#just wait until we get to romancing the stone...

[vaguely-concerned]

I was just ambushed within the turbulent halls of my own mind by some headcanons about rye ingellvar's childhood that did 15000000 points of psychic damage to me and my heart personally and also made me almost sure of how I want to play it all at the end (very very differently from how I imagined going in!). some 'oh holy fuck this changes everything' rocking my own world bullshit going on in my neurons right now I'm reeling

[yummyrevivalfluid]

How To Rizz Up A Scientist

Synopsis: What better way to rizz up a scientist than using his science against him?

Chapter 1: Newton's Law of Universal Gravitation

Word Count: 1888

Warnings: Flirting, Sexual jokes, Eventual smut (next chapter)

Everyone who knew Senku knew that he prioritized science. Very few knew about his moments of vulnerability when he expressed his genuine care for others in his own fashion, often expressing himself through his actions rather than words.

Senku would soon discover that only one person would know a different side to him that even he didn’t know existed.

Science was at the top of his priorities, and dating was at the bottom. He didn’t care for relationships, and anything that would come with them. He avoided books with any hints of romance, preferring books that would further increase the success of his rocket.

Senku didn’t care for displays of affection, and his face showed signs of annoyance whenever someone embraced him. To him, it felt unnecessary. As much as he cared for Taiju and Yuzuriha, he didn’t need them smothering him in affection.

Physical intimacy? Senku didn’t care about it. Never gave it too much thought. His mind never wandered to the idea of pleasure, using his hands other than for his studies. If Sir Isaac Newton lived a celibate life, Senku could too.

That was until you came along.

…

You were a transfer student, but you were quick to adjust to your new environment. You figured out the school’s hierarchy, merging into the clique as if you were one of them.

You didn’t mind your new friends, but quickly grew bored with them. It was clear to you what they prioritized, and you needed more. You liked having balance. You needed something to stimulate your mind. You needed someone.

“-and then with a nuclear magnetic resonance test, we can determine the depth of the pores and other physical properties, all based on the carbon chain distribution…”

You stop in your tracks. Snapping your head around to see whose words those belong to. Words that vaguely sounded familiar to you, something that sounds like organic chemistry.

What sane person talks about organic chemistry as if it were a casual topic?

He sounded confident in what he said. He knew his stuff, that was for sure. This intrigued you.

You tug the sleeve of the girl in front of you and pull her close quickly, turning her attention to the boy who walked past you. “Who is he?”

“Huh?” She looks in your direction, trying to pinpoint the boy who caught your attention. “Senku?” she asks, unsure.

“Senku,” you test the sound of his name, watching as he walks further down the hall, unaware that he has caught your attention. Unaware of your scheming nature. “Tell me everything you know about Senku.”

…

Senku glared at the door, waiting for the person he blamed for his dilemma. Classes were over, and he was supposed to be with the science club, experimenting with a brand-new NMR that the school funded. The same NMR that would’ve been revoked and all club funding ceased if he hadn’t accepted being a tutor.

Taking a bullet for my beloved science

He’s glaring at the door and the clock right above it. Whoever pulled some strings to have Senku as their tutor didn’t have any regard for his time. He impatiently tapped the pencil against the desk as another minute passed. His patience was running thin.

He was itching to run to the science club, get his hands on the NMR, create gasoline with the stone swallow he had found, and understand its physical properties.

Another minute passed, and he'd had enough. He got up from his seat and made his way to the door. He swung it open only to be met with an unfamiliar face. He doesn’t waste a second. He’s quick to tell you what is on his mind.

“You’re late.” His voice doesn’t hold back his irritation. What you’ve heard about him appears to be true, not that you mind. He sounds just like your type.

“Ah, sorry!” you quickly apologize, your movements awkward as you enter the room. “I’m still having trouble finding some of the classrooms.”

“Transfer student?” he asks. He sits at the desk before you, waiting for you as you lay out your books and stationery. He eyes the bulky books you set, physics and chemistry.

“Yup.”

You organize your study materials on the desk, pulling out your favorite pens and highlighters. Senku watches you, unsure what to think of you, his expression calculating.

“What strings did you pull to get me as your tutor?” Senku asks, his arms crossed. “The school has other tutors available. So why me?”

“I asked for the best, which I guess means you.” You open your notebook to a blank page, nudging the physics books towards him, “I paid top dollar for you, so let’s get right into it, shall we?”

“Who knows, if I like you so much, maybe I can get more funding for your little club.” You say casually, leaning slightly forward and flashing him a smug smile.

Rich people

…

“Up next, Newton’s Law of Universal Gravitation.” Senku circles the formula in your textbook and explains its meaning, “As the radius between two masses increases, the force of attraction between them decreases.”

You write down the equation and the general definition, but look at your notebook, puzzled. Senku notices and leans beside you, trying to figure out where you’re confused.

“What part do you not understand?” he asks. Your notes look fine- nothing seems out of place.

“So, if two masses were to get closer, the force of attraction between them increases?” He doesn’t notice the lack of space between you until you press against him, tilting your head to look up at him with a sly smile, “So what’s the force of attraction that we’re producing?”

It takes a second for your words to sink in, and when they do, he’s laughing. He’s pulling away from you, covering his mouth, hiding his smile, and attempting to calm himself down.

“Did you just use Newton’s Law to flirt with me?” Senku asks, amused at your attempt.

You pout at him, clearly it didn’t work the way you wanted, but it’s fine. You liked a slow burn anyway. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.” You shrug your shoulders as you bat your eyes at him.

“Not interested.” He shoots you down, but you don’t back down.

“In Newton’s wise words,” you pull him closer by his tie. “If gravity pulled an apple, I can pull you, " you say with seriousness, despite your joking words.

Senku nudges the physics book towards you, “Show me where he says that.”

“You’re no fun.”

“If you want fun, go find another tutor.” His hands are on the desk, he’s hovering over you, attempting to make you feel small, but you don’t back down.

You copy his stance, placing your hands on the desk, as you move closer to him. You playfully glare at him, your eyes flicker between his eyes and lips, and he notices. You want him to notice.

“I don’t want another tutor, I want you.”

Why did he have the feeling that the school pimped him out for some quick cash?

…

It’s been a few days since he last saw you, and your attempts at flirting clouded his mind. It wasn’t his first time that someone flirted with him, and it wasn’t the first time someone tried to use his love for STEM in their favor.

However, it was the first time someone persisted. Even after being shot down, you push onwards, his words did little to keep you down.

Usually, he would be heading to the science club at this time, but with your meddling, he finds himself heading to the room reserved for your tutoring session. To his surprise, you are already waiting for him when he opens the door.

“What subject are we focusing on today?” Senku asks as he walks over to the desk, placing his stuff down.

“Chemistry, " you respond. Senku is suspicious about your intentions, so he takes the initiative and tries to beat you to the punch.

“Because there’s chemistry between the two of us?” he says nonchalantly, the smile tugging on his lips betrays him.

You stop writing in your notebook, and you look up at Senku, noticing the smile on his face. You let out a dry laugh as you shake your head in disappointment. “That was so lame. I expected better.”

“I might be a chemistry major, but I’d never Bohr you. Better?”

You make a face at his attempt at flirting, shaking your head no, and continue to write down some notes from the book. “That’s so gen-chem. I’m starting to wonder if you’re the best in the school.”

“I am.” He retorts, slightly insulted, that you think he’s not. You don’t say anything, which he feels is worse than you saying anything.

…

He tutors you every two days, and it’s more than enough time for him to look up some pick-up lines to impress your high standards.

It’s his third session with you, and he walks in prepared to knock your socks off. But the sight of you stops him- he doesn’t know why. Nothing is different. You patiently waited for him, but he couldn’t pull himself together to say the pick-up lines.

“If it’s okay with you, I want to focus on physics today. I’m having trouble with some of the formulas.”

“Which ones are you having trouble with?” Senku asks, sitting beside you rather than his usual seat in front. You flip through the book to the section you’re having trouble wrapping your mind around.

“Energy of conservation…uhhh…work-energy theorem when considering gravitational and elastic potential energy….and spring potential energy.”

You glance up from the book after marking the pages you wanted to review. You glance over to Senku, who has been writing down the formulas. “Did you have all those formulas memorized?” you asked, impressed.

“Do you still doubt me?” Senku seems offended. “I am the best money can buy.” He is still writing in the notebook, finishing the last equations, but he can feel you pressing onto his side, watching over his shoulder.

When he finishes, he hands you the notebook, and you begin scanning the pages, flipping back and forth. He notes your confused look as you hand him the notebook back.

“I think you’re missing one.” You reply to him, unsatisfied with his work. Senku snatches the notebook from you with force, quickly flipping through the pages and reviewing that he didn’t make a mistake in any of the equations.

“I’m not missing any.” He turns to look back at you, ready to banter with you, but your proximity to him leaves him vulnerable. The words get caught in his throat as you lean closer to him, caging him in. Your hand moves from the desk to rest on his hand, “I don’t see the formula to pull you.”

Fuck you were good.

“I know.”

…

He doesn’t remember the study session number when he finally matches your energy, but it reveals a side he didn’t know he had. Something he kept hidden deep inside.  

“I wish I were a Sn2 reaction….” his hands rest on your thighs, inching closer to the divot between your legs, his fingers digging into the fat of your thigh. “So, I could attack you from the backside.”

“I’d let you.”

---

A/n: This was supposed to be wholesome, sweet, and fluffy. Instead the spirit of a freak possessed near me near the end.

Any tips or feedback on writing dialogue?

[staravyz]

Hiii can we have Senku and a clingy partner but smart and strong

I love your stuff and hope you have a good day/night!

︖﹖ㅤㅤSenku w/a Clingy Partner 🤯

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ❕️ㅤclick4rules—4masterlist

ㅤㅤ🔭ㅤㅤ—ㅤ(dr stone) ishigami senku x gn!reader

ㅤ﹑tags ... fluff/headcanons/implied relationship and r-r-r-r-romance.../reader glaze/i love glazing reader

ㅤ౨ৎㅤ—ㅤa/n﹕AAYYAY MY FIRST REQUEST YIPPEE (>▂<) i went with headcanons if that's okay also reader was a sports player in the old world

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤpre petrification

holy moly were you a high achiever 🙏

medals and certificates, you exceeded in athletics and academics

your classmates often wondered what your secret was in maintaining such a stable sanity and life

the trick? senku's persistent ass who takes pleasure in using your talents and skills to complete side quests for his illegal science projects

you are not allowed to skip practice

he doesn't even come to any of your games smh

fetching this and that

buying this and that

coding this and that

it was just part of your routine at that point to always be running errands for him

senku was taught how to say please and thank you, he just... does it differently...........

senku isn't a romantic person in the slightest

he isn't one for physical touch at all, but if it's coming from you, he doesn't mind

unlike taiju's suffocating hugs, your embrace is comfortable and respectful.

for the sake of senku's sanity, reader will be an acts of service and quality time type of clingy rather than physical touch

always seen together, yet senku is so used to your company that it hasn't registered in his head how you're always nearby until someone else points it out

then begins the over-analyzation behind every minor interaction you two have ever had

he attempts to keep it subtle but senku isn't known for that lol

his intentions become clear at some point and that's when you'd have to explain that you simply enjoy being around him because interesting things always seem to happen to him

for such a random reason senku failed to consider, he was a little skeptical about your honesty regarding that

"you sure you weren't paid to assassinate me and you're just waiting for the right time to strike?"

"i'm sure."

after this hell of a revelation, senku gradually began reciprocating your actions more and more

it took a while for it to click for him

but one side quest turned to an unexpected date after the other... there were more reasons to be near each other besides projects and school.

senku definitely googled "how to treat my partner right" at least once just to make sure he wasn't messing anything up

relationships were the last thing on his mind, but putting the pros and cons on paper with you in mind, it wasn't so difficult to convince him anymore

he even caught himself planning a future with you

he shut it down pretty quick, but that doesn't mean he willingly forgot everything he was thinking about

future jobs, university, travelling, studies, all with you would make things ten billion times easier

overall, your clingy affection and presence may not be reciprocated by senku, but it will be appreciated.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤpost petrification

is petrification cold, or is it just the absence of your warmth?

anyway, your waking was guaranteed to be as soon as possible

for reasons other than senku being uncomfortable with the lack of your voice and presence, of course

never has he ever outright admitted to missing you

and he never will

whenever he has extra material left over, he makes small gifts for you. to avoid wasting resources, of course

your touchstarved ahh probably infected him too so now he's slightly more affectionate than he was before

it's fitting because he's probably referred to you as a contagious disease as a joke at one point

senku has zero interest in sports and games but he'll reinvent a volleyball or something for you to play with taiju

but if he needs you in the lab and you start going "one more game! one more game!" you're getting dragged by the ankles and he has no remorse.

for a multitalented person, your name is likely being called out every 5 seconds from every direction and that will definitely get overwhelming at some point.

senku deals with that for you by politely shutting everyone up by bringing back drama tv or whatever will keep the others away from annoying you

so that he can be the only person to bother you with requests, duh

you are the only exception

ㅤ౨ৎㅤ—ㅤa/n﹕guys i really should've joined badminton this year idk why i didn't i regret not joining 🥀

©️ staravyzㅤ(¬_¬") do not steal, translate, or repost.

[rimatsu]

Ok convince me to reject caution and embrace delusion. Why are you so hopeful? 

the safe bet is definitely caution. but regardless of initial intentions, nothing is ever set in stone in the 911 writing room and that’s reason enough to remain hopeful. still, when people say the chances of a reconciliation are non-zero, i think that’s low-balling it. at the very least, we’re at 10% chance, 90% faith.

granted the interviews i (unwillingly) absorbed via osmosis don't exactly inspire confidence but again: 1) tim is fickle as the wind and writers can change their minds at the drop of a hat, 2) nothing that was directly stated by actors or showrunner contradicts the idea of a makeup arc, 3) if the breakup was intentionally designed as a temporary hurdle they’d imply otherwise anyway (oh god i sound like Them don't i.... this is a cry for help)

the reasons why 8x06 could qualify as a temporary split have been extensively discussed so i’ll try to be brief (spoiler: i failed) before tackling what i’d like to see in 8b. buckle up buttercup, i’m a yapper:

1) the breakup wasn’t written as definitive or unfixable. buck and tommy didn’t part because of irreconcilable differences or because passion/attraction fizzled out. if they wanted that door closed, tommy could’ve simply said he was uninterested in pursuing long term commitment with buck, that they’re not compatible in the long run — there: a clean, uncomplicated break. instead, we’re told that tommy desperately wants to be the person buck settles down with, but he’s convinced buck is propelled by the excitement of novelty, that he suspects buck is latching onto him for the wrong reasons, that he can’t allow himself to merge their home life together in fear he’ll never recover once buck wants out. the implications here being tommy is in love with buck already. for his part, buck came to the realization that he wants a future with tommy and immediately decided to pursue it because that's just the type of man he is: never one to do things by half-measures, seeing no value in waiting once his mind is made up. so there’s no conflicting desire there. they want the same thing: permanence with each other. the next two episodes also paint a strange picture if the goal is a definitive separation. buck bakes excessively in an attempt to cope when he never needed a coping mechanism following a breakup before, and we’re told several times that he wants to reach out — in fact buck was about to reach out until he was physically stopped. in total, 3 tommy mentions so far. usually we get the one and then buck moves on to greener pastures (abby notwithstanding, but she's an exception and not the rule, main character privilege and all). we were even deliberately shown that tommy considered contacting buck on his own. that's establishing regret and a desire for reconnection on both sides of the equation. again, that’s a never seen before: tommy is an outlier. completely unnecessary if the breakup is a done deal. whether they follow it through or not, the aftermath was written in such a way that there’s ground for a reconciliation if needs be

2) this is the first buck break up to happen during the first act of the season, something that’s normally reserved for the finale for maximum impact. why this distinction? strange placement for the end of a romantic storyline if you ask me.

3) they're never going to replicate a LI that checks out as many boxes as tommy does, or recapture the romcom magic that was 7x04-7x06. and it's fine if they don't, not all endgame romances need to be the most memorable of the bunch, but it'd be stupid to let the remaining potential go to waste. it's undeniable, the show is nearing its end, i don't imagine they get renewed past s10. if they go the natalia route again and introduce a LI at the last moment, it's going to pale in comparison to the other viable option, one that has pre-established history and connection to buck/the 118. inadvertently or not, they set up an epic love story of intertwined fate. tommy has literally haunted the narrative since the pilot: one of the very first thing abby reveals is that she’s not over tommy breaking off their (retconned) engagement. as such, tommy has played a pivotal role in shaping buck into the man he is today: if tommy hadn’t transferred out to harbor station, buck wouldn’t have found his family and his life purpose. if tommy hadn’t left abby, buck wouldn’t have realized that emotional intimacy and romantic connection is what he seeks. if tommy hadn’t kissed him, a huge part of buck’s identity would’ve remained buried and unexplored. how are they possibly going to top a red string theory dating back 8 seasons? they can’t. i’m sure they’re aware of that.

4) why bring our attention to tommy’s admiration and envy for a tight-knit unit like the 118, on three separate occasions, if the ultimate goal isn’t to reward him and integrate him into the makeshift family?

5) idk what it's worth, if it's worth anything at all, but there’s been a substantial amount of displeasure voiced over their breakup. tommy is buck’s most well-received LI to date. they took a risk with the Big Bisexual Reveal and it paid off with increased engagement and viewership. if they were still debating a reconciliation, surely they've heard that at least some people will eagerly welcome a makeup arc with open arms.

i'm a broken record so i'm probably repeating myself but here goes my ideal timeline for the rest of the season (not a speculation, not wishful thinking, but a secret third thing):

i'm gonna operate under the assumption that the breakup happened solely so buck could be at his lowest for the kidnapping plot line with a minimal/reduced support system (no boyfriend AND no best friend around when his pregnant sister is abducted). in other words, i don't think buck will be in a place to venture back into the dating world by 8x09-8x10 quite yet (i don’t actually buy the buck-dates-the-serial-killer theory). he's handled the breakup fairly well but now with the kidnapping & eddie gone/in the process of moving, i assume that's when he really starts to spiral.

