#the one that’s almost like a son to you

[scho17]

“It's all Dick can do to not imagine himself in Danny's shoes. Clutching a rescued Jason as they sobbed together. But Danny got to her in time. Dick didn't.”

oh that was wicked work just OW OWWWWWWWWW MY FEELINGS WHAT THE FUCK. I feel like I got sucker punched, granted, I really did ask for it and God, did you deliver.

Tim, in the bg who has absolutely no idea who these two are or what's going on but can really only infer based on what he can barely make sense of/hear over the unintelligible dialogue through the rain: So. Human trafficking?

Neither Danny or Ellie can exactly say no because well, yes, but it's government funded and sanctioned and, well, for it to be considered human trafficking that would imply them to be considered human, sentient, something of that realm which the governing body obviously does not think them capable of being.

DEATH DEFYING!! 🔥🔥🔥 It happens later down the line and is slow going. Alfred feels like he's watching Harvey and Bruce 2.0 because here are these two incredibly intelligent witty young men who do nothing but yearn for each other and it's so clearly obvious to anyone with eyes BUT THEM. It's truly painful to watch.

Punching the air. It’s Dick watching Danny’s retreating back, Ellie in his arms sound asleep with a soft but longing smile. It’s Dick babysitting and not knowing what the fuck he’s doing but doing it anyway and it’s all worth it after he hears either of them laugh, even if it’s at his own expense. It’s Dick learning to cook and take care of himself again after Jason’s death because while his passing shattered a piece of himself there are othes who need him too. If he can’t help even himself then what use is he as either Dick Grayson or Nightwing?

Fast forward to a couple months to a year or two in the future and Dick is sitting on their shared apartments couch, staring at a photo of Jason. It’s a photo of them at a fair, Dick only about seventeen in it with an arm around the shoulders of a barely thirteen year old Jason Todd. Both of them carrying cheery twin grins on their faces as Jason held out a large floppy teddy bear for the camera. Dick had won it for him at one of those scammy ladder climbing games and Jason had smiled so hard Dick’s cheeks had ached in sympathy.

He can’t help but wonder if Jason would be happy for him. He wonders if he has the right to have any of this when his little brother who deserved so much more will forever remain fifteen. Alive only in photos.

But Dick will only grow older. He's got a father and while they're never completely on the same page, he's there. He's got two younger brothers, one in the ground and the other still flying across the grimy Gotham midnight sky, both work like Atlas, and both 60% genius and 40% scheming little shit. Dick’s got a darling boyfriend and a little girl he thinks of as his own and it's good. So, so good. 

He wonders if his parents would approve. Dick thinks they'd be happy for him. He would like to think Jason would be too. 

For all that Bruce had called him irresponsible for bringing Danny into the fold in the beginning Dick could never regret it. Not when it lead to all of this. Their apartment feels so full and homely in a way it hadn’t when it was just him alone. 

AGH OH AND THEN JASON COMES BACK. Guys. Guys. I can be. Good. Normal actually. Wait guys how do we feel about dad friends Roy and Dick because I have. Thoughts.

There are crayon drawings plastered all over the fridge, letter magnets and cartoon ones pinning them in place. A throw blanket over the couch cushions, a rack holding shoes by the door - something Dick would have never thought to buy - there are tapestries and posters hung up and an eclectic variety of plates, bowls, cups, and utensils with residency in their cupboards because their little girl flat out refuses to use the forks that have too-long prongs or spoons with broad handles (“It’s just bad vibes Pa!” “Okay, well what about this one?” “No! That ones too heavy and it has patterns on the handle,”).

In some fucked up way it was kinda funny. 

Guy on the run goes to Bludhaven to keep a low profile and catches the attention of a vigilante. The universe is laughing at him, surely. 

Everything was fine up until a month ago. Really, it was. Danny had obtained his own shitty apartment and yeah, maybe his dead end job made him want to eat dirt more than usual but everything was fine. There weren’t any eyes on him and now there were. A certain bird didn’t know how to leave him alone.

“Can I help you, Nightwing?” Danny says in a flat tone, leaning his forearms against the rails of the fire escape. He isn’t a cigarette type of guy but if ever there were a time this would be it.

“Mhum. I want names, same as always.”

Danny rolls his eyes. “We both know I can’t tell you anything.”

“But you could.”

“I could,” Danny acquiesced with a shallow nod. “And then what? When they can’t get to me, they’ll get to you.” He sighs, feeling infintely tired “in any case, the big bad bat isn’t known for leaving things he doesn’t understand alone, and I’m not really looking to be a lab rat again. Zero out of ten do not recommend. Turns out being vivisected fucking hurts, man.”

“Why won’t you let me take them out for you? Besides, I’m not weak. I can hold my own just fine.”

And thats the million dollar question, isn’t it? Dannys gaze fixes upon the ill looking moon, pallor as he peers through the smog of the dingy city and into the sky. “Because he told me to wait.”

“Who?”

Clockwork. 

Clockwork told him to wait. To do the one thing he hates more than anything in the world. To do the unforgivable - to sit idle when they had Ellie. As much as he’d love to spit venom and recite every reason why the GIW needed to be taken care of much sooner rather than whenever Clockwork had in mind, he can’t. He’s - and Ancients, he’ll never forgive himself - scared. He’s scared.

Logistically, he knows he’s strong. Stronger than anyone in any of those facilities compounded. Stronger than Vlad in terms of raw power if not in wiles, he’s stronger than Pariah Dark. Danny has tested his mettle against the worst of the worst and came out on top but he’s still fucking scared. Isn’t that something? Crown prince of the Infinite Realms is scared. 

There’s no one to magically make it better. No one to lean on because he’s the strongest, he’s it. And if the strongest can’t stand up because they’re too busy having a panic attack at the sight of a lab coat then really, what use are they?

“I can’t tell you that.” He glances down to the alleyway below them. It’s filthy. Wet newspaper plastered to the pavement, old gum cemented in place like spots on a dalmatian. It looks a lot like how Danny feels most days.

Nightwing frowns. “I can help you,” he says. It sounds painfully earnest, like he believes he really, really, could. 

“That's a nice offer, Nightwing, but I can’t take it yet.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

There he is. That’s the boy the bat raised. “Can’t.”

*

The next time Dick sees Danny it isn’t in Bludhaven. 

It’s months later in her sister city, Gotham. Crime Alley, to be specific. It was during the tail end of a joint patrol with the newly minted Robin, Tim, whom he had sent back to the cave early. His eyes snagged on the figure of a young man carrying a child in the middle of the wet season, a thin thoroughly soaked through navy blue sweater clinging to him like a second skin. It was pouring down like the heavens didn’t know how to stop grieving. 

It seemed as anguished as Dick was in the immediate absence of Jason. He blinks tiredly and washes the thought away. There’s a little girl cradled in Danny’s arms with hair just as pitch black as his own, burrowing her small face in his neck, tiny arms clinging as the man himself runs his hand soothingly on her back, murmuring apologies into her hair. “I know, I know, I’m sorry Ellie, I’m sorry. It’s okay, it's- We’re out. We’re okay.”

It’s a painfully private moment, one that he feels guilty for witnessing. The girl - Ellie, sobs into Danny’s chest. It isn’t his place to watch, to witness this. All the same, he wishes he could comfort them somehow. 

[22ayla21]

Miracle with horns

Being the queen and mother of the future king of the Briar Valley, she, like an ordinary person, still wonders how she was able to give birth to her son.

The majestic throne room of the palace of the capital of the Briar Valley was lit by the soft light of magical torches. The evening breeze gently stirred the heavy curtains, bringing with it the scent of night flowers. You sat on your throne, slightly relaxed, and watched the scene that still seemed incredible to you.

Next to you, on the throne, sat Malleus. His posture was as impeccably royal as always, but now he did not look like the formidable and fearsome ruler that the entire Valley knew. No, now he looked like a father playing with his young son.

The boy, who had inherited his horns and tail, sat delightedly on Malleus's lap, clutching his long sleeves and laughing as his father easily tossed him into the air, only to catch him softly again. Your lips twitched into a smile. It was... strange. Amazing. Almost unbelievable. You turned your gaze to the child, who was now happily clapping his hands, looking at his father with admiration.

You gave birth to him.

You, a mere mortal, an ordinary person, without a drop of magic, somehow miraculously gave life to this little creature with horns and a tail. When you first saw him after birth, the shock was indescribable. Small, but clearly visible horns, a long tail that he twitched comically when he slept... How? How did your body even cope with this?

You blinked and suddenly muttered, not realizing that you were speaking out loud:

- How did I even do this?..

Malleus, who was carefully holding his son's tail so it wouldn't hit him in the face, looked up at you. A spark of amusement flashed in his eyes.

- You say that as if it were something incredible, my queen, - he said softly, still holding his son in his arms. You leaned forward slightly, resting your weight on the arm of the throne.

- But it is incredible, - you said, pointing at the child. - I am a human, Malleus. An ordinary one. Without a drop of magic. And now I have a son with horns and a tail. How on earth did my body manage to produce something so... unique?!

Malleus just chuckled, shaking his head, and with a slight movement, he transferred his son from his lap to you.

- Perhaps because you are not so ordinary, - his voice was filled with warmth. You looked at him, meeting his piercing gaze. His horns cast subtle shadows across his face, and his hand gently covered yours as you held their son's small hand. - You were able to win the heart of a dragon. You became the queen of Briar Valley. Why should our son's horns and tail surprise you?

You bit your lip, unable to find anything to say.

- Mommy is wonderful! - your son suddenly declared, clinging to your hands with his tiny fingers. You blinked, then smiled, holding him close.

- See? - Malleus chuckled contentedly, running his fingers down your cheek. - Our son has already figured it all out.

You sighed, still a little stunned, but already feeling the warmth and confidence that Malleus and your son were giving you. Yes, maybe it really was a miracle. But it was your miracle - and you wouldn't trade it for anything.

[mylonelylife135]

My Pathetic Family

Not a funny joke.

TW: Death, Introverted behaviors (Bruh-) Panic attack (Not from you!) Detailed descriptions of gore!

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.

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Alfred was getting increasingly worried for you as each day passed by.

Ever since the incident with Master Dick, you stopped playing with your favorite stuffed plushies all together, did not do any more tea parties he would personally partake in, and avoided sitting on the floor.

Now all you did the majority of the time was watch TV in rooms that were often forgotten about.

It was not like you hadn't done anything else, but Alfred found it difficult to get you to the park due to your... fears about encountering Master Dick.

He did not blame you, and while he did have a duty to treat all those in Wayne Manor with respect he found himself almost getting frustrated with the young boy at times more than he would like to admit.

He knew that it wasn't good for you to be in the manor all the time doing nothing as a toddler your age.

He also knew that forcing you to go outside would not be good for you.

He tried, once. You clung to his legs so tightly and stared up at him with such sadness and fear that he swore he could feel his own heart stop at such an expression.

These last three months since the incident you have not set a foot outside the manor, and it seemed like with each day that passed your fear was slowly increasing.

He was seeing a three year old turning into a recluse at such a young age because of one accident. Was it, though?

It was heartbreaking.

Alfred didn't see a way you would improve without some sort of guidance.

So, he would turn to Bruce.

Of course, he was not of much help.

He found himself saddened at that he was no longer surprised at the lack of effort.

He just wondered, why?

... It didn't matter. Not right now when he could see that (____)'s mental state was worsening. He couldn't have any more arguments with someone he considered his son when his daughter was hurting.

It reminded him of Bruce when he was a child who had just lost her parents, in a way. He didn't fail Bruce. He wouldn't fail (____), either.

.

.

.

"Master (____), I would like you to come with me to the living room." Alfred requested, his voice soft as he watched you stiffen up.

You were still scared of going outside.

He was going to change that.

He outstretched his hand towards you, kneeling down to your height and giving you a warm smile. "Please."

You hesitantly reached your hand out before putting it in Alfred's.

Alfred stood up, leaning down slightly as his hand was in yours, and he led you out of your room and down the long hallways.

You clutched Alfred's hand instinctively as he led you towards the living room, your eyes looking around warily and occasionally behind you as you were guided farther and farther away from your bedroom.

Alfred gently ushered you into the living room, shutting the door behind him.

"No more hiding in your room, (____). Let's try something new, okay?" He said softly as you glanced around; noticing some key differences in the room.

The table was pushed off to the side as well as the couch, creative a wide space in the middle of the room.

On the floor were sketch papers, markers, crayons, oil pastels, and colored pencils with a large variety of colors.

You glanced up at Alfred with a confused expression, as if asking what was the purpose of this.

"It's to draw, Master (____). You haven't... haven't been as happy active in anything for quite a while now." Alfred approached you, sitting down in front of the paper and art utensils and patting the spot next to him.

"Come. Let's draw together, (____)."

You sat down next to Alfred, sitting criss-cross and peering up at Alfred. "Why drawing?" You asked, watching as Alfred picked up a yellow crayon and slid a paper in front of you and himself.

"Because you have a bright mind, (____). You just haven't shown it yet." He responded, sliding a blue crayon towards you.

"Draw whatever you like. I think you'll enjoy it more than you think you will."

You picked up the blue crayon, looking down at the paper and thinking about what to draw.

What did you like? You used to like your stuffies, not as much anymore, though. You liked tea party's, but you stopped having those since...

You didn't want to keep thinking of him. You didn't want to see his face full of anger in your head again-

He's already haunted you enough in your dreams.

"I... I like dogs." You muttered, dragging the crayon you held in your dominant hand and dragging it slowly across the paper.

You made a line, then another, and another.

Alfred watched as you started drawing, a smile crossing his face as he began to draw alongside you. He preferred to draw a cat.

He would glance occasionally at your drawing, watching you draw with a concentrated expression and tongue sticking out.

After 10 minutes of comfortable silence, you let out an annoyed groan.

"This doesn't lok-look like a dog." You frowned, bringing up the paper for Alfred to see.

It was a dog with a square chest, four small lines that were supposed to be legs, a wavy line that was supposed to be its tail and a round circle with two dots for eyes and and a smile for its mouth. The dog did not have any ears.

Alfred raised an eyebrow, his lips pursing as he tried not to smile at the drawing of a dog that did not, in fact, look like a dog.

"Nonsense, (____). It looks like a dog to me." Alfred responded, biting his lip slightly as he tried not to laugh.

"You-You're lying, you're smiling!" You whined, pointing a finger at Alfred accusingly.

"I-I am not, Master (____)-" a smile crept on Alfred's face, covering his mouth with a hand as he looked away.

"Yes you are!"

Yes he was.

The living room was filled with fits of laughter and childish giggles as you and Alfred spent the afternoon drawing weird looking animals, stick figures of you and Alfred at the park, and big flowers that actually looked like flowers.

It was a start, but it filled with Alfred with hope that maybe you would get better.

.

.

.

Alfred was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up as he took note that he had all his equipment for today's baked goods.

Measuring cups? Check. 2 large bowls? Check. Spatula? Check. Measuring spoons? Check. Muffin baking pan, baking cups, cooking spray...

While Alfred was making sure he had everything he needed, he couldn't help but notice small movements in the corner of his eye.

He turned around only to see your tiny hands grabbing at the edge of the table, up in your tippy toes in an attempt to climb onto it since the chairs were too big for you to sit on.

He would have to order smaller chairs later...

"Master (____), why are you trying to get on the table?" Alfred asked with a raised brow, his hands reaching down and picking you up by under your arms.

"I wanted to see!" You said, squirming in his grasp and trying to look over his shoulder to see what was so important that he was standing there in silence.

"I am making sure I have everything I need for blueberry muffins." Alfred explained, gesturing to the equipment as well as the ingredients he had on the kitchen counter.

"You're making muffins?" You asked, your big eyes staring up at him.

Alfred knew that look on your face, you wanted to eat the muffins once he was done making them.

He could see the way you kept looking at the equipment and ingredients on the table, a look of interest on your face.

Did you want to bake? Sensing a rare opportunity to teach you something new you seemed interested in, he quickly took it. "How about this, Master (____). If you help me make the blueberry muffins, I'll let you have some. How does that sound?" Alfred offered, setting you down gently on the tall chairs; bringing the ingredients and equipment to the table in favor of the table counter.

You nodded reluctantly, letting out a small huff. He couldn't keep those muffins from you!

"Here, can you spray oil in this baking tray? It's important that the muffins don't stick to top of the pan as they rise." Alfred explains, handing you a can of oil spray.

It seemed like an easier task than trying to get you to measure the flour, he was confident that your little arms wouldn't be able to hold up the bag of flour and you'd make a mess of the table.

Alfred carefully poured One and a half cups of flour into a measuring cup, he could hear you shaking the can vigorously and glanced over to see you spraying the oil into the muffin tray and around the top of it with both hands.

Relieved he made the correct choice, he focused on measuring the sugar next before he heard you shaking the can again and looked over to see you staring up at him with a mischiveous gleam.

Alfred didn't have time to question you before you sprayed him with oil.

Fortunately, he was wearing an apron that mostly took the brunt of the cooking oil. His right hand did have oil on it now, though.

He looked down at you as you let out a childish laugh, clutching the can of oil spray to your chest as you let out fits of laughter.

He wasn't very impressed, but it was hard for him to get mad. He hadn't seen you laugh like that in quite a while.

"That is enough of spraying from you, little one." He said firmly albeit without any real bite, gently taking the can away from your grasp.

He knew you didn't mean any real harm, it was just dumb kid's stuff.

he was glad you started becoming more playful and more willing to leave your bedroom.

He was happy you were improving.

You helped alfred whisk vegetable oil, eggs and milk together as well as lemon zest albeit with his steady hands keeping the bowl from slipping out of your grasp.

He would then add the mixutre to the flour, sugar as well as baking powder and salt, folding it in and then adding in the frozen blueberries.

He folded them in, making sure to not overmix the mixture and putting the mixture into the baking cups you had added into the muffin pan prior while you watched with curious eyes.

He would then put it into the oven and you cheered, clapping your hands together.

Alfred could feel his chest swell with affection, you deserved the world and so much more.

You ended up eating muffins with Alfred that day, they were tasty and you wanted to try baking again sometime.

.

.

.

You colored in the lines of a coloring book as best as you could with a yellow marker, occasionally glancing up at the TV in the living room as you laid belly first on the fluffy carpet.

You had the remote right next to you.

You had turned on the TV and flipped through the channels before finding one that interested you, ballet.

You had seen ballet dancers on TV before, but you had recently gained an interest in them. The ballet dancers on TV were so beautiful, the women would twirl flawlessly and moved with such grace that shouldn't be possible but it was. It was an you wanted to do what they could do. They were special, and you wanted to be special, too.

