#with every death comes a worry that you didn’t do enough

[potatoplace]

A Match Into Water

Feysand x Vanserra!Reader

Poly!ACOTAR x Reader Masterlist | Request

Summary: You fall ill, slowly, until it takes over your life. Your mates watch helplessly as you're torn from them too soon.

Warnings: chronic illness leading to death, seizures, fainting rapid weight loss, let me know if I missed something

Words: ~5.2k

Author's Note: So this is for the lovely 🪐 anon, inspired by the song 'A Match Into Water' by Pierce the Veil - I hope I got the vibes right for it, I went with mega angst 🙏 let me know how you guys like it! I didn't start crying til the end, but uh... yeah this one was tough for me to even write, it just feels very heavy. So read with caution. It's up on AO3 too! 🫶

18+ only pls

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

It began with a cough.

Not often enough to cause any concern. Not even every day.

And when it did become every day, you had gone to see Madja, who told you to drink plenty of fluids and gave you a special tea to help soothe your throat, which had grown increasingly scratchy.

Of course, you’d done your best to hide it from Rhys and Feyre at first. They were always so busy and stressed as High Lord and Lady of the Night Court, and you didn’t want to burden them further.

But when you had fainted during Starfall, tumbling off the edge of the House of Wind?

Rhys had caught you, thankfully, and you awoke to the sight of his violet eyes filled with worry. When you turned your head to the right, you saw Feyre, her blue eyes sparkling with tears, some of them already pouring down her cheeks.

“Are you okay, baby?” she asked you, one of her hands cupping your cheek softly.

Your head hurt and you were exhausted, but other than that you felt fine.

You didn’t have to open your mouth, Feyre already curled against the inside of your mind just how you liked. “Good, good. Madja’s run all the tests, but she wasn’t able to conclude what made you faint.”

“And, Madja told us that you’ve had a cough for a few weeks?” Rhys questioned, though you knew he was asking why you hadn’t told them.

With the little energy you had, you pulled him into your mind, showing him how worried you’d been for him and Feyre, how overworked they’d been the past few months, and how you only wanted to save them any worry for you, over something as silly as a cough.

Darling, he whispered into your mind, his midnight voice filling your head and washing away the ache that had been building. A cough isn’t silly, when it lasts for weeks. We want to make sure you are healthy, above all else.

You’re our mate, Y/N, a very important piece of our whole, Feyre cooed, climbing into the cot you were on and cradling you in her arms. We wouldn’t know what to do without you. So please, if you keep having problems, let us know?

You hummed in agreement, nuzzling into Feyre’s chest. I will.

Rhys’s head came to rest on your chest, listening to your heartbeat closely, but shot up a moment later when the door swung open.

Madja stepped in, clipboard in hand. “Ah, Y/N, it’s good to see that you’re awake,” she said as she stepped towards your cot, standing at the end of it. “Now, I wasn’t able to find the cause of your fainting tonight with any of my tests. I was wondering if you had any abnormal symptoms before you did? Anything like shortness of breath, lightheadedness, chest pains?”

You bit your lip, your eyes darting between Rhys and Feyre. “Uhm… I started feeling lightheaded when we arrived at the House of Wind, I think?” you said quietly. “And just before I went out my chest started hurting pretty badly so I went to the balcony for some fresh air…”

Rhys inhaled sharply at the news, and you turned to look at him. “You fell from the House, darling.”

Oh.

“Hm. If it happens again, make sure to sit down immediately, and try having something to eat or drink. And I’ll have you come in once a week-”

“Twice a week,” Feyre interrupted as she stroked your hair.

“Very well, twice a week until you’ve had no incidents for three months. I also want you to take more baths, they should help with the coughing you’ve been experiencing, in addition to the tea I gave you,” Madja said, writing out the instructions for you care and passing the paper to Rhys. “If you feel able to have your mates winnow you or carry you home, I think it would be a good idea for you to have a long soak in warm water, followed by plenty of sleep.”

Do you feel ready? Feyre asked softly. You nodded against her, and a moment later you were pulled into her arms and whisked through the fabric of the world, landing next to the bathing pool in Feyre’s old room in the Moonstone Palace. Rhys appeared just after, tugging you and Feyre into his arms. He pressed a kiss to your head, then to Feyre’s before letting his arms fall.

Let’s get you into the bath, love, Rhys whispered, a soft caress in your mind.

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

Just like your cough, the fainting only happened every so often.

Until it began happening weekly. And then daily.

Feyre had stopped most of her duties as High Lady, passing all those that didn’t require her directly off to Mor, who was more than happy to help, given the circumstances.

Rhys set foot in Illyria and the Hewn City maybe once a month, with Cassian taking charge of wrangling the war camps and Azriel overseeing Keir’s rule.

They much preferred staying with you whenever possible, taking you on short walks on the edge of the Sidra or snuggling on the couch, reading the latest novels Nesta had recommended together.

That was all you seemed to be able to do these days, if you wanted to stay conscious.

Currently you were sitting on a cot that had become so familiar to you, it was practically your second bed. Madja was standing before you, her hands hovering in front of you as she used her magic to scan your body.

She sighed and lowered her hands, writing something down in your chart. “I’m sorry, dear, but I still can’t find anything that could be causing these symptoms,” Madja said softly, giving your hand a squeeze when your eyes filled with tears.

“Do you… Could the Dawn Court possibly have answers?” you asked, rubbing your forehead to try to help with the pounding headache that had been building the past hour.

“I could ask some of my contacts there, they might have more experience with what’s happening to you,” Madja sighed, and you could tell she wasn’t hopeful. “It’s worth a try. Now… Have you reconsidered telling your family? I’m sure they would care to know, your mother and eldest brother at least.”

You shook your head. “I don’t want to burden him, he’s just taking charge of the court now that father’s been eliminated,” you sighed. “I’d like to wait until I’m better.” You stood slowly from the cot under Madja’s disapproving eye, though she didn’t fight you on your decision to keep the news limited to the Velaris, following Madja to the door. It swung open, revealing Azriel, waiting to take you back to the River House.

If you couldn’t go to your appointments with Rhys or Feyre, you preferred going with Azriel. Cassian always had tears in his eyes, and Mor was overly cheerful, to the point your head ached from the positivity. Azriel was a perfect, neutral party. You knew he was worried for you, yes, but he never had misty eyes or tried to cheer you up, instead giving you the space to process whatever Madja had told you that day, usually the same news that she’d found nothing that would tell her what’s causing your health problems.

Today was no different. He let you walk through the clinic and out the door before stooping to lift you into his arms, taking off into the sky a moment later.

Our little secret, he had called it after one particularly bad appointment. You’d barely been able to walk that week, and had been so depressed at your situation. All you had wanted to do was go for a short flight, but Rhys and Feyre refused, worried that it might cause you to faint or have some other problem pop up. But Azriel had taken you to your appointment that day, and after had taken you into his arms, slowly ascending into the sky.

You’d cried in his arms, the freeing feeling of the wind in your hair washing away most of your worries, at least until you touched back down, just outside the River House.

Today, you looped your arms around his shoulders and looked around, gazing with lovesick eyes at the city you cared for so deeply.

The city you’d barely been able to be in, with your condition.

Your eyes traced the path of the Sidra, marked each building that you used to regularly visit, where your friends live.

Until the right side of your body started tingling suddenly, the pain in your head kicking up a notch-

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

“We told you, NO. FLYING. How simple of an ask was that, Azriel?!” Rhys shouted in the distance, loud enough to break through the fuzziness in your ears. “Do you realize that you could have killed her?!”

A voice murmured something softly, and you tried opening your eyes to see what was happening.

But they were so heavy, and you were so tired.

You listened to Rhys yelling for a while longer, drifting in and out of consciousness until you felt a soft hand grip yours.

“Would the two of you shut up?!” Feyre asked angrily, her voice clear and close. “Y/N can hear you.”

An instant later, your other hand was held in between two large, warm ones, and you knew instantly that it was Rhys. Two hands gently grasped your feet, through a blanket.

It took you a few more minutes to muster the energy to open your eyes, blinking wearily up at Rhys and Feyre’s worried faces.

You hated that it was becoming a familiar sight.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Feyre said thickly, tears shining in her eyes as she stroked your hair. “How are you feeling?”

You inhaled slowly, thinking. My mouth is dry, you pushed down the bond, your tongue like cotton in your mouth. Feyre beamed at you, lifting your head gently while Rhys grabbed a glass sitting on the table next to your cot, carefully pouring cool, soothing water down your throat. You finished most of it before you had them pull it back, feeling a bit more awake now.

What happened?

Rhys inhaled sharply, shooting a glare towards your feet. Standing there was Azriel, looking guilty and… scared.

“You seized in Azriel’s arms, mid-flight,” Feyre answered. “He brought you back to Madja’s immediately, but you’ve been out for an hour.”

It’s not Azriel’s fault, you whispered to her. I insist on us flying home, my puppy dog eyes are too good.

Feyre smiled at you, a sad thing. I know, love. Rhys will realize that in a bit too, and apologize.

You gave Azriel a soft smile, hopefully conveying that you in no way blamed him for what happened.

But you knew he would still blame himself.

Madja walked into your room, famous clipboard in hand and an assistant healer by her side. “Y/N, I’m going to be keeping you overnight for observation, just to be sure you won’t seize again without immediate care. Rhys, Feyre, you can stay if you’d li-”

“Yes,” your mates answered in unison, and Madja smiled at them.

“I thought that would be the case. Now, we can get you moved into one of our overnight rooms, the beds in there should be big enough to fit the three of you, but most certainly two of you,” Madja explained. “Now, Norelle will be doing most of your care overnight, but I will still be in the building, available at any moment if you need me. Right now, we still don’t know much about you condition, so tell her if anything changes or gets worse, okay?” she asked, expectant eyes on you.

“Okay,” you agreed, not missing the way your mates also nodded their agreement to her.

“Good. Now, let’s get you into that other room, it should be far more comfortable,” Madja said with a smile.

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You’d been discharged the next morning, with Madja repeating her instructions to sit down and have something to drink if you start feeling off, as well as having one of your mates call for her or Norelle’s assistance.

Only three days later, you had another seizure, hitting you while you were walking in the backyard with Feyre.

You were kept overnight again, and released in the morning, still with no answers as to why your body seemed to be slowly falling apart.

Five days later, you seized again, this time hitting your head on the living room coffee table when no one was in the River House.

You woke to a familiar face hovering above you, glowing hands tracing over your body. “Y/N, it’s nice to see you,” Thesan said softly. “How are you feeling?”

Your head ached terribly, much like it did before each seizure you’d had, and your entire body was sore.

Feyre relayed the information for you while Rhys carefully gave you small sips of water, his eyes completely devoid of stars.

“Hm,” Thesan hummed. “My magic can’t find anything wrong with you. Madja said that this all started with a cough, correct?” You nodded slightly. “And you began fainting at Starfall, preceded by lightheadedness and chest pains?” Another nod. “Those grew in frequency until you began seizing, yes?”

“Yes. Is there… Do you know what might be wrong with me?” you asked hoarsely.

“I’m not entirely sure, but I’ve seen a case similar to yours before,” Thesan answered, somewhat hesitantly.

“And?” Rhys asked shortly, his eyes finally ripping away from you.

“She… It was a difficult road for her, before she passed.”

Feyre sobbed beside you, and you managed to turn your head to look at her, ignoring the stabbing pain in your head as you did so.

Hey, it’s going to be okay, you whispered into her mind. It’s going to be okay.

Her eyes locked onto yours, the anguish in them bringing tears to your own. I know, baby, I’m just scared for you.

Don’t be, we’ve got the second best High Lord helping me now, you told her with a tiny smile.

Feyre chuckled wetly before turning to Thesan. “So, where do we go from here?”

“I’d suggest transfusions of my blood once every other week, and one of yours on opposite weeks,” Thesan explained, and you made a face. Ew. “That should help heal your body from whatever is happening to it, as well as plenty of rest. And since I’m here now, we can start your first transfusion today."

You nodded, ready to get it over with, and hopefully you would start feeling normal again soon.

Maybe you’d even be able to go shopping in the Palaces again, without being carried by one of your mates the entire time.

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A week later, and you’d had no seizures, and only two fainting spells.

Which was perfect, because your brother’s first ball as High Lord of Autumn was tonight, and you desperately wanted to attend.

“Please?” you begged Feyre as you pulled a gown made in autumn colored silks from the closet. “I really want to see Eris be crowned, Fey.”

Feyre sighed beside you as she tried to avoid your eyes, failing miserably. “Fine, but only because you’re so damn cute,” she cooed as she pinched your cheek, pulling you in for a sweet kiss a moment later. “But once we get back, it’s bedrest tomorrow, alright?”

You scrunched your nose, but nodded anyways.

Twenty minutes later, you and Feyre were dressed and ready to leave, meeting Rhys in the living room. He looked mildly upset that you were dressed for the ball, but a moment later he smiled softly at you, likely after Feyre had told him your reasoning. “Are we ready, sweet mates of mine?”

You both nodded before Feyre and Rhys sandwiched you between them, winnowing to the Autumn Court in the next moment and landing in the entrance hall of the Forest House.

Your head went fuzzy for a moment before clearing, and you ignored the worried looks your mate shot you as Eris approached.

“Eri!” you squealed as you flung yourself into his arms, relishing in the way he squeezed you tightly. Before, hugs like these were saved for behind closed doors, one less piece of information for people to use against him. “Being High Lord really suits you, you look amazing!”

“You look lovely as well, sweetheart,” Eris replied, though you could see the worry in his eyes.

You’d lost the smallest amount of weight, you supposed, but it must have been noticeable to him…

“Dinner is just about to start, but once that’s done, I’d like to steal you away from your mates for a dance," Eris said as he led you into the grand hall, the table already set for dinner service, roasts and all.

Dinner was lovely, even with some of the tensions shared between the seven High Lords and their Ladies - or High Ladies, in the Night Court and Winter Court’s cases.

You felt fine all throughout it, and felt well enough to dance once with your brother, after he was crowned with the gold leaf crown of the High Lord of Autumn, adorned with glittering rubies, diamonds, and emeralds.

But halfway through the dance, a dull pain shot up at the base of your skull before spreading further, your body tingling, and you were just able to contact Feyre before all went dark.

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“And when were you going to inform me?!” your brother asked furiously. “She is my sister, I deserve to know if she’s seizing every other day!”

A soft sigh came from your right, a hand gently squeezing yours.

More yelling, but you didn’t care to listen to it, instead shrinking into your mind, where Feyre was curled around you entirely, the inky night cocooning you so nicely.

You’d stay here forever, if you could.

Another hand clenched around your left one, so familiar that you knew it could only be your mother’s.

You drifted off again, coming out of your mind to the sound of more yelling. Your eyes cracked open, moving to the right to meet Feyre’s. Make them be quiet, please, you asked, the pounding in your head only worsened by the fighting.

She nodded, and mere seconds later the arguing ceased, Rhys and Eris making their way to your bed in your old quarters of the Forest House.

“Darling, it’s good to see you awake,” Rhys said quietly.

“Y/N, why didn’t you want me to know you’ve not been doing well?” Eris asked, his amber eyes locking to yours.

Because you would’ve dropped everything to see me, and you needed to secure the court, you told Feyre, and she passed the words on to Eris.

He sighed, but didn’t fight the truth of your words. “Still, I expect to know every detail of your care from now on, and for the two of you to contact me if anything even more serious occurs,” Eris demanded, eyeing Rhys and Feyre carefully.

Rhys nodded, and you knew that he’d keep his word.

“Now, I’m going to have the three of you stay the night until you feel well enough to travel, alright Y/N?” Eris asked, though you knew it was more of a demand than anything. You nodded. “Good. Sleep well, and I’ll see you in the morning. Mother should be back in no more than an hour, she’s off grabbing some tea for you, she insisted on being the one to make it for you,” Eris said, his eyes softening.

“Night, Eri,” you said quietly, watching him leave your old room before looking at your mates. “So… Bedrest?” you asked sheepishly before yawning wide.

“Bedrest,” Feyre confirmed, tears in her eyes.

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

The transfusions helped, in a way. You were seizing less, but your appetite had vanished entirely for the first few days following them, no matter how you tried to stop it. You began losing weight rapidly, even as you were feeling slightly better from the healing properties of both Feyre and Thesan’s blood.

But the reprieve it brought you dwindled quickly as your health worsened once more, only two months into the new course of treatment.

Nothing could save you, it seemed.

You tried to keep your darker thoughts from Rhys and Feyre, but you were so exhausted most times that you existed within their minds, leaving your tired, sore body behind for most of the day. So they heard the loss of hope happening within you as you stayed bed-bound for over a week straight, seizing too often to even leave your room now.

Eris had begun visiting at least once a week since your incident in the Autumn Court three months ago, and had been coming close to twice a week for the past three weeks. Your mother joined him most times, but today had stayed home.

“…Going to try that, okay?”

You blinked yourself back to awareness, eyes focusing on Eris’s. “What?”

He smiled patiently at you. “We’re going to try something different today. Thesan believes that you have a blood condition, and that my magic may be able to burn it away,” he explained.

“Okay,” you said, too tired to try and understand his words. All you really wanted was to be in your bed at the River House, snuggled on both sides by your mates.

Instead, you’d been stuck in this room, an overnight clinic room of Madja’s that had been set aside exclusively for you, almost all of your things having migrated here, with how often you had to be here.

Rhys squeezed your hand lightly, afraid to bruise your now-delicate skin. “We’ll be right here, darling,” he said softly, and you could hear how he was fighting tears.

You must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew, blinding pain shot through your body, heat burning you from the inside. A scream ripped from your throat and the pain stopped, but your nerve endings were on fire, every inch of your body feeling like a gaping wound as your clothes, the bedding, air touched it.

“What the fuck did you do to her?!” a voice roared from beside you, amplifying the pain in your head until you went unconscious, darkness overtaking you.

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Mount Ramiel quaked beneath him as he slammed his fists into the ground, roaring into the air with a sound of pure pain and rage.

Pain, because his mate was dying, in pain every waking second of every day.

Rage, because the Mother had seen this fate fit for his mate, one of three pieces to a whole, who he could not imagine living, breathing, without.

The creature within him burst through his skin, night exploding around him and covering the mountaintop as he raged, waiting to calm enough to return to her side.

To watch her wither away, losing weight, losing consciousness, losing life.

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

Feyre sat at your bedside, quietly speaking to Thesan about any possible treatment routes that they hadn’t gone down.

Obviously, the thought that burning your blood with Eris’s healing fire was a misguided one, one that had sent you into a days long coma, still sleeping beside her. At peace, for once.

“I’m sorry, Feyre, but… I think it’s time to consider her quality of life, how much the treatments have affected her,” Thesan said carefully, watching as Feyre’s eyes sparked with rage, before calming into the numbed acceptance she had been displaying for weeks now.

“What would…” she sniffled, rubbing a few tears from her eyes. “What would you suggest, if we… If she wants to stop treatment? To make her… More comfortable?” Feyre hiccupped, grabbing your hand tighter.

Thesan sighed heavily. “We could give her medicine for the pain, but aside from that… I think the presence of her mates, her family, her friends would be the most helpful.”

Tears tracked down Feyre’s cheeks, and she nodded.

She could make that happen.

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

You woke to the sound of quiet chatter around you, your eyelids leaden curtains that refused to part.

Hello, love, Feyre cooed into the expanse of your mind, sinking down next to you on the bed. Can you hear anyone besides me?

Yeah, you replied softly, curling into her presence.

Good, people wanted to talk to you. It’s alright if you can’t answer, they just wanted to let you know that they’re here, alright?

You hummed into your mind, the corners of your lips tilting up when Rhys joined her in cuddling you, physically and in your mind. You let yourself sink into the midnight darkness of them, let them hold you safely as your friends and family spoke to you.

“Y/N, it’s nice to see you,” Eris said thickly, and you felt him grasp your shin. “I can’t stop thinking about when you were ten, and you walked around declaring yourself as the High Lord’s heir apparent to all of our brother’s, me included. I’m glad I followed you, or Doran would have thrown you against a wall for it,” he chuckled. “And Lucien-”

“I made you a crown of leaves from outside, and the three of us had a ceremony in the woods, crowning you High Lady of Autumn,” Lucien finished. “It’s one of my fondest memories at Forest House, along with you covering for my dates with Jesminda. It took you an awful long time to learn how to read spellbooks.”

You giggled in your head, thinking of how happy he’d been, winnowing back into your room after seeing his first great love.

“Well I love how you were always ready to go shopping with me, even if you didn’t need anything yourself. We would chat for hours and have lunch and…” Mor sighed. “I loved having that time with you, Y/N.”

“You’re an amazing cook, probably the best I’ve ever met,” Cassian said, earning a few chuckles and a light slap, probably from Nesta. “And I’ve always thought of you as a sister of my own.”

“Y/N, you know that I love how you can beat me in chess, and we both have the same perfect taste in teas. You’re the one that I confide in, and you feel like a sister to me, as well,” Azriel said softly.

“I loved getting to work with you in the kitchen, Y/N, it was so amazing to learn from someone who knows so much. You’re also so kind, and you treated me so warmly from the moment we met,” Elain said with tears choking her throat, and you heard her turn and begin to cry, muffled, likely by Lucien’s shoulder.

“Maybe I didn’t trust you with my sister at first, but you have the exact same taste in novels as I do, and that… May sound silly, but it made me realize that you loved my sister and her mate, even without the bond. And I’ll always love you for loving her,” Nesta choked out, the most emotional you’d ever heard her in the fifty years you’d known her.

“My… My darling daughter,” your mother sniffled. “You have always been there, by my side. You kept my hopes alive Under the Mountain, and seeing you love so freely has brought me so much joy.”

The pain in your head kicked up when you tried to open your eyes to look at her, to see her once more. Suddenly every noise worsened it, before a wave of night washed down your spine and deadened your senses, and you heard almost everyone shuffle out of the room.

Mates stayed, though. Your Feyre, and your Rhys stayed behind, holding you close before sinking into your mind once more. They held you there, the sound of their heartbeats lulling you to sleep as they sent you images of Velaris, as if the three of you were flying again.

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

Soft music floated through your mind as you came to, your eyes opening slowly to the sight of your room in the River House, and a careful, slow glance to the left and right let you know that your mates were laying beside you, their arms and legs tangled around you.

Hello, darling, Rhys purred into your mind as he nuzzled your cheek.

Good morning, love, Feyre whispered, planting a kiss on your forehead softly. Are you hungry? Thirsty?

Thirsty, you groaned, letting her and Rhys adjust you and pour water down your throat, easing the aching dryness that had taken root there.

It never seemed to leave you for long, always coming back to make you cough, to make you lightheaded, to make you fall unconscious.

I love you, Feyre cooed when they settled you back against the pillows, letting her lips meet yours gently.

I love you too, Fey-ruh, you said after a moment, your brain working slowly to pull the words together.

And you know I love you too, Y/N, Rhys said before pressing his lips to yours next, softer than ever before, like you would break at the slightest pressure.

Your lips pulled up at the corners, your eyes meeting his blank, teary violet ones. And I love you, Rhysie. You breathed heavily before putting another sentence together. Don’t either of you ever forget it.

Hey, now, Rhys said softly. Don’t be talking like that, love.

You felt Feyre shaking beside you, her grip around you tightening. It’s going to happen. Just… Don’t forget me. But don’t… You coughed, your entire body going rigid until your lungs calmed. Don’t forget each other, you pleaded with them, looking between them slowly, seeing the tears in their eyes. Promise me, you demanded. Please.

You might be leaving your mates, but you would be damned if they left each other to join you, lost each other after losing you.

Okay, we promise. I promise, Rhys assured you, stroking your hair.

I promise, we won’t forget us, but most importantly, we will never forget you, Feyre said, tears streaming freely onto the pillows now.

You breathed out a sigh of relief. Good. I love you, you said tiredly, relaxing as much as you could into your mates’ hold.

You hardly noticed as you went unconscious, the feeling slipping over you with the next push of your lungs.

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“This is it,” Madja said from the foot of the bed.

Your chest barely moved now, each breath growing shallower and shallower. You hadn’t woken in five days, the only liquids your body was receiving being from ice cubes, lifted to your lips to wet them.

Your frail, near lifeless body lay before them, and they could hardly breathe.

The sight of you withering away, the life in your eyes slowly dulling had been difficult, but nothing had prepared them for this.

Your death.

Rhys and Feyre crawled into the bed next to you, and pulled you against their chests, tears freely falling onto your skin, your hair, your nightgown.

They felt as your breath slowed further, your heartbeats growing fewer and fewer as your body finally gave out to the disease that had sapped your life from you in half a year.

When your last breath left you, when the golden thread that tied the three of you together shredded, severed, shattered inside of them…

Night erupted, covering the land in darkness, their anguished cries echoing throughout the Night Court as their mate lay in their arms, dead.

🤍🩵💔💜🤍

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria @meritxellao @twismare @wrenisrad @icey--stars

[polkadotzzzz]

forbidden fruit always tastes the sweetest!

synopsis: in a world of obligation and secrets, a woman’s heart is torn between a forced marriage and a love that can never be. her journey unfolds in heartbreak, desire, and unspoken grief.

a/n: gosh this took me so long,,,,i personally adore this work, it's tragic and angsty and hits all the right spots. it highlights the border between right and wrong. a forbidden love, meant to break you.

18+, mdni, secret relationships, mentions of childbirth, character death, loss, societal differences, brief intercourse scene between man and woman, homophobia, non- consensual intercourse, angst.

the scent of oil paints clung to your skin like a second soul.

even after scrubbing your hands raw, the rich stains of ultramarine and burnt umber lingered in the creases of your knuckles, like secrets you couldn’t wash away. in the gilded halls of your father’s estate, the colors were forbidden—at least in the way you used them. a lady of piltover was meant to collect art, not create it. especially not the kind you painted in the quiet hours after midnight—when the city was asleep and your heart was loudest.

tonight, like all the others, you slipped out beneath the silver hush of moonlight, skirts hitched, boots scuffed, a cloak hiding the finery of your station. your breath danced in the cold air as you descended into the underbelly of the city.

zaun welcomed you like a bruise—aching, ugly, beautiful. and you would’ve walked through fire to get to the woman waiting for you in the dark.

sevika leaned against the brick wall outside the last drop, lit only by the low flame of her cigar and the glint of her metal arm. she didn’t smile when she saw you—she rarely did. but her eyes softened, just enough, and that was all it took to make the rest of the world fall away.

“you’re late,” sevika said, voice low and rough, a smirk ghosting her lips.

“and yet here you are,” you replied, stepping close enough to feel the heat of her.

you didn’t touch. not yet. that would come later, in the safety of shadows and locked doors. but the tension was always there, crackling like kindling, waiting for a single spark.

sevika’s eyes flickered over you, the sharpness of her gaze cutting through the night like a blade. her usual confidence was there, but something softer lingered behind it, a warmth that only you could bring to the surface. you hadn’t told her why you came to zaun, why you couldn’t stay within the cage of piltover’s upper crust. but she knew. the way you moved, the way you sighed, the way you looked at her—it was all too clear.

“i still don’t understand why you do this,” sevika muttered, her voice quieter now, a note of frustration threading through her words. “you could have anyone, you know. your family... they’d arrange a marriage for you, something that would... give you the world.”

you felt the words she didn't say, the weight of her worry, the heaviness of the unspoken question between you two: why me?

“i don’t want anyone,” you replied, voice barely above a whisper. “i want this. i want you.”

sevika’s jaw tightened at the words, her lips curling into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. it wasn’t a playful smile, not like the ones she gave to the patrons of the last drop. no, this was something different—something raw. and it made your heart beat a little faster.

“you can’t stay here forever,” she warned, voice a low rasp that stirred something deep inside you. “it’s not safe for you, not for someone like you. the more you come here, the more you’ll—”

“—fall in love?” you finished for her, your voice barely audible.

her gaze softened, and she looked away for a moment, taking another drag from her cigar. “it’s not just about love, you know. you’re from piltover. you’re not supposed to be with someone like me. it’s... dangerous.”

you took a step closer to her, the distance between you shrinking with every heartbeat. “i don’t care about any of that. i care about you.”

sevika exhaled sharply, her metal arm flexing at her side. she was fighting something—something inside her, something she wasn’t ready to confront. but you weren’t going to let her pull away, not this time. you reached up, touching her jaw with trembling fingers, and for the briefest moment, she didn’t pull away. instead, she let her eyes meet yours, her expression hardening with the weight of the decision you both knew you had to make.

“you can’t keep coming here, you know that, right?” she said, her voice thick with emotion.

but you didn’t answer. instead, you pressed your lips against her forehead, a soft, gentle gesture that held more meaning than any words ever could.

for a moment, the world faded. there was no piltover, no impending marriage. there was only her and you. and maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

—

as time passed, the city around you grew heavier, the expectations from your family suffocating, but every night, you found yourself slipping back into the comforting embrace of the shadows. and every night, sevika was there, her presence like an anchor in the storm.

each encounter deepened the bond between you, though it was always laced with danger. the deeper you fell for her, the more impossible it felt to untangle yourself from the web of piltover’s high society that sought to trap you. your father’s constant reminders of the marriage he had arranged, the whispers of how you were meant to be the perfect daughter, the perfect wife—it all felt like a prison. but sevika never made you feel trapped. she never asked you to be anything other than yourself.

there was a quiet rebellion in your heart, one you never voiced aloud. you would not bow to piltover’s rules. not when the heart you had given to sevika beat louder than any expectation.

one evening, as the rain fell in sheets outside the last drop, the world seemed more alive than ever. you sat with sevika, the two of you hidden away in one of the back rooms, your fingers tracing the edges of a painting you had been working on for weeks. it wasn’t just the rain that made the air heavy—it was the quiet, unspoken words that hung between you, waiting to be said.

“you’ve been working on that for a while,” sevika noted, her voice gruff as she leaned against the doorframe, watching you with a predatory glint in her eyes.

“i’m trying to capture the way it feels,” you said softly, not looking up from your canvas.

she stepped closer, her boots quiet against the wood floor. “the way what feels?”

“the way i feel when i’m here with you,” you whispered.

sevika’s gaze softened, and for the first time in a long while, the hardness in her eyes gave way to something tender. “you have no idea what you’re doing to me, do you?”

you met her gaze then, letting the words settle between you like a storm ready to break. “i know exactly what i’m doing. i’m loving you.”

she didn’t pull away. instead, sevika closed the distance between you, her hands finding your face with the precision of someone who had built walls for years—walls that you were slowly breaking down. when her lips finally met yours, it wasn’t a kiss of desperation, but of acknowledgment. a promise that no matter the world that tried to tear you apart, you would always have each other in these quiet moments, in these stolen hours.

the nights in zaun were the only times you could truly breathe, the only time you could be yourself, and sevika was the only one who ever saw you for who you really were. the love you shared was forbidden, yes. but it was yours, and that was enough. for now.

every day, you feared that the walls would close in, that piltover’s gaze would finally catch up to you. but in the arms of the woman who had become your everything, you didn’t feel the weight of the world on your shoulders. not yet.

—

the tension between you and sevika had become a constant—something that hummed in the air every time you met in the shadows of zaun. the brief moments you shared weren’t enough, but they were all you had. and the longer it went on, the more you realized you couldn’t live without her.

one night, as you stepped into the last drop, a familiar ache bloomed in your chest. sevika was nowhere to be seen. the usual patrons lingered at their tables, laughing and drinking, but the warmth you normally felt in her presence was absent. you felt a twinge of unease and made your way toward the back, where she often retreated when things became too loud for her taste.

as you rounded the corner, your eyes met hers. she stood near the shadows, arms crossed, her metal hand resting on her hip. she wasn’t smoking tonight, and her posture was unusually tense. something was wrong.

“you okay?” you asked softly, stepping toward her. your voice was quiet, but the concern in your heart was loud enough to drown out the noise of the bar.

sevika’s gaze flickered to you, and for a moment, she didn’t say anything. she looked away, her jaw clenched tightly. “you should go back home,” she muttered, the words rough, almost like she was trying to push you away.

your chest tightened. “what do you mean? sevika, what’s going on?”

she let out a sharp breath and ran a hand through her hair, her eyes avoiding yours. “it’s dangerous, you know? this... us. you’re playing with fire, and you don’t even realize how hot it’s burning.”

you stepped closer, the distance between you two closing like the gap between two worlds—zaun and piltover, the gutter and the sky. “i’m not scared of fire,” you whispered. “i’m scared of losing you.”

sevika’s eyes hardened, her gaze flicking to the door, as if she expected someone to burst in at any moment. “you don’t get it. you don’t know what this place can do to people. to you.”

“i know it’s dangerous,” you said quietly, your voice laced with something that wasn’t just love—it was a plea. “but i don’t care. i’d rather have a few moments with you than a lifetime without.”

her gaze softened, the sharpness in her eyes dulling just enough for you to see the vulnerability beneath the hardened exterior. sevika was not someone who let people in. she had built walls that could withstand the harshest of storms, yet you had managed to crack them, piece by piece. but even then, you felt the weight of her fears, her reluctance to let you get too close.

“i’m not the kind of woman you think i am,” sevika muttered, her voice quieter than usual, almost as if she was confessing something. “i’m not the type who deserves someone like you.”

“don’t say that,” you urged, taking another step forward. “you’re the one who’s been here for me. you’re the one who makes me feel alive in this suffocating world. you’re the only one who sees me, sevika. the real me.”

she took a long, steadying breath, but her eyes never left you. “you don’t get to say that,” she said softly. “not when you don’t know what it means to live in a place like this.”

“i do,” you said, voice firm, but your heart was thumping in your chest. “i do know. maybe not like you, but i see it. i see you. and that’s all that matters.”

for the first time, sevika’s lips twitched, as though the smallest of smiles threatened to break through. but it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the usual hardness that defined her.

“go back to your world,” she whispered, her voice almost fragile. “it’s safer for you there.”

but you shook your head, stepping even closer. “i don’t want to be in that world without you. this—what we have, even if it’s stolen moments—I don’t want to lose it. and i won’t lose you.”

the silence between you thickened, both of you lost in the weight of the truth hanging in the air. finally, sevika looked at you, really looked at you, and for the briefest moment, you saw it—the raw, unguarded emotion behind her eyes.