(if we get a fourth tommy mention here, i'd say it's a promising sign. it’d be a purposeful way to keep him in viewers’ radar after the 4-month break)

i think getting maddie back after a few days of fear and uncertainty will be a breakthrough for buck and he’ll make a conscious decision to move on from his funk by the end of 8x10.

ideally “jumping back into the pond” would take place in 8x11 to 8x13, starting with a comedic montage of buck in a string of various failed dates. this is the part of the season where i expect him to utter the word bisexual, probably when the topic of exes comes into play. every other queer identity in the show gets labeled and stated in no uncertain terms, but bisexuality is ever only vaguely implied (nancy in ls) or shown but not explicitly spoken (buck and eva). it’s frustrating. personally i choose to believe buck’s lackluster reaction to maddie’s questionable “how many men did she turn gay?” joke was intentional on the writers’ part. it was the perfect opportunity to reaffirm his sexuality but buck didn’t bc he's not fully in tune with his queerness yet. yeah he speedran through his coming out but recalibrating your entire identity after 3 decades of presumed heterosexuality is a complex process rifled with ups and downs. i hope it gets explored with more care and depth in future episodes.

supposedly we know two things: the fling is another form of coping mechanism, and it's short-lived. chances are it's going to be a woman, and i'd love for it to be a bi girl bc 1) yay bi4bi m/f representation, 2) he's dating someone who can intimately relate to his experience and can maybe offer some additional clarity where clarity is still needed.

my other preferred scenario is that he meets a guy who immediately clocks that buck is still hung up on his ex and not emotionally available for anything more than casual fun. basically give buck a sex friend who can expose him to the LA gay scene. if my memory serves me right, OS said he'd like to see buck in queer spaces. i would like to see it too (we could’ve had that exploration with tommy but i digress….)

long story short, he eventually meets someone he has chemistry with, but it's still not as easy or companionable or butterfly-inducing as it was with tommy. buck gets back home from the seemingly successful date and he just... starts baking — wordlessly communicating to the audience that he’s still plagued by Tommy Thoughts.

now if i put on my clown shoes, i’d say the bts pictures of the 217 engines suggest an upcoming bucktommy reunion on a call (surely they were made for a reason. right. RIGHT????), ideally in 8x14. i’ve babbled about it here, but the sparknotes version is:

- there's a 5 alarm high-rise fire requiring ground and aerial ops. tommy is tasked with delivering firefighters to the roof, including the 118. the chopper ride to destination is understandably awkward but professional enough

- tommy joins ground ops once he’s completed his maximum hours of flight. he ends up trapped in a pocket of rubbles with buck after a partial structural collapse. that’s when they hash it out. it’s not pretty: they’re on edge and exhausted and full of adrenaline and words aren’t sugarcoated or minced. but they’re honest, and afterward they understand each other’s perspective.

it has been said before, but i don't think buck registered the underlying message of the breakup. we know he doesn't handle rejection well, and it's likely he was so hyperfocused on being told no that he didn’t compute the “no matter how much i want to be (your last)” part. that’d explain the 118’s strange response to the split. if i was told “my boyfriend broke up with me because he thinks i'll eventually break his heart once i figure out he's not who i truly want” i’d strongly advise communication before calling it quit prematurely. but if my friend told me “my boyfriend broke up with me when i asked him to move in bc he doesn't think we'll last bc i don’t know what i want” i would trust that they relayed the correct story and i too would discourage contact.

anyway buck has stated that he doesn’t want to chase after someone who doesn’t want him before, but now he knows that wanting was never the issue with tommy, that the breakup was fueled by insecurities and fears and trauma rather than disinterest. at first, it’s presented as reaching a necessary closure: once the fire is contained, buck and tommy part way with another “see you around, buck. i truly hope you find what you’re looking for” and a bittersweet smile. except now buck has had another breakthrough, he’s full of renewed resolved and clarity, and he’s ready to fight for this relationship, so he shows up at tommy’s doorstep the next night and pleads his case.

in 8x15-8x16, we see them readjust to being a couple except this time, it's with the knowledge that they both want serious in the long run. maybe they discover facets of each other previously kept under wraps for the sake of 'keeping it light and breezy'. also they fuck/fade to black on screen (this is imperative)

the last two episodes are focused on the closing disaster, whatever that might be. in this hypothetical timeline, we get a few more glimpses of domesticity. maybe even establish the setup for a move-in next season when bucktommy discuss buck’s lease.

you can have the helicopter crash as a treat for s9. once they're truly settled with each other and it's bound to be more devastating.

voilà <3 apologies and congratulations for your perseverance if you made it this far. the answer was never supposed to be this lengthy or tangencial oops can you tell i’m obsessed. terminally ill even

[elryuse]

Tainted Desire

Yandere Jennie X Male Reader

Tags : Obsession, Dangerous Romance, Slight Smut, Dark, Gritty, Forbidden Romance

Words : 2,908 Words

Requested by My Mate @hijack711

You never expected your marriage to end like this.

Sitting in your dimly lit office at the university, you run a hand through your disheveled hair, staring at the half-empty bottle of whiskey on your desk. The silence of the night wraps around you, broken only by the distant hum of the city beyond the window.

Your phone buzzes—a message from your wife. Soon-to-be ex-wife.

"We need to talk about the divorce papers. Call me back."

You don’t.

Instead, your mind drifts back to a memory—a moment from years ago when your life was different. When you were just a substitute teacher, and she was just a rebellious high school girl.

Jennie Kim.

The name alone stirs something dangerous inside you.

You hadn’t seen her in years, not until recently, when fate cruelly entangled your lives again. But before she became the ruthless, calculating woman she is now—before she set her sights on you—she was just a teenage girl trying to escape the suffocating grip of her father’s ambition.

It was supposed to be an ordinary day.

The school hallways were empty, students tucked away in their classrooms as you made your way through the corridors, checking your schedule. You had been a substitute teacher for barely a month, filling in for an absent literature professor. The job was temporary, a stepping stone in your career before you moved on to greater things.

But then you smelled it—faint yet unmistakable. Cigarette smoke.

Your brows furrowed. Smoking was strictly forbidden on school grounds, and yet, someone had clearly broken the rules.

Following the scent, you turned a corner and found her.

A girl sat on the rooftop stairs, one leg bent, the other stretched out lazily. A cigarette dangled between her fingers, wisps of smoke curling into the air. Her uniform was slightly unkempt—tie loosened, skirt hiked up just enough to break the dress code. Her dark eyes flicked up to meet yours, and instead of guilt, there was only defiance.

Jennie Kim.

Even back then, there was something untamed about her.

“You know smoking is against the rules,” you said, stepping closer.

She took a slow drag, exhaling smoke before responding. “So is skipping class, but here you are.”

You sighed. “I’m the teacher. I don’t have a class right now.”

“Then you should be grateful. If I were in class, you wouldn’t have found me,” she murmured, tapping ash onto the floor. “Lucky you.”

You folded your arms, intrigued despite yourself. “Is there a reason you’re up here alone?”

For a moment, she was silent. Then, with a casual shrug, she muttered, “Needed to breathe.”

Her voice was steady, but there was something beneath it—a weight she tried to hide.

You glanced at the cigarette in her hand. “That won’t help.”

Jennie scoffed. “What would you know?”

“I know that whatever’s bothering you won’t go away just because you’re filling your lungs with smoke.”

She studied you for a long moment, then sighed and flicked the cigarette away. “My dad’s an asshole.”

You didn’t react, waiting for her to continue.

She hesitated, then muttered, “He wants me to be something I’m not. To follow his rules, live by his standards, become the perfect heir. He thinks Jane—” she spat her sister’s name like a curse “—is the good daughter, the obedient one. But me? I’m nothing but a disappointment to him.”

You leaned against the wall, watching her. “And what do you want?”

Her lips curled into a slow, almost bitter smile. “To take everything from him.”

You didn’t know it then, but that conversation would plant a seed in her mind—a thought that would grow into something far more dangerous than teenage rebellion.

And years later, when you crossed paths again, you would realize that Jennie Kim always gets what she wants.

Even if what she wants… is you.

Years later, Jennie is no longer a rebellious schoolgirl. She’s the new chairman of Odd Atelier, a powerful empire built on ambition and ruthlessness. When she sees you again, the hunger in her eyes hasn’t faded—it’s only grown stronger.

And this time, she won’t let you go.

Even if it means destroying everything in her path.

Even if it means tearing apart your already crumbling marriage.

Even if it means striking a deal with your son.

Because you belong to her.

And Jennie Kim always takes what’s hers.

You always knew that the past had a way of creeping back.

You just never expected it to return in the form of Jennie Kim—not as the rebellious high school girl who once defied her father’s control, but as the ruthless woman who had finally dethroned him.

And now, she’s standing right in front of you.

The gala is extravagant, a display of power and wealth, where the elites of the business world gather to celebrate Odd Atelier’s new chairman. It was your son who dragged you here—his university connections granting him an invitation. You weren’t supposed to stay long, just enough to make an appearance before slipping away.

But then, the moment you locked eyes with her across the ballroom, you knew escaping wouldn’t be that easy.

Jennie moves toward you with the same calculated grace you remembered. But she’s changed. No longer the rebellious teenager on a school rooftop, but a woman in full control.

Her black silk dress clings to her body in all the right places, her dark eyes sharp yet filled with something far more dangerous. Possession.

“Professor,” she purrs, her voice dripping with amusement.

Your throat tightens. “Jennie.”

A smirk tugs at her lips. “I wondered when we’d cross paths again.”

You swallow, keeping your expression neutral. “Congratulations. You finally got what you wanted.”

Her smile doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens. “Not yet.”

The weight of her words settles between you. She’s not talking about power.

She’s talking about you.

You try to leave the gala early, but fate is cruel.

Your son—eager to make connections—introduces you to his employer at Odd Atelier.

You freeze the moment you see her.

Jennie stands before you, her gaze dark with amusement. She looks at your son, then back at you. There’s a cruel irony in this situation.

She knows.

She knows your marriage is dying. She knows your son admires her. She knows that you’re vulnerable.

And Jennie Kim has never been one to let an opportunity slip.

“I never expected to work with your son,” she murmurs, tilting her head slightly. “But life has a funny way of bringing people back together.”

Your son is oblivious, grinning. “Jennie has been a great mentor.”

Mentor.

You clench your jaw. That’s what you once were to her.

Jennie smiles, slow and knowing. “Your father and I go way back.”

Your son frowns slightly. “Really?”

Jennie meets your gaze. “Oh, yes.” She steps closer, lowering her voice so only you can hear. “He was the first man who ever made me feel alive.”

Your pulse spikes.

She’s doing this on purpose.

Testing you.

Toying with you.

And you’re ashamed to admit that it’s working.

Her Terms, Your Weakness

Later that night, when you finally manage to slip away from the gala, she’s waiting.

The hotel bar is nearly empty, dimly lit. You don’t know why you didn’t just leave, why you let yourself be drawn to this place like a moth to a flame.

But when Jennie slides into the seat across from you, you know exactly why.

“You ran away so quickly,” she muses, swirling the dark liquor in her glass. “Did I make you nervous?”

You exhale, rubbing your temple. “What do you want, Jennie?”

She hums, tilting her head. “I could ask you the same thing.”

You don’t answer.

You can’t.

Because the truth is—despite knowing how wrong this is, how forbidden this is—there’s still something undeniable between you.

Jennie leans forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You belong to me.”

Your hands tighten into fists. “I’m married.”

She smiles. “Not for long.”

Silence.

Then, she says something that changes everything.

“I struck a deal with your son.”

Your blood runs cold.

Jennie watches your reaction carefully, savoring every second of your unease. “He wants my sister, Jane.” Her voice is soft, almost teasing. “So I gave him a chance. In return, he’ll look the other way when I take something for myself.”

Your breath hitches. “Jennie—”

She reaches out, trailing a single finger across the back of your hand. The touch burns. “You should be grateful. I could’ve had you the moment I turned eighteen. But I waited.”

Her nails lightly drag against your skin, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Now I’m done waiting.”

You pull your hand back, your chest tightening. “You don’t get to decide that.”

Jennie chuckles darkly, standing from her seat. “Oh, but I do.”

She leans in close, her lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“I always get what I want.”

And then, just like that, she’s gone.

Leaving behind the weight of her words—of her promise—settling deep into your bones.

Because you know Jennie Kim.

And when she sets her sights on something…

She never lets go.

You should’ve walked away.

You should’ve turned your back on Jennie Kim and never looked at her again.

But now, you’re trapped.

The realization settles deep in your chest the moment you step into your home—your marriage of fifteen years hanging by a thread. The air is thick with tension, your wife’s absence a reminder of everything that’s already crumbling.

You’re trying to hold on, to fix what’s left. But the truth is, your hands are already slipping.

And Jennie knows it.

She’s watching, waiting. A predator savoring the moment before she strikes.

You don’t sleep that night. You don’t think you ever will again.

The next day at the university, you try to focus. Lectures, meetings—anything to keep your mind off her.

But then, a message lights up your phone screen.

Jennie: Miss me?

You exhale sharply, ignoring it.

A second message follows.

Jennie: You’re pretending, aren’t you? Acting like you don’t think about me. Like you don’t want me.

Your grip tightens on the phone. You shouldn’t reply.

But you do.

You: Stay away from me.

It’s a weak attempt. A meaningless warning.

And she knows it.

Because Jennie doesn’t listen.

Minutes later, your office door swings open without warning.

And there she is.

Wearing a black silk blouse that clings to her body, high heels clicking against the floor as she steps inside.

You stand immediately, tension coiling in your muscles. “Jennie, you can’t just—”

She shuts the door behind her, locking it.

A smirk plays on her lips. “You told me to stay away.” She cocks her head. “So why am I here?”

Your breath is uneven. “Because you don’t understand boundaries.”

Jennie laughs softly, stepping closer. “Or maybe…” Her voice drops into something dangerously low. “You just don’t mean it.”

She moves around your desk slowly, her fingers grazing the wooden surface as she invades your space.

You take a step back. She takes another forward.

It’s a game—a dangerous one—and she’s winning.

“Jennie—”

Her fingers trail up your chest, her touch featherlight. “You don’t belong here, Y/n.”

Your jaw tightens. “This is my life.”

She leans in, her lips barely inches from yours. “No,” she whispers. “This is your prison.”

Your pulse spikes.

Jennie tilts her head, her gaze searching yours. And for a brief moment, you’re terrified—not of her, but of yourself.

Because she’s right.

Because you want her.

Because if she touches you again, you won’t stop her.

And she knows it.

Control Is an Illusion

You force yourself to turn away, to create distance.

But Jennie doesn’t let you go easily.

“You’re miserable,” she murmurs, watching you with unwavering certainty. “You’re still trying to fix something that’s already dead.”

Your hands clench into fists. “That’s none of your business.”

She smirks. “Isn’t it?”

Silence.

Then, she delivers the final blow.

“If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t be here, running from me.”

You hate how well she sees through you.

How she knows you.

Jennie leans against the desk, crossing her arms. “Do you even love her anymore?”

Your stomach twists.

You don’t answer.

And that silence?

It’s all she needs.

Jennie smiles. Slow. Satisfied. Dangerous.

“You’re mine,” she whispers.

Then, just as effortlessly as she arrived—she leaves.

And you’re left standing there, heart pounding, knowing that you’ve already lost.

Because Jennie Kim isn’t going to stop.

And the worst part?

You don’t want her to.

You should’ve walked away.

But now, it’s too late.

Jennie Kim has dug her nails into your life, and no matter how much you try to resist, you’re already caught in her web.

She isn’t just dangerous.

She’s inevitable.

You come home that night, expecting the usual silence, the usual avoidance.

But your wife is waiting for you.

Seated on the couch, glass of wine in hand, she barely glances up when you step inside.

“How was work?” Her voice is hollow, indifferent.

You hesitate. “Fine.”

A bitter laugh escapes her lips. “You always say that.”

You’re exhausted. From her, from yourself—from Jennie.

“You’re late,” she continues, swirling the wine in her glass. “Again.”

Tension coils in your chest. “Meetings ran over.”

Another lie.

Your wife exhales, shaking her head. “Y/n… I don’t know how much longer we can do this.”

And there it is.

The inevitable conversation. The slow, agonizing death of your marriage laid bare between you.

You don’t respond. Because what is there to say?

Jennie was right.

This isn’t a life.

It’s a prison.

And you’re already looking for the key

The next day, you see her again.

Jennie waits for you at the entrance of the university, leaning casually against her car, wearing a silk blouse that clings to her frame and a knowing smirk on her lips.

You stop in your tracks. “What are you doing here?”

She shrugs. “Thought I’d drop by. Say hello.”

You glance around, paranoia creeping in. “You can’t just—”

“Relax,” she interrupts, stepping closer. “No one’s watching.”

That’s a lie. She’s always watching.

Jennie tilts her head, studying you. “You look tired.”

You don’t respond.

She takes another step forward, her voice dipping into something soft, intimate. “What is it, Y/n?”

You inhale sharply, hating how easily she reads you.

Hating how much she’s already inside your head.

Jennie leans in, just enough for you to feel the warmth of her breath. “She’s slipping away, isn’t she?”

Your jaw tightens. “Don’t.”

Her fingers trail up your arm, slow and deliberate. “You don’t love her anymore.”

You grab her wrist, stopping her touch. “Jennie.”

She smiles, her gaze burning into yours. “Say it.”

You shake your head. “I—”

Her lips brush against your ear. “Say it, Y/n.”

You close your eyes, fighting it, fighting her.

But it’s useless.

Because the truth is already there.

Because Jennie owns you now.

And she knows it.

It starts subtly at first.

The way she replaces your thoughts, your routines.

Your phone buzzes during lectures.

Jennie: I wonder what you taste like today.

At night, she sends voice notes—soft, slow whispers that unravel you from the inside out.

"I want to break you, Y/n. I want to ruin you until there’s nothing left of you but me."

You shouldn’t listen.

But you do.

And then come the nights when you can’t stop thinking about her.

When you wake up gasping, her name tangled in your breath.

When you see her face instead of your wife’s.

Jennie is patient.

She doesn’t force.

She waits.

Because she knows you’ll come to her.

And when you finally do—when you finally break—

She’ll be waiting with open arms.

It happens on a night you’ll never forget.

You leave your home, your wife calling after you, but you don’t look back.

Your hands are shaking when you arrive at Jennie’s penthouse.

The door opens before you can knock.

And there she is.

Barefoot, wearing nothing but an oversized silk robe, looking at you like she’s been expecting you all along.

You exhale sharply. “Jennie, I—”

She steps forward, pressing a finger to your lips. “Shh.”

Then she smiles.

“Come inside, Y/n.”

And just like that—you surrender.

Because there’s no running anymore.

Because you were always meant to be hers.

And now, you are.

Tainted Desire

The door clicks shut behind you.

And just like that, you’ve crossed the line.

Jennie watches you, dark amusement flickering in her eyes as she takes slow, deliberate steps forward.

You don’t move. You don’t stop her.

Because this was inevitable.

Because you were always meant to end up in her hands.

Her fingers trace up your jaw, tilting your face toward hers. “You finally stopped running,” she whispers, satisfaction dripping from every syllable.

Your breathing is uneven. “Jennie—”

She silences you with a kiss.

Soft. Slow. Lethal.

And you fall into it. Into her.

Because she owns you now.

Her lips part against yours, her tongue sweeping into your mouth as she devours you whole.

You should feel guilt.

But all you feel is her.

Jennie pulls away, a cruel smile curving her lips as she studies her masterpiece.

You—ruined, broken, hers.

Her voice dips, sultry and commanding. “Leave them.”

Your stomach clenches. “Jennie—”

She cups your face, her nails pressing against your skin. “Leave your wife. Leave your son.”

Her thumb brushes over your lower lip. Soft. Possessive. Unyielding.

“There’s nothing left for you there.”

Your heart pounds, your mind spiraling.

But Jennie’s voice is all you hear now.

Jennie is all you know.

Her grip tightens. “Say it.”

You close your eyes, the weight of your old life crumbling around you.

Jennie leans in, whispering against your lips. “Be mine.”

And when you finally exhale—finally give in—

You whisper the words that seal your fate.

“…I’m yours.”

Jennie smirks.

Because she’s won.

Because you belong to her now.

Forever.

[justiceforanders]

Water and Wounds

Part of the "Unwritten Chapters" Lucanis x Rook Stories

Pairing: Lucanis x Rook (she/her)

Rating: M

Words: 1.5k

Available on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60624907

Summary: Rook and Lucanis take a dip in the fountains of the Dellamorte estate. Things get heated.

Water and Wounds is part 1 of the "Unwritten Chapters", a short series exploring extra romance scenes between Lucanis and Rook, as seen in the Veilguard story sketches by Nick Thornborrow.

Treviso was quieter at night, yet it pulsed with its own rhythm – a symphony of distant laughter, muffled footsteps, and the occasional creak of a gondola against its moorings. Lanterns cast golden light that danced across cobblestone streets slick with rain. The air smelled of water and citrus and stone, a reminder that even beauty here had a sharpness to it.