You just... Were a bit scared to go to ballet classes right now, with other kids.

You wanted to ask Alfred if you could maybe have a private teacher or something. You didn't know how to interact with other kids and didn't want to get hurt again if you made them angry.

Shaking your head, your thoughts drifted to today.

Today was a special day, too.

It was your birthday. You were turning four years old today! You hadn't seen Alfred all day since you woke up, you hoped he was planning some sort of surprise.

Your attention from your drawing of the ballet dancers that looked more like stick figures than anything as the screen changed to some news channel.

You looked up at the screen, confusion in your eyes.

This hasn't happened before, ever.

What was the occasion? You could see a young news reporter in a white suit, he looked into the camera with terrified hazel eyes.

Or maybe who was behind it.

"Is this thing on? Harley, make sure it's on!" A voice yelled, you swore you could hear a "Yes, Puddin'!" in the background.

A man dressed in a purple suit with green hair and very, very pale skin sauntered up behind the table where the reporter was, clearing his throat "Hello, people of gotham! I know that not many of you yet have heard of me but trust me when I say, you will." The man spoke with confidence in his tone, puffing out his chest slightly.

He held a mallet in his hand, tossing it around in both hands occasionally like child's play and whistling.

He looked like a clown.

There was something wrong with him.

"I am the Joker. You may know for poisoning the water supply here and there, fighting Batman in public every once in a while..." He trailed off, looking off towards the terrified news reporter with a deranged smile.

You just noticed that he was cuffed to his seat, trying to pull his wirsts out of the metal cuffs to no avail.

"While I do enjoy the publicity on the back of news papers for these last few years, it's frankly quite insulting." he sneered, his smile twitching as he turned to meet the reporters gaze.

"Tell me, dear citizen. What do you think of me?" You could see the clown's hands twitch while holding the mallet.

"I-I-" The man couldn't speak, he was sweating heavily and was gasping for air as he tried desperately to pull his wrists through the cuffs to the point his wrists began to bruise and bleed.

"I th-think-" He didn't even get to finish his sentence before the Joker raised the mallet up into the air and smashed his face in with a deafening crack you would never forget.

Blood splattered across the table, the back of the seat that the reporter was in and on the mallet.

A choked gurgle escaped the man, somehow still alive with his head dented in by the mallet before Joker swung again; this time causing his brain to splatter against the back of the wall, his skull shattering under the weight of the impact and crunch as his head was caved in,leaving the bottom of his chin the only thing somewhat intact.

Your wide eyes watched, taking in the blood, the brain matter and how much red and pink there was.

You could only watch as the Joker struggled to pull out the mallet from the man's dented in skull, finally pulling it out with a heave and ripping part of the top of his spinal cord out in the process with a wet squelch and causing tiny skull fragments to fly on the table, the floor and on the cadaver's lap.

You weren't focusing on what the Joker was saying at this point if he said anything at all or laughed hysterically that he killed a man on live television: You were focused on how the crimson liquid dripped down the table, how the pink mush slid down the wall and how dark the colors were.

Your hands tapped on the carpet around you before grabbing the remote and turning off the TV, staring down at your drawing blankly.

You picked up a red and pink marker and started to color in a new drawing.

It was the only color you could think of right now.

You couldn't get it out of your head.

Alfred would burst into the room minutes later, worry and fear on his face as he had rushed into the living room. "(____), you didn't have the TV on, did you?" He asked with thinly veiled concern, quickly scooping you up into his arms. "No Alfy. I wasn't watch-watching TV." You said calmly, burying your face into his neck.

You didn't want to make Alfred unhappy by saying you did, you just...

Couldn't risk getting hurt again.

You could hear Alfred let out a sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Good, I think It is time I showed you something Master (____). I want you to close your eyes, alright?"

"Okay."

Alfred walked out of the living room with you in his arms, not noticing how the drawing hidden under another that was of a stickfigure in a purple suit hitting another stickfigure with what looked like a big hammer and the pink and red scirbbled over the mallet, a poorly drawn table and the man's face.

NEW CHARACTERS!

The Joker

-There's no good in him, What does Bruce see in YOU?

Harley Quinn

-Psychotic bitch, just another accomplice. Just as bad as him.

Relationship status!

Bruce Wayne (your father): -5/100

-You haven't seen him in months.

-You wished he stopped that evil man in time.

-Failure.

Alfred Pennyworth (Your only friend): 95/100

-You only need him. No one else.

-You feel bad about lying to him

Richard Grayson (The one you fear): -30/100

-You've avoided him for months and haven't seen him, but he still haunts your dreams.

Taglist!

@the-dumber-scaramouche @sirenetheblogger @bellethesleepypotato @mev-fizzah-writes @tsxukikami @shycreatorreview @redsakura101 @feral-childs-word @lexi-username-1 @vanessa-boo @schnuggelig-schnecken-schnurrt @sleeping-l0s3rs @simpingpandas @vanilliona @shycreationdreamland @uu-uuu @crazycookies73307 @chericia @jellystar-star @sillysealsies @hopingtocleaemedschool @sukaretto-n @cantfindmelol @sunshinepower17 @ryuushou @kore-of-the-underworld @bongwaterflavoredgatorade @mxvoid26

A/N: Soooooo, that's the bad unavoidable experience. You don't catch any breaks do you? I never did say the experience would be caused by the family. The unavoidable is infact a direct consequence of choosing hobbies that are mostly done indoors. If one more hobby was an outdoor one this would have been avoided since you wouldn't be watching TV at the time. How you feeling about this? The taglist took a bit to write in which is why this is semi later than what I posted. If I didn't tag you I'm sorry, it took like 20-25 minutes to tag everyone. ALSO! ballet is going to be learned in chapter 5. You kinda aren't going to in chapter 4 cause of uhhhhhh well what happened above.

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Prison Warden

After getting thrown into jail for a crime you refuse to talk about, one of the wardens takes a keen interest in your past. Tags: Male Yandere x Fem Reader, blood, violence, mentions of child abuse, lowkey kind of sweet, 10k words

Being in jail is no fun. Being in a maximum security prison after being found guilty of homicide? Somehow even less fun.

You've tried to make the best of it. Got some posters to put up in your cell, started a book club, took up macramé. But you can't really paint a veneer of normalcy over incarceration.

It's violent, it's dirty, and most inmates tend to avoid you. And the thought of at least thirty more years of the same routine, day in and day out? Well, that's plain depressing.

Still, some days are worse than others. Today seemed like it was going to be a good day. The cafeteria food was actually hot, an acquaintance shared some gum with you, you managed to get a new book from the library. Things were, if not great, at least bearable.

Until the tour.

The wardens - also called Corrections Officers, COs, screws, or rotten, motherless bastards - were almost always training new recruits. The prison system had an unsurprisingly high turnover, which meant an almost constant stream of new faces. With time, you'd learnt to ignore the tours and walk-throughs. With one exception.

Slammer.

He was a senior CO who seemed to almost always turn your cell into the final stop on his grand introductory tour of the glorious prison system. Maybe you were just nice to look at or maybe he had a chip on his shoulder. Either way, things almost always ended with you being gawked at.

Like right now.

The 'tour group' was clustered outside your cell. Slammer was in the lead, his baton out and his little piggy eyes gleaming.

The trainees were in their new minted uniforms. Most of them uncomfortable and tugging at the scratchy, starched collars. You could have told them not to bother. That it was better for them to at least pretend they were comfortable. COs weren't your friends - every single prisoner in here would see that lack of confidence, that slight sense of unease. And they would pounce on it the first chance they got.

You hated being looked at like a zoo animal. And you especially hated the way Slammer showed you off to them like you some prize piece in his menagerie. Fellonus Homicidus perhaps.

You hated feeling their eyes on you. But you weren't going to make the mistake of showing them that. The less the COs knew about you, the better. It was like rule number three of incarceration. (Rule one being ‘never trust a warden’ and rule two being ‘don't fight the jacked inmate with prison tattoos.' Obviously).

You didn't bother to get up from your bunk to greet them. You stayed just as you had all afternoon - one arm behind your head and one leg hanging off the bed.

You pretended to keep reading your beat up paperback.

"This one is especially dangerous. Stabbed her neighbour forty eight times before the cops could get her off," Slammer told them.

"Forty six," you corrected without looking away from your book. "Coroner said it was forty six. Allegedly."

You could feel their eyes on you again.

"Right," Slammer drawled, "Because those last two stabs made all the difference."

You didn't bother to answer him.

"She really did that?" One of the trainees, a lanky guy with too large ears, asked. "She looks harmless."

You were almost offended at that. You flicked your eyes over them. They were mostly men, and most of them were looking at you in that hungry, contemplative way you knew so well. Wondering how much they could get away with once they were full fledged COs.

It should have bothered you. It didn't. Horny COs were just a part and parcel of life here. If you were smart, you could wring all sorts of goodies out of them before their supervisors caught on.

"Listen to me son. Every single prisoner in here is dangerous. They wouldn't be locked up if they were like you and me. They don’t feel guilt, not even when they steal from their poor old momma."

"You wound me, Slammer." You turned the page with a flick of your thumb. "I loved my mama. Only stole from her once or twice."

You didn't have much hope of them noticing your sarcasm. COs weren't the brightest bunch.

Slammer ignored you. "Don't ever say they're harmless. They sure as hell ain't. Two weeks here and you'll know exactly what I mean."

You could tell they didn't believe him. In the popular imagination, a women's prison was nothing like the men's. Women weren't dangerous. The trainees probably assumed you spent all day knitting scarves and talking about the lovely husband and kids you were oh so keen to get back to.

They would lose that notion pretty damn fast.

"Are you supposed to tell us the prisoners' charges?" A man's voice, neutral and respectful, but you thought you could hear a hint of reproach in his tone.

You looked back at the group and you were amazed that you didn't notice him earlier. He stood perfectly still, hands clasped behind his back like he was at parade rest. Unlike the others, he had the quiet confidence of someone who knew their job and knew it well.

His blond hair was slicked back and his uniform sat on him in a way that was a lot more natural than any of the others trainees. Ex-military or police, if you had to guess. Not that unusual. Corrections wasn't such a huge leap from those fields.

You sat up and answered him before Slammer could get a chance.

"He's not. Inmate information is confidential. But Slammer here doesn't always listen to the rules."

You shot the head CO a condescending smile. "He's a reaaal rebel."

Slammer scoffed. "The new officers have a right to know exactly how dangerous you are."

You put a hand to your chest, all faux innocence. "Little old me? Slammer, I'm a saint! A nun! I've been to chapel three times this week."

"Yeah. To sell cigarettes and buy booze."

"Just as the good Lord intended."

Slammer didn't find you funny. You could tell from the fact that a) he wasn't laughing and b) he was grinding his teeth like he was a beaver about to dig into a particularly scrumptious tree.

"Fact is, prisoners like her are the worst of the bunch. You think they're harmless, but the second you turn your back, they'll shiv you and run off with your tazer."

You grinned at the trainees as winningly as you could.

"Only did that once by the way. And the guy had it coming, swear on my mama."

Most of them were shifting around uncomfortably. Hearing Slammer keep banging on about your crimes was finally enough to get it through to them. The prisoners are not nice.

You'd assume that was obvious, but incarceration taught you that however slow you thought the wardens were, they could always get dumber.

The only one who didn't seem bothered was the blonde. He was looking at you like you were nothing more or less than a piece of furniture. You got the sense that he was analysing you, looking past your fake smile and even faker bravado.

You also got the feeling that he wasn't impressed with what he saw.

You flopped back down on your bunk and tried not to let it bother you. One more person thinking you were a delinquent. What difference did it make?

He was the last to leave. His eyes did one final scan of your cell before they landed on your paperback. He raised a brow.

"The Green Mile? Isn't that a bit depressing?"

You shrugged, uncomfortable but not entirely sure why.

"I like to think of it as aspirational."

"And why's that?"

"The wardens aren't all assholes."

That earned you a flicker of a smile before he turned on his heel and disappeared.

You forgot all about him after a week. To be fair, there were other things to occupy you. A fist fight on D Block that you somehow got dragged into. Drama in the book club. A warden getting caught with his pants down. Standard prison fare.

It was a Tuesday when you saw him again, in the middle of the cafeteria. You only had a split second to recognise him before he was dousing you in pepper spray and sweeping your legs out from under you.

That was misleading maybe. He wasn't totally unjustified in greeting you like that. You were technically in the middle of beating a CO with a lunch tray.

(He deserved it, but that's not exactly a good excuse when his nose is gushing blood all over the table).

You were still coughing on pepper spray when he hauled you to solitary, your eyes and throat burning.

"Glad...to see you got...the job Blondie," you managed to wheeze.

He sent you stumbling into the cell with a practiced push.

"Yep," he said simply, "They hired me on the spot."

Your shoulder was still a painful mess when he slammed and locked the door, leaving you in the half dark to wash the stinging out of your eyes.

You rubbed at your aching joints. "I can see why."

Pepper spray was considered the least lethal way to subdue a prisoner. Easier than a taser, less brutal than the baton. But despite its shining reputation, it was your least favourite tool in a CO’s belt. A taser was at least quick. The baton left a bruise but the pain didn't linger.

Pepper spray on the other hand? It left your eyes and throat and nose irritated for days.

You were still trying to rinse it out of your mouth when he returned, boots heavy on the linoleum and his keys rattling.

You turned to him with your white prison issued tank practically soaked. To most other guards, that would be an invitation to gawk. Not him though. His eyes never dipped below your chin.

"Sit down. I've got some cold cloths for the swelling."

You sat, more confused than anything else.

"That's not standard regulation Blondie. Usually, they just let us suffer through it."

He tossed you the cloths, still icy from a quick minute in the freezer. You pressed them to your face gratefully.

"It is standard regulation. Treating pepper spray once the prisoner is subdued."

You scoffed. "Why am I not surprised that no one ever told us that?"

He stayed quiet and you peaked at him over the edge of the fabric. He was a lot leaner than you realised, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, his forearms toned with muscle.

And covered in tattoos. Damn, he had some sick tats.

You cleared your throat, not exactly sure why he bothered to do this for you.

"Thank you. It sucks to deal with. Makes everything taste awful. For days."

He raised a brow.

"I just dragged you to solitary and your main worry is that the food won't taste good?"

"The food never tastes good. This is more so a matter of bloody awful becoming hellish awful."

"It can't be that bad."

"Get back to me after you've spent five years chomping down on lukewarm hash browns and soggy peas."

"You've been in here five years already?"

You sighed, pressed the cloth against your brows so you didn't have to look at him.

"Yep. And I've still got another thirty to go."

"Why?"

That got an unexpected laugh from you.

"Didn't you hear Slammer? Homicide. Found guilty on all charges."

"Did you do it?"

"Allegedly."

What was his angle? Was this some new, interactive approach to corrections? Getting friendly with the inmates so they were less likely to riot?

"Didn't they teach you not to ask those sorts of questions?" you asked. "Not really something people in here like to talk about."

You saw that little flicker of a smile again.

"They did. But I get the feeling you don't mind it as much."

He was right. You didn't mind. At least, not with him. He had a kind of quiet confidence that, surprisingly, made you feel comfortable.

"Why did you want to work in a prison? Or more accurately, what the hell went wrong that you ended up here?"

"You think it's such a bad job?"

"I'd never do it and I live here."

He leaned against the cell wall, hands on his belt. There it was again. A veteran's stance, weapons in easy reach in case you tried something.

"It's a boring story."

"I've got nothing but time."

That earned you another raised brow.

"As we've established."

What's this? A CO actually cracking a joke? You never thought you'd see the day.

"And anyway, we're not here to talk about me. I'm here to find out why you attacked my fellow officer."

Ah, so that was why he was playing nice.

"I didn't like his face."

He narrowed his eyes and pushed himself off the wall. "Disappointing. I thought you'd have a better reason than that."

You didn't like his tone, or the way it made you feel. Ashamed. Like you'd failed his test, even though you didn't know you were supposed to be studying.

He paused at the door, like something occurred to him.

"What's her name? The girl he was picking on?”

You raised you head. "What?"

"The guard you attacked. He was causing trouble, wasn't he?"

How did he know? Did he see it? Oh God, was Ruby going to get into shit because of you?

"Listen, she had nothing to do with it. She had no idea what I was going to do. It was all me."

He shrugged. "How am I supposed to believe that's true if I don't know the full story?"

You bit your lip. You didn't like saying too much to the COs. And your instinct was telling you this one would be able to read a lot deeper than the rest.

"Guess I'll just have to ask her then."

"No!" You dug your hands into your sheets to stop yourself from bolting to your feet.

"No, Ruby has nothing to do with it I swear. She’s almost sixty. She gets enough shit as it is. Just leave her alone."

You swallowed. "Please."

He was looking at you again, much sharper this time.

"Explain."

Your grip on the sheets tightened until your knuckles were pale. Did you really have to talk about this shit out loud?

"Ruby is..." you started. "She's different. Older than most of us, keeps to herself. She's not...all there, if you know what I mean."

He turned to face you and settled back against the wall. "Go on."

"Most of the inmates don't bother her. Why would we? She's just a little old lady. Not harmless, no ones really harmless, but about as close to it as you can get. But some of the COs..."

His lips thinned. "They have a nasty streak."

"You can call it that. Usually it's just calling her names. But sometimes some of them get it into their heads that what she really needs is a hard knock. Rattle those screws around enough and maybe they'll fall back into place."

"Is that what happened today?"

You sighed, looked down at your hands and the blood dried in the crevices of your nails.

"Yep. CO was all in her face, being nasty. Grabbing her wrist. Taunting her. And she... she just stood there and took it. Old enough to be the his grandmother and he didn't care."

You closed your eyes.

 What else were you supposed to do?

He'd been at it for five minutes when you stood up with your lunch tray. By then you'd had enough. No one else was going to do anything, so it was going to be you.

The lunch trays were a hard plastic, meant to keep from breaking on impact. You'd left your half eaten bowl of chow on the table and walked up behind him, your heart beating steady and calm. Some part of you had already decided the consequences were worth it.

Some of the inmates were looking at you and every single one of them knew exactly what you intended. But none of 'em said a word.

You could still feel the smack of your tray against his head. The way he stumbled forward with the momentum.

You'd caught him by surprise and you weren't going to let him get over it. You swung the tray at his face, as hard as you could. You could feel his nose breaking. He was on his knees by then. And maybe you'd have let him up, might have ended things there.

But then you saw Ruby's wrist. A frail thing, with the warden's finger marks standing out a livid red.

"I see."

You opened your eyes. He was still watching you, his face unreadable.

You shrugged and tried to smile.

"Today was practically hum drum by our normal standards."

