‘Find out which McLaren driver kept wife and child under wraps for nearly 5 years’ or ‘Papaya driver released surprising post of family’ insanity flooded his phone.

The race day was even more overwhelming, fans and reporters hounding on his wife and Arlo now. Oscar was not having that. “Give them space, back up!” He said annoyed at the proximity of the people. His wife found a comfortable place in the garage where no one would bother her too much and Oscar checked in on her.

“We’re fine Osc, go do your McLaren stuff!” His wife insisted. She knew he had lots to do before a race, but he only seemed concerned on her and Arlo.

“Can I hold him before I have to go out?” Oscar asked. It was 30 minutes until he had to be in his car. She nodded and handed the boy over. “Such a sweet, loving boy.” He cooed. “I’m going to win my home race, just for you and Mama.” He whispered. He kissed the baby’s forehead and handed him back. He gave his wife a kiss as well and headed to his car on the grid.

I’m just getting over a sinus infection so apologies for being inactive.

@il0vereadingstuff @angelluv16 @pandabiiissh @itznotsophia @kallanfiona @chertik-007vvv (its Kinda dad Oscar)

[seumyo]

just thoughts of growing old with bakugou.

“Y’alright, old lady?” he asked.

“Excuse me?” You shot back with a huff, but the laughter in your voice softened it. “You’re not exactly a spring chicken yourself, Mr. Dynamight.”

“Hah? I could still beat your ass in a race.”

“You could barely bend down to get your keys this morning.”

He clicked his tongue but didn’t deny it. “Should’ve let you get them. You’re closer to the ground anyway.”

“Now you’re just asking for trouble.”

You two walked a few more steps before he noticed your breathing was just a little heavier. Your hand was tighter on his forearm. You hadn’t said anything, of course. He knew you never liked making a fuss. But Bakugou noticed. He always noticed.

Because if he didn’t notice, then he’d think he’s the shittiest husband on the planet.

Bakugou stopped.

You looked at him, confused. “Katsu?”

“Turn around.”

“What—”

“I’m givin’ you a piggyback ride.”

You blinked. “Katsuki, we’re in our sixties.”

“And? You think that stops me?” He crouched a little, wincing more dramatically than he meant to. Despite retaining lighter exercises to keep his body in tip-top shape, age still creeps in like a barnacle to his back. “C’mon, get up before I change my mind.”

“You’re going to throw your back out.”

“My back’s tougher than yours.”

“That’s not saying much anymore!”

“I’d rather break my back than see you waddle like a fuckin’ penguin with those stuffy shoes.”

“Our daughter gave me these shoes!”

“I know,” he replied. “Get on, woman.”

With a chuckle, you carefully climbed onto his back, your arms wrapping around his neck like they did all those years ago when you two were barely adults sneaking out for late-night walks. He held your legs securely under him, your weight familiar even after all this time. You rested your head against the back of his neck.

He lifts you like it’s nothing.

“Still got it,” he mutters, somewhat relieved.

Because Bakugou wants to give you a piggyback ride—or just carry you as many times as he possibly could.

“You’re insane.”

“Yeah, well. You married me. So there’s nothin’ we could do about that now that we’re five decades in, huh?”

You nuzzled your cheek against his shoulder, your voice muffled. “Best decision I ever made,” you hum. “Do you ever think about what we were like back then?”

“All the time,” he replies.

“Do you miss it?”

Bakugou exhaled. “Nah. I mean, it was good. Great, even. But this…” He shifts you a little higher on his back. “This is better.”

“You’re carrying your wrinkly wife down the street, and you think this is better?”

“Hell yeah,” he replies without hesitation. “You still make fun of me. Still make me laugh. Still kiss me like we’re teenagers. And even if you walk slower now, you still walk with me.”

You were quiet for a moment. Then, softly, “That’s so sappy. I hate you.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles.

You chuckled.

“I love you, Katsuki.”

“I know,” Bakugou says, and then, a little quieter, “I love you too. Always have. Even when you fell asleep during Die Hard.”

“I knew it. You were paying attention.”

He laughs. Full, unguarded, and warm. His chest feels full, like it always does when you’re near. The kind of full that doesn’t need fixing. Doesn’t need anything more.

-

“See?” Katsuki muttered breathlessly, settling you down onto a wooden bench that overlooked the town below. “Didn’t break my back.”

“Not yet. Tomorrow, maybe.”

“Tch. Still mouthy,” he said, but there was nothing but tenderness in his voice. He reached for your hand, calloused fingers lacing with yours. “Old or not, you’ll never stop talkin’, will you?”

“Not if I can help it,” you murmured. “Someone’s gotta keep you on your toes.”

“You tickle my toes when I’m about to fall asleep, you psychopath.”

“As I said, keep you on your toes.”

You two sat there in silence, side by side, watching as the last of the day faded into hues of soft purple and gold. The town below lit up slowly—windows glowing, streetlights flickering on one by one. It was the same town where you built a life, where you came after retiring from the city, where you spent quiet afternoons and lazy mornings and stormy nights curled under blankets.

“I was thinking earlier,” you said, tilting your head toward him. “Remember that old apartment? The first one?”

“The one with the leaky pipes?”

“And the hole in the wall.”

Bakugou made a noise between a groan and a laugh.

“Don’t remind me. That place was hell.”

“But we were happy. And it was our first.”

He nodded. “It was.”

“You used to stay up late grading case files while I was asleep on the couch.”

“And you’d drool on every pillow,” he said, smirking.

“That’s love,” you quipped, “sharing spit on furniture.”

“Disgusting,” his eyes crinkled as he chuckled, quiet and deep, before falling into a softer stillness.

“Do you think we did okay?” you asked.

Bakugou turned to look at you. Your eyes were searching his face—not out of doubt, but for reassurance.

“We did more than okay,” he said. “We loved hard. Fought harder. Got old. Grew up.”

You smiled faintly. “We grew softer.”

He squeezed your hand. “You did. I stayed badass.”

You laughed, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Yeah… you did.”

A breeze blew past, and you shivered slightly. Bakugou was already tugging his jacket off before you could protest. He knows you well enough that it comes second to breathing. Something that he could never forget because he needs to remember it to survive.

“You don’t have to—”

“Shut up. You’re cold.”

You let him drape it over you, fingers brushing his wrist as he tucked it close. It was nice. This was nice.

“I still remember the first time I saw you,” you said after a while. “You were yelling at someone, I think.”

“That sounds right.”

“I thought, ‘What an ass.’”

“And yet, you married me.”

“Because you were very persuasive,” you told him.

He snorted. “Uh huh.”

Time passed like that—peaceful and unhurried—until the sun was a mere sliver on the edge of the world. Fireflies blinked into view. The quiet of the hilltop wrapped around you like a blanket.

“I’m tired,” you murmured quietly, closing your eyes for a moment against his shoulder.

“Want me to carry you home?”

“No, just…” You paused, then exhaled. “Let’s just stay here a bit.”

Bakugou nodded. “Yeah. We can stay.”

“You’ve always been stubborn.”

He grunted in acknowledgment.

“But also the kindest man I’ve ever known.”

He didn’t reply right away. He just looked at you—really looked at you. Your hair had silvered, your cheeks had thinned, but your eyes held the same sparkle that made him fall in love with you years ago. You were still [Name]. Undeniably his.

And he was still Bakugou. Your.

“Even if I get reincarnated,” you whispered, your voice barely audible now, “even if I forget everything—I hope I find you again.”

He swallowed hard, jaw tightening. “You will.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah. I’ll find you too,” he said. “You’re too damn loud to miss.”

You smiled. Your hand, much more wrinkly now, more fragile than it used to be, reached up to his cheek. Your thumb traced the scar that time left near his jaw.

“I love you,” you said.

He leaned in, pressing your foreheads together. “I love you too. Always.”

And in the stillness, with the cool air surrounding you and the stars beginning to blink into view above, you leaned into each other—together in warmth, in memory, in everything you two ever were.

Your hands stayed intertwined, steady.

And when the wind finally hushed, you drifted off into the quietest, most peaceful sleep.

Together, one last time.

Forever.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[cheftsunoda]

heal your heart—cl16

smau + real life

carlos sainz x !sister singer reader

charles leclerc x sainz reader

catalina sainz has it all— she is a successful grammy award winning artist, her brother is a well known formula 1 driver, she has an amazing family and wonderful friends. she was also blessed with a fiance and a beautiful baby boy.. she had everything.. until she didn't. her fiance disappears and takes her son with him. catalina watches as her world crumbles...who will be there to help pick up the pieces?

fc : kali uchis

—

deuxmoi posted an update!

liked by 2,593,583 people.

deuxmoi : sources report that this blind item is about catalina sainz..yikes..let us know what you think!

—

username : NOOOO MY SHAYLAAAAAA....my poor baby

username1 : she has been so happy since becoming a mother...you can tell that baby is her whole world. he NEEDS to return that baby NEOWWW. i do not play about miss catalina.

username4 : he took the kid too? that is not just a breakup, that’s a custody crisis. hope she has a good lawyer.

username7 : Y’all love gossip until it’s your fave going through it. This is heartbreaking if true.

username14 : This is why you don’t rush into engagements with people who love the spotlight more than you do. He was just using her.

username20 : hey could you like not be a dick rn...this is her family and real life

username20 : hope and pray this isn’t true. she always seemed like such a devoted mom. taking the child? next level cruel.

username15 : okkkk but who is this fiancé? if u r bold enough to cross the Sainz family and take a child, you better lawyer up and hide...

username : the funny thing is... he is not even famous so he would be using her money to hire a lawyer

username15 : mans is TOAST

username24 : carlos' jet just left for japan...and the drivers are not even supposed to be at the track for another 4 days or so..

liked by author

username10 : ohhh shittt

username17 : i know lando is somewhere fuming... that man do not play about the sainz'

—

twitter thread!

f1gossipgirls : THREAD: The Catalina Sainz Situation – What We Know, What We Think We Know, and What Might Happen Next.

Buckle up. This one’s messy. (1/10)

So here’s the deal...rumors broke this week that Catalina Sainz—is dealing with a secret breakup and a custody issue involving her fiancé. Allegedly, he left her and took their son without warning. (2/10)

Who is the fiancé? Not confirmed, but fan detectives say he’s a lowkey entrepreneur Catalina’s been quietly seeing for a couple of years. Private IG. Almost no photos together. Suspiciously absent since March. (3/10)

Sources close to the situation say Catalina came home from a trip to LA for work and found them gone. Just a piece of paper that said he was done...Just—gone. (4/10)

Here’s where it gets interesting... Carlos has reportedly stopped following the fiancé on social media (they used to interact), and fans noticed he looked especially tense during a recent press moment and a fan interaction at the airport. (5/10)

Speaking of the aiport...Fan detectives found that Carlos' jet took off for Japan this morning when the drivers are not due at Suzuka for another 4 days...Catalina is rumored to be hiding out in Japan.

(6/10)

Some speculate Carlos has already hired lawyers to get Catalina’s son back. One tweet claims he’s “mobilizing legal resources across two countries.” If that’s true… this isn’t just messy, it’s international. (7/10)

Another theory? This was brewing for months. Catalina’s last public event appearance was in April—she looked off. No ring. No family. No fiancé. Just a carefully curated smile. Fans clocked it then. (8/10)

And let’s not forget... Carlos and Catalina are both famously private. If this went public, it’s not by his or her choice. Which might mean Catalina needs help—and someone close leaked it to apply pressure. (9/10)

Catalina Sainz may have been blindsided by her fiancé, who allegedly took their son and vanished. Carlos is probably involved behind the scenes. And this story? Just getting started. (10/10)

Stay tuned. We’re watching.

view comments

username : if a man took my kid and disappeared...i would def call my big brother too...esp if it was carlos. imagine trying to hide the kid from the whole f1 community #goodluckbro

username2 :the way Carlos is probably trying to keep this under wraps but has already called every lawyer in Spain, Italy, and the UAE...

username5 : netflix pls scrap dts and make a docuseries on finding baby sainz...

netflix : not a bad idea

username7 : IF Carlos shows up to Japan GP with a baby on his hip and no explanation, I’m gonna lose it. FULL TELENOVELA ENERGY.

username14 : me drafting an international missing persons report and i don’t even know them. i am rather emotionally involved now...CAT IS SO MOTHER SHE NEEDS HER BABY

username20 : need cat to come back with a breakup anthem that shames tf outta this man like...'you took my son i took the house'

usernameee : i cannot with you - bye

—

—

twitter!

f1gossipgirls : F1 announced this morning via Twitter that Carlos Sainz will not be present for Media Day at Suzuka. Williams states that it is due to 'personal issues'.

view comments

usernamee : this man’s sister is in hiding and his nephew is missing and y’all thought he was gonna sit down and chit chat w press??

username1 : 'personal reasons' in this particular situation from carlos means 'i am currently in my liam neeson taken arc...srry yall'

username3 : its giving 'media day is canceled because i am currently tracking someone across international borders.'

username4 : williams better be ready to lie, deflect, and deny all weekend because if a single journalist asks about this, it’s over.

username14 : williams : “It’s personal reasons.” us: kk but does “personal” mean international child recovery operation or revenge-fueled manhunt? just so we’re clear...

username17 : media day being cancelled is fine but if he shows up to FP1 wearing all black and dead silent I will SCREAM.

username21 : cat is hiding in the mountains. carlos is skipping press. williams abs giving us nothing...no longer a paddock—it’s a crime scene

usernameee : IF Carlos speaks at all this weekend, i hope it’s just “he’s been found.” then pure silence.

—

transcript of james vowles speaking to the press.

press : “James, can you comment on Carlos Sainz’s withdrawal from media duties today? There’s been a lot of speculation.”

jv : “Carlos is an incredibly dedicated driver. When he misses something, there’s always a good reason. Out of respect for him, I think it’s best we let him speak on it directly.”

press :

"Will he be completely pulling out of the race this weekend?"

jv :

"I am not sure the answer to that at this time. I will communicate who will be driving as soon as Carlos reaches out again."

press : “Is it true he's left the circuit entirely?”

jv : “Well, I can’t confirm anyone’s location—I’m not in charge of tracking my drivers,” “but I can tell you that williams supports him, whatever the circumstances may be.”

press : “So… is he okay?”

jv : “I think he’s doing what needs to be done. And I’ll leave it at that.”

—

flashback - catalina's home - madrid spain - 7:18 am

I slid gently out of the back seat of the blacked out SUV. I had just returned home to Madrid after being in LA for some work related issues. I gripped at my suitcases as I began to walk towards the front door. I was so excited to be at home. I was beyond tired and just wanted to crawl into bed and hold my son—my pride and joy.

The front door creaked open slower than usual. Maybe I was just tired. Maybe it was just the jet lag getting to me. My suitcase thunked softly against the tile as I dragged it inside. The house was still. Much too still.

No tiny socks by the couch. No squeals of welcome. No welcome home kisses pressed to my cheeks. No low hum of the TV playing in the background.

I tell myself over and over again that this silence is normal. Maybe they are napping- its early. Maybe he took him for a walk- maybe the park. I held onto that maybe with a death grip.

The air felt off...almost stiff...as if the house was even holding its breath.

"Hello?" I called out softly, hoping and praying for response. No answer not even an echo to be heard.

I stepped into the kitchen. The windows were open- he would never leave with the windows open. There was a folded piece of paper left under a mug...the mug he would always pour my tea in. I swallowed- hard.

My chest knew before my brain caught up. I reached for it slowly, my fingers like ice.

One line. Scrawled in that slanted, indifferent handwriting I used to trace on love notes.

“I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want you.”

No signature. No “I’m sorry.” No mention of the child we made together.

The edges of the paper blur. Not from tears. I haven't cried yet. I can’t. I am much too cold all of a sudden.

I fall back allowing the counter to help catch my footing. I suddenly feel my whole body go numb. I reach out and push myself up, not allowing those nine words to make me fall to my feet.

I walk the hallway in a trance and crack open the nursery door. The crib is gone. The rocking chair is gone. Even his little bear nightlight—gone. Like I had never once rocked my baby to sleep in there. Like he never existed.

I don't scream. I don't break. I just stand there, arms limp at my sides, until the silence becomes deafening.

I checked the drawers. Half empty. The wardrobe. Empty. The toy chest absolutely bare. A cold, calculated theft of love. Quiet, surgical.

I drop the note to the floor and wrap my arms around myself as I if I could protect myself from what I just experienced...protect myself from this deafening silence. I knew right then...I had to run. I couldn't live here without my baby— my joy, my reason to keep going. I didn't know where I would go but it didn't matter.

—

I booked the flight under my middle name. No return date, no checked baggage. Just my tote bag with a sweater, a passport and prescription for pills I haven't touched since I got pregnant with my son.

