#only a few chapters left I promise

[peachym00]

Chapter 11 is here👀

🔥79k🔥 ❗️Explicit❗️Graphic Depictions of Violence ❗️✨ Slow Burn ✨ Mafia Pete ✨ Angst with a Happy Ending ✨

When he and his grandmother owe the minor family a debt, Pete finds himself pushed deeper into the mafia world than ever before. Working for Vegas sounds like Pete’s idea of Hell. But when feelings develop and lives are on the line, will the Devil finally admit he’s met his match?

⬇️❗️TW Description of death❗️⬇️

Pete was out of breath when he finally realised where his father was. He’d ridden as far as he could before dumping his bike, hoping to go unnoticed. He hated him, yet the twisted bond of father and son loyalty was a burden he carried on his shoulders permanently. It forced Pete to follow him into whatever dire predicament he found himself in.

He just…couldn’t help it.

It looked like he was in the middle of some shady drug deal when he approached a side alley and found his father there with three shifty-looking guys who appeared far from friendly. It wasn’t unusual for Pete to see him in such situations. He was so used to it that he carried spare cash hidden on his person, with the sole purpose of bailing his father out when he owed someone a debt.

There was something about this particular encounter that felt different in a way that Pete didn’t like. He did not recognise the men surrounding him, which, though not unheard of, caused alarm bells to ring in his mind this time. The clothes they were wearing suggested they were not locals. Clean and put together, slick back hair, shiny chains and gold teeth didn’t belong in the back alley of a rundown village. These were not the sort that his father predictably did business with.

Hidden in the shadows, something in his gut told him that he should stay put. That he shouldn’t run in to save the day like he usually would. His feet were stuck, refusing to walk forward no matter how hard he tried to move.

He wished he were closer as he watched the men pin his father to the wall, speaking close to his face in hushed tones, saying words that Pete couldn’t hear. It was amazing they had gotten to that point without his father making a scene. The trouble he was in must be significantly worse than usual. And yet, still, Pete could not bring himself to move even when one of them pulled out a knife—a switchblade that was not unlike the one currently in his pocket.

His hand moved, feeling the shape of it in his jeans, his body freezing even though he knew he should help. That was his father, his useless, piece of shit father, about to be killed, and the only thought going through his mind was that he wished he had the guts to do it himself.

But alas, he was frozen. Stiff in the darkness as he watched his father be brutally stabbed. Over and over and over and over. And even when the men left, he still didn’t want to move. The body of his father, lying there crumpled on the filthy floor, dead. He didn’t know how long it took him to shuffle out of his hiding place, but he made his feet walk toward the body. A morbid curiosity made him need to look. The need to witness the light absent from his eyes, the still pulse, the unmoving chest.

The sight was harrowing, but he could only feel relief.

After calmly walking back to his motorcycle and driving back to the casino, he got off his bike and threw up.

Someone rushed over to him, but he couldn’t tell you who.

His memory is blank after that.

Link to chapter one ➡️ here ⬅️

Link to all chapters ➡️ here ⬅️

[whentommymetalfie]

A wonderful day, another chapter posted to Handprint on the wall, one of my current favorite Tommy/Alfie fics that I can't recommend enough. If you haven't read it already, read it now, and if you have, read it again! ❤️

Edit: apparently Tumblr ate the link, but here it is

[violentlydefending]

i love getting into things when they're about to end it's perfect. least amount of waiting for new stuff until completion but also getting to join in on the excitement of finales as they come it's great

[thatonecrookedsmile]

So, I've recently been reading Fade To Black for the first time, and I'm making more and more progress. And at the moment I'm currently am, I have already read chapter 21 of this book.

I just wanted to put on record here that I became a different person after reading this chapter. I have been changed. I was saddened. And most importantly, I was destroyed. (ok, that's a pretty heavy word. I didn't cry, but feelings were definitely felt). This book goes hard, I believe.

Oh and also, since I got past chapter 23:

Joey Drew. I'm Gonna Kick Your Ass. Sleep with your eyes open tonight.

That's all. Have a good day everyone.

[whytheylosttheirminds]

Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 6 (part one)

(Rafe Cameron x Reader series, 5.3k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

series content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

⇢ series masterlist

additional chapter cw! this chapter contains brief mentions of blood and minor injuries

It was like no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t stop hurting you.

You were only under for a second, maybe less, your lifejacket doing its job, and yet somehow he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d let you drown. 

There wasn’t much logic to it. It wasn’t as though he had emptied the jet ski of all its gas, or that he somehow had control over the weather. 

Technically, none of this was his fault, yet he felt the guilt burn in his chest like he’d swallowed hot coals.

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The second your head emerged, you let out a scream, the salt water in your fresh cut sending hot sparks of pain up your leg.

“Fuck, ow!” You cried, reaching for the jet ski with shaky hands, in so much pain you couldn’t even find it.

“Ohhh baby, are you okay?” Rafe grabbed your hand, squeezing tight as he pulled you towards him in the water, his other arm tethering you both to the jet ski.

“I think I’m bleeding,” you clung to his shoulder, your fingers digging in probably too tight, but the pain was so overwhelming you needed to put it somewhere. He didn’t mind, desperate to take it away however he could.

“Here climb up,” he said, grabbing your waist and boosting you. “The water can’t be helping.”

“Shit,” you both said in unison when you finally got onto the jet ski and revealed the cut on your calf, wider than you thought and bleeding angrily.

“Just hold on, I got you,” he assured, beginning to kick rapidly to start moving the jet ski toward the shore. 

You were scared the whole time, never once taking your eyes off of him. Asking him over and over again if he was okay until you were sure he was sick of it. But not once was there even a hint of agitation in his voice as he promised you he was fine, that you were almost there, that everything was gonna be okay.

His words didn’t do much to convince you, your face flooding with worry when you noticed his breaths getting more strained.

“I’m okay,” he swore to you, stopping for a moment to catch his breath. “We’re almost there.”

It was starting to rain and the thunder was growing louder, there was no argument to be made that you could keep floating safely in the ocean. You resigned to let him keep going, but your eyes never left him, as if it was your appreciation keeping him afloat instead of his lifejacket.

“Thank you,” you said for the fifteenth time.

He smiled, his eyes crinkling with the motion, the expression entirely too joyful for the grim situation you found yourselves in.

“What?” You scoffed, poking his hand with your toe playfully.

“You’re cute when you’re worried,” he explained.

The drizzling rain was chilly, but your body was on fire. You opened your mouth to reply, despite the utter lack of words in your mind, but the sight of your sister appearing in the distance pulled your attention away.

The group that gathered at the dock’s edge was not the happy-go-lucky bunch of friends you’d arrived with a few hours ago.

The dock was only a few yards away now, you were close enough to see Carter slumped on the ground, Topper’s arms around her, pulling her into a comforting hug. As Rafe swam you closer, it became more apparent that she was crying. 

“There she is!” Tom shouted, motioning to you.

Carter stood quickly, nearly knocking Topper over, waving her arms in the air frantically like she was trying to land a plane. You waved back, heart aching at the sight of her red, puffy eyes. 

“We’re okay!” You yelled through the rain, trying to ease her worry as the jet ski approached. 

You looked down at Rafe who could hear the commotion but not see it.

“We’re almost there, they’re all waiting for us,” you filled him in.

As the front of the jet ski neared the group, Topper leaned over the side of the dock to pull you the rest of the way in. 

“Ohmygod, ohmygod, where have you been, are you crazy?!” Carter paced the dock, a wild look in her eyes as she scolded you.

“I’m fine!” You assured her. “We just ran out of gas.”

“We?” She questioned, hands on her hips.

Once Topper had secured the jet ski to the dock, Rafe swam around to the side, revealing himself to the group.

“What the hell? Where’s Kelce?” Carter questioned.

You knew she must really be upset. When she went into worried-mom-mode, her already limited inclination for politeness went completely out the window.

“Can someone help him up please?” You corrected her. “And get him a blanket or something?”

“I’ve got a couple in my trunk!” Topper said, before running to the marina parking lot.

“I’m fine,” Rafe calmed you with a soft smile as he lifted himself onto the back of the jet ski.

Before he could climb onto the dock, fully planning to help you up next, Tom reached out his hand to you.

“Are you okay?” Tom asked. You could feel Rafe’s posture stiffen next to you.

“I’m fine, thank you.” You accepted his hand, only due to the fact that you actually did need help with the big step off the jet ski.

The moment your feet were steady on the dock, you pulled your hand from his and turned back to make sure Rafe made it onto solid ground. When he did, you made your way to Carter’s side, pulling her into a hug.

“I thought something happened…” she mumbled into your shoulder.

“I’m okay,” you soothed her. “Rafe saved me.”

She pulled back from you, sniffling as she eyed him over your shoulder.

“Thank you,” she told him quietly.

“I didn’t do a great job,” he said shakily, looking down at your leg. “You’re still bleeding.”

“You’re bleeding?!” Carter turned you around, inspecting you for injury.

You laughed as she spun you frantically, “it’s just a little cut on my leg.”

She leaned down to inspect it further, eyebrows knit with concern. “I told Topper we should’ve called 911.”

You placed both hands on her shoulders, “Car, I’m fine. It’s just a scrape, it’ll be gone by tomorrow. I’m sorry we scared you, though.”

“You did,” she pouted.

Topper came running back, huffing from his hurry. 

“I could only find one,” he extended the blanket in his hands to Rafe, who obviously needed it more.

Rafe took the blanket from him and opened it up quickly, but instead of dragging it over his own shoulders, he wrapped it around you.

“You should take it,” you tried to stop him.

“Nah,” he waved you off, running his hands up and down your arms to warm you up. “We need to get you dry before Carter calls the Coast Guard.”

For a full ten seconds, your group stood in the rain, everyone’s eyes on someone else, the tension in the air telling an entire story to some invisible audience.

Carter looked at you, concern wrinkling her forehead as she wondered what really happened after she went to bed last night. 

Topper looked at Carter, wondering if her investment in your love life meant she’d forgotten all about the intimate hug they’d shared on the dock waiting for you to return.

Tom looked at Rafe, wondering if it was this joker’s fault you’d rejected him the night before and feeling the hot flame of competition ignite in his chest.

Sabrina looked at Tom, wondering when boys had started looking at you like that and how to get him to look at her instead.

Rafe looked down at you, and you looked up at him, both wondering if the other was thinking the same thing: there’s so much more to say.

“Ahem,” the jet ski owner cleared his throat, pulling you all from your thoughts. “Need the keys back if you don’t mind.”

Carter handed him the first two keys, and Rafe fumbled in his pocket for yours.

“You should really be checking the gas tank before you just send people out there,” Rafe snapped at him, tossing him the key. “You sent her out with an empty tank, she could’ve been seriously screwed, man. No way to run a business.”

“Maybe you should teach your girl how to drive so she doesn’t drain the tank,” the guy snapped back. “Not my fault she’s a ditz.”

Rafe stepped toward him in one long stride, chest puffed out and tension brewing in his flexed jaw that ran all the way down his neck.

“The fuck did you just say?” Rafe grabbed him by his collar, pulling the guy up towards him as he glared at him. 

You looked helplessly to Topper, who hurried to pull Rafe’s hand off the guy’s shirt. Topper was an expert at intervening before Rafe did things he couldn’t undo, and you were grateful he was here. Still, there was a small part of you that selfishly wanted to know what he’d do next, how far he’d go to defend your honor.

“Okay, okay,” Topper said. “Let’s just go, bro. It’s over.”

Rafe fought against Topper’s pull for a moment, staring daggers at the jet ski guy, who was chuckling smugly. When the guy’s eyes darted to you, he pulled his arm from Topper’s grip and made to move towards him again.

“Rafe,” you said softly.

His head turned to you, and the tension in his shoulders loosened. You shook your head ever so slightly, eyes urging him to back down. He nodded once and his hands, which had been balled into fists, flexed open as he let his anger go.

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As soon as you made it back to the house, you peeled your wet bathing suit off and climbed in the shower, eager to get your weary body into the warm water and let the sea wash down the drain. Carter had announced plans on the car ride back from the marina to go out to some clubs this evening, and you were far from dance floor ready.

For just a moment, the hot water felt incredible, until it made its way to your cut. You yelped and stepped out of the hot stream quickly. 

Typically, you would’ve thought responsibly enough to cover the cut before getting in the shower, but your mind was too foggy with thoughts of Rafe. You pulled on some clothes and padded down the hall to Carter’s room.

The knock on the door sparked a flurry of commotion behind it. Hushed voices echoed from under the door frame.

“Just a second!” Carter shouted to you, voice muffled.

“Oof!” A deeper voice said, the sound of a heavy body hitting the floor.

Your lips twisted in a knowing smile. You didn’t need the door to swing open to know who you were hearing in the room. Carter and Topper were clearly tangled up in something before you interrupted.

Confirming your suspicion, the door swung open and Topper stood in front of you, his shirt on backwards from being pulled on in a hurry.

“Do I have the wrong room?” You smirked.

“I was just, uh, helping Carter with something,” he fumbled to explain.

“Oh? What were you helping her with?” 

“Her bed is, uh, broken.” 

You laughed, standing on your tiptoes to call over his shoulder and into the room, “just wanted to see if you have any Band-Aids?” 

“No,” she responded from somewhere under the mess of blankets on her bed. “But I can come help you find some.”

“Oh no,” you said. “You stay here and work on that…broken bed.”

Topper gave you a thankful smile and you winked at him.

“Make good choices!” You called, turning from the door.

“Too late!” Carter sang back.

You checked a few of the other bathrooms before wandering to the kitchen. One hand on the counter, and the other reaching as high as it could, you tried to boost yourself up. The flex of your calf as you jumped stretched the skin around your cut, making you wince. 

“Fuck,” you grumbled to yourself. “Let’s get jet skis they said, it’ll be fun they said…”

You tried to jump again, reaching for the high cabinet, the only one in the kitchen you hadn’t checked yet. You could’ve sworn you’d seen a first aid kit around here somewhere. You jumped again, the effort still fruitless.

“Need some help?”

You turned fast, startled by the revelation that you weren’t actually alone.

Rafe was standing at the bottom of the stairs, leaning on the banister with his arms crossed. His hair was damp, clearly just out of the shower himself. You weren’t looking at his hair, though.

He was covered only by a pair of checkered boxers and the towel flung carelessly over his shoulder. His torso was long and rigid, more defined than you had first noticed on the beach the other day. The hard ridges of his abs cast shadows on the plane of his stomach, your eyes danced over them, down to the deep V that disappeared below his waistband.

“What are you looking for?” His words were casual, as if he didn’t notice you staring, but the crooked grin etched on his face told a different story.

“Band-Aids,” you told him, your voice so feeble it did nothing but further reveal your captivation with the sight of him.

The smirk and all its playfulness fell from his face as his eyes filled with concern. 

“Are you still bleeding?” 

“No, I just need to cover it so I can shower. I’m thinking I should probably get the seaweed out of my hair if we’re going out.”

“Y’know if you don’t want to go, we don’t have to. I’d stay back with you,” he offered.

Your eyes fell from his, shuffling your feet uncomfortably, he stumbled over his words to reassure you, “we don’t have to, like, hang out. Just if you’re tired and you’d rather stay in and read or something that’s cool. I would stay down here.”

“You don’t want to hang out with me?” You raised your eyebrows in mock offense.

You were messing with him now, you probably shouldn’t be, but watching him run circles around himself to say the right thing was too fun.

“That’s not what I- I just,” he stuttered. “Here, can you just let me help you?”

He was across the room quick, your bodies close enough to touch for the first time since the dock. He smelled like soap, and something else undefinable and sweetly nostalgic. He reached up, his long frame barely needing to stretch to reach the cabinet above you.

“Doesn’t look like there’s any in here,” he informed you, tall enough to see what you couldn’t. 

“You sure?” You didn’t know why you were questioning him, your flustered state made you defensive.

“You’re welcome to keep jumping to try and see for yourself,” he stepped back to give you space to try again. “You were so close.”

“Don’t be mean,” you smiled.

“I’m serious! It was very cute,” he dropped casually.

Your eyes narrowed as you looked back at him. Despite all his genuine actions today, you couldn’t help but feel suspicious of his intentions.

”What?” He questioned, sensing your hesitancy. 

“That’s the second time you’ve called me that today,” you pointed out, “It’s just kinda weird hearing you say it.”

“I mean it’s not like I’ve never called you cute before,” he reasoned.

“You haven’t,” you said definitively.

“I’m sure-“

“You haven’t. I would remember, believe me.”

You crossed your arms, hands cradling your elbows, feeling like a raw nerve. Rafe took a cautious step toward you, ducking his head slightly to draw your eyes to his, making sure you were listening when he said,

“Just because I didn’t say it doesn’t mean I didn’t think it.”

You instinctually stepped back, his words a little too close to a confession for your comfort. When you pulled away, the back of your leg hit the kitchen counter, making you flinch at the pain of your cut rubbing against the wood.

“I have some waterproof band aids in my room,” he mumbled, his low voice making you wonder for just a second if he really did have them or if this was just a sly way to get you to his room. Sensing your doubt, he doubled down with, “no, honest, I brought a whole first aid kit.”

Convinced, you followed him down the stairs to his basement bedroom. His bed was still pulled away from the wall, but it had seemingly dried. His belongings were strewn about, his book bag unzipped and overflowing with books and papers. You clocked the curious sight, but stayed silent, preoccupied by your sudden aloneness and his half-naked body.

Rafe dug through his suitcase for a moment until, sure enough, he pulled out a bright orange case with a little red cross on the front. You couldn’t help your smile.

“In your boy scout era?” You teased him.

“I’ve been on enough trips with Topper and Kelce to know you should always be prepared for the worst,” he chuckled.

“Ah, little did you know, I was gonna be the worst you needed to prepare for.”

“You? No, you’re the best part of this trip.”

Your throat tightened.

“Oh, really? It’s not your dungeon bedroom?” You pivoted.

“Yeah, I should probably get used to that mildew smell,” Rafe scoffed. “Gonna be living in my parents basement if I don’t pass this summer class.”

He motioned to his backpack, the mystery finally solved. He’d been doing school work down here. Summer classes, surely the answer to his not-graduating problem.

“What are you taking?” You inquired.

“Statistics. I need one more math credit and I just can’t…” he shook his head with self-loathing. “I mean, you know better than anyone. I’ve never been good at math.”

“I don’t think your problem was so much that you weren’t good,” you reasoned. “I think it was more about not applying yourself.”

“Well I’m applying myself now and I still feel like the textbook’s written in another language, so what does that mean?”

“Maybe that you just need some help,” you shrugged.

You could tell he was struggling with himself, and you were overcome with the desire to ease his worry. There are worse things a man can be than bad at math. But with Rafe, things were always all-or-nothing. One flaw meant the whole batch must be bad. 

You felt the urge to jump into tutor-mode and do the hard work for him, but you knew once you crossed that bridge into such familiar territory, there’d be no going back.

Rafe didn’t seem to share your concerns about repeating the past.

“Help from you?”

The way he leaned in when he said it would be almost imperceptible to anyone else, but you’d studied him long enough to notice even the slightest movement. You could feel the air between you tighten, like a rubber band stretching as far as it could go. You broke eye contact before it had the chance to snap.

“Or, like a tutor?” You suggested, reaching for the first aid kit in his hands. “Do they have those at Chapel Hill?”

“They do,” he stepped closer anyway, hand brushing yours as he handed it to you. “But I’d rather have you.”

You cleared your throat, ignoring his attempt to flirt. You decided not to go down this road with him, afraid it would lead to another dead end. 

He watched you dig through the kit for an appropriately sized Band-Aid, fighting the urge to ask if he’d said something wrong. Before he could, you leaned down and attempted to line up the adhesive with your cut, struggling to twist and reach the back of your leg.

“Here, let me.”

Fingers brushing yours, he took the Band-Aid and kneeled down in front of you, one leg under him, one propped up. His hand found your ankle and he guided your leg up so your foot rested on his knee. 

Clouds of foggy attraction swirled in your eyes as you looked down at him. He poked his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he focused on unwrapping the Band-Aid. You zeroed in on his fingers, long and slender, leading to vein rippled hands that worked diligently to ease your pain. It was enough to knock someone over, but you weren’t going anywhere with his strong thigh holding you up. 

“Since when are you such a gentleman?” You quipped, your decision not to flirt with him thrown out the window at the sight of him on his knees in front of you.

He smiled that satisfied, crooked grin as he gently placed the Band-Aid over your healing cut, “I’m trying.”

He brushed over the edge of the Band-Aid, smoothing it into place with a firm swipe of his thumb. You dreaded the moment he would stand again. As if he could read your mind, he delayed it, his hand lingering on your calf. 

Completely breathless, you watched him consider his next move. For a moment, you thought he was going to let his hand continue to run up your leg, but he stopped himself, bringing it back to your ankle and returning your foot to the ground.

When he stood and looked down at you, he was surprised by the pout of your lips.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shrugged. “You just looked so cute down there.”

Rafe rolled his eyes playfully.

“Thought you didn’t like that word.”

“I don’t remember saying that,” you countered.

“You just don’t like it when I call you cute, then?” 

There it was again, evidence of his genuine desire to understand you. The rubber band tightened again, but this time, it was in your stomach, his sincerity drawing you to him helplessly.

“There’s just so many better things you could call me,” you flirted.

“Yeah?” Excitement coursed through you at his breathy tone. “Like what?”

“My name would be a good start.”

Voice still low, so deep you could feel it more than hear it, he uttered your name. It rolled off his tongue, smooth like honey dripping from his parted lips. The syllables came out with the faintest breath, brushing over your face as the sound swept over you.

Lip tucked between your teeth, you looked at his mouth, as though you could will more soothing sounds to fall from it. As you stared, his lips got closer to you, close enough to touch yours-

“Yo Rafe!”

The sound of Topper’s voice from the top of the stairs startled you so much, you knocked into his bedside table.

“What?” Rafe barked in the direction of Topper’s voice, his harsh, irritated tone in such stark contrast with the sweet way he’d just spoken to you.

“Just letting you know we’re leaving in like an hour,” Topper said.

“Okay?” Rafe snipped.

Topper grumbled something along the lines of “so fucking testy today” as he closed the door, none the wiser to your presence in the basement.

Rafe turned to you, eyes searching your face for a sign he could recover the moment that was so abruptly interrupted. You didn’t meet his eyes. A nervous, pink blush kissed the tips of your cheeks and washed down your chest. The thought of Topper seeing what you were almost doing brought you crashing back to reality. Twice today you had almost let him kiss you, the steel backbone you’d come into this trip with feeling more like glass with every second you spent with him.

“I should probably go start getting ready then,” you said, making your way toward the stairs.

“Right, yeah,” he agreed, defeated.

“Thanks for the Band-Aid.”

“Anytime,” he said. “Anything.”

He stood at the bottom of the stairs as you climbed them. When you reached the door, you opened it just a crack, peeking out of it with paranoid eyes, making sure no one saw you sneak out of his room.

Regret hit him like a tidal wave. He couldn’t even be mad that you were so desperate not to be seen in close quarters with him, because it was exactly the look he’d have on his face when he used to climb out of your car in the school parking lot.

This must be how you felt. He wished for a time machine so he could knock out his teenage self the way he almost knocked out the guy on the dock today. Anyone who made you feel as shitty as he did right now deserved it.

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Finally able to take a painless shower, you took your time under the hot stream of water. Carter sat on the bathroom floor, knees drawn to her chest as you recapped the crazy day.

“I literally thought you might be dead,” she explained.

“How long were we even gone? Half an hour?” You laughed lovingly at her dramatics.

“Are you serious?” 

“What, was it more?” You thought over the time you’d spent with Rafe on the water, in your mind it had flown by fast. Too fast. 

“We got back to the dock a full two hours before you showed up on your Rafe-drawn carriage,” she informed you.

You laughed heartily at the image, your cheeks tinting pink, though you told yourself the flush was just from the hot water.

“What did you guys do out there for two hours anyway?” She asked, not a fan of how silent you’d gone at the mention of Rafe’s name. 

“We just talked,” you said. 

It wasn’t a lie, but it felt like an incomplete truth.

“About?” She pried.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, “just, like, life and stuff.”

She snorted skeptically.

“What?”

“I just can’t picture Rafe Cameron having any kind of deep thoughts about life is all,” she explained.

“Well, he’s different now, I guess,” you said feebly.

“Is he though?”

That silenced you. She had a fair point, you had only been talking to Rafe again for a few days, and most of that time was spent with him asking questions about you. You didn’t know him at all really, at least not as well as you used to, not enough to make judgment calls on his character.

Yet there was this instinct that had never really gone away. An invisible tether that connected you to him in a way you’d never experienced with anyone else. He was your sixth sense, you just knew him. You always had.

“I’m gonna go grab my makeup bag,” Carter exited the bathroom, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

A few moments later, she reentered the room. You felt the words deep in your chest, and even though you knew she may not like them, you needed to let them out.

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Rafe meandered upstairs, looking for Topper’s room so he could borrow a shirt. He hadn’t really packed any going out outfits, picturing himself planted on the beach the whole week. The day he packed felt like a lifetime ago, he had no idea the rollercoaster this trip would turn into. 

Down the hall, the bathroom door was open a crack, steam pouring from it as someone showered. Surely, whoever was in there didn’t intend to leave it open. He made his way towards the door to close it, but stopped short when he heard your familiar voice coming from the shower. He knew he should close the door and walk away, but your words glued him in place.

“I have to be honest with you,” you said. “I know I should hate him, but I don’t. I don’t think I’ll ever hate him.”

Rafe’s heart raced, an optimistic smile spreading across his face. He prayed that he was the ‘him’ you were referring to.

“The sad thing is, if he asked me to, I’d still give him anything he wanted,” you chuckled, surprised by your own words. “If he wanted me, I think I’d be with him.”

He’d never do it, but he seriously considered barging right into your shower and telling you “I want you, you have no idea how badly I want you.” 

But the fantasy was cut short.

“I think I’d hate myself the whole time, though,” you confessed quietly.

At that, he actually did close the door, heart sinking, wishing he could dissolve into the floor.

His whole life, people found it hard to love him. They may not say it to his face, but he picked up on more than people thought. He exhausted his family, his irresponsibility and impulsivity were a pain to them since he was a kid. He disappointed his father, he knew he wasn’t the heir to the Cameron throne Ward had hoped for. And he’d fumbled you completely, the best friend he ever had. 

Since then, everything he did was out of self-protection. He ghosted girls at school before they got the chance to reject him, he didn’t reply to texts from friends for fear of being ignored first. He picked fights and pushed people away, running from rejection like a monster in the dark.

But this week, for just a moment, he thought maybe he could finally stop running. He thought maybe he’d finally found something that was worth the risk. He had never felt so safe, so seen, as he did today when you were talking to him. 

Then your words shook him from his delusions. He could handle his family’s disappointment and his friends’ exasperation. But your resentment? Knowing that being with him made you hate yourself? He just could not afford it. He wouldn’t survive it.

Closing the bathroom door had a finality to it, the click of the handle a sign of a decision made. He would stop pursuing you. He’d get through this trip, graduate school, and finally move on. If not for his sake, for yours. He was bad for you. You knew it, Carter knew it, he knew it. For your sake and his, he decided to let you go.

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The Ubers arrived around nine. The boys were showered, dressed, and ready by 8:30, chilling on the couch watching baseball and drinking their pregame beers. Topper kept an eye on his phone, watching the little cars get closer to the house.

“Ride’s almost here and they’re really not ready,” Topper sighed.

“Did you really expect anything else?” Kelce threw back another beer.

“Wanna take it easy tonight, man?” Rafe recommended, no one needed a reminder of the damage Hurricane Kelce had caused the last time he was shitfaced.

“No, actually, I don’t,” Kelce laughed.

Rafe reached across the couch, Topper ducking out of the way of his swift arm as he snatched the beer from Kelce’s hand.

“I’m getting you some water,” Rafe said. “I’m not babysitting your drunk ass all night.”

Rafe stood over the kitchen sink, filling a glass for Kelce. The water rose over the cup’s edge and overflowed onto his hands, but he didn’t even notice. He was lost in thought, thinking about your cry after falling off the jet ski, your lip pulled between your teeth when he almost kissed you, your words in the shower…

“Thirsty?” He heard you say behind him. 

He turned to look at you, nearly dropping the glass.

Rafe was resolved. He couldn’t risk the sting of your rejection, and he couldn’t afford the price of your resentment. There would be no more chasing you, no moves made, no plays attempted. It was settled, he was done.

Then he saw you in that fucking dress. 

(Chapter 6: part two)

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a/n: oops another two part chapter cause the word count got away from me againnnn :) will try my best to post pt 2 this weekend!

and if I wrote a bonus blurb about what happened in Carter’s bedroom what then? A smutty little Carrot Top side quest? How would we feel about that?

please note, the taglist for this series is currently closed. For updates, follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs 💕

[marcyvamp1re-blog]

Pt.3 SILLLY LITTLE BAT.

pairings ⸺ Yandere! Platonic! Batfamily x Anti-hero! Fem!reader.

sinopsis ⸺ There are only memories, fragments of a past that, like shadows, will haunt you until your last breath, whispers of what was and will never be. Gotham cries out for a guardian, a soul to face the darkness, to challenge fate in its shadowy alleys.

But tell me, who will rise to protect you, traveler of scars and broken dreams? Who will watch over your light when the world swallows your hopes?

In the eternal night, amidst the echo of fear and longing, there is only one path: to confront the monsters and become the hero this city needs, even if the price is the forgetting of oneself.

warnings ⸺ Dark Themes, Dead, Religion, murdering,Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Discrimination, Street Fights, Gaslight, Violence, Blood, LGBT Content, Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Implicit Sexual Content, Mental Illness, Addiction, Torture, Corruption, Isolation, Trauma, Phobias, Paranoia, Manipulation.

Chapter guide! Pt.1 Pt2. Pt.4

A/N — English is not my first language—Spanish is— Here is the continuation of the other parts. There will be a few more parts but you should know that we will soon reach the end, but there are still things to clarify and so on. I don't know if you would like me to do another Batfam yandere series in the future or similar. Send me your ideas if you want :3

They are upset because I left

Where they never included me.

The car moved slowly under the gray sky of Gotham, as if the universe itself understood the weight of the pain you carried in your small figure. Commissioner Gordon, with his firm hands on the wheel, cast furtive glances at the rearview mirror, where he saw you curled up in the back seat. Wrapped in an old blanket, the same one you had hugged for days, your face was hidden among the folds, but the silent tears that fell could not be disguised. There were no words that Gordon could offer to heal the recent wound of losing your mother, but his empathy, though silent, was there, wrapping around you like the coat that couldn't quite warm you.

In your lap, a small Batman doll rested, pressed against your chest, as if that fabric toy could protect you from the world that had just destroyed your innocence. Your eyes, still swollen and red, looked out the window without seeing, watching the city that seemed so distant, so foreign.

"You will be loved and cherished," Gordon whispered, breaking the silence that had weighed like fog in the car. "Bruce Wayne... he will take care of you, I promise."

But you didn't respond immediately. The name Wayne felt strange, distant, as if he spoke of someone living in a story, not in your reality. You looked up, your eyes meeting Gordon’s for a second in the rearview mirror.

"And if they don't want me...?" you murmured, insecurity clouding your childish voice. "I don't know them, Commissioner... and they don't know me. What if they leave me in an orphanage? Mama always told me those places aren't nice."

Gordon swallowed hard, understanding the depth of your fear. "You were just a child, but you had already learned that love was not a guarantee." The world had taught you that cruel lesson too soon.

"The Waynes..." he began, searching for the right words, "are good people. You might not understand it at first, but I assure you they have suffered too. Bruce..." he paused, recalling the losses that man had faced. "He understands what it is to lose someone. He will do everything he can to make you feel safe, to help you find a home again."

But you kept looking at the doll in your hands, your fingers squeezing it tightly, as if it were the only stable thing in a world crumbling around you.

The silence grew heavy, uncomfortable, as if the words wanted to come out but didn’t know how. Again, Gordon spoke, his voice low, almost afraid to break the stillness.

"And/y/n... what was your mom like?" he asked softly, not taking his eyes off the road, as if by doing so, he could give you space to be honest, to not feel pressured.

You fell silent for a long moment, your small fingers nervously playing with the edges of the blanket. The world outside the car seemed a reflection of what you felt inside: cloudy, cold, distant.

Finally, you exhaled, as if gathering the courage to speak. Your voice came out shaky at first, filled with a mix of sadness and a hard-to-accept truth.

"My mom..." you murmured, not taking your eyes off the window. "She wasn't a good person, but... she wasn't a villain either."

Gordon nodded slowly, without interrupting you. He knew things were rarely black or white, that life had that cruel ability to mix the two.

"She... told me she grew up in an orphanage. She never had anything that was really hers." You paused, your eyes glassy as you recalled details that now seemed more painful than ever. "Well, except for me."

"Gordon felt a knot form in his throat." He knew that loss was a terrible burden to bear, but there was something more in your words, something suggesting that, amidst it all, there had also been love. An imperfect love, but real.

"She always dreamed of having a little house..." you continued, and for the first time, a faint smile appeared on your face, though it was tinged with melancholy. "A house with a garden, lots of Barbie dolls, and a little dog. She didn't need more. She just wanted something that was hers."

You stopped for a moment, as if the simple act of recalling those dreams your mother had hurt you. You knew she would never have them. That the world had been cruel to her, denying her even the small things she wished for so fervently.

"But... she never got it. We were always moving around, fleeing, searching for something better. And now... she doesn’t even have that."

The car seemed to shrink, the air denser. Gordon felt a wave of compassion for that woman who, though perhaps not perfect, had dreamed of something so simple, so human, and yet had not achieved it.

"I'm so sorry, Y/n," he murmured.

"Commissioner, what if... what if I can't forget her?" you asked, almost in a whisper. "What if I can't stop thinking about Mom?"

The silence in the car became heavy, almost tangible. Gordon wanted to tell you that you didn't have to forget, that it was natural to carry that pain. But the words didn't come, and instead, only a long sigh escaped his lips.

"It's not about forgetting, Y/n," he finally said, his voice low but firm. "It's about moving forward, even though it hurts. Your mother would want you to find happiness again, even though it may not seem possible now. And I’m sure Bruce will do everything in his power to help you."

The car turned onto the long, dark road leading to Wayne Manor. The trees formed a tunnel of shadows, as if the road were wrapped in the same mourning you carried within. The mansion, with its imposing grandeur, appeared in the distance, its walls as high as the secrets it held. "You were so small in the face of the immensity of this new life that awaited you."

"We're almost there," Gordon said softly, as he slowed down. "The wind outside whispered through the trees, like an echo of everything you had lost."

You didn’t know it at that moment, but that house would be full of stories, some broken, others in the process of healing. And although you felt like a stranger in a strange land now, Gordon hoped that, one day, that place would become your refuge.

The car stopped in front of the enormous gates. Gordon looked at you one last time before getting out. In his eyes, you could see a mix of sadness and hope, an empathy that went beyond words.

"You are not alone, Y/n," he said, his voice now firmer. "You will never be alone again."

You remained silent, gazing at the mansion as you clung to the blanket and the Batman doll. The weight of the world still rested on your small shoulders, but for the first time, there might have been a glimmer of relief in knowing that someone, even if he was a strange and distant man, was waiting for you inside."

And in that moment, although you still felt the burning pain of your loss, a ray of hope began to break through the shadows of your heart.

Y/n was sitting in the BatCafé, that corner of the city where the tables wobbled and conversations were woven into murmurs, as if the place knew how to keep secrets that even you wouldn’t dare to share aloud. The walls, a mossy green, were filled with stories that no one had asked for. She looked at her lukewarm latte as one looks at a future that hasn’t quite arrived, a liquid mockery evaporating before it could warm her hands. It had barely been a month since she left her family home, but she already felt that independence was more of a myth than a fulfilled dream. At first, the heroism of having thrown herself into the world had filled her with pride, but now reality lurked like a treacherous chill seeping through the cracks, and the fact that she was waiting for her potential roommate didn’t help matters.

“Well, at least the rent will be cheaper,” she told herself, or rather to the coffee, as if the dark liquid could reply with something sensible.

Sharing an apartment was, for Y/n, the only way out. Her salary barely covered survival, but only if she fed on fresh air and broken dreams. And there she was, waiting for someone named Pamela Isley, who, according to the ad, didn’t even seem to be from this planet. "I hope she’s not one of those people with invisible cats," she thought. Of course, the alternatives weren’t very promising: people who collected Batman figurines or guys who made friends with cockroaches in the kitchen. She had seen it all; after all, her apartment was in one of the most dangerous areas of Gotham, and she knew it all too well.

You were born in that area. One could say the neighborhood chose you before you had a chance to choose it. You didn’t remember exactly which apartment; in that hive of broken windows and half-painted bricks, all the floors seemed like a blurry copy of the previous one, each with the same square footage and an air of silent resignation. In the end, it didn’t matter, because in a way, everything was the same. Dust in the corners, worn tiles, cracks in the walls that seemed to form a map of some invisible and secret city, a place that only you could decipher if you stopped to observe long enough.

It was an unpretentious place, where people rarely smiled, but neither did they let themselves be trampled. There was something in the air, a kind of poorly disguised pride, as if every neighbor, every stray dog, knew that surviving there wasn’t a matter of luck but of will. Heroes didn’t exist in that corner of the world, but villains didn’t dare impose their law without facing some gaze that, without saying anything, said it all. It was rough terrain, where kindness camouflaged behind growls and complaints, and malice grew tired before it could fully settle.

And yet, you loved it. It was absurd, but you loved it with that devotion reserved for things you don’t choose, for roots that sink into your chest without asking for permission. The place was filled with memories you didn’t ask for, stories you never wanted to hear but that seeped into your skin. Tales of people who vanished in alleyways, of broken promises around the corner, of loves that drowned in factory smoke. And yet, those same tales were like echoes that held you, reminding you that you were born there, in that half-hell where life was always a fight but never a complete defeat.

The clock in the BatCafé struck six ten when the door opened. What happened next was hard to explain, like when you dream and you don’t know if it’s the pillow or the universe holding you. Pamela Isley walked in, and it was as if the wind, that autumn wind that brings memories, had gently pushed her in. Y/n looked up, and the first thing she noticed was her hair, a red that was out of this world, more fire than pigment, more nature than dye. The roots tangled as if they were living branches, and for a moment, Y/n wondered if the sun had made a mistake and was shining only on her.

Pamela walked as if she had a pact with the earth. Her steps were slow but firm, as if her feet waited for the ground to respond before settling. She wore a jacket that was impossible to describe without sounding crazy: green vines and small buds peeking out, as if at any moment the plants would grow over her. "Where does this woman come from?" Y/n thought, feeling something beyond mere curiosity. There was something she couldn’t deny, an attraction that felt unsettling, like those waves that, without warning, sweep you away when you think you can still touch the bottom.

Pamela approached the table with a calculated calm, a calm only nature or time can sculpt. And then she smiled. In that smile, Y/n felt something familiar yet strange, as if she were facing a younger version of her mother, but instead of being terrifying, it was comforting. What was happening?

“Y/n L/n?” Pamela said, her voice reminiscent of the whisper of dry leaves underfoot.

“Yes, that’s me,” Y/n answered, trying to make her voice sound normal, even though everything inside her felt out of place.

Pamela sat down across from her, crossing her legs with an almost feline elegance. The BatCafé seemed to conspire around them; the air smelled of wet earth and freshly brewed coffee, a strange mix, like the combination of what was about to be born and what had already died.

“I didn’t expect you to be…” Y/n began, not knowing exactly how to finish the sentence. She wasn’t even sure what she was expecting.

“Strange?” Pamela completed, with a playful smile that left Y/n with a sense of defeat and fascination in equal parts.

“Something like that,” Y/n replied, looking at Pamela’s hands. Her long, slender fingers were covered in small green spots, as if she had just planted a forest with her own hands. There was something almost magical about her, as if every part of her being was connected to the earth in a way that Y/n couldn’t quite understand. And there, amid that confusion, was the fine thread of attraction.

Pamela let her gaze fall on her own latte, turning it between her hands as if it were about to reveal some hidden secret in the foam.

“So, what do you do? I mean… aside from, you know… looking like you walked out of a Tim Burton movie,” Y/n said, attempting a bit of humor to ease the tension she felt in her stomach.

Pamela glanced at her and laughed softly, a laugh that felt like an unexpected breeze on a hot day.

“I’m… a caretaker. Of plants.” She paused, gauging Y/n’s reaction. “And other things.”

“Other things?” Y/n asked, intrigued but also amused by the way Pamela toyed with the mystery.

“Yes, like people who don’t know how to water a plant without drowning it,” she replied, arching an eyebrow mischievously.

The response made Y/n laugh, a laugh she hadn’t expected, as if Pamela had found a way to touch something deep within her, something that hadn’t bloomed in a long time. And without being able to help it, she felt drawn, not just by the way Pamela moved, spoke, or even by the air of mystery surrounding her, but because there was something more, something familiar, something that reminded her of her mother, but without the shadows of authority and judgment. It was like a wild, free version of what had once been security.

“So… are you going to save my cactus or criticize it?” Y/n said, trying to sound casual while feeling that her heart had started playing a game of chess with her emotions.

Pamela smiled again, and this time it was a different smile, one that seemed to carry a promise.

“It depends. Would you let me stay to try?” Pamela said, with a playful seriousness that left Y/n unsure whether the question was about the cactus or something much larger.

Y/n blinked, trying to process the phrase, but deep down she knew that any answer would sound awkward. Pamela’s question hung in the air between them like a leaf falling slowly, right at the perfect point where it was neither entirely a joke nor completely serious. And there she was, caught in that space, wondering whether she should laugh or just blush.

“Well… you can try,” she finally said, trying to hide the warmth creeping up her face. “But I can’t promise the cactus will survive. I’m something like… a serial plant killer... When I was younger, I had time to care for them as they deserved, with help from… from my father. But now work consumes me a lot, and the truth is I’ve neglected them too much… they must feel the same way I felt when… sorry, I talk too much about myself, don’t I?”

Pamela raised an eyebrow, with a smile that seemed to say more than either of them dared to voice at that moment.

“Oh, no, keep talking about yourself; I’m used to it. I have very… eccentric friends, to be honest.” She leaned a bit closer, as if about to share a secret. “Though I prefer not to work under threats, so don’t look at me like I’m going to be your next plant murder victim. But I doubt a little scared bat can kill even a fly.”

Y/n laughed nervously, surprised at how easy Pamela made everything. She, who had always been clumsy with conversations and glances, felt like the words flowed with Pamela in a way she didn’t quite understand but didn’t want to question either.

“...Little Bat?” Y/n asked, with a clumsy and blushing smile as her fingers nervously toyed with the edge of her cup.

Pamela let out a low giggle, that laugh that always seemed to carry the sound of dry leaves being trampled in autumn. With a gentle gesture, she pointed to her clothes.

“Is it that obvious?” she said with a half-smile, raising a playful eyebrow as she leaned a little forward.

She wore a dark fur coat, enormous, with a wide fall that, under the dim light of the BatCafé, seemed to have the precise shape of bat wings extending. The high, well-fitted black boots completed the image of a figure that seemed to have emerged from the very shadows. And for a moment, Y/n didn’t know whether to laugh or get lost in that air of mystery that Pamela seemed to wear like a second coat.

“Well…” Y/n diverted her gaze with a shy smile, “it’s not like you’re hiding it much.”

Pamela smiled with that touch of mischief that characterized her.

“Does it bother you? I’m sorry, it’s just… I’ve been fascinated by bats since I was little.” she asked, her voice low and slow, as if measuring every word, as if the world were a delicate plant that required to be touched with the tips of her fingers.

Y/n let out a small nervous laugh, feeling the heat rising to her cheeks again.

“No, not at all. I think it’s…” she hesitated for a second, searching for the right word, unsure how to avoid the obvious, “I think it suits you well.”

Pamela watched her for a moment, and then, with that look that always seemed to go beyond what words said, added:

“You’re turning red, you know?”

Y/n’s eyes widened a bit more, surprised by Pamela’s directness, but all she could do was laugh at herself.

“Well, it’s just that, I’m not really used to… this.”

“This?” Pamela repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Sharing coffee with someone or bats?”

“Both,” Y/n admitted, shrugging, which provoked another smile from Pamela. “I always wanted one as a pet… but I have a vegan little brother who’s very… spooky… so I’ve always been afraid he’d steal it from me or accuse me of having exotic pets.”

Pamela settled into the chair, not taking her eyes off Y/n.

“But you’ll get used to it,” she paused, letting her words float calmly.

Y/n felt a shiver run down her spine, a mix of nerves and a spark of something she couldn’t quite define. Pamela’s dark coat and relaxed smile were a disconcerting yet strangely familiar contrast, as if they had always been there, waiting for her. And suddenly, all she could do was wonder how soon that would happen… getting used to it.

“Although I can’t promise my apartment isn’t… a battlefield,” Y/n said, trying to sound confident, but noticing the slight tremor in her voice.

Pamela looked at her intently for a moment, with that mix of flirtation and something deeper, something that seemed impossible to decipher completely. Then she relaxed in the chair, as if the game had just begun.

“A battlefield, huh?” she said, playing with the spoon of her coffee. “Well, I like challenges. And chaotic places have their own charm if you know where to look.” Pamela let the phrase slide smoothly, like someone throwing a stone into a lake and waiting for the ripples.

Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that every word Pamela spoke carried a double meaning, but far from making her feel uncomfortable, it sparked something akin to contained laughter, as if they were sharing a private joke that she was just beginning to access.

“Don’t you have plants at home?” Pamela suddenly asked, as if the question had sprung from the foam of her coffee.

“Well, there are a couple of cacti… and a fern that I think hates me,” Y/n replied. “But I always forget to water them. Or I overwater them. Seriously, it’s like plants come to me already doomed.”

Pamela smiled, one of those slow smiles that seem to grow little by little, like a sprout deciding when the perfect moment to emerge into the light is.

“It’s not just about water, Y/n,” she said, with that voice that seemed to carry the calm of the wind and the weight of centuries of nature. “Plants need attention. Patience. Sometimes they just want to know you’re there, even if you don’t say anything.” She paused, letting Y/n’s gaze get lost in her eyes. “Sometimes, like people.”

Y/n felt a little shiver. It wasn’t what Pamela was saying, but how she was saying it. There was something in her voice that disarmed her, as if every word had been calculated to penetrate a defense that Y/n hadn’t even realized she had up. And then, almost without thinking, she let slip a truth she rarely shared.

“I’m not very good with people.” The confession came out of her mouth before she could stop it. She said it without drama, almost as if she were talking about the weather. But something in Pamela changed, barely perceptible, like a leaf moving without the wind touching it.

“Really?” Pamela asked softly, but without an ounce of pity. Just curiosity.

Y/n looked down for a moment, fiddling with the edge of her cup, before daring to continue.