"How exciting," he deadpanned.

"Just wait 'til Christmas time. It gets positively festive."

He snorted and started for the door again.

"You're aren't such a hard ass after all, are you? Saving little old ladies in your spare time," he said.

"Just think how safe senior citizens will be when they let me back out."

It was only for a few seconds, but you liked it when he smiled. It softened that tough guy demeanour just enough to make you wonder about the man underneath.

When he was gone, you laid down with the cloth still pressed against your cheek. Who'd have thought it. A CO who you didn't want to punch in the teeth.

The CO you beat didn't come back to work for two weeks, and when he did, you heard that he asked for a transfer to a different block.

Ruby made you a macaroni necklace and said something about alien warships picking you out of everyone else. You figured that was her way of saying thank you.  

And maybe the most notable thing of all: Blondie was assigned to your cell block. Surprising. Yours wasn't the worst part of the prison, but you weren't a bunch of saints either. Rookies wouldn't even be considered until they'd had at least a year's experience.

It was yet another thing pointing to his past. Something, somewhere, had given him enough experience to slip ahead on the promotion queue.

You didn't much mind it. Hell, you'd almost say it was enjoyable. He wasn't rude, he didn't pick favourites and he was keen eyed enough to catch a lot of the under table business that inmates engaged in.

You didn't go out of your way to talk to him - getting too cosy with a CO wasn't a good look - but you made it a point to greet him whenever you could.

Well, you called it greeting. Most other folk saw it as a smirk and a sing song "Hey there Blondie!"

He must have had some sort of interest in you too. You'd look up from your lunch and see him watching you, head tilted just a little. Like he was trying to puzzle you out. You took to winking at him whenever you caught him.

It would usually be enough to make him look away, but never for long. His eyes would always find you again.

You should have been annoyed at it, or unnerved. But honestly, the way he looked at you was borderline sweet compared to the other COs. You'd occasionally catch some of them watching you too. Usually with their hands on their belts.

There wasn't much to do in prison besides read, sleep and exercise. But around the third week after his arrival, you started getting letters.

Not totally uncommon. Plenty of folk wrote to prisoners. But to you? That was a different story. You put the letters you received into two categories: perverts and the pervertedly curious.

The perverts were exactly what you'd expect. People who thought your mugshot was the hottest thing since Megan Fox taking a swim. Their letters were particularly uncomfortable to read. And often sticky. You never wrote back.

The pervertedly curious were a whole ‘nother class. They probably ran across your case on a true crime podcast or on a documentary. And their first thought at hearing the story was to wonder exactly what it felt like. They'd write and ask you what was going through your mind. What did the knife feel like sinking into his flesh? What did the blood smell like?

A fun bunch of freaks. You'd write back sometimes, more for your own amusement than anything else. Your answers were never even remotely true. I was mostly thinking about how late my taxes were and what a bastard it would be clean up. Stabbing him felt like cutting a steak except more scream-y. The blood smelt like a stack of pennies on a warm summer day, but mostly it just smelt like blood.

You'd always end your sentences with your trademark allegedly.

These new letters were nothing like those at all. The paper was crisp and clean and most importantly, not sticky. The folded lines were sharp, like the writer pressed them down with their thumb nail.

The writer didn't ask about the murder. They didn't ask about your bra size. They were almost...sweet.

You must be lonely in prison. You must get bored. I hope you're safe.

You read it again and again before you wrote a reply. Silly really. They seemed much too nice to be writing to someone like you. Maybe someone trying to do a good deed.

You should scare them off. Writing to a prisoner is sweet and all, but most folk in here would use it as just another way to wring someone dry. You were no different. Your anonymous pen pal would be better off working at the animal shelter if they wanted to help a stray.

I've got a whole host of buddies. We discuss the best ways to get blood out of our socks and pillow cases. I'm not bored at all. We've got a badminton league. Obviously the best way to spend federal cash. I'm as safe as a lamb in the hay. Only got stabbed twice last week.

There. That would get rid of them.

You mailed it out on cheap exam pad paper with a stamp you lifted off your neighbour. You didn't expect a reply.

When the mail got delivered the next week, you were more than a little surprised to find a new letter waiting for you.

The same crisp paper, the same neat, slanting hand.

You can't scare me off. I know you're only prickly and sarcastic because deep down you're scared. Scared a lot. Scared all the time.

I looked you up. You were barely out of high-school when it happened. Well behaved, normal family, no record of misdemeanours. Prison must have been an awful adjustment.

You had to put the letter down and take a deep breath. The kid clocked you. Less than two letters in and they'd read you better than anyone had in years. Better than anyone ever had maybe.

What were those first few years like, I wonder. How did you survive? Please write me back. I like checking in on you.

You considered not replying. What were they hoping to achieve, getting all familiar with a killer?

The letter sat on your shelf for half a week before you gave in and wrote a reply.

I survived by being mean and cruel and evil. Stop writing me kid. I'll bite your head off and drink your blood.

The next letter came almost instantly. If anything, the writer seemed amused more than anything else.

Scary. Did they put you in for homicide or suspected vampirism? You want to get rid of me, but I'm not going anywhere. You don't have to reply, but I know you must need a friend. They aren't easy to come by behind bars. Any alliances you form will always have the expectation of reciprocation. It must be exhausting.

Did I tell you I bought a new car last week? A Camaro. I know. How stereotypical of a Marine to buy a car like that, right? But it's gorgeous. I'd like to take you for a drive someday. Nothing but the open road. I think you'll like that.

You didn't even wait a full day before you wrote back. Because they were right. You really did need a friend. Someone to just shoot the breeze with, without any subtext of a favour being repaid later on.

You didn't know anything about your mysterious pen pal. Not their age or their gender or even the colour of their eyes. They signed all their letters with a simple from B.

They mostly asked you questions. Not obtrusive or gross ones either. They wanted to know which foods you missed the most, which tv series and movies you wanted to catch up on, which actors you thought were getting Grammys this year.

When Grammy and Oscar season rolled around, you choked out a fellow inmate to get the TV remote. You left them sitting up on the couch, passed out and looking like they were just asleep. Blondie almost caught you. He walked past the door and paused to stare at your victim.

You gave him your most charming grin.

"She said the opening ceremony was too long and to wake her up when the red carpet is over," you explained.

He scoffed and moved on.

When you wrote your next letter, you packed it full of award show details.

B wrote to you for the better part of a year. But you only learnt a handful of things about them. They were in the Marines, they now worked some kind of federal job, they had tattoos, they liked Nicole Richie, and they hated fried chicken. Like really hated it. With a passion.

I promise to never cook you fried chicken, you wrote, only fried calamari, fried onion rings, fried mushrooms, fried liver, fried green beans, fried -

Can you even cook? they wrote back. Or are you just running your mouth?

For a while, you were happy. They'd occasionally send you new books in the mail, burnt CDs to listen to on your busted radio, packets of sweets.

Prison was hell, but it was a structured, expected sort of hell. You could deal with it.

But then she arrived.

You didn't bother to learn her name. She was tall and lean, green eyes like pond scum, and teeth chipped from fighting. You didn't like her from the first, but you had no reason to quarrel and so avoided her as much as you could.

Blondie didn't like her much either, and that's where the trouble started.

She'd deliberately bump into Blondie whenever she could. Hard enough that you could almost feel the impact.

"Oops... Didn't see you there."

If it was anyone else, they'd probably get thrown in solitary. But Blondie was a stickler for the rules. He'd brush his uniform off like just touching an inmate was enough to cause a plague. And then he'd settle his blue eyes on her, cool and detached.

"Watch where you're going next time."

That was how it went on. Weeks of passive aggression, slowly getting more and more physical.

You didn't want to intervene. Blondie could protect himself. Still, you kept your eye on him as much as you could.

There was another thing about the new girl you didn't like.

She had a way with people.

Could convince even the most stubborn inmate to do something, even if it was against their own best interest.

She got an inmate who was almost out on probation to attack and almost blind a CO. She got innocent old Ruby to start selling cigarettes. She almost got you to pick a fight with someone for damn near no reason at all.

She was dangerous, in a way no one before her had been. You could feel it in the harsh whispers after lights out. Got to make those dirty screws pay. Fucking COs have had it too good for too long. Who the fuck do they think they are anyway?

A riot was brewing. You started staying in your cell a lot more. Managed to pull some metal out of your mattress and spent every night sharpening it to a point.

Some of the COs were smart enough to notice the tension and your outside time got shortened to half an hour, lunch got pulled back to fifteen minutes. Their solution was to keep you locked in your cells for as much of the day as possible.

Not a good move.

Prisoners with no distractions tend to amuse themselves by planning all sorts of nasty things. How to grab a CO from behind and get their keys before anyone noticed. How to choke out the one bastard who kept throwing them in solitary. How to pay back all those times a CO groped them in the middle of a search.

You could feel it heightening to a point. Could feel it in the dirty, oily stickiness of the air.

When Blondie came past on patrol, you stopped him. You'd been hoping to catch him for a few days and you weren't going to miss your chance.

"Yes?"

Those blue eyes were staring straight through you, cool as a winter without a radiator.

You remembered the pepper spray, the cool cloth pressed against your burning skin.

"Listen, I think you should call in sick for the next week."

Oh no, it came out sounding like a threat.

You cleared your throat, tried to smile.

"I owe you one, okay? So just trust me on this and don't show up for a while."

He narrowed his eyes.

"There's going to be a riot,” he said.

"Seems like it."

"When?"

"I don't know. It's not exactly a scheduled thing. But it's going to be bad."

He looked away from you, scanning the long row of cells across from you. You could hear the ambient shuffling and coughing and laughing of a hundred people living together.

"Can it be stopped?"

You sighed. You'd seen it play out a few times already. Wardens had all sorts of ways to handle riots, but once the fever was brewing, it was near impossible to break. It was in the atmosphere, in the tense glances between prisoners. It was bigger than all of you.

He must have seen the answer in your face.

He shook his head, stubborn to the last.

"I've got a job to do. If I got scared every time the prisoners got rowdy I'd be out of work real quick."

You sighed and pulled away from the bars.

"Your funeral Blondie."

You really hoped it wouldn't be.

The thing that started the riot was so small that on a normal day you'd call it borderline routine.

A CO was watching the cafeteria line, hustling people along when they paused longer than he liked. When he came to one of the girls a few spots ahead of you, he got impatient and shoved her forward. Not hard. Barely enough to make her stumble.

You cringed. For a second or two, you imagined you could feel it on your skin. A static crackling like lightning about to strike.

She punched the CO in the throat.

He stumbled backwards, holding his neck and gasping.

Other prisoners  were already moving forward. Three of them grabbed his arms and bunch of the others ripped off his gear. Taser and baton and pepper spray now in the hands of a pissed and petty prison populace.

The other officers were already coming forward, batons out. Usually that would be enough to break things up, but they had just about everyone against them. Numbers always won.

 The veneer cracked and the riot finally started. It took less than a minute.

The yelling was enough to make your head throb. Bouncing off the cafeteria walls and ringing ringing ringing in your ears.

You ducked out of the way as much as possible, always on your guard. Riots weren't just dangerous for the wardens. Inmates saw them as a way to settle old scores without ending up in solitary or back in court. And lord knew,  you'd accumulated a hell of a lot of grudges over the years.

A prisoner rushed you. She was clutching a shiv made out of a ballpoint pen and a piece of wire coat hanger.

You dodged, sticking your foot between her legs and making her stumble. Your adrenaline was pumping, your vision dark at the corners.

You grabbed her hair before she could recover, and slammed her head against the edge of a metal cafeteria table.

She dropped like a rock.

You stepped away before any of her friends noticed you, your heart so far up your throat you could almost taste it.

That's when you saw her. That green eyed bitch, slipping out a side door with two of her cronies behind her.

You could feel your neck prickling.

There was only one score she had to settle and you knew exactly who it was aimed at.

You followed as quickly as you could. The backup had arrived and two tear gas canisters were belching thick white smoke into the room.

Despite your best efforts, by the time you made it out your eyes were stinging and she was long gone.

You swore and sprinted down the corridor, thinking fast.

If she managed to corner Blondie, she’d want to take her time with him. That's how scores were settled when you had a mean streak. Slow. Painful.

That meant she’d want privacy. Somewhere the riot officers wouldn't immediately find her when things calmed down.

You grabbed the corner of a wall and used it to shoot down the main hall, prison issued sneakers pounding the linoleum.

The showers. That's exactly where you'd go if you were her.

She didn't have time to block the doors. You banged through them shoulder first, the same way a cop would. The room was still thick with steam from earlier and Blondie's blood was running in thin streams toward the drain.

"The fuck is wrong with you?" she barked.

Green eyes, the one who instigated this whole mess.

She was standing with her sleeves rolled up and a razor blade between her fingers. The small, rectangular kind that goes in a straight razor.

Her two cronies were holding Blondie by the arms, stretching him out like he was on a cross.

Blondie clearly hadn't made it easy for them. Green eyes had a nasty bruise blooming on her cheek and both her cronies were sporting ugly nose bleeds. His baton was laying abandoned on the shower floor, rolled up against a bench.

Even a man as strong and well trained as he was couldn't go up against three armed felons and win.

You must have been just in time. The worst they'd done to him was cut his cheek, all the way from his temple to the bridge of his nose. It was bleeding bad, but didn't look too deep.

You straightened up and smiled at them, big and broad like you'd never had a better reunion.

"Having some fun without inviting me?"

Green eyes scoffed. "Why do you care? This shit is personal. Find something else to do."

You tilted your head, still smiling.

"You're right. It is personal. As in I owe Blondie over there a personal favour. As in I don't want you fucking with what's mine."

Blondie was watching you with those sharp eyes. If he took issue with being called yours, he didn't show it.

"Let him go." You didn't scream. You didn't demand. You simply said it. That's what made them nervous.

"Listen bitch - I don't care that everyone is scared of you. What you did on the outside doesn't matter one fucking bit."

You kept smiling, but your fingers were buzzing. The same why they had the night you stabbed a man forty six times.

You flicked your wrist and the shiv fell into your palm.

It was as long as your hand and sharpened into a wickedly pointed tip. It could slide between someone's ribs and kill them in less than five heart beats.

"They aren't scared of me because of what I did outside."

The two cronies were looking at each all worried-like. You vaguely recognised them, but it was clear that they recognised you no problem.

The boss turned to face you fully, light and easy on her toes like a boxer.

"You really gonna make a big deal over a fucking screw? A CO?"

"Since he's the only CO I've met who isn't a total piece of shit, I've got a vested interest in keeping him around."

She rolled his shoulders like a fighter would. You bit back a sigh. This was going to really hurt.

She didn't come at you right away. She ran her eyes over your body - your posture, your build, everything that might give you an advantage.

Then she charged.

Fast, even on the still slippery tiles. There wasn't enough time to duck or dodge.

You blocked her first punch with your arms, her fist smacking against your skin and spiking a sharp pain all the way down to your bones.

You stepped backward and kicked at her knee, but she saw it coming and turned her leg at the last second, took it on her thigh instead.

She’d dropped the razor blade - without a handle it was just as dangerous to her as it was to you - which meant she had full use of her fists.

She kept pummelling at you, catching you on the ribs and then on the sternum. You slammed back against the lockers, winded.

She pushed her advantage, going straight for your throat. You dropped down at the last second and her fist slammed full force into the metal.

She screamed and then screamed again as you slammed your shiv into her thigh.

You grabbed her throat and shoved her away from you, breathing hard.

She was clutching her thigh with one hand, blood welling up between her fingers. Dark red, but not enough to be fatal. You hadn't hit any arteries.

You slammed the heel of your hand into her nose, aiming upwards. You felt cartridge crunching.

She screamed again and scrambled away as quickly as she could with her injured leg.

Blood was running into her mouth, and when she snarled at you, her teeth were red.

You smiled again, as cheerful as a choir girl.

"Had enough?"

She spat blood at your feet.

You waited, half your attention on the other two. They hadn't yet moved to help her. You weren't sure if it was out of fear of letting Blondie go, or just a strong self preservation instinct.

Green eyes finally gave in. Or more accurately, her leg did. She buckled and fell, knees smacking hard on the tile. You winced.

She looked pale, in the about to pass out sort of way.

You sighed and jerked your head at her.

"Get her to the second floor nurses office. Wrap something around her leg. Tight. She’ll live but it's going to hurt a whole lot more if you aren't quick about it."

The other two were looking between you and her, eyes wide.

You wiped the back of your hand across your mouth, still holding the bloody shiv.

That seemed to decide them. They let go of Blondie all at once and grabbed their boss under the arms. Between the two of them, they were able to drag her out.

She left a trail of bright red behind.

When they were gone, you sat on the closest bench, holding your ribs. Hopefully they weren’t cracked - it hurt to breathe. You'd have to visit the infirmary as soon as things died down.

"She’s going to get even with you," Blondie said.

He was watching you. He hadn't moved. Blood was still running in thin streams down his cheek, like he was crying red.

"Yep. She's got a lot of friends too. It's not going to be fun."

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Act so light hearted about everything. I can see your hands shaking."

You balled them into fists and avoided looking at him. The silence stretched.

Finally, "Why did you really kill your neighbour?"

"I didn't like his face."

"I don't believe you."

"Believe what you want. The court already made up its mind."

He finally moved. Picked up his baton and slipped it into his belt. Grabbed a towel and balled it up, then pressed it against his face. The white started spotting red almost immediately. You watched him from the corner of your eye.

"Give me the knife."

"It's called a shiv. You should know that."

You rubbed the handle against your pants, getting rid of any fingerprints. Redundant, given there were three witnesses who saw you stab another inmate. Old habits don't really die, you supposed.

You handed it to him without looking at his face.

He wrapped it in a smaller towel and stuck it in his belt.

You could hear faint sirens from beyond the door, and his radio was crackling with orders. The wardens seemed to be getting things under control.

"I'm throwing you in solitary. And then I'm requesting a transfer to another block."

"Aww shucks, I'll really miss you Blondie."

"Not a transfer for me, you idiot. A transfer for you. It won't stop her entirely. There's always a little bit of communication between the blocks, no matter how hard we try and prevent it. But it should give you some time to make friends of your own."

"I've never been very good at that."

"Maybe try being less sarcastic."

He grabbed your upper arm and pulled you to your feet. His grip was light, a formality more than anything.

"Why did you really save me?"

You couldn't look at him. You shrugged.

"It's like I said. You're the least terrible warden in here. Not a very high bar to be fair, but still."

He started towards the door and you followed.

There were officers coming down the corridor in full riot gear. He waved them down and thrust you towards one.

"Solitary. Protective custody."

"Why?"

Blondie didn't even hesitate. "Because she saved my life."

