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bunnis-monsters · 9 months ago

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NSFW

warnings: clown fucking lol

The amusement park on the mountain had once been the most popular attraction in your town. Everyone visited for whatever special occasion they could, spending tons of money on merchandise and tickets.

What made it so appealing to the public? Everyone’s answer was always…

Silly the Clown!

He was taller than any person you’d ever meet, always nicely dressed and wearing close make up. When he walked through the park, everyone would stop what they were doing to line up and watch his act.

Not only was he hilarious, he was also quite handsome, according to the men and women that traveled to see him.

He was shrouded in mystery. No one ever saw him without his makeup on around town or even leave the park. People would wait in hiding, trying to catch a glimpse of Silly’s real appearance.

But one day, the amusement park shut down. Rumors spread quickly through the small town, some saying there were loans gone wrong or even murder.

No one really knew why their beloved amusement park was no more, and Silly was never seen again.

That was… until you showed up.

You had been a huge fan of the amusement park as a kid, but never got to attend until your 18th birthday. Now, all these years later, you were back on your 25th, planning to celebrate by doing some urban exploring and maybe take home a souvenir.

The park wasn’t as run down as you had first expected. Although none of the rides seemed to be in order, they looked to be maintained. None of the grass was overgrown, the walls were free of graffiti, and the ground was clean, no litter or dead leaves.

It was as if the park was simply closed for the day, not abandoned completely.

As you wandered the grounds, you kept turning to see if someone was behind you. You felt eyes on you the entire time, making you think perhaps there were cameras or security guards still on the premises to prevent vandalism and theft.

What you didn’t know was that you were being followed and carefully monitored. Every step you took was being tracked, every little thing you did was observed by the pair of eyes watching you,

Though… for a moment the observer’s gaze moved over your body, lingering on… certain parts. It had been so long since someone had come to visit, and even longer since it had even thought about its… urges.

And you were such a pretty thing.

It was getting dark, meaning you should get back to your car soon… but as the sun went down, you nearly fell over in fright when the amusement park sparked to life.

Lights lit up, rides began to move, and you could smell popcorn and hotdogs being cooked near the food stalls.

“I’ve gotta be hallucinating…”

“You’re not.”

You froze in your tracks, the hair on the back of your end standing up straight. That voice…

“S-Silly?”

He appeared in front of you, a red painted smile spreading across his face. “Silly the clown, that’s me! You’re back!”

It took you nearly an entire minute to process that the man in front of you was really Silly the clown, someone that hadn’t been seen in years!

“W… what do you mean?”

His fingertips traced down your side, stopping at your hip. “I know the face of everyone who’s entered this park. And now you’re back…”

His thumb rubbed against your hip, playing with the fabric of your bottoms. “Why don’t you enjoy the park for a bit? I turned everything on just for you…”

And you did, hesitantly going up to the first ride.

He watched you go, his pants tightening. God, how long had it been since he’d felt the warmth of a woman?

Silly was cursed. He couldn’t leave the park, his very soul was tied to it. It stayed the same as it did the day it was abandoned, and he waited for someone to come back.

Why had people stopped coming? Not even the newspaper was allowed to print what happened.

A kid went missing near the park, and Silly had seen what happened. Someone impersonated him, luring the child away. He couldn’t do a single thing, not able to break character and leave to save the child.

It made Silly depressed, and he stopped allowing people to visit. Silly and the park were one being, if he was depressed, it would deteriorate.

But when he saw your car pull up, the rusted gates and old buildings became brand new, almost as if the park was perking up to impress you.

After going on several rides without waiting in lines and feasting on corn dogs, funnel cake, and lemonade, you let out a happy sigh.

“Having fun?”

You jumped slightly, relaxing when Silly came into view.

“Yeah… it’s been a long time since I’ve been to an amusement park. It’s been nice.”

He watched you, his eyes focusing on your soft tummy and fat tits. Never before had he taken such interest in a female.

He didn’t know much about what he was or how he came into existence, much less the nature of his urges, but he did know that he had needs…

And you did too.

Silly was attractive in a strange way. It was hard to describe his features, but something about him made you… horny. Maybe it was how tall he was, maybe it was the way he talked…

Before you knew it, you were being led away by the hand. You didn’t complain or try to escape his grip, in fact you were both curious and aroused. Where was he leading you?

Was it bad that being all alone with that clown in an abandoned park, having no idea where he was taking you made you horny?

Silly was struggling to keep himself together.

You were pulled into a tent, something slippery and slimy slipping between your legs as you were bent over. All you had to hold on to was a tent pole as silly grabbed your fat hips.

“God…” he murmured, his tentacle like cock slithering past your panties and rubbing against your glistening clit. “Need this…”

Without much warning he pushed in, groaning at how tight you were. It felt so strange, feeling him wriggle and writhe inside of your cunt.

The second he felt you clench around him he groaned, his body leaning into yours as he nibbled at your ear.

“So wet… pretty little thing, don’t you wanna just stay here forever? I’ll let you have the best day forever if I get to fuck into this pussy at the end of every night…”

His clown makeup dripped onto your shoulder, making you look back. Your vision was already a bit blurry from the pleasured tears falling from your eyes, but you swore you saw a strange creature behind you…

He forced you to look away, cooing softly. “Shh, don’t look, princess… I don’t want my pretty little thing going insane.”

His cum spurted inside of you, and you felt uncomfortable stretch when his cock began to go crazy, wiggling and squirming as if trying to burrow inside of you as deep as it could.

A soft growl left his throat as he settled down from his high, his thumb rubbing circles on your hip.

“Good girl… let’s get you cleaned up, hmm?”

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tojicide · 5 months ago

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ABOUT YOU. ♥︎ SYLUS.

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦. it was easy to get lost in the whirlwind of your new roles as first-time parents, and somewhere along the way, you nearly forgot about the other titles you held—husband and wife. tonight, that changes. for good.

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠. fem!reader, husband + dad!sylus, fluff galore, themes of insecurity, pet names, praise, fondling, oral ( fem. receiving ), soft sex, missionary, unprotected, creampie, aftercare. references to his nightplumes card. loverboy sylus is very prominent in this one. 𝑤𝑐. 5k.

𝑛𝘰𝑤 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔. about you — the 1975.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

Anticipation and anxiety were two sides of the same coin—at least you think so.

Your heart pounded against your chest, the sound was a far cry from the peaceful silence that surrounded the extravagant lodge. Only the wind passing through managed to break that found quiet.

Snowflakes slowly fell from the sky as you stepped out onto the wooden back deck, the brisk breeze threading through your hair in a way that forces a sharp chill down your spine. Goosebumps pricked at your skin, though you quickly cross your arms over your chest to remedy them.

You were beginning to notice that it was almost too quiet. After all, by this time of night, you were accustomed to only hearing the sounds of your infant’s quiet fussing in between the soft static of the baby monitor.

This was different. Different because it was the first time you were away from your daughter from the moment she was born, but also because it was the first time you were truly given alone time for yourself. It was a rarity these days, and you weren’t quite sure how to indulge in it.

However, the quiet, careful sounds of your husband’s footsteps approaching you from behind quickly gave you an idea as to how you could.

Sylus’s scent served as soothing balm, the rich essense of his cologne accompanied by a smell that was uniquely him wafted through the air around you.

“Aren’t you cold, sweetie?” he quietly asks you, his hands coming up to run along the bared skin of your arms.

You briefly glance over your shoulder, covering one of his hands with one of your own. “Hm? No, no… I like the cold.”

The fabric of your dress did very little to conceal you from the elements, though it was a sacrifice worth making in your opinion. It wasn’t often that you had the opportunity nor the time to dress up for any occasion apart from the mock tea parties that your babbling daughter puts on for both your husband and yourself.

“I mean…” your words trail, and you find yourself leaning back into his broad chest. “I know that I’m not exactly dressed for this climate. I just wanted to try and look nice tonight. For you, for this… for… for us.”

His hands smooth over the curve of your elbows as his eyes trace the noticeable bumps that the weather had brought to you. Pressing a longing kiss on the back of your head, he opts to wrap his arms around your shoulders, pulling you even tighter against his chest. “You don’t have to try, sweetie. You look absolutely beautiful no matter what you wear.”

You slowly nod your head, your gaze moving over the vibrant hues of light that emerged from the darkness of the sky. The Northern Lights. Aurora Borealis. It was beautiful, casting faint shadows over your conjoined form as the two of you admired the way the hues blend together.

“I know, I just… I don’t know,” you stammer, knowing that your words must sound like a jumble of incomprehensible words. “It’s been a while since I’ve dressed up for anything, since… since you’ve seen me like this.”

Your temple is warmed up by the press of his lips, and you find yourself unconsciously leaning into it, earning you another peck. “I just… didn’t want you to forget, I guess.”

“Sweetheart.” All you could feel was his hold tighten on you ever so slightly, lowering his head just enough to brush his cheek against the soft skin of your own. “Do you think I’ve forgotten about you?”

For a moment, you were stumped. You weren’t sure how to respond to that question, even though you had inspired it to be asked in the first place. Everything has changed, and motherhood has had impacts on your life that you weren’t initially anticipating. It was tough and unsure at times, yet so rewarding and beautiful.

Guilt set into your heart. You hadn’t meant to bring down the mood of your getaway before it had truly started, but you knew that the feelings you had needed to be lifted from your chest. Now was as good of a time as any.

“I don’t know,” you breathe, tilting your head to rest it against his. “I just… I’m afraid that we’ve forgotten about each other. That we’ll never be able to be like we were before. I feel like a mess all the time, I am a mess all the time.”

Carefully, Sylus takes a hold of your chin to give himself access to your eyes. Minutes could have passed, or perhaps it was only mere seconds, but you hardly felt the passage of time with those softened red eyes staring into yours and his hand running along your arm.

“I don’t think that at all,” he states, his voice still soft yet resolute. “Change isn’t a bad thing, sweetie. Not change of this nature. We’re still learning. It’s only natural that we lose our footing for a small while.”

“You don’t think so?” Your question only has a split second to hang in the air before your words cut it off, and the shake of your head solidifies it. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I’m just… overthinking.”

“Then I will over explain.” His thumb brushes along the curve of your chin, his softened red eyes taking in the appearance of you with snowflakes in your hair and on your cheeks. “My heart is so full of you that I can no longer call it mine. For that reason alone, you will never be forgotten by me.”

“But…”

Sylus shakes his head, kissing away your worry with a quick peck of his lips. “There are no ‘buts’ here, baby. There is nothing in this world that could ever drive me away from you, from the family that we have created together. Not busyness, not sleep deprivation, not anything.”

Relief must have been the first emotion to cross your features, because it almost immediately brought a hint of a smile to Sylus’s lips. Overthinking was a habit of yours, one that you couldn’t evade no matter how hard you tried. But he was perfect. When was he not?

“Not even me smelling like baby spit up half of the time?” you tentatively ask, a familiar humor lacing your words.

He chuckles, the sound a deep rumble omitting from his chest. “Has the scent driven you away from me?”

Your answer is almost immediate. “No.”

Sylus runs his hand over the back of your head, cradling it in his gentle grasp. “Well, there’s your answer.” He pecks your forehead. “Motherhood has looked good on you from the moment our little sweetie started to grow.”

“Little sweetie?” you ask. “That’s new.”

“It’s… something Luke and Kieran came up with. You’re my sweetie, so by default, she is… little sweetie.” A moment later, he clears his throat. “Don’t go telling the twins that I’ve developed a liking for the name. They may begin to venture out into unthinkable territory.”

You raise an eyebrow and faintly muse, “Maybe we can all call you big sweetie.”

He clicks his tongue with a squeeze to your hips. “You’re lucky there aren’t people around for miles, baby. Having that material in the wrong hands could be detrimental.”

Once again, a comfortable silence falls over the two of you. He unwraps his arms to reach for the zipper of his coat, slipping it off his broad frame to drown you in the thick, warm fabric instead. He smiles to himself, wrapping his arms around your middle once more as he dips his head just enough for his chin to rest on the crook of your shoulder.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your saccharine voice filtering into the soothing ambiance of the winter night.

He merely shakes his head, turning just enough to press a soft kiss on the side of your neck. “No need to thank me.”

You knew that he’d never accept your thanks, but you felt the need to say it regardless. His reassurance, his way with his words, his selfless gestures that were unending and unconditional—he deserved to hear that. You knew it.

Tilting your head up, you can’t help but huff out a laugh that turns to condensation in the cool air. “You have snow in your hair, you know.”

Sylus smiles, raising an eyebrow as he lowers his head once more. “Help me.”

And you do just that, raising your hand to shake away some of the pesty fallen snow that had nestled in his silver locks of hair. You were sure that you would have had some too if he wasn’t constantly touching your head.

With that, he places his hands on either side of you on the wooden banister that outlined the luxurious deck. He rests his chin on top of your head, his eyes reflecting the green and purple hues of light that nature put on for the two of you.

After a long stretch of peace and quiet, you hear the faint sound of scratching in the snow. When you look down, you find Sylus dragging his finger through the fallen snow on the banister to draw two small pictures.

“What are you drawing?” you ask.

He smiles, kissing your cheek as he reveals the two semi-finished works of art to your gaze. With his pointer finger, he draws two carets on one of the circles. “A mother kitten,” he murmurs, drawing two smaller carets on the tinier circle. “And her baby kitten.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You’re silly.”

