#high contrast furnishings

[your-miasma]

Wallpaper in Charleston Photo of a spacious, minimalist bedroom with white walls, a brown floor, and wallpaper

[pumpernickelandcoal]

Charleston Backyard Porch Large transitional stamped concrete screened-in back porch idea with a roof extension

[harryspet]

well kept [3] r. cameron

[warnings] dark!ceo!rafe x reader, size difference, billionaire!older!rafe, shy!reader with low self-esteem, reader is a person who stutters, boss x personal assistant, heavy abuse of power, emotional/mental manipulation, DUBCON, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: Pls reblog and let me know what you think! Thank you so much for all the feedback so far :)

word count: 4.5k

In which it's your first day working from home with Rafe and you have a new lesson to learn.

well kept masterlist

The Cameron residence was fifteen minutes outside of downtown Charlotte and situated in a large neighborhood where hills and huge oak trees hid all the houses. You didn’t really see his house, only what you could tell was large pond, until the driver was at the end of the mile-long driveway.  When you did, you felt woefully underdressed. Assuming that being inside all day meant you could opt for something casual, you’d chosen a cream knit dress. 

Following Rafe’s instructions, you sent him photos of each outfit you tried on, but he hadn’t told you which ones you could return. It was another blow to your confidence. You began to doubt whether he’d even been serious, but the fear that he might mention it the next day kept you from taking any chances.

Stepping out of the black Escalade, your eyes widened as you took in the architectural masterpiece before you. The house was a striking blend of traditional and modern styles, with a light-colored exterior contrasted by dark shutters framing the windows. A stone chimney rose from the roof, and the three-car garage with wooden doors added a rustic touch.

After your car drove away, a tall and impeccably dressed staff member named Anthony guided you up the stone-paved driveway. From your cheat sheet, you recalled that he was the House Manager. Rafe required a full team: Anthony, two housekeepers, a private chef, a driver, a gardener, and now you—his personal assistant. The inside of the house was as intimidating as the exterior. The expansive foyer featured high ceilings and a grand staircase that curved up to the second floor. To the left, you caught a glimpse of the formal dining room. Each room you passed was more impressive than the last. Anthony informed you that there were six bedrooms and eight bathrooms.

“I don’t usually work on Fridays but Mr. Cameron wanted me to give you a tour of the house and show you the ropes of house management. It’ll be important for you to be able to oversee the staff when I’m absent and understand the scheduling.”

Once again, it was all too much to take in. Today was your fifth day working for Rafe, and you’d barely survived until now. 

“I want to clarify that what happened yesterday stays between us. That includes Eleanor. Okay?”

That was all he said about his outburst. There was no apology for groping you, for pinning you down on his office couch, or for taking your virginity. If you were to tell the story, you’d have to mention how your body had betrayed you—not once, but twice. But you had said no. You didn’t want to use the word that described what happened to you. You didn’t want to think about it at all.

And it didn’t happen again—not over the next three days. He continued to be harsh, forcing you to apologize for every small mistake, even those you weren’t aware of.

As you followed Anthony through the expansive kitchen, you couldn't help but marvel at its sheer size and sophistication. The kitchen was a chef's dream, with gleaming marble countertops that seemed to stretch endlessly, state-of-the-art stainless steel appliances, and custom cabinetry in a rich, dark wood finish. An oversized island dominated the center of the room.

At the far end of the kitchen, massive glass-paneled doors stood, offering a glimpse of the world beyond. The porch was furnished with elegant wicker seating with plush cushions. The space was perfect for elegant parties, with enough room to accommodate at least a dozen guests.

Beyond the porch was a stunning infinity pool stretched out towards the horizon. As you walked closer, to the right, you took notice of a garden. You spotted the gardener, Tyler, who Anthony had mentioned earlier. In simple clothes, the young man blended easily into the scenery. 

“This is where Mr. Cameron will typically entertain his guests,” Anthony said, 

The beauty of the outdoor space was undeniable, but so was the control that permeated every aspect of it. You wondered what hand Rafe played in how spotless it looked. You could almost picture him, his jaw clenched and eyes blazing with a harsh intensity, if even the smallest detail were out of place. It was easy to imagine him demanding that every leaf, every petal, every stone be exactly where it belonged. 

Did his staff ever make mistakes? Did he make them beg him forgiveness like he did with you? 

“Shall I show you the study? It’s approaching seven-thirty.”

You nodded, a small smile on your lips. He was kind but part of you didn’t want him to hear your voice shake or your face contort into an uncomfortable position as you struggled to get your words out. 

There would be enough struggling today, you knew that. 

Surprisingly, Rafe’s home office was more quaint than you expected. Dark wood panneling decorated the walls as well as floor-to-celing bookshelves. As you made your way around the room, you took note of the picture frames containing images of what you believed to be his family. Here, it seemed he had a heart. The four of them stood on a dock, sun shining down, and his arms were wrapped a young girl with dark brown hair. His smile was genuine and there was darkness lingering in the blues of his eyes. 

Other than the bookshelves, the room only contained his desk, a set of leather couches and a coffee table. The smaller room still managed to exude sophistication but it was far less imposing than you expected. 

The room almost felt intimate as sunlight trickled in through light colored curtains. You were standing behind his desk, glancing out his office window which faced towards the nearby pond. Beside it, sat a gazebo, although you couldn’t imagine Rafe enjoying it. You wondered if he lived here alone as you saw no traces of the other three people in his family photo. 

“Boo,” You yelped as you heard Rafe’s deep voice. 

You placed a hand over your beating heart as you looked toward where he stood in the doorway. Having been deep in thought, you hadn’t heard the door opened. He knew that much which explained the amused look in his eye.  

Everything flooded back at the sight of him. The air had already left your lungs. You felt his body pressing down on yours, warm breath against your ears, and that pain between your legs. 

The door clicked shut, making you flinch.

“Good morning,” he said, his gaze fixed on you.

It hit you then, you hadn’t greeted him like you were supposed to.

You were taken aback by his appearance. He was wearing gray sweatpants and a plain navy t-shirt, a stark contrast to your heels and carefully applied makeup. You weren’t sure why you were expected to dress up, especially when he looked so casual.

“G-Good morning, Sir,” You crossed the room, his eyes locked on yours. You remembered where he liked you, near the door, ready to greet him and present yourself to him. You hated how your voice always betrayed you, how weak it made you sound. Your only saving grace was that you’d already memorized his schedule for the day, having spent the entire commute looking at your laptop. You recited it to him, including the midday Zoom call he had with Kelce and Topper.

Topper, you had learned, was Eleanor’s husband. Rafe hadn’t ever touched her but the way Eleanor always answered your questions with vague responses made you suspect that her relationship with Topper mirrored your own with Rafe. She hadn’t warned you but now you were suspecting that was because Rafe seemed to always get what he wanted, no matter who got hurt in the process.

You froze the moment his hand reached out to touch you. His fingers curled around your side, hovering just above your stomach but dangerously close to your breasts. His grip was surprisingly gentle as his thumb grazed over the fabric of your dress. You stiffened as his other hand mirrored the first, sliding across to the opposite side of your body. “Eleanor picked this,” he murmured, his brows knitting together as his gaze slowly traveled down your figure. A jolt shot through you as his thumb brushed over your nipple, sending a wave of panic coursing through you.

“Y-You don’t like it?” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. 

He clicked his tongue, “Turn around for me.”

You did as he said, “Doesn’t do enough for your figure,” Your heart panged in your chest, suddenly feeling self-conscious of your own shape, “Are you wearing the panties I sent you?”

All you could do was nod. Rafe never commanded you to wear the panties everyday to work but you didn’t risk it. Luckily, they were all comfortable despite the lace and cheekiness. 

“Pull up your dress,” He said next. 

You’d spent the last three days in a fog, trying to make sense of the situation, trying to understand why your body betrayed you. When you were younger, you always asked the universe why you couldn’t speak like the way all your friends at school did. Now you asked the universe why Rafe’s voice made you want to clench your thighs together. Why you had felt empty ever since he’d finished inside of you. Why you wanted to try again, to experience that intimacy again without so much fear. Your life was so simple before but now it felt like it was too late to turn back. 

Your thoughts were too jumbled. Rafe cleared his throat and you realized you were just staring back, “I’m not gonna fuck you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Please-”

He rolled his eyes, “Don’t make me ask again.”

You squared your shoulders. “I’m nnn-nn-not comfortable—”

“Just do it.”

You reached down to the edges of your dress, slowly pulling the fabric to your waist. It was nothing he hadn’t already seen and yet you were shaking, “Turn around. Face the other way.” Like a robot, you obeyed. You’d chosen a light pink color today. 

“Good,” You felt him against you. He pulled your hair back over your shoulder and leaned down against your ear, “Maybe I should make you walk around naked while you’re here, hmm?”

You bit down on your lip, wanting to contain the protest that was about to leave your mouth. You wanted to lean into his touch, to embrace the comfort that would accompany the torture. He brushed past you just as you tilted your head back, “Go make me a coffee,” He commanded. 

He made his way behind his desk and you reached down to move your dress, “Did I say to pull your dress down?”

“N-No, Sir,” You moved your hands quickly to your sides.

“I could make you walk around like that, couldn’t I?” He asked, leaning back in his chair.

He tilted his head and you realized you needed to answer. You gave him a painful look. You could say no but what would it cost you, “I . . . I don’t know,” He wasn’t satisfied by your answer, clearly. It was torture to force the words out, “Y-Yes.”

“Right answer,” He said, “Pull down your dress, sweetheart.”

You couldn’t help but see the irony in the fact that despite that you upgraded to a salaried job, you were still making coffee for the rich and spoiled. The opulent kitchen had an even fancier coffee machine than his office. Your movements as you prepared his steaming mug of coffee were precise despite the turmoil in your mind. 

Searching for solutions, your mind landed on the idea of trying to assert your competence. Sure, you could make a great cup of coffee but the whole point of getting a real job was so that you could have real skills to market yourself. You could be perfect at this job, anticipate his every need, and you could more than an object to look at. 

You re-entered his office quietly after realizing he’d begun his first meeting of the day. Carefully, you set his coffee down on the edge of his desk. He was always so intense, so completely absorbed in his work, and that unwavering focus made you even more anxious. Maybe that’s how you should be, more composed, projecting an air of confidence.

Unsure of where you should settle, you made yourself comfortable on one of the leather couches. You checked your email on your laptop, finding several reminders from Eleanor. You found yourself frustrated by how she picked and chose what information to share with you but you balanced those feelings with the fact that she was often your saving grace. 

She gave you a list of tasks including arranging for a delivery of documents that needed to be signed by Rafe, confirming his dinner reservations for the night, and proofreading the notes you took from yesterday’s meetings. You told yourself by the end of the next week, you’d be able to handle things by yourself, and you wouldn’t have to lean on her so much. You’d have a day, eventually, where Rafe didn’t point out anything you did wrong. 

“I was thinking-” Rafe’s voice cut through the silence. You were so focused that you hand’t realized his meeting had ended. He folded his hands over each other, his eyes on you, “From now on, I want you to wear what I pick for you each day.”

“How …y-you’re not happy with what I’ve been choosing?”

“It’s not about not being happy. Now I have more of an idea of what I like on you,” His voice was smooth and authoritative, “You want to reflect my taste, my standards, yeah?”

You mustered the courage to ask your next question, “Can I-I dress a l-little less … formally when I work at home with you?”

“Less formally?” He tasted the words on his tongue, “You mean, like more casual?”

“Yes, Sss-sir. Like more comfortable.”

“We could experiment with that,” His tone was deceptively light, “On my terms though. Yeah?”

You nodded and were grateful that he hadn’t reacted lightly. He seemed to enjoy that you were asking him for permission.

“You’ll have to wear something different tonight though, for dinner. Eleanor is coming by towards the end of the day to bring you your outfit and take you to get your nails done.” 

“Oh,” Your eyes opened wide, “I-I thh-thhought it was more of a personal-”

“I won’t keep you out forever,” He said, “You got plans or something?”

You shook your head quickly, “No, Sir.”

Rafe worked through lunchtime, so you brought him the meal prepared by his chef, Stevie—an elegant older woman with blonde hair. She had made a pesto pasta salad that looked like it belonged in a gourmet magazine, despite your protests and insistence on eating your own packed lunch. Only after delivering the meal did Rafe grant you permission to take your break elsewhere.

You settled on the outdoor patio by the pool, enjoying the peacefulness of the space despite the distant, steady hum of a lawnmower. For a moment, you didn’t feel out of place. Your dress, though apparently unflattering to your figure, was worth a small fortune, and the gourmet lunch you were now enjoying was a far cry from the PB&J you’d packed.

Thirty minutes later, after finishing your lunch and enjoying a lengthy chat with Stevie, you reluctantly headed back upstairs. Hearing Rafe still on the phone, you decided to explore a bit more. His office was situated in the private wing of his house, and as you meandered through opulent corridors, you couldn’t resist sneaking a glance into the master bedroom. It was cozier than you had anticipated, with tall gray walls that gave it a masculine feel and a plush bed draped in navy linen blanket that created a snug, cocoon-like atmosphere.

Rafe ended his call a minute later and the afternoon wore on. You settled into a rhythm, completing the various tasks that you’d added to your own to do lists and ones he’d assigned to you. You spent some time organizing files in his office. His gaze burned into you, even more when you were turned around, and surprisingly, you were starting to get used to that unnerving feeling. 

He waited for you to make a mistake but you used a hundred-percent of your effort to make sure that didn’t happen. 

The clock inched towards the evening, and the day grew even more quieter, more intimate. “I was looking over your notes from yesterday’s meeting with the board members. I highlighted some sections for you to read back to me,” He waved you over, his voice gruff after a long day of talking. You joined him behind his desk and you moved to lean over and get closer look, but he placed a hand on your hip. The gesture was firm, possessive, leaving no room for hesitation. With effortless strength, like a wolf guiding its prey, he maneuvered you onto his lap, settling you on his thigh. You felt the power in his grip, the unspoken control, and all you could do was comply.

“Rafe–” You started, an desperate attempt at a protest. 

“Start with the first section,” He commanded, his grip tightening. 

“I’ve been working on proofreading them–”

“Sweetheart,” He warned, not needing to add that you were making him angry. You could feel it, the heat coming off of him. 

You took a deep breath and slowly tried to read each sentence. Even if you didn’t have a sentence with a small typo, you still stammered over several of your words. He slid the chair closer to the desk and you yelped. 

“See right here,” He pointed to the screen but that only pressed him into you. You breathed slowly, trying not to hyperventilate, “This whole section needs more detail. I don’t want to have to ask more information.”

You were taken aback when Rafe actually began to instruct you on what you were meant to do. He spent at least ten minutes walking you through each sentence, explaining how to word your report, and deleted all the unnecessary details you added. He was surprisingly patient. 

“Now, your turn,” he said finally, leaning back in the chair. For a moment, you thought he was letting you up, but the pressure of his hand on your waist told you otherwise. “Fix it.”

You swallowed, hesitating as your fingers hovered over the keys. Ever keystroke was amplified in the quiet room. Doing your best to actually use your brain, you carefully made the changes he suggested. He watched you closely, his hands first placed on your hips but soon one wandered between your thighs. 

“Good,” He said. You could do it again, you thought, and not be so scared. His touch was teasing, a reminder of what he could do to you, all the pressure that built inside of you a spilled over. You could impress him, you could be beautiful, and not turn into a crying mess when he was inside of you. You could be more than a fragile thing to be broken.

Each word was a small victory. It was a battle you thought you could win until his fingers slipped inside your panties and his other hand grabbed a handful of one of your breasts. It was unbearable, and as he made small circles, you found your fingers slipping clumsily over the keys. 

You pressed your palms into his desk, your body tilting forward. A frustrated sigh left your lips, you couldn’t contain it, and Rafe’s chuckle rumbled from behind you, “Do you ever touch yourself like this? Be honest with me this time.”

“Y-Yes,” You whispered. 

“How do you do it?” He pulled you away from the desk, pulling your torso against his, “You use a toy?”

“J-Just my fff-fingers,” You admitted. 

“Like this? How do you like it?” Carefully, he switched between different approaches. He rubbed circles over your clit, smaller ones and then slower, bigger ones. Then he stroked you up and down, fingers slipping easily into your warm hole as he wandered lower, “You put those little fingers inside of you?”

“Rafe, please.”

“Tell me,” He kissed the side of your neck, “Or I’ll stop.”

"I-I don't usually put them inside… ," you confessed, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I always use my pillow…”

He hummed against your ear. "See how much better this is when you cooperate? You can be such a good little assistant when you try."

You nodded, unable to speak, and let the feeling consume you. He brought you right to the edge, you were seconds away coming undone, but his movements slowed. Before you could register the feeling as disappointment, Rafe was hoisting you off of his lap. 

Moving with sudden determination, your feet were suddenly off the ground and Rafe was carrying you out of the room in his strong arms, “Rafe!” You clutched his shoulders as he carried you down the hall.

You turned your head as he nudged the bedroom door open with his foot, the heavy thud of the door slamming shut reverberating through the room. With a swift motion, he laid you gently on the bed. The softness beneath you was just as you had imagined, but the thought barely registered. You shot him an incredulous look, your face flushed with a mix of pleasure and frustration.

He leaned over you, grabbing a pillow from behind you and placing it in front of you, “Show me.”

You shook your head instantly and moved to crawl away. Somehow, you could let all of his other sleazy behavior slide by but this was an insane boundary for him to try to cross. He’d already been inside you and yet this was a thousand times more intimate. 

He grabbed ahold of your thigh, “You’re so close, sweetheart. I know you want it,” He challenged you, “Probably feels like you need it.”

“Please,” You tried, your voice threatening to crack. His hands found your hips again, slowly positionin you over the pillow. The soft fabric brushed against your most sensitive spot, the familiar sensation making you bite down on your bottom lip, “Rafe.”