Rook and Lucanis moved through the shadows like ghosts, their breaths quick, their boots striking an uneven rhythm against the alleys’ worn paths. The heavy tread of the Antaam’s pursuit faded with every turn, until silence swallowed the city once more.

A wrought-iron gate loomed before them, its bars slick and cold under Rook’s hand. When she pushed it open, the sound was softer than she expected; a whisper, not a screech. Together, they slipped inside, their steps faltering as the world opened before them.

The garden was breathtaking. Moonlight spilled over flowering vines that wove themselves around towering trees, their blossoms trembling with dew. Marble fountains stretched wide, their basins shimmering with reflected starlight. Statues of forgotten figures stood sentinel; their serene faces tilted skyward as water cascaded around them. The air was thick with the perfume of jasmine and something faintly sweet – honeysuckle, perhaps. The whole space felt alive, alert, as if the garden had been waiting for them to find it.

“This is…” Rook began, her voice hushed, but she couldn’t finish. The words slipped away, as elusive as the moonlight on the water.

She turned, expecting to find Lucanis marveling alongside her. But his eyes weren’t on the fountains or the statues. They were on her.

The soft moonlight caught the sharp planes of his face, but it was his expression that made her breath hitch. For once, the wry amusement and practiced nonchalance were gone. He looked at her like she was the most delicate and dangerous thing in the garden.

Her cheeks burned, and she quickly turned away, brushing at her hair in a feigned gesture of distraction. “It’s beautiful,” she said lightly, her voice wavering just a little. “The fountains are so big, you could practically swim in them.”

Lucanis tilted his head, his lips curling into a half-smile. “Are you suggesting we try?”

1. 👍: I don’t think the owners would appreciate us turning their fountain into a swimming pool. 2. 🎭: No, I was just marveling at how enormous they are. My entire apartment in Minrathous would’ve fit in one of these! 3. 🛡️: No… The night air is cold enough as it is. 4. ❤️ Express romantic interest in Lucanis. (Does not commit to a romance.): Only if you’re brave enough to go first.

She snorted, folding her arms. “Only if you’re brave enough to go first.”

His smile widened, and before she could take the challenge back, he began to undo his armour, his movements unhurried and deliberate.

“Wait, I didn’t mean…”

His breastplate hit the ground with a dull thud, and his boots soon followed. Rook’s protest turned into a laugh as Lucanis hopped into the fountain, the water lapping at his waist before he sank in with a splash. He surfaced moments later, dark hair plastered to his face, droplets catching on his lashes.

“Are you always this reckless in someone else’s house?” she teased, leaning over the edge and flicking water at him, trying to sound unimpressed but failing miserably.

Lucanis, standing waist-deep in the fountain, looked every inch the troublemaker – wet hair plastered to his smirking face, droplets clinging to his bronze skin, his sharp features caught in half-shadow. “Technically, this is my house. You happened to break into the Dellamorte estate, of all places,” he said, voice low and amused. “And if I remember correctly, you were the one who dared me to jump in, Rook.”

Rook laughed again. “Your house? Well then, I don’t feel as bad about trespassing.” She grinned, nose scrunching. “I didn’t think you’d actually strip.”

His laugh was soft, almost self-conscious, sending a ripple through the still night air. “Maybe I wanted to see if you’d join me.”

Her heart stuttered at his tone – quiet, but laced with something heavier, more intent. She hesitated, her feet rooted to the edge of the fountain. The air around them felt charged, the playful banter slipping into something else entirely.

1. 👍: As tempting as it is, my schedule’s all booked up for jumping into cold fountains. 2. 🎭: Sorry, better luck next time. I think I’ll stay dry tonight. Someone has to keep an eye out, and I trust your swimming skills more than mine. 3. 🛡️: No, thank you. I prefer to stay on dry land. 4. ❤️ Express romantic interest in Lucanis. (Does not commit to a romance.): Oh, you think I won’t? Just watch me.

“Oh, you think I won’t?” she said, arching a brow, her voice laced with defiance and just enough mischief to match his energy. “Just watch me.”

She didn’t break eye contact as her fingers worked the buckles of her armour, the quiet clinking of metal cutting through the bubbling sound of the fountain. Piece by piece, the layers came off, each one discarded with a deliberate ease that made Lucanis’ teasing grin falter just slightly. When she reached her final layer, her tunic slipping away to reveal the bandeau and tattooed skin beneath, she caught the faintest flicker of something in his eyes – a spark that he quickly masked with a cough and an averted glance.

Without hesitation, Rook stepped into the fountain. The cool water lapped at her legs as she waded deeper, the chill biting but invigorating. When he turned back to face her, she had let her hair fall loose from its tie, curls bouncing and bobbing around her face. “There. Happy?” she teased, lifting her chin defiantly.

Lucanis didn’t answer.

His playful demeanour shifted in an instant, the sharp lines of his grin softening into something unreadable. His body moved before his mind seemed to catch up, his steps slow and measured as he closed the distance between them, the water rippling around him. He stopped just short of her, his gaze flickering across her face in a way that sent heat skimming down her spine.

The playfulness between them wavered, like a delicate thread pulled too tight. She saw it in the way Lucanis hesitated, his fingers twitching as though he wanted to reach for her but didn’t trust himself to.

“You look cold,” he said at last, his voice softer now, carrying something she couldn’t quite name.

“Maybe a little,” she replied, her breath hitching as his hand brushed against her arm.

He tilted his head, studying her like she was a puzzle he couldn’t solve. The air between them shifted again, the teasing ebbing away like the ripples in the fountain. Then, with deliberate slowness, his hands settled at her waist, drawing her to him. The chill of the fountain had been a shock, but it was nothing compared to the way Lucanis’ touch burned. His hands lingered at her waist, steady and warm, and she caught the way his gaze flickered down to her lips before darting away.

“Lucanis,” she began, but the name came out in a whisper, swallowed by the distance between them.

“Shh,” he murmured. His fingers trailed up her spine, leaving her shivering for entirely different reasons. Her heart thrummed as his fingers brushed against her skin, trailing up to her jaw. She couldn’t read the expression on his face – there was longing there, yes, but also something more, something more akin to fear.

When he leaned closer, she thought he might finally kiss her, and her heart hammered at the thought. Instead, his lips ghosted against the curve of her neck, soft and hesitant, as though he was testing the boundaries of a fragile thread. Rook’s hands found his shoulders, her grip tightening as he pressed closer, lips trailing along her collarbone.

It was maddening – the way he held her so carefully, as though she might break, but kissed her skin like he was the one falling apart. The warmth of his breath sent a shiver through her, and she tightened her grip on his shoulders, half-afraid he might disappear.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, Lucanis stilled. She felt him tense, his hands sliding away as he stepped back, leaving the water between them cold and empty.

“I shouldn’t…” he began, his voice raw.

“Why not?” she asked, though she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.

His eyes flicked up to hers, dark and filled with something like regret. “Because wanting you is dangerous. For you. For me. For both of us. I can’t give you what you deserve,” he said, his voice breaking on the words. “And I’m selfish enough to want you anyway.”

Her throat tightened, but before she could find the words to respond, Lucanis was already climbing out of the fountain, his silhouette sharp against the moonlight. He paused only to grab his armour before disappearing into the shadows, leaving her alone with the sound of her heart pounding in her ears.

[unwritten chapters: part 1 | part 2 | part 3] & [other lucanis x rook stories]

[pascaloverx]

BABYBOY

Summary: You work as a caretaker for the home and dog of a famous individual in a luxurious apartment. On a fateful day, you find yourself in dire need of help when your boss’s dog gets locked inside the apartment. The newest neighbor, an incredibly handsome man, comes to your rescue. That man is none other than Nicholas Alexander Chavez.How will your relationship with him unfold?

Author's Note: This fanfic is for those who’d love to imagine themselves in a romance with Nicholas Chavez. I should warn you that there’s a possibility the reader might get involved with Nicholas while he’s still in a relationship with someone else, though nothing is set in stone yet. This fanfic will include explicit language and mature content. Consider yourselves warned. I hope you like it and interact with the story!

one three

TWO

"Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths..." You repeat to yourself as you knock on Nicholas’s door—your hot neighbor’s door, to be precise. You give yourself two light pats on the face while clutching the bag of coffee in your hands. You wouldn’t be shameless enough to use his coffee machine and show up empty-handed.

You even brought some brownies you’d made earlier. Of course, it’s purely coincidental that you’ll get to demonstrate your brownie-baking skills. It would be ridiculous to think you could win him over with brownies.

Finally, the door opens, and there he is, wearing a shirt that perfectly outlines his biceps and shorts that highlight his muscular thighs. "You kept me waiting, neighbor," Nicholas murmurs, stepping aside to let you into his apartment.

"Technically, I’m the dog-sitter for one of your neighbors," you mumble, a little flustered as you step into his personal space, "but I didn’t want to show up empty-handed, hence the delay."

"If you’d arrived earlier, you might’ve caught me without clothes," Nicholas says from behind you, his breath brushing against your neck and sending a shiver down your spine.

"What a shame there’s no time machine between us," you reply, turning slowly to face him. His gaze practically undresses you, and the heat in the room seems to rise with every passing second.

"Darling, you were the one who requested I wear more clothing. I simply followed orders," he murmurs, stepping closer, nearly placing his hand on your waist to draw you closer to him.

"And you followed them so quickly. You’re better trained than Baby," you reply, meeting his gaze with a playful smirk, your tone tinged with defiance as the two of you remain standing in the center of his living room.

The space is adorned with framed photographs of him and what appears to be his family. One photo in particular catches your attention—him holding what seems to be a prestigious award. However, you’re just far enough away to be unable to discern which award it is.

"What a peculiar way to compare me to a dog. It’s nice to see we’re already so comfortable with each other," Nicholas chuckles, his laugh disarming you as a sudden wave of shyness washes over you.

"I’m sorry if I’m being... Feel free to kick me out if you’d prefer," you stammer, unable to meet his gaze directly.

Nicholas takes the coffee and brownies from your hands, his fingers brushing yours lightly. "You’re not going anywhere until we make this coffee together," he murmurs, a playful seriousness in his tone as he guides you toward his kitchen. The kitchen is spacious and well-equipped. It's amusing because you wouldn’t peg him as much of a cook, but sometimes people can surprise you.

"So, that over there is my coffee machine. Probably the most used appliance here. Usually, the one who uses the kitchen the most is..." he pauses, seemingly searching for the right words, but before he can finish, you interject.

"Your girlfriend!" you exclaim in a tone you thought would be low but comes out far louder than intended.

"I don’t know how many times I’ll have to say this, but I don’t have a girlfriend. I’m casually seeing someone—it’s not the same thing," Nicholas replies, placing the coffee grounds and water into the machine.

"But she’s the one who uses the kitchen the most, as I suspected," you add pointedly, as if determined to prove your assumption correct.

"Yes, you’re correct. Ever since I moved in, the one who cooks the most is my not-girlfriend. Satisfied?" Nicholas asks, as though you’ve struck a nerve.

You laugh softly, finding his reaction mildly amusing. "Very satisfied, Mr. Chavez," you reply with a touch of sarcasm. "I see your patience is shorter than I expected," you murmur, leaning against the kitchen counter near the coffee machine as the aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air, soothing your senses.

"One would think that, being an actor, I’d have more patience," Nicholas says, stepping closer to you, his voice taking on a teasingly soft tone.

"I’ve always been curious about how actors behave in their personal lives. It’s fascinating to realize that you’re human after all," you remark, watching as Nicholas inches closer to you with every word.

"I’m not sure I can speak for all actors, but in my personal life, I strive to be as human as possible," Nicholas says, his fingers gliding across the countertop until they stop dangerously close to your thighs. His arms are outstretched in front of you, effectively trapping you in place. There’s no way to leave without brushing past him. His body hovers just shy of pressing against yours, and you’re taken aback by how easily he noticed your internet sleuthing.

"Though you gave me a rundown of your acting résumé earlier, I couldn’t resist doing a bit of research to see if I’d watched you in anything before," you admit, your voice wavering slightly. "For the sake of curiosity, of course. And I have to say, while I haven’t watched General Hospital, the clips and gifs I found definitely showed you and your romantic co-star had great chemistry. And, well, your physique was... prominently featured. It must’ve been a lot of work to stay in shape. I mean—you’re very... defined," you stammer, feeling heat creep up your cheeks as your nerves betray you. What a brilliant way to compliment him, you think, cringing internally.

Nicholas chuckles softly, clearly unfazed by your awkwardness. "Tabyana’s an incredible actress, no doubt about it. I’m glad my work piqued your interest enough to snoop," he teases, his tone warm and amused. "Perhaps next time, you’d like to watch an episode with me?"

Before you can further embarrass yourself, the coffee machine beeps, signaling the coffee is ready. A timely rescue. Nicholas steps back, moving swiftly as he grabs two cups and pours coffee for both of you. Every motion—the way he tilts the carafe, the precise grip of his fingers around the handle—etches itself into your mind as you watch him. It’s a mistake. Certainly. You repeat this to yourself, over and over. He already has someone he likes. You should be focusing on your professional life. You convince yourself to drink your coffee, say your goodbyes, and leave—without indulging in anything else with Nicholas, no matter how effortlessly he awakens something in you. Something undeniably provocative.

"You seem lost in thought. Is something wrong?" Nicholas asks, handing you a cup of coffee, followed by the sugar jar. Distracted, you add sugar and take a sip without thinking—an instant mistake. The steam scorches your tongue, and before you can react, the hot liquid spills onto your blouse. A sharp gasp escapes as the burning sensation sears your skin.

You set the cup down in a hurry, wincing. Nicholas immediately steps closer, concern etched on his face. "Take off your blouse," he says firmly. "You don’t want the burn to get worse."

Without a second thought, you do as he says. You pull off your blouse, standing before Nicholas in nothing but your bra—not that it matters. Your focus is on the angry red mark blooming on your stomach, the skin stinging from the burn.

"Damn it, I think I actually burned myself," you mutter, wincing at the sharp pain.

"Hey, don’t worry. I’ll take care of it," Nicholas reassures you. He sets his coffee down on the counter and heads toward the bathroom. "Just wait here—I’ll grab the first aid kit."

As he disappears, the realization finally hits—you’re standing in his kitchen, shirtless. Embarrassment creeps in, but there’s nothing to be done about it now. As soon as Nicholas helps you, you’ll head back to your boss’s apartment and pretend none of this ever happened.

When Nicholas finally returns with the first aid kit, he wastes no time, immediately reaching for an ointment or something of the sort. He is careful not to hurt you, his focus entirely on tending to your burn, almost as if he has slipped into doctor mode.

"You suit this attentive doctor persona, you know?" you murmur, trying not to let out an embarrassing sound from the pain.

"Funny you say that. There’s a chance I might play a doctor in the near future," Nicholas replies, still concentrated on bandaging your wound. But then, as if realizing he has said too much, he freezes, his expression momentarily alarmed.

"Don’t worry—your secret is safe with me," you reassure him, though your voice is slightly strained from the lingering sting of your burn. "Where did you learn to do this so well, by the way?" you ask, steering the conversation elsewhere.

"I have a younger brother. Once, he burned himself with hot chocolate, and I had to do something similar," Nicholas says as he carefully finishes the bandage, spending a few extra seconds making sure it’s secure.

Once he’s done, he looks at you as if trying to decipher what’s going through your mind. "It seems fate had other plans—no coffee for you," Nicholas murmurs, positioning himself in front of you. He maintains a safe distance, yet only a few inches separate your body from his.

"Perhaps that’s for the best," you say, your voice barely above a whisper, more of a private thought than a response.

"What do you mean by that?" Nicholas asks, his gaze fixed on you. You try to avoid his eyes, sensing that meeting them would be a mistake.

"Look, I understand that you consider yourself single, but it’s obvious that you’re involved with someone. And the truth is, I’m attracted to you. Which means this—" you gesture between the two of you, your voice steady despite the turmoil within you, "—isn’t going to work. We can’t be friends. I should be focused on my job, and you… on whatever it is you have with her."

You hold Nicholas’s gaze, trying to make it sound like a rational conclusion, but in reality, you’re convincing yourself more than him. "This," you repeat, voice quieter this time, "is a mistake."

"You seem to be trying to convince yourself of that, very well. But tell me honestly—do you truly believe that you and I would be a mistake?" Nicholas asks, stepping even closer. His lips are all your mind can focus on. You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, trying to find the strength to say yes.

Before you can respond, Nicholas's hands gently cradle your face. "If you're going to turn me down, at least do it while looking me in the eyes, Y/N," he murmurs, urging you to open them.

"Thank you for the coffee, Nicholas, but I think it's best if we say our goodbyes here," you say as you open your eyes. It’s not exactly what you want to say, but you know it’s what needs to be said.

You grab your coffee-stained blouse and slip it back on, straightening yourself as you prepare to leave, carrying with you both your desire for him and that damned coffee. But just as you turn to go, Nicholas gently takes your hand, his touch warm and deliberate, keeping you from walking away. Still holding your hand, he looks at you as if he hungers for you. You inhale deeply, exhaling slowly, thinking that at least you tried—you tried to avoid the mistake.

But without another word or hesitation, you surge toward Nicholas like a lioness upon her prey. Your lips meet his in a searing kiss, your hands gripping his neck to pull him closer as your tongue explores his mouth, tasting the lingering flavor of coffee.

Nicholas’s hands grip your waist with ferocious intensity as you lose yourselves in each other. Your nails graze his neck subtly, while the force of his hold adds a delicious dominance to your entangled embrace. For a moment, air was no longer necessary—you had each other.

Without hesitation, Nicholas lifted you as if it required no effort at all. His hands, nearly grasping your ass, placed you onto the counter. Unbothered, you parted your legs slightly, allowing him to settle between them and continue his kiss. His hands moved firmly along your thighs, his lips claiming yours again and again, pausing only to press soft kisses along your neck. You are interrupted before things can go any further when your phone vibrates with a message from Baby’s daycare, letting you know he’s ready to be picked up.

"Looks like I’ll have to go get Baby," you murmur, your face still close to Nicholas’s.

He exhales sharply, clearly frustrated. "Can’t you just pretend you didn’t see that message for the next…" He glances at his watch. "…half an hour?" His words trail off as he presses a lingering kiss to your lips.

"You think I wouldn’t love to ignore my responsibilities just to stay here with you?" you tease, brushing your nose against his. "But unfortunately, I have bills to pay."

"Can we see each other later? Maybe after Baby falls asleep?" Nicholas murmurs, trailing soft kisses along your face and neck.

You smile, debating whether that’s a good idea. "I’ll check my schedule and let you know," you say, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before pulling away, finally set on changing your shirt and heading out to pick up Baby.

"I can go with you if you’d like," Nicholas offers, following closely behind.

You turn to face him, placing a hand on his chest to stop him. "That won’t be necessary. You’re famous—if someone sees us together, it might not look good for you," you tease, though there’s a hint of truth in your words.

He smirks. "I’m flattered, but I really wouldn’t mind driving you—" You silence him with a kiss, stealing both his words and his breath.

You get carried away in the kiss, only realizing how lost in it you are when Nicholas’s hands start to lift your shirt. That’s when you pull back, heart pounding, putting some distance between you.

"I’ll see you later—and I hope you like the brownies," you say, practically fleeing from him. He’s a temptation you can’t afford to indulge right now. Hurriedly, you enter your boss’s apartment, change into something more appropriate, grab your car keys, and head out to pick up Baby. The trip goes smoothly—Baby is thrilled to see you, and the drive home is peaceful.