No one stopped me, no one even notices me. Not in the airport, not in the first class lounge, not even the flight attendant who handed me my tea and mistook my silence for sleep. If anyone looks twice, they look away just as fast. That’s the trick—move like you belong, and people won’t ask why your eyes are swollen or your hands won’t stop shaking.

Tokyo is loud, crowded, too alive. I took the first train out of the city.

A stranger on the platform told me about a village outside of Nikko- he called it peaceful and quiet. Said it was the kind of place where 'time forgets about you'. Sounds like that is exactly what I want- to be forgotten.

The train winds through mountains so green they almost look fake. Trees blur past like static. I had earbuds shoved in my ears, a hood covering my head and sunglasses so strangers won't ask why I am crying.

When I finally step off, the station is barely more than a bench and a vending machine. I breathe in silence like medicine.

The lodge is old, wood-framed, smells like steam and pine. The owner is a woman named Yui who speaks no English but offers tea and the softest futon I have ever touched. She doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t press.

I pay for everything in cash. Leave my phone on airplane mode. No Instagram or twitter. For all I know the public still believes I am in LA living my best life.

Out here, there are no mirrors. No headlines. Just mist and mountains.

Some nights I dream of my son’s laugh—those bubbling giggles when he tried to grab my hair. Other nights, I dream of nothing at all, which hurts more.

It sits in my chest like ice.

—

present time- catalina's lodge - nikko, tochigi - 8:56 am

Did I want to tell Carlos? No. Did I realize he would come looking for me sooner or later anyways? Yes. I needed him more than I realized. The more I cry, the louder the silence gets, the more that knife in my stomach twists even more. I knew that it wasn't long before the press took note of my absence and I wanted to get ahold of Carlos before those rumors did. That's what happens when you have shitty friends who will sell you out for a single dime.

I wasted seven years of my life for a man who just wanted to see me fail, wanted to see me suffer so badly. I made him. I gave him his career. I gave him our child. Any request was instantly granted. And this is what I get? Taking my only piece of joy away from me. I bet you are wondering...Cat...did you see this coming? And the simple answer is no...he never gave any clues to being miserable in this relationship...if anything I was the one who was miserable. However, that is a story for another time.

I haven't done much since arriving here. I sit outside, I cry, I occasionally scroll through my camera roll and listen to my son's laugh. Admire the way he smiles or how his eyes would light up when he looked at me. Every repeat of the video I feel myself become more pained. I haven't eaten, I vomit if I try. Yui brings me tea and snacks every morning attempting to get me to eat. She doesn't understand but she does at the same time.

I snap out of my thoughts as I hear a car pull up. A low rumble, uneven on the gravel road. It cuts through the silence like a thread being pulled taut. I feel my breath catch in my throat. It’s early. Still dark enough for the fog to cling to the edges of the pine trees outside her window. The room creaks around me, old and wooden, smelling of cedar and steam. I stand, but slowly—like my bones don’t trust it’s real. I move to the door barefoot, heart pounding loud enough to shake my core. Almost like I forget the amount of tears I have cried. That my mouth still tastes like tea I didn’t drink. That I have not slept in nearly 36 hours.

The door cracks open and my older brother is stood in front of me- eyes locked on me like I am the only thing left tethering him to the world. I expect him to say something—ask where the baby is, what happened, why I ran—but he just looks at me. And for the first time since it all broke open, I let someone see the full ruin of me.

"You came." I choked out, my voice barely audible.

Carlos doesn't speak. He steps inside and closes the door gently. He pulls me into him with no hesitation, holding me so tight and placing a kiss on the top of my head. I let myself be held. I gripped onto him like I never wanted to let go. I buried my face in his chest and began to sob.

"My baby...my boy." I yelped mid sob as I feel my feet begin to give out. Carlos catches me and helps me over to the futon- still holding me. Never letting me go.

“I know, Cat.” He murmured as he placed a kiss on the top of my head, holding me tighter.

—

I don’t know how long we sat like this— him holding me tight against his chest as if his life depended on it and me silently sobbing into his chest. I feel myself breaking more and more slowly by the minute — the kind of break that is silent and doesn’t make a sound.

When I finally pull away and sit up, my body aches. Like letting go of my safety raft in a body of deep, deep water. I don’t look at him right away— just wrap my arms around myself staring down at the floor.

He doesn’t say anything— he just waits. Then I hear him take a deep exhale.

“I didn’t know who else to call,” I say, and the words come out like an apology. I don’t know why—I didn’t do anything wrong. Except maybe I did.

“You should’ve called me sooner.” He states, not angry, just more of a disappointed tone.

I flinch. “I was ashamed, Carlos.”

There’s a pause.

“Why?”

I let out this stupid, dry laugh. “Because I let him do it. I didn’t fight back. I didn’t even know we were in a fight.”

I glance up at him, then down again, voice thinner now. “I was in LA for four days, Carlos. Just four. Meetings. A shoot. When I got back… everything was gone. The toys. The crib. His clothes. Mine. The drawers were empty. The house was clean. Too clean. Like he planned it.”

Carlos stays silent, but his jaw is tight. I see a muscle twitch in his cheek.

“He left a note,” I whisper. “Just one line. ‘I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want you.’ No word about my son. No ‘I am sorry.’ Nothing. Just left.”

I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to stop the sting that creeps up again. “I didn’t know someone could hate you that quietly.”

Carlos’s voice is low and dangerous. “Where is he?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. I’ve called. Messaged. Emailed. Nothing. I even tried his parents. They won’t answer. They’re pretending I don’t exist. Like I lost custody or something, except—we were never married. There was never custody to lose.”

He mumbles various swear words in Spanish under his breath. Quiet and sharp.

Then, with a frightening amount of calm, “Alright, then I’ll find him.”

I blink up at him. “Carlos, you can’t.”

“I will.” His tone leaves no room for debate.

“You have a race in literally 3 days.”

“I don’t care.”

“You do care, Carlos.” I stated and rubbed my temples. “Your whole career—“

“This is more important.”

“You sound like Papá.” I muttered with half a smile.

He doesn’t smile back. His eyes are too full of something heavier. He looks…lethal.

“Good.”

And then, softer and almost gentle.

“You’re not alone, Cat. You never were. You didn’t lose him. We’re going to get him back. I swear to you.”

Something in my chest splinters. Not in a painful way—just in that awful, aching way that comes when someone offers you hope after you’ve already convinced yourself you don’t deserve it.

“I don’t know where to start,” I whisper. “I’ve looked everywhere. Checked his bank. Nothing. No charges. No flight. It’s like he vanished.”

Carlos leans forward, takes my hand. His grip is solid. Warm. “He didn’t vanish. People don’t vanish. They hide. And hiding leaves a trail.”

He says it like someone who’s spent a lifetime studying the details no one else sees. Racing lines. Different curves in every single track he’d ever raced. Tire degradation. Now— my ex.

I close my eyes. Let the silence settle around us again. The wind brushes the paper screens, and somewhere outside, a crow calls once, sharply.

“I was afraid if I told you, it would make it real,” I admit.

He doesn’t let go of my hand. “Mi Cariño, It’s already real. But now it’s not yours to carry alone.”

For the first time in days, I believe that might be true.

I let out a shaky breath, and for a moment, we just sit there. Two siblings in a borrowed room, far from everything we know, quietly starting to piece together a way back.

—

this will be a little mini series - probably 3 or 4 parts. i genuinely cried while writing this... i feel like it is some of my strongest writing. let me know what you all think so far!

tag : @klauslovemepls @omgsuperstarg @msliz @samanthaofanarchy , @mayax2o07 @goldenstrawberryx , @hannahmotors10 @alireads27 , @1800-love-me , @htpssgavi @cmgmikealson , @babygirl-4986 , @star73807-blog , @glow-ish , @just-tingz-virgo , @majapapaya4 @lina505 , @hc-dutch , @lost4lyrics , @angelluv16 @dilflover44

[attalew]

how robert reynolds quietly shows you that he’s in love with you

robert reynolds x thunderbolts!reader

authors note avengers tower fics are so back baby

it’s hardly intentional at first

you two were bound to grow closer when you began working on the same team, living in the same tower

it begins platonically, though very very shyly, as he is still trying to grow used to not being so lonely all the time

there’s small things you don’t notice

how he tidies your shoes in the hallway when passing your room, places your lost items somewhere where he knows you will see them, stocks the pantry full of your favorite snacks

his only intention, originally, was to be a good friend

you and yelena were now the closest people to him, he wasn’t going to risk messing that up by not looking out for you in the only ways he knew how to

then he started to notice things about you that not only warmed his heart with friendship, but made it drop in a way he couldn’t recognize

how you blinked slowly like a kitten after a long, tiring, mission

how you would reach an arm over to massage your own tense back, while he silently wished he could relieve all your aches and pains

and how his fingers would itch to patch your wounds when they were revealed by the lifting of your shirt

his platonic care turned so quickly into something that he didn’t want to put a name to

something he was terrified of

he became stealthier with his acts of service, he wanted to go unnoticed, he was worried that he would scare you away

but, eventually, you did notice

it was game night in the tower. the whole team crowded around a coffee table that had monopoly sat atop of it, the 7 of them nearly reaching the player limit

bob was trying to stay focused on the tense game unfolding in front of him, but he couldn’t stop thinking about how your knee kept brushing his own, or how defeated you looked when you landed on john’s property, handing over more than half your money

so he cheated

he wasn’t winning this game, and he didn’t really care too

he had never been the competitive type

so, naturally, he slowly split his stash, and snuck it into your lap without anyone but you noticing

your widened eyes shot up at him in shock while his cheeks burned at your attention

you looked around carefully before leaning closer to be better heard by him

“robby, are you done playing?” there was a slight concern on your face

“i’ll stick around, just thought it’d be nice to see you win.” he shrugged and avoided eye contact while your features softened

he nearly jumped out of his skin when you placed a hand on his knee and squeezed it in gratitude

and, of course you won

a grand sweep that had john slamming his head down onto the table in front of him, and had you pulling bob into your arms so tightly that he could feel your heart beating against his own

he decided then that maybe a little anxiety was worth being a bit louder with his actions towards you

and maybe one day he would notice why his laundry was always washed when he swore he forgot to bring his hamper down

why his books were always mysteriously bookmarked when he fell asleep with them laying on his chest

and why he was always the first one you looked at when you walked into a room

thank you for reading! requests are open!

[dollishmehrayan]

𐔌 . ⋮ DAMIAN WAYNE AS A S/O .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱ ── .✦ ( solo damian wayne x reader run )

𝜗𝜚 a/n: I’ve been reading damian’s run these days and aww stop he’s so adorable anyways I thought why not to write something for him to get out my writers block sooo enjoy?? anyways I was pressured by my bbg @kyriakis to post this so after this I’ll probably write genuine hcs of him only of things he probably does / used to based off canon, tags: ( damian wayne x reader ) ! Disclaimer the following tags include jason, dick, bruce, Tim even when not mentioned this allows for the fandom to equally react since most don’t follow damian tag

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

A BIT OF A GREAT GIFTER ── .✦

Damian’s idea of romance is... a little dramatic. You once casually mentioned how you like the color purple or any other color and the next day you received an extravagant bouquet of rare lavender flowers, LIKE THIS MAN REMEMBERS WELL.

“Purple is a necessary part of your aesthetic,” he states nonchalantly as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

But then, if you ever mention how much you love a particular type of chocolate or a specific scent, he’ll track it down and somehow acquire it without you knowing and just say it’s a ‘gift’ as if he didn’t spend hours finding it.

And if you dare to ask him about it? PFFFF

“Tt, don’t know what you’re talking about. I simply noticed the details, as any competent person would.”

DRAMATIC BUT ON LEVEL 10 ── .✦

Damian acts like you’re going on an actual mission when you leave the house. “What do you mean you’re going for a walk? You can’t just walk around Gotham. There’s danger everywhere.”, “It’s just a bodega damian.”

And even if it’s just a trip to the store, he’ll insist on accompanying you with that “I’m doing this for your own safety” tone, but the moment you come back home, he acts like he’s been out on patrol the entire time.

“I’ve successfully completed the task of ensuring no harm came to you.” HIS LOVE IS IN ACTIONS NOT WORDS OKAY?!

He says this while wearing a full suit and tie, because of course, that makes sense for a walk to the bodega ( corner shop )

Not the Best at Compliments, but...

Damian’s way of showing affection can be a little... rough. But somehow, it always gets the point across, think of like people being sarcastic as a love language but his seems to be like kinda blunt? Where at first he won’t say out loud ‘oh I love you’ no but he isn’t ignorant either, he knows he loves you and that’s validated to him.

“You’re fine. I mean, I guess I could see how someone would find you attractive. It’s not the worst thing in the world.”

And then he’ll look at you, almost daring you to call him out. But in truth, his eyes are saying, “I think you’re the most beautiful person in the world, but I’ll never admit it because I am Damian Wayne, and I am far too cool for this.”

The thing is, though, he’ll do anything to make sure you’re happy, even if it means begrudgingly going out of his way to make sure you get exactly what you want.

WILL DEFEND YOU 100% ── .✦

one of his brothers say something mildly annoying to you?

“Don’t talk to them like that.”

Damian’s got your back no matter how small the offense.

Someone’s being rude to you in public? He’s ready to pull a full I’m Damian Wayne, son of Batman, sole heir to ra’s al ghul and start a verbal altercation, followed by a very intense, “No, they didn’t just say that about you” look.

You? Trying to defuse the situation like a normal person?

Damian? “Nope, too late. I already decided it’s a fight now, this is mockery.

If you’re lucky, he’ll look at you and say, “It’s okay. I’m protecting you,” with a glint in his eye that says, “And you better be grateful.”

GENUINELY DOESNT GET PDA BUT FOR A GOOD REASON ── .✦

Damian’s not one to show affection publicly. In fact, he’ll try to avoid touching you at all if he’s around anyone. But the second he’s sure no one is looking, you’ll catch him glaring at you from across the room like, “We’re together, and everyone should know it, but I won’t say it.” BUT he isn’t embarrassed by you or isn’t hiding you relationship

It’s just private not secret.

He’ll give you the occasional side-hug or brush your hand ever so slightly, then immediately retreat like nothing happened if you don’t grab it fast enough.

But if you’re standing near him, don’t be surprised when he casually places a hand on your shoulder or rests his head on yours... only for it to turn into the most awkward five seconds ever, followed by an immediate, “What? It’s not like I wanted to do that. You were in my personal space.” HE DOESNR WANT TO ADMIT HE’S DEPENDENT 😭

So, yeah. PDA with Damian is... complicated, BUT ITS DIFFERENT

“It’s a Normal Relationship. I Don’t Know What You’re Talking About”

Damian, when you ask if he wants to do something like go for a walk, or watch a movie together:

“I don’t know what you mean. We’re not doing anything special. This is just a normal... well, normal for us. What is ‘normal,’ anyway?”

And yet, there he is, sitting with you, absolutely enjoying the time together trying to act like it's nothing special, but he’s leaning in just a little too close to you to be that casual.

Sometimes, he’ll act like he’s too cool for the typical date stuff, but in reality, he’s all in. He’s just trying to pretend he’s not, to maintain his Bat-cred.

COMPETITIVE TO A TEA ── .✦

This seems like a regular occurrence for him where, it’s not only you but anyone, he likes competition and challenges in general by classmates, friends, you, teammates, anyone. ( This also why he doesn’t do well on teams in canon but we ain’t ready for this convo )

Whenever there’s something to compete over whether it’s a simple game or a sparring match damian’s all in. He takes everything way too seriously.

“I’ll beat you at Mario Kart.”

Damian: “Tt, you think I’m going to let you win? You underestimate me immensely this is social injustice to my name.”

And the next thing you know, he’s strategizing his every move, plotting out every turn like he’s planning an actual mission. MEANWHILE ITS JUST JENGA DAMN

When he inevitably wins (because he’s Damian Wayne, and you knew he was going to), he’ll throw you the most smug smile.

“I told you. You should’ve known better.”

BUT HE LOVES YOU ── .✦

Underneath the tough exterior, Damian’s a softie who occasionally lets his guard down when you're alone together. He might not say it, but you know when he's trying to be vulnerable.

For example, one evening, after a particularly intense patrol or he says something too smart during a simple game of uno , he’ll just stare at you, quietly, in the way that only Damian can.

“You’re... okay, right? I didn’t, uh, hurt you…. I apologize for my lack of understanding if that hurt you.”

You’ll blink and be like, “You literally saved me like 10 minutes ago?”

And he’ll just look away, muttering something like, “Well, I don’t want you to get hurt. I just... don’t want to lose anyone again.” ( damian ‘I will not have anyone dying for my mistakes the way he did’ Wayne ☹️

And then he’ll change the subject super quickly, because he doesn’t want to burden you with his fears

[popcornpoppypop]

Like You

Summary: You're a single mom to an angry teen boy. Jack isn't phased, he can handle the anger. He is there for your son, no matter what. Years later, Pittfest makes them more alike than anyone would wish.