“You saying my name like that just makes me want it more,” Balancing on his knees, he grabbed ahold of your face and leaned in to kiss you. You felt the intensity of his desire, how much he wanted this, and it left you dizzy. 

When he pulled back, he looked over you. Your hips started moving in a familiar motion despite your embarrassment. You trembled from the vulnerability, the pounding in your chest, but you chased that high he gave you. It ignited your fire again, and since you didn’t have the full force of his touch anymore, you focused your eyes on him, “Good girl,” He said again and you whimpered, “Look at me just like that.”

You rolled your hips harder, faster, imagining his kiss, his touch, as the tension coiled tighter inside you. His gaze never left yours, his words a constant stream of encouragement and control.

“Doesn’t that feel good?” 

His words all jumbled together. 

“Just let it happen.”

“I want to see your face when you cum, sweetheart.”

“You look so desperate.”

“So needy.”

“You’re gonna make yourself cum, huh?”

“Just because I told you too.”

“Such a good girl.”

“Look at you.” 

The words pushed you over the edge, finally, and you were able to let go. He watched as you rode out that wave of pleasure and his hands found your body again, his grip grounding you. “Fuck,” You heard him say but you couldn’t respond. 

You were too overwhelmed to respond, your mind unable to fully process what had just happened. All you knew was that you felt good, embarrassed, and strangely satisfied that you'd pleased him, all at once. 

When you manage to look at him again, the doorbell rang. 

Eleanor navigated through the upscale nail salon, a palace of white and silvers, with ease, like she was a regular, and this was just an extension of her universe. You imagined this place as an escape for her, from both Rafe and Topper. She secured side-by-side seats near the back of the salon and you followed her lead as she set down her purse and removed her sandals. Her movements were fluid and assured. 

“Have you thought about what color you want?”

“Oh, um, n-no,” You tried to make yourself comfortable in the pedicure chair, “What d-do you think Rafe would like?”

“Maybe something pastel. You can’t go wrong with a soft pink.”

“Is that what you’re getting?” You asked, unassured, as you glanced around the luxurious setting. It wasns’t like other nail salons you’d been to where the technicians and customers talked at whatever volume they liked. It was quiet and each technician wore matching black uniforms. 

“I’ll tell them you want ballet slipper on your nails and white on your toes.”

You nodded, grateful for her guidance, “Thank you.”

As your pedicures began, the warm lavender-scented water soaking your feet, two technicians took their places by your sides, working silently as they filed your nails. 

“How are you holding up?” Eleanor asked.

“Fff-fine,” You said, “I’m trying to . . . t-to understand him, I guess.”

“You’ll go crazy doing that,” She laughed lightly, flashing a look that said “poor you”. 

“How d-did you meet Topper?” Her face tightened at your question, “I mean, y-you didn’t say.”

“I’m from the same town as them, Rafe and Topper. Not really the same town, my parents didn’t have money growing up. But I worked at the country club they all went to. That’s how I met Topper.”

“And you started dating?”

“Something like that,” She made a small shrug, “I owe everything I have to them.”

You nodded, sensing the weight of her words despite the lack of detail. Another piece to the puzzle you were trying to put together. Maybe the two of them had an attraction to girls struggling to get by.

“It’s not so bad, is it?” She asked and it made you pause.

Your instinct was to mirror her shrug, but you hesitated, wondering if you could trust her with your thoughts. If anyone could understand what you were going through, it had to be Eleanor.  “I-I just ffff-ffeel like I’m doing everything wrong.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve only heard good things.”

“A-About me?” She nodded and your lips parted in shock. 

“Yes. I know you feel uncertain right now, but I think you'll be glad if you can stick it out. Topper… he’s a bastard, but he takes care of me. Rafe likes you too. Maybe he doesn’t know how to show it, but…” She paused, her eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. “He’s filthy rich. That would be enough for me.”

In that moment, her brutal honesty felt almost like reassurance. You weren’t sure if Eleanor truly grasped the extent of Rafe’s inability to show affection, that his pleasure came from humiliating you, from making you cry. Just as you couldn’t fully know what she endured with Topper. Her words weren't necessarily comforting but at least they felt real.

Please reblog WITH your thoughts on the chapter to be added to the taglist for the story :)

[numine]

TENDER MOMENTS

pairing: kinich x reader

cw: not beta read, we die like hillichurls

author notes: some soft fluff i wrote at night while listening to no.1 party anthem hehe

You had been waiting for hours for Kinich to finish his commissions, and evening had settled in. The sofa you had been lying on in Kinich's humble abode had grown uncomfortably warm after hours of dozing to pass the time. Eventually, you sat up and observe the furnishings presented around you, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep and regain your sense of time and reality after hours of drifting away in your dreamscape.

Suddenly, you heard the door handle fumble, followed by the creak of the door on your right. Your senses now on high alert as your head snapped toward the sound curiously. The moonlight poured in, illuminating the familiar silhouette of a certain dark-haired boy you knew so well.

“Kin’? Is that you?” you called out, your gaze fixed on him.

“Hey, I’m home. Did I take too long?” he replied, gently closing the door behind him and setting down his belongings.

You let out a breath of relief—thank the Archons, it was Kinich and not someone with ill intentions. You made your way over, your footsteps echoing softly on the wooden floor.

“I missed you so much, Kin’,” you confessed, wrapping your arms around his neck and giving him a light peck on the cheek.

The gesture caught him off guard, but he quickly returned your embrace, pulling you close.

“I missed you too,” Kinich said, his warm palms gliding over your back in a comforting caress.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his familiar scent and savoring the moment before pulling back. Your eyes met, his gorgeous irises—a blend of amber and chartreuse with hints of orange—piercing through yours. You were momentarily awestruck as he stood there, confused.

Then, a sudden urge to play with his face nagged at you, your hands itching to trace his cheeks. Unable to resist, you cupped his face, your thumb gliding softly over his skin. The warmth of your palm contrasted with the coolness of his cheeks as he leaned into your touch.

You continued to caress his face, relishing the soft curve beneath your fingers. Kinich seemed to enjoy it as much as you did, his eyes fluttering shut in delight, warmth washing over him and sending his heart into a tizzy.

“You’re so adorable, you know that?” you said, watching as he hummed in response, a smile spreading across your face. He looked as if he was melting into your palm, nearly purring with contentment.

“How about we tuck in for the night?” you suggested. He nodded subtly, returning to his senses and reluctantly releasing you from his embrace, though he quickly felt the void left by the absence of your hand on his cheek, he still felt the ghost of your touch.

You both then finally made your way to his bedroom, ready to curl up and escape the chill of the night.

[anthonys237thfreckle]

Love in Oklahoma - Javier ‘Javi’ x F! reader

prompt: javi and his girl bought a small farm in Oklahoma, reworked it and adopted little nancy!

TW: mentions of injury, implications of smut

i saw @tempesttamers make a post about seeing anthony ramos with nancy and they needed a javi fic who has a miniature cow named nancy lol. it was such a cute idea, so thanks for that!

Whenever it wasn’t tornado season down in Oklahoma, the excitement was buzzing for the next one. Everyone round the bonfire of another cheap motel, all the storm chasers would gather and share stories of chasing a twister or two, the failures, close calls, successes… reminiscing the adrenaline high everyone felt in their own way.

But you and Javi had no place to stay apart from those motels. Your homes were far away from the southwest, and though storm season was over, Javi still needed to do a lot of research and analytics for storm patterns, their paths, conditions, humidity levels and even sometimes forecasts. Storm Par was busy all year.

Since he dragged you from your own job in the city down to Tornado Alley, you felt like you belonged down there, among the wheat fields, cheap food, thick humid air and wide skies; you and Javi would stargaze at times, and they seemed brighter down there for two reasons. One, there was no pollution for them to shy away behind and two, Javi was there - the man who seemed to make everything brighter.

So rather than stay basically homeless, Javi saved up some money and bought a little house with a farm. Barely half the size of a football field, it was selling for pretty cheap, so you Javi bought it for the two of you.

It wasn’t grand, but you two loved it very much. A small, simple, two story farmhouse with a porch, wide and welcoming, its wooden steps leading up to the red-brick house. Inside, it was definitely in need of some handiwork, but it was inviting nonetheless. After all, blank walls are nothing but a canvas to store potential. Dark stained wooden floorboards run throughout, giving it a rustic elegance. Though scuffed by generations of footsteps, they were very well polished. The kitchen, an open wide space, the heart of the home, had a traditional water pump basin and sink. You grinned when you saw it, turning to Javi who raised his eyebrows in shock and chuckled quietly, shaking his head in amusement. The sink sat beneath a window with a picturesque view of the backyard. White wooden cabinets adorned the walls, giving the kitchen its own light. Though the house was partially furnished, providing you with a large, rectangular dining table, some vintage pantry cabinets, and some sturdy chairs the previous owners left behind.

The second floor was led by some creaking wooden steps, and after climbing the short flight, you were met with a master bedroom with a large window overlooking the front yard, connected to a bathroom with checkered floor tiles, one of your new favourite things. They had a normal tap unlike the kitchen basin downstairs, and large mirror with some storage units and a shower. The other room, another bedroom, was smaller in comparison, but still had a window and a large bookshelf covering one whole wall. The other bathroom, almost as large as a room itself, was spacious, with two sinks, a rainshower, and bathtub.

Needless to say, you two fell in love with the house.

Once you two moved in, you both started to rework the place a little. Javi invited some close friends from Storm par and you invited Kate and the Tornado Wranglers to held paint the walls. Once that was done, everyone went out for dinner at a local diner, letting the stench of fresh paint air out. 2 weeks of relentless reworking went by, the crew made everything a lot faster; the house was homely, cozy, inviting. A bit of a contrast to the two city people you two were, but all the hard work made it all the more impressive. All your old stuff was shifted in, the crew helping you move all the heavy furniture, then left you two to do your own thing. Once everything was furnished, you both fell asleep on your shared bed upstairs, holding each other close.

After a day of rest, you both spent from sunrise to sunset out on the farm. Javi drove you to the farmer’s market, finding people who sold nearly mature crops with the purpose of repotting. You both bought 3 tomato plants - one in each colour: purple, red and yellow - 2 cucumbers, some Napa cabbage, romaine lettuce, arugula, some raspberry and blueberry shrubs. Once back the sun was high, you both slathered some sunscreen on and spent hours outside, repotting everything into the fertile southwestern soil.

The Tornado Wranglers came over for housewarming, bearing gifts; Kate bought you a pot of flowers, with her own recipe for a fertilizer which wasn’t damaging. Tyler brought a handmade sign saying ‘Not our first farmhouse!’ with the ‘Not’ crossed out in red paint. You accepted it with a laugh, and Javi just rolled his eyes playfully. Boone bought you both a vintage polaroid camera, and you had the idea of taking a photo of everyone who visited this house, and sticking it on the wall near the entrance, as a cute little housewarming idea. Lily brought some food, her famous enchiladas. Dani bought you two a weighted blanket and a toolbox, knowing how handy that can get. Dexter bought you two some encyclopedias and books you two would definitely enjoy. Everyone shared laughs and jokes and memories over dinner, and you both realized how this farmhouse really changed your lives.

You both started living a new life together, which contrasted everything before.

You always had a knack for baking and cooking, but only did so occasionally, because you could always buy bread from the supermarket, and you were busy. Now that you had joined Storm Par (once you cornered Javi and Scott into finding ethical investors) you both worked from home, giving you a lot of time for each other, and equally important, yourselves. Now, not a weekend went by when you went on a baking spree, pulling in Javi to help you out leading to flour fights, stolen chaste kisses where he’d lift you onto the counter, and everything in between. You baked sourdough, focaccia, dinner rolls, peanut butter cookies, muffins with fresh blueberries from the yard.

Javi rarely ate breakfast, mostly because he was too lazy or never had the will to eat anything shitty anyways, so every morning he’d be blessed with a platter of fresh herbed butter on sourdough toast, free range eggs from some chickens you both bought, and crispy organic bacon. Now, he claims breakfast is his second favourite meal, and when you ask what comes first, he just gives you a knowing look, which ends up with him getting flicked on the forehead.

All in all, your lives had changed for the better, but it was only about to get even better.

As you both drove back from the farmer’s market one evening, you saw a little curled up black and white creature on the side of the road

“Hey, baby, look..” you pointed over, and his eyes followed yours.

“Is that-” he slammed the breaks, rushing out of the car, you following behind.

It was a baby cow, or a miniature one, and its leg had a horrible gash on it.

“Its owners probably ditched her, pool gal…” He said softly, stroking the calf’s head when he found no ear tag on her.

You and Javi shared a look, and a silent communication went between you two. You needed to help her out.

You rushed over to your trunk, pouring out some milk and giving her some sustenance in the hopes of earning her trust. After carefully lifting her, making sure she didn’t thrash around, Javi put her in the backseat after you put a blanket down. You sat with her, the animals’ head resting in your lap. You drove a little way out of town for a vet, and after a quick checkup, you were given some ointment, and since the calf was abandoned, you both decided to keep it.

“Come on, Nancy” Javi said soothingly, carrying calf back into the car.

“Nancy?” you chuckled “We’re naming her already?”

“Yeah” Javi said with a chuckle “I like Nancy” he smiled, petting the calf’s head

“So do I” You said after a moment of thought. “Let’s get going”

Once everyone was back home, you brought out a wheelbarrow, and Javi put Nancy in there, the both of you gently bringing her to the barn. Once she was settled on a pile of hay, Javi gently tied her neck to a pole, making sure it wasn’t cutting anything off. You brought a bottle of milk with you, feeding her as her big black eyes got drowsier.

“Can I sleep here with her?” Javi asked you with concern.

“In the barn?” you laughed “Seriously?”

“I’m dead serious, (name)” Javi said, a look of determination you couldn’t fight.

“Alright, let me get the limoncello candle” you said in fake annoyance. Javi smiled, and called out.

“Love you, baby!”

—

Once you came back with the lit limoncello candle to ward off any bugs, setting it in the corner, you brought some sleeping bags and a bottle of water and milk, for you two and Nancy.

“I’m sleeping here with you” You said, handing him a sleeping bag.

“You don’t have to..” Javi said softly, never taking his eyes off Nancy as he stoked her head, tracing the blotches of black on her cream fur.

“I want to” you reassured, settling into the sleeping bag. “G’night, Javi” you murmured after giving him a sweet peck on the lips.

“Love you” he said, watching you over his shoulder as you settled in for the night.

“Love you too” you yawned “You know, if you changed your mind-”

“No” He interrupted you stubbornly “I’m staying here with Nancy” He reinforced.

“Whatever you say, baby” you chuckled, closing your own droopy eyes. “Make sure to actually catch some sleep”

“Yeah, I will. I promise” He nodded. “Goodnight, (name), I love you”

“Love you too, Jalapeño” you chuckled “Goodnight”

Javi chuckled at the nickname you loved using, and watched as you fell asleep. He looked over at a now asleep Nancy and smiled. He was so happy he bought this little home with you. He looked over at you again, then crawled over, unzipping the sleeping bag.

“Javier….” you whined “I was falling asleep!”

“Hold on just a second, baby..” He unzipped the sleeping bag, detached the zippers on his own one, and attached the two bags together and crawled inside, zipping it back up.

“Now we can cuddle!” he grinned, and you shook your head with a chuckle, burying your head in his chest and wrapping your arms around his torso.

“Okay, now really goodnight.” you murmured with mock annoyance.

“Yeah, really” He chuckled, nodding. “Goodnight, love”.

And with that, you both fell asleep in the barn, in each other’s arms, alongside your new companion. Javi dreamt of your lives progressing in this little farmhouse, filling it up with kids, maybe a German Shepherd… ironically, the house did have a white picket fence too, which made everything all the more cliche. But he didn’t care how much of a sap he was around you - since you seemed to love it anyway. Your lives had gotten so much.. lovelier.

If anything, you both found more love here, in Oklahoma.

[novlr]

how to describe? Houses, rooms, interiors, palaces, etc?

Creating immersive descriptions of indoor spaces is more than just scene setting—it’s an invitation to the reader to step into your world. Describing the interior of buildings with vivid detail can draw readers into your narrative. So let’s explore how to describe interiors using multiple sensory experiences and contexts.

Sights

Lighting: soft glow of lamps, harsh fluorescent lights, or natural light.

Colour and textures; peeling paint, plush velvet, or sleek marble.

Size and scale: is it claustrophobically small or impressively grand?

Architectural features: high ceilings, crown mouldings, or exposed beams.

Furnishings: are they modern, sparse, antique, or cluttered?

Style and decor: what style is represented, and how does it affect the atmosphere?

State of repair: is the space well-kept, neglected, or under renovation?

Perspective and layout: how do spaces flow into each other?

Unique design features: describe sculptural elements, or things that stand out.

Spatial relationships: describe how objects are arranged—what’s next to, across from, or underneath something else?

Sounds

Describe echoes in large spaces or the muffled quality of sound in carpeted or furnished rooms.

Note background noises; is there a persistent hum of an air conditioner, or the tick of a clock?

Describe the sound of footsteps; do they click, scuff, or are they inaudible?

Include voices; are they loud and echoing or soft and absorbed?

Is there music? Is it piped in, coming from a live source, or perhaps drifting in from outside?

Capture the sounds of activity; typing, machinery, kitchen noises, etc.

Describe natural sounds; birds outside the window, or the rustle of trees.

Consider sound dynamics; is the space acoustically lively or deadened?

Include unexpected noises that might be unique to the building.

Consider silence as a sound quality. What does the absence of noise convey?

Smells

Identify cleaning products or air fresheners. Do they create a sterile or inviting smell?

Describe cooking smells if near a kitchen; can you identify specific foods?

Mention natural scents; does the room smell of wood, plants, or stone?

Are there musty or stale smells in less ventilated spaces?