“I grew up in a huge house, but… empty. My father… well, he was busy with his things. Business, parties, the usual. Shrugging it off, wanting to downplay it, even though inside she knew it wasn’t something that could easily fade away. Alfred, the butler, raised me. And yes, he was amazing. But it was always just him and no one else. It’s not the same as having… friends.”

Pamela listened in silence, but not in that awkward way where people listen just to see how you respond afterward. No, there was something in her attention that enveloped Y/n, as if she were giving her space to bare herself without fear of being judged.

“You never had friends,” Pamela asserted more than asked.

Y/n shook her head.

“Until now,” Pamela said, with that same softness that seemed to have become her trademark, and something in Y/n’s chest stirred, as if she had just heard the most important thing in the world.

There was a moment of silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a silence that somehow connected them. And then Pamela broke the spell, with a mischievous smile that lit everything up again.

“So… are you going to let me be your first friend, or would you rather keep killing plants?”

Y/n couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips, a sincere and liberating laugh, as if something inside her had broken an invisible chain. After all, it was clear that Pamela wasn’t just another person passing through her life. There was something different about her, something that made the air feel lighter, that made the future seem less uncertain.

“Well, if you can survive the cactus…” Y/n said, leaving the sentence unfinished, but knowing Pamela would understand.

And then, for the first time in a long time, Y/n felt that everything might be okay. That maybe, just maybe, Pamela Isley wasn’t just a roommate, but the first person in a long time with whom she could imagine a less lonely future. She was already caught in that web, and the worst, or perhaps the best part, was that she didn’t care at all.

Bruce Wayne was sitting in the mansion's garden on a gray afternoon that seemed to drag memories along like the wind drags fallen leaves. In his hands, a cup of black coffee, still steaming, its strong and bitter aroma mingling with the scent of damp earth after the rain. In front of him, on a small wrought-iron table, rested a piece of dark chocolate cake topped with melting strawberry ice cream, forming a pink puddle around it. But he found no pleasure in the view. It was more of a bitter symbol of a routine he once believed unbreakable.

In the garden, where the wilted flowers swayed gently, a little girl flitted about with contagious energy, as if the chill of the afternoon did not exist for her. Her laughter, so innocent and pure, filled the air, breaking the sepulchral silence that seemed to reign in that old home for a moment. She wore a pink dress with small white dots, an 80s style that would have been charming in another time but now seemed out of place with the scene. Her patent leather shoes shone as she ran back and forth, chasing her dolls.

In her small hands, she held action figures, one of the Batman her father portrayed and another of the Joker, his eternal rival. The girl, no older than six, organized her battles with adorable seriousness. In a high-pitched, mischievous voice, she brought the characters to life, staging an epic duel between hero and villain.

“You won’t defeat me this time, Batman!” she exclaimed, raising the Joker figure with a malevolent laugh.

“I will stop you! I always do...” she replied with her other hand, giving voice to Batman, but with a childlike touch that contrasted with the darkness of the character.

Bruce watched the scene with a mix of tenderness and pain. He knew she wasn’t really there, that this vision was nothing more than a distant echo of what never was. Y/n, his little Y/n, had vanished months ago. And he… he had never given her the love she deserved, always wrapped in his own shadows, in his endless struggle to protect a city that never rested.

The air felt thick, heavy with nostalgia and regret. The girl continued to play, laughing, talking to her dolls, oblivious to the weight of the years, to the loss. And Bruce, although he knew it was an illusion, couldn’t look away; he couldn’t stop imagining what it would have been like to give her what he never knew how to offer. What it would have been like to see her grow, to laugh more, to run through those gardens with the carefree spirit only childhood allows.

Suddenly, the sound of soft footsteps interrupted the daydream. Alfred appeared at the garden entrance, always elegant, always with that air of discretion and understanding that only he possessed. He approached slowly, placing a hand on Bruce’s shoulder as if he understood the pain that kept him trapped in that scene.

“Mr. Wayne” he said in a low voice, filled with compassion, “it’s time to come back.”

Bruce closed his eyes for a moment, letting Alfred’s words seep into his consciousness. He knew what they meant. He knew that girl, in her 80s dress and her dolls, was nothing but an idealized memory, a distorted reflection of what never was. Because Y/n wasn’t like that. She didn’t like those old dresses; she had always preferred the fashion of the 2000s, with its vibrant colors and comfortable clothes. And she never enjoyed the chocolate cake now sitting in front of him. She liked carrot cake, simple and sweet, but he had never paid attention to those details when he still could.

How did he know those little details about his daughter? Bruce often wondered. It wasn’t because he had learned them by being close, because proximity had been a luxury he never allowed himself. No, those small fragments of her life he had discovered in the album that Alfred kept with an almost reverential discretion. That album was more than just an object; it was a silent refuge where Alfred had archived what the big house, always filled with shadows and echoes of footsteps that never came, had refused to hold.

The day the children learned of the album’s existence marked the beginning of a chaos he still remembered with a mix of exasperation and a contained smile. They had decided, like little conspirators, that treasure belonged to them. A kind of all-out battle had ensued in the mansion, something that over time acquired the quality of family legends.

Bruce, standing in the study, could still see the sparkle in Damian’s eyes, the intensity, the almost playful fury with which he had taken that assault as a personal mission. Damian, with his perpetual impatience, had been the fiercest of all. He vividly remembered how his youngest son had burst into the room wielding two katanas, with the cold precision of a millennia-old warrior, even though his hands were still too small to fully grasp the handles.

“It’s mine!” Damian shouted, with that mix of stubbornness and vulnerability that only the youngest possess, as if he could cut not only the air but the very uncomfortable silence that always floated between them.

“It belongs to all of us, Damian” Bruce had tried to intervene, with that authoritative voice that, curiously, never managed to control his own children as he did with the chaos of the city.

But Damian wasn’t listening. For him, the album was not just an object; it was a relic, a bridge to something he felt but couldn’t name. His sister Y/n, so distant in daily life, was closer in those pages than in any superficial conversation they had ever had. She was his sister, but not enough. He wanted those photos, those notes that Alfred had kept, he wanted to understand what it was about her that slipped away from him daily.

Bruce watched from the threshold, not really intervening. He let the chaos unfold, as if it were necessary. The children fought, but it wasn’t just for the album. They fought for something deeper, a kind of silent reclamation of what they had never been able to have: time, connection, perhaps even love. Alfred, from a corner, merely smiled with that quiet wisdom, knowing that those battles of childish katanas, of shouts and disputes over photos and notes, were actually the way they tried to find each other in a house full of absences.

Bruce sighed, remembering. Alfred had always known more than he did, always understood those invisible things that Bruce, no matter how much he wanted to, could never quite grasp. And so it was that he himself, at the end of it all, also ended up snooping in that album, with a silent curiosity he would never admit. There, in those carefully tended pages, he found his daughter. Or at least, he found the idea of her, the pieces of a life he hadn’t shared but that, somehow, had always been present in those photos, in those little notes that Alfred, more of a father than he was, had kept with such love.

“She won’t come back, Alfred... I lost her... maybe forever... ” Bruce murmured, his voice barely audible, as if admitting it aloud would make her absence more real—“and I… I was never there for her as I should have been.”

The old butler sighed, his tired eyes filled with infinite patience.

“It’s never too late to remember, sir. It’s never too late to honor her memory in the right way.”

Bruce opened his eyes, looking again at the scene, but this time more clearly. The girl had disappeared.

The wind blew gently through the Wayne mansion's garden, carrying away the murmur of the dry leaves. Bruce remained motionless, as if the weight of the years, of the mistakes, had turned him into another statue in that landscape. The aroma of coffee had dissipated, and the cake before him remained untouched. Y/n’s figure still floated in his mind, her laughter like a distant echo that wouldn’t fade but also wouldn’t console him.

Alfred, with the patience only a father at heart could have, stood by his side, his firm hand on Bruce’s shoulder, as if in that gesture he could transmit strength to face the pain that gnawed at him.

“Mr. Wayne” Alfred began, his voice soft but laden with meaning, “the kids have gone looking for Y/n again.”

Bruce closed his eyes, allowing those words to sink into his consciousness. He knew all the Robins and Batgirls had been following leads, searching for answers in the darkest corners of Gotham, but the emptiness he felt remained overwhelming. They had failed so many times… what did another attempt matter? The city, always hungry for its heroes, seemed more a trap than a cause.

“It doesn’t matter anymore, Alfred” Bruce replied, his voice rough, worn down by years of struggle. “None of this will change what happened. Y/n… is gone.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Alfred interjected, this time with a firmer tone, “Y/n is still out there. And as long as there’s a single chance to find her, you cannot allow yourself to give up.”

Silence stretched between them. Bruce’s gaze remained fixed on some point in the garden, lost in thought. But Alfred, with his usual insight, knew he needed more than empty words to awaken him.

“There’s something else,” Alfred added, taking a breath, “a new figure appeared last night during a robbery in the East District. They call her Kerosene. The White Bat. She was seen taking out a group of assailants in seconds.”

Bruce didn’t react. Kerosene. The city had always generated figures willing to fill the void he had left every time he stepped away, every time Gotham lost the light of its vigilante. But this time, he didn’t feel the urgency to learn more. What did it matter? He repeated to himself. Gotham already had its heroes.

“I don’t care” he murmured, his voice empty, as cold as the air surrounding the garden—“Let others deal with Gotham. Kerosene, the Joker, or whoever… the city doesn’t need me anymore.”

Alfred tightened his grip on Bruce’s shoulder, almost like a father refusing to see his son give up. He stepped forward, and this time his voice was lower but more incisive.

“This isn’t about Gotham, sir,” he said with an intensity Bruce hadn’t expected—“It’s about Y/n.”

Bruce lifted his gaze, his eyes finally meeting Alfred’s, as if those words had ignited a spark within him.

“If you don’t want to protect this city, do it for her ” Alfred continued—“Because you will find her, sir. I’m sure of it. And when you do… how would you want her to find you? Destroyed? Defeated? No. You need to be ready, you need to be strong, for her. Wherever she is, Y/n is still waiting for her father.”

Bruce felt the pain in his chest intensify, a constant reminder of his failure, but Alfred was right. Y/n was somewhere out there. Alive or not, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that as long as he didn’t find her, he couldn’t give up.

“The kids have done everything they can to find her,” Alfred said, softening his tone—“They’re still at it. Every day they search for new leads, explore new corners of Gotham… but there’s only one man who can put everything in order. There’s only one father who can bring her back.”

The air tensed between them, and for the first time in a long time, Bruce felt a slight tremor inside. He remembered the moment he decided to become Batman, driven by the guilt and pain of losing his parents. Now, that same guilt, that same pain, called to him again, but this time, it wasn’t for Gotham. It was for Y/n. His daughter.

“Tell me, Alfred, who is this Kerosene?” Bruce murmured, finally reacting to the information Alfred had given him.

“Yes, sir. Her abilities are astonishing, according to reports. Agile, fast… but her true identity remains a mystery. Some say she’s just another vigilante trying to fill the void you left. But the important thing is that she is acting with lethal precision.”

Bruce stood slowly, leaving the cup of coffee on the table, already cold and forgotten. He looked at the empty garden, but this time, with a new determination blooming in his chest.

“If this Kerosene is connected… if there’s any link to Y/n, I will find out,” he said, his voice firmer, closer to the one Alfred had known for so many years—“And if not… then I’ll find her myself.”

Alfred nodded, a mix of relief and satisfaction reflected on his face. He had managed to awaken the man Gotham needed, but more than that, he had awakened the father Y/n deserved.

“ Very well, sir,he replied with a slight smile, always the unwavering servant—“The Batcave is ready for your return.”

Bruce turned toward the mansion, but not before glancing once more at the garden, where Y/n’s figure, so real in his mind, faded like morning mist.

Wherever you are, I will find you.

Richard “Dick” Grayson knocked forcefully on the old apartment door, the echo resonating in the narrow hallway of the building, where dust gathered in the corners like forgotten memories and the lights flickered as if trying to perform one last dance before going out. Beside him, Barbara Gordon, the commissioner's daughter, crossed her arms, staring at the door with an intensity that could have splintered the wood.

Jason Todd, restless to his left, kept his gaze fixed on the doorknob, his body tense, as if each passing second brought him one step closer to breaking through that wooden barrier. Above, on the roof, Red Robin, The Spoiler, and Batgirl waited, shadows in a world that seemed to ignore their pounding hearts, ready to act.

“I don’t know why we always have to deal with the worst specimens of humanity,” Barbara murmured, adjusting her coat as she shot a sidelong glance at Dick, who seemed to have a plan in mind.

“Because we’re lucky,” Jason replied, sarcasm lacing his words, a crooked smile on his lips that didn’t quite fit the situation. “And when I say ‘lucky,’ I mean we’re carrying someone else's karma because we… are screwed.”

Dick knocked on the door again, this time with more force. The echo reverberated through the hallways, a declaration of intent.

“We should break it down. You know it’s not going to open just from a gentle knock,” Jason said, stepping forward, his intention clear and palpable.

“Calm down, Jason. Not all problems are solved with violence,” Barbara retorted, though a part of her knew that idea faded every time they found themselves in a situation like this.

“Sure, as if we have another option. Do you want me to schedule a tea date instead of kicking down the door?” Jason frowned, the tension palpable.

Finally, a sound came from behind the door. Chains, the metallic echo of locks being unlatched with a maddening slowness, as if someone on the other side knew that every second of wait was boiling the blood of the three standing before the door. At last, the door opened just enough to reveal a face: the landlord. A short man with small eyes and a slimy smile that seemed to ooze like dirty oil through his yellowed teeth.

“What do you want?” he asked in a thick voice, looking at Dick with suspicion, but his gaze soon dropped to Barbara, lingering unpleasantly on her figure, and then to Jason, who had already tensed the muscles in his jaw.

“We’re looking for Y/n Wayne L/n,” Dick said, trying to maintain his composure, the heat of anger threatening to overflow. “We know she lives here. And we know you know where she is.”

The man let out a laugh under his breath, a rusty squeak that resonated like a heavy joke.

“Ah, the pretty girl… yeah, yeah. And who are you all, huh?” he asked, his slimy tone sending chills that seemed to crawl over Dick's skin.

“It’s none of your concern. We just want to know where she is,” Barbara said, her voice firm and resolute, although the tension in her body betrayed her impatience.

The landlord tilted his head, like a cat playing with its prey, and smiled with a disturbing mischief.

“Well, if you haven’t found her in five months, maybe you don’t want to know,” he said, letting the words drop like stones in a pond, creating ripples of discomfort.

“I warn you, this isn’t a game,” Jason interjected, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t make me remind you what can happen when a man plays with fire.”

The man shrugged, trying to appear unconcerned, although the glint in his eyes betrayed him.

Jason's hand rested near his belt, right where he kept his gun, and although he hadn’t drawn the weapon yet, the threat was clear.

The landlord noticed but instead of being scared, he wore a repugnant smile, like a predator that had just spotted a wounded prey. His gaze shifted back to Barbara, and then, without the slightest respect, murmured something that made Dick’s fists clench.

“Ah, Y/n... yeah, I remember her. She came around when she had just turned eighteen. Good material, if you catch my drift. She looked innocent, but... those are the most interesting ones, right?” The man's gaze darkened, scanning Barbara again, as if evaluating merchandise.

“Say that again,” Jason growled, drawing his gun in a motion so quick that the landlord barely had time to blink before feeling the cold barrel pressed against his forehead. “And I swear I’ll blow your brains out right here.”

The words hung in the air, sharp, loaded with contempt and a lust that twisted like a snake inside him.

The man let out a cynical chuckle, relishing the moment.

“The last time I saw pretty Y/n was a while back. I don’t know what she’s up to now, but I kept some pictures of her and her friend.” His tone was defiant, almost mocking.

Rage was bubbling in Jason. His fists were clenched, a deadly spark in his eyes.

“What did you say?” His voice trembled between anger and control, like a string about to snap.

The landlord, feeling invincible, continued. “I don’t know if they’re lesbians, but seeing them together was quite the spectacle. Both of them were hot, you know?”

Jason could no longer hold back. The anger erupted like a volcano.

“Shut up!” he shouted, and the sound echoed like a gunshot in the tense silence that had invaded the room.

Before the landlord could react, Jason pulled his gun, aiming with precision.

“I’m going to give you one chance. Tell me where Y/n is. Now.”

The man’s laughter faded, his eyes widening in shock. “Wait, wait, there’s no need to…”

“WHERE?!” Jason's voice thundered, firm and filled with rage, like a storm rumbling in the atmosphere.

The tension became palpable, the air thick with promises of violence.

“Alright, alright!” the landlord stammered, but Jason’s voice turned even colder.

“I’m not going to ask again.”

“She just left for work at night and that’s it…” he started to say, but Jason could no longer hear. The man had photos of Y/n. Compromising, crude, and that simple mention ignited hell in his chest.

In an instant, the sound of an explosion resonated in the hallway, and the man fell to the ground, his silly smile erased by the terror that had overtaken his face. Blood gushed forth in a dark torrent, staining the floor and nearby walls.

Barbara covered her mouth in shock, while Dick stood frozen, stunned.

“Jason!” she exclaimed, but the image of the landlord lying on the ground with his vacant stare was etched in her mind.

Jason holstered the weapon, his breath rapid and uncontrolled. He had crossed a line, and in that moment, he realized there was no turning back. Anger had found a way to break free, but at a terrible cost.

“I won’t let anyone hurt Y/n again,” he murmured, his eyes filled with determination. No one else would stand in his way to find her, no matter the price he had to pay.

The room was saturated with the echo of the gunshot, and the silence grew heavy, almost palpable. Barbara took a deep breath, the anger sparking in her eyes as she looked at Jason, who still seemed dazed by the act he had committed.

“What the hell were you thinking?” she said, her voice contained but sharp as a blade. “That’s why we didn’t bring Damian along, because he would have gone off just the same, but in a much more reckless way.” Her gaze fixed on the corpse, lying in a pool of blood, a scene that could have come from the mind of a disturbed artist.

Jason, with his chest heaving and jaw clenched, simply shrugged.

“I couldn’t just stand by. He knew something, and I wasn’t about to let it slip away.” The fervor in his voice didn’t hide the confusion that was beginning to seep in, like the cold of the night creeping through the windows.

Barbara didn’t respond, but the silence that filled the room grew even denser when the others entered, alarmed by the gunshot. Tim, Stephanie, and Cass arrived, their expressions filled with concern that quickly transformed into indignation.

“What happened here?” Tim asked, his eyes widening at the scene. Blood slid across the floor like a dark river, and the landlord’s body faded beneath the flickering light.

“Are you crazy, Jason?!” Steph exclaimed, disbelief palpable in her voice.

Cass crouched down, her expression grave as she looked at the fallen man. She didn’t need to speak to convey her disapproval; every glance said more than a thousand words.

“It doesn’t matter how we got here,” Dick intervened, his authoritative tone trying to restore order. “We need answers. Let’s investigate.”

With a determined movement, Barbara approached the body, while Jason still breathed irregularly, as if the weight of his actions began to settle on him. Barbara looked around; the apartment was a dusty and sad place, filled with shadows that seemed to whisper secrets.

As the others searched, Tim found a series of photos pinned to the walls, each one showing Y/n and other women from the area, frozen laughter in time, trapped between moments that should have been happy. However, there was something unsettling about the way they were arranged, a disorder that seemed a declaration of possession.

“Look at this,” Tim said, pointing to the images. There was Y/n, always smiling, but next to her was a figure that couldn’t be ignored. The silhouette of Pamela Isley, better known as Poison Ivy, stood beside her, her red hair like a fire that seemed to consume the sadness of the place.

“Pamela…” Cass murmured, her voice almost a whisper. “She’s been in Arkham for three months.”

Barbara moved closer, examining the photos more closely. “This is more complicated than we thought. Ivy has been involved, and that changes everything.”

Jason, still trying to comprehend the chaos he had unleashed, ran a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll find Y/n. I don’t care what I have to do.”

Barbara looked at him, her expression one of challenge but also understanding. “We can’t do this recklessly. We have to be smart. Silent.”

The group nodded, realizing that the road ahead would be filled with dangers, but also promises of redemption. They were all willing to kill for Y/n, but they had to do it quietly, like shadows slipping through the streets at night.

“Listen, we’re going to find her,” Dick said, his voice resonating like a mantra. “No matter how many doors we have to break down, how many truths we have to drag into the light.”

And so, in the echo of the silence that followed the violence, the five united in a tacit pact, intertwining their destinies in the search for Y/n. Each lost in their thoughts, each remembering that shadows sometimes have the power to conceal not only secrets but also the light that clings to hope.

The shadows stretched as they moved away from the apartment, leaving behind the vestige of a dead man and the echo of trapped laughter. The search had begun, and Y/n’s fate hung in the balance, a thread of light in the darkness that promised to bloom amid the ruins of despair.

The city lights flickered in the distance, like lost stars in the asphalt.

The tears of Y/n fell onto the slippery ground, forming puddles that blended with the blood, a dark ruby staining every part of her thin body, as if sins were being tattooed onto her skin. The humidity of the place smelled of iron and fear, of broken promises and a destiny she had chosen but didn’t quite know how to accept.

“It doesn’t feel good, little one?” said the Doctor, his voice a bitter whisper echoing off the damp walls of the room. He, with his dirty blonde hair falling messily over his forehead, wore a white coat that looked more like a rag than a symbol of authority. A cynical smile spread across his lips, revealing teeth that seemed sharper than the fate he had designed for her. “Bathing in the blood of enemies, isn’t it an exquisite pleasure?”

Y/n, her gaze lost at a point on the floor, nodded slowly, as if each movement cost her an eternity. The blood, warm and sticky, slid between her fingers, a sensory experience that drowned her in contradictions. On one hand, there was a dark delight in the power that image conferred upon her, a power she had learned to wield. But on the other hand, there was an abyss of pain threatening to consume her.

“It’s…” she whispered, barely able to form words. Her voice trembled like a leaf in autumn, indecision etched in her features. Guilt suffocated her, and each tear that fell was a reminder of what she had lost, of what she had left behind.

“What is it?” asked the Doctor, leaning toward her, his eyes lit by a glow that was not exactly compassion, but rather a cruel satisfaction. His gaze seemed to pierce through the layers of her being, scrutinizing the dark corners of her soul. “Is it pleasure you feel, or is it fear?”

Y/n recoiled, feeling her skin burn under his gaze. The Doctor’s words tangled in her mind, forming a knot that seemed impossible to untie. Her voice, almost a cry for help, resonated in the air.

“I don’t know! I don’t know if it’s pleasure or pain.” The words shot out like arrows, but only managed to embed their tips in the empty air, finding no destination. She trembled, caught between repulsion and the desire to free herself from the invisible chains that kept her anchored in that place.

The Doctor let out a cold laugh, as if he were enjoying the spectacle unfolding before him. With a careless gesture, he threw another bucket of blood onto the floor, creating a small puddle that slid toward Y/n.

“That is the beauty of your situation, my dear. You have been chosen to cleanse Gotham of the scum, and along the way, you will discover that pain and pleasure are two sides of the same coin.”

“Chosen?” replied Y/n, her voice shaking with the fierce mix of disbelief and rage. “Chosen for what? To be your puppet?”

The Doctor stepped closer, letting the distance between them fade. His presence was oppressive, like a shadow that swallowed light.

“You are not a puppet, Kerosene” he said, pronouncing her name as if caressing it. “You are the spark that can ignite the revolution. The tears that fall now are the ashes of the old you, and it’s time you embrace what awaits you.”

Y/n felt the air grow dense, as if the Doctor’s words were trying to envelop her, to convince her. But there was a truth in his voice, an echo of what she had longed for deep within her being. Hadn’t she been searching for purpose, a place to belong?

“No… I don’t want to be what you’ve made me.” she said, though her voice sounded more hesitant than determined. It was as if reality slipped around her, like the slippery ground she stood on.

“Of course you do, Y/n.” He smiled, and there was something unsettling in that smile, something that made her feel she was on the brink of a revelation. “Your pain is the echo of the city, and you, little one, can be its savior.”

The Doctor’s words resonated in her mind, and Y/n felt herself teetering on the edge of the abyss, the possibility of becoming Kerosene, the force of vengeance and power. She fought against the idea, but there was a part of her that was beginning to awaken, to open like a flower in the desert.

“So, what do I have to do?” she asked, finally facing the reality that surrounded her. The tears, instead of being a sign of weakness, now seemed a recognition of her new identity.

The Doctor looked at her with a mix of satisfaction and complicity, like a teacher who sees the spark of greatness in his student.

“First, you must accept that the past does not define your future. The blood that surrounds you is only the first step toward freedom. Become what you have always been. Your destiny is to burn, and in doing so, illuminate others.”

Y/n felt the weight of her decision slowly fading away. By accepting her destiny, she had found a new way to free herself, a purpose that shone like fire.

“Then I will do it.” she said, her voice now firm and resonant, as if she were finally embracing the darkness that had always dwelled within her. “I will be Kerosene.”

The Doctor smiled, and in that smile lay a world of possibilities. Together, they could shake the foundations of Gotham.

“That’s right, my dear Kerosene.” He stepped back, allowing his figure to fade into the shadows..“And remember, every decision you make will be a step toward glory or toward downfall. The line is thin, and you are destined to cross it.”

“What about them?” Y/n asked, pointing to the shadows surrounding her, referring to the Waynes who remained silent in their luxurious prison of silence. “Where is Batman?”

The Doctor paused, his gaze turning serious and contemplative.

“Since your appearance, the Waynes have become shadows of what they once were. Batman has vanished, as if fear has locked him in his own game. They don’t want you to know the truth, and I wonder if, deep down, he fears what you are capable of.”

“Fears?” repeated Y/n, incredulity splattering her voice like a rain of dead stars. “Why?”

“Because the truth is that there is no longer space for the good in this city.” The Doctor stepped closer, his tone low but filled with fervor. “Soon you will go after the Court of Owls. We will expose those monsters in the streets, as they deserve, and they will have no one to defend them. Not even their beloved bat.”

A chill ran down Y/n's spine. The idea of stepping out into the night, of facing the villains who had ravaged her city, filled her with a strange power. She remembered Pamela, laughing amidst the shadows, her voice like an echo urging her to fight.

“I will not be their puppet. I do not want to be a pawn in a bigger game.” The words erupted from her with the force of an approaching storm, and the vision of Pamela dancing among the flowers filled her with a sudden sweetness.

“You will not be a pawn, Kerosene.” The Doctor smiled, and in his eyes was an air of admiration. “You are the queen in this game. Your vengeance will not only bring down those villains, but it will also seek the man behind the mask of Batman. We need to end him.”

“End him?” The question hung in the air like a trembling whisper. Her heart stopped for an instant, remembering the nights spent with Batman, the unspoken words, the caresses of an absent father.

“Yes. Because he, like them, has become a legend that needs to fall.”

Y/n felt the darkness looming over her, a shadow whispering promises of power and pain. But there was something more, a spark igniting within her, a fire burning with the strength of a new dawn.

“Then I will do it.” said Y/n, her voice resonating with a clarity that surprised her. “I will expose the Court of Owls and make my father see.”

The Doctor watched Y/n with palpable satisfaction, as if he had finally ignited a spark deep within her being. With a gesture of his hand, he made the invisible shackles that kept her trapped fade away. In that moment, a strange freedom slipped over her skin, a freedom laden with dark responsibility.

“Come, Kerosene.” he said, his voice now a hypnotic chant rising among the shadows. “There is something you need to see.”

He led her through a labyrinth of damp hallways, each step resonating like an echo of past decisions. The walls seemed to whisper forgotten secrets, tales of those who had fallen into the abyss before her. As they advanced, the light of day faded, and the gloom became an accomplice to their thoughts.

Finally, they reached the balcony of the building, a place where time had stopped its march. The Doctor gently pushed Y/n toward the railing, forcing her to look out over the vast expanse of Gotham that stretched before them. The city was a canvas of flickering lights and deep shadows, a portrait of intertwined chaos and order.

“Look, little one.” the Doctor whispered, his voice wrapping around her like a veil of mystery. “This is your city, a monster that feeds on the secrets you hold in your chest. The blood that stains your skin is a symbol of the struggle that lies ahead.”

Y/n leaned over the edge of the balcony, feeling the cold wind caress her bare skin. The city glimmered like a sea of dying stars, each light a story, each shadow a whisper of betrayal. The vision enveloped her, and for a moment, she felt like a spectator of her own destiny.

Her bare skin, still stained with blood, prickled at the chill of Gotham, a freezing breeze sneaking through the cracks of crumbling buildings, as if the city itself reminded her that she was alive, that darkness embraced her with its mantle of forgetfulness and despair. Each small contact of the air made her more aware of her vulnerability, and at the same time, of the power that blossomed from within her. It was a reminder that, amidst chaos, she was the spark of a new flame.

The puddles of blood that had stained her skin, silent witnesses to her transformation, shone like a dark ruby under the dim light of the moon. In that moment, each drop was an echo of past decisions, a symbol of the life she had left behind. And yet, in her mind, the Doctor's words echoed: “You are the spark that can ignite the revolution.” The irony of her state wrapped her in a sweet and bitter confusion; deep down, her nakedness felt like a release.

The city stretched before her, a vast ocean of twinkling lights and lurking shadows. Gotham, in its complexity, seemed to breathe, a living being pulsing with stories of pain and longing. The streetlights flickered as if about to go out, and Y/n felt that each flicker was a whisper calling her, a reminder that she was destined to be part of something much larger than herself.

As she gazed at the horizon, her mind filled with images: the faces of those she had lost, those she had loved, and those she had to confront. Her heart wrestled between the desire for vengeance and the longing for redemption.

“What do you see?” asked the Doctor, his eyes shining with an unsettling intensity.

“I see…” Y/n began, but the words slipped away like sand through her fingers. The city was a labyrinth of emotions, a stage where pain and pleasure intertwined in a macabre dance. It was a reflection of her own internal struggle, her desire for vengeance and her yearning for redemption.

“I see a sea of shadows, a stage where illusions collapse like houses of cards.” she finally replied, her voice echoing. “Each light, a hope; each shadow, a whisper of unhappiness.”

“Perfect.” The Doctor smiled, his face illuminated by an almost fraternal satisfaction. “Gotham is a mirror, and you are the light that can break the darkness. You must be able to see beyond what shines.”

The Doctor’s words resonated in her mind, tearing through the veil of confusion that enveloped her. In that instant, Y/n understood that every tear shed had fed the city, that every drop of blood on her hands was an echo of what she had lost. And yet, vengeance offered her a new purpose, a path into the unknown.

“The city cries for change, for a fire to purify it” she whispered, her voice gaining strength in the night breeze. “And I… I am that fire.”

“That’s right, dear.” The Doctor nodded, a mix of pride and malice in his expression. “The fire that will purify Gotham and, in its wake, consume everything that stands in your way.”

Y/n felt the air fill with electricity, a palpable current connecting her to the city, to its pain and desire. Deep within her, something began to change. She was no longer just a puppet; she was no longer merely the shadow of her past. She was Kerosene, the spark that would ignite the flame of change.

“But, Doctor, what about those who love the darkness?” she asked, her voice now an echo of what she had learned. “What if they cling to their shadow?”

The Doctor stepped closer to her, his penetrating gaze filled with complicity.

“Darkness is a possessive lover, but there is always a price to pay. The truth is that they cannot hold onto it forever. And when the fire burns, only those ready to be reborn will be saved.”

Y/n felt a mixture of anguish and determination. The city before her became a symbol of her internal struggle, a stage where light and shadow intertwined in an eternal game. Every street, every building, every corner whispered her name in a song of warning and challenge.

“And when the fire consumes everything in its path, will there be anything left of me?” she asked, her voice trembling with the fragility of a leaf in the wind.

The Doctor smiled, a smile that seemed to mock the questions still dancing in her mind.

“Perhaps, dear Kerosene, you will find yourself in the act of burning. Or maybe, you will fade into the ash. That is the enigma of transformation: in the fire, death is merely the prelude to a new beginning.”

As she gazed at the city, Y/n felt her identity fragment and fuse, in an endless cycle of creation and destruction. The image of Gotham before her became a metaphor for the human soul, a reflection of the struggles everyone faced in the darkness. The city, with its chaos and its heartbreaking beauty, enveloped her like a hug.

With one last look at the flickering lights and lurking shadows, Y/n stepped back, a firm decision rising within her.

“There’s no turning back now” she murmured, her voice an echo of her new reality. “I will be the fire that illuminates this eternal night.”

The Doctor, with a gesture of approval, retreated into the shadows, leaving her alone in her revelation. As the city spread before her, a mantle of mystery and power, Y/n knew that the true journey was just beginning. The line between fire and ash was thin, and in her chest burned the certainty that by crossing it, nothing would ever be the same.

“So be it, Kerosene” she said to herself as the wind enveloped her in secret whispers. “Let the fire speak in your name and let the night receive your lament.”

And looking at Gotham, she understood that, in the end, her destiny was not merely to be a spectator, but an unstoppable force, a storm that would unleash chaos. And so, with her heart beating to the rhythm of the city, she prepared to embrace her truth, her fire.

☆

A/N — Here is the long-awaited third part of this series. Thank you for all the support and love you have given me. I decided to make this part longer (at the cost of not being able to include the last image :( ) so that you can enjoy it more.

I was reading your comments where you were asking if Y/n and the Doctor would have a romance (which horrifies me a bit :d, but it gave me an idea) or if he performed a lobotomy on her. Well, that will be answered in the next part or in a headcanon, whatever you ask me.

By the way, in the tag list, there are some users I couldn't add, sorry about that 😔. I really appreciate your understanding and patience. Your enthusiasm keeps me motivated to keep creating and sharing these stories. I hope you find this installment engaging and that it brings you the excitement and emotions you’ve come to expect from the series. Enjoy!

Don't hesitate to ask me anything if you want.

take a bath!

Tag list! ◇ — @amber-content @toast-on-dandelioms @feral-childs-word @sweetconnoisseurgardener @victoria1676 @toasted-cat18 @nosyrobin @beeaskewwrites @yandere-enthusiast @telltaletoad @dhanyasri @vanessa-boo @m3vl0vesu @jellypotato66 @midnightgrimoire @cherryxxxxyoongi @imnotdumbimstupif @plsfckmedxddy @h0neysiba @mybones537 @erikasurfer @sheepintherain @pix-stuff @yan-rai @uniquecutie-puffs @arlandvery @theblonde777 @alishii

@maicenitas @ti-girl1226 @vanilliona @chickenwings435 @thedramabrotherss @bat1212 @imnotdumbimstupif @somebodyrandom-613 @aelxr @jsprien213 @sheepintherain @lovebug-apple @zenychwan @starsdotalk @holylonelyponyeatingmacaron @misdollface @clementinesyummy @bunbunboysworld @lunaluz432 @kiarst @meowmeeps @adeptusxia0 @mettatons-number-1fan @fairygardenprincesss @nervousalpacalady @mottysith

Inspiration: @acid-ixx with his Again & Again series, @gotham-daydreams ' work, @i-cant-sing's work and @klemen-tine's work, be sure to check them out!

[smutoperator]

Can you write a Free Use story out of Miyeon’s I-Sway concept photos?

Profession: Fucktoy

Cho Miyeon x Male Reader

Tags: anal, anal fingering, ass-to-pussy, blowbang, bukkake, choking, creampies, dirty talk, facefucking, face-spitting, facial, floor sex, free use, full nelson, g-string, hair-pulling, head stomping, jobs, painal, pool, public sex, rough sex, ripping clothes, slapping, titfucking, underboob, voyeurism

Word count: 6469

Chapter 1 - The Mechanic

The day had started on a very bad note for you. Your car had just broken, and you were already out of money to make the repairs. Regardless, you had to do it; otherwise, you wouldn't be able to go to work.

You arrived at the repair shop, greeted by a beautiful short girl. Unlike other mechanics, however, she was wearing a very skimpy outfit: a white top that left her midriff fully exposed and a black miniskirt that barely covered her buttcheeks.

"You can go back in a few hours; we'll fix everything," the girl said. And you did just that. As you later got back to pick your car up, you found out that she had delivered on her promise. Your car had no more issues whatsoever; she was truly a quick fixer.

"Damn, you did a great job here," you told the girl. "And you look so cute, not like your typical mechanic," you started flirting with her. "Ah, I always hear guys saying that," she said. "By the way, what's your name?" you asked. "Miyeon," she answered.

"Now it comes the uncool part," Miyeon said. "Here's the full bill," she handed you the paper. Damn! It was really expensive. Basically a whole month of your salary for a guy that was already about to go broke. You were upset, already bracing yourself for a struggle in the next few months.

"Don't be upset," Miyeon told you. "I know it's very expensive, but you can use me for free, and if you do it well, I might give you a discount," she said. "What do you mean?" you ask her. "Well, I'll show you what I mean," she says.

Miyeon lifts her top, showing some underboob to you. She advances towards you and gives you some kisses. You quickly push back, showing who's in control, kissing her, and running your hands all over her body. Her top gets pushed further up, and you give her perky bobs the first sucking. Even Miyeon gets surprised at how hard you attack her, quickly reaching your hands under her skirt in search for her pussy. "I guess he's really desperate to get some money back," she thinks.

As you finger Miyeon's pussy, you're surprised by how small the panties she's wearing are. You can easily already reach most of her pubic area even with them on, as she's already moaning with your magic hands working around her pussy. And you're just starting.

Miyeon's top gets easily ripped apart, setting her perfect tits fully free for you to grope. "Oh my God, holy shit," she says in awe, as your hands are still putting heat in her clit. Your pace is truly intense, as shortly after you're already pulling her miniskirt down and showing the only thing standing between you and Miyeon's tight fuckholes is a little G-string thong. You tease her with some kisses in her asscheeks and give them a little spanking as well.

"Oh yes," Miyeon says when you pull her tiny thong to the side. Needless to say, such a beautiful girl had perfect holes as well, as you look in awe at her pink pussy and butthole, starting to eat them out shortly after.

Miyeon moans and clings to any part of your car she can hold onto. The hood of the car is still open, and she has to be cautious to avoid the heat that's still in the engine, although she likes how it warms up her boobs. You tongue her folds hard and deep, but Miyeon likes it better when you start tonguing her butthole. "Ahhh yes, right in that fucking ass," she moans.

You love the angelic way Miyeon moans while you lick her holes. What a beautiful slut she is. "Put your tongue in my pussy; work for it, yeahhh," she demands. You follow, licking her clit like a needy pussy while Miyeon inserts her thumb in her anus, alternating between sucking and finger-fucking her cunt as Miyeon circles her fingers around her asshole.

You give Miyeon some more kisses as you now start humping your clothed boner against her legs. "Are you gonnna let me see that cock or what?" she asks, getting on her knees as soon as she senses it rubbing on her skin. Miyeon quickly pulls your pants down, slapping your cock in her tongue as soon as it pops out. The moment she starts sucking that dick, it feels like you're no longer using you, but the opposite, as Miyeon is eager to take it deep from the start, making fast moves with her head that quickly engulf your sword all the way down her slutty throat.

Miyeon takes her panties off, leaving only the remnants of her ripped top covering her body. That little slut for sure knows how to suck cock, bobbing her head on yours harder than ever. You need to take control soon; she's your free use whore after all.

"Give me those fucking tits," you tell her, who places them together as you start humping your cock between them. "Oh yeah!" she says immediately. You love how soft her tits are, making it easier to fuck them at a steady pace. "So good," Miyeon says. You grab her by the chin and spit on her face. "You're no mechanic, bitch, you're just a fucktoy," you tell her. "Yes, I am; give me more, please," she begs as you keep titfucking her and put your fingers down her mouth for a bit.

Miyeon spits on your cock for a better grip. "How does it feel with your saliva lubing my tits?" she asks. "It feels so fucking amazing," you say. Miyeon takes a little break and gives a few fast head-bobbings to lube your cock before going back for more breast action. "Wanna take turns, baby? Wanna use all my fucking body? "Which one do you like better, my mouth or my tits?" she keeps asking.

You let your actions do the talking, bringing Miyeon close to you and banging her tits at full speed. She responds with more aggressive cock-sucking, but you counter-attack, reaching into her pussy and finger-fucking her, coming out on top.

"AH FUCK, YOU WORK MY PUSSY SO GOOD," Miyeon moans as your fingers plow into her wet fuckhole. "Taste it, bitch," you say, shoving them in your mouth right after. Miyeon tries to respond with more crazy pole-sucking, but you have enough of it and manhandle her throat as soon as she tries.

Grabbing her by the neck, you bend Miyeon over, her right knee placed on the stool. You warm up her pussy with more finger-rubbing. "OH SHIT!" she screams as soon as you do it. And when you finally push your cock inside it, you're glad you did, because holy shit she's really as tight as you would imagine.

You give Miyeon a couple thrusts but quickly find a better position, putting her right leg on top of your car's hood and pounding her relentlessly. "Fuck me harder, fuck me harder," she demands, and you surely oblige, attacking her pussy at full speed and giving it no rest from the start. "Please, please, harder, harder," she keeps going, begging to have her pussy destroyed.

You switch Miyeon into a standing position, but keeping that frantic pace at all moments. "YES, YES, YES, FUCK ME LIKE A LITTLE WHORE," she screams as you also kiss and choke her. You love how hard her boobs bounce with your fast thrusts. "YES BABY, YES BABY, IT FEELS SO GOOD WHEN YOUR BALLS SLAP AGAINST MY CLIT," she continues.

Miyeon gets both her knees on the stool as you keep stretching out her pussy like your free-use toy. You now tease her with your middle finger up her anus. "Toy with my asshole," she begs. And gets it.

Soon, that finger gets replaced by a much thicker object making its way into her asshole. If you thought Miyeon's pussy was tight, well, it looks extremely loose compared to her pink anus. You knock a few times on her backdoor, but it barely moves. You have to go really slow, Miyeon's moans getting louder each time you get an extra inch inside.

"There you go," you say when the eighth and final inch is inside her butthole. "Ahhhh, it's so big," Miyeon moans. Even for an experienced anal slut, your cock would be quite the challenge for her little asshole. 

But you weren't going to go easy on her—quite the opposite. Your eagerness to sodomize little Miyeon was even bigger. And the tightness of her anal walls only ramped it up. "Get down," you tell her, fucking her asshole in a perfect doggy position, with the little doll struggling to take your massive cock all the way up her butthole.

"OH SHIT, SHIT, SHIT," Miyeon screams as you coincidentally fuck her right in the shithole. She is in trouble. Your cock just rips her ass apart, and she tries to hold on to every support while facing the floor, barely managing to keep her balance. "YES, PLEASE FUCK MY ASS," she demands, but can barely take the current toll as it stands.

"Come here," you say. With no warning, you switch back to her pussy, pounding her even faster from behind. "OHHHHH FUCKKKKK," she screams. "I was going really easy on your ass," you say. "This is how you use a fucktoy," you continue, clapping her cheeks hard and spanking it for some good measure as well. "Fucking use this pussy," she begs.

But Miyeon won't accept defeat so easily. "Put it back in my ass," she demands. This time, your cock slides much more easily into her already stretched butthole. You try to make Miyeon regret asking it, pounding her ass with full force. "Oh shit, it's so fucking big in there," she says, which only gives you extra motivation.

You lay your back in the stool as Miyeon sits her ass on your cock for more, but you quickly show her who's in control, thrusting hard upwards against her butt. "Oh my God, oh my God, fuck," she says as you appropriately pump her like a piston and enjoy her tits bouncing with every thurst you give her.

Miyeon fingers her pussy as you keep destroying her ass, but her hands are quickly replaced by yours. "Grab my fucking pussy," she says, slowly getting out of breath. "FUCK THAT COCK IS SO BIG IN MY ASS," she yells, which only makes you attack it harder.

After 5 minutes of hard ass-fucking, you change back to her pussy. This time, you decide Miyeon will be an even bigger fucktoy to please your cock, putting her in a full nelson and attacking her cunt balls deep like crazy. She can only scream as you show no mercy to her tiny fuckhole. But you quickly tell her you were going easy, taking your cock back in her ass and repeating it with double the intensity.

"YES, YES, YES, FUCKING DESTROY IT YOU'RE GONNA MAKE ME CUM," Miyeon moans as her asshole is turned into nothing but your cock's playground. She's utterly defenseless as you take advantage of her to suck her bouncy tits. "DON'T FUCKING STOP, DON'T FUCKING STOP," she says as she covers your balls with some juices that squirt out of her pussy.

Miyeon lets out a very cute laugh before she switches sides to start another ride of cock-sitting, this time with her facing you as she easily slides your pole back in her pussy. Watching her princess face moaning and making sexy expressions every time you impale her cunt is such a heavy turn on to you, who can't help but keep pushing up, your bodies meeting each other with loud clapping noises as you two fuck like crazy animals.

"Ahhhh, fuck me, baby," Miyeon moans as she enjoys the ride. Your balls violently clap against her ass cheeks as she passionately kisses you. She loves the way you use her, with no restraints whatsoever, just a good, rough pounding that makes her tight fuckholes throbbing.

"Ohhh, stretch me so fucking good," Miyeon says as she switches your cock back into her ass. Both of you get even more intense in this crazy anal ride, Miyeon turning into a bigger beggar for more fucking in the ass each time your cock hits deep inside it. Ass to pussy, back to ass, back to pussy, you two just keep fucking that way for a long time, each hole getting its fair share of pounding multiple times while you grope her bouncy titties.

"Suck that fucking dick," you whisper at Miyeon's year once you're done. She's completely numb after so much pounding she's taking in such a short time, but her whore instincts never die. "Ohhh yeah, taste my ass all over it," she says, opening her mouth wide and licking your shaft from top to bottom, but paying special attention to the tip. "It tastes so good deep in my ass," she says.

You pin Miyeon against the front of your car, lifting her right leg over your shoulder, going back for more pussy stretching, and looking directly into her eyes as she turns into a sweaty mess. Your balls hit her right at the junction of her thighs, her pussy tightening as you choked her. She can't stop screaming. "Shut up, bitch," you say to her and fuck her harder, but that only leads to more yelling from this little free use fucktoy.

Miyeon gets bent over on the hood of the car now as she requests you something. "Please put this cock back in my ass," she says. You never say no to another chance to destroy Miyeon's (now not so) tiny pink asshole, so you're back at it, fucking it hard as your balls slap on her clit. 

"OH, IT'S GOING SO DEEP IN MY ASS," Miyeon says. And you wish it could go even deeper as you push your shaft to the limits of her butthole. Miyeon sticks her fingers in her pussy trying to cope with the speed you destroy her ass. Now you take the meaning of free use to the maximum, leaving no dignity left for Miyeon. All you want to do now is fuck her butt at every opportunity. Her reward for fixing your car will be her ass getting broken apart.

"MAKE ME FUCKING TAKE IT," Miyeon screams as her ass keeps taking the full heat of your throbbing dick. "You can fuck take me; treat me like a useless whore," she demands, as you do just as she asks, having enough energy to fuck her ass all day long.

