#it was this vivid for the sections mentioned

[mostly-imagines]

So This Is Love

jason todd x fem!reader

aka you show each other what love is supposed to be like

4 in 1 blurbs

warnings: section 1: close-call panic attack for j, mentions of ptsd for j // section 2: implied sexual activity // section 3: mild angst w comfort // section 4: implied ptsd for j

He feels like his heart might burst through his chest.

The nightmare wasn’t anything unusual for him, but it did feel particularly vivid tonight. It was more of a memory than anything, though. That same one that plays on a loop in his head throughout the night the more he tries to push it away during the day. It was the last thwack of the crowbar that had him jolt awake in bed.

You shift in your spot next to him, opening your eyes to see his rattled state. If he’d been in a clearer frame of mind he would’ve lied to you. He would’ve expertly leveled his breathing and told you everything was fine and to go back to sleep.

But instead, he looks over at you with wide eyes, chest heaving and shaking like he might start hyperventilating at any moment.

You shoot up from the bed, instantly on alert. This isn’t the first time he’s had one of these nightmares around you, so it’s not hard for you to guess where this is coming from.

“Jay? What’s—what do you need?” You know better than to try and touch him unprompted right now, you’ve panicked enough yourself to know that sudden contact only makes it worse.

“I—I can’t, I—” Now he really looks like he’s about to lose all control of his breathing.

You sit up further, moving onto your knees. “Here, let me—can I see your hand?” you ask gently, holding your own out.

He extends it to you without question, a tiny act of vulnerability that he couldn’t have dreamed of doing in this state before he met you.

You flip his hand over, palm-up and start tracing lines over it in the moonlight. You’re looking at his hand quite intently like there’s something very important on it. It’s enough to make him question what the hell you’re doing. 

“I can read palms.” You tell him, simply. 

“What?” His voice almost breaks, like he’s right at the edge of tears. 

“Yeah, my friend taught me. I can tell the future and everything.” You look up at him, fingers not stopping their trailing. “Do you wanna hear yours?”

All he can do is nod.

You smile and start to inspect his hand carefully, tracing over calluses and a few tiny scars. You draw your finger across the short, deep line parallel to his fingers.

“This one…see the way it curves upwards right there?” He nods. “That means you’re very resourceful and ambitious. Like a leader.” His breathing starts to slow as he watches you, trying to focus on what you’re showing him in the dim light from the window.

“And this one,” you trace the line that curves downwards in the middle, “This one says that you’re strong and stubborn, which I can confirm,” he huffs out a laugh. It’s little but it’s genuine. “But it also means that you’re resilient. You’re built to overcome things and bounce back even stronger because of them. Which I can also confirm.”

He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. He takes in a deep breath, watching you draw patterns across the base of his palm.

The sensation soothes him in a way that he frankly didn’t know he could be soothed. He figures he usually can’t, except when it’s you. He tries to match your breathing, syncing up with you. If anyone else tried to get this close to him when he was on the verge of a panic attack they’d get punched, at best.

But you…you always know how to help him. He’s considered in the past that he did something really right somewhere down the line and you were sent to him as reward. He’d racked his mind for hours of every good thing he’d ever done, trying to find one that could explain your presence in his life. For anything that could explain why he deserved you. He poured and poured over every memory he could dig up but couldn’t find any good he’d ever done that surmounted to a single piece of the good in your heart.

There was a time when he would’ve thought—when he did think that you were only in his life to be taken away as soon as he felt safe. That would certainly be in line with previous experiences. But you showed him quickly that you have this way about you…it makes those loud thoughts in the back of his head shut up and just listen. Listen to your words, your breathing, your footsteps, your laugh…anything he could. Because it turns out, when he listens, he feels safe. 

He’s quiet for a long time, contentedly watching you work. He notices that at some point you’d stopped tracing the lines and began drawing designs instead. 

He breaks the silence after several minutes, softly commenting, “You don’t know how to read palms.”

“No, I do not.” 

But you continued to leave your invisible art on the palm of his hand just the same, both of you taking comfort in the sound of the other's breathing and the soothing feeling of each other’s skin.

The radio plays lightly in the background, surrounding your night with soft ambience. You’re working at the cutting board with tomatoes as Jason leans against the counter next to you, having just finished getting the pasta set up on the stove.

His hands find your hips, resting them there as he watches you work over your shoulder.

“Watch your thumb.” He comments when the knife gets a little too close for his liking.

You shrug him off, “I know how to do it.”

He eyes the way the knife stutters as you cut through the tomato, slicing through not very cleanly at all. “Doesn’t look like it.”

You ignore him, elbowing him gently in the abdomen. He’s joking, but he’s not. The skill level you’re displaying is only above Bruce and slightly below Tim, which is not great.

“Will you let me do it?” he asks you when he realizes there’s going to be no improvement. 

“Fine.” You relent with faux annoyance. 

You switch over to the stovetop, keeping a careful eye on the pasta as it cooks. It’s quiet for a moment as he works, chopping with much more efficiency than you had.  

“You didn’t have to stay here tonight, you know.” You say quietly, still intently watching the stove.

In spite of the music, your low volume does nothing to faze him as he continues his actions, “Why wouldn’t I?”

You stir the contents of the saucepan around. “Well, I know Roy wanted you to go out…”

“Not missing much.” He mumbles, opening up the above cabinet to get out plates.

You lull your head to the side, “Come on, he’s your best friend.”

Jason frowns. “He’s not my best friend.”

You turn your head towards him, “No?”

He meets your gaze, frown consistent. “No. You are.” He says it like he’s confused that you don’t know that. 

“Oh.” You smile, “You’re my best friend too.”

His eyes soften at that, a light smile gracing his lips. He knew that, and he knew you’d say it, but hearing it out loud just…does something to him.

You flick the stove top off, prompting him to on instinct reach for the Marinara jar and crack it open for you. He hands it to you and you accept with a smile, twisting it open the rest of the way as you turn back to the stove. The jar sputters as you open, spitting out sauce.    

“Oh, shit.” You hiss, when the splatter hits your shirt.

He takes one glance at the mess on your shirt and pulls his own shirt off his back. He’s tugging yours off just as fast, replacing it with his. You’ve barely processed what happened as he scans your body, eyes lingering on where his shirt stops at your thighs. “Can you wear this to bed tonight?” He asks, hands running over your waist.

You laugh, “Really?”

He meets your eyes, face serious. “Yes.” He squeezes your hip, “You look good.”

“In your shirt.” You say with a knowing smile.

“In my shirt.” He confirms.

You turn back to the stove to dish out the salsa, his hands skimming around your thighs as you do. He watches you as you work, though rather than watching your hands he’s fixated on the size of his shirt over you and how fucking good you look right now. 

“Or…” He sweeps his eyes over your legs before looking back up at you again. “Did’ya turn the stove off?”

You tilt your head at him, “I did…?”

He grins at you, lifting you up by your thighs til you’re a head above him. “Good.” He maneuvers you over to the counter, setting you on top. He brings your wrist up to his mouth to press a delicate kiss before dropping to his knees.

You’ve been laying in bed for at least three hours, bordering on sleep but never quite falling in. You and Jason had a little spat, though nothing insurmountable, it was still the biggest fight you’ve had to date. You’d tried going out (at night) to see your friend that was having a hard time, and yeah, you should’ve told Jason you were going. It was only five blocks, give or take, but in Gotham at eleven o’clock at night, it’s a risk to say the least.

You should’ve told Jason, you know. But he wouldn’t have let you go or would’ve insisted on putting hold on patrolling to accompany you. You always feel bad when he does that—people could be getting hurt somewhere because you needed your boyfriend to walk you down the street. Unfortunately, it didn’t matter in the end because he caught you red handed before you’d even made it a full block away. Of all the nights for him to come home early, it had to be this one.

He dropped down from the rooftop behind you and scared the absolute hell out of you, and you didn’t even have time to be relieved that it was just him because he was on you in a flash. 

“What the hell are you doing out here?” His voice was hard through the modulator, a rare tone for him to use with you.

“I just—my friend—” he sounded tired and angry, sure signs that he’d really not had a good night so far which was probably all the more reason that you shouldn’t have been out by yourself in the middle of the night.

“What are you—no! Go home. Now.” You would’ve, you really would’ve, but your friend called you crying about her boyfriend cheating on her again and she needed the in person support. 

“Ja—” You’d cut yourself off, “It’s down the street, it’s fine—” He dropped his shoulders in a huff and faced you dead-on. You didn’t need him to take his helmet off to know exactly how he was looking at you.

He dropped down and hooked his arm around the back of your legs, lifting you off the ground with no discernible effort. “Wha—”

He started walking before you were even fully planted on his shoulder, arm wrapping around your legs to hold you in place. 

“Hood! I am so fucking serious, put me down!” You swatted at his back and struggled in his grip, though in the back of your mind you knew it was a pointless effort. Even if you were a match in size, whatever mood he’d been pushed in was enough to guarantee that you had no chance. 

He ignored you, not even pretending that you were giving him any difficulty with your squirming. He marched you back down the block to your apartment, not stopping until you’re outside your door. He set you down in between him and the entrance, digging into his pocket for his key.

He kicked the door shut behind him, finally letting you go. He wordlessly grabbed one of his spare guns and two cartridges of ammo from inside the closet by the door and turned back to you with a firm stance. “Stay here.”

You immediately tried to push past him again, at that point more angry about him dragging you back here than about having to duck out on your friend. He stopped you, holding you by the arms, which led you to respond by raising your voice at him, “Jason!” 

But he didn’t waste any time letting you know how it is, “I will lock you in this fucking apartment. Stay. Here.” Him cursing at you like that was very rare and not a particularly good sign, so through your anger you’d made the decision that it was better to relent, for now. Your posture dropped and you frowned at him resentfully, a visible cue that you were giving in without you having to say it. 

He stayed true to his word and locked the door on his way out, though knowing you could easily unlock it from the inside. You’d trudged into your bedroom, slamming the door behind you.   

Now you lay on Jason’s usual side of the bed, partially because you do miss him, partially because the bed feels a little less empty when you can’t see all the empty space. You know he was just trying to keep you safe after what was probably a rough start to the night, so you feel less than great that you’d yelled at him.

Your dwelling over the memory is interrupted by a quiet creak of the bedroom door. You blink up at him blearily, “Jay?” You sit up, furrowing your brow. You didn’t even hear him come home. “What’s wrong?” You figure he must be hurt to come in here—it’s not unknown for him to sleep on the couch if he feels like he did something wrong or upset you.   

Your eyes attempt to adjust to the darkness, scanning over him for any injuries. He’s out of his armor and in his regular clothes which means he must have showered already. And you know from dozens of nights patching him up that he always tends to his injuries before showering.

This leaves you confused, as you look up at him, waiting for an answer. “I can’t…I don’t want to sleep without you.” He whispers, eyes on the floor. 

You shuffle back into your usual spot near the wall and hold your hand out to him expectantly. You’re still a bit cross with him, but you miss him too much to care right now.

It takes him a second to move, but he eventually lingers away from the door and makes his way to the bed. He takes your hand as he climbs onto the bed, letting go only when you lay down after him, staring up at the ceiling next to him. 

You weren’t entirely expecting him to wrap his arms around you and tug you into his chest. Somewhere in the back of your mind you’d assumed he would lay on his side and you on yours and that would be enough for him to fall asleep with. Instead, he tightens his arms and buries his face into the crook of your neck. You lay there in silence for a couple minutes, both thinking.

“You’re mad.” He mumbles into your shoulder after a while. You know he feels badly about the dispute, you knew it while it was still happening. As hard as he tries, he’s not very good at hiding his emotions. Not with you, anyways.

You shrug slightly. “Barely. I’ll get over it. This is more important.”

He picks his head up to look at you, “I love you. You know that?”

You wiggle out of his grip a bit, making him frown. You use the new space to flip over to face him, before placing his arm back around your waist. You peek up at him, looking him in the eyes, “I do. You know I love you. Even when we fight.”

He looks at you like he’s a bit thrown off by your words. “I’m sorry. It was just…it was a rough night…I—I’m sorry.” He tells you dolefully.  

You shake your head, frowning. “Don’t be. I should’ve texted you.”

“It—yeah. Please. I just worry about you.” He looks so sad and it makes you feel somehow worse.

“I know,” you whisper, “I’m sorry.”  

“Don’t be.” He kisses your forehead, not moving away after.

You feel like you can finally relax and your tense body doesn’t take long to slacken in his hold. Soon after, he does the same, both of you closing your eyes. You feel your heart slow and your mind starts to find a space of peace.    

Jason didn’t get it at first.

Honestly, he didn’t really realize that you noticed things about him that even he didn’t see.

Your neighbor was having their place remodeled and you knew there would be construction going on near your apartment all day.

Jason didn’t really care, planning to bury his head under the pillow and trying to sleep through it. You however, seemed very adamant about getting out of the apartment that day. You’d left hours before the construction crew had even gotten there, telling him it was a nice day out.

It was an alright day, but he let you have your way.

You held his hand as you walked down the street, looking into shop windows and commenting on things you think he’d like.

You led him into a book store excitedly, telling him about how the author he’d been binging had just published something new. He didn’t even know that.

You were browsing the sections, flipping through books as you went. You peered across the shop at a kid holding an absolutely massive pile of books, who was clearly struggling to keep them in his arms.

His mother tried to help him but he shook his head and strided away independently, albeit very slowly. The weight of the books though, did get the best of him, and you could tell by the quivering in his arms that he was going to drop them.

“Loud noise.” You said quickly, seemingly out of the blue. Jason turned to you, confused, before seeing the stack the books splat flat onto the ground. It was indeed a loud noise.

He tilts his head at you, though you’re still busy watching the little boy as he throws his head back in frustration.

“What was that?”

You look at him, “He dropped his books.”

“Yeah, I saw. But why—”

His question gets cut off by the kid bursting into tears, wailing. You turn back to look at him, your gaze getting caught by the new book you’d been telling him about. “Ooh!”

You grab his hand and pull him over with you, smiling widely when you have the book in your hands. The sight of you makes him feel so warm so fast that he forgets about the odd interaction all together.

A couple hours later, you sit outside a cafe and eat lunch together, his back to the road, you sitting diagnal to him.

He’s telling you about the shit Damian got in trouble for at school last week, holding your hand with his right hand and eating with his left.

“He thinks he’s not going to get expelled for pulling shit like that every other week, it’s ridiculous.” He says, tossing his napkin down on the table.

Your smile is wavers as your eyes move past his shoulder looking down the block before widening, “Car—”

The sudden noise startles him enough to make him visibly jump, hand flying to where his holster would be. He looks over at the fender bender, shoulders relaxing.

He turns back to you to find your eyes looking far more worried than they should. You seem to be scanning his face, looking for something and he’s about to ask you what’s wrong when it sinks in.

He does get scared by unexpected loud sounds, doesn’t he? He never really thinks of it until it happens, but his mind is trained to expect gunshots or crowbars making impact.

It doesn’t happen often, but it noticeably takes a little piece out of him when it does.

“You…” he tries, but falters. He’s not even sure he’s processing this right.

He’s never seriously tried to fathom that you love him half as much as he loves you, though love doesn’t feel like a strong enough word. He lives and breathes for you, you’ve become a lifeline he’d been stranded without for most of his life. But now you're here and you’re everything, you’re in his head all the time, in every emotion he feels.

He thinks he’s here for you, that he was brought back from the dead because of you. You can’t possibly understand how much his heart is full of you, he doesn’t understand it himself.

He knows you love him, he’s gotten that through his head. But he can’t get a grasp on the idea that he’s equally matched in the who loves who the most battle.

Do you really care that much about him to go out of your way to keep track of things that might startle him? He knows there’s a million things about you that are in the back of his mind at any given time, but surely you don’t operate that same way with him?

Do you?

There’s this burning in his heart that aches and it only gets stronger when he sees you looking at him like that. So genuine. With care, with love.

He squeezes your hand, “I love you. More than anything.”

The look on your face sinks back into that sweet, adorable look that he’s so used to and it makes him want to scream.

You smile that bright smile and it sends his heart rocketing into oblivion. “I love you.” You squeeze his hand back, “More than everything.”

He feels like his heart might burst through his chest.

[electricgg]

Ancient Dreams In A Modern Land

Chapter 11: Say What You Want, But Say It Like You Mean It With Your Fists For Once

Masterlist

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 (Here!) / Chapter 12 /

The Rogues Gallery had its own section inside the Batcave’s archive.

From the very beginnings of Batman’s crusade for justice in this crime-ridden city, he had built a handmade archive with information about each of his later named ‘rogues’. From their fall into crime to behavioral and blood analysis taken straight out of Arkham’s own archives. 

Including their family history.

As time passed, all those files, investigations, and profiles were moved digitally to the hard drive of the Batcomputer, but Bruce still kept the old archive. Most of the boys suspected it was out of practicality, since in the past, technology had failed them more than once, and keeping the original documents had proved them useful.

But now? They were questioning its real motive.

“You’re right,” Dick muttered, flipping through the pages of the file Damian and Tim had shoved into his hands the moment he got inside Tim’s room. “There’s missing information here.”

Damian tutted, his frustrated scowl deepening on the corner of his lips. “Outstanding observation, Grayson.”

“Can you recall anything that could be missing from the file?” Tim questioned, tapping away on his laptop without looking away from the bright screen.

Dick, still somewhat pale from puking for almost half an hour on the bathroom, huffed a sigh with an exhausted stare. He passed the pages back to the front of the file, where an introductory record paper was written in old black ink.

The name at the top of the paper brought a cold sensation down his spine.

Harvey Dent

It had been a while since that name was mentioned. Two-Face had been thrown in Arkham Asylum three years ago and hadn’t broken out of there in that period. Dick wasn’t present at the time of the arrest, Bruce had done it all on his own without backup. 

He had even denied showing his body camera footage of that night.

Not even Barbara had managed to find the footage. Dick discared the whole situation as a tech failure, since it had been more than once that the body cameras were crushed in a fight or simply stopped working.

Maybe he should have looked more into it.

“It’s the family record,” he muttered. “It’s not completed. There’s a missing relative.”

Damian’s eyebrows furrowed. “Who?”

“Bianca Dent,” he sighed, taking a seat on Tim’s bed. His weight made the mattress sink, gaining a hiss from Tim, the sudden movement almost snapped him away from his concentration.

“She was Dent’s twin sister. Bruce took me to a few of her plays back when I started as Robin.”

He remembered her quite well. Such a tall woman with a captivating voice left quite the impression on his eight-year-old self. 

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

“And who might this be?”

Dick had taken refuge behind Bruce’s legs, staring widely at the elegant and glamorous woman that had leaned forward to get a closer look at the shy young boy. 

Defined dark brown curls, pinned by hairpins. Neat makeup, not a single imperfection in sight. A beauty mark that accentuated her deep, brown, soulful eyes that crinkled at the corners due to the warm smile on her painted lips. She was still wearing her costume, a Spanish dress with ruffles on the skirt and a corset, both in vivid red that stood out against her white shirt, which fell down her shoulders.

Bruce chuckled, his hand gently reassuring Dick by pressing on the back of his head. “This is Dick, he is my ward.”

“What a funny title,” she poked, giving the older man a smirk. “Saying that he’s your son is not that hard, you know.”

The sudden flustered look and cough from Bruce got a laugh from Dick. The woman laughed, taking a knee down to brush off a few strands of hair out of Dick’s face.

“I’m Bianca,” she said. “I’m an old friend of your old man over here.”

“And what does that make you, Bia? Last time I checked, we all have the same age.”

The woman rolled her eyes, getting up from the floor to look back at the approaching man as he came down the hall.

If Bruce was the tallest man Dick had ever met, this other man was easily taking the title. Dark curls, tanned skin, and a grin on his lips. Dressed sharply in grey colors and holding a large bouquet of yellow roses and other types of flowers in the same color.

“Indeed,” She drawled, giving the man a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek, to which he copied. “But, I wear it better than the two of you combined.”

“She got us there, Harv,” Bruce jested with a smirk, gaining a light shove in the shoulder from the other man.

“Don’t give her the satisfaction,” Harv groaned. “She feeds on attention and becomes insufferable.”

Bianca scoffed loudly, snatching the bouquet and hitting Harv over the head with it. Looking smug when he complained and glared at her. “I’m not the one with his face plastered all over the city while grinning like some low-budget toothpaste announcement.”

“I’m not the one getting paid for just screaming at the top of my lungs like some wailing goat.” He snapped back.

“At least one of us has refined tastes,” she shot, her left eye twitching as she snapped her gaze back at Bruce. “Right, Bruce?”

“I think that’s our cue to leave, chum.” He chuckled, taking a few steps back while Dick stared at those two.

Now, as they stood besides each other, Dick could see the uncanny resemblace between them. Same eye shape. Same nose. Same eyebrows. Same skin tone. Even their form of speech sounded similar.

“Of course,” Harv snorted. “Leave me at the hands of the bi-witch!” He stuttered at the end, glancing down at the kid with a laugh before Bianca hit him once again with the flowers. She then pulled at his ear, grumbling a ‘Language’ while he yelped and switched to a smile directed at the young boy.

“Excuse my dumb brother, he doesn’t know how to behave in public.” She said, getting a glare from Harv while he rubbed his throbbing ear.

Dick simple laughed at the display before him, getting the adults to also laugh at themselves for how they were acting. 

Two years later, Harvey Dent would go to trial against Sal ‘Boss’ Maroni.

And the name Two-Face was born.

──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ────

After Harvey Dent turned to the criminal life, Dick only heard of Bianca on the newspaper or by Alfred when he asked Bruce about how she was doing. Most of those conversations ended with Bruce changing the subject or simply leaving the room. A few more months later, Dick had suspected Bianca had changed her last name to avoid the public and vanished from the spotlight.

Another person swept under the dark of this cursed city.

“Did she have any type of sexual relationship with Father?” Damian questioned, making Dick sputter and give the boy a wide stare.

“Jesus, Dami, you don’t just ask that!” He stressed.

That’s when Tim decided to cut in, a grimace on his face. “Don’t ask the obvious facts, Damian. We need to go deeper than that.”

Damian shrugged, “I needed Grayson to confirm it. His reaction was enough to answer my question.”

“What does that have anything to do with missing documents?” Dick pressed, growing frustrated with his brothers. They clearly knew something he didn’t, and it was getting on his already altered nerves.

The sensation of blood dripping down his forehead was hard to shrug off.

The younger boys exchanged glances for a few moments, Tim nodding at Damian, who, without a word, turned around and made his way to some folded papers on the small desk attached to the corner of the bedroom. The sight was a bit off putting to Dick since it wasn’t common for them to act so agreeable and in synch with each other. 

If they had always acted like this, maybe the patrols would have gone a lot more smoothly and with fewer arguments.

Damian then handed Dick the papers, noticing they were opened letters. The torn envelopes were right beneath the papers. He picked a random envelope out of the bunch and read the address right in the center.

(Y/N) Wayne Dent 224 Park Drive, Crest Hill, Bristol Township Gotham City, New Jersey

��...Is this a joke?” Dick fumed, paper crumpling in his fingers. A heating, raging sensation consumed his chest and spread down to the bottom of his stomach.

The more he stared down at the second last name, the more that heat turned into scalding fury. 

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like that name. He didn’t like that name being beside hers. 

He didn’t want it there. He wanted it gone. Burn it. Torn it. Scratch it off. He just wanted it gone, gone, gone, gone, goNE, GONE, GONE, GONE-

“Look at the address where it came from.” Tim’s voice did little to nothing to divert the anger spilling out of Dick’s body.

U.H. Mercy Island, Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane Gotham City, New Jersey

“I found them in Father’s office,” Damian explained, arms crossed with a sharp glint in his eyes. “They were hidden in his desk in a small compartment. Each one addressed to her, two for each month in the past three years.”

Two for each month, that’s a total of twenty-four letters in a year.

Twenty-four letters for three years. 

Seventy-two letters in total.

“What is this psycho doing?” Dick growled out, getting up from his spot and flipping through the letters carelessly and quickly, wrinkling the papers. “What does he want from her? Why hasn’t Bruce said anything about this?!”

“My theory?” Tim dragged on, moving his laptop towards the other two so they could stare at the screen. “He wanted nobody to know that Two-Face of all people is the legal guardian of his child.”