Note the smell of new materials; fresh paint, new carpet, or upholstery.

Point out if there’s an absence of smell, which can be as notable as a powerful scent.

Consider personal scents; perfume, sweat, or the hint of someone’s presence.

Include scents from outside that find their way in; ocean air, city smells, etc.

Use metaphors and similes to relate unfamiliar smells to common experiences.

Describe intensity and layering of scents; is there a primary scent supported by subtler ones?

Activities

Describe people’s actions; are they relaxing, working, hurried, or leisurely?

Does the space have a traditional use? What do people come there to do?

Note mechanical activity; elevators moving, printers printing, etc.

Include interactions; are people talking, arguing, or collaborating?

Mention solitary activities; someone reading, writing, or involved in a hobby.

Capture movements; are there servers bustling about, or a janitor sweeping?

Observe routines and rituals; opening blinds in the morning, locking doors at night.

Include energetic activities; perhaps children playing or a bustling trade floor.

Note restful moments; spaces where people come to unwind or reflect.

Describe cultural or community activities that might be unique to the space.

Decorative style

Describe the overall style; is it minimalist, baroque, industrial, or something else?

Note period influences; does the decor reflect a specific era or design movement?

Include colour schemes and how they play with or against each other.

Mention patterns; on wallpaper, upholstery, or tiles.

Describe textural contrasts; rough against smooth, shiny against matte.

Observe symmetry or asymmetry in design.

Note the presence of signature pieces; a chandelier, an antique desk, or a modern art installation.

Mention thematic elements; nautical, floral, astronomical, etc.

Describe homemade or bespoke items that add character.

Include repetitive elements; motifs that appear throughout the space.

History

Mention historical usage; was the building repurposed, and does it keep its original function?

Describe architectural time periods; identify features that pinpoint the era of construction.

Note changes over time; upgrades, downgrades, or restorations.

Include historical events that took place within or affected the building.

Mention local or regional history that influenced the building’s design or function.

Describe preservation efforts; are there plaques, restored areas, or visible signs of aging?

[fluentmoviequoter]

Family Name

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x reader (reader was in the Army and SWAT in Central City)

Summary: After ten years away, you return to Gotham. When you discover you know the true identity of the Joker, you join Batman's fight to save Gotham.

Warnings: angst, fluff, vague references to several DC Comics movies and timelines, murder (I can't get too specific about the murder warning without spoiling a plot point, but there is a friendly fire aspect and an assassination by a sniper)

Word Count: 6.6k+ words

A/N: This is my first time writing for Bruce Wayne (or at least posting it lol) so he may be OOC. I actually wrote most of this a year ago and just put the finishing touches on it, so I'm not sure if it's worth reading. Feel free to let me know what you think and send any Bruce Wayne requests you have so I can keep practicing for him! (If you want a specific characterization/actor let me know.)

The map that I used as a reference while writing is included at the end!

Masterlist | DC Masterlist | Request Info

Gotham is still cold, wet, and smelly. Some things never change, no matter how hard a certain vigilante tries. It’s been nearly ten years since you last set foot in Gotham, and things have changed. For better or worse? Who can tell?

It is raining as you walk out of the train station on the outer border of Gotham City. You shiver and pull your jacket closer to your body as the cold drizzle starkly contrasts the sunny Central City you came from. You hail a cab and tell the driver the address of your temporary apartment. The news station on the radio catches your attention, and the driver turns it up when you ask.

“After a fearsome showdown last night with the Joker, who is still missing from Arkham Asylum, the Batman has been spotted in downtown Gotham. The GCPD is on high alert following several tips of illegal business at the Iceberg Lounge,” they report.

“You new in town?” the driver asks.

“Not exactly. I haven’t been here in years though,” you explain.

“Then you’re new. This is a whole new Gotham. Just stay on the good side of the Batman and you’ll be fine, kid. This is you.”

After paying the driver and pulling your bags from the trunk, you stand on the sidewalk and look up at the place you now call home. The apartment building is old but in decent condition. Especially considering where it is. As the rain grows heavier, you move inside, climbing the stairs to the third floor and entering your apartment. The unit came furnished, so you only have some clothing to unpack. You start a list of the housewares and cleaning supplies you’ll need to buy. Walking around the living room, you notice the cable is hooked up and turn on the television. The local television channels are either out because of the rain or playing broadcasts of last night’s story. Any background noise will do, you suppose, as you leave a news channel on and begin unpacking and cleaning with what little bit of supplies you have.

After cleaning, you take a break and fall back onto the couch. The news is still on, and a face flashes across the scene, filling you with an odd sense of recognition. You lean forward to get a better view before exclaiming, “No way.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“When did you come back?” someone asks as you enter a small department store.

Looking up, you smile when you see a familiar face. “Barbara, hey! Last night. Been in Central City for too long.”

“Should have stayed there,” she says, laughing humorlessly. “Gotham is quite literally the most crime ridden city in the world now. It’s on the sign and everything. At least in Central you have a vigilante to protect you.”

“So does Gotham,” you point out. “He’s all over the news.”

“Yeah, we do. But for every criminal he puts in Arkham, ten more pop up.”

“Is your dad still a cop?”

“He’s the commissioner now. Actually…” She pulls a card out of her wallet and hands it to you. “Call him if you ever get in trouble. Be careful, okay? This isn’t the Gotham you remember.”

“I will. Thanks.”

You watch her leave before you begin shopping for the items on your list. After shopping, you are back in your apartment, cleaning and organizing. The Gotham News has more showtime than Hannah Montana in the 2000s. You find yourself invested in every story they present. Maybe this isn’t the Gotham you remember, but it is still Gotham and your home. If this city needs help, you'll offer everything you have.

“Citizens of Gotham, I am Police Commissioner James Gordon. Regarding the recent red alert at Arkham Asylum, the GCPD is urging residents to stay indoors, lock doors and windows, and most importantly, stay calm. We are not sure at this time how many, if any, patients escaped the asylum. Anyone with information is encouraged to contact crime stoppers at 800-”

You mute the television and look at your closet. An armour-plated uniform hangs front and centre, practically begging you to put it on and fight for your home. If Barbara doesn’t think Batman can handle all the criminals, maybe he would appreciate a little help.

“Don’t be stupid,” you chastise yourself, still looking at the closet. A few minutes later, you find yourself standing in front of the closet, thinking, “But you have the training.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Gotham looks much darker from a rooftop. You find a lookout spot a few blocks from Arkham, assuming anyone who escaped will have to pass you eventually.

“Oh, sweet Gotham! Riddle me this!” a high-pitched voice calls. A moment later, you see a man dressed in a green suit entering the alley below you.

“Now or never,” you whisper as you move toward the edge.

“The more of it there is, the less of all you see. What is it?” Riddler asks.

“Darkness,” you answer as you grab his shoulders.

You pull him backwards and knock him to the ground. His breath rushes out at the impact, and you bring your elbow down to his face, rendering him unconscious before he can catch his breath. The burner phone you bought earlier is programmed with James Gordon’s number in it.

“Gordon,” he answers.

“Riddler is unconscious in the alley at Tomlinson and Pygall,” you say lowly, hoping your voice is disguised enough, before hanging up.

Your attention is ripped away from the unconscious criminal as a silhouette of a bat floats across the sky.

“There’s hope yet, Gotham,” you say, smiling.

✯✯✯✯✯

It seems as though you are better at vigilantism than you expected. Everywhere you go, Batman is either already there or crosses your path. He has yet to see you, that much is sure. Lurking on a dark rooftop, you hear the telltale sign of his grappling hook and are a second too late in realizing he is moving onto the same roof as you.

“So, you’re the one who’s been stealing half my jobs?” he asks, walking toward you.

“You seem busy, thought you might like some help,” you respond, shrugging as you change your voice again.

“Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the thought. But you need to go home. This is dangerous and you could get hurt.”

You internally roll your eyes at his obvious arguments. “So could you.”

“Doesn’t matter if I get hurt.”

“Me neither. Any idea how many more of them are out there?”

Batman sighs and turns away from you to look over the city. “One or two,” he answers. “The city got lucky; Joker was in solitary and didn’t get out.”

You nod to yourself, moving toward the edge as you ask, “Why does it seem so easy to escape Arkham?”

“Poor security, not enough staff, an old building. The list is endless. Every time someone tries to strengthen it, a stronger foe comes along and breaks it again.”

“You’ve been doing this a long time.”

“Yet nothing’s changed.”

A sound behind you stops your answer. Turning toward the sound, you launch yourself onto the fire escape, ignoring Batman’s pleas to stop. 

“Whoa,” you breathe, looking at the plants growing in the alley. 

“You’re not the Bat,” Poison Ivy, whose news special aired last night, says. “You’d look much better in green than him.”

“Every plant I’ve ever owned has died. It’s one of my talents,” you taunt before throwing a canister from your belt. 

“It won’t work, Buttercup. I’ve been tear gassed many times.”

“It’s not just tear gas,” you call as the plants begin to wither. “It’s concentrated sulfur dioxide. Deadly to plants and debilitating to people.”

She coughs several times before falling. An arm wraps around your waist, and you are hoisted through the air before landing on a rooftop. 

“What was that?!” Batman demands.

“Sulfur dioxide.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it! You can’t just run around taunting criminals in a mask. What if that hadn’t worked and she had hurt you?”

“She didn’t. Besides-“

“No! You don’t get to justify this.” He keeps talking, and you feel like you have heard him before. You watch him closely as he continues berating you. 

“This is not a game. Do you understand that?” Bingo. You smile at him, his chest heaving as he prepares to yell at you again.

“You’re still really protective,” you say lightly. 

Batman turns toward you quickly, shaking his head before asking, “What?”

“In middle school you wouldn’t let me jump from the top of the swing set. Just funny that you’re still so protective when you risk your life every single night.”

“What are you talking about?”

You move toward the edge of the building and look over your shoulder at him. 

“Goodnight, Bruce.”

Batman runs to the edge after you jump, but the alley is empty. 

“Alfred,” he calls into his earpiece. 

“You’ll figure it out, sir. Eventually.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Didn’t I tell you to stay home?” Batman asks as he walks up behind you. 

“No. You told me I couldn’t run around taunting criminals in a mask. Which, by the way, I have some questions about. Can I walk and taunt criminals in a mask or is it the taunting that’s the problem?” you tease, looking up at him from your crouched position. 

“Ha ha,” he deadpans. “I’ll give you a pass for the other night, but you need to go home. Right now. I’m not letting you get hurt for this.”

“Then don’t. Watch my back and I’ll watch yours.” You extend your hand for a handshake as you stand. 

“No deal. Go home.”

“I’m not going home. So, stay with me and we can help each other or I’m going to go hunt him down on my own.”

He narrows his eyes at you before sighing and shaking your hand. 

“Why are you smiling?” he asks as he releases your hand. 

“We always were a pretty good team.”

You see the moment of recognition as his jaw drops under the cowl. He recovers quickly and points at you. 

“Ground rules. Number one: you don’t engage. Two: stay hidden. Three: run if things go south.”

“Got it. Be boring,” you relay. 

“This is not the time for jokes. Our lives are on the line. You don’t even have a good reason to be here.”

“Yeah I do.”

“Please enlighten me,” Batman prods impatiently. 

You can tell he is mad you were here and are not listening to him. Too bad, Bats, you think. Gotham is your home, too, and you aren’t going to let it fall into the hands of some crazy clown or any other criminal. 

“But before you tell me that, tell me what makes you qualified to be out here.”

“Look at me. Armoured uniform, tear gas, I’m a CCPD jacket short of official.”

“You’re CCPD?”

“I was. SWAT officer for five years after I got out of the Army. But I grew up here and I’m not letting this city go without a fight.”

“Why this fight? The one criminal we haven’t been able to stop for almost a decade?”

“Because...” You look up at him and smile. “I know who he is.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Thank you, Batman,” Commissioner Gordon says, shaking Batman’s hand. “We’ll get him in solitary.”

“Thanks, Jim,” Batman replies. 

“Who’s your new helper? Everyone at the station is talking about the reaper that popped up and knows how to take them all down.”

“An old friend. Try to keep them in a while longer this time, will you?”

Commissioner Gordon turns around to see Batman is gone. “We’ll try,” he mumbles into the dark. 

✯✯✯✯✯

The next night, Batman is gone. You don’t so much as see his shadow all night. There is only one criminal out; maybe they’re all on vacation, too. Killer Croc used Arkham’s sewer system to escape and pop up downtown. It was a long and tiresome fight, but you got him on the ground, and the GCPD took it from there. You finally reach the rooftop, preparing to cross them to go home, but don't make it far. Hitting the roof, you feel pain shoot through your ribs. After running your hand across the area, your skin is stained red. Great, you think. 

“What were you thinking?!” Batman reprimands you as he appears and kneels beside you, pulling items from his utility belt. 

“Mostly about what I was going to eat for dinner,” you joke, hissing when the antiseptic hits your skin. 

“I’m sorry,” Batman says quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Peachy. At least it wasn’t my neck this time.”

“I told you not to use your belt to traverse the jungle gym,” Batman mumbles. 

“So, you do remember me,” you say happily.

“You’re still an idiot with a death wish.”

“And you’re still Mother Hen Bruce.”

“This’ll help for now,” he says, helping you stand up and hooking his arm under your shoulders. “But I’m taking you back to the cave to get you checked out.”

“Didn’t do enough checking out in high school?” you slur before passing out.

“Alfred, we’re inbound,” he says into his microphone. 

“Glad to see blood loss doesn’t dampen her sarcasm,” Alfred responds, “I’ll be ready.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“What did you mean you know who he is?” Bruce asks. 

You blink several times to make sure you aren’t imagining him. He looks different than the last time you saw him. Without the mask, he’s more like the Bruce you grew up with, just older and barely holding Gotham together.

“You got hot,” you say without thinking. 

“Thanks. Now tell me what you meant.”

“That I know who he is?” you clarify, standing up. 

“Please stay down,” Alfred chides as he returns with tea. 

“Thanks, Alfred. Good to see you again.” You smile as you accept the tea. 

“You as well. Now take it easy. You should be battle ready in a day or two but that’s only if you rest properly.”

“No, you will not be battle ready. There is no more battle for you,” Bruce adds. 

“You know I’m not going to listen and if you tell me no I’ll just do it myself.”

“We’ll have this conversation later. For now, tell me what you know about Joker.”

“Okay. He’s my uncle. Like twice removed, or-“

“There’s no way you’re related to that monster,” Bruce interjects. 

“I’m not, really. We’re related by marriage. His aunt or somebody else married my cousin and I happened to meet him a few times. Fate, I guess.”

“Do you know his name?” 

“No. Everyone in the family called him J. I thought his name started with a J but see now that it’s because he’s cuckoo for cocoa puffs.”

Bruce chuckles and shakes his head before turning serious again. “Are you really okay?”

“I’m great. Thanks for the assist.”

“I’m glad you’re back. Even if you are endangering yourself and ignoring everything I say.”

“Me too.”

“But Alfred’s right. You need some rest. We can finish this conversation later.”

“I can go home,” you say, standing up.

You stumble slightly, and Bruce catches you, holding you upright against him. 

“Can you?” he asks, the ghost of a smile appearing on his face. 

✯✯✯✯✯

“I think I found something,” you cheer when Bruce answers the phone. 

“Where are you?”

“My apartment. It’s by Sacred Heart.”

The line goes silent, so you say Bruce’s name. 

“You’re living by the Narrows? I thought you just went out there to fight.”

“It’s a fine building. I’m not in the Narrows.”

“No but you’re between Crime Alley and Arkham Island. You need to find a new place. Now.”

“I can’t afford anything else, Bruce. It was this or Slaughter Swamp.”

“Pack your essentials. I’ll be there in twenty.”

He hangs up, leaving you with a dozen questions. However, you know he means what he says, so you pack the stuff you can’t live without and are ready to go when he shows up twenty minutes later. 

“You’re staying at Wayne Manor until we find you a new place.”

“That is not necessary.”

“It’s not just that this is close to the Narrows. We’re going after Joker, and I need to know you’re safe.”

“We’re not going after Joker,” you correct, “we’re finishing this.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Bruce, I can’t find a marriage certificate. They may not have been married; maybe they were just living together or something and didn’t want to explain it to a kid,” you admit, disappointed in your lack of findings. 

“It’s okay. We will find something. And if we don’t, we can do it another way,” he assures. 

✯✯✯✯✯

“This is the fourth Arkham breakout in as many weeks. When do you sleep?” you ask. 

Alfred laughs faintly through the communications system. 

“During Wayne Enterprises meetings, usually,” Bruce answers. 

“I got one. Going dark,” you alert before jumping to meet Captain Boomerang. 

After a short fight which results in your earpiece breaking, Captain Boomerang is unconscious, and you prepare to call Gordon. 

“Ha ha ha ha,” an eerie voice cackles behind you. 

You freeze in place before turning slowly and coming face-to-face with the Joker. He knocks your helmet off in one swift move, and your face is now visible. 

“I remember you. My aunt married your second cousin. Horrible family you have. Or should I say had? Ha ha ha ha.”

“What do you want?”

“Is a family reunion not enough? No, I guess you’re right. I mean, marriages end so are we even related anymore?”

“We never were.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong, Reaper! You know everyone calls you that, don’t ya? Personally, I think it’s a bit morbid but to each their own. I also heard from a little bird that you’re working with the big, bad bat. I had such great hopes for you, and you let me down.”

“What do you want?” you repeat slowly. 

“To be family again,” he answers, smiling as he runs his fingers over your face and hair. 

“What about Harley? Isn’t she your family? You were all she could talk about the other night.”

“Not anymore. She settled for some used piece on her Suicide Suckers. But me and you? Me and you could be the dream team. The family to end all families.”

“I don’t want to be part of your family.”