"Get your knees on the stool," you demand, giving her butt a little tap as it now gets redder. After a little pause for her to breathe, your cock is back in full force inside Miyeon's asshole. You do a switcheroo between her holes just for fun, but always fucking her the hardest in the ass. Miyeon clings to your car as she can barely keep her balance on now, becoming just a cocksleeve for you to toy with and get maximum pleasure as she keeps getting jackhammered.

"I want you to use this ass to fucking cum," Miyeon says. Your primal instincts then fully take over, fucking her faster than speed of light, her cheeks clapping louder than a blasting car speaker, her screams hitting every imaginable high note. "Look at me, little fucktoy," you order. After all, Miyeon said free use, and she's getting freely used, with you only stopping until you finally explode inside her anal walls.

Miyeon licks her chops as she digs your cum out of her anus, her hair completely messy now and covering her face. She tastes it and loves the flavor. She then picks up the repair bill and rips it in half. "This is your discount," she says. "Have a good day and come see us again," she finishes.

Chapter 2 - Lifeguard

Hot summer Saturdays are perfect to go to the pool. And you were surely going to do that. As you prepared yourself to get in the pool, however, you spotted a familiar face doing the lifeguard duties.

Miyeon decided to take a summer job on weekends besides the one she already had at the repair shop. But little did she know she would be off to an eventful start.

"He's drowning in the pool; somebody help," a scream was heard. Miyeon had to act quickly. Only her first hour at the new job, and she already had a difficult task ahead.

Miyeon pushed your body to the side of the pool, executing the cardiac massage procedures to help you. To no avail, as you remained lifeless on the floor despite her desperate attempts.

After a while, however, Miyeon noticed one part of your body was seeing a lot of movement upwards. The bulging erection under your boxers. Miyeon took you to a more private space and put an end to the heart massages, going instead with a different kind, taking your cock deep in her throat and giving a little bit in your foreskin.

You immediately woke up. "So you wanted to get my attention so much you faked a drowning?" she asked. "Indeed, and what do I get for it?" you replied.

"You get to use me like your fucktoy again," Miyeon said. These words were enough for you to pull your boxers down and go straight into fucking her face. Miyeon wanted it so bad. She can't go a day without being treated like a toy for a big cock, answering your thrusting, bobbing her head, and gagging all over your huge dick.

Just like in the repair shop, Miyeon sat on a stool, lowering her head and getting her face plowed until she coughed on your cock. She then picked your shaft up and started slapping it against her boobs, her white top already showing lots of cleavage. 

Miyeon quickly took that top off and wrapped your shaft around her boobs once again. "Oh yes, please fuck my tits," she said, moving them around your throbbing cock. You responded by taking control and pushing it up and down her milk bags, just like she asked, with Miyeon moving down to take the tip of your cock in her mouth, doing the best she could to keep choking on that cock.

Fucking her beautiful tits and princess face at the same time was like heaven for you. "Yeah, I love it," you said. But you knew she wanted more. After a little boob shaking, Miyeon lowered her shorts down, leaving herself with only her high heels (why a lifeguard was wearing high heels is something she couldn't explain). 

Miyeon laughed and spread her legs as you started worshipping her pink pussy. "OH MY GOD, YES," she screamed as you two were now in a safe place away from the crowds at the pool. You kissed her pussy and licked her clit nonstop, while also circling your fingers around her folds and penetrating them, teasing Miyeon for what you were going to do to her with your cock. "Open my pussy, please," she begged.

You used your hands to finger-fuck Miyeon while savoring her beautiful clit, sending her to the heavens. "Don't stop, baby," she said as you kept putting extra heat on her vagina, making it wet as you used your magical hands to lube it up.

With no hesitation, you dipped your cock inside Miyeon's wet cunt. "FUCK ME, PLEASE, OH MY GOD, YEAH, YEAH YEAH, OHHHHHHH," she screamed as you were already pumping her pussy fast, watching her twisting and twirling facial expressions as your cock bulged under her while you groped her tits.

"FUCK ME LIKE A BITCH," Miyeon demanded. You were so upset with her getting so loud you slapped her face hard, responding with even faster thrusts and spitting on her face. "Shut up, you fucking slut," you told her, entertaining yourself as you slapped your cock in her vaginal entrance before pushing it back and plowing her once again.

"YES, baby, keep going," Miyeon said as her boobs bounced. After a little sniffing in her pussy, you kept going, spanking her beautiful tits then pushing her body sideways. Miyeon got the most excited when you spat all over her cunt, with her creaming all over your cock the harder you went on her.

Miyeon tried to kiss you, but you were having none of it. "I'm not here for love; I'm here to use you like a bitch," you told her in response, spitting on her face and resuming pounding her right after, both your bodies on the floor besides an unused pool, Miyeon getting her little pussy destroyed as you used her like a fleshlight, your balls violently hitting her clit at each thrust now.

"Fuck my fucking pussy, please," Miyeon said as she already struggled to speak, completely numb with the way you treated her. No matter how many jobs she tried, she was always back to being a little cocksleeve. Miyeon wonders for how long you could keep fucking her, as you didn't seem to lift your foot off the gas, making her pussy sore not even 10 minutes in.

"OH MY GOD, FUCK," Miyeon kept screaming as you kept going. You tongue kissed her a bit after you finished the rough spooning session. "My little fucktoy," you told her. "Now get on all fours," you said, slapping her ass and taking her pussy from behing within seconds, your relentless pace still going on as you now choked her and enjoyed her tits freely bounce, mounting on top of her like a bull.

"I like that," Miyeon said when you spanked her ass. You even let her move her hips a little bit over your cock, giving her a false sensation that you were tired and she could ride it, before taking full control back again and smacking her pussy into oblivion, enjoying the queefing sounds coming out of it as Miyeon could barely stay on her feet.

"You know what? If you want my cum, you'll have to earn it, ride that dick until I fill your pussy to the brim," you demanded, but not before ducking her head under the pool while fucking her from behind a couple times. "Now you're the one drowining, bitch," you said to her.

You got Miyeon off the pool and laid on the side of it, waiting for her to sit on your cock. Her eyes rolled the moment she got it back inside her, making sure to go all the way down. Miyeon made sure to ride it as hard as possible, craving for that cum all over that pink pussy.

"Make me cum, bitch," you say as you thrust up Miyeon's little pussy, not missing an opportunity to spank her ass and suck her little tits. You fucked her for not even 15 minutes, but she's already exhausted as you completely destroy her pussy with no mercy. "PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, FUCK ME," she begs as your cock smacks her insides, and she starts trembling, clinging to your body as you inject your seeds in her pussy.

Miyeon leaves, tossing you to the pool as she struggles to even walk. By now she knows she has lost her job, as the lifeguard spot has been vacant for a while and the pool starts to get fuller. She decides to go home, thinking about her next adventure.

Chapter 3 - Living Doll

Miyeon texts you the following day, asking if you can go back to the repair shop, saying she wants you to use her once more. You agree to come, taking your car back into it in a hurry.

As you arrive at the shop, you witness one of the naughtiest scenes you have seen in your life. Miyeon is surrounded by five naked men, who take off her "living doll" top immediately and jerk off in anticipation of freely using her doll face.

"Looks like you came in too late," Miyeon provokes you as the men strip her fully naked, starting to grip their shafts intensely as they feed her mouth full of cock, and she licks her chops, getting surrounded by all that man meat, taking turns stroking and sucking them all, diving her head into their crotches.

"Stroke it, stroke it," the men demand to Miyeon. "Fuck her face, fuck her face," they say as Miyeon gags on their cocks one by one. "You wanna fuck my face too?" she asks the next guy, who answers her question with hard thrusts in her mouth.

"I want it all the way down," Miyeon says as each guy gets a turn to shove their cocks down her throat while you just watch. "Tell me how hard you want to fuck my slutty face," she continues as Miyeon remains surrounded by multiple hard cocks. "Are you happy?" you get to ask her as lots of spit cover her face. "Very, are you?" she replies.

"Looks like you have what you want," you tell her. "I do," Miyeon says. "Lots of cocks in my mouth," she continues. "You look so beautiful; do what makes you happy; show me what makes you happy," you say to her. "Can't you tell?" she pokes again. "Show him, come on," the other guys tell her.

"Give me, give me, give me all of it," Miyeon says. She really wants you to feel jealous of all those cocks pounding her face like animals as she spits all over them. "Show me what a good girl you are," a guy tells her as Miyeon holds her breath and dives her head fully into the crotch of every man in that circle. You can't help but find it hot, masturbating as you watch her taking on all those cocks but not joining the circlejerking.

"All the way down," Miyeon begs of all those cocks. "You want cum all over your fucking face?" the guys rhetorically ask, making her smile. It doesn't take long for multiple shots of sperm to start flying into it. "Here it comes, baby," the guys announce as they cover Miyeon full of cum, some of them ejaculating more than once into her beautiful face as their semen also drips into her chest.

"I saved the best for last," Miyeon says as the five men are done cumming in her. She looks at you as the other guys have already started to live. "You wish I wouldn't do it?" she asks. "I'm sorry, but I couldn't resist," she says. "This is who I am, a 24/7 free use fucktoy," she continues.

"No, I want you to do this again, and again, and again, for the rest of your life, but with me leading the way," you tell her, kissing her cum-filled face as she already jerks your cock off. 

"You know what else I want? For you to get on your fucking knees," you say to Miyeon, spitting on her face. "Do it again," she demands. "Ohhh, do it again? You dirty giri," you say as you repeat it. "I love how you're such a fucking dirty bitch; now suck my cock," you tell her, choking Miyeon. "Say it again," she replies. And you do just that.

You dunk Miyeon's face right into your crotch, eager to prove no one can fuck it better than you. "There is my fucking girl," you say, spanking her ass to make her gag on your cock after a long deepthroat. "Look at me, bitch, show me you're my fucktoy," you say. "I don't look at anybody the way I look at you; I'm your dirty whore," she says.

You wrap Miyeon's fallen top around her neck, using it to choke her as you keep fucking her face. "Smile, you dirty bitch, smile while you choke on my dick," you say to her. Soon, you slap her. "You love to fucking taste that cock, don't you, bitch?" you ask her.

"I LOVE TASTING THAT COCK," Miyeon screams. You slap your shaft on her slutty face, and she gags all over that dick. "That's my fucking girl," you say as she deepthroats you. But you want more.

"What are you gonna do? Are you gonna fuck me like a bitch?" she asks as you put her body on top of the table, furiously hammering her pussy and spanking her ass, making her cheeks clap. "TREAT ME LIKE YOUR FUCKING TOY; I'M YOUR FUCKING TOY," she says. "I just can't get enough of that pussy," you say.

"Use my holes; tell me how much you like," Miyeon begs as you spank her ass with your cock stuffed deep in her cunt. "I fucking love it, you dirty little whore," you say as you spit on her face again and cover her mouth.

"Give me more," Miyeon says as she turns around and invites you for more. "Put your face in my fucking pussy; use my fucking pussy," she commands as you keep spitting on her. You lay her body on the table and eat it out like an animal. "Good boy, tell me how much you want to use it," Miyeon says as you turn into a savage, tonguing her cunt nonstop and breathing all over her clit.

Miyeon moans as you lick her folds. You get rougher as you spank her thighs and grope her tits while doing so. "Leave your marks all over me," she tells you. "Fuck, I had enough of pleasing you; I'm gonna use that sex doll body to please me," you tell her, sticking your cock back in her wet pussy.

"YES, YES, YES, EVERY INCH OF YOU BALLS DEEP, BALLS FUCKING DEEP IN MY PUSSY," Miyeon screams as you get more and more animalesque with her. "Look at my eyes while you fuck my pussy; look how much I want it," she begs. "God, why don't you shut up? You're just a piece of meat for me to stick my cock at," you talk trash to her.

"Dirty little fucking slut," you say as you keep pounding Miyeon, your hands all over her clit as she looks at you with naughty, sexy eyes. For every time you kiss her, you spit twice in her face. And Miyeon wants more.

"I'm your whore; I'm all yours," she says as you carry her and start fucking her with her body up in the air, only held by your huge cock. You put her back on the ground and massage her clit further. "Right there, right there," she says in between more moans.

Miyeon nearly loses her balance as you play with her throbbing clit. You get her back on the table and this time fuck her sideways, attacking her pussy faster than ever and making her boobs bounce even harder. "I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you," you say to her. "Oh, please, do it; I love it," she says.

Groaning like a savage and choking Miyeon like she's your bitch, you just can't stop using her little pink cunt. "You cock is so hard inside my pussy, I can feel it throbbing. Can you feel my pussy throbbing for it?" She talks dirty to you, and the more she does, the more you want to keep using her.

"I want to keep coming back to this cock every day for the rest of my life," Miyeon claims. "Then show me," you say as you put it close to her face. Miyeon already bobs her head, taking the opportunity to taste her juices out of it to the fullest, taking your cock balls deep in her mouth.

You quickly end her fun and go back to use her pussy. "Tell me what I am." Miyeon asks you. "A dirty fucking whore," you say as you spank her ass and pull her hair. "YES, YES, YES, YES," she screams as you stretch her cunt out. "My perfect little fuckdol," you say.

After a little break, you come back with more hard fucking. "Pull my hair, please," Miyeon begs and gets it. "Do whatever you want to me; I'm your fucking toy; treat me like a little whore, please, please," she continues. You do it just like that. "Choke me and tell me how much you want me to cum on your cock," she continues. 

Miyeon struggles to breathe as your cock uses her pussy all the way deep. You stop a bit to look at her begging face, getting increasingly sweaty in the summer heat. "I want you to own me," Miyeon says. "I own you," you exclaim. 

"I'm yours; I'm fucking yours," Miyeon says as you fuck her slow in a standing position. "Nice and slow," she says. As soon as she does, you go rough and fast. "Nice and slow what?" you poke her. "AH YES, YES, I FEEL YOUR BALLS HITTING MY CLIT AND IT FEELS SO GOOD," Miyeon screams as you lift her right leg to play with her clit as your balls keep hitting it.

After you're done, you put Miyeon back on her knees and get ready to feed your cock to her once again. "Put it in your mouth," you order. "What if I say no?" she asks you. "You have no say; you're my free use slut; open your mouth," you tell her, fucking her face once again. "Say no to me, ooops, you can't," you poke fun of her as her cheeks turn red and you stuff Miyeon's mouth full of cock.

"Get on the floor, on all fours," you demand of Miyeon. Without any warning, you stick your cock inside her asshole. "OH MY GOD!" Miyeon screams as you destroy her ass, which was still recovering from the pounding you gave her a couple days ago. "OH MY GOD JUST LIKE THAT STRETCH MY TINY LITTLE ASS," she screams as you fuck it hard and pull her hair. 

"You're so fucking beautiful," you tell Miyeon as you keep fucking her ass. "No one ever felt this good inside me before," she says. You pull out for a couple seconds, and she gets upset. "Why did you take it out?" she asks you. "You want it back in, you dirty greedy little bitch?" you ask back. "Yes, I can't get enough of you," Miyeon replies.

And you can't get enough of Miyeon's asshole, topping her like a bull full of rage and wrapping your hands all over her body. "I love the way you fuck my ass like a good boy," she says. "Then you're gonna like it even better when I fuck it like a bad boy," you reply.

Miyeon lowers her head, allowing you to stomp your right foot on it as you angle your cock back into her ass. "You own me," Miyeon says as she laughs and licks the dirty floor. "I do, right?" you reply, shoving her head into the floor as you pound her butthole until you get tired.

You lie on the table to get some deserved rest, letting Miyeon massage your balls as you jerk your cock off. "Which hole do you wanna put it?" she asks you. "The one closest to it," you say, placing it in her mouth, staying with it for a minute before Miyeon crawls on top of your body and puts it back in her ass to ride it, easily sliding it inside her thanks to all the spit she left over your cock.

"That's your fucking cock; ride it, bitch," you tell Miyeon, who goes crazy as you two keep getting entangled in an endless loop of debauchery. Miyeon spits on your face. "Who told you to do that, bitch?" you ask her. "You're my fucking slut, a slave to my fucking cock," you say as you know thrust upwards, choking Miyeon and pounding her ass nonstop, her body completely engulfed in sweat as you take her hard and deep.

Miyeon and you have fucked for 30 intense minutes, but still try to find every last drop of energy to continue. You smack your balls against her asscheeks and turn her into a human fuckhole. "GIVE ME MORE COCK, I WANT MORE," Miyeon screams as you keep fucking her like crazy.

You then flip things around, getting back on top of Miyeon and flipping back to her pussy while fingering it. "I know you can feel my fucking pussy gripping your cock," Miyeon says. You take it slow this time, looking at her sexy eyes. "You're my free use slut; I'm gonna destroy your useless pussy for the rest of my life," you promise her. "Close your eyes and feel the power of my throbbing cock inside you," you keep going.

"Just spread your fucking legs for me; you're going to do that to me every single day starting today," you tell her. "Oh, please, I love to feel you all the way deep into my cervix," Miyeon says. "Look at that perfect pussy; I wonder how many cocks went in there before mine, cause you're such a whore," you say to Miyeon. "I stopped counting a long time ago," she says back.

You give Miyeon's pussy one last rough pounding. "No one fucks me like you do; nobody uses me like this," she says as you hit her all the way into her cervix. "YES, YES, YES, FUCKING USE MY HOLES," she screams as you choke her. "This is why I'm always gonna come back to you; nobody fills my pussy the way you do AHHHHHH," Miyeon keeps saying.

"DEEPER, DEEPER, DEEPER," Miyeon screams as you push her to the limit. "Will you cum for me?" she asks. "Yes. You know what I want?" you reply. "I want to do what those guys did in front of me, and cum all over your face," you continue as you slap Miyeon's face. "Then, you'll go to my home, and I'll use your pussy once again,"  you continued.

"Yes, use my pussy, use my pussy, use me like I am your pocket pussy, use me like a fucking toy, and then cum all over my face," Miyeon begs. "You stretch my pussy so good," she continues. 

Miyeon twists in orgasm as you pull your cock out to blow your load in the last remaining hole, coating her face with your semen to show your ownership of that little fucktoy. 

"Cho Miyeon, you're all mine now," you say, spitting on her face for one final time.

And just like that, Miyeon's fate was sealed. Every morning, she would get fed with cock in her mouth, then her pussy and her ass. Again, and again, and again. Her job settled: be your fucktoy for the rest of her life.

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 2 - Adjustments

Summary: You're struggling a bit in your adjustment to your new life, and you're finding some of them are easier to get along with than others. Luckily you're not in it alone.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.

Author's Note: I'm so just overwhelmed with the attention this fic has gotten, but not in a bad way I promise! I'm just surprised is all. Thank you everyone that has read and reblogged and commented. I love all of you and so, since I have no self control, here is Chapter 2. Lots more world building and dialogue in this part, but I promise good stuff is coming.

Also I promise Soap will get his time soon. He's just the hardest for me to write, and you'll see why in this chapter.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“She was lying.” 

Price doesn’t bother looking up as a dark figure leans against the wall next to him. He stares out at the empty space between the barracks and the mess hall, not much traffic between the buildings during this time of day. 

“About how she got to the institute.” 

“Or at least not telling the whole truth.” Price says, turning to look at Simon. “Something tells me she’d talk if we asked.” 

“She’s soft.” Simon says, letting his gaze drift off into the distance. 

“She’s a civilian.” Price counters. “The CIA did a little training, but she’ll need some work. We can’t leave her completely defenseless...” 

Simon turns to face him again. “There’s something else.” 

Price pushes himself off the wall, heading back inside. Simon follows, the two of them making their way down the hall to his office. “There’s hundreds of American military bases across the world, thousands of regiments they could have chosen from, and yet, they sent her to us.” 

Simon closes the door behind him as Price sinks into his desk chair. “You think it was deliberate?” 

Price pulls open one of the drawers, pulling out the file Kate had given him. “Laswell said the CIA has had eyes on her for years.” He slides it across his desk to Simon. “There’s a lot of why's in this situation, and a lot of how’s. Like, if what she’s saying is true, how did a Staff Sergeant get his daughter into FIOT practically overnight?” 

Simon glances up at him over the top of the file. “You think there’s something else going on with this Initiative.” 

Price nods. “I do. I think there’s more than one experiment being run, and we’re the guinea pigs.” 

You stare at your reflection in the mirror as you run a comb through your damp hair. You look tired, the dark circles that have plagued your face for the last few weeks looking even darker now. It’s been a long day, so long it’s hard to believe it’s only been a matter of hours since you boarded the helicopter in London. 

Your new pack had made themselves scarce after dinner, leaving you to your own devices. You had been left alone after lunch too, and you had spent that time laying in bed, resting after the overwhelming scenting. 

You’d played back the last few hours in your mind. Leaving London in the helicopter, meeting your new Pack Alpha, Laswell leaving, meeting your new pack, the scenting. You had plenty to think about, to stress over, and you had been surprised when the knock came at your door for dinner. You were equally surprised to see Gaz and Soap waiting for you. 

You’d been sandwiched between them again as you walked to the mess. It was busier for dinner, and the eyes weren’t quite so quick to look away with the alphas missing. You know they have to be curious, with an omega on base following around two members of a SpecOps team, smelling like them. You know what they were probably thinking of you, what they were thinking your presence means. 

You’ve begun to understand Price’s rules a bit more. 

Price and Ghost had joined you as Soap said they would, coming in late from whatever they had been busy doing. You had been seated next to Soap, Ghost taking his other side while Price sat next to Gaz. It hadn’t gone unnoticed to you how close Soap and Ghost sat, and you remembered the look in Ghost’s eyes when Soap had approached to scent you. How his defensive stare had turned icy, threatening even, when he’d gotten close to you as if you were capable of hurting Soap. It had been a silent warning. If you tried anything, you’d have him to contend with. 

Ghost is territorial, more so than most alphas. You had seen it just a bit in Price, but only because you had been watching for it. Ghost was silent in his claim, but his gaze spoke of his territorialism. As you sat at the table with them, you slowly felt the stares lessen, the curious alphas and betas around you slowly turning away from your table until you were left in peace. You knew it was all thanks to a well-pointed glare from the second alpha at the table. 

They’d escorted you back to the barracks before disappearing again, leaving you alone. You’d opted for a shower to try and clear your head, exhaustion weighing heavy in your limbs but your mind was racing too much to really get any rest. You haven’t been told what their normal schedules entail or even what they look like, but you expect an early morning tomorrow. Since Price had said at least one of them needed to escort you around base, that likely meant you were going to be constrained to their schedules. 

You know even when they’re not away, their days are probably full of training and briefings, much like yours had been for three months. They’re probably up early, earlier than you’d like to be, and then they go non-stop all day. 

You wonder if they ever get a break. 

Maybe this is a break for them. 

You sit on the edge of the bed after you finish your routine, eyeing the pillows and blankets stacked at the end. They’re military issue, not as soft or as plush as you might have preferred. This is your new normal, though. Comfort isn’t exactly going to be a high priority. 

Tears prick your eyes as you run your hand over the comforter. You know it’s the exhaustion, the stress of the day beginning to weigh on you. You’re worn out, and that’s causing a slip in the tight reins you keep on your mood. Omegas and alphas were both prone to being moody, and those who were unrestrained could lose control quickly. Alphas were quick to anger, while omegas could get depressed very easily. Exhaustion drives both to being grumpy, though alphas will descend into irritability and anger, while omegas will get whiny and weepy. 

You hate it, how easily you can be driven to cry. How easily you can lose control. It makes you feel weak and helpless, but that’s partially by design. It was supposed to be your pack’s job to fix that, to give you that support and take care of you. 

Except you don’t know your pack. 

What would they do if you approached them like this, all teary and needy? Would instinct take over and snap them into their roles? Or would they give you an awkward pat on the back and leave you to take care of yourself? Gaz would help you, you think. He had slipped into that role so easily during the scenting. Your fingers twitch on the bedspread, your mind telling you to seek him out, track him down, even if it’s only to catch a whiff of his scent again.  

Your phone screen lights up where it’s sitting on the nightstand, drawing your attention from the door. Kate had given you the phone just this morning before you left the hotel. It had her number on it, as well as your pack’s. You’d half expected to find messages already from them when you’d turned it on, but there had been none. They had kept that boundary of meeting in person first. 

You pick up the phone, checking the message. It’s from Price. 

Breakfast is at 0700. I’ll take you to see the Omega Specialist after. 

Seven o’clock. It’s not terribly early. You’d eaten around the same time at the institute. You’ll get to meet the Omega Specialist as well tomorrow. You’ve met plenty of them in your time as an omega, but something about the idea of having someone there who knows, who understands is comforting to you. 

You send a reply in acknowledgement for tomorrow’s plan before setting an alarm for tomorrow morning. There’s an uneasy feeling under your skin, a tickling in the back of your mind that you can’t seem to relax. Your eyes are drawn to the desk where the shirts still sit, and before you know it you’re moving to the desk, letting your fingers trail over each one. 

You grab Price’s shirt, taking it back to your bed. You curl up with your back facing the door, holding the shirt against your chest, letting the scent of tobacco smoke and whiskey fill your nose. Silent tears slide down your cheeks, your face pressing into the pillow to muffle your sobs. 

As you try to muffle your tears, you miss the sound of boots pausing in front of your door, the person on the other side standing there for a moment before continuing down the hall. 

You let out a groan as your alarm pulls you from sleep. You had drifted in and out for a few hours before finally managing to get a couple precious hours of sleep. You’d woken when the others got up. You knew they were trying to be quiet but you had heard them shuffling around, talking quietly amongst each other. You’re normally a fairly deep sleeper, but in a new place you always struggle. 

A new place surrounded by almost complete strangers. 

You turn off your alarm, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. They’re burning a bit, the exhaustion still weighing heavy on your shoulders. You pad to the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face to try and make yourself at least look more alive than you feel. The last thing you need is them getting worried about you. That’s attention you’re not sure you want right now. 

You blink sleepily at your closet, trying to decide what to wear. Were you allowed to wear anything? You didn’t have much besides the basics, since the only thing you had been allowed to wear at the institute was its uniform and the clothes they provided. Then when you were with the CIA, they had provided clothes for you to wear as well. The things you have now had been bought by Kate before you left D.C. 

Everyone on base wore similar variants of the same uniform. You’re not military, though, so you don’t think those rules apply to you. No one had said anything about your state of dress yesterday. You opt for comfort, knowing you’d likely find out soon if you were going to be forced to dress differently too. 

You’re tying your shoes when the knock sounds on your door. You had heard the others moving around, footsteps in the hallway, opening and closing doors, quiet voices talking and Soap laughing at something. You know it’s one of them, yet the nervous tickle at the back of your head is back. 

Soap is leaning casually against your doorframe when you open the door. His face lights up in a smile as he sees you. “Morning, bonny. Sleep alright?” 

“Yeah.” You shrug. “Tossed and turned for a while.” 

“We didne keep ye up did we?” He asks, his smile faltering just a bit. 

You shake your head. “No, I never sleep well the first few nights in a new place.” 

“Well, our beds are always open if ye need something more comfortable.” He winks at you playfully. 

Your face warms at his words, the double meaning not lost on you. You were right, Soap was going to be the one to push your boundaries the most. 

Gaz elbows him in the ribs as he passes. “She’s been here a day, mate, don’t go scaring her off now.” He leans on the other side of your doorframe, giving you a smile. “Morning.” 

“Morning.” You say, your face still warm from Soap’s teasing. 

“You hungry?” Gaz asks. 

You nod. You do feel hungry this morning, likely a side effect from your emotional night last night. You step out of your room, the two betas stepping back to give you space as you close the door behind you. Ghost is leaning against the wall next to his door, his eyes watching with the typical cautious disinterest that seemed to be his default setting. 

Gaz and Soap sandwich you between them again, close enough their arms brush yours as you walk. It was almost as if they could sense your inner turmoil, the neediness still tugging at the back of your mind. If Ghost hadn’t been trailing the three of you, you might have been tempted to give in and grip their sleeves, or slip your hands into theirs. How would Ghost respond to such a bold move? The mental image of your body flying through the air as he punted you into next week almost makes you laugh. 

Price is already seated at a table frowning at his phone over a cup of coffee. Gaz and Soap load up your tray for you, something you’re getting used to rather quickly. It was expected from the alphas, or at least Price, to coddle you a bit, but it seemed the betas were more than happy to get in on it as well. 

The thought makes something flutter in your chest. 

You’re seated between Gaz and Price again once you reach the table, Price greeting you with a tired smile. “Morning. Sleep alright?” 

“Not really.” You say honestly. “New place and all. I’ll settle in eventually.” 

“Maybe the Omega Specialist can give you some ideas to help.” He glances at his watch before looking at you as you spoon a heaping spoonful of porridge into your mouth. “Take your time. We have until 8.” 

You listen to the conversation at the table as you eat, Gaz and Soap talking about a football game that’s on tonight. You feel eyes on you, your skin prickling a bit. You glance up, half expecting Ghost to be glowering at you again, but his gaze is focused on his eggs. You cast a quick glance around the mess, turning slightly to look behind you. 

Three tables over, you find the gaze of some soldier focused on you. You haven’t paid much attention to anyone else on the base, but then again you haven’t had much time or reason to yet. You can’t read the expression on his face as he stares at you, but you feel a shiver run down your spine as your eyes meet his. 

He stares at you for a few seconds before his gaze moves slightly past you, quickly dropping back to his plate. You turn around, finding Ghost staring just past your head. His eyes are narrowed, his scent coming off stronger than it had been. You can practically see his hackles raised, the warning clear in the air. You feel the urge to curl in on yourself, the threatening aura radiating from him makes you want to cower. 

It doesn't go unnoticed by those at the table either. 

“Easy, Ghost.” Price says calmly, Gaz turning to follow his line of sight. 

“Bloody wanker.” Ghost grumbles before rising from the table. 

You turn back around, but the soldier that had been staring at you is gone. 

You nervously pick at your sweatshirt sleeves as you sit in the plastic chair next to Price. You’re still on edge a bit from what happened at breakfast. It wasn’t so much being stared at that bothered you. After now three meals in the mess, you’ve almost come to expect it. It’s Ghost’s reaction that has your mind still reeling. 

“I’ve always hated the medical center.” Price says with a sigh as he leans his head back against the wall. “It smells too sterile. Makes my nose burn. Reminds me of too many close calls.” 

His words jar you a bit. You hadn’t even thought about that aspect of his job. He’s used to getting shot at, to getting into fights, running head first into danger that would send most running the other way. You wonder how many times he’s been the one with the close call, and how many others he’s had to watch have their own. 

You wonder how many times he’s had to make that trip to tell someone’s family. 

You’re pulled from your thoughts as the door across from you opens. Price pushes himself to his feet, and you follow as a kind looking woman steps out. You breathe a quiet sigh of relief. You don’t have anything against male Omega Specialists, but you were already surrounded by men. Sure you have Kate, but she’s half a world away. 

She’s tall, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Despite being a doctor she’s dressed casually, no white coat or gloves to be seen. Her eyes are light green and crease in the corners when she smiles. 

“Hello, I’m Dr. Keller.” She introduces herself, shaking Price’s hand. 

American. You think, silently breathing another sigh of relief. Kate really had pulled some strings with this one. 

“Captain John Price.” He says. 

You introduce yourself when she turns to you, shaking your hand. Her voice is soft and gentle, the scent of beta coming off her in waves. 

“Come on in,” She says, leading you into the office. “Sit anywhere you like. Make yourselves comfortable.” 

Her office isn’t what you expected either. Instead of the harsh fluorescents, the lighting is softer, warmer. There’s paintings and posters all over the walls, along with several plants. There’s a desk covered in books and paperwork in one corner and a bookshelf with several books packed into it in the other. There’s a couch on one wall, and a couple plush looking chairs on the other. 

You move to one of the chairs, sinking down onto it. It envelops you in softness, and you feel as if you might sink into it and never be able to get out. After a day of hard plastic and stiff blankets, it nearly makes you weep. 

Price takes the chair next to you, Dr. Keller sitting on the couch across from you. The office smells good, a light, neutral scent in the air aside from the pure almondy scent of beta. 

“Alright,” She says, holding a tablet and a stack of files in her lap. “I always like to start by introducing myself and telling you a bit about me, then we’ll get into the important stuff.” 

She jumps into telling you about herself. Where she grew up: California. Where she studied: UC Berkeley. What institute she did her residency at: West Coast Training Academy. Where she worked last before Kate called her in: some poor inner city institute in LA. 

“Now, on to the more important stuff.” She says, turning on the tablet. “I got your medical records yesterday. You’re quite the healthy girl.” 

“Yes ma'am. I have good genes. That’s what my mom used to say.” You respond. 

Dr. Keller smiles. “Hardly even been sick. Your heats are all normal, too, correct?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” You say. “Except for a three month stretch two years ago.” 

“Yes, the heat sickness epidemic that hit America.” She says. 

You nod. “FIOT locked down completely and everyone was supposed to quarantine, but I heard a rumor that it was one of the beta food workers. She snuck out to see her alpha boyfriend and brought it in with her. We only think it was her because she disappeared not long after the first omega got sick.” 

Dr. Keller hums. “I know not everyone was so willing to take it seriously. You made a full recovery, though. No lasting side effects, I’m sure thanks to the state of the art medical facilities that FIOT keeps.” 

“Yes, ma’am. We were lucky it was just a mild case.” 

“That is lucky.” She flips through something on the tablet. “Your lab results all look phenomenal. I like to do checkups monthly, just to ensure everything is working as it should. I know the CIA gave you quite the cocktail of vaccines while you were with them.” She turns her gaze to Price. “Captain Price, I’ve sent in a request for your team’s vaccination records as well. I’m sure you’ve had everything under the sun, but I’d like to ensure there’s no risk of any accidental exposures.” 

“I don’t see a problem with that.” Price says. “If RAMC gives you any trouble, just let me know. I’ll get them for you myself.” 

“Thank you, Captain.” She says. “One last bit in this part and then we can move on. I see FIOT issued an implant before you left, as is standard practice.” 

You nod. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Good. You’ve had more than enough time for it to take effect so we won’t have to worry about any accidental slip ups during your next heat.” 

Your cheeks warm at her words a bit. You’ve been trying to avoid thinking about that inevitable side of things. 

“And your next heat is roughly six weeks away.” She says, looking at the calendar. “Don't be surprised if it comes a little earlier now that you’re being exposed to alphas again.” 

Your stomach twists nervously at that thought. It was common for heats to be triggered early after exposure to alphas, especially after such a prolonged period without exposure to them. It wasn’t likely to start tomorrow, but you knew it could jump a week or two due to the natural pheromones alphas put off, and the instinctual call for the alpha/omega bond. 

“You’re planning for the claiming to take place during the heat?” Dr. Keller asks. 

“Yes, that’s the plan.” Price says. 

“That is the most natural time for it.” Dr. Keller says. “Of course, it is always up to omega preference in the end.” 

You don’t miss the way her eyes dart to you for a second. 

“Now that that’s over with,” She says, putting the tablet to the side. “If it’s alright with you, I’d like to do this next part with just the two of us.” 

A beat of silence passes before you realize she’s asking you. Her eyes are on you, and so are Price’s. She’s asking you. She’s asking you what you want. 

“I-I guess...yeah.” You stutter over your words, not quite sure how to answer. Is there a wrong answer? Would Price be upset if you said yes? Would Dr. Keller be upset if you said no? Your eyes turn to Price, trying to gauge his reaction. 

“It’s up to you.” He says softly. “We’re here for you.” 

You sit up a little straighter at his words, nodding your head. “Y-Yes. That’s okay.” 

Price pushes himself to stand up. “I’ll be right outside.” 

The air inside the room seems to lighten as he leaves, Dr. Keller reclining back on the couch as the door clicks shut. She pulls out a stack of papers and a pen before she looks at you. Your palms are sweating, and you’re starting to think you’d like the chair to swallow you whole. 

“This next part can feel a bit personal, but I just want you to know that everything you say in here is as confidential as you’d like it to be. Captain Price is right. I am an Omega Specialist, I’m here for you. I’m not just a doctor, I’m here to help you in all aspects of being an omega. I know FIOT teaches a lot, mainly obedience and compliance. I want to make it clear that you can be honest with me.” She holds up the stack of papers. “No one is going to see these papers but me, alright?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” You nod. 

“You don’t have to be so formal with me.” She smiles. “You can call me Dr. Keller, or Doc. You could even call me an evil bitch if you want, it won’t phase me any.” 

You can’t help the small smile that forms on your face. 

“I’ve got some questions I’d like to ask you. They’re a sort of tracker to measure how well you’re settling in and bonding with your new pack. I’d like to meet once a week until your next heat just to see how well you’re settling in. After that we can meet as often as you’d like. Sound good?” 

You nod in approval. It sounds like a lot, but you also know you’re going to have a lot of downtime, even with your pack on base. 

“Alright, let’s get started. How are you settling in? I know it’s barely been a day, but I want to know how you feel here.” 

Your heart begins to pound in your chest. How do you feel here? How do you feel after being pulled from the institute and taken to a training facility where you found out you’d be moving halfway across the world to be a military pack’s omega. 

This wasn’t what you had expected when you reached the age where you became an available omega. Most omegas at FIOT came from rich, powerful, important families and your purpose there was to be groomed into the perfect omega to return right back to that world. 

You thought you would be chosen quickly. You had expected it. With your scores and your high ratings and your status, you were what most alphas dreamed of. Yet, the years had passed and though there was some interest, nothing had ever come of it. You weren’t alone in it. There were others like you, those who excelled at being an omega, but then seemed to stall in the selection once they came of age. 

Of course, now that you look back on it, you can’t help but think it might have been done on purpose. The Omega Initiative was new, you had been told during your first briefing explaining why you were taken to a remote building somewhere outside of D.C. and greeted not by your new pack, but swathes of CIA agents. Military packs were nothing new, but they wanted to utilize the naturally formed packs and make them stronger and more stable by adding in omegas. 

Only highly skilled omegas were considered for the program, but of course you had no say in whether you were going to partake or not. They chose the omegas and they decided where you would end up. 

It wasn’t that dissimilar from being chosen from an Institute. At FIOT there was a screening process packs had to go through to be determined eligible to have access to omega files. Then the pack would have to send a neutral emissary, usually a beta, to meet the omegas in person and choose on behalf of the alpha. Most institutes don’t have that strenuous of a process, and some don’t have a process at all. In some, alphas themselves could walk in and choose an omega without even so much as a background check. 

Omegas never got a say. As soon as you were handed over to an institute, the ability to choose was taken from you. Whoever your caretakers were as a pup signed over their rights to you and the institute became your legal guardian. They dictated your life up until you joined a new pack. 

You had hoped it would be someone rich. If nothing else, you’d get to live a cushy life and you’d never have to worry about anything. When they told you what was really going to happen to you, you had almost cried. You did cry, late at night curled up in your bunk after hours of training and briefings. 

Kate picked you for this pack specifically because she knew them and she knew you could handle them and their world. 

Maybe if you had been worse at being an omega, things would have been better for you. 

Or maybe they would have been worse. 

“It’s...different.” You finally say, picking at your sleeves again. “But in a lot of ways, it’s similar to The Institute. It always takes me time to settle somewhere new.” 

“Me too.” Dr. Keller says, writing some things down. “And with the time change, it’s just so much harder. I feel like I should be in bed right now, but it’s 8 AM. Have you started nesting?” 

You shake your head. “No. I don’t even feel the urge to.” 

“That’s fine.” She says, writing something else down. “In truth, I’d be more concerned if you were.” 

Your eyebrows raise a bit. “Why?” 

“During an adjustment period for an omega, especially in a new pack, there can be something that happens called false instincts. The sudden urge to nest, a drive to bond with pack members too soon, false heats. It’s usually brought on by a sudden change in environment, like when omegas are taken from a place where they’ve spent sometimes years with no exposure to alphas and are suddenly thrown into a space with a lot of alphas. It’s more common in larger packs where you have alphas, betas, and other omegas.” 

“Could it happen in smaller packs?” You ask. 

“It’s possible, though rare. It can cause some serious issues down the line when those instincts are actually supposed to begin to show up, like adjustment sickness. I’d say if you’re starting to feel the urge to nest or bond before the first week is up, then come talk to me, alright?” 

“Yes, ma’am.” You nod. 

She smiles, turning the page. “How far have you gotten with the bonding process?” 

“Just the scenting yesterday.” You answer. 

“And how did that go?” 

You pick at the loose thread on your sweatshirt. “Fine. It was...overwhelming.” 

“They can be.” Dr. Keller says. “The new members of your pack, how are you getting along with them?” 

“Fine, I guess.” You shrug. “I like Soap and Gaz. Price, he’s...he’s nice, and Ghost...” You trail off, not sure how to answer. If she’d asked before breakfast you might have said he doesn't like you. He doesn’t want you to be part of his pack, but after what happened at breakfast...

You can’t be sure he did it for you. He could have thought that soldier was staring at Soap or Gaz or even Price. He could have thought the soldier was staring at him and was annoyed with it. He had scared off the stares at every meal you’d eaten together, but how often did they get stared at? You couldn’t know if that was a daily occurrence and he was just growing sick of it. 

He could be annoyed with you because you’re drawing in the stares. 

“I don’t know what to think about him yet.” You answer. 

She writes something else down, going through a few more questions with you. How is your appetite? How are you sleeping? Are you taking care of your needs? Do you have any concerns? 

Before you know it the hour has passed and you’re walking out the door into the fluorescent, sterile hallway of the medical center. 

“Remember, you have my number. If you need anything, I’m here for you.” Dr. Keller says as you part ways. 

You walk with Price out of the medical center, glad to be out in the fresh air. It’s not particularly warm, and the sun is hidden behind a layer of clouds, but it’s better than the medical center. 

“What do you think?” Price asks as you follow him back to the barracks. 

“I think it went well.” You say, mind still reeling from an eventful morning. You’re beginning to feel your restless night. 

“Do you like Dr. Keller?” He asks, probing a bit. 

You nod. “Yes, sir. She’s nice.” 

“Good.” He says, opening the door to the barracks for you. “I have to leave to oversee training for the next few hours.” He glances at his watch. “One of us will come get you for lunch.” 

You nod. Of course you’d find yourself alone again between meals. You’re beginning to notice a pattern. “Yes, sir.” 

His hand is warm as it settles on your shoulder, squeezing gently. You’re surprised by the touch, as small as it is. Were they too fighting the urge to get close to you, like you had this morning? 

You can still feel the warmth of his hand even after it’s disappeared and he’s gone. You head for the rec room, deciding to avoid the constricting feeling of being shut in your room for the time being. 

The TV is on when you enter, but the room is empty, playing some morning talk show. You move to the bookshelf against the wall, letting your eyes scan the titles. There's a surprising lack of military-based books shoved into the packed shelf. Of course there's a handful of old manuals and handbooks, nothing that you're particularly concerned about needing to read. You let out a sigh, standing on your toes to reach a Brandon Sanderson novel. 

You look around the room but the remote for the TV seems to be missing, and it’s too high on the wall for you to reach the power button, so you leave it on, curling up on one corner of the couch as you begin to read. 

You’re not sure how much time has passed when something moves in your peripheral. The sun has come out briefly, shining in through the windows. You look up from the book, suddenly feeling very small under Ghost’s gaze. His eyes are narrowed as he stares down at you, a thousand things flashing through your mind. Are you in his spot? Is this his book? Had he come to the rec room hoping to be alone and here you are infringing in his space? 

“Come on.” He says, his voice rougher than it had been this morning. “Lunch.” 

He’s already turned and heading out the door as you scramble up, leaving the book on the coffee table as you hurry to catch up to him. His steps are quick and wide, and you find yourself having to almost speedwalk to keep up with him. 

Your thoughts are jumbled as you follow him out of the barracks and off towards the mess. Why would they send him to get you? Was he the only one available? Yesterday they had time before lunch to return to the barracks, or had that only been because of you? Or were they perhaps hoping this might offer a chance for the two of you to bond a bit? 

Or were they entirely blind to Ghost’s disinterest in your existence? 

Perhaps they were used to it. After so long together, perhaps they just thought it was normal. If you were brave enough to bring it up, would you get a “oh that’s just how he is” in response? 

You can’t see the others as you enter the mess, Ghost leading you to the line. He stands behind you like a hulking shadow, his scent covered by the smell of gunpowder and sweat. You fill your own tray for the first time, grabbing things that look appetizing. You’ll have to get used to it eventually, even though the others insisted on doing it for the time being. When they’re not here, you’ll have to do it yourself. 

Ghost leads you to an empty table, and you opt to sit across from him. You begin to eat, taking big bites to avoid the need for conversation, not that you really thought Ghost would strike up a conversation with you. Your eyes flicker around the room nervously, glancing over the entrances time and time again, waiting for the others to arrive. 

“Stop twitching. They’re on their way.” 

The words cut straight through you and you snap your head around to face Ghost. He’s got his mask pulled up to his nose, your eyes immediately drawn to the exposed pale skin. There’s light stubble on his chin. You remember how that had felt on your own skin when he’d scented you. He’s blonde, you think, or at least has light hair judging by the color of the stubble. There’s a scar on his chin, almost hidden by the stubble. 

Your face warms as you realize you’ve been caught in your nervous fretting. Of course, you should have known he would take notice. There’s not a lot they don’t notice, you think. Though, when your survival depends on noticing even the smallest detail of anything or anyone...

You jump as a tray is set down next to yours, your eyes snapping up to see Gaz with a smile on his face. You turn back to look at Ghost, his mask pulled back down but you see a slight shake to his shoulders for a second.

Was he...laughing at you? 

Your attention is drawn from him as Gaz takes a seat next to you, sitting close enough his arm is almost brushing yours. Price and Soap taking their usual spots as well. You’re beginning to pick up on the patterns that existed around them, and their own patterns. Perhaps that will make it easier for you to fit yourself into their lives. You knew from the start they weren’t going to change to fit you into their lives. They couldn’t. You were going to have to find a way to fit into their lives. 

Gaz walks you back to the barracks after lunch, abnormally quiet as he watches you warily. He walks you to your door, leaning on the doorframe as you step inside. 

“You alright?” He asks, big brown eyes shining with worry as he looks you over. 

“Yeah.” You nod, shifting on your feet. “Just tired. I think I might take a nap.” 

He nods, and you’re sure he doesn't quite believe you, but he doesn’t press any. “Alright. Happy napping.” 

You close the door as he leaves, sinking down onto the edge of the bed with a sigh. It’s been a long day and it’s only lunch. Between the probing questions from Dr. Keller and the few minutes you had spent alone with Ghost you feel exhausted. It was good to know you weren’t entirely broken in your lack of nesting instincts, and perhaps your turmoil with belonging in this place wasn’t quite as abnormal as you thought. 

What to do about Ghost.

He’s said more words to you today than he did in the entirety of the previous day. In fact, you think today might be the first time he’s spoken to you at all. You know he doesn’t approve of you, and you’d go so far as to say he doesn’t like you. You can imagine he fought the hardest against you being added to the pack. They were fine without you. It didn’t take a genius to see that. 

You’re an outsider. A civilian. A risk. 

An unneeded disruption to their lives. 

