#you take them to the DOCTOR for god's sake

[fingertipsmp3]

Sometimes I really need to keep my mouth shut

[cherienymphe]

The Ghost of Harding Manor

Friedrich Harding x Reader

Summary: Your marriage is haunted by the ghost of the wife who came before you, and the walls of Harding Manor bear witness to your husband's descent into madness.

warnings: Dub-Con, loss of virginity, obsession, unsure if stalking counts if it takes place in your own home, implied chronically ill!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

♱

You were not Anna.

You were reminded every day from the moment you wed Friedrich Harding and became his missus that you were not Anna. Anna who was perfect and said the right things and walked the right way and was a walking temptation to the man she called her husband. Anna who—even in death—called to Friedrich from beyond and was nearly successful if it were not for strong hands and strong voices keeping the dark-haired man from throwing himself into her coffin with her. Anna who was well on her way to giving your husband a third child.

Anna whose touch still lingered in this home and along these walls and in the long dead flowers that Friedrich refused to throw out.

Anna who haunted you much more than she haunted your new husband.

Illness had not just taken the angelic beauty, but her three children with her, one never even getting the chance to take his first breath. In your solitude, you sometimes thought that you did not know what was worse—their two daughters remaining and forcing you to fill the void the other woman left in multiple lives…or your life as it were as you were forced to give Friedrich a whole new family and reason for existing.

You knew from the moment you became betrothed that you had a heavy vacancy to fill…but it seemed that Friedrich had no intention of you filling it.

“He does not touch me, mother.”

The words were whispered in the quiet home one day, and you looked around, ignoring the feel of the older woman’s gaze in favor of imagining what this house must have been like before the tragedy. You imagined how loud it must have been with two animated little girls running around. You imagined how good Friedrich must have been with them, and thoughts of Anna welcoming him home with a kiss and her arms full made your heart sink.

You were not her.

The advice of your mother went into one ear and out the other. You had long accepted that you were a poor replacement that Friedrich could hardly stand to look at. You were alone on your wedding night and again the night after that and the night after that. You were always alone, and the few glimpses that you got of your husband since the wedding day only proved fruitful in your gazes meeting for a stolen moment…and then he was gone again.

You were always alone, and he was always gone…

Until the morning you would not rise from your bed.

The fever struck you in the night, and by the time morning came you felt weighed down by sand. Any strength you had was used to keep your breathing as even as possible, unable to even muster an attempt to open your eyes and tell your cold husband that you were well. Conversations swirled around your head for what felt like days, and in between the feverish dreams, you caught diagnoses and assurances here and there.

“It is merely a cold,” the doctor told Friedrich. “Her body is fighting it quite well, and she will be like new in a matter of days.”

You recalled agreeing with the assessment, feeling more fatigued than anything else—you’d always been rather sickly—but your peace had been broken for the first time in months. The voice of your husband had reached your ears—so broken and angry and unlike anything you had experienced with him.

“...and how exactly did this come about? She never even leaves the house, for God’s sake.”

You heard the rustle of fabric and heavy steps and an even heavier sigh.

“In a matter of a night, my wife has taken ill, and I am assured that she will recover in no time, but I have heard that before…” his voice shook. “I will not bury another wife—I cannot!”

It all seemed so unlike him, and so you convinced yourself that you merely dreamt it up. The fever was clouding your mind and making you conjure up your innermost desires, namely Friedrich caring for you for more than just a societal duty to bear sons that would carry on his name. You allowed yourself to slip into darkness and dream some more.

A masculine hand in yours, a finger tracing patterns into your stomach through the fabric of the bedding, soft lips brushing along your fingers and facial hair tickling your flesh. Your mind conjured up all sorts of things that simply could not be true, and yet when you fully opened your eyes for the first time in days, you were not alone.

It was not easy to place the look upon Friedrich’s face as he stared down at you, towering over your bed with a smoke in hand and dark circles beneath his eyes. He did not look well himself, and you could not help running your eyes over him, wondering just how much sleep he had gotten this past week. The room was quiet as you two just stared at each other, and just as you parted your lips to inquire about his own health, he was abruptly turning away from you. His voice rang throughout the house as he demanded someone send for the doctor.

It was only hours later that it was professionally confirmed that you were almost as good as new and would probably only have to put up with a light cough for the next day or two. Hearing those words relieved you, and when you looked up at your husband, you could not tell if he shared your relief. You frowned up at him as the doctor poked and prodded at you, wondering, for the first time, just what the dark-haired young man was thinking.

He only stared back.

In fact, he only ever stared these days.

When you were walking through the silent house much like the ghost that haunted your marriage, you could feel the heavy weight of his stare pressing down on you. It was not easy to ignore—nor did you want to—but whenever you turned, no husband was there to meet your gaze. The only sign of his presence was the flutter of a broad shadow passing along the walls. He was much bolder when you found your nose buried in a book, and oftentimes when you lifted your gaze to catch him, he did not shy away.

“Yes?” you would wonder, voice quiet as both uncertainty and unease filled you.

Sometimes he did not answer, merely content to gaze at you, and other times he took his time in responding. He would exhale smoke and it would billow between you, briefly obscuring his features before he swiped his tongue between his lips.

“Supper will be ready within the hour.”

You would nod, and he would make no move to leave, and you would be forced to turn your eyes back to the pages before you…resolving to ignore the silent presence in the doorway that was your husband. You found yourself doing that a lot—resolving to ignore his presence. Otherwise, you would never get anything done.

His gaze clung to you when you ate, the dinner table silent outside of the sound of food and utensils hitting dishes. When your eyes would meet, you would send him a small smile, thinking to yourself that your marriage was just progressing slower than most, but he never returned it. He never smiled at you, only preferring to stare. When you ate, when you read, when you found yourself outside amongst the flowers…even when you slept.

You had never once shared a bed, so it was startling to answer a knock on your door one night, coming face to face with your other half. Your nightdress kissed your feet, and the sleeves tickled your hand, and despite that, Friedrich gazed at you as if you were standing naked before him.

“I only wish to make sure you are well throughout the night.”

You did not know how you felt both relief and disappointment, but you managed.

It took you some time to respond, nodding with a small ‘of course’. You still let out a cough here and there, and you did not miss the way Friedrich’s head would abruptly turn with every heave of your chest. Your marriage may have been cold and strange, but it was obvious that your husband had grown paranoid with the fear of burying a wife for a second time. You imagined that it would not reflect well on him.

…and so you laid beside him and closed your eyes and even in the cover of darkness…

You could feel his gaze.

It unsettled you, and you had half a mind to seek the advice of your mother the next time your parents came for a visit, but she—ever zestful and bold—completely took hold of your train of thought.

“...and when might I expect a grandchild?”

There was a teasing smile on her lips as she regarded you, and you merely sighed before taking a sip of your tea.

“You know my situation, mother,” you murmured, setting your cup aside.

Father was with Friedrich, and you hoped that he was enjoying his company much more than he seemed to his daughter.

“Yes, but that was months ago, and I can tell that things have shifted.”

At that, you frowned, turning to face her.

“Whatever do you mean?”

Your marriage was just as cold as it was in the beginning, only now a strange voyeuristic atmosphere had descended over it. Your husband had gone from ignoring your very presence to shadowing your every footstep in the house. Her light chuckle made you flinch, and she gazed at you as if you were playing some joke on her.

“Darling,” she took a sip of the warm drink. “I saw the way he was looking at you when you welcomed us through those doors.”

Your frown deepened.

“That is the gaze of a man fighting with all of his might to resist his beloved wife.”

Now it was your turn to think she was playing a jest with you, but you had no more time to linger on that for the voices of your father and husband soon filled the house as they made their way inside. You could only swallow as mother stood to welcome father back, slowly rising as your own husband neared you. When you traced his face with your eyes, you noticed the ease upon it, and you felt relieved to see that he and your father got on well. He looked like any normal man alight with the mirth that came from being in the company of other like minded men, and so you disregarded your mother’s words.

As you stepped past him to approach your father, your back felt aflame with the heat of a familiar gaze.

You saw them out and wished them safe travels and your father placed his hand on your cheek before he went, speaking good health over you. While he may have been used to your sickly nature, any instance that required bed confinement for his daughter always worried him. He wanted to leave with the trust that you would be well looked after…and well looked after you were.

“Your father was very transparent with me about your health.”

Friedrich towered over you as you sat at the table, having been unsure where this conversation was heading when he interrupted supper. A small container was in his large hand, and when your gaze lifted from the bottle to his eyes, you swore that you saw him falter, his words momentarily stuck in his throat.

He placed the bottle down before you, his hand remaining on the table, and the scent of him filled your nose.

“I have gotten the doctor to make a tonic for you. You are to take a few drops with your meal once a week… It will keep your strength and health up.”

He only moved again to open it, and despite the fact that you felt it was hardly necessary—having survived so long without it—one look into the eyes of your husband told you that not only could it not hurt, but for his peace of mind, you needed to do this. You two gazed at one another as he held it in his hand, and after some time, you realized what he wanted. Parting your lips for him, you swallowed down the few drops he administered to you, but even after you swallowed the herbal mixture down…Friedrich continued to stand over you.

It was in this moment that you finally started to voice your thoughts, asking him why he stared at you so when his movements completely stumped you.

His thumb found the corner of your mouth, startling you, and it remained there for some time before he brought it to his lips, tasting whatever had been lingering there. His blue eyes—normally so cold and unreadable in your presence—suddenly glinted with a look you could not place. It happened so fast that you would have missed it, but you did not, and the intensity there was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

Friedrich parted from you as if nothing had happened, and you watched him round the table to take his place across from you once again. It took you some time to pick up your utensils again, rejoining him in eating your supper, and now it was your turn to stare at him…unable to forget that shadowy something that passed through those blue eyes.

He was staring again.

The wind howled outside of the window with the storm and flashes of lightning lit up the otherwise dark room from time to time and your chest and shoulders moved evenly as you feigned sleep. You stared at the wall before you, and Friedrich stared at you. If at all possible, he grew more shameless with it, and if you were a normal loving couple just so wrapped up in each other—as you were sure he was with Anna—then some part of you might have found it romantic.

Tantalizing even.

As it were, you were not, and as silly as it seemed…you felt hunted in your own house.

You constantly felt like prey under his ever watchful eye no matter how justified he made it seem. Concern for your health, making sure no food disagreed with you, seeing how fair you slept. The paranoia of losing another wife suffocated you both for different reasons and in different ways, and you felt as if you were moments away from choking. Your mother’s voice crawled through your mind, and words that you had once dismissed now rang through your thoughts like a melody.

The room glowed with another flash of lightning…and you felt the gentle feel of fingers on the side of your face. You sharply inhaled, startled from both the sudden touch and the foreignness of it. His hand rested on your hair, ensuring that he could gaze upon your face no doubt, and when you felt the bed jostle, you closed your eyes. His lips found your tresses, and his hand found your shoulder, and you both heard and felt him breathe you in.

Friedrich’s nose traced the curve of your ear and he descended until his face was buried in the crook of your neck. Despite all of this, your heart remained steady, and you remained still as he gently pressed his lips to your skin and traced patterns through your sleeve. You felt his larger frame shifting closer, and at that—at the feel of him pressed so closely to you to where you could feel every curve and ridge of him—you shuddered.

Yet you still feigned sleep.

“You will never be her,” the words he murmured into your skin had your brows furrowing. “...and I will never let you.”

Contradictory to the words that left his lips, the hand on your arm found its way to your waist, his arm completely circling you and holding you to him. That was how he remained throughout the night, and only when you accepted the permanence of his position, did you finally allow yourself to find sleep.

It was dreamless, and when you woke up, you woke up alone.

You chose to ignore the relief that filled you at that discovery, telling yourself that Friedrich was still grieving. It was an easy answer to his behavior and treatment of you, and yet, you wondered how much longer you had to endure it. You wondered how much longer you would feel watched and shadowed in your own house.

At breakfast, you parted your lips for Friedrich as he gave you a few drops of the tonic, and he watched you eat, and you pretended not to notice. For some time that is. Finally, after a while, you placed your utensils down, and you lifted your gaze to meet his head on. Ever bold, he did not look away, those blue eyes momentarily making you lose your train of thought.

“Why do you stare at me so?”

You finally voiced your concerns with him, and you watched the mustache twitch from the movements of his mouth at your sudden and brazen question. Friedrich looked as if he had never anticipated you asking that of him, but eventually he straightened, pushing his shoulders back as he studied your face.

“I am afraid you will slip away.”

His answer made you blink, eyes widening slightly.

“I fear…” he cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “...like my Anna, you will slip from my grasp.”