“When I found out Harley was a harlot, you know what I said? I said I’d peel off her skin and put it on a new body. But I can’t imagine those words coming from her. So, from now on…” he moves his hand to rest in front of your throat as his smile drops. “If Harley wouldn’t say it, you don’t say it.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Alfred, where is she?” Bruce asks.

“Toxic Acres. She’s still not responding,” Alfred responds, watching your tracker blink in the same place for the fifth consecutive minute.

“I’m going after her,” Bruce declares.

“Be careful, Master Bruce.” Bruce doesn’t respond, and Alfred mutes the private connection as he watches Bruce’s tracker move toward yours. “And don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“You’re making a mistake, J,” you hiss, the pressure of Joker’s hand on your throat making it hard, but not impossible, to breathe.

“No, they made a mistake,” he argues, moving his hand slightly as he steps back to look at you.

“Who?”

“Your family. All families. Everyone who treats people like outsiders.”

“You mean to tell me you’re doing this - all of this - because you never felt like you belonged in a family?”

“No!” Joker yells, leaning his weight against your throat as he smiles in your face. “Because no family has ever accepted me. I know I don’t belong, but everyone expects families to lie, right? Especially their own, but no, poor Joker always got told the truth! ‘You’re too strange,’ ‘You’re dangerous,’ ‘The kids are scared of you,’ yet no one ever offered to help me fit in.”

You raise your hands to his arm and claw at his skin, growing desperate for air as he rants. He looks over when your hits grow weaker and pulls his hand back. You fall to the ground, wheezing, as you try to take deep breaths. 

Holding your neck, you look up at him and ask, “Then what do you want?”

He kneels in front of you and holds a knife out in his hand. “I want you to find a family and make a Joker-sized hole for me to fill.”

Shaking your head, you argue, “I’m not like you. I won’t do that, J.”

He cocks his head as his smile falls. “Harley wouldn’t say that, would she? And, besides, you’re more like me than you think, aren’t you? And what’s more interesting is that I think you know it. We’re the same, you and I, whether you like it or not.” The knife is raised to your throat as he threatens, “Do it, or I will make another hole in your family.”

“Another?” you ask.

The blade presses against your skin, and you close your eyes, unwilling to give him the theatrics and attention he so desperately seeks. A grappling hook sounds somewhere above you just before the blade is removed from your throat. Joker’s words echo in your head, and your eyes stay closed. Someone gently touches your neck and your face, but you don’t open your eyes, in case it’s him trying to trick you. He does that; you remember that too well.

An arm loops around your waist as a hand pulls your arms over broad shoulders. Only when you’re flying through the air and clinging to him are you ready to admit that Bruce is saving you. Opening your eyes, you see Wayne Tower in the distance. You tighten your arms around Bruce’s neck, and his hand squeezes your waist in response. He lands on the roof of Wayne Manor and rushes into the Batcave.

“What did he do to you?” Bruce asks as he sets you on a medical exam table. The same table you sat on when he saved you after the fight with Killer Croc.

Bruce tries to step back, but you cling to him. He’s the only family you have left, and Joker opened an old wound with his talk of carving a hole in a family to fill himself. That’s what he tried to do with your family, but when he still didn’t fit, he kept carving.

“Please don’t leave me,” you whisper into Bruce’s suit.

Bruce’s arms wrap around you, pulling you to the edge of the table as he cups your head to his shoulder.

“I’m right here,” he soothes. “Not going anywhere.”

He holds you for longer than you realize; time slows down in Bruce’s arms. When you pull back, he cups your face in his hands and looks at you intently.

“Want to talk about it?” he asks.

“Not right now,” you whisper.

“That’s okay,” he promises, nodding.

“The guest bedroom has been prepared and dinner is awaiting you, Master Bruce,” Alfred calls, briefly appearing in the doorway of the Batcave.

“Can we talk about it in the morning?” you ask.

“Of course. Whenever you’re ready. And you’re staying here tonight.”

You don’t argue, nodding as you stand and follow Bruce upstairs. He shows you to a guest room with clothes, toiletries, and more books than you can count. Telling you to use whatever you want; he leaves to change before meeting you for dinner.

When you enter the bathroom to change into the clothes you found in the closet, you see yourself in the mirror. Mostly, you see the red line running across your neck. Joker has hurt more than enough people, you decide, and you meant what you told Bruce; you plan to finish this.

✯✯✯✯✯

Bruce sits up suddenly. The sun is coming through the cracks in his curtains, but something feels off. He pulls a shirt over his head and walks down the hall, knocking on the door to the guest room where you’re staying. After a moment of no answer, he lets himself in. There’s a note on the bed in your handwriting.

I can’t let him do it again, especially not to you. Please stay home tonight and let me finish this fight. I should have done it ten years ago, but I was scared and ran. This is my chance to make everything right. Please forgive me.

Bruce takes a deep breath, suppressing his urge to punch a hole in the wall. Alfred wouldn’t appreciate another one. He rereads the note, then goes downstairs for breakfast like everything is fine.

“Where is our guest?” Alfred asks when Bruce enters the dining room. “Resting, I hope.”

“She’s gone. She left in the middle of the night to, quote, finish a fight like she should have done ten years ago.”

Alfred’s eyes widen as he stops moving trays onto the table. “You’re going after her, then?”

“No, Alfred, I am not.”

Bruce picks up the paper, as nonchalant as ever, and more convincing than when he turns on his Brucie Wayne charm.

“Why ever not, sir?”

“She asked me not to. And after her reaction to me last night, I’m inclined to listen to her.”

“You can’t be serious.”

Bruce drops the paper and looks at Alfred. “I am going to do exactly what she said.” When the paper covers his face again, he adds, “For a while.”

“Good man,” Alfred mutters, returning to serving breakfast.

✯✯✯✯✯

Realistically, you know that breaking into Arkham and executing a patient isn’t the best idea, but it would solve the problem. However, there’s the downside of life in prison for first-degree murder that you’d have to contend with. Bruce would surely visit you, but you don’t want to lose him before you get him back.

Perched on a rooftop, you watch Arkham and hope your trap is being laid as planned. The security lights blink on seconds before the alarm sounds. If Arkham Asylum is good for anything, it’s the consistency of frequent breakouts. No matter who breaks out tonight, you’re prepared. All you have to do is convince them to lay a trap for Joker, convincing him that you killed someone, and then you can pounce. Watching the alley below you, you furrow your brows as you lean forward.

“Catwoman?” you ask incredulously.

She looks up, tilting her head at the sight of you. “Reaper?” she asks, sounding far too excited.

“What are you doing here?”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“Thieving, I presume?” She nods, and you lower yourself onto a fire escape before jumping to meet her. “There’s nothing here worth stealing.”

“Maybe.”

You clench your hands into fists and look down the alley.

“I think the better question is what are you doing here, Reaper? I’m not exactly in your demographic.”

Under your mask, you press your lips together and consider confiding in her. She cares about Batman as far as you can tell, so if you tell her Joker is planning to kill him (though, in reality, Bruce is his likely target), she may be willing to help.

“Batman dump you? He does that,” Catwoman hums.

“What? No, no, we’re not together like that.”

“Yet,” Catwoman interjects.

“Look, Joker is going to try to kill someone that I love. He’s already ruined my family forever.”

“You just moved here, who could you possibly love here? I thought I fell fast.”

“I grew up here, and-“

Your mind races as you remember that you haven’t been seen with Bruce since returning, but Joker has been out since then. Pulling the earpiece from your pocket, you hope someone is in the Batcave.

“Hello?” you ask into it, desperate and terrified for your family. “Take whatever you want,” you tell Catwoman when you don’t get an answer, “heck, take something for me too. But if you see Batman, tell him I’m looking for him?”

“Sure.” You move toward the end of the alley before Catwoman asks, “What should we call you?”

Smiling, you answer, “Reaper is growing on me.”

“Good luck, Reaper.”

You could have taken a grappling hook before you left Wayne Manor last night, but you were more concerned with Bruce’s safety than yours. Getting off of Arkham Island and into Gotham Heights will take too long on foot.

“Batman?” you ask, trying the comm again. “Anybody?”

“You called?”

You slide to a stop, nearly falling over, when you see Batman perched on a roof, looming like a gargoyle. He spreads his cape as he moves to the road before you. Looking down at you, though you can’t see his eyes, you know he’s trying to ensure you’re safe and unharmed.

“He’s going after Barbara. I thought he meant you, but he was out when I saw Barbara.”

“I’ll call Gordon. We need to get to Gotham Heights.”

“We’ll never make it in time. The alarm sounded twenty minutes ago.”

Bruce’s head turns toward you as he presses a button on his utility belt. The Batmobile turns a corner, coming to a stop beside you. Your eyes widen as the top opens, jumping in the passenger seat as you look at everything in awe.

“Barbara is stronger, and knows more than you think, but she can’t hold him off forever.”

You nod, prepared to do whatever you have to do. Even if it means making Bruce hate you.

“And I forgive you. Whatever you do, I understand,” Bruce says quietly. “Just- just remember that your actions affect more people than just you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

It’s a trap. The driveway beside Barbara’s place is decorated like the cookout where you met Joker.

“Go check on Babs, I’m right behind you,” you tell Batman.

He hesitates, noticing exactly where your focus is, before tapping your shoulder and running toward Barbara’s door. When Batman is out of sight, Joker’s laugh surrounds you.

“Did you do it?” Joker asks, stepping out of the shadows.

“No.”

“Whyever not?” he asks with a laugh.

“Because I’m not a killer. We are not the same.”

“Come over here,” he demands. You listen despite your body’s urging to leave. “And give me a real reason,” he adds when you stop across a picnic table from him.

“That is the real answer. I will not do to another family what you did to mine. I’m not a killer.”

“Now, now, now, that’s not true.”

His eyes are fixed on your mask, likely imagining your furrowed brows and scared eyes. “Is the mask necessary, Reaper? We know one another. It’s just family here.”

You swallow as you rip the mask off, levelling your gaze on Joker, determined not to show him how much he is affecting you.

“If you hurt her, I will end you.”

Joker flaps a dismissive hand. “She’s fine. I just needed a reason to celebrate, but you didn’t keep your end of the bargain.”

“I’m not-“

“A killer, yes, so you say. However, there’s a family out there that begs to differ.”

You lick your lips, unsure how he knows this. The record was redacted and eventually destroyed, so no one outside of your team at the time should know.

Joker’s laugh draws your attention back to him. “You are a killer. Just like me.”

Shaking your head, you flinch when Joker slaps his hands onto the table, leaning forward to get closer to you. 

“Joseph,” Joker whispers, smiling widely at your surprised movement.

Someone screams in the distance, and you remember your promise: to protect your home, no matter the cost. Unholstering the gun you hadn’t carried in years, you hold it to Joker’s forehead.

“Do it,” he begs, leaning against the barrel. “Show them how alike we are.”

Your arm shakes as you fight to do it. With a finger on the trigger, Joker should be gone already, but you can’t do it.

Lowering the gun, you sigh, preparing for Joker’s next idea or a surprise dose of his laughing toxin. He watches you until he reaches for something. Before you can lunge forward to stop him, a shot rings out in the Gotham night. You hear it as Joker jerks to the side, slumping to the ground. Turning toward the right, you search the skyline for the shooter. You see a familiar salute and laugh to yourself as the silhouette disappears.

 “Reaper!” Batman yells, rushing toward you. He slows as he sees you standing over Joker.

There’s a note, half blown apart. He took credit. You laugh again, oblivious to Batman’s concerned gaze on the back of your head. The laughter quickly turns to hiccups as you fight to remain composed. You walked out of Wayne Manor prepared to assassinate Joker. Now that you have essentially been an accomplice to his death and reminded of your worst mistake, you’re falling apart.

Bruce whispers your name, a hand on your arm as he turns you away. He raises a hand to your jaw as the first tear rolls down your cheek.

“I killed him,” you admit.

“No, you didn’t. That shot was too far away, no one will blame you.”

“I killed Joseph,” you repeat. “I didn’t see him, and there was so much fog and- I shouldn’t have taken the shot.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I left the Army and joined SWAT because I killed a civilian. I don’t know how Joker knew, but he was right. I am a killer.”

“Hey, hey.” When you don’t respond, Batman summons the Batmobile, whispering to Gordon on the phone as he helps you into the passenger seat.

Once you’re in Wayne Manor, dressed in a pair of sweatpants and one of Bruce’s shirts, he pulls you into his arms.

“You’re not like Joker, and you’re not a killer. Friendly fire is a terrible thing, but it’s not your fault. You can’t keep blaming yourself for that. Saving people has its costs, and if I could take the guilt from you, I would.”

“I don’t even know how it happened,” you confess, “I dream about it all the time, but I don’t remember actually pulling the trigger.”

“You may never know. But either way, you can forgive yourself and move on.”

Wiping under your eyes, you lean against Bruce’s chest as you ask, “What did Gordon say? How’s Babs?””

“Their ballistics team is examining the velocity and angle to find where the shot came from. Barbara didn’t even know anything was happening, she’s fine.”

“The roof of Verdant in The Narrows,” you whisper, laying an open hand over Bruce’s heart.

“That’s too far for a shot like that.”

“Not for Army snipers.”

“Friend of yours?”

“Used to be,” you shrug before adding, “Lawton started killing for money, and I couldn’t support that.”

“Wait,” Bruce interjects, pushing you back slightly, ducking to look into your eyes. “You’re telling me that Deadshot just killed Joker? For free?”

“He doesn’t do anything for free,” you answer, smiling. “But I didn’t pay him if that’s what you think. Besides, he left a calling card of sorts.”

“Not at all. Batman will call Gordon tomorrow and let him know.”

“What’s Batman doing tonight?”

“He’s on vacation,” Bruce sighs, leaning his forehead against yours. “And Bruce Wayne is catching up with an old friend.”

Smiling, you turn sideways to press your chest against Bruce, laying your arms over his shoulders.

“I think that sounds like a great night.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“I found something,” Bruce says, removing his cowl as you enter the Batcave.

“A life?” you joke.

“Ha. No, I had a friend of mine go searching for that destroyed Army record.”

“Why?” you ask quietly, wringing your fingers together.

“Because you didn’t kill Joseph. Your gun never went off, and the shot came from a different direction with a much higher velocity. This looked like sniper.”

“You think it was Lawton?”

“Wouldn’t be surprising.” Bruce tilts your head toward him and looks you in the eye to add, “But the important thing is that you have no reason to keep carrying that burden.”

“Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”

“Come on patrol with me.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to get hurt.”

“You won’t. Not with me around.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hey, Bats.”

“Catwoman,” Batman answers.

“Reaper was looking for you a few nights ago.”

“Yeah, we ran into each other. Thanks, though.”

“She said you weren’t together like we were, but I find that very hard to believe.”

“Give them back,” you say, surprising both Catwoman and Batman.

“Give what back?” she parrots.

You hold your hand out. “The pearl necklace and earrings you stole. They’re not worth anything to the woman, but they’re sentimental.”

Catwoman huffs, pulling a small bag from her pouch and tossing it to you. “I chose them for you anyway.”

“What?”

“You said to steal something for you too.”

“I thought my best friend was about to get murdered, I didn’t mean it!”

“And did you mean what you said about not being with Bats here?” She places a hand on her hip, and you take the opportunity to look at Batman before answering.

“He’s just not my type,” you answer, shrugging one shoulder.

You see his jaw twitch before he nods his farewell to Catwoman.

“I didn’t mean it,” you whisper as you walk past him. “And we’ve got a crocodile to catch.”

Batman sighs. “Welcome to Gotham.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Whose are they?” Bruce asks as you examine the pearl jewellery.

“Mine,” you answer, not looking at him. “What are the chances she’d use my permission to thieve to rob me?”

“Not bad with Sel- Catwoman.”

“Selina Kyle, yeah, I know.”

“Sentimental, huh?”

You turn toward Bruce, passing him the necklace.

“I told your mom that I liked her pearls, like five months before she was killed, and the next day she surprised me. She picked me up from school and told me we were going shopping. They’re the cheapest ones the store had, but I’ve loved them ever since because they came from someone I loved and… I guess they made me feel a bit more like her, and she was amazing.”

When you look back at Bruce, he’s still holding the necklace, but his gaze is on you. He sets the necklace down, stepping toward you. Gripping your waist, he pulls you against him with a wide smile.

“You’re amazing too.”

“Not like her.”

“There’s no one quite like her. But she loved you too, more than you know. Actually, she thought we were going to get married,” Bruce adds, nudging his nose against yours.

“I did too,” you whisper.

Bruce kisses you quickly, pulling back to gauge your reaction.

“Based on the newspapers, I thought you’d be better than that,” you tease.

Bruce clicks his tongue before pulling you into another kiss. While he takes your breath, he fills you with love and hope. His hands keep you as close as possible, one sliding up to hold your head as he deepens the kiss, whispering something against your lips.

“Wait,” you mumble, moving your hands from his jaw to his chest. “What did you say?”

Bruce smirks, the charm that no one gets to see any more on display. “That I love you.”

Your eyes widen, and you grip his shoulders as you rise to kiss him, informing him that you feel the same. “I love you more,” you say against his lips, melting into him as you become one.

“My mom would want you to have her pearls,” Bruce whispers, rubbing his thumb in large sweeping motions against your upper hip. “And she’d want us to see where this goes.”

“Your mom was very smart,” you muse, putty in Bruce’s hands as he moves to the couch, tugging you into his lap.

“Did you love my mom enough to take her last name eventually?”

“This is more important – I love you enough.”

“Finally!” Alfred exclaims as he walks in with a tray of tea and biscuits. “It is about time you officially join the family and take the name.”

[roseistifosi]

A Night in Monaco (part one) AS 12

-------------------------------------

Words: 1.4K A/N: This is the first fic I ever wrote so please be nice loll, BTW

TW: Pregnacy ?