“you’re crazy,” she muttered, but there was no heat in her voice. only the slightest trace of something close to affection. “but i can’t let you go either.”

before you could respond, she closed the distance between you two, her strong arms pulling you close. the kiss that followed was slow, deliberate, as if sevika was savoring every second, and you were lost in the sensation. her lips were soft yet firm, like a promise and a warning all at once. when she pulled back, her eyes searched yours, and you knew you had both crossed a line that could never be uncrossed.

“you’re mine,” sevika whispered against your lips, her voice thick with a mixture of possession and tenderness.

and in that moment, you knew that no matter what the world threw at you, this forbidden love would always be worth the risk.

—

the weeks that followed were filled with stolen nights and quiet moments in the depths of zaun. each time you met sevika, you could feel the weight of her fear, her hesitation, but you also felt the pull between you growing stronger. the relationship, though wrapped in secrecy, was becoming something more than either of you had expected.

you had no illusions about the danger, about the consequences of being together in such a volatile world. but you couldn’t stop. and neither could she.

the darkness of zaun was both a shield and a curse, but as long as you had sevika by your side, you felt like you could face anything.

the mansion was a cage, a place where beauty was expected to thrive, but all you could feel was suffocation. your father’s voice echoed through the halls, always with the same rigid tone, as though he were reminding you of something you should have already known: you were a woman meant to marry, to strengthen your family’s influence, to uphold the legacy of your bloodline.

the walls of the estate held whispers of your name—the daughter, the prize, the one who would carry the family’s wealth and name forward. your mother had always been distant, an elegant figure draped in silk, more a symbol of your family's affluence than a mother in any real sense. she would glance at you with her cold, calculating eyes, as if expecting you to follow in her footsteps, to become a perfect piece in their grand design.

and you? you had never fit.

the moment you could pick up a paintbrush, you felt the world shift. the colors, the strokes, the texture—they were the only things that ever made sense to you. the life of a high-class piltover woman, with its endless social events, its political marriages, and its suffocating rules, was never something you wanted. you wanted to breathe, to express yourself, to be free. but that was a luxury you could never afford.

every time you picked up your paintbrush, you felt the heavy gaze of your family’s expectations looming over you, reminding you of your place. it wasn’t that they were cruel—it was that they were blind. blind to the fact that you were not their perfect daughter. you had been made to fit into their mold, but you were slowly cracking.

and then, the marriage arrangement.

it had been decided years ago, when you were little more than a child, that you would marry jaron haighton, the heir to a powerful trading family in piltover. he was charming, yes, and from the outside, he was everything your parents wanted—wealthy, well-connected, with a bright future ahead of him. but jaron was everything you despised about men: arrogant, entitled, and completely unaware of the world beyond his own privileges.

at first, you tried to ignore the marriage proposal. perhaps if you avoided it long enough, it would fade. but your father’s voice grew more insistent as the years passed, reminding you that this marriage would secure your family’s future, bring you untold wealth, and solidify their position in piltover’s elite circles.

it wasn’t about love. it was never about love.

your mother had prepared you for this life, teaching you how to be the perfect lady, how to smile at the right times, how to act demure, how to speak only when spoken to. she would often say, “a woman’s worth is not in her opinions, but in her ability to make her husband proud.” her words echoed in your head every time you tried to fight against your fate. but it was always a battle you knew you would lose.

you were expected to marry jaron. you were expected to be a perfect wife, a perfect daughter, and a perfect piece in a game you didn’t want to play.

but the nights you spent with sevika… those were the only moments you felt truly alive.

—

your engagement party was a grand affair, as all piltover events were—opulent and filled with the glitter of wealth. the house was buzzing with laughter, conversation, and the clinking of glasses. the guests milled about, their voices rising and falling in a cacophony of politeness, but to you, it was all a blur. you stood in the center of it all, a delicate porcelain doll on display for the masses. every part of you screamed to be anywhere but here.

jaron was by your side, his hand possessively placed on the small of your back, his breath warm on your ear as he whispered sweet nothings into your hair. he had no idea how hollow his words were. he had no idea how every touch felt like a chain, and every compliment was a reminder that you were never going to be the woman you wanted to be.

“beautiful, isn’t it?” jaron murmured, his fingers trailing lightly over the fabric of your dress.

you smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “yes, lovely.”

“i’m glad you’re pleased.” he grinned, his hand slipping lower, a possessive gesture that made your skin crawl. “soon, this will all be ours, darling. you’ll see. together, we’ll have everything.”

you wanted to say something—anything—to make him stop, to make him see you, but instead, you stood there, numb, a smile plastered to your face. the world around you was spinning, each conversation a blur of meaningless chatter, each laugh a hollow echo in your ears.

and then, just as you thought you might suffocate under the weight of it all, you caught a glimpse of the one person who could make your heart race, the one person who could make you forget this nightmare.

sevika.

she stood at the edge of the crowd, her gaze locked on you, her presence like a magnet pulling at the very center of your soul. you knew she shouldn’t be here. you knew the risks she was taking just by being within the walls of piltover, but she was there. and in that moment, she was the only thing that mattered.

your eyes met, and for a fleeting second, everything around you faded. it was just you and sevika—your heart beating out of your chest, your blood rushing in your ears. the weight of the world couldn’t touch you when she was near.

but then, jaron’s hand tightened on your waist, pulling you back to reality. you turned your head to look at him, your smile faltering. “excuse me,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the noise. “i need a moment.”

without waiting for his response, you pulled away, your feet moving on their own accord toward the exit. you had to get away. you had to breathe. you had to see sevika, even if just for a few seconds.

—

the cool night air hit your face as you stepped outside, the garden’s quiet beauty offering you a brief respite from the chaos. the soft rustle of leaves and the distant sounds of laughter inside the mansion felt like a world away as you walked further into the garden.

and then, there she was.

sevika was waiting for you, her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes scanning the horizon before settling on you. she didn’t say anything at first. she didn’t need to. her presence alone was enough to make your heart beat faster.

“i knew you’d find a way to escape,” sevika said with a wry smile. her eyes softened as she took in your expression.

“i couldn’t stay in there,” you murmured, stepping closer, your voice trembling. “i don’t want this, sevika. i don’t want any of it.”

her gaze darkened, and she reached out, her hand brushing against your cheek, her touch as comforting as it was dangerous. “you know i can’t be your escape forever.”

you closed your eyes, leaning into her touch. “i know.”

for a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your breaths, the silent promise of a love you couldn’t have. you knew that this—what you had with sevika—could never exist in the world you were bound to. it was forbidden, dangerous, a rebellion against everything you had been taught.

but as sevika’s lips brushed against your forehead, you knew you would fight for this—for her—no matter the consequences. you didn’t know how, and you didn’t know when, but you would find a way to escape the life your family had chosen for you. you would find a way to make this love your own.

the garden’s stillness felt like a sanctuary, but it was also a reminder of everything you were about to lose. you had stepped out of the gilded cage, the suffocating life that awaited you inside, and into this forbidden space with sevika. in her presence, you felt weightless, like you could breathe for the first time in years. but there was no way to escape the life you were born into. no way to escape the arranged marriage, no way to escape the chains that your family had placed around you long before you were old enough to understand.

sevika was standing so close now, you could feel the heat radiating from her, and her touch on your cheek made your heart race. her eyes held that same intensity—the same mixture of concern and frustration that had haunted her every time you met.

“you can’t keep running away, you know,” sevika’s voice was rough, like she had just spoken a truth she didn’t want to acknowledge. “you have a duty to them. your family... they won’t let you go so easily.”

you shook your head, the words catching in your throat. “i don’t care about their duty,” you whispered fiercely, looking up into her eyes. “i care about what’s real. about what’s in my heart.”

her gaze softened, but it was clear she was torn. “you can’t keep pretending, sweetheart. you can’t keep living in two worlds.”

you swallowed hard, your chest tight with the weight of her words. “what do you want me to do?” the question was a challenge, more for yourself than for her. “what am i supposed to do, sevika? stay in that house, marry him, be the perfect little wife while my heart belongs somewhere else?”

her silence was all the answer you needed. the weight of reality was too much for both of you to bear in that moment. sevika, the tough, unbreakable force of nature, had no answers to give you, no promises to make. she, too, was trapped in this chaotic, unforgiving world.

“i can’t lose you,” you said, your voice trembling, though you weren’t sure if it was from the cold or the raw emotion clawing at you from within. “i don’t care about anything else. i just want to be with you. but i don’t know how to make that happen.”

sevika’s expression was unreadable, but you saw the flash of vulnerability in her eyes that she tried to hide. she exhaled, her grip tightening on your shoulder, a silent admission of how badly she, too, was hurting. “i don’t know how to fix this either,” she said quietly. “but i can’t stand to watch you destroy yourself. i can’t stand to watch you drown in this... life they’ve planned for you.”

you stepped closer to her, your forehead pressing against hers. you could hear her heartbeat thumping against her chest, matching the rhythm of your own. “then help me. help me find a way out.”

sevika closed her eyes for a moment, the tension between you two palpable. it was in the way her muscles tensed, in the way her hands shook slightly. “i’m not the answer, sweetheart,” she murmured, her voice thick with regret. “you know that.”

you pulled away just slightly, enough to look into her eyes. “what if you were?” the words came out before you could stop them, but they felt true. you didn’t know how, and you didn’t know when, but you needed her.

the sharpness in sevika’s gaze flickered. “i’m not the life you’re meant to lead. you belong in piltover, with your family, with your wealth... and your future.”

“not without you,” you whispered, your heart breaking at the thought. “not without you, sevika.”

the silence that followed felt suffocating. neither of you spoke. there was nothing to say that hadn’t already been said in the quiet space between your hearts. the world was too loud. it had always been too loud, and now, in the garden, it was deafening. but sevika was right. you had two choices: one was the life that was chosen for you, the life of status, of duty, of a loveless marriage with a man you despised. the other, the path you wanted, the path that called to you, was with sevika. but it was dangerous. and it was forbidden.

the pain in your chest grew, the realization that you couldn’t choose both. you couldn’t stay in piltover and still keep sevika in your life. not openly. not when the weight of the world would crush you both.

you stepped back, swallowing hard, your head spinning. “i don’t know what to do anymore,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “i don’t know how to choose between what i want and what i’m supposed to be.”

sevika reached out, her hand gently brushing against yours. “you don’t have to make that choice tonight,” she said, her voice soft but steady. “but you need to think. you need to decide what’s worth fighting for.”

her words echoed in your mind, the meaning behind them cutting deeper than any blade. what is worth fighting for?

—

the next few days were filled with turmoil, and the weight of your decision began to crush you. you were suffocated by your family’s expectations, by the heavy chains of duty that they had bound you with since birth. and yet, every night, when the world was silent and the moon hung low in the sky, you found yourself slipping away—slipping into the shadows of zaun where sevika waited for you.

each stolen moment with her felt like both a blessing and a curse. with her, you were free. you were more than the daughter of a rich piltover family. you were someone worth loving. but when you returned to your reality—when you put on the mask of the perfect lady—it felt like a betrayal.

your parents had become more insistent about the wedding. you could feel it in the way your father’s voice had hardened, the way your mother had increased her pressure. they had even begun discussing the details of the ceremony with jaron’s family. you were already slipping away, and yet they were pulling you back toward the life they had chosen for you.

one evening, as you sat in the lavish dining room, your mother’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

“you need to make this decision, dear,” she said, her words measured but laced with thinly veiled command. “jaron is a good match. he’s well-connected, wealthy. this marriage will ensure our family’s future. you don’t want to disappoint us, do you?”

you stared at the delicate, golden plates in front of you, feeling the weight of her gaze on you. the room, with all its opulence, felt like a tomb. every word they spoke about your future felt like a lie. the marriage wasn’t about love. it wasn’t about happiness. it was a transaction.

you clenched your fists under the table, biting your lip to hold back the wave of emotion that threatened to break free.

“i’m not disappointed, mother,” you said, your voice strained but firm. “i just... i need some time to think.”

your mother gave you a tight smile, but you could see the frustration flicker behind her eyes. “time is a luxury we don’t have, my dear. the sooner you accept what’s best for you, the sooner we can begin the next chapter.”

you stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the polished floor. “i’ll be in my room,” you said, the words coming out more sharply than you intended.

and just like that, you were gone, leaving the harsh reality of your family’s expectations behind. but as you walked toward your room, the weight of the world seemed to come crashing down. you couldn’t stay here. you couldn’t let them control your fate, but you also couldn’t abandon your family completely. could you really leave everything behind? could you really throw away your place in piltover, your family’s legacy, to follow your heart?

the answer was waiting for you in the darkness of the garden, where sevika would be waiting.

—

the night-time air in your room felt thick with tension, the weight of the decisions looming over you like a storm. you paced back and forth, the soft flicker of candlelight casting shadows on the walls, each step a reminder of how trapped you were in your own life. your mind refused to be still, the thoughts swirling, crashing into one another, a tidal wave of fear, longing, and uncertainty.

you could hear your mother’s voice again, echoing in your ears: “this marriage is the best thing for you. it’s what’s expected. what’s right.” and your father’s stern, unwavering words: “you will do your duty, and you will uphold the family’s name.”

every inch of your upbringing, every lesson you had been taught since you were a child, told you that this was your path. your future had already been written for you—the union with jaron, the life in the upper levels of piltover, the endless obligations that would soon consume you.

but with every step you took toward that future, your heart pulled you further from it.

sevika’s face flashed before your eyes, her dark gaze intense, her presence a storm that matched the one inside your chest. she had always been a mystery to you, a sharp contrast to everything you had known. she was raw, unapologetically herself, and in her, you had found something real—something that made the rest of your world seem hollow.

you thought of the first night you had snuck away to zaun, your pulse quickening as you approached the forbidden district. your heart had thundered in your chest, the risk so high, the stakes so dangerous, but when you saw sevika, standing in the shadows with that quiet strength, it was as if nothing else mattered. in those stolen moments, you were not the daughter of a high-class piltover family. you weren’t a pawn in your parents’ game. you were just you.

and in those moments, sevika didn’t ask you to be anything but yourself.

but tonight was different. tonight, you felt the weight of your future closing in, the harsh reality of what would happen if you walked away. the walls of your family’s expectations pressed in tighter, and the thought of leaving it all behind—your name, your wealth, your place in piltover’s society—made your stomach turn. you had been raised to be this person, to live this life. how could you abandon it all for a forbidden love? how could you risk your family’s legacy for something so fleeting, so dangerous?

you sank to your knees, your breath catching in your throat. the weight of the choice, the agony of it, was suffocating. how could you betray your family like that? how could you dishonor everything they had worked so hard for?

but then, just as quickly, you thought of sevika’s face again—the warmth of her touch, the quiet solace in her presence. she was the only one who truly saw you, the only one who ever understood. every moment with her felt like a rebellion, a step away from the life that had been imposed on you. and every moment without her felt like a piece of you was dying.

but would that be enough? would love—your love for sevika—be enough to risk everything?

the uncertainty gnawed at you. the pull of your family’s expectations, the weight of your father’s disappointment, the looming shadow of the life you were meant to lead—it was all so heavy. you knew the consequences of walking away, of rejecting the life they had mapped out for you. they would never forgive you. they would never understand. your name, your legacy, would be tarnished. you would be disowned, cast aside.

but sevika… she never asked for your name. she didn’t care about your family’s wealth or your position in piltover. she only cared about you. and in her, you saw a future that was free. free from expectations. free from a life of stifling perfection.

but was it enough? could you throw away everything you had ever known for something as fragile as love?

a soft knock at your door pulled you out of your thoughts, and before you could respond, the door creaked open. your heart skipped a beat when you saw her standing there—sevika.

her gaze softened when she saw your tear-streaked face. she didn’t speak at first. she didn’t need to. she just walked in, closing the door behind her with a quiet click, and knelt down beside you.

“you’re not alone in this,” she said, her voice a quiet strength, like a steady pulse that anchored you. “you never were.”

you shook your head, tears still slipping down your cheeks. “i don’t know what to do anymore. i don’t know how to make a choice between you and everything i’ve been taught to want.”

sevika’s thumb gently brushed across your cheek, wiping away the tears. “you don’t have to make a decision tonight. and i don’t want you to. you need to take your time. this is your life, your future. no one else’s.”

“but what if i make the wrong choice?” you whispered, your voice breaking. “what if i’m throwing everything away?”

she leaned closer, her forehead resting against yours. “you have to choose what’s best for you, love. not for anyone else. not for them, not for me. what’s going to make you happy? what’s going to give you peace?”

your mind spun, unable to answer. peace? how could you find peace when everything around you was a storm? you had spent your whole life trying to please your family, trying to fit into a mold that was never meant for you. but now, standing with sevika in the quiet of your room, you realized how much you longed for something real. something that wasn’t decided by the cold hands of duty.

“i don’t know how to walk away,” you whispered, the weight of the decision making it hard to breathe. “i don’t know how to leave them behind.”

sevika’s grip on your hand tightened, her voice low and soothing. “i know it’s hard. but nothing worth having is ever easy. you’ve got a fire in you, and you can’t let them snuff it out. you’re not just some prize to be won, and you’re not meant to live a life of silence and conformity. you’re meant for more than that.”

her words, strong and certain, made something inside you stir—a spark of hope, a flicker of strength. for the first time in days, you didn’t feel entirely lost. sevika’s presence steadied you, gave you something to hold onto in the midst of the chaos that was your life.

“i’ll be with you,” sevika continued, her voice firm. “whatever you choose, i’ll be right here.”

for a moment, all the confusion, all the doubt, melted away. you weren’t sure what you would do, or what the future held, but for the first time in what felt like forever, you knew one thing: you didn’t have to make this choice alone. and maybe, just maybe, that was enough to start figuring it all out.

—

days passed, each one heavier than the last. the internal conflict gnawed at you like a relentless tide, pulling you in different directions. the moment with sevika in your room had offered you a temporary reprieve, but it hadn’t provided an answer. you thought of her words often: “you’re not just some prize to be won. you’re meant for more than that.” you wanted to believe them, wanted to believe that there was a life out there that wasn’t controlled by your family’s plans. but the weight of everything you had built, everything they had built for you, was a constant pressure at your back. it was so much harder to break free than you had anticipated.

your days became a blur of obligations, meetings with jaron, and conversations with your parents. it all felt like a performance, a carefully orchestrated act you were being forced to play. your mother had already begun making arrangements for the wedding, discussing the finer details with jaron’s family, as if there was no room for doubt in the air. they had made their decision, and it seemed they expected you to fall in line. but the further they pushed you into their world, the more you longed for something else.

it was on a particularly gray morning, the sky heavy with impending rain, that you felt the shift. your father had called you into his study, his tone businesslike, distant. he had already spoken to jaron’s family about the engagement, and now the discussions were turning to the wedding itself. as you stood there, listening to your father’s words, a sense of numbness washed over you. you felt like an outsider in your own life, like a ghost passing through the motions. you tried to focus, but all you could think of was sevika—her steady gaze, the warmth of her touch, the way she made you feel like you were more than just a daughter, more than just an heir.

“we expect you to make a proper appearance at the upcoming social gathering,” your father said, his voice flat. “jaron’s family will be there. it’s time to solidify the arrangements.”

the mention of jaron’s name sent a chill down your spine. you had been trying to ignore it, trying to push it aside, but the reality of your impending marriage had come crashing back. you weren’t ready. you would never be ready. you didn’t love him. you couldn’t love him.

“i understand,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. you were too tired to argue, too defeated to fight back. you felt like a puppet on strings, your movements dictated by forces beyond your control.

your father nodded, seemingly satisfied with your response. “good. i expect you to uphold your responsibilities.”

when he turned back to his papers, signaling the end of the conversation, you felt the weight of the walls closing in around you. you didn’t have the strength to fight him, not today. you simply nodded, forcing a smile before leaving the room. the door clicked shut behind you, and you exhaled as if you had been holding your breath the entire time. the suffocating air of your family’s expectations clung to you, and you could feel yourself unraveling at the seams.

you needed to see her. you needed to escape, even if only for a few stolen hours.

that night, after your parents had retired to their rooms, you slipped out. your heart pounded in your chest as you made your way through the streets of piltover, each step feeling heavier than the last. your thoughts were a swirl of confusion and anger. how had it come to this? how had your life become a prison of obligation and duty? how had you let it get so far?

when you finally crossed into zaun, the sharp scent of the district hit you. it was familiar, comforting in a way that piltover’s pristine air never could be. the chaos of zaun was a stark contrast to the polished streets you’d grown up on, and yet, it was here that you felt most alive. here, with sevika, you felt seen. you felt real.

sevika was waiting for you, just like she always was. her eyes were dark, but there was a flicker of something softer in them when she saw you. “you’re late,” sevika said, her voice a mix of teasing and concern. “everything okay?”

you walked into her arms without a second thought, your body gravitating toward her warmth. “i’m fine,” you lied, burying your face in her shoulder, the scent of her—leather, sweat, and something more earthy—filling your senses. “i just needed to get away.”

her arms tightened around you, and for a moment, everything else faded away. you were just you, and she was just sevika. nothing else mattered.

“come here,” she murmured, leading you to a small, dimly lit corner of the district where you could be alone. the streets of zaun were always bustling with life, but in this corner, it was quieter, more private. sevika’s hand gently cupped your face, lifting your gaze to meet hers.

“you’ve been quiet lately,” she observed, her eyes scanning your face for any signs of distress. “what’s going on, love?”

you sighed, your heart heavy with the truth you were trying to bury. “i don’t know if i can do this anymore, sevika. i don’t know if i can keep pretending. i don’t know if i can marry him. i don’t want to be who they want me to be. but how do i break free? how do i leave everything behind? my family, my future, everything i’ve known.”

sevika’s expression softened, but there was an undeniable fire in her eyes. she reached out and gently cupped your chin, forcing you to meet her gaze. “you don’t have to make that choice alone, remember?” she said softly. “you’re not the only one who’s scared. but i will be here, no matter what you decide. and you’re not alone in this.”

you closed your eyes, the warmth of her hand grounding you, offering you a sense of peace amidst the chaos. but as much as you longed for that peace, you knew the truth—there would never be an easy way out. your life had been laid out for you, and escaping it would come with consequences. but maybe, just maybe, those consequences were worth facing for the chance to truly live.

“i don’t know how to do this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

sevika leaned forward, pressing her forehead to yours. “we’ll figure it out together.”

—

the quiet hum of the streets of zaun felt like a distant lullaby as you and sevika walked side by side, the sound of your footsteps the only thing that bridged the gap between the chaos of your life and the fleeting moment of peace that you shared with her. the weight of your emotions, heavy and raw, pressed against your chest, suffocating you in a way that you couldn’t explain. the once-crisp air of piltover now felt oppressive, suffocating you from within, while the air of zaun, though thick with the scent of the industrial underworld, somehow felt like it could breathe life back into your lungs.

“do you ever wonder how it all ends?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. the question felt odd coming from your lips, as if you were questioning the very foundation of your existence. but in the silence that stretched between you, it didn’t seem out of place.

sevika’s pace faltered for a moment, her gaze flicking to you before returning to the dark alley ahead. there was a quiet sadness in her eyes, a depth of knowing that spoke of a life lived in the shadows, far from the polished world you had once inhabited.

“every day,” she said simply, her voice low, but tinged with something that almost sounded like a smile. “but I’m still here. and I’m still fighting. even when it feels like everything’s against you.”

you paused in your tracks, turning to face her fully. the weight of your gaze, of your shared history, pressed in on both of you. sevika had fought for everything she had, from the streets of zaun to the dangerous circles she now ran in. she wasn’t afraid to take risks, to dive into the chaos of her world. she lived each day with a defiance that spoke to the core of who she was, a defiance that you envied in so many ways.

“i’m scared,” you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them. your heart felt like it was being squeezed in your chest, but the relief of saying it aloud was undeniable. “i’m scared of losing everything. of losing my family, my name, the future they’ve built for me. and i’m scared of losing you.”

sevika stopped walking, her brow furrowing slightly as she reached out to take your hand in hers. there was a strength in her grip, a grounding force that steadied you as you tried to find your breath.

“you’re not going to lose me,” sevika said firmly, her voice steady. “you may lose them, you may lose their expectations, but you won’t lose me. you don’t have to choose between them and me. i’m not asking you to. i’m asking you to choose what makes you happy.”

her words, though simple, pierced through the fog in your mind like a beacon of clarity. you had always thought that you had to choose between duty and desire, between family and love. but sevika was offering you a different path, one where you didn’t have to abandon everything to have what you wanted.

but the decision felt like an impossible one. as much as you wanted to believe that your family would understand, you knew deep down that they wouldn’t. they never had. they never would.

“i can’t just walk away from everything,” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of it all. “i don’t know who i would be without them. without the life they’ve built for me.”

sevika’s expression softened, and she stepped closer, closing the distance between you. her fingers gently traced your jawline, and for a moment, you forgot the rest of the world entirely. there was just her, just the two of you in this moment, and in that moment, the weight of the world seemed a little lighter.

“you’re not just a reflection of them,” she said softly, her thumb brushing across your skin. “you’re your own person, sweetheart.”

—

days blurred into each other like muted strokes on a canvas, each one heavier than the last. you couldn’t escape the truth that clung to you like a shadow, growing ever closer with each passing moment. the life your parents had planned for you was becoming more suffocating, more oppressive. the whispers of the arranged marriage to jaron were growing louder, and the weight of your family’s expectations was impossible to ignore. you could feel them pressing against you, like walls closing in, pushing you toward a future you didn’t want.

the nights spent in zaun with sevika were the only relief. in her presence, everything else fell away, and for a few stolen hours, you felt like yourself again. you felt alive, free, even as you knew you couldn’t stay there forever. there was always the pull of your other life, the life that was waiting for you back in piltover, where everything was neatly arranged, predictable, and suffocating. your time in zaun, with sevika, was fleeting—an escape that you knew was unsustainable.

but as the days went on, you found it harder and harder to reconcile the two sides of yourself. every time you looked in the mirror, you saw a stranger. the face of a woman who was being forced to wear a mask, to perform a role she hadn’t chosen. you hated it. and yet, you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that to give up everything would mean losing a part of yourself you weren’t ready to let go of. you didn’t know how to balance the world you had grown up in with the world sevika offered you.

it was in the middle of one of these internal battles that you found yourself in the drawing room at your family’s estate. your mother was sitting at the grand table, meticulously going through invitations for the upcoming engagement party. your father was at his desk, reviewing contracts and business agreements. their world was so carefully constructed, so neatly ordered. and in the middle of it, you felt like an intruder.

“have you heard back from jaron’s family about the wedding details?” your mother asked, her voice light, as if the event was nothing more than a formality.

you forced a smile, nodding absently. “yes. everything is moving forward as planned.”

“good,” she said, as if that was the only answer that mattered. “i’m glad to see you taking this seriously. you’ll make a wonderful wife.”

the words stung, more than they should have. “of course,” you replied, your voice sounding hollow even to your own ears.

your father, who had been silent up until this point, cleared his throat and adjusted the papers on his desk. “it’s time you start thinking about the future, a marriage like this isn’t just about love. it’s about alliances. it’s about strengthening the family name. you need to focus on that.”

you nodded again, but this time, it felt like a lie. the thought of being tied to jaron, of being bound by duty rather than desire, made your chest ache. you had spent so many years trying to please them, trying to fit into their world. but now, it felt like that world was a prison, and the bars were getting stronger with each passing day.

as you excused yourself from the conversation, you felt a tightness in your throat, a mix of anger and sadness. you didn’t want to be who they wanted you to be. you didn’t want to follow this path that was set out for you. but what other choice did you have?

the days leading up to the engagement party were a blur of preparation and expectation. you found yourself surrounded by servants, tailors, and decorators, all working to make sure everything was perfect. but the perfect facade only served to make the emptiness inside you feel more pronounced. as the party loomed closer, so did the decision you were running from.

it was the night before the party that you found yourself standing at the edge of the balcony overlooking piltover, the lights of the city twinkling below you like distant stars. you had never felt more disconnected from everything in your life. the sounds of laughter, the music drifting from below, seemed so distant, so unimportant.

you needed to see sevika. you needed her strength, her presence. the thought of facing the engagement party without her felt like suffocating. you needed her to remind you of who you were, to ground you in something real, something that wasn’t bound by expectations.

in the dead of night, you slipped out again. you moved quickly, your heart pounding as you walked the familiar streets of piltover, the weight of your decisions pressing on you with each step. the walk felt longer tonight, as if the world had stretched and distorted, and you were walking in a dream.

when you finally reached zaun, sevika was there waiting for you. she always was, always ready to hold you when you couldn’t hold yourself. the moment you stepped into her arms, you felt the tight knot in your chest begin to loosen.

“you’re late again tonight,” sevika said, her voice low but with an unmistakable warmth. she placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head, her hand resting protectively at your back.

“i needed to see you,” you said softly, your voice shaky as you pulled back to look up at her, eyes glistening with unshed tears

sevika’s expression softened, and she led you further into the heart of zaun, where the sounds of the city felt more distant, more muted. the further you went, the quieter everything seemed, until it was just the two of you, standing in a small, secluded corner of the district where only the flickering streetlights and the hum of the city could be heard.

“what’s going on in that head of yours?” sevika asked, her voice gentle but insistent.

“i’m scared,” you admitted again, your voice breaking this time. “i’m scared of everything. of losing them, of losing you, of losing myself. i feel like i’m drowning, sevika. i don’t know what’s real anymore.”

sevika took both of your hands in hers, steadying you as you trembled under the weight of your words. her touch was grounding, a reminder that in this moment, you were safe.

“you’re real,” she said, her gaze unwavering. “and no matter what happens, you’re never going to lose me. i’ll never let you go, not without a fight. but you have to make that decision for yourself, love. you have to decide who you want to be. because you can’t keep running from this. you have to face it.”

the truth of her words cut through you, like the sharp edge of a knife. the choice was yours, and it had always been.

you stood there, in the quiet of the night, the weight of your emotions pulling at you. sevika was right—this wasn’t just about them. it was about you. and you had to find the strength to choose the life you wanted, even if it meant sacrificing everything else.

for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you made the choice. it wasn’t a clear-cut decision, and it wasn’t easy. but you knew, deep down, that you couldn’t stay in that gilded cage forever. you couldn’t live a life dictated by others.

you squeezed sevika’s hands, the tears in your eyes blurring your vision. “i’ll leave them. i’ll leave everything behind. i want to be with you.”

but would you be brave enough to follow through?

sevika’s smile was soft, relieved, but there was something else there too—a deep, fierce pride. she pulled you close, holding you tightly, as if she could protect you from everything that was to come.

“i’ll be here, love. always.”

—

the day had arrived. the grand halls of your family’s estate were adorned in golden banners and white lace, the atmosphere crisp with the promise of an immaculate engagement. the sounds of the orchestra’s delicate strings floated through the air, mingling with the laughter and chatter of piltover’s finest. guests in their finest attire swirled about in a world of polished elegance, their glances and smiles insincere, as if everything here were merely a game of appearances. the smell of roses mixed with expensive perfumes, and beneath it all, you could taste the sharp, metallic bitterness of what awaited you.

this was not the life you had chosen.

you stood at the center of it all, a crown of lace perched delicately atop your head, a weight you could feel pressing against you with every breath. your heart, which had been light and free in sevika’s presence, now felt like it was buried under a thousand pounds. the dress, a perfect masterpiece of fabric and silk, felt like it was suffocating you, each step a reminder that your body, your life, had been sculpted by someone else’s design.

how were you supposed to leave when you were like a puppy controlled by a string?

“everything is perfect, my dear,” your mother’s voice cut through the crowd, her smile wide and bright, the kind of smile that could blind anyone to the cold calculations in her eyes. she stood beside you, as always, a vision of composure, making sure every detail was flawless. “jaron’s family will be so pleased.”

you forced a smile, but it felt more like a mask. you nodded absently, your eyes scanning the crowd, hoping for a glimpse of someone you actually wanted to see.

and there she was. sevika, standing near the edge of the room, hiding behind shadows, her posture commanding as always, her eyes scanning the room with a quiet intensity. she wasn’t part of this world—she didn’t belong here. and yet, you couldn’t help but ache at the sight of her. in this sea of conformity, she was the only thing that felt real.

but before you could take another step, a firm hand gripped your arm, pulling you from your thoughts.

“time to play your part, little wife.”

jaron. you had almost forgotten he was standing there, waiting for his turn to make his presence known. his grip was too tight, his smile too wide. the moment his hand touched yours, you felt the first stirrings of something you couldn’t name—discomfort, fear, maybe even disgust.

“we should mingle,” jaron said, pulling you toward the center of the room. “after all, you’ll be mine soon enough.”

the words were meant to be comforting, but they twisted in your chest like a knife. you had never felt more trapped, more suffocated in your own skin than you did in this moment. but you forced yourself to smile, nodding obediently, as he led you through the sea of guests.

his presence, so close to you, felt suffocating. his touch lingered a little too long on your arm, and when he introduced you to a few of his associates, his hand slid too possessively to the small of your back. you could feel the eyes of the crowd on you, their attention heavy, as if they were all waiting for the moment when you would officially belong to him.

the party moved on, and the longer you stood there, the harder it became to breathe. your gaze kept flickering toward sevika, watching her from across the room. her eyes never left you, even though she was surrounded by shadows and people she didn’t know. you could feel the unspoken connection between you, but the knot in your stomach grew tighter, and something inside you began to wither in the face of your obligations.

and then, just as you thought you might slip away, jaron’s hand was on your waist again, pulling you close, his face inching too close to yours.