Once inside the building, you step into the elevator with Baby in his pet carrier. A strikingly beautiful woman is already inside and kindly holds the door for you, flashing a polite smile. "Thank you so much," you say, slightly out of breath.

"There’s no need to thank me—it’s the least I could do," she replies warmly, stroking Baby, who immediately takes a liking to her. Strange—he usually takes time to warm up to strangers.

"Could you press the top floor for me? If I set his carrier down, I doubt I’ll be able to pick it up again," you ask, forcing a lighthearted tone.

"Of course! I’m heading there too. My… well, my almost-boyfriend, or something like that, lives on that floor," she says, and suddenly, your stomach knots, nausea creeping in like a slow wave.

"Ah, relationships, right? Always complicated," you murmur, suddenly hyperaware of how suffocatingly small the elevator feels.

"Honestly, I’m just waiting for him to make things official—so wish me luck," she adds cheerfully, her excitement gnawing at you like a cruel joke.

She has to be talking about Nicholas. The same Nicholas who, just moments ago, had his hands all over you. When the elevator finally stops, relief floods you, but the dread lingers. You just want to lock yourself away and pretend this entire moment never happened.

"It was nice meeting you," you say, forcing a smile while fumbling for your keys.

"Likewise! And even though it’s not my place, if you ever need a cup of tea or anything, Nick would absolutely be happy to help," she offers kindly, ringing the doorbell as if it were her own home.

A second later, Nicholas opens the door, freezing as he takes in the sight of both of you standing there. Your pulse kicks up, but you refuse to let it show. "Thanks for your kindness, but I really need to get this little guy inside before he destroys his carrier bag," you say, directing your words to her while completely ignoring Nicholas. Then, before he can say a word, you slip inside your boss’s apartment, shutting the door behind you, pressing your back against it as if to keep the world—and Nicholas—out.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Through the Ashes

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: Apocalypse-related violence, mentions of past injuries and loss, strong language, kinda slow-burn romance, protective Daryl, emotional comfort, tender moments

Author’s Note: I have no clue what to do so… enjoy this beautiful thing I’ve made lol. I accidentally almost posted it while I was half awake writing this lol but I might continue it, we shall see

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The world was painted in dying light, the sun slipping beneath the treetops in hues of deep amber and blood-red. You crouched behind an overturned truck, gripping your knife so tightly that the handle bit into your palm. Your breath came slow and measured, your ears straining for any sign of movement.

The dead weren’t the only thing to fear anymore.

Your group—your people—had been wiped out just hours ago. One moment, you were gathered around a fire, trading stories, and the next, it was chaos. Walkers pouring through camp. Screams. Gunshots. Blood. And then, nothing but silence and the scent of death.

You had run. You didn’t know how long, only that your legs burned, your lungs ached, and your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. You hadn’t stopped moving until now, too afraid to face the truth: You were alone.

A twig snapped behind you.

You barely had time to react before a hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping your blade mid-swing. You twisted, ready to fight, but froze at the familiar blue eyes staring back at you.

“Easy,” Daryl rasped. His voice was rough, like gravel scraping against stone, but beneath it was something softer. Something familiar.

Your breath hitched. “Daryl?”

His fingers loosened around your wrist, but he didn’t step back. His sharp gaze flicked over you, scanning for injuries, for anything out of place. “The hell ya doin’ out here alone?” His voice was low, edged with something that sounded an awful lot like worry.

Your throat tightened. “Got separated.” You swallowed, trying to ignore the lump forming there. “They—they didn’t make it.”

Daryl’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening. He didn’t press, didn’t ask for details. He just gave a slow, firm nod. “Come on. Ain’t safe here.”

You didn’t hesitate to follow.

---

The cabin Daryl led you to was barely standing, but it was shelter. The walls were cracked, the windows covered with old sheets nailed into place, but the fire he started burned warm. It was the first time you had felt even a semblance of safety in days.

Daryl barely spoke. He busied himself reinforcing the doors, setting up small traps outside, making sure nothing could get in without him knowing. You sat on the worn wooden floor, watching him work, exhaustion settling deep into your bones.

“You always this quiet?” you finally asked, breaking the heavy silence.

Daryl shot you a look. “Ain’t much to say.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Figures.”

He didn’t answer, just shook his head as he finished tying off a snare near the door. But there was something in his expression—something almost amused.

A comfortable silence stretched between you, the fire casting long shadows on the walls. Daryl finished his work and settled across from you, stretching his legs out with a quiet groan. You noticed how tense he still was, his shoulders tight, his fingers twitching like they were waiting to reach for his crossbow.

“You hurt?” he asked suddenly.

The question caught you off guard. You blinked at him. “What?”

His gaze flicked to your arms, then your legs, searching for any wounds you might not have noticed. “You hurt?” he repeated, softer this time.

Your chest ached at the concern in his voice. You shook your head. “No. Just… tired.”

Daryl studied you for a moment longer before nodding. Then, without a word, he reached into his bag and pulled out something small. He tossed it toward you.

You caught it—half a protein bar, slightly crushed but still good.

“Eat,” he muttered, avoiding your eyes.

A small, warm feeling bloomed in your chest. This was how Daryl cared. Not with big, sweeping gestures, but with quiet acts of kindness.

You tore open the wrapper, taking a small bite. Then, before he could protest, you broke the bar in half and held a piece out to him.

Daryl eyed it, then you. “I’m fine.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Daryl.”

His jaw clenched like he wanted to argue, but after a beat, he sighed and took the piece from your hand, fingers brushing yours for just a second before he pulled away.

“Happy now?” he muttered.

You smiled. “Yeah.”

The fire crackled between you, casting flickering shadows across Daryl’s face. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes, something raw and unspoken. He looked like he wanted to say something—like he had a thousand words caught in his throat but didn’t know how to let them out.

Instead, he shifted closer. Just enough that your knees brushed. Just enough that his warmth bled into yours.

Your breath caught. You had spent so long looking over your shoulder, waiting for the next fight, the next loss. But right now, with Daryl beside you, his crossbow within reach, his presence grounding you—you finally let yourself believe that, for tonight at least, you were safe.

Tentatively, you let your head rest against his shoulder.

Daryl stiffened for a heartbeat, like he wasn’t used to the contact. But then—slowly, cautiously—he leaned into you just enough to let you know it was okay.

A small, content sigh escaped your lips.

Daryl’s voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper. “Ain’t gonna let nothin’ happen to ya.”

Your fingers curled slightly against the fabric of his sleeve. “I know.”

And you did. Because Daryl Dixon was the one person who had never let you down.

As exhaustion finally pulled you under, you felt him shift again, felt the ghost of his fingers brush against your hand. Not quite holding it. Not yet. But there. A promise.

For the first time in a long time, sleep came easy.

And for the first time in even longer, Daryl let himself relax. Because you were here. And that meant everything.

---

Flashback- Before the fall

The heat was suffocating, the kind that clung to your skin and made your clothes stick. You cursed under your breath, wiping sweat from your brow as you glared at the engine of your old truck.

It had overheated. Again.

“Need help?”

The voice made you jump, but you knew it before you even turned around.

Daryl Dixon.

He was leaning against his dirt bike, cigarette dangling from his lips, arms crossed like he had all the time in the world.

You huffed. “Not unless you know how to fix stubborn old trucks.”

Daryl snorted. “Might.”

You raised a brow. “Oh, yeah?”

Instead of answering, he flicked his cigarette to the ground and pushed off his bike, rolling up the sleeves of his flannel as he walked over. “Move.”

You stepped aside, watching as he peered into the engine, checking the hoses, the radiator. His movements were careful, practiced. He didn’t waste words, didn’t bother explaining what he was doing—just worked.

You had met Daryl through Merle, of all people. You hadn’t been particularly fond of Merle (in fact, you wanted to punch him most days), but Daryl? Daryl was different.

He didn’t talk much, didn’t trust easy. But there was something in him, something you had caught glimpses of over the years. The way he softened when no one was looking, the way he mended things instead of breaking them.

“You ever think about leavin’?” The words slipped out before you could stop them.

Daryl stilled, just for a second. “Leavin’ what?”

“This place. Georgia. The same old shit.” You shrugged. “Goin’ somewhere new. Startin’ over.”

Daryl exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ain’t that easy.”

You frowned. “Why not?”

He hesitated, fingers tapping against the side of the truck. “’Cause it just ain’t.”

You studied him for a moment, then gave him a small nudge with your elbow. “Well… if you ever change your mind, let me know. I could use a mechanic.”

Daryl scoffed, shaking his head. But you swore you saw something—something almost thoughtful—before he turned back to your truck.

Neither of you spoke for a while after that, but the silence was different. More comfortable.

---

Back in the cabin, the fire had long since burned low, leaving only the orange glow of embers in the hearth. Daryl’s hand had found yours again in the quiet. He hadn’t said a word, but the pressure of his fingers was enough. It was his way of showing you, once again, that you weren’t alone.

Not anymore.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! – Midnight💜

[twistedheartsclub]

The Bat and His Darling Dark Batman X Female Reader

⚠️ Warnings: Dark Romance · Psychological Manipulation · Obsession · Power Imbalance · Emotional Control · Slow Burn · Vigilante x Civilian · Possessive Behavior · Surveillance Themes · Protective to a Fault · Gaslighting · Mild Dubcon · Gotham Grit · Hero Gone Too Far

The car pulled up just past the iron gates, gravel crunching beneath the tires as it slowed to a stop. Y/N pressed her palms to her skirt to smooth it, even though it didn’t need smoothing. Her heart fluttered in her chest—not from fear, exactly, but from awe. She’d never seen anything like it. The house looked like it belonged to another century. Ivy curled up the stone, the windows tall and narrow, like eyes watching from a great distance.

“Here we are, miss,” the driver said, polite and quiet.

She thanked him in a voice that barely rose above a whisper, then climbed out, clutching the handle of her small suitcase.

Before she could take in more than the hedgerows and the height of the front doors, the manor opened—and there he was.

“Uncle Alfie!” she smiled, rushing toward him.

Alfred Pennyworth didn’t often smile, but he did then, just for her. “There’s my girl.”

He hugged her, firm and warm and safe. She smelled faintly of lavender.

“You’ve grown,” he said, pulling back to look her over. “Your parents don’t feed you enough.”

“I eat fine,” she said with a soft laugh. “This place is… it’s beautiful.”

“Wait until you see the inside,” he said, already lifting her suitcase with one hand. “Come in. You’re not to lift a finger this summer, you hear?”

“I can help.”

“You can rest. That’s what you can do.”

She stepped into the manor with careful feet, almost afraid to breathe too loud. The marble floors gleamed. The light filtered in like honey through high, stained-glass windows. Every surface was polished. Silent. Regal. It didn’t feel real.

“Will I… will I be in the east wing?” she asked.

“You’ll be just across from me,” Alfred said. “Safer that way. And less chance of you getting lost. It happens.”

She nodded, though she was still quietly overwhelmed.

They moved down the hallway toward the stairs, and she hadn’t noticed at first—but someone was watching. Quiet, in the shadows of the hallway. A man, tall and still as a statue.

He stepped forward just as she turned to glance behind her.

“Bruce,” Alfred said. “This is my niece.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide, almost startled. He wasn’t what she expected. He wasn’t smiling.

“Y/N,” she said softly. “It’s… really nice to meet you.”

His gaze lingered longer than it should have. Sharp, unreadable. “You’re welcome here,” he said at last. “Anything you need, just ask Alfred.”

Not me. Ask Alfred.

She nodded, the air suddenly feeling too still.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He gave a small nod, then disappeared as suddenly as he’d appeared—swallowed back up by the silence of the manor.

The rain came just after dusk, light at first, then steadier—falling in silver lines against the high windows. Y/N sat curled on the chaise near her bedroom hearth, hands tucked beneath her knees, a book open but forgotten in her lap. The manor was quiet, but not in a hollow way. It breathed. The walls creaked like old bones. The wind whistled faintly through the cracks of stained glass.

She liked it.

It felt… safe.

Alfred had made her tea and promised to check on her before bed. She could still smell the faintest trace of it—black and herbal, with a hint of lemon. The cup sat cooling on the little tray beside her. The curtains swayed gently with the draft, and her slippers were just beginning to slip from her toes when—

Click.

She blinked. A sound. Not loud. Just faint. A door latch?

She turned her head, but saw nothing. Probably Alfred. Or maybe the old house settling.

She rose, barefoot now, and padded across the carpet toward the door. It was slightly ajar.

She was sure she’d shut it earlier.

She peeked out into the hallway. Empty.

Soft candlelight flickered in its sconces, and down the corridor, she saw no one. She stepped back inside and gently pushed the door closed again, the latch clicking softly.

Her fingers lingered on the handle.

She wasn’t frightened.

Just… aware.

Later, she slept under thick blankets, the softest she’d ever felt. She dreamed of wide halls and roses blooming in the rain. Her window had been left cracked, and the wind teased her hair where it spilled across the pillow.

She didn’t see the figure that passed by her door in the early hours—quiet as breath, dark as smoke. The steps didn’t falter. They just paused.

Paused long enough to hear the rhythm of her breathing.

Paused long enough to press gloved fingers to the wood, just once.

Then they were gone.

Morning Light, Wayne Manor

The sun spilled pale gold through the kitchen windows, filtered through ivy and fogged glass. The kitchen at Wayne Manor was the one place in the house that felt lived in—warm, with scuffed cabinets and the faint smell of coffee and old spice.

Y/N sat at the little wooden table tucked near the window, her knees pulled up beneath her cotton nightgown, a house sweater slouched over her shoulders. She was already on her second cup of tea and halfway through a buttered scone when Alfred placed a small plate of sliced fruit beside her.

“Uncle Alfie,” she said, eyes twinkling, “you’re spoiling me.”

“You’re a guest. I’m allowed.”

“I’m family.”

“Exactly. Which means I spoil you twice as much.”

She giggled, soft and sheepish, and leaned forward like she couldn’t help herself.

“Okay, but—don’t get cross—I have so many questions.”

He raised a brow, folding his arms. “Do I need another cup of coffee for this?”

“Yes.”

She waited until he sat with her—sleeves rolled, posture easy—before she dove in.

“Is it true he only comes out at night?”

“Who?”

“You know who,” she whispered, eyes wide. “Bruce Wayne. Everyone at school used to talk about him like he was a vampire or something.”

Alfred gave her a look. “He’s not a vampire.”

“But he’s always gone. And no one sees him. Except in those photos at charity events, but even then he looks like he wants to escape.”

He sighed. “Master Wayne values privacy.”

“That’s such a boring answer.”

“It’s the only one I’m allowed to give.”

She leaned on her elbows, smiling into her cup. “He didn’t even eat with us last night. Does he ever eat?”

“Of course.”

“In the shadows?”

Alfred smirked against his mug. “Perhaps.”

She giggled again, then caught herself, shrinking slightly. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be rude.”

“You’re not.” He reached across the table and gently tapped her knuckles. “You’re curious. That’s a good thing.”

“I just… I’ve never been in a place like this. It’s all so quiet. Like the walls are listening.”

“Then you’ll get along just fine here.”

Later That Morning

Y/N helped him strip beds, dust sconces, and fold linen in the sun-warmed laundry room. She hummed to herself and left sprigs of lavender in the clean sheets. She carried herself like someone who didn’t want to be a burden—light-footed and eager to help, even when she fumbled with the vacuum and nearly knocked over a vase.

By noon, Alfred set the feather duster firmly in her hands and said, “Enough. Go. Explore. Take a book. Get lost.”

“But I want to—”

“Out.”

He handed her a biscuit for the road and shooed her down the hall with a kiss to the top of her head.

Mid-Afternoon: The West Wing

She wandered. She traced her fingers along the spines of dusty books in the old study. She followed the sound of birdsong down winding corridors, until she found herself in the west wing. Here, the light changed—less golden, more gray-blue, as if the windows themselves held their breath.

She pushed open a door at the end of a long hall.

Inside was an old piano, the cover slightly ajar. She stepped closer.

And that’s when she heard it—not the piano. Something else. A soft sound. A shift of fabric. A presence.

She turned.

Bruce Wayne stood in the far corner of the room, partially in shadow, a book in his hand. She hadn’t seen him when she walked in. Hadn’t even realized he was there.

She startled, stepping back with a breathy laugh. “Oh—I didn’t know—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt—”

He didn’t move. His gaze rested on her.

“You’re not interrupting,” he said. Voice quiet. Low.

She swallowed. “I… I got lost.”

He looked her over. Not in a way that felt unkind—just intensely. Like he was trying to read her the same way he read his books.

“This wing isn’t used much,” he said.

“I didn’t mean to trespass.”

He closed the book and stepped forward. Slow. Measured.

“You live here now,” he said. “You can’t trespass in your own home.”

She looked down, cheeks warm. “Just for the summer.”

Something unreadable passed over his face.

“Yes,” he murmured. “Just the summer.”

Y/N lingered near the piano, her fingers hovering above the keys but never pressing. She could feel his gaze on her—quiet, thoughtful, a weight without cruelty. She didn’t mind. There was something about him that didn’t scare her.

Not like the rumors said he should.

She turned, hands folded behind her back. “Do you play?”

Bruce blinked, almost like the sound of her voice had pulled him from somewhere far away.

“…Not anymore,” he said.

She tilted her head. “Why not?”

He looked down at the book in his hand, then placed it on the nearby table. “Too much noise in my head. Music never came easy.”

She stepped away from the piano and toward the tall window. Light spilled across her as she pulled back the sheer curtain, gazing out at the empty gardens.

“That’s sad,” she said softly. “I always thought music was supposed to quiet things.”

His jaw flexed.

“You’re Alfred’s niece,” he said, not quite a question.

She nodded. “Y/N. My parents are abroad. He said I could stay for the summer.” She turned back to him, her eyes gentle. “Thank you. For letting me.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I want to.”

She meant it. There was no angle. No performance. No hidden intention.

That sincerity… it disarmed him.

She took a few steps closer, almost without thinking, looking around the room. “This wing feels forgotten. Like a place ghosts live.”

His lips twitched, barely. “Gotham has plenty of ghosts.”

“Do you believe in them?”

He watched her. “I live with them.”

Her gaze flicked to him, curious. “That sounds lonely.”

He didn’t answer. Not for a long moment. Then: “It is.”

She stood in the sunlight, lashes low as she glanced around again. Her dress was modest—light blue cotton, hem brushing her calves, sleeves soft and fluttering. But it clung a little in the light, the faint shape of her waist, the slope of her collarbone catching the golden edge of the sun. Her hair loose, the kind of softness that didn’t belong in this house. Or maybe… didn’t belong with him.

She turned back and smiled at him, so unaware.

And for just a second—just a second—he let his eyes trace the curve of her.

Youthful. Feminine. Unspoiled.

He felt the breath catch in his throat, sharp and dry. No.

She was so young.

His jaw tightened. He looked away, forcing his eyes to the book, to the window, anywhere but her. He hadn’t let himself look at anyone like that in years—not truly. And certainly not someone like her.

“I should…” she trailed off. “Would it be alright if I came back? To this room, I mean. It’s quiet.”

His voice came out lower than he meant it to. “You can go anywhere you like.”

She smiled again. “I like it here.”

He didn’t say anything as she passed him, soft steps across the rug, the scent of lavender trailing after her.

He didn’t watch her go.

Not until the door had closed behind her.

Then he exhaled—like a man holding something back so heavy it cracked his ribs.