Your lips parted at the unexpected answer, and you were unsure of how to respond. Friedrich took a deep breath before digging into his own breakfast, those blue eyes finally refusing to meet yours.

“I will not allow you to become her…lost to me too.”

It was in that moment that you realized you completely misconstrued his words from the previous night, and you stared at the man before you who was so desperate and driven to uncomfortable lengths to ensure he did not bury another wife. Some part of you felt awful for feeling so put off by his uncanny behavior…but some other part of you recognized that your husband was slowly being pushed to madness.

If he were not so already.

“She vexes me so…”

Those were the words you overheard a week later, your house hosting a small handful of people that Friedrich knew. The wives took to you well despite your quiet disposition, and when they proposed an evening walk along the beach, you went in search of your husband to inform him. When you found him, he was in the company of three other men, the smell of tobacco reached you first and then his words followed.

You froze the moment you realized it was you he was referring to.

“She is so quiet and frail…like a mouse” there were a few chuckles. “...and I so desire to hear her squeak.”

You felt yourself take a step back.

“...but it is because she is so fragile that I cannot bring myself to touch her…” you heard Friedrich inhale. “I fear I would ravage her.”

How was it possible for his words to both terrify and entice you? It was a relief to know that your husband did not balk at the sight of you as you once thought, but you did not hold the same sentiment in confirming you were indeed being hunted in your own house. Friedrich had made no moves to warm you to him and progress this marriage in a way that a normal man would. After all these months, he was still little more than a stranger to you.

A stranger that was increasingly losing himself more and more at the thought of ever losing you.

“...but Friedrich we only just got here.”

You looked to him with a slight frown, the ocean breeze a soothing feeling against your skin. So turned around by his words from the other night, you had completely forgotten all about the beach, returning to the other wives in a bit of a daze, something they happily sat you down and fetched some water for.

With one look at you surrounded and feverish with some water in your hand, Friedrich had cleared the house out immediately, saddening you. You were at the beach, now to make up for it, but you were sure that you had only been here all of ten minutes.

“It is a bit airish out,” he said to you, keeping your hand in place on his arm. “I do not wish to see you fall ill again.”

You struggled to argue with him about your health, understanding both the sensitive nature of the topic and the determination in his eyes to see you back inside the house. Despite what you wanted, you allowed him to guide you away from the water and sand. His hand remained on yours the whole way, and the closer you got to your home, the more your unease grew.

“Perhaps we can try again if the weather is better tomorrow,” you proposed the moment you were inside the warm walls of the house.

Your husband did not answer right away as he removed his coat, and for a moment you feared he never would, but his eyes met yours as he turned to you. He was gentle and meticulous in unbuttoning your own coat, his chest so close to yours as he slowly peeled it off of you. The words that he did not know you heard were on your mind as he looked down his nose at you, and he only answered when your arms were finally free.

“We shall see.”

His tone and his words did not seem to be in agreement, and you were unsurprised when tomorrow came and went and you did not leave the walls of your home. You found enjoyment in your books instead, and like always, you eventually felt goosebumps crawl over your arms as you became the subject of his scrutiny yet again.

Only this time, you were surprised to hear him approach.

“Read to me,” he quietly asked—demanded—of you, and you felt his hand in your hair as he sat down on the couch behind you.

It was an unexpected request, and you were silent for a few moments more as he made himself comfortable behind you. His legs were on either side of you as you relaxed on the floor, the fabric of your dresses and undergarments cushioning your bottom. It took you some time to do as he asked, but once you did, you started to forget that he was even there.

Until his fingers started to move over your scalp and he drew himself closer, his knees in your line of vision now, and his gentle breathing started to accompany the sound of your own voice. You read to him for what felt like hours, both of you only pulled from the moment when the cook informed you that dinner would be ready soon.

Much of your time was spent reading to Friedrich these days, and you wondered if he thought it a sufficient enough distraction to ensure you hardly noticed he never let you out of the house anymore. Your requests to go to the beach grew less and less with every denial and every ‘maybe’ that would just turn into a denial. The day you asked to accompany one of the staff to the market, he visibly blanched, his head shaking as he snarked at you how completely out of the question that was.

You finally spoke up when the monthly visit from your parents did not come to pass.

“I did not think it wise for them to be here,” was his only defense, and you gaped at him.

“...and why not? Why am I the last to know this?”

His hand wrapped around your arm as he pulled you away from the curious eyes and ears of the kitchen staff, guiding you through the house with that long stride of his that almost made it hard to keep up. When he noticed, he slowed down, eventually halting his movements just outside of his study, and when you hesitantly reached for your arm, Friedrich loosened his hold.

You watched him use his free hand to gently brush his fingers over the appendage, looking down at it with a frown before meeting your gaze with a more even stare. 

“...because they are always trotting off to God knows where around God knows who, and I will not allow them to bring even so much as a shallow cough into this household.”

You blinked at your husband, understanding dawning on you, and you struggled with a response. You realized now that appeasing his paranoia—not fighting it and letting him have his way—was doing more harm than good. Friedrich was so good at hiding his emotions from you—even the ones you wanted to know about—but in the dimly lit hallway, you could see it clear as day in his eyes.

He was consumed with the fear that you would wind up just like Anna and his children.

Taking a deep breath, you hesitantly reached for his hand, removing it from your arm. You did not break your gaze, wanting him to listen to you loud and clear, and you swallowed down the unease that filled you as you stood under his unwavering gaze.

“Friedrich…” you whispered to him, so unused to the feel of his name on your tongue. “That is no way for me to live a life.”

He pushed his shoulders back at that, and you knew that he was going to argue with you, so you continued.

“You have gotten me a tonic from the doctor…I am the healthiest I have ever been…and I would very much like to see my mother and father.”

His mustache twitched as the corner of his mouth curved upwards at your attempt to put your foot down. The both of you stood there for a lengthy amount of time, just staring at one another, and for the briefest of moments, you thought that Friedrich would see reason. Your hand was still on his, and your husband maneuvered them so that your hand was now in his, and when he stopped closer, you knew then that you were not getting your way.

“Perhaps some other time.”

You knew what that meant as you watched him walk away, and dread began to fill you as the reality of your predicament was truly setting in. Your eyes roamed along the walls, no longer feeling haunted by Anna, but her husband instead. He was haunting you, and she was haunting him, and in his desperation to keep you from suffering the same fate as his previous wife, Friedrich seemed content to keep you behind a gilded cage, a manicured box.

Like a porcelain doll.

Your days were consumed with only him and the house—reading to him, tending to the flowers, picking out patterns for some new drapes or a new rug to be made. It was enough to ignore the obvious for a while, enough to keep your mind off of the prolonged absence of your parents and the unmet desires to see the water and the way Friedrich stared at you like he expected you to crumble at the drop of a hat.

He was driving you nearly mad as he, and perhaps that was why you did it.

The caretaker was new and had not yet learned that Friedrich Harding preferred to keep his new wife locked up like some sickly child. Why would she? You were sure that you would be back home before he returned, but when you entered your home—the sun still at its peak outside—you did not miss the way some of the servants avoided your gaze. Only one approached you, quietly taking your coat as her gaze found the floor.

“Mr. Harding is waiting for you both…”

Your heart sank at her words, and you looked to the caretaker, knowing that you just cost her employment. That had never been your intention, and you walked ahead of her, prepared to plead her case to your husband, but he let her go on the spot before you could get a word in. Everything you said went ignored, every plea and every excuse, and it was only when the staff made themselves conveniently scarce did your proper and mighty well-to-do husband finally…

Break.

“Do you wish to ruin me? Is that it?”

His voice bounced off of the walls, and your lips parted as he stared you down. His eyes were alight with every emotion known to man, and his shoulders heaved with every breath he took. You only just started to shake your head when he spoke again.

“For surely it will be the end of me if I have to say goodbye to another wife,” he angrily whispered, and you took a step back. “I do not ask much of you.”

“I know-.”

“I have not forced you to my bed, I have not demanded any sons or daughters,” he let out a tearful chuckle. “I do not even demand you greet your husband with a kiss when he returns home.”

All of this was true, and yet…

“All I ask is that you remain here.”

He said it so casually, as if he were not asking the world of you to remain prettily seated in a cage. You had never known how to gently broach this subject, understanding the sensitive nature of it, but as you stared into the face of your husband—driven mad with trauma and paranoia—you accepted that there would be no gentle way to do it.

“I am not Anna,” you breathed.

The man before you froze in place as you said her name, and you swallowed. 

“I am in good health now,” you licked your lips. “You saw to that…”

You slowly reached for him, and you did not miss the sharp look in his gaze as he followed the movement with his eyes.

“I am not going anywhere, and I implore you to have faith…”

Your words trailed off as the sound of his bitter chuckle reached your ears. Friedrich moved closer to you with no intention of stopping it seemed, and your back hit the wall. 

“Faith,” the dark-haired man sneered. “Why would I trust faith to keep you with me when that very same faith failed me before?”

You had no answer for him.

His fingers touched your face, and you looked between his eyes. His chest heaved, and his heavy breathing was the loudest sound in the room. His fingers trailed down the expanse of your neck before his hand moved to rest on the back of it, moving closer.

“You are so frail,” he murmured. “I knew it the moment I laid eyes on you.”

He forced your face closer, and you pressed your hands to his chest. The conflict was evident on his features, a furrow between his brows as he drank you in with those sad blue eyes of his.

“I fear that a change in the wind would rip you from my very arms.”

“Friedrich…” he gave no indication that he was listening to you. “I have not seen my mother and father in months. I know they must worry and… All I ever see are these walls and the staff and my books and you. Do you wish for me to be unhappy?”

He tilted his head.

“Do you wish for me to be alone again?”

“Friedrich, please,” you begged, and he was shaking his head as soon as you said his name.

“I cannot do what you ask of me,” he forced out, eyes becoming glassy.

You pulled at his arm and pushed at his chest, but your husband was a mountain of a man, and it did you no good. The room was filled with both of your voices at once, both of you pleading with the other—you for freedom and he for understanding.

“You do not understand the lengths I go to…”

“I will be driven to madness!”

“...the nights I refuse my own desires,” he tearfully spat.

“So you would have me be your doll then? Placed on a shelf where only you and the staff can see me? To only be looked at like a trinket until the end of my days?”

Your poor choice of words had him freezing, his voice dying in the air as he gazed at you with a stricken look in his eyes. He did not move for a concerning amount of time, and as he stared into your eyes, tears kissing his own, you wondered who he saw, right now.

You or Anna?

The wife he had lost or the one he was scared of losing?

“I cannot bear it,” he choked out, his face pressing into the crook of your neck. “It is an impossible thing to ask of me.”

You said his name, but he felt lost to you, mumbling to himself and kneading at you through the fabric of your dress. When his soft lips pressed against the skin just above your bosom, you tensed. You could feel the wetness from his tears on your flesh, and you said his name again.

In this moment, you were wholly aware of your disadvantage.

“All I do is try to protect you, and all I ask is that you help me…”

“Friedrich.”

He was on his knees, now, burly arms circled around your waist, and blue eyes wide and bright and tearful as he looked up at you.

“Yet you fight me every step of the way.”

“I am not Anna,” you said to him, trying to get him to see reason.

…but he knew exactly who he was talking to.

“...and you will never become her if I can help it.”

You felt his hand slide to your backside, pulling you closer as he buried his face into the fabric of your skirts.

“Night after night…day after day…I fight with myself for fear of hurting you, of doing irreparable damage.”

His arm tightened painfully around you, and you gasped, reaching down to pull at his sleeve.

“...and for what? For a wife who still leaves these walls and puts herself in harm’s way even after her husband begs her not to.”

“I cannot…”

You struggled to breathe, and you no longer just wanted him to let you go…you wished to get away. You both heard and felt him press a lingering kiss to your stomach, his tears wetting the fabric of your dress.

“If I am to risk you in any capacity…then surely it should be for the betterment of us both.”

So focused on trying to take in air, you did not fully register his words and the implication behind them. Your chest was tightening and your stomach was hurting, and your husband was losing his mind, and you did not know how to convince him that he would not lose you too. You pushed further back against the wall in an effort to relieve some of the painful pressure when you could suddenly breathe again.

You sharply inhaled…and the sound of tearing fabric reached your ears.

The pressure around your abdomen was loosening in more ways than one, and when you looked down, Friedrich had his hands quite literally inside of your dress. It was one that your mother had commissioned for you, but you could not find it in yourself to mourn the loss of the beautiful gown. You were more focused on your husband’s sudden animalistic nature.

You said his name, pushing at his hands, but you were no match for his strength.

“I cannot stop,” you heard him murmur, making your blood run cold. “Do not dare ask me to stop.”