Displayed on the screen, a series of screenshots of Arkham’s archive, along with old pictures of newspapers' gossip columns. Tim then took out a file and opened it for their view.

A birth certificate and a legal guardianship. 

The legal guardianship was signed by two people, Bianca and Harvey Dent.

It came to Dick in pieces. A legal guardianship is a designation by the court that authorizes someone to care for an individual in place or absence of parents. Usually, a parent leaves in their will who is to have the guardianship of their child, but only if they left a will. If they don't leave a guardian in the will, the legal guardianship is made by the court.

Bianca (his sister's mother, how did he never put that together-) had signed a legal guardianship. Was it her will? Was it forged? Why wasn't Bruce signature in here? How did this even work?!

And Harvey Dent (his sister's uncle. That twisted and unstable crime lord, related to his sweet sister-) was signed as the guardian. Did he give the order himself? Did he threatened a judge? Did Bruce have it this whole time? Was Harvey trying to take his sister away from them?

The birth certificate had in a big, bold, exuberant font a name that kicked off a sick feeling in everyone that was in the room in different ways.

An empty hole beneath Dick’s feet.

A lack of air in Damian’s chest.

A heaviness in Tim’s shoulders.

The name (Y/N) Dent written on that paper had brought more questions than answers amongst the brothers. But only Dick said out loud the main question that was avoided from the beginning of this side discovery.

“Where the hell is Bruce?”

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Bobby’s face was making her anxious.

He had been silent on the ride back from the hospital, driving his truck until they reached a parking lot in front of a McDonald’s establishment.

Because after Warren had to drag her shaking body out of the hospital, he insisted on getting something to eat and settling down before they could dive into whatever this conversation was going to be.

Between milkshakes and fries, Maximoff spilled out her story from the very beginning until that very day in the fastest rant known to man. The two boys had to intervene a couple of times, stopping her when her words came out too fast and jumbled to be able to be understood.

Maybe she was too excited to finally talk to someone else about it. Let go of that dragging guilt for keeping to herself what her reality was like.

And it did feel good. It felt so good to finally say it that she somehow felt lighter. As if a heavy weight had been taken off of her chest and let her lungs get filled with fresh, new air.

Of course, that was until Bobby and Warren hadn’t said a thing in the past two minutes.

Now? She could feel her skin drenched in cold sweat underneath her track jacket.

“...So,” Bobby breathed, blinking slowly as his hands hovered. “You died.”

“And Wayne died too,” Warren added, leaning forward through the gap between the front seats, also looking kinda lost.

Maximoff nodded carefully. “Yeah, Wayne did. Me? It’s complicated, but yeah.”

Bobby clasped his hands together, nodding in response while Warren just stared. “And your soul got shoved in Wayne’s body by your twin brother.”

“Billy, yeah.” She sighed, sinking into her seat.

“And this past weeks, you have been pretending like you have amnesia, adapting to live with a family that doesn’t know their real daughter died and got switched by someone else-”

“I don’t pretend I have amnesia, I do have it because I don’t really have my memories, and they kind of come in at random times. Plus, I don’t actually know these people-”

Warren talked over her, eyebrow and the lump in his back twitching at getting interrupted. “And Wayne’s spirit is helping you out on how to get past them while you also help her find some items that her mother left around because the personification of Death had made with her a deal, and she broke it?”

Maximoff bit her cheek from the inside, half of her body already out of her seat with every inch she took to sink deeper, and avoiding their looks. 

“...Sounds ridiculous when you say it like that.”

The teens went silent for a couple of minutes once again, letting the information sink in. Because it did sound ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. But, then again, they live in a world where superheroes and aliens protect the planet from criminals to outworldly threats. Where people were born with powers and judged by them. Where someone could dress up as a bat and fight crime at night.

Why would a deal gone wrong with Death be ridiculous when their normal lives weren’t considered normal?

“You don’t believe me,” She muttered, giving them a side glance.

Bobby leaned back with a sigh, his eyes softening while he stared at her worried expression. Then, he shook his head. “If there’s a man who can create stuff with a green ring, and that the lost city of Atlantis is now part of the ONU, then I guess there's space to believe that Death is out there switching people's souls and collecting debts.”

That got an ugly laugh out of her, feeling her eyes starting to tear, but she blinked them away. “That was Billy, but I’ll take it.”

“And out of the places he could have shoved your soul into, Gotham was his best choice?” Warren chided with a groan, stretching his arms with a grimace while falling back in the backseat. 

“That’s true,” Bobby said. “Gotham is not a great place for mutants.”

The blonde teen then glared at him, eyes squinting. “And why exactly are you in Gotham? Last time I checked, Metropolis is open to mutants.”

That changed the mood to a tense one, as the cabin suddenly became colder and the windows fogged up from the inside. Maximoff sat up, sharing stares with Warren as Bobby took some deep breaths. The tips of his fingers were turning ice right in front of their eyes, but they went back to normal once again when Bobby seemed to calm down.

His trembling shoulders said otherwise.

“Bobby?” Maximoff carefully touched his shoulder. He looked at her with a wide stare, then back at a worried Warren.

“I- my parents aren’t-” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and gathering himself up. “My parents think differently. They thought that if I were off by myself for a while, it would just go away.”

“What do you mean?” She asked. But Warren had already caught on to what was going on. So, he took hold of the subject.

“What exactly do you know about mutants?” 

The girl bit her lip before shaking her head. “I haven’t heard of it before. Been back from the dead for, like, two or three weeks. Time is weird.”

“There’s a big difference,” Bobby butted in, eyes a vibrat blue that entrampted her attention. “Between metas and mutants. Metas are made on accidents. An experiment gone wrong, or exposed to some chemicals, and things like that. Mutants are born like this.”

“It’s in our DNA,” Warren explained. Which gained a small frown from Bobby. “We are born with a special gene in our blood, called the X Gene. The gene activates at random times, but there’s a higher chance that it activates during teenage years. That’s when it’s called a mutation, and it can be from physical to mental.”

“You've been saying ‘us’ and ‘ours’ a lot, Warren,” Bobby noted. 

Warren rolled his eyes. “Congratulations, you have officially caught me. As if I haven’t been obvious enough.”

“Wait,” She interrupted, a delighted glint in her eyes. “Does that mean the three of us are mutants? Holy shit-”

“I honestly expected that your accelerated perception also included your thought process.” He ribbed. “Guess I was hoping for too much.”

“Back on the subject,” Bobby interrupted before they could start to banter like always. “Since mutations can be dangerous, it scares people. It scares normal people to the point that they hate us.”

That did not sound nice at all.

“It’s a whole dilemma,” Warren grumbled. “The media loves to antagonize, and the heroes do little to nothing to help us because ‘it’s all about politics’. Mutants have been around forever, and they still treat us like nothing but dirt beneath their feet.”

Yeah, not nice at all.

Bobby then put his hand on Maximoff’s shoulder, noticing her stress over this discovery. “It has changed in the past few years. Some places are safe for people like us. There’s an institute back in New York for gifted children. I had a visit from them a while back, but my parents turned them away.”

Warren sighed. “Which takes us to Batman’s ‘No Meta’ rule, which includes mutants. It’s supposed to be a caution because of all the messed-up villains and shit that happens here, but not many of us can afford to leave.”

“Isn’t your father rich? Why hasn’t he moved you out of here?” Bobby looked puzzled.

“Looks like all of us have shitty families, Boo.” He shrugged with tight lips.

“But why? Why are they so afraid of us?” She questioned, feeling her throat tighten. 

“For many things,” said Warren. “But the main one is that they can’t control us. Just look at Westview, that’s a good reminder of why people fear us.”

That name tingled in the back of her head. 

Westview. 

“What happened in Westview?”

Why does it mean so much?

“Some say it was a failed training experiment from the Justice League.” Bobby uttered. “A small town was encased in a red dome for weeks. But nobody from the inside has talked or given interviews about it because the government got involved quickly. Some of the League members also worked alongside them, but there was barely any news on it.”

“Of course, until people started to recall that there’s a well-known mutant that specializes in red domes. They even went as far as to call the whole thing ‘The Hex’. A bit stereotypical if you ask me.” Warren scoffed, moving his shoulders uncomfortably against the seat.

The Hex. Red Dome. Westview.

The Hex. Red Dome. Westview.

The Hex. Red Dome. Westview.

The Hex. Red Dome. Westview.

The Hex.

Red Dome.

Westview.

"Wanda, you’ve never been up against another witch before. Did you know there’s an entire chapter devoted to you in the Darkhold? That’s the book of the damned. “The Scarlet Witch is not born, she is forged. She has no coven, no need for incantation.'"

"I’m not a witch. I don’t cast spells. No one taught me magic!"

"Now, do you see? You tied your family to this twisted world, and now one can’t exist without the other."

"Save Westview or save your family."

"Mom! Help!"

“The Scarlet Witch.” She muttered. The boys looked at her in disbelief.

“...Are you supposed to know that?” Bobby hesitated.

“Guys, that’s it!” She suddenly yelled, startling the boys with her sudden outburst. Eyes wide in euphoria, as a grin widened on her lips, and her knees stabbed the seat. Helping her turn to look back at the scared blonde while gripping the head cushion.

“Wanda Maximoff!” She said, her heart pounding against her chest. “She is the Scarlet Witch, right?!”

“Hey, how do you know-” But Bobby was interrupted with a gleeful squeal.

“That’s my mom! My mom is the Scarlet Witch! I remember!” She cackled with glassy eyes. Bobby and Warren tried to set her down, but she was literally vibrating on the seat, making the truck tremble and making them scream. It attracted certain looks from the outside, the night already falling over the city, but people minded their own business and continued with their things.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

“It was hidden for a reason, Damian!”

“Don’t yell at him!” Dick yelled, getting right in Bruce’s face with a scowl, shoving a finger in his chest. “This is crucial information, and you kept it quiet! For years!”

“Why would you need to know?” Bruce questioned in a harsh tone as he walked to the other side of the living room. “It was better for everyone. For her!”

The boys and Bruce had been at each other’s throats for the past hour. Not only had they found that Bruce was holed up in his cave, but also wasting his time on the missing cases instead of focusing on the real problem at hand under his roof. Dick and Tim had dragged him out to the living room, confronting him about the missing documents in Dent’s file and the letters that had been sent by the man.

It fell short to say that Bruce was beyond livid.

“Then why not burn them?!” Tim pestered, shoving the papers on the coffee table with Damian standing behind his spot on the sofa. “It would have been easier if you didn’t want anyone to find them!”

Bruce glared at the boys, deep bags under his eyes and hair messed up, as if he had been dragging his fingers through it over and over again. Even his clothes looked disheveled.

He looked like a mess.

His gaze diverted to the silent presence by the entry of the room. Cassandra stood there, with an odd expression on her face, as she decided to enter the room and gain the attention of her siblings.

“It’s loud…” She said. Dick and Damian had the decency to look slightly ashamed, while Tim continued to glare at Bruce.

Once again, his sister had proved to be more than meets the eye. So many years, hiding this part of herself. A part that Bruce had tried to make disappear by sheer force of will. Another missing equation that added more to her enigma.

What else was she hiding? What else was she keeping under wraps? What more could he find deep inside her chest and mind?

“I’m sorry, Cassandra,” Bruce muttered, walking towards her with a hand going down his face and scratching his stubble. “Your brothers are in trouble over some documents-”

Dick butted in, tone rising. “Don’t you dare sweep this under a rug!”

“Conversation is over for now, Dick,” Bruce grunted.

But Dick refused to switch the subject. “Why is Harvey her legal guardian? I thought her mother was dead for years, and just today I found out that not only did you keep her identity a secret, but that it’s Harvey Dent’s sister?”

“What exactly did you want me to do?!” His father hissed. “Let everyone know that she was related to him? That her mother went insane and tried to carve into her skin with a burning iron? That Bianca’s memory would be tainted because of Harvey’s choices, and that our child would be tainted with the name of Dent?! I did what I had to do as her father-”

“So lock them away and throw away the key, right?”

Those sarcastic words, accompanied by a watery edge, made the five members snap their heads to the person standing in the hall.

Carrying plenty of shopping bags in each hand, posture straight, and glaring at Bruce with red rimmed eyes, stood the girl of the moment.

Cassandra had jumped a few steps back, pale in the face, and clutching the back of the sofa while Dick came forward, already wiping up a wide smile. “Hey, hun! You got home quite late!”

His words fell flat because of the intense, bitter glares the young girl was given to the suddenly solemn man. Bruce took a step towards her, feeling encouraged to take a few more when she didn’t move from her spot.

“Sweetie, I’m so sorry you had to-”

“Are you?” She whispered.

Bruce looked lost for a moment before nodding, raising his hands to reach out to her. “Of course I am. I’m so-”

“Or are you just sorry you got caught?”

He froze, hands in the air. Fingers just centimeters away from grasping her shoulders. Her dark eyes spilling with tears as a mocking sound trembled out of her lips.

“Y’know,” She sniffled, wiping the back of her wrist at her nose. “From the moment I set foot here, there have been many things that I have taken notice of. Especially after the whole accident thing. One big example is the lack of pictures.”

She tilted her head to look at the rest of them, who hovered by the sofa while standing up and staring while gaping at the scene before them. “Many portraits. Many pictures. Of everyone.”

A shaky chuckle slipped, gaze returning to Bruce’s frozen expression. “But not a single one of me.”

The way that she said ‘me’ left a sour taste in everyone’s mouth.

“Do I look too much like her? Like them? Does it haunt you so much that you can’t bear to see me in the eye? Too afraid to face your mistakes?”

“Hun, lets take a walk-” Dick tried to intervine, fingers trembling at his side. 

But she pointed her finger at him, bags rattling as her shoulders shook, as more tears spilled down her face. 

“Don’t you dare act all high and mighty, Dick. You never cared until I stopped caring.”

Her words made him click his mouth shut, taking a step back with his shoulders dropping down.

 The girl moved a step forward, tear tracks making her look younger in Bruce’s eyes. As if he were standing before that seven-year-old girl who refused to cry at the police station all those years back. Who laughed after going through the most traumatic moment in her young life.

Left without a mother. Without a home. Only him as her protector.

Because, even if the papers said that she was Harvey’s in the eyes of the law, Bruce’s blood coursed through her veins. He had known so from the moment the test had turned positive, maybe even earlier.

That little girl, who never shed a tear, stood before him with eyes filled with anger and tears.

“I hope you got what you wanted. That one day you’ll be able to admit out loud how much you fucked up, and that that day, I will not be here to hear you say it.”

Nothing moved.

Nothing breathed.

Bruce wasn’t sure when he snapped out of it. At one moment, she was there before him, and at the next, she was gone. And so was everyone else. His chest contracted deeply, a dry sob craking through his throat while his shaking hand came up to find his face wet with tears.

Deep in the manor, a girl sobbed beside her bed. Her dead companion soothed her by humming an old song and caressing her hair. 

Maximoff repeated the same words over and over in her head.

‘I will get us out. Both of us.’

‘No more tears.’

‘Not for them.’

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

“Could you repeat them? Again?”

“Do I have too?” Maximoff whined, head against the library table the three of them had been using for the past free hour. 

The weekend had passed by way too slowly for her liking. 

Apart from the outburst she had with Bruce in the hall that night, everyone seemed to let her be for the remaining day before going back to classes once more. 

No clingy and intrusive siblings. 

No overbearing father banging on her door.

Just her, Wayne and a shit ton of investigating on their vessel quest and studing for that demonic algebra exam. 

The perfect way to end such an eventful weekend.

“Wheel of fortune, find the ashes of The Moon beneath the Four of Wands, get The Sun its Hierophant, and reunite with the Reversed Tower.” She recited with a deadpan tone, lifting her head and leaning against the fancy wood with her chin, staring up at Warren, who stood by the bookshelf, searching for another book that could help them.

“That’s gotta be the weirdest tarot spread I ever heard of,” Bobby mumbled from behind his laptop, also helping out in their search.

Right, Tarot cards.

After telling Wayne about what happened at the hospital, she instantly clocked out her mother’s words as references to tarot cards. She had practically thrown her old tarot deck right in Maximoff’s hands.

Of course, that very day, she made a FaceTime call with Warren and Bobby, giving this last one a heart attack when he managed to see Wayne hovering on the back before to connection fell on their side.

A great introduction and a great discovery on the extent of Wayne’s abilities.

She had lately been more visible. Appearing on corners, standing behind walls, or hanging upside down on the ceiling with a shrill laugh that cracked the windows and rattled the doors.

Maximoff had adapted quickly to waking up with black hair tickling her face and getting spooked every time she turned around.

Back to the current situation.

Maximoff had taken any type of occult book found in the manor’s library and shoved them in her backpack. That morning, she had gone through the most awkward car ride in her short life, because Damian couldn’t stop staring at her with that weird, sad look that unsettled her to hell and back. 

Getting used to his sour expression and glares was easy, but this? She didn’t know how to handle this. He even seemed to try to say something to her before she got out of the car, but words failed him, and she was in a hurry to leave the situation as quickly as possible. She left the car without giving him the time to talk, running up to the entrance of the academy without giving the boy a chance to talk.

Then, once the three teens had gone through their first class with Mr. Logan, they had invaded the school’s library, taking advantage of their free period since their teacher was absent for the day to do their own investigation on the vision Bianca had given Maximoff.

And, as it was obvious, they were not doing very well.

“It says here,” Bobby read. “That the first card is supposed to represent the signifier of the querent, meaning, whoever is getting the reading.”

“Isn’t supposed to be past, present, and future?” Warren asked, sliding across the table another book to pick up another.

Maximoff shook her head. “That’s a different spread. Tarot cards use spreads depending on what you are going to ask. It can go from one card to almost ten cards. The more cards you use, the deeper the insights into the situation.”

“But we don’t know what spread was used, or the question that was asked.” Bobby sighed.

“Maybe we’re going about this the wrong way?” Warren shrugged, looking at his friends. “We could search what each card means first and then come up with conclusions.”

“That could work-”

“What are you three doing in here?”

Mr. Logan’s voice startled them out of their conversation, Bobby flailing around with his book until it fell on the floor, and gaining a hush from the librarian who was nearby.

The teacher raised an eyebrow, staring at them with suspicion until Maximoff got up from her seat and snatched up the book that had fallen from the ground. “Just trying to summon a demon. Y’know, teenage stuff.”

The boys tried to make her stop saying anything else, Bobby shaking his head with an awkward smile while Warren hid behind his book. But Mr. Logan simply grunted, rolling his eyes once she grinned at him. “If you are going to do that, do it outside. Seeing all three of you in silence and still is making me nervous.”

The teens grinned and laughed, sharing glances and nods while starting to pick up their books and things. 

Good, Maximoff was growing restless from staying still for so long.

“Before you leave,” Mr. Logan said to the girl, extending a plastic bag he had been holding onto. “I think this is yours, bub.”

She blinked at the bag, switching her gaze between it and Mr. Logan. He nodded at her, lightly moving it side to side, letting her know it was alright to take it. 

Maximoff grabbed the bag, brought it closer to her chest, and opened it slowly to see what it held inside. Her eyes widened, snapping her head up to look at Logan, who shrugged as he leaned to the side against one of the big wooden bookshelves.

“Maybe you’ll find these more resistant.”

Warren approached her from the back, looking over her shoulder while Bobby leaned at her side to also see the contents of the bag.

Shoes. Running shoes. The base of them was white with two green stripes on the side. The soles were made out of a material that they weren’t able to recognize, but they looked expensive.

She took them out of the bag, feeling their weight in her hands.

They were extremely light.

“I can’t accept this,” she said softly, looking at the man with disbelief. “This is too much-”

“They’re a gift, kid.” He insisted while crossing his arms. “No other shoes will last like those.”

“I could-” She hesitated, looking back at the shoes. “I can’t take them.”

“How about this?” Logan offered, the corner of his mouth deepening in amusement. “Give them a try on the field, and if they are not comfortable, I’ll take them back. Deal?”

She looked at Warren and Bobby, both of them also taken aback by Logan’s gift. Bobby shrugged with a smile, with Warren giving the man a raised eyebrow, but also shrugging at her. 

‘Why not? It’s worth the shot.’

Maximoff grinned, grabbed her bag, and took off with her friends, who were trying to catch up to her before they lost her in the halls while laughing and yelling. Logan stayed behind, smirking to himself. He took out his phone and sent a quick text to the first chat that popped up in the Messenger app.

‘Hank’s research worked. Tell him to make more of those.’

A message popped up quickly in response. As expected of him.

‘Hope they don’t go destroying shoes like I did at that age. I’ll have to get Hank to make me a pair of those, too ⚡️’

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Essex Corporation: 10:00 PM

A big screen, divided into smaller ones, streamed a series of footage from security cameras. All of them from different angles and rooms, focusing on the figures that moved around.

They all wore a thick yellow collar with a blinking red light in the front middle of it. Along with gray scrubs, whose fabrics varied in different states.

Burned, dirty, wrinkled, scratched, torn. 

And of course, all of them were kids.

Missing kids.

“What are the statistics?” A growly and raspy voice imposed. 

Before the screens, two men stood. One of them was wearing a lab coat and held two files, his identification card blurred by the light as it hung from the small pocket of his coat. The other man was dressed way differently.

His sickly white skin looked like it belonged to a corpse, clashing with his black leather suit. An odd back piece that looked like it was floating behind him, it resembled a cape that was split into thick stripes, and it fell down to the ground. Black hair slicked back, exposing bright red eyes and razor-sharp teeth.

“The earthquake mutant is still at the top of the list,” the assistant said, pointing at the top left screen, where a teen boy with long brown hair trashed his room. Slamming against the walls and screaming. “He still manages to use his mutation lightly even while wearing the retention collars.”

“And the new targets?”

The assistant handed him the files, opening them for his boss to see.

One had pictures of a boy. The other one had pictures of a girl. They were all taken from different positions, but still in the same place. 

The same mall.

The man in black took one of the pictures and examined it up close. The lens was focused on the girl, blurred by what he could blame on her moving too fast for the camera to capture. The boy, with his back to the camera, kneeling on the ground and reaching to her.

“Names?” He drawled.

“The boy is Robert Drake. We suspect he has a mutation related to ice. He doesn’t have any registration at the clinics.”

“And the girl?”

“(Y/N) Wayne. Probably speed-related. Also, no registration.”

The sinister man suddenly grinned, the sharp nail of his thumb tracing the blur of the picture. 

“You know?” He confided to the other man. “I have always wanted to have a speedster in my collection. Their bodies are fascinating.”

“Bring her first.”

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

Author's Note: Here's the new chapter!! Sorry for taking so long to publish, last week was insane. Fell down the stairs, got stressed by auditions and studying for a physics exam. Any way, insane week. Let me know what y'all think of this chapter!! Can't wait to see what everyone comes up with 👀✨ Lots of hugs and love, GG✨

Tag List:

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Bonus Memes:

[dancingaliensfics]

Remmick NSFW Alphabet

This is pretty self explanatory. I haven't really formatted this or proof read it, I'll do that tomorrow. Right now I'm tired and need to sleep lol but I wanna get this posted since it just came to me. Wrote this in my notes app bc I couldn't be bothered opening docs, thats how quick this came to me lol so theres not even spell check really.

I do personally prefer sub remmick but I've tried to have a mix in here of both because I think it's more realistic to him as a character. I might add some more stuff it tomorrow idk.

Warnings: nsfw content, mentions of drinking blood, one section with gore mention that you can skip, idk i can't remember tbh

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He doesn't like to clean you up after sex. Not because he doesn't care but because he likes how you look all dirty and messy. So cleanup is out of the question unless you're willing to wait 30 minutes for him to have his fill, by which point he's usually ready to again lol. He does like to cuddle though, he's quite a physical guy and keeping contact with you is important to him.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He really likes your hands. I've made a post already about how he likes to have your fingers in his mouth and i stand by that. So i wont say too much about it again here.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He's nasty guys. He like to cum on you. His favourite place is probably your stomach but he doesn't really care where as long as he can see it dripping down you. He cums a lot and because he's a vampire he can go again pretty quickly, probably after like 10 minutes, so by the end of the night you're covered. He also likes to spread it around with his fingers cause he's a weirdo.