You pull your phone out of your pocket, staring at the dark screen. You know Ghost might never accept you. He won’t want to claim you, he won’t mate you, but...perhaps you might just get him to tolerate you. 

You unlock your phone, sending a quick text to Kate. 

“Can you get a book for me?”

You regret your decision momentarily as you step into the rec room. Gaz and Soap are lounged on the couch, beer bottles open on the coffee table. The TV is playing ads, their attention on each other. You almost feel as if you’re infringing upon a private moment as they laugh, half tempted to race back to your room and hide until your hunger draws you out or someone breaks down the door to get to you. 

“Hey!” Gaz’s face lights up when he sees you, Soap turning to look at you.

“Hey, bonny!” His face lights up with a smile. 

“Do you mind if I join you?” You ask, shifting nervously on your feet. 

“Not at all.” Gaz says, patting the empty spot on the couch next to him. “You want a beer?” 

You shake your head. “No thank you. Never could get past the taste.” 

Soap throws his head back as he laughs, slapping Gaz’s shoulder. “I keep tellin’ ye!” 

“Yet you keep drinking it!” Gaz attempts to defend himself. 

“Cause it’s th’ only thing we got!” Soap argues, leaning around Gaz to stare at you. “So, ye a football fan, bonny?” 

“Well, I watched the World Cup a couple times as a kid.” You say. “My household was more of an American football and baseball household. Two of my older brothers played soccer, though they never were very serious about it. Mostly just did it to fulfill my dad’s physical activity extracurricular requirement.” 

“What did you do to fulfill that requirement?” Gaz asks as he takes a sip of his beer. 

“Softball. I was...not good at it.” You laugh. “I could catch and throw, but I don’t think I hit the ball a single time I was at bat.” 

Both of them chuckle, turning back to the TV as the ad ends. “Don’t worry, we’ll turn you into a proper football fan yet.” Gaz says. 

You watch the game with them, and it doesn’t take you long to realize they’re rooting for opposing teams. They explain things to you here and there in between yelling at the TV and each other. Despite how loud they are, you find yourself relaxing further and further, the tension from the last two days easing away, even as the two betas yell at each other over a soccer game. 

Gaz tenses for a second as he feels a sudden weight on his shoulder. He turns his head slightly, noticing you’ve fallen asleep, your head drooping onto his shoulder. His lips quirk up in a smile as he gently nudges Soap. 

“Wha?” Soap asks, turning to look at him. 

He jerks his head to the side, leaning back just slightly so Soap can see. A grin breaks out on the younger man’s face and he pulls out his phone. “Aww, look a’ that. Think we should wake ‘er and get ‘er tae bed?” 

“Nah.” Gaz says. “Let her sleep for now. She probably needs it.” 

You sleep soundly through overtime, Gaz not moving until the post game is over, letting you sleep as long as possible. He knows you have to be tired, after the last few days and the time difference. You looked tired today, with dark circles and droopy eyes. He hates to wake you, but he knows you can’t sleep on the couch. 

He nudges you gently, trying to rouse you. “Hey.” He nudges you again, your head finally lifting off his shoulder. 

You blink sleepily, rubbing at your eyes. You make a quiet sound in protest of being awake, eyes drooping closed again. 

“Come on, love.” He says, keeping you upright. “It’s time for bed.” 

You cover your yawn with your hand, blinking at him sleepily. “Bed?” You murmur sleepily, Gaz smiling softly at how adorable you are in this state. 

“Yeah, you’ll be more comfortable in bed.” He pushes himself to stand, hands on your arms to pull you up. 

You make another sound in protest, nearly falling against his chest when he gets you on your feet. He wraps an arm around you, letting you lean on him as he guides you back to bed, Soap cleaning up the mess they had made. 

You’re more awake once you get to your door, blinking up at him with bleary eyes. “‘S fun.” You murmur, rubbing your eyes. “Should do that more often.” 

“You’re always welcome to join us.” He says. “Get some rest. You’ve had a long week.” He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Night, love.” 

He waits until your door is closed before heading back down the hallway towards the rec room, a small smile on his face. 

NEXT ->

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[writersdrug]

Training for Two

Chapter 6: Pup Cup

Masterlist

Summary: Simon unexpectedly runs into you... and your friends... and Tyler.

Warnings: dissociation, jealousy

It was finally Saturday - a Saturday where you had cleared your schedule, and so had Leslie and Nina. AND Tyler. Which was maybe once every two months. So, you had made plans to get brunch with the girls, the three of you deciding to dress up a bit and get mimosas. Tyler had promised to swing by around one to take you around the city, then to spend a cozy day at his apartment.

Right now, it was girl time. The three of you had your mimosa pitcher and a shared basket of fries, delving into each other's personal drama.

"And then Marcie asked me to pick up this Saturday - today, mind you - because she forgot the two interns were finished this Thursday. Of course, I told her no, in the most professional way I could - and she had the audacity to say I needed to pick up more slack. Me!!"

Nina scoffed. Your jaw dropped open. "You've been there the longest!"

Leslie nodded. "Longer than her, too! God, I could've let her have it, right then and there-" she sighed, leaning back in her seat. "Of course, I didn't. But I made sure she knew I would not be coming in on my day off, that I had planned for weeks."

You snapped your fingers in applause, making Leslie chuckle. "Bravo to you - we love seeing women fighting women in the workplace."

"Oh, stuff it." She laughed, swatting your hands away. "Feels like an episode of 'The Office,' if you ask me. Just too bloody insane to be real."

You hummed thoughtfully, taking a sip of your mimosa. Your eyes wandered down to your purse, hanging from the side of your chair, your phone tucked away within. I wonder what Simon's up to... what does he do on his days off?

"Speaking of women in the workplace..." Leslie turns to Nina, who was scowling at her phone. "Who's got you so irate on a Saturday?"

"Idiots, that's who." She grumbled, furiously punching away at the keyboard on her screen. "It's as if the minute I take a personal vacation, everyone and their grandmother suddenly need a wedding planner." She sighed and tucked her phone back into her purse. "I'm sorry..."

You and Leslie shook your head, reassuring her that it was alright. God forbid she starts falling into the "I work so hard and get nothing in return" schpeel - which would be believable and understandable, if it wasn't for the fact that she played that card every time the three of you were together.

"Did you hear she started dog-sitting?" Leslie said, nodding in your direction.

That snapped Nina out of her own head. "You did? What does that have to do with your design work?"

You huffed. "Well, it doesn't - but, and I told you this, Leslie" - she laughed at your glare - "that I was just looking for a house-sitting gig, like what I did before I left that stupid company. Just until I got a few clients to myself, and could start my own business."

"Busy bee..." Leslie commented, and Nina nodded in agreement.

"Not nearly as you two - remember how hard it was for me and Tyler to have a weekend together? Now I'm the one waiting for him. He's even started coming with me when I take Riley for walks - just to spend more time together."

"How sweet..." Leslie cooed.

"Riley?" Nina asked.

"The dog." You answered. "She's a wonderful dog, really. Used to be military, before her... injury..."

You trailed off, staring at something between Leslie's and Nina's heads. They stared at you in confusion for a moment, until you beamed widely and started waving your hand. They turned to stare at whomever had caught your attention.

Simon wasn't one for "get-togethers," as he heard them called. He was perfectly fine spending his leave at home, only leaving to walk Riley or get his groceries and smokes. He'd occasionally text the team and see what they were up to, but other than that - he had no problem living like a hermit.

Soap was the one to suggest the idea of the team getting lunch together, since they were all nearby for work. Of course, Gaz was never one to turn down a group outing; once he was in, Price had decided they all might as well go. ("Should be a team off the field too, right?")

So that's how Simon had been forced to come out of his cave. And no, it might not seem like he was forced... but it would be rude of him not to go, so therefore, societal standards were forcing him. That, and Soap would bitch about him being a "bawbag" for weeks if he didn't tag along.

He decided to bring Riley with him, since it had been a few weeks since she had seen everyone. She looked around as she panted, walking besides Simon through the mildly-crowded sidewalk. It was a decent Saturday afternoon, with a mix of cloud and sun hanging in the sky. Simon wore his usual jeans and a sweatshirt, along with a black surgical mask.

He needed a head start for the day. Not that he didn't enjoy spending time with his team outside of work... but people were exhausting, especially when he was forced into proximity with them. He needed a few hours to himself, in public, just to wake up his social battery. The best way to achieve that? Tea, Riley, and people-watching.

So that's how he found himself, next in line at the coffee counter of a restaraunt he’d been to a few times before. He had his hands shoved in his pockets as he held Riley's leash; her head was on a swivel, sniffing the aromas that wafted through the air, and the occasional hand of each person who passed her. Simon was thankful people were wary of his presence - it kept everyone from trying to lean down and pet Riley without his permission.

The customer in front of him moved away from the counter, and Simon stepped forward. The girl behind the cash register smiled at him, wiping her hands on her apron.

"What can I get for you, sir?"

"Jus' a tea. Medium, no sugar, no cream."

"Would you like the passionfruit tea or the mint berry mixer? Or our jasmine goddess?"

"... d'you have black tea?"

She chuckled. "Yeah, I'll get your black tea."

Simon huffed as he put his cash on the counter. Don' get why tha's funny...

He watched as she moved - rather sluggishly, he thought. Despite that her makeup did a fantastic job of hiding how tired she must have been, he could see it in her eyes and actions. The way she stood there, shoulders slightly slumped as she watched the hot water pour into Simon's cup, her arms resting heavily against the counter. He looked behind him briefly, noticing how long the line was for the cafe. Not to mention she had dine-in orders to fulfill, too... and she's alone at the coffee bar. He turned back, watching as she fought to make sure the lid was properly secured on his cup. It made him a bit nervous, how she supported nearly all of her weight onto the top. What if it crumples? What if she gets burnt? Is there a burn kit behind the shelf? Probably not-

Riley whined, snapping Simon’s attention away from the barista and down towards her. She licked her lips and stared up at him curiously.

She always knows.

He sighed, patting her flank. "Thanks, girl."

The barista returned with his tea, as well as a small cup of whipped cream with a dog biscuit poking out of it. “For your friend.” She said with a too-tight smile.

Simon stared blankly at the whipped cream cup. "I didn't order tha’.” He said bluntly.

“It’s on the house! Pup cups are free.” She said, nudging the two items towards Simon. “Don’t worry, there’s no added sugars in the whipped cream, and the treat is allergen-free.”

Why does everyone assume dogs have allergies? Simon thought to himself. He glanced at Riley for a brief moment – she looked back at him, certainly not expecting a treat, not yet. She’d hounded him enough for those goddamn biscuits all morning, the ones you’d been spoiling her with, and he had no choice but to follow the routine and gave her one. This created a cycle that sent him to the doggie-daycare once a week to pick up more, since the old woman who made them only sold them there. Without even intending to, most likely, you were taking more from his wallet than he had hired you for. Not that he minded… it was all for Riley, however, he was almost certain he’d buy a fucking parrot if you were the one convincing him.

Riley let out a garbled sound, making Simon realize he was still staring at her. And holding up the line. Shit, socializing was more taxing than he thought…

“Thanks…” he mumbled, grabbing his drink and the cup of whipped cream. He carefully directed himself and Riley through the crowd and over to the condiment shelf, setting both items down and adjusting his grip on Riley’s leash. He still had a few hours to kill; it’s a bit cramped in here, he thought as he grabbed a handful of napkins, eyeing the throng of coffee addicts and beatniks in the cafe, there’s always the bench by the fountain on Muller and 4th street, that might-

The sight of your familiar, perfect, sparkling eyes sucked the air and the thoughts from his body in a matter of a single second. That bright personality speared him like a harpoon as you waved from across the café, beckoning him over with a waggle of your fingers. His mind was trying to catch up after being knocked off of its feet, and he finally inhaled.

You looked equally surprised to see him - but he wasn't paying attention to that. He noticed your eyeliner and lipstick, how it made your features even brighter than they typically were. You'd worn your hair down, which was the first time he'd seen it like this since he hired you. Your nails were painted a soft pink, which accentuated the mimosa glass like an orange sunset across a blush sky... and your dress. Of course, it was bright and floral, just like your personality. But it was soft, too. The way it fitted so nicely around you - not too tight, perfectly settled around your shoulders and hips, making you look delicate. Simon was sure if he was to reach out and touch your arm, it would feel like he'd touched the skin of an angel.

He was too stunned to wave back, still frozen in the one spot by the counter as people flowed around him like river water around a stone. It wasn't until Riley had noticed you too and began whining that Simon finally gathered his bearings and nodded his head at you, stuffing the napkins in his pocket.

Two other heads swiveled around from your table and eyed him curiously, and for a moment, he groaned internally; you were with friends. Not horrible, but... not ideal. He didn't care to talk to anyone other than you at the moment – really, ever. Still, you were here, and that trumped all other factors. His anxieties moved to the sidelines when you were on the other end of the path. He clicked his tongue at Riley and grabbed his tea, carefully weaving through patrons and tables to get to you.

"Simon!" You chirped when he approached; you stood up and on your toes, reaching your arms to give him a side hug. He awkwardly stood there, attempting to hug you back by letting his arm curve around your upper back, careful not to spill his tea. Before he could stop himself, he took a deep, quiet breath in, nearly sighing at the smell of your perfume.

So floral and... sweet. Like the bookstore/plant nursery hybrid that he passes when he walks through town on his way for groceries.

You pulled away, and he straightened up. He was suddenly aware of the other two women staring at him.

"So sorry!" You said, turning to your friends. "Simon- this is Leslie, and Nina."

"’Ello." He said quietly, uninterested, and they each responded with their own "hi's". Leslie looked at him with a scrutinous stare, and he could feel her trying to peel him apart layer by layer. She looked like a corporate junkie, with her tight bun and high heels. Nina... she was... odd. She looked at him with her bottom lip between her teeth, eyes half-lidded... it made him uncomfortable. Both with the way she shamelessly ogled, and with how her eyes seemed to be a few unfortunate centimeters too far apart.

"And this is Riley!" You said, bending down and ruffling the dog’s fur. "How ya been, girl?"

She blinked at you as you pet her, sniffing the air between your face and hers. Her tongue hung out of her mouth as she panted, nearly smiling up at you if she could have.

"Ya gone and spoiled her." Simon commented, feeling something warm at the sight of you and Riley. "She wants me to tuck 'er in every day, now. And she's got me runnin' to the dog daycare every week for those bloody biscuits."

Leslie pursed her lips, thinking Simon was being rather rude. You laughed, sitting back down in your seat. "She wasn't spoiled enough, in my opinion. Did she drag you to Poeheko Park yet?"

"She did. Thought I's about to be mugged."

You laughed again. Simon wished he could bottle the sound and keep it in his pocket, so he could pull it out and listen to it over and over whenever he wanted.

"I don't think anyone could mug you, Simon." You said, absentmindedly stroking Riley's fur as she sat next to you.

So you thought he was strong? Invincible? Oh, that did something to him.

"What do you do, Simon?" Leslie asked, sipping her mimosa. "For work?"

Definitely corporate... he thought, from the way her question sounded slightly interrogatory.

"Military." He said bluntly.

Nina's lips curled into a smile; he chose to ignore it.

"Her too?" Leslie pointed at Riley, who sniffed her extended hand.

"She was..." Simon looked down at her, a bit pleased that Riley huffed in distaste at the 'stranger'. "Retired. And a rotten princess now, thanks to you." He turned back to you, his expression lighting up the tiniest bit.

You could sense something - what it was exactly, you couldn't put your finger on it. Simon seemed... tense. Uncomfortable. Maybe he didn't like being thrown into social settings with people he didn't know. You understood it.

"Well-" you said, trying to ignore the way Nina stared at him. "I don't want to interrupt your morning."

"You weren't." He said, still looking at you.

You sent him a glance, and laughed nervously. He continued watching you - God bless anyone who was ever in a staring contest with this man - as Riley sat next to him obediently. Fuck, she was staring at you too...

Leslie looked back and forth between the two of you for a moment, with you blushing furiously, and Simon watching you like you were prey - fortunately, she found an opportunity to come for your rescue.

"Oh, Tyler's here, luv." She said, tilting her head towards the space behind you.

You turned in your seat and smiled, just as a man came up and whisked you out of your chair. You threw your arms around his shoulders and kissed his cheek, and he smiled as his arms wrapped around your waist.

"Thought you were coming by around one?" You said, pulling back to look at his face.

"I was able to pick up the kit from work earlier than I expected, so I thought I'd come by now." He briefly waved at Leslie and Nina, tucking you into his side. "Sorry girls - lookin' lovely, by the way - but I'm stealin' her a bit early today."

Nina waved her hand dismissively. "We had something planned for tomorrow too; go right ahead." Leslie nodded in agreement.

Tyler smiled. "Perfect. Glad it's not too much of a- woah..."

He turned to look – to really take in the sight of the hulking, brooding man beside you, and he was very visibly taken aback. Simon's soft stare had turned into a cold, unforgiving glare. His eyes were hardened with - something. Maybe anger, maybe authority. He stood rigid and tall, with his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt, as he bore holes into Tyler's frame.

Simon took him in: soft, brown hair, a slight tan, rough hands, yet soft features. Slight wrinkles around the eyes from smiling too much. A white shirt and jeans, with a plaid – it made sense, now where your stash had come from.

He liked the way that Tyler was a bit intimidated, as evident by the look in his eyes. What he didn't like, was... Tyler. How he held you close. How you let him hold you. And how he himself felt the urge to snatch you from Tyler's grasp and march you out of the cafe.

"Oh, sorry-" your voice brought them both out of their trance. "Tyler, this is Simon. My client."

"Ah!" Tyler smiled, relaxing a bit as he held his hand out. "Nice to meet you!"

Simon grabbed it firmly, making Tyler wince the tiniest bit as he shook his hand. "Likewise." Not in the slightest.

When he released his hand, Tyler bent down to Riley and offered his hand for a sniff. "I know we've met before, girl."

Simon felt something stir in his gut as Riley sniffed Tyler's hand. "Y' have?" He asked, his voice a bit harsh.

"He's never been in your house." You said quickly, trying to diffuse the tension in the air. "He just tags along for the walks sometimes. Keeps us company.”

Riley IS the company. Y’ don’t need an extra, luv.

"Mm." Simon said gruffly, looking down at Riley. She was sniffing Tyler's closed fist, then leaning back to stare up at Simon. She huffed in distaste.

He fought the urge to smirk. Good girl.

"What do you do, Simon?" Tyler asked, trying to be friendly.

Nina cleared her throat. He's milita-"

"Special Armed Services." Simon interrupted. "Ten years."

Tyler looked impressed. "Shit- that's tough, mate. Makes sense with how you- y'know..." he gestured to Simon's frame, then dropped his hands and cleared his throat. "Eh, nevermind."

"I's fine." Simon replied, standing a bit taller. "What d'you do?"

"Ah- heh, nothin' that impressive. Electrician."

Simon nodded, though it wasn't the answer he was hoping for. It was hard to completely emasculate a man when he did blue-collar work. And even harder when Tyler seemed to respect Simon. It was one thing to be an asshole to an asshole, but it was another to be an asshole to a decent man.

He had to reign himself in. Tyler was your boyfriend. Why was he trying to show the poor lad up after knowing him all for a minute and a half?

"Well, erm..." Leslie cut in. "Looks like you two need to get going, and we're nearly finished here." She smiled at Simon. "It was lovely meeting you!"

"Yeah mate!" Tyler said. "Nice to finally meet you!"

Simon paused for a moment. Normally, he would love to be ripped out of a conversation like this - but now, he'd suffer through the company of a few, annoying strangers if it meant he got to talk to you. But, he obliged, sensing that Leslie wanted him gone for a reason.

"Yeah, likewise." He said, giving Riley a pat, then he looked at you. "Might need you t' watch 'er soon, but I'll email you."

"I'll keep an eye out for it." You said with a flashy smile. "See you later, Simon!"

He grunted and nodded his head, then left them all at the table. Riley stayed dutifully by his side as they made their way through the crowd of cafe patrons.

Simon tried to smell your perfume for as long as it would cling to his shirt. Soon, the scents of coffee, sugar, and teas washed it out, and the lingering warmth your scent brought him had also vanished. The bitterness came right back into his throat, coating his tongue and making him grimace under his mask and his fists clench in his pockets.

Tyler seemed like a good man, and you were happy. He had no business feeling so possessive over something that wasn't his - something that belonged to someone else. He felt like he was missing a screw - his emotions were completely out of control, and he acted compulsively when it came to you. He told himself, as he walked out of the cafe and into the busy sidewalk, that the disappointment of discovering that you were Tyler's would be a good opportunity to work on himself.

He sighed, continuing down the path to the pub. Riley huffed as she trotted next to him, and he suddenly remembered the cup of whipped cream and the dog treat – most likely still abandoned on the condiment counter of the restaurant. “Don’ worry, girl, you can have some’f Johnny’s chips.”

Next ->

[some-bunniii]

Lucifer dotes on a pregnant!reader

・❥ Congrats, you’re pregnant! It’s not Luci’s, but nobody can tell the difference with how much he adores you and your baby

| Part 1 | Part 2 |

x: based on @ukor02’s prompt! reader is fem with no use of y/n. enjoy 🤍

~ 27k words!! Ya’ll…. :’)

[read it in chapters on my ao3!]

“Please, Mr. Demur! Can’t I pay you next week? I’ll have enough by then, I promise.”

“How many ‘next weeks’ are we going to have here, hm? If I don’t start making money on these units, I won’t be able to pay off my own debts. I can’t let you keep living here rent-free!” 

You grimaced as your landlord continued to speak across the line, his voice harsh against your ear as you held the small phone against it. Your nails clicked nervously against the wooden countertop of your kitchen, the sound reverberating around the room, helping to drown out your thoughts.

You had been very behind on monthly dues. Your income wasn’t enough to support all your woes anymore, which meant you were struggling to pay rent and afford groceries. Hell’s inflation was getting pretty crazy, and without a second source of income, you were doomed.

You had a second source of income when your boyfriend lived with you and worked for maintenance at VoxTek. Until you found him rolling under the sheets with your next-door neighbor, one of Valentino’s girls who decided that she’d expand her interests to family men.

He had begged for your forgiveness when you dragged him by the ear towards the front door. ‘I won’t do it again, I promise!’ he had pleaded, moaning for your mercy. Right, like you were going to trust a demon from Lust to stay loyal any longer.

What a fool you were, giving him all those chances. Now, you were taking the hit for everything. Alone. Regret ate at the back of your mind, should you have let him stay? If not for your feelings, at least to have kept a roof over your head for you and…

Your gaze traveled slowly down to the small bump on your abdomen, the unspoken words shouting that you ever had relations with a man. Your unborn baby.

The baby your boyfriend knew about, a week before he brought that woman into your home. Yet, he still shoved you aside for a hotter piece of trash. The nerve.

How were you going to support a whole other helpless, tiny being now? If only you could get some empathy from your landlord, appeal to his second nature…

“I understand your difficulties, trust me, I do! But—”

“If you understand that,” your landlord over the phone finally growled out, “then you’ll understand that I’m giving you three days to pack up all your things, and get out of my unit!”

The line ended, that soft buzzing in your ear the only thing keeping you grounded atop the kitchen stool you were quietly shaking on.

Out? He was evicting you? That wasn’t fair! You’ve lived here for years, and a few late payments are what ends your relationship with the little one-bedroom apartment? Ridiculous! 

What were you going to do now? There was nobody to lean on for help, not anymore. Not after your boyfriend left, and your best friend ran off with some royal shitbag down to the Envy Ring, and who even knows where your parents were these days.

It was just you, and the little bean who’d call you Mama soon enough.

Your hand lowered, thumb grazing soothingly against the small protrusion in your belly. Tears pricked at your eyes, hot and angry as you fumed silently. Was this it? The end of any happiness in your life? Forced to grovel like a dog to some powerful entity, or sign a contract that rips free will from your grasp? 

You shivered at the thought. No. That's not how you were going to go out, not without a fight. Even in a dark and brooding place like Hell, you’d try to live a happy and comfortable life, if not for you, at least for the baby growing in your womb. 

Maybe, when the child is born, you won't feel so lonely anymore. They’d be someone to snuggle with at night, curled up against your chest as the two of you lounged on the sofa. The soft words emanating from the TV across the room like a lullaby to their tiny ears, as they drank in the warmth of your body, drifting into blissful sleep.

You’d lower your nose and breathe in that fresh, sweet baby scent from the top of their head, filling you with another dose of pure love and adoration. That child would be fawned over for, well, forever. Even if you were the only one going to share that love, you could wait for them to grow older and return some of it.

That made you smile, imagining the little pitter-pattering of feet against tile flooring as you baked the toddler delicious treats and cooked delicacies that made their little mouth water. That gleam of awe in their eye as the flavors swirled against their tongue, their brain growing fuzzy with pleasure.

That’s the life you would live, and not some cardboard box in the alleyway begging for scraps.

“Alright, looks like Mama has some work to do,” you spoke softly to the quiet, empty room. You weren’t sure whether the little bean could hear your voice nestled so far in your belly, but at this point, you were willing to chat up thin air if it kept your sanity. 

It wasn’t going to be easy, that was for sure. You needed a stable income, instead of picking up odd jobs popping up on the streets. Then, you needed to find a place to stay, it could be anything, even a barn. As long as it was somewhere with a little room and comfort, it would do for the time being. You’d have to upgrade when the baby was born, though, maybe to a two-bedroom apartment this time.

Quickly, you lifted your phone and typed in the now-familiar phrase ‘Places hiring in Pentagram City’. You scrolled, favoriting every job that offered a decent income and was manageable for you.

Being pregnant was going to make things difficult, seeing as you’d be unable to do many physical tasks sometime down the road in the coming months. Which would give you very few options soon.

Your feet hit the soft carpet of the living room, and you rubbed your eyes sleepily. That nausea that had been plaguing you early in the morning was draining you physically, and the stress that was beginning to build on your shoulders only zapped your mental strength.

A few hours of beauty sleep, and then you’d get your ass to work. 

Your stomach growled, moaning for substance, and you sighed. Okay, a nap and lunch… then, you’d be moving toward financial stability. One step at a time, and now a tiny bean to think about. 

Sooner or later, you’d get there.

Before eviction day, you had managed to find an open position at a small convenience store in a much quieter part of the city. Residential neighborhoods wrapped around the row of stores inside a quaint, little market at the edge of the city. 

You looked into the large display windows that bordered the front door to the dark purple shop. ‘We’re Hiring!’ in bold lettering on a corner of the glass pane, beneath the rows of chips and other snacks on a tall shelf standing a few feet behind the window. Right beneath that flashy sign, was a smaller piece of paper taped hastily to the glass surface. “Room Available for rent’ was scrawled in unkempt handwriting, and your eyes widened in excitement.

Taking a deep breath, you gripped the cold, metal handle and pulled the door open. The golden bell above your head jingled a faint tune as you stepped through the threshold. Your eyes take in the old, wooden shelves that hung on either side of the room, while shorter displays were lined neatly in rows spanning wall to wall filled with snacks, home essentials, and more.

The place was kind of a mess, but… it felt rather homey. A ‘Mom and Pop’ shop kinda of thing, stirring nostalgic emotions inside of you. When you reached an older demon, her back hunched slightly with age and the weight of the large shell on her back, you realized how your feelings couldn’t get any more accurate. 

Green skin sagged from the elderly woman’s face, deep wrinkles embedded into her reptilian features as she regarded you with suspicion. She resembled pretty closely to a tortoise, with that round, thick shell that lay upon her back and neck that extended high from her body. She held a broom in her long claws, halting mid-sweep as you smiled gently at her. 

“Can I help you?” She croaked.

“I’m here for the job opening, the general worker position?” Your smile widened, trying to look as presentable and friendly as possible. This may not be the job of your dreams, but it was a job nonetheless, a start. 

“You Hellborn?” 

“Yes.” What an odd question.

“You can lift and move large boxes?”

“Sure can!” You replied, with a quick nod. For the next few months, at least. If you couldn’t find a new job by the time your belly was unable to be hidden any longer, you’d spill the beans to granny.

“Hm,” the wrinkled demon eyed you with more interest, and she tilted her head in thought for a few moments, before meeting your gaze again, “I think I can make do with what’s in front of me, for now.”

Not even an interview? What a score!

A sigh of relief escaped you, the invisible weight on your shoulders lightening slightly as you shook hands with the turtle. The job wasn’t going to be that difficult, cashiering, stocking, talking to customers, easy peasy. Until the swollen ankles kicked in.

“Oh, and the room for rent! I’m kinda in need of some living arrangements for now. Do you still have availability?” You clasped your hands, smiling widely once more.

“We have space…” The old, turtle-faced demon sighed, turning her large shell to face you, before ambling away towards a dark hallway behind the small checkout counter. She beckoned you with her thick tail that slowly swayed behind her as she moved.

Slowly, you followed behind the woman, entering what seemed to be the large back room of the store, piles of boxes labeled as different foodstuffs, with thick, heavy bags of an assortment of goods. There looked to be a large freezer on one wall, as it blew cold air that seeped into your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as you crossed the room. 

The turtle demon stopped at a light-brown wooden door, before softly turning the handle and pulling it open. She leaned through the doorway as far as her wide shell would allow and tugged on a thin string hanging from the ceiling. With a click, the small bulb above your head flickered on, illuminating what seemed like a large, dusty storage closet. You gulped, this was tiny! It was the size of a small bedroom, but was supposed to be your entire living unit? You pointed into the lit room, quirking a brow in disbelief.

“Is this…?”

“The room available, yes.”

“It’s kind of… small.”

“Well, what did ya expect, a two-bedroom with a loft? It’s less than a hundred for a reason. The bathroom is next door, so it's a quick walk. We’ve got a hose in the back you can use to shower, and you got a place to buy most of your essentials just a hallway over.”

You thought for a few moments, rubbing your hands together as your mind raced with what other options you currently had. None, really. Anywhere else you had gone to seek employment had already found someone or deemed you unqualified for the position. Let's see… the alleyway or a closet? Hard choice.

“Also, utilities are included in the rent.” 

Well, that was a good bargain.

“Okay, sure” you nodded slowly, rubbing your face with a sigh, “This’ll work.”

“Good. We’ll just take rent out of your paycheck, then. The name is Alma, let me show you around.” 

You had followed her back out to the front of the store, before being walked through the job and every detail your new boss, Alma, found necessary to fill you in on. How to work the old cash register, keys for every door inside the building, where the gun was hidden underneath the counter in case anyone was to rob the store and use it for defense.

When you returned home later that day, your back hit the door and you slid to the ground with a sigh. Your stomach rumbled, and you tenderly rubbed a hand across the protrusion underneath your skin. Rising to your feet, you headed to the kitchen, digging through all the junk for any healthier options you had. There wasn’t much, but you settled on a small microwave meal and placed it into the little appliance.

As the microwave buzzed softly, it filled your head with background noise to your quiet thoughts. Thoughts about your future, your chances at success, your baby, or your loneliness navigating such a turbulent time in your life.

Hopefully, once you had a good night’s sleep and packed up in the morning, the doubts about your decision that were eating at your conscience would fade. Everything was going to be very different from here on out, but maybe, that wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Looks like we have our work cut out for us,” you whispered into the empty room once more.

It had been a few months since you arrived at that quaint, little shop looking for a job and a place to stay. After a few months, your stomach only continued to grow. 

You had hidden the sight through baggy clothes at first, careful to keep your secret hidden from prying eyes. Until running to the bathroom all the time and your sudden bouts of exhaustion made you reveal the fact to Alma.

She had rolled her eyes, before grumbling how ‘as long as you’re still able to work’ there wouldn’t be any problems regarding your employment. 

There wasn’t much you brought over from your apartment, not even your bed could fit comfortably inside the little room. Instead, you resorted to a one-person mat that only lifted you from the floor a couple of inches. At first, it sucked, really, really sucked. Soon enough, you adjusted to the tension in your back that always woke you just in time for work.

You had brought a few trinkets with you, memories from your past, and small items to keep you busy. You brought that little microwave from your place, which was situated on a small coffee table on the wall across from your bed.

There was nothing for the baby, yet. You didn’t have anything to begin with, nor did you have the money to afford such things. Later, when the little bean was closer to arrival, you’d start hunting through garage sales and thrift stores. The only thing keeping you educated on your pregnancy was the few books detailing motherhood that were on sale at one of the local vendors. 

Standing atop your microwave, was a small flatscreen TV, your only source of entertainment nowadays. Sure, you touch grass once in a while, exploring the market, brisk walks around the block, that sort of thing. Getting a workout made you hungry, though, and with your tiny paycheck? Three meals a day was a luxury you couldn’t afford.

The problem? You were always craving something to eat. Sweet treats, odd vegetables, food you used to hate. Once, you even drooled over a slab of raw meat you were packing away into a freezer, the thought of ripping it apart and devouring it right then and there itching at your scalp. 

Instead, you opted for a large salad. While you made sure to eat enough to feed your baby, the quality of the food you were consuming wasn’t the greatest. Hopefully, you'll be able to afford healthier meals soon.

The work in the store was mundane, the customers lively but nothing worthwhile, and life was pretty stagnant after a few months of living there. Except for the changes in your body, those new aches and sores, the sudden dizziness that caused you to plop down upon the nearest surface.

It was one of these times when you felt your face numbing and your vision beginning to blur, and you fell upon an unopened box of goods. Hand lifting to wipe that dribble of sweat away, you took a deep breath. It was getting harder to do that, though, with how the baby in your womb was beginning to steal the space your lungs needed to expand.

It was a much hotter afternoon, the air simmered with acrid, dry heat that suffocated the store with its intensity. It was a weather normal pattern, but one you loathed nonetheless. A fan close to you finally swiveled in your direction, and you let the cool air smack you in the face with its soothing touch. 

Alma wasn’t around, which meant she wasn’t able to catch you on another one of your on-the-clock breaks. Standing on your feet, lifting boxes and other items all shifts was not fun with a baby rolling around somewhere in your guts.

You were enjoying the momentary peace, eyes shut as you inhaled another large breath. The small TV hanging from the corner of the room, right behind the cashier register hummed softly as the news anchors yapped quietly about something or other.

When you opened your eyes, the congregation of large shadows at the front door caught your attention. Quickly, you rose from the cardboard box, fiddling with another small pile as you took a knife and tore it open. Bags of chips nestled together, your stomach grumbled softly at the multiple flavors it hosted.

You did your best to look busy, just as the door opened with a creak and the bell above its frame jingled excitingly about the fresh, new faces. 

“I can't believe you made us take a walk in this weather, Charlie,” a feminine voice moaned as they crossed through the threshold. Their tall figure rose above the rows of shelves, pink fuzz popping from their partially exposed chest as they strode in. Both sets of arms were crossed, as they turned to meet the gaze of a woman with a bright red tuxedo.

Beside her was a shorter, gray-skinned woman who immediately placed herself in the direction of a whirring fan. One good eye scanned across the room, looking for nothing in particular.

A tall snake demon slithered in behind them, huffing as he collapsed onto a small bench next to the doorway. The hoods framing his face began to fan his heated skin, recuperating for a few moments.

“I agree with—huff—Angel Dusssssst,” The man hissed tiredly, swiping a claw over his brow to dry his forehead, “It sssseeems we have chosen a poor day to—huff—embark on our little excursion.”

“It is pretty hot today, but! That means we all sweat a little more, and burn off some of that negative energy!” The woman, Charlie, exclaimed as she clapped her hands together, “Clear our minds of all that clutter and embrace the heat of a new day!” 

Angel Dust rolled his eyes, grumbling something as he turned to a display of sunglasses, plucking out different pairs from the stand and fiddling with them on his face as he posed in the tiny mirror.

“Husk’a! Don’t I look fantabulous or what?” He turned towards a short, feline demon with quirked brows. He sent Husk a playful, sultry smirk which the feline only growled softly at, before reaching into a fridge for a large bottle of water.

“Ya look like shit,” he grumbled, popping the cap off and chugging down the drink in one go. It seemed like the guy did that often enough for the contents to disappear so quickly, which was pretty impressive. Hopefully, he was going to pay for that drink too.

“Awww, thanks kitty!” 

The demons dispersed from their little group, scanning the shelves for any snack that would satisfy their hunger after that draining exercise. 

You watched through careful glances as they wandered about. There was no doubt the group of demons had noticed you by now, but there was nothing special to see as you just continued hefting boxes across the room. The last one, a large crate of soda cans, was giving you a rough time.

Strength waning, you huffed as you slowly walked towards the wall of fridges. Straining as you try to shift your grip, your arm placement is awkward with your round stomach making it difficult to get good positioning on the container. Panic seized you for a moment, as you fumbled with your hold.

“Let me help you with that!” A cheery voice exclaimed from beside you, causing you to jump right as the crate was lifted from your grip into the arms of the apple-cheeked woman. 

Charlie smiled brightly at you before she turned away, setting the crate down gently next to the fridge door. You fanned yourself, taking in a deep breath as the woman turned back to face you.

“I’m sorry,” you smiled apologetically, reaching up instinctively to brush a thumb gently over your bump, “heat and exhaustion are just not a healthy mix.” 

“That’s okay, it wasn’t a problem! And—oh my,” the demon’s eyes gleamed at your swollen stomach, her gaze soft, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude but are you…?”

“Pregnant?” You tilted your head, smiling softly as a hand instinctively reached up to caress, “I am, yes.”

“Awe, I love babies!” Charlie swooned, placing a hand over her heart. “How far along are you?”

“About four months! I just moved here recently, are you from around here?”

“Yep! Just around the corner practically, right up the hill there’s that big hotel? I run it! It’s called the Hazbin Hotel!”

The Hazbin Hotel? Why did that name sound so familiar?

“And, these are all residents at the hotel!” Charlie smiled gleefully, sweeping a hand across the room as she gestured at her band of demons, “Some of them work for me, and some of them are my clients! The pink one is Angel Dust, the snake is Sir. Pentious, the grumpy fella over there is Husker, and the lady over there is Vaggie, my girlfriend!” 

Your head spun with the quick introductions, but you only listened thoughtfully as she spoke a few more words about her job. 

“That’s very interesting,” you finally said after she finished her sentence, “I’ll have to look it up sometime, I’m sure you're doing a great job. Hopefully, everything has been going well for you so far.” 

“I hope the same for you, too,” she smiled, eyes flicking down to your stomach for a moment before her head swiveled to get a look around the room, “…you don’t happen to have a bathroom here, do you?”

“We do! It’s in the back, I can take you there,” you smiled softly, before turning towards the back door and crossing the room. Charlie’s heels clicked against the old, cracking concrete behind you, as the two of you entered the back room. It was filled with boxes and other goods, and Charlie’s gaze bounced across the new scene with interest. 

The dimly lit room sent shadows across the two doors on the far end, and your hand slid across the wall close to you to find the switch. The lights flickered on, revealing the matching doors standing side by side, and you turned towards the demon woman.

“It’s right over there,” you gestured toward the doors, backing up slightly as Charlie nodded. She made her way towards the bathroom, hand raising to grasp around the doorknob, before twisting it firmly. 

Your breath hitched in realization right as she pulled the door open. That was the wrong door, that was your door! There was no telling how the woman would judge you after seeing the pitiful place you called home.

“Wait! That’s my—!”

“Oh!” Charlie exclaimed as she took in the makeshift living quarters, illuminated softly by the bulb above her head.

Her gaze flicked to the sunken mattress, lying against the hard cement floor. The small TV stacked on that aging microwave, and the piles of books created a makeshift nightstand, with a little reading lamp and retro alarm clock. The mini fridge hummed softly against another wall, hardly big enough to fit a few day's worth of meals in it.

Charlie’s eyes rested on the stacks of labeled boxes nestled tightly against the wall for maximum space, the only remnants of your old life. Her heart beat rapidly, as she took in the flood of information she was gathering about your situation as she stared silently. 

You only watched her expression with weary eyes, rubbing your hands soothingly as you waited for her words. Slowly, Charlie turned towards you, her gaze meeting yours and she read your expression carefully.

“You don’t actually live here, right?” She laughed in disbelief before her smile quickly faded when your face showed no signs of humor. 

“This is terrible! Especially with someone in your condition!” 

Condition? You weren’t helpless just because you were carrying some extra cargo around for a few more months.

“Don’t worry about me, It’s not that bad it’s just—”

You were cut off by the sound of your stomach growling, so loud it practically reverberated around the room. The pitiful noises were followed by slight pain, a sign of how dreadfully empty your tummy was. The noises of hunger made Charlie’s eyes widen and her brows furrow deeper.

“Are you hungry?” She asked slowly.

“Yes,” you stated bluntly, your tongue subconsciously wetting your parched lips. God, you were so hungry. All. the. time. 

It was miserable, having to limit yourself on all the mouth-watering goodies surrounding you. You just wanted to stuff your face, fill up your stomach, and then some. 

“Have you eaten anything today?” Charlie questioned, crossing her arms and shooting you a look of concern.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I get my paycheck tomorrow,” you answered quietly, averting the woman’s gaze as you gnawed at your lip. Embarrassment was bubbling in your chest, and tears were threatening to spill against you will.

You’ve never felt this… open with someone before, not in a long while. You were struggling direly, and now Charlie knew it too. And, revealing your financial situation to a customer you’ve just met? Alma would have your head! What were you thinking? 

Maybe, it was a subconscious cry for help. For some empathetic, kind soul to come swoop you off your feet into prosperity. 

But, you were in Hell, who would do something so selfless like that, for nobody like you?

Charlie bit her lip, breath quickening as her gaze darted from you to the thin mattress on the floor. She seemed antsy, like there were words behind her lips the woman was desperate to spill. Instead, Charlie only gulped them down, before her composure straightened and she sent you an awkward smile.

“Will you excuse me for just a second? I have to uhm, go talk to my girlfriend…” Charlie chuckled nervously, slowly backing away towards the front of the store, “I’ll be right back, don’t move!” 

You nodded obediently to the stern finger she waggled at you, before she pivoted and dashed towards the door at the end of the hall. Charlie wrapped a hand around an ash-gray arm, Vaggie jumped at her touch before she was dragged out of sight. The sounds of fast, hushed voices echoed to your spot in the dark.

Straining your ears, you tried to peep in on their conversation. With the way Charlie scrambled out of there, you were nervous about what exactly the two could be discussing around the corner. 

“We can’t just leave her here, Vaggie!” Charlie shook her head sternly, crossing her arms as she spoke to her partner. 

“Well, we can’t just take her back to the hotel. We don’t know the woman!”

“She’s pregnant with barely any food, and a terrible place to sleep! We can’t just do nothing!” The apple-cheeked woman growled, throwing her hands up as she paced in place near the freezers. The others on the other side of the room were too busy arguing over which flavor of ice cream was better to stop and listen in on the duo’s conversation. 

“I know,” Vaggie sighed, her brows creasing in frustration as she rubbed a hand down her face, mind racing, “I just don’t want to do anything that could put a wrench in your dreams, that’s all. We don’t know anything about her, she could bring trouble to our doorstep. There's enough of that as it is..”

“Nothing will happen, I promise,” Charlie replied softly, lacing her fingers with Vaggie, before soothingly brushing a thumb over her partner's knuckles, “We’ll just say she’s on… maternity leave! That way, she can have the baby stress-free, and then find a job either at the hotel or somewhere else. And, if any problems arise, we have Alastor to handle it.”

“Okay,” Vaggie nodded slowly, “If you think this won’t be an issue… then, I trust you, babe.” 

“Thank you, Vaggie.” Charlie smiled softly, “I haven’t told her yet. I just wanted to run it by you first, and figure out how to ask a stranger to, well, move in with strangers.”

You backed out of earshot, having gotten enough of the two’s words for your breath to quicken and your thoughts to spiral. Turning, you faced into your room, staring into space as you chewed absently on your lip.

They want to give you a place to stay, for free? No questions asked, just out of the kindness of their hearts?

You shook your head, a dry laugh of disbelief escaping your lips. That was impossible! This was Hell, and things like that never happened. You were born in Hell, and have practically seen it all when it comes to 

Murdering, whoring, and overdosing. That was Hell’s usual. Who was this woman, and what could she possibly have in store for you?

Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard the soft clicking of heels reverberate around the dimly lit room. You pivoted sharply, smiling innocently as your gaze met Charlie’s excited expression. She bit her lip nervously, before straightening her posture and clasping her hands together. 

“I know we only just met, but I would really love to offer you a place to stay. Something better than this, at least. We have large rooms with their own bathroom and little dining areas. It’ll be free! Plus, lounges, a kitchen, and a bar. Although, I’m sure you won’t be needing that anytime soon.” Charlie chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of her neck and she watched you intently. 

“Why would you do something like this for me?” You asked slowly, tilting your head as your fingers thrummed against your bump thoughtfully.

“Because when I see my people struggling, I don’t just stand by and let them. It’s my duty to help those in need.” Charlie placed a fist into her open palm, determination in her gaze and she spoke assertively.

‘My people’? ‘Duty’? What could she possibly mean about that? Such strange words coming from an even stranger woman before you, so desperate to hear your approval.

“I can definitely think about it…” you finally said softly, meeting her gaze after a moment.

“That’s a start! Here, take this, it’s my business card.” The woman patted down her pockets, before pulling out a small card from her pants, thrusting it excitedly towards you.

“I made them myself!” Charlie whispered, her eyes gleaming with pride as you stared down at the little writings across its surface. 

“I can call you tomorrow, with my answer,” you replied finally, slipping the card away for later. 

“Great! Thank you so much for considering! It’ll be worth it, I promise!”

A shadow loomed across the room, as Angel Dust poked his head into the doorway. He squinted into the darkness, before quirking a brow at Charlie’s figure.

“Ya comin’, toots? I’m hungry, and I deserve some R&R back at the hotel. ASAP.”

“Coming!” Charlie called, beginning to cross the room. She turned to face you, curving her lips into another bright smile as you stood there motionless. You didn’t say another word as she was consumed by the bright lights of the store, and you stayed frozen in place for a few more moments.

Your head spun, Charlie’s words still consuming your thoughts as you chewed at your lip. Just as you were about to head back to the waiting group, you heard grumbling from behind you, and the door to the back alleyway opened wide.

Alma ambled inside, returning from a friend’s business a few stores over. A large bag in her claws as she lumbered towards you, 

“I smell customers, are they Sinners? Ugh. Here, take this and put it in the freezer right away. I’ll go up front and get them out of here.” 

“Of course,” you replied, hardly listening while still untangling your racing thoughts. The box was changed to your arms, and you took it with a huff before lowering it gently next to the freezer.

You watched Alma enter the front of the store, chattering loudly to the group of demons you had acquainted yourself with as you pried open the box. Slabs of fresh meat were revealed underneath the thin, soaked red parchment shielding them. You wet your lips subconsciously, that ache in your stomach returning as you inhaled the flavorful, wafting scents.

Hopefully, you’d start craving something much more tasteful like ice cream or peanut butter.