With his hand at your back under the fabric, it was not long before you quite literally felt the fabric and strings of your corset being pulled taut against your flesh before ripping and popping completely. A panic seized you as you fought to get away from Friedrich, and he fought to rid you of the mountain of layers that covered you.

“Friedrich,” you gasped, pushing at his face and head, but with his arms around you in a vice-like grip, you had nowhere to go.

You pushed one foot forward, a difficult feat with a grown man attached to you, and your husband did not like that. He pulled at your dress some more—pulling down—and the action had you careening forward as you attempted to get away from him at the same time. With the floor fast approaching, you were prepared to crawl away from him, but Friedrich was much quicker on his feet than you.

Arms that were now increasingly familiar to you wrapped around your waist, catching you midfall, and Friedrich’s chest was to your back as he stood and brought you with him. You could feel his facial hair tickling your skin as he leaned in, deeply inhaling and kneading his fingers just under your chest.

“I cannot…”

His words trailed off as he forced you to face him, pink lips parted and blue eyes glazed over. Every step back from him was followed, and his nose touched yours while one hand found a home on your cheek. His lips touched yours for half a second before you pulled away, and he let you, frowning at you as if you confounded him.

She vexes me so.

You recalled those words that were not meant for your ears.

“I cannot…” his frown deepened. “I cannot resist you any longer.”

He finally stole a kiss from you, his lips covering yours in a way that no one ever had before. The kiss at your wedding was sweet—chaste even—but this was nothing of the sort. Friedrich deeply inhaled your every breath and pawed at you and pulled you closer if at all possible. The kiss made your head spin, and every time you attempted to move your head back, he followed. It was hard to breathe with his lips on yours.

You realized that what you felt against the back of your thighs was the bed, but only too late and when Friedrich’s hands tightened on the neckline of your dress. His lips sought out the flesh of your throat as he pulled and ripped it open completely. His blunt nails softly dragged against your skin as he yanked it down, moving closer, and with nowhere else to go, you felt yourself backed into a corner.

Your resistance was clear, and your husband wrapped an arm around your waist, briefly lifting you before dropping you on the soft surface. His large frame found solace between your legs, and you felt irreversibly trapped. He towered over you and his mouth held yours captive and his arms did not allow you anywhere to go.

You gasped his name into his mouth, a protest in your tone.

“I no longer have the strength to keep myself from you,” he murmured into the kiss. “Do not ask me to for I cannot do it.”

His hand slithered between your legs like a serpent, and you squirmed in a way you never had before. You had never even touched yourself there on lonely nights, recalling how unclean and unchaste it was said to be, but Friedrich was your husband. Surely that made it okay…but then why did it not feel okay in your chest? Perhaps it was because he scared you and isolated you and kept you locked away like some prized possession.

You felt yourself growing wet beneath his touch, and a low hum climbed from his throat as you laid your hand on his arm. When a finger slid into you, you dug your nails into his arm. The feel had you blinking, and when he added another, your eyes widened. A third had you gasping and him cursing—something you rarely heard. You felt stretched, and when he moved closer, forcing your legs to part more to accommodate him, you hissed.

“Lie back, my love,” he murmured to you. “It will feel much better.”

You refused to, one hand on the bed behind you in some weak hope that you could stop this before it went any further. You simply wanted freedom, and pleading with Friedrich for something so simple had ended in him seeking out his own pleasures instead. You could feel yourself dripping around his hand with every thrust of his fingers, and shame filled you.

When you were unable to swallow down a moan, you hid your face.

“There she is,” he slowly whispered, and when his thumb brushed over you in a way that had your arm weakening, he took advantage.

In one fell swoop, you found yourself on your back, your husband on top of you and his fingers still pushing into you. Your ruined dress hung off of you in tatters, and Friedrich tasted whatever visible skin there was. His large frame kept you pinned to the bed, and your eyes rolled and lashes fluttered from the way he moved his fingers and his hand between your thighs. You weakly murmured his name, and beyond that, in the quiet room, you could hear his movements. You could hear the wet sound of it, and more shame filled you, but you were not given time to linger on it.

He sat up on his knees, reaching down with his other hand so that he played you with both. You felt your back arching, and your breathing grew more shallow, and one hand gently massaged your mound while the other continued to push his fingers into your slick walls. He curled them into you over and over, massaging your insides and pressing the pads of his fingers against you.

It was unlike anything you ever felt, and when your stomach tightened—a rope or a coil or something deep within your gut—you let it until it could not any further, and you were suddenly gasping and whimpering in a way that made you sound possessed. You could feel Friedrich’s gaze on you, and when you managed to focus your own on him despite the difficulty, he wore an expression that you were sure you had never seen before.

It made you want to cover yourself and shy away, and when he pulled his fingers out of you—a tinge of red on them—that was exactly what you set out to do. 

Feeling hot and confused and unsettled by the man before you, you reached for the covers in an attempt to hide your nakedness, but your husband would not have it. He climbed over you, keeping you pinned between his thighs as he peeled off his light jacket, his tie and shirt and undershirt quick to follow.

You imagined that your wedding night would have been something akin to this, but only without this level of unease and fear and confusion. As it were, your wedding night was nothing like this. You had been alone, convinced of your husband’s lack of care for you, and now almost a year later, you were squirming beneath him and wanting to be as far away as possible from the man who metaphorically locked you in the tower and tossed the key.

“Friedrich,” you choked out, pushing at his chest. 

He leaned in and kissed you again, and you felt every bit of him as he forced you out of your garments completely.

The tip of him brushed against your sensitive flesh, and you shuddered beneath him. He would not stop kissing you, tasting the inside of your mouth and inhaling every gasp that escaped. His normally perfect hair was in disarray, and when he reached down between you, his other arm was proactive in holding you tight and in place for him.

The feel of his cock pushing into you almost made you wish for his fingers instead. You thought that you felt stretched before, but it was nothing in comparison to the slow way in which he sheathed himself inside of you. You felt unnaturally full, and it took your breath away. Friedrich groaned from above you, and you felt a shudder crawl up his back as he rested inside of you.

“I tried,” you heard him whisper. “I tried so very hard…but I cannot go another day without having you.”

He slowly pulled his hips back until only the tip of him remained before sinking into you completely. You could not stop the movements of your body, your hips lifting with his as if being carried by a wave, a breathless sigh escaping with every thrust. His bare chest was pressed to yours, and his burly arms kept you right where he wanted you, and you felt yourself slowly forgetting why you had ever resisted him.

“Endless nights of lying awake and knowing you were a mere room away,” Friedrich breathed against your skin. “So close…and so forbidden to me.”

The speed of his hips grew, and your nails dug into his skin, dragging over it as he plunged his cock into you with a vigor you did not know he had. He was always so cold with you, keeping you at arm’s length even when he was touching you. You recalled the feel of his hand on your hair and his fingers on your mouth and a brush against your waist. Always giving in just a little bit more until he no longer had the desire to hold himself back. Always staring and watching and craving.

It was so clear to you, now, and all you could think was that your mother was right…

…and you were a fool.

“I feared I would break you,” he panted, thrusting into you so strongly that the bed beneath you shook. “I still fear that I just might.”

He pushed himself up onto his hands so that he could look down at you, and the dull tender ache had started to subside, replaced by something that far exceeded the pleasure his fingers had given you. Your back arched, and Friedrich wasted no time in dipping his head to wrap his lips around a heaving breast. His tongue swirling around a hardened bud had you reaching up to thread your fingers through his dark locks.

He groaned at the action, and when he lifted his head again, his intense blue gaze sought out yours. You softly moaned every time his hips curved into yours, his cock smoothly sliding between your folds, now and stroking you in a way that momentarily convinced you your freedom was not all that desirable. Your husband did not look away from your eyes again, and it felt overwhelming to be beneath him and staring into his eyes and feel him within you.

One of his hands reached up to touch your cheek, and a frown formed between his brows.

“So fragile… It would take nothing for me to break you, to snuff you right out,” his words made your heart skip a beat. “You test my self control in ways that terrify me.”

His hand traveled to your neck.

“I was right to fear the monster that I would unleash if I ever got my hands on you…”

His fingers danced to the back of your neck, and he gripped the hair at the nape there, slowly and gently forcing your head back. His hips did not relent once, meeting yours again and again, the sound of skin meeting skin reaching your ears among other things that filled you with shame. So much shame.

“For I will never be able to resist you again.”

He leaned in and pressed gentle kisses along the expanse of your throat, his tongue darting out to taste the damp skin, humming at the salty nature the thin sheen of sweat gave it. You whimpered when he reached down with his free hand, fingers brushing against you and circling you as you greedily clenched around his cock. 

“If anything happened to you,” he whispered into your neck. “It would be my undoing.”

[buckiverse]

☆ warnings: mdni, this is literally just a cock analysis for sylus, zayne, and caleb

☆ a/n: SYLUS HOLD MY HAND—CALEB IS ABOUT TO DRAG ME AWAY!

rafayel and xavier ver.

S8GSBTV - #b0685a

As we all know, Sylus is tall, with a broad, muscular frame and an imposing set of shoulders. He’s strong—insanely strong. The man boxes, for god’s sake. I would hate to take a liver shot from him; he might accidentally send me straight to the afterlife. He’s in phenomenal shape, with stamina to match—because, of course, it’s a requirement for his sport.

And his cock? Well, it follows suit. A solid eight inches (20.32 cm), and yes, he’s a shower. I mean, have you seen that perfect print in his pants??? He doesn’t even know where to put all that. It’s big—long, thick, girthy. No wonder he has a size kink. And let’s be real, so do you. The stretch is delicious, always leaving you working to take him all the way.

The head? A deep, rich brown (go look at the hex code <3). His pubic hair? Trimmed, but left a little longer—just how he likes it. And side note? He loves when you do the same. Says he wants to "explore the jungle." Oh, and let’s not forget: it’s straight and a slightly darker gray than his hair. Perfection.

And the veins—the veins. His cock is thick with them, pulsing, prominent. The most sensitive part? That sweet little slit. Run your tongue along it, and he will hiss, grip your hair, and growl something like, “Don’t do that unless you want me to come in your mouth, kitten.”

And, of course, you’ll keep doing it anyway. Hehehe.

Z7LSLCGBPLT - #9C524F

As we all know, Zayne is tall, with a lean yet well-built frame and broad shoulders. He’s strong—moderately muscular—but more refined in his strength. Being a doctor, he has a natural responsibility to stay in shape and take excellent care of himself.

And his cock? It follows suit. A solid seven point three inches (18.542 cm), and he’s a grower. The print in his pants might be deceiving at first, but don’t be fooled—it’s big. Not just long, but with an ideal girth. The best part? It leans slightly to the left, and when he’s inside you, he knows how to move his hips just right, angling to hit that perfect, sensitive spot.

The head? A beautiful brownish pink. His pubic hair? Trimmed low—because he understands the importance of keeping some. He’ll never go completely bare, and honestly? He prefers when you don’t either. And yes, it’s perfectly straight.

Unlike some, his cock isn’t overly veined—but what it lacks in texture, it more than makes up for in sensitivity. The head? Insanely responsive. Pull back his foreskin, drag your tongue along his frenulum, and just like that, he might lose control—maybe even come all over your face.

C7GGPTV - #DF9796

As we all know, Caleb is tall, with a lean yet powerfully built frame. He’s easily the most muscular of the bunch—his body honed to perfection. Being a fighter pilot demands peak physical fitness, not just for endurance but for absolute control in the cockpit.

And his cock? It follows suit. A solid seven inches (17.78 cm), and he’s a grower. The print in his pants might not always give it away, but trust—it’s big. Long, with just a bit more girth than average, making every inch of it something to savor.

The head? A gorgeous pink. His pubic hair? Trimmed low for convenience, though he’ll go completely bare if that’s what you prefer. Naturally, though, he keeps it neat, with a slight, loose curl to it.

And let’s talk about that vein. A single, prominent one that runs up the length of his pretty shaft—one he loves when you trace with your tongue. Oh, and let’s be clear—he’s uncut. Don’t care, won’t argue on that point <33

☆

btw this is what the codes mean (excuse my behavior because now that I actually typed it out i realize how crazy i look rn):

S8GSBTV: sylus-8inch-girthy-shower-brown-trimed-veiny

Z7LSLCGBPLT: zayne-7inch-left slant-long cock-grower-brownish pink-light trim

C7GGPTV: caleb-7inch-grithy-grower-pink-trimed-veiny

[jupiter-letters]

Dating Number 4/ Klaus Hargreeves would include☂️👻:

Fem! or GN! Reader TW: Brief mentions of addiction

A/N: I started Umbrella Academy a week ago and I’m obsessed, I’m almost done with season 3 and I can’t wait for season 4. I’d managed to fall in love with Robert Sheehan all over again and all that love has to go somewhere so here it is.