He will absolutely eat his own cum. When he cums in your mouth make sure to kiss him afterwards because he loves it, it gets him hard so quick. Or you can just scoop it up with your fingers and push it into his mouth.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Ok I have two things for this. The first one isn't particularly scandalous but it is something I think he'd be embarrassed by. When he's alone and feeling himself he imagines you and him back in his home town from when he was alive, living a quiet life in his childhood home. He loves to imagine you in the dresses the pretty girls used to wear when he was young. Honestly he creates pretty vivid scenarios, bringing you flowers back after a day working on the farm, putting your children to bed after dinner, undressing you slowly, pressing soft kisses to your shoulders. Climbing into bed together and just making gentle love before falling asleep in each other's arms. He keeps this a secret because it goes against his whole philosophy that vampirism is a gift. You two can't have children, atleast not in that way, and he'll never be back in that little house on the farm.

Now for the actually dirty one. I'm not really sure how to explain this but I'm gonna try my best. Basically he likes being told to use parts of you. Like for example, being told he can only use your thighs or your hand to get off. There's something so degrading about it that just really gets him going. It's another one that he wouldn't be able to verbalise, but having to make himself cum while only being able to rut against the sole of your foot or the space between your thighs is humiliating in a hot way. He doesn't have specific body part fetishes, he's not into feet or anything specifically, it's just being told he can only touch that part of you i guess.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Very but also not. He's had a lot of sex and he's very good at it, but he doesn't have much experience being vulnerable and having that Intimacy he would have with you if you're in an actual relationship. Remmick is also not very experienced with being cared for by someone and wanted in a way that goes beyond the physical. So yes, he can give you the best night you've ever had, but hold his hand and promise to stay with him forever and he's a bit stumped.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He likes to look at your face so you'll often find yourself in some variation of missionary. Tbh I don't know all the fancy names and neither does remmick, he just wants to look at your eyes. He's quite fond of prone bone though and anything that let's him look up at you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He definitely goes back and forth. I think simply through his nature or being a vampire, sex isn't always serious for him. He's very old and doesn't view sex in the same special way mortals might, especially in the 30s. But that doesn't mean it isn't special when he's with you. He always values your Intimacy together and often will be quite serious, especially if he's in a more melancholic mood. But he's a Goofy guy, he doesn't take things very seriously and he makes jokes in inappropriate situations that don't usually land. Obviously a lot of his silly guy persona was fake, but i think it's also clear from other interactions where he's trying to really connect with people that remmick is quite an odd guy and that does bleed through into sex. Sometimes he just does weird or random stuff. So yeah I think sex with remmick is a real mixed bag when it comes to seriousness.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He is not groomed at all. He is quite hairy and doesn't see a problem with that. He does trim every so often, but being from a time where shaving body hair just wasn't a thing, he doesn't often think about it. He has a lovely happy trail that leads right from his navel all the way down. He has thick dark curls down there that run wild. If it really bothered you, you could ask him to groom more but I don't think he would. He likes a hairy bush and doesn't get the modern fascination with hairless pussies and balls so he has no interest in it on himself. I just really isn't something he thinks about.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Sex with remmick is always very intimate. Even when it isn't serious, the Intimacy is always there. There's a few reasons for this really. The first is that sex with remmick using involves one of you bleeding, and the exchange of blood is something he sees as very meaningful. It's not only his food source, the thing he survives on, but he also still has many old world believes about humours and the transfer of energy through blood. The second reason is that sex is one of the few times remmick will be vulnerable. You can really break down those walls and see another side of him, especially if you've been at it for a while. And the last is that if you're also a vampire, you and remmick have a mental link that connects all of your feelings, sensations and thoughts. There's really nothing more intimate than that.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He does it a lot lol. Being in a relationship does nothing to slow him down. Whether you're away from each other, in another room or sat right in front of him, it doesn't matter, he loves to feel himself up. He actually is quite a voyeur and loves to Jack off while you watch, especially if you give him instructions on how to do it. He also loves to have your smell around him while feeling himself, whether it's by just straight up sniffing you or from something of yours he has with him. He always takes something of yours with him when he goes on trips away, usually underwear or a scarf since those have the strongest scent but he'll even take a handkerchief if you offer it.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Honestly, it's probably easier to list things he isn't into. But I'm gonna touch on one isn't haven't really seen or talked about before. Remmick is a masochist. He's also a sadist but there's plenty of fics about that. He loves being hurt. Honestly sometimes he goes too far with it, and he really needs a partner who cares about him enough to draw that line. He talks a big game but he has a lot of self hatred he refuses to acknowledge and pain is a good way for him to ignore that. So its good to put him in a control environment where you can make sure he doesn't go too far. Slap him, choke him, bite him, scratch him. He loves it all.

He also likes to be treated like a dog. I've mentioned this a few times on my blog now haha so hopefully I don't become that girl, but he is really into that. Make him crawl on his hands and knees, tell him to pick your hands, let him hump your leg, he loves it. He likes to lick your face a lot which can be a bit icky but indulge him. He like to be punished and rewarded, it's a good way to keep him in check. And he likes this dynamic outside of the bedroom as well. Send out on errands and call him a good boy when he does well. Give him head pats when hes good and smack him when he's bad. Ah I can't get carried away here.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere and everywhere. I've already talked about this but he will fuck you on the side of the road or in the middle of a bar he doesn't give a shit. He likes for people to watch and he likes to be dirty. But there is something special to him about a private bed, it's somewhat nostalgic and makes his old man brain feel good or something I guess.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Again, anything and everything. This man is so horny, he is ready to go 24/7. But simple things like the wind blowing through your hair, watching you walk barefoot through a field or the smell of you as you walk past, are often the ones that do it the most him. Oh and watching you perform, if you're some kind of artist. That really drives him wild.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I don't thing he likes the thought of really degrading someone he's actually in love with much. Don't get me wrong, he can be a mean dom when he wants, but I don't think he would ever do something that would actually make you feel bad. His whole world revolves around his partner, they're his god in a weird, possessive way, and he wouldn't do something like brand you or insult your physical appearance. He would also never make you feel bad about your personality. While he might call you a slut or pathetic, things like insulting you for being needy he just wouldn't do. I think he also would be interested in others degrading you. So while he enjoys bringing others into your sex life, it's purely for them to service you. He'll never tolerate someone insulting you in anyway.

He also won't let any of the fresh vampires near you because he doesn't think it's a good idea. Even if you're also a vampire, they can be too rowdy and he doesn't like it so yeah there's a waiting time for anyone freshly turned.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

HES A MUNCH.

Cmon we all know that. This man loves eating pussy, day and night. If it was possible he would never stop. He loves the taste, the smell, the feeling of your legs squeezing his head. He just can't get enough. He eats like man starving, and he laps that shit up like a dog. He also moans so loud while eating you out. He honestly doesn't like 69 very much because he wants to focus on the task at hand lmao.

I also have to say, he loves sucking dick. He find it so relaxing, he could honestly fall asleep with a dick in his mouth. He loves to struggle on a big cock and he loves to take a small one fully into his mouth. The one thing I'm sad about is that I don't have a dick for this man to suck because it really is one of his favourite things.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Ah it really depends. His mood changes quite quickly and that influences how he fucks. A session can start out one way and change up half way through. There's not much consistency with Remmick.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Remmick loves a quickie. He'll ask for them all the time, at every opportunity. God forbid you have to be somewhere on time because he will stop you at some point to ask for a quick fuck. Most of the time he asks for a quickie though, it isn't so he can fuck you, it's so he can get a taste of your pussy.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Yes yes yes. He will give almost anything a try atleast once, although most things he's already done. He's also a massive voyeur as I said before so he doesn't care about getting caught. I mean he shares a hive mind so it doesn't really matter to him anyway.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He's a vampire so his Stamina is very good but not impossibly so. He can if he wants to last a long time each round but remmick is not a patient man so he usually doesn't. You can tell him to hold out though and then he's happy to. But to him it doesn't matter because whether he's cum or not, your fussy is getting eaten. He can go for quite a lot of rounds honestly, probably 4 or 5 most days but stretching up to 7 if he pushes it. But he still needs time between and he doesn't like to over do things so most days it's gonna be more like 2 to 3.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

What toys did they have in the 1930s? I'm not sure i need to do some reading on that. But I think remmick quite likes involving toys both on himself and you, whatever they are. He especially likes bondage on you both although he keeps breaking all the pretty rope you get.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

This man is the king of teasing. Good luck if he gets in one of these moods because there is no escape. It will start at dusk as soon you're up, with light touches and coy looks and continue right up until dawn when he finally let's you cum after hours of fucking you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Remmick is so loud jesus. If you have neighbours, they hate you. And if you're trying to stray hidden you'll have to gag him. Even then you can still hear his panting and muffled moans. He also talks none stop during sex, I mean really runs him mouth. The man does not know how to shut up.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Big gore warning here, i personally feel a bit sick reading stuff like this even though I wrote it so just warning you guys first.

He wants you to bite him. Ok yeah that's obvious. But not just a few times, he wants you to cover him all over in deep, bloody bites. He wants it to hurt. He wants people to look at him and think he's been attacked by some wild animal. Honestly he wants you to eat him. To tear chunks off and swallow them. To crack his bones and tear parts off him. Break open his ribs and pull out his heart and rip pieces out with your teeth. He finds the idea of being consumed deeply erotic and also very intimate. It makes him feel very safe, knowing pieces of him are inside of you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Nice and thick. Probably a solid 6 to 6.5 inches with a good girth. He stretches you out just right. Uncut and a red tip. Heavy balls that hang low.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

All day everyday, ask and you shall receive. He really is hungry as a dog lol.

You know he's ready for it when he starts drooling. The drool really isn't something he can control, it just happens when his body decides its time to eat which often gets mixed up with being horny. So yeah, it's pretty common for you to look over and see him covered in drool, mouth open and shameless.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall  asleep)

Depends. Some days he's straight to sleep while others he gets kinda sad and wistful after sex and stays awake watching you. He also gets kinda stressed you're gonna disappear or leave if he closes his eyes sometimes so you might occasionally find him staring at you for a long time. But your presence is very comforting for him and he always sleeps better with you.

[snoringkitty1]

Here for you

always

　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆.

The nights like usual were peaceful and pleasant, faint lights peered through the curtain of the bedroom, but it wasn't enough to stir you, or the man you were slumbering next to.

Harumasa Asaba of Section 6, his face slightly squished against his pillow as his brows furrowed in his sleep. Clearly, for him, the night wasn't quite as peaceful as it usually was.

His heart beat against its cage as if it were seeking an escape from the hellscape in his head. You only woke up because he stole most of the blanket when he rolled over, and you had gotten cold.

You opened your eyes, in your half asleep state you tried to snuggle closer to him but he subconsciously pushed you away. You sat up and scowled before seeing his expression, pain and desperation painted all over his face.

"Haru-" you whispered hurriedly, patting his chest and moving the blanket off of him in case he started running a fever. You looked at the medicine on his nightstand and sighed before returning your focus to him.

He flinched at the slightest touch, but suddenly his eyes shot open and he gasped, his golden eyes stared at the ceiling for a moment before they flickered to you. The was silence between you two before he sat up and pulled you into a sudden, but very secure and tight hug.

Your eyes widened before you pulled him close and buried your face in the crook of his neck. "Nightmares..?" you inquired, frowning when he nodded and sniffled. "I-it was..so vivid-- i thought.." he murmured and squeezed you tighter.

"I thought i had..hurt you- killed you, even.." he let out a shaky sigh before leaning back and holding your face. "All the color in your face was gone.." seeing Harumasa so distraught had become a thing as of late. His nightmares had become more frequent ever since the two of you moved in together.

He pestered you until you gave in, he was always anxious about a hollow popping up out of nowhere where you lived and him not being able to do anything about it. It was reasonable, so you gave in, but now his nightmares only seemed to get worse for no reason.

You held his hands against your face and smiled at him, "Haru, i'm safe and sound," you began and kissed his palms "I'm in your arms, your bed, your house. And you, i know you wouldn't do anything to hurt me, ever.."

His brows knit and he shook his head, his hands reaching to cover the puncture scars on his neck. "But it wasn't me..i was- a monster.." at the mention of becoming a monster, his panic only seemed to worsen terribly.

You wrapped your arms around him again and squeezed to help bring him back down to earth, he was doing all he could not to cry. "How about this.." you leaned back and buttoned up his shirt a little before pecking the corners of his eyes.

"Let's take a quick visit to the kitchen, i'll make you some tea, and we can watch TV on the couch until we fall asleep?" you offered and kissed his cheeks. His golden eyes softened before he sighed and nodded, "Don't put so much sugar in it this time.." he chuckled softly and poked your cheek.

You rolled your eyes and stuck your tongue out at him before getting up and pulling him out of bed. He groaned dramatically and slumped forward onto you, laughing as you grumbled and tried your best not to shove him off and back onto bed.

"Carry me..~" He mused as a joke, chuckling as you rolled your eyes and he stepped back. "You have two feet and a heartbeat, get to walking." he laughed and scratched the back of his head as he walked passed you.

You smiled to yourself and followed him, eventually slipping your hand into his and pulling it up to kiss his knuckles. Despite his line of work, his hands and fingers were smooth and soft, if not for his archer's gloves, he'd likely have a few more callouses.

When you both reached the kitchen, you let go of his hand and walked over to the tea kettle and prepared to brew him something that would help him fall asleep again. He didn't linger far from you though, he leaned against the counter and crossed his arms as he watched your fill it with tea leaves and water.

He didn't have his iconic yellow headband on, and his hair was a mess, it was oddly endearing and attractive to see him in a sleepy, casual state. Oh, how many people would kill to be in your position right now.

He was busy undoing the buttons that you did up minutes prior, looking over to you while you turned the stove on. He smirked and slipped behind you, his arms making their way around your waist as he pulled you away from the counterside.

"Haru, what are you up to now?" You asked before suddenly he turned you around and leaned forward to rest his forehead on your shoulder, his arms tightening around your waist. "Just stay right here.." he hummed softly, making you chuckle "yes sir.."

He smiled, beginning to slowly sway with you in the kitchen. It was quiet, there was no music, yet he didn't seem bothered and continued to sway with you. "Thank you.." he whispered just under his breath. You didn't receive sincere thank you's from him often, so hearing it made you smile, "I'm happy to help.."

You wrapped your arms around him and rubbed his back, his white button up shirt was all wrinkled from how he was tossing and turning thanks to his nightmares. "You should go round up all the pillows and blankets in the living room and make a nice little spot for us to cuddle." you hummed and kissed the side of his head.

"Heh, yes ma'am." he chuckled and leaned back to give you a brief kiss before he turned away completely. You watched him go for a moment, covering your mouth and giggling. He was immature and childish at times, but your found his dorkus behavior endearing at the right moments.

You focused on getting mugs out for the tea, and other various things to put in your tea. "Tea is almost done Haru." you called, looking over and seeing him holding all the blankets he could find in one big ball. He smiled at you and nodded before tossing the blankets on the couch, making a cozy nest out of them, and jogging over to you.

"You didn't put a bunch of sugar in it to mess with me again, right?" he inquired and looked at the kettle with a wary look before he kissed the side of your head and turned away to pour the tea. "Nope, the goal is to get you back to sleep, not having you bouncing off the wall." you crossed your arms.

He chuckled and set the kettle back on the stove, fixing your tea just how you liked it, apparently from memory it seems before he handed it off to you. "C'mon, we got movies to watch~" he cooed, as if he wasn't going to doze off in the first ten minutes.

You rolled your eyes and grabbed his hand, the two of you making your way to the couch, getting snuggled up and comfortable. The TV was already playing something quietly, so you two just got to relax and drink your tea.

Asaba rarely was so relaxed, something was always occupying his mind, even when he was supposed to be relaxing at home on his 'sick' leave. Typically it was his illness that kept his mind busy, even in his sleep.

Even now, he was likely think about that nightmare considering he was holding you about as tight as he holds his bow in the middle of a fight. "Asaba." you began, he looked over and tilted his head, "My first name? Must be serious~" he grinned and waited for you to continue.

You sighed and leaned close to peck his lips to shut him up for a minute, "If you had turned into an ethereal, i would kill you." you stated and his eyes widened. "I wouldn't let you die knowing you had been the death of me, literally." you chuckled and kissed his lips again.

"..How do you manage to read my thought all the time?" he whined and lowered his head, "Thank you..i'd much prefer i die over you." he hummed and squished your cheeks, his somber attitude shifting. "Now~ keep your pretty mouth closed, and lets watch the movie." he grinned.

You giggled and nodded, "Yes sir." you stuck your tongue out at him and he let go of your face and leaned back and sipped his tea.

Silence filled the space, and eventually you finished your tea and he finished his, the two of you now content and sleepy all over again. The movie became white noise, helping the two of stay asleep.

Thanks for reading

[myunghology]

VIVID BAD SQUAD — with a girl crush! ( fem. reader if you couldn't tell, reader is mentioned to be known all over the school / aka. pretty popular due to their looks and smartsss! the reader in an and akito's sections are the same, but the one's in kohane and toya's aren't. )

i. kohane azusawa — you were classmates in miyamasuzaka. definitely left a lasting impression on her during the first day of school, blushed from how you approached her immediately despite not knowing her, too. lunch buddies!! feels bad for your friends since you've basically left them all alone to fend for themselves to be with her TT. but she's sooo thankful you're there, you may or can be a bit mean to people who try to talk shit about her for being shy, but that's just for her own good. it's so obvious to everyone that you love her so much but kohane herself can't see it. these lesbians bro... good for them. good for them

ii. you definitely had beef with akito when you two first met alongside with an. you probably still do until now, you really don't get along. to the point you've almost gotten into a physical fight with him just to defend kohane. whenever kohane goes "well, akito-kun said..—" you and an both cut her off before she even completes her sentence, saying, "SO WHAT?!" akito calls you both, 'kohane glazers'. as a joke, don't worry. please don't hurt him anyway, toya personally thinks he deserves it. starts giggling to herself once she finds out you've already paid for her coffee, right after complaining that you shouldn't have, by the way.

iii. has a full on gay panic when she sees you. which is every single freaking day because you're classmates.. adores how you can be so confident about yourself and not be so arrogant at the same time. kohane's literally your princess, which is your nickname for her on your phone's contact list! she needs saving because she literally can't take eyes off you in class, and whenever you catch her looking at you, you just respond with a smirk on your face. and she DIESSSS. definitely has a playlist dedicated for you with the main song being flaming hot cheetos by clairo.

i. an shiraishi — her soul literally LEFT her body the first day she saw that you two were classmates. this girl had wanted to befriend you so bad since forever, but couldn't get the actual chance to because so much people were already swarming around you EVERY. TIME. she saw you. it made her eye twitch, best believe akito and mizuki teased her for it in their first year. now that they're classmates in their second year (well not mizuki) and with you nonetheless, oh brother.. akito occasionally gets a head smack by a book from an whenever he says you aren't all that, and he shuts up immediately.

ii. definitely tried convincing your homeroom teacher for you guys to be deskmates. if it doesn't work.. well! let's just say she is yanking pulling your current one out of their desk just to sit beside you. just kidding. maybe not. only if it's akito. and all of your classmates are like she wants that damn cookie so bad wtf.. and if that doesn't work part 2, then she WILL be clinging onto you during recess and lunch, let's face it, u're never gonna get rid of her <33 definitely giggles to herself and tells kohane all about her experiences through chat with you during those free moments in class. maybe even misclicks and sends it to the vbs gc and toya seens and replies with a 'that's nice, shiraishi".

iii. everytime this girl gets flustered i guarantee you she literally hits the person right next to her. she slaps and hides behind the person and starts giggling like a little kid before jumping around, as long as you aren't there. is a "[name] can you help me with this?" type of person for attention. but she actually does need help, let's be honest. in special times, you're actually the one who initiates helping her <3 as long as you aren't busy, then you're good!

i. akito shinonome — i smell jalosi (jealousy). 50% because you're literally perfect and 50% because of how much people are hogging your attention. THIS GUY DOESN'T EVEN KNOW if he loves you or if he fucking hates you. akito literally starts getting red once you offer help when you see him struggling in math or english. you definitely helped him with his english essay but didn't wanna show you because he made it about you. ughhhh twerp. he's so weak when he's in love someone kill him. EXECUTE THIS GUY NEOWWWW. nene definitely accidentally found out because she was arranging papers to give it to the teacher and was like.. "huh this is familiar.. WAIT..."

ii. unconsciously buys you lunch. this guy probably bought you cup noodles and a sandwich before because you were too busy to eat. he'll grumble and complain under his breath about why the teachers are bugging you so much to the point that you can't even eat lunch dude. you repay him by giving him free english lessons but it usually doesn't work because he spends most of it's time by just staring at you.. bro's cooked if you give him a practice assessment. he does go into grinding mode once you get mad at him for paying attention.. even toya thanks you personally for that bruh

iii. literally excuses you once he notices you get uncomfortable from all the crowds. "oi, she's busy. go elsewhere." and just drags you out. he's realllyyy helpful too. you don't even have to ask, because he's already carrying all of the binders that were on your hands just seconds ago. HE DOESN'T EVEN SAY ANYTHING IT'S ANNOYING and it makes you panic whenever you see them GONE as if they fell down without a sound. looks out for you in any possible way he can and you don't even notice?? literally fixes your pens, notebooks, books without you looking when it was just a mess earlier from you stressing and crashing ouuuutttt...

i. toya aoyagi — another one who helps you whenever you need to carry stuff. he is suchhh a sweetheart towards you even though you two are in the same grade. toya is your number one glazer you could do nothing wrong in his eyes bro just doesn't care. you both could be studying together but he gets a slide for looking at you the whole time because he's already covered the topic you're talking about. unlike SOME ginger.. he usually invites you out to lunch together if akito is somewhat busy, and he likes bringing you to the weekend garage as well <3.

ii. instinctively pats your head. brother doesn't even know WHERE he got this habit he just has it. he could cheer you on doing something random with a "nice one!" and when you come back he'll Pat your head. someone who has extra everything in school supplies. literally the classes' own bookstore at this point became what. so obvious that he's rich, the type of lover boy who'd give you his most expensive pen if you ever ask for one. and once you return it he doesn't let ANYONE borrow that pen ever it's crazy. probably also the campus crush along with you but is horribly oblivious. your class is doing his moves for him bro trust it either goes batshit or the opposite.

iii. toya doesn't wanna be mean or anything but mizuki has noticed this about him whenever someone's confessed to him. if ever you're in the same room, the girls confession to him will just come in one ear and exit out the other because he only looks at you whilst doing so. and he feels bad every single time, because how can you be so distracting to the point that he can't even hear his own classmates confession for him. by the time he realizes, the girls body was bowing down right in front of him, handing him a box of chocolates?? like what. the most she'll get from him is a muttered "thank you.." and not even a confirmation if he likes her or not. even though she could already tell from the way he looked at you.. but it would be nothing to be sad about.

@myunghology — kohane listens to clairo, an listens to girl in red, akito listens to iyaz, toya listens to daniel caesar when they're in love trust me bro.

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Fading Into Lilac Skies✨

Boyfriend’s Dad! Joel Miller x fem! reader

A/N: “Colors” by Halsey inspired this one-shot, and I’m absolutely in love with them. Thank you to the lovely @alltheirdamn for being my beta reader 💜 This has been permeating in my mind for a few months, and I’m so glad I finally wrote it. Reblogs and comments make my day ✨

Summary: You never meant to fall for your boyfriend’s dad, but it happened. You just couldn’t stay away from those shades of blue and grey. But your favorite thing was turning them the color your soul was. Lilac.

Rating: 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 3.8k

Tags: Yearning, longing, forbidden love, secret affair, secret relationship, mentions of smut, falling in love, angst, boyfriend’s dad! Joel, age gap, no use y/n, no outbreak! au

“Everything is blue. His pills, his hands, his jeans. And now I'm covered in the colors, pulled apart at the seams. And it's blue, and it's blue. Everything is grey. His hair, his smoke, his dreams. And now he’s so devoid of color, he don’t know what it means. And he’s blue, and he’s blue.”

- “Colors” by Halsey

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

There’s a point you had passed long ago, a restricted section that should’ve had bolted locks forbidding you from ever daring to enter such a dangerous territory. Those gates were torn down and ripped open the moment you met him. Your boyfriend’s dad, Joel Miller. There was just something that kept you coming back to his house, back into the lion’s den. Back into his arms. Joel Miller’s.

It all started that first time you laid eyes on him while he sat in his garage, a large brewed cup of coffee in hand, taking slow sips while he watched the sun slip into the sky, painting vivid pinks and oranges from the sunrise.