Later That Night — Just Past Midnight

The manor was still.

Bruce had meant to go to bed hours ago, but sleep rarely came easy. He found himself wandering the upper halls, hands tucked behind his back, footsteps silent on the old wood. There was something calming about the dark—about the way the house settled into its bones after everyone had gone still.

Except… not everyone.

As he passed the guest wing, his steps slowed.

Her door was cracked. Just slightly. A soft spill of lamplight slid across the hall, golden and flickering. He might’ve moved on—should’ve—but then he heard it:

Humming.

Light, tuneless. A quiet sound, one he’d heard from her before—when she thought no one was listening. That same soft, thoughtless melody.

He looked toward the door.

And froze.

She was standing by the bed, back to him, in the process of changing. The lamplight lit her from the side, casting long shadows across her figure. She had peeled off her cardigan and was slipping out of her dress, the blue cotton sliding down her arms, catching on her elbows before falling to the floor.

She didn’t know. She couldn’t know.

And he—he didn’t look away.

His breath caught, fists clenching at his sides.

She wasn’t trying to be alluring. There was no seduction in her movements. Just routine. Innocence. The kind of intimacy that wasn’t meant to be witnessed. She stood in a soft slip now, the fabric thin, almost sheer in the warm lamplight. He could see the curve of her waist, the soft slope of her thighs, the gentle bend of her neck as she pulled her hair up loosely with both hands.

His mouth went dry. His heart thudded, sharp and sick.

She turned slightly, just enough that if she looked toward the door—if she saw him—

He stepped back.

Silent. Controlled. But something inside him felt like it had cracked.

His Room, Moments Later

He stood at the sink, gripping porcelain hard enough to make it groan beneath his hands. Cold water ran over his wrists.

He couldn’t get the image out of his head.

The way the slip hugged her. The shape of her. The innocence of it. The way she’d hummed as she undressed, like there was nothing dangerous in the world.

He looked up at his reflection.

Eyes dark. Jaw tight. A stranger stared back.

She’s just a child, he thought.

But she wasn’t. Not really. Not anymore.

And that was the problem.

The Next Morning – Garden Courtyard

The sky was pale with early sun. Birds flitted through the hedges. The garden smelled of roses and damp stone, and Bruce had retreated there with his coffee, dressed in black slacks and a crisp button-down, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. He sat on the old stone bench near the fountain, staring blankly ahead.

And then he heard her.

Light footsteps on the flagstones.

He didn’t move as Y/N stepped into view, her soft slippers barely making a sound.

“There you are,” she said, smiling as she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. She wore a long cotton skirt and a pale cardigan buttoned high to her neck. Her eyes were brighter in the morning light, skin still dewy with sleep.

Bruce kept his expression neutral. “I didn’t know you were up.”

“I couldn’t sleep. The manor creaks.”

“It does that.”

She stepped closer, unbothered by his distance, and sat beside him without waiting for permission. Her presence was warm and light, like a whisper of sun over cold skin.

“I wanted to thank you again,” she said, looking at him with that open sincerity. “For letting me stay here. I know it must be strange, having someone new around.”

He looked at her then—really looked—and she was so close. The curve of her cheek, the softness of her mouth. He wanted to look away.

But he didn’t.

“You’re not a burden,” he said quietly.

She smiled again, pleased. Then, without thinking, she reached for his hand where it rested against the stone bench. Her fingers brushed over his knuckles—light, innocent.

But it felt like a brand.

He stiffened. She noticed.

“Oh—sorry,” she said, pulling back quickly. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s alright,” he said, his voice rougher than it should’ve been. “I’m just… not used to people being so kind.”

Her brows furrowed softly. “That’s… sad.”

He didn’t answer.

She stood then, hands folding in front of her. “I’ll let you have your peace.”

He watched her go, her skirt fluttering in the breeze. He didn’t exhale until she was out of sight.

That Night – Gotham’s Streets

The city was a wound.

Bruce hit the pavement hard, boots slamming down on wet concrete. The air stank of smoke and metal, the buzz of neon signs flickering through the alleys as he moved—fast, desperate, violent.

There were two muggers on the corner. A knife between them. Easy.

He didn’t hold back.

He needed it. Needed to feel pain. The strain in his muscles, the ache in his bones. He needed to sweat her out of him—bleed out the warmth she left in his chest. That quiet, innocent comfort that was so wrong.

He didn’t speak as he fought. Just grunted, jaw clenched, fists connecting with flesh and bone. By the time the muggers were down, his breath came in hard, uneven gulps.

But it didn’t work.

On His Way Back – 

He cut through the quieter neighborhoods on the drive home. The streets were lined with trees, leaves glittering in the lamplight. And then he saw them.

A couple. Young. Walking hand-in-hand under the orange glow of a streetlamp. Laughing. Her head rested on the boy’s shoulder. Their steps slow, unhurried.

His hands tightened around the steering wheel.

He hated how badly he wanted it.

Not that life—not the ease or the normalcy. But her. The way Y/N would look up at him with trust. How small her hand would be in his. How her voice would sound when she called him by name.

He shut his eyes. Inhaled sharply.

You’re a fucking monster, he thought.

But that didn’t stop the ache. The yearning. The image of her, curled against his side, soft and sleepy, asking if he’d be home in time for dinner.

He drove faster after that. Didn’t stop until he was locked back in the manor’s darkened halls, standing outside her door in silence.

He didn’t touch it.

He didn’t go in.

But God help him—he wanted to.

Rain tapped lightly on the windows again—softer this time, more like mist. Y/N stood in the front foyer, cardigan pulled tight over her dress, watching as Alfred adjusted his coat and reached for his umbrella.

“You’ll be alright?” he asked.

She nodded, hugging him gently. “I’ll be fine, Uncle Alfie. It’s only the weekend.”

He looked over her shoulder—toward the man standing in the hallway, arms folded, eyes unreadable.

“Bruce will take care of you,” Alfred said.

Y/N smiled. “I know.”

Saturday Afternoon — 

The house felt… quieter without Alfred.

Not cold. Just different. Y/N wandered the halls with a book tucked under her arm, but found herself checking over her shoulder more than usual. Bruce was somewhere in the manor. She hadn’t seen him all morning, but she knew he was near.

She found him in the library just before noon, standing at one of the tall windows with the light painting across his shirt.

She knocked on the frame.

He turned. Something softened in his expression.

“Do you… mind if I read in here?” she asked.

He shook his head. “It’s your house too.”

She hesitated at the threshold.

“I’m sorry,” she added quietly. “If I made you uncomfortable yesterday.”

His eyes lingered on her face. “You didn’t.”

“You just seemed… distant.”

A beat. Then, “I’m always distant.”

“But you don’t have to be.”

Her voice was small. Honest.

And it cut straight through him.

Later That Evening — 

The storm came in heavy.

Y/N stood in the kitchen barefoot, humming again as she steeped tea for them both. She brought his cup to the study where he sat in a leather chair by the fire, fingers templed beneath his chin.

She placed it gently on the table beside him. “Still don’t like music?”

He looked at her.

“You keep humming,” he said.

She laughed quietly. “Sorry. Habit.”

“Don’t apologize.”

She turned toward the bookshelves, tracing the spines with soft fingers. Her cardigan slid off one shoulder as she leaned up to inspect a title on the highest shelf.

Behind her, Bruce sat very still.

Her voice floated over her shoulder. “You’ve read all of these?”

“No,” he said. “Some aren’t worth reading.”

“Then why keep them?”

“To remember what I don’t need anymore.”

She turned around and caught him staring. His expression shifted too late.

“I…” she hesitated, then offered a sweet, uncertain smile. “I’m glad you’re not as cold as everyone says.”

“I never said I wasn’t cold.”

“You’re not with me.”

He stood up.

She froze—not because she was afraid. But because something changed in his posture. He moved slowly toward her, his eyes darker than before, something tense humming in his frame.

“Y/N,” he said, voice low. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Like what?”

“Things you don’t understand.”

She stepped back slightly, confused. “I wasn’t trying to upset you.”

“I know.” He stopped just in front of her, towering. His jaw clenched as he looked down at her.

“I know you weren’t,” he said again, quieter this time. “That’s the worst part.”

There was a flicker in his eyes—pain, something else, something that twisted under the surface. His hand lifted like he might touch her cheek.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he pressed his palm flat to the wall beside her, caging her in. Just for a moment.

Not touching. But close.

Too close.

“I’m not a good man,” he whispered. “And you shouldn’t look at me like you do.”

Her breath caught.

“I don’t—”

“You do.”

His voice was tight. Sharp.

The air between them went still.

And then—suddenly—he turned, breaking the space, walking away like it physically hurt him to stand there any longer.

Next Day-

She was already up when he came downstairs.

The scent of eggs and rosemary lingered in the air, soft and homey. The table was set, plates warmed. She stood at the stove with her back to him, apron tied around her waist, hair pulled back loosely, a little off-center.

“Good morning,” he said, carefully.

She glanced over her shoulder. Her smile was small. Not fake—but not quite real either.

“Good morning.”

He hated how polite it sounded.

She set his plate gently at the table, avoiding his eyes.

“You didn’t have to cook,” he said.

“I wanted to.” She sat across from him. “You’ve been kind.”

He looked at her for a long time. “Is that what you think I am?”

She didn’t answer.

Midday 

She brought sandwiches out on a tray, along with tea and cut fruit. The sky was still gray, but not raining. She laid everything out on the stone table near the roses, her movements precise. Delicate.

He watched her from the bench, arms folded.

“Have you been avoiding me?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I’ve just… been thinking.”

“About what?”

She paused. Then: “About what you said.”

The silence hung between them like fog.

He rose slowly and crossed to her side, standing closer than he needed to. His hand brushed her lower back as he reached for his tea, fingers lingering just a second too long.

She flinched.

Not a lot. Not obvious.

But he felt it.

His jaw clenched. “Y/N.”

“I’m okay,” she said, too fast, too soft. “I’m not scared of you.”

He looked down at her. “But you’re different now.”

Her throat bobbed. She didn’t deny it.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he said.

“You didn’t,” she replied automatically, voice breaking just slightly. “You were just… honest. That’s all.”

She stepped away before he could respond.

Dinner – 

She set the table by candlelight. There were only two plates. No music. No laughter.

He stood in the doorway watching her as she laid down silverware with trembling fingers.

“You cooked again.”

She nodded. “I figured you were hungry.”

“You’re not eating?”

“I will.”

She sat only after he did. They ate in silence.

Halfway through the meal, he reached for the butter dish. His hand brushed hers—warm, firm.

She froze.

Their eyes met.

He didn’t let go.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. Quiet. Low. “That wasn’t my intention.”

She didn’t pull her hand back. But she didn’t look away either.

“I know,” she said. “It’s okay.”

It wasn’t okay. They both knew it. But she said it anyway, like maybe if she was sweet enough, careful enough, everything would go back to before.

Later That Night – 

He followed her again.

Not intentionally. Not at first.

But when she retreated to her room early, closing the door quietly behind her, he stood outside it. Just breathing. Just listening.

And then—he reached out.

Knuckles brushing the wood. He didn’t knock.

He just stood there.

And on the other side, she sat on the floor, knees hugged to her chest. Listening too.

Neither of them said a word.

The Next Morning – A Subtle Shift

Y/N woke with a strange feeling. Not fear exactly, but… unease.

Something felt off.

Her brush was on the wrong side of the vanity. Her nightgown—the one she wore during the storm—had been folded on the bench near the door.

She didn’t remember leaving it there.

She dressed slower than usual, her hands a little shaky. She told herself it was nothing.

Still, when she stepped into the hall and found Bruce waiting just outside, she jumped.

“Oh—good morning,” she said, voice small.

He gave a soft smile. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t,” she lied.

“I wanted to show you something.”

She blinked. “What is it?”

“Not here.”

Private Wing – 

She’d never been to this part of the manor.

Bruce led her through a tall set of double doors and down a long hallway. At the end stood a single black door, with no ornate carvings, no golden handle—just plain, sealed wood.

He unlocked it with a key from his pocket.

“I’ve never shown anyone this room,” he said quietly.

She stepped in behind him.

The room was dim, but warm. Dusty, but not forgotten. A single armchair sat beneath a stained-glass window. Books lined the shelves—old, worn, with torn bindings. A record player sat silently in the corner.

At the center, framed on the wall, was a painting.

A young boy.

Brown hair. Green eyes. About eight years old.

Her breath caught. “Is that… you?”

He didn’t answer.

She stepped closer, hands gently clasped in front of her.

“You were beautiful,” she said softly.

He moved behind her—close. One hand rested lightly on her lower back.

“Still am,” he said, and there was a flicker of a smile in his voice.

She glanced up at him, flustered. He was already watching her.

“I used to come here to feel real,” he murmured. “Before everything changed.”

Her voice wavered. “You mean… before your parents…”

He nodded.

His hand slid higher, grazing the curve of her back, then rested just beneath her shoulder blade.

“This is the only place I ever felt safe,” he whispered. “Until you.”

Her breath caught.

His other hand brushed her arm, slow and deliberate. His thumb traced over the bend of her elbow.

She didn’t move.

“I shouldn’t say that,” he added. “You’re too young. Too… good.”

She looked up at him.

“Then why say it?”

“Because I want you to understand.”

His hand rose, knuckles grazing her cheek. It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t forceful. It was worse.

It was tender.

She blinked slowly, lips parting.

“You make me feel like I could be something else,” he said. “Something better.”

She swallowed. Her voice came out as a whisper. “You don’t even know me.”

“I do,” he said, lower now. “I watch. I listen. You talk in your sleep, you hum when you fold towels, you only cry when you think no one’s listening.”

She took a step back.

He didn’t stop her.

“I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” he said.

“I’m not,” she replied. But it sounded like she was trying to convince herself.

He moved to open the door for her. “Come. You’ve seen enough for today.”

As she passed him, his fingers brushed the small of her back again—deliberate.

Possessive

The phone buzzed quietly on the desk.

Bruce didn’t answer it right away.

He sat in the dark, firelight flickering against his jaw, a half-empty glass of bourbon in his hand. He’d been watching the hallway camera feed—one he never told her about. Y/N was in the kitchen, carefully slicing fruit like it mattered. Her face soft with concentration. Her hair twisted up in a clip. The sleeves of her cardigan pushed high on her forearms.

He shouldn’t be watching her like this.

But he was.

The phone buzzed again. This time, he picked up.

“Alfred.”

“Bruce,” came the familiar voice, laced with warmth and weariness. “Change of plans. I’ll be delayed a few more days.”

Bruce didn’t respond right away.

“Is Y/N alright?” Alfred asked.

Bruce’s eyes didn’t leave the screen. “She’s fine.”

“Let me speak with her, would you?”

A pause.

His grip on the phone tightened.

“She’s… asleep,” Bruce lied smoothly.

It was barely past sunset.

He could see her on the screen.

“Long day,” he added. “I’ve been keeping an eye on her. She’s safe.”

Alfred was quiet on the other end. “She trusts you, Bruce. Make sure she still does when I come back.”

Bruce’s jaw ticked. “She does.”

After a beat, he ended the call.

And just… sat there.

Watching her.

His thumb drifted to the rim of his glass. He imagined her fingers instead.

His Thoughts

She trusts me.

She listens. She stays. She lets me touch her.

She makes me feel alive. Real.

And she’s alone.

He stood from the desk.

No hesitation.

Eyes dark. Movements smooth.

Something in him had decided.

Downstairs – Kitchen

Y/N turned from the sink just as he stepped into the room.

“Hey,” she said, a little shyly. “I was going to bring you some fruit.”

He didn’t answer right away.

His gaze moved over her—lingering longer than usual. She felt it this time.

The air shifted.

“You okay?” she asked gently, trying to read his expression.

“I just got off the phone with Alfred,” he said. “He won’t be back for a few more days.”

Her face fell a little. “Oh… I was kind of hoping—”

He stepped closer.

“He asked to speak with you.”

She tilted her head. “Why didn’t—?”

“I told him you were asleep.”

That made her blink. “But I wasn’t—”

“I know,” he said.

He reached out. Brushed a damp strand of hair from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear. His fingers lingered just a second too long.

“I wanted you to myself a little longer.”

Her breath caught.

The silence filled every crack in the room.

His thumb ghosted along her jaw, slow, reverent.

“You’re so good,” he whispered. “So soft. I try not to think about what I want.”

She swallowed. “Bruce…”

“I see the way you look at me,” he said, voice low. “The way you blush. You try to hide it, but I know.”

Her hand trembled where it rested on the counter.

“I would never hurt you,” he added, stepping closer. “But I will keep you.”

The words weren’t cruel.

They were worse.

They were tender.

Like a promise.

The fruit bowl trembled slightly in her hands.

Y/N had stopped slicing the strawberries. Bruce was too close now—his body blocking the exit, his eyes dark and unreadable. His tone had changed. His presence had changed. The air was thick with it.

“I will keep you,” he said again, low and final.

She gave a small, forced laugh. “That’s… that’s sweet, Bruce, but—”

“I’m not being sweet,” he murmured, stepping closer.

Her back hit the edge of the counter.

The fruit slipped from her hand. A strawberry hit the floor with a wet smack, rolling beneath the table.

“Bruce—” she tried again, gently, smiling too hard, her voice thin. “This is—this is getting a little weird, okay? I think we both just—”

His hand cupped her cheek, slow, possessive.

“You don’t have to pretend,” he whispered. “Not with me.”

“I’m not pretending,” she said quickly, her voice rising just a little. “I don’t—I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I think maybe we should—”

He pressed forward.

His other hand slid to her waist, fingers curling possessively against her side.

She gasped and tried to push him back—hands braced against his chest, fingers trembling—but he didn’t move. Not an inch.

“Bruce, please,” she breathed. “You’re scaring me—”

“I don’t want to scare you,” he said, voice low, chest rising with restrained breath. “But I need you to understand.”

And then he kissed her.

Soft, at first.

Then firmer.

His lips found hers, searing hot—wrong. Desperate. His hand tilted her jaw just so, and he kissed her like he was claiming something. Like she belonged to him.

She froze.

Everything inside her stilled.

It took a moment before her body caught up—before she shoved him back, hands trembling, heart pounding in her throat.

He didn’t stumble. Just looked at her. Hungry. Confused.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, tears brimming in her wide, stunned eyes.

“Why did you do that?” she whispered. “Why would you—?”

“I see how you look at me.”

“I was trying to be kind,” she said, breath breaking. “I was scared. I trusted you.”

He stepped forward again.

She flinched.

He stopped.

And that was the first time she saw it—regret, flickering behind the obsession. But it wasn’t strong enough to stop him. Not really.

“You need me,” he said softly.

“No,” she whispered. “I need to get out of this room.”

She turned, stumbling toward the hallway, nearly slipping on the strawberry pulp beneath her bare feet.

He didn’t follow her.

But she felt him watching.

Later — Darkness

She wasn’t sure what woke her.

The breeze from the cracked window?

The creak of the floor?

No.

Hands.

She went still beneath the covers, her body instantly rigid as fingers slid under the hem of her nightgown. Calloused. Careful.

Too careful.

One hand at her thigh. The other against her stomach.

Breath warm at her ear.

She didn’t scream.

Her heart pounded against her ribs like a warning drum, but she didn’t scream. Her lips parted around a breathless sound—but only one word escaped.

“…Bruce?”

The hands stilled.

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.

She already knew.

“…What are you doing?” she whispered, voice shaking.

Still, he said nothing. Just pressed closer. His weight against the bed. His breath slow, steady—like he’d been laying there for hours.