Warnings: Angst, fighting, angry teen, mentions of death, mass shooting, blood, medical inaccuracies, talk of amputation.

There wasn’t a day that passed where you weren’t beyond grateful for Jack Abbot. Most people would have turned and ran the moment they found out you had a 14 year old son. You couldn’t blame them. It’s a lot of baggage. But Jack never blinked.

“Honey, you are the best person I’ve ever met. Why the hell wouldn’t I love someone you made?” He told you the night you had finally let him in.

“He can be angry sometimes, Jack. He might not like you for a while.” You warned, not wanting to sugar coat anything and be left when things got hard.

“I was angry for most of my life. I know what it’s like. I’ll be okay. It’s not about me anyway.” He shrugged.

“Oh my god, just fucking kiss me already.” You sighed as you pulled him into you, his laughter rumbling in his chest,

Your son wasn’t introduced to your boyfriends often. You never really found any that you felt would stand the rough weather. But something in Jack made you trust him. The first meeting went over like a lead balloon. Ended with your son shouting at Jack.

“You don’t care about me! You just want to fuck my mom! Fucking pervert!” Your son,Matt, shouted at him.

“Matthew! Stop that, you don’t speak like to anyone, let alone someone I care about!” You scolded.

“Y/N, it’s okay.” Jack said stroking your arm, trying to calm you down.

“He’s just here to get in your pants! Thinks if he buddies up to me it’ll happen.” Matt growled.

“I know that’s what’s happened in the past, but I promise that is not what I’m doing right now.” Jack raised his hands up like he was calming a wild animal.

“Oh please, you’re just like the rest.” Matt scoffed, pacing back and forth.

“Matt, please just sit down and let’s talk about this.” You plead with the boy.

“Shut up, bitch!” He snapped. Jack stood up fast, the chair flying back from underneath him.

“Hey! You listen to me now! You can talk how you want to me, I don’t care, I can take it. You will never, NEVER, speak to your mother like that. She doesn’t deserve your anger.” Jack growled. Matt stopped looking at Jack in all his intimidating power.

“You’ll never be my father.” Matt whispered before running upstairs. Jack sighed shaking his head.

“I’m so sorry, Jack. I-I didn’t think he’d get this upset. Maybe that was naïve. You didn’t deserve that.” You sighed, head in your hands.

“Honey, I’ve had worst hurled in my direction. He can be angry with me. If that’s what he needs.” He said smoothing your hair from your face.

For months, Jack would come by the house and try to speak with Matt only to be met with insults. Jack saw how it tore you up, tried to console you. You both knew it was part of the process, it didn’t make it easier.

You had to go on a work trip for the weekend, you’d asked Jack to stay at your house to keep an eye on Matt. Matt had broken a glass when you’d told him.

“If I can handle violent psych patients and IEDs, I can handle a teenager.” Jack joked.

Matt had stayed in his room for the most part, running downstairs to grab food and run back to his room. One night, Jack was asleep on the couch, the TV playing old M*A*S*H reruns. His prosthetic leaning against the side table.

Matt watched him for a moment. Seeing the stoic man in such a vulnerable state took him back for a moment. He stalked over, keeping as quiet as he could. He picked up the fake leg and tried to leave with it.

“If you don’t give that back, I’ll have to hop on one leg while I kick your ass and that’ll be embarrassing for both of us.” Jack grumbled as he woke up.  Matt cringed as he brought the leg back. He’d crossed a line he didn’t want to.

“Whatever.” Matt mumbled as he set the leg back down. He stood staring at Jack’s leg for a while. Jack let him, not embarrassed about it, never had been. Occasionally, he’d be insecure when it made certain activities of the sexual nature more difficult. He’d learned how to work around it.

“You can ask.” Jack said, catching Matt off guard.

“What happened? Mom said you were in the Army. It get blown off?” Matt was trying to poke the sensitive parts.

“Yeah. I was a medic on a tour in Iraq. Got shot, blew most of my foot off.” Jack nodded. Matt was somehow not prepared for a blunt answer, even though he got nothing else from Jack.

“What’s it like being less of a man?” Matt hissed.

“I’ll let you know if that happens.” Jack sniffed.

“You’re annoying.”

“Kid, you can say what you want. It’s not going to phase me.” Jack turned the volume up, his ring catching the light.

“Mom said you’re a widow too.”

“Yes.” Jack’s voice ever so slightly tightens, ready for some insult.

“You remember her still?” Matt’s head hung low as he sat at the other end of the couch.

“Every damn day. Always will. Your mother understands.” Jack nodded.

“What happened?” Matt didn’t meet his eyes.

“She got sick. I couldn’t save her.” Jack cleared his throat.

“That’s like your whole thing.”

“Yeah. I know. Some things are beyond our control.” Jack’s eyes didn’t leave the screen.

“My dad watched this shit too.” Matt nodded to the TV.

“He had good taste.”

“He would have liked you.” Matt huffed. Jack looked over at him, bewildered.

“Yeah? Why?”

“You take good care of us. You’re not a real asshole, just like a surface asshole. You want people to think you are but you’re not.”

“I try my best. I care about you too, Matt. I know it’s hard to believe, but I do.” Jack turned to face the boy. He looked like a child more than he ever had.

“I know. It’s…something in my head makes me want to hate you. Like if…if I don’t I’ll forget him.”

“You won’t. He’ll always be around for you. I’m not him, I wouldn’t try to be. Maybe we can try getting along for a bit, see how it feels. I know it would make your mom’s life easier.” Jack raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Try it out.” He chuckled as he got up and left.

After that night, Matt relaxed a little. You were so grateful to have some relief to his anger. Jack felt that same relief.

Life got a rhythm to it soon after. Jack moved in and Matt didn’t argue so much. They would watch the Steelers together and you’d pretend you wanted to, mostly you just enjoyed being one family for a moment.

Three years on and things were comfortable. Matt asking Jack’s advise about girls and school. They would go out to the batting cage every Sunday. Jack always made sure he had Sundays off, time to spend with his family.

“Jack, I’ll be fine. I have enough sunscreen!” Matt groaned as Jack shoved a can of sunscreen spray into Jacks bag.

“It’s going to be hot and there will no shade. Melanoma ain’t something to fuck around with, Kid.” Jack said.

“Matt, humor him so you can leave.” You laughed as you walked out of the kitchen.

“Look,” Jack whispered looking behind to make sure you were out of ear shot. “not just sunscreen in there. You be careful, I put a couple sizes so we didn’t have to get that personal.” He winked.

“Oh my god! Stop talking!” Matt whined.

“He’s right Sweetie! I see way too many teen boys at the clinic with STDs. It’s no fun.” You chuckled as you walked back in.

“I tried to be subtle, that’s on you.” Jack pointed at Matt. “Jake will be there, if you need someone go find him.”

“It’s a concert. I think I’ll be fine. You two are paranoid.” Matt laughed.

“It’s our job. I see too many things go sideways.” Jack sighed.

“Matty, we just want you to be careful. Be back in this house by 10pm. A second later and I will lose my shit.” You smiled.

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” Matt rolled his eyes.

“Hey, listen to your mother. You treat that girl well too.” Jack said.

“Girl? What girl?” You asked looking between them.

“Jack! Come on man!”

“Matt, please be careful. Go have fun.” You sighed, not wanting to give yourself more to worry about.

“Call if you need anything.” Jack said. Matt waved you both off as he ran out the door.

“Is 17 too young for a music festival? Did I just make a huge mistake?” You asked, suddenly filled with anxiety.

“Hell if I know. Things are different these days. I would have snuck out to go, so he was probably going either way.” Jack shook his head as he started for the bedroom.

“You want breakfast before you pass out?”

“No. Rough night. Just want sleep.” Jack said. You marveled at how he never let Matt see how heavy his job was. He watched people die and came home and joke about football with Matt. You worked in the low-income clinic attached to PTMC, never seeing half the things he did.

You sat in the sun, enjoying the quiet of the late afternoon. Your garden was the small way you kept your sanity. The flowers blooming made you feel like you weren’t a complete failure at life. You tried to stay out of the house when Jack was sleeping, allowing him some peace.

“Didn’t I just give the melanoma speech this morning?” Jack stood in the patio doorway.

“The day got away from me.” You chuckled.

“Get in here before you fry.” He said, his eyes twinkling.

“Was that an order?” You smirked.

“Yes, it very much was.” He said, he leaned on the doorway, his biceps flexing in the sun. You felt a little dizzy looking at him. You stood, dusting yourself off as you walked up.

“I’m covered in dirt.” You laughed.

“Never minded a little dirt.” He said tilting your chin up with a finger and gently kissing you. His hand tangled in your hair as he deepened the kiss.

“The neighbors are definitely watching.” You smiled.

“Let them.” He said as he pulled you close.

“Take me to the bed, our backs can’t handle the patio bricks.” You chuckled.

“Is that an order?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Sir, it is.” You bit at his bottom lip. In a swift motion he wrapped an arm around your waist and lifted you over his shoulder.

“Yes, Ma’am!” He said taking you towards the bedroom.

“Oh my god! Do not hurt yourself being an idiot!” You giggled.

“I lift patients all day, you think I can’t carry you to bed? Please!” He threw you on the bed.

“Take your shirt off.” You barked, suddenly desperate to see him. He didn’t waste time, threw the shirt onto the floor. His muscles shining in the sunlight.

“Now you.” He was practically drooling as you undid your shirt and let it sink to the floor. He stood between your legs, running his hands up your arms, across your collar bone, taking his time tracing his fingertips up your throat.

“dispatch sending all available units, Signal 36, Pittfest. Shots fired.” The police scanner buzzed with the warning.

“Jack did that just say-”

“Call Matt.” Jack dropped his hands fumbling to find his phone. You scrambled to find your phone, dialing Matt.

“It’s going straight to voicemail.” Your voice shook.

“Dammit! They probably took over the cell signal.” Jack growled.

“Jack, what do I do!?” You’re breath picking up.

“Honey, breathe. You gotta stay calm.” He said, holding your face in his hands. “You keep trying to call him. Once he gets away from the festival grounds, he’ll be able to reach you. You stay here, let all your neighbors know to watch out for him.” He told you.

“What are you doing?” You looked confused as he started dressing.

“Baby, I gotta go into work. They’ll be overwhelmed with patients. He might head there first, I’ll be there if he is.” Jack sighed.

“Jack, what if-”

“No. Don’t go there.” He stopped the thought before you could finish it. “I’ll have someone monitoring my phone if I can’t. You call me the second you see him. I love you.” Jack kissed you as he grabbed his bag and ran out the door.

Jack was right, The Pitt was overwhelmed almost immediately. He kept his head down, going from patient to patient. Kept asking Dana for updates.

“Jake? Jake, where’s Matt?” Jack ran up to the boy, his leg oozing blood.

“I don’t know, man! I lost him in the crowd. I tried to find him.”

“Okay, it’s okay. Sit down, we’ll fix you up.” Jack said as he assessed the leg and ordered treatments,  running back, seeing the state Leah was in. Robby wasn’t going to handle that well. He kept working, all he could do was keep working.

“Jack…” Dana’s voice brought him back, looking over as Robby crumbled.

“Come on man. You’ve done more for her than anyone else. If this was a different day, she still wouldn’t have made it.” Jack said.  Robby kept pushing meds and doing compressions for a moment, Jack’s words settling into him.

“Stop compressions.”

“Want me to call it?” Jack offered. Robby shook his head.

“Time of death 2104.”  Robby shook his head. Jack patted him on the shoulder.

“I got another red! GSW to the abdomen and right leg! Lost a lot of blood in the field.” Shen called as he wheeled in another patient. Jack tossed his gloves off and grabbed new ones. When he turned he saw the shoes. The shoes he bought Matt for his sixteenth birthday. The shoes he had begged for, never giving you or Jack peace until he had them. The white shoes now red.

“No.” He whispered as he ran over. The pale face of Matt knocked the wind out of him.

“Dr. Abbot, IO is placed. Should I start giving blood?” Princess asked. Jack froze. “Dr. Abbot?” Princess asked, looking at him confused.

“uh…yeah, yes. Start giving blood, we have to get his clothes off.” Jack’s voice shook. “Dr. Mohan! I need you here!” He called, his voice sharp and broken making everyone face him.

“Oh god.” Dana gasped.

“Dr. Abbot?” Samira questioned. “Do you need to step away?” She asked.

“I-I…Robby! I need you!” He cried out. Robby turned, his face red and confused until he saw Matt’s face. He ran over, pushing Jack away.

“Dr. Mohan start intubation.” Robby started barking orders. Dana came over and dragged Jack away.

“Call her.” She handed him the phone and ran over to help.

His hands shook as he hit your contact.

“Jack? What’s going on? Is he there?” Your voice is thick with worry.

“Honey, he’s here. He’s hurt.” His voice was so broken, you’d never heard him like that. The fear ran up your spine and grabbed your heart.

“Oh my god. Okay. I’m…fuck. Okay, I’m on my way.” You cried as you hung up the phone and ran to your car.

Jack watched as his friends worked to save his stepson. Watched as Robby did everything he could after just coding his own stepson’s girlfriend. He felt like his heart was in his throat and he was choking.

“Dr. Walsh, admit this one to surgery.” Robby called.

“He’ll be next in line, we’re finishing up with the other now.” She nodded as she walked with the nurses towards the elevators with Matt.

“Dr. Abbot, he’s okay. He’s going to surgery. Damage to the bowel, his right leg has some pretty bad damage, but he’ll survive.” Dr. Mohan told him.

“Jack, get some air.” Dana said. Jack stood, going straight to Robby.

“Brother…thank you…” He said.

“Yeah. You did the same.” Robby nodded. “Jake’s leg is okay?” Robby questioned.

“Yeah, yeah. It’ll be okay, won’t need amputation.” Jack cleared his throat. Robby nodded and walked off.

“Jack! Jack, where is he!?” You came running in, the blood on the floor almost stopping you. Jack ran up and wrapped you in his arms.

“He’s okay! He’s okay! He’s in surgery. Robby saved him.” He told you as you sobbed into his chest.

“Oh my god, thank god!” You cried.

“The leg was pretty bad, Honey. I don’t know if they’ll be able to fix it.” Jack sighed.

“He’s alive, that’s what matters to me.” You said, finally taking in the state of him. You brushed the sweat soaked hair from his face.

“I froze.” He said, his voice catching as he looked away.

“You got the right people to help him. That’s all you needed to do.” You told him.

“I’ve never froze like that.” He said, trying to stop the tears.

“Jack, your son was on the table in front of you. I would have too. Everyone would have. He’s going to be okay, Right?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s what we need to hold onto right now.” You kissed his temple.

“He’ll be in surgery for a while, you can sit in the break room until I can take you up.” Jack nodded.

“I can help.” You said.

“No, not tonight.” He said as he walked off.

“Hun, come sit with me.” Dana said pulling to the nurses station.

“He’s in shock.” You muttered.

“Yeah. We all are. He loves that boy.” Dana sighed as she handed you a chart to start entering, knowing you’d go crazy if you didn’t do anything.

Jack powered through getting his patients charts in and dealing with any last treatments. His mind clouded but functional.

“Dr. Abbot? Dana said to let you know they called down from surgery for you.” Javadi said.

“Okay. Can you make sure that the patient in bay six gets another round of O-neg.” He ordered as he walked off towards the nurses station.

“He’s getting moved to a room right now. They said Room 314.” Dana told him. You jumped up and followed him to the elevator.

The ride up to the third floor felt like an eternity. The door opened and the quiet on the floor was stunning. You both took a breath before leaving.

“Dr. Abbot, we got your boy over here.” Walsh waved over. “Some damage to the small bowel, we were able to correct, made the repairs to the liver. He’s got a broken rib from the impact. He’ll be on strict rest and NPO for a few days, IV calories strictly so those bowels can heal.” Walsh rattled off.

“Thank you.” You said, wiping the tears from your face.

“Course. I do need to warn you. We did everything we could to save the leg. The damage was too much. We had to amputate. Half way up the shin, like yours.” Walsh nodded. Jack squeezed his eyes shut. He never wanted this for him. He wanted to keep this pain from him.

“Okay. Thank you.” Jack said as if he was still holding his breath. You both entered the room. The breath caught in your throat as you took him in. His face so pale and the wires sticking off of him. The way he lay so still.

“Jack…” You sobbed. He wrapped you up in his arms. His eyes never left Matt’s right leg.

“He’ll be okay.” He said, burying his face in your hair.

You both sat next to him, refusing to leave. He didn’t wake for two days. The agony of waiting was obvious on your face. You were dozing off, head on Jack’s shoulder.

“Mom…” Matt groaned. You both shot awake.

“I’m here, baby. I’m here.” You said as you held his face in your hands.