He was intense, pensive, brooding. Something about him screamed sorrow, regret, maybe mournful like he had lost something or let someone slip from his fingers. His salt-and-pepper scruff framed his shadowed face, long greying sandy hair silhouetting his hooded chocolate eyes. His green flannel clung to his large arms, broad shoulders hugging the soft fabric. His thick veins spiraled down his tanned arms like a waterfall, and his thick fingers hugged the curve of the coffee cup with every sip he took from the steamy drink. You almost wanted to become the sides of that curved coffee cup, just so you could maybe taste what it was like to be kissed by lips that looked like they were soft enough to fall into, and maybe he’d swallow you whole.

His dark eyes fell on you, slowly slipping over your form entirely as your boyfriend, Jackson, introduced you to his father, an extremely handsome man that made butterflies flit through your stomach.

“Dad, this is my girlfriend. Had to finally introduce you,” Jackson smiled enthusiastically, like he was the proudest boyfriend in the world.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Miller,” you said shyly, fingers curling against your cotton summer dress, eyes widening with the slight grunt and nod your way from him.

“Call me Joel, sweetheart.” He took your hand slowly, calloused fingers colliding with your own to leave you choking on your own shaky voice. His eyes were like wildfire, dark flecks glistening up at you, tempting you to jump into the raging flames.

His big hand lingered against yours a little too long, not even paying attention to his son who stood right next to you, until he dropped your hand and flicked his eyes back to his only son. “I trust you’re takin’ good care of her?” he asked, eyes slightly narrowing at his twenty-eight-year-old son.

“Sure am, pops.”

Joel hummed, flicking his eyes back to you as they nonchalantly slid over your body again, making your breath falter at the sight. “He gives you any trouble you come to me, understand?” he demanded with a slight gruffness to his deep voice, almost sounding like he was commanding you.

You nodded, gasping at the dominance in his tone. “Yes, sir,” you murmured.

“Attagirl,” he smiled, coffee eyes swirling in your vision. You nearly buckled your knees at the word. Attagirl. Jackson never told you that, didn’t dare call you a good girl. But Joel? He might as well have fucking just said that, he basically did say that.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to it. You two stay out of trouble, alright?”

“Sure, dad. See ya later. Gonna go drive down to the lake.”

You gave him one last glance as he said your name low, nodding his head your way as he watched you walk to the hunter green jeep, waiting for Jackson to unlock the car.

Your eyes trailed back to the garage, making you gasp when you saw Joel staring directly your way, sipping on his coffee and keeping those cool, dark eyes on you. Your breath shifted and your heartbeat skipped a beat, making your legs feel like mush. And when you finally drove off the pavement, his eyes still stayed locked on yours, even as you left the street. They never once looked away.

Fuck. You never expected to have a crush on your boyfriend’s dad, but here you were. Fingers tangled in your fabric with your breathing rapid and unsteady.

Yeah, this was not going to be good.

Jackson later told you his father had gotten a bad divorce a couple years ago, had a struggling fight to keep custody of his daughter, Sarah, and had gone through a bunch of shit with his previous contracting company. He really had seen the tolls of hell lately, and now you started to get why he always seemed so sad when you’d see him working in his garage by himself or sitting out on his wooden porch drinking freshly brewed coffee and strumming along softly on his acoustic guitar. He was lonely.

There was always something missing, a fraction of a piece lost in those dark, somber eyes of his. And you felt bad for him, even sorry, like it was somehow your fault. You wished you could make it better, give him something to cling to for the sadness to settle away, maybe take a teaspoon of those grey skies and turn them to bright blue ones. But you shouldn’t think that, not with your boyfriend’s dad. What kind of girlfriend would that make you? But apparently those thoughts completely flew through your mind, getting lost to the soundless wind and muted regrets.

A couple of weeks went by and you found yourself at his house again, just so he could fix something on Jackson’s jeep. Something with the alternator. Just when you thought you were safe, Jackson ran to the car parts store, leaving you alone in Joel’s house. Somewhere where you should’ve never been left alone.

You meandered out on the back porch, finding him sitting in a wooden rocking chair and sighing, his back hunched while he watched a pack of deer graze on the tall grass. He looked somewhat content, but you could see in that far off gaze he was contemplating something very deep in that ocean of a grey mind.

“Mind if I sit?” you asked, watching him nod his head to the polished rocking chair sitting next to him. You took a seat cautiously, careful not to disturb his morning peace, but he didn’t seem so bothered by your company.

His eyes flicked to yours slowly. They were a shiny amber color today, deep brown flecks glittering against the rising sunshine. And they were so beautiful that a gasp slipped from your lips unexpectedly. Closing your gaping mouth, you briefly smiled, and his eyes seemed to crystallize over into a deeper chocolate color.

He was so beautiful.

“You doin’ alright, sweetheart?” he asked calmly, his breath warm, gently blowing against the side of your face. You smelled the coffee simmering on his tongue, and his pine scent kissed your skin, awakening something deep inside you that should’ve never bloomed in the first place.

“Oh, mhm. Great, actually. But what about you?” You tilted your head and watched the way his jaw flexed, his eyes cloudy with a tinge of gloom in those brown doe eyes of his.

He shrugged and took a slow sip of his coffee, looking far off into the open field that had deer and cattle meandering out in the lush green acreage. “Workin’, stayin’ busy. Guess you could say I’m jus’ fine. Got everything I need right here.” His eyes flicked over the open field, but you saw the faint hint of regret as his eyes darkened, and his body slid a little further down into his hand-made rocking chair.

Slowly turning your knees to him, you leaned against the solid arm of the rocking chair and caught the way his eyes slid back to yours, like he knew you were about to say something else. Taking a deep breath, you went for it. “Jackson told me about… about everything you’ve been going through these past couple of years. And I wanted to say, if you ever need a friend or just someone to talk to, then you can talk to me. I’ll be here.”

Your hand slowly reached over, timidly grazing over the top of his rough hand, until your palm cautiously settled against his broken skin, starting a warm fire in the pit of your stomach as your skin brushed against his.

His back went rigid, and the way he was looking at you all wide-eyed and soft had your heart pounding uncontrollably in your chest. An unsteady rhythm that had your throat closing up like there was no more air available in your lungs. There was only him swirling around your heart.

He flicked his gaze across your settled hand and slowly but surely, his other hand came down to rest on yours, his fingers lacing in the crevice of your fingers until they formed like impenetrable clay. And suddenly, a shade of grey cleared from his foggy eyes, and warmth spread across his tanned cheeks. He wasn’t so blue after all, at least not when you were around.

“He told you?” he asked quietly.

“He told me everything,” you answered back discreetly.

“Why?” His thick eyebrows threaded together, and the wrinkles on his forehead formed a map of lines that you strangely wanted to trace with the tip of your finger, so you could maybe reach into his mind and tear away anything that hurt him in the past.

“Because I asked him…” you answered shakily, your fingers curling nervously into your white summer dress, twisting them until you pinched skin and flinched.

“I see.” His voice came out hushed, his eyes stormy as if he looked to the past and saw heartache all over again. You could see it in the way he held himself, fingers flexing, his shoulders hunched over, his back stiff. And your heart broke just thinking of the years that tore his body to shreds.

“And jus’ what did my son say to you?” His voice was deep, but it didn’t come out unkind or aggressive. It was just quiet, almost silenced, like he didn’t want to hear those hurtful words repeated.

“Well, he told me about Sarah and your messy divorce and then your job and…”

“‘Course he did. Always runnin’ his mouth ‘bout private matters that don’t concern anyone else,” he scoffed, shaking his head like he was used to his son always sharing secrets that should’ve been kept under lock and key.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Miller. I didn’t mean to intrude.” You scooted your body into the back of the wooden rocking chair, making yourself smaller like you had just crossed a line. You shouldn’t have asked Jackson, but you just had to know. You weren’t sure why, but some part of you yearned to know what made this beautiful man so weathered and frayed like his cracked, calloused fingers. It wasn’t any of your business, but you wanted it to be.

“Nah. Don’t do that. Don’t apologize like any of it’s your fault, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything wrong.” His arm came down on the side of his rocking chair briefly, thick fingers digging absentmindedly into the polished wood. His eyes were long gone into the hazy field ahead of him, the wildflowers gently blowing in the breeze, the oak trees swaying like the shiny pond water that lapped against the lush grass, your heart thundering in your chest with every stolen glance to the broken man who sat right next to you.

You couldn’t help but memorize the shine of his syrupy eyes, dark chocolate irises glowing in the rays of the sun peeking out of the grey clouds. They were so beautiful yet so sad. They deserved to be sparkling. Instead, they were full of turmoil, and that made you feel so empty for some unknown reason.

“Oh, okay then,” you eventually answered after staring way too long at his worn but immaculate face, his calloused fingers still on top of yours, the tip of his thumb brushing lightly against your knuckle like maybe he was trying to commit to memory how your skin felt against his. And just the thought of that had you dripping with sweat on the back of your neck.

“And jus’ Joel,” he replied, pressing his hand deeper against yours.

“What?” you whispered out.

“Jus’ call me Joel, darlin’. That’s my name, after all.” You blinked a few times, your mind reeling at the ask. He already told you to call him Joel once, the first day you met him in the garage, but something about first name basis was dangerous, forbidden. You shouldn’t say his name, shouldn’t call him anything but Mr. Miller, but here you were about to let his name be tattooed on your tongue like it was the only word you knew how to speak.

“Alright. Joel…” you answered cautiously, letting the wing sweep through your messy strands.

After waiting a beat, you spoke again. “Well, the offer still stands. I’ll be here, if you need someone to talk to.”

A gentle smile curled against his mouth slowly and for the first time, you saw the clouds clear fully in his dewy brown eyes. “You’re a pretty fuckin’ special girl, ya know that? Jackson got lucky. Beautiful girl like you deserves the world…” His eyes flicked down to his lap momentarily, but they quickly reverted right back to yours.

“Oh, I’m not… no, I’m not that special,” you laughed, shaking your head like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever said to you. You’re nothing special.

“Don’t be modest, sweetheart. Beautiful and special. The perfect combination. Don’t you ever forget it either.” His smile was so genuine. And his eyes, those exquisite brown doe eyes that made your voice shake, were making you forget how to form a coherent thought.

Oh. Beautiful…

“That’s kind of you to say, Joel, but I really don’t think...”

He lifted a rough-edged palm and stopped you right there. “Well, s’true. Don’t take anything less than what you deserve. I mean it when I say if you ever need anything, you come straight to me, darlin’. Wouldn’t ever leave you hangin’.”

His hand slowly reached out, your body completely paralyzed with every steady movement his fingers made. His fingertips brushed against your cheek, leaving scars you’d soon regret ever touched you, but they felt like a fine paintbrush drawing an entire masterpiece with every careful stroke he drew across your skin.

Electricity zapped through the cool air, sending sparks of lightning across every square inch he touched. And his eyes were absolutely sparkling, crystal domes that reminded you of citrine and smoky quartz. And when his fingers traced a loose strand behind the shell of your ear, it was like the world completely stopped, and the only sound you could hear was his slow breaths that smelled like strong coffee and pine trees dancing in the wind.

He was magnetic, and you wanted to burn right there in that little wooden rocking chair until you were nothing but burnt embers in his gentle palms.

Tires treading over gravel broke the intense spell you were under, and Joel’s palm fell from your cheek, leaving a trail of warmth behind in their absence. Both of your eyes were wide and daunting, and you knew you were fucked.

You shouldn’t be out here sitting alone with Joel, but you didn’t really care. He had you hooked, and now you were a baited fish.

“I should probably get back to Jackson,” you said quietly, pushing your shaky body from the rocking chair. The one that Joel had made by hand.

“Yeah, afraid you should,” he murmured in a hushed tone, his dark brown eyes following after you until you turned a corner where his electric stare couldn’t hold yours anymore.

You watched him sigh, his thick fingers curling back over his ceramic coffee cup as his plush lips met the sides. And in that moment, you so desperately wanted to be the dark coffee that caked his tongue in a swirl of various flavors. You wanted to be the sugar that left his body begging for more.

Taking a deep breath, you spoke without thinking it through. A plea to continue the conversations with this dream of a man. “Joel, your ex-wife was stupid to leave you. The way she treated you? You never deserved that. You deserve much better. I just hope you don’t think you were ever the problem because it never sounded like you were.”

Your hand latched onto the handle of the screen door and just as you started pulling it open, his deep voice made you lose your grip, and then the door swung shut with a bang.

“Sweetheart?” he called, craning his neck to look back at you with deep brown eyes.

“Yeah?” You slowly circled around and met those dazzling brown eyes that turned you into mush.

“You sure do know how to light up a room. Bring that pretty smile around here more often. You seem to keep the cloudy skies away.”

Your heart leapt into your throat and for the first time, you felt a heated warmth pull through your entire body, twisting around your veins until his name imprinted a mark on your heart.

Giving him one last smile, you turned and made your way back through the house, back to where you should be. With Jackson. But was that what you really wanted now? You never expected to have a crush on your boyfriend’s fifty-year-old dad, but here you were. Completely and utterly falling for something that should be so forbidden.

As the weeks went by, you found yourself at Joel’s more and more often, finding any excuse to visit or to have Jackson take you there. It started so innocent, so friendly but quickly faded into something that started to smother your insides until you bled Joel entirely.

Mornings became fresh cups of coffee on the back porch as you watched the golden sunrise and talked about life; the evenings you’d spend curled up on the floor, reading a book while he scanned over articles in the newspaper. Sometimes you’d sit on top of his workbench in the garage and watch him work on his truck.

It was the way he completely spilled his soul to you, making you feel alive, a feeling Jackson never could quite reach. Even just being in his warm presence was enough, where you could breathe in his lingering coffee scent, his cologne that smelled like pinewood and cedar trees, the aroma of sandpaper and palms caked in traces of paint that made you completely dizzy.

The small conversations started to not be enough later on; none of it was enough for you anymore. The slow touches became more frequent. Each time he’d walk past you, he’d brush against your shoulder, letting his hand trace against your strands of hair, your back, your hand. And you let it happen because it felt warm, right. And Jackson didn’t even fucking have a clue. Joel was that subtle; Jackson never saw it coming. You didn’t see it coming until that first day in his garage. You knew right then he was something special, and you just couldn’t learn to leave him alone.

Jackson was completely oblivious when the two of you would stay for dinner at Joel’s, not even noticing the lingering glances and the small brushes of knees under the kitchen table. And that’s all it took to fall.

And that first kiss. God, that first fucking kiss. The one that was so earth shattering it felt like you had the world in your hands. You were only supposed to help him with the watermelon in the kitchen, but then he pulled you into his arms, crushing you to his broad chest, and looked at you like no one else ever had before. Like he was completely and utterly in love with you.

You saw flickers of onyx and dark chocolate swirling in your vision, tempting you to jump into the flames. And when his calloused palm traced your cheek softly and he leaned in, you drowned in the flames.

His mouth molded to yours perfectly, shooting sparks of lightning through your bloodstream the way his taste fell like water against your soft lips. And you lapped it all up, committed his coffee taste to memory, even the wafts of spice that drizzled off his slicked back greying locks.

And that was the moment you sold your soul to hades because this calamitous decision would drag you down into the inferno. But you’d burn, never regretting the day his lips fell into yours.

It wasn’t even a one time thing. No. It formed into the most catastrophic, impending decision of your life, but you let it happen anyways. If Jackson was granite then Joel was gold. Impenetrable, unique, beautiful. You just couldn’t let him go.

Hot summer days turned to cool autumn evenings where you spent hours curled up against Joel’s warm chest. The sheets damp, clothes long forgotten, sweaty bodies that burned hot for each other. You forgot all your morals each time his head was between your thighs, his mouth fused to your drenched center, his tongue stroking and lapping up your breath-taking release each time he took you over the edge. And the way his cock stretched you, filling you so full of him, felt like fireworks shooting off inside you. His mouth swallowed your echoing moans with each snap of his hips, his body like a burning furnace that set you ablaze time and time again.

And that first moment he told you he loved you while you were curled up in his lap on the porch swing was magic. He was magic. And god, you loved this man with every fiber of your being.

There were no more cloudy days, no more grey shades threading his body like his tousled curls. No. He was vibrant, alive, and your red shades collided with his blue hues, mixing together to form the prettiest lilac skies you ever did see. And when he weaved his body around yours like a tight string, claiming you as his, entire hurricanes crashed and left your body to float out to sea. But Joel would keep you afloat, even through the pain of losing Jackson.

One day you’d have to tell Jackson, end it, but you had no strength to do that. Neither did Joel. So you were both doomed, damned to burn together in the pits of hell. You’d never forgive yourself for betraying Jackson, but Joel… well, you just couldn’t lose him. So you wouldn’t.

Joel found a way to thread every inch of you to him, sewn into the very essence of his soul as you swirled yourself into his shades of blue.

And then you were nothing but lilac skies.

[delusionsofgrandeur13]

CASUAL

he said, you’re “not together,”

so now when you kiss, you have anger issues.”

chapter two

NSFW. MINORS DNI.

tim drake x reader

series inspired by Casual by Chappell Roan

readers can expect: an argument due to miscommunication, mentions of sexual acts such as..well, sex and a blowjob, mentions of drugs and scandal, an internal monologue (not reader's) that's a bit self-deprecating. happy reading!

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“phi kappa epsilon is throwing a party later.” you say, looking up from your phone. tim’s got the gotham globe open to the local news section, his eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. 

“mmm,” he replies, flipping the page. 

your legs are sprawled across his; your shorts still unbuttoned due to the hasty sex you’d finished up around ten minutes ago. you didn’t really like fucking him at his frat house, but tim had called you an hour ago sounding the most needy you’ve ever heard him. it’s a bit embarrassing to think about how fast you dropped what you were doing. 

your hair is pulled back from when your mouth was around his cock, his fingers gripping at your ponytail. tim’s lips are pink from the way he kissed you, and yours chapped and a little swollen. you purse them, hesitant. but you ask anyways. 

“would you want to go together?” 

“together? we’re not together.” 

“..what?” your heart drops into your stomach as he looks at you over the newspaper.

“you said we’re together?”

“..do you even listen to me, drake?” 

he blinks at you. it’s infuriating.

“no. didn’t think so.” 

you barely hear his protests as you untangle your legs from his. grabbing your things from the floor, you quickly shove your shoes on. he gets up, but doesn’t follow you past the door of his bedroom. refusing to be seen chasing after someone by his frat brothers. 

you fight hot, angry tears that blur your vision as you rush out of the house. 

one day later...

BREAKING: AFFLUENT FRATERNITY INVOLVED WITH DRUG RING

 Beta Alpha Tau, Gotham University’s most well known frat, has seen several of its members arrested in the past week with connections to the drug known as ‘drops.’ There is still not much known about this substance, only that it’s ingested through the eye and highly, highly disorienting. This is not the first time Beta Alpha Tau has been involved in the distribution of illicit substances, either. The fraternity itself is sponsored by well known players in Gotham such as Bruce Wayne and Lucius Fox—so what does a repeat scandal like this mean for those families’ reputations? More on page 3. 

tim growls in frustration, throwing the newspaper across the room. the pages disperse, fluttering in the air and falling to the ground.

he scrubs his hands over his face, groaning. his stupid, stupid frat brothers. and it's almost entirely on him, as their president and as a drake, as a wayne. he could've seen it, could've stopped it. could've kicked them out. but he can’t do shit about it now. bruce already wants him over for ‘dinner’ later. tim has half a mind to skip, knowing, just knowing, the way it’s gonna go. his brain kicks into overdrive, looking for a distraction. he could hit the gym, he could go drive over the speed limit, he could—

an image flashes in his mind, so vivid and sharp he can almost hear your moaning again. suddenly all he can think about is the way you look up at him during missionary, your big, blissed-out eyes staring deep into his, into places he didn’t think anyone could reach. the way you giggle when he teases you. how blown out your pupils get as he fucks you nice and hard, but you’re the one pulling sounds and emotions out of him no one ever has before. your satisfied smile after, a smile he never sees anywhere else. the way you play with his hair and kiss his cheek, feather-light. 

he barely even registers the fact he’s called you until he hears it ringing, ringing, ringing…

and your voicemail picks up. 

right. you’re mad at him. 

he laughs to himself, bitter. of course you are. right now, who isn’t?

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tim drake's fan club:

(taglist)

@dfgcbgdc @benditlikegumby93 @agent-nobody-knows @jaybunsblog @astermos-74 @ravenna-reid @borutoistrash1-blog @slut4animedilfs @nuggget-consumer-9000 @turtleturtleturtleturtleneck @hellishattempt @trashhighwaybird @sergeant-angels-trashcan @lilithskywalker @timdrakeisasugardaddy

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[taylorswiftstyle]

The Eras Tour | Lover section | Version 4

Versace custom bodysuit and blazer Christian Louboutin custom boots

Welcome back to the Eras Tour! After a two-ish month break, Taylor picked up where the US/Mexico dates of the Eras Tour left off at the end of the summer with a rousing first of three shows in Buenos Aires, Argentina - and with it, new costuming!

I've mentioned previously that while I suspect the Eras Tour setlist will remain largely the same on all international legs of this tour, that one is never safe from outfit variations. On past tours, Taylor has introduced new versions all throughout the length of a tour.

This particular bodysuit is Version 4 of her opening costuming - and is quite possibly the best (or at least top two for me). This version feels very, "Hi Barbie!" in the very best way. I love the pink shades here that are a great nod to Lover candy coated sunset colouring while still also feeling rich and dramatic.

There’s also a certain wonderful power and confidence in wearing a vivid pink sparkly blazer Elle Woods and Barbie would be proud of to perform “The Man”.

Photo by Getty

[angelwishess]

Kyra’s Broomquet!

Bouquet… whtver!!!! For the broomquet thing!!!

(Yeah I had to filter the colors to make it look not awkward HWHAHAHA)

^^ This looks like a reaction meme LMFAOOOO

I think I added way too many flowers but its ok guys trustme… 💗 (also i think i used the non fully bloomed begonias by accident oops)

I dont think this is a realistic bouquet at all but its okay because !!!!! Symbolism !!!! Yayayayya!!!!!!!!!!

ALOT of rambling utc!!

First— I’d like to mention that some of these flowers are actually poisonous so erm idk how that would work out LMFAOO😭😭 Take it as symbolism of how many are attracted to Kyra due to her beauty, but stay away once realizing her true nature … or something like that!!!!!

Camellia (Japonica)

Camellias have always been Kyra’s flower! Its the one I associate her with the most, and to me is just iconic for her! I have an entire post in my drafts talking about Kyra’s other symbolisms, but I might as well just copy paste the Camellia section here lol

Camellias in general symbolize a spirit of depth, self-reflection and inner strength, love, loyalty and humility.

Camellia japonica, a shrub or small tree species that is native to southern Japan and China. Known as tsubaki in Japan,this species is iconic for its beautiful white, pink, or red flowers that appear from late winter to early spring as well as its thick, glossy, and evergreen leaves.

The camellia has come to symbolize grace, beauty, sophistication, and perseverance - all traits that make it so beloved today.

The camellia has long been a symbol of beauty, grace and perseverance in Japanese culture. Its deep crimson petals evoke the vividness of a fiery sun while its delicate bloom serves to represent the infinite nature of life itself. It has become the embodiment of courage, resilience and strength owing to its fantastic ability to survive and thrive in even the harshest conditions.

It is believed that those who wear or carry a camellia can show their boldness in facing adversity with integrity and grace; thus, this timeless flower carries with it monumental symbolism.

The camellia is intricately intertwined with the cultural and spiritual life of Japan. In various art forms, they signify appreciation and admiration. The flower represents a spirit of depth, self-reflection and inner strength - qualities that are highly esteemed in Japanese culture. They also symbolize love, loyalty and humility - perfect to express gratitude towards family and friends.

Kyra herself is honestly my most perseverant character! Shes stubborn and driven, and won't back down regardless of how hopeless a situation seems.

No matter how much she falls down, she'll keep getting right back up again, more determined than before to keep living.

With the Camellia's notable ties with Beauty, loyalty, grace, self-reflection and inner strength; it makes the Camellia a beautiful way to represent Kyra. It reflects her current character and character development

In China, camellia has been cultivated for thousands of years and is a symbol of love and devotion. It is often used in Chinese art, literature, and poetry to represent beauty, purity, and faithfulness. For people in China, the camellia is more than just a flower; it's a sign of a long past. The camellia has a place in Chinese art, literature, and tradition because it is thought to bring good luck and beauty.