“Silly?” he soon echoes. Evidently, your habit of censoring your language around your daughter has even bled into your conversations with adults. It was a tooth rotting-ly adorable habit you had that Sylus adored. “That’s an interesting way to describe a man in love.”

Your skin tingles in the wake of his fingertips brushing your hair away from your neck, his other hand coming up to rest on the curve of your shoulder. “Oh? What would a better word have been?”

“Hmm…” He kisses your cheek. “Enamored.” He kisses your jaw. “Smitten.” He kisses your neck. “Besotted.” He kisses the curve of your shoulder. “Lovestruck.”

A hearty laugh consumes you as you inch away from his ticklish kisses, your hand coming up to rest on the back of his head. “Okay, okay!”

He chuckles too, cupping your chin to turn your head to face him once more. “Though I must say, my original verbiage was the most accurate.” His breath was warm and comforting as it found your forehead, and the longing press of his lips followed it. “I am in love. With you, with the life that we created together, with the life that you have given me. Just… in love.”

Your smile is far too wide to hide now, a sight that threatens to bring your husband to his knees, right here on the snowy porch. “I love you too.” And somehow, your words still paled in comparison to the sweetness of your grin, the curve of your lips and the crinkle of your eyes. “Hey… aren’t you cold now?”

Entirely distracted, Sylus buries his nose into your hair, inhaling your scent that always managed to make his legs feel weak without fail. “Mm-mm. Not really,” he murmurs, one of his large hands curving around your waist. “Not when I have my beautiful wife to keep me warm.”

There was that damn smile of yours again. So gorgeous, so natural, so… you. If lovesickness could be medically diagnosed, he would be the first known patient without a doubt. It wasn’t until you spoke again that Sylus blinks three times in a row, forcing his eyes to meet yours once again.

“Not really isn’t a total no, though,” you simply say.

His thumb brushes away the few water droplets that the melting snow had left on your cheeks that are warm with a blush he’s sure the cold weather hadn’t produced alone. “In that case, what would be your preferred method of warming us up?”

“Well…” you say with a dreamy sigh, turning around to face him and wrap your arms around his neck. “I think I saw a fireplace in the master bedroom when we sat down our suitcases.”

(Correction: Sylus carried and sat the bags down, and you watched with lovestruck eyes as you marveled over how this man could be even more perfect. It honestly worked best that way.)

“I like the way you think, sweetie.”

In one swift motion, he scoops you up off the deck and carries you to the sliding glass door with one of his arms while his free hand reaches for the door handle. Pulling it open, he walks inside, but he has no clear intent of setting you down.

“Hey,” you say, poking his cheek. “I have two working feet, you know.”

He smiles, kissing your finger while his free hand expertly works at the straps of your heels. One by one, they fall onto the hardwood floor as the two of you make your way to the bedroom.

“I know,” is all he replies with.

“So… why haven’t you set me down?” you ask, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Just because my beautiful woman has two feet doesn’t mean she should be expected to use them,” he murmurs, crouching down to turn on the electric fireplace in the room. “Maybe I enjoy being your in-home transportation service.”

You chuckle. “Is that so?”

He can only nod, peppering a few kisses along your cheek that was now illuminated by the warm lights flickering inside of the fireplace. “It is.”

Sylus takes a seat on the edge of the bed, setting you sideways in his lap as he holds you close to his chest. Your head finds its familiar home on his shoulder, and he tilts his own to lean against yours.

One of his hands settles on your back while the other runs long strides along your legs, the chilly feeling of his wedding ring gliding along your skin makes your muscles involuntarily tense.

A nearly silent laugh spilled from his lips, his hand slipping beneath your closed thighs so that the metallic band would warm up. His eyes flit to you, the way your skin glows in the hue that the fire is casting onto the two of you.

You were a sight for sore eyes. You were so perfect that he was inclined to believe that you could have been a figment of his imagination, a physical embodiment of his deepest desires. But you were here, in his arms. His wife. The mother of his child.

Every lifetime with you had led him to this moment, and he would do it all over again if it meant that you were his. Because here, in the world that you two created, you were real. You were here. All that he has ever wanted, all that he could ever want—it’s you.

Tears glossed over his eyes and he hadn’t even noticed. His hand gave your thigh a small squeeze, his head turning just enough to kiss your forehead. “You’re so beautiful.”

You smile, leaning into his touch. “So are you.” After a beat of silence, you turn in his lap to face him. “I’m warmed up now. Are you?”

He nods with a single jerk of his chin. “I am.”

Shifting around, you move to straddle his lap. Your arms wrap around his neck, and his hands settle on your hips. “I think it’s getting too warm in here.”

Sylus chuckles, giving your sides a gentle brush of his thumbs. “Are you suggesting I take you back outside and leave you to the elements? You’ll catch a cold, sweetie. We don’t want that, do we?”

You shake your head with a huff. “No, we don’t. But… there are other ways of cooling off you know.”

To emphasize your point, your fingers find their way to the buttons of his shirt, slowly and tentatively popping them open one by one. His eyebrows raise, watching your expression as inch after inch of his toned torso is bared to your eyes.

Curving a hand around your waist, he pinches the ribbon tying your dress together in between his thumb and forefinger. He inches closer—close enough for you to feel his breath on your lips—until he speaks. “Can I?”

Without hesitation, you nod and give him your permission. In turn, he slowly tugs on the fabric, watching the way your dress loosens and how it slowly begins to fall down your shoulders.

Your eyes meet, and a smile tugs on the corners of your mouth as you notice the rosy hue that crept up onto Sylus’s ears and cheeks. It was something you never got tired of seeing, that blush of his.

It was almost comical how his eyes lit up the moment your chest was revealed to his hungry gaze, and his fingertips gently brush over the fabric of your bra that covers your nipple.

“Is this new?” he asks you, giving both of your breasts a firm knead.

You nod, placing your hands on his shoulders as the straps slowly fall down your arms. “Yeah. You like?”

“I love,” he replies, lowering his head to kiss along the valley of your breasts. A low groan leaves his mouth as his tongue laves over your skin, tasting you for the first time in what felt like forever. “I’ve missed these, pretty girl.”

His hands work at the clasp of your bra, undoing it in one swift moment before slowly tugging the garment down and off your arms. A sudden gasp leaves you as his lips wrap around your nipple, his tongue swirling around the pointed peak.

Your hand snakes up the nape of his neck and into his hair, earning a deep groan from his mouth that vibrated against your skin. You could feel his cock quickly hardening beneath your bottom, the fabric of his slacks doing very little to conceal his more than obvious arousal.

“Sy,” you whine, your hips instinctively working to grind your clothed sex over his bulge. You needed more, needed to feel him in a way you haven’t in so long.

His hands latch onto your hips, halting your movements as he presses a faint kiss on your nipple after he releases it. “Don’t squirm,” he states, his voice low and full of command. “I need to take my time with you.”

And you believe him. This far surpassed want for him, this was a need. His need. His tone leaves very little room for argument or doubt, no matter how much you wish it did. Another sound of impatience and need leaves you as he sucks your neglected peak into his mouth, his iron grip still holding you still in his lap.

In one swift, dizzying motion, he lowers you onto the bed. Your back hits the plush comforter, and he shifts to settle between your legs. He kneels on the mattress, shrugging off his unbuttoned shirt that you had begun to remove earlier.

His hands then pull your dress down your legs, letting the fabric slip onto the floor near the bed. His lips press to your ankle as he looks down at you, his hands mapping out the skin of your thighs and calves as he hoists your legs up until the heels of your feet rest on his shoulders.

Blinking twice, you feel a heavy sense of anticipation swirling in your lower stomach. You reach out, hooking a finger inside of his belt loop to try and tug him closer. He doesn’t budge.

“Sylus,” you whine.

He can only grin, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your inner legs—your calves, your knees, your thighs—until he flattens onto his stomach. “I’ve never known you to be so impatient, baby.”

You huff, tilting your head to the side. “And I’ve never known you to hold out on me.”

Clicking his tongue, he nuzzles his cheek against the warm skin of your inner thigh. “Holding out? No, that can’t be right.” His voice has a teasing lilt, one that would make you want to say something snarky in reply, but his mouth quickly distracts you from the idea.

His lips leave soft kisses along the damp fabric of your panties, pointing his tongue to leave light kitten licks around your clit. You squirm, but his grip on your hips returns to keep you in place.

“I’ve left my poor wife so pent up,” he whispers, ending his sentence with an open-mouthed kiss on your cunt. His fingers hook beneath the waistband, tugging them down your legs just enough for them to dangle around your ankles. “It’s only right I pay you a personal visit.”

And you almost scream when his mouth meets your pussy directly, dragging the muscle up and down to gather your slick on his tongue. He groans unabashedly, grasping onto your thighs to yank you even closer to his hungry mouth.

He sucks your clit into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks. Your hands fly to his hair, hips bucking off the mattress as much as his grip on your thighs would allow them to. Grasping onto his soft silver locks, you nearly lose yourself when he fucks his tongue inside of you.

“Sylus!” you pant, thighs pressing in on his head as he groans. “I—I can’t—I’m going to...”

Your warning is cut off by yet another whine, one that his groaning brought on. The hot sensations of his mouth and the trembling vibration of his voice stimulates your sensitive pearl, his words limited to coos of “I know, I know” that force you to come with a particularly hard grasp on his hair.

All the while, he slows his movements, opting to give you faint licks as you come down from the intensity of your orgasm. A sigh of relief leaves your lips, and your smile returns with it.

Kissing your mound one final time, he crawls up to meet you once more, his forearm bracing his weight as he towers over you. He chuckles as you bring your hand up to wipe away the wetness on his chin, prompting him to capture your wrist and kiss your palm.

And when your hands then run down his toned torso to reach the belt of his slacks, a strained laugh leaves him. “Ah. Do you still feel that I’m holding out on you, sweetie?”

“No,” you answer, undoing his belt and popping open the button of his trousers. “I just want to feel you.”

Sylus smiles, his biceps tightening up as he lowers himself just enough to leave a longing kiss on your lips. “I can do that for you, baby.”

As he begins to undress, all you can feel is a ball of nerves settling inside of you. You haven’t been intimate in this way in what felt like years, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little nervous. After all, much has changed since the last time and…

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, as if he had noticed the worry set into your beautiful face. “Sweetheart,” he softly whispers to snap you out of your thoughts. “I need you and your beautiful mind to stay with me. Can you do that?”

Sucking in a short breath, you nod your head. “I can do that.”

Kicking away the last of his clothing, he settles in between your parted thighs once more. “Spread your legs a little more for me, there you go.”

His hands map out the dips and curves of your body, settling back onto his forearm beside your head while the other runs along his aching length. He runs his tip along your folds, gathering your slick for lubricant. And then, he slides his arm beneath your back, holding you firmly against his chest.

“Hold onto me,” he murmurs, his breath hitching as the head of his cock catches your entrance. You listen, wrapping your arms around his neck.

His cock slowly nudges inside of you, stretching you open with a sense of familiarity. Your nails dig into his back, leaving red welts in your wake. He keeps his movements slow and steady, easy rolls of his hips to fuck you long and deep, letting you feel every inch of him.

“Feeling alright, sweetie?” he asks you, peppering soft, reverent kisses along your jaw and cheek as he begins to find a steady pace.

You quickly nod, one of your hands delving into his hair. “Yes,” you breathe, clenching around him like a vice. “Feels so good, don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

“I’ve missed you so much, pretty,” he whispers, kissing your skin from your cheek to your jaw to your neck, his plush lips brushing against you in time with each snap of his hips. “You feel so perfect. I love you. I love you so much.”

His mouth finds yours in a sloppy kiss, one that was messy and disorganized but undoubtedly perfect. A whirlwind of whimpers and gasps leave the both of you, but the feeling of your thundering heartbeats pounding against your chests is what grounded you both. His hand next to your head strokes over your hair while the other grasps onto your hip.

“I love you too,” you say against his lips, your nails on his back, holding him impossibly closer to you.

One of Sylus’s hands shoots up, grasping firmly onto the headboard in an attempt to hold himself back. He needed this to be perfect—for you, his perfect wife who only deserved his best.

You can feel the way his back muscles contort in the new position, prompting you to grasp onto him even more. “I’m close,” you manage.

His fingertips dig into the wooden frame enough for the sound of splintering to rip through the air, but Sylus pays it no mind. His attention is on you, the softness of your eyes and the parting of your lips.

And when you clench around him and your sweet sounds fill the air, he knows that holding back is no use. It’s impossible. His pace staggers as he chases his own orgasm. Tensing up inside of you, you feel the way his seed floods inside of your inner channels, filling you up with the proof of his undying love for you.

For a long moment, all you can do is hold each other close. You breathe heavily into each other’s warm skin, exchanging stolen kisses and the smallest of smiles.

Sylus finally releases the headboard with a huff, prompting you to tilt your head up and look at the damage. A gasp leaves you, your brows furrowing together. “Sylus!”

His eyebrow quirks up as he follows your gaze, finding that he had, in fact, splintered the wood under his vice-like grip. He sucks on his teeth, turning to face you again. “It’s alright. It’s just a… happy accident.”

“A happy accident?” you echo, watching as he makes his way over to the en suite. “This bed frame probably cost a fortune.”