“don’t pretend you don’t want this,” jaron murmured, his voice low, forcing you to meet his eyes. his breath was hot on your neck, sending a shiver of discomfort through your body.

your mouth opened to protest, to say anything, but before you could, jaron took control. his lips pressed against yours, hard and demanding, a kiss that wasn’t born from affection but from ownership. his hands were rough, too forceful, as they gripped your face, forcing you to comply with the kiss that felt more like an invasion than an embrace.

it wasn’t the first kiss you had shared with him, but it was the first that left you feeling violated, as if your very soul had been trespassed upon. your body tensed, and you closed your eyes, wishing it would end. but it didn’t. his lips pressed against yours with a hunger you didn’t understand, as though he were claiming something that was never his to take.

it wasn’t the love you had dreamed of. it wasn’t the soft, gentle touch of someone who saw you for who you were. no. this was ownership. this was power. this was control.

the moment he pulled away, a cruel smile graced his lips. “you’ll get used to it,” he said, as if you were nothing more than a prize to be claimed.

your heart raced in your chest, a panic you couldn’t control rising within you. you wanted to push him away, to run—to find sevika and feel something real—but you were trapped. you were surrounded by eyes, and you were nothing more than a well-rehearsed performance.

jaron smirked, noticing your discomfort. “why don’t we take this upstairs?” he suggested, but before you could respond, he was already pulling you toward the staircase. his touch lingered on your arm, possessive and unyielding.

you could feel the tears welling in your eyes, threatening to spill, but you blinked them away. you had no choice. this was your life now. you had to play your part. and the part of you that still fought for freedom was buried beneath the weight of your family’s expectations, beneath the stifling reality that you couldn’t escape.

when you reached the upper floors, you felt the room spinning. the taste of jaron’s kiss lingered on your lips like ash, bitter and tainting. you wanted to scream, to claw at your skin, but you couldn’t. not here. not now.

“wait here,” jaron instructed, his voice a commanding force that left no room for argument. “i’ll be right back.”

as he left the room, you couldn’t help the sob that escaped your lips, quiet and hidden, but it felt like it ripped through your chest. your heart was shattered, torn between the life you had been forced into and the one you truly wanted.

but as you turned your gaze to the window, the cold glass pressing against your skin, your mind wandered to sevika.

and then the guilt hit you.

you had let her down. you had promised her that you would make a choice. but now, with jaron’s kiss still burning on your lips, you felt like a fraud. you couldn’t face her. not yet. not after this.

you turned away from the window, pressing your hands to your face as if you could wipe away the shame.

you didn’t know how to face sevika now. you didn’t know how to face anyone, least of all yourself.

—

the quiet in the room felt suffocating. your body was tense, stiff, as if it were trying to hold itself together against the storm of emotions crashing inside you. you leaned your back against the cold glass of the window, as if the chill could numb the burning heat of shame that flooded your chest. your breath came in shallow gasps, the weight of the engagement party, the kiss, and the expectations threatening to crush you under their pressure.

you wiped your face, trying to rid yourself of the tears that had threatened to spill. but the shame still clung to you like a second skin suffocating and impossible to escape.

you had promised sevika you’d choose. you had promised her you would be with her. but in this moment, you felt like a liar. a coward.

jaron's kiss had been so forceful, so invasive. It had been an act of possession, not love. his hands had gripped you like he owned you, and in that moment, you felt like you had lost a piece of yourself. the feeling of his lips on yours was still there, lingering, tainting everything it had touched. every part of you wanted to forget it, to run to sevika and find solace in her embrace, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it.

not yet.

not when you felt like you had betrayed her in the worst way possible.

your stomach churned with guilt. sevika had always been the one who understood you—the one who made you feel alive in a way no one else ever had. but tonight, you had let her down. you had let the life your parents had planned for you take control, and now there was no turning back. not without consequences.

there was a knock at the door.

you stiffened, wiping your face one last time and taking a deep, steadying breath. you couldn’t break down now. not with the party still going on downstairs, not with jaron waiting for you. you had to act like everything was fine. you had to play the part.

“come in,” you said, your voice barely a whisper, but steady enough to betray nothing of the storm raging inside you.

the door opened, and jaron stepped into the room, his expression unreadable. he moved toward you with that same confident air, like he had won something. his eyes gleamed, still dark from the kiss, as if the conquest had satisfied him.

“you look a little pale,” he commented, his tone too casual, too detached. he was already beginning to adjust the way he saw you—like you were something to be molded, something to be claimed.

you couldn’t meet his eyes. you didn’t want to.

“i’m fine,” you said quickly, brushing him off. the words tasted bitter as they left your lips, but you couldn’t afford to show weakness. not here. Nlnot with him.

jaron moved closer, his hand resting on your shoulder in that too-familiar way. you flinched at his touch, the unwanted warmth of it seeping into your skin. he didn’t notice. or perhaps he didn’t care.

“good,” he said, stepping closer still. “the night’s not over yet. we’ve got to make our grand entrance. let everyone see the future of piltover.”

you nodded absently, your gaze drifting to the window again. you were trapped. And the realization stung with the clarity of a knife's edge.

when jaron placed his hand on the small of your back, leading you back downstairs to the party, you felt a sense of dread settle in your chest. the crowd was still bustling, and the orchestra’s sweet melodies played on, but everything felt wrong. every laugh, every smile, every glance from the guests felt like a mockery, a reminder that you were a part of this world you didn’t want.

as you stepped back into the spotlight, you felt the eyes of everyone on you—eyes full of expectation, eyes that could see through the fragile facade you had carefully built. your heart raced, but you forced yourself to smile, to do your duty. you were the perfect bride-to-be, the dutiful daughter, the one who would bring honor to the family name.

but none of it felt real.

the silence that followed your arrival felt heavier than before. it wasn’t just the gazes of the guests, but the absence of sevika’s presence that weighed on you. Hlher absence felt like a physical ache, a hollowness you couldn’t fill. she wasn’t here. she wouldn’t be here. not after what had happened.

the thought of her, of her strong arms holding you, of her touch that made you feel like you could breathe again, only made the guilt cut deeper. you had promised yourself—promised her—that you would be with her. you had promised you’d leave all of this behind. but now you stood here, in the middle of everything you hated, and it felt like your soul was being torn in two.

“let’s dance,” jaron said, his voice smooth and unbothered. his hand extended to you, as if you were still his—still the docile woman he had claimed as his own.

you didn’t respond right away. you stood frozen, staring at the dance floor, the orchestra’s music building, pulling everyone into the rhythm of what they expected.

“i’m not feeling well,” you said quickly, your voice shaky. “i think i need some air.”

before jaron could protest, you turned and fled, desperate to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the room. you moved through the crowd with a grace that felt foreign, as if you were no longer the woman they had known, as if you had become someone else entirely. someone who was lost, someone who was drowning.

you made your way toward the balcony, but before you could reach the door, you found yourself face-to-face with a familiar, much-needed presence.

sevika.

she stood in the shadow of the balcony, her eyes hard and unreadable, but they softened when they landed on you. for a moment, everything else faded away. the music, the laughter, the chatter—they were all distant sounds, lost in the space between the two of you.

“why are you here?” you didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but the words came out like an accusation. the truth was, you didn’t know why you were so angry. you didn’t know why seeing her only made the ache in your chest worse.

sevika didn’t flinch at your tone. instead, she took a step closer, her gaze locked onto yours. “i came to see you.”

the simplicity of her words hit you harder than you expected. the tension in your body, the twisting in your gut, the guilt that had been gnawing at you—it all came to the surface.

“i can’t…” you shook your head, your voice faltering as you tried to pull away. but sevika’s hand was already on your wrist, stopping you from retreating.

“you don’t have to explain anything to me,” sevika said quietly, her thumb brushing over your skin in a soft, comforting gesture. “but i’m here. i’m always here. don’t let this”—she gestured vaguely to the room behind you—“make you forget who you are. who we are.”

her words struck you like a lifeline, but they also reminded you of how far you had drifted from her. the guilt in your chest flared again, sharp and unbearable.

“i’ve made a mess of everything,” you admitted, your voice thick with emotion. “i can’t be with you, sevika. not like this.”

sevika’s grip tightened on your wrist, but her eyes never wavered from yours. “don’t shut me out. not because of him. not because of any of this.”

you pulled away from her gently, shaking your head, the tears finally coming. “i’ve already lost myself, sevika. i don’t know who i am anymore. i don’t know how to fix this.”

the words were like daggers, each one more painful than the last. and yet, sevika just stood there, waiting for you to let her in. she didn’t try to force you to come back, but she wouldn’t leave either.

the silence between you was filled with the weight of what you had lost, of what you were too afraid to give up.

“i need time,” you whispered. “please, just…give me time.”

sevika nodded slowly, her gaze soft but filled with an intensity that made your heart ache. “take all the time you need. but i’m not going anywhere.”

and for the first time that night, you felt a small sliver of hope break through the heavy darkness that had threatened to swallow you whole.

—

the night had started like any other. the oppressive weight of your engagement, the hollow smiles, and the constant pressure to play your part—it all became numb after a while. but tonight felt different. you had sneaked away once again, just like before, drawn to the only place where you could breathe without suffocating.

sevika was waiting for you in the alley behind a rundown tavern in zaun. you had been meeting her here for weeks now—each stolen moment, each touch, a desperate defiance against the life your parents had chosen for you. you didn't care that it was forbidden. you didn't care about the consequences. all that mattered was her.

as you slipped out of the shadows and into her arms, the world outside seemed to fade. sevika’s touch was always grounding, her presence a solid anchor in a world that had become too vast, too uncertain. she kissed you softly, her lips gentle against yours. it was always like this when it was just the two of you: the brief, fleeting moments of tenderness in a world that demanded nothing but perfection from you.

“i missed you,” you murmured, the words a soft confession as your hands tangled in her jacket.

“i missed you too,” sevika replied, her voice thick with longing, her hands already sliding down to your waist, pulling you closer. she could always read you, could always sense the turmoil that churned in your chest. you had never been good at hiding your feelings, especially around her.

but tonight felt different. there was an edge to the air, a sense of urgency in the way she held you, as if the walls were closing in. you couldn’t put your finger on it, but something was wrong.

before you could ask, you heard the distinct sound of footsteps approaching, the unmistakable clicking of heels on cobblestone. your heart skipped a beat as a shadow appeared at the end of the alley, followed by more figures. panic flooded your veins.

“sevika…” you whispered, pulling away from her just as the figures came into view.

it was too late. your parents. both of them. your father’s furious face, set in stone, and your mother’s calculating gaze met yours. behind them stood jaron, his expression a mixture of triumph and disgust.

“what is this?” your father’s voice boomed, his gaze scanning the scene with contempt. they'd followed you, noticing your frequent absences. “you—what have you done?” he took a step forward, his words cutting through the air like a whip.

you froze, the weight of the moment crashing down on you. the realization hit like a tidal wave—your secret was no longer a secret. you had been caught.

sevika stepped back, her expression unreadable, her jaw clenched in frustration. she didn’t say a word, but the look she gave you said everything. she had known the risks. she had known the consequences. but she never thought it would come to this. she never thought you would be dragged back into this life, back into the chains your family had set for you.

your mother was the first to speak, her voice laced with venom. “this—this thing is nothing more than a filthy distraction,” she spat, her eyes narrowing at sevika. “a criminal. a thug. and you—” her gaze turned back to you, her face twisted in fury. “you’ve betrayed us. you’ve thrown everything we’ve worked for into the dirt.”

“mother, please—” you started, your voice trembling, but your mother silenced you with a cold glance.

“there is no excuse for this. there’s no excuse for her.” she gestured to sevika, her voice dripping with disdain. “and there will be no forgiveness.”

your father stepped forward, his fist clenched at his side. “this is unforgivable, do you understand? we’ve given you everything. a future. a name. a place in this world. and you’ve thrown it all away for what? for this?” he motioned to sevika, his face red with anger.

you felt the tears welling in your eyes, but you forced them down. you couldn’t show weakness, not now. not in front of them. “i’m sorry,” you whispered, the words tasting like ash in your mouth.

jaron, who had been standing silently at the edge of the group, finally spoke up, his voice cold and dismissive. “it’s too late for apologies. what’s done is done.” he stepped forward, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips. “but you’ve made it clear that you’re not the woman i thought you were. not the woman i agreed to marry. i won’t tolerate this... this rebellion.”

you wanted to scream. you wanted to tell them all that you didn’t belong in this world, that you never had. that sevika was the only person who had ever made you feel alive, who had ever truly seen you for who you were. but the words caught in your throat.

your father’s face softened, but only slightly. “we’ve already arranged everything. the date is moved up,” he announced, as though this were just another transaction to be completed. “the wedding will take place next week.”

the shock of his words hit you like a punch to the gut. you tried to protest, but your father cut you off, his voice final.

“you’ve made your bed. now you will lie in it. this disgrace will end tonight.”

you looked at sevika, your heart breaking as you saw the pain in her eyes. she took a step forward, but your father’s glare stopped her in her tracks. “you’re nothing more than a distraction. you’ll leave this city, or we’ll make you leave. you’re not welcome here.”

sevika looked at you, her gaze filled with sorrow, but also with determination. she wasn’t going to fight them. not here. not now.

“i won’t forget you,” she said quietly, her voice strained with emotion.

your heart shattered as you nodded, unable to speak. the world felt like it was

your heart shattered as you nodded, unable to speak. the world felt like it was spinning out of control, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. your life had been torn apart in an instant.

jaron stepped in, his hand resting possessively on your arm. “let’s go,” he said, his voice cold and commanding. “you’ve made your choice.”

you didn’t resist. there was no point. you had already lost. you had already been condemned to a life you never wanted.

as you were pulled away from sevika, your heart ached. every step felt like it was pulling you further from her, further from the life you had once dreamed of. but you couldn’t escape it. you couldn’t escape the world your parents had forced upon you.

jaron’s grip on you tightened as you were led back inside, away from the woman who had been your everything.

and as the door closed behind you, you knew—this was the end.

—

the days that followed felt like a blur, each moment dragging on as if the world itself had slowed down to mock your pain. the engagement party was nothing but a distant memory now—replaced with the crushing reality of your situation. the wedding, moved up sooner than anyone had expected, loomed over you like a dark cloud, each day making the impending doom feel more inescapable.

you sat at your vanity, the delicate brush in your hand forgotten as your eyes wandered to the reflection in front of you. the woman staring back at you looked nothing like the one you had once been. the sparkle in your eyes had dimmed, replaced by a hollow, haunted gaze. your hands trembled as you gently placed the brush down, feeling the weight of the ring jaron had given you earlier—his claim on you—pressing against your skin like an iron shackle.

you couldn’t understand how it had come to this. how everything you had fought for, everything you had dreamed of, was slipping through your fingers like sand. sevika had been your escape, your salvation in a world that demanded conformity. but now, she was gone—taken from you by the very people who had raised you, who had controlled your every move.

there was a knock at the door, followed by the sound of it opening. you didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

jaron stepped into the room, his presence almost suffocating. he was dressed in his finest clothes, his hair meticulously styled, as though everything about him was put together perfectly. it was so easy for him to be everything he was expected to be. for him, there were no complications, no internal battles. but for you? for you, every step forward felt like walking through quicksand.

he closed the door behind him, his gaze moving over you with a mixture of possessiveness and satisfaction. “you look beautiful,” he said, the words almost too rehearsed. it was a compliment, yes, but one laced with an undertone of ownership.

you didn’t respond. you couldn’t. there was nothing to say.

he walked over to you, his hand gently resting on your shoulder as he stood behind you, looking at your reflection. “this is happening, whether you like it or not,” he continued, his voice softer now, as if trying to placate you. “it’s what’s best for both of us.”

you finally turned to face him, your gaze hard, but the tears were already brimming, threatening to spill over. “best for who?” the words felt heavy in your throat, bitter. “you? your family? or is this what’s best for you to control me?”

jaron’s expression faltered for a moment, but he quickly masked it with a smile that was nothing more than a thin veneer of civility. “i don’t expect you to understand yet, but you will. in time, you’ll see that this is the only way. this is your destiny, whether you choose to accept it or not.”

your chest tightened. your destiny. the words hung in the air like a curse, each syllable a reminder of the path you had been forced onto.

“i don’t love you,” you whispered, each word carrying a weight of sorrow. “i never have.”

his eyes darkened for a split second, the smile slipping from his face. there was a flash of something in his gaze—anger, frustration—but it quickly melted away into that same, practiced expression. he took a step back, his posture stiffening.

“i’m aware,” he said, his voice controlled. “but that will change. in time, you’ll come to understand that love isn’t something that happens on your terms. it’s something you build.”

you wanted to scream, to tear the world apart, but you knew it wouldn’t change anything. nothing ever had. not when your family’s expectations weighed so heavily on your every breath, not when sevika was out of reach, her name a distant echo in your heart.

“you can’t force me to love you,” you said quietly, though your voice quivered. “i won’t ever love you. not the way you want me to.”

jaron stared at you for a long moment, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to find a flicker of the woman he had once thought he could possess. but there was nothing there. you had already slipped away.

with a sharp exhale, he turned toward the door, but before he left, he spoke again, his voice low and almost sad. “you’ll come to understand eventually. and when you do, i’ll be waiting.”

as the door closed behind him, the silence returned—unwelcome, suffocating. the weight of his words settled over you like a blanket of ice. you’ll come to understand eventually.

but how could you? how could you ever understand a life that wasn’t your own? how could you accept the chains that had been forged around you, shackling you to a man you didn’t love, a life you never wanted?

that night, as you lay in your bed, staring at the ceiling, you thought of sevika. the way she had looked at you that last time, her eyes full of pain and longing. you closed your eyes, but the image of her face wouldn’t leave you. her absence felt like a gaping hole in your chest, a wound that wouldn’t heal.

and that was when it hit you—the cold, bitter truth.

there was no escaping it now. the wedding was happening, and you would have to walk down that aisle. you would have to submit to the life your parents had built for you, to the man you had never chosen. sevika would be nothing more than a memory—a distant ache you couldn’t hold on to.

the tears finally came then, hot and relentless, as you buried your face in your pillow. your sobs filled the quiet room, but there was no one to hear them. no one to comfort you. you were truly alone.

—

the next few days blurred into a haze of preparations. your parents were relentless, pushing you through the motions of the wedding with cold efficiency. the day of the ceremony arrived far too quickly, each passing moment feeling like another nail in the coffin of your former life.

the church was grand, its walls adorned with gold and white, a symbol of everything your parents valued: wealth, power, reputation. as you stood at the altar, dressed in a gown you had never wanted, your mind drifted back to sevika. you tried not to think about her, tried to push her image away, but it was impossible. the memory of her was burned into your mind like a brand.

the doors opened, and jaron stepped forward, his face a mask of smug satisfaction. you met his eyes, your stomach churning with disgust. you tried to remind yourself that this was what had been decided, that this was your fate. but deep down, you knew it wasn’t. you weren’t supposed to be here. you weren’t supposed to be his.

and yet, there you were, trapped.

the vows were a blur, the words spoken by rote, as if they were nothing more than an obligation to fulfill. you didn’t remember the rings being exchanged, or the way jaron’s hand gripped yours so tightly. all you could feel was the absence of sevika, and the crushing weight of what you had lost.

and when the ceremony ended, and you were officially bound to jaron, you felt as though your soul had already left your body. there was no escape from this life, no way back to the one you had wanted. the woman you were before was gone, buried beneath the weight of duty, of expectation, and of a love that had never been.

—

the wedding was over. the vows had been exchanged. the future that had been thrust upon you, uninvited and unwelcome, was now your reality. you had become a wife, and with it came the heavy burden of a life you hadn’t chosen. a life you had never asked for. the night, however, was far from over.

jaron had insisted on taking you to a luxurious retreat for your honeymoon. a lavish suite overlooking a serene lake, the grandeur of the place only highlighting the emptiness you felt inside. it was supposed to be a time of celebration—a time for you both to enjoy your union, to find closeness, to begin building something new. but you saw it for what it truly was: a cage.

the moment the door to the suite closed behind you, the reality of your situation hit you like a crushing wave. the air in the room felt thick, suffocating. you wanted nothing more than to turn around, to walk away, to run back to the life you had known before the wedding. but you couldn’t. you had no choice.

jaron smiled, as if this was a victory he had long been waiting for. his eyes gleamed with the arrogance of someone who believed he had finally claimed what was his. he was pleased, so deeply pleased, and you couldn’t understand how it was possible that he had no idea of the anguish in your heart.

the heavy silence between you felt suffocating, the ornate, expensive surroundings a sharp contrast to the emptiness gnawing at your soul. he walked toward the bed, his hands already loosening the tie of his shirt. you stood frozen in place, your back pressed to the door as if you could somehow keep the reality of the situation at bay.

“come here,” jaron said, his voice soft but firm.

your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of fear and deep resentment flooding your veins. you felt your pulse in your throat as you hesitated for a moment before you forced yourself to take a step forward, knowing that there was no way out.

as you approached, he turned to face you, his lips curling into a smirk. he reached out and brushed a lock of your hair away from your face, his fingers trailing lightly across your skin. the touch was meant to be tender, but you only felt disgust. the very thought of him touching you, possessing you in such an intimate way, made your stomach turn.

“i know this is difficult for you,” he said, his voice low. “but you’ll learn to appreciate me, in time. you’ll see how good we can be together.”

you wanted to scream at him, to tell him that no, you wouldn’t, that you could never love him the way he wanted, but you kept the words to yourself. there was no point.

jaron guided you toward the bed, his touch insistent, his body pressing into yours as he undressed you with slow, calculated movements. every inch of your exposed skin felt vulnerable, exposed—more than just physically, but emotionally as well. you wanted to pull away, to escape, but his hold on you was firm. he wasn’t giving you an option.

when his lips touched yours, you flinched. it was a kiss that had no tenderness, no affection. it was a kiss of possession, of dominance. his hands were rough, and the way he touched you made you feel like an object—a thing to be used. the kiss deepened, and his hands traveled lower, making you want to recoil, but you couldn’t.

tears welled in your eyes, but you forced them back. you couldn’t let him see your weakness. you couldn’t let him know how broken you were, how much you hated every second of this.

and yet, your body betrayed you. as much as you hated him, as much as you despised everything about this situation, a part of you responded. the touch, the heat, the pressure of him against you—it all ignited something inside you, something primal and unfamiliar. you hated that part of yourself, the part that wanted this even as your mind screamed against it.

his hands were all over you now, pulling at your clothes, his breath ragged against your skin. you felt an ache between your legs, a heat that made you feel nauseous, disgusted with yourself for reacting this way. but jaron didn’t notice. he didn’t care. to him, this was all part of the game.

he undressed you fully, pushing you back onto the bed, his weight following immediately after. the room felt too small, the air too thick, as though it was closing in on you. his hands gripped your body with a force that made you wince, his movements growing desperate, impatient. you barely had time to adjust before he was inside you, and the sudden, sharp pain made you cry out.

you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out everything—the way his body moved against yours, the way his breath hitched in your ear, the way he took you like it was something he had been waiting for his entire life. you wanted to pull away, to push him off, but his hands held you in place, forcing you to stay still, to endure.

the pain was unbearable. every thrust made you feel more raw, more exposed. you could feel the blood, the bruises forming on your skin, the tears that slipped down your cheeks as you tried to keep your composure. it wasn’t supposed to be this way. it wasn’t supposed to hurt this much.

when it was over, jaron didn’t look at you with concern. he didn’t ask if you were okay. he simply lay next to you, his breathing slowing as he pulled you into his arms.

you stiffened at his touch, your body still aching, but he didn’t seem to care. he kissed the top of your head, murmuring something about how you would come to enjoy this, how you would learn to love him. but you didn’t hear him. the only sound in your head was the sound of your own breath, ragged and broken.

as he drifted to sleep, you remained awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling every ache in your body. you felt the blood between your legs, the sting, the emptiness. you couldn’t stop the tears that began to fall, couldn’t stop the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you.

this wasn’t love. this wasn’t anything close to what you had imagined. it wasn’t even kindness. it was a violation, a forced intimacy that left you empty and broken. the honeymoon had been nothing but a cruel joke, a beautiful lie to hide the truth of what you had been forced to endure.

the night felt endless, and as you lay there, clinging to the shattered remnants of your will, you couldn’t help but wish for the impossible—to go back to before, when sevika had been your only truth, your only light in a world full of darkness.

but there was no going back. you were trapped now, bound by the promises of a life that was never yours to begin with.

—

three years. three long years of silence, of putting on a face for the world, of living a life that was never yours.

the day had come—your body heavy, your mind numb. the child jaron had so eagerly wanted was about to be born, though you never desired it. you had never wanted to be here, never asked for any of this: the marriage, the pregnancy, the endless cycle of duty and obligation. but here you were, trapped in a cage that had only grown smaller with time.

you had no choice but to endure. you had no voice in this world anymore.

the labor had been long, agonizing. your body had screamed at you to stop, to rest, but there was no rest to be found. each wave of pain that crashed over you felt like a reminder that you were a prisoner of your own life. the hours dragged on, your mind and body exhausted, while jaron stood by your side with a cold expression, offering no comfort, no reassurance.

you didn’t look at him. there was nothing left to say, no words left to be spoken between you. he had gotten what he wanted—a child. and you were merely a vessel, a means to an end.

the pain was unbearable. your body felt as though it were being torn apart, each contraction a brutal reminder of how far you had fallen from the woman you once were. you thought back to the days when you were free, when you could sneak away to zaun and find solace in sevika’s arms. but those days were long gone. the pain now was a reminder that those moments would never come again. you were alone, with no escape.

as the child was finally delivered, you could feel the weight of the moment. it was over. the child you never wanted was in your arms now, and you had no idea what to do with it. the weight of motherhood had never seemed so foreign, so unwelcome.

jaron stood beside you, his face unreadable as he looked at the newborn. his gaze lingered on the child with an expression of triumph, but nothing more. he didn’t look at you—not as a wife, not as someone who had just gone through the painful ordeal of childbirth. he didn’t care.

the child was a symbol of his victory, and you were just the vessel that had created it.

—

the days that followed felt like a simple moment. you were supposed to be recovering from the birth, but instead, you found yourself growing weaker with each passing day. the fever came first, creeping in slowly at first, like a shadow that threatened to take over. your body ached, your head felt heavy, and every movement felt like a battle against your own body.

you tried to tell yourself it was just exhaustion, that it would pass. but it didn’t. it only grew worse. you could feel the cold sweat coating your skin, the chills that would strike without warning. your once-strong body felt frail, each breath coming in short gasps, as if the air itself had grown too thick for you to breathe.

jaron didn’t seem to notice. or if he did, he didn’t care. he had his child. he had what he wanted from you, and that was all that mattered. you were nothing more than a tool for him now, a means to an end.

you had nothing left for him. you had nothing left to give.

as the days passed, your health continued to deteriorate. the fever raged, but no medicine seemed to work. your strength faltered, and the sense of hopelessness that had already filled you before now consumed you entirely. you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of your misery pressing down on you with every passing minute.

the baby cried, but there was no comfort to be found in the sounds. you tried to get up to tend to it, but your body refused to obey. it was as though your entire being had shut down in response to the life you had been forced into.

jaron, cold and distant as always, had someone else tend to the child. he would look in on you occasionally, his gaze indifferent, as if you were merely an obstacle to be dealt with. he had no interest in your well-being, in your pain. he only cared about the child and the image of the perfect family, one that was nothing but a facade.

days turned into weeks, and your condition worsened. you could no longer eat, no longer stand. the fever had taken hold of you, and your body was growing weaker with each passing day. your once vibrant eyes were dull, clouded with the fever that consumed you. your skin had become pale, almost translucent, and your bones ached as though the life had been drained from you.

there were moments of clarity, brief flashes of your old self, but they were fleeting. they never lasted long enough for you to hold onto them. the person you had once been was fading away, slipping through your fingers like sand.

you thought of sevika, of the nights you had spent together in the shadows of zaun. you had loved her, and she had loved you. but that was before. that was before the weight of this life had crushed you beneath it. now, there was no escaping it. there was no way out.

your mind would drift to the life you had once wanted—the freedom to be who you were, to love who you wanted, to be something more than a vessel for a child you hadn’t asked for. but those dreams were just that: dreams. your reality was a nightmare, and there was no waking up from it.

—

the doctor had come, but his words were nothing more than a formality. he had taken your pulse, checked your temperature, and spoken in quiet tones to jaron. the words "serious" and "complications" had been thrown around, but it was clear that there was no real hope. the fever had reached its peak, and your body was no longer strong enough to fight it off.

you were slipping away.

as night fell, you lay in the cold, unfamiliar bed, the weight of your pain pressing down on you. jaron was asleep in the chair by the window, his back to you, his attention on the child in the next room. you could hear the soft cooing of the baby, a sound that should have filled you with warmth, but instead, it made your heart ache with emptiness.

you closed your eyes, letting the darkness take over.

and for the first time in years, you felt like you were finally free.

—

the fever had not relented, nor had the weakening of your body. days bled into each other, indistinguishable from one another. the pain was constant, but it was dull, like an ever-present weight on your chest that made it difficult to breathe. every breath you took seemed like an effort. your body, once so full of life, was betraying you, slowly and surely.

you lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, feeling the life slipping away from you. the baby—your child—was in the other room, its cries occasionally breaking the silence. but those sounds no longer reached you as they once did. they were just distant echoes of a life that was no longer yours. the love you had for the child was nonexistent, and you couldn’t find the strength to pretend otherwise.

there was only one thing left in your heart, one thing that burned through the fog of pain and weakness.

sevika.

it felt like an impossible request, a final wish that could never come true. but you were so close to the end now. you could feel it in your bones, a certainty that you had no more time to waste. the world had taken everything from you—your freedom, your choice, your love. but at the very least, before you were swallowed whole by this life, you wanted to see her again.

you had been dreaming of her more often in the last few days. in your delirium, her face had become the one thing that kept you tethered to something real. something alive. when you closed your eyes, you could almost feel her touch, her warmth. you imagined that if you saw her one last time, you could at least die knowing that love, true love, still existed somewhere. even if it had been taken from you, even if you could never have it again, it would still be there in your memory.

you begged jaron. you begged the servants. you begged anyone who would listen, but the request was met with cold refusal.

“no,” jaron had said when you mentioned sevika’s name. his voice had been flat, dismissive. “you will not see her. she has no place here. and you don’t have time for such nonsense.”

you had tried again, weakly, to argue that this was your dying wish, that you had only days left. but it was as though no one cared. no one wanted to honor your last request. they didn’t care that your heart was breaking, that your soul was torn between a life of misery and the one you had lost forever.

the days passed, one after the other, and with each passing hour, you grew weaker. your world grew dimmer. you no longer had the strength to argue, to fight for a moment of happiness, a moment of peace before it all ended. you had nothing left.

the night you slipped away, you could feel it—the cool, quiet pull of death, drawing you in like a soft whisper. your breath had become shallow, your body had become stiff, and the pain had finally dulled enough that you could think clearly, if only for a moment.

your final thoughts were of her, sevika. how you would never hear her voice again, never feel her embrace. it was a cruel, bitter irony that in your final moments, you could only wish for the one thing you had lost forever.

—

the funeral came just days after you passed.

the day of your burial was cold and gray, the air thick with the weight of loss. no one spoke of you in any great detail, only that you had been a dutiful wife, a woman who had done her duty. the truth of your unhappiness, your suffering, was buried beneath a mask of politeness and false grief.

jaron stood at the front, his face impassive, his eyes distant. the child—your child—was in his arms, and he seemed to care more for the infant than the woman who had borne it. your body, so fragile now, had been lowered into the earth without ceremony. it was a simple grave, a place where you would be left to rot, just another forgotten woman in a world that had never cared for you.

as the spring rolled around, a freshly dug grave was on the ground, a mound of dirt that seemed to grow larger with each passing day, swallowed by the seasons. the flowers you had once admired were now just distant memories, and the world seemed to go on without you, as if nothing had changed.

sevika never knew.

weeks later, the news finally reached her.

sevika had been living in the shadows, like she always had. her life in zaun had never been easy, but it had been the only place where she had felt alive, where she had felt a semblance of hope. the wars, the chaos, they had all become normal to her. but even in the midst of it all, something had been missing. she had sensed it, felt the weight of the emptiness, but she had no way of knowing.

and then, one day, a message came.

it was cold, impersonal—a letter from your family’s estate, the words blunt and heartless. you were gone. you had died days ago. the letter offered no details, no explanation. it simply stated the facts: you had passed. your funeral had already been held.

sevika read those words again and again, as though they might somehow change, as though they might somehow bring you back. but the reality settled in with crushing weight.

she had not been allowed to be at your side in your final moments. she had been denied the chance to say goodbye, to hold your hand, to be there as you had drawn your last breath.

her heart broke. her chest tightened with grief so powerful that it nearly brought her to her knees. the pain was unbearable, the silence in her heart deafening. you had been her light, her escape from a world that had never accepted either of you.

she cursed the world, cursed the forces that had kept her away from you when you needed her the most. there were no words for the agony she felt—no words for the brutal, bitter grief that consumed her.

and the thought that you had died alone, that you had been forced to suffer without her by your side, was too much to bear.

sevika had people on the inside. well—scratch that. silco had people on the inside. and because of that, it hadn’t taken much for her to get a copy of your autopsy report.

it landed in her hands easily, like it had been waiting for her all along. she spent hours reading it. over and over. memorizing every word, every sterile phrase, every clinical sentence that reduced your existence to data and diagnosis. it was far too short. so painfully brief. as if you hadn’t mattered at all. they hadn’t even tried. no real efforts had been made to save you. jaron—fucking jaron—had signed off on denying you any life-saving treatment.

his reason? that you didn’t have any fight left in you.

but sevika knew better. she knew the truth that coward refused to see.

with the right doctors—real doctors—and the proper medicine, you could have recovered. you could’ve healed. you could’ve flourished into the version of yourself she still saw when she closed her eyes. the one who would kiss her behind the last drop, soaked from the rain, grinning like the world wasn’t hell.

she wishes she had been there. gods, she aches for it. to hold your hand through it all. but she knows—she knows deep down—she wouldn’t have just held your hand.

no. sevika would have torn the world apart for you.

she’d have slaughtered anyone who stood in her way, anyone who dared keep her from you. she would’ve swept through the ward like a storm, taken your fragile, failing body into her arms, and brought you home. to her tiny, cluttered apartment in zaun. it wasn’t much, but it would’ve been safe. it would’ve been yours.

and she would’ve done anything to save you.

every medicine, every chemical stashed in the black corners of zaun, locked away in dusty cabinets and whispered about in dark alleys—she’d have found it. bought it. stolen it. made deals with the worst kinds of people. she would’ve spent everything she owned. given her blood, her limb, her life.

she would’ve saved you.

her painter.

her light.

her greatest regret.

──

sevika made her way to the graveyard in the dead of night, her footsteps heavy with the weight of what she had lost. she stood in front of your grave, the cold wind whipping through her hair. the stone marker was simple, just a name, a date. nothing more. it was all that remained of you.

tears blurred her vision, but she did not care. she placed her hand on the grave, her heart breaking all over again.