The Chinese believe that the camellia will last forever, so it is often used as a symbol in ceremonies and parties. People see the flower's ability to survive under challenging conditions as a metaphor for life's problems and the strength needed to deal with them.

In Japan, the camellia is also a symbol of love and is associated with the samurai tradition. The flower is often worn as a hair ornament by Japanese women and is used in traditional tea ceremonies.

The samurai looked up to the camellia as a sign of bravery and morality. The flower's ability to stay beautiful even when things go wrong was like the samurai's dedication to duty and honor.

During the Victorian era in Europe, the camellia flower became a popular symbol of wealth and luxury.

White camellia flowers are less common but are highly prized for their purity and innocence. In some cultures, white camellia flowers are associated with death and are often used in funeral arrangements.

With NRC's whole theme with death— this extra little fact is just a little nod to that theme hehe. It also represents Kyra's own "innocence" and naivety when it comes to regular society. After all, Kyra's first time ever leaving her palace was because she was sent to NRC fe. Through that "death", she gained freedom and a new beginning.

Pink camellias show love, appreciation, happiness, and thanks. These flowers are a lovely way to show someone you admire them or are thankful for them because the soft color of pink makes people feel loved and appreciated.

Pink camellias are often seen as signs of love and respect in the language of flowers. In some countries, friends trade them with each other or give them thanks. Aside from their beauty, pink camellias are known for their gracefulness and ability to show love without being too intense.

Kyra is very thankful and values the friends and people closes to her. She loves so much and so deeply, and holds everyone that accepts her despite her being a handful, very dearly! She isnt shy to show her affection at all, and makes sure her friends know that they're all loved, even if she doesn't say it outright.

Pink Camellias can also symbolize longing! I view it as a symbol of how Kyra had always longed for more, yearning for a life that feels like hers. She longs for freedom, and has spent her entire life with this feeling of yearning.

Camellias can also, ironically enough, symbolize perfection. Something Kyra had forced herself to be for the sake of her family, in hopes that if she was, she could be loved, too.

Amaryllis

Amaryllis symbolizes pride, strength and determination as they stand tall above all other winter blooms. Amaryllis is also a Greek name which means 'to sparkle', ‘sparkle’, ‘shine’.

Funnily enough, Kyra’s name also has Greek origins! And while they do differ in meaning when it comes to their shared origin language, Kyra’s name also means ‘sparkle’ and ‘shine’ in Japanese!

The flower itself symbolizes the idea that beauty can bloom from pain, and it often serves as a metaphor for inner strength and resilience.

The amaryllis is frequently associated with strength and determination, largely because it can bloom in the colder months when many other plants are dormant. Its tall, strong stems and large flowers make it a symbol of overcoming obstacles and standing tall in the face of adversity. In this context, it is often given to individuals who are facing challenges to symbolize perseverance and inner strength.

In the Victorian era, the language of flowers (known as floriography), was a popular means of communication, where different flowers conveyed specific messages. In floriography, the amaryllis stands for pride, beauty, and strength, aligning with its mythological and cultural symbolism.

When given as a gift, an amaryllis flower might convey the message that the recipient is admired for their inner beauty and strength. It celebrates an individual's unique qualities, making it appropriate for someone who exudes confidence, grace, and resilience.

Gardenia (Peonies)

I love you secretly, unspoken words

Because of their clean white petals, gardenias symbolize purity, refinement, innocence, harmony, and gentleness.

One of their lesser-known meanings is that of a secret or unknown love. Gardenias are a thoughtful way to express that you care about someone, even if it hasn't yet been expressed verbally.

Hibiscus

represents transient beauty and the importance of living in the moment. The hibiscus flower blooms for a short time, often just one day, reminding us of the impermanence of life and the need to cherish every moment.

In Victorian times, giving a hibiscus meant that the giver was acknowledging the receiver’s delicate beauty.

the hibiscus is linked to grace, femininity, and delicacy. It is often associated with romantic appeal, particularly in cultures where the flower is worn as a symbol of attraction or love. The Hibiscus encourages mindfulness and appreciation for the present, with the end goal of reminding people of the transitory beauty of nature and time.

Mountain Laurel

Perserverance and achievement

The mountain laurel is also associated with ambition. The Greeks would present a wreath of laurel to poets, athletes, and war heroes as a mark of great achievement.

the mountain laurel was chosen as the state flower of Pennsylvania due to its unique beauty and profusion. This plant, which is native to Pennsylvania, thrives in the state's mountains and forests, showcasing the incredible natural resources of the region. Its adaptability to a variety of environments symbolizes the tenacity and resolve of the neighborhood.

I also mainly chose it due to its unique appearance, and Kyra loved unique looking stuff hehe

Dahlias (Pink Silk)

The dahlia is Mexico's national flower, and it represents pride, inner strength, elegance, kindness, uniqueness, embracing positive change, beauty, and creativity.

Spiritually, the name represents inner strength, positive change, and commitment. The name elegantly symbolized beauty, freedom, and love.

dahlia flowers symbolize beauty, commitment, and kindness. They're also tied to steadfastness due to their ability to bloom after many other flowers have died.

Delphinums

The meaning of delphiniums is generally accepted as 'big hearted'. White and pink represent new life and the power of youth.

Delphinium meanings include openness to new experiences and overall positivity. Delphiniums symbolize cheerfulness and goodwill, as well as a protective plant. Delphiniums are used to communicate encouragement and joy, as well as remembering loved ones who have passed.

Skeleton Flower

The flower's change from opaque to clear symbolizes shedding past identities and revealing one's true self.

The Skeleton Flower, known for its delicate beauty, has inspired numerous stories and myths across various cultures. Often viewed as a symbol of resilience, it represents the beauty that can emerge from adversity. In art and literature, the Skeleton Flower frequently appears as a motif of purity and transformation.

The skeleton flower holds a notable place in Asian history and culture. Celebrated for not only their beauty but especially for their unique transformation, they often symbolize the balance between life and death.

the Skeleton Flower also serves as a powerful symbol of resilience and personal growth.

The flower’s captivating appearance and remarkable adaptation serve as a reminder that beauty and resilience can coexist, even in the most unexpected of circumstances.

Begonias

Hope of life. It's the reminder that no matter how bad something is, no matter how sad it is, life is always right there, renewing itself along with you. It's a reminder that there's always an opportunity to start over. Individuality and standing out from the crowd

Despite a historical association with warning, begonias symbolize gratitude, respect, understanding, and forgiveness.

Traditionally, this flower is as a symbol of warning. It is a way to tell someone that they needed to watch their backs. The begonia wasn’t necessarily a threat, but instead a gesture that things aren’t always as they seem.

A begonia can mean understanding, and even forgiveness.

Habenaria Radiata (White Egres Orchid)

represents purity, grace of the soul, and good intentions.

looks like a dove teehee

“My thoughts will follow you into your dreams.”

In Japan, the 'White Egret' Orchid (Habenaria radiata) is admired not only for its beauty but also for its symbolism of grace, purity, and the return of summer.

the egret symbolism too focuses on being at peace with oneself and the world, being in a state of balance and calmness throughout.

Lily Of The Valley

Funfact! Since Kyra’s birth month is May, the Lily Of The Valley is her birth flower!!

Lilies of the valley symbolize rebirth, purity, youth, and happiness.

The lily of the valley means return of happiness in the Victorian language of flowers.

Chinese Peony

Peony petals are edible. Yeah. I just thought it’d be funny to include an edible plant in Kyra’s bouquet. Is that not hilarious

In China and Japan, peonies mean 'king of flowers', and are used in important holidays like Chinese New Year. They are also known to symbolise wealth, because for a really long time only Chinese emperors used peonies. But really I just thought they were pretty HEHEHEHE

This is the ONLY flower I chose because it was pretty PLS ….. Kyra would hate me for this I fear HELP (in my defense it looks like her ..)

Lilium Casa Blanca

The Lilium Casa Blanca symbolizes celebration. It also symbolizes eternal beauty and elegance.

Beyond purity, white lilies also represent hope, remembrance, and the promise of a fresh start.

Pink and White lillies symbolize compassion and admiration.

Nelumbo Nucifera

The lotus flower symbolizes rising from a dark place into beauty and rebirth, as this is precisely how a lotus flower grows.

It symbolizes the realization of inner potential.

In the classical written and oral literature of many Asian cultures the lotus is present in figurative form, representing elegance, beauty, perfection, purity and grace, being often used in poems and songs as an allegory for ideal feminine attributes.

All symbolism associated with the lotus seems to be positive and in the vein of being a good person and finding meaning in life.

[isak-dot-gov]

Mic'd Up Pt.2

Pairing: Kelsey Plum x Reader

Word count: 1208

Part 1 - My Masterlist

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The next morning, you were jolted awake by your phone vibrating non-stop. Squinting at the screen, you saw a barrage of notifications—Twitter mentions, Instagram tags, and text messages from both friends and strangers alike. Dread mixed with curiosity as you opened your phone to see what all the fuss was about.

There it was: a notification from the Las Vegas Aces’ official YouTube channel.

“Kelsey's Biggest Fan: Mic’d Up!” the title read.

You bit your lip, heart racing as you clicked on the video. The screen lit up with the intro, and it didn’t take long before you saw yourself, front and centre. The video started with a slow-motion clip of you, wide-eyed and jumping out of your seat, shouting, “That’s my girl!” after Kelsey hit a three-pointer. A heart graphic floated above your head, and a cute caption popped up: “Biggest supporter in the house.”

As the video continued, it cut between clips of you and Kelsey’s jaw-dropping plays. Every reaction you’d had—cheering, fist-pumping, gasping at the refs’ bad calls—was captured in vivid detail. Your face flashed on the screen, excitement radiating, while the crowd erupted behind you. The editors had even added a dramatic slow-motion replay of you standing up and yelling, “Let’s go, Kelsey!” during a key moment in the game, complete with epic music in the background.

Your hands flew to your face, cringing at the full display of your emotions. The internet had seen it all. Your love for Kelsey. Your passion for the team. Your inability to sit still for more than five seconds when the Aces were on fire.

By the time the video ended, you were red-faced and laughing, even as the embarrassment settled in. The comments section was blowing up with fans reacting to your over-the-top enthusiasm:

“This is what love looks like!”

“Relationship goals AF.”

“Kelsey's girl is all of us when the Aces play!”

There were even memes already circulating. One showed you passionately screaming with the caption, “When you’re more hyped than the players themselves.” Another zoomed in on your face during a tense moment with the caption, “Me when the refs make a bad call.”

Your phone buzzed again, this time with a call from Kelsey. You braced yourself for the inevitable teasing.

“Hey, YouTube star!” Kelsey greeted, laughter bubbling in her voice. “Seen the video yet?”

You sighed dramatically, still blushing from the experience. “Yeah... I don’t know whether to be flattered or hide under a rock.”

Kelsey’s chuckle was warm, affectionate. “Oh, come on. It’s adorable. I think it’s safe to say the fans love you almost as much as I do.”

“‘Almost’?” you teased. “I think they might love me more after this.”

Kelsey laughed louder, her voice full of mischief. “Don’t push it. But seriously, the whole team’s seen it. A’ja’s been texting me non stop. She’s already planning ways to roast you at practice.”

You groaned, but you couldn’t help the smile forming. “Great. Just what I needed—A’ja Wilson making me the butt of every joke.”

“Oh, it’s not just A’ja,” Kelsey said, her tone almost too gleeful. “Chelsea’s already called dibs on the post-game interview next time, and Kate and Syd are coming up with new chants for you to yell. The whole team’s in on this.”

A notification popped up from A’ja’s Twitter: “Mic’d up AND famous? You’re a LEGEND now! #BringTheHype #CheerCaptain”

Before you could respond, Kelsey continued, “Anyway, we’ve got a team meeting later today. You might want to brace yourself.”

You hung up with a pit in your stomach, knowing full well you were about to walk into the lion’s den. Sure enough, when you arrived at the Aces’ training facility later that afternoon, the team was waiting for you.

The second you stepped into the locker room, A’ja’s booming voice greeted you. “Ayyy, here she is! The real MVP of last night’s game!”

The entire room erupted in laughter and cheers as the team gathered around you. A’ja threw her arm around your shoulders, pulling you into the centre of the locker room. “Y’all seen this video, right? Our girl was more hyped than the entire crowd combined!”

Jackie was right behind her, shaking her head with a grin. “Honestly, I don’t think we’ve ever had this much energy coming from the stands. We might need to mic her up every game.”

AC leaned casually against her locker, smirking. “I’ve been saying it since last night—she’s got more hype than the bench squad. We’re going to need her on the sidelines full-time.”

“Forget the mascot,” Megan added, laughing. “We’ve got our own hype woman.”

You could feel your face growing hotter by the second, but their teasing was good-natured, filled with warmth and camaraderie. The fact that the whole team had seen the video—and was getting this much joy from it—made it all the more embarrassing and heartwarming at the same time.

“Okay, okay, enough roasting,” Kelsey said, stepping forward with a playful smile. “I mean, I think we can all agree that having my personal cheerleader on blast last night helped us win, right?”

A chorus of agreement filled the room, and A’ja, never one to miss a moment, pointed at you dramatically. “You’re the reason we secured that dub! We need that energy every night.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, throwing your hands up. “Fine, I’ll accept the title of unofficial hype woman. But you better believe I’m charging for appearances.”

Chelsea winked at you. “First paycheck is going to be in popcorn and court-side seats.”

As the laughter died down, the team started gathering for their meeting, but A’ja wasn’t done just yet. “Yo, before we get serious, can we all agree that the next time she’s mic’d up, we get to pick the lines she has to yell?”

Jackie nodded, grinning. “Oh, for sure. I’m already writing down some good ones.”

Kelsey groaned, shaking her head but smiling. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”

After the meeting, Kelsey found you in the hallway, still laughing from the whirlwind of teasing. “You good?” she asked, sliding her arm around your waist.

“Yeah, I think I survived.” You leaned into her, feeling a wave of contentment settle over you. “Your teammates are ruthless, though.”

“Oh, trust me, I know,” she said, grinning. “But seriously, they love you. You’re part of the family now.”

As you walked toward the parking lot, your phone buzzed again, this time with a text from A’ja: “We need a full mic’d-up session next game. You down?”

You showed Kelsey the message, and she chuckled. “You gonna do it?”

You grinned. “You know what? I might just. But next time, I’m going even harder.”

Kelsey laughed, squeezing your hand. “Deal. Just don’t make me laugh too much while I’m trying to play.”

As you left the arena together, the warmth of being embraced by not just Kelsey but the whole Aces family stayed with you. Sure, you were the butt of some jokes now, but you wouldn’t trade that for anything. Being part of their world—even as the loud, slightly embarrassing cheerleader—felt like you belonged, and that meant more than anything. 

Plus, next game? You were definitely going to be the loudest fan in the building.

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[pamwritessometimes]

Tuesday's Gone — Chapter 6

Russell Shaw x Reader

Summary: When the police does little to no help to find your missing daughter, you are forced to contact Colter Shaw. What you don’t expect is how his investigation will reveal secrets about both your past and your daughter’s, in ways you never imagined.

Warnings: Language, mentions of complicated birth, blood

A/N: Hi, loves! Sorry for going MIA for a week, but in my defense, I gave you a heads up. 🙈 These next few weeks are unfortunately going to be like that, but I’m trying my best to proofread everything in time. I’ll also reply to everyone as soon as I can!!! Thank you for your patience and support. 🤍

Title’s based on Tuesday’s Gone by Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Catch up on Chapter 5 here

Tuesday’s Gone masterlist

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The gunshot cracked through the streets, cutting through the night like a bad omen. You pulled Emma close as your heart was hammering relentlessly in your chest. The silence that followed only sharpened your fear. Eyes shut tight, you forced yourself to breathe, clinging to one thought: Please, don’t let it be Russell. Not like this. Not now. Not when you saw a flicker of hope of not only escaping this nightmare, but also of maybe finally finding some closure for everything left unsaid between you.

Your whole life flashed through your mind, choppy and absurdly fast like a Charlie Chaplin-movie.  If it weren’t for the terror, you might’ve laughed at how comically swift and disjointed the images came, like a slapstick comedy, only it wasn’t funny.

Your mind drifted to those first moments, four years ago, that had changed everything. You could see those two unmistakable blue lines on the pregnancy test, clear as an August sky, no room for doubt. You could also see the way your body started to tremble at the weight of it and how you clung to your sister, Anna, who tried her best to comfort you while also nagging you to tell her what’s the matter.  

You also remembered the first time you held Emma the day she was born - well, technically the day after she was born. She had decided to make a dramatic entrance, tangling herself in her umbilical cord. You’d been knocked out cold from the emergency C-section, missing the whole thing. In hindsight, probably for the best; your nerves would’ve been shot otherwise. But when you finally held her, all that worry and exhaustion melted away as she looked up at you with those big, curious eyes, and just like that, she had you wrapped around her tiny fingers. 

You held her then, almost the same way you were holding her now, though you tried to shove that comparison to the back of your mind. 

The memory of your parents’ first meeting with her was also vivid. Your dad, who’d been all fire and brimstone about Russell – and let’s be honest, your unplanned pregnancy – had melted the second he saw Emma’s bright green eyes. You’d never seen him, the tough, no-nonsense mechanic, act so soft. It was like watching a grizzly suddenly turn into a teddy bear. Your mom, of course, was over the moon, but you expected that. She’s always been your biggest cheerleader, besides Anna. Your dad, though, was also someone you could always count on, but there was something different about your bond with him.

As these memories flashed by, it hit you like a ton of bricks: they must be out of their minds with worry. You hadn’t told them about Colter Shaw’s involvement in finding Emma, and they had no clue that calling him was basically inviting Russell into the picture, to invite him into this mess. The irony, of course, being that this very mess had started with him – even if he hadn’t exactly meant for things to spiral into a nightmare.

You can’t help but think back to how you and Russell first met – it felt like fate with a side of fries. He was sitting in a corner booth at the diner where you worked, trying to figure out the menu like it was written in hieroglyphs. That Cream t-shirt of his clung to his broad shoulders in just the right way, and the dim lighting made him look like something out of a movie. A guy who looked that good and had killer music taste? Yeah, you knew you were doomed.

At the time, you were pulling double shifts to scrape together enough to pay for the student loan you took out years ago, feeling every inch of burnout creeping in. But then there was Russell, glancing up at you with a gaze so intense it could’ve burned a hole through the laminated menu. The moment you stepped up to take his order, his eyes locked onto yours like he’d found what he was looking for… and for almost three years, they never really left.

“Y/N?” A voice cut through your spiraling thoughts. 

Your ears perked up and then the voice spoke up again.

“It’s safe. You can come out now.” 

Colter. Calm and steady, as always.

Your eyes flew open and you peeked around the tree and saw the aftermath. There was Colter, standing tall with his gun lowered, surveying the scene. And sprawled on the ground, clutching his shoulder and looking about as smug as a wet rat was Rourke, blood seeping through his fingers. Couldn’t have happened to a better guy. 

But Colter wasn’t alone. Officers from the Springland Sheriff’s Department marched in behind him with raised guns, all sporting that famous TV-cop focus. The sheriff himself was there, giving Rourke a look like he was mentally listing all the charges he’d be writing up. His men had Rourke’s goons pinned. Now that their great boss was down, they didn’t seem too keen to put on a fight. Their faces looked like they’d just been sucker-punched by surprise. 

And they weren’t the only ones.

You held Emma tight, inching out from behind the tree, eyes scanning frantically until you found Russell. He was there, standing over Rourke, right where the standoff had left them. He seemed unharmed, aside from the bruises and cuts he was already sporting.

Thank God.

He looked just as shocked as you to see his brother here, surrounded by cops. Russell wasn’t exactly on friendly terms with law enforcement – his years at Horizon as a black ops agent made him wary of trusting any man with badges. But today? He looked downright relieved to see so many uniforms. 

On the pavement, Rourke gritted his teeth, trying to hold onto whatever shred of authority he had left.

“Shaw, you little –what, you brought some friends?” His voice was strained, all his earlier swagger bleeding out along with the blood from his shoulder.

Russell shot his brother a look that could’ve covered a dozen emotions, then glanced at the walking douche with the pornstache. “Guess you should’ve checked that warehouse a little better.” 

The sheriff stepped forward, his face all business as he looked down at Rourke. “James Rourke” he said, his voice tinged with authority as he put the man in handcuffs, “you’re under arrest for kidnapping, assault, conspiracy, human trafficking, and about a dozen other charges I’ll happily review once we’re at the station. Don’t worry, We’ve got just enough time until the feds get here.”

The feds? And human trafficking?

Before you could think any further, Russell stepped closer to you and Emma, and without any hesitation, he wrapped his arms around you two. You could feel how the weight of it all fell off his shoulders as he let himself melt in this moment. He felt that this moment, right here, is going to be something he’ll always remember. You hesitated, but seeing Emma already snuggled up to him, you decided to let yourself lean in. Just a little.

As he held you both, Russell glanced up and spotted Reenie walking alongside Colter. Reenie, no doubt, was behind the intel that finally exposed Rourke. For years, Russell had suspected that Rourke was running something shady, a side hustle no one in Morello’s circle knew about. And he was right. Rourke was overseeing an entire underground trafficking network, bringing in young, vulnerable women, and doing it all without Morello’s knowledge. 

Rourke was smart enough to keep his illegal dealings separate from Morello’s empire at Horizon. If Morello had known, he would’ve shut it down immediately, but Rourke kept it quiet, carefully concealed behind the black ops company he worked for. Rourke had always been good at playing both sides. Loyal enough to keep up appearances with Morello, but greedy enough to carve out his own profits on the side. The money was too good to walk away from, and that’s why he kept it hidden so well. He’d threatened Russell to stay quiet, and for a while, Russell had listened, against his better judgment. He regretted it every day.

But the minute he tried to walk away, to cut ties, Rourke made sure he understood that there was no leaving without consequences. Technically, he was Russell’s superior.

If you wanted out, you paid the price. 

And that price had been higher than Russell ever expected.

Reenie caught his eye, her lips curving into a subtle but unmistakable smile. He gave her a quick nod – a silent thank-you he knew he could never fully repay. Not to her, and not to Colter. 

The sheriff nodded to his team, signaling them to move. Two officers stepped forward, dragging Rourke to his feet with little care for dignity. His eyes flared with anger, but the fight was gone.

“You can try to take me down, but this isn’t over” he snarled. His gaze darted to Russell, who remained let go of the two of you as he faced his ex son of a bitch boss. “You really think you’ve won? You think a few pretty words from your little sheriff buddy will save you? I have people everywhere. I’ll get out. And when I do…”

As he was led past you, Rourke’s gaze landed on you and Emma, his eyes narrowing in a way that made your skin crawl.

Russell’s voice cut through, icy and unshakable. “It’s over, James. With the mountain of evidence I’m about to gift-wrap for the feds, you’re not seeing daylight anytime this century. So get cozy with prison food – and try to make some friends.” 

“We know about your little side hustles, Rourke.” Reenie spoke up. “Made sure your bosses do now, too. This’ll stick, for good.”

“Oh, and don’t worry” Russell added with a smirk. “I’ll be sure to send a postcard from the outside.”

Rourke’s expression twisted with contempt as he was led out to the sheriff’s car with the rest of his men, who had been swiftly rounded up by the officers. As the street cleared, silence fell, broken only by the occasional shuffling as the officers began to file out, satisfied that Rourke was finally out of commission.

Colter turned back to you, his face softening as he took in the sight of Emma clinging to you. “You’re alright?” he asked as he looked between you, Russell, and your daughter. It was the first time it seemed to click for him. He had a niece.

“We’re fine” you replied, still sounding like you’d been hit by a truck. The shock was still working its way through you, and you weren’t sure if you were still breathing properly. “Colter, I– there aren’t words. Thank you. How– How did you know where we were? And what happened–”

Colter gave a small, reassuring smile. “I know you have a lot of questions, and I promise I will answer all of them” he said simply. “But you have other issues at hand.” he nodded towards his brother. Russell nodded next to you, and after patting his brother on the shoulder they exchanged a brief hug, awkward and stiff, like two grown men who were both allergic to affection. You couldn’t help but notice that, for a moment, they actually seemed... human. 