“I thought you cared about me,” she said softly, too afraid to raise her voice. “You said I was safe.”

His hand moved again—upward, toward her ribs.

She grabbed his wrist.

“Please stop.”

He did.

Just for a moment.

Then his voice, low in the dark:

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Her throat tightened.

“I missed you.”

Tears welled again, burning hot behind her eyes.

“This isn’t how people show love,” she said, voice trembling. “This isn’t right, Bruce.”

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to the back of her neck.

“It feels right to me.”

She didn’t answer.

She couldn’t.

She just laid there—eyes open, wide, frozen—as his hand slowly withdrew. As he slipped out of the bed like a shadow, retreating back into the dark.

The door didn’t make a sound when it closed.

She didn’t sleep again.

And she didn’t cry.

She just stared at the ceiling, her body cold and stiff, one hand still clutching the edge of her nightgown.

She didn’t move for a long time after he left.

Her hands stayed clenched at her sides, fingers dug into the mattress hard enough to leave crescents in her palms. Her nightgown clung to her skin with cold sweat, her throat dry, her lips parted in stunned silence.

The room smelled like him now—his cologne, faint leather, something darker.

She didn’t cry.

Not yet.

She just stared at the ceiling. And listened. Listened for footsteps. The groan of the old floors. The creak of the door.

But he didn’t come back.

Eventually, the sky began to pale through the window.

And still—she didn’t move.

Early Morning – Her Room

When she finally rose, it was slow. Mechanical.

She moved like a ghost—silent, numb.

She didn’t look in the mirror.

She didn’t touch her bed.

She just walked to the dresser and opened the bottom drawer, hands shaking as she pulled out a worn canvas bag—something Alfred had given her when she arrived, just in case.

She started packing.

Only the essentials. Underthings. Two dresses. Her brush. A wallet that might still have enough cash tucked inside. A soft, hand-stitched prayer cloth from her mother.

Her fingers trembled as she folded it.

She told herself it would be okay.

I’ll leave while he’s asleep. I’ll slip out the side gate. I’ll walk if I have to.

She didn’t plan to say goodbye.

She didn’t plan to tell anyone.

This was just survival.

Outside the Room – A Shadow Passes

She didn’t hear him. Not yet.

But down the hall, just past the corner—he was already awake.

And he was listening.

Morning – Just Before Sunrise

Y/N pulled the cardigan tighter around her shoulders as she slipped down the east corridor. The canvas bag was slung over her shoulder, shoes in her hand to keep quiet. The air smelled of rain-soaked stone and roses. The back gate was only a few steps away now. The one Alfred had shown her, “in case of emergencies.”

This was an emergency.

The manor groaned softly behind her—settling bones of old stone, ancient wood. But it didn’t stop her.

Almost there.

Her fingers touched the cold latch of the garden gate.

And then—

A voice behind her.

Soft. Calm. Deadly.

“I thought you liked it here.”

Her blood ran cold.

She turned slowly.

Bruce stood at the edge of the garden path. No armor. No mask. Just a man in black, barefoot, still in his undershirt.

But his eyes—his eyes were dark.

Like the night hadn’t ended.

Like he hadn’t stopped.

“I was going to come wake you,” he said, stepping forward. “Make you breakfast. You didn’t have to run.”

She backed away instinctively, the gate pressing into her spine.

“I—I just needed air,” she whispered.

“You packed a bag to breathe?”

“I’m leaving.”

“No,” he said. Quiet. Certain. “You’re not.”

She turned, hand fumbling for the latch—

And he moved.

Before she could scream, his arm was around her waist, dragging her back. She kicked, flailed, bit down on a scream that tore its way through her throat.

“Let go of me!”

But he didn’t.

He hauled her back into the manor like she weighed nothing.

“Stop fighting,” he hissed, voice low and cold in her ear. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Stop! Bruce, stop!”

She kicked harder, nails digging into his arm. One shoe hit the floor, the other flung into the wall. Her bag fell and burst open—clothes spilling across the hallway.

She reached for the doorframe—

And he ripped her away.

His Bedroom – The Door Slams

He shoved the door shut with his foot and locked it.

Then let her go.

She stumbled back, barefoot and breathless, one hand to her chest. Her lips trembled. Her hair stuck to her cheeks. She looked so small now. So terrified.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered.

He stared at her, breathing heavy.

Then—calm again. Steady. Collected.

“I couldn’t let you go.”

“You said I could trust you.”

“You still can,” he said, taking a slow step forward. “This is the only place you’ll ever be safe.”

“I’m not safe here,” she said. Louder this time. “Not with you.”

That made something flicker in his expression—something wounded.

And dangerous.

“I love you,” he said.

She shook her head.

“I love you, Y/N.”

He reached for her again.

And this time—there was nowhere left to run.

[cablewintersoldier]

Too Sweet 2/? (RobbyxOFC)

Everly wasn’t sure why Robby was always so grumpy. He certainly didn’t sleep enough, or eat enough, or socialize enough. But none of those things seemed to bother him. Sometimes she would see him run his hand over his face, exhausted with the entire world, and she would frown. 

No one ever saw her frown, except when she looked at Robby. It was only ever when he wasn’t looking, when he was looking at her she was nothing but smiles. But when he wasn’t aware anyone was watching, she would frown, worried that he was sad, that he was lonely. 

On those days, when he was extra sad looking, she would make sure to be brighter than ever. Smiling at him more often, making sure he had some water, his coffee, a homemade muffin she’d stayed up late baking the night before. Robby always took whatever she gave him with a small smile, thanking her gratefully. 

Collins watched the two of them one day, chatting against the wall in the hallway, unknowingly leaning closer to each other as they talked.

“I can’t believe it’s been three months, and they are still circling each other,” she said to Dana, who looked up from her desk, glasses perched on her nose. 

“Told you it would take a while for Robby to get it together enough to ask her out,” Dana replied, having won their bet two months ago when the first month passed with no movement on the romance part. 

“I just really thought she’d break him sooner.”

“I have a lot of faith in that girl, but Robby is made of stone. It’s gonna take a while to chip away at him.,” Dana explained, stepping away to take a phone call. Collins continued to watch Everly and Robby, until Langdon came up to her.

“They hook up yet?” he asked, and Collins shook her head. 

“Nope, still dancing around,” she answered. Langdon gave a groan, and moved on, looking at the board to see what case he wanted next.

Mateo came walking down the hallway, stopping when he saw Everly and Robby.

“Hey Ev, we still on for tonight?”

Robby looked at him, then at Everly, waiting for an explanation.

“Oh, yup, still on! 8pm, unless we get stuck here,” she giggled slightly, and Mateo smiled, before nodding at Robby and continuing on.

“You and Mateo, are…?”

“Oh, Mateo asked if I wanted to go for drinks. It’s not a big thing, but you never know!” Everly smiled up at him, her consistent enthusiasm almost contagious, at least it was to everyone except Robby.

“So you two are going on a date?” he asked again, more clearly. He tried to sound nonchalant, but his need to know the answer crept into his tone of voice.

“No, I mean yeah, technically I guess, yes. But it’s just casual, see how things go, you know,” Everly’s smiled started to falter, but she forced it on. 

“Oh, that’s…good. Well, I think we should get back to work, I think Mr. Smith in Central five is ready for his head CT.” Robby cleared his throat,  crossing his arms over his chest and looking towards Central five.

“Oh, yeah, okay. Mr. Smith, I am on my way!” Everly joked, walking away and towards her patient. Langdon walked up to Robby then.

“Really man? That was just tragic to witness,” Langdon teased.

“What was tragic?”

“You, failing miserably to flirt with Taylor. She was practically begging you with her eyes to flirt with her, to tell her not to go on that date with Mateo, and you totally blew it.”

“That…is none of your business, Frank. If Dr. Taylor wants to go on a date with someone, she is more than welcome to.”

“Yeah, see what I mean? Tragic, you don’t even know how deep you are.”

“Frank, go help someone.” Robby ordered, and Langdon just laughed lightly before heading off. 

Robby spent the rest of the day in a mood, a funk as Dana would call it, and nothing Everly did brought him out of it. She wasn’t sure what caused his sudden mood change; he’d been his normal grumpy all day, this was extra level grumpy. 

Eventually time came to end the shift, and unsurprisingly they had run late. The bar Everly and Mateo were going to was right near the hospital, so he had said he’d meet her there while she got ready. She’d brought her stuff with her just for this reason. 

Pulling off her scrubs left her in a pair of black lacy panties and a matching bra. It had been itching at her all day, but she knew it would be worth it to wear them with her dress. She slipped the black silky number on, contouring perfectly to her body and the bra helped push her meager cleavage up to give the appearance of any at all. 

She finished off the look with a pair of heels and some red lipstick, throwing on a bit of eyeshadow to try and make herself more presentable for a date. Everly was on her way out of the locker room when she ran into Robby, literally. 

“Oof,” she said, almost falling backwards because her balance was off with the heels. Robby quickly grabbed her arms and pulled her back up, unfortunately she was so tiny he pulled her directly into his chest. She peeked up at him to see him looking down at her, rubbing her arms gently. 

“Sorry, Dr. Robby, lost my balance,” Everly explained, and she felt Robby drop her arms like he’d been burned. 

“No worries here, you look…’ Robby took a minute to look her up and down (mostly down, let’s be honest). “Nice. You look very nice.”

Everly couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed, she was going for a little more than nice. “Thank you, Robby. I guess I should go, don’t wanna leave Mateo hanging.” She smiled brightly up at him, and Robby felt his heart flutter. 

“Right, Mateo. Have fun.”

Everly nodded, and quickly headed out of the hospital.

Robby turned around to see Dana, Collins, Langdon, and Mohan watching him from the nurse’s station. 

“What?” he asked. Dana shook her head, Collins and Langdon smirked, and Mohan just looked sad. Robby frowned at them, and went off to help a patient. His mind was focused on Everly, and if she was having fun with Mateo. Maybe she was flirting with him, and he was responding. Maybe she was gonna kiss him, and take him home, and fuck him stupid, and Robby needed to stop that thought train. He ran his hand over his face, scratching his beard lightly, and tried to focus on his job. 

Everly was tipsy, but definitely not drunk, and although she was having a great time with Mateo, he just wasn’t her type. He seemed to be getting the same vibe, and after a couple more drinks he asked if she wanted to call it a night around 10pm. She agreed, and he offered to call her a cab, but she decided to walk. She didn’t live far, so with a kiss on the cheek and a hug, they went their separate ways. 

Everly took off her heels, deciding it was safer to walk barefoot than to try and stumble home. She carried them in her hand, walking quickly to get home. It’d been a long shift, and she needed to be back in for 7am. As she turned a corner onto her street, she felt something smack into the back of head, and she fell forward, dropping her heels. Saving herself by grabbing onto a wall, she went to turn around, when a fist came out of nowhere and punched her in the face. Everly went down, and quickly lost consciousness.

[uracutieraka]

Kingston

↺ ᴿᴱᴾᴱᴬᵀ ‖ ᴾᴬᵁˢᴱ ≫ ᴺᴱˣᵀ ˢᴼᴺᴳ

Every single word you say makes me feel some type of way

It's the thought of you that slightly scares me

But it takes my breath away, forget what I was gonna say

The day that I met you, I started dreaming

↺ ᴿᴱᴾᴱᴬᵀ ‖ ᴾᴬᵁˢᴱ ≫ ᴺᴱˣᵀ ˢᴼᴺᴳ

BakuSquad x F!Musician!reader x Bakugo Katsuki (A lil romance never hurt nobody ;3)

Tw: Cursing. 

↺ ᴿᴱᴾᴱᴬᵀ ‖ ᴾᴬᵁˢᴱ ≫ ᴺᴱˣᵀ ˢᴼᴺᴳ

Synopsis; Having a music based quirk takes you down the path of actually making music, what happens when you let some of your closest friends in your class help you make a song, and play cupid?

↺ ᴿᴱᴾᴱᴬᵀ ‖ ᴾᴬᵁˢᴱ ≫ ᴺᴱˣᵀ ˢᴼᴺᴳ

You should never have agreed to this. 

In hindsight, it seemed like a fun idea when Sero suggested it with a mischievous smirk that you mistook for a sweet smile. 

Denki, Sero, Jirou, Kirishima, Mina, and surprisingly Bakugo were crammed around your small dorm, chit-chatting about new musical possibilities for you. 

"Y/n, have you ever tried to rap?" Denki asks, causing everyone's individual conversations to end and turn to you. 

You hum slightly, still plugging in all your recording equipment and clicking around on your desktop computer to open different programs. 

"Yeah, once or twice." 

You hear a few giggles come from behind you and you quickly turn around. 

Scanning your eyes across your friends to see the culprits you narrow in on Mina who's got her hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh. 

"What's so funny?" You ask with an attitude. 

"I just can't see you rapping is all!" She says with a slight chuckle. 

You scoff and roll your eyes, turning to finish setting up. 

Sero had roped you into this by mentioning that he was surprised none of them had gotten to hear any of your music that you talk about so much. After chatting for a bit Denki joined the conversation, mentioning how he had tried and failed at using some computer programs to make beats of his own. 

Soon your friend group slowly filled out around your desk, putting in input where it was needed, creating a discussion about music making in general. 

It all came crashing down when Denki and Jirou started bickering about who could make the best beat. 

"Well y/n," Sero lazily put his face in the palm of his hand and gave you a lopsided smile. "Why don't we all just come to yours after class and see who can make the best beat? Then you can work your magic and show us how you make your own music. Kill two birds with one stone." 

You hummed, tapping your chin in thought. 

it was a smart idea, and this would prevent them from hounding you to show them until you gave in anyways. 

"Fine.," Denki and Kirishima high five at your response, but you cut their celebration short by clearing your throat. "Only if you can get Bakugo to come too." An evil grin now overtakes your face. 

You watch as all the smiles in the group slowly drop, some turning into defeated frowns, others in deep thought. Finally Sero speaks up again. 

"Y/n, you know that isn't possible!" A slight whine is heard as he speaks. 

'If you're not up to the challenge then that's your problem." You shrug, going back to taking notes like you were originally supposed to be doing. 

The rest of your friends now move to hover over Sero's desk, devising a plan to get their stubborn friend to leave his dorm for one night. 

Unfortunately for you they had somehow managed to convince the hot headed Blond to come along. 

When you heard a knock at your door, you answered, gloating with your chest puffed out, ready to see Sero's defeated face as he told you they couldn't do it. 

Nope, there stood six of your closest friends waiting excitedly to make music. 

Bakugo was the only one who looked annoyed, hands shoved in his pockets as a scowl filled his face, mumbling incoherent curses under his breath. 

You sighed and moved away allowing them to enter. 

That's how you got into this position. 

You roll your eyes at the thought and then turn to Sero. 

He still has a smug look on his face, you stick your tongue out at him and he just laughs before flipping you off. 

You grunt and then turn to face Denki and Jirou. 

"So Denki, since you don't really know how to use this stuff and Jirou does, we can be partners. 

You hear a scoff leave the girl's mouth. 

"That's unfair!" 

You think for a moment before an idea pops into your head. 

"Why don't we just forget about the competition and you guys all just make a beat together. I'll be completely hands off and Jirou, you can teach them as you do it." 

You see Sero roll his eyes and you turn to him, now you're the one with a smug grin on your face. 

"Killing two birds with one stone, yeah?" 

He crosses his arms and pops an eyebrow at you before sassily turning away. 

You fight back the laugh growing in your throat. 

Bakugo, finally, decides to speak up. 

"This is stupid, I'm going back to my dorm." 

Mina quickly blocks the door to the hallway as Bakugo starts to move towards it. 

"Uh-uh, remember the deal?" She says to him. 

You watch in awe as the hot head quickly turns around and sits back in the spot he had just walked away from. 

"What deal?" You ask. 

Everyone goes quiet at your question, looking around at each other nervously. 

You see Bakugo grow angry at the situation and you tilt your head in confusion. 

You look at Denki, he's the weakest link in your friend group, especially when it comes to you. His sweet and cute best friend! You reminded him of a cute little puppy when you would bat your eyelashes his way and ask him to do something for you. 

Though, you had this effect on most of the people you knew. 

"Kami, what're they talking about?" Your voice is soft and sweet and his friends know exactly what's going to happen next. 

They slowly turn towards him, awaiting to see what he does. 

He's sweating as his eyes dart around between the different faces, hands anxiously wiping on his pants. 

Just as he opens his mouth to speak, Sero shoots tape to wrap around his friend's mouth. 

Muffled grunts can be heard from Kaminari as he struggles to peel the tape off. 

Okay, fine then. 

"Bakugo, what deal?" 

Nobody moves out of fear of what either you or Katsuki would do to them if they tried to interfere again. 

Bakugo grunts as he looks away from you. 

"Can't say." 

You watch as he closes his eyes and puts a hand over his mouth, he looks embarrassed?

You cross your arms and turn away from them. 

You pout at your desk, mad that nobody will include you in this secret. 

Even more mad that even Bakugo wouldn't tell you. 

A sweet voice sounds behind you and you recognize it to be Jirou. 

"Y/n? Don't be mad at us! You were the one who made the deal to begin with!" 

You make a loud 'Humph!' as you dramatically turn your head even farther away from her, your nose now stuck up in the air. 

"Hey, hey! Please don't be mad y/n! It's not manly of you!" Kirishima shouts from where he's sprawled over your bed. 

You hear Mina whisper yell at him that he's not helping. 

You still make a point to look at him and scoff before turning back around in your chair to face the computer. 

You hear Bakugo make a familiar 'Tch' sound at your childish behavior. Normally he would tell you to stop being a brat but he's slightly amused at the drama unfolding in front of him. 

He knew that agreeing to Sero and Kirishima would only lead to something stupid, and his hypothesis was proven correct as he watched everything going down. 

He studies the back of you, taking in the way your hair seems to always have the most perfect curls in it. 

He wondered how long it took you to style it. Did you do it every morning? 

His mind always seemed to do this when it came to you. He hated the way you could make him think about the dumbest things. 

His eyes scan over your room. It's cute. Very you. 

Little trinkets litter the shelves you put up, school books and papers filling up one side of your desk, shoved to the side in an attempt to make room for your music equipment. 

Posters of Hawks and a few other heroes are mixed in with posters of some of your favorite bands and other miscellaneous things. 

His eyes dart over to where polaroids fill the back of your door. 

A small smile makes way to the corners of his mouth as he quickly recognizes the one you forced him to take the first time he ever came to your dorm room. 

He thinks back to how hard he fought against it, only to lose once you stuck your bottom lip out at him and looked up at him with wide eyes. 

'Come on Kacchan! I make anyone who comes over take a picture the first time!' 

He rolls his eyes and watches as you walk over to your door, quickly pointing to where photos of different people had started to fill it up. 

He was surprised at how many photos you already had. 

His eyes darted over to where one of his homeroom teacher was hung up. 

You follow his line of sight to see which one has him sporting a confused look. 

'Oh! He came by when I was out sick from classes a few months ago to drop off some homework he forgot to give Mina. Like I said, I make everyone take a photo.' 

He almost melts at the small giggle that bubbles out of you after you finish talking. 

You're quick to start naming some of the other odd people who have visited. 

'Tetsutetsu, Kendo, Monoma, most of class B really. Then I have a few teachers and pros! Mr. Cementoss, That weird journalist guy, and Allmight!' You finish pointing around the small polaroids and turn back to him. 

He wondered when these people had even visited the dorms. Let alone yours. 

Pushing his questions down he instead fights with you about how you were just gonna have to take no for an answer. 