“Mom.” He started to cry. You wrapped him up in the arms. Jack kept a hand on his leg.

“You’re okay, Matty.” You sobbed.

“it hurts.” He groaned, he tried to sit up. Jack put a hand to his chest and pushed him back.

“Take it easy. You gotta stay down for a while.” Jack said as he hit the call button.

“I remember the shots, I heard everyone screaming. There was a burning in my belly and then nothing.” Matt’s voice shook.

“Dr. Abbot?” a nurse came in.

“He’s in pain. Have Walsh put in an order for more morphine please.” He ordered.

“You got shot in the abdomen, Matt. They repaired it, you’ll be able to eat solids in a few days.” Jack explained.

“Okay. My leg hurts though.” Matt looked confused. Jack shook his head looking at the ground.

“Baby, you got shot in the leg. They tried everything, but they couldn’t save it. They had to cut it off at the shin.” You explained, trying to take the burden from Jack. It was heavy, too heavy for anyone but more so for Jack.

“I lost my leg? It’s just gone?” His voice filled with panic and confusion.

“If they left it, you would have been in so much pain.” You told him.

“We’ll help you through this, Kid. You’re strong. Stronger than I was.” Jack told him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m like you?” Matt looked up at Jack, he looked like a child.

“Yeah.” Jack nodded, trying and failing to stop the tears.

“Right now, we focus on getting you better. Then we focus on your leg.” You told him.

“You’ll help me, right?” Matt looked at Jack.

“Always, Matt. I’m always going to help you.” Jack pulled him into a tight hug. The two clung onto each other and cried.

You watched them, your chest tight. The healing would hurt, but you knew your family would make it.

[petalbcrnes]

ㅤ۟ㅤㅤ──ㅤ𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓ㅤ۫ㅤ ͏ㅤ𑜞᭄ ㅤ۪ㅤ⊹ㅤ𓈒

🧷 𑁯 𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐘 ── 𝓙𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐃 w/ an 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ! reader ഒ

♡ · REQUEST ── ❝ Could I pretty please request a fic thats Jason Todd X reader!!! But like... Reader is THAT girl . . . She has and always will be the shit of Gotham . . . Jason and reader have been friends since his robin dayz, and after he dies they still get back together and resume their bad bitch couple shit . . . it melts ppls hearts. ❞

⊹ 💬 · these reqs are so fun i love writing jaybeans and reader totally in love and being the hottest people in the room <3

ഒ DIRECTORY⠀;⠀RULES⠀;⠀REQ HERE (CUR. CLOSED).

Jason thinks he knows what sanctuary feels like—heaven built brick by brick by the hands of an angel he once knew before the waves of the Lazarus Pit covered him completely. It changed his young skin into something marred.

He did come back. He clawed his way out of his grave. But he came back wrong. He left something of the boy he used to be under that dirt. The name ‘Jason Todd’ etched upon that gravestone was long forgotten by most.

By most. Not all.

There had been white lilies upon his grave. It was like clockwork. Every month She came to him—or where She thought he rested. He watched from afar. His eyes never left the angel he used to know—his sanctuary.

She had grown up into something otherworldly. She wasn’t the girl he used to see during the Galas Bruce dragged him to, clinging to her parents as if everyone else around her scared her. Her glossy eyed stare had found him then. It had been so easy to attach himself to Her.

She was his friend. Is still now by the look of it. She never stopped visiting with those White Lilies, grieving losing something as if he was something She held dear.

She’s something different now. The girl She was still lingered behind those sharp eyes—hypnotizing to a fault—eyes that used to trap him in their hold and still continue to do so to this day.

She walks with a purpose now. Every step is calculated. People in Gotham City worship or curse the ground She walks on. It doesn’t change the fact everyone knows Her. Everyone notices Her.

She shines the brightest in this whole damned city.

He had wished She could shine upon him as well. He took his chance. Like a dog scratching at its owner’s door, begging to be let in—he caved and ran to the only sanctuary he’d known—Her.

She opened the door.

It was a dark night when he visited Her. The alabaster moon’s light was akin to a halo around Her. Her hair was perfectly imperfect—styled but slightly messy from sleeping. Her skin just as alive as he remembered it.

Her eyes still looked at him as if She loved his own sea-green eyes. Her hands now slender and soft—different from the calloused hands of his—still tender as they grazed his face, testing if he was real. As if this was a dream for Her, as if She dreamed of him.

The way She brought him into Her hold felt like a dream. The way She let him wrap his arms around her felt like a dream.

He’d entered the sanctuary again after that night alongside Her. Or maybe, the sanctuary was always just Her.

Next to Her he felt alive. The boy Jason Todd came alive under Her touch. It felt akin to lightning under his fingertips. It felt like a drug he was getting addicted to.

She was his. He was Hers.

The wide-eyed stares the two of them got was ever so worth it. Gotham City’s angel had brought heaven to the devil. Her hands played the entire Gotham elite like an instrument. She was Gotham City’s crowned princess, and him—the prince.

The media was alive with rumors about the two of them.

‘Is Love Real? Jason Todd's Soft Eyes™ Only for Gotham's It Girl: Gotham gasps. Media combusts. Hearts melt.’

Jason wasn’t used to this kind of light.

Not from the moon, not from Her living room dimmed by candlelight, not from the soft flash of paparazzi bulbs trying to catch a glimpse of their joined silhouettes through the tinted windows of a passing car.

He wasn’t used to being seen like this.

Not as a weapon. Not as a story of resurrection gone wrong.

But as Hers.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

There's something about the way She walks beside him. Like Gotham belongs to Her and She’s just letting everyone else borrow the sidewalk.

Jason doesn’t flinch under the eyes anymore. He used to. Used to brace himself for whispers or stares, expecting judgment or recognition or worse.

But now—now the stares are different.

They’re envious.

Jason said, “You wanna ditch this place?” His voice carried the weight of a man who’d learned the value of simple pleasures after tasting both death and resurrection.

She turned to him, eyes gleaming like She knew every life he'd lived—and said, “Yeah. But I'm driving.” The words simple but carrying universes between them.

He’d never loved a voice more in his life.

The next morning, tabloids were in flames.

‘Gotham's Golden Girl and the Reformed Robin.’

A grainy photo of them in a booth at some dive on the east end—Her in his leather jacket, him smiling like he forgot how to scowl, like happiness wasn’t just something that happened to other people.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

Tim said, “So, this is a thing now?” His voice cutting through the manor’s morning quiet like a curious bird.

Jason shrugged, sipping coffee in the manor kitchen like he didn’t just spend the night wrapped in silk sheets and Her perfume, like dawn hadn’t broken over his skin with Her breath against his neck. “Guess it is.”

“Since when?”

“Since she opened the damn door.” And with those words, heaven had let him back in.

Dick walked in, caught sight of the look on Jason's face and went, “Oh my god, he's in love.” The words hanging in the air like a revelation.

That’s when Roy burst in through the back entrance, wild-haired and sleep-deprived, clearly running off three hours of rest and one Red Bull, a whirlwind of motion and disbelief.

“I just saw the photo, and I swear to God, tell me it's Photoshop.”

Jason blinked. “Morning to you too, Harper.”

Roy stormed into the kitchen, phone in hand, showing the now-viral tabloid shot of Her sitting on Jason’s motorcycle in a black leather mini-dress and his jacket like she was the poster girl for ‘my boyfriend’s a reformed vigilante and I run this city.’

“This. This is real?! You and her?!”

Jason didn't even look. “Yeah. Real.” In those two words, the certainty of a man who’d touched divinity and lived to tell about it.

Tim sipped his drink like this was better than reality television.

Dick leaned against the fridge, smirking. “He’s been soft for her since we were kids.”

Roy stared at all of them, processing, then slowly sat down at the kitchen island like his legs gave out. “No, I need a minute. I’m dizzy. Jason Todd has a goddess who voluntarily chooses to hang out with him?”

Jason raised a brow. “You good?”

“No! I am not good!” Roy pointed dramatically. “You’re hot in a feral, ‘I fought my way out of hell’ kinda way. She’s hot in a ‘Vogue cover and private yacht in Monaco’ kinda way. That math doesn't math.”

“Sounds like jealousy to me.” Jason just grinned like the devil himself got a second chance at heaven.

© petalbcrnes | all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are not allowed to be reposted, translated, or modified. viewer discretion is advised.

[daisies-and-domming]

Zayne: In Heat! (NSFW)

Right Here, Right Now!

Summary: A new sort of Wanderer keeps appearing around Linkon City, sending the Hunters Association into a frenzy trying to figure out just what it does. When killed, it releases some sort of dangerous “pollen”, but that’s all you’re really cleared to know - other than the clear warning to get back to headquarters as soon as possible if you are hit. Turns out, that’s easier said than done.

Warnings: yes this is an A/B/O fic (the demons got me), afab!reader, omega!reader, alpha!characters, heat, swearing, petnames (Zayne calls you "darling" and "wife"), marking/mating, breeding kink (Zayne), office sex, a little bit dubcon!!

This is Zayne's part to this series! Looking for someone else?

Rafayel | Xavier | Caleb

Or use the tag #daisy's series: in heat!

Let me know if you think I missed anything!! All characters are over 18 :) – – –

It was a simple mistake, you try and tell yourself. You didn’t know the Wanderer was going to explode like that!

But even the simplest of mistakes gets people in your profession killed. Being a Deepspace Hunter, especially a hunter in the UNICORNS unit, meant you couldn’t afford to make mistakes, not when other people’s lives were on the line. 

So you don’t go back to headquarters, not yet anyhow,heading straight for the hospital instead.

You know for a fact Zayne’s in office tonight, because you were complaining about him cancelling yet again your plans to hang out. He was your best option right now - whatever you got hit with is making you feel all sorts of weird. 

The first thing you noticed was your vision blurring and your sense of smell dulling; like the world was fading into grey. You smack the side of your head, trying to keep yourself in one piece. The hospital was only two more blocks away, and you couldn’t afford to not make it. Even if Zayne didn’t know exactly what was happening to you, hopefully he could draw your blood or send you for an eval in one of the other offices. There’s no one in your life that you trust quite like  Zayne, and you’re certain that he can help you with whatever the hell was going on with you.

The second thing you notice, as you draw nearer to the hospital, is the looks. People always look at you, especially when you’re in your hunter’s uniform, but there’s something…different. Some people look sympathetic, like they know something you don’t. Others jeer at you, making comments that made you wish you were off the clock right now and could kick their ass. But you’re a professional - so you hold your head high, and you keep moving.

You make it into the clear glass doors of the hospital, and that’s when the third thing hits - the smell. Your sense of smell had dropped drastically when this “pollen” had originally got you, but there was a mysterious smell coming from somewhere in the hospital that was calling out to you. It smelled like hot chocolate on a winter’s day, the kind that you have right next to the fireplace after having been outside for too long. It smelled like home, and almost mindlessly, you try to follow it.

You’re stopped pretty quickly by a nurse, who mutters something about “heat” and “omega” to one of the passing nurses. You’re led to sit down, but the bright lights of the waiting room are nauseating, and you almost lose your whole lunch as your world spins.

“-you okay? Is there anything we can do for you? If you forgot your heat suppressants, I can direct you to the pharmacy down the street-”

“Heat? What are you talking about?” You respond, snapping your head towards hers, “I’m here to see Dr. Zayne. He’s my primary care physician? Something’s wrong, I just went through a Wanderer attack, and-”

She shushes you, looking over her shoulder (likely for back-up, even you can tell you’re acting a bit crazed right now).

“Honey, you’re in heat. At this point, all we can do is suggest a heat partner. Do you have a ride home?”

You frown, still not understanding. In heat? You’re a beta, always have been. You don’t have to worry about finicky things like “heats” or “ruts”. You move to try and explain this to her, but a voice from behind the nurse cuts you off.

“Is everything alright? What could you possibly be doing here this late - oh.”

Zayne’s voice sends a spike of heat through your body, and you can’t help the smallest of whines from slipping out of your mouth. It’s quiet, but you can tell he hears it, and his whole demeanor shifts.

“Did they tell you what happened?”

The nurse tries to tell Zayne what you’ve told her so far, but he’s not actually listening - all of his senses are honed in on you. He notes your symptoms - visible fever, shortness of breath, pupils dilated - and he motions for the nurse to move, offering you an arm.

“They’re my patient. They’ll listen to me,” he tells the nurse, keeping his composure as much as he can.

He won’t tell her that it’s because he’s merely a man, a selfish one at that, and he can’t stand the burning looks of the other alphas in the room boring into you. To them, you’re nothing more than a good time, a pretty little omega for them to fuck and move on. Something protective rumbles in his chest before he can stop it. The nurse sends him a skeptical look, about to protest, when you grip on to his extended arm, and oh. Your skin isn’t even touching his, and yet it’s like a wet dream come true. You set him alight, and it takes everything in his power not to coo at you as you lean your weight into him.

“Zayne, what’s happening to me?” You sigh, looking up at him with your eyes blown wide.

“Let me get you to my office, okay? I can tell you everything you need to know there, just need to get you away from-” he sends a weary, menacing look to any wandering eyes behind him, “-from all of these heathens.”

“Okay,” you respond, so soft and sweet it sends a sick sort of thrill down Zayne’s spine.

He knows as he leads you to his office it’s a bad idea. He knows, but he can’t help himself. He’ll regret it in the morning, but for now? For now, he can have you, his darling, all needy for him in his office. He imagines bending you over every surface of the room, pushing your bare body up against the glass for everybody to see - and he’s already leaking. If you were a well attuned omega, you would be able to smell the lust rolling off of him in waves, but you don’t know what’s happening to you. All you know is that something about Zayne is sending your body into a frenzy, and you want nothing more than to burn under his touch.

Finally, finally, you make it into his office, where he guides you to sit on the couch there. He hovers for a moment, as if contemplating his next move, before leaving you there to lock the door (odd - you don’t remember him ever locking the door for your other appointments). He’s almost on top of you in the next instant, and his scent makes your brain foggy and your limbs heavy. He smells like warmth on a winter day, and you’re acutely aware, if only for a moment, that you’d let him do anything to you.

He reaches out with a hand, tilting your chin up so you’re forced to look up at him. His other hand brushes stray hairs from your face, before falling back to his side. He looks just as crazed as you feel, his pupils swallowing the chocolate brown of his eyes. If it weren’t for the lab coat he was wearing, you’d be able to see the wet patch he’s leaving on the front of his slacks, his cock already straining for release.

“So?” Yyou ask, eyeing him curiously. You’re a little on edge now, your senses a little sharper.

You may have been hit by something funny, but you’re not stupid. Zayne, in all of his quiet composure, has a tell - the tips of his ears are dusted with a light pink, and he pushes up his glasses not once, but twice (even if they’re not on his face. It makes you giggle every time). He’s holding something back, and you’re worried all over again.

That’s when a terrible pain rips through your body, like your abdomen is being ripped apart from the inside. It feels like something is trying to claw its way out of you, and a sob wracks your body. Zayne rushes forward as your body goes limp.

“Hey, hey, look at me, darling,” he says, urgency lacing his tone. 

“Look at me.”

The pain ebbs a bit as he nears, but you can still feel the way the pain tears at your stomach. Barely lucid, your weary eyes find his, pleading and wet.

“I can help, okay? Are you okay with me helping? Just let go for me, darling.” 

He’s close - too close - but God, you could care less right now. There’s nothing in the room right now but him, in all of his glory, hovering just inches away from you.

You give him the smallest of nods, but it’s enough. Enough for him to spring into action, hand already working at the button of your pants. You’re so wet with slick that he has to peel them off your skin, but it’s worth it to see you, poised on his work couch in only your underwear.

He thumbs at the waistband of your underwear, fingers dipping under it teasingly. 

“May I?”

“Y-yeah, yeah, go ‘head,” you say back, voice gravelly with want.

But he doesn’t take them off like you thought he would - instead, he shoves his face right up against your entrance, lapping at it through the soaked fabric of your underwear. Your hips buck instinctually, and his hands find their way to your thighs, kneading at them. Your legs try to close around his head, but he gives you a warning look over his glasses, and you try your best to keep them spread. A small smirk appears on his face at your obedience, but it’s gone as quickly as it came, because he’s already diving back in for more.

Even through your underwear, he can taste your arousal so potently, coating his tongue like the sweetest ambrosia. He’s sucking it through your underwear like a pervert. All open-mouthed and nasty, but it’s only making the slick pour from your entrance like a waterfall. Watching the usually cool and collected Zayne fall apart at merely a taste of you was dragging you close to an early edge. His glasses are starting to fog at the heat you’re radiating, but he doesn’t care - just dives deeper into you. He wants to taste you on his tongue forever, to keep his pretty, perfect omega satisfied. He doesn’t need anything from you, the bulge in his pants meant nothing to him. All he can think about is drawing those sweet little noises from you.