You didn’t know much about their connection, Russell had always kept his family history under wraps. But you weren’t blind. You could tell there was some sort of tension between them, some unspoken history – but you knew it wasn't the time or place to ask questions. Still, seeing them like this, even for a moment, was kind of... nice. You weren’t sure if it was the whole "brotherly love" thing or just the fact that they managed to put aside whatever baggage they were hauling around. Either way, it was kind of refreshing to see them looking like, well, brothers for once.

After a couple of seconds, Russell stepped back. “How did you pull this off?”

Colter shrugged, a grin slipping onto his face. “Had some favors to cash in from the Springland Sheriff’s Department. Figured they’d be interested in getting their hands on a guy like Rourke after the things Reenie uncovered about him. Turns out, I was right.”

Russell nodded, a newfound respect in his eyes. And at least he now knew where they were. Not even that far away from Idaho Falls. “Guess I owe you one. I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“You owe me more than one, but we can settle that later.” Colter smirked. “The cops want to take the girls into the hospital for a medical check up. Good luck with convincing them” he smirked and with that, he strolled over to the attorney, Reenie as you recently learned. If you squinted, you could’ve sworn there was something more in the way they spoke to each other. But Colter was right. There were more pressing things to focus on than whatever unspoken story was between them.

The cool night air hit you like a shock as you exhaled deeply, letting the chilly wind breeze through your body. It was over. Really, truly over. You turned to Russell, overwhelmed with a mix of gratitude, relief and unresolved tension. You both stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do with the silence between you. It was the first time you were face-to-face with reality, without the distraction of searching for Emma or pretending not to notice the elephant in the room.

“I know you don’t want to“ he began, holding up a hand before you could get a word in. “But you and Emma need to check into the hospital. Just to be sure she’s okay, no hidden bumps or bruises.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he shook his head, a little smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t try to be a hero. Do it for her, if not for yourself. And…maybe a little for me, too” His eyes softened as he looked at you both. “I need to know you’re safe. After everything that just went down, I don’t think I could handle one more surprise tonight.”

You could hear the exhaustion in his voice, the weight of everything that had just happened pressing down on him. It wasn’t the usual tough-guy act, but something raw and real.

With a sigh, you nodded. “Fine. But only because you’re looking at me like you’re about to pass out on the spot.” You paused, giving him a pointed look. “But only on one condition. You come with us.”

Russell blinked, clearly thrown off by your request. He probably expected you to give him some kind of cold shoulder routine, maybe even throw in a few snide comments for good measure. But no, instead, here you were, asking him to join you and Emma at the hospital. Progress? Maybe. Or maybe you were just too tired to argue anymore. Either way, the surprise was written all over his face.

Still, he smiled faintly as a reluctant agreement when he glanced at Emma standing next to you. She was staring up at him, her little face so adorably and comically pleading, showing that she was clearly not ready to let him go. Goddamn puppy eyes, he thought. And they were working. “Guess I don’t have much choice, huh?”

You gave him a look that was part teasing, part serious. “Not really.”

A few deputies had gathered around, ready to escort you to Springland Hospital. Russell glanced at them briefly, then let out a small amused smile. 

As the three of you made your way toward the cars, you couldn't help but feel the weight of the moment. Things weren’t magically fixed between you and Russell, far from it. There was still so much left unsaid, so much tension hanging in the air between you two. But maybe, this was a step in the right direction.

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Anna had been pacing for what felt like a century. Two days of no news, no word, no nothing. First, Emma vanished. Then you. Anna knew you better than anyone, that sister-sense always worked well between you, so she could feel the weight of your usual nervous, anxious energy magnified tenfold. After Emma went missing, it was only natural that her thoughts veered to the worst-case scenario – what if you had done something… irreversible?

She’d been on the phone with your parents non-stop, but no one knew a damn thing. They have been just as on the edge. You just disappeared, leaving no trace behind. And Anna? She wasn’t about to leave your house. No way. Someone had to be here, in case you both randomly showed up like nothing happened.

It had been two days. Two days of staring at the door, waiting for it to open, praying you and Emma would walk in, hand in hand, ready to explain what the hell just happened.

Her thoughts stopped, a glimmer of hope flashing through her chest as she heard the sound of keys rattling at the door. Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest. It had to be you. No one else had a key besides her and your parents.

With a mix of joy and anger ready to spill out in one messy confession, Anna hurried over to the door, ready to throw herself at you, hugging you tight and probably swearing at you for disappearing without a word.

But when the door swung open, it wasn’t you standing there.

No, it was him. The one face she swore she’d punch the next time she saw him.

“What the actual hell are you doing here?” she snapped, her words laced with enough venom to make anyone think twice about speaking.

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Next on Tuesday’s Gone (Sneak Peek from Chapter 7)

Finally, you reached out, your fingers brushing his. “Stay” you said quietly. “We still have a lot to figure out, but... I’d like you to stay. At least until she wakes up.”

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And they’re finally out of the trenches! It took some time, but don’t worry, the journey isn’t over yet. The next chapter is one of my personal favorites (I mean, check out the sneak peek!).

Read Chapter 7 here

🤍Taglist🤍

@bitchykittenconnoisseur @smoothdogsgirl @spnfamily-j2 @winchesterwild78 @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @zepskies @kr804573 @sebastianstangirl01 @kmc1989 @drakelover78 @amberlthomas @lomlbuckybarnes @n-o-p-e-never

[ladylooch]

Bones - Part 15 [Mack x David]

A/N: I have said this so many times, you are all probably sick of hearing it BUT THIS IS MY FAVORITE CHAPTER!!!! This was the first chapter I wrote for their series and it has stayed mostly the same since I originally wrote it in May 2024. Considering that, I think I've been patient long enough! I can't wait any longer so it's going up a few days earlier than I said. Please, please, please come talk to me about this one 😭 I want to know every single thought that comes across your beautiful brains as you read this. Literally on my knees and begging. Okay, okay, go.. now.. run please! Read! Enjoy 🥹

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: Vivid descriptions of child birth, birth trauma (nobody dies, promise!), mentions of bodily fluids including blood.

July

“It’s David. Leave a-”

Mack clicks off the phone as she gets her husband’s voicemail again. She pouts her lips out, looking out the window at where she can see Felix and two other farm hands in the barn. 

Maybe he knows where her husband is. 

Normally, Mack doesn’t worry about where David is at lunch time because he comes home, or she drives out to meet him in the field. Today, neither of those things happened and Mack ended up eating lunch without him. The unusual behavior makes her want to get eyes on her husband to make sure he is okay. 

The closer Mack gets to giving birth to their son, the quieter David has become. Mack knows it’s not about second guessing their choices or any of that. But it is another moment in his life he is navigating through without his parents. She gets to talk to her parents about what this was like for them- creating life, those last few weeks before everything changed, the delivery room. He doesn’t have that and as such, Mack treats those conversations as a luxury.

Mack kicks off her house shoes, then slides into a pair of sneakers. Her belly is so big now, she has to lean slightly to the side to make sure her foot is going into the shoe. The second Mack opens the door and feels the Iowa humidity, she groans. What was she thinking being this pregnant in the summer? Oh yeah, that her husband would be home for the birth. Crazy of her though, to think that being 39 weeks pregnant in the middle of July would be fun. 

She never wants to do a summer baby again. She would do another baby, but not in the summer. Bring on the winter coolness that would help alleviate the furnace of a baby inside of her. Clearly, this one is going to run hot like his daddy.

Mack braces a hand on her back, then grabs the railing to walk the three steps down the porch. Her tired feet scuff along the dirt as she flips her sunglasses down over her eyes, heading towards Felix. When she gets close to the barn, a tickle sticks in her throat as the wind whips up some dry dirt from the road.

“Hi Felix.” Mack murmurs as she pauses at the entrance of the barn. He is working with another farm hand in replacing a section of rotting wood in the far corner.

“Oh! Mrs. Mackenzie, there’s a lot of dust. Stay out there. I’ll come out to you.” Mack can see the dust flying around and wisely stops her forward progress. She stays in the opening of the barn, edging her way back out slightly. “Hi.” He says breathlessly as he comes out to her. “How can I help?”

“Do you know where David is? I’ve been calling to see if he is coming up for lunch but he isn’t answering.” 

“Oh, uh, he’s right there.” He points behind her. Mack turns around, shielding her eyes over her sunglasses. On his knees in black dirt, is her husband, shaping and working in his mom’s rose garden. She didn’t see him with the angle she took out of the house. 

“Ah… wow, I didn’t see him. So sorry for bothering you!” Mack apologizes with a grimace.

“No worries. He should have answered your calls.” Felix gives her a shrug. Mack supposes that is true. But it is not like David to ignore her, especially 39 weeks pregnant.

She walks over to him, hands crossed over her chest as her shoes kick up dust around her feet. The wind is blowing hard today. A storm is set to sweep into the area tonight, bringing with it some cooler, less humid weather. Music to this pregnant woman’s ears. 

“Hey.” Mack calls to David as she gets to the edge of the garden. 

He is shirtless, tanned skin pulling tight over this muscular back, chest, and arms. He has work gloves on his hands, protecting them from the black soil he is working with. Specks of black dot his forearms up to his elbows. The distinct white of his AirPods against his slightly curled black hair tells Mack he is deep in another world right now. She walks around the garden towards the house, getting in his line of vision. He glances up, then immediately sits back on his heels seeing her. Mack’s heart skips a beat, taking in his sexy, sweaty form looking at her like she’s his next meal. 

“Hi honey.” He says, tilting the brim of his ball cap up and wiping at his forehead with his dirty forearm. Dirt smears across his skin. She smiles as he pops an AirPod out. He looks so good right now- her hard working man, grinning at seeing her hand as she strokes her bump. “You okay?”

“I am now.” She murmurs back.

“Now?”

“I’ve been calling you?”

“Oh shit. I’m sorry. Had my notifications off cause I am listening to a pepper podcast. Tryna figure out what the fuck I’m doing wrong with the bell peppers this year. They’ve all got bottom rot out there.” The peppers were for their family use, not the farms, but David takes anything that doesn’t grow perfectly personally. “What’s up?”

“You thinking about lunch anytime soon? It’s after 1.”

“Ah… I’m not that hungry.” Mack bites her lip with worry at his response. David is always hungry. He also was supposed to be out checking fence this morning, but here he is knee deep in his mama’s garden again.

“Okay.”

“Sorry, honey. Were you waiting for me?”

“No. We can’t.” She laughs, tapping her big belly. “Your son wouldn’t allow it.” 

“Our growing boy.” David smiles. He looks down at the garden. “What do you think?”

“It looks great, babe.” She says. “Will be nice to look out at this from the baby’s room.”

“Yeah.” He nods, hands on his thighs as he scans the various colors of rose bushes.

The bedroom in question is the smallest in the house, normally an office, but the closest to the master bedroom, which is on the main level. The house layout is a little discombobulated, but David wants to keep the integrity of the farm house. He isn’t ready to change what it was like for him growing up here. The only work he has done in the house is re-doing the flooring on the main level, put a new coat of paint on, and renovated the shower into a mini spa for himself after a long day of work in the fields. 

“Mama would love it. Good growth this year. I’ve been working on splitting up a few of these big ones. Thought maybe I could plant them by her and dad.” 

“That would be really nice.” Mack nods. “I’m sure your mom would love that. Your dad would allow it.” She smirks. She never got to meet David’s parents, but she knows enough about them to feel confident saying so.

“If mama was happy, he was happy.” David smiles. “Sound familiar?”

“Mhm.” She grins at him. “Come give me a kiss. I’m going back in. My boobs are melting off right now from this heat.”

“Can’t have that.” He murmurs, pulling his gloves off. “I’m filthy.” He warns her.

“I’m well aware of how dirty you are, sir.” She winds her arms around his sweaty body, pulling him down to her height. He smirks against her mouth, making his mustache tickle her nose. She squeaks, pulling away to rub the tickles away from her nostrils. “That thing is out of control. You need to trim it.”

“Not what you were saying this morning.” He jokes. “Ohhhh baby, don’t stop.” His words hiss through gritted teeth like hers were, then he attempts to nip at her neck. 

“Shush!” She slaps his bare stomach, looking over her shoulder towards the barn. “You’re such a dick.” He laughs loudly, pulling away from her. 

“Then you must like me.” He wiggles his eyebrows. 

“Put some more sunscreen on.” Mack calls back to him, slowly meandering her way back towards the porch. She carefully steps up the porch, hand braced on her back and the railing as she does so. She glances over to her husband who watches her with careful, green eyes, then waves one more time before getting his knees back in the black dirt.

- - - & - - -

While the Iowa weather thunders and soaks outside, Mack tries to get comfortable in David’s embrace. She shifts every which way, grabs extra pillows to stuff between her legs, but nothing seems to work. It’s been like this especially since dinner when the storm clouds started to roll in.

“Ugh. This baby is so damn low.” Mack snaps. “It feels like I can’t even close my legs anymore. I might need to put a mirror down there to make sure he isn’t actually coming out.” She throws the pillow she was trying to wedge between her legs across the room in frustration.

“What can I do?”

“Nothing.” She grumbles. David brings a hand to her thigh, rubbing up and down in reassurance.

“You’re amazing, hon. I’m sorry things are tough right now. I love you.” Mack mumbles a thank you. She deeply appreciates that David has sympathy for what her body is going through, and that he regularly tells her how in awe he is of her, but tonight she is grumpy. She doesn’t want him to make anything better. She wants this damn baby out.

Mack only lasts five more minutes of her sour mood and uncomfortably shifting positions. With a final sigh, she wiggles her way to the edge of the couch to stand. David stands too, giving her his hands to help her get up with a limited struggle.

“I’m going to bed.” She tells him. His lips twist into a disappointed frown, but he nods without much fuss. A loud clap of thunder makes Mack jolt in surprise. “Holy mother of…” She trails off in Swiss German. Her heartbeat sprints in her chest as David chuckles then gives her a kiss.

“Well, you’re at least going to lay in bed.”

“Yeah. I guess.” She shakes her head, moving towards the kitchen to fill up her water bottle.

“Goodnight, baby. I’ll be in soon.”

“You don’t have to go to bed because I am.”

“I know. I want to.” He says simply. “Wanna hold you if you’ll let me.” 

Mack smirks in the kitchen, twisting on the top of her water cup before padding through the living room. On her way behind the couch, she drops a kiss on David’s head. She cups his face, gently tilting it back towards her to smooch his lips, stroking his jaw sweetly before continuing on to bed. 

“I love you.” She murmurs over her shoulder.

“Love you, hon.” He calls back.

Mack goes through her night time routine of washing her face, putting on lotions and creams as well as ten minutes of meditation through her Calm app to try and get centered into a less frustrated state. She reminds herself how grateful she is to be pregnant and have the opportunity to bring life into the world. Being pregnant in conjunction with Savannah has encouraged Mack to be appreciative for how easy her and David’s journey has been. Savannah and her have become close, sharing in so many experiences together.

Mack works on a pair of compression shorts and a t-shirt of David’s that allows for her boobs to breathe. She pulls the covers back on their bed, then slides into the cool sheets. She savors the temperature with a little shiver, but knows this feeling won’t last long. She grabs her phone, texting David to turn down the air conditioner before he comes to bed. Even with the storm blowing through, the humidity lingers more than she would like. 

Mack is scrolling through Instagram when David comes into the bedroom. He heads to the closet where Mack observes him pulling back on his work jeans and a clean Carhartt grey t-shirt. He grabs another pair of boot socks, which clues Mack in that he is heading back outside.

“Something wrong?”

“Yeah. I gotta head out to help Bob. A fence blew open and his cattle are scattered along the southern edge of our property and into the road. Gotta round ‘em up.” He flips the light off in the closet. “Just gonna help til his hands are able to get over there.” He puts a warn, Coors hat on his dark locks after pushing his hair off his forehead. “Won’t be long.” He comes to her side of the bed. He puts a hand on her bump, then at the back of her neck, stroking fire across her lips when they touch. 

“Be careful out there.” She tells him. 

“It’s done storming. Well East of us at this point.”

“Yeah, but still be careful.” He smiles, kissing her again.

“Always so worried.” He chuckles, kissing down her chin and chest to her bump. He presses his nose in, green eyes closing as Mack places a hand on the back of his head to cradle it.

“Yeah, cause I don’t want to raise this baby alone.” 

“I’ll never let that happen. Promise, mama.” He murmurs against her belly. “Be good.” If he is talking to the baby or Mack, she can’t tell. 

Despite her best efforts, Mack still cannot get comfortable after David leaves. Again, the baby feels so low and the pressure is almost unbearable. She gets up, wandering around the room, trying to find what position relieves the ache of pregnancy from her body. She practices her breathing exercises, then again tries her Calm app. Still nothing is working. She throws her phone onto the bed in frustration, then says fuck it, and heads to the freezer where pints of Ben and Jerry’s is waiting for her. It won’t solve being pregnant, but it will provide comfort. 

“What flavor do we want?” She asks her belly. She opens the freezer, looking down at the tops of the lids, reading off the options she has. “I feel like… Ew, why did Daddy get Cherry Garcia? We hate that one!” She chuckles, picking it up. It has already been opened, half eaten. David likes the weirdest, most out there flavors sometimes. “Mmm brownie or strawberry cheesecake?” She murmurs, tilting her head. “Strawberry sounds good. And it has fruit in it, so we can both lie about it having nutritional value!” She leans down, grabbing the top of it. As she comes back up, wetness begins to dribble down her right leg. 

Mack pauses. 

She focuses in on her body, then realizes exactly what that liquid is.

“Oh fuck.” She squeaks. She drops the pint of ice cream, then puts both hands on her belly. “Buddy…” She trails off. 

It’s David. Leave a message or I’m not calling you back.

Mack rolls her eyes at his voicemail and hangs up, incredibly more stressed than she was this morning when this happened. She immediately dials his number again. From her perch in the kitchen, she faintly hears a buzz. She pauses, tilting her ear towards the living room to listen better. The sound cuts off when his voicemail plays again.

“Oh you have to be kidding me.” She sighs. She presses his name again, then watches between two couch cushions light up. “What the hell, David.”

Mack puts her hands on her lower back, rubbing vertically up and down the muscles. She closes her eyes as she begins to pace, trying to stay calm as she feels some tightness happening in her back and abdomen. She remembers the coaching from the doctor’s that first time mothers tend to be in labor for awhile. She figures she has time, so there is no need to try to find her husband. She can wait until he returns.

Time is not on her side tonight.

Mack starts to experience intense pain in her abdomen while she is cleaning herself up. She grips the counter in the bathroom, moaning out in pain as another contraction takes over her. These are fast, much faster than she was expecting. She feels her abdomen release it’s tension, then stands back up to her full height. She meets her eyes in the mirror, seeing the intensity of what she is experiencing there. This must be active labor. Is it possible for her to be at this stage already?

With immense struggle, she finishes getting clean clothes on, including her roomiest pajama shorts. From their bedroom, Mack looks across the first few fields to the other house on the property. She can see a single light on in Felix and Lorena’s kitchen. She grabs her phone and the keys to the Gator, then makes her way there as fast as she can. Being alone seems like a terrible idea right now.

After parking, she stands up, then immediately bends over, moaning at the horrible pain rocketing through her. 

“Holy fuck. Why does my ass hurt so bad?!” She screeches in Swiss German. Her knuckles go white around the metal pole of the Gator. Lorena notices from where she is washing dishes at the sink. The front door flies open and she rushes down.

“Are you in labor!?” She exclaims. “Where is David?”

“He went to help Bob and- uhhhhhhh.” Mack squats down on instinct. She breathes out the way she learned in the brief Youtube video she watched, then opens her eyes into tiny slits to look at the other woman. “He doesn’t have his phone.”

“Felix!” Lorena snaps loudly, slapping the dishtowel against her thigh. “Get out here!” Felix rushes to the door, looking concerned at Mack’s state. “Go get David from Bob’s. Fast! She doesn’t have much time.”

Mack looks at Lorena, delirious from pain. She has time… right? It’s just painful. This is how labor is.

Felix takes off in his truck as Lorena puts Mack back in the Gator to get her home. Lorena stays with Mack, holding her hand as the contractions continue full force. Lorena times them and they are closing in on three minutes apart. There is no doubt anymore that Mack is in active labor. She thinks about that long, half hour drive to the hospital and tears fill her eyes. She needs relief but the drugs are a ways away at this point. 

“Ooooooo…” Mack trails off as the pain from the contraction steals the noise right from her throat. Holy shit, this is so painful. She is pretty sure cartoon stars of pain are floating in her vision as she looks across the wall at a picture of her and David laughing at their wedding. “Where the fuck are you, babe!” She howls through the room. Lorena pats her hand assuringly. 

“It won’t be long now. I’m sure Felix found him. They’re on their way.” 

On cue, David storms through the front door, bringing with him the smell of wet dirt and the cooled summer breeze.

“Honey, how we doing?” He calls to her.

“Horrible!” She yells. David walks into the living room, tossing his work gloves to the side and kneeling on one knee between her legs. He rubs the outsides of her thighs, collecting her forehead on his shoulder.

“Can you walk?” He mumbles against her right ear.

“Honestly, I don’t think so.” She cries, tears leaking down onto his shirt. “Everything is so intense- ugh.” The next contraction hits her, more forceful than the last one, somehow. She wildly searches for David’s hand. He threads her fingers into hers. 

“Great job, baby. Keep breathing.” He coos into her ear. He keeps one hand in hers, then uses the other to rub her lower back. Mack focuses on his tight, circular motions, letting his skin on hers keep her grounded through the pain. 

“We gotta go. I need drugs. Like now.” She says after the contraction is done. 

“How long between contractions are you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe like two minutes.”

“Damn. Are you serious? Maybe I should have started with that question.”

“Yeah, I probably should have said that.” She nods rapidly.

“Arms around my neck.” He instructs. Mack does so and then he lifts her into his arms. Mack looks up, seeing Felix and Lorena in the doorway.

“Thank you so much.” She says to them both.

“Good luck you two.” Felix tips his hat to them. “I’ll lock up for you. Just go. Truck is running.” 

“Thanks.” David sighs in relief. The truck’s headlights beam across Mack and David as he carries her to the passenger side. The door is open already, so David can slide her in easily. 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck!” Mack hisses, gripping David’s shirt as he tries to work his way out of the cab. He halts, putting his hands on her thigh and shoulder. This time, he doesn’t say anything. When Mack comes out of this contraction, she looks at her husband. “Are we going to make it?” She may be a first time mother, but she can tell the baby’s head is close to crowning. The ring of fire is so severe she can feel vomit pushing at her esophagus. 

“I don’t know.” He says honestly. “But I’m gonna try, honey.” 

Not even five minutes into their drive, Mack already knows the answer to her previous question. The pressure between her legs has her moaning at every dip and bump in the Iowa highway. This isn’t good. Her eyes screw shut again in agony.

“David, he is coming…” She pushes through her gritted teeth. Her finger nails pierce into the palm of his right hand as his thumb rubs at her thigh.

“I know, baby.” He takes his hand back to put both hands on the wheel, pushing down harder on the right pedal.

“No, he is coming. Right NOW.”

David takes his eyes off the road, looking at Mack’s face. It’s flushed and twisted in pain. Her breathing is labored as she shifts uncomfortably in the seat. That Youtube video didn’t have the best suggestions for when you’re raw dogging labor in an old truck at 90 MPH. Listen to your body, Mack can hear that calm, mocking voiceover of the video. Personally, Mack wants to turn that communication all the way the fuck off right now. 

“Okay. Do you want me to keep driving or stop?”

“Um.. ahh!!!” Mack starts to whimper.

David takes his right hand off the wheel again, giving it to her so she can squeeze. Her fingernails pierce through the skin on his knuckles. A gush happens and Mack startles. Something feels different now, she cups her stomach, feeling it slightly squishy. In concern, Mack brings her other hand down, then gasps at David, looking wide-eyed at him. “I can feel his head. Ohmygod, it is partially out.”

David immediately guides the truck off to the shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Mack panics. “We have to keep going!”

“Baby, we need to focus on getting him out now. There isn’t time for us to get there. I gotta make sure you’re both safe.” He dials 911 as he gets out of the truck. Mack watches him, shocked and dumbfounded at what is happening right now. 