“you deserved so much more,” she whispered to the wind, her voice thick with emotion. “i should have been there with you. i should have protected you.”

she knelt in front of the grave, her head bowed as she grieved for the woman she had loved—her best friend, her lover, her heart. you were gone, and she had been denied the chance to say goodbye. the world had stolen you from her, and there was no justice for it.

as the wind howled through the empty graveyard, sevika whispered your name, holding onto the memory of your love, a love that would never be allowed to blossom, never be given the chance to grow.

the grief sevika felt was overwhelming. she didn’t know how to live in a world without you. she didn’t know how to move forward when the love of her life was buried in a grave she couldn’t visit, a grave that was no longer just a symbol of your death, but a representation of everything she had lost.

the world had stolen you from her, and no matter how hard she fought, it had won.

[0viraptoraskblog]

If the btd/tpof characters were to grow very attached to the mc, how do you think they would react to mc dying? That can include dying a brutal death that may be caused by them... Or someone else

Strade- your death was probably an accident caused by him. He’d be very frustrated with himself, but more just mad at the situation than guilty. He’d be in a bad mood for a while. Same thing for if you ‘got the last laugh’, except then he’s less frustrated and more bummed out. There’s little opportunity for someone else to kill you. If it happened, he’d torture them 10 times worse before giving them a slow and agonizing death. Unless, on the off chance, it was Ren. He’d surely be punished, but Strade would never kill him.

Ren- Ren might be affected the most out of all of them. You were his friend, the one he cherished so much after losing Strade— it would greatly affect his already struggling mental health to lose you too. He’d blame himself, regardless if he was the cause, and would be frustrated and depressed. He’d get worried that the cycle is repeating again. If someone else killed you, he’d be furious. He wouldn’t know exactly what to do, but he’d want revenge. He’d come up with some kind of plan (albeit a rushed and amateur plan) to kill them off too. Whether he goes through with it or not depends on how mad he is, or if he’s too saddened to do anything.

Lawrence- He’d be angry. He was supposed to be guiding your path— he wasn’t ready for you to leave him yet. At first he’s just bewildered and in disbelief, but that would quickly turn into frustration. But yknow what? He is guiding your path. He might follow you to the River and drag you back with him. If someone else killed you, he’d send them to the River in your place.

Sano- a mixture of depressed, disappointed, and confused. He’s sad he lost you, he really is. You were different. He had a connection to you. He’s confused how it happened— how he let it happen. He might blame himself. He’s also a bit disappointed you didn’t have enough fight in you to make it, too. If someone else did it, they’re in for a horrible time. Sano’s rage is patient and calculated. He’d make sure they suffer as long as possible.

Akira- I think Akira would just be depressed for a while. He did like you, but he also deals with death every day because of his work— and he’s had people close to him die. He’s sad, but he knows he has to force himself to move on. If someone else killed you though? They’re not making it out. He’s a sharpshooter, yknow; they wouldn’t last another day.

Vincent- He’d be frustrated, sad, and would probably blame himself (much like he does when Farz dies in BTD2). It would affect him greatly, but he would try not to show it on the surface. He’d take a while to recover. If someone else killed you, they’re done for. He’d tear them apart in his wolf form easily.

Farz- Farz wouldn’t be bothered if he killed you, kind of like in game. Even if he did like you a bit, he knows it’s for the better; he’ll have Vincent to himself again. If you weren’t going away, it had to be like this. I don’t think he’d care if someone else finished the job. Maybe a little bit of sadness if he liked you, but it’s brief.

Cain- I imagine Cain wouldn’t accidentally kill you. He’d find a way to keep you alive. If he did, he meant to, and he’s moved on. If someone else killed you though, he’ll avenge you for sure. Same sword-through-the-chest fashion as he did with Vincent, maybe strangle them with thorns or something. He can’t let you go without some justification.

Rire- He’d be disappointed, but it’s easy to find someone new. He’d try to find someone who looks/acts similar to the way you did, but it will never truly be the same.

Derek- Kind of doesn’t know what to do now. He planned to keep you forever (and I believe he’s careful not to let you die, so he can torment you forever), but if he accidentally goes too far? He’d be furious. At you, for dying, at him, for losing his plaything. He’s frustrated because this is the first time he’s had an outlet for his anger, and now he’ll have to get a new one. But will they ever be as good as you were? He’d get snappy with people and be generally upset while he thinks of what to do. If someone else killed you? And stole his toy? Oh boy, you’re in for a fight. Either a regular fight, or maybe he just laughs. He laughs at them and walks away, saying “you’ll get what you deserve”. He has shady connections through his family’s ‘business’. That person never seen again.

Celia- Shed be extremely frustrated. With you, her life was just starting to become bearable. At first it was just because she had an outlet for her anger, but then she actually grew attached emotionally. And she can’t confide in anyone because you were a secret (or you both were on the run). She’d be a little lost as to what to do; she didn’t realize how much she liked you until you’re gone. If it was someone else, she’d hunt them down. Simple as that. She’d make sure they don’t get away with it.

Mason- He’d be a little sad, but he’d make sure to keep something to remember you by. Make some kind of art piece/object with your bones maybe, like he did with Sandy. You’ll never truly be gone if he has part of you with him. He’d be very sentimental about you, even after death.

[novvabee]

Hi lovie! I also need some distraction as my grandpa recently died. I had to take care of everyone so I couldnt grieve him and had to pretend to be fine so can I request a barty x reader fic where she is sorta like me and feels like they have to be strong and do everything on their own and Barty is a “I know you can do it but let me help” bf? Thank you in advance

Hi my love! I am so sorry to hear about that, I really hope you're doing ok and I am always here for all of you. tough times are hard but they are less hard when you surround yourself with those who care and understand, and in this community, I hope that we can all lean on each other from time to time, and you can always lean on me ❤️ I hope this helps maybe a little.

No Complaints🌦💙

summary: Barty comforts reader after a death in the family

cw: angst, swearing like twice, mention of funeral, mentions of not eating, grieving

word count: 1.4k

Today was hard. Harder than you thought it would be.

You had to return to school today. You’d only gotten a week off for the funeral. One week to mourn, seven days. That wasn’t nearly enough time.

You thought about taking the semester off, about dropping out for a short while to recover, but O.W.Ls were coming up, and you didn’t want to throw away all that hard work and studying. Besides, everyone in your life would tell you not to, encourage you to stay strong and finish. And that is exactly what you were going to do; stay strong, stay on course.

But staying on course was a lot harder than you remember, classes seemed longer, more boring than ever. Your friends definitely noticed as well, noticed that you were pulling back and choosing to stay in your dorm rather than spend time out with them, rather than make your way down for meals in the great hall, rather than attend any of your classes.

Of course, Barty noticed. How could he not? He spent almost every moment with you.

He was the first one you told when you were crying in your dorm, having skipped all your classes that day. He got worried and came looking for you around lunchtime to find you curled up in your bed, bawling. You felt a bit embarrassed, having broken down so entirely in front of him, but he didn’t think twice before laying there with you, pulling you to cuddle closer to him.

That’s the kind of boyfriend he was, he would allow you your space and let you work through things on your own, but somehow always magically knew when you were at your limit and needed him, and would be there for you; no questions, no complaints.

Barty knew what you were going through, knew how you must be feeling, even if he couldn’t relate. You were very close to your family, filled with so much love and happiness, while his family was anything but.

But he knew, he knew what family meant to you, and knew you were now in pieces.

He left you alone for a bit when you first returned to school, giving you space to feel all the emotions you needed to feel, ready to step in for you when needed. But he noted how long he was waiting for you. Days went by, and those days turned into a week, and he knew he needed to see you, just check in on you to make sure you were alright.

You were curled into a ball in your bed, how you spent most of your time these days, just watching the hours go by. You heard a knock on your door and forced yourself to roll out of bed and answer it.

Barty stood there in the frame, a plate of all your favorite baked goods in hand. And smiled in relief at the sight of you.

“Hi,” you said shortly and stared at the floor, not having enough in you to speak more than one word sentences lately. 

“Hey, there, love,” He said, you could practically hear the worry and softness dripping from his tone. “I snuck these from the kitchen for you.” He motioned to the plate. 

You nodded and stepped aside, allowing him to enter your dorm. He made his way in, placing the plate of goodies on a desk across the room. “I noticed you haven’t been to a meal in… a while.” He said carefully.

“Yeah,” you answered, still not entirely able to meet his eyes. “Dorcas has brought me food a couple times.”

He nodded. “I just… I wanted to see if you were doing alright. You haven’t been to class in a while, and you haven't come down to eat either.”

You didn't want to be lectured about how you’ve been missing class, about choosing instead to stay in bed rather than face the day. You just couldn’t make yourself do it.

“I-I… I just don’t want to…” Your thoughts were racing faster than your mouth could keep up with. Everything was coming up, every thought and every emotion until you couldn’t suppress it, until it was all falling out and into the open. “I can’t even think of anything else except for how empty I feel. I don't see the point in continuing on on useless, unimportant shit. I don’t have enough room to think about anything else, so how am I supposed to think about O.W.Ls, or friends, or.. or… or if this feeling is ever going to go away.” 

Your eyes finally met Barty’s, standing there, listening, allowing you to vent to him without you realizing it. You don’t want him to think you were weak, that you couldn’t handle your own emotions.

“I don’t need coddling.” you said, letting out a shaky breath and feeling your eyes begin to sting with tears.

He nodded again, his eyes so soft. His boyish, mischievous exterior gone and a caring one taking its place. “I know.” He replied to you.

You couldn’t stop the tears from flowing down your cheeks then. All the emotions that you had built up over the past couple weeks suddenly crashing down over you. Barty was there in an instant and wrapped you in his embrace, your face pressed into his chest. He let you cry kissing the top of your head and rubbing your back in soothing motions. He walked you to your bed, not letting go of you, and laying you on top of him.

He let you cry as much as you needed, just being there to comfort you, wiping your cheeks and nose.

Once you calmed down, reduced to sniffles and hiccups, he finally spoke. “You’re right,” he started, “you don’t need coddling. But you do need support. Everyone does.” He continued soothing you by running his fingers through your hair and tracing shapes along your back. “And I am here to support you, whenever you need, however you need. I will be there for you no matter what, love, and we will find a way to work through it. Ok?”

You nodded against his chest, your tears had soaked through his shirt but he said nothing.

“I’m here,” he said, placing a kiss on top of your head, “always.”

You felt yourself relax into him, you didn’t realize exactly how much you really needed him, how much you missed and craved his support through all of this.

“Thank you,” you said, voice hoarse, “for supporting me.” this earned you another kiss to the top of your head.

You both sat in the comfortable silence for a while, calming down to the sound of Barty’s heartbeat while resting your head on his chest.

“Hey Barty,” you said, looking up at him. He answered you with a small ‘Hmm’ while looking over your face with nothing but love in his eyes. “Did I miss anything important in classes? Or do you know if I can make up any missed-”

“We’re not doing that, love.” He interrupted you before you could work yourself up and start worrying about classes.

“Doing what.” You whined up at him.

“Worrying about ‘useless, unimportant shit’,” he quoted you. “We’ll talk about everything. And nothing. Only silly and stupid things.”

You knew he was trying to get you to be there with him, for your mind to focus on nothing else except what was happening right here in your dorm and in your bed. His way to distract you. You reluctantly give in, pushing all of the worrying thoughts out of your mind to focus solely on him. You could always figure it out together tomorrow.

You remembered the plate of baked goods that he brought with him. “Um,” you said to get his attention, “could I have a pumpkin pasty?”

He chuckled, the sound reverberating through you. “Absolutely,” he said, “as long as I can have one too.”

You agreed and let him up to go and fetch you the treat. When he came back he extended one to you and sat face to face with you on the bed. “So, what about all the everythings and nothings that happened this week?” you asked, smiling at him and taking a bit out of your favorite pastry.

He smirked at you, that boyish mischief returning to his eyes once again. “Wanna hear about how I set Potter’s broomstick on fire?”

I listened to no complaints while writing this and it doesn't really have to do with it but it is still good ❤️

[wulvercazz]

🐎Rescue in Centaur City🐎 - part 2

Previous~ 💕 Finally another update~! And getting into the good stuff :>cc (don't take it too seriously thoo,, remember this is all for smut's sake 🤭) Check out the written update beloww~

“You should worry about yourself more,” Chromo intercepts on the fish-mouth-gape Thirteen’s doing in pure shock. “They’ll most likely dismember you for trespassing– it’s not a crime taken lightly here.” Thirteen freezes altogether, now very aware of their own situation and the clear warning ahead they got from Zaphkiel too about centaurs and their love for popping limbs out of sockets. It’s… it’s happening if they don’t come up with something soon. Chromo looks just about ready to accept his fate, Blueberry is locked up who-knows-where, and they… don’t even have the miserable little dagger they brought in the first place. And centaurs are strong as fuck; not that Thirteen’s ever considered themself strong enough to fight off anyone, really. Not five minutes pass of anxious (and failed) planning, that a taur dressed like a guard comes to retrieve them, with a pointy lance in their hand and Blueberry on a lead in the other; ties their hands together behind their back, and nudges them with the sharp tip right on their back to get them moving. Two more guards are waiting down the line of empty cells. It’s not looking good. They walk back up and away from the darkened streets outside the cells and up into what appears to be a plaza— or perhaps the perfect place where a public trial and execution might take place. Centaurs in more casual wear have started to come together around the open area, but none coming too close to be in the way; Thirteen and their rot-hound companion are walked through the empty area and up to where several older taurs stand in a podium, naked save for a sash draped over the forebodies and over their horse flanks. “The council will decide your fate.” The guard guiding them announces before she cuts their ties and nudges them one last time to stand before the jury. It’s all things they’ve heard already, what a younger taur reads off their list of charges. They knew it was ill advised to come, but what choice did they have? They couldn’t leave Chromo here to his ‘fate’, law or not. Well… the council didn’t like that as a defence, if they had nothing to tie them to Chromo, then their presence here didn’t really matter in his trial, did it? And so Thirteen was still found trespassing, and so condemned to lose all their limbs. “Dismemberment!” The old taur on the right announced their fate without much of a discussion. It all happened fast and haphazardly next, Thirteen took a few steps to try and bolt out of there, but… what can a human do against a full city of centaurs? They’re caught and carried to a table to be strapped to in seconds, and their wrists and ankles tied tight on every direction; then the centaurs started walking. Didn’t rush, didn’t run and pull. They intended to pull steadily until their weak human body gave out… Thirteen may be starting to understand what’s so scary about the centaurs, albeit too late. They’re sadistic and unmovable, for once. “AAH!” Thirteen screams once the ropes start really pulling on their joints, twisting here and there to try and relieve the tension building, “Nonononono– Lets calm down for a sec– D-Don’t pULL!” Thirteen squeezes their eyes shut, feeling still the increasing strain and hoping it won’t be too bad as they imagine it’ll be… that they’ll at least spare Blueberry this fate– and then one of their arms snaps back a little and drops like dead weight. Then the other and a leg and the other, and Thirteen barely catches the last couple of arrows hitting the table and snapping the ropes cut. Thirteen is quick to try and work off the knots of their wrists with their new freedom, not particularly worried to ask why, just thankful to be off the death hook. “That human is under the protection of the Einhorn Nation and the Royal Family,” a proud voice states from above, and wouldn’t they recognize him anywhere. Thirteen tries their best to look up with the sun shining on everyone’s eyes, there he is, riding Lila like a knight in shining armour, a King, they often forget. “Release them at once.”

Lila drops clear in the middle of the plaza, with taurs moving away from the heavy winds that the nycto moth’s powerful wings make and readying their weapons once they’re a more advantageous distance away. “Zaph!” Thirteen exclaims in eager relief, a few taurs point their weapons at them and they stay put again, all the frozen attention turns back to the royal. Heavy steps clack against the cobbled ground, the head of the council approaches with a mean look and an authoritative stance. “A dead Nation holds no weight here, leave at once, or face the consequences.” “Forgotten.” Zaph corrects, “not dead. I am still King by blood, and rule as is my duty. The human comes with me, and so does the pegasus, Chromo.” That has a few heads turning, the old taur’s brow rises in curiosity. “And who are you to him? Are you aware of his charges?” Zaphkiel hesitates for a moment, unaware of the full context. He searches Thirteen’s face for answers, but all he gets are confusing expressions and odd gestures he can’t make anything out of. “Both are recognized upon the courageous aid in liberating the Einhorn Nation from an extinguishing curse,” a few uneasy breaths and stomps are heard upon those words, something of tales and nightmares even on this side of the map. “Laid upon us a thousand years ago. The royal family, I, am forever indebted; I can at least request an opportunity to talk to him before his trial.” Zaphkiel doesn’t sound too sure when he says this, Thirteen can tell; but there’s chatter and scoffs and some curious whispering, and the council rushes to discuss amongst themselves. The head council comes to a decision on his own, a reluctant frown deep on the brow, “very well.” Things are moving forward.

[archerygun]

It’s always so heartbreaking to me that every time we see Owen display how he really feels about Luke in canon (the books, and Kenobi) Luke is never there to hear it.

When Owen faces down the inquisitor and declares that Luke IS his son, Luke is already way out of earshot (even though I do sort of consider the Kenobi show non-canon). When Owen talks to Beru after the argument with Luke on the day they die, telling her he feels bad about having to squash Luke’s dreams and wanting to find some way to make it up to him, he never hears it.

Owen’s relationship with Luke WAS complex, and it was rocky sometimes. I’ve always read this as Owen having difficulty being emotionally open, at least as far as the ANH novel and Kenobi show have shown. Owen loves Luke DEEPLY, right to his core. But he doesn’t know how to put that into words. He’s an awkward man! He’s been raised on nightmare hell planet where becoming too attached to someone might end up in them being killed or sold into slavery and you being miserable! Look at what happened to both of his mothers!

When someone you love dies, you look at all their actions with a new light and deeper introspection. Can you imagine the absolute world-shattering thoughts Luke must have had after Owen and Beru died?

Realising he was more deeply loved than he could have ever realised, even if Owen had a harder time showing it.

And Owen’s parental anxiety is shown in Kenobi! Owen Lars, one of the most dedicated fathers in the galaxy, probably died wondering if his son would ever know how much he really loved him.

Owen probably died with so, so many regrets. Owen probably died wondering if he deserved to raise Luke (which he DID) and if he had done enough to prepare his son for the world (HE DID).

Owen Lars has always been a heartbreaking character for me.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Doting

Tags: jjk men as dads, tooth-rotting fluff, comfort drabbles

Synopsis: How the JJK men treat you while pregnant (spoiler warning- they dote on you.)

An: This is my formal apology for writing Nanami angst on the “Baby’s first words” post 😔 it will never happen again (can we stop with the death threats now?)

SATORU • SUGURU • TOJI • SUKUNA • NANAMI

SATORU

Oh, your loving husband is all over you while you’re pregnant. He genuinely has such a cute fascination with all the changes your body is going through. He seriously thinks you’re so strong for carrying his heir.

He loves rubbing your bump. In fact, he will always be touching it in some form or fashion while you two are together. When he’s away on missions, he has you send him pictures and updates on your pregnancy as if anything major has changed in a couple of days.

You best believe he is ready to indulge you on your every craving, no matter how strange. It’s three a.m and you’re crying because you need that specific brand of chicken wings and a can of whip cream? He’s heading to the store immediately to fetch whatever you tell him to.

He genuinely worries about being a good dad. Many nights he lays his head on your bump and talks to you about how teaching didn’t come naturally to him. He wasn’t born knowing how to meet people where they’re at. He use to expect people to be able to meet him on his level. He worries that he may inadvertently put a lot of pressure on his kid, and that’s the last thing he wants due to how he was raised. He just wants his kid to be a kid.

He’s the best, most loving and compassionate dad to your baby, more than you could ever hope for. Even if teaching didn’t come to him naturally, being a father did.

SUGURU

He’s such a “sit down and let me do it for you” while you’re pregnant. He cooks, cleans, works, and tends to you completely throughout your pregnancy.

Suguru gets hyper fixated on your health during pregnancy. He only feeds you the yummiest and healthiest foods while you’re pregnant. He encourages for you to sit on the yoga ball and do (very) light exercises. He just wants the best for you and his baby.

Whenever I said he tends to you, I genuinely mean he tends to you. He’ll gently brush your hair at night time, rub your back when your belly is becoming heavy to carry around, serve your breakfast, lunch, and dinner in bed, carries around emesis bags and breath mints for if you get morning sickness while you two are out.

This man is the king of enforcing your boundaries to people when they don’t listen. That really annoying family member that insists on being there for the birth even though you’ve already explained to them that you want this to be an experience for just you and Geto? Yeah, he’s made it very clear to them that they will not be at the birth if they want to be in your kid’s life.

He is absolutely not afraid to hurt feelings if it means his wife and future child are safe and cared for. He really don’t give a fuck who anyone else is. You and his child are first priority.

TOJI

Toji is definitely the type to express his love and devotion for you in other ways than the most conventional methods.

He is so incredibly gentle while you’re pregnant. He doesn’t rile you up as much or play fight with you anymore. He constantly reminds himself that you’re carrying another life inside you and that you have enough on your plate.

This man… whew does he love seeing you pregnant. Toji’s the type of man to feel so feral when he looks at you heavily pregnant with his kid.

He adores your body. He’ll rub lotion all over you and oils to help your skin accommodate to the stretch of carrying a kid. He massages your body and absolutely worships it while he’s rubbing the lotion and oil on you.

Your breasts are sore? He’ll gently massage them until they feel better. Your back hurts? He’d be the type to lift your bump up and take the weight off you for as long as you ask him to so you can feel relaxed for a few minutes.

And look this is probably TMI but like, if you got a clogged milk duct due to breastfeeding, Toji would unfortunately be the type of man to fix that issue with his mouth. i’m sorry but he would.

Final thing is, you better believe that he doesn’t allow anyone to get too close to you. He is so unbelievably protective over you while you’re pregnant. If he could, he’d lock you up at home to prevent anyone from getting close to you.

SUKUNA

On the outside, he acts very nonchalant and unbothered by your pregnancy. On the inside, he is constantly plagued by the thought that your body may not be able to carry his heir. The thought of losing you or his child haunts him.

He will secretly observe and take notes on your body and how it is changing. If he catches you expressing any sort of short windedness, he will immediately send you off to bed rest. Though, you’re usually able to convince him to take you off of it by the next day.

The only servant he trusts to tend to you is Uraume. No one else in his court is allowed to be anywhere near you unless he gives specific instructions. Still, he hates leaving you in the care of Uraume. He trusts them, but he wants to be the one to take care of you.

He loves holding your body close to him at night. All four arms are wrapped around you and holding you closely. Since he doesn’t need much sleep, he will stay awake rubbing on your tummy all night long. One time, he felt the baby moving in your stomach while you were asleep. He was so intrigued that he woke you up and told you to “make them do it again”.

Now, he will randomly approach you at any given time while you’re heavily pregnant and hold his hand out so he can feel his baby moving around inside of you. It soothes his worry.

During birth, Sukuna was a complete mess. The amount of blood lost during birth fucking terrified him. He was panicking and yelling at anyone to do something to save you, even while everyone was assuring him that you’re okay and this was natural.

After 9 long excruciating months of extreme worry and constant fear, he finally feels peace when he’s cradling a newborn in his arm and a sleeping wife in the other arm. All of his hard work to protect you paid off he thinks.

NANAMI

Oh, to be pregnant by the king of domestic love himself.

Nanami is the type of man to immediately start working on a nursery for you as soon as you reveal to him that you’re pregnant. He immediately changes the guest bedroom into a nursery that you design for your little baby.

He reads up on all the parenting books and articles. He’s constantly compiling things to either do or to not do during pregnancy and even while raising a kid.

Like Geto, he tends to your every need. He is a total house husband all while working 40 hours a week. When he’s at work, he is constantly calling and texting you to make sure that you’re okay and taking care of yourself, but let’s be fr he literally did everything for you before he even left for work (meal prepped for you, set out your clothes for you, put out all your self care items in case you want to bathe).

When you express concerns of your body getting bigger to him, he does everything in his power to show you that he loves and respects your body for creating life. He literally cherishes and worships your body for hours if you let him.

Like Toji, Nanami is protective over you. He constantly has an arm around you if you two are in public, and he watches everyone who dares to get close to you like a hawk. If he gets a bad vibe about anyone, he’s immediately stepping in front of you and taking over the conversation.

Nanami is the best partner to have during birth. His reading of articles during your pregnancy really paid off. He is supportive without being overbearing. He listens to your needs and tends to you without question. Constant praise and encouragement while you’re giving birth. The moment he gets to snuggle with you and the baby is the moment he realizes that he cultivated the life of his dreams. He has the family he always wanted.

[lokissweater]

“i would never lie to you.”

{toge inumaki x f!reader}

summary: inumaki’s always coming home to you from missions coughing up mass amounts of blood and completely overdoing it while fighting curses with his cursed speech technique. and no matter how many times you tell him to be careful, he just doesn’t, arguing with him, giving him the cold shoulder, and completely unaware of the reason behind why he fights so hard when he’s out there— that reason being of course… because of you.

warnings: angst, fluff, cursing, toge and reader have a lil argument but it’s more the aftermath, slight sexual mention but it’s literally once and nothing LOL, no smut!, toge thinks he’s not doing enough SNIFFF, angst with comfort, toge is DEVOTED to you, aged up characters, pet names, afab!reader.

word count: 2.3k

authors note: short n sweet one!! wanted to give you guys a break from my MLA format essays i always make y’all read LMFAOOO!! this one is SHO SOFT AHHHH :] i hope this keeps you guys fed in the meantime while i write the next one! i love you and i love you all ALWAYS MWAAHH <33

————————————————————————

toge inumaki hates it when you don’t talk to him.

as if he doesn’t do that enough already, toge absolutely despises when you both get into arguments or heated discussions and you turn a cold shoulder to him— needing space to unwind and prevent yourself from lashing out even more, to let the situation simmer down.

he understands it. believe him he does— you’re upset and angry and you need time to cool off… but toge is stubborn and needy and just doesn’t care, needing you and only you, him going absolutely crazy at the silence in your shared apartment that he was starting to hear random ringing in his ear drums.

so as he sat on the couch, eyes unblinking as they stared off into the darkness of the living room as the sun had already began to set, you upstairs locked away— he wanted nothing more than to open his mouth and let his cursed speech force you to come downstairs and talk to him.

but he didn’t, though the thought was definitely tempting, as toge vowed the day that he laid eyes on you to never ever use his cursed technique on you, even if it was harmless, an oath he wanted to carry with him until his very death bed and until he was six feet under.

his ears perked up then at the quiet sounds of the upstairs room door knob twisting and clicking open, soft padded footsteps making their way down the hall and closer to where he was, feet sticking against the cold tiles of the kitchen floor.

at the sight of you with your hair a little disheveled, your eyes so red and puffy, and an arm wrapped around yourself as you rummaged through the fridge looking for fuck knows what and not sparing a single glance at him— toge felt like a fifty pound gutting weight was resting on his chest and crushing his heart.

you had both argued about something you always seemed to circle back to almost every week. but this time, you were sick and tired and fed up, seeing as toge was never going to try and understand the situation at hand through your worried eyes.

every time toge was out for a mission, you would spend your days anxiously throwing yourself over the couch or trying to keep yourself busy with random activities like baking or scrapbooking (which you deemed later meaningless), all within the sole purpose of trying to get your mind off of your boyfriend and the recklessness he always seemed to pull while on missions, regardless of how much you begged and pleaded with him to be more careful and aware of his health.

toge inumaki had such a powerful and lethal cursed technique that frightened and astonished you all at the same time, a conflicting feeling to have when he had to leave you in the middle of the night or during the early hours of the morning to run around and fight curses… but always coming home to you warm and loving and safe.

but not right now.

not when toge had literally come home this morning with not even two steps in the door and he was already on his knees, coughing up strings and loads of crimson blood, it pooling on the floor as he had used his cursed speech to the highest degree today and had you a crying mess thinking he was dying.

and he always did that. always. today was just the worst of them all, him without a fault coming home with excruciating pain in his bruised and clawed up throat, the cough syrup medicine he usually downed like water having absolutely no effect anymore as you scrambled around every time trying to find a solution, toge brushing off your distressed and frightened rambling as if his health wasn’t a big deal, and as if how much it affected you wasn’t a big deal either.

upon you closing the fridge, toge slowly stood from the couch and carefully walked over to you, his throat still in pieces but his mind lurching and guilty over how upset you were at him.

he slowly raised a gentle hand and placed it on your shoulder, you shaking your head somberly in response— your back to him.

“i don’t wanna talk right now toge i’m sorry…” you mumbled, rubbing over your tired sore eyes.

he squeezed your shoulder, insisting.

but you only shook your head again.

toge huffed and placed both hands on your shoulders this time, physically turning you around to face him— his eyes soft and his eyebrows pinched together in pure concern for you.

you peeked up reluctantly, but the sight of his face and the events from earlier flashing through your mind only made your bottom lip wobble and the bottom of your palms shoot up to dig into your eyes, more stinging tears flooding in and slipping through the corners of your closed lids.

his heart fucking broke.

“why don’t you care toge?” you hiccuped. “i worry myself sick every time you leave for a mission and— and that’s fine because it’s what you do but you never take care of yourself!”

he gently pried your shaking hands away from your eyes and wiped your tears softly with his thumbs, caressing your cheeks after— wishing so badly, more than anything in this fucking world, to just be able to speak to you like a normal human being instead of resorting to words scrambled on a piece of paper or text messages on a screen.

he gently placed a little timid peck to your nose before releasing your face and fumbling around in his pockets for his phone, tapping it awake once he retrieved it and opening his notes app to write out a sentence.

he flipped and faced the screen towards you, the brightness making you squint a bit.

“i do care i swear. i just always forget when i’m in the middle of it and i’m sorry baby.”

“so you keep forgetting after what feels like the fifteenth time i’ve told you?” you wiped more tears from your cheeks. “how— how do you think it makes me feel when you come home and you’re coughing up blood all over your clothes and the furniture huh? all over me?”

he sighed softly through his nose and went to type again, but you continued.

“i get scared toge that one day you’ll push yourself way too far and then you just won’t come home. you scare me when you cough up so much blood like that!—”

toge tugged you in then with his unoccupied hand and wrapped his arms around you, pushing your head in and stuffing your face against his chest— the scent of his freshly washed t-shirt filling your nose as you cried softly.

fuck he felt like such a douche.

he typed for a moment behind your head, a pit in his stomach that only grew in size the longer he heard your little sniffles.

toge pulled back a bit, his arms still keeping you in place but just enough so that he could lower his phone and show you his message.

“please please don’t cry. i’m really sorry okay i really am and honest to god this won’t happen again.”

you nodded meekly and he flipped his phone back, quickly typing again and showing you once he finished.

“i feel like you think i don’t care but that’s not true at all. part of the reason why i try so hard when i work is because the more curses i fuck up the safer you’ll be when you’re out there without me.”

you laughed a bit at his wording, and he beamed at that, typing.

“i love you pretty girl. and im sorry i always get blood everywhere.”

“oh i don’t care about the mess baby, i care about youu,” you whined lightly and wrapped your arms around his torso, pulling him in tight.

“and i love you too, a lot… like an embarrassing amount that strips away my dignity.”

he chuckled boyishly and pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head, his body stuttering slightly as a single thought grazed his mind— the same thought that’s been in the crevices of his brain since he asked you to be his.

you felt his tension and pulled back.

“what?”

toge bit the inside of his cheek and looked down at you, his weight shifting as he contemplated telling you something he didn’t want to burden or upset you with, the pad of his thumb softly rubbing over your chubby cheek.

you quirked an eyebrow. “what? are you cheating on me?”

he burst out laughing and shook his head, kissing your forehead before dropping his hand from your cheek and pulling out his phone again.

he typed for a minute then showed you.

“me not being able to speak to you like a normal boyfriend should or respond to you whenever makes me freaking useless. so i push myself out there to keep you safe because that’s literally the least i can do for you, since i can’t even do the bare minimum.”

you gasped softly. “toge huh? this is—”

he shook his head once more and you stopped as he typed again.

“i always try to make you laugh with the things that i do or whenever i text you because i’m afraid that one day you’ll get tired of me not being able to talk to you and you’ll leave. which is also something i would never blame you for and understand.”

your heart squeezed in the worst excruciatingly way possible, completely baffled and mortified to the fact that toge was thinking about things like this and wholeheartedly believing it without you noticing or him saying anything to you about it.

he typed again.

“that’s why i cosplay as gojo when i leave for missions and come back a dumbass with blood in my mouth. that’s why i forget when you tell me to be careful because the need to be something for you is way fucking greater.”

“togeee!” you sobbed, bursting out crying like a little baby as you were moved and haunted by his words simultaneously, your arms engulfing him as he desperately shot his hands out and quickly wiped your tears again, shaking his head frantically as if pleading with you not to cry.

“how could you ever believe that?” you nudged him away and hiccuped, your eyes serious. “why haven’t you told me about this? everything you just said is literally propaganda.”

he chuckled, but you could tell he wasn’t convinced.

“toge, why do you think i’ve been with you for so long? do you think i’m just dicking around?”

“dicking around on my dick?”

you swatted his phone away. “no! not right now.”

you both shared a small giggle, twinkling eyes looking at each other.

“if i felt like you weren’t doing even the bare minimum, i would’ve been gone before you had the chance to put this ring on—”

his gaze drifted down to the black shiny heart promise ring on your ring finger that you held up for him, and he smiled softly.

“baby what you do for me everyday is above and beyond the bare minimum. i’m happy. i’m so happy to be with you that you not doing enough has never crossed my mind and it never will.”

you slid your arms around his neck and pulled him down a little, gently. “i’ve never cared about your ability to speak. i fell in love with you, who you are, and the fact that i did without you having to iterate words to me? olympic sport.”

toge rolled his eyes playfully at your comment, and you stood on your tippy toes and kissed the tip of his pretty nose then. “all men do when they talk is lie anyways…” you tilted your head. “but i know you’ll never lie to me.”

“never.” he mouthed silently.

he bundled you up in his arms and lifted you like you were nothing, him carefully leaning in and pressing his lips to yours as if you were a fragile little thing— kissing you so devotedly, warmly, his forehead resting against yours once he pulled apart after greedily getting his daily fix of you.