Waking up to little peppered kisses on your back and up your torso. If you don’t open your eyes he’ll just start blowing raspberries into your neck and on your face. Once he hears you laughing he’ll stop and flip you over. He likes being the first thing you see when you wake up. Some days are a little more peaceful and less silly, you wake to see him still asleep. A mess of curls and smudged glitter eyeshadow is the first thing you see. He’s at such peace and the most still you’ll ever see him. 

Putting makeup on each other, whether it’s going out or just playing around with new looks it doesn’t matter. Being able to experiment with new colors and combinations with each other is so much fun. On date nights you’ll pick outfits for each other, sometimes even just wearing each other’s clothes. Doing things like this with him leads to doing most things together. 

Why have him do things when you can do it for him? Or even with him? He loves having you wash his hair. Showers, baths? Of course we have to both be in there at the same time! Klaus is so touch starved any reason to spend time together he’ll take it,an added bonus is your company keeps the spirits away. 

You’re always in close proximity to each other, so your skin is always touching. Klaus just can’t get enough, physical touch becomes his middle name. He’s a natural affectionate person but just having you near is very grounding for him. 

He’ll draw on you with little glitter pens he carries in his pocket, he likes to call you his “canvas and his muse.” Even without the pens he’ll trace random shapes and words onto your arm or your back when you both lie in bed. Klaus also likes to play with your fingers when he’s bored.

Kissing!! He’s such a fiend for kissing my god, after that first kiss he’s finished. He always says he wants just one but it ends up escalating to a full on make out sesh. Doesn’t matter if you’re public or not you look too good it’d be a crime not to kiss you. Klaus doesn’t really give a damn about public embarrassment, if you wanted him to he’d run through central park naked, he would.

 Once he knows you’re ok with all the random bursts of affection he really piles it on. Neck kisses, shoulder kisses, nose kisses, not one day goes by where he doesn’t kiss you. He kisses like he wants to devour you, if he wasn’t able to kiss you that’d be hell on Earth. If you’re a fan of random kisses at the most inappropriate times he’s a professional. You’re driving, he’s gonna make out with you. Out shopping, kissing! Right now! Doctor’s appointment? Kisses under your jaw in the waiting room, he can’t help it, he's bored.

Helping him get clean, you and Ben have been pretty good influences in his life. Trying to keep him on the straight and narrow for the sake of his health. He wants to be present for you, he wants to be able to remember the things you do together. You help him find fun things to do without getting drugs involved. Taking your time and being patient with him means the world to him. He loves his siblings but they aren’t the best at helping him with it. They do try a little harder when you come around seeing how serious you are about helping him. You stay awake with him when his nightmares get too bad or when the withdrawal is really wearing him down. If it’s the ghosts that are bothering him you just tell them to piss off.(he really appreciates that)

Klaus begins to teach himself new skills to help you out around the house, cooking, cleaning you name it. He doesn’t do it very well but you appreciate the effort anyway. Chores become another activity for you both to do. He’ll even indulge in some of your hobbies just for the fun of it. 

Tattoos! He gets something on his wrist that reminds him of you, he can’t wait to show you too. If you get one related to him, god forbid a little number 4 on you he’ll cry. He does eventually tell you about the rest of his journey in Vietnam and Dave. Klaus wants to be sure you know he won’t compare you to him, He’ll always love Dave but he doesn’t love you any less. He’ll get really shy if you kiss his hand tattoos, there aren’t a lot of ways to fluster him so that’s a good one. 

Being surrounded by death and destruction most of his life really makes him appreciate what you have. The way you indulge in his antics and impulses makes Klaus feel so seen. You don’t feel real to him sometimes; late at night he’ll just lay his head on your chest and listen to your heart beating. 

When some crazy new developments or drama happens in his family you’re first to know. Luther tells him something very personal and secret and 15 mins later he’s calling you on the mansion’s phone. 

Luther: “This stays between us Klaus I mean it…” Klaus: “Of course Lulu I wouldn’t dream of telling anyone you’re dirty little secret” A few moments later… Klaus: “Babe you’ll never believe what Luther just told me!”

He’ll always be looking at you, wherever you are and whatever you’re doing you have his full attention. Klaus will just be gazing at you lovingly while five is trying to talk to him, eventually he’ll just ignore him and go to talk to you. You're his favorite person to talk to; he never gets bored with you.

Thanks for reading! Lemme know what you think. Please like or reblog if you like my stuff.

[thepromptswhisperer]

"Is that a smile I spy?" Prompts

“Oh my god. You’re smiling!” “No, I’m not. Fuck off.”

“What? What’s with that smile?”

Try hard not to stare at the stunning (first) smile they see blossoming on the other’s lips.

“Why did they smile at you?”

“I can’t just smile on command.”

“Remember to smile every now and then, yeah? (We don’t want you to scare them all away.)”

“You’re so bad at this.” “I don’t know what you mean.” “The corners of your mouth. They are twitching.”

“You have the most beautiful smile, you know that?”

“I can’t stop smiling.”

Think their smile is ugly and try to hide it. The other is having none of it. 

“I hate when you smile like that.”

“A smile a day keeps the doctor away.” “Yeah… I don’t think that’s how the saying goes.”

“Is that a smile I spy?” 

Take on the (almost) impossible task to not break into a smile. 

“Say cheese!”

“I just want(ed) to make you smile.”

Cover their emotions with a smile, hoping nobody will notice. The other, however, catches on (almost) immediately.

“You can’t even hide your smile. So, spill. Who is this mysterious person that makes you all giddy and insufferable?”

“Uh-oh.” “What’s wrong?” “That’s their ‘oh, you messed with the wrong bitch, bitch’ face.”

“Stop smiling.”

“A smile could go a long way.” (“Well, mine went all the way to [country] and is currently enjoying its vacation there. So, you’ll have to come up with a better plan/idea.”)

“One smile from them and they’ll be putty in their hands. Watch.”

Their fingers tenderly pull up the corners of the mouth of the other. 

“It’s almost like you don’t know how to smile.”

As soon as the other leaves, their smile drops. 

“You look like an idiot.” “You know, other people would say it’s nice to see me so happy. Or that I have a beautiful smile.”

“My face hurts.”

"That should wipe the smile off their face."

"Uh-oh. I know that smile."

“So you can smile!”

Cannot help but smile in response to the one already on the other’s lips. 

“There it is, just the smile I was looking for.”

“Your smile is a knockout, baby!” “Why are you still standing then?”

“You look like you’re going to your doom instead of to a celebration/etc. Smile, for goodness sake.”

"You know very well what that smile of yours does to me."

“You just had to smile back at them, didn’t you?” “What else was I supposed to do? Ignore them?”

Feel the other smile against their lips/skin.

“I don’t like that smile.” “Then I doubt you’ll like what’s coming next.”

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

a new life is born | s.r. x fem!reader

“congratulations mom and dad, it’s a healthy baby girl.” the doctor confirmed for both of you while the nurses worked to clean your new born. your skin was sweaty, baby hairs stuck to your forehead, legs were shaky from being bent for the past hour. you’ve been in the hospital since last night once your contractions started.

but you were a mom now. you birthed a babygirl and you couldn’t be happier with your life. turning your head to the left with a dazed smile, stood spencer with the widest smile you’ve seen on his face to date. “a girl. we have a little girl,” chuckling from glee.

“we have a girl,” he repeated as he leaned forward to kiss your forehead and tuck some of your hair away. “i want her to be just like you,” very confident in the chances of that happening.

spencer shook his head, “for your sake i hope not and for my heart i hope she looks like you.” a gentle finger tracing over your nose, the shape of your lips. “well i only hope she doesn’t get your puppy eyes, it’ll be her one power over both of us.” staring directly into said eyes right now.

“alright, she’s ready for you.” a nurse walked to your right side with your baby, now wearing a pink bow. “would you like to do skin to skin? helps her recognize you through touch. also good for the dad as well.” waiting for either to reply first.

“i’ll go first.” shimming your hospital gown away from your shoulder and chest so there was enough surface area, “i have a feeling i’m gonna fall asleep soon, but i’m gonna hold her until i can keep my eyes open.” holding your hands out to take her then second guessing and getting them in the cradle position but still not sure, “uh, which is better?” asking the nurse who hovered.

“i’d say hands so you can lay her to your chest. cradling is better for later.” nodded and slowly took your baby from the nurse and maneuvered her tiny self so her head was resting on your shoulder. “oh wow,” whispering to yourself. it completely sunk in now, she’s yours.

“i’m a freaking mom,” whispering over her back towards spencer. a slow palm rubbed along her back and quickly her breathing synced with yours, her tiny fists were too cute.

there was a little space on your bed and you called for spencer to join you. he sank down slowly and threw a long arms over your shoulder, his free hand caressing your forearm. “what should we name her? we can’t call her fruits anymore.” whispering beside your ear.

your mouth twisted, “i kinda want to name her after something from literature. like juliet or charlotte. do you have any ideas?” turning his way.

his eyes were focused on the sleeping babe, a little smile quirking a corner of his lips. “maybe annabeth. the combination of anna and elizabeth forms the meaning of god has favored me. and i think that works for us as well, we’ve been favored by having her. also anna can mean beautiful and it’s all because of you.” kissing your temple, his kisses have been never ending the past nine months.

“annabeth… annabeth diana reid. our beautiful gift.” pressing her first kiss of many to her head. “i think it’s your turn now. my eyes are getting heavy.”

spencer nervously started to unbutton his shirt and then slowly you traded off. you watched as spencer stood back up and kept a gently motion to his body wanting her to continue napping. he kept his voice low as he recited facts about anything, knowing she’s gonna love the sound of his voice growing up.

“can you tell us a story?” something you’ll ask spencer from time to time when you needed just a little push into dreamland. “of course, sweetheart. i’ll do my favorite book from childhood, alice in wonderland. once upon a time there was a girl named alice…”

[drama-trauma]

Yandere nerd

Part two of the anti-social nerd. Kind of. This is more of a what went behind the scenes. Sorry for the wait. Hope you'll enjoy.

Warnings: Manipulation,yandere,drugs,more suggestive rather than smut, cheating and student-teacher relationship(minor characters), blackmailing, stalking, reader's too horny.

You've been a mess as far as you remember. Always seeking fun instead of abiding to obligations. None of your relationships lasted long. I mean, you only wanted some long, thick dick! You didn't want to act all lovey dovey with them. Just fuck you full of hot, thick sperm and leave! Was it that hard?

Your parents realised their mistake in raising you. They wanted you to be a lawyer or a doctor, not a whore for fuck's sake!So you get send to a new school, one well known for it's multi talented prodigies.

That's where you met the love of your life. To be honest, the best dick of your life.When the teacher placed you next to a weirdo,at first you didn't think much of it.You came here to get dicked down, not bother about which wacko is sitting next to you!You went around getting fucked by both juniors and seniors alike. Living the best time of your life with your favourite companion - dick. Hell, you could prepare a chart on all the dicks you saw so far - thick ones, long ones, small ones, average ones and more. Among all the dicks only a couple stood out in their size or shape.You could remember the way your body took it in but not the names of their owners.

And that's when it happened. You were running laps in p.e class, when it started raining heavily. Upon entering back to the gym room, you notice it. The p.e uniform clinging to that wacko seatmate of yours. His nipples were a nice shade of pink- hardened by the chilly atmosphere.And there was a prominent outline of his dick through the wet pants.That was when you sweared to yourself “I have to cum atleast once on this dick”.

From then on began your attempts to get closer to the wacko. Kian was his name. It wasn't difficult finding out since he was more or less of a teacher's pet. Always answering to every single question.Always paying attention in class. Hell, why couldn't he pay attention to you? You were the most good looking person in that class. Others would die for a chance to be in your hole but this guy was more interested in solving sin and cos! If only he knew how much your hole was twitching around empty air at the thought of his dick!

You came to the realisation that if you don't take the initiative then your dream of getting fucked by that dick will remain a dream. So you started making small conversations - something about classes and favourites and what not. Only to be polite. You can't just go upto someone and ask to be fucked. It was only polite to get to know each other. Just enough so that when he sees your favourite colour, he gets hard at the thought of you clad in it , screaming and creaming.

It was cute how Kian stuttered when he talked to you. That's what you would've said if it wasn't for his bulked up body. No one talked to him much. Who wants to even talk to a bookworm? If it wasn't for dick, then you would've ignored him too. But God,it made things easier. You only wanted his dick at first. But now he was getting pretty damn adorable with his attempts at getting to know you more.The way he beat around the bush when he was nervous, the heavy blush coating his face on a teasing comment, the way he squirmed in his seat when you got a bit close - God fucking damnit, it was adorable .