Your hand finds its way to his hair, and in a pleasure-seeking haze, you grind his face into your entrance. He groans, rich and deep, and it sends pleasant shockwaves through your system. Everything is hazy, like you’ve stepped into a dream, but you keep rolling your hips against his face, chasing your high. You’re heavy eyelids lift long enough to catch him staring up at you reverently, glasses askew and foggy, and that’s all it takes to send you spiralling over the edge. His unabashed worship for you, even now, made you clench around nothing as you came, the universe exploding into a million stars behind your eyes.

You’re not sure how long it takes for you to come back down, but by the time you do, Zayne has you in his lap, your head resting in the crook of his neck. The sensitive spot just below his ear is where his scent is the strongest, and when your head feels like your own again, you shift to nuzzle your nose into it. When that’s not enough, you start to nip at his neck, placing gentle kisses between lips. You can hear him exhale through his nose, and you feel the way he stiffens beneath you, trying not to interfere with whatever you’re doing. But he’s just so sensitive, and the little “anh!” that escapes his lips at your ministrations sounds almost like a whine.

“Are-mnph-are you feeling-ah-better?” He stutters out, his whole body weak to your touch.

“Mhm,” you mumble out against his neck, still not quite sure what you’re doing.

All you know is that he smells intoxicating, and you need more of him. You want to feel every inch of his skin against yours, want to cut him open and crawl inside of his skin so you can feel him everywhere. It makes you sick just how badly you yearn for him at this moment, and you bite down a little harder at the soft flesh of Zayne’s neck, grinning against his skin when his hips buck up against you.

“Mine.” You declare, before you can stop it.

It feels so natural, to call him yours. Almost like it’s always been that way. It twists your gut in a way you don’t understand, so you don’t try to. Instead, you lean back, taking in Zayne under you.

He’s flushed, a pretty red that spreads all the way from his cheeks down his neck, and he looks like your wettest dreams. He’s gnawing at his lip as he looks up at you so prettily, and your eyes flick down to them - a question. As you lean in, you give him enough time to back out, but he sinks into you instead, meeting your lips halfway. It’s a juxtaposition to the filthiness that went on earlier, the way he kisses you like you’re something delicate. You can still taste the hints of yourself on his tongue, and it makes you melt against him, fingers tangling into the short hair at the back of his neck. The moment shifts, and everything starts to feel more intimate. With the worst of the pain gone, you realize this is Zayne, your Zayne, the one who made you little snow seals when the seals at the aquarium made you feel bad. The one who texts you to make sure you’ve eaten lunch, and to make sure you’re not overworking yourself (to which you usually respond “hypocrite”, which shuts him up awful fast). You’re overwhelmed with something akin to embarrassment, and you pull away.

“Are you okay, darling?” He searches your face, concern written all over his expression. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

You hum, a noncommittal thing, still too embarrassed to properly look him in the eyes. He huffs, and squeezes your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, dragging you so close that your forehead knocks against his.

“Talk to me.”

It’s not a question, this time. It’s a command, and heat sparks in your stomach anew.

“I just…’m sorry I dragged you into whatever this is,” you say, unsure of yourself. 

“I know this is probably just work to you, but-”

“It’s never just work with you.”

He says it with such sincerity you can’t help but lean in to kiss him again, short and chaste. You hope he can feel your love in every move you make against him, that this means something more than just sex to you. 

And then it hits again - that twisting heat in your abdomen, like a punch to your stomach. It’s less bad, now that you’re pressed against Zayne, but it still makes you hiss, hand moving to put pressure on your stomach. He moves to pull you closer, looking down at your shaking frame.

“Anything you need, darling. Anything.”

So you beg. You plead until all that’s left of your voice is wispy breaths. You’re not even quite sure what you’re saying anymore, overwhelmed by the raw need to feel him fill you up, to have him carve the shape of himself into you. Your lips find his neck again, and your hands fumble for his belt, buried under the thick weight of his lab coat. His thighs twitch underneath you, and you shift just enough to yank his pants and boxers to his mid-thigh, enough for his cock to spring out of its confines. It smacks heavily against his black button-up, and god, is it glorious.

He’s impressive in length and in girth, the kind of thickness that would just split you apart if you weren’t already dripping for him. A lone blue vein runs up the underside of his cock, prominent and glistening with his own precum.You can feel your mouth watering at the idea of tracing it with your tongue. But when you go to slide off of Zayne to do so, his fingers find purchase on your hips, dragging your dripping heat to rest just over his leaking cock. You both groan at the contact, and you can’t help but press down into him, catching your clit right on the throbbing head of his dick. Heat overtakes your body, and your hips can’t help themselves as they began to rut down into him, your body begging you for more.

“I-fuck-I need t’feel you, need it, alpha,” you pant out, already forgetting your desire to taste him.

His eyes roll back in his head, fingers digging into the meat of your hips, hard enough to bruise. Something inside of you purrs at the idea of him marking you up with the kind of bruises that leave no doubts about what happened tonight.

“Darling I-hngh!-can’t hold b-back anymore,” Zayne starts, heaving as your hips refuse to slow down, “I have to have you. Can I? Please, can I have you?”

You can barely nod before an obscene rip echoes in the room. Between Zayne’s fingers is the tattered remains of your underwear, a lewd string of slick connecting it to your entrance still. You watch in awe as he presses the ripped fabric to his nose, inhaling deeply. His tongue darts out, and a groan rumbles out of his chest when he gets another taste of your slick, his dick twitching pathetically against your now bare entrance. 

And when his tip just barely catches against your entrance? It’s over, his cock already spurting hot cum against you, coating his abdomen. 

“W-what a waste, darling,” he murmurs, muffled by the underwear still pressed to his face. “Should-hah-should’ve been i-inside.”

And his free hand moves from its place on your hip down to his release, scooping up some of the sticky mess onto his fingers. Before you have a chance to question him, he’s pressing his fingers to your entrance, forcing his cum inside of you. The feeling of his thick fingers stretching your entrance has your head falling back and your mouth falling open in a silent scream. His fingers reach so deep, and you wonder, briefly, if you’ll even be able to take his cock. They escape your entrance once again, just to messily smear more cum into your hole, mean and unforgiving. 

If you weren’t so lost in your own pleasure, you’d be able to see how Zayne couldn’t look away from your entrance, now dripping with a mix of your slick and his release. He was hypnotized by the way you can’t help but grind down on his fingers, begging for more of him. He curls them just right, and his breath catches in his throat when you fall forward into him, moaning out his name. No pleas, no “alpha!”, just Zayne.

A sick, twisted part of him hopes it takes. He can already see it - how beautiful you’d be all round and heavy with his pups - and it makes him burlly another finger into your entrance, trying to dig his cum deeper into you. All he can think about is you, his sweet little darling, all powerful and strong, reduced to his little housewife.

“Can’t take it anymore,” you whine, snapping him out of his perverted  daydream. “Want your knot, want to feel you fill me up, please.”

And something mean twists in Zayne’s gut, something sharp twinkling in his eyes as he looks up at you. He slips the tattered underwear into the pocket of his lab coat, and his now freed hand moves to tilt your head to look at him.

“Are you sure, darling? I’m not sure I believe you,” he responds, eyes glowing with mirth, “Beg for it.”

What a cruel alpha he is, making a heat-riddled omega beg for his cock. But the idea of him not filling you up sends you into a frenzy, frantic pleas falling from your mouth as you squeeze around his fingers pathetically.

“No, no! Need it, promise I do. C-can’t you feel how-ahn!-wet I am? Please, ‘m drippin’ for you, need to feel your cock fill me up, need you to mark me as yours-uhn! I’m yours, aren’t I, Zayne?”

At the sound of his name, so sweet falling from your lips, Zayne rips his fingers from your entrance, fumbling to grasp at the base of his aching dick. It’s flushed red and he’s not sure how long he’s going to last inside of you when you’re looking at him like that. Like he’s the only thing left in the world, like you love him.

But neither of you can even think once his cock slides into your entrance. No amount of fingering could have prepared you for just how thick he truly was, and tears bead at the corners of your eyes at the stretch. And it just keeps going, keeps sinking into your heat until you feel him all the way in your stomach. His tip is kissing your cervix so sloppily, and it makes your walls clench around him.

And suddenly you’re in the air. You’re dizzy and disoriented as you move, his dick sliding impossibly deeper in a way that has your legs locking behind his back, keeping him there. His teeth dig into your shoulder at that, trying to keep his sounds down, but it’s impossible when you just feel so good.

With one hand, Zayne balances you against his body, and with the other, he sweeps the papers and trinkets off of his desk, not caring where they end up. He cradles your head as he drops your back to meet the cold surface of his desk, always worried about your safety, even when he’s balls deep in you. It makes your heart squeeze in your chest, an unfamiliar warmth flooding your body.

You don’t have much time to think, though, before he’s pulling his hips back until only his tip is still inside you. He stays there for a moment, loving the way you pulse around his sensitive head, before his self-control fully snaps, and he’s bucking into you wildly. The desk creaks under you, shifting under the raw power of Zayne’s thrusts, until you hear it roughly thunk against the wall. 

You’re certain the whole wing can hear you two, bodies sliding and humping at each other like animals, but you don’t care, not when his cock is slamming into that spot that makes you see stars. Your body surrenders to the heat overtaking it, surrenders to him, and you’re limp in his hold, forced to take until your body is satisfied.

“Z-Zayne, mark, pl-uhn-please?” You beg between moans.

And this isn’t really consent, not when you’re so deep in an unfamiliar heat, and the back of Zayne’s mind is screaming at him to stop, don’t give in. But when your head falls to the side, baring your neck to him so submissively, how was he ever supposed to resist?

His canines sink into the delicate flesh of your skin, right in the juncture where your scent gland rests, and it’s like fireworks explode behind your eyes. It feels like your souls are intertwining, a metaphysical connection that fills your entire being with the warmth of a thousand suns. Your body convulses under him, but that just makes him dig his teeth into your skin harder, the metallic taste of your blood filling his mouth. Only when your convulsing turns into weak twitching does Zayne’s jaw unlock. He presses gentle kisses into your shoulder, licking at the blood dripping from his mark, unable to stop his hips from still bucking into your sensitive body.

“You’re mine, mine, you hear me?” He babbles, not even realizing he’s saying anything at all.

“My omega, my perfect little darling, a-aren’t you? Fuck, ‘m gonna fill you up so good, make you-mhm-round with my pups, make you a pretty momma, knot you again and again and again until i-it takes. Do you-hah-want that, darling? Want to be my perfect little wife?”

Your head is filled with cotton and your limbs don’t feel like they’re even yours anymore, but you blink your weary eyes up at Zayne. His silhouette is blurry from the tears you can’t seem to control, but even blurred he’s still a sight to behold.

His glasses are barely still on his face, askew and only really still hooked on one of his ears. He’s still almost fully dressed, but his collar is mussed, and his pants and boxers have made their way around his ankles. His belt, still looped through his pants, clanks against the floor with every harsh thrust of Zayne’s hips, mixing into the symphony of moans and squelches filling his office. 

It’s obscene and sloppy, everything is dishevelled in a way that is so markedly not Zayne, but it makes you clench around him nonetheless. Only you get to see him like this, make him like this. It sends a thrill down your spine, and a rush of heat floods your abdomen, your walls fluttering around Zayne’s girth. 

“Darling, darling, feel so good for me, are you going to let go? Let go, let me feel you cum around me.” Zayne coos, looking down at you adoringly.

You frantically shake your head. You’re close, unbearably so, but you want-need Zayne to come undone with you. So you lift your feeble hands to grip at the hair at the back of Zayne’s neck and to pull his collar to the side. With the last of your strength, you yank him down to you, right into your eager mouth. He gasps as your teeth sink into his scent gland, and that’s all it takes - the base of his cock swells, and you can feel his knot start to take. The pathetic whimper that escapes Zayne’s mouth as your teeth sink deeper into his skin is enough to tip you off the edge, and you cum hard, biting into Zayne’s neck in a weak attempt to muffle your noises. It doesn’t matter anymore, really - the slam of the desk against the wall and the wailing you did earlier was certainly enough to tip anyone off to what was happening in here. But as you start to come back down to Earth, a wave of embarrassment overcomes you. This was your best friend. You just had sex - you just mated - your best friend, and an embarrassing part of you doesn’t even care. You’ve just claimed and marked the illustrious Doctor Zayne as yours, and he’s going to have to walk around the hospital after this, smelling like you and wearing your mark on his gland.

“It’s going to be a while before my knot goes down.” Zayne says, his voice still strained but mostly back to his normal matter-of-fact tone.

His knot. It all floods back to you - how you pleaded for his knot, how you begged him to mark you - and you fluster under his watchful eye.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, still unable to really even look at him, “I shouldn’t have forced you to do this, to…to mark me.”

You say it with so much contempt that it makes the ever-stoic Zayne frown, concern written in the creasing of his eyebrows. The hand thumbing at your hip moves to cradle your face, and he leans closer to you, wincing at the way his sensitive cock shifts inside of your gummy walls.

“Do you…” he ponders for a moment, “Do you regret it?”

He looks at you, searching your eyes for even a hint of anger at him, but all he finds is guilt. Like somehow you were at fault for all of the sick things Zayne did to you when you didn’t know what was happening to you. It makes something in his stomach flip, sadistic and cruel. You were so sweet, thinking that any of this was somehow your fault, and it makes him want to bite into your scent gland all over again. It was likely that the effect of whatever hit you would soon fade, but a little voice in the back of his head hopes that the mark he left doesn’t fade with it. That when you have to go back to work, all of the people that so much as glance at you can tell that you’re his, that you’re off-limits forever. In every lifetime, he’s given himself up to get even a taste of your love, and a certainty settles into his gut that he’ll never be able to let you go again, not after he’s had you.

“Do…do you regret it?” You ask, still carrying that heavy guilt in your eyes.

“Of course not,” Zayne responds, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “I could never regret anything if it’s with you.”

– – –

ehehe thank you for reading!!! I don't have a sylus part planned, buuuut if anybody wants it please let me know! I just unlocked him and I wouldn't be opposed...

(also if you have other ideas for LADS send them in! I am so feral about them right now I will write just about anything)

[coralquill]

Hi there! If you don't mind writing it, between the LaDS and MC (who are not in a relationship), who would confess their feelings first? And what's your headcanon of how they would confess? Would it be accidental in conversation? Out of frustration? Planned?

Additionally, if it's not too long, how would the other respond?

ahoy, thank you for requesting! oof, that was a roller-coaster of feelings with how I think it'd go for each of the love interests. I struggled with coming up with one for Sylus, but it became my favorite at the end<3

pairings: xavier x reader || zayne x reader || rafayel x reader || sylus x reader || caleb x reader

contents: fluff, love confessions, comfort, iloveyous || wc.1731

— XAVIER

Xavier's love is constant and has always been there, and you have subconsciously accepted in your life.

On a quiet afternoon, Xavier and you strolled along the sidewalk in search of an after-lunch dessert. You stopped in front of an ice-cream parlor and smiled at him, hinting at your want.

Smiling back, Xavier stepped up to the counter. "Two ice-cream cones, please," he ordered, adding in a request you couldn't quite catch.

Moments later, he returned with two ice-cream cones in your favorite flavor and handed you one. "Here you go."

Glancing down, you noticed your ice-cream toppings were arranged in a heart shape. "Thank you." Your voice trailed off as you let the realization set in. That was when you really looked and saw his love.

You realized Xavier had always loved you—how he spent most of his time with you, how he remembered all your preferences and favorites, and how your routines became a part of his days were all quiet ways of him saying I love you without needing to say it aloud.

His love had a steady presence in your life—always there, and it had always been enough.

— ZAYNE

Zayne's love is subtle, showing it whenever it was suited. He only wants for you to confirm your feelings, too.

Zayne promised to meet up with you after work. With a text sent telling you to dress nicely, he drove his car to your house and parked in your driveway, waiting for you to come down.

"Good evening, doctor," you greeted him at the door of his car before sliding in.

Zayne smiled in response, presenting you with a bouquet of jasmines. Small petals, subtle meanings. "This is for you."

"Aw, thank you." You accepted the bouquet. "What's the occasion?"

"Can't I gift flowers to the person I love?" He smiled, sparing you an appreciative glance before driving off the driveway.

You flushed at his words and buried your face in the bouquet, pretending to take in its scent as an excuse to hide away.

The drive to the restaurant was short. Zayne parked his car across the street and got out. He circled around to your side and helped you out. Linking his arm with you, he guided you to the entryway of the restaurant.

The hostess greeted you and asked for the number of attendees. Zayne replied, "There's a reservation under the name Zayne, please."

She quickly nodded and guided you both to your table—private and secluded, away from the crowds of dining guests.

The settings were fancy. Candles lit, drinks already poured, and the gentle music played soft tunes in the background.

With a smile dancing on your lips, you followed Zayne as he guided you to your chair. "What is all of this about?"