“i know your job as a jujutsu sorcerer pays the bills and comes with you putting yourself in difficult situations… and my job doesn’t even compare, but please don’t overdo it for my sake. i want you to come home, okay?”

you know it’s selfish… he should be saving lives no matter the cost.

but he was your man. was it so bad to just want to keep him for the rest of your days? to get the chance to grow old with him, and buy a little quiet house on the country side like you always joked about in the late hours of the night with him? drinking cool glasses of lemonade on the porch?

“please don’t always be the hero.” you whispered guiltily. “but if you must… just keep me in mind while you do it.”

you’re always on his mind. he hopes you know that.

toge breathed softly through his nose and smoothly set you back down, the pads of your feet making contact with the icy tile flooring as his hands dragged up from around your waist to the sides of your head, him pushing a hard kiss to your cheek as if to seal your request.

“do you promise?” you mumbled.

he pulled back and held his little pinky out for you, and you giggled, linking yours with his firmly.

“you can’t go back on it okay? you used your pinky it’s legally binding!” you warned, a silly smile on your face. “don’t lie to me and break it.”

toge grinned and leaned towards you as he bent down a bit— your gaze locking with his as he looked at you at eye level with his hands on his knees, him mouthing his next words, slowly.

words that made your cheeks buzz a cutesy pink, words that he took seriously, and words that tied you to him and the little house by the countryside he wanted so badly with you, as those words solidified how much he truly truly loved you— him hoping you always knew.

“i would never lie to you.” he mouthed.

taglist!! <33: @saebaey

[coralaura]

Primadonna

"You say that I'm kinda difficult”

Your father was never a present figure; sometimes, he would see you, give you a pat on the head, and disappear into the darkness of the mansion.

In reality, he vanished for the entire day, especially when the sun set, and the moon greeted the sky. Like all the other inhabitants of the mansion, nighttime was when you were left alone and could wander without anyone noticing or caring.

Every now and then, you’d see Alfred, but he, too, would soon disappear. It didn’t bother you; in fact, it gave you free time, allowing you to take late modeling jobs without anyone asking the typical questions: “Why are you coming home so late?” or “What were you doing outside so late?”

Sometimes, you went out with friends (if you could call them that people you used and who defended you when someone doubted your innocence). Rarely, you stayed in the enormous mansion, but honestly, you didn’t care where you were.

And it wasn’t like they cared about what you did or where you were, so maybe that’s why you didn’t care when Dick left the mansion. When Jason arrived—his unwanted presence and lack of manners—it was annoying, especially when he dared to compare his mother to yours. How dare he compare the two?! Despite that insult, spoken right to your face, you simply smiled. But inside, you were about to beat him senseless, to put that fool in his place for comparing your beloved mother to his and when he died, you cried at the funeral, pretending to be in pain, mourning the loss of a life.

But deep down, you felt nothing for him. Sure, his death was gruesome and ruthless, but it wasn’t like you felt anything beyond antipathy for the poor devil in the coffin. When Tim arrived at the mansion, you couldn’t have cared less. After all, you would only see him for a few weeks before heading off to university, so your interactions were minimal, barely enough to count on one hand.

Alfred saw you off with a smile, though there was a hint of sadness in it. He didn’t try to stop you or convince you not to move out; in fact, he encouraged you to pursue your career, as long as you sent some sign of life a letter or a text message. But let’s be honest, student life was expensive, and as a model, you made little money for just a few hours of work. So, when you had to choose between your studies and a full-time modeling career, the choice was obvious you went with the long-term option and pursued your modeling career. No one was supposed to know. You’d write to Alfred, telling him you were still studying, just to keep him from worrying.

In reality, you could have been in Metropolis, about to step into a photoshoot. But of course, things couldn’t stay perfect forever. Some idiot spotted you and then compared you to Bruce Wayne. And for the first time in years, people seemed to have more than two brain cells because the question immediately popped up all over the internet:

"Is it just me, or do Bruce Wayne and Y/N look alike?"

And unfortunately, they attached your image right next to that billionaire’s. To say that the media explosion and the interview requests for both you and Bruce were the worst possible thing that could happen was an understatement. As headlines and news reports flooded in, you bit your nails in frustration, enraged by your inability to control the situation.

So, when they asked about your parents or if you were a poor orphan, you responded with a warm smile—though deep inside, you were disgusted that you couldn’t just avoid answering or shut those nosy reporters down.

"I have no parents."

Most people, moved by your kind smile and the false tears welling in your eyes, dropped the subject and moved on with their lives. But the press always loved fresh, juicy gossip, especially when it involved Bruce Wayne.

Since your father didn’t comment or give an interview, part of you assumed he either didn’t care or considered it a minor issue his PR team could handle. For a moment, you thought you had dodged this problem. Until you saw him in the middle of a photoshoot—waiting for you to finish so he could talk to you. And, of course, right behind him was his family… or rather, his walking orphanage.

Alfred believed in you. He loved you like a father loves his child. You were practically the normal kid he had always wished Bruce could be so sweet, so innocent. But when he saw your face in the morning paper, next to your father’s, with the full story laid out, for the first time… he felt disappointed in you.

Why would you hide something like this?

Did you not trust him?...

It hurt him, but deep down, he knew you must have had a reason for keeping your modeling career a secret. Maybe his thoughts consumed him for too long because Damian’s voice pulled him back to reality.

“What are you reading, Pennyworth?"

“It seems the press has discovered the connection between Master Bruce and Master Y/N.”

Damian frowned in confusion. He had never heard of you. Taking the newspaper from Alfred’s hands, he scanned the headline and the full story, noting your features and how similar you looked to his father. The picture they used of you was… bold, striking. He wondered if you were really family, but Alfred had called you "Master Y/N," so you must have been. Damian didn’t waste time.

He stormed to his father, slamming the newspaper onto his desk, demanding answers. Bruce raised an eyebrow at his behavior until he read the headline and saw your picture. The only thing Bruce thought in that moment was how much you had grown.

How tall were you now?

He picked up the paper, reading the article, noticing how you denied any connection to him or his family. He didn’t understand.

Had he done something to make you reject him?

Thinking about it left a bitter taste in his mouth. The more he read, the more that bitterness spread.

“Who are them, Father?”

Finally, Damian asked. The answer was simple yet so complicated. You were his child, his firstborn, and yet he had no idea how to be a proper father. He had never seen you in the mansion, maybe because he never had time, maybe because he felt guilty, knowing he could never raise a normal child. He could only raise someone to become a vigilante.

"They are your siblings."

And that was the beginning of the end of your modeling career. Because, in the end, it was only natural for your father to crave control, both as Bruce and as Batman. It was something you had inherited from him.

When you saw your father there, standing in the middle of your shoot, clearly annoyed that you had noticed him and yet continued with your session, you knew he would eventually step in. Still, you wanted to push his patience, to see how long he could endure before leaving. But you hadn’t counted on your manager asking you to stop the session to talk to him instead. You sighed. He was just doing his job, though a part of you couldn’t help but glare at him, hating that he was wasting your time.

"What is it, Ethan?"

You didn’t even acknowledge Bruce. Instead, you spoke to your manager, Ethan, who forced a tense smile, silently begging you to be respectful.

"Bruce Wayne is here to see you."

He emphasized the last name, almost as if reminding you of your place beneath the great Wayne name. Not that he knew the truth, that Bruce’s blood ran through your veins and that your striking resemblance was nothing but shared genetics.

"Mr. Wayne, Mr. Grayson, and company, what brings you here?"

You didn’t bother greeting them. You recognized a few faces, but most were either forgotten or simply unknown to you. And honestly, you didn’t care.

"Y/N, we need to talk."

Your father's deep voice and condescending gaze turned to you, hating that he spoke to you that way, as if you were a child, when in reality you were more than him, more than any of them, you were Y/N, the person that everyone would pay for because at some point you would look at them or simply greet them, there were people who would kill for a simple touch from you.You hid your displeasure in the mask that you always wore on your face that was difficult to remove, the one that had buried itself in your face and had taken root until you simply couldn't get it off, at least not until you were alone and no one could see your true and unpleasant personality that eclipsed your cute face and false golden boy personality.

You thought about the possibility of being rude to them, after all it's not like they could prove that you were something of theirs, you still had your mother's last name and they had never seen you with the Waynes until now, besides, who could blame you? Being rude was your privilege for being a model and also being attractive, it would be your first time being rude to someone, besides, everyone knew you, you were so kind that the ones who would end up being reproached for things would be the Waynes, so you decided.

“I don’t want to and if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do”

For the first time, your father stopped looking at you with that condescending look and in its place there was something you couldn’t identify. Anger? Indignation? Frustration? Surprise? You didn’t know and honestly you didn’t care, you were surely the first or at least one of the few people who says no to your father’s face and in front of so many people, that thought made you smile to yourself, it was the satisfaction and pride of making that cold expression of your father go away.

“But it's always someone else's fault”

[andypantsx3]

FILLING IN | BAKUGOU x READER ˖˚˳⊹

summary: A production assistant for an erotic arts studio, you think you've seen every ridiculous plot line under the sun. But not even porn tropes can compare to the absurd reality you find yourself in when the on-screen talent drops out, and you're asked to fill in opposite the studio's number one star Bakugou Katsuki.  contents: The classic oh-no-the-porn-talent-has-gone-missing-let's-sub-a-rando-in trope, no quirks au, pornstar Bakugou, soft dom Bakugou, gn + afab reader, unrequited-requited crush, slight bondage, descriptions of afab genitalia, nipple sucking, cunnilingus, piv sex, pet names used: angel and sweetheart, porn with surprise feelings, 18+, 8.2k words notes: This is my Bakugou x Reader commitment for @ficsforgaza, and I am sorry it is late enough to also count for Valentine's Day (but also Happy Valentine's Day!!) Additionally, a special thank you to my angel princess @ofmermaidstories for handing me the nerd + pornstar combo when I was worried about Bakugou's characterization. I think this is the only way I could have ever written a pornstar Bakugou that felt right to me. Love you, Mermie.

The studio was churning in chaos by the time you arrived.

The first sign that things weren’t right was Komori, one of your fellow production assistants, propped against the wall outside. Her cellphone was pressed against her ear, and she looked nervous, her foot tapping a thousand miles a minute. She had a thumbnail pressed to her mouth and was chewing steadily through the nail like a rabbit through a lettuce leaf.

You didn’t want to disturb her, so you buzzed inside the studio, only to find the hallways filled with an equally nervous energy. Yaoyorozu, one of the production managers, hovered in the doorway of a dressing room. She looked to be arguing with someone, her normally sweet expression pinched in profile. A small circle of people took up the hallway behind her, shifting apprehensively.

A shrill voice filtered out of the dressing room as you tried to wedge yourself by. “I said I’m not doing it. We’re getting married and we agreed I wouldn’t do this anymore.”

“Bibimi—” Yaoyorozu started.

“Effective immediately. Find someone else,” Bibimi’s voice replied.

You stopped in your tracks, blinking as you turned back to the doorway, peering over Sato’s shoulder.

Bibimi Kenranzaki was one of the studio’s top actresses, the very performer scheduled to shoot the production you were working on this afternoon. The shoot was a Valentine’s Day special, and had already been delayed at Bibimi’s request several times. If you’d understood Yaoyorozu’s previous concerns correctly, today was the last possible day to shoot it with enough time for it to make it through editing to post on Valentine’s.

This was not good.

“Bibimi, of course we would never force you to do something you did not consent to,” Yaoyorozu said patiently. “But you can see how having delayed this shoot many times already puts us in danger of not delivering on our commitments.”

You heard a dismissive snort issue from the room, and peered over one of Yaoyorozu’s slender shoulders. Bibimi lounged across one of the waiting room couches, arms crossed over her chest. An enormous diamond ring you’d never seen before glinted from one of her fingers, clearly the source of today’s change of heart.

Oh, production was not going to be happy.

You winced as you ducked out from behind Yaoyorozu, heading back down the hall to stuff your things into one of the vacant lockers. It was a struggle to fit everything in as today you’d come directly from a lecture—two textbooks the size and weight of cinderblocks choking up all the space in your bag. You would have thought that, considering that a wide swath of the production staff were college students—including several of the performers themselves—the studio would have had a better set up. But it was often a fight to the death to even find an open locker amongst the many other bookbags, and an equally Sisyphean struggle to get the door shut on the tiny cubbies.

Once you finally managed to finagle the door shut on your backpack, you made a beeline for the supply room. Typically, your first task of any shoot was acquisition of about a million pounds of baby wipes and lube, though you wondered if they would be needed today, given the scene with Bibimi you’d just witnessed.

You checked the film schedule posted in the staff entry to find the allotted set room. Then you made your way down the twisting maze halls carpeted with ancient olefin to the set for You Cumplete Me, the obnoxious working title Kaminari had come up with for this particular Valentine’s Day project.

The room was set up like some generic apartment, a large bed with a wire-framed headboard dominating the majority of the space. A cherry wood nightstand cluttered with fake knick knacks stood diligently at the bedside, and two fake windows with their curtains drawn shut overlooked the whole affair, red dressings fluttering slightly in the breeze from a fan.

Most of the production staff was already inside the room, the cameramen and director huddled together in the corner, whispering nervously. You spotted Mina, the wardrobe coordinator and makeup artist, fussing with her phone in the other corner, her various products and brushes spread out across a plastic folding table, looking put out.

“You know if we’re going to be able to sub anyone in for Bibimi?” you asked as you approached her, flopping down in one of the chairs set up at her makeshift dressing table. You arrayed your armful of lube and plastic packs of wipes at the corner so as not to disturb her arrangement.

Mina’s eyes flicked up to yours and she grinned, the upturn of her mouth accented with perfectly-applied hot pink lipstick.

“Komori’s called like ten other actresses so far and can’t get anyone,” Mina answered. “And Shiozaki and Kendo are in-studio but both just got off another shoot so we contractually can’t use them. I think Yaomomo is ready to start shaking people down.”

You winced. Yaoyorozu never lost her cool, but the pressure must be mounting. You knew marketing materials had already been put out on the studio’s website, specifically promising the return of the studio’s highest-grossing star—Bakugou Katsuki—opposite Bibimi.

While Bibimi might be the highest paid actress, Bakugou was the real draw of UA Productions. UA churned out projects that were largely targeted towards less traditional markets—largely women—porn that was often of higher production value, higher quality scripting, and careful coordination showcasing enthusiasm and consent. It also subsequently employed more than its fair share of beautiful men.

And Bakugou Katsuki crowned that pile of performers. Though foul-mouthed and often irascible, he was undeniably breathtaking to behold, both on screen and in person. He was the typical blend of tall, strong, and well-muscled that most UA actors were. But he moved with a singular precision and intention that drove fans wild, and came equipped with bed-rumpled blond hair, mile-long lashes, a surly, pouty mouth, and a facial symmetry that Euclid himself would have wept over.

He was also nearing the end of his doctoral and would not be filming for much longer, you were given to understand. So the studio stood to lose a significant amount of audience trust and money, should this production fall through.

As if on cue, Bakugou Katsuki himself stomped through the doorway. The expression on his face told you he was already well-aware of what was happening with Bibimi, and he was getting annoyed with the hold up. He set a direct line for you and Mina, mouth twisted in dissatisfaction.

Your ears promptly went hot, the way they always did when Bakugou was in your line of vision.

You’d unfortunately had something of a crush on him from the minute you’d become a production assistant at UA, your third year of college. Funds were tight and your masters program loomed large in front of you, its meager stipend like a slap in the face. You’d needed something else flexible, and you’d found UA through the friend of a friend—its proximity to the university, and ever changing schedule of ongoing productions offering the perfect amount of flexibility for your situation.

Bakugou had been there that first day as Yaoyorozu gave you the tour, too. He’d been tucked up on the couch of the waiting room as you passed through, blonde hair rumpled, someone’s lip gloss still smeared at the corner of his jaw. He looked like a soft, relaxed mess—clothes askew like he’d pulled them back on after a shoot and immediately migrated to the couch—though his scarlet eyes tracked intently across the page of an enormous engineering text spread across his thighs. His long fingers twirled a pen absently, tapping against a notebook peeking out from just under the textbook, headphones jammed over his ears.

He did not look up as you made your way inside, but your stomach had flared to life with a sudden flutter of butterflies. You were startled by the pretty set of his mouth, the long lashes that swept over his cheeks as he read, the flex of those long, beautiful fingers on his pen. You had never seen a person so perfect in real life, and the effect was dumbing.

“That’s Bakugou, one of our performers,” Yaoyorozu had told you, leading you through the room. She did not stop to introduce you. “He’s working on a PhD in chemical engineering, and performs once every couple of months for us. He’s—erm—not quite friendly, so we’ll skip the introduction today.”

You’d followed her, nodding obediently, leaving Bakugou behind. You’d dutifully concluded your tour and signed all the paperwork, and met several other members of the staff. It was only when you’d been released from your onboarding obligations that you saw Bakugou again, as you ran out into the parking lot to start your car.

It was raining out, a torrential downpour much worse than when you’d arrived that came down in thick, pelting sheets. Visibility was bad enough that you almost missed the tuft of blonde hair across the parking lot, ducking under the awning of the nearby bus stop.

You knew the route headed back towards your university, and subsequently your apartment, and it dawned on you that Bakugou’s would most likely be attaining his cited PhD at your same college. You felt your mouth twist, impressed. PhD tracks were notoriously difficult to attain at Musutafu University—no wonder Bakugou needed a job that was, for lack of better phrasing, quick and dirty. He probably was drowning in post-grad labs and dissertation materials.

The memory of those long fingers tapping at the edge of his text suddenly flickered again in your brain, and something possessed you as you started up your engine. Before you knew what you were doing, you had pulled your car around into the bus stop bay, leaning out to call out to him.

“Hey—Bakugou, right?” you said, watching as scarlet eyes found yours, narrowing suspiciously. His pretty mouth lifted in an immediate, reflexive snarl, and those broad shoulders squared off, like he was getting ready for trouble.

You cut in, quickly explaining yourself when you realized he had no context for the rando hanging out of their car window at him. “I’m Yaoyorozu’s new production staff. Just joined today. Are you headed towards Musutafu U and do you want a ride?”

A blonde eyebrow lifted. “You’re with UA?” he asked. His voice was a kind of low growl, not unlike the thunder suddenly echoing overhead, and the sound shot through you like a bolt of lightning.

“I—yeah. Just signed the paperwork this afternoon.”

Several spatters of rain dampened your cheeks where you had your head poked out of the window, and Bakugou’s eyes tracked them closely as he leaned in. “Then let’s get one thing straight right off the bat—I don’t fuck coworkers off the clock.”

You recoiled, horrified at the conclusion he’d immediately brought himself to. “No! That’s not what I—I didn’t mean like—! I just thought because it’s raining out, you might want—”

“I want you to fuck right off, is what I want,” Bakugou said, crossing his arms over his chest. He made a show of leaning back against the glass wall of the bus stop, its interior papered over with moldering ads. It was a clear dismissal.

You blinked at him stupidly for a moment, mind reeling that your gesture had been received so poorly. But then you realized he hadn’t seen you, in your trek through the staff room during your afternoon tour. You’d only just seen him, and you hadn’t spoken to him besides. Despite your immediate interest in and respect for him, he knew nothing about you.

And he was a pornstar, come to think of it. He probably had had a fair number of creeps proposition him out of the blue. Enough that he was suspicious now, as you might have been, were you in his position.

Your cheeks heated, suddenly ashamed. You nodded, gritting your teeth as you ducked back inside your car.

“Right, fucking off, as requested,” you said, turning your blinker on to move back out into the road. “Sorry to scare you. See you, um—see you at work sometime.”

“Oi—I ain’t fuckin’ scared,” you heard him growl, but then you were turning back out into the street. You rolled your window back up as you sped up, resisting the urge to look back at Bakugou in the rearview.

What a humiliating first impression that had been.

You'd fretted about it for another week before your first official day at UA, and for several weeks more when you didn’t immediately run into Bakugou. When you’d finally met him properly, however, Bakugou acted like he’d never even seen you before in his life, and you somewhat gratefully followed his lead. He treated you like anyone else, with the same kind of universal severity he turned on the other production staff. You discovered very quickly that he was impatient, brusque, no-nonsense. He stalked onto every set with all the latent energy of a nuclear missile strike, and never softened until after the shoot was over.

His general attitude, and your humiliating first encounter should have been enough to turn you off of him. But the occasional glimpse of him after a shoot—rumpled, relaxed, open in a way he normally wasn’t, in the way that you'd first seen him—was unfortunately enough to keep those initial butterflies aflutter.

The fact that he was smart—and annoyingly adept in the bedroom, considering the number of reshoots his costars often needed after they accidently came too early—did not help matters.

“Where the fuck is Yaoyorozu?” he demanded of you and Mina, as he approached you in the set room now.

You met his scarlet gaze, holding very still under his regard.

“She was negotiating with Bibimi just now when I came in,” you told him, cheeks heating as his eyes flicked over you. He had a very direct way of evaluating people, and rarely missed a detail. You hoped your makeup wasn’t smudged from where you’d had your head propped up in your hand, valiantly resisting falling asleep in your earlier lecture.

“Bibimi’s a waste of fuckin’ time,” Bakugou growled.

You rolled your eyes. He couldn’t very well act opposite his own hand, so someone was going to have to fill in.

“Well Mina says we’re not having luck finding anyone else either so Bibimi is your best bet,” you told him.

Bakugou looked down his perfect nose at you. “Anyone in this damn studio could do better than she does.”

You felt your eyebrows raise. Bibimi was popular with a variety of audiences for her exaggeratedly dollish features—you doubted just anyone could fill in for her and look as good. You said as much to Bakugou, and he scoffed.

“‘S not about looking good, it’s about showing that you’re feeling good,” he said plainly, igniting a wave of fire across your cheeks. The flames worsened when he crossed his arms over his chest and you had occasion to notice he was in nothing but a workout tank, his bare biceps flexing enticingly in the studio lighting.

You were thankfully spared from having to form a coherent response by Yaoyorozu stepping into the room. She was tailed by Komori, and wore a troubled expression. She waved an elegant hand that encompassed both your camp in the corner and the directors on the other side of the room.

“Bibimi is unfortunately out. And we cannot use Shiozaki or Kendo. I am afraid we may have to call off the shoot this afternoon,” she said.

“So get someone else in,” Bakugou said, with his usual brisk directness. He turned to face her. You caught the whiff of something light and clean on him as he did so, laundry detergent and recently-applied shampoo.

Yaoyorozu fixed him with an expectant look. “We’ve unfortunately worked our way through the roster of available performers. Unless you know someone else?”

Bakugou stared back at her evenly, arching a blonde brow. “There’re a bunch of extras already here, aren’t there?”

A little shock went through you. Extras. As in the…people in the room right now? Did he really mean the production staff?

Yaoyorozu blinked, apparently taken aback. Then her gaze slid thoughtfully between Komori, Mina, and you. Another little thrill raced through you, like you’d suddenly missed a step. Surely they both could not actually be considering that.

“I’m a hoe but I’m a loyal hoe,” Mina said from next to you, immediately putting up a rosy palm. “Eiji is my one and only, sorry babes.”

Yaoyorozu nodded. “Of course, I would not expect you to violate any commitments you already had to a significant other.”

“I am also seeing someone,” Komori volunteered, a shy little blush sweeping across her cheeks. You smiled a bit at her obvious regard for whoever it was—until you sensed a dozen pairs of eyes suddenly turning to you.

Your stomach dropped—less of a missed step then and more of a sudden push off a cliff.

Worst of all was the pair of scarlet eyes suddenly burning with undue regard in your direction. You stared straight at Yaoyorozu, unable to meet Bakugou’s gaze. You still felt like you might burn up under his scrutiny, like an ant under a magnifying glass.

“I—uh—” you said dumbly, floundering for the right set of words to explain yourself. “Uhh.”

“You seeing anybody?” Bakugou prodded, prompting a fresh wave of heat to your cheeks.

“Well—no—”

“You clean?” he asked.

Your face burned hotter. “Yes, if you must know—-but uh—”

“Then what?” he prompted.

“Is it that easy for you? To just switch partners like that?” you asked. You weren’t exactly a blushing virgin but you still had only slept with partners you had cared for. Bakugou had worked with you for years and never signaled anything beyond dismissal and semi-professionalism—so it wasn’t like he had that same level of interest in you, despite your enormous crush on him. How could he just switch, just like that?

Bakugou uncrossed his arms to settle his hands on slim hips instead, and he gave you another evaluating once over. “Something the matter with you?” he asked. You noticed he did not ask if you thought something was the matter with him. You wondered if your crush on him was that apparent.

“No,” you said defensively. “Just—I don’t know that I’d be any good on camera.”

“You’ve been in videos before,” Mina pointed out, tugging playfully on your belt loop. “You were in Bibimi’s Christmas special a couple years ago.”

“That was different,” you said, staring at her. “I was her evil coworker who sent her running into Tetsutetsu’s muscular arms. I didn’t have to get naked.”

“We can give you time to get prepared,” Yaoyorozu promised kindly. “If you wanted to um, clean up or trim—”

“It’s not that!” you said quickly, waving your arms. Your ears burned. “I just mean I would be shy.”

Bakugou watched you silently for another long moment, his full mouth pursed in thought. His gaze dragged down your body and then back up to your face, and you felt it like a physical touch.

“Then if you forgot you were on camera?” he asked, a rasp in his tone.

You blinked at him dumbly. “If I—forgot?”

“If I made you forget,” he said, flashing a sharp smirk. The arrogance looked so good on him, zinging through your veins like an electric current. Your cheeks and ears flared even hotter, until you thought you might actually be emitting smoke from them.

You tried to form words but seemed to have trouble shaping the proper ones with your tongue, making a series of choking noises before you managed. “There is no way you could—you’re not that good.”

Something hot flared to life behind Bakugou’s eyes, and his smirk curled even sharper. “We’ll see about that.”

“What if Bakugou helps you get over your nerves, and we just try it and see how you do.” Yaoyorozu prompted gently. “Is that something you would be willing to do? Of course we won’t pressure you.”

Your gaze jerked back to her as you startled. For just a second you’d sort of forgotten there was anyone in the room but Bakugou.

“I sort of doubt—but if you really need—I mean I could—try…” you fumbled out.

Yaoyorozu nodded gratefully, looking pleased again. “Alright, then let’s at least try it. Mina please find proper costuming and help get Y/N ready. I will draw up a short contract with the same terms we promise all our on camera talent for you to look over when you’re done.”

You nodded, a little dazed. Had you really just agreed to—?

But then Mina was laughing, grabbing you by the elbow and drawing you out of the room. She marched you towards the back of the studio building where she’d amassed a respectable wardrobe, racks upon racks of clothes. “Alright, this is going to be so fun! I love dressing new talent! It’s always fun to work out what’s going to work with your coloring and style on screen.”

The mention of you doing anything on screen had all the blood draining from your veins, but Mina didn’t seem to mind. She kept up a stream of happy, easy chatter as she pecked around in the racks like a chicken hunting a grasshopper. Eventually she emerged with a robe in a deep pink, slippery and silky and glistening faintly under the overheads.

“Okay so you’re supposed to be a loving couple celebrating your anniversary and looking for ways to spice things up,” she said. “So you’ll be waiting for him to come home, looking delicious in this little slip of a thing. He can unwrap you like a V-Day present!”

Her callback to the plot of the shoot suddenly made you realize there were way more things involved in the project than just being pawed at on screen—and you did not know any of Bibimi’s lines. How the hell were you supposed to deliver any kind of performance?

“Don’t worry about it, I assure you the gears are already churning in Momo’s big brain,” Mina said when you asked as much. She peeled you out of your sweater and jeans, and ushered you into the robe. Cheeks burning, you let her look you over to make sure you were properly groomed for the camera.

Then before you could get cold feet, she bundled you up and shepherded you back into the set room and set to work on you with her various pots of paint and ointments. She worked a couple things into your hair, applied something glossy and sticky to your mouth, and adjusted the fit of your robe to her liking until she pronounced you ready.

Yaoyorozu was already leaning over you by the time Mina released you, laying out a packet of sheets in front of you. She detailed the terms to you in the professional, clipped tone you’d heard her conduct business in before, and soon enough you were penning in your own name in a shaky hand. The strokes looked almost foreign on the page, and you felt a little more than lightheaded thinking about what you’d just signed yourself into.

“So—what am I supposed to do about Bibimi’s lines?” you asked, your voice coming out kind of dry and crackly.

“We’re going to improvise,” Yaoyorozu said. “Bakugou will guide you. Try to respond as best you can to what he says, along the framework of being a couple celebrating their anniversary. It’s most important to capture your intimacy, however, so we can always come back and reshoot any dialog as needed after. You can call him Katsuki, there are no aliases for this shoot.”

You nodded, feeling even more nervous now that all the prerequisites had been completed.

That left Komori waiting for you. She was apparently assuming the duties you’d abandoned by becoming the star of this absurd alternate dimension. She led you over to what had been meant to be Bibimi’s starting mark on the bed and helped you spread your pink robe out enticingly. You almost laughed as you helped her, feeling foolish and distinctly unsexy for the deliberateness of it all.

There was nothing less romantic than half a dozen other people in the room with you, cameras and hot lights trained on you like you were an escaped convict under a helicopter floodlight. You got the impression that it was going to be a monumental task to work up the nerve to even loosen the tie on your robe, nevermind remove it.

Except then Bakugou walked in.

He’d changed, sometime in the half hour or so Mina had had you in her clutches. He prowled into the room in a dark charcoal suit, the consummate businessman home from his generic businessman job.

He looked unfairly good in it too—the close cut of it highlighted how his broad shoulders slashed inwards into a trim waist, and his pants showcased the flex of a strong, hard thigh. He’d acquired a chunky wristwatch in a dark metal, and it glinted dully under the overhead lights.

He looked sleek and dangerous, even though you’d just seen him stomping around in sweatpants not thirty minutes prior. You felt your breath escape you in a whoosh, your heartbeat kicking up as he prowled closer.

“I’m home, angel,” he said, a smoky rasp curling on the end of his voice. Despite the pet name, he sounded enough like his usual self that you almost answered him in turn.

You vaguely remembered you were obliged to playact with him, and you summoned up your nerve. “Hi, Katsuki,” you said. You hoped your voice did not sound too shaky. “Happy Anniversary.”

Bakugou’s scarlet eyes dipped down to your robe, fastening to the spot where it gaped open suggestively over one thigh. Your skin buzzed like a hive of bees was trapped beneath it.

“This my present?” he asked, stalking closer. He snagged the tie of your robe in his long fingers, toying with it speculatively.

“It should be easy to open,” you joked, then almost cringed.

Sexy. You were supposed to be sexy, not goofy as hell. And what happened when he really did try to open it?

A small amount of panic crept up your spine again, seeping into your veins. You did not feel ready to be naked before all of the eyes in this room, nevermind the roving gaze of the internet. What had you been thinking, signing up for this?

Your hand came up defensively to tug the robe tie back out of Bakugou’s hand, only for it to be captured too. Bakugou tugged you up and to him, and your face broke out in another sweeping wave of flame as you felt the hard planes of him against you. He was so warm, and smelled so good up close and you could not even begin to know what to do or where to put your hands—

Before you could ask him what the heck he was doing, however, he brought your captured hand to his mouth. You almost leapt out of your skin when you felt the gentle press of his lips on the inside of your wrist, the careful flicker of a tongue. Those scarlet eyes slid over you knowingly, near enough that you could see tiny flecks of deep purple in them.

His other hand came up to take your chin, his thumb stroking over the side of your jaw. The feeling made you shiver slightly, and it must have been clearly visible because the corner of Bakugou's mouth lifted into a smirk against your wrist. Your heart hammered against your ribcage, every inch of your skin thrilling with the feeling of your longtime crush doing something this to you.

“Think I’m gonna enjoying opening you alright,” Bakugou intoned.

You struggled to remember what he was talking about, giving up almost immediately as his mouth trailed along the inside of your arm. It traced up and up and up, until he was hovering dangerously close to your face. His fingers tightened on your chin, tilting your face up to his.

And then he bent his head, and crushed his mouth to yours.

Immediately, everything else disappeared.

Kissing Bakugou was three thousand zillion times hotter than you could have ever even imagined. You’d sort of imagined that with an attitude like his, he would be all power and impatience. And the power was there, but leashed, somehow. His mouth was hot and shockingly sweet on yours, and his fingers cupped your face to his, holding you there like he planned to kiss you for hours yet.

Your head was spinning by the time he let your mouth free, and the dip of his blonde lashes as he looked you over was extraordinarily self-satisfied.

His hand on your chin went to your robe instead, pulling the collar wide so that he could lower his mouth inside instead, kissing over your throat. You seized fistfuls of his suit, clinging to him, as he mapped a hot path across your shoulder and collarbone, one of his hands coming up to up your chest.

You heard yourself let out a soft hiss as his thumb pressed over your nipple through the silky fabric. Bakugou sucked a careful bruise into the side of your neck as he did it again, letting out a barely audible snort when you jerked in his hold, unconsciously arching into his hand.

“So sensitive for me, angel,” he drawled as his other hand came up to carefully pinch your other nipple.

You heard yourself make a small, choked off noise like a whine, and you could feel Bakugou’s lips pull into an answering smirk against your throat. You didn’t think you had been quite this responsive to a partner before—but something about the careful, purposeful way he was touching you had your blood running quicker in your veins.

Bakugou’s thumbs traced slow, deliberate circles over your nipples with just the right amount of pressure to make you groan. He teased you again and again as his mouth traced higher on your neck.

Within minutes you were panting, a slow, syrupy pleasure dripping down into your core.

Bakugou tugged your robe wider, then bent his head. You felt the tickle of his hair against your collarbone, softer than you would have thought, as his mouth closed over the point of one nipple. The draw of his mouth had you arching up into him immediately, pleasure zinging through your veins.

“Oh my god,” you said, seizing a fistful of that blonde hair.

Bakugou’s tongue teased at the nipple, and you writhed in his hold. Then he did the same to your other one, and you thought you might die. He hadn’t even touched you yet and you already wanted to crawl out of your skin with impatience.

“Katsuki—please,” you heard yourself say, almost distantly. “Katsuki—oh!”

“Please what, angel?” he said into the skin of your chest, before laying his mouth back over your nipple and giving a sweet suck.