Taking time to pack away the stacks of goods only kept your mind busy from Charlie’s offer. You still felt uneasy with her proposal, for all you knew, it could be a trick or some way to wrap you into a deal. There was no way someone like her existed in someplace like Hell.

That doubt still crept up your spine as you stood at the gates of her aging little hotel the next day, nestled on top of a small hill on the outskirts of the bustling city. Charlie’s handmade business card was clenched tightly in your hand, as your eyes read the address one last time before taking a deep, reassuring breath.

The hotel didn’t look too bad, in your opinion. An honest fixer-upper that would look really beautiful if done correctly. The colors were a little odd, not to mention the structure of the building was weird. Jagged even, as different parts jutted out from the center, your eyes traced the outline of what seemed to be… a boat? One that was nestled tightly against the outer walls of the hotel. The building seemed refined, like the owner before the apple-cheeked woman had good taste. Overall, if you did choose to stay here, it wouldn't be too bad of a place.

Except… why did it have to be on top of a hill?! Just the sight of the trek you were going to have to endure made your ankles start to ache, and you groaned, head thrown up in the air as your feet dragged up the cracked concrete path. 

‘Did these guys ever think of investing in a ramp?’ you groaned internally, wiping sweat from your brow as you continued the strenuous hike. If this were the kind of difficulties you were going to face throughout your pregnancy, you would have taken more laps around the block in preparation for this moment.

Sputtering for breath, and only halfway up, you rested for a moment with a huff. How many steps have you taken? To keep your shame, you refrained from counting as you continued the climb. Another two months, and this would be impossible, which made you deflate even more. 

You hated feeling so… helpless, useless, weak. People looked at you differently, as if you were the child, incapable of being able to support your own weight. Which was another reason you were resistant to the idea of moving here, you didn’t want to feel like a charity case–or a burden–to Charlie and her friends. Hopefully, you’d prove to them today there was more to you than the baby in your womb.

The final step up to the front doors was a hefty one, and you fought the urge to roll over in defeat on their doormat. You shot the cement path the finger, before turning towards the large oak doors. You squinted, trying to get a peek through the stained glass windows as you leaned in slightly.

‘Stop being so creepy and knock,’ you growled at yourself, before lifting a closed fist and rapping it against the sturdy, wood frame of the entryway.

Knock Knock

No response, but you waited patiently with clasped hands and a bright smile ready to go.

Knock Knock

You thought you heard shuffling behind the door, but still no response. You rolled your eyes in irritation, crossing your arms. It was getting hot out here and you needed somewhere to sit down. What kind of a hotel doesn’t greet their gues–

The large door opened slowly with a loud creak, revealing a tall, red demon. He was dressed rather formally, with a nice red tuxedo that hugged his figure perfectly. Large ears sat above his head, small antlers poking from bright red hair that framed his face. His lips were curved into a wide, toothy grin that made the hair at the back of your neck stand on end as you met his ruby-like eyes. They stared intensely into your gaze, as if reading every thought behind those wide eyes, partially shaded by that equally red monocle resting atop his cheek.

What was up with this guy and the color red?

“Can I help you?” He finally asked sweetly, static dripping from his voice, paired with a strange overlay that seemed to pour from his tongue as you watched him speak. It sounded as if he was speaking right through an aging microphone. With the door only partially cracked, you didn’t see much behind that large, charming smile of his.

“Hello, uhm, good sir! I’m looking for Charlie? She and I talked yesterday and–”

“Ohmygoshitsyoucomein!!” The words rolled off Charlie’s tongue just as she popped up right beside the smiling demon. She wrapped her hands around your forearms and pulled you through the threshold with a squeal. A gasp left your lips as you were dragged gleefully inside, and the door shut softly behind you.

For the next few hours, Charlie gave you a tour of the hotel while sharing her visions for the future. Dreams of happy days in Hell, and a second chance for the sinful. Sinners being redeemed and going to Heaven? Was that even possible? You didn’t know, and it didn’t really matter if they could, seeing as you weren’t one of them. 

You got better introductions to the residents, including new faces. Alastor, the demon from the front door, who welcomed you with that exotic voice and a humble demeanor that made you feel somewhat at ease. His voice seemed familiar though, reminiscent of horrible, violent rumors of a powerful demon on the prowl. One that scooped up Overlords and sent them to their doom. 

Why were people afraid of you being dangerous, when demons like Alastor resided under the same roof? He may have not looked at you with that same hunger he showed his enemies, but he still could send you six feet under in an instant. Which made your unease grow a little more, as you thought about the safety of your child.

Then, there was Niffty, the freaky little cleaning lady who had a constant itch to stab things. When she saw your baby bump, she lit up, rushing towards you with a skip in her step. You froze, watching the tiny woman approach you with a bashful grin.

“Can I touch the baby?” She sent you a puppy-dog stare through one large, glittering eye. Her arms were behind her back as she twirled innocently, a small, toothy smile on her lips.

“Oh, well, I don’t really mind,” you said softly, lowering yourself slightly so she could reach a hand up and place a warm palm on the fabric lying against your abdomen. She giggled softly as she rubbed your stomach tenderly for a few moments, as if she was petting your child directly through her soft touches.

“Do you have a name for it?” Nifty asked, lowering her arm back to her side.

“Not yet, but I’ll figure it out,” you had said, before turning your attention back to Charlie. Finally, the last stop of your little tour was getting a peek at one of the rooms you’d be staying in. Crossing a single hallway, the two of you stood in front of a dark, wooden door. With a twist of the handle, the apple-cheeked woman pushed open the door, and your breath stilled as you leaned through the threshold.

It was a rather large room, fully furnished to replicate a master bedroom. A bed, two dressers, a large wardrobe, even a small dining table with matching chairs on the other side of the room. You stepped into a white-tiled bathroom, taking in the large maroon bathtub and matching colored sinks. Everything looked clean, and honestly, the rooms didn't match the exterior of the hotel. There wasn’t much to complain about, other than some aging upholstery and building cobwebs.

You stepped back into the large bedroom, Charlie following your figure with a hitched breath as you circled the room again, inspecting it closely. You halted, silent for a few moments, before you pivoted to face the demon woman. 

“So, this is free? No strings attached?”

“Yep!” Charlie beamed.

“No secret legally binding agreement that I’m about to shake on?”

“Of course not!” 

“Well…” you started, brows furrowing in thought as you looked around the room. Charlie stared at you with apprehensive eyes, unable to read your expression as you considered your options, “I’d have to find a place closer to work, or figure out transportation from Alma’s”

“Work?” Charlie inquired.

“How else am I supposed to afford food and other necessities? I can’t just sit around all day waiting to pop!” You raised an eyebrow at the woman, 

“The point is you’re supposed to take it nice and easy until you’ve had your baby! Don’t worry, we’ve got plenty of food to go around. Plus, I’m sure we can find a place to buy some baby essentials, like diapers and a crib. Whatever you want!” Charlie argued, that smile never faltering as she tried to win you over with charm.

“You’re just going to spend money like that on me?”

“That’s right! Like I’ve said, I’m willing to do anything to support my people.”

“But… how can you afford that? Who are you?”

“I guess I haven’t told you, huh?” Charlie laughed nervously, before rubbing her neck with a sigh, “I’m not a big fan of telling people right off the bat, but my full name is Charlie Morningstar.” 

Morningstar? As in the royal family? Charlie was the daughter of the king of Hell, Lucifer Morningstar? Oh dear. This was a joke, right?

You felt your heart beat rapidly, and you placed a hand on your chest to calm its racing pace. The Princess of Hell was standing right in front of you like she was any normal demon, which was crazy. The fact you were standing in front

“Your Majesty!” You lowered your head quickly, averting your gaze respectfully.

“Please don’t!” Charlie shook her head, walking up to you, “I don’t want you to regard me any differently just because I'm royal and all. I just want to help you.”

Slowly, she lifted a hand, lacing her fingers gently with yours as she stared at you with pleading eyes. You could feel the truth in her words practically radiating from her as she waited for your answer, her tone the complete opposite of manipulative, and you bit your lip in thought.

‘Please, live here,’ you read through her glistening gaze.

“Okay,” you finally said softly, a smile slowly creeping onto your lips as you looked up at her.

“Really?” Charlie asked, her eyes lighting up as you nodded in response, and she bounced giddily in place, “This is great! I can’t wait to tell everyone! Oh, I am so happy you said yes. We’ll need a day to prepare, but you probably need a day to pack anyway. Oh! I almost forgot…”

Charlie filled your head with more chatter about what was in store now that you were studying, and you listened intently as the two of you strolled down the hallway back into the lobby. By the time you made it to the front door, your feet were sore from all the walking, and your eyes were tired and droopy as you munched on a sandwich Sir. Pentious had kindly made for you as you left the hotel. 

When you passed through the open front doors, you turned back to Charlie, and a few other demons behind her. 

“Thank you for being so kind to open up your home to me,” you said softly to the small group, “I’ll be back tomorrow with my things. Have a good day!”

“Bye!”

“See ya, momma!”

“Ssssstay hydrated!”

By the time you walked the block and a half to the dark purple store on the corner, the air had cooled considerably, and the walk wasn’t so bad this time. The fans were silent, hibernating for their next use as you walked across the cracked tile of the shop, your boss fussing with change behind the checkout counter as you approached.

“Leaving?” Alma had asked slowly when you finally dared to inform her of your decision. The demon was mid-count of the register, her long neck lifting so she could meet your gaze with a curious expression.

“Yes, someone offered me a place to stay until I have the baby,” you nodded, rubbing your arm soothingly as you spoke, watching her expression carefully, “I believe it would be in my best interest to take that opportunity. I’m sorry for the short notice, so you can keep my paycheck if you want. I’ll be out of here by tomorrow, probably.”

Alma squinted at you, deep in thought as one claw tapped absentmindedly against the cracked, wooden countertop. The turtle demon grunted, before lowering herself to reach underneath the register, pulling out a long piece of paper and setting it onto the counter. 

Dipping a claw in ink, Alma scribbled some numbers onto the paper, before signing her name below. Carefully, she lifted the parchment towards you, quirking a scaly brow at your hesitation. Extending a hand, you took the paper from her hold and turned it over. It was a check, with the remainder of your pay. Eyes widening, your head lifts to meet the old demon’s calm gaze.

“Take care of yourself, then,” Alma croaked, nodding her head slightly at you as she continued to count the cash register. A smile bloomed across your lips, and you quietly turned towards your room, excitement to be out of that cramped little room making you move a little faster as you began to pack your things.

“Alright, everyone. My dad is going to be here in… one hour.” Charlie smiled awkwardly, eye twitching slightly as her disheveled figure addressed the small group of demons inside the lobby of the hotel.

You sat on the couch, munching on a morning snack as she spoke. The small bowl filled with goodies rested atop your swollen belly, now larger since you moved in a while ago. Apart from the sudden dizziness and aching back, some good things came with being pregnant, like your personal little dining table in the shape of a watermelon. 

Sometimes, you’d practice balancing different items atop the growing swell. Cups, books, anything that gave you some entertainment now that were limited in physical activities–mostly declared by Charlie, but you didn’t complain too much–and stuck inside most days. To an outsider, what you were doing may have seemed weird or strange. But, seeing as they weren’t the ones lugging around a whole nother being, no one had room to talk about what you did for amusement.

Once, you even let Niffty build Jenga on top of your bump, as you lay comfortably out on the sofa in the lobby. The little structure tipped slightly on the unlevel surface, and you did your best to control your breathing to keep it from toppling over as she gingerly placed each rectangular block. Angel Dust had walked into the lobby, adorned in revealing clothes and cat-eye sunglasses. His features were exhausted and drained as he halted in his tracks at the sight.

“What are you two doin’?” He slowly asked, lifting the shades from his face as he watched with a perplexed expression.

“Angel~,” you called, lifting your head with a smile to meet his gaze, “Fancy playing a little bit of risky Jenga? We were just about to start.”

The spider demon seemed to want to reject the offer, before his eyes flitted across the empty room–save for the familiar bartender cleaning glasses–to the clock. It was about eight o'clock at night, a Friday, and the pornstar was trying to find any possible reason to stay inside tonight. For once, Angel Dust was party-pooped.

“Huska’, pour me a tall one, won’tcha? I gotta get in my zone,” He had called towards the bar, his golden tooth glinting as he shot you a sly, toothy grin. 

The next rounds encompassed you trying desperately not to laugh at the sensations of the game. After each block was expelled, it tumbled down your tummy and tickled at your skin. You clasped a hand over your mouth, holding in your laugh as your stomach twitched, and the small structure began to teeter.

“Hey! Watch it, mama,” Angel laughed, grimacing slightly as the Jenga tower jiggled again, “I’m about to win!”

Niffty giggled beside him as you kept your mouth covered, unable to say a word with the fear that your laughter would bubble up past your lips given the chance. You stilled yourself and regained composure, the blocks settled back into place.

“What if…” Niffty said, a mischievous grin on her face as she lifted a claw towards you. Your eyes followed her finger right as it reached your abdomen, and you tensed, trying to prepare for the inevitable.

“Niff!” Angel gasped with a glare, right as the small white finger poked you in the side. Even with her claw, the touch was like a feather against your skin and you had no control as you reacted to the ticklish feeling. 

“Nif—HA!” You had blurted with a snort, your body pitching forward slightly at the sensation. Your lips quivered into a clasped smile just as the blocks tumbled over, losing their balance on top of your bump. They slid across the floor, and you sat up quickly.

“That’s it, missy!” Angel Dust rose to his full height, pointing an accusatory finger at Niffty’s innocent expression, “You sabotaged me on purpose! You did this at UNO last night, and I won’t have it no longer!” 

Pivoting abruptly on his heels, Angel adjusted his tight outfit and pulled back his hair, before he turned his head towards the two of you.

“Goodnight, ladies! This star needs his beauty sleep!” He waved as he strutted away, leaving Niffty to clean up the mess and you to return Angel’s empty drink to the bar. 

That day had tested your limits on how useful the bun in your oven was as a food rest, and you stuck to small items after that. Such as the bowl in front of you that you were tiredly nibbling on as you watched Charlie pace in place, anxiety obvious on her features as she muttered to herself.

The others around you tensed, before they dashed off in different directions, breathing heavily as if whatever was to be done was extremely important. You turned your head, watching them flee in confusion. 

Then, Charlie’s words finally computed in your head, the morning brain fog waning as you slowly sat up. Blinking, you rubbed a hand down your face, rubbing the sleepiness from your features as you processed the information. 

Charlie’s father, Lucifer Morningstar, was coming to the hotel? In one hour? 

The king of Hell, the most powerful man in the realm. Whose face had long since disappeared from the public eye, when before it adorned every magazine and cover photo that one could buy. 

What was he to think of you, a nobody with a boring story and a baby on the way? 

You felt a slight nudge inside your stomach, your child softly prodding your side, maybe in an attempt to get you moving as you shot up from the couch. 

“Your dad is coming here right now?” You asked approaching Charlie, and she stopped in her tracks to face you. 

“Yes,” she nodded, biting her lip, “I haven’t seen him in years, and his opinion of the hotel isn’t the most optimistic.” 

It seemed like it was difficult for Charlie to speak about her father, as if her—as husk had put it—‘daddy issues’ made the topic of her familial relationships sour on her tongue. 

“He’s just going to come and visit? That doesn’t seem too bad, I’m sure the place will grow on him after a quick tour.” 

“He’s my only ticket to Heaven,” Charlie sighed, using a hand to rake her unkempt hair back, “Everything has to be perfect. We just need to clean a little, put some balloons up, 

“What does your dad like to eat?” You said after a few moments. 

“What?” Charlie stared at you with perplexity, tilting her head slightly with a quirked brow.

“Well, as you know I’ve been practicing in the kitchen a lot, learning to bake and all that, and I believe it would be a nice idea if we made something your dad enjoys. That way, he feels welcome and less apprehensive.”

That was true, you had started working in the kitchen daily ever since you moved to the hotel. With Charlie being so kind and offering for you to live there for free until your baby was born, and the fact your large bump made it difficult to do many physical activities, you decided to stick to something more hands-on and less strenuous. 

Surprisingly, it was actually quite fun. Most days, you’d flip through pages of recipes from a cookbook Alastor had loaned to you, looking for that one treat that made your mouth water and the little bean inside of you flip around in excitement. The kitchen inside the hotel was actually quite large, with multiple fridges and ovens with wide counters that wrapped around the room. 

You’d gather all the different ingredients, following the directions closely as you worked. Sometimes, your feet would be so sore you’d pull up a chair and listen to some music while you quietly cut cookies into various cute little shapes, before decorating them and handing them out to all the residents inside the large building. 

Except Alastor, who claimed to hate anything sweet when you stood before him in the lobby one afternoon.

“Thank you for the kind gift, my dear, but I seem to have been born without that fabled sweet tooth. Chocolates are not my cup of tea.” The charming demon had told you, politely waving off your outreached hand as you held a small brownie with a frown.

“So… what do you like?” Your arm lowered, and you stared at the brownie for a moment. The thought of putting it in your mouth instead was very tempting.

“Have you ever tried Jambalaya?” 

“I don’t think so,” you shook your head.

“Hm. Well, perhaps you can add that to your list of recipes to try? With all that work you’ve been putting into cooking, I'm sure it’ll be no difficulty for you to concoct.” Alastor had tilted his head thoughtfully at you, hand resting leisurely against his cane as he leaned against the bar’s counter.

You had sent him a warm smile, slightly surprised by his good words. He didn’t seem like the kind of man to give others praise over himself unless it benefited him. 

Conquering the kitchen was a little more difficult than you previously imagined, and the two charred ovens on the other side of the room were a testament to that. 

At first, the confidence in your work was pretty poor. Whenever Niffty or Charlie would ask what you were making, you’d simply smile bashfully and quietly state you were making treats. One time, you let Sir. Pentious take a bite out of your chocolate cheesecake, which ended in the snake demon lying splayed out on the floor from a sugar crash after he devoured the entire pan of it. 

Needless to say, after most of your new friends begged for more delicacies from your hand, you let your ego swell a bit at all the praise. Now, the Egg Bois were deemed your official taste testers and would huddle around your area as you let them lick the extra dough from your used bowl. 

“More!” They’d cry happily, indicating another successful batch of sugar cookies. 

Now, you hoped your skills had improved enough to sweep the king of Hell off his feet. 

“What does my dad like…” Charlie said after a moment, pulling you back to reality as she squinted her gaze, rubbing her chin in thought. 

You stood there silently, waiting for a response. For some reason, Charlie was having trouble recalling anything of value at first, muttering this and that. Does she really not know what kind of things her own father liked? How long has it been exactly since they had a proper conversation?

“Apples!” Charlie finally proclaimed, nodding at herself in approval, “My dad loves apples, can’t get enough of them, it’s even on the royal seal.” 

Apples, the only earthly fruit to find itself all the way down in the pits of Hell. Even the harmless produce got the heavenly treatment by the big guys upstairs, and would never be allowed through the pearly gates since The Fall. 

Being born in Hell, you never got to experience life like humanity above, but at least the one good thing was that Heaven didn’t get to enjoy the savory goodness that was the red fruit. 

They seemed to be a cultural treat back on the living plane and came in all kinds of varieties. Pie, cake, chips, juice, alcohol, syrup, cereal? Humans couldn’t get enough of the fruit! Was there even a combination left to create with the crisp, tarty goodness?

Wait… that’s it! 

“Apple tarts!” You blurted excitedly, clapping your hands.

“What?” Charlie asked as you moved forward, taking her hand in glee.

“I’ll make him some apple tarts! I’m sure that’ll improve his mood and be more agreeable to you! I’ve got to get to the kitchen though, see you in an hour!” You spoke quickly as you hurried off, Charlie trailing your figure with wide eyes.

As you slid into the kitchen, your hand immediately dug for your phone, as you quickly pulled up any five-star recipe for the tarted treat. Then, there was frantic mumbling coming from your left, and you lifted your head to see a large figure rummaging through a fridge. The demon’s tail lashed nervously behind him as he stuffed more ingredients into his arms.

“Sir. Pentious?” 

The figure pulled his head out of the fridge in surprise, hitting his head on the way out with a grunt before pivoting to face you. 

“Itssss you!” He breathed out in relief, holding a clawed hand to his chest as he regained composure.

“What are you doing here?”

“Why, I am baking cookies for His Majessssty!” He held out the small pile of items towards you, before slithering to a corner of the kitchen on the opposite side of you, “What about you?”

“Apple tarts! I guess we’ll see who’s he prefers, huh?” You called playfully as you bent down with a grunt to collect utensils and mixing bowls hastily. 

“Ah, yesssss. Nothing like a friendly competition in the heat of the kitchen.” Sir. Pentious chuckled nervously, as he continued to pull ingredients from the cabinets, just as you were doing the same.

You grimaced at the cooking time of the apple tarts, it was going to be very close, but you were set on this delicious goodness and a little apprehension wasn’t going to stop you yet.

As you worked, you heard the remnants of your friends preparing outside of the kitchen, somewhere in the lobby. Heavy footsteps reverberated across the tile as they hurried about, and the sounds of plastic stretching, like balloons being blown up and the soft screeching of tables being moved around followed soon after.

You did your best to ignore the background chatter, as you sat upon your cushioned stool, a knife in your hand as you began to thinly slice a few apples in front of you. The recipe was simple, some apple slices atop the pie crust smothered in honey, cinnamon, and sugar. You weren’t sure what kind of apples they–you assumed it was Alastor who did the shopping–had stored, but hopefully Lucifer would enjoy it nonetheless. 

Thankfully, you already had a few pans of pie crust premade for another recipe, and began to slather the sugary syrup onto the crust, your mouth watering as you arranged the apple crisps on top. Sir. Pentious fussed with an appliance across the room from you, hopefully, the poor guy hadn’t forgotten to preheat the oven while he was prepping.

After throwing the tarts into the oven you set the timer, watching the apples begin to sizzle and shrink slightly against the pounding heat. Taking a large swig of water, you grabbed a small spoon from the counter before sweeping it against the side of a used mixing bowl and turning towards your friend cleaning the dishes.

“Sir. Pentious!” You called, holding out a small spoon towards him. That honeyed goodness oozed slightly from the edge as you presented the snake demon with some of your cooking. He slithered forward, his eyes wide with interest as he stared at the mixture on the spoon, before gingerly taking it from your grip and inspecting it.

The demon didn't hesitate to part his lips and swipe his tongue across the sugary batter, before letting it swirl on his taste buds for a few moments. Slowly, his eyes lit up, and his lips curled into a large, fanged grin. 

“Mmm! It iss deliciousness!” Sir. Pentious melted in front of you, before placing the entire end of the spoon in his mouth and sucking on it like a lollipop. The snake turned, before plucking out a chunk of dough at the bottom of his used mixing bowl. 

“Ssssalmonella free!” He smiled, the doughy ball held out between two long claws extended towards you. Right, he probably doesn’t use eggs in his cooking. Especially so close to the Egg Bois, who worked near the sink to quickly wash the dirty utensils spread about Sir. Pentious’ station. You even noticed one or two running over to your work area, and grabbing used dishes to clean. You would have to thank them for that later.

Reaching out, you gingerly took the cookie dough before placing it between your lips and chewing softly. The flavors hit your tongue, and you perked at the intense, sugary taste of the dessert. Sir. Pentious had taken the classic route and baked some very delicious sugar cookies, and you licked your lips of any remaining dough.

“Very good! Save one for me after the party, hm?” 

“I sssuppose we are an even match, then!” Sir. Pentious declared, sending you a large smile before turning away to watch over his Egg Bois. 

You turned away, your eyes darting up to the clock as it ticked closer and closer to the new hour. Soon, Lucifer Morningstar would be here, and hopefully, your apple tarts would please the most powerful man in Hell. Was he as handsome as the magazines made him out to be? Your eyes had always traveled to his porcelain figure in the supermarkets, that sultry, playful gaze he shot the camera that practically beckoned you with a hot, invisible finger. 

The ethereal radiance he exuded even trapped inside that paper cover already made your cheeks warm and your skin tingle, you couldn’t imagine how you’d feel when he was standing right in front of you. Especially when it came to your recent increase in… passionate perspectives.

You shook yourself, attempting to rid your mind of such thoughts as you groaned into your hands. You sat on your stool, waiting quietly in the dimly lit kitchen for your treats to finish. The lobby had quieted down since you had begun, now more casual discussion along with rustlings of party decor being adjusted and preps of introductions. You paid the others' conversations no mind, deep in thought as you brushed a thumb across your stomach softly.

The timer suddenly rang loudly in your hands, and you jumped from your seat slightly at the noise in your palm. The small, white clock vibrated in your grip, and you rushed to reset the mechanism to end its cry. You looked up at the clock hanging on the wall once more, how long had you just been sitting there thinking about gorgeous men? Lucifer could show up any minute! 

Settling the timer gently atop the marble counter, you slid off the seat and reached for the oven mitts next to the sink. Striding to the oven, you pulled its door open, the rush of hot air hitting your cheeks.

‘Imagine being late to greet the king of Hell,’ you growled to yourself as your eyes snapped to the clock on the wall, the new hour finally arriving, ‘A great first impression, good going.’

The yummy goodness in your grasp sizzled as you pulled the pan from the oven, breathing in the delicious scents deeply before placing the metal dish on the top of the stove. Steam billowed off the golden-brown apple slices, the cinnamon mixture oozing slightly underneath the thin crisps of fruit. 

Hurriedly, you cut into the tart, slicing the pie-like treat into smaller slices before placing them gently onto a separate tray. By the time you threw the remaining dirty dishes in the sink and made your way to the door of the kitchen, you heard those familiar rasps against the hotel’s front door. 

Knock Knock

You halted in your tracks right when Charlie swung open the front door to reveal a handsome, pearlescent figure bursting in to wrap his arms around his daughter. Those platinum blonde locks bounced softly underneath his tall brim hat, as he settled beside his daughter as they chatted. You were unprepared for those soft, yellow eyes that swept across the room with a playful glint in their gaze, or the confident, charming smirk that seemed so natural on the fallen angel’s features. 

That air of superiority radiated from Lucifer’s figure, with every demon in the room aware of the raw power he possessed. Those tantalizing stories of a ruthless and blood-thirsty ruler of Hell who crushed anyone who so much as sent him a heated glance refreshed in everyone’s memories as they smiled widely. The fallen angel hadn’t stayed in such a sought-after position since Hell’s creation for no reason, as only Heaven could match his strength. 

Lucifer made no show of the deadly undertones in his proximity, however, as he strolled farther into the lobby with a relaxed grin as Charlie introduced him to Angel and Sir. Pentious. The king’s looks were only improving every step he took closer towards your spot hiding behind the kitchen door, your breath hitching as you traced his figure from the cracked doorway. The tarts weren’t the only thing in the room making your mouth water anymore.

Should you just stay in here until he goes away? Mail the tarts to him, instead? Surely, meeting you wasn’t that important, and there was always a next time to introduce yourself. Inhaling a sharp breath, you shook your head to ease your nerves and expel those anxious thoughts. You were no coward, and even the prettiest face in Hell wouldn’t stop you from handing Lucifer the bakery sweets.

“I guess that’s why they called it the Has-Been Hotel, eh?” You heard Lucifer laugh from across the room, and you poked your head out from the doorway. 

Eavesdropping into the conversation for a few more moments, you gripped the small tray in your hands tightly as you waited for the perfect time to make your sneaky entrance. Right when his eyes left the place near Husk you were planning on scooching into, you took your chance and hurried across the lobby. 

Everyone’s eyes were on Lucifer and Alastor bickering, and it didn’t seem like anyone noticed as you slipped next to the shorter feline. That was until you felt the side of your stomach connect with the table's edge, and it slid slightly with a sickening screech. You clamped your mouth shut to stop a frustrated curse from leaving your lips as you tensed.

Curious gazes locked onto your figure, and the tray in your hands slowly lowered onto the table as you felt sweat bead down your forehead from the unwanted attention. The plan was to be as low-key as possible when you joined the group, not be thrust into the spotlight! 

Lucifer turned, his gaze landing on your stomach before anything else, and your breath hitched as his eyes lit up with an unreadable gleam. The king traveled up your figure, before resting on your face, and his eyes seemed to widen even more as he stared for a moment.

Gosh, how embarrassing. If he decided to burst out laughing at your clumsiness or make a public spectacle of your interruption, maybe it’s something you deserve—

“Woah!” Lucifer suddenly perked, before leaning backward, squinting his eyes as if he just got hit by a harsh ray of angelic light, “Someone tell Heaven they dropped one of their halos down here….” 

A pair of sunglasses materialized between his fingers as the fallen angel shimmied past Charlie, and you watched with wide eyes as he practically leaped over the table to reach your figure at the other end. 

“Because you are glowing, mama!” The king slid right up next to you, lifting the shades from his face as he waggled his eyebrows with a devilish smirk. Heat crept across your cheeks, and you smiled bashfully at his antics. Lucifer Morningstar was right next to you, and even so, up close you couldn’t find a single imperfection on his features. 

The demons around you blurred as you and Lucifer locked eyes for a few moments longer, the expressions flicking through your gazes enough to cover the silence. Lucifer’s smirk turned into a soft smile as his eyes flicked to your stomach then back to you with an adoring glimmer, his features gentle as he lifted a hand out towards you.

“Please,” you laughed softly, tilting your head away to try and hide the heat that was practically pouring off your face as you slid your fingers into his palm, “That’s just a fairytale, I’d say the truth of my appearance is the opposite right about now.”

The warmth radiating off of Lucifer’s porcelain skin made you want to melt like butter. You felt the ache in your joints subside softly, along with the feeling of bliss from his touch that made goosebumps ripple across your skin. 

“No, seriously,” Lucifer’s grin widened, patting your hand softly, “Even I am envious of your glow, sweetheart. You look great.”

You resisted the urge to scream into your hands like some kind of lovesick teenager at his words. Geez, you barely said a few sentences to this guy and he’s already trying to rizz you up. And it was working! 

“Thank you,” your voice cracked softly, and Lucifer gripped your hand tighter as he lowered himself slightly in a bow.

“Lucifer Morningstar!” He smiled as he met your graze once more, tipping his hat slightly as he spoke, “I’m sure you already know who I am, though, as do most who see my face. The question is, who are you?” 

That soothing warmth on your skin disappeared as Lucifer slowly released your hand and took a step back. You lowered your arm back to your side, silently pining for his soft touch against the fallen angel. 

“Oh, enough about me!” You wave off his question with a large grin, attempting to change the conversation, “You’re the special man we’re all gathered here for today!” 

Averting your gaze, you reach down towards a slice of apple tart on the tray nearby. The dessert is still slightly hot, and the heat that greets your skin followed by an itch of pain helps keep your focus in front of such a tasty snack. You were not talking about the tart.

Lucifer looks at it for a few moments, steam still slightly wafting from the golden-brown crisps of apples as you hold it towards him. The scents of cinnamon and honey hit the fallen angel’s nostrils, and he licked his lips subconsciously, eyes still locked onto your hand.

“What is this?” He quirked a brow, gaze flicking to the warm smile on your lips then back to the dessert.

“An apple tart,” you reply, your arm stretching farther towards him, “I heard a rumor that our ruler fancied red fruits, so I thought I’d welcome him with a snack.” 

Slowly, Lucifer lifted a hand and took the tart from your grasp. He turned it in his hands for a moment, before lifting it to his lips and taking a deep breath. The fallen angel sent you one last unreadable look before he placed the tart into his mouth. 

You licked at the crumbs on your fingers, savoring the little bit of flavor you received. Indulging yourself in food in front of the guy you were currently ogling over wasn’t on the top of your to-do list. You’d stick to satisfying your cravings in the privacy of your room. 

Lucifer chewed for a few moments, before he squinted in thought. He swallowed slowly, and then his eyes lit up with a surprised, but joyful, gleam. A smile bloomed across his lips as he reached over next to you to grab another of the pie-like treats.

“Okay, wow. I’m impressed. I might hire you as my personal baker from now on,” another tart was consumed by the king, as he licked hungrily at the cinnamon mixture that was dribbling down his chin. 

He seemed to be really enjoying them, which made you giddy inside. One, because Lucifer was enjoying your food, and two, because that would mean he was in a good enough mood for Charlie to convince him to get an audience with Heaven. 

“Dad,” Charlie finally broke the conversation between the two of you, before settling at your side. She put a gentle hand on your shoulder as she continued to speak, “This lovely lady was having a rough time with her living situation, so I offered her a place to stay while she was still expecting. She’s been a great addition to our little Hazbin family. Now, she’s taking it easy until the baby comes.” 

“That’s a good idea,” Lucifer nodded in agreement through the apple tart he was stuffing his face with. 

“I’m not completely useless,” you quickly interjected, clasping your hands together, “I help out around the hotel in any way I can, or however Alastor can use my assistance.”

“Right…” Lucifer shot Alastor, who was watching the three of you with interest a few feet away, a sharp glare as he spoke, “Your… manager over there isn’t pushing you too hard, is he?”

What was that? It sounded like Lucifer had held in a growl when he asked that, you could feel the reverberations from his throat underneath his tone. 

“Alastor has been nothing but kind to me, everyone here has. His Majesty is too kind to care for me like this. Don’t worry, I haven’t done anything that could affect me or the baby.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Lucifer said, as picked up the last tart from the tray.

The king’s gaze rested on you as you looked at the tart longingly, your stomach growling softly as you imagined the treat between your teeth. You had eaten breakfast, had a snack before Lucifer’s arrival, and had some cookie dough from Sir. Pentious, yet you were still hungry? Where was your self-respect in front of the most important figure in the realm?

Lucifer must have noticed your hungry gaze, as he split the tart apart and handed a small piece towards you. You stared at it for a moment, before shaking your head and gesturing silently for him to eat it while you heard Charlie conversing quickly with Vaggie nearby. 

The king didn’t let you refuse, when he squinted his eyes at you with a stern look and pushed the tart closer to your face, to where it was almost grazing your lips. 

With a sigh, you send him a warm smile in thanks and reach for the tart. It crumbled slightly in your hand and you quickly shoved the whole thing into your mouth, lifting a hand to shield your immodesty as you chewed softly. 

Fuck, that tasted so good. Your time in the kitchen has improved your skill as you happily continued chewing down the dessert, a content smile on your lips as you stood next to Lucifer.

“Just make sure not to let that creep over there make you do anything you don’t want to do,” Lucifer held a hand up to hide his mouth from the onlookers, shielding the quiet words that left his lips, “If you ever need me to smite him…” 

“Dad!” Charlie gasped, shooting her father a stern glare. 

“A joke, a joke,” Lucifer chuckled, elbowing his daughter softly in the side before turning away from you. 

It was then that the chandelier above everyone’s heads swayed dangerously, the rusting bolts loosening slowly from their hold against the thick plaster. You heard a soft creaking sound before your head shot up just as the bolts dislodged from their place and the large light fixture came crashing down.

It landed a few feet away from you, as glass shattered and splayed across the floor. You jumped in surprise, your hand automatically coming up to shield your stomach and Lucifer’s head snapped towards you in concern. You hadn’t been hurt, but his eyes still traced your figure for any injuries before he gave the chandelier a stink eye.

“Alright then,” Lucifer chuckled, and you watched with wide eyes as he slid from your side the floor beneath your feet shifted as he began to… sing? You backed away to the edge of the wall just as the fallen angel began to address his daughter, showcasing his magical talent as different objects poofed in and out of existence.

You had watched with wide, awe-struck eyes during the sudden musical number, your thoughts still on Lucifer's warm, gentle touch and his praise only moments before. Why was he so kind and out of the gate, was it because of your pregnancy? 

Did the king of Hell have a soft spot for babies, or did he take pity on your exhausted, worn figure? Even baking was becoming a chore, and standing on your feet for so long was beginning to wear down on you. Thankfully, the attention was finally off you now that Lucifer and Alastor were practically at each other's throats again. 

Did it matter what Lucifer thought of you? His attention alone made your thighs ache, and staring into those pretty eyes for too long made your lips dry and cracked and needed someone to wet them with their own.

Jesus, get it together! You just met the man, stop being such a weirdo! 

When you finally were pulled back into reality, blinking away the stars of hot emotions that were dancing on the edge of your vision, the music had ended and a strange, short woman had burst through the front doors of the hotel.

Mimzy, that was her name, and apparently a friend of Alastor’s back from their living days on Earth. You didn’t know Alastor had friends outside of the hotel, let alone friendly enough to embrace the woman. Even with all those nasty rumors about the red demon, Mimzy only looked at him with a playful glimmer in her eyes as she turned to get a look at the rest of the group. 

When she approached you with giddy steps and batted eyelashes as she grinned at your figure relaxing on the bar stool across the room. 

"Aw, suga, that baby bump of yours is just precious! I’ve neva’ seen one so adorable before! Who’s the lucky man?” Her eyes quickly scanned across the room, as if your baby daddy was hiding somewhere among the few pieces of furniture inside the large room. 

“Not here,” you replied with a sigh, “Never will be, unfortunately. He and I had some… disagreements a while ago. I haven’t seen him in months.”

Lucifer watched you carefully, drinking in your words with an unreadable expression from a distance before Charlie dragged him away to continue the tour around the hotel. 

"Aw, darlin', that's a tough break. But forget that fella! You're better off without him, sweetheart. Plenty of strong mamas out there held their own just fine. Down here in Hell, it's rough, but you don't need no man to look after you! Keep on keepin' on, hun."

You averted Mimzy’s gaze at her words with a bashful smile. Doubt had always itched at the back of your scalp, doubts of whether you were doing everything right and when you had the baby if you could be okay on your own. Now, you felt a surge of renewed confidence in how good of a mother you could be. The strange woman was right of course, you didn’t need a man to have a stable life. 

But, you still yearned for someone to caress you softly late at night, or whisper sweet words of adoration and care when you desperately needed it most. A man to kiss and cherish for the rest of your life, and someone who would love your baby as their own. 

Mimzy was loud and obnoxious as you sat next to her at the bar, but you assumed that’s what she did for a living, drawing people in with her charm to stay for drinks and watch her dance. Her job was to wow the crowd enough for them to give her and her flapping sisters big tips and lots of company.

She wasn’t too bad of a story-teller either, and as you and a few others listened to her story of Alastor’s interactions with previous overlords, you caught the way Husk growled when he spoke to her and how he’d shoot her icy glares whenever nearby. As if she was a rattlesnake ready to bring trouble, and only he could hear the warnings from her tail. 

You understood the suspicion the feline bartender was holding towards Mimzy when a large hole suddenly blew through the wall opposite from the bar, and harsh, angry voices snarled the flapper’s name. 

Adrenaline shot through your veins as you jumped from the bar stool, your first thought instantly going towards your baby. That maternal, animalistic urge to protect your child’s wellbeing at any cost, even if it meant sacrificing some of your own.

As your friends rushed around the room in a panic, and Alastor met the murderous loan sharks head-on outside, you locked eyes with Mimzy cowering underneath one of the bar stools. 

“I’m sorry, I just needed to get them off my back!” She grimaced as another explosion rocked the lobby, and you stumbled backward as debris from the ceiling fell across your shoulders. 

Your head snapped across the room, and you saw Alastor’s large demonic figure taking the brunt of the loan shark’s attacks. Tentacles whipped around him as they smashed a few snarling demons into a pulp against the ground. The thug’s aims weren’t very accurate, and some grenades bounced right past the giant demon’s figure and straight toward the hotel. 

Luckily, nothing had reached the inside of the building yet, but you weren’t going to take any chance as you turned on your heel towards the closed door of the kitchen. It was on the farthest side of the lobby and provided a large catalog of items you could use for self-defense.

If the time came when you had to cheese-grater a man across the face or make a kabob out of his eye, you had the tools to do so. 

As you moved, you turned your head to scan for the others still in the room. Sir. Pentious was slithering to cover behind a couch, Niffty tight in his hold as she lowered his head out of sight. Husk was somewhere behind the bar no doubt, and Angel Dust was poking his head out behind the large gap in the wall, cheering on Alastor’s bloodlust. 

Lucifer, Charlie, and Vaggie were still unaccounted for, most likely somewhere on the opposite side of the hotel by now. There wasn’t a doubt that the three of them heard all the chaos, but would they get here fast enough to lend a hand? Alastor was powerful, but he couldn’t be in two places at once if one or two thugs decided to take the fight inside. 

Right now seemed to be a really nice time to put that pure angelic power to good use!

Your ears rang loudly, heart pounding, right as you reached the kitchen door. You wrapped your fingers around the handle and pulled on it harshly. Except, the door didn’t budge. Again, you pulled on the handle, grunting with effort right as the floor shook beneath you. Your side harshly hit the door as you stumbled forward, before inhaling a sharp breath. 

You were stuck, the door behind you locked tight. 

Had the door locked from the inside when you had left earlier? You didn’t remember closing it, but perhaps the musical shenanigans from before blew a strong enough gust of wind to shut it tight. 

Your eyes darted across the room, looking for any other place to run that could give you even an ounce of protection. Unfortunately, you weren’t flexible nor small enough to actually fit inside or behind anything for cover at the moment, which limited your options. 

A loan shark cried out for help right outside the gap in the wall, a tentacle wrapped around his meaty legs as he harshly yanked him backward. The demon’s high-pitched scream faded as he was flung over the black gates and off into the distance.

Your gaze lowered, catching sight of a grenade from one of the few remaining thugs bouncing right off Alastor’s back, and colliding with a large boom against the hotel’s roof. The ceiling shook, pieces of plaster falling from the sky as you ducked to try to avoid them. Angel Dust dove behind the bar, beckoning you from across the room to join him and Husk as they lay low against the tile. 

Did they think you could actually run across the room before another explosion hit the hotel?

You didn’t have a chance to join them anyway, as a large support beam above your head shook violently, before the wall crumbled around the long, wooden post and it began to dislodge from its fasteners. 

Before one could blink, the beam began to fall from its place against the ceiling, its trajectory aimed right on top of you. Angel gasped and placed a pair of hands on his face, shielding his eyes from your doom. Husk only stared in horror, mouth agape as the large object descended upon you.

Backing against the kitchen door, you shielded your head and curled your legs against your stomach. 

‘This is it, I'm a goner,’ you thought as you squeezed your eyes shut tightly, waiting for the blow. 

Except, it never came. Nothing happened, actually. The deafening sounds of chaos and war around you faded slightly, as if you placed a pair of headphones over your head. You didn’t feel the sting of pain, or the sound of the large beam crashing to the floor. 

You were still alive, that was for sure with how hard your heart pounded against your chest. 

Slowly, you lifted your head and cracked an eye open, a golden light blinding you for a moment as your pupils adjusted to the ethereal glow. A dome of energy crackled around you, casting a mesmerizing golden hue across your figure. The thick walls of energy around you aren’t completely opaque, and you can see the lobby in shambles, but your little area under the bowl is completely intact. 

Taking a deep breath, you relax slightly and slowly stand from the door, the sounds of chaos still audible as you hear another explosion and screaming thugs.

“Look, Charlie,” Lucifer’s chastising voice rose above the chaos, his head turning from you to his daughter as another support beam crashed beside them, “What did I tell you? This is what happens when you invite people in and be kind to them… nothing but trouble! You should still stick to helping people that actually need it.”

Your head turned, watching Lucifer lean lazily against his cane as Charlie scrambled around the room trying to help the others. His back was turned to you, but seeing you were sealed in a practically indestructible barrier while he continued to yap, your safety was guaranteed now.

Finally, Alastor swallowed up the last of the thugs, the large demon licked his blood-stained chops before slowly shrinking back into his original form. Dust still swirled around the lobby, but the explosions had ceased, and anything that was in danger of falling had already done so. 

The dome of energy surrounding you flickered out of existence, any trace of its magical essence vanishing as you took a tentative step forward. The intensity of the light made your head ache, and you rubbed your temple with a groan. 

“Are you okay?” Lucifer asked softly, coming up to stand beside you, his fingers wrapped around your arm tight as you steadied yourself.

“Yes, just a little dizzy, I’m fine now,” you turned to stare at the fallen angel with an assuring smile, right as his eyes scanned across your face, only for his brows to furrow at the sight.

“Wait, you’re bleeding,” Lucifer tensed, before his cane dropped beside him and his fingers slid down to your wrist, and he turned your hand over palm-up. On your index finger was a small cut, which oozed with a thin trail of black blood, before dripping onto the carpet below. 

Lucifer dug into a pocket inside his white overcoat, before pulling out a hand-embroidered handkerchief. He reached up to your forehead, gently brushing the fabric against your skin to clean it.

You must have smeared some blood on your face when you had previously rubbed it, that’s why he was so worried. There was no pain from the wound, and you had no idea where it had even come from.

“It’s just a scratch,” you assured, not pulling away from Lucifer’s hold on your hand as he dabbed softly at your forehead. 

That warmth bloomed from his touch again, sending a shiver up your spine and your eyes to droop placidly. It’d be a lie if you said you weren’t exhausted from everything that had happened today, and that energy he exuded only feeding the urge to cozy up on the sofa a few feet away.

“Better safe than sorry” he retorted, worry dripping from his voice as he tore off a clean piece of his handkerchief, wrapping it around your finger before tying it taut against your skin. His fingers still lingered against your palm, as the two of you stood there around the demons trying to pick up the place a little.

“I’m guessing you’re the one that put that barrier around me, hm?” You asked with a soft smile. 

“Well, I didn’t expect to walk into the room with you about to be impaled by a giant wooden stake. It was pretty crazy for a moment there… is the baby okay?” 

The fact he was also worried about your child made you gush silently, swooning harder for the fallen angel than before. 

“Fine,” you nodded, reaching a free hand to gently caress your bump, “I felt them moving a bit when you came over.”

The baby had been quite active recently. Doing backflips, karate kicks, and whatever else there was for entertainment inside your womb. Earlier, when you were baking, you took a painful jab to the side by the little one, and that wasn’t the first time today.

It was then that you felt it, a kick against your inner walls, causing you to jerk slightly from the surprise of it. Lucifer jumped from your reaction, and you sent him a large grin with wide eyes as you curled your fingers around his hand. 

“They’re moving right now, even!” You perked, gently tugging his arm towards you with giddiness. Nobody has ever felt your baby kick before, a privilege usually reserved for parents or the child’s father. You had neither of those now, so if it meant showing a stranger the same feelings of softness you experienced? So be it.

Lucifer tensed, frozen in silence from your bold actions as you placed his hand against the fabric of your outfit. You still for a few seconds, the fallen angel’s warmth on your stomach welcoming as you waited for the baby to move again. 

Luckily, they did, right against the king’s hand against your bump. He hitched a breath as soon as he felt the sensation of your little one’s movements, his eyes widening with fondness.

You smiled widely, your bump growing ticklish at the feeling of your child’s restlessness. Then, you felt something odd going on against your abdomen, and you lowered your head with wide eyes as the tip of Lucifer’s finger began to glow. A soft, golden light that sizzled at your fabric, before it seemed to seep underneath and into your skin.

It felt like someone was pouring caffeine directly into your bloodstream, the exhaustion dissipating from your mind in an instant and your heartbeat quickening. The painful throbbing in your ankles subsided, and you felt renewed energy even deep in your bones. 