Sitting across from you, he linked his fingers at the underside of your chair and pulled you closer. "This is my confession to you. I want to keep you to myself." He gazed into your eyes, his voice softening. "Everytime I look at you and I can't help but want you by my side. Forever and always."

You threw yourself into his embrace, nodding eagerly to accept his feelings, to confirm your own.

And Zayne hugged you back just as eagerly, his face finding purchase at the hollow of your neck. He could feel the pulses of your beating heart—pulsating in response to his.

— RAFAYEL

Rafayel is loud and bold with his confessions and love like fireworks. Though he is waiting for you to meet him halfway.

Warm weather, gentle winds, and perfect sun. All the good factors to hold an outdoor gallery by the beach, and that was exactly what Rafayel planned to do. He had invited you to an event curated just for you, sending you a dress and the venue's address and urging you to be there on time.

"Hello, cutie! You're right on time." He greeted you at the sands of the beach kissed the pavement, taking your hand in his to guide you to what he wanted you to see.

You gasped at the sight.

Carpets of white were laid out over the beige of sand, and purples and pinks of flower petals were thrown across the floor. Canvases upon canvases showcased all around the center part of the gallery. They held the warm, gentle colors of spring and summer, splashed around the vast surfaces in intricate patterns to convey feelings and views witnessed through the eyes of an artist—and they all shared one subject. You.

You were the centerpiece of every canvas, painted delicate and dainty and with love.

Overwhelmed with feelings, you glanced at Rafayel, wanting him to take the helm as you set sail through the waves of emotions.

He took your hand in his, smiling gently, "I take it as you like my little surprise for you?"

"Like it? I love it—I love you!" You blurted out.

Rafayel gasped in surprise, nodding in excitement, "Oh, yes! I love you, too!" His voice rang with the same passion he had poured into each and every painting surrounding you. Bold, and bright, and unapologetic.

He couldn't hold his excitement in any longer and smothered your face with kisses.

Rafayel had always been bold with his choices. Bright colors, flamboyant clothing, and his declarations of love for you. Though he never forced you to reciprocate, always waiting for you to meet him halfway.

And you did.

— SYLUS

Sylus has always been open with his feelings, wearing his heart on his sleeve when it came to you. He's just patiently waiting for you to accept his love.

The city lights blurred into streaks as Sylus sped through the bustling roads. He had you riding behind him and clutching at the sides of his leather jacket as you felt the air resist against your helmet.

Mirror-clad skyscrapers mirrored racing reflections of you and Sylus whenever the motorcycle roared past their glinting surfaces.

Sylus drove you through the streets and roads, buildings bleeding into the background until they stood tall and unmoving once the motorcycle came to a stop.

Red light.

Your fingers twitched at Sylus's sides.

"What's wrong, sweetie?"

You raised your head up and saw Sylus was already watching you with his visor raised up. He pressed a button at the side of your helmet, forcing your visor to go up as well. Your eyes met his—and you lost yourself in them.

They were captivating, alluring, and they held you with such gentleness that all your worries and woes melted away.

"Sweetie?"

"You blinked, eyes flickering from Sylus's to all the prominent features of his face before wavering. You focused on a faraway building, watching its surface catch the gleaming lights of the city. You sighed, "It's nothing."

Sylus was still watching you, and the distant look in your eyes gave you away. Something was bothering you, and you didn't want to let Sylus know.

He breathed out softly, hooking his finger underneath your helmet to redirect your attention back to him. "Listen to me," he said, "no matter what it is and no matter whoever is involved, just say the word and I will take care of it."

"I will," you responded, voice tender and raw. "I trust you will."

"I mean it." Sylus gently bumped his helmet against yours. "I'd do anything for you. You know I love you."

His eyes bore into yours and they spoke of love so deep, so pure. It seeped from his heart and throughout his veins, awaiting just outside the doors of your heart—to be accepted, to be welcomed.

Green light.

The traffic lights illuminated the streets with green, and it was time to go—to move forward and finally welcome his feelings into your heart.

— CALEB

"You have to be careful with what you're doing, pip-squeak," Caleb sighed in frustration. "I don't appreciate getting calls during work from people I don't know telling me something's happened to you." He stood up and paced around the room, each step heavy with stress.

Caleb beats around the bush about his feelings for you. Though he's clear about not wanting anyone else (other than you.) He'd be surprised when you finally admit your feelings for him, too.

He pinched the bridge of his nose before glancing your way. You sat in the middle of the couch, looking guilty and all too sorry for worrying him.

His heart broke a little at the sight.

Caleb crouched in front of you, his arms resting around your knees. "It's just that... I don't want you to get hurt. I don't want to imagine living in a world without you. I love you—"

Upon uttering those three last words, Caleb clamped his mouth shut. He froze in place, never meaning for the words to slip out. He considered backtracking, playing it off as a joke, but he couldn't. He'd never do that. Not to you.

You looked down into his eyes, all quiet and unreadable.

A beat passed.

"I'm sorry for worrying you, Caleb." You smiled at him. "I love you, too."

No response.

"Caleb?" You waved a hand in front of his face.

"—Yeah?" He squeaked out, coming back to his senses. His face flushed deep red.

You laughed.

Caleb had never expected you to return his feelings. He had never meant to confess. But after hearing those three words from you, he felt at peace for the first time in a long while.

And just like that, his world stopped collapsing in on itself—and it settled. Like love had always been there, but it finally had its proper name: you.

likes and reblogs will always be appreciated ♡ let me know what you think!

— until next tide, thanks for docking by ｡𖦹°‧𓇼

© coralquill 2025 – do not copy, steal, or translate my work.

[davinawritings]

Imagine Yandere Fae Finding Out You Are Just As Crazy And Obsessed As He Is

Warnings: Smut, Yandere Behavior, Manipulation, Love Potion

He became completely enamored with you when he first met you in the forest near your home. This sweet little human that he knew must be his. He would make you his wife and bind your life with his own. He visited you day after day, charming you with his words and dazzling you with his smile. Though no matter how hard he tried, you were careful not to accept his advances.

You declined any gifts he offered, from hand-picked flowers to shiny jewels. Initially, he thought it was cute, but his patience wore out quickly. He didn’t want to kidnap you and bring you to his home, but he was becoming closer and closer to doing so. Desperate to finally make you his, he devised a different plan, tracking down a witch and having her brew a love potion. He knew it was wicked, but he couldn’t wait for you to admit your love for him anymore. He needed to have you, and he needed you now.

When he offered you the drink, you refused as usual. He explained that it was a gift for you with no expectations in return, thus avoiding the usual repercussions of accepting a gift from a fae. With a beaming smile, you accepted the drink but said you would have it with dinner. He had gone to his home that night, feeling defeated, knowing you would probably discard the gift, and he would be back at square one. Kidnapping seemed to be the next option. You would be his one way or another.

Today is the day he plans to finally take you home. To his surprise, as he walked up to your small house, you ran partway to meet him, jumping into his arms and kissing him passionately. It had taken a few seconds for his mind to stop reeling, but as soon as it did, he was groaning and kissing you back fiercely. He was elated to finally have you in his arms and quickly took you to his home. He had already prepared everything, thinking he was taking you forcefully, but happy to have you come willingly, or at least as willingly as you could under the influence of a love potion.

The fae wasted no time in taking you to bed, his cock aching to be inside you for weeks already. He gave you as much pleasure as he took from you. The room became a symphony of your moans, whines, and whimpers. His own groans mix in harmony with the echoes of skin against skin. He flips you onto your stomach and slides into you from behind. His thrusts are desperate and rough like he’s trying to permanantly shape your cunt with his cock. 

He kisses and leaves little bites all along your shoulder and neck, moaning in your ear about how good you feel. His mouth rambles on in his pleasure-induced haze. He is vaguely aware of calling you his good girl for drinking his gift, but he is snapped back to reality when you respond that you never drank it. His hips stop as his cock is half way inside you, his whole body freezing in place as your words sink in. You look over your shoulder at him and let out a laugh, a wicked smile on your lips.

He stares deep into your eyes as you say, “I knew we were made for each other from the moment we met, my darling. I just wanted to see how far you would go to have me. I needed to ensure you crave me as much as I crave you. I must admit I was waiting for you to just sweep me up and take me, but the love potion was a nice touch”. At his bewildered look, you continue, “My aunt was a witch, my darling. I know a love potion when I see one”. You end your explanation with another wicked smile as you push your hips up, thrusting your cunt the rest of the way down his cock.

He groans at the sensation as a smirk stretches his soft lips. He picks up his thrusts once again, and all he can think is that he has definitely met his match.

[thestuffedalligator]

The thing was a mound of flesh and mottled skin, as big as a barn and the shape of a pumpkin. Four tentacles as thick as trees hung limp at its sides; teeth ringed the gaping mouth at the top of its head like a crown.

A huge, sad whale eye the colour of wine stared at the knight. She could see her reflection in the jelly surface.

“We don’t know what it is,” she heard. “Some kind of monster that makes a perfect copy of whatever it eats. They think that was how the Dark Lord made his armies, feeding his minions to it so that it would make hundreds of copies of them. Do you recognize it?”

The knight opened her mouth. She hesitated. “Yeah,” she murmured, drawing out the word. “We found it in the Dark Lord’s tower, right?”

“That’s right. That’s where it ate you.”

The knight turned around and looked at her other reflection. This one appeared to be about ten years older, and had doffed her armor for a loose blue tunic and breeches.

She was holding a cup of tea. She had pressed another cup into the knight’s hand when she woke up here. It had been a shock finding herself suddenly out the obsidian dungeons of the Dark Lord’s tower and into this tall room of stone and straw. The warmth of it in her hands steadied her a bit.

“Everyone else in the party was worried, but then it started making copies of you,” the copy went on, staring up at the tentacled thing. “And all of the copies helped fight against the Dark Lord, and we won, and peace was restored across the land, but then nobody could figure out how to kill the damn thing or just to make it stop. Dozens of copies of us in a day, hundreds in a week, and then someone decided that the only thing we could do is just bring the thing here, seal it off and hope it starved to death.”

She sipped her tea. “Anyways, that was two-hundred years ago and it’s slowed down a bit. It can only make a new copy of us every few weeks now.”

The knight looked down into her tea. The copy had also draped a blanket over her shoulders.

“I have so many questions,” she said.

“I figured.”

“How can it be two-hundred years? I can still remember breaking into the tower. That feels like it was just minutes ago.”

“It was, basically. Your brain is a perfect copy of the original you’s brain at the exact moment she was eaten.”

“But the quest is just — done?”

“Yep. You missed some of the things that needed tying up afterward. There was a war, and a dragon, and some business about a ring.” She waved a hand. “It was before my time. Things are pretty settled now.”

“My parents?”

“Passed away about a hundred-and-fifty years ago. I’ve been told that they were very proud.”

The knight nodded. “Um. I don’t know if you know — we had an elf in our party—”

“I’m aware.”

“I — right. Obviously. Um. It’s just, after everything was done, I was going to ask her—”

“One of us did. She said yes. She outlived her. A couple of us have tried to reach out since then, but she wants to be left alone for a while.”

The knight considered this. “Uh — right,” she said eventually. Her fingers tightened around the tea cup. “Um. What do I do now?”

Her older copy shrugged. She had let her hair grow out again, the knight noticed. There were a few strands of grey against the black. “That’s up to you, I’m afraid,” she said. “A lot of us are finding work as soldiers and sellswords. We’ve done it for so long that most armies know we’re reliable and don’t tend to turn one of us away. Most of us are just sort of spreading out, wandering the world. Some of us keep in touch.”

The knight frowned. “What do you do?”

Her copy paused, tea cup half raised to her lips. “Sorry?”

“You said it only makes a new copy every few weeks now. So you just stay here and wait for a new one to show up?”

She lowered the cup. “Well,” she said. “I guess I just — I know what it can be like, waking up here in the dark, and it — it can be horrible trying to figure all of this out on your own.

“So I thought that what I’d do is just stay here with a pot of tea, and whenever I see myself again, I tell her that — that she’s not alone.”

“We aren’t?”

“Of course not. We’re all in this together, you know.”

[robbysreaders]

pairing: jack abbot x reader (i think i kept it pretty gender neutral???) warnings: age gap (unspecified, but reader is late 20s/late 40s), not so casual relationship, i know nothing about anything medical so please glance over that lol word count: 3.7k notes: if you are under 18 do not interact also be kind to me, i am not a writer but dr. jack abbot is a menace who i cannot stop thinking about so you all must suffer with me. also my inbox is open for all your screaming needs!

It started out strictly casual. You met on an app, for god’s sake. His profile was short and dry — but something about the line “I work nights. Not here to waste anyone’s time.” made you pause.

You’d been trading messages for a few days — mostly jokes, a few late-night check-ins after his shifts — when he finally asked, “Would you want to meet in person?” He told you he’d had a string of rough nights in the ER. Said he was craving company that didn’t know what "bed four" looked like post-code blue. You didn’t totally know what that meant, but you got the vibe.

Your schedule’s flexible — hybrid job, some travel, some desk work — so you offer a morning coffee at a place you’ve been wanting to try. He shows up looking like hell in the most attractive way: gray tee, tired eyes, rough around the edges but steady. You’re halfway through your latte when you realize you haven’t stopped smiling. He listens like it’s an instinct — intense, unshakable — but cracks jokes that disarm you when you least expect it.

You don’t hesitate when he invites you back to his place. It’s not flashy, not even particularly tidy, but it’s his. He kisses like he’s starving. And then, right before pulling you in again, he murmurs with a half-smile, “Take it easy on me, alright? Been a while. I might be a little rusty.”

You roll your eyes but your stomach flips. He is not rusty.

You feel a twinge of guilt sneaking out later, after he falls asleep. But you both said this was casual. Besides, it’s noon, and you’ve got spreadsheets and emails to wrangle. Still, before you even finish your afternoon calls, you send him a quick, “Had a great time. Hope you get some sleep.”

That opens the door.

What follows is a steady trickle of nothing texts that somehow mean everything. Memes. Podcasts you both like. A random snapshot of his hand scribbled with vitals — “Guess who forgot his notebook again.” You meet up again. And again. Sometimes it’s his place, sometimes yours. One night you share Thai on your couch and you swear you hear him hum when you rub your socked foot against his under the blanket.

You start catching feelings. Hard. And it’s the most grounded you’ve felt in years.

You don’t want to ruin it, so you let him lead. You try not to double-text. You wait a beat before offering plans. When your friends ask why you’ve been so mopey, they start teasing: “You’re in love with your situationship, huh?”

You don’t deny it.

He picks up on it, too. One night, over drinks at a dim bar near the hospital, you’re nursing a beer and dodging his questions about your weekend plans.

You say something noncommittal, too casual. You see it on his face before he speaks.

He sets his drink down a little too hard and says, voice low but clear: “Hey, I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t play games like this. I’m pushing 50. I know I’m taking up time you could be spending with kids your age, and maybe that’s my mistake. But I like you. I like spending time with you. And if you don’t feel the same — if you’re trying to back off or slow-walk me into fading out — just say so. Don’t drag it out.”

Your stomach drops.

You blink, stunned. “Wait—what? No. Jack—God. You have it backwards.”

He watches you carefully, guarded, already preparing to retreat.

“I’m in too deep,” you say. “That’s the problem. I don’t know how to do casual with you anymore. I want to see you all the time. I’m trying not to scare you off. But if this is just something light for you—if you really want to keep it easy—then yeah… maybe we should take a step back. Because I don’t think I can.”

The silence between you stretches for a beat.

Then he exhales. Long and slow.

And when he speaks again, his voice is softer. “Well,” he murmurs, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Sounds like we’re both idiots.”

[hot-patootiee]

Part 2 of this. And can you tell I had issues with my ex? Like holy shit I’m having flashbacks writing this.

Nancy stands up and walks over to Eddie though, and gently pushes him towards the door.

“Go fix it.” She demands.

Eddie makes a confused sound as he is gently pushed out of the house, having to push open the door or be squished into it.

…

When Steve’s doorbell rings again, he’s getting a little annoyed.

He swings open the door and Eddie is there.

Steve begins to close the door.

Unfortunately he is forced to deal with his feelings, so Eddie puts a hand on the door and pushes it open.

“Did you think we were dating?” Eddie seems almost accusatory in his tone, which immediately annoyed Steve.

“What do you mean by ‘think’ Eddie? I asked you out, you said yes.” Steve was still trying to shut the door in Eddie’s face, but he looked more angry than sad. “Unless this is some sort of strange apology and declaration of love, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“It is! It is! Just don’t close the door.” Steve furrows his brows and lets the door swing open.

Eddie stumbles in, tripping over the entrance and nearly falling into Steve.

Steve stares at Eddie, waiting.