Monte Carlo, Monaco, 1993

The opulence of Monte Carlo sparkles under the starlit sky, an endless expanse of luxury and extravagance that feels almost otherworldly. You, a young bartender working in one of Monaco’s most exclusive venues, navigate the bustling bar with practiced grace. The clinking of glasses, the murmur of animated conversations, and the occasional burst of laughter create a vibrant tapestry of sounds that is both exhilarating and exhausting.

It's the weekend of the 1993 Monaco Grand Prix, a time when the city’s usual glamour is amplified tenfold. The streets are packed with racing enthusiasts, celebrities, and high-profile guests. Your bar is no exception, brimming with a mix of excited patrons eager to celebrate the high-octane event.

With your striking (your hair color) hair and penetrating (your eyes color) eyes, you move fluidly among the patrons, your uniform crisp and your demeanor friendly yet professional. Your days in Monte Carlo have been a whirlwind of bright lights and fast-paced social interactions, a sharp contrast to the quiet life you left behind in Solna. The energy of the city is a double-edged sword—thrilling yet overwhelming.

On this particular evening, as the bar’s atmosphere buzzes with excitement, a man walks in who immediately captures everyone's attention. Ayrton Senna, the Brazilian Formula 1 racing icon, enters with an aura of intense charisma and unparalleled skill. His dark suit and the confidence he exudes seem to amplify the allure of the Monaco night.

You notice him as he approaches the bar. The usual commotion seems to fade into the background as he steps into your space, his presence commanding attention. His dark, contemplative eyes meet yours with a warmth that contrasts sharply with the cool demeanor of his public persona.

“Champagne, please,” Ayrton says, his voice carrying a soft, melodic accent.

Your hand moves instinctively to retrieve a bottle of champagne, your mind momentarily distracted by the celebrity in front of you. “Of course. It’s quite the night for champagne,” you reply with a smile.

As you pour the drink, your conversation starts with small talk—questions about the race, the city, and each other’s lives. Ayrton’s charm is evident, but it’s his genuine curiosity and thoughtful responses that draw you in. He speaks with an intensity that makes you feel as though you’re alone, despite the busy surroundings.

Hours pass, and the bar begins to empty. The crowd thins, leaving behind a quieter atmosphere that feels more intimate. Ayrton, noticing the change, suggests you take a walk outside. You hesitate for a moment, then agree, feeling a mix of intrigue and anticipation.

The streets of Monte Carlo at night are a far cry from the daytime frenzy. The city breathes softly under the moonlight, and the calmness of the night provides a stark contrast to the earlier excitement. Ayrton and you walk through the serene avenues, your conversation flowing with an ease that comes from genuine connection.

You end up at the Hôtel de Paris Monte-Carlo, an establishment as renowned for its elegance as for its exclusivity. Ayrton leads you to his suite, and the opulence of the surroundings only enhances the sense of intimacy between you. The night unfolds with a blend of passion and tenderness, your connection deepening with each shared moment.

As dawn begins to break, the reality of the situation settles in. You wake alone, the suite’s luxurious furnishings starkly contrasting with the emptiness you feel. The bed beside you is neatly made, and the silence of the room is punctuated only by the soft rustle of paper.

On the pillow next to you lies an envelope, meticulously placed. With a mixture of curiosity and trepidation, you pick it up and carefully open it. Inside is a letter, written in Ayrton’s elegant script.

“Dear Y/N,

Thank you for a memorable evening. I regret that I had to leave before you awoke; my schedule demands I return to my responsibilities. I hope the night was as meaningful for you as it was for me. Enclosed is a small token to ensure you are well taken care of.

With warm regards,

Ayrton S.”

Along with the letter is a sum of money, not as compensation but as a gesture of respect and care. Your emotions are a tangled mix of gratitude, confusion, and a sense of loss. The night was both exhilarating and ephemeral, a fleeting connection that has left a lasting impact.

You read the letter several times, each reading stirring a new wave of emotions. The words, though simple, carry a depth of sentiment that makes the experience all the more poignant. Ayrton’s departure, while expected, leaves a void filled with a bittersweet sense of nostalgia.

You carefully tuck the letter away, deciding to keep it as a memento of a night that has transformed your life in ways you haven’t yet fully understood. The money, though practical, is secondary to the emotional significance of the letter and the night you shared.

Then, about a month later, something happens that will change everything. You begin to feel unwell—persistent nausea, fatigue, and an odd sensitivity to smells that hadn’t bothered you before. At first, you dismiss it as stress or perhaps a lingering flu. But when the symptoms don’t subside, you decide to visit a doctor.

Sitting in the sterile, white-walled clinic, you fidget nervously, your mind racing with possibilities. The doctor, a kind woman in her forties, conducts the examination and then asks you to wait while she runs some tests. The minutes tick by slowly, each one filled with growing anxiety.

When the doctor returns, she has a gentle expression on her face, one that conveys both understanding and seriousness. “Mrs Y/L/N” she begins softly, “I have some news for you. You’re pregnant.”

The words hit you like a freight train. Pregnant. You’re pregnant with Ayrton Senna’s child. The reality of it all is overwhelming. You sit there in stunned silence, your mind reeling as you try to process the enormity of what you’ve just heard. The news is a shock, and your mind races with questions and uncertainties. The reality of raising a child, especially one conceived during a brief encounter with someone as famous as Ayrton Senna, is daunting. You grapple with the implications of your situation, trying to come to terms with the fact that you will be raising a child on your own.

[57sfinest]

also yall we need to step back from the harryvision and understand that kim, at his core, is a loser (affectionate) like everyone else. so much out there wants to portray him as limitless patience, great cook, super organized, good handwriting, nice tasteful living quarters etc and that's fun to contrast him to harry but well i am here to RUIN that we need to take off the du bois glasses and appreciate kim for the weirdguy that he is. he has horrific fits of road rage and harry genuinely fears for his life riding along with him and witnessing the generational curses this man is capable of unleashing upon the stupid little fucks that cut him off on the 8/81. he has never had the time or space or budget to learn to cook so he lives off deli sandwiches and butter noodles and the occasional grab-and-go fruit. he writes so much so frequently with such awful handwriting that he has invented a new form of shorthand and the moralintern is contacting him to create a cipher system for them. he has no resources to furnish and maintain a nice flat so it's like a slightly gentrified r/malelivingspace but with a table for his sewing machine and there's scrap fabric and thread and half-pinned half-hemmed pants strewn about the place. there are absolutely a bunch of shitty mockups of his old wirral character in the backs of his notebooks and he hasn't played it in years but if he ever picks it back up then his minmax high int high dex definitely-not-a-self-insert sidhe artificer is READY. everyone add your weirdguy kim thoughts NOW 👇

[sheerfreesia007]

Adrenaline High

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Word count: 2,210

Content warnings: Violence, choking but he doesn’t tighten his grip

Summary: You’re a respectable person in the light of day but there’s a side to you that you like to indulge every once in a while to capture that adrenaline high. What happens when the house you break into turns out to be the mob boss Bang Chan’s? Will he had mercy on you or punish you for your crime?

The mansion was impressive, a large piece of property with acres of land and an even more massive building that sat dark in the night. You crouched in the bushes that lined the building and smiled widely with excitement and anticipation. You loved this dark side of your life, where you acted without regard to the rules and laws that governed everyone else. It was such a contrast to normal everyday life that it always gave you an adrenaline high whenever you completed a job.

Tonight was no different, you were crouched in the dark damp earth of the flower bed along the far side of the mansion. It had the perfect vantage point to see if anyone would show up while you broke in through the glass paned door along the side of the house. Your brother had told you about the abandoned mansion in the middle of nowhere on the outskirts of the city, he had been so excited to tell you about it and you had to admit he was right it was a perfect spot to hit.

You had started surveillance as soon as he had mentioned the location and it did seem abandoned, within the month of you surveilling the place no one had come in or out of the property and you had made sure to check at each corner of the acreage. All of the furniture and furnishings within the mansion were all still there and while they collected dust they all looked fairly new which worried you a little bit about the owner coming back but your brother had quickly reassured you. He knew that if you felt even just a hint of something going south you wouldn’t do the job. Your actual job as a public defender was worth more than getting your adrenaline high, there were other ways for you to get that high then this way.

There was shifting from behind you and a hand pressed gently against your back, your brother’s signal that they were all ready for this to happen. Taking in a deep breath you stood from your position and moved to stand next to the door, you cocked your elbow back and then slammed it into the singular pane of the glass near the door handle.

The sound of the glass falling to the floor twinkled through the empty house and you breathed a sigh of relief when you didn’t hear an alarm going off. But you knew that the house was alarmed, during your surveillance you had spotted the cameras at every corner so you knew there was some sort of security system.

“Alright get in and grab whatever you want and get out quick. This place is out in the middle of nowhere but it’s still got a security system.” you told them sternly as you unlocked the door and let them all in. 

Your brother had brought a crew of ten with the hopes of being able to grab enough things from the mansion to be able to pay off your family’s debts. You knew your brother had fallen on hard times and no matter how much money you set aside for him and your parents they were never able to keep themselves out of the red. You had told him that this was the last time you would help him out like this, you couldn’t keep risking someone finding out that you did this it was too great of a risk to your job. He understood where you were coming from and had promised this would be the last time.

After they had all entered the mansion you followed them slowly after looking over your shoulder to make sure that there weren’t any flashing lights already. You knew that this county law enforcement’s closest precinct was at least twenty minutes away and there weren’t many units that stuck close to this mansion, as if it was intended that way. Shaking your head slightly you turned and entered the mansion as you set a timer on your watch for ten minutes.

*-*-*-*

Chan yawned widely as he slowly walked through the nearly empty airport, his large black hoodie kept him warm in the air conditioned building while his hood kept him slightly hidden from others around him. He had a pair of earbuds in his ear as he made his way to baggage claim where he knew his men were waiting on him already. The flight had thankfully been easy without any delays or too much turbulence. 

Just as he walked into the baggage claim area his most trusted bodyguard Oliver stepped up to his side and handed him a tablet that had his home’s security system pulled up. Chan frowned as he looked down at the screen and gritted his teeth as anger curled within him. There on the screen was the video feed of his security cameras showing him that ten stocky men had entered his home and were now pilfering a lot of his possessions. But as he was about to swipe to the next camera he watched as a smaller person slowly walked into his home and stared straight up into the camera. Anger courses through him as he watches as the person raises their hand and waves slowly at the camera before walking past the camera.

“Get me home. Now.” Chan hisses out angrily as he stalks away from Oliver with an angry scowl planted on his face.

*-*-*-*

You idly walked around the first floor looking at all the decorations and little knick knacks that the owner had filled his house with. Stopping in a large room that had an extravagant fireplace in the front of the house you move over to it to peer at the pictures and little decorations on the mantle. As your eyes flit over the framed pictures you just do a quick glance over before your eyes land on a breathtaking sculpture of a howling wolf. You’re mesmerized by the detail in the sculpture but there’s something about it that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end, down at the base of the sculpture you see two letters engraved, BC.

Your eyes quickly dart back to the framed photos and your blood runs cold as you recognize a man in each photo. Christopher Chahn Bahng, or more well known as Bang Chan. You were in the infamous mob boss Bang Chan’s house. Panic began to flood your system and you quickly grabbed the walkie talkie clipped at your hip.

“We all need to leave. NOW.” you said into the walkie talkie as your wide eyes took in the rest of the photos that were on the mantle.

“Why what’s wrong?” came your brother’s question over the walkie talkie.

“This is Bang Chan’s house.” you say quickly and suddenly you can hear the sound of rushing footsteps throughout the house. Your panic escalates even more when you see headlights flash through the windows of the room that you’re in. You duck down quickly and move through the room hoping to make it to the back of the house before anyone enters the front. But just as you creep through the next room you hear the front door burst open and you halt your movement forward before ducking behind a heavy curtain that’s hung along the wall of windows of this room. Your fingers shake as you try to unlatch the window lock before you have to stop your movement from the loud shout that rings out much closer than you’re comfortable with.

“Find them! I want every one of them caught!” snaps Bang Chan angrily and you feel utter fear crash into you. You hear a loud sigh a lot louder and a lot closer than you want it to be but you slow your breathing as much as you possibly can. You watch with wide eyes as you spot one of your brother’s crew members running across the yard in front of the room you’re in, he’s running at a fast pace but the bodyguard behind him is much quicker and he easily tackles the man to the ground with a sickening crunching sound. 

You flinch visibly at their movements forgetting that you’re trying to hide when suddenly you grabbed around the back of your neck and wrenched backwards causing you to let out a loud surprised cry. The curtain rips away from the curtain rod and you’re cloaked in darkness as you gasp for air at being man handled so violently. “You’re not afraid of the dark are you, sweetheart?” comes Bang Chan’s dark sinister voice and you shiver in his hold causing him to chuckle darkly. “Yeah, I had a feeling you were female. Much smaller than the others and the way your body curves.” he says darkly as his free hand ghosts along your back down to your ass. “Now, let’s see what you look like.”

You fight him valiantly but he’s much too big for you to fight off completely. He manages to unveil you of the curtain before ripping the black mask from your face causing you to gasp loudly of the sting of the material ripping from your face. Chan stares down at you with wide eyes for a brief moment before they narrow down at you as a smirk slips across his lips.

“Well good evening counselor.” he greets you delightedly as his eyes dart around your face. Your eyes widen in surprise that he knows who you are and your mouth hangs open slightly.

“You know who I am?” you ask softly and he smirks deviously as he leans close to your face.

“Of course I do. I keep tabs on all the attorney’s for this city. Never know when I’ll need to buy one.” he says darkly and you shiver in his hold once more. “Besides you’re rising to the top rather quickly or so I’ve heard. What would the bar think if they knew you broke into my home?” he asks darkly and you jerk in his hold causing him to tighten his grip on you. “Ah, ah.” he scolds you softly. “Be a shame if something were to happen to that pretty face of yours.” he taunts darkly and foolishly his words trigger a switch in your brain causing your mouth to open and get you into trouble.

“I’d like to see you try.” you hiss at him and he grins wolfishly at your challenge.

“Oh sweetheart, don’t tempt me with a good time.” he coos sweetly. You struggle in his hold and he tuts softly at you before his other hand comes up to grip around your throat.

“You couldn’t handle me if you tried.” you spit out waspishly at him and watch as his eyes dilate with desire for you as he slams you up against the wall holding you only by your throat as his body falls flush to yours.

“You know, the last person who talked to me like that ended up at the bottom of the river.” he husks out and you scoff at him disgustedly.

“Like those threats mean anything to me.” you snip haughtily at him and he watches you avidly with sharp eyes.

“They should.” he coos and you sneer at him. You can see that your words and reaction to him has made him excited, you can’t lie and deny that you’re excited as well. Something about talking back to the big mean mob boss has your blood heating with adrenaline and desire for him.

“I’ve taken down bigger men than you.” you hiss right in his face and Chan grins almost manically at you before he lunges forward and presses his mouth to yours hungrily. Desire and lust courses through you as you kiss him back just as hungrily while he crowds you up against the wall as his hips thrust against yours.

“Fuck, you’re so hot. No one has ever been able to proudly go against me.” he says between kisses as he moves your head by the hand around your throat to the way he wants it to be so that he can deepen the kiss some more.

Suddenly there’s a knock at the door and you yank your mouth away from his as he scowls over his shoulder at whoever interrupted you.

“We were only able to capture two of the guys.” comes the monotone words and you feel happiness blooming within you before Chan glares at you darkly.

“Leave.” Chan grits out angrily and you’re suddenly left alone in the room with him again. “So how much are you willing to pay me not to spill this little secret of yours counselor?” he asks tauntingly and you grit your teeth at him.

“How much do you want?” you ask cautiously as anger surges through you while you glare at him and he smirks down at you while trailing a finger down the side of your face.

“Your everything.” he husks out sultrily before slanting his lips against yours once more. You knew that you were playing a dangerous game with this man but the rush it gave you was too intoxicating for you to give it up. You just needed one more rush.

SKZ Taglist: @intartaruginha, @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin

[deliciousangelfestival]

Tears In His Ferrari || Chp 3 - Bucky

Character: Bucky Barnes x Farmer!Reader

Words Count: 1,810

Summary: Bucky Barnes, used to a life of luxury, takes on farm challenges in a bet with his father. Mud-stained Ferraris and a rustic farmhouse lead to unexpected personal growth, guided by the stern mentorship of Y/N, a farmer making his city-boy life difficult.

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

Chapters: Chp 1, Chp 2, Chp 3 , Chp 4 , Chp 5 , Chp 6 , Chp 7 , Chp 8 , Chp 9 , Chp 10 , Chp 11 , Chp 12.

Bucky woke with a sore body, the stiffness a stark reminder of the physical toil from the previous day. Accustomed to the luxury of a comfortable bed, high-quality pillows, and a butler ready to attend to his every need, the reality of his new surroundings hit him like a jolt.

Groggily rubbing his eyes, Bucky surveyed the unfamiliar room. The rustic charm of the farmhouse was a far cry from the sleek, modern aesthetic he was accustomed to. The absence of a butler waiting at the ready only added to his disoriented state.

"I miss my old life," Bucky muttered, his voice tinged with a grumpy edge. The absence of the usual pampering he received back home left him feeling out of sorts. His gaze lingered on the simple furnishings, a stark contrast to the opulence he was used to.

As Bucky reluctantly swung his legs over the edge of the bed, he winced at the soreness in his muscles. "What was I thinking?" he mumbled, questioning the wisdom of his impulsive decision to take on the challenges of farm life.

The realization struck him as he stepped onto the cold, creaky floor – no butler, no high-end breakfast awaiting him. In this new chapter of his life, Bucky Barnes was on his own, starting with the most mundane task: preparing breakfast.

Bucky turned on his phone, half-expecting a call from his father. No calls. A sigh of both relief and disappointment escaped his lips. The absence of his father's voice on the other end left a void that forced him to confront the reality of his situation.