You cross your arms and scoff at him, something you often did when you weren't getting your way. 

He rolls his eyes and groans. 

'I came here to study and work on our assignment, not to have a damn photoshoot.' 

He now throws his books on your bed and you elicit small whines before responding. 

'But even Midoriya took a photo for my door!' 

You watch with a knowing look on your face as you see his movements briefly stiffen up at the mention of the green haired boy. 

You drop your face into a cute pout and make yourself have big puppy dog eyes as he turns to face you. 

He sighs and looks you over for a moment before rolling his eyes. 

'Make it quick, and ya' only get one try so make sure I look good!' 

He turns to look back at you now, watching as you shift around in your chair a bit before fully slouching in it. Committing to your tantrum. 

When the back of your head hits the top of your hair you lull it back to look at him. 

You slink out of your chair and fall to your knees on your floor, a loud groan escaping your throat as you do so. 

He fights back laughing at how you're acting. 

Turning to look at your other friends, he watches as Mina and Jirou are both holding their mouths to hide their smiles. 

You groan loudly as you crawl towards Denki, who's sitting on the edge of your bed next to Bakugo. 

Once you reach him you sit up on your knees and grab the electric boy's face in your hands. Rocking his head back and forth as you plead with him.

"Denki, you gotta tell me. Please? You're my bestest friend! We don't have secrets, remember?" Everyone rolls their eyes at your antics, they know it's one of your worst traits. 

Your ability to make them fold with just a few words and bats of your eyelashes. 

"My brother, Kaminari!," Denki turns to look at the red head laying down on the bed behind him, but he can't turn fully due to your hands on his face so he opts to look out his peripheral. "Stay strong, she's using her womanly mind games on you!" 

Mina now leans over from her spot at the end of the bed near Kirishima's feet to swat at him. 

Turning back to you Denki takes your hands off his face and turns away from your gaze. 

"It's really up to Bakugo if you know or not..." He says. 

Jirou turns around to pat his knee in a show of support for him not giving in. 

You turn to look at the fiery boy next to you and Kaminari. 

He has an annoyed look on his face but you know he was enjoying this. 

He hated how you could read people, it was something that came naturally to you. 

He takes in a shaky breath and you now scoot over with a quick movement. 

Your hands rest on his knees for support as you pull yourself over. 

His face burns hot at the contact, but he clears his throat and turns his head away fast enough you don't notice. 

He doesn't fail to miss the way Mina knowingly nudges his strong friend. He watches as Kirishima sits up to lean over and whispers something to her that causes her to stifle a small laugh. 

He rolls his eyes and looks back down when you give his legs a small squeeze and begin to talk. 

"Kacchan, tell me!," He feels his mouth run dry when you lean closer to him in a swift motion, using your perch on his legs to push yourself up and into his face slightly. "Please, I'm begging!" 

He pushes you down by smushing his hand against your face. 

"You're too close!" He says, mock disgust lacing his tone. 

You begin to pout again and he has to look away before he folds and tells you. 

His eyes find Kirishima's and he silently pleads with him through their unspoken bro-language. 

Kirishima Clears his throat and tries to talk to you but you shush him and cut him off. 

"No. I wan't Bakugo to use his words and say he refuses to tell me!" 

A nervous chuckle leaves Ejirou before he turns back to Bakugo with an apologetic look and shoulder shrug. 

"So," you say and Bakugo looks back at you. "Say it." 

You're still giving him that stupid face you give people when you're getting upset at them. 

Your brows are furrowed together and you still sport a pout on your lips. 

"No, I don't wanna tell you." He matches your energy and pouts back at you. 

Sero finally breaks. 

"If we tell you, will you guys stop it so we can make this damn song?" 

You turn towards where he's sat in the corner of your room, on a floor pillow. 

You put your hands up in the air with an excited squeal and fall onto your back, you extend your legs and use the momentum to slide towards him. 

With a small wiggle you manage to reach him, hands grabbing his forearm to finish pulling yourself into the side of him. 

"Yes! I Promise!" Your eagerness causes a few people to chuckle at the situation. 

Sero shifts so you're lounged at his side, head on his chest as his arm hooks around your shoulders. With the hand that's resting on you he points to Bakugo and leans down to whisper in your ear. 

Everyone watches as your face goes from a smile to a flushed shade of red, jaw hanging slack. 

When Sero leans back you turn towards him and whisper something back.

The Blond feels a strange pit of anxiety pool in his gut, nervous as to how you'd respond to finding out the deal your friends had cut with him. 

Finally you look at him and a shy smile crosses your face before you look away from him again and lean back over so Sero can continue the hushed conversation. 

You giggle at something Sero says and finally Denki says something. 

"Guys, I wanna be included!" He drawls out with a whiny tone, a common theme today apparently. 

Sero nods his head left and right, shooting his index finger up to stop his friend. 

Denki grunts and turns to face the pink girl behind Bakugo. 

They begin quietly speculating about what you two were saying. 

Bakugo tries to listen and hopefully hear something you are Sero say, but you're too far. 

You break away from Sero and stand up, wiping yourself off due to all the floor crawling you did. 

"Jirou, do the honors." You motion towards your chair and everyone looks around before she hesitantly makes her way to sit. 

"Ok now you guys can make your song!" A wide smile crosses your face and everyone is slightly scared at how happy you are all of the sudden. 

"Guys, make the song!" Sero urges and everyone begins surrounding Jirou to make a beat. 

Bakugo stands awkwardly behind everyone, not paying attention to them as his eyes instead look at the parts of your room he couldn't see from where he had been sitting. 

After a few minutes you gently nudge into him with your shoulder. 

He looks down at you but you're focused on the computer screen, he wonders if you meant to get this close. He takes a slight step to move away from you but grab his wrist and hold him steady. Now you look up at him and give him a toothy, close eyed smile. 

He stays put. 

After another few minutes the group is all arguing about what kind of song they should make, and other trivial things. Forgetting all about you or Bakugo. 

You grab at the material of his t-shirt that's hugging his bicep and give it a gentle tug, signaling for him to lean down. He does and you lean up to whisper in his ear. 

Sero watches from the other side of the group with a small smirk on his face as you lead Bakugo to sneak out of your room. 

With a click of the door you drop Katsuki's wrist and lean against the wall with a loud sigh. 

He studies your movements in hopes to understand how you're feeling, or somehow read your mind. Which seems to be what you do even though your quirk has nothing to do with telepathy. 

You stand up straight and pat your clothes down to lay flat before starting to walk off, you take a few steps before turning back around to him. 

"You coming?" 

He shoves his hands into his pockets before tiling his chin up and down. Moving forward to signal for you to keep walking. 

You wait for him to get a few steps ahead of you before you skip over to him and wrap your arm around his. Your other hand reaches up to rest on the hand holding his bicep. 

He wasn't unfamiliar with you doing this, you were an affectionate person. 

Always finding some way to be touching the person you're talking with. 

At first he thought it was annoying and weird but eventually he found himself secretly seeking conversations with you just so you'd. trace your fingers somewhere on him. 

That's when it hit him and he realized there was no more denying it. He was absolutely smitten over his bubbly classmate. 

That's when he decided to confide in Kirishima who immediately dragged Kaminari into it. His reasoning was that Kaminari was your best friend so it only made sense to include him. 

He beat them both into absolute secrecy. 

You playfully pushed yourself into him causing him to slightly stumble to the side as you both kept walking. 

He mocked your actions before you stopped in front of his door. 

He gave you a confused look when you broke away from him to fully stand next to it, looking at him with expectant eyes. 

"Why are we at my dorm?" He asked. A wave of heat rising up his neck, turning the tips of his ears pink. He had never had anyone in his dorm let alone a pretty girl like you. 

You hum and reach out, hand grabbing his wrist before sliding down to hold his hand. You use his hand and pull him forward until he's standing against his door. 

"Well aren't you going to invite me in?" Your voice is quiet and oh so sweet. 

He takes notice of the way your cheeks are dusted with a rosy pink, and the way you tuck your hair behind your ear while you look down at your feet. 

He takes a deep breath and finally opens his door. 

He begins shutting it but stops halfway, poking his head around it. 

"Okay, but give me a minute." 

You can hear shuffling inside and after 180 seconds, not that you were counting or anything, he opens his door wide and stands in the middle of it. 

"Okay, come in." 

This tone of voice was one you realized he only used with you, and more specifically when it was only you two alone. 

It was soft and he was quiet. You liked when he was like this. 

You step into his room and immediately take it in. 

It's clean and nothing like you expected. 

His shelf is neatly organized and everything seems to have a place, unlike your room. 

A few posters of All Might are on his wall.

You quickly notice the bulletin board above his desk. 

It has a calendar on it as well as other important papers tacked to it. Your eyes lock on a photo printed onto a regular sheet of copy paper. 

"Is that the photo of us at our work study first year?" 

He turns around, eyes wide, like a deer in headlights. 

He completely forgot to take that down before letting you in. 

"Yeah." He says under his breath. He sits awkwardly on the edge of his bed, watching as you slowly walk around his room, your fingers tracing over everything so light it looks like you're afraid to break anything. 

You finally turn back to him, taking a few steps towards him. 

He can feel his breath hitch the closer you get. 

He realizes he hasn't really taken a moment to appreciate just how pretty you look right now. Your hair is down, a few strands falling in your face. You only had lipgloss on, causing your lips to shine like a glowing chest in a video game. Athletic shorts and an old beat up t-shirt that he recognized as Kirishima's. 

You had a sneaky habit of stealing other people's clothes. He caught you red handed one time, sneaking his hoodie out of the dryer one day. 

You thought you could get away with it but you didn't account for bakugo's deep appreciation of a strict routine. 

'What're you doing?' A sharp voice causes you to jump with a high pitched yelp. 

You turn around slowly and make eye contact with dark red eyes. 

'Uhm,' your eyes dance around for a moment before you finally sigh and drop your shoulders as a sign of defeat. 'Fine, I was trying to take your Three Days Grace hoodie.' 

'Why?' He crossed his arms at you, shifting to block the doorway as he noticed you eyeing it. 

'Because it's so cute! Plus I have the cutest outfit idea for it!'

He rolls his eyes and moves so you can leave. 

'Whatever.'

You hug the sweatshirt to your chest and beam at him.

'Thank you Kacchan!' 

"So..," You say, causing him to look at your face. "I heard through the grapevine that you have a secret." 

He feels his palms start to sweat. 

Only you could make him act like this and it drove him insane. 

He was always so confident and then you came around and had him second guessing how strong-willed he really was. 

"What secret?" He knew it was a pointless attempt to feign ignorance. 

You're now standing in front of him. 

You lean down so you can see him eye to eye. 

"The one about how you cut a deal today to take me on a date." 

You were starting to make his head spin from how fast your personality could change. 

One minute you're batting your pretty eyes at him playing dumb then the next you're standing over him with a devilish smile on your lips. 

He tries to speak but his jaw is glued shut. 

You stand back up and walk back over to his bookshelf, running your fingers over the books and mangas, occasionally taking one out and flipping the pages before putting it back. 

After a few minutes of giving him time to answer you turn back to him and lean against the side of the shelf. 

"Is it true?" 

He rakes his eyes over you, trying his hardest to speak. 

You sigh and turn around, opening the door to his balcony. 

You step out and lazily lean back against the railing, still facing him. 

He feels so small due to the eye contact you continue to hold with him. 

It's like his body moves all on his own, like a moth to a flame. 

He stands next to you and you turn to face the skyline. 

The soft pinks and oranges of dusk paint the sky. 

"You're so quiet sometimes, ya' know that?" a soft chuckle follows after your words. 

You hear him mumble a quiet 'sorry' under his breath. 

"No, no, it's okay.," He turns to watch you. Your hair is slightly blowing in the breeze. You look like you came straight out of a dream. He can't believe he gets to see you like this. "I really like when it's just us and you act like yourself." 

"Myself?" He asks. 

"Yeah, when you stop trying to be so tough and you finally relax." 

He reflects on your words, he hadn't even realized that you thought he was relaxed. He was always the opposite of that around you. You made him so nervous he practically became a robot. 

A dry airy laugh leaves him and it's the most emotion you've seen him express since he entered your dorm. 

"Relaxed?" His tone is laced with a sense of cockiness that's usually reserved for Kirishima. 

You tilt your head at him and give a questioning hum. 

"I get around you and I'm so far from relaxed that I'm nearly having panic attacks." 

You now slide over, dragging your arms over the rail as you do, to be fully pressed against the side of him. 

He slightly presses back into you as you both continue to stare forward, too nervous to look at one another. 

Your voice drops to a soft whisper. 

"Answer my question 'Tsuki." 

He sighs loudly but you know he's not annoyed because his mouth has a small smile like curve to it as he begins talking. 

"Yeah, yeah it's true." 

You feel giddy inside at his words. 

You also can't help but tease him slightly. 

You now have a closed eyed look of pride. "Well what can I say, I am just so perfect and amazing." 

You feel his shoulders shake with laughter but he doesn't actually laugh, instead he turns to you and responds to your witty response. 

"Don't let it go to your head you damn brat!" 

His shoulder pushes into you as he says it. You scoff and shove him back. 

You two do this back and forth for a moment, giggling between yourselves, until a loud knock is heard on his door. 

"Hey Bakubro?" Kirishima says opening the door at the same time. 

You two look at each other with wide eyes before Kirishima notices you. 

"Oh! Y/n! We were looking for you guys!" A smirk is on his face as he informs you that they finished making a beat. 

You and Bakugo follow him back to your room, stealing quick glances at each other and blushing when you make eye contact. 

As you enter Sero draws attention to you. 

"Hey lovebirds!" everyone turns to the three of you as you and Bakugo blush and look at walls opposite of each other. 

Denki comes up to you and completely changes the subject. 

"We finished the beat!" 

He goes to play it but Jirou stops him. 

"Me and Mina have absolutely zero claim or association to this project! I gave up trying to help because Denki is such an idiot." 

You laugh and say you understand, causing Denki to cry out. 

You shush him and tell him to play the song. 

it starts off fairly well, you sit down on your bed, Bakugo sitting flush with your side next to you. 

You can tell this is the part of the song Jirou and Mina helped with, because soon the steady beat becomes erratic and overall terrible. 

You being so sweet and kind, listen to the full two and a half minutes and proceed to hype up your guy friends. 

"Wowwwww guys," you smack your hands together and look at the three boys who are all looking at you with hope in their eyes. "It was definitely something!," Their smiles falter but you're quick to rekindle their fire. "Something really awesome and different!" Your wide smile and cheery tone covers up the backhanded compliment. 

Bakugo barks out an arrogant laugh. 

"That was terrible!" 

The three boys now swarm him, talking about how you said it was great so Bakugo was just jealous. 

You laugh and move, allowing them to fully swarm him. 

"You damn brat!" Is all you hear as he gets attacked fully. 

↺ ᴿᴱᴾᴱᴬᵀ ‖ ᴾᴬᵁˢᴱ ≫ ᴺᴱˣᵀ ˢᴼᴺᴳ

"Kats?" You sing-song as you open his dorm door. 

You see him push his chair from his desk and tilt backwards in his chair to look at you. 

"Guess what?" 

He now lowers his chair to have all fours on the floor as he stands from his desk. 

He puts his hands on his hips and raises an eyebrow at you. 

"What?" 

You ignore his gruffness and continue your happy rambling. 

He doesn't understand the words coming out of your mouth until you stop rummaging in his closet and turn back around throwing an outfit at him. 

"Put that on!" 

"Why?" 

"Were you seriously not listening to what I just said?" You scoff and cross your arms with an attitude. 

He scoffs and mimics you. "Uhm yeah I was trying but you talk too fast!" 

"Whatever," you roll your eyes and begin to explain why you were telling him to change. "We have to go into town tonight to meet your parents for dinner." 

"My parents?" 

You look at him dumbfounded at his question. 

"Yes Katsuki now hurry and get changed!" 

"Why are my parents reaching out to you and not me to make plans?" 

You roll your eyes and tug at the bottom of his shirt, he raises his arms and lets you pull it off of him. 

"Because, Katsuki, you never respond to them so they text me." 

He now takes the shirt from your hands and pulls it over his head. 

"Yeah because I don't like going 45 minutes out of my way for dinner when I can make myself food." 

He's standing in the middle of his room with a scowl on his face. You swat his arm and reach to undo his belt. 

"Stop making that ugly face," You struggle with the clasp, tugging at it, causing him to rock off balance. He now swats your hand and begins undoing it himself. You stand up and look at him. "Don't be mad your parents love me." 

He rolls his eyes as he shoves his jeans off and pulls his nice dress pants on. 

He just now takes notice of the way you're already completely ready. Another scowl crossed his face. 

"Wait, when did they ask you about this?" 

You freeze, not wanting to face him so after a moment you continue digging around his shoes that are neatly lined up on the floor of his closet. He takes note of how you're throwing them around and he will definitely have to reorganize them later. 

"Last Friday.." You murmur, suddenly very interested in what shoes he should wear to dinner tonight. 

"I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you right? Did you say last Friday?" 

His voice is obnoxiously sweet, you can feel the sarcasm seeping off it. 

You now turn to him and look up holding out his nice black dress shoes. 

A smile on your face as you make your eyes slightly wider than normal. 

His knees slightly buckle and he can feel a smile across his face before he snatches his shoes and clears his throat, putting on his angry face again. 

"Don't try to be all sweet to me now." He tucks his shirt into his pants before buckling them and putting his belt on. 

You watch him with a pout on your face. 

When he finally looks back up at you he has a surprised, but annoyed, look on his face. 

"Why're you over there poutin' for?" He sits on his bed and pulls his shoe on, doing the same to the other before leaning over to tie them. 

"Why are you mean to me Kats?" You now saunter over to him and run your hand through his hair while he finishes tying the laces up. 

He leans back and puts his hands on your hips, looking up to you. 

You have a sad look on your face, and even though he knows you're just doing it to make him feel bad, he still feels bad. 

He has a slight frown on his face and you bring your hands to hold his head in them. You use your thumbs to massage small circles on his cheekbones. 

"M'sorry, Didn't mean to upset you." His eyes flutter shut at your touch and his words are slow and slightly slurred from the state of relaxation you bring him. 

You lean down, tilting his head so you can see his cheek. You leave a lipstick mark on him by pressing a quick kiss to his face. 

He grabs you and pulls you closer to himself, burying the other side of his face into the dress material covering your abdomen. 

"We gotta get going soon, It's 50 minutes out and then a 10 minute walk." You say, pushing him off of you with a slight struggle. 

He groans and stands up. He continues to groan like this as you drag him down the hallway by his hand. 

The second you reach the main floor he straightens up and stops. 

"You're such a poser Kacchan." You whisper to him and he 'tsk's at you, pulling his arm around your shoulder and pulling you into his side, his other hand is shoved in his pocket as he tries to look 'cool' in front of everyone. 

You roll your eyes and try pushing out of his hold while you both make your way to the front doors. 

"Hey! Going to dinner with the Bakugo's?" Midoriya says to you, stopping the both of you by standing in front of you. 

You feel Bakugo's arm flex at the words Deku says. 

He finally drops his arm and allows you to stand straight. 

You smile at the green eyed boy as you fix your hair and dress. 

"Sure are!" You chirp. 

He moves out of your guy's way and wishes you a safe night out. 

As soon as you exit the front doors you book it away from your boyfriend. 

"Y/n! You better have a good reason as to why that idiot knew about dinner with my family before I did!" 

mha playlist

[kai-anderson-whore]

Next chapter (kit walker x fem reader smut) (kinktober fic 5)

Summary: you and kit have been married for two years, neither of you thought of trying for a baby till kit brings the idea up again.