“I thought you were just experimenting and I’m so sorry for thinking your confession was a joke.” Eddie says sincerely, shifting slightly on his feet in discomfort.

“You think everything I do is a joke. Everyone does! Poor little Steve Harrington gets hit in the head too many times and now is incapable of a coherent thought.” Steve finishes with a self deprecating laugh. His eyes are shining and Eddie can see the rage festering in them, the resignation transforming into simmering anger.

Eddie opens his mouth to refute it, but is cut off instead.

“Was kissing me a joke too? Am I too stupid to know?” Steve moves into Eddie’s face, crowding him before pulling back suddenly. A strong gust reminds Eddie the door is open and anyone close enough could hear them.

“No, no of course not. Shouldn’t we close the door?” Eddie suggests.

“You’re the dumbass who didn’t close it. There is no we in that.” Steve sneers at Eddie’s implication at Steve being incompetent.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Eddie murmurs, pushing the door hard and letting it swing shut. His shoulders are hunched, as if he was trying to placate Steve by making himself smaller.

“I thought you were different, I put up with everybody else calling me stupid all the time, because most of them are children, and I thought you, my boyfriend, was different. But, apparently, you think I’m too incompetent with my own feelings that you need to make the judgement for me.”

“I thought you were joking.” Eddie repeated, Steve was honestly beginning to hear the needle on the vinyl from how many times Eddie had been repeating himself.

“And when I kissed you, was I still just joking?” Steve probed.

“No, can you just let me explain for a second?” Eddie spat his words out quickly, knowing if he went slower Steve would continue to yell at him.

“No, because you’re charging in here with some half cocked apology to try to fix something, just because someone else pointed out that you should. You need to feel better, so you came over to apologize, without considering that I’ve been wallowing in my house for days because of something you did. Actually fucking apologize because you feel bad about putting me in pain, not because you want to stop being uncomfortable with your own actions.” Steve lectured, he massaged the bridge of his nose slightly in an attempt to alleviate his own frustration.

“What do you want me to do? How do I fix this?”

“Those are questions you have to answer yourself. Maybe apologize with something that screams ‘sorry for thinking our entire relationship was a joke’. If you come here with some fucking flowers or chocolate and think that that’s adequate, I will break your fucking guitar.” The wrinkles in Steve’s brow just became deeper as he threatened Eddie. His muscles trembled slightly as he reminded himself of how angry he was.

Eddie nods, looking slightly resigned.

“Oh, and your fucking behavior should change, treat me like a goddamn person. I pulled your ass out of hell, I’ve proved myself to be capable a thousand times over. Treat me like I am.” Eddie couldn’t help but focus on how Steve’s hands shook.

Eddie nods and begins to pull away from Steve, looking sad as he slowly moves to the door.

“What are you doing?” Steve looked genuinely puzzled, prompting Eddie to stop with his hand on the doorknob.

“I’m leaving, I didn’t think you’d want me here.” Eddie shrugged, looking a lot like a kicked puppy as he whimpered. He then began to turn the doorknob to exit the Harrington house.

“What did I just say about making decisions for me?” Steve has his hip cocked and his hands resting on his waist in his signature annoyed mom look. Eddie freezes, unknowing of what to do.

“Come on, go to my room and wait, I just need to run the dishes.” Steve shoos Eddie, who quickly scampers up the stairs and slipped inside Steve’s room. He was unsure of what to do so he waited at the foot of the bed, sitting on the edge of it.

He isn’t sure how long he waits, but Steve finally pads into the room.

Steve pushes Eddie onto his back. Crawling inbetween his legs.

Eddie opens his mouth to express his confusion, but is interrupted by a firm “scooch” which spurs Eddie into backing up into the headboard. Steve follows quickly behind.

Steve tucks himself into Eddie’s collarbone. He settles easily, even though Eddie is still incredibly tense.

“Tell me the other thing you came here to say.” Steve demands.

“Oh darling I like you so much. I’ll stay with you forever, I’m so sorry for leaving.” Eddie rambles, like the floodgates holding him back had been released.

“Again?” Steve said quietly, barely louder than his breath.

“I like you a lot, Steve. I got the biggest crush on you. Never thought you’d ever like someone like me. I don’t deserve you.” Eddie ends with a damn near whimper, but Steve’s resolve didn’t change in the face of Eddie’s words.

“You’re right, you don’t. You left me and you were planning on leaving me again if I didn’t accept your apology. It’s been days and all I want is to be with my boyfriend.” Steve’s voice slowly tampered down to a whisper as he spoke.

“I didn’t think of it like that.” Eddie murmured shamefully.

“Yea, no shit.” Steve snapped.

“I’m sorry.”

“Your formal apology better be fucking amazing.” Steve countered playfully.

“I’ll do my best.” Eddie pauses for a second. “What if it’s not good enough?”

“Then I break up with you.” Eddie deflates slightly. Steve continues though. “I can’t be with someone who doesn’t value me or respect me, I’ve made that mistake before.”

Eddie felt his stomach sink, but began to brainstorm on how to make it up to Steve.

Btw El and Will are making Brownies for Steve rn.

Omg I’m such an ass, pt 3 coming soon if I’m harassed enough to do it.

Also, psa if you fuck up big, you need to actually show you’re sorry. Don’t apologize to make yourself feel better, apologize to make the other person feel better. Make an actual effort to not repeat your past actions. If someone doesn’t accept your apology, remember you aren’t entitled to their forgiveness. No matter how much society tries to act like you deserve it for simply apologizing.

Also if it isn’t evident, I was forced to accept a lot of apologies when I didn’t want to.

@stripey82 @genderfluidbitch @mensch-anthropos-human @c4tharsys @scoops-aboy86 @breealtair @raleighrox @wannabe-edgy-grandpa @flustratedcas @shoujo-wizard @polysdoitforscience @exasperatedsighohmy @piemaker93 @tinyplanet95 @skepticalqueen @sharingisntkaren @scarletyeager @crypticcrytid @midnightskeeper @wheneverfeasible @ancientwormcivilization @fucjinf-whatever-dude @estrellami-1 @queenofshenanigans @grilledcheesehasfeelings <- get out of my walls

@ellietheasexylibrarian @live-laugh-love-dietrich @turinspeachjam @me-ig7 @revevivant @motherofpirates @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @samsoble @legalmenace87 @thehanwen @bigspongey @thedragonsaunt @newagemyth @pentapoctopus @my-hyperfixations-hell-blog @bumbledoubletea @blackbirdflyflyfly @what-if-a-dragon @reddiandbyler4life @i-think-i-thunk @gregre369 @fiddledeedee85 @ladykailitha

Rest of the mentions will be in the comments because fuck there is a lot of you.

[iviarelleblr]

My tags were:

And someone asked, so, here it is:

Art doesn't exist, because everything is art. The broad cultural acceptance that only certain things are art is mostly a result of the privileged (white men) finding ways to get paid for doing specific things. We don't have to keep following their example.

What is art? I put this forth to you: art is whatever moves a person to an emotion.

It's visual art, sure. It's music. It's all manner of stories, printed and told aloud and interactive and static. It's also looking out your window and seeing the first robin of spring. It's getting a message from an old friend. It's giving your pet a treat and being amused at how excited they get. It's a piece of code that's as efficient as it can get, and it's another piece of companion code that's half comments about how nobody understands how it works it just does and edit it at your own risk. It's your racist uncle's latest facebook screed. It's everything you read in the news.

Trying to impose a hierarchy on art is always arbitrary. You can't define art in a way that truly includes only what you want it to include and excludes only what you want it to exclude. Even saying "bad art is the soulless dreck coming out of certain over-large movie studios these days" is going to backfire if you stop and think through enough examples. It's still going to hurt people who are trying as hard as you are to share their hearts with the world, just in ways you don't approve of.

There is no difference between you making a sandwich and a Michelin Star chef serving more expensive versions of each ingredient deconstructed on a plate. There's no difference between you choosing an outfit in the morning and what's on the latest runway in Paris. There's no difference between this rant and the text of War and Peace. There is no difference between the latest movie from your favourite indie studio and the latest movie from the great rodent's palace.

Even the soulless dreck is being made by people, at least some of whom are trying to make something they feel is worthwhile despite interference from the people who want to take no risks. More, there's something worthwhile to be found in every "bad" piece of art. I have a friend for whom Ayn Rand's individualism was the key to escaping a culty evangelical upbringing, which doesn't retroactively not happen just because they know as an adult how awful the message was intended to be and how it gets interpreted by most AR fans. It is never as simple as "good" and "bad".

One of the most rewarding things we can do for ourselves is to learn to stop believing in bad art entirely. There is art that resonates for you, and there is art in which you have no interest, and there's art that does nothing but upset you, but everything means something important to someone.

There is no art, because everything is art, and we could all stand to take a step back sometimes and remember that.

I feel like some of you guys think "bad art" is like someone gluing rhinestones to a water melon, or a guy who made his own armchair out of Ohio license plates, or a trashy romance novel where someone says "the blue-eyed one kissed the brown-eyed one," when in reality bad art is a 1000000 Billion Dollar movie where none of the workers got paid and every single creative decision was market tested to see how lucrative of a profit it could foreseeably make to wow shareholders.

[iydiamartinx]

THIS MEANS WAR VII

Dick Grayson x Reader x Jason Todd

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto word count: 4.8k synopsis: Gotham’s youngest neuroscience lecturer never planned to get tangled up with two of its most eligible bachelors. Both are determined to win her over—without revealing they know each other… or that they’re vigilantes. But when the Joker takes an interest in her, things get a whole lot more complicated. a/n: Ngl I struggled slightly this chapter, but I hope y'all enjoyed!

GOTHAM’S CHARITY GALA

You had no idea why you’d agreed to the charity gala in the first place.

You hated galas.

They were suffocating affairs filled with overly expensive champagne, smug smiles, and people who pretended their bank accounts made them saints. Everyone there wanted to be seen—wanted to appear generous, compassionate, noble. But it was all just a show. A glossy, expensive performance for a cause they barely understood and would forget by morning.

The rest of your week had been a blur. You’d been summoned back to the research center on short notice after whispers of a possible breakthrough with the experimental antidote for Joker venom. The work demanded everything—your mind, your focus, your hours. You buried yourself in it so completely that you forgot to text Dick back.

Every day bled into the next. You’d wake up, lecture, research, eat whatever you could find, then collapse into bed just to do it all over again. You hadn’t even remembered the gala until Anthony brought it up casually over coffee, asking if you’d found a dress yet.

Of course you hadn’t.

That was quickly remedied. You found a gown the next day—a royal blue silk piece that clung in all the right places, elegant without being excessive, alluring without trying too hard. Thankfully, you’d already written your speech weeks ago. All that was left was to show up, smile, speak, and survive.

Crowds were never your thing. But years of standing at the front of lecture halls and commanding the attention of restless students had toughened you. You gave the speech. You even got applause. And then?

Then it was just a matter of making it through the next hour before executing a flawless Irish goodbye.

Champagne helped. You snagged a flute from a passing waiter with a practiced ease, the cold glass soothing against your fingers as you weaved toward the buffet. If there was one redeeming quality about rich people—it was their taste in food.

You’d just finished fixing your plate when you turned, nearly colliding with someone.

Your heart jumped as you caught the edge of your dish just in time, the food threatening to topple. “Oh my god! I’m so so—”

You looked up.

Ocean blue eyes met yours.

“Dick!” you breathed, startled. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

His gaze swept down before he could stop it, drawn to the way the deep royal blue hugged your frame. You caught the subtle shift in his expression—the quick darkening of his eyes when they landed on the dress. It was like the universe had chosen that shade with him in mind. 

“Wow,” he murmured. “You look… beautiful. That blue, it suits you.”

You felt the heat crawl up your neck and fought the urge to blush. “Thank you.”

“You never texted me back,” he said, his voice softer now, more intimate over the clinking of glasses and hum of chatter.

You gave a small sigh. “I meant to. I really did. But the lab thinks we might be close to something with the antidote. I’ve barely had time to breathe, let alone check my phone.”

It wasn’t a lie. You had been buried in work. Buried in pressure.

But still, the guilt gnawed at you.

Because the truth was—while your phone sat forgotten under a pile of lab reports and takeout containers—you’d also been quietly freaking out over the fact that you might be accidentally dating two men at once.

You’d meant to text Dick back. You just… got busy.

And maybe, a little, you panicked.

A slow breath escaped him—relief, not frustration. “Thank God. I thought I’d blown it.”

You smirked, tilting your head. “Not yet.”

That crooked, boyish grin spread across his face. “Lucky for me.”

You turned back toward the buffet, needing a break from how he sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach with just a smile. “You hungry?” you asked, more to distract yourself than him. “Because I’m staking claim on that last crab puff.”

“I’m more of a visual feast kind of guy tonight,” he said, still looking at you.

You shot him a look over your shoulder, feigning annoyance. “You’re laying it on a little thick, Grayson.”

“Am I?” he asked, following you to a quieter corner of the ballroom with two drinks in hand. “Maybe. But you disappeared on me for a week. I thought I had to make it count.”

You paused, that twinge of guilt returning. “I really didn’t mean to ghost you. The team’s been on edge—we might finally have something, and I just got swept up in it.”

“I know,” he said, and there was no bitterness in his voice. Only quiet understanding. “It’s one of the things I like about you. When you care, you commit.”

His gaze dipped again, lingering on your dress—on the way the silk hugged your frame and shimmered under the soft lights. His voice dropped, lower now, rough around the edges. “But I’m glad I ran into you tonight. I almost didn’t come… but seeing you in that? Definitely made this night worth it.”

You raised a brow, amused. “What—the dress?”

There was a slight pause. A flicker in his expression. His jaw tightened just a touch before he said, “The dress looks amazing on you. But I like see you in that colour.”

You tilted your head. “Why do I get the feeling there’s something you’re not saying?”

His smile returned, this time with a more wolfish edge—pleased, like he was enjoying a secret you weren’t in on. “Maybe I just have a thing for blue.”

You bit your lip, a playful glint in your eye. “Noted.”

Something shifted in his eyes then. Just slightly. The playfulness remained, but softened at the edges by something more grounded. “You know I meant what I said earlier. I know you’ve got a million things demanding your time. But I don’t mind waiting. I just want to be in the running.”

You looked at him carefully, studying the softness in his eyes, the quiet steadiness in the way he held himself. Your heart beat a little too fast now.

He wasn’t pushing for more than you could give. He wasn’t asking you to slow down or shrink yourself. Wasn’t trying to change your pace or compromise who you were. He just… wanted to show up.

To be present. To try.

And that only made the guilt twist deeper in your chest.

Because he was just so damn sweet. Kind in that quiet, consistent way that crept up on you when you weren’t looking.

And even if the two of you hadn’t talked about exclusivity—even if this thing between you was still unnamed—it felt like you were sneaking around behind his back. Like you were keeping a secret from someone who didn’t deserve to be kept in the dark.

You weren’t doing anything wrong, not technically.

But it didn’t feel right, either.

Not when he looked at you like that.

But before you could find the words to answer or worse spill your guts, he pivoted.

“How long do you usually last at these things?” he asked, a curious edge returning to his tone.

You pushed the fluttery feeling away to give him a dry look over the rim of your glass. “Depends. Long enough to make the speech, shake a few hands, charm a donor or two… and stick around just long enough to sneak a second helping of whatever dessert they’re hoarding at the buffet.”

His mouth curved. “Strategic.”

“Survival,” you corrected.

He leaned a little closer, playful but genuinely interested. “And tonight?”

You glanced at the glittering ballroom, the swirl of tuxedos and designer gowns, and sighed. “About the same plan. I was getting ready to dine and dash within the next ten minutes.”

He let out a low, amused breath. “Guess I intercepted your escape.”

You quirked a brow. “Is that what this is? A rescue mission?”

“Depends,” he said, swirling the amber in his glass. “You want to be rescued?”

You didn’t answer right away.

Instead, you let your eyes scan the room once more—the same painted smiles, the same tired performances. And then you looked back at him, at the ease in his expression, the sincerity beneath the teasing.

A slow smile curled at your lips. “I might be open to it.”

“So then…” he said, his voice dipping again, mischief returning to his eyes. “What do you say we get out of here?”

You raised a brow, wary but amused. “What did you have in mind?”

He leaned in just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “How about we go on that second date of ours?”

You took a second, letting the offer hang there, watching him—how easily the flirtation sat beside the sincerity. And how hard it was not to fall a little deeper into both.

You reached for your clutch, sliding it under your arm. “Lead the way.”

You had no idea what to expect as you slid into Dick’s car and let him pull out onto the dim Gotham streets, the city a blur of gold and shadow through the windshield. Streetlights flickered overhead in slow pulses, casting moving patterns across the interior as you settled into the passenger seat.

“I really hope you were telling the truth and you’re not actually a kidnapper,” you teased, shooting him a sidelong glance.