Bucky stepped outside with his phone in hand, cradling a warm coffee cup. The aroma wafting from the beverage provided a momentary solace, a small comfort amid the unfamiliarity surrounding him.

Grateful for his ability to make his coffee and his father's provision of a regular coffee maker, Bucky took a sip, savoring the rich flavor that greeted his taste buds.

Intent on enjoying the morning view, Bucky ventured further into the surroundings. The tranquil beauty of the farm at dawn, a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of city life, began to work its magic on him.

However, his peaceful contemplation was interrupted by an unexpected sight – the familiar farm tractor from the previous day was in motion, navigating the plot he had been tasked with.

Bucky narrowed his eyes, attempting to process the scene. To his surprise, it was Y/N at the wheel, diligently working on planting barley seeds. A grumble escaped Bucky as he checked his watch. "It's still 7 a.m," he remarked, realizing the early hour. Approaching the tractor, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance.

Y/N halted her work upon spotting him and wasted no time in delivering her verdict. "You're late," she declared, her tone laced with irritation and amusement.

Bucky, taken aback by the unexpected accusation, retorted, "This is the earliest hour I wake up." His attempt at justification fell on deaf ears as Y/N remained unimpressed, making it clear that Bucky was running on a different schedule in the world of farming.

Y/N hopped off the tractor, her boots landing on the soft earth as she faced Bucky. "I've planted some of the barley seeds, and now it's your turn. Show me what you've learned yesterday," she instructed, a no-nonsense tone underscoring her words.

Bucky, feigning surprise, questioned, "You did? Why did you help me?" A playful smirk danced on his lips, a hint of mischief in his eyes.

"So it's quicker for you to go back," Y/N deadpanned, her response devoid of sentiment.

Putting on an exaggerated expression of disappointment, Bucky remarked, "And here I thought you could become my new best friend." His attempt at humor earned a half-hearted eye roll from Y/N.

Seated in the tractor again, Bucky took a deep breath, gearing up for the challenge. As he began driving, Y/N kept a close watch, her gaze assessing his every move.

Bucky, still grappling with the intricacies of the tractor, found himself navigating the field with a mix of uncertainty and determination.

After a few moments of awkward maneuvering, Bucky couldn't suppress his curiosity. "Am I doing it right?" he asked Y/N, seeking validation.

Y/N, maintaining her stern expression, nodded. "Not bad for a beginner," conceded. "But remember, the key is steady hands and focus. Precision is everything in farming."

Bucky, trying to absorb the newfound knowledge, muttered to himself, "Steady hands, focus, precision."

Bucky spent the entire day toiling under the sun, planting the barley seeds row by row until the sun dipped below the horizon. Exhausted but satisfied with his progress, he parked the tractor and surveyed the vast field he had cultivated. Y/N, recognizing that Bucky had successfully handled the task independently, decided to visit him.

To Bucky's surprise, Y/N approached riding a horse, showcasing a side of farm life he hadn't encountered in the city. As she dismounted, Bucky couldn't help but express his awe, "Your horse is cool. Why didn't you tell me you have a horse?"

Y/N, brushing her horse gently, Y/N explained, "This baby is afraid of cars and could kick with her strong legs. Do you want her to destroy your precious Ferrari?"

Realizing the potential danger to his luxury car, Bucky quickly responded, "No, thank you."

Y/N chuckled at his reaction and then pulled something from her bag, handing it to Bucky. "Here, my mother made this for your dinner."

At the mention of 'dinner,' Bucky's stomach betrayed him with a loud growl. He blushed, hoping Y/N hadn't heard it, but she seemed unfazed, pretending not to notice. With a smile and a friendly goodbye, Y/N left Bucky to enjoy the homemade dinner. 

Bucky, feeling rejuvenated after a satisfying dinner and a hot shower, was grateful for the delicious meal Y/N had provided. The exhaustion from the day's farm work seemed to dissipate, replaced by a newfound energy. His phone rang as he changed into fresh clothes, contemplating the slower pace of life in the countryside.

Seeing his best friend Steve's name on the screen, Bucky casually answered, "Hey, Rogers."

With a chuckle, Steve asked Bucky if he had managed to survive his first day. Bucky responded with a dry, "Haha, very funny," acknowledging the stark contrast between his city life and the challenges of farm living.

The conversation between friends continued, with Steve genuinely curious about Bucky's experiences. As they talked, the topic shifted to the practicalities of earning money quickly in the rural setting. Knowing that farming took months and years before yielding profits, Bucky sought advice from Steve.

In response, Steve suggested an unconventional idea. "Why not try live streaming or making a vlog about your daily farm life?" Steve proposed. "You've already got a bunch of followers on social media. It could be a unique angle, and who knows, it might kickstart something."

Bucky's eyes lit up at the suggestion. "That's a good idea! I've got the audience, and people love a good lifestyle change story," he remarked. The prospect of sharing his journey on social media seemed like an exciting venture and a way to leverage his existing platform for financial gain.

As Bucky considered the potential of this new endeavor, he couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of purpose. 

Feeling refreshed on the second day, Bucky decided to up his game for the vlog. He brushed his hair and wore stylish yet comfortable clothes that reflected his city-boy flair adapting to farm life. Armed with the camera, he began recording, using the natural light that enhanced the aesthetic appeal.

A small box caught his attention as he opened the front door to start his vlog. Intrigued, Bucky leaned down and discovered a tiny puppy inside.

The little creature opened its eyes, emitting a soft bark that immediately melted Bucky's heart. He couldn't resist picking up the puppy, cooing at its cuteness while wondering how it ended up in his house.

Picking the puppy gently, Bucky wondered aloud, "How did you end up in my house?" The unexpected gift had melted his heart, and he couldn't fathom who might have left such a cute puppy for him.

Y/N, having just arrived, witnessed the adorable scene. Still holding the puppy, Bucky showed it to her and inquired if she knew anyone in the neighborhood with a dog. Y/N after some contemplation, Y/N glanced at the box and seemingly deduced something.

"If the owner doesn't show up, I'll tell you who it is," Y/N declared.

Bucky, curious, nodded, recognizing that Y/N might have some insights into the matter. However, his attention was diverted when he realized his phone's camera was still rolling. Lifted in his hand, he casually mentioned, "Oh, I'm making a vlog."

Y/N's demeanor tensed visibly, catching Bucky's attention. She sighed, warning as she spoke, "If my face ever gets into the shot, delete it. If not, I'll destroy your phone." 

With that, she left Bucky, who quickly protected his phone. "Geez, what's her deal?" he wondered aloud. Meanwhile, the puppy continued to squirm in his arms, its innocence distracting from the day's farm work.

Bucky gently stroked the soft fur of the puppy, making comforting sounds as he held the small creature close. "Shhh, I will protect you," he whispered soothingly. The puppy, seemingly reassured by Bucky's gentle touch, nestled in his arms, its tiny frame a bundle of warmth and vulnerability.

As Bucky cradled the puppy, he couldn't help but marvel at the unexpected addition to his day. The mystery of the puppy's origin lingered in his thoughts, but for now, he was content to enjoy this newfound companionship. The bond between man and puppy began to form, a silent promise of care and protection exchanged in those quiet moments.

Bucky looked down at the puppy's innocent eyes and chuckled, "Well, looks like it's you and me against the farm adventures, huh?" The puppy responded with a playful wag of its tail, blissfully unaware of the challenges that awaited them.

With the camera still in hand, Bucky contemplated whether to include the puppy in his vlog. He didn't want to upset Y/N, considering her aversion to being on camera, but the irresistibly cute puppy might add a charming touch to his content.

Deciding to tread carefully, Bucky adjusted the camera angle to focus solely on the puppy, ensuring Y/N's face remained out of the shot. He continued to speak to his audience, introducing the unexpected farm companion and sharing the heartwarming story of how the puppy came into his life.

Chapters: Chp 1, Chp 2, Chp 3 , Chp 4 , Chp 5 , Chp 6 , Chp 7 , -

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[accidental-king]

BURYING THE NOT QUITE DEAD: A DISCO ELYSIUM FANFIC

My take on the events after the game featuring a multi-fic HarryKim slowburn. I'm also just a sucker for case fics. This is just a snippet from Chapter 1 but I actually have several chapters written. I'll be posting them on AO3 eventually but I'd like to run it by some beta readers first. Feel free to DM me if you're interested!

SHIVERS - As the sun begins to lower over Jamrock, the dome of an old silk mill shines like brass in the golden light. It's not difficult to see a time in which masses of workers filed in and out of its entrances, and the motor lorries lined up along its western wing to collect their wares. Miles upon miles of lustrous textiles to be shipped across oceans and isolas to glide across the skin and furnishings of those few who can afford it. The Revacholiere will never be one of those people. 

The long and blocky building projects off of either side of the dome like a russet brick ladybird, splitting its chitinous hide and stretching its wings between half-demolished tenements and modern high rises alike. Its masonry tells tales of a time before the deathblow. A time when even the utilitarian still showed a thread of residual vanity in the form of granite steps, sharp stone arches, and molded concrete cornerstones. Original varve clay brick, brown like dried autumn leaves, sit in contrast to newer, coppery replacements, highlighting the scars of war and neglect in cracks, blotches and even an entire end of one wing. Always visible like a reality you can't unsee. 

ESPRIT DE CORPS - It has been a Police Precinct longer now than it was ever a Silk Mill but its old purpose still lingers in the bones of its columns, trusses, and long abandoned smoke stacks.

INLAND EMPIRE - It’s all that you have left.

What’s to the North?

What’s to the South?

What’s to the East?

What’s to the West?

What’s inside this building?

Shudder and blink

YOU - What’s to the North?

SHIVERS - A peninsula. A district left abandoned by its surrounding infrastructure. Bombed out ruins and mountains of shipping crates slowly turning red. The harbor has been locked up tight since shots rang out in the square. Blood and heavy fuel oil paint an old mosaic red and hang in the air like a fog that dares to challenge the sunlight. Motor lorries still sit abandoned in the circle, where you left them. A bookstore is no better now than your last visit, and a hostel is now empty of guests minus a few lucky souls who now grieve their lost brothers in the Union booth.

INLAND EMPIRE - It was your home for the past week.

CONCEPTUALIZATION - It is your birthplace. Born of a drug and drink deluge, on a floor covered in a lifetime of mistakes. 

YOU - And beyond that?

SHIVERS - An islet of crumbling concrete and steel. The wind whistles through water reeds and swathes of tiny white petals that push through the last spring snow. Ashes of a fire long gone out blow out into the sea to be swallowed like the memories of the cause that built it. Its only resident is gone now, taken away for medical treatment and for a prison sentence that will see him to his final days.

What’s to the North?

What’s to the South?

What’s to the East?

What’s to the West?

What’s inside this building?

Shudder and blink

YOU - What’s to the south?

SHIVERS - An apartment building. Mostly stone, though partially the ivy and wisteria that have done their part to claim it in an attempt to reach the heavens. They are a part of one another now; inseparable without either coming to ruin. Inside, a marriage has been strengthened thanks to an unusual discovery made by an unusual officer of the RCM. Husband and wife embrace as they look over the colorful image between them.

YOU - And beyond that?

SHIVERS - A wind whips down the long stretch of Boogie Street that barely contains the buildings and crowds on either side. Neon signs illuminate dark windows that are rattled by the music within. Lively chatter fills the air both inside and out. A young woman walks out with her lover in hand. She presses close to his side to fight against the chill of the spring air as her dark brunette curls whip about her face. The man flashes a charismatic smile and he pulls her in closer to lead her away to a shiny white lacquer motor carriage parked just off the main street. They each know something the other does not.

What’s to the North?

What’s to the south?

What’s to the East?

What’s to the West?

What’s inside this building?

Shudder and blink

YOU - What’s to the east?

SHIVERS - Seemingly endless blocks of brutalist apartment buildings that tower over the residences that survived the revolution 43 years ago. The whole district lies in a millennium old riverbed, leaving it forever in shadow of Jamrock to its west, the GRIH to its north, Grand Couron to its east. Grand Couron and the Old South district maintain their borders with two of La Delta’s canals. 

INLAND EMPIRE - A mark of constant probability. Everyone of Revachol West is just one bad couple of weeks away from moving to the Eminent Domain or the Burnt Out Quarter.

SHIVERS - Across the water, a woman in a satin robe sits with her elderly dog, surrounded by shining white marble as she peers out her 11th story window. The glass leaves the evening in an emerald tint. She would have the Eminent Domain wiped from the face of the Earth if it meant sparing her view. The canal and a financial cushion are all that separates her from the proles.

And beyond that?

SHIVERS - La rivière Espérance and Revachol East

What’s to the North?

What’s to the South?

What’s to the East?

What’s to the West?

What’s inside this building?

Shudder and blink

YOU - What’s to the West?

SHIVERS - A home you will never see again. Trees and underbrush devoured the old hospital and surrounding buildings of the Pox long before you even had a chance to remember it. Stray vagrants find their way through the bombed out ruins, shuffling past abandoned wire bed frames and rusted carts of broken tare. There is nothing left to be found here but a little bit of shelter from the wind. But the Valley of Dogs lurks nearby and most know never to stay unless they’re entirely out of options. This place will likely never be safe again.

What’s to the North?

What’s to the South?

What’s to the East?

What’s to the West?

What’s in this building?

Shudder and blink

YOU - What’s in this building?

SHIVERS - As day begins to fade and the lights begin to slowly begin to blink on across the city, multi-story factory windows will slowly transition from the concealing darkness to exposing illumination of what is no longer the East Insulindic Textiles Company. The loading docs have now become the motor pool for the 41st Precinct of the Revachol Citizens Militia. An old Coupris 40 whirs past a vehicle of a similar model and one of a decidedly newer model as it turns into the garage for the evening. Both MCs it passed do not belong to the 41st.

Inside the building proper, a stern looking man in a well tailored uniform walks toward the elevator at a brisk pace. His left breast is heavily decorated in medals and ribbons. One from the Suzerain, three from the Commune, most from the Moralist International. He bears the weight of the whole city on his shoulders but he carries it with an air of pride and authority. He’s heard tell of some strange happenings and without seeing it for himself, he’s not sure he believes it. 

Across the precinct, in the East wing, tucked into the far end of the first floor an eclectic group of men sit inside a dimly lit Lazareth. Three surround one in a way not too dissimilar from how the interviewee had been earlier in the day.

What’s to the North?

What’s to the South?

What’s to the East?

What’s to the West?

What’s in this building?

Shudder and blink

YOU - A violent shudder passes down your spine and you find yourself suddenly aware that you have been staring off into the ether for about 3 minutes. You are one with your body once more.

PRECINCT 41 - The Lazareth Office of Dr. Nix Gottlieb is small despite the size of the precinct that it maintains. Cabinets and shelves line just about every surface in some manner or capacity. And each and every surface was crammed packed with medical supplies, specimens, and piles upon piles of folders and textbooks. There isn’t much space to move, let alone work. The center of the room is dominated by a surgical table that is currently sporting a flimsy pad that serves as a cushion for your injured ass.

INLAND EMPIRE - This is the closest thing to private healthcare you’ve seen in years.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - Your bullet riddled leg has already been looked over. You’d managed to pull your stitches and partially reopen the injury during your little jaunt about Martinaise and the islet.

PAIN THRESHOLD - You wish you’d been unconscious like the first time you got sewn up. Gottlieb is quick and efficient but he’s merciless in the empathy department. In other words, you cried. And your leg still hurts like a bitch.

EMPATHY - Kim radiated pride and relief behind his subdued expression when the doctor had complimented his work.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - [legendary: failure] He’s just glad it wasn’t worse.

NIX GOTTLIEB - The doctor is a bespeckled elderly man, dressed in civilian clothes, a dark, woven turtle neck covered by a brown blazer that stopped fitting him in the shoulders about 10 years ago. His forehead and brow are permanently creased by stress and a deep look of concentration. His brow deepens when you shake yourself out of the thought. “Welcome back, Detective.”

RHETORIC - That was sarcasm. He doesn’t care.

PERCEPTION [smell] - On his breath, mingled with the scent of Tioumoutiri cigarettes, you catch a whiff of peppermint schnapps.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - If we play our cards right, maybe he’ll share a belt.

VOLITION - We’ve been clean this week. Don’t fuck this up now.

NIX GOTTLIEB - He scratches at his wispy white hair and beard as he speaks over his shoulder at two other men. “And how long would you say these episodes tend to last?”

KIM KITSURAGI - Your partner of the last seven days looks between you and the blue notebook in his hands, occasionally flipping through its pages. He still stands in his field attire; Orange nylon bomber jacket zipped up to his collar, white crew shirt hidden beneath it, brown aviation mechanic pants tucked neatly into his black boots, and his brown leather driving gloves. 

KIM KITSURAGI - He thumbs over a couple of pages before answering, “Anywhere between a few seconds to several minutes. This… is one of his longer episodes.”

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Wait! Has he been taking notes on you?

LOGIC - [medium: Failure] Of course not. We’ve already established that this is his method of working through his thoughts. This is likely a method of recall for him.

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - A lean blonde man in a tailored suit looks over you from where he stands, with fascination glittering in his hazel eyes. You saw a similar light when you spoke with him in front of the defunct Feld R&D when he spoke of their pre-revolution efforts. He was also one of the only ones in the fishing village who stood up for you against your partners onslaught of insults.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - This man is a special consultant taken onto the Major Crimes Unit in C-Wing. His well-traveled knowledge and personable demeanor has lent itself invaluably to the task force.

AUTHORITY - /Your/ task force.

INLAND EMPIRE - Not anymore. You’ll be lucky if they’ll even let you back into the field as a patrol officer, given the circumstances.

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - “And what do you experience during these… lapses, Harry?”

HALF LIGHT - Don’t. This is a trap.