When he returns, he has a damp cloth in his hand and both of your bath robes. He settles between your legs once more, carefully wiping up the mess that he had made of you. “Mm-hmm. That it did.”

You raise an eyebrow. “How do you know?”

He shrugs, wiping himself clean before disposing of the cloth in the laundry hamper. He then wraps you up in the silken robe, following suit for himself. “Because I bought it just for us, sweetie.”

A gasp of surprise leaves your kiss-bitten lips as he scoops you up into his arms and walks you both towards the kitchen. “You did? But…we’ve never even thought of staying here until now.”

“When we first started dating, I ensured that the furniture at each of my properties was well equipped to handle two guests,” he states as if it were obvious. “Though now, I should begin the furnishing process again to make plenty of room for three.”

Your smile widens. “You’re such a softie.”

♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎

The following morning, sunlight cut through the maroon curtains that drape over the gaping windows of the bedroom. You rolled over onto your side, only to be met with Sylus’s back.

Your eyes finally crack open, your fingertips slowly tracing over the scratches that you had left behind last night. Then, you snake a hand around his waist. He places his hand on top of yours to give it a lazy squeeze.

“Good morning, sweetie,” he says, his voice still thick with sleep.

“Good morni—”

Your voice was cut off by the sound of Sylus’s cell phone ringing on the bedside table. With a groan, he reaches out, tapping on the pesky green button to answer a call from Luke and Kieran.

He winces at the sound of their loud and excited voices, rolling onto his back to throw an arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side.

“Boss!” their voices cut through the speaker at the same time. “We came up with something that has little sweetie cracking up! Wanna hear it?”

“Go ahead.”

“Watch this, watch this,” Luke says into the receiver as if Sylus could see their escapades through the voice call. “Your mommy is the original sweetie, you are the little sweetie, and you daddy is the…” His voice cuts off for dramatic effect, before it blares through the speaker once again. “Big sweetie!”

You find yourself laughing at the sound of your daughter cracking up over the line, evidently having a great time with Uncle Luke and Uncle Kieran and their jokes that only an infant could find humorous. Sylus glances down at you with a glare, as if he were silently asking you a question.

You shake your head. “What? I didn’t tell them anything.”

𝑛𝘰𝘵𝑒. not that anyone asked but i’ve been working on my first series on this app and i’m motivated to write for the first time in forever :,) it’s for love and deepspace (of course) and it revolves around caleb. i’m lowkey nervous to post thoooo i might try and get a few beta readers to see if it’s any good. anywho thank you for reading, rb/comment if you enjoyed <3

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ✧ masterlist | request

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iwanttobepersephone · 3 months ago

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Jack Junior, AKA Mr. JJ, AKA my moldy croissant, AKA the carb gremlin, AKA Fuck Face

#note: he is NOT an outside cat. we will on occasion let him have monitored time in our backyard

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starryjake · 9 months ago

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medicine | s.j

in which jake is sick and the only thing that will make him feel better is a taste of you.

pairing: jake x fem!reader

includes: face sitting, oral sex, jake being sick, squirting, cumming untouched, cumming in pants, face riding (lmk if i missed anything).

jake was game to eat you out at any time.

you’re exhausted after a long day of work or classes? jake was there already kneeling in front of the bed, awaiting your pussy.

it’s the middle of the night and you’re tucked into bed, fast asleep? jake can’t help the craving he gets and just has to have one lick of your addictive taste before he’s able to fall asleep.

you step foot out of the shower and within less than a minute, jake is laying you down in the tub and devouring your pussy.

the point was, it didn’t matter the occasion. jake just always wanted to eat you out.

that was never anything you felt the need to complain about. you knew people who’s boyfriends refused to go down on them and you couldn’t believe it. you and your boyfriend had just about the opposite of that problem.

but since jake was always game, that meant he wanted it even when he was in not-so-great situations himself.

“no, jake,” you said assertively, shaking your head.

“please,” he begged, looking at you with those pleasing puppy-dog eyes.

at any other given time, you would’ve said yes. just like jake always wanted to eat you out, you always wanted to get eaten out. you two were a match made in heaven.

however, jake had picked up some virus going around campus and had been completely knocked out by it. he’d spent the past two days in bed sleeping, trying to rid his body of the sickness.

you’d been his faithful nurse, staying close by in case he needed anything. you made him soup, brought him medicine every few hours, monitored his temperature, and gave him everything else he could’ve possibly needed. except, that is, the one thing he actually wanted.

“why not?” he practically whimpered. “it’s been days. i deserve it. i’ll feel so much better.”

his desperation almost made you laugh. he wanted you so badly and if he wasn’t as sick as he was, you would’ve given it to him, but he just wasn’t well enough. he was still sniffly, still weak, still running a fever, and just simply was not in the right position to be giving you head.

“you deserve it?” you couldn’t hold back the laugh this time.

“i do!” he whined, not finding the situation funny whatsoever. “i’ve been stuck in this bed for days feeling like shit and all i want is to have my face buried between your legs. just a taste, baby, please.”

you shook your head.

“just a taste is gonna turn into you eating me out for hours,” you said.

“and what’s wrong with that?” he pouted.

“you need to be sleeping and getting better,” you told him.

he leaned forward in your shared bed to get closer to you, who was sitting at the foot of the bed. he placed his hand on your thigh, tilting his head to the side.

“your pussy will make me better,” he said softly.

you placed your hand on top of his, looking into his pleading eyes. he was still so handsome, even as sick as he was. you were tempted, you had to admit.

“i don’t know, jake,” you said.

“please, baby,” he begged you, practically on the verge of tears. “i’ll make you feel so good, i promise.”

his pink cheeks, his swollen lips, his teary eyes, you just couldn’t say no to him.

plus, he said it would help him feel better, so how could you argue with that?

“fine,” you gave in. “lay back.”

jake bit his lip to prevent himself from smiling in victory. his eyes lit up when you agreed and he immediately complied, lying back down on his back.

you crawled up the bed until you made it to his abdomen. you planted your knees on either side of him and hovered over his body, second guessing whether you should actually do this.

“are you sure, jake?” you sighed.

jake’s face flashed with terror at the mere idea of you changing your mind. his eyebrows furrowed together in worry.

“i’m sure,” he insisted. “please, i need it. it’s my medicine.”

for whatever reason, his words turned you on. calling your pussy his medicine was all you needed to hear to shuffle your shorts down your legs, leaving you bare and exposed to him.

he licked his lips and watched you closely as you crawled up the remainder of his body until landing by his face. you hovered above him, sighing at the sight of him underneath you.

“sit,” he urged, beyond eager to get his tongue inside you.

“stop me if you can’t breathe,” you warned, knowing his nose was stuffed and his mouth would be occupied.

he didn’t say anything, just grabbed your hips and pulled you down so you were actually sitting on his face.

a surprised moan escaped your lips as jake immediately started licking your folds, gathering all your wetness on his tongue. he moaned, muffled, but the vibrations from it were extremely pleasurable.

you dug your hand in his mop of messy hair, legs already starting to tremble as he swiped his tongue up and down the length of your pussy.

you looked down and you could just tell he was in his most happy place. his eyes were closed, savoring the sensation of licking your pussy and tasting your sweet arousal. he was almost moaning as much as you were, certainly enjoying it as much as you, if not more.

you turned your head back and weren’t surprised at all by the sight of his hips thrusting up into the air, desperate for any kind of friction. his neglected cock was straining against his pajama pants, but you knew he wasn’t expecting you to touch him. he just wanted to eat you out, and that was enough for him.

“tastes so fucking good,” he said through an exhale, taking a second to catch his breath.

“are you doing okay?” you asked him, raising yourself off his face.

“more than okay,” he assured you. “i could do this all fucking night.”

he grabbed your hips and pulled you back down onto his face, going straight for your clit this time. he wrapped his lips around the bud and sucked on it softly, swallowing your taste.

you yelped, your legs clenching around his face.

“oh fuck, jake,” you cried out, your grip tightening in his hair.

he released his suction on your clit and went back to gliding his tongue up and down your pussy. he stopped at your hole and delved his tongue inside, letting out a broken moan at your tight walls around his tongue.

you found yourself slightly grinding on his face, subconsciously trying to rub your clit against his nose while he thrusted his tongue in and out of your hole. you knew he didn’t care. in fact, he loved it. he loved you humping his face in an attempt to increase the pleasure.

you sat up again, removing your pussy from his face. a string of your arousal mixed with his spit kept your pussy connected to his lips.

he looked up at you in confusion and even a slight hint of frustration as to why you just took away his treat—your pussy.

“why?” he asked urgently.

“your forehead is so warm, jakey,” you said, having brushed against it while you were tugging his hair.

it’d brought you back down to earth, reminding you that you were riding the face of someone who was not entirely up to health.

“i’m fine,” he said, annoyed. “i feel so good, please just come back. let me have it again.”

he was so, so desperate. you knew you should get off and let him get some sleep, but he wanted it so bad. so, you lowered your hips back down to his face and allowed him to lick up your pussy lips.

“fuck, thank you,” he moaned out, relieved to have your warm pussy back on his face. “i feel good, i promise. just need your pussy on me, baby, that’s all.”

you sighed in pleasure, leaning back slightly and starting to grind again. jake closed his eyes again, lapping and slurping at your pussy.

your stomach was warm and the knot would unravel soon, you were sure of it. he was so good at eating you out, you never lasted long.

“harder,” he urged, pulling you down on his face even more. “ride my face harder, baby.”

you whimpered, humping his face harder. your puffy clit hit the tip of his nose every time you fucked your hips forward. jake fucking loved it. he loved inhaling through his nose and smelling your sweet pussy, having it right there in front of him.

he loved you sitting on his face just as much as he loved laying on his stomach and eating you out regularly. he loved when you would just lose all control and ride his face like you were riding his cock. he loved to be used.

“fuck, jake,” you sobbed out. “i’m gonna fucking cum, oh my—don’t stop, please don’t stop. fuck, i’m cumming!”

you squealed as your orgasm washed over you. your legs tightened around his face and his tongue quickened, eating your pussy through your orgasm and lapping at the excess wetness dripping out of you. you fucked his face, letting all your weight sit on him because your brain was in too much of a fog to care.

“fuck,” jake moaned against you. “you’re so fucking hot, angel. wait! don’t get up.”

he gripped your waist, stopping you from climbing off his face.

“why? you should sleep now,” you said, catching your breath from your orgasm.

he shook his head, pulling you back down.

“need more,” he mumbled, lightly circling your clit with the tip of his tongue, going gentle as to not overstimulate you.

“no, jake,” you declined, however made no attempt to stop him.

“shh,” he shushed you, disregarding your words. “please, baby. i just need a little more and then i’ll be all better, promise.”

you whimpered as he rubbed his wet tongue on your drenched folds. he wrapped his arms around your thighs, basically keeping you trapped on his face.

“jake,” you whispered, pushing some stray strands of hair out of his forehead.

“so good,” he mumbled, flattening his tongue. “ride my tongue, baby. c’mon, i know you can do it.”

you started grinding back and forth on his tongue, head falling back at the sensation. his tongue was so warm and wet and felt euphoric as he laid it out for you to use, to rub your spent pussy on.

if jake was paying attention to his own cock, he’d realize how much pain he was in. he was so, so hard, and needed to be touched desperately. but he couldn’t. he just wanted your pussy and nothing else, not even oxygen.

“fuck,” you moaned. “feels so fucking good, jake. i think i’m gonna cum a lot.”

you didn’t know what you were saying. you were so fucked out and jake was too pussy drunk and sick to comprehend your words either.

you knew what you meant, but he didn’t.

you rubbed your pussy all over his face, getting your wetness all over his nose, his cheeks, and his chin. he started licking you again, moaning nonstop.

“i’m gonna—mm, jake! i’m cumming!”

it hit you a lot faster this time, so fast that you couldn’t even give him a proper warning.

you also couldn’t warn him as a stream of wetness shoots out of you. you were squirting all over his face and that was what did it for jake. that was what had him humping his hips up into the air one more time and cumming untouched in his pants.

he moaned, feeling sweaty and lightheaded as he felt your wetness all over his face. briefly, he thought he might pass out. even feeling so weak, he still ate you out through your second orgasm, drinking all the fluid you’d just released and moaning from how delicious it was.

he hummed, babbling nonsense because he was so far gone. you pulled yourself off his face, your pussy twitching from over sensitivity.

“baby,” he mumbled.

“yeah?” you retorted.

“i came,” he told you.

you frowned, looking down at his pants and noticing the stain of cum seeping through the fabric.

“but…” you trailed off. “you weren’t even touching yourself.”

“i know,” he said. “i think i’m just…really sensitive when i’m sick. but guess what?”

“what?” you asked, already starting to pull his pants down to help clean up.

“i was right about your pussy being medicine,” he informed. “i feel completely better.”

you laugh, shaking your head in dismay.

“you’re such a weirdo.”

this is FILTH. what i wouldn’t give to sit on jake’s face man.

thanks for reading!

#enhypen #kpop #kpop smut #enha smut #enha x reader #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #sim jake smut #jake sim smut #jake x reader #jake sim #sim jake #sim jake x reader #enhypen jake #jake smut

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 2 months ago

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WORLDS BEST DAD.

dad bucky barnes x fem!reader

WORD COUNT. 1123 SUMMARY. father’s day never used to mean much to bucky until having a family of his own. with another baby on the way, you all enjoy a slow morning in bed giving gifts and appreciating the worlds best dad. [fluff] NOTE. not so keen on my own dad so wanted to make bucky a dad. seems healthy right?