You don't know how but from a point onwards you looked forward to seeing him - not a glimpse of his dick but him. Was it the way he looked at you dreamily? Was it the way you were the only friend that he had?Was it the way his entire world revolved around you?Was it the way you were his entire world?You don't know. But one thing, you knew was that it was addictive. It was consuming. It was love.

You wanted him to make the first move towards your relationship. But ofcourse, he just had to be dense. That's fine, you'll help him out.Changing out of your pe uniform extra slow - tantalizingly, dropping pens more often and picking them up while bending more than needed with pushing up your ass temptingly, accidentally dropping water on your chest to put your hardened nipples on display and what not. He was an idiot when it came to romance. But he was your idiot.

You could easily tell the effect it had on him. His boners couldn't be hidden - not with that size.He wasn't really good at stalking. Kian made his presence obvious despite all his efforts at going unnoticed. The way his footsteps sounded when he was following you, the shutter of the camera going off, the heavy breaths he inhaled while you were taking a shower - you could sense his presence easily.

Kian was not good at being possessive either. He couldn't find the courage to butt in when you conversed with others. He was too scared to touch you. He seemed content just being by your side. But hell, you knew better. You knew about the way he jerked off in one of the school bathroom stalls after you got a bit too close with him. You knew about the questionable pictures being taken.You knew about the predatory glimpse in his eyes at times. You knew that he wanted nothing more than to have you all to himself. You knew everything.For a nerd, he sure was dumb as fuck.

The day your English professor decided to give you a group project was the luckiest day of your life.You and Kian were not in the same group but that could be arranged. After class, you stayed back. You managed to convince the professor to pair you up together. With an excuse of how he would let his teammate walk all over him and how he would have to do all the work, him having trouble getting along with others and what not . At first, the professor wasn't too keen on letting it happen. But at the mention of letting his pregnant wife know of his cheating, he quickly complied. Cheating on his wife was one thing, cheating on his pregnant wife was even worse and the worst thing? The fact that he cheated on her with one of his students.

Next class, you and Kian got paired together. He seemed happy. He wanted to do the project at your house, but you denied it saying that your parents were home and they don't like having people over or something. He believed it and offered to go to a cafe. Why couldn't this dense fuck understand that you wanted to go to his house? Stupid bitch. You brought up the idea of doing it at his place. He seemed nervous - about the “secret photos” he took maybe. Did he have it posted on his bedroom wall? Did he wake up to your picture? Did he end his day after staring at it? Did he jerk off to it? Fuck, curiosity killed the cat.

After a while of contemplation and convincing, he finally relented. You would be at his house in three days. The project was only due in two weeks. There was plenty of time.

Day 1 - you could see dust and smell a nasty scent on him. He must be cleaning his entire house inside out since you were coming over. Day 2 - you just so happened to tell him about how people nowadays fucked while drugged and how many of the students in your school preferred such things and how it seems crazy and what not. As long as you sow a seed, the fruit's bound to be ripe. Day 3- you tell him about how there's a guy selling stuff in your school.Students buy their stuff from him and at an affordable price. That night, you got a call from this so called "dealer", that Kian had bought the stuff from him. Good. You paid the dude pretty well to work this all out . Drugs going around in a prestigious school? Lies.But Kian fell for it and that's what matters.

The day you went to his house, you had looked through the pictures he took of you. You were honestly so fucking horny after seeing them. You looked good. He sure knew how to work a camera.And the time where a needle was injected? You weren't a masochist but you could make adjustments.Waking up covered in cum? You must've looked like a masterpiece. Fuck, you wanted to be conscious for your first time together. You wanted to feel the pain and pleasure of having his dick enter your hole for the first time. You wanted to see him loosen you up. But it's alright. There'll surely be another chance. And you'll make sure to do it conscious then.When he walked in dressed in that robe? You could cum on the spot just at the sight.When he started fucking you again?For a virgin, he fucked real damn good. Just your style - fast ,deep and desperate.

Everyone has a secret that they'll take to their graves. And for you, what went behind the scenes will be that secret.

[pinkslipxox]

Mama

Summary: Reader is six months pregnant and Billie takes care of her 🙈💕

Warnings: fluff 😘

——————————————————————————

An exhausted sigh ecsapes your lips as you try to get yourself comfortable on the bed. Despite the fact that you’re overjoyed about excepting your first child with Billie, being six months pregnant has been taking its toll on you. You can hardly wait until you can finally hold your baby in your arms, hold their little hand, and kiss their little face.

Three more months, just three more months.

Billie emerges from the bathroom, her tired expression instantly turning up at the sight of you, and she sits down on the edge of your side of the bed. She cups your cheeks and kisses your forehead, letting her lips linger there before pressing her lips to your lips, gently, softly. Your heart flutters, her gentle touch and affection soothing you.

“How do you feel, mama?” Billie asks, her voice soft, as she caresses your swollen belly. You’ve yet to know the gender of your baby. It was a mutual decision to keep it a surprise until the birth.

“Tired. Being pregnant isn’t easy as it looks,” you say with a chuckle and Billie coos, her lips forming an adorable pout.

“I’ll be right back,” she promises and kisses your forehead before pressing her lips on your baby bump.

Ever since you found out you were pregnant, Billie has been nothing but sweet and placid towards you. Not to mention a bit overprotective. She’s just as excited and anxious to meet your child, and she has been so supportive and patient throughout your pregnancy thus far. She’s made sure that you have everything you need, made adjustments to her busy schedule in order to accompany you to every doctor’s appointment and spend time with you, and dedicates herself tending to your every need, whatever it might be.

Billie returns carrying your favorite massage oil and lotion. She gently lifts your legs up to put a pillow underneath your feet and she pour a small amount of oil on her hands, rubbing it together before massaging your feet. The oil is warm and soothing against your aching feet, and you moan in pleasure.

“Thank you, my love”, you hum in relief as you give her an appreciative smile.

“Of course, baby,” Billie smiles at you. She then presses a little harder, making you wince, and she looks up at you with worry. “Does it hurt?”

“No, no… it just feels so good,” you reassure her with a giggle and Billie shakes her head fondly at you.

“I aim to please, mama,” Billie purrs with a flirtatious wink and blows you a kiss. You can’t help but blush. Even after so many years of being together, Billie still has this affect on you.

The conversation is kept light, for your sake, as Billie continues to massage your feet. She then lathers them with lotion, your eyes fluttering closed at her touch, and as if things couldn’t get any better, Billie starts to plant kisses up your leg and thigh, making you moan. You feel her smirk against your skin, her hand gently squeezing your thigh. She then brings her head up and kisses your lips passionately.

“God, I love you,” Billie murmurs against your lips, her hand caressing your cheek as she looks into your eyes.

“We love you, too, Billie,” you reply softly, and Billie’s smile only grows. “You already an amazing mama, Bills.”

“So are you, Y/N— the best mama out there,” Billie praises as she leans in and gives you another sweet kiss.

You couldn’t ask for a better wife.

Or mother of your child.

[chloe-skywalker]

Moving - Billy Hargrove

Billy x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Stranger Things

Word count:1,190

Summary: Joyce waiting to move you, Jonathan, Will and El till Billy’s better for your sake. Billy decides to come with and live with you in California. But first he has to ask Joyce.

Authors Note: I love this. 

Masterlist

Stranger Things Masterlist

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“When are we going to Calfironia?” Jonathan asked his mom wondering how much more time they had left with their friends.

“Soon.” Joyce answered as they continued to eat.

“When is soon? I want to know when I have to say goodbye to the party?” Will pleaded for more of an exact answer.

“We aren’t going till Billy’s better and can leave the hospital.” Joyce told her boys.

“For Y/n’s sake?” Jonathan hoped they wouldn’t leave till Billy was better. For his sister's emotional health most of all. She wouldn’t be able to handle leaving Billy in his current state. The Mall accident was bad all around but Billy got the worst of it, but at least he was alive.

“Yes. For Y/n’s sake. Your sister loves Billy and I’ve seen his love for her.” Joyce nodded in confirmation. What happened to Billy affected him and her daughter the most. Joyce knows for a fact they love each other and seeing him almost die killed Y/n. She couldn’t take her away with Billy still in the hospital.

“I hope he heals fast. I hate seeing her so distraught.” Will nodded in agreement, it was hard seeing his badass sister so broken.

“We all do.” Jonathan reached over and squeezed his shoulder. Billy had treated a lot of them horribly but no one deserved what he did to save El.

^     ^     ^

“Hey” Y/n greeted Billy as she entered his hospital room. She never would’ve left but she wasn’t allowed to stay once visiting hours were over. So Y/n comes back every morning.

“Hey. Did you eat?” Billy questions, he noticed she had gotten thinner and it worried him.

“Yes, I ate.” she nodded, giving him a sarcastic smile, knowing he means well. Y/n to noticed her weight loss like she’s sure he did. But she was still eating, it must be stress.

“Just making sure you're still taking care of yourself.” Billy reached out to grab her hand in his.

“Your my priority right now.” Y/n looked into his eyes, squeezing his hand.

“I can’t be your priority if you end up sick and in the hospital right next to me.” Billy points out with a stern look in his eyes even though he wasn’t angry he’s just worried.

“What’d the doctor say?” Y/n asked changing the subject and hoping the doctor said he’s improving.

“That I can leave and be discharged in two days.” Billy smiled at her pulling her with enough force that she leaned on top of him.

“Thank god.” Y/n smiled, hugging him tightly.

^     ^     ^

“When are you moving?” Billy asked as they sat on her bed in Y/n’s room surrounded by boxes.

“Soon.” Y/n looked down, sadness evident in her demeanor. Leaving Hawkins wasn’t the hard part that made her sad, but leaving Billy? That did. “Mom says we’ll leave in the next couple days.”

The two stayed silent for a while not knowing what to say.

“Hey I’m gonna get a drink. Do you want anything?” After a while Billy spoke up having an idea but he needed to leave the room and if it didn’t go as planned he didn’t want Y/n any more hurt than she already was.

“A coke please.” y/n gives him a tight smile in thanks but still in a sad mood.

Billy walked down the hall into the kitchen and saw Misses Byers just who he was looking for.

“Hi Billy.” Joyce greeted upon seeing him come out of the hallway.

“Hey Joyce.” Billy greeted back as he went to the fridge and grabbed himself and Y/n;s drinks before closing the fridge, turning around and asking. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure.” Joyce nodds pointing to the table so they both could sit.

“Thanks for staying till I was healed. It means everything to me to have had y/n here for it.” Billy started off by thanking her, he knew they didn’t have to wait but they did and he appreciated it.

“Of course, Billy.” Joyce sent him a smile, it also felt kinda good and odd to hear him thank you. That's not something Billy’s known for. She also knew how hard it must be for him to talk to her like this. With his home life she knows he’s not comfortable around most adult’s.

“I know you’re all moving to California soon. I’m from there and I’ve missed it since the moment I was forced to leave. I don’t want to be seperated from Y/n.” Y/n was the only thing he liked about his time in Hawkins. He was glad in a way he had moved to Hawkins, he met y/n because of it and he wouldn’t have otherwise. “Would you mind if I come with you guys?” he asked nervously.

“Billy you're welcome to join us, and I think it would also be the best decision for you and y/n’s emotional and mental well beginnings.” Joyce smiled warmly at the young man that was going to fight to stay with her daughter. She couldn’t ask for better for her daughter. “You can stay with us as well. Till you find a job and get a place of your own.”

BIlly let out a shocked but relieved breath. Looking Joyce in the eye’s. He was grateful to her. “Thank you, Joyce.”

Joyce waved him off. “You're welcome, and thank you Billy. For the joy and happiness you bring my daughter.”

With the conversation done Billy headed back to Y/n’s room with their drinks.

“Took ya awhile. Thank you.” Y/n smiled, thanking and teasing him. She grabbed her coke, taking a sip all the while Billy walked around the bed to sit across from Y/n on it.

“No problem.” Billy wanted to tell her to badly to wait any longer. “I do have some news.”

“What's up?” Y/n sat up fully giving him all her attention.

“I talked to your mom just now.” he told her as they faced each other.

“Okay?” Y/n stretched out, raising a brow. ‘He talked to my mom?’ she thought, ‘what about?’

“I can’t wait to show you all my favorite places.” he smiled at her. Billy wanted her to figure it out, he watched her look confused for a few seconds before her face lit up and billy let out a laugh knowing she got it.

“You’re coming to Cali?!” Y/n exclaimed with a huge smile across her lips.