“Hi, we need an ambulance on County Road 63 near Anderson Lake Trail. My wife is giving birth.” He pauses, pinching the phone between his shoulder and his head as he opens Mack’s door.

“Turn, honey.” Mack is horrified, yet finds herself trusting David completely as he tilts his head in. He gently peels her shorts and panties down, looking directly at her spread legs. He works them all the way off so she is bare and spread eagle in the country night.

“Oooohhhh my god.” Mack hiccups in disbelief. “What’s happening?” She slaps a hand on her forehead. 

“She is 39 weeks. And, uh yeah, his head is partially out. I can see his hair.” He looks up at Mack with sparkling green eyes. Despite it all, she tearfully grins back at him. Their son has hair! David reaches for the lever on her passenger seat, tilting her back further. 

“Scoot back a bit, hon.” He rubs her calf comfortingly with his thumb. Mack watches him in awe now, how completely calm he is as he puts a hand between her legs, ready to catch their child when he enters the world completely. Tears collapse over her lashes and she hiccups from the fear of it all.

Another hearty contraction forces Mack forward, she bares down as David tosses the phone onto the dash. Her knees come up her body and she puffs her breaths through the contraction. 

“Perfect, Mack. You’re doing perfect.” Her husband encourages her softly. A sob retches from Mack’s chest as she feels the baby progress further. “Head is completely out.” David calls towards the phone as more instructions are murmured by the operator. 

“Ow, ow, ow!!” Mack’s howl sears through the dark night. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.” Mack grits down on her teeth, shaking from adrenaline and pain. Tears coat her cheeks as she shakes her head no at David. His face is calm and controlled, even his green eyes as they search her face.

“The only way through this is to get him out now, honey.” David says calmly. Mack wants to ask him if he is as scared shitless as she is, but before she can, she feels the build of another contraction. The next scream gets lost in her esophagus. She slams her head back into the headrest, closing her eyes to try and keep from completely losing it right now. Her baby needs her to get him out. She can’t be scared right now. David is here. He won’t let anything happen to them. He is going to get them through this.

And so is she.

“Okay, guide the baby down and to the side for the shoulders to come out.” The 911 operator coaches David. Mack arches off the seat in pain as the pressure builds excruciatingly fast. Then the next contraction comes and she pushes as hard as she can to end this for all of them.  A roar sounds from her chest that sounds nothing like her. Then the baby hits David’s palms as he hollers excitedly, his hearty “Yes!” filling the dark night.

“He’s out!” Mack opens her arms for the baby and David settles their son’s face into the exposed skin coming through her V-neck. “He is on mama.” David tugs his shirt off, gathering the soft cotton to put on their son.

“Great job, mom! Be careful not to pull anything. Is the baby crying?” The operator asks.

“No.” David says, already rubbing at the baby’s back. He has delivered hundreds of farm animals. He knows there needs to be a noise coming from their baby to deem him okay. He needs to breathe. Mack adds her hand too, rubbing limply at him with her husband until that first cry hits their ears.

“Oh!” She exclaims joyfully. Once the baby is consistently sobbing, David leans into the truck more over Mack’s face to kiss her tenderly. 

“You are a fucking badass, baby!” He kisses her harder then works his way over the tear tracks on both of her cheeks, smearing who knows what on her face too. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” She nods, holding tighter to the baby. David’s eyes drift down to their son and he grins wider.

“Look what our love made, honey.” He whispers as the faint sound of sirens crawls closer. David looks over his right shoulder, seeing the flashing red, white and blue lights. “Hold on.” He murmurs, reaching into the back seat for a blanket. He covers Mack’s still spread legs to give her some modesty until they have to check on her. His big hand drapes over her head, thumb brushing her forehead as she closes her eyes and sighs. “You’re okay, baby. He is too. You’re bleeding some still, but it’s not too much.” David assures her. Fresh tears leak out from her corners. Their son continues to cry in his mama’s arms. Then red and blue lights flood over Mack and David’s faces. She opens her eyes, seeing two paramedics rushing to them.

“How are we doing?” One paramedic asks. David steps aside for them, but opens the back door of the truck to stay close to his wife. He gets in, putting his hands on her shoulders so she knows he is right there with her.

“Um, okay?” Mack laughs, letting them see the baby. He has gotten quiet and curious of his new surroundings. They put a blood pressure cuff around her arm, then put the stethoscope on the baby to hear his heartbeat.

“Baby’s heart sounds good!” The paramedic confirms.”I’m gonna check you, okay?” She moves down between Mack’s legs, assessing the situation. With all the adrenaline pumping through her right now, Mack can’t tell how she is doing. She’s on fire and numb all at the same time.

“We might need a new truck.” Mack says nervously.

“Nah, it’ll come out in the wash.” David assures, kissing the top of her head. 

“Dad, did you deliver?” The other paramedic asks as he checks on Mack’s vitals. 

“Yeah!” David grins excitedly. “I knew all that calf birthing would come in handy one day.” Mack scoffs at him.

“Did you just compare me to a cow?”

“No! You were much nicer than the heifers, honey.” The paramedics chuckle in agreement. 

Mack smiles tiredly.

“Weirdly comforting.”

In another few minutes, they have Mack and the baby strapped onto the stretcher. Mack assures David they are okay and he should drive the truck the rest of the way. He follows behind, using the ambulance as an excuse to rip down these old highways from his childhood. He parks the car fast, then runs to the ambulance where they are unloading Mack. Several nurses and two doctors are waiting for them. They all converge on Mack at once.

“David?” She calls weakly, losing him in the sea of people. 

“I’m right behind you, baby. It’s okay.” She nods, holding their son tighter. 

“Congratulations! What a night for you!” A doctor in a white coat says, holding a clip board. “Did anyone happen to catch a time when baby came into the world?” The doctor asks. “Not that you were busy at all?” David laughs. 

“11:14pm.” Mack swoons, thinking of how incredible he is. Everything felt so rushed and crazy. How did he even think to get the time of birth? Because he is David- calm, cool and collected in the rawness of any moment. She loves that about her husband.

Once Mack is settled into a room, they finish the final steps of delivery. The team checks her over, deciding she will need a few stitches. No one is surprised. Their son came fast and furious and Mack didn’t even quite know it was happening until he was being put in her arms by her husband on the side of the road.

Mack looks down at their son as they work on her. He has been cleaned and diapered, covered by a hospital blanket advertising back is best and a striped hat on his head. David stands next to her, rubbing her scalp gently as a tension headache throbs against her skull. The room is quiet and calm, much different than the last hour. Their son closes his eyes and puckers his little lips, already content in his new world.

“Does baby have a name?” A nurse next to the computer asks from across the room. David looks at Mack, kissing her as they both smile, thinking of the person they are naming their son after, who they hope he takes after too.

“Nico Carlson.” Mack answers. 

“Welcome Nico!” The room cheers excitedly. Mack starts to weep, thinking of her dad back in Switzerland, going about his day having no idea he has a grandson with his name now.

Later, when the lights are dim and everyone has left them alone, David sits in a chair next to Mack’s bed, looking down at their son in his arms. They’ve both already done skin to skin, now it’s time to rest, but David can’t. His gaze lifts from their son, who will go by Nicky, to Mack who is sleeping lightly in her bed. She glows now, even after her hard night. He can’t believe how lucky he is to have her.

The night replays in his head- the storm, Mack’s constant discomfort, how low she kept complaining the baby felt. David should have known. He should have sent Felix to help Bob so he was there to help his wife through labor. Instead, he barely got to hold her hand through any of it like he promised her. David reaches out for her hand, resting by her hip. He is careful of her IV as he threads their fingers together. Mack’s eye lashes flutter open. 

“Is he okay?” She asks.

“Yes. Are you?”

“Yes.” 

“Then we are all good.” He squeezes her hand.

“You need to get some sleep. You’re going on almost 24 hours being awake.” 

“Nah, I run on minutes.” Mack quietly looks him over, then slides her hips back across the bed.

“Come lay with me.” 

David slides into bed beside her, carefully holding their son in his arms. Mack settles on the other side of David’s chest from their son, looking at his sleeping face. His little lips are split open, with fast breathing pushing in and out of them. 

“How did we live without him before?” Mack murmurs, rubbing her fingers along his swaddled arms.

“I don’t know. Suddenly, he’s all the world revolves around.”

“I can’t stop staring at him. He looks like your twin.”

“Minus those big dimples in his cheeks. Those are mama’s.” Mack chuckles. Yes, but before they were hers, they were his namesake’s. David sighs, pressing his fingers deeper into her back as he kisses her head. “I’m so sorry you had to do so much of yesterday alone. I should have checked for my phone and I didn’t. I let you down.”

“You delivered our baby…” Mack trails off, blinking incredulously. 

“Well, I had to deliver the baby in the truck because we were so late. If I had my phone, or didn’t go to help Bob-"

“We will never know.” Mack says quietly. “And as parents now, we need to let that stuff go. The things we can’t change or the paths we didn’t take, like not being parents. We are here- exactly where we are supposed to be- perfect and healthy.” 

“I knew you were going to be an incredible mama and wife. Thank you, honey, for giving me my entire world.” 

Mack puckers her lips. He leans down to kiss her hard, lovingly, relentlessly. His hand cradles her firmly to his chest, then they both turn back down to stare at their son’s face. 

Nico Carlson has already changed the world.

[widowsofchaos]

could you please do prompt 168 with carol x fem reader? if you’re comfortable writing that of course:)

𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐨𝐭

synopsis: Trying to find peace at your job’s gala, but a familiar haunting shadow finds you once more.

pairing: dark!Carol Danvers x brown!fem!reader

ao3 // modern au // 5k words.

warnings: dubious wlw smut (forced stimulation, vaginal fingering), stockholm syndrome, toxic established relationship, domestic violence, mention of childhood abuse.

a/n: Carol’s outfit reference. title is a reference to the song, Mary by Alex G. requested 168. “Don’t get too close to that one, she’ll singe your fingertips and have you on your knees.” from this dialogue prompt list. dog metaphors, because I must write pain. Channeled my inner amy dunne for Carol. I’m sorry that I’m just finishing this 2 years later, but I hope whoever requested this, I hope you see this! <3

“She became the parent, the lover, the friend you’ve always craved for—- and yet, here you are,”

The truth can sting, just the sharp tip of a knife, flickering at the raw flesh. Poking and prodding till there’s small plots of ichor forming.

“——broken…” Her index finger arched, halting her words, still a vivid memory, “…. but not beyond repair.”

A scoff escapes.

“What is love without hate, I guess.” Unconsciously it spewed from your lips, the vowels felt like acidic vomit. A pregnant silence arose.

That all knowing head tilt, with those observant eyes—- always earned uncomfortable tension within you.

“Love isn’t meant to be confused with hate.”

The cigarette burns slow between your clenched fingers, nursing three fingers deep. Brown liquor swishes against the carved rocks glass, its clear silver grooves twinkles under the gala’s vermilion hues.

Fragments of words compulsively knock against the walls of your brain; as you mull at the gala’s open bar. A scorned woman who just wants peace, and quiet. Lingering stains of hurt that can last a lifetime settles to silence for once in a long time.

Showered an ugly duckling with affections, and built the pillars of security. Growing up in a childhood filled with anxiety and fear of attachments, lingering stains of abuse from the very beings who birthed you into this world.

She cleaned you, bandaged the scars, and assured you that she was the only one who adored you—- persisted that she was the only one who would.

Now, fighting violently in the legal battlefield of divorce, these past weeks have been mentally exhausting —- all whilst handling the burdening responsibilities of your profession.

Your very mind and hands helped craft this sophisticated gallery.

Your boss, Mr. Laufeyson, opened a new exhibit in the National art museum—- Norse history, one of his niche fixations. A man birthed on Norwegian soil, but raised in the monarchal land of England.

An established man who often seeks to explore the rich culture of his ancestors with much sophisticated adoration, and esteem. The Norse exhibit is now the largest section of the institution, with vast collections of rare artifacts protected behind hard stainless glass.

He breathed down your neck for long weeks, you had the task of restoring each piece that had been brought in, nearly breaking your damn back from all the hovering.

A gala bustling with a sea of middle-class folk, and self-proclaimed aristocrats of New York. You sought solace at the open bar, smoking a stogie—- and slipping into the whiskey.

It wasn’t a preferred choice, but it helps give a quick kick to your nerves. Seeking solitude away from pressures to gallant with faux professionalism, and an particular noisy friend, who should be presenting the Norse gods section.

Earlier, she was pestering with a thousand questions flying by the mouth —- if you ever gave thought to rekindling with Carol.

Dissociating into a mindless static, flickering at your clear square nails, as your cigarette burns slowly. At first, the mention of this exhibit with your boss months ago sent you into a frenzy of joy, but now—- it’s a dreadful experience.

All you long for is to start your weekend, to cuddle with your daug—-

“What an incredible scent you have—-”

Oh God, no.

“—- is that Histoires de Parfums, 1969?”

Fuck.

“I haven’t been around that perfume in a long time.”

It’s as if she can smell you a mile away.

A sensual, purring voice whispers near you. A shadowing silhouette eclipses the shimmering ceiling lights from your peripheral vision.

Your lips wrinkle, restraining the foreboding tears of frustration. Tightly nodding, swallowing a sob. Your breathing becomes heavier.

A hum, “It really smells wonderful.” With precision, the shadow sits onto the empty seat beside you.

“Thank you.” A forced smile curls at your mouth.

“With that scent, I’m surprised you’re not being hounded by the men here tonight.” A subtle wordplay, are you looking for anyone tonight?

As if your mind has forgotten all the bad, and reminisces on the good, all the fun, all the beauty that once blossomed.

“It’s not men I'm looking for.” You whisper, snuffing the cigarette into a provided ash-tray. A creamy hand strokes your knuckles, and your skin shivers under your blouse.

A jolt to your groin, and your breath hitches. All she can do is just touch you, and it’s as if you can get on your knees, and forgive her for everything.

“Why?”

You can see that pearly grin, from the corner of your eye, teasing and twisting.

“They’re too easy to hunt?”

You exhale a chuckle, eyes still trained onto the glistening counter.

“They bore me.”

“So—” Her voice lulls as a moan, “—- see anyone worthwhile?” Her fingers curl around your glass, twirling it by the rim. Your lipstick stain faces her direction, and bold as always, she lifts for a sip. Connecting the lip stain to hers, her eyes never leave yours.

It’s not tacky, nor forceful. How she moves is as if it is her nature.

Your eyes gaze over your shoulder, taking a full look. Finally, to drink in the force of nature that is your estranged wife—- Carol.

Her blonde tresses cascade on her shoulders, milky breasts on display. A pristine, black dress, that cuts and splits at the chest hem, polished nails, and clean skin. Her dress halts near her knees.

“Well, I have my eye on a blonde tonight.” You say timidly. Tenderly, your eyes glance fleetingly, a quick trace over Carol’s bodice, nearly losing your composure.

A pregnant pause.

That pretty pink mouth stretches smugly, as if the cat that got the cream. The hooks caught the flesh.

“You like blondes.”

Her tone lingers as an open question, guising the truth.

“Just one in particular.”

Sinking now, the hooks are tugging.

“Really?” Carol leans, her eyes hooded. “Which one?” Pretending to scan her eyes across the ocean of people.

But your eyes remain fixated on her. As if you were a lost puppy, just gazing at its human. Lucidly, influcating between the spaces of yearning, and guilt.

How at ease Carol is, as if nothing was wrong. The charming woman, the woman you thought she was. The woman she wanted you to think she was.

“The one in the black dress.” You say softly, and defeated brown eyes.

Carol’s eyes gaze back at you from the corner of her oculus, downcasting with a mirth, humming a chuckle. “Don’t get too close to that one, she’ll singe your fingertips and have you on your knees.” She shakes her head, an enticing warning.

A dangerous but delicious fruit hanging at your reach. She wants you to take the bait, urging you to—- to get you back in her grasp, and if she does, she won’t let you go.

This game, a cat and mouse play, is all too familiar. Playing as strangers, attracted together by lust, and curiosities—- the type of curiosity to feel the other’s flesh, subtle carnality. Act out, with playful words, pretend to be different people.

It slowly suffocates you, a twang in your chest, a reminder that this isn’t normal.

She isn’t normal.

Carol can be an array of personalities, she can be the doting wife, the whore in bed, the mother—- she can be the bitch with a violent mouth. Different faces for different folk, no one knows her true self, and she’s good at it —- real good.

So, when you tried to seek help from friends, they couldn’t believe it, nor did they want to. You’re not surprised that Carol snuck into the gala—- your co-worker, Maria, who you thought was a true friend —- the matchmaker from hell, let her in, unknowingly allowing the terror onto you.

But, that’s no surprise. Maria has been Carol’s right hand since their days in the Air Force.

None of your friends believe you—- and, it’s hurtful to admit, you’re too scared to speak about all the hurt Carol made you endure over the years.

Barely spoke of the discomfort Carol used against you, and all your shared friends thought you misinterpreted. All saying that Carol is just head-strong, and that you two are perfect together.

Carol feeds the fire with a ‘She’s just going through a tough time.’

Boundaries aren’t respected, everyone trying to push you back together, inviting Carol in social events —- to the point where you didn’t go out anymore, and just drowned in work.

“I like challenges.” Carol softly leans in, her breath fans the bare skin of your shoulder, “All the more fun when I win.” Her voice drops low, to a wispy whisper.

Her body heat engulfs you, and your eyes droop with haziness for a slick second. You can’t—- not again. No matter how intoxicating she can be, how delicious, it’s not worth your peace.

You’re too drunk for this.

“This cat is too tired to entertain.”

“Who said you were the cat?” Carol’s brow arches, halting you in your step. Carol’s infliction hardens, from the corner of your oculus, you can see the clench of her jawline. That pretty mouth morphed into a restrained frown, the same one you see before a punishment.

An offense has been made.

“I didn’t realize the roles were switched.”

The mask slips.

It’s always her way, her rules. Because no matter how clever, how coy the mouse can be, the cat always wins.

“You’re getting brave on me?” Carol asks.

And now the mask has been dropped.

“I think it’s best I leave.” You quickly collect yourself, a bit wobbly from the alcohol. Leaning against the counter to regain your composure, trying to stand upright.

Not this time. You won’t fall for her charm.

Carol sucks her teeth, “You’re seriously going to leave? Aren’t you tired of this childish bullshit?” Crossing her arms against her chest, lips wrinkling into a scowl. Carol talks as if scolding a child.

Your body twists in a haste, “My bullshit?” Your teeth are gritting harshly, hissing. Angry eyes pierce over the hill of your shoulder, fingernails digging into the leather of your purse; if not the leather, her eyes preferrable.

But this is a place of work, no matter how elegant the night is, you will scream if you have to—- just to escape her. You click your tongue, shaking your head in disbelief.

“I mean I’m usually amused by your brattiness,” Carol laughs sarcastically. “But, now it’s gotten too far.” Her fingertips graze your arm, toying with you, soft and playful—— her fingers grasp your arm in a clutch, earning a whine.

Her eyes are hooded, nearly tugging you downwards. A whine bubbles at the pit of your throat, too terrified to even move.

“You have to come back home.” Carol says, a strain to be sweet, but it’s as if a monster tries to be human. “I miss you.” She purrs, but her eyes … are cold, and agitated.

You remain silent, closing your eyes shut, gliding down in your seat. “Carol… have you signed the divorce papers, yet?” Your eyes stay glued to the sticky counter.

Carol chuckles, “You’re going to try to talk business to me, and you can’t even look me in the eye?” Her baby pink polished nails thump against the bar, thump thump thump.

“I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“And neither do I.” She sips her drink, smirking into the cup, “But it seems my wife likes to play games.” So light, so sarcastic, chastising you as if this was a running joke on your end.

“Carol, for fucks sake.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, “You made me go crazy.” You bite on those words, full teeth. Fingers curling into makeshift claws, vowels spilling as acidic vomit.

“Controlled me, like I was your puppet.” Your fingers curl and slither in gesture. “Manipulated me against the world, against our friends.” Your mouth opened again, the words weighing heavy against your mouth, but a hum interrupted.

“Look up at me when you talk.” Carol says, your eyes peer up through your lashes, owlishly. “If you’re going to lie, you might as well make it convincing.” She licks her lips, tasting the remnants of her liquor.

“I —- I—” you can’t find the words to even respond. You stare at her incredulously, she will never admit to it. Even now, she has you questioning your own sanity, if it was even worth fighting against her.

It’s not worth screaming about it. Not anymore.

“I have to go.” Swiftly, you stand up, with a bated breath.

“That’s how you talk to the mother of your child?”

Stiffening, as the hairs that align a cat’s spine, “Don’t you dare!” Your index finger pointing, shouting in a hush. “Stop using Kamala against me—” your voice wavers, throat nearly choking a sob, “You did enough of that in court.” Big brown eyes sheening wet, the last nerve shot.

Trying to maintain a level of calm, eyes fluttering back and forth around, seeing if anyone has witnessed your outburst.

“I don’t even have to do that,” Carol’s open palm gestures to your rigid stance, “she can see perfectly fine how erratic you’ve been.” Carol hisses, making your nose scrunch up.

Kamala adores — idolizes— Carol. So memorized by her strong, willful mother, since she was a waddling baby.

You haven’t dared utter a bad word about Carol in-front of Kamala, fearing to shatter the fragile bubble you curated as a shield for her. You wouldn’t let her witness the court meetings, especially the negotiations of joint custody.

By every fiber of your being, you’ve tried to make this separation as discreet as possible—- but Carol has been a devil, bulldozing those efforts. To make you appear as the bad parent.

You can’t stand her lawyer, Carol hired one who hails from Hell’s Kitchen—- fitting since he’s a thorn upon your rib. Subtlety bringing up your mental health, questioning your abilities as a mother —- no doubt, Carol was chewing his ear off about your past.

All Kamala knows is that her mothers are splitting up, with foreign lawyers, and that she now has to split weekends—- those pained brown eyes, her puffed cheeks, it kills you deeply—- all the guilt weighs on you, it feels as if you’re to blame for all the problems.

“You’ve taken so much from me, Carol.” You lean in, kneeling at her eye level. “My dignity, my peace— shit— even my sanity.” Your body anxiously fidgeting, breath quickening.

“But I will not, let you take my child away from me.” Your fingers dive into your purse, fumbling with irate, snagging the last cash you had—- with the finality of this conversation, slamming the money onto the marble countertop.

You carried Kamala, incubated inside you for nine months, fed her from your breast—- you will not lose her, not over your cold dead body.

“Goodnight, Carol.”

Sharply, you turn on your heel, leaving Carol without turning back. Walking with a gait, faking confidence, but truly at your core, a gnawing sense of uneasiness.

-

The corridor stretches as a miniature maze, the more you descend out of the gala, the less crowded it is. Turning left and right, trying to find the exit.

The ambiance is of grainy gray, the tinted blurred windows are foggy with the night’s shadows.

The echoes of clicking heels are faint, your mind doesn’t register, as your own feet and mind are stuck on auto-pilot.

“There she goes again,” an agitated voice snags your attention, brows furrowing, “always acting like the little victim.”

Not granted the chance to realize, in a flash, just as quick as you turned your head, rough hands grab you by the curve of your shoulders, throttling you against the chilled wall pavement.

Earning a hiss, and a gasp, stinging pain births and stretches along the muscles of your spine. Quickly, your fingers fruitlessly try to claw at Carol’s, but all it does is make her more enraged.

Carol thrashes you once more against the wall, and another for good measure; airy gasps of pain escapes you, tears beading at your lashes. That militant discipline seeps from her pores, it’s not a stranger to you, the rough edges of her touch is a familiar bruise.

“It may have worked with the rest of the world,” Carol barks in your face, nose to nose, “but it’s not going to work with me.”

Sniffling, your chin wobbles, trying to restrain a sob that burns your throat raw.

Carol hums, that tut of a sympathetic mother, “Look at us.” Her thumbs rubbing your shoulders, pressing on the blooming bruises. “I don’t like it when we fight.

Eerily, she influcates from predator to savior, “You always get erratic, and you know it upsets me.” Leaning in, her pink lips press a kiss on a falling tear.

“Where’s my special girl?” Carol whispers. Fear is beating inside of you, buzzing as tv static. Staring at Carol through your hooded lids, terrified, and confused.

Carol purrs, awaiting for an answer.

“I’m here.” Barely a murmur, you speak softly.