Solitary wasn't so bad when the other option was tossing and turning on your bunk, just waiting for a knife to your ribs.

You'd almost call it relaxing. Your ribs were bandaged tight and the painkiller the doc gave you left you floating on a cloud of dope.

When you heard the footsteps pause outside your door, you didn't bother to get up.

Blondie didn't say anything for a long while. When he finally spoke, it was so soft that you had to strain to hear it.

"I still don't believe you. I don't think you're a cold blooded killer. I think that whatever happened between you and that man wasn't really brought before the court."

You sighed.

"Drop it Blondie."

"No."

Maybe it was the medicine or maybe it was the confession booth feeling of the half dark. Either way, you ended up giving away more than you intended.

"It doesn't matter. If the whole thing was public, it would only hurt people who've already been through enough."

"You had a reason for killing him."

"Yes."

"What?"

"I won't tell you. Won't tell anyone, ever. It's not my story to tell”

 “You're in jail because of it. Who else could possibly have more to lose?"

"You'd be surprised."

It was his turn to sigh.

"I'm going to find out eventually, y'know."

"Have fun with that. Don't give yourself a headache."

He sighed and walked away.

You didn't see him again for half a year.

They kept you in solitary a whole week. Long enough for your ribs to stop hurting and for the bruises to lighten. Long enough for green eyes to be processed and transferred further up-state. That was unusual, even if she was the one who instigated the riot. You had a feeling someone pulled some strings behind the scenes. And you had an even stronger feeling about who it must have been.

When you were finally out, you were assigned to a new block. Your stuff was already waiting for you in your new cell, your books and CDs and a new letter from B.

Won't be able to write for a while. I've got something important to work on. Hopefully I'll be back soon.

You couldn't ignore the way that stung. Without meaning to, you'd come to rely on their letters. A little reprieve from the life you were stuck with.

The new block wasn't too bad. You took Blondie's advice and made some friends. Tried to avoid fights as much as possible. If green eyes ever managed to convince someone to get even for her, they didn't go through with it.

Life was, if not good, then at least bearable. You tried ignoring the little nagging part of you that constantly wondered about both Blondie and B. Without either of them, you felt...emptier somehow. Lonely.

When a warden came to tell you that you had a visitor, your heart lurched. Your family didn't visit you much anymore. And you cut off your friends the day you got convicted - no need to draw them into your mess. Secretly, you hoped it was B. You had no clue what they looked like, but after six months without hearing from them, you were almost desperate.

You smoothed down your uniform before you stepped into the visitors' centre, your eyes sweeping the room for familiar faces.

You noticed him almost immediately. Blondie, his hair shaggy when it wasn’t gelled back and his usual uniform replaced by a flannel shirt and jeans. A man was sitting next to him, his pinstripe suit still neat and pressed despite it being late afternoon.

He didn't even give you time to say hello.

"This is Mark Lawrence. Your lawyer."

You squinted at the man, confused. He was clearly a cut or two above the overworked district attorney who'd handled your case.

"No he isn't. I haven't seen him before in my life."

He sighed, irritated. "Mark is the lawyer I hired to represent you when we go to court next month."

"...Why am I going to court next month?"

"To challenge the original ruling."

"Okay. Why?"

"Because I've found another witness to your case, one that didn't testify last time."

You felt like were slammed face first into a bucket of icy water. With rusted nails in it.

"Who?"

"The victim's daughter."

"No."

"Yes."

Your handcuffs rattled as your balled your hands into fists.

"She's just a kid. What she needs is to put the past behind her, not re-live every minute of it up on the witness stand. No. We're not doing this."

You glared at him and he met you straight on. The tension cracked.

The lawyer finally interjected.

"Knowing the full details of the case changes things dramatically. Your charge goes from first degree murder to manslaughter. We might be able to cut your sentence down to fifteen years or less, with time served contributing."

"No. I'm not putting that little girl up on the stand."

Blondie practically snarled. "Yes. You. Are."

"No. I'm. Not."

"She's so much older now! Practically a teenager. She can handle it. And besides, she said she's happy to do it."

"You spoke to her?!"

Could this day get any worse? Why the hell did he have to go and drag up old memories? It must have been just as unpleasant for the kid as it was for you.

"Yes. Myself and the original detective both."

"Why? Is this what you've been doing the past six months? Trying to overturn my sentence?"

He looked away from you for the first time, his ears turning red.

"Yes."

You leaned back in your chair, conflicted and confused more than anything else. You hated to admit it, but a part of really wanted this. Even if the chance was slim, even if it meant another round of dockets and cross questioning. You were tired of prison. You wanted your life back.

You watched the late afternoon sun reflecting off the ceiling.

"I want to talk to her first. And then...maybe."

"Deal." Blondie sounded immensely satisfied.

You kept watching the sun and half listening to the conversations around you.

"Why are you doing this for me Blondie?"

Your voice was awfully soft.

"I'm returning a favour."

Your eyes slid to the lawyer.

"Pretty damn expensive way to do it."

He smirked. "I prefer my method to yours. Requires a whole lot less stabbing."

The kid came to visit you the next day. Blondie was right. She was almost a teenager. Did time really go by so fast?

You grinned at her.

"Hey kid. Sorry to drag you out to this place, but they don't let me out much."

"I bet."

She’d lost a lot of the baby fat from her cheeks and her dark eyes didn't have the haunted look you remembered so well.

"How's life with your aunt?"

"Great actually. The school is nice and we've got this Great Dane. And she isn't like... well, she isn't like my dad."

That made you happy. The kid deserved something good after everything she’d been through.

She broke in before you could keep asking questions.

"I want to do it. I want to testify against my father."

You paused, your smile fading. You could still hear her voice from that night, high and tinny and begging her dad to stop.

He hadn't stopped. He hadn't stopped beating his little girl until the moment you sunk a knife into his chest.

You swallowed, your mouth tasting like metal.

"Are you sure? It's not going to be easy."

She met your eyes. "I don't care. You saved me. I'm not going to let you rot in a place like this."

When she left, you couldn't help thinking about her eyes. The last time you saw her, she wouldn't even look at your face. Wouldn't say more than three words at a time.

The kid might never outrun her past, but she’d done a damn good job so far.

You tried not to be too hopeful. Homicide was almost impossible to overturn.

You tried not to be too hopeful, but the lawyer Blondie hired clearly knew his stuff. He laid it all out in front the judge.

How you used to babysit the kid when her dad wasn't around. How the man used to get violent when he was drunk, but never hit the kid until that night.

How you heard the screaming and banged at his door for fifteen minutes.  How you broke in through a back window when it wouldn't stop.

How you found the girl half dead with her father standing over her. Still going at it.

How you grabbed a knife, just to try and threaten him, maybe bring him back to his senses.

How he attacked you. How you stabbed him and then kept stabbing him until he stopped moving. 

How you bundled the kid off to her aunt and then called the cops on yourself.

The whole story this time. No pleading guilty and then sitting back down without another word. No half hearted defence by a state lawyer already over worked and underpaid. No half truths.

It took three weeks of court dates to get through the whole story, with witnesses and cross examination. By the time it was done, you wanted to wash your hands of the whole mess. Innocent or guilty, you just wanted to stop reliving that night.

The judge was a hard faced man who'd seen a thousand criminals come and go. You didn't have much hope for yourself when the bailiff told you to rise for the verdict.

"In the case of the state versus the accused, in regards to the appeal and additional information provided to the court, the court hereby considers this appeal to be..."

You felt your heart stutter. The last time you were in court listening to a verdict the outcome was a forgone conclusion.

"Granted."

You almost sat back down, your knees weak. There's no way. After all this time, were you really about to have your freedom back?

The judge continued, "The accused's sentence has been adjusted to account for time served. The original sentence of life imprisonment with the chance of parole after thirty years has been changed to immediate parole on strict assessment."

The judge looked at you, eyes maybe a little softer than they were before.

"This court will never condone murder, not even in defence of a child. But I think it's clear, young lady, that you've spent more than enough time behind bars."

Your lips felt numb. Your whole future changed in one sentence. In one afternoon. It was staggering.

"Thank you, your honour."

The bailiff read out a list of regulations to follow. Weekly check ins with both a parole officer and a state psychiatrist. No furthers run ins with the law, not even misdemeanours. If even one person close to you felt you were a threat, they could report it to the police and have you sent back to jail almost immediately. You were on house arrest until further notice. It was one of the strictest parole agreements you'd ever heard.

You didn't care if they told you to do a hundred push ups morning and evening. You were free again. You were going to behave like a damn saint for the rest of your days.

The only hiccup was when he mentioned the address that you were registered to stay at. You raised a brow at your lawyer but he avoided your eyes.

When court was finally dismissed, the first thing you did as a free woman was give Blondie a hug.

He was much taller than you, though you'd never realised it before.

"How much do I owe you? When I get a job, we can work out some kind repayment plan."

He waved you away and lead you from the courthouse. You tried to ask your lawyer about the house arrest, but he managed to slip away before you could.

His car was waiting for you. A new Camaro barely a year months old.

You let out a low whistle.

"She’s a beauty."

When you climbed into the passenger seat, you were sure to buckle your seat belt. No tickets for you, not ever.

The car started up with a thrumming purr.

It ate away at the road, even in the dense city centre. It wasn't long before you were almost at the city limits and cruising.

"By the way, do you know where I'll be staying? I didn't recognise the address."

You couldn't be sure, but it seemed like his hands tightened on the steering wheel just a tad.

"Mm-hmm. You're staying with me."

What? You couldn't possibly do that to him.

"Thank you. But don't you feel a little awkward having a felon in your home? I've still got my savings from before. I can rent my own place for a little."

"You're staying with me. Do you know how hard it is to get a good apartment with a criminal record?"

"I guessed as much. But Blondie, I already owe you. I can't possibly intrude on your life. Maybe you think you still owe me from that day. You don't. We're square."

He was quiet for a bit, but finally managed to force a smile into his voice.

"No. I'm not doing this because I feel indebted to you."

He kept his eyes on the road, his hand loose and confident on the wheel. His sleeves were rolled up again and you got your first good look at his tattoos. They were a collection of really well done pieces, each small tattoo blending with the others. Mostly fine line work, simple and clean.

"Why are you doing it then?"

He didn't answer.

When you arrived, his house was ranch style three bedroom with a huge, rolling yard and a neat wraparound porch.

You let out another low whistle.

"How do you afford this on a correction officer's salary?"

"I don't. It's paid off already. I was in the USMC for a long time. The money was good."

"I knew you weren't a normal civvie."

He grinned. "What gave it away?"

"The muscles."

He laughed and pulled your duffel bag from the trunk.

You'd told your parents to donate all your clothes when you were first sentenced. You didn't think you'd ever be free again so why hoard? Someone out there was probably making good use of your Doc Martens and distressed denim. Whatever normal clothes you currently had were what you were locked up with. The outfit on your back and little else.

The suitcase was instead filled with your meagre prison possessions, the stuff you didn't want to leave behind. Your collection of books. Some postcards. The CDs that B sent you.

Blondie carried it across the lawn like it weighed nothing at all.

Stepping into his house was a surreal experience. You hadn't been inside someone else's home since the night of your crime. Your last few years were exclusive to the grimy and outdated rooms of state buildings.

It was like stepping back in time. Or more accurately, like stepping into a future you thought was lost to you.

Clean, without the tang of cheap, industrial grade bleach. The walls painted and wallpapered instead of just whitewashed. The feeling of finally being somewhere you could relax. Not an in-between place.

Home.

He showed you to your room, a neat guest bedroom across from his, with a double bed and wide windows.

You didn't sit down on the bed or on the neat desk chair. You didn't feel clean enough. You still felt the stink and grime of prison clinging to you.

He raised a brow but showed you where the bathroom was.

It was another taste of freedom. Showers in prison were monitored and timed affairs. No standing under the water and just enjoying the heat, no taking the time to scrub and exfoliate. In and out and done as quick as possible.

You stood under the hot water for a long time, your face wet not just from the spray.

When you finally climbed out, you felt clean for the first time in years.

Blondie was gone when you got downstairs, a hasty note scrawled on the fridge about grabbing you some new clothes. You tilted your head at the handwriting. You could swear it looked so familiar... But no, it couldn't be. That was ridiculous.

You brewed yourself a hot drink, fully intending to sit on the porch and enjoy it. Like a little old woman.

The backdoor was locked.

You frowned. Okay, not that uncommon. Folk kept their doors locked all the time. He probably intended you to use the front door instead.

But that one was locked too.

So were all the downstairs windows. Closed shut with little hatches you hadn't noticed earlier.

You tried not to panic. He was probably just looking out for you. Being careful. You were still a felon. How did he know you weren't going to make a break for it the second you could, his tv and laptop in tow?

It was fine. You were fine. You could just drink at the table and wait for him to get home. You kept telling yourself that, even as you searched through the kitchen drawers for a spare key.

Nothing.

You didn't want to panic. You'd spent years locked away. Wasn't this much nicer than a cell?

No. Because at least in a cell you had no illusions about your freedom.

You ended up in his bedroom without knowing when you'd gotten there. You didn't dig through his drawers. He'd know instantly. But you did open them all, one by one, as if you'd find the key right on top of his neatly folded shirts.

You found the letters in the last drawer. The one right next to his bed, like he read them every night.

It took you a while to recognise them, even though you were looking at your own handwriting.

Your letters to B. Every single one of them. The envelopes neatly cut open and the letters themselves stacked in chronological order. The most recent one was at the very top and you picked it up with numb hands.

Hey B! Guess who's going back to court. Guess they missed seeing me strutting down the aisle.

Don't worry. I haven't down anything bad (at least not this time). Someone who thinks they owe me a favour has gotten it into their head that the best way to repay me is to get me out of jail.

The legal way, that is. No midnight tunnels or disguises. (Boo. How boring. What happened to romance?)

I don't have much hope, but at least it means a break in the monotony. And nicer chow.

You'd better write me soon. Can't believe I'm admitting this out loud, but I get a warm fuzzy feeling in my heart whenever I get a new letter from you. I think it must be acid reflux.

-your favourite felon.

B did, in fact, write back quickly. For the last time - no return address on the letter. In that, and in so many other ways, it was clear it was the final letter you were getting.

You're the most complicated person I've ever met. Caring and kind but somehow wrapped up in the most sarcastic personality. I've fallen in love with you. Stupid. Incredibly stupid. But it's true.

I love you.

-B

You'd sat in your cell with your eyes almost bugging out of your skull. Wondering what B did to have the misfortune of falling for a girl like you. Wondering if you could have loved them back, if given the chance. Wondering who they really were.

Well, here was your answer. B, the person who wrote you sarcastic poetry and hunted down your favourite books, was Blondie, the warden who owed you his life.

And he was in love with you.

You sat down, knees replaced by lunch time jelly cups.

No wonder he did what he did. No wonder he paid for an attorney and got your house arrest registered at his house. No wonder he kept the doors and windows locked.

There was a light step behind you and you flew to your feet, the letter still clutched in your fist.

He was standing in the doorway, watching you with cool blue eyes.

"So. You found them."

You couldn't answer.

He stepped into the room, his eyes never leaving yours. He'd taken off his shirt and stood in only his tank top and jeans, his arms lean with muscle. You'd spent years fighting and you knew in one glance that you could never take him. He was stronger. Had years of Marine and police training. It had taken three prisoners and a razor blade to finally hold him. What chance did you have?

"The world isn't built for prisoners. Rehabilitation is hard. What were the stats again? Eight out of every ten end up back in jail before ten years is up?"

He continued towards you, as calm as ever.

"You're safer here. With me. You said you'd be a great housewife remember?"

"I was joking," you managed. "Just kidding around."

He reached you and gently took the letter from your unresisting fingers.

"I won't make you do anything you don't want to. But you're not leaving me. You're not leaving this house."

"Why?"

He smiled, that half smile that gave you a glimpse past his tough guy shell. This time, you didn't like what you saw.

"You know why."

"I'm a terrible person to love. I'm prickly and sarcastic and I suck at doing the dishes."

"I've got a dishwasher."

"All I know how to cook is fried chicken."

He wrinkled his nose. "We'll work on it."

"I snore all night."

"You don't. I've watched you sleep."

"Really?"

"Really. I'd stop outside your cell and just watch you sometimes. I couldn't help it. You're so much calmer when you sleep. It's like seeing another version of you."

He tilted his head and closed the last bit of distance between you, until you could smell his cologne and see the flecks of green in his eyes. You'd never noticed them before.

"There are worse cells than this, aren't there? All you have to do is stay with me. Be happy. Let me love you."

"Do I have a choice?"

He smiled that secret smile again.

"Nope. It's either me or straight back to prison."

It was true. He was a model citizen – a veteran with a clean record as a corrections officer. Even if you did talk to your mandated psychologist or parole officer, they wouldn’t believe you. You’d be the ungrateful prisoner trying to manipulate her way out of house arrest.

You knew it from the start. Rule one - never trust a warden. They never have your best interests at heart. All they want is to cover their own skin and get theirs.

But, you never were very good at following the rules, were you?

[xxactlyperfect]

Holy yap. Alright, I'll bite on the bait.

It's a public female bathroom. Public for females. Public means it's accessible to anyone of the specific sex whether it's at the mall, park, etc.. It is not accessible to males, as it is private. For example, muslim women can walk into the female bathroom to fix their hijab by the mirror because that is a private space.

2. Look point number one.

3. Sex is not something you can change, your chromosomes are ingrained in almost every cell in your body. It's your DNA. Whether you want it or not, humans have the ability to automatically take guesses on what someone's sex is based on how they look and sound. Anyway, going to the bathroom should not be a guessing game. There are male and female areas for a reason and people need to respect that. Women have been getting paranoid over who's trans and who's not in the bathrooms mainly because trans-identifying men have no respect for our spaces.

4. It quite literally does. "Why do you insist on invading the privacy of women?" Since it sounds like you skipped a few lessons involving logic and critical analysis in school I'll break it down for you; "privacy of women" refers to it being a female bathroom, which implies that the trans flag colored person sitting on the toilet is male, aka a trans woman.

5. I don't know why you placed "if" there. It is objectively correct. Trans women are male, trans men are female. Females are way less dangerous to other females than a male is towards them. Also, I think you don't understand the idea here. Men aren't pretending to be trans, they are genuinely believing they are female and entitled to our space. This has been shown and proven again and again, for example the Girl's Spot gym who's owner is facing severe harassment and bullying due to it not being welcoming to any male. No men and no trans women. And you just explained the entire point there anyway. These trans-identifying men just waltz into the bathroom and women are pretty much helpless because the law is telling us all to shut the fuck up and be inclusive.