Warnings: smut, fluff, breeding kink, creampie, heavy kissing, cuddles in the kitchen (it’s giving mardy bum by arctic monkeys), trying for a baby, talks about trying for a baby, unprotected sex, romance, aftercare

Word count: 1,4k

A/n: we are officially half way through the kinktober masterlist this one is quite cute ngl.

•¤❅¤•.•°˚˚°•..•°˚˚°•.•¤❅¤•.•¤❅¤•.•°˚˚°•.

Married life was great to kit walker, he never used to see himself the type to marry until he met you. He knew from the moment he saw you, you were the one. Now two years into your happy marriage, routine was almost the same. You would sat together for breakfast, kit would go off to work, come home and have dinner then cuddle up on the sofa by the coal fire.

Kit was at work filling a families car up with gas, he couldn't help but smile to himself seeing the couple's toddlers carrying on the backseat. Kit finished filling the tank up with gas, the husband paid kit for the job thanking him. Luckily it was almost the end of his shift, he just couldn't wait to get home and see you.

"Have a nice day" kit smiled waving them off in his usual friendly manner. Walking back into the garage plopping himself down on the chair with a sigh. His mind drifted off, thinking what life would be like for you and him if you both had a couple of kids running around. His heart swelled at the thought.

You both previously spoke about children not planning anything, a mutual agreement that if you were to end up pregnant one day it would be great news, but it wasn't set in stone. For a few weeks now kit had been thinking about starting a family, he knew he was ready for a baby. But he also knew you would be carrying the baby for nine months 'would you be even ready?' Kit thought. Not realising the time kit's shift came to an end grabbing his jacket closing the garage, he set off home. Planning on maybe bringing the baby subject to the table later tonight.

You were at home just finished making dinner for you and kit, the radio playing in the background. Just like clockwork kit entered through the door with his usual room shining smile. "Honey I'm home" he sang making you smile. "Hey how was work?" You asked setting the tea towel down on the counter. Kit made his way over to you wrapping you up in a hug, "it was okay nothing special just glad to be back home with you" he smiled against your lips before pressing them to yours in a chaste kiss.

'Then he kissed me by the crystals' played making you grin at the coincidence. "Ironic" kit chuckled pulling away from your lips. "Then he asked me to be his bride, I'll always be right by his side" you sang along your arms around his neck. Kit just smirked letting you enjoy the song. "Dinners ready" you spoke up once the song ended. "Perfect" he whispered.

After dinner you were cleaning the dishes whilst kit got out his work clothes. The radio back on playing throwbacks 'blueberry hill by fats domino' playing, you hummed along it was one the very song that played when you met kit. "For you were my thrill, on blueberry hill" kit entered back into the kitchen singing along, wrapping his strong arms around your waist from behind still singing along, swaying you both gently to the song.

You smiled leaning your head back on his chest, shoulders deflated in comfort. Kit's chin resting on your shoulder peppering soft kisses along your exposed neck. A content sigh left your lips feeling at home with your husband's arms around your waist. "Let's make a baby" kit whispers into your ear, your eyes shot open. Turning your body to face him, arms still around your waist.

"A baby?" You asked unsure if you heard him right. Sure you would adore having a baby with kit but you always assumed if it happens. "Yeah come on, think about it honey a little mini us running around" kit's voice soft and gentle swaying you both to the love songs on the radio.

You thought about it for a moment sure you felt ready to start a family but didn't think kit was just yet. "Are you sure kit it is a huge responsibility" you question, "I'm more than sure, only if you want to have a baby after all it's your body" kit assures. You smile sweetly at your husband nodding your head. "Okay let's try for a baby" you bit your lip.

Kit smiled pressing his lips to yours gingerly making you melt into his lips. Your arms wrapped around his neck once again bringing him closer to you. From the sweet kiss turned heated and passionate, kit leading you both to your shared bedroom with little to no effort. You giggled nearly tripping over each other entering the bedroom.

"Now are you sure about this kit" you asked one more time taking your dress off along with your undergarments. "I'm more than sure, just the thought of you pregnant does things to me" kit groaned laying you gently on the bed, he took his clothes off before climbing on top of you. His lips back on you, your body reacting to his gentle touches, like putty in his hands.

Kit took his hardened erection between your folds using your arousal as a lubricant, slipping inside of you with a groan, your hands gripped onto his biceps a sigh leaving your own plump lips. Your head felt light at the sudden sensation your walls accustomed to his size. Kit peppers your cheek with loving kisses, his eyes were clouded with nothing but love and affection with the faintest hint of lust.

It was like on your wedding night all over again when he was the first person to ever touch you in such a way.  Now a new special moment in your life, kit wanted this moment to be as romantic as possible. He retracted his hips starting in a slow passionate pace. Soft sighs left your lips, your hair tossled around the pillows beneath your head. "I love ya so much suga" kit mumbles his rough hand guided your leg over his waist.

"I love you" you panted out running a hand through his chocolatey hair. "I can't wait for us to have a baby" he says his thrusts a little more faster but still as loving as before. You moaned at the sudden quickening pace of his hips. Your walls fluttered around him greedily around him.

Kit already felt close to the edge trying to contain himself for a little longer. Your hips lifted making kit hit that spot to make you come undone for him. "I'm so close" you moaned out your grip tightened around his toned arms. "Me too baby, I'm gonna to fill you up so fucking good" he whispers burying his head in the crook of your neck.

Your breath catches in the back of your throat as the overwhelming force of your release washes over you. “Oh my god” you loudly moan, back arched, nails sinking into kit’s arm triggering his own release. With a low moan kit released inside your velvety walls, not letting a drop go to waste. Your legs shaking with the slight overstimulation.

Once kit was sure he milked every drop of his cum inside you, he pulled out making you whimper at the loss of contact. You felt the mixture of yours and kit’s release drooling down your legs, kit chuckling to himself before grabbing a towel to clean you up. Your legs shaking ever so slightly, his hand running along your leg soothing you.

“You need anything, water?, food?” He asked stroking your cheek. “Just some water please” you replied with a lopsided smile. Kit nodded his head getting your water and discarding the towel. You sat on the bed thinking about the possibility that you created a new life just now. A huge milestone in your marriage, a smile creeping on your lips.

“What’s got you smiling?” Kit entered the room holding the glass of water, mimicking your smile. “Just thinking” you sighed as kit handed you the glass of water, you took a sip as he crawled into bed beside you. “About?” He questioned further. You placed the cold glass on your nightstand getting yourself more comfortable, head resting on his broad chest. “About the fact we’re trying for a baby”.

Kit’s hand stroking your arm, his other arm that’s free resting behind his head, deep in thought. “I know it’s crazy to think” he whispered with the same smile on his lips. “You know”- you turned your body so your chin rested on his chest, kit raised his eyebrow at you for you to continue. “It’s might take a good few tries till we get pregnant”.

“I guess we gotta keep trying then” kit smirks flipping you both over, a laugh erupting from your lips.

[padmesweetheart]

Let the World Be Quiet

Pairing: Lorenzo x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Slow-Burn Romance, Wholesome Affection

Divider by @strangergraphics

The sun was low, dipping behind the trees and casting the garden in warm, amber light. The kind of light that made everything look softer, gentler — even Lorenzo.

Your fingers were interlaced with his as you walked slowly between rows of overgrown hedges and forgotten stone statues, the path beneath your feet half-covered in moss and petals. Wild roses clung to trellises, their scent thick and sweet in the air. This part of the estate was mostly untouched — a secret place, tucked far behind the main villa. Lorenzo had shown it to you days ago, claiming it was a place for “quiet hearts.” You hadn’t realized he meant yours.

You hadn’t spoken in a few minutes. Just walked, in silence, the kind that felt full instead of empty.

When you glanced sideways at him, he was already looking at you.

“What?” you asked with a soft smile.

Lorenzo tilted his head slightly, curls falling into his eyes. “You just look… peaceful here. Like you belong in a painting.” His voice was low, quiet — not his usual playful tone, but something almost reverent.

You blushed, looking down at the ground as your boot nudged a fallen flower. “You’re always saying things like that.”

“Because they’re true,” he said simply.

You stopped walking and turned to face him fully, and he didn’t hesitate — he stepped in closer, your joined hands falling naturally between your bodies. His other hand reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingertips lingering on your cheek just a little too long.

“I wasn’t sure about any of this, you know,” you said softly. “Coming here. Being part of… your world.”

“My world?” he repeated, a smile pulling at the edge of his mouth. “It’s not much of a world without you in it.”

You gave him a look, half-laughing. “See? There it is again.”

He chuckled, eyes crinkling. “Sorry. I was raised on poetry and swordplay. Not exactly subtle.”

You shook your head, stepping in until there was almost no space left between you. “No, I like it. I like that you say things like that. That you make the world feel like a story.”

His face changed then — softened further, his teasing giving way to something more sincere. He let go of your hand and brought both of his to your face, cradling it gently, his thumbs brushing your cheekbones.

“You are my favorite story,” he said. “The one I never want to stop reading. Even if all the pages get worn out.”

You closed your eyes, pressing your forehead against his chest as your arms wrapped around his waist. He was warm, steady — even after everything, even after the chaos and the danger and the running. He held you like something precious, something that grounded him.

“Can we stay here?” you whispered. “Just for a little while?”

Lorenzo kissed the top of your head and nodded. “For as long as you want. The world can wait.”

He led you to the old stone bench tucked beneath a willow tree, its branches swaying like a curtain around you. He sat first and pulled you between his legs, letting you sit sideways across his lap. You tucked your head beneath his chin, and he wrapped his arms around you without hesitation.

The garden went still. The wind hushed. Time seemed to stop.

And for a little while — maybe just a moment — it felt like nothing could touch you here. Not the politics, not the danger, not the uncertain future. Just the scent of roses and his arms around you. Just Lorenzo, whispering verses into your hair and pressing slow kisses against your temple.

“Will you write about this?” you asked after a long pause.

He smiled against your skin. “I already am. With you.”

@skyguytoast @dessxoxsworld @endairachristensen26 @bxbyysstuff @inlovewithallmusic

[aziraphales-library]

Y’all are awesome and I appreciate the hell out of this account! Any fics that are an attempt at a season 3? Preferably comedic ones! Thank you so much and keep up the amazing work! ❤️

Hello. We have a #good omens s3 speculation tag, so check that out. Here are more to add that have some kind of humour tag...

a place to be by kaiyen (NR)

In which Crowley moves back into his flat, Aziraphale has problems at work, and the Second Coming of Christ is but a stone's throw away. In the end, Crowley makes it to rolling green hills, leant against a stubbornly yellow Bentley. He remembers the first morning. He had slithered out of the ground not long before dawn, the dirt damp even before the first rain, the grass cool and crisp against his scales. And the sun had risen, jewels spilling across the great blue sky, warm and golden from the East. Crowley – Crawly, then – had wanted to follow it, had felt a great pull Eastwards. He went, too, until he found the ripe red fruit nestled amongst the lush green leaves and knew what they were for. It was luck, then, that the humans had left in the direction of the sunrise. Luck, or– ineffable. The sun rises over the South Downs, and Crowley finally wants to stay.

The Ineffable Shades of Gray (Good Omens Season 3) by altsernative (T)

After returning to Heaven, Aziraphale learns the Metatron's true intentions, finds himself disillusioned, and regrets his choice to leave Crowley, who has been working in the Temptations department. They reunite, and find themselves stopping the final war between Heaven and Hell and learning God and Satan's true intentions for the world and each other.

Demons are Forever by in_a_pickle (T)

After finallly finding the courage to tell his best friend his feelings, Crowley's dreams are shattered when Aziraphale once again chooses Heaven over happiness together. With ‘Great Plans’ afoot upstairs, Aziraphale discovers that the starring role he accepted comes with some unforeseen duties and that Crowley’s kiss has become something of a distraction. Crowley meanwhile is trying to come to terms with a broken heart and is trying to fathom why Heaven is so keen to have Aziraphale back in the fold. A mini adventure with our favourite group of two, written in case I get hit by a bus and never get to find out what happened next.

The Intended Effect by Esme_Abner (E)

A post-S2 fic that begins with a very sad Crowley and a conflicted Aziraphale and a surprisingly not-awful Jesus. It's all building toward our boys reconciling, because like everyone else, my heart is broken and I need to pick up the pieces somehow. And they might try to like save the world again, too.

(I just can't wait for) Season 3 Good Omens! by RCReveal (T)

After Season 2, I really needed to find out how Aziraphale and Crowley could get their reunion: a real reunion & not 'pretendy real'. They both have so much growing to do with neither of them, yet, being able to even say 'I love you' clearly to each other. Angel, what's going on? What kind of doublethink are you doing to still think that Heaven is the Good side & that you can't even admit to being friends? But you'll do anything to protect the World. Crowley, always planning on running. Sorry, but that won't work. If you had run at Armageddon there'd be no here to be in. But somehow, still a little seed of optimism. And wow! what you two can do together! Especially with a little help from old and new friends. So here's a story about averting the Second Coming with that great ensemble cast of characters in Heaven, Hell, and Whickber ST. Long set up, but then starts to speed up, kinda a wild ride from chapter 42 onto the end. This story is at about the same level of cursing, violence (well, maybe a little more Gaiman-esque), humor (definitely much more Terry Pratchett-esque) and romance as that of the second season.

There's a Special Place on Earth for Beings Like You by Kipje (T)

Set two years after Aziraphale leaves to become Supreme Archangel. It’s the Second Coming. Aziraphale is tasked with finding parents for the new Christ and returns to earth. He needs Crowley’s help, but the two haven’t spoken since the break-up. Crowley doesn’t want to forgive the angel, nor does he want to help out with the baby, but he finds it incredibly hard not to get involved. OR Aziraphale and Crowley raise the new Christ together; a girl named Eden. While they try to sort out their feelings and avert the apocalypse. Excerpt: Crowley had always assumed Aziraphale would want to run away with him in order to be together. He had never bothered to ask if there was a version where they would be an ‘us’ on earth. What was Aziraphale supposed to do once they arrived in the Alpha Centauri system. How would that even work with his book collection? Sure, Aziraphale had fallen in love with the demon – and it had taken him a while to be able to admit that – but he had also fallen in love with humanity, with earth. He had never planned on leaving. He knew earth would be no fun without his favourite wily serpent, but that did not mean he would be fine anywhere as long as Crowley was there. He had standards.

- Mod D

[ohmotherwhereartthou-if]

I’m sorry, I need some cheesy weird romance moments😭😭

What would RO reaction be to a panicking MC running to them being like “we have a problem!”

Then proceeds to cup their face and say “you haven’t gotten your daily quota of kisses yet!”

Proceeds to kiss RO face multiple times

Cassandra: You scare the shit out of her for the first half, she is 100% serious and quick with the "What has happened? Give me the report". Absolute military conditioning kicking in, gives you a deadpan expression when you say the second half. She starts to smile the more kisses you give her, playfully punches your arm when you finish. And it kinda hurts when she does that...

Valeria: Very laid back response, she doesn't fully process a need for any alarm at first so it's hard to get an actual rise out of her. "Oh? What's wrong- Oh, haha!"

Tomás: Stands up so fast when you come rushing in, dropping his tools to the floor as he does. "What's the matter, did anybody hurt you?-" Bro is as serious as a stone, until you start kissing him, then he just melts. You can just feel the tension drain out of him, he gives you a tired laugh and kisses you back. "Damn, you scared me for a moment there preciosa/precioso."

-

Ludovica: Sits up straight waiting for the bad news, then laughs in relief when everything is okay. You can hear her breath out "Oh thank goodness, everything is alright...".

Aurelio: Stops midway on his bite of his sandwich, "Huh? Whamphfs ta mwater, *ahem* what's the matter, love?" Grabbing his face could be really funny since he is so tall, if you are not also a giant like him, then you gotta grab a stool or just like reach upwards like a kid for him to bend down. Assuming you do the latter, he just gives you a puzzled look as he slowly bends down. Laughs up a storm when you just give him kisses, "Man, I was eating! I could of choked you know?".

Elio: "What?" He responds calmly, just smirks as you give him kisses, "I know nothing is serious when it comes from you."

[fallloverfic]

The Tomb of Dragons spoilers

I'm not broken because Thara and Iana didn't get together, but it makes zero sense that they didn't end up together. This isn't me being blinded by shipping sunglasses. This is a series of very obvious events that I had assumed, certainly by the end of book 2, would have resulted in Iana/Thara being a couple, if not leading into it at the start of book 3/at some point in book 3. They held hands in the dark after Thara met Iana's mother, who clearly thought they were dating, how else do you read that???

If Monette wanted to highlight that supportive male-male platonic relationships can exist, Anora is right there, and a mainstay of the series and the book in particular. Ulzhavar, Csathamar, Rohethar, Ormevar, Maia, Csevet, Azhanharad, Teru, Thilmerezh: all these other platonic male friendships exist in Thara's life, and literally all of them come back for Tomb. Heck, even Hanu is a good example of this kind of relationship (until it ends where it ends). The build-up of Thara and Iana's relationship makes no sense if this is where it leads, even in the context of strong friendships. I love a good strong platonic friendship, too, and showing men comforting each other outside toxic masculinity or romance matters, I get it. And I don't dislike Hanu as a character, and I even find his relationship with Thara cute when it doesn't feel really forced. Their ending probably makes up for things about as best as it could when you introduce a brand new character and romance in the third novel of a trilogy (and not many of Monette's gay leads get this much! It's good it ends this way!). But just... why?

I don't know. This is massively disappointing. And after knowing this was coming (ARC readers wrote reviews about it months ago), reading the actual novella at last, hoping she had better explanation for it, only to find out she didn't, is not helping.

I enjoyed the book. I really did. It's got a whole lot of great stuff in it. But just... why?

Also, I enjoy bodyguard romance as a trope. I've had shippy thoughts and Cala/Maia and Beshelar/Maia for years. I've been a Jago/Bren stan since like 2005. I always thought the Queen and Joe were adorable in The Princess Diaries. I love Choi Han/Cale Henituse as a ship. And there are lots of manga ships I can think of that fit the trope... It's not the trope I have an issue with, and I'm not averse to it appearing, canonically.

But seeing this as "what if this is about fan thirst for the bodyguard ships in TGE" or "we can't feel bad about it because we've been asking for it" is... I mean sure. Whatever. It feels way too forced. I hope Monette found her bliss with it. Difficult as the book was to write, I hope she wrote the version she wanted to.

Like just imagine, if Monette had read a series where a bodyguard character was introduced in book 1, with a canon crush on the protagonist, got closer to the protagonist for the next two books (and the interest was returned if highly conflicted), and they became an official couple in book 3 of the trilogy, and this was inspiration for Osreth. Wait, what is C.J. Cherryh (author of Foreigner) doing in this Monette interview???:

Sarah Monette: I don’t know if I can claim her as an influence, but I really like Shirley Jackson. Definite influences are Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, J. R. R. Tolkien, Ellen Kushner, Joan D. Vinge, C. J. Cherryh.

The thing I’ve read most recently that I really enjoyed is Martha Wells’s Network Effect.

Uncanny Magazine: What are you working on next?

Sarah Monette: I’m currently in the middle of revisions on The Tomb of Dragons, which is the third book in the Cemeteries of Amalo trilogy (the first two being The Witness for the Dead and The Grief of Stones).

Just... there are ways to do the trope. Even speedier ways in one novel (e.g., Bad Judgment by Sidney Bell, though that's a romance novel). This ain't it.