“Yeah I’m coming.” Billy nodded with a matching smile.

Y/n leaped across her bed and hugged him, the force knocking them both back so y/n layed on top of him. “Yes! Thank you.”

“No, Y/n. Thank you.” Billy spoke softly, brushing her hair back with one hand and the other wrapped around her waist tightly so Y/n could go anywhere. They were never going to be separated again. Not if he could help it. She saw him for who he was under the asshole he betrayed, she made him a better man.

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[lisbeth-kk]

Sherlock fandom.

Unbearable Itching

“Get a grip. You’re a grown man, for goodness’ sake!” he berates himself.

But old habits die hard. Even as a little boy, he hated coarse fabric against his bare skin. He turned his t-shirts inside-out when his mother refused to remove the labels. The more worn and softened they were, the more he relaxed. He couldn’t stand it when he started to outgrow them, and constantly needed new ones. It took weeks before they transformed into how he needed them to be.

Not for the first time, Sherlock wonders why it’s only his torso that reacts to stiff and itchy fabrics. He never needed to wear his pants inside-out, despite the label in the back. 

Freak!

The word that has haunted him his entire life, appears, unwelcome even now.

***

When Baker Street blew up, all his clothes were ruined. Sherlock hadn’t given it much thought until he realised, he couldn’t wear the same clothes for weeks without changing them for new and itchy ones. His rant, directed at Mycroft, unfair as it was, didn’t make him feel any better. 

Mycroft knew his secret, and to his credit has bought the softest t-shirts available, and removed every label, but still Sherlock is in agony.

John has never noticed this, but now, as they rebuild 221B together, Sherlock registers that John has changed. He’s far more perceptible than before. It must have something to do with becoming a father, Sherlock thinks. 

“What’s wrong?” John asks when Sherlock throws a paint-tainted rug across the sitting room.

“Nothing,” Sherlock mumbles and scratches his nails over his chest.

His t-shirt gets pulled out of his trousers when Sherlock lifts his arm to reach the itch just above his shoulder blades. A gasp from John, stills Sherlock’s movements.

Shit, shit, shit!

John is not meant to see this. What will he think when – 

“Sherlock,” John says carefully. “Where does this rash come from, and why haven’t you got a prescription for a cream or ointment?”

When Sherlock waves it away without answering, John places his paintbrush on the tray, and approaches Sherlock.

“Let me have – “

“Not necessary,” Sherlock interrupts him.

“Look here, smartarse. I’m the doctor here, so let me be the judge, yeah.”

Before Sherlock can move away, John is there, lifting the t-shirt higher, exposing the alabaster skin, stained with pink blotches. Sherlock desperately wants, needs, to get moving, but now John’s fingers are stroking, soothing the itching, and God, it feels good. A strangled sound escapes him, and he feels his face blushing.

“John, please,” he whispers, uncertain of what he pleads for exactly.

“Shh,” John soothes, and continues to stroke his torso. “New clothes, yes?”

Sherlock hums in agreement, to his embarrassment leaning into John’s touch. He wants to hide, but John won’t let him.

“Take it off. You can have mine,” John says.

He withdraws and pulls his own, worn, soft t-shirt off, standing bare-chested in front of Sherlock. It takes all his willpower not to reach out to touch the golden skin of his best friend, the man he loves more than anything, the man he’s died for, and will die for again if it means that John Watson lives.

John’s t-shirt is far too small for Sherlock’s taller frame, but it’s soft, and more importantly; it smells of John. Sherlock inhales and strokes down the fabric with trembling hands.

“Better?” John asks fondly.

Sherlock looks at him and starts to chuckle. John looks like a schoolboy wearing his father’s clothes. Despite the tight fit of the tee, it’s far too long for John’s torso, but it clings beautifully to his broad chest and shoulders, Sherlock thinks.

John glares at him in mock annoyance, and Sherlock can’t help himself. He dips his index finger in the white paint, smearing a stripe on John’s cheek. John’s eyes widen in surprise, before he narrows them into slits, and attacks.

The air leaves Sherlock’s lungs when he hits the floor, though his head is carefully cupped by John’s hand.

“Git,” John growls, letting his left hand tickle Sherlock relentlessly until Sherlock begs for mercy.

“John, stop! I can’t stand it anymore. Plea – “

The last word is effectively stopped when John’s lips connect with Sherlock’s. As the kiss deepens, Sherlock feels like floating in the ocean, no more itching. In its wake only waves of pleasure and softness remain. And John. Always John.

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

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[dixonsdarkelf]

She’s Got Your Eyes: Murphy MacManus & Fem!Reader

AO3 link

I thought Tumblr needed some Dad!Murphy, so for my first Murphy fic, I took it upon myself to make it happen! Constructive criticism is appreciate and okay, but please be gentle or I’ll cry. I hope y’all love my take on brand-new dad!Murphy 🖤

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 629

Warnings: Pregnancy stuff, mentions of breastfeeding, reader has a uterus and just gave birth, barely proofread (not the norm for me lol)

GIF by me, dividers by @anitalenia

The moment you and Murphy first laid eyes on each other on that faithful December eve at McGinty’s, it was love at first sight. There was an unspoken connection between you two, and that one encounter morphed from texting to phone calls to dates and more.

That night felt like a lifetime ago. Now, hundreds of kisses, many late nights, and one wedding-of-the-century later, you were in the delivery room, having just welcomed your first child—a beautiful, healthy baby girl—into the world. Together, you chose the name Myrna Isabella Murphy, Myrna meaning “affection or endearment” and Isabella meaning “pledged to God.”

Both of your families had already come by to say hi, each one seemingly more excited than the last. Conner was a mess, doing his best to keep it together for the sake of you two. However, he was so enamored by his new niece, with her big eyes staring up at him, he nearly broke down while holding her. But no one could compete with the amount of tears shed by you & your husband.

Now, it was just the three of you, basking in the afterglow of a long and intense labor. Murphy was in the arm chair, cradling your daughter to give you some space after feeding.

“Hi sweetheart,” he cooed as he adjusted the blanket around her. The words sounded even sweeter with that accent dripping off of them.

You couldn’t help but smile at him, the man you’d fallen in love with all those years ago, and the soft noises emanating from the little baby in his arms. Despite all the pain you’d just gone through, everything about this moment was perfect, and it was like you were falling in love all over again.

“She’s got your eyes,” he commented, breaking his gaze from Myrna for just a moment to meet yours, “got that same sparkle yours has.”

“She’s got your nose,” you mused, your infectious giggle lacing every word. The warmth spreading through your chest as you watched him with your daughter was unlike anything you’d felt before. “We did good.”

He cocked an eyebrow as he stood, rocking Myrna in his arms as he held her to his chest. “We? You did all the work, lass.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you.” Your voice was soft, silky, a ‘thank you’ all on its own without even having to utter the words.

“Quite literally,” he chuckled, a playful smirk appearing on his face.

“You’re funny,” you remarked as he gently said on the edge of the bed by you, “I meant the day-to-day stuff, doting on me for the last nine months. Not to mention all the doctor’s appointments.”

“It’s nothin’, you know that.” He propped Myrna up with his hand, taking one of yours in the other. “Would’ve done anythin’ you asked.”

“I know.” You gave him hand a gentle squeeze, which he returned. The smiles on your faces was enough to light the entire city of Boston. “Thank you, baby. For everything.”

“Thank you, Y/N,” he replied, nodding toward the little one, “for her.”

You were sure you’d run out of tears before that, but your body and mind had other plans. They began streaming down your face again, catching in your hair, your mouth, your gown. But you didn’t mind one bit. “I love you, Murph.”

He wiped a stream of tears from your cheek, cradling Myrna tight against him before leaning over to kiss your forehead. It was tender, sweet, and full of adoration, just like it always was. But there was more this time. There was all of those feelings for you, but also for his daughter. And a gratitude to you for giving him the best gift he could ever receive. “Love you more, lass.”

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[mediumgayitalian]

“Man overboard!”

Annabeth does, in fact, understand that such a cry warrants hastiness. Hurry, even.

“Man overboard! Man overboard!”

Most men, after all, cannot swim, and if the whispers are to be believed then this particular man is not even conscious to try. He is no doubt in peril, and the Fates have a stronger hold on his thread with every passing moment.

“Make way! Man overboard!”

If she is jostled one more time, however.

“Man overboard! Lower the ladder, man overboard!”

Should even one more crew yank her back away from the walls of the ship, patting her on the arm as they shove her ‘somewhere more befitting for such a finely dressed lady’.

“Hook it around him, for the gods’ sake, man overboard!”

There are going to be several more men joining him.

“Clear a path! Clear a path!”

She makes it, finally, to the rail unimpeded enough to lean over and see the man who, she has heard, has fallen overboard. He clings like dark-haired Danaë on the waterlogged hope of a wine barrel, bare back burned from the sun, nose nearly dragging along the friendly swirling waves. His dignity is covered, barely, by a torn, bloodstained cloth, and his tanned skin is crisscrossed with raised white scars.

He is handsome.

She stumbles back from the hull, face burning. And absurd thought to have. She seeks out deliberately a close-cropped head of blond hair, smiling tersely when Captain Grace meets her eyes, offering her a nod.

“Straight line,” she murmurs to herself, pulling back her shoulders.

She gives the men plenty of distance as they haul the downed sailor up from the depths. It irks her, really, to be following their orders, but to help or to offer it would mean more of the jostling, the pushing. More grimey hands irreparably staining the fine silk of the new dress Mother had sent her with.

It takes the crew an embarrassingly long time to haul the man up, even though Annabeth can see, as one of the bulkier men wraps a limp arm around his shoulders, that he is slight. He has the shoulders of a swimmer and the leanness of a scavenger, but his frame is small. In fact she is almost sure that upright, they would stand shoulder to shoulder. Perhaps an inch on his part, nothing more.

She realises, with a start, that the crew is staring at her, and forces her second blush of the day back from whence it came. She meets the expectant states with a tilted chin and hard eyes, drawing her skirts and clicking her heels against the groaning deck.

“What,” she snaps.

“He’s unconscious, my lady.”

“So? Place him out of the sun, have someone monitor him.”

The crewman supporting the unconscious man — truly, Annabeth needs to learn these men’s names; it would be easier if any of them spoke to her at any time other than to ask if the sun was making her feel faint — shifts from foot to foot.

Well.

Foot to peg.

“Yes,” he says eventually. He makes some sort of vague gesture with his hand, stepping forward. “Er — our thoughts exactly, my lady.”

Still, no one moves. The unconscious man’s head lolls, pitching his whole weight forward. Another sailor lunges forward to catch him, readjusting him so he’s steady.

Still, no one moves.

Annabeth shifts to face her betrothed. He winces under her sharp look, hand coming up to run the back of his neck.

“He may fare best under your care,” Captain Grace says hesitantly. “The bunks are unfit for someone in his condition. And my men can be…rough.”

“Choose your words carefully, Jason,” she warns.

Grimacing, Captain Grace plows on. “I mean no offense, my lady. We have no other women on the ship. Your cabin is cool and sheltered and I know you enjoy those weaving projects in idle time. He will not require much more than an eye to ensure he does not pass in his sleep. I can think of no one more capable to watch over him.”

The doctor, for starters, Annabeth thinks. Drunk as he is, the sickly rescue should be his charge; nursing him should be his task.

The crew doesn’t even glance at him, though. He stands happily to the side, red-faced and cross-eyed, bottle dribbling from his trouser pockets, and Annabeth fights the urge to bare her teeth.

“Whatever you believe is best, Captain,” she grits out. She glares at the crew, pausing on each man until he squirms under her gaze. “Do not leave him to soak my sheets.”

They leave him, instead, sprawled on the wooden floorboards.

Annabeth scowls.

A four week journey, her mother had told her. Barely a month at sea, with plenty of stops on the islands dotting the paths and a stack of journals for her research. Captain Grace’s vessel is exceptionally well-stocked and custom built by the brightest of his father’s engineers; so smoothly is it claimed to flow through the water that all aboard her will scarcely feel even the roughest rock of the waves.

A sharp veer to the side has Annabeth stumbling, nearly crushing herself under the man’s dead weight.

“Smooth,” she grumbles to herself, huffing as she drags him back upright. His skin is alarmingly cool from the bite of the water, and still slick. It takes her four tries to force his arm back over her shoulder, slippery as it is. “Top model, they say. Well, what a purse of lies that is. I could design a better ship in my —” she huffs, yanking him the last few feet towards her bed — “sleep.”

She could be more gentle with him, she supposes. If his head or spine is injured then her rough handling will doom him. But, well, penny, pound, et cetera. If he has a head injury and the waves haven’t killed him, her light tossing won’t, either.