6. Yes, I actually do. Also, these things are not comparable. There are no cameras in the bathrooms, unless you pull your phone out. If a trans woman walks in and out, no one can identify that person. If a maintenance man or cleaner assaults you, the place could easily track them back down. Either way, I've only seen a maintenance guy in the bathroom once in my entire life. I waited outside, he did his job, left, and I could walk in. And when it comes to cleaners, I don't know about where you live, but they usually just shut the bathroom so the cleaning person can do their job as well and leave without anyone coming in the way. And about the children; I've seen a mother bring her two very capable and old enough sons to the female bathroom once at an airport and I did in fact have a problem with it. Do what you want with that information.

[nosyrobin]

ꫂৎ𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄!𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒/𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐗 𝐖𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂!𝐅𝐄𝐌!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

Genre: headcannons

info!☆ Wynorrific, the word of being visually beautiful.. but being horrific at the same times. But reader is a monster in human form, trying to mimick humans for their/her own amusement. Reader goes by they/she & them/her. Sorry if it’s gets confusing.

☆warning: disturbing descriptions & headcannons, the family ignoring how reader is a red flag, a little of crack into this. You have been warned, viewer discretion.

having man eating fem monster into the family.. is crazy. But that’s just the bat-family who can’t help but obsess over this monster who loves to tear into the flesh of humans. The sweet relief of hearing screams gives her them pleasure. Them taking the pleasure of a beautiful woman, but being an abomination to man kind. But Bruce doesn’t care, as long as they make his sons happy.

reader could eating a person’s body, destroying any features that could make them recognizable, and they’ll be like. “Awww they’re hungry…”

don’t give them an axe, she will tear someone’s head open like a busted can.

Once a low level crook accidentally harmed Jason, and they went livid, immediately tackling the crook down and tearing their neck muscle out. Jason could only chuckle in his red hood outfit, “She’s so protective…” while he shoots a guy down without looking.

reader being the type of person to not care for anyone but themself but is literally loved for no reason. That’s the whole thing with the family.

Damian who’s such a little shit, he literally doesn’t know how to approach such a man eater like them… so he brought a dead body to them. What? Can’t a guy make friends with some random monster on earth?

Reader enjoyed the body anyways, he had gained her blessing to not be killed in his sleep.

tim having to get a improved child leash for her. It’s funny, I swear. But it’s so scary.

“Calm down!” He exclaimed trying to hold the monster from tearing into a minion of a villain. The minion sobbed in terror at this.. shadowed face woman that has rows of sharp teeth. Ready to bite into his head and chew his brain like gum.

“Sorry.. she usually isn’t like this.” Tim says with a chuckle as if this was very normal to him. He darkly look at the minion with a grin that doesn’t reach his face. “You must smell very good for her to want to eat you. Would be a shame if I let go of this leash if you don’t give me any information about your boss.

Chomping at the air with harsh gargling noises, it was a disgusting sound as tim just smiled still. “Better get to talking.” Tim loosens his grip a bit. “She’s hungry.”

reader doesn’t even speak, like they are nonverbal. Only making small clicking and crunching sounds from their body and their mouth. But if they were to mimic human language, then their traps to trap people will be lethal

I sometimes headcannon dick to be an officer/detective for a day job. Just imagine how it feels to have people rushing in about their loved ones that died being mauled by something.

oh no! Your husband’s been ripped apart, limb for limb and only his head was left? Well.. too bad. Wonder who could’ve been the culprit. And the culprit is certainly in their little cage, chewing on raw meat.

Damian can trust this abomination won’t eat his pets, because she has shown disinterest into even looking at them. Titus sniffs their feet before barking lightly at the monster. They could only tilt their head and pet the adorable dog.

reader who sticks by wolf in sheep’s clothing. Loving how her human face makes people forget the terrible things she’s done. The no killing rule? Bruce is minding his business, ignoring the crimes of her victims.

reader almost mauling Jason for pulling her back from chowing down on a carcass is something no one wants to see… or know. Cause Jason man handled the monster before their tendrils came out from their back and pinned him down. Thank god Bruce was there to sedate them.

this monster having the most disgusting true form, that even the most nonphased people may even gag and throw up. It’s unsettling….

reader had once used their high heels to stab a guy’s eye in when he tried to follow them. Only to end up missing.

she only uses her tendrils if she needs to apprehend her victims if they are being to hostile or annoying. But she uses them on Damian when he gets too clingy.

Jason mostly using reader for threatening tactics. And it works. WHO wouldn’t be scared of some crazy looking woman who actually shifts her whole body to look mangled and has insanely amount of teeth.

reader being the family’s secret, and if anyone found out and didn’t accept this. They’ll be your supper for later.

Jason who sees her likes for axes, so he bought her a nice pink axe with the sharpest blade of them all. Literally just gets her weapons for Christmas 24/7. Dick also gets her just white dresses, seeing how she likes them.

once showed up to a gala, dressed so nice and preppy, but so elegant at the same time. Sadly, eating someone’s fingers at the gala is not cute.. the monster was banned from galas and had to stay home in a cage til it was over.

Reader who is literally the queen of man eaters. Figuratively and literally. 

and before I go, reader hasn’t eaten the family due to loving the free human meat they get from them. They’re sick, sure. But they’re love sick to keep this monster with them.

[strialternatives]

bonus:

(if atlus won't give akechi's mom a name i'll have to Do It Myself-)

Here's part 2 of the Akechi palace au with a bunch of character concepts :jazzhands: once again having a normal one lads

check out part 1 over here

some additional mechanics and a plot outline continued under the cut

The fifth and final area is the Imperial Box, this is where the Empress and the Treasure reside.

(Acceptance, Akechi must acknowledge that his old ambitions are long dead and buried so to speak. Thus, he must move forward, whatever that looks like for him personally now that all other legal avenues for redemption have been closed to him.)

The ‘treasure’ is with the Empress, a bound Hereward disguised as Mamakechi’s cognition; Goro, the Emperor, is locked within his own palace and must leave the courtroom a free man on his own two feet. Akira an’ Co have to wake him from his restful sleep and steal him from the palace while the Empress rampages. 

Boss fight includes continuously knocking Hereward down while fleeing the palace as it collapses area by area. Robin Hood and Loki help guide the Thieves out, having finally come together to share a stage.

Phase 1: The Empress will not rise from her throne, she reflects fire, physical, bless and curse attacks with a detached, disinterest as though the battle has nothing to do with her.

Phase 2: The Empress surges up in anger, using a hail of hellfire arrows on the party that must be ridden out.

Phase 3: She full heals the party and invites them to join in the palace’s festivities.

Phase 4: Her attacks start to grow lethargic and sloppy the closer the party gets to the palace entrance.

Phase 5: All of her shields are down, she can no longer reflect attacks, her facade shatters like a mirror, revealing the final palace ruler--Hereward.

Goro has a third awakening during this pursuit--Wilhelm Tell. A Swiss folk hero representing individual freedom and rebellion, a skilled hunter and father most known for shooting an apple from his son’s head at the behest of a tyrant who ultimately seeks retribution. A hero that kept to his convictions while taking control of his future, and protecting the person most important to him. 

(AKA Goro deep down craves a decent fraternal figure and alas, his own psyche and the sea of collective human consciousness decided to provide. And no, he is NOT talking about it Joker.)

Misc Palace rules/gen details:

Loki and Robin Hood hate each other which is honestly just Goro’s internal self-loathing running wild, it’s part of why they can’t exist on the same stage.

Hereward pulls Goro into the metaverse as a defense mechanism of sorts aka before Goro did something self-destructive deep down none of them wanted post-Shido’s trial.

Akechi’s palace is hostile to every intruder aside from Akira, his rival, whom he’ll always see as a threat but respects and trusts more than anyone else. This results in every enemy but his own shadows targeting the rest of the party. They also abide by the "Oracle is off limits" rule. Fights in general are easier with a smaller team as teammates in the back lineup will also take damage.

Jazz records instead of grief seeds, every time you get one the music in the area stops.

In the audience stands there’s a cognition of Wakaba in the VIP section, the party learns about Futaba being Goro’s half-sibling. Goro sees himself in Futaba and deep down wishes he hadn’t burned all bridges on that front.

Initial Infiltration Team: Joker, Sumire, Morgana, Futaba. Haru and Makoto are at uni, Yusuke has a patron in Kyoto, Ann is overseas until a month into the palace and Ryuji is also at uni on a track scholarship until around the same time. The other thieves slowly fill in the ranks as the palace progresses, until we have a full house in the Hall of Severance.

First Layer Philosophy Puzzle Quotes: 

“He who has a why to live for can bear almost any how.” ― Friedrich Nietzsche

“Genuine tragedies in the world are not conflicts between right and wrong. They are conflicts between two rights.” ― Hegel

“The law is reason, free from passion.” ― Aristotle

“The first and greatest victory is to conquer yourself; to be conquered by yourself is of all things most shameful and vile.” ― Plato

“I shall not be present at my trial.” ― Leblanc

This is basically a loose fic outline, broad strokes, etc ;; ty to everyone who left replies and comments, they're all really sweet!

(had to get this au out or the mold would get me ya see :/)

[f1daydreamer]

Against All Odds

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Single Mom!Reader

---

How They Met

You never thought you’d cross paths with a world-famous Formula 1 driver, let alone have him become a part of your little world. But life had a funny way of surprising you.

It all started on a rainy afternoon in Monaco. You had just finished grocery shopping with your three-year-old son, Luca, when the sky opened up. Balancing the bags and holding Luca’s tiny hand, you rushed under a café awning to avoid getting soaked. That’s when a voice—deep, slightly accented—spoke beside you.

“You okay?”

You turned to see Max Verstappen, hands stuffed in his Red Bull hoodie, watching you with curiosity. You knew who he was, of course. Even if you weren’t a die-hard fan, his face was everywhere in Monaco.

Luca, being his usual chatty self, beat you to responding. “Mama forgot my umbrella,” he informed Max with a dramatic sigh.

Max chuckled. “That’s tough, buddy. But rain is fun, no?”

Luca grinned. “Only if there are puddles!”

Max nodded in understanding. “Puddles are cool.” Then, he glanced at you, offering a small, almost shy smile. “Need some help?”

---

What started as a simple moment under the rain became something more. Max found himself drawn to you and Luca. He started frequenting the café where you worked, always finding an excuse to chat.

At first, you were hesitant. Your life revolved around your son, and the idea of letting someone in—especially someone with Max’s fast-paced, high-profile life—felt risky. But Max was persistent in the gentlest way. He didn’t rush. He didn’t push. Instead, he simply showed up.

He’d bring Luca small gifts from his travels—a toy car from Japan, a tiny Red Bull racing cap from Austria. He’d take time to play with him, letting Luca “race” his toy cars across the café tables while you worked.

And then, one evening, after walking you both home, he hesitated at your doorstep.

“I know this is a lot,” he admitted. “And I don’t want to overstep. But I— I care about both of you. A lot.”

You looked down at Luca, who was already half-asleep in your arms, his tiny fingers curled around Max’s hoodie string.

“You already feel like family,” you whispered.

Max smiled, brushing a stray raindrop from your cheek. “Then let me prove it.”

---

Max loved Luca as if he were his own. From the moment he truly became part of your lives, he embraced every bit of fatherhood that came with it.

Sunday mornings were for racing—well, toy car racing. Max and Luca would sit on the living room floor, each picking their “team” and dramatically announcing their “drivers.” (Luca always picked Red Bull, of course.)

Bedtime stories became a ritual, with Max reading animatedly about adventures, occasionally slipping in exaggerated Dutch accents to make Luca laugh.

Grocery trips turned into mini racing expeditions, with Luca sitting in the cart, pretending to steer while Max pushed it down the aisles like a pit stop crew.

And when Luca had nightmares? Max was there. Every single time. He’d scoop him up, hold him close, and whisper, “You’re safe, little man. I’ve got you.”

One evening, as you all sat curled up on the couch watching a movie, Luca suddenly turned to Max and asked, “Are you my dad now?”

Your breath caught, but Max, without hesitation, ruffled Luca’s hair and said, “If you want me to be, buddy.”

Luca grinned. “You can be my Max-Dad.”

And just like that, Max’s heart was no longer just his own—it belonged to you and your little boy.

Forever.

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

Hey everyone,

I just wanted to say how sorry I am for that terrible one-shot I posted—if you can even call it that. I know it wasn’t my best, and honestly, I’ve been completely out of inspiration lately. Every time I try to write, my brain just blocks itself, and nothing good comes out.

On top of that, school is draining me. We’re so close to the end, yet our teachers keep throwing test after test and endless projects at us. It’s exhausting, and I barely have the energy to focus on writing.

I really appreciate you all sticking around and being patient with me. I promise I’ll be back with better content when I can! Thank you for understanding.

[seumyo]

todoroki shouto and his 8-month-old son having identical pouty faces.

It becomes trouble when your husband and 8-month-old son are quiet as you’re about to finish preparing dinner. You could sense it, like a superpower you could only unlock when you reached a certain milestone in life.

“It’s just a piece of soft biscuit. Maybe we can give him only a little—“

“No, Shou.”

You had only denied your son a snack once, and yet, the betrayal in his big, watery eyes made it seem like you had committed an unforgivable crime.

Your eight-month-old son, snug in Todoroki’s arms, was pouting hard—his chubby cheeks puffed out, lips trembling, and his tiny hands curled into fists against his father’s chest. Tears clung to his thick lashes, threatening to spill at any moment. He was the very image of pitiful distress.

And Todoroki?

He wasn’t much better.

He’s holding your son with an almost identical expression—unmistakably sulking, his lips pressed together in silent protest (but he knew he could never win this war against you). It didn’t help that your son was his near-perfect replica, down to the way his tiny eyebrows furrowed in quiet displeasure. The only major difference was this little boy inherited your eyes.

Thank the heavens, because you almost came to the conclusion that Todoroki reproduced by himself via asexual reproduction.

Because it was dangerous how alike they looked.

You crossed your arms, unimpressed. “Oh, come on. It was just one snack.”

Todoroki’s grip on your son shifted slightly as he responded, voice flat but clearly displeased. “It was just a small piece.”

The baby, as if understanding that his father was taking his side, whimpered softly and nuzzled closer to his father’s chest, letting out a tiny, heart-wrenching sniffle.

“Dinner is literally a minute away. He’ll survive.”

“He might starve and lose his healthy body,” Todoroki tells you warily.

“Shou, take one good look at our son. He’s chubbier than any of his older cousins, plus, we feed him formula 5 times a day, he eats solid food twice, and even gets a snack when he wakes up from his naps—so don’t tell me he’ll starve when he eats more than we do combined.”

Your husband didn’t argue further, but his silence spoke volumes. He gently rubbed your son’s back, sighing as the little boy let out another sniffle. You knew this game—Todoroki might not be saying anything, but his entire posture screamed, “I think you’re being unfair, but I won’t push it… even though I’m clearly upset.”

“The pouting isn’t going to work on me.”

Todoroki blinked, expression unchanged. “I’m not pouting.”

“You are,” you told him. “And he’s just copying you.”

At that, he finally glanced down at the baby in his arms. Your son blinked up at him, sniffling again before sticking his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout.

They stared at each other for a long moment.

“…I think this is just his natural expression,” Todoroki finally said, deadpan.

“Uh-huh. I don’t think we’ll ever need a DNA test to prove that he’s yours.”

“Why would we need a DNA test when I’m the only man you’ve ever been with? And our son also looks like me—“

“Oh, Shou. It was a joke,” you sigh lovingly.

“Oh.”

Todoroki hummed, shifting your son slightly so he could wipe away a stray tear from the baby’s cheek. “Your mother is strict,” he murmured, speaking softly to him as if he wasn’t right in front of you. “Very heartless.”

“Excuse me?”

The baby hiccupped, seemingly agreeing.

Todoroki glanced up at you, the slightest hint of amusement evident in his eyes. “It’s true.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “Unbelievable. If I left meals to you, he’d be living off of cold soba and whatever random snacks you keep in the fridge.”

Todoroki didn’t deny it (for the most part).

“But I do take cooking classes now...”

“Mhm.”

He gently bounced your son in his arms, his gaze softening as your baby yawned, snuggling closer to his chest now that the dramatics had settled.

You sighed, stepping forward and pressing a kiss to the top of your son’s head. “You’ll thank me later, little pouty boy,” you murmured before glancing up at your husband. “And you—stop ganging up on me with him.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he replied, completely straight-faced.

You gave him a knowing look. “Uh-huh.”

A comfortable silence settled between you before you turned back to the stove, giving the curry one last stir. “Dinner’s ready.”

He smiled. “Finally.”

You shot him a playful glare, though there was no real heat behind it. You took your son from his arms, adjusting him on your hip before pressing a small kiss to his chubby cheek.

“Alright, come on, little pouty boy.”

Todoroki followed closely behind. “Which one?”

You laughed at that.

“Both of you.”

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

[22ayla21]

How trio amphoreus male husband (separate) react to their wife asking them to make a next child ( I want a son that looks like me Anaxa 😞, 💀 all of the daughter just take after their father more than their mother and this time I want our son to look like me)

Third? Why not

One quiet evening, one unexpected question - and here the husband is already carrying his wife to the bedroom, grinning and clearly not going to back down from her offer.

From the Author: I will then make a separate part with each man, who exactly was born to them, there are already requests for this😆

The house was filled with peaceful silence. The children had long since fallen asleep, and the stars were twinkling outside the windows, illuminating the spacious halls with a soft light. There was a rare and precious peace in the air.

Mydei was sitting on the terrace, enjoying the fresh air. His wife had made herself comfortable next to him, leaning against his shoulder. It was one of those quiet evenings when you could simply enjoy each other, without unnecessary words, without worries.

- Do you think we should have a third child?- Her voice was quiet, but it was enough to interrupt his thoughts.

Mydei turned his head sharply, looking at her with slight surprise. He had expected anything but this. He was silent for a few seconds, as if considering what he had heard, and then a grin touched his lips - slow, warm, almost lazily predatory.

- Are you really asking? — His voice was low, with a hint of amusement and something else, deeper. She just grinned, looking at him sideways, knowing full well how he would react.

Not a moment had passed before strong arms caught her, lifting her up into his arms with ease, as if she weighed nothing. She cried out in surprise, but then laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck.

- If that's what you've decided,- he said, heading towards the bedroom, - then I'm all for it.

She leaned closer to whisper something in his ear, but he didn't let her finish, sealing her words with a kiss. Their laughter faded into the night, and the twinkling stars outside the windows became the only witnesses to how a new chapter of their story was written that evening.