[RHETORIC - challenging] Explain the skill set

+1 Kim is here -1 Butcher doctor -1 This sounds insane

[VOLITION: legendary] “The city speaks to me sometimes.”

+1 Revelation in the church +1 She loves you -1 This sounds insane

[DRAMA - godly] Convince them your thoughts are normal (lie)

-1 Kim is here -1 Butcher doctor -1 You’re already insane

“A real shit show of internal monologue that drowns out the world around me.” [continue]

Really? Anything else?

YOU - Really? Anything else?

CONCEPTUALIZATION - Nope.

[RHETORIC - challenging] Explain the skill set

RHETORIC [challenging - Failure] What spills forth is a vomited spew of half finished sentences, aborted gestures, and some words you’re pretty sure you’re misusing. You throw in some apologies and self-depreciation for good measure like a dog half-heartedly trying to bury its own shit.

NIX GOTTLIEB - “Try again. But in Vacholian this time.” His arms cross and his fingers drum impatiently on his bicep.

[RHETORIC - challenging] Explain the skill set

[VOLITION - legendary] “The city speaks to me sometimes.”

+1 Revelation in the church +1 She loves you -3 This sounds insane

[DRAMA - godly] Convince them your thoughts are normal (lie)

-1 Kim is here -1 Butcher doctor -3 You’re already insane

“A real shit show of internal monologue that drowns out the world around me.” [continue]

Really? Anything else?

YOU - “Just a real shit show of an internal monologue that drowns out the world around me.”

KIM KITSURAGI - “It’s inconvenient at times, but he often comes through with concepts and ideas I never would have considered. Unorthodox as it may be, it was invaluable to the investigation.”

DRAMA - [Medium: Success] He means it, sire.

EMPATHY - He’s concerned about your well being, but he also doesn’t want to see you misrepresented in the eyes of these men.

+1 Morale

[sashaisready]

Chapter Twelve - It's beautiful, just like the rest of you

Bucky Barnes Mob AU x Femme Reader

You're hard at work in Pepper's Bakery when notorious mob boss James 'Bucky' Barnes darkens your doorway one typical afternoon, and life is never the same again.

Warning: The smut continues 😵‍💫

(gif does not represent how reader looks!)

18+ - see Masterlist for full list of warnings

Chapter 13

Series Masterlist

Of course Bucky’s townhouse is enormous, you expected nothing less. There are men pitched up around the front keeping watch as you walk up to the entrance, Bucky keeping a possessively firm arm on your waist as you go by. Men are everywhere actually, you pass them in the hallways and see glimpses of them in the rooms you walk by. It’s not clear what they’re all doing here but you don’t care to ask. It’s clear this is some sort of base for all of their operations.

“Home sweet home” he says softly.

The house is modern, spacious, it radiates money and luxury without being gaudy. It seems to be two floors, maybe three. Marble counters, exposed wooden floors. Big bay windows and period features. High fences outside keep out prying eyes and you notice rows of security cameras leaving no blind spots. You knew Bucky had money of course, but seeing it all first-hand almost leaves you light headed.

Bucky strolls in confidently, king of the castle. The men nod at him in acknowledgement but then scuttle out of his way. The house suddenly goes quiet, as if word of your arrival has spread and the numerous occupants have made themselves scarce.

“You want anything to drink?” he asks as he hand moves to your hip.

You smile, suddenly anxious as everything catches up with you. The haze from your alcohol and your orgasm have finally worn off and you feel stone cold sober, slightly shocked that somehow you’ve ended up here of all places. With Bucky. After he made you come on his fingers in the back of his chauffeured car.

How did this happen…?

You’re tempted to have another drink to calm your nerves but you don’t want to get sick again, and you know you want to be lucid for whatever happens next.

“Maybe just some water?”

He gestures to one of his men who nods and disappears down the hallway, emerging a moment later with a glass bottle of chilled still water and two glasses. Bucky takes them and leads you up the grand stairs to the master bedroom, kicking the door closed with his foot as he places the water and glasses on the nightstand.

He pours you a glass and you sip it leisurely as you take in your new surroundings. The room is enormous, a four poster bed in the centre. Stylish grey walls, monochromatic furnishings and soft lighting throughout. A huge bay window peeking out over the city.

All of your hesitations melt away as he kisses you again, you moan softly against him and kiss him back. It’s as if you’re back in the club office once more. You’re suddenly desperate for him, slamming the glass down onto the dresser. You roughly tug his jacket down his arms and begin to remove his tie without breaking the kiss. You feel him smile against your mouth, like the cat who got the cream, clearly overjoyed with your urgency for him.

He’s shirtless in a matter of seconds and you take a second to gaze at his broad chest. You’re in awe of his biceps, his tight abs, it’s as if he’s carved from marble. He watches you carefully as you trace your fingers across his skin, darting over scars and welts and long healed wounds. His slick exterior may hide the true nature of his business but his body betrays it, his torso a battleground, a graveyard of past fights and struggles. The flesh atop his metal arm is a mesh of angry scar tissue and you feel a flash of empathy for him as you think about the trauma of losing a limb. You place soft kisses over his shoulder and spread them across his body, your tenderness a contrast to the ghosts of past violence. He briefly closes his eyes and allows you to sweep him away, not normally permitting such a display of intimacy, even in his own bedroom.

You trace your fingers where metal meets flesh on his shoulder and look up at him questioningly.

“Not the prettiest story…” he whispers almost shyly as he flexes the arm.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to” you assure him as you grasp his metal bicep, stroking it with tender affection.

“It’s beautiful, just like the rest of you” you murmur.

He blinks at that, following you attentively as you slather more kisses across his torso. Nobody had ever called him beautiful before.

He finds your mouth again and quick hands discover the hem of your dress, pulling it up over your head and leaving you standing in your underwear. You step out of your shoes as he takes a moment to drink you in fully, his eyes alight with longing as he stares at you unabashed. Your hands fumble with his belt as he kisses your neck, his hands in your hair. You remove his belt and unzip his fly before he throws his slacks down to his ankles and steps out of them. You surge into him and kiss his mouth as he picks you up suddenly by your thighs, holding you in the air and causing you to squeak in surprise.

He carries you to the bed as if you’re weightless, tumbling onto the mattress with you as he gropes and caresses every inch of your body. Exploring and studying you. Your bra has been unclasped with you barely noticing and he groans as he takes your breasts in his hands, rolling each nipple with his thumb and taking them in his mouth. You close your eyes as you sink into the luxurious sheets and let the pleasure of his touch wash over you. He’s on top of you now, kissing you like a man starved. His skin is searing against yours and you realise you’re mewling again.

You flip him onto his back and straddle him, savouring the feeling of his arousal pushing hard between your thighs. You rock your hips gently and he hums at the friction. You shift backwards onto the bed and tug at the sides of his black boxers, pulling them down his strong thighs as you finally release his cock. Of course he’s huge, no surprises there. You look up at him and he winks at you proudly, you roll your eyes as you smile at his arrogance.

His cockiness vanishes when you take him firmly in your hand, pumping the shaft a couple of times and provoking a flustered gasp from his lips. You don’t give him time to recover before you take his tip into your mouth, your tongue spreading across the head as you work your way down. He flinches and groans pitifully and you realise this is going to be fun.

Working your hand and mouth in tandem you slide him into your throat, taking your time to adjust to his size. You gag slightly which makes him hiss as your throat spasms around him, but you soon manage to get the balance right and find your rhythm - steadily moving your mouth up and down. Spit runs down the sides of your mouth and you’re sure your mascara is running but you know it’s making him feel good based on the sounds he’s making.

You peek up at him and he’s in ecstasy, his eyes are screwed shut and his hands have gathered fistfuls of sheet as he pants and babbles under his breath. You feel powerful in that moment, you may be in the submissive position but you’ve reduced the notorious James ‘Bucky’ Barnes to a gibbering wreck, coming undone before you. He must feel your gaze on him as he opens his eyes and looks down at you, clearly drunk on the sensation. You can’t resist a wink up at him knowing how you must look wrapped around him and he groans even louder.

“Baby…you feel so good. Doll…you’re killin’ me” he says breathily as you bask in his praise. “Fuck. You’re amazing…you’re…”

You go for your showstopper and move him deeper down your throat, carefully breathing through your nose and relaxing your mouth as you manage to sheath him almost entirely, your face pressed against his crotch as you steady yourself on his thighs. You gag slightly but manage to work through it as Bucky cries out.

He whips up from the mattress suddenly and wrenches your shoulders towards him, causing you to squeal in surprise as he pulls himself out of your mouth, his cock glistening with salvia. He tugs you roughly up on top of him and kisses you forcefully.

“That was incredible, Doll” he whispers between kisses, his voice low with lust. His eyes suddenly seem dark, stormy. You feel like prey who has fallen into her predator’s lap.

“But as much as I’d love to blow in your perfect mouth, I’m not done with your yet…”

You barely catch your breath as he effortlessly flips you over, his hands ripping your underwear down your legs as he tosses them aside. “Hello again” he says quietly and runs a digit through your folds, the remains of your last orgasm settling on his finger tip.

He takes a thigh in each of his large hands and lethargically runs his tongue from your clit down to your entrance in an experimental test. Your body jerks suddenly as his movement draws a shriek from you. He looks back up at you hungrily and you immediately understand he’s relishing being back in control.

It starts slowly, gentle nibbles on your bundle of nerves accompanied by kitten licks. You moan softly, allowing yourself to go limp as your stomach begins to knot. But then he doesn’t hold back, his tongue beginning an assault of pleasure upon you that feels so good you can barely handle it. You instinctively try to clamp your legs together but his grip on your thighs tightens, making it clear he has no intention of slowing down. Your soft moans become desperate cries and you reach for one of the bed’s wooden posts, gripping so hard that your knuckles go white. The pressure in your belly intensifies and you feel dizzy with the sensation. Bucky looks up at you but you don’t even notice as you throw your head back into the pillow. You can practically feel his smirk against you, his smugness radiating through him.

“Oh Buck…Oh God…” you manage to utter as you bite down on your lip. “That feels so good. Oh fuck, oh God..."

Your eyes fling open again as you’re about to slip over the edge and you cry out to him desperately.

“Please Bucky…please fuck me. I can’t wait any longer” you plead. “I want you to feel me come”.

He moves quicker than you ever thought possible, his tight grip on your legs switching to your shoulders as he pulls himself up your body. He lines himself up at your entrance with one hand and then clutches your thigh with the other.

“I love to hear you beg, Doll” he growls into your ear. He doesn’t think he’d ever get tired of hearing that eagerness in your voice.

He pushes himself inside of you and you both whine at the feeling as he bottoms out. Despite how wet you are it still stings, but in the best possible way. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so full in your life. Bucky begins to thrust, slowly at first to ensure you can take him, but his pace steadily increases as he watches your writhe and squirm beneath him. It feels better than you’d ever imagined, you’re almost woozy from the feeling.

You feel your climax building again and suddenly everything becomes a bit more frantic. You’re both pawing at each other’s bodies, teeth and lips clashing as the room echoes with your collective moans. It’s clumsy and chaotic, frenzied and frenetic.

“You feel so tight…so perfect, Doll” Bucky manages to utter as he holds you in place by your hip. His grip is so tight you wonder if there will be a mark there in the morning.

“I’ve wanted this for so long…”

“Bucky…” is all you’re breathlessly able to respond.

“You’re always teasing me in the bakery…I just keep thinking about taking you across the counter…Wanna lick that frosting off of you…” he grunts.

You hum and pull his face to yours. “Fuck me from behind” you command through heavy lids.

He grins and slides out of you momentarily, grabbing your wrists and pulling you up onto your knees. He gives you a quick kiss before manoeuvring himself behind you. He grabs your hips and bends you forward as you move onto all fours, one hand gripping the bed frame to support yourself and the other pawing at the sheets. You’re practically panting with anticipation as he slips onto his knees. His metal hand runs admiringly over your ass, a curling a finger underneath to graze your clit which makes you cry out.

Then he presses himself into you and you gasp as he passes the threshold. If he felt big in missionary then feeling him like this is indescribable. There’s no adjustment period this time, he begins to jerk his hips and piston in and out of you, admiring the jiggle of your ass. He grabs a handful, squeezing your flesh and savouring the view. You are yelping with each thrust, your mind cloudy and blurred. Your climax builds again and you arch your back which allows Bucky to move even deeper, he moans as he’s buried further inside. You bite your lip as your fists clench, tangling the sheets underneath you.

“You like that, Doll?” he hisses. “Is this what you wanted? You dirty girl. Dirty just for me”.

But you can’t reply, you just nod blearily and mutter nonsense into the air.

Bucky moves a hand forward and teases your clit with his finger as he drives himself into you. That’s the final straw and you come hard around him, blasting into space as you cry out. You knees wobble and you slip down onto your elbows, drunk on the aftershocks. You press your face down into the mattress, the darkness a relief as your senses fire into overdrive. The way your pussy pulsates means you clamp down hard on Bucky and his release follows close behind yours, his eyes rolling back as he bares his teeth and stuttered breaths leave him. You feel the warmth of him deep inside of you as his hips roll to a stop.

[reaper2187]

Yumeko x female reader

The clatter of chips, the whirl of roulette wheels, and the cacophony of excited murmurs filled the air. Hyakkaou Private Academy, a place where gambling wasn't just a pastime but a way of life, buzzed with its usual frenetic energy. In the midst of this vibrant chaos stood Yumeko Jabami, her long black hair cascading down her back, her eyes gleaming with an insatiable hunger for the next gamble. Beside her was Y/N, her girlfriend and partner-in-crime, a figure who contrasted Yumeko's dainty elegance with her own strong, androgynous presence.

Y/N, with her cropped hair and confident stride, exuded a kind of charisma that drew eyes just as easily as Yumeko's did. She wore the school uniform with a casual defiance, the blazer hanging open over her crisp white shirt, the tie loosened around her neck. Her eyes, sharp and keen, scanned the room with the practiced ease of a predator on the hunt.

They had been together for almost a year now, bound by their mutual love for high stakes and the intoxicating thrill of the gamble. Their relationship was an enigma to many – Yumeko, the wild card who could never be predicted, and Y/N, the cool-headed strategist who always seemed to have an ace up her sleeve. Together, they were a force to be reckoned with in the cutthroat world of Hyakkaou's gambling elite.

Tonight, they were at one of the academy's exclusive gambling dens, a dimly lit room filled with opulent furnishings and an air of tension so thick it was almost palpable. The room was alive with the sounds of bets being placed and fortunes being won and lost.

"Y/N, darling," Yumeko purred, her voice dripping with excitement, "What do you think we should try our luck at tonight? Cards? Roulette? Or something a bit more…exotic?"

Y/N smirked, her eyes meeting Yumeko's with a knowing glint. "How about a game of poker? High stakes, of course. Let's see who we can draw out from the shadows tonight."

Yumeko's eyes sparkled with delight. "Oh, how thrilling! I do love a good poker game. The way the tension builds with every card… It's simply divine."

They made their way to one of the poker tables, where a group of students were already seated, their expressions a mix of confidence and anxiety. The dealer, a stern-looking upperclassman, nodded as they approached.

"Mind if we join?" Y/N asked, her tone polite but carrying an undertone of challenge.

The students glanced at each other, recognizing the infamous duo. One of them, a blonde girl with sharp features, scoffed. "If you think you can handle it. But don't expect any mercy."

Yumeko chuckled, her laughter light and carefree. "Oh, we wouldn't dream of it. After all, where's the fun in that?"

They took their seats, and the dealer began to shuffle the deck. As the cards were dealt, Y/N felt the familiar rush of adrenaline, her senses sharpening, her mind calculating probabilities and strategies. Beside her, Yumeko radiated a giddy excitement, her eyes darting from player to player, taking in every detail.

The first few rounds were relatively uneventful, a dance of cautious bets and subtle bluffs. But as the stakes grew higher, the atmosphere at the table became increasingly charged. Y/N played with her usual composed intensity, her face an unreadable mask, while Yumeko reveled in the escalating tension, her every move a tantalizing blend of unpredictability and skill.

It was during a particularly high-stakes hand that the real excitement began. Y/N found herself with a promising hand – a pair of queens. She glanced at Yumeko, who met her gaze with a sly smile, her own cards hidden from view. Trusting in their unspoken connection, Y/N raised the bet, pushing a significant pile of chips into the center of the table.

The other players hesitated, their eyes flicking nervously between Y/N and Yumeko. The blonde girl from earlier sneered, her eyes narrowing. "Trying to scare us off, Y/N? It won't work. I'm all in."

She pushed all her chips forward, her expression defiant. Y/N's eyes flicked to Yumeko again, who simply nodded, her smile widening.

"All in," Y/N said, her voice steady, matching the blonde's bet.

The dealer revealed the next card, and Y/N felt her heart skip a beat – it was another queen. She now had three of a kind. Keeping her face impassive, she waited for the final card to be dealt. It was a seven, completing the hand.

"Show your cards," the dealer instructed.

The blonde girl laid down her hand – a flush. She smirked, her confidence radiating. "Beat that."

Y/N calmly revealed her three queens, and the blonde's smirk faltered, her eyes widening in disbelief. Yumeko clapped her hands, her laughter ringing out like a melody.

"Oh, Y/N, that was splendid!" she exclaimed, her eyes gleaming with pride and excitement.

The blonde girl gritted her teeth, glaring at Y/N. "You got lucky this time."

Y/N simply shrugged, her demeanor unruffled. "Luck's just a part of the game. Maybe next time, you'll have more of it."

As the dealer pushed the mountain of chips towards her, Y/N felt a rush of satisfaction. But more than that, she felt the familiar thrill that came from sharing a victory with Yumeko. They were a perfect team – each balancing the other's strengths and weaknesses, each pushing the other to new heights.

The night wore on, and they continued to dominate the table, their winnings piling up. The other players gradually dropped out, unable to keep up with their relentless pace. Finally, it was just the two of them left, facing off in a mock showdown for the remaining chips.