Probably.

She deposits him on top of her quilt and then stands at the foot of her bed, hands on her hips, toes tapping. She tilts her head slightly to the right. Narrowing her eyes, she tilts it to the right. She wrinkles her nose and squints her eyes.

She can’t be faulted for her earlier thoughts, she decides.

He has a strange kind of charm to him. The same magnetism present in the performers of her mother’s court; men and women who gather in bright clothing and perform tricks and tease the audience, riding the thin line between furious huffing and uproarious laughter. Troublemakers, with enough skill to balance the line. Thin, twitching fingers and smile lines in the corner of his eyes, thick but maintained brows and dramatically bowed lips.

With a sound so great it rivals the billowing coal engines down billow, the man snores, trail of saliva trickling down his chin.

How revolting. Annabeth finds her lips twitching upwards and resets them deliberately into a graceful line.

Yes, he is the alluring kind. She wouldn’t be surprised if he turns out to be some kind of thief, or a cast-out stowaway. A wisecracker who pushed the envelope an inch too far.

She stalks over to the windowed wall of her tiny cabin, wrestling it open. The immediate relief of the sea breeze has her gasping, resisting the urge to stick her head out and bask in the cool air. That would be undignified, even if her room as become unbearably stifling with the presence of another person in it.

Gods, she is lonely.

She had hoped at least to have one of her ladies accompanying her. It would have been a little more bearable, the company, cramped as her cabin would be. On this ship now she is bored nearly to tears from sunup to sundown every day, barred from even the most menial of tasks that could upset her delicate womanliness and bereft of even a child to argue with. The crew tiptoes around her like she may crack to fine shards should they so much as offer her more than a fine morning, my lady, or the sun suits you quite beautifully, did you know, and Captain Grace loves nothing more than extended silences. In all honesty she only gets to talk to the ship’s mechanic, who, vulgar as he is, at least talks to her as he would anyone else on the ship. Sure, she can only stand so much of him at a time, and he’s been banned from breathing in her direction since the very first day of their expedition, but if she happens to be in the ship’s engine room as the same time as he is, then it would simply be impolite to ignore her.

Not that Valdez cares much for rules. Or her preferences.

Desperate times, et cetera, et cetera.

Knowing the deck will be too crowded for her to slip down below unnoticed, she settles down onto the old, rickety corner-desk with a sigh, cracking open her journal. Except for a string of blotty doodles along the edges, the paper is devoid of anything, as barren and numb as her mind feels. She understands, dramatic as it is, why so many sailors return from their voyages mad; why pirates and navies alike sail with crews. Even a day on the empty, open ocean without someone to talk to is maddening. She feels as if words flee from her vocabulary with every minute she doesn’t use them. What is there to do, on this stupid boat, besides sleep and eat and mope? She wishes she was allowed to steer the vessel, or watch from the nest. Not stimulating jobs, true, but jobs, at least. She has not sunk so low as to long for a deck-scrubber, but she is dangerously close. She can feel it. Another week at sea without much more than a loom and a needle and her mind will leap into the waves, she’s sure, abandoning her to the dull tedium of the stagnant clouds. The knowledge that she has three weeks left until they reach Lord Dyeus’ kingdom could make her break down into weeping, should she dwell on it long enough. By the time she returns to civilization she may no longer be suited for it.

A rustle sounds behind her, followed by a cut-off snort.

“…Somehow, I don’t think I’m at sea anymore.”

Annabeth yelps, nearly falling right off her chair. She scrambles upright, or tries to, but her stupid petticoats get caught up around her ankles and nearly send her toppling again, this time with even less of her dignity. It is only with sheer force of will that she manages to force her spine straight and upright in perfect time to meet the most gorgeous, sea green eyes she has ever seen.

“You drool when you sleep,” she informs him, darkly satisfied when the amused twinkle fades from his eyes in favour of a flat glare, hand coming up to swipe at his chin.

“I don’t suppose you could tell me where I am,” he mutters as the minutes stretch on.

Annabeth snaps her gaze back up to his face, wishing desperately her cabin had a second window.

“Captain Grace’s ship.” She swallows stiffly, collarbone suddenly itchy. “On route to the Kingdom of Lightning.”

The man’s face pales, long, calloused fingers twitching into fists.

“The ship carrying Princess Annabeth?”

Her mouth dries even further. “…Yes.”

“Someone needs to summon her, quickly. I have news. I — I come from Pirate Jackson’s ship — they threw me off board to drown.”

She knows, immediately, why he tells her this. Why his eyes go round with desperation, why his hands twist, why he has developed a sudden, scrutinizing interest in the view of the sea from outside her window, throat bobbing with every heavy suggestion.

But all hypotheses must be tested.

“Why?”

He meets her gaze, green eyes an exact mirror of the roiling sea around them; layered, stormy, and deeper than the darkest of trenches, wider than the night sky.

“Because they want to know her location. And I refused to give it up.”

———

next

[mewnewew]

Sir Crocodile x wife!Reader

Yes I know, where the hell were you, yadda yadda. What can I say? Drama, tea and a better understanding on life. Anywho, cooked this up when I wasn't feeling so great. Have fun w this.

TW: MENTIONS OF KIDNAPPING, SCARS AND POSSIBLE SEXUAL ASSAULT

God, it's so infuriating and pathetic of him. He hates this, understand? Hates this.

If it were up to him, he'd destroy the whole thing, down to molecules just for the sake of what they've done.

But he can't. He needs to find his wife. His little perfect wife. The one who'd yell even when she wasn't angry or sad or happy, just generally. His wife whose laughter always changed, from outrageously loud to soft snorts, always at wrong times, who was his opposite in the most classical way. Hell, most people didn't understand how they got along, and sometimes even he didn't know it as well. She'd readily challenge his decisions and debate with him over the most inane topics, from jam to how he didn't like ketchup. His wife.

He hates that she was caught. He hates that she was taken away from him. She wasn't even in a dangerous place. She just was.

He sits down at the chair and table offered holding his auction pad tightly. He takes an inhale of the cigar, sighing. He needs to calm down.

2 hours of auctioning later, he saw her be dragged up on stage. Dressed in some lingerie, looking drowsy and blinking slowly. She'd been definitely drugged. Oh he's gonna kill them. Her hair was longer than he'd ever seen it, now reaching her ass. He instantly put his paddle up.

Half an hour later, he'd just bought his wife back. For 2 billion beri. The minute he saw her in front of him, she blinked slowly, tilting her head to the left, curious. He picked her up and she gazed at him quietly, then smiled.

"You look at me with so much care. Do you know me or something?" She said in a voice smooth like honey.

"We're married. Don't you remember?" He said, walking to his ship.

"Oh...." She murmured. She seemed lost in thought.

When they reached his cabin, he placed her on their bed, then looked at her.

"You don't remember me, do you?"

(Later on, Daz would bring a doctor who would inform Crocodile that it was either blunt force trauma to the head, or the trauma of whatever happened to her which caused this. He showed some of the bruises on her scalp to Crocodile as he explained it. And even more later on, Crocodile would slowly disintegrate the men's careers and then finally them relishing in their screams of terror)

She shook her head. You love me. He wanted to shout, you love me so much you would stay up every night just to make sure I'm home. You would give me a space to be comfortable, to let down my guard, to heal. Why can't you remember? Why can't you come back to me so that I can heal you?

But Sir Crocodile didn't do that. What he did do, was pick her up again and take her to the bathroom.

An hour later, she was curled up, clean and without makeup, in a robe beside him, eyes curious and quiet but face calm.

Ah, she was starting to be curious. Good.

A few years later, a whole 3 years where he'd spent talking to her, reminding her of things, feeling his heart race as he saw some semblance of her former self come back, he came into the bedroom after a unfortunately long meeting to find her scrambling to meet him.

He blinked in surprise as he automatically placed the base of his hook under her thighs, holding her up and to him as she beamed at him, hands now cupping his face. Could she? Was she-

"Crocodile, I remember"

He could feel his breath catch. His eyes growing wider, his ringed hand cupping the back of her head, fingers tangled in her fluffy hair.

"You do? You really-?" His voice cracking, but God could he feel hope rising in his chest, enveloping his chest.

"I do!"

Sir Crocodile just held her tight, turning his head to kiss her ear. His voice shakier than it was in a long time, a slight, shaky and joyous smile blooming on his face.

"I never lost hope, my love"

[eyelambspider]

Spider. Eye. Lamb. || COD/Outlast Au

⤷ summary : you and him. together you'll be the ones to make it out of the trials... (drabbles/hcs)

┊pairing : könig, gaz, price x gn!reader ┊content warning : mentions of gore/death/blood, horror, pining(?) finding comfort in each other ┊a/n : ffffffuck! i love the outlast trials! (forgive me i like scary games) also: for god sakes, i'm doing chapters/scenarios for this

▹ König

Its nearly impossible for König to hide while in the Trials. He can't fit into the lockers quickly (or the barrels), so he opts to linger in the darker rooms with the burnt out bulbs.

so. he's usually wearing his night vision goggles or his eyes are adjusting to the dark. leading him to be more anxious and feeling exposed in brightly lit places.

Because of his size, König can break through the wooden boards blocking doorways with one kick if he needs to run.

Other reagents (people) in the sleep-room are afraid of him and tend to stay away. He looks too similar to the Prime Assets in the trials, with the cut up pillowcase over his head... and his height.

it doesn't help his mental health, not talking to much people in the sleep room... but the doctors seem to like him. If not only for his physical build.

sometimes, König comes to the metal door of your room and stands there, unsure how to really ask but- he likes laying with you on your bed. the two of you laying there in each others arms for nothing more than the comfort of being with another person who... knows how scary it is.

König likes to protect you in the Trials, intervening just as the grunts try to bring down their weapons on your prone form by shoving them off violently.

▹ Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Gaz is the quietest and is hardly seen by those who roam the halls and rubble-filled streets of the trials.

he always has a lockpick on him, and often uses it to open up medical supplies for himself. always proving to be especially resourceful.

Uses bottles to throw and distract the enemies when he works.

Gaz is one of the braver subjects to be put into the trials, always taking risks and evading the prime assets and enemies by a hair.

Gaz's biggest fear in the trials is that he is too good at it. Trials become easier and easier, but it messes with his head to think that instead of getting this horror show over with as fast as possible-he's actually doing exactly what the doctors want him to do.

Is it just survival... or is Murkoff's twisted form of 'treatment' actually working?

Gaz likes talking to you.

Well, having your company. He doesn't open up about what he thinks and fears. Just sort of... sits with you and chats in the cafeteria during meal times.

And on the shuttles (from the sleep room to the Trials) Gaz likes to sit across from you, even with the TV in front of his face, and the bars on the side of his head (forcing him to watch)... he likes knowing you're right there. Likes reminding you to be angry instead of scared, "Fuck the doctors-remember that-fuck the doctors!"

You actually might be the reason he's still resisting the treatment. He tries to protect you from feeling as... as desperately terrified of becoming what the doctors want.

▹ John Price

Price hates to get paired with you in the Trials. Solely because he'd hate to see you hurt but... "its good to see a friendly face"

Price would do well in his trials, ranking a grade average 'B'.

It would be better, but he despises being apart of these sick games and 'messes up' on purpose.

(When you're afraid in the Trials) Price grabs your shoulders and forces you to look at him, keeping you grounded and giving you something to focus on other than the threat of dying. "Just get the key, alright? Its got a little black star on it. You get it and bring it back here... and we'll both get out of here. Won't let anything bad happen to ya," he assures.

In the sleep-room, Price always tells you to come and play a game of chess with him. "No buts." He knows it will distract the both of you for a while, and if you don't know how to play, he's got all the time to teach you.

(When you don't make it back to the exit) Price always waits for you, has to watch you enter the transport himself to make sure you're okay. And when you don't, he gets antsy, glancing at the red timer above the door that says you have only three minutes... "Fuck," he decides, turning his back on the exit and beginning to run back into the Trial to find you.

he likes taking care of you, gives him something else-something more important-to focus on outside of the trials.

if anyone was getting out of the trials, he'd hoped it'd be you

[di-writes-stuff]

The Very First Night

Derek Shepherd x fem!Reader

One Shot

TW: Literally nothing. I’m taking a quick break from Evermore because I am so in love with this man I need to write some fluffy shit for him. No use of Y/N

A/N: This is based around the whole prom episode. I needed some self indulgent fluffiness. Also yes I’m ignoring both Meredith and Addisons existence in relation to Derek. Fight me.

When the chief announced that Seattle Grace Hospital would be holding a prom, you would have thought he was kidding if he didn’t look so deadly serious.