“Oh my god—please!” you said, stupidly. Not an answer to his question but you’d forgotten how to string words together, your brain-to-mouth connection running on autopilot.

“Gonna have to be more specific, sweetheart,” Bakugou said, and you heard the relish in it. Your face burned, and you yanked his hair a little more firmly. He just groaned, and then sucked you a little harder.

“Touch me! Please—Katsuki,” you panted out, hips flexing unconsciously with the pull of your nipple.

“Thought this was my gift, angel. I can’t enjoy it how I want?” he asked.

You considered his words muzzily, having no idea what he was talking about. Gift? What gift was he talking about?

Bakugou’s scarlet eyes flicked up to yours, and something in your expression must have told him you had no idea what he was on about. His mouth pulled up into a self-satisfied grin, and he leaned up to kiss you again.

You flattened yourself out against his chest, all but velcroing yourself to him. You wanted to feel every inch of that hard body against you, wanted to climb as far into him as you could. Something gratifyingly hard pressed against your stomach as you kissed him, and he grunted, locking you to him with a muscled arm across your back.

“Want me to touch you, angel?” he asked.

You nodded. A smile played across his lips.

“Get on the bed for me then, sweetheart.”

It took a minute for you to process but then you were scrambling to obey, scrabbling your way onto the bed, turning and watching as Bakugou stepped nearer.

He shed his jacket as he approached, yanking off his tie too and flinging it somewhere behind him. Then he crawled over you, his fingers seizing the ties of your robe as he did. He pulled it open gently, then yanked a little harder until the silk tie slid free.

His eyes picked over it speculatively, then flashed back up to you. A look of intent interest settled over his features.

“You ever been tied up before, angel?” he asked.

You shook your head, even as it swam with the implication. Your skin prickled, somehow growing even hotter. He didn’t mean to…?

“You gonna let me?” he asked.

You rather thought you would let him do anything he wanted with you. The question was barely out of his mouth before you were nodding hurriedly. A shocked laugh punched out of him, and he gathered up your wrists, scooting you backwards until they pressed against the headboard.

He looped the silk around your wrists, gathering it into a series of complicated knots. He moved with a purpose and precision, his movements sure and practiced. You tested the give of the ties when he sat back on his haunches, finding that they held firm, even when you put a little more muscle into it.

Bakugou’s gaze blazed over you, hot like coals. His eyes traced over your body, spread out under him now, your silk robe pooling at either side of you in a pink puddle.

He bent his head and kissed you again, until you were fuzzy with the feeling once more. Then he worked his way downwards, softly biting your shoulder, licking over one nipple, pressing deep kisses into your belly and then indent of your left hip.

A shock of pleasure raced through you when you realized where he was going with this, and you let out an involuntarily little gasp as he hooked your thighs over his broad shoulders.

“Katsuki,” you began, though you had no idea what you meant to follow it up with. Bakugou didn’t wait for you to finish, ducking his head and licking a hot stripe up the cleft of you.

Immediately you arched, thighs flexing under his hands. Your face heated when he laughed again, but any embarrassment was instantly forgotten when he licked over you again, slower and more deliberate this time.

“Oh my god,” you said again, biting off into a groan when his tongue dipped deeper between your folds, flicking up over your clit.

“Yeah, angel?” Bakugou asked, his voice a heady rasp. “You like that?” He layered another open mouthed kiss over you, slow and thorough, until you were arching up into his mouth again.

It would have been evident to anyone on earth how much you liked it from the noises you made, the way you kicked and squirmed with the movement of his mouth. He sucked your clit gently into his mouth, then laved over it firmly as he pressed his fingers to you, the pads of his index and middle slowly sinking into you.

Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head when he gave another slow suck, the feeling almost too much. His fingers pressed deeper into you, easily slipping in with how comically wet you were for him. The gentle suction of his mouth made everything a million times better, everything a million times worse, as he carefully curled his fingers within you. He seemed to immediately find a spot within you that felt like he was touching your clit from the other side too, and the feeling was immediately far too much.

“Holy shit,” you heard yourself say, cutting off into an honest to god whine when his tongue swirled around your clit, just as he teased a finger along you from the inside too. “Katsuki—oh! Katsuki please! Please oh my god oh my god.”

Bakugou’s ministrations grew a fraction firmer, and you heard him groan too as he kissed you messily.

“So fucking hot for me, sweetheart. So sweet,” he said, then sucked again, a tiny bit harder this time. His fingers stroked you from the inside, a firm, deliberate rhythm that had you turning your face and muffling a keen into the meat of your arm.

Your hips flexed against his face, wild and uncontrolled, wanting less, more, not enough, too much, oh my god—

“Katsuki!” you cried, as you suddenly hit the crest of your pleasure. Your wrists pulled against their bonds, and the feeling of helpless restraint suddenly made everything feel a thousand times more intense. Every single nerve ending in your body felt like it was on fire, so that even the air of the room seemed too harsh on your skin. You screamed as you rode out your pleasure against Bakugou’s face.

He worked you through it diligently, licking and sucking until you collapsed back to the mattress, panting like you’d just run a marathon.

“Good, angel?” Bakugou asked.

You nodded breathlessly, turning your face to his when he crawled up your body to kiss you again. The taste of yourself on him was both embarrassing and thrilling, but Bakugou didn’t give you much leeway to consider it, kissing you into a stupid, pliant little puddle against the mattress.

You could feel him hard and hot against your hip as he did so, but he didn’t make any move to get inside you yet. Instead, his hands moved over you, slowly teasing you from satiation back into want. His fingers played with your nipples again, pinching them softly and rolling them. It felt like he'd rigged up some kind of wire, leading from your nipples right to your core, that lit the pilot flame of your interest again.

A couple minutes of diligent teasing, and easy, unhurried kisses had you wiggling under him again soon enough. It was only then, when you realized you were unconsciously rocking your hips against Bakugou’s, that he finally sat back to shuck off his shirt and pants.

He was so unfairly beautiful, bared in the bright light of the room. You’d known he was gorgeous, of course, but up close he was something else entirely. He was chiseled with thick muscle, his chest and arms hard and glowing faintly with perspiration. The light and the shadows of the room played over the divots of his muscles with a deliberate care, like he was a painting instead of a man, highlighting him in loving shades. A set of perfect abs trailed down into the hard jut of hip bones over his pelvis, and his cock was just as upsettingly gorgeous as the rest of him. It was thick and full and flush with his arousal, and he wasted no time crawling back between your thighs.

“You ready for me, sweetheart?” he asked. His voice had gone even more gravelly than usual, and it plucked at your core like a string.

“Please, Katsuki,” you said, your voice embarrassingly breathy. You couldn’t help yourself though, couldn’t be ashamed with the easy way your thighs fell apart for him. Your ankles hooked across his back, trying to pull him closer still.

He groaned and surged up over you to grab a condom off the nightstand. He quickly rolled it onto himself in one practiced movement, before immediately pressing himself into you.

He sank in mortifyingly easily, you already half out of your mind with want. He didn’t seem to mind, though—you heard the soft, sibilant hiss of his own pleasure as he filled you, and your robe tugged the skin of your shoulder as he fisted a hand in it, just beside your head.

“Been dying to fuck you, angel,” he said. “Thinking about how hot and tight and sweet you would be for me. Been thinking about it nonstop.”

You made a vague noise of agreement, moving your hips with his as he drew back and pressed inside of you again. The slide of him inside you was mind-numbingly good, the pressure against your stomach as he pressed back in almost sparking stars in your vision. The flex of his abs between your thighs as he found his pace was almost immediately too much for you, and you had to turn your face away. You tilted your face up to his, watching him as he watched you.

Bakugou seemed to read your expression easily, finding the angle and pace you liked incredibly quickly. He slid an arm under the small of your back to angle your hips up into him, yanking you up like you were nothing, and the show of easy strength had your toes flexing and curling against his back.

He kissed you again, catching the sounds of your pleasure in his mouth as he rocked into you. You moved against him, hips bucking, delirious with the feeling of him. Eventually he freed his arm from under you, pressing his thumb to your slit again with deadly precision.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned into his mouth, legs tightening on him as he played with your clit. The almost-too-gentle sensation of his thumb on your clit, coupled with the relentless drive of him inside you had your vision sparking and greying at the edges. His face swam in front of yours, and all of your limbs began to feel shivery, almost too weak to lift yourself into him the way you needed, to rock against him and find relief from the friction.

Bakugou continued to tease at you, carefully pinching and petting. His hips drove into you tirelessly, slapping the bottoms of your thighs, as you strained in your silk bonds, wanting to grab him, pull him even harder into you.

“Katsuki, please please please,” you heard yourself begging. You felt him smile against your mouth, tasted his reply more than heard it.

“You want me to let you cum, angel?” he asked, doing something with his fingers that made your breath catch in your lungs.

“Unhh, yes—please!” you cried, desperation coming over you in a white haze.

You had never—never—been so desperate for anything in your entire life. You didn’t know how Bakugou was doing it, why his touch felt like so much more than anything else you’d ever felt in your life. If he didn’t let you cum you were certain you were going to die, right here and right now.

“You gonna scream for me, sweetheart?” Bakugou asked, his voice raspier than you’d ever heard it. He grit the words out, like he too was on the edge of his own climax, barely staving it off.

“Anything, I will do anything,” you babbled senselessly. “Yes—going to scream for you—Katsuki!”

Bakugou’s gaze was hotter than you’d ever seen it, scarlet eyes clouded with pleasure, glowing like banked coals. “Then you can come for me, angel. Come on, sweetheart.”

“Oh!” you cried in answer, your feet planting themselves on the bed to jut your hips up hard. Bakugou’s thumb pressed hard against your clit, then, firm and merciless, and he fucked into you harder, his pace growing faster, furious.

Your second orgasm hit you like a truck, snapping your spine into alignment, locking all your limbs up as if in rigor mortis.

“Katsuki!” you wailed as you writhed against him, clenching and fluttering around him as you sobbed.

“Oh fuck,” you heard him say, and his hips stuttered. You realized he was coming too, fucking into you sloppily and disjointedly as he rode out his own pleasure. You arched and spasmed with him, clawing uselessly at the silk that bound you, twisting in blissful agony.

When you finally came back to yourself you found yourself slumped on the bed, Bakugou’s weight pinning you down into the mattress. His chest was slicked to yours with sweat, and you could feel the rapid rise and fall of it against you as he caught his breath.

“That good, angel?” he asked, his voice heady with satisfaction.

You nodded, absently turning your face back up to his for a kiss. He granted it, kissing you almost possessively. He looked soft and rumpled, just the way you'd always liked him, and something in you purred with satisfaction at finally getting to have him like this for you.

Gradually, you became aware of other sounds in the room as you came down from your high. Quiet murmuring and the sounds of shuffling met your ears, the shutter click of a camera lens slicing through the atmosphere like a knife.

A sudden shock raced through you when you realized you and Bakugou were not alone—and you were on the set of a porn film, half a dozen eyes glued to you just over one of Bakugou’s thick shoulders.

A porn film. You had been shooting a porn film!

“And cut!” you heard the director’s voice ring out, like a bucket of water dumped over your head.

You tensed up beneath Bakugou, mind racing. Holy shit, he had actually managed to make you forget, exactly the way he'd promised.

You could tell Bakugou was thinking the same thing as he went to untie you, looking extremely satisfied with himself.

“Told you, angel,” he said, flashing something of a feral grin. You hated how good the self-conceit looked on him.

You went to draw your wrists back to yourself as he let them free. But Bakugou caught them instead, carefully massaging the skin there as if to make sure things were circulating properly. It was a startling note of unexpected care, as was the way he drew your robe closed around you again against the sudden chill of the room.

You found yourself saying wonderingly, “Wow. It was just that easy for you to switch partners like that.”

The thought somehow stung, even though you’d known going into this what you were getting yourself into. Somehow, the latent care and intention with which Bakugou had fucked you had addled your brain, made you think your connection had been something more. He had felt like he had feelings, beyond those mimed for the camera.

But here was evidence to the contrary, plain and simple. There literally was a camera.

Except then Bakugou looked down at you, a frown marring his pouty mouth. “Well yeah. ‘Course it was gonna be that easy when it’s you we’re talking about.”

You blinked at him, not understanding what he was saying. “Uh. When it’s—me?”

A crease came in between Bakugou’s blonde brows. “I said it, didn’t I? While we were fucking? Wanted to fuck you for a long time. Of course it was easy.”

Your stomach dropped, like a rug had just been yanked out from beneath you. “You—have? What? Since when?” you demanded.

Bakugou leveled you with an unimpressed stare. “Since the second time we met,” he said, and your mind flashed back to the way he’d seemed not to recognize you, that second time you'd spoken to him. “Once I realized you did work for UA and weren’t actually a little fucking creep trying to lure me into your car.”

You felt your eyebrows shoot towards your hairline. “Then—? For years? You cannot be serious. You never acted like we were anything other than coworkers!”

Bakugou scoffed. “We fucking were coworkers. And I told you, I don’t fuck coworkers off the clock.”

You blinked again, startled by the level of professionalism couched in the crassess of his statement. It made sense, you supposed, for a pornstar of Bakugou’s caliber to have put boundaries like that in place. Probably everyone in the world would just be dying for a shot at him.

“Wow,” you said, almost to yourself. You didn’t know what to do with this new information, wondered how it was going to be possible to behave professionally with Bakugou at all going forward. It was probably obvious to him how big your crush on him was, given that he’d known all along he could make you forget you were on camera. Given the way you reacted to him embarrassingly easily.

Except then Bakugou leaned forward, putting his face startlingly close to yours. “Emphasis on were, since this is my last shoot,” he said.

You stared at him, wondering if you were interpreting the implication correctly. There was no way he meant—?

“Uhhhh, meaning what, exactly?” you prompted, heart beating just a little bit quicker despite yourself.

Bakugou’s mouth turned up into a gorgeous smirk, and he ducked his head even closer, voice going softer.

“Meaning you’re going to get dressed and I’m going to take us to get something to eat,” he said, fingers playing at the edge of your robe. “And then you’re going to give me that ride home in your car after all. And we are going to do this all over again.”

Flames erupted across your face, sweeping across your cheeks. And you were up out of the bed before you even realized what you were doing, catching yourself on the bedside table as you stumbled.

Bakugou’s laugh chased out of the set room as you raced towards the wardrobe again. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to care, this time.

Not when your heart felt like it was going to beat right out of your chest. You smothered a smile as you ran down the hallway.

Much like Bakugou had just done to you—it looked like your hopes and dreams were finally lining themselves up and filling themselves in.

[mochie85]

Have Mercy

One Shot Masterlist | Complete Masterlist

Summary: You're a powered being with healing abilities and you try to bring Loki back from the brink of death. Pairing: Loki x Female Reader Word Count: 1832 Warnings: Fluff, heavy kissing, slapping, mentions of death (close call), injury, a very flirty Loki,

You didn’t know how much time had passed since you all started the ambush. Tall sequoias canopied above blocking the setting sun. The air was thick with smoke and heavy from the fighting. You heard multiple teammates calling for healing, but none was louder than Thor. His troubled voice blasted through the comms, “Medic! We need a healer quickly!” His deep command tore you away from the battle you were in and you fought your way over to him. “Priestess, please! Come quick!”

Through fire and volley, you found Thor kneeling on the ground with Loki in his arms. Lifeless. Steve was circling them, trying to shield the brothers from a barrage of attacks.

You knelt on the ground. Your knees hit soft mud as your eyes scanned Loki’s body. His sharp face was paler than usual. Blue-ish tint had started to stain his lips. And your naïve-self hoped it was just because of the cold seeping from the wet ground. “Thor, I’ll take it from here. Go help Steve. I can’t worry about my life when I have to worry about his!”

Thor nodded to you. But before he laid Loki down, he whispered in his ear, “I know you are stronger than this, brother. But I swear on Yggdrasil if you are pretending, I will not hesitate to cleave Stormbreaker into you.” Thor sniffed and placed him down to the ground.

You nodded your head and patted Thor’s shoulder. “He’ll be fine,” you feigned, as you tried to get a better look at what had happened. You didn’t have the heart to tell Thor that you could feel how thin and fragile Loki’s life string was. A hair, compared to the cord that we all have. Worse, the thick rope that the Asgardian’s life used to be. You didn’t even know if you were skilled enough to weave it stronger.

There was a large gaping hole that tore Loki’s chest plate. His skin had burned and was raw from the impact. You couldn’t see any entry wounds. Nor blood. But the bruising and dent on his chest was not a good sign. A stray missile, perhaps? Maybe jumping in the way to save his brother. They vex each other constantly. But deep down they care for each other like most siblings do.

You straddled his body, holding your two hands out, placing them over his wound. A soft resonance emitted from your palm down to his skin. You kept your hands on him as the pulse of your powers worked their way through his body. You can see tiny mends of his scrapes and scratches. The raw skin around the wound had returned to their usual pallor.  He’s reacting at least. There’s still some life in him- whatever little is left.

You persisted. With every pulse, you can see his wounds healing. Ribs cracking back into place. The blue on his lips retreated ever so slowly. But his lifeline was stubborn. If you could hold out just long enough, his own regenerative powers might kick in.

Grasping at straws, your mind quickly raced with ideas to help speed the process along. You remembered that sometimes, shock was a good way of knocking someone back into the land of the living. “Ugh, don’t get mad at me, okay? I’m only trying to save your life,” you vowed out loud in case he was able to hear you. You quickly pulled your palm back and slapped Loki hard across his cheek.

Small capillaries burst where your hand met his face. Aside from the new hue, Loki had remained the same. Still and quiet. His line fading from your grasp. You panicked at your failed attempt.

You didn’t know what to do anymore. You didn’t know how to tell Thor that you couldn’t save his only brother. Ideas and thoughts ran past your mind all muddled and incoherent. Ways and spells. Teachings and theories you’ve learned on healing and regeneration.

You cupped Loki’s cheek, healing the bruise you had left. Your brows knit together, puzzled as to what to do next. Hopeless in feeling and thought. You didn’t want to look up. You didn’t want to see Thor’s face and have to tell him an awful truth. They had just reunited this past year. It wasn’t fair. And it would be all your fault because you couldn’t save him. You couldn’t save Loki. Your heart turned solemn as angry tears threatened to drop from your eyes.

By now the fighting had stopped. You didn’t realize how quiet the world had gotten around you. How still the air was from flying projectiles or weapons. The team gathered loosely. Giving you space to try and save Loki’s life, but the look on their faces betrayed the faith they were trying to offer you.

Your thumb brushed Loki’s cheek, wiping away the mud that speckled his face. He would’ve been appalled if he knew where Thor had left him on the ground. You smirked at the thought as your thumb rested on his chin and traced his lips.

His cold lips opened slightly at your touch, and you were struck with an idea.  You grabbed both sides of his leather collars and brought him to sit up towards you. His slack weight was heavier than you anticipated, and it took your remaining strength to sit him upright. You closed your eyes as your lips crashed into his, honing your powers into that desperate kiss.

You had never done this before. You had never needed to do this before. But you were hoping that your breath of life could pass onto him and carry him through till his own powers could take over. You sucked hard on his upper lip, not wanting to break any contact. Your fingers entwined themselves in his hair, desperate to keep him close to you. “Please. Please. Please,” you whispered into his mouth. Tears fell from your eyes and landed on his cheek. Your arms wrapped around his neck, unwilling to let go. Unwilling to accept the truth.

Still, you continued.

You felt a low rumble from his chest. A hopeful sign that it’s working. You just needed to hold on a little bit longer! You opened your lips for a breath of your own. And when you closed your mouth around his, your power pulsated in between you.

You felt his temperature return first. The warmth in his lips, the heat in his breath. You could feel his lifeline winding itself tighter and stronger.

His mouth returned your kiss. Sluggish and tentative. But they held on to your lips, tightly. His hands embraced your hips so delicately you didn’t even know they were there. You naturally leaned into the kiss more. Your power still pulsing through you. One last intake of breath and you passed it along towards Loki.

His grip tightened around you and he pulled you closer onto his lap. His arms snaked around you, holding your head close to his, unwilling to let you go.  You could hear small groans and heavy panting. But you honestly didn’t know whether it came from you or from Loki.

His tongue touched your lips, asking for entry. Catching your breath you opened your mouth once again and Loki gainfully ran his tongue inside against the roof of your mouth.

You didn’t realize that your powers had finished. With nothing left to heal, your powers subsided. But you were so lost in the kiss that you had forgotten where you were and what you were doing. Slowly, you pulled away. But Loki’s kiss followed you unwilling to release you. You bit his bottom lip as a warning, holding his face in between your hands.

“Darling, what an indecent way to ask me out,” Loki grinned from ear to ear. His voice was rough and garbled. He kept his face close to yours, running his nose against your cheek. “I accept!”

The world came crashing back around you. The time. The place. The situation. The shock froze you in place just staring into Loki’s blue-green eyes. “I always thought you harbored affections for me. But now I am certain,” he taunted.

You slapped him.

You couldn’t think of anything else to do. You felt betrayed somehow. Tricked. Even though you knew that he was genuinely in peril. The fact that he was joking about it even now, irked you.

Loki’s eyes narrowed. His brow furrowed as he slowly turned his head to face you again. His chin jutted out, trying to contain the smirk that was coming forth. “Is that how you like it?”

You tried to push yourself off of him. You’ve had enough of his antics. You were utterly embarrassed at being caught in this situation. Especially with the team around, surely watching.

He caught your wrists as you pushed on his chest, stopping you. “Do it again,” he commanded. His grin was out in full force now. Dazzling you to the last inch of your nerve.

“Ugh, the thanks I get for saving your life!” pushing him down as you stood yourself up. “Next time I’ll just leave you limp in the mud.” You sneered, walking away with your head held high and your face heated and red. From humiliation or from desire, you didn’t know.

“Well, that’s very hard to do when you’re kissing me like that, my angel,” Loki yelled after you. He couldn’t stop smiling as he watched you angry and flustered. All because of him. Oh, I’m in trouble.

“What do I gotta do to get a kiss like that?” Bucky asked teasingly as you stomped passed him.

“Die!” you growled back at him. The words felt mean as they left your mouth. And you regretted saying them instantly. He was only trying to lighten the situation. But you couldn’t help the shame you had inside you.

“Oh, c’mon doll. I was only teasing.” Bucky raised his arms in defeat and followed you back to the quinjet, laughing.

“Loki!” Thor scolded as he held his hand to his brother, helping him up. “I hope that you were not deceiving us just to try and gain favor with the priestess. I know you’ve been seeking her affections.”

“Brother! I am genuinely hurt! Did you not see me lying there at the last inch of my life?” Loki contended, pointing to the ground where he once laid.

Thor rolled his eyes but smirked, clapping Loki on the shoulder. He was glad to have his brother back once again. “She’s very talented that one. And I do not want to see her get hurt, Lo-. Loki are you listening to me.”

Loki was at a loss for words, watching you. “She gave me my life back, brother. I have felt her lips against mine and I’ll be damned if I don’t feel them again soon.” Loki smiled as he swatted away Thor’s hand on him. His eyes solely on you, plotting how to get you to kiss him again.

➡️ When The Ball Drops (Sequel)

A/N: I know it's been awhile. I do plan on finishing my series' soon. Thanks for staying with me. Life has been hard and you guys get me through it.

🏷️ @peaches1958 @salempoe @thomase1 @kkdvkyya @a-witch-with-words @mischief2sarawr @sarawr-reads @vbecker10 @peachymallow @irishhappiness @cakesandtom @simplyholl @here4thefanfics @holdmytesseract @immersed-in-mischief @joyful-enchantress @lokisninerealms @kikster606 @glitterylokislut @loz-3 @slytherclaw1227 @chantsdemarins @the-lady-amphitrite @eleniblue @km-ffluv @lokidokieokie @n3rdybirdee @melsunshine @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokischambermaid @cjand10 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @chrisevansmaindish @capswife @dangertoozmanykids101 @shadycloudcollection @annoyingsweetsstranger @alyeskathewave @xxjust-a-kidxx @tallseaweed @liliacdreamer @stevihj +more in the comments

[luveline]

i just saw someone on tiktok say “behind every girl that always wants to be around their partner is a little who’s dad didn’t choose her.” with aaron pls :(( and reader reveals her daddy issues? xxx

—hotch comforts you when you worry you depend on him for the wrong reasons. fem, 2k

You were aware of the irony. Girl who hates her father latches onto the first older man to give her any positive attention: the framing isn’t complimentary to either of you, and it’s not true, really. You love Aaron because he’s kind, and he’s handsome, and because he loves you first. You won’t pretend he’s perfect even if he might say that about you. He doesn’t have to be. 

Aaron is kind where all the other men in your life have been cruel. He is the person you go to when things go wrong, even if you don’t expect him to fix things for you. You know you have ‘daddy issues’, and you don’t want them to affect how you and Aaron are when you’re together, but it’s obvious to the both of you that you crave being looked after. The way Aaron takes care of you absolutely factors into why you love him. 

He wraps the tail end of your scarf into your coat and flattens the lump of it until it’s under your chin. “Alright?” he asks, not expecting an answer as he turns away to grab his own scarf. “Will that coat be warm enough? It might be a few hours.” 

“Fine. We’ll be inside most of the time.” 

“Mm,” he hums, reaching back to pinch your side. You laugh and he smiles but doesn’t say anything further, pulling open the front door, and holding it for you until you’re on the porch. 

“You know you don’t have to… spoil him, so much,” you say lightly. 

“It’s not spoiling, he only wants a few things.” 

You’d personally felt that Jack’s birthday wish list was a bit long, but you don’t care. You don’t have a vendetta against Jack's happiness. If Aaron wants to spend half a paycheck (alright, a quarter, if that) on some toys, he should do it. But he probably knows already that Jack won’t care if he doesn’t get all of that stuff. “I didn’t get half as much for my birthdays,” you say. 

“Believe me, honey, neither did I.” 

“One year someone’s mom got me a full box set of movies though. That was a good one.” 

“One year, I got two different pagers.” He snorts. “And now they’re useless.” 

“I never used a pager.” 

Aaron goes a bit red, self-shame or something silly like that. “Don’t tell me that.” 

“Cradle snatcher.” 

“Stop, that’s not funny.” 

It’s funny. You aren’t shockingly younger than Aaron but it’s definitely enough time to see the difference (not that you care, you quite like him with his permanent wrinkle between his brows and his big, big hands). “I really haven’t. I know what they are, of course, but I went straight to a cell phone.” 

He grumbles something unheard. Together, you get into his car and drive to the shopping centre nearest the house, a maze of storefronts with outdoor entrances, like a mall that’s been shaken and thrown out over two streets. It’s not entertaining but in a way, it’s good. Aaron holds your hand and you can walk around with your head held high, proud to be a well-dressed, in love-looking partnership. See, your face says to anyone who’ll look, I’m well-loved. 

After an hour or two he kisses your cheek and decides aloud that you need dinner. He doesn’t ask if you’re hungry, he just chooses, and you love it. 

“Thank you for letting me come today,” you say, sitting across from him behind a dinner plate and a towering glass of lemon water. 

“Did I let you?” he asks, distracted by his steak and fries, though he sounds as loving as usual. 

“You could’ve said no.” 

“I have no reason to. I like when you’re with me. Thank you for letting me bring you, then, and boring you half to death.” 

“Freezing me the other half.” 

“Ah, so smart, so clever,” he murmurs. 

“Witty.” 

“Always, aren’t you?” 

You wonder about the dessert menu, find your mouth working of its own accord. “It doesn’t feel believable, sometimes. That you want me around so much.” 

He pauses, resting his knife across his fork. With a free hand, he gestures to your hand. “Would you like more proof?” 

You aren’t sure what he means, the tennis bracelet he got you for your first anniversary, or the engagement ring that sits heavily on your marriage finger waiting to be traded for a golden band. Maybe he means the teeny silver bracelet that falls down your arm whenever you move, that one just for fun. 

“Not,” he says slowly, his eyes squinted to tell you that you’re caught, “that jewellery should be your sole proof.” 

“Would you like to prove it to me now?” 

He reaches over to squeeze your hand. “I want you around all of the time. If I could I’d have us sewn together at the hip.” He’s grinning, thumbing against your knuckles. “It might not be comfortable at night when you’re trying to climb all over me.” 

“You climb all over me, Hotchner, don’t lie.” 

Aaron nods appreciatively. “That’s right. You’re the second most important thing in my life, and that’s not your fault, only Jack is so endearing.” 

“He’s a lucky kid.” 

“No, he’s not,” Aaron says gently, “but I really do love him.” 

“Of course he’s lucky. He has a dad who loves him to pieces, his Aunt Jess is like, superwoman, and– you know, I know I’m not the same as that, but I love him.”

“You look after him,” Aaron says. 

“It’s honestly just nice that you seem to like him. You don’t act like he’s an annoyance for you, you aren’t angry to have to come out today to get him his presents.” 

“Well, no. It’s not something to be angry about. When you have kids, you’re signing up for every part of having them.” 

“I know.” 

He takes a sip of his drink and puts it down beside your own in what you know to be him buying a little time. “Honey, is there something… I don’t know, something you want to talk about? Is it Jack's birthday…?”

You feel your heart fall into your mouth, as though it began life somewhere else, heartbeat mortified on your tongue. He sees you fluster and immediately softens, turning your hand in his to stroke along the inside of your wrist. 

“Nevermind,” he says. 

“No.” You clear your throat. “It’s not about Jack’s birthday. It’s just… you know you weren’t always the best father you could’ve been.” 

He nods. “I do.” 

“But you are now. You’ve made sacrifices, you– you chose Jack.” 

“I couldn’t not.” You’re quiet. He understands. “Sweetheart, we don’t have to talk about it now. Would that be better? You can think about what you have to say, and I promise I’ll listen without judging you when you’re ready to tell me about it. Okay?” He gives your wrist a squeeze. “You aren’t upset, are you?” 

“I’m just thinking.” 

“Are you too distracted for dessert?” 

You let Aaron pick one for you. Let him pay the bill, he’d be insulted if you even asked about splitting it, and he might genuinely get annoyed if you offered yourself. You usually love it. Someone loves you enough that money is practically immaterial. Just last month he had to have the roof of the house redone, and you know his money isn’t infinite, as does he, and yet it didn’t stop you from being spoiled, because any money he has was money shared. You know if he suddenly turned pauper he’d still spoil you, same way you’re spoiled with soft touches and less chores than you should take. 

“You know I don’t think of you as my father, right?” you ask. 

Aaron chokes on a startled laugh. “Of course I do,” he says, coughing, clutching your elbow. 

“So if I tell you that sometimes the way you treat me reminds me of my father, you won’t take it the wrong way?” 

“No.” He smiles where he should frown, wraps an arm behind your back when he should be judging you. “Men are still men. And I am a father, so it makes sense that you’d have those connotations in mind sometimes.” 

“I don’t want you to be my dad, but I do wonder… I wonder if I want to be around you so much because my father didn’t want to be around me. Does that make sense?” 

“I think it makes sense to wonder about it,” he says diplomatically. 

You’re nearly back to the car and this is a strange place to bare your heart, but it’s not so dramatic, you suppose. “I just think that sometimes I cling to you so much, and it must be– I’m insecure about you.”

“Mm, but you have no reason to be,” he says, pulling you closer still, his fingers aligned against your ribs and warming through your layers. 

“My father didn’t like me, not like you like Jack. There were things that were far more important to him. But with you, I’m important, and– and I know it’s not the same relationship, but–” You groan, not sure what you’re trying to say to him, or what you want him to understand. 

“My father didn’t like me, either,” Aaron says, encouraging you to keep walking to the car. “He was not a nice person. And it absolutely affected how I feel now, even if I don’t always think about him. The way he treated me when I was young influenced the person I am now. And looking for the things I wish he was, looking for kindness, for a gentle partner, it doesn’t mean that I need a placeholder for him, does it? I know what you’re saying to me. Don’t think you’re wrong for wanting to be looked after.” 

You can’t help breathing out a sigh of relief. “Right.” 

“I’ve never been a young woman, and I don’t have a daughter, but it’s not hard to imagine how you felt. It’s okay to wish you’d been loved properly.” 

“I was never a daddy’s girl,” you confess. 

“It’s not fair. Everyone wants to be treasured when they're a kid. And it makes sense that you’re still looking for that feeling. We both know it’s not the same, but I really will look after you.” He smiles. “Okay?” 

“Okay. Sorry if it’s too weird.” 

“It’s not weird to want someone who takes care of you.” 

You bring your hands to his face. They’re smaller than his, you’ve shorter fingers with softer palms, but they fit perfectly on his cheeks. You tease the scratchy hill of his chin with your thumb before closing your eyes, reaching up for a kiss. The bags hanging from your elbows crack, crushed as Aaron gets his hands behind your back to hold you. 

“You’re too good to me,” you say softly, returning flat to your heels. 

Aaron pulls your face back to kiss your cheek. “You deserve everything you get, honey. I promise.” 

[secretsandwriting]

heyyyy ryyyyy <333

since ur requests are open i thought id go ahead and ask if you're mayhaps open to anything for batmom? i don't have a completely solid idea but maybe smn like batmom has been getting threats or maybe hate or smn from somebody and everyone's reactions and how they get hella protective?

obv no pressure and you definitely do not have to write this

hope you have a great day bb

Heyyyyy, so this grew hands and wrote itself, I hope you enjoy it. It did end up with a lot of backstory.

Earned Position

5.3k words

You knew this would happen. Once your relationship with Bruce got out there would be an influx of love and hate. You also knew that everyone else knew that as well. It was common knowledge than anyone around a celebrity of sorts would experience that. 

Of course you did the normal things, turned off most notifications and only looked through areas online you knew would mostly be safe. You blocked tags and and only followed people you knew or ones who didn’t post about drama. 

When you did stumble onto hate, you moved on. If someone kept sending you nasty messages you blocked them, when they made other accounts to keep sending the same things, you changed your settings so only those you followed could message you. 

It wasn’t something you wanted to deal with but it was something you could handle. Something you started mentally preparing yourself for when Bruce’s attention on you lasted more than 4 dates, even more so when you caught yourself daydreaming about him.

You were not going to let random bitter people on the internet destroy your happiness like they did their own. Your family however, wanted to destroy what was left of your haters' happiness. Something you were trying to curb, but trying to tell a family of vigilantes who considered you the best mom in existence not to destroy your haters was like talking to a brick wall. Over the years, you had gotten used to it. It barely even registered anymore. But there had been a recent influx of the hate and while it didn’t bother you, it bothered the rest of your family. None of them could stand people talking bad about their mom.