⎯ ☆ ⎯

This day in particular hadn't meant much to Bucky in a rather long time, the day feeling like a random Sunday in June with no cause for celebration. Though that changed about three years ago when he became the central focal point for the special day: having a daughter and baby on the way to give him a reason to enjoy the occasion.

Bucky lays at your side, sleeping soundly while you rest against the headboard, hand smoothing large circles over your bump — the act like you were trying to calm your son’s kicking feet. You make a faint sound of unease and your husband’s head whips up from the pillow, eyes attentive despite their struggle to adjust to the bright light of the room.

“Everything okay?” he asks almost immediately, gaze honing in on yours.

“Yeah,” you assure and smile softly. You bring your other hand to brush over his cheek, thumb swiping over him sweetly. “Want to feel him? He’s kicking like crazy.”

He returns a smile as the reassurance eases his mind and he adjusts, laying back down and resting his temple on his fist. He extends his other hand and you grab his wrist gently, guiding him under your top and to the point of discomfort. Your husband's smile widens with the contact of his hand to your skin and he begins to feel rough taps against his palm.

“I think he’s speaking to you in morse code,” you start, and he peers up to meet your eyes again, showing interest in what you have to say. “I think he’s saying ‘Happy Father’s Day’.”

He grins and lowers his eyes back to your belly, his hand continuing it’s circling despite your son’s seeming to have calmed down. It was as if he just enjoyed the sheer contact of touch, to feel both you and his son in a way so gentle and casual and domestic. And while pregnancy this time around was more taxing on you than the last, the little moments you’d frequently have like this in bed made it worth it — the giant, interfering belly, fatigue and thick, heavy ankles felt worth it.

With your due date closely approaching, it’s important to appreciate these moments of silence, these moments of calm before it all becomes anything but. These minutes you’d share with your lover in the morning with his hand on your bump became part of routine, it became something you’d do every morning. Quite like you hanging onto the quiet before the storm, the storm being your daughter wreaking hyperactive havoc with her awakening.

Like it was anticipated, you hear a noise from the monitor on the nightstand and you pick it up, watching your little girl crawl out of bed with a stuffie in her hand. Within a few short seconds, your bedroom door creeps open, and a short silhouette of your daughter appears through the gap.

“Morning princess,” Bucky smiles as he gestures her over.

“Hi, baby,” you, too, grin, welcoming her.

She paddles her way across the room and to your bed, small, hurried footsteps carrying her closer before she excitedly jumps between the two of you.

Bucky grunts as he takes the brute force of her landing, though he would much rather the knee to the stomach was on him than you. “Careful with mommy’s tummy,” he reminds softly, and wraps his arms around her — bringing her to lay between so he can smother her face with kisses.

You watch it play out, loving eyes observing the warming act. And only when it dwindles down and he stops, do you touch her. You smooth over her wild bed head and redirect her attention, nodding to your husband beside her.

“Do you want to tell daddy what we’re doing today?” you ask, softly jogging her memory. She struggles for a moment and you get closer, whispering beside her ear. “What are we going to make for breakfast?”

“Pancakes,” she exclaims as she sits up, hands beginning to clap at the thought.

“Pancakes?” Bucky repeats, matching her excited tone like he was entertaining her. “What are we having on them?”

“Gummy bears,” she giggles, her toothy grin visible through her animated expression. “And chocolate, and— and cream, and, and,”

“Candy worms?” you suggest and she turns silent, her head twisting slowly to look at Bucky.

He notices her questioning glances and decides to play along, keen to humour his little girl. “That’s too far,” his head impishly shakes, pretending not to like the idea.

She mirrors your lover’s reaction, her face grimacing as he mimics a faux face of disgust. “No, mommy.”

You smile as you look between them, suppressing a laugh. “How about jelly beans?”

She takes another minute and turns to look at her dad, silently awaiting his response. He pretends to give it some thought and nods faintly, permitting his approval as a grin widens.

Your daughter finally agrees with a nod that rather matched that of Bucky’s. Though you reroute conversation, directing it back to the subject of the special day.

“Should we give daddy his present?” you ask, face lighting up.

She clambers away from the pair of you and slides off the bed, heading for the gift bag on the floor beside the dresser. She rejoins you moments later with a beaming smile you have never seen shine so bright.

“What’s this?” Bucky sits up, smile genuine and sincere as he reaches for the pink bag in your daughter’s hand.

She giggles, watching intently despite her young age. “A doll,” she interrupts, spoiling it before he even has a chance to take it out the bag.

He pulls it out and his smile falters, trying his very best not to laugh and taint the memory. Bucky turns to meet your eyes to figure out a way best to respond, though you’re no use: the hand over mouth a visible tell you were also struggling to compose yourself.

“That’s so thoughtful," he pauses and looks over the regifted doll. “This is from your room, isn’t it?”

She nods shamelessly. “Do you like it?” she asks, innocent eyes lit wide and huge.

“I love it,” he kisses her forehead. “Thank you, princess.” You watch as he then removes the attached envelope, a saddened grin replacing the cheerful one before as he reads over the face of the card inside — ‘I got the best dad in the world’ printed large and proud on the front beside an ink transfer of her small hand. It was really a warming sight to see him get choked up by it, rather beautiful really, to see his doubts get reassured in real time: that he is a good dad, despite questioning himself not to be.

⎯ ☆ ⎯

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #dad bucky barnes #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky fluff #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader

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calebsmoocher · 5 months ago

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Sucking him off while he fucks you with his evol

Being a renowned thief, Caleb knows where to go first when his things go missing: her room. In his search, however, he finds a peculiar, pink, phallic possession of hers. Cw: smut, so MDNI, oral (m receiving), inappropriate use of evol, use of sex toy, girl i tried to put fluff in there

She had a habit of taking things. Well, borrowing, she’d justify vehemently. First it was his sweaters. Turn his back once and she’d snatch the pillars of comfort that got him through the winter.

“You know, I do your laundry as well,” he’d say. She wouldn’t spare him a glance, swaying slowly in her chair. She’d be hunched over her coursework, pen tapping at her lip.

“Yeah? Well why can’t I find my sweater? The pink one with hearts.”

“Now I’ve gotta fold your laundry as well?” He approached her focused form, leaning down to hover above her head. His fingers pinched the fabric of his sweater, the expanse of fabric allowing him to tug on it without the chance of pulling her arm with it. “It doesn’t even fit you.”

“I’m not taking it off. I’m too warm,” she whined, throwing her head back to lean against him. Warmth flooded his cheeks. Stifling a cough, he pushed her head back down playfully.

“I’m not asking; don’t worry. Go back to doing your work.”

Sometimes it would be his headphones.

“I have to twist mine a certain way to get them to work!” She’d cry.

Or his switch.

“Oh please, just ten more minutes. I even beat your high score!”

Even on occasion his aerospace textbooks.

Caleb was rifling through his bookcase, wanting to refresh his mind on his academy coursework. It was only after he cleared the first two shelves when had clocked his biggest mistake being not checking her room first. And there they were, right as his eyes landed on her desk. She had three of them stacked under her monitor.

“You’re just taking anything at this point. Are you sure it’s not because you miss me? Should I also take some time off?”

She’d scoff, handing him the books. “Yes, my eyes miss my monitor being at eye-level. You’re going to be the one massaging me when I have neck problems from hunching over this screen.”

With her constant violations of petty thievery, it was impossible to tell his room apart from hers.

And this behaviour continued its way to Skyhaven. She was staying with him while on leave at the association. Over her frequent but brief visits, a lot of her items had already accumulated within his house.

Caleb had just returned from an early finish at the fleet. He narrowed his eyes; his house was empty. Had she gone sightseeing without him? Pulling his uniform cap off, he figured he’d start on dinner. Would she even be back in time? Should he call her? He swallowed thickly. He should lay off her; she wasn’t a child anymore.

He pulled his gloves off and reached for his necklace on the bedside table. But his nails hit the smooth surface, no chain in sight. That was weird. He had placed it here before he left in the morning, the particular fleet mission not allowing him to wear metallic accessories. Had he placed it somewhere else? He wasn’t one to forget where he’d place such an important keepsake. Maybe his table? He turned around before scoffing. Oh. Nevermind. He was ashamed it hadn’t been his first instinct. Of course, she had taken it. Or borrowed it, whatever.

The first place he looked was her desk. It didn’t immediately jump out at him. Of course, she could have it on, he thought. But now that he was in her room, it’d give him the chance to retrieve any other items she had managed to paw off him.

He pulled the top drawer of her bedside table out. Score, he thought. There was an assortment of silver jewelry poking out between the ruffles of fabric of one of his favourite shirts. He’d hit two birds with one stone, he guessed. But when he pulled the shirt away his eyes widened, blood rushing to his ears. The pounding echo of his heartbeat was sounding right in his ears. Hidden, poorly under his shirt he’d add, was a pinkish translucent, silicon dildo. And it was rolling side to side in all its thick, girthy, glory. Caleb gaped. This thing was huge. Easily ten inches, with artificial veins protruding from its smooth surface.

The familiar chime of her placing her keys on the kitchen bench caught his attention with a jolt. He slammed the draw shut.

“Caleb?” The girl swung her head up at the sharp noise, cautiously dropping her bag. The noise had come from her bedroom. When she went to investigate, he was standing over her bed, not facing her. “You’re back already? I bought some mushrooms and water chestnuts. How about we make wontons tonight?” Caleb sucked in a breath before turning, slowly. He shot her a smile. As he took her in, there his chain lay, gleaming brightly on her chest. Maybe curiosity really had killed the cat. She followed his gaze and smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry, I felt like wearing it. I didn’t want it to be lonely.” “You’re cute.”

She reached for the clasp behind her neck. “Were you looking for…” Her voice slowed as her eyes moved over his rigid form. His face was calm, but the tips of his ears were ember. She furrowed her brows, eyes tracing down to his hands. He was holding her shirt. His shirt. The shirt. Her heart dropped.

No. Why did all the embarrassing shit happen to her? She didn’t have to address this. She’d turn right around and march back into the kitchen.

“You can say your excuses now. I’m listening.” Caleb had straightened up, relaxing from his previously robotic stance.

Run. Run. That’s all she knew how to do. Because crossing this boundary would destroy her. His jaw tightened in the silence. Was he letting her run away from this? Or was it finally time to address the overbearing tension that had been neglected for so long that it had seeped its way into their every interaction?

“I…” she took a step back. The kiss they silently swore to never talk about haunted her. Had it harrowed over his mind in the same ways?

She could play it off as not being a big deal. “I’m an adult. This… These things are natural,” she would argue.

“But wrapped in my shirt? I don’t think that’s appropriate.You know my feelings towards you,” is what he’d say in reply. Cold, callous and without the comforting, teasing lilt to his voice. She shook her head, wanting to scream into her fists. There were too many bad possibilities to come.

She felt the sting of tears brim at her waterline. Fuck. Caleb noticed, mouth opening then shutting then opening again. His eyes were frantic over her form.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to invade your privacy. I know it’s…” He began to stammer. “It’s…normal to…”

She cut him off. “It’s not weird, right?”

He shook his head slowly. A pause. “Weird that it was…?” At a loss for words, he gestured to his shirt still held tightly in his hand. Wrapped in his shirt.

Fuck. She swallowed thickly.

“Does it mean anything?” His voice was gentle. Cautious.

She shut her eyes tightly. “Maybe.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Is it weird?” Her voice was on the precipice of breaking. She felt his hand at the back of her head, bringing her in for a ginger hug. He laughed softly.

“No, it’s not weird.” He tilted her chin to meet her reluctant gaze. “How often do you use it?”

This time she actually sobbed. “You’re joking, right?”

He struggled to suppress a smile, wanting to shift the heaviness in the room out. “Do you think about me when you…”

Oh, she had had enough of this man. Almost smacking him across the face, she pressed her palm over his mouth. Fuck this was no happening right now. She did not just hear that.

Her eyes clenched shut as she hung her head. She felt him snicker into her palm and her brows creased.

“I’ve heard you in the shower, you know? Do you think about me when you’re…” She trailed off with purpose and furrowed her brows up at him. It contrasted his sickly sweet smile.

“Yes, I do.” His smile widened at her gasp. “Always. It’s only ever been you.”

“Caleb…”

He pulled her hand away from his mouth. His hand slid down from her head to her lower back, thumb pressing small strokes into the fabric.

“Can I kiss you?”

Instead of answering, she reached up to gently clasp at his neck, guiding him down. The few seconds it took for him to close in on her strained her breath. His eyes trained on her. The part of his lips and ragged breath that fanned over her own. She didn’t want to bask in it any longer, lest she lost the adrenaline thumping through her veins. His kiss was firm, nothing like the cautious exterior he had been so careful to display. His left hand cupped her cheek, tipping her jaw up to deepen the kiss. She clung to his wrist.

His scent engulfed her. She wanted to get closer, worm her way right against his chest. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair. See if she could elicit a sound so vulnerable from him.

When he broke the kiss, it was only to begin pressing frantic kisses down her jaw and neck. She gasped, using the moment to gently grab strands of hair at the back of his head, running her nails down to his nape.

He groaned into her. And she felt a spark in her stomach.