You made a point not to look at a certain man when he announced it.

Derek Shepherd has made it his ultimate goal to get you on a date with him.

Under any other circumstance, you would have said yes in a heartbeat. Hell, you would have been praying for him to ask the second you met him.

He’s smart, he’s funny, he’s a neurosurgeon for God’s sake, not to mention that he’s absolutely gorgeous.

Derek Shepherd is perfect.

He’s also your boss.

The one and only reason you aren’t leaping at the prospect of a date with him.

The label of “slutty intern sleeping with her boss to get ahead” isn’t an appealing one.

But still, the man is very convincing.

You’re doing charts when he sidles up to you, that smile you always stare at a little too long plastered on his face.

He leans against the counter your working on, watching you while you work.

And desperately try to stay professional when you look at him.

“Do you need something, Dr. Shepherd?” You use his title pointedly, a reminder of the barrier between the two of you.

He couldn’t care less.

“Just some information.” He speaks casually, shrugging as he begins to walk, and you follow him without a second thought.

He’s whittling you down, and you both know it.

“About…?” You try to force a smile off your face, but it’s no use. He’s infectious. His flirting. His smile.

Him.

You’re not somebody who fails. You’re an incredible doctor, you’re going to be an incredible surgeon. You were always considered an academic weapon, acing almost every class you’ve taken.

You don’t fail.

But when it comes to resisting Derek?

You think you’re about to.

“You got any plans for prom?” He speaks smoothly, comfortably, like he’s not a grown man asking a grown woman to the prom.

Like he’s not praying you’ll say yes.

You laugh, looking down at the ground instead of his eyes.

His beautiful eyes.

“I guess I’m coming, but no, I don’t have plans.” You place a special emphasis on plans. You both know what plans means.

A date.

Derek smiles, brushing your side gently, getting you to look back up at him, your gaze softening when you see him.

“Great, I’ll pick you up at nine.” He grins at you, looking very pleased with himself.

You go to speak, and you plan on saying no before you do. Explaining for what feels like the millionth time that nothing can happen between the two of you.

And hating every second of it.

But instead, it’s like your brain does you a favor, and speaks before you can decide what to say.

“Okay.” Your voice is a little breathy, and obviously nervous.

Shock passes over his eyes for a second before the smile on his face grows wider, reaching his eyes and making them sparkle.

Really, how the hell were you supposed to say no to that?

Your hands brush for a moment, his fingers sweeping past yours, sending your heart rate up.

He says something before walking away, but you aren’t really paying attention, more panicking at what you just got yourself into.

You’re going to prom with Derek Shepherd.

You never planned on taking this very seriously. You were just gonna throw on your dress from senior year, slip into some heels, and head back to the hospital.

But now?

Needless to say, you’ll be spending more time getting ready.

……………………………………………………………………………………

Two hours.

You left work early, and spent two damn hours getting ready for the prom.

All because of Derek Shepherd.

He’s the bane of your existence.

You can’t think around him.

You can’t think about much besides him.

When you’re with him, your happier than you’ve ever been.

Everything about him just makes you adore him more. His personality, his talent, his skills, his smile, his laugh, everything.

He might just be the love of your life.

You brush out the carefully placed curls in your hair, watching as they fall over your shoulders in waves. Your old prom dress still fits you, thank God.

The satin fabric hugs your waist, thin straps showing off your collarbone and shoulders.

A slit runs up from the bottom of the flowing skirt of the dress, stopping around the middle of your thigh.

Even you have to admit you look good.

You slip on your heels when you hear a knock at the door, and you swear you feel your heart stop.

You look at the clock by your bed.

9:00 exactly.

He really might be perfect.

Meredith peeks her head into your room, you’re living with her for the time being.

She smiles when she sees you despite how uncomfortable you look.

You haven’t been on a date in months, and you don’t think you’ve been this gussied up in years.

“You look great. I’m sure Derek’s gonna agree.” She teases you, all your friends have known you have a thing for Derek since you started your internship at Seattle Grace.

And now that you finally caved and said yes to a date with him?

You’re gonna be hearing a lot of shit about it tomorrow.

You can’t help but feel like this’ll be worth it.

“Thank you, and shut up.” Meredith laughs at your attitude, heading downstairs to her boyfriend, Finn.

You follow behind her, exhaling nervously before opening the front door to find Derek standing in front of you.

Derek, decked out in a suit and tie.

His hair is perfect, as usual.

And in his hands, a bouquet.

A bouquet of your favorite flowers.

You mentioned it once. A simple, offhand comment. You can’t even remember how it came up. But he did.

He remembered. He cared.

He’s making it really hard for you not to fall in love with him.

For a second you recognized an expression on his face you’re not sure you’ve seen before. He looked nervous. That was before his classic McDreamy smile appeared on his face when he saw you.

“Did I get it right?” He asked, handing you the flowers.

You’re blushing like a schoolgirl, honestly a bit giddy. Here you are, getting flowers, being taken to prom by the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

You nod, taking them and stepping inside to let Derek in.

“Yeah, yeah you got it right.” You speak quieter than you usually would as you quickly place the flowers in the vase, smiling widely when you feel his eyes glued to your every move.

You turn around to find Derek watching you, a sweet smile on his face, a look in his eyes that means more than just simple attraction.

He admires you carefully, not as a painting, a still, lifeless thing meant for him to enjoy, to examine, to scrutinize.

No.

He admires you like a worshipper in church.

He adores you, and the look in his eyes might as well be a sign around his neck that reads ‘I’m in love with you.’

“You’re beautiful.” His voice is breathy when he speaks, and the words cause a vivid blush to rise on your face.

You utter your thanks shyly, stepping towards him and taking his hand when he offers it. He regains his composure quickly, slipping back into the flirty pattern you two follow.

Still, the basis of it, the reason why all of this is happening.

It’s not flirtation. Not attraction. Not even because you like each other.

It’s more than that.

It’s love.

He leads you to his car, you’ve been in it a couple times before, on the way to dinners you swore weren’t dates, nights spent with one another when you were still adamant on refusing to develop feelings for your boss.

Or, adamant on pretending not to, at least.

The car ride isn’t terribly long, but somewhere in the middle of it, your hand is on the middle console when Derek’s comes down from the wheel, landing on top of yours.

You don’t move, and he takes the opportunity to interlace your fingers, earning a smile from you that makes him wish he could freeze time and stay in this moment forever.

“Thank you, for asking me.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, and you look over at him. His eyes stay glued to the road, but you watch as the corners of his mouth lift to a smile.

“Thank you for saying yes.” He quips back, looking over to you when you stop at a red light.

You laugh for a moment before responding. “It was about damn time.”

The moonlight glistens off his face as he laughs, every detail about him making you fall for him more.

He’s mesmerizing, and you can’t bring yourself to take your gaze off of him.

You’ve got it bad.

“Yeah, it was.” Theres still laughter lingering in his voice when he speaks, and you think you could melt right then and there at the sound of it.

It’s not long after that when you arrive at the hospital. You go to open your door before Derek does so for you, going to the effort of helping you out.

“What a gentlemen.” You say teasingly, letting your hand stay clasped in his as you walk into the hospital.

“I’ve been trying to land a date with you for months, I’m not gonna screw it up now.” He smiles down at you when he speaks, scanning your face. Pieces of hair fall to frame it, and he brings his free hand up to brush them away quickly, knowing the affect it has on you when you blush and look away quickly.

You’re honestly a bit shocked when you see how put together the whole event it, decorations are everywhere, and the lobby has been turned into a dance floor.

You already see a few people you know, the ones that came here with dates are already dancing, and the ones that are alone?

Well, they’re drinking the night away.

You don’t realize where Derek is taking you, too busy looking around, until his arm slips around your waist, and his other hand is holding yours as you’re pressed flush to his chest.

Derek Shepherd just asked you to dance, without saying a word.

“May I?” He’s good at this, and he knows it.

For a brief, insecure moment, you wonder why. You wonder if the reason this is so natural for him is because you’re not the only woman he does it for.

If you’re just a phase.

A tough one to crack.

You worry that he doesn’t feel the same way as you do.

But then, you look him in the eyes, and the softest, the gentle, loving, adoration in his gaze.

Your worries vanish like fog burning away on a summer morning.

“I’m not very good at this.” You warn, smiling sheepishly up at him as he begins to sway you, a grin on his lips.

You’re closer than you’ve ever been. Your free arm is thrown around his neck lazily, and you could melt into his embrace.

He leans down, whispering in your ear, his minty breath fanning over your neck. “I don’t mind.”

You smile when you hear him, laughing sweetly when he continues to dance with you. There’s a few people watching. You and Derek have become a topic of conversation around the hospital ever since he started pursuing you so strongly.

So, pretty much since your first day.

Neither of you seem to mind, to engrossed in each other to care. He hasn’t stopped looking at you this whole night. You’re always stunning, he usually can’t keep his eyes off you when you’re just in your scrubs.

But tonight?

You look like an angel came down to earth.

Derek lifts your arm above your head quickly and spins you, smiling brightly when the sound of your bubbly laughter reaches his ears.

It’s the best thing he’s ever heard.

When he pulls you back in your pressed close to him, touching his chest with yours, staring up into his cerulean eyes. Your breathe mingles as he looks down to you, his gaze flickering to your lips as he does.

Everything else feels like it just disappears. The only thing that matters, the only thing in your world, is the man standing in front of you.

You curse yourself for waiting so long. For always being so damn good. For not letting yourself have this sooner.

Have him sooner.

Every single time he asked you out, you wanted to say yes. But you didn’t, you were too focused on everything you shouldn’t have been.

Colleagues.

Expectations.

Assumptions.

Everything but him.

And now?

You’re done.

So when he leans forward, when his lips brush yours. You close your eyes and let him kiss you, and it makes your knees weak. It rips the air out of your lungs.

It flips your world upside down.

You could have repeated this moment forever and been happy.

You move against him, kissing back, running your hands through his hair. His hands slip further down your waist, coming to rest on the small of your back.

Your forced to pull away as you begin to run out of air, gasping a bit as you do. You press your forehead to Derek’s, smiling widely.

He pulls you in closer, and you bring your head to rest in the crook of his neck, and he sways you back and forth, abandoning any efforts of actually trying to dance.

“You got me.” You whisper, and you feel laughter rumbling in his chest when he hears you.

After all this time, all of the asking, all the flirting, everything.

You let go.

Let go of your worries.

And grabbed on to him.

And you are never, ever, letting go.

A/N: Soooo this is short and kinda cheesy ngl, but I hope y’all liked it.

edit: guys stop glazing we all know this doesn’t deserve over 600 likes

- di <3

[ledesaid]

Nothing is said ▼►☼ #2

"He will stay with me."

Clear and firm, Batman's words honor his name.

You might want to take a closer look. The rest of the League wants to do the same. Definitely, the bundle wrapped in his arms was something important and worrisome. No wonder people were careful with the Bat.

"You already have many kids with you; I can take care of him, at home..."

"Your apartment doesn't have the capacity for another infant, and you can't send him to your parents." The argument was enough for Clark to rub his neck.

"As my brother, he must come with me..."

"Wonder Woman, males are not allowed on your island, and your study in Greece is not suitable to contain a magical child. He would be in danger if you're not nearby."

Diana wanted to object, but Batman had a point. She didn't have the extensive support network she had seen in Batman, or even in Superman...

"Which leaves me..." Unexpectedly, John Constantine stepped forward, causing Batman to make a clear grimace.

Certainly, out of all the League members, only three could claim custody and had more objective reasons than Batman.

"I'll help you prepare your home. I'd like to help Cap for old times' sake, but I'm a walking bomb..."

Constantine placed his arm on his shoulder in a supportive gesture. Indeed, Batman had prepared good arguments regarding his sold soul or his fresh conflicts with pagan gods concerning his firstborn.

"I'll help too, as much as I can. Thank you for taking this step, Batman," Zatanna also stepped forward alongside John.

Batman appreciated this, he wouldn't have been able to object to her certainly... She was a responsible, kind person who loved children; but maintained a personal struggle with Doctor Fate because of her father.

"Thank you, Zatanna, John..."

The League was more surprised by those words than by the fact that Batman had adopted another child in front of them. It was already an open secret, Batman's adoption habit.

"And then," Flash smiled as he tousled the small head, "what's the little one's name?"

"Billy," Superman confirmed without hesitation.

Batman was still annoyed for not having figured out the Captain's civilian identity, but it was good to know that at least someone knew it.

"Great! Welcome to the family, Billy Bat-Son!" Barry's words triggered a wave of laughter among those present.

And although no one knew Billy's surname, capricious fate brought him back to his roots.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4