The evening was quiet. The house was finally at peace - the girls were asleep, and the soft light of the candles gave the atmosphere a cozy atmosphere. Anaxa sat in his chair, holding a cup of tea in his hands, and his wife settled down next to him, snuggling comfortably.

- Do you think... to have a third child? - she suddenly asked, playing with the edge of his sleeve with her fingers. The tea in his hand swung slightly, but did not spill. Anaxa slowly turned his gaze to his wife, his golden eyes sparkling in the semi-darkness, and a smirk touched the corners of his lips.

- Are you really asking? - His voice was low, with a shadow of hidden pleasure. His wife did not look away, but only shrugged, hiding her slight embarrassment.

Without saying another word, Anaxa put down his cup, rose smoothly from his chair, and before she could say anything, he firmly picked her up in his arms.

- Then let's not waste time, - with these words he headed towards the bedroom, his steps were confident and unhurried. ьHis wife couldn't help but chuckle quietly, wrapping her arms around his neck.

- I knew you'd like this idea.

Anaxa only grinned, hugging her tighter.

Phainon sat in a chair, relaxedly sipping aromatic tea. It was a quiet day, the boys were already asleep, and his beloved wife had settled comfortably next to him. They chatted about little things, enjoying the rare moments of silence.

- Phainon, what do you think... about having a third child? - she said casually, tilting her head to the side, as if thinking out loud. He froze. His eyes flashed, and a sly grin immediately appeared on his lips.

- Are you serious? - he asked, leaning forward slightly. She shrugged, pretending she hadn't said anything special. But he had already seized on her words. - Oh, my love, you can't get away with it now.

Phainon was on his feet in an instant, and then, before she could say anything, he scooped her up in his arms.

- Phainon! - she exclaimed, laughing.

- You suggested it. And I'm not one to pass up an opportunity like that.

He strode confidently toward the bedroom, his steps measured, and the grin never leaving his face.

- You never give up, do you? - She hugged him around the neck, feigning a sigh. Phainon chuckled, entering the room and closing the door behind him.

- When it comes to our family? Never.

[poppitron360]

Esperanza as a character fascinates me and I’m so intrigued by the idea of the world from her perspective. She’s very much thinking along the same lines as Sally Jackson (and I think it’s sad that Leo and Percy are so similar except for the fact that Sally survived). She’s completely alone- a single mother trying to make it in a male dominated industry, trying to keep food on the table, unable to talk to anyone about her fears and worries for her son because who would understand? Who can she tell? The Greek Myths are shitshows and horror stories as it is but to an already frightened mother I can’t imagine what she must have felt when Leo was young. She must have been terrified that she’s just raising her son to die. And you know what? She was right. He did die.

And the differences and similarities in Leo’s and Jason’s upbringings- the fact that Leo was raised with love and care and affection and Jason was raised with none of that and yet they were both massively screwed over by the universe. And it doesn’t even occur to Jason to not be the one to sacrifice himself not only because he cares for Leo too much but also he was programmed from an early age that that is what he’s supposed to do- that’s his place in the world.

And so they’re both convinced they have to fill these archetypal roles- Jason as the Hero and Leo as the comic relief and sidekick- but neither of them really want that. And even though they swap roles in the big finale with Gaia and it seems like they’ve subverted that they still end up filling those roles later on. Jason dies a hero and Leo is pushed to the side again. For a universe whose first series was all about breaking oppressive cycles Rick sure likes to put the later characters in oppressive cycles.

Basically every problem I have with the Riordanverse boils down to “Rick tried to fit nine main characters into five books and ended up biting off more than he can chew”:

- Gaia is one-note and not given any nuance

- Basically half of TOA is spent hastily wrapping up arcs and almost EVERYONE’S (the only exception, sadly, being Jason) endings get rushed with little thought

- The finale of HOO was incredibly underwhelming as nobody except for the Lost Trio really did anything in the final battle

- Nico and Reyna’s POVs felt like add-ons and there wasn’t enough time to explore them in detail

- FRANK AND HAZEL ONLY GET TWO BOOKS WITH POVS.

- And so much more. You name a problem with the Riordanverse, it’s probably because of that.

This is a conversation that I will bring up over and over again because I too have so much beef with TOA and it’s tainted most of my enjoyment of the other books.

Also, Leo’s death was handled so badly. I actually hate that his friends got to find out he was alive before he came back, so they ended up just being pissed off instead of grieving. We as readers never feel the effect his loss had on the characters which makes the big heroic sacrifice so unsatisfying. There’s no actual consequences to his death, so that big build up was for nothing. This is why I’m a big fan of Leo with prosthetics/hearing loss/whatever after the explosion because at least that gives us some sort of sense that he actually sacrificed something, not just an apparent sacrifice that got reversed a chapter later. He’s not even given any visible trauma for it (to be fair, Leo’s whole schtick is that he hides his pain, so we wouldn’t see it from Lester’s POV, but still), I’d like to have seen a moment between Leo and Apollo, perhaps where Apollo regrets the part he played in giving Leo the ingredients to the cure instead of trying to stop him from Kamikaze-ing himself into unalive status (I’ve always had this idea in my head of Apollo asking if Leo would still have gone through with his plan if he didn’t have the cure, and Leo saying yes- it would have been a perfect fit to the whole “Apollo learns about sacrifice arc” that takes place throughout the whole five books but starts ramping up at around the Dark Prophecy when Apollo admits for the first time he’d give his life up for his friends) This is probably a separate Rant Post I’ll threaten to make and never get around to it, but I have so many thoughts about this it’s unreal. I am unwell I think.

Hands down one of the funniest things about tlh Valgrace is how badly Leo wants them to be in some sort of imbalanced rivalry/prince and stablehand situation but Jason just. Being way too nice for it to work?

Leo: I am worse than you in every way imaginable. I hate your stupid good looks and the fact that you’re this perfect hero and I will never measure up to you.

Jason: Incorrect! Actually you’re incredible and better than me in so many ways and I wish I could do half the stuff you do! You’re so cool! I’m so lucky to know you and love that we’re best friends :D

Leo: …what the hell is happening

[slutoru1207]

Invincible!Mark x reader x Variants!Mark part 10

Warnings: AFAB Reader, Post-Labor, Psychological Distress, Possessive Behavior, Multiversal Variants, Angst, Horror Elements, Yandere Themes, Emotional Manipulation, Mother-Child Bonding

Your body was heavy with exhaustion, your limbs weak and aching from the trauma of giving birth. But none of that mattered. Not the pain, not the terror of being ripped away from Mark, not the lingering fear clawing at your heart.

Because your baby was here.

A soft whimper beside you had your breath catching, your instincts overriding your fatigue. With trembling fingers, you reached out, brushing your son’s tiny cheek. His warmth, his smallness—it was overwhelming. His dark curls, the faintest hint of Mark in his features. He was beautiful. Perfect.

Yours.

A shaky exhale left your lips as you slowly, carefully, pulled him into your arms. He was so small, so fragile, yet his little fists clenched the fabric of your hospital gown with surprising strength. You pressed a kiss to his forehead, breathing him in, grounding yourself in the only thing that made sense in this nightmare.

Then, the presence in the room made itself known.

“You look good like that.”

Your body tensed as Sinister Mark’s voice slithered through the dimly lit space. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze locked onto you with an intensity that made your stomach churn.

He wasn’t alone.

Other Marks stood behind him—Scarred Mark, a quiet storm of emotion; another who bore a striking resemblance to your Mark but with a colder edge, his expression unreadable; and one who simply watched with a strange, almost reverent look.

Your grip on the baby tightened instinctively. “Stay away from us.”

Scarred Mark exhaled, rubbing his temple. “No one’s going to hurt you.”

“Then take me back.”

Silence.

Your Mark’s cold counterpart finally spoke. “No.”

Fury surged through your veins. “You stole me from him! You stole our son!”

Sinister Mark smirked, stepping closer. “We didn’t steal anything. We took back what was already ours.”

The baby whimpered, sensing your distress, and you forced yourself to steady your breathing. You wouldn’t let them see you break. You wouldn’t let them take this moment away from your child.

“You don’t own me,” you said through clenched teeth, rocking your son gently. “You never have.”

Sinister Mark crouched down in front of you, his gaze flickering between you and the baby. “We imagined this, you know. In different worlds, different times.”

You stiffened as he continued, voice disturbingly soft. “Some of us almost had this with you. Some of us lost you before it could ever happen. And some of us never even got the chance.”

A sharp breath from Scarred Mark made your gaze snap to him. His jaw clenched, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

“She died before we could even talk about it,” he muttered. “Before we could even dream.”

Another Mark, one you hadn’t paid much attention to, finally spoke up, his voice quiet and broken. “She died giving birth.”

Your blood ran cold.

For the first time, you saw something beyond possession in their eyes. You saw grief. Deep, unshakable grief. A grief that, in their twisted minds, they believed they could erase by having you.

Your arms tightened around your son. “I am not her.”

“No,” Sinister Mark agreed. “You’re better. Because this time, we won’t lose you.”

Meanwhile, Back at the Facility

Mark was pacing, his hands running through his hair, his breathing erratic. The Guardians were in motion, gathering intel, but it wasn’t fast enough.

“They took my family,” he snarled, punching the nearest wall. The impact cracked the reinforced metal, his rage barely contained. “We should already be moving.”

Cecil’s voice was sharp. “We don’t know where they took her. If we rush in blind, we could lose her for good.”

Mark wheeled on him, eyes blazing. “So what? We sit here and do nothing?”

“We find her first,” Cecil shot back. “And then we wipe those bastards out.”

Eve stepped forward, her expression tight with worry. “She just had a baby, Mark. She’s vulnerable. We have to be careful.”

Mark’s fists clenched, his entire body coiled with tension. “I know. But every second they have her—” His voice broke slightly. “Every second, she’s scared. And they have my son.”

Cecil’s jaw tightened. “Then let’s get them back.”

-

The baby stirred, his tiny face scrunching up as he let out a soft, tired cry. Immediately, your focus shifted back to him.

And, to your shock, so did theirs.

Sinister Mark, the coldest, most detached of them, softened ever so slightly. His gaze lingered on the child, something unreadable flickering across his expression.

Scarred Mark exhaled slowly. “He looks like us.”

Your heart pounded as another Mark, one who had barely spoken, hesitated before kneeling beside the bassinet. His gloved hand hovered over the baby, uncertain, before finally settling gently against the blanket.

The baby cooed, curling into the warmth.

A strange silence settled over the room. A fragile, temporary peace.

For a brief, fleeting moment, they weren’t Variants. They weren’t threats. They were just… lost versions of Mark, staring at the child they would never have had.

And it terrified you just how much that realization affected them.

But you wouldn’t let their sadness change what was real. You wouldn’t let their grief keep you here.

Your son wasn’t theirs.

And you would find a way to take him home.

[futfemfantasies]

Winning hearts ~ Leah Williamson x reader

Leah takes a deep breath, gripping the stuffed animal in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other. Her heart pounds as she steps out of the car, staring at your front door like it holds her entire future-because, in a way, it does. Today she is meeting your 2-year-old son Theo for the first time.

It’s not just any introduction. In Leah’s mind, it’s a do or die moment.  

She shifts the flowers under her arm, about to knock, when the door swings open. Leah jumps slightly, but her nerves ease the moment she sees your warm smile. You know she’s anxious. You can see it in the way stands, gripping the bouquet a little too tightly, her breathing just a little too measured. 

Leah thrusts the colourful bouquet toward you like an offering. You laugh softly, leaning in to kiss her - reminding her that there’s nothing to be afraid of.

“He’s just in the front room,” You say as you step aside. “Why don’t you go say hi while I put these in some water?” 

Leah hesitates. “And what if he-?”

You cut her off with a knowing look, reaching up to cup her cheek. “Just be the Leah I fell in love with and he will too, okay?” 

Leah’s face visibly relaxes, tense shoulders relax and she nods. 

Leah follows you inside, familiar with the creak in the floorboards, every photo on the walls. As soon as she steps into the living room, she immediately locks eyes with Theo. 

He’s tiny, sitting on the floor surrounded by a mess of colourful blocks. His big brown eyes blink up at her, curious but not scared. He’s even cuter in person than in the endless photos and videos you’ve sent her. 

You nudge Leah forward slightly, a silent encouragement. She throws you a quick look-what do I do?-but you smile and walk into the kitchen. Leah walks around the couch and crouches near Theo, carefully placing the small dinosaur toy on the floor beside her. 

“Hey, buddy,” she says softly. 

Theo’s eyes immediately flick to the toy. Then back to Leah. Then back to the toy. He takes his time to study her, before standing up and waddling over to Leah with his arms stretched out. 

Leah barely has any time to react before he flings himself into her lap, wrapping his tiny arms around her. 

Leah’s heart nearly explodes. 

You watch from the kitchen as Theo giggles, playing with her Arsenal pendant around Leah’s neck before using his small hands and squishing Leah’s cheeks together. Leah pouts dramatically, making the toddler giggle even more. She looks up at you, utterly smitten, as if to say is this really happening? 

You just grin.

From that moment on, Theo is glued to Leah’s side. 

During snack time, he tugs her over to the scattered blocks, making her build towers only to gleefully knock them down. When you tell him it’s time for his nap, he immediately reaches for Leah to carry Theo to bed.

She glances at you, almost as if asking for permission. You just nod, smiling as she lifts Theo effortlessly into her arms.

In his room, Theo picks up a well-loved book from his bedside table and holds it up to Leah.

“Read me, Lee?” 

Leah nearly chokes on her own breath. If she wasn’t already sitting, she might’ve collapsed. 

“Yeah, buddy,” she manages, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “I’d love to.”

She settles into the tiny toddler bed beside him, opening the book and launching into the dramatic retelling of the story, complete with ridiculous voices. Theo giggles uncontrollably, curling up against her.

You stand in the doorway for a moment, just watching.

You already knew Leo was incredible. But seeing her like this –with Leo, with your son– feels like something else entirely.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” you whisper. You kiss Leah’s temple softly before heading downstairs, letting them have their moment.

It’s been a while since you’ve heard something in the baby monitor, so you quietly walk upstairs to check on them. 

The sight you are greeted with melts your heart. 

Leah and Theo are curled up together, fast asleep. One of her arms is draped protectively around him, and the other gently rests on the stuffed dinosaur she brought him, as if she’s making sure it stays close. 

You smile, pulling out your phone to quickly take a photo before leaving them to rest.

By the time Leah stirs awake, Theo is still tucked into her side, snoring softly. She lifts her head groggily, only to see you leaning in the doorway, watching them both with a soft smile.

“Hey, love,” you whisper. “Did you have a nice nap?”

Leah rubs her eyes, looking down at Theo before glancing back up at you with a sheepish grin. “I wasn’t planning on falling asleep, but… the exhaustion from training hit, and then he curled up on me, and…” She sighs, shaking her head. “I just couldn’t move.” 

You chuckle. “I’ve ordered pizza. It should be here soon.” 

At that moment, Theo stirs. He looks around and smiles wide when he sees you and Leah.  

“Mummy!” He stretches his arms out for you, and you scoop him up, pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

“Hey, buddy. Did you have a good nap with Leah?” 

Theo nods sleepily before turning his attention to Leah “Lee stay?” 

Leah melts instantly.

“She’s staying for dinner baby and we’re having your favourite.”

Theo’s face lights up. “We have pizza?” 

Leah laughs. “Yeah buddy, we’re having pizza.”

Dinner is a chaotic mix of laughter, flying cheese, and Theo demanding Leah sit beside him. You tease her about stealing your usual seat, but she just shrugs, grinning as Theo grabs her hand.  

Afterward, Theo stays up way past his bedtime, cuddled up to Leah on the couch, eyes half-lidded as he watches Bluey. When it’s finally his bedtime, he pouts. 

“Wan’ Lee to stay Mummy.” 

Leah smiles, brushing back his curls. “I’ll come back really soon, buddy. I promise.”

Leah carries Theo up to his bed and tucks him in, when he suddenly reaches for something beside his pillow. He grabs the stuffed dinosaur Leah gave him earlier, tucking it under his chin. 

“Dino sleep wif me?”

“Yeah, buddy,” she whispers. “Dino’s staying with you.”

As Leah stands up, Theo does the cutest thing she’s ever seen. He puckers his lips and blows him a kiss. Leah pretends to fumble before catching it, pressing her hand to her heart. 

You watch the moment from the doorway, warmth blooming in your chest. Right there you knew Leah was meant to be part of this family. 

Later, you both are cuddled up on the couch and you sigh contently. 

“Ready to watch something that’s not Australian dogs?” you tease.

Leah groans. “Please. I think I’ll be hearing the theme song in my sleep.”

You laugh, pressing play on some random rom-com. Leah wraps her arms around you, pulling you close. 

Everything has fallen into place and you wouldn’t change a single thing. 

[lxzy-bxby]

Baking into Babymaking

MDNI NSFW 18+ SMUT shoo byebye xoxo

Husband!Leon × Fem!Reader

Summary: You attempt to bake cake for your kid's birthday peacefully but your husband can't leave you alone. WC: 4,435 CW: Smut with very little plot, creampie&sexual puns about it, unprotected p-in-v, fingering, breeding kink-ish, pussy pronouns, dirty talk, counter sex, impregnation, multiple orgasms if you squint, no use of Y/N, foreign author's first tumblr&english drop kinda nervous, no proofreading AN: my first ever shit written in english and it is a smut so yeah guys it's not my first language and you know the drill

~ ♡ ~

Life has a fun way of turning things upside down—you give one chance to your one night stand six years ago and now you’re celebrating his offspring’s fourth birthday. Unbelievable.

Okay, quite believable considering that Leon was—Leon is—hot as hell. Explains pretty much everything as well, the kids, the marriage, it all. You’re only a woman, after all. Very weak one at that. Whatever.

Who would’ve thought that Leon would become the best husband ever, great dad too? Only you. Even he didn’t believe in himself. Commitment sounded like something straight of horror stories for him yet with you he was the one to suggest to tie the knot. When you got first pregnant Leon almost went into cardiac arrest, still you and him had two more kids after your firstborn.

But that just happened randomly, really. Not like it was or was not planned. When he’s back from month-long mission, touch-starved and pent-up, last thing you think of is protection. That’s totally understandable considering that you two make mighty cute babies. And that’s totally understandable that you conceived your last one few days before he was supposed to get vasectomy—which he still didn’t get.

You reminisce on your love story for a couple more minutes completely forgetting what you initially was about to do. Browse cake recipes. Right.

Because you didn’t want to get your hellion something from the store. It is a special occasion, after all. And special occasion is worthy of special preparation.