Yumeko's eyes sparkled with mischief as she looked at Y/N. "One last hand, darling. Winner takes all."

Y/N chuckled, her heart pounding with exhilaration. "You're on."

The cards were dealt, and they played with the same intensity and passion that had brought them together. In the end, Yumeko won by a narrow margin, her victory met with a triumphant laugh and a dazzling smile.

"Well played," Y/N said, leaning back in her chair, a satisfied smile on her lips.

Yumeko reached across the table, taking Y/N's hand in hers. "Thank you, Y/N. Playing with you is always the most delightful gamble of all."

Y/N squeezed her hand, feeling a surge of affection. "Likewise, Yumeko. There's no one else I'd rather have by my side."

As they gathered their winnings and left the gambling den, they walked side by side, their hands intertwined. The night was cool and quiet, a stark contrast to the intensity of the gambling hall. They strolled through the academy grounds, enjoying the rare moment of peace.

"You know," Y/N said after a while, her tone thoughtful, "I've been thinking about our next move. There's a rumor going around about a new high-stakes game happening tomorrow night. Something big."

Yumeko's eyes lit up with excitement. "Oh? Do tell me more."

"It's supposed to be a secret, but I heard it involves some of the most influential students in the academy. The stakes are incredibly high – not just money, but reputations, favors, and even future positions in the student council."

Yumeko's smile widened, a glint of anticipation in her eyes. "That sounds absolutely delicious. We simply must be a part of it."

Y/N nodded, her own excitement growing. "Agreed. We'll need to be at our best, though. This isn't just about winning money. It's about power."

Yumeko leaned in, her lips brushing against Y/N's ear. "And you know how much I love power games, darling. The higher the stakes, the more exhilarating the gamble."

Y/N felt a shiver of anticipation run down her spine. "Then it's settled. Tomorrow night, we'll show them exactly what we're capable of."

As they made their way back to their dorm, Y/N couldn't help but feel a surge of pride and affection for Yumeko. They were an unstoppable team, bound together by their love of gambling and the thrill of the game. No matter what challenges lay ahead, Y/N knew that with Yumeko by her side, they could conquer anything.

The next day passed in a blur of anticipation and preparation. Y/N and Yumeko spent hours honing their strategies, studying their potential opponents, and discussing every possible angle of the upcoming game. By the time night fell, they were ready.

The secret gambling venue was hidden away in an old, abandoned part of the academy, accessible only to those who knew where to look. As they approached, Y/N felt her heart pounding with excitement. This was it – the ultimate gamble, the highest stakes they'd ever faced.

Inside, the atmosphere was thick with tension and anticipation. A dozen or so students were already gathered, each one a formidable gambler in their own right. Among them were several members of the student council, their expressions cold and calculating.

"Welcome," a voice said, drawing their attention to the front of the room. It was Kirari Momobami, the enigmatic and powerful student council president. "I see we have some new faces tonight. How delightful. I trust you're all prepared for the game?"

Yumeko stepped forward, her smile radiant. "Oh, we're more than prepared, Kirari. We can't wait to see what you have in store for us."

Kirari's eyes flicked to Y/N, and a faint smile touched her lips. "Well then, let's begin."

The game that followed was intense and thrilling, a whirlwind of strategy, deception, and high stakes. Every move was scrutinized, every bet calculated with precision. Y/N and Yumeko played with their usual blend of skill and daring, their partnership flawless and unbreakable.

As the final hand was dealt, Y/N felt a surge of adrenaline. The stakes were higher than ever, the tension almost unbearable. But with Yumeko by her side, she felt invincible.

In the end, they emerged victorious, their winnings a testament to their unparalleled skill and unshakable bond. As they collected their prizes and prepared to leave, Yumeko turned to Y/N, her eyes shining with pride and affection.

"That was incredible, Y/N. I couldn't have done it without you."

Y/N smiled, her heart full of love and admiration. "The feeling is mutual, Yumeko. We make an amazing team."

As they walked hand in hand through the quiet night, Y/N knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together. Their love for gambling was more than just a shared passion – it was a symbol of their deep connection and unwavering support for each other.

And so, as they strolled through the moonlit grounds of Hyakkaou Private Academy, Y/N and Yumeko knew that their journey was far from over. The thrill of the gamble, the excitement of the unknown – it was all part of the adventure they shared. And as long as they had each other, there was no challenge they couldn't conquer.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Modern 2005 house right on the lake in Wolfeboro, New Hampshire. 7bds, 7.5ba - $12.5M.

Very long hallways. Slightly disappointed that these upper windows overlooking the water are in the hallway. What a perfect statue for a shotgun house, too, b/c the rooms are as straight as an arrow.

The front area of the living room has panoramic views.

What a massive area to furnish and this furniture is so dull. There should be something high on the wall to draw the eye upward and bring the wall down.

The large monolithic fireplace is double-sided and on the opposite side of the living room is the dining area. Love the built-in shelving, but I would like it a little taller with an added sliding library ladder and an interesting background of either contrasting paint or wallpaper.

Chef's kitchen has a bit of a mid-century modern vibe.

I now like green b/c I'm so sick of houses that are devoid of color, I like it as the new neutral. At least it gives this beige room some pop.

This house is very long. Look at this hall.

The primary bedroom faces the water, has room for a full living room set, plus an office area.

The en-suite is very Zen. Look at the wooden tub setup. You can be buried in that thing.

Large secondary bedroom has a good view and a door to the outside.

As you know, every rich person's home must have a home gym, even if they only go in to dust it off.

Deck along the back of the home has a hot tub, and overlooks Lake Winnipesaukee.

Oversized sauna fits at least 4 butts.

Lower level patio.

Plenty of room to house your boats.

Property measures 6.2 acres.

[fudgesoup]

Between the Pages and Blueprints

Chapter 1: A Flower Blooms

Robin realizes her true emotions when it comes to a goofball cyborg.

Rated: Mature - 2.5k - Nico Robin x Franky

current chapter | Next Chapter | AO3 | Masterlist

Tags: 

One Piece, Wano, Frobin, Nico Robin x Franky, Alternate Universe, AU, Fluff, Falling In Love, Secret Relationship, Mutual Pining, Eventual Smut, Implied Relationships, Jealousy, Jealous!Roronoa Zoro, Jealous!Franky, Unrequited Love, Misunderstandings, Inner Dialogue, Funny, Trauma, One Piece Universe, Nico Robin Needs a Hug, UsoNa, Usopp x Nami

After a struggle that seemed as if it would last a lifetime, the battle for Wano was won… Luffy and his crew, along with the samurai alliance, prevailed in their fight against Kaido and Orochi's army. With Wano free, Momonosuke rose to power and restored the Kozuki clan's honor, along with his country's hopes and dreams. Tonight, it seemed like the festivities would continue until everyone had their fill, free to do as they pleased.

What had been planned as a single-day fire festival soon expanded into a multi-day celebration, a joyous commemoration of Wano’s liberation from the tyrannical grip of suffering. The people of the island rejoiced in the streets, their laughter echoing through the air, lanterns glowing against the night sky like stars brought down to earth. The scent of grilled food, sweet sake, and burning incense permeated the air as Momonosuke, alongside the Straw Hat crew and his retainers, indulged in the freedom they had fought so hard to secure. It was a festival for the ages, meant to honor the fallen and the living, where the “heroes” of Wano could join in once their battered bodies allowed them to.

But while the island celebrated, reveling in their newfound freedom, there was one person who couldn’t quite join in, one whose chest still clenched tightly with lingering pain, her mind weighed down by memories that had not yet loosened their grip. Nico Robin had done her best to maintain her composure throughout the day, smiling when needed, offering polite conversations when approached. Yet, beneath the surface, the emotions she had bottled up were threatening to overflow.

As the merriment reached an all time high in the main dining area, Robin felt herself growing more and more detached from the festive atmosphere around her. The lively chatter and the constant movement became too much. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, each one more oppressive than the last, and her chest tightened with an invisible weight she could no longer ignore.

She needed to get away.

In a moment of quiet resolve, she slipped from her seat, unnoticed by the others who were too engrossed in the party to see her go. Robin moved gracefully through the main dining hall area, her expression calm despite the inner turmoil she was trying so desperately to conceal. The clinking of cups, the hearty laughter, and the occasional bursts of music became distant as she retreated further and further from the crowd. The vibrant glow of lanterns faded as she made her way through the dim corridors of the hall, seeking refuge in the quieter corners of the building.

Finally, she found a small room tucked away from the celebrations. The door creaked softly as she pushed it open, stepping into the cool, shadowed space. It was dimly lit by a single paper lantern, its soft glow casting flickering shadows across the room’s sparse furnishings: a low table, a few cushions, and a screen door that led out to a quiet garden. The room had an air of serenity about it, a peaceful solitude that sharply contrasted the lively atmosphere just outside. But for Robin, it was a haven, a place where she could finally breathe.

She closed the door behind her, the muffled sounds of the festival in the distance. The silence of the room wrapped around her like a comforting blanket, but it also brought with it the thoughts she had been trying to escape. Her heart, which had been pounding all day with the weight of unprocessed fear and grief, now thudded heavily in her chest.

Robin moved slowly toward the center of the room, her knees feeling weak as she knelt on the floor. She placed a hand over her chest, as if trying to physically calm the storm of emotions swirling inside her. The flickering lantern light reflected in her dark eyes as she stared at the floor, her thoughts once again drifting to Kaido’s burning castle, the suffocating heat of the flames, and the chilling moment when CP-0 had appeared from the smoke.

She was defenseless after her battle with Black Maria, her stamina drained to the very edge. And then they had come for her, the agents, faceless and merciless, determined to capture her. It had all happened so fast, her limbs heavy with exhaustion, her mind screaming at her to run, to fight, but her body had been paralyzed by fatigue. She would have been taken, dragged away into the clutches of the World Government, had it not been for Brook. He had protected her, his calm presence a lifeline amidst the chaos, guiding her to safety even as the castle crumbled around them.

But even now, safe from danger, the old wounds resurfaced. The terror of being hunted, the memories of CP-9, the despair she had felt during the Water 7/ Enies Lobby incident, and the haunting fear of losing everything and everyone all over again. Those scars were fresh, bleeding beneath the surface of her calm exterior. Her body trembled slightly as she knelt there, the room’s quiet stillness contrasting the storm brewing inside her.

Her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps, and she wrapped her arms tightly around herself, as if she could hold herself together through sheer willpower. She bent forward, her forehead nearly touching the floor as her sobs, so carefully suppressed, finally broke free. Her mind was a blur of memories, each one sharper than the last: her mother’s final words, Saul’s laughter before he was silenced forever, the cold, hollow feeling of losing everything.

But then, through the darkness of her thoughts, a voice echoed in her mind. A voice she had not expected to hear at such a moment.

"No matter how dangerous you may be, just being alive, being who you are, is never wrong!"

She clung to those words like a lifeline.

Franky's voice suddenly cutting through the haze of her distress. It was strange—his voice wasn’t actually in the room with her, yet it had settled at the very center of her thoughts, clear and reassuring.

Franky…

The mere thought of him brought a wave of warmth that dulled the sharp edges of her panic. Slowly, her mind shifted away from the pain and toward him. His vibrant blue hair—so unique, so utterly Franky—flashed in her memory, and she found herself smiling, despite everything. Then came the image of his physique, a striking mix of power and sleek engineering, and with it, the bold, larger-than-life personality that made him stand out in a world full of extraordinary people.

As she thought about him, the tightness in her chest began to ease. Her heart, which had been racing with anxiety moments ago, now pounded with something else entirely: excitement. It amazed her how just thinking about him could chase away the shadows, and could lift the crushing weight off her chest. Franky had always been different, a person who managed to make her feel grounded, even amidst the chaos.

While the entire crew had fought to save her, there was something about Franky that had carved out a special place in her heart. She remembered how he’d put himself on the line for her, taking bullets without a second thought, shielding her with his body as though it was the most natural thing in the world. His concern for her had been so genuine, so selfless, and though they hadn’t known each other long, she felt a connection to him that went deeper than she could explain. There was also his morality that stood out to her, back in Dressrosa he swore to fight alongside the Tontattas in their revolution against the Donquixote family no matter what. 

From that moment on, Franky stood out in ways she hadn’t fully acknowledged until now. She recalled the first time they brought him aboard the crew. She’d strong-armed him—literally—when the opportunity arose, grabbing him by the balls to force him to join. At the time, she hadn’t known why she felt so compelled to keep him close, but now it seemed obvious. Something inside her had known even then that she didn’t want him far from her.

As these thoughts caressed her, Robin could almost feel his presence beside her. She replayed the way his eyes had met hers in the past, the steady reassurance in his gaze before he snapped into his larger-than-life self. Her heart fluttered again, and she realized her hands were trembling slightly. What was this feeling? She couldn’t quite place it, but whatever it was, she didn’t want it to end.

Franky was rough around the edges, yes, but there was a warmth beneath the bravado that Robin had always sensed. His laughter was full-bodied, like he put his entire soul into it. He had a passion for everything he did, a reckless joy for life that she found intoxicating. Deep down, she had always cared for him, though she had never allowed herself to explore those feelings beyond the bounds of friendship. He was her crewmate, her friend. And yet, the way she felt about him was beginning to feel like so much more.

But that terrified her.

Robin had lost too much already: her mother, Saul, the island of Ohara. The fear of attachment had kept her guarded, she was a one point distant even from her crewmates. She had worn an air of aloofness, presenting herself as the mysterious scholar, the composed archaeologist. Inside however, she was anything but. The thought of getting too close to someone, of letting herself care—it filled her with a crippling anxiety. What if she lost him? What if Franky became another person she loved only to see ripped away? 

She had told herself for so long that it was better to keep her distance, to protect her heart from that kind of pain. But here she was, sitting in the dimly lit room, feeling her heart race not from fear, but from the rush of emotions she could no longer deny. She trusted her crewmates with all her being, every single one of them, she had for a while now, and just as she went running to help Sanji in need, she was going to have to do the same for herself: and trust in her feelings.

Robin slowly sat up, her body no longer hunched over in despair. She adjusted her position, crossing her legs and resting her hands in her lap. Her breathing was still a little shaky, her heart still thudding heavily in her chest, but it was no longer the suffocating panic from before. Her spirit felt lighter than air now as she finally let go of the small portion of fear she had been holding on to. 

Franky… What is it about you that makes me feel so strange?

Robin's thoughts swirled, trying to pin down exactly what it was about him that stirred this unfamiliar sensation inside her. Was it the way he carried himself, so confident? Or was it his genius, his knack for innovating everything around him? Or maybe it was that strange, boyish sense of wonder he seemed to carry, mixed with his occasional bursts of immaturity. She chuckled softly, her lips curling into a smirk as she fondly recalled the ridiculous moment when Franky had flown away using nothing but farts powered by cola. He could be so absurd—and yet, somehow, that only made him more endearing.

Memories began to flood her mind all at once, the small moments they had shared over time. The meals together, the way he’d playfully carry her like a queen without a second thought, the countless times he had shielded her from danger, guiding her to safety. A wave of warmth spread through her, washing away the last remnants of her earlier panic. In this quiet moment, she realized something that made her chest flutter—she wanted more. She wanted to be held by him again, to share more meals, more laughter, to be adored by him the way he always seemed to adore her.

"WOAH! Now who is that gorgeous lady!" His booming voice echoed in her head, filling her with a burst of joy. He had always seen her as beautiful, always accepted her for who she was. It wasn’t just the admiration in his words but the genuine warmth behind them. Franky wasn’t someone who said things lightly. When he called her beautiful, he meant it with his whole heart. And now, in this moment of clarity, Robin allowed herself to give in, to let her thoughts run wild with the possibilities.

For so long, she had carried the weight of her past, of loss and heartache. But now, as she let her mind linger on Franky, the pain of those old memories began to fade, replaced by a gentle, glowing hope.

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, savoring the cool air as it filled her lungs. As she let it out, a sense of release washed over her. The tension she had been holding on to for so long finally began to melt away. And in that quiet moment, she came face-to-face with a truth she had been denying for far too long.

“I love him.”

The realization struck her like a tidal wave, overwhelming at first. She sat there for a moment, stunned, as the weight of it settled in. But as the words sank deeper, a smile crept across her face: wide, bright, and uncontainable. She tried to cover her mouth with her hand, but her joy bubbled up inside her, spilling out in soft giggles that soon grew louder.

"I... I’m in love with Franky," she whispered, her voice tinged with disbelief.

The sheer abruptness of the realization left her speechless for a moment. Her usually fair complexion flushed with a deep rose tint, spreading quickly across her cheeks. She had never, in her wildest dreams, imagined falling in love. Love wasn’t something she had ever thought possible for her—not with her history, not with the walls she had built around herself. It had always felt like something distant, something meant for other people. But now, the undeniable truth of her feelings was staring her in the face, impossible to ignore.

Can we truly be together? she wondered, the question lingering in her mind like a half-formed dream. Could someone like her, with so much darkness in her past, really be with someone as bright and open as Franky?

Slowly, Robin rose from the cold floor, her movements deliberate and measured. The room around her felt smaller now, as if the space itself was shrinking beneath the weight of her new realization. She couldn’t stay hidden away any longer, not with this truth hanging in the air.

With a newfound resolve, she stepped toward the door, her heart pounding in her chest. The next move was hers to make. If she was going to let Franky into her life, into her heart, she needed to know more, needed to see how he felt, if there was a real future for them.

Robin stepped out of the secluded room, leaving behind the shadows of her past. She would find him, talk to him, because if anyone could help her navigate this new, strange feeling, it was the man with the bright blue hair and the even brighter heart.

Notes:

Thank you for reading chapter 1!! I plan for this fic to be a good length, I’m refining chapter 2, so it will be up soon!

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