While you hadn’t been there while the older ones were young, the second you had introduced yourself to them, you had taken a very important role in their lives. None of them realizing it at first. All of them had gotten used to the random women Bruce brought home that it took a little while for them to realize how important you were. 

Dick wasn’t sure at first. Thinking you were just another girlfriend that wouldn’t last long. So he didn’t really interact with you much. Ignoring your existence when it wasn’t too rude, or at least obviously rude. Until one night when he was staying at the manor and had a nightmare about his parents death. 

Bruce had an open bed policy. As long as there was still room for him, his bed was open. A policy he had started when Dick had gotten old enough he was worried he wouldn’t be allowed to go when he had a nightmare. Bruce had always reminded all his kids, that nightmares don’t go away just because you’re older and that needing comfort wasn’t something they would outgrow. 

The thing was, you were there. Girlfriends didn’t mind when children did it but they never liked it when his adult kids did it. The shaking in his hands and the way he saw them fall in the darkness of every blink told him the only way he was getting any sleep was with someone. 

Hopefully he could just slip into Bruce’s side and leave before you woke up. That was the plan until he found Damian on Bruce’s side and you had been pulled closer to Bruce taking up what was left. You moved a little and Dick took that as his sign to deal with it himself until he heard you whisper his name. He hummed so you knew it was him and not some random stranger standing over Bruce’s side of the bed. 

“Nightmare?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on.” You lifted the blanket next to you, “Bruce told me you guys come here when you have nightmares. There's plenty of room over here for you.” Dick hesitated for a second before giving in. He needed sleep anyway. You weren’t when you said there was plenty of room, Dick had most of your half of the bed. Once he had settled on his side, facing away from you, he felt you pull the blanket over his shoulders. 

“Night Dick, sleep well.” For some reason, that was what did it. Once the tears started they didn’t stop. Silent sobs made him shudder and he felt one of your hands gently rubbing his back. “Oh Dick.” There was no pity in your tone and he found himself rolling over and curling into you. Your chin resting on his head while you rubbed his back. 

The next day, he followed you around like a puppy. Your side of the bed became his favorite when he had nightmares and it wasn’t long before he turned to you for general comfort over anything.

Jason met you at his grave. Neither of you exchanged words, but he caught something in your gaze he didn’t quite understand. He also wasn’t sure why you were at his grave either, he didn’t know you when he was younger. 

When he saw the Gotham News post about Bruce and Your 2nd anniversary, it brought more questions than answers. Why were you at his grave alone? Let alone longer than a few seconds. It was an odd way to gain more of Bruce’s affections. 

Every Tuesday you would be there, leaving flowers and talking softly to the stone. Every time you left, you would smile and nod, the look in your eyes he couldn’t figure out was still there. Every time he would strain to heat what you were saying and only be able yo a few words here and there. 

6 months into it, the routine changed. You brought a blanket and Basket with your usual flowers. You did what you normally did with the flowers but instead of talking to the stone you waved him over. When he didn’t move, you stopped what you were doing and looked at him. 

“Jason Todd, I have been keeping your secret for 6 months. Helping me spread this blanket and having lunch won’t change it.” He stared at you while you waited expectantly. Eventually when he could get himself to move, he came over and helped. He sat down where you motioned for him too, all while trying to figure out how you knew.

“Bruce mentioned this used to be your favorite when you were younger so I asked Alfred to teach me how to make it. I hope it's up to your standards.” He looked at the plate of food you handed him. It was almost overflowing with food, all of which reminded him of the good times back at the manor before he died. “Alfred also sent your favorite cookies when he heard I would be eating at your grave.” The bag of cookies was placed next to the basket, within easy reach.

“Why?” Was all Jason managed to choke out around the lump in his throat.

“I decided early on in life, no matter who I was with, I would love their family as my own. My grandfather hated my grandmothers side and it caused a lot of pain in all the generations. I decided I would never do that to another family.” Jason found himself back in control enough to start eating. 

“So when I started dating Bruce and he told me about you, I decided to treat you like you were my own. Even though I had never met you and you were dead. Most of what that meant was keeping your grave clean and always making sure there were fresh flowers. While I did that, I would tell you everything that was going on.”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Your eyes, they may be a different color but they looked too similar. So I did a little digging and found pictures of your biological pictures to place the face shape it matched. I think however you look more like Bruce then either of them.”

“Are you going to tell them?”

“As much as I would love to. It’s your choice. You’ve been keeping this to yourself for a reason. If I can help you get to a place to tell them, I would love to. But I won’t say a word until you're ready. However, I would like to keep having lunch with you.” 

A year later, Jason reintroduced himself to the rest of the family a lot calmer than originally planned and was glued to your side anytime he felt overwhelmed that night. Every Tuesday after that, lunch was scheduled.

Tim was nervous when it came to you. He was still living in the manor so he saw you more than the older two. You always seemed nice and respected his privacy but Bruce was always with you so you obviously would. 

It was when he wasn’t around that worried Tim. Bruce attracted golddiggers and they were always mean when Bruce wasn’t there. When you were given a copy of the key, Time braced himself. 

Of course he knew that if he told Bruce anything that happened like that, Bruce would break it off. He had always told them that they came first. But he also knew that Bruce liked you a lot. All the other ones Bruce liked a lot that turned out to be horrible, he broked it off. Tim had seen how it had made him upset and he really hated doing that to him. Maybe he could deal with it for once. 

So when Bruce left for a business trip, Tim was Expecting the worst. What he didn’t expect was for you to knock on his door and ask if you could join him. When he agreed and stepped back so you could come in. He expected you to go to his bed or his desk chair not, the oversized bean bag on the floor.

“I have a question for you but you can’t tell Bruce yet.” Here it comes. “What would a funny way to tell him I know he’s Batman?” Tim wasn’t expecting that one. “I was thinking a lot of batpuns but his paranoia is too bad for that.”

“How did you figure it out?” You walked him through your process and didn’t say anything as he wrote parts of it down. Once you finished explaining the process for Bruce, you explained any way it was modified in figuring out their identities.

“Who do you think I am?”

“Red Robin.” Tim found himself getting excited. 

“You know those notes you leave him in his office?” You nodded. “You should leave those in the Batcave.” You considered it but your thinking was interrupted but Tim shouting. 

“No! One night when we’re all in the cave, you could bring some snacks!” 

“You just want snacks when he’s lecturing you don’t you?”

“Maybe..”

“Alright, but you have to tell the others so they can tell me what snack they want.”

So Tim slowly and carefully went through all his siblings, letting them know you figured it out, Bruce didn’t know, and what the plan is. Every time he relayed a snack to you he’d watch how carefully you’d write it out to make sure you had it correct or look up recipes if you couldn’t find it in stores. 

Two weeks later, Tim was the one who sent the signal in the middle of a lecture everyone was receiving and he got a front row seat to see Bruce’s face when you walked in and handed out snacks before giving him a kiss and telling him to be nice and leaving. 

Any other worries were left in the dust when you helped him win the nerf war for the best seat in the home theater. He thoroughly enjoyed his spot next to you while Bruce swore revenge from the other side of the room.

Damian treated you politely but that was it. His mother was still alive and he didn’t want another one, one was more than enough. Not only that, but you were weird. 

One time when you were over, you found one of his report cards. Immediately you were praising him. He didn’t understand why, he had basically failed one of his classes with an A-. You should be disappointed like his mother would be, not hanging it up on the fridge and telling people not to touch it. Definitely not taking him out for ice cream and calling him so smart. He definitely shouldn’t be feeling any pride when he walked past it, but he still was. 

When he was practicing his violin and Messed up, you were supposed to tell him to stop failing, that he should be better. Not smiling at him and telling him he’s making good progress. You should be telling him that he should have memorized that piece in a day. He shouldn’t be feeling any pride when he finally does memorize it, it took him 4 days to learn it.

When he was struggling to learn a language, you were supposed to tell him to work harder. He could do better, after all, he already knew so many. Instead you just smiled and recommended a break to refresh his mind. 

When he snapped at you in Arabic, he expected you to be upset since you didn’t know what he said and it was obviously not something nice. Instead you set the rule that if he was going to use Arabic to speak to you when upset, that he had to teach it to you and if what he said wasn’t something you had learned yet, he had to tell you in english. When he told you what it meant, you didn’t even get upset. He definitely shouldn’t be as excited as he was when you actually started learning. 

So many more little things piled up, leaving Damian confused. The differences between how you and his mother treated him was so big he didn’t know how to process it, he liked you and all the little things made him happy in a way he hadn’t really felt. But he still loved his mom, When he had enough of it, he asked you to stop. He still wanted to love his mom. Once again, you did something you weren’t supposed to.

“Oh Damian, I’m not trying to replace your mom nor am I trying to make you feel like you can’t love her or she doesn’t love you. Your mom and I show our love in different ways and its ok for you to love or like both of us. You mother loves you and she will always be allowed in your life if thats what you want.” You weren’t supposed to do that, but Damian was really glad you did.

Barbara wasn’t sure how you would react to her. She wasn’t just Bruce’s kid. She had a loving family she went back to every night. Most people weren’t really a fan of that, one of Bruce’s past girlfriends had some strong and hurtful things to say about it. 

When you took her for a day out, she found herself warming up to you but still waiting for the other shoe to drop. One of the new places you had planned to go, didn’t have wheelchair access. Like all the other girlfriends who had done this, she expected you to be annoyed that your plans had to change or you would just leave her outside while you shopped. 

You didn’t seem to notice her hesitation, just looking at what was next on your list and starting the trip there. When Barbara stared a little longer at a new movie that was in theaters, tickets and snacks were bought and you listed to all the lore she told you about before it started.

While it had been a nice day, Barbara wasn’t convinced. One day was easy to fake. Sure she had lots of fun, but Barbara was used to fakes when it came to Bruce’s girlfriends. Of course she wasn’t complaining about you being nice, she just wasn’t sure how long it would last. 

“Did you hear about that boutique?” She looked up from her food to look at her dad. “That new one that you tried to go to with Bruce’s girlfriend? Well there was a report that it didn’t meet the Americans with Disabilities act and the boutique is in trouble. People are speculating they’ll have to close down.”

Later that night, Barbara looked into it. They were in trouble, pretty big trouble from the looks of it. Towards the end of the article she found the name of the person who reported it, she wasn’t sure who she was expecting. Not you for sure but the Name Y/n L/n took her by surprise and filled her chest with feelings she couldn’t describe. 

The boutique ended up closing but a new one opened. Once it was open, you were the first to ask her to go. That weird feeling came back when she wheeled herself up the ramp and through the door you held open for her. Later that night, in the privacy of her room. She decided she liked you. 

Steph seemed like she liked you, she acted like she liked you, she didn’t really like you. Sure you were nice, Bruce loved you, the others were warming up to you, but she wasn’t sure how to feel about you. So she stuck with not actually liking you but pretending to. 

So when she was around you, it was all smiles and jokes. She wasn’t a big fan of it all but she did it because she knew you were important to Bruce and that was enough of a reason for her. She knew Bruce and the others could see through the act but as long as you couldn’t, that was enough. 

When Bruce announced he had to leave for a business trip right before she could hand him the parents visit for one of her AP classes, something the new teacher liked doing. She tucked the paper away. When Tim gave her a questioning look, she shook her head and later swore him to silence. 

Every time she heard someone mention their parents were going, she felt a pang of jealousy in her chest. Every time Tim mentioned bringing it up to you, she swore him into silence again. It wouldn’t be the first time no one showed up for her. She was however thankful you wouldn’t be at the manor as much so she didn’t have to pretend to like you.

When the day arrived, Steph was not having a good day. School dragged on slowly. Slower than normal. When school finally ended, she had to sit in the classroom and watch everyone else that was in her class leave and the parents of her classmates show up while no one was there or coming for her.

Someone sat in the seat next to her, she expected another family member of one of her classmates. Definitely not you. She couldn’t return your smile, too unsure of how you found out, the fact you actually showed up, and how she felt about you being there. You leaned a little closer so that the others in the room wouldn’t easily overhear. 

“I know I’m not your parent and someone you just pretend to like so if you want me to leave I will. But I figured someone was better then no one. Oh, and Tim wanted me to tell you he didn’t spill. Your teacher called the manor because no one had RSVPed for you and I answered it.”

That night, as Steph showed off all her hard work to you, the charade fell. She actually enjoyed her time with you and the boost of pride as you oohed and ahhed over all her projects and listened to her explain all the little details. That night, Steph realized, she didn’t need to keep pretending. She liked you, until she found out you didn’t like her favorite show but a nerf war solved that. 

Cass could tell you were different then the other girlfriends, your body language as you interacted with all of them showed it. However that didn’t mean she knew how to interact with you.

She had learned that she was fairly hard for new people to interact with. She also knew she had trouble interacting with people she wasn’t fighting. So it wasn’t a surprise when it started rocky. 

What was a surprise, was when you found out she was still having trouble reading and writing, you stepped in to help. Well, that wasn’t the surprising part, a lot of girlfriends did that. The surprising part was the amount of patience you had when it was only the two of you. 

When one method didn’t help, you tried another. Never once did you snap at her or call her a name. Everytime you got frustrated you would stop and look at her, say something along the lines of “If I had as much trouble with this as you do, I wouldn’t want to keep trying. You're doing absolutely amazing! I’ll keep looking for other ideas, but for now, lets take a break and get a treat.” 

Cass wasn’t sure why that always made her feel better, but it did. Every treat you brought was something you made just for the tutoring sessions and it always reminded her of what Alfred had told her once. “Something made with love for you will always taste better.”

And when a method that made it a little easier to learn was found, Cass found herself smiling along with your cheers. Bad days where she couldn’t seem to make any progress were always met with the same excitement, cheers, patience, and treats that all the others were. 

Cass still wasn’t sure of what to think of you exactly, but she knew she liked you and that you cared about her.

So when Tim saw the new rise in hate, a sibling meeting was called. They all went through each site, blood boiling as they saw what people were saying about their new parent. Plans were made, declarations of war were ready, and anger fueled all of them. Bruce could tell something was going on, but he wasn’t sure what it was and as long as it didn’t get out of had, he wasn’t sure if he had the energy to deal with it. 

War was declared in an interview by Steph. The lady was asking questions when the topic switched to Bruce, then you. The reporter was clearly trying to subtly find some dirt on you and Steph was not going to stand for it.

“Oh yeah! Y/n! She’s the best!” She put on her best press face. Trying to hide her anger over the hidden intent. She didn’t have to lie or act when talking about you but the change in the lady’s face going to disappointment when she didn’t get anything she wanted was making her look very punchable. 

“She’s always showing up for us and making sure we’re doing ok. If Y/n and Bruce were to break up, I think most of us would go with Y/n.” The way the lady kept trying to get anything really got on her nerves and Steph decided she needed to get out of there before she started using the lady’s face for target practice. You wouldn’t like that.

Cass was the first one to resort to violence. They had asked a thinly veiled question, basically asking if you were a golddigger. So she punched him in the nose and leaned down to flip the camera off. She hated interviews already but that made it so much worse. She hoped you wouldn’t be too upset with her punching the guy though.

Jason, surprisingly enough. Did not get violent… physically. He did however curse one out and threaten him when the reporter implied you were forcing them to say nice things. When the reporter kept pressing Jason broke his mic and told him if he ever heard him talking bad about you again, a broken mic would be the last of his worries. Jason knew you would be disappointed but he had held back, he didn’t shoot the guy like he wanted.

Tim threw his coffee at one reporter because he heard them say you were nothing but a regular person who didn’t deserve any attention. He then took over her segment, threatening the company to air it or he would make sure they went bankrupt. Once he finished his threats, anything he said was praising you name. Telling everyone how amazing you were and how much they all loved you.

Barbara made it a point to bring up everything you did for the community when they tried to throw some shade at you in an interview. She had documents to prove it and hacked their systems to add them into the interview so they couldn’t claim it was fake. She also made sure to run over his foot when she left. 

Dick punched a reporter when they tried to ask him what you were really like behind closed doors. He told them the truth, that you were just as good, kind, patient, and loving behind closed doors as you were out in public. He didn’t throw a punch until the reporter disregarded that as asked again because she couldn’t be that good. Dick knew a lecture would be coming once you saw, but he would rather sit through a lecture then let anyone tarnish your name.

Damian spent 10 minutes cursing and threatening a reporter in Arabic when they asked him if you had ever hurt him. When he was done, he told them in english, that if he ever got asked that question again, he would impale them. He knew you were going to make him sit down and translate everything and the general response you would give but he didn’t care, no one speaks bad about either of his mothers.

Bruce figured out what was going on after Steph’s interview. He saw the ones where they assaulted or threatened the reporters and made sure his lawyers were on standby to keep the kids out of trouble. After all, he had seen more than they had. 

He had watched as you tried to connect with Dick early on, how you worked hard to try and get somewhere. He had woken up before you when Dick had come in that night and heard how you handled it. He had woken up the next morning to find you holding Dick close, like you were trying to protect him from the nightmares. He had seen how you never turned Dick down when he wanted comfort, no matter how serious or silly the matter, and he had heard your excitement when you told him Dick liked you.

Bruce had seen the way you never missed a visit to Jason’s grave, on a visit of his own, he saw how much care you showed the stone marking it as his lost son. While he hadn’t been sure why it was alway the same time on Tuesday, he didn;t mention it. He felt the way you would sob in his arms after each visit, a year after the tradition started, you always said you had promised not to tell and he watched as you kept that promise even if it tore you to pieces. Once the shock and tears wore off for a little bit, he could see the trust that Jason had in you.

He heard the way you questioned if you should have a key to the manor, you didn’t want to make Tim uncomfortable in his own home, or how you questioned if you should visit while he was gone. Not wanting to stress Tim out when there was no reason too. He saw the way you and Tim grinned at each other when you brought snacks down for all the kids he was currently lecturing. He head the excitement in your voice as you told him about the tour Tim had given you of the Batcave and the shared laughter as you and Tim worked together to win the nerf war.

Bruce saw how you worked to give Damian the affection he didn’t think he needed. He felt you crying in his arms upset over the fact Damian thought you would be angry because he made a mistake or struggled in a class. He heard you practicing your Arabic as you got ready for bed and he watched as you stress paced over whether or not you said the right thing to him about his mother. 

He saw how angry you had been when you came back from your day out with Barbara. He had heard your call with your lawyer as you tried to figure out what to do. He saw you going through the laws and making a list to make sure your lawyer didn’t miss any. He heard about the movie you didn’t particularly care about and the lore you remembered in case of another because you wanted Barbara to have someone she could tell all of her favorite things too. 

Bruce saw the pictures you had taken from the school night. He heard all the details from you as you praised Steph’s work. He saw the way Steph stopped acting around you and the silly arguments the two of you would get into for fun. He heard the way you would listen to her as she verbally worked out her problems. He saw the way Steph looked for you in a crowd, the way she knew you were there but not where you stood exactly, the thought of you not being there never crossed her. 

He saw the way you stayed up late, researching different ways to teach reading and writing. He heard the patience and kindness and you worked with Cass. He saw the way you always made a treat just for Cass to have after each lesson because you wanted to reward her hard work. He heard the way you cried for Cass when she had a bad day and got frustrated with herself because you knew she was smart and you wanted her to see it too. He heard your celebrations when Cass made any progress, no matter the size. 

Bruce heard, saw, and felt the way you worked hard to have a relationship with his kids. How you had mourned for their losses, celebrated their wins, and felt their pain. He saw the way his kids blossomed under your care, growing to be better and more confident in themselves. The way you cared for them as if they were your own flesh and blood. So when he was asked about his kids behavior, he said as much. 

“Y/n has worked hard to be accepted by them. She’s given so much of her time, effort, patience, and love and never wanted anything in return. She always shows up for them, no matter what the occasion is, big or small, it doesn’t matter. If they want her there, she’ll be there. Everytime they need or want her, she’s there. She never judges them and treats them as if they were her own blood. Of course their upset and lashing out, people are insulting the woman who has cared for them more then most of their biological mothers.”

Later, a clip of you scolding Bruce and all the kids went viral. While you were scolding them over their behavior and making the kids who had reacted with violence or threats write apology letters because asking mean questions does not make it right to respond badly especially when its someone just trying to start drama. Everyone one noticed that there was no actual bite to your tone and no anger when they all refused to stop acting like that. In fact, there was a small soft smile on your face as you shook your head at your family.

[heliosunny]

Hi, can i request for a Yan Mydei with a vampire readerr?? Like how you do with Phainon, but instead the reader is th one who willingly tried to drain all the blood from him not knowing his noble (?) identity

i hav an idea about him, a human, being half dead in near the vampire's house, so they took him in and tend his wounds only for him to find out that theyre keeping him as a food(?) but soon his men will lookout for him and rescue him only for him to come back to reader?? pleasee, i'm craving more mydei x reader from u

Yandere!Prince Mydei x Vampire!Reader

You hadn't fed in days. The moment the aroma reached you, you moved instinctively, the forest around your manor blurring as you followed the trail.

A man lay slumped against a mossy boulder, his cloak soaked crimson. A sword wound tore through his side, and arrows pierced his thigh and shoulder. Yet even on death’s edge, he clutched a bloodied dagger.

He didn’t even flinch when you knelt beside him.

“…Are you Death?”

You didn’t answer.

His blood smelled divine, so you brought him home.

You licked the blood from his skin to close his wounds, fed sparingly to preserve his strength. But you didn’t know who he was.

If you know anything about the royal family, you’ve heard of Prince Mydei—the second-born son, abandoned and cast aside by his own kin. His elder brother, consumed by envy, could not bear the way the nobles whispered of Mydei’s talents, his striking looks, or the loyalty he inspired. So, in the shadows, the crown prince sent assassins to silence him forever. And you—you wouldn’t be foolish enough to save him.

He survived.

Now, he’s recovering in your manor, watched over by you, his mysterious savior. You think he’s a lost traveler.

But every time you bring him food, every time you touch his skin to check his healing wounds, his eyes follow you with such intensity.

“You saved me... Why?”

“Didn’t want the blood to go to waste.” you said flatly. “You’re a walking feast.”

You started walking toward him, your steps silent on the wooden floor. “I figured I’d patch you up. Let you ripen a little.”

“…Meal?” His brows knit faintly.

You reached the edge of the bed and tilted your head.

His eyes widened. He tensed as your legs straddled his hips, your body sliding over his. “I’m a vampire” you whispered, your breath brushing his throat. “You didn’t figure it out from the whole ‘blood licking’ thing?”

“You—” His voice faltered as your fingers brushed back his hair.

“Don’t worry” you said, “I won’t take too much.”

Then your lips pressed to his neck, and your fangs sank in.

His body jolted beneath you, fingers clutching the sheets. A hundred years of hunger wouldn’t have prepared you for the taste of him.

He tried to speak—maybe to resist, maybe to beg—but his strength was fading fast.

Moments later, he slumped beneath you.

You pulled back, licking the blood from your lips. “Tch… You’re weak” you muttered, brushing his hair away from his dazed face. “That’s no fun.”

You slid off him and leaned back lazily against the pillows, watching his chest rise and fall.

When he woke up, the room was quiet.

He looked around—but you weren’t there.

Only a neatly folded note sat on the table nearby, beside a tray of food.

"Eat. Don’t bleed out again."

That was all.

The days passed in fragments.

You were never home when he awoke. Just more notes. More food. Sometimes an extra bandage, a cloth soaked in herbs. Sometimes silence.

By night, he’d wait for the sound of the door—only to find you passing through like a shadow. You’d glance at him, then head to another room as if he didn’t exist.

He started trying to stay awake longer. He sat on the bed, waiting. But every time, you’d return late, and sleep always claimed him before you came close.

And so, it continued.

Until one evening.

You opened the door to his room just before sunset. He was pretending to be asleep again.

But this time… you stayed to check.

He was healing well. The color had returned to his face.

You turned to leave, but his eyes fluttered open. He didn’t say anything—but there was something burning in them.

The next day, for once, you didn’t disappear.

You stood by the wall, arms folded, watching as he quietly ate the food you left him.

When he finished, he wiped his mouth slowly, then looked up.

“…You’re leaving again?”

“I have things to do.”

His fingers brushed your sleeve, “Wait.”

You stopped.

Glanced back over your shoulder.

“Don’t be too kind” you warned, stepping back toward him with a gleam in your eyes. “People might take advantage of that.”

But he didn’t move when you leaned in.

Didn’t flinch when your hand brushed his neck.

Didn’t even blink when you straddled him again, your fingers tilting his chin up.

“Like me.”

Your fangs sank in without hesitation.

He gasped, but… there was no struggle. His hands gripped your arms. He held you closer.

-----

You smelled the fever before you even stepped into his room. His blood was boiling in his veins, you cursed under your breath.

“That’s what happens when you feed a vampire and let them treat you like a wineskin.”

You soaked a cloth and pressed it to his forehead, fingers brushing his cheek.

“…You better not die on me now.”

Still, even in his fevered sleep, he leaned into your hand.

You left before sunrise, locking the door behind you.

He wouldn’t wake for hours anyway.

You needed medicine, food… and answers.

Because last night, in town, you overheard the whispers.

A prince gone missing. Not just any prince—the second one. The one the crown prince had always seen as a threat. Rumors swirled that it was a staged accident… or an ambush.

That night, under the veil of darkness, you paid the palace a visit.

Not through the front gate, of course.

The crown prince slept alone, golden rings on his fingers, a goblet still full on the bedside table.

He woke to the press of cold fingers on his throat.

And before he could scream—

Later, you pulled back with a disgusted snarl and spat into his sheets.

“Yuck.”

He was unconscious before he even realized what you were.

By the time you returned, it was nearly dawn again.

You opened the door silently, the faint light of your lantern casting golden warmth across the room. Mydei was still resting—sweating less, breathing evenly, his fever finally passed.

You sat beside him and rested the basket of supplies on the floor.

That prince’s blood left a foul taste in your mouth. You needed something real to wash it out.

You climbed back on top of Mydei, easing your weight onto him like you had before.

“…You came back…”

“Mm,” you hummed. “Had to rinse the taste of garbage from my mouth.”

He didn’t understand what that meant.

But he let you drink.

Even now, just barely recovered—he offered himself to you willingly.

And you took it.

--------

You swore humans were something else.

Even after all the times you'd sunk your fangs into him, draining his strength and leaving him dizzy with fever, he still flinched and blushed like some sheltered maiden every time you barged in.

Like this morning.

You pushed open the door without a word—just to check on him—and there he was, mid-change, shirt halfway over his head.

You stared.

He turned crimson.

You rolled your eyes.

“Relax,” you muttered. “Not like I haven’t seen more than that while drinking you dry.”

He didn’t respond. Just yanked his shirt down and sat at the edge of the bed, trying to hide the fact he couldn’t meet your eyes.

That should’ve made your appetite wane, but—if anything—it deepened the hunger.

You tilted your head, watching him. His heartbeat was steady again. But your instincts warned you: he was still recovering. Your “walking blood supply” wasn’t ready for another feast just yet.

Ugh.

But you couldn’t have him dropping dead. Not yet. Not when he’d just started tasting good again.

So you spent the afternoon rummaging through your old tomes—dusty, brittle, half-forgotten until now.

And finally, you found one.

A rare herb. Said to regenerate blood thrice as fast. Strengthen the body. Even make the blood sweeter over time.

Perfect

Without delay, you threw on your cloak and grabbed your satchel.

But just as you stepped toward the door, Mydei called out behind you, voice soft but urgent.

“You’re leaving?”

You paused.

“…Yeah.”

“Where to?”

“Somewhere far. I’ll be back.”

“Can I come?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

You smirked, tugging your cloak tighter. “You’ll slow me down. Besides, I’ve got others to feed on if needed.”

That shut him up.

As the door shut behind you, the air in the house turned heavy.

And Mydei sat back on the bed, “…Others, huh…”

He didn’t believe that. He couldn’t.

But still… Why did it hurt so much to hear?

The journey was brutal.

The herb grew deep within a cursed forest, guarded by illusions and creatures that hated anything living—or undead. You battled through fog that whispered in your ears, creatures that clawed at your cloak, mud that swallowed your boots, and shadows that tried to rip your senses apart.

But you made it.

You clutched the herb in your hand like a trophy.

It was worth it.

You knew what this herb meant: he would recover faster, grow stronger, become yours for longer. And maybe, just maybe… you wouldn’t have to hold back next time you fed.

The thought made your blood stir.

The second you stepped inside your house, the door slammed behind you with a loud click.

Mydei stood there.

You noticed the fine magic thread strung across the floor. The faint shimmer of runes etched on the walls. The scent of crushed herbs—some of yours—burned into a faint ward.

Your brows rose.

“…You little snake.”

“You were gone for three days”

You raised the herb lazily. “Brought you a gift, didn’t I?”

He didn’t even glance at it.

“You lied,” he muttered, “You said you had others to feed on.”

“Jealous, are we?”

“I’m not,” he said. “I just thought I owed you a proper welcome.”

Your grin grew sharp.

“Well,” you said, shrugging off your cloak. “You’ve got my attention now.”

You took a single step forward—

And the trap flared beneath your feet.

Your knees buckled slightly as the energy locked your limbs.

“Sit”

You had to obey.

He stood tall in front of you, finally holding the upper hand—or so he thought.

“I’ll give you what you want” Mydei said, “My blood. But from now on, only under my conditions.”

You watched him. His pride warring with the way his pulse sped up just standing this close to you. You could smell the heat in his blood.

It made your mouth water.

“And what conditions,” you drawled, “does my little hostage offer?”

“No biting unless I allow it,” he said firmly. “No sneaking into my room.”

You snorted. “You think you get to own me now?”

He stepped closer. “I want to. If you’ll let me.”

So you waited until he was close enough.

You leaned in.

He thought you were accepting his terms.

You smirked faintly, the crushed herb still between your cheek and tongue. You whispered against his lips:

“Too slow.”

And kissed him. He gasped.

And you took that moment to shove the bitter herb down his throat with your tongue.

His eyes widened as he instinctively swallowed, choking slightly at the sharp, earthy taste.

You grabbed his wrist and yanked his arm upward—mouth pressing into the soft skin just above his inner elbow. The vein there thrummed like music beneath your lips.

You bit.

Harder than usual.

“You—cheated—” he managed to whisper.

You sucked deep, your hand gripping his waist to keep him from falling.

Then finally, when his legs wobbled and his breathing hitched—you pulled away.

“You’ll thank me,” you said coolly. “That herb’s going to make you stronger than ever. You’ll be able to handle so much more of me.”

“...You're insane” he whispered, half in awe, half in breathless disbelief.

You smiled.

“Maybe.”

Then you pushed him onto the floor.

“I hope you recover fast. Because next time, I’m not going to stop until I’ve had all of you.”

----

You expected that herb to make him recover quicker—he should’ve been bouncing back, your little blood bag practically glowing with vitality by now.

But the bite on his arm was still healing.

The skin was bruised. No signs of the usual quick regeneration. It had been days.

You squinted at it when he wasn’t looking.

Something wasn’t adding up.

“…Can you reach the top shelf?” you asked lazily.

Mydei, ever eager to be helpful, nodded and moved to stand on his toes—stretching upward, fingers brushing the jars of dried herbs.

His back was to you.

A perfect moment.

Quietly, you slipped behind him, eyes locking on the side of his neck.

No.

Too obvious.

Your gaze dropped lower—to the soft skin between his shoulder blades. Covered just barely by the loose hem of his shirt. An untouched spot.

Your lips parted.

And you bit.

“Ah—!” he jolted, hands smacking into the shelf as jars clinked loudly. “W-What the hell?!”

You hummed around the flesh, holding him in place with your grip on his hips. It was a small bite, shallow. You drank just a little. Enough to taste the faint herbal sweetness still lingering in his blood.

“Y-You can’t just bite me out of nowhere—!”

“Shh”. You pressed two fingers to the bite, watching intently.

The skin was already sealing.

Interesting.

“So it’s not the herb…”

“H-Huh?”

You leaned back against the wall, licking your thumb as your mind turned.

“It’s the spot,” you said aloud, more to yourself than to him. “Or maybe the duration.”

He blinked at you, shirt half-fallen down his shoulder, flustered and confused. “What are you—?”

“The longer I suck from the same place…” You stepped forward again, “The more damage it takes. The slower it heals.”

He backed up against the shelf.

“That’s why your arm still looks like a bruised peach.”

“You could’ve just asked me to—”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you murmured, dragging your finger across the newly bitten spot. “But this… this opens up options.”

You leaned closer, lips brushing his ear.

“I’ll just have to find fresh spots each time.”

-----

It wasn’t just you who changed.

At first, Mydei had flinched. Shied away. Hid the marks under layers of cloth and half-hearted glares.

But lately…

You noticed the shift.

He no longer yelped when you leaned in. He stopped trying to cover the bites. And sometimes—just sometimes—when your teeth sank into his skin, he’d lean in ever so slightly.

He wanted more of that.

So when you were away one night, he found the old alchemy book tucked behind your things. Inside were potions, ingredients, little scrawled notes in the margins.

And one page caught his eye.

Bloodlust Enhancer.

A simple potion. Nothing too suspicious—just enough to heighten a vampire’s thirst.

He read it again.

And again.

You’d scribbled “dangerous if used frequently” beside it.

He smiled.

And started brewing.

The next evening, you returned to your cozy hideaway.

He greeted you with a smile, already in the kitchen. “You look like hell” he said gently, offering you a mug of warm tea.

You took it with a scoff. “I am hell.”

You sipped.

Bitter.

Spiced.

Sweet.

Your brows twitched, but you brushed it off. A taste like honey and heat hit your tongue, warming your throat as it slid down.

He watched you closely.

And, deliberately, he adjusted his shirt.

It slid lower across his collarbone.

And when he reached for a book, the hem of it rose, revealing the pale skin of his side.

You didn’t even notice you’d stepped closer.

Didn’t realize how badly your body wanted it until your fingers curled in his shirt and you pressed your lips to his skin, just above his ribs.

He gasped, already bracing for the bite.

You didn’t even warn him.

Your eyes rolled shut as a growl built in your throat.

His knees buckled.

He gripped the shelf behind him. His own breath stuttered from the pleasure of it.