He smirked without missing a beat, eyes still on the road. “Well, if I were, this would be the smoothest abduction in Gotham history.”

You snorted. “Great. That’s reassuring.”

He glanced at you then, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You don’t seem too worried.”

You bite your lip and give him a gentle grin, “Maybe I’m beginning to not mind if the kidnapper is you.”

There was a pause. A beat of silence where your own words hung in the air—long enough for the both of you to register just how ridiculous they sounded.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, covering your face with your hand as a laugh bubbled out. “That was so bad.”

Dick burst out laughing, shaking his head. “That was terrible. You really tried to make that smooth.”

“Well, not everyone is as smooth as you, Casanova,” you shot back, grinning as you dropped your hand.

He glanced over, mock offended. “Casanova? That’s slander. I’m at least a few degrees more charming than that guy.”

You rolled your eyes, still smiling. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he said, eyes flicking over to meet yours, “here you are. In my car. Laughing at my jokes. Questioning your life choices.”

You smirked. “I’ve made a lot of questionable life choices. You, however, are definitely not one of them.”

That earned you a curious look. “Oh yeah? What was the worst?”

You leaned your head back against the seat, sighing. “My ex was pretty bad. And… so was my family.”

That made his eyebrows tick up, but his voice stayed easy. “Oh yeah? Me and my old man used to go at it all the time when I was younger. We were like lit matches and gasoline.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Brother, for me. We lost our parents when I was still a kid. It just… unraveled after that.”

His smile faded. “I’m sorry,” he said, quieter now. “I know how that feels. I was adopted after losing both of mine.”

Your eyes met his, and in that moment, something unspoken passed between you. Grief, loss, understanding.

“I’m so sorry,” you said softly.

Dick offered a small smile. “Yeah. Me too. Me and my adoptive dad… we got better with time. And I gained some brothers along the way that I wouldn’t trade for anything—even if they drive me up the wall half the time.”

You huffed a small laugh. “Brothers are the bane of any existence.”

But the smile didn’t last. It slipped, just slightly, before you looked away. “Yeah, me and my brother never got to that point. But… I met Milo and Anthony. They’re practically my family now. Best friends a girl could ask for.”

Dick caught the shift in your tone—the careful way you redirected, the weight tucked behind your words. He didn’t push. He could tell you were still trying, still deciding how much of yourself to share. And he didn’t want to scare that trust away, even if you had information he needed.

“Well,” he said gently, “I hope I get to meet them one day. And properly thank them—for pushing you into going on that date with me.”

You snorted. “You say that now, but they’re nuts. Be prepared to be shamelessly objectified by Milo, who is already talking about rating your ass. Meanwhile, Anthony will be pouring drinks before you sit down and somehow get you blackout drunk on fruity cocktails.”

Dick grinned, completely unbothered. “My ass is out of this world. I welcome the judgment.”

You stared at him. “You want to be objectified?”

“I’m just saying—if Milo’s going to rate me, I want that five-star Yelp review.” He leaned back, smug as hell. “Bonus points if he uses the word phenomenal, juicy, perfect—”

“Oh my God, I get it!” you laughed, lightly smacking his shoulder.

He shot you a bright, unrepentant grin.

“Don’t worry,” he added smoothly, “he can admire it all he wants. You’re the only one who gets to touch it.”

Your laugh caught in your throat for half a second—equal parts flustered and amused.

“Oh my god,” you muttered again, this time under your breath, as heat crept up your neck.

Dick just wiggled his eyebrows. “I’m just setting expectations.”

“Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves,” you said, rolling your eyes—though the corner of your mouth tugged upward, betraying your smile. “You’re just lucky you’re not bad company, Grayson.”

He shot you a lazy grin. “Careful—keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you actually like having me around.”

You smiled to yourself as you looked out the window for a moment, watching Gotham slip past—familiar, but somehow quieter tonight. It was easy with him. Too easy.

The car rolled to a stoplight, and for a moment the only sound was the soft hum of jazz on the radio. You glanced out the window, but curiosity tugged your gaze back to him.

“So…” you started, lips curving. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going, or are you just hoping I’ll keep playing along out of sheer boredom?”

He tapped the steering wheel idly with one hand. “Where’s the fun in giving it away?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You realize this is how horror movies start, right?”

He chuckled. “Relax. No horror. No creepy cabin in the woods. No surprises in the trunk. Just a solid Plan B for people who hate galas.”

You raised a brow, intrigued despite yourself. “Plan B, huh?”

He shot you a quick grin as the light turned green. “Trust me. You’ll like it.”

And oddly… you did.

You didn’t question him as he parked, or when he came around to open your door with a conspiratorial smile. You didn’t pull away when he gently reached for your hand, guiding you across a quiet rooftop entrance, the night air brushing your skin. Instead, you found yourself smiling—giddy, uncharacteristically so—when he stepped behind you and carefully covered your eyes with his palms.

“You’re really committing to this,” you murmured.

“That’s how surprises work,” he said, his breath warm near your ear. 

Surprisingly, you weren’t nervous. He held you steady, each step guided with care, and you knew—instinctively—that he wouldn’t let you fall. There was something grounding in the way he moved with you.

“Alright,” he murmured beside you, his voice low. “Ready?”

You nodded.

His hands slipped away.

It took a second for your eyes to adjust. But when they did, your breath caught.

A full trapeze rig stood before you, framed by a canopy of soft, golden fairy lights that glittered overhead like suspended stars. A soft projector spun slow, dreamy patterns of light across the floor—muted swirls of color like something out of a dream. 

 In the dim glow, a faded wooden sign came into view.

Haley’s Circus.

The space smelled faintly of chalk, clean rope, and wood polished with time. High ceilings arched above, draped in shadow, and at the center of it all—your very own private circus act.

You turned toward him, wide-eyed. “What is this?”

He stood with his hands in his pockets, watching your reaction like he was trying to memorize it.  

“Just a place I come to,” he said quietly. “When I need time for myself.”

You looked back at the trapeze. At the soft glow of lights. The hush of the space. The quiet magic that lived in the bones of the building.

“This is…” you breathed, eyes wide as you took it all in. “It’s beautiful.”

Dick smiled—but it wasn’t the usual flirtatious grin he’d given you. This one was quieter. Softer. More earnest.

“You want to go up?” he asked.

Your head snapped toward him. “Wait—seriously?”

He nodded once, casually. “Why not?”

“I mean, I’ve never even touched one of those before,” you said, eyes darting to the trapeze rig. “Is that… safe?”

He stepped closer, voice low and easy. “Don’t worry. I’ll catch you.”

You blinked, his words settling into your chest like a promise with weight behind it. He wasn’t teasing. Wasn’t just showing off.

You studied him for a moment longer, then bit your lip—half-uncertain, half-thrilled. “Promise?��

His gaze didn’t waver. “Promise.”

And somehow, you believed him.

He guided you to the ladder, steadying you as you climbed. At the platform, he helped you position your hands on the trapeze bar, giving you a few quick instructions—his voice calm, confident, just enough to settle your nerves. Then he offered a wink and climbed down, making his way to the opposite swing.

You watched him move with fluid ease, like the rig was an extension of him. As he began to swing back and forth, his body weight shifting effortlessly, you let out a nervous laugh.

“Who knew you were a circus kid.”

He grinned mid-swing, his legs pumping effortlessly. “My secret talent. Now are you gonna keep stalling, or are you gonna swing?”

Your hands gripped the bar tighter. “You’re gonna catch me, right?”

“I’ve got you,” he said without hesitation.

You took a breath—deep and sharp—and jumped.

Air rushed past you as you swung forward. Across from you, Dick leaned back on his bar, flipping upside down like it was second nature.

“Let go!” he called.

With a small yell and your heart in your throat, you did.

For a split second, there was nothing—no ground, no sense of direction, just gravity yanking you down and adrenaline surging up. Then—

Strong hands caught your arms midair.

He caught you.

You dangled there, breathless, eyes wide, your weight suspended only by his grip. The two of you swung together for a moment, the motion smooth and steady.

Then he looked at you and smiled. “Ready?”

“For what?” you asked, still catching your breath.

He winked.

Before you could respond, he let go of the bar.

You shrieked, the sound breaking out of you in a wild, startled laugh as the two of you dropped in a freefall, crashing into the net below. Your body bounced high, weightless for one giddy moment before settling. Another laugh—pure delight this time—escaped you.

As the movement calmed, you rolled to the side just as he rolled toward you. Your arm found its way across his chest, anchoring you in the quiet aftermath. Breath mingled. Laughter faded. His body was warm beneath your arm, his pulse steady beneath your fingers.

You met his gaze, heart still racing for a very different reason now. You bit your lip—less out of nerves, more to keep yourself from smiling too much.

“Hi.”

His grin widened. “Hi.”

Your body leaned in before you could stop it, and he met you halfway, your lips  met—softly at first, testing the waters. Dick’s kiss was gentle, teasing and curious. His hand slid behind your head, fingers threading through your hair as he deepened it, his body shifting closer until you felt the warmth of him press against you. 

Then, with the kind of grace that should’ve been impossible on a net, he rolled the two of you over without breaking the kiss, settling above you. He smiled playfully into the kiss.

A quiet moan escaped your lips as his hands skimmed down your sides, slow and sure. You arched into him, your own hands exploring—chest, back, the lines of lean muscle beneath his shirt. Your fingers drifted toward his waistband, hungry for more—

But then his kiss faltered.

Just for a breath.

He shifted, pulling back slightly, just enough for you to notice. You froze, blinking up at him wondering if you did something wrong. 

He sighed as if he was physically pained, forehead lowering until it rested against yours.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he said quietly, his voice rough with restraint. “Because, trust me, I really want to. It’s just…” He exhaled slowly. “These last few years, I haven’t really dated anyone. It’s always just been quick,, sleep with them and move on. And I don’t want that with you.”

You stayed quiet, watching the emotion flicker across his face as he spoke.

“I like you,” he said, softer now. “And I want to do this right. Not some quick romp in public on a trapeze net—tempting as that is.”

Your expression softened. A slow smile formed as you leaned up and kissed him—gentle, grateful, warm. “That might be the sweetest thing anyone’s said to me.”

He smiled, a little bashful, a little relieved.

“I can wait,” you added with a wicked glint in your eye. “But just saying—fucking on a trapeze net could be fun. It’s pretty bouncy.”

Dick groaned and dropped his face into the crook of your neck. “You are an evil woman.”

You laughed, threading your fingers through his hair. “And yet, here you are.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, lips brushing your skin. “Here I am. Completely doomed.”

WAYNE MANSION

Dick was still riding the high from the night before when he strolled into the manor the next morning, hoodie half-zipped, grin practically glued to his face. He hadn’t slept much—and he didn’t care. Not after that date.

He was passing the kitchen when he spotted Duke slouched at the counter in pajamas, sleepily shoveling cereal into his mouth. The newest member of the family, still adjusting to life under a roof full of vigilantes. After what Joker did to his parents, no one blamed him for being guarded—but Dick liked him. He was smart, grounded, and had a good heart.

“Morning, Duke,” Dick greeted, casually reaching for the coffee pot.

“Hey, Dick. Cute date from last night,” Duke replied through a mouthful of cereal.

Dick froze mid-pour.

Slowly, very slowly, he turned toward the younger boy. “What?”

Duke blinked up at him confused, spoon halfway to his mouth. “Huh? Oh—Jason and Tim were watching your back. Y’know. Surveillance. Can never be too careful with people in Gotham.”

There was a pause. One heartbeat. Two.

Duke paused, frowning. “Everything okay?”

Dick forced a smile that was all teeth and no warmth. “Everything’s fine. And… yeah. She’s cute.”

Duke gave him a cautious nod, clearly sensing the shift but not quite sure why.

There was a beat of silence before Dick spoke again—sounding way too casual.

“Hey, are those two still around?” he asked, sipping his coffee. “Jason and Tim? Just wanna make sure they didn’t catch anything… concerning on surveillance.”

Duke hesitated. “Uh… yeah. Pretty sure they’re still in the cave.”

Dick nodded once, finishing the rest of his coffee in one long, controlled sip. “Great.”

Jason and Tim.

They were dead men.

“Thanks, Duke!”

“You’re… welcome?” Duke replied slowly, brows drawing together. But Dick was already gone.

Coffee mug still in hand like the picture of composure, Dick punched in the code and descended into the cave—cool air rising to meet him, fluorescent lights flickering to life as he reached the base of the platform.

He spotted them instantly.

Jason was leaned back in a chair, boots kicked up on the console, chewing on something that looked suspiciously like leftover gala dessert. Tim sat beside him, hunched over a monitor with his usual half-dead focus, a headset slung lazily around his neck. They looked comfortable.

They wouldn’t be for long.

“Morning,” Dick said pleasantly as he stepped into view, voice smooth as glass.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Morning.”

Tim smirked faintly over the rim of his mug. “Surprised you’re even awake.”

Dick smiled. 

Jason blinked, eyebrows pulling together as he sat up slightly. “Wait—why are you smiling like that?”

“I was just thinking,” Dick said, stepping closer, still maddeningly calm. “How lucky I am to have two very thoughtful, very observant little brothers who care enough to watch my back.”

Jason and Tim exchanged a glance. A silent, oh-shit glance.

The smile dropped as he levelled a glare at them. “I can’t believe you two spied on my date. We had an agreement Jason!”

“It’s a good thing I was watching because you nearly broke our deal. You kissed her!” Jason fired back defensively.

“So did you!” Dick barked. “We agreed not to sleep with her—not that we couldn’t kiss her!”

Jason huffed, crossing his arms. “You were way more into it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—should I not have been? Should I have called a time-out and asked for your permission?” Dick snapped, sarcasm curling sharp around every word. He huffed, shaking his head. “And what would you have done if there was some action? Called in the GCPD? Batman?”

“No!” Jason barked—but the beat of hesitation was just long enough.

Dick blinked, disbelief hitting hard. “I can’t believe you actually thought about it!”

“Maybe I’d take you out,” Jason muttered under his breath.

Dick’s eyes narrowed. “What was that?”

“Nothing!”

Before either of them could lunge, a voice cut through the tension like a batarang.

“Dick,” Bruce said as he strode into the cave, the weight of his presence immediately dragging the cave back into order. “What did you find out from her?”

Dick straightened immediately, his mouth opening—and then freezing.

Jason, of course, noticed.

A slow, smug grin curled at his mouth as he stepped to the side, folding his arms and practically glowing with glee. “Yeah, Dick,” he echoed mockingly. “What did you find out?”

Dick glared daggers at him before turning to Bruce, carefully schooling his tone. “I need more time. I can’t just ask about her brother outright—she barely knows me. And it’s obviously a sensitive topic.”

Bruce studied him with that unreadable Bat-stare, then gave a single, measured nod. “Fine. But don’t take too long.”

Dick exhaled, barely hiding his relief.

Then—

“You know her too?” Bruce asked, turning to Jason.

Jason blinked, then nodded casually. “Yeah. I’ve talked to her.”

Dick scoffed. Rolling his eyes and crossing his arms.

“Good,” Bruce said without missing a beat. “You look into it too. Better to have two people on the case.”

“B!” Dick’s voice shot up an octave as he whipped toward him, incredulous. “Are you seriously assigning him to this?!” 

He’d been banking on this case as the perfect excuse—to spend time with her, to ease into trust, to keep Jason away under the neat cover of intel gathering. But now Jason had the same damn excuse. 

“He’s already made contact,” Bruce said, completely unmoved. “We use the resources we have. We need to find her brother before Joker finds him first.”

Jason’s grin widened into a full-blown smirk. “Yeah, Dick,” he echoed, tone syrup-slick. “We use the resources we have.”

Dick’s jaw flexed, his gaze narrowing like he was weighing just how fast he could get away with a punch to the throat.

Jason clapped his hands together, “You got it, old man.”

Dick looked like he might actually throw something at him—batarang, chair, whatever was within reach—but Bruce was already turning away, heading back toward the elevator with the kind of finality that said discussion over.

Tim, still in his chair, popped a chip into his mouth and muttered under his breath, “This is better than HBO.”

“Don’t you dare enjoy this,” Dick hissed, his glare locked on Jason.

“Oh, I’m enjoying the hell out of this,” Jason said, practically vibrating with smug satisfaction. He leaned in just a little, voice lower, mock-conspiratorial. “Remind me what we said, Dickie? May the best man for her win, right?”

Dick’s jaw clenched.

Jason winked. Then turned on his heel and sauntered toward the bikes like he hadn’t just poured gasoline on a lit fire.

Tim didn’t look up from his screen. “You two do realize she’s probably going to kill you when she finds out about all of this… right?”

“Yup,” Jason called over his shoulder. “But its worth it.” 

Dick exhaled sharply through his nose, dragging a hand down his face. He didn’t even want to think about what would happen when she inevitably found out.

Right now, between him and Jason…

This meant war.

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