The light seemed to grow across your bump, and the strange magic that was flooding your senses suddenly had your mind racing. Could it be hurting your child? 

“What are you doing?” You asked quietly, taking a nervous step backward away from his touch.

“What..? Oh!” Lucifer’s hand retracted to his side in an instant, his lips curving into an apologetic smile as he averted his gaze. He seemed nervous all of a sudden, eyes darting across the room before they landed on Charlie brushing dust off of Vaggie’s hair across the room. 

“My apologies, have a wonderful rest of your night,” The king of Hell tipped his hat to you, refusing to meet your gaze as he backpedaled and pivoted sharply away from you, and began strolling towards his daughter who turned to him with a frown. 

Your stomach twisted at his sudden exit, regret bubbling in you. Did your question come off as too confrontational? Lucifer didn’t exactly ask for your permission to do… whatever he did, so it wasn’t wrong to react the way you had. 

Watching Lucifer leave for a few moments, you sighed softly, hands rubbing together in a soothing motion. Looking around the room, you searched for something to busy yourself with as your mind continued to race. 

That was the last time you had spoken to Lucifer for the rest of the night, his sudden departure after reconciling with Charlie leaving you to stew silently with your thoughts. 

Would you meet the king again? You desperately hoped so.

Your thoughts stayed on Lucifer even after you awoke the next morning, and the morning after that. Thoughts of his gentle touch, his strange behavior, and the way his magic had filled you with such strength. 

You felt renewed vigor after that sweet encounter with the king. It was like getting shot with a dose of ibuprofen and adrenaline all at once. The soreness in your ankles subsided, the strain on your back lessened, and you felt, dare you say… lighter on your feet?

Was that what angelic magic was capable of? Lucifer’s touch felt like nothing you had ever experienced before, at least compared to some of the other demons in the hotel.

Alastor’s magic was freezing to the touch, and whenever he was visibly displaying his power in the vicinity, you began to notice how your breath fell from your lips like fog. The Radio Demon’s aura played with your fight or flight instincts, putting you on the edge whenever his smile sharpened, those spots in your vision filled with strange symbols as he shot predatory eyes towards enemies of the hotel. 

Fear was the driving force behind Alastor’s power, the elixir to spur that blood-lust in his veins. A similar feeling itched at the back of your scalp anytime Angel Dust returned from Valentino’s studio, the stench of an emotionally driven display of dominance that always led to someone curling against the cold, hard floor in anguish. While you held no reservations for the pleasant-speaking, red demon, you still regarded him with caution at the amount of trouble he could bring into your life at any moment. 

Charlie had a lot of potential for being half-angel, the same magical essence that flowed through Heaven also flowed through her veins, mixed with the demonic presence imbued into her parents when they fell. It made you feel uneasy, being surrounded by such powerful forces with a child on the way.

Except, Lucifer’s aura was much different. It made you feel… grounded, and safe, like you could conquer the world. A boost of confidence with a hint of child-like giddiness that made a soft smile grace your lips the entire rest of the day.

That soft, golden magic that spread across your skin made warmth bloom through your body and sent pleasurable tingles up your spine. It eased the strain in your muscles and settled your nerves like a refreshing sip of red wine after a long day, making you dizzy for more. Even though you were the one to pull away first, that desire to get closer to Lucifer again didn't fade the rest of his visit. Which only made you frustrated at your own chaotic emotions.

Growling, you inspected your appearance in the bathroom mirror, steam coiling around your face as the plush fabric of the towel soothed your soaked, heated skin as it dried the water dripping from your figure. 

Curse these pregnancy hormones, for making you think such disrespectful thoughts! He was the king of Hell, not some pretty dilf with a thing for babies that made heat creep across your cheeks–and in between your thighs–without a second thought.

“I blame you for this,” you shot a glare down to your bump, before exiting the bathroom with a huff and reaching your dresser.

You began to change in an outfit for the day, which was taking much longer than usual now that your stomach was growing rounder by the day. It was obvious you were close to your due date, and that filled you with joy and anxiety.

Joy, to be finally holding your baby into your arms and letting them snuggle against your warm chest. Communicating through soft lullabies and whispers with the only response being kicked to your bladder wasn’t exactly the thrills of your pregnancy. When you finally had the little bean in your life, you’d do everything you could to spoil them rotten. 

Your baby wasn’t exactly a ‘little bean’ anymore, but until you settled on a name, that was what you would continue to call them. 

Thoughts about your baby always made your anxiety spike, thinking about what you would have to do to bring your child into the world. Labor wasn’t pretty in any realm, and the exhaustion and pain that would come with it wasn’t something you liked to think about too often. 

What would happen if something went horribly wrong? Who… who would take care of your child? 

You only sighed as you finished dressing, slipping on comfortable footwear as you crossed your room towards the hallway door. The trek from your room to the lobby had become quite a strenuous one, since you slept across the hotel from everyone else. 

When you had first arrived, you still dealt with the occasional twisted stomach, especially after your nose began to identify once delicious smells as revolting to the point you were gagging just smelling a once beloved candle. 

At your request, Alastor had found you a room with a small balcony that faced away from the city. It was the cleanest air, and smelled the least sulfury as that side of the hotel was hit with large drafts of fresh—or whatever was close enough in a place like Hell—air that you welcomed on days where you felt like emptying your last meal constantly.

Now, the long walk was killing your ankles, and the staircase conveniently placed between you and the lobby made your path even longer when you had to slowly waddle down the stairs. You haven’t come close to slipping yet, but seeing as you couldn’t see your feet any longer, it would surely happen eventually. 

As the door to your room shut softly behind you, the plush carpet beneath your feet felt refreshing to your swollen appendages as you began strolling down the hallway. Yawning, you rubbed the remaining sleep from your eyes as you closed in on the staircase. Since waking up, an exhaustion deep in your bones had been plaguing you. Today, the only thing on the to-do list was to watch the newest episodes of ‘Hell’s Greatest Bachelor’ and sleep.

“What are you doing up there?” A familiar voice called from the bottom of the staircase, sending you a stern stare as he leaned against his cane.

You stopped, one foot hovering just above the first step as your head shot up and eyes widened as Lucifer stared at you with furrowed brows. What was he doing here? When did he get here, and why did you choose today to wear something comfy and casual? 

Was he still upset about what happened last time?

“My King? W-what are you doing here?” 

“I believe I asked you first. What are you doing all the way up on those steps?” 

“Does His Majesty now quarrel with the stairs?” You teased, trying to contain a playful smile. Whenever you were in the fallen angel’s presence, you almost caught your lips curving into a goofy grin that was paired with heated cheeks.

It seemed Lucifer was in much better spirits today, his demeanor more playful than stern, and you sighed softly with relief. 

“No!” The king huffed, before placing his black-heeled boots onto the plush, red carpet of the staircase and slowly made his way up to you, “What I quarrel with is someone trying to kill themselves! Do you know how dangerous this kinda thing is in your condition?”

There’s that word again, ‘Condition’. As if it is some illness that has befallen you and taken the use of your legs and critical thinking skills. Maybe it was just your emotions getting the best of you, but you really hated that word. 

“I asked Alastor to put me over here, these windows have the best airflow” you shrugged, taking another step down the staircase which Lucifer only grimaced at.

“Stop moving, let me get to you,” Lucifer growled softly, watching you with unease before leaping up the final steps to your waiting figure.

He halted at a step just above you, and for the first time, you had to look up to meet the king’s gaze.

“I’m pregnant,” you squinted slightly, sending Lucifer a small glare as you frowned, “Not handicapped.”

“I know, I know…” Lucifer lifted an elbow to you, a gentle beckon for you to take his arm as he spoke, “But it’s always good to be a little extra careful! It’s not like I'm bothered doing this kind of thing for you, anyway.”

“You’re the king,” you take his gesture, sliding your arm around his as you lock elbows, warmth radiates from his touch and you relax slightly, “It’s demons like me who should be waiting on you like this.”

“I’m Lucifer Morningstar,” he puffed his chest slightly, quirking a playful brow at you, “I don’t need anyone to wait on me, because I can do it all with a snap of a finger.”

You rolled your eyes with a smile as he guided you down the stairs, silence following his proclamation. It was quite a long staircase and stole your breath most times you tried to climb it. Hopefully, this daily exercise would mean your next match with the cracked concrete path down the hill outside would be in your favor.

Lucifer’s hold on you was gentle but firm, as he used his other hand to softly tap his cane against each step. It was rhythmic, with purpose, and you thought in the silence of the large room you could hear him humming a soft tune, as he stared off in the distance.

“What are you singing?”

“I was singing something?” Lucifer perked, before he sent you an apologetic smile. 

“I don’t mind it,” you replied with a soft smile, turning your head to meet his gaze, “Your voice is very… pretty.” 

His eyes widened, face flushing slightly at the words that left your lips, which also caught you in surprise. Sure, you had gushed about his voice for the past three days, but you didn’t expect to be so blunt about it. Especially, when it was to the adult crush’s face!

“You think so?” 

“Yes,” you batted your lashes at him, hold tightening around his arm as you continued down the steps, “You have a very velvety, soft voice, even when you’re humming. Like a lullaby, something I'd sing to my baby before bed.”

You felt Lucifer puff his chest slightly, his posture straightening beside you and you could only smile in delight. It was obvious Lucifer liked your compliments, and you had no problem reminding him of how gorgeous he was.

You imagined that the fallen angel was carved from the smoothest marble with the most precise hands, a perfect sculpture of a man that humans could only envy. 

“I used to do the same for Charlie,” Lucifer replied after a few moments, a content smile on his lips as if he was replaying the memories with fondness, “I like to think she got her musical talent from all the nights I sang her to sleep.”

“That’s so funny, Charlie seems like she was a wild baby,” you laughed softly as the two of you continued walking down the steps, halfway there now. Envy itched at the back of your scalp as you imagined what it would be like to have someone else doting over you and your baby like that.

“She was,” Lucifer gushed, just as your feet hit the hallway flooring of the hallway. The happiness Lucifer displayed talking about his daughter only made your heart swell. 

If your ex had stayed around, would he have shown the same care Lucifer had in the short amount of time since you had met him? Probably not. At least you had done the right thing and dropped him the moment he chose his dick over a family, there were no regrets anymore about your past actions regarding that asshole of a demon.

“Thank you, Your Majesty, for helping me with that difficult task,” You slowly began to slip your arm out of Lucifer’s hold, and he hesitated slightly, but released his hold after a moment, “Now I believe it's your turn to tell me what you’re doing here so soon.”

“I felt I’d come in person to tell Charlie about the meeting with Heaven. I got in contact with them and arranged a date for her. I just wanted to run through some rules she should keep in mind when she’s up there,” Lucifer replied. 

You titled your head, smiling softly at his worried expression. His daughter is going someplace potentially dangerous where he couldn’t protect her, and that obviously made him uneasy. You’d feel the same if it was your child, the thought causing your hand to lift and brush a gentle thumb underneath your bump.

“Also, to apologize again,” Lucifer deflated slightly, rotating the apple-tipped cane between his fingers, “I overstepped my boundaries the last time we interacted, it was rude of me and I won't let it happen again.”

“Are you talking about that magic stuff you did to me?” You asked, tilting your head with a quirked brow.

“Yes… I didn’t realize I was doing it until you reacted. It’s just kind of an instinct for me, blessing babies. I mean–well, I can’t bless anymore, but it's still the same kind of magic. I understand if it made you uncomfortable and everything…”

“I liked it.”

“You did?” Lucifer asked in disbelief, his cane freezing in his grip as he stared at you.

“Yes! I was just taken aback is all, I’m sorry. Whatever you did, it felt very invigorating, like I could climb a mountain!” you nodded your head vigorously, eyes sparkling as you sent Lucifer a playful smile.

“Oh… well, I’m glad I could be of use to you,” he averted his gaze with a bashful grin, adjusting his long collar with flustered fingers.

“Would you do it again?” You asked with a raised brow, puckering your lips slightly as you batted your lashes towards Lucifer. Whatever he did felt like some kind of drug you craved, boosting your mood and energy like nothing ever has. 

“Uh huh…” Lucifer’s gaze drifted to your lips momentarily, before you unpuckered them and they curved into a pleased grin.

“Great! Here, you can even touch my bump again, if that makes things easier,” you beamed, lacing your fingers with Lucifer’sm who tensed at your bold touch. Gently, you pulled his arm towards the underside of your bump, lifting the fabric slightly so his finger could softly graze against soft skin.

Lucifer was deathly still, his hand obediently limp in your hold as you adjusted closer to the baby’s position. They had been very active this morning, playing patty cake with your bladder and parkouring against the walls of your womb. Even now, you could feel a slight nudging against the side of your stomach, and you pressed Lucifer’s hand gently into your skin. 

“...There! Can you feel it?”

Right on cue, your baby roughly nudged you, your skin shifting slightly against their jab, and Lucifer’s hand tensed at the feeling. That soft smile of his widened, that glimmer of adoration returning to his gaze as his index finger extended, a soft golden glow emanating from the skin Lucifer’s hand was softly pressed against.

Just like last time, a soothing burst of energy flowed through your limbs. The ache in your feet ebbed, that weight in your back lessening, along with the similar sensation of experiencing a sugar rush. The urge to do a few laps around the hotel, if that was even possible at this point.

And then, something strange happened. Something… different from the last time. You felt pulsing against your skin where Lucifer's fingers lay. 

Ba-dump, Ba-dump. Fast and rhythmic, beating with life. As your skin seemed to glow with the angelic light, the noise only got louder as it echoed around the room. Your fingers still wrapped delicately around Lucifer’s hand tightened slightly, as the pulsing grew stronger.

“Can you hear that?” Lucifer whispered softly, his thumb brushing softly against your skin as he met your gaze.

“Is that…?”

“Their heartbeat,” he replied with a smile, “It sounds very strong, too. A perfect, healthy baby.” 

Tears pricked at your eyes as you listened for a few more moments, the sounds of your child’s beating heart like music to your ears. 

After a few more moments, Lucifer slowly slid his hand out of your grip and away from your stomach. With his touch went the warmth and that magical, golden glow. The room fell silent again, that musical rhythm fading with the light. 

You wiped your eyes with a free hand, holding in a sniffle as you smoothed the fabric of your outfit back into place with the other.

“Better?” 

“Very much,” you nodded, your posture straightening that made relief bloom down your aching spine, “Enough to go for a walk outside, even!” 

“Alone?” 

“Well, who else?” You quirked a brow, turning towards the long hallway on the other end of the room, one hand resting on your bump as you walked, “Angel is working, Sir. Pentious sleeps until noon, and Charlie and Vaggie always spend their mornings together. Unless you are suggesting that I ask Alastor, who actually might be around here somewher—“

“—It's almost like, ” Lucifer slid up right beside you, arm softly brushing against yours as he sent you a charming grin, keeping pace with your slight amble, “There is a demon very close by that is perfectly capable of lending assistance. One that has done a fantastic job so far providing both protection and entertainment, don’t you agree?

“Doesn’t this demon have plans with his daughter this fine morning?”

“Apparently his daughter has plans with someone else, and I’d hate to interrupt the two lovebirds doing whatever it is that young kids do these days.”

“And you’d rather spend your free time with me?” You questioned with a soft, disbelieving laugh. Why would someone that could go anywhere he pleased and do anything he wanted, spend time with a random demon from the streets like you? 

“If the lady allows me,” Lucifer hummed with a grin.

What was so bad about letting him join you? It was only a quick walk, and you didn’t mind his company one bit. He was the king of Hell anyway, he could join you even without your consent. He was giving you a choice in the matter, and that just proved his character was more than that egotistical, powerful grin he displayed to his people on the covers of magazines. 

“His Majesty may join my stroll if he wishes,” you grinned, sending him a playful glance as the hallway opened up slightly as you neared the front of the building.

Lucifer seemed to have a little more pep in his step the rest of the way to the lobby, which was unusually empty as the two of you passed through the large room towards the front entrance. The fallen angel slid right past you to reach the doors first, before he opened one wide for you with a courteous tip of his hat as you passed by. 

“What a gentleman,” you teased with a giggle, patting him softly on the shoulder as you passed by, before stepping into the morning light. Basked in light red hues, you stepped onto the grass.

“There’s a dirt path that goes around the building, just a lap is all I needed to burn some energy.” You turned to him with a smile.

Before you even got to take a step in that direction, your stomach rumbled loudly, and Lucifer’s head snapped in your direction, before he quirked a brow at your averted gaze.

“Have you eaten anything today?” 

“No, it's still early. I get sick if I eat right away in the morning, ” you explained. Another addition to the list of pregnancy symptoms that liked to torment you. 

“Something light, at least,” Lucifer suggested, his eyes landing on a rickety old picnic table before turning to you with a pleading look. 

You don’t argue with the fallen angel, instead brushing past him to take a seat on one of the benches. With all the extra weight in your middle, sitting was also becoming a nuance, and the muscles in your legs were probably twice the size now with all the exercising you were doing lately.

“What’s on the menu today?” Lucifer asked from the other side of the table, rubbing his hands with a playful smile as he removed his hat and coat to lay gently beside him. 

After a few moments of thought, you indulged him on your latest food fix. 

“The lady is as cultured as ever,” the king responded with a grin, before snapping his fingers and lifting his hand palm-up to catch a plate of your desire and lowering it gently onto the table, before catching a tall glass of water in the other.

Digging into your gourmet breakfast, Lucifer watched you with a small smile, pleased that you were eating something at least. His thoughts pulled him away for a few moments as you hungrily devoured the food on the table. 

You both sat there in comfortable silence, drinking in the morning peace.

“What are your plans after you have the baby?” Lucifer finally spoke, his chin resting against his knuckles as he stared at you softly. The gentle breeze tousled his silky blonde strands, as you took a sip from your glass. 

“Probably find somewhere deeper in the city, where the jobs are. I’m sure there’s somewhere hiring that will take my skills. Maybe I’ll actually become a baker this time.”

“You don’t plan on staying?”

“I don’t want to be a bother,” you shook your head, pausing to take another large sip of your water, “Charlie’s already been accommodating enough, I can’t ask for more”

“Did he think you were a bother?” Lucifer suddenly blurted.

He? 

“Who?” 

“You’re… previous partner,” he slowly replied, stepping carefully to the subject of your ex-boyfriend. Someone who you had desperately tried to forget these past few months, to no avail. 

You blinked, tilting your head. Had Lucifer heard your conversation with Mimzy from when you first met? Had he been letting whatever thoughts stew until it drove him mad enough to ask you about it now? 

“I think he was more bothered by the fact he was going to be a father, than just me,” you laughed dryly, tracing the thin lines in the wood absently as you further exposed the shortcomings in your life.

Lucifer clenched his fist, pupils narrowing in irritation at your words. A soft growl resonated from his throat, and you lifted your head in concern at his emotional display.

“I’m sorry,” he shrunk slightly under your questioning star, averting his gaze to control his outburst. “It’s just hard to believe that anyone would treat someone like you with such disregard.” 

Your mouth parted slightly, but no words left your lips as you processed his statement, heart fluttering at his reaction. Guilt and regret crossed his features for bringing up the topic, as if you were a ticking time bomb ready to explode at the mention of your old lover.

Was Lucifer angry for you?

You found yourself overwhelmed by Lucifer's unexpected display of protectiveness and concern. His reaction stirred a mixture of emotions within you, ranging from surprise to gratitude. It was as though a veil had been lifted, revealing a side of him you only glimpsed before—a side that cared deeply about your well-being. 

“Lucifer I—“

“Let’s not dwell on the past,” the fallen angel interrupted you, rising from the bench suddenly as the empty dishes around you vanished with a burst of red smoke. 

He slipped on his overcoat and hat, before moving around the table to stand by your side. You looked up at him with a questioning stare once more.

“Shall we continue?” Lucifer asked softly, before lifting an elbow offering it to you.

You frowned at his change in the conversation, before lowering your gaze to his arm and slowly reaching up to grasp it with a small smile. Fine, you’d drop his sudden interest in your past and future.

Using his angelic strength, Lucifer helped you rise from your seat, a show of support you accepted gratefully. You locked elbows with him again, before turning towards the dirt pathway that wrapped around the hotel. 

For now, you’d let him dote on you without fuss. One day, though, you’d figure out what made the fallen angel so interested in you.

After that, Lucifer came to visit the hotel more often, which also meant paying a visit on your end too. It always started with a soft knock on your door, before he greeted you with that charming grin that instantly sent butterflies fluttering inside your stomach.

Then, he’d pull out an item from the inside of his coat, lifting it towards you like an offering. Usually, it was food that the fallen angel had noticed you taking a liking to. He’d lift a diverse array of mouth-watering goodies to your face, his lips curving into a knowing smirk as you hungrily accepted them.

Your cravings seemed to change by the week, so the poor guy began keeping a list of them all on the door of his fridge as a daily reminder of what could win your heart. Cravings weren’t the only things he kept an eye on, every interest you spoke of during those long conversations were memorized. 

As time went on, the gifts he offered you grew bigger, and so did your reactions to seeing them.

One day, Lucifer had walked you back to the staircase in an odd silence. He had never been so quiet before, and his demeanor was more anxious than usual. You didn’t have time to ponder that thought for long when the king cleared his throat to grab your attention.

“So…. I was a little bored last night,” Lucifer started, adjusting his long collar nervously as you regarded him with a quirked brow, “and, well, seeing as you didn’t have much for the baby, I thought I could give you a hand, soooo I made you this!”

His arm quickly lifted towards you, and you leaned forward to get a look at the small object in his hand.

Nestled in Lucifer’s palm, was a small, yellow rubber ducky. Your eyes widened, breath hitched, as your gaze flicked from the toy to Lucifer, then back to the ducky adorned with a small, white hat. He watched your reaction intensely, and at your silence, he cracked an awkward grin.

“For the little one, in case you didn’t have anything for them. It’s even got a little baker's hat, since I know that’s kind of your thing.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, and you took the duck gingerly from his hand, turning it over as you traced the outline of the beak, the cute little hat, and finally its adorable tail feathers curled at the back. It stirred something in you, your stomach swimming with emotions that were threatening to bubble up and consume you while staring at the toy. 

He made this… for your baby? As a gift to you? 

That was so sweet of him, and not even Charlie had given you something so thoughtful. Sure, she paid for a majority of your baby necessities—which you owed her your life for, no matter how much the girl disagreed—but she never presented you with something made from the heart like this.

Lucifer did, though. Even if he made a million matching yellow duckies beforehand, he still made this one specifically for you. Had your ex ever cared enough to do something like this for you? You couldn’t recall. And yet, a man who was practically a stranger before you was the one to care enough.

Fuck, you were about to cry. You tried to steel yourself, holding back tears. 

You met Lucifer’s gaze after a few moments, as you softly stroked the little toy with your thumb. The fallen angel only grimaced at your reaction, his smile faltering slightly as he watched your eyes well with tears and your lip start to quiver.

“Do you hate it?” He asked slowly, and you realized you were beginning to sniffle softly, hiccups building in your chest as you blinked in confusion. 

“Hate—hic—It? Why would you think…?” You started, before you felt tears welling up underneath your chin, and dripping softly onto the ducky close to your chest. 

You mentally slapped yourself, of course Lucifer would think you disliked it because of how emotional you were being. Shame ate at you after that. Here the king of Hell was, thinking about you and your baby and making something in his own free time, only for you to reward him with tears.

Curse these hormones!

Now, the quiet sniffles that escaped you were from both sadness and delight, as you clutched the rubber ducky closer to your chest. The tears spilled faster from your cheeks, wetting the ground beneath you. A few droplets landed on your exposed arm, and its cool touch was a welcome sensation from the heat boiling underneath your skin. 

“I-I-I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” you finally breathed, rubbing a hand across your face to get rid of the tears, before you inhaled a sharp breath to calm yourself, “I’m sorry for being such a… such a—”

You clamped your mouth shut, trying to rope in the last bit of control you had over your emotions that were threatening to come undone. You sucked in a large, sputtering breath and Lucifer leaned back, just as your lips quivered violently.

“—a wreck!” you wailed after that, placing your free hand to your mouth to try and hold in your sobs.

Lucifer jumped slightly, closing in the distance between the two of you as he rushed to your side. He bit his lip, what could he possibly do to make you feel better? If he would have known this was how you were going to react

“Wait, no! You’re not a wreck, you’re completely fine. Perfect, even! Oh, please don’t cry…” 

The man was starting to pace as you held a hand to your mouth, slowly but surely clamping down on your outburst of emotion.

“Here, have another one!” A second rubber ducky appeared with a red burst of smoke, landing softly into his palm as he lifted it towards your face, “Don’t worry I have a lot more at home!”

The duckie's cute little apron, displaying a cookie and two tiny wooden spoons in the shape of an X, only made your lip quiver more violently. Lucifer slowly pulled the third ducky away from your view behind his back, staring with concern as you tried to catch your breath.

“It’s so cute!” you gasped through the tears, before rubbing your eyes once more.

“You think so?” He replied in disbelief.

You nodded your head vigorously, smiling through the tears as you clutched both ducks to your chest. Lucifer slowly caught on, before breathing a large sigh of relief like he just avoided doomsday.

“Are… you two okay?” Came a familiar voice from the edge of the room. You turned your head to see Charlie standing with a confused expression as she watched Lucifer fuss over your disheveled figure.

“Charlie!” Lucifer perked, shooting her an awkward grin as he stood beside you, “I didn’t expect to see you here! I just thought I'd swing by and give our friend here a little something for their child.”

You held out your hands to the princess, who leaned in to get a better look at the yellow toys. The familiar body shape, orange beak, and beady little eyes had her immediately recognizing the objects and the reason behind your emotional outburst. 

“Awe, that’s so sweet, Dad!” Charlie clutched her chest, swooning at the sight of the small rubber ducks in your hands, “To make something for her baby like that, so thoughtful of you!”

She walked closer towards you and Lucifer, passing right by a few feet away to a hallway on the other end of the room. 

“Well, I won’t interrupt the two of you any longer, comfortable in each other's company already” Charlie waggled her eyebrows at you, throwing her dad an encouraging thumbs up before walking around a corner and out of sight. 

That had been a very embarrassing moment for you, but after the initial upsetting reaction, Lucifer didn’t seem to mind the changes pregnancy had forcefully placed upon you. Emotionally or physically, he seemed to adore traits that you had acquired during these past few months.

The fallen angel had been helping you in the kitchen one afternoon, as you made apple empanadas at his subtle request. 

Since you had first introduced Lucifer to your cooking, he couldn’t get enough of it. Anytime you mentioned using the kitchen, his head would snap towards you, licking his lips with hunger. The fallen angel had never asked outright for you to make anything for him, but dropping hints like ‘I thought I'd drop off some more apples for your pantry, since I know you like to use them in your baking and all.’ 

You’d simply shake your head and pull out Alastor’s recipe book, flipping through the pages for anything that used the red fruit. Thankfully, there was more than just tarts and pie that you could try your hand at. 

Thankfully, Lucifer ate up your dishes with the ferocity of a starving child every time. 

“If you can just materialize any food you want, why not just make these yourself?” You had asked him once, as you took small balls of dough into round, flattened pieces against the kitchen countertop. 

“Your food is just much better,” he had shrugged next to you, folding the dough-wrapped apple stuffing into dumpling-like shapes, before setting them neatly on a cookie sheet to be baked. The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up to his forearms, his red-and-white-striped waistcoat covered by a tall red apron. 

Heat crept across your cheeks at Lucifer’s words and you averted your gaze to hide your flustered expression. With his help, you’d never fuss about making him sweet treats. Especially if you got to indulge in them as well. 

Picking up a light stack of dishes you walked around the counter towards the sink. Your walk wasn’t really a walk anymore, your gait altered to adjust for the weight of what was basically a watermelon strapped to your stomach. 

You were also much slower, and you hated it. 

Right as you reached the sink, a soft chuckle reverberated behind you. Lucifer’s gaze had followed your figure, his eyes glinting with amusement as you moved.

“What are you laughing at?” You shot him a playful, suspicious glance as you placed the dishes gently into the sink. 

“Your walk, it reminds me of a waddle,” Lucifer teased with a soft smile, "Like a duck, adorable without even trying.” 

That only sent you into another flustered mess, cheeks heating in embarrassment that it was quite obvious you were struggling with the growing baby weight so far into your pregnancy. 

Even with the multitude of compliments given to you by the king, your self-esteem had greatly deflated as the months passed. 

“I look rather unsightly now,” you had sighed, adjusting your outfit in the tall mirror near your room’s dresser. 

Lucifer was leaning against the frame of your doorway, arms crossed as he watched you analyze yourself meticulously.

“What? Who told you that?” Lucifer questioned with a soft growl, brows furrowing.

“Nobody,” you replied with a frown, crossing your arms, “Nobody needs to tell me I look terrible. It’s clear as day, just look at me!”

“I am,” he smiled softly, shooting you casual bedroom eyes, “And I am very tempted to show you just how wrong you are, but my daughter demands my presence, and who am I to deny my little girl’s call?”

“Looks like I’ll just have to see you later,” you replied as he strolled up to you with a cheeky smile. 

“Of course,” he had purred, his fingers lacing with yours before he lifted your hand to his face. Lowering his head, Lucifer brushed his lips softly against your knuckles, heat radiating from his touch. Your heart fluttered, breath hitching as you resisted the urge to melt right then and there. 

Lucifer had tipped his hat to you, releasing your fingers slowly before turning away and walking out the door. You had smiled like a dumb teenager then, your mood instantly brightening at his flirtatious demeanor. 

However long this… bond between you and Lucifer lasted, you prayed it was full of nothing but soft memories. Only time would tell whether the king would get bored of you and simply turn the other cheek at your presence, no indication that the two of you had ever held a conversation. 

‘Stop being so paranoid,’ you growled to yourself, shaking your head, ‘He’s only ever been kind to you. Caring, thoughtful, funny. What more do you want?’

With the last month of your pregnancy just around the corner, you were determined to make this last, mostly peaceful period a pleasant one with the people you cared about. 

Hopefully, things will stay peaceful until then.

But, as Extermination Day closed in, so did your due date. You were giddy for the arrival of the latter, ready for the freedoms that came with having total control of your body once more.

‘I can’t wait until you’re outta me, kiddo,” you patted your round stomach affectionately, before waddling out of your room. Which was about five doors down from the lobby now, closer to the rest of the residents. It was noisier now, but at least you didn’t have to walk a mile to get decent food. 

It was Charlie who had initially convinced you to move, citing the fact that if you were to go into labor during the night or somewhere too far from the others, it may pose a risk to your baby in the case of an emergency. 

She was right, and Lucifer had no qualms with the change, as expected.

The only downside to being close to your due date was the many false alarms signaling you of labor. False alarms that only heightened everyone’s unease that you were a water balloon waiting to burst at any moment's notice.

Lucifer’s anxiety especially spiked whenever you’d suddenly wince, hissing in pain as you put a shaky hand on your stomach. He’d come rushing to your side, and you responded to his concern with an assuring smile and a pat on your stomach. 

“I’m fine, just Braxton-Hicks contractions, nothing serious… I think.” 

The king would sigh in relief at your words, relaxing slightly before offering you water or something to snack on. 

In the final month of your pregnancy, you were under strict orders by the royal family to refrain from lifting a finger until the baby came. You found that when the two Morningstar’s weren’t busy, they were finding ways to entertain you and soothe the natural pains that came with being on the very last leg of your pregnancy. 

Seeing as Extermination Day was just around the corner, the two weren’t around much as the days went on. Charlie was disappearing more often to try and gather support against Adam’s forces, and Lucifer was slowly regressing into another one of his depressive episodes.

Lucifer’s woes weren’t magically solved simply because he was finding purpose in caring for you and the hotel, mental health was unfortunately not that smoothly paved of a road to traverse. The king still had days where he retreated into the darkness of his mansion, barely a word to you or Charlie during that time. Only to reappear with tired, sunken eyes and a handful of freshly crafted rubber ducks for your growing collection.

You always gave him the space he needed, it just was terrible timing seeing his daughter was preparing to fight an army of murderous angels. 

Until one day Lucifer appeared in front of the door of your room, knocking so softly you almost missed it if you weren’t right next to the wooden frame. Extermination Day was only a week away. 

“You should get somewhere safe,” He had started right as you appeared in the doorway, “This hotel is full of targets for Heaven, you shouldn't be in such a stressful environment with the risk of an attack.”

“I thought they can’t go after my kind?” You had questioned, head tilting in confusion.

“The contract explicitly states they can’t, but that doesn’t mean one idiot can’t point the spear at the wrong demon in the chaos. I just don’t want to risk anything.” Lucifer pleaded silently for your agreement, his eyes soft with concern.

“If that’s what you think is best,” you had replied softly, heart fluttering at the level of worry and care the fallen angel displayed towards you and your child.

There was a small villa nestled on the outskirts of the city Lucifer owned, quiet and peaceful with its own butler that you’d rely on while you stayed there during the extermination. Lucifer had nudged at the idea of you staying there for more than just a couple of days, insisting how much better equipped it was to house a baby and away from any danger.

You had considered it, but your answer wasn’t finalized by the time Extermination Day rolled around, and you awoke with packed bags and a twisting stomach. You had been feeling… off all morning. Your bump felt heavier as you completed your early routine, your baby a little more active than usual. Sleep was a rarity the past few days, and you tried to rid your mind of drowsiness as you stood in front of Charlie with 

“Okay, so there is a limo coming to pick you and your things up soon. I made sure to have them pull up at the top of the hill for you,” The princess spoke as Vaggie tightened her outfit from the back, adjusting it slightly against her skin.

It was a red suit that stuck to her figure perfectly, providing ample flexibility and movement during battle. You had never imagined Charlie in this kind of scenario, someone who strongly opposed violence walking straight into it? A surprising sight, but the princess was set on being on the frontlines with the rest of her people when Adam arrived.

“Thank you,” you replied softly, before wincing at a ripple of pain that hit your from your lower abdomen. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, sorry. I've just been feeling a little under the weather lately. Nothing to be worried about.” You smiled reassuringly to the princess. She had much bigger things to fuss about then you.

“Okay, just let me know if something changes,” She nodded, adjusting her red suit as she spoke, “I haven’t been able to get ahold of my dad this morning… I hope he didn’t forget today was when the big army was coming down to try and kill us all.”

You had chuckled nervously along with Charlie at her own words. As much as it seemed like a simple tease, you had a sneaking feeling Lucifer would actually lose track of time and show up to the battle halfway through.

Charlie had turned away from you with a quick farewell, continuing preparations for the coming battle as you stood at the entrance to the hotel, waiting for the private car to arrive.

Then, you were hit with a cramp that had an intensity you hadn't experienced yet. It was followed by a sharp pinch deep inside your abdomen, before liquid began to pool at your feet. You froze, heart pounding as you stood deathly silent.

Was that your water breaking? Were you going into labor now?!

“Charlie!” Your voice cracked painfully as you called for the woman, who was adjusting a heart-shaped shield against her arm. The princess turned around to meet your gaze with confusion, before it morphed into concern as she scanned your figure, looking for what had you looking so shell-shocked.

“Oh!” Charlie gasped, her expression a mixture of panic and delight as the dots connected, “Oh my! It's happening! Hold on, hold on, I’m going to grab my phone!”

Another contraction hit you as Charlie dashed off, causing you to double over in pain and Vaggie to rush to your side with concern etched on her features. The next few minutes turned into a blur as the limo pulled up, and you were slowly moved to its waiting frame. 

This was it, it was time to have this baby. A relieving thought as you reached the vehicle’s side, your heart beating rapidly and mind racing with a million thoughts at once.

Your mind was still racing by the time you arrived inside the hospital and assigned a room.

“You got this, boss!” An Egg Boi cheered atop a stool right beside your hospital bed, your hand clenched dangerously tight around his stick arm as you inhaled a sharp breath of pain. 

“Thank you, Frank,” You grimaced, adjusting your posture atop the mattress as you tried to find any amount of relief during this naturally uncomfortable chapter of becoming a mother. The contractions were getting closer together, and were increasing in l; length and intensity since you first started keeping track.

Immediately after telling Charlie the badly-timed news, she had you rushed off to a nearby maternity ward. At arrival, you were forced to change into a thin and revealing hospital gown, before being strapped to machines that read your baby’s vitals and recorded your contractions. 

Apparently, the small hospital you were in was the best medical facility in all of Hell, paid for and used by the Morningstar family and the rest of the realm’s royalty.

The employees signed strict NDAs on what transpires during their shift, to prevent them from spilling to the press if a tragedy were to strike among the highest nobility. 

You had been here for the past few hours, the warning sirens outside had gone off a while ago, signaling Heaven’s attack on Pentagram City. The shades were drawn in your little room, preventing the witness of any gruesome sights right outside your window.

You couldn’t stomach watching the live footage of the extermination on your teeny hospital TV, not right now. Instead, you had some childish cartoon playing for Frank, who Sir. Pentious had insisted on going with you since everyone else was needed in the fight.

The drawback of not knowing the status of the hotel only made your anxiety worsen, though. 

Was everyone okay? Was Lucifer with them? Did he know you were here? Maybe, they won already… or lost. A hundred unwanted thoughts sped through your mind concerning your friends, but when another contraction hit you and you grimaced against the feeling of your insides being squeezed silly, the matters concerning anything outside of this room were not on your mind any longer.

That’s right, focus on the baby. They were your priority right now, their well-being depended on how you handled the next few hours. Soon, you’d finally get to welcome your child to the realm and in your arms. Every change and ache you’ve experienced for the past few months won’t have been for nothing, and you’d be cool with not experiencing this again for a long while afterward. 

Right as your head settled exhaustively against the cool, sterile pillow and Frank soothingly patted your hand, the door to your room opened and a small bunny-faced woman quietly slipped into the room.

“Hello! I’m Nurse Smith, just coming in to check up on you. How are you feeling?” The sandy-colored demon asked with a pleasant smile, her black heels clicking softly against the tile floor as she moved to your bedside.

“I feel like we’re getting closer,” you croaked softly, lips cracked with thirst. Unfortunately, if you wanted a much less painful delivery, water was a no-no until your epidural. Your contractions had been manageable, but as the hour began to change, they were coming in more intense and closer waves.

“Let’s check, shall we?” Her long ears perked, as she moved towards the monitors displaying your child’s heart rate and other information, including how dilated your cervix was. 

“Oh, it looks like you’re dilated about 9 centimeters. I think we’re ready to meet the little one! I’ll call the other nurses, and the anesthesiologist for the epidural.”

“Thank god,” You breathed with relief, the numbing liquid would be your saving grace in these trying times. 

The nurse left the room to fetch the rest of the delivery team, your heart began to beat rapidly in your chest as you took deep, shaky breaths to calm your nerves. It wasn’t really working, and while you understood the need for all hands on deck to fight a horde of trained angelic killers, the lack of familiar, comforting faces inside the building.

Frank was a nice little addition, but he could only offer you so much support with eyes glued to the screen of dancing, animated fruit with baby features.

When the anesthesiologist arrived, surrounded by a multitude of demons dressed in white medical attire, he had greeted you softly before lifting a long, thin needle to your view.

Gulping quietly, you rose to face your back towards the doctor, and he began poking uncomfortably down your spine. When it seemed like he had found the perfect spot, you felt a sharp pinch in your back before faint warmth slowly crept from the spot the demon had injected. 

When that was finished, and you reclined back against your mattress, the staff around you were prepping the baby cleaning station and fussing around at the end of the bed near your legs.

Then, a tall woman with lion-like features strolled into the room, her commanding presence told you she was the head honcho of the small crew of white-clad women who were busy around you.

“Hello, I’m the OB that’s going to help deliver your baby today,” she walked up to the side of your bed, pulling light blue latex gloves onto her paws as her eyes landed on the egg-shaped demon beside you with an odd expression, “Is he the…?”

“No!” You gasped, releasing Frank's arm and scooching over an inch from the short demon, before raising a brow to the doctor with a gaze that silently questioned ‘Seriously? You think I’d bang an egg?’

She only shrugged, before turning away from you to speak quietly to a few nurses washing their hands. With a sigh, you twisted your head to face your innocent companion, tapping his shell softly to get his attention. Another contraction hit you, but the high-quality numbing agent had you barely reacting.

“Frank, sweetie, can you please wait outside until I get done with my… business here?”

“Sure thing!” The egg replied happily, his eyes moving from the cartoons to you with a thumbs up, before the demon tipped his little black hat in a bid of farewell and hopped off the stool beside your bed.

As the nurses scurried around your legs, before lifting them with care and slipping your ankles snugly inside. You felt bare and exposed—which you were—and while the room was much more comfortable and dimly lit than other hospitals you had been to, constant beeping equipment paired with the faint smell of the beach only heightened your anxiety at the fact you were about to give birth.

“Deep breaths for me, dear,” the OB spoke softly, before slipping a surgical mask onto her face, and retreating to in between your legs, two nurses at the ready beside her. Her figure became obscured as she bent down below the sheet that was covering the sight before your lifted knees.

Following her instructions obediently, you regained control of your breathing. Deep inhale, long exhale. Another, and another, then another, until you could feel your heart beginning to slow its racing pace. 

“Alright, it’s time. On my count, I want you to start pushing when you feel your contractions, okay?” The OB piped up from underneath the sheet, and your fingers gripped the rails on the side of your bed with deadly force as you mentally prepared yourself.

“1…” 

Deep breaths, you’ve got this.

“2…”

Please let this be a smooth delivery. 

“3…”

I wish Lucifer were here.

“Alright, mama, push!”

Straining against the stirrups slightly, you inhaled a deep breath and poured all your strength into your lower abdomen with a grunt as you followed the doctor’s command. After a few moments of heavy exertion, you felt the contraction begin to ebb. Your head hit the pillow with a gasp for breath, sweat beginning to down your forehead.

A contraction slowly builds in your abdomen, cueing you into gathering your strength once. As you readied for another round of pushing, you turned towards a nurse who was standing supportively on the left side of the bed.

“I’m never having sex with a man again,” you groaned, lifting your head from the pillow with effort.. 

“Oh, sweetie,” the much older woman laughed, patting your hand soothingly, “That’s what they all say.”

Lucifer stood proudly in front of the newly rebuilt hotel, the strobe of lights flashing rhythmically, lighting up the building’s tall figure with a tempting glow to wide-eyed onlookers. The small, misfit army of Hell had defeated Adam and sent killer angels back to Heaven. 

There were casualties on both sides, but thankfully only one demon that resided inside the hotel was taken from the realm. Sir. Pentious, an inventor, leader, and friend. Lucifer may have not known the snake demon for very long, but the respect he held for the brave captain was immense. 

“What a beauty! And it only took us one musical number to get it all done, that has got to be a record!” The fallen angel nodded his head approvingly, crossing his arms as he twisted his head to observe the small crowd of demons. 

The princess stood a few feet away, handing Cherry Bomb a small medical kit as she leaned against a bench. The cyclops woman sent Charlie a small appreciative smile as she took the metal case from her hands. 

Turning, she strolled up to her father with tired eyes, exhaustion evident on her features, both mentally and physically from everything she had just experienced in the short span of a few hours.

“We did good, if I do say so myself,” Lucifer grinned pridefully to his daughter, blonde hair swaying softly in the breeze as he met her halfway.

“Yeah. That's for doing most of the work, Dad. We wouldn't have gotten it done so fast without your magic.” Charlie nodded, smiling softly.

“Pfft, it was no biggie. Anything for my little girl,” Lucifer brushed off her compliment with a wave of his hand, before pulling up the sleeves of his white dress shirt.

Charlie and Lucifer stood next to each other in comfortable silence, as the princess absently rubbed the bruise on her throat. Adam’s grip had been suffocating, the intention of harm evident on his expressive mask before it was split in two by Lucifer’s powerful retaliation. 

“I think she’ll really like this place, If she hasn't already seen it on TV at the villa.” Her father finally spoke after a few moments.

She. Charlie didn’t need her dad to say your name to know who he was talking about. You were one of the few women that was on Lucifer’s mind these days, and it was obvious the two of you had grown closer these past few months. She was sure if you were at the hotel during the battle the king would have been a raging mess to keep both you and his daughter safe. Fortunately, you were far from anyone who would want to lay a hand on you.

“I think she’s a little busy right now, since she’s..”

It suddenly occurred, the cloud of exhaustion parting just enough for the recollection of where exactly you had gone to smack Charlie square in the face. The princess had been so busy getting thrown around in battle, mourning her friend, and helping rebuild the hotel she almost forgot why you had left so suddenly.

“She’s having her baby!” Charlie suddenly gasped, eyes widening before she threw her hands up to hold her head in realization. 

“She’s what?” Lucifer whispered, his face paling to an even whiter shade as he froze in place.

“She went into labor this morning, so I had her taken to that hospital you liked,” Charlie explained breathlessly, a few demons around them eavesdropping on their conversation as Vaggie walked over with a mirrored expression of realization.

“Alone?” The fallen angel replied, mouth slightly agape as panic began to set into his features.

“One of Pentious’ eggs is with her,” Cherry Bomb answered softly from her spot on the bench with a melancholy gaze, as she re-wrapped a nasty wound with gauze.

“Why didn't you tell me?” He demanded.

“I was kind of in the middle of a battle!” Charlie replied defensively, her mind racing now as she worried about you and how you were faring during such a stressful time. What about the baby? 

Lucifer didn’t respond, turning away from the gathering group of demons as he snapped his fingers. In an instant, his long overcoat materialized atop his shoulders, and his hat floated down gracefully to rest upon the king’s head as golden magic circled his figure, before disappearing without a word. 

“Why couldn't he have done that for the rest of us?” Angel Dust grumbled from beside Cherry, before standing with a sigh and cracking his back. Husk strolled up to stand beside him, mouth opening in a large yawn as he itched his chin with a claw.

“I’ll call a cab,” Vaggie replied, rushing off in search of a phone as Charlie began to bite her nail to try and relieve some of the stress that was beginning to bubble up in her stomach. A million unwanted thoughts of scenarios where something terrible happened to you or the baby eating at her mind.

The apple-cheeked woman’s nail was still at the mercy of her nervous chewing as she rocked self-soothingly in the chair next to Vaggie, who rubbed her shoulder softly in support. 

Five battered demons sat in cushioned armchairs arranged in neat rows across a small waiting room right outside of the maternity ward. 

Alastor had disappeared again sometime after the hotel had been finished, with no word of his whereabouts. Cherry Bomb had been too disheveled to join, tears brimming from her large eye as the rest of the demons squished into one taxi and sped off.

When they arrived, Lucifer was already inside the hospital, foot tapping impatiently in the front lobby as he pointed a commanding finger down towards a white, oval-shaped figure standing agape before him.

“You, talking egg,” The fallen angel began, voice deepening to display his superior authority as Charlie approached from behind, “You were sent here today to keep watch over someone very important. Now lead them to me… please”

Frank had stated wide-eyed for a few more moments, before saluting his king and marching off into a hallway on the right. 