He trembled beneath you, fingers twitching against your back.

“…What the hell was that?” You said after regaining your consciousness.

You didn’t see the empty vial hidden beneath the shelf behind him.

-----

It happened one night, after a particularly long feed.

“Make me a vampire.”

You blinked at him, wiping your mouth with your sleeve. “What?”

“I want to be like you.”

You sat back, raising an eyebrow. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard all week.”

“I’m serious.”

“No, you’re delirious.” You stood, brushing your hair out of your face. “You wouldn’t survive the transition. And even if you did, I’m not interested in making a mini-me.”

He sat up, “Then what am I to you?”

You glanced back at him with a flat stare. “My walking blood supply. You’re cute when you blush, and I like the taste of your blood. That’s all.”

You didn’t stay to see how his expression cracked.

He waited until you left again. For herbs, or ingredients—some errand that gave him just enough time to sneak away.

He didn’t take much. Just his coat and a hidden pendant he’d stuffed away in a drawer weeks ago.

It didn’t take long to find his men. They were still searching the outskirts.

“Your Highness!” one of them gasped, “You’re alive—! The crown prince said—”

“Don’t mention him” Mydei said coolly. “I have no intention of returning to that snake’s court.”

“But—”

“I found someone.” He looked off into the woods, where the path to your hideout lay shrouded in shadows. “Someone I’m staying for.”

The guards exchanged uneasy glances.

“I need you to… hurt them.”

“Not kill, of course. And they’ll come to me.”

Silence followed.

------

The world spun.

Branches clawed at your clothes as you stumbled through the forest, your vision blurring.

Blood seeped down your side.

They came out of nowhere. You didn’t have the strength to fight all of them, not in your current state. You barely escaped with your life.

By the time you reached your door, your knees buckled. You nearly collapsed against the frame—but you dragged yourself inside.

“Mydei—”

He was already running out from the back room.

You didn’t even speak.

You just grabbed him.

Pushed him back, pinning him to the nearest surface. Your hands shook as you shoved his shirt up.

And your fangs sank into the skin just above his hip.

Your nails dug into his sides as your lips sealed over the bite, drawing blood like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

And he felt it.

Something was different this time.

Your fangs hit deeper, and something in him responded.

By the time you finally pulled away, he was pale and shaking, his hands gripping onto your shoulders to stay upright.

“You…” you panted, still leaning into him. “Your blood… feels different.”

“So do you.”

You stared at each other for a moment.

----

You were resting for once—deep in sleep, finally letting your body heal.

Mydei sat nearby, a book open on his lap though his eyes never moved along the lines. His senses were buzzing.

Every crackle of the fire. Every heartbeat from the forest outside.

He could still feel the echo of your fangs in his body, the lingering euphoria bleeding into something else.

He heard it then.

Crunch.

A twig snapped outside.

His head snapped up.

Footsteps—three, maybe four.

He was on his feet before he realized it.

The knock came a second later.

“Your highness?” a voice called. “We heard word from the village—someone saw you. We’re here to bring you back.”

They were here to take him.

He opened the door slowly. The men looked relieved at first, two stepping forward.

“Your highness, we feared the worst—”

He grabbed the first one by the throat.

The second man barely had time to draw his blade before Mydei was on him, sucked his blood dry.

Their blood filled his mouth— but it tastes like nothing.

The third man turned to run. Mydei caught him before he made it ten feet from the door.

It was over within minutes.

He stood alone outside your home, blood staining his hands, the corpses of loyal men crumpled around him.

He wiped the corner of his lips with the back of his hand, and when he stepped back inside, closing the door quietly, he looked toward your sleeping form.

No one could ever take him from you—not when he’d rather die than leave your side.

[notsodelirious]

everyone seems to think jason is this big bad dom who's kinky and teasing and all that shit

NO??? PLEASE??????

let me tell you, jason as big as he is, he's just as soft and WILL melt the moment your fingers graze him ANYWHERE

bro starts whimpering even at the mere THOUGHT you touching his dick, but would never bring it up cause he's scared you'll reject him and be disgusted

so he puts on his mask, kisses you, teases a bit, and then backs off as if nothing happened

but the moment you do initiate anything with him? he's gone, left, away

he can't help but pour all his love into you, it's almost emotional

he's so touch deprived and needy for any kind of positive attention and affirmation that he has to will himself to not cry when you look at him with so much love in your eyes, much less when you want to show him just how much you love him

AND GOD PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE KISS THAT MANS SCARS

HE MIGHT ACTUALLY START CRYING

he has always been so ashamed of them, so scared you'll run off the moment you see him, all of him (especially about the autopsy scar)

so the moment you stay instead? the moment you stare at him with adoration and litter him with kisses, saying how beautiful he looks? IM SORRY, HES GONE

him and the puddle on the floor? same thing

yearning is this mans first language and I stand by it

I've been seeing so much of dom Jay so please let my boy be soft😭

(tim, on the other hand, is exactly what people think jason is, mans a little snarky piece of shit everywhere and always, and i love him as he is)

(also sorry for the rant, got carried away a bit 😅)

absolutely no worries about the rant Anon, I love your way of thinking <3 sorry this took so long but I hope this answers your prompt

Look at me — Jason Todd

synopsis — you love Jason, even if he doesn’t believe you’ll love every part of him

notes — NSFW MDNI pretty please, also so long and so not edited, so apologies (edit — has been proofread, somewhat, but still not edited)

tags — established relationship, mentions of canon death, mild blood and injury, smut as mentioned above, 2.5k words, no use of y/n, gn!reader, Jason calls the reader “baby” and “babe”

The first time you see his scars, it’s completely unintentional. You run cold so you’re constantly turning the heat up in your apartment, far beyond what Jason thinks is reasonable. He complains, but you can’t help but note he’s a big guy, ‘obviously he’s not going to feel as cold as you do’.

His complaints continue, even after you’ve settled down to watch a movie, moaning about how ‘it’s so damn hot in here, it feels like a sauna’, and then proceeds to pull his hoodie off. You didn’t mean to stare as he tugs the offending piece of clothing over his head, but his shirt rids up just the slightest bit. Just enough to reveal a gnarled pink scar across his hip bone and a sharp, clean but raised scar right down his lower abdomen.

You’ve always assumed he has scars—he’s a vigilante; you’ve seen him come home limping more times than you’ve seen him get a full 8 hours of sleep.

Besides, it isn’t as if you’ve never seen any scars on him. He exists in t-shirt and the skin there is littered with scars of all shapes and sizes, from gunshot wounds to knives to mosquito bites. You’ve treated the occasional surface wound on his face or leg from time to time. You had seen his skin and he’s shown himself to you.

But that doesn’t stop you from staring.

This is different.

Only as the realisation that you’ve never seen him shirtless dawns on you, that you start to consider why that is.

You almost reach out to brush your fingers against the raised skin but he manages to dislodge himself from his jumper before then.

He tosses it onto the floor, kicks it out of the way just enough so neither of you will trip on it. He pauses briefly when he notices you, your stare. You tug his shirt down before he can even consider the movement himself, covering the sliver of skin that had been exposed to you.

You sit, in complete silence. You aren’t waiting for anything, you simply have nothing to say as you continue to watch the movie. A shaky hand reaches for yours and you can’t help the warmth in your heart when you feel his lips rest against the back of your hand.

The second time, you don’t even see anything at all. Another movie, a little less attention paid to it, as Jason kisses on you, your cheeks, neck, lips. You laugh softly as you let him, gently running your fingers through his hair, smiling at him as he comes up for air.

“What are you smiling like that for?”

“I just happen to have the prettiest boyfriend.”

You almost miss how his cheeks flush softly in the dark room and you laugh a little louder, pulling him down for a kiss as you straddle his lap. You let your hands roam, feeling his broad shoulders, arms and back as he dissolves beneath your touch, like sugar in warm water. You smile against his lips as he sinks into the sofa, soft panting a little too frantic for the slow-paced make-out session.

“Is somebody flustered?” you joke kindly as you tilt your head to lean against his cheek, hands on his hips and tugging on the hem of his shirt. “Don’t know what to do with yourself?”

“Please…”

You pull back just enough to see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, his eyes practically crossing all to look up at you, and watch your face.

“Please?” you repeat softly, as your fingertips brush against his lower stomach, feeling the muscles tense and twitch at the featherlight touch. “What are you asking for, baby?”

Your fingers creep higher, following the raised bumps and lines you can feel on his skin, under his shirt. He shivers, a soft moan slipping past his lips as you reach his pecs. You lay your palms flat against them, taking great joy in squeezing them gently and making Jason’s heart pound faster beneath your hand.

“Enjoying yourself?” you said, sly as you kiss his jaw, down his neck to press your lips to his pulsing jugular.

“I- please, I-“ You can’t help the breathy laugh as you move downwards, leaving tender, open mouth kisses along his throat, sucking his skin here and there, revelling in the soft moans and whimpers that slip from the back of his throat. Almost instinctually, his hips buck against yours—you hum, amused, before grinding back against him, feeling him tremble beneath your ministrations.

“I-“

Your hands continue to feel under his shirt, around his ribs, down his waist, down his sternum-

“Stop.”

You freeze, pull back and look at him.

“Jay?”

“I just-“ he swallows as he looks at himself, then at you, as if debating whether or not he should finish the thought and explain. Eventually, he just wordlessly shakes his head, pulling your hands out from beneath his shirt, “No.”

“Okay,” you kiss his cheek before sliding off his lap to settle beside him. You don’t understand what’s wrong, and as curious as you are, it’s not like you’re going to push him for an answer.

Jason is many things: loyal, kind, loving, a dickhead—but emotionally vulnerable and open is not part of that list. Pushing him to do or say anything leads to a quick dismissal at best. And an outburst at worst.

Jason would come to you in his own time.

That time happened to be a week later.

It’s a long night, he forgets himself. He climbs in through your window, tries to be as quiet as possible. But tonight, he forgets himself, shuts the window behind himself just a little too hard and the frame rattles softly. He doesn’t notice you stir or the soft mumble as you roll onto your side, too focused on trying to shed his leather jacket. Through bleary eyes, you can just about see him move about the room, hearing him curse silently.

The bathroom door closes before the lights flick on. Cupboards open and close, more cursing. You slip out of bed, recoiling a little at the cold floorboards beneath your feet, and pad towards the bathroom, knocking softly before pushing the door open.

“Jay?-“

“Shit-“

You freeze at the sight of each other. His bloody shirt is on the floor, staining a couple of your white tiles a vibrant red. Medical supplies are strewn across the counter, medical gauze packs ripped open and a suture needle halfway set up.

And Jason was…

A large gash spanned from his ribs to his hips—at least from what you could from beneath the bloodied towel he was holding his wound.

“Jesus, don’t you knock-“

“What happened?” you ask instead, rushing forward to help him staunch the bleeding. He groans as you apply pressure but doesn’t push you away, letting you come up close to him. You chance a peek beneath the make shift compress, trying to not pull a face as you convince yourself it’s not as bad as it looks.

“I’ll stitch you up,” you say softly as you look around the bathroom—the suture kit that he had already pulled out isn’t sterile anymore, you’ll have to take out a new one… “Go lie down, I’ll…” You trail off as you look up at him, meet his distant gaze as he stares down at you, almost unseeing. “Jay?”

He blinks and the afterimage of fear you saw flicker across his face is gone, face falling back into something more impassive.

“Lie down,” he mumbles, “Yeah… yeah, sure.”

He slips away from you, most likely a little dazed from the bloodloss. You’re itching to know how he got to that point, who could have gotten close enough to slice him like that but you shelve all those questions for later and begin to prep from wound care instead to go make sure your boyfriend doesn’t bleed.

You return to him minutes later, with an unopened first aids kit and clean hands and kneel beside him, from where he was sat on the edge of the bed.

“You don’t have to…”

“Horizontal, babe,” you say softly as you nudge him. He settles as you flip open the kit and start cleaning his wound, apologising quietly for every wince and sharp breath.

Stitching him up is simple enough—his pain tolerance terrifies you but you don’t utter a word, just make sure to get the job done as swiftly and painlessly as possible.

You cut the last stitch, roll off your gloves, dump the whole thing on the bedside table—unsanitary and dangerous but your hands are trembling a little too much and your nerves a little too frayed from worry to truly care.

“Okay,” you swallow as you press a piece of clean gauze against his fresh stitches, “Sit up, lemme bandage you up.” Jason complies as best he can, muscles flexing under his skin as he sits up for you and you shuffle closer to wrap clean bandages around his midriff. You try to solely pay attention to the task at hand but now that nobody is in danger of bleeding out, you can’t help but let your eyes wonder across his bare torso. They trace the scars that litter his chest, linger on the large Y, carved from beneath his collarbones, joining at his sternum before disappearing beneath my bandaging.

“Sorry,” he says in a small voice. You tuck the end of the wrap into itself before you look up at him. He doesn’t look back, expression almost sheepish as if he were embarrassed. “I’ll put a shirt on-“

“Don’t.” You climb up onto the bed, straddling his thighs as you cup his face, “You’re gorgeous.”

“Don’t say that…”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

“You told me you didn’t finish the ice cream last week.”

Your laugh rings clear in the still bedroom as you lean forward to kiss him.

“Well I’m not lying now,” you whisper against his lips. The kiss is slow, tender, as you both pour your souls into each other. “You scared me shitless.”

“Sorry-“

Your fingertips graze along the large scar on his chest.

“I’d ask you not to do it again but you probably will, won’t you?” He nods as he follows your hand, breathing deepening ever so slightly as you feel him. “Guess I’ll just have to enjoy you while I have you here.”

“Babe…”

“Shh,” you push him down carefully, avoiding his injury. “Just let me take care of you.”

His sighs are soft as he follows your lead, letting himself be pushed and pulled around. You kiss him, in a way only a devotee can worship their deity, lavishing him and devouring him.

“You’re so fucking pretty.”

You move down his body, from his jaw to his neck. Your tongue runs along the straight scar there—you wonder what happened. You always wonder. But some stories were better kept for quieter nights.

Your lips and tongue brush along his skin, tracing every jagged scar you come across.

“Babe…” he moans breathily as he squirms ever so slightly beneath you, resisting the urge to buck his hips against your body.

“Is there something you’d like, handsome?” You smile as you thumb his nipples, your glee only growing as he whimpers, arching his back into your touch. You pinch them, tug them, make him squirm and pant harder. “You’re so needy, aren’t you?”

“Baby, please-“

You leave hickeys on his chest, following the large scar down between his pecs.

“So desperate.”

“Babe-“

You bite his pec, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to make him keen and buck his hips against yours, making you groan in turn. He grinds his covered hard-on against your crotch, seeking any friction he can.

“You need it, don’t you?”

His nodding is furtive and eager and your heart sores while your hand creeps downwards, following down his happy trail and dipping past his waistband.

“What do we say when we want something?”

“Please,” he whimpers as he looks up at you, adoration and desperation pooling in his deep green eyes. Tears brim along his waterline when you finally wrap your hand around his cock, warm and heavy against your palm. “Please. Please, please, baby, please-“

You tug him out of his underwear before you slowly start to pump, running your thumb along the head of his cock, teasing his leaking slit with the pad of your thumb.

“Such a polite boy,” you purr just as you sink lowered, kissing the scar on his hip before nuzzling your cheek against his cock. “Stay still for me, okay baby?”

You don’t give him any more warning before you’re sinking down on him, taking him into your mouth, wrapping your hand around what you can’t reach. You hollow your cheeks as you pull back up, bobbing your head on his dick as he moans and whimpers above you.

“Baby, baby, fuck-“

You hum in response, vibrations running through him making him shudder. His fingers tangle in your hair as suck his dick, gripping you like he’s unsure whether he wants you to stay or go.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, babe-“

You look up at him from beneath teary eyelashes, blinking up at him as if you aren’t choking on his dick. You pull away, making him whine in protest but you don’t cave, continuing to jerk him off.

“You wanna cum, handsome?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, please, I’m- please.”

You lick the precum pearling from his tip before you swallow him down again, grinning at the soft wail and tightening grip. You feel more than hear the moment he tumbles over edge, thick cum shooting down your throat. You swallow before you can choke, but tears gather in your eyes, leaving you sputtering and coughing slightly when you come up for air.

“Good?” you ask softly as you wipe your face. He mumbles unintelligibly as he nods, strong arms finding your shoulders to drag you closer.

He mumbles something about returning the favour later, but you just laugh quietly as you pull him against you, resting his head against your shoulder, so he can bury his face in the crook of your neck.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say as you run a hand through his hair. Only to pause as you bring a hand up to your mouth, pulling a hair out of your mouth.

Jason freezes before chuckling softly, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t mind hair in my food,” you quip back cheekily, which only makes him blush.

“Jesus.”

You kiss the crown of his head as you snicker.

“Go to sleep, handsome.” You run your hands along his back, tracing idle patterns against his skin, on his collarbones and shoulders.

“They’re from my autopsy,” he mumbles softly as he tucks himself against you. “From when I died…”

You hum, but don’t speak.

Afraid that maybe you’ll uncover the dread blooming in your gut.

You’ll ask later, is what you tell yourself as you watch Jason yawn, and promptly slip in a heavy, restful slumber.

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

(holy shit was this a doozy to write; I usually never write 2k words in less than 48 hours but I hope your enjoyed <3)

[imnotaacat]

I Can Not Do It Without You.

husband!Anthony x fem reader wife.

— Summary: You have been married to Anthony for a year, and you are about to give birth to your first baby. However, after overhearing a conversation between his younger brothers, Benedict and Colin, it makes you doubt whether your marriage is prosperous and honest, which leads to an early and complicated birth.

— Warnings: Angst, mentions of death, fluff at the end, no use of Y/n, mentions of deception. (I think that's all)

A/n: English is not my native language, sorry if something is written wrong, I hope everything can be understood. :)

“It’s funny that she thinks Anthony is still in love with her.” You heard Colin’s voice behind the door, followed by Benedict’s laughter.

That was enough for you to ask the footman accompanying you to prepare the carriage, you would return home. Since a few weeks ago you suspected that Anthony was cheating on you, the last few weeks he began to go out more often with his younger brothers, and of course, there was nothing wrong with it, but it happened every night and he always returned at dawn. And you, who were about to give birth, only wanted to feel protected, cared for by him, but you felt the opposite, he simply left, leaving you completely alone.

“My dear, won’t you stay for dinner with us?” Someone asked behind you, it was your mother-in-law, Violet. “Oh, I really appreciate it, you must excuse me, but I would like to have dinner with my husband.” Violet smiled. “Don’t worry dear, it’s okay, give him my regards.” You nodded and walked to your carriage, the footman helped you get in.

Once home, you entered and began to climb the stairs, as fast as your belly allowed you.

“Honey, you're back, I was waiting for you for dinner.” Your beloved husband's voice said with his beautiful smile at the bottom of the stairs. Something inside your chest stirred. You smiled.

“Oh dear husband, I apologize, but I've already had dinner with your mother and brothers.” You said, he smiled, he loved the way you got along with his family, he couldn't have chosen a better wife. I apologize for not accompanying you, but I feel very tired. — He nodded again.

“Don't worry, rest, I'll be with you in a few moments.” You nodded. You finished climbing the stairs that led to the room you shared, you asked your maid for some help to undress. Once you were ready, you got into the sheets of your bed, but you couldn't even close your eyes. Thirty minutes later you heard your husband's footsteps coming up the stairs, you settled down with your back to the door and closed your eyes pretending to be asleep. You listened to his footsteps and movements around the room, a few minutes later you felt the mattress sink and then the warmth of his body, he placed his hand on your belly, kissed your temple, and got ready to sleep.

About an hour later, he was finally fast asleep, you got out of your bed and left the room making as little noise as possible, you went down the stairs and headed towards his study, you placed the candle you were carrying on his desk and you got ready to look for something, something that would help you, something that would give you a clue about something. And as the saying goes, “Curiosity killed the cat.” In one of the drawers of his desk, you found several newspapers. As you skimmed through them you noticed something. They all had an ad for an opera concert and all of them had one name repeated: “Sienna Rosso.” You didn’t know whether to be happy for having found what you were looking for or to cry for what you had found. The second to last ad was dated two days ago, the last time Anthony had gone out, and the last ad was dated two days from now. You put everything back the way it was, closed the door to the study, and headed back to your room. To your relief, Anthony was still fast asleep.

“Good morning,” you said, announcing your entrance to the dining room. Anthony smiled. “Good morning, dear. Did you rest?” He asked. You nodded, at that moment the maids came in with their breakfast trays, so they began to eat, leaving a comfortable silence in between. — You know… yesterday I saw an announcement, about an opera concert— You spoke breaking the silence and lifting your face to look at him, he already did. — I heard that the girl is very good, I think her name is Sienna… yes Sienna Rosso— Anthony coughed. — And well, I would like to find out for myself, and why not with my dear husband? The concert is in two days, so, could we go? — You asked with a nice smile, Anthony quickly nodded.

“Sure, why not, I have a little work, but I will do it in these two days, so we can go out.” You nodded with a smile.

During those days when the long-awaited night arrived, Anthony, no matter how much he wanted to concentrate on his work, couldn't do it. The only thing he had in mind was your request, but rather, the way you asked for it, your look when you asked him, during their first year of marriage, he had noticed that whenever you asked him for something there was a special sparkle in your eyes, however, that morning he couldn't see it, instead there was something else, your gaze had something dark in it.

When the agreed time and day arrived, you went down the stairs while he went up, you were wearing a Bridgerton blue dress, white gloves, and a pretty pearl necklace, he praised how pretty you looked, he asked you for a moment so he could get ready and go out with you.

Once at the theater, you asked to sit up front, and he accepted without arguing anything, minutes later the concert started, and boy was the girl good, she was wonderful, out of the corner of your eye you noticed that throughout the act Anthony looked at the stage a couple of times, most of the time he saw you, the floor and the ceiling, and of course, anyone would say it was romantic, but you knew it was guilt.

Once the concert was over you told Anthony that you needed to go to the bathroom, he nodded and joined another group of men who greeted him happily.

“Miss Sienna, someone is waiting for you in your dressing room.” A voice said behind the girl as she walked off the stage, she smiled and thanked him with a nod. Finally, Anthony had returned. However, he froze when he saw a female silhouette in his dressing room, you were with your back to her. You were looking at each of her outfits with a smile, and from time to time you touched the fabrics with your hands what caught her attention the most was your belly, you could give birth at any moment, even now.

“Were you hoping to see the Viscount?” You asked still with your back turned, you only heard a low “Excuse me?” before turning to look at her. — I asked if you were hoping to see Anthony. — You asked again, Sienna was surprised that you called him by his name, but it was logical, you were his wife. Seeing that she had no answer you sighed and spoke again. — I know he has come to see you frequently, so I wanted to meet the woman who fucks my husband. — You said with a forced smile on your lips. Sienna smiled back, she didn't expect the Viscount's wife to be like this, she imagined a silly girl, but no, you were different, you were direct. At that moment something occurred to her, something that would make Anthony come back to her again.

“Yeah well, Anthony comes here often, he even comes with his brothers.” He said with a smile. You just nodded, but anger was growing inside you, how could she call him by his first name? — You know, it's nice that he comes to see me at my concerts but to attend with his wife... it's very bold.” She said with a smile.

“Sienna... I was the one who suggested he come, he came simply because I asked him to accompany me, if he had wanted... or rather... been able to, he would have stayed in his studio.” You saw how Sienna's face fell.

Seriously Anthony had stopped loving her? Just like that? After you two got married he paid you one last visit, where he made it clear that you would never have another meeting. In exchange for various favors, she was able to arrange for several Lords and Dukes to meet Anthony at the theater or places where she would perform. She knew that once they were alone, Anthony would come back to her. Her surprise came when he didn't even look at her, or even notice her presence, and she was accompanied by her brothers. Every time she passed by his place, she heard how wonderful his wife was and how much he was in love with her.

“Listen to me-“ She began to speak, calling you by your name, but you interrupted her.

“For you, I am Lady Bridgerton,” you said. Anthony heard it and went to the place where your voice came from. He noticed that you hadn't returned from the bathroom, so he decided to make sure everything was okay. He followed your voice, down that path that he had walked so many times a few years ago. — You can fuck Anthony as many times as you want, it's fine, but listen to me, I'll be the only one that Anthony will present as his wife, I'll be the one who will have his children, his heir, my children will carry his blood, my children and I will be the ones who will wait for him at night to have dinner, I'll be the one who will see him walking arm in arm through the parks, while you... you will simply meet him at night, when everyone is already home, you will stay in the dark, hiding, making sure that no one can see you. — Sienna was definitely speechless, after hearing everything you had said, you were right, he would never leave you for her. Anthony, who had heard everything while walking towards you, was proud to hear what you had said, you didn't even raise your voice, much less attack her to leave her speechless.

“Whatever you say Anthony loves me-“ Once again she was interrupted, this time by Anthony's voice.

“For you, I am Lord Bridgerton, I will never allow you to call me by my name again, our relationship ended a long time ago, Miss Rosso, and that day I made it very clear to you that I would never return to you again.” You smiled at the look on Sienna’s face in front of your husband’s back. — If you will excuse us, the Viscountess and I must retire, good night, Miss Rosso. — He said, giving you his arm so that you could walk with him, and said goodbye to the friends who were still there.

Anthony helped you get into the carriage and once inside silence reigned between you, you were sitting face to face, so Anthony could see how your eyes began to get brighter and tears began to appear in your eyes. He felt guilty, guilty because he was the reason for those tears.

“Honey I-” He started to speak but you interrupted him. “I don’t want to hear anything Anthony.” He nodded. Once at home he helped you get out of the carriage and both of you climbed the stairs that led to his room.

“Marie, please tidy my room, I’ll be staying there tonight.” Your maid nodded and took from both of your rooms the things she would use at that moment and the next day to get ready, you heard a sigh from Anthony, and then his footsteps moving away towards the master bedroom, so you did the same, but in the opposite direction, before reaching your room you felt a pang in your lower belly, you grabbed the wall, Anthony turned and walked towards you when he heard your moan. “I’m fine” You told him when you heard his strides towards you, he stopped and nodded, but as far as he could see after you closed the door, he noticed that you were holding on to the wall as you walked.

Anthony wanted to talk to you, he wanted to tell you that it was all a misunderstanding, his affair with Sienna had ended a long time ago, even long before the two of you got married. Unable to fall asleep, he went down to his study and made himself a drink, then sat down at his desk hoping to be able to concentrate a little and even distract himself from what was going on with his work. He didn't even notice when he fell asleep at his desk.

“Mr. Bridgerton! Mr. Bridgerton please wake up.” When he opened his eyes he felt disoriented. “Mr. Bridgerton” The woman made a small bow. “Lady Bridgerton has gone into labor, but she is in very bad shape,” the maid said just as she heard a scream coming from the upper part of the house. — We have already sent for your mother, the Duke, and the Duchess, the young lady asked for it, and the doctor and the midwife are already with the lady. — The girl spoke as she followed Anthony up the stairs, another scream came from your room, with long strides he arrived at your room, and he saw you there, screaming and writhing in pain, and then he was nineteen again, panic began to bloom in him.

“Lord Bridgerton, the baby is not in position, I need to know what to do, save the baby, or save your wife.” Another scream from you was heard. “I told you to save my son.” You screamed with difficulty. — The decision must be made by the lord. — The doctor spoke. And one more scream was heard.

“Save them both,” Anthony spoke. “Sir, we will try, but-” Anthony interrupted him. “I told you to save my wife and my son,” Anthony screamed. — Yes sir, we will do our best.” And once again the doctor entered your room. Tears began to sting his eyes, just at that moment the doors of his house opened, it was Simon, his mother, and his brothers.

“Simon, Colin, and Benedict stay with Anthony, Daphne comes with me” Violet said as everyone went up the stairs. “Everything will be okay dear, I promise,” Violet said before entering your room with Daphne. The screams were getting louder, and his brothers didn't know what to do, or how to comfort him, Simon was already a father, of course, but none of Daphne's births had been like that, they didn't know what to do.

“Anthony, everything will be okay, your wife is a strong woman” Benedict spoke. There was silence. “It's my fault.” Anthony spoke. “She found out about Sienna, she noticed that I was leaving at night and she thinks I've cheated on her.”

“But it’s not like that, you ended your relationship with that woman, we have been with you so that you could avoid this.” Colin spoke, and Anthony nodded. “And I thank you, I should have told you what was going on” Anthony said, his head down. “I don’t know how you found out, but two days ago she asked me to go to the concert tonight, she had an argument with Sienna, and then when we got back home, she asked to have her bedroom fixed, she complained of pain, I should have insisted that she sleep in our bedroom, I should have stayed awake to take care of her.” Anthony spoke. Your screams still hadn’t stopped, they could hear the voices of the midwife, her mother, and Daphne asking you to push.

Anthony looked at his watch, it was almost five in the morning, and the fear he felt was from another world, he didn’t know what was going on in there, he only heard your screams. The four men were desperate, they knew there were only two options. Finally, the cry of a baby, their baby was heard behind the door, the four men looked at each other, then looked at the door, Daphne came out with the baby in her arms wrapped in a blanket. “He’s a cute little boy” she said with a smile, putting the baby in Anthony’s arms, he smiled. “Daphne, how is she?” Simon asked, Daphne just lowered her head.

“Daphne, how is my wife?” Anthony asked. “She is not well Anthony, she lost a lot of blood, she has a high fever, and the doctor does not know if she will survive.” Anthony sighed, he was happy for the birth of his son of course, but at the same time the love of his life was between life and death, he could not do it without her.

“My lady, stay with me, do not close your eyes.” the voices of the maids were heard, alarming everyone who was outside. “She cannot die” Anthony said finally letting the tears come out, hugging his little son.

It had been a week since you had given birth, and the fever and bleeding had stopped, however, you were still weak, you still had no strength, and you spent your time in your room. Violet and Daphne had asked to stay home with you, to help you and Anthony.

“Anthony dear,” Violet spoke entering her son's bedroom, Anthony was playing with Edmund, they had agreed to name him in honor of his father if they had a boy. “You should talk to your wife, I don't know what's wrong Anthony, but it's like she's rejecting her son.” Violet paused. — The only moment she is with him is when she breastfeeds her son, that's not good, you're doing an excellent job as a father, but this baby also needs his mother. — Anthony nodded, left his little one in the bassinet next to his bed, and called a maid to keep an eye on the baby. Leaving with his mother he went to your room, opened the door, and could see you, after a long time, you were looking out the window with your back to him, you had your hair down, a silk robe, you looked very beautiful.

“Love…” Anthony said. There was a pause, he expected you to say something or at least turn to look at him, but it wasn't like that, you continued looking at the window. “Since we met I noticed your desire to be a mother… But now that we have our son, you… you reject him.” Anthony doubted if he was using the right words, he didn't want to be hard on you, so you lowered your gaze to your lap. “What's wrong? You know you can tell me anything.” There was a long silence for his liking, or rather, for the moment you were in.

“I don't want him to get used to me.” You spoke and finally turning to look at him, Anthony looked at you confused. “I’m dying Anthony, just look at me.” And yes, you looked a little haggard, you had lost a little weight, but nothing that a little food couldn’t fix. “Besides…” You paused. “I’m scared Anthony, I’m scared of being just like my mother.” You finally burst into tears, Anthony was a little surprised, you had known each other for a little over a year and a half, and he had never seen you cry like this, or rather he had never seen you cry, it was a little difficult for you to show your emotions one hundred percent. Because of how you grew up, your parents never showed any kind of love between them, nor to you or your siblings, you and your siblings were raised for society, with no laughter or exaggerated emotions, just enough, if you wanted to cry or express your emotions you had to be completely alone, no one could see you like this or they would call you exaggerated. Anthony took a few steps to be closer to you and wrapped you in his arms. “You’re not dying, sweetheart… you’re not a bad mother either… Do you think I don’t notice how you play with Gregory or Hyacinth? Or how do you interact with Augui?” Anthony spoke, you smiled remembering how good it felt to play or spend time with them. Anthony pulled you away from his chest so you could look into each other’s eyes, he cupped your face in his hands, and with his thumbs, he wiped your tears away. “You’re nothing like your mother… but if you keep acting that way… rejecting your son, you’ll be just like her.” You nodded and hugged him again, he also hugged you back, and kissed the top of your head, both of you stayed in that position for a few minutes.

“I’m sorry.” You said, separating from the hug. — Not just for this… also for what happened a few days ago at the theater, I shouldn’t have acted that way. — Anthony shook his head.

“The one who should apologize is me.” He said take your hands. — I wasn’t honest with you, I should have told you what was going on because I went out every night… somehow that woman made all the business be handled in those places, I asked Colin and Benedict to accompany me, just to avoid this, but I should have told you too. — You noticed the sincerity in his words and the regret in his eyes.

“You should have told me, of course, but I acted recklessly, I should have talked to you before, can you imagine the scandal it would have been if someone else had heard? Can you imagine if it had been Wistledown?” Anthony laughed.

“But I must admit, you acted better than I would have acted if I had been in your place.” They both laughed. “But you know… I’m a little curious to know how you knew?” Anthony asked.

“Well… I heard your brothers saying it was funny that she thought you were still in love… and well, you know what happened.” Anthony laughed. “Instead of helping me, they sink my head into the mud.” There was a silence between you. “It’s nice to be with you again,” Anthony said. — But I think you should meet someone… Give me a moment. — Anthony left the room, and a few seconds later he entered the room again, but this time with the baby in his arms, you smiled when you saw him, the tender image of your husband with your baby would be an image that would stay in your mind and heart for a lifetime.

Anthony walked over to you, pulling you close and helping you carry your baby. You finally allowed yourself to see your baby's face, you knew it was too soon to say it, but he was a lot like Anthony.

“Hey baby, you look so cute today.” You said the little baby let out a small laugh. Both you and Anthony smiled at it. You definitely scolded yourself for depriving yourself of this thing you had always wanted.

Anthony guided you to the bed so you could get some rest, despite everything, he knew you were still a little weak, Anthony placed himself right next to you so you could lean on him, and you stayed like that, he held you close, while you held your little baby close.

“You are the best thing that has ever happened to me” — Anthony said while smiling at you.

You two definitely, unexpectedly changed each other's lives. You both knew that nothing and no one could separate you or hurt you after this day.

I would also like you to give advice or recommendations. I hope it's not too long or boring. I would appreciate your comments. 💗