You’re quite good at kitchen—so good that even after all those years Leon still can’t decide whether you’re better in bedroom or at kitchen. But you barely baked literal cakes and there wasn’t much time until your son you know will wake up. So you settled on something simple like cream pie. With tons of whipped cream because all your kids love it. Leon does too. Sometimes you think that there’s zero difference between a toddler and Leon. Whatever.

So here you were, willingly wasting a couple of hours on baking just because you decided to fuck with drunkass government agent once and accidentally fell in love and let him fill your cunt up once or twice. The usual.

With AirPods covering your ears, you whip the cream engrossed in both your thoughts and music. You genuinely love listening to your Spotify playlists while doing chores or running errands—helps you to focus and makes you feel like you’re the main character and Taylor Swift’s 1989 is a soundtrack to your life. So when you feel your waist being squeezed, you yelp reflexively.

Right. Leon has a day off. Of course he has—it’s his son’s birthday and Leon loves his kids. He loves making kids even more.

“What’s cookin’, good lookin’?” Leon chants, his chin already perched on your shoulder. He lets out a loud yawn, practically slumping onto you.

You roll your eyes at his pathetic flirting and keep whipping with effort.

“Your son’s birthday cake. You hungry?” You inquire nonetheless since you didn’t even cook yet and was running on a cup of espresso.

And you swear to God, if he says that he’s hungry but not for food...

“I am. But not for food,” Leon smirks knowing how much that phrase pisses you off. If only you could actually get mad at him. Of course you could not. You actually even got butterflies somewhere in between your chest and belly. Gross. You’d never think you’d still be like that after being married for what feels like eternity.

Before you can even come up with a witty response, his palms unceremoniously settle on your breasts, squeezing the soft plump flesh through the thin fabric of your shirt, thumbs rubbing against still soft nipples. You never liked wearing bras at home—you probably should start, given how much Leon’s hands seemed to be in love with your tits. Despite his action being casual and something you experience at least few times a day, you felt your peaks harden treacherously from the stimulation.

You swat Leon’s nasty hands away like you always do—just for good measure.

“Don’t,” you chide sternly, the epitome of tough-lady act. “I’m baking.”

“So?” Leon drawls nonchalantly, his calloused palms lowering from your boobs to your midriff. “Multitasking is an important skill. Thought you’d be a goddess at it as a mother of three. And I know you actually are. So cut it out.”

You scoff in amusement. Of course you know how to multitask quite well, he’s right on the money with that one. While your oldest gets their knee scrapped, your middle one necessarily gets a tummyache and your youngest will undoubtedly shatter one of your vases and cut their pinkie on one of the shards. The kind of overstimulation you never wished for.

“Anyway, whatcha even bakin’?” Leon hums, his fingertips drawing mindless circles on your bare ribs under the hem of your shirt already—you barely even noticed him slipping underneath.

”Birthday cake, I told ya.” You huff out an air of annoyance, tapping on the phone screen with soiled fingers to prevent it from shutting into sleep mode.

“I got it, Captain Obvious,” Leon lets out a velvety laugh, squeezing creamy skin of your sides. “What kinda cake? Dunno, cheesecake? Red velvet? Mille-feuille?” He pronounces the latter with disgustingly broken attempt at imitating French accent yet you still snicker.

“Impressive. I didn’t know you’re that into cakes.” You arch an eyebrow, unable to miss the chance to tease him.

“Ah, speaking of cakes… I do know a nice cake when I see one.” He grins, pulling away a tad to appreciate your ass with his hands and eyes, giving it both a glimpse and a firm squeeze.

“You’re absolutely disgusting.” You declare, rubbing your palms on your apron. “No idea what I’m making, honestly. Just… anything with tons of cream. Creamy pie sort of thing, I guess.”

And then you bite on your tongue, realizing a little too late how absolutely stupid it was to even mention cream and pie in the same sentence whilst talking to a man with a sense of humor and hormonal level of a teenage boy.

Leon immediately perks up because no way in hell he would miss on the opportunity to make you facepalm internally.

“Pun intended, I hope?” He murmurs, grinning into the column of your neck, his lips tingling your sensitive skin. “Because again, I do know a thing or two about creampies.” Leon deadpans in a sultry voice as he leaves butterfly kisses all over the back of your neck, making your breath hitch in response.

“That’s all you’re able to think about, huh? That’s diabolical, seriously. Don’t you dare mentioning it. You really are disgusting, think I’m gonna throw up.” You ramble on in attempt to hide your own embarrassment and… ew, is that arousal?

“That so? Tough luck then, honey,” Leon laughs, seeing right through you. “But there’s one way to shut your husband, y’know.” One of his hands toys with the waistband of your yoga pants, tugging on the elastic shamelessly, and that does not help as well.

Your primal instincts are at war with your sense of responsibility. That happens all the fucking time. You swear you won’t give in, that you’ll turn him down and will just continue doing your business leaving him aching for more when in reality you’re the one desperate for more currently. Just a few filthy words, a touch, a kiss—and you’re a putty in his hands already.

“C’mon now… I gotta finish before Danny wakes up.” Your half-assed protests don’t even convince you yourself.

“Exactly, babe. Gotta make you finish before Danny wakes up,” Leon smirks, his eyes sparkling with mischief and arousal. “You know you want it. You always do. You’re even more insatiable than me.” His hand fully dives under the hem of your pants, tracing the seam of your underwear with rough pad of his thumb.

You inhale sharply, heat already pooling in the pit of your belly, the fuck is going on with you today.

“Says who?” You scoff, still so adamant just because.

Leon’s gaze darkens, his finger stilling. You know he gets more and more impatient with every passing second. He might be a goofball but he’s a goofball that makes your knees buckle, after all.

“Says her,” Leon all but growls as he bits on your earlobe and his fingers suddenly make their way under your obviously already damp panties, coating them in arousal already glistening between your pussy lips.

You gasp at the unexpected action, feeling so sensitive and wet down there you’d believe you were a virgin if you hadn’t had three kids sleeping upstairs.

“That’s what I thought,” Leon hums as his pointer finger circles your slick entrance. “She’s gushing, baby. So eager. Knows how good I can make her feel.”

At this point your legs start to feel unsteady. Your cunt clenches around nothing pathetically at his teasing ministrations, begging to be filled. You can feel his hardening length poking your rear and you can’t help but to torture him back by grinding your ass against his clothed crotch. His twitching cock and raspy moan is all the response you need to feel the sense of satisfaction and to plaster a smug smirk on your face.

”Y’sure you wanna be a tease?” Leon’s hand leaves your panties as he suddenly spins you around. Now with you facing him, you’re finally able to meet the gaze of his dilated pupils.

Smoldering and wanting.

Next moment his lips crush down onto yours, him practically licking into your mouth. Leon’s kisses all teeth and tongue, sucking the life out of you. You moan into his mouth, nibbling on his lower lip in revenge and gaining a low groan from him. His hands, as per usual, don’t waste any time—squeezing, groping and kneading any dough of flesh he reaches.

Without breaking the kiss, Leon’s hands settle on your hips, lifting you up and setting you on top of the counter. His kisses grow more desperate, so demanding your lips start to hurt yet you feel some kind of wicked masochistic pleasure in that. Your legs and arms wrap around his waist and neck, pulling him in, closer and closer, until his rock-hard dick presses against your soppy core, twitching relentlessly. You both moan in filthy unison at the friction, his baritone and your higher pitch blending into obscene melody.

Leon’s hand lifts your shirt up in one swift motion and frees your perky tits, cool air irritating your nipples even further. He savors the view for a few second before he latches onto one of the buds, rolling and twisting the another with his thumb and forefinger, tugging on it gently, eliciting more and more wanton moans from you. You bite on your palm in attempt to keep it quiet, but Leon immediately tugs on your wrist as soon as he notices it with his peripheral vision, your nipple still in his mouth.

“The kids…” You start worryingly, your voice so high and breathy it sounds pitiful.

“The kids are sleepin’ upstairs behind their soundproofed walls ‘cause I’ma thoughtful father who wants to wreck their mother’s pussy anytime and anywhere.” Leon bites on your nipple, making you whine and clutch his shoulders. No objections. You’re well aware your whole house is soundproofed because you two were indeed prudent. Yet anytime you heard yourself moan like that, you’d thought your kids will hear and get traumatized, the whole neighbourhood will report your household and a random meteoroid will land right in your living room. Leon never hesitated to remind your overthinking ass that none of that is ever gonna happen.

You’d never admit it but his dirty mouth always makes your cunt drip. Anything about him makes it drip, in fact. But once again, whatthefuckever.

You whimper once more as Leon switches his attention to your another nipple, feeling like you’re about to burst. Zero thoughts visit your head as you rub your crotch against his desperately, the outline of his thick cock only spurring you on because God bless them gray sweatpants.

Letting out another raw groan, Leon’s lips leave your halo with a wet pop; his kisses trailing lower towards your navel, him almost having to squat to reach your lower half.

”Lift your hips,” He orders in a hoarse voice, the one that makes you grow even wetter. You obey, leaning on his broad shoulders and shifting your weight onto your arms so that your bottom raises from the counter. Leon deftly tugs your yoga pants down along with soaked panties, the cold marble of the counter right under your cunt as the discarded clothing pools around your ankles.

Leon pulls you closer to his body, his fingers finding your pussy again, “Gon’ check on her, to see if she’s all nice and ready for me.”

“Always is,” You croak out, feeling his index finger prodding at your entrance. He pushes his digit in until its buried in your cunt to the knuckle and you yelp as your velvety walls tightly grip the intruder in a welcoming manner.

“Think you’re right,” Leon chuckles even though you can hear how his breath shudders. “She missed me, it seems. So goddamn tight, a finger barely fits yet takes my cock so fuckin’ good all the time. Pure magic.”

You absorb all his dirty words while a second rough finger joins, both now scissoring and curling inside you. You mewl at the feeling, your hips urging you to thrust forward because it’s not enough—it’s never enough.

Leon’s lips dance around your abdomen as he pistons his fingers in and out of you, slipping the third in the meantime but you’re too distracted by the feeling of his thumb suddenly finding your engorged clit, peeking out of its hood. He rubs it in tight circles, just enough pressure to make you wail somewhere into his shoulder, spreading your thighs wider as if it could help to increase the stimulation. His chapped lips worship your things and lower stomach, nibbling gently then licking in apology.

“So greedy,” Leon rasps, his thumb flicking over your clitoris accompanied by your curt moans. “Cum on my fingers. Soak ‘em, baby. Like a good fucking girl you are.”

Your things tremble, lips hang open and your clit’s so swollen and sensitive it’s maddening. If you’re gonna cum, you’re probably gonna explode as well.

But you do cum without exploding—all it takes a few more pumps of his fingers to your sloppy cunt and couple of circles firm to your clit. Your orgasm feels like a fucking hurricane Katrina. Your knees surely would buckle and lead you to falling if it wasn’t for you already sitting down.

“Face’s so pretty when you cum.” Leon’s thumbs rub your hipbones soothingly, waiting for you to come down from your high.

“You talk too much for someone who got a patch on his boxers.” You bite back, embarassed, despite still feeling dizzy as you tug on the waistband of his pants, taking a quick peek inside. But it’s true—you can see precum staining his underwear which clings to his cock already, highlighting his girthy shaft.

Leon smirks, “About to fix this problem right now.”

You sit there, perched up on the counter awkwardly as your husband lowers his pants down to his knees, now providing you a delicious view to his hard-on. Cotton of his boxers embraces his cock in the most inappropriate way ever and you feel even more slutty at the realization that you salivate at the sight of cock. Thick, wide and veiny. He didn’t even took his underwear off yet, but you had the image engraved into your mind.

You want to take his shirt off him. Badly. This is just a quickie, you remind yourself. Not exactly suitable time or place for body worshiping.

Leon finally rolls down his boxers and frees his aching length. It plops against his stomach, the head’s swollen and angry red. You bite on your lip, fingers twitching reflexively in want to touch. Like a fucking Pavlov dog.

Leon exhales through his parted lips, pads of his rough fingers fisting his shaft, him pulling off the foreskin as he gives himself a few sloppy pumps. Beads of precum form on the split insistently, and you can’t help but run the tip of your forefinger along his lengthy cock. That makes him groan lowly.

“Wider,” Leon nods to your thighs and you obey instantly, spreading your legs as wide as you can.

His strong arms gently cup the dip of your waist, one then leaving it to grasp his aching dick and to align it with your dripping entrance. He slides it against your slick folds lazily, smearing his precum and your natural lube. You moan drawlingly and rub against his cockhead, your clit growing erected once again.

“So fucking naughty,” Leon comments, his neck tilted to the side and eyes half-lidden. He slaps the head of his dick against your pussy lips a few times, and before you can beg him to just impale you on his cock, he pushes forward.

You moan as he sharply yet gently bottoms out in you, inch by torturous inch. Leon’s definitely bigger than average and taking him in is definitely a challenge but you could swear after all these years your cunt took shape of his cock. Your inner walls squeeze him eagerly, desperate to be full of him.

Leon lets out a growl himself, the inside of your pussy so snug and hot and wet. If he could spend his life buried balls-deep inside of you, he would.

“Don’t think I’ll last long,” Leon grunts as he finally starts moving, holding onto your waist. You wrap your legs around his torso, crossing them at ankles and pulling him in closer and closer, feeling him even deeper that way. Your arms find home around his neck, your fingers playing with the tufts of the hair on the back of it softly.

You both moan as Leon picks up the pace, his thrusts getting more purposeful. Your head rolls back a bit and your hands lower to his back, clutching his shirt and twirling your fingers around the fabric.

Leon’s blue orbs lock with your eyes, and your lips hastily meet, his tongue immediately making its way into wet cavern of your mouth. He swallows all your moans, taking the opportunity to delve into you harder and quicker.

Then he suddenly bends you backwards a little, changing the angle of your coupling slightly. Now the head of his cock kisses your cervix, stretching you even further and making you wail like a bitch in heat. Your cunt clenches desperately, that spongy spot deep inside of you getting pounded and you’re one leg in heaven, seeing stars and whatever is above. Hell would be more accurate probably, because do they even let people with such wanton cries in heaven?

Leon snarls at the sensation of your cunt milking his cock for all its worth. His swift fingers dissapear between your things, pinching your itching nub. You mewl, still pushing your hips forward to meet his thrusts.

“That’s fucking it, baby. Fuck yourself on my cock while I play with that pretty li’l clit of yours.”

He rolls your numb clit with his two fingers. You whimper, and his lips find yours again as he finally rubs it deftly with his thumb.

You feel his cock twitch nestled by the neck of your womb. You squeeze his shoulders tighter, heat building in the pit of your stomach.

Leon’s lips detach from yours, his forehead resting against your forehead. He presses a few messy kisses to the bridge of your nose, his grip on your waist tightening.

”Gonna fill you up so good you’ll be walkin’ around dripping with my cum,” He promises as his cock brushes against your cervix once again.

Nothing rational wakes inside of you. You just mewl in encouragement.

Leon groans barely holding back from busting a nut deep inside of you, “Yeah? You’d like that, getting your cunt stuffed full?”

You moan as his cock’s thrusts match the pace of his ministrations with your clit.

“Yeah please,” You whine stupidly, full body trembling already.

“Wanna see my load dribbling out of you,” He groans into the crook of your neck. “Always so fucking sexy, makes me all hard again.”

You nod chaotically and squint, wanting him to just shut up because if he says one more filthy word you’ll lose it.

“What about fourth?” Leon suddenly asks.

Your eyes snap open, “Huh?”

”Fourth kid, y’know. I know you’ll probably go get plan B after I creampie you, but… Dunno. They grow so fast and…” He breathes heavily, you both on the edge yet now way more conscious than before. “Honestly just want to experience it all again. One last time. But I get it, labor’s hell and I hate seein’ you go through it, and I literally may get killed any moment with this fucking job, just…”

You shush him softly by pressing a finger to his lips.

“Thought you’d never ask. Jason saw Chris’ newborn that last time they came over and asked me how to spell ‘baby sister’ so he can ask Santa for her.” You chuckle shortly, remembering your son’s adorable antics. With having three boys, obviously you secretly wished for a little princess. Just never thought you and Leon were on the same page, especially after him drunk-rambling about him “being a potential corpse during every mission” once.

The way Leon’s eyes light up when you mention makes your heart go pitter-patter. You feel his cock twitch inside you in excitement and your face contorts in pleasure.

”He said that?” You nod and Leon smiles even wider. “Then it’s settled, huh?”

“I guess it is,” You smile back. “Spontaneity leads to great outcomes sometimes.”

Leon hums in affirmation and his lips graze the column of your throat, stubbled chin leaving a prickly sensation in its wake.

”And… It’s your lucky day, then,” You smirk.

”Huh?” Leon raises his head.

”I’m ovulating.” You explain with a giggle.

”That’s goddamn awesome. Puttin’ a baby in you. Right. Fuckin’. Now.” He rasps, last three words accentuated by sharp thrusts and your head lolls back again.

A few pushes of his dick, and you’re already so close that cumming feels like a life-supporting necessity.

“Leon, gonna…” You warn with a whine, scratching his back through his shirt slightly.

He growls, “Milk my cock for cum, yeah? That’s what you gon’ do? Squeeze the load of it and suck it deep so you’re swollen with our baby again?”

At this point you just moan like a broken record without even registering what the fuck he’s even saying.

His dick hits the spot and you see Leon reaching towards your clit, but there’s no even need.

Your cunt clenches around Leon’s length, gripping it tightly as you get crushed by the tidal wave of your finish. It’s so good your legs tremble. You feel Leon’s lips on your jaw through the haze but that feels incredibly distant.

Leon roars at the feeling of your pussy clasping around him. He pistons in and out a few times, sloppily fucking you through your orgasm.

And here it comes.

You feel jets of his hot viscid cum spilling inside, him groaning as he empties his balls deep in your pussy. He pushes inside some more times to make sure his release stays plugged inside of you.

You two stay like this for a few more moments, his face resting on the arch of your collarbone and your hands limp around his upper body.

With a hiss, Leon eventually pulls out. Some droplets of his cum manage to escape your fertile haven, and he doesn’t hesitate to push it back inside with his fingers.

Finally satisfied, he steps back, his now spent cock hanging flaccidly. Leon hastily tucks himself, tugging his boxers and pants back on. You still feel almost intoxicated, so just sit there awkwardly until Leon gets you back in your undies and sweats. You hum gratefully, wrapping yourself around him, all limp and sex-drunk.

Leon chuckles at that, “You sure you wanna keep this whole cake shebang goin’, baby? I mean I think we had quite a creampie, just not the one you originally intended to make.”

You scoff lazily, “Mindblowing sex does not reschedule your son’s birthday.”