Now, the king of Hell was displaying anything but the traits of an imposing leader. Hunched slightly, head lowered, an obvious nervous wreck as Lucifer paced along a wide pane of glass overlooking a more residential side of the city. 

One pink, fuzzy demon stared intently at the anxious figure with a large smile of amusement.

“Ten bucks she’s handling everything much better actually popping out the kid than this poor fella is over here,” Angel teased as he gestured towards Lucifer, before meeting Husk’s eyes from the chair next to him.

The feline’s gaze moved to follow the king’s continuous back-and-forth trail in front of the window across the room, the apple-tipped cane twisting between his fingers impatiently as he waited for news on your condition. Lucifer raked a hand through his hair, pulling back the tousled strands as he mumbled something incoherent.

It was obvious Lucifer and Charlie were related by much more than just their looks, one being how badly they handled stressful situations. You were being cared for by the best doctors in Hell, what could go wrong?

“Nah, you’re probably right,” Husk finally replied with a chuckle, before his eyelids slowly lowered and he drifted off into a light, cat-like sleep. 

A quiet purr resonated from his chest as he napped, and Angel smiled before lifting the pink phone in his hands and taking a selfie, Husk’s peaceful expression slightly visible from behind the spider’s figure. 

Somehow, Niffty had gotten hold of a handful of markers and was demonstrating her artistry on a living canvas for amusement. Frank sat on the floor near Vaggie’s feet while the tiny cyclops doodled across his shell, he didn’t move an inch.

When the door to the waiting room opened, a nurse clad in white slipped inside, and everyone froze to stare at the approaching demon. She lowered her gaze respectfully in Lucifer's presence, and halted right in front of the first row of chairs. 

“Huska’, wake up!” Angel Dust whispered sternly into the feline’s ear and a poke to the cheek, who popped a disgruntled eye open in response to the interruption. 

Husk turned to shoot Angel a glare before his eyes landed on the demon woman standing in front, his ears perking in interest. 

“The delivery went smoothly,” she smiled shyly, and everyone in the room exhaled a shared sigh of relief, “You’re welcome to visit now, just follow me.”

Everyone rose from their seats, Lucifer adjusting his appearance to look more presentable for you as he walked toward the nurse. Charlie turned to lace her fingers with Vaggie’s before following behind her dad. 

“Maybe I should stay back, I don’t do well with kids…” Husk started, still leaning back in his seat.

“Don’t be a pussy, pussy cat,” Angel teased, not looking backward as he joined the rest of the group by the door.

Husk growled softly, before lifting himself from the chair with a huff and exiting out of the door, his feathered tail swishing with anticipation as he crossed the hall and stood with the others at the last doorway on the end.

‘Shh, The Baby Is Sleeping!’ sign was hanging against its frame, before the nurse knocked on the door softly and turned back to the groups 

“Whenever you’re ready,” the nurse hummed, before backpedaling and pivoting on her heel to check in on another room nearby.

Lucifer stood frozen in place, one hand reaching for the door handle as he hesitated. Eyes stared expectantly at their king, who only backed up from the room and allowed Charlie to take the lead.

“I think it would be best if you go first, I’m sure she’s anxious to see you all safe and sound,” Lucifer said with a nervous grin, taking a step backward and slipping past the figures of your friends. 

Charlie only stared at him with a curious expression, as if she was going to argue with her father, before turning back to the door and slowly turning the handle to reveal the room inside. 

“Hi, everyone” he heard you greet them tiredly from the other side of the room before they responded with a mixture of soft words for the new mother. 

Lucifer couldn’t see past the looming bodies of the demons in front of him, and that gave him time to pull out a thin, delicate object from his coat and turn it between his fingers in thought. His mind racing with what he could possibly say to you in a moment like this.

“How are you doing?” Charlie asked as the small group of friends filed into the room.

“Much better now that you’re here,” you replied with a small, relieved laugh, “Although, I did expect Sir. Pentious to join, too.”

Radio silence, not a peep from anyone. How were they supposed to tell you that your baking buddy had sacrificed himself for all his friends? It was such a happy moment for you, they couldn’t dare ruin 

“Yeah, bummer…” Angel Dust murmured quietly, rubbing his arm awkwardly as everyone else tried to keep their lips from curving downward and find a topic to change to.

Then, the king heard Charlie gasp softly, her head turning to another obscured side of the room. The rest of the group turned their heads to follow their gaze, eyes widening at the sight. 

“Is that…?” She whispered in excitement. 

“Yes, would you like to meet my daughter?”

Lucifer’s heart fluttered at that. Daughter. You had delivered a healthy baby girl, and he was not going to wait around a moment longer to congratulate you. 

Finally, the king inhaled a deep, reassuring breath before he strode forward and stepped into the dimly lit room. The crowd parted, revealing your relaxed form on the bed across from him. Lucifer finally met your siren-like gaze and your lips curved into a delighted smile.

“Lucifer,” you sighed happily, eyes drinking in the fallen angel’s perfect figure. 

“Glad to lose some of that water weight?” He teased with that signature charming grin, taking a few steps closer to your bed.

Across the room, was a transparent bassinet nestled in the darkest area of the large space. Every demon in the room had their attention on the bundle of blankets lying still inside.

Slowly, Charlie scooted closer and closer to the cradle, before she leaned over with a smile. She stared in awe at the tiny figure sleeping soundly, before turning her head to meet your gaze. 

“I trust you, Charlie,” you smiled softly at the wide-eyed woman, “You can take her if you want, just be careful.” 

With a joyous smile, the princess turned back to look down at the little bundle of joy, before reaching down and carefully lifting the baby out of the bassinet.

She looked just like you, all cozy wrapped up in the thick blankets around her small body as Charlie held her tight, slowly lowering into a cushioned chair near the shaded windows of the room. The rest of the attendees in the room—save for Lucifer, who couldn’t take his eyes off you—gazed at your twin with adoration. Even Husk wanted a peak, nose twitching as he got a good look at the child with interest. 

“Look at her nose! It’s so tiny and adorable!” Charlie whispered and Vaggie leaned over the chair to get a closer look. 

You watched the small group huddle around your daughter, their gazes tender as they fawned over the sleeping child. Smiling softly, you turn your head to see Lucifer coming closer, his arm leaning against your bed's railing as he lifts a mesmerizing flower into view.

It was a beautiful red rose. Not the hellish roses that rarely grew around the outskirts of Pentagram City, but the classic Earthly version, which you recognized from one of Angel’s descriptions of life in the living realm. 

“I hope everything wasn’t too difficult,” Lucifer responded to your surprised stare at his gift.

There were no thorns present, designed specifically by pale hands just for you to enjoy without the fear of pain. Reaching an arm forward, you took the flower gently from Lucifer’s hold, your fingers brushing softly against his as you lifted it to your nose and inhaled a deep breath. 

The scent of the rose made your lips curve into a soft grin, as you met Lucifer's gaze again.

“Thank you, it’s so pretty,”

“Not in comparison to you,” he replied without hesitation.

You sent him a doubtful quirk of a brow. Having just delivered a baby, you weren’t exactly runway-ready, but Lucifer didn’t seem to care as he stared at you softly. 

Charlie walked forward, interrupting the tender moment as she offered your daughter for you to hold once more. Lucifer finally got a glimpse of your child as he stilled, eyes lighting with interest as he traced the familiar lines on their little features that mirrored so closely to your own.

He hitched a breath, right as you leaned forward and pulled your daughter into your grasp, pulling her flush against your chest. 

Pivoting slightly to face Lucifer, you beckoned the pale face closer to greet the new addition. Slowly, he sidled closer, leaning forward as his eyes traced over the tiny being all bundled up. 

“Hi there,” he spoke quietly to the child, whose features mimicked yours almost to the T. It was definitely your baby, and that only made Lucifer sigh with fondness as he lifted a tentative figure toward the bundle.

His claw delicately grazed against plump, soft cheeks which earned him an adorable coo from your daughter, and that only made the king’s lip wobble more.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” Lucifer whispered, gently caressing the baby’s cheek as you watched with a warm smile. 

Then, the king lifted his head to meet your gaze, tears in his eyes as he stared at you affectionately. You had to stop yourself from rising from the bed and comforting him. 

“Sorry,” he rubbed away the wet trails on his cheeks, “Moments like these get me pretty emotional.”

Slowly, you reached a free hand towards Lucifer’s, lacing your fingers with his comfortingly as you laughed softly, tugging him farther past the railings of your bed. Your daughter was nestled against your chest, her warm cheek pressed against your skin only made your smile curve wider.

“I couldn’t have done it without your help, or anyone else’s here. I’m glad I had that kind of support all these months.”

“Don’t worry, mama” he tenderly lifted your hand, placing his lips to your knuckles for a few moments, drinking in your scent that always had him dizzy for more, “We’ll keep that streak going for a long, long time.”

Tears began to well up in your own eyes, as they traveled over to the smiling faces watching you and your baby with fondness. Had you known this is what your life would have looked like all those months ago, you wouldn’t have been so anxious about the future.

Finally, you weren’t so alone anymore. Not with Lucifer, and the obvious care he held for your daughter already, promising you a comfortable life.

Perhaps, happy days in Hell really did exist.

holy shit guys i basically wrote y’all a novella about a baby-loving king wtffff somebody take my laptop away before i do it again 😏

Let me know what you think <3

tags 🏷️

@ohnoivefallen @doodlebob2726 @coleisyn @undertale-is-sansational @nehy019 @mixplara @chewbrry @yellowsubiesdance @airwolf92 @lxkeee @jellybellyrulez @catnoirsleftnut @mbruben-stein @froggybich @moonlovers34 @just-trash-yeah-thats-it @lil-bexie @wings-of-sapphire @the-tortured-poet @enigmatic-blues @bethleeham @blue122 @cherry-4200 @azullynx @luzzbuzz @for-hearthand-home @helluvapoison @th3-st4r-gur1 @concentratedconcrete @cimadreamer @marsenbie @guacam011y @maxiskindahere @purplerose291 @fictional-character-whore @0willowwisp0 @yourlocalgoldenretrieverboy @wpdarlingpan @halo-balo @chipper-chip @lvstyangel @acrazyartist @midorichoco

[paranoiastudio]

His wife

pairing: Aemond х Tully!wife

warnings: 18+ smut, p in v, lactation kink, cream pie

word count: 1,7k

English is not my first language, sorry about mistakes

The rustling of ancient tome pages breaks the silence of the room, merging with the crackling of logs in the fireplace. Night has long since come into its own, but Aemond is in no hurry to go to sleep, studying chapter after chapter, practicing his High Valyrian. The dinner that the maid brought a few hours ago has already cooled and remained untouched.

A loud clap of thunder tears the prince from his thoughts and he belatedly realizes that it was the roar of Vhagar, hungry for flight. But even this noise did not prevent the Targaryen's sensitive hearing from catching something else. The door?

- I told you not to disturb me. - Without turning his head, Aemond returns to the book, bending even lower than before.

- Yes, I was told your words, but I thought that you would make an exception for me... Husband.

Your voice penetrates the prince's head like a sweet melody and he straightens up in his chair. Quiet footsteps are heard behind you, you came barefoot, probably just got out of bed, again not finding your husband nearby.

A light scent of cinnamon and lily fills the space around Aemond and he enjoys the elusive warmth that your presence gives him. His wife... His sweet wife, always so kind to him, always reasonable in public and burning with passion next to him. And only next to him.

- Will you allow me to stay here? - Aemond nods and you find yourself in the chair opposite, straightening out a large sleeping robe for your figure. The blue fabric was decorated with silver threads that formed silhouettes of large and small fish.

- The colors of your house suit you. - A white nightgown was visible from under the robe, the thin lace clung to your chest so seductively that the prince had to make an effort to look away.

- My home is now the Targaryen house. - You smile at each other. - Are you going to sleep tonight?

- It was in the plans. - Aemond shrugs and picks up another book.

- Sounds promising. - You roll your eyes and put your feet up on the chair, like a child. - We haven't been together for so long, since...

It's been half a year since your son was born, maternal cares have not left you, while Aemond was busy with state affairs and only occasionally saw you and your boy.

The maester recommended waiting with intimacy, you needed rest after a long and rather difficult birth. Every day, looking at yourself in the mirror, you could not help but regret your beauty, which now seemed to have faded.

You couldn't help but worry about your marriage: Aemond was so rarely around, and Aegon, on the contrary, hung around more than usual, throwing his barbed remarks at his brother.

- Do you still love me? - Aemond's violet eye immediately pierces you. - If you don't love me anymore, then just tell me not to expect what is not available to me.

Targaryen rises from his seat and kneels before you, clasping your small and cold palms in his large ones.

- No one will ever make me abandon you and you know it. I swore to love you and I love you, do you remember?

Even before the ceremony in the sept, Aemond swore to you, his bride, his love and fidelity. He himself chose you among all and never regretted his choice, it is unlikely that there was a more suitable woman.

- I remember, but...

- No "but", my love. - Aymond touches your hair, which falls in a thick cascade over your shoulders. - And I do not want to hear doubts.

You wanted to download something else, but the prince kisses you, as if deliberately cutting off the paths of retreat. You grab his beautiful face and kiss him back.

It was as if for the first time: Aymond kissed you with passion, pressing closer and closer, your lips seemed to tingle from the intensity of his closeness. His warm tongue slid into your mouth and any doubts in his words disappeared. He touched you as always, gently and lovingly.

You leaned back, the hard back of the chair did not allow you to fall, when Aymond, standing between your legs, opened the heavy robe. The nightgown, the object of his attention, hugged your tender body so beautifully, not hiding you from her husband's gaze. Aymond's gaze slides from the bottom up and immediately notices two wet spots on your chest, milk was still flowing.

- You are so beautiful... - Throwing your legs over his shoulders, Aemond rolls up your shirt to your waist and pulls you closer. - My beautiful, beloved wife.

A wet kiss to the epicenter of your arousal makes you shudder, you squeeze the wooden arms of the chair and slightly lift your hips. Aemond immediately grabs you under the buttocks and presses closer, burying his tongue in your swollen and needy clitoris.

Slowly, he runs two fingers along the wet folds and slightly stretches you, without stopping the movement of his tongue. You play with his blond hair and almost purr from the sensations, you did not hope for this in the morning.

- I will fill you again, dear wife. - Aemond moves his fingers faster, smirking at the squelching sound that your aching cunt makes. - If I could, I would stay inside you forever.

- Aymond, please... - His words spurred you on, your husband's praise always gave you confidence. - I...

- Cum for me, wife. - Aymond doesn't take his eyes off you, continuing to fuck you with his fingers and lazily swirl his tongue over you. - I'll catch you, my love...

Your eyes close on their own, as if a bucket of water had been poured over you: your breath caught, and your limbs were shackled by a sweet spasm. You involuntarily press yourself against your husband, not at all embarrassed by the fact that you are literally rubbing your wet, hot pussy against his face.

Aymond doesn't show any displeasure, he continues to caress you until you calm down in his arms. He doesn't miss the fact that your breasts continue to flow with milk and have almost completely wet your nightgown.

- You are amazing. - Aymond licks his lips and lifts himself up so that your faces are level, the fabric of his pants rubs against your still sensitive pussy and you gasp, pulling him closer. - My beloved. Mother of my child.

Aymond's hand slides along your thigh, feeling how you tremble, but you do not shy away from his hand, trustingly accepting the caress. Aymond cannot help but walk over his favorite places: your hair and shoulders, your plump and heavy with milk and desire breasts, your thin ankles.

- Please, husband, make me a mother again. - You move your hips, leaving wet spots on your spouse's clothes.

Aymond lowers his pants just enough to expose his already erect member. He is still kneeling in front of you and pulls you so that he can comfortably settle between your plush thighs.

You feel his heat, dripping onto Aemond's cock and taking it easily as he fills you in one smooth motion. It's so tight and hot inside that the prince freezes and closes his eyes, trying not to cum right then and there.

You whine and squirm beneath him, but Aemond doesn't move, watching you with a cheeky smirk. He always loved to see what desire did to his sweet, kind wife.

- Aemond, why are you... - You huff angrily, pushing your unruly hair out of your face. - Please, let me...

- You will have everything you want, my dear. In time... - Aemond runs a finger over your lips and you immediately grab him, sucking the finger into your mouth. - So needy...

- Kostilus... Kostilus, valzȳrys... - The words come out of your mouth surprisingly easily, you have long studied High Valyrian, wanting to communicate with your husband in the language of his ancestors.

You see the effect your words have on him: Aemond's healthy eye darkens even more, he licks his lips and falls to your breast, biting and kissing the tender flesh, still wet with milk.

His tongue collects the droplets and finds a hot, swollen nipple, absorbing the milk and easing the pain in you're full tits.

- Gods. - You pull your husband closer, running your fingers through his blond locks. - Aemond, please...

The prince pulls away from you and settles himself more comfortably, distributing his weight on his elbows. You grip his strong forearms and shift, taking him even deeper.

A rough growl escapes your husband's mouth, he catches a fast rhythm, filling you so perfectly that you were ready to cry with pleasure. A white ring gathered at the base of his cock, demonstrating your desire.

- My sweet wife. - The fact that Aemond could speak so smoothly amazed you. - My beautiful, sweet wife, the most beautiful woman in the world. Fuck!

Aemond penetrates especially deep and you close your eyes, feeling how he hits the right spot again and again, pushing you to the edge.

- Aemond, I... just a little more, kostilus... - Targaryen fucks you, the chair creaks under you and you fall over the edge when Aemond's thumb touches your clit.

- Yes, that's it, my girl, cum on my cock, show me how much you want me. - The grip on your hips tightens and you only accept what your husband gives you. Your pussy pulses along Targaryen's length, as if sucking all the seed out of him.

- I love you... - Your whisper does not go unnoticed, and Aemond cums, crushing your lips in a greedy kiss.

Sweat covers your body and your legs ache slightly from the awkward position, but the unique feeling of fullness and satisfaction overpowered all the inconveniences.

- Wait. - You stop your husband, not allowing him to leave your body. - Stay.

Aemond slowly softens inside you, feeling the fruits of your love flow out of you. Slipping out, he pushes his seed into you with his finger, catching your quiet sighs.

- Don't you dare think again that I don't love you. - Aemond grabs your chin and turns your face to him. - You are all I have and I will never, do you hear me, never betray you.

You wipe a drop of milk from your husband's chin and smile tenderly at him, accepting Aemond into your arms.

- And I love you, my dragon. - The warmth of this closeness calmed your heart, which had been gripped by fear for the past few months.

[andvys]

Dancing with our hands tied | S.H.

Chapter two ⭐︎ I want you to notice, when I'm not around

Warnings: angst! mean!Steve, unrequited feelings, one sided feelings, mentions of Steve being in love with Nancy, mentions of death, allusions to suicidal thoughts, mentions of weed and alcohol

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Word count: 4k

Author's note: I promise, it's gonna get so much better soon, get ready for some much more angst in the next chapter, it's gonna hurt. @hellfire--cult thank you for helping me as always, you're the bestest!!!

Series Masterlist ⭐︎ Previous Chapter ⭐︎ Next chapter

♡

The living room is crowded, at least it seems that way to you. You aren’t used to being around so many people. You didn’t want to come here, but you had no choice when both Eddie and Robin had showed up at your house earlier today and practically forced you out of the house.

Now you sit here, sinking deeper and deeper into Steve Harrington’s couch, feeling uncomfortable and out of place. You’re playing with the loose string on the hem of your shirt as you look around the room. Robin is snacking on the m&m’s Eddie had brought as she’s looking through the pictures Jonathan had taken of her and Nancy just now. Eddie is out on the patio, smoking a cigarette and talking to Argyle who will leave for California in two days. Jonathan is staring at the screen watching some music video that is playing on the MTV channel, his pupils are blown and his eyes seem heavy, he is high out of his mind and for once, Nancy doesn’t seem to care, with her legs thrown over his thigh, she’s sipping on the beer that Steve handed to her a few minutes back, she is talking to Robin, unaware of the set of eyes on her. 

You restrain the eye roll as you look at him. 

Steve is sitting on the same couch you do, though with a big distance, you sit at one end and he on the other, far far away from you. You know he doesn’t want you here, you saw the look on his face when Eddie had dragged you into his house, a wave of something had washed over his face, something unpleasant, like he wanted to scrunch his face up in disgust at the sight of you – his mind had already erased your little moment at the Sinclair house, last week. Now you are back to normal. He made a comment, you made a comment and now you both sit there, avoiding each other like the plague. 

Secretly, you watch him though. 

Like you always do. 

And what you are seeing now, only fuels your annoyance and your wish to go home. 

The smile on his face that could never be directed at you, is directed at her. The love and the longing in his eyes that always lingers when she is around. She who had stolen his heart from the very first moment they saw each other. She who had always kept his heart even when she left him for the one she is smiling at now. She who will always be the one he will look at. 

You thought that he was over it, you thought that he was over her. But you were a little blind and maybe he was too when he told Robin that he was over her. He never was, he never will be. You saw the way he looked at her when she patched him up after he was attacked. You saw the way he looked at her in the RV. You heard the things he said to her, how he talked about his dreams that he surely saw her in by his side. 

You also heard the things he said about you when he thought that you were sleeping. You still remember how gut wrenching it felt to hear him say things about you to his ex-girlfriend. 

You huff in silence when his lips curl into a smile and his eyes light up when Nancy throws her head back in laughter. 

God, why are you even here? 

Eddie falls into the seat next to you, throwing his arm around your shoulder. It feels as though a cloud of smoke had followed him because suddenly, the smell of snacks, fresh air and beer is replaced by it, along with the smell of his cologne.

Right. You’re here because of him. You don’t know why he feels the urge to drag you along to every group hang out. No one wants you around, you don’t even think that Robin wants you here, she barely talked to you since you came here. And the longer you sit in Steve’s living room, with an untouched can of coke on the table in front of you, surrounded by people who most likely cannot stand you or your presence, you wish more and more that Jason should have dragged you down with him. 

You don’t belong here, you don’t belong anywhere. 

Eddie takes a look around before he turns to you, the smile still lingering, though turning into a softer one when he notices the frown on your face. 

“What’s wrong, sweets?” 

You shake your head a little, trying to give him a smile, “nothing.” 

“Are you feeling okay?” He asks, whispering. 

You wonder if that is the reason why he always wants you around, so he can keep checking up on you, so he can make sure that you are okay, that you are still alive and not lying in some ditch after pushing yourself a little too hard while still recovering from surgery. 

Does he care so much because he knows that no one else would? 

Or does he feel like he owes you something because you helped him when it wasn’t even asked of you? 

You nod, “yeah, I just don’t know why I’m here,” you whisper to him, subtly gesturing to this tight friend group that you don’t fit into. 

Eddie is new to this as well, but unlike you, he’s open and friendly with everyone. He surely isn’t as cheerful as he was weeks back. Just like you, he is still recovering, hiding his inner scars from the face of the earth but still, he is trying. Trying to fit into this, and for him, it’s working, for you? Not so much. 

“Well, you’re here because of me,” he grins, tapping your shoulder. 

You huff but smile, looking down at your hands. 

Yeah, you wouldn’t be here otherwise. 

Had you not gone on a walk that one afternoon a few weeks back, you would have never ran into him. Eddie who had been a wanted man at that time, Eddie who was hiding at skull rock, in drenched clothes and with clattering teeth as he shivered like crazy. You remember how scared he looked when you saw him, how he thought that you would rat him out because at that time, you were nothing but acquaintances to each other. – You bought from him a few times but that was all. He always tried to make small talk, throw a few jokes at you, but at that time, he barely got you to laugh. 

You didn’t believe the rumors on the news, not even for a second, not even when Chrissy used to be a close friend of yours. 

You decided to help him, not knowing what else you were getting yourself into, not knowing that it wasn’t just him involved in a world you hadn’t known of yet, at that time. You got him dry clothes, food and the walkie talkie he had begged you for. 

You never expected Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson to show up moments later, though. And least of all, you hadn’t expected Max there. It felt like a surreal dream the moment they started explaining everything to you. The moment you found out the truth about Starcourt, about all the deaths in this town, about the lab, about Henry. 

You had only been allowed to be a part of it because of Max, because of your friendship with the girl you had grown protective of, because she let you help. 

The night in the upside down, the night at the Creel house led you here, into this friend group, into Steve’s house where you certainly don’t belong. 

You don’t know what that nagging yet empty feeling in your chest is, if it’s the trauma that is slowly catching up to you or if it’s from watching him watch her, or if you’re just simply having a bad day but it’s making you feel sick and restless, you want the ground to swallow you up. 

You muster up your greatest smile and flash it at Eddie, “yeah, cause you’re my very best friend.”

He snorts at you, hearing the sarcasm in your voice. 

“Your only best friend is Red.” 

You smile at his nickname for Max. 

“Hey Chica, do you wanna smoke this with me?” 

You don’t even pay attention or look up, not until Eddie chuckles and nudges your shoulder, raising his eyebrows at you to look up and when you do, you find Argyle looking at you with a dopey smile on his face as he holds up a blunt to you. 

Without thinking, you get up with a smile on your lips, “is that even a question?” 

It’s been a long time since you have had anything other than medication in your system, you are in dire need of something that will ease your mind and make you feel more than what you are feeling today. 

You fail to notice the disapproving look on Steve’s face, the way he tensely straightens up, slowly getting up as his brows knit together, more and more, watching in disbelief how you make your way over to Argyle. 

“What the hell, Blondie!?” 

His raised voice startles everyone in the room. Robin looks up from the polaroids in her hands, glancing up at her best friend who is staring at you with angry eyes. Nancy and Jonathan turn to look at Steve before they turn to look at what he is glaring at – or who he is glaring at. 

Argyle and Eddie turn to Steve with confusion on their faces. 

And you, you halt in your tracks, and turn back slowly. Caught off guard by the intense look on his face, you freeze. 

“Are you crazy?” 

You open your mouth to speak, though you shut your mouth again when you realize that these words aren’t directed at you, they’re directed at Argyle. 

“She can’t smoke or drink! Her doctor said it loud and clear, and I warned you before!” He points at him. 

You’re taken aback by his anger, by his words. The fact that he remembered when even you, yourself have forgotten about it. You hate the way your heart flutters at that, you hate the way it makes your stomach feel all tingly. You know that it doesn’t mean anything, just because he remembered. 

You see the way Argyle’s face drops and the way he smacks himself on his forehead, ���I forgot, I’m sorry, man,” he looks at you, pulling away the blunt he was just about to give to you. “Sorry, he told me… I wasn’t thinking.” He whispers, a little uncomfortably as a funny look takes over his face. 

Steve warned him? 

“Dude, I forgot too, don’t worry about it,” you pat his arm, giving him an apologetic smile. “Don’t mind mother hen over there, he’s overreacting as always.” You say as though you don’t feel your heart racing over Steve’s outburst. 

“And you.” 

You instantly turn to face him, just like everyone else in the room who watches the scene unfold with curiosity and confusion on their faces. 

You meet his hazel eyes, the ones that are still raging. 

“Stop being so fucking careless!” He snaps, pointing his finger at you now. “You’re getting on my goddamn nerves.” 

He places his hands back on his hips, huffing loudly. 

Your cheeks flush under his gaze, you can feel them burning, your heart beating faster and faster. You don’t know how to feel but all you can think about now is the look in his eyes when he realized that he hurt you back at Lucas’s place the other day, the words he had said to you. 

Despite the giddiness inside of you, you hide your feelings behind a smirk. 

“Wow, you do worry about me, Harrington. You weren’t lying.” 

He squints his eyes at you, nodding at your words with another huff. He pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. 

Everyone is looking between the two of you, waiting for the bickering to start, the way it always does, but Steve manages to bite his tongue. 

And you surprise the others by holding back your little remarks. 

“And fucking relax, leave Argyle alone, he isn’t responsible for me and neither are you, Lego head. Go and get high, you need to calm down.” 

Jonathan snorts at the nickname, he throws his head back, chuckling loudly as he mumbles ‘Lego head’. Argyle, who already had one too many drags of the blunt he passed around before, is barely holding himself together, threatening to burst into laughter too. 

Steve shoots Jonathan a glare, pointing at him to shut up. 

Nancy looks down, pressing her lips together with an amused look in her eyes. 

Eddie drinks his beer, hiding the smirk behind the can, scratching the back of his neck. 

“Sit your ass down, Blondie and drink your goddamn coke, don’t even think about weed or–”

“No weed, no beer, just fucking coca cola, got it, mom,” you roll your eyes at him and slump back in your previous seat, crossing your arms over your chest. 

He sighs loudly, sitting back down as well, he crosses his legs, giving you the side eye. 

“Goddamn brat,” he mumbles under his breath. 

“I heard that.” 

“Good,” he snaps at you. 

There is no tension in the room, not even awkwardness after this weird moment. If anything, everyone is still amused. 

“Always bickering like an old married couple,” Eddie snickers. 

Steve glares at him, and you, you would have dug your elbow into his side, but he is wounded and still healing. The band aids on his neck are the evidence that they are still bad. He is hiding him, and you wonder if he always will, you ask yourself if he will hide his pain the way you hide yours. 

You don’t even notice that Robin left the room, only when everyone moves on from what just happened and chatter fills the space again, do you take a look around. You furrow your brows when you find her spot empty. 

Argyle and Jonathan leave the room, stepping out into the garden with Nancy following close behind. 

“Are you still in for tomorrow?” You hear Eddie, directing his question at Steve. 

“Yeah, sure.”

You don’t bother to ask and find out what their plans are. 

Robin walks back into her room, with something in her hand. Her eyes are aimed at you, a smile on her lips when she walks towards you. She hands you a drink, a diet pepsi. 

“Here.” 

Your lips part as you stare at the can for a long moment, blinking. You tilt your chin up, looking up at her with big eyes. 

Her smile falls and a frown takes over, “shit, I thought you liked diet pepsi? Was it original?” 

You shake your head at her, taking the can from her hand, “n-no, it’s diet pepsi.” 

She paid attention to you. 

She smiles at you. 

She felt bad watching you sit there and being unable to drink beer or smoke weed with the others. And she remembers that you always asked for pepsi when you were still in the hospital, you hated the teas there and despised the fact that you were only allowed water. 

“I thought you liked coke, Blondie.”

Robin rolls her eyes at Steve. 

“It’s not my favorite,” you shrug, turning to look at him. “I prefer pepsi.” 

He squints his eyes at you, “so when you stole my coke the other day, you did it just to–”

“Get back at you, yeah. Cause you stole my coffee.” 

“When did he steal your coffee?” Robin asks. 

“When I came to family video to rent a movie–”

“Oh, you little liar,” Steve scoffs at you, “she did not rent a movie, she didn’t even come to look for one.”

A smirk tugs at your lips, if there’s something that you love more than the drink in your hand, it’s to get on his nerves. 

“Says who? I really wanted one but the customer service sucks when this one isn’t around,” you point at Robin. 

Eddie chuckles, turning to look at Steve who is glaring at you, before a smirk appears on his face, his hazel eyes twinkling with smugness. 

“You and I both know that you didn’t want to rent a movie, honey. You were there because you wanted to see me,” he says, cockily as he lets his eyes move from your face, down to your body and back up to meet your eyes. 

Your breath gets caught in your throat at the way he just looked at you. You don’t squirm in your seat, but you surely would if the others weren’t around. You grow flustered beneath his stare but you have come to learn how to hide it – Steve Harrington will never see you blushing over him. 

Maybe he was right, maybe you did just want to see him, because you always do, you always want to see him. No matter how much he hates you, no matter how much he despises you, you can’t help but want him, even if you continue to lie about it to yourself to stay sane. 

Steve Harrington had always been your demise – from the first glance. 

You couldn’t help but grow fascinated with him, watching him from afar with eyes the shape of your favorite sunglasses. You couldn’t help but care for him, even when he couldn’t stand you. 

Sometimes you feel like a creep, watching him and adoring everything about him, from his sun kissed skin, to his beautiful eyes, to his perfect hair, to that one smile that he blesses only those around him that he cares about – something that you will never get. 

Sometimes it’s hard to look into his eyes because every time you do look for a little too long, you feel like dying because suddenly, you see the world with different eyes, you see something beautiful, because he is in it and when you look away, when he is gone, it feels anything but.

Steve wouldn’t even bat an eye if you were gone. He wouldn’t even notice if you weren’t around. 

Suddenly, you feel overwhelmed by the way he looks at you, by his presence, by all of this. You are in his space, you are invading, his home, his friend group, his safe place. The reminder of it, that you don’t belong here, lies heavy on your heart and you feel the urge to run away but you cannot give yourself away so easily, knowing that it would be awfully noticeable if you suddenly left after what he just said. 

So you put on a mask, the way you always do. 

“If that helps you sleep at night,” you smirk, tilting your head at him, “I mean no one else would come to see you, I took pity on you.” 

He clenches his jaw, his smirk falling into a frown. 

“Keep your pity to yourself, Blondie. I’d rather never see you again than see you when I don’t have to.”

You know how he feels about you, you know what he thinks of you, yet every single insult, every jab at you feels like a punch to your gut. But this, this was a punch to your heart. 

You know he wouldn’t grieve you if you died at the Creel house, but to know that he might have felt relieved to never having to see you again, hurts you more than you want to admit. 

“What the hell, man?” Eddie snaps at him as his brown eyes fill with anger at his words. 

Robin rolls her eyes, shaking her head at Steve in disappointment. 

But he keeps his eyes on you, struggling to read you, struggling to look past that smirk that is still going strong. 

“Well, I’ll put you out of your misery, Lego head,” you say as you place the drink on the table before you get up. 

Robin furrows her brows, looking you up and down, “what are you doing?” 

“I’m leaving.” You try not to sound bitter or hurt. “I’m getting tired and I forgot my meds at home.” 

Steve looks away from you, feeling a rush of guilt. 

“I’ll drive you–”

You cut Eddie off, shaking your head at him, “no, I’m gonna walk, I need some fresh air.”

Eddie looks at you worriedly, “sweets, I don’t want you to walk by yourself.”

“Eddie, I’m okay, I don’t get dizzy anymore,” you say, trying to smile at him. “I promise, I’ll call you later tonight.” 

He still looks unsure, not wanting to let you go like this. 

But he can tell that you want to be alone, right now, so despite his worry, he leans back again and nods begrudgingly. 

“Okay..” 

You walk out of the room, biting back the bitterness on your tongue, trying to swallow down the pain. You rush through the hallway and open the door, you only manage to take one step out before you hear footsteps behind you. 

You roll your eyes, knowing that Eddie being the stubborn guy that he is will try to convince you to stay, but when you turn around, it’s not Eddie’s brown eyes that you find yourself looking into, it’s Steve’s and it catches you off guard a little. 

He stops in front of you, his eyes scan your face and he huffs a little when he runs his fingers through his hair. 

If you didn’t know better, you’d think it’s guilt and worry in his eyes. 

You hold onto the door, ready to escape whatever pain he will put you through again.

“Listen uh, that was mean,” he starts, now struggling to look into your eyes. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, tugging at his hair. “I shouldn’t have said that.” 

You blink.

You swallow as you keep on looking at him with smugness, to hide the pain. 

“It’s okay, no need to hide the truth from me, you were just saying what you were feeling, right?” 

He opens his eyes and when he faces you again, he looks at you, really looks at you. He tries to find a hint of pain in your features or hurt in your eyes, but there is nothing. All he can see is the coldness in them. 

Nothing he could ever do or say would hurt you – at least, that is what he believes, what he always believed. 

“Right.” 

You bite the insides of your cheeks. 

“Good,” you nod and you tear your eyes away from him, unable to look at him any longer as you feel your heart cracking more and more.

“Y-You don’t have to go, Blondie.” He stops you once again, holding himself back from taking your hand. 

You slowly turn around and he still struggles to read you, even when you stop smirking, even when you only look at him with a straight face, not saying anything back. 

“But if you want to leave, no one’s gonna stop you.”

You see the indifference in his eyes, the coldness that is only there when he looks at you. 

Yeah, you know no one would. 

How can you care so much about someone that cares so little about you? 

How can you want him so bad when all he wants for you is to disappear? 

How can he worry one second and hate you in the other? 

How can you long for him after every hurtful thing that he said to you? 

You take a step away from him, blinking as you feel your eyes starting to burn. 

“Bye, Steve.” 

You turn around before he can even open his mouth, and you slam the door shut behind you because you don’t want to hear his voice. 

You walk away with tears in your eyes. 

You wish you didn’t come here today, every moment spent with him makes you want him even more, makes you hate yourself even more. 

You don’t go home, no, you can’t stand to be in a house that resembles nothing but loss. 

You turn the other way, towards Hawkins cemetery. 

You just need to vent. 

Even if only into the void. 

♡

tagging only friends & mutuals

@prettyboyeddiemunson @mysticmunson @wroteclassicaly @livosssblog

[sashaisready]

Starting Over: Chapter 4 - Build

Mob!Bucky x Female Reader

Series Masterlist

When Bucky throws you out of the house for a betrayal and won't listen to your side of the story, you know the only way out is through - it's time to start over. Maybe this was never going to be your happy ending.

Me again! We’re back. Sorry I know I keep adding new parts but I’ve broken up the final chapter into two as it just keep going and this is a huge bumper one (sorry). I promise there genuinely will only be one more looool. Thanks again for all of your reblogs/comments/love for this story, it means a lot!!

💔

Lou had welcomed you back with open arms, fixing you up with a waitress job at the diner. Of course he had. Lou was like the father you’d never had. His love was one of the few constants in your life.

Mercifully, he didn’t ask you much about Bucky, didn’t chastise you for making a bad choice and getting involved with a mob boss. That wasn’t what Lou was about. He knew that ‘I told you so’ served no purpose, he knew that you were a big girl and there was nothing he could tell you that you didn’t already know yourself. So why bother? All that mattered was that you were here, and you needed him. He would always catch you when you fell.

Going back to waitressing didn’t feel like you’d taken a step back or that you’d somehow failed, if anything it was quite nice to see this former version of your life once more. And you’d missed chatting with the regulars, helping Lou with the accounts, occasionally fighting small fires (both metaphorical and very occasionally, literal). With Bucky you didn’t need to work, which was nice in one way, but you’d missed the structure and purpose your old job had given you. You previously had no interest in daily gossipy lunches with the other mob wives, and there was only so much shopping you could do.

“How did we ever cope without you?” Lou had asked one morning after you’d successfully chased and caught a dine and dasher, and saved hundreds of dollars on the power bill after negotiating a new contract. All before 10am.

You grinned, “I feel the same way about this place”.

You had moved in with Wanda, she had insisted - despite your protests. She and her boyfriend, Vis, gave you the spare room and said you could stay until you got back on your feet. It was small and full of all the extra stuff they couldn’t fit elsewhere in their apartment, but you didn’t care. You would’ve been happy with the couch, or a sleeping bag on the floor.

Nat was equally helpful, sorting you out by buying new clothes and shoes in your size and giving you some of the toiletries and make-up she didn’t use. She even cut and restyled your hair (‘because hair holds memories’, she told you) and took on whichever role you needed. Sometimes that was nights on her couch crying as she held you, other times it was hitting up the bars and trying to forget. She did it all. She had come and got you that morning at the hotel, after you sent her a frantic message from the rickety computer explaining what had happened. She told you she’d be there in 30 minutes…but ended up doing the trip in 20.

One afternoon a week or so later, Bucky’s men radioed him to let them know that there was a redhead in a Mercedes at the front gates demanding to speak to him. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’d sighed as he saw her familiar face on the security monitor and told them to let her in. He knew this day would come. He dismissed them, they didn’t need to be here for this.

Nat had parked up and casually exited the car, strolling across the patio as Bucky stood in the doorway and waited for the inevitable. She didn’t keep him waiting long, slugging him across the jaw with a sharp ‘thwack’ causing him to stagger back against the doorframe.

“Got it. Anything else to say?” he groaned.

She nodded and then kneed him hard in the groin, turning on her heel as she left him in a crumpled heap and ambled back to her car.

“I warned you this would happen if you hurt her”, she called out calmly without looking back.

“Always good to see you, Nat”, Bucky managed to eke out as she slammed the car door.

The generosity of them all was overwhelming, you knew how lucky you were. It’s often said that you don’t know who your true friends are until you fall on hard times, and your friends had proved themselves tenfold. You didn’t think you’d ever be able to repay their kindness.

💔

It had been about six weeks since the night at the hotel when he started coming to the diner. No goons or hangers-on, just him. Which was almost unheard of, given his position.

The first time was a Friday morning, around 9am. He sat in the corner booth, head buried in the menu.

“I can kick him out, hon’, I’m not scared of him”, Lou had snarled as he glared over at the man in the booth.

“It’s okay, Lou. I can handle him,” you told him gently, giving his arm a reassuring stroke.

You took a deep breath as you approached his table. You couldn’t see his face, just his hands, an eerie mirror of the first time you’d met.

“What can I get you?” you asked as you readied your pad and pen, your voice surprisingly even, in spite your stomach’s somersaults.

He lowered the menu slowly and you couldn’t deny it was good to see him again. His blue eyes shone, the former dusting of stubble over his chin and jawline now a fuller beard - just as tantalising as it had always been. A few strands of his hair had come away from the carefully styled gel, framing his face perfectly. Some of your former anger towards him bubbled away beneath the surface, but you couldn’t deny you had also missed him. You had loved him, after all.

The two of you shared a knowing smile.

“You know there are like…hundreds of other breakfast places in this city, right?” you teased, but half-serious.

“I do…but this is the only one that gets my eggs just right,” he grinned back.

“Mmm. I’ll pass your compliments onto the chef. You still want the usual?”

“Please”.

You scribbled down the familiar order onto the page. It felt strange to write it down again, it had been a long time since you’d done that for him.

“Are you going to behave?” you questioned, arms folded.

“Mostly”.

“You’d better. Lou will have your ass if you don’t” you scoffed.

“I don’t doubt it”.

“And Bucky, if you’re here to-” you began, your face betraying the pain that still lurked within you.

“I’m not”, he cut you off. “Just breakfast. I promise”.

You nodded, pressing your lips together with trepidation. The two of you watched the other for a few seconds.

“Well, okay, that’ll be right out”.

You turned and put his order into the kitchen. You didn’t have to look back to know he was watching.

“Here you go”.

You returned to the booth a little later, laying out the plates and re-filling his coffee, he thanked you and pulled a napkin from the dispenser.

“I like your new hair”, he said as he began to cut up his food, his eyes not leaving the table.

“Thanks. I like your new beard”.

“Thanks. Business going okay here?”

“Doing well. Yours?”

“Same old, same old…”

“And…Rumlow?” you asked, your throat catching a little as you said his name.

“Terminated” he replied coldly as he took a sip of coffee.

“Yes…I presumed so. HYDRA?”

“I finally cut off all of those heads”.

“I hope you mean metaphorically”.

“Mostly. The girls good? Vis?”

“All good. Steve? Sam?”

“Also good”.

“Good”.

“Good”.

“Well…good to catch up. Let me know if you need anything else. Enjoy”.

“Thanks”.

You waited for some big trick or reveal, but it never came. He ate his meal, drank another coffee refill, paid the bill, tipped, and left within the hour. Like any other customer. Lou was sceptical, and so were you – but there nothing to suggest it was anything else but breakfast…like he said.

And that’s how it was every Friday after that. He’d come in at 9am on the dot, sit in the same booth. Order the usual. You were always his waitress. Everything was the same, every week. The other regulars knew to avoid sitting at his table at that time. The other servers would barely bat an eyelid as he strolled in, taking for granted that you’d be along shortly to put his order in – even if he wasn’t in your section that morning. And it was…fine. He didn’t try and do anything more, didn’t ask you to meet anywhere or for a chance to talk. You initially thought it would be hard to see him again, but it was okay. Maybe a future where the two of you just pleasantly co-existed was possible.

The two of you would chat. Just small talk at first. Occasionally a joke. Even Lou would chat to him sometimes, he was still wary of Bucky but more open to him than he was previously. He certainly didn’t mind him spending money in his restaurant.

Weeks soon became months. Seasons changed. Still, he came in every week, rain or shine. Plates and plates of eggs eaten; endless coffee mugs refilled. He didn’t ever skip it, he was never sick, never seemed to take vacations. He showed up every time. Even if you weren’t there.

The small talk eventually evolved, so slowly you barely noticed it happen. You chatted more about the old times, memories started to feel fonder rather than sad reminders of what was lost. He told you anecdotes about Steve and Sam. You told him about Wanda and Vis, about Nat. You laughed uproariously one morning over the story of Sam’s disastrous vacation involving a mistaken suitcase and an overzealous TSA agent. It was nice to just sit and talk with him, just be with him. No expectations or obligations. You hadn’t forgiven him. You weren’t sure you ever could. But you had missed him. And seeing him for an hour every week, on your turf, just shooting the breeze – that was nice.

“So, you seeing anyone?” you asked one morning as you sat across from him in the booth and sipped your drink, your break coinciding with the end of his meal. You weren’t sure where it came from, but it popped out of your mouth before you had a chance to stop it. The curiosity was eating you alive. You seemed to talk about everything apart from his love life.

He firmly shook his head, “nope”.

You frowned. “Really? When was the last time you went on a date?”

“With you,” he replied in that no-nonsense tone of his.

You cocked your head, peering over at him in disbelief.

“But Bucky…”

“What? I’m not interested in anyone else”.

“But we’re not together. And it’s been months”.

“I know”, he replied stoically as he sipped his coffee. His eyes seemed to be studying you.

“And we’re not getting back together…”

“I know”.

“But…”

“But what?”

“I don’t know, but I-I don’t like this. It feels like a ploy, somehow. To push me into taking you back” you stammered, your finger dancing on the rim of your mug.

“It’s not. It’s just a fact. I didn’t even bring it up, you did”.

He was frustratingly calm and unperturbed, finishing his breakfast like this was just some casual conversation about the weather or a movie he’d seen.

“So…what, you’re never gonna date anyone again? Is that it?” you scowled.

He shrugged, “I never said that. It’s just not something I’m looking to do right now. Work is taking up most of my time. Plus, I’m in therapy, working through a few things. I’d rather be in a better place before I start dating again. Learn from my past mistakes”.

“Oh…” you responded in surprise, “well…that’s very mature of you. And is it…helpful?”

“Mmm, pretty eye opening,” he nodded as he took another sip of his coffee, “I’d recommend it to anyone,” he looked at you pointedly.

You felt the heat at your cheeks, perfectly aware that he was suggesting you do the same. And he was probably right. But you didn’t like the potential to appear vulnerable in front of him, so you merely shrugged and went back to rubbing your coffee cup. You were genuinely pleased for him…it was just unfortunate that your break-up was the catalyst. You felt a wave of grief roll through you.

You paused for just a beat, again unable to stop your word vomit.

“Are you gonna ask if I’m seeing anyone?”

“No”.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s none of my business. You can date whoever you want”, he shrugged, keeping his attention on his plate.

You frowned. “And you’re okay with that?”

“Yes. I just want you to be happy, doll”.