“Will you…” His breath was short as he continued to press kisses into her skin through his words. “Will you show me how you use it on yourself?” He had opened her bedside table again, pawing blinding at the silicone toy. Fuck, he was joking.

Her face reddened. “Caleb…”

“Am I asking for too much?” He asked genuinely through a laugh.

She rolled her eyes, feeling the adrenaline plateau inside her. He had left her breathless far too many times in the span of five minutes.

“I think you’ve done enough.” She pushed at his chest, guiding him backwards. When his legs hit her chair, she pushed him down into it. He laughed through his chest, gleaming up at her with an arrogant smile.

“You have me all to yourself. I’m completely in your care.”

She flushed at his brazenness, slowly dropping to her knees before him. Maybe the adrenaline was spiking again, but seeing him from this new angle had her heart threatening to jump out of her throat.

“Can I use my mouth on you?”

His arrogance slipped. He caressed her head again, searching her eyes. “Please,” he said. Gently, weakly.

She sucked in a breath before shakily reaching for his zipper. The whine of the zipper undoing was the only sound besides their ragged breaths. His eyes scrutinised her every move, mouth agape. He helped her drag his pants down, pooling at his knees. He guided her to look up at him again, and they both had a chance to recognise the mutual fear thrumming within them.

“You’re so pretty.” He stroked her hair. “My pretty girl.”

Through his briefs she guessed he was half-hard. She brought her hand up, palming him gently. She had never done this. Was this okay? Was she being too rough? Not rough enough? He sensed her hesitance, encompassing his own hand over hers.

“Like this,” he offered, pressing firmly. His fingers curled around hers, encouraging her to take a confident grip over the fabric. It was hot, and it filled her entire hand. She assumed a steady pace, moving her grip up and down. He let out a shaky breath, and his other hand tightened around the arm chair. She could feel his cock twitch and begin to fully harden. Something in her stomach jumped. Gaining confidence, she tugged at the waistband of his briefs, shimmying them down to join his pants. His cock sprung up against his stomach, beads of precum dripping down a thick girth. She swallowed in anticipation. And placed a fleeting kiss on his tip.

“Fuck…” His cheeks were dusted pink. He leaned forward planting his own quick kiss on her forehead before reaching down between her legs. “Should I help you out as well?” He tugged on her skirt, flipping the fabric up over her ass. His breath hitched as he stared down at her cotton panties. “Are these new?”

If she wasn’t gripping his cock and trying to pleasure him as best she could, she would have slapped him upside the head. “What, don’t tell me you’re a panty sniffer.”

He barked back a laugh. “I think it’s more concerning that you still ask me to do your laundry at your ripe age.”

“Yes, I’ve got the Colonel wrapped around my finger, doing trivial things like my laundry.”

He traced the seams of the fabric, pressing into her skin. “Yes, you’ve got the Colonel entirely to yourself. Will you be good to him?” His fingers followed the fabric to circle at her heat. She gasped. It was hard to keep a steady rhythm as his fingers teased pushing in. Eventually, he settled for drawing gentle circles at her clit; then looping down to tease her entrance through the fabric. “Don’t stop.”

She listened, guiding him into her mouth. She sucked at the tip, rolling her tongue to sweep the underside of his cock. She watched him intently, stomach mimicking all the sharp intakes he did as he shifted in his seat.

“You feel so good,” he whined. The steady motions of his hand were breaking up. But it felt good. Knowing that she was doing this to him. That her cunt was leaking and swollen in anticipation for his fingers. “Good girl,” he choked out, “you’re so good to me.”

She took him deeper, supporting the base of his cock with both of her hands. Her eyes were trained on his. Shaking slightly, she experimented with taking him deeper. The tip of his cock hit the back of her throat and she lurched back, gasping for her as he slid out from her.

“Fuck, are you okay?”

She laughed. “I’m okay. Was I okay? Did it feel good?”

He stroked her chin, wiping the saliva from her lips. “You were amazing. You made me feel so good.” He brushed the stray hairs away from her eyes. “Don’t push yourself to take more than you can.”

“I wanna keep going.” She nudged his hand away, taking the base of his cock into her hands again.

“Woah, wait up.” He reached over her towards her bed, grabbing her pillow. “Lift your legs.” Shakily, she let him place the pillow between her and the floor. She sunk down into the plush, her knees buzzing from being pressed into the carpet.

“Thanks…”

He leaned over her again, and she heard the drag of her bedside table opening. “I think it’s time you showed me how you’ve been using this toy of yours.” Her ears reddened.

“Caleb, that’s embarrassing.” She tried to grab the dildo from him, but he held it out of her reach. “Don’t you want me to keep using my mouth on you? You said it feels good. I want you to cum.” He remained unfazed by her words, much to her dismay.

“I really want to use this on you, though. Won’t you let me see you take it?” He studied the obscene phallic item closely. Now that she could see it in comparison to Caleb’s cock, she noted that while Caleb was thicker, the toy was longer. That’s what she got for ordering a size large.

“What are you going to do?” She mumbled. Her cheeks were still ablaze as she watched him.

“Don’t worry. I have an idea you’ll like.” To her horror, she watched as the dildo began to hover in his hand, held up by an invisible force. It rounded her field of vision until it prodded at the fabric of her panties. She felt her stomach flip. Like the ground beneath had suddenly given out and she was in free fall. “Pull your panties to the side.”

Shakily, she did as she was told. The rush of cold air almost made her jump until she felt the the cool silicone press against her heat.

“Your toy is so big. Can you really take all of it?”

She covered her face. She was never going to live this down. “Not all of it. Please be gentle.” She felt him kiss her forehead before lifting her head to meet his gaze.

“I’ll let you decide. You’re the one showing me how you use it, remember?” Confused, she nodded anyway. She guided the dildo into her swollen cunt, gasping shakily at the intrusion. No matter what she did, the initial push would always elicit a quivering moan. “Good girl. Hands on me.” She expected the toy to slide back out of her once she withdrew her hands but it stayed perfectly in place. Her hands returned to their position at the base of his cock. More precum had leaked out, dripping down into her hands. She suckled on the tip, eager to prevent anymore from making a mess. Caleb groaned, positioning one hand at the back of her head. The other, he held out beside her in a beckoning motion.

“Mmph!” Her eyes snapped open as the toy began to move inside her. Slowly. On its own. But shallowly. Her eyes caught onto Caleb’s fingers, matching the steady push and pull of the toy inside her.

“You can hold onto me. Show me how much you can take.”

Mouth full of his cock, she latched onto his hand for support, feeling him tug her fingers back and forth with him. Her index and third finger curled around his own two fingers. And he moved them slowly, bringing them closer to his palm. She felt the toy push into her. When his fingers expanded out again, she felt the toy retreat.

“Go faster or go slower; whatever you want. I want to see.”

Tears brimmed at her eyes. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Slowly, she maneuvered his fingers faster, fucking herself. His eyes gleamed as he stared down at her. His breath was uneven. He could barely contain his groans from spilling out. Here she was, fucking herself with her secret dildo through his evol. He didn’t know how much longer he could watch before he came.

She moaned onto his cock, the vibrations setting him off with another groan. The salty taste of his precum was all she could taste. His girth alone was stretching her mouth, forcing laboured breaths through her nose.

“You’re doing so well. Keep going. Keep fucking yourself.”

Maybe there was no shame in it. He wanted to see her fall apart. She pushed and pulled his fingers faster. Rougher. Brazenly pistoning the dildo in and out of herself. Her body jolted forwards, forcing his cock deeper in her mouth. She wasn’t sure she could fit more than half of him in her mouth without gagging.

“Mmmph.” She couldn’t even speak. And his words only pushed her further towards the edge.

“Fuck, you feel you so fucking good. Keep going, baby. I’m gonna cum.”

She moaned in reply. Her mind was going delirious. Her fingers began to falter around his, losing pace of the toy. She couldn’t keep focused on so many things at once.

Caleb leaned down to her ear. “Want me to decide?”

She groaned in approval, forfeiting control and letting her hand slide back down to his cock.

“Alright then.” The pace of the toy picked up. It was harder and faster, but she could take it. Her legs were shaking, barely able to hold her body up. She watched his fingers strain in their curled position, his frantic want for her to cum amplified through the dildo’s relentless thrusts.

“Are you going to cum?”

She moaned in affirmation, voice getting frantic. Her walls were clamping down along the toy. To stop it? To keep it from pulling out? She couldn’t tell; all her thoughts had melted down into drool seeping from the corners of her lips. She felt the coil in her stomach twinge and strain as her legs shook.

“Fuck. Come. You can let go. Let go for me.”

She whined, squeezing her legs together. The next thrust pushed her over the edge, snapping the coil and forcing her legs to squeeze as tight as she could. Caleb slowed his fingers, letting her ride out her orgasm.

She sucked in a huge gasp of air before lowering back down on his cock. She was determined to have him cum in her mouth after that.

“Fuck. Holy shit,” he groaned. His grip on her head tightened, following her movements as she moved up and down his length. “Stop. I’m gonna cum.” She met his eyes and shook her head. “I’m going to come in your mouth. Please…”

She gasped. “Do it. I want it.”

He groaned, throwing his head back. He couldn’t stop his hips from bucking, pushing his cock further into her mouth. She tried to swallow the gag, determined to let him finish. He bit his lip to filter out the sound of his groans as he came. Ropes of come spilled into her mouth. Hot and slightly thick. She furrowed her brows, not allowing any to escape. She wanted to be good for him.

He gave a few more weak thrusts up into her before sagging back down into the chair.

“You…” He laughed. His hands came around her face, lifting her off him. “Are you okay?”

She was breathless, forcing a smile through her exhaustion.

“Tired, but okay. How was it?”

“You killed me.” He wiped a hand over his brow. He was still using his evol to keep the dildo in place inside her. “Can I take it out?”

“Yeah. Slowly.” The toy withdrew from her and she winced as she felt the run of warm liquid down her thighs.

“Fuuck,” he dragged out. Despite the mess on both of them, he lifted her off her knees and pulled her into his lap. “Does it hurt anywhere?” She shook her head, leaning against him. He moved in to kiss her, but before he could she frowned.

“You want to kiss me? After all that?”

He shook his head in dismissal, scoffing at her. His lips met hers and he gave her a firm kiss. She felt her cheeks tingle at the sight.

“Let’s stay like this for a minute. Then I’ll clean ya up, promise.”

She nodded, reaching up to brush his hair away from his sweaty forehead. A silence enveloped them as they caught their breaths.

She shifted in his lap, looking up at him.

“How come you were in my room?”

He gave her an expression of feigned hurt. “Now I’m not allowed to come into your room?”

Shaking her head, the corner of her lips curled up. “I caught you snooping.”

He kissed her nose. “I think I caught you with something worse, you pervert.” Hell, he was never going to let her live this down.

a/n: the idea that made me create a tumblr! This has unfortunately just opened my mind to what else his evol might be capable of.

#love and deepspace #caleb love and deepspace #lads #lnds caleb #l&ds #lads caleb #caleb #caleb x mc #caleb smut #caleb x you #smut #lads x you #xia yizhou

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itneverendshere · 2 months ago

Text

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - SEVENTEEN

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: angst; mentions of mental and physical health issues.

In a matter of days, your bump decided to take on a life of its own.

You'd looked the same for months —nothing that screamed months pregnant. Then, last week, something inside you had clicked into place, your belly suddenly rounded out. There was no denying it now; there was no more wondering if you were bloated.

You looked pregnant.

Seven days ago, you were still able to fit into your regular jeans, brushing off the snugness as a result of a big lunch. And now, your belly recognized the timeline and proudly announced, there’s definitely a baby in here.

It was wild how everything changed overnight. Shirts that fit fine last week suddenly rode up like crop tops.

You were already at the hospital every week—more than most—hooked up to IVs, getting poked and monitored. You were exhausted, but better, lightheaded on good days. The bump showing up so suddenly only added to the fear. You found yourself blurting out questions to your doctor, "Is this normal? Because it doesn't feel normal."

She always said yes. Or some version of it. A nod, a glance at the monitor, everything was textbook. But your chest stayed hurting long after the appointment ends.

You haven’t left the house in five days, except for your hospital visits.

You haven’t sat on the steps or cracked open a window wide enough to feel like you're still part of the outside world. You were hiding from the looks, the questions. From yourself. From the surreal curve of your stomach that had hijacked your reflection.

Sarah hasn’t been able to come around—work, shifts, life—and you haven’t let her see a single picture. On the rare occasions she brings up the baby, you change the subject. You say, "Fine," and send a blurry photo of your hand instead. You don’t want her to see it.

You haven’t seen anyone.

Rafe checked in every other day, like clockwork, texting. He asked if you needed anything. You said no. You always said no. If you didn’t want him at your appointments then, it was worse now. You couldn't stomach the idea of him seeing the bump. Of him looking at you and the thing growing inside you, forming a shape under your skin, and yanking you out of the life you once knew.

You knew it was stupid and weak. And kind of pathetic, honestly.

You told yourself that a dozen times a day, a mantra meant to snap you out of it: You couldn't hide forever. But the thing was—there were still months left, and you already felt like you’d hit some breaking point.

You’d been ordering food and whatever else you needed. Groceries, toiletries, overpriced juice you didn't like—anything to avoid setting foot in a public space. The idea of running into someone you knew, or locking eyes with a stranger in the cereal aisle, felt like a nightmare.