“Never said it does, honey. But I think with your pussy serving my cock so well, I owe you big time. You just rest. Go take a shower, lay down, anything.” Leon pats your back and pecks your temple, holding you tight as you almost slip off the counter.

“Are you kidding me? You expect me to leave our kid without his cake?” You object, still snuggling against him.

”You won’t, baby. There’s this new bakery place I got you cheesecake from last week. Think they definitely have somethin’ good and birthday-suitable. I told you, just stop worryin’ your ass and go chill before I fuck your nervousness out of you again.” Leon grins, squeezing your buttcheek softly.

“...Okay,” You finally relent with a sigh. “But I’m baking something for your birthday, deal? It’s just in a month and I swear I’ll find some killa recipe so you’ll get so rapturous you’ll fall in love with me all over again.”

Leon laughs at that, the sound low and velvet. He pulls away a bit, cupping your face and looking you in the eyes.

”I’m pretty much satisfied with the pie we ended up having today, baby. But if you insist… Whatever you make is heaven. Thumbs up. And just so you know… There’s no way to make me more in love with you that I am now. Nobody else’s cunt I’d rather pound into.”

You smile, and so does Leon. He embraces you, warm and tight.

”Also… I think we surely did put a bun in the oven, huh? Quite the bakers, if I do say so myself.” Leon teases and you swat his chest playfully.

”You’re getting the vasectomy the day test shows positive.” You declare. “This time’s for sure.”

Leon laughs, kissing the top of your head lovingly as he rubs your belly, ”Yes ma’am.”

”Now go. The tastiest cake it is you’re getting or I’ll cut your balls off myself.” You shoo him jokingly and he salutes, blowing one last kiss to you.

You finally jump off the counter, heading upstairs to take a much-needed shower.

Baking indeed is a tedious activity.

~ ♡ ~

[dangerousstrawberryshark]

Special Assistance

⚖Pairing(s)⚖→ Andy Barber x male reader ⚠CW⚠→ gay-sex, gay, bottom male reader, top Andy Barber, cockwarming, daddy kink, age difference (the reader is 25 and Andy is 43), breeding, creampie, anal play, anal fingering, bondage (he uses his tie.), anal sex, sort of friends to lovers, and marking (biting and kissing.).  ⚖Rating⚖→ Explicit ⚖Request⚖→ Yes

⚖Word Count⚖→ 3.2k

⚖Summary⚖→ Life was spiraling out of control for Andy. His son got accused of murder and is trying to clear his name while fighting with his wife, which escalated to a divorce. The only thing he can look forward to is seeing his legal assistant. He found solace in your presence, but these feelings transformed into a deeper meaning.

Read before continuing: IF YOU ARE YOUNGER THAN 18 OR ANY OF THE WARNINGS MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, DO NOT CONTINUE READING! 

This fic does not follow the Defending Jacob series and stands on its own! I haven’t watched the show yet, so there might be some mistakes.

“You’re doing good, baby. Warming my cock like a good boy.” Andy purrs as he gives small thrusts into your tight heat. His hands roam your naked body as he licks and bites your nape area. His teeth grazing your skin, grip tightening as he starts thrusting faster into your ass. His heavy breathing brushes against your ear. 

“I’m the luckiest man to have an assistant like you. Taking my cock and finding everything I need. I love you so fucking much,” Andy said as he pulled your head back, smashing his lips against yours. You would return the gesture, but you weren’t listening to the older man's words. Your mind turned into mush from Andy’s cock hitting all the right places, his large and warm hands making contact with your skin, and the bites and kisses he marks on your skin. 

You gasped as Andy’s rough hand wrapped around your weeping cock. His thumb swirls around your cockhead, gathering the translucent precum and lathering your cock with it. The older man grins as he licks your neck, thrusting faster and encouraging you to hump his hand. 

It was euphoric to be in the hands of someone older and more experienced. His gentle touches, mixed with his roughness, were everything you wanted. Andy was loving and had some dominance in him. He was a lawyer, and the stress of the profession and having to find a way to clear his name was stressful. Thankfully, he had you, his young, loving, and submissive boyfriend. Sometimes, you remember the memories and moments that led to the scene you are in now. 

It’s been almost a year since it happened. 

One year ago

You had been friends with Andy for a long time. You first met him when you got your bachelor’s in paralegal studies and ended up as his assistant. The two of you became friends after a while. Something clicked when you met him. Andy didn’t notice, but you certainly did. However, you never engaged because the older man was married and had a kid. It was also unprofessional for an assistant to pin after their boss.

Everything was going great for the most part, although you couldn’t get your feelings to change. If anything, they only worsened as Andy always praised you or gave you a slight touch. His affirmations and physical touch made your cock ache– maybe touch starved - and being lonely best described you. You always craved his touch and the words of affirmation from Andy, who was dominant but loving towards you.  He saw you as a son, mainly due to the age difference. 

Then it happened. You heard the news that Andy’s son, Jacob, was accused of murder and was swiftly arrested, awaiting trial. You watched the older man going into overdrive as he tried to clear his son’s name of the accusation. He had you conduct research, draft the documents, collect the evidence, etc. He was stressed, but it only got worse. 

You didn’t know the full details, but Andy and his wife were getting divorced. You assumed it was because Jacob was accused and the older man worked so much that he neglected his wife. Andy now has to deal with Jacob, and a divorce is the final nail in the coffin. 

The divorce proceeding went swiftly and dividing the assets was quick, but the trial for Jacob’s innocence was still going. Andy turned to you for relief and comfort. You would sometimes wake up at odd hours of the night to loud banging outside. Opening the door, you were often met with a disheveled Andy, his hair and clothing messed up as he wobbled into your living room. He would blabber and cry as he laid on the couch, and being the good friend you were, you comforted and soothed the older man. 

Andy was grateful for your presence and comfort during the hardest time in his life. You even reprimanded him for overworking and drinking too much. You were a rock for him, a foundation on which he could stand. It was during a time like this that the older man began reevaluating his feelings for you. He knew he was bisexual but never had any attraction to you. He only saw it as a platonic relationship.

As time passed, the older man began to notice things he never did about you; little quirks and some physical attributes. He found it cute, sometimes catching himself checking you out. Andy would glance whenever you tripped, getting a good view of your ass. The way your tight dress pants would hug your ass was boner-popping. 

Whenever you would leave for lunch, Andy would sit back and unzip his pants, pulling his aching cock and stroking it, letting his imagination run wild. The older man would imagine you laid out on his desk, naked and heaving, your body covered with his marks and cum, and your eyes filled with want and lust as you beg for him. 

“Fucking hell.” Andy moans as he fucks his hand, imagining it's you beneath him and his hand is your ass. The older man’s groans bounced off the wall, precum oozed from his cockslit; spreading the liquidy substance all over his cock, making it easier to thrust into his hand. He imagines you moaning for him, crying for him to go faster.

“Of course, baby, anything for you.” Andy groans as he fucks his hand faster. His heavy balls slapping against his hands… plap, plap, plap, plap. He imagines you crying from his large cock hitting your bundle of nerves deep inside your ass. The older man licks his lips as he feels his balls tightening, cum rushing to erupt out of the cockslit. 

The older man’s imagination then flashed to him and you kissing as he gave one thrust and bred you. In the real world, Andy gave one thrust into his hand, ropes of pearly cum squirted out, painting his suit and beard with the thick white liquid. He was breathing hard from his most intense orgasm yet. 

Post-nut clarity set in: he had jerked off to his friend, whom he considered to be his son, and nothing else. Andy didn’t feel bad though, something in him was telling him that it was alright. The age difference was notable, he was eighteen years your senior. He should feel ashamed, but he didn’t– he felt thrilled. 

The next few days left Andy confused about his feelings. Everything you did for him, he liked it —no, he loves you! He enjoyed being around you and being in your presence. He loved you and lusted for you! Andy kept telling himself he wouldn’t jerk off to thoughts of you in compromised positions, but that was a lie. 

For every day, for the next few weeks, the older man would jerk his cock to you. He would have multiple orgasms a day, but no more how many times, his cock was still hard. It was like he was a teenager again, discovering the world of gay porn. Nothing worked, he needed the real thing, he needed you. 

A week later

It was another hang-out, like always, with Andy coming over for dinner and chilling while watching movies or doing random stuff in your room. You didn’t know what led to this moment, but you were pinned down on your bed by the older man, his calloused hands holding yours down. You could feel Andy’s scruffy beard grinding against yours as his lips pressed against yours. 

Andy’s body was grinding against yours. You could feel his large cock straining in his pants. “You taste delicious,” the older man says as he lets out a breathy groan before diving back into your mouth. His tongue pushes past your teeth and invades your oral cavity. It was easy for Andy to establish his dominance over you. 

It was hot. The sensation of Andy’s cock grinding against yours, the heated kiss, and the heavy breathing was making your cock painfully erect and throbbing. The older man pulled back and looked at you– it was everything he imagined. Your body is disheveled: your hair is messed up and tangled, your lips are swollen with drool coating around them, and your soft pants as you try to calm down. The sight served to make Andy’s cock harder. 

Without wasting any time, Andy began stripping. He hastily took off his clothes, fumbling with his zipper before his glorious body was fully exposed to you. Without fear of receiving backlash, you admired and gazed upon the older man’s body. Your delusional dreams before Andy’s divorce weren’t so delusional after all. 

Andy’s body was huge. The older man grinds as you admire his body. He started to flex his muscles, showing his large biceps. He had chiseled abs that looked sculpted by God himself, you just wanted to trace your tongue against them. His pectorals looked big too, most likely hard but soft to touch and grope. He’s also very hairy, especially around his pecs and abdomen area– a happy trail leading down to his crotch and pubic region.

Speaking of the crotch region, Andy’s cock was perfect: size, thickness, and eavy hanging balls, swollen with so much cum. You could tell that he likes keeping his groin groomed and not too hairy– just how you like it. 

“Come on, darling. Don’t leave me hanging.” Andy says as he pulls you closer to him. His hands roam your body as he removes your clothing until your naked divine body is revealed to him. The older man drinks in your appearance– magnificent and perfect. He doesn’t know why he was blind to you before, but it's better that he realized now than never. 

He held you closer to him, worshipping your body with his mouth and hands. One of his legs pushed between your legs as he laid you down on the bed. You gasp softly as Andy’s hands squeeze your hips and knead the flesh of your ass. His mouth sucks and bites around your neck, making sure he leaves his mark on your body. You start humping his thick thigh, grinding your throbbing cock and smearing precum all over Andy’s thigh. 

“Can I do this?” Andy says, pulling himself off of you and gesturing to his tie. You knew what the older man was thinking and agreed on the spot. Andy uses the tie and wraps it around your wrists, putting you in bondage. He tightens it but makes sure it wasn’t tight enough to hurt you. The fantasies the older man had about you were coming true. 

“There’s lube on the nightstand,” you said, moving your head in the direction. Andy nods and reaches out for it. He grabs the bottle and pops it open, squirting a generous amount of the substance on his fingers. One hand gripping your tied wrists while the other one went down to your ass. 

You start breathing heavily as you feel Andy’s thick fingers circling the rim of your hole. Biting your lips as this was the first time you’ve had sex. “I need you to calm down, baby boy. Breathe.” Andy says as he kisses your knee. Your body started to relax, allowing Andy to slowly push his thick fingers in. 

Air was kicked out of your lungs as you felt the older man’s thick digits push deeper into your tight heat. Your moans got louder with each time Andy thrust his fingers deeper. Arching your back as you felt yourself riding his thick digits.  Following what you were doing, Andy began thrusting them faster– each time you pushed down, Andy pushed up. 

Suddenly, one particular thrust caused you to ascend to a higher plane. You scream in pleasure and Andy correctly assumes that that must be your prostate. The older man began making sure to hit that same spot, memorizing it. You feel your cock was about to erupt, Andy was gonna give you an anal orgasm. However, the older man didn’t want that. He wanted you to cum from and on his dick. 

Andy pulled his fingers out and replaced them with his large cock. He slowly sinks in, groaning and biting his lips as his cock is swallowed by your tight and warm hole. The older man pushed until he was completely inside, his heavy balls pressing against your ass. This was better than any pussy Andy had had. It was tight but not tight enough to where it felt like his dick was being suffocated. He always wanted to try anal but his wife declined.  He never pushed the topic and just buried the thought of anal sex. 

Whatever level of ascension Andy set with his fingers paled in comparison to his cock. You were higher than ever before; on a different plane of existence. Your ass was filled to the brim with the older man’s cock. You could feel every vein and crevice of Andy’s cock. It felt like the puzzle piece you’ve been looking for all your life was found and connected with yours. Your moans could be heard throughout the apartment building, you are most likely gonna receive noise complaints tomorrow. 

Andy gave you time to adjust to his size. It felt like he was going to burst instantly. Your ass tightened around him with a vice grip. His breathing got heavier as he didn’t want to cum just yet and leave you unsatisfied. After a few minutes, you permit Andy to move. 

“J-Jesus Christ… fucking hell… you feel so good baby.” Andy moans as his hands grip your hips. He began giving slow thrusts, sliding his cock in and out your tight ass softly, his thickness stretching you perfectly and his cockhead teasing your prostate. Your cock was weeping, oozing precum over your abdomen as it twitched back to life. 

His thrust got faster as Andy felt himself being consumed by the pleasure. “My God… Oh fuck yes.” Andy’s eyes roll back as he slows down, giving slow but powerful thrusts. His grip tightens as he feels your hole becoming tighter around him and it feels like his cock is melting. Your hands grip the sheets during a short pause before your bundle of nerves are hit again but Andy’s cockhead. 

“Daddy!” you scream before covering your mouth and realizing what you said. You thought Andy would be turned off as he stopped midway. Your face was flustered as you tried to explain that it was mistaken, but the air was punched out as Andy started thrusting fast. “Call me daddy again, baby boy. Call me daddy.” Andy moans as he lost himself and fucks you like a wild beast. Ramming his cock deeper into your depths and abusing your prostate. You could feel your body becoming overstimulated.

“D-daddy! F-feels so good~ making me feel so good~” You cry as your back arches. You start to push back, meeting Andy’s thrusts. The older man’s groans grow louder, “I know, baby. You love daddy how is fucking this tight ass? This?” Andy said before slapping your thigh, grinning as he watches the flesh jiggle from the impact. “This ass belongs to me.”

You could hear the sounds of Andy’s heavy balls slapping against your ass, your groans and moans mixing with his to become a symphony of gay sex. Your cock was bobbing and slapping against your abdomen. “Yeah, you like that? You love daddy’s cock don’t you?” the older man growls as he leans down and starts sucking your neck, leaving marks to show that you belonged to him. 

“I love your cock, daddy~ So perfect! It fills me perfectly~” you cry as you wrap your arms around Andy, pulling the older man closer to you. Andy became deaf to everything, only hearing your moans and cries for him– calling him daddy as he fucks your ass, but more soppily. His cock was throbbing inside and balls were tightening as he was ready to bust his load. 

“I’m gonna cum, baby. Want me to cum inside this ass? Breed you till my cum oozes out this hole.” Andy growls as he bites and nimbles your neck softly. “Y-yes! Yes, p-please… oh god… inside! B-breed me, breed me, breed me!” You cried desperately, your hole tightening to milk Andy’s large cock of its cum, your fingers digging into the older man’s back. You move one of your hands from your side to jerk your weeping cock, wanting to cum with the older man. 

“Almost there baby… cum!” Andy growls as he sinks his teeth into your skin, digging them as he wants to leave a permanent mark. He gave one last thrust before a wave of cum floods your hole. Your velvet walls were painted white as the older man kept filling you with his thick cum. Your cock spurts its load after the feeling of being bred and marked was the breaking point. Your chest was painted with your thick pearly substance. 

You could feel Andy’s larger body collapsing on top of yours. It was quiet besides the heavy panting and breathing. You both bask in each other's presence. Andy slowly pulls out, a loud plop sound echoing with cum gushing out your gaping hole. You whimper at the feeling of being empty and hug the older man tighter. A moment of silence falls over the room before you speak.

“I love you, Andy– daddy~” you say, saying daddy in a teasing tone. Andy laughs before returning the same gesture. “I love you too, baby.”  

Ever since that day, you and Andy have been in a relationship. About 7 months into the relationship, the older man asked if you wanted to move in with him, and you gleefully accepted. He did have rules for you; you were to be naked at all times, only dressed whenever guests arrived. Andy wanted to have full access to you. He also wanted you to cockwarm him while he worked and did your research. For a man his age, Andy was certainly horny, fucking in every corner of his house. 

You didn’t mind at all, as long as you got to be with him. 

THE END

A/n: hello, my strawberries! I hope you enjoy this fic! Took me a while due to procrastination. Also had to watch a porn video of a guy humping a pillow and moaning… the things fanfiction writers look up and watch.  TAGLIST: @hiddens-eden @spnfanboy777 @buckyshusband0 @zamfam4272 @raspberryyuuki @maxxioislost @furiousflowercreation @ghostking4m @sluttyhusband @wolf-knights @your-cow-boy @mack-thedork @starboye @boypied @geminiflanagan69 Very special thanks to my proofreader; @sagethegaywitch Join my taglist!

[the-rodgulhaj]

fun shark fact(s)

2069 years ago today, Julius Caesar was assassinated in a coup planned by i think like 120 people (but i forget the exact number)

there was a senate meeting planned for today but because how much the senate vehemently hated Caesar they planned to assassinate him instead

about 60 people actually took part in the coup and only 23 actually stabbed him, only one of the stab wounds was thought to be actually fatal (cause it hit an artery)

they found out that last part because he was one of the first autopsies performed in Rome! before that autopsies were like illegal because they were considered highly disrespectful to the body

his last words were almost definitely not “et tu Brute” (and you, Brutus?), that was coined by Shakespeare but fits well because his apprentice/adopted son Brutus was one of the people to stab him

and other take on his last words (my favorite) is “καὶ σύ, τέκνον” (and you, my child) this was coined by this guy Suetonius who lived around Caesar’s time and would have made a lot of sense for Caesar as the dramatic little bastard he was

so καὶ σύ, τέκνον isn’t Latin like Caesar would have spoken on the daily, it’s Greek which was considered to be the language of drama used in tragedies and dramas of that age, this one is also directed at Brutus

the third take (that is words) on what Caesar said when being stabbed is “ista quidem vis est” (why is this violence) and is kinda boring because “hey dude why are you stabbing me? not chill” are dumb last words imo

the fourth and most likely take on Caesars last words is “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA” because that’s generally how people react to being stabbed i think

the Ides of March is my favorite holiday and im so normal about ancient rome