Carol thrives off of her aggression. But it’s not the traditional masculinity that some women possess in their personalities. She feels it’s the only gift her father ever gave her.

“It’s very cute that you try to fight me.” Carol mocks, her knuckles stroke your cheek. Carol hums, her eyes tracing over every facial feature.

“Let me see if she missed me.”

A string of no no no slip from you meekly.

One of Carol’s hands graze over your shoulder, twirling her fingers into your hair—- gripping between her fingers tightly. To then cup the nape of your neck, her thumb pressing slightly over your pulse point.

As she has you pinned by the scruff, her other hand flows down your cavlices, to your clothed breast—- she snags the collar to expose skin.

Groping a handful of your tit, she mutters still so soft, traveling down the path of your navel—- with a quick precision, Carol snatches your groin; more like clawing.

A sharp gasp escapes you, and all she does is laugh.

A quick glance at the end of the hallway, praying that nobody turns the corner. Carol snickers. “Afraid someone will catch us?” You exhale a huff, nose flaring.

“I remember you used to be quite adventurous.”

“That’s when I was young and stupid.”

Her eyes narrow, pinching your vagina in her hand even tighter. With her knee, she wedges her thigh between your shaky legs, spreading you more open.

Slithering her hand through the stitched fabric, her knuckles stroking your sensitive skin. Your breathing becomes heavier, and all she does is smirk.

Moving your panties to the side, Carol’s makes herself home to your body. Ashamed to feel yourself grow wet, and Carol moans.

“It seems she missed me.”

All unbridled frustration hits the hilt, you cry in a stretched whine, thrashing in her hold. In need to escape, you wanted to go home, away from her.

All these weeks of trying to flee from her, do the right thing to gain custody, to live a good life, give your daughter stability —- all of it goes down the drain by her simple touch.

Beating on her arms with fists, slapping and trying to knee her in a weak spot. Carol’s eyes darken—- as if she’s bored of the insolence.

Carol pushes her weight onto you, pinning to the wall. And her fingers don’t cease on her assault.

“I hate you.” You choke on a wail, your head tilting up as a child.

“I’ve saved you.” An expert circular motion of her fingertips, sending a jolt to your bundle of nerves.

“Who else can say that?” Carol leans in, her head tilting, as her lips meet your cheek.

Softly, she kisses you, caressing and grazing against the skin of your cheek.

“I took care of you, and you just want to leave?” Carol’s pink tongue slithers between her lips, licking and nibbling. Boldly, her fingers dove between your folds, playing with your wetness.

“You wanted a savior, baby, I’m it.” The bridge of Carol’s nose traces yours, humming at the wet sensation of your tears. “You were nothing before me—-” another finger plunging inside you, “—- and you will be nothing after me.”

“I — I — would rather be alone.” You say with a stammer, lips wet with tears. Mouth curling into a brave scowl, regaining some bravery, “I’ll be fine.”

Carol’s face leans a little back, tilting her head mockingly. “When I say nothing after me, I mean it—-” Carol’s teeth bare as fangs, “you’ll be buried six feet deep, before I let you go.” Her fingers grip the nape of your neck, tugging you in.

“No one can ever have you.” She whispers.

Your eyes are owlish, you don’t doubt her…. her time in the boot camp was extensive, you felt her trained strength many times—- she loves like a knife. Many bruises healed over the years.

Not brutal beatings, but very handsy.

A glimmer of fear suffocates you, your body keels as a leashed dog.

Her fingers slither against your peach fuzz, slipping between your mound, toying with your wetness. Splitting your velvety folds apart, Carol vulgarly strokes you with her fingers sloppily, staining the hem of your panties.

Carol grinds herself onto your thigh, you can feel a wet spot pooling at her silk panties. Your fingers are digging into her forearms. A rough dance of humping and grinding, both reaching for a high.

Your wet walls can’t help but suck her inside, clenching tight. Fiercely plunging in and out—— it’s been some time. Since the last time, you were touched. It’s bordering on painful, a bit tight.

You did entertain another for a while. A woman you met at a bar. Short dark chestnut hair, a soft posh english accent, a bold yet cheeky mouth. She said her name was G’iah, you never met anyone with such a name.

Despite the attraction, the idea of offering yourself physically was too overwhelming. But, the emotional energy was wonderful. It was a breath of fresh air.

You just couldn’t bring yourself to love another.

Skin screaming for touch, yet your heart is trying to fight back. The flesh only reminisces the good, but all the hurtful memories are chained to your mind.

Carol’s mouth ajar, hovering over the meat of your cheek. Your face scrunches, eyes tight, a whine boils at your throat. She breathes a chuckle. She always finds amusement in your misery.

Carol loves to play God—- the Old Testament God. In the carnal sense, and in spite. Worship her, and only need her, obey every command, but commit a sin—- and she shall see to it, that her pettiness will rule over your life.

Her fingers spread, your slick connects to her fingertips, flickering the gossamer thin threads between her expert fingers, diving into you.

Her teeth grazes your cheek, her warm breath cascading against your mouth. Torn between closing your thighs to stop her, or thrust your hips into her hand.

Carol’s tongue slips out, and kitten licks your parted lips. Her pink tongue licks your canines, inhaling your breath. Sweet scent of liquor coats your tongue, Carol suckles into her mouth, moaning at the taste.

A lewd pop comes from Carol pulling back on your tongue, as her fingers curl harsher. Bordering on pain, the pleasure is electric. Pulsing through you, as her thumb toys with your swollen clit.

Her moans are animalistic, you can feel her pussy splitting, a sensation of silk and waxed bare skin. Her clit is grinding fully onto your thigh. It feels so damn good.

A part of you wants her to cum on you. To use you.

Carol’s face tilts away from yours. Her brown eyes swirl with malice, narrowing for a split moment. A smile stretches.

“Kamala would be so hurt to lose her mommy—” Carol’s words earn a mean eye from you, but all she does is laugh humorlessly. “How could you abandon our child?”

Like a stab to your heart, Carol just twists the edge deeper. Her fingers still deep inside you, clenching in need for her to finish— to get you right at the precipice.

“I would never leave Kamala,” you speak with a strain, a rough slice at your throat. “I love her.” Bordering on pleading, your eyes water-sunk.

“Then why do you make her cry?”

“What?”

“Every night she asks why her mom isn’t home,” Carol leans more of her weight on your belly. Her fingers fucking you harshly, hitting that sweet spot so perfectly. Your juices are now soaking down her hand.

“She cries till she falls asleep. She thinks you hate her.”

Torn between rutting your hips into her palm, grinding and fucking her fingers as if it was one of Carol’s toys —- and the need for space, to free yourself from these clutches.

Salty tears fall to your wrinkling lips, shaking from silent tears.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Carol says, her voice smooth and affectionate. Her lips pouted, “We can be together again.” Her shiny blonde hair kisses her lashes, in the grainy city lights, she looks innocent.

“Don’t you want to be a family again?”

She pushes her fingers further, slowly playing with your clit— and then stops, edging you. She can feel your spongy walls nearly spasming. Carol knows how to play the strings of your flesh.

Damn her.

“I do.” Your voice gurgles in a sob.

You know she’s tricking you… and you enjoy it.

In some deep seeded—- an absolutely fucked —- part of you, relishes in it. Because it’s all you know. But, it’s that glimmer of tenderness, the kisses, and honeyed words that pulls you back in.

Back to mutilate yourself on her knife over and over again. And isn't that what love is? Carol would say, time and time again, after the dust settles from her fits of rage.

Wet squelching floods your ears, echoing throughout the empty hallway. Your hand trails to her waist, gripping her dress, roughly grazing the smooth skin of her waist.

Legs entangled, and Carol’s thrusts are getting faster, sloppy. Her moans are getting high-pitched, away from primal and more girlish.

You cling to her, in this moment, you just need to feel anything. And you know she needed it too.

A burst of euphoria, hanging onto each other, as if both would fall apart. Carol felt it, how you spasmed on her fingers. Clenching so tight, trapping her hand for a moment.

Bated breaths dance against each other, hair flying by the breeze of huffing. Yours are gasps of relief.

In a desperate plea, you reach for a kiss, but Carol pulls away.

“I hope you learned something …” Carol hisses, her fingers stroking between your slippery folds, agitating your over-stimulated clit. The meat of your thigh quivers, tailbone pinching as you try to mesh into the wall, far from her.

Carol takes her fingers out, leaving behind an empty feeling—- like a void. Without blinking, Carol unabashedly suckles on her two fingers, tasting you.

“I hope you make the right decision.” Carol whispers against her tips. Pulling her warm weight off of your bodice, a chill sweeps against the tepid sense of your belly.

Carol hums for a moment with a stony face. She tugs on the collar of your dress, the top of your bosom exposed —- it was a stiff gesture.

Without a word, Carol posed her spine, and walked away, a snide side-eye.

Leaving you behind with an ache between your thighs, love bites across your chest, and fresh bruises. Left behind in the chilled hallway, and in wrinkled attire —- as if you were a used whore.

Your head falls, crying into your chest. Your fingers pulling your dress down, your inner thighs tender. Your fingertips touch the wet spot Carol left behind near your knee.

A pause.

It’s wrong, but you crave her taste. Suckling your fingertips into the cave of your mouth.

You can still smell her fragrance lingering—- and yet, you crave it, hoping it clung to your dress.

-

Timid footfalls carry you through the high-end residential hallway. Bated breath, and in wrinkled clothes, you lift and loosely drop your luggage in your grip. Pacing back and forth, trying to salvage any scrap of courage to knock.

Your head is bowing down, chin to chest. A stop in-front of the door. The reasoning motivating your surrender blurs—- is it for Kamala only, or is it also that a loyal dog who always forgives?

A silent white flag has been waived.

A lonely dog always comes back.

Dull steps creep closer, syncing with the beat of your heart. One unlock, and another follows. Defeat seeps from your pores, a bone-rattling warning siren echoing in the rush of your ears.

The door knob slowly twists, as if she’s mocking you. But not a second more, the door creaks open. Green eyes blink back with mirth, and a smile.

No words are needed.

Carol hums, stroking your hair, fingers gliding down the terrain of your neck, guiding you inside by the nape of your neck.

-

Awaiting on the bed is a silk nightie, and skincare, curated by Carol’s choice. Pristine, wrinkled-free silk. Not one flaw in sight.

She knew you would come back. A cocky woman, and yet she’s never wrong. A stir of irate coils in your belly, but it’s snuffed before it can disrupt.

-

In the dark, you tip-toe down the hall. Elated and relieved, it felt like a century crept by, but it was only a week of separation.

Weekends weren’t enough. You needed to see her everyday.

Brown fingers slowly grasp at the knob, twisting open. The white walls are adorned by the flash of a night light that glows small stars glimmering against the ceiling.

A room of action figures, anime, music posters and a wall dedicated to her drawings. That familiar scent that never really went away, that baby smell that clung to her as an infant.

Kneeling into her bed, curling under the blanket. Legs curling underneath you, knees bent, as you caress Kamala’s scalp, furling her hair behind the shell of her ear. Your brown fingers melt into the onyx shine of her tresses.

Her sleepy cheeks puffed, she looks like a sleeping cherub. Silently, tears cascade against the hill of your nose, staining the pillow sheet.

For months, you’ve tried to conjure ideas on how to run away from this life with Kamala, but all your ideas end up in the possible reality of being arrested with charges of kidnapping, and never seeing your daughter again.

The truth of the matter is -— you will crawl skin bare in the deepest parts of hell just for her. Suffering silently in these marital ruins, for the sake of being able to raise your only child, is what you will do.

You don’t know what you want with Carol —- you don’t have anything else to offer as a wife, besides submitting your entire being as a sacrificial offering.

It’s all she ever wanted. Wholesome love is seen as a defect in Carol’s eyes, a trait taught to her by her father. Control over everything is what brings her peace. And being cared for is what brings you solace.

The only person in the world Carol doesn’t unleash her wrath upon, who she adores entirely, is Kamala. Never once has Carol raised her voice, nor her hand at Kamala.

It’s disturbing, to see Carol be so genuine in her affections.

But, you’re ever so grateful. Despite being a masochist, under all the rubble harboring in your cavity— is a little girl suffocating for tenderness. For anything, just for someone to hold her.

Carol is a peculiar creature, and yet she has driven you to the brink of madness over the last stretched months, because she can’t bear to lose you —-- that has to mean something, right?

But as you lay here, wallowing in the dead silence, staring at Kamala slumbering —-a thought came to you; a lingering fear. Paranoia gnawing at you, chewing away bit by bit.

You wouldn’t want Kamala to suffer like this one day.

[divine-misfortune]

Swiss going up behind Rain, shoving his hands under his shirt and groping his cute tits and pinching his nipples.

Little warning for some gillplay at the end btw

Perky was the first word that came to mind when Rain found his way into the kitchen. The first place his brain went upon laying eyes on him.

Still endearingly disheveled from rolling out of bed, wild curls and all. Swiss tipped his head as he caught a glimpse of the sunflower pattern on the boxers sitting far too low on his hips even with the elastic band folded over itself twice. It seemed it was Mountain's bed he'd stumbled out of. Judging from the plum colored splotches on his collar to the vivid imprint of teeth, Swiss could only assume he'd had a very long and exhausting night with the big guy. Summer brought about a lot of those, earth ghoul heats were really no joke during the hotter months. 

But what truly caught his attention was the tight, and not to mention thin tank top stretched over the little swell of Rain's chest. It had made Swiss set down his morning crossword, abandoning it the second something more interesting crossed his path. Those sweet little buds peeking against the fabric seemed to demand his attention, and Swiss wished he could call himself a better man but he was helpless to absolutely oggle over his tits. If anyone asked he'd blame it on Rain's natural draw, his undeniable siren nature, and definitely not his own weakness to every inch of the water ghoul. 

He tapped the tip of his pencil against paper and sat back in his chair, licking over the back of his teeth as he watched a bleary eyed Rain move around the kitchen without ever moving the hair from his face. For a ghoul who couldn’t help but trip over himself at every opportunity, he somehow managed to move with an odd amount of grace in the most unremarkable of situations. Swiss was almost impressed. 

Chair scraping against the tile Swiss got to his feet, using the excuse of returning an empty mug to the sink to simply exist in Rain's proximity. 

He watched from the doorway as Rain leaned against the countertop, seemingly staring through the toaster as he leaned on his elbows with his tail waving lazily behind him. Swiss bit his lip as he ran his eyes over the back of him, the curve of his spine down to the swell of his ass - somehow still impressively plush despite the oversized boxers. He didn't make it as far as the sink, mug abandoned on an empty section of the counter in order to submit to the magnetic pull he felt towards him. It satiated a part of him to slip his arms around his waist.

Rain chirped curiously, startled slightly from his sleepy trance, but settled into him the second he registered the multi ghoul. Swiss kissed the bare skin of his shoulder with a tuneless hum, nose brushing against a particularly dark bruise. 

He wondered just how long Mountain had spent with his mouth mapping out the well defined planes of Rain's body. He wondered if he'd gotten to taste every inch of him - Mountain was always overzealous with his teeth when he was in a rut, that much was obvious from the few dozen bite marks Swiss could see, he knew there were more hidden beneath the fabric. He wondered if Mountain had bitten for pain or pleasure, or even ownership. 

Swiss took his hips in hand, thumbs wriggling underneath the hem of his shirt to rub against cool skin. He could almost imagine the way Mountain's big hands would have practically enveloped his waist, bet Mountain could've felt his own cock every time he bottomed out. Something knotted in his stomach, nearly groaning out loud at the thought alone. 

He wondered...

The sound that choked itself from the water ghoul was uneven and breathy when he unceremoniously shoved both hands up under his tank top. Gills flaring in surprise as Swiss chuckled, hooking his chin over his shoulder to watch the ribbed fabric stretch over the shape of his fingers kneading into his tits. They were small, mosquito bites in comparison to someone like Cumulus. Not enough fat to even fill his palms but he took them like a proper handful anyways. 

"Pretty thing," he chuffed and thumbed over his pert little nipples. Rain tried not to whimper but a light pinch was enough to draw it out, the noise was more than reward for his bad behavior. "Prettiest fucking water lily." 

"Fuck" Rain squirmed, hands floating awkwardly like he might just grab Swiss to stop him but made no real move to. "Fuck, fuck not so hard - !" 

"They sensitive baby?" His voice lilted and Rain shook his head quickly, dark curls brushing over Swiss' cheek. He tugged lightly at the silver bars threaded through his nipples and felt Rain's knees wobble as he moaned high and feminine. Swiss was grinning. "Oh they are...Mountain was a bit too rough on you huh? Big boy always gets a little heavy handed when he's like this, but we all know you're not as fragile as you pretend to be." 

"Swiss-" he breathed, head hitting his shoulder as it fell back. 

"That's okay sweetheart, just tell me to be gentle." Swiss kissed the hinge of his jaw, still idly fiddling with his piercings. Sighing too close to his gills to have Rain thinking clearly. 

"Please..." his swallow was audible, gulping down his pride. "Please be gentle with me."

“There we go, good boy” he cooed and rucked his tanktop up over his chest. Exposing him to the cool air and anyone who might just happen to waltz into the kitchen, exposing Mountain's handiwork. 

The little pink buds were awfully puffy, the outline of the earth ghoul's maw encircling either one. Swiss traced the divots in his skin and tsked, opting to slowly roll both nipples between his thumb and forefinger as he kissed a line up the side of his neck. 

“Look at them, look how cute they are.” 

Rain's breath hitched, a faint and whispered string of pleas tumbling past his lips when the multi ghoul grazed his gills. 

“See ‘em?” 

“Mhm…” 

“So little in my hands.” 

“Not little…” 

“Oh they're nice and little, perfect.” A little kiss to the delicate membrane on his neck, tongue darting out to tease them open. He was surprised Rain didn't go boneless right there. “Your tits are perfect darling, just like the rest of you.” 

“Fuck - put your tongue in it.” Rain reached back to rest his hand on the back of Swiss’ neck. Less than subtle encouragement. 

Swiss laughed and drew him perfectly flush to his front, molded himself against his back as he latched onto the sensitive slits. He kissed them just as deeply, just as sloppily as he would if he were kissing Rain properly. Warm saliva and a warmer tongue pushed into his gills, likely a white hot sensation if Rain's moan was anything to go off of. 

Another, less harsh tug at his nipples and Rain was really keening, ass pushing back against where Swiss was starting to chub up.  He pulled off of his gills, panting and admiring the sheen of spit left on his neck. 

“Seven hells…You look wrecked already.” 

“Feels good,” Rain’s words were starting to slur. Whether that be from exhaustion or that sweet fuzzy feeling starting to settle into place. 

“Course it does, I always make you feel good.” He nosed into his scent gland, groaning as the smell of moss and salt water flooded over him. He never wanted to leave the comfortable place he found in Rain, his body felt like home. “Satanas below, you're the closest thing to divine to ever waltz its way out of the pits.” 

Rain whined, nearly groaned in embarrassment, flush creeping to the tips of his ears. He always got so shy when Swiss rolled out this particularly cavity inducing brand of praise. 

“Can’t help it…Just love my pretty boy and his pretty tits.”

[valtsv]

sorry if you’ve read this before and i just haven’t seen you post about it, but the book “hell followed with us” by andrew joseph white seems right up your alley

i need some kind of faq with a section where i explain that i consider andrew joseph white to be a poor writer except when it comes to describing excesses of body horror and gore because people keep suggesting hell followed with us to me and i'm sorry but his books are not good. aside from the vivid descriptions mentioned above they're incredibly devoid of compelling narratives, fleshed out characters or immersive worldbuilding. the guy can come up with some amazing concepts for a story, but his ability to execute them is consistently disappointing. i'm glad he's making money and having fun pursuing his creative passions but his stuff just does not appeal to me at all and frankly makes a hater out of me.

[fitz-higgins]

LGBT literature of the 1860s–1910s. Part 5

After a long pause, the list is back! Here we have a couple of plays, accounts by two trans women, lesbian poetry, and more.

1. Despised and Rejected, by A.T. Fitzroy (Rose Allatini; 1918). A pacifist novel published during World War One? With gay and lesbian characters? Yes, that was sure to get people in trouble. Its publisher was fined and the judge called it “morally unhealthy and most pernicious”. So, Dennis is a young composer who hates violence and therefore refuses to go to war. He also suffers because he is a “musical man”, that is, gay, and loves Alan, art-loving son of a wealthy businessman. His friend Antoinette, meanwhile, is “strangely attracted” to a woman. Nevertheless, the two attempt to love each other. When the war begins, Alan appears in Dennis’ life again, and they try to avoid being sent to the front together. Alan also persuades Dennis to accept who he is. Edward Carpenter himself defended the novel, saying that “the book is also a plea for toleration of a very much misunderstood section of humanity”. Read online

2. Autobiography of an Androgyne, by Ralph Werther (1918). Ralph Werther, also known as Jennie June, wrote this autobiography for doctors, and it is very revealing. Being a New York fairy (male prostitute) and possibly a trans woman, they tell frankly about the city’s gay underworld of the early 20th century and their personal experience, which is sometimes too frank and dark perhaps, but all the more interesting. Read online 

3. Poems by Mikhail Kuzmin. Kuzmin was not just the author of Russia’s first gay novel, but also a poet. Many of his works were dedicated to or mentioned his lovers. I’d recommend Where Will I Find Words (in English and Russian), Night Was Done (both in English and Russian), from the 1906-1907 collection Love of This Summer (available fully in Russian), mostly based on his love affair with Pavel Maslov in 1906. And also If They Say (in English and Russian), which is a great statement.

4. The Loom of Youth, by Alec Waugh (1917). A semi-biographical novel based on Evelyn Waugh’s older brother’s experience at Sherborne School in Dorset. It is a story of Gordon Caruthers’ school years, from the age of 13 to 19, and it is full of different stories typical for public schools, be it pranks and cheating exams or dorm life and sports. Although the homosexual subject was quite understated, the author implied that it was a tradition and open secret in public schools. The book became popular and soon caused a great scandal. Worth noting that before that Alec was expelled for flirting with a boy.  Read online 

5. Two Speak Together, by Amy Lowell (1919). Lowell was a famous American poet and lesbian. Many of her poems were dedicated to her lover, actress Ada Dwyer Russell, specifically the section Two Speak Together from Pictures of the Floating World. These poems are infused with flower imagery, which wasn’t uncommon for lesbian poetry of the time. Read online

6. De berg van licht/The Mountain of Light, by Louis Couperus (1905-1906). Couperus is called the Dutch Oscar Wilde for a reason: this is one of the first decadent novels in Dutch literature. It is also a historical one, telling about a young androgynous Syrian priest Heliogabalus who then becomes a Roman Emperor. Homoerotism, hedonism, aestheticism: Couperus creates a very vivid world of Ancient Rome. He also covered the topic of androgyny in his novel Noodlot, which was mentioned in Part 3 of this list. Read online in Dutch 

7. Frühlings Erwachen/Spring Awakening/The Awakening of Spring, by Frank Wedekind (1891, first performed in 1906). This play criticized the sexually oppressive culture prevalent in Europe at the time through a collection of monologues and short scenes about several troubled teens. Each one of them struggles with their puberty, which often leads to a tragic end. Like in The Loom of Youth, homosexuality is not the central focus of the play, but one character, Hänschen, is homosexual and explores his sexuality through Shakespear and paintings. The play was later turned into a famous musical. Read online in German or in English

8. Twixt Earth and Stars, by Radclyffe Hall (1906). Though it wasn’t known to many at the time, these poems were dedicated to women, some to Hall’s actual lovers. Read online

9. The Secret Confessions of a Parisian: The Countess, 1850-1871, by Arthur Berloget (published in 1895). This account is similar to the Autobiography of an Androgyne, albeit shorter. The author nowadays is thought to be a trans woman. They describe their love for women’s dresses, the euphoria from wearing dresses, makeup and wigs, the life as a “female impersonator” in Parisian cafe-concerts, and their love affair with a fellow prisoner. The autobiography is not available online, but you can read it in Queer Lives: Men’s Autobiographies from Nineteenth-Century France by William Peniston and Nancy Erber.

10. At Saint Judas’s, by Henry Blake Fuller (1896). This is possibly the first American play about homosexuality. It is very short. An excited groom is waiting for his wedding ceremony in the company of his gloomy best man. They are former lovers, and this short scene is not going to end well… Read online

Previous part is here