Your staff hasn’t been around much since you found out you were pregnant. You paid them like nothing’s changed. They came once a week now, and you made sure you were nowhere to be found when they’re around—either gone or locked in your room, a lonely ghost in your own house.

But today, it changed.

You woke up and the sun felt less hostile through the curtains.

You stared at yourself in the mirror for too long, hoodie lifted enough to see the curve of your belly. It was bigger than yesterday. Or maybe you were looking harder. You pressed a hand there and decided you were done being scared like this.

You were done letting the fear do the driving. You couldn’t stay locked away until your water broke or one of you died—God, no. Even if it was just for groceries, you wanted to try. You needed to.

So you called Sarah.

You didn’t overthink it, which was new. You chewed on your sleeve while it rang. She picked up, breathless, with loud background noise.

"Hey babe! What’s up?"

“Hi.”

“What’s going on?” she asked, and the background noise started to fade; she was moving somewhere quieter. “You sound weird. Tired-weird. Sad-weird.”

You half-laughed, eyes burning. “That obvious, huh?”

“Kind of,” she said gently. “You’ve been MIA. I figured you were nesting or something, but…” She paused. “Is something wrong? With you? With the baby?”

You shook your head before you remembered she couldn’t see it.

“No. I'm fine. He's fine too, as fine as he can be when I’m the one growing him."

“Hey,” she scolded, not unkindly. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m not—” You stopped mid-sentence, rewinding. Trying again. “I’ve been hiding. A lot. I haven’t been out.”

“Yeah, I picked up on that. You don’t text back or answer my calls.”

“I’m sorry.” You sighed, rubbing at your face as the guilt settled on your shoulders. “I want to go outside. The store, something normal.”

Sarah brightened instantly. “That’s great!”

“But I… I don’t want to do it alone.”

Her voice softened. “Of course. I’ll come with you. When do you wanna go?”

You bite your lip. “Now. If you’re not too busy.”

There was a pause, and you knew the answer before she gave it.

“Shit,” she groaned, clearly torn. “I want to so bad, but Poguelandia is slammed. We’re short-staffed, JJ fucked his leg up, and there’s already a line out the door. I haven’t sat down since eight a.m. I’m so sorry. I literally haven’t even peed in four hours.”

You tried not to let the disappointment win. “Oh. No, it’s okay. I figured.”

“I can try,” She insists. “If I leave now, maybe I can swing it—if I skip lunch and—"

“No,” You cut in, “Seriously.”

“I’ll figure it out. I’ll get someone to cover—”

“Sarah.” You took a breath. “I love you, but please. Don’t stop working because of me. If you drop everything, I’m gonna feel worse.”

“You sure?”

You smiled, even though your eyes were burning again. “Not even a little bit. But I think that’s okay.”

“I hate saying no,” She muttered. “I hate that I can’t be there. But…”

You tensed up, pulling the sleeve of your hoodie over your hand.

“…I do know someone who can.”

You go quiet.

“Sarah…”

“Hear me out. He’s been texting me, asking if you need anything. He’s been trying to respect your space, but also losing his mind because he doesn’t know how to help. If you called and said you wanted to go walk into traffic, he’d probably volunteer to drive you.”

You let out a dry chuckle. “That’s comforting.”

“I mean it,” She insisted. “He’d show up in a heartbeat.”

You leaned your head against the wall. “I don’t want him to see me like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like this,” you repeated, “My bump. It’s showing now.”

You could practically hear her blinking through the line.

“Wait. Since when?”

"Last week," You let out a breath. “I woke up and—bam.”

“Oh my God,” she gasped. And then again, breathier this time. “Oh my God.”

You could picture her hand flying to her mouth, the half-spin she probably did when she got excited.

“I wish I was there,” she breathed. “I want to see you.”

You shut your eyes, fighting the sudden tears. “It’s not cute, Sar.”

“I didn’t say it was cute,” she scoffed. “I said I want to see you.”

You didn’t want to be seen like this, swollen and pale, hoodie hanging off your frame. And your stomach—this round, undeniable thing you couldn’t suck in or pretend away anymore.

“I thought I had more time. To ease into it.”

“That’s why you’ve been inside.”

It wasn’t a question.

You sank further against the wall, socked feet curling on the floor. “I’m falling out of my skin.”

“It’s okay that it freaks you out. You’re allowed to feel whatever you want.”

You finally exhaled. “I don’t know how I’m gonna do this.”

“One step at a time,” she said, warm even through the phone. “Starting with this one. Groceries. Hoodie on. Sunglasses if you want. One aisle.”

You closed your eyes, “If I call him… if he comes… he’s going to look.”

“If you wanted him to rip his eyes out, he would.”

You blinked.

“I’m not kidding,” Sarah added, “He’d walk with his head down the whole time, hands tied behind his back, take a vow of silence, whatever. If it made you feel even a little safer.”

Your throat closed up, a laugh tried to force its way out but died on arrival.

“I don’t want him to have to do that,” You said quietly. “I don’t want to feel like a freak show.”

"You are not a freak show," Sarah said, sounding insulted. “You’re pregnant. And scared. And beautiful, by the way, but I won’t push that one right now.”

Your hand drifted to your stomach without thinking.

“I don’t want to go with him.”

“I know.”

“But I want to go.”

“I know.”

You were quiet for a moment, chewing on the inside of your cheek, unsure if agreeing to this made you brave or desperate.

Sarah seemed to feel the hesitation swell on your end of the line, so she added, “If I could send one of the Pogues, I would.”

“Yeah?”

“Hell yeah,” She said. “But… they don’t know.”

“Oh. Right. I didn’t tell them.”

“It’s a lot. And they love you, but—yeah, it’s a lot.”

You rubbed your temple.

“It’s not like this is something you just drop in a group chat.”

You snorted. “Guess not.”

You swallowed, eyes moving to the mirror across the room—a sliver of your reflection visible, your shape under the hoodie. You didn’t want to shut people out. But every part of you had folded inward the second your body started changing, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

Sarah’s voice came back. “So… Rafe?”

You closed your eyes.

“Yeah. Fine. Tell him.”

Cameron Development. 3:17 PM.

Rafe was two seconds from throwing his fucking clipboard through the drywall.

"That doesn’t go there," He snapped at one of the newer guys on site, not looking up. His pen scraped across the paper harder than necessary, carving through the thin report sheet. "Jesus Christ, y’all can’t read labels now? It’s marked clearly, in red—RED, Sean.”

Sean stammered something behind him, but Rafe had already turned, muttering under his breath about incompetence, how he couldn’t keep babysitting everyone to get basic shit done.

His shirt clung to his back from the heat, his boots were caked in mud from the storm last night, and his patience was nonexistent. He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t eaten.

He hadn’t seen you in days.

And it was killing him.

You were always good at acting fine over text, but Rafe knew the difference between your fine and “fine.” He couldn’t tell through a screen if you were tired or biting your nails again.

“You okay, Rafe?” someone asked cautiously, probably Dan or Tyler—he didn’t care who anymore.

“No,” he bit back without missing a beat. “But thanks for asking.”

He hated this version of himself, that let everything build up until it spilled onto the wrong people. He disappeared back into the trailer and slammed the door behind him so hard the hinges rattled.

He leaned over the desk, head hanging between his shoulders, taking a deep breath that did absolutely nothing to help. His hands were gripping the back of his neck.

This was exactly what Dr. Sanders warned him about.

The outbursts, the impatience.

How his frustration got in the way of everyone who didn’t deserve it. No one should be punished for his shitty mood—especially not some fresh-hire kid just trying to do his job. He’d been doing so good, with weeks of keeping his voice level, reminding himself to step away when things got too loud inside his head. And now here he was again, snapping over labels and yelling at people who were trying to help.

His phone buzzed.

Sarah.

He stared at it for a second before answering. “What?”

“Chill with the attitude,” She snapped right back. “I’m calling for a reason.”

Rafe exhaled through his nose. “Sorry. Bad day.”

“No kidding,” she muttered. “You’ve been biting the head off everyone down there?”

Rafe didn’t deny it.

He sighed, annoyed, eyes on the ceiling. “What?”

“I need a favor.”

His stomach dropped so hard it made his head swim.

“Did something happen to her?”

“No,” She added quickly. “She’s fine. She...she’s not doing great.”

Rafe sank down into the chair. “What do you mean not doing great? What’s that mean? Be specific, Sarah, I swear—”

He bit the inside of his cheek. He’d tried. Called, texted. Waited when you didn’t answer. Backed off when Sarah told him to give you space.

“She’s okay?”

“She’s okay,” Sarah confirmed. “She wants to go out. Grocery store or something and she doesn’t wanna go alone.”

He sat forward. “She said that?”

“Yeah,” Sarah replied, “I can’t go—Poguelandia’s insane right now. There’s a line out the door. But I figured… maybe you could?”

He was already grabbing his keys. “Where is she?”

“She’s home,” Sarah confirmed, “Don’t pressure her, okay? She almost didn’t call. She’s been going through it. Be gentle.”

“I am gentle,” he snapped.

Sarah snorted. “Tell that to whoever you just yelled at.”

“They can’t do shit, Sarah.”

“Rafe.”

He sighed, dragging his palm down his stubble-covered jaw.

“I’ll be cool,” he muttered.

“You better be.”

Rafe didn’t bother to hang up properly; instead, he shoved the phone in his pocket and dashed out of the trailer, boots crunching gravel as he headed for his truck. He didn’t tell anyone where he was going. Let Dan or Tyler or whoever pick up the slack for once.

You hadn’t answered his texts with more than one-word replies in four days.

It’s insane to remember, back when things were good, you would leave voice notes in the mornings, call him out of the blue to complain about traffic, shitty coffee, or the weird commercial you saw.

Now, you didn’t want to go to the grocery store unless someone was with you.

You never asked for help, not when your car wouldn’t start, not when you had a fever, not even when you got a flat tire at midnight.

You were stubborn, hyper-independent. The fact that you asked for company meant that something was wrong.

None of this knowledge, however, prepared him to see you.

Oversized shirt hanging off one shoulder and the swell of your belly—your, his baby, right there, growing—so obvious now that you weren’t hiding it behind hoodies or blankets or clever angles.

Rafe stood there, blinking like a fucking idiot.

Holy shit.

That was his kid.

It didn’t feel real until this second. Not even when he felt it for the first time. Seeing your bump—round under that stretched cotton tee—sent him down a rabbit hole between awe and panic.

You squinted at him.

“If you’re gonna stand there and stare the entire time, you can leave.”

That got him out of his stupor.

“No—sorry. I’m sorry.” His voice came out fast, defensive, hands already up. “I wasn’t—I mean. I didn’t mean to. I just… wow.”

He had to drag his gaze back up before it got disrespectful. You looked good. No—you looked insane. He wanted to compliment you, tell you how fucking unreal you looked right now, how bad he wanted to walk up behind you, press his hands to your stomach and kiss your neck. But that would get him a punch and a restraining order against him.

Your brow ticked up.

Rafe scratched the back of his neck, stepping inside when you didn’t slam the door in his face.

“You look…” His lips parted, closed, parted again. “You look—pregnant. Not bad. Not bad pregnant. I mean, you look—you look good. You look like—like a mom.” He made a strangled noise. “I’m screwing this up.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched.

“I meant that in a nice way,” He mumbled, defeated by his brain.

“I’m sure you did,” You brushed past him toward the couch.

Rafe wasn’t staring in the stunned, silent, holy-shit way anymore. He was watching how you moved a little slower, hand resting under your bump as you loweredto grab your purse. Your breath faltered a little when you adjusted it on your shoulder, pressing the edge of your thumb into the small of your back without thinking.

He’d missed so much.

You looked at him expectantly. “Let’s go.”

“Oh—right.” He stepped back, forgetting how doors work. “Yeah. Grocery store. Got it. Let’s go.”

You arched a brow at him as you locked the door behind you.

“Seeing you like this.” He gestured vaguely at your stomach, still not looking directly at it like it might cast a spell on him again. “It’s—I don’t know.”

You opened the passenger door and shot him a tired look. “You gonna cry in the produce aisle?”

Rafe snorted, almost indignant. “What? No.”

In a matter of seconds, he was already by your side, hand out, ready to help you into the passenger seat.

“I got it,” You brushed him off with a roll of your eyes.

Rafe didn’t back down. “You shouldn’t have to.”

One of your dainty hands was already gripping the doorframe as you started to hoist yourself in.

“Watch me.”

He hovered anyway, hand out so he could catch you midair if you so much as wobbled.

“Stubborn,” He grumbled under his breath, not loud enough for a fight but loud enough for you to hear.

You settled into the seat with a small wince—barely noticeable unless someone was paying very, very close attention.

Rafe was paying attention.

Your eyes flicked to him. “See? Fine.”

“Mmhm,” He wasn't convinced, reaching in to buckle the seatbelt before you could swat him away.

You narrowed your eyes in annoyance.

“You gonna bubble-wrap me next?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

You shook your head, settling into the seat with a wince.

“Wait—does it hurt?” He crouched, hand halfway extended toward your stomach, but hesitating. “Sitting? Standing?”

“Rafe,” you warned.

“What?” he asked, genuinely concerned. “I’m just asking.”

“Drive.”

He backed off, hands up again like you were pointing a loaded gun at him.

“Okay. But you gotta tell me if something’s wrong, alright?”