“Bullshit!” you scoffed, “you once picked a man up by his ankles and dipped his head in the toilet because he grabbed my ass at that party…”

“Well, that was deserved. And I didn’t flush it on him, so he got off easy…”

You pointed an accusatory finger at him across the table. “Buck…I know you. What’s your game, here?”

He sighed heavily, taking a long sip of his coffee before he spoke. His eyes finally moved up from his plate to meet yours. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just like being with you? In whatever form I can? That maybe I’m happy just getting this time with you every week, no matter what happens between us?”

“And that’s enough for you?” you asked incredulously.

He shifted in his seat, his tone suddenly very serious.

“Look, doll. I’m always going to love you. And I’m always going to be honest with you. If you turned around tomorrow and you told me you wanted to give things another shot – sure, I’d bite your hand off to accept. But I live in the real world. And I know you aren’t likely to forgive me for what I did, and that’s fine. I’ve accepted that. I’m just happy to have you in my life in some way, even if that’s just talking to you every Friday while I have my breakfast”.

You blinked back at him, unsure whether to take him at his word or if this was some manipulation tactic. The word ‘love’ echoed in your ears, and you had to shake it off that he said he still felt that way about you. Maybe this was all some trick. You knew you couldn’t trust him anymore.

But as you looked into his eyes, for a moment his sentiment felt…genuine. Real. Maybe he was telling the truth.

“Fine”, you sighed as you took a sip from your cup, “I get paid to be here either way…”

💔

A few more months passed, it had been nearly a year since the break-up. Bucky remained a weekly customer but nothing else. You’d finally moved out of Wanda’s into your own place – a shitty, cramped studio apartment was the best you could do on a waitress wage and tips – but it was yours. It had been such a long time since you’d had your own space, you loved every meagre inch.

You'd also started therapy, to help get your head around your childhood and abandonment issues - to help understand why you were always ready to run and expect everything to collapse. Bucky was right, it was valuable - if not hard going. But you knew it was helping, even though nothing could be 'fixed' overnight.

You still visited Wanda and Vis regularly. In fact, you were over there laughing with Wanda and making an early dinner when you got the call that Friday evening. She knew something terrible had happened from the way your face fell, your eyes widening with shock as you listened to the voice on the other end telling you whatever horror story it was. Seconds later you were rushing out of the front door and trying to wrangle on your coat and grab your bag, as she called out to you in a panic just steps behind.

“It was a massive heart attack,” the doctor had said as she eyed the clipboard in front of her. “He was lucky that a passerby on the street called an ambulance, if he’d been alone…he may not have been able to call himself, and if it had been too late…”

You had not been at the hospital long, sweating and panting in your rush to get down there. Your head fuzzy, unable to fully take in what you’d been told. The doctor was still talking, her voice an unidentifiable drone in your ears as you concentrated all your efforts on staying upright. You tugged off your coat, suddenly far too hot. The hospital felt like a furnace, suffocating and stifling. You were dizzy, everything felt blurred.

A couple of chairs sat a few feet away along the sterile-looking hallway, you plopped down into one and put your head in your hands.

“Can she see him?” Wanda asked the doctor, her hands patting your shoulders supportively.

“He’s stable, but the team are just doing some observations on him. Plus, he needs to rest, and might be feeling groggy after the meds. He’ll be out for a good while. It might take some time to be conscious and lucid again, so-”

“I’ll wait,” you said defiantly, the first time you’d spoken since you got there. “However long it takes”.

“Yes, I understand. And you’re his…friend?”

“Daughter,” you corrected. “I’m Lou’s daughter. Well…good as. He doesn’t have any other family. Neither of us do…”

The doctor nodded kindly, pointing out the coffee machine across the hall and leaving you to it.

💔

Wanda waited with you for a while, but she had a work event that night. She insisted she’d stay but you waved her off, telling her you’d check in with her later. She’d been planning that event for months. Lou would be mad at her for missing it, let alone over him. And you meant it, you didn’t want her missing it because of you.

So, she left. Leaving you by yourself in the hard chair with the plastic cup of lukewarm motor oil masquerading as coffee. Nat was out in the Bahamas with some hottie for the week, and you didn’t really want to bother Vis, so you sat quietly alone. You kept sane by reminding yourself that Lou was stable, and his prognosis looked good. He would be okay. He would. He’s made of strong stuff.

Another hour went by, and you couldn’t help your tears from falling as you began to work yourself up worrying, exacerbated by the fact you hadn’t eaten and had nobody around to stop you from spiralling. Wanda had sent a few texts, but you knew she was busy and didn’t need you distracting her. You just wished you had someone to talk to. Or not even talk to, just be with. You squeezed your phone in your hands as if willing the idea that someone would suddenly call you out of the blue. A friend you’d forgotten, a long-lost family member. But there was nobody.

Well, almost nobody.

You pulled your purse onto your lap and dug through, retrieving your wallet at the bottom. You opened it up and checked each card holder until you found what you were searching for, slightly worn and torn tucked behind the library card you barely used, but the details still clear as day.

JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES

Director of 107 Inc.

You had scooped up the card after he left it in the hotel room. It was a bit of a split decision, you’d nearly tossed it in the trash but changed your mind at the last second and jammed it into your wallet, not really thinking about why. You hadn’t looked at it since, you’d never transferred his number into your phone, or even spoken to him outside of Fridays at the diner. But he had become something of a friend over the last few months, and you were surprised to find yourself looking forward to seeing him every week. It was as if you’d gotten to know each other again from scratch, a slow-burn friendship grown over time – the complete opposite of your initial whirlwind relationship, where heat had won out over foundations. But now, you felt you knew him differently. It was funny how you get to know somebody without the chemistry and physical attraction fogging up your brain.

Was this stupid? Were you asking for trouble? But…it would be nice to talk to someone. Just a phone call, nothing more. You took a deep breath and punched the numbers into the keypad before you could talk yourself out of it.

“Hello?” came his gruff voice in your year after two rings.

You sat upright, surprised he had even answered at all – let alone so fast. You hadn’t really thought about what you were going to say.

“Hey, Buck, I…” you squeaked, unable to mask the emotion in your voice.

“Doll?” his voice immediately softened, “what is it? Are you okay?”

“Yeah…well, no, actually. I’m at Mount Sinai…uh…Lou-uh, Lou had a big heart attack and I’m at the hospital and hesreallysickandI-I…”

You sobbed, your words melting into one as the pain of saying them out loud hit home, “I’m sorry I…”

“Hey. It’s okay. Take a moment for me, alright? Take a deep breath doll…”

You closed your eyes, inhaling and exhaling, blowing the air out of your lips like he said. You did it a few times, feeling slightly better afterwards,

“Good, that’s good,” Bucky told you. “Are you by yourself? Are Wanda and Nat there with you?”

“No…Wanda is working, Nat’s away. It’s fine…I just…”

“I’m so sorry about Lou, doll”, he said tenderly. “Do you want me to come down there?”

“No…no…it’s okay…I just. I just wanna talk,” you replied, wiping your eyes with the palm of your hand.

“Yeah…yeah, we can do that. What shall we talk about?”

You sighed, “I don’t know. Anything. Anything that isn’t hospitals or heart attacks…or food. Because I haven’t eaten and I’m starving.”

“Alright. Hmm. Well…I had to break up a fight between Thor and Scott today, if that helps distract you…”

“What? But Thor is twice Scott’s size. That was mean of him…”

“No…Scott started it. Said Thor was mouthing off about something or other and it all blew up. Scott swung for him”.

“What?? Is he insane?” you practically shrieked, the beginnings of a giggle forming in your throat as you tried to imagine Scott trying to land a punch as Thor towered above him.

“I guess so. But they worked it out. Last time I saw them they were laughing, and Thor was swinging him from his shoulders”.

You laughed. A proper, deep belly laugh. It felt good. Cathartic. You could practically see some of the tension leave your body.

“Well, I’m glad they figured it out. What else did you do today, Buck?”

“Hm. Not a lot. Mostly work. I went to the park. Just to get some air. Went to that duck pond you like and sat on the bench for a while”.

You smiled, “I love that pond”.

“I know. Remember that time you nearly fell in trying to help that duckling trapped in the weeds?”

“I do. I remember that you had to catch me and I accidentally splashed pondwater on your suit as I stumbled…” you laughed fondly.

“Not the worst thing I’ve had my dry cleaner remove for me. And we got the duckling back to its mom, even if she was furious at us”.

“She tried to bite you…”

“She succeeded”.

You both chuckled for a moment as you reminisced, then it suddenly went quiet between you both. You held the phone tightly to your ear, unsure and a little lost for words. It felt odd to feel tongue-tied around Bucky, it had always been so easy to know what to say to him. Despite how easy it was to slip back into nostalgia just now, and your newfound friendship, there was still something of a gulf between the two of you. You had been apart for so long now.

“…thanks, Buck,” you whispered.

“Anytime, doll”.

💔

After you hung up with Bucky, a nurse came over and you shot up out of your chair with anticipation. She told you that Lou was doing well but was slowly coming around after a heavy sedative. He should be ready for visitors in another hour or so. You sighed heavily but nodded grimly, as long as Lou was alright – that was all that mattered.

You sank back into your faithful chair, pulling out your rapidly dying phone again and wishing you had the foresight to bring a charger when you left Wanda’s. Or some food, at least.

You continued your vigil in the unfeeling hospital hallway, a place that seemed to exist outside of time. But you had to admit, speaking to Bucky had raised your spirits a little. It reminded you of the old days, when he was an anchor in a storm, a calming presence when things were tough. Part of you had missed that.

You’d just closed your eyes a little while later when you heard someone call your name.

“Still hungry?”

Your eyes filled with tears as your head snapped to see who it was.

There stood Bucky dressed in his off-duty grey sweats, his unstyled hair flopping across his forehead. In his hand was a brown bag, you instantly recognised the brand of your favourite take-out place printed across the front. It smelled heavenly.

“Buck…?” you mumbled in shock, not quite believing he was there, “what…what are you doing here?”

He shrugged, “you said you were alone and hadn’t eaten. I know how you get when you’re anxious. Figured you could use this”.

It wasn’t clear if he meant the food or the company, but in that moment, you were grateful for both.

He sat in the chair next to yours and began to methodically remove the food tubs, placing them on your lap and opening the lids as he pulled out a fork and napkins.

“Hope you still like this one,” he said as he revealed your usual order.

“I do”, you replied, your voice small.

“Good. Dig in.”

You began to eat slowly, feeling strangely self-conscious about your audience. Fortunately, he pulled out a tub of his own which took the focus off you. The two of you sat side by side and ate in silence.

“Thanks for this, Bucky,” you mumbled between mouthfuls.

“Anytime. Any news on Lou?”

“Should be ready for visitors soon”.

“Well, that’s good. He’s a tough old bastard.”

You both finished your meals and Bucky got to work tidying up the empty containers and old napkins and depositing them in the trash. You thanked him as he sat back down.

“Hey…thanks again, that was really thoughtful - but really, you don’t have to stay,” you shrugged, “you probably have a busy night”.

He shook his head, “nope. I’m wide open”.

He stared straight ahead and leaned back, his bulk squeezing up against the armrests of the chair. He wasn’t going anywhere.

“What do you mean when you said, ‘I know how you get when you’re anxious?’” you asked him tentatively.

“Just…I know how you can spiral when you’re stressed. Figured you could use some company is all,” he casually as he moved his hair away from his face.

“T-thanks,” you responded, your throat dry, “I’m not really up to chatting much right now, though”.

He was nonchalant, “that’s fine”.

The two of you sat side by side, nothing said.

It was awkward at first, sharing this cold and sterile space with your ex, worries about Lou weighing you down. But then after some time…it was sort of…okay? He didn’t try to initiate any conversation; he didn’t show any signs of boredom – even though he must’ve been feeling it. Didn’t complain. Didn’t check his watch. He just sat and waited with you, his arms propped up casually on the armrests and his eyes trained on the wall in front of him. You were grateful that he’d heeded your request not to speak as you didn’t have the brain power to labour a conversation. You didn’t fully understand why, but him just physically being there was strangely comforting - as odd as that was to admit to yourself.

Eventually the nurse returned, her smile warm as she greeted you.

“Oh, you have a friend. Right on time, Lou is ready to see you now”.

You quickly got to your feet and dashed after her as she led you to Lou’s room. Bucky followed close behind.

Your heart sank when you finally saw him, covered in wires and tubes, his face suddenly much older than his years. You gasped, rushing over to his bedside.

“Hey, kiddo” he wheezed, a smile creeping over his face despite the obvious effort it required, “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

“Oh God, Lou, I was so scared…I thought you’d…” you took his hand in yours, unable to say the words out loud as the tears started again.

You felt like you’d cave in on yourself from the anguish, but a steadying hand found its way to your shoulder from behind you. Bucky squeezed once, a small reminder of his presence, then pulled his hand away. It was grounding, helpful.

“Hey there hon, I’m doin’ okay”, Lou rasped as he weakly tried to grip your hand in return. “But I guess this is a good reminder to lay off the bacon, huh?” he chuckled before the effort caused him to wheeze.

You smiled faintly and patted his hand, careful to mind the IV by his fingers, “you gotta start taking better care of yourself, okay? No more greasy breakfasts at work…”

He nodded slowly, his eyes flickering over to Bucky behind you, “you brought company…”

“Oh, yeah”, you turned to gesture to Bucky, “he sat with me and brought me dinner while I waited”.

Lou nodded, a flash of something in his eyes you couldn’t place. “You takin’ care of her?”

Bucky nodded in return, “of course”.

Lou inhaled deeply, “well…alright, I’m glad she’s not been by herself”, he begrudgingly offered. “I wouldn’t want her out in the cold…so to speak” he said pointedly, a clear reference to that awful night one year before.

“Rest assured…that would never happen,” Bucky responded coolly. “But I understand your concern”.

You watched as the two men stared at each other, something resembling an understanding seemed to lay between them.

💔

You sat with Lou for as long as you could before the doctor shooed you and Bucky out, explaining Lou needed to rest. You promised you’d be back tomorrow.

“Oh hon…no. Don’t waste your time on an old man like me,” he teased playfully.

“Oh, stop that. You know I’m going to be here with balloons and grapes, the whole shebang…” you grinned, putting your coat on.

“Good to see you, Lou” Bucky chimed in as he shook Lou’s hand, “you’ll be fighting fit in no time”.

Unbeknownst to you as you were busy with your bag and coat, Lou used a finger to beckon Bucky to move closer. Bucky obliged, leaning forward so that Lou could speak to him. His words were hushed but clear.

“Hurt her again and I’ll beat the living shit out of you. Bad ticker or not. And I don’t care how many of your goons you set on me…”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, but his expression betrayed no emotion, “understood”.

You turned, smiling obliviously at Lou just as Bucky stood back up to full height and cleared his throat. They both smiled back.

“See you tomorrow, Lou”.

“See you, kiddo”.

You left the room with Bucky trailing behind. As a small sob escaped your throat, his hand pressed firmly against your back. A small reminder that he’d shown up for you. He was there.

💔

[splatoonpolls]

a really long analysis about fanon Marina and the flanderization by fandom she has gotten

fanon marina (the version created by the fans) mainly focuses on two things, her being autistic coded and her being basically confirmed to be a lesbian. And I do think this has to do with her being VERY much like a typical splatoon fan in many people’s eyes. Her being a nerdy queer neurodivergent person. This is also why other parts, especially her relationship with her being an octoling gets often locked away. Subconsciously at least

if Marina was a book, several chapters would focus on her identity as a dome octoling. Her being autistic would probably pop up here and there, but it wouldn’t be a whole chapter. But her very much gay relationship with Pearl would definitely have a few chapters. But with people focusing on those few lines and chapters rather than the whole book. People would slowly ignore the other chapters, get shocked like Adam Sandler learning Pac-Man was the bad guy in the hit movie pixels.

the splatoon fandom’s western side is mainly white Americans and Europeans. Which is one reason why the fanon Marina doesn’t focus on her identity as an octoling, but also on how many details are not really told to the player. Marina barely shows her ears, which can both be read as her having sensory issues (which is a super valid headcanon(, but also her not feeling super comfortable with her body. With her ears being a reminder of her “you are with people who still think you are only going to steal stuff”. Her tentacles may be weird, she may lack the eyeliner an inkling has. But those things can simply be a stylistic choice. Her ears can’t be one. They are too different. I also know the DLCS focuses more on her identity as a dome octoling. However many can understand how her arc as a whole can be paralleled to the real life experiences of people belonging to marginalized ethnic communities. I also want to point, while writing this. I realized (which many people probably already did). Dome octolings you see outside of the domes (splatoon 2 octolings, Marina, Acht, Paul), are all refugees. They are all characters who grew up in a society that had been shunned for decades, even centuries. That society ended up being oppressive both due to external and internal issues. They know the society they’re living in is no longer a good place to live in. So they escape. Hoping to find a place that will take them on. For agent 8, Marina, and Paul. They found a safe place. Acht wasn’t super lucky however. They were told they could find a “promised land” only to be left in even more ruin before. So not only does Marina’s character arc focus on her being a part of an ethnic minority, but a refugee at that. so why does fanon marina usually avoid that part of her? Well as a mentioned before. Marina has three things that makes her very relatable. While the more backstory focused things are less relatable to a way smaller margin of the splatoon fandom. A way smaller part of the fandom are poc in a very white country. And a very small percentage are refugees.

if we removed Marina’s backstory. We would still be left with the fanon version. A nerdy autistic lesbian who deeply loves Pearl. I love how Nintendo got a game that also isn’t afraid to show a society that cares about queer people if not is queer centric itself. Which is probably why many people cling to that part of Marina. But if we removed that part. What would we be left with? Well, we would have an octoling refugee who is a trained soldier and can create weapons of destructions (and she would still be in love with Pearl, it is an important part of her backstory). im not saying the splatoon fandom’s openness to lgbtq and neurodivergent people is a bad thing just because they boil down one of the most plot heavy characters down to those things. It is actually a really great thing to have a fandom that is open to these marginalized groups.

i just want to say, due to this love for Marina being a character you can relate to. It feels like certain parts of Marina’s character (which can also be very relatable to some) is being drifted away to the more lore centric side of the fandom. Which will lead to a sort of fandom flandarization which is very unintentional and just done due to a love of Marina as a character.

If you’ve read this an disagreed, that is fine. Character writing is a very subjective thing

[callsigns-haze]

Hi Z I loved you "Lean on" fic!! just high praise for that but I have a one shot idea.

Maybe Tyler and Yn are dating and He gets hurt after a chase so y/n cares for him after he comes home and it can be fluffy only or hints or smut whatever your comfortable with. Thanks!

A/N: I'm soo happy you enjoyed Lean On!!!!

A Love in the Eye of the Storm

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Reader

Summary: Y/N tends to Tyler's injuries after he returns from a dangerous tornado chase, and their emotional reunion culminates in a passionate embrace, reaffirming their deep love and commitment to each other.

Chapter Warnings: Injury, mild descriptions of wounds, emotional distress

Y/N and Tyler had been together for six years, their relationship solid yet often tested by Tyler's dangerous passion for storm chasing. It had become a familiar routine: Tyler would be home for a few days, only to leave again, chasing tornadoes with his crew. Though it was difficult, Y/N had grown used to his absences and the constant worry that came with them.

Tonight, however, was different. Y/N lay in bed, the hours ticking past midnight, unable to sleep. The ceiling above her seemed to be closing in, the darkness a weight on her chest. It had been two weeks since Tyler left, and each night without him felt lonelier than the last. She missed the way he would wrap his arms around her, his steady breathing a lullaby that carried her into peaceful sleep.

She tossed and turned, the empty side of the bed a stark reminder of his absence. Just as she began to drift into an uneasy slumber, a sudden noise startled her awake. The front door creaked open, sending a jolt of fear through her. Her heart pounded as she reached for the baseball bat she kept by the bed, a precaution for nights like these when she was home alone.

Clutching the bat tightly, she tiptoed down the hallway, her breaths shallow and rapid. The house was eerily silent, the only sound the faint rustling coming from the kitchen. She peeked around the corner, her grip tightening on the bat, ready to confront the intruder.

But instead of a stranger, she saw Tyler standing by the counter, his back to her. Relief washed over her, but it was quickly replaced by a surge of concern. As he turned to face her, she gasped. His face was marred with cuts and bruises, his clothes torn and dirty. He looked exhausted, every line on his face a testament to the battle he'd fought against nature's fury.

"Tyler!" Y/N dropped the bat and rushed to his side, her hands trembling as she reached up to touch his bruised cheek. "What happened to you?"

Tyler winced but managed a weak smile. "Just a rough chase, that's all."

"Just a rough chase?" Y/N's voice cracked with emotion. "You look like you were in a war zone, you look worse than my great grandfather in all those pictures and he's a bloody veteran from the war."

He sighed, leaning heavily against the counter. "It was a close call. The tornado changed direction unexpectedly, and we got caught in the debris field. But I'm okay, I promise."

Y/N's eyes filled with tears as she took in the extent of his injuries. She wanted to be angry with him for putting himself in such danger, but all she could feel was an overwhelming sense of relief that he was alive and home. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly as if to reassure herself that he was really there.

"Come on," she said softly, guiding him towards the bathroom. "Let's get you cleaned up."

She helped him out of his torn clothes, wincing at the sight of the bruises and cuts that covered his body. Each movement was deliberate, her hands steady but her heart racing. As she carefully peeled away the layers of dirt and grime-streaked fabric, Tyler hissed in pain, but he didn’t protest.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured again, his voice barely a whisper.

"It's okay," Y/N replied, trying to keep her voice calm. "Let's just focus on getting you patched up."

She ran a warm bath, adding some Epsom salts to help soothe his battered muscles. She checked the temperature with her hand, making sure it was just right before guiding him to sit on the edge of the tub. Tyler groaned softly as he lowered himself into the water, the warmth immediately starting to ease the tension in his body.

Y/N rolled up her sleeves and knelt by the tub, grabbing a soft washcloth. She dipped it in the water and began to gently clean his face, wiping away the blood and dirt that had caked around his cuts. Tyler closed his eyes, a sigh of relief escaping his lips as the warm water and her tender touch began to work their magic.

"I'm so sorry for making you worry," he said again, his eyes opening to meet hers.

"Shh," she soothed, brushing a damp strand of hair from his forehead. "You’re here now, that's all that matters."

She moved the washcloth over his shoulders, carefully avoiding the deeper cuts. With each pass, she washed away the physical evidence of his ordeal, hoping it would also help to wash away the emotional strain it had put on both of them. When she reached his hands, she noticed how they trembled slightly, and she took extra care to clean each finger, the intimacy of the moment calming them both.

Once he was clean, Y/N drained the tub and helped Tyler to his feet, supporting his weight as he stepped out. She wrapped a soft towel around him, patting him dry with gentle, soothing motions. She then led him to the bed, where she had already laid out fresh clothes for him.

"Sit here," she instructed, guiding him to the edge of the mattress.

She fetched the first aid kit from the bathroom and began to bandage his wounds. She worked methodically, her hands sure and steady. She applied antiseptic to each cut, blowing softly on the deeper ones to ease the sting. Tyler flinched but stayed silent, his eyes fixed on her face.

"I'm really sorry, Y/N," he said once more, his voice thick with emotion. "I hate that I bring you to tears."

She paused, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. "I just want you to be safe, Tyler. Seeing you like this…it scares me."

"I know," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I promise I'll be more careful."

Y/N finished bandaging the last of his wounds and helped him into a clean t-shirt and a pair of soft pyjama pants. She then tucked him into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. She kissed his forehead, a silent promise of her unwavering support and love.

Lying beside him, Y/N felt a sense of peace she hadn't felt in weeks. Tyler was home, and despite the dangers he faced, they were together. She nestled against him, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and finally allowed herself to drift into a deep, restful sleep.

Tyler, however, wasn’t ready to let her go. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close until her head rested on his chest. She could hear the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath her ear, a comforting reminder of his presence. He tilted her chin up, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her breath catch.

“I’ve missed this,” he murmured, his voice husky with emotion.

Before she could respond, his lips were on hers, capturing her in a kiss that was both passionate and tender. It was a kiss that spoke of longing and relief, of fear and love, and everything in between. Tyler’s hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that had slipped down her face.

Y/N melted into the kiss, her hands tangling in his hair as she poured all her emotions into the embrace. She had missed him so much, missed the way his lips felt against hers, the way his touch could make her forget all her worries. Tyler’s kisses became more urgent, as if he was trying to make up for all the lost time, each one deeper and more intense than the last.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispered against her lips. “Missed holding you, kissing you…just being with you.”

Y/N’s heart swelled at his words, and she kissed him back with equal fervor, her body pressing closer to his. She could feel the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt, the rapid rise and fall of his chest mirroring her own. Tyler’s hands roamed over her back, pulling her even tighter against him, as if he couldn’t bear to have any space between them.

As the kiss deepened, Y/N felt a rush of warmth spread through her body, chasing away the lingering fear and worry. All that mattered now was that Tyler was here, safe in her arms. They broke apart for a moment, both of them breathing heavily, their foreheads resting against each other’s.

“I love you,” Tyler said, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m so sorry for everything. I’ll be more careful, I promise.”

Y/N cupped his face in her hands, her thumbs brushing over the stubble on his cheeks. “I love you too, Tyler. Just promise me you’ll come back to me every time.”

“I promise,” he replied, sealing his vow with another kiss.

They lay there in each other’s arms, the world outside forgotten. The only thing that mattered was the love they shared, a love strong enough to weather any storm. And as they held each other close, Y/N knew that no matter what dangers lay ahead, they would always have this—this moment of pure, unshakeable love.

Requests for Tyler are open be free to send in as much as you wish!

tagging some:

@senawashere

@saviorcomplexrry

@cevansbaby-dove

@saynotononsense

@missdottie

@willowisp7

@taorislover94

@eloquenceinpurple

@86laura11

@rosiahills22

@jessicab1991

@kmc1989

@shanimallina87

@eternalsams

[marcyvamp1re-blog]

SILLY LITTLE BAT

pairings ⸺ Yandere! Platonic! Batfamily x Anti-Hero! Fem!reader.

sinopsis ⸺ In the shadowed halls of Wayne Manor, a girl lost among the darkness seeks the connection she never had. Her mother, a kleptomaniac with a broken heart, vanished, leaving only echoes of empty promises. Surrounded by a family that never sees her, her pain turns into a deafening silence. The void left by her past traps her in a limbo of solitude and sorrow.

One dark night, seeking her own way, she became what she once despised. Now, like the albino bat rejected by its own flock, she flies alone in the twilight. Her pale skin glows in the dark, but her heart still yearns for the warmth of a home she never came to know.

warnings ⸺ Dark Themes, Dead, murdering,Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Discrimination, Violence, Blood, LGBT Content, Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Implicit Sexual Content, Mental Illness, Addiction, Suicide, Torture, Corruption, Isolation, Trauma, Phobias, Paranoia, Manipulation

Chapter Guide! Pt 2. Pt 3. Pt4

A/N — English is not my first language—Spanish is—so there might be some grammar or spelling mistakes here and there. This is the first part of a story I’m writing for a friend (Isabel, I love you, you brat), and also an experiment to see what it’s like to write on Tumblr. Please support me! :"((

Nobody is coming to save you

Get up.

Your mother was not a good woman, and that was an undeniable fact, heavy as the shadow that covers Gotham City at nightfall. She was a creature of the underworld, one among the specters that wandered under the yoke of crime, walking among dangerous names like Selina Kyle or Harleen Quinzel, yet always remaining in the background, never reaching their fame or infamy.

She was nothing more than a kleptomaniac and a mythomaniac, doomed to live by cunning and deceit. She took advantage of the men who crossed her path, from the lowest criminals, like The Penguin, to the most powerful man in the city: Bruce Wayne.

You never called him Dad. To you, he was always Bruce, and on the rare occasions you addressed him, you did so with distant formality, "Mr. Wayne." Richard, your adoptive brother, found in him a father figure, while to you, he was just another shadow in the mansion, that huge, cold house you arrived at after your mother’s death.

You remember how, time and again, you tried to warn your mother to stop stealing, to stop lying, that those dark paths would inevitably lead her to Arkham Asylum, surrounded by all the lunatics you feared so much, or even worse: to death. But she always responded with a playful smile, stroking your head with her delicate hands, adorned with stolen jewelry and crude tattoos. "Those are just fantasies of an eight-year-old girl," she would say sweetly, while her ring-laden fingers assured you that you needn’t worry, "I will always come back for you," she promised, "because you are the only thing more valuable than any diamond I’ve ever held."

But the cruel truth was that was the last time you saw her. That night she left, and she never returned. It was then that the last vestiges of innocence faded with her absence. From that moment on, you ceased to be a child.

And that was one of the few things you understood with absolute clarity. There were no more empty promises, no more caresses tinged with lies. All that remained was the silence of a life fading away, like a stolen jewel that never returns to its rightful owner.

The only thing you knew after calling the police when your mother didn’t show up after two days was that they found her corpse in a back alley far from Gotham, showing signs of having been beaten and bruised by some underground gang.

Commissioner Gordon searched the entire house for illicit substances and signs of debts to mobsters, but he only ended up finding documents, stolen jewelry, and letters from your mother that were never sent, and most importantly, DNA evidence implicating that the city’s millionaire was your biological father.

From then on, your life was stained with eternal gray, that muted shade that erased all traces of light or shadow. There was no more white or black, only a silent fog that, day by day, enveloped you and dragged you into a madness that seemed inevitable. Gotham itself seemed more alive than the place you called home, although "home" was never the right word.

You didn’t love any of the Wayne family members. Bruce, your biological father, never listened to you. To him, you were always just another shadow, a ghost in the vast mansion that he prioritized over his other children, his "true" heirs. There was always something more important, something more urgent, and your presence faded among the cold walls and the echo of his hurried footsteps. With each passing day, you became more invisible to him, as if your very existence were a mistake he preferred to ignore.

Richard, the perfect brother, was kind on some occasions. He spoke to you courteously, but when you needed him, when you asked him to attend one of your performances, there was always an excuse, something that kept him away, as if your passion and accomplishments were insignificant details in his heroic life.

Jason, on the other hand, despised you from the start. He saw you as an intruder, a child of gold—but not of that pure and valuable gold, but of a dirty and false one, which he always mocked with disdain. And although you never cared for him, when he died, silent tears rolled down your face. It wasn’t out of love, but out of respect for what he represented, for the brutal reality of his fall.

Tim, in contrast, was the most indifferent. To him, you were a nobody, so irrelevant that you weren’t even worth a glance. Spending time with his friends or being the Robin of the moment mattered more than you did. You lived on his periphery, in a limbo where neither your name nor your face seemed to exist.

Cassandra, Stephanie, Barbara… at least they treated you with politeness, but you knew they didn’t really remember who you were. They saw you, smiled at you out of obligation, but deep down you knew they had no idea of your name, your story, your struggle to be more than a shadow in that world.

The worst of all was Damian, your younger half-brother. When he arrived at the mansion, Alfred introduced him to you with that serene formality he always had, and you, driven by an almost desperate impulse, tried to reach out to him. You wanted to offer him the support and affection of an older sister, that warmth you would have longed for in his situation. But all you received in return was a cold response: a katana piercing your abdomen. I wish I could say it was just a metaphor, but no, that wound was as real as the blade that cut your skin.

You would have liked to think that the pain was symbolic, that Damian had only rejected your affection with harsh words or his usual arrogance. But no, it was much more than that. The only thing you received in exchange for your attempt at fraternal love was a stab, a scar you still carry not only on your body but also in your soul. Because in that brutal gesture, you understood that the blood that united you also separated you, sharper than any weapon. And that was how you tried to connect.

You strived to stand out, to learn, to shine in your own ambitions, wishing that your success would be enough to earn you a place, a bit of affection. But no matter how hard you tried, it was never enough. Your talent crashed against indifference, your achievements faded into the air, as if they had no weight in the lives of others.

The only light, the only beacon in that storm of gray, was Alfred. The only one who smiled at you with genuine tenderness, the only one you truly loved. To you, he was the real father, the one who was always there, expecting nothing in return, offering you a silent but firm love. You did call him father, and his presence was the only thing that kept your sanity, the only thing preventing the gray from consuming you completely.

But even that love, so genuine and deep, was not enough to fill the void that your own family left you. And in that void, you continue to float, trapped between the girl you were and the woman you are trying to be, searching for a place you can truly call home.

Y/n's small room, though modest, had always been her refuge. The walls were adorned with unfinished sketches, trophies from various activities, and some paintings she had completed with dedication, showcasing her passion for both manual and performing arts.

The dawn light filtered softly through the curtains, bathing the space in golden tones, giving it a warmth that contrasted with the coldness of the rest of Wayne Manor.

On the desk, a small cake rested on a plate, simple yet made with love. Beside it, Alfred, with his usual understated elegance, watched Y/n with a mixture of nostalgia and concern. He, the only one who seemed to remember her birthday, offered her a delicate professional drawing set, wrapped in smooth, elegant paper.

"Happy birthday, Miss," Alfred said with a gentle smile, although his eyes reflected a sadness that was hard to conceal. "I know how much you love art, so I thought this would be helpful for your new projects."

Y/n took the gift in her hands with a genuine smile. It had been so hard for her to find moments of joy lately, but Alfred's gesture filled her with a warmth in her chest that she hadn't experienced in a long time. She placed the gift into one of the many brown boxes she had prepared for her upcoming move.

"Thank you, Alfred. It's perfect," she said, examining the set carefully, as if each detail were a reminder of the affection he held for her. "It will help me a lot... although, well," she sighed, as if searching for the right words. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that." Alfred raised an eyebrow, attentive, as she continued, glancing at the small space that had been her home within the vast mansion.

"Today... today is not just my birthday. It's the day I leave here." Her voice was firm, yet there was a sense of liberation in it, as if this were a long-awaited step. "I am finally no longer a Wayne. I go back to being a L/n."

Silence filled the room for a moment, heavy and dense. Alfred clasped his hands, striving to maintain his composure.

"Miss, I can't help but feel a certain unease hearing this. Are you sure this is what you want? This house, though empty in many ways, has always been your home..."

"Home?" Y/n looked at him with a mix of sadness and determination. "This house has never been my home, Alfred. Not like it was for Dick, nor even for Bruce. I have always been a stranger here, the daughter of a woman who never fit into this world, the bastard child. My mother taught me to find my own path, to not cling to what doesn’t belong to me... and being here, being called Wayne, has never belonged to me." Alfred sighed softly, turning his gaze toward the window. He knew there was truth in her words, but that didn’t lessen the pain of her leaving. "I know it’s hard to understand," Y/n continued, "but for the first time in a long time, I feel happy, Alfred. I’ve graduated, college is just around the corner, and I want to start anew. I want to find what truly makes me, me... not what others expect of me."

The old butler remained silent for a few moments, nodding slowly. He knew he couldn't retain her, that it was not his place to interfere in the young woman's dreams. But still, he couldn’t help but feel a pang in his heart at the thought of the house being even emptier without her. "I just wish you find what you’re looking for, Miss. And if you ever need a place to return to... this door will always be open for you."

Y/n stepped closer to him, gently hugging him, something she had rarely done. "Thank you, Alfred," she whispered against his shoulder. "You will always be my family, but I need this. I need to discover who I am outside of this last name."

The old butler felt the lump in his throat as he tightened the embrace a little longer before letting her go. He knew that deep down, she was doing the right thing. But that didn’t make it hurt any less to see her leave.

"Alfred, can you call the movers? I’ll be leaving tonight," Y/n said as she closed the last box with trembling hands, her gaze lost in the empty corners of the room she once considered her refuge. The butler, ever serene, nodded with his unwavering calmness.

"Don't worry, Miss, I assure you they will be here on time." His voice was soft, almost an echo of the ancient walls of the mansion, as if he himself were part of that structure that had seen so many comings and goings, so many lives broken and healed in silence.

Alfred turned halfway to leave, but Y/n's voice stopped him, broken yet sweet, like a melody at sunset. "Alfred..."

The man turned slowly, his eyes filled with paternal warmth, though always contained behind a formal gesture. "Yes, Miss?" he replied, with that tranquility that had always brought Y/n peace in her worst moments.

She took a breath, feeling how the words she had kept for so long fought to come out, to break the shell she had built since childhood. "I’ve never told you, but... thank you. Thank you for being the father I never had, for being there when no one else was."

For a moment, the silence in the room was heavier than all the accumulated boxes, deeper than any word. Alfred, who had been a witness to so many confessions and secrets in that house, stood still, his eyes shining with an emotion he rarely showed. "Miss," he murmured, his voice slightly choked, "it was an honor and a privilege to take care of you. If I ever gave you anything close to what you deserved, then my life has had true purpose."

Y/n smiled sadly, nodding slowly. "You did, Alfred. You did. And for that, I will always carry you with me, even if I leave here."

The butler slightly bowed his head in respect, swallowing any emotion that might betray his composure. "Wherever you go, you will always have a home here, Miss."

"I know," she said, though in her heart, she knew she wouldn’t return.

And as Alfred left the room to make the call, Y/n let out a long sigh, as if with it, she were leaving behind a part of herself, a part she could no longer carry with her.

Life in Gotham is like constantly walking on the edge of a razor blade. The city never sleeps, always alert, always dangerous, and for someone with the Wayne surname, the risks multiply. It has been a year since you left the mansion, trying to erase any ties that bound you to that life, desperately wishing the name would fade into the echo of the dirty streets and crumbling buildings. But it's not that easy. The name Wayne remains an indelible mark that the media and the people of Gotham refuse to let fade. The forgotten child, the silent accident of billionaire Bruce Wayne. And although you try to live as if you don’t exist under that shadow, the weight of the legacy haunts you.

You left with little, barely enough money to rent a small apartment in one of the worst corners of the city. You share the space with a friend, a plant-loving girl who has filled every nook of the place with leaves and pots, as if trying to make green defy the constant darkness of Gotham. You get along well with her; her love for nature is almost an antithesis to the chaos of the city, and she has taught you that even in the hardest concrete, something can bloom. She always accompanied you on the coldest, loneliest nights, giving you a warmth that, although ethereal, was very welcome. But still, life is not easy. You barely survive, spending the little you have on cheap food and paying the rent. There are days when the cold seeps through the poorly sealed windows, and you wonder if it was really better to be in the mansion instead of this little trench. However, you prefer this rough freedom to the soulless luxury of Wayne Manor.

Freedom, however, comes at a price. It wasn't enough to distance yourself, to change your life, or even to always carry a knife for defense. Gotham does not forget. People recognize you in the shadows, whisper your name, and approach you, sometimes with curiosity and other times with disdain. You have been beaten more than once. Some just for being a Wayne, others because they think they can extort you, even though they have no idea you can barely get by. The scars on your body bear witness to those beatings, but you refuse to give up. You get up every morning, despite the pain, and continue on your way. You don’t need Batman. You don’t need Bruce. You learned long ago that he wouldn't come to save you.

That night, like so many others, you were heading to the subway for your night shift, with the hood of your coat covering your face, trying to go unnoticed. The sound of the tracks echoed in your ears, a constant reminder of the city's hustle. You had gotten used to walking fast, avoiding eye contact, as if each step was a small battle won against the city. But this time, something was different.

"So it was true, the little Wayne girl is roaming the city... how lovely." The raspy, mocking voice rang out beside you, cutting through the heavy air of the train station. The man speaking wore a suit that, at first glance, seemed elegant, but there was something about his extreme thinness, his skin clinging to his bones and his disheveled hair, that made him look more like a specter of Gotham than a distinguished figure. A ghost from the shadows that had stalked you since you set foot on the streets.

If it weren't for his gaunt appearance and unsettling aura, you might have mistaken him for one of your father's employees. "I'm not a Wayne anymore," you said disdainfully, your voice sharp like the edge of a dagger refusing to be touched. "If you want money, I don’t have any. And Mr. Wayne wouldn’t give a cent for me either."

Your gaze drifted to the station clock. 8 minutes until the train that would take you away from this corner of Gotham, far from the shadows and faces that always seemed to recognize you.

The man let out a dry, raspy laugh that sent chills down your spine. "I don’t want your money, pretty girl," he replied, moving closer, invading your space with the same familiarity that Gotham’s filth slipped into every corner. "You’re worth more than that." You felt his calloused, scarred hand rest on your hip, with a pressure that was neither violent nor friendly. The contact filled you with disgust.

7 minutes.

You clenched your fist, your jaw tight as you struggled to maintain your composure. "I don’t want sex either, idiot," you spat, your words loaded with contained fury. Your hand subtly slid toward your bag, where your knife lay, waiting to be used.

6 minutes.

The man didn’t flinch. In fact, he let out a low, mocking laugh. "And I don’t want that either, little girl," he murmured, his cold, deep blue eyes scrutinizing you as if they could read every dark corner of your soul. "I want something more from you."

5 minutes.

"What do you want then?" you asked, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady, even as the ice of fear began to creep down your spine. Your eyes scrutinized him, searching his gaze for any hint of his true intentions, but all you saw was darkness.

4 minutes.

He let out a long, chilling laugh, tightening his grip on your hip. "Do you know what I want, Y/n?"

3 minutes.

His voice dropped, as if his words were a cursed secret the wind refused to carry away. "I want you."

2 minutes.

The world seemed to stop. You knew there was no time to run. There was no time to pull out the knife or to scream. It was as if the clock itself had conspired against you, reducing those last minutes to mere seconds.

1 minute.

The blow was sharp, a flash of excruciating pain at the back of your head. The cold metal of the station, the hum of the city, everything faded abruptly. The last thought that crossed your mind, before the world vanished into darkness, was that this time, you didn’t expect Batman to save you. It wasn’t a mere thief or a street threat that was taking you.

Gotham, with all its cruelty, always had new ways to remind you that there is no escape.

That night, when the Gotham subway stopped at the station, there was no one to pick up.

The mansion felt emptier than ever, like a deserted and cold labyrinth, where each hallway seemed to stretch into an infinite tunnel, devouring the light.

The silence was overwhelming, an oppression that enveloped every corner, as if even the ancient walls had run out of words. It was so heavy that the few who remained in the mansion couldn’t help but move uncomfortably, trying to fill that void with something, anything.

Bruce Wayne walked through those same hallways with a strange feeling, as if something was missing, though he didn’t know what. An unease, a persistent discomfort that he couldn’t shake off.

He had been like this for months, with that absence haunting his mind, a gap he couldn't identify. And then, suddenly, like a gust of icy wind, the truth struck him.

You.

His daughter.

His little daughter.

How long had it been since he last saw you? When was the last time he heard your laughter, the one that always seemed too sarcastic, too filled with resentment? He stopped abruptly, frowning. Why couldn’t he remember you? He couldn’t bring to mind a clear image of your face, not even how you used to look at him... why? How could he have forgotten you like that?

Damn.

It was as if time had stopped. It had been a year, maybe more, since he had really thought about you. He felt a pang of guilt pierce his chest, a heavy, silent guilt that dragged him into the abyss of his own negligence. Not knowing what else to do, he began to check the rooms, one after another.

Each door he opened was another blow to his conscience. Where was your room? The more he searched, the more confused he felt. The mansion was enormous, but how could he have forgotten where you slept? How was it possible that he didn’t know where you lived in the house where both of you grew up? Had you been here all this time?

Each door he opened was identical to the last, as if all the rooms had fused into one.

None showed a trace of you.

None seemed to have a hint of your presence. Didn’t you decorate your room? He thought frantically, didn’t you even mark it as yours? Panic began to take hold of him. Anxiety wrapped around him like a fist tightening on his chest. Were you still living in the mansion? Or had you left without saying a word, like a shadow fading at dawn? But... no, you hadn’t mentioned anything. You hadn’t said you were leaving. Or had you? And if you had, why didn’t he remember? How could he have ignored you for so long that now he didn’t even know if you were still under the same roof?

“Ah!” he exclaimed in a whisper, unable to contain the dread he felt.

Frustration consumed him from within. He stopped in the middle of the hallway, breathing heavily, and the echo of his voice faded into the empty walls. He tried to remember something, anything about you, about the last time they spoke, about how you were... but everything was blurry, as if his mind was betraying him, hiding you behind an impenetrable fog.

How could he have forgotten so much?

He brought his hands to his head, trying to calm himself, but only felt more confusion, more desperation. The mansion, which had once been his home, now felt like a strange and foreign place.

Had you been the one who made it feel like home? The question echoed in his mind, but he had no answer. Just more questions. More uncertainties. Finally, he let his arms fall, exhausted. He had checked almost all the rooms and had found not a trace of you. Not a clue. Not a sign that you had been there. And at that moment, something dark and painful began to settle in his heart.

Had you ever really been there?

Then something caught his attention as he passed by the cleaning room. In a dusty corner, next to a forgotten bag, something was protruding. Something small, old, and faded. He bent down and pulled it from the dirty clothes. It was a stuffed animal, or what was left of one. The faded black of its suit left no doubt. It was a figure of Batman, but worn down by time, battered to the point of looking forgotten.

Bruce's eyes were fixed on the small piece of fabric hanging from the doll's neck. A tag.

Your name.

Your name, handwritten, in ink that was already fading.

Bruce felt a lump in his throat, a mix of guilt and rage. How could he have forgotten something so important?

He clutched the doll tightly, as if doing so would return a piece of you to him, but instead of comfort, he only felt more emptiness. Where were you? He ran to Alfred, who looked at him with a mix of concern and pity.

"Alfred..." Bruce said, his voice breaking. "Where is she? Where is my daughter?"

The butler, with his always serene face, seemed to age suddenly. A long silence settled between them, as if time was fading away. "Mr. Bruce, I didn’t mean to..." Alfred lowered his gaze. "I didn’t want to burden you with that truth, but... it’s time you know."

Bruce felt a chill run down his spine. Truth? What truth?

"She left almost a year ago. She didn’t say where. She just... she took all her belongings, though they weren’t many, and left. She said she didn’t want to be a burden. That you and the other family members had too many things to worry about."

Bruce took a step back, as if the words had physically struck him. Did she have enough age to leave? A burden? Never, not for a second, did he think that of you, of his little daughter who, even though she wasn’t wanted, he embraced under his wing just like Damian.

You were never a burden.

...or were you?

No, he refused to acknowledge it; he just... he hadn’t spent time with you because Gotham needed him!

But when you needed him, where was Batman?

Where was Bruce Wayne when his only biological daughter needed him?

"Alfred, do you know anything about Y/n?" the hero asked, worry clear on his face.

Alfred didn’t look at him; he only stared into nothingness. "...I haven’t heard anything about her for two months...

And honestly... I'm starting to think...

that she might be lost to us forever..."

A/N — This is definitely apart from being my first official Tumblr post, it is also my first DC post and especially the first from the Lord of the Night xD

Don't hesitate to ask me anything if you want.

Isabel, I dedicate this to you, my love. Eat more to be well, you fucking anorexic, don't suck.

take a bath!

inspiration: @acid-ixx with his Again & Again series, @gotham-daydreams' work, @i-cant-sing's work and @klemen-tine's work, be sure to check them out!