You sighed as he closed the door and jogged around to the driver’s side. Once you were on the road, Rafe glanced at you out of the corner of his eye every five seconds.

“You sleep at all?”

You shrugged.

Rafe tapped his thumb against the steering wheel. “Do you need anything around the house? How's the treatment?"

“Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

His face dropped.

This was why he didn’t push. You had a way of cutting through bullshit with a single sentence, and even now, with your delicate tone and your eyes on the horizon, it still hurt like a bitch.

He was jittery and wide-eyed the entire drive. This was more than a ride to the store, this was you not shutting him out. This was you, in his truck, after so long.

“I’m not trying to,” he said quickly. “I’m not. I swear.”

Rafe drove with one hand on the wheel and the other twitching in his lap, dying to reach for you but knowing better. He put on your old playlist, passed the turn to the fancier store on the north end and drove straight to the quieter one near the marina, where you wouldn't have to deal with crowds.

Once he parked, he turned toward you fully.

“Do you want me to come in with you, or—?”

Your eyes flicked to him. Finally.

He saw it.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “Please.”

That please just about ripped his spine out.

He would've gone even if you’d called him every name under the sun. Would’ve shown up if you told him to eat shit and die. He’d crawl through glass if it meant he got to be near you like this—You were here, and you’d asked him for something.

This alone felt like a second chance he didn’t deserve.

He opened the door without another word, rounded the truck, and reached your side before you could try to climb down on your own.

This time, you let him help. His hands were warm under your arms as you eased onto the pavement.

“Okay?” he murmured.

You nodded.

This was the type of shit he used to dream about in silence, lying awake at night with his face buried in your old pillow after crying more than he’d ever admit. Wondering if he’d ever be allowed back in ordinary parts of your life again. The boring stuff—the errands, the grocery runs. The seatbelt arguments. The way you pointed out the weird snacks he always bought.

"There's not a lot of people this time of day," Rafe said gently, clocking your silence. “But if it feels like too much—”

“I’m fine.” Your voice sounded flat.

Even if the store was mostly empty, there were people. And people had eyes and mouths.

As far as everyone knows, Rafe and you broke up months ago. You pulled your hood lower. That instinct to hide didn’t surprise him, but it crushed him all the same.

He fell into step beside you, arm brushing yours sometimes on purpose. Inside, there were a couple of older folks milling around. A teenage boy stacking cereal boxes. A woman with a crying toddler.

You tugged your sleeves over your hands and went straight for the carts. Rafe snagged one before you could, wheeling it behind you without a word. You glanced at him, eyebrows adorably pinched.

“What?” He cocks an eyebrow. “Let me be useful.”

Eggs. Milk. The prenatal vitamins you forgot last time. He didn’t flinch when he saw the label on the bottle, and dropped it in the cart for you with a nod.

You moved slowly, partly because your legs ached and because you were stalling. You didn’t want to rush when no one had paid you any attention yet.

Rafe walked behind the cart, guarding it, you. Shoulders squared, eyes always flicking around the aisles, ready to throw hands with anyone who so much as whispered something sideways. He caught how clutched your purse tighter, the sharp breaths you tried to hide.

At one point, a woman walked past, gave Rafe a long look, and then looked at you. She didn’t say anything, but you stopped. Went still.

Rafe was at your side in a second. “Hey.”

You swallowed. “She looked at me weird.”

He hated that you had to feel like this—hide so much.

“She looked at me weird.”

He kept close, shadowing your steps, the tension in his body never fully easing. Every time someone glanced at you, at the swell of your belly, he felt oddly overprotective.

It was no longer just about being in love. It was turning into something primal; his heart, his very soul, had been hooked and tangled with you and the little life growing inside you. And fuck if he wasn’t going to guard you both with every ounce of strength he had.

He caught up when you paused again in the juice aisle.

“Need help?”

You reached for a bottle on the top shelf—cranberry, your favorite—but it was behind a stack of other ones. You stretched, finger grazing the edge, a grunt slipping from your lips as you rocked onto your toes.

Rafe moved fast.

So fast, it startled you when he was suddenly behind you, one hand sprawled on your lower back, the other bracing your hip. He reached over you with ease, snatching the bottle like it was nothing, but he didn’t pull away immediately.

Your breath hitched.

“Easy,” he murmured, right next to your ear.

You rolled your eyes, cheeks hot. “I had it.”

“Sure you did,” He muttered, passing you the bottle. His thumb brushed your spine. “Not lettin’ you bust your ass in a juice aisle, alright?”

“I wouldn’t have,” you retorted.

When you turned to face him, you were closer than you anticipated. His hand dropped, but he didn’t step away. His gaze dipped to your mouth.

Dangerous territory.

Rafe’s throat bobbed. “You smell the same."

Your lips parted, surprise blooming behind your eyes.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

Rafe had been this close before. That night at the gala. When everything went sideways and his lungs felt like they were filling with cement. He hardly remembered how he got outside, but you were there—hands on him, voice killing through the noise in his head.

He remembered your touch. But he hadn’t been able to get a whiff of your scent, not with a clear head and a heart pounding for an entirely different reason.

Now he could.

Your breath was mingling with his, and God—the same scent that used to cling to his shirts when you stayed over, it haunted his pillow for weeks after you left.

Warm. Familiar. Completely fucking overwhelming.

He swore your eyes flicked to his lips for the briefest second.

Rafe couldn’t look away. Wouldn’t, even if he should’ve—for your sake. Your chest rose and fell in measured breaths, and he stupidly hoped you felt it too. That same unbearable pull between two people who had been here before. Who had known each other too intimately.

Your mouth was parted a little, glossy. He remembered what it tasted like, how your breath hitched when he kissed the corner first, the way your fingers always knotted in his shirt—

Fuck, he wanted to taste it again.

Just one kiss. One slip.

His hand twitched at his side, inches from your waist.

One step closer, and he could feel you. The curve of you now, fuller, warmer, carrying something that belonged to him—

“Excuse me, young man?”

Rafe’s soul nearly left his body. Both of you jerked apart, like you were sixteen again, getting caught making out in church.

An old woman in a lavender sweater and orthopedic shoes was peering up at him, one hand on her cart, the other gesturing at the same damn top shelf.

“Would you mind grabbing me one of those apple juices?” She asked sweetly, oblivious to the tension thick enough to butter toast with.

“Uh—yeah. Yeah, sure.” He cleared his throat, grabbing one for her.

Second juice save of the day.

“Thank you, dear,” she said, tucking it into her cart with a nod.

Rafe managed a polite smile, still in a daze. “No problem.”

The woman rolled away, humming to herself.

He turned back to you, but you were already looking anywhere but at him, biting your lip in a way that was going to make him lose it.

Neither of you said a word. He wanted to—shit, he wanted it so bad, for you to meet his eyes again, to look at him like you felt it, too.

Rafe stepped back and let his hands curl around the cart handle.

“You need anything else?”

You dropped the juice in the cart like nothing happened, face shuttered, voice absent as you said, “I still need rice.”

No softness. There was no trace of you, pressed against him just a second ago. You turned away, and he followed silently, shoulders tensed, feeling it slip.

That sliver of closeness now gone.

The wheels of the cart squeaked as they rolled over the linoleum, the only sound between you. Rafe kept behind you by a step, scared that getting too close might spook you. You only added things to the cart in silence. He observed how your fingers curled around the boxes and how your lips pressed together when you had to crouch or twist too far.

He meticulously catalogued everything.

Useless instincts—stupid, protective, tender ones—that wouldn’t shut the fuck up inside him. He wanted to reach for your hand in the spice aisle as if it was still his to hold.

But you weren’t looking at him anymore. He despised that he had been hoping for it—that desperate, pathetic twitch in his chest every time your head moved even slightly in his direction. Just like a dog waiting to be called. Fuck.

“Think that’s everything?” he asked, ignoring how his palms were sweating.

You nodded.

Alright. He’d wait.

At the checkout, he paid without hesitation. You didn’t argue.

Neither of you spoke as the cashier scanned your groceries, though Rafe handed you the bag with the eggs without asking—muscle memory. By the time the trunk was shut and you’d both slid into the car, the tension had mellowed down.

He started the engine, pulled onto the road.

A few minutes passed before he spoke.

“So… did you talk to Topper?”

He wasn’t looking at you directly.

His eyes were fixed out the windshield.

He knew. Topper had told him earlier in the week, he was his best friend, there was no universe where that conversation hadn’t already happened.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?” he repeated, like he hadn’t heard you the first time.

“We talked,” You said simply.

A stoplight turned red ahead, and he eased the truck to a crawl. He should’ve left it alone. But his mouth was already moving.

“He told you about Sofia?”

Your turned toward him instantly, startled.

“What?”

He glanced over, admiring how beautiful you looked when you furrowed your brows.

“You know?"

Rafe nearly laughed. It wasn't funny—okay, it was a little—but the sheer absurdity of it, the disbelief in your voice took the cake. Did you still think she meant something to him?

Rafe ran a hand down his face as you studied him, all wide-eyed and wary.

"Why wouldn't I know?"

Your brows creased further, "She's your ex."

"No," He clarified, "She's not."

He hated even saying it out loud, it sounded real fucking dumb now.

A half-assed attempt to feel something when he was trying not to think about you.

Rafe blew out a slow breath.

“You thought I’d care?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know. You get weird about shit sometimes.”

“I don’t care that they’re talking.” His thumb tapped the steering wheel. “I care that you thought I would.”

"Can you blame me?"

No, he couldn’t. Of course you were going to assume the worst after the shit he pulled.

“Right,” Rafe bit down on the inside of his cheek.

The light turned green, but he waited before easing on the gas. You kept your face turned to the window, it was probably easier to talk to your reflection in the glass than to him.

You used to talk to him, say things. It was a sacred language, just for him. He tapped his fingers on the wheel, not to a beat, just to do something.

You moved beside him, adjusting your seatbelt so it didn’t dig into your stomach. He clocked that instantly.

“Seatbelt too tight?”

A small shrug. “It’s fine.”

Bullshit.

You shouldn’t be sitting like that. You should be lying down, with pillows under your knees, and someone taking care of you.

“I could buy one of those, uh, extender things,” he offered, “For next time.”

“I’m not asking for anything."

He kept his hands at ten and two, eyes fixed on the road. Every other second, he’d steal a peek, catch the side of your face in the window’s reflection, how your arms were folded across your chest even though the A/C wasn’t blowing.

“You cold?”

“I’m fine.”

It wasn’t true.

Rafe knew you were uncomfortable; you kept fussing in your seat, three times already.

“They got the good ice at that place. The chewy kind. You want me to swing back around, steal a cup?”

You gave him the smallest, driest laugh. “Gonna rob a Sonic now?”

God, he missed hearing your laugh, even like that.

“If you wanted it bad enough.” He exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. “We can talk, you know."

You clicked your tongue in annoyance.

“We’ve already talked about it.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t keep talking.”

You scowled at this nerve.

“And say what, Rafe? What could you possibly say that hasn’t been said?”

“I—fuck, I don’t know. I’m trying.”

A sound of disbelief escaped you.

“You weren’t trying when you left.”

He recoiled like you slapped him. “That’s not fair.”

“You’re right. You know what is fair?” You said, bitterly. “You walking around like this thing isn’t growing inside me. Like I don’t have to carry it and feel it and decide—”

You stopped yourself, biting your tongue hard. Closed your eyes.

Rafe’s voice dropped. “I didn’t walk away from that.”

You stopped yourself. Bit your tongue hard. Closed your eyes.

“I didn’t walk away from that. I’ve been showing up. Every day. I know that doesn’t erase how I left, but I’m trying. I want to be here. However you’ll let me.”

He heard you inhale—tight, restrained. Then you turned to him, eyes red-rimmed. You were still pissed, guarded. But you were looking at him.

And fuck, finally.

That stupid part of him—the one that wagged its tail every time you threw him a bone—lit up. He could live on scraps if it meant you’d look at him like that again.

Rafe meant it with every fiber of his body.

If you asked him to drive across the country for a specific brand of prenatal vitamins, he’d do it. If you wanted him to sit outside your door and not come in, just so you’d know someone was there, he’d do that too.

“I’m here. Even if it’s just to grab apple juice off the top shelf or to punch Topper in the face if he says the wrong thing.”

You huffed a laugh, rolling your eyes.

“There she is,” he teased, squeezing your leg gently. “Was starting to think I’d hallucinated that smile.”

“Don’t push it.”

He smirked, couldn’t help it , even if you were half-ready to rip his head off, it was better than that cold silence. He didn’t miss the way your eyes softened, that split-second slip where you didn’t hate him.

Or you still did, but not fully.

Rafe’s hand lingered on your leg before he cleared his throat and pulled it back, gripping the steering wheel again like his life depended on it.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

“I’m not really good at doing what I’m supposed to.”

You gave him a look, that familiar, flat stare. He knew you'd rather bite glass than admit he was charming sometimes.

“And what are you supposed to do, huh?”

Rafe glanced at you from the corner of his eye, not trying to hide the smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Thought that was obvious,” he said, casual, “Love you."

You scoffed, disbelieving—he was the one being ridiculous.

“Oh, go eat shit.”

He fucking loved you.

The laugh burst out of him before he could stop it, all teeth, not mocking, only helpless. You turned your face to the view again, but he saw the corner of your mouth twitching like it wanted to smile.

“You’re so—” you started, cutting yourself off with a frustrated noise.

You looked so fucking beautiful. That expression on your face, that shit wrecked him.

"Charming?"

You were flushed from the heat, cheeks warm, hair frizzy from the humidity, and still, all he could think was how unfair it was for you to look like that and not be his anymore.

“I was gonna say insufferable.”

“That too,” Rafe said, grinning. “Multifaceted.”

“Wow. You’re actually proud of that.”

“Course I am. You used to like that about me.”

"No, I tolerated it. Big difference.”

His tongue clicked against his teeth, turning onto the long road that led toward your neighborhood.

“Coulda fooled me. Especially that night after Barry’s party.”

He was feeling bold, sue him.

“That was a lapse in judgment.”

He bit back a smile, but it was in his voice when he said, “Pretty long lapse. Five-hour lapse.”

“Oh my fucking God."

He glanced over at you, head tilted. “You’re smiling.”

“I’m grimacing,” you corrected, poorly. “Because this is painful.”

You stayed still, only the sound of the tires on the road and the distant hum of the A/C between you.

But it wasn’t that bad anymore. He snuck a glance at your profile, the curve of your cheek, how you leaned into the door, but didn’t flinch away from him like earlier.

He wanted to tell you again—that he loved you, that he still loved you, that he wasn’t going anywhere—but he knew better than to say it twice in a row.

The phone buzzed on the dashboard, Rafe saw Sarah’s name lighting up the screen.

He held it out toward you. “Here. You wanna talk to her?”

You took the phone, and as you pressed it to your ear.

“Hey, Sar."

He missed the nicknames you used for him—the ones that made his chest warm. Those little names that made him feel like he was the only person who got to hear them.

“Hey! So you two haven’t killed each other yet. That’s nice!”

"Shut up."

"I can stop by later! JJ's doing better. You want to?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes, please. I could use that.”

“Alright, I’ll be there.” Sarah signed off with a promise, and the call ended, "Call me if you need anything. Love you."

"Mmkay, love you too."

The way you said it—automatic—made something burn to ashes inside him. He wanted to be the one you said that to the most. He wanted to hear it from your lips; it meant the world.

He used to be the one you said that to without thinking.

"Here—"

He noticed you stop mid-sentence, inhaling, then you turned slowly to him. Then the screen on his phone lit up, showing the lockscreen—unchanged since last year. That picture of your 18th birthday, the two of you caught mid-laugh, arms thrown over each other.

Rafe squeezed the wheel gently, thinking to himself how lucky he was—even if you didn’t say it aloud—to be the one you looked at that way once.

"It's a nice picture," He offered.

"Yeah."

"You ever miss it?”

Your shoulders pushed back, your body catching the question before your brain did. Your mouth tensed and he braced himself for the worst.

"Missing something doesn’t mean it still fits.”

You handed the phone back, not bothering to wait for a response or caring if there was one.

Doesn't mean it still fits—he deserved that.

But it wasn't going to stop him from wanting to try it anyway, even if it tore straight through him.

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pomegranatelifethis · 10 days ago

Text

Shadows of Absence

The Wayne Manor is a labyrinth of secrets, its halls echoing with the ghosts of choices made and unmade. I’ve always known this, felt it in the weight of every step I take across its polished floors. As Batman, I’ve trained myself to see everything—every shadow, every flicker of movement, every unspoken truth. But there are blind spots even I can’t escape, and one of them has been you.

You, my daughter, tucked away in the corners of this sprawling estate, a quiet presence I’ve failed to notice until the absence of you became louder than the chaos of Gotham itself.

It’s not that I meant to overlook you. That’s the cruelest part of it—neglect isn’t always intentional. It’s a slow erosion, a failure to see what’s right in front of you because the world keeps pulling your gaze elsewhere. I’ve spent years honing my focus, but somehow, you slipped through the cracks of my vigilance. And now, as I sit in the Batcave, the monitors flickering with data on Gotham’s latest threats, I find my thoughts drifting not to the city, but to you.

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The first time I noticed something was wrong, it was subtle, like a whisper in a storm. It was at one of Alfred’s meticulously planned family dinners, a rare occasion when I insisted everyone gather at the table. Dick was there, cracking jokes to lighten the mood; Jason slouched in his chair, tossing barbs at Tim, who was too absorbed in his tablet to care; Damian was silent, his sharp eyes dissecting everyone’s movements; and Cass, as always, watched with that quiet intensity that saw more than she ever said. You were there too, seated near the end of the table, your plate barely touched.

I should have noticed then. The way your shoulders hunched slightly, the way your fork moved without purpose, the way your eyes didn’t meet anyone’s—not even when Dick tried to pull you into the conversation with one of his easy smiles. But I was distracted, my mind half in the cave, already planning the night’s patrol. You said something, I think, a soft comment about a book you’d read, but it was lost in the cacophony of Jason’s laughter and Damian’s sharp retort to Tim. I didn’t hear you. I didn’t *see* you.

“Bruce,” Alfred said later that night, his voice carrying that understated weight he reserves for moments when he knows I’ve failed. “Miss Y/N seemed rather quiet this evening. Perhaps you might check on her?”

I nodded, already halfway out the door, my cowl in hand. “I will, Alfred. Tomorrow.”

Tomorrow came and went, and I didn’t check on you. There was a breakout at Arkham, a new lead on the Penguin’s operations, a city screaming for Batman. You, my daughter, were a quiet priority, one I told myself I’d address when the noise died down. But the noise never dies down in Gotham, and neither does the noise in my head.

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The second time I noticed—or rather, failed to notice—was during a rare moment of downtime. I was in the library, reviewing case files, when you walked in. You were always in the library, weren’t you? Always with a book in hand, curled up in that armchair by the window, the one that caught the afternoon light just right. I should have known that was your sanctuary, your escape from a family that moved too fast, too loud, too sharp.

You stood there for a moment, hesitating at the threshold, and I looked up, my pen still scratching notes. “Hey, kiddo,” I said, the words automatic, my tone distracted. You smiled—a small, tentative thing that I should have recognized as fragile. You asked if I wanted tea, said you were going to make some for yourself. I think I said yes, or maybe I just grunted, my focus already back on the file. You left, and I didn’t think about it again until hours later, when I found a cold cup of tea on the table beside me, untouched.

I stared at it, a strange weight settling in my chest. When had you brought it? How long had I been so absorbed that I didn’t even hear you come back? I told myself it was nothing, that you were fine, that you were just being thoughtful. But the tea was a silent accusation, a reminder that you’d reached out, and I hadn’t reached back.

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The moments pile up, don’t they? The missed glances, the half-heard words, the times I walked past you in the halls of the manor without stopping to ask how you were. You were always there, a constant in the background, like the hum of the city I’ve learned to tune out. But you weren’t the city. You were my daughter, and I let you fade into the noise.

I started noticing more, but only in fragments, like pieces of a puzzle I didn’t know I was supposed to solve. The way Dick’s easy banter with you seemed to falter, his smiles not quite reaching you the way they used to. The way Jason, for all his rough edges, would linger near you sometimes, like he was trying to figure out if you were okay but didn’t know how to ask. The way Tim’s analytical gaze would flicker to you when he thought no one was watching, a crease in his brow that wasn’t there when he was solving cases. The way Damian, sharp-tongued and imperious, never aimed his barbs at you, his silence a strange kind of respect—or perhaps a recognition of something I hadn’t seen.

Cass saw it most clearly. She always does. One night, after a grueling patrol, she found me in the cave, stitching up a gash on my arm. Her eyes, dark and unyielding, fixed on me in that way that makes you feel like she’s peeling back your skin to see what’s underneath.

“Y/N,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “She’s quiet. Too quiet.”

I frowned, the needle pausing mid-stitch. “She’s always quiet, Cass. She’s fine.”

Cass shook her head, a rare gesture of frustration. “Not fine. Hurting.”

The word hit like a blow, sharp and precise. Hurting. My daughter, hurting, and I hadn’t known. I opened my mouth to argue, to say something about how you were strong, how you didn’t need me hovering, but the words died in my throat. Cass’s gaze didn’t waver, and in that moment, I knew she was right. I’d been blind, and she’d seen what I hadn’t.

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I started watching you after that, really watching. Not the way I watch Gotham, scanning for threats, but the way a father should watch his child, searching for signs of life, of joy, of pain. And what I saw—or rather, what I didn’t see—unraveled me.

You moved through the manor like a shadow, present but insubstantial. You spoke when spoken to, smiled when expected, but there was a hollowness to it, a performance you’d perfected. You didn’t seek out Dick’s laughter or Jason’s sarcasm or Tim’s quiet camaraderie. You didn’t challenge Damian or mirror Cass’s silent strength. You were there, but you weren’t. Not really.

I found your room one evening, the door slightly ajar. I don’t know why I stopped—maybe it was instinct, maybe it was guilt. I pushed the door open and stepped inside, my eyes taking in the space that was yours. It was tidy, too tidy, like you were afraid to leave a mark. The walls were bare except for a single framed photo of the family, taken years ago, when you were younger, your smile brighter, your eyes less guarded. There were books stacked neatly on your desk, a sketchpad tucked beneath them, its pages filled with drawings I’d never seen—landscapes, faces, Gotham’s skyline rendered in delicate pencil strokes. They were beautiful, and they were yours, and I’d never known.

I sat on the edge of your bed, the weight of my failures pressing down on me. How had I let this happen? How had I let you become a stranger in your own home? I’ve faced down Gotham’s worst, stared into the abyss of my own darkness, but this—this quiet, aching distance between us—was a terror I didn’t know how to fight.

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I tried to fix it, in my own clumsy way. I sought you out more, asked you questions at dinner, invited you to the cave to see the new tech Tim was working on. But it was like trying to catch smoke. You’d answer, you’d smile, but there was a wall there, one I’d helped you build. You didn’t trust me, and why should you? I’d given you years of absence, years of prioritizing the mission, the city, the others.

The night I realized how deep the damage went, I found you in the garden, sitting on the stone bench beneath the willow tree. The moonlight cast you in silver, your face serene but distant, like you were somewhere else entirely. I approached, my boots crunching on the gravel, and you looked up, startled, like you hadn’t expected anyone to find you.

“Mind if I sit?” I asked, my voice rougher than I meant it to be.

You nodded, scooting over to make room. I sat, the silence stretching between us, heavy with all the things I didn’t know how to say. I wanted to ask why you were out here alone, why you looked like you were carrying a weight no one could see, but the words felt inadequate, like they’d break something fragile.

Instead, I said, “I’ve been a bad father.”

Your eyes widened, and for a moment, I thought you’d deny it, brush it off like you always did. But you didn’t. You looked down at your hands, your fingers twisting together, and said, so softly I almost didn’t hear, “It’s okay. I’m used to it.”

Those words were a knife, twisting deep. Not because you meant to hurt me, but because they were true. You were used to it. Used to being overlooked, used to being alone, used to a father who was more shadow than substance.

“It’s not okay,” I said, my voice cracking. “You deserve better. I should have been better.”

You didn’t say anything for a long time, and I didn’t push. I just sat there, letting the silence be, letting you decide if you wanted to let me in. When you finally spoke, your voice was small, trembling, like you were afraid of the words. “I just wanted to be enough. For you. For them.”

Them. The family. The Batfamily, with its chaos and its brilliance and its relentless demands. You’d grown up in their shadows, hadn’t you? Dick’s charm, Jason’s fire, Tim’s genius, Damian’s ferocity, Cass’s grace—they were all so loud, so bright, and you, with your quiet strength, your gentle heart, had faded into the background.

“You are enough,” I said, the words fierce, desperate. “You’ve always been enough.”

You looked at me then, really looked at me, and I saw the pain in your eyes, the years of doubt and loneliness I’d let fester. “Then why didn’t you see me?”

I didn’t have an answer, not one that would fix it. All I could do was reach for you, pull you into my arms, and hold you like I should have all those years ago. You stiffened at first, like you weren’t sure you could trust it, but then you relaxed, your head resting against my chest, and I felt the weight of your tears soaking into my shirt.

“I see you now,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “And I’m not going to look away again.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

It’s not fixed, not yet. Neglect leaves scars, and trust is a fragile thing, rebuilt slowly, brick by brick. But I’m trying. I make time now, carve it out of the endless demands of Gotham. I sit with you in the library, ask about your books, your drawings. I listen when you talk, really listen, and I’m learning the shape of you—your quiet humor, your fierce compassion, your strength that’s so different from mine but no less powerful.

The others are trying too, in their own ways. Dick’s more deliberate now, making sure you’re included, his arm slung around your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing. Jason’s quieter about it, but I see him checking on you, leaving you snacks or books he thinks you’ll like. Tim’s started sharing his projects with you, asking for your input, and Damian—Damian’s started sitting with you in silence, a quiet acknowledgment that he sees you too. Cass, as always, is your shadow, her presence a steady reassurance that you’re not alone.

We’re a broken family, fractured by our choices, our obsessions, our wars. But we’re trying, and for you, we’ll keep trying. Because you’re not just a shadow in the manor, not just a quiet presence we overlooked. You’re Y/N, our daughter, our sister, and you’re worth every effort, every moment, every fight.

I’m Batman, but I’m also your father. And for the first time in a long time, I’m choosing to be the latter first. I see you, Y/N. And I’m here.

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